#the world just has always and continues to look so bleak and cruel to me

[a-student-out-of-time]

An Important Reminder In Trying Times

Hey everyone, Mod Bubbles here.

I know that I've said over and over that I don't like talking about politics on here, but I really feel the need to say this:

This Is Not The End.

I understand things probably seem really bleak right now. A lot of people are going to be hurt by this, and the sheer amount of fearmongering and worst case scenarios are inescapable. But the country and the world are not going to change overnight. To be honest, it may not change very much at all in the next four years. I'm not a political scientist, so I can't tell you that for sure. There's a lot to be concerned about.

What I can tell you, as a student of history, is this: not only have we survived this once, we have survived this every time.

Think about it this way: every single tyrant, every single right-wing representative, every single emperor and colonial power, every corporate scumbag and power-hungry lunatic. No matter how many of them have ever come to power, held onto power, and tried to make themselves seem invincible, not a single one has ever held back humanity's progress and not a single one has proven to be invincible.

There were countries throughout history, especially in the 20th century, that fell under brutal dictatorships and saw countless lives lost. Did the people just give up and accept it? Fuck no they didn't. They fought back. Many of them lived to see democracy restored to their lands in their lifetimes, or fought to see it restored in their children's.

From Europe to Latin America, while many countries still have their issues, they endured and their people have survived. Their governments were not invincible, just as none ever have been.

Regardless of the outcome of this election, the world will go on. People will not just roll over and accept whatever horrible things happen, the fight will continue and we will do everything in our power to carry on as we always have. We'll carry on to achieve bigger and better things.

Let me also be clear: if you feel the need to cry, please cry. If you're afraid, don't pretend you're not. If you're angry, allow yourself to feel that anger. But if you're seriously contemplating giving up or hurting yourself, please don't.

You may hear all this news and ask yourself, "Bubbles, what's the point? What can I do about all this?" I've felt that way too, I have for a long time. I understand completely. It's scary and overwhelming, but I'll tell you exactly what you can do to fight against that: you can be kind.

Do you want to know where the most tangible change in the world begins? It's never at the top. It begins with people like us on a communal level, where we reach out to help others. Whether that means we help our neighbors, our friends, or any strangers we can.

Going out of your way to start fights, looking for someone to blame based on the flimsiest justifications, and just being cruel because you're angry, those aren't how you change anything. Those just add to the problem.

Here's just some ideas on what you can do instead:

Get away from the news, stop doomscrolling, mute doomers, and turn the TV and news apps off. This will get you out of a negative feedback loop that'll make you feel worse and more powerless, which is what they're designed to do in order to maximize traffic.

Remember to eat, sleep, brush your teeth, take a shower, take your meds, and do everything else you need to do to stay healthy.

If you or someone else really feel like leaving the country for your own safety is best, you can still work do so. But please don't convince yourself that if you can't, it's over.

Give back to people as much as you can. Show the people in your life who support you that you care, and that all that they do for you matters.

Donate to good causes you believe in.

Stand up to bullshit whenever you see it.

Do not give up on your dreams and ambitions. One bad leader does not mean your future automatically ends. Stop worrying about any potential apocalypse in the future, because you can do that even on the best days, and instead work toward a future that you CAN achieve.

There's this pervasive and very inaccurate idea that it's only the president who gets to enforce policies on the country. This ignores governors, the House of Representatives, Congress, mayors, and the countless other leaders involved. And it ignores you.

You do not have to spend the next 3 years and 364 days doing nothing but feeling miserable. In fact, that's the last thing you should do. Fear and despair are the weapons they wield, and they only have as much power as you allow them to have over you.

If your view of politics is that you just have to vote for the "right one" and then everything will be utopian, or that if people vote for the wrong one" then we're headed for a terrible dystopian nightmare, I have to tell you that that is incredibly reductionist and also very dumb. I can also tell you from personal experience that it's not them who make the real changes where it's needed.

A friend sent me a video that really opened my eyes on this situation: Adam Conover, the guy behind Adam Ruins Everything, said he's not worried about all this. Why? Because he and some friends were able, through their own power, to make real positive changes in their community. They were able to bring homelessness down in their district by over 38% through their own efforts.

And he's right that, as a silver lining to all this, it made more Americans than ever take a stand against all the horrible shit they were seeing and get involved with solutions.

Speaking from my own experiences as well, when Hurricane Helene devastated my area, it wasn't the politicians who came and repaired roads and power lines, it wasn't them who brought in food and supplies to everyone, and it wasn't them who worked tirelessly to save people still in need. It was everyone in our local communities.

The people at the top have never really cared about anything more than your money and your vote, but the people around you care more than you may believe they would. Hell, even strangers on the internet care more than you'd believe.

Now, even if you've made it this far, you may be wondering "What about when he starts outlawing and banning things?" To that, I say look at Prohibition and see how well that went. Politicians have only ever operated under the idea that banning something will make it go away, and it always does the exact opposite. And if you're still worried, you can get involved with organizations that fight to support these things being available and regulated.

But by now, you may also be wondering "What if I can't get involved? What if I'm too young or I don't have the money, or my parents won't let me?"

Then just be kind.

Stop looking for enemies to blame. Don't martyr yourself for some nebulous cause or the idea that your suffering increasing means the rest of the suffering in the world will go down. Don't torture yourself by telling yourself that you didn't do enough.

Show compassion, show support, show love and genuine care toward people who need it, including yourself.

"But there's so many shitty people in this country and the world, why should I-" Stop thinking that way. This isn't about them, this is about you and how you can make a difference. There will probably always be shitheads and power-hungry morons, but that does not negate the fact that you can choose to be different. You can choose to be kind.

Kindness is a sword that you have to learn how to wield. Wield it responsibly and use it to help others. No matter how small or insignificant it may be, YOU DO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

I say all this as a 29-year-old who spent most of his life feeling scared and miserable about so many current events, convincing myself I'm useless and selfish because I was worried about so much and I hated myself for all of it. And I've decide I'm not going to do that anymore.

During the last right-wing era, I managed to help build a whole community out of my love for Danganronpa. I created friendships, relationships, and there are people alive right now because I chose to do so. Because I chose to use that community for kindness. I want to keep building from there by going into streaming and reaching out to more people.

I won't lie to you and say that I'm not scared, because I am. But I'm also not going to let fear change who I am. I want us all to be better to ourselves and others, because that is how you defeat hate. It starts with you.

And if you're still concerned, let me share with you a quote from The Great Dictator, a movie made in 1940, when World War II wasn't even at its height yet:

To those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish…

Please take care of yourselves out there, everyone. We'll get through this, just as we always have.

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

One of the most weirdest things to me about the fandom is the idea that Nagito would be extra-warm towards Hajime upon waking up, due to Hajime retaining all of Kamukura's talents. To me I think it would be the total opposite. I think there'd actually be a lot of angst deriving from just how alienated Nagito feels around this Hajime, who's not quite the same person he fell in love with anymore. Taking into account what 2.5 implies about his true feelings about talent (that deep down he's always resented what talent has done to the world and his life), I think it could be especially aggravating if Hajime tried to act as if there's no power imbalance between the two.

"...Stop pretending like I'm still your equal. I'm a talentless freak with a brain that's falling to bits, and I'll be gone in a few years. You're the most talented ingenious human being on Earth, and you've probably got a life expectancy of like 250. You don't get to reap all the benefits of being the Ultimate Hope, and then act like you're still an average joe just because you had some profound revelation in a computer world about how okay it is being talentless."

Yeah I feel that. Though it's understandable fandom would run with the "Talent-sexual" Nagito joke given how much he fawns over those with talent and to then apply the logic to "the more talents = the more Nagito will like you". The moment in the anime when he's overwhelmed with adoration simply being in Izuru's presence for the first time also doesn't quite help in this regard, though pretty sure that was put in there more so for fanservice and comic relief.

Funnily enough, as you mentioned, the anime also brought into question how much sincerity Nagito's love for talent truly is. So then it makes you think--if Nagito actually resents talent, then applying the earlier logic: wouldn't the more talents = the more Nagito resents you? Both things are somewhat of a flawed logic, but it's interesting to explore that side of Nagito because it really paints a picture of how deeply entrenched his delusion with hope and talent are. How many layers of denial and repression do you have to be in order to act so sincerely and consistently with your fake ideal that talent=hope and the Ultimates are destined to bring forth that hope? To the point that you circled back around and gaslight yourself into believing it to be a fundamental truth?

At what point did that resentment arise? Did it grow alongside his admiration for talent? Every time he felt his resentment towards talent did he push it back down with positive thoughts of talent instead to try to "look on the brightside/find the silver lining"? Did it get to the point that his resentment was so incredible that he had to think talent positive thoughts 24/7 just to keep it at bay? Is he doing this because otherwise all he'll have left will be hatred, despair, and a bleak view of the world being cruel and unfair? And he'll constantly be wondering why some are blessed with advantage and prodigy while others are seemingly born to suffer and stay stagnant despite their best efforts? Why does the world continue to favor some and crush everyone else? What has everyone done to deserve the life they have?

Honestly, this just further proves that Nagito's obsession with hope and talent are his last ditch attempts at giving himself purpose in a world cursing his existence. Ironically, this unhealthy coping mechanism is the better of two mindsets he chose to follow. Really goes to show that Nagito, despite everything he says, has not given up on himself if he's trying THIS damn hard to keep up the facade and have a reason to keep going everyday. And this is the reason why that OVA is my favorite episode from all the anime as that one line adds so much more nuance to Nagito's already complicated ideology.

Sorry, I sorta derailed things to ramble about Nagito but what did you expect from a Nagito simp after all? He's been rotting my brain for over four years now. But to come back on topic, this post-game Nagito with his looser chokehold on hope and talent would most likely have to contend once again with that resentment, but now with a weaker shield. As such, I do think he'd have mixed feelings about Izuru/Hajime. Part of him would probably sympathize with Hajime's pain from the surgery and the fact that he'll never quite be only Hajime anymore. Izuru is and will always be there. Learning to live with the permanent changes to his body and mind is something Nagito knows intimately--way before he became a remnant. That being said, well....Hajime did get the best case scenario for his outcome. Even some of his emotions returned despite the physical improbability of it happening. And yeah--he gets to keep all those useful talents now too. He's also in better physical health than most of their other classmates and his real name isn't inherently associated with Ultimate Despair. He could go back into society looking the way he does with his legal name and no one would even know he was ever involved with Hope's Peak.

So yeah, that sympathy Nagito has would not be enough to squash down his resentment. I can't imagine him fawning over Hajime post-game given everything that's happened and especially after finding out how Izuru was created (as I talked about in a previous ask). There will definitely be an adjustment period where in Nagito may even be passively hostile towards Hajime. But I think a part of Nagito--the part that white knuckled that silver lining for talent---would try its best to look past that and accept Hajime as a sincere friend. It's just going to take a while for him to get there. But he'll try. Doesn't mean he won't be a snarky passive aggressive guy through out it though. I do think he'll be more blunt about his honest feelings towards others whether they like it or not. Talent be (slightly) damned.

[existentialmagazine]

Existential Magazine’s July Music Roundup

With the month coming to a close, we’re sharing just a handful of our favourite new releases we’ve discovered this July! Sit back, put on our New Music Friday playlist and spend a few minutes enjoying fresh new tunes hand-picked by us.

Chapell - When The Music Plays Again

Opening our roundup for the month is something a little different to our usual selection of songs, created by the masterful Chapell that first began releasing in 2017. Through a more classical singer-songwriter sound with warm acoustics and soft-rock undertones, his newest single ‘When The Music Plays Again’ beams with a message that’s sure to connect with not just any songwriter losing their ability to perform for some time, but also any music fan who finds themselves unable to attend the live performances that keep many of them going. With slow, bright piano keys and soaring strings to lead things in, the soundscape is resonant and intimate from the get-go, slowly transitioning into steady drum beats and drawn out guitar strums as Chapell sings: ‘what we took for granted til it’s gone.’ The choruses high is a completely anthemic moment, nostalgically unfolding with rich guitar, glowing violin, tumbling drums and backing vocal echoes, creating a wistful and atmospheric moment of reflection on something that unites many at their lowest: ‘We'll get high and hope will live when the music plays again.’ Chapell’s vocals are perfect for such a striking piece, climbing through ranges with ease and delivering such a powerful depth behind his every word. Whether it correlates to the universally relatable times of COVID, or perhaps is made for upcoming artists still trying to find their way onto the music scene, there’s so much that can be taken from ‘When The Music Plays Again’ for anyone — it truly is a moment that can be shared and appreciated by all.

Ezra Briggs - The Wall

The Northumberland-based folk musician Ezra Briggs first found his inspiration in the mix of magnificent and bleak landscapes of the north east of England, rooting his work in nature in a way that leaves it grounded and raw through it all. Now after many years of new releases and some time after his debut album in 2019, Ezra returns to share a new body of work ‘Tor and Lea.’ With wonderfully whimsical works that feature local Geordie musicians, Ezra’s work has never felt more carefully crafted, more personal and more elaborate than it does here. The stand-out of this body of work reigns specifically in the track ‘The Wall’, immediately pulling you in through harmonised vocals. Between his warm, low-toned leading lines and gorgeous higher-ranged female vocals, the song burns with a constant contrast, merging both a haunting optimism and a defeated wearisome in their deliveries. Gentle finger-picked acoustic guitar is the sole instrument that unwinds through this tender-hearted song, leading with a gorgeous riff that ebbs and flows with strummed chords too, an always fluid performance that mirrors nature itself. The lyricism is strikingly poetic to match the intimate soul of the track, pathing the way for Ezra to spill some personal admissions of a time that clearly was not easy. He’s far from candid about it though, wrapping his storytelling around visuals of the outside world and urging you to think deeper with every single thing he sings: ‘the stones we laid will remain.’ As the passage of time is clear, and a yearning for what once was is ever clearer, we feel so much nostalgia and loss immediately in his subtle but effective words. Ezra continues though, ‘I can’t explain the waves that crash on me every day, the water’s cold, your touch is warm’ , finding that while life can be cruel there is still so much to love in those that support him through it. Everything about it is soaked in meaningful layers that want you to look deeper, with the sound telling just as much of a story if you let it.

Jonsjooel - Goodbye Ah

Berlin-based Finnish artist, composer and multi-instrumentalist Jonsjooel is known best for his combinations of folk, jazz, and electronica, separating his music to create an expansive and experimental tapestry. Everything about his music is built to stand out, but not because it wants to, simply because with every moving part you cannot help but connect. Cascading piano notes are what open up the vast soundscape of his newest single ‘Goodbye Ah’, bright and beautiful tones that fade out with such a resonance into the open air behind. Jonsjooel’s vocals are a haunting complement to the atmospherics, a fragile performance that soars through higher tones as well as ebbs into a lower, raspier delivery, combining the two essences into something that at its core just feels very human. With that agility comes an aching, emotions flowing through every single carefully sung word that aims to reflect on what it means to see signs in our everyday lives. Desiring that we cherish the world around us and the incredibly brittle beauty it holds, Jonsjooel takes you on a journey that’s somewhat spiritual and somewhat grounded in what we see and know. Between them being the place where ‘Goodbye Ah’ has found its roots, an escape from everything that completely transcends everything you know about music, wishing to completely immerse you in an experience alike no other. As it grows and develops with the additions of striking beats, backing vocals and intensely climbing piano, you really start to feel your heart and soul connect to ‘Goodbye Ah’ like it were a personal experience, even at the times where there are no words or inaudible sounds. In Jonsjooel's own words: "Goodbye Ah is a reflection of my belief in signs. Sometimes they appear as omens, intuition, or whatever we want to call them. And if we cherish our sensitivity, we can see so much more."

Arthur Squawks! - Down

Arthur Squawks! is no traditional artist, described as a research collective that comes alive in the form of an art-rock band. Building up to the release of a debut album, the group that performs songs written in the frame of frontman Adrianos Pandis’ are now ready to share a first look into what the bold new album has to offer with first single ‘Down’. Through an eclectic feeling sound, the instruments that weave between the styles of acoustic, folk and rock really find their individuality. An untraditional drum pattern, clapped beats, guitar plucks and bass twangs are the core of this soundscape, ebbing and flowing in a development that’s always changing, making the sound feel like a living, breathing piece of art. The vocals are just as captivating, loud and confidently delivered in a low-toned, spoken-sung performance. Backing voices add to the track’s multitude of layers, soaring for the occasional repeated word. A bright guitar riff and deep wind instruments take over a space between verses, the sound controlling the narrative more than words ever could. But just as you feel like you understand, the sound completely shifts towards a stripped-back intermission, lulling into just slow guitar plucks and their vocalist’s dreamy vocals that glide into a soft higher range. It’s impossible not to be mesmerised with every shift and moving part, especially with the incredibly specific storytelling that unravels through it. Singing of a carer becoming incapacitated and finding themselves in need of care, ‘Down’ reverses roles and candidly speaks of how quickly life can change. Whether you can find some meaning to relate to, or just want a sound that’s filled with textural development, ‘Down’ is the perfect tune for you.

Schneid - Your Palace

Cologne-based artist Schneid is known well for his composing, producing and mixing talents, continually crafting songs that showcase stark textural experiences in sound. Now as he builds up for the release of his forthcoming debut album, he allows us into newest single ‘Your Palace’, an atmospheric daydream of multifaceted sound. From the start this haze is established through cascading piano keys, a rich performance that reverberates around the open plains. Complemented by his soft, soaring vocals, Schenid at first keeps things close and intimate, a gentleness to his words that seems to shield his heart. It’s not long before he bursts out of those restrictions though, dancing along bright piano notes with a confident and powerful chorus high. Everything about this experience feels transcendent, like a serenade above the clouds you cannot help but feel uplifted by. This cinematic journey doesn’t stop there though, with the most beautiful storytelling that encourages introspection: ‘you’ve carried around your own palace made of doubt.’ As he sings of someone swallowed up by their own self-sabotage and conflicted thoughts, you feel the ease and relief of finally letting all of that go, built up by Schneid who reminds ‘it’s in your mind.’ With a climax of quickly pattering drums and rising piano keys, the entire journey is one that feels fluid and evolving, a sonic composition that feels much more than just a song. 

Harry Jybe - Summer View

If you’re looking for an alternative rock breath of fresh air, the upcomer Harry Jybe will definitely give you something refreshing to write home about. Since his first releases in 2022, this stand-out talent has always blurred the lines between old-school rock nostalgia and modern catchy infectiousness. With the build up to his new EP ‘The Light That Follows’, Harry lets listeners in to the first snippet in the form of newest single ‘Summer View’, a raw rocky tune that’s filled with butterflies and growing feelings. As warm, gravelly electric guitar and steady drums unwind through the relaxed verses, you’re instantly drawn into a soundscape that’s very mellow and easy, a mirror of what the best romances should be. The gritty tones may seem out of place for a sound so intimate and slow, but these rich nods make the emotions that bit more clear, shielding nothing behind filtered facades and letting it all be seen in its most genuine form - yet again a reflection of finding someone you can be yourself around. Harry’s soulful low-toned vocals are just as mellow and light as the sound, a calm and sincere performance filled with depth and growing adoration that’s made clear in every heartfelt line like ‘orange roses, backstreet poses, my smile shows it.’ The chorus offers a slice of more striking sound, the instruments at their loudest and the drum beats booming as Harry repeats ‘beyond this frame, capture if you can, my summer view.’ If you’re on the hunt for a song that encapsulates dating someone new, Harry’s ‘Summer View’ embodies not just the fun and excitement of it, but the pure bliss that comes with something actually feeling effortless with the one who’s right. 

Sonny Siminski - Wishful Thinking

Sonny Siminski may have only began releasing his musical works this year, but his songwriting and music knowledge dates back far longer, finally feeling ready to share with the world what he’s previously kept to himself. Through past singles like ‘You, Me, Time!’, Sonny has shown audiences his soft take on indie-folk, exploring acoustic sound in a way many overlook. Now with his newest offering ‘Wishful Thinking’ Sonny returns with something just as meaningful, but this time a whole lot more upbeat, utilising musical layers for a beautiful development of sound. From the opening’s harmonised vocal layers, some pitched down and some pitched up, Sonny instantly makes you feel quite comforted by the array of voices that act like a supportive group of friends to guide you through the sound. This feel-good ambience only continues as the instrumentals jump in, with a quick-paced finger-picked acoustic guitar riff leading the momentum, bustling along with occasional strums and steady pattering drums. The whole performance feels intimate, like something that could be recorded straight out of your bedroom, and yet the echoey acoustics of it give it a much larger vastness akin to an empty arena with Sonny stood front and centre on the stage. The vocals are just as mesmerising, dancing between haunting high notes and rich, deep lows, showcasing the incredible range he offers and the adaptability of his vocals in suiting the emotions unravelling at the time. The track only continues to grow and evolve the longer you listen, the riff finding a life of its own with changes and flicks that leave it feel as though it has a life of its own, and with more backing voices to captivate you it’s hard to tear yourself away. Despite the energy it exudes the narrative of ‘Wishful Thinking’ seems to completely contrast this, singing of being taken advantage of by someone you care for greatly, but not wanting to believe it’s true. That complex double-edged nature perfectly suits the track’s chirpy sound, a parallel of harsh words against blissfully ignorant sound. Although he’s only new, Sonny’s sound is something so wonderfully unique, and we hope ‘Wishful Thinking’ will be the first of many songs you give a chance to hearing.

The Optimists - Not a Big Deal

Five-piece indie-rockers The Optimists have been boldly hailing out of the Isle of Wight since their formation in 2018, captivating listeners with their divisive mix of 90s britpop and early 00s indie influences with a modern twist. Through a sound that’s known to be bold, loud and angsty as hell, they’ve hit the nail on the head with what the people have been missing out on, and their newest offering ‘Not A Big Deal’ is a great slice of indie and punk fusion to get completely hooked on. With an introduction filled with tumbling momentum, the sound instantly wraps deep bass twangs and building drum beats together for a deep and rowdy setting of the scene, feeling murky and raw like all the best rocky hits are. This only further grows with a distant but gnarly electric guitar riff that blares through the verse, all the while the drums and bass become even more dominant in their striking hits. Raspy vocals perfectly match the track’s tone with a spoken-sung, very punk-like performance, imperfect in their harsh delivery - but that’s what makes it ever so catchy. The chorus is where everything really explodes though, busting out blaring electric guitar strums, clashing drums and emphatic bass while the vocals shout their relentless hook ‘it’s not a big deal.’ While written about maintaining a carefree attitude, there’s a lot more to unpack about the narrative of ‘Not A Big Deal’ than it appears on the surface, asking a lot of introspective questions like ‘I ask are you satisfied with your life, that’s another one lost to a 9 to 5’ as their words seem to reflect on the importance of putting yourself first. With such an explosive delivery and constant developments in sound, you’ll find it hard to press pause on this one, and perhaps even come out the other side with a newfound perspective shift for living your life to the fullest.

Lemon Sex Cake - Rolling Block Rifle

With an artist name like Lemon Sex Cake, it’s hard not to stand out, and the duo know that well. With their first release only earlier this year, the pair have already perfected their sound and made their mark, impressing listeners instantly with their genre-blended mix of alternative-pop, electronic, rock and punky elements that weave together with the most original flair. Now as their second single ‘Rolling Block Rifle’ hits the airwaves, they’re once again ready to grab listeners by the throat and pull them in for a ride they’d never expect. From an instant EDM-like resounding beat, the soundscape is hard-hitting and gets your adrenaline pumping, punching you in the gut with every ground-shaking thump. But that energy is only the beginning, quickly breaking down the walls with an incredibly unique sound of cocking back a gun and firing, shattering your perceptions of the sound with an eruption of even more instrumental intensity. Through groovy bass twangs, steady beats and gravelly guitar strums, the introduction alone has already locked you in on the action, ready and raring to jump headfirst into this incredible palette of sound. From the verses opening that ’we’re born free, you think so? tell me who built the roads’ there’s an instant punk-like rebellion that rings through too, singing of a classic western tale but in many ways, it feels a little reminiscent of the modern-day political climate and growing unrest. The vocals are low-toned and spoken-sung to keep you captivated by a dark underlying essence, with the sound sulking in just the opening’s beats and occasional guitar strums, but it’s not long before it breaks back out for the choruses uproar. Soaking the other vocalist’s vocals in heavy electronic effects and matching the energy with synth pulsations, whirring beats, gritty guitar and more, the song explodes at its greatest high yet. It’s a track with so much boldness to give that it’s hard to explain it in words alone, better heard and felt in your bones for an experience you’ll never forget.

Joey Miceli - A Scene from Heaven

The dynamic singer-songwriter Joey Miceli has always been known to stand out, working between the haze of dream-pop, synth and indie-pop with a sound that’s completely mesmerising. With continual evolution in sound and meaning, everything he does is a constant journey that anyone and everyone can hold near and dear, and his newest offering ‘A Scene From Heaven’ continues that to a tee. As the introduction whisks you away between a twinkling guitar riff and drawn-out ethereal notes, you can’t help but feel caught in some otherworldly place, floating in the universe’s open void. The verse picks up the momentum a little, rushing you along with cascading steady drum beats and the continued looping guitar strings, capturing a sense of dreamy warmth even as things speed forward with a rush that’s addictive. Joey’s smooth vocals are confident and charismatic as always, leading the song with low-toned lines and occasional softened high runs, something we see a lot more in the chorus. Faded out with another vast open soundscape, the pre-chorus yet again makes you feel like you’re in the middle of space with nothing to see but stars for miles, pulling back all instruments except gentle cymbal taps and guitar. But the choruses high is a welcome intermission, dancing through this gorgeously built sound with vocals pushed into a soft but powerful higher range, crashing drums, harmonised and haunting backing vocals, and an emphatic shift in the staple guitar riff. It’s all like an actual dream in itself, caught between a cloudy sunset or watching the world turn from far out in the galaxy, a transportive journey that’s hard to explain without feeling for yourself. His work isn’t just a welcome escape, but equally meaningful in depth too, writing of a perfect person that can’t be compared to anything else. Filled with love and rose-tinted glasses, ‘A Scene From Heaven’ shines as a romantic admission even when it’s tinted in some self-critical thoughts like ‘I hope you never hate me’, delivering an underlying sense that everything might not be completely as it seems.

Keelan X - Fresh Paint

Closing out our Roundup for the month is the sure-to-be star Keelan X, a dominant performer in the indie, electro and synth-pop genres, always dazzling listeners with a sound that’s fluid and completely captivating. Though it hit the airwaves last year, his captivating single ‘Fresh Paint’ is still on the rise, and Keelan X is as determined as ever to get it spread far and wide. With groovy bass twangs, steady electronic beats and synthetic backing distortions throughout, the soundscape is a vibrant palette of never-ending cascading sound, taking you on a journey that feels like a sunset car ride through a cyberpunk world. Keelan’s vocals are mesmerising to match, smooth but carrying a light rasp through some words too, a performance that’s charismatic but emotional in one. The choruses’ colourful high keeps the momentum going, adding backing vocal emphasis and distant ‘ooh’s, all while the electric guitar shreds through a slow riff and the drums tumble around the sound, each element moving independently and yet coming together at full force. Somehow the whole performance feels like a middle-ground between nostalgic, warm rock and modern day captivating electronic pop, blurring the lines for an experience that’s tantalising at every turn. The narrative feels like a completely introspective experience, singing ‘you can want it, doesn’t mean you got it’ as Keelan shares an emotional inner landscape of his view of modern life, perhaps reflecting on the unfair power dynamics of our society. The chorus hook is just as poignant, beaming ‘you know you never wanted to live’, something that can be interpreted whichever way you feel resonates with you most. Through it all though, ‘Fresh Paint’ manages to leave you feeling breathless, given a new lease on life through a sound that’s a euphoric experience like no other.

Give a listen to these songs and more in our New Music Friday playlist this week, or see our Roundup Recap playlist for every song previously featured in one of our monthly roundups that you might have missed!

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

// Some of this coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

It’s Been Too Long

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: Alright Shinobu Community, take a fuckin’ sip babes. It’s kind of a long one. My brain was like, friends to enemies to friends to lovers? To which I replied, this is going to be simultaneously too long and too short. I love me some slow burn but also I can’t justify putting that much time into something like this lol. While writing this I learned that one becomes a Hashira by killing a demon moon OR killing at least fifty demons. I didn't know that before, but I was in too deep to fix things. Y’all are a Kinoe rank that probably should be a Hashira given how much slaying you’ve done, sorry! As far as warnings go, I think we’re good. Unless fighting and misunderstandings aren’t your thing. It’ll all be better in the end though!  Word Count: 15,088 

The estate was dark and bleak. It had rained for nearly a week straight, the patter of water against the solid structure of the tiled roof was a near constant companion to the blank static of despair that clouded everyone’s minds.

Kochou Kanae had died of lethal injuries bequeathed to her by a high ranking demon who had left her to bleed out as the sun made its appearance. Perhaps if it had risen even just a few minutes prior, she could have evaded such a cruel fate.

Shinobu had found her of course, the world is just that cruel, or perhaps kind in giving her sister that closure, to be able to see her one last time before she took her last gurgling breath.

It was appropriate, the rain. After the funeral it was a temporary reminder of the warmth that had been reaped from the estate, never to be felt again in this lifetime. Not that (Y/n), Kanao, Aoi, or the youngest residents of the estate needed a reminder. Shinobu certainly didn’t either.

“Shinobu, you didn’t come to dinner. Please try to eat something.” (Y/n) coaxed, sliding the door open. The only light came from a small lantern inside the swirling gloom of the room, highlighting Shinobu hunched over her desk with her head in her hands. “Shinobu?”

“It’s only been a week.” (Y/n) strained to hear the taut whisper of the girl who had grown to be her closest friend. The girl who had given her a second chance at life when she had nowhere else to go. It hurt to hear her sound so broken. “It feels like time is standing still and going too fast at the same time.”

(Y/n) set the light meal in front of Shinobu and leaned against the desk, the wood creaked slightly as she did so. “I know what you mean. I feel the same.”

It wasn’t the first time they’ve talked like this. To be survivors of such unthinkable atrocities, one could go crazy keeping it all locked inside. The guilt, fear, helplessness... sometimes the memories played on loop night after night, waking up to the screams in their minds making sick harmonies with their own.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Shinobu spoke tentatively after a moment of drizzling static tapping against the roof. She raised herself just enough to wrestle a paper out from under her arms and slid it to (Y/n). “Oyakata-sama has sent me a summons to meet with him and the Hashira. He intends for me to take,” Shinobu’s voice grew tighter and she could not bring herself to finish, instead a painful sounding intake of air was all that was audible.

(Y/n) took the paper, holding it close to her face as she squinted, the dull light of the lantern made the letter a bit difficult to read, but the message was clear.

“He wants you to take her place.” (Y/n) frowned, a pained gleam pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s been too long, but yet, not long enough,” Shinobu’s fists tightened, “I know the world hasn’t stopped spinning, demons haven’t stopped killing, but why do they want to replace her so quickly? Why are they willing to toss her aside? I don’t...”

“Shinobu,”

Shinobu finally looked up at (Y/n), angry and mournful tears tracked down her face, “I’m not my sister, I’m not Hashira material. I can’t fill the hole she left, (Y/n)!”

(Y/n) abandoned her perch on the desk to crouch beside Shinobu, enveloping her in her arms. Shinobu tightly grasped her back, watery gasps and sharp inhales fell from her lips as she tried to gain control of her breathing once more.

“Oyakata-sama knows you aren’t Kanae. You’re strong in your own right, Shinobu. He wouldn’t breach the subject if he didn’t think you could succeed by your own merits.”

“I have to keep the estate in order, the infirmary, the girls... I can’t take all this responsibility—“

“You don’t have to,” (Y/n) cut her off, the words came a bit sharper than she meant them too, “you’re not alone Shinobu. We can all have our own parts to play. You don’t have to shoulder this all by yourself.”

“Thank you.” Shinobu’s voice cracked.

They had stayed up well into the night. They hardly talked, the two young girls sat huddled together, holding each other tightly. No matter how much they’ve been hurt, time continues moving forward. Just because a boat has been shredded against a reef, that doesn’t mean the waves will grant reprieve from their assault. No, one is expected to keep swimming or to swallow the salty brine and drown. The Butterfly Estate’s allotted time for grief had passed. Now they were being given the not so subtle command that it was time to get back to work.

***

“I wish you could come with me.” Shinobu said the next morning as she sat on the engawa to put on her shoes. “Even if they made you wait outside I would feel a bit better.”

“You’ll be okay, we’ll be thinking about you all day and waiting for you to come back home.” (Y/n) assured, resting her hand on Shinobu’s back. She was almost afraid to touch the haori Shinobu now adorned, as if her hand would pass right through the material.

(Y/n) was surprised when she saw Shinobu wearing it instead of her usual short white haori, though she supposed there was comfort in holding this piece of her sister close. Perhaps the butterfly patterned haori could comfort Shinobu where (Y/n) and the others could not.

(Y/n) must have been staring too long because Shinobu leaned away from her hand, catching it with her own before (Y/n) could withdraw it completely. Shinobu squeezed the hand a moment, (Y/n) swore her heart froze upon seeing the ghostly smile painted over Shinobu’s lips.

“You’re right. No point in fretting over it, is there?”

“...Right,” (Y/n) blinked, “yeah. You’re going to do great.” (Y/n) managed a smile in return but she could feel the corner of her lips tremble at the effort. She wasn’t sure why, but this smile Shinobu was sporting sent chills down her spine.

“I’ll be off then,” Shinobu stood, releasing (Y/n)’s hand as she stepped away from the engawa, “Do make sure to keep everything in order while I’m away.”

“Of course!” (Y/n) winced at her own volume and Shinobu exhaled a quiet chuckle before turning away to make her way down the path. (Y/n) watched until the haunting haori could no longer be seen between the wisteria trees.

***

It was rather late when Shinobu returned. (Y/n) had just helped the youngest girls of the estate get ready for bed and was heading to the kitchens to prepare some tea to help her sleep. She had jumped in her skin when she saw the back of the butterfly patterned haori in the dim lantern light. Shinobu turned at the sound and sent a small, tired smile (Y/n)’s way.

“I thought I’d catch you here before you turned in for the night.” Shinobu spoke. “You almost always take a cup of tea to bed. I hope you don’t mind having some of what I’ve already prepared.”

