#fine i get it. upheaval broke things. but nothing???

[eggman-1]

What was the point of the emphasis on the sky in advertising, if it was gonna be super fucking empty? The depths are slightly better, but not by much, and the normal overworld is still full of nothing but enemy camps and koroks.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

First I must make it clear that I came for Yves, stayed for Cyprus, and found Mont to be my true love. And Blanche as my confusing friend in the midst.

As a new fan that has been searching through this all, my knowledge isn't the best but I'm trying.

Yves is so interesting but also expansive that I'm having a bit of a hard time grasping it all. He's your personification of infallible unconditional love that people can display right? The mother of mothers.

Yet I can't find myself wanting to be open or close to him even with the knowledge that he won't judge me or that he'll take care of me like I dream of. Almost like I'm expecting him to be this way because I'm already viewing him in that parental role since I can't find mysel liking him romantically.

In contrast the thought of Cyprus doing the chores and cooking like in the Yandere coworker series, it gives me a warm giddy feeling like most yanderes would for me. Because I view him in a more romantic light.

I think that says a lot about how he's written and portrayed subconsciously by you. Since I read about him hating children and pets making me decide not to pursue him romantically it made me view all the other works of him differently.

But what I also found jarring due to that view is the first chapter of [the best and worst of both worlds] where he's so flirty and fun while the reader is this nervous failure in response.

From what I've seen Yves wants to mother and while you did say he would change himself for the reader, he wouldn't upheaval himself.

So what does he do when the reader is someone who wants to mother someone else, much like that one ask about Yves being a monster in law against Monty.

Now that was Yves just not being with reader and reader already with Monty. So if [tbawobw] (I'm sorry lol) had a far more put together reader that didn't stalk or fawn over Yves, how would he go about getting their attention?

Another thing I want to question is about Yves with a guarded reader. Now we know that he's 'okay' (debatable) with a reader that just chooses to keep him as a friend. And that if reader would hate who Yves is as a person, he would manipulate the environment to get their views to broaden before approaching.

But Yves with a reader who is very friendly, warm and caring to everyone but will not get close to them. Texts are dry, conversations never steer into Reader's personal life, such questions get obviously ignored or clearly told 'I'm not comfortable with that' and reader keeps even family apart mentally from their inner thoughts and feelings.

Now Yves has all the info, he's Yves but it means nothing if he can't get the reader to actually open up to him even when they do meet. They could be near homeless and still say 'I'll be fine, [insert clear conversation chang].'

Sure he can gift them all the money and gifts, they'll accept and use it. Only telling him that they used it wisely and appreciated his kindness before keeping the convo minimal. The kind of reader that has no shame in telling Yves that they feel uncomfortable with his amount/type of questions and/or visits.

So let's say he drives them into a corner, not too traumatizing but enough so that reader is forced in his vicinity when they breakdown from stress. He comforts them, reassures them, helps them and what happens?

The exact same thing. And if he does ask why they won't let him of all people close even when he is the first person that reader has broke down in front of, the response he gets is a 'I have never seen you become as unstable as I was in front of you. That dynamic felt unfair and uneven so I'd rather us return to our old one where we both were equals without faults.' and they just end it saying they understand if Yves doesn't want to be friends anymore.

What does he do then? He won't break down, he promised himself after all he's been through. So faking a breakdown won't work but just telling false information doesn't work either. Anymore traumatizing could be permanent too.

Yves could just use his drugs and subtle mind control thing that I'm still not really sure how it works, to nudge reader to accept his kindness. But we've seen it with Yandere Brother before, where some people are stubborn enough to require direct methods. Reader could have that same mental fortitude.

AND we all know this situation would be killing Yves, as he loves to coddle and mother reader. Would sending anyone ahead of himself before they meet even work? Only Yves would have the means necessary to make reader break down and someone else comforting them, someone who does break down in front of reader too making it 'equal' earning Reader's trust and closeness would only backfire.

Because now Reader would have someone to turn to for their emotional needs. Even if Yves killed that person off, Reader would just grow even colder to everyone outside of themself.

If he went the drugging then it goes back to reader continuously only giving in when having breakdowns/being drugged. Both which are harmful long term. And mainly that reader isn't truly turning to Yves out of their own violation but out of habit. It becomes emotionless, almost like a chore. They find no real comfort in Yves fixing their problem or caring for them or being with them. The true reader is even more guarded to him.

I feel like this dynamic would be very depressing for him, this situation in whole would be triggering Yves motherly instincts on full throttle while not letting him do as he wishes to help.

But yeah I only know so much so if there's another ask that goes on this road just link it for me please. If not, I would love to hear your take on how Yves would handle it.

Shifting to another point of Yves, lets rewind to how Yves actually feels not being readers partner. We know he won't date them if they can't handle not having sex or not being faithful.

He becomes the monster in law but there's 3 specific post that I really want to focus on. 1 - how Yves reacts to a respectful reader that ends the relationship 2nd date due to the sex. 2 - how he reacts to Monty being the husband. 3 - a post about how being just the friend is killing Yves in the inside. [the one comparing him to Pearl from SU]

So going for 1, in the post Yves is all 'okay' and smiles and just wants to be close with reader. And it's very clear that reader would have dated Yves if not for the sex. Yves vets all the possible partners for the future and only allows the one that fits his standards to stay.

But then it all comes crashing down when we get to 2.

This scenario doesn't touch on how the timing between Reader meeting Yves and Monty. It seems to imply that the whole sex thing wasn't a factor.

As previously stated, he feels that Monty is bad and absolutely nothing good but Yves pushes himself to get along somewhat with Monty to make reader happy. Monty is a yandere and honestly? A big variable at first since Monty's obsession with reader is pure chance.

So if reader is more put together then [tbawobw] leading to a more subby and controllable Monty making them much more compatible without Yves romantically in the mix. Reader could get attached and start dating Monty before Yves can gather enough info against Monty that ultimately doesn't matter because all Monty cares about is reader.

(and my computer is dying, I should speed this up)

Now in the 2 post, Yves has this breakdown about why reader didn't want to be with Yves in all his perfection and instead went with Monty who is his opposite. He says that they could have chosen someone better.

But what exactly does that mean for Yves?

Now on the surface it's just that Yves really wants reader to have the best possible and be well taken care of since Yves can't be their partner due to sex. But that isn't really how he feels. If reader chose a 'good husband' Yves could at least pretend like it doesn't bother him much.

But he just can't with Mont, not with the differences between them. Yves glaring hatred for not being readers husband, for having it taken from him in general is made so obvious and that. That right there is what's pushing him to breaking down in the form that he hates.

Post 3 confirms it all. But it doesn't bring up the topic of sex. Something that he already has so much trauma with. It's hard not to bring up some self loathing even though Yves (rightfully) wouldn't change his boundaries.

So in the worst case scenario, a guarded reader that I described above, rejects Yves respectfully due to the sexual incompatibility, proceeds to open up naturally to MONT and marry him keeping Yves always as a friend at best.

Just how deep in hell is his life? Would something like this expose new actions from Yves? I, uh, do have one more thing about Yves but I think I should just send it like this. It's long enough.

W anon

holy shit W anon u put the W in win bro

a WHOLE ASS THESIS omg thank u so much i love analyses holy crap like a whole well structured and well written essay on Yves's character and his complex feelings of being cucked

ultimately he wants you to be happy, but technically faking breakdowns can work if he does it convincingly enough. His breakdowns will never be about his TRUE past traumas. He thinks you're too delicate and innocent to handle that without accidentally traumatizing yourself too. HOWEVER, he may give you very ,very watered down concepts of what had happened to him- or downright fake events.

He would stage slips of sanities strategically and breakdowns too to coax you out of that shell. But not too much to raise suspicion out of you. Just enough to manipulate you into thinking he can be anything less than perfect. Remember, he's a terrific actor. Anything vulnerable about Yves is probably not real and is probably a highly calculated move

but yes, let's say you rolled a nat 20 on perception checks every time and you caught his bullshit, and he KNOWS that you will catch onto it, AND you fell in love with Monty because he's not fancy pants rich mcgee.... its spirituality and religion time. He will be literally doing black magic rituals just to keep himself in check, he knows that it probably won't help, but this is just for him to not fall into the abyss of despair and insanity, just to retain his sense of self in a reality that loves to erode it exponentially.

so basically, rule of thumb for Yves: if it's anything that he cannot solve without either destroying his boundaries or destroying your happiness, he's drawing those fucking sigils on his attic floor with his blood, lighting candles n shit (just like when you want to die while suffering from dementia, but he keeps you alive because he's selfish)

[bridgertonbabe]

Can I just say I absolutely love all of your mischievous William drabbles in all your AUs?! He’s so cheeky and troublesome. Poor Benedict seems to be at his wits end. Would you be able to write something where Will & Benedict have a really sweet / serious heart to heart (in any of your AUs)?

Ah yeah, ngl William has become a favourite of mine to write due to how much of a little shit he can be 😂 And Benedict probably ends up muttering on a daily basis "that boy will be the death of me" because of all the mischief is youngest son gets up to.

But of course, in spite of the clown persona William wears like a badge of honour, there is a sensitive side that he very rarely shows. I'm going to opt for this heart to heart between father and son to be set in the Harry Potter AU as Benedict offers William some words of wisdom.

"William?" Benedict knocked on his son's open bedroom door before entering to find him lounging in a beanbag chair with a faraway look in his eye. "I'm just about to help myself to a slice of your mum's blueberry pie, did you want me to cut a slice for you as well?"

William broke out of his pensive reverie, blinking in his dad's direction and Benedict was about to head off and cut two slices anyway, knowing how predictable his son was when it came to matters of the stomach - but then something unusual happened.

"No thanks."

Benedict felt as though he had been hit with a stunning spell. In fact, maybe he had. He honestly wouldn't have put it past his youngest son to have perfected a non-verbal stunning spell to cast on him in order to run off downstairs and have the remainder of the pie to himself.

"Really? You're telling me you're not hungry?"

"I'm really not." William said with a beleaguered shrug.

"Merlin's beard; are you okay?" Benedict frowned and approached his son, now thoroughly concerned with his son's welfare - he had never known his son to not be hungry or turn down food of any kind.

"Yeah, 'm fine." William replied and slumped down further in his beanbag.

Benedict wasn't buying it. For a second he briefly considered that this was all an act William was putting on and once he had fallen for it his son would pull the wool over his eyes - but no, it couldn't be; he knew William too well and he knew his son's glum demeanour was genuine.

He brought a hand to William's forehead to check his temperature but it was perfectly normal.

"Are you feeling under the weather? Do you feel lethargic? Fatigued?"

"I'm fine, dad." William insisted.

Benedict looked down at his son who was avoiding meeting his eye, and while he knew William would have preferred for him to just walk away, he couldn't in good conscience turn his back on him when he knew his son was going through something.

Instead he settled down in the neighbouring beanbag chair and quietly waited. They sat there in silence for several minutes and Benedict was sure it was the longest he had ever gone being in the same room as William without his son making a single sound. But then, just when he began to think William wouldn't speak at all -

"I don't know what to do." William uttered in an uncharacteristically small voice.

"About what?" Benedict pressed gently.

"I... I've upset someone. Someone I really care about." William revealed and scratched the back of his neck, which was a sure sign he was particularly uncomfortable about what was being spoken about.

"What did you do?" Benedict enquired (though he thought a better question would probably be "what didn't you do do?").

"That's the thing. I have no idea." William shook his head cluelessly. "I've gone over everything in my head again and again and again to try and figure it out but I've got nothing."

"Have you tried asking them what it is you did wrong?"

"They're avoiding me. Not responding to me. Not giving me the time of day. Nothing."

Benedict grimaced and sympathised for his son. He knew the greatest way for a person to cause his son any emotional upheaval was to give him the silent treatment; it positively killed him. William, who thrived off of attention at all costs had never been able to cope with being ignored. It was a concept lost on him and the practice served as a form of torture for William Bridgerton. Who was he if people weren't laughing at his jokes or enraptured by his conversation or amused by his antics?

"I see."

"I just don't get it. What could I have done wrong to make them stop wanting to have anything to do with me?"

"Well,"

"And before you say everything I do is intentionally wrong; no, it's not. I might tease and take the piss out of most people but she's one of the only few that I don't."

It was quite a fascinating insight. Benedict was aware that it was a rare feat for anyone to escape William's wind-up wrath, and the only person he knew who William left out of his campaign of annoyance was his dear mother. William might joke around with Sophie but he never mocked her and he certainly never pranked her like he did every other resident of My Cottage. He wondered who else William had chosen not to pick on - and it intrigued Benedict to hear that this person was a "she".

"And why's that?"

"Why's what?"

"Why is she exempt from being on the receiving end of your mischief?"

"Because." William replied and for a beat Benedict thought that was all he was going to get. "Because she doesn't deserve it. She's the sweetest person I know. I wouldn't dream of doing or saying anything to even remotely annoy her."

Blimey. Benedict thought to himself. He wondered if the "she" in question knew just how much power she had over William for him to not want to annoy her in any way.

"So why has she stopped talking to you?"

"That's what I would like to fucking know." William grumbled and folded his arms crossly. "I haven't said anything that she could take in the wrong way and I haven't done anything that would warrant her being upset with me."

Benedict glanced at his son and saw the way his green eyes shone with growing despair. His heart went out to him and it genuinely pained Benedict to see his youngest son suffering the way in which he was. It was so very rare that William was ever vulnerable and to bear witness to it it was almost jarring.

"She means a lot to you." Benedict observed.

"Yeah." William grunted. "She's... she's my best friend."

Benedict couldn't help but feel a little puzzled, seeing as he didn't actually know of any girl best friends that William had. Sure, his son was popular and there were definitely friends in his life that were girls; but none he had mentioned too prominently to make Benedict think that any of them were his son's best friend.

"I thought we'd always be friends. That nothing could get between us. But now all I get from her is radio silence. And I feel like it's something that I've done wrong because why else would she stop being my friend? I mean, have you ever had something like this happen?"

Benedict couldn't stop the snort that exhaled from his nose.

"What happened?" William clocked his head with interest towards his dad. "Did you upset someone?"

"Oh. Big time." Benedict nodded as memories flashed back from his disastrous times of yearning after Sophie before they had gotten together.

"Well did you make things right? What was the resolution?"

"Yeah I made things right. Then I married her and we went on to have four children together."

William sat up straight. "What?" he squawked. "You and mum fell out before you got together? How is that possible?"

Benedict found his son's genuine shock rather adorable. His children found his relationship with Sophie to be so lovey-dovey and filled with such unyielding love that he supposed it made sense for any of them to find the fact they had once gone several years without properly speaking mind-blowing.

"Because I managed to mess things up. Twice. And I didn't even realise what I had done until your Uncle Phillip spelled things out for me."

"Merlin's beard, dad. What did you do?"

And then Benedict launched into all the ins and outs of the beginnings of his relationship with Sophie. How he had suddenly recognised his feelings for her after a kiss at the Yule ball, the comments he had made that she had overheard, how they both acted as if nothing happened and yet Sophie distanced herself from him altogether, how much he pined over her in the interim, how bringing a stop to a drunken kiss (there was no need to mention to his son that it was far more than a kiss) on a Greek beach led to a miscommunication with Sophie running off crying. William was gobsmacked to learn that his parents relationship hadn't been the smooth sailing he had always believed it to be but nevertheless he listened with intrigue as Benedict recounted how things had finally been amended and how it led to them becoming a couple after years of mutual pining.

"So yeah. It could be worse; you could have screwed things up as badly as I did." Benedict grinned jovially.

"But you didn't technically do anything wrong."

Benedict was flabbergasted by William's remark, not having expected his son to have his back, especially as he had just been regaled with the story of how his dad had greatly upset his mum on two separate occasions.

"You said some comments you didn't mean because you were confused and trying to buy some time to figure out your own feelings. It was just unfortunate that mum happened to overhear you say that at that moment in time. And then you only put a stop to the kiss on the beach because you didn't want her to think you were only kissing her because you were inebriated, plus she stormed off before you got the chance to properly explain. You hardly screwed up, dad. It was just a case of miscommunication and misunderstanding."

Benedict stared with amazement at his son; he was pretty sure this was the first time his son had ever taken his side on anything and he couldn't quite fathom it.

"Regardless, Will, it was all still such a mess. I hurt your mother even though I never intended to and as a result we both spent years yearning for each other. If I hadn't screwed up the way that I did we might have gotten together sooner and then we'd have had even more time together. It's my biggest regret, wasting away nearly seven whole years when I could have changed all of that by simply telling her how I felt." he sighed and reflected on the "what if?" that still occasionally plagued his mind, imagining what might have been had he fully recognised his feelings for Sophie then and there at the Yule ball and acted on them accordingly instead of getting scared. "Will, if this girl means the world to you, then you need to tell her. Don't shy away from the heart of the matter like I did. Cut to the chase and express how you really feel. I don't want you to live with the regret that I do."

"You know what, I think you're right." William nodded slowly. "Maybe I neglected her without realising or maybe there's been some sort of misunderstanding... but you're right, I've got tell her how important she is to me."

"That's the spirit." Benedict smiled and clapped him on the back. "And I know it might seem risky telling a girl that you're in love her,"

"Wait, what?" William spluttered and darted his head towards his father. "I'm not in love with her, dad! She's my best friend and I love her a lot, I care about her; but I'm not in love with her."

Benedict opened his mouth to tell William his fortune, that actually it was plainly obvious that he was in fact in love with his best friend, before thinking better of it. Telling William he was in love wouldn't make the boy see sense. No, he'd just push back against the suggestion even if there was truth to it. Clearly his son was either in denial or just oblivious to his own heart; but that was something William would have to figure out for himself in his own time, as frustrating as it might be for Benedict to sit back and watch.

"Right. My apologies."

"Honestly, dad. Just because you fell in love with your sibling's best friend doesn't mean the same goes for me." William snorted before jumping to his feet and stating his change of heart about the pie and leaving his bedroom.

"Oh, William. You idiot." Benedict muttered under his breath, shaking his head affectionately before following after him.

[rphelperblog]

Gossip Girl Rp Memes

[inspired by @heldheart​ ]

“I’m not a stop along the way. I’m a destination.”

“Three words. Eight letters. Say it and I’m yours.”

“If you’re going to be sad, you might as well be sad in Paris.”

“Once men have tasted caviar, it baffles me how they settle for catfish.”

“Whoever said money doesn’t buy happiness didn’t know where to shop.”

“We’re sisters. You’re my family. What is you is me. There’s nothing you could ever say that would make me let go.”

“You can’t make people love you, but you can make them fear you.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the crazy bitch around here.”

“Hilary Clinton is one of my role models. I do not break treaties, you ass!”

“Can you make sure they don’t seat me behind Caroline Kennedy? She may be American royalty, but she’s a giraffe.”

“If you really want something, you don’t stop for anyone or anything until you get it.”

“Here’s my advice. Have a little faith, and if that doesn’t work, have a lot of mimosas.”

“Nate can’t wait to see you. Trust me, it’s like riding a very cute bike.”

“A hot lifeguard is like Kleenex — use once and throw away. You could ask for a better rebound!”

“Don’t go all Notebook on me. Not now. I need you.”

“I have an idea for you: quit. Your boss is a bitch. Let’s go to lunch.”

“Destiny is for losers. It’s just a stupid excuse to wait for things to happen instead of making them happen.”

“He ended up treating me like something he owned instead of something he earned.”

“We’re not servants to our emotions. We can control them, suppress them, stomp them out like bugs.”

“You need to be cold to be a queen.”

“Don’t let people tell you who you are. You tell them.”

“I didn’t come back for you.”

“I’ll just stay home, eat lots of gelato, and write about how true love is nothing but a myth.”

“I’d ask you how you are, but I don’t really care.”

