#and its the fact that rue was even in the situation where they felt like they could no longer be honets

[conartisthaiji]

the way i see it is that rue literally never cries so for rue to shed a tear over captain hob of all people,,,like what was wuvvy gonna do. would you not immediately demand a duel if some bitchass fae made your best friend cry. 

[anonthenullifier]

How would Wanda and Vision (and Billy) react to Tommy being taken by that mutant experimentation facility that wanted to turn him into a weapon?

When I saw this, the entire story immediately formed in my head and I had to write it. Thank you for the ask, I had a lot of fun doing it! I hope you enjoy :D.  

Warning: story has some strong language 

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It took an enormous amount of convincing for them (Vision in particular) to agree to leave the boys alone for the weekend. There were many hours of whining and conversations about how they are sixteen now and how they need to be treated as adults. Surprisingly, it was Tommy who flipped the narrative by presenting them thoroughly researched details of their current private island get-away. In the back of his mind, Vision knows he should be more than just mildly worried about what antics they are getting up to and if they are remembering to eat and sleep, except that would mean ignoring the murmur of the ocean and the wistful smirk on his wife’s face and the way her curls sway in the salty breeze and the adorable wrinkles that have formed by her closing her eyes to fully enjoy the soft caress of their freedom. Though he can efficiently consider all of this at once, he would rather take Wanda’s near constant advice to live in the moment. So he does, scooping up her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Would you care for more sangria?” 

Wanda pops open her left eye to look at him. “That depends.” 

“On?” 

“Whether you deliver it in your speedo.”  

Vision contemplates the request, not in a serious manner, but in a theatrical show of potential uncertainty despite both of them being aware there is no physical way for him to resist the insatiability sending scarlet flares across her iris. “At the Maximoff resort,” her eyebrows perk up at the lathering of poshness and the implication of the direction of their evening, “we do pride ourselves on catering,” a shrug of his shoulders dissolves his prior floral shirt and Bermuda shorts into the little teal number from their honeymoon so many years ago, “to our guest’s every need.” 

“That’s good because I,” before he can grab her glass, Wanda fishes out one of the inebriated peaches, sliding it into her mouth with a saucy wink, “have lots of needs.” 

“I will return momen-” the thought hangs limply in the air as he watches Wanda freeze, her back straightening out and hands gripping the armrest of her beach chair as her lust cracks and gives way to a distant stare. Whatever she sees is not on this beach, may not even be in this universe. “Wanda?” Each passing moment crawls up Vision’s spine, prickling his skin and sending his mind into a whirlwind of unease at his ignorance of the issue. After what feels like five minutes but is actually ten seconds, Vision kneels in the sand beside her chair, haltingly bringing his hand to hers, “Wanda what is it?” 

“Tommy.” 

All joy leeches immediately from his mind, replaced only by a frigid shroud of concern. “What’s wrong?” 

To the untrained ear, the whirring and sputter to Vision’s left would be no different from the tropical breeze dancing around them, but Vision’s auditory system is functioning perfectly so he turns expectedly towards the blue portal of their son. “Mom,” Billy rushes through and the fact he’s barefooted and wearing sweatpants with a pajama shirt only unsettles Vision further, “Dad. They took Tommy.” 

Wanda’s head snaps to the side to stare in the general direction of their son, her eyes still miles away despite her voice trembling with rage in the present, “Who?” 

“I don’t, I don’t know.” Nervously he brushes a hand through his hair, “He went out for a run and then I felt,” Billy’s eyes are wild, tinged with blue, much like Wanda’s own get when she struggles with overwhelming emotions, “we were connected, you know, like you say we should be and-” 

Vision has known anger in his own life, whether it is in the way he never hesitates to decimate those who harm Wanda, or in the calculated attacks of logic he uses on politicians and other officials who are being discriminatory and lecherous, or even in the calm, but firm words he uses to discipline the boys, but this feeling now, this dropping of his stomach and the roiling, severe heat that flows through his synthetic veins and the complete and utter single ideation of causing pain to whomever did this...this is new. “Can you track him still?” 

Pinched eyes, a shaky nod, and a prismatic cloud confirms the question. Not wanting to pressure their son more than he, no doubt, is already doing to himself, Vision directs his attention to Wanda, recognizing the same fury in the serious scowl on her face and he does a less than admirable job of remaining calm when he assures her, “We will get him back.” 

 “I think…” Billy’s neck cranes to the right as if he’s trying to peer around a corner, “I found him.” 

The strain in his voice kick starts Wanda out of her seething and into action, “Let me help.” Scarlet twines its way through Billy’s electric blue seeing glass, seeming to clarify the situation even if Vision stands helplessly blind next to them. “Vizh,” he snaps to attention, taking in every piece of information and constructing a mental diagram of the situation, “there��re six armed guards,” Vision’s fingers curl into a tight fist at the number, “two holding him, two flanking those, and two in the back near the door.” The people are added to his schematic. “It’s a small room.” 

“Looks like an operating room.” 

Billy’s addition is helpful and causes Vision’s body to become denser, his feet burying in the sand as his mind churns through the tactical options instead of getting mired in what might befall Tommy if they do not hurry. “Billy, you are going to portal us there. Let your mother and I eradicate the targets.” 

Only the surprised warning in Wanda’s, “Vision” alerts him to his harsh vocabulary. 

“I mean we will subdue and neutralize the targets.”  

Billy doesn’t care about the terminology, still focused on his connection to his twin. “What should I do?” 

It is tempting to tell him to remain here, safe on the beach, but if all Vision feels is a need for retribution, he imagines Billy’s own feelings are similar and being sidelined will only increase his worry. “You get your brother.” With a hand on each of their shoulders, Vision draws them in for a pre-fight huddle. “The most important thing is to get Tommy back safely.” Synchronized nods confirm the obvious goal. “The second most important outcome is that we make these individuals rue the day they decided to target the Maximoff family.” Battle ready smiles meet his words, all of them ready to tear the world apart if that’s what it comes down to. “Let’s get your brother.”

 -------------------------------------- 

 Tommy is pissed. For one thing, mom and dad are never going to trust them alone again and that’s utter crap because it’s not his fault some shady ass organization was apparently creeping on him and waiting for him to be alone. He was even following dad’s stupid running route of highest visibility to cars and he was wearing the even more idiotic reflective vest because he was damned if he ruined their earned freedom. It is going to be so vindicating to inform dad that the vest gave his position away.   

Another point of annoyance is that these assholes used some sort of electrified net to catch him and it hurt like hell and they somehow have restraints that can withstand his powers. This was clearly well planned and that is a little flattering but mainly it’s infuriating. “Do you assholes know who I am?” Of course they do, but clearly they haven’t much thought through what kidnapping him would mean for their own well-being.  

The guard to his right doesn’t directly acknowledge the comment, instead asking her superior, “Can we please gag him?” 

Good, he’s glad his charming banter is annoying them. “You all are so fucked once they get here.” 

The superior also pretends like he’s not talking. “Get him on the table and sedate him.” Great. “He won’t remember anything once we’re done.” Not ominous at all.  

“Do you have to get training for how to be a villain?” He’d really, desperately like to speed away now, but not even vibrating his molecules is working on these shackles, so he needs to take the Stark approved quippy distraction strategy. “Because the delivery of the threat was a bit halfhearted. I’m not even scared.” A lie but they don’t know that (hopefully).  

The two guards gripping his arms drag him to the middle of the room where there’s the stereotypical solitary operating table with leather straps and a blinding fluorescent light above it (does someone make their living doing interior decorating for bad guys? If they do, they suck at it because this is drab and uninspired). Tommy resists as best he can, flopping his body in the opposite direction of their tugging all while sending out a mental SOS. Truthfully he doesn’t really understand Billy or mom’s telepathy, he just knows one of them always shows up eventually when he thinks about wanting company. And he really wants them here right now.  

A taser is rammed into his back and he crumples forward with an irate, “Assholes.”  

Almost giddily they strap him onto the table, the leader grinning down at him through the military grade face shield. “Halfhearted or not, you’re ours now.” 

“What does that even mean?” The man moves away without even the decency to shrug, radioing to someone that the subject is subdued and ready for the procedure which Tommy is most certainly not ready for whatever they plan to do and so he squeezes his eyes shut and sends out a very, he thinks, clear cry for help.  

When he receives an answer in the form of a thought dropped deep into his brain, one that says  We’re almost there , Tommy knows he should play it cool, bemoan the fate he is about to befall and rub the egos of the sadistic bastards around him, but he can’t help himself, turning to the guard tightening the strap across his chest, “You are fucked.” He turns his head towards the other guard, “You’re fucked too.” And then he just channels Oprah herself and spreads it to everyone. “And you’re fucked, and you’re fucked, and you’re fucked.” A shimmering portal opens up on the far wall right next to one of the door guards, to whom he shouts, “And you are most definitely fucked.” Before the promise is fully out the guard is pulled through the portal with a strangled scream, the wall closing up milliseconds before the others in the room turn towards the noise.  

Mr. You’re Ours Now glares at Tommy and then instructs the rest of the room. “Orders are shoot to kill, do you copy?”  

“Affirmative,” answers the guard next to him.  

That’s how this is going to go? Well then a very sarcastic, “Good luck” to them.  

Luck is not on their side because another portal opens and the second door guard is pulled through, dad phasing through the man’s body and solidifying just in time to punch another guard so hard it shatters their visor. Shit.  

The room erupts in chaos, a scarlet mist descending around them, the guards try to shoot but their guns are ripped out of their hands. And then there’s dad’s vibranium gleaming as he phases in and out of mom’s carefully crafted cover, the frantic and pained screams of the guards echoing as they fall, and this, this is how you do drama because if Tommy wasn’t the one being rescued, he’d be praying to whatever god might take mercy on his soul. “You okay?” Billy’s voice cracks with concern which is just really sweet.  

“Took you long enough.” 

And the concern is gone, “I was doing the responsible thing and getting backup.” 

He should be gracious right now because he is actually thankful but, “I don’t think you can call it backup when they’re the ones doing all the work.” 

There’s the steely gaze Billy’s perfected, “Do you want to be rescued or not?” 

“Thomas,” dad hovers beside him now, the transformation of his terrifying rage into fatherly concern contorting his features into a mildly upsetting scowl. “Are you injured?”  

It’s not often he’s the absolute center of attention and if he were to lay it on a bit thick it would be wholly understandable because he was the one who was rudely kidnapped, but he also has never seen his family this worried before so he defers to downplaying the experience. “Just a bit sore,” while also being truthful, “They electrocuted me a few times.” 

Finally, someone removes the straps and then dad breaks the constraints around his ankles, allowing him to blissfully stretch and shake out his muscles. Billy helps him sit up and the sight he’s met with is unexpected. “Why are you in a speedo?” To be fair, mom is in a beach cover and Billy’s in pajamas, but at least they’re clothed.  

“Um,” it seems the choice of clothing skipped dad’s mind, his hands running haltingly over his bare chest, “it was a tactical choice meant to bewilder and divert attention.” 

Scary, rage filled dad is gone and replaced with the normal, dry humored and dorky one, a fact that comforts Tommy far more than he’d ever admit out loud. “Sam’s never taught us about the tactical speedo.” 

Dad’s shoulders rise up a half inch and then fall with grace, “It is an advanced skill meant only for the most stalwart of Avengers.”

Which would be more believable (still not close to it, but marginally more so) if he didn’t instantly morph into his uniform when the door opened and the rest of the Avengers came inside, dressed and ready for battle. 

Mom directs them, “Vision has downloaded the schematics and files and will share them with you.” A chorus of chimes indicates the message has been delivered. “If you don’t mind,” mom wraps her arm around Tommy’s shoulder, easing him off the bed and helping steady him with her powers, “we’re going to leave the rest to you all.” 

Sam’s, “We got it covered,” absolves them of any responsibility in taking down the rest of whatever shady organization this is.

Even though Tommy would love to be part of an actual Avenger’s mission, he’s okay with sitting this one out…for the most part because as they walk towards Billy’s portal, Tommy shimmies free of his family’s helping hands long enough to stare smugly down at the broken nose of the leader of the assholes, “Told you you were fucked.” And then they leave, certain that the message was loudly received: no one messes with the Maximoffs.  

[sexysilverstrider]

A Practice to Remember

 To this day, Claude still wonders why his professor even considered him, of all people, to participate in the White Heron Cup.  “Ah,” she remarks, “a little to the left. You slid too far for that move.” Instructions pour out of her mouth calmly. Serenity and focus grace her face. But don’t be fooled. In all honestly, Byleth herself is at lost in the art of dancing. While she struggles in trying to guide the young heir in his dance practice, at least she can be glad that she isn’t the one that is going to dance in the competition.  Still…  “Teach…” Huffs of unsatisfied air escape his mouth. Finally halting to a stop, Claude plops his hands to his sides. “I mean this in the nicest way possible,” Green eyes stare at the apathetic woman, “but I feel like a crab who has lost its purpose on a Tuesday morning.”  The joke runs over her head; that is obvious with such a blank stare she is giving him.  Arms crossed and tightened. A single breath is held, then released in a slow manner. “Sorry…” is all she musters. Shame kisses each cheek. As agile as she is in the battlefield, Byleth has to bitterly admit that dancing has a different grace altogether that even she cannot grasp. Her head lowers, hiding the embarrassment of being unable to guide her student.  Byleth is rarely one to show emotions. But to see guilt wash over her face, Claude feels his stomach clench in complete discomfort.  Turns out he doesn’t like that sort emotion from her.

 “Hey now.” Hands quickly wave in front of her, he approaches forward. “I didn’t say you’re a bad teacher, Teach!” Laughter is forced in vain hopes that it will dispel her sorrow. “It’s just…uh…” One hand quickly rubs the side of his neck. “I’m sorta bad at this dancing thing, that’s all—”  “No.”  Her reply is quick. Sharp. Completely silencing him from saying any further.    Lavender eyes snap forward, actually making him flinch where he stands. “I’m your teacher.” A frown tugs the corners of her lips. “I should be guiding you, even if it means making sure you ace this dancing competition.” Resolve burns in those big beautiful eyes. “Even if it means I’ll dance with you to make sure you learn!”  Shock is the recurring character in his opera of emotions as Claude stands in bafflement at her statement. Fire burns in a pair of lavenders. Sparks of awe twinkles in a pair of greens. “Uh…” He tries to break the suddenly awkward silence. Both hands level near his chest. Both feet remain glued where he stands.  It takes her a full minute to realize what she said. And once the thought has registered, a flush of red splashes her cheeks.  Cute.  “I-I mean…” Stutters. She actually stutters. “Of course I don’t want to intrude. But I’ll make sure by the end of today, you’ll have the grace of a—”  “Dance with me.”  Shock ties her tongue tied.  Things seem to happen too fast for someone like her. And Byleth soon realizes that a hand—his hand—has reached out for her. Once, twice, she blinks at the waiting palm. A low chuckle accompanies her ringing head, and the young professor looks up at him.  His smile can rival the sun above.  “Well…” A light snicker tickles his tone, “since you did say you’ll dance with me so that I can learn better.” The grin on his face widens to a smile; playful at first, then slowly eased to one of anticipation. His other hand is positioned behind his back. Claude doesn’t move much afterwards, merely waiting for the response of his beloved professor.  However, as seconds grow to minutes, regret and shame start to envelop him—  He’s thankful he manages to swallow a gasp once his hand is finally being held.  “Well then…” Gaze falls to the held palm. She watches as slender fingers gently curl around her own. She hitches a breath as his grip cosily tightens around the shape of her hand.  It feels…right. Safe.  Warm.  The thought echo in unison without their realization. Byleth remains still in her position, unaware, lost, and frankly, very embarrassed at the action she has done. Courage took hold of her a few seconds ago, but that bravado now dissolves into awkwardness. She keeps her vision low, straight at their held hands. Uh… She wonders if Sothis is available in her head now. If that mysterious being is available, she can give her advice or at least ease her of this painful still-stone moment—  “B—Teach…”  His voice. She hears his voice.  Shivers run down her spine for his tone lacks of the cunning tune she is ever so used to.  Finally holding on to the bits of courage she manages to collect, Byleth finally looks up.  His smile can truly take her breath away.  Unbeknownst to her, a tornado of emotions is raging inside of him as well. Her eyes are flames that always attract him like a helpless moth. Her quiet stare both eases and wrecks him. Though words are not her strong suit, Claude feels hilariously hopeless every time she decides to open her mouth and speak.  He feels absolutely foolish every time she easily but unwarily snatches his attention with the simple movement of her pretty pink lips—  “Anyways—” he quips, then inhales sharply. “Ready to be swept off your feet?” Enlightening the atmosphere is always is strong suit. And even in this moment that literally takes his breath away, Claude holds on to his shaking sanity and straightens his back. “I may not look like it, but I’ll make sure to impress you by the end of the day.”  Surprise washes her face. And in a split second, short laughter bubbles inside the practice hall.  He fears his traitorous heart will blow their cover anytime soon.  “Okay,” is all she replies. Pushing away the bundle of nerves that twists her chest and stomach, Byleth fixes her posture. Her right hand squeezes his left, and she can feel her body being gently pulled forward. Though she had never danced in her life, Byleth is quite proud in her observation skills. She has seen commoners and mercenaries danced around a dancing campfire. She has seen happy couples gracing the earth with no regards to anyone around them. As a kid, Byleth always found the scene amusing and interesting. She even wondered once what it would feel if—if—she was ever in that situation.  And now, looks like she doesn’t need to wonder anymore.  Without a word, she moves her left hand to his right shoulder. Gaze never falls to the tall heir, always to the positions of her hands and body.  She isn’t ready to look at him now anyways.  A hand can be felt on her left hip. Shoulders flinch ever so slightly, but composure is quickly recollected in hopes that he didn’t see. “Ready…?” His voice huffs softly above her head. Warm air brushes dark blue strands, caressing each to each of her burning cheek. Words are absent entirely; a simple nod is given as a response.  A hum tickles her ears, and Byleth rues over the fact that she already feels empty from losing the touch of his right hand.  With ease, Claude gently placed the spindle of the phonograph near him. Once music starts to fill the hall, he places his focus on the woman in front of him.  By the stars, when he does, Claude actually feels his breath being taken away as his stares into those pair of dashing lavenders.  A smile stays in place. A heart howls like a wild beast.  Without a word, he starts to move. Following her instinct, she starts to follow. Left and right they sway. His hand on her hip tickles her ever so slightly, twitching a shaky smile that only widens his own. One step forward. Two steps back. Their bodies are merely inches apart. Their heartbeats drum as one.  As much as Claude is supposed to be the one practicing, Byleth isn’t all that surprised when she feels him guide her on the dancefloor. Soon enough, laughter fills the air. Joy beams brightly among the two. While this whole ordeal was meant to be practice for the Alliance heir and she was supposed to teach him, in a matter of minutes, the sound of harmonious glee fits perfectly with the lovely music.  Fingers entwines wonderfully with his. The sway of her skirt provides cool air to her thighs. The swish of her hair tickles his ticklish chin. Sometimes her left hand will be released so that she can twirl a few steps away. Sometimes his right hand will brush up her back when she returns back to his arms.  Tap, tap. The sound of heels echo in the halls. Once more she twirls, and this time she jumps a mere inch, and jumps again when she spins back to his embrace.  She’s beautiful. He has never seen her this happy before. She’s beautiful. He has never seen her laugh so much. Sure, she is one who rarely to never show a proper reaction. Hell, the smile he saw from her for the very first time still lingers in his mind like haunting memory.  But to see her like this…right now…  His heart only howls louder. A gulps slides down a dry throat.  From afar, none can tell who is learning and who is teaching. The image that is a sight to behold right now is an image of two people happily enjoying their presence without a care in the world. Only momentarily that she has forgotten her role as a professor. Only momentarily he has forgotten his ambitions as a leader.  If only…he wonders. If only—she wonders.  Time could stop right now.  Suddenly, the steps she takes falters, but instead of flinching backwards, she only holds a tiny gasp to feel her body being pulled closer.  “I got you…” is all he musters, whispers, tracing delicate shivers down the sides of her neck.  His voice lulls close. Too close. Realization hits her far too soon and far too later when she feels his heartbeat drum near her face. Her right cheek, warm and kissed by heat, is pressed against his sturdy chest. One hand pressed close to his chest, while her right hand is still held tightly, firmly by reassuring fingers.  Words are absent in a presence of soothing music. But alas, even the music has finally reached its end. Thoughts are in a jumble, but her mind forces itself to focus on anything but his heartbeat. Emotions boil inside her roaring heart, but her brain firmly ignores it in complete vain.  But the situation is proven a challenge. How can she ignore this? Not when she can feel his arm, strong and safe, tucked comfortably around the small of her back.  She then hears his breathing. Harsh. Quick. Hitched.  She cannot look at him just yet.  Silence is always a norm for her. Silence is her friend. Noise often irks her, and there are only a selective few who she can tolerate especially since entering the academy.  But Claude. His voice is never noise. Not to her. Not ever.  So that’s why—as their bodies pressed close together, as their warmth caressed the skin shivering underneath—Byleth wants nothing more than to hear his voice right now—  “—leth…”  It was faint. Too faint. But she swore by the name of her deceased mother that she heard—  His hug tightens. Something is pressed gently onto the top of her head.  Ba-dump!  She wonders if the wave of emotions coursing through her accidentally caused a Divine Pulse. But one things is for sure: everything is happening too much, too fast around her. In a matter of seconds, just as she was about to register reality, she instead gasps meekly at the feel of her body being released and pushed away.  She wonders why she feels sad by the action.  Bafflement widens a pair of lavenders. Neither a sound nor a peep, Byleth gapes at the tall heir before her. She sees him pant, wheeze, all the while clutching where his heart screams.  Bafflement still paints her face, and will continue to do so when she hears short laughter next.  “Well I—uh…” Stammers break down what words he wishes to say. “I—gotta go, Teach. I think I’m late for—” One look at her is enough to rattle him. “—Professor M-Manuela’s class—” Breathe, you idiot. Breathe!  He is never like this. He should never be like this. Not once. Not ever. Never would he expect himself to be so easily exposed like a startled fawn. His masks should serve him well. His smiles should provide him the protection from the world he craves to save.  But now…as she stands before him…  Answers are never given, and Claude doesn’t know whether to be thankful or not. He laughs again, ever so dumbly. One arm bent on his stomach, he gives a little bow. “Bye, Teach! Thanks for the lesson!” Without a single hesitation, he dashes off.  Tick…tock…tick…  Byleth wonders how and when she got herself to sit on the ground.  A few dumbfounded blinks happen all too fast. Her head feels numb, then dizzy, until she finally cups her face with shaking palms.  His voice lingers in her ears like an enchanting tune.  Did he just… No. It couldn’t be. She was hallucinating. She is, still.  Legs bend, then straighten forward. A tiny whine escapes behind pursed lips. Heat can be felt on her palms. Her lower lip juts, shakes. Memories of minutes ago stirs her heart ablaze. The whine is now being vainly gulped down a parched throat. One hand slides to her heart, and Byleth groans meekly at the singsong tunes of the incident.  He feels so warm…safe…right…  Slowly she closes her eyes; she wonders if it would be alright to lie on the floor for a few hours. ---  He wonders if it would be alright to slam his head against a concrete wall.  Puffs of hot air are forced out of his lungs. Sweat trickles down the side of his neck and face. In truth, his whole body was on autopilot when Claude made a run for it. So colour him surprised when he finds himself safe and sound in his room.  He soon rues that the silence of the room only intensifies the memories of a few minutes ago.  The touch of her skin. The warmth of her body. Hell, when his nose tickles the strands of such soft, dark blue hair…  Fingers shakily move to his tingling lips.  “Ha ha…” Dumbfounded laughter cracks the deafening silence. “Ahaa…” His legs feel wobbly. Is he dizzy? He feels dizzy. Should he sit? Maybe he should sit. The decision is never made as Claude soon finds himself squatting on the floor.  He can still feel her touch.  In…out…and all he can smell is the scent of tempting mixture of caramel and vanilla.  Byleth…  A fool. He is a fool for almost sputtering out her name out of the blue.  Bump…he finally falls to the floor. Hands now ruffle the messy strands of soft hair. Claude closes his eyes once, then snaps them open immediately when all he could see was her bright smile.  A fool. He is a fool for letting his masks crumble when it comes to her.  She feels so safe…warm…right…so right…  Byleth… Thoughts in a haze of her, Claude mindlessly brings his right hand to his face. Eyes closed, he takes a deep breath, letting her scent linger in his nose, in his mind, in his heart.  He misses her already. So much.  Damn it… Looks like he needs to see her later during dinnertime and apologize for whatever’s happened back there.  And yet—I want to see her now…—he doesn’t regret the moment one bit. END

[demigodsanswer]

Post-its and Pregnancy Tests

Here it is. The au of my own headcanons. Everybody lives, adult, post-college AU where Chris, Clarisse, Beckendorf, Silena, Lee, Castor, and Pollux share one four bedroom, two bathroom apartment and have for eight years. 

