#this is the man who molded children into calling themselves furniture

[pochapal]

kinzo's small display of kindness to kanon here is. it's weird. like. it's actually really weird if you consider the Everything that goes into how kanon operates and how the servants operate and the whole furniture thing. like. for him to offer kanon candy is such a baffling gesture to make.

[mochis-interlude]

wristbound || giyuu

this is just a little thank you for 100 followers. i hope you’ll enjoy + feeback is always appreciated! <3

↠ pairing. giyuu x fem! reader

↠ genre. fluff, angst

↠ warnings. memory loss/amnesia, minor character death, murder, graphic scenes, blood, language, implied sex work (nothing explicit)

↠ words. 11.2k

↠ summary. the little red bracelet you made when the two of you were nothing but kids, it reminded giyuu that he was always tied to your wrist.

not even your sudden disappearance could snap the wristband in two.

"[Name] didn't cause any trouble, did she?" Your brother, Haruto, was out of breath as he took a seat next to two raven-haired women who were your best friend's mother and his sister. The mother laughed, shaking her head as she already knew what happened; Haruto had once again lost sight of you and you ran away to them. Ran away to Giyuu, more specifically. 

"Not at all. By now, you should know that we love having [Name] over," she said, her blue eyes setting on the two children playing in the garden amongst flowers and butterflies. The mother's gaze softened with each passing second, heart feeling full and hopeful for her son's future. 

Tsutako's eyes followed her mom's line of sight curiously and found her younger brother proudly showing you the butterfly he caught by sheer luck. However, your eyes were glued to Giyuu's face instead of the butterfly. The corners of her mouth tugged upwards as she imagined a future for her younger brother where you were by his side through it all. "They'd make a great couple when they're older, no?" 

"Pardon me?!" Voice high-pitched, Haruto choked on his spit and ended up coughing into the sleeves of his haori. You with that boy? Impossible. Just after you were born, he promised father to take care of you, to protect you! What could a boy like Giyuu do besides catching pretty butterflies? 

Haruto was about to protest, his overprotective side over you kicking in, but he was left with an open mouth and every word dying on his tongue when your laughter bounced throughout the garden. It was a rare sound he usually didn't hear. The most Haruto would get out of you was a chuckle and a half-hearted smile which you put on like a carefully molded mask. 

You were so small and so, so young when your eyes witnessed a monster eating your parents, blood covering the place that used to be such a loving and warm home. Crimson stained the walls and the floor, organs lying about like furniture. Haruto was able to chase the monster into the early sunrise and brought its end. 

Haruto never thought you'd remember that event. 

Yet there you were, vibrantly laughing with the Tomioka boy until tears would brim your eyes, until you used up all of your energy and fell asleep in Haruto's strong arms. Maybe being with Giyuu was the equivalent of salve for your soul. 

Maybe, Tsutako was right. When the two of you grew up, you'd make a fine couple. 

"Yeah..they would," he finally agreed. 

"Here! I made these for us!" Your small hands revealed two crimson bracelets made of simple thread that you had gotten in town with your big brother. A toothy grin stretched your lips apart, revealing that one of your front teeth was missing; pride and joy was written all over your face. 

With wide eyes, Giyuu reached for one of the bracelets, looked at the gift and then back at you. "Why? It's no one's birthday today," the raven-haired kid said with an innocent tilt of his head. It wasn't that Giyuu didn't appreciate your gift, it was quite the opposite! But he also knew that your brother made just enough money to bring food to the table, so he couldn't help but feel guilty that you spent money on a gift. 

"So you never forget me, silly!" Your laugh filled the garden rich with various flowers and vegetables growing from the earth. Taking the bracelet from Giyuu's grasp, you carefully tied the simple thread around his wrist until it casually sat against his skin and wouldn't slip off. 

Forgetting you sounded ridiculous to Giyuu ㅡ why would he ever forget about his clumsy best friend? He didn't quite understand, and yet, maybe his heart did, because without realizing it, Giyuu tied your own bracelet around your wrist. The knot was far from perfect, but it was enough. 

"Besides, you must always remember that I'm never far and always with you, okay?" A blush sat upon your cheeks as you intertwined your pinky finger with Giyuu and brought them up to eye-level, tying him into a promise of a lifetime. Your heart desired nothing more than to spend a life filled with your best friend and your big brother. 

"P-promised.." Giyuu's heart fluttered, his face heated up.

But happiness was a sandcastle. 

It only took 3 months for the waves to come crashing down and take the lives of not only your brother, but Giyuu's family, as well, leaving the two of you orphaned.

However, just because you were a girl, didn't mean that Urokodaki went any easier on you. How often had you found yourself getting knocked on your back, although all you could do was blink? Incredible, you thought to yourself each and every day, even challenging Giyuu and Sabito to practice your falls and build up strength during the night until your body was bruised, possibly even ached at the mere thought to move any more.

It was a fortunate stroke of luck that Urokodaki found Giyuu and you wandering through a small village in search of shelter, taking the two of you in along with a boy named Sabito. He raised the three of you into fine swordsmen while also making sure that you had enough to eat, a place to sleep and everything that came along with a place called home. 

Despite the harsh training, you always had fun and treasured each day you got to spend with the two boys who were like brothers to you. It was the small moments making you laugh and suffer alike; like Urokodaki throwing Giyuu into the river to "become water" or how the old man smacked Sabito's stomach whenever the tension in his stomach wasn't enough for the breathing techniques. 

One night before the final selection, the warmth of flames and the smell of soup filled the space just outside of Urokodaki's small home with the three kids gathered around the small fire. It was a starry night filled with an exceptionally rich moon, the view accompanied by the sound of laughter. 

"They say you are what you eat but [Name] still isn't soup," Sabito chuckled as you slurped your tenth bowl of soup empty until no drop remained in the pristine bowl. The peach-haired boy was convinced that you had a bottomless pit as a stomach, he was always astonished at the amount you managed to eat in one sitting. 

"You say that like I ate a lot," you pouted at Sabito's small poke, but never took it seriously. Shoulders casually shrugged it off while you were basking in the warmth the small fire provided. Although it was far from being cold, the breeze in the mountains was still chilly and liked to nip at your cheeks. 

Next to you, Giyuu laughed and the glow of the flames dipped his face in an orange hue, making your heart jump within your ribcage. Painfully, you had come to realize that as you grew up with Giyuu, the boy made your heart flutter in a way which certainly wasn't fair. Perhaps..you did have a crush on your best friend, but you'd never say it out loud. 

"[Name], you ate more than Sabito and I combined." Giyuu's laughter died down as he brought his own bowl to his lips and sipped the steaming broth Urokodaki had cooked just for the three of you.

Whenever everyone gathered to have dinner and Sabito would be amazed at your appetite, it reminded Giyuu of all the times you'd come over to his family's place and eat with them. Haruto would scold you for eating too much, Mother would laugh and gladly make you another plate while Giyuu would always give you the veggies he didn't like. 

"It's called having a healthy appetite, Giyuu. Your points are invalid," you declared with a dismissive wave of your hand and snickered as you saw your best friend's shoulders slump at your words.

Peaceful moments like these were rare with the training you went through daily and the upcoming final selection made every day a little bit more tense. Of course, you were aware of Sabito's and Giyuu's polished skills and had confidence in your own swordsmanship, but it was a fact that no one knew what would happen in those seven days. 

"[Name] isn't wrong about this." Urokodaki put some extra wood into the fire, flames licking at the bork and effectively melting the layer away. The Tengu mask made it impossible to look at Urokodaki's face, but judging by his tone, the former Hashira had to wear a serious expression on his face. 

"Let me tell you one thing. Just like humans, demons gain their strength from the humans they consume. The more a demon has eaten, the stronger it is." Everyone listened to Urokodaki's words with perked ears and curious eyes as if they could study the information like a book. "Some demons devoured so many that their bodies are deformed. It ranges from mere horns to multiple body parts and extreme growth spurts."

"If they're stronger, their neck also gets tougher to cut, right?" Sabito still cupped his empty bowl to warm up his hands. He didn't sound nervous at all, if anything, he was nothing but confident in himself which was something you admired. Sabito was like a strong boulder that one could always rely on. 

Urokodaki nodded his head. "Yes."

Giyuu saw the way you unconsciously bit your bottom lip, how your nails dug themselves into the ground and fingers occasionally fumbled with a bit of grass. Whenever you started feeling insecure, you'd always bite your lip or the inside of your cheek, a habit of yours which Giyuu had caught on to years ago. 

As Giyuu got older, he grew more hesitant at holding your hand in a reassuring way. Although Sabito would never tease him about it, there was something special tickling in his belly whenever he reached for your hand. It made red rush to his cheeks, but the smile you gave him afterwards was worth the embarrassment he felt. 

"Thank you," you mouthed, Giyuu exhaled shakily. 

You made his heart feel too funny with the tiniest of things.

Footwear left deep prints in the muddy earth, high trees and thick bushes made it hard to see what was next, but you had to push through whatever lurked around the next corner. 

After all, this was the second day of the final selection. 

It was all about surviving 7 days in a forest filled to the brim with demons who were close to starvation. Kill or be killed, it was. 

You were lucky not to have encountered any nasty demon and only had to worry about what you should eat next, but you thought of it as a bad omen. There was no way in hell the three of you could have so much luck and even if that was the case, it felt like those two days, devoid of any fight, took up all the luck you were supposed to have in one lifetime. 

"Watch out, it's slippery!" Sabito ran down a small hill and nearly fell, but caught his balance just in time. He swore he saw a squirrel which he could cook later, but the animal sure was quick to run away from being eaten. 

You were right behind Sabito, but much more careful than he was and slid down the hill on instinct. It had rained the entire day, so of course, the ground would be slippery, muddy and filled with puddles.

"Ah!"

Looking back, you saw Giyuu sitting on the wet ground and pressing a hand to his forehead. You went back, wanting to see what had gone wrong, but as you got closer, you saw blood severely dripping from his forehead, over his eyelids and down his cheeks. Not even his sword was to be seen anywhere; he possibly lost it just now. 

"Giyuu, can you walk?" You offered him your hand which the boy gratefully took, but he couldn't seem to properly pull himself to his feet, his gaze seemed fuzzy, unfocused. 

Scanning the area, you saw a small rock with fresh splatters of blood on it. So that was why.. 

A heavy trauma to the head. No wonder Giyuu was somewhere between unconsciousness and reality.

"Don't worry, we got this." Calmly, you examined the bleeding wound and pushed the uneven fringe out of the way to get a better look at it. Giyuu hissed when your finger brushed over the injury. "Sabito, can you watch out for demons? Just in case."

Sabito pulled his sword out of its sheath and protectively stood in front of Giyuu and you, one arm stretched out to his side to block the view of you patching up his friend. "Got it." 

What were you supposed to do without any bandages? You scanned the area in hopes of finding something, anything that could slow down the bleeding, but all you saw was earth, leaves and some bushes. Stupid, to think that you'd magically see a pharmacy in the woods. 

Then, your eyes settled on the sleeve of your haori. It took you no longer than a moment to unsheath your sword, cut through the fabric and tightly tie it around Giyuu's forehead who groaned in pain. "I'm sorry," you mumbled and finished the improvised banades up with a tight knot. 

