#And they brought us these inspirations to go into STEM without being women in STEM.

[freckleslikestars]

I feel this so hard. Like. Growing up watching x files and Star Trek and having your parents and people around you expect you to be a doctor (you’d be just like scully!) and reading articles about the scully effect and then you go into the Arts and Humanities and you feel like you’re such a disappointment? Yeah.

But this is where I think STEAM is so much better than STEM. Including the arts is vital to the progress of the sciences. Arts and Humanities tend to lean more towards collaboration and divergent thinking, without which progress is hindered, and encouraging looking holistically at how we can bring the arts into STEM is so vitally important.

I think we forget that some of histories most famous scientists - doctors and engineers and mathematicians - were also artists. Da Vinci, both an artist and an inventor, most famously, but many women too. Maria Sibylla Merian, an entomologist from the 1600s who made great strides in the study of butterfly metamorphosis and whose career started with scientific illustrations. Marianne North, whose over 800 botanical paintings are housed in a gallery at Kew. Hedy Lamarr was both an actress and an inventor, frequently using down-time on sets to design inventions - her work on frequency hopping is one of the reasons we have WiFi today. Rachel Carson was a marine biologist who wrote many books that brought environmental issues closer to the public eye.

And to take art at its most literal sense, there are all of the scientific illustrations that have been used to document and teach and develop our understanding, many of which were done by women, often going uncredited.

But to look a little further, without arts and humanities, STEM has a habit of losing ethics, and without ethical research, and an understanding of why research has to be ethical, progress can’t happen in a way that benefits humanity.

So whilst, yes, it feels sometimes like we’re not fulfilling some quota of potential that society has constructed around fictional women, and whilst we mustn’t diminish the impact that these women had on bringing women into STEM fields that have historically, and still do, lack when it comes to women working within them, I do not think that Scully or Janeway would be disappointed to see women being able to chose the avenue of career that they want and that they can excel in.

Watching the x files and voyager and hearing about the Scully effect and ig the janeway effect (?) of inspiring women to go into stem and leadership roles in science I'm like yeah! Feminism! But I also feel like I have this obligation to be a smart woman in stem but I am at best a woman (?) who tried stem and was like fuck that I am not stem smart. I now I feel like I've let people down.

[beware-of-the-princess]

Having Ana as a plus-sized princess was always an important part of this project, but it certainly came with its complications. The first of which was that every artist collaborating on this project brought with them a different approach and level of experience with drawing big characters! Parts of this image look weird because it got warped, edited and partially redrawn quite a bit as Ana's look was fine-tuned and the artists tried new ways of drawing her- in particular drawing her bigness.

There were a great many tightropes we were trying to find balance on with Ana's size. Open any fantasy book and you're likely to find a beautiful but stuck-up princess... but very few of them are big. How many people would see Ana and assume we made her fat as a shorthand for being "ugly on the inside too"? Especially if we include details which usually aren't associated with beauty, like stretch marks or sag? This wouldn't be much a problem if Ana was the kind of fantasy character that is expected to have a rounded design, like a kindly, motherly lady-in-waiting, but Ana is the complete opposite!

We also didn't want to give Ana only the features that big women are "allowed" to have, like a curvy rear end or a full bust. We felt it was important to put emphasis on features that young women her age and size are pressured to feel the most insecure about. Ana's chubby arms or double chin don't impede her strutting into a room as she firmly believes a princess ought to: With absolute confidence that jaws will hit the floor in amazement.

But that last point just brings up yet another balancing act. While she might generally be an unstoppable juggernaut of confidence- to the extent where vanity is very much one of her flaws, we also didn't just want to have Ana be drawn big but otherwise completely ignore it. Anyone who grew up in the 90's remembers the slew of disabled characters who, despite being in wheelchairs or whatever, didn't have their disability affect their character in any way or face any challenges stemming from it. In the same way, we felt like it would be hollow to talk about representation and body positivity while failing to acknowledge any of the challenges that fat people (particularly women) face. There's a lot more to say about Ana and the other side of representation, but this post is already too long without going into neurodivergence.

With so many pitfalls to avoid, we included the following at the start of Ana's section of the big character document that we use to keep things consistent between collaborators:

Designing Ana has certainly been quite a process, and I think something that demonstrates that well is just how different she looks in this more recent picture which we've been using to play dress-up with her.

I also wanted to give a small acknowledgement of all the wonderful artists out there that who have shared their processes for drawing big characters or even just whose art has served as inspiration. There's too many to mention, but the names @mayakern @jijidraws and @sergle have come up over and over again while working on this.

P.S. If you want to use this to play dress-up with Ana yourself, then please feel free! I only ask that you somehow let me know what awesome outfits you've come up with for her.

[duuhrayliegh]

Fuck Misogyny

request: Bucky uses his newly gained knowledge of feminism to squash misogynistic interview questions. @ptrs-prkrs

warnings: language, creepy men, feminist!bucky

a/n: hey babes!! i hope this lived up to what you wanted! i couldn’t find the exact video you were referencing but i know what you’re talking about, so i drew inspiration from a few others.

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

full m.list

The set up was simple. A long row of fold out tables covered in black fabric, microphones in front of each seat. Black papers were taped to the backs of the microphones with each team member's name. Bucky had told Evie that he wasn’t going to be able to work out with her today because of this so it better be worth it. The PR manager for the team, Amanda, had set everything up. Hired the mediator, notified the press, everything. Ever since they announced that they were going to be hosting an Avenger’s Q&A Panel, the internet quite literally broke.

Of course Bucky had been doing lives on TikTok with the group of five for the past couple of weeks now, so he was becoming quite comfortable in this format. He’s become increasingly active on his social media accounts, gaining more and more followers everyday. Granted, there were still haters, as Freddie called them, but Bucky ignored them for the most part.

Bucky was actually excited for this press meeting. He was finally gaining traction in the media and he knew how to correctly answer their questions. As Amanda had explained, there was going to be several questions from the mediator, tons from the press that they had invited, and then some fan questions as well. They apparently were going to be live streaming the conference on YouTube allowing them to read the comments and questions as it went on.

“Okay, everyone. You have two minutes until we start.” The team was in an empty board room in the Hilton hotel. Tony didn’t want everyone on the compound’s grass because he just had it fixed. Bucky scanned his fellow teammates. It was impossible for everyone to dress for the same event. Steve was wearing a shirt that was almost bursting at the seams with a pair of jeans and sneakers.

Tony was wearing a lovely Tom Ford, three piece, two-button, of course. Natasha and Wanda were wearing ripped jeans and casual tops. Vision was wearing a sweater vest and slacks, Bruce was clad in slacks as well a jacket covering his shoulders. Sam was wearing a button-up shirt and pressed jeans and he couldn’t find Clint anywhere, probably hiding in the rafters again.

Bucky had his iconic leather jacket donning his shoulders, a pair of slightly ripped jeans. His outfit was picked out by Cassie and Penny. “You need to look like you care but like you don’t at the same time.” Is what they said, the phrase made Bucky shake his head. His hair had finally started growing back and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

He had gotten help from Evie before he left Cassie’s apartment. She had pulled back the top half, braiding back two sections into the bun at the back of his head. There were pieces dangling in front of his eyes, “to accentuate the facial features, trust me they’ll love it.” Was Evie’s explanation as they pushed him out of the apartment, so he wouldn’t be late.

“Alright guys! They’re calling your names!” The team filed out of the board room and into a large ballroom. Bottles of water were placed beside each placemat. Tony went out first, followed by Steve, then Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Sam and ending with Bucky. They all settled into their seats, Bucky peeled his jacket off himself, placing it on the back of his chair. His black short sleeved shirt highlighted the gold inlays of his vibranium arm.

“Oh, I see we’re showing some muscle today huh, Buck?” Sam teased as Bucky took his seat next to him. Bucky groaned in realization, covering his microphone so it didn’t pick up what he planned to say.

“Good God, is this what it’s going to be like the entire panel? You just bugging the shit outta me?” They shared a laugh making the rest of the members look at the pair. The audience clapped as they were introduced and continued clapping as they assembled before them.

“Thank you. We would like to welcome everyone to the first, of hopefully many, Avenger’s Q&A Panel.” The female mediator, Stacey, read the assigned lines off the sheet on her podium. “We are going to start with questions we curated for the team and then open it up to the members of the press. After that we will turn to our live stream and answer some viewer questions.” The press rustled in their seats, pulling out pens and journals as well as their phones to record. “Okay, starting off with a question directed at the Avengers in general. How are you feeling about coming before the media in this type of format?” Glances were exchanged between the members, not sure on who was going to start.

“I feel that this is a great way for the general public to learn a little bit more about each individual team member.” Vision was the first to respond and Steve added on.

“Yeah, I definitely think that there’s a common misconception that we don’t want to engage with the media or the general public. We do, unfortunately due to the amount of research and training that we are doing behind the scenes, it just goes to the back of our minds.”

“Right. So Tony and Bruce, we all know that you two are geniuses. What are your feelings on expanding the teachings of STEM courses to not only high school, but as far back as elementary school or even kindergarten?” The pair thought about the question before answering.

“Well, I definitely think that offering STEM-based classes at a younger age would be beneficial, especially if we were to allow the kids to continue to switch what they want to focus on.” Bruce started. “It’s incredibly anxiety-inducing for teenagers to have to decide what they’re going to do with their life right before they are thrust into an unforgiving world.”

“Yeah, I’ll never understand why we do that to our future leaders, it’s honestly baffling. Why do American schools wait until high school to require our children to learn foriegn languages, they aren’t going to retain that information. The same applies for such comprehensive courses like STEM-based ones. If you wait until their brains are already developed so far, then they’ve already decided what they think is interesting and if they don’t find those courses interesting then they aren’t going to pay attention.” Tony finished Bruce's thought before nodding to each other smugly, obviously proud of themselves for answering the question so well.

“Interesting that you see it that way. This last one goes out to everyone and then we’ll open it up to the reporters. How do you deal with the stress and anxiety that comes with being an Avenger? Do you feel a certain amount of pressure to always do the right thing?” Stacey shuffled her papers, tapping them twice on the podium.

“We all have our own routines and ways that we decompress after missions so that really just depends on the person. Like I think that Bruce listens to opera music, and Wanda mediatates, Tony tinkers. It depends on the person.” Natasha answered concisely, making Bucky nod his head. He could recall all of those things to be true.

“Oh definitely, and it doesn’t hurt that we have a former VA Trauma Counselor on board to help us work through the harder stuff.” Steve added a gesture of his head to Sam.

“Speaking of that Sam, just a quick question before we open it up. How difficult was it for you to transition from regular Air Force missions to Avenger level missions?” Sam made a face at Stacey before answering.

“Um, I mean, it’s not that different. You’re always fighting one of the Big Three-- aliens, androids, or wizards, no matter what department you’re working with. The only transition I had to deal with was the Tony Stark-erized suits. Now that I think of it, Tony, can we make it tighter?” Sam quipped making the room laugh with ease.

“Alright, well now we’re going to open it up to the reporters. Starting with this gentleman in the front and then if we could also give a microphone to someone on that side of the room. Okay, thank you.” The first reporter stood up, holding the microphone in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Hello. John from Huffington Post. The Avengers inspire almost everyone around the world, so we would like to know who inspires you? Who do you look up to in terms of your idols?” He sat back down as the team contemplated their answers.

“Gandhi.” Bruce said, Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at him then added. “Pepper, she’s so amazing.” Steve looked down to Bucky, who shrugged.

“I would probably have to say that my sister, Sarah, inspires me. She raised her two sons, Cas and AJ, by herself after the Blip and was able to keep the family business going.” Sam’s answer made Bucky smile. Sam had brought him to their house in Delacroix, he remembered waking up to Cas and AJ playing in the kitchen, happy giggles filtering through reminding him of his time in Wakanda. By the time that Bucky had refocused on the conversation they had moved on without his answer. Several different questions went by, all directed to the team at large, until Chad.

“Hi, I’m Chad for the Daily Mail. My question is for Wanda and Natasha.” The pair of women perked up, excited to have a specific question. “Do you find that your equipment hinders you in doing your job as well as your male counterparts?” Stunned expressions settled over the womens faces, then annoyance. Bucky’s brows shot up to his hairline, appalled that someone had the balls to ask that. Wanda and Natasha handled the question with grace and much more restraint than Bucky would have.

“Well for me, I am able to move things with my mind so I can throw things randomly at people even if I’m not in the room. I’ve been very fortunate to work with Natasha who has Widow training, so my hand to hand combat is improving immensely. And being able to work with Princess Shuri in Wakanda to learn how to fully control my powers. It’s an ever evolving process that I’m always excited to take on.” Bucky nodded and turned his attention to Natasha.

“My favorite thing is training with either Steve or Bucky because they push me to do my best. We all have our specialties here and it’s nice to learn new skills or improve old ones with people who support you.” Natasha sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, throwing daggers with her eyes at Chad in the audience, waiting for him to say something else. Chad stood again, yelling so he could be heard over the crowd’s commotion.

“That’s great, ladies, but forgive me, you didn’t answer the question I asked.” Bucky pushed forward in his seat, leaning into his microphone.

“I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood what you asked them then. I would like for you to clarify what you mean by equipment.” Chad balked, not expecting a male’s voice to respond.

“You know what’s implied by equipment, sir.” Bucky’s jaw clenched at the man.

“Did you just ask two of the most capable women that I’ve ever known, if their equipment, which I’m assuming you’re referring their breasts, made it to where they couldn’t do their job as good as the rest of their male counterparts. Just to be clear, that’s what you’re asking?” Chad stuttered as he answered yes.

“Right, well first off that’s disgusting. Just a bit of background for you, Wanda is the strongest Avenger here, plain and simple. As for Natasha, she’s the smartest woman I’ve ever met and she can take down every single male here.” Bucky took a breath before continuing. “So, what I think you really want to know is how they encourage their teammates to keep up with them.” He dropped his head to look at the two women down the line.

“Don’t worry Chad, I’ll ask them the right question, since you can’t quite seem to understand how to respect women.” The team was holding back snickers at Chad’s reaction. “Wanda, Natasha. Chad wants to know how the hell you push your male teammates to be just as good as you are. What are your strategies to keep us on our toes while training?” Claps sounded from the women press members and Bucky awaited the pair's response. The next press member stood and asked a question.

“Hi, I’m Chloe from Vanity Fair. This question goes to everyone on the panel.” Bucky settled in for another question that didn’t matter. “How do you continue to be aware of things happening in our society today? Do you keep up-to-date through new channels, or social media?” The answers were rather generic from the team, all of them rather uncomfortable from the tension that Bucky and Chad had created. Stacey interrupted after Chloe’s question.

“Okay, we’re going to open it up to viewer questions from our live stream.” An iPad was placed on the podium in front of Stacey and her eyebrows rose. “Okay, there’s quite a variety here. Here’s one for Steve and Bucky.” Bucky perked up, nervous to answer because his adrenaline had worn off.

“One viewer asks, ‘Steve and Bucky, being from the 40’s, women were treated like second thoughts and were talked about like objects. Now, you’re in the 21st century, not much has changed. What have you been doing to support feminist causes?’”

“I just want to say that everyone should be answering this. It’s true that during the 40’s women were not treated the right way, and they still aren’t today. An 18 year old can’t walk down the street at nine o’clock at night without being catcalled. I am a proud feminist, as everyone should be. I think that as a team we are doing pretty well in that department. As far as what I’m doing to support feminist causes, I’m doing as much as I can. I actually recently enrolled in online classes to expand my knowledge on many subjects, seeing as how I am from the 40’s and all.” The crowd laughed along with Bucky.

“Almost all of my classes have to do with either psychology or gender studies, it’s a fascinatingly haunting subject. One book that I’m reading right now was suggested to me by my friend Cassie, it’s called Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women that a Movement Forgot. The author doesn’t let up and I’m only halfway through it. Look, I’m still educating myself, but I’m a strong believer in doing what is right for everyone, so I’m trying. Thankfully I have a few people keeping me in check as far as my actions.” Bucky thought his response was well thought out for being an on the fly question. He was new to the concept of feminism but that didn’t change the fact that it made total sense.

“I’m with Bucky on this. The 40’s were a rough time. I remember the first time I met Peggy Carter, I was astonished that a woman could be in such a powerful position. One of the first things she did after I met her was punch out someone who made a sexual comment to her. I’ve been supporting feminist causes ever since working with Peggy.” Steve added, a sad smile spreading on his face reminiscing Peggy.

“This one says, ‘As a total fan of all of you, I love seeing what you post on your social media accounts. When are the rest of the Avengers going to follow Bucky’s lead and download TikTok?’” Bucky’s head flew back into a full body laugh. Tony shifted forward in his seat, pointing his finger at the laughing man down the table.

“I would just like to say he didn’t get that approved before doing it. However, it did go over really well, so we’ll consider it.” Wanda’s mouth rolled inwards, stifling her laughter.

“We’ll consider it, you’re such an old man. Most of us have TikTok already, we just don’t make content on it like Barnes over here.” Sam said, tossing his head in Bucky’s direction.

“I’ve got like three videos on there!” Bucky and Sam began bantering back and forth.

“Yeah and one of them is dancing to a Cardi B song! Who even showed you that? I thought you only like 40’s music?” Bucky made a face at the man.

“Uh, just because I didn’t like your suggestions for music doesn’t mean I don’t have taste. My Spotify playlist is filling out quite nicely, Wilson.” Bucky and Sam didn’t quit fighting from then on, just little jabs at each other under the table.

“Here’s a good one,” Stacey had a smile on her face, “Are you allies of the LGBTQ+ community?” Bucky responded quickly with no hesitation.

“Yes, many of my friends are members of the Alphabet Mafia. Why wouldn’t we be?” Wanda nodded at his question, laughing at his use of the phrase Alphabet Mafia.

“Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I’m dating a fucking android, I’d be pretty hypocrictal if I wasn’t an ally. Nat, Clint what about you?” Clint bobbed his head in response.

“Oh yeah. We all are, even the Star Spangled Man with a Plan.” Steve’s shoulders shook with laughter at Clint’s nickname for him. The team broke out into laughter, joining Steve. Stacey cleared her throat, commanding the attention of the room again.

“Alright, everybody! That’s it for today.” She glanced down at her papers. “We would like to thank everyone for coming out today and joining the Avengers Q&A Panel. At this time we are unaware, if we will be conducting another one of these, but the odds look good based on the response.” The team filed out of the ballroom and into the empty boardroom. Bucky was the last to get into the room and he was approached by Natasha and Wanda immediately. Wanda wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug.

“That was so sick, Bucky!” She stepped back and Natasha offered him a side hug as well. “Where’d you learn all that? And since when are you taking online classes?”

“That guy was being an asshole, he needed to be put in his place. I hope you guys didn’t feel like I overstepped or anything.” Bucky hung his arm over Wanda’s shoulder, leaning his weight on her. “And I started about two months ago. They’re going really well, I’m learning a lot and enjoying it surprisingly. It’s a good thing to do in my free time since I’m not always on missions.”

“I’m proud of you James, that was impressive.” Natasha complimented him, she wasn’t usually a woman of many words so that was a lot. Bucky smiled at her, nodding his head. His phone began buzzing in his back pocket, so he excused himself from their conversation. His screen displayed one of Evie’s senior pictures, signalling that she was calling him. He pushed the green button and brought the phone to his ear to answer her call.

“Hello?” She ignored his greeting with a squeal.

“Check your Twitter! Bucky, you’re trending! Here I’m putting you on speaker, we’re all here Buck!” Shuffling noises were heard through the speaker as Evie began reading the tweets to Bucky. Laughs from Cassie, Freddie and Penny could be heard behind Evie’s voice.

“Oh my gosh Eve! Just let the man get back to what he was doing!” Freddie yelled at an excited Evie, who retaliated with a scoff.

“Okay, okay! Just remember we have a movie night tomorrow! It’s Penny’s turn to pick so we don’t know what to expect.” Evie mumbled the last part into her phone speaker. Bucky heard the impact of a pillow hit Evie, causing her to grunt in pain. “Okay! We’ll talk to you later, Buck! See you soon!” She hung up the phone before he could get a word in edgewise. Bucky shook his head as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Amanda approached Bucky asking to speak with him privately.

“So we’re getting a flood of interview requests from networks and papers. We would like to start running with this. We’ll have to go over everything with our PR guy, Ryan, but it should work out. As long as you’re comfortable with all of this.” Bucky smiled and nodded, following after Amanda as she continued explaining what would happen going forward.

He was nervous, of course, but he could tell these nerves were coming from a place of excitement instead of fear, which was a new sensation for the man. It wasn’t unwelcome, it was the same as when he first started hanging out with Cassie, Penny, Freddie and Evie. It was the same when he went on his first mission with the team. Bucky was ready to tackle this next adventure, whatever it would entail.

[your-eternal-muse]

Kinda Wish She Were Dead

Heather Series Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Bonus! Readers Card Confession Series Playlist 

Summery: During a night out on the town with the girls, Reader see’s something she wasn’t supposed to.

Words: 3.7k (my longest yet!)

Warnings: Swearing, a few sexual innuendos, Cheating, Mentions of Alcohol, and a fabulous right hook.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Heather Carmichael, Spencer Reid x eventual Female!Reader 

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one....turn it up! Also, the song that inspired this chapter. For the meaning of the song, not that fucking boat scene.

~~~~

It’s hot.

Like “laying naked in the middle of your apartment with the air cranked and every fan blowing on you” hot.

I’m one of the lucky ones.

My old apartment was renovated to include central air a few years before I moved in.

Still, the humidity was smothering.

So why was I putting a full face of makeup on, knowing damn well I’m gonna sweat it off before the end of the night?

Because why the hell not?

It’s the first time I’ve made plans with the girls in months, and I deserve to feel pretty, even if only for an hour or two.

My therapist tells me I’m making progress.

And it finally feels like I am.

I don’t hate the day before it even starts when I wake up.

I hardly close my curtains anymore.

I’d like to say that with her help, everything went back to normal.

I go to work and come home. I hang out with my friends, water my potted plants. Talk to Spencer like I never confessed my love for him.

But it didn’t.

I haven’t really spoken to Spencer since the day I left.

I’ve wanted to.

I’ve wanted to tell him that I’m here. I’m still here. That I’m always going to be here.

That I care about him more than probably life itself.

Ever since I came back, we’ve had to work together, and we’ve had a few small conversations, but nothing like what we used to have.

I crave those conversations.

How we would bounce back and forth from idea to idea, topic to topic without so much as breaking a sweat.

The late night conversations about the probability of aliens, and life on the opposite side of the universe.

I crave him, and the intimacy he brought.

Lately though, he’s been coming to work with a sullen look on his face.

He shows up earlier, and stays later, drowning himself in his paperwork.

When her calls interrupt a caseload, he no longer eagerly picks up to hear what she has to say.

All I want to do is walk over and ask him how he’s doing. How the married life is treating him. If there’s anything I can do to help lift his spirits.

But I can’t.

I’d be overstepping a boundary I didn’t even know I created that night out on the balcony.

Knocking on my door snaps me out of my daze, and I quickly cap my lipstick, making my way towards my front door where my night stands, waiting.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope are waiting, big smiles and laughter bubbling from their lips.

I let the smile spread across my face.

“I just need to grab my shoes and then I’ll be ready.” I usher them into my hallway, running back to my bedroom to grab the pair of heels resting by my closet.

I sit on my bed, slipping them on with ease and grabbing my bag on my way out.

They all ooh and ahh when I step into the light of my kitchen, and JJ grabs my hand, twirling me in place so they can get a better look at my outfit.

“I almost forgot you had party attire, y/n.” 

“God, I wish I had an ass like that. I’m older than you. That’s not fair.” Emily says, landing a playful slap against the fabric of my skirt. 

“Oh stop it, you flatter me.” Once upon a time, the attention would have made me antsy. The voice in my head would whisper that they were lying to me, that they really thought I was the ugliest thing in existence. 

That was then, and this is now. Now the confidence shines off of me like a spotlight.

“You deserve to be flattered, you beautiful goddess you.” Penelope says, her hands waving in the air.

I take a look in the new mirror that hangs in my hallway, and I can’t help but agree. The tight black skirt accentuates my curves, the low cut golden crop top that sticks to me like another skin puts the girls on display, and my heels give me legs for days.

I look damn good.

“Okay okay okay, pre-game selfie!” Penelope grabs her phone and holds up in front of her while we gather around. 

She snaps the picture and within a few quick taps, a buzzing emits from my bag. 

I dig my phone out, seeing the picture pop up in my notifications. 

JJ has her arms wrapped around me, and I’m pressed to Penelope's side. Emily stands over us, one hand on JJ’s shoulder, the other on Penelopes. 

I don’t think I could fake a smile like the one on my face even if I wanted to. 

I save it to my phone.

~~~

If I thought being in my house, alone, with air conditioning was bad, then I shouldn't have even bothered coming out.

The bar, albeit small, was packed. 

Even if there was a breeze, or any airflow at all, the combined body heat of the crowd would have swallowed it up.

I couldn’t really bring it in me to care all that much, though.

The dim lights and heat left my skin with a sexy shine, bringing attention to all the right places. 

I could feel the eyes on me. 

The ones belonging to men wanting to drown their sorrows in a woman like me, one who appears vulnerable, willing to go along for the ride.

It’s been a while, since I’ve had the attention of the opposite gender, especially this very specific kind of attention.

It feels good, in a way. To be wanted so openly. But it doesn’t mean jack to me, not if it’s not the pair of eyes I’ve been desperate to catch.

I should stop thinking about him.

It’s a girls night out. I don’t have to think, or worry about anything. 

Besides, he’s probably busy doing other things. Thinking about me is the last thing on his mind.

I laugh and take a sip from the Shirley temple sitting in front of me, laughing as JJ recounts a story about will and a botched attempt at breakfast in bed.

I pick a cherry up from the fizzy drink, and bite the end off, relishing in the sweet flavor. I pop the stem in my mouth, twirling it around my tongue as I listen to the conversation, pulling it between my teeth and setting it down on the table in a knot.

“Oh my god. Did you just tie a cherry stem with your tongue?” Penelope is cheesing from the other side of the table, the bright pink straw of her margarita almost to her lips.

I laugh, holding it up for them to inspect. 

“You know what that means.” Emily says, taking a sip from her own drink, before continuing her thought. “You, my friend, can give great head.”

A blush covers my cheek, but I cock an eyebrow. “Who told you?”

The three women burst into high pitched laughter, and I see Pen pull out her phone. She holds it up to me. 

“Do it again. The internet needs to be blessed with this knowledge.”

I chuckle again, the spirit of the night enough to get me drunk off the energy. I grab another cherry from my drink, sucking the end into my mouth before popping it off, and swallowing it. 

“Alright, we have one, untied cherry stem before us.” I hold out the stem for the camera to see. “Now watch as I tie it with no hands.”  I stick out my tongue, placing it in the middle before closing my mouth. 

I rest my elbows on the table, working my tongue around the stem, forcing it into submission to do exactly what I want. 

Within 15 seconds, I pull it through my teeth, and hold up a tied cherry stem. 

“Ta-da! Magic.” I place it on the table as they clap, smiles wide and goofy from their own alcoholic concoctions. 

“She’s single people. And there’s a line forming so shoot your shot.” JJ is the one to speak to the camera, and I giggle, taking another sip. 

Penelope brings her phone down, and within a minute my phone buzzes again, this time with the notification of the video being posted. 

There are worse things to be posted on the internet about me.

“I never knew you could do that, y/n/n.” Pen says, taking a sip from her drink. 

I run a hand through my hair, shrugging. “Didn’t think I needed to put it on my resume. It’s mostly a party trick I use when I like someone. I haven’t used it in years though.”

The unspoken question lingers on the air. 

“No, I never showed Spencer. But I’m sure it’d blow his mind. The way that man applies math and logic to everything he does just solidifies the fact that I know he wouldn’t be able to do it.”

It’s been a while since I’ve joked about him openly, but it wasn’t forced. It didn’t hurt. 

It was just a natural statement.

“Have you guys noticed that something’s up with him? He seems distant lately.” JJ says, leaning in closer so she doesn’t have to talk over the crowd. 

“Okay, so it’s not just me.” I reply, playing with the straw in my drink.

