#otherwise they look too young. another part is. lack of skill. which makes them look bad. whihc makes me not want to practice. which makes

[catboy-a-day]

catboy 176 is an excuse to do a very mid study of a very good picture of chan from the green ate photobook ^-^

[mimicofmodes]

“The Ladies Waldegrave” by Joshua Reynolds, 1780 (NGS NG2171)

I’ve complained before about two very big pet peeves of mine - corset stuff and Regency women being dressed in 1770s-1780s clothes - but one that may dwarf them because of how frequently it comes up in historical and fantasy fiction is the oppression of embroidery.

That’s probably putting it a bit too strongly. It’s more like ... the annoyance of embroidery. Every character worth reading about knows instinctively that sewing is a) boring, b) difficult, c) mindless, and d) pointless. The author doesn’t have to say anything more than “Belinda threw down her needlework and looked out the window, sighing,” to signal that this is an independent woman whose values align with the modern reader, who’s probably not really understood by her mother or mother figure, and who probably will find an extraordinary man to “match” her rather than settling for someone ordinary. To look at an example from fantasy, GRRM uses embroidery in the very beginning of A Game of Thrones to show that the Stark sister who dislikes it is sympathetic and interesting, while the Stark sister who is competent at it is boring and conventional and obviously not deserving of a PoV (until later books, when her attention gets turned to higher matters); further into the book, of course, the pro-needlework sister proves to be weak-willed and naïve.

Rozsika Parker, in the groundbreaking 1996 work The Subversive Stitch, noted that “embroidery has become indelibly associated with stereotypes of femininity,” which is the core of the issue. "Instead embroidery and a stereotype of femininity have become collapsed into one another, characterised as mindless, decorative and delicate; like the icing on the cake, good to look at, adding taste and status, but devoid of significant content.” 

Parker also points out that the stereotype isn’t just one that was invented in the present day by feminists who hated the idea of being forced to do a certain craft. “The association between women and embroidery, craft and femininity, has meant that writers concerned with the status of women have often turned their attention towards this tangled, puzzling relationship. Feminists who have scorned embroidery tend to blame it for whatever constraint on women's lives they are committed to combat. Thus, for example, eighteenth-century critical commentators held embroidery responsible for the ill health which was claimed as evidence of women's natural weakness and inferiority.”

There are two basic problems I have with the trope, beyond the issue of it being incredibly cliché:

First: needlework was not just busywork

A big part of what drives the stereotype is the impression that what women were embroidering was either a sampler:

sampler embroidered by Jane Wilson, 14, in 1791 (MMA 2010.47)

or a picture:

unfinished embroidery of David and Abigail, British, 1640s-50s (MMA 64.101.1325)

That is, something meant to hang on the wall for no real purpose.

These are forms of schoolwork, basically. Samplers were made by young girls up to their early teens, and needlework pictures were usually something done while at school or under a governess as a showpiece of what was being learned - not just the stitching itself, but also often watercolors (which could be worked into the design), artistic sensibility, and the literature, history, or art that might be alluded to. And many needlework pictures made in schools were also done as mourning pieces, sometimes blank, for future use, and sometimes to commemorate a recent death in the family. A lot of them are awkward, clearly just done to pass the class, but others are really artwork.

Many schools for middle- and upper-class girls taught the making of these objects (and other “ornamental” subjects) alongside a more rigorous curriculum - geography, Latin, chemistry, etc. At some, sewing was also always accompanied by serious reading and discussion. (And it would often be done while someone read aloud or made conversation later in life, too.)

Once done with their education, women generally didn’t bother with purely decorative work. Some things that fabric could be embroidered for included:

Jackets 

Bed coverings and bedcurtains

Collars and undersleeves 

Pelerines 

Neck handkerchiefs and sleeve ruffles 

Screens

Upholstery

Handkerchiefs

Purses, wallets, and reticules

Boxes

Book covers

Plus other articles of clothing like waistcoats, caps, slippers, gown hems, chemises, etc. Women’s magazines of the nineteenth century often gave patterns and alphabets for personal use.

(Not to mention late nineteenth century female artists who worked in embroidery, but that’s something else.)

You could purchase all of these pre-embroidered, but many, many women chose to do it themselves. There are a number of reasons why: maybe they wanted something to do, maybe they felt like they should be doing needlework for moral/gender reasons, maybe they couldn’t afford to buy anything - and maybe they enjoyed it or wanted to give something they made to a person they loved. That firescreen above was embroidered by Marie Antoinette, someone who had any number of other activities to choose from. It’s no different than people today who like to knit their own hats and gloves or bake their own bread, except that it was way more mainstream.

embroidery patterns from Ackermann’s Repository in 1827 - they could be used on dresses, collars, handkerchiefs, etc.

Second: needlework wasn’t the only “useless” thing women were expected to do

Ignoring the bulk of point one for now and the value of embroidery - I mentioned “ornamental subjects” above. As many people know, young women of the upper and middle classes were expected to be “accomplished” in order to be seen as marriageable. This could include skills like embroidery, drawing, painting, singing, playing the piano (as well as other instruments, like the harp or the mandolin), speaking French (if not also Italian and/or German), as well as broader knowledge and abilities like being well-versed in music, literature, and poetry, dancing and walking gracefully, writing good letters in an elegant hand, and being able to read out loud expressively and smoothly.

This wasn’t a checklist. As the famous discussion in Pride and Prejudice shows, individuals could have different views on what actually made a woman accomplished:

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Mr. Bingley feels that a woman is accomplished if she has the ability to do a number of different arts and crafts. Miss Bingley feels (or says she feels) that it goes beyond specific skills and into branches of artistic attainment, plus broader personal qualities that could be imparted by well-bred governesses or mothers. And Mr. Darcy, of course, agrees with that but adds an academic angle as well.

But what ties all of these accomplishments together is their lack of value on the labor market. A woman could earn a living with any one accomplishment, if she worked hard enough at it to become a professional, but young ladies weren’t supposed to be professional-level good because they by definition weren’t going to earn a living. All together, they trained a woman for the social and domestic role of a married woman of the upper middle or upper class, or, if she couldn’t get married, a governess or teacher who would share her accomplishments with the next generation.

(To be fair, almost none of the trappings of an upper-middle/upper class male education had anything to do with the kind of career training that college frequently is today, either. Men were educated to know the cultural touchpoints of their class and fit in with their peers.)

There are reasons that an individual person/character might specifically object to embroidery, but it was far from the only “useless” thing that an unconventional heroine would be required to do against her inclination by her conventional mother/grandmother/aunt/chaperone. Embroidery stands out to modern audiences because most of the other accomplishments are now valued as gender-neutral arts and skills.

“The Embroidery Frame”, by Mathilde Weil, ca. 1900 (LOC 98501309)

So, some thoughts for writers of historical fiction (or fantasy that’s supposed to be just like the 19th/18th/17th/etc century):

- If your heroine doesn’t like embroidery, she probably doesn’t like a number of other things she’s expected to do. Don’t pull out embroidery as either more expected or more onerous than them. Does she hate to sit still? I’d imagine she also dislikes drawing and practicing the piano. Would she prefer to do academic subjects? She probably also resents learning French instead of Latin, and music and dancing. Does she hate enforced femininity? Then she’d most likely have a problem with all of the accomplishments.

- If your heroine just and specifically doesn’t like embroidery, try to show in the narrative that that’s not because it’s objectively bad, and only able to be liked by the boring. Have another sympathetic character do it while talking to the heroine. Note that the hero carries a flame-stitched wallet that’s his sister’s work. Emphasize the heroine’s emotional connection to her deceased or absent mother through her affection for clothing or upholstery that her mother embroidered - or through a mourning picture commemorating her. There are all kinds of things you can do to show that it’s a personal preference rather than a stupid craft that doesn’t take talent and skill!

mourning picture for Daniel Goodman, probably embroidered by a Miss Goodman, 1803 (MMA 56.66)

[itssuppertim3]

How would the husbands react if the LDB wanted to introduce them to their parents?

Skyrim Husbandos Meeting the Folks:

Just to clarify! Usually all of my fics are written with a female reader unless requested otherwise! I apologize if you meant for it to be a gender neutral headcanon ;-;

--------------------------------------------

Ulfric Stormcloak: Preps his hair a few too many times. You're the Dragonborn. Such a gorgeous and powerful woman must have parents kin to deities! He'll have to make sure the meeting goes without a single flaw if he wishes to impress them.

He'll be even more anxious if they're supporters of the Empire. Gods, they'll despise him! You know that dinner scene in Shrek 2? That's pretty much how he'll expect it to go. But don't worry. In reality, he learns that your parents happily accept him as their son-to-be. (Forgive him if he gets political)

Veezara: He's a bit surprised by your invitation. If anything, he didn't expect you to even be in contact with your family due to your, ahem, unflattering occupation. Nevertheless, he feels more than honored to meet them.

His outfit choice will be his usual Brotherhood armor, to which you hastily advice him to think a bit longer on the matter. The next issue will be whether or not he should strap a dagger in his boot. "Just in case," he says. Veezara is actually very charismatic with your parents, despite the fact that he's never really had any. But soon enough, he'll come to treasue them as if they were.

Argis the Bulwark: Gods above, he'll love your folks more than a child loves sweetrolls. If the two of you aren't busy, he'll make a request to go visit them. It takes no time at all for your housecarl to immediately feel a part of the family, and he will brag frequently about you, as will they. In the end, the three of them are just sitting in front of the hearth, speaking nothing but pure love and adoration for you.

If Argis had to take a survey concerning his favorite things, it would most likely be structured like this:

My Favorite Things: -Y/n -Y/n's parents -everything Y/n likes -beef roast

Teldryn Sero: Much like Ulfric, he's also very nervous believe it or not. Teldryn is convinced that he's lacking in the career department, and he expects your parents to be underwhelmed once meeting him. The last thing he wants is to disappoint your family by admitting that he's just your average mercenary who used to drink himself sour in a sleezy inn every day.

He's a bit, I dare say, timid upon first greetings. For the most part, he'll let you do all of the talking until the conversation finally steers in his direction. He swears he can feel his heart rest at ease when your parents take a huge liking to his work. He deeply respects your father, and your father respects him all the same. Meanwhile, your mother is busy flashing you giddy looks as she whispers, "such a handsome man, he is!"

Ancano: He's very curious to say the least. He's well aware of the existence of your parents, for you speak about them quite often to him. In reality, he can't help but feel a bit of jealousy stirring in his stomach. To have people that cherish him deeply has been a secret desire of his since childhood.

Your parents are a bit astounded by your taste in men. They might exchange a few worried glances at first, murmuring to one another if letting a Thalmor into their home is the best choice. This causes Ancano to feel disheartened, but that doubt is quickly erased after sharing a chat with them. Your parents will then apologize for their caution, and surprisingly the three of them will get along very well! On your way back to the College, he'll have a pleased smile accenting his lips.

Miraak: He's skilled at maintaining his poker face, but the anticipation is definitely eminent. In his eyes, meeting your parents is the greatest privilege he's ever been bestowed. He already has a deeply profound and complex respect for you, and now he gets to meet the very people who birthed you?! He's screaming. Inwardly, I mean.

Disclosing the topic on how you both met will certainly be interesting. He'll make it elaborate, dramatic, and overall heart-wrenching. "It all started during the era of my rebellion against the Dragon Cult..." "Do you favor the color green, Mrs. L/n? I onced favored green. And then I spent 3000 years imprisoned in a green and goopy dimension, consumed by an endless abyss of vengeance and rage." "Y/n was so beautiful upon first laying my eyes on her. She was on the floor, of course. But even still, her eyes shimmered like jewels (probably from tears of agony :3)" "Ah yes... then she beat the daylights of me and commanded me to be her pissbaby servant. Such a strong and charming woman!"

Savos Aren: Will over apply cologne for the sake of masking his natural herbal scent. He knows well how much you love the way he smells, however he kind of wants to prevent your folks from realizing just how often he spends in his garden.

He's enchanted by your parents from the start, and he simply loves them to death. Savos doesn't categorize in the "young people" flock, so it's only safe to invision three seniors chatting away over a hot brew of tea and rocking chairs. He'll mainly discuss his role as Arch Mage, along with how amazingly talented you are as both apprentice and Dragonborn. Ah, but they obviously knew that already.

Romlyn Dreth: He isn't going to charm your parents, oh no. He's going to dazzle them. He'll wear his best clothing, have his hair combed back, conjure up the best manners known to man and mer, etcetera. And when they ask what he does for a living, Romlyn with flutter out a confident chuckle before saying, "I sell good mead for cheap."

In truth, he's never been so intrigued by your personal life. He didn't even know you had parents! Boy, was he ecstatic to hear that you wanted him to meet them. He was a tad intimidated by the thought, but he became comfortable rather quickly. Sometimes, it feels as if he literally stole them from you, for he speaks with them as if he's their most treasured son!

---------------------------------------

I'll be thinking about this all night, holy shit. Thanks for a awesome request, Anon!

[tiesthatbind-tf]

“How much pain have you been carrying all alone? And how much loneliness is hidden behind your eyes when you smile?"

An enduring enigma to his team mates from both sides of the battlefield, Dai Takahiro does his best to make amends for a bloody past, even if no one save a few put any stock into his sincerity about turning away from the life of a mercenary.

Which suits him absolutely fine, he’ll tell anyone suggesting otherwise—-he isn’t doing it for them, he knows he’s hurt people and doesn’t expect acceptance.

Just a chance to make things right.

(More under the cut!)

Dai started out his life in Japan as an orphan after he was given away by a father too young for the responsibility and grew up in foster homes for most of his childhood. While these humble beginnings might have relegated unwanted children to a future life as faceless manual workers at the bottom of the hierarchy, he proved to be an athletically-gifted child who excelled on the track, a talent government scouts couldn’t ignore. He was drafted as an ‘early pick’ to be trained in a sports academy to represent the country in the Olympics when he came of age, and he built all of his dreams for his future on that prospect. He blazed the track and was given the name ‘Drift’ by his coach, Goro Katsuo, due to his skill at navigating bends as though he was drifting past them, winning race after race in his home country.

Determination and dedication however, were no match for a hit and run incident a year before he was slated to take part in the Olympic Games, which badly damaged his legs. While reconstructive surgery gave him back the ability to stand, he walked with limp, suffered from chronic pain and could no longer run. 

Goro, having seen Dai as his adopted son by this point elected to help the young man get treatment to allow him to run once more, as Dai had nothing else. The search for said treatment took an emotional and monetary toll on the two of them and as the Olympics loomed close, Dai saw his spot replaced by another athlete.

Promising Dai that he would be able to join the next Olympics in four years, Goro took him to England to further pursue treatment there; When his money ran out, he found menial work in the Dead End for them to live on and save up for an experimental treatment.

Dai also took on whatever odd jobs were available given his lack of a formal education; however, he had become disillusioned and heavily dependent on painkillers to function in a daily basis. He took to petty theft to feed the growing addiction without Goro’s knowledge, not wanting to burden his mentor and father figure further nor admit weakness, and would often be found roaming the streets.

On one such occasion, he was rescued by Omar Parvez (Orion Pax) from thugs who had beat him senseless and tried to steal his wages when he overdosed on painkillers on a particularly bad day. It was only a trip to Ronan Chase’s (Ratchet) free clinic that saved him, and he spent several weeks at Ronan’s clinic healing from his injuries and striking up a friendship with the doctor, who he tried to help out around the premises as well as he could.  He grew to admire Ronan’s work for the forgotten of Dead End, and after Ronan found out about his circumstances, Ronan elected to perform surgery on him pro bono to get rid of the chronic pain and help him walk without a limp again. 

By this time, his faraway Olympic dreams had been replaced by one closer to earth; Helping out the good doctor and the Dead End, and he was over the moon when Ratchet happily agreed to take him on as an aide

Excited about his new prospects, he returned to the Dead End to look for Goro, who he found attempting to stop two policemen from brutalizing a petty thief . When Goro was accidentally shot by one the cops who immediately tried to cover their tracks rather than call for help (leading to Goro’s death), he killed them. Their partner escaped however, and he knew this made him a wanted man, which forced him to go underground to stay off the radar. He kept his distance from Ronan to protect the doctor, having seen Ronan being interrogated by policemen for potentially shielding and treating fugitives. 

In the darkness, he formed bonds with low and mid-level criminals whom paid him to become their scout, then their runner, then a guard, and when he had gotten into enough fights to learn how to win them and made it clear that he hated cops more than he feared them, a hitman for hire.

It was about this time that ‘Towards Peace’ by Morgan Trayton (Megatron) began to spread through the underground publishing network and while now jaded and cynical to the world, for a moment Dai felt that hope for a better world flash again and remembered the doctor that had saved his life for free in the clinic ages ago. Remembered what was said about how his determination and dedication were his real assets.

What better place to put those assets to use than in a rising revolution?

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[staczak91]

A list of some of my favorite musicians and why

I’m bored right now, so listing, in no particular order, some of my favorite musicians over the years and have stuck with me for my life so far. 

Music has always been an integral part of my life and I love it so so much. Just hearing the perfect song or finding that album that speaks to you is amazing.

So, yeah, here are some musicians that I love love LOVE! No surprises in here for people that know me.

The Beatles

I grew up with this band! My mom adored them and now I adore them. I’m more partial to early Beatles, but they made great music all across their years as a band. Favorite Beatle? I don’t think I can choose. They’re all perfect in their own way. The first rock band. The first boy band. The first musical obsession of my life. Thank you, Beatles, for everything you have given me. 

Kurt Cobain (Nirvana)

I fell in love with Kurt and Nirvana in college after my mom’s death and never fell out of love with him or the band. They’re my go to band when I’m feeling sad or angry emotions and need to just let it out. I found Kurt’s story amazing and believe he is a songwriting genius. Unplugged will always remain my favorite Nirvana album and live performance. 

Jack White

Jack White is one strange man! But I believe that is why I really love him and his music. He makes great straight-up rock music and I love him in whatever form he chooses to express himself: White Stripes, solo, Raconteurs, all of it is fantastic. I fell in love with his music in college after my sister introduced me to his music and, again, never fell out of love. His guitar-playing skills are legendary and he has a great voice to boot!

Amy Winehouse

Amy Winehouse was another college mainstay that I’m still in love with all these years later. I listened to both her albums numerous times and watched the film Amy, which was so sad and enlightening. I wish we all could have seen her growth as an artist and see her become even more of a legendary performer. Her jazz-infused pop was a breath of fresh air and she’ll always remain a favorite of mine. 

Taylor Swift

I had to include Taylor on this list! Been a fan of hers since Fearless but didn’t become a bigger fan until 1989, when I was hooked and never looked back. She doesn’t have a bad album to her name, and seeing reputation live was simply the icing on the cake. Her music and lyricism is perfect and on point and I’m so happy I became a fan of this legendary artist. She’s one of my all-time favorites and I will always love her and her music. Cannot wait to see what she does next.

Jeff Buckley

I found Jeff Buckley’s music a year after I graduated from college totally by accident and so happy I stumbled on his work. Grace is one of the most perfect albums I’ve ever heard and I wish we could have seen his growth as an artist. I’m sad we will never see more from this songwriting genius who was so empathetic and so real. One of my all-time favorites who has stuck with me for life. I simply adore Jeff Buckley.

David Bowie

My mom also adored Bowie and passed that adoration down to me. I remember his death hit real bad when it happened and the whole world was in mourning. And for good reason too. He was just a musician who was so full of life and was so so talented. He deserved everything he got in life. I’m still rocking out to his songs now and will never grow tired of this man’s legacy. Thanks, Bowie, for the good times.

Elvis Presley

I fell in love with Elvis in eighth grade and never looked back! Once I found out I shared a birthday with him, that’s it: I was hooked. And I’m still in love with his persona and music now. The ultimate rock star. He just shed cool. And was a marvel of an entertainer, from musician to rock star to movie star, he did it all. And he was able to move deftly between so many genres too. Really, I love Elvis, and I’m not ashamed. 

Harry Styles

Harry is a new love of mine, but I had to include him. I must admit I’ve never been a One Direction fan and even after discovering Harry and listening to them, I don’t think I’ll ever be one. (Sorry, guys.) But Harry’s solo music is a breath of fresh air in this kind of boring music industry now. He’s controversial and fun and his music is phenomenal. Fine Line is one of the best albums I’ve heard in years, and I’ll be singing “Lights Up” and “Adore You” until the day I die. Although Harry is a new love of mine, I believe I’m gonna love him and his music for years to come. Cannot wait to see him live and see what new great music he has in store for us. Really, I’m unabashedly in love with the guy and I have no regrets. 

Honorable Mentions:

For those who I outgrew or haven’t made my all time favorites list. 

Billie Joe Armstrong (Green Day)

Including him as an honorable mention. I used to be in love with Billie years ago as a kid and a young adult, but I kind of outgrew his music. Sorry not sorry, I have so many great memories with him and the band, but I just can’t really listen to them anymore. I guess I grew out of them. Still, though, it was fun while it lasted. I just feel like Green Day aren’t really trying anymore as a band and because of that I’ve lost interest in them. Again, sorry not sorry. 

Beyoncé

Okay let me get one thing straight: I love Beyoncé, her image and her music. But she isn’t in my all time favorites, even with these loves. I think she’s great and extremely talented but I have to be in the right mood to listen to her. Which is why I’m adding her to the honorable mentions. Don’t get me wrong. I love so many of her songs and albums. But...well, I just really have to be in the mood for her music. Still, though, she reigns.