You were about to help Giyuu back on his feet, but at once, the ground shook beneath you in rhythmical periods. 

"There's something!" Sabito breathed more to himself, but you were able to catch it with your senses suddenly heightened by the incoming rush of adrenaline. Giyuu still applied pressure to his injury, his sight switching from complete nothingness to what was happening around him.

Instantaneously, your eyes widened in horror at the demon that was trudging towards the three of you and giggled as it swallowed another kid that he managed to eat. 

He was deformed to the bone, several hands hugged its tall, green body. Eyes, disgustingly big, stared at Sabito, then you and Giyuu before his hands began scratching at his skin in an anxious, excited manner. 

"Ohh! Urokodaki is feeding me even more kids than usual this time! I bet the three of you are delicious! I can only imagine the face he'll make when three students won't make it back to him!" 

Sabito planted both of his feed into the ground, the tip of his sword pointed at the demon's neck. "[Name], you protect Giyuu. I'll lop off the head." As soon as the words left Sabito's mouth, Giyuu was about to protest but stumbled back into your body, your arms catching him before he could trip, again. 

"Be careful." You nodded at Sabito and took a defensive stance right in front of Giyuu, holding the blade right next to your head while your hands were grasping the handle tightly. As blue eyes watched your back, watched his two best friends fight, Giyuu felt as helpless as the night his family got massacred. 

All he could do was watch. 

Perversely large hands dashed at Sabito who leapt through those which didn't radiate murderous intent and cut off the hands aiming for his body. He jumped on one of the demon's arms, dodging a fist coming his way by ducking low and sliding along the green skin. 

You blocked a fist with the help of your sword and got pushed back a few meters before you twisted the handle in your grasp, abruptly slicing through the fist from below. "Are you okay, Giyuu?!" 

As much as you wanted to take a look back and check up on him, you absolutely couldn't take your eyes off the battle or else, the demon could get Giyuu or even the both of you. 

While you were stepping in puddles of blood, cutting those disgusting hands off and had to focus on not taking a lethal hit, you still worried about Giyuu. It made his heart clench painfully in his chest. If only he knew where his sword was, then he'd force himself to fight alongside Sabito and you!

"Don't worry about me, [Name]!" 

You were so busy concentrating on what was happening in front of you that you failed to notice the one hand underneath your feet. Before you could even think about using a breathing technique or leaping up into the air, the hand wrapped itself around your ankle and threw you away like you were nothing but a fly. 

"[Name]!" Saito and Giyuu shouted your name in unison, watching in horror as you flew farther away with each second. 

You desperately stretched one of your arms out in the desperate hope of being able to grab on to a branch and get back to the fight, but it was wishful thinking. 

"I'll come back!" You cried out until your vocal chords protested and nearly gave in. The air in your lungs became needles. "Until then, survive, got it?! You must survive!" 

"Whatever you do, you've got to survive!" Hands clinging to the katana you carried with you, you screamed at the top of your lungs one last time. Bit by bit, your friends seemed to become dots. "Survive! Sabito! Giyuu!"

Sabito clenched his jaw, teeth grinding against one another as anger bubbled deep within his heart and threatened to spill like an overflowing sink. 

He charged at the demon with a yell and got so very close to the neck, ready to chop it off when his blade suddenly snapped into two. 

Giyuu watched in horror as the demon used Sabito's surprised state to his advantage and smashed his friend's head in. 

All he could do was watch. 

All he could do was run.

Agonizingly, your body collided with the hard ground and filled your mouth with blood, several cracking sounds travelled throughout your body like electricity. As you gasped for air, you nearly choked on your own blood and coughed it out, a crimson puddle lingering underneath you. 

You didn't know where exactly you were nor did you know how long it'd take you to get back to your friends, but you had to find a way. No matter how much your body ached, no matter how loudly every fiber of your body screamed at you to stop, you couldn't. 

It was through pure will that you managed to bury the tips of your fingers into the dirt and drag yourself to your blade lying a few meters in front of you. Your view was blurry, but you still managed to make out that the Nichirin blade Urokodaki had given you had snapped in half and it had you mentally laughing. 

He was going to break your bones, wasn't he? 

"Just a little bit.." You croaked out with your hand desperately reaching for the handle of the katana. Just a little bit more, just a few more centimeters and the handle would be back in your broken hand, but just before you could even touch it, your arm limply fell to the ground. As much as you wanted to move, forced yourself to go that one extra step, your body didn't listen.

Gradually, black hugged the corners of your view and the ability to hear slowly faded into nothing. No longer could you feel the ground below you or smell the scent of the trees surrounding you; opaque came to envelope you and drag you to the depths of unconsciousness. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks, dampening the earth below you and eventually soaking the collar of the haori you wore. You had promised Urokodaki to come back, you had promised to live a long life, you had promised to stay by Sabito's and Giyuu's side and now, you couldn't even promise to move your finger. 

"Giyuu.. Sabito.. Forgive me, but I won't make it back.." 

The last thing you saw was the moon reflected in the broken blade and the red bracelet firmly wrapped around your wrist.

Three days had been spent looking for you in hopes of finding you only injured, but still alive. Three days without a clue of where you could be, but Giyuu clung to the slim hope of you lying somewhere in these cursed woods, unconscious but well. 

It was that thread of hope that kept his hand glued to the blade, kept his head up and forced his gaze to look ahead. 

Feet had run through countless rough patches until blisters hurt Giyuu, but he simply ran through them until his feet got sore and he would be damned if he stopped running at that very moment. After all, persistence and determination would pay off, right? The strong-willed would always be rewarded after going through hell and back. 

Nearing a river, Giyuu spotted a broken katana as well as smudges of blood on the ground and immediately slid down the small hill he was on. In his rush, he stumbled over his feet and fell to his knees right next to the blade which he knew was yours. 

The thread of hope finally snapped. 

Frantically, he scanned the area for any sign of you being alive, but all he found was the dried puddle of blood and the snapped Nichirin blade Urokodaki had given you just before heading off for this damned final selection. 

With shaking fingers, Giyuu picked up the handle of the sword, hot tears streaming down his face. "[Name]..?" His voice was fragile, on the verge of breaking with every second spent in deafening silence. Giyuu couldn't find it in him to get up, his knees felt like broken mirrors which would stab into his flesh and force him to kneel, regardless of what he desperately wanted to do.

"Please, this isn't funny!" The raven-haired boy called out and tears began blurring his vision, sniffles and choked back sobs rocked his body. "[Name]!" Giyuu hugged the handle of your katana to his chest as he curled up into himself and sobbed into the new day that had just begun. 

Why did the universe take away every person he loved so dearly? 

First, it was his family, then Sabito and you that got ripped from his grasp, lives he treasured more than anything else, people who he would've died for. 

"[Name].. You promised to come back.." The boy murmured to no one and let his eyes travel to the wristband you had made so many years ago. It was physical proof that you were always with him and never far, that he would never forget you and that your lives were intertwined like the sun and the moon. 

"Give me [Name] back.."

It was at this moment that a Demon Hunter of higher rank called out to a whimpering Giyuu and brought him back to where the final selection started, a place filled with beautifully blooming wisteria. 

Everyone came back. 

Everyone except for you and Sabito. 

How was Giyuu supposed to face Urokodaki after this?

Lead flowed through every single vein as Giyuu dragged himself back to Urokodaki's home, body heavy with the strain of surviving for 7 days straight, but compared to the gilt gnawing away at his heart, it was bearable. 

If only he hadn't gotten injured, then maybe Sabito would still be alive, standing right next to him with an equally aching body but still smiling through the pain because they would've made it. 

If only Giyuu had gotten to the river a bit earlier, you'd be swooning over Urokodaki's food and excitedly tell the elder man about all the achievements and experiences you gained. You, too, would be alive and smiling. 

The young boy stopped dead in his tracks as his blue eyes spotted Urokodaki chopping up some wood with an axe which the former Hashira dropped when his gaze fell upon Giyuu. 

Sadness lingered in Urokodaki's nose and was quick to mix with relief of still being alive, yet Giyuu reeked of regret, grief and sorrow. He couldn't blame the young boy. Urokodaki knew how attached Giyuu was to Sabito and you. The three of you would always train together, share food among one another like you were siblings and cut worries in half simply by being present. 

Giyuu was desperately trying to bite back new sobs and tears, since Sabito would be the one to say that a man should suffer in silence. On the other hand, there was you who looked so upset when he once tried to hide an injury from you.

"Stop acting tough." You had once said.

The entire sky came crashing down on Giyuu as he felt his teacher's arms wrapping around him to welcome him home, to express gratefulness that he made it back. 

"Sabito and [Name]!" Giyuu could no longer hold his tears at bay, they freely rolled down his cheek like waves crashed into the shore. It was too much and yet not enough. "Urokodaki-san! They.. They..!" His voice broke a little more with each word that Giyuu tried to force out of his throat, but the lump of sorrow cut through his vocal chords. 

"I'm glad you're back," was all Urokodaki managed to say and he hoped it'd take a bit of weight off the young boy's shoulders. He feared that if he tried to speak any more, he would cry more than he already was, as well. During the time as a teacher, Urokodaki had lost so many of his students who grew on him ㅡ Sabito, Giyuu and you were no exception. 

Sadness poked around deeply in his heart, but it was Urokodaki's duty to make sure that his student wouldn't be overcome by his current despair. He knew Giyuu would be able to overcome his sorrow and grow into a good person. 

But first, time needed to heal the wound which was still bleeding so heavily. 

Giyuu rubbed his eyes dry with the sleeve of his haori, took off the small bag he carried on his back and showed Urokodaki the broken blade which had belonged to you. "Do you.. Do you think it can be fixed?" 

Urokodaki took the two parts into his hands and was surprised at how jaded the blade was. It didn't even cut his finger like it was supposed to and the color had disappeared from the sword like it had never been wielded by anyone in the first place. "That can be arranged. I'll ask Haganezuka."

Two weeks passed when Haganezuka arrived with two swords in his hands and nearly lost his mind when Giyuu said that he wasn't a dual wielder and only needed one blade. 

"You little..! What do you mean you can't wield both?! It'd be disgraceful not to wield both Nichirin blades!" Haganezuka screeched loud enough for his voice to echo through every corner of Mount Sagiri. It took so long to make the broken sword look like it had never been broken and this brat didn't even think about testing it out! 

Giyuu never pulled the blade out of the sheath as you were the one who should do it and witness the change of colors with your own eyes. "I'm sorry." It wasn't necessary to let the swords smith in on the details when he was a stranger. A weird stranger, at that. 

"Sorry doesn't cut it!" 

Despite the strange encounter with Haganezuka who was oddly dedicated to his craft, as Giyuu would put it, the sword was always held close to his heart. It was a reminder of the life Sabito and you gifted him, that he should work harder to be able to protect those around him. 

When Giyuu climbed through the ranks and was able to afford his own estate, the first thing he had hung up was the sword you fought with.

It was 8 years later when bare feet danced on the wooden floor like water flowed through the river. No unnecessary steps, elegance connected every single move like stars made up beautiful constellations which left people in awe each and every time. 

Several women watched with parted lips and sparkling eyes as this person was a constellation herself, someone they could learn and profit from if they watched closely enough. But they knew that this level of accurate and controlled movements required not only effort, but talent as well. 

