#an issue of the consequence by faith wood on ao3

[railingsofsorrow]

An Issue of Consequence by Faith Wood has me on a chokehold forever. this is a masterpiece of the drarry world wtf I can't believe I finished it in ONE HOUR I'M CRYING

[anonil88]

“This isn't prison break.”parts 1 & 2

Rue runs away for a night from rehab with a bunch of people she doesn't know. They go to a club, do some stupid stuff and adopt a cat.

wrote this and put it on AO3- lnk here- but also updating on here:

PART 1

Rue laughs absently at the other group of "degenerates" as Ali would call them. They are walking along the side of the road towards wherever a kid named Malcolm was leading them. She technically was supposed to be in her small dorm bed asleep and awaiting 4 am check in. But instead here she was being a fellow degenerate who had technically escaped the rehab facility. They all intended on going back to the treatment facility eventually. She hopes Sol would even though it meant they probably would be separated. They all just needed a night of more because everyone was on edge and needed a break. Everyone was aware that the consequences would be getting kicked out or all restrictions taken away. But, fuck it.

Her group of acquaintances, because they were not her friends, was made up of a random assortment of folks. One of which was some guy named Graham who was apparently the older "brother" of Angel. Angel was the only one out of the group besides her roommate who actually knew more than whatever she half assed in group therapy. Which was very little but it was enough to keep them.... interested. Rue shoves her hands in the pockets of a pair of baggy shorts that Angel threw at her in a parking lot after everyone met back up. Their escape plan was a plan but they all booked it through a hole in the fence and through a patch of woods at first. Some person named Bones, who had to at least be a sophomore in college, picked them all up in a hatchback and the Graham who opened a backpack filled with vices.

Rue steered clear of the opiates and went straight for the bottle of Coconut Rum. Even though she could practically hear the pills singing her fucking name. Most of them actually opted to be clean of whatever landed them in rehab but not sober. Not everyone though because Angel was definitely rolling a tiny bit and so were two other people out of the 5 fence jumpers. Including her roommate Sol. Rue just figured the slap on the wrist once they got back would be less harsh without a positive test. The rum was more than enough to stay kind of alert amongst everyone here. All these faces that might leave her dying face down in a ditch if she OD’ed....again.

She wasn't even in here because of an overdose. Just a basic relapse that made her mom's mind up for her and now she was forced into a stupid facility with strangers. They forced her to talk, made sure she ate, but she honestly felt worse being inside than out. It was probably working the 12 steps and quiet therapy sessions but in places she didn't see yet. This right here though the warmth of the air touching her skin as the packed car they'd all tumbled into hurtled through empty streets. Leaning her head back she mumbles along the lyrics while Sol pulls at the worn shirt collar. 

 "Beep beep go swerving in my, Beep been you want me riding in your...."

Rue sighs feeling sticky lips press against her clavicle and up her neck.

 "Beep beep ghost busting in my,

 Beep beep you want me riding in your....driving super fast."

Sol was cool people but Rue knew it couldn't be anything more than fooling around. Kissing when no one was watching or either of them came back from a therapy session sobbing.  Sometimes Sol sneaking into her bed at night so they could have quickie sex sessions. This wasn't how Rue expected to explore her sexuality that was pretty dormant but it was what she had. It also wasn't with who she had in mind either. Lingering feelings aside the two of them were stuck in a juvenile inpatient program. With the same beds as the ones in college pamphlets, a no shoelace rule, and  fuzzy socks ( that Rue secretly loves). This girl was like 3 inches shorter than Rue, dark skinned, neck tattoos and a short cut. Sol had been through so much more shit than Rue and it made her feel ungrateful. Ungrateful because at least she had a hard working mom who still loved her and hadn't abandoned all hope. Other people in the program who took it seriously though told her not to because her life sucked too.

Feeling Sol's lips on hers she kissed her back. She didn't feel anything but it must have felt amazing to Sol who deepened the kiss. The car swerved past what in Rue's mind had to be a pothole. Sol falls away further into her body clutching the fabric of her shirt and accidentally her chest. Rue hears Sol sigh and snaps her eyes open while Sol still kisses her. Rue grabs hold of the handle above the door and sits back up mumbling, what was that. She watches Sol roll her eyes and sit back into the tan seats.

"Oh FUCK," Bones yelled slowing the car down and pulling over. Bones had their black hair slicked all the way back and a cigarette falling out of their mouth. They were odd enough sober and everyone's dd, just a ball of chaotic a.d.d they'd laughed at her earlier as they walked her from the gas station bathroom back to the car. It was a nice gesture because apparently she seemed "kind of uncomfortable," which was true. The urge to escape herself dulled the fear of her mother's true unbridled anger. Or Fez's.

He was really upset when he found out she got a new plug after actually being clean for so long. She turns to look out the back window and sees two green eyes attached to a small grey mound in the road. 

"What the....omg a cat omg," Angel is practically bouncing out of the car after pulling out a half eaten filet o fish. Rue watches him in an outfit she felt fit him so much more than the basic t-shirt and sweatpants he wore everyday. His platform sneakers lit up across the black asphalt as he inches  closer to the obviously terrified animal. A glitter covered arm wove in front of him with food and Rue leans into the window in anticipation. The only thing that could make Angel seem even more angelic was wings or a halo above his half platinum half silver hair. He honestly seemed like the type to fit right into Jules's friend group. But instead he was the kind creative rave kid who drew her pictures of kandy he'd give her one day. 

"Hey um...you ," she feels her shoulder being tapped. "Put this in your lap."

PART 2

"Yes! I love this song," Bones yells back rolling down the windows. The cool autumn air filling the car and the smell of weed being blown out the window. 

Her heel is bouncing with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. With one more she could become triple A instead of alcoholics anonymous. She can feel a comfortable softness against her sole. It's from a piece of fabric she keeps stuffed in her sock. Her knee keeps bouncing in place with the sleeping kitten being stroked by Sol in her lap. Her current reality is so much more serene than the one she relives in her head.

Arrival nurses took her hoodie at this new place only letting it stay with her the first night. She was so fucking high on check in that she screamed please don't take my dad please as they explained it to her mom. Her mom who she clung to like they were about to skin her alive. Chest rising and falling quick enough someone said something about a shot. Too high to be cold and distant but not enough for her heart to stop. Just enough to be a paranoid fuck up. Leslie tried to calm her down but it only worked after her mom bargained with them, one night.

One night and then her mom visited the next day to say goodbye. Slipping a gray square in her pocket. It was worn in from a t-shirt that her dad wore in her baby pictures. Leslie hugged her so tight before leaving whispering we love you so much. That was the last time she'd seen her mom and every time she called Leslie said oh rue like her heart was breaking again. So those phone calls were short because her mom crying always fucks her up mentally for a few days. The silent pauses remind her of the little sister who always has faith in her but is turning into someone who doesn't even look at her. 

"You okay," Sol whispers and rue nods because when was she ever. Her arm that sol is resting on is cramping but she lets it, not much arm space in this back row anyway. She should have just chosen the trunk with some 16 year old named Zach. 

"On the left yesss we made it and on time too," Graham jeers next to Sol.

 Rue looks at the dash clock crinoline her brow. "How is almost 1 am on time," she whispers. 

Sol chuckles, "It is a club not a house party you knew that right ?" Rue bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head no. Sol puckers a bottom lip and kisses her cheek. Great pity Rue thinks. Sol leans in to whisper to Rue, "Don't worry Graham knows the bouncer. No fakes required."

Rue opens back up the glass bottle in the seat net and lets the clear liquid burn her throat a bit. Out of her realm was an understatement, house parties were something she was used to but never clubs. She didn't even know what kind of club this was but judging from the giant rainbow flag out front, angry repressed frat bros wouldn't be an issue. Which helped the nerves in her stomach unwind. The fur ball on her lap made a noise and she rubbed it through the sweater it's been laid on. Sol said the kitten was probably dumped because there was a tag scar and the kitten was super clean. But was she risking it....no.

Sol takes the bottle from her hand and screws the cap back on. "You gonna dance with me tonight Benny." Sol says as she nudges her shoulder.

"Maybe," Rue shrugs.

" Okay well how about anyone else," Sol grins coyly.

Rue looks away from her and out the window. She's more interested in the brick building as they get closer than someone's hot sweaty body. There's a line to the door with several guards standing with gloved hands and flashlights. " Idk maybe," Rue looks back at Sol who is rolling her eyes. 

" Yes she is," Angel yells from the passenger seat. He's checking his makeup in the mirror and winks at rue. Which makes her tuck her hair behind her ear and cough to cover the blush. Angel turns around happily and says, "meee.'

Leaning forward Sol pecks Angel and says, " Bennett your goal tonight is to have fun, dance with someone. He, she, they, who cares, maybe you'll get a lil prison pen pal."

Rue rolls her eyes, that probably wasn't happening but it was about trying new experiences. Treatment was also not prison; it just was not freedom either. Bones pulls past the entrance and swings into the parking lot. Graham is behind them pointing as they follow directions. He's even saying fun facts like this is Knott's which Angel keeps mimicking. Bones slowly moves the car  until  one guard leans his hand in the window. The guard daps Graham up and they laugh for a second. His name is apparently DJ and he's their in. The only rules are no weapons. 

In the parking lot they all get put and Rue notices other cars with clusters of people around them. She shakes her lap free of cigarette ash and cat hair. The cat now named sparkle is being in the trunk with a makeshift bed, a small can of tuna Bones just had and an old bottle lid filled with water. Rue leans down and ties the mismatched dollar store laces on her chucks. They had hot dogs on them which was kind of cute. A tire squeals close by of a car obviously moving way too fast and drunk singing out a window speeds past them. Idiots. Everyone else was finishing a shared bottle or blunt. Leaning against the side of the trunk she feels Sol rest against her arm warming it up.

Rue can hear a steady thump and beat coming from the brick building. It makes her head move which means the music might not be her thing but it'll be tolerable. Graham even said there's another section with actual seats that has a more contained dance floor with pop and hip-hop. Just in case she got overwhelmed by the rave scene and the lights. She doubles over as she laughs at Angel's jokes. 

Kid was fucking hilarious, she stands up wiping her eyes and freezes looking in front of her.

[yanara126-writing]

A Death in Your Name - Emblyn ix Ensios (1/5)

How can one mortal soul be so important to a god?

You misunderstand. I'm not Galawain or Magran, I'm not used to people dying for me.

And yet they do. Some willingly, some not.

Iovara's sister, inquisitor and high priestess of Eothas', has made a mistake, her way of righting it impacts more things than she's expected. Perhaps Iovara has more in common with a certain god than she likes and perhaps Eothas should rethink his actions, or lack thereof, if he doesn't like the consequences.

Read here or on Ao3

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

The apostate was dead. The trial had ended and she had been sentenced to death and an eternity in Breith Eaman, unless she begged for forgiveness from the gods. There was no doubt in Emblyn’s mind that Iovara wouldn’t. Her sister had always been the more headstrong one. Emblyn had only ever followed, at first Iovara and later master Thaos. Even now she didn’t dare defy him.

This time she followed a path she knew well. She’d taken it thousands of times before, since she joined the order and then found her proper place. A place she’d never doubted, even when everything else had fallen apart.

Her boots clacked on the marble floor as she made her way through the familiar hallways. The large windows let the bright afternoon light in to illuminate the walls, but for once she paid it no mind.

When she entered the grand sanctuary, she wasn’t alone. Two young acolytes tended to the room, cleaning up any dirt still left from the last mass. When they noticed her, they bowed in greeting, eagerly asking her orders. Emblyn sent them away with a kind word and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Slower than before she stepped through the rows of well-polished, wooden benches towards the lavish altar. She brushed over the wood with her gloved hands, feeling melancholy set in. Her fingers quickly flinched away, as if they’d been burnt. Tucking her hands into her sleeves she turned away and moved swiftly onwards.

At the alter she took off her fine leather gloves and put them down. It would’ve been rude to pay her respects to the Light of Life with anything less than her own hands.

The candles were already burning, as they always were. Since her ascension to high priestess and inquisitor she’d made sure that there were always some alight, and fresh ones were brought in as soon as the previous were too burnt down. Some of these candles she’d made herself. It was a task far beneath her station, but the simplicity of it helped ground her on bad days.

With a flick of her finger she ignited an incense stick and gently put it into the brass bowl. The red gleam of the stick caught her eye and she couldn’t help but watch it for a while. As simple as it was, it was an undeniable proof of her dedication. Her lips twitched upwards for a short moment. Perhaps she had a little bit of her sister in her after all. The brief moment of levity gave way to solemn silence again.

The hard floor pressed against her knees as Emblyn knelt before the altar. Not directly in front of it, that was the spot for the priest, but further back where the devotees would receive their blessing. Her light robes fell gently over her legs, providing the appropriate modesty, but refusing her the comfort of a layer of fabric between the stone and her skin. Good.

Emblyn folded her hands and stared at the spot of light in front of her. The ceiling was designed to allow a beam of light to fall through and illuminate the place before the altar, where the priest would preach to the people. How often had she stood there herself? How often had she promised the desperate redemption and forgiveness if they just asked for it? How often had she stood there after mass and thanked Eothas for the chance He’d given her?

Her hands started trembling and soon she was shaking all over. She may have been forgiven last time, but there was no redemption after her most recent crime. She’d done what she’d thought... no, what Thaos had thought necessary. Emblyn didn’t know if he’d been right, and she didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter in the end. No end goal could possibly justify her treason.

There, in the first place she’d ever truly found peace, the walls broke down. The shaking became sobbing and she pressed her folded hands over mouth, desperately trying to keep the sound of her violent sobs from filling these holy halls, even as fat tears rolled down her face.

She’d led her only sister not only to death, but eternal damnation. She hadn’t stopped Iovara when she’d left the order. She’d lied straight to Iovara’s face, guided her to Ossionus and right to her doom.

Hot tears trailed down her cheeks as Emblyn let all the atrocities she’d committed pass through her mind. Her chest hurt from her heaving sobs, but she deserved the pain. It was nothing in comparison to what she’d put Iovara through. She should have spoken up at the trial at the very latest. If not as a sister, then as the high priestess of Eothas. What a sham she was to that title.

When her wailing became too loud, Emblyn bit on her finger until she tasted iron. Red blood dropped from her teeth and stained her robes.

Now it was too late. Even if she somehow found the courage to face her sister’s final resting place, Thaos had forbidden her to go down again. He’d sent her away to find solace in her home town. As if Creitum would hold anything but hate and despair for her now, and rightly so. No, the only thing that could possibly still give her hope now, was the breaking of a new dawn.

Hesitantly Emblyn lifter her head to stare at the glittering beam of light before her. She imagined the familiar warm voice filling her head with soft promises of brighter days. Thaos thought she was upset about his revelation. She had been in the beginning, yet with time had come the realization that it didn’t really matter. Her god was still real, if anything the fact that kith had had the power to make him just proved that He was right. Every new dawn, every new spring time would be better than the last.

No, faith was no issue for Emblyn. Which was the reason she wouldn’t ask for Eothas’ forgiveness this time. Her actions were beyond redemption. She wouldn’t besmirch His sanctity by begging for His mercy and compassion when she knew she didn’t deserve it.

Slowly she took her hand from her mouth, giving the damage a short, dispassionate look, before carefully removing her outer cloak. Her tunic she would leave on, to provide at least a modicum of modesty, but the cloak was a symbol of a station she no longer deserved. It didn’t belong to her anymore, and there was no need to dirty it, when her successor would need it.

Gently Emblyn folded the cloak and put it in it’s proper place, under the light, where soon the new high priest would stand. She hoped they would appreciate the duties and privileges that came with the title. Not like her, who had grossly neglected her duty when she had been needed the most.

Tears welled up in Emblyn’s eyes again. She had been so proud at being handed the sacred tokens, had sworn her oath with confidence and had done her job with passion. The position of inquisitor had been a burden by comparison. She hadn’t wanted to prosecute people, but Thaos had convinced her that it was the right thing to do. After all, she would be delivering the worst of all people to redemption. It was mercy to cleanse them and give them a new chance on the wheel. Only that hadn’t been all. She had doubted, but had quashed those doubts with the assurance that her master had never stirred her wrong before. She still didn’t know how wrong she’d gone. Where was the cut to make? At the eternal imprisonments? The cleansing? Or was the whole inquisition a well-meant gesture taken too far? She wanted to believe in her mentor, believe that it was all right, but her world was breaking apart.

The truth wasn’t the issue, rather the fact that there was a truth at all, that it had been hidden by the very man she had trusted above any other mortal. That was what broke her. That, and the fate she had delivered her sister to at his behest, for nothing more than saying the truth. Emblyn didn’t agree with Iovara’s methods, nor with the conclusion her sister had apparently come to, but she had unravelled lies, Emblyn herself had been too blind to see. Iovara hadn’t deserved to be punished for shining a light into the darkness, no one had known to be there.

With her already bloodied hand, Emblyn pulled a dagger from it’s sheath at her hips, carelessly smearing blood on herself in the process. The tunic would soon be sullied anyway.

The dagger itself was simple, lacking the usual ornamentation of ritual weapons. No wonder, as it hadn’t been intended as such. It was a practical piece, made for self-defence, fashioned from high quality steel, and it had served Emblyn well over the years. She’d always kept it in good condition, both because of it’s sentimental value and because she’d learnt the hard way, that having a back up weapon was not optional in the less civilized corners of the world.

The polished steel glinted when she held it against the light. She felt almost sorry for misusing it like that, but it was only fitting it’d be this weapon, that would allow her to do penance one final time.

Emblyn held the handle in a tight grip, making her knuckles go white, and started her confession. Forcefully she grabbed a thick strand of her long, dark hair and sliced through it. She held the bundle of hair now in her fist towards the light and spoke with a shaking voice.

“I have brought shame over myself and neglected my sacred duty. I have disappointed the trust put in me.” The first handful of hair was thrown to the ground, spreading out over the floor. Her chest heaved with supressed sobs and she stared resentfully at the hair before angrily grabbing another bunch and slicing it off with vengeance.

“I have brought shadows to the dawn by spreading lies and untruths to people I was supposed to protect from them.” The next bundle landed on the ground, adding another layer of hair, another layer of shame.