Led Zeppelin

Same thing with Zep. My dad adores this band and it’s one of his favorites. But I can’t force it. I have to be in the mood for them. They’re fantastic, I won’t argue against that. But they’re also heavier than what I usually listen to. Still, when I want to bond with my dad, we usually listen to Zep together. 

Bob Dylan

Dylan is a goddamn poet and I love him! But again I just have to be in the mood for him, which doesn’t happen very often right now. Still, though, I won’t argue against his greatness. He truly makes masterpieces. At least his first few albums and in his younger days. 

Adele

Adele has a powerhouse voice and is technically a favorite of mine. But I find sometimes her music is missing something vital, which is why I put her in the honorable mentions category. Again, I realize how talented she is and am not saying otherwise. But, yeah, I’m usually in the mood for her but at the same time, find some of her music lacking. I’m sorry, Adele. I still love your brand. 

Well, there you have it. I’ve listened to loads of music growing up and I’ll continue to do so and find new music to love. But these are some of my all time favorite musicians and some honorable mentions. Hope you enjoyed the lsit! I know I enjoyed writing it! <3

[moominnyu]

oblivious [kevin moon]

🧸🎀 — pairings: kevin moon (the boyz) x gender neutral reader

🧸🎀 — tw: none.

🧸🎀 — wc: 3751

anyone who knows kevin to a personal level would be sorry for the guy, frustrated in his behalf even.

now, don't get me wrong, he's a handsome young man with a sweet personality, a nice car and good friends. he's a member of one of the hottest, on the rise k-pop boy groups, with a honeyed voice and great dance skills. he could probably bag anyone he wanted with minimal effort on his part, whether they work or not for the same industry as him. but the problem for kevin moon starts around someone who has little to nothing to do with the idol world.

you're kevin's friend, his little childhood friend from back when he was in america, and current best friend even here in korea. kevin's childhood friend who's only an university student, and knows as much about idols as you know about calculus— that is, nothing—, kevin's childhood friend who works part time in café, and still gets allowance from your parents, kevin's childhood friend who lives just three blocks from his dorm, who is so used to be by his side that you practically live at his dorm alongside his members. kevin's childhood friend who is... just his childhood friend and nothing more.

he's been on the unrequited love side of the spectrum for too long that his problem no longer relies on the fact that you guys are friends probably since you were both fetuses inside your mothers' wombs. he already felt this way about you when you lost your first tooth when you were six, even when you smiled at him with an incisor missing. he already felt this way about you when he taught you how to ride a bike at the park when you both were nine, even when you fell on your face and had a big bruise on your left cheek that remained on your skin for two weeks after that. he already felt this way about you when you turned fourteen and you stopped being a tiny shrimp and started looking more like what would later become his ideal type. he already felt this way about you when you guys were seventeen and he was starting his little youtube channel with one of his friends, and you would watch his videos with a genuine excitement that matched his. he already felt this way about you when you moved to korea together, not even knowing what was ahead of you but knowing that you had each other whatever happened.

he's been in love with you for way too long, so long that he already had every single inner monologue, argument, discussion and debate he could possibly have with himself about how absolutely wrong and criminal it is to have a crush, or rather, be in love with your best friend.  

he won in absolutely zero of these arguments against himself, as he always came to the conclusion that it was wrong, you two were friends and that's it, that you probably saw him only as a brother, if anything. but he had received his very needed push in the back by his members, now close friends of both of you, that insisted that it was normal: you were attractive, funny, sweet and a perfectly viable choice for him due to your closeness, anyone in his situation would probably be the same, and he would be a fool if he let go of the opportunity. with your looks and personality, you could get a partner anytime you wanted, and time was ticking for kevin, which, in turn, prompted him to act with you in mind, courtesy of sunwoo who mentioned he'd be the one making the moves if kevin didn't do it first.

and, so, it started, the tortuous process of courting.  

he didn't outright tell you he liked you, as he wanted to test the waters first, so he started with simple and minimal things, things that would go completely unnoticed by you unless you saw him as something more than a simple friend, unless you saw him in the same light as he saw you.  

hugging you a tad bit tighter and longer when he greeted you, getting leaves out of your hair or clothes for you, tentatively holding your hand when he wanted to guide you somewhere, placing his hands on your waist on hips when he walked past you; all little things that made his pale cheeks burn up a crimson color and his stupid, traitor heart beat uncontrollably against his ribcage... all little things that you remained completely apathetic to.  

“don't be afraid to up your game, hyung,” haknyeon had offered some advice, and as if it served as comfort to kevin, he had friendly palmed his back to show empathy for him, who sat with his head down, face hidden in his hands, “i think y/n is great! they definitely haven't noticed yet, and that's why they haven't said anything!”

it was another one of those nights where he was overcome with feelings, when the tug on his chest became too heavy and when the feeling of urgency became desperation. none of what he did was working out the way he wanted it to, and everytime he was left with more questions that answers: did you really blush when you brushed hands while reaching for the salt, or was it his mind playing tricks on him? were you really staring at him with such dreamy eyes when he was sketching or were you just spaced out? he could never tell.  

“well, that's obvious,” sunwoo retorted, plump lips on a straight line. he scratched his head and nudged kevin on the ribs, “you're the one who knows them best, you should that y/n had never had a partner before, it's likely they're just oblivious to your advances,”

an imaginary lightbulb flicked on on top of kevin's head at that moment when he realized sunwoo was right.

in all the years he's known you, you've never showed any kind of romantic interest in any person. it wasn't that you were short of suitors or admirers, quite the contrary, actually, you've had that sweet tendency to smile at everyone that happened to make eye contact with you since little, offer your help whenever needed and an ability to make friends with anyone in a matter of seconds. kevin was sure, during all his high school years, that the reason why he was liked was because of the halo effect, produced by the fact that he was always by your side.  

but, you, even with many suitors and secret admirers, never once brought up the topic of dating and crushes in front of kevin. he thought it was better that way, honestly, he's a bit more mature now but back when he was still a teenager, he was sure he wouldn't be able to take it if he heard you talking about another guy, all starry eyed and blushing. but that didn't mean he didn't feel curious about it.  

one time, against his own mental advices to just mind his business in case he ended up with a broken heart, kevin asked you about a guy in your class who he overheard your classmates teasing you about.

“oh, yeah, you mean james, right?” you sat on the floor of his bedroom, copying the answers from his textbook onto yours. you had bit your pencil and narrowed your eyes, thoughtfully, “i tutor him on sundays. nice guy.”

“i know who he is,” kevin answered, matter of factly, as he reclined back on his desk chair. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as some form of idle distraction from the unsteadiness of his heart, “i'm asking you why were your friends making kissy faces at you when he was talking to you.”

he had sounded more stern than he intended, but, then again, that moment was the very first time he ever saw you blush and fix your hair in front of a dude, the first time he saw you act shy around someone.  

“he invited me to prom last week,” you answered, continuing to write down on your notebook with your cute, pink gel pen, “and my friends think he likes me because of that.”

“how are you so sure that he doesn't like you?,” it's obvious he does, kevin thought, otherwise he wouldn't look like such a fool, stuttering and scratching his nape like an idiot everytime you two interacted. not that he's one to talk, though.  

“because he's just being nice to me,” you frowned, “he always is. he walks me home when you can't, invites me to get coffee after tutoring, he saves me a spot next to him when i'm late for class,” you didn't lift your head from your notes or ever stopped writing, that's how trivial james's acts of ‘kindness’ were for you, “he even gifted me chocolates last valentine's.”

that's crush behavior, kevin wanted to say, but he didn't. he didn't want to implant the idea in your mind, making you overly conscious about it and forcing you to end up confused about your own feelings. if you liked him back or not, he decided, was for you to find out on your own, unprovoked.  

“do you like him?,” but there he was, having to open his big mouth out of morbid, masochistic curiosity.  

you lifted your head, finally looking up at him with a raised eyebrow, “no?”

“then why were you blushing when he was talking to you?”

“because julia was making a big deal out of it,” you said, frowning with certain annoyance and embarrassment, “and because noah kept telling him we look so cute together.”

“no, you don't.” kevin chimed in, perhaps too fast for his liking.  

“that's what i'm saying! we're just friends!” you sounded a bit exasperated, probably tired from all the teasing, “just like you and me.”

thanks to sunwoo, remembering that useful, albeit painful, conversation served kevin to switch his approach around you. thinking about it, back then, it should have been his first clue about your lack of awareness. he discarded as simple, intentional obliviousness— he thought that james was so obvious about his crush, you might as well were just trying to ignore it and not acknowledge it to avoid having to awkwardly reject him; but this obliviousness of yours lasted even much, much after that, when you guys moved to korea together and the people you met there were equally interested in you but ended up receiving the same treatment of complete lack of interest. even eric had, at some point of your early friendship, when he had a pitiful crush on you that lasted a couple of months.  

with a new, more direct approach in mind, kevin moon hadn't given up yet.  

he began to make his hints a bit more obvious so that the wouldn't fly over your pretty, little head like the ones before did, and he was pleasantly surprised to find out that it worked with great efficiency.  

complimenting you every chance he could, both looks and personality wise, often mentioning how you're the only person to make him this happy, how his day gets better when he sees you.  

and alongside the not so subtle flirting, your reactions began to grow in intensity as well. instead of the usual, coy nudge you'd give him when he complimented your appearance, you'd purse your lips and look down when he'd say that he thinks you're absolutely stunning. you'd bite a smile, cheeks heating up, when he'd, purposely on accident, casually sit close to you while watching movies, both of your sides pressed against each other. when he'd press an unassuming kiss to your temple after dropping you back at your place, you'd lean into his touch for a bit longer than usual, and you'd look a blushy mess of shaky eyes and pursed lips once he did pull away. even when he wasn't trying, even when his focus was on something else entirely, the amount of times he'd catch you staring at him and then move your eyes away as soon as he noticed were too many for them to be a simple coincidence.  

all of these interactions made him hopeful, made him think that he did the right thing by slowly approaching you in a way that you felt comfortable with. by the time he decided to finally confess to you, he was so sure you were, at least, confused about it, that you were seeing him in a new light now and that you weren't sure how to act around it, and that was enough for kevin, he just needed to go past that friendship relationship and then he'd work the rest, with you.  

and with this realization came yet multiple other inner debates about how to go around the confession. should he prepare for it? invite you to a picnic at the beach and confess to you when you both are enjoying the sunset? or should he just be spontaneous? you've never liked anything too flashy, after all, and you valued honesty over anything else.  

he chose to just do it one day, chose a time when you two are alone and tell you normally like he would do with any other thing. after all, you two were best friends who could tell absolutely anything to each other with no shame, and his feelings for you didn't change this.

but, whenever he thought about finally doing it, whenever he practiced his exact words in his mind over and over again until he was confident enough he wouldn't stutter, the moment would get interrupted by outside forces. like younghoon deciding to watch a movie in the living room where you guys were at, just in time when kevin had said he had something to tell you, like sunwoo coming uninvited into his room when you two were finally alone, saying that he was bored and asking if you wanted to play mario kart together. or that one time when kevin had managed to build momentum in his favor, mentioning how much he appreciates you and how lucky he is to have you by his side unconditionally, and just as he was about to utter the three important words, your mom had the inopportune need to call you, at three a.m. in the morning, because she had a nightmare about you being swallowed by the kraken.  

being stuck in this predicament didn't dishearten kevin, though. he's wanted to tell you how he feels since forever, he wasn't gonna give up over a few unfortunate interruptions.  

the perfect time to do it comes spontaneously, unprepared, just like most of those peaks of inspiration he feels out of the blue somedays.  

tonight, you're staying the night at his. you had went grocery shopping earlier in the afternoon, and kevin bought the ingredients to bake you some brownies after your insistence and pleads, clinging to his arm and pointing at the deliciously looking pictures of them in the premade mixture boxes, so now you're sitting on the counter of his kitchen while looks for the ingredients in the frige, reading the recipe out loud for him from your phone while swinging your legs up and down.  

“a double boiler?”, kevin leaves the fridge door open when he walks up to you and leans in so that he can get a look at your screen, “what the heck's that?”

“it says here that it's a fancy term for a... small saucepan filled with an inch of two of water set over low heat,” you read out loud, then lifting your head with a confused grimace, “huh?”

“i don't know,” kevin kicks the door closed after retrieving the butter, shrugging and trying to pretend he didn't notice how you stared at his lips just a second ago, “i'm just gonna make that one old recipe, the one we know and adore.”

“yeah, i don't know why you felt the need to change it,” you set your phone down and hop down the counter to give him more space, “you know i just eat whatever you make.”

“you like your brownies a bit more fudgy, don't you?” he takes a bowl out of the cabinet, and places it right beside where you're standing. he offers you a smile, a bit shy but genuine, “and i like to spoil you.”

at that moment, sunwoo walks into the kitchen. he makes a small gesture of acknowledgement to you and walks past kevin to get to the fridge. you follow him with your eyes.  

“hyung, i'm heading out,” sunwoo grabs a water bottle and closes the fridge again. he stands by kevin and points at the bowl where he's wisking the eggs, taking a short sip of his water, “can you save me some brownies?”

“i'm not making these for you, you know,” kevin sighs.  

“just one, then,” sunwoo insists, eyebrows up and pout on his lips, “you know i love brownies.”

“i'll save you some,” you smile at the younger guy lightly, “where are you heading?”

sunwoo shrugs and scratches his nape, “had the sudden urge to go to the movies.”

“alone?” you inquire, trying to supress a laugh.  

“don't judge a man for his hobbies, y/n,” sunwoo flicks your forehead with little force, and kevin hates that ugly feeling in his gut when you giggle and poke your tongue at him, “gotta go now, i've already purchased my ticket.”

and with sunwoo leaving, everyone else out on individual schedules and chanhee dead asleep on his room, you both are, technically, left alone in the dorm for once and for all.  

kevin pretends to be too preoccupied with spreading the thick batter in the baking pan to notice that the perfect opportunity to do it is just unfolding in front of him. he knows that the reason why he keeps getting interrupted is because he likes to take his sweet time with it, dragging it out as much as he can so he can prepare his heart for it. he decides he's not gonna do that tonight.  

just as he opens his mouth, your phone dings on the counter. kevin busies himself with putting the baking pan in the oven while you reach for your phone with the spatula he used in your mouth.  

“who are you texting?” he asks once he notices your wide smile and soft giggles.  

“yurina, one of my uni classmates,” you lick your lips after you're done licking the batter off, tossing the spatula into the sink, “she's happy because she asked her crush to be her girlfriend,”

“and did she say yes?”

“well, she wouldn't be happy otherwise, don't you think?”

there's an one-sided awkward silence when kevin rests against the counter while staring at you intently texting back and forth with this girl from uni.  

a moment of doubt crosses his mind. should he really do it? something tells him he shouldn't, that he should just keep quiet, but he's been walking through this desert for so long ago that stopping now feels wrong when he can practically see water in front of him.

love gives him a push in the back.  

“what about you?” he asks, and he internally cringes at the way his voice cracks a little at the end. he clears his throat, “i mean, are you interested in anyone?”

your thumbs stop typing suddenly, and you remain frozen for a moment, staring at your screen. you're blushing a little when you slowly lift your eyes towards him, and he mirrors such expression when his hopeful heart does a little flip.  

“why—why are you asking all of a sudden?”, your voice sounds tiny and you look a bit doubtful of him.  

“well, you never tell me about stuff like this,” he scratches his eyelid as he looks down at his shoes. the awkwardness is almost painful, and he's sure he isn't the only one feeling it right now, “is it someone you can't tell me?,” he makes a small pause in which he lifts his eyes from the ground and looks at you, “a close friend, maybe?”

silence fills the kitchen. the hen shaped cooking timer clicks as it counts down the minutes for the brownies to be ready, hour phone pings with new upcoming messages, the tv in chanhee's room makes deaf noise in the backround, yet, none of you talk.

when you refuse to meet his eyes that come looking for you, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down, kevin realizes he's going to be the one who breaks it, unfortunately.

“did i hit the jackpot?,” perhaps he sounds hopeful, or perhaps the silence was too loud that his voice now seems to over-volume it.  

you finally look up from the floor, “why am i the only one being interrogated?,” you sound a little more like yourself when you block your phone and cross your arms on your chest, lips pouty and the tip of your ears a little bit red, “you also never tell me anything about stuff like that!”

“i'll tell you if you want,” he murmurs, trying to analize your reaction, “if you tell me first.”

in the heart fluttering moment, odds are in his favor, he knows. it's on the way you look at him through your eyelashes, shy and maybe even a bit flustered, the sugar rush on his veins at the sight of your blush, ever telling of your feelings. because he knows you so well he knows that his hunch is right, it's because of your connection that he can feel that it's no longer one-sided, that, as much as he feels for you, you feel for him.  

“why don't you,” you make a small pause to press the back of your hands to your hot cheeks, “why don't you say it first, then?”

“how about we say it at the same time?,” even in his certainty there's still cautiousness, as if he needs confirmation even if he can read your heart, “at the count of three.”

“okay,” you smile at him with warmth, gentle, still laced with a shyness that makes your eyes a bit glossy, and it's the prettiest thing kevin has ever seen, “one.”

“two.” he says, his heart on a frenzy, mind a bit hazy with quiet excitement for what's about to come.  

“three!” you both say, and there's a small pause before any of you continue:

“you!”

“sunwoo!”

[pokesplendor]

carmela’s team from my pokemon shield playthrough! not as happy with this bunch... info beneath the cut!

Graves - Inteleon - she/he - lesbian White - cis woman - age 30

Graves came from a very unconventional background prior to entering into the League circuit. Having raised since she was young by Interpol for undercover operations, she was there and experienced things a child shouldn’t for the sake of ‘justice.’ Who’s justice is really to question in this situation, as she never had a say. It’s only once she reached legal age did she take a ‘vacation’ and decide to try the league. That’s where she re-encountered Ella, who she had met on the job in the Champion’s guard. She uses her combat skills she gained from her rigorous upbringing, which you’d think would cause her to dominate the field, but that isn’t the case. She’s actually fairly bad at it. 

She has a bit of a problem interacting with others. She was trained in how to act natural, friendly, and unassuming, but she doesn’t know how to not act. What’s Graves’ personality? Well, she’s a crybaby whenever she’s alone. Little things upset her, her anxiety ramps up her paranoia, and she keeps it all saved beneath the surface until she’s alone and then she cries. Other than crying in her off time, she’s a voracious reader, and particularly likes poetry.

If Graves could ever be honest with herself, she’d admit she’s fallen for Ella quite hard. That bright ball of sunshine brought a smile to her face in a way she hadn’t experienced before. But she wasn’t able to voice her feelings, and Ella is now sadly taken. She’s also a poor leader, along with a poor battler, and she doesn’t garner much respect from her team. She’s often spoken over by Crusher.

Crusher - Sirfetch’d - she/her - lesbian White - cis woman - age 34

Crusher likes to think she’s a gallant, chivalrous knight that leaves women quaking with soaked undies are her arrival and her deep, rusty voice sends shivers up their spine when she announces herself, and she’d like to think that everyone wants her around, but she’s wrong. She butted her way into Graves’ team, seeing its lack of, well, many things, leadership, power, attractiveness… They obviously would benefit from her accompaniment. She didn’t care what they had to say, she was going to be on their team and they were going to worship her for what she brings to the table. She’d like to think she’s wanted, but honestly, not very much so.

As if it wasn’t evidence enough, Crusher is extremely up her own ass, overconfident, and unfortunately, with enough power to back up her words. She’s a demon on the field, knocking enemies out with a single sweep sometimes. She works out on the regular, and doesn’t wear armor to show off her many (sexy) battle scars. Otherwise, she’s into collecting antique tea sets and little glass kittens to display back home. Her house is full of them.

Crusher likes to think (man she likes to think a lot of things) that everyone on the team is slightly in love with her, when she is tolerated at best. Goliath likes her, but Goliath likes everyone. He spots for her when they’re working out together, and she respects him for his strength. She’s especially hard on Thrasher and Maverick for not pulling their weight until they evolved, citing them as a weakness.

Goliath - Grimmsnarl - he/they - gay Japanese - nonbinary - age 21

Goliath hails from the Glimmwood Tangle, from quite a large and loving family, but he got it in his head that he had to see the world beyond the forest clearing, he wanted to see where all the people braving its endless maze to reach the gym were about, he wanted to know! A regular yearning princess wishing to see what’s beyond her tower she’s been trapped in. And this is the family business Matilda had to leave her swamp for, bringing his ass home. She got there a little too late, however, already picked up by Graves’ group and registered into gym fights. He couldn’t leave! He made a promise to help! And look at his cool new friends.

When not spent daydreaming about adventures he could be having, he likes to keep in shape. His family home requires constant upkeep, lest the magical wood overgrows anything manmade within a few days. He likes to read, despite struggling with it due to his dyslexia, and he hopes to write his own book one day about what he’s experienced, he wants to have an adventure worth filling a book with. He’s a very positive lad, a happy one, who tries to share the happiness with those around him.

Goliath is still young, but he’s pretty sure about who he is as a person, he knows where he stands on morals, and her own identity as well. He’s chivalrous and kind, always trying to get the team to work together and get along. It has varying results. Grievous loves to mother him, and he likes to think he’s pals with Graves. Despite being younger, he tries to protect Thrasher and Maverick.