Read on AO3

~*~*~*~*~

Silena had an eye for detail. It’s what made her such an excellent wedding and party planner. 

And that eye for detail had led her to one very important observation: her best friend was pregnant and didn’t know it yet. 

Admittedly, Clarisse didn’t look pregnant. She jogged next to Silena, clearly at a slower pace than her usual to help Silena keep up, without seeming winded or tired. She didn’t even look like she had gained any weight. But Silena was sure of her conclusions, and it was time to do what she did best. 

Make Clarisse la Rue face facts. 

They were a block from their apartment building when Silena asked them to pause of a second, coming to a rest outside of the drug store. Silena leaned over and rested her hands on her knees, letting her head hang. She watched her breath fog up in the chill November air. 

“Come on, princess, we’re almost home. You can run one more block,” Clarisse said. She had been gracious in agreeing to help Silena get in shape for her July wedding, foregoing her usual evening runs with Chris to run with Silena when she got home from teaching. 

“I know I can,” she protested (although her heavy breathing threatened to betray her). “I want to stop in here,” she gestured to the drug store, “and get some more bridal magazines.” 

Clarisse shrugged, “Alright, I’ll be out here.” 

“You don’t want to come inside and warm up?” 

Clarisse shook her head. “I’d rather freeze than watch you leaf through fifty magazines.” Silena nodded and walked inside. 

She grabbed a few new bridal magazines (for work and personal use), and then a pregnancy test. (The cashier didn’t say anything about her purchase, but she still felt compelled to clarify that she was a wedding planner and also not pregnant.) 

When she walked out, Clarisse was leaning against the wall. “Ready to go?” Silena asked. Clarisse turned to start running home. “Actually,” Silena stopped her, “I was hoping we could just walk. I want to talk to you about something.” 

Clarisse looked at her accusatorially; Silena knew she thought she was just trying to get out of the last bit of running. But Clarisse complied, and they started back to their apartment. 

“So what’s up?” Clarisse asked. 

 “You know how our periods are synchronized?” Silena asked. Eight years ago, when they were just starting to be friends, Clarisse probably would just rolled her eyes and walked away without answering the question. Now, at twenty-four years old and with eight years of Silena experience she didn’t even blink at the question. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Well, I noticed that three weeks ago I got my period,”

“Good for you,”

Silena ignored the slight condescension and continued. “Well, I got my period, and you didn’t. And it’s been three weeks and you still haven’t gotten yours.” 

“Silena -” Clarisse tried to interupt, but she continued. She pulled the pregnancy test out of her bag as they got closer to their building. 

“Look, I know that you’re stubborn and don’t want a baby and all of that,” 

“Silena -” 

“But just take the test. I don’t want you to be one of those women on I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant.” 

Clarisse took a deep breath as she unlocked the front door. “Fine, I will.” 

When they got to their apartment, Silena shouted, “Anyone home?” 

They all worked different hours, adding to the chaos of the four-bedroom apartment they had all shared since Silena and Clarisse’s freshman year. 

Castor was the camera man for the nightly news, so he was usually out at four in the afternoon and back after midnight. Chris and Charlie worked normal business hours. Pollux was always out with some acting job or another; Lee helped his mom manage their movie theater in the Village, keeping him out late too. Silena and Clarisse were usually the only ones home this time of day, with Silena working from home unless she had an event or a meeting, and Clarisse got home from teaching teenagers the joys of American history at about 3:30.  

After six years, though, they were all starting to pack up the apartment. They were all moving to the same building - they could never be that far from each other. The building was one of four “New Athens” buildings in the city. A demigod-safe building compete with free rent for Titan and Giant war vets. They couldn’t pass that up. 

Plus, Silena and Charlie were getting married in nine months, and neither wanted to be a newly wed couple with five roommates. 

Well, if Silena was right (which she was sure she was), soon to be six roommates. 

Clarisse took the pregnancy test box from Silena when no one responded and walked into the bathroom. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” Silena said through the door. 

“I’m sure I can handle this on my own,” 

“I’m just trying to be supportive,”

“Lena, this whole thing would be so much easier if you stopped talking to me,”

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” 

“I’m not nervous! I just don’t like talking to people while I pee. Just please, walk away from the door,” 

Silena sat on the couch and waited. 

Clarisse walked out a moment later, and put the pregnancy test on the coffee table. “Alright, three minutes,” she set a timer on her phone and sat on the couch. 

“Are you nervous?” Silena asked. 

Clarisse shook her head, “No, I’m pretty sure I know what it’s gonna say.” 

Silena took Clarisse’s hand. “Look it’s okay to be nervous,” 

Clarisse looked her in the eye, “I’m not nervous,” 

Silena huffed and dropped her hands. “Well, maybe you should be. Because you might be pregnant. That doesn’t make you nervous?”

Clarisse shrugged, “I already told you, I know what the test is going to say.” 

“Yeah, well,” Silena sat back, “you’re extreme confidence can’t undo a pregnancy,” 

“Silena -” Clarisse’s voice was soft and apologetic. But Silena cut her off again. 

“No, no excuses. No ‘I know what it’s going to say.’ You’re three weeks late, there’s no denying that fact.” 

“I’m not denying it! I’m trying to tell you -” 

The time went off. Silena tilted her head towards the test. “Do you want to look at it?” 

“You and look at it. I already told you, I know what it says,” Clarisse said. 

Silena picked up the test. Two dark blue lines. No denying it now. She felt vindicated. 

“Are you sure you’re sure?” 

“Yes,” 

Silena turned the test to face Clarisse, “Because it says you’re pregnant.” 

Clarisse smiled, waiting for Silena to catch on, “I know.” 

“You ...?” Silena threw the test at Clarisse, but she dodged it, and it clattered to the floor. “You bitch!” Silena yelled while smiling. “You already knew and you didn’t tell me?!” Silena leaned in and hugged her tight. 

“I was trying to tell you, but you weren’t letting me get a word in!”

Silena pulled away, “How long have you known?” 

“We’ve known for like a week,” Clarisse told her. 

“We? You told Chris before you told me?” 

Clarisse looked confused, “He’s the father!” 

“And I’m your best friend!” 

“Not the same.” 

Silena barely agreed that she was less important than Chris in this situation. "But still, if you’ve known for a week, and didn’t you tell me?” 

“We haven’t really told anyone,” Clarisse said, “not even our parents. We’re waiting until I’m twelve weeks to make sure that everything is okay. There’s still a lot that could go wrong right now. So that means you can’t tell anyone.” 

Silena rolled her eyes and smiled. “You know I always keep your secrets. But can I tell Chris that I know?” 

Clarisse nodded, “We expected you to figure it out before we told you.”

“And you don’t think the guys will notices?”

Clarisse shook her head. “Men are clueless.” 

“Wait,” Silena sat up straight. “When is it due?”

“Mid-June, so I won’t be pregnant for your wedding. I already checked.” 

Silena relaxed back into the couch. “This is crazy. I mean, you don’t even have any pregnancy symptoms or anything.” 

“Oh,” Clarisse corrected, “you were not in the Goode High School faculty bathroom this morning. Total blood bath.” 

Silena shuddered, “Gross,” she said before perking back up. “If it’s a girl, can you name her after me?” 

Clarisse rolled her eyes, “If it’s a girl we’re naming her after Chris’s mom.” 

“What about middle name?” 

Clarisse thought about it for a moment, “Maybe.” 

“But I’m the godmother right?”

Clarisse smiled, “Of course,” 

Silena squeezed and hugged Clarisse again. “Oh I am going to plan you the best baby shower of all time!” 

Chris got home around six and walked into a familiar sight. Clarisse was at the table grading papers, Silena was flipping through one of her new bridal magazine. 

“Hey Silena. Your wedding or someone else?” He asked pointing the magazine. 

“Always both, Christopher, always both,” she said without looking up. 

He walked over to Clarisse and kissed her hello. Silena watched them chat about their day for a few minutes, before Chris went to their bedroom to change. 

Silena followed him; if Clarisse noticed, she didn’t show it, staying fixated on her students’ papers. 

Silena walked in as Chris was pulling down his dress pants, which he quickly pulled back up. “Silena!” 

“Oh it’s fine!” She said, walking in and sitting on his bed. He re-buttoned his pants, though, putting off getting changed until she left. 

“What’s up?” 

Silena smiled, “You’re having a baby,” She said in a sing-song voice. 

Chris smiled but protested, “No, Clarisse is having a baby. I only contributed for like ten seconds.” 

“Nope, nope,” Silena said, “you’re going to be a father, and, therefore, you are having a baby.” 

Chris dug through his dresser drawer to find a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. “Well, I’m not the one who almost peed their pants on the subway last week,” He said. 

Silena gasped and laughed, “She did not!” 

Chris shut his eyes tight, regretting what he had said. “You probably shouldn’t tell her I told you that. She’ll kill me,” 

“Oh she sure will.” 

“Can you leave now so I can’t dressed?” 

Before Silena could leave, Clarisse walked in. 

“So she’s knows,” Chris said. 

“She figured it out,” Clarisse said. 

“You peed your pants on the subway?” Silena asked. 

Clarisse glared at Chris, who glared at Silena. “Almost,” Clarisse protested, “almost is the operative word in that sentence. I used the alley like a grown up.” 

Clarisse laid down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Silena laid down next to her, curling up into Clarisse’s side. 

These platonic “cuddle puddles,” as Silena called them, immigrated into their apartment from the Aphrodite cabin, and had become a staple of their group friendship over the last few years. 

Clarisse wrapped an arm around Silena and pulled her in close. Chris got on the other side of Clarisse, laying on his side, and propping his head up in one hand. 

“So you can pee in an alley but not when I’m talking to you?” Silena asked. 

Clarisse laughed. “That was a pee-mergency. You making me take a redundant pregnancy test was not.” 

“What?” Chris asked. 

Silena explained the events of the day, but she faltered as she got to the end. She noticed that Chris’s hand had rested on Clarisse’s abdomen and was rubbing small circles where he imagined the baby to be. Clarisse clearly wasn’t listening to Silena at all and was instead looking up and watching Chris’s face as he reacted to the story. 

Silena suddenly felt very overwhelmed with positive emotion for the couple. She had been so excited for her friend and for her own prospects as a godmother and baby-shower-planner that she failed to notice just how happy her friends were. Chris and Clarisse (who just last Forth of July had both nearly gotten alcohol poisoning in a competition to see who could take more tequila shots, for god’s sake) seemed completely happy, content, and calm. They seemed ready for it, somehow, like a couple in their thirties who had been trying for half a decade. They hadn’t just accepted the reality that they were going to be parents. They were excited about it. 

“Silena,” Chris said, “are you -” 

Silena cut him off with a sudden sob. Clarise turned to look at her. the couple pulled her into a hug as she blubbered out: “I’m just so happy for you two!” 

“We’re really happy too,” Clarisse said. Chris smiled, leaned down, and kissed her, only breaking it when that tender moment made Silena cry harder. Silena’s melodramatic happy crying only made the couple laugh. 

The puddle of bodies on Chris and Clarisse’s bed, both laughing and crying, was the strange sight Beckendorf came home to. “Everything okay in here?” 

“Charlie!” Silena said, still crying. She reached out her arms to him, encouraging him to join them all on the bed. 

“Why are you crying?” He asked her, sitting on the bed up by their heads.

Silena wiped her eyes. “Oh, you know me, I’m always crying.” Silena had promised to keep their secret, and damnit she was going to. 

Clarisse just smiled. “That’s not true,” she said. Clarisse leaned over Silena’s body to get to the night stand drawer. She opened it and pulled out a sonogram photo from the week before. There was hardly anything in the picture except for wavy black lines, but there was a little peanut shaped thing the doctors told them was their baby. 

She held the picture up for Beckendorf to see. His eyes went wide, “No way!” Chris and Clarisse nodded. “Congrats you guys!” 

Silena took the sonogram from him. “You didn’t show me this!” Silena said. “You know what, when I get pregnant, I’m not going to tell you for two weeks.” Silena told her. 

Clarisse just laughed, “We both know that’s not true.” 

Silena wanted to protest, but Clarisse was right. 

“So who else knows?” Beckendorf asked. 

“Just you two,” Clarisse said, “we wanted to wait to tell people until we were twelve weeks. Our parents don’t even know.” 

“But can we really have four out of seven of us know and not tell the other three?” Chris asked. 

Clarisse took the sonogram from SIlena. “Let’s just hang this on the fridge next to their wedding invitation and see how long it takes for them to figure it out.” 

“Oh absolutly not,” Silena said, “they’ll think I’m pregnant. Here,” Silena took the sonogram back and stood up. She grabbed a post-it note and a pen, and wrote Baby CR coming this June! With an arrow pointing at the little peanut. “Now you can hang it up.” Silena handed it to Clarisse.

��CR?” Clarisse asked. 

“You guys have the same initials. And ‘la Rue-Rodriguez’ is too long for a post-it note.” 

“Do you wanna hang it up?” Chris asked.

“Can you do it?” Clarisse asked. 

“You can’t do it?” Chris asked. 

Clarisse shook her head, “No, you see, I am pregnant so ...” 

“So you can’t get up and hang things on the fridge?” he teased. 

She smiled and patted his cheek. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Chris looked at Silena and Beckendorf. “This is going to be a long seven months for me, isn’t it?” 

“Hey,” Clarisse protested, “I almost threw up in front of a room full of teenagers today. What did you do?” 

“Helped keep a person charged with a first time drug offense from serving an over-inflated prison sentence.” Chris told her. 

“That’s a really nice story, could you tell it to me while you’re making me something to eat?” Chris just laughed at her as he started to stand, but Silena took the sonogram and post-it from Clarisse and got off the bed first. 

“How about this,” she offered, “I’ll hang it up, we’ll leave you two alone and order a pizza?” 

Clarisse rolled over to look at Silena. “Is it too late for me to have your baby?” 

Silena leaned down and kissed Clarisse’s cheek. “Unfortunately,” she said. She started out the door and Charlie followed her. 

Silena hung the sonogram up the fridge, right next to her own wedding invitation and smiled. 

“You know,” Charlie said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, “Chris and I can never tell if you and Clarisse are joking about you two leaving us for each other.” 

Silena turned around and smiled. “It’s a joke for right now,” she said, “but should you and Chris ever prove to be unsatisfactory -” 

Charlie grabbed her by the waist and sat her on the counter, situating himself in the V of her legs. “Well then,” he leaned in and kissed her, letting his hands trailed up her thighs, “I’d better keep you satisfied.” 

Silena smiled against his mouth before asking. “When do you want to try and have a baby.” 

Charlie pulled away and brushed some of her hair behind her ear. “Whenever you want.” 

“You’re not just saying that so I don’t run away with Clarisse?” 

“No, I promise,” he smiled and kissed her again. 

“Well,” she said in between kisses, “we have two-hundred and seventy-one days until the wedding. So,” she kissed him again, “how about we start trying in,” and again, “two-hundred and seventy-two days?” 

Charlie smiled and kissed her again, “Sounds like a plan,”

~*~*~*

Notes

My goodness this was longer than I planned for it to be. It’s almost 3,000 words. Also I did that math, and their baby would be born in June of 2017. So the fanbaby is already two! 

If you’ve ready my other ChrisXClarisse baby headcanons, which take place in the normal time line, some of this is familiar. Although I did bump their ages up a year. in the original headcanons, they are both still in their respective graduate schools. Here, I moved them up a year. I just felt like if all their friends were alive, their twenties would be a little more fun and less melancholy, so they would be less likely to keep a baby they conceived while still in school, even if they are soon-to-be graduates.  

I also just really enjoyed exploring how Clarisse and Chris might be different (read: happier) had their friends never died. And what a relationship between Clarisse and Silena looks like nearly a decade later. (also sorry if it reads as queer-baity to anyone - the physical affection is based off of some of my own long-term female friendships. I am a queer woman so I am aware of how platonic physical female affection can sometimes read as fetishizing or queer baiting. But I didn’t want to leave it out, because I do believe that’s how their relationship to each other would develop had they been able to be friends for more than a year.)  

[luciferpens]

Nightshade || Harleen

What: Harley and Eve run into one another at Nightshade. Its awkward. Where: Nightshade When: August 14, 2020 Mentioned: Ivy, Vera, Rue, Remi TW: hinted at rape  @icarialex

Even though she wasn’t usually someone who went out with coworkers, she couldn’t keep turning people down. So, that was how Harley wound up heading to Nightshade after her shift with two of the other nurses from her department. The blonde didn’t really plan on doing much beyond having a few drinks and a good time, but that went out the window the moment her eyes landed on Eve. The scene that danced before her was one she’d seen so many times before as the writer flirted with a woman. When brown eyes met her blue, Harley wanted to curse herself for how wounded she most likely looked. Instead, she diverted her gaze and immediately ordered a shot of gin at the bar. The nurse wished she could walk up to Eve and explain that the feeling she had coursing through her right then was why she didn’t talk to the woman, but she wasn’t that person. She couldn’t walk up to her best friend being petty and mean just because she was hurt. No, it would be easier to just ignore the situation all together. Just spend two or so hours with her coworkers so they were happy and leave was the best course of action. 

After the first shot though, Harley switched to a gin and tonic. Getting drunk on top of being upset was definitely not a good combination. Causing an earthquake was never high on her list of priorities which was why she tried to stay as in control of her emotions as possible. She managed to have some sense of willpower as she sat at one of the high chairs that kept her back towards Eve’s direction. It kept her from turning around to see what she knew was looks of panic, confusion, and sadness. Harley didn’t want to comfort Eve right then because she knew deep down that talking to the woman was a bad idea. Her best friend never did feelings and coping by partying was what Eveleen did. So, the blonde did her best to laugh and joke as she was known to do as time slowly ticked by. Eventually, the drinks and water caught up with her which led to Harley entering the bathroom. As she exited the stall though she caught familiar brown eyes in the reflection of the bathroom mirror by the sinks. Knowing she couldn’t just ignore the woman as they were in such close quarters together, Harley greeted with a, ”Hi,” as she approached the faucet herself. Although, she didn’t know just what else she should say.

---

Nightshade had become Eve’s favorite spot on the isle, with her sister working as a DJ there, her ex-girlfriend owning it… it felt a bit like home, a bit like safety and normalcy. Eve used the place to unwind, to relax and get her fix. She wondered the dance floor flirting up a storm, using her powers to cause a more ecstasy on the dance floor. And that was exactly what she was doing, leaning against poll chatting up with a man a smirk on her face as she lightly brushed his arm, sending a wave of excitement through him and those around her. But as she pulled her hand away, her eyes drifted to blue ones that belonged to Harley. Her heart jumped into her throat and she froze in place. Harley looked so hurt and upset by her presence there, by what she was doing. She had started to open her mouth as if to say wait when Harley turned her attention away and ordered a drink. She saw the woman turn her attention back to two other women that she came with and pursed her lips eyebrows shooting upwards. Fine. . Eveleen would do the same; she started to flirt with more people to send more of an excited, curious and energetic wave out. It influenced those around her to drink more, to crave more wine, more excitement. That distracted her from the fact that Harley was around the club, enjoying herself as well. She finally decided to truly let loose and start dancing. She drank, she danced and then -- she realizied the bathroom was calling her name. . She had just exited a stall and was pausing at mirror after washing her hands to reapply her lipstick. She was leaning forward, adding red lipstick back on when she saw Harley in the reflection. Eve took in a long breath and then slowly let it out. “Hey…” she said letting her voice trail off as she slowly lowered her lipstick to the sink countertop and watched Harley through the mirror. “You look cute tonight.”

---

Harley looked down at her outfit and shrugged a little bit. Out of the two of them she was the one that cared less about what she threw on. As long as the colors didn’t scream in contrast too much she was good. That evening she was standing in front of Eve in tight red pants and a navy dress with a retro leather jacket thrown over it. Everything was tight enough that it gave a good view of her body, and the vest even showed a little midriff too. Still, the fact that it went together so well was more luck than anything else since she’d picked it all when she was half asleep before her fourteen hour shift. ”I can’t take credit. I’m pretty sure my eyes were half closed when I grabbed these clothes and tossed them into my duffle with some heels last night. Only reason I’m standing in front of you instead of napping in some corner is because I caught some shut eye in an on call room before being dragged out tonight.”  She had no idea how her colleagues had so much energy. Well, that was until she remembered that she was the only one on call for emergency surgery the night before, so they all had a more reasonable amount of sleep. 

Talking about work was easier than dealing with the things that were being left unsaid between the two of them. Harley wanted to kick herself for not remembering that a spot like Nightshade would be the woman’s stomping grounds. Walking into the only dance club on the isle while the writer was trying to sort through her emotions was like asking to be punched in the face with flirtations and debauchery. ”You don’t look so bad yourself though, but that stopped surprising me a long time ago,” she managed to say back with a small smile. The nurse didn’t understand why the urge to add as many people in the club are appreciating, to that sentence was so strong. She’d had feelings for Eve for ages and seen what she saw when she first walked into the club a million times. The only difference was that she’d been asked to put those feelings out into the universe, and that was stupid. Harley moved to grab some paper towels to dry her hands which also provided some distance between herself and the other woman. ”I’m probably going to be heading out soon,” she said with a sigh at both herself and the situation. Not knowing what to say to Eve was definitely new, frustrating territory. Harley was usually the queen of adding laughter to awkward situations, but there she was letting the tension continue to rise as uncertain blue eyes stared into brown. At least she managed to keep eye contact. She’d take the small win.

---

Eve rolled her eyes at Harley’s dismissal of her compliment, “Well even half closed and half dead before your shift you’ve apparently retained some of what I taught you back in L.A.” she said letting a smile slip over her lips. “Though, we’ll have to get you a new belt.” she said, shaking her head at the simplicity of the belt the woman was wearing. Eve was almost tempted to take off her Gucci belt and wrap it around the other woman but decided against it for fear of it all being a bit awkward. Plus the time it would take to unlace from the black sequined miniskirt she was wearing would be a pain in the ass. “And, you need lipstick.” she said, wiggling the lipstick tube she had in her hand around, it was the same shade of red as Harley’s pants. She smirked, and like she had hundreds of times before, back when they lived in L.A. she reached forward and took Harley’s head into her hand and quickly swiped on some lipstick to the girl’s lips before letting her go and returning to where she had been a second before.  “Better.” she said with a little shrug. 

“I’m guessing they dragged you out despite your protests of being a bit sleepy still?” she asked, realizing that the people she had seen Harley with earlier must have been some of her coworkers. Or at least some of them were for sure. Unless they just abandoned her, in which case she’d have to go yell at someone. After a second she shut down the thoughts she had of misplaced annoyance towards Harley’s coworkers. She knew the isle was… well actually, no, the isle wasn’t truly safe enough to walk around by yourself anymore. At least if the police order she had read was anything to go off of. Her roommate was just outside waiting for her to come back so they could go dance once more. She glanced to the other closed bathroom stall door and paused for a moment before turning her attention back to Harley.  “Ah -- thanks” she smiled. Her top was multi-layered; a black off the shoulder, almost tulle like fabric was covered in black polka dots with large bishop sleeves resting over a black tube top. She layered three necklaces over it and added some black heels to complete the whole look. “Don’t leave on account of me,” She added a second later as she slipped the lipstick into her bra, hiding it away. “You’ve not been here very long -- and you really shouldn’t be by yourself with -- all thats happened lately.”