“You know my mom: If it’s not broke, break it.”

“There’s something vibrating in your pocket, and I really hope it’s your phone.”

“I hate that stupid headband.”

“I remember everything you’ve read to me. In case you haven’t noticed I don’t really let go of things so easily.”

“I like the way I feel when he looks at me. Like I wanna believe in myself.”

“Earn the spotlight on your own merits. You’ll feel better.”

“Even if it’s the biggest kamikaze disaster of my life, it’s my disaster.”

“You are no one until you’re talked about.”

“When Prince Charming found Cinderella’s slipper, they didn’t accuse him of having a foot fetish.”

“I don’t read Gossip Girl. That’s for chicks.”

“She doesn’t know me. Nobody knows me. It’s cool. It’s fine.” “Yeah, well, your fashion emergency was solved so I figured my work was done.”

“I need your photographic memory and your passion for social upheaval to help me write the book about the Upper East Side. The book I should have written from the beginning.”

“You can’t fight against who you are.”

“You gonna strangle him with your scarf?”

“You don’t just give up because things are hard.”

“You know it’s love when you start talking like an assassin.”

“I just want to be the person you can bring anything to.”

“Do not knock The Sound of Music. It’s got guns and Nazis. And Julie Andrews is hot.”

“Affairs with married people, threesomes — it just so happens everyone’s problems are within my area of expertise.”

“I just don’t get it. I organized everything the way she likes it. I mean, I even made sure my bowtie matched her dress.”

“Listen, there’s nothing wrong with keeping your options open. I don’t think your parents are going to be mad at you for choosing your own path. Unless… they’re related to my parents.”

“People like me don’t write books. They’re written about.”

“We always knew it was one of us.”

“Life with you could never be boring.”

“Either switch that thing off or bring it to bed. Vibration is a terrible thing to waste.”

“Let’s catch up. Take our clothes off. Stare at each other.”

“I’m honored to be playing even a small role in your deflowering.”

“I’ll find another way to save my family legacy. One that doesn’t involve you.”

“Don’t mock the scarf. It’s my signature.”

"People Like Me Don't Write Books. They're Written About."

"Nothing Like A Scorned Lover To Scorch The Earth. I Can Hardly Wait."

"I'm Not A Stop Along The Way. I'm A Destination."

"Even If It's The Biggest Kamikaze Disaster Of My Life, It's My Disaster."

"I Didn't Come Back For You."

“Some Might Call This A Fustercluck. But On The Upper East Side, We Call It Sunday Afternoon.”

"Three Words. Eight Letters. Say It And I'm Yours."

"If You're Going To Be Sad, You Might As Well Be Sad In Paris."

"We're Sisters. You're My Family. What Is You Is Me. There's Nothing You Could Ever Say That Would Make Me Let Go."

"You Are No One Until You're Talked About"

"You Know You Love Me. XOXO, Gossip Girl."

“My impulsive tendencies have no place in my life as a legitimate businessman.”

"In Poland, we have a saying, 'Love is like head wound.' It make you dizzy, you think you die, but you recover. Usually."

"The money, the drugs, the privileges. They keep us numb so we don’t notice it’s better in the real world." 

"I hate that stupid headband."

"Haven’t you heard? I’m the crazy bitch around here." 

"Once men have tasted caviar, it baffles me how they can settle for catfish."

"Don’t let people tell you who you are. You tell them."

"Here’s my advice: Have a little faith, and if that doesn’t work, a lot of mimosas."

"You’d really go out with some guy you don’t know?"

"So all my heartfelt attempts to save our friendship had no impact, but the aroma of cheese and dough turned you instantly sentimental?"

"Sometimes, you have to allow yourself to be weak in order to grow stronger." 

"What's the difference between gossip and scandal? So glad you asked. Anyone can commit a minor indiscretion and generate a day's worth of buzz, but in order for gossip to birth a true scandal, it requires the right person to be in the wrong place. Take one 'it' girl on a pedestal, add a crowd eager to see her fall, and give them the means to knock her down."

[goodlucktai]

Prompt 18 for natsumes shitty relatives + natsume protection squad, it fits so well

PROMPTS LIST

18. “Do you think they remember you?” “I sure hope not after what I did the last time I was here.” “What did you do?” “You’ll find out.”

x

“Natsume, I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to want to be here,” Taki says with a commendable amount of tact. 

“Yeah, you look like we’re forcing you to plan your own funeral service,” Nishimura says with significantly less tact. Kitamoto shoulder-checks him, but Natsume only smiles. 

“I don’t, really,” he says. “If it weren’t so important to dad, I probably would have just asked to stay home.”

He’s more honest now, some two-and-half years since they first met him, and but it’s something his friends know better than to take for granted. They had to work for it, after all.

Shigeru is ahead of them, mingling with his relatives. Natsume and his friends are lingering in the entry way. Tanuma puts his hands out to take Nyanko-sensei so Natsume is free to shrug out of his jacket. 

“How come?” Tanuma asks in his quiet, unassuming way. 

“I used to live here,” Natsume says. “Not in this house, but in this neighborhood.” 

Just that is enough to make his friends stand a little straighter, a big red flag. Kitamoto feels his eyes narrow involuntarily at the first stranger who looks in their direction. 

“Do you think they remember you?” Taki asks as they pick their way down the hall. 

“I sure hope not after what I did the last time I was here.” Natsume’s voice is wry with good humor. He’s so changed from the kid who was frightened to say more than “yes” or “no” or “I’m sorry” or “I’m fine.”

“What did you do?” Nishimura asks with great interest.

“You’ll find out.”

Kitamoto is beginning to understand why Touko opted to stay at the hotel. Her well-timed headache seemed a bit too convenient at the time, but he wasn’t about to call his favorite aunt out on something like that. Besides, the speaking look she traded with Shigeru made it pretty clear that she wasn’t trying to be subtle about it, anyway. 

The kitchen is huge and polished to a gleam, and on sheer reflex Kitamoto reaches out to grab Nishimura by the elbow and reel him in against his side. 

“Don’t touch anything,” he advises. One of those crystal glasses looks like it cost more than everything in his mother’s china cabinet back home. “Not even the food. We can just stop at a combini on our way back.”

His friends all nod, conceding to his wisdom. Shigeru turns to find them slinking through the doorway like a herd of prey animals and shakes his head. 

“Get over here,” he says, not unkindly. “Katsuya and Hiromi have been looking forward to seeing you again.”

The promise of a couple of friendly faces is enough incentive to brave the rest of them. Tanuma passes Nyanko-sensei back over to Natsume; a changing of the guard. They barely make it halfway across the room before there’s a sharply drawn breath, and a “You!” that punches through the polite conversation like a rock through rice paper. 

The woman is only slightly older than Kitamoto and his friends, maybe closer to Kiyoshi or Natori’s age. She doesn’t look happy to see them.

Natsume breathes out slowly. There’s a moment where he shuffles self-consciously, about to duck his head and curl his shoulders-- Kitamoto can see it telegraphed in every inch of his body-- but at the last second he only bows neatly and then lifts his head again. 

“Hi, Sara-san. It’s been awhile.”

For a moment, she’s speechless. Most of the party-goers have turned back to their own conversations, but a few are still watching with interest. Shigeru and his cousin Katsuya are frowning openly. 

Sara says, “I can’t believe you came back here. You-- we got rid of you.”

“Wow,” Nishimura says out loud. Kitamoto squeezes his arm in warning, but Nishimura goes right on, “And my brother says I’m rude. You didn’t even greet him.”

“Satchan,” Tanuma hisses behind him. 

“Who is this, Natsume?” Taki asks. Her tone is bright, but Kitamoto’s not buying it. “An old friend of yours?”

“A cousin, I think,” he says. “I used to live with her and her mother not too long after my biological dad died. I think I must have been eight or nine.”

“You vandalized our house,” Sara says. It doesn’t come out angry as much as it does surprised. It seems like this is a confrontation she never thought she’d have to deal with. “You broke all the overhead lights on the first floor. There was broken glass everywhere. We called the police!”

Kitamoto blinks. The room was so quiet that if someone dropped a yen coin, you probably could have heard it down the street. 

“I’m sorry,” he says slowly, conveniently forgetting they weren’t supposed to be picking a fight. “Did you just say you called the police on an eight year old?”

Sara flushes. She glances around for help that isn’t forthcoming. “Well-- “

“How in the hell does a little kid break an overhead light in the first place?” Nishimura jumps in. He’s scowling, because he only has like two settings where Natsume is concerned, and they’re both sitting on a hair-trigger. “He must have been like three feet tall.”

“He’s weird,” Sara says helplessly. She’s slightly quieter now, and looks like she desperately regrets initiating this conversation. “He’s always done weird things. Everyone has stories about him.”

Stories about a frightened little kid trying to compartmentalize the total upheaval of his whole universe, Kitamoto thinks, a sour feeling in his stomach. Maybe he did act out, maybe he did do weird things. He still deserved kindness from you. 

“Hey, Uncle,” Taki says, looking up at Shigeru, “what’s the weirdest story you have about Natsume?”

“Dad, please don’t,” Natsume blurts. 

Shigeru grins, and Katsuya laughs outright. 

“Remind me and I’ll tell you later,” Shigeru says. “Why don’t you get something to eat and then come find me in the sitting room?”

“We can come now,” Nishimura says shamelessly. “We’re not eating here.”

“Convenience store fried chicken!” Taki cheers. “And a shortcake for Aunt Touko, since she had to miss the party!” 

“She’ll be sorry she missed this,” Shigeru mutters, and begins herding them all into the next room. 

Hiromi is waiting in there with drinks, and beams when they file in, greeting Natsume and all of his friends by name. The conversation comes easily, and the rest of the evening passes by pretty painlessly, and if Nyanko-sensei keeps a sharp eye on the door the whole time, Kitamoto isn’t going to mention it to anyone.

The sound of laughter draws a few more people into the room. They come either curiously, or ruefully, and pick out seats on the fringes. Someone apologizes for Sara, and it sounds as though they mean it. It might be wishful thinking, but it seems like these relatives are willing to revise their opinion of that strange little boy none of them bothered to get to know. 

Natsume is tall and healthy now, and as close to confident as he’s capable of, his long hair swept back with a headband he borrowed from Taki that morning. He’s nothing like the broken child he used to be. Everyone can see that. 

“I’m glad they got rid of you,” Nishimura says as they’re leaving, loud enough that a firmly-scolded Sara can almost certainly overhear. “If they can’t appreciate a good thing when they’ve got it, they never deserved you in the first place.”

“Stop trying to pick a fight,” Natsume says, giving him a playful push out the door. His face is warm with affection. “At this rate, they won’t invite us back next time.”

“I think Touko is counting on it,” Shigeru says dryly, and the door closes on all their bright laughter. 

[rosemaidenvixen]

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 16: Walter

Ao3

Over the years Strickler had lost track of how many times another changeling had made a joke about how it must rankle him to teach history that he knew was false from firsthand experience. 

But what most other changelings didn’t realize was that between ineffective funding and highly biased textbooks he’d be teaching falsehoods one way or another.

The truly ironic thing about being a changeling educator was being forced to leave out key events responsible for shaping the modern world as they knew it that no human was aware even occurred.

“Can anyone tell me who the final king of Camelot was?”

The predictable grouping of hands went up; Claire Nuñez, Seamus Johnson, Darci Scott, Eli Pepperjack. He had no doubt that they all knew the correct answer, maybe it was time to check that one of his less alert students was still mentally present in some capacity.

“Ms. Longhannon?”

The girl in question jerked her gaze away from the window “Wha?”

A chorus of snickers came up from around her. Shannon flushed.

“We were discussing the final ruler of Camelot, Ms. Longhannon,”

“Oh….that was King Arthur…..right?”

He smiled “Correct,”

Pressing a button on the remote in his palm, Strickler switched the view on the projector to a timeline extending from the years 400 to 1200 “The Pendragon Empire, founded by Uther Pendragon in the fifth century, lasted until the early twelfth century, ending during the upheaval surrounding the death of his descendent, Arthur Pendragon. A large part of the chaos after Arthur’s death was due to the fact that Arthur left no immediate heirs apparent. That combined with crumbling infrastructure and opportunistic invasions from neighboring nations is what led to the fracturing of the empire,”

Strickler paused as the soft scratching of pencils on paper filled the room.

Neighboring nations, what drivel, it was enough to make any self respecting changeling want to laugh and vomit at the same time.

Granted, Strickler himself hadn’t been present for Camelot’s true downfall. He’d been a young changeling back then, trying to sell a remote clan of Slavic trolls on the benefits of an alliance with the Gumm Gumms.

He hadn’t succeeded. But in the end it turned out rather moot.

No, that was putting it far too mildly. It had taken over a century for the Janus Order to recover from the chaos; setting their goals back by nearly a millennium.

Arthur might have lost the battle against his kingdom falling, but the victory he’d gained in the war was exponentially greater.

He’d prevented the extinction of the entire human race.

Strickler shut his eyes and pulled in a deep breath to ground himself back in the present as the last few students finished taking their notes.

No. 

Not prevented. Delayed.

“Your final project will be done in groups, each group will be assigned a single century during the Pendragon empire and will put together a presentation summarizing the events and the impact of your assigned century. This presentation should last twenty minutes and we will be doing them in class at the end of the month,” 

The entire room broke out into groans. 

Strickler chuckled good naturedly “Consider it a small price to pay for not having any work over spring break, now I want you all to break into your groups, three to five people each, and have one member select your century, and enough rubrics for all of you,” he gestured towards the small slips of papers on his desk sitting next to a fat stack of rubrics “The rest of the hour will be in class work time, so I suggest you get started,”

There was a shuffle of desks and sneakers as the students settled into their groups, a handful darting up and snatching their centuries and rubrics under Strickler’s keen eye. Had to make sure everyone settled into proper groups and keep track of who was working on what century after all. He waited until things had nearly settled down before speaking up again.

“Jim Lake,”

The boy in question started in his seat, both him and his groupmates turning and looking at Strickler inquisitively.

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind stepping outside with me for a moment?”

Based on his expression Jim certainly minded quite a bit, a gauntness present in his features that hadn’t been there a month ago, but he stood from his chair all the same “Ok….sure,”

Strickler ignored the course of oohs that filled the room as Jim headed over to meet him at the door. Only after he had stepped out and closed the door behind them, the two alone in the hallway, did Strickler speak again.

“Jim, I’ve been monitoring your behavior these past few weeks, and quite frankly I’m concerned,”

Someone less observant and experienced at the art of subterfuge would have missed the subtle way Jim’s shoulders stiffened, the flicker of panic on his face before it settled into a calm veneer.

But Strickler missed nothing.

Jim forced out an uncomfortable laugh “Well...uh, sorry to worry you, but I’m totally fine,”

Strickler had to bite back a sigh. It looked like Jim, not unexpectedly, had decided to be evasive; no matter. In that case the only thing to do was strike at the heart of the issue, bluntly and without delay.

He whipped a comb out of his front pocket; cheap and still sealed in its plastic packaging, but very fine toothed, holding it out in front of him “I want you to run this through your hair,”

Blinking, Jim stared at the comb and then back up at Strickler “....are you serious?”

“Humor me,”

Looking more confused than anything else, Jim slowly took the comb, pulled it from its wrapper, and ran it through his hair once before promptly handing it back “There, is that all? Because I need to--”

“Jim. Look at the comb.”

He did, all the color instantly draining from his face.

From end to end the comb’s teeth were stuffed to the brim with short, black hairs.

“Your hair is falling out.” Strickler’s tone brooked no questioning. He wasn’t asking, he was stating a fact “So do not tell me that everything is fine. If everything were fine you wouldn’t be losing your hair from stress,”

Of course there were plenty of non-stress related medical conditions that could cause a sixteen year old boy to start losing his hair, but Strickler found that his intuition was rarely wrong.

Jim hadn’t so much as twitched, standing frozen in place, eyes wide and locked on the comb.

Strickler let out a sigh and tossed the comb into a nearby trash can “I’m going to be frank with you Jim, I know CPS is investigating your family,”

Now that got a reaction, Jim snapping his head up, breathing quick and shallow, voice tight with pure panic “You do!?”

“Keep your voice down, yes, the investigator called the school with a few questions,” Strickler saw no reason to bring up the fact that he had been the one to make the initial call, much less that he had done so at the behest of Mr. Domzalski.

“But I’m not going to ask about that. That case is a matter between your family and the state, now if you want to talk I am more than willing to listen, but I’m not going to pry into your family’s private matters,”

Just like that the wind went out of his sails. Jim practically going limp, swaying on his feet overcome with relief. But before he could relax too much, Strickler was talking again.

“That being said, in the weeks that the investigation has been going on, I have become seriously troubled by your behavior,”

“What...behavior...are you talking about?”

“You’re anxious and unfocused, I’ve caught you nodding off in class no fewer than three times in the past week. And this is pure speculation on my part, but I don’t think you’ve been getting nearly enough to eat, which could be contributing to your hair loss,”

Squirming under his scrutiny, Jim ran a shaky hand through his hair, before he quickly realized what he was doing and pulled it away “Ok things have been hard… and maybe I’ve missed a meal or two...but I’ve just...really been focusing on keeping my grades up,”

It was true. Strickler happened to know for a fact that Jim was pulling all A’s in every subject. But while that was a fact it certainly wasn’t the whole truth.

“You’re grades are exceptional, and normally I would applaud you for being so diligent with your studies, but I get the feeling you’ve been hyperfocusing on your schoolwork in order to avoid dealing with the other problems in your life,”

From the way Jim flinched at his words, breath catching in his throat, Strickler knew he’d struck the truth. 

“Look...I...I know that there’s a lot going on, but I swear I can handle it,”

“Jim--”

“I promise it’s really not that bad,”

“Not that bad? For goodness sake Jim, your hair is falling out!”

The boy had no response to that, downcast eyes locked on the floor, unable to meet Strickler’s gaze.

Squaring his shoulders, Strickler clasped his hands together and netted his fingers in front of him. Bluntness had served its purpose in this conversation, now it was time for the olive branch “With everything going on in your life I imagine it must feel like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders,”

“Yeah,” Jim mumbled “Something like that,”

Strickler gave him a small smile “Have you heard of the greek myth of Atlas?

Jim looked up at that “No….should I have?”

“Atlas was a titan that took part in the war between the gods and titans, and when the titans lost Atlas was condemned to hold up the sky for all eternity,”

“Okay…but what does that have to do with...me?”

“In the myth Atlas alone bore the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, but Jim, you aren’t Atlas. However heavy your burden is, you don’t have to bear it alone. The faculty here can put you in touch with some excellent counselors and--”

“Actually I really don’t need anything like that,” Jim stepped around him and tried to go back into the classroom “And I should really be getting started on--”

“Jim.” Strickler allowed a trace of stone to creep into his voice “We are not done talking.”

The boy froze midstep, slowly turning back towards him with clear hesitation.

Once Jim was facing him again Strickler cleared his throat and started over “The purpose of counselors and therapists isn’t to scrutinize you or your family, but to give you tools and resources, coping mechanisms to help you better deal with the struggles life throws at you. And before you ask, no, you don’t have to talk about the investigation with them either,”

Jim’s mouth abruptly twisted into a scowl “If I don’t have to talk to them then why should I bother...even….”

He trailed off once he noticed Strickler’s expression, the boy couldn’t possibly see down to the depths of Strickler’s true thoughts, but he clearly saw something that gave him pause.

“...sorry,” Jim muttered, looking down and away.

Strickler just stared back at him evenly.

One didn’t survive as a high school teacher without developing a thick skin in regard to teenage impertinence. But this kind of snide back talk was far more in line coming from Steve, or even Seamus. Hearing it from Jim it was...troubling.