It wasn’t the first time Shinobu caught her going to the kitchen to make tea. Though usually it was much later in the dead of night when nightmares and grief kept sleep at bay. (Y/n) wasn’t sure what kind of leaves or brewing Shinobu did, but her tea always managed to knock (Y/n) out cold into deep, dreamless bliss. Something about the way Shinobu was speaking was rubbing (Y/n) the wrong way however. There was none of the familiar attitude. The bashful bitterness that came with the sweetness of the tea. (Y/n) decided to shake it off and returned Shinobu’s tired smile. It would take time for things to seem normal again.

“You know me too well. Thank you.” (Y/n) graciously took the cup, relishing in the cup’s warmth and the relaxing scent that wafted off of the steam. “How did today go?”

“It was... fine.” Shinobu’s smile faltered and she quickly disguised it by sipping her own tea. “I’m officially a Hashira. Insect Pillar Kochou Shinobu.”

“It has a nice ring to it.” (Y/n) put in after a moment’s consideration hidden behind the guise of her clearing her throat. She didn’t know if a ‘congratulations’ would be what Shinobu would want to hear give the circumstances that led up to her new title.

“And how was holding down the fort?” Shinobu asked. It seemed she wanted to shift the topic of conversation away from herself. Not that (Y/n) could blame her.

“Everything went smoothly. Well, Aoi did get a bit aggravated with Kanao about one of her coin decisions but we worked it out. Sumi, Kiyo and Naho are picking up the recovery training lessons quickly and are doing very well. The Kakushi have been taking great care of the infirmary. All patients were still stable last I checked in.” (Y/n) reported.

“Thank you for keeping up with all of that.”

“I have to pull my weight around here somehow.” (Y/n) replied, hiding a yawn behind one hand.

“It’s getting late. You should get to bed before the tea kicks in any further.” Shinobu said, putting her own cup down.

“Aren’t you getting tired too?”

“I made myself a different brew, actually. I’ve got more work to do.” Shinobu allowed herself a little sly smile at the tiny frown (Y/n) wore as she looked into her own empty cup as if it had betrayed her somehow.

“Well, don’t forget you need to sleep too. Don’t overwork yourself.”

“Goodnight, (Y/n).” Shinobu called over her shoulder. She was already walking out of the kitchen.

“I mean it Shinobu. Promise me you’ll sleep tonight.” (Y/n) gently demanded, slipping into the hall to fall in step beside Shinobu.

“I’ll promise to try. Is that acceptable?” Shinobu asked, a bit of familiar snark came through and it made (Y/n) relax a bit and nod.

“Alright. Goodnight, Shinobu.”

At the end of the hall they broke off in different directions. Shinobu to the lab and (Y/n) to her room.

***

(Y/n) went through most of her morning routine before going out of her way to find the newly appointed Hashira. She hadn’t seen her since they parted last night. (Y/n) groaned inwardly, already assuming she’d find the young scientist still balancing equations and mixing beakers.

(Y/n) adjusted her butterfly hairpin before knocking her knuckles against the door, waiting for a reply.

“Shinobu?” (Y/n) had called out after another knock led to no reply. (Y/n) frowned and slid the door open of her own volition, closing it behind her once she was inside. It didn’t take long for her to find the exhausted girl hunched over an array of papers, dead asleep.

“When I told you to go to sleep last night, I had your own bed in mind, not a desk.” (Y/n) sighed quietly.

(Y/n) startled at another knock at the door.

“Who is it?” She asked, keeping her voice soft as to not disturb Shinobu.

“It’s Hayato, miss.” The muffled voice called. Ah, one of the Kakushi. “Kochou-sama has guests to attend to.”

“Set them up in the garden with tea, please. Kochou-sama will meet them just as soon as she finishes these papers.” (Y/n) said. It would not do to have news of the young master of the estate sleeping so late in the morning, and at her desk no less.

The Kakushi dismissed himself to carry out his orders and (Y/n)’ shoulders relaxed as his footprints faded down the hall. (Y/n) didn’t want to wake Shinobu, but if her presence was required, then the meeting must be important.

“Hey, Shinobu,” (Y/n) called softly, gently shaking Shinobu’s shoulders, “you have guests that need to see you.”

Shinobu managed to curl further into herself, mumbling a few curses under her breath that (Y/n) couldn’t help but giggle at.

“Maybe you’d feel better if you had actually gone to bed instead of passing out like this.”

“Who is it, what do they need?” Shinobu grumped, sitting up to stretch her abused spine.

“I’m not sure. A Kakushi came by to tell you about them. I asked him to set them up in the garden with tea.”

“Thank you for taking care of that,” Shinobu rubbed her eyes and stood, her chair scratching against the floor, “I should get going then.”

“Let me fix your hair quick at least.” (Y/n) said, already freeing Shinobu of her own butterfly clip. “Hold still.”

“It’s a little hard when you keep tugging your fingers through my hair.” Shinobu winced.

“Sorry, just a second.” (Y/n) spoke around the butterfly wing that she held between her lips as her fingers worked to gather Shinobu’s hair. Once Shinobu’s hair was neatly clipped back into place, (Y/n) circled her and smoothed out the wrinkles in Shinobu’s clothes the best she could before finally backing away with a satisfied nod.

“Are you done yet?” Shinobu asked, a faint dusting of blush powdered her cheeks.

“Yeah, you still look tired, but at least you look a little more presentable.” (Y/n) said, opening the lab door and ushering Shinobu through it.

“Presentable.” Shinobu scoffed. “Come with me to the garden?”

“I don’t know if that would be appropriate. I’m not sure who is visiting.”

“Just make yourself busy in the blooms. You live here, you can go where you please.”

“Okay, I’ll come.”

The young girls made their way outside, it was warm and sunny, a bit humid as well after all the rain the week before. The sweet smell of the flowers invited deeper breaths to swallow up the scent into every bronchiole of their lungs.

(Y/n) broke off from Shinobu with a little wave, giving a respectful acknowledgment to the people waiting with their tea before busying herself with the flora. Checking on the quality of the plants as Kanae had taught her. The memories spent with the older girl who had taught her so much made (Y/n) shiver despite the warmth of the sun beating down.

(Y/n) would on occasion, discreetly observe the progression of the meeting. The smile Shinobu wore as she spoke to the visitors unnerved her. Even just the way Shinobu was holding herself now, prim and proper, (Y/n) wondered what they could possibly be talking about.

Then the familiar cawing of a crow circling over her head broke (Y/n) from her thoughts. She released her gentle grip over the flower she had stopped to smell and craned her neck to see her crow calling out to her. A mission, her heartbeat picked up in pace. She hadn’t been on one since a few days before Kanae’s death. How out of practice could she be?

“Pardon the noise,” (Y/n) bowed. The meeting had paused in their hushed conversation to observe the bird as well. (Y/n) hardly gave Shinobu a glance as she past. Her fingers trembling slightly as she made her way back inside to retrieve her nichirin blade from her room. (Y/n)’s mind buzzed and her crow’s caws sounded muted and muffled, far away. She kept walking, willing her breaths to remain controlled. Her concentration broke as a hand reached out from behind her and tugged her back.

(Y/n) turned to meet Shinobu’s eyes. Though more subdued, the concern she saw there was genuine.

“(Y/n), I kept telling you to stop. Are you listening to me?”

“I’m sorry, I guess I was just focusing on the mission ahead.”

Shinobu breathed deeply releasing the air in a shaky exhale before gripping (Y/n)’s face in one hand, surprising her.

“No you weren’t.” Shinobu’s grip was firm, “You need to concentrate on your surroundings. I was almost yelling at you just now. I need to know you are going to be able to keep your head about you out there.”

(Y/n) tried to nod her head but Shinobu’s hand kept her head in place.

“I need to hear you say it.” Shinobu said.

“I can keep my head. I will.” (Y/n) swallowed uncomfortably.

Shinobu searched (Y/n)’s face, slowly releasing her grip from (Y/n)‘s jaw and instead grabbed at the neck of (Y/n)’s uniform pulling her so close their noses bumped.

“You better,” She spoke softly.

“I will,” (Y/n) repeated.

Shinobu untensed, her fingers released (Y/n)’s uniform and she wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug that (Y/n) quickly reciprocated.

“Your meeting,” (Y/n) recalled after a moment.

“I asked to be excused. I’m the master of the estate, I can get away with escaping for for a few minutes.”

“I wouldn’t make a habit out of it if I were you.” (Y/n) attempted to joke.

“Only when it matters.” Shinobu nodded seriously, causing (Y/n)’s heart to leap.

(Y/n)’s crow cawed impatiently and the girls parted. (Y/n) left to retrieve her blade and Shinobu watched her back as she left, her hands clenched into tight fists beneath the sleeves of her sister’s haori.

***

Night after night, the missions kept coming. (Y/n) had begun to wonder if she’d ever get to go home again as days became weeks. Scattered letters between waves of demon slaying were the best she could manage to make sure everyone back home knew she was alright.

Another night, a new moon. A few more nights and it would be a full month since she’d last seen everyone. She was glad she took the time to say goodbye before she left. She never imagined she’d be asked to work for so long without reprieve.

Another well timed flower breathing technique beheads another demon and (Y/n) falls against the trunk of a tree breathing hard. She is uninjured but greatly fatigued. The thought to sit and rest hardly enters her mind before her crow commands her eastward to eliminate another threat before dawn.

Breath after breath, technique after technique, night after night (Y/n) fought until everything ached and beyond. When she saw the the sun peak out over the horizon it was almost enough to bring (Y/n) to tears, but she never faltered. She had to stay strong. This was the life she chose to pursue. To save people from the same fate that befallen so many people she had cared about.

It was during an exceptionally hot day when the sun was at its highest point that (Y/n) flinched awake at the shrill squawks she had grown to loathe.

“What?” She hissed between her teeth, her fingers knotting in the grass that had served as her bed for the day.

“Return home to the Butterfly Estate! Return home to recover and rest! Await further instruction!”

(Y/n) lifted herself to rest on her elbows to stare wide-eyed at the bird sitting in the tree branch overhead. For the first time in that very long month, she allowed the tears to finally fall.

***

(Y/n) felt nervous coming back after so long. She opted to return from the rear entrance in an attempt to not garner too much attention. She allowed herself a tentative smile as the gardens came into view. Her fingers skimmed across the colorful blooms as she walked, freezing up only when she saw Shinobu collecting herbs in the distance. Her foot snapped a twig, alerting Shinobu to glance behind her.

“Hi, stranger.” Shinobu simpered, getting to her feet. “Oh!”

(Y/n) forgot all her previous worries and jogged up to Shinobu, picking her up with the added strength that she had built up in her month long absence and twirled her around with abandon.

“(Y/n)?” Shinobu chuckled with surprise, bracing her arms around (Y/n)‘s shoulders as she was flung around.

“I missed you!” (Y/n) sniffled, finally putting the girl down but still holding her tightly.

“I missed you too.” Shinobu said, rubbing (Y/n)’s back. “What took so long getting back, hm?”

“Mission after mission after mission.” came (Y/n)’s bitter reply. “I actually cried when my crow told me I could come home... I don’t know why I told you that. That’s embarrassing.”

Shinobu laughed, pulling back from (Y/n) to get a good look at her. “My, (Y/n), I can tell your time away had made you stronger. Even if you are still a bit of a crybaby.”

“Hey!” (Y/n) pouted.

“(Y/n) is back!”

“Woah!”

(Y/n) was sent stumbling backward a few steps by three blurs of white. Naho, Sumi and Kiyo spoke a mile a minute filling in (Y/n) on all the goings on of the estate. Aoi and Kanao came by soon after and gave (Y/n) their own greetings, expressing their happiness over the slayer’s return in their own ways.

It was good to be home, it was. But after a few days, (Y/n) really got a chance to see how different Shinobu had become.

The tone of her voice carried like a soft breeze and a polite smile could always be seen on her lips. Aoi reminded (Y/n) more of the Shinobu she remembered than the current Shinobu before her. It unnerved her. The way Shinobu would tilt her head just so and giggle daintily into her hand... it was like staring at a ghost.

(Y/n) thought she could get over the change, but she simply couldn’t. Not when staring into those dark, purple eyes. Oh, how they swirled with anger and despair. If Shinobu couldn’t fully believe in the persona she had crafted for herself, then (Y/n) wouldn’t either. Late one night while helping Shinobu in the lab, (Y/n) finally decided to confront her.

“Why do you keep smiling like that?” (Y/n) frowned, worrying the page of the textbook before her between her fingers.

“Hm? I’m afraid I don’t quite know what you mean.” Shinobu replied casually, smile still firmly in place as she crushed some herbs under her pestle.

“You do too know what I mean,” (Y/n) eyebrows furrowed slightly in aggravation, “why do you keep smiling like you’re okay when you’re clearly not?”

“What have I said or done that makes you think I’m not okay? I’m perfectly fine, (Y/n),” she chuckled, “you worry for nothing.”

“That mask might have everyone else fooled... or maybe they’re just complacent, but I’m tired of pretending nothing is wrong. Talk to me, Shinobu.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shinobu shook her head, “there is nothing to discuss. Perhaps I’ve kept you up too late.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide what you’re truly feeling,” (Y/n) persisted, “not from me at least. I thought we were friends.”

“We are.” Shinobu’s tone was nearly clipped as she crushed the herbs a bit more vigorously.

“Then stop acting so, so fake!” (Y/n) spat, wincing almost immediately as fast has the words came out. There was probably a better way she could have said that. Before she could apologize and try again, Shinobu put the pestle on the table with a harsh clink and stalked over to where (Y/n) was sitting. Fighting to keep her tone in check, she stared (Y/n) down with that plastic smile and spoke in a low, hushed tone that filled (Y/n)’s veins with ice.

“So I’m fake, is that right? People change, (Y/n). You were gone for a month, you can’t expect everyone to wait for you, to not change or grow in your absence.”

“People change, yes,” (Y/n) swallowed tightly at the proximity, “but whatever this is Shinobu, I really don’t think it’s healthy. I can tell you’re bottling something up. Kanae—”

“Leave.”

“...what?”

“Leave,” Shinobu closes the textbook in front of (Y/n) and although she does so with care, the sound is deafening in (Y/n)’s ears, “I don’t care where you go, just get out of my lab. I’ve had my fill of this mindless chatter.”

“Are you being serious right now?” (Y/n) clenched her fists and stood from her chair, the legs slid roughly against the wood below.

“Yes, I don’t have time for immature children right now I’m afraid.” Came Shinobu’s airy reply.

“Immature— stop acting like you know better than me, we’re both kids, we’re fourteen!“ (Y/n) seethes, “I’m worried about you! I care about you! Don’t you get it?”

“Your worry is unfounded. It’s late and you are being of no help to me like this so I’ll ask you once more, leave.”

(Y/n) felt heat pricking the corners of her eyes. “I feel like I don’t know who you are anymore.” She breathed. “But fine, I’ll leave if that’s what you want.”

“At this moment in time, I couldn’t ask for anything better.” Shinobu replied, turning her back to (Y/n) to continue what she had previously been working on.

Once (Y/n) shut the door with finality and her quick footsteps became softer as she ran down the hall, Shinobu exhaled harshly, gripping the pestle tightly in her hand as she mercilessly pounded the dried herbs into dust.

“Only immature people don’t control their emotions... only immature people...”

As Shinobu repeated her mantra, (Y/n) burst into her room and looked around her. With trembling hands she changed into a fresh uniform and packed a small bag of belongings and slinging it over her shoulder. She grabbed her haori and attached her nichirin blade to her hip.

She looked around the room once more and caught her reflection in the little hand mirror on her desk, catching the bright colors of a wing that secured her hair in place. She reached back, freeing her hair from the clip and stared at it. She ran her thumb over the decorative clip before setting it on the desk. She reached for a plain hair band and tied her hair back with that instead.

(Y/n) left her room, sparing one last hurt glance at the butterfly clip before exiting the estate grounds. Before long, her crow circled overhead and (Y/n) held her arm out for the bird to take perch. The crow cawed at her expectantly, questioning her.

“If she wants me to leave, then what else is there to do?” (Y/n) shuddered in the wind. She turned away from the estate, willing herself not to turn back.

“Where will you go?” The crow asked.

“...I don’t know.”

With every step leaving the warmth of the estate farther behind, (Y/n)’s heart grew heavier in her chest.

***

“Have any of you seen (Y/n) today?” Shinobu asked the girls once they had come back in after hanging the laundry out to dry.

A chorus of negatives and head shakes met her and she sighed inwardly. “Very well then. Thank you.”

Shinobu traveled through the maze of hallways that made up her home, easily finding herself in front of (Y/n)’s door, knocking politely. With no reply, Shinobu forced herself not to roll her eyes and opened the door.

“(Y/n), if this is about last night...” Shinobu blinked at the empty room. Futon made, clean floors, not a thing out of place, but no (Y/n).

“Perhaps she’s out training.” Shinobu said to herself. She was about to close the door and head off into the gardens when a glint from the desk caught her eye and she approached. A soft gasp left her lips as she picked up the hairpin. Cradling it in her hands, Shinobu forced her breaths to remain controlled. (Y/n) had never gone a day without wearing the pin since the Kochou sisters gifted it to her.

In the safety of the empty room, Shinobu allowed herself to slump over the desk. She held the discarded hairpin close to her chest, immediately understanding what this small symbol meant. Yes, she knew what it meant, she just wished to know why. She fought against the waves, against the feeling that she was drowning again.

***

Four years was a long time, and if you asked (Y/n), the demon slayer would say that was especially true with her line of work. The demons were never the same, but the routine in between was lonely and dull. Kill a demon, settle down at an inn or in the trees for the day, move to the next village and repeat. Sometimes the stays were longer, but that was the gist of it.

(Y/n) kept to herself most of the time. There wasn’t really a point in making anything more than loose acquaintances with the constant traveling and dangers her work presented. Even on the few missions she had been paired up with other slayers in the area, she focused on the job at hand before quickly making her way to her next assignment. That started to change after she met Kamado Tanjirou and his demon sister Nezuko.

They did not get off on the right foot to say the least.

(Y/n) had been sent to the same location as the young slayer for a mission and knew something was off about him right away. Something off with that box he carried around anyway. (Y/n) opted to let him be for the time being, focusing on the mission ahead. Skip forward to the heat of battle, and (Y/n) could hardly believe her eyes when a demon burst from the boy’s box to attack another demon that had snuck around Tanjirou’s back.

(Y/n) had no time to watch and focus on this new development at the moment, she had her own demons to take care of. Her flower breathing techniques weaved through her enemies and heads went flying. Before long, the mission was completed and (Y/n) turned to the boy breathing heavily in the dirt with the demon from the box hovering over him looking at (Y/n) with curious eyes.

“You’re really skilled, (Y/n)-san!” Tanjirou praised, somehow unaware of the danger his sister was in, “You don’t even look like you’re out of breath.”

“I’ve been doing this for years. I know a lot. For instance,” (Y/n) spoke, her face stern as stone as she readied her blade, startling Tanjirou, “every demon must be destroyed.” She went in with a quick slash aimed at the demon’s neck  only to pause at the last second when the foolish younger boy leapt to his feet to shield the demon from the blow.

“What are you doing?” (Y/n) asked sternly.

“Wait, she’s my sister! She’s a good demon!”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you that what you are doing is against corps rules. I can sympathize with wanting to hold onto your loved ones, but there is no such thing as a good demon. Step aside.”

“No, Nezuko has never eaten a human and she never will!” Tanjirou held his ground while his sister growled at (Y/n) from behind him.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. “Alright then,” she said with a sarcastic sweetness, “prove it.”

“What?” Tanjirou blinked.

“Prove it, take off the muzzle. Let’s see if she has as much control as you claim she does.”

“But—“

“It shouldn’t be a problem, right? If she’s as docile as you claim what’s the issue?”

Tanjirou grit his teeth and gently pulled the muzzle to rest around his sister’s neck. (Y/n) stepped forward, her face inches away from the demon. She wasn’t worried, if the demon lunged for her she was confident she could slice its head the moment the air changed.

“Well demon?” (Y/n) sighed, surprising Tanjirou by slicing the pad of her thumb on her sharp blade, “hungry?”

To Nezuko’s credit, she hardly flinched. However, her eyes followed the path of the blood and a small trickle of drool slid past her lips. (Y/n) taunted her a bit further, waving the bloodied hand in front of her nose, still Nezuko held strong and even went as far as turning away.

“...I must say, I’m rather impressed,” (Y/n) finally spoke, stepping back from the demon and licking at her own wound, “marechi blood such as my own usually makes the demons go crazy,” she turns back to Tanjirou, “still, you must know that keeping a demon alive like this, especially as a slayer, is dangerous for both of you.”

“I know,” Tanjirou bowed his head.

“Well,” (Y/n) stretched and sighed, “as long as you know I guess it’s your own problem.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, just don’t call me out if a Hashira finds you out. I don’t feel like dying a disgrace.” (Y/n) waved him off. “You’re going to have to work even harder and be more discreet. That’s my advice to you.” And (Y/n) was going to leave it at that and walk away, but then her crow chanted in tandem with Tanjirou’s, calling them to continue forward together. (Y/n)′s eye twiched at the grating sounds.

“It looks like we’ll still be working together for some time, (Y/n)-san!” Tanjirou smiled, catching the older girl off guard by the sincerity behind it. You’d think he’d be more put off considering (Y/n) was planning to kill his sister not five minutes ago.

“I suppose we are.”

“Say, (Y/n)-san, you’re strong. You can help me get stronger too, right?”

“Mm!”

“Hey, get her off of me!” (Y/n) momentarily panicked as the demon wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Nezuko, manners!”

(Y/n) wasn’t sure what she had done to get saddled with the strange siblings, but she could tell her job just went above her pay grade.

***

As it turns out, the Kamado siblings weren’t so bad. In fact, (Y/n) was starting to get really attached to the two. It was when Inosuke and Zenitsu were pulled into their little group, that was when (Y/n) realized she didn’t know what true pain was.

“(Y/n)-san, marry me!”

“Flower Girl, fight me!”

All damn day and night.

(Y/n) thought she’d finally have reprieve once Tanjirou had healed up at the Wisteria House, but of course the two boisterous boys were being sent with them to their next mission, Natagumo Mountain.

Zenitsu cowered at the forest edge and (Y/n) felt no remorse in leaving him behind as she sprinted ahead of Inosuke and Tanjirou, freeing the puppeted Mizunoto slayers.

Eventually they had been split off from each other to fight their own battles. (Y/n) was tired but otherwise unharmed, surprised when a small Nezuko came barreling into her.

“Nezu—?” (Y/n) gasped as the air shifted above her and she dodged the quick swipe aimed at the tiny body that clung to her. She quickly pivoted, blade in hand, and crossed swords with the assailant her eyes blowing wide at the placid face in front of her.

“Kanao?!” (Y/n) yelled out, the nostalgia and adrenaline coursing through her body was an odd, slightly terrifying combination.

Kanao tilted her head, her lips parted ever so slightly as recognition gleamed in her eyes. Despite this, Kanao did have a mission to complete and (Y/n) was keeping her from completing her orders. She continued swiping at the older girl she used to know, trying to behead the demon she could not fathom why she was protecting.

(Y/n) parried and blocked best she could, taking a defensive approach while she tried to talk Kanao down. She didn’t want to hurt Kanao, but she didn’t want Nezuko to be killed either.

Finally a saving grace, a crow swooping by with a message that saved Nezuko’s neck. (Y/n) sighed in relief as Kanao pulled back. Still looking at (Y/n) she pointed to the small demon that had wrapped herself tightly over (Y/n)’s back.

“Is this Nezuko?” She asked looking for a positive ID on the demon in question.

“Yes.” (Y/n) easily replied.

“Come with me then.” Kanao said, already corralling (Y/n) and her demon backpack in the direction of the forest edge.

(Y/n) walked alongside her a bit begrudgingly. If she made a break for it, she could have probably gotten away, but it was very likely Tanjirou and the others were already in custody. The best chance they had now was to do as they were told and hope Nezuko’s resolve would stand firm.

So (Y/n) hid Nezuko in her haori as the sun began to peak over the hills and followed Kanao to the clearing of bustling Kakushi. On the way, she began preparing her story for the trial she was sure her little team was bound to endure.

She was immediately broken from her thoughts at the ethereal sight of the Insect Pillar emerging from another point of the woods with the Water Pillar and a badly beaten Tanjirou on his back.

(Y/n)’s breath caught in her throat as those deep, dark eyes found hers at it was like time was at a stand still. At least it would have been if not for Shinobu steadily making her way towards her, her expression painfully impassive beyond the small upturn of her lips. Shinobu kept coming until she was directly in front of (Y/n).

Nezuko stirred in her sleep, clutching at (Y/n)’s back as if she could sense anxiety in the slayer’s heart. The demon was the only thing grounding her at this point as Shinobu tilted her head, an almost sinister look in her eye as she observed the small demon bundle protected by (Y/n)’s haori. All too soon, her cold eyes found their way back to (Y/n)’s and she spoke.

“I’m not going to have to tie you up, am I?”

(Y/n) closed her eyes briefly and tried to take a calming breath. With a short, almost imperceivable shake of her head, she hoarsely replied.

“No.”

“Let’s try to keep it that way then.”

Shinobu and Kanao had let (Y/n) help Nezuko into her box, but then they immediately separated the two, having a Kakushi carry the box with a wary look in her eyes. (Y/n) did her best not to look behind her where Kanao and Shinobu walked, no doubt watching her for any sign of flight.

She gulped, eyes nervously shifting to the Water Pillar walking beside her, and the Kakushi who was now carrying Tanjirou in his stead. The Water Pillar spared her an emotionless glance as he forged ahead.

“Is he going to be alright?” She asked in a hushed tone.

Enough time had passed after her question that (Y/n) had figured the man wasn’t in the mood to talk, understandably so, but (Y/n) was worried about the state Tanjirou was in. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he actually answered her minutes later.

“That will all depend on how the trial goes.”

(Y/n) felt dread pool in her stomach as they continued to march down the mountain.

***

The garden of the Master’s estate would have been lovely on any other occasion, but (Y/n) could only bring herself to stare at the pebbles below her knees and Tanjirou passed out at her side. They had taken Nezuko somewhere else in the meantime, she could only hope they would let the demon be, let her prove herself in front of them instead of killing her on principle.

(Y/n) could feel that Shinobu was standing just behind her but she dared not engage. Four years of silence between the two and a trial for treason in the highest regard had brought them together again. (Y/n) wanted to scream.

Finally Tanjirou began to stir and (Y/n) allowed herself to push away her turmoil to rouse the younger boy gently. The last thing they needed was for him to be all up in arms before the trial even officially began.

“(Y/n)-san,” Tanjirou winced, “where are we? Where is Nezuko?”

“We’re at the Demon Slayer Headquarters,” (Y/n) replied, her voice was hardly above a whisper as she felt the pressure of all the Hashira’s eyes boring into them, “I don’t know where they’re keeping Nezuko, but right now you need to focus on the trial ahead.”

“The trial?”

“For harboring a demon, Tanjirou.”

“I wouldn’t bother trying to justify it! A crime as heinous as yours only ends one way!” Rengoku Kyojirou loudly proclaimed, rallying a range of replies from his fellow pillars.

“Now that he’s finally awake to witness his punishment, let’s behead these traitors and the demon and get on with our lives.” Uzui Tengen added.

“Please,” (Y/n) forced her voice not to waiver, “allow him to explain the situation at least—“

“You’re in no position to be asking for favors, girl.” Obanai Iguro cut her off, glaring down at her from where he lounged on a tree branch. “You had best hold your tongue. A slayer at your rank should be ashamed. I’m surprised you haven’t already sliced yourself open for the embarrassment you’ve brought to the corps.”

“Iguro-san!” Kanroji gasped at the harsh words.

“Who are these people, (Y/n)-san?” Tanjirou groaned, noticing for the first time that his hands were tied tightly behind his back.

“Tanjirou, are you serious?” (Y/n)’s tone was hushed and urgent, “they’re the Hashira! You know, best of the demon slayers?”

“I don’t know, umph!” (Y/n) hastily covered his mouth, a nervous sweat gathered at her brow.

“Just try to be respectful, will you? You already broke the thin ice you’ve been traveling on, let’s try not to drown as well!”

“This isn’t right, (Y/n)-san! Where is Nezuko? Zenitsu? Inosuke? Murata?” Tanjirou spoke out, his voice heavy with emotion as he fought his way up to his knees.

“What I want to know is why we haven’t tied Tomioka or the Kinoe ranked slayer.” Obanai sneered from his tree, ignoring Tanjirou’s desperate tone. “They are both part of the boy’s schemes and should be punished as such. How are we going to teach them a lesson?”

“Oh they’ll be fine,” (Y/n) shivered hearing Shinobu speak above her from where she knelt in the pebbles, “we’ll come up with a penalty later.”

(Y/n) froze, her eyes refused to look up beyond the feet that stood before Tanjirou and herself.

“What I’m interested right now, is hearing this boy’s story.” Shinobu said. “He’s been traveling with a demon all this time, and I wish to hear why. It must be quite the tale to have Tomioka-san break ranks,” the feet take a step closer and Shinobu’s voice dropped in volume, “and you as well, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) tightened her grip over her pant leg, still refusing to look up. She could imagine an array of expressions her old friend could be wearing right now that could cut her deeper than any blade. Pity, anger, disgust, smugness, apathy, that blank smile... no, (Y/n) couldn’t bear to look up.

“So why, Kamado Tanjirou?” Shinobu asked.

“Who cares?” Uzui scoffed from a few yards away, yet he waited for the boy to explain himself.

“She’s my—“ he broke into a fit of coughs and (Y/n) tried to soothe his back, telling him to breathe.

Shinobu stooped down, a gourd of water in hand, offering the water to Tanjirou and finally catching (Y/n)’s eyes as the boy drank the medicated water. When Shinobu’s eyes returned to Tanjirou, (Y/n) remembered how to breathe.

“She’s my little sister!” Tanjirou proclaimed. “She’s never hurt anyone and she never will!”

A few of the Hashira began casting their doubt, but Tanjirou powered through.

“I became a slayer to find a cure for her! In two whole years since she became a demon, she’s never eaten a single person! Let her continue to fight by my side!”

“Well, well, looks like the fun’s already starting.”

(Y/n) turned her head and her breathing hitched. Of course the Wind Pillar of all people would get his hands on Nezuko’s box.

“Is this the boy who has been traveling with a demon? Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Shinazugawa asked with a sinister grin.

“Please put down the box Shinazugawa-sama!” The Kakushi (Y/n) recalled to have prior possession of the box pleaded.

“Shinazugawa, please do not act out of line.” Shinobu warned.

“Nah, run that by me again, kid?” Sanemi jeered, holding the box precariously in one hand, “fighting alongside a demon? Impossible, you idiot!”

Tanjirou and (Y/n) called out in horror as the Hashira rammed his blade clean through the box, skewering Nezuko.

Tanjirou scrambled to his feet and lunged at Sanemi, (Y/n) was about to get to her feet as well, but Shinobu held her firmly in place, clutching (Y/n)’s arm tightly while shooting her a warning glance.

(Y/n) could only watch, mouth agape, as Tanjirou head butted Shinazugawa to the ground.

Mitsuri attempted to stifle a snort, covering her face in her hands.

“If you can’t tell the difference between good demons and bad ones, then you don’t deserve to be a Hashira!” Tanjirou yelled.

“We’re doomed.” (Y/n) whispered weakly. She felt as if all her blood was sinking to her knees, sinking as fast as their chance of forgiveness down the drain.

Before Sanemi could retaliate, a couple of Oyakata-sama’s children announced the Master’s arrival. (Y/n) was quick to follow Shinobu in a bow, wincing when she heard what could only be Sanemi pounding Tanjirou into the rocks, forcing him to bow.

“Hello everyone,” Oyakata-sama addressed the garden, his voice carried in the warm breeze, “how good it feels to have you all here.”

Sanemi greeted the Master, formally asking for an explanation. If not for the seriousness of the moment, (Y/n) would have rolled her eyes.

“The Kamado siblings have been sanctioned, you see. I request you all respect that.” Oyakata stated simply.

An array of mostly negative objections arose at this ending with Sanemi calling for punishments for Tanjirou, (Y/n), and Giyuu.

The Master stood silently for a moment before asking one of his children to read a letter aloud. A letter from a previous Hashira, detailing Nezuko’s history. The letter also revealing that should Nezuko fail; Urokodaki, Tanjirou, and Giyuu would atone through seppuku.

A few of the Hashira were still willing to speak against such a plan, swearing that it was not a risk worth taking. Once there was a lull in their heated remarks,  Ubuyashiki saw fit to address (Y/n).

“(Y/n), my child.”

(Y/n)’s head jutted up at the sudden call of attention to her presence. “Ye— yes, Master?”

“Why do you think that of the squad that has been built around you, only you are here?” Oyakata-sama asked with an warm smile.

“I would suppose it would be because I should know better than a ragtag group of Mizunoto, Master.” came (Y/n)’s subdued reply.

“I would hope so.” The Master chuckled, causing heat to bloom across (Y/n)’s cheeks. “Why didn’t you kill the demon?”

“I was going to, but she proved herself to me,” (Y/n) began speaking more evenly as she recalled the moment, “I presented her with my blood, my rare blood, and she turned away. I have traveled with the Kamado siblings for weeks and not once had Nezuko hurt anyone. She protects people, she sleeps to replenish energy. Based on everything I have observed, I believe in Nezuko. I believe in Tanjirou.”

“Would you stake your life on this along with the others listed here today?” Oyakata-sama asked.

(Y/n) breathed in, firmly nodding her head. Her eyes meeting Ubuyashiki’s milky blank one’s despite his lack of vision.

“Yes, I would.”

Shinobu’s hold on (Y/n)’s bicep curled. (Y/n) hadn’t realized she had still been holding her down.

“And here we have three, now four, people willing to take responsibility for this demon. What say you, my children?” The Master asked the Hashira warmly.

“Forgive me Master, but this is not a matter of numbers!” Sanemi yelled, “Demons are sick creatures that need to be put down and I’ll prove it to you now!”

