#and watching nina just dive out the window ....

[bleaksqueak]

You faced a powerful opponent... and lost.

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The Devil Takes The Hindmost

The Big Damn Post I've promised for ages on all the stuff suggesting that what we're watching in S2 is Aziraphale's mental health crisis leading to his fall...

...with a focus on a religious concept that intersects with secular ideas about mental health-- The Devil Takes The Hindmost-- that was unintentionally mentioned by Mrs. Sandwich and might be what's going on in The Final 15.

Plus, a look at the possible purpose of The Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association in the story and a dive into the symbolic role in Aziraphale's story played by Muriel... the most adorable Angel of Death anyone's ever seen.

@ao3cassandraic @komorezuki @kayleefansposts @masnadies -- This is basically what I was starting to talk about the other night, if you're interested. @ochre-sunflower -- the meta I mentioned.

TWs: suicide; depression; PTSD; negative self-thoughts... It's optimistic by the end but it's a look at some darker stuff in the story so please take care.

In GO S2, we have a lot of stressors building and overlapping for Aziraphale, with each episode adding new ones, all boiling hotter and hotter until we reach the The Meeting Ball. There, everything stops for the arrival of Shax at the door.

When she turns up, all the other plots cease to be relevant in the moment because the whole story's stakes upon her arrival now come down to a single, pivotal question:

Are these demons going to get into the bookshop?

On the surface, in our plot, Shax, Eric and the smallest number of completely ineffectual demons that a redemptive Furfur could get away with sending without looking like a traitor 😉 are interrupting Aziraphale having turned his first pass at hosting the monthly meeting of The Whickber Street Shopkeepers & Traders Association into a party.

Why is he doing that? For a dizzying number of reasons. So he can try to protect Gabriel by getting Maggie and Nina together and try to be part of his community by using the party to get Maggie and Nina together which is also so he can protect Gabriel... but, let's be real, it's really all so he can dance with Crowley...

Our heads are spinning as much as Aziraphale's is by this point and it's exhausting just to try to recap everything he's dealing with by The Meeting Ball... which is why it probably isn't surprising that all of that story just stops when the brick goes through the window and Shax is at the door. Because, symbolically...

...this is an anxiety attack.

Shax and the demons are Aziraphale's inner demons and they're trying to force their way past the threshold to take control of the bookshop the way that darkness can consume a person...

...as they're trying to take control of the bookshop that is what, symbolically?

Aziraphale, yes.

Aziraphale and Crowley. (And, as we looked at recently, also Maggie, on account of her family's history with it.)

Why this bookshop attack that is a metaphorical anxiety attack at this point in the story?

Because a lot of what Aziraphale wants out of life was happening before the demons that represent his inner demons showed up at the party.

For the first time ever, Aziraphale was no longer compartmentalizing his worlds and hiding parts of his life from people. He had Maggie and Gabriel under the same roof-- his human and angel families together. He had neighbors over and felt brave enough to call himself one of them by hosting the meeting. He was impacting the society around him in a big way by unifying Whickber Street's black market with its "legitimate" front by inviting Mrs. Sandwich to join the group. He was helping Maggie and Nina fall in love.

Most importantly, there was what the whole thing was really for: having all that happen with Crowley there, too, and everyone knowing they are together. Being able to dance with him and be a couple openly like everyone else. This Jane Austen cotillion coming out ball for ladies Maggie and Nina is really a coming out party of sorts for Crowley and Aziraphale. This is like the Christmas party of Aziraphale's dreams here. The one he's never, ever been able to have.

It's a wonderful thing when people who are in a great deal of emotional pain decide they've just had enough and want to break free of their misery and allow themselves to work towards being happier.

It's just a very delicate period because it can go either way, in a hurry. One minute a person can be thinking they're on top of the world and starting to live the life they've been dreaming of but the next minute find themselves freefalling emotionally. This is especially true of people who feel they have to present as cheerful and optimistic for everyone else and who hide their pain behind a smile.

They are some of the most at risk of their lives becoming like the Salinger short story about trauma and suicide referenced in S2-- "A Perfect Day for Bananafish"-- in which a man suffering from PTSD is believed to be fine by himself and those around him, has a nice day at the sea and chats with a symbolic daughter-like character and then, unceremoniously, goes to his hotel room and shoots himself dead.

As Maggie shows us during The Meeting Ball when she parallels Aziraphale's struggle, people get tired of being afraid and want to live-- want Nina, who is coffee, which is freedom-- but they can overdo it, if they're not careful, and wind up taking steps backwards.

Sometimes, the thrill of feeling like they might be on the edge of something good can cause someone to go too far, too fast, and, without the right support, they can find themselves going faster than a rollercoaster-- and right off a cliff as a result.

These people might look at their inner demons and think they're fine, now, actually, and that the darkness doesn't frighten them at all and they're all over their negative stuff-- all good now. No problems here.

Problem is that, sometimes, in the process, they might realize they're lying to themselves when they suddenly tell those inner demons that they can come in and say all that pathetic shit to their face... before they're really ready for that. Maggie, paralleling Aziraphale here, shows that with Shax during the bookshop attack. Not the best way to deal with inner demons, that.

And one person's inner demons can be an unintentional trigger for others, which is one of the things that started off Aziraphale's mental health crisis boiling up into a breakdown earlier in the season.

Aziraphale was already having a terrible week and then he projected his own issues all over his adopted goddaughter when she was having a moment and wound up accidentally saying something about himself that she took to mean about her and that came out sounding incredibly hurtful in a way that Aziraphale didn't mean for it to be. He then sought to make it up to her by finding a way to make her romantic dreams come true but was, all the while, silently berating himself for not having handled it flawlessly in the first place.

And when that got mixed in with trying to *checks Aziraphale's S2 list*... Jesus...

...recover from PTSD, manage all the anxiety and depression that comes along with it, deal with the fallout of his relationships with his abusive family, save his losing it brother from a religious cult/fascist regime trying to kill him and figure out why he's lost his memory, assuage his guilt over the memory-wiped angel that he feels he failed to save that showed up at the door, figure out wtf to do with the bookshop/embassy he's never wanted to run but that has become the M-25 that he's built and is now stuck in and that just reminds him that he hasn't any family to pass it onto, and, most importantly?

Tell his partner that he would like to live openly with him in the a little cottage by the sea in the South Downs...

I mean, by the time Mr. Vacuum showed up and suggested that Aziraphale add to the list that this week also be the first time he's ever hosted the monthly meeting of the business organization of the street he's basically founded but doesn't let himself really feel like he belongs to?

Sure, Mr. Carpet. Sure. Bring it on. Why not, at this point?

But Mr. Vacuum's idea actually caused Aziraphale to think he had the perfect solution-- continue to do what he was doing all week and combine this shit together! Protect Gabriel by tying him to Maggie and Nina and solve Maggie and Nina through the Whickber Street meeting and, well, if he's going to make it romantic for Maggie and Nina, well...

...maybe this is how Aziraphale can solve his biggest problem-- finding more of a way to just be forever near that one, particular person who makes everything okay.

So, by the time we get to The Meeting Ball? Aziraphale is pretty much losing his damn mind.

The heebie jeebies that Crowley gets in the street? It's not the low-rent demons. He knows what they feel like. He can't identify it but the thing that is really, really wrong is Aziraphale himself, in a dark reverse of Aziraphale feeling Crowley's love in S1.

Thousands of years of feeling a lack of enough control over his life have basically led Aziraphale to snap. Parts of it are very funny. Gabriel dressed up as Liberace circling with temptation trays of vol-au-vents is as hilarious as it is loony. Miracling the room so that everyone speaks like it's the 19th century causes a lot of humorous scenes, especially with Mrs. Sandwich... but is also a horror show. Justine loses her ability to speak English well and others have trouble understanding one another. It's like a zanier, more comedic version of Aziraphale's parallel antichrist, Adam, taking over The Them and deciding how, when, and if at all, they could speak.

It's a person in Aziraphale, who is normally very kind to others but not really to themselves, whose pain and anger have built within them to a breaking point and caused them to take that out on others and become, for a moment, almost the exact kind of person from whom he tries to protect others.

During this part of the season, Mrs. Cheng and Mrs. Sandwich have some dialogue that I think might be the whole rest of the season's plot in a nutshell. It happens here:

Mrs. Sandwich being unaware that "seamstress" is a 19th century-era euphemism for a sex worker means that she doesn't realize that she actually is, on one level, telling Mrs. Cheng what she does for a living. Her frustration is coming from the fact that Mrs. Cheng also doesn't know this euphemism and so thinks Mrs. Sandwich is a literal seamstress-- someone who sews and mends clothes-- and not a figurative/euphemistic one. While that and the rest of this scene is worth a whole deep dive in and of itself, it's not the bit I want to focus on here. That bit is what Mrs. Sandwich says as she gets increasingly upset.

Keep in mind as we look at this that the person who is the literal seamstress in this scene is not Mrs. Sandwich. It's the person whose magic is inhibiting her speech-- so, who is speaking, in a roundabout way, through her-- and who is the one changing everyone's outfits as they come through the door.

The seamstress really of note here is Aziraphale.

In the midst of her frustration, Mrs. Sandwich is trying to curse in 2023 terms but they are coming out in 19th century-era equivalents and this means that she says the following things when cursing:

She insists that she's not a godforsaken (abandoned by God; left to Satan) seamstress, that she's not a benighted (taken by darkness) seamstress, and, finally... while probably trying to say "what the hell"... winds up saying the whole season's plot in response to Mrs. Cheng asking her the also rather meta question of "what, in short" the problem is in that moment.

What, in short, is the plot?, asks Mrs. Cheng, on a meta level.

What the fuck is going on in this story?

To which Mrs. Sandwich replies:

"The Devil take it."

The curse "The Devil take it"-- meaning you give so little about something or someone that Satan can have it-- comes from a religious teaching (that works very well from a secular perspective, too) known as "The Devil Takes the Hindmost". It's this teaching that I think is extremely important to S2 and is arguably around what the story is structured.

This teaching argues that people who are excessively self-sacrificing are putting themselves at risk of being taken by darkness/Satan because of the cumulative effects of the anger, anxiety and depression that comes of denying that they are people with wants and needs of their own for too long.

It's about the people who go beyond kindness. It's about those who don't see themselves as part of the pack of people and think that the world isn't for them. They believe that their needs and wants don't matter as much as the need to prove to themselves that they aren't a horrible person-- which they do, in their minds, by denying themselves a full life of their own.

Sound familiar? It should. It's Aziraphale to a T.

Why are these people in "The Hindmost" for Satan to take when they're not terrible people?

Because they fall to the back of the pack of humanity.

Because they are left open to the darkness because they do not allow themselves to have what they work so hard to help others make for themselves.

The pain of that eventually renders them as bad off emotionally as those they counsel, or worse. The more they deny themselves, the more that pain builds and it can push them down dark paths.

They're in "The Hindmost" not because anyone left them behind, exactly, but because they've shut out the people around them.

They aren't letting people in.

It's about here that we can bring up that Good Omens is built around doors and all of S2 is basically about getting in the bookshop that is Aziraphale. It's here that we can mention Shax-- the darkness-- repeating demands to Aziraphale, to Crowley, to Beez to be let in. It's here we can mention The Final 15 and the world's most depressing kiss-- the literal embodiment of "let me in" as a theme-- and the horribleness that followed.

So, if S2 is The Devil Takes the Hindmost and he's headed Aziraphale's way the whole season with a large oat milk latte with a hefty jigger or dash or whatever of almond syrup and the job (the Job...) offer from Hell to tempt him, then we're watching (for now) the last days of the angel Aziraphale because a fall is a form of death.

It doesn't mean it's the end entirely because, as Gabriel discovered, everything goes down but flies? They go up.

Flies are the product of letting someone in and not shutting out the love and care you need. That can only be done through accepting, at least for a little while, that you are allowed to be a person and deserve to be cared for the way you care for others. If a person does that, they can fall but they'll have what they need to get back up and to help them stave off future falls.

Letting people in and talking to people about how you feel-- figuratively: feeding your fellow ducks your frozen peas and listening to theirs--- is how we all defeat the darkness together and make it so that Satan never shows up at any of our doors.

Yes, it is, Crowley. Would have been helpful if you had mentioned any of your own Hell-and-Book-of-Life frozen peas at all to anyone but the audience all S2 but this meta isn't really directly about you so you get a pass for now 😂 Back to your partner...

So, this The Devil Takes The Hindmost stuff? Almost immediately after Mrs. Sandwich says it, the story begins to have the characters literally act it out.

Shax is The Devil in that she's a devout diabolical minister of Satan so she's representing Satan at the door.

First up? Gabriel.

Gabriel mirrors Aziraphale's excessive self-sacrificing. It doesn't matter to him that he just met most of the people in the bookshop an hour or something ago. If that angry mob outside wants him for who fucking knows what reason as this poor bastard can't remember anything 😂 then Gabriel is happy to throw himself on his sword for them.

In reality, no one in the shop should have let Gabriel go out there alone. The whole point of "The Devil Takes The Hindmost" is that if everyone looks after each other the best that they can?

There won't *be* any hindmost.

There will just a pack of people who are all keeping each other safe from the darkness.

Jim is ultimately fine to tussle with Shax, though, because that is the part of the teaching that he exemplifies.

Gabriel has been protected. He's not completely fine-- who ever is, really?-- and he's still not really over this current bout of depression but he's safe from Satan and the darkness.

He's safe because he has Beez, Aziraphale, Crowley, and his new friends on Whickber Street.

Gabriel has a pack and is allowing himself to be part of it. As such?

The Devil can't touch him. Shax can't recognize him and sends him back inside. Gabriel is not in The Hindmost because he's been hidden, safely, by his group.

Gabriel goes back to the middle of the pack where he spends the rest of the attack, helping Aziraphale fight off his metaphorical inner demons by way of aiding Maggie and Nina to save the bookshop.

It's the next to the door, though, who is not so lucky, and gets to be the first example of The Hindmost.

From the way, way back of the pack that has formed of the humans, Gabriel, Crowley and Aziraphale in the middle of the bookshop pushes forward our beloved Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets.

The President of The Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association-- the Gabriel of the humans-- feels it's his job to sort out this mess... only he has even less clue as to what's going on than Gabriel did... and he's much, much more vulnerable.

Mr. Brown tells Shax that he doesn't know why she is "interfering" with the people in the shop, unknowingly using the word used in religious circles to talk about The Devil coming after people. Mr. Brown is a guy at real risk here. Going into the circle and getting discorporated if you're not prepared? Facing The Devil at the door without preparation is the same, terrible thing. Mr. Carpet has no idea wtf he's up against here and his motivations for going to the door are the heart of The Devil Takes The Hindmost.

What does our lionhearted Mr. Brown do for a living? What is he, symbolically?

He sells carpets, right? What are carpets?

Well, they're rugs, for one thing. They're found in every business and home in existence. They are necessary for living and also an example of having comfort in your life. (They're also walked on and taken for granted, like our Mr. Brown is quite a bit.) You pick out carpets on your own or with the people with whom you are making a life-- and they tend to symbolize that life.

We see, in 2.06, the shot highlighting the lotus flower carpet that Crowley and Aziraphale have in the bookshop, that they use to cover up the Heavenly circle in the floor-- the one they put Gabriel on to do the protection miracle. It symbolizes the life Crowley and Aziraphale have made together to which they've now let Gabriel in.

What else are carpets? In Good Omens' use of language, they're also cars and pets. Rugs, cars and pets... three of the most common things owned by people living a life on Earth, with the word own itself in Mr. Brown's name.

Brown's *World* of *Carpets*... this dude is, symbolically, everyone.

He's life itself.

That's why it's Mr. Brown who gets taken by the demons and, later, saved by Crowley and left in the care of Mutt, who is human magic-- the character who symbolizes the wonder and mystery and joys of being alive.

Mr. Brown-- an extremely common name for a man whose pain is extremely common. He's lonely. He's overlooked. He's the president of this group of apostrophe and Christmas lights-obsessed, irritating and wonderful, typical, human people because he's unflappable and no one else wants to do it. No one else will do all the boring work and hear all the complaints the way he will and he's made that his role and he hates it. In that way, he's the Beez of Whickber Street-- as desperate for appreciation as Aziraphale. He's Burbage and Shakespeare, wanting an audience that isn't sleeping, drunk, or flirting their way through Hamlet. He's Crowley and Aziraphale:

Mmm, good job... Oh, do you really think so?

Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets is a professional carpet salesman. He spends his days selling everyone what they need to make lives of their own but his own life is far lonelier and smaller than he would like it to be. He doesn't have a partner or true friends, just the people of the group into which he's struggled to really fit, despite running it. He's nerdy and awkward. His over-the-top, affected manner of speaking belies the fact that he feels like he's jiggery pokery, through and through. If I took Mr. Brown's name and profession out of this paragraph, I could be describing Aziraphale just as easily, but for the fact that Aziraphale does have Crowley, if not in the open way he wishes for. Because of that, Mr. Brown being taken by The Devil is also foreshadowing the end of S2 for Aziraphale.

Like most, Mr. Vacuum has got some surprising resolve-- some unexpected moxie-- but, fundamentally, this man has spent S2 showing that he is one more papercut away from a nervous breakdown.

So, when he tries to prove his worth to the group by putting himself at risk, it's excessively self-sacrificing. While there are some titters of alarm and warnings to him not to leave the pack, the one who objects the most is Crowley. Mr. Brown, though, doesn't let Crowley in. He doesn't recognize him because it's partially to look good in front of Aziraphale that Mr. Brown has jumped to the front of the pack. It's his loneliness, his lack of his own life, his need to be part of the group and appreciated. His need to be the hero.

Only, Mr. Vacuum is what happens when you aren't prepared for the darkness and you haven't let anyone in to help you. Shax, realizing that Crowley has been lying to her about the threshold by the way that all the humans have been backed into the living room, tests the theory and Mr. Vacuum gets taken by The Devil.

The Devil Takes The Hindmost.

Mr. Brown went from the literal hindmost of the pack inside of the bookshop up to the front to self-sacrifice excessively, got taken by Satan, and then, in a darkly amusing turn, got tossed back through to the hindmost of the pack of demons outside. He's also near the back of the line for coffee the next morning at Nina's.

If The Devil can come for Mr. Carpet, we see, he can come for anybody. Now this lingering and malignant sense of unease we've been feeling throughout The Meeting Ball tips here into real horror.

Crowley is up next to evacuate the rest of the humans in the shop. He's going to walk them all in a pack past The Devil. They go out in mini-groups within a larger pack. He tells them that they need to all stick together and mind each other, not the demons.

If they do that, they live. If they don't, they won't.

It becomes that simple because it is that simple.

Crowley doesn't just tell The Whickbers how to do this, though-- he leads them out. Because he's one of them, too... but really also because this is all a metaphor for Aziraphale's mental health breakdown getting going and what happens when you are having an anxiety attack or a depression episode?

What goes out the door?

The things that keep you alive, right? The good stuff in life. That is defined differently for everyone but a lot of it overlaps for many of us. Many of those things are what The Whickber Street group characters stand for in the story. Aziraphale owns the land for most of Whickber Street so, in addition to being characters in their own right, all of the members of The Whickber Street group represent Aziraphale.

They're all the things he loves the most-- his reasons for living, and what helps keep the darkness away for him. This is really why, symbolically, neither they nor Crowley (symbolically, love) can be present in the shop when Aziraphale is melting down at his worst.

Crowley leads the pack out with Mrs. Sandwich up front. He is allowing himself to be part of the pack here. He might be supernatural and the group human but it doesn't matter. They're all people and there's more to it than miracles. Crowley can't face the darkness on his own-- and neither can Mrs. Sandwich. Neither of them should have to. So, they don't. They choose to be each other's friends and let each other in and they're both better for it and so is the rest of the pack. This is an example of how to deal with darkness in a positive way.

Crowley trusts Mrs. Sandwich in general but for this task, in particular, because who knows best how to deal with the darkness?

Survivors of prior run-ins with darkness, that's who. His fellow "fallen woman", Mrs. Sandwich, has got her hat pin and his back and Crowley has hers.

So, out the door of the bookshop that is Aziraphale goes love, friendship, sex, romance, healthy communication, human magic, community, food, music, and so much more... because not taking care with our mental health issues rob us of what we love.

Left in the shop? Maggie and Gabriel-- Aziraphale's past and his family... and Nina-- the possibility of freedom (her American-themed coffee shop) and what's left of Aziraphale's hope for the future. Nina's decision to stay symbolizes Aziraphale hanging onto some hope.

After Crowley and The Whickbers leave and Maggie accidentally lets in Shax, the demons have gotten in and are advancing. Without those who are no longer in the shop and with Crowley missing, Aziraphale's anxiety ratchets up and the demons-- his inner demons-- gain ground. The goal becomes keeping them from getting into the residence floor upstairs-- to the place to which Aziraphale has let hardly anyone in. The parts of himself that are not public-facing or for acquaintances but only for those he allowed himself to get close to. Maggie and Nina can be on the landing up there. Gabriel can stay in the guest room. They're family. Only Crowley is allowed free reign in the whole of the bookshop.

For the first time, we have an angel not named Aziraphale teaming up with humans to fight for a place on Earth. The start of the 'all of us versus all of them' that Crowley foreshadowed as still to come at the end of S1? It isn't some big battle for the planet. It is a battle for the life of a single person in Aziraphale because every person matters.

It's The Commander of The Heavenly Host rooting around the upstairs rooms of the bookshop collecting all the fire extinguishers bought to help Crowley deal with his trauma that he can find to supply his troops-- the human Maggie and Nina-- on the front lines.

It's Aziraphale's loved ones coming together to fight to save the bookshop that is, symbolically, Aziraphale himself.

Ultimately, though? Crowley, Gabriel, Maggie and Nina can help hold off the demons that are symbolically Aziraphale's inner demons but it's ultimately going to come down to Aziraphale and Aziraphale alone whether or not these demons are going to overrun the bookshop.

We reach the point where Aziraphale has to choose-- is he going to let the demons take him over or is he going to send them back? He decides, in this moment, to blow up his halo.

We learn that Aziraphale's halo isn't divinity floating atop his head-- it's a tight, hard band around his mind. It's mental health issues, in physical form. He is in visible pain and breathing shallowly as he struggles to take it off. If you took away the halo from the picture, it's visually very much like someone having an anxiety attack. He uses it to discorporate the demons-- to send his inner demons packing.

Well, almost all of them...

Shax, the one that voices his darkest inner thoughts, remains. She's unconscious for awhile, lying dormant on Crowley's couch.

Aziraphale tells Maggie and Nina that he thinks blowing up his halo might have "just started a war" and, symbolically, it did.

Because when you blow up your halo, it can work for awhile but if you still aren't able to address the underlying, fundamental issues at the root of why you have a halo in the first place, those dark thoughts will come back.

Those demons are coming back and, sure enough, Aziraphale's bookshop is full of plenty of voices by early the next morning. While he won The Battle of The Bookshop, he loses The Battle of The Bananafish the next morning.

While Aziraphale stopped the attack on the shop-- his anxiety attack-- with the halo, we learn the next morning that then something else happened the prior night that we didn't see that is affecting the rest of 2.06. We hear about it from Aziraphale after Satan shows up in this bit here:

What's this, now? Aziraphale doesn't want to chinwag with The Metatron because they already chatted the night before and our angel doesn't think there's anything left to be said. Our angel says he's made his position quite clear.

So, The Metatron got on the circle thing zoom after Aziraphale discorporated demons with it and blew up his halo and, by that point, Aziraphale had had enough.

Aziraphale told The Metatron, in so many words, to go fuck himself.

This is really what Aziraphale is trying to say when he tells Crowley that he "did the thing with The Halo." Yes, he literally blew up his halo to discorporate the demons and stop the bookshop attack but the halo is his the weight of all of his cumulative trauma from Heaven... which makes it also, symbolically, The Metatron. Aziraphale blew up his ties to Heaven by telling off The Metatron. He told off the floating head hanging over his head as part of blowing up the halo crushing his mind.

So, Aziraphale then spent the whole night assuming correctly that, if you yell at Head Office, he's going to tell Satan that you're fair game.

Aziraphale doesn't want to fall. He doesn't want to be a demon-- not because he thinks of them as lesser beings because he doesn't think of them that way. Because being a demon is a terrible existence and Aziraphale would rather not have his soul be owned for all eternity by his partner's assailant who is also, literally, The Devil. He's a hard pass on that and had a plan to have Crowley help him avoid it.