“It’s gotta be something at home. I mean, he doesn’t even remotely act the way that he did when him and Heather first got together.” Emily's eyes look me up and down, reading my body language, but I’m done hiding. 

I let the building anger ripple through me.

“He seems...sad. And not like, normal Reid sad where it has to do with his mom or something, no this is like..” she stops herself from continuing the sentence.

I finish it for her. “It’s like, me, sad.”

JJ sighs. “I hate to say it, but do you think it has anything to do with Heather?”

A glass shatters across the room, and like the red sea, the crowd parts.

Everything happens in no more than a couple seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. 

Through the empty space, I see two people standing at the bar. The woman has her hands wound into the man's shirt, her body turned as she laughs at someone behind her, I’m assuming the one who dropped the glass. 

The man has his hands gripped on her hips, smiling into her hair, before she turns back around, connecting their lips in the most disgusting kiss I have had the displeasure of witnessing.

The rage builds swiftly in my stomach and it pulses from my soul outward. The world’s tint changes and I see red.

“Even if it doesn’t right now, it will.” 

When the hell did I stand up?

They stand with me, and I’m about to argue my point when Emily speaks. “You want something to record, Garcia?” She moves by me, fixing my hair, handing me her glass which holds a swig of her drink left. “Record this.” 

I take it, downing it for a little liquid luck, and start for the bar, the three of them on my heels.

I profile him as best I can in the 20 seconds it takes to get through the now reforming crowd. 

There’s a gold ring on his hand. His pants and shirt are dirty, and his boots are thick. He works in something having to do with construction, which means he’s probably done around 5 every night, and I know for a fact that it is way past that.

I walk up to them, grabbing her shoulder and pulling them apart, stepping in between them, getting face to face to him.

“Before you even think about laying a hand on me, my name is SSA Y/L/N of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the F.B.I. From the look of your clothes and the ring on your finger, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that your wife is waiting for you at home.” 

His hand instinctively falls to his back pocket.

“And since you just reached for what I’m assuming is your phone, she’s called you multiple times tonight. She knows. Now, fuck off and maybe you can salvage things with her, but believe me when I say this,” His breath smells sour. “You aren’t even half the man that she’s married to.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, looking from me, to Heather, to the three women surrounding her, keeping her from leaving, and the camera pointed directly at his face.

He looks back down to me, and huffs, stepping back and walking in the other direction.

For a moment, I stare at where he stood. 

And then a fire ignites in my stomach and it takes everything in me to not beat the girl standing behind me.

I turn, and lightning strikes behind her eyes. 

“You’re not gonna tell him.”

“Like hell I’m not!” I take a step forward, and she takes one back, bumping into Emily who has her arms crossed, and her shoulders raised. “You know, I tried so hard to give you the benefit of the doubt, Heather. You made him happy and I honestly thought you loved him, but I realize now that he deserves someone so much better than you.” 

“Oh what, someone like you?” She’s snide, her demeanor defensive and cocky at the same time. She thinks she’s gonna come out on top of this.

“You know what? Yes. Someone like me. Someone who wouldn’t even think about doing this to him, because the amount of pain that he is about to go through doesn’t even come close to the stupid fucking reward. Oh, so you slept with some douchebag because what? You’re not getting enough attention?” The words are cathartic, leaving my belly with the venom that has been brewing there for the past 2 and half years.

“I found your letter. I was right about you.”

That would have stopped me in my tracks 6 months ago. Now I don’t even flinch.

“Oh honey, it’s not a fucking secret anymore. You want to hear me say it? I love him. I am in love with Spencer fucking Reid, and the only reason that he is with you, is because I was a decent human being and could see that you made him happy, so I kept my mouth shut. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t give a flying fuck what happens now, because whatever it is, it has to be better than being with a lying, cheating bitch like you.”

“You think he’s gonna run to you? Is that what you’re hoping for? He’s not gonna believe you. And even if he did, I’d turn on the water works and make him believe it was just this one time.”

She doesn’t know she’s being filmed. 

I turn to the bartender. “Excuse me, is she a regular here?”

The bartender smirks, wiping down the wood. “Yep. She comes in at least a couple times a week with that dude you kicked to the curb. They almost always leave together.”

Heather scoffs, crossing her arms. “Again, he’ll never believe you.” 

“You sure about that hot stuff?” Penelope steps forward, shoving the camera in her face. “Smile for the camera.”

Heather's eyes go wide, before turning to me. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“I would do it for a fucking corn chip.” 

I place my hands on my hips, getting so close to her our noses almost touch. My voice is dangerously low when I speak. “Either you tell him everything or I will. And trust me. I have my ways of finding out if you did.”

I step back, wishing the daggers in my eyes could inflict actual pain, as I turn to walk away. 

I hear her shout in frustration before I feel her hands on my back, pushing me forward into the mass of people. 

A couple people unaware of the confrontation help me back up with a smile, thinking I’ve just drunkenly tripped over myself.

Emily and JJ each hold one of my arms, making sure I’m stable, while Penelope keeps filming a look of shock on her face.

A wicked smile forms on my face.

I was hoping she’d do something like that.

I turn and my fist connects with her face, a nice cracking noise satisfying the lust building in my chest, as a thin coat of blood covers my knuckles. 

Though, it’s not my blood. 

She’s holding her nose in pain as she falls to the floor, taking down a bar stool with her, and I swear I see the bartender laugh.

I grab a napkin off the bar, wiping my knuckles before throwing it on the floor by her feet. 

“C’mon girls. The night is still young.” 

I see them cover their own smiles with their hands, and Penelope starts to giggle the shock away. 

I know I should feel bad. It was unprofessional of me. 

But she shoved me first. 

It is, legally, self-defense. 

Is it sick that I wish she would have punched me?

It doesn’t matter anyway. I know she won’t press charges. She’s smart enough to know she just dug her grave.

