#going inside your favorite piece of media and being freed from all the expectations of a qheerphobic society

[cursed-angelic-art]

Real. He was in all likelihood depressed because he was suppressing major parts of his identity and couldn't even be honest to himself, so how could he be honest with anyone else? He never felt safe to be openly queer even in his own mind and what we get about his family tells us that though the love is there, they are probably emotionally and physically distant. Like the man is touch-starved and he wasn't living with them. And he's so detached he never even really gets to grieve them properly. And the things generally expected of a man his age are things that hes not very interested in and hes in this weird limbo of being the third child, so his family maybe doesnt expect much of him either, but theyre well off and well respected so he ought to be doing something with himself right?? So they do expect Something of him. But the things he wants dont align with this. He wants warmth and affection and closeness and adventure and exploration and what he sought in those novels and those online forums he can get now in this new life without the weight of social expectation that he be cis and straight and financially successful and without the burden of being a disappointing fuck-up who can't be those things. And he blossoms in the light of this and can just be himself.

"Shen Yuan was a loser gooner shut in during his first life" Shen Qingqiu used to be hated by his fellow peak lords until Shen Yuan transmigrated into his body, so it was solely his personality that was so charming people went to war over his corpse. Please be serious

[ikesenhell]

Inked

This is the Professional Integrity series, part three. For all other parts and additional IkeSen works by me, see here.

Mitsuhide started his day the usual way: cleaning out the abusive comments on her social media. 

she just ditched the house I’m telling you She didn’t even let the fans in the funeral He would have wanted us to be there She hasn’t even released a statement I hear she’s partying it up in china and spending all his money

Click, click, click. They all disappeared. 

“How are you this morning?” Shingen asked with a smile, putting a plate of eggs in front of her. She half-laughed and shook her head. 

“I think I went one drink too hard.”

“Lightweights,” Kenshin huffed. “All of you.”

“Look,” Yuki argued, “We can’t all drink like alcoholics.”

“I don’t drink like an alcoholic.”

Sasuke lifted a piece of toast to his mouth, eating gingerly. “Everyone is being too loud.”

The Princess tittered and pet her friend’s head. “I’m sorry. Let’s be quieter. Thanks for the breakfast, Shingen.”

“No problem. Least I can do for an angel like you.”

“Oh, God.” She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. 

It looked like Kenshin was prepping a sharp-tongued barb to fling at his friend, but the Princess took his hand and he fell silent. “Thank you, guys. I’m so glad I got to see you all.”

“We’re glad we got to see you, too,” Shingen answered. 

“Yeah, um,” Yuki stumbled through his words before pointing at his dog, “Kuro liked having people over.”

“Oh, sure. ‘Kuro’ did.” Shingen smiled a smug little smile. 

Kenshin finally freed his hand from hers and set it on her shoulder. “Let us know if you’ll be coming back through.”

“I just might.”

They dropped Sasuke off at the Phoenix Airport. He and she hugged, long and hard at the security checkpoint until she cried, and then he had to catch his flight. Mitsuhide put his own, dark sunglasses on her to hide her tears and guided her gently back to the RV.

“Alright.” She settled into the passenger side, looking small and fragile, eyes locked forward and still wearing his circular sunglasses. “Where to next?”

“I don’t know.” He adjusted the seat, shoving it way further back than it had been. “Has anything ‘told’ you yet?”

A moment of pensive silence. She glanced up at him. “Anyone you wanna see?”

“Me?” He took a moment to check his surprise. “Friends of mine, you mean?”

“Yeah? Why not.”

Mitsuhide chuckled. “My friends are a handful. Plus, they live in New York.”

“That’s fine. That works for me. I can work with ‘handful’.”

He snickered and delved into his pocket, pulling out his cellphone. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“If they’re anything like you, I’m sure they’ll be great.”

The smile slipped off his lips for one long moment, trying to register what she was saying. At last, he decided not to think too deeply into it and pressed the dial button, gunning the RV powerfully onto the highway.

Hideyoshi picked up on the second ring. “Speak of the Devil.”

“It’s Mitsuhide, not Nobu,” he joked thinly. “What are your plans for this week, or anyone else’s?”

“Uhhhhhhhhh. Why?” There was a trace of suspicion in the man’s voice, and Mitsuhide had to resist the urge to laugh. “Don’t tell me you did something--”

“No, no, I did nothing,” he chuckled. “You remember how I told you I was bodyguarding Mrs. Matthews?”

“Uhh, yeah?”

“Well, she got a feeling for a road trip, and it’s my turn to pick where to go. How are you and the rest feeling having me show up at your houses and drink your liquor?”

“Just like old times, huh?” Hideyoshi laughed. “Okay, um, I’ll text them and see what’s up, but we should all be here this week, and you know that Masa is always game for something.”

“Let me know. I’ve got to get back to driving.”

“You’re driving? Hell, Mitsuhide, don’t drive and talk on the phone--!”