Satan and other events made sure that he and Crowley couldn't communicate what they were thinking and feeling to one another openly from the time that Crowley left the bookshop with The Whickbers through the end of S2. If they had been able to and if Crowley had any idea what was truly going on, things would have been very different. The story is Aziraphale's fall, though, so it has to be bad for now to improve in S3.

Because it's Satan at the door with the coffee, he uses Crowley to identify him as The Metatron to everyone else and, so, has convinced Crowley that he *is* The Metatron and that Satan is nowhere in sight. Crowley doesn't see Aziraphale's fall coming, as can be the case with many people-- even those who know of the mental health challenges of those close to them.

Crowley thinks that the biggest threat to Aziraphale in The Final 15 is The Book of Life-- and, I suppose, in a symbolic way, it is.

The Book of Life-- in the way that Crowley thinks it exists-- is not real. It's his and Beez's anxieties from when they were angels manifested as a ghost story to tell more impressionable angels. Yet, as a concept? It kind of is sort of exactly what Aziraphale goes through in S2. He feels erased into non-existence by Heaven already and he's fighting for his life.

Right, so, a hundred years ago lol, I mentioned that Muriel is key to this idea. Let's look at how their presence is highlighting Aziraphale's issues and ushering him closer to death/falling.

While two angels with memory issues show up at Aziraphale's door in S2, Gabriel is a tale of hope while Muriel is a cautionary tale.

If your memories are "all your you"-- your sense of self, formed through your history-- then, while Gabriel was preserved in The Fly, the example of what can happen without one?

The horror show of a total and complete, catastrophic loss of a sense of self? So... death?

That's Muriel.

There is an angel named Muriel in some Western Christian traditions who becomes a figure called The Abaddon, which is The Angel of Death. The Abaddon factors into different takes on Revelations and apocryphal Biblical stuff. There are several different ideas on who The Abaddon is, though my understanding is that their role as The Angel of Death who brings souls to their final judgement is pretty universal throughout.

In some traditions, The Abaddon is seen as the antichrist. In others, it's Satan. In S1, Good Omens played around with some characters seeing the role of The Abaddon in these ways during Armageddon: Round One through how the Satanic nuns referred to the antichrist baby and Satan as "The Angel of The Bottomless Pit", which is the descriptive phrase given to The Abaddon in multiple different religious writings.

In other religious traditions, though, The Abaddon is thought to be an angel of Heaven or a trio of angels of Heaven. It's these ideas that I think Good Omens is playing with in S2 with, I feel, the heavier emphasis on the true Abaddon being the one most frequently referred to that way-- Muriel. Also supporting the idea of Muriel as Death is that there is also that a character in Salinger's "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" with that name. Muriel is the one set to inherit the main character's wealth and property after he kills himself at the end of the story.

So, how is our lovebug Muriel The Angel of Death?!

For that, we have to look at what a fall is.

Consider that The Metatron can tell Satan that an angel is fair game but, in order for that angel to actually fall to Hell, they have to fail to resist Satan's temptation. What the show is subtly saying is that every angel who is a demon is not just an angel who got caught out saying or doing something that threatened The Metatron's power but, also, an angel who was also already falling into despair and, so, couldn't resist Satan when he came to claim their soul.

The literal fall that happens-- the "freestyle dive into a pit of boiling sulphur", as Crowley called it-- is a symbolic thing that happens after an angel has been unable to resist Satan and, so, is now considered by Heaven and Hell to be a demon.

If you consider that the way the literal fall has been described-- going off a cliff; the parallels to Gabriel nearly jumping out a window-- all of these are images of ways that people sometimes kill themselves. Heaven and Hell come at angels and demons from a place of abuse that pushes them towards suicide. Even in S1, it wasn't straight out murder that Crowley and Aziraphale faced-- they were both forced into what, to Heaven and Hell, would have seen as committing forms of suicide. Crowley getting into a bath of holy water; Aziraphale stepping into hellfire.

So, we're saying that the physical fall happens after an angel has already fallen, and that, in order to fall to Hell, an angel has to have already first fallen into despair.

If the show wants Aziraphale to fall in the Heaven/Hell sense of it, he has to have a mental health breakdown and I'm reminded that the opening credits of this show are Crowley and Aziraphale walking the Earth with all of their history layering up behind them and following along with them and then they go up and up and up on a track in S2 and stop just prior to?

Falling off the edge. The literal fall is what we've stopped just short of but, all along so far, we've been watching the fall in progress build.

The reason why we've never been "shown a fall" on Good Omens is actually because the whole story to date is Aziraphale's fall. It doesn't even really start with S2-- it started long, long ago. It also, though, really kicked into gear just prior to the start of S2, as is noted a bit in this moment here:

Nina asks if everything being weird started the prior week when the power went out and Aziraphale replies:

Trauma is like that. It can be things that happened in your metaphorical 2500 BC that are coming back to bite you in your 2023 AD. It's cumulative. It builds and pushes. You can go and go and go and then, one day, your power just goes out. Your energy to fight is just gone and a storm is brewing. A series of events can push someone who is in an already vulnerable mental health state towards a full on fall into despair and that is what I think S2 is fundamentally about.

S2 is a suicide narrative. Our Clarence Aziraphale is going a bit George Bailey. Even as, on the one hand, he's taking big steps forward to claim more of the life he wants, it's the underlying trauma that he hasn't yet been able to fully deal with that is making him also, at the same time, begin to quietly wonder if those around him would be better off if he were not in their lives.

This is why the most dangerous character in S2 is not Satan or The Metatron.

It is, quietly, Muriel.

How so?

Because when people begin to have more frequent suicidal thoughts, their reasons for living that usually keep them going begin to change to being more of a list of obstacles that are preventing them from death. As a person falls into depression to a point that they begin to feel like maybe everyone around them would be better off if they weren't there, they begin in their minds to try to "solve" the problems that are keeping them from dying. They try-- not always super-consciously-- to set things up in such a way so as to convince themselves that their ties to the Earth will be neatly resolved with minimal bother for anyone else and, more importantly, that all their loved ones will be set up to be fine without them.

People in despair can-- and will-- come up with what are, objectively, absolutely bonkers rationales because, ultimately, they want coffee but they are in such despair that they thinking about ordering death.

Muriel's arrival means that Aziraphale then basically has a solution to every obstacle in his mind in such a way that he clears a path straight to taking his life. They help solve two of his "obstacles": Crowley and the problem of the bookshop.

Muriel is dangerous because they show up at the door with the same curious, upbeat, enthusiastic personality and sense of wonder at the magic of the world that Crowley both loves in Aziraphale and needs in his life.

Muriel is also who can take the bookshop. They're an angel who needs an escape and who loves books and Earth. They're perfect for it. Aziraphale is also horrified to realize that Muriel doesn't recognize him and what the implications of that are and he feels guilty about not having saved them somehow. They begin to represent his self-determined failures and giving them the shop would be, in his mind, making some of that right.

To Aziraphale, Muriel is the cheer and hope that Crowley needs in his life and they've taken to each other like ducks to water, which is then also coming after Aziraphale has subtly been pairing up his partner with the also-immortal-and-traumatized archangel with whom Crowley has much in common and whom we are told in S2 that Aziraphale knows that Crowley finds attractive.

Shax pops up throughout to help show some of Aziraphale's dark thoughts about himself.

What are you, Aziraphale? Crowley's emotional support angel? The one who went native? Do you need more big, human meals, Aziraphale?

The comments in Edinburgh that are not really about the car. It's really more like Aziraphale calling himself "an old piece of junk" and thinking Crowley deserves the chance to get an upgrade to someone better. Gabriel's good-looking and has been through much of the same as Crowley. Muriel is upbeat and makes Crowley smile. Crowley having friends who are supernatural is a great thing but, under the surface, it's also leading Aziraphale to create an inner narrative where he's telling himself that he's replaceable in parts by Gabriel and Muriel and that he wouldn't be leaving Crowley alone if he were to take his own life.

Aziraphale is telling himself that maybe the best way to love Crowley is to make it so that Crowley doesn't have to deal with him.

What did Crowley say about his stars once? The first time they met?

Six thousand years-- that's nothing.

Engine won't even have properly warmed up by then.

Crowley's borderline-immortal. He'll live forever. Six thousand years is a blink of the eye to them. He'll get over me, Aziraphale is telling himself, and find someone worth spending eternity with.

Aziraphale didn't see a path towards death until Muriel's arrival because he didn't fully have a solution to the bookshop and Crowley. That's what makes that adorable moppet of an angel the deadliest character in S2.

The reason why Muriel leapfrogs over every other character and makes it down to the last, pivotal minutes of Crowley and Aziraphale's story in The Final 15-- in a part of the story where even Gabriel is gone-- is because Muriel is death.

It's because this is all about whether or not Aziraphale is going to take the freedom of coffee from Mr. Six Shots of Espresso and live or whether he's going to take the false freedom of the lies he's telling himself from Satan and die.

Is he going to try to take his own life or is he going to find a way through this time, as he has before?

"It's just you and me, Aziraphale." What a statement that is.

It's both true and a complete lie.

Crowley and Muriel are both still in the room when Satan says that so, objectively, it's not really just him and Aziraphale... except that he is controlling Muriel and Crowley in different ways. In that way, it really is only Satan and Aziraphale left by this point. It's down, by that point, to just whether or not Aziraphale is going to live and since Satan is here for him, it's not looking great.

Satan is the embodiment of Aziraphale's life or death choice here and that choice, in many ways, is the only two other beings left in the shop at that point.

It's Crowley or Muriel. It's life or death.

Satan also as Aziraphale's darkest thoughts, really... as Aziraphale's internal dialogue playing out.

What about my bookshop? he asks himself.

Really: What about my life?

Muriel, replies Satan... replies the darkness... replies Aziraphale to himself.

You could entrust it to Muriel.

They need an escape. You'd be doing them a great favor. You'd be sacrificing yourself for them and redeeming yourself for failing to save them. It'd make what you're thinking of doing noble, actually. It'd make it okay. It'd make you a good person.

Aziraphale struggles, right? He almost doesn't do this. He almost says he thinks he's making a mistake because he knows he is. It's just that his every conflict has come up all at once and overwhelmed him.

Even still, the darkness has him pretty solidly-- but not completely-- until this moment right here:

Aziraphale is no fool and he's questioned the idea that this is The Metatron; he's actually trying to tell Crowley that he thinks it's Satan for much of That Scene in the bookshop and to get Crowley to see it and help him, in case it is. Aziraphale hopes he's wrong, though, because he wants it to be The Metatron because he thinks that is the way to fix things but it's not and he knows it, deep down. He doubles down because he's embarrassed, because he feels foolish and afraid and like he has nothing to offer Crowley without the power he thinks he lacks.

Satan's temptation, though, ultimately works because of the final of the death by a thousand cuts here in the whole "Second Coming" moment.

After Satan gets Aziraphale to leave the shop with him to head to Heaven, he, as The Metatron, flatters Aziraphale a bit. He says the things that Aziraphale has always wanted someone in Heaven to say to him. He tells Aziraphale he's needed and that they specifically need and appreciate who he is-- an angel who knows how things are done on Earth. It's validating who Aziraphale is and who is he proud of being in the way that Aziraphale has always wished would happen.

Aziraphale is hurting so much that he starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong about all of this. He was pretty sure before but, maybe, just maybe, he was wrong and he wants to be wrong because then it means maybe that he'd know who he is. Maybe it would mean he would no longer have to be an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can because Heaven would be finally starting to see the light.

Maybe this isn't Satan. Maybe it really is The Metatron. Maybe all of this is real. Maybe he can go to Heaven and take this job and really have the power to protect Crowley and they won't have to be afraid anymore.

Then, Satan drops the bomb. He fires the killshot.

He lets Aziraphale hear him say "we call it 'The Second Coming'" while pretending he didn't mean for Aziraphale to hear it.

This is the moment that Aziraphale knows it was all a lie.

He knows for sure who that is now. He has gone from being 98% sure to a full 100%. He knows that it's not The Metatron but Satan holding open the elevator.

Satan had to tell him, as it's the only thing Satan has to do in some form at the end-- because it has to be Aziraphale's choice. Satan sure as fuck doesn't have to be fair about it-- and he definitely wasn't-- but it's at this moment that Aziraphale knows with absolute certainty that there isn't a job offer.

How could there be if The Second Coming is on the table? They'll never put Aziraphale in charge of Heaven with Armageddon as the agenda. He's the angel who stopped it the last time. It means that Aziraphale knows for sure that, if he gets into the elevator, he's effectively killing himself, because this is all to entrap and kill him, not to promote him.

Satan sets it up so that the final things Aziraphale is thinking about when he makes the choice are that there is no chance that Heaven will ever improve and that they're going to do Armageddon again and just keep doing it until it happens and it's all hopeless and Aziraphale will never have the power to protect Crowley and they're going to just keep living this nightmare forever and he's been doing this for thousands of years and he can't take it anymore.

People who are suicidal are stuck in cycles of their lives they feel they can't get out of and that's exactly what Aziraphale is reminded of in the moment before he gets into the elevator.

He doesn't want death-- he wants coffee.

He wants Crowley, standing appropriately in front of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, with the coffee art and the blues and greens of Earth all around him. The canopy plants in the backseat. This is what Aziraphale wants but he just doesn't know how to get there anymore and the darkness wins out. The villains always win a battle at this part of the story or else there's no plot left going forward and there is a forward because it's Aziraphale. There are ways back from this but that's for S3.

Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, as we know, is substituting the word coffee for the word liberty in the original quote and that's exactly what happens in Aziraphale's decision to get into the elevator. The truth is revealed-- there is no job, which makes him feel like there is no way to ever be free while living. He's exhausted by fighting the same battles, over and over, with no way to escape in sight, and takes what he thinks is the freedom of not suffering anymore.

He chooses the false freedom of death over the true freedom of living-- Satan's coffee over Mr. Six Shots of Espresso in a Big Cup-- because Aziraphale loves that espresso more than anything but he struggles to love himself. He thinks, in that moment of despair, that the best way to love Crowley is to set him free by leaving life.

It's the Job minisode foreshadowing all of it and going back to the start of his story for the end.

It's nothing important, Aziraphale, don't worry...

Just your kids, your house, your businesses, your money, your neighbors, your street, your car, your books, your friends, your community, your Earth and the love of your life.

Just all the love and magic of the world.

Just all your you. Just your life...

When the first shot of the season was the skies sweeping down towards the front of the shop door... and the final shot of the shop in S2 is The Angel of Death-- Muriel-- entering it alone, claiming it and closing the door? When the light goes off in the bookshop window?

When Aziraphale-- after running around with a paralleling clipboard for half an episode-- leaves a note on the dash for his wife, like International Express Delivery Dude did in S1? When his "I love you, Maud" is the car playing Crowley "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square"? That's when we can see why Death appeared to Aziraphale at the end of S1 and has been headed his way since.

Satan's temptation, yes, but executed with the help of The Angel of Death, who helped push Aziraphale into the lift with The Devil and not towards Crowley and The Bentley, where Aziraphale's love has always been willing to give him a lift, anywhere he wants to go.

In a show where people are symbolically what they profess that it is that they do-- midwifery/cobblering, conjuring, "seamstressing" and so on... all of those things are positive. They're about helping others and loving the world. With that in mind?

Go back and look at Muriel's arrival at the bookshop again...

What is adorable is, also, a fucking horror movie of a declaration:

Muriel is a human police officer.

Friends... that's Death.

Muriel is the only one with a horrible self-declared profession. They're not helping birth ideas and babies and art and mending everyone's pain. They're not a working, professional magician helping to develop the street. They're not a healing seamstress. They don't sell old films and records and books. They don't feed anyone at their restaurant or sell musical instruments to nourish their lives. They aren't the best guy on the block-- Mr. Brown and his World of Carpets, giving people what they need to outfit a life of their own. They're the not a member of The Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association-- like their paralleling Jim becomes as he begins to regain the will to live.

Crowley is worried about caring for Gabriel being too much for Aziraphale but it's really Muriel that is a walking trigger for him.

Gabriel is a character people think is a villain who is really a lovebug; Muriel is a character people think is a lovebug but who is, symbolically, the worst possible thing to ever show up on your doorstep.

Gabriel is saying books are keen and hot chocolate is amazing and live, live, live, live, Aziraphale...

He's the part of Aziraphale's mind that is trying to save himself while Muriel is the part that is luring him towards death.

Muriel is saying the best part of a cupperty is to look at it, Aziraphale.

It's not for you. You're an angel. You aren't supposed to want to live your own life. You aren't supposed to have wants and needs at all. Even if you go into that back room to be with Crowley alone and try to shut me out, I will break down the door and come after both of you before too long is up.

Muriel is cosplaying Earth's most invasive and violent profession and they're so sweet about it that it tends to bury the eeriness of their arrival. In Muriel, Aziraphale is confronted with his paralyzing perfectionism, his negative self-worth, his rampant imposter syndrome, and his excessive self-sacrificing-- all at once.

All his negative feelings are here at the door in the form of this fun house mirror version of himself-- a cheery and also clinically depressed angel, who is actually cosplaying humanity the way Aziraphale always feels like he is, even if he knows at the core that he's every bit as human as the billions on Earth.

The world is for the professional conjurers, for the humans, for everyone but Aziraphale, in his mind. He is supposed to be above needing any of it. He is supposed to never be angry, anxious, tired, depressed, hungry. He isn't supposed to need the home and books and music and food and sex and magic that he lives for. This angel isn't supposed to be a member of The Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association but he founded the street, let alone the group, and he'll die trying to host a meeting because nothing makes him feel more himself than when he lets himself be a part of the world.

Muriel's presence worsens his depression spiral, which we've seen is what happens when the negative thoughts get to be too much.

In S2, he goes a sherry-and-stomach-settling-drop diet. He doesn't eat the eccles cakes. He doesn't slow down and enjoy much of anything. Part of the joy of the ox rib scene is that Aziraphale isn't really enjoying himself that much in the present in S2 and it's the only thing like it in S2. Aziraphale, in S2, has put himself and his demon on half-rations and talks about his frozen peas to his fellow duck less. He goes back and forth between trying to self-care (Shostakovich and going to the Gabriel statue and brief moments of flirting with Crowley) and self-neglect (the entire rest of the season lol). Mix in too many additional stressors like what S2 had and it goes from the anxious period of fasting in 1967 to the cause for big time alarm that is S2.

Intellectually, Aziraphale knows that mindful human living is prescriptive. He saves Gabriel by starting to teach him what he knows about it. There's always been a little voice whispering at Aziraphale, though, that it might be right for others but that doesn't mean he's supposed to feel or need those things. He should be above it because that, apparently, would make him the good person that he doesn't often believe he is. His feelings aren't even about being an angel in the Heaven sense so much as in the human anxious perfectionist sense, in that he's excessively self-sacrificing because he doesn't fundamentally believe he's a good person.

There's nothing wrong with being as kind and generous to people as you can. It's when you're doing that while also not acknowledging that you are a person with wants and needs at the same time that you can self-sacrifice yourself right off a cliff as a way of trying to convince yourself that you're not a bad person.

You can deny yourself the life you want out of the excuse that it's your purpose only to care for everyone else but it's not really virtuous. It's a form of self-harm.

What hurts so much about S2 is 1941 because the minisode then gives us Crowley and Aziraphale slaying demons left and right. It gives us what a good day looks like in a whole season that is, otherwise, a series of bad days mixed with things that are also not within their control that then lead to the worst, possible ending.

We see, really, how good they are at caring for one another. The kiss scene is made infinitely more painful by us having seen in the 1941 minisode another conversation in the same spot in bookshop when Aziraphale was struggling with these same issues that went so very differently.

Crowley is very good at gently reminding Aziraphale that, not only is he wonderful, but that he's a person, too, and that everyone feels like they are jiggery-pokery sometimes. Everyone struggles with the voices of others and themselves trying to judge them and how that impacts a sense of self. That fighting through that to be able to live and love is, unfortunately, a pretty common experience of being a person.

This is not new for Aziraphale. It's so very old, stirred up hardcore in S2, now that it's been four years since Heaven contacted him. Aziraphale doesn't know that it's because Gabriel is trying to protect him. He thinks he's so inconsequential that Heaven couldn't even be assed to send someone to formally fire him and take the bookshop embassy that, despite being something of an albatross around Aziraphale's neck, he's also really proud of having built.

Aziraphale wants Heaven to fuck off but he also feels embarrassed by the fact that Heaven could fuck off so easily and that he feels like he doesn't have a friend there to speak of after thousands of years. He is ashamed of it needing to be Crowley who gets them a contact for info in Shax because he sees it as more dangerous for Crowley to need to be in contract with the demons and as a failure to protect him-- the thing that's at the core of Satan's temptation at the end of the season. (Also why Crowley is trying not to tell him about Shax taking his job and his conversation with Beez, which is a huge mistake but it's coming from a good place.)

Surely, Aziraphale thinks, if he hasn't fallen and he's still an angel... if he still is one, he's not really sure, as what is a non-working angel?... then, if he were good, there'd be some angel up there who would still be talking to him. He knows Heaven isn't good, exactly, but not all of the angels are terrible. As anyone who has ever had to go no contact with an abusive family knows, the illogical doubts that creep up can make a person think that maybe they're the wrong ones. At your worst, you can wonder: if the whole family thinks you're wrong, are you really right? Aziraphale knows he is right but it gets complicated.

Add to that the stress of worrying that something will happen to Crowley every time he goes out the door (part of Aziraphale's own trauma for millennia, made worse by 1827), and Crowley's PTSD exacerbated by the fire in S1, and Aziraphale's negative self-thoughts are being triggered even worse than usual. He's blaming himself for them not being safe, when that's not fully within his control... which, in Aziraphale's mind, is the whole problem and an example of how he is failing Crowley.

This is all long before Gabriel shows up at the door and the season gets started with a series of events that then worsen Aziraphale's state of mind. By the time Muriel shows up at the door, these negative kinds of thoughts out in full force in Aziraphale and Muriel represents them.

Muriel might be cute as a button and, as a character in their own right, being used left and right by Heaven, but it doesn't change the fact that Muriel is, symbolically, a mashup of the human and supernatural cops trying to kill them that Crowley and Aziraphale have been outrunning their whole lives.

The Angel of Death is a cop because of course they are, right? What other group of people has been existing to entrap, imprison, torture and kill people for eons?

From the book: If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends.

S1 was summer. It was the nightingales.

S2 is the lingering doom of preparations for Christmas lights. It's the days getting shorter and colder. The nightingales have flown to warmer climates. Because this is Good Omens so the season of Aziraphale's fall is set in the season of... well, the fall.

The good news is that, both literally and metaphorically?

Summer is always just around the corner.

[ruins-and-rewritez]

DAY 4: SUGAR: Nina

Celebrations are few and far between. Birthdays are a collective. The Feast of Saint Nikolai is always meager. Saints Day is a day for reverance and prayer. Adoption days, rare.

There have been only two since Nina stepped foot in the orphange. There was a third, only to be cancelled when the boy acidentally set his bed on fire during a nightmare. He still smelt like ash when the Grisha came to take him to the Little Palace.

Today is special, Nina knows, because the staff in the kitchen is busy at work. A special vistor perhaps? An adoption? She isn't sure of the details, but she sits eagerly on her stool watching Baba Inessa kneading the bread.

Fluffy, white flour bursts up in little clouds with each rotation of the dough. Steaming seas of boiling water spit out puffs of steam. A kettle whistles and one of the ovens clinks when the door closes. The room smells buttery and sweet like the Feast two years ago when everyone got their own minature pastry to enjoy.

Nina's was filled with a dark jelly that left little pinpricks of flavor along her tongue with every bite.

She giggles, remembering the pinched look on Tomek's face when he found his own filled with green apple jam instead of the strawberry he'd been expecting.

Baba raises a brow at Nina, confused about her strange outburst.

Nina just shrugs in response, stifling another giggle.

"Would you like to help?"

Nina jumps at the question, most of the time the women in the kitchen prefer that she keep out of the way. But on handful of occasions they've rewarded her good behavior with a place beside them.

She moves in front of the spongey dough, waiting for direction or instruction. She knows that this will be bread she just isn't sure how she's going to make it that way.

Baba Inessa's hand are soft and worn, though they are gentle are she shows Nina hows to spread and knead. She guides her attention to a mixture in the bowl beside them. How to work the light brown powder in evenly. How to twist the dough into an intricate knot.