And now she has to lie in it.

~~~~

The atmosphere is different when I walk into the office the next morning. 

It’s tense. 

And one look from JJ and an inhale of air tells me why. 

Spencer’s here. 

I barely have time to set my bag down on my desk, before he grabs me suddenly by the arm, dragging me into a nearby conference room.

The anger is rolling off of him in waves, and I can see by the way he clenches and unclenches his fists, he is pissed.

He almost throws me into the room, slamming the door behind him. 

“You want to tell me why the fuck you punched Heather in the face for no damn reason?”

Stupid, stupid girl. 

Did she not think, that the way I would find out, would be from Spencer himself?

I can’t help but shake my head and laugh. “She didn’t tell you.”

“She told me that she was having a drink with a girlfriend of hers when you came up drunk, yelling at her, until you just punched her. Can you explain that to me?”

He’s finally yelling at me. After months of begging for him to yell at me, he finally is. 

It doesn’t feel as good as I had hoped it would.

I don’t say anything, just pull out my phone to find the video that Garcia sent me.

“Are you serious right now, Y/N? Put your fucking phone down and explain to me why you broke my wife's nose!”

I sit in a chair, setting the phone on the table and sliding it towards him. I lean back and cross my hands over my stomach.

“Watch the video, Spencer.”

“Why? Why should I listen to anything you tell me?”

I lean forward, onto my elbow, annunciating every syllable. “Watch the damn video.”

He stands, and I watch as he fights with himself, before huffing in defeat, sitting in a chair and pulling my phone towards him.

He presses play.

I watch as his anger flows away with each passing second, despair taking its place. 

This is what I wasn’t looking forward to. Seeing him see it for the first time.

Watching him break. 

It wasn’t pretty.

I watch as tears form in his eyes and silently drop down his cheeks. 

He clenches his jaw as he watches her shove me, and the punch that followed. 

The room is dead quite when the video ends.

I’m the one who speaks first, my voice soft. 

“I punched her, because she had the audacity to do this. She had the audacity to hurt you, and flaunt that fact publicly.” 

I swallow, taking a breath before speaking. 

“I meant everything I said in that video, Spence.” 

He looks up at the nickname, his anger no longer directed at me.

“She hurt you, and I saw red. I didn’t think about what I was doing, and frankly, I’m glad I didn’t. I don’t regret standing up for you. I never have, and I never will.”  I clasp my hands together, forcing myself to continue. 

“I love you Spencer. I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I’m going to have to live with you finding other people and falling in love, and I promise you, I will support you in that. But not with her. Not after that. You deserve so much better than a girl who thinks she can get away with this just because she’s pretty and jealous.”

He taps a couple things on my phone, before turning the screen off and sliding it back over to me. 

He stands. 

I don’t. I continue talking as he walks over to me.

“You mean everything to me, Spence. If I know you’re happy, truly happy, then I’m satisfied. I will defend you until the end of the universe comes. You are my best friend, and I love you. And I’m sorry I was never upfront about it before, but I am now.”

I look up at him as he stands in front of me. “I’m done hiding from you.”

He’s still for a moment. 

He reaches down and grabs my hands, pulling me up before he wraps his arms around my waist and buries himself into my neck. 

I pause, but only for a moment, before wrapping my arms around him and holding him tight against me. 

I can feel the wet spots on my neck as he cries, and his hands wind themselves into the fabric of my shirt.

When was the last time he was held like this?

I don’t count the time until he loosens his grip, stepping back from me and wiping his face. 

I would hold him until the end of time if he let me.

“Thank you.” He whispers, before moving towards the door. 

He opens it and walks out, and I grab my phone, running after him.

I stop in the doorway. 

“Hey!” 

He stops and turns, and the rest of the team is watching over their files. 

My heart is pounding, and I feel out of breath.

“I don’t have a choice,” I let him remember. “But I still choose you.”

A small smile flutters across his face, before he turns and walks away.

I look down at my phone.

Spence xp

[Video]

    Sent, 9:06 a.m.

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[peniswrightjusticeforballs]

The Victim Behind the #Girlboss: Analysing the Tragedy of Dahlia Hawthorne

   **WARNING: this essay will contain mentions of pedophilia, grooming, and neglect, as well as (obviously) spoilers for Trials and Tribulations**

   Dahlia Hawthorne, as the major antagonist in Ace Attorney Trials and Tribulations, is often seen as one of the most evil villains in the series due to her multiple attempted and successful murders, as well as her targeting of Phoenix Wright and Mia and Maya Fey. She is often portrayed through fan content (as well as even in the games writing) as a cruel, heartless, and evil bitch. However, the story of Dahlia Hawthorne is one of the most tragic in the series, and I would even be so bold as to claim the reason it’s not recognized as such is due to flagrant misogyny. While perhaps not moral or excusable, her actions certainly are not without reason; and are unquestionably owed some sympathy.

EARLY LIFE

Dahlia's childhood is one of pain and neglect. Her parents certainly don't care for her. Her father saw her and Iris as a means of power and left Kurain with them when it became clear they were not of use for power. Even Iris points out that Dahlia had a neglectful childhood and never had an actual parental figure. Furthermore, Iris theorizes that it’s likely she would never committed murder had she had that support and guidance in her life.

One point brought up against Dahlia showing her “evil” in childhood is that she convinces her parents to send Iris away to Hazakura at a young age; this blatantly ignores both the reality of sibling relationships and their neglectful parents. Fighting with and getting angry at your siblings is a common experience as is wishing for them to go away. Considering her father and stepmothers' uncaring attitudes toward their children, it certainly must not have been hard to convince them to send Dahlia's twin away. Rather than being a sign of manipulation and heartlessness of a child, this event is a sign of the inability to care for their children that her parents had. This is amplified by the implication in the game that her father thought “two girls is enough”, so he would have been already biased towards sending one away as he had an older stepdaughter.

This point brought up also brings to light part of why Dahlia ends up like she is, alongside what Iris says. When a child is constantly told, whether explicitly or implied, that they are evil or cruel and value-less, it is reasonable for them to step into this role and boldly claim it. While not impossible, it shouldn't be expected of a kid to avoid evil and to be good when they've never been given the opportunity or resources to be anything BUT evil.

In addition to the neglect, it is implied that Dahlia’s father cares more for his job and the illusion of power and a perfect family than the wellbeing of his family and children. That implication is also supported by his belief that two children is enough-three would be outside what he thinks fits the perfect family. It is stated that Dahlia’s plot on Dusky Bridge is intended to “exact revenge on her father”. It is clear how a neglected and mistreated 14 year old could think it necessary to resort to such drastic measures as theft for attention and revenge.

TERRY FAWLES

   Dusky Falls, of course, is where it starts to go steeply south. Terry Fawles is 20 when he enters into a relationship with 14 year old tutoring student Dahlia. Dahlia is a victim of pedophilia and grooming un-debatably. There is no defense for Terry’s actions toward Dahlia, regardless of whether Dahlia considered the relationship mutual or not. Faking her death and consequently getting Fawles jailed may not have been a necessarily good decision when considered on its own, but is not morally wrong-for starters, it very well could have seemed a great or perhaps the only option to a traumatized 14 year old. Also, Fawles being incarcerated was a good toward society.

   Terry Fawles being manipulated into drinking poison was a good thing. That isn't necessarily proof of tragedy on Dahlia’s part, but rather an assertion I have decided to include here.

   Valerie Hawthorne’s murder should also be considered when looking at Dahlia and her actions. At first glance, her death appears to be an act motivated by selfishness and self interest-but upon deeper look, has two major motivations that make perfect sense. The first is that Valerie Hawthorne was directly complicit in Dahlia's grooming by Terry Fawles. She was part of the plan to steal the diamond that involved seducing Fawles. The second, of course, is panic. Valerie telling the truth about the events of Dusky Bridge could not only reveal Dahlia and her part in attempted theft, but also get Fawles a lighter sentence or even free once it is exposed that he didn't push Dahlia.

TRIAL(GODOT&MIA)

   Flash forward to when Dahlia is on trial. Diego Armando and Mia Fey take the defense of Terry Fawles in the murder of Valerie Hawthorne. While they are defending him on the charge of the murder of Valerie, they are still defending Dahlia’s groomer. Dahlia has every reason to hate them for this.

   Diego specifically has a way of speaking condescendingly to those around him. Most women are familiar with the humiliating and belittling experience of being talked down to by an older man. While as players it's visible that this is how Godot often speaks to other people regardless of gender(Phoenix and Ron Delite for example), a young woman on the stand would have no way of knowing this. In addition, he calls Dahlia words such as “Kitten”. Again, Dahlia is a victim of grooming and pedophilia. Like previously stated, Diego calls multiple people this; however, without this context his words come off as misogynistic and belittling at best and hostile and taunting at worst. Being talked down to and treated like this is such a viscerally humiliating and angering experience even without the life experience Dahlia has and it’s completely reasonable for her to react with vitriol. (Although likely less of a factor and of lesser relevance to the case, the judge’s treatment of her certainly couldn't have helped, despite working to her advantage at the beginning of her first trials.)

   Mia, on the other hand, does not call her these terms, but still does defend Terry Fawles. While avoiding the hostility Diego shows in his condescending nature, she presents her own hostility through viewing Dahlia as a threat from the beginning and treating her accordingly. Mia only ever truly views her through the eyes of a lawyer defending her client against a criminal, despite the twisted nature of her client and the reasoning of the perpetrator. Mia is a stubborn and vicious lawyer, and while those are not necessarily bad, they place her as Dahlias biggest threat. In addition to being a threat, Mia's open hostility inspires further anger because she treats her as suspicious and villainous from the start, just as she was as a child, as well as coming off as extremely confrontational.

   It is often less energy to pretend you were always evil from the start instead of looking back and acknowledging issues with your past and how they affect you. Pretending to be purely cruel and heartless and never anything more allows Dahlia to put up protective barriers. Her trial with Mia and Diego forces at least some of her painful past to come to light, knocking down some of her walls. It's only reasonable that Dahlia would become upset at this.

DOUG AND PHOENIX

Dahlia's treatment of Phoenix correlates to the threat he presents to her. Everything she's been building up can be ruined if he is too careless with that necklace. Similarly, Doug Swallow presented a threat when he tried to warn Phoenix. Dahlia has never had the chance to handle things in a “reasonable” way so as far as she was concerned, his murder was the only option.  

Her  murder of Doug Swallow and attempted murder of Phoenix Wright can certainly be attributed to girlboss behavior, but are also tied with everything else in her life-both in that her problems with them stem from everything thats been stacking itself since she was a child, and in that her methods of dealing with them stem from the trauma shes experienced.

IN SUM

   Dahlia's characterization as a pure villain with sole motivation of evil is one void of critical thought and sopping with misogyny. While the way Capcom sometimes writes their female characters and their villains means that it would make sense for Dahlia to be a one sided character motivated by pure cruelty and evil, the dismissal of her character cannot be fully chalked up to that. Taking into consideration the way she was raised and treated in life, growing to be manipulative with a twisted view of the world and morals is completely logical. While Dahlia Hawthorne WAS unequivocally a Girlboss, she was also a victim and her story is ultimately one of tragedy rather than depravity.

[starlight-starwrites]

agent whiskey

character headcanons

note: did a rewatch of kingsman golden circle, so...how could i resist? i really started out with ‘this is fun!’ and then things got real. again, i like to think most of what is here is inspired straight from what we see in the movie, and some go a little beyond bc if we’re honest, those writers did our jack dirty.

- Has a known streak for being an asshole, but he doesn’t usually even realize it.

- He thinks he’s funny (he is, but only sometimes).

- The man loves the high life. Country livin’ is fine by him, but high country living. He was sent to work in New York for a reason.

- He is great at mixing his attitude and his manners. He’s usually always polite, but his impatience will get the better of him. He’ll be the one at the store giving lip to the manager, yet still saying please and thank you the whole time.

- Loves playing the seniority card. He’s good at what he does, no doubt there, but he still thinks he’s tough shit He gives himself more importance than he should. If someone he likes tells him off, he will drop down so many pegs, it is incredible. Will go quiet and embarrassed if scolded.

- Actually has pretty good taste in fashion. He pays attention. It’s a bit of a preening thing, a bit of a wanting to seem valid thing.

- He will giggle at a sex joke if he wasn’t expecting it (if he’s flirting, it’s a different story).

- He is great at hiding his nerves. Will overcompensate with the cockiness sometimes if he feels out of place, and definitely likes his liquid courage when talking to women.

- He feels like he has to have a pick up line. He has to impress. His track record of relationships (or lack thereof) isn’t something he likes to think about. Whether it’s because he’s hung up on his late wife, or they don’t like him beyond a quick lay, or he finds he can’t connect with them, he isn’t always sure. He’ll do it for work, or if he really, really wants to, but beyond that, he finds himself distracted by other things.

- Whiskey is his go-to drink. What came first—his preference or the code name? No one is sure, but he is definitely dedicated it. He may hate drugs, but he’s quick to drown his sorrows in alcohol.

- He can cook. Maybe he's not a gourmet chef, but everything turns out fairly decent, and he's even got a couple of special recipes that turn out incredible. His homemade chili is immaculate.

- He doesn’t have any close friends. When he was younger he had some, he knows what it’s like to have a friend. But when he goes out, sees just a group of guys who mess around, genuinely like each other, he feels like he’s missing something. It almost makes him uncomfortable at the thought of having such a support group.

- Despite his propensity to come off as a bit of an asshole, he pales in comparison to actual assholes. Does not tolerate them. If someone is harassing or being a general nuisance, he wont hesitate to step in if necessary.

- If it’s not necessary, he is shameless and will absolutely stay for the show. He finds the drama amusing, and if it comes to action, all the better.

- The man knows what he’s doing (most of the time). He’s a good agent. A good fighter. When things sometimes go south, something unexpected happens, part of him lives for the thrill of it, hoping for a time to shine. It keeps him on his feet. He’d rather focus on not dying during those times, then focus on trying to live when things are quiet.

- He likes working with other agents, it makes him feel less alone. But he is a stickler about who he works with. He’d, of course, prefer to be in charge, and he doesn’t like incompetence. Shit happens, but if you’re not good at back-up, Whiskey’s got no use for you.

- He trains and practices a lot. A lot, a lot. You can’t get that good with a whip, a lasso, and guns, without honing his skills. He likes to try out new moves too, but he won’t do it in front of people. He’s broken quite a few things in his own home practicing moves, but in the end, it really pays off.

- He’s fiercely protective of the people he cares about. If he loved someone, he would likely save the one at the cost of the world.

- Holds grudges like no other. Will seek revenge whenever the mood strikes him. And he has a knack for it too. Not always confrontational, but if you wrong him, and he feels its personal? He’ll make sure you’re ruined one way or another.

- He doesn’t always want to take the lead, but if there’s ever a pause, someone hesitates to do something, he automatically thinks ‘fine, I’ll do it myself’.

- He lives to be a showoff. He likes to be the center of attention. Its stems from his feeling of not being good enough, of not being able to do things right in the past. He doesn’t care what sort of attention he gathers, and if someone negatively reacts to his skills (with jealousy, criticism, any of the sort) he still counts it as a win. Afterall, why would someone be paying so much attention to him if he isn’t worth it?

- He’s a risk taker. Has been all his life. Some risks didn’t pay out and left him with insecurities he likes to pretend don’t exist. Some do pay off, and it’s the best high he feels.

- He’s gambled before and would again if the opportunity were to present itself. He’s tried to stop, but he knows he’ll go back. When he was young, he liked the idea of a high roller’s table. With his job and how much he makes, he’s closer to getting to that fantasy. He doesn’t talk about it, but his dream mission is at a casino, playing on the Statesman bill, with a finely dressed woman on his arm.

- Yes. His biggest fantasy is to be an American cowboy James Bond. Sorry. No I’m not.

- When he was young, he was seriously in love. It was that first love, the one you think you could never have again, yet somehow is still only a surface love. It felt deep at the time, but if he were to love again, really love, it would be a true love that he doesn’t even believe exists. It’s the knowing someone as much as you know yourself, the sort of support that is unbelievable yet impossible to live without, and being able to share the fears and doubts of past trauma and uncertain futures and be met with trust and loyalty that could only be found in fiction.

- He’s become a serial flirt to hide that desire for true love. He loved his late wife, but they hadn’t had the time, and they’d still been practically kids. He’s afraid to let any relationship go beyond that.

-He is a man of devotion. Devoted to his work, to his principles, to his wife. Sometimes the way he expresses it is extreme, but no one can deny he cares.

- He likes to have nice things. He’s got a nice apartment, filled with any comforts and random assortments that spark joy. If Marie Kondo went through his stuff, there would be very little he’d agree to let go. Everything seems to have a story behind it.

- “Now that hat? Been with me through too much. Couldn’t wear it til I was eighteen, tried to ride my first horse with that one, and I damn near lost it. See these bullet holes? Mission up North went South, and had I moved any slower, I’d’ve been brought back in a pretty wooden box and dropped six feet under.”

- He may try to support the Statesman brand but…his name is Jack Daniels. You can bet he’s got every brand of whiskey in his own personal collection.

- At his place in new York, he always keeps extra stuff ‘for company’. He very rarely ever gets a chance to use it.

- He loves gadgets, tech, the best vehicles. He tries to make sure he can do it all because it makes him feel like Bond, but he sticks to what he knows best. The whip and the lasso make him unique.

- The man is really kinky. He doesn’t let it out unless he is completely comfortable, but…he really is.

- This man is a mama’s boy. We all know it.

- He wants to have a family. He really does. Part of him refuses to believe he ever will, that he doesn’t deserve it. The other part thinks that it’s the only thing that will fill the hole in his heart.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Bury Me Face Down

A Max Phillips x Reader BTVS AU One-Shot

Summary/Author's Note: You are a Slayer. One girl born into the world for the sole purpose of hunting down the paranormal and keeping people safe. But what happens when the Order you work for sends you a Vampire to be your mentor?

Okay. I caved. An idea that stemmed entirely from my wife @vaxxildan and was pushed upon me by a few of my favorite people. (/Cough/ Stevie, Rachel, & Ash) so, fuck it-- this is part of my Follower Appreciation Week. I love you girls. This is a ONE SHOT for now. I may do drabbles or another part if inspiration strikes but I have a lot going on at the moment. [Title Song]

Pairings: Max Phillips x Slayer!Reader Word Count: Warnings: R--Blood, language, death, violence, stabbing/staking, sassy douchebag vampire Max in all of his glory, sexual tension/themes

[MASTERLIST] 

"And I haven't seen him in five days! He's a good boy--gets straight A's! He's going to be a lawyer, you know?" She blew her nose into the overused tissue in her hands as you slid the entire box across the desk and she mumbled her thanks.

"What was he majoring in?" You said, trying to connect to the crying mess of a woman in front of you.

"Philosophy." She blubbered out and as she blew her nose the man sitting next to you let out an undignified snort.

You glared at him and he tried to turn the laugh into a cough before motioning to the client. "Excuse me," he apologized with a nod. "Please continue, Mrs. Garcia." 

"Ms." She corrected, batting her big, watery, doe-like eyes at him.  "I'm divorced."

Unbelievable. This suburban soccer mom was crying to you to find her missing son, and she still couldn't resist putting the charm on your partner. You knew this was the effect he had on normal women, but it still never ceased to baffle you. He gave a small smile and another nod, correcting himself and addressing her by the title she offered and asking her once again to go on with her story. 

"Like I said," she put her hands in her lap and played with the pleats of her skirt. "I haven't heard from my sweet Jason since last week." 

"Did anything new happen to him the last time you spoke?" You asked, jotting down a few quick notes on your yellow pad of paper. 

"No, I don't think so. Wait--" she said, abruptly making you look back up. "He met a girl."

"Oooh, nooo," your business partner said next to you, his voice sounding full of utter despair, drawn out just enough that the client would think he was sincere while you knew he was mocking her. You kicked his foot under the table and he bit his lip. 

"Do you think that's important?" She asked hopefully and you made another note. 

"It's hard to tell, Ms. Garcia. Anything else?"

"He said he has been feeling really tired all the time. Like no matter how much he sleeps, he is always so drained." 

"Maybe he has mono."

"Max." You hissed, kicking him again as the woman blew her nose loudly. 

The truth was you knew what was wrong with her son. It was the same thing that had been wrong with five other boys at the community college on the other side of town. All of their parents had sat across from you in this office, begging you to find them and bring them home safely. 

Max cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Ms. Garcia, does your son play sports?"

"Why, yes," she nodded. "He plays varsity soccer. He's on a scholarship for it."

"Ah, I thought that might be the case," he nodded and you wrote it down. Max never took notes and it drove you up the fucking wall. 

"Is that a clue?" She asked, hopefully. 

"Just trying to find out as much as we can." You looked at the photo that she had brought, and felt a little saddened. Should you tell her that her son was dead? That he wasn't coming home? As you looked at the smiling yearbook photo of such a handsome young man it really struck you that you were tired. So very tired. "May we keep this for your file?"

"Of course. I brought extra." She said, somewhat proudly as she patted her knock off Michael Kors bag in the chair next to her. 

Max glanced at you and saw that you had retreated back into your thoughts. After six months of working together, he knew when it was time for a breather. He looked back to the client and adjusted his suit coat before standing up. 

"That's all we need for now, Ms. Garcia. We will be in touch if there is anything new or if we have more questions." He walked around the table and waited for her to grab her purse before he led her to the door. 

"You have my number, correct?" She looked up at him with hopeful eyes as he towered over her. 

"Yes, it's in your file." He gestured back to the table. 

"Feel free to call me, anytime. And I mean...anytime." She touched his yellow pocket square on his chest and he chuckled deeply. 

"Of course," he said, moving her hand off of him like it was something slimy and undesirable. She didn't seem to notice.

You rolled your eyes as the door clicked shut behind her and Max leaned against it with a heavy sigh. "Really?" You asked and he raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Do you have to do that?" You ask, gesturing to the door. 

"I was absolutely, one hundred percent, professional."

"Ah, yes, I forgot you cannot control the hordes of lonely women that throw themselves at your feet." You scoffed, gathering your notes and the papers from the Garcia file and stacking them neatly. 

"It isn't my fault that my powers don't work on you. If they did then maybe you would believe that I didn't have any control over that situation," he waved his hand in a circle indicating the woman who had previously been occupying that space. 

Max was right about that. Since the day you met, his telepathic powers of suggestion had failed to work on you, and it wasn't for his lack of trying. You had chalked it up to your natural Slayer resistances. Just another talent in your arsonal to go with the above average strength, extended life span, and ability to get your ass handed to you by the undead and walk away without so much as a limp. 

He shimmied out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the coat rack before moving back to the desk and sitting on it. "Besides," he grinned down at you, letting one leg hang off the table and leaning in close. "She's not my type."

"Get over yourself, Phillips." You rolled your eyes and walked over to the swivel chalkboard, turning it from the blank side that clients got to see, to the side that was full of your current notes on the situation.

"Ouch, back to the last name?" He put his hand over his heart like he was in pain. "Come on, Pookie. I thought we were past this?" 

Six months. Six whole months had passed since the Watcher’s Council had sent the most arrogantly frustrating man you had ever met to your doorstep. Max Phillips was, on the outside, the definition of most of the Watchers you had had the pleasure of meeting. He was intelligent and well read, but he was also vain and meticulously well dressed. His three piece bespoke suits were always pressed and tailored, his tie was always bright and made a statement, and you could have seen your reflection well enough to do your makeup in his leather shoes. His brown eyes sparkled as brightly as his jeweled cuff links, and his charm was only matched by his wit. The only unorthodox thing about him was that he wasn’t human. 

Before Max came into your life you were under the impression that vampires weren’t allowed on the Council. And until Max, that had been true. It went against everything they had stood for for the last thousand years or however long they had been in business. That business being to hunt and eradicate people exactly like Max. But someone on the council had fucked up--and fucked up big time. It was their fault Max was the way he was, and to make good on their transgressions they cut him a deal. Instead of death, they restored his soul, made him a Watcher, and after five years of service, he could be a free man...err, free undead man?

“Why won’t you just cut to the chase and tell her that her son is either dead or a vampire?” he asked and you shook your head. 

“We’ve been through this, Max,” you said thumbing through the file and getting familiar with everything you two had learned from your new client. “If we told them that, it would scare them off--we have to hold out hope.”

“I mean, sure, if you want to give them a nice comfy sense of delusion.” He shrugged and started to turn but stopped on his heel. “I’m still charging her our full rate.”

“You’re heartless.” You looked up from the file and narrowed your eyes on him. 

“Yes, exactly,” he gestured to his chest and said slowly like you were hard of hearing. “V-am-pire. Remember?”

“I meant your lack of empathy for humans never ceases to shock me.” 

“Honey, I was an asshole before I was turned,” he continued to hold his hand to his chest. “I may have died but my personality carried over into the afterlife.”

“Lucky me.” You gave him a large smile that was entirely too much teeth. Everyday with him was exhausting, just once you wished you could find a way to shut him up. Peace and quiet. A Max-less thirty minutes to hear yourself think would have been the best present he could ever give you. 

You moved to the chalkboard and taped Jason’s picture next to the line of other dead college boys. Of course there was a chance that Ms. Garcia’s son was still alive, but you seriously doubted it. By the time they came knocking at your door, most of the time, it was way too late. You had lost count of how many times you and Max had already solved the case before you even got up from the table. The two of you would share a knowing look as the person on the other side of the desk told their sob story, and by then it was all said and done.  

Max picked up a piece of chalk and blew the dust off of it distastefully. “Who still uses chalk? Can we at least get a smart board?”

“We can’t even afford a dry erase board, Max.” You took the chalk from his hand and tried to ignore the lingering brush of his fingers against the back of your hand. 

Times had been tough. You had opened this little detective business out of necessity for money, not many places were hiring someone with your specific background and skill set. But there had been an alarming increase in the amount of vampire related deaths in this small town, and that was something you could help with. 

“You asked if Jason played sports,” you said, writing your notes neatly next to the boy’s picture. “Was there a point to that question?”

“There is always a point to what I say.” He grinned, unclipping his cuff-links and starting to roll up his sleeves. 

“Max.”

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands in surrender as he leaned his ass against the desk and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Write this down. The first kid played football--”

You started a list at the top of the board and wrote down each sport as he ticked them off on his fingers.

“Then we had lacrosse,” he tapped a different picture on the board. “Track. Swimming. And then--” he tapped his finger on the last boy in the row and bit his lip. “What was this one?”

“Ultimate Frisbee.”

“Right!” He snapped his fingers and shook his finger at you in conformation. “The one you thought wasn’t a sport.”

“Because it’s not.”

“And that’s where we disagree.”

You rolled your eyes and finished writing the list of sports off to the side. Crossing your arms, you shook your head. This wasn’t much to go off of--all victims had been junior or senior boys, all played sports and had the reputation for being stereotypical jocks. But despite what little they all had in common, so far they had all met the same end--left in the middle of the woods, completely drained of blood. 

“Look on the computer,” you said. “See if there are any cemeteries close to the university.” Max sat behind the desk and opened up your laptop, typing in the password and clacking away at the search engine. You looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “How do you know the password to my computer?”

“The same way I know you’re wearing that t-shirt bra for the fifth day in a row,” he mumbled without looking up. “I’m observant.”

You looked down at your chest on instinct before glaring back at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Well, cut it out.”

“As you command, sugar tits,” he smirked and before you could say anything he turned the lap towards you and pointed to the map of the university. “There are four cemeteries within hunting distance--but I say we start with this one.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only one with a mausoleum. Doesn’t matter the flavor of vampire--we all gotta sleep somewhere when the sun comes up.” He smiled, looking somewhat proud of himself and the expression almost made him look endearing. Almost. 

“Good job, Max.” You nodded before moving to write the address on the chalkboard and put it in your phone for later. 

“Oh, say that again--but slower.” He pouted his lips and pretended to give a full body shudder and you contemplated punching him. 

“Get some rest,” you tossed him the manila folder to put in the filing cabinet. “Eat,” you nodded to the mini fridge that contained his snacks from the local blood bank. “Be ready to go by nightfall.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving you a small salute after catching the folder. As you grabbed your car keys off the hook and your jacket off the coat rack, you could almost feel his eyes on your ass. Nothing in the world could have made you give him the satisfaction of letting him know though, but you did slam the front door a little harder than normal on your way out. 

--

The cemetery on the other side of town was just like every cemetery you had ever been in since you took on your role as a Slayer over a decade ago. You thought things were simpler back then, but looking back you weren’t entirely sure how you had lived this long. Slayers were notorious for burning bright and dying fast. They were an intense flame that danced with danger so often the odds were never stacked in her favor when it came to living to see the next sunrise. 

It was these odds that took your first Watcher from you. He was everything Max wasn’t. He was soft spoken, kind, and he cared for you. Against the Watcher’s code, he became the father you never had and in the end it had gotten him killed. Maybe that’s the reason they sent you Max in the first place, you needed someone to look after you that was a little more sturdy--a little less human.

You shined your flashlight on the ground as you and your partner walked another line of gravestones. This was your third lap around the plot lines and thankfully Max had been quiet for most of it. 

“You think she’s going to show?” he asked, putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“She?” you looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Call it a hunch,” he shrugged.

“Oh, I gotta hear this. Please share your theory, Detective Phillips.” You tried to scoff but it turned into a laugh as he smiled sheepishly. 

“All the victims are male. All of them are jocks--most likely douchebag muscleheads--”

“Are you familiar with the type?”

He ignored your quip at his expense and continued talking. “I’m guessing we are dealing with a female vamp, scorned by an ex boyfriend and now that she has the power to do something about it, every poor sap that resembles him is getting the ax.” He drug his thumb across his Adam's apple and made a ‘ack’ noise in the back of his throat. 

“Solid theory,” you nodded, having to hand it to him.

“I’m also guessing she’s freshly turned by how messy the kills are and the tearing on the bite wounds.”

“Tearing? The police reports didn’t say anything about tearing.”

Max nodded and looked down at his shoes as the two of you turned the corner of a new row of gravestones. “Vampire fangs are like hypodermic needles--hollow on the inside. Let me show you.” You both stopped and he turned to face you. He held up his first two fingers and curved them down to imitate fangs, placing them on the side of your neck. “If done correctly and you bite straight down, then pull straight back up once you’re done,” he mimicked the action with his hand, pressing the blunt edges of his nails against your tender skin, making your arms break out in goosebumps. “The bite is hardly noticeable.”

“And if you pull out too quickly or to the side, it tears the skin?” You asked, swallowing hard and letting your shoulders relax as he moved his hand away from your neck. 

“Exactly,” he nodded. He held your gaze for an extra moment before clearing his throat and the two of you continued the path down the middle of the road that led to the mausoleum. “Unless you’re an experienced vampire, you don’t have the control to keep the bite that clean.”

“Charming,” you grimaced and he chuckled.

“What? Does a big, bad slayer like you not enjoy talking about fangs and blood?” He teased and you stayed quiet. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like talking about those things, you lived those things, fangs and blood were a part of your daily life. It was that you weren’t particularly fond of hearing him talk about those things. Lately the moments it became increasingly apparent that Max was undead had started to make you uncomfortable. But like all thoughts and feelings you didn’t fully understand, you pushed them down and compartmentalized them until they faded away. 

A crash of glass came from the back of the stone building and you thanked the universe for saving you from having to answer Max. The two of you looked at each other and you dropped your shoulders to let your leather jacket slide off into your hands. 

“Show time?” you asked, putting the jacket over a small statue of an angel with outstretched arms. 

“Absolutely.” Max mirrored you with his suit coat. He left the cuff-links at home to make it easier to roll up his sleeves. He adjusted his tie and tucked it into his vest for dramatic effect and you fought not to roll your eyes. He cracked his neck and if you weren’t staring at him you would have missed the flash of yellow amber that engulfed his normally brown irises. You were never going to get used to that.