“I have forsaken the people who needed me most and have denied them the saving light of dawn.” Her hand shook more with that cut, leaving an ugly, uneven edge behind. More than half of her hair was gone now, sheared off with only a finger’s breadth left. With a toss the hair in her hand joined the rest on the floor. A few of them were bloody, where she’d touched them with her injured finger.

Emblyn grabbed what remained of her once luscious hair, tugging so hard she could feel a few of them rip out. Trembling she chopped it all off, nicking her scalp in the process, bloodying both hair and cloths. Tears running down her face she couldn’t force out the words she wanted to say and just knelt there, dagger and hair clutched tightly in her lap. After a few seconds she remembered that she had to hurry, the sanctuary wouldn’t stay empty forever. Choking down her desperate sobs once again, Emblyn laid bare her most vile and contemptible crime.

“I have betrayed my own sister, my own flesh and blood, and have condemned her to an eternity in darkness and suffering.” She didn’t have the strength to throw the last of her locks, all energy had left her, leaving only despair behind. It took all her strength to just open her fist and the let hair tumble to the floor in front of her. Emblyn stared at the hair, spread out almost like a carpet all over the marble floor, feeling vaguely sorry for the acolyte who would have to clean it up. But the far more pressing feeling on her mind, was melancholy. Iovara’s hair had been just like hers, dark and silky, a pride they’d shared years ago. The missionaries of the order usually kept few possessions, simply out of practicality, but their hair had been the one material object the two sisters had allowed themselves to delight in.

Slowly Emblyn saw the dark locks on the floor morph into the burnt mess Iovara’s hair had been after the trial. Crusted with blood, sheared off in places and scorched in others, it hadn’t been recognizable anymore. Just like Iovara herself.

Emblyn hadn’t even been allowed to keep the body. She wouldn’t have made a big spectacle out of it, she’d just wanted to properly send off her sister in a quiet ceremony, even if she knew it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Instead Thaos had brought back Iovara’s head, or what was left of it after the fall, and had presented it to the public. As a cautionary tale, he’d said. Emblyn didn’t know what had happened to the rest of her.

But it didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t deserve the kindness anyway, just like Iovara hadn’t deserved her fate. Emblyn could only hope the blank slate of the wheel would be enough to earn her a chance at redemption. Her soul would belong to different person, and she herself would only be distant nightmare. Hopefully. Perhaps her soul was already too damaged by her own atrocities. But in that case she trusted in Gaun to weed out her soul from the cycle.

The dagger was no longer shining when she lifted it again. The edges were red with still drying blood, giving it an ugly rusty colour. Emblyn hoped someone would take care of it later, it would be a shame to let it rust.

Slowly and purposefully she placed the tip of the weapon against her upper chest, between two ribs. She made sure to have a good grip with both hands and steady aim, it wouldn’t do to botch this. She could still feel the tears on her cheeks, yet her breathing had slowed down to the point that her chest hardly moved anymore.

“I give up my life, so that those I wronged may find peace. I hand my soul over to You, to Your grace and mercy. Let my death be my penance, so that I may redeem myself in Your divine light, oh Eothas, Dawn of the World.”

After those words, Emblyn plunged the dagger into her chest with all the force she could muster. She knew she’d fail if she hesitated.

The pain was immediate and hit her with vengeance, but it came too late regardless. The blade had already sunken in to the hilt, scraping bones and piercing soft flesh. Blood was trickling out of the wound, blocked only by steel instead of flesh and skin.

Emblyn gasped, eyes wide, and suddenly the world was thrown out of focus around her as the agony overtook everything else. She hardly noticed when her surroundings tilted and her head hit the floor, as she fell. Palming the knife, she couldn’t bring herself to pull it out. Her strength was fading fast and the world was greying already, what would be the point in trying? Even the pain faded as everything became numb and muted. Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear bells ringing, but wasn’t certain if that was real or just her wishful thinking, as she laid before death’s door.

The world turned black for Emblyn, leaving nothing behind but a vague, quickly fading sense of relief. The cold marble under her skin was gone, as was the burning agony in her chest. The last thing Emblyn felt before her soul was carefully pulled from her dying body, was a sudden flood of deep sadness, that didn’t feel quite like her own.

She was long gone when the giant double doors opened again and a young acolyte entered, confused at finding a dark room, the candles extinguished and even the windows darkened, though it was hardly sunset. She didn’t hear his scream at finding her broken body on the floor.

Emblyn never knew the chain of events her shame and desperation had triggered, that would stretch over the next millennia.

[memoriashell]

this attraction between us

Characters /  Pairing: aegestra + some background edelgard/bernadetta

crossposted on ao3

Notes: i would highly suggest that you read this on ao3 because this is 10k words long and i cannot imagine that looks great on tumblr.

just to note, since this is set post canon, there is absolutely some spoilers in here, probably? this is the part where i admit i've yet to experience the black eagles path in full, so some details are probably a little off.

Summary: edelgard asks hubert to try out a different kind of magic. admittedly intrigued, he agrees.

( and then things get way more complicated for him, because ferdinand accidentally makes himself a test subject )

( these are feelings that cannot be replicated: this is a sentiment to how i love you )

The sound of metal scratching against parchment repeatedly catches his attention first— breaks his concentration as he stares at the source, before opting to ignore the emperor’s odd behavior. Heels clicking against the tile floor after a moment of silence is the second thing to key him into knowing something is off, feet tapping in what he can only gather to be anxious behavior.

Hubert prides himself on understanding— being able to read the empress, a skill he considers highly crucial to anyone with a position as high as his. And yet, despite that, he cannot tell what is bothering her in this moment. What it is exactly that makes her hesitate instead of speaking her mind to the extent she usually would with him, he cannot be conclusive of entirely ( but he can only assume that he is the cause of her anxiety, a stinging realization, for he is not sure what he has done to cause such, but masks his feelings as such is irrelevant to the matter ).

“Your Majesty.” He clears his throat sharply to get her attention; her reaction is delayed, but it gains her attention all the same. It will not do either of them good to think in circles, lest they fail to accomplish anything. While he would like to hope she would come speak of it in time, hoping is not very efficient (or effective); that is the only reason he insists on taking matters into his own hands. “You do not like it when I keep things from you, as do I towards you—” Hypocritical of him to say so, when he will do so anyways, when it means keeping her safe “— and while perhaps it is something you cannot speak to me of, I would like you to know you may speak to me. I would like you to...” He falters ( it is not about what he wants, after all ), follows with a slight shake of his head. “Well, I would prefer if you were not carving into the table with your quill. It is not like you to be so distracted.” He gestures with the end of his pen to where her hand has drifted from the papers and ink has begun to stain the wood. Her expression remains cool, but Hubert can read the subtle flush, the sheepish aversion of her gaze; he does not press as he returns to reading through the paperwork she has brought him. It is not in his place to ask anything more of her ( even if it was, he could not, he thinks— already, he considers apologizing for going too far ).

“If you...” When Edelgard speaks, it is so hesitantly soft and unlike her that he cannot help but give her his attention— even if she has had his attention from the start. “If you could find out...information, about someone without any consequence, would you?”

“Nothing comes without consequence.” He knows this, and he knows she knows this; and yet, she sounds so like a child again, a tinge of curiosity and innocence that they could not hope to hold onto in this world ( and he should not foster such emotions, but he does, and cannot help but indulge her a little, just like this ). “It would depend on the circumstance; do you not agree? If the information would be useful, perhaps it would be worth it. This does not sound like it is something theoretical, however.”

“No, it is not. I cannot hide anything from you, hm?” Edelgard is not upset, if not a little amused. “There are some books that the imperial family keeps as a part of a special collection. I think it’s supposed to be kept secret, though I’m sure they know it exists. I thought I’d check if there was anything there that would help with our...issues.” He’s surprised this is the first that he is hearing of it, all things considered— but there are things that he does not even know, he supposes, there will always be a few things she will keep from him.

“And I presume you were successful?” He doesn’t think there’s much more reason for her reluctance in coming forth with that information, even if he can’t pin down exactly why ( he has a few ideas, knowing his emperor, but he cannot be certain until he hears more from her ).

“It’s...this is not an order, you will not be forced to do this.” She says firmly, as if it has ever been an option he could consider ( it may not be an order, but if it ensures her safety— makes her happy, then it is his duty to see to it ). “I found some  old magic books. Hexes, curses, potions...I don’t know how much of it holds up, nor am I certain if it would be in your area of expertise.”

Hubert snorts at that, as if that would have ever stopped him; his position has always asked more of him than he has had to give, and he will always give himself up for her sake. “Perhaps, perhaps not. It does not hurt to investigate, at the very least. It is your call, if you would like me to test that.”

“I already said that this is not an order.” She sounds mildly disconcerted, but he opts to ignore it. “It does not hurt, is that it? I shall bring you the spellbook later, then.” She’s quiet for a moment, then speaks again. “That wasn’t...er, that was not all, actually. Again, this is not an order but there was a particular section I happened to be intrigued by while checking if it had anything pertaining to our work.”

“And that would be?” He prompts, when she falls silent again.

“...There was a section on love spells.” She looks positively flustered, and if he were a lesser man, he probably would have laughed ( but he is not, so the only outwards reaction he gives is a slight raise in his brows ). “Don’t—Don’t get the wrong idea. Ever since I looked at it, I cannot get it off my mind. It’s tempting. Am I...wrong in thinking so?”

“Nothing comes without consequence. Don’t we have enough to handle as it is?” He says again, as if to remind them both of this fact, there is a country dependent on them not being distracted by trivial matters— while he wants to be against such a thing, all the same, he cannot help but feel intrigued by the prospect. Still, even as strict as he is with her, he cannot help but indulge her too; that is the excuse he will use for this.

( If he could confirm if his affections have any chance, or— no, he’ll do this for Edelgard and her sake only, he swears there are no selfish motivations behind it. His duties come first, and besides that, he does not have the same selfish excuse that she does. Time is not working against him like her life is ).

“If you have a particular place you wish for me to start with, then bring that one to me. I must, of course, run a test to ensure it will not have any adverse side effects, and report back to you with the results when I have reached a conclusion. I would rather not tarnish your name, should something happen.” He says with a note of finality and moves their discussion back to one of the matters they were supposed to be handling. “Now, with regards to the theatre hall...”

While it is, indeed, not quite the kind of magic he is used to, Hubert finds that it is at least a refreshing change of pace, if nothing else. An extra obstacle comes in the form of parts of spells being written in older runes and symbols he is not entirely familiar with, which requires some extra research to decipher them, but that is negligible. He is nothing if not devoted to his work, and it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy a good challenge ( Ferdinand is enough proof of that— there is no other reason as to why he would put up with such, and he thinks that feeling is mutual ).

Speaking of— he still needs a test subject for this. He had briefly, briefly considered posing it as a challenge and using Ferdinand for this, test a potion in his tea; it is not a course of action below Hubert ( has he not poisoned many a person before in a such a fashion? ), but he cannot find himself considering doing so in good faith. This isn’t about him, this is for Edelgard; he won’t let his own affections get tangled up in this. He is a little less averse to the thought of using the others, however, that is no different than what he usually does.

The sharp scent of fresh coffee is what pulls his attention back to reality, not the footsteps approaching him; and he figures it must be one of the servants because few others would consider entering his study. Hubert lifts his head as he reaches for his cup, and—

— gives a sudden jump as he nearly bumps into Ferdinand, hovering above him.

( Of course it is him, he thinks, very few others would invite themselves into his study; and he thinks so in a manner almost so fondly that it is frightening. Almost ).

“Is there a reason you must lean in so close?” He opts to forego any greeting— he doubts he even cares anyways— as he leans back and shuts his eyes for a moment ( if he seems flustered, neither of them acknowledges it ).

“To see what is keeping you.” Ferdinand responds, not missing a beat and goes on. “You were late.”

“Was I?” He does not think he has any meetings he is missing, before he understands what the other means. There is no set schedule, no precise routine to when they get together for their ‘tea time’ as it were; but there is an unspoken sort of agreement between them about it, and despairingly, Hubert realizes that he’s right; even over such frivolous matters, he does not like to concede that he is correct. He breathes in sharply, hand rising to his temple. “I— Forgive me, I did not realize...I will have to make it up to you another time.”

“Edelgard mentioned you were doing some research for her. I figured you probably were overworking and needed a break.” He’s right, but he refuses to acknowledge that; again, he is too stubborn to yield, that is how their relationship has always worked. A pause, and he hears a curious hum from the other. “Is this stuff for the crests? I could not read that book you have open.”

His eyes snap open and without thinking about it, he tugs Ferdinand away from ( almost quite literally ) sticking his nose into the brew he was working on. “No.” Hubert says firmly, and while he considers telling him the truth, he opts to keep it secret for at least the time being. “This is different, and I would appreciate it if you did not cause me to need to make an antidote for this quite yet.”

“But you could, I am quite sure.” There’s a hint of a challenge to his tone, an underlying warmth— he gives the other a very stern look in response.

“I’d rather not test it.” On you, goes unsaid; but perhaps Ferdinand is sharper than he seems and understands nonetheless, because he leaves the brew alone.

“But if it was for the crests, you would let me be involved, right? I do think I would be able to make myself quite useful as a test subject.” Or not. Hubert takes back any remarks on Ferdinand understanding anything; he’s not entirely upset, even if he disagrees with him— even competitively, his intentions are well meaning, despite not entirely appreciated by him.

“That would be Lady Edelgard’s call, not mine.” Which isn’t entirely false to say, even if he doesn’t particularly like the thought of using him like— that. Let him get involved once risks have been eliminated, but he knows better than to try and convince Ferdinand when he has his mind set.

Ferdinand quirks a brow curiously, and for a moment Hubert expects a callous remark on how he should not defer to Edelgard like that; but nothing comes and instead a hand is offered out to him. “Well then, shall we go out...outside, I mean. Sitting around in a stuffy room with whatever you’re making— surely, it will all get to your head if you stay here?”

He would usually be inclined to disagree but staying here means the noble will be more prone to poking into his things whilst he tries to work, which is not ideal when he has something that he can’t predict the side effects of on his hands. He sighs, putting out the fire beneath the brewing pot; accepting the other’s hand as he stands and takes a moment to steady himself from the dizziness that comes from suddenly rising after so long. He cannot remember how long it has been since he’s taken a break. “Only briefly, then. I have things to finish.”

“Briefly.” Ferdinand agrees, but they both know that it will not be anything close to short; he had already resigned himself to such the moment he’d been aware of the other’s presence. It is fine if he indulges himself in a break like this, he will just have to work longer later to make up for the lost time.

As he follows him out of the room, he can’t get the distinct feeling that something feels off but he can’t quite place what. Hubert is distracted from any lingering thoughts by a tug on his arm and fondly, he will mask his feelings and devote his attention to the other for the duration of the time they spend together.

He returns to his study refreshed and feeling much lighter; the only beneficial part to being around someone like Ferdinand, he would argue, is that his mood tended to rub off on people. His mood quickly dissipates when his gaze lands on his desk, which has gone and become a mess in his absence, and he hasn’t a clue why. At some point while he was gone, the brew had begun to bubble over, which feels like quite an ominous sign, and all sorts of things have been knocked down from his desk— a broken bottle of ink rapidly drying on the floor. He frowns and goes to close an open window before going to grab an old rag so he can begin cleaning up the mess. As he does so, however, he freezes in place, a chill down his spine.

He realizes two things with startling speed. One, the book is gone from the stand it’d been resting on.

And ( arguably ) more alarmingly, there is a stray hair in the brew mixture, the bright ginger color that Hubert can only presume means it belongs to Ferdinand von Aegir.

He takes some time to clean up while he mulls over these facts— more importantly, what to do about it. Once he has managed to gather his wits together and realize the terrible irony of the situation ( that for once, is not amusing to him ), he supposes that first, he’d best check up on Ferdinand. Which is easily done, since the only person who would have ever been easier to find is Caspar, out of virtue of being louder. He is momentarily derailed by tripping over a cat sitting outside his door, but doesn’t think more of it beyond one of the kitchen cats getting lazy.

True enough, the boisterous sound of his laughter is easy to pick out in the halls, and the sound of his footsteps thudding down alerts them to his arrival; Ferdinand is already half turned towards him, while Bernadetta takes one glance at his face before taking a hasty retreat ( he can’t tell if that means he must appear more or less angry than usual. Ah well ).

“Back already? Or did you need something important?”

Hubert ignores him as he stalks forward, jabs at his chest with his finger. “You—” He hisses and bites down on his tongue to pause, takes a breath to calm himself. Ferdinand was competitive, not intentionally screwing up with the results of his research, that was not in his nature to do— no use in getting angry. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Why, I did not know you cared.” He sounds amused— even jokingly, that stings a little more than he would like to admit. “Should I not feel all right?”

He gives him a steely glare— of all the times to not be serious. “Are you sure? Nothing feels different?” He doesn’t sense that he’s lying, but...he’s not certain if that’s a good sign or not.

“No different than any other day. Are you feeling all right?” Ferdinand leans forward slightly. “You were fine earlier. Did you catch a cold from being out? A heat stroke?”

“Never mind. Must have been wrong.” He grumbles, arms crossed— he’s uncertain how to feel about this, somewhere between disappointed and relieved by his lack of reaction. “Nonetheless, you will inform me if you feel any different.”

“You did something wrong? That doesn’t sound like you.” The frown on his face makes him hope that he’s taking him at least somewhat seriously. “Was that all? ‘detta was asking for help with some things...”

He grits his teeth. “Just. Promise me you will report to me if there’s any change.”

“I shall have a detailed report written up for you and everything.” As dismissively as the comment is made, Hubert has the feeling he means that literally, and can only stand in silence as Ferdinand walks away.

“One down, one to go.” He murmurs to himself and turns to head back down the hall.

Serving directly under the emperor meant Hubert was almost far too aware as to what Edelgard’s schedule was— and loath as he was to report failings on his part or involve her in such trivial matters, this one is not so simple to resolve ( well, he briefly had entertained the thought of killing Ferdinand and solving his affections once and for all, but that would still leave issues to be dealt with ). He takes care of other business that they have as he waits until her dealings are done for the day before he bothers her with the news.