Sanemi sliced his arm, much more blood than (Y/n) had conjured with the small cut to her thumb that she had presented to Nezuko. She and Tanjirou watched as the blood dripped to the box, staining the lacquered wood.

“No good doing this in the light.” Obanai said, “it won’t come out unless it’s dark.”

Sanemi dashed to the shaded engawa, enticing Nezuko to come out with another stab at the box.

“No!” Tanjirou yelled, he made to scramble to the engawa, but was quickly subdued by Obanai.

“Stop!” (Y/n) echoed Tanjirou’s sentiments, pulling against Shinobu’s hold. “Why are you being so needlessly cruel?”

Sanemi ignored them, a wicked grin on his face as he watched Nezuko emerge from the box, growling lowly.

“Well then, demon?” He sneered, holding out his arm.

(Y/n) could tell Nezuko was straining against the pull of the marechi blood. With all of the injuries she had sustained working against her as well, it couldn’t be easy for the demon to hold back.

“Nezuko!” Tanjirou wheezed as Obanai was pincering his lung painfully with his elbow.

“Kamado-kun,” Shinobu addressed, “don’t struggle too much while in that hold, your lung might burst.”

Tanjirou only struggled harder, surprising everyone when he broke through his rope restraints and stumbled towards the engawa. Tomioka stopped Obanai from pinning him again.

“Nezuko!” Tanjirou called again.

His voice seemed to finally break through to Nezuko and after a few tense moments, she turned away from Sanemi in disgust.

(Y/n) couldn’t help the relieved smile that overtook her lips.

Once the scene was relayed to the Master, he seemed pleased with the report. He told Tanjirou that although Nezuko had done well to prove herself, they would need to grow even stronger before they could be fully accepted by the others. With that wisdom, he said they were free to go.

(Y/n) startled as Shinobu finally let her go, raising her arm to speak. “If all is well then Oyakata-sama, allow me to provide lodging for them.”

Both (Y/n) and Tanjirou seemed a bit wary of this sudden hospitality, (Y/n) even more so, but if Shinobu noticed or cared she didn’t show it, signaling the Kakushi who had been standing by to gather the injured boy and the demon.

The Kakushi tasked with carrying Nezuko seemed a bit frightened of the little demon kneeling in her box, so naturally (Y/n) rose to carry her instead.

“I’ve got her.” She smiled kindly and reached for the box and secured it shut, but not before giving the demon girl a few well earned head pats that rose Nezuko’s mood greatly.

Another Kakushi picked up Tanjirou then (Y/n) and the two Kakushi quickly made their retreat. That is, until Tanjirou bursted back into the garden asking to headbutt Sanemi.

“Please excuse us!” (Y/n) and the two Kakushi bowed deeply once they got him back under control and sped off twice as fast. (Y/n) and the Kakushi running beside her berated Tanjirou from where he sat on the other Kakushi’s back for such a disrespectful display after being allowed the impossible. 

When they reached the Butterfly Estate, (Y/n)’s heart squeezed in her chest. The grounds looked to be near the same as the night she had left. No one was there to greet them at the door, so they went around the gardens and found Kanao standing amongst the butterflies.

“Hi, Kanao.” (Y/n) greeted the younger girl bashfully. Now that they weren’t battling over keeping Nezuko’s head, (Y/n) finally took in how much she had grown in four years.

Kanao stayed silent, a serene smile on her lips as she merely observed the group that had approached her.

“What are you all here for?” A sharp voice called from behind them, causing the Kakushi to jump and spin to quickly explain they were here to put Tanjirou in the infirmary.

“Well then come with me...” Aoi’s words trailed off a bit once her eyes found (Y/n)’s face.

“Hi Aoi,” (Y/n) gave a nervous half wave, “you’ve gotten a bit taller.”

Aoi marched straight up to (Y/n) and berated her with a barrage of small fists pounding painlessly against her chest. “What would you expect after being gone so long!” She sniffed, “Four years without a single letter or visit? We thought you were dead, idiot!”

“(Y/n)-san? Do you know these people?” Tanjirou asked from Gotou’s back.

“Yeah, I uh, sorta used to live here.” (Y/n) replied, allowing Aoi to continue hitting her to her heart’s content.

“‘Sorta used to live here’, you’re family! You have always had a place here! Now come on, I’m sure Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho will have a bone to pick with you as well. And Shinobu-sama!” Aoi’s fist struck especially hard at the thought, “Shinobu-sama is going to have some choice words for you when she gets back I just know it!”

Aoi led them all inside, occasionally throwing a few more jabs into (Y/n)’s side to make sure she was really there. She didn’t admit that was what they were for of course, she played it off more as a punishment for disappearing for so long.

There was screaming coming from the infirmary and (Y/n) would have been worried if she hadn’t recognized the sound almost immediately.

“Zenitsu!” Tanjirou called excitedly.

While Tanjirou and poor Gotou were dealing with the sobbing, snotty boy, Aoi had dragged (Y/n) over to Kiyo who had been tending to Zenitsu only moments before.

“Look who finally decided to come home.” Aoi told the younger girl who looked up, tilting her head. (Y/n) almost thought Kiyo hadn’t recognized her. Being as young as she was, she wouldn’t have blamed her, but then she burst forward and hugged (Y/n) tightly around her waist.

“What’s going on in here? Hm, Aoi-san, Kiyo?”

Naho and Sumi had made their way into the infirmary with a basket of fresh linens and paused at the entryway for a moment before they realized who their friend was hugging and ran over to join her with tears in their eyes.

“(Y/n)-san, where have you been all this time?” Naho whimpered.

“Why didn’t you say anything before you left?” Sumi cried.

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) knelt down to better hug them all, “I know it’s not enough to make up for anything, but I’m sorry for leaving like that. It wasn’t fair,” she looked up to meet Aoi’s stern blue eyes, “to any of you.”

“Well, make it up to us by sticking around from now on.” Aoi said, crossing her arms. “No more running away.”

“But...” (Y/n) was conflicted. Had Shinobu not told the girls why she had left? (Y/n) mustered up the best smile she could and nodded feebly. “All right.”

“(Y/n)-san, your box is... humming?” Sumi pointed at the wooden box.

“Oh, um, you see... in this box is my friend, Nezuko,” (Y/n) treaded carefully, not wishing to startle the girls too badly if she could help it.

“You have someone in a box?” Aoi barked, “well let them out for goodness sake!”

“It’s a little bright in here...” (Y/n) shifted her vision to where Tanjirou and Zenitsu were talking, catching sight of Inosuke as well. Poor boar boy looked like he’d seen better days. “And I’m not sure that Shinobu-” should she still speak of her so informally? “-would be pleased if I let her out without her blessing.”

“Why wouldn’t Shinobu-sama allow you to let someone out of a box?” Aoi rolled her eyes.

“It’s complicated. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you all about it once she comes back. Until then, Nezuko will be fine in here.”

The girls, though incredulous, let the subject drop for now. Although, they couldn’t help but eye the box with suspicion. Once Tanjirou was settled in the infirmary, the butterfly girls dragged (Y/n) away to talk about the goings on of the last four years which soon devolved into hounding (Y/n) for her own stories to share, even Kanao had come by to sit and listen.

“...And that’s how I helped the fishing village take care of the demon that was lurking in the sea.”

“Tell us another one, (Y/n)-san!” The youngest girls pleaded, kicking their feet in the air behind them. They had migrated to lay flat on their stomachs as the stories progressed and watched (Y/n) recount her adventures with their heads propped up on their arms with rapt attention.

“I’m afraid that will have to wait for another time, it’s quite late you know.”

Everyone turned to the door to find Shinobu staring down at them. The youngest girls pouted a bit, trying to get a bit more time to stick around, but Shinobu held firm and directed them to their rooms.

“You’ll still be here tomorrow, right? (Y/n)-san?” Sumi asked from the doorway.

“I...” (Y/n) pulled at the sleeve of her uniform and subtly pursed her lips while trying to figure out how to proceed, to her surprise, Shinobu spoke up on her behalf.

“I promise you’ll see her in the morning. Now of to bed. (Y/n) and I have much to discuss.”

The thought of having a prolonged conversation with Shinobu sent shivers through (Y/n)’s spine. Once all the girls were well out of sight, Shinobu redirected her attention to (Y/n).

“Let’s drop off your cargo first,” Shinobu said, motioning to the box sitting beside (Y/n), “I’ve arranged a room and Kamado-kun has been wondering where his... sister, has been.”

“Of course.” (Y/n) stood, shouldering the box.

Apparently the room was rather far. (Y/n) felt as if the silence between them was slowly eating at her until she finally decided to speak. For better or for worse.

“You’ve taken all of this extraordinarily well,” (Y/n) commented, testing the waters.

“Mm, I’d like to hold off on any conversation until we drop off the demon. Use this time to gather any thoughts, if you have them that is.”

(Y/n)’s brow furrowed slightly, eyes narrowed. She was sure that was some kind of dig at her intelligence, but she held her tongue.

They dropped off Nezuko, (Y/n) and Tanjirou bid each other good night, and then (Y/n) was led to an all too familiar space, the lab.

Shinobu motioned for (Y/n) to sit at one of the less cluttered tables while she closed the door firmly behind them. (Y/n) would have been lying if she said she wasn’t even just a tad bit concerned by the setting of this ‘talk’ that was about to unfold. Finally, Shinobu took the stool across from her on the other side of the table. She laced her fingers together, using them to prop up her chin as her endlessly amethyst eyes bore into (Y/n)’s. That ghostly smile seemingly perfected after four years of separation, had (Y/n)’s hands clench into fists under the table.

“So,” Shinobu began, her voice deceptively sweet, “when exactly do you think it was when you completely lost your mind?”

“Excuse me?” (Y/n)’s eye twitched.

“Defending a demon, offering up your own life for a demon to live... how insanely idiotic. I thought you were smarter than that. I suppose it had been.. four years, was it? Four years since you ran off. And I thought that was the most careless thing you could ever do. You really have outdone yourself!”

“Stop,” (Y/n) had heard enough of these little jabs and she new well enough Shinobu could go all day as long as she hadn’t changed too drastically in their time apart. However, Shinobu powered through.

“Everyone was devastated when you left you know. We were a family and you just up and left in the middle of the night without a word so soon after—“ After Kanae, “Now you’re putting everything on the line for some demon? You’re a coward. A selfish coward.”

(Y/n) was really angry now. She stood up so fast her stool clattered to the ground behind her. She slammed her hands against the table and stared furiously into Shinobu’s placid expression, though she could detect a hint of a heated spark in those deep purple eyes.

“Don’t act like you’re so innocent in all of this! You told me to leave! You want to judge me for trusting Nezuko with my life, fine! But I only did what you commanded of me when I left. You don’t get to say I just fucked off because you think I didn’t care enough!”

Shinobu had the nerve to chuckle, though no trace of humor was there, as she slowly rose to her own feet and assumed a similar stance over the table as (Y/n).

“Did you really think when I said that, when I told you to leave the lab, I meant I wanted you to walk out of my life?” Shinobu asked seriously.

“I didn’t know what you wanted! You weren’t the same person anymore! Don’t try telling me that it wasn’t what you wanted either, you never came looking for me. You never sent your crow. Tell me you weren’t ecstatic when you woke up that morning and didn’t have to deal with me anymore!”

Shinobu slapped her own hand against the table, a vein pulsed painfully under the skin of her forehead. She opened her mouth to retort, poisoned words ready to lash out with a flick of her tongue, but as luck would have it, a Kakushi nervously called from the other side of the door.

“Kochou-sama, the treatments for the, uh, despiderfication of the slayers from Natagumo Mountain are ready to be carried out with your supervision.”

Shinobu closed her eyes, breathing in deeply before opening them again and looking significantly more drained.

“I see. Please inform the others that I’ll be there in a few moments.”

“Right away, Kochou-sama.”

As the footsteps pattered away, (Y/n) fixed her stool upright before heading in the direction of the door, assuming she and Shinobu were done talking, or screaming rather. (Y/n) was surprised to feel Shinobu grasp her hand as she tried to pass by.

“You remember where your room is, right?” Shinobu asked, the undertones of her voice still taut with anger.

(Y/n) too tired to fight on, responded simply with a mute nod.

“I had the Kakushi clean it earlier today. Everything should still be as you left it.”

Shinobu let go of (Y/n)’s hand and it immediately felt cold. The Hashira opened the lab door and stepped out into the hallway, her back to (Y/n) as she made her last parting statement.

“If you know what is good for you, you won’t step a foot outside of estate grounds without speaking to me first.”

“And if I don’t?” (Y/n) asked just to be obstinate.

“Then I guess I’ll have to hunt you down for sport.” Shinobu quickly replied, turning to face (Y/n) just to show her how serious she was.

(Y/n) couldn’t help the weak guffaw that left her lips. To hear such a threat delivered by such a soothing tone was practically oxymoronic.

Shinobu lingered for a moment longer before gliding off to see to her patients while (Y/n) turned down the opposite end of the hallway and traveled down a few more to find herself standing outside of her old room. She opened the door, the space was clean as Shinobu promised. She closed the door softly behind her, blocking off the light from the hall. There would be time to be sentimental in the morning. Right now, between the Mountain, the trial and the emotional battle with the Insect Hashira herself, (Y/n) was exhausted. She scooted her way into the freshly made futon and fell asleep with the nostalgic smell of wisteria petals drifting through her airways.

***

(Y/n) awoke around mid-morning to the sun shining through her window. She stretched and got dressed, her fingers pausing over the last few buttons of her uniform as she glanced over the desk.

The butterfly hair clip she had once worn with pride sat in front of her. It appeared to be left untouched by time. Not even a speck of dust adorned the colorful wings. She reached out to it, but her fingers curled just before she touched it. She pulled her hand back as a knock sounded on the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s Aoi.” A voice called from the other side.

(Y/n) quickly took the last few steps needed to reach the door and slid it open to greet Aoi but before she could, the stern girl stepped inside and pulled the door shut again.

“Were you and Shinobu-sama fighting last night?” She asked hurriedly.

“Where did you hear that?” (Y/n) answered the question with one of her own.

“The Kakushi are partial to gossip. Now what did you do!” Aoi huffed, jabbing (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“Why does it have to be me? Shinobu was the one who started it!” (Y/n) backed up, rubbing her shoulder.

“You two better make up soon. It will hurt Naho, Sumi and Kiyo if they find out you’re still mad at each other,” Aoi crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s not that easy, Aoi. It’s been four years. It’s not all going to go away overnight.”

“Do I have to do everything around here?” Aoi grumbled to herself, passing a hand over her face. “I’ll help you, but you better try to be civil.”

“Aoi, I don’t need help. I’m sorry that fight got back to you. If Shinobu and I talk again, I promise I’ll try harder to keep my temper in check, okay?”

Aoi sighed and shook her head, “Fine. That wasn’t what I had come to talk to you about anyway.”

“Oh,” (Y/n) tilted her head, “then what is it?”

“Your friends,” Aoi pinched the bridge of her nose, “they’re driving me crazy. I need you to get the blonde and the boar to participate in recovery training.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” (Y/n) answered with slight reluctance. She knew just how difficult those two could be.

Aoi and (Y/n) arrived at the room that was being used for the boys’ recovery training. Tanjirou was already working hard, trying to catch Kanao in a game of tag, while Zenitsu and Inosuke watched from the corner with bitter disinterest.

“Hey,” (Y/n) addressed the younger teens, “what’s the problem? Don’t you guys want to get better? Stronger?”

“It’s pointless.” Inosuke weakly answered.

“(Y/n)-san, this training is too difficult!” Zenitsu cried.

(Y/n) dodged the weepy blonde’s attempts at hugging her and bonked him on the head with the side of her fist.

“I feel no sympathy for you. Aoi and the others are working really hard to get you back in fighting shape, the least you could do is put a little bit of effort in!” (Y/n) crossed her arms, “before you know it, Tanjirou will leave you both in the dust. Do you really want that?”

Zenitsu and Inosuke grunted, still refusing to budge. (Y/n) motioned for Naho to hand her a cup of medicated water and promptly splashed its contents all over the boys.

“What was that for?” Zenitsu screeched.

“Want revenge? Come take me on.” (Y/n) motioned to the table of cups.

Naho, Sumi and Kiyo made small sounds of excitement, trying to encourage the boys, but they just grumbled and walked back to the infirmary.

“You guys are going to regret walking away!” (Y/n) called after them. “Let me know when you are done moping and want to get back to work!”

“Oh my.” Shinobu giggled as she walked in, watching Zenitsu and Inosuke sulk past her.

Shinobu turned to observe the room, pausing at (Y/n). Her eyes flickered down at (Y/n)’s chest and stayed there long enough for the other slayer to notice.

“What?” (Y/n) had grumbled mostly to herself as she followed Shinobu’s gaze downward. Heat shot to her face immediately as she realized she had forgotten to finish buttoning her uniform after Aoi distracted her. It wasn’t showing a lot, just her collar bones and a bit of her chest, but it was still jarring. With a strangled chirp, she quickly buttoned her uniform the rest of the way.

“Oh please, no need to cover up on my account.” Shinobu easily teased, though she felt a bit embarrassed to have been caught staring. She wasn’t entirely sure why her vision gravitated there to begin with.

After a few false starts, (Y/n) finally choked out, “what do you want?”

“I need Kanao and Aoi to help me gather more herbs for spider demon antidotes, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Kochou-sama,” Aoi interjected before (Y/n) could retaliate, “Kanao and I are helping Tanjirou complete his recovery training for the day. I’ve asked (Y/n)-san to fill in for us and she has readily agreed to take our place.”

(Y/n) gave Aoi a look, prompting the younger girl to pinch at (Y/n)’s side discreetly. A message to keep her mouth shut. Kanao simply blinked, twisting on the ball of her foot to dodge another one of Tanjirou’s lunges.

“Very well then, keep up (Y/n). I hope you still remember a thing or two about plants in that thick skull of yours,” Shinobu glided past (Y/n) to step out onto the engawa, “though I wouldn’t be too surprised if all of that knowledge fell out of your head along with your common sense.”

(Y/n) opened her mouth before shutting it firmly closed. Remembering that the younger girls were there and what Aoi had asked of her, she pursed her lips and silently fell into step beside the Hashira, walking with her to the nearby forest where the herbs they needed flourished.

“You recall what Aralia Cordata looks like, correct?” Shinobu asked once they were well within the trees.

“Yeah, kind of hard to miss that shrub if you know what you’re looking for.” (Y/n) groused.

“Fine, fine. Don’t come crying to me if you touch something poisonous.”

“I won’t. Won’t touch anything poisonous I mean. Because I know what I’m doing.”

“Are you telling me that or are you just trying to reassure yourself?”

(Y/n) chose not to reply, instead she split off from Shinobu to one of the shrubs in question and began harvesting a few leafy tendrils from it. Before long, her basket was filled and she turned just in time to see Shinobu turn back to her own bush, pretending to examine one of the tendrils she had cut.

“You know,” (Y/n) sighed as she stood back to her full height, “Aoi only made me come here in her stead because that fight we had last night got back to her. She expects us to make up.”

“Mm, I figured it was something like that,” Shinobu hummed, “I do believe that for once, she is too optimistic in that regard.”

“Well, you never did like admitting when you were wrong,” (Y/n) shrugged, “or saying you’re sorry. It’s comforting to know you haven’t completely destroyed your old personality.”

“And what exactly have I been wrong about, (Y/n)?” Shinobu’s forehead pulsed, “what exactly have I done that requires an apology?”

“You lie to everyone Shinobu. You hide behind plastic smiles pretending to be someone you’re not to fill a void. Saying your fine and shrugging everyone off while holding them at arm's length. When I tried to talk to you, you pushed me away and told me to leave. You were dismissive, cold.”

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around herself as if a chilling wind overcame her. Continuing on, she spoke lowly before Shinobu could speak her denial.

“Not to say that I don’t have my own fault in all of this. Even if I thought you really wanted me gone that night, I should have fought harder for you. I knew you were hurting, but I gave up and left anyway. That is something I’ve thought about a lot in our time apart and I regret it every day because you were worth fighting for.”

(Y/n) blew out a harsh breath of air, running a hand over her scalp she made her closing statement.

“If there was one thing you were right about last night, it’s that I’m a coward and I’m sorry that I didn’t try harder.”

(Y/n) chanced a look at Shinobu’s face. The Hashira’s eyes rounded and her mouth was ever so slightly agape. The silence hung in the air until a sweet wisteria breeze swept through the trees and (Y/n) cleared her throat and looked away.

“So if we could at least pretend to get along for the sake of the girls, I think Aoi would appreciate it.” (Y/n) added before reaching down to collect her basket. A sudden noise, like air being rapidly released through one’s nose, came from behind (Y/n) and she paused in her movements to glance back at Shinobu who was looking down at the leaf she was worrying between her fingers.

“I... apologize, for pushing you away in such a way that made you think you had to exile yourself. It was also cruel of me to say you didn’t care about us when I knew that you thought of this place as your home. I was trying to hurt you back and that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.” Shinobu solemnly said.

Now it was (Y/n)’s turn to stare. Soon, Shinobu leveled a cocky smile and stood with her basket of leaves and a few other miscellaneous plants she gathered.

“Looks like you were wrong about my ability to apologize, hm?” She said.

“Shut up. Don’t ruin the moment.” (Y/n) smiled, reaching for her own basket.

The atmosphere surrounding the girls leaving the forest felt a lot more relaxed than it had upon entering.

***

Days turned into weeks and everything seemed so much better after. It was still awkward at times, but (Y/n) and Shinobu were finding their rhythm again. There was still a little hostility at times, but rather than avoid each other, they talked it out. It was almost frightening how in sync they were when they were working well together.

(Y/n) split her time between helping Shinobu with the slayers turned spiders and helping the younger girls train Tanjirou. She was elated by the boy’s progress as he finally managed to catch Kanao. She had noticed Zenitsu and Inosuke lurking nearby and gestured to the room. Now that they knew recovery training was possible and Tanjirou was leaving them in the dust, the rambunctious boys finally felt the need to catch up with their comrade’s progress.

Before long, the boys were well enough to continue the training on their own and (Y/n) found herself spending more and more time with Shinobu. They would spend hours talking or saying nothing at all, just enjoying each other’s company while they worked away on medicines and poisons.

It didn’t take long for (Y/n) to notice the difference. How Shinobu took up more than her fair share of space in (Y/n)’s thoughts. Even just catching sight of her across the garden was starting to make (Y/n)’s heart leap. On the occasion Shinobu would spot her she’d smile and wave, making (Y/n)’s heart stop all together before kicking into overdrive. The lingering touches and whispered words Shinobu would share with her as they worked in the lab certainly didn’t help either. Just when (Y/n) had thought they finally found their dynamic... Why was it changing again already?

(Y/n) was telling Naho, Sumi and Kiyo the story of how she met Tanjirou and Nezuko while she patted the demon’s head. Ever since Nezuko had woken up, the younger girls, though skittish at first, had grown to be fascinated and even enamored with her. As (Y/n) retold the tale, Nezuko humming happily at her side, Shinobu happened upon the group.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this session short. Tanjirou and the others are ready to get back out on the road now. Something about joining Rengoku-san on his next mission.”

“How did I not here about this plan sooner?” (Y/n) frowned.

“That’s a question best suited for Tanjirou to answer I suppose.” Shinobu replied rather emotionlessly, concerning (Y/n).

So while everyone else was getting ready to leave, (Y/n) pulled Tanjirou aside and asked him what was going on.

“I didn’t tell you we were leaving because I hope you’ll stay and continue to rebuild the relationships you have here, (Y/n)-san. I appreciate everything you’ve done for Nezuko and I, and now I hope to return the favor.” Tanjirou smiled brightly.

“And how do you figure you’re doing that?” (Y/n) crossed her arms.

“Because the longer you get to stay here, the more time you get to spend with Shinobu-san! I can smell that you two want to be together more now than ever.”

“You and your nose I swear,” heat radiated off of (Y/n)’s cheeks, “I think you have intuition and that sense mixed up.”

Tanjirou merely laughed in response.

“So, you guys think you’ll really be okay without me? You’ll stay out of trouble?”

“Don’t worry, (Y/n)-san! We’ll see each other again soon!” Tanjirou beamed.

(Y/n) smiled in return and they rejoined the send off.

“Where did Shinobu-san go?” Tanjirou wondered.

(Y/n) looked around and sure enough, the Pillar was nowhere to be seen.

“She must have had something urgent to attend to,” she answered, making a note to search for her later.

(Y/n) stood out in the garden until the loud group disappeared into the trees and their shouts could no longer be heard over the rustling of the leaves. She took a moment to stare out into the clear blue sky before returning inside.

(Y/n) was going to go look for Shinobu, but she wanted to go to her room to change her uniform first since Zenitsu had snotted all over it in his tearful goodbye.

She opened the door and was surprised to find Shinobu already inside. Shinobu’s back was turned to her as she quickly ran a sleeve over her face. She cleared her throat before facing back with a weak smile.

“(Y/n), forget something?”

“Huh?” (Y/n) blinked, still trying to process why Shinobu might have just been tearing up in her room of all places.

“The others must be ready to leave now. You better pick up what you needed so they don't have to wait too long.”

“They already left, Shinobu.” (Y/n) explained. “I hadn’t planned on going with them.”

“Oh.” Shinobu turned to look outside the window of (Y/n)’s room, hoping the blood that buzzed in her cheeks hadn’t burned its way to her ears as well.

“Shinobu, is something wrong?” (Y/n) tested.

“I just feel a bit silly now I suppose.” Shinobu admitted, bringing a slight smile to (Y/n)’s face with her honesty. “I thought you were gone again.”

“Well, I wouldn’t leave without a proper goodbye, not again.” (Y/n) came up beside Shinobu, intending to give her hand a comforting squeeze when she felt something other than skin instead. Looking down she saw her old butterfly clip in Shinobu’s hand, a quick look at the empty spot at her desk confirmed it.

Shinobu noticed that (Y/n) had noticed and rose the hairclip up between them with a subdued exhale.

“You know, every morning I wonder if it will be the morning you feel comfortable enough to wear this again.” Shinobu said, twirling the insect in her fingers. “When I thought you were gone and I saw this still sitting on your desk, it brought me back to places I’d rather not think about.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) rested her hand over the back of Shinobu’s haori, “I just haven’t felt... I don’t know, worthy of it? I didn’t intend to make you feel bad.”

A small puff of air left Shinobu’s nose at the words. “It isn’t a matter of worth, it’s about whether or not you feel like you belong here again. Whether or not you’re comfortable here.”

“Agree to disagree.” (Y/n) joked. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m glad I get to spend more time here. I’ve been happier in these last few weeks than in the last few years.”

“I’m glad.” Shinobu watched a couple of butterflies flutter against the window before turning back to the garden. “And if you insist on it being a matter of worth, you are more than worthy. It’s not even a question to me.”

“Thank you.” (Y/n) simpered. Her breathing hitched slightly when Shinobu reached up to run her fingers through a loose lock of (Y/n)’s hair.

“Would you let me do your hair?” Shinobu asked softly.

“I’d like that.” (Y/n) whispered.

Shinobu guided (Y/n) back to the desk and sat her down on the chair. She freed (Y/n)’s hair from its plain hair band and quietly ran a brush through her locks with such softness that (Y/n) felt like she might fall asleep. Shinobu gathered the hair in her hands and styled it as she wished, clipping it together with the butterfly hair clip. Shinobu checked over her work, her hands resting on (Y/n)’s shoulders.

“You look perfect.” (Y/n) shivered. She hadn’t expected Shinobu’s lips to be so close to her ear. Neither had she expected the lips to ghost over her cheek in a light kiss.

“I just remembered I have a meeting I need to attend. You’ll help the girls with the infirmary won’t you?”

(Y/n) had almost forgotten how to speak but managed to pull it together. “Of course! I’ll, um, see you when you get back?”

“Perhaps,” Shinobu removed her hands from (Y/n)’s shoulders, “I won’t be back until late though.”

“Okay.”

A shy hug (in slightly awkward positioning due to the gross state of the Kinoe’s uniform, courtesy of Zenitsu) and Shinobu parted ways with (Y/n). (Y/n) met up with the girls in the infirmary and was almost immediately met with a chorus of cheers from Naho, Kiyo and Sumi when they noticed her hair. Aoi and Kanao smiled at the sight as well. A full day of caring for the infirmary made (Y/n) excited to finally get into bed for the night.

She awoke with a scream caught in her throat. Old demons had visited her in her sleep. As she worked to calm her heart, she noticed the light of the full moon streaming through her window. With a few more deep breaths she sat up from her futon and wrapped her haori around her shoulders.

Quietly exiting her room, she padded through the halls until she found her way to the kitchen, a smile pulled at her lips when she found Shinobu already there boiling water.

“Rough night?” Shinobu asked. She was also in her bed wear, her hair hanging loose from its usual style.

“Yes,” (Y/n) moved to stand beside her, “it’s been awhile since the last one I had.”

“How did you deal with that when you were on the road?”

“I would buy little sacks of tea leaves as I went. On bad nights or whenever sleep eluded me I’d boil up some water and try a new blend. Yours was always the best though.”

“I was already going to make you a cup, no need for flattery.”

“No flattery here. Just the truth.” (Y/n) swore, making Shinobu’s smile just a tad fuller.

Shinobu finished preparing the cups and as (Y/n) took hers about ready to leave, the Hashira asked her to wait.

“It’s a full moon tonight. Want to watch the stars for a moment?” Shinobu asked.

“I’d love to.” (Y/n) nodded.

The pair walked outside along the engawa until they had a pleasant view of the full brightness of the moon. They sat along the engawa’s edge, letting their legs dangle as they sipped their tea in the drowning noise of cicada and cricket songs.

(Y/n) chanced a glance at Shinobu in her periphery and marveled at how the moonlight highlighted her skin to the point where she almost appeared to be glowing. The way it reflected off of her eyes was absolutely enchanting. (Y/n) forced her attention back on the sky. Though beautiful it seemed to pale in comparison to the girl next to her.

As her eyes traced over the larger craters of the moon, she thought back on an old saying she had read at one of the inns she had frequented. An old, battered collection of pages that she read through when sleep didn’t come. She had read that particular work quite a few times.

She wondered if perhaps Shinobu had read it too. Though more likely the girl had her face buried in medical texts than anything else. (Y/n) then wondered, if perhaps she could get away with saying it. A confession without consequence, but on the off change that Shinobu was knowledgeable on the old text it could damage the progress they had made in healing their relationship. Perhaps it would be better to just enjoy the moment. (Y/n) took another sip of tea.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

(Y/n) nearly choked on her tea, spluttering and coughing as she tried in vein to stop herself. Finally she managed to calm down only to notice how intently Shinobu was staring at her.

Had she meant that literally? Shinobu was looking at (Y/n) so expectantly, but it could easily just be because she had nearly blacked out from inhaling her tea!

“...It is.” (Y/n) finally answered hiding her face in her cup, looking at neither Shinobu nor the moon.

Another long silence filled by the chirps of insects enjoying the humid night air. (Y/n) had finished her tea and set her cup to her right, her free hand that had been resting between Shinobu and herself was soon covered by a cool and calloused touch.

(Y/n) shyly turned her head to meet the Pillar’s gaze and jumped a bit when her nose unexpectedly brushed against Shinobu’s.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” Shinobu repeated barely above a whisper. She was not pulling away.

(Y/n) felt her throat dry and she wished she had just one more swallow of tea left. With a slight quiver in her lips, she responded. Doing her best to stay focused on the purple irises before her.

“Yes,” she answered with a slight nod, careful not to bump head with Shinobu, “it is.”

“(Y/n)?” Shinobu called to her, cupping her face gently with the hand that wasn’t already resting on top of (Y/n)’s.

“Y.. yes?”

“Would you kiss me if I asked?” Shinobu murmured, filling (Y/n)’s senses with a dizzying wisteria scent. The slayer didn’t even try to talk herself out of answering such a query as the thumb of Shinobu’s hand swiped the corner of her lips.

“Yes.” She replied, nearly breathless already and her pupils blown wide.

“(Y/n), please kiss me.”

It was all too easy to lean in when they were already sitting so closely. The hand Shinobu had been using to cup her cheek weaved through the hair at the back of (Y/n)’s head, pulling her closer yet as their lips met a bit clumsily in buzzing, mind numbing bliss. (Y/n)’s free hand, the one not currently being clutched in a near death grip over the wooden floor, found home at the back of Shinobu’s neck, lightly massaging the skin there.

They broke apart a few times but the breaths they took were quick and few. Eventually they rested against each other while their abused lungs burned with a hunger for oxygen.

“I have wanted to do that for longer than I’d like to admit.” Shinobu quietly confessed, twisting a lock of (Y/n)’s hair though her fingers.

“Even when we were fighting?” (Y/n) joked, rubbing the back of Shinobu’s neck with her thumb.

“Strangely enough, yes. There were times when I thought about doing it just to shut you up. Though I didn’t dare allow myself to entertain the thought for long.”

(Y/n) chuckled and leaned in to steal another kiss, much less heated then the last few and much quicker as a chorus of surprised gasps made them pull apart and turn around.

“They kissed! They’re kissing!” Sumi cheered while Aoi tried to quiet her and push her back into the mansion.

Sumi and Kiyo emerged from the doorway that Shinobu had left open when she and (Y/n) first came out into the moonlight and were immediately hounding them for confirmation.

“We missed it! Do it again!” Kiyo pleaded.

“It’s like a fairy tale!” Naho cheered.

“You three!” Aoi grumbled with embarrassment. “Kanao, help me out here!”

Kanao looked between Aoi, the rowdy girls, then her sister and senpai, before settling on a nice golf clap of congratulations. This made Aoi lightly smack herself in the face and completely give up on trying to rein in the younger children.

“My, what are you all doing up I wonder?” Shinobu smiled.

“We wanted to watch the moon too Shinobu-sama! Aoi-san even made tea!” Naho clapped.

“But it’s clear you’re, busy, with something and we should go back inside.” Aoi rushed.

“Nonsense, it’s a lovely night. These things are best experienced with those you care about, don’t you all agree?”

“Yes!” Three excited voices readily agreed before wiggling in between the older girls with light blankets and their tea.