You had a wooden stake in the holster on your thigh, freshly sharpened and ready for whatever was about to come around that corner. You hoped this was the vampire that had been killing all of those boys. You hoped this was the night that the two of you could finally stop this string of murders and crying parents.

“Take right, I’ll take left,” you nodded your head in each direction and watched as Max returned the motion before disappearing into the shadows on his side of the building. 

With eyes and ears straining for any sign of movement, you were careful of your steps. Your boots found easy purchase on the soft, marshy ground as you scanned the treeline on the other side of the pointed wrought-iron fence. Freshly turned baby vamps were your least favorite. There was a certain level of feral-ness to them that made them more dangerous. They lunged, they fought, they bit and scratched without abandon. Their actions were unpredictable and sporadic as they literally fought for their life with about as much coordination as a baby deer with too many teeth. You knew the myth that baby venomous snakes were deadlier than their parents--well, it was actually true when it came to vampires. 

Another sound came from the back of the building and you quickened your pace. Just as you topped the small hill at the back of the crypt a blur of white hit you at full speed like a freight train. Your back hit the ground hard. The dull pain of a stone or something blunt on the ground blossomed  between your shoulder blades and took the air from your lungs. Whatever had hit you landed on top of your chest, making breathing more difficult than it already was.

“Fuck!” you gave a strangled gasp and threw your forearms up to cover your face and neck. 

Just like you expected, it was a vampire. If it was the one you were looking for, that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was getting it off of you. 

It’s blonde hair fell around you as she hissed and spit and flashed her fangs. Her face was grotesque, pinching in the middle towards her nose, her cheekbones sat way too high up on her face, and the curve of her eyebrows arched in an almost cat like way that made her skull look perpetually angry. Her yellow eyes looked sickly and diseased, the black of her pupils forming into an elongated slit.

You pulled your fist back the second she closed her mouth and punched her in the jaw. She reeled back a bit but it didn’t get her off of you. “Have you been killing those boys at the university?”

“They got what they deserved,” she snarled and you nodded. 

“That answers that.” 

Max had been right and you were never going to hear the end of it. You pulled your knee up and tried to press it into her chest. With the right amount of leverage, she toppled backwards and you held onto her letting the momentum pull you to your feet. You stumbled and caught yourself on a gravestone catching your breath before she grabbed you by the hair and slammed you into the marble wall of the crypt. You bit your lip, refusing to cry out and instead said through gritted teeth, “Where's Jason? Where’s your new boyfriend at?”

“Dead,” she smirked, pinning your arm behind your back and leaning in to whisper against your hair. “Where’s yours?”

“Right here!” Max said as he barreled into her and took her to the ground over one of the benches intended for visitors and mourners. He grabbed her by the base of the neck and snarled in her face as he bounced her skull off of the sidewalk. 

His face was contorted much like hers and as you slowly got to your feet, you forced yourself not to look away from it. That was the real him and you didn’t see it as often as you probably should in order to remember that. You pulled the wooden stake from its holster and started walking towards them.

“Max!” You called and he looked over his shoulder and caught your eye. 

He looked at the stake before giving a short nod and flipping the two of them over. He braced his arm as he held the snapping, snarling woman away from his face and you stood over her. With a raise of your arms and a quick line of sight to make sure you hit the heart, you brought the sharp piece of wood down into her back and felt it go through to the front of her chest. 

She screamed, jaw widening before her entire body exploded in a cloud of black dust that quickly dissipated into the night air leaving no trace of her existence. You let out a hard breath and held out your hand to help Max stand up. 

“Thanks,” you said, as he took it and got to his feet. 

“Any time.”

“She got the jump on me. I’m off my game.” You shook your head and silently cursed yourself for letting it happen. 

“I see that.” Max motioned to your cheek and you watched as his pupils dilated like a great white shark. His face was once again the smooth perfection that it always was, but his eyes stayed that alarming yellow.

You touched the apple of your cheek and it felt wet, the bright red drops of your own blood sat on the tips of your fingers. “Shit.” It was as if bringing your attention to it made a dull ache settle on the side of your face. “I guess she got me against the stone.” You nodded back to the pillar of the crypt and went to wipe it off on your jeans.

“Wait,” Max said curtly as his hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist. The muscles in his neck twitched and if he had a working heart you were fairly certain you would have been able to hear it from where you stood. His tongue licked his bottom lip slowly.

“Max--” you cautioned, starting to pull your wrist back but his grip tightened. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said, flatly.

It wasn’t a command, it was a challenge. If you wanted him to stop, he would, but he was banking on the hunch that you didn’t want him to stop. He knew that after months of back and forth, of testing each other, and pushing one another’s buttons, it was bound to come to a head eventually. If you were being honest with yourself, Max fucking Phillips was the only constant thing in your life recently, and that should have scared you to death. 

“Even I know--it’s a shame to waste a single drop of Slayer blood.” He brought your fingers to his mouth and held your gaze as he wrapped his lips around them, hollowing his cheeks gently and sucking the small amount off your skin. You bit your lip and blushed as he freed your fingers with a gentle pop and hummed. “Just like I thought.”

“What?” You asked, hating how breathy and soft your voice was.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

The groan that came from the back of your throat was downright shameful but you wanted to do anything in your power to wipe that look off of his face. If you looked insufferable up in the dictionary, you knew there would be a picture of Max, but that didn’t stop you from raising up on your toes, putting your hand behind his neck and crashing your mouth against his. He closed those unnerving yellow eyes and dropped his head slightly so you didn’t have to stretch as far. When you felt his large hands settle on your hips, you knew it was game over. 

Max tasted just how you thought he would, like expensive liquor and a twinge of copper, the latter not being something you particularly wanted to dwell on. You gave up control of the kiss and let his tongue slip inside your mouth and taste you as well. Fair is fair. When you tried to pull back his head followed you like a dog on a leash and you gripped his hair to keep him at a distance. 

“Oh, boy--” you said, any anticipation you felt was mixed with the regret and trouble that would undoubtedly come with kissing Max Phillips. 

He chuckled deeply and wet his lips again with his tongue, the action plucking the chords of things low in your body. “Oh, boy, is right, sugar tits.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you sighed heavily and shoved him back against the concrete before devouring his mouth with your own again. Maybe if he didn’t speak you could pretend like whatever was happening wasn’t the end of the world as you knew it. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled against your lips as he bent his knees slightly and put both hands under your thighs. As he lifted, you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist. Once your arms securely around his neck, another moan bubbled out of you when he flexed his hands on your ass. 

You thought you would never hear the end about his theory being right about the vampire, but this--this was a whole new level of trouble. And trouble was never something you wanted or particularly went out of your way to seek, and yet, it always seemed to find you.

--

Tag List: @stevieharrrr​ @winters-buck​ @zeldasayer​ @rae-gar-targaryen​ @sendhoots​ @seawhisperer​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @robbinholland​ @scorpionsandhoney​

If you want to be added to my permanent tag list please let me know, I need to get one together for my one shots and stuff. 

[xxoperatexx]

So like this is me expressing all of my thoughts and opinions on the fate: the winx saga trailer and umm I have a lot of them. I kind of word vomited these thoughts on @ray-ofmoonlight so hopefully this is more like, understandable and coherent. The spacing is horrible though, sorry I copied and pasted this from the notes app.

I have a lot of problems with the trailer and the direction they seem to be taking so far, but the biggest issue to me is the poc erasure.

In the source material, 3/6 of the main characters ore people of colour. The show was well known for its diversity, and it was loved by a lot of poc kids because they could see themselves in different characters. All of the main characters appearances were based on different ‘it girls’ of the early 2000’s. There’s Musa who was modeled after Lucy Liu (Asian), Flora was based on Jennifer Lopez (Latina) and Aisha/Layla who was based off of Beyoncé (Black). Though there were issues with these characters being whitewashed later on in the franchise, the winx club that most of us grew up with told stories of very powerful girls who poc kids could look up to and see themselves in.

However, in the reboot, one (1) member of the main cast is a person of colour. This is Aisha. While I’m happy she wasn’t whitewashed, the treatment of the other two poc characters is frankly disgusting. A white actress was casted to play Musa and Flora’s character was erased entirely. Instead, she was replaced by a new character named Terra who literally has the same powers as Flora. What was the reason 🧍🏻‍♀️.

I also take issue with them completely scrapping two members of the main cast - Flora and Techna. I’ve briefly touched on Flora at this point and I’ll hold back on ranting about how she was one of the most lovable characters with beautiful character arcs and development, like when it’s implied that she literally d i e d to she save her sister in the episode where she got her enchanted powers. Techna’s character is meant to represent women in STEM. As the fairy of technology, she was constantly working on computer programs and technological advancements in general which a lot of young girls who were interested in STEM could relate to. I personally didn’t resonate with Techna too much as a kid but I know a lot of young women who idolized Techna are now studying to work in STEM.

Apart from them meaning a lot to the audience in terms of representation, they’re overall just interesting and lovable characters. The dynamics between them and the rest of the characters were well thought out and executed in the cartoon. For example, again, Flora’s enchantix episode in season 3 when she sacrificed herself for her sister or when Techna trapped herself in the omega dimension to save Andros and the rest of the magical universe from Valtor. Those episodes in particular show you how much they care for the others. Jdjdjdndndndn but please they don’t need to be self sacrificing to be relevant. For example, I was talking to moonie about this and she brought up the arc where Techna was really awkward and didn’t know what to do around Timmy, or when they had to clean the entirety of Alfea without magic before they could go to a party? Those episodes were genuinely so much fun.

One of the writers, Brian Young, opted to ditch the original look of the fairies because “Nobody looks like that. It was the most important thing to me that every kid can feel like they see themselves in it... Real girls, real people.” So where is this energy for POC kids????

There is absolutely nothing wrong with casting women of different body types because they deserve representation as well. As a die hard fan of the series, I can admit that their body proportions are ridiculously skinny and there should be diversity in the body types of the actresses. My issue is that they replaced the two poc characters (I’m counting Flora as being replaced by Terra) with chubby white actresses. Could we not have POC actresses with different body types instead?? Or have at least one of the canonically white characters have a different body type?? Like we asked for representation and they said you can have one or the other, not both djdndnnddnn

Moving on from the issues with representation, I also just really hate how they turned such a beautiful, colourful show into a typical dark academia scene. I personally love the dark academia aesthetic but winx club it well known and loved for its trendy y2k fashion. They even had real designers come in and help design some of the characters outfits in the cartoons. It honestly feels like every show aimed at young (mostly female) adults produced by Netflix looks the exact same. It’s so boring, ESPECIALLY because y2k fashion is trendy right now. It would’ve been so fun to see the characters experiment with bright colour palettes and serve as huge fashion inspo. It would also help to distinguish the show from others. Not to mention outfits shown in the trailer are absolutely horrific. It feels like a hate crime 😭🤚 Terra and Musa look RIDICULOUS and Stella wouldn’t be caught dead in that floor length black fit. The colour palettes are mixed up in terms of which colours represent each character and they look more like your local conservative prayer group with their token black friend than fairies.

In all honestly, they could’ve made this show and said it was loosely inspired by winx. It seems to be very different from the source material in the worst way possible.

Also irrelevant but I was really looking forward to see how they would cast the trix, especially stormy, but they were also removed from the storyline.

tdlr; the whitewashing and erasure is ridiculous and disappointing. the show had an opportunity to distinguish itself via the colour palettes and style from the source material but instead decided to change the aesthetic because apparently dark academia = maturity.

[queen-of-my-goofball-army]

An Ode To Miyazaki:

Hi everyone! So for my final paper for film, we had to pick our own director of our choosing and talk about them extensively between the attributes that make them special. Our course focused on the narrative and technical styles of directors. For my final project, I have chosen my biggest hero in the world of animation and somebody that drastically changed my life as a young child, Hayao Miyazaki. Learning about him for this project gave me so much insight into not just his films but who he is as a person. I hope that my paper is as interesting for you to read as it was for me to do research for!

1. Hayao Miyazaki, often referred to as the Japanese Walt Disney is the front runner of his animation studio Studio Ghibli. I picked him because I already have sufficient knowledge and love of his films. One of the first memories that my parents love to remind me of is my first time watching Totoro and laughing at the introduction characters. Miyazaki himself stands out for a number of reasons. Over the years, Miyazaki has made a humongous name out of himself, one of his most famous movies Spirited Away became the most popular film to ever be released in Japan and also won the academy award for the best-animated film that year. His most “popular” films (I say popular in air quotes because it is nearly impossible for people to agree on a favorite) remain the aforementioned Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, Howl’s Moving Castle, and Princess Mononoke. Beginning his career as a simple animator for Toei animation, he worked as an in-between artist. It was here that he met his future collaborator at Ghibli, Isao Takahata. His first big directorial debut in film before founding Ghibli was a team effort without Takahata was Lupin The Third, The Castle Of Cagliostro. His first successful movie was one that was based upon his own manga Nausicaa of the Valley Of The Wind. The first official Miyazaki movie that was made with Ghibli was one of my personal all-time favorites that had ever been created, Castle In The Sky. For many children, especially ones with parents who are lovers of a film like mine, Miyazaki was one of the first animators that I was introduced to. His films have become classics for every fan of animation, being referenced in culture, specifically back when Disney owned Studio in Toy Story 3, Bonnie has a Totoro.

2. So, this brings up the question, how does one recognize a film by Miyazaki? You can always expect for him to be critically acclaimed, for there to be some element of magic and whimsy in the way that he animates, for there to be something to do with flight (whether it be dealing with airplanes like in Porco Rosso, the idea of flight in Howl’s Moving Castle, or a floating castle up in the sky in Castle In The Sky.), his heroines are always strong-minded and live by their own rules never bowing down to anybody, his love stories are dynamic and fulfilled, a sweeping score by Joe Hizashi, and they have a meaning about nature somewhere, mostly about why it needs to be protected.

Let’s start by breaking him down narratively. The thing that is always in every Miyazaki film no matter which one you decide upon watching, is that his female characters are always strong-willed no matter what. In many ways, I think that he writes women better than Disney does. He has gone on record saying “Many of my movies have strong female leads—brave, self-sufficient girls that don't think twice about fighting for what they believe with all their heart. They'll need a friend, or a supporter, but never a savior. Any woman is just as capable of being a hero as any man.” Sometimes, this will cause them to come across as reckless, or stupid, but in my opinion, I have always looked up to his female characters and the way that they are portrayed. My personal favorite female character that he has ever brought to life through the screen is Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle. She is strong-minded, not willing to put up with any of Howl’s dramatics, kind, an incredible adult figure for Markal, endlessly sympathetic to her friend’s plights (namely Howl and Calcifer), and somebody that I can always look up to. I spent most of my childhood looking up to characters like Kiki in Kiki’s Delivery Service, Chihiro in Spirited Away, or one of my personal favorite underrated girls, Fio in Porco Rosso. All of these female characters are independent and never let themselves be taken advantage of by anybody.

Another trait that can always be found narratively in his films is that Miyazaki is an airplane/ air travel fanatic. He absolutely loves airplanes, even to the point where his latest film, The Wind Rises was based upon the life of one of the first airplane manufacturers in WWII. Almost all of his films will involve something about flying in the air. Even with the ones that he didn’t direct and he just simply wrote. His obsession with flight is something that stemmed from his childhood and he never saw them as a thing to be used for war “airplanes are not tools for war. They are not for making money. Airplanes are beautiful dreams. Engineers turn dreams into reality.” My personal favorite of all of his flight animation is used in Howl’s Moving Castle when Howl and Sophie “fly” over the heads of all the people below them.

Narratively also one of the biggest things that set apart his films from any others is his focus on nature. The idea of protecting the beauty of nature is something that he has always stood by. A lot of the time, America tries to prove that it can make films about nature as well to usually varying results. I think that nobody can sell an environmental message quite like my biggest hero for Japanese animation. One of the main movies that focus on his will to protect nature above all else is Princess Mononoke. He always manages to animate nature in such a beautiful and majestic way no matter where the film is set.

I also think that a narrative trait of his that often gets overlooked is how beautiful the romance in his films can be. He never has a romance between two characters that feels stale or boring. I love the fact that you can pick any number of his films and the chance of there being a romance that you’ll get sucked into is a very large one. Everybody has their personal favorites, I love Howl and Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle but my best friend loves Sousuke and Ponyo from Ponyo. He has on record saying that “I’ve become skeptical of the unwritten rule that just because a boy and girl appear in the same feature, a romance must ensue. Rather, I want to portray a slightly different relationship, one where the two mutually inspire each other to live - if I’m able to, then perhaps I’ll be closer to portraying a true expression of love.” Writing romance between two characters can be a very tricky thing which is why it’s always amazing when he can continually pull it off despite everything and how many films that he has made over the years. The beauty of having both a strong and independent male and the female character is that they can both lean on one another for love and support. Probably the biggest supporter of this is Whisper Of The Heart, a film that he wrote instead of directing. The romance is what makes up the entire film. It’s a beautiful love story about how two young teenagers fall in love with each other. The romance is something that continually keeps me coming back for more every time.

Technical style Miyazaki can always be assured to deliver breathtakingly stunning animation. There is a reason why so many people leave his films starving because the food that he draws always looks so good. For me though, it’s the backgrounds that stand out above all else. It’s nearly impossible to have one favorite shot in one of his films but I as a matter of fact do have one. The most breathtaking animation in any Miyazaki film is the scene where Howl takes Sophie to see his secret garden. Everything about this scene never fails to make my breath catch. It’s such a profoundly beautiful moment and how it is animated is something that I haven’t forgotten since my first initial viewing of the film when I was seven.

Another iconic technical trait is that Disney did a fantastic job dubbing the films from their original Japanese language into English. Back when Ghibli films first started to become popular, they needed a way for an American audience to see them. So Pixar’s CFO at the time, John Lassater made a deal with Ghibli that they would dub all the films from their original language for a brand new audience. Growing up, this was how I watched all of Miyazaki’s films. I fell in love with the way that they sounded in English. To this very day, I have yet to see one of his films in any other language. I don’t think that anybody could have dubbed them better. Ever since Ghibli and Disney went their separate ways and they went to GKids the dubs haven’t been the same.

Finally, the last technical trait is that a Miyazaki film will always have a score done by his longtime collaborator Joe Hizashi. The score is such a big part of what makes Miyazaki’s films his own. They are what get you sucked in through their whimsical and magical tones; they always fit the vibes that he’s going through at that moment. There is also the element of sound. Every Miyazaki film has a distinct sound effect that will set it apart from the one before it.

3. The first film that I want to look at is my personal favorite of all his films that he has made so far if you were to force me to pick just one Howl’s Moving Castle. Released in 2004, it was the 9th film that the director came out with. It has an 8.2 out of 10 on IMDB and an 87% on Rotten Tomatoes. The storyline for the movie follows a young woman named Sophie. She gets a curse set upon her by the Witch of the Waste and when she leaves home she finds the infamous Howl’s Moving Castle. This is the second Ghibli movie voiced by a Batman live action actor. Christian Bale voiced Howl Pendragon after Michael Keaton played the titular Porco Rosso.

Narratively this is definitely a Miyazaki film. From how strong of a female character Sophie is I spent most of my childhood looking up to her as a character. Strong female characters are everywhere in his films and in my opinion, Sophie is one of the strongest. Another strong factor is that flight plays a major part in this film. One of Howl’s main powers is that he has the ability to fly around. This leads to my favorite scene of flight in any Miyazaki film when Howl takes Sophie’s hand and they “fly” over the tops of the city down below them. All of his early films up until the last few were set in someplace other than Japan. This one is set in Europe, and he takes a lot of time while in the cities to show off all the different types of buildings while Sophie tours around the city.

Technically speaking this is also a Miyazaki film and holds all the titular traits of being so. The animation is utterly for lack of a better word, magical and spellbinding. It takes my breath away every time that I rewatch it. The food looks incredible, one scene that most of Miyazaki’s fans always think of when this movie is brought up is Calcifer making the food for Howl, Sophie, and Markal to eat. The dub for this film is also one of Disney’s best dubs for Miyazaki films. It even brings actors to the table that I usually would not like to see in other films like Christian Bale. I haven’t loved him in any other films than this one. Billy Crystal is a stand-out as well as my favorite fire demon Calcifer. The score is done by Joe Hizashi as well. My favorite part of the score is the main theme which has Howl and Sophie floating above the people below. The sound effect that follows throughout this film is the steady creaking of the castle itself.

Princess Mononoke was the first time that Miyazaki ever “retired”. Most of the time, whenever he tries to retire, he always comes back. A lot of his colleague's joke that it’s because he physically can’t stop working. He animated most of this movie by himself. Before Spirited Away it was Japan’s most famous film to date. The story about a young man who is just trying to erase the curse that was set upon him by an angry boar and it leads him to a place called Iron Town is something that never fails to amaze me. While in Iron Town, Ashitaka meets a young woman named San who was taken in by wolves and he finds himself caught between a war involving humans and the gods of the forest.

Narratively this is definitely a Miyazaki film. It has a strong female lead, focusing most of its screen time on how important it is to protect and preserve nature as a whole. The idea of protecting nature is such a moving part of the film, as we see what it does when man takes over the forest. We see how distraught it makes the Gods of this world and how they wish that the humans would just go away. However, you also see it from the point of view of the villain of the film Lady Eboshi, who also regularly helps lepers and people who would often never get work outside of her offering them a home and a family. I have regularly gotten into a debate with my mom over which side is “right” and which side “wrong” over the course of the last few years of me being a massive fan of this movie. She takes the side of the forest while I see Ashitaka’s side that everybody should just get along and interact in peace and harmony. Miyazaki never shoves the idea of nature down your throat. That is not what this film is. It’s instead about the beauty of what we have and learning to appreciate it.

On a technical level, this film is fantastic as well. It blows my mind that Miyazaki-san animated most of it all by himself. The backgrounds are sweeping and utterly gorgeous showing off the time period of the film. The fight sequences which make up the bulk of the film’s running time are engaging, thrilling, and fabulously animated. Mononoke’s score was done by Joe Hizashi as well. Its score is beautiful and I always find myself getting sucked into it, especially for the more dynamic scenes with Ashitaka and San. The sound effect for this film uses nature as a backdrop for brutality. Ashitaka’s arrows don’t just come out of his bow, they screech through the air.

Finally, my last film that we will be focusing on, Kiki’s Delivery Service was made in 1989 a year after his cult phenomena My Neighbor Totoro and was his fifth animated feature. Kiki is a young girl that is hoping to become a young witch in training. However, to do so she has to train a year away from home. She and her cat Jiji find a town by the sea where she learns her true strength and what she can really do to help others. Hayao Miyazaki didn't want to bore the audience during the film's end credits by using just the names. He set it up to be like a mini-sequel so that the audience would leave the theatre feeling happy.

Narratively this has all the traits that one should be familiar with and associate with a Miyazaki film. It has a strong-minded female character at the source of it that young girls can look up to and admire. As a kid, Kiki was my favorite female character of his because I loved her strength and her dedication to what she was good at. She knew that she was still young and had a lot to learn but even though she gets depressed she doesn’t let that stop her in the long run and will still save her love interest Tombo. The romance in this film is by far one of the sweetest. I love the interactions between the characters and the way that they both inspire one another to be better than they are. The idea of flight is basically the focal point of everything. Kiki finds that her best trait is that she flies incredibly well and decides to create her own flying delivery service.

Technically this also has a lot of traits that Miyazaki made a name for himself in doing. The animation is spectacular, especially for Kiki’s flying. I could watch her fly around all day and that was the idea that he was going for while making the film. The sweeping score by Joe Hizashi, especially in my favorite song A Town With An Ocean View, is something that I’ll often listen to outside of the film itself. The sound effects for the film are meant to be calming. From the first sound that you hear of the wind rolling through the reeds while Kiki lies against the grass to the waves when she finally finds a home.

4. Miyazaki as a director has inspired me since I was way too young to even remember. When I was a kid I would pretend to run around my apartment building's front yard imagining that I lived in a big house in front of a camper tree like the one in Totoro. His movies are perfect for children that “suffer” from having an overactive imagination. His movies are everything that is bright and beautiful in the world. The animation never fails to take my breath away, the characters and stories are unforgettable, the soundtracks sweep me away and tell stories themselves. His movies are something that even my parents, who are not anime fans, can watch over and over again. I think that speaks for itself. Miyazaki makes films that are art, not just animated films.

[funkzpiel]

In collaboration with @crocro-dyle for the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang (@geraskiermidsummerminibang)! Crocrodyle is the amazing artist responsible for the illustration you see above, and you can continue to follow their amazing work via Tumblr or Instagram!

Special thank you to Smaller who was the wonderful beta for this fic!

Also available on AO3.

TW: graphic violence during hunt

Summary: Jaskier had always known Midsummer to be a night of festivities, celebration and heavy drinking - preferably with a beautiful partner to warm his bed. When a stroke of good fate landed them in a village prepared to honor the occasion, Jaskier couldn't wait to share the night with his witcher as soon as he returned from his hunt.

Then Roach showed up in town. Alone.

The wound was severe. Claws had torn into his side, piercing flesh like butter, and were it not for his armor and the very last of his wits, he would have been gored. But he hadn’t been. And the attack that should have secured the victory of the Alp that he had been hunting blessedly became its end. As long, wicked talons carved deep into his side, Geralt grit his teeth and with his elbow he pinned that eviscerating hand to his side – all the while thinking of the words of witchers before him: One must aim one’s sword with great precision, for Alps are unequaled in the art of evading blows.

She would not evade this.

The female Alp howled, the pale span of her thighs quivering as she yanked to free her hand. Nails tore through tissue. Geralt felt pain rip the air from his lungs, but he endured. He endured, because that was what witchers did. Endure until the job was done.

His silver sword would be too long, so Geralt dropped it. The Alp sneered as that silver blade sang against the gnarled roots of the great tree they found themselves entangled beneath. Lush, green leaves crooned a hushed lullaby above them, thrumming with the power of the impending shift into Midsummer. That pending change echoed in the sway of the grass, in the way the breeze carded through his hair. He couldn’t die now. Not before he paid homage… Not before he gave thanks…

“Have you given up, witcher?” the Alp hissed, lips pulling back in a cruel grin of fangs and bloody teeth. Venom pearled at the tips of her teeth. “Too weak to hold your sword?”

Let her think him weak, he thought to himself, free hand reaching back for the hilt of his silver dagger, its blade dipped in Vampire Oil and glistening with deadly promise. Let it be the last thing she ever thinks.

He plunged the knife into her neck without a single word, his own teeth bared and white as marble against his dirt-streaked face. What began as a shriek to incapacitate him in a last-ditch bid for freedom became a howl of pain, then grew wet, her teeth marred by her own blood. Black, shark-like eyes stared at him, enraged. Afraid. He anticipated that she would pull away. Anticipated one last grapple to the ground to finish what he had started. Instead she clenched her hand into his side more viciously and pulled him in. Despite drowning in the weeping of her own wound, his knife still in her throat, she bit him. Carnivorous teeth dug into his shoulder. Venom pushed into his veins. Geralt let out a strangled yowl before yanking his knife through the rest of her throat. Blood poured down his front as the Alp let him go, stumbling back. He let her, the hand he had used to pin her to his side now rushing up to check the worst of the bite.

Surprisingly superficial, he realized. But death likely hadn’t been the intention. He could feel venom threading through his veins already, black ichor spreading like a spider’s web beneath his skin – promising suffering ahead.

The Alp fell into the underbrush of the forest around them, body writhing as her heels dug into the dirt and her hair tangled in the twigs. Her ribs heaved. She gasped wetly. Slowly, her thrashing stilled.

Finally, naught was left but the hum of Midsummer’s approach in the wind and Geralt’s breathing – sharp and thready – as the venom began its work. Not for the first time, Geralt cursed his foolishness for not taking another night to brew Black Blood as he should have. But another night would have meant another innocent death, and so he took the job without it. At least then the death might only be his own.

He curled an arm around his wounded side and with shaking fingers, he whistled for Roach. His hands were nearly numb with venom as he dug into her saddlebags. He wouldn’t be able to take much, lest he trade one ailment for another. Half a vial of Swallow to stem the worst of the bleeding from his side and neck. Half a vial of Golden Oriole to dampen the venom coursing in his veins. The last of the vial fell numbly from his fingers not long after. He leaned into Roach. Felt her snuffling at his hair.

“Jaskier,” he tried to tell her, to ask her to fetch him, but all light began to wink out of his vision. Beneath his skin Alp venom sang and nightmares beckoned. Midsummer kissed his cheek with a pleasant, warm breeze. It reminded him of the homage he had yet to pay. He grasped that thread like a lifeline.

But it was too late. Between one shuddering blink and another, he was gone.

- ˑ༄ؘ -

Jaskier was grateful that – for once – their travels brought them to a sizable village right in time for actual civilized festivities. Midsummer was upon them and there was no mistaking the fact that the village was prepared to celebrate it in style. While it would by no means be an affair like the ones in Oxenfurt that he held so close to his heart, the town had a healthy population of villagers and appeared to be enough of a trade hub to have allowed the town to celebrate a little more lavishly than most. Kegs were being set up at stands in the streets. A wide range of summer wildflowers had been woven together by the women and children to wreath the town’s buildings and signs in floral drapery. Candles dotted the edges of the roads and vendor tables, all ready to be lit at dusk that night. It was an attractive enough scene at noon, but Jaskier knew that once night fell, the light of the candles and the fireflies would cast their cheery party in a beautiful, ethereal glow. It appeared there might even be a wedding planned for the night. It wouldn’t be an uncommon affair. Midsummer was known to be a celebration of life and love; how better to celebrate than through consummation?

He could already imagine the pleasant heat of the bonfire. The way it would tickle his cheeks as he drank beer and enjoyed slices of cured meats and cheeses, and danced among the townsfolk, learning the steps common to their dances here, whatever they might be. Maybe he’d even be able to coax Geralt into joining, if he were lucky. While they had known each other for years, this would be the first opportunity to spend the occasion of Midsummer together. He wondered if witchers celebrated it, or if Geralt would see it as an opportunity to rest in the inn without harassment after his hunt – not that Jaskier would blame him.

He hoped they could spend it together, though. The mere thought of Geralt beside the Midsummer bonfire, his creamy skin alight with warm oranges and yellows, sent a prickling up his spine not unlike the feeling that looking at a masterpiece painting might inspire.

Maybe he could even sneak a few flowers into the man’s white hair. Bursts of forget-me-not blue and dandelion yellow entangled in snowy locks, all cast in the flickering shadow of the bonfire’s glow—