Not wasting any more time, Strickler pulled a sticky note out of his pocket and held it out “Here are a few of the counselors and therapists that I most recommend, but if you want more options let me know and I can get you a complete list,”

Jim didn’t move, arms not so much as twitching from their position at his sides. Staring at the note with a sour expression on his face.

“I’m not going to force you to go see any of them, but you will take their contact information and keep it,” One of Strickler’s eyebrows quirked up “Unless of course accepting the contact information of guidance counselors and therapists would put you at risk for some reason? If that is the case I certainly wouldn’t want to put you in any danger, but I would need to know exactly what kind of danger you would be in,”

Jim chewed on his lip, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Strickler held his gaze, kept his hand extended, and waited.

Finally after what must have been a solid minute, Jim reluctantly reached up and took the note. Tucking it into his pocket under Strickler’s close scrutiny “Can I go back in now?”

Strickler frowned. He was not pleased with how this had turned out. Despite his best efforts the boy seemed dead set on refusing every helping hand extended his way. But as the saying went, one could lead a horse to water, but can’t make them drink. The only thing to do was continue to offer the water and hope one day he bent his head and accepted.

“You can, but please remember, as a teacher it’s not just my job to educate you, myself and every other staff member in this building has an obligation to look after your wellbeing, so please don’t forget that, young Atlas,”

Jim rolled his eyes “Yeah, sure,”

Strickler frowned; darker, harder this time, Jim shrinking under the force of his gaze. Brusqueness gone as quickly as it had come. 

“I...I’m sorry…”

It wasn’t as though Strickler was losing his patience with the boy, compared to his dealings with the order’s underlings this was as relaxing as a day at the spa. Rather he was becoming increasingly concerned by Jim’s uncharacteristic outbursts.

Despite Jim’s best efforts to bury his troubles and pretend that they didn’t exist, his woes were finding their way to the surface one way or another.

“More people care about you than you know Jim,”

Strickler was suddenly struck by inspiration. For whatever reason Jim wasn’t comfortable reaching out to Strickler, or any other adult it seemed. Perhaps the idea was to appeal to his peer relationships.

“Like your friends,”

He gestured towards the window in the classroom door, at cluster of five desks with four students at them in particular “You happen to be graced with a group of companions who would go to the ends of the earth to help you, not everyone can be so fortunate,”

Strickler turned his head slightly, trying to gauge Jim’s reaction. But to his shock, rather than looking relieved or even uncertain, something hard and inscrutable had settled over Jim’s face.

“Yeah, they would wouldn’t they,”

The boy’s tone cinched it. Strickler had accomplished all that he could for today, pushing Jim any further right now would do more harm than good.

With only a pang of reluctance, Strickler opened the door and allowed Jim back inside, following shortly after.

He went over to his desk to grade quizzes while the students worked for the rest of the hour, Jim taking his seat at the cluster of desks, rejoining his companions and enmeshing himself in their project.

Despite his best efforts to file this incident in the back of his mind, Strickler found himself dwelling on his brief interaction with Jim. Keeping a subtle eye on him and his group. 

Strickler had been doing this for a very long time and found that for good or for ill, his intuition was rarely wrong. 

You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink, only keep offering and hope one day he bent his head and accepted it. And Strickler’s intuition was telling him that Jim would break before he ever bent.

[animatedminds]

Splash Mountain, Br’er Rabbit, and the Tragedy of Being Represented By Other People.

So, this is probably going to be the realest post I’ll make for a while - or at least until The Boondocks arrives, but it seemed apropos. Immediately after this I’ve got rants about sci fi and Star Wars and other unrelated things coming up, but for now we have my earnest opinions on a decision I feel should have been better thought out than it was. This is going to read more like an article or an essay than a review, but I think it needs to be said.

It hasn’t come up too often on this blog, but I am African American. It’s my life and my perspective. And as an African American, a lover of animation and - though this definitely doesn’t come up on the blog - a passionate folklorist in what you could call an academic sense (in that I’m a writer and a student, and folklore is the subject of most of my research), people I know in real life have asked me more than once what my opinion on the removal of Splash Mountain in favor of Princess and the Frog, how I must be glad it’s finally being removed, what my take on the history there was, and…

Well…

To really give that opinion, I’ve got to start at the beginning. Not Song of the South - that, if anything, is the very middle. We have to start with Br’er Rabbit and who that character was. Sit back students, info dump incoming.

Br’er Rabbit is an folklore character of African American origin with - like many folkloric figures - a difficult to place date of origin, but he was known to have existed at least since the early 19th Century, He has obvious similarities to the far older figure of Anansi - with several Br’er Rabbit tales even taking elements of Anansi stories verbatim - though with a the notable difference that unlike Anansi, Br’er Rabbit was more often a heroic figure: an underdog and seemingly downtrodden figure who used his wits and his enemies’ hubris rather than physical force to win the day. The meaning of that kind of figure to an enslaved people is obvious, especially when you compare Br’er Rabbit to another, contemporary trickster figure in African American history by the name of John. Br’er Rabbit’s stories could even arguably be seen as a more child-friendly version of the John tales, in which a human trickster pulls the same kind of momentum turning ploys on villains - but those villains tended to be explicitly slave masters or overseers, and John’s payback often came with explicitly deadly results. The existence of John as escapism for the enslaved or just-post-enslaved (IE Reconstruction) populations is clear: a person who with no power who could fight back with nothing but their mind, preying on the fact that their enemies see them as incapable and helpless, and the connection of Br’er Rabbit to that message is difficult to deny. If anything, Br’er Rabbit comes off as a somewhat more child-friendly version of the concept.

But the most important thing to glean from this is who and what Br’er Rabbit is: a product of the African American community and its history, as a means of those people to express themselves and their values in the face of oppression.

Now we fast forward to 1881, and along comes Joel Chandler Harris: a white Georgian. Harris was a folklorist himself, and travelled the country collecting stories - most famously Br’er Rabbit stories. His stated reason was to bridge African American and white communities by sharing stories, but he was tainted by the perspectives of his world and his place in it, infamously creating a framing narrative for those stories in which the character telling them exuded the imagery of subservience and simplicity that was typical of perceptions of African Americans from the post-Civil War Southern environment in which he collected them: Uncle Remus, in other words. Harris is hardly the only white curator who adapted stories of black or brown peoples in a way that played up the people the stories came from as something of a theme park piece, as if noble in unintelligence and simplicity, but he’s one of the most famous ones to do so - and that’s because of the adaptation. To note, when people criticize cultural appropriation, this is the kind of thing that really triggers the outrage. Not any situation in which a white person is inspired by someone who isn’t white and creates something accordingly, but situations where someone else’s creation is taken and used for the fame and profit of others, to the detriment of the people who made it. It’s these situations like the one Joel Chandler Harris created centuries ago, specifically, that people are trying to draw attention to - even if sometimes social media gets a bit trigger happy sometimes, that’s the real, underlying problem. With that in mind, let’s put that aside and move forward.

Fast forward again to 1946. Walt Disney Productions, then less the company of grander, wider scale stories of epic quests and emotional upheaval that make us all cry and more a company more known for folktale adaptations in general, were looking for a but of American folklore to headline a live action, animation mix - a medium that allowed a bit more financial benefit, as straightforward animation was not always particularly profitable those dates. This wouldn’t be the last time they produced an adaptation of an American folktale or short story - their version of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow a few years later being actually one of the more faithful adaptations of that short story put to film. Disney, who evidently read Chandler Harris’ stories, put together a project to see if they could adapted. Which they did. Pretty much verbatim. This is actually worth pointing out: the actual Br’er Rabbit stories in the films are very accurately adapted, and the actors involved in the story (including James Baskett, how also played Uncle Remus) did a fine job characterizing them. The issue is that Disney also adapted Chandler Harris’ stereotypical and offensive framing device pretty much verbatim, bringing Uncle Remus. And therein lies the problem.

To put the issue with Song of the South in perspective, the movie - with the framing device - can be categorized as something called Reconstruction Revisionism - which is basically a genre of post-Civil War media meant to present the pre-war South was perfect and idyllic, and that people are racially more natural in that environment’s dynamic and never should have left. One of the most infamous movies in history, Birth of a Nation, is the crowning example of this genre. Obviously, Song of the South is nowhere near as awful and inflammatory a movie as that, but there’s a degree to which it was seen as the straw the broke the camel’s back for black depictions in media, only a couple of years after Disney’s Dumbo also did the same. The end result, an African American creation was used in a film that ultimately demeaned the African American community, a decision that Disney has been ashamed of ever since.

Fast forward to now. Disney is removing Splash Mountain, the sole remnant of Song of the South that focuses exclusively on Br’er Rabbit - a choice we’ve had reason to suspect was coming for about a year now, but which was unveiled conspicuously in the middle of protests and campaigning for better treatment of people of African descent worldwide. The reveal was a rousing success, with people applauding the decision to finally wipe away the rest of that movie - though remember that for later, that the response relies on the perception of Br’er Rabbit as something that starts with Song of the South - and replace it with something else. Surely, as a black person I should be happy that they’re finally getting rid of that racist character for good and replacing him with something more positive? And again, well…

To put short, Br’er Rabbit has finished his journey from African cultural symbol to discarded pariah, all because others used the character in racist ways that they themselves now regret. And for that… let’s be clear, I’m not angry so much as saddened. I’m not railing against the company for making the choice, since I can see how from their point of view it was the wisest and most progressive thing to do. Song of the South is a badly old fashioned movie that they’re right to want to move on from, and it’s their right to downplay characters within their purview if those characters reflect badly on the company. I’m just outlining the tragic waste of it all.

For now, compare Princess and the Frog - the thing they’re replacing it with. I do love the movie, or at least any problems I have with it have little to do with representation, and I definitely don’t have anything against Musker and Clements and their beautiful visions and creations, but it’s difficult to deny that its an adaptation of a European story, adapted by a collection of mostly white creators (with Rob Edwards comprising but one third of the screenwriting team, but not of story conception), that’s ultimately just dolled up with African Americans characters and a very Hollywood-esque depiction of a African diaspora religion (Voodoo, which unfortunately has a long history of such portrayals). If we’re talking about representation specifically - which this move had definitely been presented as a champion for - it’s not the perfect example, more of a story with a surface covering of the black experience than one with an especially strong connection. That wouldn’t necessarily be a problem (Tiana and her story do well depict strong black characterizations, and approach an interesting (if light_ implication about racism and hardship during the 1920s) if Disney had yet created any other franchise that was another actual adaptation of an African or African American tale or story (with involvement from such actual people), but Song of the South is actually it. They legitimately have nothing else to call on.

This is something I feel we should do more to remedy. I am a writer/prospective screenwriter myself, and trying to put more stories out there is one of my primary focuses and goals should I ever truly enter the industry, but at the moment we just don’t have very many options.

This is hardly the only time that people of color have had little control over depictions of their own culture - literary and film history is full of such situations in both minor and terribly major ways - but it’s something that stings especially hard due to being such a current example, and because of sheer irony of the end result. Now we have a situation where African Americans are being told that something their people created to represent themselves is negative and wrong, because years ago other people appropriated that creation and used it to paint a negative picture of the people who actually held claim over it, and now the enterprise that those people created wants to save face: another example of culture being treated like a possession of the ones who are poised to make money of off it. And what’s worse, while the culture is used and abused like trash, the people are now presented with this removal like it was a prize - like they’re finally being given something - when little has really changed.

Ultimately, the Splash Mountain news - though it had been coming for a while - made me rather upset for that reason. As a studier of folklore, I suppose I knew better than most where these things came from, and so the buzz around the move being a belief that Br’er Rabbit was an intrinsically racist character just highlighted the tragedy of how African Americans and their culture tended to be tossed about by American media. So no matter what, I can’t feel particularly happy about it.

Let me iterate, in the film industry, being represented by people who aren’t of your culture group is basically inevitable. That’s essentially how the industry works. I’m not saying we should rail against anyone who would try to represent cultures that aren’t their own. The people who produce and create are few, and eventually the truth is that you have to be represented by other people - at least for the moment. We shouldn’t be railing against representation by others in general, as that wouldn’t be cognizant of the situation and thus self destructive. What I’m saying is that we - both we trying to be represented, and those doing the representing - should be aware of the problem there: that when others choose to represent you in media, you essentially have to trust them to have a real interest in you and your best interests when doing so, and when they don’t that depiction is there forever. So it behooves us to try to be the ones who are representing ourselves as much as possible, and in situations where we can’t, to remind those who want to represent us that they have a responsibility to do so effectively.

This is Animated Minds for Animated Times, and really this blog is ultimately about emphasizing what makes animated media work, what makes it fun, and what makes it worthwhile no matter how old you are. And so in several years of sporadic and infrequent reviews, reactions and fandom posts it’s been rare for me to get this real about a topic, but this is something that is a serious issue feel was overlooked. Representation is complicated. And more often than not solutions that are handed to us are more band-aids that look like cures than necessarily being actually helpful, and that’s what happens when ultimately the decisions about how you’re represented lie in the hands of other people. Representation is one of the biggest things we need to work on in coming years, especially with stories and adaptations - which refer to history and culture that are often not widely known or accepted. Ask someone if they think there should be an African princess, and they’ll tell you they didn’t even have kings and queens in Africa - something that’s bluntly wrong, but is widely believed simply because those elements of culture are never represented.

And that’s the sum of my thoughts on the subject. I hadn’t updated the blog in months because this whole thing was stewing in me, and I couldn’t really go back to cheerful posts about new things until I got it out. I’ve got great thoughts about the Owl House, Amphibia, the new seasons of BH6 and Ducktales that are totally coming up soon. But for now, just a few sobering thoughts from someone who grew up loving cartoons, and desperately wishes people like me had more to look at in that field beyond apologies and promises.

[rjhpandapaws]

A Hand in the Matter

Ch6: ... I Wouldn't be Adverse to Trying

//Warning(s): detached sense of self, depression, out of control thought spiral, self harm, rationalization of self harm, low self worth, suicidal ideation.

Richard was confused and scared. He'd experienced both emotions before, but he'd never felt both at the same time. He was unsettled in a way that seemed heavier and more permanent than his other bouts of more intense emotion. His world felt like it was irreversibly and simultaneously tilting on its axis and shaking apart. Richard was left in the free fall.

He was still pacing his apartment, he'd stopped counting the rounds at ninety-nine. A perfect number, a double that would bring him good luck. He paced from his front door to the far wall of his living room. A path that kept him from bumping into or touching anything. Nothing would be moved from its place. Everything had a place. Things would be fine as long as nothing got moved.

Richard didn't have a place in his own life any longer, meeting Gavin had violently dislodged him from it. This was Gavin's fault. Had he not met Gavin he would still have his place. If Gavin was no longer part of his life things would go back to normal. No more clinging. No more late night conversations. No more pictures of Franklyn. No more movie nights. No more coffee meet ups. He would be back to normal. His world would stabilize. He would be alone.

Richard didn't like being alone. It was unpleasant. It clung to him like tar, an ever-present reminder that knowing him was more effort than it was worth. Gavin would leave on his own eventually. The loneliness would pull Richard under again and this time he would drown.

At somepoint he had stopped pacing. He needed to get away from these thoughts. Why had he stopped moving? He needed to think, thinking was difficult. Something close to him was playing music and something else was vibrating against his chest. Why? Was it his phone? Someone was calling him. It would be rude not to answer.

Oh.

It was Connor. He didn't want to talk to Connor. He would worry. His worry was stifling. Like the loneliness, except his head was being held down by someone instead of something else pulling him under. He stared at the phone until he missed the call, cleared that notification as well as the one for the voicemail that followed it. He should let Connor know he didn't want to talk. That's what a good brother would do, thats what Silas would do. Was Richard still a good brother? He didn't think so. He should text Connor and tell him he doesn't want to talk.

Me: Stop calling. I don't want to talk.

Connor: Richard?

Connor: is everything alright?

Richard opened both messages so the would go away. Nothing was alright. Connor was being annoying and Gavin was insisting on sticking to him. They both should go away, but if they went away he would be alone. If he was alone he would drown. He didn't want to drown. Dying that way was painful. He put his phone on silent and put it back in his shirt pocket, back in its place.

He looked down the hallway and scratched at his wrist, it was grounding. His left, so no one would see if it bled. He was tired. He should sleep. Sleeping would help. His wrist was becoming raw, the sting would keep him from drowning. Pain was good company. He would be fine with it if he didn't wake up. He would no longer be Connor's burden. Gavin would be free of him, and his loneliness would be gone. It would be calm and quiet because there would be nothing. His wrist was bleeding now but that was fine. He just wanted to rest. If he woke up he would deal with it then. He nodded stiffly and made his way to his room.

He hated this room. It was a prison. Clean and unlived in. Everything had a place. This was not his. He liked the couch better. Couches were for company. He didn't have company. No one was allowed here. It was not their place. It wasn't his. He would make it his.

That thought brought with it anger, the anger moved him. First to his dresser. He pulled violently on the top most drawer, knocking something off the top of the dresser. It hit the ground and broke, Richard didn't care. He pulled the clothes from the drawer tossing them away from him as though they were worth nothing. When it was empty he slammed it shut. He did this until the dresser was empty. From his spot on the floor he stared at his closet. He didn't like that either.

The metal doors opened too fast, the sound was grating and he didn't like it. He needed to get rid of them. They were to heavy, they would have to stay. He pulled the clothes from their hangers. Some of them tore, he didn't have it in him to care. These were thrown into the room too. Being angry was exhausting. Being was exhausting. He should lay down. Sleeping would turn all of this off. His mind would be quiet. He didn't want to wake up, he wanted to stay in the quiet. Numb silence was safe.

He got into bed on top of the covers. He pulled the soft throw from the foot of the bed up over him. This would be enough. He closed his eyes and his thoughts screamed. They were too loud. Too much. He didn't want them. He wanted silence. He wanted to be numb. He didn't want to wake up. He didn't want to be alone.

Gavin didn't like him. Gavin was using him. Gavin hated him. All of this was Gavin's fault. He didn't want to think about Gavin. He didn't want to think. He wanted to sleep. He didn't want to wake up.

A sob wracked his frame, it was chased by a frustrated groan. His thoughts wouldn't stop. He needed to make them. He needed to get them out. They had to go away. He sat up and wiped his eyes, the movement hurt his wrist. It was grounding. He did it again. This was Gavin's fault. Gavin didn't like him. Gavin was using him. Gavin hated him. No one ever stayed. Gavin would leave and so would Connor.

His thoughts were too loud and only getting louder. He opened his nightstand and got out his notebook as well as the pen that sat beside it. He wrote out his thoughts. Kept writing them, covering the pages until the loop finally stopped, ground to a hault because of exhaustion. He set the notebook aside and put the pen where it wouldn't be lost. Nothing had a place anymore. Not Richard. Not his things. He wanted to sleep. He didn't want to wake up. His mind was finally quiet. He could sleep. He laid down and the dark didn't take long to claim him.

Sleep was a mercy, he didn't dream, or if he did he hadn't remembered them, but he did wake. It was unpleasant. His arm hurt and he didn't know how long he'd been down for. His phone was no longer in his pocket. It must have fallen out as he slept. When he found it he looked at the time. He'd slept through the night apparently, it was eleven in the morning. He had several texts from Connor, each progressively more worried than the last. He opened them so the notifications would go away. Gavin had texted too. Richard didn't like that. Gavin was the cause of all this. He needed to go away. If he wouldn't do it himself, Richard would do it for him. This was Gavin's fault.

Gavin: we still meeting at the cafe today?

Gavin: asking because I'm running a little late

Gavin: you're gonna need to grab the table.

Gavin was using him. Gavin was not his friend. Gavin was a liar. Richard had known all along. He did not want this anymore. This was all Gavin's fault. But Gavin also didn't know better. Everyone he had met used him. Gavin was no different.