When feet ceased to float and the music humming in the background died down, one woman in particular ran up to the young dancer, manicured nails squishing the full cheeks together. "Isn't she amazing?" Mizu nearly squeaked with pride and reddened cheeks while receiving agreeing nods from the other women. 

Mizu was an oiran living in Yoshiwara, a red light district. She was rather beautiful with her opaque hair kept into a bun and held together by golden hairpins, her lips painted crimson and fair skin, although most of her pale skin was thanks to the help of make-up. 

"[Name] really is amazing," one of the women said smiling, her palms on her lap as she agreed with Mizu. 

Such praise was often thrown your way only because Mizu was in the room. No one dared to openly point out your mistakes and actively help you improve your skills, so you had no choice but to ask the women yourself when Mizu was out of hearing-range. 

This issue wasn't the only thing keeping everyone on the edge of their seat. 

Whenever a severe mistake happened, that woman was sure to disappear within the next night. Stomping could clearly be heard, you swore the mere sound gave off a murderous intent so intense that it left you shaking underneath the security of your blankets. 

When asking if one of your fellow workers could also sense the blood lust every once in a while, they said no. Apparently, they couldn't feel the immense anger creeping throughout the house like you could which left you confused. However, the fact that your senses were so sharp and sensitive to blood lust made you wonder if you had lived a different life before you woke up in Yoshiwara. 

Actually, you were sure that you had lived differently before finding yourself in Yoshiwara, but your memories were erased. Proof of your previous lifestyle were your calloused palms, the small scars on them which the other women always pitied you for as it apparently wasn't fit for a lady to have rough palms. 

Then there was this wristband which you wore for a reason long forgotten.

All you could remember was your name when you one day woke up on a tatami mat underneath a safe roof with several women in the room. You couldn't answer a single question regarding your past, the years of your life suddenly drowned in black as you tried your best to remember what happened, what caused the pain in your body, but it was no good. 

"Thank you for your kind words. If you'd excuse me." As you turned around to leave for the bathrooms, you felt Mizu's eyes on your back and you knew that she had nothing but love swimming in her dark eyes, and yet, you sensed something much deeper, so much darker lurking within them that a shiver rolled down your spine. 

One woman responsible for today's cleaning stood next to the highly-respected oiran. "Wherever you picked [Name] up from, it's a gift you found her. She might as well take your place someday, Mizu-san."

A gift you were indeed, but the way you danced bugged Mizu. It reminded her of the fighting techniques of Demon Slayers. Filthy. "Yeah. Who knows what might've happened to her if it was someone else that found her.." Mizu brought the sleeve of her kimono up to her lips, hiding the lower part of her face and tilted her head to the side as she watched you disappear behind shoji doors, briefly remembering where she had found you nearly a decade ago.

"Oh my, what a poor thing." Mizu knelt down to where you laid on the ground, your breathing was shallow and your hand outstretched as if reaching out to the sword in front of you. Manicured nails pushed your bangs out of your face and traced the bruises along your cheek and neck, feeling that your jaw was, indeed, broken. 

"You'd look beautiful without all these ugly stains," she mused while twisting a strand of your dirtied hair around her index finger, crimson red lips frowned at the miserable state you were in. So far gone, you couldn't even hear her voice, feel her touch.

Reaching behind her head, Mizu took two hairpins out of her hair and styled your hair into a bun, the hairpins keeping the look somewhat together. You reminded her of the daughter she once had before the small child suddenly died. Mizu desired nothing more than to have her daughter back and you were the perfect fit. 

"You'd make a beautiful oiran, one day. Maybe I should make you my daughter." Mizu smiled into the night at the thought of having a daughter, such a stunning one, too. With her, you'd be better off than with those filthy slayers if the sword in front of you was anything to go by. She could give you all the riches you desired, all the kimonos, money, men and women you could ever want. 

Those Demon Hunters could only offer you death. 

"From today on, you'll be my lovely daughter," Mizu cheered and poked at your cheek to maybe gain a reaction, but all she heard was an incoherent mumble of names she had never heard of. Unimportant, these people no longer mattered. 

Carefully, Mizu picked you up with a smile and disappeared into the night.

The water was pleasantly warm against your skin as you washed the heavy make-up off your face, several colors went down the drain and no longer stuck in place like a mask. Luckily, you didn't have to show your face to any outsider that night, or else the amount of make-up would suffocate you. 

A sigh escaped through your lips when your eyes landed on that red wristband, the threads wet and soaked with water, but still perfectly intact. You didn't know why, but your heart always ached a little whenever you thought about its origin and the possible memories connected to this little item. 

Maybe someone important gave it to you? 

Maybe that someone was looking for you and could help you regain your memories! 

Ah, what were you thinking? Stuff like this only existed in romantic novels. 8 years had passed and no one had ever looked for you, you were certain of that. No had ever asked around for you, no one had ever put up a picture of your face, no one had cared enough. 

Whenever you'd ask Mizu about where she found you and what you did before joining the house she lived in, she brushed you off, saying that it was time for your Japanese class, time to practice calligraphy or dancing, when in reality she only wanted you to be distracted and busy. 

"Maybe I should give up and just live with it..," you mumbled into the towel as you dried your face. At least, you would no longer anger Mizu or make the other women nervous when asking anything regarding your past. 

Having made up your mind, you trudged back into your empty room. No matter how many paintings you had hung up, no matter how many clothes filled your wardrobe and no matter how much jewelry Mizu made you wear on your hands and neck, it was empty. 

You were lucky to live, but were you really alive or simply a shell of who you used to be? 

After countlessly tossing and turning, your body finally found some rest and dragged you into a deep slumber.

Streets filled with people were never one of Giyuu's favorites. He preferred executing his job in the mountains where he wouldn't have to hide his sword from the police and didn't have the stress of potentially having to protect a large number of people if a demon was to show up. 

One good thing about cities was the food. The steaming bowl of ramen warmed Giyuu up from within as the chilly evening breeze nipped at his cheeks, tinting the flesh a faint shade of red. 

"It's almost unbelievable that a demon is supposed to be here. Right, Tomioka-san?" Shinobu sat next to Giyuu and enjoyed her own portion of food. Just behind her back, people chattered away and children played tag with each other, from somewhere further away, she could even make out the faint strumming of an instrument. 

Apparently, a demon was hiding somewhere in Yoshiwara. Every few months, women, prostitutes, to be more specific, suddenly disappeared and had never been seen again. Of course, the rumor of those women losing her footing had spread, but this was as waterproof as paper. 

Those women had never shown signs of wanting to run away with a man. Love letters were never found nor did they suddenly receive a good amount of money or saw someone especially frequently. 

"Demons can hide anywhere." Giyuu's ears picked up how some men asked for some lady's services and briefly, the thought of a demon hiding in a brothel crossed his mind. However, he had never heard of a demon seeking refuge in such business since those places were too crowded to commit a proper murder.

"You're not wrong about this." Shinobu sat back in her seat and put her chopsticks on her empty plate before something caught her attention. What was this red bracelet around Giyuu's wrist? Had it always been there or did he get it recently? 

A teasing smile tugged the corners of her lips upwards as she rested her chin on her palm, an index finger pointing at Giyuu's wrist. "Tomioka-san, did you get that wristband from someone special? I didn't know you were the type to be so romantic!" She chirped. 

Blue irises gazed at the red threads laced into one thick wristband which was usually hidden underneath the sleeve of his uniform or haori, so no one really ever saw it. "It's nothing like that." Despite his nonchalant words, Giyuu couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. 

"Eh?! Are you smiling?!" Shinobu could hardly believe her eyes and felt a shiver run down her spine. This was..scary. 

"..We're here to look for a demon, aren't we?"

Attentively, you sat close to a river, eyes wide and scanning the area for a familiar mop of black hair tied into a low ponytail. From afar, you could hear an old man giving someone the instruction to become one with the water in order to master the breathing techniques. 

Just a moment later, a yell echoed through the mountains followed by a noisy splash and the yell got cut off. 

"___-san really threw him into the river, huh," you chuckled as you remembered how you nearly drowned the first time the elderly man tossed you into the river like a rubber duck. Now it was the boy's turn. 

Minutes of silence filled the space around you, only the water flowing in front of you filled the tranquil space and then, several gasps shattered the peaceful atmosphere. 

The boy you had to look out for coughed up water as he dragged himself out of the river, his body soaked to the bone and what was that on his hand? Blood? He possibly cut himself on a stone underwater. 

Leaping up from your seated position and jogging over to your friend, you gave his back a few firm smacks until he breathed normally again. "I feel like ____-san really wants to kill us," the boy looked up at you, but..you couldn't see his face. It was black. 

"Speaking of dying. What was that on your hand?" you spoke and tried to get a look at the boy's hand, but he quickly hid his hands behind his back, pressing the back of his hands against his lower back. "___, show me!" You insisted and eventually, your friend showed you the cut on the back of his hand. 

The cut wasn't deep, but it still bled profusely down his wrist. Clicking your tongue, you reached into your pocket and revealed simple bandages which you always kept with you in case you got injured. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" The boy saw the upset look on your face, brows furrowed and your eyes scolding him. 

Wasn't it his friend that said that a man should bear his pain in silence? 

"I'm sorry, [Name]," he avoided your gaze, focusing on the bracelet you had once made for him, instead. It was better than having to bear the disappointment in your eyes. 

"Stop acting tough." You tied the bandage around the boy's hand a bit too tight, making him flinch at the pain shooting through his hand. It was unusual for you to be so rough. "I'll always find out if you're hurt."

In a cold sweat, gasping for air, you suddenly sat straight in bed. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, your sleepwear was drenched in sweat at your neck and back, the fabric clung to you like a second skin. Putting a hand on your chest, you tried your best to control your breathing, but the more you tried, the more you could feel a headache stinging in the back of your head. 

Whatever you just saw, it was a mere dream, right? Yet, one could usually hear names and see the faces of the people appearing in a dream, but whenever names fell, they were muted. Whenever you saw a face, it was covered in black. 

They were nameless, faceless people. 

Perhaps, this was a memory? 

"Crap," you hissed as the stinging got to your eyes like a migraine and roughly pushed the blanket off your body as you got up to maybe talk about it with Mizu or someone else. Yes, you promised not to bother anyone with your dreams or past, but this left your hands and mind shaking. 

Carefully, as to not make any noise, your bare feet padded along the wooden hallways, every shoji door was shut and no light was on, indicating that all of the women were busy with men downstairs. What a pain, you thought. Keeping married and single men pleased at night was something which never appealed to you, even though Mizu had raised you to possess the needed skills. 

Lost in thought, you nearly missed how the light of several candles lit up a single room, the shoji door wasn't even fully closed. You finally found someone! 

"I'm sorry for bothering you this late at night, but I was wondering ifㅡ"

You were greeted by the sight of blood being smeared across the wall and pooling right at your feet, bones sticking out from the corpse of the woman who had praised you earlier. Your head screamed at you to run, but your body didn't listen. It was itching to reach for something that wasn't strapped to your hip.

"It's a shame you had to see me like this, [Name]." Opaque hair was loose, red lipstick got replaced by the dead woman's blood which was also dripping down claws.

