#and i want to pass that happiness on to whoever might find a similar delight in reading it. you know?? sometimes i don't have art

[katabay]

Omar El Akkad's forward to the Annotated Arabian Nights: Tales from 1001 Nights (trans. Yasmine Seale)

[phoenixyfriend]

Time Travel ft. Leia and Vader

(Helped by @atagotiak)

I was reading a bunch of different time travel fics, and my brain slotted in that one "Vader hands over the Empire to Leia and is now her most devoted sycophant" dynamic and mixed it with the "Luke and Vader time-travel and Vader does the right thing but only because it would make Luke sad if he didn't."

I landed on "Leia time travels to prequels era, but her least favorite family member has also traveled with her, though it takes him a few months to find her because he has less resources without the entire Imperial Navy, but he's still a scary Sith in all black with a breathing mask and intimidating cape."

"Tiny angry lady who wants to force democracy and her giant Sith father whom she hates but has resigned herself to pointing at threats like a tank who inexplicably loves her" is a delightful dynamic.

The first few months included a lot of concern about "why do you know so much about Sith if you're not trained or looking to be one" and then Vader shows up and calls her 'daughter' and she insults him and it's like "Oh. That explains it."

Council Member: We have a Sith in the Temple. Vader: Former Sith. Leia: Listen. He is your best chance against Sidious. Also, do you want Dooku dead? Vader can make him dead. Council Member: Your father i-- Leia, scrunching up her face: Don't call him that.

Like Leia is deep in conversation when the Temple starts panicking because Vader just. Showed up? He snuck in, somehow? So Palpatine wouldn't catch him on video entering through the front door? And people try to keep her away from the trouble, because there's an entire array of Jedi Masters to deal with this Surprise Sith, except she can sense exactly which Sith it is and once she shouts "oh you have got to be kidding me!" she just starts running and, well, it's Leia. Nobody can stop her.

(Leia does have less combat training, at least less force-assisted combat training, than the Jedi. But then the Jedi don’t want to hurt here here. She's not fighting her way down, either, she's just running really fast and all the best fighters already left. They had a head start. So Leia's mostly running past random padawans and the like.)

She shoves her way to the front of the group of Masters who. Well, they're certainly ready to attack. But Vader is just standing there. Doing nothing. Still intimidating as fuck but he's not doing anything.

And then Leia bursts onto the scene like "You motherfucker."

She hits her head on a clipboard and whines because UGH he's a walking WMD and they could REALLY use him against Palpatine but also. She hates him so much.

She tries to hand him off to the Jedi council but he insists that he will only take orders from Leia herself.

Jedi: Wait, what. Leia, completely ignoring them: Did you follow me here? Vader, through the mechanical wheezing: I have no loyalty to my master and no empire to serve. You are all that I have left. Leia: Me? Me? I'm all that you have left? You committed a genocide that killed all the family I had except for the twin brother you later mutilated! Jedi: Wait what Vader, going to one knee: I pledge my loyalty and blade to you and only you, daughter. Leia, ready to explode: I. I just. Jedi, some of whom really want to say things but are slowly realizing that they just accidentally acquired a Sith Lord by proxy: What. Leia: I hate you so much but I can't even get rid of you, you're too useful. Vader: I live to serve. Leia: Yeah. Got that. Fuck. Someone get him a full medical rundown, I don't know the last time that mess of a life support system was updated. Jedi, agitated again: WHAT Leia: Listen, I don't like him, but I'm not stupid enough to throw away the second most dangerous person in the universe when I can point him at the most dangerous person in the universe. Especially not if he's going to listen to me. Jedi: But... he's a Sith. Leia: Please trust me when I say this: you might be able to take him down eventually, but he will take dozens of you down with him, and right now he's... honestly, I'm pretty sure he's more depressed than malicious. Jedi: You hate him. I can feel it. Leia: Yes, but I can be professional about it. Vader: They have not yet d-- Leia: Nope! No talking! Not until I've had a chance to process this mess!

There is a whole lot of Leia snapping at Vader to stop it whenever he starts giving off vibes like he wants to take the most violent shortcut possible.

She is not the gentle hand that Luke would be.

Leia isn't a Jedi or working for them but she's wormed her way into being an ally. They don't 100% trust her, especially not with Vader just showing up and declaring her family but like

How do you say no to a WMD walking into your house and saying "I will fight the monster you cower from at night."

There's a lot of Leia snapping off an admonishment that sounds just a little too odd and then when questioned she just says "He knows what he did."

tbh I'm not sure how long it takes for them to tell anyone that Anakin is Vader. They might hold it off in hopes that Anakin can just retire to be Mr. Amidala after the war is over.

Well, Leia hopes. Vader just lets Leia make that call and then glowers at his younger self every time they're in the same room.

I do feel like Leia tells Obi-Wan the truth first

Imagine. Imagine a Vader who’s past still isn’t known. But has gotten somewhat comfortable around the Jedi (not really but the bar for what counts and comfortable for him is low). And Obi-Wan habitually banters with darksiders, right? If Vader’s guard is down for a moment and he, without thinking, references an inside joke...

Might be the most fun in terms of ways to tell Obi-Wan "We're time travelers and Vader is what happens if you let Palpatine drive Anakin off the edge"

If Vader has decided to pledge himself to her orders after destroying her planet, then fine. She can work with that. She's not going to be happy about it, but she can make it work.

The Jedi Temple hates having Vader anywhere nearby but he is actually very good at hiding himself from people, including Palpatine And for all that Leia seems perpetually irritated with her apparent bodyguard, he does seem to listen to her.

Jedi council: We still haven't figured out how to handle Dooku Leia: Do you know his location? Jedi council: Yes. Leia: [sigh] Leia: Vader, deal with it. Alive if possible.

(Leia does need to clarify an acceptable level of violence against the people protecting Dooku.) (She needs to clarify... many things.)

Leia always says "Vader" and one time a poor fool just asks why she doesn't call him dad and she snarls out "He is not the man that raised me, and I am glad for it."

Someone less foolish later prods more compassionately and she lets them know she was adopted and didn't properly meet Vader except in passing until she was nineteen.

"And then he tortured you." "And then he tortured me, yes." "Damn." "Didn't even find out we were related until a few years later when he chopped my brother's arm off." "You... wow." "I know."

At least one exchange that is L: You mean when you tortured me? A: He did what. V: I was not aware of our relation at that time. L: Not the point! I am fully aware of your interrogation methods and I refuse to let you be the one to acquire the evidence for-- A: Wait no go back he tortured you? L: Move on, please, we already have. A: That means I'm... oh Force, I'm going to torture my own daughter what in the actual fu-- L: We're moving on.

(“I end up torturing my own daughter” If Leia’s feeling especially spiteful I can see her saying “you mutilate your own son too”)

Concept: Leia is very free with traumatizing details of her past re:Vader and Anakin thinks that it sucks but doesn’t think much of it bc Sith. And then some time later he finds out...

(I love characters who use the traumatizing details of their past to shut down conversations.)

It's such a wonderfully horrifying concept for him to try to awkwardly comfort this girl he kind of knows because having a Sith for a dad sounds like it would suck and Leia seems nice, even if she's kind of weird and uncomfortable around Anakin, but he saw her flinch around a few other tall people wearing black robes the way she stiffens around Vader so maybe it's just that!

It is not.

Vader does get a significant amount of medical treatment. Including a bunch of "holy shit, that's a lot of drugs" and similar. There is so much lightning damage.

hnnng I'm just really in love with the image of Tiny Tiny Leia sitting behind a desk for some fancy negotiation, the picture of professionalism, while Vader just stands behind her shoulder, looming, glaring expressionless death at whoever came to speak with his baby girl.

Not that he would call her that, because she'd just hate him more and he's really not sure how to fix that problem, other than doing whatever she asks with no complaints and hoping she appreciates it.

Vader: [looks at children wandering by, has complicated emotions] Leia, tired of his shit: What now? Vader: I killed them, once. Leia, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath: And you're not going to do that again. No killing children. Vader: I know that. Leia: Great. I am... regretting asking. I am so very much regretting asking.

I do really like the idea of someone asking Leia once if she wants Jedi training and she says, no, actually, she's fully aware of the fact that she's angry little ball of hate sometimes, especially towards her bio father, and she'd like to refrain from putting herself in a position where she knows enough about the Force to Fall. She wouldn't Fall. But it does make people shut up.

[ddarker-dreams]

Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications.  Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. “Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ” 

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” 

[bookrecsource]

if you like this, read this (august 2022)

hello lovelies! i’m wishing everyone a happy last month of summer and sending immense thank yous to everyone that started following me! the biggest of hugs to you all mwah <3 im kicking off this blog with a series i hope to post on the first of every month as a guide for all people that find themselves in an incurable slump after reading a book they love or are just looking to scratch a similar itch! without further ado, please read on for a quick explanation of each and see under the cut for more in depth summaries

this month i offer you a romance pairing! they are both so similar in that they’re both new adult and have almost identical plots however one is contemporary and the other is historical. i found them both delightful and you can read on under the cut for more in depth synopses. any other recommendations like these are welcome and encouraged in the comments and tags :)

to have and to hoax follows a married couple in the regency era that started as a love match but have been mysteriously on the outs with each other for years. they got into a huge fight that left them isolated from each other but over the course of the novel we watch them untangle the origin of their predicament and grow closer once again through a series of shenanigans meant to poke the other’s buttons.

you deserve each other takes a more modern spin and follows a couple that is engaged but has fallen out of love. neither wants to be the one to call off their engagement and therefore be responsible for handling all the wedding payments so they enter a standoff to see who can make the other crack first. as they see this hostile plan through they end up remembering why they fell for each other in the first place.

to have and to hoax official synopsis:

Five years ago, Lady Violet Grey and Lord James Audley met, fell in love, and got married. Four years ago, they had a fight to end all fights, and have barely spoken since.

Their once-passionate love match has been reduced to one of cold, detached politeness. But when Violet receives a letter that James has been thrown from his horse and rendered unconscious at their country estate, she races to be by his side—only to discover him alive and well at a tavern, and completely unaware of her concern. She’s outraged. He’s confused. And the distance between them has never been more apparent.

Wanting to teach her estranged husband a lesson, Violet decides to feign an illness of her own. James quickly sees through it, but he decides to play along in an ever-escalating game of manipulation, featuring actors masquerading as doctors, threats of Swiss sanitariums, faux mistresses—and a lot of flirtation between a husband and wife who might not hate each other as much as they thought. Will the two be able to overcome four years of hurt or will they continue to deny the spark between them?

With charm, wit, and heart in spades, To Have and to Hoax is a fresh and eminently entertaining romantic comedy—perfect for fans of Jasmine Guillory and Julia Quinn.

you deserve each other official synopsis:

Naomi Westfield has the perfect fiancé: Nicholas Rose holds doors open for her, remembers her restaurant orders, and comes from the kind of upstanding society family any bride would love to be a part of. They never fight. They’re preparing for their lavish wedding that's three months away. And she is miserably and utterly sick of him.

Naomi wants out, but there's a catch: whoever ends the engagement will have to foot the nonrefundable wedding bill. When Naomi discovers that Nicholas, too, has been feigning contentment, the two of them go head-to-head in a battle of pranks, sabotage, and all-out emotional warfare.

But with the countdown looming to the wedding that may or may not come to pass, Naomi finds her resolve slipping. Because now that they have nothing to lose, they're finally being themselves—and having fun with the last person they expect: each other.

[bored-storyteller]

uh I love your storys about Uta ^^. You write him so good and in character . Could you maybe write a story about him were him and the reader ( human) meeting at an auction like reader was captured and meets Uta there . But maybe they escape the auction house and meet Uta sometime after this again. I`m sorry I love Uta angst and fluff .

Dear anon. I'll tell you, your request inspired me a lot (that's why I did it right away), but I must confess that I'm not really satisfied with the result and I'm sorry (I rewrote it three times). I have to thank my poor summary skills for this defeat, I don't think I managed to really give you what you asked me. Feel free to send me clarifications or a further request for me to remedy!

43- Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x human!reader

“The bird of ill omen and the broken toy”

You are in front of his eyes, huddled in a corner of the cold and dark container. On your knees, tied up, you are the condemned to death ready to face the gallows, or rather you are a delicious dish wrapped in its most beautiful dress to entice the spectators.

"Oh, look here ... what a delightful creature."

You are not the main article, you are not the rare object, yet your smell has brought him there. Uta is not a glutton, but he couldn't resist the temptation to peek at whoever was carrying such an inviting fragrance.

"This is really a shame ..." his voice is sweet, calm, yet ironic and cruel. Yes, it's a shame that he has to give you to some miserly ghoul.

Uta doesn’t usually prefer a certain type of food, he is not delicate or picky, nor does he have problems eating even his similar ones. But he has to admit that while those bright eyes of yours, shining with tears and desperation, look at him, he really would like to be able to eat them. Yes, it is rare for someone to stimulate his appetite in this way, customers really have to thank him for his self-control.

You are so small in his shadow, and even if you tremble, even if you smell of fear, he sees no hope in your eyes.

You know you have no escape. As little as you may be when it comes to ghouls, you know you can't save yourself. You heard them talk.

You would rather die now than continue that torture.

He feels it, and oh, how tempted he is to grant your wish.

He leans over you, he wants to see you well, he wants to hear you. The demonic beak of his mask brushes against you, rubs against your temple like the muzzle of a mother cuddling his cub, or the muzzle of a lion that is playing with his prey.

Maybe, if he had met you in another situation ... maybe ...

No. He doesn't necessarily have to devour you. Nothing is ever said with Uta, even he knows it, he knows himself. Who knows what would have happened if you had met somewhere else. Who knows who you were, elsewhere.

In conclusion, you were both unlucky: you cannot survive, and he cannot be the one to eat you. You have something in common.

"Uta!"

Roma's voice makes its way, muffled by the metal container in which you are locked up - like a ready meal -

"I'm coming!" It's time for him to go on stage, for you it's time for the final bow.

He doesn't tell you anything anymore, he doesn't need to. He will say goodbye to you that same evening, but he feels a little happy that you are among the last items to be exhibited.

He still gives you a look, you, little shaking puppet, sweet broken toy. Who can fix you anymore?

After that, he leaves you behind, abandoned in the cold darkness of your last hours in solitude, as he plunges into the cold light of demons, ready to entertain his fellow men with his affable ways. What a crazy world you are both in.

. . .

Locked in your cold prison, if you could you would cover your ears in a desperate attempt to get away from the announcements and screams, but it's impossible for you. So you wait, trembling in your shell of panic, not knowing what to do. If only you had at least a vain hope, a false chance. If only you could save yourself, for some reason, any reason then yeah, oh, how dear life would be to you thereafter. But you can't even think now.

And you don't even realize that the noises change. The cries of the victims become the cries of the executioners, and the applause becomes breathless footsteps in search of a safe place. But you don't know it, or at least not until they get closer, more distressed. They are probably running away. But who can save you? Who knows you are there? Who can remember you?

And in fact, no one stops, no one frees you, and the footsteps and the screams brush against you and pass you, without bothering to kill or save you. At least you think so.

But as soon as the silence comes, the creaking of the doors opening makes you lift your face, towards the light.

He is there again, and you wonder if that Bird of ill Omen is not your hallucination. With that bizarre suit, that hateful mask, and those ancient letters around his neck that seem ready to strangle him.

He doesn't talk to you. He is simply looking at you, you feel him looking at you, behind that deadly beak. In the silence that surrounds you, whether it is a real silence or created by mutual presence, he suddenly occupies your every thought in those few seconds of eternity. Maybe it's the touch of death that wanders your mind, but suddenly unusual questions arise in you. Who knows who he is, what he does. What does he like and what not ... does he live in the alleys of the city, or maybe, instead, without that mask he pretends to be someone?

He came to take you and devour you. But it almost seems like a strange barrier is keeping him away from you.

And while you are suspended in this limbo of cold resignation, as he came he disappears, and with his disappearance he takes away from you that sad calm that had enveloped you.

The panic returns as someone approaches.

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Clean eyes, a clean face, no mask is looking at you agitated. You don't know how to answer, you don't even know if what you are seeing is true.

“I'm a human, I'm a CCG investigator. Don't worry, it's okay, we'll get you out of here. "

Without your being fully aware of it, you find yourself in warm, safe arms that take you away from hell behind you. You didn't even realize you were crying.

. . .

He recognized your smell right away.

Even if it's been some time since his meeting with you, it's hard to forget something that has affected him so much, especially if it is something that has particularly touched his sensitivity over that of others.

And it's not that Uta is then easily surprised, he is ready to expect anything from that crazy world, yet you manage to upset him without even knowing that he is there.

You are smiling. And that's not the fact, but at the same time it is. You are smiling sweetly, sincerely. Your eyes are clear and bright, and you are listening to someone talking to you about their petty problems without batting an eye.

That night, that night he met you, he came back to eat you. He was not a ghoul who got lost in gluttony, but given the situation he had a particular interest in the statement "carpe diem".

He hadn't, in the end. In the end he just looked at you. It would have been easy to swallow you, but he had left you there. He had told himself that he hadn't made it in time, but who knows what was really going through his head at that moment.

It doesn't matter anymore, however. What's a broken toy like you doing so quietly exposed? How can you smile at people like that, when surely the world around you has crumbled into millions of little bits?