Aoi grumbled a half hearted reminder to be careful with the tea before sitting down beside (Y/n) with her own cup. Kanao took a seat beside Shinobu, lightly kicking her feet over the engawa as she started up silently at the moon.

They stayed up for hours, naming constellations, spotting shooting stars, and listening for the occasional loud croak of a far off frog in the thick of the cicadas and crickets.

Dawn wasn’t too far off when Naho, Sumi and Kiyo fell asleep. (Y/n), Shinobu and Kanao each picked one up and returned them to their rooms. Aoi gathered the discarded cups and helped with the doors before bidding the older girls goodnight, Kanao trailing behind her.

“What a lively night. I’m afraid chores will suffer tomorrow.” Shinobu mused as she walked (Y/n) back to her room.

“We’ll figure it out.” (Y/n) said, shyly brushing her hand against Shinobu’s and smiling when Shinobu laced their fingers together.

Once at (Y/n)’s room Shinobu raised (Y/n)’s hand to her lips with a smirk, planting a kiss on battle worn knuckles.

“This is where I leave you. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Why does that feel too long?” (Y/n) laughed quietly.

“I’m not sure, you’d think after four years of bitter silence a couple of hours would be a walk in the park.” Shinobu chuckled in return.

“I guess we just have a lot of time to make up for, huh?”

“Mm, that is a plausible line of reasoning,” Shinobu hummed, a spark growing in her eyes, “might I trouble you for one more kiss before I retire to my room?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

(Y/n) hardly got the words out before Shinobu was on her. Four kisses later and they pulled away with matching grins.

“I’ll see you in my dreams.” Shinobu added one last peck before pulling away.

“As will I.”

***

Well into the next morning (Y/n) awoke energized and ready to fight the world. She changed into a fresh uniform and pinned her hair with care, straightening the butterfly pin before rushing out of her room to begin her day with the young woman who had gifted it to her.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XIV

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, thoughts of self-harm and suicide, depression, some triggers might not be fully tagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: It’s the final day of the tournament and all are holding their breath to see who prevails.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The arena was buoyant on the final day of the tournament. The most awaited event, the joust, was finally come. As Lord Barnes would once more be among the competitors, you were left on your own in the box with the rest of the ladies and their queen. Most of the noblemen were listed for the sport, Barnes, Rogers, Stark, and even the king.

You didn’t watch as the names were announced and the banners presented before the games commenced. Your attention wasn’t even drawn as the first clashed with their blunted staffs and galloping horses. It was much more perilous than the other contests.

You stayed away from the other women. You were not interested in humouring the queen’s false kindness nor were you interested in their chatter of things that hardly mattered to you. Sewing, birthing, loving; you didn’t care for any of it. You didn’t care for them or the men on the field. You cared for nothing in this bleak world.

As Barnes took to the saddle for his first opponent, you glanced down lazily but found your eyes drawn to clouds instead. It was bitterly cold under the grey sky, streaked with umbrous and ominous wisps. It would likely snow soon as if to mark the grand finale.

You tucked your hands into your sleeves and hugged yourself alone on the bench. You were drawn from your glowering by the rustle of skirts. The queen sat beside you and let out an airy sigh.

“Thankfully, my brother has kept clear of conflict,” she said, “in fact, he’s hardly spared another snarl for the visiting Baron.”

“Your majesty,” you muttered as the flag was waved and the horses barrelled at each other and the men pointed their long poles.

“Unless you count this,” she mused as his pole broke off the armour of the other men and sent his adversary sprawling and the other horse whinnying in a panic. You lowered your eyes meekly. “He will be eager to be away and I do hope you aid him in a speedy departure. The baron is expected to remain in the capital for the winter.”

“Yes, he is want to be gone back to the castle,” you assured her.

“It would be tragic if you were to be snowed in here. Very inconvenient and costly at that.”

“Certainly, your majesty,” you said flatly.

“You understand the urgency that will follow in the coming days,” she intoned.

“I understand but you do seem to misunderstand your brother. To think that I have any hold over him is farcical. He does as he pleases. He is a duke, I am a displaced chambermaid. That is all it is… your majesty.”

“You do not speak as a chambermaid,” she replied sharply, “my brother favours you but he still cannot overrule me, understood?”

“Your majesty, I understand my place completely,” you ceded, “would I be remiss to excuse myself?”

“For what means?”

“To find a commode,” you answered, “these game do carry on and I am distracted by my humanly needs.”

“Go off then,” she stood, “you are rather dour today. You would cast a mood over us all if you languish thus.”

“Your majesty,” you rose and made your way to the doors as she rejoined her ladies and gave a forced giggle as they welcomed her. You wondered how the nobles were trained so well in lies. Was it in their books or did their tutors include it in their curricula?

You descended the stairs without aim. You had no need of the commode, only an excuse. You stepped out into the lower stands and peered out at the field. In that moment, you could be gone. You could disappear and be away from all this misery.

You scoffed at yourself and leaned against the wooden planks. He’d find you again. You couldn’t make it far enough before he sniffed you out again. You weren’t stupid enough to try it twice, even at such an opportune moment. You would only earn yourself further punishment.

“Is something amusing, my lady?” you stood straight and looked startled to the man who emerged from the shadows of the stairway. Lord Zemo smirked and came to stand arm to arm with you as he looked out across the stadium.

“My lord, I was only watching the field,” you lied, “thinking.”

“Ah, yes, these games, how violent,” he remarked, “where I am from, we have festivals before tournaments. Singing, dancing, poetry, theatre… I suppose that is just as silly as all this.”

“It is… a privilege to be able to afford silliness,” you said, “to not be the one cleaning up after all of it and yet… so very pointless.”

He nodded and grumbled as he considered your words, “very true. Wise, even. I think that after one has seen how grave things can be, these affairs become less and less entertaining. It is almost sickening to think of them, let alone attend them. Why should men play at war as if it were fun?”

You peeked over at him. He was here because he once fought those men down on the field with real steel and armour. It was rather grim to think of. “I did not think of it like that but I suppose you are right. I know little of war, however, my lord.”

“You know of pain, though,” he said, “it is painted on you as much as those battle scars carried by veterans like your beloved Barnes.”

You were silent. You stared up at the sky again, the endless grey, the half-finished canvas.

“Beloved? Perhaps that is the wrong word for him. I see little affection there. I sense it is not an arrangement you asked for.”

“Does it matter if it is?” you shook your head, “My lord, you waste your breath on little more than a servant. I suffer Lord Barnes the same as any, I am no help to you.”

“Help? I have no desire to change my standing with Barnes, I am not so foolish as that,” he turned to face you, “Have none ever taken interest in you as your own being?”

“I am a servant. I am not my own being,” you murmured, “my lord, if you would, I should return to my party.”

“As you will,” he said dolefully, “it was a pleasure to meet again.”

“Was it?” you asked as you turned to go.

“It is always a relief to speak of anything but politics or gold,” he said, “and yes, you served me well in this conversation. As you said, that is all you are worth.”

You left him but didn’t ascend back to the box. You continued down the steps until you reached the final landing. You looked up and sat on the lowest stair. A moment of peace before you had to go back. To not think for a single second.

🏰

You listened to the raucous voices of the audience. You didn’t want to move from that spot. You didn’t want to go back to it all. You just wanted to stay on that step forever. But you knew you had to go. You knew you had to get up.

You lifted yourself wearily but your foot only hovered above the bottom stair. You heard more voices, and an angry one as the crowd bang and buzzed. You followed the lower sounds, the singular conversations yelled through the din. You ventured down the tunnel that led beneath the stands.

Horse kicked and snorted as you came into the area meant for competitors. Men sat and stood with blood on brow and lip. Those who’d already lost, many as the final face-off was about to commence. You looked around but did not see Lord Barnes. Perhaps he was on the other side or even looking for you.

You walked the perimeter of the large space and a familiar face caught your eye. Peter rubbed his shoulder as he muttered, his aunt and uncle sat with him as the former checked the cut on his chin. You felt the same stabbing in your chest as the night before. Before you could think, you were marching towards him.

You skidded to a halt before him and gulped. You didn’t know what to say, you only knew how you felt. He looked over at you as May and Benjamin followed his gaze. You wavered and blinked away the tears that threatened.

“I did want to be friends but I stayed away to protect you, Peter,” you said, “did you have to be so cruel?”

“What? I--” he stood and winced as he jarred his shoulder, “I didn’t-- I wasn’t--”

“I know what I am and I know we cannot be friends but could it have hurt to let me think ‘what if’?” You quivered.

“No, my lady, I--”

“You know I’m not a lady. No need to treat me like one now. I heard you last night. I didn’t come to change your mind, I’m not so simple as that. I only came-- well, I don’t know why, but perhaps I only wanted to say to one person how they hurt me. Perhaps I wanted to just once be able to speak my part and that I can do because I know I will never see you again.”

You brushed past him and he reached for your arm as he stammered, “please, don’t, I was l--”

“Don’t,” you shrugged him off and stomped on as the figures around you blurred and the anger and despair swelled in your head.

You followed the noise of the crowd. They were hungry for blood. If that was what they wanted, they would have it. 

You pushed out from behind the curtain and the wood and dirt vibrated from the cacophony. You saw Lord Barnes in his saddle as he was handed his pole and his competitor, Lord Rogers, as he took his own. Their attendants checked the horse and took them to their marks.

You quaked as the ocean of voice rolled over you and you crept out along the wall. All were entranced by the two dukes as they readied for their signal. Barnes silver armour was dented and dinged from his former bouts and Rogers golden armour was just as scuffed. The two men steadied their steeds and the crowd fell into a hush of anticipation.

The red cloth dropped and the riders galloped at each other across the field. The hooves dusted up the cold dirt, through blood stains left throughout the day, and the crash that came sent up another cheer through the crowd. 

Wooden slivers exploded around Barnes and Rogers was pushed back against his horse as his own shield was deflected. Both men kept astride and righted themselves as they rode back to their posts and again, their liveried attendants approached to calm their horses and fix their dressings.

They would go again and again, until one of them was tossed from their saddle or worse. You began to breathe heavily as you paced along the wall and the lords were handed new shields. You readied and watched the man in gray lift the rag. You began to run before it was even visible to the crowd.

You heard the horses barreling at each other as you did the same. You closed your eyes as you got closer to the lanes and you tossed back your arms as you threw yourself forward. A heavy and hard force hit you and several crushing blows landed across your body as the horse trampled over you and overturned.

You croaked as you were left in the dirt. The eerie silence that followed was void of the bouncing excitement. It was broken only by the screaming of the injured horse and the confused voices of those on the field. You heard that familiar deep groan, of pain, not delight this time.

You rasped and gasped as your chest ached and your bones throbbed. Your limbs were filled with sand and your head pounding. There were shadows all around you as you wheezed and you smiled as you tasted blood on your tongue. You began to laugh as your eyelids drooped and blacked out the arena.

“Don’t move her!” A voice called as someone touched your arm. It was broken, you were sure of it. It didn’t matter, they couldn’t fix you. Not your arm, none of it.

You laughed louder and louder as you heard more footsteps. It was all so funny. You were free! Your eyes rolled back and your mind flickered. Just before the flame gave its last lick, you heard his voice. The gravity of it gave you peace.

“Is she alive? Is she alive!? Help her! Help her!”

Lord Barnes could demand as he did for all he had but in this, he could not be mollified.

[life-rewritten]

The Gifted Graduation Series: An Ode to Pang and Wave’s love

As much as I try hard not to fangirl in this blog, and try to focus on just analysis and theories when it comes to this show. This time  I can't help it, when it comes to this show I always wonder if I should call it a Thai bl? Or if I should just accept that it isn't and move on, but then they give me these two's interaction, and then I'm a mess screaming there's no way Gifted is not a BL series. You don't need kisses or explicit confirmations of love between two men for a show to be a BL for me; I call Great Man Academy a BL and it's a gender bender, but it's still a BL for me. Why can't I do the same with Gifted the series? Because honestly the love of Pang and Wave may not be canon / confirmed as a romance, but for me, there's nothing else to explain it? I've tried using the oh they're best friends who are soulmates line, but like that's even more of a reason why they're in love, it's not like they get mirror images to other BL couple scenes right? (but then we get the earphones sharing thing which was the same as Sarawatine in 2gether the series, PhuKao in oxygen the series), it's not like they're proclaiming out to each other how much they'd die for each other? (but then we have Wave going to sacrifice himself with a virus that could potentially kill him and take away his powers just so Pang stays safe and then Pang doing the same in order to protect him), it's not like they tell each other every day how much the other person means to them (but then you have Wave saying he's so stupid for never giving up on Pang) and it's like wait for what? This has to be love, this has to be romantic love, I can have many best friends, but I don't think I'd lean close to their face inches from kissing and say that I would gladly give everything, my life, my ideals, my hopes and dreams just so they can stay by my side forever maybe its cause I'm a lousy friend who knows? 

But when I see that kind of soulmate, passionate and unconditional love my brain goes into overdrive. These two are made for each other if they were a boy and a girl (in this heterosexual forced society we're in) this would be the ultimate power couple heck we'd have seen them already make out by now multiple times. So let me just have this okay? Let me just write an ode to one of the greatest ships in NON-Thai BL history, and let me explain to you why The gifted series is a BL to me even if Pang and Wave don't end up on the rooftops telling each other how in love they are. I'm fine with that, in my head, they've already passed that stage and are lovers,  on their way to defeating evil and saving the world and staying together for the rest of their lives. Let's begin

Let's look at episode 10-11 in the Gifted Graduation before I keep on writing essays about these two's dynamic—the Virus.

THE VIRUS

You know what Pang and Wave have is special, and obvious when even the villain who is a psychopath can see that Wave is Pang's weak link. Supot threatens the other students, so they don't hide Pang's whereabouts, but he ensures that he gives a long side-eye to Wave, he smirks like he already has a plan for him, like he already knows what's about to happen, like he already understands that Wave is no longer the Wave in season 1 who'd sacrifice everything to ensure he's safe and his powers are still intact, but Wave is now Pang's 'friend', the Wave that will sacrifice everything even if it means he's hurt for Pang. And low and behold Supot confirms this with glee later on. It wasn't even a possibility for Wave to betray Pang. For Supot it was a done deal, that he had found a way to secure Pang under his control. That reason was Wave.

REASONS FOR WHY WAVE TOOK THE VIRUS:

Because he can't betray Pang, that's an apparent reason. But it's more than that; at this moment Pang has shown that his idealism for the better world is a failure, he ended up doing the opposite and actually was the cause of Supot taking over the school system and being the messed up dictator that he is. Pang is the person who set his plans in motion. Wave should be furious, should be doubtful, should be tired, but no, one thing stays the same. He won't give up on Pang no matter what. Don't get him wrong he is furious, doubtful and annoyed, he even shouts to Pang this episode that he's so stupid for never giving up on him, for always wanting to save him, for always wanting him to be right. And if you know Wave who is the very optimum of knowledge and logic, him choosing to go against everything that is presented in front of him just to keep on believing in Pang is insane, his undying love and loyalty for Pang can't be broken. And he knows it, and he laments about it, but you know what he's okay with it as long as Pang is safe.

Because he was guessing how Pang was feeling after everything that happened. He could already see what happens next; Pang would be so exhausted, mentally and physically drained, and probably on the verge of giving up and choosing to end all his hopes and beliefs. He knew precisely how Pang would feel, so he took drastic measures, the only thing that could bring Pang up to his feet was if someone he cared about was hurt or in danger of being hurt by Supot. He took the Virus so Pang will get up and stop moping and hiding and do something. He believed that what they had would cause Pang to switch on and be determined to help again. It was the only way he could do that. And for Wave, Pang's spirit, idealism, and optimism were more needed than his own potential. Pang was his most trusted hope for the future, so he gave everything to ensure he didn't lose that. 

Because he trusts Pang will find a cure. Because it's Pang. No matter what they've been through because Wave believes so much in Pang's potential and power, he knows that they'd be fine. It doesn't matter how many times they've failed before, it doesn't matter if the world is cruel and manipulative, it doesn't matter if people betray others, and change their philosophies, because, for Wave, Pang is his rock, Pang will keep fighting for what's right and one day he'll win because he's right. Wave has watched Pang fail and fail time and time again, but he always believes that as long as they're together, they're still hoping, and they still care, they'll be fine. Because Pang showed him why trust and unity are worth it. That's why in episode 4 he doesn't get shaken by Time betraying them he's just like, but we'll win. Because Pang is to him, his winner, if Pang cares and fights for it, Wave will be okay, and he'll be cured again. Because it's Pang, Pang will end up saving the world, and the gifted and Pang will be proven right. That's why although he feels stupid, Pang is the only thing he can't let go of in his mind otherwise his world would crumble; he'll be broken down, and his hope will be shattered, and he doesn't want to be that way like he was in Season 1. For him, Pang is his strength, so giving up his powers, his life, or his logic doesn't faze him because he'll be okay if Pang is still fighting for him to be. 

THE REASON FOR PANG’S UNWAVERING FAITH

Let's look at what Wave is to Pang because I've already been repeating over and over again what Pang is to Wave (his strength, trust, hope etc.). Before we do that, let's analyse Pang's relationships when it comes to his idealism for a better world. His anchors should I call it, the people who make him still want to fight for a better world etc. 

His friends/colleagues: From season 1, Pang got to be close to everyone, he became a leader for all of the gifted students in his year. He was the one who managed to convince them to fight for what's right. He had them as his team supporting and holding him up, and as we see in season 2, their hopes become frail, they become weak, and they can't keep up with their optimism as the world seems so dim and bleak. His friends trust and hope in him is what makes him determined to be a good leader. It's because of protecting them that he also gives into Supot this episode (after Wave) because he doesn't want them hurt or controlled in that way. They're his bargain chip for Supot. And luckily we see that because Pang is now weaker and controlled by Supot they've taken on the role to ensure that his vision for the world comes through, they've decided to trust no matter what in themselves and him to make sure his hopes comes through. 

The students in danger: For Pang, he's the reason why Supot regained his control, and it kills him inside, so he gives up to protect everyone. Pang cares so much about what's right, and people. Equality for people is why he started his fight for a better system, and in this season seeing students be used as lab rats for a virus was very unsettling for him, it's because of this he trusted Supot because he had a way to cure them. The students are his source of determination. he wants to protect everyone and ensure everyone is safe. But now it looks like he's failed with that. However, I don't think, so he probably is still determined now he has Wave by his side (haha) because they're still being used and that's not okay to him he's just secretly looking for a new way to save them.

Grace, Third and Time:  The next people that make him want to fight and stay true to his vision is the new generation of gifted who he's come to have to protect as well. Grace, Third and Time represent Pang, Wave and the other gifted students, like Pang they're determined to do what's right, they're optimistic. They don't care about the system, they are willing to fight and advocate for justice and equality. And they look up to him so much, he's their idol because he's inspired them to take on the system and fight for their beliefs. That's why we see them continue to keep on finding ways using their potentials to keep this vision alive. Grace doesn't care about adults, she really appreciates and is grateful for Pang for fighting for all the students, she's seen her friends (and thought one was dead) be used as experiments for this messed up system so yes she believes and wants Pang to be right. And Time started of doubting Pang's ideals, but now he also sees that Pang was right Supot is insane and evil, so he's even more determined to protect and help Pang to defeat Supot. Third likes doing what's right so he also believes in Pang because he can see for now that what Supot is doing isn't right. The new generation of gifted students is more determined now to keep Pang's vision, especially when they now know that change is possible. I'm sure Grace has already convinced Pang and Wave of a new secret way to ensure they have their vision come through, we just won't find out until the end when Supot is blindsided. 

WAVE PANG’S FLOAT AND ANCHOR

And then finally there's Wave: See he has his own category for Pang's anchor. Wave is Pang's most needed anchor. He represents Pang's determination, loyalty, and faith in a better world, just like Pang's unwavering loyalty to his idealism for change, Wave returns that back to Pang, he's literally the symbol for Pang's anchor to his idealism. He's his biggest mission accomplice, his anchor when things seem stormy (the person who grounds him and wakes him up from giving up, so he starts finding a new solution, he's the person who reminded Pang of who he was when he lost himself and his memories at the end of season 1, he's the person who's the most loyal to Pang this whole season no matter what happens and he's the person who is determined to believe that they will succeed and fuels Pang with optimism). 

He's his float when Pang is drowning, he's the person who reaches out to Pang as he finally wants to fall and give up, the person who gets Pang back up because of his actions, the person who Pang thinks of first when he's being controlled or tempted by Supot, he's Pang's moral compass, a reminder to stay true to his path, and to keep fighting. 

Wave is everything to Pang and more, he's Pang's truest source of hope and light when everything feels dark and impossible. He's also Pang's strength. And that's why Pang runs to him every single time it's time to do something for the mission (Wave thinks he's just a tool but he doesn't understand how much Pang needs him to just be there). And because of his knowledge as well he's Pang's guide, and logic because sometimes Pang can get too up in the clouds and so he needs someone to bring him back down. Wave does both, he calls out Pang when he's too selfish and dreamy, and he pulls Pang up when he's being too pessimistic and hopeless. He's Pang's steadfast anchor no other person will do. He's his helper, his person, his confidant, his advice and his brains, no one else.

THE FATED PAIR

But there's also a fated/destined vibe with these two. They're fated to be together. Because in Gifted Graduation there's the fated pairs, two people opposite and partners who want to bring a change to the world. We have Supot and Yuth, we have Chanon and Pom, we have Wave and Pang, and we have Time and Third. The similarities between the fated pairs is another post, but its there on purpose, and so is their different paths/changes that occur in their dynamics. Wave and Pang are the most robust destined pair. One of the teams has the brains, information, the logic and the other has the idealism, the idea, the vision, the hope—each pair start of trusting each other, loyal by default and sacrificial as well for the other. 

For Supot/Yuth: Yuth believes wholeheartedly in his friendship with Supot, he stays hurt and abused so that his dreams and his revenge for Supot's death isn't wasted, he refuses to give up on his vision because he believed it was also Supots. So he's delighted, and over the moon when he realises that Supot is alive, and he thinks its a sign that they'll win. So these two represent Wave and Pang's loyalty and belief in each other. The only issue is, Supot is a psychopath, unfeeling when it comes to his goals, so he ends up destroying his friend out of petty jealousy and also greed and ego. 

Chanon/Pom: Chanon had hopes and ambition to push Pom to become a great teacher, to fulfil his biggest dreams, Channon was Poms inspiration and source of hope. Pom was Chanon's confidant and partner in crime. So they represent Wave and Pang's push, and inspiration to each other, except Pom, betrays Chanon when the world seems like its crumbling down. Chanon crosses Pom for revenge because of being traumatised by the world/Supot. Their trust and hope in each other are damaged. But Pang and Wave's is never going to be damaged. 

Third/Time: Our newbies, they also start off being under each other's skin but automatically becoming each other's best friend, once Third gets his hope of becoming in the gifted program (because of Time's fight for it), he's grateful and loyal. Time is also appreciative for Third because he does what's right, but also he provides information (through his potential) to help their group survive. These two are just starting, but they represent the origins of Wave and Pang, that uncontrollable fate pulling them together to be a team no matter what. That destiny that ensures they find each other even if they hate each other to automatically start saving the world together no matter what. 

WAVE AND PANG: PERFECTLY MATCHED

So Episode 10-11 Pang may be shattered right now with hope. Still, all the people he's inspired, all his anchors and reason for fighting are about to help and bring his vision back, and they'll finally show him how right he was to fight for them. How helpful he was to them and how he really did save all of them despite failing time and time again. But the funny thing is, it's Wave who's right there by his side as he's broken down. They're both right now sacrificing everything for each other. 

Wave is holding Pang up as he is being under the director's control; he's the reason why Pang hasn't yet given in to evil because he's his moral compass in his head whenever he is being forced to do so. Pang and Wave stop each other from evil by just being there, they just need to show up by each other's side for them to want to trust and hope again that things will be okay. They save each other time and time again. 

They're each other's opposite; teaching what they need to know, perfectly matched to help them improve from their flaws, Pang teaches Wave to trust and be more open to caring about others than himself, he pushes his walls down to believe again in feelings. Wave helps Pang be grounded and come back to reality, to look after others properly and to be selfless and be a good leader. They're logic and emotions a perfect match.  

See why this is a BL? Why I'm shipping these two so hard. It's enviable to see what these two have formed. It makes me so jealous but also so giddy and just grateful that we have a couple like them despite not being stated as one. For me, these two are in love, these two have a bond that is unbreakable, and these two are soulmates destined for each other. They're the power couple who will save the world time and time again as long as they have each other, as long as they save each to other and as long as they keep on loving each other. As much as I couldn't analyse anything else this episode but these two, I will say that I don't believe these two have given up on their vision, they're probably secretly up to something, or they'll be pushed back to their hopes and idealisms next episode when they see all their peers fighting for them to trust again. As long as these two are together, they'll be fine. And so will the ending of the show, Supot will be defeated, he just doesn't know it yet. 

[musicallisto]

Hello love,

Congratulations for the 800 followers! You absolutely deserve this and so much more! I'm happy to see how your blog grows and that you're still providing all of us with wonderful content. You're one of the first blogs that I've started to follow here on Tumblr and I'm so lucky to have found your blog ♡

As for your celebration event, could I please request a 🍨 vanilla milkshake with a male Peaky Blinders Character?

I'm more on the curvy side (and insecure about it) and I'm ALWAYS wearing black (which I love, no matter what others say or even more if they object). As for my personality, I'm a highly complex, paradox and complicated individium. I'm unbelievable patient, timid, awkward, kind, forgiving, open-minded, compassionate, thruthful, gentle and calm and I've been told that I have a calming effect on others, that I can easily ground anyone and anything, no matter how troubled their mind is. I prefer vintage over modern things. I think rather deep which often leads me to overthinking everything, which in turn leads me to doubting (very much) myself. You would be surprised how timid and reserved I am, I'm sure you wouln't notice me in a room full of people if it wouldn't be for my different appearance (but I like it this way). I'm always well-meaning, yet often misunderstood (maybe because it's hard for me to articulate myself). I can be incredible lazy, clumsy and forgetful. I've always felt like I don't really belong anywhere, so I've started to distance myself from others a while ago. I'm a outsider, weird, a dork, not normal, a loner and I fucking love it, because I like to be different, I would hate to fit into just one box and to be like everyone else. And I like people who are not ashamed to be their 100% true self, no matter how different that is from the mainstream. I'm the most loyal person you'll ever find, once you earn my trust, I'll always be on/by your side, no matter what. That says a lot, because I'm hard to scare away. Sometimes I feel alienated from the people and things surrounding me and I'm sure that I annoy and bore them. I'm very nervous and insecure around others, which is why I try to avoid people and why I'm not talking all that much around them (though, I'm a really good listener). I'm easily overwhelmed by large crowds and much light/noise, that's why I don't like to go outside, I prefer to cozy up at home. I would never intentionally hurt a animal and I'm not eating any meat, which is very important to me. I believe that there isn't a ounce of cruelty inside me. I'm unassuming and understanding, I only believe what I've witnessed on my own and I have endless acceptance for almost everything. Due to my Insomnia, I'm a night owl. I have strong personal values, am very opinionated and I'm really in-touch with myself and even though I'm extremly insecure, I would never reduce or change myself and views/opinions for someone and I neither have a problem to challenge authority and advocating for my beliefs. I'm a perfectionist and sometimes I really hate it. And, as you can see, I'm unable to be brief. My favourite colours are dark green, black, gold and dark purple. My greatest passion is music, even if I can't sing or play an instrument.(I prefer rock/punk/pop/80s/90s) It's the most calming and therapeutic thing when it comes to my anxiety and depression and I could never live a day without it. You will never see me in the street without headphones in my ears and even when I'm at home there's music playing almost all the time. I could talk for hours about music and what it means to me. And otherwise I love to watch films and series (I like fantasy, horror, psychological thriller, science fiction and psychological drama and almost anything from the 70s, 80s and 90s). I love rainy days and to go outside while it's pouring big, fat drops. What I love the most is to drive around without a destination, while talking and listening to music. And I love to spend time with my cat, if I could, I would have endless animals who live peacefully and loved with me. I enjoy to have deep talks and to be challenged to think. I love to take late-night-strolls, while gazing into the sky and watching the stars/moon. I have a fascination for dark and macabre things.

I really hope that's not too much? But thank you anyway ♡

Have a good day!

thank you so much for your kind words, you have no idea how much it means to me to know that I was one of the first blogs you followed ;; here’s your vanilla milkshake - and it’s also my first time writing for peaky blinders, but I hope it’s alright; and I hope finn shelby will find the portrait I paint of him accurate enough...

Birmingham was a drab and disheartening place enough without the war adding to its joylessness; but somehow the streets are even worse to bear deserted than when they’re bustling and fetid. Especially for a ten year old boy who wants nothing but to play with someone, to talk to someone, to see someone.

With his brothers off fighting somewhere in France and his aunt too busy with her businesses (adult stuff that Finn has absolutey no interest in attempting to understand), the youngest Shelby has been fighting off an affliction worse than consumption and measles, because much more insidious for a boy his age; boredom

and he’s so sad, so irrevocably sad, with no one to bruise his knees with and throw mud at, that he just aimlessly wanders the empty streets whenever aunt Polly isn’t looking, to find a semblance of stimulation

(he used to enjoy the solitude, it gave him time to imagine delirious stories in fantastical worlds and read the most enthralling of novels, but not anymore. four years of reclusion is an awfully long time for a little boy.)

and it’s during one of his escapades that he first meets you

you’re a little girl his age, dressed in a pretty dress, wearing pretty booties and holding a pretty little woven basket, but your face is stuck on the most grouchy frown he’s ever seen on a little girl, and you don’t walk, you stomp down the wet pavement like a wrathful titan

And it’s probably the first time in four years that he’s been this close to making a new friend, so he walks up to you, despite how rusty his communication skills have become

“Girls don’t frown. It’s unbecoming.”

(Yes, pretty rusty indeed; but in his defense, he’s ten, he’s bored, he’s lonely, and he’s only ever heard Ada say it, and Ada is the most level-headed of his siblings, so anything she says must be true, right?)

“Shut up.”

(Well, if it was unbecoming of you to frown, it’s even more to rebuff someone so rudely. You don’t even spare a glance and continue walking; he has to hurry to catch up to you.)

“You can’t say that. It’s a bad word.”

“How do you know that?”

“My family says it all the time, but they told me I can’t say it.”

“Well, my family is not your family. And I hate my family!”

You’ve yelled the last words at the sky, so loud that the crows on the neighboring roofs have taken off in a startled flight.

“They want to wear this stupid dress to go to the stupid market to buy stupid meat. I don’t even want to eat meat, that’s cruel! And I don’t even want to wear a frilly dress! I want to wear black!”

And in saying so you tugged at the pink and white ribbons that encircled your waist.

And Finn couldn’t help being extremely intrigued at this little girl who said bad words and refused to eat meet and wanted to wear black. It was the most exciting thing to ever happen in all the duration of the war.

“You want to wear a black dress?”

“Yes, but my mama won’t let me. She says it’s too sad because of the war. But black isn’t sad! Black is beautiful!”

“Maybe I could find you a black dress. I’m sure my sister must have one. Where do you live?”

And, loyal to his promise, the following morning he had run to your doorstep and snuck into your house - a proper Shelby talent, to be able to go unnoticed or make a ruckus depending on the occasion - with an old, crinkled mourning dress of Ada’s, that had probably belonged to his mother and had been mended several times

And it was obviously five sizes too big for you and you looked more like a ghost from one of Finn’s horror novels, your arms floating in the sleeves and the hem of the skirt pooling at your feet, but your smile was the brightest light he’d ever seen in this whole damn town.

“Do you like it?”

(He didn’t really know why he sounds so nervous. Maybe it was having a friend, a real friend, and doing something personal for them... or maybe it had to do with how fast his heart beat, watching you in that gigantic, shapeless dress)

“I love it! Thank you so much, Finn!”

From then on started one of the most wonderful friendships Finn would ever have, and what would bring a ray of light to the grim existence of a little boy in the midst of a global war

Despite the ration cards, despite the loneliness, despite the worry that tugged at his stoic aunt’s eyes for her son and nephews across the Channel... he found an unspeakable solace in your friendship

And one day, without a trace, you were gone

He knocked on your door; gone. He asked all the neighbors what had happened to the family that lived there; gone. He wrote you letters and sent them to the confines of England; gone. He got scolded by Polly for marking numbers at random on Tommy’s state-of-the-art telephone; gone.

Suddenly he was back to the bleak existence he had battled with before meeting you, and the hollow inside his chest only grew wider as the days went on, because he had no explanation as to what had happened to you, and worried every single day

Thankfully, the war ended not long after, and his brothers came back home, all alive and unscathed - well, for the most part

Fast forward more or less ten years, and much has changed in Finn Shelby’s life and in old Birmingham, but the memory of you still stugs at his heartstrings

One evening, he’s tasked by Arthur to run some errands, send a few messages, scout a few places; the most dangerous thing his older brothers will ever let him do

His task leads him to a bar in the center of town, one that pours its joyous light and music into the street outside; he’s there to meet with a client, arrange a meeting; nothing he’s hasn’t done already

But the evening takes a turn for the unexpected when he recognizes the girl sat alone at a table, enjoying the musicians’ jazz with an air of pure bliss on her face

It’s been ten years, of course, but... it’s unmistakable. That face, that silhouette, and the black ensemble from head to toe... and he’s always had a knack for remembering faces, especially those that mark him deeply

Suddenly he’s frozen on the spot, and he has forgotten why he came to the bar in the first place, what his target looks like - all he knows is you, and how beautiful you look in the dim light of the bar, and the undisclosed and unknown feelings he had for you at the time come flooding back.

Except this time, he understands, and he fears them, because he doesn’t have time for any of this, and it’s way too dangerous for you and him

But he can’t just pass you by and not say a word?

He swallows, hard.

And walks up to you.

“Y/N?”

You open your eyes, and your face flashes with recognition, and a little bit of pain as well. Even if you fled without a word, and left him hanging all these years, he’s incapable of rancor

“Finn... wow, you’ve changed so much.”

“You haven’t.”

He gestures at your face, your clothes, how you savor the music like the finest drink in the world, and you laugh and blush, sending his heart into overdrive

“Where were you all this time?”