Mizu tossed the corpse away from her and faced you, slowly approaching you with cold steps. Her pupils were no longer round but resembled that of a cat. Smirking, she watched as your legs trembled in fear when she delicately cupped your face in her hand. "I promised myself to never eat you unless you saw me killing someone. But maybe it's exactly because you are my daughter that you'll be extra nutritious."

Horns made of bones stuck out from Mizu's head, resembling the ears of a bunny. At that very moment, you heard a voice inside your head.

"Some demons devoured so many that their bodies are deformed. It ranges from mere horns to multiple body parts and extreme growth spurts."

"Demon!" You gasped, pushed Mizu away from you with all the strength you had in your arms and made a run for it. Splinters dug into the soles of your feet, but you didn't care. What mattered was your survival, your life, the life Haruto and Tsutako left behind for you! 

Wait, Haruto and Tsutako..? Who..?

You stopped dead in your tracks, the sound of Mizu's traditional heels rhythmically clicking against the floor haunted you. 

Fleeing downstairs was no option. Innocent lives could easily be taken by Mizu and there was no way you could protect all of them when you couldn't even properly protect yourself. Panic-stricken, your eyes found nothing but paintings decorating the walls, a mere fan and a..

A katana!

Grabbing the katana from the wall, you held it with both hands as tightly as you could, the tip pointing at Mizu's neck. 

"You're hilarious, [Name]! Don't tell me you're remembering now when it's too late." Mizu pushed some of her hair behind her shoulder as she laughed at your poor attempt to take her down. However, it seemed like your body was beginning to remember whatever a fragile human once taught you and it wasn't like you had completely forgotten how to move, either. 

A laugh shook the demon's shoulders as she stretched her palm out and let a bone grow from her skin. Mizu pointed the sharp bone towards you, shooting it in your direction with the expectation to heavily injure you and kill you in the end. 

What she didn't expect was the way you vertically cut through the bone, letting drop to the ground uselessly. Your jaw was clenched, eyes wide open with sweat trickling down your forehead and the katana in your hand like it had always belonged there. 

"I don't know what you're saying, but I know that I can't let you live!" Zooming right in Mizu's face, you aimed for her stomach to weaken her, but she was faster. Grabbing your head, she effectively put you off-balance and rammed another bone into your side as if she saw no daughter in you. 

"You've always had a funny side to you, but right now, you're looking like a jester. You, killing me? Not even you are that dumb." Mizu wore an unimpressed expression as you fell to your knees and coughed up blood. Hastily, you ripped a good amount of fabric from your yukata and tightly wrapped it around your waist to slow down the bleeding. 

The demon never stopped you. Sooner or later, you'd faint and die from blood loss. This was nothing but a fool's attempt to desperately prolong their end. 

"That katana can't kill me. As a former Demon Slayer, you should know that only a Slayer's blade and sunlight can kill a demon." A swift kick to your face had blood dripping down your nose, but your palm wrapped itself around Mizu's ankle tight enough to make your arm's veins pop, tight enough to prevent her, a demon, from moving.

"Breathing Techniques make it possible for a human to gain demonic strength themselves. But unlike demons, a human's stamina is limited."

Within a moment, Mizu's ankle was in your hand, her blood flowing down your forearm as you tossed the cut off limb away. Immediately, you pulled her into a close-range fight, but the several bones beginning to stick out from her body pushed you further away with each step you took. The sharp bones left cuts on not only your face, but your arms and legs as well. 

"I don't care if it can't kill you! I refuse to go down without a fight! I'll simply keep you busy until the sun rises!"

Searching for that demon in Yoshiwara was a lost cause. 

No one had any suspicions or those people were just too scared to talk, fearing that they might mysteriously disappear, as well. The tension in Yoshiwara spread far and wide, yet there wasn't even the trace of a demon to be found. 

"We can't talk. Otherwise, we'll disappear, as well."

"Those women are said to have lost their footing, but.. No, it doesn't matter."

"..Whatever are you talking about?"

Excuses upon excuses. But Giyuu could hardly interrogate simple passengers and ask them about the existence of a being which they were unaware of or didn't believe in. 

Frustrated, he shut the shoji door of his home and sighed. 

Suddenly, a shrill clink bounced off the plain walls of Giyuu's home and as he raised his gaze, he saw the Nichirin sword ㅡ which was supposed to be yours if you had survived ㅡ on the floor, the steel shone in the moonlight peeking through the windows of his home. 

His heart felt heavy as he wondered what color your katana would have become, how you would've wielded it, how bright your smile would've been if you had had the chance to receive it. 

Giyuu picked the colorless weapon up, wanted to put it back on its place at the wall when suddenly his kasugai crow landed on the window sill, cawing so loudly that it made his ears ring. 

"[Name] who was assumed to have died in the final selection 8 years ago, needs backup fighting a demon!" The old crow impatiently bounced around, wings already spread and ready to take off. "Hurry to Yoshiwara! Hurry, hurry! " 

"[Name]..?" Gradually, Giyuu's usually calm gaze widened and filled with infinite questions while he was wordlessly staring at your sword. Why were you alive and how in the world did you survive? Why did you never come back? What held you back? 

With a flick of his wrist, he hid the plain Nichirin blade in the sleeve of his mismatched haori and was out of his home faster than the crow could perceive. 

The Hashira couldn't be late. He couldn't be late, again. 

This time, he'd be the one to protect you.

"Get out of here!" You cried to the people who had been very obviously enjoying themselves with alcohol, food and women until Mizu had kicked you through the floor which was also the ceiling of the floor below. 

No one seemed to fully realize what happened, reality only kicked in slowly when they took note of your battered form and Mizu coming down the stairs as elegantly as ever, but the blood on her and the aura she radiated created nothing but fear. 

All of a sudden, they screamed and ran, talking about a monster possessing their beloved lady who was attempting to kill one of their own. 

Making sure that everyone got out safely was a mistake. You didn't even realize Mizu leaving her spot on the stairs as she was suddenly right in front of you, way too close to be considered a safe distance. Crap, there was no way you'd get out of this unscathed. 

The bone sticking out from Mizu's palm aimed for your right eye, ready to pierce through your skull and put an end to the prosperous life you could lead thanks to the demonic woman. In an act of despair, you swung your katana vertically in an attempt to cut off her arm, but Mizu just smirked as the blade got stuck, not even budging a centimeter, anymore. 

This was it. This attack would be your downfall, you thought. 

"Water Breathing. Second form: Water Wheel."

You stumbled backwards, falling on your knees and all your eyes could catch was Mizu's arm suddenly dropping to the ground along with the katana stuck in her flesh. Blood stained the carpet an ugly red, a loud hiss came from Mizu's direction, her pupils shaking and mouth unusually quiet.

"A..H-Hashira..?" Claws digged into the flesh of her palm bit by bit, her fist shook and goosebumps were scattered across her skin. Just the mere aura of that Demon Slayer terrified her; he was way too calm and yet she could feel racing anger bubbling underneath the surface. No, she couldn't let a mere human intimidate her. What ridiculous excuse of a demon would get intimidated by a man wielding a sword? 

Hashira..?

Looking up, you saw the broad back of a man wearing a mismatched haori but what stood out to you was the red wristband he wore. It looked like the one around your wrist but could it be the same? What were the odds of two strangers wearing the same red bracelet? Impossible. 

A sudden sting in your head interrupted your running mind.

"Besides, you must always remember that I'm never far and always with you, okay?" A blush sat upon your cheeks as you intertwined your pinky finger with Giyuu and brought them up to eye-level, tying him into a promise of a lifetime.

Fingers tangled themselves into your hair, pulling at the roots. 

"Stop acting tough." You tied the bandage around Giyuu's hand a bit too tight, making the boy flinch at the pain shooting through his hand. It was unusual for you to be so rough. "I'll always find out if you're hurt."

Panting, you closed your eyes shut until it hurt. Why did you feel like you knew the man in front of you?

"Whatever you do, you've got to survive!" Hands clinging to the katana you carried with you, you screamed at the top of your lungs one last time. Bit by bit, your friends seemed to become dots. "Survive! Sabito! ...

..Giyuu!" You finally yelled the man's name out like he was the answer to everything you had been looking for, like he was the missing piece to the puzzle of your life. Unknowingly, tears freely flowed from your eyes, making the cuts on your face sting and burn.

A quick move of his wrist was enough to flick Mizu's blood off his sword. "Don't you dare touch her!" Giyuu wasn't one to lose his calm demeanor often, but what he absolutely couldn't stand was the ones he cared for getting hurt, bruised, made to suffer. 

You wiped the blood trickling from your mouth away with the back of your hand, lips tugging themselves upwards as you pushed yourself up to your feet once more and stood next to Giyuu. "I'll fight with you. This is a personal matter."

Giyuu was about to protest, tell you to leave this place, but the sharp shimmer cutting through your eyes immediately took down every word that was on his tongue. Never had you backed down from a fight, never had you let anything break you, never had you ever given up. 

Wordlessly, he let the katana he hid in the sleeve of the haori, slide into his palm and handed it to you. As soon as your fingers were wrapped around the handle, the blade turned into a clear baby blue, several shades lighter than Giyuu's Nichirin blade. 

"I'll handle the bones. You go for the head."

Giyuu dashed ahead while you cut your way through the maze of bones sticking out from wherever Mizu desired, her attacks got rougher as if she was suddenly frightened. Good. "You brat! Do you really think one more person would be enough to claim my head?!" Mizu stomped her foot once. 

That stomping.. You were familiar with it. 

It'd occur once every few months before a woman would go missing without a trace. This action always frightened you as the murderous intent in it was so overwhelming that unconsciously, tears would brim your eyes.

Quickly, you grabbed the back of Giyuu's haori and slid to the side with him before several rib-shaped bones dashed up from the ground, their sharp tips shining underneath the chandelier. If you hadn't been so familiar with Mizu's blood lust, you were sure you would've been pierced pork by now. 

Thanks to the sliding, you had gotten close enough to Mizu, giving you the perfect opportunity to chop off her head before she could cause any more pain and damage. "Go!" You cried out loud enough for your voice to crack and swung your blade at Mizu's face to slice her horizontally, the demon stopping your blade with her bare hands. 

"Water Breathing. First form: Water Surface Slash." 

Giyuu had gotten behind Mizu and let his katana cut through the flesh of her neck, the head of the oiran sliding off her shoulders and her body collapsing to the ground. "Impossible!" She screeched in nothing but anger and disappointment at you. 

"You ungrateful bitch! I saved and raised you and this is how you repay the favor?! How dare youㅡ!" Tears streamed down her cheeks while you were looking at her with a drained expression. Bruises and cuts stained your skin, not to mention the stab wound in your waist which was still bleeding. Bangs hid your eyes from her view, the smell of ash was strong in your nose.

"I'm very thankful that you raised me, gave me food and a roof above my head. I will never forget that. But making humans suffer by letting them die a painful death, eating them without a shred of guilt in your guts.." The grip on the katana's handle tightened in anger, sadness and grief as you remembered your brother, mother, Tsutako. All those people who were so brave and kind and dead. "Savior, Mother, whatever you are. I absolutely won't forgive you for this!" 

"Do you think that matters?! You're nothing but a whore I raised! You, too, won't go to heaven and I'll wait for you in hell!" Before Mizu could spit any more words, her head and body dissolved into nothing, not even the ashes remained. 