You make him angry, you know? Humans like you, whom the world keeps getting back on their feet despite everything, provoke anger in him.

And you are there, a few steps away from him, and you do not realize that the one who had the task of trampling your life is watching you.

And no matter how much anger he may feel inside of him, he can't help but look at you, as you speak comfortable words to someone, while you give your attention as if you have no problem.

"Uta?" Renji's voice, intent on looking at him from behind the coffee shop counter, makes him look away from you.

"Nh? Ah… ”His gaze falls on his now coffee-stained lap. The stain is almost invisible on the black sweater, but it is damp and warm.

"Don't laugh ... can you give me a towel please?"

"I'm not laughing." Yet Uta could swear that in the serious voice of his trusted friend a note of amusement is audible even to those who do not know him.

Carefully he puts the cup back on the saucer, making sure not to do any further damage.

This then. When was he ever so distracted for a human?

But when he instinctively looks for you, after all that nice little theater, you're not there anymore. The table you occupied is empty.

Only one object remained abandoned on the shiny surface. A book lies alone, the bookmark sticking out in the middle.

It is placed on the side where you sat. Did you leave in such a hurry that you left it there?

It is not that he has a real reason to do it, yet, while he is about to leave :Re, with all the tranquility that characterizes him, he picks up that literary volume in his hands, hiding it inside his jacket. Even that printed paper is imbued with your smell by now.

. . .

You talk to books, apparently. The edges of the pages are filled with thoughts written in pencil. They are all yours, it almost seems like you use the books as your diary, but there is nothing so personal about you. They are just… points of view. The world told by you, depending on the inspiration that the phrases in the book give you.

"It must be difficult to live in a world where you can talk to your food about your favorite book."

When Uta's eyes had settled on that particular phrase, he had closed. For someone else it might have been a stupid phrase, probably, but for him it was like a punch in the stomach.

He doesn't know if you wrote it before or after the accident, but in any case that simple sentence arouses a mixture of emotions that he doesn't really know where to place. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't understand what it meant to be a ghoul in that world, but on the other hand, the utopia in which Renji seems so hoping could be made up of people like you. If only he believed it, Uta could like that world, as long as there was a place in that world for someone like him.

“Excuse me, did you happen to find a book yesterday? I'm afraid I left it here by mistake. " Your cordial voice betrays a note of alarmism as you speak to the young girl. Your hands grip the counter as if it were a rock of salvation, but your feet are ready to run elsewhere, to look somewhere else in case it isn't there.

"Oh ... no, I'm sorry, I haven't seen any books." Touka's voice is sorry, an apologetic tone hovers between her words.

"Oh, damn ... sorry, thanks anyway!" Your words are so hasty, so quick that he doesn't have time to interrupt them.

The bell rings and the door closes with a click.

"You have it, don't you?" Renji never misses anything - or almost -.

"Yeah, it’s better that I give it back to them before they run all over Tokyo on foot."

"How long have you been so thoughtful?"

Uta allows himself to take a last look at the silver-haired ghoul from over his sunglasses, as he prepares to leave the cafe: "I'm always thoughtful."

. . .

The snow has just started to fall. It is light and silent, the parks of the metropolis have not yet begun to turn white.

You would gladly stay and watch the show from the heat of your home, if it weren't for that damn book you forgot somewhere. Oh, you love your books, but they're so good at hiding. You were convinced you left it in the coffee shop!

"Excuse me…"

A cordial voice caresses your eardrums. It's so warm and peaceful, yet a chill shiver stops the blood in your veins.

Turning around, you meet a man dressed in black. He is strange, but it doesn't surprise you, there are a lot of strange people in such a big city, even people who wear sunglasses on a snowy day.

You had already seen him in the cafe, but you didn't dwell on him. Not because he doesn't get your attention, just… it was an instinct.

“I think you were looking for this. I found it yesterday by chance. "

Clear and tapered fingers hand you your much-desired book. On fair skin, intertwining dark patterns form inexplicable designs, at least for you, but you're sure they have a lot to say, don't they?

Slowly you reach out your hand, and hesitantly touch the cover, to resume what you were looking for.

The night of the accident did not disappear. You are scared. You are afraid of death, but even more of pain, of imprisonment. You are afraid of fear itself. However, you are also afraid of not living, of wasting, of losing.

You are in a limbo that does not let you escape, and you can not help but continue your life, savoring every second, waiting for the Bird of ill Omen to come and get you.

So you push back the mistrust again, and a grateful and kind smile goes to the one who helped you, without asking for explanations.

"Thank you very much." Your voice reaches his pierced ears with such unexpected sweetness.

"It was a pleasure." His smile, decorated with the piercing, is barely hinted at, but delicate - reassuring? -

And for endless moments you look at each other, in silence, without speaking and without thinking. And then, as if nothing had happened, the dances between prey and predator begin.

"Can I buy you a coffee?"

. . .

Your eyes look at him shiny, frightened. You are still in a cage, imprisoned by a body that will soon be ready to consume you.

Uta wonders if you really never anticipated this. All the times you've crossed paths, have you really ever been in doubt? Every time you looked at him, every time you smiled at him or laughed at his words, did you never guess the truth? No, maybe you've always known it from the start, broken toys never work too well.

The mask of that evening, like a macabre mockery - both for him and for you - is leaning on the work table, not far from you, looking at you placidly. It’s a coincidence that he pulled it out just in the morning.

Suddenly the images of that day come back between you two, like a dream. The incomprehensible to you tattoo on his neck has a creepy look overwhelmed by the shadows that the soft lights create on the ghoul.

Fear invades you, like a script. Yet, while the Bird of ill Omen looms over you, trapping you in the corner of the room with his arms, your terror is different from what he had already seen in you. Today it is almost more visible, less controlled, as you tremble beneath him.

Maybe it's the surprise of being caught in a trap by someone who – perhaps- you had slowly begun to love – despite everything-, or maybe, simply, inside you a little hope still survives.

Uta's head bends, and the tip of his nose brushes your neck, smelling the coveted perfume that had so attracted him.

If you're so scared, how did you smile all that time? How did you keep going? How did you keep loving that world?

Beside his mask, as a warning of future torment, your dear book lies silent, ready to say goodbye. You lent it to him last time, he asked you for it.

Your smell is as strong, sweet, delicious as ever - so why is his stomach closing up? -

His jaws open, and as delicate as cruel they enclose your fragile neck. In them, the accelerated beats of your heart, still alive, make him tremble.

One bite and you will be nothing but dead flesh, and he hesitates.

He had to kill you before it was too late, right? Uta should know himself well enough, he had to understand right away what was happening inside him.

A sigh, and then his lips pull away, his saliva stops wetting you. He is not hungry, he has already eaten.

He is still upon you, but now he is only looking at you, with his eyes of blood and darkness. You, like a frightened puppy, remain shaking in a corner for a few moments, lost in his pupils. And then, like a crazy lightning bolt, you run away, as you have always run away. You slip under his arms, and as fast as you can you reach the door of the shop.

Uta watches you go, swallows bitter air, and then bows his head, surrendered.

What will happen now? Will you shut up in fear? Will you tell anyone? Only time will tell.

He slowly gets up, his hands caressing each other's tattooed arms, in a distracted gesture of protection, as he approaches the table. His fingers touch it, and then squeeze it, while he looks at the book that is left alone again, without your eyes on it.

And then, suddenly, as if he had woken up from a dream, he notices something: your smell has not vanished.

Turning his view, he sees you. You are still there, or maybe you are back there.

Now it is you who are on the side of the light, and he is in the corner of the cage. The Bird of ill Omen has become the broken toy, left alone among his masks.

"What's up?" No matter the crack inside, Uta always looks so mature, peaceful, even after he has threatened to kill you.

You take a step towards him, but your outstretched arm continues to secure yourself to the door jamb. If you left he wouldn't follow you, you know that right?

"I ... I think I'm crazy, Uta ..." You too realize how much your behavior is against logic, how foolish it is to remain - to search - in your nightmare. But on the other hand, humans ... no, people, when they are desperate, lose the light of reason, and do wrong things. Things the world says are wrong. That world, which claims to be the only one, when it is nothing more than a facade, a corner of something much larger.

"Yes, I think so too." He really thinks so. You have to be crazy to still be there, at least as crazy as he is. "Why are you still here?"

You shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself more out of shyness than out of fear - yeah, you're no longer afraid, it's as if you've run out of batteries.

"I ... as long as I'm alive I can choose, right?" It came out of your lips so naturally that you didn't even realize it was you who uttered that sentence, yet it's a truth so deep, so intense that it has guided you from that damn night to this day.

"And what are you choosing?"

Your eyes cast a fleeting glance outside, at the glimmer of the city, and without hesitation you gently accompany the door to close, imprisoning you. Imprisoning both of you.

Maybe it's a prison, but this time it's really your choice. You are with that Bird of ill Omen, but you are not tied up, you are not thrown to the ground in a cold corner. You are with him, surrounded by works of art that stare at you impassively, but it was you who decided it.

"I choose not to ignore anymore ..." Your fingers intertwine with each other, you play with them as if you need to keep them busy as you approach him. He is waiting for you. "I want to understand."

"How can you understand?" He would like to tell you, but he doesn't say a word, because not even he can understand you. What kind of mask would suit you? Who knows, yet he has learned enough about you that he should be able to think of at least one. But no, you are always there, hoping for something, believing that after all, living is worthwhile.

So he stays there, even when you lean against him. Not a contact, but a fusion. Stomach against stomach, lungs against lungs, heart against heart. Your hands cling to his arms only to hold him closer, and as he looks at your closed eyes he knows you're listening to him. You're trying to feel his every breath, every twitch of him. You want to get inside him, and he lets you do it - isn't that what he wanted too?

The predator and the prey united in a single entity for an eternal instant.

It's all so against the moral and social rules, but what do you care now? You already know he could kill you. And in that world that goes round and round without stopping, a black writing in an ancient language that also goes around a greedy neck could be your starting point for putting the pieces back together. Maybe it's a disease, maybe it's madness, but deep down, why not? Why not go a little further? Better to die than to be afraid to live, right?

"How much confidence ..."

His voice further softened by his whisper makes your previously closed eyelids lift. His nocturnal eyes look at you slightly narrowed, a slight upward crease caresses his lips without even knowing it. It is difficult for Uta to do something without being aware of it.

He is very beautiful. Beautiful and awful.

"Can't I?"

The world out there, the crazy little world is gone.

"Well, why not ... you are my food, after all."

[merakiui]

Hiya! Could you write something where s/o hears Verine humming or singing to himself while he’s gardening his medicine herbs or something please?🥺👉👈

Rainy Day Lullabies (Verine)

The raindrops fall in soft, pitter-pattering droplets. In the 14th Department, there’s a specific tranquility that flits throughout the dimly lit halls. Outside, the sky is dark and cloudy, a peaceful scene paired nicely with the delightful drizzle that kisses everything in sight. It’s been raining a lot lately, and plants are sprouting from the confines of the soil, reaching towards outer space with raised leaves and stems. It’s moments such as this one where you truly realize just how precious nature is.

Your walk ends at the length of the awning, which is keeping you dry from the rain. Before you is the entrance to the quonset greenhouse, its windows blurred and fogged with condensation. Nyang Lead Manager sent you to clean up after a few Reapers skipped out on their duties. Normally, you’d be upset at whoever neglected their work, but the greenhouse has always been a special place for you. So you don’t mind having to do extra work. If it means you’ll get to spend a few hours surrounded by plants, you’re more than willing to cover for the Reapers.

Gently, you open the door, stepping inside with even movements. The humidity catches you by surprise for a moment before you’re able to adjust, maneuvering through the lines of metal tables. Plants of all kinds are growing around you, hanging from baskets, sitting in decorative pots, and even protruding from the ground where seeds have fallen. It’s definitely a colorful sight to behold. Sections of different plants within similar families can be seen on benches that have been grouped efficiently. In one corner, a palm tree germinates from a large pot, its leaves fanning out healthily. You wonder when it was last repotted. From the looks of it, it’s growing wonderfully, and you hope one of the stronger Reapers was able to do the work in your stead.

Silence stretches the tranquil atmosphere for a minute until it’s permeated by a low hum. Someone else must be in here, you muse, heading into the part of the greenhouse that’s been divided. Passing the threshold, you’re startled to see Verine standing there in an apron. He’s holding a watering can, tipping it ever so slightly to shower the soil in crisp water. As he tends to his plants, he sings the lilting notes of a familiar lullaby. Not wanting to disturb him, you stand in the doorway and watch, listening to his lovely voice and witnessing just how gentle he is with his work.

He sets the watering can down, straightening his posture and lifting his gaze. And then he spots you. “Oh, Manager.” There’s a hint of shock in his voice, as if he didn’t expect to meet you here. His pale cheeks flare up a bit, and he coughs into his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to water the plants that haven’t been watered yet, but it seems like you were one step ahead of me.” Smiling, you move closer to his bench, eyeing the different sprouts, all of which grow in different containers. “Did you grow these yourself?”

He nods, gesturing to a white flower that reminds you of a daisy. Looking at its label, it’s chamomile. “You probably wouldn’t know because it’s a boring hobby for someone as dull as me, but these are my medicinal herbs.”

You glance at him, a sincere look in your eyes. “I don’t think you’re dull, and this is far from boring. It actually seems really peaceful.”

“You’re just saying that...”

A frown graces your features. “I'm speaking from my heart. You’re a very hard-working Soul Reaper. I’m happy to have met you.”

Verine purses his lips, on the verge of an objection. He focuses on his plants once more, patting down the moist soil and wiping any excess particles from the plastic surfaces of the pots.

“You have a beautiful singing voice.”

He chokes as another coughing fit overwhelms him. “That’s...not true. It’s nothing special. I can’t even sing without coughing. I’m just a good-for-nothing—”

“Then I’m a subpar manager.”

You say it with such confidence that it catches Verine off guard. “You’re not subpar at all!”

“I am if I’m allowing one of my Soul Reapers to put himself down. What kind of manager does that make me? I won’t tolerate that sort of self-deprecating attitude at all.”

Even if you mean well in everything you say, Verine can’t help but feel like he’s getting seriously reprimanded. Hearing you compliment his positive attributes makes his head spin. If he hears anymore, he might just get a migraine. And luckily for him he’s growing feverfew, so it’ll be nice to have those leaves at the ready for when he’s suffering. Though it’s not like that’s a rarity. Every day is spent with new aches and pains, a terrible reality for an ill Reaper who must endure every creak in his frail bones. Another cough rattles his esophagus, and he wishes he would’ve brought more throat lozenges to ease the irritation.

“You don’t think I’m pitiful?”

“Not at all. Why would I?”

“Everyone thinks I’m weak because of my illnesses, so I assumed you thought the same...”

“Even so, you’re plenty strong in other ways! And now I’m here to help you with the plants! A few Reapers skipped out on their tasks, so I’m here to do the remaining work.” You spot a few weeds poking out from the soil, and you pluck them at once. “Is there anything else that needs to be done? I can help you.”

Verine nods, feeling an odd warmth blossom within his chest. For once, it’s not uncomfortable. “I haven’t weeded this side yet, and those tables over there have flowers that need to be transplanted. Nyang gave me some more containers so we won’t run out.”

“Okay! Just leave it me.”

He watches you work. No one’s ever joined him in weeding or transplanting before. Whenever he asked Quincy for help, the pink-haired devil would just laugh in his face, saying something about how he was far too busy to do something as boring as gardening. But Verine’s glad that it’s you who offered to help him and not someone like Mori or Quincy, who both view him as a frail sheet of paper. If it were up to him, he’d prefer to spend the majority of his day inside the greenhouse with you, just chatting and bonding over plants. It would be so much fun.

When you disappear from sight, having dropped down to pull the weeds from under the benches, Verine returns to his work. And for a few minutes the two of you work in comfortable silence, which is occasionally interrupted by the HAF fans. Verine loses himself in his own world as time ticks by. The rain continues to fall outside and he starts whistling as a result. It isn’t long before he’s murmuring lyrics to that same lullaby from before. As soon as you hear it, your head pops up from under the bench.

“What’re you singing?”

“I don’t really know. It’s just a random melody.”

"Well, it sounds delightful. You should sing more often.”

“O-Oh.” He’s taken by surprise at such a forward statement. He’d be willing to sing if it was for you, but his lungs and throat just wouldn’t be able to handle an entire set list. Verine can almost feel how out of breath he’d be as a result. But if it’s for you, it might be worth it. “Are you sure I don’t sound like a wheezing rubber duck? Because I’m really not that good. I don’t think there’s anything remotely beautiful about this gloomy voice of mine.”

“Hey. I’ll have none of that.” In a tone that’s reminiscent of a chiding parent, you cover the distance that separates the both of you. Gently, you grab his hands, your fingers interlocking with his. His instincts tell him to back away because he doesn’t want to cough on you. “I find your voice to be very soothing. You should do ASMR recordings with a soft voice like yours!”

He opens his mouth to protest and instantly slips into a coughing fit that has him using his arm as cover. His hands untangle from yours and you’re left standing there. Of all the people he’s encountered, you’re one of few who’s unbothered by his sickly tendencies. You never look at him with a pitying gaze, and you’re always encouraging him to think positively of himself. He must be in love if his heart is racing like a horse within his chest. Or maybe he’s catching a fever. In any case, it’s a symptom he’s well-acquainted with.