---

”It’s hard to forget anything involving you,” Harley said honestly. There was one moment in particular she’d tried so hard to forget. The kiss Eve had given her when she was drunk off her ass was what she’d been trying to scrub away from her brain. There was no point in holding the memory when the other participant had zero knowledge of it having happened. She smiled and shook her head slightly at her best friend. Harley had learned long ago that there was always something Eve would tinker in her outfits. It wasn’t something she ever took personally. The lipstick did shock her a bit, but she fortunately kept it off her face. It was something they’d done so often, and yet, now that feelings had been thrown out there things were different. That was also why she didn’t want to say anything. Feelings made the air between them shift, and every time she saw the woman she was left wondering if anything that she felt was reciprocated. ”Thanks,” she said with a smile. 

Changing the topic to her knucklehead coworkers was much appreciated. Harley groaned and nodded her head. ”I’m often on call because I’m the lead anesthetic work, and I’m needed for any surgeries that happen in pediatrics. So, that can make for funky hours. Still, I’ve put this off long enough that I would have been carried here if I said no again anyways.” Going voluntarily seemed like the much better option. Fortunately, Harley could sleep in the following day since she was off. Her bed was calling her name. Although, knowing her she wouldn’t stay in it for long. Surfing in the morning was her favorite way to start the day. While Harley wished she could stay in spite of Eve being there, she knew it was best for her to go home. ”Really, it’s okay. I’m tired anyway, and I really don’t think I can handle seeing you flirt anymore tonight. You’re single and should if that’s what you want to do obviously. I have no say in that, but I know I should probably head out.” Nightshade could be Eve’s turf to do what she needed to do. That was something she could live with. It wasn’t like hitting the club and partying was something she did often. ”I can text you when I get home if you want. Or you can come with me if you’re going to worry too much,” Harley said with a shrug. She didn’t know how much Eve wanted to party, and the nurse’s mind was obviously a mess. Things were awkward but she still wanted to spend more time with Eve? Love was stupid.

---

Eve swallowed hard as Harley spoke; being confronted with feelings, hell even the idea of feelings made Eve squirm. After all that had happened to her, she couldn’t bring herself to be comfortable in a relationship, couldn’t really bring herself to be comfortable with feelings, deep feelings really. But when she saw Harley smile she returned it and nodded her head. “Any time,” she said with a shrug and cleared her throat. “You’re the lead?” She said her eyebrows shooting up, “I shouldn’t be surprised, of course, you are. I’m glad they’re forcing you to have some fun time instead of locking yourself in the house all the time.” she had been the one to force that back in L.A. and knowing that the woman had friends looking out for her, had people willing to make her go out and relax a bit.

Pursing her lips and frowning she nodded her head. Harley wasn’t wrong  but she disliked how this was all headed. She didn’t like how the only thing that seemed to be calming her down was partying; it distracted her, it allowed her to forget what was eating at her soul. And the admission of feelings -- well a good party was the perfect distraction. She glanced to the door, the idea of getting back into the party, but then back to Harley and shrugged her shoulders. It was Harley, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t want to hang out and see her friend. “Come with you?” she asked eyebrows shooting upwards, “I mean, at a bare minimum I want to make sure you get home safe.” She said with a shrug, “I can walk you home.” she added a second later. Its not like Harley could live that far, the isle wasn’t that huge.

---

Eve had been there through it all in the blonde’s education. She’d seen the long nights studying, reminded Harley to eat, and even kept food warm for her when she started her clinical hours which were always crazy. So, being able to tell the woman that she’d done well in her career was nice. Sharing the little things, because honestly to Harley work was such a little thing in life, was one of the many things she’d missed in their friendship. ”Head anesthetic nurse I think is the professional title, but whatever, same thing. I’m just happy I get paid to comfort kids while acting like a big one myself,” she said with a giant smile. It was the best part of her job. Surgery was always a scary thing, but to kids it could be terrifying, so it was nice that she was able to bring smiles to their faces by acting like a dork whenever possible. ”Yeah, I have a few people that stop me from being just a beach head and homebody. Don’t you worry. Plus, with you here, I’m sure I’ll get all my socializing in for sure.” 

Blue eyes caught the glimpse towards the door and sighed. Harley was always a pretty observant and emotionally intelligent person. Growing up with a woman who suffered from Bipolar Disorder made her accustomed to noticing little changes in behavior which carried on into her adult life. ”This is why I didn’t want to tell you about my feelings. You asked why I didn’t tell you, and this is a perfect example,” she said calmly. There was no anger or resentment in her words, but rather acceptance of how things would go. ”The only thing worse than having your feelings rejected is seeing them make someone else uncomfortable or unsure of things. I know partying is your default coping mechanism. So, if you’re not ready to deal with this yet or me, you can go back out there. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll ask one of my coworkers to walk me home so you don’t have to.” Harley didn’t want to make Eve feel out of sorts. The only thing she’d ever wanted to do was make the woman happy. Right then, she honestly didn’t know what was the right thing to do, but she didn’t want them to be forced together when Eve was still trying to wrap her head around things.

---

“Head anesthetic nurse.” Eve repeated, “A giant child taking care of other children.” she shook her head and let out a long sigh. How she could always be so childlike -- even at work amazed the writer. Eve had to much going on in life, too much chaos and expectations from her mother. It was either full throttle work which meant seriousness or a needed release of power and then a crash, which meant a party. Childlike wonder and playfulness -- that wasn’t really a thing for her. But maybe now -- maybe being on the isle meant she’d get some of that time. “I’m glad there are others up your butt and making you relax a little. And yes, you will for sure get more socialization with me being around… even if its a little weird.” she said deciding to just call out their awkwardness for what it was. 

Eveleen clenched her jaw a bit as she spoke and let her eyes dart around Harley’s face, taking in all the little details, all the little expressions that crossed her face as they spoke. “Because a couple of days of me needing to get my head on straight?” she asked eyebrows shooting up, “You know if we had had this conversation years ago we wouldn’t be in such an odd situation right now.” she sighed. “I’m not rejecting your feelings -- there’s just…” she let out an even longer sigh, “There’s just a lot going on in here --” she tapped at her temple. “A lot I have to -- get over, to accept and move on from before I can be in a good enough place to ever… be that sort of thing for someone.” she said putting extra emphasis on the word, not able to even bring herself to say girlfriend or relationship as she tapped her own chest. She leaned against the wall she was about to open her mouth to say more when two more women walked into the bathroom laughing up a storm. She waited as the two women stumbled into the bathroom stalls, still talking before she looked back to Harley.

---

Hearing Eve’s words made the blonde smile brightly. That was the best part of her job after all. ”Who better to relate to them than someone who can really get on their level?” While the blonde didn’t really have a normal childhood and had to grow up much faster than most, she still could easily access the part of her brain that held the memories of all the things she wanted to do. Perhaps they were at the forefront of her mind so much because she never got to do them, but she didn’t really dwell on it all too much. Harley was happy she was able to turn what many would see as a sad story of her life into something positive. At the mention of them being awkward, Harley shrugged her shoulders. ”This will blow over eventually. You’ll forget about it before you know it and be wanting cuddles from me in no time.” Honestly, Eve had forgotten much bigger things between them before, so Harley was sure it would be fine. There was a decent amount of alcohol and some weed combined in the last time, but still, she firmly believed they’d be fine. Putting her feelings in a Pandora’s box would have to work eventually.

Harley rolled her eyes affectionately at the woman because honestly, she couldn’t ever be really mad at Eve. Well, at least it hadn’t happened yet. ”No, not because you need a few days but because you don’t do this. You haven’t done feelings in forever, and I knew that. I knew it better than anyone. So, me telling you even a fraction of how I feel about you would make things awkward and just be uncomfortable for us both.” The idea that having the conversation years ago would have made things better made her arch an eyebrow. ”Can you honestly look me in the eye and say that three years ago that if I’d told you I wanted to be with you that it would have gone well? We were younger, and you were someone who was still dealing with a past relationship and loved partying. You haven’t wanted to be with anyone since Chester.” Harley listened to the rest of her best friend’s explanation and was even given a pause to digest it all due to people entering the bathroom. Once they were out of sight, all the nurse could do was nod her head because she did understand. ”I didn’t say you were rejecting them. I just said the only thing worse was seeing your feelings for someone make them uncomfortable. Being the person to make you feel so unsure and out of whack isn’t something I ever wanted to be. So, I can just get someone to walk me home. You can stay and party things out of your system until you’re ready to talk to me sometime.” One thing Eve had going for her was that she was dealing with someone that had seen how she coped before, so that saved time with explanations.

---

A small lift of her shoulders and a nod of her head was the easiest response. Because really — it was always easier to work with kids if you could relate to them and act like them. No one was better at that then the blonde before her. But at the mention of forgetting about it she furrowed her brow and pulled her head back slightly “Forget about it?” she asked almost insulted “I’m not gonna forget about what you said.” she muttered followed by a scoff and a long breath out. She shook her head again, sure she was a bit lose, but she wasn’t anywhere near the point of forgetting things. That would require weed and something harder to get to that point. And as far as she knew — only weed was readily available in this club. “What makes you think I’m going to forget about the fact that you told me you had feelings for me? I was sober then, and while I may not be totally sober now that doesn’t mean I’m going to forget it or just — let it go.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest and listened quietly to Harley as she spoke a small shiver ran down her spine at the mention of it being a fraction of what she felt and set her mind racing. Eve was lot in that thought, lost in what it meant to have someone feel something for her beyond the want to party or lust when she heard that name. It felt like a hand gripped around her heart forcing her mind and body to freeze in place. Her breathing hitched and she just stared. Her eyes glazing over at the mention of his name. To some, her reaction would look like overwhelming sadness over the loss of love; to anyone who knew her then they might think she was sad over his death; to her therapist? To Ivy? They’d recognize the fear and know she needed to do something to change the subject before her mind spiraled down. She couldn’t have been more thankful for the sound of a toilet flushing and the door opening again in her life. The slight distraction allowed her to try and recollect herself. She couldn’t, wouldn’t answer that question because it would be painful and be to close to a subject she wasn’t ready to talk about yet. “Understand.” she said her voice colder than she meant it, but being reminded of him? Well that usually shut her down more than she realized, “I -- Um -- My friend Remi is probably nearby if you need someone to walk you home. Oh, and Rue is for sure here, she would be happy to walk you.” She said as Vera poked her head into the bathroom and raised an eyebrow “You good?” she heard and Eve nodded, “Yeah one sec V.”

---

Life was a cruel mistress. That was Harley’s conclusion because there she was with the girl she’d had feelings for longer than she cared to admit asking her a question that was hard not to laugh at. What made her think Eve would forget? Well, that was a loaded question, but it all went back to what happened right before she left California. How could she tell her best friend that she hadn’t remembered the amazing make out session they had partaken in? There wasn’t a way without the conversation turning much more complicated. Plus, she doubted that would help their current situation any. ”I don’t know. People forget hook ups and stuff all the time on nights like these. Plus, I just don’t want to make things difficult. I want you happy not stressed out,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. That didn’t mean she could resist the urge of slipping a small hint of it in there. .

Everything was fine until it wasn’t. It all gave the blonde a bit of whiplash when she suddenly heard a tone from Eve that had never been aimed at her before. Harley hated Nightshade. The last time she’d been there she’d thought she saw Eve in the club, and now she was actually fighting or something not pleasant with the woman. Hurt appeared in blue eyes as Harley’s body language shifted and shrunk away slightly from the woman before her. Not able to really find her words yet, Harley just shook her head and shoved her hands in her jacket’s pockets. ”I’ll be alright. I’ll get someone to walk me,” she said with a quieter voice than before which she honestly didn’t know if it could be heard over the music. Even when they’d fought about her distancing herself from her friendship, the blonde hadn’t received the tone she’d just gotten. Hell, Eve was hitting on her for crying out loud even when angry. Now, things seemed to be messed up and just confusing. ”Text me if you need me, but it looks like you’ve got that covered with people,” she said with as much of a smile as she could muster as she moved to exit the bathroom.

---

She noted the mention of a hookup and stuff like this and filed it away to examine later when her mind wasn’t playing cruel tricks on her. “Harley, you told me all of that a couple of days ago, before a night like this.” she said staring the blonde down her voice was still cold, still distant, she was lost in her own head and the memories that were intruding into her perfectly normal day. “I’ll stop being stressed out when people stop bringing up Chester to me.” she added a second later feeling a shiver run down her spine, almost as if he was touching her back and pushing her forward. She swallowed hard and wanted nothing more than to go outside and get a breath of fresh air. Something away from the heat of all the bodies dancing and the smell of a bathroom, even if it was clean. 

Eve knew she was being cold, knew that Harley was freaked out by it all, and if she had control over her emotions right the she’d comfort the other, tell her its not her fault but memories and fear were roiling in her and she couldn’t seem to calm her body down.  She just nodded her head as Vera moved into the bathroom and started to rub Eve’s back trying to calm the woman down. Eve glanced over her shoulder as Harley left and then let out a long breath before saying “I need air V. Can we go outside?” and with a nod from the other woman, they vanished into thin air.

[secondleadclub]

My take on whole YG case ( if you care) 

As you know Yang Hyun-suk stepped down from his position of CEO today alongside his brother. I really can’t join celebrating this fact with you, cause he built this company for 23 years and seeing someone losing his hard work is always sad. Even though his behavior toward his artists, especially 2ne1, is rather disturbing and wrong, and if it was another case he stepping down wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But given the present situation, it’s clear someone is targeting YG ent. It has passed the borders of moral and good and bad, it a literal attack of YG artists.

Given the fact, all text messages are from 2016 and these people kept quiet and plot a huge scheme. They waited for the biggest Group to go to the army so they couldn’t defend themselves. The first shot was TOP, even tho his case was huge they didn’t get the result they were hoping, because the influence Bigbang had at a time and majority of people, could understand situation Seung Hyun was in and his mental health issues weren’t something to pick on. After that first move was made of Blackpink Jennie and Kai dating “scandal”. But the case of BP is different. It was a smart move for the label to move BP into the USA and the world market, where stupid idealistic rules for celebrity doesn’t work that strong, (meaning if you date or smoke weed you won’t be crucified).

And then the huge case of Seungri broke out. I will not go through it because everyone has their thought about this case and it honestly messy. But the fact is that Seungri's name and face were used and manipulated in such a way that he was blamed for every wrong thing. The main issue being illegal shooting and raping women, which he wasn’t part of but the media made sure his name was tied to this case.  I’m not defending Seungri, he has made bad choices, mainly choosing his partners and friends, but it’s on him. Also, YG didn’t protect Seungri, he was no in position too and apparently was involved in the case himself. During this time, there were attempts of attacking GD and TOP, violation army rues, which wasn't true at all. 

And the accusation came to CEO Yang and company was already trembling when KIM Harbin 2016 texts came out. Which is the most ridiculous one. 19 years old Hanbin was tempted to try weed/LSD but ending up not to use it. But given the state of the company was in, they just threw Him under but, rather than handling the situation.

Now the interesting fact, the girl selling weed to TOP and Hanbin is the same girl, who was a trainee in YG in 2016 and something tells, me she wasn’t quite there to debut. Also, everyone in the company knew she was the one delivering. And by being from a rich family, there is no way she will be punished anytime soon. Also, the guy who started BS scandal, the foreigner heiress Hana and the journalist, who blow up the case are friends on social media.  

In my opinion, someone is targeting YG, could be someone from inside, using people like them and the media. I really hope the goal was removing CEO and not the whole company, cause there are a lot of artists and actors and employees working in the company and their careers may be in danger Cause couple people got greedy and felt overly powerful.

Also, some people making drug dealer and women harasser their hero for going against YG is pretty dumb. Removing YG won’t bring HAnbin back in Ikon, it was board dissension and honestly there is so much more we don’t know. Anyways its a very hard time for company and artists. A lot of bad dissensions were made and there are consequences.  

[huronnade-moved]

       He awoke to the dull ring of his telephone, as he often did.  After fumbling uselessly in the dark for several seconds, the Sheriff sat up with a grunt and brought the receiver to his ear.

       ❛❛ Hello? ❜❜        ❛❛ Sheriff, we have a… situation. ❜❜        ❛❛ Talk t’me. ❜❜

       He listened with growing impatience as his coworker stammered for several seconds, the sound of the telephone wire being coiled nervously around his finger causing an unpleasant crackle of static before he released the pressure once more.  After several seconds:   ❛❛ There’s a lady here.  Stumbled into the station covered in blood.  Said she’d only talk t’you. ❜❜

       ❛❛ I’ll be down. ❜❜        ❛❛ She said the phone works if y’wanna speak with her immediately. ❜❜

       He paused to think for a moment.  Something told him to take the offer before she could elude him.  For some reason, he trusted a faceless woman’s sincerity over the phone more than he did in person.  Perhaps seeing him would cause her to retract, fold back into her reclusive little shell like a snail, and they’d be there all night trying to fish answers out of her.  Kuro had always been one for brevity, even at the expense of tastefulness.

       ❛❛ I’ll talk t’her. ❜❜

       At this point, his wife was stirring, mumbling incoherently and shuffling in her spot beside him.  Though he couldn’t do much about the noise, he did his best to lower his voice somewhat. He honed in on the sound of the phone being pulled along, cord dragging across the wooden floor before the bulky device was sat in what he could only assume was the woman’s lap.  He listened to her breathe quietly for a few seconds before she spoke words that appeared to him only in nightmares, her voice monotone and dull.  Slowly, Kuro sat up more, turning on the light, reaching for the notepad he always left on his bedside table.

       ❛❛ Could y’verify that, ma’am?  Y’said you… stabbed yer two children ‘n’ then        yerself? ❜❜        ❛❛ Yes, sir. ❜❜

       At this point, Deeana had risen, was staring at him like a cat caught in a neighbour’s backyard.  He barely glanced at her, clicking his pen and beginning to scribble.  His calligraphy had always been blocky but neat, succinct capitals steadily filling the lines as he jotted down tirelessly.

       ❛❛ ‘n’ yer in the station now? ❜❜        ❛❛ Yes, sir. ❜❜        ❛❛ Okay.  Where’re yer children? ❜❜

       There was an eerie pause before she answered him this time, the silence punctuated with something that was almost grief before she continued:   ❛❛ In their bedroom.  On the floor.  With their favourite stuffies. ❜❜

       ❛❛ ... dead? ❜❜        ❛❛ Dead, sir. ❜❜

       How coldly she addressed the whole thing was seriously beginning to give him the creeps.  A veteran officer he may be--  a veteran Sheriff at this point, one could argue--  but he’d never become immune to the merciless nature of psychopaths.  He could uncover every sick mind in The Great Unknown, could explore every nook and cranny of everybody’s brains, and he’d still be left with the daunting feeling of horror whenever he came face to face with darkness.

       ❛❛ Okay…  where did y’stab yerself? ❜❜        ❛❛ In the neck, sir. ❜❜

       ❛❛ Okay, are you... ❜❜   He paused for a moment, the word feeling blocky and foolish sitting on the tip of his tongue.      ❛❛ … bleeding? ❜❜   It felt fit to ask despite its supposed obviousness.  She’d managed to stumble from Raku-knows-where into the station while apparently sporting this abrasion.  Perhaps she hadn’t thought to do it hard enough;  or perhaps, just maybe, she’d become scared and been unable to execute herself despite her desire to.  People often did, even if they felt they deserved it.  He himself had struggled with the idea of throwing himself off of a bridge despite his ache to be free of the life he’d hurriedly glued together.

       ❛❛ There’s blood everywhere…  one of your officers is tryin’ to stop it.  ❜❜        ❛❛ D’y’feel faint, ma’am? ❜❜        ❛❛ A little, sir. ❜❜

       ❛❛ Mmkay.  I’m certain a paramedic will be with y’shortly.  Do listen t’any instructions. ❜❜   Already clambering out of bed, he dragged the receiver along with him as he began to get dressed for work.  A brief glance at the clock told him it was a little after three in the morning, and a glance out of the window told him that it was much too early, yet all too late, to be having this kind of conversation.  As he dragged his pants over his legs, belt secured steadily in place, he fished in his dresser for a shirt and continued to talk.   ❛❛ Can I keep you? ❜❜

       ❛❛ Yes, sir. ❜❜

       As he began to tug his shirt over his outstretched arms, phone pressed between his shoulder and ear,  Kuro threaded the buttons through their respective holes whilst continuing to question her.  Keep her talking, he thought, it’ll keep her awake.  What is your address?  Do you still have the murder weapon in your possession?  (  what the fuck is wrong with you?  )

       ❛❛ What’s yer name, miss? ❜❜

       There was a brief silence on the other end, as if she had suddenly become reluctant to speak further.  Then:   ❛❛ Oswald.  Hana Oswald. ❜❜

       Kuro felt his stomach turn briefly.    For just a moment, he recalled the case a terrified husband had made against his wife under the same name a couple of decades ago.  Sheriff, you’ve gotta help me--  the police in Vide ain’t listening to me.  This woman, she’s NUTS, she’s threatening to kill me if I talk about leaving her.  /  ‘m afraid this ain’t my jurisdiction, sir. Y’should file fer a restrainin’ order with yer respective taskforce.  /  Oh God…  they won’t help me.  /  Try again.  If they refuse t’file yer case this time, come back here.  I’ll assist you.

       But Mr.Oswald hadn’t returned.  In fact, when Kuro had sought him out while working on Vide soil, asking him if he still needed help, the man had replied with a firm no.  With all that being said and done, Kuro had assumed that the couple had worked out their differences;  that the hysterical husband had calmed down and was now able to take her hyperbole for what it was: distasteful exaggeration.

       ❛❛ … Hana.  Are you, or were you, married to a man by the name’a Jaspar Oswald? ❜❜        ❛❛ He’s my husband. ❜❜        ❛❛ ‘n’ where is he? ❜❜

       The spooky quiet that settled between them made his blood turn to ice.  Even before she had uttered a word, a bad feeling was beginning to seep into his gut, poisoning his steady work ethic until he felt fit to collapse back into bed.  Sometimes, the chilling brutality of criminal passion was enough to bring even the most steadfast of efforts to a grinding halt.

       ❛❛ He left me. ❜❜

       Even before she carried on, the pieces slotted into place for him.  With a reserved frown on his face, Kuro straightened his collar with a grim tug, as if tying a noose rather than dressing himself.

       ❛❛ So y’killed his children.  T’get him t’come home. ❜❜

       ❛❛ … yes.  Sir.  And after doin’ it, I came here, because he mentioned that the police here were different, that he was goin’ to take his ‘’case’’ to Huron.  I wanted to see the task-force that had the gall to impose on my life with my own eyes. ❜❜   Her voice was different now, consumed by anger;  his title uttered with only the strictest of poison.  Though they had never met, Kuro was certain she reserved only the most toxic of hatreds for him.  She seemed to hold her tongue for a few moments before continuing, and the more she went on, the further unhinged she revealed herself to be.   ❛❛ He said he wanted a divorce.  How can that be?  We had the perfect life together.  Two beautiful children.  A nice house.  We both had steady, well-paying jobs.  How could he just throw that away?  Jaspar’s always struggled with… selfish tendencies.  Sometimes the only way to appeal to his good side is to do somethin’ drastic.  You understand that, right?  Sheriff?  I was just tryin’ to get him to see that he’s bein’ foolish, throwin’ this perfect life with me away.  The grief of losin’ our kids will bring us closer together.  He’ll understand. ❜❜

       ❛❛ Why did he wanna divorce y’? ❜❜   He didn’t care;  he’d want a divorce too at this rate, but keeping her talking was in his best interest.  He listened as her breathing became deeper, as if brutally wounded.   ❛❛ Ma’am--  Hana.  Please stay calm.  Talk t’me. ❜❜

       She started to bawl then, and even without standing in front of her, Kuro  could tell that the grief was only spared for herself.  There was nothing remorseful about that methodical meltdown--  only rue, filled to the brim with self-righteous fury, her noises reminiscent of a mental patient after escaping their unfair captivity;  primal and ruthless and devoid of guilt.  The Sheriff stood there listening, and at one point he felt the distinct teeter of his shadow leaning closer, as if feeding on the sorrowful noise.