Blitz - Centiscorch - she/her - queer White - cis woman - age 33

Blitz, like Graves, was raised by Interpol for infiltration and undercover work. Unlike Graves, however, while the Inteleon was sanded down to being a weak, anxiety-ridden mess, it only strengthened Blitz’ nerves of steel, causing her to become cold and calculating. She only joined the League circuit because she had a mandated vacation following losing her leg from the knee down, and she didn’t want to get rusty on her skills. Not to mention she saw Graves attempting to lead and failing at it and thought she’d stick around to demean her for her lack of anything worthy of use for Interpol’s workings.

She doesn’t have many hobbies, she likes working out, staying fit, and occasionally cooking some ultra healthy superfood, but it’s not like cooking is her passion. She doesn’t understand why people think you need to have a life outside of your work, she’s perfectly happy to just always be on the job and do as it demands. She smokes, but only the occasional cigarette so as to not negatively affect her health. She’s a woman of few loves, few words, and she thinks that’s just fine.

Blitz scoffs when the team tries to have any sort of ‘get to know each other’ exercise. It’s never in good faith, and just ends in disaster so she tries to avoid it. Grevious tries to mother her on occasion, for whatever reason, she never had a mother and she doesn’t want one, so she doesn’t understand why her face gets flushed and hands get sweaty when the dragon’s around.

Maverick - Corviknight - she/her - lesbian White - trans woman - age 32

Maverick is a failed knight from olden times; she was sealed in a tomb in the slumbering weld with her previous king as a way to protect him in the next life, only to be revived by Graves and Ella exploring the area. Being awoken in modern times, she had a lot to learn and get used to, part of it being her king is no more. The body is gone, and the tomb ransacked. She failed, and this weighs heavy on her shoulders through the journey. She agreed to follow Graves, sensing a nobility to her, Ella already having Thomasin by her side while Graves had no one. She is skilled in battle, if not unsure of herself due to her failings during both in the past, and while she was asleep.

She holds herself to high standards, almost impossible for her to meet, but no one else. She does not expect others to keep up her strict training regime, it is for her alone to shoulder the burden of being known as a failure. Despite that statement, Crusher constantly challenges her, and they’re often sparring with one another. In her off time, she enjoys weaving and is learning the modern trades of ‘sewing’ and ‘crochet.’ She enjoys making clothes for herself and others.

Her strict lifestyle doesn’t give her many moments to herself or to consider her feelings for others. She dedicates herself to a cause and thinks of little else. However she enjoys Grevious’ company. She does notice the occasional stares from others, such as Thomasin from Ella’s team, and she wonders what it could mean. Does she resent her for not joining Ella? It seemed only fair at the time.

Grevious - Dragapult - she/her - bi Vietnamese - trans woman - age 45

The ghost of a test pilot that went down during a new dirigible’s trial run over Galar. Her body was never found, believed to be incinerated by the blast, and her spirit has hung on to the area as she never got a proper burial. Graves, hearing her plight, followed her to her remains, giving her the burial she deserved. Freed from her prison, she was free to pass on, but she denied doing so, she had to repay Graves for her service. And so, she was conscripted to the gym challenge, one she had seen many travelers pass by speaking of such a thing and she was always curious just what exactly it was. She had heard things of course, but nothing is better than first hand experience.

Grievous is a very noble person, but not too stuffy either. She loves a good joke, she loves puns, and she loves giving people a good fright with her ghostly status. It’s all in good fun, she’d never do anything malicious or something that would genuinely harm others! She loves to fly, she had always loved to fly, and dying didn’t exactly rob her of that love. Now she can do it without a plane! She spent so long as spirit, she kind of forgot what having hobbies is like, and she’s trying new things!

She’s a very motherly person, and, being the oldest of the group, feels very maternal towards all the young little ones around her. She’s particularly concerned for Graves and Blitz upon hearing around their upbringing. That’s no way to treat a child! She does her best to tend to the others of the group. Though she would be lying if she didn’t say that Crusher pushed her buttons more than once.

Thrasher - Obstagoon - they/them - lesbian Black - transmasc nonbinary - age 24

Thrasher comes from a foster home full of wayward kids who grew up on the downward spiral of life, and they themselves weren’t an exception. Originally from Spikemuth, they never knew their parents and their foster home travels were rough. No one seemed to want to keep them, and at one point they got sick of it and ran away from home. They ran and ran and never looked back, and found a job working in the professor’s lab in Postwick. They didn’t ask them where they were from, nor tried to contact anyone else, so it was good for them. They met Graves early into their gym circuit and decided to join her to perform some field work for the professor.

They’re quite down on themselves, never feeling like they’ll accomplish anything of worth. They couldn’t be a good child, they’re not a good battler, it took them a while to come into their own, and Crusher needling them constantly didn’t help. In their spare time, they play guitar and sing covers of existing songs. They don’t have a knack for writing, just another thing they fail at. It’s been a tough life, and they stumble along the way constantly trying to get to a better tomorrow.

Thrasher is a shy sort when it comes to their feelings, they haven’t been engendered into showing their vulnerable side to others. And Graves’ group isn’t exactly what you’d call family. But it’s a nice change of pace and they almost feel… wanted. And Grevious is a nice addition to their life. To have such a motherly person doting on them is, well, a dream come true.

[pedropascalssimp]

The beauty in everything.

Boba fett x reader

Request: A thought about a one shot where Boba would show his face for the first time to his mate. Like, he has been with her for a long while but he was terrified to loose her because of his appearance (because he's older than her and because of what the Saarlac did to him) (We're post-Mandalorian)

Warnings: mild language. Slight angst. Fluff.

Tags: @anilynworlds

The sun's setting was always something you admired about tatooine, the way the blue sky would turn orange and pink, the beautiful twin sun's touching the horizon while coloring the sky in beautiful hues. It was calming to watch, something most people overlooked about the horrid planet was its beauty. They saw tatooine as a place full of sand and thugs and creatures who either scurried away or tried to kill you. People saw tatooine for its rough exterior, how it could sometimes be unfair or cruel. But You saw tatooine for what it really was, another planet with a beautiful nature. Sure it was hot and did attract horrid people, but it's sunsets was always the most beautiful of any other planet, the night sky as well.

It was always so clear, showing off the stars and planet's above more vibrantly and more brighter then most systems. But like said before, most people over looked this about the planet making them think it was horrid and just another unbearable planet. But you liked it, so much that you even found a home here with the love of your life, boba fett.

Perhaps your love for watching the sun's set is how boba knew how to find you, that and he's known for being the best bounty hunter. You've known boba for years, he drifted into your town on your home planet one afternoon looking for a bounty, his beskar turning heads and keeping people at bay. No doubt out of fear, for the green beskar harbored many weapons and the man wearing it was more then skilled when it came to fighting. But as everyone saw a dangerous mandalorian who could kill a man with a glare, you saw beauty in the way he held himself with grace. And whenever you heard him speak? You was drawn to the modulated accent. It was deep and addictive, once you heard it you never wanted words to stop rolling off his tongue, whether it be threats to someone who got on his nerves or simple small talk. Anyway you was happy to hear him speak. And luckily for you he found you to be the most gorgeous woman in the galaxy.

Needless to say after attending the once stranger's injury during a brawl and late night talks in your former home, you and the mandalorian in green armor formed a bond, one that brought you two closer, love blooming between you two.

"of course I find you out here admiring this place" a slight teasing tone was heard to the voice you've grown to never get enough of. Turning your gaze from the setting twin sun's you look over your shoulder from where you stood on the stone balcony to look at boba. His armor on.

"I didn't expect you to be back this early? I thought you and Fennec wouldn't be back until midnight?" you say as he walks over to lean on the railing as you do, his warm gloved hand resting on the small of your back. His touch sending a warmth through your body making you feel content.

Smiling up at him, looking into the t-shaped visor always void. "we managed to make business short, I wanted to spend more time with you I suppose" boba watches with a fond grin as a smile blooms on your face at his words. Although the man wasn't good with showing much affection, he always tried for you. Because you deserved the galaxy, your heart made of gold making even the bounty hunter feel soft around you. You was such a loving creature and it was only right you got love back.

"you suppose? We both know you've missed me" you poke at his tummy, not surprised when he doesn't even move a muscle. "I missed you" you add softly and decided to watch the last of the sun's set. The dark blue mixing in with the remaining orange, you smile softly at the sight.

Boba admires you, heart feeling funny in a unfamiliar way. Boba knew it was something to do with the way you made him feel, loved. But it became a unfamiliar feeling after the only person he loved was killed. But you managed to make this dark hole in boba fett brighter each day with your smiles, giggles and jokes he never really found amusing but still laughed.

"I missed you too princess" he said, his face falling a bit behind the helmet.

You was so beautiful, the way your y/c/e's sparkle when admiring something - even him. Yet... You was also so... Young. Boba was a hardened man who killed more people then he could count. Some for credits others in cold blood, he has definitely seen some things in his days, yet... Here you was. A beautiful sight for sore eye's, an angel among the sands of tatooine standing by his said and sleeping in his arms at night. Boba didn't deserve you, someone so beautiful and still so young. Boba was known for being many things, but insecure wasn't one of them. Not until he met you. Boba thought that he wasn't good enough, his scarred face enough to scare a grown man, which is why boba never let you see his face. And he was older, something he lacked to tell you. He always thought that a young beautiful soul like yourself didn't deserve to be with a old rugged man like himself.

But he didn't know that you knew that he was older, you could tell. The man told so many stories about his past that you could easily pick up he was older, his beskar scarred yet freshly painted and you knew it must have seen long years among its journey. But you didn't care about his age, you loved him for who he was, a tough grumpy affectionate man. A tender lover with a gentle touch. Boba was everything you could ever want, he was the only soul in the galaxy that could ever own your heart.

"are you okay?" you ask, his silence and stiff muscles enough to make you concerned. Your eyes landing on him, his visor already trained on you. "boba?..." you softly say and press a palm against his helmet, where you'd think his cheek would be.

"how come you've never asked to see my face?" he asks abruptly, almost sounding angry. You stare at him with wide eye's at his sudden question. A little furrow in your brows as you give him a little smile.

"because I see how hesitant you are about letting me see you... I don't want to pressure you into something you don't want to do" you say and watch how he leans into your touch. "besides, I don't have to see you're face boba to love you... I already know that under all this beskar is a beautiful man" you muttered with a calm expression, voice truthful.

And with how you looked at him with those eyes, boba knew that your words was nothing but true. You gazed at him as if he was something as beautiful as the stars above, it sent his heart into a content flutter of love. Something he'd never admit to anyone but you.

"I'm afraid that if you see what hides under it you'd think otherwise..." he spoke with emotion, fear, vulnerability. Something you've never heard laced in his voice, and you then grab his helmet in both hands and give him the most loving look you could muster.

"boba my love... I could never think otherwise, you're so beautiful to me. Everything about you has me drawn to you... You're voice, you're rare humor and snarky comments" you laugh a little and it tugs at the man's heart, "I love how even though you're known for being the galaxies most feared bounty hunter you're such a tender lover, how deeply you care about those you love....You're beautiful to me no matter what" you felt tears fill your eyes at the realization that boba hid himself from you because he feared you'd leave him if you didn't like his physical appearance.

"even if I'm scarred?" his voice came out quiet and barely audible, but you heard and offer him a genuine smile. Nodding at him while his hands grasp your wrists resting on his helmet.

"I'll love you no matter what" you tell him.

"even if I'm older -

"even if you was 90 years old and looked like a fury bantha!" you laugh at the thought and his chuckle makes you feel triumphant.

"you can take it off... But I'm not beautiful" he whispers, letting go of your hands that rest against his helmet. Heart skipping a beat at his offer you only gape at him, this makes him sigh, "please princess... I want you to see The man you love... The one you claim to be beautiful" he nearly spat the last part out.

Smile gone at how he degrades himself you gently lift the helmet, moon out as the sun's descended the sky. You slowly lift the beskar, heart beating in anticipation. once it's lifted you feel your heart flutter, eye's adoringly admiring his face. Landing on his dark brown eyes before roaming his scar's, his adorable nose and slightly chapped yet gorgeous lips. You dropped the helmet and let it hit the stone floor of the balcony as you rest both palms on his soft cheeks. His eye's locked on yours with slight shock.

Boba saw that sparkle, the sparkle you get in your eyes when you admire the twin sunset. The sun's beauty always captivating you, and that look was in your eyes as you looked at him.

"boba...You're eye's are so pretty. You're beautiful, more then I could ever imagine - you're so handsome" you gush over the man before you, his dark brown eye's locked on yours.

"you're eye's most not be working properly girl, you find beauty in everything you look at" boba tried brushing your compliments off, stubborn as always and not wanting to except your truthful words.

"they work just fine all have you know -

His lips on yours cut your words short, your lips moving together in a slow languid dance. Unhurried and peaceful, as if time stood still. You wrap one arm around his neck as your other still cups his cheek, his arms wrapped around your waist. Minutes felt like hours as he pulled away, a small smile on his lips. Yours wide.

"I love you y/n..." he muttered with his accent coming out unhidden. It sends your heart into a fluttering mess, not only because his natural voice, but because that was the first time he uttered those words.

You felt tears of joy sting your eyes. "I love you too boba... My beautiful bounty hunter" you say with a fond smile. He chuckles and placed his forehead against yours, swaying you both in the moons light.

As you and boba stood in each other's arms, staring at one another with pure love. It was then boba realized that he truly did love you...

___________________________________________

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hey. I'm INFJ. I want to ask about relationship problems. The relationship in question is between my ESTJ mother and I. Generally, I would describe our relationship as close and loving, but there is a conflict, and that came from our opposite ideology and political beliefs.

I want to say before continuing that we are neither American or European, so our ideology and politics shouldn't be understood from the "western" side of things, though to simplify by comparison, my views could be described as leftist and my mother's as conservative. I should also add that I used to hold her worldview when I was younger, but changed once I was old enough to form an opinion of my own. This caused my mother to imply many times in our discussions that I am "brainwashed" and dismiss me as "too young" and "too ideological". I should add that the latter (ideological) is a valid criticism. Still working on that.

Otherwise, I often tried to persuade, then later find middle ground with her, to no avail. We ended up arguing many times, until we decided to not talk politics with each other anymore. So, what's the problem, you might ask.

Recently, the political climate in my country got intense. Heated, even. I won't go into details, but there are protests again the government by young liberals/leftists-equivalent of my country. Many of my good acquaintances joined the protest. The government used police force against them, and it got violent. There are young unarmed protestors who were teargassed, beaten, and shot with rubber bullets and high velocity water jets. Some protestors were heavily injured. Some protestors were arrested and incarcerated in horrible conditions. My mother and I agreed to not speak about politics, so I said nothing.

Until my mother, right infront of me, with another family member, openly mocked the protestors, made judgments about them based on the goverment's propaganda, called them a nuisance, and implied that they "deserved it". It's not about her discussing it, but it's about how unempathetic she was when she said those things, towards those young people my age, with similar ideology to me, and how apathetic she was when she said that "nothing's going to change anyway". It was the first time that I saw my mother in that angle, the complete lack of humanity in her words. It still haunts me until now.

So my question to you is, how does one deal with that? I love my mother, I think I always will. I also know that she loves me, or at least the part of me that's still her child. But for a moment, I loved her less, and that frightened me. I began to wonder, what would happen one day if we have to actually take sides, because things are getting worse in my country, not better. This adds to other issues I have in my life and made me more depressed. A part of me tells me that I should tell her about how I feel, but how do you tell someone you love that they're one of the reasons for your sadness?

I'm sorry if this is stupid. I'm sure that this feeling I have is one-sided, and I wonder if I'm being selfish or ungrateful. Maybe it's because I'm too sensitive these days, so I thought if I have an outside neutral opinion, it will help illuminate my clouded mind. Thank you. I hope you had a good summer break!

------------------------

The sentence that sticks out at me the most is: "It was the first time that I saw my mother in that angle, the complete lack of humanity in her words." I would argue that the problem doesn't lie with her. In fact, nothing about your mother had changed. She was still the same woman as before she uttered those words. The issue arises from your perception of her and the standards by which you evaluate her.

I follow world affairs very closely, so I think I know which region you are speaking of. One of the biggest problems in the manner that people think and talk about politics is the tendency to stereotype. Stereotyping is basically a form of cognitive oversimplification. It makes your thinking ability fast but also very dull and blunt, unable to understand situations with the nuance and sophistication that is required for good judgment and decision making.

It doesn't matter which country/culture you are from, there is always some variation of "right versus left". Why? Because in every society, there will always exist an underlying tension between those who don't want change and those who do. You may label these two opposing forces as right vs left, conservative vs liberal, regressive vs progressive, etc, but the fact of the matter is that these labels are gross oversimplifications of people's political belief systems.

When you divide people along an oversimplified dichotomy, it's too easy to stereotype them, in terms of believing that all people on each "side" hold all the same beliefs and values. Stereotyping goes along with the natural tendency of humans to be tribal. You start to view those on your side as being intellectually and morally superior to those on the other side. This leads to dehumanization and even demonization of the other side. In essence, you lose the ability to empathize with people, as long as you believe that they aren't on your side or the "right" side.

It seems that your political thinking has become too stark due to how extreme the situation has become. You have the feeling of fighting for your life because of the way that the situation has been handled by authorities, as they are indeed putting people's lives in danger. Your feelings about the situation are completely valid. But you fail to recognize that your mom's feelings about the situation are also valid. Certainly, there are hard-core fundamentalists and extremists out there that you can never reach because their beliefs and values are not based in any form of reason. However, I don't think your mom fits into that category, does she?

Do you know what it means to have no humanity? You are accusing her of something like psychopathy. Is that really true of her? I don't think so. She said: "nothing's going to change anyway". I don't consider this an expression of "apathy", as you assume. This is an expression of hopelessness. In that sentence, there is a real possibility that your mom is sympathetic at heart, but she disagrees that the chaotic actions of the protestors (i.e. the method) will lead to any meaningful change... and she may be absolutely right about that.

You haven't grasped the nuances of your mom's beliefs and values because your mindset has been so hardened by the extreme nature of the political conflict. This means that, when you engage in political discussion with her, you are unable to: 1) acknowledge how she feels, 2) acknowledge that there is some reason/merit/validity behind her beliefs, and 3) be open-minded enough to meet her halfway.

Put another way: If you met someone who wouldn't acknowledge your feelings as valid, dismissed all of your beliefs and values as completely wrong without proper investigation, and only sought to "convert" you, would you want to communicate with them? Probably not. This is the unproductive attitude that you now both bring to the table. This is the divisive attitude that arises when a conflict becomes too polarized and everyone is forced to "choose a side".

Unless one of you learns to listen and communicate more effectively, what will change? You say that you have tried to find middle ground with her but always end up arguing. Not finding middle ground is one thing, but getting caught up in interpersonal drama is a whole other thing. The option to amicably agree to disagree is always available. If you genuinely respect someone and respect their freedom to form their own beliefs, it shouldn't be hard to agree to disagree. Why do you find it so difficult to let her be her? Ultimately, you're not really interested in "middle ground"? You just want her agreement? Getting caught up in arguments all the time, especially on a recurring basis, indicates poor communication skills that stem from a troubling lack of objectivity. The more you argue with the intent to shame/change the other person, the more you push them away from your side, and the more myopic you get in your own beliefs.

You seem to have fallen into the trap of categorizing her into the tribe that you view as the enemy of your tribe, namely, the authorities that are cracking down on you young protestors. You've started to view her as the enemy, now you can't empathize with her, and even accuse her of having no humanity. You now consider yourself morally superior to her. If there is any possibility that she could be your ally, you've slammed the door on it.

You describe a very dire and desperate political situation that affects everyone, BUT, it doesn't affect everyone the same way. Different people have very different ways of dealing with intense emotions like fear, insecurity, grief, despair, helplessness, etc. Due to inferior Fi, ESTJs have extremely low tolerance for intense and uncontrollable emotions. Remember that one's ability to utilize the inferior function is not much better than a young child. If ESTJs can't neutralize or deflect their sense of powerlessness quickly, the burden of the emotions will quickly destroy them. I don't think you've really understood the thought process behind your mom's words and what is really motivating her "apathy".

Just because someone doesn't agree with your methods, doesn't mean that they don't have anything in common with you. Politics isn't just about good vs evil, as in, if you don't stand up for good, then you are evil. Everyone has their own way of looking at the situation because everyone has their own interests to take care of first and foremost, and everyone has their own ideas about the best methods to pursue. This is true for both you and your mom. It is possible to agree on beliefs but disagree on methods. For example, I'm assuming that you care about this cause so deeply because you care about your future. Sure, your ideas about the future differ from hers. But, certainly, you are both interested in securing your future, aren't you?

History has shown us that young people are always more willing to fight for causes because: 1) they would suffer less immediate material loss than the elder generation, 2) they have fewer life responsibilities, obligations, and commitments to take into consideration, and 3) their lack of life experience sometimes makes their thinking too simplistic when visualizing future implications.

Your interests aren't fully aligned with your mom's in this situation, perhaps because you are from different generations. However, this doesn't mean that your interests don't align in other important ways. At the end of the day, your mom is probably deathly afraid of seeing YOU on the news being beaten to a pulp and disappeared by the police, right? And it may be the case that she's passing harsh judgment on the protestors because she's trying to discourage you from meeting their horrible fate? That's hardly lack of humanity.

To be a good critical thinker, you need to learn to be more objective. Objectivity means understanding all aspects of the situation, or as many as you can manage. Objectivity and empathy often go hand-in-hand. You won't be able to empathize well unless you acknowledge that there might be some aspects of the situation that you're not seeing or understanding. When you take more time to get to the bottom of someone's thought process and why they really feel the way they do, you will discover all sorts of openings to influence their political beliefs in a friendly way. But when you can't even acknowledge that the other side might have an important point to be made, because you are so hardened in your stance, you've created a dead end for yourself.