“Sorry. It was’t funny, was it?” Bashful, you avoid his pale blue stare. “Anyways, let’s get back to work. As much as I’d like to, I can’t spend all day in here. Since we’ve got more than enough time, why don’t you tell me about the plants you’re growing?”

His eyes light up like a strand of multicolored lights. “Are you actually interested?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t.”

Verine coughs twice as he eagerly gestures to his spouts. He’s always so cheery whenever he’s talking about something he enjoys, and it warms your heart to see how invested he is in his medicinal herbs. You wish precious moments like these would last far longer than intended.

While the rain pelts the greenhouse outside, you remain indoors with Verine, listening to his explanation about his garden and transplanting everything that clutters one bench. And while you go about your tasks, you find yourself beginning to hum. Verine overhears the gentle sounds that reverberate within your throat, and even if he isn’t always confident he finds himself humming along. This dreary afternoon will become a treasured memory as time goes on, filled with the sounds of rain and a pair of friends humming a carefree cradle song.

[chrwrites]

Take Me As You Please - Chapter 1

When Marinette’s worse dream comes true, she does everything she can to let her feelings for Adrien go, and Luka only wants to be there for her – that’s what friends are for, right?

A lot of feelings can happen in one summer.

read on ao3

Luka loved summer. Paris was less chaotic since most people were away for the holidays, the usually crowded streets were empty and this allowed him to enjoy his city more than he already did. Everything was quieter but more colourful, the world seemed to flourish around him and he allowed himself to fully absorb that energy. Summer meant warm sunny days, and the way the breeze brushed his skin and ruffled his hair inspired new songs, now that school was over he finally had time to focus only on his music. Summer was a chance to recharge before going back to the ordinary, he could let go of his worries for a moment and take things slow, free his mind. Summer tasted like freedom and sweet juicy fruits, and Luka loved and cherished every moment of it. 

He sat on a couch on the deck of the Liberty, gently strumming his acoustic guitar while he waited for the rest of his bandmates to arrive at band practice. The Liberty welcomed his and Juleka's friends, they spent most of the time hanging out on the houseboat, some playing music, some writing, some drawing. They even managed to bring a table tennis table on board to everyone's delight. At the end of the day they would watch orange and red lights gleam on the Seine, the sun setting on the horizon painting the buildings in a warmer colour, and each sunset was so unique  Luka wanted to capture them through music, but he struggled to find the perfect melody for the incredible arrangement of yellow, pink, red and orange in the sky he was lucky to see almost everyday. Not being able to find the perfect tune for something was more frustrating than he’d admit, he usually got it right at the first try and then he would start composing from there, that was the difficult part. But this time it felt like something was missing. There was only one time when he found difficult to find the perfect tune for something, or rather, someone –

“Luka! The guys haven't arrived yet?" Marinette's voice interrupted his thoughts, he looked up at her direction and smiled. She just got off the gangplank and was walking up to him, she was wearing a white sundress with small cherries printed on it and her dark hair were styled into a side braid. Oh, she was beautiful. And while he admired her, she stumbled on a cable on the floor.

“Woah, careful there” he let out a small chuckle.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!”, she said a little too loudly as she straightened up, tightening the grip on the bag she was holding.  That was his Marinette. Well, not his in that sense¸ he wished she was, but her heart belonged to someone else.

She was the Marinette he learned to know so well during the last two years. The clumsy, sweet and joyful Marinette, the girl he fell in love with, and even though he knew that his feelings weren’t reciprocated, he was happy with being by her side as a friend, and he respected her enough not to push his feelings on her. Why should he, anyway? She was free to love whoever she wanted, even if this meant suffering and crying about it for hours in his arms. He hated seeing her like this, and he wished he could do more for her, and of course he could do more for her. He could be what she needed, he could treat her like she deserved, but it wasn’t him she wanted for that. The only thing he could do for her was being there for her, and that’s exactly what he did. They got close and hung out together, they learned to know each other, she allowed herself to be vulnerable around him and he was happy about that. He gave her the chance to be herself and nothing else, and she was happy with that. That’s the only thing that mattered.

“I brought macarons for everyone” she said, sitting next to him and placing the bag she was holding on the wooden deck “Where are they?”

“Oh, Jules and Rose went to get ice cream, and Ivan and Mylène are arriving at 4:30” he shrugged. They sat in silence as he plucked the strings of his guitar, the same melody he was playing before she arrived filling the air. She was looking at her sundress, gently pulling at its creases to straighten them a little.

“That’s a new one” she commented, a tiny smile forming on her face “I like it”

“It’s not perfect yet” he noted, and set the guitar aside, looking at her. She didn’t look her usual joyful self, her face was serious and her ocean eyes were dull. It seemed like something was torturing her mind.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking directly into her eyes.

Marinette looked away and took a deep breath, she didn’t know where to start, she burdened him with so many of her problems and didn’t want to put more weight on his shoulders. Especially since this time she would’ve reminded him of when she asked him to go on a double date with Adrien and Kagami, the first time she chose Adrien over him, and he let her. Luka accepted it and he didn’t even start to behave differently around her. Marinette felt like she didn’t deserve to be treated so gently, but he did it anyway. He never made her feel wrong for her own feelings, even if he was hurt by them. Luka deserved much better than her crying on his shoulder for her unrequited crush while he felt the same way about her, but time has passed since he confessed his feelings to her, and after that he never made another move. Besides, didn’t he start seeing someone recently? What was his name again? Elliott, right? He had moved on. Marinette met him at band practice once, he was nice and pretty and definitely Luka’s type. Too bad they broke up right before school ended. Marinette was the first person to know, “We weren’t invested enough” was all he said, and she didn’t dare to ask him more about it, she just told him that she was sorry and he stayed at hers, they watched a movie and ordered pizza, just like friends do after a break up. Yes, he must be over her, she could tell him without being afraid to hurt him, it’s not like she has never talked to him about Adrien, anyway.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel like it” he said, catching her attention.

“Well, it’s just that – she closed her eyes, wincing at the thought of saying it out loud – Adrien and Kagami are dating”. It was awfully real now.

Luka stayed silent for a while, trying to find the right words to say, but he only wanted to hold her and comfort her.

“He texted me today” she continued “he told me she had asked him out. They went on a picnic at the park and when he walked her home they kissed. And he’s happy he’s finally found someone that fully understands him. – Luka put his hand on her shoulder – I lied. I told him I was happy for them too. They’re my friends after all, I should be happy for them, but...”

She finally turned to Luka, who was looking at her with so much care and understanding she felt like collapsing.

“I feel so stupid, I’ve spent the last two years trying to create the perfect moment for me to confess my feelings for him and it was useless. I kept making up excuses for my hesitation. I was never brave enough to tell him how I really felt. I kept stuttering and I never took a chance to express myself and I even complained about him considering me just a friend? I didn’t do anything to make him truly understand how I felt! Hell, I’m the one who suggested him to get closer to her in the first place! If I weren’t so insecure, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I des–

“Enough with the negative self-talk” Luka snapped, surprising himself and Marinette for the harsh tone that came out of his mouth. He sighed, looking at her in the eyes and getting closer to her. If it weren’t for the helpless and sad look on Marinette’s face he would've found this whole situation pretty ironic. Actually, he could see the irony in the situation. He was comforting the girl he was in love with because her crush unknowingly shattered her heart. The universe must’ve been laughing at him.

“Sorry” he whispered “I hate it when you put yourself down, you should be kinder to yourself”.

Marinette looked down and stayed silent. If she opened his mouth Luka would’ve scolded her again for being too hard on herself.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Luka asked, his voice softer than ever. Marinette nodded helplessly and looked at him.

“I think that everyone could see that you were head over heels for him, and he was completely oblivious because he was fine with having you as a friend, and you shouldn’t blame yourself for this. I think that even if you have never been direct with your feelings, he could've understood how you felt. You behaved differently around him and he never noticed nor questioned it”. Marinette gazed at him, nodding hesitantly “Y-You’re right, maybe I should just try to let this go. I mean, when I talk to him as a friend I don’t get flustered that easily, it’s easier for me to be with him, I’m not afraid that something might go wrong. I care about him, but I have to face the fact that Kagami is the perfect match for him. They have a similar background and their parents work together. She’s smart and determined and everything I’m not, I understand why he’s fallen for her. I’m just –

“Marinette” Luka interrupted her with a glare before she could say anything more and made her face him. His eyes were fixed into hers and he cupped her face in his hands. Their faces were way too close and Luka could feel his heart beat faster for a moment. Concentrate, Luka. You're supposed to be there for her.

“You’re the most extraordinary girl, Marinette”. Clear as a musical note and as sincere as a melody. You’re the music that’s been playing inside my head since the day we first met. He wished he could say it again, just to remind her how much she meant to him. “Whoever doesn’t see it is an idiot and you don’t deserve to feel bad about yourself because of them. I understand that now you feel hopeless, and you have every right to feel everything you’re feeling, but I don’t want you to feel like you deserve nothing. You deserve to feel loved and wanted, and you too deserve someone who cares about you enough to understand how you’re feeling even when you don’t say it and to be there for you.” Someone like me.

“Thank you, Luka. I – Marinette’s breath hitched, she was trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes, he gently brushed his thumb over her cheek and he wished he could take away all of her pain, he wished he could help her heal but the only thing he could do was hug her and try to ease her pain. Marinette held on his t-shirt and let out a small sigh, which turned into a soft sob and in the end she was crying on his shoulder, shaking and sobbing harder.

She let herself fall this time, and he was there to catch her, again.

One of his hands was lightly rubbing her back to comfort her, she let out all the sadness and stress she kept holding back, and when she calmed down, she whispered a faint thank you as he kept holding her close. He didn’t know how long they stayed like in that position; time seemed to have stopped for Luka.

It wasn’t until they heard Juleka and Rose giggle as they walked on the boat hand in hand that he reluctantly let Marinette go. Juleka gave him a knowing look “Aw, isn’t Luka a great cuddler” she commented while Rose by her side squealed in happiness. Marinette straightened up on the couch and looked at him. Her eyes were slightly puffy from all that crying but they had a bit of her usual brightness back and her cheeks had turned into an adorable shade of pink. He gave her a reassuring smile, he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, and glared at his sister while he put his arms behind his head, relaxing and changing the subject.

“Have you heard from Ivan?” he asked “He and Mylène should be here by now and I really wanna start playing”. Juleka looked at her phone, “He’s looking for a place to park his scooter, they’ll be here soon” and just as she said it, the drummer and his girlfriend got on board.

“Ah, finally!” Luka waved at the couple as they were welcomed by the rest of the band, and before going to get his electric guitar he turned to Marinette “We don’t usually take requests, but do you wanna hear us play something in particular?” Just for you?

Juleka shook her head but he ignored her and looked at the rest of the band. “We said we would've practiced new songs to cover, why not let Marinette choose for us?” he continued, that was the perfect excuse.

Marinette thought about it for a moment and then a sly grin appeared on her face “I want Taylor Swift” she announced.

“That’s why we don’t take requests” Ivan looked at her amused, and Luka couldn’t help but feign shock. “Marinette, we are rockers, what makes you think we would ever play crappy pop? I feel insulted” he put a hand on his heart in a dramatic pose and she let out a laugh “I’m sorry, I just thought you could handle a bit of change”.

“Of course we can, don’t’ underestimate us”

“I would never”

“So Taylor Swift it is, then” he took is phone from his pocket to look for the tabs he needed. He wasn’t going to play Marinette songs about high heels and sneakers or teardrops on guitars, no sad songs about heartbreak and comparing yourself to others. He tried to ignore the fact that he could relate to You Belong With Me pretty well. Luka considered singing about heartbreaks being national anthems but opted against it, he wanted something cheerful and carefree, not something that could make Marinette think about what pained her in any way. When he found the perfect song, he made the rest of the band look at the tabs for their instruments and they discussed the changes they would make for them to own the song and it not being just a casual cover, who knows, if it went well they could’ve even considered to play it live.

They got to the stage, and Ivan started banging on his drumkit. Juleka and Luka followed soon after, the sound of the bass and the guitar matching perfectly the rhythm given by the drums, every note came together to form the happy and upbeat tone of the original song, but with a heavier, guitar-driven sound.

“I stay out too late, got nothin' in my brain that's what people say” Rose’s deep voice joined them and Marinette smiled as she mouthed the lyrics back at the band, she looked like she was having fun too. Luka smiled to himself and then followed Rose’s singing “It's like I got this music in my mind, sayin' it's gonna be alright” and they continued playing the happy beat they created for the song. It was a fun song to play and they had been able to adapt it to their genre pretty easily. Rose let Luka take over the bridge of the song when he met Marinette’s eyes while she was pointing at him, “and to the fella over there with the hella good hair won't you come on over, baby?”  he sang as he felt an unfamiliar warmth creeping up his face “We can shake, shake, shake” he continued, trying to keep his voice steady as he sung. She was just having fun with them and their eyes met. He couldn’t read into it something more, he really couldn’t. On the other hand, he felt a new melody forming in his heart and he let it flow through is fingers, the new joyful tune filled the song and he continued playing until their performance was over. The melody ended with the two-people audience applauding and cheering on them.

“I like what you did there” Ivan looked at him amazed and Luka ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the electric feeling that was running through his veins. Rose was delighted and clapped her hands as well “That was fun!”, Juleka smiled fondly at her enthusiasm. 

“It was amazing!” Marinette roared happily, Luka felt that her heart was lighter than before and he smiled to himself, glad to have accomplished his main goal.

“Thank you” was all he could say in the microphone, even if he felt the same heat from before forming on his face.

He turned to the rest of the band and they started to discuss what to play next. They had a gig in the upcoming week and it was the first time they could play a whole hour-long set, but they had yet to decide the setlist so there was still some work to do if they wanted it to be perfect.

The group went back to practicing and Marinette took out her sketchbook to start drawing on a blank page, she felt better than the emotional mess she was in Luka’s arms but she couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong. She knew a heartache couldn’t be cured so easily, but a happy song and warm hugs had really helped.

Marinette had just finished sketching the croquis of her design when her phone vibrated, she decided not to check any message, she really didn’t want to think again about something that could crush her, it was better for her to keep it in the back of her mind. She continued drawing while she let the music her friends played comfort her “Candy-coat your problems if they’re bitter and they’re awful I won’t let this be a sad song or make this hard to swallow” they sang. Mylène complemented the dress she was creating, and she felt a tiny bit of satisfaction spark in her. It wasn’t until she heard her phone vibrate as someone called that Marinette reluctantly put her sketchbook aside and took it out. Alya’s name lit up the screen but she didn’t really feel like answering. Besides, Kitty Section were practising, and she wouldn’t have heard her through the phone. She declined the call and then decided to check the notifications she got; they were all text messages from Alya.

Marinette, how are you?

I just spoke to Nino and I really need to talk to you

It’s important

Marinette?

Please answer me

Marinette sighed, her heart started to feel heavy again and even though she was glad to see that her friend cared about her, she wasn’t ready to have that conversation again.

I can’t talk right now, but I know what you want to talk about

Adrien told me

I’m fine, thanks for checking in

I’m so sorry Mari, can I come over later?

I’m here for you

Thank you Alya, it really means a lot to me

I’d rather to see you tomorrow

Is that okay for you?

The truth was that all she wanted to do as soon as she got home was cry her heart out until she fell asleep hugging the pillow.

Yeah sure, take your time

You know where to find me!

Marinette closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to recollect herself. She put away her phone and went back to working on her sketch. She added a few details to the design before the band decided it was time to take a break. Mylène got up and sat on Ivan’s lap, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. Marinette felt something sting in her heart and tried to ignore it. She wished she had a love so sweet too, but all her hopes and dreams about love were shattered that same day.

Juleka and Rose sat on two deckchairs next to each other while Luka went below deck to get something to drink for everyone. He came upstairs with a jug of fresh lemonade and glasses, set them on the small coffee table in front of where Marinette was, and went to sit next to her. She reached for the bag and placed the macaron box she brought at the centre of the table. They all took a sweet, and Marinette sipped her drink quietly as he listened to her friends talking about the upcoming gig.

“Did you make any new design?” Luka turned to her and she put her glass on the coffee table.

“Yeah, but I’m not fully satisfied with the idea honestly” she sighed

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think, can I see it?” Marinette nodded and flickered through the pages of her sketchbook, showing Luka the design she was working on. He got closer to her to have a better look at it.

“It’s really good, Mari!” Luka admired the unfinished sketch and then looked up at her “It’s gonna be even better when you finish it!”.

Marinette blushed at his comment, Luka had always been supportive of her and always motivated her to do better, he also helped her to find the motivation she needed when she was stuck in a project and couldn’t find any inspiration. “Thank you, Luka. If it wasn’t for you I would’ve probably thrown away half of the designs in this sketchbook”.

He closed the sketchbook handing it to her with a soft expression “You should give yourself a little more credit, Mari”. She took the book and put it on her lap, studying the decorations she drew on the cover. A small ladybug and an intricate flower design. Maybe he was right, he was looking at her with so much admiration she felt her cheeks heat up. Luka tried to contain a smile as he noticed her blush, and put a hand on her shoulder. He really hated the fact that she thought so little of herself, if she could see herself through his eyes, she would’ve completely changed her mind. This wasn’t because Luka’s vision of her was rose-coloured, she was actually really talented, and kind, and smart, and caring… He fell for her for so many reasons. He wrote songs about her for so many reasons.