She explains in calm, measured words why they have to give it rest before to goes into the oven.

Nina helps whittle down the growing pile of dishes while it sits temptingly a few feet away.

She dives in with gusto, given the task of crushing fresh walnuts for the outer crust. Sprinkling them carefully over the top, before stepping back to let Baba slide their creation into the burning oven

It feels like a long time before the bread comes out, golden brown and piping hot. Even longer sitting on the cooling rack by the open window before Nina can see the end result.

Pride wells up in her at the sight of it. Flaky and glistening, like the loaves she seen in the patisserie window when Nina helped carry supplies back from town. Her mouth waters from it.

Baba Inessa smiles at her young charge, expertly slicing the bread into squat browned slices.

When she's through she hands Nina the thin heels of crust before loading the rest onto a fine china plate.

Cinnamon explodes in her mouth after her first bite. The few walnuts clinging to the end give a satisfactory crunch. Nina is sure its one of the best things she's ever made.

She can taste the sugar of it as the older members of Ravka's Grisha Order lead her away.

[vidavalor]

Ooh, @melbatron5000 ! Nice catch with this scene. I'd forgotten about it but it has a real feel of an overlooked, significant bit... I'm glad you asked @jotun-philosopher because this ate my brain and was *very* fun to look into!

I did a little diving on mint and chamomile and the results include ties to a surprisingly big number of other things... like lamentations, nightingales, another nod to the Hades & Persephone myth, the etymology of Maggie's name, "kids", ducks, and "shades of grey"... so if you're interested, grab thyself a tea and hope you enjoy. 😊

TW: I mentioned Hades & Persephone so there's some mention of Satan's abuse of Crowley in part of this, just FYI.

What's interesting about this scene from the get-go is that there is a choice of teas but... does Maggie really have to choose? What I mean is... We can look at the two kinds of teas-- and I did bring the requested word nerdery-- but the main thing I'll say to start here is that there is such a thing as chamomile mint tea.

The two teas mentioned in the scene actually go really well and are frequently blended together as one drink, which might actually be more of the point than the idea of Maggie choosing-- especially since we never see the results of her choice. Chamomile mint is actually one of the best options for what Maggie is saying that she needs-- a soothing, hot, evening drink that will help her relax and sleep. She could have a bag of each in the same cup.

I do find it a little eerie that Maggie is drawn by the chamomile when one of the most common uses of chamomile is as a sleep aid. This isn't to say that relaxation and sleep aren't good-- they obviously are. It's more that how the stories end for Maggie Service's characters in both seasons so far creep me out-- especially after S2. S2 actually made the choice to end Maggie & Nina's stories for the season with parallels to how both of the actresses' S1 characters were last seen in S1. Nina is shown looking at a departing Crowley through glass that is both a window and a door and of the place where she works-- combining the last time we saw Sister Mary in both 2008 and 2019 in S1. (In 2008, she's shown watching Crowley retreat out the glass window in the door after he drops off Adam; in 2019, she awakens "having had a dream of whatever she likes best"-- so, bit of a sleep reference there, too-- and is shown looking out the glass while Crowley and Aziraphale leave.)

Maggie Service's characters both end up face-first on something and not conscious. While the implication is that Sister Teresa died in S1, Maggie is supposed to be asleep at the end of S2 but they made the choice to shoot it so that, at no moment during the shot of Maggie behind her counter in that last scene, do we actually really see her breathing... which makes the whole thing even creepier to me. Tea isn't all doom and gloom on the show so it might not be connected in that way but Maggie looking at sleepy tea feels a little eerie to me.

On a more positive note, blended kinds of tea also goes with Maggie and Nina themselves really well. I say this because Maggie and Nina are blended parallels of Crowley & Aziraphale. They're each different aspects of both of them. The clothes they put them in are blending together all of the colors that are ascribed to either Crowley or Aziraphale.

In the scene you mentioned alone, Nina is in a sweater that has yellow and black in it but it also has white and her top is brown. There's a little pink in her sweater as well, which the show keeps using as Crowley and Aziraphale together (since pink = red + white & is a color of love, romance and health). Maggie is the same way-- that's a lot of blue and white she has on but her sweater here also has snakes on it, her blouse ties in a loop like Crowley's tie, and she was in red and orange hairpieces to evoke Crowley most of the season. They're each a bit of both of them.

They would have to be because, to an extent, Crowley and Aziraphale aren't as clear-cut as their colors might make them seem... and they sometimes swap those signature colors a bit, not even just during the body swap end of S1.

Consider Aziraphale's yellow-trimmed hats, his switch into an outfit entirely made up of Crowley's colors in 1793, and the fact that his bookshop is basically entirely red and the yellow of Crowley's eyes. Consider that Crowley has a blue dress on during The Flood, a jacket that hits as dark blue under different lights in the pub scene in S2 (and a vest that looked blue-ish in the moonlight in 1827), and that Crowley is wearing a blue shirt in 1941 (to evade being mistaken for a Nazi, yes, but the color he chose for that purpose is also Aziraphale's color.) There's also the scene in Part 2 when he opens up his suit jacket and reveals white and blue in his tie as well.

Crowley and Aziraphale also know that things are not that black and white between them and flirtily joke about it at times, maybe most prominently in 1941. Crowley's costuming in the "shades of grey" scene just adds to the joke because while Aziraphale is joking that Crowley likes to paint himself as evil, Crowley is actually sitting there in a shirt and tie that say the exact opposite-- that he's an adorable sap lol-- as they contain Aziraphale's colors. (That's not even mentioning the fact that they are indoors and Crowley's taken his great coat off to stay for a drink but he's left the hat on because they both know Aziraphale is into it. Very evil, indeed lol.)

The blended colors-as-metaphor-for-them being one of the several meanings of not seeing things "in black and white" and how sometimes...

(Heavy emphasis on the 'one of the several meanings' here lol...)

Right, word nerdery on the tea and how that ties into the color stuff I was saying above...

Mint: Mint is a herb from the genus Mentha, which is Latin but borrows from the Greek minthe. Minthe was a water nymph/goddess in Greek mythology whose story is an intersection between two other Greek myths that are relevant to Good Omens:

Cocytus and Hades & Persephone.

Cocytus (alternately spelled: Kokytos) is the river of wailing in the Underworld (aka Hell) in Greek mythology. The word cocytus means lamentation... as in the prophecy whoever was possessing Gabriel (Anathema!?) told Crowley in S2 that feels more like the real S3 summary than much of what we've seen so far:

There will come a tempest and darkness and storms and the dead will leave their graves and walk the Earth once more and there will be great lamentations.

As really dark as all that sounds, it ultimately actually hints at a good ending to me-- by the end of it-- because a lamentation is not just related to mourning but is also the term for the song of the nightingale. There will be great lamentations-- great pain, great grief-- but then there will be the other kind of great lamentations-- big time nightingales singing.

Anyway, Cocytus is mentioned in Shakespeare and is also Treachery, the Ninth (and lowest) Circle of Hell in Dante's Inferno, which is similar in structure to Good Omens' Hell. In The Inferno, the river is actually a frozen lake. Traitors are buried in its ice, to different degrees, depending on their level of treachery. Satan is encased in the ice in middle of the lake, in the worst level, which is named Judecca, after Judas. So... sounds like good times?

No idea what, if anything, that all might have to do with where the story's going-- if it does-- but it sounds intriguing. I will say the fact that various demons can't seem to stop calling Crowley a traitor is a little worrisome from a foreshadowing perspective. When Beez does it in S2 ("hello, traitor"), it actually sounds a little affectionate but Shax, when angry, called Crowley "that arch-traitor" during the bookshop attack and-- God help us all-- Shax might well be in charge of Hell after S2. Shax might also be the most devout Satanist we've met to date and while she likes Crowley, we've seen no evidence yet that she'd ever go so far as to choose to help him over doing whatever Satan told her to do. Maybe it's not Satan who winds up in the center of the Coctyus in Good Omens but Crowley.

It would also be helpful if he didn't start S2 using the word "frozen" in reference to trauma and if he and Aziraphale weren't obsessed with their whole bodies-of-water sexual metaphor. I'd feel a lot less sure that no one at all was going to have to get Crowley out of a frozen lake if I didn't once also write a meta literally entitled Fish... and another one that focused on how the origin of the frequently-mentioned sushi was a way of preservation via salt in a time prior to refrigeration which, ya know, is based around ice... but this is alls speculative and I want to get into how the colors, the mint, and the chamomile tie to some stuff we've actually seen...

So this Minthe of the Cocytus... and Cocytus is not just a river but also a dark river god who is Minthe's dad in Greek mythology (don't ask? lol)... She actually had a taste for evil and became Hades'/Satan's mistress while he was married to Persephone. Persephone and/or her mom, Demeter, didn't take to this very well so they did what all of us do when someone's husband takes an unapproved lover: they turned Minthe into a plant.

Not joking-- this is the story lol. Greek mythology is amazing. It's all just "this plant smells delicious! I bet its origin story is that it's really Satan's bit on the side after they got caught! Seems totally logical."

So, yeah, Satan's mistress is literally a mint plant and that's the etymological-by-way-of-the-mythological origin of mint. Seems like if we're talking about women who are devoting themselves to Satan in relation to a character played by Maggie Service, the joke could be that even though it's Maggie ordering the mint in S2, it's all a bit of a nod to Maggie Service's first role of devoted Satanic nun Sister Teresa Garrulous in S1:

This wouldn't be the only thing like it in S2. Shax appears to be late to the bookshop attack because she had trouble squeezing into the leather outfit in which she can barely walk, which is a joke on Madame Tracy telling Newt that it'd take her a minute to "squeeze into the leather pinny" in S1. Furfur also contains nods-- pens, writing stuff down, his vintage typewriter-- to the fact that Reece Shearsmith played Shakespeare in S1. My favorite is that Nina in S2 owns a coffee shop that sells treats that go with the coffee... after the overlooked Sister Mary's job in the baby swap in S1 was, technically, to go get everyone cookies. Well, I call them cookies because I actually am an American ambassador, by Good Omens' wordplay standards, but some of you reading this probably call them biscuits. Either way, they were to have pink icing, so at least those evil nuns believed in true love and decent cookies.

This is getting off-track again... back to how Maggie's favorite tea is made of Satan's transformed mistress... [actual sentence I just typed...]... Minthe, as we mentioned, ties to the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone, like Crowley really needed another nod to this one but here we are...

Hades and Persephone is one of the most disturbing myths in existence, really. The long and short of it for anyone unfamiliar with it is that it's the origin story for the seasons in Greek mythology but it's a horror movie so here goes:

In the myth, Hades is Satan and Persephone is a young maiden who is the daughter of Zeus (you know, lightning dude) and Demeter (goddess of harvest/food). Persephone is born of storms and food, so... already rather Crowley. Hades becomes fixated with Persephone and starts stalking her. (To make this already gross story worse, Zeus and Hades are brothers.). Persephone, understandably, doesn't want any part of this. She's not really into being a bride of Satan and rejects him but Satan continues to stalk her while she's on Earth, attacking her while she's just trying to do her normal, farmer maiden stuff.

Eventually, Hades kidnaps Persephone and drags her to the Underworld/Hell, where he holds her captive and repeatedly rapes her. Basically all of the other gods know what's happening to Persephone and do nothing about it-- some because they do not have the power to individually go up against Hades, though they would have more power if they did so collectively and they still do not. As I mentioned in other meta, it feels a lot like the group scene in the bookshop in 2.06 when Crowley is basically the only major supernatural character who isn't God or Satan missing from the scene because he's taken Maggie and Nina outside to safety and it's while he's gone that Shax and Dagon start bringing up Satan. Shax talks about how they should give Gabriel and Beez over "as gifts for our Master, Satan" but Dagon admits that she doesn't think that Satan would want them. They'd just be "hors d'ouerves" to him-- suggesting that Satan has a continued fixation-- a "main course." Dagon doesn't need to elaborate because it becomes evident that everyone in the room-- angels and demons alike-- know who she's talking about.

Back in the myth: Demeter, Persephone's mom, goes near mad with pain over what's happened to her daughter and, as a result, she quits being the harvest goddess and the crops on Earth all start to die. This eventually gets so bad that famine is possible... meaning that the world could end. Demeter's grief for Persephone could cause a kind of Armageddon.

Seeing this disaster about to unfold, the other gods force the useless Zeus (who also did nothing, originally, despite Persephone being his daughter) to tell Hades that he has to give Persephone back to her mother so Demeter will make the crops grow again and the famine-themed Armageddon threatening humanity won't happen. Hades initially seems to agree and he frees Persephone, letting her go back to Earth to Demeter.

Seems a bit too easy, yeah? It is.

When she gets back to her mother, Persephone is asked if she ate anything while she was in The Underworld. Persephone tells her mom that Hades made her eat a pomegranate seed before she left. The myth then explains that the pomegranate seed was a trick because anyone who eats food of The Devil is forced to belong to The Devil for eternity.

As a result, to keep the peace re: the crops, a deal was struck: Persephone can remain on Earth with her mom for part of the year but must spend the rest of it in The Underworld as Hades' wife.

The myth goes that when Persephone is in The Underworld, the crops die and the world grows cold-- that winter arrives-- but when she's back on Earth and happy with Demeter, the world becomes warm, the food and plants have life, and that is what summer is.

You might have noticed when reading this that if you swap out having a mom who is the goddess of harvest for having, instead, a rather food-oriented romantic partner, the Hades & Persephone myth has a lot of similarities to how Crowley being entrapped by and harmed by Satan causes pain in his and Aziraphale's relationship.

The repeated references of the myth and the story within Good Omens itself, particularly in S2, seem to build towards the ending when you consider that Aziraphale is only tempted in 2.06, fundamentally, because he thinks being an angel again would be how Crowley could escape Satan. Aziraphale is willing to spend eternity running the nightmare that is Heaven and giving up their life on Earth if it means he could keep Crowley safe.

If, like me, you think it's possible that he was offered this deal not by The Metatron but by Satan himself, it's as twisted as the myth, is it not? The Metatron tells Satan he can have Aziraphale and Satan's temptation is the only thing he knows would ever truly tempt someone as good as Aziraphale is-- the safety of his beloved partner.

If only you could keep him safe from Satan..., tempts Satan. He's not ever fully safe with you. You've nothing to offer him without the power to protect him...

It's not true, of course, but it gets at the heart of how Aziraphale is offered a bit of a deal he can't refuse here.

While we're already here talking about this myth, wordplay and color symbolism, note one of the words contained in "shades" in the 1941 wordplay here:

Shades: Contains Hades...

...and shad, shade, had, ade and, homophonically, aid and aide.

A shad, as we looked at in other meta, is a kind of fish and fish and food are the primary things used euphemistcally in Crowley & Aziraphale's language. An ade is a drink that mixes sugar and citrus; the most famous example being lemonade. Lemon is also a shade of the Crowley-coded yellow; lemonade can also come in Good Omens' signature color of health-- pink. Homophonic for ade are both aid and aide-- help and care and a person who provides help and care.

To have had is an euphemistic way to refer to having slept with someone but to be had can also mean to have gotten something over on someone-- the word had, here, is also at the root of Hades, the Greek myth idea of Satan... the wordplay then nods to how their secret relationship is one way that they're getting one over on Satan. Had is also contained in haddock, another kind of fish, and one I'm sure the dock aspect of which makes it especially fun in Ineffable Husbands Speak, for a variety of reasons. Haddock is also the most common fish fried up as the British staple of fish and chips.

A shade? It can be a color and part of wordplay related to that, for sure... but it's also something that shields out light by providing a covering. A shade is also a type of canopy. It's a protective shelter-- like how these two are to one another-- and one of a series of canopy-related words (canopy itself, tent, umbrella) that pop up throughout in their wordplay that all seem to be reinforcing the theory that The Vavoom canopy story was a recollection of their first kiss.

Shades is then one word in Ineffable Husbands Speak that can run an entire gamut in describing their relationship, as it contains within it a handful of words from all different areas of the vocabulary they use. Rather sweetly, it overlays sweet words of protective canopies, food, and lots of fish over the mythological name for Crowley's attacker, with further wordplay using that name referring to how they are the ones winning, not him.

The mint reference and the more direct "shades of grey" are some of the Hades & Persephone references alluding to this, though it's even more pronounced in just why the fuck Aziraphale starts his magic shows with turning a common turnip into an inkwell but that's another analysis, as it's not really related to mint or chamomile...

As you mentioned, the mint tea is in a green box and Hell is often overlaid with green in the series. Green is a mix of blue and yellow and between them on the color spectrum-- so if blue is really more Aziraphale than Heaven (which is often white/cream/sometimes brown) and yellow = Crowley (because of his eyes, with Aziraphale's yellow-trimmed hats and yellow-painted walls all being about Crowley), then the green that is Hell that is Satan is a source of their pain, though not something they let come between them.

Green in the Satanic sense is nauseating-- it comes "in waves, like a hangover", like how Crowley put it as Satan and the demons began circling in S2. "Looking/feeling a bit green" can be said to describe someone who looks nauseous, either on dry land or at sea. Green in plant terms, though-- especially mint? Good for nausea...

Mint is excellent for the digestive system and I bring this up because remember how the horoscope in 1.01 contains "you may be prone to stomach upsets today"? And how this horoscope seems to be repeating or even more accurate in S2 than in S1?

Aziraphale also has a paralleling digestive aide on the way to Edinburgh, if not a mint one:

The travel sweets Aziraphale is impishly eating in the car appear to be ginger drops. Yes, Aziraphale, you see if you put more ginger in your mouth, you will feel better... 😉 Quit it with these oat milk lattes, you're killing us all here...

Anyway, a mint is also a place where money is made. They stamp coins there. Money had been a major issue for Maggie earlier in the season. Coins are also what Aziraphale uses in tricks, including the one in 1941 where he vanishes one of a pair of them that feels a bit like foreshadowing that we haven't quite seen fully play out yet. Mint is also used as an adjective to mean perfection, as in something that is in excellent condition might be described as being in mint condition. (Tip top condition... just tickety boo!) Mint, used in that way, could very easily be a nod to Maggie and Aziraphale's paralleling struggles with perfectionism and negative self-thought cycles.

Chamomile: From Old French words like camemile and the barely-different chamomille but all of these are derived from the Greek khamaimelon. That word is a mashup of khamai, meaning Earth or "of the ground", and melon, the original meaning of which was actually "apple."

Chamomile, etymologically, means "Earth apple."

Within chamomile are a few, other words of note:

Chamo is a Venezulalan slang word for a kid. Kids -- both human children and baby goats, of course-- are one of the core bits of wordplay in the series, showing up in the opening images of the series as one of the words we're shown to look for to figure out how wordplay works in the show ("Kids! Causing Armageddon can be dangerous!..."), as well as then throughout both seasons so far in both The Flood and in the Job minisode. Kids teaches us that multiple definitions of a word can be true at once and draws our attention to animals being used as metaphors for humans, angels and demons in the series.

Within chamomile also lives mile...

Mile is a word used to describe distance in travel, predominantly in America. It is also used for unknown but amusing reasons between two English-presenting supernatural beings when referring to how fast they are traveling in their shared Bentley ("Crowley, you can't do ninety miles an hour in central London!"). Aziraphale & Crowley's use of "miles" over "kilometers" in relation to the car might be a joke on how cars have an air of "Americanness" to them but, whatever the reason, the car itself also seems to be designed to present distance in miles.

It might be for wordplay-related reasons, as well. The two of them use control over- -and the speed of-- The Bentley as a metaphor for the pace of their relationship and a mile is not just a modern distance term but a historical term from ancient Rome equivalent to 1000 paces (about 1,620 yards.) It is the origin of the idiom to put [x] through its paces, meaning to test it by making it show off its good qualities. Aziraphale put The Bentley-- and Crowley-- through their paces in S2.

Mile is also a word used to describe a great, positive amount of something ("that movie was miles better than the one we saw last week!") and also going above and beyond out of thought and care ("she really went the extra mile!"), which makes it a cute word for Crowley and Aziraphale to be using between them.

Miles are also what you travel when you are an angelic being who walks The Earth, like in the title of the Hell publication that Furfur had in 1941... and, to do that, you require shoes, which are their own, ongoing motif in the story.

The word mile comes from (and contains) the prefix mil, which always refers to things in quantities of one thousand and is also the root of another word we've seen used by one of them in a fun, slightly exaggerated way: millions, as in Crowley telling Maggie and Nina that he and Aziraphale have "been talking for millions of years" before using a bunch of other Ineffable Husbands vocab words in a way she doesn't understand out of irritation that she dare come into his house and tell him what to do about his relationship when she was sobbing four days ago after one, failed conversation with Nina. Maybe they're not perfect but they have been together for millennia at this point, Mags... 😉

Within chamomile is also ham, which is related etymologically to home, which was looked at in another post recently that I'll throw at the bottom of this one, and amo which is both an Italian word for a fishing hook and a Spanish one rooted in the verb amar, meaning to love, with "te amo" being Spanish for "I love you."

We do so love a good wordplay-happy romantic fish hook joke around these parts...

So, if Maggie usually goes in for some mint tea but says that chamomile does seem nice, she's symbolically interested in making a change to include a tea that has etymological ties to an idea of making a home with someone, of sex, of love-- basically, the idea of being with Nina... but it's also one that could relate to working on loving herself as well, as chamomile actually has etymological links to Maggie's name.

Chamomile is also a flower in the daisy family and their flowers look almost identical. Maggie has daisies on her sweater in the tea scene, between/around the birds-that-are-also-snakes. Her sweater is a visual wordplay joke about the etymological ties between Maggie's name and daisies.

Maggie is a nickname for Margaret, which is from the Greek margarites, which then meant what we call today a pearl. The name Margaret still means pearl today, even though Pearl has also been a name in its own right. A pearl is the jewel made in the shell of a mollusk, most commonly found in ones like oysters... speaking, as we were with mile, of ancient Rome...

Another rather interesting potential etymological tie here is that, also linked to the Greek margarites, is thought to be the very, very old Iranian mrga-ahri-ita-- which meant oyster but translated as "born from the shell of a bird", despite the fact that the oyster is made from the shell of a sea creature. Absolutely perfect word choice for a story about these supernatural bird-humans getting their fish on...

Another common nickname earlier in the last century for Margaret was Daisy and that feels like a bit of a head-scratcher, as they seem to be completely different names, right? Even though Daisy as a nickname for Margaret is most common with people who predominantly speak English, the connection between the names is derived from the French.

The French were naming flowers and decided to call the genus for various kinds of daisies the French name for Margaret-- Marguerite, same name as Justine's restaurant in S2-- because the botanists thought that the flowers looked like "the pearls of the fields" and Marguerite/Margaret meant pearl. In doing so, they created an etymological link between daisies and names related to Marguerite, which not only includes Maggie and the daisy's familial flower, chamomile, but also contains a type of common flower named, I kid you not... the ox eye daisy. 🌼

So, in Marguerite's, there is literally a romantic, French restaurant across the street from the bookshop, the land for which Aziraphale probably owns, which shares a name with a flower with ox in its name-- the name of which means pearl, which is what oysters make, because Crowley and Aziraphale named that place. 😉

The chamomile tea box is blue and white, which we've seen used as both Aziraphale and Heaven but which could also be seen as actually both Aziraphale and Earth, which is often referred to as The Blue Planet. (Especially since we said the word chamomile means "Earth apple.") Green and blue are dominant colors of Earth (along with brown) and these are also the colors we see a lot in imagery related to Heaven and Hell, likely as a way of coding that this is all the same story and that these beings are not so dissimilar.

Unlike green, blue is a primary color. It just exists-- you don't make it by blending other colors. You can make different shades of it by adding in other colors but it exists, independent, in its own right. Symbolically, I'd say that might mean you could kill some aspects of metaphorical green-- Hell & Satan-- but that Earth and Aziraphale are "primary colors" and cannot be permanently destroyed. Red is also a primary color. The blue and red paint in the paintball scene...

Probably worth mentioning while we're talking about blended parallels that red + blue = purple. Obviously, purple is a big time LGBTQIA+ color and, within the show, it is the color associated with Gabriel, whose purple eyes are often some of the only non-neutral or gold colors in a scene set in Heaven. The only other character in Heaven to wear a splash of purple is a character who parallels all three of them: Muriel.

Except for Crowley and his Gabriel-joking purple-tinted sunglasses, of course. 😊

Blue is between green and purple on the color spectrum. Heaven-- and maybe Aziraphale getting in his own way a bit-- existing between the green of Hell and the purple of Doing Your Own Damn Thing? Something along those lines?