—Jaskier visibly jumped when his thoughts were cut short by nosy lips snuffling at the back of his collar. Nearby the children giggled at the way he shrieked. He scowled at them, then whirled to find Roach pushing her long snout against his chest with a great, heaving sigh. She had been running, he realized.

Running without Geralt.

“Where is he?” he asked, all ire crushed beneath the great weight of dread falling in his stomach. She took him by the collar again and tugged, careful to mind her teeth. Jaskier needed no further prompting. He climbed into her saddle and let her take him away – all too aware of the blood smeared on the clasps of the saddle bag and the unmistakable red handprint on her neck, large and familiar.

- ˑ༄ؘ -

Jaskier found him face down in the mossy underbrush of an old tree, the sort of tree that spiraled high into the sky. He was mere feet away from a woman, her face twisted into the ugly grimace common to Vampires. Her throat was nothing but a bloody maw, open and wrecked. Already she had begun to stink of rot and death. Jaskier covered his nose and felt a weak shiver thread down his spine, nearly stealing the strength to stay in the saddle from his bones. Beneath him, Roach stamped her hooves impatiently, pawing at the ground. Jaskier gave himself but a moment to gather himself – just long enough to ensure the sight and smell alone wouldn’t make him fall disgracefully from Roach’s back – before he dismounted.

He forced himself to ignore the dead Alp. Forced himself not to take in the long red train of her hair, or how normal she had probably looked among the other villagers before Geralt had coaxed out her true nature. Instead he went to his knees beside the witcher, his name on his tongue as he reached for those broad shoulders and flipped him over.

He was paler than normal. Jaskier didn’t think that was possible, yet here they were. He looked as white as a crisp royal sheet, bleached like a bone in the sun. His neck was a mess of punctures, and with a shiver that shook him right down to his belly, Jaskier plucked a tooth from Geralt’s flesh and flicked it across the clearing. Worse yet, there was a gash in his side. No, not a gash – more punctures. Punctures where clawed fingers had made a home in his flesh. Both wounds had slowed to a sluggish bleeding, however, and a quick look confirmed his suspicions. Not far away two bottles lay forgotten in the grass. One empty, one still the littlest bit full – their contents puddled into the earth. Potions. Two of them.

At least he wouldn’t die of blood loss, Jaskier thought as he started the long, arduous task of trying to settle Geralt over Roach’s saddle as safely and harmlessly as he could. So much for celebrating Midsummer in style. Though even as that thought struck him, he found it to be more a muted old ghost than any true regret. An echo of selfishness from lonely days.

Instead Jaskier whispered a soft plea of gratitude into the air as he took Roach’s reins beneath her chin and began to lead her away.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you for getting me here in time.”

- ˑ༄ؘ -

Jaskier had wanted to return to the inn. He wanted a roof over their heads, and a tub of water to clean his hands with rather than the river, and a bed to let Geralt rest. But the thought of parading Geralt’s limp body through the village gave him pause. And furthermore, the promise of music and partying that was sure to fill the streets that night nixed the deal entirely. There would be no rest for his fickle sleeper of a witcher even if he weren’t injured. Add in potion-intoxication and fevers from his wounds, and he’d be miserable without reprieve; on edge, instincts flaring, and unable to do a thing about it.

So instead he took him further into the woods, away from the Alp’s corpse or anything the bloody battle might attract. Finding a spot to camp was second nature to him now after years of traveling at Geralt’s side. Not too close to water where prey animals and predators alike gathered. But not so far away as to make fetching water impossible. A dark, nestled nook of trees that were out of sight most ways you looked at it. There was little he could do to hide Roach, but she was – in her own right – another layer of security. She’d sense if something was wrong long before Jaskier ever would. And she’d never failed to protect herself before. So he removed her saddle, bit and bridle, and let her graze at her leisure with a soft promise to wash the blood from her coat as soon as he could.

He took Geralt’s tent from her saddle and set up a slanted covering using the trees. Something to provide a little security and buffer from the wind that night without limiting too terribly his ability to tend to Geralt. He rolled an old shirt into a tight ball and tucked it under Geralt’s head. He made sure the witcher was as comfortable as possible before he took a spare water skin and trudged to the river to wash the worst of any filth from his hands, then to fill the skin in preparation for cleaning Geralt’s wounds.

It was thankfully a far tamer affair than usual, with Geralt unconscious. No half-hearted embarrassment to make the witcher growl and sit stiff as a board as Jaskier tended to him. No self-depreciation for needing care. Geralt’s muscles didn’t fight him as he lifted his arms, legs, chest or neck to remove what clothing needed removing to do what needed doing.

Jaskier cleaned the wounds as delicately as he could. He mopped the sweat from Geralt’s brow as the man twitched, and tossed, and turned, plagued as though in the grip of a nightmare. And the reality was not far off, Jaskier realized. He had heard Geralt explain the dangers of an Alp’s kiss to villagers before. He knew the nightmares their venom could induce. He could only hope one of those vials the witcher had taken had subdued the worst of it somewhat.

He wrapped the wounds. Stitched what could be stitched and left the rest for the witcher’s biology to handle. Then he helped the man back into his clothing, left his armor aside, and shifted Geralt’s head until he had it cushioned in his lap, fingers threading through his hair.

Geralt’s eyes opened. Soft flickers of hazy gold peeking out from beneath sooty lashes. Sweaty brows furrowed and creased. The witcher moaned – a sound that was as much reaching out for Jaskier in confusion as it was reacting to the pain. Beside them, their little campfire leapt and popped merrily, painting Geralt in relief with yellows and oranges, and for a moment Jaskier nearly laughed as he thought perhaps he would get to see his witcher beside a bonfire after all.

“Jaskier?” Geralt croaked, looking up at him from his spot in the bard’s lap.

Jaskier weaved his fingers through sweaty hair – the knots long worked out – and said, “How kind of you to join us, sleeping beauty.”

Geralt frowned, but the ire melted away the pain that had contorted his face, and if Jaskier had to deal with a little ire to soothe those wrinkles away, he’d gladly do so. The bard smiled.

Weakly, Geralt lifted a hand, asking without words for water, and it was a testament to their time together that when Jaskier helped him sit up enough to drink, Geralt did not snarl or pull away. The bard held the water skin with Geralt as the witcher drank, urging him to slow when Geralt forgot to be mindful of how quickly he quenched his thirst. Geralt didn’t begrudge him the help. Communication so personal and second nature that neither had recognized when they had become so fluent in that language; only that they were grateful that they had.

When Geralt had drunk enough to soothe his throat but not so much as to upset his stomach or the delicate blend of potion and venoms therein, Jaskier set the skin aside – Geralt’s fingers trembling over his.

“The Alp?”

“Dead,” Jaskier said, “I just didn’t think we should camp near it.”

He knew Geralt would want to go and find it tomorrow when he felt better. That he’d want the head as a trophy to prove to the town he had done what he had set out to do, lest they try to swindle him. The Alp might be devoured by then. Jaskier knew that thought rankled Geralt something fierce. But he didn’t regret his choices, and he knew that while annoyed to potentially lose out on payment, Geralt didn’t begrudge him the decision either.

“Good thinking,” Geralt rasped. Jaskier felt a little plume of warmth unrelated to the fire fill his chest.

“Believe it or not, I have picked up a trick or two from you on our travels,” Jaskier preened.

Geralt’s fingers brushed over the wrappings that concealed his side, his throat, and said, “I believe it,” the words acknowledging, and the tone grateful. As close to ‘thank you’ as witchers tend to get. Once upon a time, Jaskier would have harped on the man for more. Now, it felt like everything.

“I fed and cleaned Roach. Your pack is fine,” Jaskier rattled off, this not having been the first time they’d had this conversation – nor would it be the last. “Afraid we don’t have much in the way of food, however. We’ll need to go back to town in the morning.”

“Surprised you didn’t go tonight,” Geralt said.

“Ah, yes, well… It's Midsummer’s Festival tonight. I didn’t think you’d appreciate the noise,” Jaskier admitted. He longed for a hot tub to soak in, fresh clothing and a pitcher of ale to watch the festivities with – but even so, none of those desires made him regret where he actually was or what he actually was doing. The thought of staying behind to celebrate, oblivious to Geralt lying wounded in the woods, made him shiver. It must have shown too, because Geralt’s hand closed over Jaskier’s free one on the witcher’s shoulder and squeezed.

Another unspoken pearl of gratitude.

“You said you had my pack?” Geralt asked, eyes fixed on Jaskier as though he were in the middle of deciding something.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, his own brows drawing ever so slightly tighter as his free hand moved from Geralt’s hair to his forehead, “You didn’t forget I said that, did you?”

Worry bubbled in his gut.

“Just making sure,” Geralt said, squeezing his other hand again. “I… It’s Midsummer tonight.”

“Yes, I know. I told you that. Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t feel feverish, but—”

“M’fine,” Geralt said quickly, cutting him off before his worries could spiral too transparently. “Truly. I just… there’s something I have to do tonight.”

Jaskier leaned back a little at that, surprised. He blew out an amused little breath and said, “I didn’t take you for the celebratory type, Geralt. We can just have our own party tomorrow night, if you’re that keen on it. I’ll braid flowers into your hair, and we’ll have our own little bonfire when your side looks more like flesh and less like holey cheese.”

“Lovely imagery,” Geralt deadpanned.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said beatifically.

Geralt searched his face for a long moment after that. Between them, the fire crackled innocently. Insects chirped. The moon filtered in pleasantly through the pines. But all of that paled in comparison to the look Geralt gave him. It was all at once unidentifiable, but also perhaps one of the most intimate things Jaskier had ever shared with the man. It stilled the breath in Jaskier’s lungs and left him as attentive as a deer in the field, waiting – always waiting.

“It can’t wait, Jaskier,” Geralt finally said.

“What, are you cursed to celebrate Midsummer or you’ll self-combust?” Jaskier joked, trying to ignore that lingering sense of dread that was snowballing dangerously in his gut. This was entirely unlike Geralt. Jaskier could count on fewer than the fingers of one hand how many times Geralt had sought his permission in situations like this. If he wanted to do something, he’d do it. He’d pick himself up from their makeshift camp and he’d limp off into the night, and the best Jaskier would be able to do was follow and hope he could help.

Even as their fight from the mountaintop rang in his head – long forgiven, but still haunting – he’d try to help.

And yet Geralt was not lifting himself up. If anything, the man looked as though he were on sleep’s doorstep. Jaskier brushed white locks back from Geralt’s sweaty brow and felt fear clench in his breast when Geralt closed his eyes at his touch and didn’t open them again right away.

“I’m too tired to explain, Jaskier,” he finally admitted. “And I’m… I don’t think I…”

Geralt choked on the words, still unable to admit his weaknesses after all this time. Some habits were rooted too deep to conquer and weed out altogether. But what the witcher had weeded out made Jaskier proud. So in this, he couldn’t begrudge them. They all had their flaws. Nothing was ever conquered in just a day.

“What do you need me to do?” Jaskier asked instead.

Geralt swallowed.

“I’m supposed to do it,” he said.

“And you will. Just help me help you do it,” Jaskier affirmed.

The witcher let out a slow, whistling breath through his nose. Then, after a moment, he nodded. And he told Jaskier what to do.

That’s how the bard found himself opening Geralt’s pack – not his large, more often-used rucksack of equipment and medical items, but instead a smaller pouch he hadn’t noticed had been attached to Roach’s saddle. Inside was a small saucer with a curved lip, a handful of candles, and a pouch of recently plucked flowers. It echoed the festivities he had seen in town, but without much effort it was obvious to note that this was different. Through his studies he had a rudimentary knowledge of flowers and their meaning. Of candle colors and scents and wicks. Each and every item in the pouch had a meaning. Flowers that promised blessings. Scents that paid homage. Colors that prayed for forgiveness. Little blooms that helped the dead find their way beyond the veil. And at the bottom of the pouch a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He had nearly unfolded it when Geralt said clearly, “Don’t,” from across the camp.

Plagued by curiosity, Jaskier looked to Geralt, fingers paused. But at those eyes – so amber and dazed, yet so keenly worried – Jaskier simply nodded, and stood to place it in Geralt’s hand, still wrapped, instead. He heard Geralt swallow thickly. Felt their fingers brush gratefully.

Geralt had a lovely voice, when he deigned to use it. He spent the early hours of the night listening to Geralt explain how to weave the flowers. Which colors and blooms to use when. What to lace over what. Which to tuck where and when. Without any description of what final result to expect, Jaskier followed him on faith. Something warm stoked a fire in his chest as he realized the more they went along just how personal this must be to Geralt. He had never quite heard of anything like this. With a quick pang he realized it must be a well-kept tradition of witchers – or at the very least of the Wolves of Kaer Morhen. And he – Jaskier – was helping Geralt do it.

Once upon a time he might have thought of it as a very boring, and perhaps even demeaning, way of helping the witcher. It wasn’t heroic or theatrical. He was so much more talented than a mere man with ten fingers to weave flowers with. But as Geralt narrated him through the process and his tone turned steadily nostalgic, Jaskier was struck with how much more this simple act meant to Geralt than any wound Jaskier had ever sewn.

He made a wreath of flowers and when it was done, he held it up for Geralt’s inspection.

“Like this?” he asked.

A little bit of the tension in Geralt’s brow softened, making him look younger as he breathed, “Yes. Just like that. Set it on the plate.”

Jaskier did so. The little blooms ringed the curved lip of the plate beautifully, leaving the pale center of the dish exposed plainly.

“Now set the candles inside. First the tallest along the inner edge of the crown of flowers, then the second tallest, then the third. Leave room in the middle.”

Jaskier did.

“Good,” Geralt said between heavy blinks, “Now light a match to melt the bottom of the candles to the plate and let it cool… We can’t let them fall.”

Jaskier did. It took a few matches and a few burnt fingertips and a few curses, but he did.

“Now what?” Jaskier said after he had waited for the wax to cool, gently poking the tallest candle of the three to ensure it wouldn’t budge.

“The part you won’t like,” Geralt finally said, beginning to force himself to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait now!” Jaskier said, delicately setting the plate aside so he could scramble up beside Geralt. He had half a mind to ease him back down, but the look in Geralt’s eyes was sharp and telling. He had allowed Jaskier to do as much as possible, but there would be no persuading him to lay back any longer. Not at this point.

“It’s midnight, Jaskier,” Geralt said through clenched teeth as he forced himself to his feet – swaying all the while. “I must do this.”

The bard caught him by his elbow when amber eyes drifted, and it looked as though he might fall. Geralt leaned into him for only as long as it took for the dizziness to pass before drawing in a deep, steadying breath, his gaze falling on the bard pointedly.

“I must,” he repeated.

“Then we will,” Jaskier said simply, but he kept his grip on the witcher’s elbow tight and just as pointed. He waited, jaw clenched and shoulders set, for Geralt to argue. Instead, after a brief moment of searching Jaskier’s face, the witcher merely nodded.

Jaskier held the plate in one hand and Geralt’s elbow in the other, and together they slowly made their way into the dark with nothing but the moon, Geralt’s uncanny eyes, and the sway of Midsummer’s breeze around them to guide the way.

“Where are we going?” Jaskier asked only once, but Geralt did not answer. They paused when they needed pausing, pacing themselves by the rasping of the witcher’s heaving breath. Occasionally Geralt would turn his nose to the wind, sniff, and change their course accordingly. Side by side, Jaskier followed his witcher into the dark until finally the trees parted and the moon rose high above to light the clearing that Geralt had found.

It was a lake, vast and wide, at the mouth of the river Jaskier had been using for water. The lake was wreathed in trees, and in the center of its glassy surface the moon above shone brilliantly. It lit the water in a fiery glow of pale opalescence, enchanting and so much more than any pool of water Jaskier had ever seen before.

“Help me down,” Geralt said, drawing Jaskier’s attention.

“Down?” Jaskier asked. “You don’t mean…”

But Geralt just leveled him with a patient, if unyielding stare. With a little sigh of resignation, Jaskier tested the solidity of the bank and plotted a course to ease the witcher into the water. The water was freezing. His clothing would be ruined. Mud squelched beneath his boots. Water sunk into his shoes. His back arched like a cat and with his shoulders up against his ears, he tottered around to offer Geralt a hand and help him in – only to pause, hand halfway between them.

Geralt looked otherworldly. Despite his damaged shirt and muddied pants and his bloodied flesh torn asunder, he looked beautiful. In him the moonlight seemed to catch and grow – not from any magic, but from the sheer significant focus in the witcher’s face. Whatever this was, this was important to Geralt. This was no party, no night to dance to. This was tradition in a sense that most people no longer understood. This was decades of beliefs passed down by calloused hands and grizzled, spoken words. A small moment of peace and mercy in a lifetime of ungrateful, dangerous work.

Jaskier sucked in a little breath, then steeled himself. He took a squelching step forward and raised his hand for Geralt to take. He bade his body maintain its balance as Geralt’s weight made him sink further into the mud, but for once the thought didn’t even cross his mind that he had likely ruined his shoes beyond repair. Every trivial worry, every materialistic concern – all of it disappeared as Geralt took his hand and let the bard guide him into the water.

The water rose first to their knees, then just below their hips, until finally Jaskier stopped Geralt with a firm hand against his sternum. He wouldn’t let the wound get wet. That was the line he wouldn’t cross, and in the moment Geralt looked at him, the witcher seemed to recognize a fight not worth having when he saw it.

“Hold out the plate,” Geralt finally said, his hair a halo of moonlight. When Jaskier did, he formed a quick sign with his free hand, and one by one the three candles sprung to life. Then he paused.

Jaskier looked between the plate and Geralt once, twice, then asked softly, “Is that it, or…?”

From a little pouch tied around his neck, Geralt removed the bundle he had asked Jaskier not to open back at camp. He swayed in the water, tired and aching, but remained steadfast as piece by piece, he revealed a silver medallion emblazoned with a wolf’s head. It looked just like Geralt’s, only older. Older and scarred, a jagged groove slashed right across the width of it, its chain dangling weakly from Geralt’s fingers.

“We give thanks for the lives we saved,” Geralt said, the words sounding like the echo of a prayer said dozens and dozens of times across the span of centuries, “and we beg mercy for the things we couldn’t change…”

Jaskier stilled, the candles flickering delicately between them, and waited with bated breath. Afraid that any inhale too loud, any flinch too jarring might shatter the moment.

Geralt’s gaze lowered to the medallion in his hand. He ran a rough thumb over the scarred metal, licked his dry lips and said, “We pray for safe passage for our brother, and plead that his sacrifices weigh more than his sins. For he was good, and in this hard world he tried to be just.”

Jaskier’s fingers tightened on the plate. He felt the lake sway around them comfortingly, as though it were a presence all its own. This is what witchers did on Midsummer while humans drank and danced. And while he hardly begrudged the town their making merry and celebrating, it made this moment all the more painful to bear. They could celebrate because of witchers like Geralt, who saved their fathers and mothers, their daughters and sons.

So why didn’t witchers get to dance and make merry?

Instead they prayed for peace, and grace, and mercy – knowing that when they returned to the hunt the next day, that the people they protected would widely never truly thank them for it. Jaskier felt suddenly choked by the contrast. His lashes burned, but he bit his cheek and forced himself to bear it. The plate felt suddenly so heavy. No wonder Geralt couldn’t carry it alone.

With a sharp breath – a sound that struck Jaskier as resigned and weary – Geralt placed the medallion into the halo of flowers and candles.

“And finally, we ask for blessings in the coming days,” Geralt said softly as he brought his hands over top of Jaskier’s instead of taking the plate away, “so that we may walk the Path until it ends, and another prays instead.”

Jaskier sucked in a shuddering little breath, his eyes only darting up when Geralt rubbed a thumb soothingly over the backs of his hands on either side of the plate.

“Lower it down,” Geralt said softly, and as though they were lowering a man into his grave, they set the plate atop the surface of the lake. With a gentle tap, Geralt urged it on its way and they watched it drift, side by side.

It was a long moment before Jaskier could find the words to speak.

“I thought witchers burned their dead,” he croaked, his hands trembling from the weight of it all. Even as Midsummer blew a warm, soothing breath across the back of his neck, he shivered. Geralt didn’t take his eyes off the plate as he thought over that, leaning into Jaskier the longer they stood in the lake – the mud slowly giving way beneath his feet.

“We do,” Geralt said. “But we do this too.”

“You deserve better,” Jaskier said.

Geralt hummed.

“Perhaps,” Geralt said, voice trailing away as the plate became a pinprick of light in the night. “But doesn’t everyone?”

Jaskier looked at him then. Took in the profile of this man – this man who had his childhood stripped from him to protect the very folks that abandoned and condemned him daily. Felt the weight of that injustice. The beauty of that sacrifice. The urge to write swelled within him. Ballads to convey the witcher’s plight. Rich, round words to even the scales and turn the tides.

And yet he knew that Geralt would not want that. That Geralt would not want to share this rare glimpse of peace with the world. This moment was for witchers and their tiny found family. And so the ballads faded, and the songs bled into silence, and instead all Jaskier could think to say was this:

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Geralt.”

“I’m sorry it’s no feast,” Geralt said weakly, wryly, as though he had been afraid of what Jaskier would think about this witcher’s tradition in comparison to the parties he was used to.

“Midsummer is a celebration of life and love,” Jaskier said, holding Geralt’s gaze. “There is no wrong way to do that, Geralt. It only matters that we do.”

Geralt nodded at that, not blinking as Jaskier wove an arm beneath his own to help take some of the weight off his wounded side.

“This is how the Wolves of Kaer Morhen pay homage to Midsummer,” he said softly.

“I hope they won’t mind that I imposed,” Jaskier went for charming, but an apology drifted anxiously at the heels of the sentence. Geralt hummed.

“You don’t have to be a witcher to be a Wolf of Kaer Morhen, Jaskier,” Geralt said. He stood stiff in the bard’s arms. Anxious, Jaskier realized. Even as his own heart soared, he realized the significance of what Geralt was suggesting. The fear of rejection that corded his muscles tight.

“Noted,” Jaskier said, turning Geralt just slightly so they might press their foreheads together and simply breathe. “Then I suppose I’ll have to mark the occasion on my calendar from now on, won’t I?”

Geralt’s breath shuddered against his lips. An exhale that emptied him of all fear until nothing was left but two men standing in a lake, family found in suffering. A consummation of love beneath the moon, a promise made in the curve of two bodies holding one another up despite the hardships that awaited.

A homage to love in Midsummer; quiet, patient and unrelenting.

[cxhnow]

THE KIDS ARE MORE THAN ALRIGHT: CHLOE AND HALLE ARE KILLING IT

At only 21 and 20 years old respectively, Chloe and Halle, the sister singing duo signed to Beyoncé’s Parkwood Entertainment, have an almost preternatural poise and polish. You see it in on-camera interviews, their big smiles never breaking, or when they’re singing the National Anthem at the Super Bowl, their harmonies as sweeping and pristine as harmonies can be. Even in the homemade YouTube covers which made them Internet-famous as adolescents — a cover of Beyoncé’s “Pretty Hurts” (a song, interestingly enough, about the demands on young women to be flawless) caught the attention of Queen B and got them signed in 2015 in the first place — they have a peaceful and almost uncannily seasoned presence.

This seeming perfection has made them into major role models to young fans, and one of them into a future megastar fronting the massive Disney machine, as the younger Halle takes the lead role of Ariel in the live-action remake of The Little Mermaid expected out in 2021. They’ve had real world ambitions for the entirety of their teen years, starting their YouTube channel when Chloe was 13 and Halle 11, criss-crossing the country multiple times as the opening act for their mentor Bey, and dabbling in acting, with roles on Kenya Barris’ sitcom Grown-ish.

But beyond the sheen they’ve developed, it’s nice to hear, on a quarantine Zoom call one Friday morning, that they are more steadfastly committed — even dogged — about their craft than they are the presentation. They write, arrange, and produce much of their own music in their home studio in Los Angeles. While their sophomore album, Ungodly Hour, features guestwork by super-producers Scott Storch and Mike WiLL Made-It, the sisters executive produced the whole thing, and still brought unfinished collaborative tracks home from sessions to tighten them up in their own way, on their own computer software.

Though their debut, The Kids Are Alright — an unlikely but satisfying cross between SZA and Björk — hinted at this artistry, Ungodly Hour is the true breakthrough. It’s a grown-up album in a number of ways, with lyrics about hook-ups, break-ups, and mess-ups. But it’s also just undeniably and straightforwardly cool. In the choreography-heavy video for the excellent “Do It,” their astonishing maturity begins to look more like bravado. They mine sounds from late-’90s R&B, recalling forebears like Aaliyah, Destiny’s Child, TLC, and Blaque, but have come up with something refreshing and personal. There are no lags on Ungodly Hour, no saccharine ballads or misplaced attempts at massive over-the-top pop — just easily enjoyable bops with silky harmonies and relatable themes. That’s an achievement for an artist of any age.

In conversation, they are, yes, incredibly composed, but also engaged and interested in talking about a range of subjects, from 808s and Atlanta to politics and pain. Here, the two sisters offer a little glimpse into their lives — and how they got to be so on top of everything to begin with.

Note: This interview occurred after the death of George Floyd but before demonstrations surrounding the killing fully heated up across the country, and the sisters have since delayed the release of the album from the original June 5 to this Friday, June 12. At the bottom of this Q&A, we’ve included some questions and answers the two responded to by email this week concerning moving the release date and their solidarity with the protestors.

Have you been quarantining together?

Halle: We are quarantining together in Los Angeles. We’re in our family home, so it’s really nice to all be together.

Chloe: I think, you know, with any family being in close spaces, you all have to relearn each other. You can’t, like, escape and go to your own corner.

H: We’re learning more every single day in quarantine what not to do [laughs]. We know the trigger points for both of us. We both love to get our feelings out, so once we do that, I think it’s good.

Let’s get into the album: In the past, your music has had an innocence about it, but this album is pretty grown.

C: You know, with anything in life, we never like to force it. Halle just turned 20. I’ll be 22 in July. Naturally, the music will just grow with that. We’re sharing our experiences, sharing what we’re going through, whether it’s heartbreak or falling in love or our insecurities — what makes us tick. People only really know us as, like, little sweet angels and all of that. And everyone is multi-layered.

“Busy Boy” is about a guy who sleeps around and sends you unsolicited late night photos of, well, a very particular body part of his. Are lines like this born from real life?

H: Absolutely. All the songs on the album are pulled from real-life experiences, real-life relationships. And for “Busy Boy,” everyone can relate to knowing this guy who is just so hot, he is just A+ everywhere. But everyone knows him as a player. They know he jumps around from girl to girl. It was funny to talk about that because in our little girl group [of friends], sometimes we do find that one dude who has tried to talk to all of us. And we laugh about it and we kiki about it.

Are you able to find time to date and have fun, and do what young people do?

H: Of course!

C: You know, we explore. We date around. We’re learning as we experience life. And it helps stimulate the lyrics.

There’s a lot of tense back and forth between the sexes on the album, and I wonder if you thought of it as a kind of break-up album.

C: It’s that back and forth because that’s how it was in our lives at the time when we were creating this album. You know, my sister and I, we’re at that age where you’re learning yourself through relationships, learning how people work. Even though Halle and I are a year and a half apart, we were going through the same thing at the same time when we were writing. We were heartbroken and putting that into the music. But we also wanted to come from a point where we don’t have to be these weak girls crying over it, but instead take our power back.

H: Love is a huge theme of the album. But also feeling alone, and the rawness. These were all themes that we hadn’t really talked about before in music. Our deepest, deepest feelings. The title, Ungodly Hour, stemmed from everything that happens during those hours, you know, in the middle of the night when you’re about to go to sleep. You’re thinking of all your insecurities — your mind is swimming. You’re thinking of lustful things, you’re thinking of heartbreak.

C: It feels conversational because when we were writing it, we were simply having a conversation. My sister and I tell each other everything when it comes to these things. And as we’re sitting down, explaining, “I’m pissed because of this,” or, “I’m happy because of this,” we would just write it into the music.

You worked with the 2000s producer Scott Storch on “Do It,” and there’s almost a nostalgic feel for that time in R&B and pop.

C: He’s really a legend, and just seeing him on the keys when we had multiple sessions together, we were always left in awe. Production-wise, I’ve always been inspired by experimental sounds and the weirder side of music. But while we were making this album, I really started falling more and more in love with ’90s music and early 2000s production; listening to a lot of Kelis. We wanted this album to feel fun and flirty, but also grunge, in a way, and a little dark and mysterious and sexy. And I really feel like ’90s production with beautiful melodies on top truly embodied that. [‘90s producers] weren’t afraid to experiment.

How do you balance creative freedom and experimentation with what I imagine to be a lot of pressure to make a hit?

H: We were feeling a little bit, like, “So where do we go from here? What do we do now?” We were a little bit stuck at the beginning, because we were hearing from the label about doing songs a bit more commercial. Whenever we are given direction, it always throws us off. Whenever somebody tells us what to do, we don’t like it. At the beginning, we were making songs that didn’t really sound like us. And we realized we were trying to please everyone else.

So then we were like, You know what? Scratch that. Let’s go back to the beginning. Let’s remember why we’re doing this. Let’s make the sounds that make us happy. Let’s go back to doing those experimental things that have made us so happy all the time. With these sessions with [Ariana Grande songwriter] Victoria [Monet] and Scott [Scorch], we can also add a bop or two in there and find a beautiful way to do it without sacrificing our musical integrity. We never want to feel like we’re selling out.

You taught yourselves how to produce, arrange, write, and record your music at a very young age, but now that there is this bigger spotlight, is it important to still create in that more organic way?

C: Absolutely. Yeah. If we didn’t keep that, I don’t think we would even have finished this album. We love creating at home so much. You know, [our first album] The Kids Are Alright, we created the whole thing in our living room. [For this album], we converted the garage and carpeted it up and made it into our little studio here. We always prefer home and working on our laptop and arranging all the weird harmonies together and recording each other.

We worked with so many amazing producers and songwriters on this album, but at the end of every session, we would take the stems, and we would revamp them up and really add, like, our sauce to the songs afterward so it really felt like us. But also, half the album is strictly just us and our production and writing as well. We executive produced it. That’s the only way to do it. If it starts to feel forced or bad, we walk away.

What programs do you use to produce on your laptop?

C: I’m a huge Logic Pro girl. When we do live shows, I use Ableton, but when we’re recording each other and I’m making the tracks, it’s all on Logic.

You’re known for your harmonies, and you also produce all your own vocals. How do you think about the resonance and affect and power of your voices? What are you aiming for with a vocal?

H: There’s something really special about singing with your sibling, or singing with somebody who has the same blood as you. The Clark Sisters are one of our favorites, and every time we listen to their harmonies, it just takes us to another world. And I don’t know what it is, but every time I sing with my sister, I do feel like it’s a power, like it’s something special that’s happening when the two of us are singing together. It’s different than when I’m just singing alone.

C: We know how to fit and blend with each other. Usually I’ll take like more of the lower notes, and Halle will take a lot more of the higher ones. For me, ever since I was a little girl, I loved Destiny’s Child and Toni Braxton and Nina Simone. Our family would always play Erykah Badu and Jill Scott around the house. So I have grown up loving soulful tones. As I got older, being a female producer, I was really inspired by other female producers, like Grimes and Imogen Heap and Merrill Garbus of Tune-Yards, and I really started appreciating and loving alternative music, where they use different experimental sounds. More recently, I was listening to a lot of Kelis and Missy [Elliott] and Timbaland production, and Aaliyah and all of that. All of my inspirations… I love how it’s in contrast with my sister. Because, you know — and she’ll tell you this — she is a huge jazzhead. She loves jazz melodies. And when the two worlds come together, it kind of creates us.

You mentioned Erykah Badu and Jill Scott as influences, so I gotta ask — what’d you think of the Erykah and Jill Verzuz on Instagram?

H: We loved it so much. We put it on our TV and watched the whole thing.

Who do you think won?

H: They both won. You know, you could sing those songs every single day and never get tired of them. We want our music to live on like those songs live on.

You both have childhood roots in Atlanta, which has become essentially the musical epicenter of America in the last 20 years. Does that influence your sound?

C: Oh my gosh, yeah. Atlanta music is so incredible. We’ve always been so inspired by OutKast. Ciara. Donald Glover.

H: Janelle Monáe.

C: It’s so much soul and rhythm and bounce. And I think that’s why I love big drums and 808 so much. We are true Atlanta girls at heart. And I think that also comes into why we’re really kind. It’s just southern hospitality.

You’re signed to Beyoncé’s management company, Parkwood, and I’m curious what kind of creative notes or advice she gives you when you’re working on an album.

C: She allows us to grow and flourish on our own. And, you know, as we’ve been finding our sound through the past five years, she’s just kind of sat back in the wings and let us do what we want to do. When we feel like we got the music to a special place, we always want her input. It’s Beyoncé! She has the experience, she’s incredibly talented, and she has such good instincts.