“What do you think, Lukey?” Juleka’s voice made him get out of his thoughts. Everyone was staring at him.

“Uh- sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?” his sister rolled her eyes, her expression screaming that he was embarrassing, and Rose, who was a hopeless romantic and never lost a chance to remind Luka how he and Marinette would be the perfect couple, let out a small laugh.

“I was saying that we should just perform our original songs at the concert” she said, exasperated.

He thought about if for a moment, moving the hand that was on Marinette’s shoulder under his chin.

“You’re forgetting that not everyone will know us or our songs, a cover could lift up the mood. We just have to find the right song” ha answered. “I like Pâquerette. We could do Shake It Off, too. It’s funnier to play, but we’d have to practice it a little more”.

Ivan agreed but suggested to cover Ain’t It Fun. “Oh, I love that one! It’s closer to our genre, too!” Rose added.

“Yeah, we can do that” Juleka said.

“So we’re playing Ain’t It Fun, perfect” Luka concluded.

When the rest of the band got up to go back to their instruments, Luka turned to Marinette “Oh, I almost forgot. I need to ask you something”.

“Yeah?” the girl said a little too loudly, a whole range of possible negative outcomes forming in her mind. Did she do anything wrong? Please, don’t make today worse than it already is.

“How do you feel about taking commissions from someone who’s not us?”

Marinette let out a sigh of relief, she wasn’t expecting a simple question like this. “I think I can handle that” she smiled at him.

“Great! Because I might’ve praised your skills to my friend” Luka could see her slightly blush again, he was growing really fond of it “and she asked me if you would be willing to help her band with designing. They need a complete rebrand actually since – well, she’ll explain that to you, we’re playing with her band next week, and if you come you can talk to her in person, otherwise I can give you her Instagram username so you can contact her when you feel like it”.

Marinette was surprised at his thoughtfulness, considering her needs and boundaries before she even stated them. He has always been like this, gentle and respectful, but people like him were so rare to find that she found it difficult to believe he was real.

“Yeah, I’ll do it!” she beamed, excited to start a new project and concentrate on something else, maybe that would’ve helped with the whole not-thinking-about-it thing. The only thought she couldn’t control in that moment creeped from the back of her mind. What if they don’t like my work? What if I don’t understand them?

Luka seemed to have read her mind when he put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly “Marinette, I already showed her your site and she loved your work. And when I told her you designed Jagged Stone's album cover she lost it, it’s her favourite album, you know?” he giggled at the memory of his best friend freaking out about the fact that his crush worked for THE JAGGED STONE, and he didn’t consider telling her?!?!

“You’re gonna do an amazing job as always, and if you have any trouble working with her you can talk to me”.

Marinette didn’t seem so sure about it, but nodded at him slowly, grateful for his support. He squeezed her shoulder delicately and gave her a wink before going back to the stage.

Marinette relaxed on the couch and closed her eyes, the breeze tickled her skin as the music her friends were playing soothed her mind. She wanted to hold on that feeling for as long as she could, she could deal with the bad stuff later. Besides, she dealt with worse, didn’t she? What was heartbreak compared to saving Paris from evil forces, keeping her superhero identity a secret or being the Guardian of the Miraculous? It was nothing really, nothing.

If she kept repeating it she would’ve believed it eventually.

 The air got colder as the sun set, and Luka was playing the same melody he was playing when Marinette arrived. The golden light shined on him as he looked so lost in the sweet tune. He had his eyes closed, like the rest of the world around him didn’t exist. It was just him, his guitar, and whatever inspired him. He continued strumming as the rest of Kitty Section put away their instruments and Marinette gathered her art supplies and placed them in her bag. It was only when it was time for everyone to leave that Luka put away his guitar and went to say goodbye to Ivan and Mylène “See you tomorrow!” he waved.

Rose was staying for dinner, and Luka asked Marinette if she wanted to stay too, to which she kindly refused “My parents must be waiting for me already”.

“Want me to walk you home, then?” Luka suggested.

“No, thanks” she shook her head, her heart got heavier as the sun vanished in the horizon.

“Are you sure?” he could see a hint of dismal behind her eyes and he didn’t want to let her go like this. He got closer to her and whispered something only she could hear “You don’t have to do this alone, you know”, the pain in her eyes was starting to hurt him too, Luka needed to take it away from her. He hugged her tight, she stiffened at the sudden gesture, but she relaxed into his arms hugging him back. He distanced himself from her and looked at her in the eyes, he couldn’t bear not seeing the usual brightness that inspired so many songs, he needed to do something to help her heal.

And he kissed her. He kissed her with all the love and sweetness he had reserved just for her. It was soft, healing and regenerating, the kind of kiss that would’ve soothed even the worst wounds. When she pulled away and gave him a small smile he was tempted to give in to her lips again, just to make sure she was alright…

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry” and with that, he realized that he was imagining this again, what an idiot. Be glad you respect her too much not to do this. Wouldn’t take advantage of her being vulnerable, would you? Idiot. Suddenly, he was aware of his surroundings, looked at the girl who was still wrapped in his arms and let her go reluctantly.

Luka cleared his throat before speaking “Text me when you get home, okay?”. Marinette nodded, and with that she was gone, he watched her walk away.

“You’re embarrassing” was all Luka heard from Juleka.

“No, he’s just in love…” Rose chirped and let out a small laugh, tugging her girlfriend’s hand and leading her below deck.

Luka didn’t eat much; he was too busy thinking about Marinette and how he really needed to do something to comfort her, but what? He would’ve never crossed her boundaries, not without her permission. He was fine with having her close as a friend, after all. It was safer, this way he couldn’t risk losing her. But at the same time he knew he could do better for her as something else… He left his sister and her girlfriend at the dining table and headed to his room, took his notepad and started scribbling new rhymes that matched the melody forming inside his head.

“Why do you have to make everything sound so dark?” Rose commented when he asked her opinion on the new lyrics he’d written. She was pointing at a verse that recited I feel dead and a half but you’re making me laugh.

“I like it” was Juleka’s only defence for him “you aren’t planning on serenading Marinette, are you?”

“What?! No, it’s just… I had to let this off my chest, that’s all” did Luka really want to tell her sister that he was going to send the song to her as soon as it was done? No, he would’ve kept the lyrics to himself anyway so it wasn’t that big of a deal. He cared more about the melody, that was meant to comfort her.

Rose helped him fix some parts of the lyrics and sent him back to his room so he could work on the melody.

Chapter 2

[dimensiontripperhibiki]

Hold It Together (As we Fall Apart) - chapter 6

You guys are not gonna like me for the end of this chapter...heh. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Let me know what you think! Thanks for all of the likes and comments! Lena paused in the doorway to the room Kara was being kept in, trying to muster up the courage to enter the room. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Kara didn’t remember what had happened between the two of them. That Alex was under the impression that she had taken advantage of Kara’s inebriated, vulnerable state. Maybe she had. Lena looked around the doorway into the room. The silence had led her to believe that Kara was alone. Instead, she found the emerald archer leaning back against the barrier separating Kara from the outside. Kara mirrored his position on the other side of the glass, a little to his right. Lena felt a familiar twinge of jealousy at the sight but quickly shook it off. Kara wasn’t hers to feel jealous over. She locked eyes with Oliver and cleared her throat the get Kara’s attention. Kara glanced over her shoulder, seemingly disinterested in whoever was there but she visibly brightened when she saw Lena standing there. “Lena! Hi.” She scrambled to her feet as Lena entered the room. “I didn’t expect to see you this early. I thought you might be busy with meetings.” “My schedule was clear today,” Lena answered, choosing not to mention that she had canceled everything on her schedule. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better. See?” Kara used her super speed to get to the other side of the tiny ‘room’ she was being kept in. “I just wish Alex would let me out.” “She’s been complaining about it all morning.” Oliver stood up, stretching and for the first time, Lena noticed that he’d changed from his suit into a black shirt and some light jeans. “I should go and find Alex. See if she needs any help with anything. I’ll see you later, Kara.” “See you later.” Kara returned back to the other side of the room, at normal speed this time. Her eyes remained fixed on Lena as Oliver left the room. “Are you okay?” “Am I okay?” Lena echoed, stopping directly in front of Kara. Her hand twitched at her side but she resisted the urge to touch the barrier separating the two of them. “You’re the one who was stabbed.” “I know but Alex said some things about me losing my inhibitions and doing things I wouldn’t usually,” Kara replied sheepishly, not quite able to meet Lena’s eyes. “And I know you were at my apartment when I got sick so I was wondering if maybe I hurt you or...something.” “You didn’t hurt me,” Lena said quietly. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do.” Kara frowned in confusion at the response. “What do you mean? What did I do?” “You told me the truth.” “Right…” Kara stared at Lena, noticing the troubled look on her face. She stepped closer, only succeeding in pressing herself flush against the barrier.  “I wish I had told you the truth earlier.” “I know.” Lena murmured, aware that they were thinking about two different truths. “Me too, Kara.” “Do you think there’s a chance we can be friends again?” Kara had to force the words out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question. She was too afraid that the answer would be yes. “Even just a slim chance?” Lena swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can go back to being friends with you.” Kara tried to hide how much the answer stung and slowly nodded her head. “I understand. But just...if there’s anything I can do to make this better...if you think of anything at all, just tell me.” “Actually, I…” Lena was interrupted by a sudden gush of wind blowing her hair up. She swung around in alarm. Her stomach plummeted at the sight of the suited man standing in front of her. The color was different but the suit was all too similar to Godspeed’s. Lena instinctively stepped to the right, trying to shield Kara. “BARRY!” “Hey, hey, hey! Secret identity, remember?” The masked speedster said hurriedly as he stepped forward. He was grinning though, letting Lena know that he wasn’t a threat. “Right. Sorry. Lena’s a friend though. You don’t have to worry.” Kara said brightly. “What are you doing here? Have you seen Oliver?” “It was actually Oliver who contacted me.” Barry experimentally pressed his hand against the barrier Kara was being kept behind. “Yeah, I would hug you but…” Kara gestured meekly at the barrier. “Alex thinks I need to be in here for another 24 hours to make sure I’m at full health.” “Are you contagious?” “What? No!” Barry grinned and phased through the barrier separating the two of them. Kara gasped in delight and rushed forward into Barry’s open arms, hugging him tightly. Lena sighed to herself as she watched them. She supposed she should have been relieved by the interruption but she wasn’t. If anything, she was annoyed by it. She cleared her throat when the hug went on for a little too long. “Oh, sorry.” Kara sheepishly let Barry go and he took back, taking an exaggeratedly deep breath. “I’ve been deprived of human contact for the past 36 hours. Barry, this is my…” Kara made eye contact with Lena, clearly not sure what she should say. “Lena.” “Your Lena?” Barry smirked at her before he turned to the dark-haired woman on the other side of the glass. “Hey. I’m the Flash. You can just call me Barry though.” Kara grimaced at the look Barry shot her. “I’m sorry! I was surprised to see you and it just came out. You really can trust her though. I promise.” Lena swallowed thickly at the earnest tone of Kara’s voice. She didn’t know how Kara could consider her to be trustworthy after what had happened with myriad. “Actually I should probably go. I have a meeting.” “What? But you just got here!” Kara protested hurriedly. “I thought you said your schedule was clear today?” “I just remembered something.” Lena grimaced at the fact that she’d slipped up. Her mind was a mess of jumbled thoughts and memories. She wasn’t sure she could look at Kara the same now that she’d seen her naked. “I um...I’m glad you’re okay. If anything happens just let me know. I’ll see you later.” Barry raised an eyebrow as Lena turned and rushed out of the room. “She seems a little um...skittish?” “She’s not, it’s...it’s complicated.” Kara stared forlornly after Lena for a moment before she turned back to Barry, forcing a smile to her face. “So what are you doing here?” “I came for Godspeed actually,” Barry answered, carefully removing his cowl. He sat down on the edge of Kara’s bed. “Your sister and Oliver figured the best person to deal with a speedster is a speedster.” “Makes sense. Are you staying long?” “Probably just until Alex is done with Godspeed,” Barry answered with a slight shrug. “So what happened to you? Oliver didn’t say much. Just that you got hurt.” “Honestly, I’m not sure. I was stabbed with kryptonite. Everything else is just blurry or not there at all.” Kara’s thoughts turned back to Lena. She had definitely done something to her. Barry was right, Lena was acting skittish around her. She seemed less angry now. She just seemed sad. And worried. Kara couldn’t get a read on her. “How did you tell Iris that you were the Flash?” “Whoa.” Barry stared at Kara in surprise. “Thinking of telling someone who you really are? I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” “I’m not.” Kara’s heart clenched in her chest. “It’s not that, it’s just...was Iris angry with you when you told her? How long did you keep it a secret from her?” “Uh...you know what? I’ll be right back.” Barry sped off and Kara huffed in annoyance as she sat down on the bed. A minute or so passed before Barry returned with a paper bag and 2 paper cups in a cup holder. “I figured you could use some food. And this conversation might take a while.” “Barry Allen, I could kiss you!” “Please don’t.” Barry gave a soft laugh as Kara took the bag from him and began to dig around in it. “I doubt Iris would be happy about it.” Kara faux glared at him. “So you were saying? About Iris?” “Right, well…” Barry proceeded to dive into the story of how Iris had found out that he was the Flash and Kara listened intently, happy to have found someone who could relate to the struggle of keeping such a huge secret from someone they loved. ---- Lena stared into her coffee as she stirred it aimlessly, watching the froth of the cappucino slide slowly off the spoon, landing silently back in the drink. She had ignored the urge to drink her usual glass of whisky. As much as she wanted to drown her sorrows, she also needed her mind clear. She needed to try to figure out what to do. Her anger toward Kara had ebbed away, replaced with anger at herself for softening toward the woman who’d betrayed her. “This is not what we do.” She mumbled to herself. She recalled her mother saying that to her more than once when she’d shown weakness as a child. They were Luthors. Displaying weakness was not something they did. So she’d had sex with Kara. So what? That didn’t mean all of the anger, hurt and resentment was just going to fall away. It didn’t mean that Lena had forgiven her. Only she had. Or she was going to at least. She felt herself getting closer and closer to letting that anger go. But why? The only thing that had changed was that night and Kara didn’t even remember it. That, along with that fact that Kara had almost died. Letting out a sigh, Lena glanced to the pad of paper on the counter next to her. She’d been trying to figure it out for a while now, where this sudden desire to forgive Kara Danvers had come from. It frustrated her to no end. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t going to show weakness. She was torn from her thoughts by the familiar sound of someone landing on her balcony. She looked up in time to see Kara knock gently on the glass. When their eyes met, the caped her offered a slight wave before she pushed the ajar door open and stepped inside. “Speak of the devil.” Lena drawled as she watched Kara walk closer to her. “You were talking about me?” Kara looked around, clearly confused. There was nobody else in the apartment. She had made sure of that before she landed. “Nevermind.” Lena waved the question off. “I see your sister finally let you out.” “Yeah.” Kara smiled at that. “She said I was doing much better so she let me out a few hours early and well...here I am. Good as new.” Lena took a sip of her coffee, finding it lukewarm. She supposed that was her own fault, for merely fidgeting with it for the past fifteen minutes. “What can I do for you, Supergirl?” Kara looked hurt for a fraction of a second before she spoke. “I want to know what I did to you. Alex said you were there when I was sick and I don’t remember anything. Alex won’t tell me what I did but she wouldn’t have locked me up otherwise. Can you please just tell me? If I did something...something else to hurt you, I want to know.” “You didn’t do anything to hurt me.” Lena answered curtly. “Nothing new.” “Nothing new.” Kara echoed slowly, her brow furrowed. She stepped forward until she was lightly gripping the other side of the counter Lena was standing behind. “Which means I did do something, right? I knew it! What di-?” “Kara, I said it’s nothing!” Lena exclaimed loudly. She set her coffee down harder than she intended, sending it splashing over the edges onto her pristine counter. She cursed as some of it splashed onto her notebook and quickly set about finding a cloth to wipe the mess up. Kara looked at the notepad, seeing her name written on it. She reached across to pick it up, out of curiosity. Lena’s handwriting was as neat as she had expected it to be. Not like her messy, hurrid, reporters scrawl. She frowned as she read it. “You wrote liar down twice.” “What?” Lena looked up, her eyes widening when she saw what Kara was holding. “What are you doing? That’s private.” “Sorry. I noticed my name was written on it.” Kara said sheepishly. “What is it? A list of...pros and cons? Good and bad?” Lena felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment at the question. “Yes.” Kara glanced back down at the paper for a moment. “Plane crash, concrete block, falling, publicly defending…” She murmured as she read through the list. She noticed an unfinished sentence at the end. “I l...What were you going to write?” “You do know what private means, don’t you?” Lena reached across the counter separating them and snatched the notepad from Kara. “It’s really none of your business.” Kara let out a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping. She watched Lena storm past her to put the notepad away. She disappeared into the bedroom but when she came back, Kara was still standing in the same position. “You’ve saved my life twice now in the last couple of days alone.” Kara remarked as she watched Lena walk toward the couch. “You really didn’t have to do that.” “Yes, I did.” “Lena.” Kara went to the couch, perching on it next to Lena. “Why won’t you look at me?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lena said tiredly. To prove her point she looked up at Kara, her eyes fixed on the blonde’s cheek. “I’m looking at you right now. Though I would prefer not to be, I have work in the morning.” “You won’t look me in the eye.” Kara reached out, her fingertips grazing the back of Lena’s hand before Lena wrenched away from her. She fought a stab of hurt at the rejection. “What did I do to you? Just tell me and I’ll...mmph!” Kara didn’t manage to finish her sentence. She saw Lena move and suddenly she was kissing her. Lena Luthor was kissing her and Kara couldn’t do anything for a second. Lena’s hand moved to the back of Kara’s neck and Kara found herself giving in, her eyes sliding closed as she kissed Lena back. It lasted only a few glorious seconds before Lena drew away from Kara, her pupils blown wide. “You told me the truth.” Kara opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before she managed to croak out a response. “W-What do you mean?” Lena let out a frustrated sigh. “I went to your apartment to tell you I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you and you kissed me. Told me you wanted me.” Kara felt her stomach plummet at the thought. “Oh...oh no…w-we...did we…?” Lena nodded in response, troubled as she took in Kara’s mortified expression. “Is the idea of sleeping with me so terrible?” “N-No! No, of course not.” Kara answered hastily. She didn’t want to give Lena the wrong idea but she was struggling to wrap her mind around it. “I’m just...I’m shocked. And confused. Why would you want to...you know?” “Have sex with you.” Lena said, pulling away entirely. She tried not to let the sting Kara’s reaction caused her to show on her face. “I think you know why. Do I really need to say it?” “Please.” Kara reached out and this time she succeeded in grasping Lena’s hand. “I need to know.” “Because I love you!” Lena answered, finally meeting Kara’s eyes, aware that her own were damp with tears. “I love you and I hate myself for it. It’s weak. It’s pathetic.” “Lena…” Kara couldn’t help it. She moved forward and wrapped her arms around Lena, embracing her gently. She felt Lena stiffen for a moment before relaxing, melting into her arms. “You’re not weak or pathetic. You’re the strongest person I know. I’m not just saying that.” “I should hate you.” Lena’s voice was muffled by Kara’s neck but Kara heard it. “I can hate myself enough for the both of us.” Kara said softly. She slowly drew away to look into Lena’s eyes. A moment of silence passed between them before Kara spoke again. “I should go.” “Go.” Lena blinked in surprise at the abrupt announcement. She realized she’d been holding onto Kara’s arms only when the hero slipped from her grasp. “You’re leaving? After everything I just said, you’re just leaving?” Kara hesitated for a moment, a pained look on her face. Her hands twitched at her sides and Lena noticed that the blonde looked close to tears herself. “I’m not going to hurt you again, Lena.” Lena stood up, her hands balled into fists as she followed Kara toward the balcony. “You’re doing this to me again? You don’t get to make decisions for me. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me! Kara Danvers, don’t you DARE fly away from me!” Kara stopped and took a deep breath of the cool air outside before she turned slowly toward Lena. “Do you think that I’m what’s best for you? You know what my life is like. You know how dangerous it is. I was selfish before when I lied to you. To keep you as a friend. I’m not going to do that again.” “You think this is selfless? This isn’t honorable, this is you being a coward!” Lena stepped forward, gripping the neckline of Kara’s suit to keep her from flying off. “You don’t think I’m scared too after everything that’s happened?” “I know you are.” Her eyes watering, Kara gently took Lena’s hand away and stepped back, using her speed to fly off. “Why can’t you just be brave for ONCE?” Lena’s parting mumble was heard perfectly by Kara, thanks to her super senses. She wished she could be. She made a beeline for her apartment, ready to crawl into bed and cry into her pillow. Noticing her head was feeling fuzzy and she was veering off course, Kara frowned to herself and struggled to set herself right. She put it down to being unsteady on her feet after her encounter with Lena and ignored the nausea that followed as she finally landed. TBC.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