Maggie thinks she has to choose between green and blue, between mint and chamomile, but like we said? There's such thing as chamomile mint tea. Throw both bags in the mug with some water. Relax and take a nap. After all... blue + green = teal and, well...

Teal is a color but a teal is a kind of small, freshwater duck...

...and within the word teal? Lives the word tea.

Crowley, love, remind them about what kind of food teals should eat, will you, please?

Thank you... Feed your fellow duck(s) your frozen peas-- your immobilized-with-shivery-anxiety, Satan-green, metaphorical vegetables-that-are-actually-hidden-seeds... in other words: your trauma and its origins, your fears, your anxieties... and listen to theirs. It benefits everyone.

This is also known as talking.

Teals-- ducks-- frequently do this over comforting cups of tea.

That's fine, Muriel, you adorable little baby mallard. Learning to trust and talk is hard-- you can take your time. This lovely, old duck and his black swan husband will be there for you when you're ready. 🦆

More like this/the ham & home post mentioned above:

https://vidavalor.tumblr.com/post/750677408227753984/so-i-was-re-reading-the-fish-meta-just-now-trying

Look at this picture

Here's Nina, Crowley-coded in her yellow and auburn, offering Maggie, Aziraphale-coded in her teal blue, a choice between mint or chamomile -- Hell green or Heaven blue.

I'm not certain what this means, but damn. Every scene is doing double- and triple-duty.

[persephones-wren]

heyy! Could I request a Kaz brekker and reader fic where shes really sensitive and kind and the opposite of him and they're dating but he seems to be spending more time with inej planning a heist and reader gets jealous and during the heist she saved inej from a bullet, getting hurt in the process and tells Kaz,in a delirious state, that shes happy she saved inej for him and everyone helps him plan a picnic for her while shes healing and suprises her? Its quite a long request but it would be wonderful if you wrote it!! thanks💕

Ends of the Earth (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

Hope you enjoy reading! I had a lot of fun writing it :)

Warnings: reader gets shot, that's about it?

Genre: Angst to (minimal) Fluff

Word Count: 2126

You’re not sure how you could have ever expected him to return what you felt for him.

You and Kaz were essentially opposites- he was a hardened criminal, you were more of a person who just ran with the wrong people. He was mean and commanding, you were sweet and endearing. Where he’d kill people with no hesitation, you’d probably be torn over it for the rest of your life.

Though the Barrel seemed to have no room for someone as kind as you, you had found yourself to fit fine along with rest as someone to watch over the rest. Your skill of memorization was appreciated when Kaz needed to reflect back on a certain part of the plan, and besides, having someone counteract his cruelty was appreciated by the others.

Sometimes, like now, it was hard to be a part of the Crows. Watching Inej stand by his side, watching them work together like well-oiled parts of the same machine, it was bittersweet. You couldn’t help the jealousy that overtook you, but kindness was ingrained in you. You couldn’t hate him. You couldn’t hate Inej.

“So we’ll take them out there. Inej, I’m going to need your backup here.” His voice snaps you back into the moment.

“Got it.” She nods.

“Before then, though, You’ll be stationed here. Y/N, I’m going to want you to stick close to her. She can fight for the both of you in case anything goes wrong.”

You’re useless, you berate yourself. You’re going to need Inej to save you. Maybe if you could defend yourself the way she could, he’d like you more.

“Understood.”

“That should wrap everything up. We’ll meet at the usual spot tonight. We’ll take transport there and sneak in. From there, everything should go according to plan.”

…

Night quickly falls, and you’re all gathered.

“To reiterate, I’m going to go grab the paintings. Inej and Y/N, stick together and communicate when it’s safe. Jesper, you’re going to shoot out the lights when signaled, and make sure that carriages are ready when it’s time. Wylan, wait it out here with him. If all goes to shit, blow this place. Clear?”

Echoes of agreement echo from around you, and you nod. This should be an easy heist.

“Y/N, c’mon. Let’s head over this way.”

Inej takes your wrist and leads you to the edge of the building. Her stare is intimidating as she surveys the building, before turning back to you.

“I’ll scale the walls, and then I’ll use the rope to pull you up. We can wait on the top of the building for a bit, before slipping in through a window. That okay?”

Damn her for even being considerate to you. And you still have the nerve to be jealous over her. Her and Kaz are so similar- they’d be perfect for each other.

You still can’t find it in your heart to be completely happy about that.

“Y/N? You alright?”

“Huh?” you snap out of your reverie, and give a bashful smile. “Yeah, that’s good. I’ll spot you. Hopefully I’ll be able to get up there…”

Inej throws you a reassuring smile back. “You’ll be okay.”

You watch with awe as she scales the building with no issue, truly living up to the nickname she had been given. She’s nearly invisible as she reaches the top, you note. She’s incredible.

You wait on the ground patiently as Inej lowers the rope, before you hear voices.

You stare up at her, wide-eyed, before running and diving behind a tree.

“The wine good tonight?”

It’s a guard. Your heart rate quickens, and bring a hand over your mouth. Quiet your breathing. If they catch you, you’re dead, and you’ll be the dead weight of this mission.

“I don’t know, haven’t had a drink yet. Maybe once everyone’s gone. Ha! The Stadwatch won't penalize me if there’s no guests to guard!”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit! All we have to make sure is no scum tries to steal the painting.”

“Like anybody would dare show their face here.”

The other guard laughs, and you wait with baited breath as they finally round the corner.

You check both directions, before you quietly slip out.

“Inej?” you’re quiet and slightly shaken. Death and capture was always palpable on these missions, but it had come swinging at you quicker than you had expected. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” her voice comes from above. “I’m here. You’re fast on your feet. Good thinking.”

“Thank you, and thank you for waiting.”

The rope drops down for the second time, and you take a hold of it, pulling yourself up with a bit of her help. Your hands finally grasp the ledge of the building, and Inej extends one of her hands to help pull you up. You’re hauled onto the rooftop, and though it’s a bit ungraceful, you’re okay.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“No problem.”

Your eyes are both directed on the walkways below.

“You scout out for guards down there, and I’ll check for guards in the windows? We should signal to Kaz soon.”

“Sure.”

You keep a careful eye down below, hearing Inej scurry to different window points. You watch as she slips to one of them, peering through.

“Just our luck,” she mutters cheerfully. “This window’s fine. Let’s open it. I’ll go first, but send a flare for Kaz. I’m going to need that window open as soon as that flare goes up.”

“Alright.” You take a deep breath, before shooting the flare off. Inej thrusts open the window and pulls you in behind her.

You watch a figure walk past the doorway. That should be Kaz, and now, he should be slipping past you to go to the next doorway to take the painting-

“To the roof again, now-” Inej says, and starts to step out behind the boxes, and the figure turns back.

That’s not Kaz.

A click.

She’s going to be shot.

You’re acting on pure impulse and nerves when you shove her aside, and the bullet pierces through your shoulder. You crumble, and Inej tries to keep you from completely collapsing.

You grit your teeth. You’re trying not to let tears stream down your face, but everything hurts and Inej is over you and she’s saying something but you can’t hear her-

You try to force yourself to sit up, and you see a cane poised to hit the guard over the head. You turn away, and thank your murky hearing that you can’t hear the scream that emits from the guard.

Kaz.

“What happened?” His voice is losing it’s cool quickly.

“She was shot by the guard, I don’t think she’s quite registering it-” Inej’s voice is more panicked, but she forces herself to be analytical. “She’s going to need treatment, and quickly.”

“Okay,” he breathes in sharply. “Okay. Go down the hall, grab the paintings, and meet Jesper by the transportation. I’ll get her out.”

“Okay.”

Inej dashes down the hall, and he takes in your state. Your pupils are blown wide, and you’re trying not to cry, but it hurts.

“Kaz,” you breathe out. “Thank the Saints. Is Inej okay?”

He frowns at that. What about Inej? Inej was fine, you’d been shot. Did you have no self-preservation instincts?

“Inej is fine,” he mutters.

“That’s good,” you sigh out. “That’s good. I don’t quite think I’m going to make it out here alive, so just in case I don’t, I love you. Though I’m glad she’s okay, for your sake.”

His frown deepens. “I’m sorry? For my sake?”

“You’re in love with her. She with you. You guys can live your happy ending. As happy as the Barrel can get, anyway.” Your smile is slightly delirious, and he knows you’re not thinking rationally.

“Stop talking.”

“I’m sorry, are you mad at me? Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t-” you cough, “think I’d die, but if it’s for you and Inej, then I think it’s worth it.”

“Nobody is worth your life,” he nearly yells. “You’re not going to die, Y/N. I won’t allow it.”

“Please, just let me stay here. They’re going to find you if you don’t.” “I don’t care.”

He’s pulling off his jacket and carefully using it as a tourniquet for your shoulder.

“Can you walk?”

“Kaz, please-”

“Can you walk.” It’s a statement, maybe a threat.

“Maybe- maybe with a bit of support,” your words are weak. You’re running out of time. “The world looks sideways, though- face it, Kaz, I’m not going to make it. I don’t want to be dead weight, your touch aver-”

“I’m not going to combust into fucking flames if you lean on me! Goddamnit, let me help you!”

His anger startles you. You hold back more tears as he pulls you up. At least he took the care to pull you up by the other arm. “Okay.”

The world is spinning and his face isn’t clear, and time seems to speed up as both of you go through the hallways, finally meeting Jesper and Inej in the courtyard.

“Bloody hell,” Jesper mutters.

“Go. To the White Rose. Nina should be able to do something.” Kaz leaves no room for argument. You’re passed out now, and he’s almost thankful you can’t feel anything as the carriage rushes through harsh weather and bumpy roads.

I don’t quite think I’m going to make it out here alive, so just in case I don’t, I love you.

Were you that oblivious? Did you think he was in love with Inej? How could you be so blind?

How could you sacrifice yourself so he could live what you thought to be a “happy ending”?

You didn’t plan it, did you?

He carefully takes off one of his gloves, hovering his hand over your forehead.

You’re still warm.

He doesn’t believe in Saints, but now, he’s almost praying to them that you’ll be okay.

Please be okay.

...

Inej glances at Kaz, standing over her in the White Rose.

She’s been out for days at this point. Nina could only do so much, with whatever corpse-like power she’d gained. The rest had to be natural healing.

Inej clears her throat. “She’d go to the ends of the world for you. For your happiness.” Kaz remains still.

“Don’t make her do so again.”

..

Your eyes flutter open, the brightness of the room nearly rendering you blind.

Your shoulder hurts like a bitch, but besides that, you’re alive.

Happiness and heaviness fill your heart at once. You’re alive, you’re okay. What had you said to Kaz in your state?

Hopefully nothing stupid.

“You’re awake. I’m glad.”

Kaz’s voice comes from the edge of the room. He’s leaning on the wall, cane in hand. When was Kaz upfront with his emotions?

“Yeah. How long was I out for?”

“A couple of days.”

“Days?” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

That’s a lie. You thought you were dead, for sure. He doesn’t have to know that.

“...Right.” He’s skeptical, but pushes himself off the wall and makes his way over to you. “This may be a bit early, but would you want to go for a walk?”

“Sure.” Is he kicking you out of the Crows? Why would he want to go on a walk just after you’ve woken up? You’re screwed.

He waits for you to stand, and then you’re both walking side by side, into the gardens of the courtyard. He doesn’t say anything, just leads you to a small place under an apple tree. A picnic blanket is spread out, with a small basket laying on top of it.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and a brief smile flashes across his face. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“Kaz- what is all of this?”

“You said you loved me.”

Horror paints across your face, and you lower your head in shame. “I’m sorry, I didn’t, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, I know you love Inej, that- was a bit unprompted of me, I’m sorry-”

He blinks at your rushed words. “Y/N. I’m not in love with Inej. She’s part of the Crows, as are you. Though- if you mean it,” he clears his throat, “that you love me- then take this as a surprise first date.”

Your expression morphs into a shy smile. He’s probably not ready to say it back. It doesn’t matter. He feels the same way.

“Happy first date, then.”

You’re both talking and eating, small smiles on both of your faces, a stark contrast to the harsh atmosphere of Ketterdam. It doesn’t matter to him. You’re alive, you’re safe, and you’re with him. You’d go to the end of the world for him. He’d do the same for you.

He loves you.

[themangolorian]

ketterdam unsolved

For @kanejweek Day 3: Adventure (robbery & piracy, outer space)

Pairing: Kaz x Inej

Warnings: for some explicit language

Summary: (modern au) ketterdam’s version of buzzfeed unsolved (not what i expected when i started out) but you don’t have to watch bfu to get it, it’s just a modern ghost hunting au with a twist

“If this is going to work, then Kaz needs to be the skeptic and Inej the believer.” Wylan kept saying in various reiterations without ever explaining why.

“This isn’t going to work.” Jasper repeated.

“Shouldn’t that be Kaz’s line?” Inej smiled dazzlingly his way.

“Wylan is right.” Kaz finally spoke, his voice unwavering rough stone.

Silence fell over the room. They’d been bickering over the roles for several minutes and Kaz had kept his peace until now.

“Even if he doesn’t know why.” Kaz continued, effectively erasing the satisfied smile from Wylan’s face.

Jesper stuck his tongue out at Wylan in retaliation, but Wylan actively ignored him.

“Jesper, you’ll be manning the camera.” Kaz said, then, a moment later: “What was that?”

“Nothing, boss,” Jesper shot back enthusiastically, though they’d all clearly heard him mutter a second ago: “You’ll regret that when you see the footage.”

Kaz nodded in satisfaction. It wasn’t that they didn’t all rile him up intentionally once in awhile; it was that you didn’t do it during a job.

After all, if they were going to steal the Lantsov Emerald from a high tech security vault inside of an allegedly haunted castle while playing at being amateur television personality ghost hunters, they were going to need full concentration throttles ahead.

“What about me?” Nina pouted.

“You, my dear,” replied Kaz liltingly, holding up a skimpy yet utterly expensive looking gown, “are tonight’s distraction.”

Nina grinned devilishly, but Matthias only groaned.

“Let’s get to work.” Kaz murmured.

*******

Later, on the set Wylan and Jesper had constructed to look like some old timey investigator’s office, Inej studied the hastily thrown together script with wrinkled nose.

“This dialogue is terrible.”

“Oi.” Wylan feigned hurt surprisingly well.

“It’ll have to do,” Kaz agreed without actually agreeing from where he sat behind the desk at her side.

“This week on Ketterdam Unsolved, we dive deep into the mystery of the Haunted Castle of Ravka,” Inej tried but failed to say without cringing.

Kaz’s lips twitched. “The most awful part about it all is that they’re going to fall for it.”

Inej glanced his way slyly. “Oh yes, truly horrible.”

Kaz focused for just a second too long on that smile before forcing his gaze back to the script.

Jesper zoomed out of the shot. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

********

The castle’s wide open hallways were cold and foreboding, and Inej found herself shivering from more than just the temperature. For all her skepticism about the script, she might be the only one of them other than Matthias who truly believed the castle was haunted.

Glancing past where Matthias stood guard (she didn’t know how Kaz had managed to accomplish that one - stand in security guard for a nationally recognized security company seemed even beyond his capabilities), the thought did little to comfort her.

Knowing she was being stupid, she still felt like eyes were watching her. Kaz, of course, noticed instantly and used it decidedly for their sham of a show.

“Don’t mind my friend here,” Kaz said in that awful voice she barely recognized, “she’s just positive we’re going to be murdered here tonight.” Kaz laughed into the camera Jesper was pointing at them. He sounded like a total idiot.

Inej stared at Kaz, hoping she was conveying the proper amount of derision.

“Everyone loves to taunt ghosts, until they’re being haunted by them.” Inej said as much for Kaz’s benefit as for the camera’s and that of the bemused tour guide showing them around before leaving them to their antics for the night. If only he would just leave already...

Kaz only laughed mockingly back, which riled Inej up even more. But she knew her lines.

“Keep it up, big guy, and see what tonight has in store for you.” She managed to say, this time without wincing.

The tour guide began leading them to the rooms where they had been instructed to keep to during their overnight ghostly vigil but failed to notice the way their eyes were memorizing every layout, every window, every door.

*******

When they had finally been left alone, charmed out of the castle as the tour guide had been by Nina’s wiles, Inej let out a deep frustrated breath.

What had seemed to be an interminable smile fell from Kaz’s face.

“Jesper, you take the east wing. Wylan will be waiting at the gate. Don’t alert the guards, but Matthias is on stand by if you do.”

Kaz didn’t have to say a word. Inej knew to follow him just by the look in his eye.

“Did you see the way the guide kept glancing at the door to the main study?” But Inej knew she didn’t have to ask.

“I’m betting that’s our target.” Kaz agreed, leaning lightly on the walking stick he had swapped out for his usually more dramatic cane. For the “aesthetic,” Jesper had said.

Inej didn’t bother to ask why Kaz had sent Jesper and Wylan in another direction. Kaz always had his reasons.

“It’s likely a pressurized vault.” Inej muttered, thinking carefully on what they had learned on their tour.

Kaz fished something out of his pocket and Inej’s eyes went wide. Then she smiled, taking the hefty false emerald out of his palm. “Our friend, Mark.” She laughed.

“Exactly.” Kaz didn’t smile but the twist of his lips was unmistakable. He was pleased with her reaction.

He was not so pleased when they reached the outer chamber of the vault. Inej had never seen such high tech locking mechanisms. There was no way they were getting in.

“What now, big guy?” Inej tried for levity but Kaz’s face wad screwed up tight. He was-

“Scheming face.” Jesper let out a low whistle, sidling through the door behind them.

“Definitely.” Inej shot back, watching Kaz take apart the puzzle that was invisible to the rest of them.

*****

The break-in to the vault had taken them the better part of the night. Finally, just before dawn, they had retired back to the window lined room and their sleeping bags to await the arrival of the tour guide who would check them out of the castle.

Wylan had fallen immediately into a deep slumber and was snoring across the room next to Jesper who was fiddling with the video camera, but Kaz was still too pumped full of adrenaline with their success. He could feel the hefty weight of the emerald in the inner lining of his jacket where it could not be detected even if they were searched.

He gazed fondly, if with a blank expression, over the room full of his crew. Then- his eyes found Inej.

****

“It’s a murder well.” Kaz was crowing enthusiastically to the camera, his voice an overexacting exaggeration.

Kaz raised one eyebrow at the TV as he walked into their crowded headquarters. Jesper, Wylan, Inej, Nina and Matthias were laying haphazardly across the too small sofa watching the footage Jesper had captured just a few nights ago.

“Holy shit, dude, this is how they murked traitors back then.” The on-screen Inej babbled while the in-person Inej groaned and covered her face.

“Shh, this is my favorite part,” Jesper exclaimed, tossing a handful of popcorn kernels her way.

“Oi.” Inej barked, beginning to tussle over the popcorn bowl as on-screen Kaz and Inej laughed a little too hysterically at some scripted joke.

“What business?” Kaz leaned on his cane as they call came slightly to attention before relaxing again.

“Just enjoying the fruits of our labor, Dirtyhands,” Nina laughed joyously as she popped what Kaz knew to be very expensive gourmet chocolates between her lips while ignoring Matthias’ longing glance.

Inej extricated herself from the pile of limbs of their friends to join Kaz behind the sofa. She was grinning wildly and bouncing on the toes of her feet. “So?” She seemed even more excited at the prospect of CEO Rollins’ downfall than Kaz was.

Kaz nodded his head curtly and Inej beamed. Kaz got the distinct sense that Inej wanted to launch herself at him and was disconcerted to realize he quite hoped she would follow through when-

“Awwww,” Nina was exclaiming in a loud sweet voice.

Both Kaz and Inej looked up at the same moment at the TV screen to see Inej as she had been the morning after their heist, in the castle, sitting on a window ledge with her eyes closed letting the sun bathe her in warmth and light.

Something was wrong. There had been no filming... There shouldn’t have been any filming then. The camera began to pan out and Kaz took a stilting step forward, though by then he knew it was too late to stop what was about to happen.

The room went still. Even Jesper had stopped his constant squirming. That early morning, Kaz had been sitting on the floor just diagonally to Inej. He remembered the exact second his eyes had landed on Inej then, the way his breath had quite literally trapped itself in his throat. He remembered possibly even better now as he watched himself on screen, past him watching past her with something akin to absolute enthrallment on his face.

No one moved except for Inej who Kaz could see, from the corner of his eye, looking from the screen to him. He could almost make out the disbelief and - was that joy? He wanted to believe that was joy - on her face.

Suddenly the camera on screen was being whipped around and Jesper’s face was filling up the entire screen.

“Told ya you would regret putting me on camera, boss.”

The screen went black.

[mostly-delusional]

A Kanej diwali fic

"That's the third time you've tugged on your sleeve in the same minute and it's setting me on edge for no particular reason."

Kaz halted his movements, his right hand hanging in mid-air as he was about to fiddle with his sleeve, unrolling and rolling it again. He glanced at Jesper standing beside him and raised his eyebrows.

Jesper continued, "Honestly, Kaz, it's only been a month since you last saw her. It shouldn't be that hard. Besides, you're going to need a lung transplant soon enough if you keep panting like a dog."

Kaz was thoroughly annoyed. He had been occupying the same spot for what felt like hours with Jesper's continuous babble ringing in his ears. The black leather gloves that usually covered his hands were safely tucked away into the pocket of his jacket. Without them, he felt as if he was stripped naked, all his scars put on display for people to gawk at. His clothes were different from what he preferred wearing. The regular white shirt had been replaced by a plain black kurta with a pathan jacket resting above it, the collar of which prickled his neck. The cane's head felt cold under his palm. Everything felt too foreign, too loud and too wrong.

The glittering lights, lavish rugs and sophisticated folk of Ravka were far cry from the sordid streets of Ketterdam, where crimes were committed as effortlessly as breathing. Everything about the land Kaz stood on screamed of elegance and culture. It made him want to hop on a ship and dive back into the mayhem the Barrel had to offer.

Crossing the true see and visiting the land of Grisha hadn't been a choice. Two weeks ago, Kaz had entered his office in the crow club only to be greeted by an envelope sealed with the double eagle of Ravkan royalty. He had contemplated tossing it among the pile of documents he deemed unnecessary, but a blue geranium placed beside it had changed his original course of action. There had been no whispers of the Wraith being in Ketterdam, but it was not a surprise. Inej was like a phantom passing from one world to another, keeping away from notice.

Although, why she had been the one to deliver a message from the king of Ravka was still a mystery to him.

Kaz did not know what he had expected to be in the letter but it definitely wasn't what he had found upon opening it. Apparently, things were getting a little too boring for his royal highness and he felt the need to organise a little "get-together" for all those who had dedicated the previous months in fighting against the Darkling. As it turned out, nothing about the occasion was little.

A multitude of people occupied the halls of the Little Palace for what everyone around him kept calling Diwali. Kaz remembered Inej talking about how she celebrated the festival with her parents and cousins as a child. But that was all he could recall from the day because he'd been too busy trying to count the moles on her neck as she had sat on the window of his office, her head tipped back against the wall. The setting sun had casted a glow around her and Kaz had been unable to look away.

"Where's Wylan?" Kaz asked in hopes of avoiding another rant from Jesper about how exquisite the palace looked or how much money even a single gem from the chandelier hanging above would cost. "Why don't you go and trail after him like a lost puppy, as you usually do?"

Jesper puckered his face into a scowl, his lips forming a pout that made Kaz want to smack his face repeatedly. "You shouldn't be the one to talk about puppies seeing that you almost drool at the sight of Inej. Speaking of which, where is she?"

"If both of you would stop bickering like an old couple, you would have noticed that she entered the room five minutes ago."

Every single muscle in Kaz's body seemed to tense at Nina's words. His eyes scoured the crowd in desperate attempts of catching a glimpse of the one person he'd been dying to set his sight on.

"Let's give the old man some privacy to collect himself or he might drop dead any second." Kaz could practically feel the identical smirks playing on their lips as Nina dragged Jesper away by his arm.

But none of it seemed to matter because as soon as he saw Inej, it felt like someone pumped a gallon of blood through his heart all at once. The voices around him were muffled, separated by an invisible wall, casting him in a shell of peaceful silence as he looked at the girl who raged a storm in his heart ever since she had entered his life.

There, amidst the cacophony of colours formed by the crowd, Inej looked like a diamond shimmering among shards of glasses in a kaleidoscope. Her hair was like waves of pure earth. Half of it was braided over her head like a crown, the rest openly flowed down her back, softly reflecting the light from the chandelier above. His fingers itched to touch them.