[savagesbonergarage]

If you’re still taking requests, how would you feel about a Savage x Reader where the reader works in the Sundari palace as a hand of the duchess/lords and/or works as a diplomat, but then surprises Savage with her combat skills? (Steamy sparring/demonstration of said skills ensue from there? 👀) Feel free to make it as NSFW as you’d like (IF this is something you’d be interested in, that is 😅)!

I mean, of course?

I’m going to take some artistic liberties here and combine this request with another one, the second part to this ask about reader's first kiss with the Opress brothers. ☺️

A/n: I think the only warnings are violence, death and a little steaminess at the end? Nothing TOO steamy though...at least, not in THIS one ;)

This time featuring our favorite golden boy~

Savage

"First Kiss"

It happens after an intense battle.

The cowardly defectors of the Death Watch weren't content leaving Sundari Palace to it's rightful rulers, it seemed. It certainly wasn't an unanticipated move, with Prime Minister Almec having predicted some form of retaliation due to the imprisonment of the former Duchess Satine and the familial bond correlating with that other Kryze traitor who dared to reject Lord Maul upon Vizsla's defeat - however, no one seemed to foresee who their precise targets would be.

Rather than attempt to rescue Satine, they prioritized removing the alien intruders from the positions they obtained directly. An otherwise foolish and hasty move in any other circumstance, yet they managed to establish the perfect link that would lead them to victory - or so they thought. Before they could confront the zabraks they'd have to eliminate Almec, and in order to do that, they needed to eliminate you, his diplomatic aide. It might have worked, too, if they'd only been able to proceed beyond the first phase of their plan.

Unfortunately for them, you were also a mandalorian. Perhaps not the sort that paraded around in their armor and clung to their identity as a warrior for dear life, but you were well-versed in combat nonetheless. Despite the lack of battle situations in your daily life, you could hold your own fairly well should the need ever arise.

Today, it did.

You watched from the balcony of the palace as the city below became erratic with suspicious activity, the guards at their stations displaying unusual behavior as you watched them leave their posts and return unannounced, all the while some approaching unknown speeders crossed the boundaries of royal property - something only the traitors of the Death Watch would recklessly attempt. Clearly, some had already infiltrated the palace and were transmitting orders for a coup. Almec was inside, but he did at least have a few bodyguards with him. You, however, weren't detrimental enough to require protection, and therefore made an easy target to subdue before moving on to the rest of the ruling body - in theory.

In practice, the Death Watch assailants soon discovered that the first phase of their assassination plot had a bit of a hiccup, and by 'hiccup' that meant 'the weak-looking young lady in fancy robes is killing us, actually'. Every warrior that was sent up to dispatch you was never heard from again, and by the time the fourth comm cut out, they began arriving in pairs, and then triads. Eventually, too much precious time and muscle was wasted and the entire palace was made aware of the plot, with the red-embellished mandalorians quickly arriving to thwart the forces of the blue-armored enemies.

It was now or never if they had any hopes of weakening the fundamentals of the ruling body, so in a desperate attempt to at least get through to dispatch Almec, almost every one of their soldiers was sent to exterminate you. Ultimately this didn't go unnoticed, and even the zabrak brothers themselves were made privy to the onslaught of traitors surrounding you. Rather than send in reinforcements on his behalf, Savage was anxious to handle the situation on his own - for exactly what reason he couldn't quite determine - although he was cognizant of the fact that if it were anyone else being attacked, he wouldn't be as inclined to get personally involved.

Even though you were well-taught, you were only a single individual and therefore hardly capable of taking on what was undoubtedly a small army. The large and powerful zabrak arrived just in the nick of time to see you about to be overwhelmed by a handful of heavier-looking infantry soldiers, and before the final blows could be dealt, you looked up after being alerted to the sound of men screaming to see Savage’s arms yanking two of your attackers away and throwing them violently over the balcony. The crimson blades of his double-bladed lightsaber ignited, sending a rush of anticipation for what was to come through you as he stood with his back to you somewhat protectively, however, his resoundingly low voice ushered in a command that forbade your involvement.

"Leave, servant."

You collected yourself to the best of your ability and geared up to do as you were told, wiping some blood away from your face as you slinked off to let the zabrak handle the rest of the enemies. There weren't many left, no doubt he could defeat them all easily-

However, a horde of red-clad foes in stolen armor quickly flooded onto the platform via jetpack as well as on foot and surrounded him from all sides, firing projectiles and flames from their gauntlets all at once in an attempt to subdue him. They concentrated absolutely all of their firepower on Savage, aware that he'd still manage to take most of them out, which he did - but not before sustaining some significant damage. You watched the scene unfolding, taking notice of their strategy and how they were timing their efforts to make a constant barrage of attacks that would gradually injure him until he was weak enough to kill.

You weren't about to stand by and let that happen.

Fortunately, it seemed that your presence was all but forgotten while they focused on the beast rattling them around with his brute strength and bursts of force energy, which gave you the opportunity to give him more of a fighting chance before it was too late. There were openings all around, and although it would be risky to your own safety, you never thought twice about hesitating. Most of the onslaught that he couldn't deter was aerial, their attacks inevitable while he focused on battling the ground enemies that were posing a more immediate threat. That was your chance.

You made yourself known to them, running back out onto the balcony and yelling something to the effect of "forget something, di'kut?" while you left yourself an open and vulnerable target. One of the airborne attackers took the bait, redirecting his attention to you as he shot a restraining line from his gauntlet. You allowed it to reach you and wrap all around your leg, the wire sharp enough to constrict and cut through to exposed skin, yet you acted quickly despite the pain and yanked on the line with every ounce of strength you had, ignoring the cuts your palms sustained as you did so. He jerked downward, only by a few feet but it was enough that you could jump and latch onto him, delivering a swift kick to his face as you used the edge of his breastplate to cut the wire while you climbed onto his shoulders. He reached for you, but not quickly enough, as your thighs strangled his head and you violently jerked your hips all the way to the side, an obscene crack of bone sounding through the air as you ended him. The body went limp, yet the jetpack kept operating and you used the opportunity to guide yourself and the corpse to another of the flying opponents.

With a vibroblade that you retrieved from the dead man's belt, you punctured the jetpack and lept off of it right before the impact. He collided with an enemy utilizing their flamethrower, and the result was a fiery and undoubtedly lethal explosion that consumed not only its immediate target, but the remaining airborne attackers as well. You fell, not as gracefully as you would have liked with the force of the blast above sending you down hard, making a controlled landing nearly impossible - if you even landed, that is. Luckily, Savage took notice of your predicament and used the force to not-so-gently catch you before you missed the trajectory of the balcony completely, and with a flick of his wrist you were flung onto the hard ground. It wasn't a very graceful landing, either, as he was still preoccupied with his own battle when he helped you out - therefore the back of your head and torso took the brunt of your fall, which served to quicky render you unconscious.

~

The throbbing pain in your skull was sensational before you even opened your eyes. The smell of bacta filled your nostrils and the sterile sting of it was piercing through the open wounds on your skin, making you wince. However, what really seemed to fully awaken you wasn't any discomfort from this, but from the cold compress against your forehead. You stirred, and just before your lids cracked open, the pressure of the compress lessened significantly and the rag slid down the side of your face. There was a whoosh of air beside you, prompting you to look in that direction to see the blurry visage of black and gold heading toward the door.

"Lord Savage?" you inquired, voice caught between a croak and a squeak.

He stilled, apparently debating on whether or not to leave the medbay now that you had acknowledged his presence. After what felt like a full minute he pivoted on his feet to face you again, taking a single step forward as he thought of something to say.

"So," he began, a strange tinge of embarrassment in his tone, "you survived."

"I... yes," you replied, feeling a little flustered yourself for some reason, "...so did you." There was a pause that carried an unnerving amount of tension in it, and you decided to say something else to remedy the stupidly obvious statement you made. "What happened? Did the enemy retreat?"

Savage answered quickly, somewhat relieved to be having a less personal discussion. "Yes. Their forces were significantly depleted. Lord Maul is pleased with the outcome of the battle. I'm also- um...I'm pleased-, uh, grateful-, um, you fought good. Well. You fought well."

A small smile tugged at the edge of your lips, the unanticipated compliment lifting your spirits significantly. "Um, thank you. You fought well as...well."

Another painfully awkward silence. You swallowed, suddenly remembering your position as a diplomatic servant indebted to one of your masters. You spoke again, reverently and candidly. "Thank you for guiding my fall. You saved my life."

The zabrak's countenance softened for a moment before you took notice of the bob in his throat and what might have been a temporary flush in his tattooed cheeks. "Yes. Um, I apologize that it was a harsh impact. I was afraid that it did more har-" he caught himself, taking a moment to cough awkwardly into his fist before he continued, "I'm glad you're not dead." He winced after he spoke.

You felt your own face getting warmer, and this time you knew that it wasn't due to the absence of the cold cloth against your skin. It was...strange enough that he had complimented you earlier, and now he was more or less expressing relief that you were alive. It wasn't inherently anything to feel flustered about, yet you felt like he wouldn't have said those things let alone be here with you if it were anyone else. You couldn't quite discern what that possibly meant, but there was no denying what you hoped it was...

You snapped back into reality when you heard his voice again, realizing that you had been stupidly staring right at him while you were lost in thought. He looked almost strained, as though he was trying to be as nonchalant as possible and utterly failing to do so. "Your...injuries are stabilized?"

"Um..."

You sat up a little to get a better look at your own body, all properly bandaged and set despite the pain.

"Yes. What about your- oh."

Your thought was interrupted when you finally analyzed the man before you and found that he was still pretty battered in most places, the major wounds clean but still irritated without any coverings. He was raising a non-existent brow at you, confused by your concerned expression as you quickly forgot to filter your questions. "Do you not like bacta patches?"

Savage momentarily seemed somewhat reluctant to answer the question, but evidently decided to do so anyway. "I'm fine with patches. I hate droids."

Ah. After the unexpected welcome he and his brother received when the Death Watch first acquired them, it only made sense that Savage wasn't privy to being operated on by machines - and with the medbay being staffed solely with them, his disinclination to have his wounds checked was understandable. Still, your worry was outweighing your conscience, and the words slipped out before you could stop them. "I can help you."

Once again, silence. You wished that you'd been killed when your head hit the ground. What were you thinking, offering care beyond your duty to Lord Savage of all-

"Alright."

You blinked. He was serious. You both cleared your throats and avoided one another's eyes as he fumbled around looking for a chair to place at your bedside and you clumsily retrieved some bacta patches from your side table drawer. You set them on your lap and looked over as you felt him plop down onto the seat, and you almost audibly gasped when from the corner of your eye you realized he was nearly naked. You hadn't even heard him remove his heavy armor, but you...you didn't mind it. Don't stare, do not stare, do not-

"L-Let me see your arm," you managed to say coyly, feeling ridiculous as he extended his forearm and rested it in your hands, which made them look absolutely miniature in comparison. Savage was obviously a large man, but actually having him close like this and touching him only made the size difference that much more apparent. This was also something you didn't mind. His skin was so warm and rough even in places where the flesh would be more supple on anyone else, the texture so oddly pleasing against your fingertips, which were lingering a little longer than they should have been with every new patch you applied. It didn't take long for you to realize that your heart was racing, and you had to consciously pace your breaths to keep them from becoming ragged. Maker, pull yourself together!

Before long, you had applied the final patch and it was time to dress the last wound - his swollen lip. It didn't need an entire patch for such an insignificant injury, only a dab of bacta gel that you gingerly applied with the pad of your ring finger. This time, neither of you were able to avoid eye contact. You were both extremely cognizant of the...tenderness being displayed, and you could only hope that you weren't making him too uncomfortable, let alone aware of your more hidden impressions. You felt the warm wetness of the inside of his mouth against your finger, and with that you abruptly took your hand away before you did, said or thought something you might regret.

"Finished."

Savage examined your handiwork, seemingly pleased with the results. "Thank you."

"You're-, oh. I missed one."

You took his hand and faced the meat of his palm in your direction so you could get a better view of the significant scrape there. Once you had finally applied the actual last bandage, you smiled softly and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"There we go," you uttered aloud, and without thinking, you brought his massive palm up to your lips and lightly kissed the patch over where the wound was. A beat. Your entire countenance sank as the realization of your actions finally hit you with the force of fifty rancors. Oh God. Oh my God. I really just did that. I just-

You reluctantly lifted your head to see that Savage was just as puzzled as you were, a little frozen in place as his eyes never left that spot on his hand. "What...?"

Oh, kriff.

"I-," you blurted, stopping yourself before you said I'm sorry, since, well, you weren't. Obviously you wanted to do it, but now the difficult part was explaining to the giant zabrak sitting in front of you what it all meant. Hell, you didn't really know for yourself what it all meant. "It's..." you tried again, "it's an old healing gesture. Parents will do it to their children's wounds to 'kiss them better'".

Dear God, that sounded even more pathetic out loud. Was it too late to run back out to the balcony and jump off? Maybe you could catch Lord Maul in a bad mood and he'd mercifully end you? Forget Maul, the zabrak you should be the most concerned with was presently almost right in your lap and any second now he could become unhinged-

Only, he didn't. He only looked...curious. Not angry, not confused, simply just curious. He was still studying his hand, his golden irises flickering while you all but held your breath. "Interesting," he finally replied, quelling your anxiety for the moment, "does it always work?"

"Um-"

His hand was at your mouth before you could respond, his expression charmingly eager. "Again."

Again?

He wanted you to do it again? To kiss his wound...again? You swallowed, your chest swelling up not with fear exactly, but with a strange anticipation that you weren't expecting to feel that night. It wasn't your place to deny him what he wanted, so you held his wrist up with both of your hands and carefully placed another kiss in the same spot, letting it linger for a while longer than the last. Your lips made a tiny yet audible smack against his skin when you pulled away, and Savage's eyes weren't on his wound when you drew back - they were on you.

"Hm," he whispered, "it works."

"Lord-"

"Here," Savage interrupted, bringing your hand to the patch on his chest, "this one, next."

You gazed up at him, as if to inquire if this was really okay, and his expression in return was genuinely insistent. Did he... Did he really believe that your kisses were helping, or was he...? You tried not to think about it too much, instead simply closing your eyes and bringing your lips to each patch he guided you to - his chest, his arm, his stomach, his thigh, his shoulder - and when you pulled away, heart pounding so rapidly there was no possible way of concealing it, your blush deepened when you felt Savage's lip against your fingertips. You gazed at him once again through half-lidded eyes and silently asked if he knew, if he really knew what he was doing - turns out, he did. He absolutely did. His arm was already snaking around your waist-

You started out carefully, just in case, only barely allowing your palms to graze against his pecs as you leaned in and softly collected the most swollen part of his lip in yours. You kept it chaste, making no moves to deepen it, and neither did he. You simply stayed like that for a while, only applying the slightest bit more pressure right before you pulled away. Your eyes met. There was a dual beating beneath your palms - two hearts - and with no further words needing to be exchanged between you, your mouths swiftly met again in tandem and your embrace on one another tightened. It wasn't very chaste this time, Savage uttering a growl into your mouth that wasn't at all menacing while his teeth grazed your lips, rather, it came from a place of sheer desire and need and passion-

It wasn't much longer before his large frame was pressing you into the bed, one of your hands cupping the back of his neck and the other gripping onto one of his long horns as you felt the bedframe staggering to support the weight. Savage also took notice of this and finally parted from you long enough to speak, his low breaths sensual and uneven. "Perhaps we'll continue this in my private chambers..." he growled into your neck, sending heat coursing all throughout your body before he finally asked, "do any of your wounds require...a healing gesture?"

You managed a playful chuckle, tenderly bringing your lips to his once more. "Yes. All of them."

He smiled against your skin before effortlessly picking you up and holding you against his chest. "I have my work cut out for me," he purred against your neck before pulling your body even closer to him. "I'll take all your pain away."

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. ix

→ one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part nine / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence, minor angst

» a/n: short chapter D:! edit: i’ve tried and tried but it just doesn’t flow right when i try to make this into an x reader:// HALF will be an oc fic and i’ve decided to cut the backstory here;( thanks for the love and support!

» word count: 2,494

☾ix. pt. ix: youth

3 months later

Loud, bass-bumping music and too many flashing lights fueled the exhilaration and excitement of one of the biggest night clubs in Yorknew City.

Sayomi had defeated her second opponent on the 200th floor with the help of Hisoka’s training earlier today, making this little outing a sad excuse for a celebration.

In reality, Hisoka just wanted to see whether Sayomi could dance or not.

He had insisted they go out and experience the nightlife the city had to offer, and with Sayomi still upbeat from her match, they found themselves sneaking into Octagon- a hip club located in the heart of Yorknew City.

Though technically Hisoka was 21 and therefore could have gone about this in an easier way, he insisted they sneak in ‘just for the fun of it’. The truth was that he’d been kicked out of the club previously after using his ‘magic tricks’ to make people’s arms disappear, but it made his intrusion all the more fun.

As Hisoka watched the floor from his spot at the bar with a drink held loosely in one hand, Sayomi was currently lost in a crowd of passionate clubbers, her violet eyes gleaming with the thrill of the environment.

The black and silver dress she wore highlighted her figure as well as electrifying eyes and hair, the metallic material dazzling under the club lights as she lost herself in the music and people.

She was letting herself go for the night like she often did on her chaotic trips to the city with Hisoka. Free from repressive parents or a fight for her life, Sayomi was at peace with her new life, expressing herself however she wanted to.

Draining the rest of his Cosmopolitan, Hisoka’s eyes shifted to the young assassin, his face remaining expressionless as he watched her draw a crowd with her alluring glow. 

He’d been staring so intensely he didn’t even notice a man take the seat next to him. The sound of the man’s voice established his presence, yet Hisoka’s line of sight ceased to drift from the girl with the bright silver hair.

“A stunner isn’t she?”

Hisoka blinked slowly, hardly registering the man’s words. A stunner indeed, but what more? “A pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty soul.”

The man laughed, setting his drink down on the bar to face Hisoka. “I take it she isn’t yours then? That’s a relief.”

Hisoka rested his chin in the palm of one of his finely manicured hands, his other tapping on the smooth surface of the bar impatiently. He couldn’t seem to figure out why his bloodlust was seeping through as he followed Sayomi with his eyes.

His? She could never belong to any man, she was her own person.

“Careful with your words there, I’d hate for them to be your last.” His words were venomous, filled with the intent to kill.

Hisoka’s nails had cut through the skin of his own cheek, his other hand clenched into a fist on the bar’s surface.

The man had shifted away from him, quietly taking his leave as he watched crimson seep down Hisoka’s pale fingers.

Over the past 3 months, he’d been able to fight her more than enough times, and now he no longer felt the same intoxicating feeling when he was with her. Sayomi never fought Hisoka to hurt him, only with the intentions of improving her own skills, which in turn left Hisoka aching for more.

However, as the days progressed he was slowly coming to the conclusion that the Zoldyck girl had an undeniable flaw. She doesn’t put up a fight when I’m with her.

He was losing interest in the girl who’d once swayed his unshakable feelings, and it distressed him that he almost felt bad for wanting to leave her behind.

His sharpened fingernails dug farther into the pale skin of his cheek as he watched Sayomi throw her slender arms around a man she’d only just met. 

She was laughing and smiling, her silky voice seeming to reach his ears through the music and cheers from where he sat. Loud and clear, the sound of her laughter rang through Hisoka’s head in an almost painful way.

She was becoming a weakness to the man who believed himself to be the strongest, and that didn’t sit right with him at all.

☾ix.

Sayomi wasn’t too sure of what exactly it was that she felt towards Hisoka.

When he took her to dinner with an amazing view or complimented her progress with training, she couldn’t tell whether it was her lack of social contact or actual feelings that led her heart to race when she saw his face.

It didn’t help that on some days she could notice the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, only to leave her heart stinging with his harsh words on other days.

He was taking mixed signals to the next level, playing with her feelings while he was trying to figure out his own.

It was selfish and cruel, falsely gaining the trust of someone who’d been through so much betrayal, all for his own entertainment.

But that was just who Hisoka was, he didn’t care for distractions or hindrances. And as fast as he’d first fallen for the young assassin, he was already in the process of making himself forget her.

He was moving on.

☾ix.

3 months later

It was the day after Sayomi’s 7th match on the 200th floor of Heaven’s Arena. She’d been scheduling her fights randomly, with no regard for who her opponents would be.

With 7 wins under her name, she only needed 3 more to challenge a floor master. 

However, with her longtime goal fast approaching, she wasn’t as happy as she thought she’d be.

It’d been about half a year since Sayomi had first met Hisoka, and all the excitement and jitters about spending time alone with a guy had died down. 

It’d also helped that for some reason Hisoka was rather occupied recently. He rarely took her out to the city, claiming he had other business to attend to, and when they did go out, he’d always turn in first mumbling that he was tired.

Sayomi was no fool, she knew that Hisoka was either losing interest in her as well or felt his job was almost through. To herself, she hoped that it was the former, for it would hurt less than to find out he’d only been around her for business purposes.

Regardless, Sayomi’s current situation was puzzling. She stood waiting for what seemed like forever in front of Hisoka’s room, ready to go out and train.

However, after knocking more than enough times and even calling his cell, there was no sign of her trainer. 