       He heard a clatter then, harsh enough to have him flinch against the receiver, and the growing chaos in which he could only assume was his officers rushing to put her in handcuffs.  In the distance, the sound of someone vomiting was audible.  Me too, kid.  Me too.

       Her shrieks were becoming more distant, and even before the previous officer collected the phone, Kuro already knew what had transpired.

       ❛❛ She’s…  bein’ detained.  Dear Raku-- Sheriff, come quick, it’s all goin’ t’hell-- ❜❜

       ❛❛ Easy does it, deputy.  Y’stay put.  Stay calm, clean up, ‘n’ I’ll be down in five minutes.  Do not engage with her.  She’s severely disturbed. ❜❜

       He heard the officer mutter something to the affirmative before putting the phone down.  This was how it often was.  A disturbing phone call in the dead of night, begging for his assistance or begging for his time, and as tired as he often was as a result of it, Kuro wouldn’t have it any other way.  This was what it was to be the Sheriff of Huron.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Corporal Works of Mercy

1. FEED THE HUNGRY 2. GIVE DRINK TO THE THIRSTY 3. CLOTHE THE NAKED 4. VISIT THE IMPRISONED 5. SHELTER THE HOMELESS 6. VISIT THE SICK 7. BURY THE DEAD

HAPPY ARE THE MERCIFUL FOR THEY SHALL OBTAIN MERCY

The Corporal Works of Mercy

As already noted in the pamphlet on the spiritual works of mercy, the works of mercy must be understood in terms of a mature spirituality. Mature spirituality has two fundamental dimensions — putting ourselves in the presence of God and being transformed bythat experience.

At this point perhaps, we would do well to come up with a broad definition of "Christian spirituality." Simply put, one way we could define Christian spirituality would be: Our life in the Spirit -- that is, the way we understand ourselves and live out our lives as the result of our experience of the gift of the Spirit of God (Spirit of Holiness/Holy Spirit) which Jesus promised to send us (Jn. 15: 25-26).

To speak of God as Spirit is a traditional way of speaking about the presence of God in human life. Of course, God as Spirit is no other than God's self. God as Spirit is simply God, but experienced as present to and personally making a difference in our lives and through us a difference in our world. God as Spirit is like a breath of the wind. Although invisible, its presence can be felt as a kind of energy, a principal of life, a creative force that influences our lives. Just as we know of the wind's presence only by its effects, e.g., of making the trees bend, so too we can only know if we have the invisible Spirit by the way we lead our everyday lives.

The corporal works of mercy as with the spiritual works of mercy are grounded in Scripture. We find some of them in the Book of Isaiah where the prophet tells the people that performing religious practices alone (like fasting) is not what God desires. He redefines religious practices, like fasting, in terms of service to those in need: It is not enough to fast… but also to share your bread… (Isaiah 58: 6-10).

We find the same theme echoed by Jesus in Matthew's Gospel, when Jesus indicated who will be welcomed into the Kingdom -- the sheep, not the goat: ...the sheep at his right hand ...the righteous asking when did we see thee hungry… (Matt. 25: 34-40). Jesus then goes on to indicate that those who did not so respond to those in need (the goats), were, in fact, not responding in love to Him.

Based mainly on these texts, the Catholic tradition came to list seven corporal works of mercy:

1. To feed the hungry. These are those who are deprived of food to sustain life and/or health. In order to feel some solidarity with the poor, Christians are encouraged to fast.

2. To give drink to the thirsty. Again, this is not to "spiritualize" thirst -- thirst for truth or knowledge -- but the actual physical needs of people to have affordable, clean water. It can include all those physical elements needed to sustain healthy individual and family life.

3. To clothe the naked. This can refer to not only those in need of sufficient clothing, bedding and the necessary items for work, but also it is applied to those stripped of human dignity and power.

4. To visit the imprisoned. Captivity can be in a variety of forms including imprisonment for political, criminal and religious reasons, as well as being "prisoners" of domestic violence, sexism, racism and class distinction.

5. To shelter the homeless. The homeless can include those in emergency situations, street people, migrants, refugees, orphans and foster children. This includes not only physical shelter, but fostering a sense of belonging to the community of citizens.

6. To visit the sick. Many of the home bound, the mentally or physically sick and the elderly cannot afford nursing homes and need companionship and housekeeping. Volunteer opportunities abound to help such people.

7. To bury the dead. This includes not only insuring a Decent physical burial, but the needs of the dying and their families as they face there last days on earth. A physical presence and the willingness to listen can be an important work of mercy. (This work of mercy was based on a response for the body as a Temple of the Holy Spirit as found in 1 Cor. 3: 16).

It is equally important that we not stop with works of mercy. These are necessary and good, but we must always look beyond them to do what we can to establish justice in our families, communities, nations and the world. Hear the words of the prophet Amos: I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and cereal offerings, I will not accept them, and the peace offerings of your fatted beasts I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; to the melody of your harps I will not listen. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an overflowing stream (Amos 5: 21-24).

In the same way Jesus warns the Pharisees: But woe to you Pharisees! For you tithe mint and rue and every herb, and neglect justice and the love of God; these you ought to have done, without neglecting the others (Lk. 11: 42; also see Matt. 23: 23).

In the famous story of the Good Samaritan (Lk. 10: 29-37) Jesus notes that the priest and the Levite, both deeply involved in matters of worship and known to be careful observers of the law, simply pass by the half-dead man beaten by robbers. But it is the hated Samaritan, who does not even recognize the Temple worship in Jerusalem, that is depicted as the true neighbor of the man in need. Religious activities are good and needed, but if they do not issue in works of mercy and justice they are hollow.

Jesus and the prophets remind us that hunger, homelessness, lack of medical care, the various kinds of imprisonment we noted are at their roots social problems. Justice demands that the social system be renewed in justice, so that many of the works of mercy might not be needed. The need to always look beyond the works of mercy is also of central importance to a mature Christian spirituality.

Story in Pamphlet Form:

https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/a84285_fe24c467d4bb57823ea2b523362fcbb7.pdf

From: www.pamphletstoinspire.com

[thepariscollective-blog]

Place de la Concorde: peace meets chaotic convergence

If you ever find yourself at the Louvre Museum, walk straight through the Tuileries Gardens (or pause and have a picnic lunch like we did) and you’ll find yourself staring at the largest “place” or “square” of the city: Place de la Concorde. Composed of 21 acres and situated at the end of the Champs-Elysées, it encompasses a large traffic circle (or roundabout to us Americans), and exists as one of the busiest places in Paris. It is interesting to note that Place de la Concorde is not really a “place” at all in the traditional sense (aka being a “square” in shape and function), but is actually an octagon. Yet like other places or squares, this octagon connects multiple parts of the city together.

(Above: Place de la Concorde on a sunny spring day; image courtesy Archeology Travel)

Sensory Overload

Approaching the Place de la Concorde, I immediately was overwhelmed by the chaos of the traffic. Cars and motorcycles and mo-peds and buses whizzed by, one after other, in what seemed like a continuous blur. They honked and hounded one another. Some passed me by so fast I felt my breath catch in my throat. The sound of human voices, native to the Louvre and the Tuileries, was swallowed up by the rushing vehicles. My ears hurt as sirens rang out and wind slashed with each passing car. 

Standing at the entrance of the Place from the Tuileries, I felt as though all of my senses were on high alert...Place de la Concorde presents in equal quality elegance and extreme danger. I found myself struggling to simultaneously appreciate the elegance, purpose, and design of the place while also being aware of my fast-moving surroundings.

As I glimpsed the famous Luxor Obelisk and two monumental fountains across the street, I wondered how one could get up close to experience them— the traffic functioned as a barrier to the monuments. The only way, it seemed, was to risk my life crossing the street. Others were doing it-- couldn’t I? 

Off I went. 

In that moment I found myself crossing perhaps busiest crosswalk in all of Paris above ground, praying that my legs would carry me safely to my destination. I crossed successfully, thank goodness-- it wasn’t until the following day that our professors told us never to cross the pedestrian crosswalk to reach the center of the Place de la Concorde— it turns out there is an underground access point... let’s just say I completely understand their recommendation...

The View

Finally at the center of the place, the view offered me glimpses of several prestigious destinations and monuments of Paris. Turning in a circle, from this single point I could see clear down the Champs-Elyées to the Arc de Triomphe, through the Arc du Carousel to the pyramid and entrance to the Louvre, across the way to two twin mansions on either side of the opening to rue Royale (Hotêl de la Marine and Hôtel de Crillon), along with (of course) the Obelisk and two fountains closest to me. Mimicking the circling traffic around me, I continued to turn in circles to take it all in. The Place de la Concorde functioned as an impeccable space of convergence and chaotic interaction for Paris.

A Bloody Past

This first time experiencing the Place, I had forgotten of the history of it until I found myself stepping on a plaque of commemoration beneath the base of the Obelisk. The plaque mentioned the guillotining of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette during the late 18th century. Surrounded by the elegance and beauty of the buildings and monuments around me, it was difficult for me to reconcile with the fact that where I stood used to be a place of brutality, death, and destruction. More than 1,300 people lost their lives here during the thirteen-month Reign of Terror, which was part of the French Revolution and ended with the execution of Robespierre in 1794. 

During this time period of mass killing, the Place was known as Place Louis XV. In fact, the octagon was originally created as a place to commemorate Louis XV (along with the absolute monarchy of France as a whole) by featuring an equestrian sculpture of Louis XV. Bouchardon carved the sculpture while Ange-Jacques Gabriel designed the square, er-- octagon. Yet the royal statue fell in 1792 as the French Revolution had gained full force in France at the time. By 1793 Louis XVI had been executed, with his wife soon to follow. 

A Place of Peace?

After the Revolution, the Place was renamed Place de la Concorde, which means “harmony and peace”, in the hope of a better future. I laugh at this; while surely no executions have taken place here since the Revolution, the Place exists as one of the most chaotic, loud, over-stimulating destinations in Paris--and still a very dangerous site, albeit in an entirely different way.

In these terms, the name of the Place and the primary function of the Place juxtapose each other. A place of true peace? Nice try, Paris... head to Monet’s waterlilies at Musée de l'Orangerie instead... but the termination of execution is a great renovation. 

DIY Renovation- Louis Philippe Style

(Above: Place de la Concorde in the 19th century; Image source: Auktionshaus Zeller/Wikicommons)

In an attempt to turn the bloody legacy of Place de la Concorde around, Louis Philippe I (French King from 1830-1848) focused on renovation through decoration, installing the Luxor Obelisk and two fountains. 

The Obelisk 

The Obelisk, which is from the ruins of the Temple at Luxor, was no easy feat to get to Paris. Given as a gift in 1831 by Mohammed Ali Pasha, the Viceroy of Egypt, it made an excruciating trip. In some instances, ditches and pathways had to be dug for it to safely be transported. Four years later, Place de la Concorde had a new focal point, as the Obelisk was erected on October 25, 1836. 

Made of pink granite, the Obelisk is 3,300 years old and stands 75.5 feet tall as Paris’s oldest monument. Covered in hieroglyphics, it indicates national time, functioning as the largest sundial in the world. 

The Two Fountains  

Working constantly to complete them by 1840, twelve sculptors created the two fountains in the center of the Place. Louis Philippe meant serious (and expensive!) business as he went about redecorating and redefining the Place. 

(Above: the Vatican fountain at St. Peter’s Square in Rome, Italy; image courtesy RomeItaly.ca)

The two fountains were inspired by the fountains at St. Peter’s Square in Rome, Italy. Surrounding the fountains are eight statues representing eight different French cities: Brest, Lyon, Rouen, Lille, Strasbourg, Marseille, Bordeaux, and Nantes. 

Lasting Impressions

Even though it functions as a busy, dangerous, and noisy traffic circle, Place de la Concorde exists as a significant place of remembrance. Its elegance and importance are not lost, as many reputable events take place here every year, such as the “home stretch” of the Tour de France and the Bastille Day military parade led by the president. 

I’ll remember Place de la Concorde for the incredible view and history lessons it offered me. Who knew one place could be indicative of so much history and feature so much art (indeed, there are many such places in Paris, it turns out!)? 

For me, this Place has reiterated the idea of art as a mode of transformation. The design of a space impacts form, function, representation, and one’s interaction with it. Spaces carry meaning and convey messages; art (in this case, sculpture) can be the mode of speaking these messages, changing the narrative, and impacting a legacy. 

...

And... I have something to admit: during my visit to the fountains, my friends and I may have done something a little questionable: we threw coins into the fountains and made a wish. 

Au revoir!    

(Sources: Michelin Paris Guide and Paris Insider’s Guide Website; all photos mine unless noted) 

[wumpusandzandii]

Dissonance: Part Two

Human!AU TMNT One Shot for Raph x Stacey

TW: content involving abuse 

Glad for the distraction of inventory for once, Stacey hummed along to the music in the shop, piped in from her phone. It was louder than she usually kept it, but it was nearing midday on a Wednesday, which was one of their slowest times. That, and loud music rarely offended those who frequented bike shops, so she wasn’t concerned about it in the least. Having familiar music and the tedious task of doing the inventory required to shelve new product was enough to keep her mind busy. At least busy enough to keep her overwhelming fears and anxiety at bay. When she was done, she might even prop the door to the shop open and see if they needed an extra hand with any of the bikes they were currently working on. That required even more focus and attention.

Deep back in the shelves, she barely heard the jingle of the bells on the door over the electric guitar riff of the current song. Pausing for a moment as she lifted a set of mufflers to the shelf, she raised an eyebrow, wondering if she heard them at all. “I’ll be up in a minute,” she called out, sliding the box onto the shelf and marking the inventory list on her tablet. Face down, scrolling through the list to see how much more she had to go through, she wandered the familiar shelving aisles out of memory, not looking up until the last one dumped her out at the front desk.

“You keep your hands where I can see ‘em, and your bitch mouth shut.”

Gripping the tablet tightly, the breath went straight out of her chest. She knew she needed her fighting face on that day, but needing it to deal with her father was not what she had intended. The whole day had to be some kind of joke, but it really wasn’t funny. Maybe a nightmare. Maybe it was another nightmare and she’d wake up sweaty with her heart pounding, next to Raph, who would help calm her down and make her feel safe enough to fall back asleep into dreamless dreams. Only she stayed right there, eyes fixed on the balding, snarling man in front of her. “You aren’t supposed to be here,” she rasped, hating how her throat dried out and betrayed her emotions. She was a grown-ass woman, she shouldn’t be afraid of her father.

“Middle of the damn day,” Eli answered, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. “I can do as I fucking please. Last I checked that fucker that was there last time was the ‘nightwatcher,’ not the ‘daywatcher.’ Maybe I’m just looking for parts.”

Squaring her shoulders, Stacey did everything she could to keep her breathing even. She learned at a very young age that showing any weakness only encouraged him… although any response did, to be true. If she acted like she didn’t care, if she acted apologetic for whatever imagined fault, if she was defensive, if she yelled back… it didn’t matter. The end game had always been the same, just varying degrees. She was left battered, bruised, bloody and broken. A small terror clawed its way up her throat, one that hadn’t been a factor before. It wasn’t just her that could get hurt that time. “You need to leave,” she tried to say, but it came out as a meek whisper. Slowly she reached for the phone on the counter, but stopped the instant one of his hands pulled out of his pocket just enough to show the dark black metal of a gun in his grip.

“I wouldn’t do that, Rue, come on. I know you’re stupid, but how many times we gotta go through the fact that you don’t call the cops?” He moved menacingly towards the counter, shaking his head. His inflection on the words brought at least a dozen memories bubbling out of the depths of her mind, where she had stashed them, trying to forget them. She hadn’t heard her middle name since the last time he had addressed her by it, forever amused with how clever he felt for having given her the moniker, for ruing the day she had been born.

Finding herself subconsciously covering her stomach with the tablet, like it was some kind of shield, gave her a moment of pause. Surely, a baby scared her, but not more than the situation in front of her. She had no idea what she was going to do, keep it or not, but she knew damn well that she wouldn’t let Eli take that choice away from her. He had taken enough from her. “Why are you here?” she asked, trying to do anything to stall the inevitable, draw out conversation for the hopes maybe one of the guys would come in from the garage. How would that go, though, really? One of them might get themselves shot, and she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to forgive herself if it was Jax.

“We got shit to settle, little girl,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Your friend put me in the hospital for a while. My head ain’t been right since.”

“I don’t even know the Nightwatcher, but I doubt he did that much damage,” she answered, her own eyes narrowing in response. Protective hackles up, she couldn’t help herself from continuing. “Your head has never been right, can’t blame that on a vigilante.”

Slapping his free hand on the counter, the glass shuddered and she couldn’t help but avert her eyes momentarily. The old “give a penny - take a penny” cup rattled, the loose coins jostling from the impact. She forced her eyes back up, up to the reddening face that was a tell-tale sign that conversation was almost over and time to move to stage two, his favorite. His nose, bloated and pock-marked from years of alcohol abuse crinkled and purpled as he replied. “You never could learn to watch your mouth, could you? Always lippin’ off, gettin’ yourself in trouble. Well, there ain’t no big burly fucker lurking in the shadows this time, is there? You’re gonna pay for humiliating me, making me look like a pussy at that hospital. All the fucking bills that came for that shit.”

“If it’s money you want, fucking take it,” she snapped, her rage and fear hitting a boiling point. Rage at the situation, and fear because he was right. Raph wasn’t there, couldn’t always be there. Eli would always be the one lurking in her shadows, the one skeleton that refused to stay in its closet. “Take the entire till, I don’t care.”

“I don’t want your fucking money,” he snarled, the point of the pistol forcing an outline against the fabric of his jacket as he pushed it forward. He began moving around the counter, and Stacey instinctively pivoted to keep facing him, but tried to move backwards as well. “Money can’t fix what you did. You did this to me. You made people laugh at me. You disrespected me.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Stacey argued, hoping, willing someone to walk into the shop. Wondering how long he had been watching her to figure out the best time to hit the shop, or if it had just been blind luck that seemed to ever-favor him? “You ruin your own life, Eli. I’ve been out of it for over ten years.”

“You!” he snapped, finally pulling the gun entirely out of his pocket and jabbing it in her direction. Nausea gripped her, scared and hating herself for being scared both at the same time. It was an escalation for him to come at her with a weapon other than his hands or whatever he could get his hands on. He had thought this out, and why, why did it have to be that day of all days? Why the day she knew she had another life inside of her, that she was responsible for? A life that was just barely in existence and already subject to the abuse and fear she had known since she herself was a baby? “It’s always been you, my life was great before you came along and ruined it! And then you dragged in that… that… piece of shit to hurt me!”

“I don’t know who that was!” she lied, but her anger was true. It reached a boiling point, forgetting any plan of trying to calm him down. “It was the Nightwatcher and he was your karma! Karma for all the years of you beating the shit out of me! You deserved it!”

“You little bitch,” he snarled, backing her against the wall and lifting the gun in a backhand gesture. “You earned all those. I shoulda fucked you up worse, look how you turned out.”

“I wish he’d killed you!” she snapped, feeling like she was fifteen again, full of rage, fear and cornered like an animal. She had stood up to him then, and it had almost cost her life. There was so much more for her to live for now, even more fight balling her hands into tight fists.

“You never learn, Rue,” he said in a shaky whisper, tinged with something that sounded like macabre disappointment. His face reddening, she anticipated what was next, and readied herself. Over the years she had taken a few self defense classes, but it just never seemed to be the information she was looking for. She had needed to know how to fight, and that had come along with Raphael. He had helped her some, but struggled to some degree when it came to application. Forever concerned with hurting her, he had deferred to his father once she was ready to test her skills. Raph and Splinter had been excellent teachers, even if she paled in comparison to the boys. She simply couldn’t fail them in that moment.

As he swung the gun down towards her, she stepped forward, startling him in that she didn’t flinch away. Blocking his forearm with her own forearm, she struck out straight, aiming for his throat. She hit true, even if it wasn’t as solid as she would’ve liked due to him stumbling backwards a little. Moving in close again, she kept the space tight, knowing it made aiming the gun more difficult, and that was her best defense. She had very little chance of wrestling it from him grip successfully.

Eli tried bringing the gun up again, and she threw her weight into slamming that arm against the wall. It worked, but at a cost. While she directed her attention at the gun, he was more focused on disabling her, and brought a knee up hard into her stomach. She tried to ignore the fear that bubbled inside of her, quelling the anxiety that came with it. That wasn’t something she could spend focus on, and just as she started to try and get herself upright again, Eli brought an elbow down on her upper back. A fierce cry of frustration wrenched out of her, and she used all the energy she could find into shoving him.

The training had been useless. He was still going to win. He always won, always got his way. Only this time he wouldn’t settle for almost killing her.

Just as panic started to grip her, there was a loud impact from the front of the store, followed by a violent jingling of the bells tied to the door. Wide-eyed, she failed her training again, allowing her attention to be drawn to the source of the commotion just as the glass door swung completely wide and past its hinge stops, shattering in a burst of glistening light. To the side of it was a raging man, his boot coming down from kicking the door in. While it was physically the man she loved, his face was twisted into a blind fury, eyes far gone from those with which he looked at her. Shirtless, in only sweatpants and boots, each muscle in his body flexed, coiled and taut as he stomped through the threshold.

However, her attention had been distracted too long. Her arm was grabbed, and she was swung violently into hold. Eli twisted her arm up behind her back, yanking upward with enough force that there was a sickening pop, and Stacey couldn’t help but cry out. The pain was excruciating, and would’ve dropped her if Eli hadn’t maintained such a forceful grip. He had dislocated her shoulder, but she tried to retain focus on the situation, especially as she felt the cold barrel tip of the pistol press underneath her jaw.

“Not another step!” he yelled at Raph, who acquiesced, but not without visible restraint. His chest heaved, his shoulders were bound up and fists balled tightly and shaking. Eyes unblinking, fixed solely on Eli, his nose and lip were curled in fury and disgust.

“Let her fuckin’ go,” he snarled, his voice expressing no mercy, no hesitation. It was cold, devoid of any of the kindness she heard in it. A wise man would’ve obeyed instantly, seeing his fate as clearly as if it had been spelled out in front of him. Eli was not a wise man though, and made no motion in response. “NOW!”

The door from the garage banged open, a bewildered and furious Jackson attached to the doorknob, followed by one of the mechanics. For a brief second, his face went white as a sheet as he saw Stacey’s position within Eli’s grip, but his color came back when he saw Raphael just beyond the doorway. He stepped more in front of the young mechanic, blocking him. “Yer outnumbered, Eli. Let ‘er go and ya might live.”

“Not before I fuckin’ kill her, you useless piece of shit old man!” Eli yelled, but Stacey was watching Raph. Eli had evidently let his own attention be diverted by Jax, and Raph moved almost too quickly to see in response. Snatching a large piece of glass from the doorframe, he flicked it exactly like she had seen him use shuriken in training. Even knowing his aim was precise, she couldn’t help but flinch her eyes closed as it flashed towards her. The gun dropped away from her jaw at the same time Eli let out a yell, bouncing off her hip before clattering to the floor. Opening her eyes, she briefly saw the jagged glass sticking out of his wrist before doing her best to move away from him, turning in a motion that untwisted her arm and shot bolts of pain back through it. Yelling at the wall, she had no fear of the man now behind her, only trying to give him room to do what he needed to do.

There was only a roar of rage in response before two loud boot strides. Eli still held her arm and tried to pull her back, unwilling to give up his hostage. His grip went slack as the two boots came flying over the counter, connecting with his chest, the entire weight and kinetic motion of the man behind them plowing him against the wall. Staggering out the rest of the way from behind the counter, she made her way to a nearby stock shelf and sagged against it, but turned herself to watch.

“Girl!” Jax addressed her in a harsh whisper, coming up beside her. “Are you-”

Knowing the questioning that would start, Stacey waved him silent, she didn’t have the focus or energy to talk about it or move away. She was transfixed on Raph, who had somehow fluidly landed in a way that kept him from hitting his back on the counter. He stooped and picked up Eli roughly by the front of his jacket, slamming him against the wall hard enough to create an inward dent in the wall, breaking the drywall. “Never touch her!” he seethed, his fist connecting with Eli’s face, his jaw moving at an unnatural angle to his face. “Never!”

