#but ye as much as I hate mold apartments the atmosphere is

[confusion-est]

The possibilty of getting stuck in a nightmare is killing me

[lilacsandwhiskey]

Swipe Right // Chapter 4

Pairing: Liam Rhys x Riley Brookes

Warnings: language

Riley wiped down another table before heading back behind the bar to assist with serving some newcomers. She was just glad she was getting off early tonight.

Daniel and Cassie worked diligently in between each other, including Riley as they worked to pump out drinks, take orders, deliver food, while also holding a conversation.

“Can we talk about how sexy he was? Like if you don’t sleep with him tonight, I’m going to riot.” Daniel says, drying a glass. “First off, rude. Second off, I can have another date without giving into him. He’s gotta earn it, anyway.” “When’s the last time you had sex?” “Why does it actually matter?” Riley responds, rolling her eyes as she types the order in to be received before mixing yet another drink for the night.

“Come on, D, you can’t push Riley.” Cassie says, printing out a ticket. “Thank you, finally someone with some decency.” “Yes, but also… have you seen the man? Daniel has a point. He is fine as hell. And seems to be a total gent! What more could you ask for?” “Maxwell is sweet but I’m not giving in that quickly. Does anyone recall that we’ve been on a single date to a coffee shop?”

——————

Liam knew it was rude. While the woman in front of him rumbled on about her move to Manhattan, Liam’s mind was wandering towards Riley. He felt utterly pathetic to be thinking about a girl so much after one date, but there was just something about her. Maybe it was the way she laughed just a little too loud, one that made him laugh himself. Or the way she’d sit up in her chair while he was talking, or the way she pushed her hair out of her face when she got super into the conversation.

He knew Drake’s intentions were for him to have fun, and maybe he shouldn’t be so stuck on his first and so far only date, but he found it hard not to be. She was fun, had a charisma about her he wasn’t used to seeing. The woman in front of him right now had molded into the city, a face put on while no one was watching. One he found less interesting. He hated comparing, considering that’s what he’s done his whole life, but there was no doubt Riley had forced herself into his mind, a total intrusion she had become.

Once dinner had come to an end, he quickly dodged a bullet that required him to get in a taxi and ride back to her place, an apartment only minutes away. Liam gave her his most polite smile, ensuring her had a good time but he really should be heading out. A dick move, not one he was all too used to.

But as he checked the time, recognizing that his time with Riley would arrive soon enough, he decided to pull up his map and take a walk around the city in all it’s glory by himself - well, with Bastien following him around. That was the one circumstance about all of this was that Bastien linger around, he wouldn’t go inside the restaurants but rather be close by. He wouldn’t follow around like a creep, just keep a close eye on the prince.

Liam took in the lights and the rush of the city, a much different atmosphere than the place he was from. He watched as people moved along with no words, just trying to get to their destination with no one to share it with. Some couples moved in sync quietly, some friends talked breathlessly as they found their way across the street.

Liam felt fortunate that he was able to capture everything around him in this moment - he didn’t have some big meeting, he was on time for his date, and his dad wasn’t there to breathe down his neck about deals and protocols. It was a very fortunate moment for him. One he didn’t mind living in for a while.

Liam’s attention was brought back to the map on his phone that led him to the address Riley had sent him earlier that day - a restaurant that was only a twelve minute walk from his current location. He was going to be early, but as if Cupid himself wanted to plan this date, Liam was fortunate enough to pass by a side shop, built with flowers on top of flowers. Liam dipped quickly under the small canopy, letting the woman know he would like to build a bouquet.

The woman worked diligently with the flowers, helping arrange a beautiful bouquet for Riley. Liam smiled at the final product, an arrangement of colorful flowers - an arrangement that reminded him so much of Riley’s bubbling, strong personality. It was wrapped in a tan paper, tied off with a beautiful twine bow. Liam held it close to his chest as he thanked the woman, giving her a generous tip before heading towards the restaurant.

When Liam walked up, he noticed the small crowd that was littering the restaurant. He caught sight of Riley, running around, all while laughing along her coworkers who were working in sync with her. He watched as her hair bounced up and down in the ponytail she had curated on the top of her head.

As Riley made her way to a table closer to the entrance of the restaurant, she noticed a familiar figure standing right outside. She gave him a smile before giving the table their ticket, and then opening the door. “Maxwell! You’re early.” “Not too much, just excited to see you is all.” He says, smiling over to her. Once again, he’s caught off by his name, and is now wondering if this goes extremely well how he’ll ever break it to her.

“Also, these are for you.” Liam gives Riley a smile, handing the flowers out to her. The smile reaches her eyes, as she takes them and hugs them towards her chest. “Thank you so much. Good intuition, considering I love flowers so much.” Liam grinned at Riley as she cooed over the simplicity of the flowers, making him wonder how often she’d ever received them before. “I’m going to go finish up and change really quick, and I’ll be right out. I’m gonna have my friends drop my flowers off at my place.” She gives a wink before skipping inside, grabbing the ticket and the money off the table and running towards the bar.

Though he can’t hear what she’s saying, he can tell her friends are happy and joking with her as she grins ear to ear. She takes off her apron, laying it underneath the counter and runs towards the back of the place into a dark brown door. Liam feels his phone ping in his pocket. “How’s the date?” Drake texts. “It hasn’t started yet.” “I meant the one before Riley.” “Didn’t hit it off.” “Don’t get too over in your head over one girl and one date. Have fun!”

Liam locks his phone while shaking his head, shoving in into his pocket as he waits patiently in the bustling street. Finally, he sees her walking towards him from inside the restaurant, giving her friends a wave as the bells hit against the door. “Wow, you look stunning.” Liam says. Riley had quickly changed into black skinny jeans, a loose satin baby pink satin camisole that was tucked in, showing off her figure. She matched it with a pair of black pumps, and her hair that was once sporting a ponytail fell in loose waves down her back. And Liam was in pure awe.

It was rare he got to see women dressed like this. He was used to big dresses, business casual dresses, pant suits, and formalities. Not that those weren’t nice or flattering, but to see himself dressed in nice, normal clothes, and to be going on yet another date with someone who was wearing nice, normal clothes was exciting to him.

“So here’s my idea. We’ll take the subway towards the 24 hour ferry, hop on that, and it’ll take us for a ride towards the Statue of Liberty. We’ll pass it but unfortunately I wasn’t able to pull enough strings to get us up in it this late.” Riley explained, nudging them forth. “If I get to just see her in all her glory up close, that’s perfect with me.” Liam responds, smiling over at the girl.

As they walked, they fell into casual and simple conversation. “It’s always fun to give someone insight to the city. I don’t get to do it very often, I mean people move here with so many expectations and are let down. It’s hard to make it here. It’s not as simple as walking into a place and having something handed to you. It’s competitive and not so pretty a lot of times.” Riley explained, her heels clicking slowly against the sidewalk as people rushed past them.

“I’ve always loved visiting but never have been able to truly explore the beauty of it though. I’m glad I have me a personal tour guide.” Riley grins at Liam’s remark. “So how long are you in town?” “Three weeks. Well, from two days ago.” “That’s enough time for me to do all the touristy stuff with you.”

——————

“So you never rode a subway?” Riley asked, leading Liam down the steps. “Nope!” “And you’ve been here how many times on business? Did you just have a taxi that drove you everywhere?” Something like that…

As they walked towards the MetroCard machine, Riley was quick to pull her card out to pay for his travels. “No, no, no. Let me.” Liam was quick to usher her out of the way after she typed the amount in. “I don’t mind!” “Yeah, but I do.” Liam shoots her a grin, causing butterflies to only erupt in Riley’s stomach.

They both swiped their cards, moving through the entrance before Riley pulled her boldest move yet - grabbing his hand - and leading him to more stairs. As they inches closer to the tracks, Liam was well aware of the buskers playing for money. Liam was quick to grab a few bills out of his wallet, laying it in the guitar case and giving a nod. They walked on the left side, waiting for the subway to make its way to them.

“Listen, pretty boy. This is public transportation, so prepare yourself.” Riley remarks. Liam just laughs. “Pretty boy, huh?” “You heard it here first.” Riley bumps her shoulder into Liam’s. Liam was well aware everything was fast moving so he was on her heels when the subway pulled up and she was grabbing his hand to push past people.

The seats were full which only left the bars to hold onto, and Liam followed Riley’s lead as she gripped onto it. Everyone was quiet, just hushed whispers around. Liam caught sight of Bastien who was in the cart next to them, “reading a book” and watching closely.

“You better hold on.” Riley whispers. With no warning, the subway takes off, causing Liam to just barely stumble. Usually quick on his feet, he wasn’t prepared for a move like that, which only caused a laugh to escape Riley’s lips as she grasped onto his arm in attempts to steady him. “Told you.” Riley whispers. Liam can feel his face grow warmer but quickly feels relief when Riley had yet to move her hand from his arm.

It was a foreign feeling, one that he was enjoying entirely too much. Watching her laugh at his embarrassment made it seem all worth it and maybe he’d stumble time after time just to get a rise out of her. When the subway came to a halt, it threw Riley against Liam, which only caused him to wrap his arm around her. “Thought I was the inexperienced one.” “That could knock anyone down!” Riley argues.

Once people had piled off, Riley quickly drags Liam down into a seat right by the grip bars. “Here. No more stumbling for either of us.” Riley grins. Riley was well aware of the stares around her, probably from the almost too loud laugh or the obnoxiously hot man beside of her. After two more stops, the two were piling out of the subway and filing upstairs out of the exit. “Just a short walk to the ferry.”

When they arrived at the loading deck, there was only a select few people around them. “You’re lucky we’re not having to battle off too many people.” Once they got onto the ferry, Riley leads him to highest deck available and sits him on the side outside. The night sky is clear, no stars to be seen, lights still illuminating all around them. The deck has no more than four other people on it, all caught up in their own little worlds.

When the ferry takes off, Riley crosses one leg over the other, just barely leaning into Liam’s side as they talk. “Have you had the desire to move?” He asks Riley. “That’s a tough question. Yes, and no. This has been my home my whole life. I grew up fast, taking the fast route to everything. I grew up preparing to live on my own in a big city, to get around and make something of myself. But on the other hand, I also wonder what it’s like other places. Sometimes I crave to settle down and see the stars every now and then. I crave to rest with no noise, no distractions. This is where my family has always been, but now my dad lives in North Carolina, and a visit with him just really makes me crave that simplicity. How about you? You live all the way in Europe, have you ever thought about moving?”

Liam thought long and hard about that question. There was no doubt that he’d imagined a life where it wasn’t all protocols and learning proper etiquette for each individual celebration or party. How could he ever explain that without giving his entire identity away?

Liam let out a deep sigh. “Honestly, yes. But with my job, there’s no easy way to relocate. I have a lot of responsibility so looking past that has felt utterly worthless, because it feels like there’s no true way to ever expect myself to move. I like to think moving would be in my best interest, but I don’t ever see it in my cards. I stopped imagining long ago.” He says with a sad laugh. Riley gives him a frown. “You know you control your own life. You could always try, or you could find a new job - one that better suits what you want for your future.” Liam smiles at her response, only wishing he could tell her and she could understand what his life consists of.

Liam watches as Riley explains her life growing up, how her and her mom had been so close before she’d passed away. She talked about her best friends, life waitressing, and how college ended for her. “It was fun and I’m grateful for the experience, but man, I just never knew how I’d get to use my degree to its best abilities here.” Liam wishes he could open up to her completely, something he feels compelled to do. It’s rare he has deeper conversations, considering his conversations go as deep as a puddle with his family and most “friends.” Drake is well aware of each inch of Liam’s life, but Liam had never opened up to a woman wholeheartedly before.

With him being away from the country and the people who expected the most of him, he found himself feeling lighter around Riley. Like he could say what he wanted and she would’ve never judged. Like he could tell her about his picture perfect childhood that never was really quite perfect and she’d understand. But then again, could she ever? She grew up out of the spotlight, talking about her brother and sister constantly being the comparison. Liam grew up in utter spotlight, being the prince, and now next in line for the throne. It was all so different. But he didn’t want it to be.

Liam held his tongue on spilling his life to Riley, and it took everything in him not to spill his name and his identity. Though he hoped Riley wouldn’t treat him any differently, he couldn’t risk it. Nor could he risk a huge security breach. If Bastien could hear his thoughts, he’d be shaking his head. Bastien was well aware of this gig the boys had going on, and after a thirty minute lecture of why it was a bad idea, Drake reasoned with him and Bastien had to give in. He knew the good intentions were there and technically he had to power of getting things erased and secured.

Riley looked over at Liam, who appeared to be in deep thought as he looked at the water. The Statue of Liberty was coming up soon and was already visible in the distance, but something seemed to be trekking on his mind. “Everything okay?” Riley asks, not expecting a full answer considering, well, they hadn’t even met 24 hours ago. “Hm? Oh yeah, just thinking about work.” “How about you spend the rest of the night without that in your mind? Push it to the farthest crevice of that brain up there.” Riley jokingly pokes Liam’s head, exerting laughter from him.

“So what’s your fascination with the Statue of Liberty? I mean, besides that it is quite literally one of the main tourist attractions.” Riley asks, standing to usher him towards the side of the ferry so he can get the best look at it while they pass by.

As they inched closer, Liam was only able to form specific words. “Look at her. Just standing tall, above everything. She represents such freedom. She stands tall in the middle of all the chaos of the world, just to hold that representation.” Liam rambles, taking in every ounce of this experience that Riley had finally allowed him to allow.

His eyes stay glued on the art in front of him, a feeling captured inside his heart and mind that he had yet to quite feel before. It was something he’d always wanted to see, and time after time visiting the city, no one had gone out of their way to make sure he actually got to see it. Not that Riley could have ever known that and maybe she was just doing it just because it was technically another date and it seemed fun, but to Liam, this meant the world.

Liam turns to Riley, a smile planted on her face as she’d watched his reaction, as she heard the words escape his lips. Freedom. He wanted that.

“This might sound utterly ridiculous, but can I just thank you. I’ve waited years for this experience and you’re the one to finally let it come true.” Liam can’t stifle the massive smile he has on his face.

Riley grins at his words, utterly aware of no surroundings but him as she watches his blonde hair fly back with the breeze, his arm resting easily over the side of the boat. And Liam is wanting nothing more than to throw caution to the wind. To say hell with slow first dates and rules. And he does.

Because next thing he knows, his hand is back over the boat and moving towards her side, while the other one is connecting to her cheek. Riley’s perfectly soft cheek. And his head is moving closer to his as they both smile, anticipating the moment that is about to occur.

Liam dives down towards her lips, connecting them in a way that sends sparks flying, electricity jolting through his entire body. Adrenaline is pumping in this moment, and he’s thinking who cares if I only met her hours ago? This is what freedom looked like to him in that moment, and Liam Rhys was getting freedom.

A/N: thank you for reading!! my apologies for inaccuracies:-) i just got back from NYC monday and it was so fast and all a blur but gave me so much inspo so pls enjoy! as always, feedback is welcomed :)))

tag list: @lovingchoices14 @gkittylove99 @princessleac1 @hopelessromanticmonie @emersynwrites-deactivated202109 @queenjilian @bebepac @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @kingliam2019

[ryttu3k]

Finishing up SoNY, ‘bad’ end and final thoughts!

But first, the early game over.

Wow, she just gets shot. Not even slurped? That’s rude as hell XD;;

And on to the ‘bad’ end!

Beginning is much the same, ofc.

“You’re too in love with weaving a good story and establishing a seductive narrative to let facts get in the way.” Foreshadowing for the ‘good’ end, maybe?

God that Embrace scene gives me literal goosebumps.

Alright! Last time I did Danse Macabre and Retributive Justice, let’s try The Risks of Swiping Right!

lmao god I’d eat this guy too. Back to the ghost club! That legitimately is a really neat scene. ...Ooh yes so that’s where the girl was from.

Panhard just lowkey dying at the mental image of Katherine Weise in a fast food restaurant is so good.

The sweet scene between Julia and Dakota hits a bit different after the ‘good’ end XD;;

Went to the park, reminisced, and helped out the guy. That was sweet ;_; High-humanity Julia, this time!

‘Fairy God Mother?’ is great but ‘Vin Diesel?’ is objectively the funnier response.

“Shining even more brightly than usual, Aisling.” Samira got a cru-ush~

Poor Julie. It’s probably been tough without Sophie around :(

Huh. Interestingly, refusing to lie to Mia results in Julia actually feeling genuine loyalty to the Cammies (for now, at least).

Believing Agathon is still alive = more optimistic = different dialogue! See, this is how you make choices have consequences, game!

Oooh boy time to meet Adelaide XD;;

“She uncrosses her legs in a strangely seductive motion. In her mind’s eye, it probably looked like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, but in reality, it had all the grace of a tracksuit Slav squatting.” *snickering*

Fight me, Adelaide >:(

‘sup Nastya. Went with the slightly less disruptive routine here XD Huh, she’s an aspiring DJ! Julia is deeply confused as to how being a DJ and being head of security works together.

lmao Julia referring to Hope as a girlboss. That phrase has lost all meaning to me...

The conversation between Julia and Father Leonard is still really interesting. Man, you know who I want Julia to talk to? Anatole. Interesting insights into balancing being queer Catholic vampires there for sure.

lmao oh my god I want to fight this street reporter.

‘I can almost feel my brain losing its wrinkles.’ *snort*

Yeaghhhh the Abyss bit is still so creepy...