She wore a long skirt which was a red as deep as the most luscious wines found only in the highest scale shops of the Lid. It pleated in a million different folds sure to hold a dozen knives, and fell from her waist in a cascading waterfall that brushed her ankles. The pleats danced along her legs as she waded through the sea of guests, occasionally nodding at those she recognised. It appeared as if she hadn’t yet noticed him standing at the border of the hall.

His heart screamed at him to call her name, to make her look at him, but walking under the glittering lights, it looked as if she had just stepped out of a children's storybook about Saints. Regardless of how ridiculous it sounded, he felt that she would disappear if he got close enough. Her eyes were set on her destination— Jesper, Nina and Wylan standing near a table piled with a variety of delicacies. A soft smile played on her lips as she looked at Jesper arguing with Nina about what was better— waffles or the sweets layed out in front of them.

Kaz wanted nothing more than to shield her from the rest of the world and reserve that smile solely for himself.

Stupid Jesper. Stupid Nina. “Let’s give him some privacy.” What was the point of leaving him alone when Inej didn’t even spare him a single glance?

A part of him wanted to march right up to their little group and place himself in the middle, but his stubborn mind willed him to stay put. He watched as they exchanged hugs and smiled at each other. He watched as Inej asked Jesper something and he spinned around to point right at Kaz’s face. He averted his eyes right in time and hurled curses at Jesper under his breath.

Every passing second seemed to escalate his heartbeat, as if both were trying to outdo each other. His heart hammered against it’s cage, threatening to break free from the restraints and bounce off onto the floor. Kaz could sense Inej’s firm gaze on him as the distance between them shortened with every step she took.

"Hello, Kaz."

Inej had come to stand right in the line of his sight so that he had nowhere else to look apart from her. And saints did he want to keep looking at her.

Kaz let his eyes take in every detail of her face. Her bronze skin had become an even deeper shade after all the time spent at the sea and he wanted nothing more than to cup her face in his hands, caress her cheeks and make sure she was real. Her eyes were lined with kohl and some kind of golden powder covered her lids.

In those brown eyes was the warmth of an everlasting hearth, the laughter of childhood memories, the pride for what she had accomplished in the last few months alone, and there was affection. The way she looked at him made him feel like a broken vase being mended by that gaze alone.

He knew he was supposed to say something to her. Tell her that she looked beautiful. That ever since she had stepped foot in this room—in his life— he had hardly been able to breathe. That if she had willed it, Kaz would have gladly gotten down on his knees and swore his devotion to the saints she now looked so alike. But his mouth and mind never seemed to coordinate.

"Didn't expect I'd see you here." A lie. The only reason Kaz had even considered being a part of the celebration was that he knew Inej was staying in Os Alta to spend some quality time with Nina and Matthias.

From the smile on her face, Kaz suspected she knew he was lying but to his immense relief, she decided to change the subject.

"The aarti is about to begin, let's go." She nodded towards the huge double doors opening into the sweeping grounds and the groups of people leaving through them.

"To my best knowledge, there isn't a temple in or around the Little Palace."

"There wasn't. King Nikolai got one built after Zoya insisted." Inej adjusted the golden dupatta pinned to the shoulder of her blouse so that it covered her palm. With her hand safely enveloped, she grabbed hold of Kaz's wrist and started heading towards where the temple was situated.

The warmth emanating from her palm seeped through the thin fabric and sent shivers up his arm. The water was at bay and the ringing in his ears did not echo as usual. He could do this.

They walked through the doors and out into the open air. Kaz took in a deep breath to calm his nerves. A few paces ahead, the rest of the crows were chattering amongst themselves. Jesper's arms were flailing around as he babbled on about something. Beside him, Wylan was having a hard time keeping up with the conversation and trying not to get hit. Nina and Matthias walked arm in arm, the latter jerking his head in every direction, trying to catch a glimpse of all the decor layed out all around. Every few seconds he would point at something and whisper to Nina who would launch into an explanation of whatever he had asked.

"How is Matthias adjusting to all of this?" Kaz shifted his gaze back to the path he was walking on. Inej's hand felt heavy around his wrist, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted her to let go or hold on tighter.

"Not as bad as you'd think. He kind of isolated himself during the first week and avoided all the grishas, except Nina, of course. But it didn't take him long in warming up to Tolya." Inej explained. "However, he still refuses to be in the same room as Zoya, says it'll take him longer to get used to her."

"I can agree on that," Kaz muttered bitterly under his breath. His mind reeled back to the time when he had to work alongside her in order to help Alina destroy the fold.

Inej snorted on hearing his grumbling. "She's not that bad! Once you gain her trust she can be charming."

"I have no intentions of finding that out."

••••••

The temple was built amid the towering trees past the lake, it's white marble glowing amber due to the countless diyas lit all around it. It sprawled among the woods in its beauty, as if the gods themselves had decided to take a day off and stroll among their mortal devotees.

Walking up the steps to the main praying area was almost peaceful and Kaz was struck by the sudden realisation that he wouldn't mind spending an hour or two sitting right here in solitude.

A soft melody drifted from a group of musicians seated beside the huge altar where statues of gods carved out of marble stood. Bells crafted out of bronze hung from the ceiling and the entire interior was lit with hundreds of glowing candles and iron lanterns. Garlands of marigold wreathed around the circular pillars. A priest took his spot at the front of the room as people piled inside.

As the aarti began, Kaz's attention shifted to the girl beside him. Inej had let go of his hand now, her own raised in front of her chest as she joined her plams together to pray. His wrist felt cold without her warmth and he wanted nothing more than to slide closer to her.

His attention was snatched away from her by the beginning of the aarti, but he did not intend to pay any attention to it, not with Inej standing with him. Not with her being the only person he felt like worshipping.

But Inej seemed to have an objection to his plans because she reached out to lift his hands up and join his palms together.

"I know this is the last place you'd like to be in, but it won't take long, I promise."

And how could he resist when she smiled at him like that? Like his mere presence at this occasion was the only source of her joy. So his own beliefs be damned. He would stand here with his hands joined, listening to the priest begin the aarti. He would stand here until his legs started shaking, until he couldn't bear to be upright anymore, as long as it made Inej happy.

Soon, the prayer came to a close and Inej whispered to him, "Close your eyes and make a wish."

"Wh—"

"Just do it."

He couldn't understand how his wishes would come true simply by closing his eyes and muttering what he wanted in his mind. That was not how things worked. But he did what was asked of him regardless of how ridiculous he found it.

Sounds of explosion began ringing from outside and Kaz froze in his spot, his mind automatically shifting into defence. He felt a hand grabbing hold of his arm.

"Relax, it's just the fireworks." Kaz opened his eyes only to find Inej looking at him in amusement, her eyes glinting with delight. With her hand still resting on his, she dragged him outside, her steps hurried and excited.

The sky was littered with colourful specks of gold and green and blue and colors he couldn't be bothered to name. Everyone gathered in the grounds, their heads tilted upwards as something rocketed towards the heavens, soon bursting into a myriad of sparks, casting tiny star-like dots in the open.

Once again, his eyes found her. Kaz's heart skipped a beat as he looked at Inej, her eyes reflecting the stars above. Strands of hair had gotten lose from the crown atop her head and were now swaying with the breeze. He reached out to tuck them behind her ear, his movements catching her attention.

They were close enough that he could see the deep brown of her eyes along with the twinkle of the fireworks reflecting in those orbs. Close enough to see the mole on the right side of her upper lip. Close enough to feel her breath on his face.

"Back in the temple, what did you wish for?" Inej asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twisted up to form a teasing smile. "To bury under a pile of millions of kruge."

Another lie, of course.

What he had wished was for Jesper to find a solution to his gambling addiction and learn to accept his grisha powers. For Wylan to restore his relationship with his mother and build a bright future for himself. For Nina to find peace with her new abilities, because he knew she was struggling. For Matthias to find a way to forgive himself for the actions of his past. For him to build a new life with Nina.

But most of all, he wished for Inej to make a place for herself in the world. For her to live a life where she didn't have to worry about the likes of Tante Heleen anymore. And for him to be worthy enough to be a part of that life.

Kaz was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not see Inej raising her dupatta and covering the lower half of his face. He didn't realise he had zoned out until he felt the warm press of her lips against his cheek. His mind became void of thoughts as he felt his stomach somersault in response. The water was still at bay and whispers of Jordie in his head were silenced.

He pressed his forehead to hers as they stood under the glittering night sky. They were enveloped in each other's presence, the rest of the world frozen in time as Inej tethered Kaz to reality.

[instasiswetrust]

Bloodshot

Brown eyes stare into the void.

And the void stares right back.

Pitch-black and dark.

Dark, darker, and yet darker.

Vaguely, he registers liquid inside his mouth. His lungs. His chest. A part of his brain that's still working whispers that he's choking. Weird. He thought it would hurt more than this. Thought there would be more panic and flailing. Desperation to breathe.

Instead, all he feels is calm.

There's a sense of peace that instills in his body. Fills every crevice, nook, and cranny inside his flesh. Inside his bones.

Yes, he's dying, but he's accepted this as an immutable fact.

What use is there for panic when the croon of Miss Death is already so sweet in his ear? Why should he flail and claw to a life filled with heartache and pain, when instead he could stay in this calm embrace forever?

He's dying, and he's fine with this.

At first, he thinks he might be at the quarry. It would make sense. Maybe he was too drunk, tripped, and slipped off the ledge. Those kinds of things tend to happen to lonely people like him. Maybe others will think he jumped, instead. That's fine too.

But the liquid in his mouth tastes salty and coppery. A little too thick to be water.

Oh. Right.

Blood. He was choking on his own blood.

Things are coming back to him in slow increments. Flashes of scenes. He understands now where he is.

Or was.

Time is confusing when you're dying.

They had been in the tunnels. The demodogs had been close at their heels and the entrance just a few feet away. He had been so scared, utterly terrified, but not for himself. Never for himself. He needed to get the kids out first, all of them.

And he had.

Too bad it had been just a second too late for him.

Just as he was about to reach for the rope, a strong body had crashed into him and he had fallen on his back. Pain had jolted through his nerves as claws dug themselves into the skin of his chest. He remembers being vaguely concerned about the wetness spreading in his chest before that maw had bloomed into the most horrifying of flowers, and the petals wrapped themselves around his neck.

He thinks Dustin might've screamed. Steve felt bad that the kid had to see him like that.

But now the pain was no more and he was suspended in the void. Calm. Serene. Accepting.

Death was peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

---

The thing that crawled out of the earth, a whole week after the gate was closed, was not Steve Harrington.

At least not anymore.

Not in a way that mattered.

He still looked the same. Sounded the same. Moved the same. Felt the same.

He could think, and like, and long for things the same way he could when he had been alive.

But his mind was never quiet these days.

Hunt. Feed. Claw. Rip.

Blood.

A never-ending loop of words strung together until they sounded unrecognizable until they no longer made sense. And yet the feelings that came with the words would never go away.

Not when he started cooking his meat less and less to the point he resorted to just shoveling spoonfuls of raw hamburger meat into his mouth.

Not when he passed by the rotting corpse of a deer in the woods and had to take a moment to wipe the drool off his chin because for some reason the scent was appetizing.

Not when he gave in and hooked up with Nina Collins, and she let him bite her neck until he drew blood.

They never went away. Neither did the gnawing hunger inside of him.

And Steve could only be so dumb. He knew perfectly well what it was the voice in his head wanted. Could recognize it in the way his dreams had been filled with spiked bats hitting skin, breaking bones, and hands burying themselves in a mess of blood and guts.

He only wondered for how much longer he could hold himself back.

The answer came to him less than a week later.

---

First thing he notices when he wakes up, is that the hunger is blessedly gone.

For a single moment, he's glad. Happy and relieved. Until realization settles in and horror fills his chest.

Second thing he notices is that he's naked, sitting in a puddle of blood. The scent is strong.

And appetizing.

It makes him curl up onto his side and retch, but thankfully nothing comes up.

Quiet breathing is what clues him on the third thing. It also freezes him in place.

Somebody is looking at him. Saw what he did. Who he is. What he is.

Fuck.

Then they speak.

Double fuck.

"I knew you were fucked up, Harrington. Didn't think you were this fucked up though."

It's not the words that make him turn, eyes open wide. It's the voice. Because he knows that voice. Because it's Billy Hargrove's voice.

Ain't that just nice?

With the hunger and the voices gone, at least for the time being, it's much easier to try and recall the events of the night before. Steve almost wishes he couldn't though, because what he experiences -- not sees because those creatures don't have eyes -- is so repulsive that he can feel nausea clawing up his throat again.

"I killed your dad."

It's a fact, not a question. He doesn't need confirmation, his memories of the event are clear albeit fuzzy.

"And ate him. Yeah."

The fact that Hargrove doesn't sound horrified, or scared in the slightest, confuses Steve. He forces himself to ignore the panic, the nausea, and the embarrassment warring for his immediate attention and instead focuses on Hargrove's face.

Hargrove meets his gaze unflinchingly.

There's not a single ounce of remorse in those blue eyes but then again, why would there be?

After all, the bruises and cuts that litter his face and naked chest, speak enough about the type of man Neil Hargrove was.

"I did not... hurt you, right?"

Steve doesn't remember having approached Hargrove. The demodog hadn't wanted to hurt Hargrove, like at all. Still, he has to make sure. Just to put his mind at ease, of course. Not because he's worried about Hargrove or anything.

Hargrove shakes his head, frowning. The bruises must hurt pretty bad though because he winces. "You don't remember?"

"The memories are... fuzzy." Steve grimaces, pushing down another bout of nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. "It's not- I'm not- I know what it looks like but I'm not that thing, okay? The dog- That's not me."

"And yet I watched that thing morph back into you. You are still lying in a pool of blood, you know?" He sounds unimpressed. Slightly annoyed too. "You just said you have memories of it. I'd say that counts as you being that thing, Harrington."

Yeah, okay. Steve can't really counter that logic. Doesn't help lessen the knot of guilt that sits heavy at the pit of his stomach, though.

"Fine. Okay. Yes. I just-" But the words die on his tongue because he's not sure how to even finish that sentence. He's just what? Horrified? Guilty? Considering taking a dive off the quarry or meet the bad end of Nancy's shotgun?

Hargrove must have read the indecisiveness on his expression because he huffs, crossing his arms. He winces again and Steve’s almost tempted to demand he take it easy.

"Here's what we are going to do, Harrington." His voice has an unexpected strength to it that commands all of Steve’s attention. “You're going to take a shower, borrow some clothes, then I'm going to clean off all this blood before Max and Susan get back, and then we're going to talk about Neil’s sudden disappearance. Understood?”

“Uh...”

Hargrove was... helping him. He was helping him cover up a murder. The murder of his own father. Hargrove watched as the demodog fucking ate his dad, morphed back into Steve, and now he was helping him.

Steve wasn't sure how he was feeling about this but grateful and confused came pretty close to explaining it.

“I asked if you understood, Harrington.”

“Yeah I uh, yeah. I understand.”

So that's how he found himself in Hargrove's kitchen half an hour later, clad in grey sweatpants and an AC/DC shirt that had seen better days. Hargrove sat in front of him, idly eating from a bowl of Lucky charms, his gaze not straying far from Steve.

The clank of the spoon as it fell back into the empty bowl was jarringly loud in the awkward silence.

"You really don't remember what happened last night, then?"

His gut reaction was to say no. He didn't remember anything. That the memories were fuzzy and the thing wasn't him. But that would be lying, wouldn't it?

And he had to admit that being able to share this secret with somebody else, even if it was Billy Hargrove of all people, felt like a much-needed reprieve of all the bullshit life had been throwing at him lately.

"I do but as I said, it's fuzzy. Fragmented, I guess?" He looks down at the table, drumming his fingers on the worn tabletop. "This thing, it doesn't see things as we do. Doesn't have eyes."

Hargrove hums, and Steve can see the way he leans back on the chair. Feels those eyes on him, not moving. It should set him on edge but instead, it makes him feel grounded. Like this is the first time, since he crawled out of the earth that somebody bothers to truly look at him.

It makes him want to look up and meet that gaze.

So that's exactly what he does.

"It was you that I- that the demodog was hunting, not your dad." Steve is glad he doesn't look away because it allows him to see the shadow of regret that crosses those blue eyes. "But then I- it jumped through the window. Saw what was happening. So the prey changed."

"And you have lived with this thing for how long?"

"Technically speaking, I'm not alive. Haven't been since that night in November, a little after the whole thing at the Byers."

Hargrove blinks, taken aback by what must surely sound like nonsense considering Steve was sitting across from him, breathing and talking. He's not sure how to explain it either but he knows with unwavering certainty that he's not alive anymore.

Not like he should be.

Not completely.

Liminal spaces. Whatever. Fuck.

"One of those things bit me. Dustin saw it happen too. Or at least saw the blood. And I remember dying." He shrugs, drums his fingers again just to have something to do. Restlessness eats at him but he's still under Hargrove's gaze and the itch to run has settled for now. "A week later I apparently dug my way out of the earth and Hopper found me at the junkyard. I can't remember it at all."

The marred skin of his throat is evidence enough. These days he does his best to cover it up with makeup or turtlenecks, not wishing to deal with the unwanted questions that would undoubtedly come. Not to mention that Dustin can't see it without tearing up. Kid still has nightmares about Steve covered in blood with his throat ripped out.

"Shit, Harrington." Hargrove tangles a hand in his blond curls, pulling lightly on the strands. As if the pinpricks of pain could reassure him about all this being real. "This is what you and those snot-nosed brats were up to that night? Fighting these things? Are you insane?"

"Only a little." The self-deprecating grin that accompanied it really sold it.

Steve watched as Hargrove's hands formed into fists, a dangerous sort of fire lighting up in his eyes. It lasted for a second or two before the fight left his body in a rush, body slumping slightly into the chair. It was a little impressive.

"What even are these things?"

The thing is, Steve's not even sure what those creatures are. He says as much and spends the next fifteen minutes explaining what he knows -- and what he's theorized -- about Will Byers, the Upside Down, the Mindflayer, and Hawkins Lab. Surprisingly enough, Hargrove listens through it all without commentary.

"Nobody understood how I was alive but I didn't want to question it too much. Guess I already knew something was wrong with me but I didn't want to see it."

Hargrove's eyes have drifted down to his empty cereal bowl but it doesn't seem like he's really looking at it. After a moment, he nods. "Okay so what now, Harrington?"

Steve's taken aback by the question, not understanding what Hargrove is getting at. "What do you mean what now?"

If looks could kill, he's sure that he would be dead again. Hargrove heaves an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before facing Steve.

"Harrington, I knew you were an idiot but this is too much even for you." Steve makes a sound of protest but Hargrove throws him a look and he goes quiet again. "The demodog needs to eat people to live, meaning you need to eat people to live. So tell me, what are you going to do about that?"

"Oh."

Well fuck.

[chaosciara]

where the arch meets

I have not read King of Scars so I do not know anything about the plot therefore some information about Nikolai could be outdated. This is also the first time I've ever written for this fandom so hopefully I did the characters justice. My friend and I watched S&B and were talking about ships and I said I wanted to see Kaz and Nikolai together which then prompted whatever the hell happened here, please enjoy!

CW: mentions of blood, mentions of gambling

There are no spoilers for the S&B show

masterlist; my links

[image has alt text]

Kaz stares out the window, a glum look on his usually stoic face. Ketterdam was alive, unusual joy spinning itself in the streets as the city busies itself for the arrival of the one and only King Nikolai Lantsov. The festivities of the "Peacekeeper" as he had been so lovingly named, had started three long days ago. Every day that Kaz wakes up to popping streamers, and the litany of ballads associated with the King's ever growing list accomplishments, is a day his stolen peace gets ripped from beneath him. He's not even sure why the King is so popular. He can't say he was anywhere near impressed enough at their brief meeting to warrant the five different ballads about those hazel eyes alone. Kaz looks down at the papers littering his desk, crow club books and bank statements for his various 'assets', communications between the various councils in Ravka and Ketterdam, and the most recent letter from Inej, smelling of the sea.

Their friendship is something of a mystery to the world but between them she is the rock that kept him steady. Even now, with her sailing the high seas content to her freedom, he can feel the unwavering quiet of her. Briefly, he wishes she were here. She would make him laugh, tell him to stop being so glum about the brown-eyed, blonde haired king if he insisted on doing nothing about it. He wouldn't let his amusement at her teasing show, but later in the safety of his room, this room, he'd let a rare smile show. He misses their quiet friendship most of all. But she is happy on her ship with her crew and he has shit to do. He always has shit to do.

The thought, stark and unwelcome, snaps him back to the present. A scowl replaces his faraway look as he shuts the window to the new round of baudy tunes drifting up and straight into the headache knocking at his skull. He sits back down harder than he intended, and winces at the pain that lances down his back and into his leg. He can hear Nina, chastising him for not putting on the salve, for not resting. But he doesn't have the time. He can't do something as normal as rest. He has a city to run. Or at least the underbelly of a city to run.

The statements stare at him but the numbers swirl like melting ice-cream in a bowl, and he wants to throw the pages in the fire in frustration. But he has never acted on emotion, and he will not start now. So he pushes away from his desk, cane already cool under his fingertips, and makes his way to the floors of the crow club.

The passage muffles the sounds of chips cluttering on a table, and glasses set down hard on the wood, and shouting when someone wins, loses, almost gets decked for supposed cheating. But as soon as he steps past the doors, nodding at the two guards he'd posted at this entrance, all of that chaos surrounds him. There is no hush as he steps into the room, no blanket of fear or anger or anything. They don't even know he is there. They won't until he makes himself known. Spending years with his Wraith had taught him some things, even with the click of his cane. He looks to the corner expecting to spot Jesper; his heart, as it had done every day since they had all parted ways, clenched upon seeing the empty space where his sharpshooter was supposed to be. The disappointment doesn't stop his eyes from travelling to the table closest to the kitchens— or as the Nina lovingly called it, the muck hut— where Wylan was usually hunched over notebooks or losing to just about everyone, except maybe Inej, in a game of cards.

He misses them. He'd never tell them, would never let it so much as flash across his face, but he couldn't stop his heart from the same onslaught. He felt it every day. Every time he looked to his window and Inej wasn't perched atop it. Every time he walked to the gambling tables and Jesper wasn't leaning over it, brown eyes shining with hope. Every time he wandered the corridors of the club hearing Wylan's flute. When he decides to put salve on it's because he hears Nina's voice, sees her frown, as she tries so hard to heal them. He even misses Matthias but that is a road he doesn't allow himself to go down. A failure he cannot yet acknowledge. His trip down memory lane ends abruptly when a man with a hood over his eyes, shadowing his face, steps up to him.

"You Kaz, Kaz Brekker?" The voice is rough, almost too rough, but the lilting accent is familiar. Before he can place it the man is talking again.

"I want to speak with you, about a deal."

Kaz tilts his head, resting gloved hands on his cane as he takes the figure in. "Liar."

The man sputters jerking back, and just briefly he catches a glimpse of golden skin and something shiny pinned to his coat. "It's urgent!" The man's voice is not so rough, and that accent, charming in a way, bleeds through more and more.

"I'm not available for deals." It is not true, but he wants to see how they'll react, what they're capable of if he says no.

"You'll like this one." The roughness has been replaced by arrogance. And the world opens wide for Kaz.

"Come," He turns, already limping towards the doors and his rooms beyond. "Don't say anything until we're behind closed doors"

It takes them exactly one minute and twelve seconds to get to his study. As soon as he hears the door click behind him, he lifts his cane and with brutal precision he rips through the clasp at the man's chest and watches the coat land in a heap on his wooden floor. Letting the crows head of his cane fall back into his hand he finally looks up. "What are you doing here King?" The question holds more exhaustion than he's willing to admit.

"What?" The King of Ravka grins, beautiful and bright and full of arrogance, "You aren't happy to see me?"

And Kaz wants to tell him no and piss off and leave me alone, but his heart is pounding and there is blood rushing between his ears and he doesn't really remember what breathing does, how it works. Because this is the first time he's ever seen Nikolai. When they met all those years ago he was Sturmhond, the privateer. Since then Kaz has only seen posters, and art. But none of them, not a single one, has ever done the king justice. He is........ he is magic.