“Call the cops,” Stacey whispered, immobilized. It was like watching a train wreck long-coming, like her entire life had been hurtling towards that very moment, it had always been escapable. There were flashes in her mind, remembering the dark night Raph had also come to her aid, though he had been the Nightwatcher, then. Something about him standing in her shop, literally stripped down of his gear made it all that much more realistic. There was no dim light, concussion or dark visors to add surreal effect. Raph stood before her, Eli held in his death grip, fist pulled back for another hit. “He’s gonna kill him.”

“Already had Thomas call,” Jax whispered, just as stunned at the scene in front of him. “Come on, let’s get you in the garage, look you over…”

“No,” she resisted bluntly, hardly blinking and supporting her right arm, trying to keep the weight of it from pulling on the tendons and ligaments. She was at war within herself, part of her wanting nothing more but to watch Raph pummel him into non-existence, bringing his plague on her life to a final end. There would be no self-defense plea with that, however, and there was no jury in New York that would show forgiveness to a hulking black man that beat another man to death with his bare hands. He’d be put away forever, emotional duress wouldn’t even be a blip on their radar. That was only saved for rich, young, “troubled” white men. “I have to stay.”

In between hits, Eli made a feeble attempt at a swing towards Raph with the arm that still had glass sticking out of it. Grabbing the hand and stretching it above Eli, he used his other hand to pinch the glass and shove it the rest of the way through his wrist, yanking roughly out the other side. A cry that was equal parts pain and guttural retching ripped out of Eli. Blood streamed out of his arm, dark and glistening as it dropped to the ground.

How many times had that been her own blood? How many times had she been retching, crying, broken and bleeding at his hands? Watching with fury that raised her to a level of emotional detachment, she didn’t flinch as Raph twisted and rammed him headfirst into the counter, letting him drop to the ground. There was no doubt inside her that he deserved the punishment, earned all the pain numerous times over. Something about Raph cracking his neck as he looked down at the pathetic man sent her crashing back down into emotions, the familiarity reminding her of the risks, exactly what was at stake. Yet her voice strangled and stopped in her throat, unable to call out to him, unable to make him stop. Was Eli being out of her life more important than what made her life worth living?

“Raph!” a familiar voice came from the doorway, calling his attention like she couldn’t. Donatello skidded through the door and over the glass, his eyes rapidly taking in the entire scene around him. He didn’t have the dedication Raph had coming through the door, and his eyes rested on her, wincing painfully before settling back on his brother. “Raph, you have to disengage, police are en route.”

“Better be bringin’ a body bag,” Raph grunted, grabbing up Eli off the floor again by the scruff, giving him solid kicks to the ribs and gut before dragging him over to the glass.

Panic etched lines clearly over Donnie’s face, and he took one step towards Raph before the pure hatred on the face looking back at him made him stop in his tracks. “You can’t,” Donnie implored, his voice quiet.

“I can,” Raph snapped, heaving Eli up higher before throwing him down onto the glass, hard. “And I will.”

Looking up, Donnie locked eyes with Stacey, pleading and apologetic. It was no secret amongst the family that she was generally the most effective at calming him down, and no doubt the same chain of events she feared if Raph did kill Eli was running through his head, just with millions of other possibilities that hadn’t even occurred to her yet. She looked back hopelessly, unsure of how to stop the freight train he had become, not entirely sure if he'd even see her through the red haze of righteous punishment. Giving him a little shake of her head, unable to shrug, she turned and looked at Jax.

“Aww hell, girl,” he sighed, shaking his own head down at his boots. “This is gonna hurt tomorrow.” Walking slowly over to Donnie, he scratched at his silver beard as Raph stomped and rolled Eli into the shattered glass. He gave Donnie a nod, his posture giving certainty of support.

“Raph, enough, you need to take a step-”

“Enough?!” Raph snapped, glass crumbling under his boot hell as he pivoted to look at his brother. “No! Enough was a long fuckin’ time ago. He had his fuckin’ chance before he… before he…” Unable to even finish his sentence, Raph kicked the man on the floor again.

“Enough for you,” Donnie pleaded, hands together. “Don't do this to yourself. Stacey’s hurt and needs-”

“Then check her!” Raph was beyond reason, a man drop kicked past his breaking point and unable to see his way back. She didn't take it personally, his faltering at not being able to even mention what happened showed his true emotion, blanketed by rage. “I ain't doin’ shit to myself but makin’ sure this piece of fuckin’ shit never breathes the same air as her again!”

As he stooped to grab up Eli again, Donnie nodded at Jax and they both rushed forward, each grabbing an arm and hauling Raphael backwards as abruptly as they could. He immediately struggled back up to his feet, but before he could lash out at them for their perceived betrayal, Stacey stepped in front of him, blocking most of his view of Eli. He still fought to release their grips, however the majority of his attention was focused on her. “Get away from him. Move, Stacey.”

“No,” she said simply, unblinking. Her calm voice belied the maelstrom of emotions within her. “You've done enough.”

“How could you… but he… he was…” Raph stammered angrily, words getting jumbled and difficult for him as they tended to when he was emotional. He yanked his arm free from Jax and shot a glare at Donnie before looking back at her. His teeth were clenched tightly, jaw muscle flexing. “You hafta understand.”

Taking a deep breath, she turned and looked at the bloody mess on the floor behind her. Eli was still breathing, but long past consciousness. A large portion of her wanted to agree and step aside, the vindictive part of her that knew no matter how much pain he felt, he'd never understand how much he inflicted. He wasn't fixable, long past any hope of saving as a person, if he ever had been. That death right then and there would be better than he deserved… but maybe that was it. That was the thought that formed into how to reason with Raph, to make him see.

“I do understand, and I want to just let you fucking wreck him,” she started, her own nose curling into something of a snarl, letting the depth of her anger show to him. “I want him to die. I want him to suffer. I want him to die and be brought back just to fucking die again.” Keeping her eyes on him, she saw the conflict of emotions in his face. He was averting his eyes, and to most people he would’ve just looked like an angry, caged animal. But she had never spoken like that to him, generally his voice of calm and reason; yet this time, she was mirroring his own thoughts, his own anger. That alone gave him pause, and was likely one of the few things from keeping him from pushing past her to finish what he started. “But he doesn’t deserve death. He deserves to live through the pain and fucking agony that healing up from this is going to cause.”

Turning away from him, she faced her father, lying facedown on the ground in front of her. A role reversal that got her ire back up, her nails digging into her palms as her hands flexed into tight fists, letting the pain in her right arm fuel her fire. Knowing what Raph didn’t know, that he had risked the life of his unborn, and for all she knew, the impact to her abdomen had ruined. The thought made her anger flare, and she grit her teeth. His arm had come to rest at an odd angle, his wrist bent so his hand was folded under it. Stepping forward in the glass, she stared at him, her pulse racing. “He deserves to suffer!” Raising a foot, she stomped down on his forearm, bones in his own arm making the unmistakable crack of breaking. “He doesn’t deserve to make you go to jail! He doesn’t get to take everything I’ve worked for!”

Once she released her anger, there was no reining it back in. Everything came out in a flood, each point physically made with a stomp to his body, grinding the glass deeper into his flesh. “He has no right! He doesn’t get to take you from me! He doesn’t get to ruin my life, over over and fucking over! He has to live with what he’s fucking done! He has to see! He doesn’t get the easy way out! HE HAS TO FUCKING PAY!” Her dialogue turned into raging growls, her temper past forming words as she kicked and stomped.

The world around her blurred, and she was vaguely aware of a restraining hand on her good arm, which she tried to yank away from. “No! No! He deserves to dig every piece of this glass out of his body!” It was getting harder to stomp on Eli, and she noticed he somehow seemed to be getting farther away. Scowling she tried to concentrate, only to realize it was herself being slowly, gently moved backward. Lunging forward against the grip, she tried kicking again, only to find herself lifted off the ground, a firm arm wrapped around her hips. Letting out a strangled cry of anguish, she struggled futilely as she was carried away into the stock area, the shelves blocking her view from the target of her rage.

“Stacey, you gotta calm down,” came Raph’s low voice, still holding her off the ground. “Come on.”

“Put me down!” she insisted, pressing down on his arm with her left hand, though it held tight with no give. “Let me go!”

“I can’t do that,” he answered, his voice close behind her and obviously forced calm. “Not until you calm down. You’re gonna hurt yourself more.”

The shelves around her blurred, and she tried leaning forward, away from Raph and felt heavy drops of tears fall from her face. She had no idea how long she had been crying, and she grabbed her right arm as the shifting gravity pulled on the joint, causing more pain. “I don’t care! I don’t care!...” she repeated over and over, the words turning into sobs that racked her body.

Slowly she was lowered to the floor, and her knees buckled under her, yet she was held steady. “But I do, I do… come on, it’s gonna be okay…” Raph assured her quietly, repeating himself as she sobbed. When words failed her again and all the strength left her body, the flood receding as quickly as it had taken over her, he turned her carefully, pulling her into his chest and holding her protectively. Crying against his skin, she let herself sink into the feeling, his hand stroking her hair and rubbing her back. “You’re gonna be okay, it’s okay, I’m here…”

As her anger ebbed, the pain swept back in, only adding to her tears. She was grateful for his strength, otherwise she was positive she’d just let herself fall to the floor, wishing everything away. It didn’t escape her the mental strength it must’ve taken him to quell his own anger and see to her. Guilt crept in all over, guilt for not calming him like she had meant to, guilt for bringing him into the mess, guilt for him not knowing the stakes and not having the strength to tell him, guilt for everything. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t you be,” he asserted, shushing her quietly, continuing to hold her, he cheek against the top of her head.

“The police are here,” Donnie said from the front of the store where he’d been quietly discussing things with Jax.

She felt Raph’s posture change, his face lifting to look down the stock shelves. “We’re staying here.”

“Already accounted for, we’ve got this,” Donnie answered, before clearing his throat as the officers walked up to the doorway, their radios announcing their presence. “Hello officers, you’re going to have to call in for two ambulances, one for the perp here and the other for the victim.”

“What in the hell happened here?” one officer asked as the other radioed in the requested EMT support.

“He fell through the door,” Jax answered confidently.

There was a long pause, followed by footsteps crinkling in the glass before the officer answered. “How many times?”

“A few,” Jax said with a sniff, and Stacey knew he was shrugging differentially as he was wont to do when he figured someone had gotten what they deserved. “Clumsy guy, that one. His gun is behind the counter over there, he came after Stacey with it. She’s over in back, calmin’ down.”

“We’re going to need to talk to her,” the officer insisted, getting a wry chuckle out of the old man.

“Good luck with that.”

***

Donnie walked over to the ambulance, sitting with a stubborn Stacey perched at the end of a gurney, wrapped in a blanket. One hand held it, the other tucked into a temporary sling, the paramedics had seen to resetting her shoulder at her insistence. Raph was busy giving his statement to the police, still inside the buildings office where it could be completed in privacy. Leaning his shoulder against the back edge of the rig, he nodded at the EMTs, who moved off to work on entering information into the computer and talking to each other to give them some amount of privacy.

“You still trying to insist you don’t need to go in?” he asked, well aware of the difficulty she’d been giving the paramedics. She sure could be an awful lot like his brother at times, he thought idly, but was still shocked at her reaction to Eli. He’d never seen her lose it like that before, and certainly never to a point that she fought Raph when he tried to calm her down. It was a role reversal, for sure.

“I don’t,” Stacey sniffed, rubbing at a puffy eye with the edge of the blanket. Her voice was raspy and quiet, and she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “I’ve had worse. My arm is back in. The rest is just bruising. Some ibuprofen and rest for a few days and I’ll be fine.”

“You should really let them scan the shoulder, make sure there isn’t any ligament tearing,” Donnie encouraged, knowing she’d just refuse his advice as much as the EMTs. If anyone had a chance of convincing her, it was Raph, and he wasn’t on hand. “And ibuprofen… Stacey, you’re going to need anti-inflammatories, but did you… did you get that test? I hate asking, but you can’t take ibuprofen if you’re…”

Stacey groaned, burying her face in her free hand, cloaking her face with the blanket. “I can’t… Donnie… he kicked me in the stomach. What if… what the hell do I do?” Her voice was breaking and muffled by the blanket, but he heard enough to understand. Definitely to understand the excess of her emotional reaction beyond her norm. He really wasn’t sure how to answer, rolling over the basic facts he knew off the top of his head, which wasn’t close to as much as he wished he did. Early on, risk of miscarriage depended on the woman, it could be higher or lower. If the impact did cause a miscarriage, there wasn’t much they could do to let her know one way or another, it was too early to check with a scan. On the other hand, he really did feel it was best that she get her arm checked and some appropriate medication for inflammation.

“They’d be able to give you medication for the inflammation and check your arm,” he said, mirroring his thoughts. “But there wouldn’t be much else they can do.”

“Then I’m not going,” she answered stubbornly, without hesitation. “I’ll just ice it. It’ll be fine.”

“Stacey,” he implored, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “You’re going to have to tell him.”

“If I’m losing it, I’m not saying anything,” she answered in a harsh whisper. “Not a damn word. He’d kill Eli, and he just barely stopped me from doing it just now. Let me deal with it.”

“What are you two on about now?” Raph asked, walking up behind Donnie with purposeful strides. Looking up at Stacey with concern, he shot daggers briefly at Donnie before looking back to her.

“I’m trying to talk her into going to the hospital,” Donnie answered with a heavy sigh, ruffling his hair in frustration. He hated secrets in any scenario, but keeping something that big from Raph was like carrying a bomb. If he got any inclination that he had known and not told him, he’d kill him, or at the very least, make him wish that he were dead. “Unsuccessfully.”

With a frown, Raph stepped up onto the back of the ambulance, crouching and hunching to fit in the small space. Resting a hand on her thigh, he tried to catch her eyes with his, and frowned harder when she avoided him. “Angel, if Donnie thinks you should go, maybe it’d be good,” he said, as gently as he could, with a small tinge in his voice making it evident that he was aware he sounded hypocritical.

Rubbing her face against the blanket edge again, she peeked in his general direction, but still not meeting his eyes. She let the fabric go to play with a strand of his hair, focusing on it rather than his face. “I really don’t think I need to. My shoulder is as good as it can be, we can just go home and ice it, okay? If it isn’t healing right, then I’ll go to the doctor.”

Donnie shifted away uncomfortably, the moment between the two of them becoming personal enough that he felt more like a third wheel than usual. Wishing he had his holo to look at, checking her stats for himself, and able to look up information he didn’t have, he settled on kicking some gravel around. He’d gotten himself into the middle of a mess, that was for sure, and with two of the most stubborn people in the family, to boot. Not that Stacey was, technically or legally, but for all intents and purposes she was. Either way, being stuck between her and his brother was a nightmare.

“You sure you don’t need to just go get checked out? For everything? I mean, that was…”

“I’m sure. It’s just fucking Eli, Raph. Not my first rodeo. I just want to go home.” He heard Raph sigh heavily, knowing his brother was likely struggling with making her happy and doing what he felt was right. “Please?”

“Alright… alright. But if Donnie says you gotta go in to get checked, you gotta go, okay?” Raph relented after a long pause. “Right, Donnie?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Donnie responded, rubbing the back of his neck and glad his face was turned away.

“Okay. I promise.” Stacey’s voice was small and vulnerable, and it caused him true pain that she wouldn’t just tell Raph why. But it wasn’t his problem, not his choice. That was hers and hers alone to make.

[probablylisteningtoledzeppelin]

39 Years Ago: Led Zeppelin Tries to Regroup for ‘In Through the Out Door’

By Jeff Giles

Led Zeppelin fans grieved for singer Robert Plant when his young son Karac suddenly passed away in the summer of 1977, and held out hope through years of breakup rumors as the band went on hold while its frontman dealt with his loss. Zeppelin would eventually return in August of 1979 with their eighth studio LP, ‘In Through the Out Door,’ but the band’s fate was far from certain even before the tragedy that prompted their hiatus.

“The 1977 tour ended because I lost my boy, but it had also ended before it ended, really,” suggested Plant in ‘Led Zeppelin: The Oral History of the World’s Greatest Rock Band.’ “It was just a mess. Where was the actual axis of all this stuff? Who do I go to if it’s really bad for me?”

Plant ultimately found the answer in his family, withdrawing for months while trying to figure out whether he wanted to continue making music in the wake of events that showed him just how transitory his fame and fortune really were. And as much as Led Zeppelin had always been a collection of distinct personalities, Plant emerged from this shattering experience a changed man — one who felt fewer ties to his bandmates than ever.

“I wasn’t comfortable in the group at all,” Plant admitted in a 2005 interview. “We’d gone right through the hoop and, because my hoop was on fire, I didn’t know if it was worth it anymore. … My joy of life had been cudgeled and bashed so hard, I became a time-and-motion man for my own destiny.”

But after months of waiting, and one tentative stab at live performance in an awkward meeting arranged by manager Peter Grant, the band convened in late 1978 in Stockholm, booking several weeks at Polar Studios, the state-of-the-art recording facility owned by the members of Abba. Good as it was to shift the band back into gear, Grant later admitted the sessions were less than ideal, describing the experience of recording at Polar as “a slog … It was cold and dark all the time.”

As long as it had taken him to climb back on board, Plant seemed nothing less than committed to making a new album. “Maybe I waited too long,” he’s quoted as saying in road manager Richard Cole’s book ‘Stairway to Heaven: Led Zeppelin Uncensored.’ “But I just couldn’t push myself. I had to let the enthusiasm come back on its own. I’m anxious to get going and see what happens.”

In fact, while Plant was present and accounted for — and living a drug-free lifestyle since Karac’s death — other members of the band proved less reliable. As the songs that would ultimately make up ‘In Through the Out Door’ started to take shape, it was difficult not to notice the conspicuous absence of guitarist Jimmy Page, who took a far less active hand in shaping the music than he had on previous Zeppelin efforts.

“It just seemed that Robert and I got to rehearsals first,” explained multi-instrumentalist John Paul Jones in a 1991 interview with author Ritchie Yorke. “We were left alone quite a lot of the time, along with [drummer John Bonham], and so we tended to get on with it, I think. I suppose you could say that ‘In Through the Out Door’ is my album, the way ‘Presence’ was Jimmy’s album.”

In a separate interview, Jones recalled that “Robert and I were getting a bit closer — and probably splitting from the other two, in a way. We were always to be found over a pint somewhere, thinking, ‘What are we doing?. And that went into ‘In Through the Out Door.’ Basically, we wrote the album, just the two of us.”

Plant agreed, “Jonesy and I, who had never really gravitated toward each other at all, started to get on well. It was odd, but it gave the whole thing a different feel: things like ‘All My Love’ and ‘I’m Gonna Crawl.’ We weren’t going to make another ‘Communication Breakdown,’ but I thought ‘In the Evening’ was really good.” Grant nodded, saying “John Paul Jones certainly did pick up the reins of the band with the ‘In Through the Out Door’ album. People tended to think of him as a bass player, but he went far, far beyond that.”

Jones’ growing role did not go unnoticed. “I think Jimmy kind of thought Jonesy was trying to take over as producer, which he wasn’t,” Cole observed. “He was just making use of the time until the other two turned up. The truth of the matter was we never turned up until the middle of the night until we had scored. The other two got there when they were supposed to, and just messed around doing stuff.”

Which is not to say that Page’s hand wasn’t felt in the final version of the album. In fact, he still ended up with the producer’s credit, and mixed the record at his home studio — for better as well as worse. “I thought parts of ‘Carouselambra’ were good, especially the darker dirges that Pagey developed,” Plant reflected in a 2003 interview with Mojo. “I rue it so much now, because the lyrics on ‘Carouselambra’ were actually about that environment and that situation. The whole story of Led Zeppelin in its latter years is in that song, and I can’t hear the words.”

Regardless of how one feels about the album’s original mix, Page insists he was overall in better shape than others have suggested. “‘In Through the Out Door’ was done in a little over three weeks, so I couldn’t have been in that bad a shape,” he argued in the same issue of Mojo. “I’d never have been able to play, and I wouldn’t have been able to keep my head together to do this, that, and the other.”

Once the sessions wrapped, the band had more than enough music to fill an LP; in addition to the seven songs that ultimately made the cut for ‘In Through the Out Door,’ they emerged with three more (‘Wearing and Tearing,’ ‘Ozone Baby,’ and ‘Darlene’) that were held over for a future release. With the record in the can, Grant was faced with the task of proving Led Zeppelin were still on top, even after going more than three years without an album of new music — a job he faced with his customary blend of genius and gruff bravado.

For starters, there was the album’s unusual artwork, which wrapped multiple LP covers in plain brown paper stamped with the band’s name — an eye-catching display of market force that started as a joke. “Peter said to me, ‘We could put the album in a brown paper bag, and it would f–ing sell,’” recalled designer Aubrey Powell. “I said, ‘Peter, what a great idea.’ Atlantic didn’t want the aggravation, but Peter said, ‘We’re f–ing doin’ it.’ ‘In Through the Out Door’ ended up having six different covers.”

Even with the added aggravation for the label, the band ended up with a huge hit on its hands. ‘In Through the Out Door’ debuted at No. 1 on both sides of the Atlantic, and while reviews were decidedly mixed, the pent-up demand from the fan base was obvious. Led Zeppelin had been missed — and what’s more, they may even have missed each other while they were away. “There was something going on, and it was lifting again,” mused Plant. “We decided that we could work, and we should start all over again.”

While ‘In Through the Out Door’ was still making its way to stores, Grant turned to the issue of touring, which had become something of a sore spot since Karac’s passing. Stuck in the U.S. while his son died, Plant was adamant about not wanting to tour the States again, and wasn’t terribly eager to get out on a stage anywhere else, either. Grant had other (and, naturally, larger-scale) ideas, and booked the group as headliners for the 1979 Knebworth Festival.

Explaining his desire to prove to the members of the band — particularly the still-ambivalent Plant — that they remained “the biggest and the best,” Grant recalled telling them “we hadn’t played in England since 1975, and we had a site that could take 200,000 people. ‘I think you can fill it for two weekends, and this is the proof that you’ — mainly Robert — ‘should continue.’”

Of course, after everything Plant had been through, Grant could easily understand his reluctance to step back into the spotlight. “I don’t know how the man managed to hold everything together,” Grant admitted. “But he did, and he came through with flying colors.”

Not everyone on stage shared Grant’s assessment of what went down at Knebworth, however. “I was watching it on the DVD and thinking, ‘Christ, that was crap. That was a s– gig,’” Plant later said dismissively. “I know how good we had been, and we were so nervous. And yet within it all, my old pal Bonzo was right down in the pocket.”

A brief European tour followed in the summer of 1980, with plans for the U.S. jaunt Plant had vowed he wouldn’t agree to then scheduled for the fall. But sadly, the Knebworth shows would prove to be Zeppelin’s last UK performances with Bonham, who died in September of 1980. Although they’d release another album, 1982′s contract-fulfilling odds-and-ends collection ‘Coda,’ they’d already broken up; without all four members in the fold, Jones, Page, and Plant agreed that Led Zeppelin could not continue.

“I think it was a special occasion for the band,” Jones later said of the period following the release of ‘In Through the Out Door’ and the Knebworth shows. “But I’d have to say that I do look back on it with some sadness, because it was really the start of a whole new era for us that never actually got going.”

“Bonzo and I had already started discussing plans for a hard-driving rock album after that,” Page claimed later. “We both felt that ‘In Through the Out Door’ was a little soft. … In its place it was fine, but I wouldn’t have wanted to pursue that direction in the future.”

“Standing there on the street corner, clutching 12 or 16 years of your life of knowing Bonzo, holding it close to your chest with a lump in your throat and a tear in your eye, and not knowing which way to go, was a most peculiar experience,” pointed out an understated Plant. “Apart from anything else, I knew the dream was over, just like that".

[sparda3g]

Tokyo Ghoul:re Chapter 171 Review

Emotional attachment can lead to complexity within a person. “Easier said than done” is one quote that will be thrown around a lot when it comes to settling the issue. It’s up to their companion to relieve them from despair or among themselves to accept it. The arc is drawing near to the end as one battle ends, another one coming to a close. After a long period of waiting, it was well worth it for this emotional driven chapter.