Oops. Being honest regarding Tamika and Torque’s relationships gets a fail :(

Oh, or not XD That works! Also, uh, apparently the giant albino ghoul alligator is real, according to New York by Night. He’s Calebros’ pet.

“Because I think I have a pretty good nose for people’s auras. And when I take a good look at you... ...somehow, I have a feeling you’re a surprisingly decent person. Whatever way of unlife you choose, I hope you don’t change it. And that you remember my advice.” :)

“I know.” Oof.

“Hi.” “WAAAH!” lmao sorry Princess XD;; Just trying to imagine Qadir’s face as he tells Julia to find a 1990 glass statue of Scrooge McDuck... dying...

Oh she’s so a Toreador XD Low art options are a fantasy book, an anime DVD, or a video game... those can all be arty, though! And went with the anime DVD called ‘Ririsu no Daibouken’... that translates to ‘Adventures of Lilith’. How on the nose XD “The cover says ‘Lilith’s Carnal Carnival’.” Oh. Yeah, that’d do it XD

“This 90s original video anime presents us with a tale of five big-bosomed samurai warriors travelling through America in search of General Hastavista, The Incubus King. Don’t let all the titillation misguide you: the main draws here are peerless direction, a nearly avant-garde editing rhythm and dialogue that coyly comments on traditional gender roles in anime. Once you see the animation in the final battle, you’ll understand why it never fails to set a sakuga fan’s heart ablaze!”

She’s my new favourite.

“So can I know your name now?”

“Hmmm... Let me think...

No. <3″

I need to stress that the heart appears in the dialogue box. Like. The actual less-than-three heart.

Didn’t investigate the rat this time, so Qadir did and I die. “Glad you’re alright, little guy.” Qadir...

Still not over the drunk blood doll rats.

Kaiser’s still a goddamn creep and this time Julia is not going too far. She still has her humanity, dammit. Final set of traits:

Loyal to the end

Glass half-full

Not into a bad cop schtick

Honesty is the best policy

No more human, still humane

Onwards to the ‘bad’ end! Oops, and Dakota still did the Single White Female thing XD;;

Man I’m still really curious who the ‘good friend’ is!!

Okay! Time for end game!!

So that’s the good friend, huh? “Let me phrase it differently, then. You’re not Ecaterina the Wise, the Agitator of Prague, a Brujah elder causing turbulences all over the world... are you?”

Mention of Christof! Mention of Christof doing shady shit :| Poor Hana.

“An immigrant from Eastern Europe comes to New York City, takes the position she always expected to find herself in, is molded into someone who is no longer herself.”

Julia and Dakota representing Carthage is kind of neat.

I want to say the mention of St Jude is a reference, but I’m not sure what to XD;; Is that from Redemption? Christof could have been the one to tell Hana that.

“Like a two-person human centipede loop or something. An Ouroburos? Or an, uhh, Mobius strip?” No, that’s the other traditionally Sabbat clan XD

That‘s. That’s a hell of a reconciliation XD “Yeah, let’s give it a try. By the way I’m on the run for my unlife, want to go to California and try to find utopia?”

Julia, wear a fucking mask XD

“Hey.”

“Yeah?“

“Do you love me?”

“... Of course I do. For now, at least.”

I still don’t know if I love her. Or even if I can love anyone, for that matter. I’m a fucking monster, after all. I don’t even know if we’ll exist next month. The prospects are not looking good. But although I can’t see myself in the rearview mirror right now...

...I will remember this image of us leaving the city, somewhat melancholic, and somewhat hopeful, forever. And maybe the meaning of this image will be clarified with time. Or maybe I will just force a more positive description on it, and that is what I’ll believe.

No matter what happens... even if oceans of blood lie before us, I will make this a cherished memory.

Whatever possible salvation still remains for me... ...it probably lies in the eyes of another.

Oh dang I have chills.

So the ‘bad’ ending is about the subverted compromise. Julia resigns herself to letting the compromise about the truth of Callihan’s death go ahead. ‘Catherine’ is a walking compromise to hide the Ecaterina’s real deeds. But while Hana is still stuck in her role for now, Julia refuses to accept the compromise she’s made, both the one relating to the investigation and the compromise she made of her own views and morals. It might blow up in her face, yeah. But damn, she’s going to try.

So, final thoughts! For the sake of completion, this is what I said about Coteries:

And of course this is the part where the game all falls apart :-\

Just… god. This is probably the biggest problem with CoNY, and the reason I didn’t bother getting it until it was like… 60% off. The bulk of the game is great - the writing is intriguing, the design is stunning. But the choices themselves are so limited it’s barely worth even getting it at 60% off!

You have three choices of characters, with their own opening chapters and own individual scenes with their touchstones. You have four choices of coterie members, and three sidequests. You can probably get in at least three full story arcs and a sidequest or two, but you’re only ever limited to two of your coterie members showing up at the not-yet-endgame.

So let’s say you decide to play all three protags, which, indeed, is encouraged (there’s an achievement for it). You are going to repeat coterie arcs and side quests, because there simply aren’t enough for three unique playthroughs.

And then you get to the end and literally everything is scripted. You get attacked by the SI. You get rescued by your two coterie members (and then never see them again, despite the game being called Coteries of New York). You meet Torque, you escape the SI, Sophie reveals her plan to Torque, you go to Ellis Island, Adelaide kills Sophie (and despite the fact that you’re given multiple options there, none of them work), Arturo does his spiel, end of game. You don’t even get to choose between ending up blood bound or going “no fuck you” and at least dying with a bit of dignity!

I just. I really want to like it, and there genuinely is a lot there to like! But uuuugh the ending. Like damn at least give the poor protag the option to choose what happens to them!

Anyway. Not sure what’s next. To get all the achievements, you have to finish with all three protags, so that’s three full runs and a lot of repetitiveness (compare to, say, Bloodlines or Night Road. I have eighty-five hours on Night Road and there’s still stuff I haven’t seen!), so I can’t even just… rush it through up to the meeting with the touchstones on the third play. Nope. Gotta finish it :-\

Final rating: 6/10

8/10 characters, 9/10 atmosphere, 8/10 story aside from ending, 3/10 story ending, 2/10 replayability. Final consensus: get it on major sale if you can, otherwise, you might as well just watch an LP. I might do that instead of doing a third run, although I at least want to do a second.

I ended up revising that 6/10 to 5.5/10 after finishing all runs and getting the achievements just out of how goddamn repetitive it was. So, how does Shadows measure up?

Absolutely continued with all the things I enjoyed about CoNY (characters, atmosphere, and writing), and of the bits I hated (cookie cutter protagonists, lack of real choice, repetitiveness, the godawful ending), every single part has been completely improved.

Instead of three fledglings so similar they even have the same internal thoughts, we have Julia, who’s got such a distinct voice that she becomes the most memorable game protag I’ve seen in years, and I’m including non-VtM games in this. This is absolutely her game, and it’s just... absolutely fascinating to read and watch.

Related - actual real choices. There are five key choices that determine the ending, and every single one has actual consequence in-game. You get different dialogue. Different introspection. Different philosophies. And this carries across - if Julia believes Agathon is alive, she’s more optimistic about her relationship with Dakota, too. And of course, both endings are completely distinct and incredibly written - the ‘good’ ending where Julia gives in to her most Lasombra instincts, plays the game, wins it, gets power and respect at the expense of her humanity and avoiding all those wraiths... or the ‘bad’ ending when she listens to her morals, reconciles with Dakota, and leaves for California, uncertain, but hopeful.

Not a lot of repetitiveness. Yes, by design, you’ll probably do two playthroughs. The main plot is much the same, but there are enough options there to get multiple dialogue options and stuff. And for the little sidequests, you can actually get all in with just the two playthroughs, only repeating like... two, I think. Still, I wasn’t feeling actively bored like I was midway through my second run of CoNY!

Loved seeing more in-depth backstory and development for the coterie members. Agathon’s section was particularly fascinating, literally getting into his head.

And just. Atmosphere and music is so, so good.

Final rating: 9/10. Thank you, Draw Distance, you hit it out of the park.

[gwen-of-myth]

A Molded Man, A Better Lover

I am flesh and I am bone

Rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold

I've got fire in my soul

Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

Like glitter and gold

Like glitter

“Where is he,” Peter rumbles, ready to kill but more than that he is antsy. He is the boss, he should have complete control of everything, and everyone. It’s unsettling to everyone, especially him.

The lackey quivers and stutters but when Peter hears no answer he throws his cigarette on the floor, grinds it with his foot, and picks him up by the shirt.

“Where?!”

His roar echoes, and finally, he gets his answer. Peter throws the human down on the floor and rolls his eyes at the whimpers. What a weak excuse of a human.

With the information he retrieved, him and the rest of the mob are able to find the place pretty easy. Normally he’d send a small group and stay behind, but. It’s personal.

They break down the door and are in an immediate standoff with a rival mob, and in front is none other than the infamous Demon Wolf and next to him, a tied up Stiles.

“You’re dead,” he says, and Deucalion smiles mockingly.

His screams satisfy Peter almost as much as pulling Stiles into his arms does when he is free of the rope.

Despite everything, Stiles appears to be unharmed. It’s probable that Peter got there right before the torture begun, and of that he is grateful. His magnificent Stiles only was subjected to this much because of him and his mob’s rivalry. Peter never wanted to get him involved to begin with, but Stiles is extraordinary.

“I knew you’d come,” Stiles whispers against his throat, and Peter swears in that instant that he will never let anything bad happen to his sweet boy ever again. He swears it on his life.

“Of course I did. You’re mine; I protect my things.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but smiles.

“What, no sappy make out session and love confession? I’m disappointed,” he teases.

Peter’s smile suddenly turns solemn, and he says, “My dear, I could have lost you. You’re my whole world, and I’d do anything for you. From the bottom of my terrible, rotten heart, I truly love you.”

They share a tender kiss and Stiles, being him, starts crying.

“Stop laughing! That was beautiful you asshole!”

Peter brings him back to his penthouse, kisses the rope burn, and cooks Stiles pasta with Parks and Recreation on in the background.

“How’s school?”

Stiles shrugs, biting on a pen. He’s an art major, and his work is gorgeous, but his confidence, like with most creators, is lacking.

“How’s work?”

Peter shrugs, stirring the pot. Stiles has seen glimpses of work before today, men with guns and the hard look in Peter’s eyes after a hard kill. The man isn’t invulnerable, and today showed that Stiles is one of his weak spots, which is...worrying for Stiles.

Dinner is ready after a few moments, and Stiles moans at the taste. The sauce is just the right consistency, and the spices are not too little or too much.

“Y’know, if you ever left your life of crime and stuff you could open a kickass restaurant.”

Peter gives him a soft look,

Do you walk in the valley of kings?

Do you walk in the shadow of men

Who sold their lives to a dream?

Do you ponder the manner of things

In the dark

The dark, the dark, the dark

Sheriff Stilinski, like his son, is no fool. The first thing he did when he met with Peter and Stiles for dinner—who he knew; for many reasons, the man is infamous—is threaten to riddle him with so many bullet holes no one would ever know who the body belonged to if he so much as made his son cry.

But John also knows Stiles is his own person, so, awkwardly, he tries to make peace with Peter.

They show up to John’s house on a Harley, Stiles on the back with a sleek looking helmet and what is probably one of Peter’s jackets.

They have dinner, and tells John about his latest project.

“It’s a mural, like—a big one. Like an entire wall big oh my god Peter where is my phone I need to show him!”

Peter takes his own phone out and in a couple of taps, shows John. There’s pride in Peter’s eyes, and he sees why.

It’s nowhere near finished, some of the brush marks are streaky and paint got on the floor, but even so…

“Peter is gonna invite the guys over when it’s done, so everyone can see it. That’s why it’s in the living room,” Stiles rambles, then steals Peter’s phone and proceeds to describe what he’s planning and where and what colors he’s using.

John notices how Peter watches Stiles, like he’s the most important person on earth. It’s the same way he used to look at Claudia, and then at Stiles when he was born. For the first time since meeting Stiles’s mob boss boyfriend, John knows Peter will take good care of his boy.

(But he still has his shotgun just in case.)

I am flesh and I am bone

Arise, ting ting, like glitter and gold

I've got fire in my soul

Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

Like glitter and gold

Like glitter

“Peter!”

“Yes, darling?”

“It’s done!”

When Peter walks into the room, he’s taken aback. The painting is gorgeous, golden and sparkling in the light. But even more so is Stiles. He’s covered in paint nearly head to toe, which is sexier than it has any right to be.

There’s glitter on that tempting smile, and it awakens something primal and powerful inside Peter.

He crashes into Stiles like a tide, destructive and strong and enveloping. He washes over him softly, too, gently pulling off clothes and kissing the skin bared. Paint is rubbing onto him too, a mixture of metallic and matte and vibrant hues that don’t even compare to Stiles in his eyes.

“Do you like it,” Stiles whispers, after they share a tender kiss.

“I love it. I love you.”

Do you walk in the meadow of spring?

Do you talk to the animals?

Do you hold their lives from a string?

Do you ponder the manner of things

In the dark

The dark, the dark, the dark

“Do you trust me?”

It’s a ridiculous question. Of course Peter does—since he got in the family, he’s trusted no other. With his heart, his life, his entire being.

So Peter simply says, “Of course,” and kisses Stiles’s shoulder.

They’re in bed, the windows letting in the moon. Stiles’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he turns over and straddles Peter.

“How much?”

It makes Peter squint at his boy. Questions from him are not new, but…

“I would give you the world, if you asked. I trust you with my life, my men, me—“

Stiles gets off the bed, and Peter sits up.

Stiles is getting on one knee. Peter’s breath hitches when Stiles pulls out a box and opens it, revealing a glittery band.

“Peter, this time with you has been the happiest of my life. No one has ever supported me or my art, or protected me, or cooked for me. No one has ever met my dad like you have, and I want this every day with you. Forever. So...will you marry me?”

Peter pulls Stiles into his lap for a tender kiss.

“Of course I’ll marry you sweetheart. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

I am flesh and I am bone

Arise, ting ting, like glitter and gold

I've got fire in my soul

Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

Peter’s cornered. His men are down, bleeding on the cold earth. There’s a gun to his head, and his lies to far to reach.

He doesn’t accept the death he knows comes, but. He accepts he cannot escape it now.

Then there’s a flash and his would be murderer is down, a bullet striking them dead.

“Peter!”

It’s his Stiles, at his side, holding a gun in one hand and pulling Peter up with the other. His leg was injured during the fight, so he relies on Stiles to help him to the Jeep.

“How,” he has to ask. His voice is raspy from yelling.

“I made Boyd tell me. Y’know, for the scariest man in west America, you sure are dumb.”

Peter huffs a laugh, then erupts into a coughing fit.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles murmurs into his ear. “You’re safe.

And for the first time, possibly ever, Peter feels it.

I am flesh and I am bone

Arise, ting ting, like glitter and gold

I've got fire in my soul

Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

Peter arrives to the charity event all charm, with Stiles at his side. In the public eye, Peter is a philanthropist businessman, always giving back to the community. As such, he is frequently invited to events.

He usually hates the atmosphere—but something beckons to him one night. The auction is about to start when he arrives.

He ends up purchasing a painting for Stiles to take to his apartment, because he can’t move in until after he finishes school.

Stiles drinks a lot of champagne flutes, and becomes more than a little tipsy as the night progresses.

“You’re hot,” Stiles yells more than once in his ear, “Wanna date?”

Peter pretends to think about it, then shows Stiles the ring. He bursts into tears until Peter explains that, truly, they’ve been together for a long time and are very happy.

When they arrive to his penthouse Peter thanks the driver and picks Stiles up (slowly, so he doesn’t get puked on).

He helps Stiles shed his clothes and crawl into bed. I’m the morning, Peter will make him chocolate chip pancakes and let him complain all about his headache. He hopes he has a lifetime to cherish Stiles even more.

'Cause everybody's in the backroom's

Spinning up

Don't know what you're asking for

And everybody's in the front room's

Tripping out

You left your bottle at the door

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Peter says.

“How’d you become the big honcho anyways? Doesn’t seem like something that just happens overnight, y’know?”

Peter hums in agreement.

“Well, you see...you know about the fire, about losing my family, about the facial reconstruction surgery. After losing everything and everyone and even more to hospital bills, I was desperate. Desperate enough to look for help where I shouldn’t have.”

“Sounds sketchy.”

“It was. They’d have me do things that scared me, but eventually I became used to it. The family became my life, but then the cops found us.”

“Before dad?”

“Before your dad, yes. They threw everyone into jail, but I was new enough they didn’t have anything to hold me with. They let me go and a handful of others. Our leader, however, was murdered in jail.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, everyone was thirsty for blood. But it was anarchy, brother fighting brother, so I stepped in and came up with a plan. My first one was to win over the cops. The second one was killing our old boss’s murderer.”

“Then what?”

“With my leadership, we did both. We donated to charities, even to the cops directly, and managed to bribe one of them to kill one of their own. We dealt among ourselves quietly for years then, but well, new police force got hired.”

Peter looks at Stiles, really looks at him.

“I’m not leaving them. Not for a long while, because, like I needed them, they need me.”

“I know.”

“But I will. For you, I’d do anything.”

Stiles closes his eyes and buries his face into Peter’s neck.

“I know.”