“I’m so sorry, Finn... my brother died in the war, and... my mom sent me to live with my grandparents in Scotland. We were all destroyed by grief... I needed to get away.”

“Without explanation? Not even a word?”

“I wanted to write to you, so bad, but... I couldn’t remember your address. I couldn’t remember anything about Birmingham at all...”

He nods, slowly, in understanding.

The war opens wounds that never heal, even after all the most beautiful friendships and love stories in the world.

“But I’m really glad I found you.”

His heart is pounding in his throat. Maybe it’s a sign of destiny that he found you here, tonight, alone, and ready to welcome him back. Maybe it’s a word from fate, that you can never truly be apart.

So he takes the seat in front of you, and you smile, that shy but bright smile of yours, and he forgets all about his mission, his client, and his brothers.

They’ll have to understand.

800 follower sleepover

[imaginedxlan]

Already Gone (Ron Weasley)

a/n: i know this isn’t a one direction account but jesus christ if any of yall read duplicity, the double update has me FUCKED UP. everyone keeps playing already gone and connecting it to harry and aven and all i can say is ouch. i’ve loved this song for so long and i wanted to write with it. for some reason all of my ron imagines are just pain, sorry about it i promise i really love him !!

the ultimate sacrifice in love is letting go. forced in a situation that you never wanted to be in, you have to make the decision of what’s more important: your happiness or his.

Hardly anything in your life has ever come easy to you. Growing up with the knowledge that you’re the daughter of two death eaters. being forced into a life you didn’t want. attempting to concentrate on classes you knew wouldn’t matter once the dark lord blew this castle to smithereens.

the only thing that did come easy to you was loving ronald weasley. the spontaneous, optimistic red haired boy who stole your heart only three years ago. the night of the yule ball, he finally worked up the nerve to tell you how pretty you look in your dress and your heart skipped a beat. you two did not act on your feelings after that for a whole year, finally confessing your feelings to the gryffindor during your fifth year. your love came with rules, however. it had to be in secret. you kept no secrets from him, not now anyway. he knew of your parents loyalty to the dark lord, you knew of his involvement with dumbledore’s army, but you’d never tell anyone.

when you we’re together, you weren’t a slytherin and a gryffindor fighting for different sides of a bloody feud, you were y/n y/l/n and ron weasley, two seventeen year olds who were madly in love with each other. your parents could never know, his friends could never know, so you only existed together behind closed doors.

“do you think there will be a day when i don’t have to keep you—us—a secret anymore?” ron asks as his hands run lighting through your hair. you lay together in the room of requirement as you do every night after sneaking away from your roommates.

you want to tell him yes, that one day this war will blow over, that the two of you will be able to parade around your love for the world. but you can’t lie to him. the more you learn about voldemort’s plans, his mission to kill your boyfriend’s best friend, the more bleak the future becomes.

“i hope so,” is the only reply you can fathom. you know deep down that there is little hope for the two of you. that ron will always be loyal to his best friends and you to your family. there’s no sense in dreaming of a happily ever after that will never come.

so you don’t think of the future. you think of now. you think of the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, one that you’ll cherish until your last breath. you wish you could plan for what could have lied ahead for the two of you, if the world wasn’t what it is. meeting his family, falling into rhythm with the loud and energetic aura of the burrow that ron has told you so much about. moving in with him, marrying him, having a hundred ginger children running around your backyard. how your heart aches for the dream of a life with him.

“i think there will be,” he muses, only making the pain in your chest grow. “i think by some twist of fate we’ll be together forever.”

you wished it was true.

the small glimmer of hope you held in your heart to one day be with ron faded more with every second you spent at malfoy manor. you and draco weren’t so different after all. you only wanted to make your parents proud, you didn’t necessarily want this life. you were also close with the blond boy, even more so the deeper you became embedded in the dark lord’s plans. surrounded by death eaters at the large table in malfoy manor, your heart was in your throat. your parents to your left and draco to your right, you found comfort knowing that draco was probably feeling the same way you were, scared.

the conversation droned out around you, all of them discussing potter, but your mind continued pulling to the boy who was sat back in a safe house somewhere, you never knew where. you sent letters to each other in secret but you begged him not to disclose his location, fearing the knowledge would be torn from you by the dark lord. it had only been a few days, but you miss his letters

“one of our youngest may prove to be more helpful than we initially thought,” the dark lord calls, pulling you from your daydream. your mothers hand fell into your lap and squeezed your hand. “y/n, it seems like you have formed quite the bond with one of potter’s closest confidants, a weasley, no?”

draco snaps his head to look at you, disbelief painting his features. you kept your eyes ahead of you, staring at the details of his crisp table in front of you to distract yourself from the hammering in yours chest.

“well?” the dark lord speaks up again, making you turn your eyes to face him. “don’t leave us waiting for your answer.”

“my lord,” you squeak out, barely audible. draco takes the hand your mother is not holding it to remind you you’re not alone in this. “i will do anything, anything for you. please do not bring him into this.”

he only laughs at you. making your heart twist in fear. you can’t betray ron, you can’t put him in harms way.

“look at how she begs,” he continues to laugh, other adults at the table catching on and joining in on his tease. you’ve never felt more belittled in your life. “you must know something of their whereabouts.”

“i do not, my lord.” you reply in earnest, you had no idea where they were hiding. you’re grateful for your blissful ignorance in this moment. “i swear it.”

the dark lord narrows his eyes toward you. draco squeezes your hand causing your to look at him. ‘tell him’ he mouths, fearing that you’ll be on the other end of an avada kedavra if you don’t. ‘i don’t know’ you mouth back.

the silence is deafening.

“my lord, please. i told you i’ll do anything, anything you wish,” you plead, hoping to come off the topic of ron. “you can search my brain for their whereabouts but i promise i don’t know.”

it’s quiet again. you begin to wonder what ron is doing right now. what he would think if he could see where you are.

“you’ll receive the mark,” the dark lord finally speaks up. “both of you, draco as well.”

you shut your eyes tight at his demand, squeezing draco’s hand tighter. you don’t want the dark mark, neither does draco, but you’ll die if you don’t get it.

“either this or you find that little boyfriend of yours and bring him and his dear potter to me,” he give the ultimatum, worse than your own death, you’d be the facilitator of his. you open your eyes and wordlessly nod. “good.”

you would do anything to protect him, you love him more than you thought you could ever love a person. if you were to get the dark mark, become a death eater, you couldn’t be with him. you would become everything he was fighting against, you couldn’t ignore that anymore.

so standing next to draco in borgin and burkes, the dark mark finally plagued your forearm. you can’t help but let a single tear shed at the thought of ron ever seeing this mark on you, hating you for it. you love him so much, you went through this to protect him from the dark lord, so you have to let him go.

dear ron,

i know i haven’t written in a while, the world is upside down, and all i can ever think about is you and your safety, so i couldn’t write to you. remember all the things we wanted? that night you asked if we could ever truly be together? i wanted all of that with you, i wanted to grow old with you. meet your family, move in together, live outside of this secret. i wanted to have a normal love with you. i think i knew it the back of my mind that we wouldn’t get our happy ending. we were born into different sides of this bloody battle. we were always meant to say goodbye. star-crossed lovers, that’s what you always said right?

i’ve had to make some decisions, ron, ones i’m not proud of. i need you to know i did it all for you, i’ve wanted to protect you since i knew i loved you. you have been the most important person to me, i couldn’t live with myself if i put you in danger. i know what you’re thinking, that we could have done this together. we could have fought for us, for this, but we were never meant for do or die. i think you know that.

don’t let this change who you are, i love who you are, please stay that way. stay optimistic, believe in love and happiness. i know you won’t want to, you’re stubborn just like me, but I know that you'll find another. another love that won’t hurt, another love that’s easy. don’t be afraid to love her with everything you have. that’s all i could ever want for you. i wish i could tell you this in person, hug you—kiss you—one last time, but looking at you makes it harder. i know i would chicken out. our time together, those moments we had alone, just the two of us without a thought of what was happening in this cruel world, they were perfect. know that i’ll never regret one second i spent with you. you made my heart feel like it was on fire, you let me know what true love is like and i am so grateful for that. but no matter how perfect we were, perfect couldn't keep this love alive.

so i have to go away for a while. i don’t know if i’ll ever be back, i don’t know if i’ll survive this so i need you to know this isn’t me leaving without any sort of love for you. i have to leave because i love you. you know that i love you so, i love you enough to let you go. it may seem selfish but i can’t keep dragging you into harms way, i’m sorry. there was no road we couldn’t have taken where we both make it out of this, where our love conquers all. i wish that was the case but it isn’t. someone’s gotta go. i can’t hurt you anymore than i already have, so it has to be me. i have to go so you can live.

so i guess this is goodbye. trust me when i say my heart breaks a little more with every word i write on this page. i know it’s cliche to say, but this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and the choices i made. the choices that ultimately placed the last nail in the coffin of the hope that we could be together forever. i want you to know you couldn’t have loved me better. not a day will go by where i don’t think of your heart, your smile, the things that made me fall in love with you in the first place. you knew about my flaws, about my family and you still loved me. i cannot thank you enough for showing me what real love looks like.

i know you don’t agree, that i’m stupid for giving up my greatest love story, for letting you slip through my fingers but this is how it has to be. i want you to be happy, and that can only be if i’m gone. i could never ask you to choose between me and your best friends, your family, so i made the choice. you can be angry with me, hate me if it helps, whatever makes it easier to erase me from your mind, from your heart. a piece of me will always belong to you ronald weasley, but i want you to move on, so i’m already gone.

i love you, forever and always,

y/n

[dr-imagines-modfuyuhiko]

hello again, mod fuyu !! and a nice to meet you to mod peko, sorry to be so late with my welcome !! could i rq a oneshot where the (GN!)reader breaks up with rantaro because they're afraid that he will leave them first and they don't want to get hurt again ? preferably ending with taro comforting them ? (loosely based off 31 - "You haven't lost me.", 34 - "Please don't do this.", and 40 - "I wasn't lying when I said that I loved you." from the fluff/angst prompt list) tysm in advance !! <3

Rantaro x GN!reader

who breaks up with him so he doesn’t leave them first

Hi!!! It’s so nice to meet you and thank you for the warm welcome!

I’m more than happy to fill out this request, enjoy!! There’s two endings because I didn’t really know whether to go for angsty or fluff, so have both!!

Category: Fluff/Angst imagine

Specifics: GN!reader, reader has no Ultimate but is called the Ultimate Heartbreaker • Prompt 31 - “You haven’t lost me.” • Prompt 34 - “Please don’t do this.” • Prompt 40 - “I wasn’t lying when you said I loved you.”

Warnings: Just..... sad :(

The Ultimate Heartbreaker.

Despite having no real talent to call your own, that’s what you had been jokingly referred to as by friends, family, even strangers you had never met in person.

Not always in a friendly way.

They said you left scores of broken hearts in your wake, that you toyed with innocent people and simply dumped them when you got bored with your playthings.

It seemed the whole world saw you as nothing more than a stone cold heartless sadist.

Any person who fell for you was destined to also fall into despair.

But that was fine.

It was fine, ideal for you. Let everyone think that way about you.

You were fine with putting up walls, fine with sealing your heart away deep inside your chest for no one to ever touch it again. Fine with entering superficial relationships to fulfill the basic human need for companionship.

Not after them.

Love made you weak. Love left you vulnerable. Love broke you.

They broke you.

You gave them your heart. They threw it to the ground and shattered it into millions of pieces, then disappeared without a trace.

It felt like the end of everything.

But you slowly picked up the shards and put your heart back together, swearing you’d never let yourself be hurt like that ever again.

And then you had been caught up in a killing game of all things.

The universe really had it out for you, huh?

But in a way, the killing game was one of the best things that could have happened to you, as unbelievable as that sounded.

Because you met him.

Rantaro Amami, one of the Ultimates trapped in the game just like you. He couldn’t remember his Ultimate talent, but didn’t let that damper his spirits. An enigma, the only person who had an inkling of what was really going on behind the scenes.

He wasn’t a bad guy, he promised everyone. Rantaro was one of the only ones to not show much worry or shock about the situation. He supported Kaede’s beliefs and believed cooperation was key, yet claimed that he would end this Killing Game himself.

Was that what made you develop feelings for the green haired man?

Or was it his gentle manners, his good looks, or how sweetly he painted your nails along with Kaede? Could it be all that and more?

You weren’t sure anymore. Even in your bleak imprisonment, Rantaro was your light, your saving grace. He promised you that once he ended the killing game, you and him would be able to go back into the world and you wouldn’t be confined in the academy walls. You believed him. It was a casual relationship between the two of you, acknowledging the schoolgirl crush you had on him and Rantaro brushing off your “Ultimate title”.

Your relationship with Rantaro motivated you to have faith that you’d make it out of this nightmare. No one would have to die and you’d all escape together. You were happy with him.

But then in the greenhouse, he pulled you close with a blush coating his cheeks.

Then he told you he was head over heels in love with you.

And in that moment...you told him you loved him too.

He beamed, his smile nearly blinding you as he hugged you tight, whispering in your ear how he was so happy, that no matter what happened he’d keep you safe.

You listened but his words didn’t fully reach your ear. Fear creeped in. You tried to ignore it, to soak in this precious moment, but you couldn’t.

Just when you thought you had your feelings under control, they had burst forward, so fast they had slipped from your iron hold and rushed towards the man who had set them free.

It was gratifying. It was dangerous.

—————

“I think we should break up.”

You had called Rantaro to the greenhouse after everyone separated from the dining room. You told him that you two needed to talk. Ironic that this was the very spot you two had professed your love and would now be the place you dashed that love.

“Is everything ok? Did something happen?” he had asked, a concerned frown on his face as he gently took your hand in his.

Always so considerate. Always so caring. That’s what made it so hard seeing the crestfallen expression on his face.

“Wh...what? Break up? Is...is this a joke, Y/N?”

You didn’t answer, you retracted your hand from his and looked to the ground.

“It’s not… I think we should break up, Rantaro.”

“Can I at least know why you think that?”

You could feel the tears rushing to your eyes. Don’t cry. For fuck’s sake, don’t cry-

“...Why do you think? It was fun while it lasted, but I'm bored now. Besides, I might not even last that long before someone decides they have it out for me. It’s a killing game, remember? Why would I want to be tied down to someone who doesn’t even remember their own talent? You’re useless in the long run.”

The bile rose in your throat. These words felt so wrong coming from your mouth, but they wouldn’t stop. You had to stay strong, had to lie to not break down in front of him. You kept up the cruel smirk on your lips and tried your best to

“What more do you expect from someone like me-”

“Stop. This isn’t you. Stop lying to me, Y/N. You’re not that kind of person.”

“...” You gave a breathy chuckle, “You always could see right through me, huh?”

“Why are you really doing this? I need you to be honest with me.”

“Because...because this has all happened to me before. I told someone I loved them, gave them my heart and you know what they did? Threw it into the fucking trash. They left and you will too. Or worse, you’ll stab me in the back and leave me out to bleed. Literally.”

“Y/N, I would never do that to-”

“And how do I know that?! It’s a killing game for fuck’s sake, Rantaro. No one should be trusted, not even you or me.”

“That isn’t true,” A dead serious look on his face as he stepped closer to you. “You’re just saying that because you’re trying to find a reason to make this easier.”

“Of course I am!! I don’t want to love you, but I do!! I love you so fucking much, that I can’t stand the thought of you leaving!!”

“Then why-”

“Because I can’t go through that pain again. I won’t be able to handle it...it’ll kill me Rantaro, please. I can’t lose someone again-”

“You haven’t lost me,” He tried to embrace you but you stepped back, your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling form. He got the message and continued to try and reassure you, “I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you, Y/N.”

“...I wasn’t either.”

“Then, please...don't do this.” Looking into his eyes, you saw a glimmer of hope in them. “I’ll protect you. I won’t leave. We’ll escape together, I promise you. I love you so much. So please…”

G•d, you wanted to run into his arms. To hold him close and never let him go. He wouldn’t let you go, would he? He wouldn’t leave you, would he? He’d keep his promises.

Didn’t you deserve to be happy?

Ending 1

But then their face flashed before your eyes. The same honey coated words they gave you. The same empty promises.

And in that moment...

“I’m sorry...but I just can’t.”

“Y/N-”

You ran, tears rushing down your face, Rantaro’s desperate cries as he shouted your name over and over until it had faded away in the distance.

They were right about you after all. You really were the Ultimate Heartbreaker. And you had never hated that name more than now.

Ending 2

“Ok… I believe you.”

You practically tackled him in a bone crushing hug. Yet he reciprocated the same amount of force. Rantaro pressed his lips to the crown of your head, quietly cooing as the tears flowed.

“Thank you. I mean every word. I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

[jungcity]

bane of the devil. | i

genre: vampire!jaehyun [ mature | angst | smut ]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

note: bane of the devil deals with themes of physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

“father, i dreamt about a boy

his hands, bloodied

eyes like the shot of dawn

with the rebellion in his mouth

he tried to conquer

the moon

with the venom of his prayers

he tried to

search for a god

pray tell me father,

how do i love him

with no flesh, all blood

heaven help us,

how could he love me

if i am the sun?”

— jungcity, bane of the devil // i

Raindrops danced in the air as they fall from the clouds with the squalling winds intensifying the impact of it against the glass window panes. The murmurs and complaints filled the whole room, your classmates begging your professor to turn off the air conditioner. Your mechanical pencil lay forgotten above your table as you stare at the horizon from your seat beside the window. Oh, how you longed for your bed in this cozy weather.

Seven a.m. to seven p.m. class should be classified as a mortal sin— you could not, in the life of you, understand that type of abomination. It is cruel beyond reckoning. Especially when you sit on a room of thirty people, doing nothing as the heavy drops of rain and the cool atmosphere it provides slowly lulls you to slumber.

The only thing that prevented you from doing so was the loud slap of your professor’s hands on table, his voice echoing off the walls of the room. “Alright! Stop chattering!” He yelled as he raised a piece of paper in the air.

You slumped back in your seat. Here we go again. Every time your professors raise their hands while holding papers, you could not help but release a groan.

“Here is the plan for your next plate,” he started. “Photocopy it, take a picture of it, it’s up to you.” He then handed the papers to the student in front. You stared as your classmate’s face crumpled into a grimace while he skimmed the document. That— without a doubt— would also be your face once you get a hold of the plan.

“Just like the last time, bind your A3 papers with two fasteners. There must be a separate sheet for the front page. And please,” the professor exhaled, “Please don’t forget your names! How would I give you a failing grade if I don’t know who you are.” The groans rose up again from the students, your own commixing with the chaos of curses and prayers and the laugh of your professor.

“Hey, hey! Haechan!” You grabbed your friend’s shirt as he scurried off to your classmate in the front row. “Take a picture and send it to the group chat.”

He snatched his shirt away from your grasp while glaring at you, “I know! I know! Wait here.” Then he pulled out his phone, waving it onto your face before dashing to your classmate who has the plan.

You fished for your own phone inside your bag when a boy sat in front of you. He rested his arm on your table and propped his chin on his palm. “Damn, I’m surely gonna die before this semester ends.” Mark groaned, his eyes looking at your table.

You chuckled from your seat, “Three major plates to go, buddy.”

“I’m gonna sell my soul to Satan so I don’t have to do any of this bullcrap.” Haechan threw his phone on to the table. Luckily, you caught it before it slid down and shattered on the hard floors. He let out an infuriated sigh before grabbing one of the chairs and sitting on it beside your table.

“It’s that bad?” Mark grimaced as he pressed the power button of Haechan’s phone. The light of the screen illuminated his soft features in an instant, “Wow. Your phone’s brightness could blind a person,” Mark stated while blinking rapidly.

Haechan said nothing as he leaned his head on your table. You peek at the phone yourself, Mark slowing down his scrolling as you leaned closer.

“Five-storey residential? What?!” You exclaimed. Tons of plates are slowly piling up to you bedroom. Your drafting table could not even hold them anymore, they are littered all over the mattress and the whole place. As your eyes scrutinized the image of the plan, Mark let out a curse as he read the requirements of the residential building.

“Oh, no. The measurements are given,” Mark exchanged glances with you. “I won’t do this shit.” Then the phone toppled over the table again after Mark threw it. Haechan snatched his phone back with a special glare meant only for Mark before laying his head back on the table.

The rain continued to ravage the roof and the ground as the three of you rested your heads on your desk. Chatters and the shuffling of drafting materials once again dominated the whole room, with a few of your classmates cursing at the back as they play their online games.

“I had at least thirty-minutes of sleep today,” you declared. Your eyes feels heavy and your body seemed to be softening and turning into jelly by the sleep deprivation.

“Wow. I didn’t even have a blink of sleep myself.” Haechan mumbled, face still covered by his arms.

After your heavy nap, the three of you woke up with red-rimmed eyes. If you could continue sleeping in your room until tomorrow, you would. But of course, that is not possible.

Your classmates started to pack their things as the professor came back and dismissed the whole class. It has always been like that; your prof giving yet another plan and then dismissing the whole class two or three hours earlier than the scheduled time. You would have not attended today’s class if not for the other plates that needed to be submitted.

Despite the sullenness of your house because of your brother’s absence, you still wanted to go home and nap. It does not matter if you have mountains of plates to do, what truly matters is you, going home to the tranquility and safety of your house before midnight. It was a habit you’ve grown accustomed to since the untimely death of your parents.

Your path goes different ways from Mark and Haechan. That’s why you sat alone in the bus as they stand in the waiting shed while waiting for theirs. Both of them waved at you, mouthing the words ‘take care’. You answered them with a slight wave of your hand before putting on your earbuds.

The rain has calmed down already, leaving the stores drenched, the highway splotched with circles of rainwater. Yet the lightning still dominated the skies, white lights flashing like roots reflected in your irises as you stare at the bleakness of the heavens through the bus’ windows. The speed of the vehicle made everything blurry; from the blustery wind slapping against the trees to the lights from different stores. They filled your sight as the music continued to blast in your ear.

Your phone vibrated against your hand, stopping the music. You glanced at the screen and saw your brother’s caller ID. Johnny. Automatically, your brow shot up to your forehead. He has been away for two weeks now, doing God only knows what on the other side of the ocean. Of course, your big brother calls every night to check up on you. But tonight, he called earlier than usual.

You attempted to slide the green button when your cell phone flew away from your grasp, your head hitting the seat in front of you, eliciting a loud groan to escape from your lips. Loud protestations echoed from the students and elders alike, their own faces bedraggled as they recover themselves from the impact of the bus drawing to a halt.

“What happened?” An elderly woman asked, her hand on the middle of her chest while breathing heavily.

“There’s a person who crossed the road.” The conductor explained, but his words sounded unsure.

The woman’s eyes widened, “Is the person alright?” She stood up from her seat, one hand grabbing the railings in front of her.

“That’s what we’re confused about, Ma’am. The person is nowhere on the asphalt. He ran with a dashing speed… it’s impossible.” You didn’t know if it was amazement or fear that was laced with the conductor’s voice, but his statement caught your attention nonetheless.

The nagging curiosity inside your chest spreads like wild fire. If ever your intuition is right, you have to find that person or whatever that is. A speed like that could only be achieved by one creature. Your brother might call you a freak or a delusional little girl again, but it might be the only way to get answers. Answers that he did not bother to find when your parents died.

The truth is, years ago, your parents had their inopportune death. But the authorities has not yet to find the murderer. How could they? When there was no DNA in the crime scene but your parents’. How could they? If the murderer was not even a person to begin with.

Deep in your heart, you know. You know the world is enfolded with mysteries that a human mind would not be able to perceive. Cloak-and-dagger as it is, you understood that reality the moment you saw the two dots that were obviously from a penetration of fangs embedded in your parents’ necks.

‘Vampire! Vampire!’ was your unending scream at the morgue. Since you were only a little girl back then, no one paid attention to you. Not the policemen, not even your brother.

It did not surprise you when everyone called it a hopeless case. In their eyes, it was. But in yours, it’s not. Ever since your parents were murdered, you have been drinking the myths and lore of vampires. Day and night you devoured books, watched vampire sightings, studied their strengths as well as their weaknesses. It simply was a thirst you could not quench.

It was like that until you started college. You could not simply search for a free time to indulge yourself about those undead, blood-sucking creatures any longer. But every articles, every information, were still plastered to a blackboard inside your bedroom. A reminder of what you have been sleuthing for all your life.

Yellow lights illuminated the pool of waters on the asphalt road. You tiptoed as to prevent your shoes from getting soaked. Plastics, styrofoams, as well as vegetables skins from the uncollected drenched trash bins littered all over the street.

At long last, the shadow of your apartment appeared. Darkness invaded the vicinity, a quiet reminder that there isn’t any person present inside. You pulled out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, ten missed calls from Johnny were displayed in the notifications. Frustrated from what happened inside the bus, you continued to ignore his calls earlier, despite your phone vibrating continuously.

Your phone’s flashlight casted a white light upon the dimness. Keys in your left hand, and your phone in your right, you struggled to jam the keys into the hole. When the gates finally opened, you sent Johnny a text that says you’re already home.

“At long fucking last.”

Your phone went flying to the grass yet again as you saw a figure looming in the shadows. A silent curse slid past your lips as you hurriedly picked it up, dead and wet grass sticking onto the screen. Once again, you pressed the flashlight button to see through the darkness.

And there, in the corner near the door, a man with a bloodied face stares at you with a cigar in between his lips. Spontaneously, your heart thudded frantically in your chest. You wanted to shout, but the scream bubbled out in your mouth and then nothing came out.

“Who are you?” You managed to ask.

The man didn’t answer. He pulled something out of his pockets. You took a step back. Only when he struggled to light his cigarette you realized it was only a lighter. His hands continued to shake, and you have no idea why haven’t you screamed for help yet. They say curiosity killed the cat. Right now, you do not doubt the saying as your curiosity ascended your fear.

“Care to light this for me, kitten?” He stretched out his hand to offer you the lighter. His endearment catching you like a deer in the headlights.

“Who are you and what are you doing here? All bloodied?”

The man sighed and started to light his cigar again. “The name’s Jaehyun. I’m friends with your brother, Johnny.” He offered you the lighter once more, “Now, will you light this up for me? As you can see, I’m shaking and bleeding.”

After his last word, you glanced up and down his body, the light of your phone following your action. And then you saw as blood poured out from a wound on his side. You hadn’t noticed it earlier because of his black shirt.

“What— I don’t— are you alright?” What stupid, stupid question. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. Is this why your brother were so eager to call you? Because apparently, his friend stands bloodied in front of your doorstep.

“I feel like shit but I’m alright.” Smoke puffed out of his lips as he succeeded in lighting his cigarette after numerous attempts. “Won’t you open the door?” He nudged his head to the direction of the door. You blinked and felt the keys in your palms again.

“Tell me what’s happening first.”

It’s cruel, but if he manages to stay alive while blood gushes out of his stomach, you believed he could concisely explain to you what’s going on.

“Women are so fucking difficult,” he mumbled. “I will tell you everything once we’re inside and you’re stitching up my goddamned wound.”

“What?!” It was a scream more than a word. “Listen, I don’t know how to stitch up—”

He cut you off, “Well that’s a pity.” Then he threw away the bud of the cigarette to the ground. “Listen, I’m going to pass out anytime soon,” then he licked his lips, “Better open this door so we could get to business.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything to me.” It’s childish and you feel pathetic, but you said it anyways. Perhaps this man in front of you has a bottle of conscience in his system despite his unkempt look.

Jaehyun only looked at you, face impassive. “You’re not my type.”

You choked on your own saliva. “You’re unbelievable.” You ignored his smirk as you sauntered up to the door. Both of you were enveloped in a silence, the only noise coming from the keys jamming into the keyhole.

Another darkness greeted you as you opened the door, you searched for the switch with your sweaty hand. The metal tang the keys left on your palm wafted your nose, making you feel gross and dirty.

You wrenched the keys out of the hole as the light finally infiltrated the living room. Your brow shot up when Jaehyun made no move to enter the house.

“Invite me first,” he stated.

If you could raise your brow higher, you would. His question was unexpected for someone itching to enter your house mere minutes earlier.

“Come… in?” You reluctantly offered.

There was mischief and bad news in his eyes as he stepped inside the house. “So the authorities would say that you invited me willingly.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” You demanded, gripping the doorknob tightly.

He only winked at you. But you are not having any of it. It was a bad idea inviting this stranger inside.

“Get out.” You ordered. Jaehyun attempted to say something but you repeated the words with enough ferocity. “Get out!”

He held up his hand, his right pulling out something from his pockets again. A paper.

“Here.”

You stared at the paper for a good two minutes before you snatched it away from his hand.

This is to certify that the apartment owned by Johnny and Y/N Y/L/N has been sold and therefore owned by Mr. Jung Jaehyun.

No. No, no, no. The paper must be a trick. It’s probably a forged paper made by this man in front of you to take his advantage and trick you.

“This is forged.” You balled the paper and threw it his way. Jaehyun picked it up with bloodied fingers. His shirt was now saturated with his blood. But you could not bring yourself to care now that he poses a threat to your safety.

“Forged? Do you not recognize the lawyer who signed this paper?” He started to flatten out the paper again. “The best in town. You could go to his office right now to inquire about this. But I won’t waste money if I were you.”

For the second time that night, you snatched away the paper from him. It was completely crumpled, but the texts printed out were still glaring at you. You skimmed the printed letters with your head spinning, eyes only stopping when you see three signatures below. One for your brother, one for Jaehyun, one for the attorney. It was signed by a pen, that much you’re sure of. Being an architecture student familiarized you to different type of pens. You’re certain they had used a ballpoint pen to sign the contract.

Still, you went dumbfounded as you let the realization hit you. Your brother, Johnny, just sold your apartment for this blood soaked guy in front of you.

“Since when?” You asked through gritted teeth, not looking up from the papers.

Jaehyun let out a frustrated sigh, his hand clamping his wound. “Since last week.”

“Will you…” You sighed, it was so difficult to get the words come out, “… will you let me stay the night? I promise I’ll go first thing in the morning.” Your hand which is holding the paper shook. Mixed feelings of anger, shame, and confusion swirled in your head.

Jaehyun waved his hand before sitting on the sofa, his bloodied hands imprinting the arms of it red. You bit back the anger as you realized that you have no rights to be angry.

“You could stay the night, of course.” He reclined his head, “But stitch me up first before you go packing.”

How had he managed to stay alive with the loss of too much blood, you have no idea. But you shook your head and declined him again, “I don’t know how. You might get an infection.”

“Needle… I need a needle,” He breathed and shut his eyes, you panicked as you thought he passed out already. But then he opened his one eye and fixed it to you, “I’ll do it myself.”

“Why don’t we just go to the hospital?”

It was embarrassing that you only thought of the idea now. But Jaehyun only snorted, “Trust me, that’s the last resort you’d think of if you truly knew me.”

There is no point talking to him. His mouth pours metaphors you could not be bothered to comprehend. So you trudged the distance to the small drawer laying just below the television and grabbed the sewing kit inside.

You laid it on the table. Jaehyun groaned before grabbing the needle and the thread. He does not look pained. He looks more tired. And only when you were sitting beside him you noticed how pale he appeared to be. His lips looked wan, his face pallid.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hos—”

“No,” was his monosyllabic reply. You didn’t press any further.

Jaehyun started to insert the thread through the needle, but like his dreaded attempts to lit his cigarette earlier, his aim to get the thread through the little hole went in complete vain. “Fuck,” he muttered as the pin dropped on the floors.

“Let me.” You finally offered before picking up the needle and seizing the thread from his grasp. With your one eye shut close, you dampened the needle with your tongue before thrusting it through the hole. In a blink, you succeeded.

“Here—” You were cut off once again when Jaehyun’s body fell back on the sofa. His eyes closed. The nervous and shock kicked in your stomach as you leaned closer to him but felt nothing in his chest. He doesn’t look like he is breathing, too.

“Oh my God, don’t fucking die.” You repeated the words as you grabbed your phone and dialed nine-one-one. Sweats started to form in your forehead, your own heart beating in a panic-stricken rhythm.

The ringing stopped, and the voice of the person from the other side greeted you calmly.

“I— there’s— I—” Your words are incoherent from the panic that is vibrating from your head to your toes. The person tried to calm you down but to no avail. You inhaled and exhaled, mind blank. “I—” Then a hand grabbed your wrist. You jumped in your seat, only to see Jaehyun, wide-eyed looking at you.

“I told you, no doctors.”

“But— how— what?” How is he alive?

“I am fine. Just really need to stitch this up so I could recover easily.” Then his eyes started to lose their life again.

“Don’t! Don’t sleep! Stay awake!” You screamed at him. Jaehyun began to lose consciousness again. The forgotten thread and needle was back on your hands in an instant. Loud sets of profanities reverberated from your mouth as you lifted his shirt. You exhaled as you saw the long laceration starting from beside his navel to his waist.

“I can’t do this alone, I just can’t.” You swallowed, praying that his innards won’t slide out of his stomach. Where did he get this wound?

“You have no other choice, have you?” He whispered, voice straining. “Just close it and stitch it. I won’t scream,” he expressed.

“That’s not my problem! What if.. what if I’ll make it worse?”

“You won’t.” Jaehyun looked at you with hooded eyes.

This is not what you’ve expected to come home to. The schedule was to go home, eat, shower, and start your plates. Stitching up a long god-forsaken wound wasn’t on your to-do list.

You closed your eyes, trying to inhale and exhale. When you felt like your mind was clear of worries, you finally opened your eyes and started to hold Jaehyun’s skin. The tang of blood filled the whole room, your fingers sliding as it touched his bloodied skin. You let out a breath before clamping the open wound with your fingers, your other hand working its way to pierce the needle into his skin.

Goosebumps ran down your spine as you felt the needle pierced his flesh. White thread came out red as you pulled it to fasten his skin back together. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand as you pushed on with your work. With each pierce and puncture, your tension and the shaking of your hands lessened.

“Are you okay?” You asked Jaehyun when you were finally in the middle of the wound. He did not utter a word ever since you started; not a protest nor a painful scream.

“Yes… it does not hurt.” His voice came out as a whisper that you doubted his answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“If I am in your position right now, I would’ve screamed like hell. Imagine, we didn’t use any anesthesia, but you still managed to look comfortable and calm,” you mumbled, trying to keep Jaehyun awake.