Slowly, you turned around to face Giyuu, a peaceful smile lingered on your lips as you stumbled towards the one your heart had been missing for longer than you could think. Strength left your hand and the katana Giyuu had tossed you earlier fell to the ground. "Giyuu.. I'm so happy you survived.." You tripped over your own two feet, about to fall, but it was okay. 

Giyuu caught you. 

"[Name], I.." He spoke, but soon noticed that you had fallen unconscious with your cheek pressed up against his chest, eyes closed and breathing so calmly in his strong arms. Serenity was written all over your face, despite the dirt, cuts, blood and pain you went through. You were at peace with Giyuu around just like when you two were children. 

His stoic mask shattered as he pressed your unconscious body flush to his and buried a hand in your hair, his knees giving in and meeting the floor with a dull thud. "I'm so sorry I didn't find you earlier." Giyuu buried his face in your neck as he softly cried against your skin, a wave of immense relief hitting him at once. 

At least, you weren't dead like the Hashira believed for nearly 10 years. 

"I swear I'll make sure to protect you."

The sun was warm on your skin, gentle eyes focused on a blue butterfly which had entered through the open window and rested on your index finger. Its small legs tickled you ever so slightly and you struggled to hold in a giggle at the feeling. 

After having fallen unconscious for a day or two, you woke up at the Butterfly Estate where three very sweet girls awaited you coming back to reality; you learned that their names were Sumi, Kiyo and Naho. They brought you everything you needed and frequently kept you company. 

With your eyes opening once more, you also regained your memories. You remembered everything from the day you lost your parents, to the training with Urokodaki, Sabito and Giyuu, to the point you had desperately tried to reach your katana and passed out. Although a little bit of regret lingered at your soul, you couldn't find it in you to be upset with yourself. 

Life continuously knitted several paths for one to take, but it was up to several strings of fortunate and unfortunate events alike which path they'd lead one on. 

Anyone could say you were unlucky to have lost your memories and had to part ways with the ones you loved the most. But if you thought about it, you were very lucky. So very lucky that Mizu had taken you in, that she fought you and that a string of fate decided to intertwine Giyuu's and your path once more. 

The butterfly on your finger flew away as the shoji door slid open and revealed no one else but Shinobu who had watched over your physical and mental state after the confrontation with Mizu. The Insect Hashira was incredibly kind and you felt like you developed some kind of friendship with her. 

As she sat down on your bed to give you the last bit of medicine you had to swallow, you couldn't help but notice her eyes lingering on your wristband. 

"How come you like Tomioka-san?" 

You nearly choked on the pills, heat warmed up your cheeks and the tips of your ears while you stumbled over your words like a child tripped over rocks. "I-I what?! It's nothing like t-that, Shinobu!" Comically, you shook your head and threw your arms around as if that would convince the dark-haired woman. 

"Oh? But Tomioka-san has the exact same wristband and when I asked him about it, he smiled. Do you know how scary that was?"

You couldn't bite back the laugh that ripped through you at Shinobu's words. The fact that Giyuu seemed to smile so rarely that it was considered creepy when he did it, was both ridiculous and funny to you. 

On the other side of the shoji door, Giyuu wondered what could possibly make you laugh so much. He didn't ponder too much on it since this was a sound he hadn't heard in so long and was actually quite fond of. Not that the Water Hashira would ever say that out loud. 

As Giyuu stepped inside, he was immediately greeted by your warm smile and despite the bandaids on your face and bandages around your arms, he was taken aback at how pretty you were. Even after 8 years, you still made his heart feel a certain, funny way with little to no effort at all. 

"I guess I should leave the two of you alone. Although I can't deny that I'm surprised you like Tomioka-san enough to willingly be alone with him."

"I..am not disliked by people."

"That's all you have to say?" Shinobu wondered out loud and left the room, the shoji door closing behind her with a dull thud bouncing off the warmly-colored walls. 

As Giyuu sat with you on the bed, you couldn't help but notice that his facial features got much sharper over the years, his demeanor became stoic, but you were quick to figure out that Giyuu hadn't grown jaded. Those he cared about, he would show his emotions to. 

"Giyuu, Iㅡ" 

Whatever you wanted to say got blown away as you suddenly found yourself in Giyuu's arms, your chin resting in his broad shoulder while his hands grasped at your clothes as if you were to disappear if he held you any lighter. "All this time, I thought you were dead."

Wrapping your arms around the tall Hashira, you easily melted into the heartfelt hug and felt relief as well as happiness prick at your eyes. You couldn't cry now. "I'm right here, Giyuu. I told you I'd never be far, remember?" Each syllable was a bit shakier than the previous one, but it made the feelings in your heart only grow firmer and deeper. 

Affectionately, you wrapped your pinky around Giyuu's and brought the two intertwined fingers up to eye level while resting your forehead on his own. You basked in the closeness with the one you'd been aching to meet, swam in his calm aura and felt your heart skip several beats as if it had fallen.

A lump found home in Giyuu's throat and effectively cut off any word he could dream of saying. He wasn't used to anyone getting this close to him, wasn't used to someone being affectionate and gentle with him. And he certainly wasn't used to seeing your serene face after so, so long. 

But he liked it. 

"I'd never forget," Giyuu quietly confessed and felt your breath fan over his cheeks, a delicate smile tugging at his lips as the promise from your childhood was renewed. It was the first time you had seen Giyuu smile and contrary to Shinobu's words, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid your eyes on. 

Step by step, the sun began disappearing behind mountains and dipped the sky in a beautiful mix of orange, blue and pink. Soon, the stars would light up the sky and the moon would shine brightly. 

But with the sun setting, it also meant that demons were about to crawl out from whatever hole they hid themselves in. 

"Grab your sword, [Name]."

"Huh?"

Giyuu knew he was about to weave you into a life which could never be described as safe or domestic, but he never forgot that you had already decided to become a Demon Slayer when you two were children. He had seen the way you fought, backed him up and sensed a demon's blood lust. 

After all this time, you never truly forgot who you were. 

"It won't take long until the demons come out. Let's go." 

You nearly fell from your bed as you hastily reached for your sword and a bit of confusion lingered in your mind. Just what was Giyuu thinking? It was hard to tell with his face barely moving like it used to.

"I never officially passed the final selection," you sighed and looked at the sword in your grasp which was once broken, lying right in front of you. "I can't just go with you..can I?" 

Giyuu could feel doubt and insecurity seeping from you which definitely wasn't characteristic for you. When you fought Mizu, you were hell-bent on defeating her, despite the injuries you took. Was it guilt from back then making you doubt..?

"What happened 8 years ago is unfortunate, [Name]." Pitch black bangs threw a subtle shadow over Giyuu's eyes, but his voice was, dare you say, soothing. "But if you still want to fight, then I'll train you until the next final selection. Going on patrol with me is considered training."

It was okay for you to become a swordsman once again, right? Urokodaki didn't put you through hellish training and taught you everything he knew just for you to quit. With Giyuu's help, you could surely put an end to the existence of demons. Yes, you could do it! 

Confidently, you strapped your Nichirin blade to your waist, grabbed Giyuu's hand and pulled him through the hallways of the Butterfly Estate until you were finally outside. "Then what are we waiting for? Training is about to begin!" 

Faintly, Giyuu could hear Shinobu, Aoi and the three girls bid their goodbyes. His eyes fell down to your hand holding his tightly with the wristbands nearly touching one another. 

Perhaps, you were really bound by the wrist and though the red threads got heavily tangled along the way, it never got severed.

[youthful4ever]

10 Financial Principles That Are Biblical

by George Fooshee

Some people mash cans, crunch bottles or shred newspapers and magazines to further the cause of modern ecology. As owner and manager of a collection agency for 17 years, I believe in preserving the nation's natural and human resources too-particularly from a personal finance perspective.

There are ten financial principles found in God's Word to counsel and to help "recycle" many people, especially Christians, who have been all but mashed, crunched or shredded by the miseries of indebtedness and poor money management.

To put it plainly, I've seen firsthand the full spectrum of financial woes that can hopelessly trap people in a society victimized by the credit-card, "buy-now-pay-later" syndrome.

As a bill collector, my business is to try to collect accounts that creditors have been unsuccessful in collecting. Daily, I see people in deep financial trouble. Thousands in this country have got themselves into financial messes that can lead to more serious consequences.

For years all of my personal financial counseling ended in failure. Then I discovered God's mighty Word and His ten financial principles. Financial counseling became a matter of revealing these principles and allowing financially troubled persons to choose whether to obey them or not. These principles reveal God's instructions to His children for conducting their financial affairs.

I believe that one of the major themes of the Bible is obedience to the Lord. These financial principles are real, and obedience to them demonstrates that Christians are trusting God in another area of their lives.

God is Source

The first principle is that God is the source of everything. Philippians 4:19 says, "My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." Proverbs 8:20,21 adds, "I lead in the way of righteousness, in the midst of the paths of judgment: that I may cause those that love me to inherit substance; and I will fill their treasures."

And 2 Corinthians 9:8 says: "And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work." Whenever we need money or possessions, prayer is the answer. Look to the Lord, because He will provide it-according to His will.

Giving Essential

The second principle is that of giving. Luke 6:38, a key verse, says, "Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give unto your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again." According to Deuteronomy 14:23, one purpose of tithing was to teach the people of Israel to put God first in their lives.

I find there are a couple of ways I can put God first daily. One is to have a quiet time. If I am unwilling to meet the Lord each morning when I get up, that means I'm putting somebody else or something else before the Lord.

For example, how many people have thought seriously about not taking the daily newspaper? The man who is unwilling to cancel a newspaper subscription, which is keeping him from reading the Word of God, may often be the same man who is having trouble making the payments on the TV set that is keeping him from doing the things that would help him grow closer to the Lord. So it can be a vicious cycle. And with TV commercials by the dozens exhorting him to buy, spend, charge and go, is it any wonder that thousands of people are so molded by the world?

Having a quiet time is one way a person can put God first. I believe another is to commit a tenth of his income-right off the top-to the Lord's work. Proverbs 3:9, reads: "Honour the Lord with thy substance, and with the firstfruits of all thine increase: so shall thy barns be filled with plenty, and thy presses shall burst with new wine."

Live On Margin

The third principle is that of living on a margin. Everyone ought to live on a margin-a physical margin, a spiritual margin, a time margin and a financial margin. Living on a margin simply means allowing room for things to happen.

There are really only three ways a person can arrive anyplace. He can arrive early, on time or late. I used to aim at arriving right on time, and I consistently arrived five minutes late. That's because I allowed no margin.

Those precious minutes add up. Think of the cumulative effort, on health alone, of continually spending 15 minutes hurrying to be five minutes late. I swim three times a week at the YMCA to stay in shape, and I try to eat right and keep my weight down, since I want to serve the Lord and therefore don't want to die of a heart attack. But 15 minutes of hurrying three times each day for 15 years adds up to nearly six months of 24-hour days when I'm under unnecessary tension, just hurrying to be late. And tension is a leading cause of heart attacks. How ridiculous! But the Lord led me to operate on a time margin-planning to arrive early rather than hurrying to be late.

Bible Backs Saving

The fourth financial principle concerns saving money-setting something aside for a rainy day. Proverbs 21:20 says, "There is treasure to be desired and oil in the dwelling of the wise; but a foolish man spendeth it up." And Proverbs 22:3emphasizes, "A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished."