'Cause everybody's in the backroom's

Spinning up

Don't know what you're asking for

And everybody's in the front room's

Tripping out

You left your bong at the door

Peter and some of his men (some of Stiles’s closest friends, by now) are front row during his graduation ceremony. They made little signs with his name on them and everything. Peter is wearing a golden suit, looking smug as hell, and Stiles is so happy.

When his name is finally called he almost trips over his gown from running. He did it! It’s like he’s dreaming. He punches himself just to make sure he isn’t.

After the ceremony is done, Peter drives them to Stiles’s little apartment. They usually stay at Peter’s, because it’s nicer, but Peter wants to spoil Stiles there.

“I ordered your favorite food, it’ll be here any minute.”

A hungry look passed over Peter’s face, and Stiles shivers.

“But until then…”

I am flesh and I am bone

Arise, ting ting, like glitter and gold

I've got fire in my soul

Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

Like glitter and gold

Like glitter

Like glitter and gold

Like glitter

[thorne93]

Insulting

Prompt: Imagine Constantine meeting your boyfriend and finding him utterly ridiculous and boring. He even teases you about it and makes fun of him which genuinely pisses you off and it leads to a serious argument. John tells you that you should be with a smarter man and it all ends in an angry kiss between the two of you. ( @keanu-c-reeves and @theartofimagining13)

Word Count: 1749

Warning: verbal fight, anger, cheating, language

Note: First Constantine fic. I love Keanu....Just..a note, lol. Beta’d by my other half @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please@superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaeling 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thanks for dinner,” you said sweetly as you put your hair behind your ear, walking down the sidewalk, as a chill swept through the air, a sign that autumn was gaining power.

“Anytime,” Ryan noted with a smile as he walked beside you, looking handsome in a dark long coat and sensible scarf. He could certainly afford to look dapper on a CFO salary. “I’m glad I got to see you this week,” he remarked. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy with meetings and work and deadlines…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” you assured, the two of you still strolling side by side. You glanced up, for some unknown reason and saw the street you were on and stopped dead in your tracks. “Oh, hey, would you care if we stopped in on my friend? I’d love for you to meet him.”

“You mean Constantine?” he asked, recalling the hundreds of times you’d brought up your best friend, the guy you’d known for what seemed like ages.

“That’s the one. Please? It would mean a lot,” you nearly begged with puppy dog eyes. “We’ve been going out for three months. I think it’s time.”

He seemed to hesitate for just a moment before nodding his head. “Alright. Sure. Let’s go see this infamous Constantine.”

Beaming at him and hooking your arm through his, you showed him to the apartment. Knocking on the dingy door, only to be greeted by the best man you’d ever known -- John Constantine, clad in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a black tie, and black suit pants. He was your rock. There for you through thick and thin. He was a bit of a drunk, a bit of an ass, but a really good guy deep down, he just had a funny way of showing it.

“Y/N, kind of late for a house call,” he greeted, his dry tone so familiar to you that you could probably recite what he would say.

“Not a house call, Constantine. I want you to meet someone!” you said with a wide grin.

His eyes went from yours to your boyfriend. The look of total disdain swirling into his dark eyes as he assessed the man on your arm.

“Why?” he asked, his eyes sliding back to yours, his lip slightly curling up in disgust.

“Because he’s my boyfriend. I told you about him,” you reminded in a kind tone.

“Ah, right, the glorified accountant. Come on in,” he offered with a taste of sarcasm as gestured while he opened the door wider and stepped to the side.

“Thank you,” you kindly said. No matter how rude Constantine was, no matter how cruel, or mean, or apathetic, or sarcastic he ever got, you always countered it with a full on ray of sunshine, refusing to be anything but positive around him, he already had it hard enough as it was.

“So Constantine, this is Ryan. Ryan this is Constantine, or John but--”

“But don’t ever call me John,” he cut you off, looking directly at Ryan, and you could swear he flinched.

“Oh, okay. No problem. Nice to meet you, Constantine. Any friend of Y/N…” he trailed off, holding out his hand for John to shake it, but John just looked at it as if it were leftover scraps. Utterly uninterested and unappealing. Instead, he reached over onto his table, grabbed a cigarette, and lit up, forcing Ryan to awkwardly drop his hand and shove it into his pocket.

“What do you do for a living, Constantine?” Ryan asked, trying to get conversation going.

“I work,” he responded in a short, clipped tone before taking a hit of the cigarette.

“Uh, yes, but I meant what do you do for--”

“Hey, you want a drink?” Constantine asked, interrupting yet again. “You look like you could use a drink. Let me get you one.” He pretended to be kind and polite for a moment before going to his dingy kitchen, pulling out two small glasses, pouring the scotch, and then brought them back. One for you and Ryan, and his was already half empty on the small table where he’d been leaning. The three of you sat down at the table.

“So, you work with numbers, huh?” John asked before taking another puff, letting the cigarette rest between his lips as he eyed your boyfriend. “Must just be a fucking thrill.”

“John,” you chastised lightly.

Ryan eyed you for a moment before peeling them off of you to look at your friend. “Uh, yes. I’m a CFO for Leaflin and Co. It makes pretty good money and--”

“Something you can’t take with you when you die.”

Ryan frowned and leaned forward a tad, as if he hadn’t heard John. “Beg your pardon?”

“Money. You think you can take that shit with you when you die? Any of your thousands or millions? You think any of that matters when you’re in Hell with demons clawing at your eyes and fire setting your skin ablaze for eternity?” John was leaning closer now, his tone more harsh, more serious than it had been. When his rant was done, he took another puff and leaned back.

“I..I don’t think I follow,” Ryan meekly said.

“No, of course you don’t,” John remarked, looking down, ashing his cigarette into the ashtray you’d gotten him about five years ago as a Christmas gift.  “How did you wrangle this one up, Y/N?”

The three of you talked about how you met Ryan and a little more about what Ryan was interested in, and what you two did together on your dates, hoping maybe he’d warm up to him.

“Really, Y/N? This is him? This is the guy you’ve been telling me about? I hate to break it to you, but he’s another money hungry, trophy wife hunter.”

“John,” you chided again. He’d only ever met one of your other boyfriends and this is why you didn’t introduce them. Because he always behaved like an ass.

His dark brown orbs shot over to you. “What? I’m just saying. You could do better.”

“I’ll have you know I care very much for Y/N,” Ryan responded.

“That’s all fine and dandy, but she could do a hell of a lot better than some dude in a suit that will either end up with a coke habit, fuck his secretary when you tire of her, or embezzle so much money you become filthy rich, giving Y/N a life she never dreamed of just to have it all ripped away by feds because you were too fucking stupid to keep it hidden.” He leaned forward, a satisfied smirk on his face as he stared intensely at your boyfriend. “Am I in the ballpark, ace?”

“I don’t have to stand for this,” Ryan said as he stood up, angry.

“Wait, Ryan. Don’t go,” you requested.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N. Some company you keep,” he remarked, glancing between you and Constantine, before storming out.

Constantine got up and poured himself another drink.

“What the hell? Why did you do that?” you asked, standing up.

“He’s a douche.” He got done pouring the drink, setting the bottle down before looking at you. “I did you a favor.”

“What is so wrong with him?” you demanded, your kindness slipping away, desperation in your voice.

“Nothing, if you like the absolute mundane,” he responded.

“Don’t be a dick, John. At least I have someone,” you said, a bit of exhaustion in your voice. You always wondered if he was a bitter ass because he was alone at night. “You just want me to be alone like you.”

���If my choices were between that--” he pointed at the door where Ryan had exited just moments ago--”and no one, I’d pick nothing, every time.” His smugness was nearly irritating as it saturated the atmosphere between you two.

“What is so wrong with wanting normal?” you asked, your hands on your hips as you stood before him.

John rolled his eyes. “Because you’re not normal. Because you deserve someone smart, and frankly more worth your time.”

Your eyebrows shot up, wondering where this concerned attitude was coming from. For years, you assumed John could care less who you were with. But sometimes you wondered if the reason he acted the way he did about all of your boyfriends or dates was because….he wanted to be one. And his actions and words now were merely enforcing that.

“Oh? And where do you suppose I find someone who is so worthy of such a thing?” you inquired, your sarcasm heavy as you crossed your arms. Seeing what his answer would be was a mystery to you.

“I don’t know. But it’s not him,” he answered, his eyes down, looking at his cigarette.

You shook your head, a small, humorless laugh escaping your lips. “Coward. You’re so god damn afraid to feel and let someone in, you’d rather just be alone and miserable than put any risk in being happy.”

He was taking a sip of his drink as you spoke. When you were done, he slammed the glass on the table, amber liquid splashing out of the side and spilling onto his fingers. “I’m a coward?” he demanded, standing up and getting in your face. “I’m not afraid of a damn thing. You're the one who would rather be with anyone than…” He trailed off, his eyes slowly drifting from your face, the words hanging in the air between you two.

“Than what, John?” you wondered, your voice barely above a whisper, praying and hoping he’d just say what the fuck was on his mind for once.

He muttered a “fuck it” quickly and quietly before his hands flashed to the sides of your head and his lips crashed on yours, the sensation lighting you up from within. Every nerve felt awakened has his mouth hungrily molded around yours and you melted into his form, kissing back with as much fervor. The heated moment ended, both of you panting slightly.

“Than risk being happy with me,” he breathed, his eyes closed as the two of you rested your foreheads against each other.

“It’s not the happiness I’m afraid of,” you admitted quietly.

“Let’s scare the shit out of ourselves, then,” he suggested, his mouth finding yours again, both of you knowing exactly what you wanted. Knowing that you’d rather risk it all for each other, than not at all.

[wunderlass]

Smoke & Mirrors Chapter 33: Aftermath

His captors think him defeated, but even Odin doesn’t know the secrets Loki holds. Before long, he’ll be free, events set in motion by Frigga’s best intentions and Loki’s worst instincts. He’s seen his future, and nothing is going to stop him from stealing it. Loki/Darcy, M rated

You can also read on AO3 or FFNet.

My aim is to get this story finished by the end of this month i.e. before Ragnarok comes out, as I think that will be a game changer (not that the MCU hasn't shifted completely since I started writing this story). There is one full chapter left after this one - likely to be another long one - and an epilogue, which is already written. So I think I'm going to meet that aim.

Shall we begin?

Stark Tower was still quiet when they returned to Tony's apartment. Jane greeted them, letting them know that most of the Avengers were down in the war council. Pepper had arranged an impromptu buffet, as it was hours since anyone had eaten. Loki took himself to rest. Jane and Darcy grabbed a plate of food each and returned to the helipad, to get away from the stifling atmosphere. Darcy was practically vibrating with exhaustion, but she wasn't ready to sleep yet.

New York was dark, for the most part, the electricity not restored yet. Only Stark Tower, and a few other buildings with their own generators, were lit up. And yet, it was far from silent now, the familiar noise of sirens and the horns of impatient drivers a welcome sign that the city was coming back to life already. With the war council's involvement, clean up would begin.

No doubt camera crews had already gotten back into the city—that distant buzz a helicopter or two—and would now begin a rolling news cycle. She wondered what the official line was going to be, since Thanos had vanished with relatively few witnesses.

The blood was gone from the surface of the helipad. Someone had taken the time to clean it up.

Darcy told Jane all about Hela while they calibrated the portal machine, and Jane listened sympathetically.

"Maybe I'm overthinking my relationship with Thor, but is going to make me her step-aunt or something?"

Darcy laughed, a tired and brittle sound that didn't really encapsulate what she was feeling. "Or something."

"I guess we can't dismantle this yet." Jane patted the machine. "The Asgardians are helping with the clean up."

"Does that means Thor's staying a little while longer?"

Jane only sighed in response. If Thor had a throne to worry about, there was every chance he'd return to Asgard and not give Earth a backward glance.

They went back downstairs, to the labs this time, where Erik was still lurking. He refused to share space with Loki, even now, and was still mostly clueless about what had actually happened during the battle.

They filled him in, and then Darcy went to fetch him some food from Pepper's little buffet. When she got back to the apartment, no one seemed to be around, but she could hear voices from the kitchen: Thor, definitely. His voice carried even when he was trying to be quiet.

Unsure how he would react to her, she crept closer, until she could make out the other person's voice as well.

"You must be pleased that my mother was able to plead your case and stop SHIELD from disciplining you."

"I owe your mother a lot," replied Nat. "We all do."

"This is true."

"Besides, I've been through worse. SHIELD would only fire me, or lock me up. I can always find work elsewhere, and I never stay locked up long. My previous employers tended to be more thorough in their discipline."

"I heard tell of that once. I am sorry." He sounded sincere.

"Thank you. It doesn't mean I'm not grateful to Frigga, but there are worse things to endure. Losing a friendship, for instance."

There was a moment's silence before Thor responded. "You are not as subtle as I have been led to believe."

"Right now, I'm not trying to be."

"You think I have been too harsh on Darcy." He didn't sound as defensive as Darcy expected him to. Maybe tired, and that was to be expected.

"You don't think these last few days—hell, all the months since Loki arrived—have been rough on Darcy? She's not like you. She's not even like me."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes. God knows, I've done my best to mold Darcy into a weapon we could use against Loki. I hated it doing it, but I thought it was necessary. Except now I realize what it's cost her. And you don't understand that."

"Don't I?"

"You've always had Mjolnir and your strength to rely on. Women? We don't usually have that. We know, when we're up against men, that we have to be faster, smarter, better armed. There are methods women have to use in war to survive, things you've never had to consider. Things we get punished for, things we get labeled for. Even Sif knows that, though she'll deny it. So Darcy did what we needed her to, and she'll suffer for it."

Thor did not respond, and Darcy retreated back downstairs, to lie to Erik about the food being all eaten up.

Darcy found a quiet sofa in one of the rooms in the apartment, and napped. She didn't dream, for which she was thankful, because she was sure her imagination would only offer up nightmares.

She woke with a crick in her neck and her exhaustion levels barely touched. The hazy light from outside suggested it was a new day. She wanted a shower, and a change of clothing, but even with her rooms only floors below here she doubted she'd be allowed to return to them.

That was a fresh batch of things to worry over, along with the old. Darcy was technically a fugitive from SHIELD, Loki was a wanted criminal on at least two worlds, and Odin was dead. Thor would be taking over the throne of Asgard, and there was no telling what his attitude would be like towards Loki. Plus, there was every chance he was going to break Jane's heart by leaving.

She went looking for Loki, hoping she wouldn't bump into anyone else at this early of an hour. Doors that were shut, she left closed, and she wandered until she found him in the same position she'd been in: curled up in a too-small chair.

He looked so peaceful like this, even though she knew the peace was temporary. His grief would return when he woke up, and all of his troubles too. Back into captivity, with his reduced lifespan, none of the sacrifices he had made enough to outweigh the sins he had committed.

He had to run.

The thought had her moving again, crossing to the bed so she could shake him awake, gently as she could manage.

"Loki," she murmured, snatching her hand away when he roused, murmuring her name in return. When he opened his eyes and blinked he didn't look fully awake, flashing a beatific smile. But it melted away as he came around properly, the relaxed, easy happiness turning to sorrow.

"I thought—" he said, then shook his head. "What now?"

"Loki, you have to leave."

He surprised her by shaking his head and settling back down with a sigh.

"You have to! This might your only chance. Otherwise—"

"Otherwise I will be kept in captivity, judged and sentenced. I am aware."

"Then why aren't you moving?

"Because I have earned it." He propped himself up on one elbow with a wry twist to his mouth. "I do not know exactly what I have done to merit this concern from you—or I would have done it sooner—but I know what fate awaits me, and I have decided to face it. For once in my life, I must take responsibility for my actions. It is a lesson my brother learned more readily than I."

"But you did what you could to make it better. You went to Mistress Death—"

"Who is not a judge or executioner. What she took from my was not meant to wipe my debt to the universe, and thus it still stands."

"So you'll live what—fifty years? Sixty years? In a cage?"

He rolled back onto his back, shrugging. "It sounds more bearable than five hundred years. And perhaps I will be granted privileges this time, for the wrongs I have righted." That wry twist returned. "Or perhaps my sins will be great enough to carry the ultimate sentence this time. My actions did lead to the death of the king, and I suspect many will view it as treason."

"Not just the king. Your father."

"Yes." It was a simple acknowledgment, one Darcy doubted they would have got out of him before today. "But king first and foremost to those who will pass judgment on me." He glanced at the door. "Has Thor returned from the war council?" he asked.

She nodded, remembering the heavy thud of Thor's steps waking her not long ago. Her heart was unwilling to let go of the notion of Loki's escape, even if she wasn't sure why. She still didn't like him all that much, but now she felt like she was the only one who understood everything he had been through. Thor and Frigga had heard about Thanos' torture, but it wasn't the same as seeing it, of being forced back into that moment and living through it with him.

"Then I must make my continued presence known," Loki said, pushing himself upright. "Lest he begin to wonder if I have fled." He said it in jest, but Darcy could see the set of his shoulders as he climbed off the bed and headed for the door. He was expecting to face a battle of his own, or at least a cold shoulder. Plus his grief must still weigh on him, fresh as it was.

Darcy followed him back towards the room where Odin lay. Thor acknowledged their entrance with a nod of his head. Darcy didn't see Jane, but Frigga was on the other side of the bed, mirroring Thor. She still didn't let her gaze stray to Odin.

"Have you slept?" she asked quietly.