“Do you wanna know why?”

“Why?” A small chuckle resonated from your throat then. Jaehyun popped an eye open, and you waited for some dramatic lines like ‘I’m used to the pain’ to escape his lips, but his answer drew you to a sudden halt instead.

“Because I am a vampire.”

previous | next

[ibijau]

Deathbed Wedding pt9

Madam Yu's unconventional suggestion is considered with great attention.  (Also on AO3)

“Isn’t it obvious? Lan zongzhu, I am saying to marry your son to Nie gongzi before he dies.”

Silence fell into the room as they all processed what Yu Ziyuan was suggesting, with Nie Huaisang’s laboured breath the only noise to be heard. Lan Xichen stared at the mistress of Lotus Pier, trying to decide if this was some cruel joke on her part. She was not known for her sense of humour, but there was a start to everything.

Qingheng-Jun, the first to recover from the shock of that proposition, sneered at her.

“Yu-furen, this is ridiculous. If the Nie want to look for a ghost bride for that boy I won't stop them, but it will not be my son.”

Nie Mingjue grabbed him by the collar. “You…”

“Peace!” Yu Ziyuan ordered, grasping Nie Mingjue's arm tight enough for him to flinch. Her eyes were not on him though. “Lan zonzghu, I am not suggesting anything as dramatic as that. In fact, my suggestion is to do something that would avoid the risk of needing a ghost bride. If I understand the situation, that boy got himself in that state in an effort to become engaged to Lan gongzi, am I right?”

Qingheng-Jun refused to answer but Nie Mingjue, still holding him by the colar, nodded slowly.

“So it is safe to guess that if he has one last desire before leaving this world, it would be to marry Lan gongzi,” Yu Ziyuan continued. “Why not grant it to him, and ensure he dies without regrets? Then you will be sure he will not return to haunt your son.”

Hearing this, Lan Xichen held Nie Huaisang’s hand a little tighter and pressed another kiss to it. It was a morbid idea, and yet…

“What haunting?” Qingheng-Jun protested. “Hasn’t that boy gone through the normal ceremonies to avoid that?”

“He has,” Nie Mingjue admitted, glancing behind at his brother and Lan Xichen.

His expression softened somewhat, until he turned back to Qingheng-Jun and his full anger returned. Still, he finally let go of the older man’s clothes, and in turn Yu Ziyuan released him as well.

“Those ceremonies are not always enough though,” she remarked with a smirk. “There have been cultivators becoming ghosts or fierce corpses in the past, if their resentment was great enough. I know you might think that boy isn’t much, Lan zongzhu,” she added when Qingheng-Jun opened his mouth to object. “But I would say that he has shown exactly the sort of stubbornness and desperation that turns souls into ghosts, and you have just admitted right in front of him that he is dying for nothing. If his soul isn't appeased, there will be trouble in the future. Besides, what does it cost you to let this happen?”

It would cost him his pride, Lan Xichen thought, as well as the sensation of control he held over his family. For a man who had given up on everything else over a one sided passion that flickered away too quickly, it was a heavy price to pay.

“What do you say, Xichen?” Qingheng-Jun snapped. “Is that really something you would settle for, just to win this argument?”

Lan Xichen avoided his father’s eyes, looking instead at Nie Huaisang. Even though this was a little morbid, he would take it if it was all he could have. He had loved Nie Huaisang in life, he wouldn’t mind loving him in death as well. Not to win an argument, but to make sure that they would be linked forever, even if fate hadn't seen fit to give them happiness in this life.

He knew, though, that this wasn’t really what his father was asking. Even this meagre comfort might be denied to him, all because his father did not like to be wrong.

“If I did this,” Lan Xichen whispered, only to stop and take a deep breath to steady himself. Even cold and limp, Nie Huaisang’s hand in his was a comfort, and he squeezed it briefly to give himself the strength to speak again. “If I did this, what would become of that agreement we had, father?”

“You know my answer to that, Xichen.”

With a sigh, Lan Xichen closed his eyes. Of course he knew the answer. Having found his weakness once, why would his father not use it again and again?

It ought to have been an easier choice than the first time. 

It wasn’t. 

Right after announcing his possible engagement to Jiang Yanli, after Lan Xichen had threatened to elope, they had made that deal. His father had promised that if Lan Xichen submitted to his will and married as he was ordered, then Lan Wangji would get to pick whichever spouse he liked, no matter how low their status, how indesirable the personality, how poor their cultivation. Lan Wangji could pick up a beggar in the street, demand to marry him, and it would be granted to him as long as Lan Xichen bent to their father’s will.

Having seen Lan Wangji around Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen knew where things were headed for his brother. With Lan Wangji’s proud personality, it was unlikely he would ever agree to marry without love. But he was also even more bent on following rules than Lan Xichen, and it caused him real distress to disobey his elders in any way, even if he had started relaxing a little since meeting Wei Wuxian. If he were to be faced with the same choice that Lan Xichen had just faced, it would cause him great anguish, and that simply couldn't be allowed.

Someone had to look out for Lan Wangji. There was only so much Lan Qiren could do, especially against his own brother, and Qingheng-Jun had proven that he cared little for his sons’ happiness, having failed to secure his own.

For the sake of his brother's happiness, Lan Xichen had given in, comforted by the hope he could at least be friends with Nie Huaisang, that this would not be taken from them.

Now though, he was forced to make that choice again, and both options were equally bleak. Of course if he were a better brother, if he were a better person, it would be easy. Between a marriage for the livings, and one that would be more akin to a funeral, there should have been no hesitation possible, and yet…

And yet he couldn't give up on Nie Huaisang, not again.

“Your father is a reasonable man,” Lan Qiren said calmly, and Lan Xichen quickly opened his eyes again to gaze at his uncle in disbelief. “He is,” Lan Qiren insisted. “You told me he swore that if you obeyed him, he would let your brother choose his spouse, didn't he?”

While Lan Xichen numbly nodded, unsure where his uncle was going with this, Qingheng-Jun's face turned a dark red at having this information revealed. Clearly he had not expected that his brother would expose him like this. Lan Qiren, unbothered by his brother's outrage, just continued speaking.

“If you promise to marry according to his will after the death of Nie Huaisang, that deal still stands,” he said calmly. “And to comfort your father, I believe Yu-furen might agree to act as a witness to that agreement, so that promise cannot be denied in the future.”

Lan Xichen turned his eyes to Yu Ziyuan, who looked more and more irritated the longer she had to witness their family affairs. She rolled her eyes and shrugged while making an impatient gesture.

“If it can settle this matter faster, I’ll agree to whatever you like,” she announced, glaring at Lan Qiren and Meng Yao behind him. “I only suggested this idea to make things easier, and forgot Gusu Lan cannot settle on anything without hours of discussions on ethics. My mistake.”

Qingheng-Jun grimaced. “I see. And what does Nie zongzhu say to all this?”

Nie Mingjue glared at him, but did not hesitate in the slightest.

“It is what my brother would want. If you agree and Xichen is willing, I give it my blessing.”

“And will you allow him to remarry after?” Qingheng-Jun insisted.

“He’s a man, so there’s no issues with that. Even if he were a women, Qinghe Nie has no rules against it.”

It was not the answer that Qingheng-Jun expected, judging by the expression on his face. He must have been hoping that Nie Mingjue would object, giving him a good excuse to refuse.

Clearly upset that everyone seemed against him, Qingheng-Jun strode toward the bed and, without sparing a glance for his son kneeling on the other side, grabbed Nie Huaisang’s left hand to check his pulse. For a long moment he carefully checked the state of the unconscious boy laying before him, while everyone else watched him attentively. Nie Mingjue in particular seemed furious that Qingheng-Jun would dare to touch his brother, but Lan Qiren whispered something to him so he would allow it.

“I give him a week at most,” Qingheng-Jun concluded, dropping Nie Huaisang’s hand as if it were dirty. He then looked at his son with a severe expression “If you so badly want to be a widower, Xichen…”

“I do,” Lan Xichen fiercely retorted. “For him, I do.”

Qingheng-Jun glared at him, before smoothing his face into polite indifference as he turned to face the others once again.

“Then so be it,” he said with a serene smile, as if he truly didn't care after all. “Yu-furen, since this was your idea, will you help Nie zongzhu and I organise this? We’ll need to get it over quickly, lest that boy die before we’re done with this charade.”

For a moment, Lan Xichen thought he saw a triumphant glint in Yu Ziyuan’s eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by deep annoyance and she led the two sect leaders out of the room.

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {13}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: (:

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

It was a traditional gypsy funeral, honoring their people, their heritage.

Connall was placed in a wagon, surrounded by his favorite earthly possessions, and set on fire.

The others watched, still amazed that it was happening. Connall shouldn’t have been one to go. He was too loyal, too pure. 

It made no sense.

Another cruel twist of fate.

As the wagon and all inside turned to ash, becoming one with the land, Fenrys found himself wondering what Connall would come back as, in his next life. 

Twins are unique in the sense that they are different people, of course, yet they’re two halves of the same heart, the same soul. Could he move on, Connall, in the afterlife, and come back as a sparrow or a mountain cat or a wolf if Fenrys was not there to be reincarnated alongside him? Would he be sent to some otherworldly waiting room until Fenrys took his departure from the earth, from his current life? 

How could one twin move on when the other doesn’t?

Half of Fenrys' soul had been ripped away from him, from the world, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

Fenrys just wanted to know what truly happened after death, where his brother was, and if he would ever see him again.

Because the thought of anything less had his heart shattering into a million pieces.

Over and over and over again.

~~~

Three weeks after they laid Connall to rest, Rowan sat in his office, smoking a cigarette.

It was a quiet afternoon. It was the universal nap hour - Lucy, a disgruntled Lorcan, a cranky Natalia, and a pregnant Aelin. 

Aedion and Lysandra had been holed up all day, Gavriel still spent most of his time hiding from Natalia, and Vaughan was still healing. Fenrys kept himself distant - reading and drinking and staring up at the moon. 

It left Rowan to have a little bit of alone time during the day, even though he didn’t really like it. He used to hate being around people, but now he had to keep around them to make sure they were safe.

Although he felt like he was doing a shitty job at that.

Elide.

Connall.

The next person would be Maeve. 

A part of him longed for the life he used to have. Before the estate and all that came along with it. Perhaps if he was still the little nobody from the west side of Orynth that only did the little jobs, Maeve wouldn’t think he was worth the time of day. 

Everyone would be safe.

Elide and Connall would still be alive. 

Rowan wouldn’t constantly be sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for something, anything to go wrong and hating himself for all the negative thoughts and constant anxiety, but he just couldn’t help it.

And with Maeve being silent for three weeks, it only had Rowan even more paranoid.

She was waiting to strike.

He knew it.

But he just didn’t know how. 

All he knew was that when she would come, he would be fucking ready.

~~~~~

Lorcan laid awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he would ever see the inside of his own home again. He didn’t mind the estate, and it was nice to be surrounded by so many people after the loss of Elide, but he missed his own bed, the bed that he shared with her. With an ache in his chest, he looked over at the small portrait that sat on his bedside table.

Gods, she was beautiful.

As she usually did when he was alone and was thinking about her, she appeared to him. This time, she wore an evening gown of dark blue with long, dangling diamond earrings and white gloves that went up past her elbows.

“Hello, my love,” she sang. 

Lorcan didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, breathed her in, memorizing the image before she disappeared, once more. 

Elide strolled around the room before meeting him where he laid on his bed. Her fingers brushed down his cheek, but he didn’t feel it, he never fucking felt it. 

“Do you see Connall there?” Lorcan whispered, once she resumed her walk around the bedroom. “Wherever it is that you are?” 

Elide stopped, slowly turned to where Lorcan laid and cocked her head to the side. “Connall?”

“He’s dead,” Lorcan breathed. He had told her that, though, when he saw her last. He knew he had. 

“Am I dead?” she responded, her smile soft. “Why are we talking of such morbid things, my love? I came to talk about us.”

Lorcan told himself to look away from her, to look away from the figment of his imagination that was his wife, but he couldn’t. He needed to drink in her beauty, dwell in it, for just a little while. 

“What about us?” he whispered, unable to help himself. 

“How I love you, of course,” she said. “How I wish you were here with me.”

He shook his head, slowly. No, it was he who wished she was there with him, not the other way around. Lorcan didn’t wish for death.

At least he told himself as much.

He couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

And yet, the ghost of his late wife held out her hand. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s so easy, so soft. Just follow the light, and it will be peaceful.”

For a moment, he truly thought his wife was holding out her hand to him, as if he could simply take her slender, pale fingers into his and he would be carried away, from one life to the next. 

The life where Elide waited.

But she wasn’t.

The tips of her fingers were mere inches away from the bedside table, where his revolver sat, metal glistening in the bright light streaming through the window.

The light.

Lorcan hadn’t realized he was crying until he said, his voice soft and broken, “I love you.”

“Then come to me,” she begged.

“You’re a ghost,” he whispered. 

“I am whatever you want me to be,” she promised. “Our love remains, even with this distance between us. Imagine how lovely it would be without such distance.” 

It took every ounce of his being, but Lorcan closed his eyes and wept in the silence of the estate. 

~~~

Lorcan was the last one into the dining room, but Rowan didn’t chastise him for being five minutes late. Instead, he looked around the table at the Cadre and flicked the ash from his cigarette. 

He wasn’t sure where to begin, he never was. A greeting seemed pointless on normal days, during normal times, but now, when tensions were high, greetings seemed offensive. 

What was the point of small talk when loved ones had died and their world was dissolving into chaos? 

“People are getting nervous.” Rowan began, after another long drag from his cigarette. Gavriel nodded, slowly, while Vaughan watched Fenrys, wearily, as the young lad sat slumped in his chair, cap pulled down far over his eyes. Aedion was there, too, sitting next to Lorcan, who was playing with his lighter. 

When it was clear that no one would be asking any questions, Rowan continued. “We’ve disappeared for two months, and people are starting to ask questions. So, I suggest we host a charity event. Here.” 

The room went silent. 

Then, it was Lorcan who said, “Don’t fucking act like you care about the people of Orynth. You’re trying to set a fucking trap for Maeve.” 

Rowan remained silent at the head of the table.

Lorcan scoffed as he shook his head. “You’re insane. You would willingly be letting her into-.”

“The event guests will come by invitation only,” Rowan interrupted, tired of the protests even though they’d just begun. “The only people inside would have passed through a security checkpoint. Everyone inside will remain safe. We haven’t left this house in three weeks, which is why I assume Maeve has been silent. If we host an event, people will be here, cars and carriages, and Maeve can slip onto the lands with her men, waiting for one of us to step outdoors, no doubt. But Rhoe and his men,” Rowan said, nodding toward Aedion, “will be hunting them down, one by one, already hiding before Maeve’s men step onto the land. Ready. That way, we kill them off, while also keeping our image in the public eye.”

“The public eye?” Lorcan’s hostility continued.

“Yes,” Rowan spat, through gritted teeth. “Like it or not, the people of Orynth have given us our success within the last few years. We lose their interest, their trust, and we will be nothing once again.”

“And where has it gotten us?” Lorcan asked, shaking his head as he stared at the long, sleek cherrywood table. “Rich and lonely.” 

Rowan cleared his throat. “The event will take place next Friday. I’ve already sent out invitations. We’ll auction shit off, all proceeds will go to the new library building.” 

He slipped his cigarette between his lips and pushed back his chair before rising to his feet. As he began his exit, Lorcan said, “What’s the point of these fucking meetings if you’re just going to decide shit on your own?”

Rowan froze and the room went silent, once more. With his hands shoved into his pockets, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, Rowan turned to meet Lorcan’s hard gaze. In a quiet, cool, steady voice, Rowan said, “So you’ll be ready.”

~~~

When Aedion made it back into his bedroom, Lysandra was out on the balcony, her elbows leaned onto the railing as her dark hair blew in the cool breeze. He met her there, standing beside her, his elbow brushing hers. 

“How’d it go?” Lysandra asked. As always, she was invited to the meeting, should have been there, according to Rowan, but she needed a break from the negativity.

Aedion didn’t blame her. 

He didn’t answer her question, though, only reached across the short distance between them and took her hand into his. 

“I’ll let you know after I process the information.” 

Lysandra huffed a humorless laugh and nodded, squeezing his hand as she did so. “Fair enough.”

He snuck a glance at her, at the way the sunlight hit her emerald eyes just right, making them glitter, shine, captivating him. She was so incredibly beautiful, so perfectly lovely, and she didn’t even know it. Aedion had been in love with her for so long, since he was no more than just a child. It had taken him years to gain her love in return, years that he waited patiently for, years that he would wait patiently for all over again. 

“You’re staring,” she said, although her eyes never left the vast landscape beyond.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I am.”

“Why?” she asked, humored, finally turning to meet his gaze. 

“Because you’re nice to look at.” Aedion grinned as Lysandra snorted. “And, because I love you.” 

Lysandra’s smile faded away as she turned her gaze back to the distant hills. “Something happened in the meeting, didn’t it?” 

Aedion didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about the meeting, didn’t want to talk about Rowan’s plan, didn’t want to think about any of it. All he wanted to think about was the incredible woman before him.

So he took her hand and tugged, and when she slowly turned to look at him, Aedion’s smile had vanished.

“What is it?” she whispered. “Aedion, you’re scaring me-.”

“Marry me,” he breathed.

Lysandra sucked in a breath, hesitating.

“I know I’ve said it a million times before,” he began, shaking his head, “but this time, I’m asking. I love you, and I have always loved you, and with all this...shit going on, Lysandra, I just…” His words trailed off, and he didn’t know how to make sense of all that he was feeling, so he just stopped trying, and repeated, “Marry me. Please.” 

He hadn’t realized he’d begun to cry until Lysandra reached up with trembling fingers to wipe his tears away. Her fingers trailed down his cheek, her thumb brushing his bottom lip.

“You mean it?” she asked, green eyes shining.

“Yeah,” he breathed, then laughed because he had no idea how she could possibly think he didn’t mean it. “All I want is to be your husband. All I’ve ever wanted was to be your husband.”

A slow tear rolled down her cheek. “Why do I feel like you’re only asking me this because you fear that you’ll die?”

Aedion let out a long, slow breath. “If you marry me, Lys, I promise to endure whatever hell comes my way so that we may have a long, happy life together. Alright?”

It was a promise he knew he couldn’t make. She knew it, too, because those tears flowed freely, but she only nodded, and closed her eyes as her forehead met his. “Then marry me now, Aedion Ashryver. If that’s what will protect you, marry me now.”

Their lips met in a slow, deep, tender kiss. Aedion could only hope that they could marry soon, and that such a marriage full of so much love would be enough to protect him.

To protect them both. 

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

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[mytwilightimagines13]

Amnesia (Book Two)(Part Twelve)

The witnesses

Two things happened at once. Caius's eyes focused on Aro, and the tiny cruel smile came back. And Edward hissed, his hands balling up in fists so tight it looked like the bones in his knuckles would split through his diamond-hard skin. Carlisle glanced anxiously at Edward's face, and then his own face hardened. While Caius had blundered through useless accusations and injudicious attempts to trigger the fight, Aro must have been coming up with a more effective strategy. Aro ghosted across the snow to the far western end of the foe’s line, stopping about ten yards from Amun and Kebi. The nearby wolves bristled angrily but held their positions. “Ah, Amun, my southern neighbor!" Aro said warmly. "It has been so long since you've visited me." Amun was motionless with anxiety, Kebi a statue at his side. "Time means little; I never notice its passing," Amun said through unmoving lips. "So true," Aro agreed. "But maybe you had another reason to stay away?" Amun said nothing. "It can be terribly time-consuming to organize newcomers into a coven. I know that well! I'm grateful I have others to deal with the tedium.” Aro said and many took a quick glance at Maeryn before returning their attention back to Aro. Alec grabbed Maeryn’s hand and squeezed it lightly. Maeryn returned his gesture by stroking his hand with her thumb once. “I'm glad your new additions have fit in so well. I would have loved to have been introduced. I'm sure you were meaning to come to see me soon." Aro continued. "Of course," Amun said, his tone so emotionless that it was impossible to tell if there was any fear or sarcasm in his assent. "Oh well, we're all together now! Isn't it lovely?" Amun nodded, his face blank. "But the reason for your presence here is not as pleasant, unfortunately. Carlisle called on you to witness?" "Yes." "And what did you witness for him?" Amun spoke with the same cold lack of emotion. "I've observed the child in question. It was evident almost immediately that she was not an immortal child - " "Perhaps we should define our terminology," Aro interrupted, "now that there seem to be new classifications. By immortal child, you mean of course a human child who had been bitten and thus transformed into a vampire." "Yes, that's what I meant." "What else did you observe about the child?" "The same things that you surely saw in Edward's mind. That the child is his biologically. That she grows. That she learns." Maeryn still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Bella and Edward had intercourse when she was only human. Maeryn had to admit she was impressed by Edward’s ability to restrain himself. But she was also disgusted by it at the same time. She couldn’t ponder on the fact how he could bring his mate in so much danger. Not just by having intercourse, but also by impregnating her. Overall, she found it foolish. "Yes, yes," Aro said, a hint of impatience in his otherwise amiable tone. "But specifically in your few weeks here, what did you see?" Amun's brow furrowed. "That she grows... quickly." Aro smiled. "And do you believe that she should be allowed to live?" Hisses escaped multiple mouths on the foe’s side, once Aro’s words had been spoken out loud. Half the vampires in the foe’s line echoed in protest. The sound was a low sizzle of fury hanging in the air. Across the meadow, a few of the Volturi witnesses made the same noise, including Maeryn. Edward stepped back and wrapped a restraining hand around Bella’s wrist. Aro did not turn to the noise, but Amun glanced around uneasily. "I did not come to make judgments," he equivocated. Aro laughed lightly. "Just your opinion." Amun's chin lifted. "I see no danger in the child. She learns even more swiftly than she grows." Aro nodded, considering. After a moment, he turned away. "Aro?" Amun called. Aro whirled back. "Yes, friend?" "I gave my witness. I have no more business here. My mate and I would like to take our leave now." Aro smiled warmly. "Of course. I'm so glad we were able to chat for a bit. And I'm sure we'll see each other again soon." Amun's lips

were a tight line as he inclined his head once, acknowledging the barely concealed threat. He touched Kebi's arm, and then the two of them ran quickly to the southern edge of the meadow and disappeared into the trees. Maeryn was sure that they wouldn't stop running for a very long time. Smart move. Aro was gliding back along the length of our line to the east, his guards hovering tensely. He stopped when he was in front of Siobhan's massive form. "Hello, dear Siobhan. You are as lovely as ever." Siobhan inclined her head, waiting. "And you?" he asked. "Would you answer my questions the same way Amun has?" "I would," Siobhan said. "But I would perhaps add a little more. Renesmee understands the limitations. She's no danger to humans - she blends in better than we do. She poses no threat of exposure." "Can you think of none?" Aro asked soberly. Edward growled, a low ripping sound deep in his throat. Caius's cloudy crimson eyes brightened. Renata reached out protectively toward her master. And Garrett freed Kate to take a step forward, ignoring Kate's hand as she tried to caution him this time. Maeryn watched the scene closely, holding her hands out, ready to weaken Bella’s shield at any moment. Siobhan answered slowly, "I don't think I follow you." Aro drifted lightly back, casually, but toward the rest of his guard. Renata, Felix, and Demetri were closer than his shadow. "There is no broken law," Aro said in a placating voice, but everyone on both sides of the meadow could hear that a qualification was coming. Bella was becoming furious, and hurled the fury into her shield, thickening it, making sure everyone was protected. Maeryn smiled and used her gift slightly, giving Bella some resistance. Not enough to break the shield, but enough for her to lighten up Bella’s fury even further, and use more energy than originally asked for. "No broken law," Aro repeated. "However, does it follow then that there is no danger? No." He shook his head gently. "That is a separate issue." The only response was the tightening of already stretched nerves, and Maggie, at the fringes of their band of fighters, shaking her head with slow anger. Aro paced thoughtfully, looking as if he floated rather than touched the ground with his feet. Maeryn noticed every pass took him closer to the protection of his guard, and felt more relieved with every pass he took. "She is unique... utterly, impossibly unique. Such a waste it would be, to destroy something so lovely. Especially when we could learn so much .. ." He sighed, as if unwilling to go on. "But there is danger, danger that cannot simply be ignored." No one answered his assertion. It was dead silent as he continued in a monologue that sounded as if he spoke it for himself only. "How ironic it is that as the humans advance, as their faith in science grows and controls their world, the more free we are from discovery. Yet, as we become ever more uninhibited by their disbelief in the supernatural, they become strong enough in their technologies that, if they wished, they could actually pose a threat to us, even destroy some of us.” Aro said, his face looking troubled. "For thousands and thousands of years, our secrecy has been more a matter of convenience, of ease, than of actual safety. This last raw, angry century has given birth to weapons of such power that they endanger even immortals. Now our status as mere myth in truth protects us from these weak creatures we hunt. This amazing child" - he lifted his hand palm down as if to rest it on Renesmee, though he was forty yards from her now, almost within the Volturi formation again. "if we could but know her potential - know with absolute certainty that she could always remain shrouded within the obscurity that protects us. But we know nothing of what she will become! Her own parents are plagued by fears of her future. We cannot know what she will grow to be." He paused, looking first at the foe’s witnesses, and then, meaningfully, at his own. His voice gave a good imitation of sounding torn by his words. Still looking at his own

witnesses, he spoke again. "Only the known is safe. Only the known is tolerable. The unknown is... a vulnerability." Caius's smile widened viciously. "You're reaching, Aro," Carlisle said in a bleak voice. "Peace, friend." Aro smiled, his face as kind, his voice as gentle, as ever. "Let us not be hasty. Let us look at this from every side." "May I offer a side to be considered?" Garrett petitioned in a level tone, taking another step forward. "Nomad," Aro said, nodding in permission. Garrett's chin lifted. His eyes focused on the huddled mass at the end of the meadow, and he spoke directly to the Volturi witnesses. Maeryn raised an eyebrow, wondering what this nomad could possibly say to still put an end to this tension. A tension of a starting battle, waiting around the corner to blossom like a deadly flower. "I came here at Carlisle's request, as the others, to witness," he said. "That is certainly no longer necessary, with regard to the child. We all see what she is. I stayed to witness something else. You." He jabbed his finger toward the wary vampires. "Two of you I know - Makenna, Charles - and I can see that many of you others are also wanderers, roamers like myself. Answering to none. Think carefully on what I tell you now. 'These ancient ones did not come here for justice as they told you. We suspected as much, and now it has been proved. They came, misled, but with a valid excuse for their action. Witness now as they seek flimsy excuses to continue their true mission. Witness them struggle to find a justification for their true purpose - to destroy this family here." He gestured toward Carlisle and Tanya. "The Volturi come to erase what they perceive as the competition. Perhaps, like me, you look at this clan's golden eyes and marvel. They are difficult to understand, it's true. But the ancient ones look and see something besides their strange choice. They see power. I have witnessed the bonds within this family - I say family and not coven. These strange golden-eyed ones deny their very natures. But in return have they found something worth even more, perhaps, than mere gratification of desire? I've made a little study of them in my time here, and it seems to me that intrinsic to this intense family binding - that which makes them possible at all - is the peaceful character of this life of sacrifice. There is no aggression here like we all saw in the large southern clans that grew and diminished so quickly in their wild feuds. There is no thought for domination. And Aro knows this better than I do." Maeryn watched Aro's face as Garrett's words condemned him, waiting tensely for some response, a sign to end this nomad. Who does he think he is? Questioning her Master like that?! But Aro's face was only politely amused, as if waiting for a tantrum-throwing child to realize that no one was paying attention to his histrionics. "Carlisle assured us all, when he told us what was coming, that he did not call us here to fight. These witnesses" - Garrett pointed to Siobhan and Liam - "agreed to give evidence, to slow the Volturi advance with their presence so that Carlisle would get the chance to present his case. But some of us wondered" - his eyes flashed to Eleazars face - "if Carlisle having truth on his side would be enough to stop the so-called justice. Are the Volturi here to protect the safety of our secrecy, or to protect their own power? Did they come to destroy an illegal creation, or a way of life? Could they be satisfied when the danger turned out to be no more than a misunderstanding? Or would they push the issue without the excuse of justice? We have the answer to all these questions. We heard it in Aro's lying words - we have one with a gift of knowing such things for certain - and we see it now in Caius's eager smile. Their guard is just a mindless weapon, a tool in their masters' quest for domination.” Maeryn frowned at his words, but quickly shook them off. This Garrett is a liar, nothing more, nothing less. "So now there are more questions, questions that you must answer. Who rules you,

nomads? Do you answer to someone's will besides your own? Are you free to choose your path, or will the Volturi decide how you will live? I came to witness. I stay to fight. The Volturi care nothing for the death of the child. They seek the death of our free will." He turned, then, to face the ancients. "So come, I say! Let's hear no more lying rationalizations. Be honest in your intents as we will be honest in ours. We will defend our freedom. You will or will not attack it. Choose now, and let these witnesses see the true issue debated here." Once more he looked to the Volturi witnesses, his eyes probing each face. The power of his words was evident in their expressions. "You might consider joining us. If you think the Volturi will let you live to tell this tale, you are mistaken. We may all be destroyed" - he shrugged - "but then again, maybe not. Perhaps we are on more equal footing than they know. Perhaps the Volturi have finally met their match. I promise you this, though - if we fall, so do you." He ended his heated speech by stepping back to Kate's side and then sliding forward in a half-crouch, prepared for the onslaught.

[itsclydebitches]

Enola Holmes: A Not So Elementary Adaptation

It's cliché and a bit unfair to say that the book was better than the film, but I'm afraid that's precisely where I need to start. Nancy Springer's Enola Holmes: The Case of the Missing Marquess is leagues better than Netflix's adaptation of it. They did her work dirty and to say that I'm shocked at the accolades other reviewers are heaping on the film is an understatement. Before I dive into any critiques though, it's worth acknowledging that not every minute of the two hour film was painful to get through. So what worked in Enola Holmes?

The film is carried by the talent of its cast, Millie Bobby Brown being the obvious heavy-hitter. She helps breathe life into a pretty terrible script and it's only a shame her talent is wasted on such a subpar character.

The idea to have Enola continually break the fourth wall, though edging into the realm of Dora the Explorer at times—"Do you have any ideas?"— was nevertheless a fun way to keep the audience looped into her thought process. Young viewers in particular might enjoy it as a way to make them feel like a part of the action and older viewers will note the Fleabag influence. 

The cinematography is, perhaps, where most of my praise lies. The rapid cuts between past and present, rewinding as Enola thinks back to some pertinent detail, visualizing the cyphers with close ups on the letter tiles—all of it gave the film an upbeat, entertaining flair that almost made up for how bloated and meandering the plot was.

We got an equally upbeat soundtrack that helped to sell the action. 

The overall experience was... fine. In the way a cobbled together, candy-coated, meant to be seen on a Friday night but we watched it Wednesday and then promptly forgot about it film is fine. I doubt Enola Holmes will be winning any awards, but it was a decently entertaining romp and really, does a Netflix film need to be anything more? If Enola was her own thing made entirely by Netflix's hands I wouldn't be writing this review. As it stands though, Enola is both an adaptation and the latest addition to one of the world’s most popular franchises. That's where the film fails: not as a fun diversion to take your mind off Covid-19, but as an adaptation of Springer's work and as a Sherlock Holmes story.

In short, Enola Holmes, though pretty to look at and entertaining in a predictable manner, still fails in five crucial areas: 

1. Mycroft is Now a Mustache-Twirling Villain and Sherlock is No Longer Sherlock Holmes

This aspect is the least egregious because admittedly the film didn't pull this version of Mycroft out of thin air. As the head of the household he is indeed Enola's primary antagonist (outside of some kidnappers) and though he insists that he's doing all this for Enola's own good, he does get downright cruel at times:

He rolled his eyes. “Just like her mother,” he declared to the ceiling, and then he fixed upon me a stare so martyred, so condescending, that I froze rigid. In tones of sweetest reason he told me, “Enola, legally I hold complete charge over both your mother and you. I can, if I wish, lock you in your room until you become sensible, or take whatever other measures are necessary in order to achieve that desired result... You will do as I say" (Springer 69).

Mycroft's part is clear. He's the white, rich, powerful, able-bodied man who benefits from society's structure and thus would never think to change it. He does legally have charge over both Enola and Eudoria. He can do whatever he pleases to make them "sensible"... and that right there is the horror of it. Mycroft is a law-abiding man whose antagonism stems from doing precisely what he's allowed to do in a broken world. There are certainly elements of this in the Netflix adaptation, but that antagonism becomes so exaggerated that it's nearly laughable. Enola's governess (appointed by Mycroft) slaps her across the face the moment she speaks up. Mycroft screams at her in a carriage until she's cowering against the window. He takes her and throws her into a boarding school where everything is bleak and all the women dutifully follow instructions like hypnotized dolls. Enola Holmes ensures that we've lost all of Springer's nuance, notably the criticism of otherwise decent people who fall into the trap of doing the "right" (read: expected) thing. Despite her desire for freedom, in the novel Enola quickly realizes that she is not immune to society's standards:

"I thought he was younger.” Much younger, in his curled tresses and storybook suit. Twelve! Why, the boy should be wearing a sturdy woollen jacket and knickers, an Eton collar with a tie, and a decent manly haircut—

Thoughts, I realised, all too similar to those of my brother Sherlock upon meeting me (113-14).

She is precisely like her brothers, judging a boy for not looking and acting enough like a man just as they judged her for not looking and acting enough like a lady. The difference is that Enola has chaffed enough against those expectations to realize when she's falling prey to them, but the sympathetic link to her brothers remains. In the film, however, the conflict is no longer driven by fallible people doing what they think is best. Rather, it's made clear (in no uncertain terms) that these are just objectively bad people. Only villains hit someone like that. Only villains will scream at the top of their lungs until a young girl cries. Only villains roll their eyes at women's rights (a subplot that never existed in the novel). Springer writes Mycroft as a person, Netflix writes him as a cartoon, and the result is the loss of a nuanced message about what it means to enact change in a complicated world.  