It’s a bit challenging to say which scenario is the best part of the chapter. Sometimes I like the first half more, sometimes I like the latter. Both scenarios carry the similar theme of attachment to the world and its people, human and ghoul. When it comes to connecting themes and character’s growth, Ishida shines brightly with his delivering on his compelling characters.

I thought the last chapter concluded the battle between Yomo and Uta, but instead, we got a definitive ending here and it’s all for the better. It’s good to know Uta didn’t die from that devastating attack. Granted, I had a hunch he was going to live, but if he did die, that would be a bit easy. The chapter treated us with a really delightful ending to their bout and if there’s more room for the series, a really good future for the two.

Uta goes into greater detail on his thoughts on life itself. The way how he described his life in the past compare to the present somewhat reminds me of Citizen Kane. In that film, there’s this “checkpoint” of a man’s life that often look back and think that’s where the path was decided. Uta had fun back then because nothing in life mattered, even when they break their legs, him and Yomo. It began to change when Yomo was heading towards a different path alas Anteiku with Yoshimura. If Uta doesn’t follow or move anywhere else, what does he have left?

I thought it was pretty sad that Uta did in fact try to help Yomo to avenge his sister because it was like his way to keep him together. You know how many stories go about revenge won’t reward you greatly, if not any. This one is no different but it doesn’t address the obvious, rather use strong words to not only address the morale but connect to Uta’s despair. They couldn’t avenge for Yomo’s behalf, but now, Yomo has move ahead of it, because the world is changing.

Uta is a man that watches the world change but don’t adapt any of it. He has tried enough to adjust, or rather recover from the losses but he just couldn’t change. Every man adapts differently; he’s just harder to crack open. Honestly speaking, I am amazed and moved by Yomo as of late, which is funny considering how much of a mute guy he was. I know he let out his inner feelings when the moment is right, but his connections and thoughts speak to me.

Yomo comes off genuine with his words that it’s a bit unbelievable. Okay, no more knocking on him; I actually like his character a lot. The thing about his words is the fact they are sincere and relatable. He doesn’t come off as a leader or spokesman for a noble peace prize; it’s just two friends talking like friends. Surprising how Yomo did once come close to become another Uta on simply saying life sucks. He lost many loved ones before joining with Anteiku and convinced himself that cruelty is inevitable. When the café was burnt down, his reaction didn’t match up to his thoughts. Easier said than done.

It’s relatable to his thoughts about what should he have done instead of following orders to stand back and watch it fall. Many of us would often think about the past action and debate if it was a mistake or not. What I really like about Yomo transcribing his past is how we get a better view of his character. He was a mute person, but his subtle reaction clued you in how he really felt about it. The most obvious display is against Arima, but it’s also the moment of change for the better.

It’s ironic due to how Arima revolved Yomo’s character for past vengeance yet it intertwined with the present with Ayato and Touka. It’s no longer about fighting for the past cause. It connects very well to theme of attachment since Yomo is now fighting forward to see what rewards him, good or bad. Uta was avoiding the change around him, so nothing seem to progress. He’s there to adjust other’s life. Yomo is part of the world changing and contributing it till the end, hence soon to be a grand uncle. Best grand uncle ever, that’s for sure.

It has a charming way to end the grudge with Yomo willing to allow Uta to earn his desire. Yomo only wants for the best for others and prefer to be taken alone and him alone. It makes sense since Uta was only part of Clowns to change shape of others, even though his target has been only on Yomo. I like how Uta’s reply simply state that they are adults now. These two had a good sit down chat over their problems and reason each other like adults. It also implies he is finally stepping forward and hopefully for a better path.

The charm is how they start talking like good friends again. The topic is amusing because even the characters themselves can see the obvious pairing that is Kaneki and Touka. Who knew that they’re shippers since the beginning? I still remember when Uta asked Kaneki on his opinion on Touka; now it makes sense. The parallel panel is a nice way to end the battle; past or present, some things never change.

The rest of the chapter belongs to Amon and Donato though not without some new revealing details that was well timed for connecting themes. You got to credit Amon to keep on striving against Donato, even against the odds. I know some fans are tired of him getting wrecked, even though most of them are understandable; however, this time is actually relatable, reasonable, and powerful.

To my surprise, Takizawa isn’t there to join along the battle with Amon or even watch him to die. I was certain that the former was going to happen. It came close that Takizawa was pulling the old Shounen method of “Don’t interfere. He is fighting for his honor!” However, the reason to not to interfere is valid because Amon is actually struggling to himself. It wasn’t because Amon is weak or outclassed completely, though wouldn’t mind to be the case. He simply can’t kill Donato due to his attachment.

Whatever the missing pieces from the last chapter were are found here, including Tomoe. Like I said before, she had the perfect chance to kill Amon, but she didn’t do anything. Although she has some pity, it shouldn’t stop her. What stopped her is fear of losing a purpose. All she has left is vengeance and that can be settled now if she like, but then what? Not a single word came out from her after that thought. It’s a small yet valuable moral to exploit on fearing to fulfill their selfish wish.

The part that got me compelled is the flashback scene with Takizawa versus Houji, back at Rue Island. It was a bout that was skipped entirely, and I never knew why. With how Ishida put two and two together, I can understand clearly why it was on hold. In retrospect, fans including me believed Takizawa overwhelmed everyone, but the truth is in and it turns out that Houji held back and accepted death.

It humanizes the theme further because that bout was more emotional influence than a typical a monster versus humans. I was left believing Houji was a cold guy that had no remorse, even though I believed he drew a tear while confirming their next target. Takizawa was a loose cannon but that one expression opened his mind; Houji did care and felt sadden to end up this way. You can argue on why he was sad like regretting to save him before, but the bottom line is he was hindered by emotion and Takizawa technically took it for granted.

Basically, Takizawa’s purpose is to watch Amon develop or die before anything. If he steps in and somehow defeats Donato, what does Amon gain from it? It’s equivalent to a guy who wanted revenge on a criminal, only to be killed by another. No lesson will be learned and if there’s no other way around it, the man is lost. Amon has always been one of my favorite characters of the franchise. I find it appealing whenever he gets a development. While the bout as a whole is pretty solid, it transpires to one of the best humanized development that the series has offered so far.

What intrigued me about Amon the most is his justice system and his origin with Donato. Normally, it would be a simple premise with a boy who grew up with an evil father-figure, now against his kind. While he did embark that journey, he however remained attached to him despite everything he stands for. This portion would challenge readers if they are fine with his struggle despite one is clearly evil. The context is what saved it for me and bonus, shined his character deeper.

It’s a complicated scenario where a character meets his/her faithful enemy who is also the one who fathered them. It has a great parallel display of his tie with Kaneki and the current situation. The two prime examples of his divine character development. He has stuck to the code of justice system based on CCG. His hatred from his past went on Ghouls and killed them for what he believed was right. Once he becomes a ghoul, his view started to change.

It’s a shame that those who are so high up on their code would be forced to be a Ghoul alas force them to wear their shoes. He established a while back that not all Ghouls are evil but they are classified as one, so that may never change. I do wonder about the aftermath, which I still press on for part 3 as long as there are other elements left unsolved. Basically, Amon established both Human and Ghoul are largely the same, and yet he can define who is real evil and Donato is one. So why can he kill him if that’s the case?

The most powerful part is how he finally developed his view about the world being twisted. Remember how he told Ghouls or Kaneki to be specific that they’re the one that ruined it. After what he has gone through, he realizes the world would be twisted by anyone and among them is him. If he let Donato roam free, he is no better than anyone he’s against; a cruel irony. It’s intriguing with Takizawa realizing late of Houji’s emotional attachment result to a sad end while Amon realizing late would result to a good end. Not everyone have a same meaning and he has to deal with it.

The ending is interesting. Amon makes a sword shape weapon, though it can be considered as a cross; a fitting design. Donato looks at him and smiles like a proud father. Amon finally pushes through and takes a huge portion of his left’s side body; similar with Kaneki to Amon in Part 1. Amon actually concludes that he loved Donato and he can’t be hold back because of it.

If it wasn’t for its context and delivery, it would be difficult for readers to accept to like a murderer. The point is Amon and Donato did come a long way in their life in the orphanage. It’s hard to dispute any connection and detach any love they harbored in the past, especially since childhood for Amon. Growing up as such isn’t easy to forget and set free. Even if he seeks for vengeance, it didn’t grow out of air. The bond exists and he had to accept that fact no matter if it is wrong.

After a long break, this chapter was a great return with emotional connection with these characters. The art is pretty solid with its nice use of parallels and expressive feelings. Yomo and Uta have a relaxing bromance ending and Amon and Donato are closing their feud soon with a strong message. It seems like this arc will end in this volume. It’s a only matter of time.

[charlyricco]

A Witcher Noir

Witcher 3: Wild Hunt offers so many incredible things; from it’s amazing characters, morally complex situations, the amazing looks and scenery … there is simply a lot to like about this world.

However, there is one thing that amazes me above all else, the way the developers chose to address the narrative for an open world game, by essentially being a great detective game, I’m not talking about a crime or investigation game, but really a game about a detective, the kind of character we see in Hard-Boiled detective novels or Noir fiction. Witcher 3 borrows so heavily in terms of plot, theme, characterisation, and narrative delivery from early american private eye novels, it is hard to avoid this comparaison.

However, before I go any further, we need to talk a little bit more about the history of the detective noire.The core concept of Detective stories was first brought by Edgar Allan Poe, with The Murders in the Rue Morgue, this is where we got the idea of murder as a riddle but also watching someone performing remarquable feats of logic, as entertainment. Conan Doyle took this concept and gave it character with Sherlock Holmes, this lead to an abundance of books from authors like Agatha Christie or Dorothy Sayers which established what the detective fiction was supposed to be. It was a puzzle, one which would become more and more elaborated.

What’s also important to note is the fact that these stories depicted a reassuring vision of society and were focused on the privileged class. Most often these stories took place in someone’s country estate, or in some tiny English village, where the setting would limit the number of suspects.The detective himself was a member of this class, rarely asking for payement for his service, while the police often depicted as incompetent was never corrupt, in these story, society was basically working.

However, in America, some authors felt that the detective novel was no longer relevant to the world they lived in, exhibiting postwar disillusionment and realism. In these Hard-Boiled detective novels or Noir fiction, the authors moved away from the wealthy detective and instead made the central character an outsider, somebody in the fringe of society therefore able to move between high-class and low-class with ease. That alone does sounds a lot like Geralt already. In these novels, the world is in constant turmoil. This is not the timeless aristocratic society of England, but the rumpus society of America where everyone is trying to make their own way facing life- altering challenges. The state of war and chaos in which Witcher 3 takes place leaves practically every character in this state. The game even goes out of it’s way to show us powerful mages reduced to pest control in order to survive and former advisors to kings turned into crime lords.

These novels began to focus on the poorer and rougher side of humanity. Beggars, prostitutes and addicts appeared in these novels and they were even allowed to have real character, a real life within the story. It was about the real world, and the authors were trying to show things with more realism. This is reflected in the Witcher 3: Wild Hunt with characters like the bloody baron, forcing us to stare at domestic abuse and alcoholism, or during smaller moments with the huntsman at the beginning of the game who makes us look at the horrific consequences of homophobia.

Then there is the depiction of Geralt himself, self-possessed, sarcastic, taking pride in his work, someone with a strong moral compass underneath a rough appearance, all the essential traits of a Hard-Boiled detective. But more importantly it’s the entire narrative delivery that is inspired from Noir fiction and amazingly, this particular narrative delivery also gives us the key to a successful narrative in an open-world game and is really what makes The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, the amazing game we love.

Rather than getting into long explanations, let me simply quote Raymond Chandler essay “The Simple Art of Murder”:

“The emotional basis of the standard detective story was and had always been that murder will out and justice will be done. Its technical basis was the relative insignificance of everything except the final denouement. What led up to that was more or less passage work. The denouement would justify everything. The technical basis of the Black Mask type of story on the other hand was that the scene outranked the plot, in the sense that a good plot was one which made good scenes. The ideal mystery was one you would read if the end was missing.”

Raymond Chandler, "The Simple Art of Murder"(1950)

Once again,

“…The scene outranked the plot, in the sense that a good plot was one which made good scenes. The ideal mystery was one you would read if the end was missing.”

This is essential to The Witcher 3, in the game the main storyline serves only as a thread to get from scene to scene. These little moments along the road are what makes the world so much more compelling than if the game had focused only on it’s main story. These human interactions along the path such as the one with an old woman trying to get her pan back, or children stealing chicken because they have lost their parents. Those moments allow us to wonder our way through this world, quest after quest, hours on end.

It’s all about the journey not so much the destination, and in terms of game design, not only is it brilliant, it’s also the narrative delivery required to create a large, yet ever compelling, open world.

The way developers managed open-world storytelling as a series of scenes allowed them to use the main plot as something that enables the player to encounter incredible scenes, rather than something that directly drives them down a linear path, a process drawn from Noir Fiction and at the heart of the entire experience of The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt.

Image credit: Alexander Astor

[freespiritcreations]

The Long Lost Diary of Teenaged Yaya

Hey guys, how have you all been? As for me, for the past few weeks, I’ve been watching a lot of films pertaining to youth culture. I’ve seen all of the episodes of HBO Max’s “Euphoria” (2019), along with the movies “The Breakfast Club” (1985), “Mean Girls” (2004), “Mid-90’s” (2018), and “KIDS” (1995). Although all of these films take place at different times periods, their portrayal of youth culture is not too different from my reality. 

 I can definitely say that there were some characters who go through certain life experiences that I can relate too. Especially Kat Hernandez from the tv series Euphoria. Kat is a chubby girl who struggles with receiving and accepting love from other boys. She is also insecure about her weight, and confused about her identity. I personally know how it feels to grow up like Kat.

First of all, I too had that one summer as a middle schooler where I came back twenty pounds heavier. Most of the boys in my former middle school found me repulsive because of my size.

Also, like most girls, I was curious about the concept of human intimacy. There were times when I would express my fantasies through creating explicit drawings and writing odd stories. However, my drawings never pertained to any acts of sexual activities. Instead, they were drawings of sensual looking sonic characters. 

Most of the time, I would draw a specific character that I named Miu. Miu was supposed to be a cross between a lion and a wolf because those were my two favorite animals. 

I choose to draw anamorphic characters because it was like I was creating a world where everyone was imperfect and perfect at the same time. Every time I would draw, it felt like I was escaping to a world where everyone was a mess. But, we were all beautiful creatures because of our differences inside and out. 

In a way, Miu was drawn to be who I envisioned to look like and to become. I was incredibly insecure about the way I looked. Unlike Kat, I stopped growing when I was only twelve years old. So, I will forever be four feet and eleven inches tall. And, being fat and short at the same time doesn’t mix so well. Because of this, consistently drawing Miu was comforting to me.

As far as my stories, they too were also a bit different from Kat’s writings . I would often write fanfiction novels that were based off of my own life. For example, I would write love stories about me and whoever I had a crush on. In those stories, we could be in the world of Pokemon, Inuyasha, or any other anime shows. Yeah, I know, I was a very weird yet creative pre-teen. However, I didn’t have the balls to post them like Kat did.

As far as my stories, they too were also a bit different from Kat’s writings . I would often write fanfiction novels that were based off of my own life. For example, I would write love stories about me and whoever I had a crush on. In those stories, we could be in the world of Pokemon, Inuyasha, or any other anime shows. Yeah, I know, I was a very weird yet creative pre-teen. However, I didn’t have the balls to post them like Kat did.

As I got older, I had similar experiences in promiscuity too Kat. Just like her, it felt empowering to have some type of sexual control over guys. In fact, the more I felt that way, the more my identity started to change. I went from looking like a geeky nerd, to looking like a 80’s high school dropout, and finally I look like some kind of urban looking goth chic. My identity change increased my confidence over the past years.

However, that type of lifestyle does have its drawbacks. Similar to Kat ,after some time it became harder for me to recognize boys who actually had genuine feelings for me. I would try to push away those who showed me a lot of affection because I often feel like it’s a set up. Because of this, it is difficult for me to accept that kind of attention from guys. Overall, I can relate to most of Kat’s youthful experiences.

In addition to Kat’s personal experience, I’ve noticed a few common themes that these films share. These themes include teenage rebellion, drug abuse and dealing with relationship issues. Although these themes were portrayed in a fictional setting, they do resemble traits of contemporary youth culture. I can even relate to these themes from my own personal adolescent experiences.

I’m pretty sure most teenagers go through the challenges or phases at one point or another. Just like in the films, there was at least one character that had gone through these issues. For instance, Bender from The Breakfast Club had a reputation of being a bully and causing trouble. His behavior resulted from his unstable home life. Rue Bennette from Euphoria started abusing drugs once her family was breaking up. Stevie from Mid-90’s started hanging around a rowdy crowd because had no one else to look up to. Maddy from Euphoria continued to stay in a toxic relationship even though she was aware of it’s conditions. In a way, my adolescent life was similar to theirs.

 I can say that I definitely went through a rebellious phase by the time I was in high school. However, there were certain situations that lead up to that point that were similar to Rue Bennette from Euphoria and Stevie from Mid-90’s. When I was about ten years old, my parents had gotten into a nasty divorce. Not too long after, my step dad Fritz came into my life. His presence had felt threatening at first because I feared that he was going to replace my dad. Around the same time, I was diagnosed with bipolar depression. At the time, my mom treated me like another mental patient. My dad wasn’t really around, and my step father didn’t understand my mental illness. My moods started to become so unpredictable that it was extremely hard to hold onto friendships.

 By the time I was fifthteen years old, I started to smoke weed, sneak out at night, sneak boys inside my room, get into physical altercations, steal from others, and unexplainably start irrational arguments. It seemed like the only thing I didn't do was let my grades drop. Somehow, I was able to maintain a high GPA while acting like a tyrant. 

By that time, I had an estranged relationship with my family. My mom and I would constantly fight almost every other day. Although my step dad tried his hardest to earn my trust, I continued to resent him as my father. My little sister was so hellbent into tarnishing my reputation, that she would vindictively tell my friends and her own that I was crazy and to stay away from me. She would also purposely pick fights with me in front of her friends, so I could respond irrationally in front of them. She would do this just to further prove her point about me.

I felt so alone when I was a teenager, so I decided to look for acceptance elsewhere. I started to sleep around with boys who I knew were emotionally unstable trouble-makers. I also started to hang around gang affiliated teenagers with no ambition to better themselves. It had felt like my family, friends, and even my own teachers had seen me as no different from them because of my mental illness. So, I thought that that was where I belonged. They lost hope for me, so I began to lose hope in myself. I didn’t care where my actions would lead me, I just wanted to be a part of something. Even if I had to hurt or deceive others just to feel like I mattered to someone.

That’s what I thought at first, until my rebellious behavior caught up with me. When I was seventeen, there was one guy who I had a friends-with-benefits type of relationship with. He pretended to be interested in me, so he could find out where I lived. He had teamed up with my so-called “friends,” and they all robbed my family while we were at my brother’s wedding. That was the same day that I found out my step father’s cancer had gotten worse, and he was going to die soon.

Fritz died the day before Thanksgiving that year. His passing inspired me to better myself. I stopped being around a bad crowd, and began to improve my behavior.

That’s when I met the love of my life Cristian in my late teenage years. We had gotten so close because we both lost a parent to cancer the same year. As well as that, we both suffered from bipolar disorder. It actually felt like someone understood me for once in my life. I was finally receiving the love I’ve been longing for. What made things better was that he actually loved me for who I am and not just for my body. He even accepted my past as well.

That’s when I met the love of my life Cristian in my late teenage years. We had gotten so close because we both lost a parent to cancer the same year. As well as that, we both suffered from bipolar disorder. It actually felt like someone understood me for once in my life. I was finally receiving the love I’ve been longing for. What made things better was that he actually loved me for who I am and not just for my body. He even accepted my past as well.

However, because neither of us were receiving professional help for our disorder, we would often engage in violent fights and arguments. Eventually, we were engaged to be married, but our relationship was falling apart at the same time. I started to smoke weed nonstop. It felt like for the entire two years I was constantly high. I can’t even remember a time when I was sober for an entire day back then. I even started to experiment with other harder drugs, such as ecstasy, cocaine, and LSD. I was in denial that my life was falling apart. I wanted to num the painful thoughts of losing my father, my family’s trust again, my relationship and my mind.

Eventually, I stepped out of the relationship which ultimately ended it. I began to rebel again which pushed people away from me even more. When I had gotten arrested and was facing pending charges, that’s when I vowed to myself to regain my life again no matter what challenges I faced. I started to seek professional help, and I even regained my family’s trust again. I was gaining back the friendships that I had lost, and I started smoking weed only once a day.

It had seemed like my life was getting back to normal, until I saw Cristian again. The last time I had seen him, we had gotten into a very bad fight which stopped us from communicating for at least a year. When I saw him, we cleared the air and squashed any kind of bad blood we had for each other. He wanted to get back together with me, but I declined his advances. He was still persistent in wanting to at least regain a friendship again. So, we decided to work on that. That night, something inside of me told me to hug him, but something was preventing me from doing so. I wish I had given him that hug because he died two weeks later from a drug overdose.

The night of his candle lighting ceremony, his best friend told me that he had seen him the same night he passed away. He told me that Cristian was talking about me that night. Apparently, Cristian was telling him that he was excited that him and I were friends again. He also told me that Cristian’s plan was to get back together with me. That was the last time someone had ever loved me.

So yeah, my adolescent life was an absolute mess. To be honest, this entire experience was incredibly traumatizing for me. But, after watching those films, it made me realize that somewhere in the world, I’m not the only one that goes through hard times. I truly believe that the themes from these films resonate with the ugly side of contemporary youth culture.

On another note, the soundtrack for Euphoria had greatly impacted the narrative of the story entirely. I mean, what doesn’t go well with music nowadays. Soundtracks have a way of further emphasizing the focal point of a story. Especially, when the lyrics and meaning to a song matches perfectly with the situation at hand, as well as the movements being seen in the film. A soundtrack with these qualities emotionally connects an audience to the characters in order to empathize with what they are going through.

If I could pick ten songs to put on a soundtrack based on my adolescent life experiences, they would all be songs that were made at different time periods, including the ones that weren’t out yet at the time.

The first song I would choose for my soundtrack would be “lovely” by Billie Ellish and Khalid. The song is about being in a dark place in life and wanting to get out of it. This song is a perfect example of how I felt when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder. During that time, I was battling depression because of my parents divorce. Not only that, I was being severely bullied while I was in middle school for liking anime. Other students would harass me and leave death threats in my locker. They would do this because they also accused me of being a lesiban just for watching anime. My mental illness had gotten so bad that I was in and out of hospitals, homeschooled, and then eventually placed in special education classes just for having a mental illness. I was at the lowest point of my life and often had thoughts of suicde. I wanted so desperately to be happy again like how I was when I was kid. I wanted to live a life of no worries and  live shamelessly, but I didn’t know if I was ever going to overcome my depression.

The second song of my choice would be “Drop the World” by Lil Wayne and Eminem. The song is about letting out your frustration on society  by reatulationg on the world around you. Like I mentioned before, by the time I was in high school, I went through a rebellious phase. I made careless and risky decisions because of how isolated I had felt from society. I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about how I felt, so I would bottom up all of my emotions until I would lash out on people. After a while, my behavior became a part of me. I turned into a selfish narcissistic person who wouldn’t listen to reason. I was so full of anger because of how I was being treated, so I began to treat everyone around me horribly in retaliation.

The third song of my choice is “Under the Influence” by Chris Brown. This song is basically about the feeling of being high while undergoing sexual intercourse. It also explains how his sex appael had gotten his partner lustfully addicted to him. Obviously, I won't go into too much detail, but this song describes exactly how I felt during my promiscuous adventures. For the most part, I was extremely high during those circumstances. I did it in order to not feel so guilty about my activities while feeling extremely relaxed during the process. In a way, it was just another addiction. It was also just another outlet for me to num the pain. Even so, the guys would not get enough of me.  For some reason, they just keep coming back for more even years later. Somehow, I became extremely desirable amongst the boys in my class despite my weight.