For a simple example, if a couple with an income of $12,000 a year would save $1000 of it each of those years and let this money earn 6 percent interest, compounded annually, they would have $24,672.56 at the end of a 15-year period.

If at the end of 15 years of saving faithfully, a son or daughter is ready for college or the family needs to move into a bigger house or wants to serve the Lord on a full-time basis, the couple can start to withdraw their savings. They can withdraw $2000 a year for 10 years and still have $15,322.17, or slightly more than they set aside. Isn't this making your money work for you? God has a reason for the principle of saving money.

Keep Out of Debt

The fifth principle is to keep out of unnecessary debt and thus avoid the debt trap. Borrowing for a house or car is one thing but taking on financial obligations one can't keep-buying beyond the ability to pay-is another. Psalm 37:21 says "the wicked borroweth, and payeth not again." The minute a person goes into debt, he loses a portion of his freedom. As Proverbs 22:7 says, "The rich ruleth over the poor, and the borrower is servant to the lender."

Suppose this same young couple with the $12,000 annual income had decided that instead of saving $1000 a year, they would go into debt for $1000 to buy some furniture. And suppose they continue to increase their indebtedness by $1000 during each of the 15 years, without paying back one cent. With 10 percent interest, compounded annually, on the increase in debt, the couple's debt would have been an astronomical $34,949.74. The debt on $1000 alone for that same period, without any repayment, would have been $4177.21.

Too many people think you can buy now and pay later. That isn't true. I've found that easy credit now makes people uneasy later. Usually a person pays more for the use of borrowed money than he gets in interest for saving it.

Secret of Contentment

The sixth principle is being content with what one has. Hebrews 13:5 puts it succinctly: "Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee."

One area where people often first become discontent involves the old automobile. Too many persons trade or sell their cars before they are used up. There's a big difference between fixing up the old junk heap to drive three more years and buying a new car. Many salesmen make the slick remark, "You just make that easy monthly payment." There is seldom anything easy about that monthly payment. It seems to get harder to make all the time. Second Corinthians 6:10 is so beautiful to apply here. It reads: "As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things."

My friends in the automobile business tell me that most cars are good for more miles than most people put on them. Just because a car has over 100,000 miles doesn't mean a person has to get rid of it. Look at some of the buses, trucks and cars still going strong, especially in countries outside North America. They are cars of the same age and mileage that other people junked years ago.

A worthwhile saying to remember on contentment is this: "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, do without."

Keep Records, Budget

The seventh principle is that of keeping records and making a budget. God's Word says, "Buy the truth, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and understanding" (Prov. 23:23). "Through wisdom is an house builded; and by understanding it is established: and by knowledge shall the chambers be filled with all precious and pleasant riches" (24:3,4).

If someone were to tell me that he's going to run his business without keeping any records, I would say this is downright stupid. And it is even worse for one who really wants to be a good steward of the Lord's money.

I started my children on a three-category budget when they started school. Every week I distributed the allowance-$1.50-.50 cents each for depositing in separate calling card boxes designated "save," "church," "spend." The kids had a visual control system. If there was no money in there, they had no money to spend. Making a budget won't be that simple, but the idea is the same.

A man I know to whom I have given financial counsel thought he was doing great because he had to borrow only $300 in the last eight months. When I asked him how he managed to get along so well, he admitted he had sold his week of vacation for $500 and had some overtime pay.

I figured that the fellow was actually spending $175 per month more than he was making during the eight-month period, despite the one-time windfall of getting rid of his vacation and working overtime. A year from now, at his present rate of overspending, he would owe $2100 more, with interest adding to his debt totaling more than $30 each month.

By keeping good records, having a plan and being honest with oneself, a person won't get into financial trouble. I seldom see financially successful people who don't keep good records.

It's the same with my own business cars. I cut all my salesmen back 15 percent and made a little budget. The salesmen follow a monthly plan and know what the limit is. They are staying within the budget without a reduction in sales. It's just a matter of being more efficient with what one has.

Don't Cosign

The eighth principle is, don't cosign. God says in Proverbs 27:13 to exercise extreme caution in cosigning. The advice infers that the world's poorest credit risk is the man who agrees to pay a stranger's debt. When a person cosigns a note, he is the one who is really borrowing the money. The reason a person needs a cosigner is because the lender is unwilling to lend that money to the person requesting the loan.

Work Hard

The ninth principle is that of hard work. The Scriptures spell it out: "In all labour there is profit: but the talk of the lips tendeth only to penury [poverty]" (Prov. 14:23). "He that tilleth his land shall have plenty of bread: but he that followeth after vain persons shall have poverty enough" (28:19).

It is important to work. "In the beginning God created" (Gen. 1:1). Even God is at work. This is a principle throughout the Bible. Many times I find that people in financial trouble aren't really working hard. I have often discovered in counseling young men in real financial trouble that they are "tooling" around too much of the time and putting 2000 miles a month on the car. I advise them to take a second job. This increases their income and decreases their expenses and it keeps them from misusing or frittering away their time.

Seek Godly Counsel

The last principle is that of seeking godly counsel. Psalm 1:1 declares, "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly." A person needing financial advice should not go to someone who makes his living selling the very thing he's contemplating buying. "Without counsel purposes are disappointed: but in the multitude of counsellors they are established" (Prov. 15:22).

Before buying a house, purchasing a car or just borrowing money, pray about it and seek the counsel of godly people. They can keep you from making a lot of mistakes. The reason so many persons don't seek counsel is that they don't want to be told by someone an intended action is unsound-they just like to do what they want anyway.

Above all, don't sign anything until you check the deal thoroughly first. Don't be hurried into any deal. The worst deal in the world is often the one in which a person is rushed into signing-capitulating to a relentless salesman's chance-of-a-lifetime-offer pressure tactics. The best offer in the world can wait.

These are the ten biblical financial principles: God is the source; give first; live on a margin; save money; keep out of debt; be content with what you have; keep records; don't cosign; work hard and seek godly counsel.

As one learns to follow these eternal principles in his personal finances, he will know the joy that comes from trusting and obeying God.

[arcticdementor]

Architecture is suffering a crisis of confidence. More and more mainstream figures in the field are admitting that the profession has lost its way. As I previously mentioned, Frank Gehry, the world’s most famous architect, recently said that “98% of everything that is built and designed today is pure sh*t. There’s no sense of design, no respect for humanity or for anything else.” Architectural thought-leaders seconded and thirded him. And he’s since been fourthed by another.

…

And now The New York Times, the ultimate arbiter of elite opinion, recently published an op-ed that declared, “For too long, our profession [architecture] has flatly dismissed the general public’s take on our work, even as we talk about making that work more relevant with worthy ideas like sustainability, smart growth and ‘resilience planning.’” The authors are not kooks on the fringe but architect Steven Bingler and Martin C. Pedersen, former executive editor of Metropolis magazine, both of them very much in the establishment.

The authors observe that self-congratulatory, insulated architects are “increasingly incapable … of creating artful, harmonious work that resonates with a broad swath of the general population, the very people we are, at least theoretically, meant to serve.” Bingler and Pedersen note that this has been a problem for over forty years (my emphasis), and that things are even worse today.

As a case in point, they mention the 2007 “Make It Right” charity program, founded by amateur architect and furniture designer Brad Pitt. The program invited firms, most of them avant-garde, to design housing for poor New Orleanians whose homes were destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. The architecture world was exhilarated: The initiative was to be a showcase for how the best contemporary design could improve lives.

The predictable result was weird, sometimes discomforting houses of non-native motley futuristic design that have virtually no relation to each other or the beloved historic architecture of the city. A story in The New Republic called the 90-some houses a waste of money and a distracting sideshow: The homes were expensive to build ($400,000 on average) and the high-tech fabrication has made them expensive to fix; mold has grown on the untested experimental materials, and the eco-wood decks and stairs are already rotting.  The neighborhoods are wastelands—failures of urban planning that isolate residents from social networks and public services.

…

While most of the architectural establishment has responded to the op-ed with noticeable silence, Mark Lamster, architecture critic for the Dallas Morning News, did bravely publish a post on Facebook in which he began by quoting the opinion piece: “We’ve taught generations of architects to speak out as artists, but we haven’t taught them how to listen.” Lamster then commented, “super-smart nyt op-ed from Martin Pedersen and steven bingler [sic].”

What is most telling, however, is the vitriolic response the op-ed triggered in Aaron Betsky. Called “one of the 21st century’s architectural power brokers,” Betsky is the former head of the Cincinnati Art Museum, and was director of the 2008 Venice International Architecture Biennale, the most important architecture show in the world. An architectural priest and patrician, he is to the profession what The New York Times is to the chattering classes: a voice of the high-status quo. Indeed, he writes for Architect, the official magazine of the AIA.

Betsky rained down on Bingler and Pedersen with ridicule and scorn: Their piece was “so pointless and riddled with clichés as to beggar comprehension.” He summarized their position: “we have three of the standard criticisms of buildings designed by architects: first, they are ugly according to what the piece’s authors perceive as some sort of widely-held community standard (or at least according to some 88-year old ladies); second, they are built without consultation; third they don’t work.”

Yet Betsky then admitted, “All those critiques might be true.” They are irrelevant, he claims, since architecture must be about experimentation and the shock of the new. (Why this should be the case he does not say.) And sometimes designers must stretch technology to the breaking (or leaking) point: “The fact that buildings look strange to some people, and that roofs sometimes leak, is part and parcel of the research and development aspect of the design discipline.” Ever brave, he is willing to let others suffer for his art.

At no point did Betsky consider the actual human beings, the unwilling guinea pigs who live in the houses. He implicitly says of the poor residents: Do their roofs leak? Let them buy buckets. And as for sickness-inducing mold, there’s Obamacare for that. Betsky also does not consider what a leaky roof means to people whose prior homes were destroyed by water. The architects, having completed their noble experiments, effectively say like the arrogant King Louis XV of France: “Après moi, le deluge” [After me, the flood]. No wonder architects have an image problem.

Betsky also would not appear to care that some of the new houses look like they have already been damaged by a flood. As he wrote in May, “Buildings under decay are much sexier than finished ones, perhaps because they remind us of our own mortality.” It logically follows that the “decaying” Katrina houses are simulated ruin porn, a pleasing mix of sex and death. He had previously said that the decay of New Orleans even prior to the hurricane could seem “elegant” to some. One of his favorite architects, the Dutch firm MVRDV, proposed a Make It Right house that looked like a trailer broken in two, and another one that looked like a house piled on top of a house.

…

Modernist architecture, like Modern art, has tended to be a revolt against bourgeois taste (and values): If granny, abuelita, or bubbe is for it, they’re against it. But if bourgeois taste is bad—all that chintz and those lace curtains, those cushy sofas, that flag flown from the front porch—just imagine what architects think of the working class and poor. If the architects had their way, elevator music in New Orleans public housing would be screeching Stockhausen, not native Louis Armstrong or Fats Domino. Modernists have no room for harmony, rhythm, or soul; they are high-culture elitists, not multiculturalists who celebrate class and ethnic diversity.