Which leaves us with Sherlock. Note that in the above passage he is the one who casts harsh judgement on Enola's outfit. Originally Mycroft took an interest in making Enola "sensible" and Sherlock— in true Holmes fashion—straddles a fine line between comfort and insult:

"Mycroft,” Sherlock intervened, “the girl's head, you'll observe, is rather small in proportion to her remarkably tall body. Let her alone. There is no use confusing and upsetting her when you'll find out for yourself soon enough'" (38).

***

"Could mean that she left impulsively and in haste, or it could reflect the innate untidiness of a woman's mind,” interrupted Sherlock. “Of what use is reason when it comes to the dealings of a woman, and very likely one in her dotage?" (43).

A large part of Enola's drive stems from proving to Sherlock, the world, and even herself that a small head does not mean lack of intelligence. His insults, couched in a misguided attempt to sooth, is what makes Sherlock a complex character and his broader sexism is what makes him a flawed character, not Superman in a tweed suit. Yet in the film Mycroft becomes the villain and Sherlock is his good brother foil. Rather than needing to acknowledge that Enola has a knack for deduction by reading the excellent questions she's asked about the case—because why give your characters any development?—he already adores and has complete faith in her, laughing that he too likes to draw caricatures to think. By the tree Sherlock remanences fondly about Enola's childhood where she demonstrated appropriately quirky preferences for a genius, things like not wearing trousers and keeping a pinecone for a pet. They have a clear connection that Mycroft could never understand, one based both in deduction and, it seems, being a halfway decent human being. We are told that Enola has Sherlock's wits, but poor Mycroft lucked out, despite the fact that up until this point the film has done nothing to demonstrate this supposed intelligence. (To say nothing of how canonically Mycroft's intellect rivals his brother's.) Enola falls to her knees and begs for Sherlock's help, saying that "For [Mycroft] I'm a nuisance, to you—" implying that they have a deep bond despite not having seen one another since Enola was a toddler. Indeed, at one point Enola challenges Lestrade to a Sherlock quiz filled with information presumably not found in the newspaper clippings she's saved of him, which begs the question of how she knows her brother so well when she hasn't seen him in a decade and he, in turn, walked right by her with no recognition. Truthfully, Lestrade should know Sherlock better. Through all this the sibling bond is used as a heavy-handed insistence that Enola is Sherlock's protégé, him leaving her with the advice that "Those kinds of mysteries are always the best to unpick” and straight up asking at one point if she’s solved the case. The plot has Enola gearing up to outwit her genius brother, which did not happen in the novel and is precisely why I loved it. Enola isn't out to be a master of deduction in her teens, she's a finder of lost people who uses a similar, but ultimately unique set of skills. She does things Sherlock can't because she is isn't Sherlock. They're not in competition, they're peers, yet the film fails to understand that, using Sherlock's good brother bonding to emphasize Enola's place as his protégé turned superior. He exists, peppered throughout the film, so that she can surpass him in the end. 

You know what happens in the novel? Sherlock walks away from her, dismissive, and that's that.

That's also Sherlock Holmes. I won't bore you with complaints about Cavill being too handsome and Claflin being too thin for their respective parts, but I will draw the line at complete character assassination. Part of Sherlock's charm is that he's far more compassionate than he first appears, but that doesn't mean he would, at the drop of a telegram, become a doting older brother to a sister of all things. Despite the absurdity of the Doyle Estate's lawsuit against Netflix for making Sherlock an emotional man who respects women... they're right that this isn't their character. Oh, Sherlock is emotive, but it's in the form of excited exclamations over clues, or the occasional warm word towards Watson—someone he has known and lived with for many years. Sherlock respects women, though it's through those societal expectations. He'll offer them a seat, an ear, a handkerchief if they need one, and always the promise of help, but he then dismisses them with, "The fairer sex is your department, Watson." Springer successfully wrote Sherlock Holmes with a little sister, a man who will bark out a laugh at her caricature but still leave her to Mycroft's whims because he has his own life to tend to. This is a man who insists that the mind of a woman is inscrutable and thus must grapple with his shock at Enola's ability to cover the "salient points" of the case (58). Cavill's Sherlock is no Sherlock at all and though there's nothing wrong with updating a character for a modern audience (see: Elementary), I do question why Netflix strayed so far from Springer's work. The novel is, after all, their blueprint. She already managed the difficult task of writing an in-character Sherlock Holmes who remains approachable to both a modern audience and Enola herself, yet for some reason Netflix tossed that work aside.  

2. Enola is "Special,” Not At All Like Other Girls 

Allow me to paint you a picture. Enola Holmes is an empathetic, fourteen-year-old girl who, while bright, does not possess an intelligence worthy of note. No one is gasping as she deduces seemingly impossible things from the age of four, or admiring her knowledge of some obscure, appropriately impressive topic. Rather, Enola is a fairly normal girl with an abnormal upbringing, characterized by her patience and willingness to work. Deciphering the many hiding places where her mother stashed cash takes her weeks, requiring that Enola work through the night in secrecy while maintaining appearances during the day. She manages to hatch a plan of escape that demonstrates the thought she's put into it without testing the reader's suspension of disbelief. More than that, she uses the feminine tools at her disposal to give herself an edge: hiding her face behind a widow's veil and storing luggage in the bustle of her dress. Upon achieving freedom, her understanding of another lonely boy leads her to try and help him, resulting in a dangerous kidnapping wherein Enola acts as most fourteen-year-olds would, scared out of her mind with a few moments of bravery born of pure survival instinct. She and Tewksbury escape together, as friends, before Enola sets out on becoming the first scientific perditorian, a finder of lost people.

Sadly, this new Enola shares little resemblance with her novel counterpart. What Netflix seemingly fails to understand is that giving a character flaws makes them relatable and that someone who looks more like us is someone we can connect with. This Enola, simply put, is extraordinary. She's read all the books in the library, knows science, tennis, painting, archery, and a deadly form of Jujitsu (more on that below). In the novel Enola bemoans that she was never particularly good at cyphers and now must improve if she has any hope of reading what her mother left her. In the film she simply knows the answers, near instantaneously. Enola masters her travels, her disguises, and her deductions, all with barely a hitch. Though Enola doesn't have impressive detective skills yet, her memory is apparently photographic, allowing her to look back on a single glance into a room, years ago, and untangle precisely what her mother was planning. It's a BBC Sherlock-esque form of 'deduction' wherein there's no real thought involved, just an innate ability to recall a newspaper across the room with perfect clarity. The one thing Enola can't do well is ride a bike which, considering that in the novel she quite enjoys the activity, feels like a tacked on "flaw" that the film never has to have her grapple with.

More than simply expanding upon her skillset—because let’s be real, it’s not like Sherlock himself doesn’t have an impressive list of accomplishments. Even if Enola’s feelings of inadequacy are part of the point Springer was working to make—the film changes the core of her personality. I cannot stress enough that Enola is a sheltered fourteen-year-old who is devastated by the disappearance of her mother and terrified by the new world she's entered. That fear, uncertainty, and the numerous mistakes that come out of it is what allowed me to connect with Enola and go, "Yeah. I can see myself in her." Meanwhile, this new Enola is overwhelmingly confident, to the point where I felt like I was watching a child's fantasy of a strong woman rather than one who actually demonstrates strength by overcoming challenges. For example, contrast her meeting with Sherlock and Mycroft on the train platform with what we got in the film:

"And to my annoyance, I found myself trembling as I hopped off my bicycle. A strip of lace from my pantalets, confounded flimsy things, caught on the chain, tore loose, and dangled over my left boot.

Trying to tuck it up, I dropped my shawl.

This would not do. Taking a deep breath, leaving my shawl on my bicycle and my bicycle leaning against the station wall, I straightened and approached the two Londoners, not quite succeeding in holding my head high" (31-32).

***

"Well, if they did not desire the pleasure of my conversation, it was a good thing, as I stood mute and stupid... 'I don't know where she's gone,' I said, and to my own surprise—for I had not wept until that moment—I burst into tears" (34).

I'd ask where this frightened, fumbling Enola has gone, but it's clear that she never existed in the script to begin with. The film is chock-full of her being, to be frank, a badass. She gleefully beats up the bad guys in perfect form, no, "I froze, cowering, like a rabbit in a thicket" (164). This Enola always gets the last word in and never falters in her confident demeanor, no, "I wish I could say I swept with cold dignity out of the room, but the truth is, I tripped over my skirt and stumbled up the stairs" (70). Enola is the one, special girl in an entire school who can see how rigid and horrible these social expectations are, straining against them while all her lesser peers roll their eyes. That's how she's characterized: as "special," right from the get-go, and that eliminates any growth she might have experienced over the course of the film. More than that, it feels like a slap in the face to Springer's otherwise likeable, well-rounded character.

3. A Focus on Hollywood Action and Those Strong Female Characters

It never fails to amaze me how often Sherlock Holmes adaptations fail to remember that he is, at his core, an intellectual. Sure, there's the occasional story where Sherlock puts his boxing or singlestick skills to good use, and he did survive his encounter with Moriarty thanks to his own martial arts, but these moments are rarities across the canon. Pick up any Sherlock Holmes story, open to a random page, and you will find him sitting fireside to mule over a case, donning a disguise to observe the suspects, or combing through his many papers to find that one, necessary scrap of information. Sherlock Holmes is about deduction, a series of observations and conclusions based on logic. He's not an action hero. Nor is Enola, yet Netflix seems to be under the impression that no audience can survive a two hour film without something exploding.

I'd like to present a concise list of things that happened in the film that were, in my opinion, unnecessary:

Enola and Tewksbury throw themselves out of a moving train to miraculously land unharmed on the grass below.

Enola uses the science knowledge her mother gave her to ignite a whole room of gunpowder and explosives, resulting in a spectacle that somehow doesn't kill her pursuer.

Enola engages in a long shootout with her attacker, Tewksbury takes a shot straight to the chest, but survives because of a breastplate he only had a few seconds to put on and hide beneath his shirt. Then Enola succeeds in killing Burn Gorman's slimy character.

Enola beats up her attackers many, many times.

This right here is the worst change to her character. Enola is, plainly put, a "strong woman." Literally. She was trained from a young age to kick ass and now that's precisely what she'll do. Gone is the unprepared but brave girl who heads out onto the dangerous London streets in the hope of helping her mother and a young boy. What does this Enola have to fear? There's only one martial arts move she hasn't mastered yet and, don't worry, she gets it by the end of the film. Enola suffers from the Hollywood belief that strong women are defined solely as physically capable women and though there's nothing wrong with that on the surface, the archetype has become so prevalent that any deviation is seen as too weak—too princess-y—to be considered feminist. If you're not kicking ass and taking names then you can only be passive, right? Stuck in a tower somewhere and awaiting your prince. But what about me? I have no ability to flip someone over my shoulder and throw them into a wall. What about pacifists? What about the disabled? By continually claiming that this is what a "strong" woman looks like you eliminate a huge number of women from this pool. The women we are meant to uphold in this film—Enola, her Mother, and her Mother's friend from the teahouse—are all fighters of the physical variety, whereas the bad women like Mrs. Harris and her pupils are too cultured for self-defense. They're too feminine to be feminist. But feminism isn't about your ability to throw a punch.  Enola's success now derives from being the most talented and the most violent in the room, rather than the most determined, smart, and empathetic. She threatens people and lunges at them, reminding others that she's perfectly capable of tying up a guy is she so chooses because "I know Jujitsu." Enola possesses a power that is just as fantastical as kissing a frog into a prince. In sixteen short years she has achieved what no real life woman ever will: the ability to go wherever she pleases and do whatever she wants without the threat of violence. Because Enola is the violence. While her attacker is attempting to drown her with somewhat horrific realism, Enola takes the time to wink at the audience before rearing back and bloodying his nose. After all, why would you think she was in any danger? Masters of Jujitsu with an uncanny ability to dodge bullets don't have anything to fear... unlike every woman watching this film.

It's certainly some kind of wish fulfillment, a fantasy to indulge in, but I personally preferred the original Enola who never had any Hollywood skills at her disposal yet still managed to come out on top. That's a character I can see myself in and want to see myself in given that the concept of non-violent strength is continually pushed to the wayside. Not to mention... that's a Sherlock Holmes story. Coming out on top through intellect and bravery alone is the entire point of the genre, so why Netflix felt the need to turn Enola into an action hero is beyond me.  

4. Aging Up the Protagonists (and Giving Them an Eye-Rolling Romance)

The choice to age up our heroes is, arguably, the worst decision here. In the original novel Enola has just turned fourteen and Tewksbury is a child, twelve-years-old, though he looks even younger. It's a story for a younger audience staring appropriately young heroes, with the protagonists' status as children crucial to one of the overarching themes of the story: what does it really mean to strike out on your own and when are you ready for it? Adding two years to Enola's age is something I'm perfectly fine with. After all, the difference between fourteen and sixteen isn't that great and Brown herself is sixteen until February of 2021, so why not aim for realism and make her character the same? That's all reasonable and this is, indeed, an adaptation. No need to adhere to every detail of the text. What puzzles me though is why in the world they would take a terrified, sassy, compassionate twelve-year-old and turn him into a bumbling seventeen-year-old instead?

Ah yes. The romance.

In the same way that I fail to understand the assumption that a film needs over-the-top action to be entertaining, I likewise fail to understand the assumption that it needs a romance—and a heterosexual one to boot. There's something incredibly discomforting in watching a film that so loudly proclaim itself as feminist, yet it takes the strong friendship between two children and turns it into an incredibly awkward, hetero True Love story. Remember when Enola loudly proclaims that she doesn't want a husband? The film didn't, because an hour later she's stroking her hand over Tewksbury's while twirling her hair. Which isn't to say that women can't fall in love, or change their minds, just that it's disheartening to see a supposedly feminist film so completely fall into one of the biggest expectations for women, even today. Forget Enola running up to men and paying them for their clothes as an expression of freedom, is anyone going to acknowledge that narratively she’s still stuck living the life the men around her want? Find yourself a husband, Enola. The heavy implication is she did, just with Jujitsu rather than embroidery. Different method, same message, and that’s incredibly frustrating when this didn’t exist in the original story. “It's about freedom!” the film insists. So why didn't you give Enola the freedom to have a platonic adventure? 

It's not even a good romance. Rather painful, really. When Tewksbury, after meeting her just once before, passionately says "I don't want to leave you, Enola" because her company is apparently more important than him staying alive, I literally laughed out loud. It's ridiculous and it's ridiculously precisely because it was shoe-horned into a story that didn't need it. More than simply saddling Enola with a bland love interest though, this leads to a number of unfortunate changes in the story's plot, both unnecessary additions and disappointing exclusions. Enola no longer meets Tewksbury after they've both been kidnapped (him for ransom and her for snooping into his case), but rather watches him cut himself out of a carpetbag on the train. I hope I don't have to explain which of these scenarios is more likely and, thus, more satisfying. Meeting Tewksbury on the train means that Enola gets to have a nighttime chat with him about precisely why he ran away. Thus, when she goes to his estate she no longer needs to deduce his hiding spot based on her own desires to have a place of her own, she just needs to recall that a very big branch nearly fell on him and behold, there that branch is. (The fact that the branch is a would-be murder weapon makes its convenient placement all the more eye-rolling.) Rather than involving herself in the case out of empathy for the family, Enola loudly proclaims that she wants nothing to do with Tewksbury and only reluctantly gets involved when it's clear his life is on the line. And that right there is another issue. In the novel there is no murderous plot in an attempt to keep reform bills from passing. Tewksbury is a child who, like Enola, ran away and quickly discovers that life with an overbearing mother isn't so bad when you've experienced London's dangerous streets. That's the emotional blow: Enola has no mother to go home to anymore and must press out onto those streets whether she's ready for it or not.

Perhaps the only redeeming change is giving Tewksbury an interest in flowers instead of ships. Regardless of how overly simplistic the feminist message is, it is a nice touch to give the guy a traditionally feminine hobby while Enola sharpens her knife. The fact that Enola learned that from her mother and Tewksbury learned botany from his father feels like a nudge at a far better film than Enola Holmes managed to be. For every shining moment of insight—the constraints of gendered hobbies, a black working class woman informing Sherlock that he can never understand what it means to lack power—the film gives us twenty minutes worth of frustrating stupidity. Such as how Enola doesn't seem to conceive of escaping from boarding school until Tewksbury appears to rescue her. She then proceeds to get carried around in a basket for a few minutes before going out the window... which she could have done on her own at any point, locked doors or no. But it seems that narrative consistency isn't worth more than Enola (somehow) leaving a caricature of Mrs. Harris and Mycroft behind. The film is clearly trying to promote a "Rah, rah, go, women, go!" message, but fails to understand that having Enola find a way out of the school herself would be more emotionally fulfilling than having her send a generic 'You're mean' message after the two men in her life—Sherlock and Tewksbury—remind her that she can, in fact, take action.

Which brings me to my biggest criticism and what I would argue is the film's greatest flaw. Reviewers and fans alike are hailing Enola Holmes as a feminist masterpiece and yes, to a certain extent it is. Feminist, that is, not a masterpiece. (5) But it's a hollow feminism. A fantasy feminism. A simple, exaggerated feminism that came out of a Feminism 101 PowerPoint. To quote Sherlock, let's review the salient points:

A woman cannot be the star of her own film without having a male love interest, even if this goes against everything the original novel stood for.

A feminist woman cannot also be selfish. Instead she must have a selfless drive to change the world with bombs. 

The best kind of women are those who reject femininity as much as they can. They will wear boy's clothes whenever possible and snub their nose at something as useless as embroidery. Any woman who enjoys such skills or desires to become lady-like just hasn't realized the sort of prison she's in yet.

The best women also embody other masculine traits, like being able to take down men twice their size. Passive women will titter behind their hands. Active women will kick you in the balls. If you really want to be a strong woman, learn how to throw a decent punch.

Women are, above all, superior to men.

Yes, yes, I joke about it just as much as the next woman, but seeing it played fairly straight was a bit of an uncomfortable experience, even more-so during a gender revolution where stories like this leave trans, nonbinary, and genderqueer viewers out of the ideological loop. Enola goes on and on about what a "useless boy" Tewksbury is (though of course she must still be attracted to him) and her mother's teachings are filled with lessons about not listening to men. As established, Mycroft—and Lestrade—are the simplistically evil men Enola must circumvent, whereas Sherlock exists for her to gain victory over: "How did your sister get there first?" Enola supposedly has a strength that Tewksbury lacks— he's just "foolish"—and she shouts out such cringe-worthy lines as, "You're a man when I tell you you're a man!"

I get the message, I really do. As a teenager I probably would have loved it, but now I have to ask: aren't we past the image of men-hating feminists? Granted, the film never goes quite that far, but it gets close. We’ve got one woman who is ready to start blowing things up to achieve equality and another who revels in looking down on the men in her life. That’s been the framing for years, that feminists are cruel, dangerous people and Tewksbury making heart-eyes at Enola doesn’t instantly fix the echoes of that. There's a certain amount of justification for both characterizations—we have reached points in history where peaceful protests are no longer enough and Tewksbury is indeed a fool at times—but that nuance is entirely lost among the film's overall message of "Women rule, men drool." It feels like there’s a smart film hidden somewhere between the grandmother murdering to keep the status quo and Enola’s mother bombing for change, that balance existing in Enola herself who does the most for women by protecting Tewkesbury... but Enola Holmes is too busy juggling all the different films it wants to be to really hit on that message. It certainly doesn’t have time to say anything worthwhile about the fight it’s using as a backdrop. Enola gasps that "Mycroft is right. You are dangerous" when she finds her mother's bombs, but does she ever grapple with whether she supports violence on a large scale in the name of creating a better world? Does she work through this sudden revelation that she agrees with Mycroft about something crucial? Of course not. Enola just hugs her mom, asks Sherlock not to go after her, and the film leaves it at that. 

The takeaway is less one of empowerment and more, ironically, of restriction. You can fight, but only via bombs and punches. It's okay to be a woman, provided you don't like too many feminine things. You can save the day, so long as there's a man at your side poised to marry you in the future. I felt like I was watching a pre-2000s script where "equality" means embracing the idea that you're "not like other girls" so that men will finally take you seriously. Because then you don't really feel like a woman to them anymore, do you? You're a martial arts loving, trouser-wearing, loud and brilliant individual who just happens to have long hair. You’re unique and, therefore, worthy of attention, unlike all those other girls.

That's some women's experiences, but far from all, and crucially I don't think this is the woman that Springer wrote in her novel. 

The Case of the Missing Marquess is a feminist book. It gives us a flawed, brave, intelligent woman who sets out to help people and achieves just that, mostly through her own strength, but also with some help from the young boy she befriends. Her brothers are privileged, misguided men who she nevertheless cares for deeply and her mother finally puts herself first, leaving Enola to go and live with the Romani people. Everyone in Springer's book feels human, the women especially. Enola gets to tremble her way through scary decisions while still remaining brave. Her mother gets to be selfish while still remaining loving. They're far more than just women blessed with extraordinary talents who will take what they want by force. Springer's women? They don't have that Hollywood glamour. They're pretty ordinary, actually, despite the surface quirks. They’re like us and thus they must make use of what tools they have in order to change their own situations as well as the world. The fact that they still succeed feels very feminist to me, far more-so than granting your character the ability to flip a man into the ground and calling it a day.  

Know that I watched Enola Holmes with a friend over Netflix Party and the repeated comment from us both was, "I'd rather be watching The Great Mouse Detective." Enola Holmes is by no means a horrible film. It has beauty, comedy, and a whole lot of heart, but it could have been leagues better given its source material and the talent of its cast. It’s a film that tries to do too much without having a firm grasp of its own message and, as a result, becomes a film mostly about missed potential. Which leads me right back to where I began: The book is better. Go read the book.

Images

Enola Holmes

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

Enola and her Mother Doing Archery

Enola and her Mother Fighting

Tewkesbury and Enola

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

After

Warnings: noncon sex and some violence; blood.

This is dark!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After the world fell into desolation, the Avengers split into factions. You are a medic in Thor’s settlement and find yourself called on to tend to a prisoner.

Note: This is pretty brutal so that’s a heads up right there in case you missed the warning above. Remember y’all, be safe, be healthy, take care of yourselves first. I’m always here for you, even if we never or rarely talk.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You weren’t supposed to be up on the third floor. Half the ceiling was on the floor and a tree branch littered the floor along with a scatter of debris. It was like a microcosm of what the world had become; broken and bleak.

From there you could see the gate but not much further. You watched the lookouts as they roused from their listless vigils and called to each other. The party was back and they were in a hurry. Trouble.

The Prince, the second-in-command, had been gone for two weeks. Scavenging, they said, but the settlement already had a stockpile of most of the goods to be found in the area. And the fields were healthy; much better than last year’s harvest. 

No one ever commented how the ‘scavengers’ returned with more weapons than they left with and a piece of two of clothing that didn’t belong to them. No one said anything because those who did ended up on the other side of the gates. It was better to live among the wolves than to be a part of the herd preyed upon.

You sighed and backed away from the gaping hole in the side of the medical center. You’d have to go back down, there would be work to do. You stopped as the gates opened. Something was different.

You stepped back up to the open wall and squinted across the distance. There were only three jeeps that drove through; they’d left with four. 

The Prince, Loki, climbed out. He was the only clean-shaven man in the settlement. He spoke briefly with the guard, Isaiah, then got back in the jeep stiffly. The trio of cars rumbled on and you backed away. Wounded, likely. You could tell easily by the way he moved.

You retreated and tramped heavily down the stairs. Doctor Coleman was still in surgery with Corette. A young girl had been rushed in with a bursting appendix. The other staff waded in and out of rooms with patients for the usual daily complaints; nothing too serious.

“Aleisha,” You stopped the head nurse of your fleet. Some had been nurses before and others had learned after out of necessity. Five years felt like more. “The prince has returned.”

“And?”

“Two weeks gone,” You said. “They will be coming here.”

“Alright,” She nodded and walked away. 

You shook your head at her and went to the front doors. You propped them open as Owen bent over the desk that acted as triage and jotted in a folder.

“Any updates on Dr. Coleman?” You asked as you crossed your arms and kept an ear to the doors.

“We’re low on anesthetic. They gave the girl whiskey. She woke up.” Owen grumbled. “It might take all day.”

“Shit,” You huffed as you heard motors on the next street. “Well, get ready.”

“Where’s Aleisha?” He asked.

“Another smoke break? Maybe just running away from all this,” You shrugged. “Can’t really blame her but there isn’t enough tobacco around to form an addiction.”

The first jeep pulled up, the second, and the third barely puttered at the rear. The trunk of the last was thrown open and two men ambled out with bloody rags around their arms. They helped another who was barely conscious and you waved to Owen.

“Front doors!” He yelled down the hall before he rushed out past you.

You went to follow him and the passenger side of the first jeep opened. You glanced back as several nurses appeared and the second car began to unload.

“Your doctor,” The prince held onto the door as he kept it open only a few inches.

“In surgery,” You said. “We can deal with this.”

“I don’t care about this,” He hissed as he rolled his eyes. “I need him to come with me.”

“It will be at least a couple hours.” You tried to step past him and he shot his foot out to trip you up. You stopped just before your feet tangled with his leg. “If it’s nothing serious--”

“Fine, you.” He said impatiently. “So long as you know how to use a needle, I suppose it’ll do.”

“Me, I… Aleisha is our--”

“Come on, I haven’t all day,” He growled. “Get in the back.” You stared at him dumbly. “Now.”

“I’ll need a kit,” You said.

“Don’t bother,” He sneered. “Get in.”

You looked around at the chaos of bodies and reached for the door. The Prince slammed the front one and you pulled the back open. You got in and closed the door.

You didn’t like it. Coleman was the only medical personnel permitted to see the king and his brother. The doctor said it was for the good of everyone.

You winced as you looked over to the passenger beside you. A man, barely, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He was thin and his reddish brown hair clung to his forehead. He was bound and slumped against the door. A stained cloth filled his mouth and a gash ran across his shoulder blade. You blanched and reached over to touch the dry blood.

“What happened to him?” You asked.

“His own fault,” The Prince said. “No more questions.”

You exhaled and drew away from the boy. You had nothing to help him but a pen in your front pocket and the knife clipped at your waist.

The jeep pulled up to the building they called the Palace. It used to be a bank and was one of the only buildings left untouched. You climbed out as the rest did and the man in the driver’s seat pulled the boy out with a grunt.

You were ushered to the doors and searched by the guards, ever-present on their watch. They took your knife but left you your pen. You followed behind Loki, his companion, and the injured boy. The latter was slung over the driver’s shoulder as you ascended the stairs and his pained groans echoed around you.

The door fell heavy behind you and you were led to a room. Loki muttered as he entered and directed his companion to set the boy down. You stood by the door.

“Go get my brother,” Loki ordered. “You,” He pointed at you, “See to the boy.”

“With what?” You asked as the other man left and the door snapped shut behind him.

Loki turned and opened a tall cabinet. He winced as he turned back with a tin chest in his hands. He dropped it beside the chair the boy slumped on. You neared as he traipsed away and knelt to open the kit.

“What’s your name?” You asked the wounded boy.

He stared at you a moment and reached to his shoulder. “Peter,” He grunted.

“No talking,” Loki fell onto the couch heavily and held in a groan. “Just sew him up.”

You pulled on a pair of gloves from the bottom of the chest and stood. You nudged the boy so that he sat forward and pulled apart his shirt, ripping it to expose his shoulder entirely. You bent to grab some gauze and the bottle of peroxide.

“How did this happen?” You asked quietly.

“What did I say about talking?” Loki snarled.

“I need to know if I should be looking for shrapnel,” You rebuffed.

He glanced over at your sharply and waved you away.

“I fell. Caught it on the edge of a wooden platform.” The boy explained as his hands formed fists.

“I’ll have to make sure there aren’t any slivers,” You warned as you wiped away the dried blood.

“Do what you gotta,” He kept his head down. “Doesn’t matter much.”

You were quiet at that. You knew what he wasn’t saying. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t going to leave here alive. The door opened as you tossed away a square of gauze and grabbed another.

“Brother!” The King, Thor, entered with a theatrical swish of his crimson cape. The swath of red was the reason for his nickname, well, aside from his insistence. “I was certain you’d lost yourself out there.”

The door shut loudly behind him as Loki shifted on the couch. He touched his hip as he struggled to sit straight. The King combed back his thick blond hair as the beads in his beard gave a subtle jangle as the brushed together.

“Lost? No, no, I found something… someone most valuable,” Loki smirked and peered over at Peter. 

Thor turned and you kept your eyes on your work. He looked over the boy and hovered at the edge of your vision.

“You ran into Stark’s men?” Thor said grimly.

“Some of them. They were getting awfully friendly with the Rogers clan.” Loki replied. “A precarious but dangerous alliance, wouldn’t you say?”

There was silence as you fished for your tweezers to dislodged a long sliver of wood. Peter yiped as you poked the metal into his torn flesh. You apologized under your breath and he nodded as he clamped his lips shut.

“I am sorry it has come to this,” Thor neared and pulled up another chair. He sat just on the other side of you as you tended to Peter. “I always did favour you.”

“Sure,” Peter scoffed. “You know, it’s not so easy to pretend to be decent these days.”

“Mercy is a form of decency,” Thor said coolly. “My brother did spare you.”

“And killed the rest. If I was anyone else, I’d be dead.”

“But you’re not,” Thor insisted.

You threaded the curved needle as you tried to fade into the tense air. You stood and focused on aligning it’s point. You pressed it to Peter’s flesh and he inhaled as if to acknowledge you. You pushed the metal through his skin and he gripped his knee.

“Or I could send the medic away. Let that rot,” Thor ventured. “I could do worse than this.”

“Like you did to Clint?” Peter rasped and slapped his leg as you continued. 

“The only mistake there was that Clint could not tell you all why I did it,” Thor sneered. “I am not cruel without reason.”

“Heh, sure. Whatever helps you look in the mirror.” Peter grumbled.

You tied up the last stitch and wiped the needle clean. You placed a patch of cotton over the cut and taped it down carefully. You packed up slowly. You thought of the limited supplies at the medical centre. You doubted this was the only treasure chest at the Palace.

You took off your gloves as you stood, the chest still open. You looked at Loki expectantly.

“Well, what do you want?” He snarled. “If you’re done, go.”

“Am I?” You asked calmly.

“What- You--”

“Your lower back. Or that’s what seems to be bothering you.” You said.

“Might be the perpetual stick up his ass,” Thor chuckled.

Loki inhaled deeply and winced. He shook his head and slid forward on the couch.

“Since you’re here.” He curled his fingers in a gesture for you to approach. “Be quick about it.”

You bent and lifted the chest. It was heavy. You set it by the couch and sat on the edge as he turned away from you. You lifted his thick jacket and the shirt beneath. A clean slice; it shouldn’t be causing too much pain, especially for him.

“Hmm,” You cleaned the cut and grabbed the largest band-aid from the smaller box. “Should heal on its own.”

“Told you.” Thor stood. “Stick. Ass. You don’t happen to know how to get it out?”

“Oh, quiet, you arse,” Loki hissed. 

You shoved the wrapper in your pocket as you clasped the chest shut  and stood.

“Castor oil is a natural laxative,” You offered. “But there’s not much to be had these days.”

Thor boomed with laughter and Loki straightened up with a pained breath.

“Just go,” Loki said.

“I’ll show you out,” Thor backed away and turned to open the door.

“Heimdall can--” Loki began.

“Nonsense, he’s busy.” Thor held the door and motioned you through. “I won’t be long. I am certain you can handle the boy on your own.”

You stepped out into the hall, eager to be away from both brothers. It wasn’t any secret that they had their differences, even with the state of things. Thor pulled the door closed behind him and nodded you along. He came up beside you, close enough that his cape swept against your shoulder.

“You work down at the medical center?” He asked.

“Mhmm,” You answered. It was more than obvious.

“You like it?” He peeked over at you out of the corner of his eye.

“People don’t really do what they like these days,” You said. “It’s gotta be done so I do it.”

“True, not all of us have the luxury of indulging in our desires,” He spun and stepped in front of you as you reached the door to the stairwell. “But some of us get to.”

You frowned as the air caught in your chest. He couldn’t mean…

“I have to get back. They’ll need me--”

“They can spare you for a while,” He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. “How’d you end up here?”

“What?” You blinked.

“Stark, Rogers, Romanoff…” He said. “How did you end up in this camp?”

“Most of us didn’t choose.” You shrugged. “Before this was a camp, I was just trying to help injured people and that’s all I do now.”

“I like watching those hands of yours. So deft, quick,” He pushed himself away from the door and pulled his cape straight. “I’ve an ailment myself I’ve been seeking relief for but you see, Doctor Coleman hasn’t the cure.”

You narrowed your eyes and took a step back. His blue eyes seemed to light up as he advanced.

“Okay…” You uttered as you continued your slow retreat.

“You see, this world is lonely and I’ve yet to find any comfort for that. Anything… effective.” His footsteps kept a steady pace as he closed in. “You think you could help me--”

You turned and raced back down the hall. There was another stairwell at the opposite end, if you could reach it, you might just--

He caught you swiftly. He grabbed the back of your shirt and wrenched you back so that you nearly fell on your ass. He turned and flung you so that you hit the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of you. 

You wheezed and struggled to stay upright as you turned back to him. You kicked out and he caught your foot. He pulled it up so that your other leg flew out from under you and your back hit the wall as you fell to the floor.

You coughed and turned onto your stomach as you lifted yourself onto your elbows. You crawled away from him, gasping for air, searching for the strength to stand.

His boot came down between your shoulder blades and he pushed you down onto your chest. The man who’d driven with Loki emerged from a door at the end of the hall. You looked up at him desperately.

“Loki is in his chamber,” Thor said gruffly as he leaned his weight on you. “Tell him I won’t be long.”

The man disappeared and Thor pushed down until you slapped the floor desperately. 

“You know,” He moved his foot so that his boots were on either side of you. “I’ve had women offer themselves for a loaf of bread and often nothing at all. Boring.”

You tried to lift yourself and he lowered himself to his knees to straddle you. He grabbed your shoulders and forced you entirely to your stomach.

“You come here a little later and these halls are… rampant with women. Money, that’s nothing. There are new commodities to be traded; fuel, food, flesh.”