“Lady Edelgard.” He greets her as he approaches, a stiff bow as he waits for her to acknowledge his presence. “I am afraid I have some unfortunate news.”

“I’m already terrified by how proper you’re acting.” She is teasing, clearly; and nods a head at him to continue.

“The tome of yours that I was borrowing has gone missing. I take full responsibility for the actions that have led to it. I have already made plans to search the grounds for it and interrogate the servants, but I am not certain it has remained here.”

“But would someone have wanted to steal it? For all they know, it is just a book.” She taps a finger to her cheek in a thoughtful manner. “Not that I don’t believe you. It isn’t quite like you to misplace things.”

“It was kept a secret for a reason.” He cannot conclude many other reasons for its disappearance in such a short period of time. “I also regret to inform you that we may need a new prime minister.”

“I thought you two quit quarreling ages ago.” Edelgard raises her brows at him. “Might you inform me the reason you say so?”

Years of practiced facial expressions help him keep his expression in checked, otherwise his flustered embarrassment would be almost painfully obvious. “He may have a hex on him.”

“I though we were testing love potions?” There’s a moments pause before her face twists in a slight grimace. “Ah, I see your issue. So he’s taken an interest in you, then? I admit, I’m not sure I would’ve expected this to be what you are upset about.”

She’s getting too much amusement out of his suffering, he thinks. “If only it were that simple. He says he feels no different, so...I am not entirely certain what happened. I would have just made an antidote to try and fix it, but without the spellbook I’m not keen on worsening things. At least for now he is still alive.”

She sobers up a little after that. “That is an issue, to say the least. Well, work on finding the book. We’ll figure things out as soon as we make more progress. Perhaps you can see if there are any experts to these kinds of matters?”

“We should have some contact that can gather that information for us. I’ll see to that it is done as soon as possible.” He nods his agreement and waits for her to dismiss him before taking his leave.

While he has other people looking into matters for him, he cannot just abandon his actual work to do so ( though arguably, Ferdinand becoming incapacitated would become a work related issue ). Nonetheless, he does not have time for lapses in judgement— weakening his guard in any sense. No, as long as those despicable people linger in the shadows, his duty to the emperor remains a priority.

Ferdinand never comes to him reporting any change, so he does not see him for some few odd days— if Hubert is purposefully going out of his way to avoid him, he does not admit so— does not make such easily apparent. Admittedly, he misses the presence of soft honey locks and the lingering scent of tea— he has no time for such sentimentality, to waste his time on pleasantries, and he is sure Ferdinand has hardly noticed his absence in any case. His only companion during this time is a cat from the kitchen that seems to have taken a liking to him— a rare occasion given such creatures usually flee at first sight, but it is a welcome distraction from everything else going on; if not one that makes him chuckle at the ironically fitting image that this nearly creates.

( Really, all it does is cement how desperate, how disgustingly pathetic he is. What a cold and lonely monster he’s let himself become— he cannot help but feel some sort of regret at a time like this. He wonders if before, he would have even noticed that he felt lonely ).

Hubert keeps himself busy with ‘work’ up until Edelgard pleas with him to not overwork himself ( which, he will acknowledge she has a point, he will be far more useless to her if he cannot do a thing ), though it still takes a thinly veiled threat for  him to truly get moving. He compromises with himself by grabbing some papers to read through as he sits out in the courtyard with some coffee—he certainly needs the extra boost in energy disguised in his normal drinking habits.

He is not certain how much time passes— not much, if the sun in the sky is to be of much indication; but he is keenly aware of when he is no longer alone, raising his head and spooks Bernadetta in doing so. “Ah. It’s just you.” If he is honest, he had forgotten she was still visiting— ever the shrinking violet, she wilts when his gaze meets hers.

“I...sorry, are you— you’re busy, aren’t you? I don’t mean to bother...” A tinge less of self-loathing is present when she speaks, a marked change from the girl he remembers in years prior. He shakes his head, and gestures to an open seat.

“I am seldom not busy.” It is mostly true to say, and he waits for her to sit before resuming. “Has your business with Lady Edelgard gone well? I have not heard much about it.”

“Oh, yes, o-of course. It’s always a pleasure to work with her.” She says it so such earnestly that Hubert does not doubt it to be true ( it is only those who go against her ways that have any issue to take with her, after all ). “I was beginning to think I would not see you at all, actually. I, I didn’t even hear you sulking in the halls like you usually do when Lady Edelgard has her meetings.”

He considers pointing out to her that she had already seen him, that day with Ferdinand ( or arguing that he does not sulk, thank you very much ), but does not do so because more pointedly— “You were looking for me?” And her face pales a little as she claps her hands over her mouth, a rapid shake of her head— ah, right. He has to remember who he’s dealing with here, upon seeing how fearful she seems to have become ( it doesn’t sting so much these days, and yet stings more after all this time ). “Bernadetta. I am not angry with you.” He reassures; insulted perhaps, mostly amused, if a little pitying. “I am sure Lady Edelgard would not have minded passing on a message if that was the case. Or am I to assume this matter concerns her?”

“No— y-yes? I’m not sure.” There is a crease present in her forehead, expression apprehensive. “I...er, um...it’s about Ferdinand!”

Hubert raises a brow at her at her exclamation. “I am not certain what this has to do with Edelgard. Nor have I heard of any such issues about him.”

“That’s exactly the problem. You haven’t heard anything because you’ve been—” She pauses to wordlessly gesture at his paperwork. “He’s worried about you. You’ve been avoiding him...? That’s what he thinks, anyways.”

“I have done no such thing. It would be unprofessional, and severely beneath me.” He’s no stranger to lying, feels no guilt in doing to towards her ( that said, apparently Ferdinand is sharper than he gave him credit for. Unsurprisingly. He’s not sure how to feel about all this ). “He knows where to find me if he has any need for me.”

“Hubert.” Her mouth is pressed in a firm line, hands clasped together. “If I may say...you should really go speak with him. You act like you hate him, but you, uhm, you aren’t as cold as people think you are, really. Or as you think you are. Edelgard might tease, but she trusts you for a reason. I...” She pauses, floundering in her speech for a moment— he doesn’t bother to point out the flaws in her reasoning, for Edelgard’s trust only comes with knowing some of his secrets ( and that doesn’t even make either of them entirely good people to trust, arguably ). “It doesn’t even...even need be much. But I think it’d make him happy.”

It’d make him happy? Hubert can hardly stifle a snort at such a concept. It’d make himself happy as well— but since when was he whimsy to his own wishes? The only person’s happiness he cared about was Edelgard.

( Or at least, that’s how it had been— when exactly that had changed, he cannot be certain of; in any case, he cannot deny he is briefly swayed to listen to Bernadetta ).

But he does not, in the end. He will not outwardly acknowledge her thoughts, raising his cup to his lips with a hint of melancholy in his expression— the way she spoke so honestly, he can’t help but wonder if that was because of the emperor...it reminds him of her, anyways. “I see that your time with Edelgard has been well spent. I hope you’ve been as good an influence to her as she is to you.”

“H-Huh?” Bernadetta’s cheeks pallor as she jumps to her feet, hastily waving her arms about. “No! I do not think it is anything like that at all! Rather, I—” She comes to a brisk halt as she sits back down, face red in embarrassment as she twiddles her fingers. “Ah. Sorry.”

Hubert bites his tongue to not laugh at her, a twinkle of amusement in his gaze. “You are quite fine, Bernadetta. Please continue to do as you do, for both of their sakes.” He does not think he needs to elaborate as he stands, gathering his papers as he prepares to take his leave. Indeed, human emotions are fickle things— she is best to serve them in ways he cannot. That is how things are meant to be.

“W-Wait—!” He has only made it a few feet when she calls out to him, turns to peer back at her. “Hubert, I-I...” Her voice falters, as if she is hesitating on what to say. “Thank you.” He does not have anything to say to that, and regards her with a sharp nod in acknowledgement— he really is no good when it comes to such sentimentalities.

( As he turns to leave for real, he misses the way she chews on her lip and watches after him )

Despite Bernadetta’s best attempts at ‘encouraging’ him, Hubert does not make any attempts to approach Ferdinand— if anything, he goes out of his way to make himself more scare to find by leaving temporarily on other business, since he is not making any progress on things at home.

( These tarnished hands of his, having never belonged to the light— it only serves to reaffirm that he is doing the right thing; he should not drag down anyone else into the shadows he lingers in ).

When he returns to report their progress, Edelgard greets him with a cheery expression, Bernadetta accompanying him— she seems to take a particular interest in not looking at him, so he can’t help but feel a little suspicious ( nothing against her personally, he just doesn’t like the feeling he’s getting ).

“I have some good news for you.” He simply quirks a brow at her, nodding for her to continue. “We found the tome. And by we, I mean Bernie did—”

“I am so sorry!” Bernadetta interrupts before she can continue speaking. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to hide it from you, but I didn’t, uhm, I didn’t know how to bring it up to you.”

Hubert has to think for a moment before understanding why exactly she’s apologizing. “You wished to speak to have spoken of it the other day, is that it?” Annoyance slips into his expression as he sighs, shaking his head at her. “I’m not that upset. Thank you for bringing it to us, nonetheless. May I inquire as to where you found it?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Edelgard speaks before she can answer his question. “There’s some bad news. I already started looking at antidotes.”

“Is there none?” He assumes the worst, naturally. “If that is the case, I apologize greatly for the trouble I have caused.”

“Was I not the one who encouraged your research?” She looks a little miffed, before shaking her head. “No, rather, the likely antidote requires an ingredient we do not find around here.”

“Send someone out to retrieve it, then? Or is it something that could be bought?”

“I considered that. However...I would like someone to check up on the territory it is from. Diplomatic matters.”

“So, that is to say...” Hubert has a feeling he knows where she is going with this, and he is not fond of it.

“I am sending the minister of the imperial household with the prime minister, of course.

“I cannot approve of such.” For multiple reasons. “It would not be a good move to leave the empire with less...guards.” That is an understatement— does she not  think those people would take advantage of an absence like that? What she is thinking, he cannot discern; while she can surely take care of herself, that does not mean she should be left without protection.

“And thus, I’ve already seen to it that it would be taken care of so you would have no need to worry. Bernie’s going to extend her stay here, and Dorothea’s supposed to come report her findings soon as well. And as an extra precaution, I’ve already informed Byleth of the circumstances and asked them to be here as well. Think of it as a well-deserved break. You two have been busy as of late.”

He is almost surprised at how well thought out this all is. “You’ve planned this out well, I see. Have you informed Ferdinand as well, then?”

“He helped with planning, of course. I had to make sure there were no obvious flaws in my logic.”

He purses his lips, but he has no good reason to disagree with her. “Very well then. When are we to leave?”

“At your discretion. I presume you need time to prepare before traveling again, but I would like you two to be able to leave as soon as possible. I know you would like this all over as soon as possible as well.”

Hubert stops avoiding Ferdinand only to inform him that they will be leaving in two days’ time, then promptly returns to his room to pass out for the first time all week.

It’s not like Ferdinand to be so quiet. Not that Hubert, of all people, has an issue with it; which does not mean he is not concerned, even if he has no right to be, but there is a feeling right on the tip of his tongue that he cannot name. Indeed, it is silent between them until it is pointed out that they should stop for the night before it gets too dark and put their horses at risk. Tasks are quickly relegated— Ferdinand takes the horses since he is better suited to care for them, and Hubert goes to hunt for their dinner as he fares better in killing things.

( That feels more ominous than he would like it to ).

By the time Ferdinand has returned with two well-watered and mostly fed horses, he has managed to start a fire and begin cooking their meal.

“I forget you are not a bad cook. Smells edible, at least.” Ferdinand speaks as he approaches, sits himself down next to the fire— either he has decided to break the silence between them, or he’s trying to stay on his good side. He decides the difference is not really that important.

“Yes, well— unless you mean to say you’ve improved at cooking, I think I quite recall why you were never on cooking duty well enough to not subjugate us to that. As well as why I would only trust you with drinks. I like being able to tell my food was alive at some point, after all.” Hubert pauses to glance to the side briefly, when he sees the other leaning towards the flames. “Sit further back, Ferdinand. I have no wishes to deal with your hair catching on fire. Are you cold?”

“You don’t? Why Hubert, I would not have guessed you cared.” His bitterness is so scathing that he almost physically recoils— however, Ferdinand complies with his request and moves away from the fire (but closer to him in doing so). That is the fury he had been expecting to face eventually; the silent tranquil of their travels had been Ferdinand’s wordless fury from the start.

( Well, Bernadetta had tried to warn him in her own way— he had mentally prepared himself for this, it is only his fault that he had not chosen to take action ).

Despite that, however, Hubert chooses to deflect— if nothing else, he is good at doing that. “I don’t know what you are speaking of.”

“That is exactly what I mean.” Ferdinand sounds less bitter and more— tired? He cannot tell entirely of the unspoken emotion in his voice. “You might not be the most warm and open person around, but this is pretty low for even your standards. I think I quite miss the way you hated me during our academy days. At least then it was clear how you felt.” This is the most he has spoken all day, and he can only guess this is only a small part of what he has been stewing over for however long this has been bothering him. “I cannot tell if this treatment from you is because I have said something to displease you and this is your way of being angry now; or if something that I have done has irritated Lady Edelgard— but I must please ask you to give me some peace of mind on this matter before you choose to dispose of me.”

“I—” Any and all words that come to mind immediately die on his tongue as he stares at him incredulously. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be, but then, you do not even know what you are apologizing for, do you? I am not a fool, Hubert. Clearly, this was simply an excuse to be able to kill me without any witnesses present.”

( And yet, you still chose to come along without protest, believing that? Hubert cannot help the amused fondness that comes with that thought. Yes, you certainly are foolish, Ferdinand )

“I am not angry with you.” Is the first thing he manages to say, biting his tongue as to not snicker at him as he meets the other’s gaze. “Nor do I have any plans of killing you. It would be quite inconvenient to do so.”

“You...you are not planning to kill me?” He sounds so surprised that he almost balks a little. “Then what has been the reason for your behavior as of late? You have avoided me as if I had the plague!”

“No. Though I do admit the prospect was appealing...I am kidding, Ferdinand.” Mostly kidding, anyways— he is quick to add on when he sees the pallor of the other’s face ( he forgets that Ferdinand does not handle jokes well, to say the least ). “I...I do apologize. It was not my intention to give you that impression. I am not inclined to share details, but...some of the work I have been doing for Lady Edelgard has not gone well. I did not and do not intend to get you involved in such affairs, however, so I have admittedly made myself rather scarce as of late. Forgive me, it was a foolish thing of me to do.” He dislikes the way he makes himself sound much more noble than his actions have actually been.

“Yes, quite foolish of you.” Ferdinand murmurs with a hint of something— amusement perhaps, before clearing his throat. “Are we not equals, Hubert? I know there are matters your loyalty to Edelgard prevents you from speaking about, but I would think something as simple as wanting some space is something that could have been said. Do you not trust me to leave it at that?”

( No, they are not, that is what he wants to say; they are far from being equal. Even before the old rulings had been cast aside, disregarding their crests or lack thereof— no, they could not be on even footing, because Ferdinand would never stoop so low in the name of a noble, and Hubert would do everything in his power to accomplish their goals ).

“Of course.” He says, and well, that much is true— he trusts him some unspeakable amount. “I will consider it henceforth.”

“Please do. I would like to not have to question my livelihood in the future.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile, even when his eyes do not meet his— hesitation laces his features. “I missed speaking to you like this, if I am to be honest.”

Thinking about it seriously, he’s not certain if he could ever actually go through with killing Ferdinand— it would not be a hard thing, and he would do it if Edelgard commanded him to do so. But could he live with that? It makes his chest tight to even consider, and he ponders when hands as disgraced as his has ever hesitated— when he got to be so soft over the thought of killing someone.

( Then again, it is not like he would feel like this for just anyone ).

“I—” Hubert hesitates, and in doing so notes a sharp stench and comes to the realization that is the scent of their dinner burning; getting to his feet to try and salvage it while he still can. Despite not saying it, it goes understood—I missed you too.

And even the ruins of their meal cannot put a damper on his mood.

They arrive in the neighboring territory late the next afternoon and spend it getting acquainted with the ruling nobles of the land and discussing between themselves what they need to get done for Edelgard. That is one of the easier things— even if Ferdinand will challenge his choices, it keeps them in check, assures that they are working towards the same goal.

Less easy is that with their presence brings an audience— the girls that stand from a distance as they giggle and ogle Ferdinand are bearable ( if not annoying, but understandable— it had always been a bit of an unspoken agreement that Ferdinand was one of the more attractive members of their class ). No, it is the faces that linger in the shadows that leave him less easy— he is fairly certain they are not a member of that despicable group, and concludes they are likely just people against the changes Edelgard wishes to make and are eying them, messengers of that change. He cannot blame them, for sudden change is difficult for people— all the same, he has sworn devotion to seeing her vision to fruition, so he cannot let such people blemish her view.

( The sacrifices made— well, perhaps they are not in vain, he would like to think ).

That said, they do not stay any longer than they need to, however. Neither of them like being away from the empire, even if the emperor is in capable hands. Hubert goes out of his way to gather the ingredient that they need, unbeknownst to Ferdinand, and once all their business has concluded, they make the travel back home. Traveling is much smoother this time, given that neither of them have any need to go out of their way to avoid each other— and it is easier when he does not need to be concerned about any silence.

Unfortunately, it does force him to think about other things, now that he has given up on purposefully avoiding him. The truth stares at him in the face, and yet— he cannot accept it. For all that Ferdinand has revealed, something does not add up. Is that the true nature of the hex he’d accidentally casted? He supposes that he won’t get the answer to that just yet, but as he mulls over it, he cannot help but feel like he’s missing something.

Some tactician he makes.

The ground next to him dips and a sudden warmth breaks him away from his train of thoughts. “If you are cold, I think the horses to be a much more suitable source to go to.”

Ferdinand shakes his head, scooting closer to him as if just to disagree with his sentiments. “The fire is good enough. I do not think I am going back to sleep, anyhow, so I thought I would offer to take over watching now.”

Hubert watches the way his hair is illuminated by the flames of the fire for a moment before responding. “Go sleep while you can. I can keep watch for a while still.”