That’s odd.

Sayomi trained on her own that day, taking it upon herself to get strength training in at the gym.

It was the first time she’d spent an entire day without Hisoka since they’d started training. Deciding that he was out on his so-called ‘business’, Sayomi shrugged away his absence, going to sleep early for the first time in a while.

Yet, another day passed with no sign of the magician, and Sayomi began to grow concerned for his well-being. What if he was picked off by someone? No, he’s too strong to lose to anyone here… Did he pass out in his room?

Sayomi walked briskly to Hisoka’s room with a worried mind.

Once again there was no response to her knocking, and she decided she’d break into the room.

Using one of her longer needles, she picked the lock in no time, stepping into the unfamiliar room. 

It was empty. Only the faint smell of bubble gum and something sweet lingered in the abandoned room, the closet and space empty.

There was a note left on the cleanly made bed, the red ink standing out from the otherwise white sheets surrounding the note.

That lazy ass, of course he’d leave a note in his own room. 

Picking up the sheet, she read:

Zoldyck-

It’s about time you sneak into my room, I know you’ve thought about doing it before;) 

But jokes aside… 

I’m sorry, darling. 

It’s not like me to apologize(you can ask Kite)and that alone scared me, because I feel like you’ve changed me. Your smile and intoxicating eyes make me weak in the knees…

And I despise myself for it. 

I’m not sure why I’ve chosen to expose my faults to you, for that just makes you all the more dangerous to me.

But perhaps I want you to hold my weaknesses, and perhaps I’d like to see you come tear me apart. Yes, that must be it. 

I’ve departed Yorknew City to meet up with your twin brother, as it seems as though he’s been searching for you. And perhaps I should have taken him to you instead, but I’m not, because when the time is right I’d like you all to myself.

So don’t forgive me, Sayomi. Resent me, grow stronger, and when the time comes I’ll bring your brother back to you.

Ah, and there is one thing I’d always wanted to tell you… 

I always thought that you were most beautiful when you showed your true colors-

A cold-blooded, cold-hearted Zoldyck assassin with no regard for the pain and suffering of your victims.

Stop holding yourself back, people like us can be forgiven for our sins because of the hell we’ve been put through. 

-Hisoka 

☾ix.

A single tear rolled down Sayomi’s cheek. 

And that was all.

The flurry of sudden information rendered Sayomi breathless as she tried to make sense of his words.

This idiot really just admitted his feelings for me after all this time right when he decides to leave me here. Selfish bastard.

And he knows Illumi… but how? Illumi was looking for me? 

I have to become a floor master and get that clown to bring my brother back.

☾ix.

6 months later

Sayomi gazed out her window with a blank stare, 241 floors above the ground.

Just a week ago she’d claimed her spot on the 241st floor as the newest and youngest Floor Master at age 19.

She knew Hisoka would find out about her achievement soon, and all she could do now was wait.

Up until defeating and killing her last opponent, time had flown by easily. She was fueled by the goal of finding her brother and confronting Hisoka, but now that she was here, the loneliness began to sink in.

Kite and his student had taken off to another country in search of wildlife to study, leaving Sayomi all alone in Yorknew City.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of her situation. Here she was at the top of the tallest building in Yorknew City, a place that others died trying to get to, yet she was unsatisfied.

Her face and name were plastered on billboards and posters all throughout the city, and citizens stood envious of the young teen’s life. She had enough money that she’d never have to work another day in her life, but in exchange she no longer had a family to accept her nor friends to laugh with.

Don’t feel sorry for yourself, there’s plenty of others that have it worse.

Sayomi sighed as she turned away from the window, grabbing her mask she’d started using as a floor master to attempt to conceal her identity. 

I won’t have challengers for another month or so… might as well hit the city.

☾ix.

Sayomi walked through the dark streets of Yorknew City, her hands clasped behind her head and her eyes vacant.

She didn’t have a destination in mind, just mindlessly strolling through the city covered with news of her promotion to Floor Master. There were citizens recognizing her as well, pointing and jumping back as if she were some monster.

Though she couldn’t blame them, as her nen happened to be on the disturbing side. The replays of her fights were mostly censored, deemed too inhumane for the public eye as they played on repeat on the sides of buildings,

She wasn’t too sure how far she’d walked, spotting Heaven’s Arena rather far in the distance behind her. The shops and glamorous hotels began to fade as she approached the run down parts of Yorknew City.

It was an abandoned lot of buildings, the ground littered with oil cans and shattered glass. In a way it was tranquil, free from angry drivers and the revolted gaze of commoners.

Walking through an opening in the wired fences that surrounded the lot, Sayomi wandered through a certain building that’d caught her eye.

She felt a faint aura coming from the abandoned office building, but oddly enough it wasn’t hostile or repelling. It was rather comforting.

Sayomi’s curiosity grew as the aura increased, drawing her towards the room located at the far end of the first floor.

She saw the man before she sensed him, his large coat catching her attention. His back was turned to her crouched down on the dusty floor, the windows adjacent to him shattered, letting the pale moonlight reflect off of his coat.

St. Peter’s cross. Interesting taste in fashion…

Another careless step closer and the man’s head turned abruptly in her direction. Sayomi had ducked behind a wall, but not fast enough.

The man stood from his spot, revealing a vibrant patch of violets by his feet. Upon his loss in concentration, the flowers wilted, withering back into the cluttered floor as if they’d never been there in the first place.

Sayomi could see the man’s face from where she crouched, hidden by a barely intact wall. Her heart skipped a beat upon meeting his eyes, deep gray and captivating as he easily identified her from her hiding spot.

It felt as if time was frozen in place, the young man staring intensely into Sayomi’s eyes as if he could read her mind. 

Sayomi was unmoving as well, having been caught examining his figure from behind the wall. He was by far the most appealing man she’d ever seen, his dark, raven hair slicked back to reveal a tattoo decorating the middle of his forehead, contrasting with his gentle eyes and youthful facial features. 

Handsome, she thought. 

The man took a slight step forward, snapping Sayomi out of his hypnotizing gaze as she sped off jumping through an empty window and out of the building. 

Though she was eager to know what he’d been doing with the flowers, his aura had changed when he’d noticed her watching. It had been dangerous and intense, a total opposite of his warm and placid one when dealing with the violets.

Her quick steps transitioned into a run, feeling the need to distance herself from the lingering intensity of the mysterious young man’s aura.

She ran back towards the towering building of Heaven’s Arena, not stopping her pace a bit until she was met with the familiar neon signs and billboards that surrounded the heart of Yorknew City.

Her dreams were taken over by the man’s captivating eyes that night. His familiar aura had seemed to beckon her to him, as if she’d known him for 100 years prior. 

But no matter how hard she thought that night, she couldn’t come up with an answer as to what he’d been doing with the violets conjured by his feet. 

In her dreams she saw her own eyes within the vibrant flowers, it was an abstract thought, though for a second she wondered if he had meant for her to see them. 

She quickly dismissed this, however, scoffing at the absurdity of her own thoughts. 

What am I, a child? I must be beyond lonely if I think some random guy has something to do with me.

Though deep down inside her heart, she wished it were true. To be fated to somebody, needed by somebody who she could trust with her darkest secrets and love.

☾ix.

to be continued.

[ibijau]

Sunday 11th: Free spot - Age/role reversal, where Nie Huaisang is the oldest with a bratty little brother, while Lan Xichen is the sweet and happy Second Jade of Gusu Lan

This will be a two parter at minimum and the role reversal won’t come up until part two oops

Also on AO3

Inside Lan Qiren's office, Nie Huaisang bowed deeply before the renowned teacher. 

"I leave my brother in your capable hands," he said, before turning to Lan Wangji and bowing again. "Please, make sure he doesn't create troubles. I trust your judgement in these matters, so punish him if need be." 

Next to him Nie Mingjue scoffed, as only a boy unused to discipline could. Nie Huaisang, who was the entire reason his brother often came off as a stubborn brat, sighed. The Lans would have a lot of work with that one.

Lan Xichen, who had been standing behind his brother, stepped aside to grab Nie Mingjue's arm, smiling brightly. 

"I'll make sure he behaves," he promised. "If he does anything bad, I'll tell Brother and Uncle." 

"Xichen-ge!" Nie Mingjue cried out, betrayed. "I thought we were friends!" 

"We are, but Nie zongzhu trusts us. Don't you, Nie zongzhu?" 

"I trust you most of all," Nie Huaisang said, amused as always by this too earnest second master of Gusu Lan. He almost laughed when Lan Xichen's face turned bright pink at his comment. It was always fun to compliment those Lans. "Lan Er-gongzi, please take good care of my little brother. I know you will be a good influence on him." 

Lan Xichen preened, until Nie Mingjue elbowed him in the ribs for this betrayal. This time, Nie Huaisang really couldn't help laughing. He exchanged a glance with Lan Wangji who also looked amused, in his own manner, while Lan Qiren just sighed and dismissed the two boys so grown-ups could speak in peace. Well, two grown-ups and Lan Wangji, who wasn't quite nineteen yet, but often behaved as if he were already in his seventies or more. 

"How are things in Qinghe?" Lan Qiren asked, inviting his guest to sit while Lan Wangji served tea for both of them. 

"Better these days," Nie Huaisang confessed. "We haven't had another plot against us since that last time. I think everyone is coming to term with me being in charge until Mingjue comes of age… And five more years isn't so much to wait." 

Lan Qiren nodded, knowing as well as Nie Huaisang what that sort of waiting felt like. Though of course, the circumstances were different. 

Lan Qiren's place within Gusu Lan could never have been contested, while Nie Huaisang was only the talentless son of a dancer turned concubine. On the other hand, Nie Huaisang would be truly free in five years, when his father's true heir could be crowned sect leader, while the best Lan Qiren could hope for was that in eighteen months Lan Wangji would become more involved in sect affairs, but Lan Qiren would remain regent unless his brother decided otherwise. 

Although Nie Huaisang got along well with Lan Qiren who was little more than a decade his senior, he was close friend with Lan Wangji who was only a few years younger. And so, for the sake of his younger friend's wellbeing, he hoped Qingheng-Jun would continue leaving the burden of power on Lan Qiren's shoulders. Lan Wangji deserved to have a free youth, or at least as free as his temper allowed. 

"How long is Nie zongzhu staying?" Lan Wangji asked, sounding hopeful. Or at least, Nie Huaisang gathered he was hopeful, he could be so hard to read. 

"I really only came to drop Mingjue," Nie Huaisang sighed. "Things are more stable, but I'd be a fool to stay away too long. But you must come visit me, Wangji. We haven't chatted in so long, you really must. I'm even willing to go on a Night Hunt if need be." 

A near smile appeared on Lan Wangji’s face at that offer, both of them knowing what it cost Nie Huaisang to say such a thing, but also that he really would if it was the only way to see his friend. 

-

It had not been the worst Night Hunt Nie Huaisang had ever been on, mostly because he'd let Lan Wangji do all the work. In exchange, he was the one paying all the expanses, and so had dragged Lan Wangji into a nicer inn than his friend would have picked. Someone had to spoil Lan Wangji, and Nie Huaisang was happy to do it. He hadn't managed yet to convince his friend to have a little meat, but the night was still young, and it was just the two of them since they'd requested to have their dinner served in their room. In private, Lan Wangji occasionally relaxed a little more. 

"So, I hear Mingjue’s making friends?" Nie Huaisang said, pouring himself some wine. "Those Yunmeng boys?"

"Jiang gongzi," Lan Wangji confirmed. "They have frequent arguments. They always make up." 

"It's good he's met someone with a temper to match his own," Nie Huaisang laughed. "Xichen lets him get away with too much. He writes to me, you know?" 

"Nie gongzi?" 

Nie Huaisang shook his head. "Mingjue wouldn't write to me if his life depended on it, the brat. No, I meant Xichen. That boy is adorable, he took it so seriously when I asked him to take care of Mingjue, and now he gives me updates. Wangji, you have the best brother, I want to trade."

"Hm. No." 

"How selfish!" Nie Huaisang whined. "Just you wait, in five years I'm free! I'll seduce Xichen, get him to the Unclean Realm with me… Then he can make sure Mingjue behaves, while I'll be painting all day." 

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes, before taking a sip of tea. 

"Oh don't worry, you wouldn't be left alone," Nie Huaisang said with a wide grin. "Maybe Wei Wuxian could be convinced to stay in the Cloud Recesses?" 

Instantly, Lan Wangji spit his tea on the table, glaring at Nie Huaisang who howled with laughter. 

"Huaisang!" 

"Blame your brother! He's the one who told me about it. I thought he was joking, but… Seriously, Wei Wuxian? Ah, Wangji, you'll always surprise me." 

Lan Wangji's glare intensified, as if the very idea of him liking anything about a brat like Wei Wuxian were an insult to his character. It would have been more credible if Nie Huaisang hadn't known his tell, and noticed his red ears.

"He's smart, and talented," Nie Huaisang noted, a little more seriously. "A brat, sure, but he'll calm down with age. I can't say he's my type physically, but you're entitled to your bad tastes." 

"A sect leader can't marry a man," Lan Wangji sternly noted. 

Nie Huaisang shot him a surprised look, shocked that Lan Wangji would even be thinking of something so serious. He would have to write to Lan Xichen about this. If Lan Wangji's crush was this deep already, they needed to help along. Propriety didn't matter much in the long run, Nie Huaisang had learned early. 

And besides, there was always Lan Xichen to give heirs to the Lan sect. 

-

Discussion conferences were never much fun. Those held in Nightless City, even less so. Nie Huaisang hated most other sect leaders, though he felt justified in that by the fact they didn’t like him much either, with the exception of Lan Qiren, who was an old family friend, and Jiang Fengmian, who was too weak willed to hate anyone. Everyone else treated Nie Huaisang like an idiot for his continued insistence that he would abdicate in favour of his brother as soon as Nie Mingjue was ready for it, never understanding that aside from his lack of interest for the job of sect leader, he would merely be obeying his father’s own wishes.

Nie Mingjue was their father’s true heir, Nie Huaisang’s only role was keeping the throne warm for him.

Of course nobody except Lan Qiren would understand that. A bunch of greedy, selfish fools the whole lot of them, who would have sold their own fathers and sons to grab a little more power. The worst, by far, were Jin Guangshan (who’d always taken the old Nie sect leader for an idiot, since he would never have recognised a bastard, let alone married the whore who bore it) and Wen Ruohan (who rumour said had murdered his own father indeed, and who had certainly killed Nie Huaisang’s, something for which he’d pay someday). If either of those two dropped dead before him, Nie Huaisang would only have laughed and left them to rot in the sun.

Which wasn’t to say that either of them knew that.

Nie Huaisang hadn’t survived years of internal conflict in his sect without learning a few things, and so he made sure to be especially polite to those two very powerful men. It annoyed Nie Mingjue to no end, but he wasn’t sect leader yet and couldn’t do anything about it.

And so, Nie Huaisang had to pleasantly talk with those two awful men while the juniors of all sects took part in an archery contest. It wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s greatest strength, but he did well for himself, so Nie Huaisang was determined to congratulate and praise him for his hard work. Meanwhile, Wen Chao had failed horribly and been eliminated very early on, which delighted Nie Huaisang more than words could have said, even if he forced himself to babble that surely it couldn’t have been anything but bad luck. Not that anyone really cared, anyway. The stars of the day were the Twin Jades of Gusu Lan and Wei Wuxian, who had done so well and would have been in the top three together, if not for some incident forcing Lan Wangji to give up.

When the contest was over, Nie Huaisang rushed to go meet his brother and his friends, eager to congratulate the boys… and to escape the grown-ups.

It amused him to find Nie Mingjue having an argument with Jiang Cheng, with Wei Wuxian laughing to the side and Lan Xichen watching them indulgently, like a benevolent older brother to those three terrors. And out of the four of them, Lan Xichen was the first to spot Nie Huaisang approaching.

“Nie zongzhu, were you looking for your brother?” he asked with a bow that the Yunmeng boys imitated. “Did you see how well he did in the contest?”

“Very well indeed,” Nie Huaisang agreed. “Though I found myself mostly watching you. I knew Lan Er-gongzi was a skilled archer, but this was amazing. I wouldn’t be surprised if the heavens had opened to welcome you as a martial god, you were simply brilliant.”

As always, Lan Xichen blushed at the heavy praise, which was the very reason Nie Huaisang did it. That boy always reacted so strongly to any little compliment, it was simply a joy to see.

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes, and slapped his brother’s shoulder.

“You’re such an embarrassment, Da-Ge,” he muttered. “Can’t you behave normally sometimes?”

“Did I say something wrong? Lan Er-gongzi, did you feel insulted perhaps?”

“Not in the least,” Lan Xichen replied, his cheeks turning a brighter shade of pink. “But perhaps Nie zongzhu is… a little too generous in praising me. I only got the first place because Brother had to quit. Otherwise, he would have won for sure.”

“Second place wouldn’t be bad either,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “And having a calm character in the face of adversity is a quality in and of itself, one that I envy. Lan Er-gongzi just needs to accept that he is a very skilled young man. He wouldn’t have been picked as the first most eligible bachelor of this generation otherwise!”

This was, without a doubt, the brightest shade of red that Nie Huaisang had ever seen on poor Lan Xichen who clearly felt greatly embarrassed by that list that had started circulating some months earlier. It was a fairly accurate list though, and one Nie Huaisang could have written… except he would have placed his brother higher (seventh only was an insult) and removed himself from it (he was eighth only because of his current position as sect leader, and did not intend to ever marry if he could avoid it).

"You're such a creepy old man," Nie Mingjue grumbled, elbowing him in the ribs with more force than was really necessary. 

"Nie zongzhu isn't old, he's only twenty two, right?" Lan Xichen protested, before turning to the Yunmeng boys who had been watching them with great amusement. "That's not so much older than the rest of us, right?”

“It’s barely older than our sister,” Jiang Cheng conceded, always trying so hard to be polite even when it did not come to him easily. Nie Huaisang really hoped some of that would rub on Nie Mingjue over time.

“So it’s settled, Nie zongzhu is not old at all,” Lan Xichen decided. “Nie zongzhu should really spend more time with us, instead of other sect leaders.”

While Nie Huaisang couldn’t help laughing at that very tempting offer, Nie Mingjue glared at his friend. For some reason, Lan Xichen turned bright red once more and had to look away. Ah, he really was too cute, none of the other Lans were ever so sweet.

“I’d do so gladly, if I truly had a choice, but duty is a cruel mistress,” Nie Huaisang theatrically sighed. “In fact, I’ll abandon you again now. I only wanted to get a chance to congratulate all of you for your amazing performance. You’ve all done very well, and I feel lucky to have seen such talented young men perform like this. Now though, I must return to sit with boring old men and pretend there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The four boys had the kindness of pretending they were disappointed to see him leave. At least, three of them had to be pretending. Lan Xichen was sweet enough that he might have been sincere in saying he wished Nie Huaisang could have stayed, though Nie Huaisang had no doubt they’d all have much better fun without him.

Ah, to be young and free.

Nie Huaisang wondered what that was like.

-

The news of the burning of the Cloud Recesses reached the Unclean Realm a few days after it happened, carrying with it grim rumours. Qingheng-Jun was either wounded or dead, his eldest son captured or dead as well, and as for the youngest, no one seemed to really know. Maybe he too was dead, leaving only poor Lan Qiren to pick up the pieces, as he had already done more than once now. If the political climate had not been so tense and the Wens so clearly looking for excuses to attack everyone, Nie Huaisang would have flown straight to the Cloud Recesses to check what had really happened and offer his support.

Just days after they heard about the Lans, a messenger came from Qishan Wen, ordering that twenty young people of Qinghe Nie should be sent to be taught properly in cultivation matters, among which one at least needed to be from the main clan itself.

Nie Huaisang, who was no fool, understood what that truly meant. The Wens wanted to have his brother in his power.

His first instinct, of course, was to refuse. He hadn’t spent six years protecting Nie Mingjue from coups and attacks within their sects just to hand him over to the people who had murdered their father, the ones who Nie Huaisang suspected to have supported at least one or two of those coups. And yet, after thinking on it for a few hours, Nie Huaisang realised that this choice, like many others, wasn’t quite in his hands. So he summoned his brother to the throne room, hoping that treating this like official sect business would make Nie Mingjue a little more willing to bend to his authority.

It did not quite work.

In fact, it did not work at all.

"I'm not letting you send me there as a hostage!" Nie Mingjue roared when Nie Huaisang announced his decision.

"I'm your sect leader and your elder brother,” Nie Huaisang pointed out, trying not to wince. This was going exactly as bad as he had feared. “If I give you an order, you have to obey." 

"Some sect leader you are," Nie Mingjue snapped. "Always bending before everyone, trying to stay on the good side of the man who murdered our father. If I were sect leader…" 

"Well you're not, not yet. And you'll never be unless I keep you alive!" Nie Huaisang shouted, before taking a deep breath to calm himself. "Mingjue, just because nobody has tried to kill me recently doesn't mean they've given up on it. If I resist Wen Ruohan and start a war, they'll turn on me, on us! And even if they don't, who would side with us against the Wens? Jin Guangshan covets our territories, the Lans are weakened, and Jiang Fengmian doesn't have the numbers to be of any use. Qinghe Nie is alone. We're alone, Mingjue. Please understand that. Please let me protect you."

Nie Mingjue glared at him and stepped closer. He’d grown a lot recently, and was slightly taller than Nie Huaisang. He was likely to keep growing, too, and would probably be as imposing a man as their father… if he stayed alive long enough for it.