"A little," replied Frigga. "The council did not disband until a few hours ago. When we returned, I must have drifted off but there is so much to arrange…" Frigga paused, twisting her fingers together in her lap. "I would rather return to Asgard as soon as we are able."

"I'm sure you can go whenever you like."

Frigga's smile was wistful. "I would like to say goodbye to the people I have come to know properly. But I believe I shall be able to do that quickly. When I am home, I shall rest."

"You will accompany us, of course," Thor said, only his cadence suggesting he was asking Darcy rather than commanding her.

"I—I will?"

"Yes. Jane will need a companion when I am too busy with preparations, and Mother told me she has already promised you a chance to really see Asgard."

"I know, she did that, but—"

"But you did not expect me to honor it," he finished, kindly. "It is the least I can offer you, Darcy, after the way I have treated you of late."

"Are you sure?" Her words sounded tiny, even to her own ears.

"Very. I have had sense talked into me by the fiercest women I know. And beyond that, the events of the last day have changed me. It seems to become a regular thing, that I am forged anew by circumstance and hardship, but I hope this is a change which will bode well for the throne I will be claiming." He glanced at the bed, where his father lay. "For a long time, I have felt numb—as frozen inside as I was when you turned your Casket on me, Loki. All I was capable of feeling was anger, which was hot enough to melt to the chill away, at least for a little while. But now, I am feeling again. It is not pleasant, not at this moment, but it gives me hope that I shall feel happiness again."

"I'm sure you will," Darcy said earnestly. "You'll finally get your coronation, right?"

"I will, and I want you to be there for it."

Darcy was pretty sure she had emotional whiplash, but she'd take it. She managed a tentative, watery smile.

"And Loki—" Thor continued, "brother, I intend to plead for clemency when you are tried again."

If he was hoping for relief, and gratefulness from Loki, he'd misjudged. Instead, Loki went stiff beside Darcy.

"How can you say that?" he spat, his face had contorted into a snarl. "If it weren't for me, none of us would be here. My choices, my actions—leading you to Jotunheim, having you cast out—this is what it led to." He gestured towards the bed. "All because I was a brittle, pathetic wretch who craved his attention. But now I'll never have that, nor his forgiveness."

"But you had his love. No matter what," Frigga replied softly.

Loki scoffed.

"It's true," said Thor. "I have no doubt our father hoped you would find a way to earn his forgiveness. Nevertheless—you have mine."

"No." Loki turned away, spinning so he had his back to them, and his voice quavered as he spoke. "You mustn't."

"I must. If I only have a mortal lifespan left with my brother, then I will not waste it hating you."

"You should hate me." The words were so soft they were barely audible.

"I won't."

"And you cannot shoulder all of the blame," said Frigga. "The Tesseract was here on Midgard all those years, and Thanos knew that. One way or the other, we would have needed to defend this realm and all others. A battle was inevitable."

"Father's death was not." Loki turned to face them again, though his fists were balled at his side, his stance remaining defiant.

"No. But I kept secrets, and I tried to push you towards the future I wanted for you, which set this all in motion. Am I not as culpable?" It was clear from her face that she believed she was.

"What has happened cannot be undone," said Thor. "I would rather cherish the family I have left, instead of letting us tear ourselves and each other apart through fractiousness and regrets."

Loki's eyes glittered, though he didn't let the tears fall. "I once mocked you for your lack of wisdom, and yet now it appears you were the wisest of us all along."

Thor smiled, then went back to being sombre. "I cannot make any promises about the fate which awaits you. It has already been agreed that you may never return to Midgard, on the understanding you will be judged under Asgardian law instead."

That jolted Darcy. Once they went back to Asgard, Loki would never come back. And yet Hela had seemed very clear that they were both in her life. How was that even possible unless Darcy abandoned Earth as well? For a man she still held so little affection for?

"I understand," Loki replied.

"Well, the other inhabitants will be rising soon," said Frigga. "Time to make ourselves presentable, and then do what we must."

Returning the Asgardian contingent from whence it came turned out to be as big a strategic mission as the battle they'd fought in. Using the helipad on Stark Tower wasn't feasible, especially not with Tony getting antsy about so many people to-ing and fro-ing close to his penthouse, even if the army was currently shacked up in the empty quarters of the tower. They refused to go anywhere until their fallen king returned home, though plenty of them were enjoying the spoils of victory in a jubilant Manhattan. The comrades they'd lost were also kept in the tower, waiting to be ferried home and reunited with the families they'd left behind.

SHIELD commandeered an old airstrip outside the city to house the new portal in, and setting it up required astrophysicists. Astrophysicists required assistants. Darcy was the woman for the job: no one could deal with the idiosyncrasies of Jane and Erik quite like she could. They got offered more hands, they got offered more brains (specifically, Tony's), and they got offered more equipment, but they worked best with what they'd always known.

Darcy didn't have much time to think or brood; it was like old times, for a few precious days—the three of them cobbling together a semi-permanent portal with parts from the upstate facility, and chunks from the device they'd used on the helipad.

The weather wasn't as nice as it had been those months in New Mexico, and the addition of Men In Black rejects watching their every move dampened the mood a little, but it was a thrill to have something to work on without the impending threat of the world ending being the primary motivation. And being in the vast aircraft hanger, practically alone, put Darcy in a better mood than she had been in a long time. No pressure, no looming catastrophe, only work and endless tubs of Red Vines.

Things improved further when Nat replaced the suits as their primary security detail. She was off Fury's shit-list and back on duty, which meant she spent almost as much time stopping Jane from electrocuting herself as Darcy did.

Darcy didn't know where Loki was. With his family, she hoped. They wouldn't have time to grieve together once they got back to Asgard, not with all the pomp and circumstance she'd got wind of. A state funeral, a state coronation…and probably a state trial.

That thought became more sober at the first whirling surge of power from the new portal, a shimmering chunk of the air churning between the metal posts they'd set up wide enough to pass a truck through. They'd done it, but even as she and Jane exchanged high-fives, they knew they stood at a threshold in every sense of the word. They could cross to Asgard, but whether they stayed there or came home, their lives would never be the same. Though wherever she went, Jane was determined to claim the Nobel Prize she was entitled to.

"No one's pulling a Rosalind Franklin on me," she vowed.

The first time Darcy saw Loki again, or indeed any of the Asgardian royal family, was on the day they departed. She and Jane had been outfitted in chic black ensembles, designers falling over themselves to dress anyone associated with the event. They waited in the hanger, watching it all unfold on live television: a massive procession out of Stark Tower, weaving through Manhattan, then the outer boroughs, and towards their semi-secret location. Just about every horse from the tristate area—and beyond—had been borrowed to allow the warriors to ride, though some had taken Chitauri speeders and refurbished them to shining glory instead, replete with new runes and chrome modifications. Better to carry the bodies of their lost brethren home on.

People lined the roads, holding out flowers and gifts for the ones they saw as their saviors. Many of the Asgardian soldiers took teddy bears and bouquets with open delight. Darcy supposed they didn't have stuffed animals in Asgard.

Odin lay at the head of the procession in a covered litter which kept him shrouded from the world—especially from the helicopters competing for space above. Fandral commanded the horses pulling the coach. Thor and Frigga rode behind on matching white mounts, their faces somber and effortlessly regal. Between them, Loki steered mighty Sleipnir with a blank expression—all in black on his equally dark steed, though nothing hid the cuffs binding his hands and ankles and linking him to his brother. He had the freedom to steer Sleipnir but not to flee. Not that he'd get the chance—Hodun, Volstagg, and Sif were close behind, grim-faced and alert.

The procession reached the hanger, the first place out of public view where even the helicopters couldn't peek into. They entered through one end and rode into the portal, which would spit them out the other side. It was already up and running, its stable thrum now controlled by SHIELD scientists, with Jane and Darcy waiting with their heads bowed respectfully at the approach.

Erik was long gone. He didn't want to get anywhere near Asgard or its royal family again.

The litter passed through without a hitch, and Darcy felt Jane sag with relief beside her. Then they glanced up to watch the rest of the family pass—and Darcy caught Loki's gaze, his attention on her in the moments before they breached the barrier. What she was meant to read in his eyes, she had no idea, beyond the shuttered grief and despair.

The pair of them weren't traveling on horseback—to Darcy's relief—and were beckoned into one of the open-roofed carriages carrying the chosen ambassadors of Earth. It meant they found themselves sharing with the Avengers, and she couldn't imagine more comfortable company for these weird next few moments.

"You've been to Asgard?" Steve prompted her. "What's it like?"

"Golden," was all she could think of, right before the pressure in her ears grew fiercest and they slipped into the tunnel through space. The universe streaked past them in streams of blurred light, before it all came to an abrupt halt and they tipped out onto the Bifrost, the shining city in front of them.

"Oh my," Jane murmured beside her, and Darcy understood the feeling. Asgard in the day was completely different to the shadowed, hushed city she'd experienced a few nights ago.

She knelt in her seat for a better view at all the glittering, golden towers—the palace still the most visible and most prominent. The Bifrost was empty except for the procession, but far ahead as it turned from bridge to road she could see the crowds lining the route towards Odin's resting place. Word had already spread courtesy of Heimdall, so this wasn't the shocking blow it might have been immediately following the battle, but Darcy suspected hearing it and seeing the evidence were two different things.

Tony was uncharacteristically quiet in his seat, though his appraising gaze suggested he'd be asking to speak to the local architects for ideas. Between his hands, he carried the Tesseract in its little cage.

Not the real Tesseract, of course. That was somewhere on Earth, buried somewhere only Tony knew, deposited there in his flight suit. Few people knew that, though, the illusion crafted by Frigga and Loki standing up to scrutiny. As far as the universe was going to be concerned, the Tesseract had been returned to the weapons vault in Asgard, under Thor's protection. No one would come knocking on humanity's door for it any time soon.

Up ahead, Darcy had a good view of horse's tails, and the stiff postures of the royals. Water surrounded the bridge, small islands breaking the surface here and there, but the city itself crowned cliff-tops at the end of the Bifrost. Somehow, the bridge shone even despite the sunlight, in a way that wasn't just reflecting it, but gleaming from itself. They moved at a decent pace, passing onto land within minutes, where the population lined the streets, many straining for a first glimpse of the safe return of their loved ones.

The atmosphere in Asgard couldn't be more different to the world they'd left behind. The city was whole, unlike the battering Manhattan had taken, but the crowds were as ashen-faced and weary as if they'd lived through a battle themselves. Though there were no open tears, only bowed heads for the procession as it passed by, and more than a little curiosity at the Midgardians among its number. That would probably change as the full swell of the warriors passed by and the identities of the dead became known.

They went straight to the palace, ushered out of the carriage and into what had to be the throne room. It was a vast space, matched only by the ancient cathedrals Darcy had seen on her travels, with a full wall given over to rising as steps towards a dais. Columns rose around them, disappearing above to hold up the roof so far away she could barely see it, with the lamps aimed at shrouding it in darkness and casting the light downward. The rear wall didn't exist at all, open to the rest of the city, and a path led all the way to the throne, with an almond-shaped area of the polished floor empty and cordoned off. Odin's litter was placed carefully in the center of that space, the fabric covering him removed so he lay open to the room.

No one sat on the throne, though Frigga was already ascending those steps, gown trailing behind her. Someone had fetched a crown for her because it now adorned her head, and when she reached the top she turned to face the hall, her head dipped towards her husband. The two princes knelt at the foot of the steps, bodies turned so they were still half-facing their father.

Darcy's party was brought to stand with the warriors three and Sif, at the edge of the cordon, and around them the rest of the warriors returned, filling out the hall, while other people filtered in from the city as well. This was the cream of Asgardian society, judging by all the finery on display. All was quiet and orderly, though the first sobs could be heard at the edges of the crowd. How many families had lost somebody in New York? More Asgardians had died than humans, in the end.

Darcy shuffled nervously, this close to Sif. They hadn't seen each other since Darcy's arrest and she half-worried that she'd end up with a dagger at her throat, but instead Sif offered a gracious nod of her head.

"I must offer my respect," she said, and there wasn't a note in her husky voice which suggested she was doing so begrudgingly. "To have walked into the realm of Death herself and emerged unscathed is a noble feat indeed."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Darcy replied with a wry smile. She wasn't sure how much respect she'd earned when she'd had no idea where she was going at the time, but she'd take this warmth from Sif over continued hostility any time. The warrior woman reached out her hand for Darcy's, clasping it in an approximation of a hand shake, before they returned their attention to the proceedings.

The crowd kept coming, but Frigga wouldn't stand there forever, no matter how much it seemed like she had turned into a statue, carved into a impression of endless grace and patience. Instead, once all the warriors were in the hall and only civilians were the new entrants, she raised her chin. Darcy could see the faint pathway of tears on her cheeks, but it wasn't audible in her voice when she spoke.

"The king is dead. Long live the king."

"Long live the king!" Everyone echoed that last phrase back to her—everyone except Thor, who rose to his feet and turned to face the crowd fully. It looked like he had the weight of the world on those shoulders. Multiple worlds. If anyone could bear it, Thor was the most capable, but it was a lot to face. He'd need a good support structure around him.

This wasn't the funeral; that would take place under cover of darkness in a few days time. For now, Odin would lie in state, allowing his people to pay their respects one last time. Frigga left the dais and her sons followed her, through some side door into their own personal world. Darcy found herself watching Jane watching them leave. So much was up in the air now that Thor was king, and Darcy hadn't been the only one burying herself in their work over the last few days. Poor Jane might be facing a final separation from Thor.

Tony departed with some of the warriors down the vault, to put the 'Tesseract' back where it came from, while the rest of their group was rounded up by attendants and taken to the quarters they'd be using during their stay. It turned out to amount to a wing of the palace, interconnecting suites with incredible vistas over the grounds and water. The crowds still thronged the streets, leaving Darcy with little desire to go out and explore. Instead, she sat cuddled with Jane on a little balconette, basking in the sunshine and marveling over the details of the city together.

"The amount of energy required to keep it up like that," Jane said of one of the floating buildings. "And it has to be just because they can—there's no real purpose to it being above ground level like that. It's impractical to get in and out of, and it still has a footprint, so they haven't gained any extra space from doing that."

"Does Tony have Asgardian cousins? That's the kind of thing he'd do—build something to prove he could."

There was a knock at the door, then one of the attendants sweeping inside. "His Majesty the king," he announced with a low bow.

Darcy shared a startled glance with Jane. Neither had expected to see Thor so soon. They scrambled to their feet but had no idea whether to bow or not, both doing an awkward shuffle until Thor strode towards them with a broad smile. "Sit, please, there is no need to stand on my count."

Darcy wanted to do that, but once glimpse of the nerves on Jane's face told her she needed to give them space. "Actually, I think I might go check out my own rooms. Apparently you've got the fanciest plumbing going and it'll take me at least an hour to work out how to get the shower going."

"Will you seek Loki?" Thor asked, and Darcy blinked at him in confusion. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. "He is confined to his quarters, with guards at every entrance and countermeasures in place to stop him leaving by magical means. Though he has promised me he will not try to."

"No, I don't think he will." She shrugged. "But I'm not going to go looking for him."

Instead, she spent the afternoon in the company of the Avengers; the little band of fighters she'd spent all those months in hiding with. They picked at the spread of food which had been laid out for them, reminiscing over their months in the facility now they had better lodgings, and catching up on the threads of their lives while they'd been separated. Darcy haltingly recounted her escape with Loki and the other worlds she'd seen. This time, they offered only comfort, not judgment, though she suspected Nat's persistent stink-eye in their direction had some hand in that.

When she returned to Jane's room, her friend was crying tears of happiness. Thor had vowed his commitment to her, mortal lifespan or not. With the Bifrost repaired she'd be able to come and go between the worlds as she pleased.

The next day, and the one after that, they explored the realm, wandering until Darcy thought her feet were going to drop off. More than anything it felt like she was wandering through a dream, rather than the waking world. Sometimes as they left the palace, or drew close to it, she thought she could feel a gaze on her from one of the towers, but when she sought it she couldn't find whoever it belonged to among all the windows.

On the third night Odin's funeral was held: a sombre gathering of the crowds at the edge of the city, as he was dispatched over the waterfalls in a flaming vessel. It was a moving ceremony, especially the lanterns everyone let drift into the sky as his casket disappeared among the foam of the water. Then a city-wide feast was held, with the Avengers and company as guests of honor in the palace's banqueting hall.

Decisions had been made in the past few days. It would take some time for Thor's coronation to be arranged, though he was already king in name. As for Loki, he would be tried—a proper trial this time, instead of a swift judgment from Odin. Thor had decided he owed it to his brother, for the good and bad he'd done since Thor was banished to Earth. Someone else would look at the balance of his deeds and decide on the appropriate punishment.

Only as Darcy walked back to her rooms, in the stillness of an early hour, was she approached by Frigga.

"My son wishes to speak with you."

Darcy knew Frigga didn't refer to Thor. They'd healed that rift already.

"I don't know what else there is to say."

"There is goodbye, at least."

Frigga was right. She owed him that. Darcy trailed the queen through the palace to what had to be the royal wing, judging by the increase in gilt—and the areas she'd already seen weren't exactly lacking in it. Darcy worried she was being taken to Loki's own rooms, but instead Frigga led her out into a sheltered garden, to a secluded bench under the shade of an immense oak tree. The garden was actually on a balcony or terrace, because the land dropped away not far from the bench, but there were no other balconies with a view over the area. It was private, with only one entrance, no doubt designed for the royals to have some outside space away from the watchful eyes of their subjects. In the darkness the night wrapped around them like a cloak of shadow, making it feel even more cloistered.