31st August >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 4:16-30 for Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time: ‘Everyone in the synagogue was enraged’.

Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 4:16-30

'This text is being fulfilled today, even as you listen'

Jesus came to Nazara, where he had been brought up, and went into the synagogue on the sabbath day as he usually did. He stood up to read and they handed him the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. Unrolling the scroll he found the place where it is written:

The spirit of the Lord has been given to me,

for he has anointed me.

He has sent me to bring the good news to the poor,

to proclaim liberty to captives

and to the blind new sight,

to set the downtrodden free,

to proclaim the Lord’s year of favour.

He then rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the assistant and sat down. And all eyes in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to speak to them, ‘This text is being fulfilled today even as you listen.’ And he won the approval of all, and they were astonished by the gracious words that came from his lips. They said, ‘This is Joseph’s son, surely?’

But he replied, ‘No doubt you will quote me the saying, “Physician, heal yourself” and tell me, “We have heard all that happened in Capernaum, do the same here in your own countryside.”’

And he went on, ‘I tell you solemnly, no prophet is ever accepted in his own country.

‘There were many widows in Israel, I can assure you, in Elijah’s day, when heaven remained shut for three years and six months and a great famine raged throughout the land, but Elijah was not sent to any one of these: he was sent to a widow at Zarephath, a Sidonian town. And in the prophet Elisha’s time there were many lepers in Israel, but none of these was cured, except the Syrian, Naaman.’

When they heard this everyone in the synagogue was enraged. They sprang to their feet and hustled him out of the town; and they took him up to the brow of the hill their town was built on, intending to throw him down the cliff, but he slipped through the crowd and walked away.

Gospel (USA)

Luke 4:16-30

He has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor. No prophet is accepted in his own native place.

Jesus came to Nazareth, where he had grown up, and went according to his custom into the synagogue on the sabbath day. He stood up to read and was handed a scroll of the prophet Isaiah. He unrolled the scroll and found the passage where it was written:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because he has anointed me

to bring glad tidings to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives

and recovery of sight to the blind,

to let the oppressed go free,

and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.

Rolling up the scroll, he handed it back to the attendant and sat down, and the eyes of all in the synagogue looked intently at him. He said to them, “Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.” And all spoke highly of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They also asked, “Is this not the son of Joseph?” He said to them, “Surely you will quote me this proverb, ‘Physician, cure yourself,’ and say, ‘Do here in your native place the things that we heard were done in Capernaum.’” And he said, “Amen, I say to you, no prophet is accepted in his own native place. Indeed, I tell you, there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah when the sky was closed for three and a half years and a severe famine spread over the entire land. It was to none of these that Elijah was sent, but only to a widow in Zarephath in the land of Sidon. Again, there were many lepers in Israel during the time of Elisha the prophet; yet not one of them was cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian.” When the people in the synagogue heard this, they were all filled with fury. They rose up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town had been built, to hurl him down headlong. But he passed through the midst of them and went away.

Reflections (7)

(i) Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time

We are all aware that people’s mood, including our own mood, can change very quickly. Someone can be very calm and then suddenly and unexpectedly lose their temper, or they can seem very happy and then all of a sudden burst into tears. We find something similar going on in today’s gospel reading with the people of Nazareth. When Jesus went back to his own town for the first time since he began his public ministry and preached in the local synagogue, the gospel reading says that ‘he won the approval of all’ and that ‘they were astonished by the gracious words that came from his lips’. Jesus had just announced in the words of the prophet Isaiah that he had come to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour, especially to those who were out of favour, the poor, the captives, the blind and the downtrodden. Most of those who were listening to Jesus in the synagogue that day probably thought of themselves as poor and downtrodden. They welcomed Jesus’ good news that God was favouring them. However, by the end of the reading, those same townspeople became enraged at Jesus and attempted to throw him down from the brow of the hill their town was built on. What brought on this sudden change from warm approval to deadly anger? It was brought on by Jesus declaring that God’s favour was about to embrace the poor, the captives, the blind, the downtrodden, whoever they were and wherever they lived, even if they lived beyond the borders of Israel. Jesus identifies himself, not just with Isaiah, but with two other prophets, Elijah and Elisha, who were sent to needy people outside of Israel, a Syrian commander and a pagan widow from Sidon. It was as if the God Jesus was proclaiming in Nazareth was too big, too expansive, for the local people to accept. Jesus was saying, God may have chosen Israel, but God was equally concerned about all of humanity. This didn’t go down well. Jesus is reminding us that God’s loving embrace is always more expansive than we imagine. God doesn’t look upon the world in black and white terms, those who are in and those who are out. God cherishes all of humanity equally, and he wants us to do the same.

And/Or

(ii) Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time

The gospel reading today shows Jesus being rejected by those who initially accepted him. When he went to his home town of Nazareth and preached there, Luke tells us that ‘he won the approval of all’ and people ‘were astonished by the gracious words that came from his lips’. Within a relatively short space of time, that acceptance changed, first to scepticism, ‘This is Joseph’s son, surely?’, and, finally, to outright and murderous rejection, ‘they took him up to the brow of the hill their town was built on, intending to throw him down the cliff’. The gospel reading tells us that, in response to his rejection in Nazareth, Jesus simply ‘slipped through the crowd and walked away’. This is Luke’s way of saying that Jesus continued on with his mission of proclaiming the good news of God’s favour to all people, including those who had rejected him. Jesus was not held back, much less embittered, by the experience of rejection because he was rooted and grounded in God’s love. At his baptism he had heard the words, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; my favour rests on you’. Our own lives too are rooted in that same faithful love of God; what God said to Jesus he says to all of us. The conviction that God’s love for us is faithful and enduring can keep us strong and free of bitterness in those times when we too might experience misunderstanding or rejection because of our beliefs.

And/Or 

(iii) Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time

There is a very striking change of mood among the people of Nazareth as they listen to Jesus speak in their synagogue. Initially we are told that ‘they were astonished by the gracious words that came from his lips’. However, by the time Jesus had finished speaking ‘everyone in the synagogue was enraged’, so much so that they hustled Jesus out of the town with a view to throwing him down from the brow of the hill Nazareth was built on. Jesus initially declared that he had come to proclaim good news, especially to the poor, the broken and needy. The people of Nazareth were delighted with this good news, but by the time Jesus had finished speaking his good news had become bad news in their ears. The reason for this was because Jesus went on to announce that his mission of good news was not just to the people of Israel but to the pagans as well, just as the prophets Elijah and Elisha ministered to people outside of Israel. Jesus challenged his townspeople’s narrow, nationalistic, view of God, and they did not like it. Jesus always challenges our view of God. There is always more to God than we imagine; it is only by constantly reflecting on the words and deeds of Jesus that we even begin to know God. It is only in the next life that we will know God as fully as God now knows us.

 And/Or

(iv) Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time

This morning we begin reading from the gospel of Luke, and in this morning’s gospel reading Luke gives us his account of the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. According to Luke the first words Jesus spoke in his public ministry were the words of the prophet Isaiah. In the synagogue of his home town, Jesus read a passage from the book of Isaiah. The passage Jesus chose said a great deal about how Jesus understood his ministry. He was sent to bring good news to the poor, the captive, the blind, the downtrodden. The focus of his ministry would be those who were in greatest need, both materially and spiritually. Just went on then to identify himself with two other prophets, Elijah and Elisha, who ministered to the needy outside of Israel. Jesus would minister to those in greatest need, regardless of where they were from; the people of Israel, not even the people of Nazareth, would have no special claim on him. The risen Lord continues to minister to us in our need today. In various ways we can all find ourselves poor, captive, blind, downtrodden. The Lord remains good news for us when we find life a struggle for whatever reason. He walks with us, as he walked with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, to enrich us in our poverty, to free us in our captivity, to enlighten us in our blindness. Whereas the people of Nazareth rejected him, we are called to keep on welcoming him, and to walk with him as he walks with us.

 And/Or

(v) Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s gospel reading begins with an account of the liturgy of the word in the synagogue of Jesus’ home town in Nazareth. Jesus stands up to read from the prophet Isaiah and then sits down to comment on what he read. Jesus indentifies himself with the prophet who was sent to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives, new sight to the blind, to set the downtrodden free. Jesus goes on to identify himself with two other prophets, Elijah and Elisha, who ministered to people outside Israel, a hungry widow from Sidon and a leper from Syria. Jesus was saying to the people of Nazareth that he had come for those in greatest need, regardless of who they were or where they were from. This generous vision Jesus had of his mission made the people of Nazareth very angry. Jesus was one of their own and they expected special treatment. However, the good news is that Jesus has come for us all. If he has favourites it is those who are broken in body, in mind, in spirit. The Lord is constantly reaching out to us in our brokenness, in our pain and suffering. All he asks is that we receive him as he is, on his own terms, which the people of Nazareth could not do. The Lord is always close to all of us; it is our need, our suffering, whatever form it takes, which can bring us close to him.

 And/Or

(vi) Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time

In this morning’s gospel reading we find Jesus in the synagogue of Nazareth announcing what his ministry was going to be about. In a word, he wanted to proclaim the Lord’s year of favour. Jesus would reveal God’s favour for all, especially for those who were usually out of favour, the poor, the captives, the blind and disabled, the downtrodden. We could add to that list, the lost, sinners, widows, all who found themselves on the margins at that time for one reason or another. Jesus was announcing that he was about to reveal the hospitality of God, a hospitality that was as broad as God’s love. This was indeed good news. Yet, strangely, this good news was not well received by the people of his home town. By the end of the gospel reading, they are ready to throw him down the brow of a hill. The final straw seems to have been when Jesus suggested that he would be revealing God’s favour not just to the people of Israel but to pagans as well, just as the prophets Elijah and Elisha had done before him. It seems as if Jesus’ God was just too big for the people of Nazareth, too hospitable, too welcoming, too forgiving, too all embracing, too generous. The gospels will often challenge our image of God. They will break open any narrowness in our vision of God. Yet because the gospels, especially the gospel of Luke, proclaims the favour and hospitality of God, they have the power to transform us, to enrich us in our poverty, to bring us freedom where we were captive, to enlighten our blindness, to give us a sense of belonging to the Lord after we have been lost.

 And/Or

(vii) Monday, Twenty Second Week in Ordinary Time

Anger is a normal human emotion. In itself it is neither good nor bad. What matters is how we express it. We are all aware that anger is an emotion that needs to be managed. We can find ourselves doing things or saying things in anger that we subsequently come to regret. Anger has the potential to be quite damaging and destructive. We find a good example of that destructive power of anger in this morning’s gospel reading. The words that Jesus spoke in the synagogue of his home town Nazareth triggered strong anger in those who were listening to him, ‘When they heard this, everyone in the synagogue was enraged’. They gave expression to their anger by taking Jesus to the brow of the hill that Nazareth was built on, intending to throw him down the cliff to his death. This is anger at its most destructive. On this occasion, Luke tells us, Jesus was preserved from their deadly intentions. It is strange that the people of Nazareth should react to Jesus in such a deadly way because what Jesus had to say to them was actually good news. He declared that he was God’s anointed one, sent by God to bring the good news of God’s favour, God’s hospitable love, to everyone, especially to those most in need of it, whether they lived in Israel or outside of it. It seems that the people of Nazareth were not comfortable with such a generous God who favoured the most vulnerable, no matter who they were. The gospel reading invites us to ask the question, ‘How do we hear the message of Jesus?’ Is it good news for us today?’ ‘Do I experience it as good news in my own personal life?’

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[hellas-himself]

Where There Are Shadows pt 32

so. two things. 

I am absolute Elriel trash. But I am also here for Elucien, but since this is Feyrhycien, we’re going with Elriel. 

I’m on and off with Nessian. I eat it up when I read fics on here, but when I read the books I remember how she treats everyone and it irks my soul. But I love her in my own way. 

So with that being said, happy hump day. 

.

.

.

-Feyre-

 Elain was a giggling mess as I buttoned up the back of her dress. It was perhaps as Night Court as I would ever see my sister. It was similar to the dress I’d worn the night Rhys and I had invited Lucien to dinner at the House all those months ago, except hers was not backless and wherever there was skin exposed, she’d had it altered to at least a sheer panel of fabric which somehow made it that more alluring.

“You might just give Azriel a heart attack,” I said when I finished and we stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“If he didn’t pass out yesterday, I think he’ll be fine,” she said as she began to fret over her hair. “You’d think they’d announce themselves when they arrive.”

I snorted. Elain and I had been up on the patio sunbathing yesterday morning and when I realized all three males had finally come back from the Steppes, we’d run inside in our towels. Rhys could not have been happier, but Az…

“I can’t believe you walked right up to him and said hello before disappearing into your room.”

“It’s not like he was going to!”

I helped her pin some of her hair back.

“Elain Archeron, where is your modesty!”

She laughed.

“I must have lost it outside in the garden.”

“Maybe Az found it and has it in his pocket.”

“I’ll have to ask him for it, then.”

Gods, this ease in which Elain and I could talk to one another… We had never had this. I hated that Nesta was missing out on it. On seeing Elain break free of her shell and doing things solely because they made her happy, not because they were expected of her. And my goal was to give Elain a night she would never forget.  

All eyes were on Elain when we made it downstairs, Cassian whistling as she walked by. Amren was quick to come admire the gold bracelet inlaid with pink stones while Rhys showered us both with compliments. Varian raised his glass at her from where he sat.

