Wedding Day!!!

Gintama click and drag game!

Game notes • How to Play

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skuvs:

Gintama - yorozuya

BABIES *____*

FIVE YEARS (PROMPT 7: MEANT TO BE)

AO3

Ever since she met him, she knew that what she felt for him was unique, quite different from how she’d regard others around her. His words, his actions, his bold declarations. His endeavour to save a city that had been hidden in the dark for so long, that it had lovingly adorned him as the saviour in the same way they’d embraced the sun. His efforts to uplift those around him effortlessly, to help them out in any way he could. His sincerity and dedication shown in their own subtle ways. She’d always admired him for who he was, but she’d never let him know that. She could never let him know of her innate feelings, how her soul painfully yearns for it to come true. Something that she could only dream of, something she could only imagine playing out in the wildest fantasies illustrated by her mind. Even now, these feelings fester on. Hard, cold reality never meshed well with the warm fuzzy manifestations of the heart. But that’s all they are, dreams. Nothing more, nothing less. They’ll amount to nothing other that the daily frequent pangs in the heart that she keeps bearing on, that she couldn’t share with anyone else.

Adjusting the pink haori as she slowly kneels down in front of the grave, she carefully places the offering in front of the gravestone, and then lights the incense, offering a prayer soon after. Deep in prayer, she starts ruminating on all that had unraveled since a certain silver haired samurai’s disappearance. Within the next 5 years, everything had collapsed. The White Curse had ravaged world structure and economy down to its roots, the Earth had become desolated as more fled to space, most of those remaining had succumbed to the disease, and the rest were scrimping by. Cities had become shells of what they used to be. Miraculously, all her friends had survived the onslaught. All but one, as she bitterly reminds herself. Otae’s health was slowly but surely deteriorating, and she could only imagine the mental state that poor Shinpachi had to bear with on a daily basis. Then again, no one really had come out of this unscathed.

Gone were the happy disposition that his kids used to display. She had taken Kagura in soon after his funeral, offering her a home, recruiting her to the Hyakka, doing everything possible to keep her safe and secure. The poor girl had been in shambles ever since, barely talking, eating the bare minimum, hard at work, keeping to herself at all times. Tsukuyo knew the pain, and she knew she couldn’t do anything more. With every passing year, she had slowly opened up more, keeping herself busy in other ways while indulging on hangouts with Hinowa and Seita. Eventually, she had decided to move back into Edo to restart the Yorozuya, possibly in a bid to face and vanquish her demons, and Tsukuyo instead on helping her out to make the move as smooth as possible. Shinpachi had aggressively turned to sword training and martial arts and a new brand of vigilantism to help clean up whatever had remained of Edo since the day-zero incident, and Tsukuyo had made sure to pay weekly visits to check up on him and Otae. Nowadays, he had been spending more time in the hospital, where Otae had remained bedridden since the disease had been diagnosed. Kyuubei had remained by her side as well, practically living in the hospital. Sarutobi occasionally visited, her appearance unchanging over the years, as she staunchly proclaimed to keep herself the same so that Gintoki would immediately recognize her when he comes back.

That is… if he ever does come back…

Who knew that the key to a better world was actually a silver haired samurai with a maddening devotion to sweets? She knew how desperately everyone needed hope in these trying times, a silver lining to set them free. It hurt her to see his kids furiously squaring off against each other to uphold the legacy that he left behind. It hurt her to see a dear friend slowly dying away, and that there was nothing that she could do to help her. It hurt her to see all the pain and suffering, all the dystopia that had settled in and ruled over in five years. And it broke her heart whenever she remembered that lazy, sincere smile etched on the face of the silver samurai that she still kept pining on all this time. She saw him in her friends and family, in those kids who are too broken to despair over him anymore. They were all broken ever since. This wasn’t how it was meant to be.

Whispering the remaining words of the prayer out loud, she opens her eyes to find streams of teardrops down her cheek. She gets up, wiping the tears off with the ends of her sleeves, and solemnly bows towards the gravestone, hands shaking. A strong gust of wind blows on a clear sunny day, with the noon sun above illuminating the granite slab. She takes her leave, walking out solemnly, hand on her mouth, choking back tears.

“Please come back… wherever you are…”

*

A while later, a red-hooded figure wearing jet-black robes with a gold staff approaches the gravestone. Wearing a large chain of gold balls with strips of white cloth filled with alien letterings, he bends down, sitting on his knees to face to plaque. Revealing hands bandaged with the same marked cloth, he pulls the red hood down to reveal a forlorn familiar face, sporting silver hair and lettering down from the chin. He slowly reaches out to the bowl of offerings, grabbing a manju, and bites on the food, chewing the morsel with relish. A faint, sad smile slowly forms, and tears stream down his face as he chews on silently, recollecting his thoughts, pondering on all that could’ve been.