“It’s okay. I shall just steal some of the coffee you have been hiding.” The way he mumbles his words makes it hard to tell if he is as awake as he claims to be.

“Do not expect me to pity you if you fall off your horse tomorrow.” He says plainly, and then it fades into silence between the two of them, having nothing further to say on the subject, both intent on staying awake. Hubert briefly entertains himself by glancing upwards, at the sky and observes the stars ( he will return to paying attention to his actual surroundings in a moment, but it is hard to do so with the warmth leaning against his shoulder ).

A low croon causes him to start— it is only with the grumbled voice against his shoulder that he realizes that it was Ferdinand ( of course it was, the logical side of his mind reasons, there shouldn’t be anyone else out here ). “Sorry. I did not realize you could sing. Well, that is.”

Ferdinand hums to acknowledge him, a moment before he offers a response. “I am rather rusty, these days. I suppose even if professor paired us together in group tasks, they knew well enough to not force us into choir practice together.”

“I still maintain that it was your fault for our short fallings.” Hubert huffed. “I believe Byleth realized after a while it was best not to force me into choir and let me focus on other subjects instead.”

“Says the one that clung to the pegasus the entire time.” The other retorts, knowingly— he pointedly does not look at the smug expression the other surely has.

“I am not to be blamed for that.” He opts to change topics, staring blankly at the burning fire. “I am not familiar with what you were singing, may I inquire what it was? You— it sounded lovely.”

“A compliment? You must really want to know.” He laughs, soft and melancholic. “Just a lullaby I remember hearing often as a child. Did no caretaker of yours ever do such a thing?”

“I do not recall.” He says, a little more soft and vulnerable than he means to; but for a moment he remembers a warm voice and a soft figure that had tucked him into bed and spoken words of love ( his mother is such a stranger to him that he cannot recall her in detail— just that she was gone from this world now ).

“I see.” Ferdinand muses, and there is only a moment before Hubert finds an arm hooked around his shoulders and tugging him close. He is stiff as he is tucked against the other’s chest, a soft lilt falling from his lips. The rumble of his chest proves to be soothing, however, and relaxes after a bit.

( There is no logical explanation for any of what is happening, he thinks, as he is lulled to sleep by a hand in his hair and words to a song he has never known )

“I see someone has missed your presence.” Edelgard sounds amused when she has found him, days after they have returned home. One glove has been sacrificed to the noble cause of trying to keep the cat entertained while he does his work ( however, he has a sinking feeling that the quill pen will attract its attention sooner rather than later, and he will have to make sure the ink is a safe distance away from the papers ).

“It is disappointing to know a cat shows me more affection than most people.” He says solemnly— does not mean a word of it, but does need to acknowledge her in some form.

“Very funny. Any changes since you been back?” She inquires, flipping through one of their other tomes as a means of amusement.

“No. No harm no foul, I suppose, but the issue is that we don’t really know what happened.” Putting aside his paperwork for the moment, he grabs the spellbook to flip through its pages again. “I’m sure there’s an explanation in here somewhere, it’s just a matter of where. Although worst case, I do think we will soon be in contact with a more experienced spellcaster to solve this for us.”

“At least there’s some progress.” She leans over his shoulder to look as he scans pages idly— sticking her hand out after a moment. “Wait, let me see that.” She turns back a few pages, finger pointing to one section in particular. “Hubert, I think this is the answer to our issue.” She pats his shoulder before leaving, seemingly satisfied with the conclusion she’d reached. He stares after her for a moment before turning back to read text he has probably read before, and—

“A love spell of any variety will not work in the case of the intended target being infatuated with the caster or intended recipient of said affections.” He reads aloud, as if in disbelief— he has read this text before. It does not help him feel any more or less certain of the possibility that Ferdinand had been in love with him from the start.

But there’s still something that doesn’t quite add up, in his mind.

( He just can’t quite put his finger on what exactly )

As per usual, the answers are staring at him right in the face, and the realization comes to him suddenly, in the middle of his morning coffee. He scoops up the cat from where it had been laying at his feet with a mewl of complaint— he ignores it for the moment for the sake of some peace of mind as he stalks down the hallway.

He had always assumed this cat had been one of kitchen cats, but when he thinks about it, the first time he’d seen it was on the same day as a certain persons’ arrival. He comes to a stop outside Bernadetta’s door and knocks; this is one of those occasions where her being an introvert was to his advantage, and thankfully she is there to open the door soon enough.

“Ah— Hubert! I’m sorry, was she bothering you?” The orange stripped tabby is pulled from his hold with a meow that the both of ignore, head bowed slightly. “Edelgard, ah... Lady Edelgard mentioned that she’s stalked a claim in your study.”

“No, it is quite alright.” He only needed to affirm his suspicions, anyhow. “However, since you will be leaving soon, I figure it is for the best she does not get too attached, yes?”

“Ah— right! Y-Yes, we only have a few more days here, so...” She trails off, demeanor sullen. He does not have the time for it— nor is he very good at dealing with such emotions, so he simply glosses over it.

“Right. Do enjoy your remaining time outside of your room, perhaps? And if I do not see you again before you leave, safe travels.” Without waiting for a response, Hubert turns on his heel and sets off for his next destination to get the remainder of his answers.

“Don’t give me that look.” Edelgard frowns at the skeptical glance he throws her way— he knows her well enough to know she is speaking the truth and not hiding something this time.

“I would just like to know what exactly was intentionally planned. You were genuinely intending to use it for yourself, I know that much.” Indeed, the emperor may act at times, but the pure curiosity she had approached him with that day had been genuine.

“Sort of, correct. I was initially very curious about its uses, and if we could have used it for anything. And I was going to use it for myself, but...I was actually going to give it to Ferdinand, once we knew it would work.”

“Pardon?” He doesn’t quite follow her logic.

“You always work so hard for me, Hubert. You don’t let yourself be happy. Is it so wrong for me to want to see my friend, my...my brother have something good, for once?” That connection between them is not something they usually acknowledge— he does not say a thing about it other than a slight grimace. An emperor should not be announcing even loose relations to someone like him, nor should she be worried about someone as lowly as him. Her lips press together slightly, a tinge of frustration. “Besides, I am sick of seeing you two looking at each other like that and not do a thing about it. Had we not come up with replicable results, I would have just given him a placebo— I was initially unaware that it wouldn’t have worked anyways, with that catch.”

Hubert is silent for a moment— there’s a lot to unpack in what she’s just said, and quite frankly he does not have the time to think about it. Not now, at least; it may be worth mulling over later. “And Bernadetta’s cat?”

“That part was unplanned. I hadn’t realized she had the cat with her at first. I didn’t know until she brought the book back to me. It worked better to have you under the assumption that it was Ferdinand that was affected, not her cat. All that aside, at least we know it worked, so at least it was not all for waste.”

Everything adds up, more or less.

“I’m...a little unhappy that you decided to do things this way.” Rather— she should not have to devote her energy to something like this. What’s done is done though. “I am happy to be at your side and serve you, do not imply otherwise. But...thank you for looking out for me, sister. You’ve done enough now.”

“Have I?” Her expression looks a little torn— like the natural leader in her, wishing to service her people, has failed. Like she has failed him, somehow; and he wishes he could give her some sense of comfort in this moment. “I’m not too certain. I suppose the rest is up to you two now.”

“Mm. So, I presume you do not need the rest of this to be done, yes?” He inquires, and she shudders after a moment.

“Yes. After witnessing what a...mess this all started, I decided it would be best to take matters into my own hands. We’re best off leaving this to an expert.”

“Why, this is a change in pace; I hardly get asked out by you. Usually I have to be the one to pull you away from your work.” Ferdinand greets, as easygoing as ever. “What a special occasion this must be.”

“You could say that.” Hubert agrees, watching as the other sits across from him. “I believe I have not sufficiently apologized for my recent transgressions, so. Here we are.”

“Ah, so it is not a trick of my nose and you are indeed hiding something from me.” The gleam in his eyes is most certainly one of intrigue now.

“I should have expected you would notice.” He had expected as much, truthfully; a snort as he hands over a bag. “Very well then, take this. It’s from one of our nearby neighbors.”

“It smells not half bad!” Which is probably the closest to a compliment, from him. “So, what is this really about? I doubt you have simply called me out just for this.”

“I thought you might like something to drink while I explain the recent events. As you can see, I already have my drink.” Hubert shrugs as he gestures to his own cup. As horribly humiliating as this was going to be to explain— the sooner he gets this off his chest, the better ( of the secrets he wants to keep, this is admittedly not one of them ).

“Oh? Is that all right with Edelgard?” Still, he’s already reaching for a kettle to pour the leaves into.

“We’ve finished with it, so yes. Although I would appreciate it if this conversation stayed between us.”

“So this isn’t a crest thing.” Ferdinand concludes, and he raises a brow at him.

“Did you think it was? I hate to sorely disappoint, but no.” He waits for the other to finish preparing his tea before beginning to speak. “Lady Edelgard brought to me a spellbook to study. If you recall that brew I stopped you from messing around with, that had been one of the first attempts at trying.”

“Which is why you were so insistent on making sure it had no effect on me, but it hadn’t. Should it have?”

“I had been under the impression so, yes. I found a stray piece of hair in the brew, a shade strikingly close to yours. However, love spells do not work if the target has an affection for the caster.”

“Love...? Lady Edelgard was having you spend time on love spells?” The full of what he has said finally hits, and Ferdinand jerks back slightly. “Wait, I can explain—”

“Let me finish, Ferdinand. Yes, Edelgard was curious, I was curious, if we could make it work then we would have tried other parts of the spellbook.” He opts to leave out the fact that there has been some behind the scenes match making— he will save him from the humiliation of having to know exactly how invested the emperor was in their love lives. “However, as it turns out, I’d left the window open and the brew unattended to while we had tea that day. Bernadetta’s cat had gotten in and shed some of it’s fur, which had ended up in the brew.” He is admittedly not sure how a cat managed to snatch such a heavy book, but he cannot bring himself to care about it, at this point. “This was a recent revelation to me. I figured that after scrutinizing you as much as I have recently, you at least have the right to know.”

“Hubert, are you saying that the reason you were avoiding me was because you thought I might be in love with you?” He speaks after a brief silence, and sounds much more amused than he has any right to be. Hubert pointedly does not look at him.

“I did not think it to be fair to take advantage of you if you had truly been affected.”

“And yet just now, you would have had tried to get me to confess, you dastardly man.” He waggles a finger at him.

“Confess to what?” Behind his cup, he hides a smirk. “I do not recall ever asking such of you.”

Ferdinand holds his gaze with a thoughtful hum, placing his tea aside. “But you were not averse to it either, hm?”

“I—” He inhales sharply, turning his head to look away from him and ignores the ache in his chest. “That is irrelevant to the matter at hand.”

There is only silence for a long moment, before there is the sound of a chair scrapping against the ground. “Hubert.” A hand grasps at his chin, gently turns his head and forces him to stare into unwavering amber eyes. “Please be truthful with me. Do you...”

Ferdinand does not get the chance to finish speaking, because Hubert grabs onto his cravat and closes the gap between them. This was not exactly how he had planned for things to go, but if he’s learned anything as of late, it is that things do not work out as he has planned, so he is okay with this, finally— he can indulge himself in a moment of weakness, if only for one person ( asides from Edelgard, though he would be lying if he said his devotion to her did not waver, for a brief moment, in his mind ).

And just as quick, he pulls away and sits back in his seat as if nothing has passed— if nothing else, he can have a moment of amusement as the other stares at him in shock. Hubert is suddenly hyper aware of himself, and when he feels warmth settling in his cheeks, he begins to turn away; only stopped by lips pressed against his insistently as Ferdinand leans over him.

“Your hair is getting in my face.” He grumbles when he finally pulls back so they can breathe. Admittedly, it is not as much of a problem as he makes it seem; the way his hair drapes down somewhat obscures their faces and provides some sense of privacy.

“Your own hair is already in your face.” Ferdinand retorts, a hint of smugness that has Hubert rolling his eyes fondly as he leans in to kiss such a pleased expression off his face.

[nofeartina]

Hi you! Did my eyes betray me or do you have a soft spot for Drarry? If so, do you have any fic recommendations? You do have good taste 😄 have an amazing evening 😘

Anonymous said: I would not mind a drarry rec 👀 love from another anon

Anonymous said: 😘 Thanks for the Skam recs! I'm pretty sure I've read 90% of it and I'm probably gonna read them again now 😀 I'm also currently on a Drarry binge and I read Away Childish Things which you recommended. I love it so much so thank you! Are there other Drarry fics you'd recommend ❤❤❤

Hi sweet anons.

OH GOD SORRY!! I know it’s been AGES since I posted my fave Skam fic read in 2018, and two of these asks followed that, my only excuse is that I’ve been super-busy writing the anniversary fic. xD 

Okay, Drarry recs. Before I start, just a little warning. I’ve only recently started reading Drarry fics so I don’t know if I can rec you stuff that hasn’t already been recced a million times, but here goes. :)

Away Childish Things by lettered 

I know third anon mentioned that I’d already recced this once, but it’s just so good that I have to mention it again. Deaged!Harry will tear your heart out and stomp on it and then the fic will slowly put it back together for you. It hurts in all the right ways and I loved it so much. 

Right Hand Red by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)

God, the summary, I want to read this fic every time I see it. Just... this:

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

Mmmmm. Read it, you won’t regret it. :)

You cannot save people, you can only love them by heyitsamorette (AmoretteHD)

The build-up here is amazing. The pacing is slow and perfect and you wonder about Draco just as Harry does. Until you don’t. ;) I really like fics with rebuilding Hogwarts after the war and this is a great one of that. 

Tense by Faith Wood (faithwood)

3k of penetration? What’s not to like? hahahha Good smut is good. :)

An Issue of Consequence by Faith Wood (faithwood)

Jesus Christ, this one. I loved the story, it felt different from what else I’ve been reading in the fandom. It’s impossible not to feel for Draco in this one and it’s well worth a read. :)

Slithering by astolat

I’m a bit weak for astolat’s writing, no matter the fandom. The plot in this one is just really good, and there’s so much lovely tension between Harry and Draco. Which is always good. :D

 Okay, I’m gonna stop here. I’m still slowly eating my way through the Drarry fics on AO3 (I’ll probably never be done lbr xD). But these are some I’ve thoroughly enjoyed. Happy reading! :)

[drarryruinedme7]

Drarry Fics by Faith Wood (recs)

So, I just wanted to link some of my favorite fics by Faith Wood. I was already absorbed in Drarry fanfics, but with her I just fell in love all over again.

Her fics are wonderfully written, funny, with the perfect “smutness”, her humor is very Draco-ish and I just need to share this love with someone. So here they are: 

Draco Malfoy, It’s Your Lucky Day (rating: E; 37K)

Even though he's unarmed, injured, lost in the Forbidden Forest, and facing a possible murder charge, Draco Malfoy gets lucky.

An Issue of Consequence (rating: E; 20K)

Draco has woken up in an alternate universe. Or he has woken up utterly insane. Nothing else can possibly explain why Harry Potter suddenly seems to think he's Draco's boyfriend.

Tense (rating: E; 3K)

Harry and Draco have sex. Very, very slowly. Seriously, this is, like, 3K of penetration.

On Call (rating: E; 4K)

For the rest of his life, Draco will blame what happened this Christmas on the fact that he hadn't thought to bring a book.

Storm in a Teacup (rating: M; 8K)

For reasons he'd rather not think about, Draco is obsessed with Potter's hair. This cannot end well.

Ferocious Determination, Insufficient Deliberation, and a Slightly Wrong Destination (rating: E; 9K)

All Draco wants is sleep, but his bed won't stop talking. More importantly, it refuses to stop looking like Harry Potter. 

Post-War Reconciliations (rating: E; 3K)

Harry needs to make a speech about post-war reconciliations. Unfortunately, he’s a bit distracted.

Sealed with a Kiss (rating: E; 46K)

Harry Potter will fall in love with the first person who kisses him. Draco knows what he must do. A Christmassy Hogwarts fic, this. 

Start with these and then you’ll find yourself drowned in her ao3 page. Good luck!  

[its-love-u-asshole]

hopping into puddles [Ch. 1]

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kuroo Tetsurou

Summary: Tsukishima Kei has bad luck when it comes to a lot of things, mainly when it comes to love. In fact, if it were up to him, he wouldn’t be looking in the first place. But because of a curse brought upon him by his idiotic ancestors, his only hope for a normal life is to find someone who accepts him and his…particularly abnormal nose. Not that it’ll ever happen…

Or at least, that’s what he’s accepted.

Then Kuroo Tetsurou shows up.

Rating: T (will change later)

Warnings: None

Notes: FFFF Okay so I'm really excited to post this, I've been working on it for a few months *_* It's my first multichapter kurotsuki for this fandom so I'm nervous and proud lol. This fic is a Penelope AU, but you don’t need to have seen the movie to read it ^^ It’s also completely written, so it’ll update every Thursday! Please enjoy! Big thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over!

AO3 Version

Love wasn't a reality. Not for him anyways.

He'd learned that a long time ago.

Tsukishima Kei watched through the peephole in his room as laughing men piled into his grand home, taking seats in the spacious living room while his brother greeted them with paperwork and refreshments. Pens were passed out, and his dad gave the usual spiel about secrecy, and legal consequences, and blah, blah, blah. Kei squinted as his father finished talking, allowing the room to erupt into conversations that disrupted the familiar serenity and peace of his home. Obnoxious. Still, he looked. He always looked and listened. The edges of Kei's vision were curved and hazy due to the small opening, but it wasn't like he was nervous or unfamiliar with the sight on the other side of his door. He'd been doing this for years. He glanced down at his watch in disinterest, noting he had two minutes left.

Can we get this over with?

No, he knew his mother was strict about the schedule. Can't risk starting too early and missing out on any potential matches.

Ha fucking ha.

Kei watched in boredom as people began to talk amongst themselves, catching the occasional muffled phrase every now and again, hushed so as to not attract his own family's attention no doubt.

"How bad could it be right?"

"Marrying a Tsukishima is worth anything!"

"I'm curious."

"He'll be charmed by me in no time."