Anyways, the fourth song would be “idontwannabeyouanymore” by Billie Ellish. In a nutshell, the song is about how girls negatively envision themselves based on discouraging criticisms of their appearance. After the robbery situation, I began to reevaluate my life and who I was becoming. It took me sometime to realize that I did not like who I was becoming. I had even heard numerous rumors about myself regarding my sexual prerogative. A lot of people started to call me a whore, and I started to become ashamed of myself. However, I didn’t want to change that specific aspect about myself. I didn’t understand why it was okay for boys to be sexually active but not for girls. I wanted to change my behavior, but I didn’t want to completely change who I am. I wanted to accept my interests while becoming a better person.

My fifth song of choice would be “Heaven” by Beyonce. The title itself is pretty self explanatory, but overall the song is about losing a loved one. My step father was one of the best guys I’ve ever met in my life. He stepped in to be a father figure when my biological father walked out of my life. He was a smart, kind hearted, and considerate man. When he passed away, I was in denial about his death for about three months. Once I came into terms with it, the only way I was able to handle it was by telling myself that he was no longer suffering or in pain. Additionally, this song was already prior to his passing. Therefore, I found a lot of comfort with this song while I was grieving his loss.

The sixth song for my soundtrack would be “Love Yourz” by J. Cole. For a long time, I used to compare my appearance and life with other students who I thought were better than me. During my first healing process, I was starting to become grateful for the challenges I was beginning to overcome. I also tried telling myself that things could be worse off, and I tried to love myself for who I am while I was trying to improve myself. This song relates to a lot of what I dealt with during my healing process.

The seventh song for my playlist would be “How to Love” by Lil Wayne. The lyrics in this song remind me a lot of a reflection of my earlier troubled teenage life. If you listen to the song, the rapper talks about how men play a role in the way women view themselves and behave. Looking back, I can say that the lack of affection from my biological father had definitely impacted my life negatively. It had shaped me into becoming the person who I was. I honestly didn’t realize how much that had affected me until I started going to therapy. That goes to show how much an absent father can affect a young woman's life.

The eighth song would be “Losin Control” by Russ. This song elaborates how a toxic relationship affects the way a woman handles a stable one. When I first got with Cristian, I didn’t know how to accept his love and affection. I would accuse him of similar accusations that the previous men in my life have committed. However, Crisitan remained as patient as he could with me. Even when we would argue, he also made sure that we never went to bed angry. At the end, Cristian really did love me for who I am. He also didn’t know how to handle it because of his past trauma.

The ninth song for my soundtrack would be “WE ARE CHAOS” by Marilyn Manson. The gist of this song is that people are naturally a mess, and there’s nothing we can do about it. When my relationship with failing and my life was spiraling out of control, I started to lose touch with reality. Because I was constantly high, I didn’t feel like I was living. I felt like I was existing. It was like I was no different than a piece of furniture. I was there but I am not here, if that makes sense to you.

The final song I would choose for my soundtrack would be “Keep Holding On” by the cast of Glee. There are a couple of reasons why I choose this song. The first reason is because of the meaning of the song. This song inspires me to continue to move forward through bad situations. It also reminds me that I’m never alone, and that I have people in my life that have my back no matter what. The second reason is because the show Glee is one of my favorite comfort shows. That show has helped me overcome a lot of obstacles in my life. This also includes the episode when the characters had performed while singing that specific song. That sentimental moment has helped me so much when I used to watch it in high school.

Well that’s enough blogging for one day. Thank you for taking the time out of your day by reading what the hell I had to say. This blog post really lets you inside of my personal past, so please do not judge me for that. I am who I am. And, I’m no longer ashamed of my past. I hope this post inspires you and others to live your best life unapologetically no matter how you grew up. Don’t forget to not let your past or any mental illness define you as a person. You are more than that, and that’s what makes you special. Talk to you guys another time.

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Ninety-Four

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

Meabh held her daughter against her as the boat skimmed over the waves. For her part, Danu neither said or did anything other than stay next to her mother, huddled against her as the boat made its way across the cold and unforgiving water. As it was the middle of winter, the sea was bracing and bitterly cold. The waves, though constant were thankfully not as high or as violent as Maebh knew they could be considering the time of year.

Throughout the journey, the men joked and made crude comments regarding the pair, especially Maebh. She found herself grateful she had never taught her daughter her original tongue because she knew were she to understand, Danu would be terrified, especially with the comments regarding her. Maebh said nothing, she did nothing, only noted the names of the men who made comments, their faces and what exactly it was that they said. She swore, no matter what came, those who said anything against her or her daughter would suffer and greatly for all they had said against them. Not once but they offered something to eat, though, considering the choppiness of the water, that was probably not a bad thing, for it meant that there was nothing in their stomachs for them to be ill with.

They passed Vanaheim, not coming ashore there, instead of continuing around the headlands and across the narrow waterway between it and Midgard. The last time Maebh saw her old lands she was glad to be leaving them, as they made their way now towards them, she would do anything with her power to keep away from them, but it was not her choice as to whether or not she would go there. She never planned for her daughter to see Midgard, in fact of all of her children, Danu was the one that she would actively have sought to keep away from Midgard. But fate had other plans.

‘Mother?’ Danu whispered, her voice so faint, Maebh hardly heard it. it was so low it was not possible for any of the men in the boat to hear her.

‘That is Midgard, the land which I was born to,’ she explained.

‘Why have they brought us here?’

‘To make me suffer.’ She replied simply. ‘Remember what I said, no matter what they do to me, remain strong, do not let them break you. All they want is to see you cry, to hear you beg, and make you scream for me or your father.’

‘Will they hurt you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Einar?’

‘They will not actively seek to hurt him so long as they do not know he exists.’

‘Are you scared?’

‘Of course.’

‘For just me or both of us?’

‘I am not frightened of them, not for me. But I am so so scared for you. I promise Danu, even if I do not make it off this land, I will get you home to your Father and your brothers.’

‘Mother, what happened to Grandmother, did they hurt her?’

‘Yes.’ Maebh stated sadly.

‘Did they kill her?’ Maebh did not answer, she merely held her daughter closer to her, telling the child the answer to her question. ‘We will make them suffer.’ the child stated, her anger clear in her voice.

‘When the time is right, never strike until this is the right time.’

‘How do we know when?’

‘We will, I will tell you when.’ She promised.

‘Mother, I am a glad father, Vali and Kushtrim were not at the house when they came.’

‘So am I.’

‘Will these men try to hurt me the way the man tried to hurt me the day you saved me?’

‘I sincerely hope not, but I can make no promises, for that would be to understand what it is they are doing and I cannot say I do. It makes no sense to keep me alive, yet they say it is the order to.’

‘Make them regret that order, Mother.’

‘They will rue the day that they not only decided to come to our home, not even just the day they decided to invoke my right, I will make them through the day they came to be born.’ she promised.

‘And I with you.’ her daughter stated clearly, looking her mother in the eye.

Maebh held the girl to her, kissing the top of her head. not wanting to tell her just tell dire their situation was, not wanting to scare her. Maebh knew she needed to concoct a plan. There was little or no chance of her leaving Midgard alive. But if she was lucky, if you found the right person, Danu would be able to escape, she could be saved. She thought of the baby in her, her little warrior; the one that never gave up, who refused to die even when she refused to live, she could not think of a way to save it, try as she might.

Finally, they made it to a dock, where another dozen men were waiting, heavily armed, all looking at her with sickening glee evident in their faces. Maebh refused to look scared, she refused to acknowledge the existence. She merely looked straight ahead, her chin tilted high, and refused to give them anything that they could call her on her behalf. She held her daughter against to her as best she could, considering she was still tied up, her hands behind her back. the rope around her neck had not been loosened to the entire journey, it remains tight, just enough to not impede her breathing.

When the boat was tied to the dock, what she assumed to be the man in charge, took hold of the rope and dragged her ashore. Danu rushed after her mother, refusing to be parted from her. At first, it seemed the men were going to separate them, but much to both women's relief, they allowed them to remain by each other's sides.

The men spat, heckled and jeered Maebh, but she paid them no heed. Beside her, her daughter mimicked her every action. Though she looked exactly like her father in appearance, Danu was very much her mother's daughter when it came to demeanour and poise, though often, Maebh felt that Frigga was the reason for her poise, there were days that one look at her daughter reminded her completely of her mother-in-law. knowing That Frigga was gone never to be with them again, never to meet her youngest grandchild, it gave her some comfort, knowing that she had lived on somewhat in her daughter. But that did not give them much comfort as they walked along the shoreline, men shouting loudly to declare that the so-called queen of Ulster, the deserter, the Barbarian fornicator, had returned and she would suffer for what she had done to the Lands and giving it to the Barbarians of Asgard, for abandoning her people and for breeding more of those sick creatures. Some came to glare, some to jeer, and even some to pelt her with food, but Maebh never faltered in her step only when it was to protect Danu from whatever projectiles they were throwing at them. for her part, Danu protected her mother's stomach and in turn, the baby within. Maebh was unsure how long she could hide her condition, but she had to try, she had no idea what they would have in store for her if they found out she was carrying. At that moment, she was most grateful once again for the fact that Danu had no idea what it was the despicable people around her were saying, not only about her mother but about her too. Nothing they said bothered Maebh when it referenced her but every word said regarding her daughter made her see red, made her want to make them suffer.

They were brought to a building, one almost as fortified as the one Maebh had been brought up in, telling her that escape would be very difficult if not impossible. To her side, Danu stared terrified at building in front of her, having never seen such a dwelling in her life. She remained beside her mother the entire time, holding onto her skirt.

The men brought them to a room and before they even entered it, Maebh noticed that the room locked from the outside. They were effectively thrown into what was, for all intents and purposes, a cell, the manner in which she was thrown caused Maebh to be yanked backwards by The Rope around her neck, which in turn meant he suffered painfully as her head was momentarily deprived of oxygen. the man laughed as she coughed and spluttered from the action before they loosen the rope around her neck and slipped it off. Next, they opened the rope around Danu’s neck, but kept the child between them and Maebh, watching her very cautiously. Even with her hands still tied behind her back, they heard enough of her to know she would be dangerous if she caught hold of them. When she was untied, they threw Danu forward.

‘Are you alright?’ Her mother got to her knees next to where Danu stumbled.

‘Yes, mother.’

‘Can you untie me?’

‘I can try.’ She got behind her mother, and with several minutes of tugging and some sore fingers later, Danu got her mother untied. ‘There.’

‘Good girl.’ She rubbed her cut and bruised hands before hugging her daughter. ‘You have been so brave my darling.’ She kissed her daughter’s head. ‘I am so proud of you. Get some rest, we will be here some time.’ She brought her daughter to the small bed and sat up in a way that her legs would be a pillow for her. The bed was small, dirty and less than appealing.

‘I am really hungry.’ It was the first time Danu made reference to her not eating in the days of travel.

‘I know my love, I know.’ Her mother bit back her tears. ‘Just get some sleep for now.’ She stroked her daughter’s hair.

Maebh waited until she knew her daughter was asleep before she moved and went to the door, her hand going to her stomach to feel the baby that had been moving in her throughout the days of travel, kicking her from time to time, but thankfully not moving to reveal itself. Looking sadly back at her daughter, she knocked twice on the door. A man opened it, two spears aimed at her. ‘What?’

‘I was told I could settle her before this started, she is settled, so let us get this over with.’ she snarled. The men looked at one another blankly, ‘Just tell Fitzgerald I am waiting.’ She hissed.

The men looked at her wrists. ‘You are untied.’

‘Obviously,’ she scoffed. ‘Norns but you are a thick lot.’ She held her hands out to be tied. ‘I doubt you want me untied for this, I can assure you now, you do not want me to be.’

The men looked at one another for a moment before bringing a rope and tying her. They then brought her through the dwelling, her paying attention to everything around her as she did. When she was brought into a room in which there were loads of men sat looking at her, at the head of the room, sat a man in more finery than any other. ‘Yes, Whore.’

‘It is Queen Maebh, and it is time cease this farce.’ She sneered.

[briannasroger]

49) Shattered then whole for Natan!

This actually took a little while for me to figure out. I wasgoing to go angst, like high-key angst, but then I had this idea and I just…loved it so much more? Forgive the errors, this got out of control.

title: past the clouds, find the starswords: 7,500~rating: uhh T I guess. 

Natalie has a little problem with her apartment. But the not sofriendly ghost isn’t so bad once she gets to know him. 

…

Her new apartmentwas haunted, no ifs ands or buts about it. There was no other explanation forthe falling books, the creaks and moans in a middling younger than her, or thehaphazardly misplaced items. Truthfully, she had excused each mishap as astrange but not entirely impossible coincidence until the day she found her petfish, Libby, in the bathtub, swimming like a predator among the plastic boattoys she bought for her nephew a few months prior.

Her parents didn’traise a fool. The biggest question was who or what – and that was only slightlyless hard than trying to convince her family that there was more at work herethan mischievous neighbors. Her father outright didn’t believe, an unsurprisingbut still painful outcome.  Her brother accepted it with reluctance, buthis overnight visits had resulted in a zero on the ghost activity scale and hisdeparture had led to her very first interaction with the ghost.

Nice try, girl.

She didn’t jump orscream when the slanted, narrow script had appeared on her bathroom mirror thenight her brother left. It was quiet, too quiet, and she hadn’t noticed itappeared as she brushed her teeth, staring mindlessly into her own reflection.She rinsed her mouth with water and then choked as she finally noticed thewriting, spluttering to clear her airway as a strange, warm laugh filled theroom.

She had fled thatevening, swearing off her only bathroom for the rest of her life, but by thenext morning, Natalie was back again. The writing was gone and faded; shehesitantly prodded the glass, testing its strength and trying to convinceherself that it was nothing, when she felt the strange sensation of a handbrushing her arm as though to nudge her aside. She had shivered and leftwithout doing or saying more.

When she returnedfrom work, the books on her shelf had been reorganized and she stubbornly kepttrying to return it to normal until, at last, she had asked the ghost how hewanted them arranged then. She had seen a flash from the corner of her eyes andupon the mirror decorating her living room wall, she saw the handwriting appearonce more, lecturing her on the disorganization of her home.

“Does it matter?”Natalie had asked in her very first conversation with the ghost. 

I have to live here, too.

“Then stop puttingLibby in the bathtub, please, and tell me what you want.” 

The ghost hadn’tresponded for a long moment. So long, in fact, that the writing had sunk backinto the mirror like some bizarre mist. Then, after she began stacking the booksby author, it appeared, the writing perfect from beginning to end, as thoughthe hand holding it had spent a while agonizing over it.

Fine.

…

They settled into an uneasy routine. Stan – as she had come tocall him when he tried to write a name on the mirror only for her friendMichael to burst in the room, leaving her with only a vague impression of fourletters – didn’t seem to meet the qualifications for either a friendly ghost ora malevolent one. She took it to mean that he was a mixture of both.

He did an odd mood change every few days. Sometimes, he wouldknock all the books off her shelf on every second hour and scare off herboyfriend when he arrived for a late dinner. Then a day later, he would –somehow – convince her neighbor to stop his blaring music as she struggled tofocus on a paper due in a few days. It was perplexing to her, but as dayspassed, one after another, she found the day wasn’t quite complete without himplaying with the pages of a book or tugging on her hair while she cookeddinner.

“Do you talk? I mean, canyou?” Natalie mused aloud, her back resting against the armrest of her couchand a large, reddish book supported on her knees. Her exam on the paranormalwas in a few days, but she found it a struggle to concentrate; the only thingshe could really remember was the line about Bloody Mary’s real name beingMargaret. Probably the least likely thing to appear on said exam.

Her eyes were heavy. Her jaw cracked from another yawn and shetossed the book aside, deciding to switch to another subject. Namely herfavorite one: Stan.

Of all her friends, she thought Stan was her favorite and yet shehad never heard his voice or seen his face. Not once in the six months thatthey had been living together, for lack of a better word to describe theirstrange roommate situation. Oh, she knew what he would say if he did ever speakto her. The way he wrote was telling enough, but Natalie sometimes dreamed ofwhat he would sound like, wondering if it would be gruff to go along with hisbrusque words, or smooth to go along with his witty retorts, or soft like whenthings became emotional.

She tilted her head, listening, almost as if he wouldsomehow say something just to prove a point. He didn’t and she shifted on thecouch to face a mirror on the wall. Though he wasn’t fussy about which surfacehe wrote on, Natalie noticed he preferred this one. She couldn’t figure out whythough. The glass was clouded from age with a cracking, aged gold frame. Itwould have been much easier to use the glass table, where he had more room towrite and required less scrutiny from her.

The mirror won again.

Yes.

“But not to me?”

He thought for a while before replying. I haven’t tried.

“When was the last time you spoke to someone?” She askedcarefully, wary of sending him off into a fitful silence. He never likedtalking about why he was a ghost or how long he had been one. Sometimes, whenthe subject drifted that direction, he would fall into a heavy silence thatseemed to weigh on the whole apartment. She thought this might be one of thosetimes, but he proved her wrong within seconds.

A long time. Not sinceMichael sent me here.  

“I’m sorry.” It must have been a lonely existence. “Who isMichael?”

Don’t apologize, kid,I’ve been dealing with this a long time and my brother is going to rue the dayI see him again.

She didn’t comment onhis use of the word rue, which she had never heard in casual conversation andalso not on the subject of his brother who was apparently the Michael he sodisliked. “How long?” He couldn’t be that old, nobody had said her apartmentcame with a ghost when she talked to the previous tenants about her new friend.

Very.

Natalie frowned, but though she seemed to be on the edge ofan epiphany, she couldn’t figure out what. For her homework? For Stan? “How…old are you?” She hadn’t ever asked; she had always assumed from his mannerismsand words that he wasn’t much older than she was, but perhaps more experiencedthan herself. She didn’t know why something about that assumption seemed offnow.

I stopped counting afew millenniums ago.

“Are you a ghost?” She asked bluntly. Then she amended,because a ghost seemed too generic of an answer to get anything concrete. “Whatare you, I mean?”

He didn’t respond, but Natalie figured that was answerenough.

…

Someone was knocking on her door and she moaned, rolling over tosquish her face into a pillow. It was too early to entertain; she hadn’t lookeda clock, but some things were instinctive. She dozed off for another secondwhen the knock returned again with more force.

“Stan, who is at the door?” she asked, shuffling over in her bedand squinting at her alarm clock. She gasped, jolting out of bed and tumblingto the ground as her clock read after eleven in the afternoon. Scrambling intoclean clothes and socks, Natalie shot out of her bedroom, pulling a handthrough her hair as she headed for the door.

Though she had slept for over twelve hours, she stifled a yawn asshe pulled open the door. Jericho frowned at her appearance, studying her sockswith intensity. “You do realize you’re wearing mismatched socks, right?” hesaid bluntly. She looked down, but then shrugged, smiling brightly at him andtugging him inside by his wrist.

“I forgot you were coming over for lunch today and overslept,” sheexplained sheepishly, closing the door behind him. He settled on her couch anddespite the sharpness of his words, his gaze was gentle as he watched her enterthe kitchen.  “So we’ll have to make-dowith any leftovers I have in the fridge. How old is this spaghetti? Two daysago? Yeah, I think that’s all right. I have some bread, too, if you want someof that. Not garlic, but just regular bread. It’s just as good, especially withbutter. Do you want one, two, or three slices?”

He replied in the affirmative, but didn’t answer her question soshe gave him two. Worse case, she would have a third one.

It didn’t take long to heat up the spaghetti, but after herbabbling about the food ended, the two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Jerichowas her first boyfriend and though they had been together for three months now,she found it a little difficult to interact with him still. Often, he agreedwith anything she said, content to list to her talk and contributing a questionor two. They had only been out and about a few times – one of those times waswhen she met him, trying to dig up answers about the guest staying in her home.

He had found her description of Stan to be funny and he had beenthe only one to respond to her question on Facebook. Only a few days later, hewas asking her on a date. They had spent a while at a restaurant and, the weekafter, he had asked to make her dinner at her place. She had agreed, but onlyafter verifying that Michael and his date would be able to attend as well. Ithad been fun, though it hadn’t felt much like a date. He had spent more timestaring off at her decorations than talking; later, he explained it as shynessaround her friend.

“Hey, do you want to go to the arcade on Saturday? I almost haveenough tickets to get the prize.” She had her eyes on an ugly painting worth10,000 tickets, but she was almost tempted to give her tickets away, just as anexcuse to keep playing at the arcade when Jericho frowned upon it.

No. Sorry, I just don’t think…“ He ran a hand over his head,ruffling his blonde hair. The lights flickered and both their gazes lifted tothe standing lamp in the corner. Like most of her apartment decor, it wassecond-hand and old. “Huh, is it storming or is that your friend, Stan?” Shecouldn’t tell if he was playing with her when he talked about Stan; maybe hewas just humoring her. She couldn’t read the brightness of his eyes asamusement or intrigue.

“I don’t know. Stan, is that you?” She called, eyes landing on themirror. Jericho followed her gaze, eyes widening.

“When did you get that?” He whispered.

“A while ago. Not long after I moved in,” she said, confused.“It’s always been there.”

Jericho blinked rapidly. “Does Stan talk through it?”

“Not really talk, more like write. He’s being quiet though, Iwonder why.” Natalie stood up, approaching the mirror. Her fingers touched theglass and it was cold beneath her touch. She squinted at it, but all she couldsee was her own foggy reflection staring back. No sign of Stan; not his writingor the foggy, indistinct shape that could have been him. “Stan?”

How longdoes it take you to realize my name isn’t Stan? I’ve told you eight times. Canyou even read?

It was his usual question and she smiled. “I think my neighborswould lose it if I called you Satan… or Lucifer, if you prefer that,” shemurmured, trying not to let Jericho overhear her words. The glass warmedabruptly, so hot that she jerked her fingers away. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Jericho asked, hand on her shoulder. “Who are youtalking to?”

“Stan. See?” Natalie gestured to the writing. It hadn’t faded yet,though she could see it growing opaque.

Jericho squeezed her shoulder, but without any of the gentlenessthat she expected, fingers digging into her skin tightly. She winced and thelights flickered sharply in protest. “I don’t see anything,” he said stiffly.“Are you sure there’s something there?”

“Yes. Look, he asked if I could read,” she pointed out theletters, tracing over them with the tip of her finger. The mirror was stillunusually warm, but not so hot that her fingers burned. She swallowed back herquestion because Jericho was scowling, a look quite unusual on his usuallysmiling face. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He jerked his hand away from her. She frowned at him, steppingaway as he paced, muttering angrily to himself.

“Tell Stan to talk to me. Give me a sign that he’s reallyhere,” he ordered, coming to a stop directly in front of the mirror.

Natalie swallowed, looking from him to the mirror,expecting something to appear on the surface in response. But Stan was silent,not even the flickering lights an announcement of his presence. It frightenedher, to be left alone with this stranger wearing Jericho’s face, and shestraightened her spine, locking eyes with him. Something dark flickered in hiseyes and she blanched at the anger pushing past the usual softness.

“Why does it matter if Stan is here ornot?” She asked stiffly.

“I didn’t waste weeks trying to find him,listening to you, only for this entire thing to be a figment of a little girlsimagination,” he spat, fists clenching by his side.

Her eyes flickered over his face. The last shreds ofhis old personality – a facade for all she knew – sinking beneath the wavesof his true face. She didn’t like it. “All for Stan? What are you, a ghosthunter or something?”

“You don’t even know who you’ve got your handson, do you?”

Oh, she did. He relished telling her every otherday, most often after she referred to him as Stan to some degree. Whenever herbrother was over, he took great pleasure in drawing on her mirrors, mimickingher handwriting despite never seeing it. She wouldn’t tell him that though.“Stan is just a ghost, he’s got the mentality of an eighteen year old andI guess that’s how old he is,” she lied, crossing her arms. “It’s theonly way to explain his pranks or the way he writes. I don’t know what else Ican tell you.”