Mitsuhide hung up before the lecture could commence, grinning. “They’re looking forward to it.”

His bed was actually pretty comfortable for what it was. Pull-out couches generally weren’t the most amenable situation, but this was clearly an exception. Wrapped in a comforter, he lay with his feet propped comfortably against the driver’s seat, looking up through the skylight at the picture-perfect midwest stars. 

In the bed above the driver cab, he heard a faint, pained shuffle. 

“No.” She whimpered, then panted. 

“Princess?” Mitsuhide was on his feet in an instant. 

“Stop, stop, stop...” Oh, she was asleep. The sleepy distress was clear to him now. “Stop it.”

“Princess,” he repeated, softer, and reached into the bed, closing his hand around her ankle. She woke with a start. 

“Holy--”

“It’s just me,” he soothed, not releasing her foot. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh.” She shifted, but didn’t move her leg away from him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. I thought something was really wrong, and it would have been terribly awkward to figure out how I failed to protect you with about a foot of space between us.”

A titter. He finally released her ankle, trailing his fingertips along her foot until there was no skin left. “Anything I can get for you?”

“No, Mitsuhide,” she answered him softly, his name like a song, “thank you.”

“Any time.” 

She didn’t care much for food either and liked listening to The Eagles, Kendrick Lamar, and jazz. If she had to pick between four elements, she went for air every time, and he could see that in her--she always had the window cracked, the breeze rushing through her hair and sending it in rivers toward the back of the RV. Her favorite animals were snakes and bunnies.

“Yeah?” He grinned at her. “I’ve got a tattoo of a snake.”

“Do you really?” She glanced at him, up and down, returning her gaze to the road. “Where?”

He rolled his sleeve past the bend of his elbow, revealing the head of a serpent lying there on his bicep. “It goes around the arm, over my shoulders, and back down the other.”

“That is so cool,” she gasped. “I love it. It’s so very ‘you’.”

“Not the first person who’s said that.”

“I think I might get a tattoo some day,” she mused aloud. “I’ve bantered it back and forth in my head, but I just haven’t yet. Did it hurt?”

“Mostly over the parts of my spine, but otherwise, tolerably. I found it a good experience at the least.”

She smiled, and all those terrible comments he spent so much time scrubbing from her profiles swung like a black mark back into his mind. For the first time, he was angry. How could anyone try and say those things about her--this lovely, sincere, fun, sad woman? 

“You okay?” She said suddenly, flitting her eyes at him. “You look upset.”

“Me?” He forced a grin onto his lips. “When I’m around you? Never.”

They rolled into New York City later that day. 

“Look who is fucking here!” Masamune thrust open the door with a bang, garnering a shouted hey! from Hideyoshi, and wrapped his arms around both Mitsuhide and the Princess. “Mitsu-fucking-Hide!”

“Hi there!” The Princess laughed, patting his back. “Who are you?”

“The one, the only, Masamune Date.” He shot her a grin. “And you’re Mrs. Matthews?”

“Most people just call me ‘Princess’. Besides, it’s weird to call myself ‘Mrs.’.”

“She’s a widow,” Mitsuhide interjected, slithering inside. 

“Oh. Shit.” Masamune stopped smiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s fine. It’s fine. Cancer. Was sort of expected.”

“Come on in!” Hideyoshi emerged in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping his forehead. “Hi! I’m Hideyoshi. Do you like Pizza?”

“Love it.”

“Great, cause Masamune prepped enough of them for an army.”

“Masamune eats like an army,” a blonde, fluffy-haired man groused at the kitchen bar. “He probably needs half of them for himself.”

“That’s Ieyasu,” Hideyoshi gestured. “Mitsunari is on the couch, probably reading still. He won’t hear you come in.”

“I’ll get him.” Masamune jogged into the living room. 

“And I’m Nobunaga.” A final, dark-haired man with carnelian eyes appeared in the hallway, a smooth smirk gracing his mouth. “Mitsuhide. How good of you to come and see me again.”

“I was practically jumping at the chance,” Mitsuhide chuckled. 

Masamune appeared at Nobunaga’s arm, wrapping his around the man’s shoulders, a pair of silvery glasses perched on his nose. The Princess laughed. “He’ll be showing up soon.”

“Have you seen my glasses?” A man with a sweet, confused expression emerged at last behind them, clogging the crowded hallway. “Oh! Who are you? I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s the Princess, Mitsun.” Masamune tucked the glasses on top of the man’s head. “And you gotta be social.”

“Of course.” He smiled, bright as the sun, and Mitsuhide was almost envious of his charm and kindness. “It’s wonderful to meet you!”

“So what’s the plan tonight?” Hideyoshi asked, clapping his hands together. “Get out of my hallway, all you, get in that living room. You’re being a safety hazard.”

“Yes, mom,” Masamune muttered with a grin. 

“I was thinking,” Mitsuhide stepped into the familiar living room after them, “after dinner we might take her to some of the usual haunts, do a little drinking.”