Boring. Stupid. Arrogant. In the end they would all run or curse in disgust when he finally did step out. They always did. Besides, even if they did stay, it wasn't like there was a high chance he'd actually like any of them. Cocky, selfish, that's how they all were. All the men from rich families.

Why did they have to do this anymore? He was twenty-two years old, obviously this method wasn't working. As much as he'd grown used to it, it was exhausting. To get up and get ready once a week, only to be rejected, and then spend the rest of his week cooped up in his house by himself. He wanted it to stop, there was no point anymore. Men and women alike had made it quite clear.

Tsukishima Kei was hideous, a monster. Love wasn't in his cards, and he didn't much care if it wasn't.

At the thought however, he caught sight of his mother through the hole, her head nodding in excitement and her eyes alight with a hope that never seemed to diminish even after so many failed attempts. She had faith someone would stay. She thought someone would look past his appearance and love him for who he was. She believed Kei was more than his face. Oh how wrong she was.

Kei loved his mom, really he did. He wasn't the most affectionate son or brother, but his family was important to him. It was just...they were different from him. They couldn't seem to let these things go. He didn't need someone to complete him, to save him. He wasn't helpless. He'd never fantasized about someone finally giving him the time of day and sweeping him off his feet.

Such thoughts were childish, unreliable.

So instead, he went along with these meetings for his family's sake, having to watch each time as their smiles dropped in sadness and disappointment while his stayed neutral, not surprised in the slightest. Kei looked away from the gathering as he watched his mother turn on the speakers in the living room, connecting with the mic in Kei's room so he could talk to everyone. He no longer wished to see the enthusiasm his parents and brother were parading around the room, so he pressed his face against the door, closing his eyes in frustration as the seconds ticked away. Already he was tired, and he pressed in harder, as if wishing for his face to flatten and for his problems to be gone.

He hissed when the hard, chipped wood irritated his nose, another reminder of its presence as a thorn in his side, in his life. At least if it was gone, he could go outside. He could see the world, romance be damned. I just want to go outside.

Slowly, he reached up to massage his nose, feeling along the ridges he'd become oh so used to, feeling along the unnatural curves. He could count them, one, two, three...

"Kei honey! Your guests are ready!" His mother's chipper voice reached him from the other side of the door, and he heaved a heavy sigh as he picked up the microphone. Her excitement almost made him feel like something would change, that today would be his turning point. But...

As he fumbled with the mic, flipping it on reluctantly, he caught his reflection in the mirror hanging on the left wall, and knew the day would be no different than any other.

See, love really wasn't a reality for him. It hadn't been from day one, all for one singular reason.

Tsukishima Kei was cursed with a lot of things; an unpleasant attitude, a smart mouth, general apathy...but perhaps the biggest was that everyday when he woke up and looked in the mirror, he was greeted with the face of a pig.

--

Kei didn't know his great grandfather. The man had been long dead when Kei was born, but Kei was pretty sure he hated the man.

This was his fault after all.

The Tsukishimas were a proud, esteemed family, they always had been. With an ample fortune and generosity, they were beloved by the public and held in high regards by other prominent families. Despite his large mansion and nice things though, Kei never felt like his family fit the common mold of blue bloods. They were too kind, altruistic, and enjoyed cooking, watching dumb movies, and spending time with their children. It was more than he could ask for really, since he wasn't one for lavish parties or socializing in general. They'd encouraged Akiteru in the same fashion. Kei's older brother had made a pretty good name for himself in the field of literature, befitting someone of his class, but it was his passion since childhood, and his parents had let him pursue it no questions asked, despite chances of failure. With Kei too, they were no different. His family accepted his reclusive nature, his love for reading and botany, and didn't push him to meet any of the expectations which were usually thrust upon young men from affluent families.

However, that didn't mean it had always been that way for the Tsukishimas.

Kei's great grandfather had been a noble through and through, popular with the women from rich families and the center of attention. He was subject to societal pressures and the scrutinizing eyes of his parents, and it had ended up being his undoing.

Or no, it hadn't. It had ended up being Kei's undoing. The old man himself had died in his sleep with little worries, despite his vices, and Kei couldn't help but resent the man.

When his grandfather was in his prime, he'd been one of the most eligible bachelors in society, handsome and charismatic, with many attractive prospects in regards to marriage. However, he'd been greedy.

His grandfather had decided to fool around with one of his servants, a young, poor man with an ill mother to support. Kei's grandfather probably thought it was no big deal, sleeping around and stringing along a poor worker, but he'd forgotten somehow that revenge favored no one, not even the rich. Short sighted, a trait Kei truly detested.

In the end, the servant expressed his love for the noble only to be rejected, and soon after, Kei's grandfather married a high class woman from the neighboring city, and the servant succumbed to his heartbreak and depression. In a fit of agony, the servant's mother plead with the gods and may have even dabbled in the forbidden arts (though that was probably some stupid rumor from the newspaper), in order to lay a curse upon the house of the Tsukishimas.

Of course, it was a myth. There's no telling whether or not Kei's condition was from a spell or a simple birth defect, but well...it was strange. The story itself was pretty tragic, and he'd thought so when he'd first heard it. Though, Kei couldn't say he understood the emotions behind the servant's actions. In the end, his love wasn't returned, but why let something stupid like rejection affect him so much? Emotions were reckless, Kei reasoned, and it was why he tended to shun them.

Further proof of why emotions were the root of evil was what happened after the servant's death.

Fueled with the pain of her son's rejection and scorned love, the old woman willed that the next son of the Tsukishima family be born with the face of a pig.

Simple really, and consequently the reason for Kei's current suffering, almost four generations later. Because life was a bitch and the universe seemed to hate Kei, who'd done nothing wrong, the Tsukishima family was blessed with a long line of girls. Daughters after daughters after fucking daughters.

Well, at least until Akiteru. The issue there was that Akiteru wasn't really a Tsukishima. At the time, Kei's mother and father had been struggling with getting pregnant, and the issue was traced back to Kei's mother. Rather than adopt, they opted for a surrogate in order to keep some of the bloodline in tact, and later on, Kei himself ended up being a happy accident.

Or, it had been happy, until he was actually born. With Akiteru not having a drop of Tsukishima blood, the first boy born to the family in several generations was Kei.

Kei, who inherited the curse as soon as he'd come into the world.

And so started his life of fruitless struggle and letting down his parents. Of course, his family had never made him feel different. They loved him. But...they tried in their own way to remedy the situation, never fully accepting it as the end all. After finding out that plastic surgery was out of the question (thanks curse), his family had resorted to actually giving into the stipulations of the legend.

According to the myth, the only way to break the spell on him, to get rid of his problems, was for one of noble birth to marry Kei.

Well, the actual wording was for "one of your own kind to accept you as their own," but same thing, put less cryptically.

Either way, Kei hated it. All this life, he'd been confined to his room by his parents, given that photographers and magazines everywhere had gotten wind of his supposed abnormality, and were all fighting for a picture, their big payday.

His parents were being protective, too protective for his tastes. In all honesty, Kei didn't care if people took pictures or saw him. What was the difference in being ridiculed by the general public, and being ridiculed in his own home by fleeing men who couldn't stand the sight of him? Which was worse? Kei had spent his whole childhood playing indoors, learning new languages, playing with old dinosaur figurines...alone. Not like Kei loved people, but...

Fresh air, gardens, parks, trips to the planetarium and the movies...

They were things he'd never been able to do, and that stung more than the rejection of a thousand suitors.

--

The first time his mother had brought up a matchmaking session, Kei had been only sixteen, and he'd been rather perplexed with the whole thing. He was still so young after all, way too young for the marriage the curse called for, but his mother wholeheartedly believed in building connections early, weeding out unlikely individuals and getting a sense of what Kei liked. Besides, his parents weren't against him making friends, they just wanted to supervise to make sure no one would be cruel to him.

Embarrassing really.

Back then, the matchmaking sessions were only comprised of one suitor, since his mother insisted it made things more intimate, and allowed people to get to know the real Kei, whatever the hell that meant.

"You're not your nose sweetheart, you have to show them that!" His mother exclaimed happily as she pulled out the clear file on the noble young man.

"But...it's my nose, it's part of me--"

"Honey please, that's nonsense! Now come on, he'll be here soon!"

When the day had actually arrived, Kei hadn't been too concerned with his suitor running away. He was naive then, not nearly as jaded and closed off as his personality was currently. He actually had hope at that point. Sure, he anticipated that the potential lovers would be somewhat surprised but...it was just his nose, or snout really. He didn't think his face was that bad, so surely he'd have to talk to some of them who managed to look past it. He hated to admit it, but he'd actually been nervous. Kei's palms had been clammy as he'd grasped the microphone that day, ready to greet an attractive stranger and possibly his future spouse from behind a door with a peephole in it. Really, the fact the he couldn’t introduce himself directly should’ve been his first indication things wouldn’t go well.

It was dumb, he had reasoned, to put so much hope into the first person, not to mention unrealistic. But...as much as he hated to admit it, all he'd wanted was to break the curse. So, naturally, part of him (the part that wasn't overly standoffish and uncaring), hoped someone would take a shine to him, despite his unpleasant nature.

Kei learned a lot of things that day. The first, was that people weren't genuine in the slightest.

The man was handsome, but he was quite boring in Kei's opinion. Kei wasn't the most socially gifted, he tended to snark, and his jibes often put people off, but he couldn't help his demeanor. He liked to be playful, to argue, to talk about science and music and weird movies, and be presented with a verbal challenge. Finding someone he could hold a decent conversation with was hard, especially with his standards and awkwardness, but this guy wasn't even trying.

It was like he was reading from a script, ignoring any attempt Kei gave him to engage in ways which made the blond actually happy.

"So, are you always this proper?" Kei snorted.

"What? Of course, as I was saying..."

Honestly, he should've known it would be a flop right then and there, but his mother was undoubtedly in the kitchen listening, smiling hopefully. He just had to try a little more.

"I saw that new horror movie online last night and--"

"You have time for that sort of thing? How...quaint, anyways..."

And he did try.

"I like gardening I guess, I have books on--"

"Gardening is usually done by the grounds workers, it's filthy work in my opinion, certainly not suitable for your hands, which I'm sure are lovely."

And tried.

"Have you ever been to an amusement park?"

"What? With all those common people?"

And tried some more, until he wanted nothing but to go back to bed and curl up with a book, because surely that would be better company.

It seemed hopeless, but something churned in Kei's stomach regardless, an emotion he wasn't used to feeling at all and that kept him going throughout the one sided conversation. He was a disappointment, surely he was. He was unable to pull in anyone with his cutting humor and quirks. Logically, Kei knew it wasn't his fault that he was incompatible with the other boy, but he still couldn't help but feel the telltale stings of rejection, and he was the one who was holding the matchmaking session. He held the cards, and yet he felt like garbage. Pathetic, as if this guy mattered at all. God, he should've given up after his fifth attempt to make a connection. But Kei was foolish at sixteen, still had false hopes and vestiges of romantic ideas. So of course, he reasoned and reasoned that things could work out. The guy could break the curse, could maybe learn to like Kei if they talked more, so...

"Have you ever felt trapped?" Kei hated the way his voice cracked, but really, his mother always did say he needed to be more relatable...maybe if he opened up in the slightest...

It was uncomfortable, oversharing, Kei rarely had the strength to be personal with his own family, and this was some random guy.

The other boy's blue eyes lit up at the question, and Kei thought he saw a brief trace of annoyance at having been interrupted again, but he quickly masked his face into a rehearsed, sympathetic expression. "Why Tsukishima," he began, voice soft and touched, "of course I have. I understand you completely, we're quite similar."

"Oh?" It was doubtful, it had to be bullshit, everything in Kei was screaming that it was. This was like one big joke, but he persisted, because he was a fool. Kei, despite his uneasiness, grabbed the thread offered. Maybe the guy wasn't lying after all, maybe he felt bad for Kei, being trapped in the big house, imprisoned by the curse. The prospect of having someone who understood him was so attractive to him and his naive heart. For someone to accept him as one of their own..."How so?"

The guy laughed at that, putting a hand on his neck as he searched for an answer. Another indication of a liar, but Kei ignored it. Idiot. "Well, obviously by my good name and standing."

Oh you've got to be kidding me. "Um..."

"No one can ever seem to look past the rich noble stereotypes, I'm much more than my name and face." The man smiled softly, peering through the peephole as if it would communicate his sincerity better. It was a good answer, Kei would give him that. Hesitantly, Kei looked over to his vanity mirror, catching a glimpse of his reflection. More than my face...

"And surely, you are more than your face. I'm sure there's beauty lying underneath, and I'd be honored to bring it out." The other continued, and Kei's breath caught at his next words. "Let me see the real you, Tsukishima."

Maybe it was his immaturity, his desire for the curse to be broken, or some deep down desire to be wanted, but either way, Kei found himself reaching for the doorknob. The other boy stepped back, seemingly pleased with himself, and Kei felt right then and there that something wrong was bound to happen. But, if he could break the curse, if there was just a chance...

And there was. So, Kei wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts, and opened the door.

The second thing he learned that day, was that people were shallower than he thought. That or, he looked worse than he'd originally thought.

It took all but two seconds for the suitor to gag at the sight of him, and run, taking any last inklings of hope for freedom and romance along with him.

--

Now of course, he had the routine down, knew what to expect. Nothing would change, and he had learned how to let the insults and cries of disgust bounce off of him with every new matchmaking session.

Some things had changed though, as he now also had a one way mirror built into the wall so he could look out into the meeting room and interact with the suitors without having any of them see him. He rarely used it though, it was a bit overwhelming, feeling like he was the center of a large crowd, with everyone staring, even though they really weren't. So, he stuck to the peephole. In addition, all the suitors had to sign forms now, swearing them to secrecy so they couldn't run and tell people about the terrifying pig-faced boy.

Stupid.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue, resigning himself to yet another wasted weekend, and greeted his guests.

The day ended as it always did, with him holding his mother as she cried at another unsuccessful meeting, and himself wishing he hadn't been born.

--

Kuroo Tetsurou had hit a new low.

The suit he was wearing was itchy and a tad too fitting on his broad frame, and he fidgeted awkwardly, unsure of how he was supposed to look. He never wore suits, or at least, he hadn't in a very long time.

The thought reminded him of his current predicament.

He watched as a crew of journalists, many of whom looked like they hadn't showered in some time, fiddled with his coat lining, sloppily sewing in a hidden camera. Next to them sat a stained, yet crisp envelope, with Kuroo's name scribbled on it. It was all that was keeping Kuroo from hightailing it out of there.

Definitely a new low.

"Alright, raise your arm," the main journalist advised him, stepping back and sparing Kuroo's nostrils of his foul cologne. Kuroo did what he was told, and he heard a faint click, the telltale sign of the camera going off.

Ah, clever.

"Alright, its works!" The journalist exclaimed, handing Kuroo a brush and some mouthwash. "Now, you remember the plan right?"

Kuroo nodded, not bothering to grin or make unnecessary conversation. Usually he was a very friendly guy, but these guys just rubbed him the wrong way, and the fact that he was associating himself with them didn't make his conscience happy. He grabbed the brush and mouthwash in confusion. Did he look that much like a bum?

"Good, now would it kill you to look presentable? What's with that hair? You're supposed to be playing the part of a noble..." The crew gave him the once over, clearly not pleased.

Huh, guess I look worse than I thought.

Don't get him wrong, Kuroo thought he was a pretty good looking guy. He was fit, had clear skin and good height, not to mention he could really lay on the charm when he wanted. But...well, he also knew his hair looked like a bird's nest on the best of days, and his strong smirks and general demeanor could make him come off as a delinquent. Not to mention his wardrobe wasn't in the most tip top shape lately.

Which coincidentally, was what got him in this situation in the first place.

"I am a noble, and I even wore my best pants today!" They were the ones without holes in them. His joking tone went ignored by the other men, who reluctantly took back the brush upon seeing how Kuroo's hair was a legitimate lost cause.

"A down on his luck noble, unless you've forgotten," the journalist shot back, waving Kuroo's agency file in front of him. Kuroo winced. "You might be from a prominent family, but you're no richer than a McDonald’s worker, so don't test our patience. We can find someone else."

"N-no!" Kuroo laughed nervously, waving his hands in a flurry. "I'll do it, no worries."

"Good, you seem like a smart guy," one of the other man said while flicking through his phone. "Smart enough to not pass up 50,000 yen at least."

Right. The money. That was why he was here. Kuroo felt gross and pathetic all over again, but damn he really did need that money. The rent on his apartment was covered by his job, but if he wanted to be able to put a down payment on his new place, he needed a boost, just for the month. When he'd been a teenager, he'd had all the money in the world, but when his parents had found out about certain...preferences of his, he was deemed unworthy of the Kuroo family fortune, and was on his own.

It wasn't that bad of course. He had his friends, he had a job he loved, even though it didn't pay super well. But, getting back on his feet continued to be difficult from time to time.

Which was why he was currently standing next to a shifty van across the street from the Tsukishima mansion, getting ready to go in with a large group of nobles way more desirable than him, in order to get a picture of the youngest son of the Tsukishima household.

The youngest son, who apparently was cursed with a hideous appearance, to the point where his parents had to hold these matchmaking parties just to set him up. It seemed almost ridiculous, Kuroo thought as he watched more smartly dressed men enter the house, stopping at the front door to receive some sort of paperwork and have their IDs checked.

It just didn't seem real, but oh well, Kuroo had a job to do. Part of him sort of hoped the young Tsukishima would be snobby or rude, then Kuroo wouldn't have to feel so bad about what he was about to do.

You're going to feel bad anyways, you loser.

Kuroo cringed at himself. Yeah, probably.

Damn his niceness, was it too late to back out?

"Alright, it's time to go in." The journalist's voice shattered his hopes of that, as did the weight of the camera in the secondhand suit jacket. "Now, when he reveals himself, no matter how ugly he is, you need to stay and get that picture. Got it?"

Make me sound worse why don't you.

But well, Kuroo had been the one to respond to their ad. He had no one to blame but himself. He sighed one last time, buttoning the suit as best he could, before turning towards the mansion in front of him. Let's get this over with.

"Got it."