When we sat down, Cassian was kind enough to bring us some wine.

“Shame Az isn’t here for dinner,” Cas said with a sigh, making Rhys roll his eyes.

“Feyre and I are going out today,” Elain declared. I noticed that she searched the room but did not find who she was looking for. If she was disappointed she didn’t say anything.

“You’re all dressed up like that and you’re not even having dinner with us?” Cassian asked, genuinely surprised. Elain blushed.

“No,” I said. Cassian looked disappointed.

“But you and Rhys could walk us to where we’re going,” Elain kindly offered to which Cassian happily accepted. 

.

“Have you ever been here before?” Rhys asked, looking at Elain as she shook her head.

Cas had his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to him.

“I’ve never been here before either,” he whispered.

“Mor suggested it,” I replied and he sighed.

“That explains it.”

I poked his side as we approached the two fae standing before a set of double doors. Arm in arm, Rhys led Elain inside, Cas and I following. The owner of the venue greeted us personally before guiding us upstairs to the private area I had requested.

“Feyre!” Elain exclaimed, letting go of Rhys to pull me away from Cas. She led me to a painting that hung on the wall.

“So that’s where Mor put it,” I muttered, feeling my face get warm. It was a painting of Velaris from my point of view up at the House of Wind.  

“It is an honor to have your work here, my Lady,” the owner said.

“Thank you,” was all I could manage to say. Elain laughed at me for it.

Rhysand went to speak with the owner and soon, we were left to our own devices. We walked its gilded halls hand in hand, admiring the paintings and the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. We’d had this once, even if I did not remember much of it. But what little good I’d had as a child, Elain was there.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked as I held out my hand to continue on.

“I like seeing you happy.”

The sound of music grew louder the closer we got to the doors at the end of the hall.

“It sounds like a ball,” Elain mused, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Cassian and Rhys did us the honors of opening the doors for us.

And it was better than I had imagined.

Standing beneath a canopy of flowers and fae light was Azriel, who looked as if he had just finished decorating the room. My sister gasped, eyes wide. There were two long tables covered in trays of food, and a table solely for drinks. The quartet played from the dais on the far end of the room which was as large as a ball room. It was just as grand as the rest of the building, boasting a large chandelier and floor to ceiling windows that gave us a beautiful view of Velaris.

“Feyre… What did you do?”

“I may have let slip that tonight was very important.”

Her eyes widened.

“Just go to him,” I whispered, giving her a gentle nudge. As she made her way over, a smile blossomed on Azriel’s face that was so devastatingly beautiful I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to capture it perfectly.

“What is all this?” she asked Azriel, bringing her hands to his chest as she admired the detail on his waist coat. He took her hands in his and kissed them.  

“Happy birthday,” he said softly.

Her laughter was melodious.  

“Azriel… It’s beautiful.”

Whatever he said to her was lost on me as everyone walked in, complimenting the room and how both Elain and Azriel were dressed.

“Am I the only one who didn’t know about this?”

Cassian wrapped an arm around me.

“Elain didn’t know.”

“I resent that.”

I leaned into him.

“You’ll forgive me.”

“Really?”

I nodded, watching Elain admire the flowers with Az. Mor looked in awe of the room and was chatting away with Amren while Varian approached them with drinks. Guests from all over arrived, those who had come to know Elain and wanted to share this night with us.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to Cas. “Rhys is looking a little lonely.”

Cassian laughed as I walked off to where Rhysand was standing, taking everything in.

“You pulled it off,” he said with a smile.

“With a lot of help.”

“You look exquisite, Feyre.”

I blushed. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

His laughter warmed my heart. The way he looked at me never ceased to give me butterflies, to make me feel altogether vulnerable and safe. 

Elain danced with nearly everyone, even Rhysand. Those two did nothing but laugh the entire time, especially when they saw me watching. When Azriel swept her off her feet, quite literally, we all tried to pretend we weren’t watching them dance. But I had the feeling they saw no one else but each other.

As the party began to wind down, we found Cassian handing Elain a small glass. She eyed him with a determination that reminded me of Nesta, of me. And she drank the whole thing and held the glass out for more.

And so began their game.

They tried racing one another back to the townhouse, but that ended with Cassian slipping and Elain stopping to laugh at him. Cassian goaded the rest of us into his little game, until we were all drunk. When Elain beat Cas in finishing her drink, we all applauded. Az was watching her with a little smile on his face, not as drunk as the rest of us, but enough to not care that we saw him smiling as he looked at her.

When the time came for presents, she thanked us all individually as we passed them to her. A pair of earrings from Rhys, a set of gardening tools from Cas. Amren and Varian had given her flowers from the Summer Court to be sent to the greenhouse, which left her beaming.

The room went still as Elain opened Azriel’s gift.

“Azriel, this is too much.” She held up the little gold necklace by the blue stone that hung from it. Her eyes met his and then she was smiling as she rose to her feet. “Put it on for me.”

Azriel went to stand behind her, and the way his fingers brushed across her skin reminded me of how Rhys used to be with me, in the beginning. I wasn’t sure why I remembered the first time he’d helped me into fighting leathers but when I looked at Rhys, he was grinning like the insufferable prick that he was. I rolled my eyes, before looking away to find the Elain hugging Az, leaving him blushing.

And then came my gift.

“Just once, Elain. If you hate it, I’ll give you the back up present.”

“A back up present?” she asked, lifting the little top I’d had made for her. It was like every other Night Court outfit Rhys had ever given me, but hers was a deep blue, almost black. Little silver beads hung from the hem of the top. The pants had a silver chain that hung loose on the hips, both pant legs made of the sheer fabric I’d come to cherish in this summer heat. With a giggle, she took Cassian’s drink from his hand and finished it, excusing herself from the room.

When she walked back, I think we all held our breath. These clothes, they were made for a figure like hers. She was blushing as she went to sit between Cassian and Mor again. She’d never shown this much skin before, but I suppose after our little incident yesterday, this was nothing.

And then, Mor passed her a little pink bag, a bag I knew far too well thanks to Rhysand and Lucien. My sister peeked inside and turned red in the face.  

“I think I sent Az the matching set when we got here, but honestly, any of these three might have it on their dresser,” Mor said with a hiccup, pointing to Cassian and Rhys. “Whoever has it, make sure it makes its way to Azriel.”

But Az didn’t even seem bothered, even as we all laughed. If anything, there was a light in his eyes that I had never seen before.

“Az,” Elain said as she held up the scraps of lace long enough that I knew he was able to discern what they were, before she returned them to their bag. “I think I dropped my modesty outside in the garden. Feyre said you may have found it.”

The room went quiet as their eyes met and if this was how Rhys and I made everyone else feel, I almost felt bad.

“You left it on the desk in my office. I’d been waiting for you to come back so that I might return it,” he said so seriously that we all stared at him until he and Elain burst into laughter.

By the end of the night, Az was passed out on the sofa, Elain curled up beside him. Mor was snoring and Rhys was stuck beneath his cousin who had rested her head on his lap.

“I have to do one more thing, then I’ll come save you,” I whispered to him. He smiled, waving me off. He alone had helped me with this last part of the night. But he had felt his brother would not have accepted it from anyone else.

I had expected to find Cassian passed out on the bed, but he was wide awake, eyeing me from where he stood, tying up his hair.

“You finally get the room to yourself,” I said softly. He chuckled.

“He’ll wake up and come push me off.”

I walked in the room and made my way towards him. I knew I looked suspicious, especially with my hands behind my back.

“I doubt it.”

He raised a brow. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I discovered something I felt that the Lord Commander needed to know.”

His sudden seriousness nearly made me laugh.

“I need you to know, Cassian, that you are by far one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had. And I need you to know that I love you.”

I held out the little box to him. He looked too stunned for words.

“I can’t go back in time and grace your life with my presence every year,” I said, which finally made him laugh. “But I’m here now. And no one gets away with hiding their birthday from me. Ever.”

“Feyre…”

“I know it was a few days ago, but I hadn’t found anything that screamed your name at me.”

“It’s usually a female doing that,” he said as he took the box from my hand.

“Now you know why I never visit your house.”

We both laughed. He undid the ribbon and set the lid aside.

“What’s this?”

“I’m not sure if it fits, but we can fix that if it doesn’t.”

He held up the gold band, the obsidian stone glimmering in the fae light. It was simple, but there was something about it that told me he needed to have it.

“No one’s ever given me anything like this.” His voice was nearly a whisper. Was he going to cry?

“Try it on.”

He let me slide the ring on his finger. It fit perfectly.

“Thank you, Feyre. I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that it matters. That you matter. That every year that we get to have you in our lives, is something worth celebrating.”

I wasn’t expecting to see tears in his eyes. But there they were. I pulled him into a hug which made him laugh.

“I love you, Feyre.”

“I know,” I said with a laugh. “I love you, too.”

“I forgive you, by the way.”

I giggled. “Told you.”

By the time I went downstairs to get Rhys, he was already asleep. He didn’t stir until I’d managed to move Mor to the other side.

His eyes fell on me, red and glassy.

“There you are,” he said. “My salvation.”

Rhys got to his feet and chuckled when he almost lost his footing. Once he was ready to walk, I led him up the stairs, but he missed a step and pulled me down with him. We tried not to laugh, but then when I tried to stand up, Rhys pulled me to his lap. His kiss was greedy, and his wandering hands were going to get us in trouble.

“Rhys,” I whispered. “We can’t have sex on the stairs.”

“Why?” he asked as he kissed my neck.

“Everyone is here.” He stopped, and I felt this sudden panic down the bond.

“Not everyone,” he said quietly, looking at me with such sadness, I would have winnowed us right to the Day Court if I knew we’d make it there in one piece. “Lucien isn’t here.”

I kissed Rhysand with as much fervor as he’d kissed me.

“Lucien wouldn’t fuck you on the stairs in front of everyone. He’d wait till everyone was in their room.”

“He would,” Rhys said with a big smile as I pulled him to his feet.

“When he comes back home, we’ll have plenty of new stairwells you two can make use of. For now, we have the bed. Now walk.”

.

Being hungover was never enjoyable. It was even less so, walking into a small bar in the early hours of morning, wishing that I hadn’t made this arrangement. But I’d already walked out here and I had to get it over with.

Nesta was sitting in the back, as she always did. She looked as bad as I felt. And yet, her eyes still held nothing but resentment when she saw me approach. I knew I probably still had Rhys’ scent all over me, but Lucien’s too, as I was wearing his shirt that I’d found at the bottom of the drawer. And when she sniffed at me when I neared the table, I almost saw red. I would never judge her for the males I knew left her apartment, the one I could scent on her now. It was none of my business, as long as no one hurt her, just like who I slept with was none of her business. Even if her gaze told me exactly what she thought of that.

“I was beginning to think you’d make me walk to your house.”

I sat down, reaching into my pocket to hand her the folded note for the rent. There might have been surprise in her eyes as she took it.

“For this, you could have sent it with the courier.”

“For what? So you could send it back without even bothering to read it?”

I saw the anger in her eyes but I was too tired to let it unsettle me. I was hungry. And I wanted to go back home to be there when Elain woke up to find herself in Azriel’s arms on the sofa beneath the blanket Cassian had so kindly draped over them.

“I don’t see how that was any of your concern.”

“You missed her birthday.”

“I had no reason to be there.”

“You could have gone to the townhouse to see her.” I knew my voice was harsher than I had meant it to be. “You could have written a note. She misses you, Nesta.”

“Your little party was all anyone talked about last night, I’m sure that her evening was perfect without me.”

“You could not be more wrong.”

She glared at me for a time.

“Are we done?”

“No,” I said. “The house is almost finished. We’re inviting everyone over once we’re settled in. I want you to be there.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my sister. What other reason do I need to want you around?”

She rose to her feet. She was wearing someone else’s shirt and a pair of pants that might have been mine once but it was stained with wine and Mother knew what else.

“Forgive me for not wanting to be subject to the judgement of your family.”

“You are my family, Nesta.”

“Yes. The way mother was.”

.

.

.

@readingismycopingmechanism @fuzdog @gently-say-aha @highladyofherondale @alxanxah @city-of-fae @myfeyrelady @nuggets-and-mouthwash @feysanddotacotar @daeniran @szatti1001 @rhysandshighlady

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know!!​

[cyrelia-j]

[fic] Invictus (Kelas Parmak)

So after talking with @guljerry​ I thought about doing something super Parmak centric and all I can say is when my mind starts going where it wants sometimes it ends up in weird places. This is definitely going to be multiple parts and possibly Garak appearing with even more possible Kelm so we'll see. Anyway here goes:

Summary: Post Canon Cardassia story (AU from the novels) After the war, Kelas Parmak finds himself a father seven times over to orphans left behind after the war. At his age and in this world just getting them added to his family registry is a struggle but if there's one thing he's decided in this crazy life it's that he's going to survive and he's going to live as himself... no matter the enemies they're facing

Warnings: no major ones but Parmak is intersexed (along with alien biology in some instances) and there is breastfeeding

He holds both of their hands as he walks between them both down the crowded city street. They don’t have the cart today full of fresh vegetables. He’d checked the growth levels and confirmed with Teno earlier that morning that they had another week of care before they would have enough for their own stores and those who they could afford to share with. Kelas Parmak stops a moment and shifts the little bundle swaddled on his back. She stays sleeping for the moment, and the child to his left, a girl of twelve wearing a woven basket on her back full of bright orange tubers looks up at him. She has long hair like his with the same small colorful beads threaded through her braids.

“Are you alright, father?” she asks looking concerned.

“I can take her!” There’s a boy of ten to his right with a pair of similar spectacles who looks up. “I can take her and the pack,” he declares proudly drawing himself up. He always swears he has the strength of a grown up and constantly fights with Teno to prove it. Parmak smiles at them both and shakes his head.

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll be there shortly and really, what sort of father would I be if I couldn’t carry my own daughter?” He laughs softly and continues walking, holding both of their hands.

His daughter Jala, swaddled carefully on his back was only born a few months earlier and he doesn’t want to keep her from her mother long. But the sooner the registry can be seen to, the better. Her mother, his seventeen year old daughter Roka had found her way to him- or rather as with all his children he came across her unexpectedly after the war- and unbeknownst to them both at first, was with child. She hadn’t seemed surprised by it but had been terrified that Parmak wouldn’t want to keep her under those circumstances. Well now that was just silly, and he was relieved that she’d be able to receive proper care since she’d decided she wanted to keep the pregnancy.

It had been some time since he’d made his way to the bureau- one of the last remaining Cardassian institutions was the Records Bureau- but he’s found himself making the trip in the span of a few months for Roka and Jala both. He’d hoped that Roka might think longer on the matter but she was adamant when he had offered that Jala be given his name and family the same as the rest of them. He hesitated naturally- adopting Jala meant that Roka could never be listed in the registries as her mother- but in the end it was her decision after all. He was happy to do it. A proper name was the only thing he really had to offer.

He’d been fortunate when he’d been orphaned that the old doctor Parmak had taken him in and given him his name. Of all the things that Parmak has lost over the years, his name in the registries, the old name of Parmak, has been the only thing he’s been able to keep. He’s always known he’d never have children of his own; the Central Command would have seen to that with the worst dissidents in the camp if he'd been able. He had to laugh in the end when they realized it was a waste of time with him; he wasn’t capable of reproduction anyway given the formation of both sex organs but he’d always supposed it was better not to pass along such undesirable traits like his white hair or his bent spine.

So his son Yihot was the first child that he’d taken in after the war- before the Parmak family home had been looted in one of the riots. Yihot had been thirteen then, squatting in the old place that Parmak had left abandoned. He’d claimed it for his own and Parmak had asked him quite seriously then if he might share the space. That was twelve years ago followed by his son Teno, his daughter Nete, his daughter Iliana, his son Jummett, and then finally Roka and Jala. It was fortunate that it was only he and Yihot when the house was razed. It was easy to protect just one child from looters but then seven now well.... Parmak considers his family a blessing every day.

And so today makes seven, walking with Nete and Jummett to the bureau. They don’t venture into the city much outside of handing their vegetables out. He suspects that Yihot might still sneak through the abandoned buildings to forage for some of the other necessities that he finds but he’s a good boy. Parmak trusts him. Yihot is home now with the others- home now being an abandoned factory that they’d repurposed into a home and hydroponic garden for them all. When Parmak was young on the steppe of Nokar it was common for them to carry the portable grow tents for the few months they’d spend in a different part of the continent. They worked well in the cold brutal winters. It’s a pity those in the south still dislike their northern cousins even after the war. There’s a lot they could learn from each other to rebuild their world. Parmak knows there’s resentment that the nomads hadn’t lost nearly their numbers but... but he’d have hoped they could all put that behind them as Cardassians.

Still, Parmak doesn’t allow that resentment to smolder him any longer. The camps are gone. The trials are gone and at a hundred and two years old he’ll proudly walk through the city streets in the hot summer with his “scandalous” sleeveless shirts and his beads woven through his hair. Occasionally he’ll see one of the Federation relief workers and smile at them pleasantly. One of the Federation doctors will usually have a candy to spare but he hasn’t seen any today. Today has been somewhat restless in the air and Parmak is sure to hold his childrens' hands as they near the old broken down building. The office next to the Records Bureau is still nothing but a structural skeleton, the fires that ravaged the city blowing through fire breaks tearing it down easily. Those in the bureau had declared at the war’s end that of course the state, the Ancients, the wormhole aliens or whoever else wouldn’t be able to tears down the Records Bureau.