With her notes, a lot of the time, we’re on the same page. Whether it’s about what she hears in the layers of the production, if she thinks the production should change on one part, or how we sang a certain word or something, she’ll always recommend, but it’s up to us whether we want to do it or not. She allows us to do what we want to do, musically.

When we sent this album to her, she didn’t have any notes. Halle and I were like, whoa. She must really, really like it. And she could give us as many notes as she wants! She’s Queen Bey.

Halle, you’re about to be Ariel in the live-action version of ‘The Little Mermaid’ for Disney. What is it like wearing the mermaid tail?

H: [Laughs] Well, I can’t really .. [laughs] … that was a good try [laughs]. I can’t really tell you about that [ed. note: Disney is notorious for strictly enforcing a code of silence about a future production]. But it’s really cool being able to play one of my favorite characters from my favorite Disney movie. And show other little black girls that, yes, you can be Ariel too. That the part is not just for anyone who does not look like us. We can do it too.

There was a really dumb conservative backlash when Disney announced it was casting a black woman in the role.

H: Yeah, well, I don’t really pay attention to that stuff. People are hurting right now, so a lot of the times people take their hurt out on you. And you can’t do anything about that. We just gotta move forward in love and light and say a prayer for them, you know?

On one very serious note, you posted a cover on Instagram that blended the hymnals “We Shall Overcome” and “Lift Every Voice and Sing” as a tribute to George Floyd. I’m wondering how you’re viewing what’s happening in America right now?

H: [That] week was very difficult for us. Just that video of George — I couldn’t watch it. This keeps happening to our people. When I see George, I think of my father, and I think of my little brother, and I think of them just wanting to live and to not be killed just for living their lives. I don’t think we will ever understand why it keeps happening. I don’t think we could ever wrap our heads around it.

So we just thought, What can we do? What can we do to make ourselves feel better? What can we do to make everyone feel better? And we decided to sing those two songs that have been sung for many, many years. It made us feel a little better, but it didn’t take it all away. It’s crazy that this keeps repeating itself. [That] whole week was kind of wonky for us.

When I see you two on camera and in interviews, I’m struck by how poised you both are, from such a young age. You present yourself almost perfectly. But I wonder if that ever feels like pressure? You’ve had to be really mature since before most kids ever really do.

H: It’s not a persona. It’s not something that we turn on and we turn off. It’s just the way that our parents raised us. Sometimes, we do get compliments, like, “Oh my gosh. You guys are always so happy and positive. You guys are angels!” And, you know, that’s one side of it, of course. I know some people put us on a pedestal. And I think that what hones us in on continuing to just be positive beings and lights is the way we grew up, our parents constantly reminding us that all of these things don’t matter. All of these grand things don’t matter.

But there’s also the other layers of us that people don’t see when we’re not in the spotlight. We do overthink. We do have insecurities just like everybody else. And that’s what with this album in particular we wanted people to get through their heads. Like, hello, we are just like you. At times, yes, it does get overwhelming. But that’s just a part of life. And that’s more fuel for inspiration for us to write.

As previously noted, the original interview occurred before demonstrations surrounding the killing of George Floyd reached full steam. Here, the two sisters followed up by email more recently in a joint statement to address changing the release date of the album in light of the uprising and how they are participating in protest.

Originally you were meant to release the album on June 5, but now it is coming out this Friday, June 12. How’d you come to that decision?

These past two weeks have definitely felt like an emergency call to justice that is much needed. It was important for us to push our album and bring awareness to everything else that’s been going on. We didn’t want this moment to be about us, but rather about getting justice for our brothers and sisters and making a change.

What are you feeling in heart and mind about what we’re witnessing?

Honestly, it has been very, very difficult for us this past week. Having to witness someone’s life being taken away just because of the color of their skin is just traumatic. Even though these days have been hard, we are thankful that people are now seeing what has been happening for a while. And we are grateful that the world is finally doing something about it! Seeing these protests happening all around the country and world truly makes us hopeful that a change is coming. We are so much stronger than we think and so powerful when we come together.

It’s your generation that’s in no small part fueling this movement — how does it make you feel to see people in your age group activated in this way?

It makes us so proud to see our peers standing up for what’s right. We are the future and deserve to be in a world that protects us, rather than harm us. We deserve to live a life not in fear.

How are you two approaching contributing to the protests — what do you find effective?

We are doing everything we can to speak up for what’s right: signing and posting petitions online, donating, etc. We will not let anyone silence us. We have also been singing a lot more, trying to use our voices as healing for the world right now. Music always tends to be the best therapy.

Where are you turning for information, solace, discussion, leadership, and creativity in a moment like this?

Social media has definitely been one of our main sources. We’ve been seeing and sharing content from our peers who are actually out there protesting on the frontlines and experiencing firsthand. We can now view videos and photos and form our own opinions, instead of being swayed by mainstream media. There’s a lot of stuff that’s not being shown on the news, that we may find on Twitter or Instagram. Because of social media and technology, more light is finally being shed on the injustices being done to our people. It’s helping change our world for the better!

Though it’s an invigorating moment in a lot of ways, it’s also a difficult one, and I’ve been hearing from people that they’re excited to be protesting but also feeling anxious and not sleeping well. How do you keep your mental and physical health up while staying activated around the movement?

As much as it’s our main source of information, we also take frequent breaks from social media. We will delete the various apps from our phones and almost block out the world, in a way. And when we really begin to feel hopeless, prayer and mediation has been so beneficial during these times. As well as working out, to clear our heads and let out any built-up frustration.

Do you have recommendations for your young fans of readings, songs, or movies that they can watch to further educate themselves on racial justice?

The movie American Son shows firsthand what it feels like for a mother to lose her son to police brutality. The book The Water Dancer reminds us of how our ancestors overcame slavery and found freedom through the pain. And even though Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On album was released in the 1970s, it’s still so relevant to what’s going on now in the year 2020.

[Photos were retouched by High Snobiety to make the girls appear lighter. I have included two of the original versions where they are unretouched.]

[smkkbert]

We ended as Lovers (7/12)

Summary: Three years ago, Felicity’s life was perfect. She was offered a job at two great companies. Her boyfriend just started his own fashion label, and they picked a perfect apartment to live in together. The more heartbroken she was when Oliver got cold feet and it all ended. Now, Felicity is coming back to Starling City, well aware that she is destined to run into her ex-boyfriend there. While old feelings revive quickly, the pain still goes deep. Besides, for some reason Oliver seems to be angry with her. 

Previous Chapters: 1  2  3  4  5  6  or read on Ao3

* * *

Chapter 7: Naked

Turning back and forth in front of the mirror, Felicity ogled her reflection critically. The bustier dress had always been one of her favorite dresses to wear for any fancy occasion. Red was just her color, and the dress was neither too extraordinary nor too sexy. It was actually rather simple, but that was exactly Felicity’s style. That it fitted around her body like a second skin without making her feel like she had to hold her breath every second was just that little cherry on the top.

Well, thinking about it now, it might be the most important reason why Felicity loved the dress so much. She always prioritized comfortableness over a good look. She would never make it through an evening in a dress that she didn’t love wearing because it made her feel good.

Felicity moved her hands over the fabric of her dress, still turning from one side to the other to take herself in. She briefly wondered if maybe she was feeling a little too comfortable in this dress. It didn’t only fit her like a second skin. It also felt like one by now.

With a shake of her head, Felicity sighed. She grabbed some earrings and put them in. She only shot her reflection one more glance before she turned away.

It wasn’t like Felicity didn’t care about the way she looked. As a woman in STEM, she knew that your look could give you power. If you dressed like a boss, you were more likely to actually be treated like a boss. Here in Starling, compared to her model-friends and their model-friends, she sometimes felt like she had no idea what she was doing when it came to fashion.

Truth be told, she probably didn’t know what she was doing. She just put on whatever she felt suited the occasion and made her feel good about the way she looked. Even if she had time to brush through fashion magazines, she wouldn’t. She just wasn’t that interested in it.

Felicity glanced at her watch, leaving the bathroom to step into the bedroom of her suite. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and put on her shoes. Thanks to her twisted ankle, she had had to decide on flat shoes which just didn’t make her ass look as fabulous as it did when she was wearing high heels. At least she wouldn’t feel as much as a dwarf as she would feel tomorrow with all of Sara and Nyssa’s model friends.

As much as her thoughts were revolving around them, it wasn’t the dress or the flat shoes that made her feel nervous about the rehearsal dinner. It was seeing Oliver again.

Since he had taken her to her hotel yesterday, Felicity hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. That Oliver hadn’t stood her up when it came to moving in together confused her. That he would have signed the rental contract for that townhouse she had loved so much confused her even more. That Oliver still seemed to be angry with her confused her to a point that she had no idea what was going on even more.

Even now, Felicity frowned, thinking about it. She felt like she was missing a piece of information that she would need to understand what was going on. She just didn’t know how to get that since talking to Oliver wasn’t the easiest thing. It either confused her, or it angered her. Neither of it would help her understand.

With a sigh, Felicity dropped back onto the bed and closed her eyes. Two little voices were fighting in her head. One of them reminded her of her good resolutions of forgetting Oliver. The other wanted to know what had really gone down three years ago.

Felicity was still thinking about all of this when her phone rang. She briefly considered ignoring it. She wasn’t feeling like talking to anybody. She felt like she had talked way too much the last few days as it was. Once she was back in Hub City, she’d lock herself in her library and hide between her books for at least a week.

Since her phone just kept ringing, Felicity guessed that it was a lot more stubborn that she was. With a sigh, she gave in and grabbed her phone blindly.

“Yes?”

“You sound like crap,” Lena said simply, “and you probably look even worse.”

It took Felicity a moment to realize what Lena meant. She moved her phone from her ear and held it a couple of inches over her face. Indeed, Lena’s face was there, looking at her with perked up eyebrows. Lena’s gaze was almost piercing though her eyes and right into her soul. It was almost like Lena could look through her too, and Felicity already knew it wouldn’t make things any easier.

“I feel like real crap too.”

Felicity put her free hand to her forehead. She felt like she was running a fever, but her head didn’t feel suspiciously warm. It felt all normal, so she guessed it was the usual feeling of being lost in the world. It was a feeling she should be used to. It had been with her for years after her father had left, and it had come back to her after she had lost Oliver one day and left Starling City the next.

Lately, with Lena and Lily at her side as partners in Helix Dynamics and as friends, she had felt like she had found her place. She was happy where she was because she was more successful than she could have ever imagined. Her work at Helix Dynamics challenged and inspired her at the same time. Working with two women that were just as passionate just made it better. It was everything she could imagine from a job.

Being back here now, having so many old feelings revived and feeling torn between her anger and whatever else there was, was just confusing. She felt as lost as she had felt when she had been when she had decided to leave Starling from one day to the other.

“Is this about Oliver?”

Felicity wanted to deny it because she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear whatever Lena would have to say about that. She didn’t want to lie to her friend though. It wasn’t who she was. It wasn’t who they were.

“Oliver didn’t stand me up three years ago.” Felicity sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. “For reasons I cannot explain in a way that makes sense or sound like I had a stroke or something, he thought we were going to rent the townhouse I loved so much. He was there, waiting for me, while I was at the loft, waiting for him.”

“You don’t want to tell me that your break-up was the result of a misunderstanding, do you?”

“As far as I can see, it was.”

“But?”

“But,” Felicity said pointedly, feeling the corners of her lips twitch at how easily Lena had been able to detect that there was a but coming, “Oliver seems to see it differently. He said not everything is a misunderstanding. What is that supposed to mean? I know that I left the day after this happened, but I really thought we were done. Adrian told me that he said we were done. Maybe he just said it out of anger, and he changed his mind and showed up to what he thought was our appointment. That still doesn’t explain why he never took any of my calls and-“

“Felicity.”

As quiet as Lena’s voice was, it was still quite determined. She looked at Felicity with something that might be pity or comfort or something entirely else or maybe a mixture of everything before. Either way, it made Felicity shut up and bite down on her tongue immediately. She had already known that Lena would have a strong opinion about this. She shouldn’t be surprised now.

“When you left Starling because of Oliver three years ago, you were heartbroken,” she reminded her with gentle voice, “you were the shell of the woman you really were all because of him. Don’t let anything or anyone change what you made of yourself.”

Felicity nodded her head slowly. Deep down, she knew that Lena was right. She had basically packed her stuff in Starling overnight and had left because she hadn’t been able to endure a single second more there. She had come to Gotham City, still not having processed anything about the break-up. Lena and Lily had detected it immediately, and they had helped her to get through it.

Now, while Felicity knew how badly she had been hurt, she couldn’t deny that she still had feelings for Oliver. Within these last three years, she had told herself that she was over him and that she didn’t love him anymore. Everything she had been through in these last couple of days since she had come back told her that she had been wrong. She wasn’t over him, and she still loved him. She just couldn’t say anything of that out loud yet.

“Come home, Felicity,” Lena pleaded, “the sooner, the better.”

Felicity nodded her head and gulped down hard. She knew that Lena was right. No matter what had really happened or what would still happen, she had to go back to Hub City. The sooner she went back to where her life was, the better. In Hub City, life was just so much easier. Everything was so much easier in Hub City.

“We need you here,” she added after a moment, “with Lily’s baby coming soon and everything else. Even if nothing was going on here, we would need you here.”

Of course Felicity knew that Lena meant it. Lena appreciated her as a partner, and she could see what uniqueness Felicity brought to the company. All of them brought something unique to the company. It was why they worked so well as a team. Neither of them was replaceable because they had different abilities, different perspectives and different visions.

“And I think that you need Hub City too,” Lena added eventually, “because Starling is just not good for you.”

“I will come as soon as the wedding is over,” Felicity said, nodding her head although Lena couldn’t see it, “today is the rehearsal dinner. Tomorrow is the wedding. The day after tomorrow I am on my plane back to Hub City.”

“And you are never going to return to Starling City.”

The thought made Felicity’s heart cramp. Starling had been her home for so long. She had loved living here. She had loved loving here. As painful as it had been to return, she didn’t know if she could stay away from it forever.

“Well, I still have friends here.” Felicity pursed her lips. “I don’t think Nyssa, Sara or Thea would like if I made a promise like that. I already got into some trouble with them because we didn’t spend enough time with each other. Besides, with our cooperation with Queen Consolidated, I have to come back here eventually.”

Felicity was almost sure that Lena could look right through it. She didn’t want to talk about it though, at least not yet. That was why she just released a sigh.

“We will see each other the day after tomorrow.”

“I will pick you up from the airport,” Lena said, nodding her head, “just text me when boarding starts.”

“I will.” Felicity shot her friend a smile. “Bye, Lena.”

“Bye, Felicity.”

Quickly, Felicity ended the call and held her phone to her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking some deep breaths. She didn’t have much time to get lost in her thoughts once more though because her phone was beeping again soon, announcing an incoming text.

AC: Hi! I’m stuck in the office for a little longer & can’t pick you up yet. Sorry!

Felicity sighed, pushing her bottom lip forward. With Adrian by her side, it would have been easier to go back to the Queen Mansion. She couldn’t really tell Sara that she was coming late though. With Dinah and Laurel there, Sara would need her.

FS: I’ll take a cab. Don’t spend too much time at the office.

AC: Sorry again!

FS: Don’t worry. It’s fine. See you there.

AC: I’ll hurry.

FS: Good because we need strong guys there if Sara attacks her mother with the steak knife.

AC: Now I’ll hurry even more. We don’t want the wedding to be overshadowed by that.

Felicity smiled. Adrian really was a good friend, and she knew she could count on him. When Adrian said that he would hurry up, he would hurry up. He was reliable.

With a glance at her watch, Felicity sighed and sat up. She called a cab and got up from the bed. She shot another critical look into the mirror, brushing through her hair with her fingers, before she turned to leave.

In forty-eight hours, she would be back in Hub City, and Starling City wouldn’t be forgotten, but it would be in her past.

 * * *

 Taking in another deep breath, Felicity rang the bell. She knew that she could just go in like she had done yesterday, but she’d easily use every opportunity at hand to waste some time before she went in. The later she would meet Oliver, the better were her chances at finding some distracting and not having to talk to him.

To Felicity’s disappointment, the door was opened rather soon. Raisa, the Queens’ housemaid that had a huge part in raising Oliver and Thea, smiled at her warmly.

“Ms. Felicity,” she said, making old memories of her time in Starling reawaken inside of her, “it’s very nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Raisa.”

The warm smile on Raisa’s face was all invitation Felicity needed to step closer to her and hug her. Raisa seemed surprised, but she hugged Felicity back nonetheless. She was too affectionate, always had been as far as Felicity could judge, to not hug her back.

Back when Felicity had been a frequent visitor in the mansion, she and Raisa had always exchanged some words when the latter had opened the door. For a brief time, Raisa had even tried to teach Felicity how to cook, but, just like Oliver before, she had given up on it. Felicity was just a hopeless case when it came to cooking.

“Ms. Thea is already waiting for you,” Raisa said, taking Felicity’s coat and gesturing towards the living room, “she is excited for you to see everything she has planned.”

“I am sure she did great.”

“Of course she did.” Raisa smiled as proudly like a mother now. “She has a talent for bringing people together and turn the living room into everything it has to be for different occasions.”

With that, Raisa gestured towards the living room once more and left. Felicity smiled after her for a moment, but she soon turned towards the living room. There was still some hustle and bustle going on there as the last preparations were taken care of. Thea, wearing a short black dress full of sequins, stood in the middle of the room, directing the people around like a conductor leading an orchestra.

Felicity stepped towards Thea, doing her best not to limp. As soon as Thea noticed her, she gave a few last orders and turned to meet Felicity halfway. She hugged her before she looked down on Felicity’s foot. It wasn’t wrapped into a bandage anymore because Felicity wouldn’t have fit into any of her shoes, so it was quite obvious how swollen it was.

“Looks bad.” Thea hissed, lifting her gaze back to Felicity. “Does it feel as bad as it looks.”

“Worse I guess,” Felicity replied with a sigh, shrugging her shoulders, “but there is nothing to be done about it. I am trying not to use that foot too much, cool it regularly and bandage it if possible.”

Thea squeezed her hand. “If you need anything – a cooling pad, painkillers or a chair to rest your foot on – just let me know.”

“Actually,” Felicity said, squeezing her hand right back, “I wondered if there was anything I could do to help you. I feel like I have been the worst maid of honor possible.”

Thea smiled, shaking her head. “You know me. I just love planning things like this. No reason to feel guilty, and everything is done.”

Felicity looked around, admiring the fancy decorations and the love for details as everything looked absolutely in tune with the room and the whole design concept. Thea had clearly outdone herself once more. Still, Felicity knew that Thea would manage to top it with everything she had planned for tomorrow once more. She would never bring her A-game when there was still a wedding coming.

Just when Felicity wanted to tell Thea exactly that, the young Queen let go of her hand and hurried towards the door. Frowning, Felicity followed Thea’s movements with her eyes and felt her heart started to race at the sight of Oliver. He was dressed in a tuxedo with a bowtie, looking incredibly good.

His gaze had already caught hers, and he looked at her intensely, his eyes almost reaching under her skin. He didn’t seem less nervous about seeing her though. His fingers rubbed together in his usual nervous twitch.

Apparently, Thea didn’t catch any of the nervousness in the room. She grabbed Oliver’s hand and pulled him right to where Felicity was standing.

“What do you think, Ollie?” she asked him. “Will Sara and Nyssa like this?”

“They will love it.” Oliver smiled at his sister. “You have outdone yourself, Speedy.”

Speedy. The nickname made Felicity smile because it was just too damn cute. Back when Felicity had still been a preschooler, she had always followed Oliver around. She had wanted to be just like him. At least that was what Oliver had told Felicity. Thea, on the other hand, claimed that she had just followed Oliver around because she had totally had a crush on his best friend Tommy Merlyn.

It didn’t matter what exactly had been the origins of the name. It was the warmth that was in Oliver’s voice when he called his little sister by her nickname that made it so beautiful.

A wave of warmth flooded through Felicity, and she felt her heart cramp in response. She had to stop connecting Oliver with all his positive sides. These last days, she had failed at that, but she would give her best to make that change in the time she had left here.

Puckering her lips, Felicity looked around. There wasn’t much for her to busy herself with. She noticed that there was a new painting over the fireplace though. It wasn’t really new. It actually looked quite old. It was new in the Queen Mansion. At least Felicity had never seen it before.

Pretending to be absolutely drawn by the painting, Felicity left Oliver and Thea’s side and stepped to the fireplace instead. The painting showed a rising sun behind a field. It was painted with warm colors that were probably a clue for some era or drawing style. Felicity had no idea if that was true. She understood as much about paintings as she did about fashion or cooking.

Felicity continued looking at the painting. There really wasn’t that much to be soon, so she was sure that it was going to attract attraction sooner or later. She could already feel Oliver’s eyes on the back of her neck, and it made goosebumps run down her spine.

In less than forty-eight hours she wouldn’t be in Starling City anymore. In less than forty-eight hours she would even be back in Hub City.

“Admiring our newest purchase?”

Robert smiled softly when he stepped next to Felicity. Shooting him a brief glance, she saw that he was dressed in a tuxedo just like Oliver. Although the formal look suited him quite well, he didn’t look exactly comfortable about it. His fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt and the bowtie, trying to loosen both.

“It’s beautiful,” Felicity said, “1920s?”

“1889.”

“Klimt?”

“Van Gogh.”

“I really don’t have any chance at even pretending to be an expert in the arts.”

Robert chuckled, putting his hand to her shoulder. “You have other talents that are much more important than that.”

Felicity hummed in agreement. While art was nice to look at for a lot of people, she doubted that a lot of people could earn their money with it. As someone who had made her passion a job, she could only hope that the people who loved art as much as she loved tech found their way to make their passion their job too.

“How’s your foot?”

When Felicity looked at him with surprise, he nodded towards Thea and Oliver. Of course they had told him what had happened to her yesterday. By now, everyone she knew here in Starling probably knew about it already.

“I’m fine.” Felicity released a long sigh, getting the feeling that she would have to say that a lot of times today. “The foot hurts and it’s-“

A movement at the door caught Felicity’s attention, and she turned her head towards it briefly. She was already looking back at Robert by the time that what she had seen finally caught up to her. Her heart stood still, and she looked back towards the door.

The man, who had just stepped into the living room, was slim and tall. His grey hair looked untouched of the wind that had been going on when Felicity had arrived. The expression in his oval face looked dignified, almost like he owned the room already.

She shouldn’t remember his face. She shouldn’t remember the steel blue of his eyes or his thin lips. She should maybe notice some resemblance to the man she had once known, but she shouldn’t instantly know that it was him. After all these years, she really shouldn’t.

“He didn’t answer to the invitation,” Robert mumbled, his uncomfortableness audible in his voice, “so I thought he wouldn’t make it.”

Felicity shot Robert a glance, and she could see in his eyes that he was definitely not happy about this unexpected meeting. He looked honestly sorry which didn’t surprise Felicity. Robert knew what had happened between her and her father that she had chosen a long time ago that she never wanted to see him again. If he had had a chance at preventing this meeting from happening, he would have.

“He was invited to the rehearsal dinner when we thought that you weren’t going to make it to it. Since he never answered to the invitation, I guessed he wouldn’t come and didn’t think it was relevant mentioning it,” Robert said quickly, stepping closer behind Felicity. “I am very sorry.”

Felicity couldn’t say anything. She felt like she had a giant lump in her throat that made it impossible for her to speak. If she tried, she was sure there would only be a strangled sound falling from it.

Noah was approaching them now. Unlike Robert, he didn’t seem to feel guilty of anything. He had caused so much damaged by just leaving his girlfriend and their daughter, and still he dared to approach her with a content smile like that. While Felicity had trouble breathing, too nervous about what she would possibly do when her father was standing in front of her, she felt Robert straightening up even more in her back almost like he wanted to defend her against her father.

“Robert,” Noah said, turning towards Robert at first, “it’s nice to see you again.”

Felicity looked back and forth between the two men. She felt like she was caught in some kind of dream. This was the first time she was seeing her dad in twenty years, and he didn’t only smile, but he also had the nerve to turn to Robert Queen before even looking at her. What kind of person did that?

“Noah.” Robert shook Noah’s hand, and Felicity could see her father flinch at the strong grip of Robert’s hand. “We didn’t think you would come.”

“A meeting was canceled, so I could come here spontaneously.” He smiled at Robert, still ignoring Felicity. “I remembered that you once told me that your house is always prepared for spontaneous occasions. Since I couldn’t make it to the wedding tomorrow – Starling’s biggest event of the year – I thought I would just come by.”

“You should have called.” Robert’s voice left no doubt that he was angry. “For obvious reasons, it would have been good to have a heads-up on this.”

Noah turned towards Felicity, and she felt the knuckles of her hand tingling with the need to punch him in the face. In her dreams, she had always thought that she would cry when she saw him again. The reality proved to be quite different from that. She just felt incredibly angry.

“I need some air.”

With that, she turned around before her father could address a single word at her. She wouldn’t let him say anything, not to her. Not after all these years.

She stepped through the terrace doors outsides. Although the wind was blowing right into her face, she ignored it. She was so angry that she felt incredibly warm anyway, and she just needed to walk away as far as the Queens’ garden and as quickly as her injured foot allowed her to.

With quick steps, she crossed the terrace and limped down the stairs to the park-like facilities. She darkly remembered that the paths outside would lead her along the borders of the property. Since that path would allow her to stay away from the mansion for as long as possible, she took it although it was all dark and her foot hurt already.

Almost twenty years had passed since her father had just left. In a cloak-and-dagger operation, he just packed his stuff and left with all money overnight. He hadn’t taken the time to say goodbye and explain why he was leaving. He hadn’t allowed Felicity or Donna to prepare for his departure. He had just left them with nothing, causing them to be kicked out of their apartment and forcing Donna to work three jobs at a time to earn the necessary money to bring her and Felicity through.

He couldn’t just show up here and pretend like nothing had happened. That he had just showed up without a warning, knowing very well that Felicity would be here, only made it worse. Not apologizing or feeling any guilt about ambushing her like that was just unforgivable. If there was a prize for worst dads’ behavior, he would certainly be awarded with it.

Bitter as she was about this entire meeting and everything, Felicity thought that he would probably be proud of it. He had done so much to earn it, he did have to run for that title.

“Felicity!”

Ignoring his voice and his steps that followed close behind her and seemed to catch up quickly, Felicity walked even a little more quickly. She didn’t want to talk to him now. She didn’t even want to see him. She wanted to be alone, needed it even. She just didn’t have the energy for anything else right now.

“Felicity.”

His voice was right behind her now. Felicity knew that she couldn’t just shake him off. Even if her foot wasn’t injured, he would be quicker than her. Taking in a deep breath, she gathered all the strength and self-control she still had and turned around to him. Her gaze met his immediately, and Felicity could almost see him flinch at whatever he found in her eyes.

“I can’t fight with you right now,” she told him, her voice trembling, but at least not breaking, “because I have no energy for that. I just can’t do that right now.”

Oliver looked at her intensely. Felicity knew him well enough to know that the expression in his eyes was either sympathy or pity. Given the current state of their relationship, she guessed it was the second. She hated being pitied and always had, so she lowered her eyes, staring at her feet for a moment.

When she lifted her gaze, Oliver was still looking at her. She wasn’t sure anymore if it was pity in his eyes. She almost believed that it was sympathy, but she didn’t want to think about it. It didn’t matter what it was after all.

“I can’t fight,” she repeated and sucked in a sniffling breath, “and I just hope that there was a time that you loved me enough to respect that now. Please.”

Something about her words seemed to touch him because the expression in his eyes changed. It grew even softer. Maybe there was even a little bit of regret in there. Felicity was just too consumed by all of her own emotions to say.

“I don’t want to fight,” Oliver said eventually, “but I brought you your coat. It’s cold.”

Felicity could feel the wind blowing into her face, but she couldn’t feel any cold. She felt incredibly warm from the way her heart was still racing in her chest. The slight stinging of her cheeks told her that maybe her body wouldn’t feel as warm if it wasn’t for her anger though.

Nodding her head, Felicity took the coat from him and slipped into the sleeves. It only made her feel even warmer, but she buttoned the front of it nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she said with a quiet voice, not looking at him, “but I still can’t talk to you. I just need some air and walk around here.”

Although she still kept her gaze lowered, she could feel Oliver’s eyes on her. He was watching her intensely. Felicity wished he would just turn around and walk away, so she could continue with her walk through the garden too.

“Mind if we walk together?”

Felicity lifted her gaze, cocking her head. She was sure that Oliver’s suggestion was meant honestly. The softness in his eyes told Felicity that he really just wanted to accompany her, so she wasn’t alone. He knew her history with her father better than anyone else after all.

With their history of spending time together alone, Felicity didn’t think that Oliver’s company was what she needed right now. No matter how much he honestly didn’t want to fight with her, they would do it anyway at the end, and if they didn’t fight, they would have sex with each other. If she had to choose, Felicity would probably even pick the quickie in the dark of the garden because at least an orgasm would distract her from everything else. It would make her feel good.

It didn’t matter what Felicity thought. She was too exhausted to even just turn Oliver down. She felt weak like she had been sick for months and this was the first time that she was back on her feet, and she was already wearing high heels and had been signed up by a marathon. Just standing here too all the energy she had already.

With a nod of her head, Felicity gave in to Oliver’s suggestion.

They walked in silence for a long time, keeping a safe distance of several inches between them. Felicity kept her hands in the pockets of her coat and kept her gaze lowered to the ground. Still, she could feel Oliver’s gaze on the side of her face every now and then.

Being back in Starling City was just a nightmare. At first, she had been stressed by Oliver and their history together. Now, her father made things even worse. Maybe if she had met him in Hub City where she was feeling stable and safe, she could have dealt with it. Here in Starling, she was just way too vulnerable.

Felicity bit down on her tongue as hard as possible, trying to breathe through the burning feeling in her throat. She really didn’t want to cry, but she got the feeling that it wasn’t going to be easy to hold the tears back.

When she felt a single tear welling in her left eye and trying to escape over the corner of her eye, Felicity pulled her hand out of the pocket of her coat quickly. Brushing a single finger against the corner of her eye, she wiped the tear away before it could fall. A second tear followed and rolled down her cheek. It had already reached the edge of her jaw by the time her fingers finally managed to wipe them away.

She was about to push her hand back into the pocket of her coat when Oliver’s fingers linked through hers. Unlike her hand that was incredibly cold, Oliver’s fingers were nicely warm. Since his hand was just so much bigger than hers, it encompassed hers almost completely and wrapped her into his warmth.

Surprised by the gesture, Felicity shot Oliver a brief glance. She barely dared looking at him, too afraid what he would see in her eyes. Oliver kept his gaze right ahead of him, not looking back at her. His jaw was tensed, and he almost looked like he was holding his breath. He looked angry and that feeling almost made her want to pull her hand away from his, but his fingers were wrapped around hers tightly. He made no attempt to let go.

Sucking her bottom lip between her front teeth, Felicity tried to relax at the feeling of her hand in his. She tried to gain strength from it. Oliver was here with her to comfort her and to make sure she wasn’t feeling alone after this. In a moment like this, he reminded her so much of the Oliver she had fallen in love with.