Many leading 20th-century architects, including Philip Johnson and Mies van der Rohe, were openly disdainful of the public’s preferences. On occasion they evinced subtle and overt racism. In 1913, in one of the most influential essays in the history of Modernist architecture, “Ornament and Crime,” [PDF] the Austrian architect Adolf Loos declared that modern man (read: white northern Europeans) must go beyond what “any Negro” could achieve in design, and strip away all that is superfluous, all that is morally and spiritually polluted. It is Papuans and other primitives who, like innocent children, ornament themselves with tattoos. Loos’ race has superseded them: “the modern man who tattoos himself is either a criminal or a degenerate.” The same held for ornament in architecture. (To this day, architects—who continue to believe they are the vanguard of civilization’s progress—find ornament retrograde. Yet ordinary people stubbornly continue to adorn themselves with cosmetics, jewelry, and, yes, tattoos.)

In the 1920s, during the time he was a member of the French Fascist party, the seminal architect Le Corbusier said he was disgusted by the “zone of odours, [a] terrible and suffocating zone comparable to a field of gypsies crammed in their caravans amidst disorder and improvisation.”  He also chimed in with Loos: “Decoration is of a sensorial and elementary order, as is color, and is suited to simple races, peasants, and savages… The peasant loves ornament and decorates his walls.”

…

Betsky, to his credit, doesn’t pretend that architects should even try to make outreach. Showing little sympathy for democracy, he says that appeals to the public are “mystical.” The people—the 99%—do not deserve a seat at the table. Yet Betsky would have us believe that he and the architecture he supports are “progressive.”

[shanastoryteller]

my what a guy, gaston!

okay so i know i already did one of these for beauty and the beast (for fuck's sake shana write about some new fairytales why are you like this) but i listened to sam tsui's cover of a tale as old as time and OH BOY, OH MY HONEY OH MY DARLING

okay, so in the very early stages of the original beauty and the beast, gaston was an aristocrat. that eventually got scrapped, but oh what if it didn’t

so say gaston is the son of someone very high up in the royalty chain, someone who’s parents are important enough that he spends an awful lot of time at the castle? and our prince adam isn’t really down with this whole ~being a prince~ thing, he’s a brat, like so many other kids are brats (but these kids don’t get turned into beasts by random witches, like i’m sorry but i’ll never not think that beast didn’t get the short end of the stick there) and so he spends the least about of time possible parading about with a crown on his head. he likes going outside, like riding his horses and playing in the woods, and all sorts of other things that make his parents shake their heads and despair at the inability to have another child, because their son is a small disaster.

and here comes gaston, who’s older and more long suffering. gaston in naturally dramatic, okay, he likes being flashy and fun and loud, all the things the son of a noble shouldn’t be. so by the point he meets adam he’s listened to his parents, folded himself up nice and tight into this quiet boy who just doesn’t want any trouble. adam loves trouble. if he can’t find it, he invents it.

so he grabs onto gaston like glue, and gaston is irritated, but he’s the prince, he can’t say anything or his parents will kill him. so he lets adam keep dragging him out horseback riding and hunting and rock climbing and all sorts of things little noble boys aren’t supposed to do. they spare, and no matter that gaston is bigger and older he never wins, adam always ends up pinning him to the ground with his arm to his throat and he’d more irritated about it if the prince didn’t look so delighted every time he won. adam loves all the animals that he’s not interested in eating, and gaston tries to point out that it’s a little weird how thrilled adam is to take down a deer when two minute later he’s trying to entice a wolf to come closer so he can pet it, and also holy shit adam that’s a wolf what’s wrong with you

adam loves his staff, the people who do their best to reign in this little terror but don’t try that hard, because the thing about bratty kids is that they’re rarely brats all the time, as an adult you swing between wanting to strangle them and finding them so adorable and charming your chest hurts. so mrs. potts indulges him, likes the way he’s only ever really patient while he’s playing with her son chip when he’s snuck into the kitchen to beg her for some extra cookies. lumiere and cogsworth are his tutors and spend more time arguing with each other than teaching him, and he’s delighted by that.

and so adam is this loud, exuberant little prince who slowly but surely picks at gaston’s barrier until gaston almost feels like himself again, and adam doesn’t do what his parents did. adam doesn’t make fun of him for how much he cares about his hair, about how he hates dirt under his fingernails. as long as gaston keeps following him into dangerous situations, adam doesn’t care about much of anything, and gaston loves him for it.

and gaston’s on the cusp of teenagerhood when he realizes he loves adam, the prince, this is awful and he immediately has a panic attack over it, he’s to be lord and adam is to be king, it will never work, oh, and adam probably doesn’t like boys, and – oh my god, all those schoolyard taunts about him being gay we’re right this is a nightmare.

he’d freak out about this properly and probably go charging to the castle to confess his love in true embarrassing 12 year old fashion – except his parents set him down, pale, and say, “they’re gone, they’re all gone, the king and queen were found dead and the prince is gone and now a monster lives in the castle.” and of course gaston takes this to the most logical conclusion – a beast broke into the castle, killed the love of his young life, and now he’s claimed the castle for his own.

this is gaston’s defining moment okay, this is the point where he snaps and never goes back. he rebels against his parents, refuses to fit himself back into the mold of the perfect son, tries to live his life like adam would have wanted him to. that means being exactly who he is and damn the consequences. he focuses on his hair and his clothes and his looks, he pursues hunting because it reminds him of adam, because so much of their friendship took place in the woods, covered in mud and laughing. he pursues hunting because, one day, when he’s the very best he’s going to go the castle and kill the beast that killed adam. and his parents are furious about all of this and they disown him in favor of his young siblings and he just. doesn’t give a shit.

so he moves to the town, and everyone loves him, of course they love him. he’s loud and arrogant, but – he’s not cruel. he’s beautiful and brings in more pelts and meat than any other hunter and gaston doesn’t miss the days of being a young lordling in the slightest. but girls keep throwing themselves at him and he doesn’t know how to keep refusing either outing himself or hurting their feelings, so he goes to belle. belle, who is every inch as pretty he is. belle, who is smart and quiet and kind in a reserved sort of way. if there’s anyone who won’t judge him, it’s her.

so he goes to her, and tells her the truth – that he only likes men, that he’s not interested in advertising the fact, and asks her to pretend to be his lady. and belle, kind sweet belle, agrees. she does it out of sense of duty to help those in need, because nothing she knows of gaston says she will enjoy this. but she’s proven wrong, because gaston was raised to be a lord of course he’s educated, just because he doesn’t really care about any of that stuff doesn’t mean he doesn’t know it. and belle can speak with him like she can no other, because gaston has more formal education than anyone else in this village. and to their surprise, gaston and belle become friends, become the closest of friends, and gaston hasn’t known this closeness since adam, although it’s different because he loves belle but he’s not in love with belle.

and one day belle and her father are out traveling and sudden snowstorm forces them into the castle. belle knows there’s some sort of monster that supposedly lives there, but it’s either the castle for refuge or dying of cold outside, so into the castle they go. and instead of a hideous monster there’s adam, the beast. he’s rude and gruff and calls them twelve kinds of idiots for getting caught in a snowstorm in the first place. he offers them a room before sulking back into his study, watching the last petal threaten to the fall from the rose.

the castle is so excited to have guests, to have a young girl that may be their saving grace, and beast doesn’t know how to tell them that he likes girls well enough, but the only person he’s ever loved is a prickly, stuffy little boy who used to wring his hands together whenever they went looking for wolves. the storm doesn’t abate, and belle and her father stay. beast likes belle, likes how much she loves his library and the courteous way she speaks to all his staff even tho they’re all furniture, and he wishes he could love her, she is a woman that deserves to be loved. but he can’t.

back in the village, gaston has had it. the beast took adam from him, and he wont allow that thing to take belle. he rallies the villagers and goes marching to the castle, determined to save belle and her father, determined to kill the thing that killed adam.

so they storm the castle and he and the beast fight. belle and her father rush forward to stop the rest of the angry village men, and belle is screaming at gaston to stop, that things aren’t as they seem. but he’s mad with bloodlust, with revenge, and he’s about to take the beast’s head off with his axe when the beast lunges and pushes him to the ground, pinning him with an arm to his throat. and the muscle memory is so sudden and visceral that gaston freezes and stares at the snarling beast and whispers, “adam?”

and the beast blinks, and pulls back a little, and goes …… “gaston!?”

literally everyone is so confused, but they only get more confused when gaston throws himself at the beast and there’s a rush of magic as the last petal falls and the spell is broken. gaston sees beast for who he really is, loves him wholly and completely in the way only children can, and the curse is broken.

so gaston goes from having the beast in his arms to having a man, and he kisses him, outing himself in front of the whole village and not caring in the slightest. “i’ve missed you,” adam says, reaching out a hand to cup gaston’s cheek.

his staff are people again, and the cloud of darkness that had fallen over the castle is lifted. the old and irritable third cousin twice removed who’d been running the country is more than happy to hand it back over to adam, so happy in fact that he doesn’t question anything about this incredibly weird situation.

gaston and adam were children with a children’s love, but as adam gets his castle and kingdom up and running again, gaston is there. and their love deepens, and strengthens, and becomes something much more real and true than it ever was before. and gaston knows he can’t keep this, that adam will need to take a queen and gaston won’t be able to be with him after that.

except no one told adam that, because he goes to belle who just, never left the castle because she likes it and it likes her and her two favorite people are here. and also they’ll pry her from that library over her dead body. “hey,” adam says, “so, i’m kind of the king now.”

“i noticed,” belle answers, and doesn’t look up from her book.

adam considers closing it, but also considers that he likes his hands attached to his wrists. “want to get married? we’ll need to produce an heir or two, but beyond that you’ll get all the books you want and a whole country to boss around.” one of the things adam had quickly learned was that belle loved bossing people around.

belle doesn’t look up from her book. he hadn’t honestly expected her too. “okay. I’m dating plumette. im going to keep doing that.”

“nice,” he says, because plumette is a lot prettier now that she isn’t a feather duster.

so adam find gaston and tells him that he’s marrying belle, and gaston’s whole heart breaks but it makes sense, adam and belle make sense together, and he wishes he could make himself hate either of them but he can’t because he loves them both. but then adam is talking about how belle will have the rooms next to theirs, and gaston should probably stop paying rent for his house in the village, he lives in a literal palace, come on now.

and gaston figures out that adam is planning to stay with him, that belle is his wife and queen in name only and and gaston will continue to be the one in his heart and in his bed. adam is talking about how they all really need to sit down and do something about the redistribution of tax revenue, and they should probably do it before the wedding because otherwise their subjects will only show up to throw fruit at them. gaston cuts him off by pressing his king and love of his life against the wall and kissing him breathless.

cogsworth and lumiere walk by and pause mid-argument to wolf whistle at them before continuing on their way. gaston and adam end up having to hold each other up as they laugh so hard they can’t breath.

and everyone lives happily ever after.

read more of my retold fairytales here

[newstfionline]

The Prayer Circle: Texans Rebuild After Harvey as a Practice of Faith

By Kevin Sack, NY Times, Sept. 9, 2017

“In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit …”

WHARTON COUNTY, Tex.--Jeff Klimple, head bowed and eyes clinched, had locked his meaty mechanic’s hand into the trembly, creased fingers of his 80-year-old mother, Angie. She, in turn, held the right hand of her 24-year-old granddaughter, Natalie. Natalie was clutching a box of Hefty Ultra Strong garbage bags with her left hand, so the Lutheran pastor standing next to her, Lee Kuhns, wrapped one arm around her and draped the other over the shoulder of the gray-haired woman on his left, Rosalie Beard.