Parmak had to laugh at that. Ah, the delightful fellows at the Bureau, one of the most sacred institutions on Cardassia Prime dependant on no government or other agency to oversee their precious mission to maintain the family registries and all notable changes. There used to be an old joke told that at the end of the galaxy would find both Ferengi snuff beetles and The Records Bureau. Parma is sure that he gives them terrible fits but well, it can hardly be helped. He enters with a careful step, taking Jala carefully from her sleeping place. His chest aches and it’s time for her to be fed anyway. Parmak looks at the woman sitting behind the desk apologetically. He’s on time for the appointment but he’s about to make himself late.

“I hope it isn’t too terribly inconvenient if I leave Enrall waiting a moment longer. The walk here is quite far and I should hate for Jala to miss her feeding time of course I would be more than happy to compensate everyone for their patience.” He takes a seat and both Nete and Jummett proudly step forward their small hands holding out the carefully grown vegetables. The woman- Zarri, if Parmak recalls correctly- looks about to say something but then looks at the coveted produce and pastes a smile on that looks terribly unnatural but at least sincere in its attempt.

“I’ll let him know, Doctor,” She informs him greedily eyeing both packs the children are carrying. Parmak knows better than to expect any favors for free. He’s already pushing it as it is with so many suspect registries but it isn’t like there’s a real governmental oversight that’s going to audit them. Parmak sighs as he feeds Jala, pleased, awed, as always that he’s able to do such a thing. It’s not merely a matter of his age, but he’d been uncertain given both that and the matter of his sex; neither, both, he’d never thought much about it one way or the other. At least not until Roka had expressed her worry and fear about being able to feed her daughter and Parmak promised her that he would do it right along with her so she didn’t need to worry.

Well she had thought that was the silliest thing but he’d done what he needed to do for the necessary prolactin boosting hormones and pump and two incredibly frustrating months later he’d managed it right about the time she’d given birth to her precious little hatchling. Parmak holds Jala after she eats a moment hoping that they’ve given enough for yet another little oddity to be overlooked. He winces as he readjusts his top still not entirely comfortable. He see Nete bounding out followed but Jummett, both with empty baskets. Well good, at least their gift has been accepted.

“Ah, fantastic timing as always. Now which of you would like to hold your sister while I meet with Enrall?” He smiles, seeing their hands moving in their little game to pick a winner. He trusts them both; he’d taught them carefully the proper way to hold her and look after her. Jummett takes it, a chubby hand pushing his glasses up before holding out his arms.

“Me! I got her father!”

“Good boy. I promise I won’t be long,” he says standing, not missing that judgmental look from Zarri just giving a cheerful smile in return as he walks through the door of the old office. They should all be so fortunate as he is.

Enrall doesn’t seem to see it that way, the heavyset former magistrate practically glowering at the papers in front of him. Parmak sits across calmly waiting for the inevitable question.

“So according to the petition here the mother,” again spoken with heavy emphasis, “Just left the child in your care after running off with a Federation relief worker?”

“That’s what it says on the paperwork,” Parmak confirms. “I ran the genetic tests myself.”

“Yes, I have that here as well, the same as the other six.”

“Well you’re certainly welcome to contest the result. The State is but mmm... right, they’re still trying to pull some semblance of a government back together so I don’t know who would pay for all of that.” Enrall looks at him darkly.

“You were just in here a few months ago with another “daughter” from a different mother.”

“Yes, I’m quite pleased you remember. But you see, Jala is the happy result of a wonderful but sadly brief affair with a woman named Lanar. I never did get her family name, I’m afraid but we spent a delightful time together.” He smiles nicely for Enrall. “As for Roka, it might have been the will of Oralius himself- remember, I am allowed to say that now- but when she found me after years of hard searching with little but an old picture and a name... .well of course you have that test on file.”

“I do. As I do for the two out there.” Parmak looks at him steadily.

“You can see the family resemblance, I’m certain. But if you’re having a problem, then I imagine we can come to an agreement on that, can’t we?” He has contraband. He’s sure Yihot can get whatever they need and well. These are hard times. He’s had to learn to be a bit hard to protect his family.

Enrall meets that look considering. There was a time of course when the Central Command, when the Obsidian Order could command a certain sway and fear but nowadays those in the bureau like everyone else where just struggling to survive.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised any more at Northerners and their customs,” he practically spits.

“No, You shouldn’t. Ah... we do have a custom of giving our esteemed friends regova eggs where we find them as well. Perhaps a few extra bushels next month on top of that,” Parmak says careful not to sound too hopeful. He’d given poor Yihot fits with the “lessons” his son had given him in speaking without such politeness and circumspection. “I trust we won’t have a problem,” Parmak says, crossing a leg, trying to get comfortable on the chair.

“No,” Enrall says at least. “You won’t have any trouble from me. But a bit of friendly advice. You and yours should watch yourselves. You can sense it in the air can’t you? Those liberals calling for revolution are starting to stir the scorpion’s nest and the unrest is getting worse amongst the counter protestors. There’s only so much the provisional police can do. And your place has always gotten it’s share of attention.” Parmak’s mouth is tight as he stands. It’s not a threat- not from Enrall at least. It’s a rather generous warning considering. He leans over the desk, carefully signing off on the papers one by one. He can see the eyes on him, on the impossible northerner- the strange man with the long white hair and the spectacles, the hips like a woman, the provocative dress defiant of age.

“Alright, that will do it, won’t it. You can tell them again we don’t need the rations so they don’t accuse us of trying to get extra. We’ll share like we always have.” he stands up straight as he can. “We’ll live like we always have. Ah... well I don’t imagine you’ll see me here on business for awhile Enrall but I do want to thank you for your compassion and generosity. It won’t be forgotten.”

“Take care, Doctor,” Enrall says shuffling the papers back. “I’ve grown rather fond of your vegetables.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all tell me,” he says with another grin, silently noting that look of disgust. He ignores it as he joins his two children in the waiting room, arms already outstretched.

“It’s official, Nene, Juju,” he says using the little baby names as he takes Jala, soothing her soft cries. “Our little sister that is. Now... what say we see if any of the kind Federation workers might give us a few goodies that we can share with the others?” Parmak blinks, seeing them already bounding off towards the relief tents north of the city as he calls after them not to get too far ahead of him. Parmak sighs as he hustles as best as he can with that additional weight on his back still cognizant of Enrall’s words. They won’t linger today, he decides as those stares seem to take on a darker cast. They’ll go back quickly and let Yihot know to ready the defenses. It may be an exciting night after all.

(Part 2 is now HERE)

[texanredrose]

Celebrity Matchmaker (Part 5)

Get ready for feels.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 (here) / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8  

Behind the camera, Coco signaled their imminent return to live before stepping away for her short introduction piece while the audience beyond watched in hushed excitement. Taking a deep breath, Weiss found her center again, reverting to her hard won skills in acting to seem interested and excited while hiding away her apprehension.

"Welcome back to Celebrity Matchmaker!" The host smiled, making a vague motion in her direction. "Now it's time for each of our finalists to make one last, heartfelt plea to our romantic lead. First up, Yang Xiao Long does her best to convince Weiss that she's not only the reigning Queen of Rock 'n' Roll, but the Queen of Weiss' heart."

Mentally, the movie star made a note to personally berate whoever wrote that ridiculous line. She wouldn't at all be surprised to find out Yang did it herself, either.

And then, all thoughts to the show's writing capabilities fell to the wayside as the blonde approached the gazebo, a slight swagger in her step speaking to her confidence while the subdued smile that the cameras couldn't see said something very different. She tried to decode it but Yang moved with a purpose, entering the gazebo and holding out her hands. Hardly a second passed before Weiss slipped her smaller ones inside warm palms, the callouses from drumsticks and guitar strings such a delightful contrast to her smooth skin.

"Princess... Weiss." The slope of her shoulders dropped slightly, though tension kept them from the usual, carefree shrug the woman was known for even as lilac sought blue. "I... You... I just..." Her lips pulled into a tight line before she sighed, that tension disappearing now completely. "I don't think I've slept a wink for the past three days, just trying to figure out what to say. I've had easier times writing entire albums than just trying to get my thoughts in order, because I couldn't make a decision of my own. I mean, how can I make a case to convince you when I couldn't convince myself?" For a moment, she glanced away in the direction of the sound proof booth, biting at her lower lip before continuing. "Pyrrha and Blake... they're awesome, ya know?" Her smile returned, though there was a hint of sourness to it. "I couldn't blame you for choosing either of them- they're way more sophisticated, and polite, and they won't keep you up at one in the morning trying to figure out a rhythm section. So, I thought, ya know, I could use this time to talk them up, give one an edge, because I want you to be happy- you deserve all the happiness in the world, Weiss, and that's the most important thing to me now." The rock star let out a genuine chuckle, releasing her left hand to reach up and gently cup her cheek- and the movie star couldn't help but lean into the touch. "I really thought you were a frigid, high-and-mighty brat at the beginning, but getting to know you, the real you... that's the biggest honor here, worth more than every album I've sold or will ever sell combined. It's something I'll treasure, no matter what... but the more I thought about it, the more selfish I got." In her eyes, Weiss could see a genuine amount of shame shining bright, warring against that honest passion that always burned so bright, no matter the undertaking. "I still want you to be happy, but I want to be the cause- I want you to pick me. I can't just... stand aside. That'd probably be the right thing to do, to take myself out of the equation and just be thankful for the time we had together... but I want more." Yang stepped closer and it didn't occur to her to shy away, to step back and create distance, and she didn't even mind being confronted with her shorter stature in such a manner, either. She couldn't tear herself away from the earnest yearning she saw blazing bright in lilac eyes. "I want to be there with you on the red carpet, I want to go back stage and find you there after a show, I want to stay up until three in the morning because you're filming a movie half a world away and it's the only chance you have to call, and most of all..." The blonde brushed her thumb along the swell of her cheek, leaning closer. "I want to give you all the love in my heart and erase any doubt you or the world might have that you're made of ice. You're the warmest person I've ever met." Yang's lips pulled into a wide smile, and she should've seen it for the red flag it was but she didn't, allowing the woman to continue uninterrupted. "And with me, you'll be even hotter!"

Any other time, she would've rolled her eyes and groaned. She'd heard enough heat based puns to last a few lifetimes, just over the course of the past few weeks alone. Yet, at that moment, she actually laughed, squeezing the hand holding hers while her unoccupied one went to the woman's tie, taking firm hold of the fabric and tugging. "You utter dolt."

Yang obliged, leaning down enough for the movie star to catch her lips in a kiss. While it certainly wasn't expected or asked of her at this stage of the show's run... it felt right. Kissing the rocker felt like the burn of a shot without the horrid aftertaste, a rush of adrenaline from being on stage without the pressure to perform, all the energy of ten thousand screaming fans, and the urge to drown herself in sound.

For her part, the blonde didn't seem to mind, though she did remain rather chaste throughout their embrace. A contrast to her boisterous claims and some of the things she tried to do when she was feeling particularly mischievous, yes, but good regardless. It felt... right, being held by Yang, pulling away to see the promise of future antics shining bright in lilac eyes before she drew back and stepped away, that dazzling smile back place.

The audience cheered, some politely clapping while others began chanting the woman's name, though Weiss couldn't tell if they were encouraging her to pick Yang as the winner or just were fans of the rocker to begin with and just wanted to support her. Amid the noise, Yang quickly leaned close to her ear and whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

"No matter what happens, Princess, I got your back."

And then she was stepping away, turning her back on the movie star and heading to a little holding area off to the other side of the gazebo, separating her from the remaining finalists and Weiss.

The entire point of these speeches were to clear up any doubts, make the decision easier, give the rest of Remnant the argument to justify the romantic lead's choice, but now her head seemed more muddled than before. By ingrained habit, she didn't let her expression slip away from the pleasant anticipation she'd worn all night, just barely keeping the rolling emotions within from spilling out.

"Went about it your own way, but we certainly expected nothing less." Coco announced as the blonde approached her, shaking the woman's hand. "Best of luck, Yang."

"Thanks," the rocker smiled, giving a final wave to the cameras and audience before exiting the area. She at least looked content, at peace with her last shot at winning Weiss over.

She could take some solace from that.

"Next up, Pyrrha Nikos does her best to win the heart of our romantic lead. Will she have what it takes to come out on top?"

Barely resisting the urge to shake her head in dismay over the repeated emphasis on the competition portion, Weiss turned her attention to the redhead's approach, her heart- which had just figured out how to operate properly again- promptly fluttering as she ducked into the gazebo, that pleasant smile on her lips reaching all the way to her eyes.

"Weiss." Pyrrha reached for her hands like Yang did, but that's where the similarities ended. The redhead's hands had always felt like the rest of her- hard muscle covered in silk, steady and strong no matter the challenge ahead- and it helped steady her racing heart, blue seeking out emerald. "I feel so lucky, having gotten this chance to get to know you and the others, but it goes beyond that. It's given me a taste of something truly spectacular." She lightly squeezed the movie star's hands. "Being with you has shown me something I've never felt before. You were never intimidated by me- impressed, yes, but that didn't last long." Emerald eyes flicked away briefly, allowing Weiss to mentally acknowledge her silly starstruck reactions from the first few weeks. "I remember being so surprised, so flattered- you saw me for me. That's something so rare... I can actually count how many times it's happened on one hand." The redhead let out a soft chuckle, shuffling just the slightest bit closer. She wasn't as bold as Yang- quick advances were saved for combat and competition, not personal interactions- but she obviously didn't want their time together to end while standing two feet apart. "I want to thank you for taking me off that pedestal, for letting me be your equal, and to have a taste at being your partner." A little closer, and Weiss felt drawn into her eyes, her disarming smile, her comforting embrace. "I can only hope I have the chance to continue being that. I've had enough interaction with Blake and Yang to know they'll do their very best to treat you well, just as I will." The grip on her hands shifted just enough, an unspoken request that she complied with automatically, following the athlete's sculpted arms up to her shoulders while Pyrrha's hands found her waist. Again, she was confronted with her height in such a damning way, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was with Pyrrha; why worry about something as silly as her height? "But if you entrust me with your heart, I will give everything I have to bringing you happiness, to keep you safe and warm when life threatens to take away your strength, and you'll never lack for a cheering section, no matter what endeavor you undertake." Despite her heels, the redhead still had a few inches on her, prompting the movie star to raise up on her tiptoes even as she gently brought the other woman down to her. "I will cherish you, Weiss. No matter what."

In the next second, their lips met, and it hurt with how beautiful it felt. It wasn't perfect- just a little off center, and high- and that's what made it better, because neither had to correct themselves, had to be concerned about protecting a flawless image in front of each other, completely forgetting the audiences just beyond the gazebo. Kissing Pyrrha always felt like this, like innocence given and received with tender hands, a breath of biting fresh air that invigorated and uplifted without expectation. They could soar through the heavens or remain nestled together in a space all their own, no demands or outside eyes able to penetrate the tranquil air.

When the redhead pulled back, Weiss' eyes fluttered open and she almost cried, seeing the openly hopeful expression on the other woman's face as the audience reacted, their applause and shouts becoming a dull roar in the back of her mind. The little giggle that slipped past the other woman's lips caused her heart to clench painfully.

"I have faith in you," Pyrrha said, withdrawing her hands and offering a confident smile. "You'll make the decision that's right for you and that's all that matters."

As the redhead turned and walked away, the movie star could feel her mask cracking just a little. The reminder that a decision would come- from her- to decide all this, when she couldn't even sort through the jumbled mess in her heart. She couldn't compare Yang to Pyrrha; they were entirely different people, with their own likes and dislikes, and how is it fair to measure one against the other? The road ahead branched out, and she could take either path, and while each would be distinct- and the one she chose would be supporting and loving in their own way, at a distance- she couldn't pick one over the other, couldn't see herself with one and treating the other as just a friend.

"That was very sweet, Pyrrha." Coco offered her hand, patting the woman's shoulder. "Best of luck."

"Thank you," the redhead replied, stepping off to join Yang. From the looks of it, the blonde wasn't handling being the first one up very well, pacing in the small area set aside for the candidates once they'd given their final plea. Restless without company- she was an extrovert through and through, likely driving herself a little crazy with question and needing someone to talk to just to get out of her own head.

A small smile came to Weiss' lips as she watched the athlete enter the area, greeted with a hug and some words of encouragement by the blonde. She couldn't hear them to be sure but, at the same time, she just knew. Pyrrha was the type to calm and support her friends, even if they wanted something only one could have. And, knowing Yang, the rocker wouldn't stand to let herself be solely on the receiving end of affirmations. They'd probably spend the whole time until the decision reassuring each other that they'd done the best they could and they would still be friends in the end.

Past seasons weren't this confusing, she thought. Coco had clearly made her decision by week twelve but feigned interest in the others for the remainder and the very first season ended with the romantic lead's choice being rejected by Remnant which, in all honestly, was blatantly intentional. The man had no interest in his candidates and the show quite nearly didn't get renewed due to that lack in chemistry. If the fashion designer hadn't played her part so well, been charming and interested in a fair share of her candidates from the start, Weiss probably wouldn't even be here.