--

It was easy for him to avoid signing the secrecy agreement when no one in the Tsukishima family seemed to be paying him much mind. They had his file, naturally, so they probably knew he wasn't the most upstanding noble these days. Certainly not a good fit for their son, they were much more focused on buttering up the other rich pretty boys in the room.

It didn't much matter to him, in fact, it made his job easier. Of course, it didn't make him feel any less shitty about what he was doing.

"Alright everyone! I'm Tsukishima Akiteru, and I'd like to thank you all for coming." The tall, dirty blonde seemed easy going for a noble, his smile kind and bright, and his dress less fancy than that of his parents. Just having him stand there made Kuroo feel at ease. "It means a lot to have so many people willing to help my brother, he's very important to me."

Aaaand there's the guilt again.

God, Kuroo would've been better off at a McDonald’s honestly.

"He'll be out shortly!" And with that, Akiteru exited the room, which made Kuroo confused more than anything. The family didn't stay to see how things went? He wondered how long they'd been doing these things...

Long enough, if journalists knew about it.

Man, Kuroo was a sleaze ball.

Part of him couldn't help but be curious though. He'd heard the rumors of the Tsukishima bloodline, naturally, how a witch had cursed them and now the only way to break it was for the youngest son to marry rich. Kuroo wasn't sure he believed all of that, not that he didn't believe in the supernatural at all, this just seemed sort of out there.

Well, you'll have proof by the end of the day won't you? The whole world would.

Yup, Kuroo thought as he frowned at the floor, total sleaze.

--

"Kei? They're ready." Akiteru's voice carried into Kei's room, obviously excited with a hint of anxiety mixed in. His brother never stopped worrying about him. Kei always complained about how obnoxious it was, but really his brother was all that kept him grounded sometimes. He was the only one who made him feel better on days like this, even if it was obvious how much his brother was on his parents' side.

"Mm, give me a minute," Kei said, watering the orchids sitting on his shelf and making sure they had enough soil.

Usually, his brother would leave after he said this, but he felt Akiteru's presence hovering by the door, hesitating, and Kei clicked his tongue. "What is it Akiteru? Did mom say something?"

Kei swore, if his mom wanted him to change his outfit again...

"No, she didn't, I just..." Akiteru sighed, and that got Kei's attention. It wasn't like his brother to doubt himself when talking to Kei, they didn't have that kind of relationship. Kei turned to face him, setting down his watering can carefully and pulling his coat around himself.

"Spit it out," Kei said, very aware of the muffled sounds of conversation on the other side of the wall. Maybe he'd made a mistake, requesting for so many suitors come at once this time...

"Kei, are you sure you wouldn't rather meet them one at a time? Like you used to?" Akiteru approached him, putting his hands on Kei's shoulders in a show of support. "I mean, what's the point of this? They can't possibly get to know you when they're in a group."

Kei resisted the urge to sneer.

Getting to know me, don't make me laugh. It's obvious what they're after, and it's not that.

There were so many responses to his brother's questions, all equally cutting and unfair. It wasn't as if this was his brother's fault. He didn't understand, he wasn't the one with the goddamn pig snout.

These wretched nobles were only after one thing: the money. They didn't care about Kei, and they'd all run. That's why Kei had started holding group sessions, it was why he made today's group extra large. He wanted so desperately to prove a point, to stop this. They always leave. There's no one who will stay, so let's give up. Give up, and let me go outside.

Kei didn't care anymore about the suitors. No matter how much his eyes began to sting, he pushed those traitorous emotions down, walking away from Akiteru's worried gaze.

He had been doing this for years, he could handle it.

Kei walked towards the door, taking a deep breath as he pushed up his glasses with shaking hands. "This way, it wastes less time."

His brother made a noise of protest, but Kei wouldn't look at him, wouldn't let the other see the emotions he himself didn't want to acknowledge. When the door finally shut behind him, Kei released the breath he'd been holding.

--

Kuroo was an idiot. He couldn't even be a successful sleazeball. Just my luck.

He ducked under the couch, luckily unnoticed by the other nobles as they waited for the young Tsukishima to introduce himself. Meanwhile, the camera in his pocket was going haywire, taking twenty pictures a minute, and Kuroo tugged at the cords unintelligibly, willing them to fix themselves. Holy shit why are there so many wires, we’re in the age of technology!

As he was about ready to give up and kiss the money goodbye, the camera seemed to stop taking its flurry of pics, but Kuroo didn't get to feel relieved or get up from the floor. It was too late.

Kuroo heard the whoosh of a door behind him, and the whole room went quiet, only interrupted by the softest voice Kuroo had ever heard. "Hello, I'm Tsukishima Kei and--"

There was a cacophony of screams and a crash as a book table was knocked over, and before Kuroo knew it, people were jumping over the couch and past him like their life depended on it. He had the good sense to tuck his feet in as the stampede raced by him and out the door, leaving him sitting there alone like an idiot, surrounded by papers and coasters.

The loud footsteps faded in the distance as he heard the suitors flee the house, bringing back an unnatural silence to the room. For some reason, Kuroo's heart clenched, and he cursed his own empathy.

He blinked a few times, hearing a distinct and shaky breath from behind him, before a door slammed shut.

[tuxiedjabberwock]

The Sides of a Demon - Gintama oneshot

The Sides of a Demon

Category: Anime/Manga » Gintama

Author: Sqydd

Language: English, Rated: M

Genre: Drama/Hurt/Comfort

Published: 09-10-20, Updated: 09-10-20

Chapters: 1, Words: 10,573

Having dropped off the face of the Earth for a few weeks, Gintoki returns with no preamble or explanation to the kids. Yet both of them suspect it was more than just a regular television hiatus vacation for him. Oneshot

quotev

AO3

Fanfiction.net

"Oi, old man, lemme get anodder," Gintoki said past a partly functioning tongue, shakily offering the sakazuki to the barman.

"You're already over your tab and your limit, Sakata-san. I'd like for you to get home in one piece." He took the empty cup instead and fixed Gintoki with a level glare.

"Ah, c'mon, c'mon, Gin-san holds saké very well." The barman refused to relent and Gin clucked his tongue, rising from the seat only marginally unsteadily. "Den I'm gunna take my yen 'lsewhere, ah?"

The barman seemed highly disgruntled but made no moves to reclaim Gintoki's business. Gin noticed him picking up the phone as he pushed off in a wobbly gait, but his brain was too addled by alcohol to make sense of it. The night was dark and cold against his clammy skin, and he fought the urge to loosen his kimono and unzip his shirt; however much relief it would bring, it wouldn't be worth anyone possibly seeing the marks.

A night as cool and quiet as any other. Someone was playing the shamisen in the background, and while Gintoki would have found it soothing any other day, it only heightened the impotent rage brought on by his wallet. It was surprising how heavy an emptied piece of fabric could feel.

"Damn pachinko machines. Someone's screwin' with me, I know it." His grumbles continued as he passed a street of stalls that had long since closed and were vacant of other human life. He had his plan for the last four hours or so until daylight set: he would go home, get as little sleep as possible before the demon in his closet woke him a lá bouncing on his stomach like a springboard, soothe the inevitable exhaustion headache with Shinpachi's breakfast, pray that a client would call lest he feel two brats' wrath for blowing their savings…

Not that he called gambling "blowing their savings." It was a great investment that children who had yet to grow hair on their chests (or otherwise) would never understand.

His muttered complaints did help to shorten the long walk and he was halfway home before he knew it. He was crossing a small wooden bridge when he heard it: footsteps. Not his, clipped and heavy against the soggy wood, but softened by bamboo sandals. His hand was on Lake Toya in half a second. "Oi, I don't do moonlit strolls with ugly men, I'll have you know."

His assailant paid no mind and Gintoki ducked in time to avoid the swing of a katana, stark and silver against the crescent moon's glow. He somersaulted backwards and lost a second in footing to the wet boards. That second gave his opponent—a middle-aged Average Joe with a hairline reaching back to Gorilla country—time to advance and thrust. Gin's kimono was slashed along his hanging sleeve; he stumbled from the unexpected force but turned it into a parry at the last second, blocking the next strike and swinging at his ribs. The assailant parried in turn and ended up in a deadlock.

"So, what's it this time?" Gintoki asked casually, though his opponent was visibly reddening. Kind of a skinny guy, he was. "Alien overlord? Government dog? Sunrise's producer?"

Again, he got no response, and he figured he wasn't going to get much motive from the guy. So he lashed out with his foot, kicking the man's sandaled feet out and launching him in the air, before striking down with his wooden sword right in his gut. His breath left in a harsh whoosh before he crashed down through the base of the bridge and into the shallow waters below. A loud splash succeeded the impact and Gintoki cringed as his hair turned to a soggy mess against his skull.

"Aah, see what you've done? Now it'll dry in an even worse perm."

The stench of alcohol surrounded him like a cloud; it was the only viable explanation as to why Otose was waiting outside the darkened bar with the butt of a cigarette lighting her dour expression. She wore a thinner kimono and a haori draped over her shoulders, and her hair was pinned at the back of her head rather than her usual elaborate wrap. "Gintoki," she began, and he could already imagine the boatloads of trouble he was in if she used his name. She took one last long drag before dropping the cigarette and ashing it under her sandal. "Unless you're planning on going up and explaining yourself to the brats, turn back to whatever shithole you went and hid yourself in."

"Yeesh. That's harsh, don'cha think, Granny?" He couldn't quite stand still without swaying slightly, and even that small motion made him feel like throwing up. God knew he already did enough of that. Chances were there was nothing but saké in his gut at that point.

"I don't want to hear your jokes, idiot. Just a confirmation." She levelled a glare at him and he fought not to cringe, fought to keep his expression at that stupid drunken content.

"You don' wanna 'pology? 'm sorry, Granny. How 'bout a hug 'n kiss?" She scowled and spun away from him.

"You know what? Forget it. You're too drunk to even make sense." She returned inside the bar and shut the sliding doors with a definitive clack. Gintoki stared at them long after the sound of her footsteps disappeared. Then came his more arduous task for the night: ascending the steps to the apartment. Even gripping the railing, he lost his footing several times, and he thought he twisted his ankle…again. He was going to feel like absolute shit come daylight. Like a night in the war, after a long day spent battling dozens upon hundreds of Amanto, forcing his body past human limits and knowing there would be hell to pay when he woke, as if having made a deal with the Devil. Have the strength now and get the consequences later. Kinda like the saké, now that he thought about it.

The sliding doors weren't locked and he wasn't drunk enough to miss it. Due to their abundance of unwanted intruders—Zura, Sacchan, Sakamoto, et cetera—he started pounding it into Kagura's head to lock it all the time. If it remained unlocked all the time he was gone, which he didn't doubt, knowing how those brats were…they never lost faith in him returning. For the first time since his battle with the prematurely balding ronin, he smiled.

"'m home," he muttered as he bent to yank off his boots. He knew the first thing he had to do was greet the kids, it had been a few weeks, maybe more, but…in a better condition. Like, after a month-long coma and a few showers. In acid rain. And a lava bath. Maybe the pain of his skin melting away will allow him to forget…

Well, he wasn't that lucky.

He sighed and straightened, slowly making his way over to his bedroom. The door was wide open to show his fluffed futon and the duvet folded neatly at the foot. Shinpachi, you stupid mother hen, he thought as he collapsed into the soft cotton. It smelled like the herbal soap stuff Shinpachi used at the dojo; Gintoki hadn't realized how accustomed he'd become to that scent until his nose was filled with the musty, acrid scent of the jail cell. That minor comparison led to a slew of memories he squeezed his eyes shut against, not that it helped.

Cold, cold and damp, reeks like mold—ever heard of a matsui stick, dipshits? Aah, now Average Joe's shoving my face right into it. Blood and mold, not a good smell combination. Just wait, wait until I get outta here, wait until I get my hands on y— Wait, hands? What's he doing with his hands? Where are they—why are they on my—

Gintoki shoved his face into the pillow a bit too aggressively and willed his mind to shut up. Not that it was very hard: exhaustion filled his body and he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe.

Instincts were a funny thing. However much time passed, they would never vanish. They could be dulled, certainly—like knee-jerk reactions in response to the bigger, tougher Amanto species—but never forgotten, just buried in a place where bad issues of Shonen Jump and cheesy morning television could blind a person to their existence. But they still existed, and they still saved Gintoki's life on several occasions. This being one of them: he spun around before the water had even settled and swung his wooden sword, taking several small projectiles from the air. One survived, however, and it pierced through his collar to land cleanly in the junction of his shoulder and neck.

"There," said a new, sinister, "main villain of the arc"-type voice. "That wasn't so hard, was it, White Demon?"

"Tha' wasn'—huuuh—" The drug quickly ran through his system and dropped him to one knee before he really realized what was happening. His shaky vision focused on three new sets of sandals walking onto the bridge, and at the front was a set of fancy polished shoes. Clenching his jaw, Gintoki raised his heavy arm and prepared to smash those shoes into oblivion.

"Oh-oh," he said, and his sword was halted mid-swing. A good swing it would've been too: Gintoki's whole side jolted when the sword was grabbed by a large tough-skinned hand. He sluggishly raised his head and tried to focus on his accosters in the moonlight. All Amanto—two rhino-looking ones, an unholy caterpillar-sparrow kind of thing, and the ringleader Mr. Goodshoes, with blue skin and a lizard's long snout, topped with long, neatly-combed cerulean hair. Not a single curl in sight, as if the fates wanted a good laugh in with his bad fortune.

"L'me go." Gintoki narrowed his eyes and tugged against the rhino's grip, but the drugs sapped his strength and left him near defenseless. The lizard alien chuckled and set a clawed hand on Gintoki's head.

"I doubt you remember me, but I remember what a demon you were on the battlefield. So I calculated more than enough tranquilizer to put even you down. I'd say I'm surprised you're not comatose yet, but I expected as much." His Japanese was clipped by an accent that hardened his consonants and made his words fade in and out on their highs and lows.

The rhino did release the sword only to grab him around his forearms in a vise grip, lifting him off his knees. He was now eye-to-eye with their leader and his self-satisfied smirk. He thinks he's won, Gintoki thought as his head lolled to the side. For now, maybe, but if he thinks I'm going down without a fight—

"Let's go." He nodded to his goons and turned away in one sharp movement. "I have the V.I.P treatment prepared for you."

In the morning, there was no alien child burying her fist in his gut or the sound of breakfast cooking. The apartment was still quiet…too quiet. Gintoki yawned and winced when he realized he'd fallen asleep fully dressed. The futon would need to be aired out again.

He dragged himself out of bed and realized with a groan that his pains hadn't abated—if anything, they worsened in the five or so hours he'd been sleeping. But he would endure, he had gotten quite good at that. He pushed himself up and dragged his feet until he reached the bathroom. He stripped his clothes off, tossed them in the corner, and dropped onto the bath stool with a relieved sigh.

The quiet whooshing of warm water filled his thoughts as he worked on soaping up and washing away every trace of the last few weeks. It was only partly successful: the outward grime slid down the drain, but his bruises were as large and stark as ever, especially against his pale skin. Most of them were green and yellow, having been inflicted in the beginning; the largest ones, however, were created just before his grand exit, and their violet hue symbolized breathtaking shapes. Mostly hands, a couple truncheons, a whip they only managed to use on him once before he strangled the guy with it, and a weird curvature he instantly knew as the lizard's bite. Toothless just like an Earth lizard, but damn his jaws were strong.

"Not gonna miss that fucker," he said before dumping the bucket of water over his head. He briefly considered taking a bath to loosen his muscles but the thought made him anxious. He shook it off and grabbed the towel, swiping it through his damp curls. Every time the cotton pulled his hair he shuddered.

They didn't carry Gintoki away—either too much effort on their parts or allowed him too much dignity. Instead, they forced him to walk in his drugged state, pulling him by his collar or his hair to keep him moving. He only had the faintest clue what was happening around him; the world swam in and out of focus and faded to black more than once. They often woke him up with a punch to the gut.

"What's the matter, White Demon? They say you can cut through entire armies without even stopping to breathe. Is moving your feet so hard?" The Boss's tone reeked of sarcasm as his claws were next to grip Gintoki's scalp, drawing blood as he tugged him forward extra hard.

"Fuck…you," Gintoki said, digging his heels into the street. The boss pulled away and clicked his tongue. When the lankier caterpillar-looking subordinate went for him next, Gintoki grabbed his feathered arm and lifted him, sending him flying with a spin into one of the rhino lackeys. The motion caught the Boss's attention and Gintoki broke into a loping run. He didn't get very far before a huge weight slammed into his back, driving him into the dirt. The rhino sat his huge ass right on Gintoki's lower back and butt, completely halting his movements.

"Can't break free, can you?" The Boss crouched in front of Gintoki with a shit-eating grin, but his expression quickly turned lax and cold, a gross parody of Gintoki's notorious dead fisheyes. "It's quite a familiar sight to me, but I suppose it's terrifying for you, being on this side of the treatment now."

Gintoki growled between gritted teeth. "Hope you're…having fun…talking shit. When I b…break your teeth…"

"I have none to speak of," he said quite cheerfully, grinding Gin's last nerves to dust. The Boss's claws tangled in silver curls once again and yanked his head up with a vengeance. His breath stunk like insects and fanned over Gintoki's face. "Come on, White Demon, let's get you to your new home."

Gintoki stumbled in the process of putting on his pants. New "home"—that godforsaken place was anything but. Then again, it was surely nicer than some of the other hellholes he crashed in during and after the war. Ah, at least he could look back on the war with the same amount of disgust—his alone-time with the Boss and co. wasn't worse than all that, worse than the Tenshouin Naraku and the headless corpse on the hill, but it for sure made his top five of Worst Experiences, 2/10 Will Not Experience Again.

He heard her cry before the sound of the sliding door getting violently ripped from its tracks: "GIN-CHAN!" He quickly zipped up his shirt and turned in time to receive a foot to the gut. The force of the kick transcended human definitions of pain, and so the sound he emitted was completely nonsensical as the momentum carried him into the far wall. The wood splintered heavily but thankfully didn't explode; he didn't need to add "falling from a second story" to his lists of aches and pains. Once he stopped seeing stars, he blinked to the face of one very angry Yato.