Loki waited for her under the boughs of the tree, chained as he'd been during the procession, and when Darcy turned to say something to Frigga she found they were already alone. Darcy ignored the bench just like Loki was and instead took up a stance on the other side of it, staring out at the Bifrost in the distance.

"You've heard I'm to be tried," he began. It was a neutral statement, his voice and body carefully measured so she couldn't read him.

"I have. By Norns, whatever they are."

Loki made a non-committal motion with his hands. "They're as fair as any judge can be. They're not interested in justice so much as the truth, and the balance of ones deeds."

Now that could get interesting. But it would be rude to point out to a consummate liar that he might not fair well in front of that sort of judge. "And a death sentence is off the table, so I've been told. It could be worse."

"You'll be returning to Midgard, of course." And here was the first sign of real…anything from him. Interest, concern, something that wasn't his practiced air of aloofness.

"Yep." There was no point fluffing around it. She'd enjoyed her time in Asgard but there was nothing keeping her here—not even Jane. Loki's distance made it easy to cut that cord and walk away.

"You will not think more on my offer of courtship?" Was that a crack in his voice?

"No."

Frigga had never confirmed if the future was determined or not, though she had once called the mirror vision "a possibility". And after all this time in her company, Darcy thought she understood better about Frigga's own magic and her ways of manipulation. Loki was her son, in ways few people would ever fully comprehend: they couldn't see past Frigga's regal air and calm demeanor. She was the source of his ruthless streak, even if she wielded it in other ways, and knew Loki in ways he probably didn't even understand himself. So when she showed him that vision, she'd picked what he'd respond to, what she knew would stir him, even if he thought it was for different reasons. The glass had reflected his deepest wishes—it had reflected what he wanted to see in it.

Sometimes a mirror was just a mirror, more or less.

When he turned to face her, she gasped at the expression on his face. The mask hadn't just slipped—he'd torn it off completely, so for the first time she saw him, raw and open and naked in his desperation. He was black and white in the darkness, and it highlighted the lines of his face, bringing out the starkness of his feelings.

"After everything, you would walk away from this?" It was even in his voice, the strain and the despair.

She took a deep breath, sinking onto the bench so she didn't have to look him in the eye. It took everything not to squirm in the presence of all that exposed emotion, and to focus on gathering the words she needed to say to him.

"My dad always said that the root of a good relationship is trust. Doesn't matter what kind: love, friendship, business—if you don't trust each other, it won't work." She paused, glancing up to make sure he was listening, before looking away just as quickly. "I don't trust you. I can't trust you. You bury what you're feeling so far down that I'm not sure you really understand it—maybe Mistress Death got a good sense for it when she went rummaging around in your head, but I don't have that ability. Worse, you don't trust anyone, least of me. How am I supposed to know where I stand when you won't ever risk letting me know?"

"There were things at stake," he rasped. "There have always been things at stake before. Not anymore."

"Then maybe it's a little too late. You've spent months doing nothing except hinting and then covering it up by insulting me. You know what I want? I want something peaceful, and solid, with somebody who respects me."

"You don't think that's me."

She huffed sharply. "None of that describes what we've been through. And I can't deal with a relationship that's just about intensity. You know what Thor used to say your best quality was? Your sense of humor. But you've never made me laugh. Not once, not because something you said or did was actually funny."

It was such a cliche, that requirement from the old lonely hearts: good sense of humor. Yet Darcy understood why people placed such value in it. Laughter would go a long way to make anyone's company bearable. Whereas Loki…he made her feel things, alright. Confusion, attraction, occasional terror, consternation, but few emotions she could classify as positive.

"That's fair," he acknowledged, and she thought he was creeping back into his shell, drawing the shattered pieces of it around him to hide away from her once more. It didn't matter if she was leaving—she accepted his need for emotional armor around everyone else. "I suspect the work I would need to do to win your hand would take the rest of my life. Making you laugh, I am reasonably sure I can accomplish, but making you feel safe, earning your trust, learning to trust—these are not easy at all. However, no one has ever accused me of backing down from a challenge."

She felt him take the bench next to her, and that motion brought her full attention back to him. He sat, face dipped towards hers, with the most earnest expression she'd ever seen on him. Her breath caught in her throat.

"I will admit that I'm willing to use every skill I possess, every dirty trick I know. I've never been particularly interested in playing fair." His lips twisted in an uncharacteristic show of self-deprecation. "But perhaps the best place to start is in placing my trust in you. If I show you my heart, and everything I am, you can do it with it what you will."

He held out a hand towards her, resting, upturned, between them.

She shook her head. "What—"

"Take it, and I'll give you the ability to rummage around just like Mistress Death. For a moment or two only, but that ought to be enough to begin with."

"I don't think—"

"Don't." He leaned in ever closer, so his breath ghosted over her skin. "Don't think. For once I am offering you power over me, power I will never offer to another living being. Feel what I feel, and then use it to crush me, if you choose."

"I wouldn't do that," she protested, and he inclined his head, a nod. Yes, I know. See? I trust you.

When his pleading gaze didn't lighten, and his hand didn't move, she did as he asked, and she took it.

The effect wasn't sudden. It wasn't the falling motion of Mistress Death ripping into her thoughts and taking what she wanted, smashing them together. Instead, it was closer to them being two drops of ink dropped into the same pot, slowly blending together. She opened to him, and he opened to her, and then she was within him, feeling what he felt.

For the first breath, it was fine. Intense and unsteadying, but under control. Then it swelled up, until there was too much for her to contain. Too hot—bruising and feral, a wave of desperate longing and the violent eddy of unrequited emotions. There was a note of tenderness underneath it all, but the torment swallowed too much attention, writhing in the pit of her stomach and deep within her chest like she was bleeding deep within. Ferocious enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

She jerked away from his touch, pulse pounding, heart in her throat.

"You see?" he asked, his voice low enough that it crept along her like she was still buried in his emotions. "Nobody will ever love you like I love you."

She turned to him with wide eyes, still fighting to control her breath, and he met her stare with the same vulnerability. He loved her. Somewhere along the way, in his pursuit of her and despite the way he guarded his heart, he really had fallen in love. She'd had no idea—Mistress Death's casual hints didn't come close to feeling it like that. It wasn't a simple love, either, but one built from layers that went bone deep, uglier strands of possessiveness warring with softer tendencies.

Some of that pain she'd felt wasn't about her at all, echoes of the torture he'd suffered at Thanos' hands bitter on her tongue, but most of what he'd revealed was about her. Except he wasn't triumphing in revealing this to her; instead her own dismay was now reflected back at her.

When he spoke he was despondent, as if in bearing himself to her had made him examine his emotions and he'd not liked what he'd found. "My love is not a noble thing. It is untamed, and fierce, and searing."

"I know." It still rang through her blood—how could she not know?

He reached up to cup her face and she flinched, expecting to be pulled back into that boiling morass once more, but it was only skin on skin. He rested his forehead against hers but did not close his eyes, even while she let hers drift shut, still too raw to hold his stare. Moments passed, time measured in heartbeats and heavy breaths, until he spoke again. Darcy forced herself to look at him as he did.

"No one should have to suffer such a love," he decided, as determined as she'd ever heard him, "but I can bear it well on my own, and I would not want to inflict its worst excesses on you. For that reason—" He sighed, a brittle, shattered sound. "You should go. It is the only act of tenderness I fear I am capable of: to let you walk away and be happy away from me, when I cannot guarantee you anything of the sort with me."

He withdrew his hands and slipped away from her, resuming his place in the shade of the tree, while she blinked at the space between them. It was as good an offer as she was going to get—the one time Loki had agreed to let her go since they'd met, and she was sure he'd change his mind before she actually set foot on the Bifrost, even if it would be too late to do anything about it.

She should seize this chance while she had it. Run from Asgard and never look back.

So why wasn't she moving from this bench?

Because even with the space he'd put between them, the intensity of what she'd felt within him hadn't ebbed away. She'd felt his loneliness, the deep ache inside of him, twice. Before, when Mistress Death had laid bare the worst of his life, and now, as Darcy had brushed past the little boy he'd been, so different to everyone else in his world, so distant even to the brother he adored. That little boy still lurked within the man, even if that man had every right to expect lifelong isolation from this point forwards. She couldn't abandon either of them. Not yet.

She lifted her chin and spoke carefully. "Someone needs to vouch for you in front of the Norns. If it's about the balance of your deeds, they need to know the best of you."

He turned, surprise glinting across his features. "That's more than I have any right to ask of you."

"You aren't asking. I'm offering it." With his growing, tentative smile, she grew in the knowledge that this was the right thing to do. "I will stay."

[kmikaelsonimagines]

As Quiet As Thunder: A Kol Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: Can I requests kol x reader fluff were the reader is staying at the mikaelson compound but she is scared of thunder storms and there’s a big one that night so she tries to sneak into kol's room to cuddle with him but he hears her but comforts her. Basically just fluff. 💘

Okay, so this is just really fluffy and I’m sorry it’s taken so long because it’s so short but I hope you like it. Enjoy x

Thunderstorms. 

The sound of the rain lashing against the window, the darkness of the clouds, the lightning striking and burning everything it hit. You hated it all. 

But above all, you hated the noise. The rumble, the way it vibrated through you, leaving nothing but fear in its wake. 

Living with the Mikaelsons, you would have thought that nothing would scare you anymore. But, if tonight was anything to go by, you were wrong.

It didn’t take the abilities of a vampire to hear your heart hammering in your chest. The sound outside terrified you, more than anything you had ever faced, and it didn’t take long before realising that cuddling into a blanket wasn’t going to help. 

Getting out of bed, you walked barefoot along the corridor, trying to avoid the creaks in the floor board. One, it would just add to the whole horror film atmosphere of the evening, and two, you didn’t want to wake anyone. The Mikaelsons had enough on their plate at the moment, what with Klaus’ sire line being broken, and your fear would just add to it. 

Eventually, you reached your destination. Opening the door, you saw the youngest Mikaelson brother asleep in his bed, his chest rising and falling, his head almost buried beneath the quilt. Tiptoeing into Kol’s room, you considered how exactly you were going to get into his bed to cuddle him without waking him. 

The vampire would be your comfort for the evening, you had decided. He was warm, handsome, and always knew how to cheer you up. Ever since you had started living with the Original family, you two had formed some kind of connection, but you weren’t exactly sure where it was going. 

Not yet, anyway. 

The floorboard creaked, and you mentally cursed. 

“Y/N? What are you doing?” Kol’s voice drifted from his place on the bed, sleep still evident in his brown eyes. 

Your answer was drowned out by the next clap of thunder, and Kol saw you flinch. 

“Wait, are you scared of the storm?”

You nodded, breathing heavily in an attempt to calm yourself down after seeing lightning strike out the window. 

“Come on then.”

Kol threw back the duvet, revealing his bare chest, and inviting you in. Happily, you climbed in, snuggling into his chest, already feeling better.

“Sorry I woke you up.”

Kol chuckled, placing a light kiss on your hair.

“It’s okay. As long as you’re okay, I don’t care.”

Smiling, you heard your heart beating in your chest once again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. 

Kol seemed to hear it too. 

“That scared, huh?”

He placed an arm around your waist, his grip on you tightening at every clap of thunder.

You took his hand, earning a surprised look from him, which was soon followed by a smile. 

“Kol?”

“Yes?”

“As we’re both awake...” you trailed off, not quite sure if what followed was the right thing to say. 

“As we’re both awake, maybe we should discuss where things are going with us.”

“What do you mean, Y/N?”

You shifted to face him, your lips inches apart from each other. 

“I mean, what are we?”

“What do you want us to be?”

His eyes flitted to your lips, and you knew the answer. 

“I’d quite like us to be together. If that’s what you want.”

Kol’s hand moved to cup your cheek, smiling at you as he pretended to consider your proposition. 

“I’d very much like that.”

He kissed you gently, your lips molding together like a jigsaw. A perfect match. 

The storm was drowned out by your heart hammering once more as Kol continued to kiss you, stopping every so often to smile at you. 

Eventually, sleep hit the both of you and you cuddled into him, no longer scared of the weather outside.

When Elijah came to wake his brother the next morning, he wasn’t at all surprised to find you wrapped up in his arms, both of you sleeping soundly. 

He had, of course, heard everything. 

“As quiet as thunder, you two.”

And he shut the door, leaving you two to rest, a smile on his face. 

Masterlist

[its-love-u-asshole]

Unbound [Ch. 1]

Pairing: Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki

Rating: T

Summary: Summer is Yata’s favorite time of the year in his town, a place where it normally rains nonstop nine months out of the year. It doesn’t help that the town is marred by old legends and tales which do nothing to make it less creepy and drab. Essentially, summer is Yata’s chance to forget superstitions and finally hit the beach. Apart from deciding what he wants to do with his life, all he wants is to enjoy it with his friends and maybe get to know Fushimi Saruhiko, a stranger who Yata can’t help but feel drawn to. However, the summer has more in store for him than usual, and he’s never been one to back down. 

AO3

Note: Sarumi fest! I’m so happy I get to participate this year as well ^^ This is a fic I’ve been working on for over a year really, and I have constantly gone back and forth about finishing and posting it lol. It’s an important project to me though, so I figured why not post it for fest and see what people think? ^^ 

Big thanks to @emeraldwaves and @brynne-lagaao for talking over this fic with me back in the past! 

Enjoy! 

The old cemetery, which resides isolated and forgotten on the south edge of the city, houses the dead from long ago, before industrialization came, before buildings and phones. The history is dull and no longer taught, though some still hang on rather tightly to it, including the lore which always shrouded the rainy plains.

At the rusted iron gate of the cemetery, there is an inscription. No author has even been recognized for it.  

“There is a legend in these parts.

It is widely accepted despite never being proven.

Should one choose to make a life here, it is best to know of the fate which awaits you.

When it is one’s time to die, a beast of the shadows will appear at the threshold of your home, teeth barred and ready to strike. It is a monstrous thing, scarring and beautiful, large and as black as coal. It will paralyze you where you stand, it will render everything worthless. It does not speak, it does not show mercy. It is an emotionless creature with only one job: to drag you into darkness. Do not try to run, do not try to fight. Such attempts are futile. You cannot escape. Death is imminent.”

--

They were looking at one of his old photos. Old, as in it had clipped edges, burned with a lighter in the moments he'd been too angry to continue staring, when his desire to erase such memories was strongest. Basically, it was from a time when he actually allowed himself to be in pictures at all, and that time had come and gone long ago.

 Looking at it now though, as it was held in Douhan's delicate, manicured hands, he almost let himself believe he'd been overreacting. The pressed green jewels on her index finger and thumb slid over the shadows of his plump face, the childish pout and the beginnings of his characteristic creased brow were already forming even at the young age of six. The quality of the family portrait was mediocre, or no, that was him being unexpectedly kind. It was a horrid quality, the shadows of the image casting a menacing look over his father's smug face while the light shone upon his mother's with a false celestial glow. How quaint, how fitting, since that was how she paraded herself back then, as less evil than the man beside her.

 And then there was his younger self. Small, skinny, and his hands still a little dirty from being out by the lake. His glasses were crooked and his clothes too tight, he’d hated those fancy collars and button ups. Useless. Presentation was everything, she would say, the lie was everything. Though, with someone like Fushimi Kisa, who never attended festivals and who he’d once caught tearing down holiday decorations, he had to wonder what compelled her to arrange a family portrait in the first place.

 "You look so cute," the blonde commented, the light tilt of her lips causing him to glare as he was brought back to the present. No matter how long he'd known her, her smug intentions and concealed jests annoyed him to no end, especially this time, when—

"This is what I mean though, you look so naive and innocent," she continued, flipping the photo over, pretending to analyze the date on the back as her eyes flashed with cunning. Honestly, why he allowed her to make a fool out of him, why he came to visit her at all, was a total mystery to him.

 Saruhiko stared out of the bay window, which took up half the wall of her small home. The weeds out front were overgrown, covering all but the corners of the glass and no doubt beginning to grow into the chipped bricks the house was made of. The plants stood out between the houses on either side of Douhan's, those homes had fresh cut lawns, rose bushes, and neat upkeep. Whereas the windows to those homes let in all the sky had to offer in terms of darkness and sunlight, the pane of the blonde's allowed only occasional streams of light or droplets of water through. The window itself was molded with intricate designs on the borders, the curtains as silky as they were unnecessary, as if she saw guests far more important than himself to appreciate such expensive items. But no, Douhan was not an entertainer, and her door remained locked for all except him. And again, why was he here?

 "It reminds me of how you look now--"

 "Shut it," he cut her off, standing up as he quickly made his way to the door. He’d been getting restless all evening, and now the weather was finally taking a turn for the worst. It was raining out, and he only had a single coat to shield him, but it was the least of his problems..."I don't have to listen to you and your--"

 "Theories? But they're not, are they?" Douhan sighed, kicking the shoebox of old photos to the floor. They’d served their purpose already. Meaningless now. "You're going to go look for him now too aren't you? Normal people talk to the ones they like, they don't--"

 "Why would I do a stupid thing like that?" He let each footstep he took towards the door accompany each part of the question, the wood creaking beneath his sneakers like he'd fall through the floor with any more force.