In all, there were 17 Texans linked in a ring on Angie Klimple’s front yard last Saturday afternoon, a circle of prayer broken only by the hay wagon that would soon carry away the putrid, sodden remnants of 50 years of her life.

“Father, we come to you and thank you for all of these people you sent us,” Mr. Klimple continued.

The group gathered in what had been a tidy yard on Blanche Street, one house away from a cotton field, an hour’s drive southwest of Houston. Wharton County, bounded on the northeast by the San Bernard River and bisected by the Colorado, has some of the state’s most productive farm and ranch land. But by Aug. 30, the deluge brought by Hurricane Harvey had lifted water levels by five to 10 times their norm and both rivers had breached their banks.

Recently harvested cornfields and pastures became vast lakes, traversable only by boat, and Peach Creek and Boughman’s Slough, each less than a mile from Mrs. Klimple’s house, sent water coursing into her neighborhood with destructive abandon. Mrs. Klimple managed to drive out just in time with Natalie, who lived with her. When she returned on Saturday, shortly after the water receded, she found its telltale calling card, a black horizontal line, some 20 inches up the whitewashed garage wall.

Across the flood zone, the water’s victims have endured the first two weeks of dislocation with the help of Samaritans of all cloths--family members, friends, co-workers, volunteers from near and far, and an array of faith-based groups. With homeowners racing against time to limit the advance of rot and mold, the availability of free manual labor can make all the difference.

Those who appeared within hours outside Mrs. Klimple’s house, as if by spontaneous generation, ranged in age from 6 to 77. Rancher Robert Spitzmiller and his daughter, Sarah, put aside cleanup efforts on their 8,000 acres and headed over in his pickup. Gary and Bonnie Pflughaupt came in from nearby El Campo, and brought along their son, Travis, 27, and his wife, Kassandra, 23, newlyweds who lived near San Antonio.

Many were evangelical Christians, and so it made sense that the circle included Mr. Kuhns, the pastor of Faith Lutheran Church in El Campo. Less predictable was the presence of Michael Vowell, the bearded, yarmulke-wearing senior rabbi of a messianic synagogue in Houston, along with his wife, Lauren, and their three children.

Some did not know one another, or for that matter the Klimples. It mattered little. Each felt called by faith to lend their hands--and legs and backs, which would soon ache with soreness--to an elderly woman in distress.

For Mr. Klimple, 59, a solid, sideburned engine mechanic with grease under his nails, the outpouring of support for his mother was too much to absorb. As he prayed aloud, his eyes reddened. Tears fell onto a white T-shirt already stained with sweat and grime. He paused to compose himself, without success.

“I thank you, Lord, for the things that you’ve given us, the grace and mercy that we take for granted.”

Since the days of the Bible, all manner of natural disasters--floods and earthquakes, pestilence and famine--have tested the devotion of the faithful and provoked the most fundamental theological questions. Is God benevolent or retributive or both? Why is there so much human suffering and why does it afflict the righteous as well as the unrighteous? Does everything in fact happen for a reason, and if so what divine purpose could there possibly be in leaving an old widow like Mrs. Klimple homeless?

Many of those in the prayer circle allowed themselves to wonder, but not for long. There was too much to do. And nothing that had happened, not the deaths or destruction of homes or loss of crops and livestock, had shaken their faith. In fact, to a person, they said the flood and its aftermath had strengthened it.

At least part of God’s plan, each said in subsequent interviews, could be detected in the formation of the prayer circle itself. Here were strangers and friends, aged and innocent, rural and urban, coming together to humble themselves before God and put their faith into practice.

It was a scene repeated time and again in the aftermath of the storm, from Bay City to Beaumont, as cleaning crews hauled mountains of possessions to the curb. It was just stuff, they told themselves, the accumulations of this earthly life, not an eternal one. Everyone was safe. God was still good.

“Lord, I want to thank you that we’re not in worse shape than we are, because we know that others have suffered even more.”

And yet, it was bad enough. After soaking for four days in calf-deep water, the single-story house reeked like a high school bathroom. Floors and carpets were sludgy with mud. It took hours of sweeping to force the remaining water out the door.

The four bedrooms were wrecked, along with most of the furniture. Some of Mrs. Klimple’s most cherished photographs, like those of her late husband, Jesse, in uniform during the Korean War, were beyond salvaging.

There had been flooding in Wharton County (population 42,000) twice in the previous 16 months, but never like this. It arrived late, a full four days after Harvey inundated Houston, and it caught the Klimples and many others off guard. Remarkably, no one in the county perished. But much of a bumper crop of cotton sat moldering in the fields, and livestock losses were substantial.

Mrs. Klimple, who built the blond brick ranch with her husband in 1968, oversaw the emptying of her house from the kitchen. She gripped a soaked brown towel as if it were a security blanket, first wiping her face, then burying it, as her belongings paraded past: the box springs and bed frames, the rocking chair, the lamps, the bedroom drawers still stuffed with clothes.

Some of the helpers wore blue surgical gloves but no one had brought masks. Four hardworking children, Sarah Spitzmiller, 11, and Hazel, 6; Seth, 9; and Orah Vowell, 11, took out the picture frames and vases and the coffee pot. Hazel sang Cinderella songs to herself as she mopped.

They came across the triangular case holding the flag presented to Mrs. Klimple by the Army after her husband died, and the intricate models of covered wagons that he built from scratch as a hobby. It felt like a privilege, like they were honor guards.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Seth Vowell told Mrs. Klimple. “Thanks for letting me do this,” he added. “I really needed to get out of the house.”

She had to fight back the tears. “We’ll be all right with the help of the Lord,” she told him.

Michael Beard, a family friend who had recruited the volunteers from among kinfolk and friends, designated one trailer for refuse and another for items worth saving. Mrs. Klimple’s sentimentality ebbed into resignation as the afternoon wore on.

“How about this chair, Angie?” someone asked.

She gave it a glance. “Junk it,” she said.

“We pray for all the animals and things that we need in our world, our cattle, our people that work on the farms.”

At Robert Spitzmiller’s ranch, passed down from his great-great grandfather, the water stopped about 75 yards shy of the old plantation house. But the high ground in his pastures and pens was not very high, and some of his dazed livestock--650 head of cattle and 11 horses--confronted water up to their bellies.

During the worst of the flooding, Mr. Klimple, his friend, brought his boat to the ranch and they skimmed in the dark above fields and fence posts to search for his animals. He cut wire and herded horses and cows through the gaps, sometimes lowering himself into the gut-high water and guiding the stubborn beasts on foot. Floating clusters of fire ants feasted on his legs.

He and Sarah could not, however, find her prized mare, Holly, a champion cutting and roping horse. After they searched frantically for two days, the horse wandered up a watery path to the corral, sporting a gash on her right hock and other cuts and punctures.

Elsewhere in the county, Mr. Beard, 50, struggled to get feed to his 50 cows stranded in water 100 yards from his barn. Fortunately, he had a canoe, and could paddle out with hay--four bales at a time, five round trips per feeding, twice a day--until the water receded.

Yet there was no hesitation when Mr. Klimple, a shirt-off-his-back kind of friend, asked the two men to pitch in at his mother’s house. In the prayer circle, when Mr. Klimple became too emotional to proceed, Mr. Beard stepped in. He spoke of his conviction that God must have a reason, even for the most horrific of tragedies, citing a 3-year-old girl found clinging to her dead mother in swirling floodwaters.

“Father, somehow, some way, you can turn it out for good. I don’t understand it. I can’t wrap my mind around it. I cried out for you, Lord, why did you let that happen? Why?”

The two clergymen in the circle approached that question from different angles. For Mr. Kuhns, the Lutheran pastor, the answer concerned man’s original sin. “We broke the world, and so we see the ramifications with earthquakes and floods and wars,” he said. “We’re the ones that brought it about.”

That interpretation of Scripture, he acknowledged, was not an easy one for those already suffering. “It doesn’t come off sounding very loving,” he said. “And yet the truth is we all deserve death and destruction. That’s what we deserve. But by the grace and love of God, he has blessed us with not total suffering.” Harvey’s devastation, he said, served to remind believers that heaven and not earth was their true home, the place where all would be perfect.

Rabbi Vowell had brought his family to the Klimple house at the request of Mr. Beard, who attends Congregation Beth Messiah in Houston with his wife, Kim. Ms. Beard had learned she had Jewish ancestry and became interested in messianic Judaism, which recognizes Christ as a spiritual savior within a context of traditional Jewish practice.

Raised Jewish in Houston, Rabbi Vowell, 41, had himself come to Christ as a young man as part of his escape from drug abuse and dealing. These days, he bears a resemblance to the popular iconography of the prophet he calls Yeshua (if, that is, Yeshua had worn snakeskin boots and a Texas star belt buckle).

“My theology is that if I can see God moving through people, neighbors helping neighbors, I can shelve the bigger question of why is this happening,” he said. “That there are still people caring for each other is evidence enough that God is in this world.”

Rabbi Vowell spoke of tikkun olam, the Jewish imperative placed on “repairing the world.” Perhaps, he said, the kindnesses shown to the Klimples would create new memories to replace those in Angie’s discarded photo albums.

“The purpose of this may be as simple as future generations looking back and seeing how caring and giving and sacrificial people were,” he said.

For many in the prayer circle, the testing of faith was the whole point. “It’s easy when something bad happens to shake your fist at God,” said Kassandra Plfughaupt, 23. “But how often in everyday life do you see a miracle, the miracle of a baby born, of love between people, or the way that people unite and come together in tragedy.”

“Father, we know that you have all of our angels looking down upon us, all of our ones that have left us, all of our family.”

For Jeff Klimple, the deepest emotions welled when he remembered his father, and all the meaningful moments in that house, now in ruins. But his tears also flowed from the unexpected arrival of so much help.

“To me, it was a gift from the Lord,” he said. “You know, bad things happen to good people and we don’t know why. But this is what the Lord wants, for you to love your brother like yourself.”

Angie Klimple, who gets by mostly on Social Security benefits, is now living with relatives nearly two hours away. It makes for long days when she drives to Blanche Street to work on the house.

She misses her gardening, and even mowing the yard, which she still does at 80 despite pain in her joints. She did not have flood insurance. And while she filled out forms this week for assistance from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, she does not know whether it will be enough to make the house habitable.

In 2008, when Hurricane Ike blew through Galveston, she went there with a church group and spent three days clearing out houses. “I felt so blessed to do it,” she said. She never imagined, of course, that the tables might turn.

By midweek, some of Mrs. Klimple’s despair had lifted, and her sense of humor had returned. “When I first saw it all, it upset me,” she said in her barbed-wire twang. “But then I thought, you know, I needed to clean the house anyway. Too bad I’d just dusted everything.”

She nodded at a new set of volunteers who were prying out drywall and disinfecting the house with bleach. They were what mattered. “When I saw the crew that came in, all those wonderful people and friends, I was just so thankful,” she said. “I feel like the Lord’s trying to bring people together. He wants us to be nicer to each other.”