Jericho stared at her and she knew without beingtold that he didn’t believe her. “You have Satan himself as a roommate andyou think it’s some random ghost?” He asked in disbelief. He had believedher, he thought she was an actual idiot, she realized, relieved beyond measure.If he thought she was an idiot, maybe he would just leave. If he thought shemade it up, maybe he would just… Give up.

She didn’t know what he wanted with Stan, but it wasn’tanything that Natalie would allow him to explore. Not without Stan’s expressedapproval and if his strange, out-of-character silence meant anything then hedidn’t agree in the slightest to Jericho. Wildly, she remembered his reactionwhenever Jericho was nearby. His nearing cruel antics and his impatience mademore sense now that she could see Jericho as he really was.

“Satan?” She whispered, feigningdisbelief. “I don’t have Lucifer as a roommate, that’s kind of ridiculous.Are you alright? Do you need me to get you some water?”

“No. Just… call Stan would you?” Hisvoice softened, returning once more to the face she knew, but the mask hadslipped for too long for Natalie to be fooled again. “I mean, I heard hemight be dangerous, I want to make sure you’re safe.”

She studied him, but then forced an optimistic smileon her face. “Silly. Stan hasn’t hurt me at all in the past six months,why would he begin to do it now? But if you’ll settle your nerves, I’ll ask himsomething. Umm, just give me a second, he’s particular about questions, if Iask him something boring like the weather or the time, he gets mad. He’sself-centered too, likes to talk, so it has to be about him.”

He didn’t say anything and Natalie trailed off, hertime for stalling done.

“Stan, who put you here?”

He didn’t respond with words, but she could see thefaintest trace of a star along the mirror. Like he was showing her that he wasthere, even if he didn’t share that with Jericho. She smiled softly, a littlehuffing laughter escaping her that was only partially a lie. “See?”Natalie said, waiting for Jericho to respond.

A slamming door was her only reply.

“That… was a close one,” she said quietly. Then –

“As much as I loathe saying I told you so, it’squite appropriate now. I told you so.”

Her heart thrummed to life, beating futilely againsther skin as a voice washed over her. Without seeing, without ever hearing itbefore, without a single delay, she knew who it was. His voice was neitherbrusque nor soft, but something deep and almost melodious; the type of voicethat narrated audio books or rallied a crowd.

“Lucifer,” she said breathlessly, a bright smile onher face.

…

If she expected their routine to change at all withthe arrival of his voice, she was dead wrong. If anything, Lucifer was atoptimal levels of petty antics: Libby ended up in the sink, her pictures hadchildish doodles over the glass that made her brother leave behind a number forthe local pastor, and her bookshelves had all turned so the spines faced theback of the shelf. It didn’t annoy her, which she assumed was his goal, becauseshe got back at him by creating a playlist of songs dedicated specifically topissing him off.

He was funny when he raged and she learned that hedidn’t disappear nearly as often as she used to think. Sometimes, while doingher homework, she would hear him mutter to himself and the ruffle of pages ashe read a magazine she had left on the couch. When she forgot about dinnercooking, he would tug her hair and urge her to rescue the stew before shekilled them both.

And it was hints like those that made her rememberthat he wasn’t a ghost at all. He was Lucifer.He wasn’t meant to be hanging around like a permanent guest, there must havebeen something that kept him here. Something… But what? She chewed on her pen,the paper in front of her blurring with each blink as a heavy weight settled onher back. “Lucifer?” She asked tentatively, yawning. “When are you going totell me why you’re here?”

“I live here.”

“Don’t be stupid, you know what I meant.”

“I…” His words trailed off and she lowered her pen,anticipating welling up inside her. This was it, he was finally going to tellher, finally going to explain. “I live here,” he repeated, voice tight as ifsomething squeezed as his throat and kept the words from escaping him lips.

“You can’t tell me?” She asked, tapping her fingers.

“Something like that.”

“Then I’ll just figure it out myself,” she said witha shrug, closing her notebook with a snap.

“You do that and let me know how it goes.” She stoodup. “Wait, right now?”

“Well, it’s better late than never, don’t you think?You should have told me a while ago that you were stuck, I thought you werejust messing around and hanging out whenever things got boring.”

“Because I would spend my free time in yourcompany,” he drawled.

She beamed. “I know you would, buddy.” He could saywhatever he wanted, but she knew the truth that he cared. Why else would hebring water to her room when she was sick? Or throwing a scarf at her facebefore she left just in case it was cold? Or remind her to eat after a homeworkbinge? It should have been frightening, to have someone so infamous to havesuch a focus on her, but Natalie didn’t care.

Natalie loved him.

The thought was so shocking, so sudden, that shestopped in her thoughtful pacing, unable to pinpoint the moment her feelingshad become concrete enough for her to think it without hesitation. She shouldhave felt different. Lighter, stronger, or happier like the characters in anyromance ever, but she couldn’t feel anything except a strange sense ofcontentment and a voice – her voice – whispering yes, finally like it had known her feelings all along.

“Natalie?”

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled, scrubbing the blushfrom her warm cheeks. “I’m going to figure it out. What can you tell me?”

He choked and then fell silent when the words didn’tcome out.

“Seriously? Nothing at all? Not even a little hint?”She asked in disbelief. He laughed with little amusement and she pouted at theceiling because she didn’t know where else to look, his voice seeming to bounceoff the very walls. She scanned them for an answer, but there was only herbookshelf and a mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that made sense.“How do my neighbors not hear you? For that matter, why didn’t Jericho seeyou?”

His laughter halted all at once, leaving adisconcerting silence, but in the time it took for her to turn into a confusedcircle, he was back again. “You’ve been exposed to my presence long enough forthe normal… protection,” here his voice croaked like a frog and if she didn’tknow what it was from, she would have laughed, “to wear off. There’s more to itthan that, but my hands are tied.” He didn’t say literally, but Natalie heardit nonetheless and her resolve to find him shot up a notch.

“Natalie?”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, I don’t expect you to do this,kid. It could be dangerous.” There was raw honesty in his voice, anuncharacteristic seriousness that frightened her.

“Danger is my middle name,” she joked, eyes trailingover the room, forcing back the fear. She would do this. It was long overdue. Nowall she had to do was figure it out.She knew there was something here; the knowledge of something without wordshummed in the back of her head and the longer she thought of it, the more tiredshe became.  

If she could see him, she knew he would be smirking.“Thought your middle name was Anabella?”

“At least my middle name isn’t The,” she snarkedback. He huffed, but the noise was far from annoyed. Perhaps fondly exasperatedwas a closer description. She blinked rapidly, her eyelids feeling heavy andshe pressed her palms into her eyes, trying to force the feeling away. “Man,what time is it?”

“It’s eleven in the afternoon,” he said quietly,another hint in his voice.

“Oh.” She paused, hands still over her eyes and ananswer behind her eyelids. “You’re making me tired. Is it making you strongeror something? Is that how you can talk to me now?” She hadn’t ever consideredwhy; there was a lot about Lucifer that she just accepted as part of thepackage deal.

“Or something.”

She sighed quietly. “Is that something the thingwon’t let you say or something you don’t want to say?”  

“…Both.”

She nodded, chewing on her lips. “Do you want me tohelp you? I mean, I don’t even know what you want. Maybe you like haunting thisplace, maybe you like staying here with me and all the other people you haunt.Maybe you like the break from Hell. Or do you want to be free? How does thiseven work?” Her words came out in one breath, words running over each other.  She ran a hand over her face, still tired.“You have to be honest with me. I mean, I don’t want to do something you don’twant me to do, dude.”

He thought before he spoke; she didn’t know how sheknew that, but she did. “I want you to help me.”

“Okay.” The world seemed to tilt on its axis and aloud noise blared in her ears like thunder. Her heart hurt and she closed hereyes until the feeling passed a second later. A ringing silence met her ears,but only for a moment before she heard breathing. His breathing. Then histhoughtful hum and he called her name. It was as if cotton was removed from herears, the sound so clear that she could pinpoint its exact location.

It was coming from behind her.

She whirled around; her reflection gapped back ather, equally confused.  “You live in themirror?” Natalie whispered, stepping closer. She remembered the glass warmingbeneath her touch, right after she said his name and only a little bit later,he had said his first words to her. How was she blind enough to miss it?

“I do,” he said, relieved. “But not quite. Whateverit reflects, that’s where I live freely. I can… move around, so to speak, withsome effort.”

Natalie put her back to the mirror and cupped herhands around her eyes, trying to see the room as he did. Her couch stood in thecenter and the side of the coffee table; right behind the couch was herbookshelf, the one he so often rearranged and Libby’s bowl rested on top, thefish swimming in merry circles. It was plain, most of her décor out of hisview, and she sighed. “No wonder you kept messing with my books. If you wantedsomething more, I would have given it to you. Maybe a nicer pillow?” The oneson her couch were flat like cardboard and nearly as rough; it wasn’t somethingshe would give someone to rest on.

“It’s fine.”

“Fine, but we’ll get you a bed of some sort onceyou’re out of there.” She hesitated. “Umm… how do I actually get you out?”

“Good question. Let me know when you have ananswer.”

…

Her want to free him didn’t decrease over the nextweek, but though she had brought home nearly every book in the sections ofmythology and religion at the library, they were no closer to answers. Luciferhelped, the flicking of pages as he read their only conversation long into thenight, and their books dwindled little by little. A full two weeks after herrevelation, they were done with any relevant books and she fell to pluckingrandom ones off the shelf as she walked, hoping one of them would could containsomething of substance.

Lucifer thought this was funny. “There’s hardlygoing to be an answer in a cook book or a book about someone named HarryPotter,” he pointed out when she came home after work. Her arms ached from thebooks and she shot a look at the mirror that made him laugh again. It was adelight sound and she softened against her will. She deposited the books on hercoffee table, spreading them out with a thoughtful frown.

“Probably not going to be in cooking, but a lot offantasy stuff might have a kernel of truth, you know.” Natalie dropped the cookingbook into a pile to be returned tomorrow and the Harry Potter book into themaybe’s. She had read the entire series and nothing about it stuck out asparticularly helpful, but she would leave no stone unturned. “Maybe I shouldask Jericho. I mean, it sounds like he knew something about you and if anyoneknows how to set you free, it’d probably be him,” she mused.

“What makes you think he’d tell you that? No, it’sbetter off to avoid him,” Lucifer disagreed. She wished she could see him, sheimagined his lips would be curled with disgust right about now. His voicealways took on that tone whenever Jericho was brought up – and since hisdisappearance a few weeks ago, she hadn’t spoken to or about him.

Natalie blew out a breath. “You can’t think ofanybody who will help?” He was Lucifer; he must have known somebody that wouldknow. She grabbed a book at random, skimming through the table of contents foranything that might be relevant. Nothing. She tossed it aside to the pile of returns, hefting up anotherone that talked about a cursed mirror in one of its sections. Seemed promising,if you asked her, but then she found it was another story about Bloody Mary.Not useful – except… Hadn’t she read recently–

Her musings were interrupted by his response.

“Nobody who wouldn’t extract a price.”

“There’s no price I wouldn’t pay,” she saidhonestly. Then, because he was quiet and she might have said more than she waswilling to admit, she babbled, closing the book on her fingers. “Maybe they’lljust want a lot of money. I’m sure I could take out a loan or something.Pretend it’s for school. Then you’ll just have to get a job and help me pay itback before they try to repossess my car for missing payments.”

“Not a possibility, Natalie.”

“Fine, fine.” Relieved, she stood up, dropping thebook onto the table and pushing aside her own feelings for the embers of anidea.

Bloody Maryhad reminded her of something else, another book she had read months back aboutfolklore. For school, she remembered slowly. A book from her school librarythat she had never returned and forgotten about until just this moment. Like itwas just waiting for her, but that was silly. She disappeared into her bedroomand returned with a large, reddish book. “Hey, do you know about Bloody Mary?”

“Nasty woman,” he said, more admirable than shethought someone should be. “Her name was Margaret though, not Mary, but she didhave a high death count before she arrived in my domain. Why?”

She decided not to ask. “This book talks about herand her connection to mirrors. It sounds like she was an evil spirit who theytrapped inside one, but it didn’t work the way they intended because she coulduse that mirror to travel to any other one in an instant. Sounds like her deathcount got really high before these two realized that breaking the originalwould kill.”

Lucifer made a noise like a grunt. “I never heardhow she died, but if she was trapped in the mirror by somebody, it goes withoutsaying that breaking it wouldn’t do anything except set her free—oh, hmm.”

“I didn’t tell you that so we could break the mirror,”she sighed, exasperated by his thoughtful hum. “If we break that mirror, youcould die.”

“It takes a lot to kill me,” he pointed out.

“That’s when you weren’t in a mirror, stupid, who knowshow much strength you have after centuries of being trapped? We could just talkto the author!” She held up the book, flipping open the back tab to show apicture of a tanned man with sandy-blonde hair. “I mean, wouldn’t he be the oneto talk to about this? If he actually names her by Margaret then he must knowsomething.”

She could hear the frown in his voice, but it wasn’tabout confronting the author as she expected. “Where did you get that?”

“The library, obviously. Same place I got all therest of them.”

“That book has certainly never been in a librarybefore, not if he was the author,” Lucifer grumbled.  

“Who is he?” She glanced down at the book. The manhad a goofy face and almond-shaped blue eyes; something about his smile wasunsettling to her, but she thought it was just the type of picture. “It sayshis name is Michael, I don’t know—oh. It’s… YourMichael? Your brother, that Michael? How? You said you’ve been trapped for agesand this was published ten years ago.”

“My brother doesn’t age anymore than I do. It’s notsurprising that he’s still alive and kicking all these years later, especiallyamong you humans, but I don’t know why he would publish a book. Not much of awriter, my brother.”

“People change.” Like him. Like her. She didn’t sayit aloud, letting them hang in the air between them, but if Lucifer noticedthem, he didn’t say anything about it.

Bitterness clouded his words, heavier than even theunspoken words between them. There were centuries of bad feelings and angerbetween him and Michael and she feared how a confrontation between them wouldend. Not well, but hopefully Michael was long gone, a threat that Lucifer wouldnever have to face. “Not him – but this is good.”

“How? We can’t trust what he says,” she said,shaking her head.

“He’s not prone to lying, not about something with thistype of magic on it. Anything in that book is going to be true otherwise hewouldn’t waste time hiding it. When was the last time anybody opened that bookaside from you?” It was a question to prove a point, she could tell from thesudden smugness.  

She flipped to the front of the book and there, in ashiny stamp, was only her name. In the library, Natalie hadn’t even noticed it.“I’m the only one. But how? Every other book has been checked out eight timeseach.” Hiding it, he had said. She hadn’t seen anyone like Michael at thelibrary to do so and it had been tucked, quite plainly, on a shelf aboutphilosophy and religion. There was nothing hidden about this book. It wasalmost like magic. Natalie managed a wary smile, a sense of dread building in her.“Since when have you become the optimistic one?”

“More like experienced, kid. Same reason you don’thave issues reading my writing or hearing me anymore, you’re immune to a lot ofthat magic now, that’s probably why you saw it,” he said, growing more excitedat the prospect of freedom by the second. It was the excitement and thereminder of his wistful voice whenever he spoke about outside that reminded herof her goal. She would free him.

“What…” Her throat dried up, brain trying to protestthe incredible risk they were about to take. “What do I have to do?”

He quieted, thinking, and her heart raced in herchest, nearly overshadowing the sound of his breathing and the way he mutteredto himself. She wished it wouldn’t because she was trying to memorize him andthe sound of his voice, afraid that this would be the last time she ever heardhim.

“Right. Just break the mirror.” Natalie stood upslowly, licking her lips. “Throw something from far away. You don’t want to getany of that glass on you, I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he warned her.Maybe it was the mirror knowing what was coming, but she thought the fog wasswirling like a storm.

She picked up a book and she figured it was ironicthat Harry Potter’s contribution was as a weapon rather than any real help.Nevertheless, it was the thickest of her books, easily heavy enough to break amirror if she threw it hard enough. If she could even throw it. Her fingerstrembled from the weight of it, nearly letting it slip, but she held tight. “Ifyou die, I’m going to bring you back and kill you myself.” She had heard thatin a movie a thousand times before, but Natalie had never understood that dreaduntil now.  

“Good,” he said, a smile in his voice.

She threw the book with all her might. It crackedagainst the reflection of the mirror, which darkened with turmoil as the bookthumped to the ground. The mirror hadn’t broken and she stared at the smallcrack left behind like a taunting smile. In the mirror, the fog had darkeneduntil it was black, oozing out from the crack like hissing smoke. Her lightsflickered on and off, dimming.

“Lucifer?” She whispered, but the apartment wasabuzz with noise and she couldn’t hear him over the static, so loud that ithurt her ears. “Lucifer!” Nothing. She couldn’t hear his breathing or hiswords; she couldn’t feel the slightest hint of his presence. The apartment wasaltogether too empty and stale. She held her breath. Tried to yawn. Anything tomake the feeling dissipate and bring him back. She heaved another book at itand the crack grew the tiniest fraction. Even if she threw all the books aroundher, it seemed to make little difference.

What was the most cliché thing movies had taughther?

Natalie wrapped her courage around her like a cloakand sprang at the mirror with her balled fist. The mirror shuddered, crackingmore and she pulled her fist back, hitting it again, the glass cutting into herknuckles and leaving a print of blood on the mirror. She trembled as thetiredness returned with a vengeance. Something swelled behind the mirror,something she could only feel and not see, and with a wailing moan that wasn’ther own or even Lucifer’s, the mirror shattered, showering her in tiny shardsof glass that pricked against her hands and face.

She stumbled back from the mirror as though burned,her knees trembling and her breath coming in ragged pants. Her lights had shutoff entirely, leaving her in darkness and she fumbled her way towards thecouch, her hands protesting the slightest twitching. “Lucifer?” She whispered,her ears buzzing too loudly. The static had stopped, but the pulse from themirror made her head spin. Natalie sucked in a breath, holding it in andletting it out again when her head seemed a fraction clearer.

“Lucifer? Are you here? Say something. I know you’retired. Just say anything, even swear, I won’t make you put a quarter in thejar.” Still nothing and she felt her lips tremble. The pain in her hand rose,but she ignored it.

There’sno price I wouldn’t pay.

Apparently they had taken her words to heart.

…

The first day was spent in a day of shock and pain.She called his name and received silence in return.

The second, her brother had come over to help fixwhatever kept her electricity from working and promptly escorted her to thedoctors to have the glass from her hand removed. She broke something in one ofher fingers, too, which wasn’t as much a surprise to her as it was to herbrother when he found out how she got it.

The third, she shooed her brother off and coveredher face to hide from her nephew’s puppy eyes. It was easier when they weregone though because she could drop her back on the couch for an hour, crying atthe ceiling and feeling more lost than ever. She didn’t do much of anything thenext few days.

The seventh day was easier, but also not. Her movementswere robotic as she packed up the books and a slow, agonizing walk to thelibrary to return them. The only one she kept was the one by his brother andshe fought the urge to toss it into the fire every day after that; it hadn’tworked, after all, because Lucifer was gone and the book was wrong, wrong, wrong.

She read it instead. It was easier to scour throughit, scanning paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter, for some sign ofwhat went wrong than to wallow around. It didn’t help much, but the words werefascinating and if she were in the right mind, she would have enjoyed studying itmore. Halfway through, there was a footnote about Lucifer and she had to pause,tracing the name, wondering how so much could change in little over a year.

She hadn’t lost a best friend before. She hadn’tever had one either and somehow that made it worse.

The footnote’s exasperation as it explained Luciferand his involvement with a random tree – she hadn’t paid attention to the name,though if she came across it again, she thought it might stick out – had herlaughing. Then frowning because how could Michael talk so fondly of his brotheronly to trap him away? She wanted to ask, but there was an equal chance of contactingMichael as there was Lucifer.

Blowing out a breath, Natalie sped through the lastof the book, eager to be done with it. There was nothing in there to explainwhere Lucifer was or if he would be back. She bit hard into her lip at theintrusive thought, shoving it in a box labeled never and continuing to read. Solost in her own thoughts, she nearly skimmed past a whole footnote, the longestof any and its entirety dedicated to Lucifer.

It read like a confession and after the second line,Natalie felt too guilty to continue and skipped straight to the end. A singleline, handwritten unlike all the rest, in loopy writing so like Lucifer’s,stared at her from the end.

Tomy brother, with my eternal apologies.

She put the book away, a tidy little hiding placefor something that seemed sacred, and then crawled into bed. When she criednext, it wasn’t for only her and Lucifer; it was for everyone involved in thismess and the answers they would never get from it now.

…

The next day, she woke to someone knocking on herdoor. Groggily, she swept her hair off her forehead, moaning because everythingin her body ached. No more skipping out on dinner in favor of reading, it neverended well for her. Her stomach grumbled in protest as she climbed out of bed,the knock persisting.

“Imma coming,” she called, rubbing her eyes. Shejumped in place a few times before opening the door, trying to wake up hersleepy bones for her brother. “I told you not to…” Her words trailed off, astrangled gasp escaping her instead.

She had never seen his face before, but somehow sheknew. He was much taller than her with wavy, well-kept black hair streakedwhite, broad shoulders, and small, narrow eyes. She studied the sharpness ofhis cheeks, the point of his chin, and his soft-looking lips. They curved intoa smirk under her studying and she shot back up to his eyes, mouth-hanging openin a fair imitation of Libby that made him laugh.

If she had any doubts, the laugh ended them. “Lucifer!”She sprang at him, their height difference causing little problem when shewrapped her arms around his neck and tucked herself into his chest. He stumbledback, one hand falling onto her back to hold her steady and the other grippingonto the threshold.

“Natalie.”

If she thought it was strange how much could changein a year, it was nothing compared to how things could change in a second. Justsaying her name made her heart race. Tears welled in her eyes and she thumpedhim once on the chest. “You idiot, where have you been? I thought you were agoner and the book didn’t say anything helpful, it was awful. No, not awful, Ineed to read it again, but it didn’t tell me anything. I can’t believe youtalked me into that!”

“You can still talk up a storm, I almost forgot,” hesaid fondly, extracting her face from his shirt. “You’re also getting snot onmy shirt.”

“Gonna dump Libby’s bowl on you, how’s that forsnot?” She muttered, still crying, a shaky laugh escaping her. “You’re alive!You’re… you’re alive right? I’m not talking to a ghost?”

“As alive as I can be. I don’t think you could touchghosts and I don’t think ghosts could touch you.” His fingers touched hercheek; she thought it might have been to prove a point, but his brows werefurrowed and it lingered. “You’re very warm,” he commented, seemingly surprisedto know that she wasn’t cold as ice.

“That’s just…” Her blush, probably. “Don’t put offmy original question either, I noticed.”

“I didn’t just pop back into place as a human being.I wasn’t one to begin with and it’s been a long time since I’ve had flesh andbones to walk on,” he explained, quite content with their position. Both hishands moved to her waist, toying with the hem of her shirt absently. Her ownwere settled on his chest, chin tipped up to watch him speak, focused intentlyon the way his lips moved with each word. He spoke exactly as she expected himto, but to actually see it…

She missed some of the specifics of his explanation, but he was safe and whole so what did it matter? 

When he finished, staring at her expectedly for a response, she straightened,standing on her toes. Her hands reached around his head, smoothing over andthen through his dark, soft hair. He blinked once and then he was grinning.Such a beautiful grin. She hadn’t thought she would even see it and here itwas.

She tugged his face down to hers, pressing her lipshard against his and it was a messy kiss for a first one, but she didn’t care.Didn’t care that her face was tear-stained and her lips were inexperienced. Hislips were soft and warm, slightly chapped, but they didn’t hesitate or pause.He allowed her control for a moment before surging forward, tilting his headand his hands rising to her cheeks, thumb stroking over her cheek like she wassomething precious. She smiled against his lips and parted from him enough tospeak a whispered “Welcome home” before kissing him again.

His hand fell from her face. He stepped forward andshe stepped back until they were crossing over the threshold of her apartment.With his freehand, he reached behind them and closed the door, only breakingfrom her lips when it closed and dropping his forehead against hers. “We’re notstaying here long,” he told her and Natalie giggled, knowing where he was going. “I’ve had quite enough of all these walls.”

…

the end