Me: I think you should find another tutor.

Me: its nothing personal Gavin.

And it really wasn't, not against Gavin anyway. He was only doing what everyone did. Gavin was at fault for being nice, and Richard was just as much as fault for getting attached.

Gavin: was it something I did?

Was it something Gavin had done? He'd stomped into Richard's life and acted like he belonged. Dislodged Richard from his routine. Had Gavin not done that Richard would be fine. Alone but alright. That spiral of destruction had at least been slow. Now his whole world was in upheaval. Nothing had a place anymore. Not Gavin, not Connor, and not Richard. He felt like he was free falling onto a pit of spikes.

A new message popped up from Gavin.

Gavin: text Connor please, he's worried about you.

Let him worry. He dropped his phone off the edge of the bed. He didn't want to deal with it anymore. Not Gavin, not Connor, and not this horrible feeling of displacement. He just wanted to sleep. He didn't want to wake up. It wasn't worth it. None of it was. The loneliness was suffocating, but the alternative was an unknown. Richard didn't like unknowns.

He wanted to go back in time, to that second day and tell himself to steer clear of Gavin. To change his schedule. Anything to keep from having met him. Being alone had to be better than this. Yet the thought of going back to having no one felt bitter. But bitter had to be better than abject terror, it had to be. He couldn't stand living like this.

Richard drifted, his thoughts began to lose traction until they stopped and he slipped under again. The silence of his sleep was oppressive this time. It weighed down on him. It was not rest, this was uneasy. He slept restlessly waking up, only to be pulled under again before he was fully coherent. The next time he woke up was because something was wrong. He couldn't place what, but something had changed. He curled in on himself tighter, trying to make his lanky frame as small as possible. If he kept still long enough, surely it would pass and he could get back to sleep. Perhaps the third time would be the charm, as they say.

There was a knock on his door. Three light taps before it creaked open, someone was there. If he didn't respond they would probably go away. He didn't want to be seen.

"I'm going to turn the light on." That was Connor's voice. Why was Connor here? Richard had made it clear he didn't want to talk to him. As promised the bedroom light came on a few moments later.

Richard sat up and let his eyes adjust. He kept the blanket in his lap, running his fingers over the softness, grounded by that and the slight sting it brought to his wrist. There were two people in his room, one was Connor and behind him was Gavin. Why was he here? This was his fault. Hadn't he caused Richard enough pain already?

'Get Out!' He signed harshly, but it was no lower the grounding sort of pain, it was sharp and reminiscent of the anger he was feeling. Better to show is anger than his fear, 'Leave'

Gavin backed off a step, flinching away from him like he was afraid. Richard had mixed feelings about that. Satisfaction because perhaps now Gavin would leave, and, apprehension because now that Gavin was here a part of Richard wanted him to stay. Gavin wouldn't meet Richard's eyes. Gavin knew this was his fault then. Good.

"Can," Gavin's voice sounded tight, small, and unsure. He kept his eyes down. "Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?"

Everything. Gavin had done everything wrong. He had stayed, had the nerve to look at Richard like he was worth something. Like Richard was his friend rather than a means to an end. Like everyone else Gavin had used him, but it was worse this time because Richard had fallen for it. He had given in with the hope that this time would be different. Then he had time to think about it and tried to push Gavin back to a safe distance, but Gavin wouldn't budge and now he was here. He wanted Richard to be miserable. Gavin was not his friend.

'You Lie.' He closed his eyes to keep from seeing Gavin's reaction and to hold back against the emotions that were bubbling to life in his chest, 'Not My Friend. Only Want Teacher.'

"I... you're my friend Richard." Gavin sounded like he was in physical pain, "I never meant for you to feel like this. I want to fix it."

'LIAR!' A sob rattled up and out of Richard's chest, he was late to cut it off and his tears spilled over without his permission, anger melting into pain and fear. Making him weak. His signs were becoming sloppy, "Not My Friend. Now Leave.'

"Alright. If you want me to go, I will." It barely registered over the hurt that Gavin was listening to him. People didn't tend to listen to Richard, they had better things to do.

Connor's voice cut across that train of thought, it came from much closer than when he'd first spoke. Richard hadn't heard him move. He was too close.

"No Richard, he stays." Richard turned to look at Connor who was beside his bed, with Richard's personal notebook in his hands. He was reading it. "He was the one that said we should come by. He cares about you and is worried for you."

Richard was much more concerned about the notebook, those were his thoughts. He grabbed for it, moving too fast and getting dizzy, 'That Mine. Not For Him! No Showing.'

"I am going to show him Nines, it is about him after all," Connor's tone was a mix of kind and chastising. "You have said your piece. Gavin deserves a chance to say his."

Richard watched Gavin as he read over the page, he didn't know which of the few it was, but it looked like it was making him sick. Guilt ate at Richard, starting loud and violent before settling down to rest along side the sadness and fear in his chest. When Gavin looked at him again he was crying.

"I... I don't hate you." He rubbed at his face, wiping away his tears though his voice was laiden with tears, "and I'm so, so sorry for whatever I did that made him feel that way."

Richard signed, trying and failing to keep his hands steady. They were messy and he knew Gavin would need Connor's help, but he needed to get this off his chest before it suffocated him.

"You stayed, no one ever stays. Not for me." Connor paused to compose himself. He took a deep breath before continuing, "I'm not worth the effort. Its too difficult to communicate with me. So no one stays. People don't like me. I'm not worth knowing."

Gavin looked at Richard like he had said something personally offensive. "I stayed because I like you. You're smart, quick with a joke, and nice to have around," Gavin caught his breath and stepped toward the bed keeping the notebook with him. "I'm not the easiest to get along with either, and people aren't quick to hang around. But you did."

Gavin tucked the notebook under his arm freeing up his hands, 'You Taught Me Your Language.'

Richard felt a storm of things all at once, he couldn't decipher them all, but fear was there. It was familiar, Richard took it and ran, letting Connor pick up the slack. He needed to get these feeling out. They were too much to have all at once.

"You don't know me." Connor narrated, keeping his voice as level as he could, "I am not my brothers, I am not kind. People are difficult and they cause me stress. You do not, being around you is nice. I am not used to it, it scares me."

"You're right I don't know you all that well, but I still let you into my home, showed you my cat, and let you eat your way through my fridge. I only tolerate that kind of behavior from my friends," Gavin took a breath, finally setting the notebook down, he continued speaking as Richard grabbed it. "You're right. You aren't Connor and that's what I like about you."

Connor rolled his eyes at that, the serous mood lightened some. Richard still felt like he was in free fall. All of this was new to him, but listening to Gavin was comforting in a way that he hadn't felt before.

"You're Richard. You leave me on read until I send you pictures of Frankie. You text me at ass o'clock in the morning because you think that if you're awake I should be too," the life was coming back to Gavin slowly. Despite him talking like Richard was worth something, the terror of the thought wasn't as all consuming as it had once been. Sitting face to face with Gavin, Richard almost believed it, "you come to my rescue when I get in over my head. You push me to be better and I need that more than you know. So you're absolutely right, I may not know you well, but I wouldn't be adverse to trying."

Richard was reeling. Gavin liked him, apparently enough to come crashing into a space that wasn't his to ensure that Richard had a soft place to land when things fell apart. It was strange in that it was something new, something he didn't understand. He was unsure, but Gavin seemed sincere but also afraid.

Richard turned to a blank page in his notebook and dug around for his pen. He wrote quickly and it wasn't as neat as he would have otherwise liked, but he needed to know. He flipped the book toward Gavin.

'Do you mean it?' Richard didn't want to risk being lied to. It seemed too good to be true, people didn't do these kinds of things for him.

"Of course I mean it dipshit," Gavin tried to give his usual smile, even without the confidence it was still sincere. "I may be many things, but a liar isn't one of them."

Richard began spilling his thoughts, confessing to everything. Gavin trusted him it was only fair that he did the same. Then he crossed it out, these were his to bear, Gavin wanted a friend not a burden. So next he wrote an apology. For what he had thought, what he had felt, for worrying Gavin, for being a burden; and crossed that out too. It would only upset Gavin again. He settled for thank you. It wasn't enough, and it never would be, but it was the best he could give for now.

'Thank you Gavin. It means more than you know. I'm sorry I worried you, but having friends is difficult and scary. I will try not to do this again but I can't promise anything.'

"Then don't promise," it was said kindly but didn't leave Richard to argue is point that, this was his burden to bear not Gavin's. "Ask for help. Connor is here for you, I haven't met your other brother but I'm sure he is too, and so am I. You're not alone. Not anymore."

Richard wasn't so sure, Connor and Gavin surely had better things to do. Even at that they had still come to him and at least tried to pull him out of his own head. Gavin didn't know what he was stepping into, but still seemed sure of himself. It comforted Richard and he gave a weak, tired smile. He would try, even if it was just so Gavin didn't have to see him like this again. He wouldn't have to face this alone, but having someone see the worst of him seemed just as daunting. Gavin was nothing if not stubborn, he would drag Richard back to his feet if needed. He could do this, if not on his own then with help.

[estellaelysian]

Questions

This is a bit of a rewrite of CH 1, OPH BK 2.

Just felt nostalgic.

(I changed the end a little bit)  You’ll see.

Song to listen to: Touch it - Ariana Grande

**********

Two long months.

Two months, spent without those deep green eyes following him everywhere. Without the soft, sad smile and without the voice he had memorized a million times over.

All that time, spent in aching, hurting, in thinking about unyielding what-ifs, even though he was the one who had pushed her away.

But now, she was here.

He had successfully kept himself away from her for two months, but now what? He didn’t trust himself around her which is why time and again there was only one question hovering in the air around him.

Why do it?

And how? How are you going to keep pushing her away? Keep breaking her heart, over and over again?

No.

He had to.

He couldn’t not do it and then resent himself for ruining her professional development, when he knew what she was capable of doing.

His eyes were drawn, irresistibly, back to where she was sitting, and he felt a horrible disgust build in the pit of his stomach.

Why was he doing this to her and to himself, he didn’t know.

She sat in one of the high bar stools, away from her friends who were in the beer garden. He had seen the look in her eyes when he had entered Donahue’s, bringing together a chill cold blast of air and a no-go zone around him; the look of plain care and concern for him, masked by deep pain, everything hiding behind a smile. He had no idea of the reaction he would get when he made an appearance in front of her, but that look enough had been heart wrenching.

He had expected her to come talk to him then, right then, but instead, she didn’t. She just excused herself from her friends, not meeting his gaze at all after that.

‘Give me a few minutes, guys, I’ll be back.’

Now she sat, sipping a scotch neat, wavy dark hair swept over one shoulder and an iPod clutched in her hands.

That’s when she turned, and met his gaze.

***

His summer blue eyes turned away again, and she found her gaze averted as well, now staring at the amber liquid in her glass as music poured out of the iPod, much like her current situation.

She remembered those two months, no contact no anything, just spent away from each other, and she didn’t even knew why. It was crushing that he hadn’t even deemed it important to tell her once that he would be gone for two months. He just left.

And then there was living without his ever-demanding presence around her, where she just felt odd, empty and heartbroken.

But now what?

He was back now, and she didn’t know what to do.

Just like she didn’t know what to do in those two months he was away.

How do I make the phone ring?

Why do I even care?

How are you all around me,

When you’re not really there?

When you’re not really there?

The song started over again, and she closed her tear filled eyes, losing herself in her surroundings.

How do I feel you want me,

When you’re not on my skin?

Why do you say you want me,

Then tell me I’m not coming in?

Baby just come on in

She startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to find Bryce standing behind her, wearing his megawatt smile. Smiling back, she pulled off the earphones.

‘Lish, are you okay?’

‘Yeah I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Just needed a minute for myself.’

‘Yeah sure. Do you feel up for a game of darts?’

She turned once, risking a glance in Ethan’s direction, who refused to meet her gaze, and slid off the barstool. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

Ethan finished his drink in one long gulp and looked away from her disappearing figure before standing up and walking over to the bar. He took a seat in the barstool she had used, bowing his head and cursing himself for the millionth time over. Evidently spending two months apart, putting both of them through all that anguish and hurt had done nothing good for them. He wanted to be with her, he did. But it probably wasn’t in the cards for him.

Not being happy, and not making her happy.

God, he hated himself.

He raised the glass to his lips when he heard the commotion break out in the bar, and turned to the source causing it.

He wouldn’t have intervened, but something about the sight of that fight made him start toward it.

***

It didn’t take much long for the atmosphere to settle down after that. Soon, everyone went back to talking amiably and sipping their drinks, but before long, her friends had plans to continue the night.

She turned to look at him.

Talking to him would be difficult, she knew, and yet, one glance in his direction was enough to crumble all her defenses. She looked between him and her friends, but the words left her mouth even before she knew it.

‘You guys go ahead. I wanna go and check in about tomorrow with Dr. Ramsey.’

‘Don’t stay up too late,’ Sienna said, but at the point, she was barely listening, her senses already tuned to Ethan, even though she would end up being wrong about all she wanted to hear from him.

‘Cause every time I’m with you

I go into a zone

And I remember all the places you wanna go

Take me all the way

Ain’t nobody gonna touch it, touch it, touch it

Taking a seat in front of him, she put on a small smile as he looked up at her, his blue eyes running over her face, taking her in.

‘Cause every time I’m with you

I don’t wanna behave

I’m tired of being patient

So let’s pick up the pace

Take me all the way

Ain’t nobody gonna touch it, touch it, touch it

‘Rook—er Alishka. Sorry. Force of habit.’

She nodded toward his rugged jacket and spoke through the lump in her throat. ‘We’ve got ourselves a brand new Ethan Ramsey.’

‘The jacket’s been through a lot with me.’

‘It suits you,’ she said in an earnest, smiling a real smile for the first time that night.

‘Duly noted. And the beard?’

He didn’t know what he was doing, but he was way past caring.

‘It looks good on you.’

He scratched at it thoughtfully, wishing they weren’t chest deep in this time with this circumstance that kept them together, and yet pulled them apart. Pushing away the unease to a far corner in his chest, he said, ‘I’ve gotten used to it.’ A beat of silence. ‘Why don’t we move outside? It’ll be winter before we know it. Might as well enjoy the weather while we can. You want something to drink?’

He knew they were skirting the edge of things, but with his emotions in upheaval, it was taking all he had to not reach for her hand or kiss her.

‘Whatever you are having,’ she said quietly.

He reached over the bar and grabbed a half drunk bottle of scotch. ‘Hey Reggie, we are borrowing this.’

Reggie waved him on.

They headed out to the beer garden, which was silent and deserted by patrons, because it was way past the last call.

Ethan took a seat beside a small fire pit, and she scooted in beside him. They talked, but he noticed her hesitation and it broke his heart. He watched her intently as she stared into the fire, the flames casting soft shadows over her face, making her beauty more refined.

‘So this Dr. Throne guy … should I be worried about him?’ she asked.

Ethan’s words didn’t quiet reach her ears, she was far too distracted thinking about the best way to ask him the question she really wanted an answer to.

‘You did the right thing, standing up for that girl.’

‘We both know that’s not true.’

‘You are too young to be a cynic like me.’

‘I’m not being cynical. I just learned my lesson. You saw what happened last year. I almost lost my license for breaking the rules to help Mrs. Martinez.’

‘The lesson there is that you put your patients first, you’ll always be vindicated in the end. That’s the lesson. What you did just now was brave. You’ve always been brave in the face of disaster and death, and ofcourse… but it’s different when you are facing down a superior. To stand up to them for what’s right.’

‘It’s not as brave as venturing into the depths of Amazon to fight a pandemic, that’s for sure …’ she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her tone.

A somber look fell over Ethan’s face. He looked back at his drink, contemplating his response. In that moment, it was as if he was robbed of all words but a few, which would never explain his reasons and how stupid he felt they were.

I am sorry, Alishka. I had to.

‘…That wasn’t bravery.’

The world seemed quite still at that exact moment. Desperate, he thought again about all he wanted to tell her, but before he could speak the words, she raised her gaze to his.

‘Ethan, why didn’t you keep in touch? No word from you at all for two months? After all that happened between us?’

‘Everything that happened between us is exactly the reason I didn’t contact you.  Alishka, if we are going to work together on the diagnostics team, we need a fresh start. Your professional development is too important to jeopardize it with whatever ... whatever it was we had’

Whatever. Whatever it was we had. Had. Past tense.

‘Had?’

‘Yes. And the past is where it has to remain.’

How do you know I’m breathing,

When I’m holding my breath?

His gaze swept over her face, seeing right through her as if she was made of glass. It was the way he always saw her.

Without thinking, she pressed her lips to his.

Why don’t we face the danger

Just for the night and forget?

Baby let’s just forget

He tensed noticeably. His defenses were going up, and it registered as an ache.

When she leaned back, staring into his eyes from just inches away, a storm of desire and pain played out on his face. With that look, she felt everything slipping away.

‘Dammit Alishka.’

‘If you don’t want to kiss me again, then just tell me—’

He fought to keep his voice steady.

‘It has nothing to do with want. I can’t. And if I give a damn about you, I won’t. How am I supposed to push you to be everything you can if I…’

He trailed off, looking away.

‘If you what?’ she prompted gently, not sure if she wanted to know.

He didn’t look at her, and that was it.

‘Okay. I get it,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Ramsey.’

He flinched at her formality, watching as she rose and turned to leave. Before he could stop himself, he caught her by her wrist, her skin warm on his fingers.

‘Alishka, please,’ he pleaded.

She turned to look at him, her eyes bright with tears.

‘Please what? I am listening to you, aren’t I? Even though you know it’s not easy. All I could think of the last two months was you and how much you meant to me. Even now, when I’m here with you, all I can think of is how right this feels. And I don’t want to leave you, but I am, because that’s what you asked me to do. What else do you expect from me?’

At her words, he felt as if he was slapped. In her face, the silent resignation was as pronounced as her pain. He drew her into his arms, pulling her close. She shook her head, trying and failing to keep the tears from falling. ‘Does this make you happy, doing all this?’ she asked, her voice thick as she began to cry.

‘It doesn’t, Alishka, and I despise myself for it,’ he said. ‘But what choice do I have?’

He held her as she spoke through her ragged sobs. ‘This isn’t fair…’

‘I know. And I am sorry, I am really sorry.’

For a long time, neither of them spoke, but then, she pulled away, her eyes rimmed with red.

‘Goodnight Dr. Ramsey.’

He watched her go, gritting his teeth, willing himself not to follow.

Remind we why we’re taking a break

It’s obviously insane

‘Cause we both know what we want

Then why don’t we fall in love?

‘Goodnight, Dr. Roy,’ he spoke into the silence.

Baby lets fall in love.

**********

@tenaciouslandvoidgiant @choicesaddict5 @schnitzelbutterfingers

[iwantutobehapppier]

So It Shall Be

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: While Steve left on a mission you tried to cope with the pain left over after everything was said and done. Can you handle things being as they are with Steve? Can you really sit there and be in love with him and say nothing watching him from afar? 

Word Count: 3,718

Warnings: Angst, pining, they’re dumb. So dumb. Cussing probably?

A/N: Hey lovelies! Here’s part 2 to As It Was. There will be a third part. So ya know, enjoy some more angst. I didn’t fix anything. Lol  Love you all!

“You know you gotta talk to her right?” Steve huffed tilting his head back to look at Bucky for a moment before turning to face forward, piloting the two of them in Quinjet. Bucky’s voice carrying from in the back as he took stock of inventory. Making sure supplies were restocked once they returned to the compound. After all, he didn’t want another ear full about him inadequately stocking after mission. Nothing was worse than a lecture from Captain Steve Rogers about mission safety.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve chose the path of playing dumb, hoping his friend would take the hint and drop it.