 "Because you wanted advice deep down? Because you are in lo--"

 "Those things don't happen to me, or to people who have never met," Saruhiko replied, before he realized he was probably pouting very much like his childhood self, and turned his expression into a schooled sneer. "Don't you have better things to do?"

 "Yes but this is more fun." She twirled a lock of her hair, absently staring out of the covered window like she was watching a breathtaking show, and he used the opportunity to turn away, and opened the scratched up door, not flinching when crusts of white paint rained onto the wood below. "Make sure to bring him by sometime, when you get the guts to talk to him."

 Yeah right, he thought. Partly because he wanted to believe he wouldn't actually talk to the boy in question, because why would he? And partly because...well, he was feeling spiteful, and the pathetic nature of the acknowledgement itself had him scoffing.

 The thunder outside rang through the air, followed by the downpour, and he pulled his hoodie on, his stomach sinking with dread when he took his first step out into the storm. His clock read 4:45 pm. The thunder rumbled on.

 "Oh, and Saruhiko?" Douhan's voice was booming through the noise, despite it being calm and neutral in nature, and he no longer found himself baffled about how she managed to do that, only annoyed that she seemed to always know what he was thinking. He clicked his tongue, turning his head back to face her.

 Her lips, glossy and pink, tilted up in a knowing smirk before he was smart enough to look away, the words hitting him even as he sprinted out into the rain.

 "Have fun."

 --

 “Chitose hurry up! We were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago!”

A distant rumbling of cars filled the chilly atmosphere, and the sound of a spray can dying and clattering to the ground shrouded the warning. A few more clacks of a new can being prepped filled the gap where a response should’ve been, and the group of boys glared angrily at the source. Perhaps sensing the tension, the spraying ceased, and soon Dewa was being acknowledged with a long, overdramatic sigh.

Here we go, Yata thought to himself, rolling his eyes.

“Hey now,” Chitose addressed Dewa finally, turning away from the paint splattered wall in front of him. The other did not look impressed, as he rarely was with any of Chitose’s antics. No one was ever impressed with them, but it wasn’t as if they could avoid it. They were common, and for whatever reason, their group put up with them. “You can’t rush art.”

More silence.

Chitose shook the spray can again, not bothered by it, and continued his graffiti art on the wall under the freeway. A fresh, vibrant shade of orange shot out, adding definition and brilliance to the wispy lines and details.

They did stuff like this often, just tagging random places and buildings to waste time, to have fun. Plus, the thrill of getting caught was exhilarating, though it hadn’t happened yet. They had a perfect record so far.

Not for long though, if Chitose had anything to do with it.

“You can so! A night at home instead of in jail depends on it,” Bandou supplied, nervously stuffing empty cans into the duffel bag they had brought along. He sloppily wiped his hands on the grass, wincing when they became muddy, the colors bleeding together until it all looked brown. He looked up as if the universe had wronged him, it wasn’t as if he could wipe the substance on his pants after all. No evidence could be left. He chose to ignore Akagi’s snickering nearby in order to focus on the reason for his pain. “Besides, it’s just a dumb horse…thing.”

“It is not a horse dickwad, it’s a Pegasus and it’s flying out of the fiery gates of hell,” Chitose explained, like it needed explaining, adding more red to the artistic looking flames angrily as he did so. It was a nice piece, Yata would begrudgingly admit. The horse was weirdly life like even with its amateur design and weird colors, and it was sure to last a good few months before it faded into the grungy wall. Was it worth the risk though? No fucking way.

Akagi was full blown pissing himself at this point. Yata didn’t know if it was at Bandou’s expense or not, but he envied the other for being able to be so happy in their situation.

“So?”

“Soooo, it’s gonna look bitchin.” Chitose swore again as his can ran out of paint, lazily tossing it behind his shoulder and grabbing another from Fujishima. Despite looking a little more than completely done with Chitose’s shit, the other made no move to stop him. Yata winced at the sound of the can opening. Sometimes Yata wondered how Chitose afforded all the paint he went through with his big projects. “I’m almost done anyways. Like, five minutes tops.”

“When have I heard that before? Oh yeah, just last week, when your over the top mermaid was supposed to look bitchin,” Eric supplied with a scowl, causing the others to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. You guys suck.”

“Guys we’ve been here too long,” Yata finally spoke up, tired of just watching his friends bicker. Sometimes it was funny, today it wasn’t. There was a strange sense of foreboding in the air, and Yata couldn’t help but be superstitious. It did not feel like a day to push their luck. “It’s gonna be five soon. The bridge will be full of cops by the time we get there!”

They didn’t exactly look unsuspicious either, what with their stained clothes and large duffel filled with spray paint. Not to mention, they were hardly dressed in the most proper of outfits.

Yata hadn’t even really wanted to go out that day, too tired from playing videogames and doing chores all throughout the previous evening. With enough pestering from his friends though, he was forced out of his room, greeted by a gloomy day that promised bad weather. He was glad it was almost summer, he missed the brightness and warmth of the sun. Even just thinking about it made him energized. Getting to go to the beach, hike the cliffs…

But that day, the town had continued with its usual foreshadowing of bleakness. Indeed, the rain had started while they were out, making the choice of their graffiti spot easy. They were shielded from the water, underneath a loud freeway on the banks of the river. The horns of cars and the screeching of tires echoed down below, making it hard to hear. Plus, the banks of the river were around the more commercial area of the city, which made the land around them fucking reek.

At the thought, his nose scrunched up, and Yata held back a groan. He couldn’t wait for the rain to be over, and to go back to his neighborhood. Even if it was small and humble, it smelled fresher and there was way less traffic.

Sadly however, there weren’t too many places to paint there. As a result, they often had to travel more towards the city. Whenever they tagged in the area, they’d usually take the old midtown bridge back to their side of town, walking besides the traffic and hoping no officers stopped them. So far, so good.

“We’ll get there before five, quit worrying,” Chitose said while adding on the finishing touches to his large piece. “Aaaand, done!”

As he said it, the last of the can was used up, emitting a low hissing noise to signal its emptiness.

“Yes, yes. Now let’s go!” Bandou zipped up the bag after throwing the last can inside, and Chitose scoffed. Ah no…

“You guys just don’t get my artistic vision.”

Yata rolled his eyes, brushing his hands onto his shorts and grimacing as paint smeared onto them. Fuck, I forgot. His mom was going to have a fit if she saw how dirty he’d gotten.

“I’m not sure if the bridge is such a good idea anymore,” Fujishima spoke up cautiously. “It’s nearly rush hour, it’ll be busy.”

“So?”

“Sooo,” Yata interrupted, “lots of people will totally see us!”

Ugh. They’d probably have to take the long way around. He’d surely be late for dinner, and his mom would have his head no doubt, and coupled with the paint, he’d be doing all the chores tonight.

The group looked frazzled now, unsure of the best way to proceed. Even taking the long way was risky, given the longer they were out carrying their stuff, the more likely they were to be noticed. Not to mention the rain was coming down a bit harder than before, and they were without umbrellas.

Shit…

“This is all Chitose’s fault,” Eric muttered beside Fujishima.

“Oh, and who’s the one that suggested we even come out here?”

A chorus of ‘you’ was shot back at Chitose, causing him to scowl at his so-called friends.

“If we’re going the long way, we better start walking now,” Dewa added in frustration, zipping up his coat to hide his paint stained undershirt.

“More like running…” Bandou’s muttering didn’t go unnoticed by Chitose, who was now flipping him off and offering up a butt load of excuses as to why none of it was his doing.

Yata joined in, trying to will them all to shut up, because he was totally dead meat when he got home if he was more than thirty minutes late. Plus, Yata didn’t exactly like when it was pitch dark outside, something about where he lived creeped him out at night. The woods were like something out of a horror movie (but he’d ever let his friends know that stuff still freaked him out). The atmosphere wasn’t helped by the area’s rain, and Yata never understood why his mom chose to live in a city where in rained nine months out of the year.

“Let’s just risk it! Let’s go on the bridge—”

“Yata, it’s five! With all the college kids walking home from school, it’s almost as long as the other way! And we’re even more likely to get caught!” Bandou was freaking out, pacing back and forth on the dead grass beneath their feet. It sloshed from the rain, sticking to his sneakers.

Yata sighed, close to giving up and accepting his fate.

How was he going to explain himself this time? Traffic? Lost track of the hour? He didn’t have much time to shuffle through his overused excuses, and his own feet began to nervously shift on the muddy ground.

What do we do?

“It’s faster if you use the underpass instead,” an apathetic voice managed to cut through their bickering, causing all heads to turn towards its source in fright. The shock was only amplified by the roar of thunder above their heads, almost mocking their misfortune.

Fuck!

Yata turned in a flash, shoulders tensed up from the prospect of being caught, his feet ready to run.

Damn, if it’s a patrol we’re screwed.

But…no.

Looking over, Yata was met was a completely different sight from the one he’d imagined, and against his will, his breath caught in his throat. The voice had come from a boy their age, slender and tall, wrapped in a cowl neck. His dark, wet hair fell in his eyes, obscuring the uninterested gaze he was sporting. He had glasses on that were a bit smudged from the fog of the rain, and his clothes seemed a bit damp and worn. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a while, his eyes glazed over but trying to keep an intense focus on his surroundings. The bags under them were dark for someone so young, but it didn’t take away from his beauty or the bright blue hue of them. He really did seem a bit unreal. Hell, Yata thought maybe he must’ve been one of those models he saw in storefront windows, the ones with the too perfect pictures. His skin was pale against the dark sweatshirt, and Yata had to wonder if he was a complete dumbass, letting himself be completely soaked by the rain.

There was silence as the group stared at him, the few feet of distance making it seem more like a standoff than anything else. The stranger didn’t budge, not even as the rain began to fall harder.

Weirdo.

“U-uh, what?” Chitose had spoken up finally, taken aback by the other boy’s presence, probably hoping that they wouldn’t be ratted out. The dumb design behind him stuck out like a sore thumb, colors new and bright with the paint still wet. They were clearly the perpetrators too, hands stained with paint and the empty cans haphazardly tucked into their duffel, some sticking out messily. Their shoes were discolored from the bright shades as well, so it would take an idiot not to connect the dots.

Damnit Chitose.

A tongue click.

It was simple, but the annoying response was clear as day, even through the heavy rain fall.

“I was just saying, the underpass is faster than walking on the bridge itself. Less people that way,” the young man continued, rubbing at the back of his head. Yata blinked, lips twitching in a smile he couldn’t exactly explain. The guy was awkward, and he talked as if he was seriously struggling to offer advice.

But, the underpass…

Huh. They’d never tried the underpass before, mostly because of old, childhood tales which scared them away from the dank, shrouded place. Still, they were grown up and in a group now, and they could really benefit from a shortcut.

“Hey thanks! Guys—” Bandou was interrupted by a pull to his collar, a gesture that instinctively caused them to all huddle up in a circle. “Huh? What—”

“Idiot,” Eric muttered. “We don’t even know this guy.”

“So what? He’s just giving us directions,” Bandou pouted, on edge and ready to take off in whatever direction he was told. “The longer we’re here the more likely someone’s gonna find us!”

“Yeah but we’ve never been that way before,” Yata supplied, a bit more nicely than Eric. “The end of the pass could be a total cop zone for all we know!”

“Not to mention this guy could be a total sell out,” Chitose added. “I mean, we didn’t even know he was there. He probably saw everything!”

“Well I don’t know, he doesn’t exactly look stuck up. He definitely doesn’t look dangerous…” Yata whispered. In fact, he’d say the guy could stand to gain some weight…

“Shit, I look like I eat more than him,” Eric murmured.

“You eat more than a lot of people.”

“If I may interject,” an annoyed voice cut though the group’s chattering, causing another wave of panic to go through them all. Honestly, given their reactions, they looked like total spazzes. They all jumped back, the loud sounds of traffic also not helping the atmosphere as loud truck horns blared in the background. “Most of the homeless hang out under the new bridge over in downtown now. There’s no more reason for the cops to patrol the underpass anymore.”

It was a roundabout way of telling them that there was nothing to worry about. It was safe. Why not just say that in the first place?

Hm…

They all shared a glance then, and the young man raised an eyebrow, burying his hands deeper into his pockets. Something was still off about him…and though he was always taught to be grateful, Yata wanted to know what was up before trusting the guy. Plus, he was curious. The guy hadn’t stopped staring at Yata since he’d arrived, and Yata wondered if he’d met the guy somewhere before.

Yata was the first to approach him, naturally, his face scrunched up in mild skepticism. “Why are you tellin’ us this stuff?���

A shrug was the response he got, well, that and what he swore was a light flush on the taller’s face. Come to think of it, the guy definitely wasn’t bad looking in the slightest, just a bit mopey. Like a pet lost out in the rain.

Yata fought the urge to shake his head. Not the time.

“You looked like a group of idiots with nowhere to go. The faster you’re out of here, the quieter it’ll be,” the boy said. Akagi squawked somewhere behind him, and Yata nearly did the same.

The hell?          

Yata scoffed, glaring now. Well, talk about a complete turnaround. Who was this asshole? “Whatever! What kind of answer is that? What kind of creep hangs out under a bridge anyways?”

“What kind of delinquent spray paints it?” The response was quick, so sharp it almost caused Yata to step back, but like hell did he back down from anyone.

Oh, I am gonna—

“Not to interrupt your weird flirting,” Eric said, looking smug and intrigued in a way Yata wasn’t too fond of. “But you didn’t have to come over here when you saw us.”

Wait…huh? F-flirting?

There was a weird feeling in the air, the kind which usually came when Eric was secretly making fun of him, and Yata saw the taller boy glare at the words.

Yata didn’t even have time to sputter out a response, because it was soon all going downhill.

“Yeah, heh,” Chitose seemed to speak with the same wolfish grin Eric was now sporting. Bad feeling. Very bad. “You sure you didn’t just want to help in general? Or…did you have an angle? I can tell when people are being uh…checked out you know?”

A long, loaded silence. Another tongue click.

What?

“H-huh?” Yata stared at the other boy now, more than a little confused.

“Well,” the taller began hesitantly, almost reluctantly. “You did look like you needed help, but I wasn’t all that excited to offer any.”

Yata laughed at that, because seriously, why all that fuss if he was just trying to help? And why try to deny it after? Maybe the guy was just weird…

He glanced back at his friends, and his tense posture faded. “Yeah, we definitely—”

“I said you…as in I figured you needed help,” the taller cut off, his voice almost a whisper then. His eyes were boring a hole through Yata, the bright blue now a lot clearer. “I don’t know if that constitutes as checking someone out—”

“It does,” was the answer all Yata’s friends gave.

Yata stilled, and he almost didn’t hear the unrepressed laugh from Eric behind him.

Checking out? W-wait…

Yata watched as the stranger looked away, directing an embarrassed scowl at the ground, and it all seemed to click.

Oh.

Oh.

Yata’s face lit up red instantly, the cold not helping to hide it, and he was about ready to beat up Chitose, who was humming behind him. “I-I-I-I-I’m not—well I’m not like that see.”

“Since when?”

Shut up Bandou.

The other’s eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement at that, and Yata swallowed, suddenly torn between punching the guy and…well he didn’t know.

“I’m really not!”

“Yeah, right,” Eric whispered from the back. Yata spun around, flipping him off before returning to the handsome….no…annoying stranger.

“I-I’m just not…looking for that,” Yata said, but then backpedaled as if his mind was trying to save him. Fuck, fine. The guy did seem kinda cool…ugh! No, he was mysterious, that was all. “As in right now! Like right now, we really have to get back to the east end!”

God Yata wanted to crawl into a hole, his face was on fire. Luckily, the other spared him. Sort of.

“Hm, I see. Either way, you seem a bit slow, so I figured I’d take pity on those who lack common sense,” the boy said, a smug look dancing on his features.

“W-what? Fuck you, just—”

Sirens began ringing in the distance. No doubt about it, they were police sirens, and they were close.

The whole group tensed, and though they knew they probably weren’t being looked for, it didn’t mean they couldn’t be found. It was getting later the longer they stood there, and soon cops would be patrolling their area. The bridge may have already been crawling with them since they’d ran behind schedule. Which meant at that point, they had no real choice but to…

“Ugh fuck this! Either way, we might be screwed,” Chitose yelled, throwing the duffel at Bandou and hightailing it towards the direction of the underpass.

“Thank you for the help,” Fujishima spared a glance at the stranger before turning his attention towards Yata. “Yat—”

“Yata move your ass, you can talk to your boyfriend later,” Eric rushed past, grabbing Fujishima and dragging him forward.

“He’s not—ugh!” Yata ran a hand through his hair before starting to follow his friends, urgency overriding humiliation. He looked back one last time, curiosity getting the better of him once more. The stranger just stood there, unmoving and apathetic as ever, not even phased by all the noise around him, or the sudden retreat. Yet as neutral as he looked, Yata couldn’t help but find him strangely captivating, like he couldn’t help but meet the other’s gaze.

Yata sighed as Chitose called for him again, sparing one last glance. “Hey jerk, what’s your name?”

The other seemed surprised then, his eyes widening a fraction. It was actually a bit satisfying, seeing the new, non-asshole expression.

“What can’t talk now? Spit it out,” Yata called as he started to walk backwards in the direction his friends had gone. Fuck, he was totally going to have to gun it. The other hummed, tipping his head forward acquiescingly after a while, as if he was torn about actually giving up the information.