Now that would be a tragedy, she thought, somehow perking up at the realization. Despite the looming decision ahead of her, she had fond memories to treasure rather than nothing at all. It didn't seem fair, paying such a high price for that bit of happiness and the anxiety of her choice, but she'd do it again rather than risk never meeting Blake, Pyrrha, or Yang. In a heartbeat and with no regret.

"That brings us to our last finalist, Blake Belladonna. Let's see if the author can pen a happy ending for this story."

Her gaze snapped towards the path leading to the gazebo, where the Faunus was striding towards her with only a little tilt to her ears. Nervous, but focused, amber eyes shining with that hidden passion that had come out a few times, a hint that Blake had no intentions of walking away without speaking her mind. She could be quiet and reserved, but one would never be able to tell with the way she stepped up to the movie star right then, expression serious with a slight furrow to her brows. Whatever she was about to say, she'd obviously thought long and hard about it.

"I know every single cliche- every line anyone's ever thought up for situations just like this, and I've probably written over half of them myself," she said, standing tall and hiding her doubts as best she could. "If this was a book, I could craft the perfect soliloquy to convince you that I'm the one you should choose, because that's the ending I want. It could be that simple..." Her shoulders dropped in time with her ears, lips pulling into a soft grin. "If this was a book. But it's not and the story of us isn't written in ink or pixels. It's written in emotions and moments, shared between us and guided by more than just my hand. The words I would give a character... those do me no good now." Blake stepped forward and she naturally fit herself into the Faunus' embrace, the words pausing as they held each other for a moment. She could hear the author's unsteady breathing, nerves warring against passion on how much she should say. One would never call Blake timid by any means, but she would withdraw if she saw reason to, and Weiss felt her own heart stutter at the thought- she knew it must be hard for the Faunus to show such vulnerability, yet she was pushing through for her sake. When Blake pulled back, it was just enough for their eyes to meet, her voice dropping slightly as amber eyes fought not to take a nervous glance at the crowd and cameras. "I think that's a downside of being an author. I spend so much time creating fiction, will you even believe me when I'm being sincere?"

"I'll believe you, Blake." The movie star reached up, laying a hand against her cheek and smiling when the Faunus leaned into her touch. "I'm listening to whatever you have to say."

"Then, I want you to know that every moment with you has meant the world to me. It's opened my eyes in ways I didn't think possible." Her ears flicked back, heat rising in her cheeks as she ducked her head. "I mean... I thought I knew what love was, what romance was, but being here... I've learned so much more, and I want to keep learning, exploring everything I thought I knew, because it's all so different with you. Even if I understood it in theory, the reality is just... there's no words to describe it." She leaned a little closer. "I make my living weaving words together... and you've managed to snatch them all away."

She couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head slightly. "Now that came off as book worthy." Weiss looked up into amber eyes, stroking her thumb along the Faunus' cheek. "Yet... entirely sincere."

"Then I suppose I did something right." Following her lead, Blake leaned forward. "After somehow catching your eye, anyway."

"You truly possess many talents," she said before closing the distance, bringing their lips together in a kiss.

She was more forceful this time- they both were, recalling that night out by the horses, and it was tempting to remain locked in that embrace. They were growing bolder together, more inclined to lose some of that reserved poise they were known for, because kissing the Faunus always felt like catching a shadow in her hands, this intangible suddenly more real than words and all the more precious for it, a certain beauty in having something so fragile yet unbending otherwise, like only she could see this side of Blake, this part of someone who kept so much hidden away regardless of her desire to show more. She was the deep lake that the Faunus threw herself into without a second thought, nevermind if she knew how to swim, and she shouldn't be entrusted with something so wonderful.

The audience once again cheered when they parted but it turned to a dull roar as the blood rushing in her ears drowned everything else out. All but the Faunus' parting words.

"You're better than any book." Weiss opened her eyes, looking up into shining amber and seeing the feline ears standing tall atop her head despite the deep flush across her cheeks.

She wished she could say something in response but the words stuck in her throat, forcing her to merely smile and nod as Blake pulled away, leaving the gazebo.

And that should've been it- all three had given their last plea, given her their potentially last kiss, and it should be easy at this point to make her decision. Every romance novel or movie had told her this, every part she'd ever played, every conversation she'd had all pointed to there being some moment when everything clicked. At some unspecified time, she'd just know who she should choose to spend her life with, who to give her heart to, who she loved, but she felt no closer to making her decision than she had two weeks ago. Each speech had pulled at her heart, each kiss felt right in its own way, each set of arms around her made her feel nigh invincible save for the growing storm building in her heart. How could she choose one of them? How could she say goodbye to the other two?

"Another entry penned, guess we'll find out if it's a best seller." Coco shook the Faunus' hand with a smile. "Good luck, Blake."

She merely nodded in response, smiling and offering a small wave to the audience before joining Yang and Pyrrha. It hurt watching her go, confidence and relief warring with the doubts that never seemed to stop whispering, and Weiss wished more than anything she could leave the gazebo and set Blake's nerves at ease. Thankfully, she wasn't the only one to take notice, as Yang wrapped the Faunus up in a crushing hug at the first available moment, Pyrrha not far behind in offering words of reassurance. Their part was done, and they'd put everything they could into their last speech, so now all that was left for the three would be to wait until Weiss announced her decision.

"Well, that's it for our finalists, but stay tuned!" Coco announced, keeping the show moving right along despite the voice screeching in the back of the movie star's head, begging for more time, or for time to stop. Really, the latter would be preferable, at this point. "When we come back, Weiss will make her decision, and it'll be up to you, Remnant. Don't miss your chance to be a Celebrity Matchmaker!"

The crew gave the signal and they were off the air again, allowing Weiss to turn her back to the audience and put her head in her hands.

She had to get a grip of herself, to put a stop to the swirling thoughts and force them into some manner of order. Her time to agonize over her decision drew shorter with every moment, meaning that she absolutely needed to sort through the rolling emotions. This wasn't something she could ask for some sort of extension on, or delay giving an answer when the moment came; pretty soon, she would have to choose, for better or worse.

"Remember to breathe." A new voice cut into her thoughts and she turned, seeing dark chocolate eyes peeking at her over the woman's shades. Coco had stepped away from the crew to approach her, leaning against the gazebo's entrance with her arms crossed over her chest. "You look like you're freaking out."

"Hardly," she replied, straightening her posture. Even if she was, she couldn't let anyone else see it, and if the host could, others could as well. A Schnee never lost their composure, after all. "I was just... taking a moment to reflect."

"Look, you're doing great, kid." Weiss had half a mind to point out that hardly a year separated them in age but the other woman gave her no chance, pulling a scroll out from her jacket and waving it. "I wouldn't have even noticed if Velvs didn't text me. She's way better at reading that sort of stuff than I ever could be. I doubt anyone else noticed."

The movie star regarded Coco with slight agitation. "I suppose this is the point where you reassure me that everything will be okay, that you've been in this position before and understand what I'm going through."

She shouldn't be this hostile, but her frustration was mounting. Who to choose? Blake? Pyrrha? Yang?

"I definitely can't say that." Pushing off the wooden beam, the fashion designer spread her hands in a helpless shrug. "No one's been in your position, Weiss. You know what kind of snoozefest the first season was and I had my decision made way before the finale. Anyone with eyes can see you genuinely care about all three of your finalists." She paused, checking her scroll briefly. "Actually, eyes aren't even a requirement; my blind buddy over in Vale can tell, too. You have a real connection with each of them." Putting the device away, Coco pressed her lips into a thin line for a moment before shrugging again. "I really don't know what to tell you. I don't have any advice for a situation like this, except... maybe imagine what your future would be like? Depending on who you chose, I mean. Then, pick the one that feels most appealing."

She wanted to snap at how stupid that advice seemed- as if she hadn't considered it before- but gave it another chance, thinking hard. Weiss had no delusions about how difficult any choice would be and had given long, hard thought to each.

Blake would be home more often, aside from book tours and perhaps the occasional trip for inspiration or to approve a translation, and that would certainly be a plus. However, her career would demand a fair bit of travel, and while the Faunus would be the most likely to tag along so they could spend time together during the filming, it wouldn't last long. Blake preferred having her space and a cramped trailer in half a dozen locales wouldn't cut it. Plus, she had her own work, which while more flexible still required her full concentration. A noisy set wouldn't be conducive to that; they could find ways to handle the separation, as most couples did, but trying to completely adapt to one lifestyle or the other wouldn't end well, and neither would give up her career so easily, either. But they were stubborn and they'd make it work.

Pyrrha, on the other hand, would have a more predictable schedule, even if it meant she would be away on travel of her own more. Between maintaining a rigorous regimen for her Huntress skills and competing across the globe, she would be travelling nearly as often as the movie star, though her downtime would be between seasons and, thus, easier to mark on a calendar. She might even be inclined to act as an extra or provide her expertise on set; one didn't become such a lauded athlete without knowing a thing or two about workout routines and proper nutrition. But the redhead didn't want any more spotlight than she already had and would shy away from any leading roles, content to participate in her sports and various competitions. Their relationship would be more strained, the long periods of time away from one another making video calls frequent, but Pyrrha was nothing short of kind and forgiving, and she would do whatever it took to be worthy of that.

Then there was Yang. She would fall somewhere between the two, spending long stretches at home and rushing off to a recording studio or doing a world tour on a whim. Her schedule remained as unpredictable as possible, which not only helped sell her wild child image but kept her concerts sold out, and while that would last for a while, Weiss could see how things would go. The rock star would try to schedule her time so that they could both be home, and then be on tour whenever a new movie came up. Eventually, people would connect the dots, and while she didn't think it would be too big of an impact, she worried what Yang might do to retain her edge. The woman was as much a daredevil as a musician and the stunts she already incorporated into her shows tread the line between what Weiss found entertaining and what had her standing by with her scroll, thumb hovering and ready to call for help. Rather than make her worry, Yang would calm down, change her image, rearrange her life if she had to, and that wasn't very fair, because she would never ask for the movie star to do the same.

Eventually, she would though. That remained constant across all three options. She would trade away her career rather than lose any of them and she had no doubts things would eventually come to that. It wouldn't be so bad- she already had more than enough money to support herself, and she could probably sneak in small roles here and there if she ever needed more- and that thought in itself spoke to how much she genuinely cared about all three of them.

So, when that failed, when focusing on the future just made her long for each possibility more than before, she turned her attention to the present. When she made her choice, the other two would react; they would recover quickly, no doubt, but all three had the tendency to be open and honest in their immediate reactions. Blake's would be subdued, Pyrrha's would be quick, and Yang's would be impossible to miss, but all three would be there... and the thought of each tore at her heart.

It shouldn't be this difficult, this painful. At this point, a dead end marriage for show and nothing more seemed preferable, because at least then the choice would be easy. If there was a fourth finalist, she would pick them, just so Remnant could reject her choice and she could walk away single- at least then she could buy herself much needed time.

Weiss sighed, shoulders falling slightly. Time would do her no good, she realized. It was nothing more than her desire to stall the inevitable heartbreak, but that option wasn't open to her. She would hurt them... and she had no other choice.

"I've made my decision," she said, drawing herself up and raising her chin defiantly. "We should move to our marks."

Coco watched her a moment, a sad smile on her lips. "I really don't envy you. This has got to be the hardest thing you've ever done."

She thought about dismissing the comment for all of a second before a surprised chuckle pushed through her lips. "You have no idea."

[chatterbreath-blog]

Book Review - Winterhouse

We have on our hands an exciting debut from Ben Guterson! This October, I had the privilege of exploring the winding halls, eccentric guests, strange paintings and artifacts, and most importantly, the library, of Winterhouse.

The Winterhouse Hotel is a magical place to be--and, as readers find out, not just literally. When Elizabeth Somers finds herself dumped on the floor of the hotel’s library with $1.65 and a few clothes, she’s surprised to find, within Winterhouse’s doors,  Ernest Shackleton’s pants, a tasty sweet called Flurschen, and quite a few strange people--a couple dressed all in black with stony glares and a large crate allegedly full of books, for example. The most eccentric of them all, however, is Mr. Norbridge Falls, the proprietor of Winterhouse Hotel himself, thank you very much. Norbridge becomes even more interesting when Elizabeth and her newfound brainy friend Freddy find a strange poem of gibberish in a Falls family painting. Then Elizabeth starts to notice something strange about the book she, ahem, borrowed from the hotel library. A strange message is starting to form on the title page, letter by letter, day by day--and inside the book is a secret cipher that just might hold the key to deciphering the puzzle in the painting! Suddenly, the clock is ticking down: the couple in black, known as the Hiemses, start threatening Elizabeth (it’s clear they want the library book she stole); the book is then stolen; and the family history of Winterhouse will either show Elizabeth triumphing, or the dark force that seems to be brewing in the library . . .

So many elements are at play in this book! Let’s first examine our protagonist: Eleven-year-old Elizabeth is a polite young orphan with a thirst for books and an even greater love for puzzles. She and her friend, Freddy, seem very much alike in the sense that they both puzzle-loving bookworms, just like me. I felt I could relate to these two, and I could understand Elizabeth’s uncertainty about her place in the world stemming from the fact that she never knew her parents. However, these two eleven-year-olds act much like my friends. Winterhouse is an adventure regarding external conflicts, not leaving much opportunity for internal stress, emotions, or conflict to be shown in the characters. However, I can still relate to Freddy and Elizabeth’s relationship: Freddy seems calmer and more rational when Elizabeth gets excited and begins to act impulsively. I’m sure I can name a pair of friends at my own school like this.

    Winterhouse Hotel itself provides a rich setting for this story--there’s a family secret hiding around the corners of the artifact-decorated, carpet-covered hallways that Elizabeth soon finds herself in the middle of! There are so many quirks in this hotel--a thirty-five thousand piece puzzle; a cross-country skiing course; and most mysterious of all, a family legend that one library book will give, to whoever's hands it falls into, a power that could either be used for good or evil. Indeed, there are many puzzles for Elizabeth to solve at Winterhouse--some may be innocent word ladders, but solving the code tells her that the Falls’ family legend of an omnipotent, magical book may be more than just an old wives’ tale. Also, does Elizabeth’s psychic way of predicting bad events in the near future have anything to do with the magical powers that run in the Falls family?

Elizabeth doesn’t know that another old wives’ tale about Winterhouse is actually true: by saying “Gracella” three times in the library and Gracella’s empty cabin in the woods, she had managed to raise the angry, hateful spirit of Norbridge’s estranged sister. Elizabeth finds Gracella in the library with an unconscious Norbridge on the floor. She is the only one there; screaming for help, running away, or any other similar notion is impossible. Her only possible weapon is the book, which is currently in the claw like hands of Gracella due to the Hiems’ stealing it and giving it to her.

    Elizabeth manages to get her hands on the book. Now comes the moment of truth; it’s time to declare whether she chooses the good or the bad; either way, the book’s power will be released. The choice is obvious to Elizabeth, but just as she’s about to speak the fateful words, Gracella tries to convince her to use her power for evil. Elizabeth can feel the dark side of her power deep inside her; should she bring it out? Suddenly, what seemed to be a very external conflict becomes an internal struggle that embodies the constant battle between good and evil in the universe, commonly known as the yin and yang.

    This moment of weakness passes, and Elizabeth chooses the good, banishing Gracella (hopefully) forever.

    However, when I step back to examine this moment, I realize it isn’t about supernatural ancestors, magical books, or a secret code. It reveals a theme that one would expect from a former teacher: although most books aren’t as magical as Elizabeth’s, they are still magical because of the knowledge that they hold inside them and may potentially spread to others. The magic inside a book doesn’t stem from a magic spell cast long ago; it stems from the potent knowledge inside, and as we all know, knowledge can always be used for good or for evil. The choice depends on the character of the person who originally possesses the knowledge. Knowledge has potential for both good and evil; it just depends on the person who has it. “Faith” is the keyword to decipher the puzzle in the painting; and in real life, faith is the key--to knowledge, and to happiness.

    Winterhouse is moving, suspenseful, and full of surprises and puzzles. Underneath the story, though, lies a moving theme about faith, knowledge, and the power both bring. Winterhouse is full of complex characters (many of them with secrets), Harry Houdini’s shirt, and family history, all set against a magical backdrop of what I’d call “The Happiest Place on Earth”. This story will warm many hearts with its power struggle between good and evil, exercise many brains with its mind-boggling puzzles, and deliver a successful and delightful read to those waiting for their next favorite.

    No matter who picks up this book, I’m confident that they’ll admire Elizabeth’s spirit and courage. They will all cheer her on and wait with bated breath to find out the next suspenseful stage in the plot. Someway or the other, Elizabeth will remind us of who we are, who we want to be, and what we choose to do with our lives and the knowledge we obtain while living them. This small, four-eyed, quirky eleven-year-old and her friends will worm their way into a reader’s heart, whether he or she likes it or not.

    Winterhouse is truly a happy place, where everything and everyone is lively, warm, and thoroughly a pleasure to be with. Even if it’s no Winterhouse like Elizabeth, we all need a happy place in the world. Where is your happy place?

    Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to book a room at the Winterhouse Hotel for Thanksgiving break before all the spots fill up! I hear their Flurschen is world-famous.