Nie Huaisang begged any god that might be listening to keep his brother alive.

"Protect me?” Nie Mingjue spat, looking down at his older brother. “Are you sure you're not just sending me there to get killed by the Wens, so you don't have to pretend anymore that you'll abdicate in my favour? After all you've gotten so good at leading the sect, and I'm just a brat, who'd blame you for wanting me dead?"

Nie Huaisang slapped him. 

It wasn't a strong blow, and with their difference in cultivation and power, it couldn't have hurt much. In fact, Nie Huaisang’s hand probably stung more than his brother’s face. Still Nie Mingjue found himself stunned into silence and pressed a hand to his cheek. 

No matter how bratty, headstrong, or disrespectful he'd been before, Nie Huaisang had never once hit him until that day. At the same time, Nie Mingjue had always taken his brother's defence whenever someone accused Nie Huaisang of plotting for power, knowing full well how much it distressed his brother that anyone would think him capable of harming Nie Mingjue. 

"I hate you," Nie Mingjue hissed. 

"Hate me if you like, you're still going to Qishan," Nie Huaisang replied. 

"If you were a real sect leader, a real cultivator…" 

"Well I'm neither!" Nie Huaisang exploded. "I don't have the strength to start a war, and I even less have the power to fight in one! In four years, when you sit on that damn throne, you can declare all the wars you like, lead this sect however it pleases you! But until then it's me who decides how we're playing this game, and I say we are not going to give Qishan Wen an excuse to slaughter all of us!"

"I really hate you," Nie Mingjue retorted, still rubbing his cheek. "I wish your mother had never come to Qinghe." 

"I wish the same. I'd rather have been the obscure son of a whore than to lead this stupid sect for you. Now go and pack your things! I need to decide who else I'm sending." 

Nie Mingjue stormed away, cursing loudly and stomping his feet. Nie Huaisang waited until his brother was far enough, and collapsed on the throne, curling up on himself to cry.

He could have taken the whole world accusing him of scheming and being a bad brother. Even if Lan Wangji or those few Nie elders faithful to him had suddenly turned on him, he could have borne with it. But to hear that Nie Mingjue too doubted him after all was more than he could take.

It took him a long time to calm down, but he did eventually. And then, as he was quite used to doing, he pushed aside his feelings and set out to decide what would be the best way to protect his brother. Nie Huaisang stayed up all night making a list of nineteen Nie disciples who could be trusted to keep Nie Mingjue safe not simply from whatever the Wens had in store for them, but also from his own temper.

His brother would survive this.

Nie Huaisang refused to consider any other possibilities.

-

When Nie Mingjue and the other disciples returned, exhausted and on foot, Nie Huaisang ran to his brother and hugged him in the middle of the courtyard for an embarrassingly long time. It alarmed him when Nie Mingjue didn’t push him away or complain, as he’d started doing over any displays of affection these last couple of years. Instead, Nie Mingjue pulled his brother closer to him, as if needing the closeness as well. Later Nie Huaisang would worry about what might have caused this big boy of nearly seventeen to so desperately need a hug, but right then he just took this rare gift and enjoyed it while it lasted.

When at last Nie Mingjue reluctantly let him go, Nie Huaisang looked around at the other disciples. He frowned when he counted two missing, when he saw wounds on several of them. These boys were his, almost as much as Nie Mingjue, and it made his blood boil that anyone had harmed them. He quickly gave orders for the healers to check on them and food to be served for them, before dragging his brother to the privacy of his quarters to hear what had happened.

It worried him again when he sat on his sofa, and Nie Mingjue not only sat near him but curled up against his side, the way he used to do as a little boy.

Then his brother explained everything that had happened, the punishments, the threats, the slaughter in that cave, the monster, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian being lost to the world perhaps, the long run home, and… Nie Huaisang pulled his brother as close as he could. They both knew better than most how carelessly cruel Qishan Wen could be, but this was a new low.

“I shouldn’t have sent you,” Nie Huaisang whispered against his brother’s hair. “You were right, I shouldn’t have.”

“They’d have attacked us, like you said,” Nie Mingjue replied. “Wangji-ge said that they were well prepared when they came to the Cloud Recesses and would have killed all of them if Lan Qiren hadn't given in about burning the library.”

“We’re not Gusu Lan,” Nie Huaisang hissed. “We know how to fight back. I shouldn’t have risked you, I’m so sorry.”

Nie Mingjue only hummed in answer. After a moment he pulled back from his brother, looking horrifyingly serious.

“Da-Ge, do you think we’ll really have a war now?”

“If they attack us, we’ll defend ourselves,” Nie Huaisang replied. “If they attack our friends, we’ll come to help them. If they attack the Jins… I’ll send Wen Ruohan a basket of flowers in thanks, and then we’ll still prepare for war. I don’t think it can be avoided now.”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “I’ll help. I’ll fight, I’ll lead men, I’ll do anything you tell me. Anything except stay away from the fight,” he quickly added before Nie Huaisang could say a thing. “I’m not too young for it, and with their numbers you know we can’t spare anyone. If Wen Chao is standing at his father’s side, why shouldn't I stand at yours?"

The idea of Nie Mingjue in battle, of him facing not just monsters but actual people capable of far more harm than any supernatural creature, left Nie Huaisang breathless with horror. His little brother shouldn't have had to deal with that, not yet, not ever. Nie Huaisang’s soul screamed in protest. 

Most of his soul, anyway. 

The part of him that had been fighting daily to maintain power over Qinghe Nie so it wouldn't be stolen from Nie Mingjue saw this upcoming war as an opportunity. If they did well enough for themselves, if Nie Mingjue proved that he had the potential to make a great leader, the way Nie Huaisang knew he would be when his time came… It could buy them peace within their sect, turn a few more elders and ambitious cousins to their side. If they could be made to see Nie Mingjue the way Nie Huaisang saw him… 

It was a risk to take, but it'd be worth it if it worked. 

And between Nie Huaisang's cunning and Nie Mingjue’s everything, how could it not work? 

As long as they were together, Nie Huaisang felt capable of anything. 

-

Roughly a month into what they had dubbed the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Mingjue barged into his brother's tent, dragging behind him a bewildered young man by the name of Meng Yao. A new recruit into their sect, arrived in Qinghe Nie shortly before Nie Mingjue had escaped from the indoctrination camp. A young man who showed great promise, Nie Huaisang had thought, putting him among the troupes led by his brother. 

Nothing to do with the fact that Nie Huaisang had taken notice of Meng Yao for their similar backgrounds and, knowing how some of their disciples could be, decided to leave that young man under the protection of Nie Mingjue who did not tolerate anyone to be badmouthed for their origins. 

Nie Huaisang had expected that sooner or later his brother would talk to him about Meng Yao, hopefully in good. 

What he hadn't expected was Nie Mingjue demanding that Meng Yao be made his second in command right this instant. 

"Did Meng gongzi agree to this?" Nie Huaisang asked, deeply amused by the shock on the young man's face. 

"Why would he refuse?" Nie Mingjue retorted, so sincerely puzzled that it made his brother laugh. 

They had all seen some ugly things this past month, but Nie Huaisang was grateful that his brother hadn't been too changed by it yet.

"Please just ask that man what he wants," Nie Huaisang chuckled. 

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes, as if his brother were acting obtuse on purpose, but he did ask Meng Yao whether he wanted the job or not. 

Meng Yao hesitated, which marked him as someone clever enough to realise the amount of responsibility he'd get if he said yes. But he did say yes, which spoke of a certain hunger for better circumstances that Nie Huaisang would have to keep an eye on. Ambition had never been a trait he liked in others, lacking it so much himself. 

"Well if everyone wants this, I can only agree," Nie Huaisang announced. "Welcome to this mess, Meng Yao."

"Thank you for this honour, Nie zongzhu," Meng Yao replied with a deep, elegant bow. "I will try to be worthy of it." 

-

The weeks that followed were both some of the hardest and the best that Nie Huaisang had ever lived through. 

He had not been confronted with such levels of fear and stress since the first year after his father's passing. At the same time, he wasn't alone to face it all this time. His brother was now old enough to fight some battles of his own, literally and metaphorically, which took a huge weight of Nie Huaisang’s shoulders. And Meng Yao, although dropped into this unprepared, had soon proven to be a great asset as well as a great friend. 

It had been so long since Nie Huaisang had made a friend. Not since his father's descent into madness, in fact. All those years he had only had Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren to turn to, and he liked both of them immensely, of course, but there was so much they simply couldn't understand. 

Meng Yao did.

He knew what it felt like to be the son of a mother only, no matter how glorious the father. He knew about disdain and fighting for respect, about needing to be better than anyone just to perhaps be treated the same. Meng Yao was the only person to understand what Nie Huaisang’s life was like, and he was ever so glad that his brother had decided to take a fancy to the young man. 

He hoped Meng Yao would stay with them for good, a perfect addition to their little family. 

He told Lan Wangji as much, a few weeks after Meng Yao's rise in ranks, too delighted by the way things were going to keep the joy to himself. 

They were technically meeting in the Nie camp to plan a joint attack by Lan and Nie forces, but Nie Huaisang refused to make any decisions until Nie Mingjue joined them and gave his opinion. He was the one who knew the field's situation best after all, and he generally understood military manoeuvres better than Nie Huaisang. So as they waited for him to return from a quick reconnaissance mission, Nie Huaisang did what he did best and chatted endlessly. 

Because Lan Wangji was always so quiet, it took Nie Huaisang a criminally long time to realise his friend seemed a little out of it that day. 

"How is it treating you, being sect leader?" Nie Huaisang asked. "To rise to power in such circumstances, that can't be… I can't imagine."

"It was similar for Huaisang," Lan Wangji soberly replied. "I have people to rely on." 

"Oh, right, I heard Xichen made it home safely! It must have been such a relief! I know I was worried for him. But him and the books were safe in the end, right? You must have been so relieved!" 

Lan Wangji nodded, quite earnestly, and yet something still didn't look right. It had to mean the reason for his melancholy was the last possible option. And that, sadly, also meant it was not something Nie Huaisang thought he could help with. Still, even just by lending a friendly ear… 

"So, I hear you were there when they found Wei Wuxian again?" 

Lan Wangji flinched at that name, visibly so. 

It had been barely two weeks since Wei Wuxian was found, but already odd rumours had reached Nie Huaisang, rumours that didn't quite fit the image he had of that brilliant but silly boy. The state in which Wen Chao's men were said to have been found was… 

"It must have been rough, hiding three months like that, or being a prisoner of the Wens," Nie Huaisang hesitantly said. "And after what happened in Lotus Piers… But I'm sure he'll be back to normal with a little time, and then you can go back to inefficiently flirting with him." 

"No." 

"Why not? Come on Wangji, I'll even help you!" Nie Huaisang offered, delighted by the idea. "I know that type, they flirt with everyone, but it takes them by surprise when someone flirts back. Just smile at him a little and I swear…" 

"No," Lan Wangji repeated, more insistently. "It is me or Xichen. I will not be my father. I will not take my brother's choice from him." 

Nie Huaisang blinked a few times, trying to understand what Lan Xichen had to do with anything. 

"Wait, Xichen likes someone ?" he gasped. "Oh. Who is it? Do I know her? Is she pretty? Had he started courting her?" 

"Him. Not yet. The circumstances aren't right." 

"Oh." 

Nie Huaisang pinched his lips, a little disturbed by the idea. He had nothing against men who preferred other men, having that taste himself. And even if he had liked only women, since he suspected that Nie Mingjue had a thing for pretty boys as much as girls, he could never have found that sort of preference disgusting. 

Still, it felt odd to him that Lan Xichen might have a crush on anyone. Perhaps that was because Lan Xichen had never once mentioned it to him. Not that they were close by any means, but they had written to each other so often that year Nie Mingjue was in Gusu, Nie Huaisang thought that Lan Xichen had come to see him as another brother figure, one in whom he might have confided more easily than in Lan Wangji. 

Clearly, he had thought wrong. 

"So what if you both like men?" Nie Huaisang said, choosing to ignore his discomfort when Lan Wangji’s was greater. "There's always the option of getting a concubine. My grandfather certainly did, and back then cut-sleeve weddings weren't half as accepted as they are now." 

"Concubines are frowned upon." 

"You Lans need to stop ruining your own lives. Get that Wei boy, Wangji, and let Xichen get… Who is it, anyway? Someone I know?" 

Lan Wangji threw him an unimpressed look, the one he had whenever he thought Nie Huaisang was acting obtuse on purpose. For once, it wasn't the case. Still, it meant that it had to be very obvious. Nie Mingjue, perhaps? But that seemed unlikely, Lan Xichen used to joke in his letters that he wasn't sure if Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng were arguing or flirting. That also took Jiang Cheng out of the picture. Wei Wuxian then? But no, Lan Xichen was so supportive of his brother's affections, it was impossible. 

Nie Huaisang was stumped. Aside from these three, he couldn't imagine who Lan Xichen would have been friendly enough with to fall for them. 

He was about to ask for clues when his brother stomped into the tent, followed closely by Lan Xichen and Meng Yao who both looked rather worried. 

"How nice of you to join us at last," Nie Huaisang noted lightly, as if this were a perfectly fine and polite way to come in. "Please Mingjue, sit down so we can commence." 

He gestured at a sitting cushion next to him, only for his brother to glare at him. 

"You need to write a recommendation letter for Meng Yao," Nie Mingjue ordered. "He wants to join Lanling Jin, but they've refused him before. They won't dare if he comes recommended!" 

Nie Huaisang felt his blood freeze. He tilted his head, trying to catch Meng Yao's eyes, but the young man refused to look at him. An admission of guilt in itself. 

"Meng Yao, I don't think that's a good idea," Nie Huaisang sighed. "Aren't you happy with us? Aren't we treating you well? You know how much we value you, you're the only person I trust to look after my brother. If you leave…" 

"He's Jin zongzhu's son," Nie Mingjue interrupted, as if that were news to Nie Huaisang. "He has a right to be in Lanling Jin! If they were stupid enough to turn him down before, I'd like to see them do that again, when he has the support of another great sect!" 

Nie Huaisang smiled without joy, full of affection and pity for his little brother. It must have been wonderful to be such a righteous and honest person that you couldn't understand that others weren't.

But Nie Huaisang had long ago learned how other people were, and so he could guess just how awful of an idea this was. First of all, Jin Guangshan was a man who loathed all his bastards, and hated being told what to do. Secondly, if Nie Huaisang were to give Meng Yao a recommendation, it would just be the son of a lowly concubine supporting the son of a prostitute. Between whores' sons, of course they would help one another, people might say, and then dismiss all of Meng Yao's skills because they had been praised by the wrong person. 

It would be such a disservice to Meng Yao. It would be sending him to people who wouldn't appreciate him the way Nie Huaisang did. 

It would be losing a friend, when he had so few. 

"Jin Guangshan doesn't like me much," Nie Huaisang said at last. "I'm not really sure…" 

"Please, Nie zongzhu," Lan Xichen pleaded, stepping forward. "It is really important to Meng gongzi. Maybe if Wangji too writes him a letter? After all, we owe him as well." 

"How so?" Nie Huaisang asked. He shot Lan Wangji a surprised look, but it was Lan Xichen who spoke again. 

"When Wangji sent me away with our books, I met Meng Yao who rescued me and protected me," Lan Xichen explained, smiling at Meng Yao who was looking more and more embarrassed. "Without his help and advice, I would surely have been caught by the Wens, and who knows what might have become of me." 

"He never said." 

Meng Yao risked a glance at his sect leader, and smiled weakly. 

"At that time, I wasn't sure who could be trusted with such sensitive information," he confessed. "And besides I wanted to be accepted for my own merit. I wanted a chance to truly prove myself, relying only on my skills and hard work." 

"And you did!" Nie Mingjue exclaimed. "So Da-Ge will write you a letter to present to Jin Guangshan. We'll be sorry to lose you, but family is what matters." 

Nie Huaisang pinched his lips. Nothing good could come of Meng Yao leaving them, he was one of theirs now, he belonged with them as surely as if they shared blood. 

But if Nie Mingjue truly wanted this, if he was certain of his decision… it was high time that he started becoming more involved in their sect's life, and this was part of it. Besides, what was the worst that could come from it? 

"I'll write you that letter, Meng Yao," Nie Huaisang promised. "I hope you find in Lanling what you seek. And if you do not… You are always welcome in the Unclean Realm. Tomorrow, in a year, in ten… You are our friend, Meng Yao, and leaving today doesn't mean you can't return later." 

And he would return, Nie Huaisang was certain of that. Still, the pain of losing this skilled collaborator, this valued friend, was compensated somewhat by the explosive joy of these three boys. Meng Yao bowed deeply in thanks, while Nie Mingjue broke the stoic persona he was trying to put on lately to hug his brother. As for Lan Xichen he smiled more brightly than Nie Huaisang had ever seen him before, saying again and again how grateful he was that Nie Huaisang was helping him repay his debt. In a very un-Lan manner, he even knelt next to Nie Huaisang and gave him a brief hug.

When Lan Xichen jumped back to his feet to return at Meng Yao's side, Nie Huaisang’s eyes met Lan Wangji, his friend once again giving him That Look. 

Nie Huaisang glanced over at Lan Xichen, so excited for his friend's good fortune, while a very overwhelmed Meng Yao could only stare at him with open gratefulness and affection. 

Oh. 

Well, that settled the issue, Nie Huaisang thought despondently. 

They would never have kept Meng Yao anyway. 

[depressedhatakekakashi]

The u know whos have been harassing me all day can i please request some more HC for both your knight and skill reversal AUs regarding how kakagai reationship grows to forget about them? Thank you mun 🤍

Why are they harrassing you? Who do I have to fight? i will fight them all omg. LEAVE THIS POOR PERSON ALONE YOU JERKS.

Royalty Au

Kakashi and Gai have known each other since childhood. It’s an outcome of Kakashi’s father, Sakumo, being the royal guard to King Dai. That plus Sakumo being an only father since his wife's death, and he finds himself having to have Kakashi by his side a lot growing up. He could get someone to take care of his son, but Kakashi keeps running them into the ground and scaring them off.

Thankfully, the king is very understanding and loves that his son has someone else to play with.  Most people who interact with Gai treat him like a porceline. Like they have to be super careful around him or he might shatter. Kakashi doesn’t do that. He respects Gai of course. Calls him ‘your highness’ and always bows when they greet each other or say goodbye, but otherwise, he considers Gai his friend. They run around the garden together, learn together, play together. Everything that Gai does, Kakashi does with him. Sometimes Kakashi will even be able to help Gai with his learning, being a quick learner himself who can explain things better for Gai than his tutor.

As they grow up, they continue to hang out. Even when Kakashi starts to train under Lady Kushina as a page at the age of 7, Kakashi will often use his time off from training to spend with Gai.

Gai is the first person Kakashi ever tells of his dream to become a great knight. Not just like his father, but even better. He wants to prove that he’s talented and smart and that he can protect the Kingdom and the Prince from anything and anyone. Gai feels a little sad that day, even though he loves the excitement in Kakashi’s voice when he hears about his dream. But knowing that Kakashi is going to put himself into a job that could get him killed young, all to try to prove himself. that hurts Gai’s heart.

When Kakashi is promoted to Squire at the age of 11, it’s a huge celebration. People are amazed by this kid's progress. the standard age for becoming a squire is 15, and Kakashi’s already well on his way to becoming the youngest knight in history. Even with his extra duties though, he makes sure to always visit Gai in the garden at least twice a week. They still have race’s around the place, and sometimes Kakashi will show Gai how to sword fight. Gai does get lessons from a tutor of course, but he finds that he learns easier from Kakashi. Kakashi just has a way of talking to him that helps him understand quicker. Plus Kakashi always lets him make things into a competition, which helps a lot with getting him pumped and ready to learn. 

When Kakashi is knighted at the age of 16, Gai’s not sure how to feel. He’s excited for his old friend of course. This was part of Kakashi’s dream. He’s already making a name for himself separate from his father. But at the same time, Gai’s terrified that this means he won’t have any time with Kakashi anymore. Kakashi will be too busy to visit him, and he’ll be alone with no one to hang out with but the people who treat him like porcelain.

Of course, Dai won’t have that. Kakashi is immediately made Gai’s royal guard. Partially to keep him out of the field where he might find nothing but a young death, and partially to keep Kakashi and Gai close. He knows how important the two are to each other already, and he refuses to be the one to tear them away from each other.

When it comes to marriage at the age of 20, Gai is not excited. He can’t think of anyone he wants to marry, and he always finds problems with the people that he is presented with. Genma is too pessemistic, Obito is too... well, Obito. Him and Kisame just want to rip each others throats out most of the time, and while he gets along fine with Rin the two of them both agree they’d prefer to be friends.

It’s not until someone mentions to Kakashi that he should also be looking to settle down that Gai realizes why he can’t choose a marriage partner.

He doesn’t want anyone else. He wants to be with Kakashi. To have Kakashi by his side, not just as his knight, but as his partner. 

He knows it’s not conventional. Most people marry royalty from other lands to strengthen treaties or secure partnerships. But his father never married. He found other ways to do those things, so surely Gai can too. Right?

He’s afraid to bring it up to his father. Terrified that he’ll be rejected. But when he finally does, Dai just laughs and tells his son that it’s about time. That he just needed to tell him what it was he wanted, and he would make it happen for him.

Gai and Kakashi don’t get married right away. Neither of them is in a rush.