As much as she tried and as much as she wanted to gain strength and comfort from his touch, Felicity couldn’t do it. She was too vulnerable after everything that had happened, and that just made her scared of getting her heart broken even more than it already was. She couldn’t do this, not right now.

Back when she had met Ray Palmer, a really attractive and nice guy she had shared a lot of interests with, she had been ready to get her heart broken again. She had been ready to go all in. Her head had been ready, willing to risk her heart to find some real happiness and love again. Her heart just hadn’t played along.

Maybe one day, one day soon even, she would find someone that her heart trusted enough to follow her head into the battle again. For now, that just wasn’t the case.

Gulping down the burning feeling in her throat, Felicity tried to pull her hand away from Oliver’s grip. Instead of letting go of her hand, he tightened his fingers. His thumb rubbed small circles against the back of her hand. It was almost like he wanted to tell her that it was okay, and here was there to hold her hand as long as she needed it.

Still, Felicity made another attempt at pulling her hand away, and Oliver let go of her this time. She hurried to push her hand back into the pocket of her coat, balling it into a tight fist there.

The silence turned awkward. From the corner of her eye, Felicity could see that Oliver had his lips pursed and his teeth pressed together. He didn’t look angry, but he definitely seemed tense at the situation given.

In her more vulnerable moments, Felicity could admit that she knew that Oliver wasn’t as cold as he sometimes seemed to be. He was rather

“Your father’s an ass,” it burst out of him eventually, “like what the hell is he thinking?”

Felicity wasn’t surprised that Oliver was angered by her father’s behavior. He hadn’t always had the best relationship with his father either, so he knew what daddy issues meant from experience. Especially compared to Noah, Robert was a saint of a father though. He might have been quite strict at times, probably still was now, but at least he was there. He had never abandoned his kids.

“He’s-“

Shaking her head, Felicity fell silent. There was no reason to excuse her father, especially not against Oliver. It wouldn’t make sense anyway after all the times she had told Oliver about all of her frustration, anger and heartbreak.

“I wish I knew,” she just said instead and brushed a strand of her hair out of her face, “but I have no idea.”

“Did he ever try to contact you?”

Felicity shook her head. “No.”

“Not even when you worked at Wayne Enterprise or now with your own company?”

Again, Felicity just shook her head. “No.”

There had been a time that Felicity had told herself that her dad just didn’t know where she lived or where she worked. The older she had become and the more successful the company she had been working for had been, the harder it was to deny that he just wasn’t interested. There was no way that he had missed that she had been working for Wayne Enterprise or had built a company with Lena and Lily.

The truth was that her father had willingly left the family because he hadn’t been interested in being a dad. Otherwise, he could have left and still could have tried to stay in touch. He hadn’t done that and had never changed anything about it. He didn’t care.

“I guess that, if his company wouldn’t have cooperated with Queen Consolidated, I wouldn’t have met him today either.”

Oliver shook his head and released a long sigh. She could see that he was at a loss of words. There was nothing to be said that could help the situation. There was no comfort to spend and no understanding to secure. It was the way it was, and that was all that had to be said about it.

“So, my dad told me you are going to collaborate on a project.”

Surprised, Felicity shot Oliver a glance. He smiled at her. Although the smile was barely visible, it made warmth sparkle in his eyes.

“Yeah, Helix Dynamics has been on the search for a fitting partner to develop contacts as prosthesis for people with optic nerve hypoplasia.”

“Sounds like an interesting project.”

“It is,” Felicity agrees, “but it’s also very challenging, and in STEM that means that it’s going to be expansive. Helix Dynamics is still too young for most companies to trust its capability in such a big project. It took us forever to find someone.”

“But my dad agreed?”

Felicity nodded her head. “I was hopeful that he would because he knew be from… well… from my internship and everything.”

Biting down on her bottom lip, Felicity stared down at her feet. She had just started feeling a little calmer as talking about her work always made her feel safe and happy. The bare allusion of what she and Oliver had had years ago was enough for her to feel awkward again.

Neither of them said another word. Both of them just stayed quiet like they had before. They walked side by side through the dark garden, Felicity’s hand in Oliver’s.

Frowning, Felicity looked down at their entwined fingers. She hadn’t even noticed that they had gone back to holding hands until now. Had she reached out her hand for Oliver’s or had it been the other way around?

Felicity guessed that it didn’t matter. What did matter though was that it felt incredibly good to have his hand wrapped around hers. She felt safe, and she felt warm. His hand was feeling wonderfully familiar. After all these years, it still felt like home.

With a brief glance at Oliver’s face, she could see that there was contentment in his eyes too. He tried to fight it, at least a little, but the more his thumb moved against the back of her hand in small circles, the more he seemed to give in to it. The tension in his muscles eased. The smile on his lips showed more fully. The warmth in his eyes increased.

They both felt so good as being together. They both enjoyed it. Given their realization that neither of them had stood the other up three years ago, it just didn’t make any sense.

“Okay, I don’t get it.”

Felicity was surprised by the words. It took her a moment to realize that she had stopped and that she had said that. It made her heart starting to race once more and causing the blood to rush in her ears.

The way Oliver looked at her didn’t make it any better. He was frowning at her, not sure what she was referring to. If the way his thumb rubbed against the back of her hand was any indication, he assumed that this was still about her dad. He tried to calm her down about it, taking some of her anger and heartbreak away.

For the break of a second, Felicity considered backing out of this. She could pretend that she had indeed meant the situation with her father. It was the easiest way out for her.

She didn’t want it the easy way though. She wanted and she needed to know the truth.

“What went wrong?” Felicity asked. “What went wrong with us?”

Felicity could see his Adam’s Apple jump in his throat. His jaws tensed once more, and his muscles stiffened. He didn’t look like he wanted to talk about this, not even now.

“You said that you have been at that townhouse, and I believe you. I don’t know why, but I believe you. I have been at that loft, waiting for you. Neither of us stood the other up,” she summed up all the information she had. “So what went wrong?”

Oliver stared at her for a moment. Although there was still warmth in his eyes, his facial expression was a lot harder now. He kept his lips pressed together, and his brows were furrowed slightly. As much as his gaze burnt under her skin, Felicity held his gaze.

“Our break-up was caused by a misunderstanding, and I don’t get-“

“It’s not like everything was a misunderstanding.”

The very same words she also hadn’t understood yesterday, Felicity thought. It wouldn’t matter how often he repeated them. She just didn’t get it. She was missing a piece of information that she felt only Oliver could give her.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Felicity.”

Oliver almost groaned her name. With a roll of his eyes, he turned away from her. He pulled his hand away from hers and rubbed his fingers over his face. Shaking his head, he took some steps away from her. He kept his back turned towards her.

Frowning, Felicity watched him. He continued walking, almost making her believe that he would just leave her standing here all alone in the dark. He stopped eventually though, still turned away from her.

“Oliver.”

She said his name firmly, demanding an answer. If he blamed her for the break-up, she deserved to at least know why. How else was she supposed to understand this?

“You cannot be serious,” Oliver said, turning around to her with eyes full of anger again now, “you really cannot be. You know what you did.”

She didn’t, and exactly that was the problem. Oliver just didn’t believe her which told her that, in his mind, she must have done something terrible.

“So let’s pretend I’m stupid,” Felicity suggested, “let’s pretend that I am too stupid to realize what I did wrong.”

As much as he tried to fight it, Oliver’s lips were twitching into a small smile. Amusement was shining through his anger. At least for a moment, his eyes softened looking at her.

“We both know you are not stupid.”

Felicity couldn’t help but smile at his warm words. He had always appreciated her intelligence, complimenting it at any opportunity given. Even now that he was angry with her, he still complimented it.

“Let’s just pretend I am,” Felicity asked in a quiet whisper, “just for a second or two. I mean you can pretend that I bumped my head and-“

“You slept with Adrian.”

The words burst out of Oliver all of a sudden. His eyes were glued to her face, staring at her angrily. From his facial expression alone, Felicity could say that he meant it. He really believed that she had cheated on him with Adrian, and, again, Felicity felt like she was missing the deciding piece of information.

Felicity was known to be incredibly smart. This constant feeling to always lack some piece of information was incredibly hard though. She felt like she was stupid, and it really was something that she was not used to.

“What?”

Oliver released another frustrated sigh. He didn’t want to talk about this, especially not with her. Everything at him, from the tension in his shoulders to the balled fists, told Felicity that what he would like to do more than anything was running away. Oliver’s instinct always told me to run when things got hard.

Despite everything, he stayed this time.

“I what?”

Grumbling, Oliver put his hands to his hips and looked at her. His brows were furrowed so much that they built one long line. His eyes still sparkled with anger and annoyance.

“After you didn’t show up at the townhouse, I figured that my behavior might have made it look like I was backing out of moving in together and our relationship. That was why I hurried to your and Sara’s apartment, so I could talk to you. When I rang the bell, Adrian opened. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His torso was wet. The shower was running. You were calling for him to come back.”

Felicity stared at Oliver’s face blankly, trying to put the pieces together. No matter how much information she got, she doubted that it was ever enough to put the whole picture together. The pieces just didn’t fit together.

Adrian had been there that evening. He had brought back her scarf although that had just been an excuse to check on her after Oliver had told him about the break-up. He had helped her in the shower which would explain why he had been wet. He had never been shirtless though.

Something in this story just didn’t line up, but she couldn’t say where the mistake was. It was maddening.

“I know that you probably thought that I had broken up with you,” Oliver said, his voice still tense, although it was a lot calmer now, “so I know you weren’t cheating. It’s just that we had been together for years. I wouldn’t have been able to even look at any other woman, never mind having sex with her, so it hurts to know that the very day we broke up, you-“

Eventually, Oliver stopped. He frowned at her. The hardness and cold in his eyes were replaced with the same confusion that was making Felicity’s head spin.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

In her head, Felicity was still trying to put those pieces of information together to get a whole picture, but it just didn’t work. Nothing made sense to her.

“Adrian was there, and… he helped me with the showerhead, but…”

Felicity frowned, shaking her head. If she had been incredibly drunk, maybe she could have some doubt in her memory. She might have forgotten something after all. Although Felicity didn’t believe that she would have slept with Adrian even if she had been completely drunk. He just wasn’t her type, and she had been so heartbroken about the break-up that she wouldn’t have been able to even have meaningless sex with anyone else.

“You really don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Felicity looked at Oliver, shooting him the smallest of smiles. She shrugged her shoulders.

“No, I don’t,” she whispered, “but I will find out.” 

* * *

@fannaz​ @promiseyoullbepatientwithme​ @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14​ @whentheheavenfades​ @emmaamelia95​ @smoakingskye​ @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp​ @felicityqueenforever​ @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @sherlock44​ @sinceriouslybea​ @olivyflavescentdeer​ @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed​ @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2​ @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly​ @olicityshipper19​ @memcjo​ @hysterical-for-joshifer-blog​ @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101​ @lynslogic​ @scarletqueen23​ @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley​ @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol​ @louehmysoul​ @ligiapimenta @chattyyana​ @charlie-leau​ @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia​ @julianegomesqueen​ @malafle​ @miriam1779​ @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley​ @almondblossomme​ @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry​ @canadianheartgirl​ @nannett2307​ @almondblossomme @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous​ @mrt2501 @arsipaci14​ @salasvia @brandis91​ @cainc3​ @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafrancis-blog @jonhdiggle​ @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel​ @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything​ @oliverfel4 @olicity-in-the-heart​ @fullychippedcreation​ @geemarie​ @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez​ @pleasantfanandstudent​ @j69confessional2​ @scentedcolorpirate​ @icanica74​ @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface​ @turnupthemusicandscream​ @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r​ @lipizette​ @positivepiper​ @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl​ @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity​ @1106angel @jaspertown​ @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy​ @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog​ @thetaufactor​ @onceuponanolicity​ @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @geemarie​ @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @eternal-olicity14​ @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan​ @tsseract @tsseract​ @dcnmarvelgamergeek​ @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark​ @bb-olicity​ @mashamarty @rulerofsilence​ @erika-amber​ @nothingmorethanmyotps​ @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv​​ @olicitea1990​ @haahaaa2408​ @pattid1​​ @faegal04​​ @24karatgem​ @wrldtravler​ @readerkas​​ @olicity-beliver​ @greencoffeecups @snorlaxishere

[alj4890]

Love/Angst Prompt

(Thomas x Amanda) with the prompt of reconciliation after a breakup as requested by anonymous

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) Red Carpet Diaries Fan Fiction

A/N This isn't from any of my AU's, but let's see how these two go about a reconciliation. Plus, I found the perfect GIF for the beginning of this. Seems meant to be. It gets a tad overly romantic toward the end. I blame the Hollywood setting and listening to Michael Buble´ as I write. Happy Fluffy Friday!

Song Inspiration: Micheal Buble´'s You'll Never Find A Love Like Mine

@flyawayboo @lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment  @cora-nova @bella-ca  @hopelessromantic1352 . @sunflowergirl05 @desiree-0816 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @pixieferry @lolablackwrites @friedherringclodthing @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

Part 2 

Masterlist

Once Again, Please

"What's he doing?" Holly whispered.

Shannon climbed on top of Addison's desk and looked through the upper window into Thomas's studio office. Her eyes widened at seeing him pour a glass of scotch and down it. "He's drinking!" She whispered.

"It's ten thirty in the morning!" Addison covered her mouth at her own outburst.

Shannon ducked when Thomas turned toward the noise. "Please, please, please, don't have seen me." She pleaded.

"Holly!" He yelled. "Come in here."

Holly groaned. "Coming!"

She calmly picked up her tablet and walked into his office. "What can I do, boss?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Have a car ready for me at 11:30."

"At night?" She asked.

"What? No, as in an hour from now." He snapped. "I have a lunch I have to go to."

"Is that why you're dressed up?" She asked.

He brushed his hand down his suit and ignored her question. "Make sure it is here at 11:30." He took his jacket off and sat down at his desk. He tried to focus on work instead of the real reason he was dressed up. He glanced up and noticed that Holly, Addison, and Shannon were peeping at him through the window.

"Dammit." He muttered. "Ladies, get in here. Now!"

His three former students walked in and stood before him. "Mind telling me why you are watching me?"

Shannon swallowed nervously. "We...we were wondering how you are. It's been a while since you dressed up and you never drink early in the morning."

"You haven't gone out to lunch in ages." Holly added.

"Does this have anything to do with Amanda?" Addison bluntly asked.

Thomas tapped his pen on his desk, causing the three to squirm under his silent, narrowing gaze. "Thank you Ms. Sinclair for not beating around the bush." He leaned back in his chair. "In response to your unwanted concern, yes it does have something to do with Amanda."

All three stared at him in surprise.

"Have you met someone new?" Shannon asked.

"Please tell me it's someone we actually like." Holly began to dread dealing with some of the women she knew were interested in Thomas.

Addison narrowed her blue eyes. "You're having lunch with Amanda, aren't you?"

He nodded. "No, Ms. Wright. I haven't met anyone new. Addison is correct, I am having lunch with Amanda."

Addison sat down and ignored his glare at her doing so without him offering. "Did she invite you or did you ask her?"

"Neither." He ran a hand down his face. "Her literary agent set it up."

"So this is a business luncheon?" Shannon sat down on his couch. "Not a date?"

Thomas avoided answering directly. "She has a new screenplay that the studio is interested in."

Holly frowned at his glass that still held drops of scotch he had downed moments ago. "How long has it been since you last saw her?"

Thomas stared off into the distance. "About four months."

"That's when it all ended." Addison sniffed.

Thomas rolled his eyes and tossed her a box of tissues. "Calm down. It wasn't your relationship that ended."

"You two were so great together." She blew her nose as tears fell. "If you couldn't make it last, what hope do the rest of us have?" Her tears fell faster, causing Shannon to sniff and start crying too.

"Holly, get them out of here!" Thomas ordered. "I am not in the mood to deal with this." His jaw dropped when he saw Holly swiping at her own silent tears. With teary wishes of luck, the three ladies left him alone.

He needed another drink after that interrogation and display of emotion.

______________

Noon at Mastro's Ocean Club

"No, my agent didn't tell me who I am meeting." Amanda held her phone closer to her ear and turned the volume up while following a hostess to the private dining room. "Thank you." She said to her as she sat down.

"Hopefully it is someone you can work with." Olivia frowned in concern. "You're not going to try and see Thomas while there, are you?"

Amanda nervously smoothed the tablecloth as she thought about him. "No. He doesn't seem the type that would want to see a former flame. I'm not going to let him know I am in Los Angeles."

Olivia glared at Drake who now wondered why he was being punished for something Thomas did. "Good. Stay away from him. Remember, there are plenty of other men out there. If he was foolish enough to lose you then you don't need to tie yourself down with an idiot."

Amanda shook her head as a smile played about her lips. "I'll call you later." She ended the call and turned to the panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean before her. She tried to focus on anything other than Thomas.

Four months. It didn't seem right to be back here and it not be to see him. She wished she could hear his voice tell her... She rubbed her head and closed her eyes. She had to let the longing go.

_____________

A few minutes later at Mastro's Ocean Club

Thomas paused at seeing Amanda standing in front of the floor to ceiling window. A surge of emotion swept over him. He had been battling against the memories of their time together ever since he agreed to meet with her. Now seeing her here after all this time...

Amanda looked over at him and gasped. "Thomas! I--er--"

He sauntered over, trying to appear confident. "It's good to see you again, Amanda."

"I...I'm meeting someone." She looked over her shoulder for the hostess. "He should--"

"I'm the one your agent set the meeting with." He interrupted. His eyebrow lifted. "Is that acceptable to you?"

It wasn't. Not. At. All. She didn't want to meet with him. The thoughts of being in his arms haunted her enough. It would be pure torture to work closely with him after all that had happened. "Of course." Her pride replied for her.

"Good." His dark eyes swept over her figure before pulling a chair out for her. She sat down and picked up her menu. He took the chair in front of her and did the same. An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

Amanda chewed nervously on her bottom lip, causing his attention to settle there. The action immediately brought to mind the times he had told her not to torture one of his favorite parts of her body. Thomas then thought of the times he had insisted on soothing her lip. One kiss had never been enough for them. The sparks between them ignited a passion he had never felt with anyone else. He swallowed and forced himself to focus on the menu. He rubbed his hand down his jaw in agitation.

Amanda's eyes peeked over her menu and watched his fingers brush against his clean shaven jaw. She had always loved running her hand over it when he finished shaving in the mornings. Memories rushed to the forefront of her mind of all the times she had made him late to his early appointments. Her caress would lead to kisses and then to a need for even more. A blush formed on her cheeks when he looked up and caught her staring.

Their waiter took their order and collected their menus leaving them nothing to hide behind. Amanda gripped her glass of water as she tried to think of a way to break the ice. "So? Um, what do you--"

"I want you back." Thomas blurted out.

"What?" She nearly broke the stem of her glass.

"I want you back." Thomas repeated, no longer willing to deny it. "I'm not going to be able to focus on your screenplay until I say this. Breaking things off was a mistake. I regret every part of it." His dark eyes held her startled hazel as he continued to speak from his heart. "I never stopped loving you."

Amanda took a stilted breath. She tried to think of how to respond. Instead of finding out what brought this confession on, she said, "I never stopped loving you either."

He reached across the table and took her hand in his. Their fingers laced together. She felt the lonely ache in her chest ease at his touch. She watched her own thumb automatically rub soothing circles on his skin.

"Thomas, as much as I want to, I'm not sure we should be together." Her eyes lifted to his. "We had reasons to end something that seemed perfect. It must not have been perfect if we were both able to walk away from it so easily."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. She gave into the temptation of gently running her fingers down his cheek. He took a deep breath before he spoke. "It wasn't easy. It was never easy for me. It was a decision that should have never come about. It should have never even entered our minds. We won't allow our times apart be what decides whether or not we should be in a relationship. Distance isn't going to factor in this time." He pressed his lips against her palm. "Tonight can be a new beginning for us."

Amanda felt her heart stutter. "I..." She needed a moment to think. His touch and revelations had caught her off guard. She wanted to be with him, but could she go through things ending again? "I don't know if I can take another break up with you."

He nodded in understanding. "I don't believe I could either." Thomas let go of her hand when their food was brought out. Amanda blinked in surprise. She had forgotten they were even at a restaurant.

"I'm willing to risk my heart and sanity for a chance to be with you again." He told her once the waiter left.

Her lips parted in surprise. "Are you certain this is what you want?" She waved her hand between them. "It could be nostalgia swaying you to think you want to be with me."

"It's not nostalgia. I've been thinking about it for a while. When I was contacted for a meeting, I knew this could be my one chance to try and win you back. Tell you in person how I felt." Thomas leaned back as the waiter poured some wine.

Amanda sighed. A sadness that he had not seen before seemed to infuse her features. "I won't even try to hide it. I'm scared to try again." She bit down on her lip as she thought of the ramifications of her next sentence. "If you are willing and believe things will be different this time, then I want to be with you."

He relaxed in his chair and gave her a brisk nod. "May I take you out this evening?"

"Of course." She said softly. "I have no plans."

"How long are you staying in L.A.?" He asked, his mind already rearranging his schedule to spend as much time as he could with her.

"I don't have a set date to return in mind." She informed him. "I wasn't sure how many meetings I would need to attend."

"I will make certain to schedule quite a few." He smiled at hearing her laugh again.

After their lunch, he parted from her outside with a lingering kiss to her cheek. "I will come by and pick you up at six thirty. Unless..."

"Unless what?" She asked, curious at his hopeful expression.

"Unless you wish to stay at my home." His hands settled on her waist.

"I think it might be better to start off staying at my hotel." She noticed the flicker of disappointment and hugged him. "I need some time to get used to the notion of us being together again."

His arms wrapped around her and he pressed his lips to her forehead. "I understand." He squeezed her hand before opening her car door.

She slid in and shyly smiled at him. "I'll see you tonight."

"Six thirty." He reminded her while shutting her door. He watched as her driver pulled away from the curb. She turned around and waved when she saw him still watching her departure. He lifted his in response before getting in his own waiting car. As hope built, he began to think of ways to win her heart completely.

_____________

6:30 that night

Amanda checked her appearance once more on the way to open her door. She felt even more nervous than she did on her very first date with Thomas. How did one act on a second first date? She took a deep breath and let him in.

He handed her a bouquet of tulips. Her smile turned tender. "You remembered my favorite flower."

Thomas nodded, suddenly unsure how to act around her. She kissed his cheek on her way to put them in water. He stepped further into her suite and waited.

"Thank you for my flowers." She picked the vase up and carried it into her bedroom. Thomas leaned back to watch her place the tulips on her nightstand. He smiled softly to himself. So far, so good.

She noticed his smile and felt a warmth spread within. "Ready to go?"

"I am." He slipped his hand in hers. She pulled away for a moment to make certain she had her room key and took his hand once again.

"What are we doing tonight?" She asked as they walked to his car.

"I was thinking of dinner and a movie." He replied.

Amanda chuckled. "Traditional first date activities."

"Nothing but the best." He teased.

Over dinner they talked about what each had been working on since last being together and what those they were close to had been doing. Their nerves began to ease as their conversations returned to how they used to be.

He smiled at her surprise when he took her to his home afterwards to watch a movie in his theater room. Her fingers trailed the back of the soft leather sofa as she walked around to sit down. Thomas watched her face light up when he put one of her favorite classic movies on.

He sat down next to her and placed his arm along the back of the sofa. His fingers barely brushed her shoulder. She couldn't help but smile at his effort to give her time and space to get used to him again. She didn't want the space apart though.

Amanda scooted closer to Thomas and rested her head on his shoulder. His arm slid down and pulled her closer. About halfway through the movie she pressed a kiss to his jaw. His eyes met hers and he tilted her face up as his lips touched hers for the first time in such a long absence. He tried to keep from letting his longing for her take over the kiss. He meant to keep it short and sweet. Thomas was doing fine until she shifted toward him and deepened the kiss.

He crushed her to him as his lips moved over hers again and again. The many months without her fueled the intensity of the kiss. He couldn't seem to get close enough to her.

She was in much the same state he was. Her hands were moving over him, urging him even closer. She slipped them under his shirt to feel his warm skin and his muscles flex from her touch.

Their lips parted for a moment as they looked at one another. Their shared breaths were interrupted when their kiss ignited once again. Thomas kissed her ear, his voice was ragged as he spoke. "I've missed you." He cupped her face and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and cheeks. "You have no idea how much I love you, Amanda."

Amanda swallowed against the lump in her throat. "There were so many times I wanted to call you just to hear your voice." Her own voice cracked with her confession. "I love you, Thomas. You're the only one I ever wanted." Her lips touched his in a sweet kiss.

His lips brushed hers tenderly as he spoke. "I need you in my life. No one else will do."

A teasing smile, one he had missed seeing, popped up on her face. "You're making it impossible for me to return to my hotel room." He smiled as he kissed her again.

The kiss became charged with passion as each other's words registered in their hearts. This time would be different. They both knew what life was like apart and neither wanted to go back to that half existence. There would be no ending this time.

[qqueenofhades]

I don't think the masses would mind a cocky Asher getting put in his place by a 'your charm doesn't work on me, trash boy,' Maria. And Asher realizing he's met his match. Set in the early days of their meeting. If you feel so inspired.

The scent of incense and burned offerings drifts in the air, the daughters of Artemis hurry barefoot, in their flowing chitons and wreathes of flowers – all stopping to bob respectfully as they pass – and a few worshipers mingle in the forum below, among the fluted columns of the temple. It is early enough in the day, and far enough from any major festivals, that it is only the devout, and most of them are women. The men tend to go next door to make their offerings to Apollo, fiery sun god in his blazing chariot, but the women know the power of the moon, which marks the monthly blood or the turning of the tides – fierce Artemis, defender of maidens, just as is their priestess. Maria stands on high, admiring her kingdom, this realm where she rules as her own sort of queen. All in order, all is right. The morning rush of the city of Athens carries on beyond the walls, but here, they are sacrosanct, sacred, secluded. Safe. Here, they are –

Oh, Hera help her. He cannot possibly be here again.

Maria clenches a fist, mutters a particularly vulgar oath under her breath, and turns away in a whirl of fluttering white fabric, marching down the steps to where, for what is the frustratingly far from first time, Asherios Athos is leaning against the tiled wall with arms casually crossed. He has taken to this pose, Maria thinks, firstly because it makes him look lean and sleek as any athlete in the Olympiad, and secondly because surely he must know that it vexes her exceedingly to see him loitering about like this, without an apparent care in the world. Indeed, as she storms up, he glances at her and gets a look of great satisfaction (which means it worked, and that annoys Maria even more). “Ah,” he says, pushing himself off the wall with the flourish of a bow. “Priestess.”

“You again.” Maria comes to a halt a few feet away, tilting her chin back to glare at him more efficiently. “I have told you not to come to the temple unless you have an offering to make.”

“Perhaps I do.” He grins at her, teeth very white in the dark frame of his face, his black curls and olive skin burnished sun-gold, and she resents the small flutter it produces in her stomach. “But for the priestess, not the goddess.”

Maria takes a small step back. “I need none of your trinkets, Asherios.”

“Please.” He makes a brief, self-effacing gesture. “I have told you that you may call me Asher.”

“Asherios.” Maria folds her arms. “If you were to hang about any other temple as much as you do this one, they’d drive you out for being a public nuisance.”

“Oh, I have no need of other temples.” He sits down and pulls out a bunch of grapes, which he starts to eat with apparent unconcern. Upon seeing her staring at him in disbelief, he pulls one off the stem and offers it to her, as if that was truly what she was offended about. “Though a soldier must make his dues to Ares from time to time. And you and I know the gods differently from all these humans, do we not? A strange sort of kinship, almost. Though it is blood we must have, and not burnt offerings.”

Maria glances around warily. “Keep your voice down.”

“I would not betray you.” He looks up at her, entirely serious despite his teasing. “I only meant to say, I know it must be lonely.”

Rather than answer, Maria glances away. He is right, not that she would have him know that. She has been priestess here long enough that the girls in her service have grown up, have left the temple, have married and had children and come back wrapped in their shrouds, sometimes old and sometimes young, to have her say the rites for them one last time. She has grown used to it, but to be immortal among these short and fleeting lives… she does wonder if the gods see it the same. She knows they do not live on Olympus. She has climbed the mountain herself and seen no great temple of Zeus, no forge of Hephaestion. But something keeps her here nonetheless. 

(It is not tall and cocky and supremely vexing soldiers sprawled out on the stone and eating grapes, that is to be certain. She would be entirely glad if those were to vanish altogether.)

“Get you out of here,” she says, after a moment too long. “I will not have my girls think that I permit men to lounge about as if this was a winesink or a brothel. And take your grapes with you, you degenerate.”

Asherios looks surprised, as well as perhaps genuinely baffled that she has not fallen over herself to sit down and ask to share them. He gets up and hands the rest of the vine to her; when she does not take them, he sets them on the ledge. “Well, I owe you those at least. I said I brought an offering, so I did. Shall I see you tomorrow?”

“You may go make your offering to Apollo tomorrow, if you must be in these temples at all.” Maria clenches her hands in her robe. “And then, so we all hope, have some campaign that takes you far from Athens.”

He smiles at her, unconcerned by her sharp words, looking indeed as if he enjoys them even more than ever, and she fights the unwelcome warmth in her chest. Asherios Athos is the least suitable man that could be imagined, even if he is a creature like her, and his clear belief that she must swoon into his arms eventually is even more aggravating. She does not care how elegant he looks in that toga and the strapped sandals, the shortsword buckled around his waist and the bronze shield that he wears slung on his back, the grace and ease of his movements as he strolls away. He glances back at her and tips half a salute, then steps down and out of sight. Impossible man.

Maria glances down at the grapes. She should by no means eat them, even if he is not here to see. Should leave them with the other offerings, or return them to the vineyard for wine. She does not need Asher – Asherios’ – gifts, or anything about him. She does not.

(He does not come the next day, and she hates herself for noticing.)

[unlockthelore]

Love Me Less

Title: Her Name is Love

Chapter 6: Love Me Less

Fandom: 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of death.

Prompt #: 6

Relationship: Hiei/Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi

Character(s): Hiei (YuYu Hakusho), Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi

Additional Tags: Developing Relationship, Post-Canon, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, POV Alternating, Attempt at Humor, Feelings Realization, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Hurt and Comfort

Notes: Reposted from AO3.

Summary: Kurama has been very quiet ever since they’d gotten home and Hiei is determined to get to the bottom of it.

There was something off about Kurama ever since they’d left the markets and started back on the road home. Their usual silences were comfortable and walking at the fox’s side brought him a sense of peace that rivaled his mother’s tear gem and the one gifted to him by Yukina. However, this silence felt charged with something on the fox’s end, and try as he might to glean some sort of understanding by the occasional glance or squeeze of Kurama’s hand as they walked — nothing was yielded to him. 

They walked inside, hands disconnecting once they were past the door’s threshold, Hiei closing it behind him. Kurama toed out of his shoes then carried the bags further inside without a backward glance. Hiei frowned. The shoes weren’t aligned and neither were they in the usual spot that the fox insisted on. Glancing up at his retreating back, the fire demon began to undo the fastenings on his cloak before pulling it off. 

“Something is clearly bothering you,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence and Kurama slowed to a halt. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”