“Fushimi Saruhiko.”

Fushimi Saruhiko. Got it.

“See you around, Saru!”

It was bold of him, but he probably wouldn’t see the guy again, and the name made him laugh to himself triumphantly.

As sirens continued in the distance, Yata turned, sprinting away until he was but a speck in Saruhiko’s vision.

--

The sound of Douhan’s door slamming shut barely caused her to jump, and she didn’t even look away from the soup brewing on the stove as a blurry figure dressed in black flew past her periphery, shoulders hunched and steps quick.

“How did it go?” She asked, feeling particularly haughty, and she was answered by the deafening slam of the guest bedroom door.

Ah, so it went well.

--

“Misaki! You’re early…”

The screen door closed behind him, joining a rumble of thunder, and he did his best to control his rapid breathing so as to not seem tired. He could totally play this off…

Yata’s mother eyed him suspiciously as he trudged into the house, trying to not look like the drowned rat he was. Thank god he’d worn his good coat. He coughed to relieve some of the air in his lungs wanting to be released. He’d run the whole way, and had managed to get back ten minutes early, just before dinner.

It was a miracle, and part of him thanked Saruhiko over and over.

“Have some faith Mom, I’m not late every day,” Yata said as he kicked off his shoes and lined them up next to his siblings’. They were muddy, but the rain had washed off most of the paint colors.

Thank fuck.

“Yes, but you’re late most days.” His mother was now setting the table, eyeing him warily as she set out the appropriate utensils.

“It’s not my fault the bridge usually takes so long to cross…it’s a lot quicker than the long way though,” Yata said, hoping his mother wouldn’t try to question why he was even on the other side of town in the first place.

No such luck.

“You shouldn’t even be over there, what exactly have you been doing?” His mother paused, hand on her hip as she glared at him accusingly. The bowls in her hand clattered as they were placed down roughly onto the wooden surface, and he cringed.

“Nothing! There’s cool shops over there is all, but anyways, need help?” Yata moved closer to the table, desperately hoping to take his mother’s mind away from the topic of his afternoon whereabouts. After all, he could only lie to his mother so well…

She just ignored him, going back to the sink and furiously ringing out a washcloth, worry lacing her tone. “I don’t like the thought of you on that bridge, do you know how many accidents happen on there?”

Ah man…

Yata sighed. His mom stressed too much. He was careful! Plus he was pretty quick and healthy, he could get himself out of trouble, and he stayed away from the road.

He looked at the floor guiltily. It was nice, knowing she cared, but part of him did hate worrying her. It was part of the reason he didn’t like telling her when he went on one of his adventures.

“Don’t worry, we took the underpass today anyways,” Yata replied, tone softer as he laid out the rest of the place settings gently before sitting at the table.

Thinking back, they really had lucked out because of Saruhiko. He was kind of strange, and who knew how long he’d been standing there, or where he’d even come from, but he’d done them a real solid.

Even if he was kind of a dick.

Yata blushed, remembering the smirk on the other’s face as he had admitted his reasons for helping. He shook his head, trying to not let it get to him again. Surely he’d just been joking, trying to rile Yata up, and his friends had honestly only made assumptions. Regardless, the shorter knew he’d be hearing shit from his friends about it for weeks.

It didn’t help that the guy had been good looking either.

It also didn’t help that he had no idea why the guy’s looks even mattered to his messed up head.

Fuck.

He was vaguely aware of his mother’s voice being directed at him, so he figured it was best to return to reality before he got thoroughly scolded.

“—and there was an especially bad one today, a pileup I hear!” His mother was scrubbing at a pot angrily, stopping only to point a menacing finger at her son. “If I hear you’re on that bridge you’ll be in big trouble, you got it?”

He mumbled an affirmative, feeling like a kid again, then slunk further into his seat. His friends were probably going to have a field day with that too…

“Now, could you get your brother and sister? Dinner’s done,” his mom said with a loving smile, opening a pot on the stove and allowing a truly tantalizing aroma to waft through the house.

She didn’t have to tell him twice.

--

The mall was crowded on weekends, what with school being out and new paychecks to spend. Yata and Chitose had taken the liberty of crashing Eric’s date with Fujishima, inciting his wrath effectively.

“You losers really couldn’t entertain yourselves could you?” Eric grumbled the question as they walked out of the movie theater—the one they had just been kicked out of due to being too ‘rowdy.’ It had been mostly Chitose’s fault in Yata’s opinion. The redhead hadn’t wanted to intrude on the movie date, but Chitose was bored, and had thought it would be funny.

Ha fucking ha.

Now they couldn’t go to the movies for two damn weeks.

Oh well, Yata reasoned. Summer was finally upon them, so it wasn’t as if he’d want to spend much time indoors anyhow. This was his favorite time of the year!

So, he definitely regretted going with Chitose to the mall. Not only because he felt bad about crashing a date, but…

In all honesty, being around Eric and Fujishima sometimes made Yata uncomfortable. Not that he had anything against the relationship, not at all. It was just the fact there was a definite air of…trust and affection…what must’ve been love, and it surrounded the two. It made Yata feel all kinds of strange, but he could never put a finger on why. Maybe he was envious? No, that didn’t seem right either. More like wonder, like an annoying curiosity and need to understand the reasons behind those private looks shared between the couple. He wondered if he’d ever find someone who he cared about so much. He didn’t like to think about it a lot, because really it was so lame. More than anything he was happy for his friends.

“Relax, we’ll leave you alone after lunch,” Chitose argued, sitting down with the group at a food court table. Somehow, they’d actually managed to find a seat.

“Uh huh,” Fujishima replied, smiling fondly as he patted Eric’s back in apology.

“If I buy you food, will you forgive me?” Chitose pleaded with Eric mockingly, and the other just flipped him off, sticking out his tongue for good measure. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Chitose got up and headed towards some unhealthy fast food stand, leaving Yata alone with the couple.

Well, maybe part of it was envy. For whatever reason, his mind unhelpfully conjured up an image of Saruhiko, and Yata immediately forced it away. Shit, what the hell?

“So Yata, still thinking about the dreamy guy from the other week?” Eric’s voice was packed with teasing notes, and he swore he even heard Fujishima hold back a snort. Traitor.

What kind of question was that anyways?

“What the fuck? Why would I be thinkin’ of that jerk? He did us a solid yeah, but he didn’t say anything else important,” Yata scoffed, scanning the food court to avoid making eye contact.

Truth was, he’d been thinking of Saruhiko a lot for some reason. It was like the encounter with the other was permanently sketched into Yata’s brain, and he couldn’t get rid of it.

“Not to make assumptions,” Fujishima began. “But you usually only avoid eye contact when you’re lying.”

Yata choked on spit.

Double traitor.

“I do not! I ju—”

“Poor bastard, doesn’t even know how bad he’s got it,” Eric sighed wistfully.

“Fuck off,” Yata muttered as he continued to look over the vast crowd of people milling about with their screaming kids and oversized shopping bags. The mall wasn’t always his favorite place to hang out, since he could potentially run into people from school he didn’t like, but with his friends it was pretty fun. Well, when they weren’t cornering him about hot strangers. Shit. No, bad. Yata continued to look around in frustration, hoping the distractions would drown out his thoughts. “I barely know the gu—oh fuck!”

Of course, the universe hated him. “There he is!”

If anyone asked, Yata wouldn’t be able to tell them why in that moment he dove under the table. Not one excuse popped up in his mind. Damn.

The same tall, tired young man from a few days prior stood leaning against the wall at the edge of the food court, people watching. He wasn’t soaked with water like he had been that day, and instead had nicely styled hair and clean glasses. Fuck.

Even worse.

Eric and Fujishima both turned to see what the issue was, but Yata cussed at them, urging them to stop. “Don’t fucking look over! He’ll see you!”

“Are you a middle schooler?” Eric asked after a confused pause, like he couldn’t actually fathom the situation which was Yata hiding under a table from some dude. “Just go over there an—”

“I don’t want to talk to that asshole! He looks at me weird…” Yata squinted, peeking out over the top of the table to watch the uninterested figure across the room.

“Yeah, because he’s gay as fuck for you,” Eric supplied, looking over to the counter where Chitose was ordering food, impatient as ever. As if Yata wasn’t having a crisis beside him.

“W-w-what?! Don’t say shit like that,” Yata yelled in a hush, never taking his eyes off of Saruhiko. “He was joking last time…”

“Pft, was not. I’m just letting you know that you shouldn’t be so damn stupid about it, he obviously likes you,” Eric said with an irritated sigh. “Who knows why…”

Yata only groaned, not in the mood whatsoever to deal with his friend’s bullshit. In any other situation, he would’ve been ready for a full on verbal standoff, but all his mind could focus on was Saruhiko and his lazy posture and blue eyes…

Great, he sounded like a loser. Since when did he hide from people? What was he supposed to do now? If he could just make a break for the escalator…

Then he felt a light hand touch his shoulder from across the table, and he looked over to be met with Fujishima’s kind gaze.

“Say thank you at least, he really helped us out the other day.”

Images of the rainy day under the bridge flashed in his mind, along with Saruhiko’s light flush and helpful words. He’d helped them, regardless of them being complete strangers…

Thanking him was probably the best thing to do, since without him, they could’ve been in deep trouble.

Yeah…

Like witchcraft, Yata began to consider it. He blinked a few times, cogs in his mind turning as Eric shared one of those secret couple looks with Fujishima that Yata couldn’t stand.

He had a point though…He’d never personally given a proper thank you…he was raised better damn it! Yeah…that’s all he’d say, just a quick thanks. Yeah. Full proof.

If he could get past looking at the other’s face at least…

Wait…no! His brain really did seem to hate him, but he somehow managed to work up the courage to finally stand. If this was what having a crush meant, no matter how small, he was not a fan.

The worse thing was he actually wanted to talk to Saruhiko deep down. Part of him was grateful Fujishima had given him the excuse, though Eric still didn’t seem impressed.

Yata straightened himself up, brushing his clothes off and setting his jaw like he’d never even dove to the floor in the first place. He waved over stupidly in the direction of Saruhiko until those piercing blue eyes picked up the movement and locked on him. Yata shuddered involuntarily. There was that sensation again…

The taller’s eyes widened a fraction, and he looked around, unsure if he was in fact the one being waved to. Unbelievable.

“Saru! Over here!” Yata’s yelling caused a few heads to turn, but not enough for him to be properly sheepish about it.

The taller didn’t seem to appreciate the attention on him as a few people looked, and from a distance Yata could see him click his tongue. Loser.

Yata didn’t realize he’d started smiling.

Saruhiko fumbled a bit before beginning to walk over, and Yata briefly noted his proximity to his friends, and had enough sense to move a few feet away from the table so Eric couldn’t butt in.

“You’re so short, I almost couldn’t see you over all the people,” Saruhiko said upon reaching Yata. The redhead registered the comment, resisting the urge to fight back, before glaring in annoyance.

“I’m not that short! Don’t think you’re better than me!” So much for resisting.

“Mm, and where do you get off exactly, calling me by my first name so casually?” Saruhiko’s tone was playful, like Yata was some amusing test subject. Or at least, more interesting than the other people bustling about the shopping center.

“Well, um—it’s a nice name?”

Shit.

“Yeah, he could say it all day! Or night I mean…” Eric called from the table, completely aware he was being a total dick. The usual. Yata whipped around to glare, noticing as Fujishima tried to quiet Eric down half-heartedly. Thanks.

“Ugh it doesn’t matter! That’s your name!” Yata crossed his arms with a sigh, thinking maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea. He was getting flustered and he didn’t know why.

“And yours?”

Huh?

“W-what?” Yata eyed the other warily, brain struggling to process the turn of the conversation as it entered dangerous territory.

“What’s your name? And don’t just say Yata, because I gathered as much,” Saruhiko said smugly.

“It’s none of your fucking business, that’s—”

“Yata Misaki. You’re welcome.”

Yata was going to kill Eric. Soon. The plan was already forming in his mind, no one would ever know as long as the blood stains came out of his clothes and off his baseball bat.

He was aware of Chitose obnoxiously returning to the table with piles of food, trying his best to whisper but failing. “Hey, is that Yata’s boyfriend from the other week?”

He hated his friends.

“What are you doing here anyways? All you were doing was staring at people like a creep! Are you following me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Misaki. This is the mall you know.”

Well yeah, that was true. Misaki gaped, having no real response. It was the most popular mall in town, given that it had the most stores and food places. Still, why the reserved, yet unfairly good looking, stranger from a week or so earlier was there still wasn’t clear to Yata.

And now he fucking knew his name. Perfect.

Then another thought lodged itself into Yata’s brain, begging to be voiced despite Yata’s confusion.

He’d never exactly seen Saruhiko around before.

“Hey, where did you go to school? I’ve never seen you…ever,” Yata said as the other now leaned against an empty chair from a nearby table, old jeans stretching as he stood dressed in the same jacket from before.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, looking away, but something about the expression was more troubled this time. “My parents…didn’t really care if I went to school.”

The pout on Saruhiko’s face…wasn’t unappealing, and the fact made Yata swallow. He was totally aware of his friends sitting at the café table a few feet away, whispering and watching like a couple of vultures.

Even then, he felt the conversation was heading down a bad road, so he did his best to lighten it.

“O-oh. That’s lucky though! Still, I’ve never seen you—”

“Does that disappoint you?” Saruhiko had an amused smile on his face again, and he stepped closer. Yata’s face flushed, and he willed himself to believe it was just because of the attention, not the fact there was any kind of attraction for the guy (but that was looking less and less likely).

“N-no! You’re just weird! And you stick out…”

“Actually you blend in pretty well!” Chitose’s voice carried over from the table. “I hear only Yata noticed you when you were standing over there!”

Fuck you.

“Whatever! Don’t listen to them,” Yata huffed, casting his gaze to the floor. “Ugh, just…thanks for the tip the other day! About the underpass I mean.”

Saruhiko shrugged, small smirk still gracing his delicately structured face. “I don’t like the busy areas of the city. I know a lot of short cuts.”

Whoa…so cool…

He stared back up at the taller boy, eyes slightly wide and a grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. He faintly heard Eric hum mockingly in the background, but he for once, couldn’t find the will to care. Things weren’t going to get more humiliating after all.

He wondered, somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, what it must be like to feel drawn to someone. To want to be friends or…whatever, with someone so bad. Did it make your stomach feel this weird?

He shook it off, trying to not shame himself any more than he had already. He was probably overthinking things, he’d never been attracted to someone right out the gate like this. However, it almost felt like a challenge, a feeling he wanted to explore. And where was the harm?

He didn’t know what was happening, or what had come over him, but he was never one to not act on instinct. It was both an insult and a compliment he got a lot. Impulsivity was his strength and weakness. Regardless, he figured it was safe to trust his gut this time, and the words came out before he could even fully process them.

“Can you show me?”

Eyebrows were raised in return, followed by a barely there smile which spoke much louder than words.

[alsharqawy]

💫

instagram.com/AstroMouda

⛵

facebook.com/Beloved1s    

♀

#Nothing_But_The_Best

♂

💫

Don't ever "hurry to judge ; nor to make any assumptions ;

no matter what"...

Please, I ask you this,

because I (for an example) am "unpredictable" in every way & so is my fate/destiny, as it actually been always, and will continue to be... Therefore, I've learned a lot, to not ever do or think or feel in such a way that made me realize through the experiences that it'd turn the whole fated-specific-situations into an entirely different "mixed-up, foggy" outcome...

💫 May be this is why I've been keeping it all out there, on the table, with all of my cards are being faced-up...

💫

Then I even have brought it with me to that point/level of both:

"Authenticity, Integrity, Honesty and Being-truly"

&

"Letting-it-all-go

and

Creating-anew"

🌟

I

"by the way"

work

as a freelance-

"Writer/Editor/Translator along with all the writings & editing in these languages (Arabic+English+French)

+

"All Inclusive Computing Services"...in which I can apply all of the mentioned above while using the programs that I personally installed on my computer 💻 along with all the windows installation specifications and working professionally on most of the common programs including the "Office suite" & the "Photoshop" of course.... And I have added the services that's relevant to the e-marketing + web-development & such... And that's when I ran by chance to work with one of the famous business leaders in our city (which is also famous for its unique location "on both the River-Nile & the Mid-White-Sea) and on top of all that, its famous Carved/Engraved Wooden Furniture, which I had the chance to work with one of the most popular & successful business-men during the time period of 2008 till February 2012... I worked with several factories & establishments during those years, had many positions in each one of them, specifically in the "exporting department"🏬 till I made enough knowledge, awareness & worldwide connections that could be "way good enough" + my own specialized skills in doing my own work-services to any one who's actually seeking a good & better service than the rest of the nonsense we all witnessed all the time, every where...

That's all good of course, and you may have wondered why have I been transferring myself from one business/work/place to another all the time... And the answer is simply united in all the world🌍 Working for "others" is always draining one's own life' energy...etc... They all are alike, in each country, every where, like a real-life' vampires or something more like it!... Even that 1st one I have ever worked with "my uncle", he's actually the middle son of the only sister to my late father... And that "uncle" turned out to be vicious & has so much weird unexplained hate in his twisted self, to the point "as I remember" he once came to our house to argue with my father about {how rightfully he thinks of himself as he has the right to claim a part of our own"owned" house🏡}, I never forget how angry & sad he caused my father to deeply feel, while my dad was the only one who actually always visited them before & after his sister died & her husband too, my dad never saved his energy in whatsoever as long as it was going to help his nephews & nieces feel better about their lives, in every which way he could...