But when they do it’s a big event, and Kakashi is not pleased about this fact.

Both of their fathers are standing by their side, proud that their sons have found each other and can be together. That they know who’s side they belong at. Kakashi can’t imagine Anyone else protecting Gai, and Gai wouldn’t have anyone else standing beside him as his husband or as his royal guard.

Kakashi’s position does not change at all. There are people of course who are adamant that the King's husband cannot be his royal guard. that the position is too dangerous. 

But Dai knows that neither of the boys are going to let anyone else take Kakashi’s position, and he’s alright with that. Kakashi has always been the one to protect Gai, and he always will be. 

Skill Swap Au

Kakashi and Gai still meet outside of the academy, but it’s Kakashi who has been turned away. Denied entry because of his lack of skill in Ninjitsu or Genjutsu. Gai feels bad for the other boy. He looks so sad standing there by his father's side, the White fangs side, knowing that he can’t get into the academy because he has been deemed ‘not good enough

Seeing something in Kakashi that no one else did, Gai decides to challenge him to a spar. It takes a few attempts, and Kakashi gets annoyed really easily at his challenges and tries to remind him that he’s just going to lose to ‘the genius’, but finally Kakashi caves.

And Kakashi loses, badly. But when he crawls to his feet and stuffs his hands into his pockets determined to leave, Gai stops him and tells him that they should spare again.

And he doesn’t stop challenging Kakashi. No matter how many times Kakashi wants to give up. No matter how often the two of them hear that Gai’s ‘wasting his time with a failure’. Gai never gives up on Kakashi.

He knows what Kakashi could be capable of. He has seen his own father train her to be strong, and he has seen Kakashi training on his own. Kakashi is not a quitter. He works his butt off and always comes home bruised and tired from his efforts. Gai knows if they just keep at it, that Kakashi can become strong.

Ultimately, with Gai’s help and a lot of perseverance, Kakashi finally makes it into the academy. It’s a moment of celebration for them both and Gai can’t stop congratulating Kakashi.

Halfway through the year, Sakumo’s mission goes terribly wrong, and suddenly ‘the white fang’ is a name no longer spoken with pride. It’s a name that people spit venom at. And that loss in pride hits Kakashi hard. After Sakumo’s death, Kakashi disappears from the academy.

Gai’s terrified that Kakashi has given up. That he’s just going to let those hateful people’s words win and stop trying to become a great shinobi.

He’s wrong. Oh so wrong. Kakashi’s more determined than ever to prove himself. to show the village that he can be a great Ninja no matter what they say. Every day from dawn to dusk Kakashi trains endlessly. Pushing himself to near collapse just to get stronger. 

It’s at this point, after finding Kakashi unconscious in a field after a long day of training, that Dai decides to show him the eight gates.

Having Kakashi around the house a lot more is pretty weird, but Gai also really enjoys it. Kakashi’s not always the friendliest person, but he’s always helping out around the house with chores. 

Gai graduated from the academy at the age of five, setting the record for the youngest shinobi to become a genin ever. Choza Sensei decides when he’s six to have him compete in the chunin exams, and he is promoted before any of his classmates even make genin.

Kakashi graduated at the age of seven, which is still really impressive given the fact that people have always said he would never amount to anything. 

Gai gets placed on team choza with Ebisu and Genma, while Kakashi gets placed on Team Minato with Obito and Rin. Kakashi’s still very ‘by the rules’ because of his father, but rather than fighting with Obito over who’s stronger, Kakashi and Obito get along a bit better.

By the time they’re 11, Kakashi has actually managed to beat Gai in a fight. It’s no surprise to Gai when he becomes a chunin along with the others, even as Gai is promoted to Jonin ahead of them. 

Team Minato still gets the Kannabi bridge mission, but they’re given another Jonin to lead the mission while Minato takes care of his part of it. When Rin is kidnapped, Obito convinces Kakashi to go with him to get her even though they’re going directly against Jonin’s orders. 

Kakashi still loses his eye protecting Obito, Obito still awakens his sharing, and then Obito ‘dies’ saving Kakashi from being crushed by a bolder.

Kakashi is blamed for the mission going wrong when they get back to Konoha, but instead of allowing it to eat at him, he decides to keep training. To become stronger and show the village that he’s not the failure they think he is.

Gai is determined to help him in this mission and starts making their competitions into training sessions together. 

Whenever someone gets rude with Kakashi or blames him for Obito’s death, they usually find themselves meeting the end of Gai’s foot. Kakashi may not be willing to stand up to them, but Gai is more than happy to do it for them.

Rin doesn’t die in this au because of Kakashi. Instead, recognizing that she has no other way out, she uses Kakashi’s distraction while fighting the enemy shinobi to take her own life. 

Obito’s still mad at Kakashi for not being able to save her, and Kakashi still see’s her blood on his hands in his nightmares. But that’s because he actually held her body while she bled out. 

Recognizing his student’s strength and hurt, Minato decides to shove Kakashi into Anbu. Something that’s frowned upon by many until Kakashi starts going out onto missions. They’re surprised by his sheer strength and ability in the field. 

When Minato dies against the Kyuubi, Kakashi sinks deeper into depression and tries to push everyone away, including Gai.

Of course, Gai doesn’t allow this. He refuses to let Kakashi suffer alone and always tries to keep up with their competition and spars.

When he realizes just how bad Anbu is affecting Kakashi’s mental health, Gai decides to try and join so that he can be with him. But he’s turned away because of his personality (just like in Canon)

So instead, he decides to get Kakashi out.

Kakashi’s not too happy to be made a join sensei after being shoved out of Anbu, but he takes it as punishment for not being able to help Itachi avoid the massacre route that he chose to take (in Kakashi’s eye since he doesn’t know the truth at this point)

Over the years, Kakashi has grown a lot as a shinobi. Even Itachi was surprised to see just how strong Kakashi was with just Taijutsu and did a lot of training with him to improve his own Taijutsu. 

Come the Chunin exams with Team seven and Team Gai, Neji, Lee, and Tenten are unsurprised to find that Team Seven is extremely skilled in Taijutsu. Kakashi has taught them well, and these three are ready to take names and kick butt. 

Sasuke still loses in his fight against Lee, but Lee’s proud to say that he was taught Taijutsu from their sensei (taught first by Gai, and then improved upon by Kakashi) and that they’re surely going to get stronger with more time under him.

The month that Kakashi spends training up Sasuke’s taijutsu is possibly the worst month of Sasuke’s life. He’s introduced to Kakashi’s personal training methods and it is not fun. Not one bit. 

And after the chunin exams, while the village is trying to repair itself from the Konoha crush and settle into some sense of nromality, Itachi and Kisame show up. This time, it’s Gai who faces down Itachi and ends up in a 72 hour genjutsu. Itachi knows better than to allow the genius time to come up with a plan. But then just as Kisame is about to swoop in and finish Gai, Kakashi shows up and kicks him away. A genius and the best taijutsu master of Konoha? Itachi is out. This is not worth the hassle. 

Sasuke finds out about Itachi's appearance in the village while Kakashi, Kurenai and Asuma are watching over Gai while he's resting from Itachi's attack. Kakashi of course goes after his student

Kakashi also gets to the the 'dynamic entry' against Jiraiya, kicking him in the face and away from his students. He recognizes Jiraiya of course, but damn he'd be lying if he said that didn't feel good.

[aaluminiumas]

Die for Me

あなたこそが “ 海賊王 ” に なる男

Lukewarm blood gushed out from the deep wounds. Ripping apart huge chunks of flesh and feeling the solidity of a bone inside, Monet genuinely relished her superiority savoring every note of the harrowing, blood-curdling shriek the woman in her deadly embrace emitted.

That Marine girl was no good at all; her tactics may not be exactly lame or useless, nor did she lack fervor or courage, but she turned out to be too modest and polite to attack – and also feeble. While the Marines claimed to have implemented a variety of brand-new top-notch techniques that would improve fighting skills of nearly any novice, they tended to send weaklings barely able to resist a simple scuffle, let alone serious combat with high ranks such as her or Caesar. This one wasn’t an exception to the rule: though promoted, Tashigi proved her disability to be on the offensive, thus confirming Monet’s expectations and dispelling the illusion of power Smoker had successfully created earlier.

“I adore it when you yell so desperately,” the Harpy muttered nonchalantly in the unctuous voice, her lips smeared with blood. “So I might break your scapula just for fun. My fangs can go through bone like butter. What a lovely day we are having, aren’t we?.. Care to brighten it further?”

Monet’s viselike grip tightened, and a bone cracked; Tashigi���s scream of utter anguish pierced the chaos and turmoil. In a moment, the woman limped in the Harpy’s wings. This last shrill seemed to have deserted her internally, leaving little to no stamina to stand up for herself and resist the throes shooting through her fragile body. The Harpy, though, felt no remorse or contrition. Quite on the contrary, she yielded into the perverse pleasure of being in charge – her well-nurtured sadistic inclinations and proclivities could finally splurge and flourish. Normally, it was Doflamingo whose hatred of the Marines came unwrapped. He was always in command; he was always aware of the potential threat and danger that could strike at any given moment, and now she could defend him from this invasion without an innuendo on his part. He had protected her in the past, bestowed a shelter, and took care of her younger sister—

“Enough.”

A low voice, hardly louder than Tashigi’s shallow breath muffled all the sounds, including explosions and the clash in the distant rooms. A swordsman with cold resolution in the single eye stood there, unmoving, his face serious, yet completely unreadable.

Monet’s fine features contorted in a lopsided smirk, her head withdrawing from Tashigi’s injured shoulder. Spoiled by pride, the swordsman didn’t seem to see a worthy opponent in her. Good for him, she thought. The Marine’s death would be on his hands – after all, he couldn’t compare to one of the best soldiers among the Donquixotes.

“I said enough,” he growled quietly, advancing and raising his katana, the silver eye narrowing. “Didn’t you hear?”

“She shouted too loudly. Should I shut her up?” Monet’s voice remained vaguely flirtatious, her antics jaunty, but the swordsman betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Instead, without a single warning, he pivoted forward, sword at the ready. Prancing at superhuman speed, the man neatly cut her in half – her logia powers weren’t a mere obstacle to him or his blade.

“I’m a Logia, you fool,” Monet spat with a haughty grin, “You think I’m scared?”

That fact alone contributed to her arrogance and hoity-toity attitude. While the majority of the Donquixote Family had to satisfy themselves with commonplace and hackneyed Paramecias, she got lucky – Doflamingo brought in a Logia fruit, the rarest type, and presented it to her. He might have intended to give it to Vergo, who hadn’t joined the number of the fruit-eaters and preferred to use his innate physical force. At any rate, such thoughts barely intruded on her mind: Doflamingo, the Young Master she worshipped, literally made her a gift desired by many. And what a scenery it was: he called in a meeting, ordered his favorite delicacies, thus forcing the whole city to cook for him, and sprawled across his improvised throne. Trebol, giggling under his breath, Diamante with his ever-lasting smirk, the imperturbable Pica, Vergo with the rigorous mien… Well, she was never part of the elite – nor did she plan to climb higher. The seat beside Doflamingo’s feet seemed comfortable enough to occupy – this position turned her into a valuable asset, who caught all the messages and orders intoned in a low, seductive voice. Despite that, the Young Master did not banish her – he remained seated, asking her to tell them all about her first murder – committed with a taste.

Logia powers made the bearer almost invincible, and Monet, a proficient user, trained by the best, especially by Vergo, knew what she was worth.

“I’m a Logia,” the Harpy repeated, the blizzard howling louder. “It doesn’t hurt me.”

“We’ll see,” came the answer.

Not even looking at her, the man grabbed the wounded woman and hurried to the exit, while Monet, absolutely dumbfounded, discovered that she could not get together. What appeared to be a single cut turned out to be a series of swift swishes in the air that slashed her snow-made body in a split second with the power that significantly surpassed her own. The result unfolded in slow motion: the more time went, the more it hurt; paralyzed, she listlessly perused the gashes opening in her skin – the man had inflicted much more damage than she had initially anticipated.

Furious, lacerated by what seemed to be a hundred blades, Monet yelled – and realized that it caused another wound to splay. The flesh got torn apart somewhere in her stomach and sent an impetus to the lungs prompting another incision to dehisce. The blood spurted up and flushed out from her mouth, staining the green shirt. Coughing, gagging, and covering her lips with a defective wing that had also been slit and now painted vermillion, the Harpy leaned over a gigantic machine with a red button on its panel. Half-conscious, she stared at it – it certainly was a way out. If she pushes it, the whole island will go up in flames. Nobody survived, case closed. Nobody discovers the dirty scheme Vergo had initiated in the Marine to abduct kids; nobody learns about the dubious experiments of the ambiguous nature performed by Caesar. Nobody connects Young Master – her Young Master – to the helter-skelter in the lab, nobody–

Her consciousness drifted away; small lacerations proved to be even worse than the deeper ones – blood didn’t stop from dripping, and she couldn’t control the amount she had lost. Falling to the ground, quivering, Monet twitched her wings in a fruitless attempt to maintain balance. It was overkill, anyway, at least she deemed so. Her wounds were fatal; she very well understood that she was a goner – but it was still in her power to prevent future events from happening.

Suddenly, Monet heard the quiet mumbling of a snail. Caesar, concerned about Joker’s supervision and unremitting control (the notion he strongly believed but which wasn’t true to the fact: Doflamingo, after Monet’s infiltration, called every once in a while, just to give the man heebie-jeebies, in case he felt lazy), installed snails everywhere, each equipped with a unique number. Only Joker could have access to them – no one else would be able to call here, the sanctum sanctorum of the lab.

The injured wing reached for the receiver, then twitched and fell. Trembling, the Harpy moaned in agony, choked on the blood, and made a feeble attempt to get up. Didn’t work; her face contorted in pure anguish. Invincible, trained, fortified by a number of experiments conducted under Doflamingo’s supervision, she never expected a failure. Especially a failure like this.

The snail kept grumbling, Monet whimpered; struggling to stand up, the Harpy felt a million needles skewering into her body, avulsing the thinnest and the tiniest blood vessels. She had to be slow not to disturb the veins that still remained intact. Making a superhuman effort, Monet propped herself up, her chest heaving, her wings jittered ever so slightly.  Panting, leaning over the tremendous apparatus towering over her, the Harpy managed to answer the call.

“Monet?” called a low, mellifluous voice coming from a snail. “Monet, do you read?”

“Yes, Young Master,” she mustered her shattered self to respond.

“I do not have the slightest idea what is happening right now,” he drawled pensively, “But it is certainly far from the plan I have drawn up.”

“They– they snatched Caesar.”

Doflamingo paused, pondering over her words. That loudmouth fool, calling himself a genius, failed to kick the teenager’s ass and let himself get captured by a bunch of mere kids playing real pirates. It had been funny to hear that that Strawhat Luffy defeated Sir Crocodile, one of the most feared and infamous warlords; after all, Doflamingo shook hands with the man and knew exactly what his weaknesses were, but Caesar Clown was another thing. First off, he claimed himself to be a brilliant scientist, and, in fact, he had managed to synthesize a drug that made children comparable to giants in force and probably in size. Furthermore, he used his earlier formulae and calculations, retrieved the readouts of the past experiments to create artificial Devil Fruits. So, he clearly was not a complete idiot. However, he employed none of his ingenious tricks to kill the annoying brat on sight when he had the opportunity.  Too bad the factory couldn’t work without his involvement – otherwise, Doflamingo himself would’ve got disposed of Caesar as well.

“Monet,” he finally spoke, his voice dropping down a notch. “You were loyal to me.”

“Till the end, Young Master,” she muttered, her voice not louder than a susurrus of wind.

“Die for me.” He commanded coolly, his eyes staring into space unwinkingly. “Monet, die for me and send this place to hell. Take them all along with you.”

“Yes, Young Master. I will do as you please.”

Her lips, covered with blood and gore, stretched in a gentle smile addressed to no one in particular. He cared about her. He wanted her to perform this last task for him, in the name of his future achievements and accomplishments, and she would not let him down.

She raised her wing, slightly quavering, preparing to hit the red button. Exuding a quiet hum, the Harpy lowered it – and gasped, immediately falling onto the ground with a loud, heavy thump.

“Monet?.. Monet, what’s happened? Monet, can you hear me?..”

She uttered a wheezing sound, and her visage froze in a rictus of death.

[itsclydebitches]

YYH Recaps: Koenma Appears

Welcome to episode two, everyone! Before we get to the recap proper, I want to continue down Nostalgia Lane for a moment. Remember how last time I mentioned a Hiei bookmark I used daily back in middle school? Well, I tore through an old "treasure box" I created as a kid (a collection containing everything from a shark tooth to a small book on witchcraft. You know, the important things every child needs) hoping to find it... but I didn't. It's a hard life we lead.

However, I did find some other YYH relics that I thought you all might enjoy seeing. Behold — and, if you'd like, laugh at — my collection:

First up is a picture of young Toguro and Genkai that I wanted to use as my bookmark, but found that it was too wide. For the record, I didn't (and still don't) care about Toguro much, he was just the byproduct of finding a cool Genkai picture. Not shown is the back of the image with the names of my classmates because I made them all sign this along with our yearbook.

God bless my friends for putting up with me.

Second is a collection of very pretty trading cards that I ordered from god only knows where. I have vague memories of not finding any at my local comics shop and convincing my mom to let me order on The Olde Internet. Did I want the trading cards to trade them? Absolutely not. They exist to sparkle and make my heart happy.

Finally, I've saved what is perhaps the best for last. Now, you have to understand that grade to middle school age Clyde did not have the education that she would receive later on, which includes a knowledge of the ephemeral nature of fanworks and the importance of accurate record keeping. What this means is that I have absolutely no context for this. No author, no explanation... just the image itself.

Was this a standalone fanart? A part of a fic? Some specific request or just the will of the artist? I cannot answer these questions. I tried a reverse image search (which is, admittedly, the extent of my tech skills) and you know what the single hit I got was? "Fiction." Thanks, google. So yeah, I can only assume that my child self considered Kurama giving a de-aged Hiei a bubble bath adorable enough to save, but the artist wasn't important enough to jot down for future viewing. Sorry about that, mystery artist. And, as should go without saying, if anyone does know where this came from please let me know! Though I suspect that this is a case of a YYH-specific site closing down and the fanworks getting lost along with it. That happened a great deal before the age of AO3 when volunteers decided to put their time and talent towards saving fanworks of all sorts... 

But enough of all that. Let's get to recapping!

As we established last episode, Yusuke and Botan are on their way to the spirit world to kickstart Yusuke's ordeal. Watching this after over a decade of consuming other media, I really appreciate that Yusuke acts like a human person and asks lots of questions about this. When Botan is cryptic for the sake of the audience — we're going to see "the person" who can explain everything — Yusuke is justifiably like, and what person would that be?? I mean, this is also a way to establish basic facts for the viewer and it simultaneously feeds into Yusuke being someone who is difficult for the sake of being difficult — "If someone wants to say something, they should come to me!" — but it's just nice to see a character who doesn't accept cryptic BS because the story needs them to. If Botan gives an unclear, but ~dramatic~ explanation, Yusuke is going to call her out on that.

So she explains that they're going to see King Yama and Yusuke is all whoa whoa whoa, there's royalty involved? Suddenly, he's not so adamant that they come to him. 

Botan tries to reinforce this rare spark of humility and demands that Yusuke be on his best behavior from here on out.

Pff. Yeah right.

But “he can send you to oblivion forever if he wants to!” is a suitable enough threat to cow Yusuke for now. Which is interesting considering that a few hours ago he was happy to accept hell as his rightful ending. Granted, we could argue that there's a big difference between hell and oblivion — a character may not be afraid of punishment in the same way they are a lack of existence — but I'd say this ties more into Yusuke's development at the wake. Now that he's accepted that people care for him and that he should strive to return to them, the threat of having it snatched away actually means something. Even if that line is otherwise positioned as a comedic moment.

Botan flies them through a portal where we see the River Styx below and Yusuke comments on how big everything is. At first I was like, "What are you talking about? You were just flying over some major city in fictional Japan, wasn't that big too?" but this line makes more sense when they reach the palace and you realize that yeah, it's big. As in, the camera blurs while tilting down its length to show how insanely tall it is. Yusuke and Botan are tiny gnats at the gate's entrance.

"Oh man, what a pad!" Yusuke says and sure, that's one way to look at it lol.

Botan announces that she has a "new arrival" and the gates open for them, but so far there's no one else around. One part of me wants to question the time and budget put into this scene because shouldn't there be, like, thousands of people? Even just waiting outside? The idea that this is the hub of the underworld and that Botan is responsible for ferrying all the souls, yet she is guiding just this one (1) dude for a solid day is, from a world building perspective, kind of nuts. But beyond the need to develop Botan as a character (she can't be a part of the story if her job is treated realistically, with all the endless work that entails), I think this choice functions rather well from an atmospheric perspective too. Meaning, this moment is supposed to be rather tense for Yusuke. He just died, just found out the afterlife exists, just discovered a desire to get his life back, and is now about to meet a King who can toss him into oblivion if he's rude — which Yusuke always is. So this is a Very Dangerous Moment and their relative isolation feeds into that. As does the setting. Yusuke flinches back from the hallway, saying that it looks like a giant throat, so he is now literally walking into the belly of the beast. 

Suddenly, the size of the palace isn't an indicator of awesome wealth, just general intimidation. Also, check out the spikey purple mountains in the background and the harsh reds of the scene, especially compared to the soft yellow of the river. All of it is designed to create an, "Oh shit" reaction in both Yusuke and the audience.