“You’re not good at playing it close to the chest,” Bucky continued opening up the first aid kit, plenty of supplies depleted after the ambush they had faced at the latest terrorist location. Bucky internally groaned, he hated re-stocking medical supplies, it never fit neatly.

“I mean after all you live in a dormitory full of spies,” Bucky chuckled to himself, “You really thought you could keep your nightly activities secret?”

Steve sputtered, throwing the autopilot on and marching back to face Bucky. 

“What would you know about that?” Steve tried to play it cool, really he did, but there was not an ounce of cool in Steve Rogers when it came to you. It was all emotional knee jerk reactions.

The eat shit grin on Bucky’s face made Steve’s hands curl into fists, oh he knew too much. That much was certain.

“Just that your dumbass took Sharon on a date, and that beauty of an Avenger across the hall from you hasn’t said one word to you since.” Bucky paused “Also you two aren’t very good at keeping your noises to yourself,” a shudder ran through Bucky’s spine. He never wanted to hear some of the things Steve said to you during sex.

Steve’s face flushed, well, of course, Bucky knew what was going on. Steve wasn’t about to lie to Bucky either, especially since he had it all figured out. Except for the one part Steve himself didn’t understand.

“Why isn’t she talking to me?” Bucky’s jaw went slack the pure confusion laced in Steve’s words. Thank god his friend was pretty and from what Bucky had heard an adequate lover, otherwise, he was useless to women.

“Seriously punk?” Bucky’s accusatory tone bristled Steve. His hands gripping his belt buckle as he stood up straight, eyes narrowed on his friend.

“I only followed her lead,”  Bucky tutted at Steve.

“Right, cause her random dates set up by Wanda with guys she has no previous connection to and no future ones thereafter,” Bucky started slamming the containers around, annoyed with his friend to an extent that rivaled the days he’d get his scrawny ass out of fights. “ Is equal to your date with a woman you have a past with.” 

“You really are a punk,” Bucky’s back to Steve while he filled out the inventory sheet on a clipboard. Not wanting to look at the idiotic faces he was sure to be making. “You’ve got a gorgeous dame head over heels for you,” Steve grunted in disbelief. “And from what I unwillingly hear a bombshell in the sack,” Bucky could hear the leather of Steve’s gloves constricting at his hands balling into fists holding tightly onto his belt buckle. Man, he had it bad.

“But you just keep her at arm’s length and paradin’ another sweet dame around, who knows nothin’ about the mess you’re draggin’ her into.” Bucky shook his head setting the clipboard down. Turning back to face his friend he almost regretted his next words at the crestfallen look he had. Almost.

“What would your ma think Steve?” The blonde’s shoulders slumped at the weight of Bucky’s words. Taking in a ragged breath Steve rubs his forehead. His ma would kick his ass for not being true to himself and his emotions. Yet the fear he held at you not feeling the same kept him in limbo of talking to you. Made him act irrationally and pull an unsuspected third party into his mess. What if you never wanted anything more than sex? What if...

“How do I fix it?” Desperation emitted from Steve in suffocating waves. Bucky could see that insecure scrawny kid unsure of anything dealing with dames.

“Just talk to her!” Bucky’s exasperated tone did nothing to ease Steve’s worry. 

“ETA to Compound 5 minutes,” FRIDAY announced breaking the tension filling the Quinjet

Steve stood up straight, nodding his head. Right just talk to you, talk to you about feelings, about what a fool he was and maybe, if he was lucky you’d feel the same.

~~*~~

“Please,” Wanda’s desperation pained you, “Please reconsider.” leaning against the door frame of your room you tried your best to listen, You really did but…

You had to leave the compound, it couldn’t be helped. Well it could have, Wanda certainly believed so but you didn’t have it in you. You weren’t strong enough to face this pain. You weren’t strong enough to put up the same front Steve could.

“It’s only been two weeks, and Steve has been away almost the whole time.” Wanda paced inside your room. “Wait until he gets back, I’m sure if you two would just talk-”

“-I don’t want to talk to him,” Your voice firm, and certain on that one fact. The rest of you, well the rest was weak, hurt, and screaming out to repair the comfort you had let go of with Steve. No, he let go, not you.

He decided this was only sex by his actions, and you didn’t have it in you to keep up the charade of complacency in being his friend providing all the benefits, and baring the pain that came with feelings you kept inside. 

Pulling your bag over your shoulder filled with some clothes and necessities you turned around making your way down the personal quarters’ hallway with Wanda hot on your tail.

“When will you be back?” Your heart almost broke at how Wanda asked you with so much hope.

“I don’t know,” you paused and turned around to face her, she wrapped you in her arms. Resting her head on your shoulder, you could feel your resolve to leave slowly slip away.

“But you will won’t you?” You pulled yourself from her embrace and nodded your head in affirmation. Wanda held your hand in hers not willing to let go of you just yet. 

“I just need some time away from the compound,” maybe being back in the city would help you escape the pain. Or at least let you get distance on the whole situation, be able to see the forest beyond the trees.

"I'll have you over once I'm settled." Wanda barely contained an excited squeal at the prospect.

"Oh! It'll be so wonderful, two hotties out in the city!" You couldn't help the soft smile that pulled at your lips. Wanda's excitement is contagious. "And girls-only sleepover! I've never had one of those."

"Ah, yeah well there will be Amir there but he keeps to himself," you cringed at Wanda's eyes narrowing in on you.

"Amir?" You didn't miss the flicking of her fingers with a red hue.

"I'm staying at his place, pre-Avengers friend." Wanda raised an eyebrow at your quick explanation.

"Only a friend?" Your frowned, your dear Wanda always wanting to pry but at least she wasn't reading your mind again.

"Wanda…" she shook her head letting go of your hand. 

"It's fine you can have friends outside of me," she paused with a dramatic sigh. "I guess." With a roll of your eyes, you pull her to you once more for a tight hug.

"I'll see you soon," A quick wave of your hand you made your way into the garage to commandeer one of the many cars. Your feet slowed passing Steve’s motorcycle. Walking your fingers on the handlebars you recalled all the times you rode with him, how you had to cling to him out of fear from his reckless driving. You were half certain he had a death wish with his driving. 

A shiver ran down your spine recalling the smell of his leather jacket and cologne, clinging to him late at night atop his back, the two of you speeding away from the compound together for solace under the moon out in the backwoods. You could almost feel his warm arms around you fighting the chill of the night air, the two of you sprawled out on a blanket.

Shaking your head to push the feelings curling along your skin you continue your path once more, the only thing worse than ghosts of him was the emotions the man himself invoked. 

~~*~~

Panic, suffocating, unrelenting pain. Was this how you felt? Did he make you feel this way? Steve’s thoughts spiraled out. He made it back, only for you to be gone for an undetermined amount of time according to Wanda with a knowing smile. One that he didn’t like, reminded him of Bucky too much.

“She left?!” Steve tried to keep his tone calm collected, authoritative but Bucky rolled his eyes knowing full well there was nothing calm inside his best friend right now.

“Yeah, “ Wanda huffed, trying her best not to blame Steve for your departure, but it was hard. “Said she needed space,” She paused feigning ignorance, “I wonder what from?”

Steve cringed at the question, oh it was very obvious what you were needing space from. Him. You didn’t feel the same, and this was clearly your attempt to spare his feelings by just leaving. Part of him was grateful, but a larger part was mad at you for not being there so he could talk it out with you.

“She will still attend required missions Captain Rogers,” Vision offered, not sure what the tension in the room was about. It seemed odd to him, you were allowed to live where you wanted provided you did your duty as an Avenger. There was no need for the upheaval the news brought.

“Right,” Steve’s tone resigned to the truth. “The missions.” Maybe this was for the best, with you gone he could stop the daily pinning and focus on anything but you and the twisted feeling you left in his guts. He hoped.

~~*~~

Two months away and your feelings did not wane in any measure for the stupid blonde centenarian. You tried everything, going on dates, eating ice cream, spending cash you should have left in savings, watching movies like How Stella Got Her Groove Back, Legally Blonde and of course To All The Boys I Loved Before. 

When the stereotypical tricks to get over a guy failed your roommate Amir was there to try his method. Drinking, stupid amounts of drinking. For sure teetering line of alcohol poisoning drinking. Being a more secular Muslim, Amir saw drinking as a challenge to his body, and in your youth, the two of you had faced the challenge head-on. But doing so at this age, well it certainly wasn’t working during your heartbreak but definitely succeeding at breaking your body down.

It was after one of these said nights you found yourself stuck in a situation you had been hoping to avoid. There was a knock on the door but the pounding in your head render you useless to even care to answer the door. But apparently, Amir was cognizant enough to see who would knock on your door at the obscene hour, you looked a the clock, 2:00 PM on a Tuesday.

Oh yeah, things were really looking up for you after leaving the compound.

Amir called your name out with uncertainty.

"What?” You whined under your bed covers, hoping your voice carried through the door. 

"Why is Tony Stark at my door?" Amir’s voice was louder this time, you flipped the covers over your head.

"Fuck!" With what resembles a newly born fawn trying to walk you stumble from your bed and put on the first shirt and shorts you find on the floor. Skidding on the wood floor of your industrial city apartment you catch sight of Tony looking around, appraising your abode. No doubt preparing some witty comments. 

You could make the back of Amir seeking solace in his bedroom, he cared little for your Avenger life. Whatever Tony had to say, you were sure Amir had something to counter once the Billionaire leaves.

“Tony,”  When he looked at you his brow raised, you more than likely looked as terrible as you felt.

“Ah, Firecracker had I known you just wanted to drink yourself to death I would have stocked liquor cabinet at the compound accordingly.” There it was the witty comment.

“But I think this is a place that would drive you to drink to those levels,” he lifted your discarded jacket on the couch. You rip the jacket from him with a firm glare. “Who thought brick walls with a wallpaper accent wall was chic?” Oh, you hoped Amir didn’t hear that his mother had done the decorating of his apartment years ago. 

“If you came here to simply mock where I choose to live you can go now.” You fold your arms over your chest.

“Oh of course not, I’d rather invite you to my place so you can see the standards at which I live to adequately belittle where you live.” You could feel your head pounding from overconsumption of alcohol and the ever-growing pest of Tony Stark.

“Come on man, why are you here?” Tony shrugged his shoulders, lackadaisy perusing your living room.

“Oh you know, I missed you,” He paused realizing there wasn’t really much of you here, “The whole team misses you really,” he turned to face you then leaned down to pick up a framed photo on a bookshelf.

“But I am here on official Avenger’s business.” He held the framed photo up, it was of you with Amir’s family at his sister’s wedding. Years ago, back when you were just a vigilante in Brooklyn and not an official Superhero World Saving Avenger. A simpler time for sure, if not reckless.

“So is this your family?” you grunted grabbing the frame from his hands and setting it back down.

“What Avengers business?” You steered the billionaire back on topic. On most days you loved hanging with Tony, he wasn’t the worst, but being hungover you had little patience and Tony seemed to revel in it.

“We need a female for a mission,” He crosses your living room, still taking stock, but veining disinterest.

“What's the mission?” You cut him off by slipping to stand in front of him, arms over your chest.

“You know the routine pretend to be a couple, infiltrate a swanky party, get the information on the bad guy’s computer and bring it back.” He waved his hand as he listed the steps, routine indeed. 

“Great, sounds easy who am I going with?” You were a little excited to get back on a mission, you had requested a little time in between your next one of doable.

“Cap,” Your blood turns cold, there was no way you could pretend with him long enough to get the needed information. You would blow your cover before anything could be done.

“No,” You stomp your foot. “Absolutely not.” You were five seconds from a full-on toddler tantrum.

“Find another woman to put up with Captain Rogers terrible acting.” Tony snorted

“You’re it I’m afraid.” The over the top sigh Tony gave did nothing to deter the oncoming tantrum. “Regretfully with Wanda out on a mission indeterminate amount of time and Natasha recovering from her latest injury it falls to you.”

“Danvers?”

“Off planet,” Tony snorted. “You know she’s never here for long.”

“Maria?”

“Up Fury’s butt somewhere I’m sure.”

“Nebula?” Tony guffawed at your suggestion.

“Yes let’s send, Nebula, the queen of subtlety on a mission where she has to pretend to be in love with someone.” Tony was holding his sides, laughing between his words.

Once he cooled down, while you continued to heat up he served your sentence for the mission.

“You’re it, Fire Bender,” he began to make his way to the front door. “So whatever is up your ass over Capsicle, melt it.” 

“Whatever,” You mutter. “How soon do we leave?”

“Debrief is tonight, you leave soon as it's over.” He turned around to look you up and down. “And take a shower before you show up.”

You had to bite your lip from yelling at Tony as he shut the door behind him. Oh, this was not good.

“Is it safe?” Amir pokes his head out of his bedroom. He looked just as well as you did after the late night of drinking.

“Yeah, sorry about him.” Amir just shrugs, grabbing two water bottles from the fridge, tossing one your way. You catch it and chug down the water. You needed to hydrate, shower and mentally prepare yourself for the upcoming mission.

“You really gonna go on a mission with that guy?” The concern clear in his voice.

“Can’t exactly just not do my job,” You finish the bottle and toss it in the recycling before making your way to your room but not before you get another bottle of water. You had little time to get yourself up to par. Just as you grab the fridge door Amir places a hand on your shoulder.

“Just talk to him,” Amir’s advice had been the same from day one, and you had been stubborn enough to give all the reasons why that wouldn’t work. You take your water bottle but his hand stays on you.

“Else you could end up dead,” His eyes level with you, no amusement or jovial friend to be found. “Don’t put your life at risk cause of a guy.” 

With a tentative nod, unfamiliar with this serious Amir, you make for your room trying to not let Amir’s words sink in too deep. You needed to prepare to face Steve Rogers, destroy of hearts.

~~*~~

Walking back through the compound should have felt like returning home. Instead, you were full of dread. Would he be civil? Better yet, would you?

Stopping in front of the conference room for debrief you take a deep breath. Focus on the mission and all will fall into place. You’d gone on missions when tensions were high between teammates, it happens. This was no different.

Entering the room you were surprised to be first, taking a seat you clasped your hands together controlling your breathing. Steve was always early to debriefs, in fact, you had made jokes with Bucky about Steve’s anal retentiveness when it came to mission protocol. 

Tony bursts through the doors startling you, a sullen Steve following behind him. His eyes caught yours and he froze for a moment. You were actually there, he had expected you to find a reason to not show up. He knew that was stupid, you were dedicated to the work, may be part of him hoped you would that way he could stay mad at you. Pretend it didn’t hurt you left, instead that you were irresponsible. But here you were.

Clearing his throat he called out your name, you nodded your head. Steve looked for any clue on your face, any indication that would tell him how he could fix this, whatever this was. He’d do about anything to have you home again, have you by his side, with him. 

“While I love a good staring contest,” Tony interjected in attempts to kill the tension. “We’ve got a mission to go over and attempt to get you two to act like you’re in love with each other.” 

Tony snorted, both of you glaring at him. Tony held his hands up in defeat. 

“I’ll have FRIDAY relaying to you guys while I’m here at the compound.” He pulled up the display to begin going over mission protocol. 

Steve stood next to the door, never taking a seat. He watched the back of your head, barely paying attention to Tony. It didn’t really matter though, Steve had come up with the strategy but Tony would run point from the compound as a back up in case it went wrong, he could be there in less than an hour. Yet given it was a dinner soiree and information extraction there shouldn’t be a need for backup. 

He curled his hands at his side, he wanted to do so many things. The first was to hold you, inhale the sweet scent that was you. A smell he’d get wafts of sometimes on his sheets after you left but now it was faded. He also wanted to shake sense into you. You belonged here at the compound, with the team, with him. 

Second, beg you to listen to him and confess everything he should have from the moment he started to feel this way for you. Though if he had confessed the moment it happened, it would have been the day he first saw you. Surely that would have scared you off but to wait this long and keep on a charade of casual sex while he felt like this... Bucky was right, he was a damn fool. He had already had an awkward conversation with Sharon, one that led to even her an outside third party picking up on how he feels for you.

So why couldn’t you see it?

“Sound good Cap?” Tony’s voice didn’t reach him. His eyes never leaving you, the entire time Tony had been speaking. “Cap?” Tony tried again.

This time you turned around to look at Steve. You raised an eyebrow at him, his gaze trained on you. It was unnerving, what did he want? 

“Steve?” You tried to get a response and he shook his head, your voice pulling him from his thoughts. It had been too long since he had heard you say his name. Heard you chant his name, moan out his name, beg him for more. 

“What? Huh?” Steve looked from you to Tony and back to you. Rolling your eyes you faced forward, trying to plead Tony for mercy with your eyes. This was going to be a train wreck.

[container-of-apple-juice]

So I wrote something for “The Worst Three-Legged Race.” Because, ykno, queer baiting. I’m queer, I took the bait, I wanted them to experience genuine feelings instead of a shitty joke-kiss, yadda yadda here’s some awkward genin feelings.

This is immediately after the episode ends, their hands are stuck together in a chakra ball, you know what’s up.

(1,825 words)

[[MORE]]

It wasn’t going to get easier any time soon, this Sasuke was sure of. Naruto had managed to settle down after their mission report once Kakashi Sensei and Sakura had taken turns feeding him ramen (Sasuke still had use of his dominant hand and, frankly, wouldn’t be caught dead being spoon fed).

But now, alone in Naruto’s apartment past sunset, came the upheaval of just how awkward things were destined to be for the next three days together.

Three. Whole. Days. AND nights.

Sasuke sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his brows scrunch together and downward for what felt like the millionth time since the crook had sealed their hands together with his unique (and frustratingly solid) chakra.

Kakashi sensei had the good grace to walk them back to Naruto’s apartment (Sasuke had yet to have another living soul join him on his family’s compound following the massacre and he’d be damned if NOW of all times was going to be the time he broke that trend) but once he disappeared from the scene in a flash of smoke, the boys were left alone in the entryway of the dark apartment.

“So, uh, usually I just leave my shoes over here-“ Naruto began to move down the small corridor, already knowing well enough to wait a brief moment for Sasuke to catch on to his movements so as to not send the other boy jerking along behind him.

Once they rounded the corner, just a few feet away from the door Naruto removed his shoes and waited for Sasuke to follow suit.

After that, well…it became very clear that Naruto had absolutely no plan for the evening. Which didn’t surprise Sasuke in the slightest, seeing as this whole bound-at-the-wrist thing was an admittedly new development. Had they been at Sasuke’s home, he was sure that he would fare no better than the blonde.

“Well it’s a good thing we already ate because I’m pretty sure my 24-hour-store produce wouldn’t be up to your standards.” The attempt at light banter was followed by something akin to a huff of breath mixed with an awkward chuckle, as well as with a shuffling of bare feet inches from Sasuke’s own and a barely noticeable tug on their joined hands.

Sasuke suddenly felt an unexpected and immense sympathy for the bewhiskered boy in front of him. So much so that it shocked him, but he was struck with the realization that Naruto likely hadn’t shared his space with another human being in his entire LIFE and that this was a completely foreign and embarrassing situation for the both of them.

“I don’t think instant noodle snacks count as produce, dobe.”

This earned a more genuine bark of laughter from Naruto, who undoubtedly appreciated the reciprocation of their casual-yet-teasing banter that always came so naturally.

“Shut up, teme, or I’ll just have to plan a little ‘grocery’ trip over the next couple days. I’m sure you’d LOVE a tour of my local convenience store. The clerk would LOVE you.” The shit-eating snickers that followed this threat left sasuke almost curious to find out just what kind of person this shop keeper was.

Instead of asking, Sasuke simply rolled his eyes and looked around the small living room. Naruto seemed content chuckling to himself over his seemingly-genius hypothetical scenario, while Sasuke properly took in his new surroundings.