“Could--” The Princess spoke up for a moment, then faltered. “Maybe, um, is there a place to get a tattoo around here?”

“Tattoos?” Masamune perked visibly. 

“Goddamnit,” Ieyasu groaned from the counter. “You don’t need another.”

“Masamune’s tattoos are great,” Mitsunari chirruped cheerily. “I think you’d look great with some, too, Ieyasu!” 

“Don’t compliment me like that, that’s weird.”

“Stop arguing, you two,” Hideyoshi wielded the pizza-cutter at them both. “I mean, we could do that.”

“I’m intrigued,” Nobunaga started, eyeing her with a smile. “What do you plan on getting?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” she smiled. “It’s great to meet you all, by the way.”

Mitsuhide didn’t smoke much, but Masamune and Nobunaga did, and whenever he was around them, he always wound up with one in his hand. They bounced between bars after dinner, getting drinks and dancing, riding the subway and causing mayhem. 

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked her, loitering outside the tattoo parlor. Smoke curled around his fingertips. 

“Yeah, I think so.” She smiled nervously at him all the same. “Can I have a drag on that?”

“Sure.” He handed it to her, watching the way the glow of embers glowed against her cheeks, how it flickered orange through her eyelashes and the smoke graced the curve of those lips. A cough; he snickered at her and tapped her mouth. “You don’t have much practice smoking.”

“That’s good,” Hideyoshi frowned at him, “Cause they’re bad for you.”

“Ready?” Masamune tucked his cigarette between his teeth and shot her a wink. “My guy is here. He’ll set you up good with something.”

“I’m ready.” But she latched onto Mitsuhide’s wrist, turning her face towards his, and asked--so, so, so prettily and sweetly--”Will you hold my hand or something if it hurts?”

“Sure.” He agreed. “I’d be glad to.” 

“Okay. Don’t take too long with that cigarette!” And she disappeared into the shop. 

Four sets of eyes turned onto Mitsuhide. 

“Well, well, well.” Nobunaga was smirking. 

“Ahhhhhh.” Hideyoshi had that infuriating, all-knowing grin on his lips. 

“Hmm.” Ieyasu eyed him hard. 

“What?” Mitsunari stared between all of them, eyes wide. “What? What?”

“You’re into her.” Masamune’s grin was so wide it threatened to split his head in half. 

“You’re all daft.” Mitsuhide snickered, taking a harder drag on his cigarette than he meant to and winding up choking himself. They erupted into laughter around him. 

“Lost your cool, there? I’m disappointed.” Nobunaga teased. 

“Hardly.” He thumped his chest to clear it. 

“She’s pretty cute.” Masamune leaned in. “When are you gonna jump on that? If you don’t, I might.”

“For god’s sake, Masa, she’s widowed. Recently. I’m fairly certain she needs a breather.”

“That’d be your loss.” Masamune grinned. “Come on, let’s go get her tattoo done.”

She got it on her back, right on the nape of her neck: a sun, the moon resting inside it, a series of chandelier-styled chains hanging from the points. 

“It’s beautiful!” Mitsunari praised easily, turning his head this way and that to look at it. “Wow! How did you think of that?”

“It’s based on a poem I like,” she told him, shyly. 

“Which one?” Hideyoshi asked. 

“Oh, I probably paraphrased it. But it’s: For the Sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe.” 

“Woah.” Masamune nodded. “That’s nice. Told you he was the guy to take you to. It looks cool.”

Mitsuhide realized with a start that she was still holding tight to his hand, as tight as she had been the whole time, as tightly as if he were the only lifeline between her and the rest of the world. He didn’t let go. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She nodded hard. “Just need some air.”

“Well, come on.” He helped her to her feet, steering her past the guys and ignoring Masamune’s muttered git some. “Let’s get you some.”

They stepped out onto the New York City street, the rumble of the subway overhead echoing through the dark street. She shut her eyes hard, her fingers still locked with his. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked, tracing a thin finger on her cheek.

First she nodded, but just as quickly, she shook her head hard, tears spilling to her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh.” Mitsuhide wrapped his arms around her shoulders, cupping the back of her head and resting his chin in her soft hair. “Shh. Why are you crying?”

“It--” Choked sobs escaped her. “It felt on my skin the way it feels inside my chest.”

Oh. And what did he say to that? He smoothed long, fine lines along her cheeks, neck, shoulders, feeling her rock back and forth in her arms. And here she felt like something fragile, something delicate and honorable, something worth fighting and dying for--a ray of something he’d never had in his life. The emotional honesty and vulnerability struck him in the center of a dark, sunken part of his chest, like a diver shining a light into the center of a shipwreck long lost. 

“Was that bad?” He asked softly.

“No.” She shook her head against his chest. “No. It felt really validating.”

“Good.” Mitsuhide wrapped her tighter against him and shut his eyes. He hadn’t wanted another tattoo, or so he thought, but now--now, if he could turn the way she made him feel into a picture and burn it into his heart, he would. “God knows you deserve it.”