“Stop, please,” You begged. “Please, I didn’t--”

“Oh, I know you didn’t do anything. Wouldn’t even look at me.” He rubbed your back as he wiggled his pelvis against you. “And when you did, there was no desperation, no hunger, no… reverence.”

His hands left your back and the red cape swept in front of you and piled on the floor. His fingers stretched over your hips and he squeezed.

“These women offer themselves because they know they owe me. For their safety, their lives. I had these walls built, I keep the generators going, and I keep worse fiends from sinking their fangs into you puny Midgardians.”

“I--I… Please.” You clawed at the floor.

“They’re so eager, so malleable, so… pathetic,” You wriggled beneath him as you kicked your legs. “And here you are, trapped, and you still try to get away. From what? I could give you a life easier than blood and bile.”

“Get… off!” You exclaimed as you tried to squirm out from beneath him.

“This is how this world works,” He lowered his voice as he leaned over you. He placed an arm across your shoulders as his other hand fumbled along the front of his pants. “You don’t ask, you take. And if you can’t take, you’re taken from.”

He sighed and his fingers hooked in the waist of your jeans. He tore them down, the button falling loose as he did. He ripped your panties down just as roughly and you felt his arousal rub against your ass.

“You can struggle, scream if you like but… if anyone hears you,” He guided his cock down your ass and rubbed against your cunt. “They’ll pretend they don’t.”

He forced himself inside of you and you cried out in pain. He impaled you to his limit and you gritted your teeth as his thick arm crushed your shoulders. He thrust so that your entire body jerked and your fingers buried in the heap of crimson fabric.

He sat back and planted a hand between your shoulders. He rocked atop you, groaning and growling as he did. You closed your eyes as the whimpers slipped from your lips. Every tilt of his hips was harder than the last. The clap of his flesh echoed down the hall and in your ears.

“I was wondering…” He panted in between ruts. “What that weaselly little doctor was hiding… from me.”

He pounded into you without pause. Your hips hit the hard floor painfully and you curled your arm around your head to hide your face. Your hot breath filled the space and mingled with the shame nestled in your cheeks.

His purrs rose to a growl and you felt as if your body would shatter. He lifted your hips as he plunged into you over and over. Your walls clenched around him and a warm gush flooded you.

Your head shot up as you tried once more to escape him.

“No…” You gasped.

“Shhh,” He jolted into you as he slowed. He stroked the back of your head and pushed it down to the floor. He bent over you and inhaled your scent. “It will be a king’s child.”

He slipped out of you and his cum leaked down your folds. He stood and let out a satisfied sigh.

“I have not given my seed to the others.” He said as he nudged you with his toe. “Clean yourself up, pet. My men have even less restraint than I.”

[mollymauk-teafleak]

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter six)

Seems I can’t write a penultimate chapter in any widomauk fic were Caleb doesn’t end the chapter passed out

Huge thanks to my wonderful beta readers @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian!

I got out to bed to go post this guys, please reblog and leave a comment on Ao3

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Mollymauk realises he might get the love of his life back and lose him in the same day

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There had never been much of the king in the crown prince.

The two of them could not have appeared more different, in the obvious places like race and age, personality and attitude, the decisions they made and the way they talked, moved and dressed. And then there were the myriad subtle differences that only someone with a close vantage point would see, the way their minds worked behind their eyes, the things that drove them, what they wanted and what they were willing to do to get it. The two men could not have been more different.

But right now, facing his anger, Caleb could see Babenon Dosal behind his friend’s red eyes. He saw a king.

He wasn’t surprised Mollymauk had chosen anger, it was the easier emotion to grapple with after reading the letter and realising what Caleb had done. When he’d commanded their friends to leave, his voice quiet and clipped and full of rage about to slip it’s leash, Caleb had been impassive, accepting, simply giving their dismayed, stunned glances a gentle nod of acknowledgement. He simply folded his hands behind his back and faced the fury of a man who had been brought up being told he was the rightful ruler of everything he could see past the horizon.

The letter from Lorenzo was crushed in his grip as he growled, “How dare you. How fucking dare you, Caleb. Are you aware of what you’ve just done?”

“Forging the prince’s signature on the letter I wrote to Lorenzo proposing single combat,” Caleb intoned, expressionlessly, listing his crimes like they were a shopping list he was being sent to market with, “Deliberately circumventing the prince’s wishes. Negotiating with a hostile party without the crown’s leave. Risking everything, our land and our people. High treason, all in all. Execution would be the penalty in any court.”

“And for what?” Molly spat, shaking, his tear streaked cheeks dark purple with anger, “What, Caleb?”

“To keep you safe,” emotion slipped into Caleb’s voice, as much as he tried to keep it at bay, “To save your life.”

He watched Molly choke on that, the letter slipping through his grasp as it slackened. Caleb made a mental note with the part of his brain not consumed by grief to pick it up later. It was all they had of Lorenzo’s oath not to take the city if Caleb should fail.

“I couldn’t watch you die, Mollymauk,” he continued, swallowing hard, “I couldn’t. It wasn’t fair of you to ask that of me. Go with me or go after me but gods, please don’t make me live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.”

“So now I have to watch you die instead?” his voice broke on that word, as if his throat couldn’t bear to say it and smashed it to splintered pieces.

“Well,” Caleb gave a bleak, brittle smile, “You won’t be far behind me if I do.”

“Fuck you,” Molly spat but it was more of a sob now, “Fuck you, Caleb Widogast.”

“He spoke to me,” Caleb sighed, knowing it would be best to get this out of the way too, “He...he entered my mind and spoke to me. Ikithon.” The urge to call him master was easy to shake off when he had his heart aching towards Molly.

“What?” Molly looked up from where he’d gripped his hair in anguish, face slack in horror, “Gods, that's the worst kind of banned magic. He could be executed for using that.”

“I don’t think he plans on being beholden to your father’s judgement for much longer,” Caleb shrugged, “He told me to defect. To betray you and go over to Lorenzo. I don’t know if he actually thought it would work, Lorenzo would have just run me through as soon as he saw me or hanged me for a traitor. Ikithon likely wouldn’t have cared either way.”

“He…” Molly stared at Caleb, “He gave you a direct order. He broke into your mind and told you to do this thing and you just...didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t. I did the exact opposite actually.” Again, a bleak, crooked smile, he couldn’t help it.

Pride edged into Molly’s expression for a moment before anguish flooded his expression again, “But this is just it, isn’t it? Don’t you see, Caleb, this is why I wanted to do this, this is why I’m so fucking mad at you. That vile creature has already hurt you so much, he’s already tortured you and took everything from you and all because of me! I just wanted one godsdamned time where I could help you instead of cause you more hurt, where I could actually save you like I’ve wanted to since I first met you. But every time, every fucking time, I just make it worse and I cause you more pain. How can I ask you to love me after all of this, after he hurt you for doing exactly that, after he took it away from you.”

“No. He didn’t,” Caleb whispered, “He didn’t take that away from me. I thought he had but...no.”

Molly froze and the whole world seemed to hold its breath, this awful, terrible night finally stopped and allowed them a moment.  

“Caleb…” Molly breathed, his anger gone, his face soft and hopeful and so, so scared.

“So ask me again,” tears were thick in his throat but he got the words out clear and true, “Please, Mollymauk. Ask me one more time.”

He didn’t hesitate, “Love me? Love me the way I love you?”

“Yes,” Caleb didn’t lower his voice, he didn’t pull back from it, he didn’t care who heard, “I love you, Mollymauk. Whether we die tomorrow or we live for another hundred years, I will love you for every single second we have.”

He waited. A heartbeat passed. Two. Three.

And his mind stayed silent, clear and completely his own.

They surged together, meeting in the middle, the years and the distance shrinking down to nothing between them as their bodies collided and moulded to each other the way they always had done. Caleb had grown taller, so much so that Molly had to tilt his head up to kiss him, his jaw was rough with stubble that hadn’t been there before, his prince’s hands were rough and calloused when they wound around his shoulders. They were not the teenagers they had been, loving recklessly and wildly, fates throwing them together and saying here, here is the person you were meant for.

They were not the same. Now they were older, they’d both suffered and struggled and been broken many times. Instead they were choosing to love each other, in defiance of everything that said they couldn’t, accepting it along with all of its risks and all of the pain it would cause them.

And it was just as sweet.

Each man meant to pull away at some point but somehow, they kept finding themselves pulled under, a world where their lips weren’t pressed together just seeming completely unacceptable. And when Caleb’s felt Molly’s split tongue stroke against his own, he shivered and leaned into that as well, pressing on deeper and deeper until they both realised in the same moment that soon, there wouldn’t be any turning back.

“Do you…” Molly drew back first, panting raggedly and having to make a few attempts at actually speaking, “Do you want to? I mean...I’d be perfectly content with this, this is bliss but…”

“I want to,” Caleb said firmly, sure of the words as he said them though never doubting that Molly would let him pull back from that ledge if he chose to, “I can’t think of a better way to spend the last night I might have on this plane.”

“Don’t,” Molly breathed, leaning in until their lips were almost touching again, “None of that. This night is everything. And I’m not letting anyone take it away from us this time.”

Finding that more than agreeable, Caleb sank willingly into kissing Mollymauk, though this time there was more purpose to it, it felt like climbing towards some end, swimming towards some shore. After a while, he felt his dear prince’s hands slip from where they held the back of his head, moving to push Caleb’s heavy black overcoat off his shoulders. In between kisses, he let himself be undressed, the uniform of those people he’d never wanted to be and hadn’t ever been able to truly claim him, pulled away by his lover’s hands until he stood there as nothing but himself.

When he stood bare before him, every inch of his scarred body open to the cold night and Mollymauk’s gaze, a mean, cold part of Caleb looked for disappointment in his expression. Of course there was none, just the face a man might wear when he saw home at the end of a long, bitter journey. The cruel teeth of the whip, the scars on his arms where the crystals had been embedded, the pale white bands around his arms where manacles had chafed him, Molly saw every inch of it and did not pity him or look away in shame. He understood him.

Caleb was granted the same privilege to Mollymauk, pulling away his dust stained tunic and leggings, hard worn from the road and so different from what he would choose to wear. What was underneath was less surprising, he’d seen more of Molly’s skin than Molly ever had of his, but knowing it was his to kiss and touch and love made all the difference. He was scarred too, the thin, feathery nicks from his swords and the neat, surgical scars on his chest where his body had been brought in line with his heart. And all of the ink too, in it’s startling colour, the fantastical forests that carpeted one arm, the serpent that wound around the other, the eyes and the glorious peacock that sheltered his heart the way Molly’s own brightness and frippery had kept him safe.

It was familiar but no less beautiful for that.

Caleb could have gazed at him until the sun came up, never laid a finger on his skin and been content, but they didn’t have long.

Molly drew him over to the camp bed he’d been tossing and turning on since they started out, letting Caleb press him back against it with more kisses, ones that spread across his chest and neck and jawline, falling faster and more hurried like rain moving from drizzle to showers. Molly made the sweetest noises, chest rising and falling more rapidly under his lips, prompting him to suck some marks into his soft purple skin. He gave very little thought to his own body, lost on the midst of it all, until Molly’s hand reached down between his legs and brushed his growing erection lightly, making him jump like he’d been given an electric shock.

“Sorry,” Molly giggled breathlessly, grinning like the man he was rather than the prince he’d been playing, “Um...I want you in me.”

“Yes?” Caleb murmured, coming close again. He crouched over Molly, knees bracketing his hips, hands bracing himself against the edge of the cot, quickly getting drunk on the tousled view it gave him of his lover.

Mollymauk nodded, hand still down between Caleb’s thighs, stroking lightly, “It’s what I want. Please.”

“I am ever yours to command,” Caleb grinned crookedly, making sure Molly was laughing when he moved to kiss him again and parted his legs with his own.

Their last time had been fumbling, uncertain, hurried. The two of them had both had a flagon of wine between them and felt invincible, Molly’s birthday party coming to them muffled through the floor beneath them, the strings singing like the desire in their blood.

It wasn’t too different this time, they were still uncertain and groping at each other, Caleb dropping the vial of oil Molly handed him from his pack, Molly jerking so hard when Caleb thumbed his sweet spot that he accidentally kicked him in the stomach, letting need drive their bodies. It was strange how feeling young and invincible invoked the exact same feelings as knowing you had so little time left.

Moving into Mollymauk knocked the breath from Caleb, he had to take a moment and rest his forehead on his lover’s and inhale deeply, steadying and centring before he could move on. But Molly’s hands were on his shoulders, his groans and soft cries filled the space between them, his legs locked around his hips as they rocked in time with the creaking of the bed beneath them. All of it was an anchor, a map, showing him where to go, certainty finally when he’d been lost for so long.

Caleb couldn’t last long, not with ten years of waiting and wanting, he tried to stammer it out to Mollymauk who only reached up and cupped his face with a gentle hand, nodding softly. There wasn’t a wrong way to do this. When he came, it was a white hot flash behind his eyes, every muscle tight and tense and shaking. He heard his name fall from Molly’s lips as he followed close behind, his nails digging into his shoulder.

Afterwards it was the same delicate, tenuous silence that came after a deep sigh, one that seemed to ring out longer than it should. Neither of them wanted to move away, like the perfect moment of happiness they’d found would tear off into nothing if they looked at it too closely. It was impossible to not think of this point the first time they’d made love, here where everything had fallen apart, when they’d believed in what they felt for each other and had been proven so bitterly wrong. When the door had thrown open and the real world had come pouring in.

Eventually, it was Caleb who had the bravery to speak first, surprising even himself.

“I won’t lose, Molly,” he murmured, voice ragged around the edges, “I won’t. Not for you.”

He nodded, tears sparking in the corners of his eyes, “Of course. I know you won’t, Caleb.”

He could see it in his prince’s eyes, he was thinking of the moment when Lorenzo’s arm had slipped that extra inch, the one he hadn’t wanted to allow him. He was thinking of the power that had sizzled off that grey skin, ready to rage up and match his own. But he said nothing and Caleb loved him for that. That and many reasons.

But that would come in the morning.  Here and now, Caleb was happy for the first time in so long and he was going to enjoy every single moment.

Mollymauk was loath to let Caleb sleep but the reality of what was going to happen in the morning was a bitter taste in his mouth growing by the minute. He couldn’t let him face that battlefield without a wink of sleep, no matter how much Caleb had insisted in the past that Volstruker didn’t need it.

But his love wasn’t Volstruker any more. And so Molly would let him sleep a few hours, however much it ached.

He lay there in the quiet, the forest sounds muffled through the canvas of the tent, ignoring the rustling of the leaves and far off calls of the birds so Caleb’s heartbeat under his ear would be the only sound in the world. Strong and sure and constant, like it would go on and on forever. As vital and necessary as the motion of the tides or the thrum of magic through the threads of the universe.

If he thought of it like that, it was easier to believe that today would not be the last day it beat.

Mollymauk found the fear for himself evaporated entirely, what burned in the back of his mind and brought tears to his eyes so easily was only the thought of losing Caleb, the minutes and hours he might have to spend on this planet without him. From this side of the glass, he did hate himself a little for putting Caleb in this position, for doing the same to his friends, for being so quick to sacrifice himself, however right it had seemed at the time.

Pain and fear for your own self was nothing compared to the idea of losing someone you loved.

And he did love Caleb. And Caleb loved him. They’d said it so many times during the night, like they were trying to make up for a decade of separation, trying to fill the holes left by so many times they’d wanted to say it but couldn’t. And each time, it grew no less sweet to hear those words, to love and be loved by the man he’d wanted his whole life.

Molly turned and pressed a soft kiss to his lover’s skin, just over his heartbeat, gentle enough that it wouldn’t wake him. All the years he’d feigned confidence, now he actually felt it in all it’s iron hard certainty as he told any gods that might be listening you will not take him from me. Not now.

It was rather kingly of him, actually, to think he could command the gods.

But it gave Molly what he needed to rise from their little bed and face the greying light in the tent, the dawn approaching faster than he wanted it to. He moved around in the milky darkness, fumbling without any servant or attendant to guide him, opening chests and pulling out clothes, rescuing his boots from a far corner of the tent. Molly knew he had to dress while he still had the strength, not knowing what the fear and grief would do moment to moment.

He chose no chainmail, no padded gambeson. He wouldn’t need to armour himself today and he had no desire to play any role. He would face this day as himself, dressed in simple leggings and a purple surcoat he favoured, rich with embroidery.

“Would you like me to sneak out now? Or are we going to face the smug grins of our friends?”

Molly jumped just as he was doing the last button, turning and seeing Caleb stretched out contentedly under the thin blanket they’d pulled over themselves when they’d both been too exhausted to continue. He was smiling, resting up on one elbow, looking so wonderfully tousled and ruffled, hair in disarray and mouth shaped bruises blooming on his shoulders, that Molly would have given anything for just another half hour alone with him.

“You’re going nowhere,” he whispered back, closing the distance between them and going to his knees so he could kiss those lips and feel all the nicks and swells in them from everything they’d done together.

“How long do we have?” Caleb eventually murmured, when they paused for air.

“An hour, I’d say,” Molly sighed and suddenly, saying it out loud and realising what a small amount of time that was, such a cruel and meagre slice to be given, his throat closed up and tears flooded his eyes.

Caleb groaned softly and kissed his forehead, bringing one hand to stroke back his purple curls and wind through the hairs at the nape of his neck, fixing in them and saying firmly, “It will be alright, Mollymauk. I promise.”

“That’s not something you can promise,” he gasped, breath coming in a shudder, wanting to be brave for him, wanting to believe for him, but unable.

“No,” Caleb admitted, his other hand moving to gently wipe away the tears that had spilled down Molly’s cheek, “But I have been trained for this. And for the first time, I actually believe in my own strength.”

“Yes?” Molly whispered, wanting to cling to every scrap of hope, not caring how much it hurt.

“Yes,” Caleb smiled crookedly and, for as much as he hated the gathering light, Mollymauk was glad he could see it, “Because this time I have something to fight for.”

No one had called for any trumpet blast or signal to raise the camp but he found most of the company were already up and moving, apparently having as much appetite for sleep as Molly had. Fires were going, heating up rations no one felt like eating and the usual coarse conversation of soldiers on campaign, the teasing and calling out to each other across the tents, had found no purchase that morning. Even though they weren’t facing battle today, even with just two lives hanging in the balance, everyone seemed to be grieving already.

Until Molly and Caleb spilled out of the command tent, hand in hand, an unmistakable rumpled quality to Caleb’s uniform and the obvious bruises from fingers and teeth peering out from under shirt cuffs and collars, blundering right into the circle of their friends around the cookfire.

There was a moment of silence as four sets of eyes regarded them without much surprise.

“Well,” Beau shrugged, “Better late that fucking never, I guess.”

And with that the lot of them were laughing helplessly, the wild, reckless laughter of teenagers with a slightly manic edge to it, drawing confused and alarmed eyes from all around the camp. It made little sense but Molly did feel like he could breathe a little easier once it had passed.

He pressed food on Caleb who tried to refuse it but quickly realised his lover wasn’t going to be put off and gave in. Molly watched him closely, sitting on the ground right beside him and never letting their fingers untangle, but there was no fear or worry in his face. He seemed to be his usual self, almost the Caleb he remembered from his childhood and teenage years, dryly funny and contentedly quiet.

Mollymauk couldn’t tell if it was just Caleb was that confident or he was enjoying himself while he could.

The moment couldn’t be put off forever. Again, Molly had to appear strong and sure, for his friends and for his soldiers, swinging up confidently onto his horse to lead them back to yesterday’s clearing as if nothing was wrong. It felt less like lying, as he saw the younger ones in the company visibly relax after he joked with them and chatted amicably with them, making his usual rides up and down the column until they arrived. It felt more like just being a leader.

Like protecting the people who looked to him for guidance and would call him king.

It wasn’t a long ride and they heard the commotion before they got there, the sound of raised voices and clamour of the enormous Jagenoth army, already there and raising enough of a racket to make the ground shake under the hooves of Molly’s horse as he rode back to the head of the column, just in time to see them unfurl out over the rise of the hill. Just like yesterday, they boiled down below them like a mass of black insects, the sharp teeth of their weapons edged in fire as the sun broke the horizon just to the side of them and flooded the bowl of the valley with gold.

The lone figure standing ahead of them, the hulking mass armoured all in black iron but for the horns that thrust up from it’s brow, a glaive taller than Mollymauk plunged into the ground beside him, must have looked up at just the right moment. It raised a fist high as if in salute and, behind it, the soldiers fell silent in a moment and snapped to attention with a reverberating clash of metal.

Molly’s fingers grew tight around his reins but, beside him, Caleb simply smiled.

“Real strength doesn’t need to announce itself,” he intoned, clearly quoting something before chucking, “A lot of what they taught me at the academy was bullshit but that certainly rings true at least. He couldn’t look more like he’s trying to compensate for something. Rather funny, actually.”

“If you say so,” Molly muttered, unable to take his eyes from the blade.

He saw very little to find amusing.

“Good morning,” Lorenzo hailed them cheerily, his voice deeper and rougher in his true form and through the enormous helm obscuring his face.

Molly gave him no reply but a cold, hard stare, walking his entire troupe up this time, this would require as many witnesses as possible to ensure Lorenzo kept faith and, more than that, he wanted Caleb to see just how many people were behind him.

Already a ground had been cleared for combat, ringed in stones by some of the Jagenoths. Clearly wanting to be prepared, a headsman’s block had also been erected on their side of the ground, freshly cut from some felled tree, green wood ready to drink Molly’s life blood in front of his own people. Beau spat on it as they reared up, her eyes glaring acid across the field at Lorenzo.

“Dressed to die,” Lorenzo said, satisfied, obsidian eyes glinting out at Molly from within his helm, “Mighty considerate of you, boy.”

“I could say the same of you,” Molly answered, dropping any hint of courtly manners, “I can see the joint gaps in that armour from here.”

“Don’t matter when you’ve got a reach like this,” he snarled, gripping the handle of his enormous blade and yanking it from the earth, leaving a deep gash in the ground, “Shall we begin? It’s a long road back to Shady Creek Run and your pretty head won’t keep forever. Let me put this mouthy little pup down and do what I came here to do.”

Caleb simply nodded, moving his coat to the side to draw his blade. The same nicked, worn blade he’d been fighting with all his life. That, his magic and the poniards in his boots against all of the strength and brutality on display before them.

Perhaps irritated by Caleb’s refusal to rise to his taunts, Lorenzo continued hollering across the circle, “I was expecting you last night, pup, by what your master told me. I was looking forward to snicking the smile off your face when you slunk up looking for a place in my army. Just that, mind. The rest of you I’d leave to your black booted brothers and sisters.”

Caleb didn’t so much as glance at him, accepting his fingerless leather gloves from Beau and calmly slipping them on as if he had all the time in the world. Molly remembered the day Caleb had finally admitted at fifteen years old that Beau was right and wearing them did make his grip better. He even took the time to clasp his friend’s shoulder and smile reassuringly, then moving to give Fjord the same then Caduceus then Yasha, every one of them embracing him tightly.

“Clearly you were otherwise occupied!” Lorenzo called, though the anger was bubbling more clearly under his voice now, his composure slipping, “I’d heard you were acting the whore for the boy prince over there. I knew they trained you well at the Soltryce but not in those particular arts. Ever dutiful when commanded, eh?”

Molly was a muscle jump in Caleb’s jaw at that but he smoothed it out within a second. Now they were nose to nose and everything fell away that wasn’t Caleb’s face, his steady hands, his gentle, comforting smile. He had the privilege of tying back his rust red hair in a leather band, making sure every strand was clear of his face.

Once it was done, Caleb turned and sank down on one knee, holding his blade up. Trapped by convention and appearances, Molly was left to press a kiss to the cold metal rather than his lover’s lips, trying to say everything he felt with his eyes.

“Please come back to me,” he whispered when their faces were at their closest, “Or wait for me at hell’s gate.”

Caleb smiled up at him, eyes like still pools, “As you command.”

Seeing the two of them at opposite ends of the killing field, it was like a bad joke. Lorenzo, in his full, unrestrained oni form, wrapped in thick iron and the barbed chains of his profession as torturer and slaver, hulking so large the shadow he cast stretched off him like a giant beast, climbing up the hills around them to impossible heights. And Caleb, wearing no armour but the leather bands on his arms, thin sword in his hand, face perfectly still. Half Lorenzo’s height, a quarter of his weight, a bare fraction of his reach, dwarfed by his strength. It was like watching a child face down a dragon in some fairytale.

And Molly had learned long ago that life was no storybook. If it was, Caleb would never have been taken from him, they would have lived happily ever after. And he wouldn’t be about to watch him die.

It was his task to begin the fight, they were waiting for his command. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth, the urge to desperately beg for Caleb to come back, to stop all of this, to take it all back, was overwhelming but he managed to rasp out the right words instead, the words that would end his lover’s life.

“At arms...and begin.”

Lorenzo lurched forward with a roar, all the momentum of a charging bull barrelling towards Caleb and hefting the glaive forward.

And Caleb did not move.

Everything seemed to slow, seconds dripped by like a dying rainstorm, the scream to move, bloody move caught in Molly’s throat as the blade completed its easy, unstoppable arc through the air…

And whistled through nothing.

Lorenzo had to stagger to stop himself, overtopping with the speed he’d built up and falling to one knee. Caleb, the real Caleb, not the shadow of himself he’d left standing in his enemy’s path, lanced a quick but deep cut along the back of Lorenzo’s neck, through the joint where his helmet met the shoulder plates. It might have been enough, it should have been enough, but some dark magic reared up from the armour itself, some misshapen haze in the air that lashed out at Caleb and forced him to dance back so it only just caught him lightly across the chest and left a burn mark on the front of his coat. The smell of singed leather and shield spells filled the dawn air.

“You think you’re the only one with magic, pup?” Lorenzo snarled, furious, “Try this then.”

An ozone smell popped and crackled and where Lorenzo had stood one instant, the next was nothing but thin air. Molly moaned softly in despair as he saw Caleb’s brow crease in a frown. With a flick of his wrist, the blade of the sword he carried alighted with dark flame and he held it out warily, staying on the balls of his feet as he waited for a strike he couldn’t see coming.

There were a few agonising moments of silence, tension building like a budding blister, until it was finally broken when a guttural laugh echoed out from nowhere and everywhere all at once and some force knocked Caleb backwards, sweeping his feet out from under him. Mercifully he managed to keep hold of his blade and had something to throw up to meet the invisible thing that clashed against his sword. Almost immediately, Caleb was sweating, trembling with the effort of keeping back what could only be the wicked edge of the glaive, now slightly, eerily, visible as fire leapt from the sword to flicker across it. How his thin arms were matching Lorezo’s whole weight, Molly couldn’t say, until he saw the veins on Caleb’s only just visible wrist and neck turning black with magic.

Volstrucker magic.

A fresh fear bit into Molly’s already battered chest. How much of his old training could Caleb rely on without slipping back into the darkness that had claimed so much of his mind?

The tension snapped when Caleb’s flame finally edged down the handle of the invisible glaive enough to highlight the shape of the fingers that held it. Even lobstered gauntlets would greedily drink the heat of any fire and after a few seconds of contact, Lorenzo wrenched away with a roar of pain and anger, the invisibility spell flickering out. Caleb didn’t waste a second of his freedom, leaping to his feet and driving a hard flurry of attacks at any fissure in the armour, the ones he’d been carefully mapping out and memorising since he laid eyes on Lorenzo.

But he could only attack as long as the glaive was down, once it was wrenched back up, it’s reach and thickness covered Lorenzo too well. Then all Caleb could do was put as much distance between him and his opponent as possible, his speed the only weapon he had that could possibly contest Lorenzo’s. He led him in a chase around the ring, dodging his swings and ducking the clumsy grabs he made, clearly hoping to see him tire.

But Lorenzo only seemed to grow more furious. He lunged with more anger, he pelted Caleb with taunts and curses when he couldn’t reach him with his blade, foam began to build in the slats of his helm. He began using spells, forcing Caleb to counter with magic of his own, summoning beams of light to cut through spheres of darkness that shrouded him, blasting fire from his palms to meet a cone of icy blizzard that lanced at him.

There was a terrifying moment when the pungent lavender smell of a sleep spell wrapped around Caleb and his eyelids began to droop, costing him the speed he relied on, bringing him to his knees and finally holding him in one place. Lorenzo rushed to press the advantage, swinging his blade with sickening abandon. It was only at the very last moment that Caleb managed to throw off the compulsion, eyes snapping wide and a powerful burst of fire throwing Lorenzo off of him, sending him flying back a good few feet.

A cheer of relief went up from Molly’s troupe, one he tried to echo but all he could see was the blood washing down Caleb’s arm from his shoulder where the edge of the blade had managed to make a savage cut and leave it hanging limp, the stark blackness of his veins against his chalky skin, the way his chest was heaving and the edges of his hair were smoking softly.

“His spells,” he moaned faintly, stomach churning, “If he can’t use his arms, he can’t summon his spells.”

Beside him, Yasha put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Molly knew it was half to comfort him and half to hold him back.

Now that both men had drawn blood, the battle turned savage, both actively trying to take the life of the other. Cuts came harder and heavier, the magic burned with a ferocity that scorched the faces of those around the outside. Time seemed to lose all meaning, marked only by the wounds both fighters gained in quicker and quicker succession. Every time Caleb was struck, Molly felt it ache on his own flesh.

By the time the sun had reached a fair height in the sky, blood was oozing steadily from every gap Lorenzo had in his armour. The vast plates of his chest rose and fell with more force and his rough breathing could be heard echoing inside the helm. He was finally beginning to tire.

But it came far too late for Caleb. He was wounded in far more places, gashes on his arms, bruises covering his skin from where he’d been thrown or charged, the entire bottom half of his coat burned away in one of his own fire spells, frost burns on one side of his face. And his arm, that very first cut, hanging limp and useless, not enough energy in it to even rise. Even as he stood there, he visibly swayed, his eyes dulled with pain.

Lorenzo gave a deep, satisfied laugh, “You look ready to end this, my boy. Learned a harsh lesson, eh, about how well a wretch like you can stand against someone like me.”

Caleb growled something indistinct, something that came out as a choking rasp and came up with a spatter of blood from his mouth. He grit his teeth, sword still crackling with fire in his hand and struck out at Lorenzo with what had to be the last of his strength. Without so much as breaking a sweat, the enormous oni reached out and simply caught the wizard’s hand, holding it in a grip like iron and wrenching him up off the ground by it.

Caleb cried out in pain and Molly screamed but it only made Lorenzo’s grin wider. Moving as easily as if he were swatting a fly, he seized Caleb’s waist in his other gigantic hand and pulled. The snap of Caleb’s arm breaking echoed through the valley.

Cackling as if it was the funniest thing he’d seen in some time, Lorenzo simply let him drop to the ground, bloodied and beaten and now with two useless arms, one sliced and one broken. He lay limply in the dirt, chest barely moving, blood and tears and soil streaked on his face.

“A pretty trick, that,” Lorenzo was now admiring the flaming sword with vague amusement, “Might have turned the tide, if you had any clue how to use it.”

He broke the blade over one ironclad knee with ease, letting the two pieces gutter out before dropping them to the grass beside their equally burned out owner.

“No!” Molly was still screaming, now he’d started and shattered his composure he couldn’t stop, writhing in Yasha’s grip as he fought to reach Caleb, “No, no, please don’t!”

Lorenzo spared him a smug, satisfied grin, “Oh your turn will come, boy. But don’t think you’ll die easy as your little pup did.”

On the glass by his feet, Caleb struggled to rise. His eyes looked out at Molly through his matted hair, come loose from the tie he’d so carefully and lovingly put there for him. His lips were moving but it was impossible to tell what he was saying.

“You can have me, you can have anything, just please, please don’t hurt him!” Molly sobbed wildly.

“Ah now,” Lorenzo tilted his head in mockingly gentle admonishment, “That wasn’t our deal, was it, boy? Old Lorenzo’s good as his words these days. But don’t worry now, I’ll make sure you get a real good view…”

He reached down and plucked Caleb up by the scruff of his coat, dangling him there like a helpless kitten before setting him down on his knees, facing Mollymauk. In the other hand, the glaive swung up to press it’s cruel point to Caleb’s back, ready to be driven forwards, knowing exactly where to place it so when he pushed, it would pierce right through his heart.

“Oh I’ve been waiting for this,” he crooned, flexing the muscles of his arm ready to put all of his weight behind it.

“Caleb!” Molly screamed, tears burning his eyes and making the battlefield swim before him.

“All that training,” Lorenzo laughed, “All that magic and you still couldn’t best me, Volstruker!”

Molly’s eyes burned but he still caught it. The brief movement, the flexing of an arm that was cut, yes, but not as badly as Caleb had pretended. He saw it slip down, turned away from Lorenzo so he would be none the wiser, moving quick and clean with precise motions to take the dagger out of his boot.

Molly looked into Caleb’s eyes and saw them clear and bright.

Lorenzo’s surprise was so complete that the glaive’s blade turned easily, Caleb needed only to bat it to the side. With all of the strength left in his body, he sprang and neatly drove the dagger’s point right through the eye slot of the slaver’s helm. Eye, blood and brain parted almost politely for it.

There was a beat of silence as the Jagenoth’s about to erupt in cheers, as Molly’s forces gripped by horror tried to understand what they’d just seen. As Lorenzo himself stood frozen in shock at his own death until his body’s knees folded in on themselves and he slumped, lifeless, with a rather anticlimactic thud.

And in the middle of it all, as blood ran down his wrist, Caleb grinned.

“I am not Volstruker.”

Everything was swimming and the ground wouldn’t stay still underneath him. Something was roaring around him though perhaps it was the wind.

Every other part of his mind blurred and smudged, Caleb stared at the sky and distractedly calculated how long a person could survive losing blood at the rate it was pulsing out of his shoulder, taking into account the weakness from magical usage, the adrenaline, his height and weight, adding it all up with a blissful kind of detachment and realising the price was growing too high to pay.

I did it, he thought, without really understanding who or what he was talking about, he’s safe.

Knowing that, letting go right now wouldn’t be so bad.

The world suddenly found one direction to go in and it was downwards, his knees buckling and eyes rolling back in his head, darkness swallowing him whole.

Though Caleb could have sworn, before he ceased to think anything at all, that at the very last moment, someone caught him.