Sasuke’s attention snapped back to his begrudgingly bound companion when the ridiculous giggles turned into an intense yawn.

“We should get to bed. The sooner we get through tomorrow the better.” Sasuke knew the bitterness of his statement was unwarranted, but as he spoke he became acutely aware that he wasn’t in control of this situation. He knew he was better off here with Naruto than with Kakashi or (god forbid) Sakura, but Sasuke wasn’t a fan of situations outside of his control- or at least his willfully consenting participation.

“Yeah, I’m beat. Tomorrow’s gonna be a nightmare.” The shorter boy’s whole body slumped forward as he finished his sentence, shooting Sasuke a brief, sidelong glance before trudging off in the direction of what Sasuke could only assume was his bedroom (please let it not be the bathroom, please let it not be the bathroom, please let it-)

Sasuke had to hold back his sigh of relief as the bed and sparse furnishings (most notably the lack of a toilet) filled his view.

“Huh.” Naruto had stopped in the middle of the room.

“What is it?”

“I mean, I guess changing into pajamas is sorta outta the question isn’t it?”

The hand that wasn’t stuck to Sasuke’s in the chakra ball reached up to scratch the hair behind Naruto’s left ear as he spoke.

“Yeah, unless you want me to cut them off you.” His Kunai knife made a dull sound against his palm through the holster as he brought his free hand down to pat against it in accordance to his threat.

However, what was meant to be a clever and sarcastic threat toward his rival instead left both of their faces burning in the dull lamp light that Naruto had turned on upon entering the room. The blood pumping in Sasuke’s ears did nothing to stop the mantra of regret filling his mind as Naruto began to splutter briefly, tripping over his words.

“S-shut up, bastard, that doesn’t even make any sense. How would I get my pajama shirt on then, huh? What, are you gonna cut it ON to me?”

“That doesn’t make any sense either.”

“None of this makes sense! Let’s just go to bed!” Naruto raised their joined hands into the air in frustration along with his own free hand.

Sasuke simply offered up a “Tch” in response to the admittedly true statement from his team mate. He anticipated Naruto’s movements and began moving toward the bed at the same time that the blonde spun on his heel.

Stopping just shy of the edge of the bed Naruto turned partly back toward sasuke, not quite facing him and blush still firmly in place. Sasuke thought maybe it had actually gotten worse in the three feet they had traveled, not that he was paying attention to that sort of thing.

“I’ve always just slept in the middle, so, I donno....do you have a preference?” The words were spoken in the softest tone Sasuke had perhaps ever heard the younger boy speak, and he found himself taken aback for the second time that night.

Of all the things to be embarrassed by in their current circumstances, choosing which side of the bed they would sleep on hadn’t crossed Sasuke’s mind as one of them. Though he supposed it made sense. Closeness of any kind was a particularly vulnerable experience when all of those close to you had been taken away. Or if you’d never known closeness to anyone at all.

At least Sasuke had experience with sharing a bed in the past. As the younger sibling, he’d not really been allowed a choice, Itachi had always instinctively taken the side of the door to protect him in case of intruders.

Sasuke clenched his jaw at the uninvited memory and felt his hand pull minutely at their joined chakra ball as he tried to physically retreat into himself on impulse.

“Sas-“

“I’ll take the left side.” He looked directly into Naruto’s eyes as he cut him off. His eyes were cold and sharp, daring Naruto to question his brief hesitation and the bodily twitch he had definitely noticed in the dark haired boy.

Naruto’s face sobered immediately in response to the challenging expression.

“Sure, fine by me.” It was mumbled and Sasuke barely made it out as Naruto turned fully toward the bed again, bringing Sasuke with him by association.

The dark haired boy knew immediately that Naruto had misconstrued his reaction to what had clearly been a vulnerable question. But he only felt angrier at this fact, trying to shove his frustration down deep as he climbed into the bed. No point trying to fix it now. He just needed to get through the next three days.

“Please tell me you at least sleep under the covers.”

“Of course, Dobe, it’s freezing at night.” Sasuke gave him a long-suffering look, wrenching the covers aside and forcing Naruto to shuffle out from on top of them.

Once they had settled beneath the covers, bound hands laying between them on the pillow, Sasuke felt himself fighting the urge to squirm under Naruto’s concentrated gaze. It was one he’d met countless times in class or on the training field or even on a mission- but he was caught off guard by the intensity of the bright blue eyes as they watched him through the darkness of this foreign space that Naruto called home.

Sasuke hadn’t dared to share the single pillow with Naruto (although it seemed more than big enough) so he was met with only half the blonde boys face, smooshed into the pillow and blocked partially by the chakra ball. It was decidedly the most vulnerable position he’d been in with Naruto to date so he closed his eyes determinedly.

He needed to sleep. Tomorrow was already going to be difficult, he was not about to add sleep deprivation to the list of road blocks.

Sasuke felt Naruto’s toes brush against his shin as the boy shifted slightly and Sasuke flinched back minutely on instinct.

“..Sorry.” Came the mumble across from him in the darkness.

“..It’s okay.” He whispered back.

Okay. So maybe sleep wouldn’t come as easily as he’d hoped, but he’d dealt with worse nights. Way worse. At least he wasn’t alone this time.

Wait, no, hold on. Wasn’t that the whole problem?

You know what, forget it. He’d deal with these thoughts tomorrow. Or never. He just needed to sleep.

Naruto started to snore softly beside him, but the volume didn’t stay quiet for long.

It was going to be a long three days.

[talkfastromance4]

5sos Christmas Playlist-- Day 2 ‘Silent Night’ Luke

Day 2! I really enjoyed writing this one, got a bit carried away. This is the longest one.

Word count: 2,357

Warnings: birth, but nothing graphic (did a lot of research on water birth)

Masterlist

Day 1 Michael

Enjoy! :)

_______________________________

Silent night, holy night All is calm, all is bright

 11:00 p.m December 21

 You and Luke were getting ready for bed, it was a late night of cookie decorating and shared kisses with hints of frosting and sugar. As you lay on your side of the bed, you felt a spasm of discomfort in your very large belly. Your due date isn’t until the second week of January.

Your brows furrow together as you rub your palm around your bump.

“Everything all right, lovie?” Luke asks slipping under the covers with you. His curls bounce in front of his face as he leans over to lay his hand on your belly.

“Ye. . . yeah, I think so?” you say just as another uncomfortable tremor travels beneath your fingers. It lingers a little longer and you inhale a sharp breath.

“Is it a contraction?” Luke wonders sitting up a little closer.

“I don’t think so?”

How were you supposed to know? This is your first baby. It just feels weird, whatever ‘it’ is that you’re feeling.

“Should we call the doctor?”

“No, no, let’s just . . .” you pat the back of his hand as you think, “let’s just try to sleep.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you if it gets worse,” you smile lightly then kiss his cheek before nestling into the pillows.

 7:30 a.m December 22

 To say it was a restless night would be an understatement. You tossed and turned maybe getting a total of two hours of sleep.

As the night wore on, those uncomfortable spasms turned into more of a cramping. It was tolerable enough so you didn’t bother waking up Luke. You stagger out of bed, the restlessness getting to you.

Luke wakes up after reaching for you then through bleary eyes and tousled curls, he finds you at the foot of the bed shuffling through your bag to take to the birthing center.

“Is it time? Did your water break? Where are my shoes?” he’s frantically flailing out of bed. His long limbs are getting tangled in the sheets.

“Luke, Luke! Luke! Relax,” you laugh stepping carefully to his side of the bed. You brush his curls away from his eyes and cup his chin. “I’m okay. I’m just making sure I have everything for when the time comes.”

“Were you up all night?” he cups your cheek now, fingers soft and warm. No doubt you have dark circles under your eyes.

“Kind of,” you shrug. “I feel like it’s going to be soon though, that we’ll meet her.”

“Yeah?” he smiles placing his other hand on your belly.

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling what I think are contractions,” you grimace just as another one hits.

“C’mer, c’mere,” he coaxes you to lean forward onto him.

He braces your lower back rubbing tenderly as you breathe through the discomfort. You groan as it gets a little more intense, it travels up your back and you bite your lip. You don’t want Luke to think you can’t handle this.

 10:30 a.m December 22

 You and Luke arrive at the birthing center once the contractions get closer together. He helps you change into black shorts and a sports bra that doesn’t hurt your breasts while the nurses are shuffling in and out with supplies. He hands you a scrunchie so you can put your hair up in a messy bun so it’s out of your face.

With each contraction you became more warm and agitated. One hit just as you finished putting your hair up and you bend over the bed with your head in your hands, groaning at the feeling in your lower stomach. Luke’s cool hand on your lower back does wonders for you.

“Breathe, baby, breathe,” he coaxes rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

You gasp out a breath, stars appear behind your eyelids and you take a deep, shaky breath.

“Y/N, I’m just checking your cervix, okay?” your nurse Julie informs you placing her fingers between your legs and through the opening of your shorts.

You let out a deep breath through your mouth.

“We’re at about 4 cm, that’s a good progression since your water broke at 7:30,” Julie informs you then readjusts your shorts just as the contraction stops.

 12:00 p.m December 22

 You’re sitting on the birthing ball, legs spread and arms resting on Luke’s shoulders as he rubs your belly. It’s soothing you and he tells you how well you’re doing. You didn’t think labor would be this intimate, you thought you’d want Luke to be as far away from you as possible during this painful time but you couldn’t be more grateful for his presence.

“Here comes another one!” you say tightly clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“You’ve got this, lovie, breathe with my motions,” he tells you softly.

You concentrate on the rotations of his hands on your stomach. Two clockwise circles, inhale, three counterclockwise circles, exhale. Repeat.

“That’s it, focus on your breathing,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your wrist nearest to his face. “You’re doing so well, baby.”

A particular sharp pang slices through, you want to cry out but you bite your lip.

“It’s okay to scream or groan, it helps,” Julie says. “Don’t hold back, do what feels natural.”

In no hesitation you let out a loud groan and it actually eases the pain a little. You sway on the ball, breathing, groaning, keeping your eyes shut and then it stops to a dull ache and then almost disappears. You gasp out a breath.

 3:12 p.m December 22

 You’re walking around the room with your hands bracing your back. You’re uncomfortable, your neck hurts, your back hurts, and your pelvis hurts. Everything aches and you just want your little baby out. You’re at 5 cm and your last contraction was at 1:45 p.m.

“Why did it stop?” you whine out loud still pacing. “I don’t want to be in labor for five days, Luke. I’ll go crazy. Make it go faster.”

“I wish I could, lovie,” he sighs hovering next to you.

You knew it made him nervous to have you walking around the room but the movement helped dull the ache in your body. You were experiencing things you’ve never felt before and Julie said to do what feels natural. Walking felt natural.

“Can I get you anything while—“

His hands fly to you as you keel over, your fingers clutching tightly to the corner of the bed. You let out a loud cry and moan as an intense contraction doubles you over. It came so fast and so painfully you feel like you’re about to be sick. A familiar roll in your stomach tells you it’s going to happen.

“Luke, I’m—“

You throw up onto the floor before you can warn him, missing his shoes thankfully. Another nurse is by your side immediately with a basin to catch the remaining of your sickness. Tears stream down your face from the pain and from the unexpected upheaval but Luke remains by your side.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you cry clutching at him.

“It’s fine, baby,” he shushes rubbing your back.

“It happens all the time, sweetie, don’t you worry,” the nurse smiles up at you kindly. “Just get through this one, okay?”

You nod wiping your mouth with the back of your arm as the contraction continues. It feels like forever but is really only minutes and your hold on Luke lessens.

“Are you going to be sick again?” he asks worriedly.

“No,” you shake your head, “I feel better after throwing up.”

“I’ll get you a wet towel to clean up,” the nurse says.

Another one replaces her to clean up your mess on the floor. It makes you cry again that you threw up in front of them, and almost on Luke.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You can’t help it, you’re doing amazing, Y/N, I’m so proud of you,” Luke praises kissing your temple.

 5:05 p.m December 22

 The rushing water from the tub is what you’re concentrating on. You just reached 7 cm and this is the home stretch. The transition stage that can move equally slow or fast and you’re just ready for your baby to come out.

Luke is rubbing your shoulders and down your arms to try and ease you. It does help but you feel like this will be over soon. Your baby wants to come out just as much as you do.

“Okay, Y/N, we’ll help you get in,” Julie says holding out her hand.

Luke helps as well, his strong arms guiding you into the tub. The warm water feels heavenly on you, the ache lifts easily as your body feels less heavy. You sit on the seat at the end of the tub and Luke holds you against his chest. You both would have wanted him in the tub with you but he was too large to fit.

“I’m right here with you, baby,” he tells you in your ear. He kisses your cheek delicately three times. “How does it feel?”

“Wonderful,” you moan happily lacing your fingers with his. “Makes me think when we were in the Alps in that big hot tub. We were in there for hours.”

He chuckles in your ear, the vibrations sends goosebumps down your body.

“You’re really thinking about that right now, lovie?” he smiles against your cheek.

“I’m thinking of a happy time,” you hum leaning against him even more. “That’s when she was conceived.”

“You think so?” he hums trailing his fingers up and down your arms.

“Mhm, we stayed in the suite all day and night, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” he shifts behind you, “you’d just bought that new set I love. Couldn’t keep my hands off you,” he presses his lips to the space below your ear and chuckles again. “Can’t believe we’re talking about this while you’re in labor. I thought you’d be screaming how much you hate me.”

“It’s distracting me, and besides, I love you too much to hate you,” you say. You turn your head sticking your lips out and Luke kisses them instantly knowing that’s exactly what you wanted.

“I love you, too.”

“I—“

You gasp sharply as your whole lower half spasms in pain. The water sloshes along the side of the tub and Luke calls for Julie who is by your side immediately.

“Feeling your cervix, here are my fingers,” she tells you. “We’re almost at 10 and you’ll be able to push. You’re doing so good, deep breaths.”

You let out a moan leaning back into Luke, his lips pepper your skin in light kisses.

“So amazing, baby . . . you’re so strong. You’re almost there.”

 6:00 p.m December 22

 “When you feel the need to push, you push as hard as you can,” Julie instructs.

You don’t know for sure how long you’ve been in labor, it feels like a lifetime and yet like no time has passed. Your body has been in a constant state of the unknown but knowing exactly what to do. Luke has been so caring and attentive and you love him even more for it.

A strange desire overwhelms you and instinctually you push. You squeeze Luke’s hands as you do, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched. Julie is cheering you on then tells you to stop to breathe.

You do this about three more times and then with your final push, through tear filled eyes, you see your baby swoop out in front of you and then she’s on your chest. She’s warm and heavy and here. You feel her skin, her tiny little fingers on your chest and she becomes blurry because the tears are ever flowing.

A cold stethoscope is on your chest while another nurse is putting blankets on your baby but she’s not crying as you put your hand on her back.

“Is she okay? What’s wrong?” you ask becoming frantic.

“She’s perfect, we just have to sit her up for a minute,” Julie says calmly. She lifts your baby up into an almost sitting position, “raise your legs, yep just like that.”

Your baby is resting against your thighs and then lets out a shrill cry, her tiny face contorts as she gasps for breath. Her arms searching for warmth, searching for you.

“There she is, see, she just needed to sit up a little,” Julie smiles settling her back onto your chest.

“Hi baby girl,” you coo cuddling her close. You kiss her wet head then see Luke’s shaking hand reach forward to cradle her head.

“She’s perfect,” he breathes. “Look at her, isn’t she wonderful?”

 8:30 p.m December 22

 After 20 hours of labor, you finally meet your baby girl at 6:18 p.m and both of you were fast asleep. Luke is too wired to try and sleep and he can’t stop looking at your daughter. You decided on the name Clara and it was up to Luke to choose her middle name.

Your birthing room is cast in shadows, fake candles caused a warm orange glow to fall over you and Clara. Luke was happy you were both fast asleep, it was a big day for the both of you and he is glad to have this time to himself. He can’t stop looking at Clara swaddled so tenderly in her blanket, her little lips moving in her sleep.

Outside the hall through the cracked door, there’s carolers singing in the main lobby. Their voices are doing a pretty acapella version of Silent Night. Clara sleeps soundly to the soft voices that Luke joins in on as well. At the sound of his voice, Clara smiles in her sleep and his heart skips a beat. No one would probably believe him, but didn’t you say it’s a reflex for babies to smile when they hear a familiar voice?

The carolers finish the song, the atmosphere full of peace and warmth. They began to sing Carol of the Bells and Luke decided on her middle name.

Clara Belle was your perfect Christmas gift.

[justjessame]

Home Sweet Home Chapter 4

I could hear the lyrical sound of Aria’s giggles ringing from the kitchen as I came down the stairs barely twenty minutes after Harvey had taken her downstairs to get breakfast started.  The scent of vanilla and cinnamon mingled with the sweeter fragrance of maple syrup warned me of a sticky welcome waiting for me in the form of French toast and a happier toddler.  

Sure enough, she was in her booster seat with what I felt certain was her second piece of perfectly made, just messy enough breakfast bordering on dessert with a far jollier disposition than what she left me with upstairs.  

“Mama, look,” she waved her fork, holding a piece of her toast and I bit my lip, hoping that she’d stabbed it tight enough to keep it in place until she got it to her mouth.  Either my prayer, or her will to keep every piece for herself was strong, because it made it to its proper end and her grin was infectious.  

Smiling, I moved closer and leaned over to rub my nose against hers, pleased to see it was still free of sugar and goop.  “You’re gonna be so hyper and ready to play with Grandma,” I murmured, pulling back as Harvey’s body molded into mine to helpfully place my plate on the table beside Aria’s before he joined his two girls.  “I’m sure Daddy wanted to make sure you two had so much fun, that’s why he picked French toast.”  Our eyes met over our little girl’s head and his were twinkling with the mischievousness that told me I was correct.  “I’m surprised you didn’t think to add powdered sugar for an extra kick,” shaking my head I took a sip from my juice before skipping the syrup and adding just a bit of butter to my slice.  

“Considered it,” Harvey admitted, making me giggle.  “Thought it might be pushing it just a bit.”  His nose crinkled and that did it, the giggle grew and Aria, not quite sure what was so damn funny went with it and joined my laughter.  

Breakfast with the three of us wasn’t all that rare, but after what Harvey had dealt with in Chicago, we lingered a bit longer.  I lingered longer, needing the reassurance that we were still alright.  That he was real and fine.  That Aria’s daddy and my husband was - I didn’t really understand why it took this particular case to force me to face the reality of what Harvey actually did for a living, for a calling, but it was a harsh dose. 

When we heard my mom’s voice calling out, Aria had forgotten that she was sad that Grandma was coming to visit.  She forgot that Grandma coming meant less time alone with Daddy.  She clapped and was nearly as excited about her visiting as she had been about the big ‘monee’.  

The same could not be said of Harvey.  “Here we go -” his eyes closed, as if he were mentally preparing for the worst, or praying for strength and I sighed.

“There you are,” Mom said, coming into the kitchen with a grin, her eyes focused on Aria.  “There’s Grandma’s little peacock.”  She held out her arms and Aria held up her own as Mom clucked her tongue.  “I see SOMEONE thought starting out the day with copious amounts of sugar would be the best way to jump start tiny little minds.  Guess you and I are starting OUR day with a bath, Aria.”  Mom shook her head and smiled down at me once she got our little one settled in her arms.  “Today’s a regular schedule, isn’t it Everlea?”  I nodded, suddenly thinking that MAYBE Harvey was right.  “That color really looks lovely on you, sweetheart.”  I was about to remind her that Harvey was RIGHT THERE, but then she sniffed.  “I suppose that YOU are going to be underfoot today?”  She barely glanced at him, but a shift of her eyes included my husband in the conversation.  “After that mess you all made of Chicago yesterday, I’d have thought YOUR people would be on hand to clean it up.  Isn’t that what you brag about doing?  Cleaning CRAP up?”  