And although all that contrast & oppositions between such close-humans-relationships ; but that never let any of us down "concerning humanity at least", we (specifically, my father & me) were always up-to-help, without never thinking of any return nor even a "thank you"...

My Dad has passed-over in November 4th 1998, he was my Idol in every way, even though, as a very "rebel" teenager back then before 98 of course, we both were like one & his opposition, with so many arguing situations which all of course been caused by me being...well "me", and he being "his", and with saying "his", I mean a very "idealistic" man who's so compassionate, talented, home&family-oriented with very iconic & still reasonable high standards, modest, down-to-earth human-being!"... That's he being "his".... His birthday was in mid-July (15th) & my mom's in mid October (15th)!  I pray for my father to be in a beautiful better place & resting in peace as I hope for my own self one day, to be all together in the heavenly garden of Aden, and I pray for my mom to be in a good health and to be able to let her worried mind be at ease and care-free as she should very well be in this stage of her life of course, I try & I do help a lot from time to time, if not on a daily basis, indeed... As do my sister as well, my sis is July 31th 1974, single, working as a Doctor Teaching French-literature in the college in the same city, we still all living together, for we already have a home/house of our own, that has 3 floors, my bro (November 3rd 1971) got married & living in the apartment above since 2004, has Jana & Jodie adorable two little angels, he's a Chemist at the Official-Water-Company in the city...

And as I was saying we all (mom, sis & I) have got to be together through this, specially since 2000, when mom had a stroke & moved to be hospitalized in the main "Heart Academy" in the capital city of Cairo, and stayed there for months, and I was forbidden by "her 4 brothers" my uncles, to even go to check on her, ever, they "between themselves & their wives" have considered/announced me as an outsider, since I "in their book" wasn't good enough for their standards & how life should be lived!!!

Because of the way they were "hearing" about me "being me" before that in years!!!

in that mean-time, I was here in my same-old-same-city all alone in the whole house, because my sis did of course go & stay with my mom during the whole time, except for 2 or 3 days to come in here to get something done & go back to mom, while I am still all alone in this house... my bro? You can say I was even loner with my bro at home, than with him not at home at all!

Yes, he's just "being him"!!!

Anyways;

I did "rebel"

as I always do,

but this time in a very different & unexpected way, even from me to me...!...

I (before this rebellion to even begin) was smoking two packs a day, along with pain-killers of very powerful type of course, occasionally drink or smoke weed, both, or not at all,

I just wasn't labeled

nor attached to anything whatsoever...

So, coming in those "testing days" while mom & sis away from me (5 hours car-travel) with no ability to go and see her, I could of course, against all restrictions, I would, but I didn't, because I knew how "caring" mean indeed, than they mistakenly thought they did... for if I ever went there & caused any kind of upset in the atmosphere around my mom, while she's in that very critical condition, they would all "point fingers at me" saying, "he is "meaning I am" wronged in everything and came to make my mom even more ill than she already is & may even cause her to...heaven forbid...! God! Of course, I didn't hand them that satisfaction & just stayed "low", very-unusually-for-my-own-habit "low".... And even did cut-down smoking at once without even noticing any feedback from its own withdrawal-influences & of course, along with whatsoever else that's mainly "bad", for my own health at least & also was a very bog factor of a distraction in a "time" that's just needs a hell of a "fighter", not a "smoker" or another shit... So, I developed everything "good" that's in me, and made it "in deed" out there in the "normal daily life", through at least making the house/home as much as mom would do when she's good as new, so I did it all, I went from a person who don't even make simple fast Sandwich of cheese or any other something, to a person who make a "Cake au chocolat" & a very good one indeed, in each and every morning when mom got home, plus making luch for all of us, and of course I cooked two types of meals as the list of mom's forbidden food on her health was quite long... I made it my job, to just take care of the whole home, basically "mom" and the rest is just as one... every day for 2 years and a half, cleaning, rearranging, cooking, making-errands, taking-care of mom, sis & even my bro... till she got a bit better with keeping on her "med" on due time, and started to get slowly step by step again to make a life on my own for my own... And within a year, I did it, in a very Aquarian way, I became a very artistic hand-writing-designer in the city, making banners by my own bare hands with specific stuff that mold & spark & shine even on its own, with no lights attached to it, not around it... among other advertisements ideas & .... just in 3 or 4 months, I became dealing with the top-business-men & women in the city, without even having an office of my own that they could come by & see it, I worked from home, without a business card, nor a mobile phone, nor any "usual" thing, and they all trusted & dealt with me, on just because I was "being me"... those 3 to 4 month were exactly happening in the winter & spring of the great year of "2003"!!! Only to get a partial "Amnesia" accidentally on 1 sec around 6 or 7 pm on June 12th 2003... I lost a lot of my existing memory back then actually, really, even when my sis came (as they afterwards told me all about what I still not remember at all), when my sis came to visit me at the hospital, I said to her in a very innocent & spontaneous way: "if you just have came 15 minutes earlier; you'd have caught "dad", he was just her & left before you come"!!! AND she just went outside-all-crying....

And the "journey" went on.....

Thanking God in everything & for everything

of which some I know and a lot that I don't, as we all...

💫

Although all of the heartbreaking that I have had my very own large part of, during the very welcoming-heart-open- spontaneous journey of my own way in life...

Through it all ;

along with all the turned-double-face/backstabbing "friends"... And each & every single thing/experience/feeling that you'd actually think of...!

👀

👀

👀

Here

I am

Mahmoud Souliman Alsharqawy

that's my 1st - middle & last name

Born on Jan 26th 1978,

10:30 am (local-time),

Damietta - Dumyat, Egypt.

I really don't know how to be so focused enough to come-up with a specific question that would in its answer open the door for me to a paved road of spontaneity, productivity & prosperity...

I'm just so confused by all that life has already let me go through for all my life, because I have literally been living my life "LIVE" ever since I was just 5 years old... which was the first year I ever worked and began working & continued working ever since, at first it was at my uncle's fashion-factory, they "my family" decided to let me be with him each summer "working", only because they couldn't "handle me, nor my rebel-flowing-energy", I therefore wanted just to be "out & about", no matter what///.... still, I was among the top 3 of my class in school, each year, my overall marks at the finals of every year were all FULL-MARK 200/200. Till the next phase of my life came along & I became so divided on so many varieties of activities & interests that no 24-hours could ever be enough for'em... Practiced Kung-Fu, Gymnastics, Creative-writing {had my own poems in both languages English & Arabic}, Basket-ball, Foot-ball, Swimming, Ping-Pong, and so many other interests/hobbies that all were equally interesting to me & I Aced them all as well...!

Not to mention my ever-lasting-on-going "relationships", world-wide, since the mid-90's through (remember those organizations that were able to let people from all around the world could write to each other, through 1st we send our own info & they compare it to what they have from others & do matching, we wait about 3 weeks or 2 at best to get a letter through the local post-office & all, and see who would be our match is, and gladly write be to her "in my case", and... wait another weeks... I think the organisation named "ICS" & the other organisation was "TransWorld" and both were in Finland as I can recall, I got their address from their own adds in a local popular magazine that was a hit in our country in those days, it was called

"The Youth"  So many great things have happened, in a blink of an eye, in both the 80's & the 90's and suddenly came the 2000 & life just took a whole different turn & a whole different way of turning!!!

💫

As I mentioned before when I fell down on the edge of the sidewalk that we were setting on... with my height 6.1 & without choosing a way of falling as it's all sudden in very fast speed of very short time, and I fell on the back of my right-ear, that thing that is responsible of channeling the fluids from the spine to the brain & also for balance...

I took 2 years in treatment... One year & a half I was re-educating myself from the scratch

"talking & speaking the words that are actually on my mind".... & then 3 years more to remember my own way in living, my skills, my talents...!!!

In the very beginning, after I got home🏡 from the hospital🏥

One night, after midnight,

One of the high-school "sweethearts" when she knew about what happened "she knew from one of the female friends that came and visited me while I was in the hospital laying in bed with those salty-fluids attached in my veins... And when she knew, I was already in the house continued on the medical treatment from one famous doctor specializing in the surgery of the brain and its nerves... And I was working on my "talking" which was so much getting on every sensitive nerve in my already damaged brain... So, that girl 👧 phoned me one night in the very late hours of it... I was setting up on the small sofa that I like, after I turned it around to face the TV 📺 and my headphone 🎧 bugged into the TV so I can watch & hear the voices out loud 🔊 in the MBC 2 movie channel without hurting anyone in the house with any of the noise... So, she called me & after saying hi and how am I feeling during all of this, she noticed that I'm not "being me" at all as she surely could know even on the phone, specially on the phone... So, while she sensed that I'm being hurt deeply inside, for just not being able to speak my mind normally & spontaneously as I have always been... So, without even saying anything about it, she just went from talking with me smoothly in whatever general matter & then into the next, nonstop, with that sense of humor that could actually let me even continue with her in that "life'talk"

&

Continued doing that in every single late-night, for more than 3 to 4 months, as I can remember!

Adding that the entire right-half of my body 🌗 from head-to-toe was hardly feeling anything when touching or even pinching (if I said it right)

And those two very obvious signs "the difficulty in talking & the senseless half of the body" those were just the two obvious signs

about

"me being"

"not me at all"

those two have took over 2 years & 4 months to actually get "better" & then another few years to just be "okay" and as that "doctor" said to me during that last part, he said:

"whatever you do ; do not include (staying-home-till-getting-better) as an option at all & no matter what...

For your real unique treatment is actually during "you being" in living-life-itself... It's always has been the greatest teacher to all & also the most efficient and effective healer of all".

That session was just supposed to be a normal checkup, my mom & sis were inside the the room & setting on the doctor'office-table-chairs that are facing his own main chair, but they're listening to the doctor' as well as me, while I was setting on the side of the Chaslong or what's its proper name?! Anyway, I, during the very first words of his, just put my hand in my pocket & brought-out my cigarettes'box & the lighter and opened it & took a cigarette into between my lips & just lit it up during all the time I was eye-to-eye with him, nodding, not even a blink👀

"mom and sis" could really have a hard/heart-attack, and she both sigh out loud saying my name with a very not believing tone, but the doctor swiftly & smoothly raised his hand ✋ to them while saying "it's okay" and looked at me ; saying "but I'm just concerned if you're a heavy smoker or just occasionally"... In that one moment of pure spontaneity, I actually regained a very important part of my memory, which is "speaking English" and I instantly replied to him saying in English "no, no worries doctor, it's just occasionally & I've been out of it several times as I please when I do, thank you so ; though"

& he in return responded to me with that line I mentioned a bit earlier "about : whatever you do...." he said all those words back to me in "English"

&

The weirdest thing of it

That none of us was even a little surprised by the other... Except of course my poor mom & sis 😂

As life & living go by ; I found myself having spent more than

10 whole years

in life itself

as it is my own completion of the rest of that very treatment!

🔆

& ever since

I've been in & out of jobs

(in which I was working for others)

till I had it

&

got it all over with...

And been on my own,

very very "own",

since March 2012 till this very moment...

💫

instagram.com/AstroMouda

⛵

facebook.com/Beloved1s    

♀

#Nothing_But_The_Best

♂

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13lW93YL37I)

[cynthiajayusa]

Hear Me Out: Best Albums of 2017

Donald Trump is still tweeting (oh yeah, and somehow still president). Free internet porn could be a bygone luxury thanks to #RIPNetNeutrality. But hey, music in 2017 didn’t suck! Read on for the music that saved me, and maybe you, from one of the worst years for queerkind:

Tori Amos, ‘Native Invader’

To approach dire world affairs with a sound mind, Tori Amos called on her trusty muses to guide her finest release in some time. Themes of love, pain and healing, both in the midst of global and personal tragedy, comprise a set that draws upon Amos’ earliest years as her trademark Bösendorfer is our guiding light on the mesmerizing and exquisitely rendered “Reindeer King.” Elsewhere, Amos rails the patriarchy on “Bang,” while the album’s darkest foray, the wayward “Climb,” finds her calling upon spiritual forces for some necessary divine political-hell intervention.

Beck, ‘Colors’

Beck’s Colors seems to exist entirely in another time and place and political era, a godsend for all of us standing underneath the gray clouds of post-Obama America (hey, somebody has to keep our hopes up). Though he falls back on some familiar Phoenix-like tropes on this bright, buoyant slice of escapist heaven, hearing one of alt music’s most introspective minds resist the solemn zeitgeist with work so full of life is refreshingly infectious.

Taylor Swift, ‘Reputation’

“My name is whatever you decide,” Taylor Swift flirts on the thunderous “Don’t Blame Me.” Illuminating Swift’s intent to acknowledge and exaggerate her constantly dissected and criticized persona, the line is, seemingly, a sly nod to haters who still hate. But if old Taylor is dead, who are we left with, then? Not exactly a “new” Taylor so much as a revised, extra brazen version, where she and co-producers Jack Antonoff, Max Martin and Shellback throw gasoline on her pop fire. The songs are big and bad throughout, so it’s surprising to hear the tender “New Year’s Day” revisit Taylor of yore. Spoiler alert: Old Taylor didn’t die.

Kelela, ‘Take Me Apart’

Nineties R&B was a special kind, and Kelela must think so too. Her sultry debut studio album, Take Me Apart, is a sleek mid-tempo-teeming set, with the D.C. native conjuring Brandy, Janet and Aaliyah, from the suppleness of her voice to the smooth urban grooves. But Kelela isn’t concerned with fitting her music into a box for mainstream consumption, it seems, as her sophisticated artistry subverts the modern-day R&B template with a level of exhilarating old-school innovation.

SZA, ‘Ctrl’

SZA, which rolls off the tongue slightly easier than the St. Louis native’s birthname, Solana Imani Rowe, is a name even your mom might know early next year. Yes, all the cool kids were shook when SZA released her debut, and if there is any justice left in this world come 2018, in February, she might walk away with the five Grammys she’s nominated for. As if SZA’s glorious take down of arrogant ex-lovers and revelations like “let me tell you a secret, I been secretly banging your homeboy” weren’t reason enough for her to win, Ctrl deconstructs every genre that influences it, blazing trails with a unique, ethereal blend of soul, jazz, R&B and chillwave that’s all her own.

Kendrick Lamar, ’DAMN.’

“Bitch, sit down” should be on every mug you drink from in 2018. But for now, it’s a Kendrick Lamar line from “HUMBLE.,” basically writing the epitaph on the disaster that was 2017. The hip-hop icon, who has breathed the same air as our blessed Queen Bey, is fire on DAMN. Tackling Geraldo Rivera, President Trump and gun control, he leaves room for vast self-reflection – and gorgeous jazz flourishes – that makes for an intricately layered look at one’s own place in humanity.

Perfume Genius, ‘No Shape’

If the world is ending, fine, Mike “Perfume Genius” Hadreas will just ride his sequined motorcycle into the sunset, thank you very much. In my mind that is what I see when I hear “Slip Away,” which bursts from the seams to reveal a kaleidoscopic surge of aural bliss – a strikingly queer reaction to a fascist uprising. Breaking his own mold time and time again, one of music’s sincerest songwriters takes No Shape into a new dimension where escapist fantasy and Sade vibe together. The piano parables of Hadreas’ formative years are history, replaced by fresh textural turns that are as boldly queer as his tender poetry.

The National, ‘Sleep Well Beast’

The quiet beauty of The National’s experimental arrangements on their seventh LP reveals itself in the third ear. It strikes first like a mysterious whisper on “Nobody Else Will Be There,” hushed as if frontman Matt Berninger is singing to you in the dark. Deeper within the Beast, the Ohioans take their trademark melancholic, lyrical roots to new Radiohead-evoking rock heights, where synth fuzz fills out “Walk It Back” and a hypnotic undercurrent sweeps the bottom of “Born to Beg.” On the indietronica track “I’ll Still Destroy You,” peace and chaos collide as Berninger reveals, “I’m just trying to stay in touch with anything I’m still in touch with.” Frankness at its finest.

Kesha, ‘Rainbow’

Dr. Luke survivor and former Jim Beam-swigging pop bot Kesha Rose Sebert made the queerest mainstream album of the year, drawing from her own dark-horse experiences to create her most authentic recording, vocally and otherwise – one she dedicated to her fellow outcasts and underdogs. From her rise-above credo on the lovely guitar “Bastards” opener to her delightfully weird song about a queer afterlife, “Spaceship,” Rainbow is the album 2017’s shitstorm desperately needed: One marked by individuality, empowerment and survival.

Lorde, ‘Melodrama’

Grammy nominated for Album of the Year, Melodrama pulses with lived emotional fervor, as its forlorn creator struggles to sort through sordid love to find her best self again amid the remaining remnants (“Supercut,” a vocal paradise) and self-imposed blame (her devastating Kate Bush moment, “Writer in the Dark”). Elegant keys swirl into surging Robyn-esque dancefloor fodder, vocal beds serve atmospheric percussion-like qualities. Thematically, Lorde’s timeless exploration of love’s highs and lows is captivating and wise beyond her 20 years, an album that speaks to the ears as much as the heart.

source https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2018/01/03/hear-me-out-best-albums-of-2017/ from Hot Spots Magazine http://hotspotsmagazin.blogspot.com/2018/01/hear-me-out-best-albums-of-2017.html