"K-Kagura-chan, I c-can explain…"

"Save it!" She jabbed an accusing finger in his face with her pink cheeks puffed wide. "You know the rules, don't you? 'Only take an extensive vacation when we're on hiatus, uh-huh'? Don't you think I need my beauty rest to? But we all must wait in line like good people, uh-huh!" She put her hands on her hips and glared in a way that an ignorant man could see as cute. Gintoki noticed her cheongsam was all torn and dirty and she was out of breath; a Yato out of breath, it took a lot to manage that. Like, a long long long time worth of searching. He sunk to the ground in a heap and didn't bother picking himself up.

"Sorry," he said.

"You are sorry, uh-huh! I'm tired, I'm gonna bathe and let Pattsuan deal with you." She spun on her heel with a decisive humph and left his room, making sure to kick down that sliding door as well. Considering all he got were a couple of ulcers, he was getting off lightly.

The big dog came poking his head through the doorway, sniffing curiously at shipwrecked door before blinking up at Gintoki. He smiled and chuckled bitterly. "Are you pissed at me too, Sadaharu?" He whined and trotted forward, nosing into Gintoki's sore gut with ears flattened. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought Sadaharu was concerned for him. But, no, he probably just wanted to add onto Gintoki's pain.

He eventually used Sadaharu as a crutch to pull himself to his feet. He offered his fuzzy head a pat for the help and forced himself to walk unaided into the living room—no need to worry the brats further. He was also aware he would need to come up with a practicable excuse for his extended disappearance, but what he was focused on at the moment was food. And painkillers. Food would be the harder part; if Shinpachi hadn't restocked their supply, which he wouldn't have had reason to do considering how many weeks Gintoki spent M.I.A. and Shinpachi would have no reason to hang around the apartment without Odd Jobs business, then he would have to scrounge up dog food or risk a strip of pickled seaweed. Both were risky, really, but he was so overall achy he couldn't dig up the wits to care.

He checked the rice cooker and saw the empty basin. He then turned his attention to the cupboards and found half a sack of rice left. He poured it into the machine along with some water and set it to cook. When he checked the fridge, he was surprised to find two cartons of strawberry milk, their labels indicating they were bought recently.

"Heh, even if he has no reason to come, the brat still does," Gintoki said with a smile, taking a carton and popping it open. It wasn't just an average strawberry milk from the convenience store; it was, like the unlocked door and his readied futon, a show of faith. Faith that Gintoki would return or they would return him themselves. Warmth filled his chest at the thought and completely melted the icicles that had settled there since that unfortunate day. Standing there in the kitchen, chugging his milk and waiting for the rice cooker to beep, he could pretend things hadn't changed a bit. He could pretend his pains were from some stupid fight with Kagura (which they were, technically) and soon Pachi-boy would come to smooth things over, and they would bicker in front of the television until the off-chance a client would come in—

"Hello? I'm sorry, is this the Odd Jobs residence?"

The voice was female and entirely unfamiliar. Gintoki stared in the direction of the door for a second, completely floored, and it wasn't until he spotted Kagura's wet head walking past that he revived. He set the carton down and rushed over as she opened the sliding door. A woman about Gintoki's age stood in an immaculate blue furisode with her blonde hair done up by golden pins. Her eyebrows were pinched and her forehead lined despite her nice makeup.

"Yup. I'm Odd Jobs Gura-san, uh-huh. There's my useless butler." Kagura jerked her thumb over her shoulder in Gintoki's direction. There was a fluffy pink towel around her neck that she moved to her soaked hair. "Did your fiancé leave you at the altar or something?"

"What? No, I…" She shook her head and bowed a bit. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself yet. My name is Umeko Yamada. My sister, Tsubaki, was to be married this morning, but she never showed."

"Maybe she left her fiancé at the altar, uh-huh."

"No, you don't understand how in love those two were. She wouldn't just disappear, and she's not answering her phone either. Her apartment is locked and hadn't been opened since yesterday, so she didn't return home. I'm worried."

"Did she have any enemies? Make any shady deals? Shit in someone's toilet and didn't flush?" The women looked to Gintoki in surprise, Kagura more so. He maintained his dead fish expression as he stepped forward. "Well?"

"No… As far as I know, Tsubaki had no enemies." Gintoki hummed pensively.

"Where's this fiancé of hers? He didn't come with you?"

"He's still searching," she said. Gin yawned and stretched his arms overhead.

"Well, let's find him first, then." He stepped towards the door to put on his boots when Kagura's confused voice filled the air:

"Gin-chan, where's your sword?"

Gintoki was hauled by the neck and tossed against a damp concrete ground. He rolled once before bracing himself on hands and knees, suddenly noticing his hands were bound by the wrists. He saw a shadow approaching in the small window's light and swung his fists; the rhino caught them in one hand and swung the other, catching him across his cheek. He was knocked down with the force of the impact and felt the side of his face begin to swell.

"I'd drug you again if I didn't need you wide awake for this." The Boss's annoying voice rang through his ears. Gintoki scowled and spat blood and a tooth onto the rhino's foot. That same foot buried itself in his gut, slamming him into the back wall. While he was disoriented, he felt movement along his side.

"You won't be needing this." And the Boss held Lake Toya in his full view. Gintoki's reaction was immediate: he pushed himself up and into a forward lunge, tackling the Amanto to the ground and making a grab for his sword. One rhino seized Gintoki by his shoulders and yanked him backwards; the other punched him in the side, giving him a new distraction in the form of a few broken ribs. "Quite a decrepit sword this is—cheap too," the Boss said, calmly rising and dusting himself off. He appraised Lake Toya with a critical eye before, in one smooth movement, cracking the thing over his knee, snapping it in two uneven chunks plus hundreds of tiny splinters.

"There," he said, tossing the remnants over his shoulder and into the water. "Now, let's get bac…"

"Gin-chan?" Kagura's head tilted to one side as she observed him with remarkably shrewd eyes for a child. He turned back to the client to avoid scrutiny and mentally pummeled himself for taking too long.

"Bet it as collateral," he said offhandedly. He could actually hear Kagura's teeth grinding, but it didn't matter—the sliding door opened again.

"Kagura-chan? I've brought some Takoyaki, are you…oh…" Shinpachi's voice trailed away as he most likely spotted Gintoki's boots in the entrance. He came into the main room with barely a sound, glancing first at their client, then Kagura, and finally Gintoki. His expression was unreadable behind his glasses.

"Took ya long enough to get here, Pattsuan," Kagura said, breaking the brief veil of silence that had fallen over them. "We have a client."

"Oh. Oh, my apologies for not greeting you immediately." He turned to Umeko with a short bow. "My name is Shinpachi Shimura."

"Umeko Yamada, pleased to meet you." She returned the bow with a smile, then brought a hand to her mouth. "Oh my, you two are quite young. Starting in the family business early?"

Both flinched, Kagura less so than Shinpachi, but Gintoki noticed all the same, although he doubted Umeko did—it was part of knowing them for so long. "That's…one way to put it, Yamada-san," Shinpachi said after a moment with a bit of an awkward snicker.

"Well, to start off, could you give us the address of your sister's apartment?"

"Yes, of course." She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her waistband and bowed again after passing it to Gintoki. "Thank you so much for your help, Odd Jobs."

Shinpachi mimicked the bow, and Gintoki shoved Kagura's head down when she made a remark about craving pickled plums. "'course, ma'am. Odd Jobs will not fail."

Umeko let herself out and Gintoki looked over the small bundle to find the address scribbled in what was clearly a man's script alongside a housekey and fifty thousand yen. His eyebrows raised into his hairline. "Forward?"

Kagura snatched it from his hand before he could even smell it. "Don't blow it on strawberry milk before we buy meat, uh-huh."

"Never mind that right now, Kagura-chan, until we finish this job." Shinpachi looked over her head to meet Gintoki's eyes, his own appearing reserved. "Everything else will be discussed afterwards."

She caught on and gave him a side-eyed nod before plopping onto the floor to yank on her flats. Gintoki sighed and grabbed his boots, making his way back to the couch to pull them on—crouching down was far too painful. "Yes, everything."

The cell he woke up in was cold, damp, and very cramped; Gintoki could lie down and stretch his arms and legs out and touch both walls, and the height was barely above the top of his head. The last wall had a thick steel door, and though he deluded himself into thinking he could punch through it, all he got for his efforts were a few bloody knuckles. The only other escape option was a thin vent pumping in moldy air.

Gintoki was just figuring out how to shapeshift himself into that vent when the door swung open. The rhino Amanto bodyguards were first in, and he wasn't going to delude himself into thinking he could overtake them with his bare hands and sedative still in his system. The Boss followed behind, reptilian face as smug as ever.

"I don't suppose this is punishment for all the lizards I crippled as a kid," Gintoki said offhandedly. The Boss scoffed.

"I have no affiliation with your brainless Earth reptiles. My business is with you, White Demon."

Of course his war actions were coming back to bite him in the ass—most of the time that was the answer. He never claimed he was guiltless in the affair—he had more than enough nightmares of that time that he had to play off in front of Kagura—but he found long ago that it was much easier to atone with his head still attached to his shoulders.

"Get in line," Gintoki responded, bringing his swaying form to his feet. The Boss was taller by a few inches or so, allowing his beady eyes to look down on Gintoki.

"My friends and I have much planned for your extended stay here," he continued, ignoring the remark entirely. "It took much longer than expected to locate you and narrow down your schedule to when you're completely alone, however it gave us much more time to decide how to maximize our time together."

"And what will that be exactly? Pachinko? Drinks?" The Boss's brow twitched.

"You talk quite a bit. That is certainly a change from the war."

"So, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say your beef with me is from the war. Fine, whatever, do your worst and lemme out to drink it off and we're all happy, yeah?"

The Boss stepped aside to allow one of his bodyguards to swing a fist at Gintoki's gut. He wasn't dull enough to take the hit and dodged to his side—only to be seized by the throat. "These Certidas are, like myself, the last of their kind," he explained in a calm voice that belied an iced-over fury. "Our people were made corpses on your battlefield, and all thanks to you, White Demon."

"The war was the effort of no single species or man." The nice way of saying the Amanto dug their own graves when they first arrived on Earth sniffing blood. The Boss's eyes narrowed.

"You were no single man, White Demon. On that cursed field you fought as an army. We Amanto sought to bring enlightenment to you mud-crawlers—" Gintoki couldn't help but interrupt with a howling laugh. This earned him a rough toss down to the concrete floor, agitating his already aching ribs. He kept his face impassive even as he fought for breath through the stabbing pain. "We Amanto brought enlightenment, and though your government accepted it for what it was, the rest of you mud-crawlers wanted a fight. And when the fight was too much for you, you played dirty. Fine then, we can play dirty all the same." He knelt to get into Gintoki's face. "You will learn our power here and now, and that curse will follow you into your soon-coming grave."

"Go. Fuck. Yourself." Gintoki spat a wad of bloody saliva right in his eye. He reared back with a shrill scream, then spun quickly on his heel to march to the door.

"Teach him respect!" he called without turning. As the Certidas closed in on him, Gintoki remembered his brats. As fists and feet ground his bones to dust, he remembered he promised to be back before dawn, sure to have passed long ago.

Wait for me a little longer, Kagura, Shinpachi.

Tsubaki's apartment was up two flights of stairs, pulling uncomfortably at Gintoki's half-healed wounds and drawing upon long emptied energy stores. Kagura was bouncing up three steps at a time, and Shinpachi stayed just barely ahead, glancing back at Gintoki every few seconds or so.

"Gin-san," he began, then fell silent for a few seconds, many thoughts swimming through his eyes. Eventually he settled on, "You look tired."

That was the understatement of the century. He was so exhausted he could sleep for the next ten years straight and sleep some more on top of that.

"Been a long night," Gintoki said with a yawn. Shinpachi's eyes flashed and he turned back to the stairs.

"I thought family doesn't lie to each other. I guess I was wrong." His words were soft yet cut through Gintoki's heart like the sharpest blade.

I'm trying to protect you from how fucked-up my life is. That's what he wanted to say, but the words never left his throat, and they stopped in front of a plain wooden door marked 3F. The key provided a quiet entrance, and the door swung open to reveal an entirely unassuming flat. The furniture and decorations were neatly arranged and there any obvious human skeletons lying around at first glance.

"Looks boring so far," Kagura said, flopping onto the couch and throwing her arms over the back. Shinpachi fretted over that.

"K-Kagura-chan! You can't just do that in someone else's apartment!"

"Not only that," Gintoki said flatly, picking up an old issue of Weatherwoman Weekly, Ana Ketsuno's bikini on the cover, "this is a crime scene."

Kagura's eyes lit up and she leapt to her feet. "A crime scene, uh-huh!" As if from nowhere, she produced a detective's hat and cape. "Perfect time to carry these in hammerspace." She whipped out a comically large magnifying glass and peered into a speck of dust on an end table.

"Oh, boy…" Shinpachi sighed, then his eyes drifted to Gintoki again. Gintoki suspected Kagura knew something was out of place—she was wildly unpredictable, but her warrior's instincts were no joke—yet she wouldn't bring it up, probably because she didn't know what to make of it. Shinpachi, on the other hand, was a major mother hen and had no problem with airing any grievances he had. That was what worried Gintoki. It was one thing for the brats to have their suspicions; if they figured out what had happened…he didn't know what he'd do. But it terrified him worse than whatever the Boss could do.

Kagura's sneeze caught both their attention thankfully. "My allergies are kicking in, uh-huh," she sniffled.

"Allergies?" Shinpachi repeated suspiciously, then paused. "Although it is quite dusty in here…"

"The couch is dusty too." She pointed at the modern sofa with a fine coating of dust. "So's the television and the table."

The three of them spread out and covered the rest of the one-bedroom apartment. Though it was furnished for the average young lady, it was like a room from a catalogue. Everything was coated with dust and almost meticulously organized.

"The bathroom has never been shitted in," Kagura said, earning a scandalized look from Shinpachi.

"A woman's panties are never this clean," Gintoki said, holding up a pair. Kagura side-eyed him.

"How would you know?"

"Years of panty raiding expertise."

"Okay, okay." Shinpachi covered his face for a moment until the redness subsided. "So she hadn't been here in a long time. Days, possibly a few weeks? Yet Umeko-san has obviously interacted with her in recent times, so has Tsubaki-san simply been avoiding this place?"

"I'm thinking we should interview the neighbors," Gintoki said. "See if there's any creeps worth avoiding."

"No one would know a creep better than a creep, uh-huh," Kagura agreed. Gintoki's eyebrow twitched.

"I'm not a creep, you bun-headed black hole. I'm still a damn spring chicken."

"Chicken is only good fried! Everyone knows that!"

"Ah? You uncultured brat, it's best with miso."

"Personally, I prefer oyakodon," Shinpachi said.

"Who told you to butt in, shitty glasses?" Kagura retorted. A loud bang came from the floor below.

"Shut yer traps, shitty humans!"

There were five other units on the floor. Shinpachi and Kagura took the left side; Gin took the right side. While their attention wasn't immediately drawn to him, he let himself move a little slower than his usual feet-dragging pace. Since Gintoki's moped was being held hostage by the mechanic on account of his years unpaid tab (with Gin in no condition to grab it in run as usual), and even the forward wasn't enough to cover the bill, they had to walk the forty minutes to the apartment building; an easy feat under normal conditions, but when his whole body felt like one amalgamate bruise, it wore him down. It was a fight to keep the illusion of normalcy.

The first door he knocked on, nobody answered, though he heard footsteps within. "Oi, did you guys see any creeps coming by?" he called. The door was opened long enough for him to get a flower vase tossed in his face.

The second door, a frazzled-looking woman did answer, although he was bombarded with so much children screaming he couldn't hear a word she said. Then a plastic car was tossed in his face.

The last door, he knocked and immediately ducked. This time, however, nothing flew at his face; the door was opened by Jii and Gintoki jumped in surprise. "What? Prince Idiot lives here!?"

"No, Prince Idiot and I rented this space temporarily while he purchased another pet," Jii replied, looking a bit worn out. True to his words Gintoki could hear Hata's screaming and a bird's squawking inside. He could have pretended to care, but…no.

"Have you seen anything unusual lately? Besides the stupid running gag that imprinted itself on my face?"

"Well…" Jii glanced up the hall and adjusted his glasses. "Now that I think about it, a woman started living here not long after us, and the company she brings by is—"

"Jiiiii!" came Hata's annoying voice, and Jii ducked before a large body came flying through the door and right into Gintoki, pushing him backwards and through the hall's window. Fine, whatever, he was used to falling through windows, pain is an illusion and whatnot—

Then he took a good look at the Amanto.

The one Amanto Gintoki saw the least of was the caterpillar-sparrow thing. Every so often he could hear it and the Boss arguing outside, but Gintoki supposed it wasn't the hands-on sort.

Today was different. Today he was sane enough to give the Certidas hell and a half when they came for the usual. He had more broken ribs than working ones, a twisted ankle, one eye so swollen it was borderline useless, and seven fingers between both hands, but he managed to get one downed. He was nothing if not a persistent fighter.

"Still haven't learned about retaliation, have we?" The Boss was standing arms folded in the doorway, shiny shoe tapping an annoying pattern into the floor. Gintoki had long since been restrained and pinned but he wasn't yet down and out.

"Haven't we learned it's pointless keeping me locked up?" he growled. "I'm going to break out, and then I'll break everything here. Preferably beginning with you."

"Well, I'll give you that: it's becoming quite troublesome going through guards. The Certida don't come cheap." He came closer and bore down into Gintoki with impassive eyes.

"Why don't you chain me up then?"

"Hmph. I've seen what you do with restraints. Don't take me for a fool, White Demon. Although…" Suddenly a nasty smile crossed his face, and Gintoki felt a note of unease. "That gives me an idea. I've done all I can to break you physically, so let's try something new."

"Torture is nothing new to me," he scoffed even as the Boss was turning away.

"Not exactly." The door shut for a moment and Gintoki was caught off guard by the Amanto's high volume argument. It lasted a couple of minutes, then the door opened to allow the other Amanto inside. "Meet my associate…you can call him Sparrow."

"Him?" Gintoki repeated derisively, looking at the segmented body covered in long blue feathers. This Amanto also wore a suit—like some sort of weird Amanto host club—and looked entirely displeased with everything.