My eyes widened, how had I missed this?  It wasn’t even that hard to see.  Dear God.  I glanced at Harvey and his eyes were on me in a clear message of ‘told you so’.  “I get to paper push today, Evelyn.” He was being polite, and short.  “As soon as I’m done, you can head on out and me and MY girl can have Daddy and mini me time.”  

“Mimi Me time!” Aria picked up the thread and ran with it, forcing Mom’s eyebrows to try to meet in the middle.  Shit.  

“Chicago was a poo-show,” Mom was adamant that we NOT curse around Aria, and she was the poster woman for it.  Little did she know, Aria might be a parrot about most things, but we’d managed to figure out the code for how to keep her from NOT repeating THOSE words.  “Surely you’ll be up to your poo colored eyeballs in paper pushing to clean it up.”  

I was watching them lob verbal hits back and forth, because Harvey had a comeback locked and ready for her.  “Why, Evelyn, I didn’t know you paid attention to the color of my eyes.  I’m flattered.”  That damn dimple of his coming out even as he followed up with more on the likelihood of work taking all day.  “As for the paperwork?  How hard is it to write ‘big animals wrecked city, fix it, now’?  I’m not a genius, but even I can type that over and over.”  

It was like a tennis match of words, and I was in the middle of it, but my eyes managed to make a detour to the clock and I knew I had to go.  Standing up, which forced a time out, I kissed Aria first.  Telling her to be good for Grandma, let Daddy work - which got a smirk from Mom - and then I turned to Harvey.  The look in his eyes made me want to shake my head, but seeing that he was right, my mom really did have a grudge against him, for some reason had me react in a completely different way.

Instead of a nice, staid, we’ve-been-married-for-long-enough-to-be-comfortable type of goodbye kiss - I stepped up to him and when our lips met the same passion flared up that had in the shower, or the bathtub, or our bed.  If my mother wanted to freak out because Harvey had helped me create our daughter.  The same little girl she was holding and who she couldn’t spoil enough, I’d like to add.  Then this kiss would sear into her brain that the love and passion that went into making Aria still burned bright and wasn’t ending any time soon.  

“Honestly,” Mom muttered, when we finally broke apart, but our eyes were still locked on one another.  “Do you think that’s appropriate for Aria to see?”

“I’ll see you tonight,” I promised Harvey, ignoring my mother for a beat.  “We’ll continue THIS -”

The rough skin of Harvey’s thumbpad brushed the skin under my eye.  “I’m holding you to that.”  He looked like I felt like parting today felt wrong and was harder than it ever had been.  “I love you.”  

“Love you, too.”  With a sigh, I pulled away to face Mom who had let Aria down.  I guess her arms got tired.  “Yes, Mom, it’s appropriate for Aria to see that her parents love one another.  There is NOTHING wrong with a child seeing displays of affection. It’s not like we were having sex.”

Mom sniffed at me, as if our kiss - which was admittedly bordering on a makeout session in the kitchen - was far greater than a display of affection.  “You’re going to be late, Ever.”  

“It’s MY office, Mom.”  I was moving toward the door anyway.  “Thank you for coming over,” I kissed her on the cheek as I passed her.  “Be nice to him?  Please?”  

“No promises, Everlea Grace.”  Her tone wasn’t nearly as stern though, so I had hope that I’d come home to a house still standing and my family intact.

The best part about leaving my position as the attending physician in the emergency room and starting up my own practice wasn’t just that it was less stress or the shorter hours.  It was the small group of people I’d brought together to create a clinic that felt warm and comforting, while also managing to give our patients the confidence in our expertise.  

I was thankful that the day went as smoothly as I expected from a regular day, no surprises, no upheaval to my routine.  As I hung up my stethoscope after my final patient was on her way out the door, having gotten her next appointment scheduled and I double checked that I’d sent her prescriptions through to her pharmacy, I was debating whether I should call home to see if I was walking into a disaster area or if Mom and Harvey had called a truce.

“Everlea?”  I’d been grabbing my bag and keys from my office when my receptionist, Kendra, ducked her head through the door.  Looking up, she took it as an opening to continue.  “Harvey called while you were with Mrs. Callahan.”  I waited, hoping it was something benign, and not a call telling me he was off to make another shitty bed.  “He wanted me to ask you to pick up a bottle of wine, whatever your mom prefers?”  She shrugged her shoulder and I nodded.

“Thanks, Kendra.”  I pulled my bag across my chest.  “I think Mark is still in Exam 3 with Mr. Randolph -”

She grinned at me.  “Yeah, it’s his monthly, so it’ll take a while to get through the list.”  Mr. Randolph did like to be thorough when he had his monthly visit.  “Don’t worry, Everlea, we’ll lock up.”

“I know you will,” I assured her.  “I just wanted to make sure I remembered.”  Shaking my head, I thought how long the past twenty-four hours seemed.  

“Hey,” my eyes met hers.  “Harvey’s practically indestructible, Everlea, and he’s home, right?”  

I sighed.  “I know, I know.”  Moving toward the door, Kendra moved with me, following behind so she could lock the entrance behind me so no one wandered in after hours.  Letting Mr. Randolph out was nothing compared to telling someone we weren’t a walk-in clinic.  “I can’t seem to shake it this time.”  

“Well,” Kendra took her time before she spoke, obviously thinking about my predicament.  “I guess, if you think about it, it was bound to happen eventually.  I mean, the stress has to compound to the point that it gets too heavy at some point, right?”  

Another sigh and I nodded.  “I guess, but I really wish it hadn’t.”  

Kendra was chuckling as I crossed over to outside.  “No one wants that kind of stress, but you and Harvey will figure it out -”

“We always do,” I supplied, my smile returning, thinking about how that was Harvey’s line.

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 11

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated… (Rumbelling of the 1993 film “The Piano”)

Rating: E for smut, dark subject matter and violence.

Also available on AO3

-

Belle dreamed of Mr. Gold. His arms were around her as they lay on their sides, facing each other on the bed, his cock hot and hard between them. He kissed her with such tenderness it made her cry. When she tried to embrace him in return, he dissolved and left her with nothing but air and tears on her face.

Unable to go back to sleep, she stroked her arms the way he had, trying to recreate the smallest bit of the feelings Mr. Gold had given her. It didn't work.

Breakfast the next morning was polite. Tilly chattered about wanting to visit Mary Margaret and Emma again, filling the uncomfortable silence.

“I will be building fences on the new property today, so I'm going to have to bar the door when I leave. Tilly, I know you're a good girl, but your mother must learn.”

Belle wanted to smack him.

“Could you slice up some bread and cheese to take along, please, Tilly?” She jumped up to fill his lunch bucket. Gaston leaned back in his chair, legs stretching out long in front him. Belle fantasized about throwing her coffee in his face to wipe the grin off of it.

Belle knew what Gaston was doing. But calling him out on using a little girl as a pawn was not an option. The situation was too volatile. However, it was better than Gaston being unkind to Tilly. Yesterday's scene could have been far worse. She had a moment of gratitude, then berated herself. She should never have to be grateful for not being assaulted.

With a cheery goodbye, Gaston returned to his fence building and barred the door behind him. She made a concentrated effort to be positive for Tilly's sake. Playing cards was a diversion for a part of the morning. Tilly was excited that she won every hand. Belle didn't just let Tilly win when they played – in her opinion, learning to lose was an important skill. But concentration was difficult; her thoughts kept returning to Mr. Gold. Labhrainn. She couldn't call him that in her mind yet, not while everything was still in upheaval.

How long had he waited for her yesterday? Was he still waiting, or had he given up, assuming she didn't love him? She pictured him at the table, alone with her book and chipped cup, and it broke her heart.

Belle could not touch her piano. It made her memories of Mr. Gold too vivid. She drew up some sheet music for Tilly to practice with, and they worked on chords and some simple songs. The long, dreary afternoon passed slowly. Books were not an escape. How could they be when her head was filled with him?

---

“I have chores near the house today,” said Gaston as she poured his coffee the next morning. “We’ll be having visitors this afternoon. Tilly, you can work in the garden for a little and then play outside if you like, no need for you to spend such a nice day indoors. But I think your mother should stay in and prepare something for our guests.”

He barred the door when they went out.

Cora, Regina, and Reverend Hopper did not know what to make of the fortified house when they arrived.

“Have the natives threatened you?” Cora asked Gaston when he came in from feeding the chickens.

“No, Aunt. We have had no problems.”

Belle served tea in the garish rose cups and sent up a silent prayer that Cora would not notice one cup was missing from the cabinet. A lecture about her unsuitability would send her over the edge and she'd probably smash them all.

“I'm glad to hear that. You see, the latch is on the wrong side of the door. When you close it, they will lock you in, instead of them out. You would be trapped.”

“It is rather dark in here with the windows covered,” said Reverend Hopper with a frown. “Is everything all right, Belle?”

She put on a brave face and nodded. The Reverend didn't need to be drawn into this. His expression still concerned, he asked, “Can you visit Mary Margaret next week? She sends her regards, and would like for the girls to get together.”

Belle looked at Gaston. How would he respond to this?

“Belle might be busy here at home. We'll see how the next few days go. I'll tell David when they’ll be able to call on them.”

As Reverend Hopper continued to feel out the situation, Regina emptied the basket. There was an apple pie she had made as a gift, and some preserves and ribbons. “We've been making the rounds spreading Christmas cheer,” said Regina. “We even took something to Mr. Gold's house, however undeserving he is.”

“Only because the Reverend insisted it was our Christian duty,” replied Cora. “Even if he is overly friendly with the natives. Granny was there, looking almost like a native herself.” She sniffed with disdain. Reverend Hopper stifled a sigh. “I don't know how anyone can stand to be in his company, even Granny. Mr. Gold was insufferably rude today.”

“Now, Cora, we need to --”

Regina interrupted him. “It's no matter. Tomorrow or the day after, he'll be gone.”

Belle's teacup clattered against the saucer as she put it down. She did not trust herself to hold it with her shaking hands.

“So Gold is packing up,” said Gaston. This was interesting news.

“He doesn't have much to pack, but he is leaving. I never understood that man. He has plenty of money -- he could have had a gracious home in the village and been part of the community. But no, he preferred the Maori to his own people. I say good riddance.”

Unable to remain sitting due to the agony inside her, Belle went to her piano. The anguish was too large to contain in her body. Music was the only way she could endure her emotions and keep from shattering. Mr. Gold had given up, thinking he was unloved and unwanted.

They watched her, surprised by her sudden movements. The melody she played cast a feeling of melancholy over the room. It was pain, loss, heartbreak personified through music. It was like nothing any of them had heard before.

Reverend Hopper put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Belle, what's wrong?” She shook him off and kept playing. “Belle?”

Uncomfortable at the sudden tension, Cora said, “We must be off. There are others to visit.”

“Yes, Aunt. Thank you all for stopping by.”

Cora leaned in to stage whisper to Gaston. “Are you sure she's not mentally.... unsound?”

Belle made no response. She was pouring out her desolation for Mr. Gold.

“She's fine. I'll follow you out.”

In the sunlight, Reverend Hopper wrung his hands. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you. We just have a few things to work out between us.”

“Reverend Hopper, would you and Regina go on ahead? I'll catch up. I'd like to speak to my nephew for a moment.”

When they were far enough away, Cora asked him, “What's going on here, Gaston?”

“Marriage is not what I thought it would be, Aunt.”

“What she needs is another child. A son for you. Then she'll settle in.”

“I don't know if we'll ever love each other.”

“Love? Love is weakness. It means nothing. A baby, Gaston. Strong, healthy sons to keep the family going. Everything will work out then, you'll see.”

“I'm sure you're right. Thank you.”

Gaston approved of Belle's behavior that night. She was docile, serving him his meal, cleaning his boots and listening to his stories with no strange outbursts. As a test, he took her hand and kissed her cheek. She did not flinch. Tilly played the piano and sang. She called him 'Papa' now. He put his arm around Belle while they listened, and she did not pull away. This was what he pictured when Maurice French answered his advertisement for a wife.

---

Belle woke the next morning to the sound of boards being ripped from the windows and sunlight. Gaston, rising early, wanted to reward Belle for her better attitude the night before.

Finished, he came in, passing Tilly on her way out to dance in the sun and feed the chickens. “We must move on,” he told Belle. “Gold is leaving. No one will ever find out what happened. It's over.” He leaned down to look straight into her eyes. “You will not see him.” Tense moments passed.

Belle looked away first and shook her head. No, she would not see him.

Satisfied, Gaston gathered his things. There was work to do. “I'll be out at the edge of the new property,” he called as he walked away.

She watched him leave from the window, then opened the piano lid, reaching where the keys met the strings. A key removed and ready on the table, she heated a needle in the flame of a candle. The work was painstaking. When she finished, she had an engraved message on the side of the key. “Dear Gold, you have my heart.” She signed it Belle French. He had to know when he left he would take a piece of her with him. Not just her name, but her voice, and her heart. The piano missing its key would never be the same, and neither would she. He would understand.

She wrapped it with linen and tied it with a blue ribbon. Tilly was still outside, playing with her doll. Belle knelt in front of her and put the package into her hands. “Take this to Mr. Gold,” she signed. “It belongs to him.”

Tilly shook her head. “No, Mama. We're not supposed to go there.”

“I am not supposed to go there,” Belle corrected with deliberate, precise signs. She would keep her promise to Gaston, but Tilly had promised nothing.

Ignoring her mother's request, Tilly put the key down and continued to play with her doll. Belle pulled Tilly to her feet and gave her stern instructions. She pressed the wrapped gift into her daughter's hand, and sent her on her way.

Tilly reached a literal crossroads. The path forked - the right took her to Mr. Gold's; the left led to Gaston. She hesitated. The last time Mama visited Mr. Gold, the entire house got boarded up. Going there started problems, and it was his fault Mama was acting strange. Gaston was being nice. He seemed to like it when she called him 'Papa'. She'd never had a Papa before. Left. She would go left.

Thus decided, she continued skipping and singing. In her naivety, she believed that her choice would make everything better. Her Mama would smile again, and they'd visit Emma. Gaston would be a real Papa and love her. The sun was out, but gloomy clouds were gathering on the horizon. She followed Gaston's fence posts up and down the hills. At last, she saw him. Kamira was working with him today. Well, not working but watching as Gaston drove a post into the ground. He put his flask away when he noticed her.

“Kia ora Tilly!” he called out.

“Hello, Mr. Kamira. Hello, Papa.”

Gaston stopped hammering. “What do you have there?”

“Mama wanted me to give this to Mr. Gold.” She brandished the slender wrapped package at him, its blue ribbon eye-catching in the sun. “I didn't think I should. Want me to open it?” she asked, pulling at the bow.

“Give it to me.”

Palms sweaty, he undid the parcel. He stuffed the linen and ribbon in his pocket. A piano key? He turned it and saw the message. Fury rose in an instant, flashing through him and bursting into flame. He heard his father's voice.

“You let a woman make a fool out of you? I'm not surprised.”

“They'll laugh -- she preferred an old cripple to you. I knew you were worthless.”

“Teach her a lesson she won't soon forget.”

Each beat of his heart pounded another thought through his head:

“This.

Will.

Not.

Stand.”

The ivory key dropped from his fingers when he grabbed his axe.

End note: The music from the scene where Belle plays the piano.

[dailyaudiobible]

11/01/2020 DAB Transcript

Ezekiel 1:1-3:15, Hebrews 3:1-19, Psalms 104:1-23, Proverbs 26:24-26

Today is the 1st day of November welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it's great to be here with you as we greet the new month while simultaneously greeting a brand-new, sparkly, shiny week. So, this is one of those rare opportunities where we’re…we’re starting all over, like it's a brand-new start here to the month and the week. And welcome to the 11th month of the year and the 306th day of the year. And on top of all of this newness we have a brand-new book we’re going to move into as we begin a new week and a new month. So, we moved to the prophecies of Jeremiah and then we saw those prophecies come true and then we moved through the book of Lamentations and lamented that all of the stuff that had been prophesied did come true pertaining to the destruction of Jerusalem. And, so, now we find ourselves on the threshold of the book of Ezekiel.

Introduction to the book of Ezekiel:

Ezekiel is another major book of prophecy in the…in the Scriptures in the Old Testament. And here’s what we know about Ezekiel. We know that he was a well-educated person, we know that he was deeply loyal to God. We discover that in this in this text. And we also understand that he was loyal to the traditions of the people, the Hebrew people. He came from a priestly family and…and like Jeremiah he used his prophetic ministry as instructed by God symbolically in a lot of ways. He symbolically acted out what he was prophesying. And Jeremiah had been prophesying previous to Ezekiel, but they also had a time where they were prophesying alongside of each other it’s just they were doing it from two different locations speaking on behalf of God from both sides of a story basically. Jeremiah prophesied from Jerusalem. Ezekiel's prophecies were from exile in Babylon and there was considerable upheaval in the world of that time, a lot of empires going against other smaller nations and assimilating and conquering them while other empires were fighting…well…empire against Empire. So, Babylon, the Babylonian Empire had conquered the Assyrian Empire. And if we remember from the Scriptures, it was the Assyrian Empire that came and conquered Israel and took the 10 tribes and just deported them. They disappeared from history after that. And then Egypt and Babylon were clashing inside the land of ancient Israel because that was kind of like a land bridge between continents. So, controlling that major trade route is what made this land so important and so valuable. And we’ve watched the different alliances in the Scriptures, especially going through the book of…the book of Kings and Samuel and Chronicles. And, so, there were times where were the Hebrew people were vassals where they paid tribute to Kings who had conquered them then they would rebel and maybe regain their freedom and it was kind of a back-and-forth thing on a continual basis But we also watch in the Scriptures the generational decline of the entire system. So, in 597 B.C. the Babylonians subdued Jerusalem. And they did start deportations, they did take people into exile in order to assimilate them into the empire in different regions. And Ezekiel was among the first to go into exile and then a few years later, Zedekiah who had been installed as the king rebelled against Babylon. This is something that Jeremiah prophesied against as we were going through his…his work in the book of Jeremiah. So then in 588 the Babylonians came back to Jerusalem, laid siege to the rebellious city, and two years later they broke in and conquered Jerusalem and completely destroyed Jerusalem. Up to this point even though things had changed hands and tribute was being paid and all this stuff was going on Jerusalem hadn't been destroyed. But the Babylonians destroyed it. There…like there's evidence in Jerusalem until today of the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem. So, similar to Jeremiah, Ezekiel in his early years of prophecy in exile was prophesying of…of the destruction of Jerusalem. Jeremiah was in Jerusalem prophesying the same thing from Jerusalem. So, we’re just at two sides…like at two different points in the same story. Jeremiah’s in Jerusalem, Ezekiel is in exile in Babylon. But as we just talked about, eventually the Babylonians destroyed Jerusalem. And, so, after the fall of Jerusalem and the Temple was destroyed then Ezekiel's prophecies transform and some of the most beautiful hope filled messages of encouragement and restoration in all of the Bible can be found. Things like Ezekiel 37, which has been such an important portion of Scripture in my life and in the life of the Daily Audio Bible – the…the valley of dry bones, the spirit instructing Ezekiel to call to the four winds the breath of life. So, significant. And we’ll get there. Ezekiel also has really interesting imagery, almost like visions that are cinematic. Kind of like Daniel, or even the book of Revelation - apocalyptic literature it's called as a genre. And, so, Ezekiel shares place along with Daniel and Revelation and many other portions of Scripture for those studying eschatology - the study of the Apocalypse, the end times. And, so, as we go through Ezekiel it's…it's like going through any of the other books of prophecy. We understand…we have to understand that this is the genre this is a prophetic narrative that includes visions. And, so…well…basically we have to understand that things speak to us in different ways. So, if you're sitting on a mountaintop and you have a really nice picnic and you’re there with somebody you love and it's a perfect day and the scenery is wonderful, you can be having your lunch just looking out over it all not saying anything to each other because words don't need to be said. You’re in this moment and nature is speaking to you, beauty is speaking to you, the power of God and His creation is speaking to you. And then after lunch if you pick up a novel and start reading then that book is gonna speak to you differently than nature did. And then if you read for a while and you pick up the newspaper, well the newspaper’s gonna speak to you in a different way than the novel did. And if you spend the whole day there and you watch the sun go down then the sunset is gonna speak to you different than the newspaper did. So, let’s just invite God to speak to us in whatever way that we’re listening as we move through the book of Ezekiel and to guide us into what we need to hear for the days ahead in our own lives. And, so, let's begin. We got a brand-new month. We got a brand-new week. We’ll read from the Evangelical Heritage Version of the Scriptures this week. Ezekiel chapter 1 verse 1 through 3 verse 15.