"Oh come on," The blonde is laughing. It sounds like water. It sounds like peace. "You can't expect me to act like a stranger after all the letters we've sent." Yes, the letters. The updates King Nikolai had requested about Ketterdam, about the barrel, about the illegal smuggling of grisha to work as slaves. Those letters. "What?" The King looks at him speculatively, amusement sparking in his hazel eyes— they suit him so much better than the green of Sturmhond. "Volcra got your tongue?"

“Didn't know you would be in town," Kaz manages to grind out. He hopes it sounds like irritation and not infatuation.

"The six million posters and seven ballads about my adventures aboard the Kingfisher were not notice enough?" That grin is back. It is ruining him. "Oh dear, next time I'll be sure to add floating parades to the mix."

"That's tomorrow." He glowers. He doesn't think the blonde could get anymore insufferable. He is wrong.

"Do you have plans to attend then?"

He ignores the question, the tease. "What are you doing here Lantsov?"

"I'm here for the festival Mr, Brekker."

"I mean here." He motions to the room, to him. "What are you doing in the Barrel, in my club—" He wants to say 'in my room'. He catches himself.

"I came," Nikolai steps a little closer. There's still do much distance between them, practically an ocean, but Kaz can feel the tension wrapping around his lungs. He wants out. He wants closer. He wants, he wants, he wants....... "To visit a friend Mr Brekker. I don't exchange letters detailing my failed attempt at diving through the sky with just anyone." Oh saints he's going to die. He's never going to survive this. His face is a brick wall, a crack where his frown breaks through.

"You are a busy man King, busier even, than i am." He wants to applaud himself for the steadiness of his voice. "I doubt that you had time to just pop by. So what do you want, Nikolai?"

There is a flash of something in those beautiful eyes, and he wants to chase it to the ends of the earth. "Must we always have an ulterior motive?" The voice is quiet, but it is filled with curiosity and emotions Kaz doesn't have the ability to unpack. "Is it not good enough that I wanted to see you Kaz."

The Underboss of Ketterdam becomes a rain, becomes wind, and earth, and gold. He sits down on his desk, uninterested in the groan of the wood as it tries to carry his weight. Nikolai looks at him, soft and open, all that charm hidden- packed away for a moment far removed from this one. Somehow the distance has shrunk between them until there is only two steps, maybe three before their bodies can collide. He knows Nikolai would not come closer, but some part of him wants the king to try. Wants to see what would happen. He shoves that part so far down it got to hell before him.

"Say something," The blonde whispers.

"How long till they realize you've snuck off?" The bark of laughter that escapes the king is like jurda straight into his bloodstream.

"We have an hour tops."

"Let's go." He throws a new hood, midnight blue and embellished with golden thread, at him. It's his own. He doesn't have time to find another. Nikolai puts it on, fastening the small gold clasp at his front, and Kaz has to remind himself to breathe when he sees how beautiful those colours are against that golden skin. It looks a thousand times better on Nikolai than it ever had in him.

"Where are we off to then?" The blonde asks, his familiar charm steady through his features once more. "You're not intending to kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder are you?" Before he can even start to ignore the question Nikolai is carrying on. "I have to tell you I won't make a very high bid. I seem to have botched myself a little when I turned into one of the Darkling's little pets. I think my di—"

"Shut up will you," He snaps, black eyes scanning the club as they walk through it.

"A little tense Mr Brekker," He can hear the grin. He doesn't know whether he wants to slap it or stare at it. He keeps walking.

They're outside and it's just started to drizzle and he has the brief thought that maybe he shouldn't be making the king of Ravka gallivant in the rain. But then he catches a glimpse of Nikolai's expression, full of wonder and glinting with excitement and he can't turn back even if he wants to.

"Kaz," Saints he loves the way the blonde says his name. "I really think it's better if I know where we're going, sake of safety and all that."

"We're going to the docks."

"You're not intending to drown me, are you?" There is no concern hidden behind the question, only delighted amusement.

"If I had intended to be rid of you Nikolai," Kaz turns his head, stares at the man, "I would have done it the second you walked into my club."

"Even though you didn't know it was me?"

It's his turn to smirk, and he revels in it. "I know everyone that comes into my club, King." The title reverberates in his throat. He catches the flash in the royal's eye.

"Why are you taking us to the docks?"

"I want to show you something, privateer." The strangled noise he hears in answer makes him force down the smile threatening to erupt.

The rain is at that awkward stage where it's more than a drizzle but less than a downpour. The kind that seeps into your clothes, makes your bones wet before you can even feel it on your skin. But they're almost there, he can see their destination clear in front of him. They are quiet, a rare thing for Nikolai he thinks, as they walk. Every now and then he glances to his companion who is always staring at the world in wonder. Like every corner produces a new kind of thrill. Like he'll be able to collect them all and bottle them for his journey home.

"Why are you staring at my pretty face?" The subject of his hidden amazement asks. "You've never been one to appreciate beauty Mr Brekker. If you did you'd have commented on my lovely violet wax seals at least once." He fights the urge to roll his eyes at that. The wax seals were the least interesting thing about the letters. He usually ripped them open like a mad man, clawing for the content inside and reading it as if it were going to disappear before he could get to the, 'fondly, Nikolai Lantsov' at the end.

"I have more interest in the contents inside."

At that the King does roll his eyes, "Oh yes, the ever so interesting reports about dock lookouts and safe grisha arrivals."

"It's my business."

"Mhm" Is all the blonde has to say.

They step onto the docks, and the tap of his cane, louder, more prominent on the wood, rings slightly in his ears. It's a comforting sound. One he has come to rely on to keep him steady. Especially when there's a king walking in stride with him, a king who kind of looks like the sun just before it disappears over the horizon. A king who scents his letters with lavender because he wants people to know calmness. A king who has never touched him but always stands close enough that he can feel the heat of him.

He recognizes the marker that tells him they're in the right place and then he motions for Nikolai to stay behind him. "Its small so we'll have to be close together." He says quietly.

"Are you okay with that?" The question is so gentle, so full of worry it almost buckles his knees.

"I'll manage."

"Kaz," He sounds hesitant, he sounds worried. "You don't have to force yourself to do something for me."

"I'm not, now come on before it disappears." And then they're stepping into an alcove only slightly bigger than a coffin and they're so close and there's so little air. But still Nikolai is not touching him and the leather of Kaz's gloves is warm against his skin. There is no part if him exposed to the elements, except his face. He takes one breath, takes two. The king is looking at him with concern, it is swimming in his features.

"Look up." Together they tilt their heads, and as the weak sunlight, bogged by rain, sinks to the floor the gems buried in the stones of the roof above them come ablaze. Crimson reds, and sapphire blues, and forest greens, and golden yellows. The light fractures and morphs and dances around them, like coloured stars.

He had discovered this wonder in a burning rage, trailing blood down the docks. He'd beaten up a man who betrayed their gang- dirty work for the boss- but half way down the docks he'd thought he was being followed and he slipped into this little alcove. He comes back every chance he gets.

"This is—" For once King Nikolai Lantsov is speechless. "How did you even find such a thing?" The hood had fallen off his head when he looked up so every angle of his face is on sharp display. The miserable lighting only made him more golden as if he was defying the weather simply by existing. And the gemstones reflected in his eyes, turning them every shade of rare rainbow. One of three Kaz had ever seen in Ketterdam.

He just raises a brow. "We should be getting back, I'm sure they've already sounded the alarm."

The blonde snorts, "They're used to it by now."

"Oh you sneak off to visit all your friends?" They step out carefully, making sure not to disturb the structure or get caught in the act.

"Feeling less special?"

"Wondering if maybe you should pay your guards more."

They bicker all the way back, about everything, trading wit and meaningless insults in equal measure. Kaz insists on dropping Nikolai off at his lodgings and Nikolai insists he doesn't have to despite leading them towards the building he's staying in. When they finally arrive, it is with a sense of longing for more that settles between them. More time, more laughter, more traded quips, just more.

"Goodbye Mr Brekker." The King bows his head.

"Nikolai." He nods.

"Come visit me in Ravka soon." It's the line he prints in every letter, no matter how far apart their replies are, or how many other things they have going on. Kaz never acknowledges it. He won't put that kind of hope into them. He must stay here. He must work.

But today, with happiness bubbling under his skin, he cant help but let loose a small smile and a dangerous promise. "I'll try."

And fading under the bustle of people is a small golden plaque on the floor of the alcove. "To those we love, and love unconditionally." A bigger promise, one that has lasted through time itself.

"That's all we can do Kaz," Nikolai smiles. "We try."

[purplesurveys]

1115

survey by vintagekid

Name:  Robyn.

Happy with it? I am now, but I certainly wasn’t as a kid. Other kids were cruel and would tease me solely for my name, which made it hard for me to socialize. I got the same bad Batman jokes too many times and I also got called a boy. These seem petty now, but as a kindergartener adjusting to life in school, it had been traumatizing and made me wonder if my classmates were going to remain the way they were for the long run which no 4-year-old should be mulling about, really.

Do you wear stilettos? When I get the chance, which isn’t very often at all. But I do love stilettos.

How important are looks to you? I find this question very vague, but generally looks matter to me to a certain extent, like how I’d want to look nice and proper for a job interview or for formal occasions such as weddings. Relationship-wise, I also think I have to feel a level of physical attraction towards someone for me to consider seeing them.

How often do you download music? I don’t anymore. I stream all my music.

Can you name a philosopher? Socrates.

What would you do if two unicorns tried to whisk you off to candy mountain? I just looked this up and this is apparently in reference to an ancient viral video, like it was around before viral videos were even a universally-acknowledged concept. That said, I don’t have a clue how to respond to this lmao.

You became the deciding vote in an election, which party would you go for? I don’t base my voting decisions on parties because the party system in my country is a tragically broken shitstorm in which every single party rallies the same values and principles, just executed in their own – and usually poor and unsustainable – ways. I do my research on each candidate, see how they answer in debates, look at laws they’ve authored, see which marginalized groups they proactively support (if they do), and decide from there.

Do you have a bzoink account? I don’t but I’ve been a semi-regular visitor since like 2009.

How many phone calls do you typically make in a day? Zero. People usually call me.

What song are you listening to? Tell Me It’s Okay by, surprise surprise, Paramore.

Do you understand things others your age do not? I don’t know. Maybe. Everyone’s bound to understand some things better than others.

Do you hate people that label themselves? Why would I hate that? And why would their chosen label be my business?

How many windows do you have open? None. There’s plenty of mosquitoes at night, so even though the cold evening air would been pleasant to have we have to keep the windows closed by nighttime.

How superstitious are you? Not at all.

If you were in Harry Potter, which house would you be in? I’ve been told either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

Which comedian can always crack you up? It’s not a habit of mine to watch comedians.

Are you nagged about being on the computer too much? Not since I was a teenager. Since college I’ve been doing most of my work, if not all of it, through my laptop, and I think my parents understand that I have to use it all the time.

Do you feel bad about anything you've done lately? Nothing comes to mind, no.

What's your texting bill typically like? My SIM is prepaid, so it works the other way around. I put load credits in it only if I know I’ll have to call/text/surf regularly.

What song did you/do you want played at your wedding? Turning Page by Sleeping At Last.

Do you have a lot or hardly any lines on your palms? Idk, a decent amount I guess? I don’t think it hits either extreme.

What's your favourite word? Poignant.

Are you allowed to swear in front of your parents? Yeah. They’ll shoot me a glare sometimes, but I’m in my 20s and...they know they can’t really do anything about it anymore lol.

Do you eat apples? No.

What are your addictions? Coffee, I suppose.

What are some words you use in daily life? I use intensifiers often, like very, really, super, absolutely, etc. I’m also big on expressions hahaha like oh my god, seriously, for real, and ugh.

Do you look things up on Google constantly? Yes.

Where do you get your music from? Spotify. Sometimes YouTube if I wanna look for a leak.

What do you think of people with afros? That they are people with afros...? I don’t really know what you’re looking for me to say, lmfao.

--

survey by charey-chas

Do you like getting your picture taken? Not for the most part. My body instantly gets all frozen and awkward when a camera’s placed in front of me, which I hate because I do wish I could have more photos of myself around. Is your phone anywhere near you? It is not, actually. It feels great and I really should start making it a habit to keep it away from me entirely on weekends. Do you ever enjoy going to school? In my first school, I enjoyed going mainly (and probably only) for my friends; but Catholic school was predominantly a torturous experience. The rigidity isn’t something I look back fondly on, and it felt like being kept on a tight leash for 14 years. College was a lot more enjoyable in every way possible. I liked going to (most of) my classes and learning as much as I loved the vibrant org culture and the general freedom that comes with university life. Have you ever gone on a road trip? Lots. The Philippines is a relatively small country and unless you want to jump to a different island altogether, there are many provinces you can readily travel to by car.  Who do you get along with best in your family?  Nina, my sister. Then my dad. I clash a lot with my mom and I don’t talk to my brother. Based on your personality, what animal do you think you'd be? Cats and I don’t get along very well hahaha but I think I’m similar to them. Would you ever buy anything from an infomercial? Maybe once, just to be able to say that I have. Have you ever made a snow angel? No, because I’ve never seen snow before. Have you stayed in a hotel in the last month? No. We had a brief getaway in Tagaytay but we switched things up and went to rent a condo, instead of book a hotel room, for a weekend. What's your most comfortable outfit? If I want to go for comfortable, I usually go for my rompers or jumpsuits. Do you text or IM more? IM these days. Would you rather listen to music or play it? Listen. I have no music-playing skills whatsoever. Have you ever been in a hot tub? Sure. Do you like pizza? LOVE IT Are you sleeping in your own bed tonight? Yes. If not here, the couch. But most likely it will my bed tonight. Are any of your friends having a sleepover right now? I doubt it. Angela and Hans had an overnight stay in Batangas a few days ago for their Valentine’s shenanigans though, which I guess kinda counts as a sleepover. Have you ever been to a house party? I don’t think so. That’s something I missed out on in my college days, but I don’t mind. Do you listen to your iPod or the radio when you're in the car? I think I keep a good balance. If my phone’s battery is not very high I’ll rely on the radio; and sometimes I’ll sync my phone’s Spotify to the car as well.

--

survey by charey-chas

What song is stuck in your head at the moment? RAVI’s BUM. What's your fathers' middle name? He doesn’t have a second name, but I’m not sharing his legal middle name on here either. How many hours a day do you spend on the computer? On work days, I’d say 8-10 hours. On weekends, maybe a little slightly less than that since I do like getting off the laptop sometimes to rest my eyes. Could you live without the internet? People from the past managed to live without it, so I know I can. It would just be extremely inconvenient; and having been dependent on it for such a long time now, I would likely be clueless on how to navigate most activities. What's something you're really into? Learning about cultural differences!! That’s why reading survey answers has always been fascinating to me. I would love a website that dives into the various everyday behavior people observe in other countries, but the ones that do exist use like 20- or 30-year-old sources, so they aren’t even relevant at all anymore. What's the last movie you saw in theaters? Knives Out. Have you ever seen a movie in 3D or in an IMAX theater? Just once. It was Denise and Leigh’s 18th birthday treat and they brought us to watch Doctor Strange in 3D. Do you prefer skirts, shorts, or skorts? Shorts. Have you ever vandalized? Just a few school chairs in grade school, but otherwise I’m too paranoid for vandalism lol. What's the longest you've stayed up? Maybe a little longer than 24 hours. Who'd you have a sleepover with last? Gabie. When's the last time you baked something? Nearly a decade ago. Our oven was new at the time and I wanted to try baking cookies. Do you like to dance? When I’m alone. Do you scratch mosquito bites, even though you're not supposed to? Yup. Are you afaid of spiders or do you like them? I mean I’m not fond of them, but I also don’t scream and run away when I see them. I just don’t care for them for the most part. What's a pet you've always wanted? I’ve only ever wanted dogs, and now I’ve got two of them. Do you like mice? Not really. Would you ever get a tattoo? Sure. I’ve been considering it for a while now; it’s just a matter of being able to save up for one. Do you prefer to walk in the street or on the sidewalk? Street, if it’s bare and safe enough. Otherwise if I’m in a busy city with regulations and all I’d obviously rather be on the sidewalk. What's your favorite t-shirt? My CM Punk Best in the World merch. Who did you last think about? I remembered Deina when I was thinking about the tattoo question. She got a pawprint tattoo on her wrist shortly before her senior dog passed away and ever since learning about it I’ve also been thinking about getting the same tattoo. Do you like giving hugs? I love giving hugs and it’s an automatic response for me whenever I see someone I love, which is why Covid is such a torture for me. Do you prefer hardwood flooring or carpeting? Hardwood. Did you/will you get a car for your 16th birthday? No. I got a car when I was 17, around six months before I started college. Have you ever eaten a worm? No but I’d be willing to try.

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Five

Part Six

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part five of this fic. Trauma unburiable and comfort unfamiliar. 

Word Count: 2,200 +

Warning(s): Mild cussing, PTSD/trauma

A/N: Yay chapter five! Thank you to anyone who is reading (-:

While he had previously been roped into driving only Dustin to the arcade, Steve had now upgraded his chauffeur position and become responsible for driving all four kids back to their respective houses. Nine still sat shotgun - her spot was reserved at this point - and this time around she was left void of questions from the kid in the back. The boys (squished into three seats despite their headcount of a higher number) talked with one another at a slightly above reasonable volume. 

“If I had like, one more quarter, I totally would have beaten your high-score,” Dustin spoke. 

“No you wouldn’t have,” Lucas responded, the look on his face communicating just as much self-righteousness as his tone. 

“Okay, one of you out,” Steve said as he stopped the car in front of a house.

“One of us? Whose house are we at?” Mike questioned him, the darkness of the sky leaving it hard to see exactly where they were through the back windows of Steve’s car. 

“Technically Lucas’s, but as long as one of you gets out, I don’t care who I leave here,” he said.

Lucas, hearing his destination announced, ignored Steve’s attitude. He still had Dustin to argue with. “You wouldn’t have beaten my score,” he said. He ducked out of the car. “And you never will!” He said with a slick smile and a louder voice, shutting the door before Dustin could respond. His mouth hung open for a second, as his chance of shooting back was taken away from him at the closing of the car door. 

With every stop, the noise from the back got lesser and lesser. Will was the last to be dropped off (although he could have sworn his house came before Mike’s), and he gave a polite farewell to Steve and Nine. He was the only kid of the four who verbally thanked them, although they were all grateful despite their lack of expressing it upfront. “No problem, Will,” Steve said as Will climbed out of the back seat. “It was nice to meet you, Nina” he told Nine. She had almost forgotten she had a second name. “You too,” she said to him. 

Once Will had gotten about halfway up his driveway (Steve always watched to make sure they got inside okay), she spoke again. “I think he’s my favorite”. 

“What, not me?” Steve said to her, his eyes scrunching in a false dissatisfaction.

“Of the kids,” she clarified.

“Ohh,” He rolled his eyes, not aggressively, but rather to signify that he understood, or that he just got it. “Okay,” he said, throwing his head with a dramatic nature, his hair (messy but somehow still immaculate) bouncing as he did so. Nine chuckled at this, and it was only after she did so that he dropped the act and cracked a smile too. 

—

By the time the two arrived back at Steve’s house, the sun had completely set. He decided that entry through the backdoor was the safest bet, as it was less likely to alert the attention of his parents than it’s alternative. He guided Nine with his own movement. “This way,” he told her as they circled the house to his backyard. The night was quiet, their feet making soft strides through the grass. It was dark since the absence of the sun, but she could still make out his tall figure in front of her as for the serene moonlight that illuminated her view. Once they had made it to the concrete of the back porch, a new light showcased his silhouette: the ones that lit the pool. 

She paid it significant mind, uncertain and slightly curious of the body of water’s purpose, but chose not to ask Steve for answers. She was sure that he wasn’t fond of explaining things that seemed nothing but ordinary to him. They walked the curve of patio around the water’s edge, himself leading the way, three small steps up to the backdoor. “Shit, did I really leave the house key in-” Steve broke the quiet nature of the atmosphere, but only slightly as he said this in a whisper. He felt his pant pockets up and down, patting the fabric to feel for metal underneath. “I don’t know why I don’t have the house key on the same ring as the one for my car,” he continued with his soft-spoken ramblings. “Shit, okay I gotta go back,” he told her, spinning on the heels of his feet to face her with an apologetic yet lighthearted look on his face. It was humorous. Nine was standing below those three steps, as she hadn’t climbed them yet. She raised her eyebrows slightly, but only communicated a look with an understanding and untroubled essence.  

He took up the lead again, back to the car to retrieve the key that his misorganization placed there. She followed him, not because she was required too or even asked, but because she hadn’t even considered waiting there for him instead. Taking a few steps backward to give him room, she intended to follow him right back to the car. “Sorry,” he threw her a quick apology, although she didn’t think that he really needed to. 

She stepped without quite looking where she was going. The back half of her foot was met without ground, and the lack of balance threw her body backwards into the cold of pool water. Without much time to realize her mistake, a small yelp could be heard for but a second before she was submerged underwater. Steve heard it though, and turned swiftly to watch her disappear under the surface. The first splash in the deep end was followed by a second. He had jumped in willingly, and now directed himself to where he had watched Nine fall. His pool was deep. The lower end of it sunk to eleven feet to allow diving from the board above. Gravity’s victim kicked with no particular swimming stride at the bottom of those eleven feet, water filling her lungs as she couldn’t help but scream. The feeling of hands, strong but struggling against her movements, made her want to scream louder. As she was unable to put up a true fight, they gripped around her center, underneath her breasts but above her stomach. Arms tightly around her, she was pulled upward, and she inhaled sharply when her head broke the surface of the water. “Hey, hey I got you,” she was told. Her breathing was erratic, interspersed with coughs combating the water she had swallowed. “You’re okay, I got you”. With the voice’s second sentence of reassurance, her mind was able to fully realize who it was that had her within their hold. She stopped thrashing. Steve swam gently without lessening his grip, pulling her with him in the direction of the pool stairs. Her hands found the arm that wrapped itself around her upper half now, and she clutched onto it. ‘I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he said again. 

Steve could now touch the bottom of the pool, and Nine probably could too, but he still did not let go of her. Once reaching the stairs, he turned her around to help her to dry ground. Once she was met with the familiar feeling of concrete beneath her feet, she sunk, her body too weak from it’s unintentional swim to stand. Her left leg bent in front of her, as if she were sitting cross legged, but her right bent slightly further out rather than stacking on top, left foot to the side of her right thigh. Her hands, flat against the pavement in front of her, gave her support as she leaned forward somewhat. Steve, removed from the water as well, trotted over to a poolside chair to gather a towel. “Can- can I touch you?” he asked her when he returned with it in hand. Perhaps a silly question to someone whom he had just hauled from a pool, but one he made sure to ask. Breathless, she nodded. He wrapped the towel around her back, tucking it over her shoulders. His left hand did not leave her when he was done though, as he placed it lightly against her back. 

He now sat next to her, his own wet clothes leaving a pool of water next to the one Nine’s body produced. She closed her eyes, struggling against unwanted thoughts that filled her head like it’s own eleven-foot swimming pool. “You’re safe now, I promise,” he spoke. A promise he could now guarantee. His hand circled against her back soothingly. 

—

Returned to the true safety of his bedroom, Steve now shuffled through his closet for dry clothes to offer Nine. This time he fished out a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts. He turned around to hand them to her, taking notice of how intensely she was still shaking. “Hey, do you want to take a hot shower? Then you can change into these clothes,” he said. Her hands still gripped the pool towel he had given her outside. “I can wait just outside the door, no one will bother you,” he told her. She agreed. He walked her to the hallway bathroom, letting her inside and placing the clothes on the closed toilet seat. He folded them neatly, as his mother had done with the blanket he used for his bed on the floor. “You can use whatever you want in there,” he said, referencing the various soaps and shampoos that lined the hollowed segments of his shower. “Okay,” she told him. “Thank you,” she added, looking into his eyes completely. It was a sincere thank-you, one that held the weight of more than just gratitude for the granted use of the shampoos. “Yeah,” he responded softly, holding eye-contact with her beyond his response. He ducked his head as he stepped out of the bathroom, carefully shutting the door. Keeping his vow, he stood with his back against it as he waited for her. 

Her hair now smelled like Steve’s, and her body was dressed in a large sweatshirt that almost completely covered the shorts she was also given. The hood tucked nicely against her neck, her and Steve retreated to his room. “Do you feel better?” he asked once they were inside. “Yes,” she said, a small smile following her words. It was a genuine expression, but it still had a thread of sorrow sewn somewhere within it. “That's good,” he said. 