"This better be worth double the promised pay," Sparrow said, waving away the Certida pinning him. Gintoki made to get up before Sparrow took his place, and though the Amanto was smaller and half his weight, he had some strength to that form. "No hard feelings, Kid. Wasn't here for the war; this is all business to me."

Gintoki was wondering why the hell he needed a disclaimer now…then he realized. His obi and belt were being undone, and his pants were coming down. He struggled and strained but dammit that Amanto was really goddamn strong. "Get offa me!" he shouted. His pants were tangled around his knees and Sparrow grabbed his arms, twisting them back around his shoulder blades so tightly one wrong move would dislocate them. Shit, he would dislocate his neck to get out of this situation. He latched onto the Amanto's tail with his ankles and yanked hard with the intention of breaking bones. The appendage bent rather than giving the satisfying crack he expected, though Sparrow still yelped with pain.

"You little—" A clawed hand dug into the back of his skull and slammed him face-first into the concrete. Stars exploded in his vision and he fell into darkness for a minute. When he woke up, it was over.

Sparrow was just getting up when the Boss returned. "The deed is done. Pay up," Sparrow said irritably. The Boss scowled but handed over a neat stack of ten thousand-yen bills. Sparrow pushed past him to leave and the Boss knelt in front of Gintoki, tense at first and then relaxing when no attack came.

"Don't you have any vitriol for me, White Demon? You're not going to curse my name, spit at me, threaten to shove your foot so deep up my ass…oh, excuse the reminder." And he laughed. He goddamn laughed. The urge to crush his face was still there, but, dammit, Gintoki felt exhausted on a molecular level, every ache and pain was multiplied one thousand fold, blood was running down his scalp and crusting on his face, fucking gross viscous alien fluid mixed with blood was crusting on his legs, the bastard didn't have the decency to pull up his goddamn pants after he—he—

And Gintoki went quiet. Because for the first time since he was captured, he thought, really thought, perhaps this was his final penance. Perhaps…perhaps he should've been a little nicer to the kids and Otose, Madao and Sacchan, Kondo and Hijikata… Because he wasn't getting out. He was going to be there with the Boss and his guards and his f-friend and fucking die like that—

Sparrow spread his wings and turned the sharp downward descent into forward movement. Gintoki grabbed onto his wrists and gave him a sharp headbutt. Crying out in pain, Sparrow's wings folded and they crashed onto the street. His half-healed ribs jolted but he paid no attention to them; he flipped them around so Sparrow was pinned to the concrete. His whiskers flailed and he continued squawking until his eyes locked on Gintoki.

"You! The White De—"

Gintoki punched him right in the beak. His knuckles split, but Sparrow's beak was cracked and bleeding. "I can't—" punch, "sock that stupid reptile—" punch, "so you're—" punch, crack! "a really goddamn close second—" swollen hand, don't care, gonna break his face and turn him to dust, "you damn alien, what you did to me—several times—I'll kill you!"

"Gin-chan!"

"Gin-san!"

Like a hypnotic state, Gintoki snapped from his rage-induced fugue at the sound of the brats' voices. He hadn't realized how much attention he had garnered, but several Kabuki dwellers were gathered in a circle, watching him thrash a naked and collared Amanto. Kagura and Shinpachi pushed to the front of the crowd and looked surprised for a moment before quickly jumping into action.

"What happened? What did he do to you?" Shinpachi was saying as he pulled out his wooden sword.

"Want me to blow him up?" Kagura was saying as she readied her parasol.

He looked at his bleeding hands gripping Sparrow's blue bloody face and remembered with an awful jolt that they didn't know. The kids didn't know what the Amanto had done, but they saw Gintoki punching the shit out of him and assumed Sparrow was the bad guy. Which lightened his heart, knowing they were still on his side after everything. And subsequently made his heart drop into his stomach, knowing he couldn't explain why Sparrow was the bad guy, because then he would have to explain what Sparrow did fuck no, and then explain everything else that happened in the last few weeks, and just…nononono.

"Oi, what's going on here?" The crowd disbursed at the sound of a very irate and familiar voice. Kondo and several low-ranking officers started herding the people away, while Hijikata—the speaker—came straight to Gintoki, accompanied by Sogo. "If it isn't Odd Jobs disturbing the peace. What a surprise," he said flatly, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Sogo, meanwhile, raised a hand in greeting.

"Hey, Boss." The nickname stroked Gintoki's ego once upon a time, but now just made his skin crawl.

"Well?" Hijikata caught his attention again. "Give me a reason not to cuff you right now."

"Calm your tits, Ogushi-kun," he said, raising his hands and straightening his back, but making no moves to get off Sparrow. Hijikata moved closer and unsheathed his sword the smallest bit.

"Really, I want an explanation. Do you realize how you look right now? You get into harebrained schemes all the damn time, and I am one hundred percent over you and the property damage that follows as long as I can follow that train wreck you call a thought process."

"C'mon, Toshi, relax a little." Kondo's voice of reason cut through the tension as he set a hand on Hijikata's shoulder. "Sakata-san may be an oddball, but if he's taking action, it's for a good reason."

"I believe that," Hijikata said flatly, "I'd just like to hear that reason."

"Gin-san?" Shinpachi said, his sword falling to his side. What could he say?

"Gin-chan?" Kagura said, lowering her fists. How could he explain?

"Boss?" Sogo's head inclined and even he seemed a bit confused. Then his eyes narrowed, looking between Sparrow and Gintoki, and understanding dawned. "That look in your eyes…something to do with the war." It wasn't a question. The Shinsengumi was quiet, his brats were quiet, everything was quiet save for the noise in his head.

"…It—"

Pain seared through his side. He gasped and looked down to find claws embedded deep into his gut. Sparrow's breath was heaving as he pulled back and a spray of blood splattered onto the concrete. Gintoki shot to his feet automatically but they buckled under his weight; two sets of arms came from behind to catch him. His head lolled back and Kagura and Shinpachi's faces swam in his darkening vision. There was just too much—too much pain, too many people, too much to hide—and he was just…done.

I hope I don't wake up in that shithole again. After all I did…

Gintoki's routine was static for an indeterminate amount of time before, without warning, things took a turn.

One day, he woke from a pain coma to a lot of noise and movement outside the cell. When the voices came closer, he pinpointed them as human ones, pretty angry ones at that. He used the wall to get up from his prone position on the floor, feeling like a walking train wreck, and pushed himself closer to the door. His half-healed ribs ached with every breath as he fought to listen closer.

"—check every room! Every Justaway has to be taken in, especially if you can't immediately confirm what's a bomb and what's not."

What? Was he being kept in a damn Justaway factory this whole time? Ah sh—no, no, not the point. That sounded like the Shinsengumi, albeit no one he knew personally, and if they were on the hunt for Justaways, they would have to open every room. Meaning…

The door slammed open and Gintoki was ready. Only one officer entered; Gintoki bumrushed him with a boot to the face. Not his most graceful takedown, but dammit he was a walking bag of bone shards, the animators better cut him some slack.

Ouch, dammit, even breaking the fourth wall hurt at this point. He would nap for years once he got home…home, yeah. He could go back.

The officer crumpled and Gintoki took his sword before continuing outside and down the hall. The entire building was concrete, and one side of the wall was full of windows looking out onto the industrial district. It was the dead of the night by the moon's position, and Shinsengumi cars were all over the dock. Under normal circumstances he'd gladly jump through the window, three story fall be damned, but he had something to do before he left.

He continued down the hallway away from the noise and to where the exit signs were pointing. Loud clumping footsteps were not too far ahead—the Certidas. As he grew closer he made out three forms, two of which had dealt with him earlier that day. Strong as they were, agility was not their strong suit, and they were slow to make a one-eighty; Gintoki leapt over their heads and sliced into the walls and ceiling around them, hitting the ground at a skid some feet ahead. The concrete fell around them in chunks, suffocating them under a ton or so of rubble.

He could hear more Certidas clomping about when he reached the stairwell. He glanced inside and saw two making their slow way down, and leading the proverbial herd was the Boss himself. Gritting his teeth, Gintoki pulled another flying boot on the closer Certida; it was knocked forward and sent tumbling downstairs into its friend, and the Boss turned around as the roly-poly came close. He jumped to the slanted roof and clung there to avoid being tramped, what a goddamn shame, then his eyes locked on Gintoki.

"You!" he growled.

"Yo," Gin said, raising a hand in greeting. "So, Justaway fetish? Didn't take ya for that kind of alien."

The Boss hit the ground and raced towards him, lashing out with his tail. Gintoki leapt back to avoid the swipe that left a massive gouge in the concrete stairs and struck out in a thrust. The Boss's coat was torn along the breast, but he otherwise avoided the attack and grabbed Gintoki by the neck, tossing him down the stairs headfirst. Gin caught himself with his hands and backflipped to his feet, blocking the Boss's next tail swipe with his sword.

"I was going to blow you and this place sky high when I had my fill," the Boss said through his teeth. "Getting to kill more shitty humans only adds to my pleasure."

"Not every human's a piece of shit. You Amanto, on the other hand, make up one massive deuce."

The Boss suddenly ducked and latched onto Gintoki's side with strong jaws. Gintoki bashed his skull with the hilt of the sword and he let go—not before swiping at his ankles with his tail. Gintoki fell hard to the ground and the Boss went at him with claws once more.

The stairwell's door banged open and the Boss turned his attention to the two Shinsengumi officers who just crashed their way into the worst situation. The Boss swiped across them in a shred of fabric and blood, then whirled around with his tail and slammed them into the wall hard enough to knock them out on impact. With the doorway cleared, he took off running towards the exit.

"Get back here, you overgrown gecko!" Gintoki shouted, giving chase. He was injured but still the quicker one; realizing this, the Boss ducked into a room with an open door. Gintoki followed and found himself in an empty room with a Justaway on the floor and the Boss wriggling through an air vent on the ceiling. The Justaway was already ticking at top speed when Gin came in and quickly exploded in a cloud of heat and concrete shrapnel. He was picked off his feet and slammed into the outer wall, which crumbled under his weight and left him tumbling past the docks and into the sea.

Gintoki was tired. Even more tired than at the beginning of the story. So tired, in fact, that he wanted to end the story right he

THE END

…

Bad joke. He was stalling for time.

He cracked one eye open to see the bland walls of O-Edo Hospital. At this point he was more familiar with that place than his own flat, but he didn't expect to be waking up there. With a quick glance proving the room was empty, he sat himself up with a groan, propping his back against the bed's headrest. There wasn't much skin left visible through all the bandaging he'd been covered with, and a wad of gauze was stuck where Sparrow gutted him.

"Shit," he muttered, gripping his sleeves. If the doctors saw that wound, they saw all the others, and they would have had to tell—

The door opened and Kagura was in first, three empty pudding cups stacked on her head and working on a fourth. When she saw Gintoki was awake, however, she dropped all of them and bum rushed him in a hug. "Gin-chan!" she yelled into his neck, effectively deafening him.

Behind her, Shinpachi dropped a new copy of Jump (Jump! Gin almost forgot it existed) and quickly joined her, gripping Gintoki so hard it felt like his ribs would break a second time. Then he felt their tears soaking into his sleeves and suddenly didn't feel any need to complain.

"Hey," he said quietly, resting a hand on each head. Kagura rose at the movement and gave him a wicked punch to the shoulder. "Ow, you brat! I'm already in a hospital!"

"If you weren't, I'd put you in one myself, uh-huh!" she said through the tears rolling down her cheeks. She continued punching his shoulder, surely leaving another bruise as she gasped, "You big—old—heartless—dummy!"

Shinpachi finally grabbed her wrists, stopping her, but he was just as sad, maybe even sadder. "We took you here after you passed out a few days ago," he explained quietly, avoiding eye contact. "The doctor examined you, patched up the stomach injuries…then he told us there were more, a lot more. Your scalp, your ribs, fingers, pelvis, even your, your…" He stopped to take off his glasses and wiped his eyes. "Gin-san…" he met Gintoki's eyes, sad and pleading, "what happened to you while you were gone?"

He wanted to deflect so, so badly, but while the truth would break him, lies would break the kids, and he cared too much to do that. So he did it, he told them. Shifted his eyes at everything else and ground his molars to dust and sprained his knuckles with how hard he was clenching his fists, but he told them, sparing them the grittiest details. At the end of it, Shinpachi apologized, of all things.

"I was mad at you in the beginning. I'm sorry for that," he explained. Kagura's head whipped from him to Gintoki.

"I-I'm sorry too, uh-huh! For kicking you in the gut…even if it felt good to do it."

"Eh. Could've gone without that last bit, Kagura," Gin said groggily, but with a bit of a smile.

"I did. And I'd do it again if you try lying to us again, uh-huh." She wagged a finger in his face. He was going to bite it before Shinpachi cleared his throat.

"We're here for you through everything, Gin-san, but you have to tell us. The good things, the bad things—sure, your gambling's a pain, and I could go without the fine details of every hookup," he said with a bit of a blush, "but we're family, we tell each other everything, alright?"

Family. Huh.

"As long as it's not Jump spoilers," Gin agreed. "Speaking of…"

The door slammed open again and Hijikata's boot came down on the magazine as he stepped in. "Oh, good, you're up," he said, glancing at Gintoki's horrified expression.

"Get your dirty boots off my Jump, you shitty tax thief!"

"Don't care." Hijikata picked up the dirtied Jump and tossed it over.

"Sakata-san! Sorry to interrupt your recovery." Kondo came behind the vice captain with his face pinched in worry. "We need to talk to you for a moment. The other day, we did a raid on a Justaway factory, and although we recovered all the bombs, the one we suspected of manufacturing them escaped. Then yesterday, that Amanto you attacked, he came to us and told us the suspect's whereabouts."

"Said he was more scared of the White Demon than 'the Boss,' is the direct quote," Hijikata added, giving Gin a shifty look. Gin shrugged a shoulder. "Found out the bastard was hiding in that apartment building with a human woman—"

"Um, I'm sorry to interrupt you, Hijikata-san, but the woman's name wouldn't happen to be Umeko, would it?" Shinpachi said. Hijikata turned to him with a raised brow.

"Yeah. How'd you guess?"

"Well that makes some sick sense," Gintoki scoffed. "Continue."

A vein pulsed in Hijikata's temple at being ordered, but he continued nonetheless, if in a tenser voice. "He was with a woman who later confessed to housing him in exchange for money. The Amanto's been majorly tightlipped since being incarcerated—can't get a word outta him. Well, nothing except him swearing to crush that damn White Demon."

"I'll crush him first, uh-huh!" Kagura yelled, making to rise before Shinpachi set a hand on her shoulder.

"That overgrown lizard knew me…before," Gintoki said carefully. By the Shinsengumi's expressions, they understood what he meant. "And had several bones to pick. As you can see, he got them plus change." He wiggled his bandaged fingers before dropping them atop the Jump volume. "He had me in that damn factory until all the hubbub you started gave me a chance to get out."

"Hmm…that does explain the boot print on Ishida's face," Kondo said thoughtfully. "Well, that explains that. We'll have to get a more formal statement when you recover, Sakata-san, but for now," he waved and disappeared through the door.

Hijikata hung back a bit, looking over Gintoki's prone form with an unreadable expression. For a second, Gintoki feared pity from the other man, but instead earned a minute head bow. Some sort of sympathy and admiration combo. "See ya," he said, and followed after Kondo with the click of the door.

"So," Gintoki said after a few seconds of silence, "about that money—"

Kagura picked up the fallen pudding cup and slouched into a nearby chair. "Oh, that money's long gone."

"What!?"

"Extensive hospital bills," Shinpachi explained. Gintoki was still trying to pick his jaw up.

"But—but—I didn't get to buy a single carton of milk! How are my bones gonna regrow without milk!?"

"Lots and lots of big needles, uh-huh," Kagura said. Gintoki tossed the bed's remote at her head; she caught it and tossed it back at Mach speed. He ducked to avoid being beheaded.

"That's no way to treat poor old Gin-chan!"

"Then don't make yourself an easy target!"

"Come on, you two," Shinpachi said with a sigh, but it was a smiley sort of sigh. Gin and Kagura's pointless banter continued, but it meant good things; it meant he could recover, inside and out, and put things behind him sooner than he thought. And it reminded him that although what he did during the war was reprehensible, there were small moments that could still mean something, like giving a young alien girl a home and teaching a young samurai what the title meant. It meant that while the White Demon was a relic soured by time, Gintoki Sakata could still live.

He surfaced with a gasp and fumbled towards the closest pier. At least the water washed off the blood and dust, he thought, climbing onto the soggy wood. The Shinsengumi's voices rang out from the other side of the building as they tramped in and out. He just lay there for a few minutes, catching his breath and deescalating from I'mabouttodie mode. Getting back into the building sounded like too much goddamn work; he would've been happy to simply lay there and die, but he was free. Finally-fucking-free. And as pleasant as it sounded, dying on a pier and turning into seafood, he had a home he could die at. And kids who could kill him instead for disappearing. Yup, that sound a lot nicer.

So, Gintoki dragged himself up for the billionth time and started walking.

The night stretched endlessly as Gintoki hobbled through the streets of the Kabuki district. He placed his location after a few buildings drifted past and realized he still had a few hours to go before reaching the apartment. At least he was dry at that point; the night was cold and no time for swimming.

'You'll catch a cold!' Shinpachi would've fretted.

'Idiots don't get sick!' Kagura would've scoffed with a pointed sniff.

Then he would give a garishly fake laugh, they'd banter, probably throw some punches and furniture and throwaway gags, Shinpachi would fret some more, and they'd call it a day. Such a simple life most of the time, he never thought he had been taking it for granted. No matter, the kids would kick his ass soundly when he rolled in.

Ah, Shinpachi, Kagura. He wouldn't tell them what happened, no way in hell. But they would worry, and they would be angry when he played things off—which was fine. He would laugh things off and feign normalcy until it came easy again, all the while watching them like a hawk. If the Boss or any of his goons made a return, he would be ready. He would take him down as true to his moniker as he'd ever been. He would protect his family to the last breath.

The sweet smell of sake caught Gintoki's attention. He was passing by one of his usual late-night haunts. Feeling more in need of alcohol than ever, Gin stumbled over and sat for a drink.