Prayer:

Father we thank You for Your word. We thank You that we have this image of all things new - brand-new week, brand-new month, brand-new territory in the Scriptures - and it brings us a sense of sigh. Like we've been through a lot this year and we are here, and You have been faithful, and You continue to lead us forward. We are so deeply grateful. And, so, Father as we move through these days, they have been indeed tumultuous days this year on a number of levels and continue to be on a number of levels right now as we continue to move through this time. May we find comfort and rest under the shadow of Your wings, that we are cradled and protected by Your mighty strong arm, that we are Your children and we are here bearing witness to the birth of new things because You are doing a new thing, You are continually doing a new thing and we want this new thing to continue in our hearts, this transformation, this sanctification, this setting us apart, that we lose our taste for the world and hunger and thirst for Your kingdom. Declaring along with the psalmist, better is one day in Your courts than a thousand anywhere else. And, so, as we move into this final couple months of the year we already know where gonna need You. When do we not?  We think we don't sometimes and then we take things up in our own power and strength and crash them. We’re not doing that anymore. We learned our lesson. We need You and only You. And we need Your ways and only Your ways in our hearts and in our lives. This is what will lead us on the narrow path that leads to life. And its life that we are looking for and life comes from You. You are the source, the source of life. And, so, come Holy Spirit we pray as we…as we consecrate this week and this month to You. Come Jesus in Your mighty name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it is the website and indeed where you find out what is going on around here.

Man, this is it like not one of my favorite days of the year, not because there's anything really, really bad going on. It's…it’s…this is the day where in the clocks…the clocks set back. And, so, in the time zone that I live here in Nashville that just makes for…that makes…that makes it dark. It’s gonna be dark maybe a few minutes after 5 PM. By the time Christmas gets here it’ll be dark by 430 in the afternoon and that’s…that’s not my favorite. There’s nothing wrong…everything’s fine…it’s just not my favorite. But I'll be looking forward to it getting dark in our earlier today as will many of you. And, so, that is what's going on around here right now, but there are always different things going on in the Daily Audio Bible world especially at the Prayer Wall. It's an ongoing ever-growing ever-present thing where we can always have a place to go for prayer and always have a place to go and offer prayer. So, be aware of that. That's in the Community section of the website. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app you can press the little Drawer icon. That's in the upper left-hand corner and you can also get to the Prayer Wall. So, check that out.

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey my friends it’s Mike and I’ve been in this journey with you for over 10 years and when you offer a prayer request you should know that there are people like me who are just instantly praying with you and for you. And when you feel alone you’re not alone and when you feel like you can’t go on and there’s no one in your corner look over your shoulder you got your DAB back there just cheering you on and praying for you and believing with you. So, this…this call is really to challenge and encourage and…and really ask everyone in the DAB to journey through the Daily Audio Proverb for the next 30 days, hopefully for the month of November. Each day invest five minutes in…in the Daily Audio Proverb and you can hit it right there in the app and if you do and if you let it permeate your life, your relationships, how you respond, it will have a dramatic impact. Proverbs 8 says you’ll have more joy, you will find life and grace. And then actually if we don’t get wisdom or if we refuse wisdom that we’re only hurting ourselves. We’re actually moving toward death and not towards life. And I…I found this myself a couple years ago, how I was…I was responding foolishly, and I realized, “wow! I need more wisdom. Where do I get that?” And I heard Brian mention the Daily Audio Proverb. Changed my life. I invite you to take the challenge for the next 30 days, five minutes a day, Daily Audio Proverb. You won’t regret it and you’ll be glad you did. Your Father is madly in love with you any he gave you this gift. I love you guys. Bye.

Good morning my name is __ I am calling in for prayer. I’m having a hard time right now. I need a place to live. I’ve been watching…listening to Brian for about four or five years. It’s my first-time calling in. I would like for all of you to pray for me to help…to ask God to help me find a place to live. I’m kinda down right now but I’m trying to pull myself up and keep going and wait on the Lord to guide me and help me find a place to live. So, please pray for me. I love you all and thank you Brian for what you do every day. Bye.

This prayer goes out to Brian from Australia. I heard his call for prayer about saving his marriage and being patient and stepping up to stay in it and I just wanted to say I’ve been there my brother. The strength you’re showing is amazing. Your love for your wife is amazing and for your family and kids is amazing. I just pray that God directs you and guides you and keeps your family safe and together. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen. And good luck brother.

This is Candace from Oregon please join me in prayer is for Radiant Rachel’s stepdaughter Gabby, I believe her name is Gabby. Lord, we ask You to surround this beautiful Young woman. We ask You that she would be completely freed from all foul spirits that have been harassing her in any way and that the only spirit allowed to surround her is the Holy Spirit of Jesus Christ over and under her, in front of her, behind her, and on either side. I pray Lord that she would just become free to become everything that You made her to be in all her beauty Lord. I pray that she will take medicines that are helpful, that You will just restore her health by any means You choose Lord, that You give her robust health. We ask these things in Jesus’ name and for His sake. We ask You Lord to bless Radiant Rachel’s entire household. Pour out Your blessing on them Lord and put a hedge of protection around even the building, the house itself and especially guard the hearts of each person and their family. We ask this in Jesus’ name and for His sake and to His honor and glory. May we all become obedient to You Lord, taking every thought captive to the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

[a-chrome-disguise]

A long overdue catch up

Once Brett was gone, a silence fell between Cyrus and Kazimir. The younger man was on his feet, arms held behind his back as usual, his eyes examining the photographs that lined the wall. Most of them he found too painful to look at for too long, so his eyes lingered on the candid photo of him in his Team Galactic outfit. He wondered why his grandfather had such a picture in the first place.

‘...I hope you don’t mind that I put that one with the others,’ Kazimir spoke up. ‘...I wanted to see what you looked like as an adult, so when the opportunity arose… Well, I took it.’

‘Ah.’ That explained that. ‘...It’s fine.’

‘I’m sorry, Cyrus… I’m really sorry. I let you down so badly…’

‘You did nothing of the short,’ Cyrus blandly replied.

‘But I could have done so much more, I should have -’

‘- I do not blame you for keeping your distance. I know what Olya and Aleksandr must have threatened you with.’

‘...You do…?’

‘I was not going to take it lying down. I told them that I was going to do whatever I could to maintain contact with you, and then they dropped the bombshell that if I did, I would be “forcing their hand”, and we would emigrate.’

Kazimir sighed heavily.

‘Yes, exactly… I didn’t want to leave you, but I thought it was the lesser of two evils. I didn’t think that you needed to deal with the upheaval of moving to an entirely new region on top of… everything else,’ he nodded. ‘But… with how things turned out, perhaps I made the wrong decision…’

‘I disagree. You are correct, I would not have dealt with emigration well,’ Cyrus replied, without turning his head. Keeping his back to his grandfather. ‘The time for me to leave Sinnoh was as an adult, not as a teenager.’

‘But maybe you would have been able to get help sooner, in a region that’s less… stifling,’ Kazimir murmured, picking his words carefully.

‘With those two breathing down my neck? Unlikely. Psychiatry is “quackery”, and “not something they’ll have in their house”. No, I was going to suffer by myself, whether I wanted to or not,’ Cyrus bitterly replied, and Kazimir shook his head. ‘You tried to keep my environment as stable as possible. I understand that.’

‘...Cyrus, I have to ask…’ Kazimir began, the hesitance clear in his tone. Cyrus swallowed hard, bracing himself. ‘...What happened at Spear Pillar? All I heard was that there was some kind of disaster… And you vanished afterwards.’

‘...So you have no clue.’

‘I thought you were…’ Kazimir’s voice choked up. ‘I thought you’d maybe… r-reconnected with Nazar.’ The euphemism hit Cyrus’ ears, feeling like a somebody had taken a mallet to his stomach. ‘A-And I heard things about… your team blowing up a lake… That’s not true, is it, Cyrus? Tell me it’s not true…’

Cyrus’ jaw was tightly clenched. His eyes were stinging.

What a disgrace he was. What a failure. He raised his head, staring up at the ceiling, to try and keep the tears from seeping down his face. Damn it, he was not going to cry. Not if he could do anything about it.

But the disappointment, the upset in Kazimir’s voice, damn near broke his heart.

‘...I cannot. I cannot do that, because it is true,’ he admitted.

‘Why? I - I can understand your general idea of erasing emotions, I know that was because of what your parents put you through, but… bombing lakes? How does that help anyone?’

‘I justified it as a necessary evil,’ Cyrus replied. ‘I did not want to do it, but it seemed like the only way to progress forward. In order to help save the universe from the burden of our shattered, incomplete emotions, I was going to have to make the sacrifice of one small lake. Yes, I understood the risk. But I was prepared to take it. ...I sent a team out to make sure that there were no innocents nearby that could potentially get hurt.’

‘God, Cyrus…’ Kazimur mumbled.

‘I needed the lake guardians. I needed the gemstones from them, in order to create chains that would wield Dialga and Palkia. That’s why. I would use the red chains to harness their power as my own, and with that, I would recreate the universe.’

Kazimir held a hand to his mouth in horror; the things Cyrus were saying sounded insane. He knew that his grandson had done some bad things, he understood that Cyrus’ ill reputation was for a reason, but… what he was hearing went beyond his expectations.

He knew that grief and abuse had twisted Cyrus’ heart, but it was only now, hearing Team Galactic’s full intentions, that he started to get an idea of just how much damage had been done. To him, as well as to the region.

‘I came so close to succeeding. Oh, the champion tried to stop me, as did her friend. Cynthia and Ksenia, Sinnoh’s heroes. But the biggest obstacle was the gap in my knowledge. I had spent so much time poring over the myths and legends of this Godforsaken hell hole. So much time researching the lake guardians, Dialga and Palkia.’ Sucking in a deep breath, Cyrus closed his welling eyes. Despite his best attempts, a tear trickled down his gaunt cheek. ‘But I had no idea about Giratina’s existence until it was dragging me down to hell.’ ‘“D-Dragged you down to hell”?’ Kazimir repeated, choking on his words.

‘Giratina, the Pokemon banished to the Distortion World for its violence. My actions had upset the balance of the world, and Giratina arose to correct it. By taking me with it. That’s what happened at Spear Pillar. My goal was within my grasp, I was just brushing a perfect new world with my fingertips - and then it was snatched away from me.’

‘Y-Y-You still want to do it? T-To try again?’ Kazimir questioned. Cyrus could not see his grandfather dissolving into tears, but he could certainly hear it.

‘...No. Not for everyone. It took being imprisoned in the Distortion World for me to finally pull my head out of my backside and start to reflect on myself, my actions. Why everyone outside of Team Galactic was so opposed. I accept that I was wrong to override everybody’s bodily autonomy like that, but I genuinely believe that the world would be a much better place without emotions. But I underestimated just how attached people are to these repulsive feelings.’

‘...Cyrus…’

‘...I’m trying to get better. I understand now, I know that I am the outlier. I cannot comprehend why, but I accept it, no matter how reluctantly. And I am trying to improve my mental health. To conquer my demons. ...I am in therapy. I have a therapy Pokemon. I am on medication.’

‘But you still want to remove your own emotions?’ Kazimir wept.

‘If I were to be given a magic pill that would make me permanently emotionally empty, I would take it in a heartbeat.’

‘...God…’ He tried to shake the thought loose, not wanting to commit that one particular detail to memory. ‘H-How did you get out of there…?’

‘...Ksenia came back. God knows how she managed to get in there again, but she came back for me. I was in there for a month, I think. Judging by my estimations once I was out again, because time certainly did not flow the same in there as it does out here. Give or take a week. But that is one reason why I will not try again. I cannot count on Ksenia rescuing me again. I cannot count on surviving a second attempt. Granted, my life does not mean much now, but…’

‘Please don’t say that. W-When I heard you were missing, I - I thought you were dead. I thought - I thought I’d lost my chance to reconnect with you… I couldn’t deal with the thought of having to bury both of my grandsons...’

‘...I am sorry.’ Cyrus bowed his head.

Kazimir wiped his face, drying the tears and trying to pull himself back together. Damn it, he was going to have to work extra hard to make sure his grandson never felt he lacked support ever again. He was going to have to make up for his years of absence.

‘W-What happened after I was warded away?’ he softly asked, afraid of the answer. But he had to know. He needed to know everything that Cyrus had been through while his back was turned. No matter how much it hurt. ‘H-How did they treat you? Did - did they at least improve…?’

Cyrus let out a small scoff of derision.

‘Disowning you was the last straw. That was the push I needed to disavow emotion. If they were going to make it so that I had no support, I was going to make it so that I did not need support. My faith in them was shattered. Rightfully so, because no, they did not improve.’

Cyrus shook his head.

‘The best that I can say about them is that Olya remained stable in her grief, but Aleksandr grew worse. In spite of my attempts at numbing myself, there were still numerous arguments between us. They still brandished Nazar’s name like a weapon, beating me with vitriolic sentiments of failure every time I could not - or did not - become Nazar’s clone.’

‘...I tried calling when you turned eighteen, you know…’ Kazimir quietly told him. ‘Since they couldn’t legally stop us from reconnecting. Aleksandr said you were out.’

‘I probably was. I spent as much time as I could out. Just to be away from them.’ Cyrus hesitated; did he tell Kazimir about the worst of it? The absolute nadir of Aleksandr’s abusive behaviour?

No. Kazimir had been upset enough by the current conversation, there was no way he could make it worse. At least, that was what Cyrus told himself. But part of him had to wonder, was this avoidance really due to not wanting to further distress his grandfather? Or was he just looking at any excuse to not open up?

‘...I had thought about reaching out, when I left their house. And again, after Spear Pillar. And a third time after my hospital release.’

‘Hospital release?’ Kazimir repeated.

‘After Spear Pillar, the moment I left the Distortion World, it did not take long for people to notice, and to call the authorities. I was sectioned, and held in hospital for a few years. But before the authorities caught up with me, I considered contacting you. ...I don’t know why I did not reach out sooner,’ Cyrus explained. ‘Well. I know why I did not after Team Galactic. I thought that you would not want anything to do with me, after everything I had done -’

‘- You will always be my grandson,’ Kazimir firmly told him. ‘I don’t approve of your actions, but I understand the why. I understand that you’ve dealt with an incredible amount of suffering by yourself. I’ll admit, hearing some of these details hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what you must have gone through with nobody to ease your burden. But I won’t turn my back on you. Cyrus, I love you.’

Hearing those words, the sentiment that he had secretly craved for so long, caused Cyrus’ stoic demeanour to further crack. He had his teeth gritted, as he attempted to keep himself together. Kazimir noticed his shoulders hunch as the effort of repressing what was threatening to burst free made him tense even further. Kazimir lightly placed a hand on his grandson’s shoulder, causing him to jump.

‘Come here, Cyrus…’ Kazimir had his other arm extended, to offer a hug.

Cyrus finally turned his head to look at him, but made no move to embrace him. So Kazimir did it, instead. Cyrus was still stiff and unyielding, but Kazimir gently pulled him close. He clasped his hurting grandson to him, and unlike before, Cyrus did not need prompting to return the gesture. Wrapping his arms around Kazimir, and with nobody else to see his face, he finally broke down into a torrent of tears. Kazimir made sure not to do or say anything, not wanting to accidentally spook Cyrus back into closing off.

The pair remained as they were for what felt like an eternity, until Cyrus had cried himself out. Until his head throbbed, his eyes felt exhausted, and he thought there were no more tears left for him to shed.

‘Better?’ Kazimir softly asked. Cyrus pulled himself away, rubbing his forehead. He silently shrugged. Not really. But he allowed Kazimir to steer him back to the sofa, and the pair sat down together.

It seemed that neither of them had any more heavy, upsetting details to bring up, and had cautiously descended into small talk. Properly reconnecting, getting to know one another again. The repressed, depressed adult in front of Kazimir seemed so different from the grandson he remembered, but the more they talked, the more he saw hints of the Cyrus he knew before. Especially when they began discussing astronomy.

Though Cyrus reluctantly changed the subject after a few minutes. As much more comfortable it was to discuss small things, there was still one important thing left unsaid. Something that he vitally needed Kazimir’s approval of, if they were going to continue to stay in touch.

‘Cyrus?’ Kazimir asked, when he fell silent, frowning with concern.

‘...There is one last thing I need you to know,’ Cyrus cautiously began, closely studying Kazimir’s reaction. He swallowed hard. ‘...I… I have a boyfriend.’

‘Oh!’ Kazimir looked surprised, but fortunately, it did not bother him in the least. ‘I’m pleased for you.’

‘...Thank you.’

If Cyrus was entering the emotional minefield that was relationships, then, in Kazimir’s mind, that could only be a good thing. A sign of improvement. Ahh, but poor Cyrus looked so on edge, and Kazimir realised that he must have been anticipating a negative reaction.

‘Does he make you happy?’

Quite a big question. Honestly, the answer was no. But that was not because of Jaideep; Cyrus could not fault him as a partner. He was simply too far gone to experience genuine happiness.

‘...I cannot say that I have been happy since… well.’ Cyrus stopped. No need to go over all of that again. ‘But, he makes me “happy” in that sense that he makes me as close to it as I can possibly be.’

‘Good…’ Kazimir murmured. Not quite the response he had anticipated, but at least this man made Cyrus sort of happy? The clarification that Cyrus lived in misery hurt, though, and he swallowed a sudden spike of anger at his daughter, at his son in law, for being so cruel.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Jaideep Rose.’ Another look of surprise. ‘I live in Galar, these days.’ ‘That name sounds familiar… didn’t he get into a bit of, um, trouble in Galar…?’ Kazimir carefully asked.

‘Yes. It is a long story, and obviously not one he is comfortable discussing -’

‘- Oh goodness, no, that’s very understandable! I wasn’t sure if I was thinking of the right person,’ Kazimir hastily clarified.

‘That is partly how we got to grow so close. Having misguided attempts at improving things blow up in our faces, and living with the consequences. ...He’s a good person. Kind. Considerate. Patient.’

Unbeknownst to Cyrus, there was a slight softening to his tone as he talked about Jaideep, and Kazimir grinned brightly.

‘Could I meet him some time?’

‘I -’ Cyrus began, taken aback. ‘Maybe? Obviously, I will need to ask him first.’ ‘Naturally, naturally. If we’re going to stay in touch, why don’t we exchange phone numbers? Then, if your young man is willing, we could maybe arrange a get together,’ Kazimir suggested. A sense of embarrassment crept over Cyrus - or at least, that was what he thought it was - at the mention of Jaideep being his “young man”, but he ignored it. Kazimir accepted him, and seemed delighted for him. Coming out could not have gone better.

‘That sounds like a good idea.’