—

Sitting up with great speed, Nine gasped louder than she would have preferred as she violently pulled herself from sleep. After taking into consideration her surroundings, she decided to be grateful she hadn’t screamed instead. Sat slightly off-centered on Steve’s bed, she took panicked inhales and exhales, trying to remove herself from her brain’s idea of a dream. “Are you okay?” a voice in the darkness startled her a little bit more. Gazing over the bed’s end, she saw Steve, who sat up too, gazing right back at her. “Yeah,” she responded. “Just,” a pause, “a bad dream,” she finished. “Oh,” his voice spoke.

 “Do you want to talk about it?” he questioned. He had actually been awake for a few minutes, and the idea of conversation comforted him as he hoped it would her as well. Her breathe calmed, chest rising and falling with less rage. There was a pause before she spoke again; she was contemplating her own speech. “Back at the lab.. They would lock me in these big tanks of water. In my dream I was back there. They wouldn’t let me out.” A nightmare Steve had surely never endured himself. He sat silently for a moment, and Nine worried she had taken an invitation to discussion he had not truly intended for her to take. “Is that why it scared you so much? Falling into the pool?” he asked, connecting the day’s events with her confession of trauma. His voice was soft, perhaps as soft as it had been earlier when he had reassured her that she was safe. “Yes,” she said quietly. “My mind just brought be back to those tanks”.   

Silence fell as it had before, Steve’s inexperience battling with his kind and consoling nature. “I’m sorry,” he spoke again, not wanting to leave her too long without a response. “I,” he paused once more, contemplating words. “I can’t exactly relate to, or even imagine that feeling. That’s terrifying.” He shook his head in disbelief and sincere empathy.

No one spoke for another twenty seconds or so, but the silence was comfortable. A steady calmness settled over Nine just knowing that he was awake and sitting with her. “I won’t let them take you back,” Steve’s voice found itself in the room again. Nine had been focused on her hands as she provided her segment of the conversation, but with this assurance, she looked up to meet his eye in the darkened room. A smile graced her face, but not to reassure Steve this time. Since she had first staggered into Steve’s car, with every moment leading up to now, a feeling of true security had been increasing inside of her. It was with his last sentence this sensation of safety derived from being within Steve’s presence was finalized. He smiled back at her from the floor, that same calmness reaching him as well.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tag list: @ggclarissa @hyp-oh-critical @orchideax @we-are-band-sexuals @cpt-lamby @l0ve-0f-my-life @girlyisthatweirdkid @walmartrotisseriechicken

[artificialqueens]

Words Hurt: Chapter 2 (Brooke x Yvie) - ImposterZoe

AN: This almost made me cry writing. Enjoy! IZ (P.S. Mistress is the sweetest, most helpful person ever.)

The next day was when Brooke noticed the change in Yvie. Along with everyone else. They were walking to the bus when Brooke locked arms with Yvie.

“Hey! Did you sleep well? I wanted to keep talking about,” he trailed off, remembering what he said last night, “… about what I told you last night.”

Yvie flinched as he remembered the night before. Slowly, he pulled his arms from Brooke’s and walked away wordlessly, leaving behind one confused canadian.

He scurried over to Scarlet and wrapped an arm around him.  He jumped in surprise but smiled warmly at the other man.

“Morning! Did you talk to Brooke?” Scarlet was eager for the story. He might be able to one-up A'keria in the gossip department for once.

Yvie simply pulled Scarlet on the bus, sitting in the window and putting the other man in the seat next to him. They sat across from Silky, trusting the man’s general noisiness to cover their conversation.

“Oh, I talked to him alright. He said I was one of the best friends he ever had. And apparently he trusts me enough to tell me he wants to get back together with his ex!” Yvie kept his head down on the seat in front of him, tears slowly making their way down his face.

Scarlet carefully wiped Yvie’s face with his sleeve, disbelief clear on his face.

“Oh poor thing. He said that after you told him you liked him? You did tell him right?”

“Wrong,” Yvie whispered softly. He felt Scarlet’s arm around his shoulders.

“I can’t do it anymore Scar. I don’t wanna hurt his feelings but I can’t be around him. Not knowing that he wants someone else.”

“What’s going on there, Miss Yvie? Are you actually showing emotion up there?” A'keria called. Yvie looked straight up at the other man, tears still falling, despair written into every part of his face.

The smile on A'keria’s face slowly faded and he sat back down, whispering to his seat partner. Who, unfortunately, was Nina. Nina got up and slowly made his way to their seats.

“Go sit with A'keria will ya, Scarlet?”

Scarlet started to object but Nina shot him a look. He slowly got up and went to the other side of the bus, only pausing to give Yvie a tight hug as he left.

Nina sat down and the two sat in silence as the bus started up. A couple of miles went by before Nina spoke.

“He didn’t realize you like him before he hurt you, huh?”  Yeah, Nina had Brooke’s number down pat.

Yvie choked on silent sobs as he nodded, turning to bury his face in Nina’s shoulder. Nina held him, the thrum of the bus mixed with all the conversations muffling Yvie’s sobs. But Nina could tell most of the conversations were about Yvie, himself. Hopefully Scarlet would keep his mouth shut.

Nina knew how Brooke was. He never meant to hurt anyone. He’s just really dense sometimes.

Well…. most times.

Well… basically all the time

As they neared a rest stop, Yvie’s breathing slowed down enough for him to speak clearly.

“He said he wants Vanjie back,” he whispered. Nina’s breath hitched and he rubbed a hand over his face. He pulled Yvie up as people started leaving.

“Let’s get you something to drink, huh?”

Yvie nodded and allowed Nina to walk him off the bus, towards the small rest stop store. Yvie felt the others queens staring at his downcast, tearstained face.

Brooke dodges forward, concern etched into his face.

“Yvie, what the hell is going on? Someone said you’re crying because of me! Are you still mad about the fight? I’ll apologize again if it makes you feel better.”  

Yvie looked at Brooke for a long moment before he screamed, “This is not about the goddamn fight!”

Yvie dashed backwards, running back on the bus, ignoring Nina and Brooke’s calls. He ran aboard, diving in the last row and curling into a ball.

He cried softly, his head in his knees. The last thing he remembered was Nina rubbing his back and a very confused Brooke staring at him as he cries himself to sleep.

Brooke stared at the sleeping man for a long time.

“Nina, tell me what’s going on with him. He said it wasn’t about the fight. What is it?” Brooke was pleading. His friend was upset and he couldn’t do anything to help. He felt helpless and he hated it.

Nina stared at his long time friend and fought to keep his cool.

“You really are dense aren’t you?” Nina growled. Brooke stepped back in shock.

“What are you talking about?!”

Nina glanced at Yvie, who was crying in his sleep, and threw his hands up in aggravation.

“He LIKES you, Asshole!” Nina shouted, pointing a finger at Brooke. As soon as he realized what he said, Nina slapped a hand to his mouth

But it was too late.

Brooke collapsed in a seat, shock basically tattooed on his forehead.

“Say what?!”

[…]

Something cool was wiping his face. Yvie slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Nina, who was holding a wet rag.

“What time is it?” he croaked out. Nina sighed softly.

“You slept for about 5 hours. You kept crying in your sleep for 3 of those.” Nina stroked Yvie’s head as he spoke.

“Thirsty?”

Yvie nodded, sitting up. Nina handed him a water bottle and some aspirin.

“So, uh… I may have… majorly fucked up.”

Yvie looked out the corner of his eye as he downed half the bottle.

“Can’t be as bad as my freakout,” he mumbled, a halfhearted chuckle escaping his mouth. Then he noticed Nina wincing.

“Was it… as bad as my freakout?”

Nina dropped his eyes to the ground.

“Brooke was being dumb. I… smartened him up,” he whispered. Yvie popped an eyebrow as he weighed Nina’s words carefully. The realisation dawned on him as he gaped at Nina.

“You didn’t actually tell him about my crush, right Nina? You wouldn’t do that to me, right?” Yvie shook Nina’s arm, praying to hear the word no.

Nina kept his eyes firmly on the ground for a long time, seemingly unbothered by Yvie shaking him.

Then he looked at the other man with a thousand yard gaze and gave a single nod.

And once again, Yvie felt his world collapsing. He sat there, many emotions playing cross his face.

Nina watched him, mentally cataloging said emotions.

Anger. Sadness. Betrayal.

Heartbreak.

“What did he say? When you told him?” Yvie whispered, almost hopefully. Nina sighs tiredly.

“Would you believe that he had no clue you liked him?”

Yvie laughed loudly before covering his mouth, and sliding down in his seat. He heard murmurings toward the front of the bus and prayed no one came to see him. But his prayers haven’t worked well as of late.

Scarlet’s head pops over the seat in front of them.

“Hey. Sleep well?”

Yvie just nods. “Did I scare anyone?”

Scarlet frowns. “You scared everyone. But Nina went into Mom mode and said to leave you alone until the next city. And I don’t know what he said when everyone was off the bus but Brooke hasn’t functioned right since.”

Yvie lets out a quiet, “huh.” Then he punches Nina in the shoulder. Hard.

Gripping his shoulder, Nina rubs Yvie’s leg in apology.

“How far to the next city?” Yvie wonders. He needed to know how long he had to mentally prepare himself for a billion questions.

Just as Scarlet opens his mouth to answer the bus slows to a stop

“We’re here,” Scarlet murmurs, standing up to leave.

Yvie promptly curls into Nina. “I really don’t wanna get off the bus,” he whimpers. Nina wraps an arm around Yvie’s waist. “You gotta deal with it, Yvie.” Then Nina was gone, walking off the bus with everyone else. Yvie sat there for a long time before getting off himself. Nina was right.

He had to deal with it.

[…]

Brooke waited on the side of the bus. He managed to get everyone else to go inside the hotel but Yvie hadn’t even left the bus yet. So he waited.

Just as he was about to say fuck it, Yvie slipped out, his bag thrown over his shoulder. He was deep in thought and didn’t notice Brooke standing there.

“We should talk,” he called. He couldn’t help a small smile as Yvie jumped.

Yvie swung around. “We are talking, Brooke.” But there was no teasing tone in his voice. There was a certain… Aura around the slim man that was familiar to Brooke but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The two stood staring at each other.

“Well if we’re done talking,” Yvie mumbled, whipping around and slinking into the building.

Brooke ran after him and stopped suddenly. It had clicked. He knew the aura around Yvie because he had caused it on someone before.

Yvie was heartsick. And it was Brooke’s fault. He darted forward again, just managing to jump in the elevator with Yvie.

“I’m an idiot,” he says, breathlessly.

“Only a big, clueless one,” Yvie grumbled. Brooke groans.

“If you know this, why didn’t you say anything? There was no way I would figure this out on my own!”

“Excuse me for thinking that you’d pick up on the literal heart eyes I have whenever I see you!”

They glared at each other, inexplicably angry. They stared each other down for a long second.

And proceed to burst out laughing.

They grip each other as they laughed hysterically.

Yvie is still giggling when Brooke suddenly pulls him for a hug.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have even given Vanjie a second thought if I did. And I definitely would’ve done something about your cute little crush.” Brooke’s words take on a sultry tone as he whispers in Yvie’s ear.

Yvie swallows hard. “Really?” he squeaks.

Brooke pulls back grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Hell yeah.”  He leans forward and kisses Yvie’s cheek, dead in the center. Then he moves his lips, laying kisses along the younger man’s cheek, each time going a little closer towards his mouth.

Yvie just stands there in shock, relishing the feeling of Brooke’s lips on his skin.

Brooke laid another kiss, just on the corner of Yvie’s plump lips. He pulled back, wrapping his arms around Yvie’s shoulders and leaned in slowly.

Yvie craned his neck, desperate to finally kiss the lips of the ice queen. They were a hair breath away.

…then the doors opened.

The two jumped apart, expecting someone to walk in. Then Brooke looks over at Yvie with a devilish smirk.

“Gonna have to finish this later, buddy. This is my floor. See ya!”

Then Brooke was gone. Yvie watched the object of his desire breeze down the hallway. Just before the doors closed, Brooke turned back and blew a kiss.

“B-bye pal,” Yvie stutters out, still in shock over what just happened.

He raised his hand to his cheek and trailed it along Brooke’s line of kisses. He broke a tiny smile.

Maybe he could do this, just a little bit more.

[alaynaantics]

" Hey, we're still getting smoothies after yoga today right?" I ask Nina as we're on our way to the gym. She looks at me confused.

" Um, yes! You know I can't function for the rest of the day without my Wild watermelon blast!"

"Okay! okay! Just double checking girl." I giggle, smiling as I pushed the gym doors open. Nina following close behind as we both stroll over our claimed spots on the smooth caramel wooden floor in the classroom.

We gently toss our bags in the corner and begin prepping for today's lesson. I roll my shoulders earning a 'pop' from the sudden action.

" Lord was that your neck Alayna?"

"Yeah." I groaned " Fell asleep at my art desk last night."

Nina sighs and smacked me over the head harshly " I told you to quit doing that! You have a bed for a reason. So use it."

" Ninaa I know I have a bed but you know how tired I get after finishing a piece of art! Sometimes I forget to climb in my bed okay?"

She crosses her arms and glares at me sternly, tapping her fingers against her arm with a brow raised.

" What?"

" Your excuse is invalid. Please try again but with less bullshit this time." She mimicked the tone of her voice mail box system.

" Alright I so humbly swear that I will use my bed for sleeping purposes from now on. No sleep on art desk either." I decree with my hand over my heart.

"Good."

The doors to the room open revealing the yoga instructor with the rest of the class filing in behind her.

" Okay ladies let's get this show on the road. Unwrap those mats and dive deep in yoga!" She cheers excitedly.

She spots me and Nina and waves " Morning girls! Love the Carebear leggins, Alayna! And Nina the galaxy design on those pants is simply breathtaking!"

" Thanks Mrs. Joss!" We say in union.

Nina hands me my blue yoga matt when she grabs her purple one and we bend over to unroll them. Taking out usual warm up stances before really beginning the lesson.

~~~~

Li Shang stretched the muscles in his arms trying to focus on bench pressing rather than a certain girl in the room next door.

The giant window that took up most of the wall that gave him a very good view of what is going on inside wasn't helping him in the slightest.

Shang has had his eye on the girl for a while now but as big as he was he lacked the confidence to go and talk to her.

So the best he can do for now is watch from the sidelines hoping that he didn't rub off as a pervert to the stunning woman.

He readied his weights and laid back on the bench. Running is hands across the stainless steal finding the right spot before tightening the grip in his hands.

He lifts the barbell with ease already on his 6th press before he heard the doors of the gym fly open with a bang.

Shang groaned in aggravation already dreading the rest of his day when Shan Yu walked in gear in hand.

Even though Shang and Shan Yu went way back to high school years they have this burning hate for each other.

A feeling that never died out even after the high school graduation ceremony when they both went their separate ways.

Shan Yu felt a pair of eyes burning holes in the back of his skull but when he turned around realizing that it was none other than Li Shang he sent a devilish smirk his way.

Shan Yu strolled past Shang and stopped in front of the dumbbell weight rack selecting his weights reference he sat down on the bench dangerously close to Shang. Lifting the way to heavy dumbbells in his hands the metal clinking with each pull Shan Yu gave.

It stayed silent between them as they worked out. Shang, drenched in sweat from his hard work out, set the bar back on it's handles to take a water break. Peeling off the soaked material from his body granting his muscles their freedom from that sweat trap.

Shang chugged half of his water bottle his gaze wandering over to the yoga room when he spotted his crush on the other side of the window.

She and her friend we're discussing something and Shang took this opportunity to fully turn his head and look.

She wiped her face with a towel and draped it over her shoulders, fixing her galaxy yoga pants when they were a bit higher up on her calves.

'God' he thought smiling softly to himself as he watched her laugh at her friends joke.

'She's so gorgeous' Shang's eyes roamed over he curvy figure. Her arms we're covered in sweat but gifted her smooth chocolate skin a bright glow to it.

A deep chuckle interrupted his fantasy. Shang quickly turned to glare at Shan Yu who has caught him staring.

"What's funny Shan Yu?" Shang growled at the pale man.

" Nothing important. I didn't realize that your taste runs a little darker in woman that's all." Shan Yu's sly remark caused a vein to pop in his forehead.

" So what if I taken an interest in a woman of color? My tastes don't concern you Shan Yu and I kindly ask that you stay out of my business." Shang said swiftly returning to his bench to add more weight to his bar.

Shang sighed heavily as he traveled to the weight rack to replenish the weights he currently uses.

On his way back he witnessed something he never thought possible. Shan Yu was staring at the Hispanic girl who is currently in a firefly pose. The carebear leggings hugged her lower half tightly and the way she was angled gave Shan Yu the perfect view.

Shan Yu was so entranced by his curly haired crush that he hadn't noticed Shang's presence behind him.

"Wow, Yu I would have never guessed you liked your woman spicy! But I guess there's a time for everything huh?"

Shan Yu was surprised to hear Shang speak to him that he nearly dropped his weights but caught them before they hit the floor.

" Screw you and your honor Li Shang" he spoke harshly but Shang wasn't buying his rough guy act.

" Look Shan Yu it's obvious that we both have crushes on those girls but we have to understand that they are good friends. So, if we want to date them we have to set our differences aside and work together." Shang held out his hand to Shan Yu you looked at the appendage skeptically.

"Truce?"

Shan Yu sighed and put down his weights. Standing to his feet he grabbed Shangs hand.

"Truce." He agreed.

~~~~

" I swear Alayna you are the only person weird enough to do the Firefly pose for fun."

" Hey, don't judge me and my weirdness Nina."

" Oh I don't have to but your crush who is standing right behind you sure can." She says with a smirk on her face.

I straighten myself from bending down to roll up my mat and look at her "Nina don't play with me. You always do this when you catch me staring when he lifts his weights. Plus there is no way in hell someone as hot as him would just so happen to be standing behind-"

I feel a sudden weight on my shoulder and turn to see a hand that belongs to my crush resting on my shoulder.

" Boo."

"...me..." I freeze when Shan Yu himself is standing before me. Wearing his signature smirk.

"..h-hi Shan Y-yu!" I say after finally gaining my ability to speak back.

He chuckles "Hi," he says, cooly.

"I--umm...." Shit I don't know what to say! What should I say? I search for Nina but find that she left me to go talk with Li Shang over by our stuff. Betrayal I say!

" Y'know It makes me happy knowing that all my efforts weren't going unnoticed. I'm glad the cutie from yoga finally caught on to my antics." He said as he played with a handful of my curls.

" Oh thank you- I mean your welcome! Shit! I mean, uh, I'm honored? Hehe"

"May I have your number Miss. Alayna?"

"Yes please!" I jot down my number on a piece of paper and gave it to him. He took the piece of paper and neatly folded it and slips it into his pocket.

"Hey Alayna!" Nina calls as she walks over with her arm wrapped around Li Shang's.

"Shan Yu would you like to get smoothies with Alayna and Myself?"

I looked at him for an answer and he smirks sliding his hand atop my curve then pulled me ink his side " Hell yes."

[frangipanidownunder]

It’s a New Day, It’s a New Dawn: fic contest entry

This was my entry to the fic contest. Cancer arc. Mulder and Scully go on a date.

She’s been having dreams. Vivid, cinematic. Bright kaleidoscopic photography. It’s an irony that her skin is parchment-pale and her eyes are gray-ringed and she fights the urge daily to disappear herself in the comforting wrap of her charcoal fleece.

She doesn’t smile too often yet. She still finds that hard, despite her positive prognosis, despite being dealt a second hand in life. Maybe living with death changes muscle memory. She doesn’t smile for many reasons, like her mother’s almost oppressive love and her brother’s tight surprise at her recovery. But sometimes her lips twitch at the relief Mulder’s hides in his own easier smile, the protracted looks he hangs on her when he thinks she isn’t paying attention, the more frequent night-time phone calls – that come much earlier now. Honestly, she misses their 2am slot. They spoke more freely then, shared fears among the ideas, dropped old stories into the mix of autopsy results and wild theories. She knows he’s been frightened to his core by her cancer. And, like the child that still lives in his soul, he doesn’t quite know how to shuck off that terror.

              Remission. It’s a strange term. Sending back, releasing, abating, waiving a debt. Like she owed somebody something. If she has rejected death’s shackles, then it goes that she must be free. She must be able to do as she pleases. She remembers reading about the first sexual revolution – in the Roaring Twenties when the heavy burden of war had lifted and the novelty of life and living powered up. Jazz clubs, movies, cars. The world changed profoundly for that generation. And there’s something about the curious and colorful hope in her dreams that makes her feel the same way.

              Last night’s dream lingers under her skin, behind her eyes, in her breathing. Magical, sensual, sexual. She can’t pin it down but it made her feel good and she wants to hold on to that feeling. She stretches her toes out under the soft linen and enjoys the warm weight of it molding to her body. During her treatment she couldn’t bear anything against her skin, even the lightest touch scratched at her skin, burnt, bruised, scarred. Now she craves it.

She’s always been tenacious, clinging to noble principles or boyfriends past their use-by or scientific proof despite what she’s seen. She has gripped life by dagger-like horns and held on, palms bloody and torn. This time she has won and she needs to celebrate. She bought herself new underwear and pyjamas in the most luxurious silk, and she booked herself in for a day treatment at the local spa hoping to shed the last of her dying cells and front this new life of hers with fresh, unblemished skin.

___

Mulder drops by. He’s no good at lying, gives himself away with too many stumbling starts and glances to the left. He rubs his nose and she stares boldly at him, this glorious man in front of her holding out daffodils, the flowers of new life and hope. He’s asking her to dinner and she wants to believe it’s because he feels the same things she does, but she knows it’s really because he needs to see that she’s eating.

“My shout,” he says and there’s a vague air of desperation as he taps his wallet in his pocket.

The restaurant is bland. Mulder is the bright spot with his embroidered reminiscences and luminous smile. He’s genuinely delighted to be entertaining her. He can’t help trying too hard. This man who has lost everything and still believes in fairy tales and happy ever afters. The truth. Mulder’s truth has always been about a bigger picture, a higher purpose. The mundanity of dying just wasn’t in his vision.

              “I’m not keeping you up too late?” he asks, checking his watch for the fourth time. It’s only just gone nine and she feels extraordinarily awake.

              “I’m fine, Mulder. I’m having a nice time,” she says but knows it’s not enough for him. His mind will be worrying through all the things he has said or hasn’t said or should say. She covers his jiggling fingers with her hand, his sharp intake of breath punctuating the moment. “I want to say thank you for believing. For having faith and for your courage. I know how hard it must have been for you to see me that way. I don’t think I’ve told you how grateful I am.”

              His fingers still and his shoulders fall forward a little. He turns his head to the street. There’s nothing to see out the window but the rain falling into orange spools of light cast by the lamps, but his attention is captured by it. It seems he is all out of stories. “There was no choice,” he says, monotone matching the outlook. He does lift her hand and close it inside both his palms, and it feels like he’s covering her heart.

              She has a sudden urge to dance. To drink incandescent cocktails in a shady club. Wear feathers round her neck and Charleston until dawn. She wonders if Mulder has ever danced, although she dimly recalls a story about his mother teaching him to waltz as a pre-requisite life-skill, alongside swimming and cooking. Teena and Bill Mulder’s priorities in life were never quite synchronized. Genteel living on the Vineyard or trading your daughter to a syndicate of power-hungry men?  

              “Have you ever been to a jazz club, Mulder?”

              He releases her hand along with an unguarded laugh. “What?”

              “A jazz club, you know? Dancing, drinking, cigarettes in black holders, pearls and boas.”

              He’s still chuckling, all teeth and chesty laugh. “I do have a fedora and some two-tone Oxfords in the closet somewhere.”

              She sees him then, gray hat shadowing his face, pinstripe shirt with gold cufflinks, suspenders holding up his cuffed pants, black and white polished shoes skitting across the floorboards. Something inside her blooms. She smiles and the stretch across her face feels like an new act in her life.

“You look good as you are,” she says, trying not to linger on his broad chest.

              “Thank you,” he says, drawing out the words with uncertainty. Then he sits upright, runs a hand through his floppy bangs and grins. “You’re serious? You really want to dance?”

              Suddenly unsure, she rubs her thighs and swallows. She’s being irrational, she knows. She’s taking a chance, she knows. She’s putting herself out there, she knows. He’s not ready for this shed-skin Scully, this rebirthed version. “It’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. “Let’s get the check.”