Kurama’s silence tells him nothing and as they wander further into the house, the fox setting down the bags on the kitchen counter, he smiles and Hiei scowls. That smile. It wasn’t Kurama’s usual and he knew when the fox was smiling in a certain way. That smile, deliberately closing his eyes and turning away to busy himself with something, meant the fox was bothered. Intensely. And he didn’t like it.

“I’m fine, Hiei,” Kurama said, and he’s said that quite a few times already, and it wasn’t true any more so than the first time he said it. 

“It’s not everyday that someone gets multiple chances to lie to me,” Hiei said, ignoring Kurama’s breath hitching at being caught or the tension in his muscles when Hiei walked closer. “Is it about the kid?”

Kurama hesitated, his gaze fixated upon the items he pulled free of the shopping bags. Shaking his head at the question, he said, “The child brought up a few thoughts that have lingered, but it was not about them directly.”

Hiei breathed in deep then sighed through his nose. It had to be something to keep Kurama’s attention for this long. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed then reached for Kurama, resting his hand on his upper arm. “Talk to me,” he said softly, tilting his head once Kurama looked at him.

The fox’s hesitant smile fell and his eyes softened, searching Hiei’s face for something but the touch lowered his guard, and there was a pain in his eyes. With a sigh, Kurama slipped away from his touch and left the kitchen, Hiei following after him. The familiar trail from the kitchen to the living room was a minor distraction but so was the tension in Kurama’s muscles and the way that the vines and greenery in their home were unusually quiet.

“How aware are you about the things I've done, Hiei?”

Eyebrow raised, Hiei tilted his head.  They’d been together for the last few years and everything before that was mostly fairy tale for him. Stories that were somewhat incorrect but others seemed accurate based upon the fox’s behaviors depending on the situation. 

“That depends, I know the you that became my partner. I know the stories of the you before we met,” he listed off with a frown, staring at Kurama’s back as if he could pull an answer from the air. “Why?”

Kurama sat down on their couch heavily, bunching himself close to one side with his hands resting his lap. Standing beside the couch, Hiei looked at him from the other end of it and watched as his gaze drifted to the ring. The silence was charged, heavy with tension and an unspoken weight that leveled upon one side. They weren’t balanced, and that is what their partnership was. A balancing act, and if one side faltered, then the other picked up the slack. 

“I want you to know everything,” Kurama said, briefly looking down at the ring on his finger, methodically twisting it with his thumb. “Every little part of my life, I want you to know it. Not just the stories that were told as a means to frighten young children.”

Hiei opened his mouth but intense green eyes met his own and the words died in his throat. 

“I have something I want to ask you about, but I need to know you will still want me even after knowing everything .”

He pressed his lips together. There was something different about this. He was used to his own insecurities, of being the one who needed help and relying on Kurama, but there were moments where it was the other way around. Where he could see that Kurama was trying to be a pillar of strength even when he was crumbling. With a slow nod, Hiei relaxed and sank down into the end of the couch that he stood near, his arms resting on his knees as he prepared himself to listen to everything Kurama had to say. 

He had to admit that the possibility of learning and knowing more about his partner was interesting. Yet for a moment, he yearned for the past. He saw the young boy that he’d met that night, short-haired, bright-eyed and dangerous. The man that he’d grown into who looked at him with a level of seriousness reserved for battle. And the youko with silver and gold that lied beneath his skin.

I need to know you will still want me even after knowing everything .

How could anyone look at Kurama and not want everything ? 

“I do,” Hiei says, curling his fingers and resting his other hand against his curled fist. “And I’ll tell you why after .”

The promise seems to ease Kurama’s mind but only barely. A smile tugging at his lips almost makes Hiei smile in turn but then he sees the downward turn of his lips. Green eyes looking away from him and to the ring, centering on his lap as he spoke. A weight settled in Hiei’s chest. Kurama didn’t look down when he spoke. True, the fox had pride, but he also met someone’s eyes when he spoke of something that he meant . But Hiei could understand why as Kurama began to tell him everything .

He touched on multiple topics to the best of his ability: his killing, his ruthlessness, the murder of countless villages and order of deaths simply because of his annoyance or anger at the small slight. No one was spared from his rage. Men, women, children — they were all treated the same. Hiei was reminded of the fox’s expression when Amanuma begged for mercy when he complained that he didn’t want to die, the callousness in how he walked away with seemingly no regrets. 

Hiei sat up, his expression vacant and occasionally he would tilt his head or blink, rest his chin in his hand and each tale was more convoluted than the last. Kurama mentioned the lovers he had, the partners he would leave in the cold when he grew bored. Everything that he’d done to entertain himself and moved n when he was no longer having fun . His desire to become a thief stemming from wanting to be amused rather than anything else. 

Hiei’s jaw tightened. He wondered how he was supposed to feel. Fear should have been inspired in him. Worry that he would be one of the many that would be left by Kurama. Perhaps anger on the behalf of those who, like him, had fallen for the fox’s charms. However, he couldn’t help but think of the man that he was and the ring on Kurama’s finger. How many had given him trinkets and memorabilia to entice him into the idea of forever?

Many, if his stories were anything to go off of.

Kurama’s voice didn’t waver as he spoke but there was a pain in his voice. Kuronue had been proof that Kurama could have warmth. Hiei had never seen him react or feel for someone in the way before. Yet, how long had it have been before he met Kuronue? How long was it that the fox did what he had before he decided to change? So many questions that Hiei didn’t want to know the answer to. Not out of fear but out of a lack of a need to know. 

“What did you want to ask me about?” He asked, keeping his expression neutral as he sat up. 

Kurama didn’t look at him and his hair hid his face from view. Hiei frowned and though he wanted to tilt his head, to shift forward and see his face, he knew that the fox needed time. And he wasn’t sure what expression Kurama was making but he didn’t want to witness it. Not now. 

“When you were with that child, I found myself imagining what it would be like to have a family with you,” Kurama said quietly, his voice soft and barely above a mutter, Hiei’s ears twitching at the sound. “After all I have done, I know I am the last that deserves that kind of joy and yet the thought was there all the same.”

A family with you .

A family.

Kurama wanted to have a family with him. The words sank in and Hiei blinked at him slowly. The tension in his body eased and he was glad for Kurama’s hair shielding him from looking at the wide-eyed starry-eyed look Hiei knew was on his face. A family between them, how would it happen? Would they adopt a child? Have one of their own? How would it work? What would they do.. How could — 

Staring at Kurama, Hiei sighed. It didn’t matter. Not right now. Not when Kurama was this upset at himself. If he were anyone else, he might have called Kurama a monster. If he was another else, he might have cast everything aside and been blinded to his own actions and quicker to judge. But he wasn’t another man, he was himself, and he knows who Kurama was a little better. 

His youki pooled around him and carefully nudged against Kurama’s. The fox slowly lifted his head and glanced over to him with a slight frown, wide eyes laden with emotion and surprise. It looked for a moment as if Kurama would argue but Hiei spoke before he could.

“Come here.”

Kurama stared at him for a second longer than shifted closer to him, his arms wrapping around Hiei’s middle, their knees knocking together but the fox made himself comfortable with his head resting against Hiei’s shoulder, his face nuzzling at his neck. The fire demon didn’t mind the tingling sensation running down his back, looping his arm around Kurama’s shoulders and squeezing his shoulder lightly. Kurama hid his face against his neck and he didn’t mind the aversion. After saying all that he had, it made sense if he didn’t want to face him.

Rejection .

Was Kurama afraid of him rejecting him?

Hiei frowned, wondering if he should just shelve the conversation and care for Kurama instead. But if he just let this go now, it might have seemed flippant, as if he didn’t really care and when it came to Kurama — he cared about everything. 

“When I gave you that ring..” Hiei began, brushing Kurama’s hair away from his forehead, his nails lightly running along the crown of his head. “Why did you put it on? Why did you accept me?”

In honesty, he feared the truth. He wasn’t one for public displays and didn’t want the fox to feel as if he was obligated to marry him but the desire to be with Kurama for all time was there. It hadn’t always been there but it reared its head in different forms. He just was a bit slow on putting a name to it but he felt it. And he’d hoped — he’d been wishing — that Kurama did too. 

“Because I love you,” Kurama said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, his hand tightening against the back of Hiei’s shirt where it gripped. “There is no one else I want in my life the way I want you.”

He sounded so convinced of it that Hiei had to smile. He had to admit that there was a thrill that ran through him to know that. To know that Kurama wanted no one else like he wanted him and even with everything the fox had told him of his past, he was more than tempted to believe his word. 

“When I made it for you… I accepted that there may be a chance that you would reject me for one reason or another, no matter how clear our feelings were made — because I wanted to give you what I was deprived of — a choice ,” he looked down at Kurama and smiled, brushing his lips against the crown of his head. “If you wanted forever, I would give you forever. If you didn’t, then we wouldn’t. And if by some chance, you decided it wasn’t me you wanted anymore, I would let you go.”

It would have pained him to be this close to having forever with Kurama. To have glimpses of a life they could have had together and then to have it snatched away from him. He wasn’t sure how he’d react. What manner of hell he’d put himself through to forget the feelings he’d had for the fox. But they were seared into his very being now, and he wouldn’t let go of this man without a fight.

“I love you,” Hiei muttered, trying to press the words into his skin by leaving another kiss. He pulled away slightly to keep from peppering Kurama’s face with kisses. His fingers combing through red locks, curling them around his fingers. “I do, and I know I do because I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me. Just like Yukina. ”

Bitter and yet true. He wanted Kurama to be happy over all else. Even if it meant seeing him happy with someone else. While he wouldn’t give him up without a fight, if it meant his happiness, Hiei could surrender. Just this once. Just for him . Just like he had with not letting his sister know of his identity. He refused to be the end of her happiness and shatter her dreams of a brother that could love her just as much as she deserved. And he refused to hand Kurama over to his demons. If anything, he felt almost flattered that the fox worried this much that his past would have deterred Hiei from loving him. If anything, it only endeared him more. 

“I know you better now than I did before and we could argue all night about who has the bloodier hands and is the worst creature imaginable,” Hiei reasoned, shaking his head slightly, his chin brushing against Kurama’s head and he tilted slightly to kiss his forehead. “It won’t do us any good, and if you’re expecting me to leave, you’ll be disappointed. I still want you.”

The familiar smell of salt hit Hiei’s nose and he raised a brow, glancing down at the fox as Kurama pressed his face against his neck, a soft scent bringing a tinge of pink to his cheeks. Was the fox smelling him? The pink worsened and Hiei let Kurama stay there as long as he wanted. 

“I love you,” Kurama muttered, over and over again as he pulled away to look at Hiei eye to eye. The smile on his face met his eyes and Hiei almost breathed a sigh of relief. “You are the only one I want.”

A slight smile formed on his lips and he felt something warm in his chest at the words. He could’ve gotten lost in the green of his eyes but Kurama needed him in the present and he would stay with him. Pulling away the arm wrapped around Kurama’s shoulders, his fingers brushed against his cheek.

“You’re Kurama,” Hiei said, palming his cheek as he leant forward to press their foreheads together.

Kurama wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a mythical figment that frightened children and inspired thieves. He was who he was. 

“I want everything, all of you, no matter what it is,” Hiei insisted, searching his eyes and the brightness of that green widened his own smile. “Past, present, and future. It’s me and you.”

Kurama leant into his palm, then green met crimson and the fox tilted his head, their noses brushing together as he pressed his lips to Hiei’s. The kiss was dizzying and the fire demon felt his whole world narrow down to only one person. Loosely wrapping his arm around Kurama’s neck to keep him close, enjoying the taste on his lips, and the familiarity of it all. He wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but the dimness in the room with only silvery rays of moonlight to allow them to see one another stirred something in his chest. His eyes still closed as he pulled away enough to speak, pressing another kiss to the corner of Kurama’s lips for comfort.

“We’ve both done things we may not be proud of,” Hiei pointed out, choosing not to use the word ‘regret’ because he had virtually no regrets for what he’s done even if there is a slight shame that comes from remembering his weaknesses. “So if we’re both outcasts and deserve to be alone. Let’s be alone together.”

His eyes opened and he could see the curve of Kurama’s smile. 

“I like the sound of that,” the fox said, and Hiei couldn’t help but smile as well. 

A peaceful calm fell over them as they held one another. Hiei leaning back against the couch with Kurama fitted between his legs, holding him close with his head resting on his shoulder. Despite the fox’s weight, Hiei was more than up to the task of holding him and he didn’t want to let him go for anything in the world. Kurama’s breaths were soft and even, warm and ticklish against Hiei’s neck, and fleeting featherlight kisses were brushed and pressed to his skin in varying intervals to his amusement. 

“As for children,” Hiei muttered, pausing as he laughed freely. “I think I should marry you first .”

No one besides Yuusuke and Keiko knew of his failed attempt to propose to his partner. The outcome that came once he explained the situation to Kurama was unknown to anyone but the two of them which made the former detective incredibly suspicious of him whenever he came around. Kurama’s laughter was freeing and he held up his hand, the moonlight glinting off the ring’s surface. 

“Very clearly, I am more than willing to marry you,” Kurama teased, and Hiei knew that he was smiling. 

Hiei stared at it, remembering his blunder and felt the heat rising to his face again. “I can never go to your job again,” he said with a huff. 

“Oh, it’s quite the opposite in fact. Many have been asking about you now,” Kurama pointed out to Hiei's surprise. Gently nuzzling his nose against Hiei’s, the fire demon practically melted against him. “I can still hear their screaming when they saw the ring.”

“I can still hear Yuusuke asking me how I could’ve done it on accident.” 

Though he wasn’t irritated or heavily embarrassed by it, his mistake did yield great results, after all, it was still a conundrum. He remembered wearing the coat that he’d brought for Kurama, and he working on the ring prior before realizing that the temperature was falling and the fox hadn’t brought a coat with him when he left. Once he put two and two together though, he realized the overlap and the shade of pink darkened.

“If I knew it wouldn’t make your mother upset, I’d take you somewhere we could do it by ourselves.”

There was no immediate reply from Kurama. And Hiei almost wondered if he was thinking it over. Of course, they wouldn’t want to disappoint Shiori like that. And there were many others who would be upset that they weren’t able to attend their wedding. He wasn’t sure how he felt about all of the attention. It surely was different . 

“Why don’t we announce it properly then?” Kurama asked him, hovering over him with a smile. One of his hands gently ran through Hiei’s hair, and the fire demon sighed.

The touch was soothing and he was a little more than happy with the closeness and the change in the fox’s mood. He seemed happier, brighter, lighter even and it made Hiei happy to see him  happy. It didn’t take long for him to think about it. Their family was important to them and the idea of it being theirs brought a smile to his face. 

“Alright.”

Kurama smiled brighter and dipped down to kiss him again, Hiei’s arms wrapping around his waist as he hugged him close.

Later on, that night when the fox had gone to bed, Hiei walked out into the backyard and sat down. He’d explained all of what transpired, their plans for announcing their wedding, and the number of people that would be present. A heavy sigh came from in front of him as a voice that mirrored his own spoke. 

“Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

Hiei rolled his eyes. “If he is giving himself to us, we’ll do the same,” he declared, folding his arms as he looked into their eyes. “Alright, Kamui?”

Across from him sat a man who could have been an exact replica of himself, aside from his hair being longer and fluffier , obscuring his eyes and nose from view, shirtless where Hiei wore his tanktop and barefoot where Hiei wore his boots. The tattoo, living ink that writhed on his skin, in the form of burn marks from his wrist to bicep opposite of Hiei's own.

[buzz-london]

Historical reconstruction of what a Devdasi's day might have been in a south Indian temple in 15th Century.'Nrutya Seva of VasantSena' at the ‘Vitthal Mandir’ in Vjayanagar, Hampi, Karnataka, South India (I wrote the essay for the ‘Temple Architeture’ course at OCHS)

Nrutya Seva of VasantSena

“Make way!  Make way!” Thundered a guard of the eastern Gopuram.  Four guards in bright white dhotis, with large Vaishnav tilaks on their foreheads and biceps, held long lances and swords, as they kept a vigilant eye on all passers-by.  

Spotting Vasantsena and her maid coming up the main thoroughfare of the ‘Vitthala Ratha Marg’, he alerted all pilgrims to stand aside to let the ladies through.  “Make way! Make way!”  Without slowing her pace, Vasantsena smiled and exchanged a short bow with the guards as she walked through the beautifully carved, white granite gateway.  Thick torans and garlands of green leaves and fresh flowers framed the gateway two stories tall.  The ladies walked past the thick wooden doors of the shrine, decorated with bronze florets and guarded by iron spikes.  A vermillion covered Gaja-Lakshmi sat atop the doorframe.  Ganesh, Indra and other Gods and Goddesses graced various niches carved on the thick doorframe.  Multiple statues of Vishnu’s dashavatar adorned the soaring levels of the Gopuram above, surrounded by a bevy of celestials and saints.  Their bright colours stood out against the canvas of the sun-burnt blue sky.  

Passage under the tall 5 storied gopuram was cooler and quieter than the busy market place beyond.  Raised platform on either side of the passage led to rooms reserved for guards and guard the footwear of the temple workers.    

Emerging from the under the gateway, both ladies walked past the carved images of pious donors, prostrating full length on the flagstones.  So as to be blessed by the touch of devotees feet as they entered the temple complex for all eternity, donors had their names and images carved on the flagstones below the gopuram.  Though dressed in a simple white saree with red flowers, she her bearing and poise made everyone stand out of her way and admire her as she walked through the courtyard.

Vasantsena poured water of the Tungabhadra from a copper pot in the large, raised bed, of Tulsi plants.  Prayer tray in hand, Vasantsena first bowed at the bali-peeth.  Depositing a few flowers and jaggery on the lotus platform sitting atop a square base.  She silently prayed for the happiness of all creatures.  A group of ants immediately fulfilled her wishes, carting away crumbs of jiggery.  The ladies bowed and touched the tall gilded Dwajasthambha in unison.  They looked up at the golden sheet of the divine flag, inscribed with various insignias of Vishnu.  

It was impossible to tell where the male pilgrims came from.  Regardless of caste and class, all men only wore their dhoti.  Even the brahmins and courtiers forego of their upper garment in the spirit of equality.  Looking at the different style and design of sarees though, you could easily tell where the women came from.  Little children ran around the chariot shrine of Garuda, playing catch, spinning the wheels of the chariot as they ran.  From the dire warnings shouted by their grandmother, they seemed to be from the coastal region of Kokan.  

Smiling at the fearlessness of the children, Vasantsena approached the front of the ‘Chariot shrine’ and offered a delicate garland of jasmine buds to the ‘vahana’ of Vishnu sitting in an elaborate ‘vahana’ of his own.  With due reverence, Vastansena bowed to Shri Vitthala’s Garuda in the front court of the temple.  Rearing horses of glistening white granite pulled the grand chariot.  Sitting on a giant mandala, the stone chariot was decorated with windows, balconies and finely carved celestial beings.  Freshly painted, the chariot looked resplendent in the paved courtyard of the temple.  

A young priest, his head freshly tonsured, was dozing in the doorway.  Jingling of Vasantsena’s anklets and bracelets startled him awake. Intoning sacred verses, he offered the garland to the bronze icon of Garuda and brought back a couple of lotuses as sacrament from the sacred vehicle of Vishnu.  Touching the lotus to their eyes, the ladies took a deep breath to inhale the scent of the pink and white lotuses.

Duly blessed, they proceeded quickly across the burning flagstones to the Mahamandap of the Vijay Vitthal temple.  Ascending a short flight of stairs, decorated by elephants, they entered the cool interior of the main temple.  Sitting atop layers of elephants, warriors, birds and flowers, the Mahamandap comprised of four mandaps, each with its own function and its own decorative style.  A beautiful hall with rearing Yali was used by Brahmin priests to teach the finer points of scriptures to mature students.  Another hall had pillars, 10 feet tall, boldly carved with horses, mounted by brave warriors of Vijayanagar army.  The king and his court used the hall for royal functions and rituals.  At present, half-life size bronze statues of the king and his principle queen stood facing the deities.

Musicians-hall had famous musicians, singers and dancers of yesteryears, immortalised in stone.  Delicately carved musical pillars of this hall were the envy of the country and nations beyond the seven seas.  Seven slender pilasters surrounded each pillar of the Musicians-hall.  Each pilaster gave off seven notes from different instruments – percussion, wind, string etc.  Vastansena had fond memories of attending several musical functions in this wonderful hall.  The Narasimha hall was used for religious rituals to be carried out during major festivals when the inner hall was judged to be too small for large crowds visiting the temple.  

Walking through the Mahamadap, the ladies entered the main audience chamber of the temple.  Carving on the pillars of the Jagmohan was less exuberant, but more serene than the outer halls.  Its square based pillars had Krushna lila and the Dashavatar carved on their plain sides. Painted with red and white, they highlighted the sculptures on the pillars that seemed to disappear into the unseen height of the ceiling above.  Jagmohan was mostly enclosed with only three entrances at the cardinal points. Its fourth, western aperture, led to the anti-chamber of the inner sanctum.  

Excusing herself past other pilgrims, Vasantsena stepped in the small antechamber in front of the inner sanctum.  Reserved for the royal family, honourable court officials and temple workers, this was the exclusive preserve of the privileged few.  Carved and painted lotus sprang and climbed rapidly from elaborate pots on either side of the sacred doorway.  The symmetrical and repetitive form of the ‘kumbha pankjas’ focused the attention of the devotee to the deity in the inner sanctum.  A half lotus step led to a threshold decorated with a kirtimukha, assuring those who passed beyond that Kala, time, had no power over them here.  

Inside the inner sanctum, Shri Vijay Vitthala stood serenely on a rectangular ‘brick’ decorated with a fully blossomed lotus.  His hands on hips, Shri Vitthala had the lotus and the Sudarshan chakra in his beautifully carved hands.  Smooth, polished black schist of the icon was wonderfully framed by a silver arch topped by a giant Kirtimukha.  Smiling softly, life-size murti of Vjaya Vitthala waited patiently for his devotees to come to him.  Shri Vishnu stood on a Vedi carved as an elaborate mandala that reduced and redacted to a circular stem, rising from the floor of the inner-sanctum that was etched with waves of the cosmic ocean.  

“Jai Hari Vitthala”, the maid sung in a musical tone to grab the attention of priests, busy applying sandalwood paste on the torso of the deity to cool him during the hot deccan summer.  A young priest turned, looked and came immediately to receive the offering from Vasantasena.  As he came out, he bumped the doors of the inner-sanctum, making them sing. Sandalwood doors of the inner sanctum were carved as an open lattice with stepped mandala design.  The open fretwork work was decorated with gilded silver bells.  Everytime the doors moved, they sang with a tinkling of 108 bells.

The maid removed the cloth cover from her plate and presented lotus garlands to the priest.  “Am I taking both garlands?” the priest asked.  “Just the long one.” Vasantsena replied with a respectful namaskar.  The young priest unwound the lotus garland from the large Bidari-ware plate and presented it to the high-priest.  Carefully adjusting it, the priests placed it so as to frame the glowing yellow deity in a circle of pink.  Admiring and bowing reverentially to Shri Vitthala, Vasantsena turned left and stepped in to the inner pradakshina marg around the inner sanctum.  Closed and lit only by lamps placed in niches, the pradakshina marg was painted with murals of kings & queens of Vijayanagar, their gurus and ancient sages, offering prayers to the divine for all eternity.  

Finishing her circumbulation, Vasantsena bowed to Vitthala. “Last week’s dance in the Kalyan Mandap was very inspirational.  I was moved by your interpretation of Purandar Das’s verses.” The young priest complemented Vasantsena as he returned her plate of garlands.   “You are most kind.” Vasantsena said with a smile.  “I am but God’s instrument in all this.” “I am looking forward to your interpretation of ‘Parijata Haran.’” The young man continued. “Whatever God inspires me to do, I will carry out for sure.” Vasantsena replied humbly. A discreate cough from the head priest reminded the young man he was still on duty.  Suitably chastised, he returned to assist in the inner sanctum.

As Vasantsena and her maid came out of the inner temple area, a slack jawed pilgrim coughed involuntarily as his wife’s elbow jabbed him in the ribcage. Turning left, the pair left by the northern entrance of the Jagmohan to go and pay their respects at the Devi Temple. Recently enlarged by KrishnaDev Raya, the original shrine of the Panchayatan style layout was now fronted by a brand-new hall.  Square pillars decorated with auspicious signs and strings of pearl torans, sprouted floral motifs as they met the roof above.  Mandap’s large lotus motif on the ceiling was composed of myriad mini lotus motifs.  Offering a lotus garland to Rukshmani Devi, Vasantsena made a mental note of the colours and pattern of her sari.  Like her lord and husband, Devi also stood with her hands on her hips, greeting her devotees with a sweet smile.

Leaving by the northern Gopuram, the ladies entered a short avenue connecting the outer and inner perimeter walls.  Between the two walls, there were several areas reserved for cooking, storing and serving the divine masters of the temple.  Just before coming to the outer northern gate, the ladies passed through a side door that led them a courtyard reserved for the musicians and dancers of the divine couple.  Singers were already practicing their scales and exercising their vocal cords under a covered veranda.  Greeting them with a namaskar, the ladies passed through a thatched doorway to arrive at a collection of rooms around a courtyard supplied with a well.  The maid quickly pulled up a couple of pails of water. Vastantsena bathed and changed into a fresh sari.  Vasantsena made sure the colour and design of her dress did not match or clash with what Rukshmani Devi was wearing today.  It’s never a good idea to be seen to be copying or competing with the presiding goddess.  Just as she finished dressing, other ladies entered the courtyard.  Greeting everyone excitedly, they too bathed quickly and changed into sombre white saris with red and gold borders.  

The ladies came out and joined the musicians to listen to the bhajans and verses they were planning to sing tonight.  They practiced and perfected their hand and body movements to match the pitch and pace of the singers.  Being in synch makes the nada-seva and nrutya-seva a perfect dance-drama, worthy of being offered to the Gods.  An elderly matron soon joined them, supervising and correcting them as needed. As the sun dipped below the western wall, the ladies applied makeup, wove flowers in their hair and put on jewellery for the performance tonight.  Vasantsena stood transformed.  Her silk saree, flawless makeup, glittering jewels, well-groomed hair with jasmin and kadamb flowers made her look like an apsara incarnate.

At the appointed hour, four torch bearers came to fetch and take them to the temple.  The group formed a curious rectangle with the torch bearers at the corners.  The matron carried the wooden block and stick used to keep time for the dancers.  Four novices formed a square around Vasantsena and behind them the musicians formed up in a square of their own.  Cymbals rang out to measure their pace as they left the courtyard.  The matron and the novices swayed like she-elephants while Vasantsena glided like a swan.  Eight guards accompanied them from beyond the inner gate and conveyed them with great pomp and ceremony to the Ranga-Mandapam on the southern side of the main shrine.

Lit with countless lamps and decorated with garlands, the Ranga-Mandapam resembled the celestial court of Indra.  Uttsav Murtis of Shri Vitthala and Rukshmani Devi were already presiding in the inner part of the hall, serenaded by sages singing sacred verses from the scriptures. Resplendent in gem studded jewels, they were weighed down by countless fragrant garlands, artistically arranged around them.  A golden ‘Parijata’ tree, dripping with flowers made of gems, framed the Uttsav murties of Shri Vitthala and his beloved consort from behind.  

 Dancers of the divine court waited patiently outside the hall to be summoned to entertain the deities.  Musicians entered by the side porch and took up positions near the musical pillars.  Each one stood by a pillar carved with the instrument they were playing.  The singers and the matron sat to the left of the deities so they had clear eye contact with the dancers when they were performing.  The Ranga Mandapam was crowded with pilgrims.  Guards kept the flow of pilgrims moving along the central axis of the hall.  Many devotes were sitting and waiting amongst the colonnades to witness the evetning’s nrutya seva (dance as a sacred offering).  They sung hymns and chanted ‘Jai Jai Vitthala, Jai Hari Vitthala’ as they waited.  

As the prayers ended, the high priest signalled to the musicians.  Cymbals rang out and the dancers ascended the stairs in rhythm with a measured gait.  Flowers held in cupped hands, the devdasis of the divine court glided effortlessly between the tall painted pillars of the Ranga Mandapam.  The cymbals ceased to ring as they arrived at the large open space in front of the deities.  Assuming the armandi pose, the dancers held their pose while the invocation mantras were sung.  As the matron started to strike the wooden box, the novices came forward to offer their flowers to the Gods.  Musicians struck the musical pillars to start the preamble of the main piece.  The pillars resounded with music of their chosen instrument, astounding the pilgrims who had gathered in the hall.  Vasantsena performed an elaborate walk around the central dance area before approaching the divine throne and offering her flowers at the feet of Shri Vitthala and Rukshmani Devi.

Almost as soon as she had finished, she rushed backwards, eyes flaring, hands extended as if gripping Vishnu’s Sarang bow!  Novice dancers scattered, flailing, falling, fearful for their lives.  Musicians and the singers chimed in to set the mood of ‘Parijata Haran’.  Novice dancers scattered in all direction as Shri Kurshna defeated the army of demon Narakasur and brought celestial treasures back to Amaravati.  Assuming different roles, the five dancers mesmerised the crowded hall with their wonderful artistry.  Haughty wife of Indra refused to share the flower from the heavenly gardens with Satyabhama, one of Shri Krushna’s wives and Shri Krushna punished the Devas by taking away the Parijata tree.  Just as Vasantsena turned to strike the mighty elephant of Indra with 11 trunks, she stood frozen.  Everyone’s eyes strained to see what had suddenly arrested the flow of the story.

A group of devotees had come in the Rang Mandap and caught the attention of Vasantsena.  Conscious that they had disturbed the dance, a handsome young brahmin stepped forward, and said softly, “I am sorry to have broken your concentration.  Please continue with the Natya-seva.” Vasantsena offered her namaskar to the tall dark scholar and signalled him to come forward and offer his namaskar to the deities.   “I am sorry to have broken your concentration. Please continue with the Natya-seva.” (Ranga bhanga na krutam.)  The brahmin reiterated his apology in a clear resonant voice. “Ranga sabha is blessed to have an acharya of your stature in its midst.  Please come sit near the deities.” Vasantsena insisted. “Thank you, but I am not sure if I deserve such an honour.” The young man said humbly. “When our emperor Krishnadev Raya himself honours you as ‘Akhand Bhumandalacharya’, this is the least we can do.” Vasantsena replied sweetly. “Your debate to establish Suddhadvait philosophy was most interesting.  I am not sure if I agree with you about Maya, but I agree wholeheartedly about Brahman being present everywhere in the universe.” Vasantsena engaged the visitor and demonstrated she knew him and about his recent victory during the month long debate on which philosophy was the best interpretation of the Vedas. “You are most kind.” Blushed the young man.

Having recognised the young man as the recently celebrated scholar of astounding intelligence, the high priest came forward to welcome the 23 year old Vallabhacharya and his family.  With all honours due to a visiting dignitary, they were prevailed upon him to come forward and offer his respects to the deities.  Vasantsena accompanied the high priest in being the perfect hosts on behalf of the temple.  After offering namaskar, flowers, fruits and sari to the deities, Shri Vallabh offered a red velvet purse his wife placed in his hands.  “Here are some gold coins I would like to offer for making Shri Vitthala’s anklets.”  Shri Vallabha said to the high priest.   “I had heard about your generosity.  You gave away thousands of gold coins, given to you by the emperor, to the assembled scholars after your victory.” High priest responded.  “Today I have the honour of seeing your generous spirit in person.”

Priests made space for Shri Vallabh, his wife, mother and uncle’s family to sit at the right of the deity.  Vasantsena bowed to the deities, Shri Vallabh, priests and pilgrims before returning to her dance.

Defeating the Deva-sena, Vasantsena placed the uprooted imaginary Parijata on the back of a novice pretending to be the Garuda.  Flying to Dwarika, Shri Krushna pointed out different cities to Satyabhama, including Vijayanagar.  Shri Krushna planted the tree in Satyabhama’s garden, but its flowers fell in Rukshmani’s garden.  With a flourish of a floral shower on the deities, Vasantsena completed her dance and bowed before the deities.

Everyone held their breath as the dancers regrouped to offer their final prayers. Shouts of ‘Jai ho’ and ‘Vitthala’ rang out in the Ranga Mandapam to congratulate the musicians, singers and dancers.  Priests stood up as palanquin bearers lifted the deities and conveyed them to their bedchamber in a stately procession.  Vasantsena accompanied the priests, torch bearers and deities to their bed chamber. Some devotes followed them, singing and dancing to delight the deities.    

A set of priests greeted the procession at the divine bedchamber.  As they divine couple dressed for the night, Vasantsena sang an enchanting love song.  Everyone felt the calm mood course through their hearts as the song filled the night air.  After the final darshan of the night, pilgrims and priests dispersed, leaving the temple and its residents to rest in peace.  Vasantsena and her companions changed their clothes and jewels before heading home.  Guards secured the various gates in and around the temple as the full moon showered its cool rays upon the divine enclosure of the Vijay Vitthala Temple.  Vasantsena and her friends walked through the deserted market street, past the pushkarni pond to their houses.    

 By Bhagwat Shah

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Appendix…..

http://vallabhacharya.guru/  1558 – kanakabhishek of Shri Vallabh by emperor KrishnaDev Raya in Vijayanagar.

https://www.slideshare.net/kaash7827/vitthala-temple - slides on different buildings in the Vitthala temple

https://youtu.be/WSTRM01irpY  You can see carved images of prostate pilgrims around 1min mark.

https://www.karnataka.com/hampi/vittala-temple/