Yusuke's image of King Yama matches these surroundings:

Oh wait! Wrong character ;)

He's massive, red, shadowed, and poses a formidable threat. And how does Yusuke deal with threats? By fighting them! Even those he can't hope to beat. Remember, this isn't a situation where Yusuke has any power here, but he still desperately holds onto the possibility that he might. What if he gets off a punch on King Yama's nose? Then goes for his eyes? Yeah, that'll work! 

Overlooking the fact that it absolutely would not — Yusuke's fantasy conveniently skips how he escapes Yama's clutches — what exactly is Yusuke hoping to accomplish here? Somehow take over the entire underworld? Escape as a ghost and live out his afterlife in hiding? We don't know and that's because Yusuke doesn't know. He doesn't think ahead, he just obeys this instinct to fight. An instinct that, crucially, overrides everything else. Botan has already told him that all Yusuke needs to do is be polite and everything will be fine, but it's not even that Yusuke believes that he can't achieve that; that he knows himself too well and, fearing a slip, starts planning for a potentially inevitable confrontation. There are simply no plans outside of battle plans. Yusuke just hears about someone vaguely intimidating and his brain jumps straight to, "How do I beat him in a fight?" no matter the odds, or that other options are readily available to him. Again, much of YYH's characterization occurs though its comedy, so outside of the general humor of witnessing this fantasy, it actually does a stellar job of reinforcing precisely who Yusuke is. In life the only thing he had going for him was his ability to fight. It was his one joy, his one skill, arguably the one good thing he did if we frame those reflexes as "saving" the kid... so is it any wonder that fighting dominates his every thought? It's all he knows.

And, as we'll see down the line, that single-minded obsession is very useful to the spirit world.

For now though, Yusuke finishes his absurd plans to take down King Yama and Botan asks what in the world he's muttering about back there. Which is an unintentionally hilarious line because by the end Yusuke is not muttering, but full on shouting. Botan. How did you not hear him?

Not important. They reach the next door and we get our first inkling that all is not as Yusuke (and we) expect when Botan leans into an intercom to say that they've arrived. Tech in a fantasy spirit world? This feels not only out of place, but rather... mundane? That's the point. When the doors open Yusuke expects his super scary monster, but gets... a whole lot of monsters that aren't scary at all!

The underworld is run by various demons (or ogres), though their looks are contrasted with the harried office worker personalities they've got going on. Someone is running by with a comically tall stack of papers. Someone else is shouting into a cell phone. The first two demons we see cross paths, looking like they're about to punch one another, just as Yusuke expects... except they're just dramatically getting out of the other's way, worried not about the hierarchy of this realm, but the fact that someone is behind schedule. The nerve!

"This place is a madhouse!" we hear somehow shout and yeah, that's the joke. The afterlife is just as chaotic, overworked, and — ultimately — boring as any human office. For all the strangeness of seeing hundreds of demons, this is familiar.

Which, alongside Botan's bubbly nature contrasting assumptions about the Grim Reaper, is one of the first instances of YYH undercutting the viewer's expectations in terms of looks. No one entirely looks the part they play in this tale and if you're trying to teach people to look past surface characteristics... there are worse ways to do it. Horrifying creatures with horns and sharp teeth? Nah, they're just chill dudes trying to do their job. Cutesy girl who looks like she belongs in a mall reading magazines? Nah, she's the Grim Reaper. Terrifying delinquent with a spine-chilling reputation? Nah, he makes faces at kids and saves them from cars.

Of course, the "nah" isn't accurate either. These are monsters with horns, Botan is a cutesy girl, and Yusuke is a delinquent with that reputation. The message isn't so much that people look like Thing A, but get to know them and you'll discover they're actually Thing B, it's the idea that you can be A and B (and C, D, E...) simultaneously. People — or rather, seemingly simple archetypes — can, in fact, embody multiple characteristics at once.

We'll get our third example in just a second.

Yusuke makes a comment about this being the "dead people stock exchange" — accurate — and Botan leads him to a more ornate door past all the desks. It's clear they've arrived at King Yama's office, since she's bowing and formally presenting him to... someone. Yusuke looks around for the giant beast he's imagined, only for a tiny voice to hail him from the ground.

Looks are deceiving!

“This is Yusuke Urameshi and he’s honored to meet you." Botan knows what's up. She knows Yusuke isn't going to express anything of the sort without some prompting. Too bad he's busy cracking up at this apparent child running the show. Side note: Yusuke has a fantastic laugh.

He even goes so far as to accuse Botan of lying to him.

“Why would I lie about such a thing?!”

“Why would the spirit world be run by a toddler?”

It's true! That’s a legitimate question! I love that Yusuke asks questions. The "toddler" goes on to explain that he's actually the "mighty Koenma," son of King Yama, though he's lived fifty times as long as Yusuke, "so watch your mouth." Assuming Koenma knows and/or remembers how old Yusuke is — fourteen — and is good at math, that puts him at seven hundred years old. He looks good for his age!

"And in addition to knowing the secrets of the universe," he says, "I am quite potty trained."

You've gotta love Koenma.

Yusuke's attitude changes drastically once they get down to business. Koenma produces an egg, saying that Yusuke's ordeal is to hatch it and face what comes out. The hatching part isn't difficult, all he needs to do is keep it on his person. The challenge is in the fact that this egg will feed off his spirit energy and that energy in turn will change what kind of creature develops. If his spirit is wicked and cruel, so will be the beast and it will devour Yusuke upon hatching.

However, if his spirit is good and kind, the beast will become a sort of guardian, guiding him back to his living body.

Note though that throughout this conversation the egg is always a "beast." It's a "monster." It's not necessarily intentional, but there's a strong bend towards the negative here in the description that really emphasizes the whole "ordeal" aspect. Koenma briefly reassures Yusuke that he can remain a ghost if he prefers, but he's already made up his mind. Despite another threat of being lost to a void — this time through spiritual digestion — Yusuke takes the egg almost without hesitation.

He regrets it later though.

"I can't believe I did that."

Can we blame him? I'd be nervous about some egg feeding off the energy of my soul too and I'm a former, almost straight A student (damn you, math) with no life-altering regrets and a general desire to put as much good into this world as I'm able. I’m boring. But what if those occasional, mean little thoughts you have add up? What if the prejudices you're still unlearning stack against you? Does the egg care about what you do, or only how you feel about the act? This sort of test would eat me alive!

Maybe literally. 

Good thing Yusuke doesn't have time for an existential crisis!

Just as he's beginning to regret this decision, Botan points out that it won't matter if he passes if he doesn't have a body to return to. Now, why wouldn't he have a body? Maybe because his mom is set to cremate him tomorrow.

Whoopsie.

Yusuke is, understandably, distraught. We get another excellent exchange:

“Botan, is there any way for ghosts to communicate with living people?”

“Yes.”

“SO ARE YOU GONNA TELL ME?”

I swear, Yusuke is the only smart protagonist. I mean, he's dumb as a sack of bricks at times, but that's neither here nor there. Bless this fictional boy for reacting like an actual person. 

Botan explains that people are more attuned to the spirit world when they're asleep, so Yusuke can deliver a message to someone in their dreams. Seems easy enough. They first head to Atsuko, but find that she's raging drunk and nowhere near sleep. 

"You fool!" she yells. "No one gave you permission to die!" Atsuko continues to yell about how plenty of people survive car accidents, so why couldn't you? "Were you mad at me, Yusuke? Didn't I raise you right?"

Botan comments on how sad the display is. Yusuke's response?

“The only thing that’s sad is now she’s got one more excuse to act that way."

Y'all, that's some mature shit for a goofy shonen anime. Yeah, Yusuke recognizes that, while she's obviously heartbroken, his death has just given her another reason to do what she's been doing for years: drinking herself into a stupor. Toss in Atsuko putting the blame on Yusuke — "No one gave you permission to die!" — plus the belief that she did do a good job — "Didn't I raise you right?" — and it paints a rather bleak picture. This is by no means an uncommon theme. Negligent parents, whether they're framed that way or not, are pretty common in shonen series, but it's still rather jarring to re-watch this as an adult and go, "Oh. The situation’s like that." It's honestly a lot when you remove it from YYH's otherwise humorous, casual context.

Yusuke heads to Keiko's next and finds her sound asleep, commenting on how her room looks more "girly" than when they were kids. Check out that smile!

He's about to try and deliver his message, but Keiko is in the midst of a nightmare. “She’s crying… what’s wrong?”

Oh my god. Remember how I just said Yusuke is also the densest protagonist around? Example A right here. You just died, you fool! You just saw Keiko collapse at your funeral. What do you think is wrong??

We get a peek at Keiko's dream where she is — shockingly! — thinking of Yusuke. He's far out of reach, walking away and unresponsive to her calls. Keiko soon trips and Yusuke disappears completely.

Luckily, she has the real thing at her bedside. Yusuke tries talking to her and at first it's unclear if this supernatural stuff is really working. That is, until Keiko murmurs about how heavy he is.

Reassured, Yusuke delivers his message that Keiko needs to help Atsuko pull herself together and, most importantly, call off burning his body. We get this very soft and pretty background to establish their yet unspoken feelings for one another, though Yusuke gets close with, “I’m coming back. I don’t want to see you cry anymore" as he brushes her tears away. Aww.

Keiko wakes, thinking at first it was just a dream, but no, "I'm sure I felt it."

The next morning she heads to Atsuko's to explain the dream, only to first hear that Atsuko had a dream too, this one about Yusuke "living in some other world full of ogres and he kept knocking them down until he became their leader." It sounds absurd, of course, but it brings Atsuko some comfort to think of her boy in a place like that and Keiko backs down. Right, she'd only had a comforting dream too.

Now, there are two important parts to this exchange. The first is that this is an excellent example of how you let the characters drive the story, rather than forcing the characters adhere to the plot you've come up with. Meaning, in the latter situation, our cast would have needed to have their personalities twisted and the viewer's suspicion of disbelief tested to give Yusuke what he needs: a sleeping family member willing to believe his message. But it absolutely makes sense for Atsuko to be drunk rather than sound asleep, so Yusuke can't rely on her. Likewise, it absolutely makes sense for Keiko to be asleep, but not believe the dream once she's woken up. After all, how many times have we been persuaded by something in the dead of night only for things to look more logical and less likely in the morning? The characters act both like themselves and like people who do normal, people-ish things, which means that Yusuke runs into more conflicts. That's good! It not only raises the tension and stakes — now he has less than a day to convince someone — but makes his inevitable success feel that much sweeter. A less well written show (cough-RWBY-cough) would have had the characters change their personalities, behave in unlikely ways, or just come up with a sudden, contradictory solution because Yusuke needs to keep his body. Instead, Yusuke actually has to work for that within the bounds of the rules established and the likeliness of each plan succeeding. The first one fails? Move onto plan #2.

Second, this dream of Atsuko's has some cool implications within YYH's world. Meaning, we're about to learn in just a moment that some people are naturally more aware of the supernatural than others, even when they're not asleep. We'll also see down the line that spiritual awareness tends to run in families... so perhaps Atsuko possesses more than the average mother? I'm not saying it's necessarily intentional on the author(s) part, but we can choose to read this dream as evidence of spiritual awareness — true insight into the world Yusuke was just in and the fantasies he'd had about conquering it — rather than just a coincidental joke for the viewer. After all, Yusuke gets his own spiritual awareness from somewhere...

(Okay, so there's totally another, canonical reason for that, but we can have both!)

So, as Yusuke puts it, “This dream business isn’t gonna cut it.”

“There’s always the final method," Botan says.

“You always this vague?”

I am literally living for these interactions.

Botan explains that the more extreme form of communication is possessing a living person, but there are two rules attached: it has to be someone you know and the vessel has to be someone who is quite spiritually aware, as discussed above. Atsuko isn't a contender because the story hasn't acknowledged that she might be sensitive, that's just my own headcanon now. Yusuke outright says, “In that case I’m screwed. There’s no one like that!"

Cut to good old Kuwabara.

At first it looks as if he's just oh so conveniently sensing a spirit right when the audience has learned he has this power, but in reality it's Yusuke and Botan flying behind him that sets it off. Again: this show is pretty good about keeping things internally consistent, rather than making choices because That's Just How Stories Work, I Guess. Kuwabara's friends note that he's acting strangely and I love this detail that apparently one of the guys is new to their group because the other two need to explain that this is the "tickle feeling." Ever since Kuwabara was a boy he's been able to sense the dead around him. Some nice, some... not so nice.

He looks directly at Yusuke — even though he's not able to see him — and declares that what's following them is “A puny low-level ghost, like a haunted racoon or something.”

I'd support Yusuke's anger more if he hadn't just exclaimed his surprise that Kuwabara serves a purpose 😂

Yusuke is pissed enough though to proclaim that he won't do it, nuh-uh, no way is he possessing this guy's body. Botan's response is one of my FAVORITES in the WHOLE SERIES:

"Here's my impression of Yusuke: look at me, I’m burning!”

Literally 75% of this series is just about a found family sassing one another and I love it.

Obviously this helps Yusuke remember his priorities and he grudgingly agrees to the plan. Botan prepares Kuwabara's body somehow — idk, spiritual magic or whatever — and warns Yusuke that he only has an hour to find someone and warn them because a human body can't handle possession any longer than that. Sure. I buy it.

So Yusuke takes control and please ignore the incredible ethical issues here. The show will never acknowledge them again. 

He blurts out, “Hey, check it out! I’m inside Kuwabara, feeling smooth!"

Istg I don't remember the series being this unintentionally gay. I don't even ship Yusuke/Kuwabara and I'm digging the possibilities here lol.

Back on track, his friends drag him with, “Looks like he’s back to normal” because again, 75%. What's not normal though is Kuwabara (Yusuke) suddenly charging down the street to leave them behind. He heads straight to the restaurant where Keiko's parents work, demanding to see her. They're rightly concerned about this stranger barging in and screaming for their daughter.

Upon asking who he is/why they should tell him, Yusuke makes his biggest mistake: “Because it’s me, you guys, I’m Yusuke!”

Obviously the time limit and raw emotion of knowing who he is has outweighed the knowledge that, you know, no one would believe that. Yusuke has spent the last two days bopping around as a ghost and familiarizing himself with some of the afterlife's insanity. The knowledge of what's normal for everyone else — AKA, not dead boys appearing in strangers' bodies — is not at the forefront of Yusuke's mind.

So, Keiko's parents react accordingly! The father in particular is disgusted by this claim, going so far as to threaten Yusuke with his knife and outright insult Kuwabara's looks: “Yusuke was never ugly like you… we were close family friends with that boy!" His wife chimes in that this kind of joke is particularly heinous on the day of his funeral. Between Atsuko drunkenly blaming Yusuke for his death and Mr. Takenaka grieving for what he might have been, this is one of the few times we see someone just sad for Yusuke's passing, exactly as he was and without regrets or criticism. "We were close family friends with that boy" paints a nice contrast to the delinquent persona Yusuke was cultivating.

As he's thrown out of the restaurant he says, “We should have special passwords for times like this!” Fun fact, my family does! Well, not this exact situation lol. I was given a password as a child to memorize in case my parents ever needed to send someone else to pick me up or interact with me in any way. If the stranger didn't know the password, I was to kick up a fuss. I rest easy with the knowledge that this password would not doubt assist me if I was ever in Yusuke's position!

With Keiko's parents a bust, Yusuke starts sprinting to everywhere she frequents with the hope of running into her. Or at least he tries. 

Yusuke is suddenly waylaid by a group of nameless teens with a bone to pick with Kuwabara. And you know what? I like it. I wonder how much of my praise stems from coming off of RWBY Volume 8, but it's just so nice to watch a story where the plot — simple as it is — hangs together. We've established that Kuwabara is a street fighter. Last episode we watched him start a fight with Yusuke. Yusuke is on a time limit. Now Kuwabara's tendencies have created a new hurdle for Yusuke!

Needless to say, Yusuke kicks butt, even in Kuwabara’s body. 

As one guy is passing out he says, “Man that hurt! I didn’t think anyone could throw punches that hardcore except Yusuke Urameshi."

Yusuke: “Darn, giving Kuwabara a good name." LOL

You think this challenge is finished though? Nah. Over the course of about half an hour Yusuke encounters a comical number of people trying to get even with Kuwabara. 

As always, I like the nods towards this writing decision to help justify it, with Yusuke wondering how Kuwabara has pissed this many people off. If you want to pull off something that has a low chance of happening, it can help to give the characters a "Seriously?" moment. If both they and the audience are on the same page over how ridiculous this situation is, the audience is more likely to accept it once the character does.

By the time Yusuke escapes his hour is nearly up. However, thanks to some coincidental plotting, he spots Keiko's friends just across the street! 

YYH does a decent job of making its characters feel like they have their own lives outside of what's immediately happening on screen and we get a good example of that here. We pick up the girls' conversation partway through, both of them worried about Keiko's state of mind and, given that we'll see in a second that Keiko was in the store with them, it implies that something happened to reignite this worry. They're off enjoying their day, doing their own thing, there was an event we're not privy to, and now we catch the response to that. It just helps make the characters feel more well-rounded even though they are, at their core, one-dimensional background characters who don’t even have names yet.

Case in point: the one girl is still concerned with their image. "People are starting to say things!"

Yeah, your friend's childhood friend just died. Hopefully they're saying, "Poor thing."

Anyway, Yusuke runs up to ask where Keiko is only for both girls to run away screaming. Turns out his face is messed up from the numerous fights and Keiko's friends are easily scared. 

Luckily, Keiko comes out just a second later and Yusuke is faced with the challenge of how to convince her in, oh, about five minutes. Remember, we've already established through Keiko's parents that just saying, "I'm Yusuke" doesn't work. That's why he hesitates. It's not just drama for the sake of drama, he's stuck.

“I’ve known her my whole life, there must be something between us that only I would do!”

Yeeeeaah. About that 😬

Suddenly inspired (I suppose that's one way to put it...) Yusuke runs up behind Keiko and grabs her breasts. “Keiko, nice uniform! They’re so squishy!”

It goes without saying that, like flipping her skirt up, this isn't okay. More specifically, the problem lies in the story framing this as a joke for the audience, something to laugh at despite Keiko's discomfort, rather than the concept of two childhood friends actually be that comfortable with one another. But, as already established, this is one of the more ehhhh aspects of Yusuke's characterization that, luckily, will mostly disappear as the story goes on.

Note though that the show clearly wants us to think highly of this. Not just as a "joke," but as a smart solution to his problem and more evidence of their inevitable relationship — the background becomes the same soft, bubbly background we saw during their dream conversation. And, admittedly, it does work. Keiko instinctively slaps Yusuke hard enough to knock him to the ground and he starts laughing, saying that he doesn't care what anyone on the street says, she hits the hardest.

What I do like about this is that the assault isn't the only thing Keiko bases her faith on. Not only has she already had the dream, we get to see Yusuke from her perspective, showing all the mannerisms she picks up on by superimposing Yusuke's real body over Kuwabara's. Indeed, she says as much: “I knew it was you from the first time you spoke…and it’s not just your stupid gags, or how you laugh. There are ways you move and speak that in a hundred years I wouldn’t forget."

Catch me crying in this club!

Knowing she believes him and that he's almost out of time, Yusuke reiterates his message: please don't burn my body and also keep Mom on track. Only, you know, it's phrased far better than that lol. As he speaks, both Yusuke's and Kuwabara's voices overlap until the latter grows fainter and only Yusuke's voice remains. His body too. It's a nice touch, avoiding the awkwardness of Keiko having this moment with a stranger, even if that is what's happening on some level.

“I know I’ve been a bum to you at times, but please wait for me."

His hour up, now we can get the awkwardness! Kuwabara comes out of his weird trance thing to find Keiko crying against his chest. Wow, he thinks, this girl must be really into me! 

God, to have the confidence of Kuwabara.

Of course, Keiko quickly realizes it's not Yusuke anymore and slaps him too for cuddling her closer. My favorite thing is that when she does this a crowd INSTANTLY appears. I mean they TELEPORT in. We needed an audience for Kuwabara's shame and YYH delivered, all logic be damned.

“Um, sorry about that!” Keiko yells as she runs away, because she's a good person who recognizes that weird spirit things just went on and Kuwabara isn't actually to blame.

“No, that’s okay. I probably deserved it," Kuwabara responds because he's also a good person and I didn't appreciate him nearly as much as I should have as a kid.

Keiko runs all the way to Atsuko's place where she finds her dressed for Yusuke's funeral. She blurts that Yusuke might still be coming back and Atsuko goes, "He already has." Turns out she opened his coffin to "smack him one more time for leaving me" — yikes — and found that his heart had started beating again, just as Koenma said it would. 

Being in a shonen anime, they apparently decide to just trust Keiko's message rather than, idk, taking him to a hospital or something.

The camera tilts up to show that Yusuke has been watching all this, including that both women break down again and comfort one another. Aww. How heartwarming.

What's less fuzzy though is this mysterious egg. Yusuke takes another look and finds that it has developed a heartbeat too, presumably in time with his body's. He theorizes that he did decent things today, right? But Botan (teasingly) points out that he did beat up a lot of other kids. Rather than getting angry, Yusuke remains uncharacteristically pensive, emphasizing the magnitude of what this means for him. He's got to get it right.

No pressure or anything! We'll have to see how Yusuke balances his karmic scales in the next episode. Until then, I'll try not to put all my TV time into Star Trek: Voyager :D 

See you then!  💜