              Outside, the air is damp and the residual smell of frying onions hangs all around. She’s noticed the slow return of her sense of smell and the aromas of life come at her with memories. A chilli-dog with mustard spooling down her shirt. Smoke from campfires with grit between her toes. Cologne on pillows. Ocean-fresh skin. The salt-sweet stickiness of the morning after.

___

Mulder cranes his neck back round, slows the car and turns it around. He looks across at her and holds her in a half-smile. She sees the neon sign, a golden pineapple with oversized verdigris spikes, flashing. The Tropica.

              Inside, it’s velvet-walled dark. It’s tactile. It’s pink smoke puffs and aqua light strips around ceiling high mirrors. The bartender is dancing shiny cocktail shakers in each hand. The low thrum from the speakers is pulsing some saxophone standard and Mulder pulls his credit card from his wallet and sets up a tab. It feels illicit, ensconced in a booth sipping strawberry daiquiris through green straws. After the first, she tucks the cerise cocktail umbrella behind her ear and makes Mulder grin. After the second, she tucks the umbrella behind his ear and makes him laugh.

              When her cancer struck fear into her bones in the early hours, when she saw nothing but a void in her future, when she trembled at the thought of Mulder going mad with bottled-up grief, she imagined how she would spend her last days on earth, had she been well enough. It wasn’t a midnight tryst in an underground club sharing lurid drinks and even more lurid tales about work colleagues. Somehow, she’d imagined pink sand and sun-baked skin, glimmering yachts and dolphin-diving. Fresh, salt-whipped winds snapping shade-sails overhead and mango juice sticking to her chin.

              But this, this electric thrall that presses around her, the gravity of life. It’s more than she could imagine. His fingers cover hers and he’s tapping with the beat of the drum. On the small stage, a woman in a purple sequin gown shimmies and belts out Nina Simone. He leans across, tipping over the glass in front of him, spilling pink ice onto the table. He ignores it and his jaw brushes her cheek as he whispers in her ear.

              “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Dana?”

              Hearing her name on his lips shoots heat through her veins. She is Dana tonight. She has worked off her debts, gripped life by the shoulders and shaken herself back into it. She is free. And when he presses his damp-shirted chest to hers nesting his face in the crook of her neck, it’s like she has stepped into one of her dreams.

              She never wants to wake.

[beneathshadowsrp]

The Crown of Shadows Results are in!

“And as the evening comes to a close, it’s time to announce the auction results. Once again, I am Carlton Cartwright and, judging from your bids, I think you all were just as impressed as I was with these impressive contestants and their wonderful dates. But, before we announce the winners and who will be taking home the Crown of Shadows, I want to remind ya’ll of where all of these proceeds are going to. The proceeds of this event are to help the Muttropawlitan keep strays off the streets and to instating a go green initiative around town. From cleaning up Wonderland Park to helping buildings such as All Saint’s Hospital be powered solely by Solar Energy panels, your donations will be a crucial to fixing up the town and, coming in at a whopping $17,205, will be able to not only clean up Wonderland Park and help out the Muttropawlitan, but build a dog park in town, install solar energy panels throughout All Saint’s Hospital, and go towards the funds to build a public pool. Thank you so much for your wonderful contributions and you’ll be sure to see your marvelous contributions come into effect soon. But, now for what you’re all been waiting for-”

Now that you’ve won your charity dates, feel free to play them out on the dash! Please feel free to reach out to your character’s date, plot OOC, and create threads surrounding it. You don’t have to create the date thread right away. So, feel free to take your time with and work together. If you want to wait to have your date thread after the full moon, by all means do that. And last but not least, have fun!! We’re so excited to announce the winners and we hope you are too!

The total amount of money raised from the charity event: $17,205

In Crown of Shadows Tradition, we will be awarding crowns to the top two highest bidders as a thank you for their generous donations. The crowns will bestowed upon them from the past years’ highest bidders and, come the next year, they will have the honor of passing the crowns down to the next winners:

The highest bidder who will win the Crown of Shadows (see image here): Mackenzie Foster

The runner up in highest bidder who will win the Princess tiara (see image here): Olivia Pierce

The Dates/Winners:

1: Amanda & Abby

2: Eliza & Sophie

3: Tae Cho & Juliet

4: James & Evie

5: Noah & Kenzie

6: Caitlin & Julian

7:  Natalia & Liv

8: Kelsie & Kai

9: Damien & Astrid

10: Jacen & Carter

11: Rowan & Ella

12: Griffin & Nina

13: Serena & Silas

14: Lia & Jasmine

And in case you forgot what the dates were...

The Date Breakdown/Recap once more:

Contestant #1 is... Amanda Weaver. She is:

Goofy, Energetic, and Adventurous.

She hates asparagus. Vehemently.

She doesn’t want to entirely spoil the surprise, but it will involve shopping and it will involve dinner. In that order.

The winner of this date is... Abby Barnes.

Contestant #2 is... Eliza Holmes. She is:

Kind, Protective, Creative.

She can dance really well, but she only does so in the safety and privacy of their home.

The date would consist of a picnic packed and made by the contestant, near the water, under that old willow tree everyone loves. Then she would enjoy taking you up to the lookout pointe, overlooking the town and the water close by, to enjoy some wine. And perhaps some good conversation under the stars.

The winner of this date is... Sophie Vidales.

Contestant #3 is... Tae Cho. He is:

Outgoing. Lovable. Spicy.

Madame Zeroni once predicted he wouldn’t finish college. ‘She’ was right.

Free dance lessons at Tiptoes, with your choice of salsa dancing or hip-hop. Followed by a picnic dinner under the stars where you can also watch Netflix on his iPad.

The winner of this date is... Juliet Reynolds.

Contestant #4 is... James Armstrong. He is:

Dutiful, Chivalrous, and Trustworthy.

“My dad’s dead, does that count?”

They will take you on a boat ride on the water, departing from the Harbor and making their way to the Falls. There, they will drop anchor and enjoy a pre-packaged meal next to the Falls. Pack a swimsuit if you want to take a dive.

The winner of this date is... Eve Martin.

Contestant #5 is... Noah Armstrong. He is:

Down to Earth, Fun-Loving, Goofy.

‘I can fit my whole fist in my mouth, wanna see?’

This date is a scavenger hunt comprised of recreating popular romcom moments together on a budget. The clues, such as an ode to “She’s the Man” where a present shows up on your doorstep with a wheel of gouda cheese in it, will lead you to your date whom will be hanging off the side of their roof from a bungee cord, wearing a Spiderman costume like in the OC and holding cue cards from the movie “Love Actually”, while a boombox sits below playing “Kiss Me” from Six Pence None the Richer. After finally cutting themselves down, your date will take you into the backyard where a projector will be playing “10 Things I Hate About You” onto a sheet that has been tapped to the side of the building to look like a screen. This contestant, also, would like you to know, that during the movie, popcorn, ring pops, and chocolate covered strawberries will be provided.

The winner of this date is... Mackenzie Foster.

Contestant #6 is... Caitlin Dunmore . She is:

Caring, Dedicated, Passionate.

They can randomly produce facts about certain things. Makes them really good for trivia games.

On this date, you will meet up to have either coffee or dinner than off to a painting class and end the day with ice cream and strolling through the town at dusk.

The winner of this date is... Julian St. Clair.

Contestant #7 is... Natalia Hamilton. She is:

Charismatic, Adventurous, & Dominate.

Can sing rather well & can make up little cheers due to their time as a cheerleader!

On their date, they would love to explore the town & woods while under the moon. After a walk around town, you will then be invited out to one of the many bars and spend the night dancing, eating, and drinking in a private section while enjoying each other’s company.

The winner of this date is... Olivia Pierce.

Contestant #8 is... Kelsie Woods. She is:

Cute, Quiet, & Loving.

They once won a radio call in contest by being the first person who could sing the alphabet backwards.

If you win you can look forward to a picnic at the Falls with all the traditional picnic fixings.  You two can eat, swim, and just enjoy a nice summer day.

The winner of this date is... Kai Papoa.

Contestant #9 is... Damien Pierce. He is:

Funny, Charismatic, Charming.

In our high schools production of Grease, I played Danny Zuko.

On our date, they will take you to a water/amusement park in Charlotte with an all access pass to all the rides and a VIP treatment with fast lane upgrades, free meals and a rental of our own cabana to sit and rest until you’re ready to hit the rides again.

The winner of this date is... Astrid Reyes.

Contestant #10 is... Jacen Todd. He is:

Sarcastic, Charming, Witty.

I’m a fan of Karaoke bars and frequent them every week.

On our date, they will take you to the local gun range and if you’re a first timer, teach you how to shoot, if not start up a friendly competition of who can best who on targets. After you’re done, dinner at the restaurant of your choice.

The winner of this date is... Carter Pierce.

Contestant #11 is... Rowan Hartman.  She is:

Serious, sweet, loyal.

I’m an expert knife thrower and kick ass at darts.

On our date, they will take you on a sunset cruise on Lake Norman on a private yacht. This date is complete with dinner, a Netflix movie of the bidder’s choice.

The winner of this date is... Ella Bahar.

Contestant #12 is... Griffin West. He is:

Adorable, Funny, and Resourceful.

Scared to death of porcelain dolls.

The date will involve a trip to the arcade, where you can play games, battle it out in laser tag, take a spin around the roller skating rink, or get behind the wheel to race in go-karts. There, you will also enjoy a private, candle lit dinner for two over pizza, nachos, and your choice of soda. Unlimited tokens will be provided, along with a guaranteed prize of your choosing.

The winner of this date is... Nina Skala.

Contestant #13 is... Serena North. She is:

Fun-loving, Adventurous, Independent

They’ve lived in more than 4 different countries.

While most of us have lived in this town forever most of us have taken for granted some of the the treasures that are hidden in this town. The day would be full of exploring them. Starting off with breakfast at The Pie Hole, then move on to the Boathouse where most of the day would be spent out on the water. When the fun in the sun was done the party could move to Level Up! for a quick round of air hockey and dinner. After the sun goes down the excitement begins with Moonlight Zip lining that ends at the Observatory where desert will be waiting.

The winner of this date is... Silas Bahar.

Contestant #14 is... Lia Diaz. She is:

Sweet, Ambitious & Cheerful.

They are ambidextrous.

This date will be a carefree night in. Start out by having fun splatter painting your date’s living room and each other with paint filled balloons. Then, just as the sun is about to set, watch the light stream in through the windows and illuminate your splatter painted work as you enjoy a home cooked meal and a bottle of wine of your choice on a picnic blanket spread out across the floor. Then your date will lead you into the backyard where twinkly lights are set up for a free salsa lesson and a chance to watch the stars.

The winner of this date is... Jasmine Morris.

[toevenexist]

The Darkening Pt. 13

So here is the illusive next chapter of The darkening! I’ve had it slowly in the works since i posted chapter 12, sorry for taking so long. I really hope it lives up to any expectations!!! 

Reviews and reblogs are very very much appreciated! 

Masterpost

Enjoy xxx

The block was dark and still, only even breathing, and sleepy murmurs filled the air. Amelia twisted in her sleep, stirring slightly as she tried to get comfortable, she always used to sleep on her front, but it had been weeks since she been able to comfortably do that. She curled up on her side, her knees and forehead coming into gentle contact with Owen’s side. In his sleep he moved his hand to the top of her back and eased it up and down, inciting a satisfied sigh.

Alex stirred from sleep in his bed. He opened his eyes and gazed up at the ceiling, there was no light seeping from anywhere, soft coloured clouds flickered in his eyes vision. He sighed, bringing his hands up to rearrange his solitary pillow, he’d given Amelia his other one, along with Owen providing one of his, as she’d been having trouble sleeping. 

He huffed and sat up, rubbing his face, he brought his knees up, leaning on them heavily. He heard Arizona mumble something in her sleep next door. The only other sound that hung in the air was Richard’s soft, yet unimposing, snore.

 He closed his eyes and sat still, trying to decipher if he’d fall asleep anytime soon. ��Nope” he whispered, standing up and stretching his arms out to his sides. He edged his door open, and crept along the hall, noticing a warm glow coming from the kitchen.

Megan sat at the kitchen table, leaning over a glass of water, one of her hands rest against her forehead, fingertips within her hair. She heard Alex and looked up slowly, smiling tiredly. “Hey”

“Hey” Alex spanned her and put a pan of water on boil, so not to wake the others with the kettle. “What time is it?” Alex asked as he took a mug, and then another one from the cupboard.

“Four” she said, sighing, leaning back in her chair, “Did I wake you?”

“No… I’ve been drifting in and out all night” he replied, turning against the kitchen surface and leaning there, letting his eyes wander to the window, past the reflection of the inside, out to the quiet indigo skies. The silence was rushing, a single bird chirped intermittently.

“You often have trouble sleeping?” Alex spoke huskily, gravel rattling in his throat. Megan met his eyes and held his gaze, she nodded, fear twinkling in her eyes. “My dreams aren’t somewhere you would want to be” she uttered softly.  Alex poured water into the mugs and dropped tea bags into them.

Alex settled across from her at the table and sat the mugs between them. He leant forward and slid the glass away from her, pushing the mug beneath her downcast face. She remained stooped, he moved his hand firmly towards her and wrapped it carefully around her forearm. He expected her to flinch, but she didn’t, she just looked up.

“If you ever want to talk, if you just need someone… an ear… I’m always here” he said, squeezing her arm. She smiled, nodding slightly. “Its nice to have someone to sit with” she found his eyes again, and rested there.

They sat in silence, swimming in their own thoughts. The bird stopped chirping outside, the world seemed to take a breath and for a moment, the silence was deafening. Alex set down his cup and sat up straight, gazing sidelong at the window. He opened his mouth to speak when a siren began to boom outside. “What the hell?” Alex yelled as the siren rang loud. Arizona flailed out from her room, Richard ambled from his.

Owen and Amelia had jumped awake at the sound. Owen shot up to sitting, wide eyes diving out the window. Amelia grappled at his side, pulling herself up.

 “What…” Amelia whispered. Their door burst open and Ray came sprinting in, Ellis, crying, in her arms. 

 “Melia” Ray whimpered, shuffling onto the bed beside her, falling into her arms. Owen leapt from the bed.

 “Leave the light off” he said, his deep voice cut through the light hiccuping of Ellis. He closed the curtain. 

“Owen, Owen…” Amelia called after him, feeling an internal shudder in her inhalation. He stopped, turning back to her at the door, seeing her there, frightened, with Ray and Ellis curled around her swollen middle, tethered him back, grounded him. 

“Come on, let’s go into the living room” He said, moving back to her and taking hold of her, and Ray’s hands.  

They were met by a quiet chaos in the living room, A rattling sound overlaid the siren. They had found that all the windows had pull down shutters so everyone was pulling them down rapidly.

 “Come here dear” Evelyn called to Ray, reaching out her arms. Ray padded over quickly, tearfully leaning into her embrace. Once all the shutters were down everyone fell silent.

Amelia crouched unsteadily by the undersink cupboard, rummaging for more candles, she found a torch and a bag of tea lights. Owen appeared at her side and took the bag shakily from her fumbling hands. “It’s okay” he said, running a hand down her back. She nodded, swallowing hard, remaining beside the kitchen counter as the rest of the group moved toward the lounge.

The sirens suddenly stopped, and the phone rang, making everyone jump. Arizona paused beside it looking around at the group. She picked it up and listened. “It’s an automated message” she said, pushing the loudspeaker button.

“There has been a breach of the perimeter, please put the shutters down on all windows, lock the doors and remain indoors until further notice” it said before starting again. Arizona gently put down the receiver.

 Ray started to cry, burrowing further into Evelyn’s embrace. All eyes jutted around the room, mouths agape. The silence gave way to the rhythmic crunch of boots in gravel outside.

 “It’s okay Ray” Megan sat down beside Evelyn and Ray, “You hear that?” she said, pointing her index finger up. Ray nodded, still crying, “That’s soldiers, you see… one bad guy probably climbed the first fence, and there are like five fences… lots of soldiers against one bad guy.” Ray had quietened, and smiled a little, though her cheeks were red and glistening. 

 Arizona and Alex disappeared down the hall, locking the door and pulling all the shutters down in the bedrooms. The footsteps thumped into nothing as the soldiers got further away.   Ellis sat on the floor, oblivious, pressing Lego blocks together. Ray slowly crept down beside her, tentatively picking up to pieces.

Owen watched them, his mind elsewhere. He suddenly realised Amelia’s absence from the circle, and turned, finding her leaning at the counter, soothing her hand over her bump, eyes downcast. She was breathing lengthily. 

Worry overwhelmed him in a wave and he strode to her, “Amelia?” He said, his tone attracting the attention of the adults in the room. Amelia hummed, shaking her head, still looking down. “What’s wrong?” He ran his eyes over her, searching for any indication. 

“It’s okay” She breathed, pressing the underside of her stomach.

 “Amelia…” he moved in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder, she looked up. “What is it?” Owen asked her. She inhaled deeply.

“I… I feel a little weird, the… the baby won’t stop kicking” she uttered, letting go of the counter and gripping Owens arm instead. Her weighty lean worried him further.

“Amelia?…” Arizona called as she crossed the room, she pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and brought to to where Amelia stood. “Sit down” she muttered, guiding her down to sit. “What is it Amelia?” Arizona asked her, switching places with Owen.

“She said, she feels weird and the baby is kicking a lot” Owen said, he pressed his hand to her stomach, just beside hers, feeling the flicker of movement.

 “Weird how?” Arizona probed, carrying her med bag from the other side of the room.

 “You don’t need to fuss, I’m sure it’s nothing” Amelia said, shaking her head, moving to stand up. Arizona and Owen both stopped her, and she sighed, closing her eyes. “Has Nina said anything about your blood pressure?” Arizona said, sliding her blood pressure cuff up Amelia’s arm. 

“Low” both Owen and Amelia said at the same time.

The sound of an automatic weapon pierced the air, echoing from a distance. Amelia jumped, gasping, and then wincing when the baby reacted with a sharp sequence of kicks. Evelyn appeared in front of her. “Can I get you anything Amelia? Some water?”

Amelia shook her head, but Owen turned and nodded. 

“Okay… your bp is low, do you feel dizzy, lightheaded?” Arizona said, as she pulled off the cuff.

“Some” Amelia replied. Evelyn passed Owen a glass of water. He handed it to Amelia and she held it dismissively atop her stomach.

“I think it must have been the stress of the wake up that dropped your BP and got the little one going” Arizona said, perching on the kitchen table. Amelia took a sip of the water, placing it back on the counter. Arizona pursed her lips, meeting Owen eyes. “Amelia, drink some more, it’ll bring you blood pressure back up” Owen said, handing the glass back to her. 

She sighed, taking it. She drank half, and met Owen’s gaze, pouted and then drank the rest. 

Evelyn reappeared before them, wearing a warm smile, illuminated by the candlelight. “I’ve set up the arm chair with your pillows, why don’t you come and put your feet up?” she said sweetly. Owen turned back to his wife, hoping she’d go quietly. The healthier she’d got after the incident with Ray’s parents, the more reluctant she was to rest. Amelia caught the hope in Owen’s eyes and swallowed any defiance, “okay” she whispered, setting her glass on the counter. Arizona and Evelyn noticed Owens relief as he stood, glancing at the both of them.

He felt sick as he pulled her up. He walked with her, she leaned into his side and set down into the cocoon that Evelyn had set up, groaning softly as she sank back. Owen moved the footstool closer and lifted each woolen sock clad foot onto it. 

He paused, standing before her, hair aflame in the yellow glow of the candles. She looked up to him, hands rubbing wide circles at the sides of her stomach. He held his breath, trying to keep his cool. 

“You’re okay?” he said, hands coming to rest on his hips.  Evelyn watched her son from a distance, at the way his stress and worry coursed through his body. 

“I’m okay” Amelia replied, reaching out her hand. He moved to her, taking her hand, sitting on the footstool beside her feet.  He held her hand up to his lips, pressing a kisses to her knuckles. The room fell silent again, the thump of boots filling the air.

“That must be them coming back” Megan stated, hugging her legs to her chest.

Owen stood, “I’ll be right back” he said, nodding down at Amelia. Evelyn watched as he left, moving to follow him when the phone’s ring broke the silence.  The sound made everyone jump, Richard chuckled, fracturing the tension. 

Megan picked the phone up, lifting it to her ear. She sank with apparent relief, eyes flicking up. “Listen…” she said, putting it on loud speaker.

“The base is secure, there is no further reason for alarm. Have a nice day” it said, almost cheery, the message ran on a loop. The room let out an audible sigh. Off to the side Alex unhooked one of the shutters and slowly inched it up, orange light poured in through the widening space, quickly rendering the the candles less necessary. 

Amelia closed her eyes, soothed by the calm, and by the assurance of safety. The adrenaline high that had pulled her from her bed had disappeared, sending her swiftly into the arms of sleep.

“Owen?… it me…mom” Evelyn edged open his bedroom door. She found him sat at the edge of the bed, head in his hands, his breathing was rapid. She moved quickly into the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Owen? What’s wrong sweetie?” she said, sitting beside him. He sniffled, quickly rubbing his face. He shook his head. “Is it Amelia? Because she’s okay, she fallen asleep in the arm chair…The phone rang, the base is secure, so… we’re safe” she said, settling her hand at the top of his back, rubbing up and down. 

He shook his head again, gasping, trying to regain his composure. “I…” he said, panting.

“Breath Owen… that’s it” Evelyn said. He breathed consciously, sitting up straight.

“I’m so scared for Amelia… for the baby… I… love her, and I… love our baby… so much” he lost his words again, stooping into his hands. He shook his head. Evelyn pouted sadly, sighing.

“Oh honey, I know…”

“I don’t know how to protect them” he said, his voice rasping and breaking. He collapsed into his hands.”Owen, listen to me… there’s nothing more you can do. Just look after her, tell her you’re scared… Owen…” she said, leaning, trying to catch her son’s eyes. “Owen Hunt, look your mother in the eyes” she said, smiling a little. He  turned his head, looking at her before sitting up, breathing in deep. “Your best is enough…” she said firmly, eyes drilling into his. “It’s going to be hard Owen and stressful, but remember you’re not on your own, talk to Amelia, she knows you’re not indestructible, let her be there for you. And you have me, you sister, and everyone else… Okay?” she said, nodding.

Owen pursed his lips, swallowing hard, nodding.

“Alright, take a deep breath, and go get Amelia to bed, both of you get some more sleep” Evelyn said, standing, ruffling her son’s hair. 

He looked so young in that moment, rosy cheeked and puffy eyed, she smiled, shaking her head, astonished that her baby boy was going to be a dad. A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. It popped open, revealing a bedraggled Amelia.

 Evelyn hurried to the door immediately, pulling it open, “my dear, come in” she said, taking the pillows from Amelia’s arms and walking them to her bed, Owen rose too, taking Amelia’s hand. She looked up at him, face twisting with worry. “O have you be crying?” she said quietly, letting him sit her down. Evelyn left the room without another word.

Owen fussed around her, arranging her pillows, somewhat manhandling her into a comfortable position. She sighed when she was finally in position, looking up to him, concerned.

 “Owen?” she begged, taking his hand, pulling him to bed. He sat against the wall beside her. She lay on her right side, looking up. 

She took his hand, placing it against her quiet bump. “I love you… and this baby”  he began, Amelia simply nodded, sensing there was more.

 Light poured in through the window, embracing the couple. “I’m struggling Amelia…” he pressed his lips, frowning. She held his hand, squeezing.

“I’m scared all the time… I want to keep you both safe” he said, tearful eyes quivering from her face to her stomach before diving out the window. Amelia inhaled, nodding softly.

 “Owen we’re all safe… I can’t… promise that everything will be fine but… we just have to try our best. And I’m sure that’s enough… I’m sure of it” she spoke with finality, finding a confidence she didn’t realise was inside her. Owen eyed her, the tired smile he found pulled a smile from his lips too. She nodded, a question, and he nodded in reply, sinking down under the covers beside her.

 She pulled him desperately close to her, allowing him to curl under her chin, arms comfortingly weighty around her middle.  She dropped a kiss to the top of his head, inhaling the sweet musk of his hair. “I love you too” she whispered, she felt  Owens lips press against her sternum, his breath tickled her delectably, drawing her eyes closed. Their baby nudged against Owen’s embrace, causing Amelia’ breath to hitch.“Good morning baby” Owen sang, idly stroking the expanse of Amelia’s lower back.

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