#gonna probably pick up angelic intervention to make a lot of angels too
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an-american-whore · 1 year ago
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made an azorious flying/flash typal deck (errant and Giada at the helm) and it's my curse every deck I play ends up being a different colored gruul beatdown except this time it's in the air
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realcube · 4 years ago
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comfort hcs 💗 feat. overworked! reader
characters: yaku, oikawa, yams & akaashi
trigger warning: swearing
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thank you to anon for this sweet request!
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morisuke yaku
♡ he has concerned mom energy to i feel like he’d notice that you’re overworking yourself before starts negatively effecting you 
♡ once he figures out that you’re actually stressed and he’s not just being paranoid, he will probably hold an intervention where is like ‘sit down, let’s have a cha--’
♡ but you just push him out the way to grab your coat, ‘sorry, sweetheart. i don’t wanna miss my bus!’
♡ DFRTYJUHG he just stood there like a statue looking at you like (●__●) this bitch-
♡ anyway, once you come back from uni/college/school/ work etc yaku insists that you need to sit down and discuss your problems with him 
♡ then you’re kinda just like ‘what problems?????’
♡ also, after what happened that morning, yaku was not taking ‘no’ as an answer
♡ no matter what you say 
♡ homework? you can do that later
♡ chores? he’ll do them for you if you just listen to him
♡ hungry? you can eat while you listen to him
♡ showering? you smell fine!
♡ so yeah, he will pick you up and carry you to the living room if he has to
♡ he’s probably really serious about the issue bc your feelings aren’t a joke to him but he lined up your favourite plushies on the couch so he could talk to them as a third party when you disagreed with him
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
“i study in moderation! and i have not been neglecting our relationship; i just need to focus on my studies!” you tutted, averting your gaze from yaku’s as you thought about his accusation; did he really feel as though you had been taking him for granted? because of course, that wasn’t your intention at all and the more you thought about it, the more you realise that perhaps he was right.
yaku rolled his eyes at your response, quite enraged by your dismissive tendencies but he didn’t want to take his anger out on you so he simply turned to the kiiroitori plush that sat beside him, “duck, do you think (l/n) has been overworking themselves and ignoring both of us?”
kiirotori was forced by yaku’s hand to nod in response.
you snorted slightly before trying to furrow your eyebrows in anger once again, “their name is kiiroitori!” 
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tōru oikawa
♡ dsfghjkl ngl he clearly overworks himself too so he wouldn’t even notice 
♡ he’s like ‘oh, you’re spending hours upon hours of a day - losing sleep and energy - to dedicate yourself solely to one thing so you can be perfect at it??? that’s completely normal!’
♡ spoiler alert, it’s not
♡ it’d probably take a third-party to point that what you are both doing isn’t healthy (either iwaizumi or a therapist)
♡ then you’d both look at each other like ⚆_⚆ wut 
♡ anyway recovery time ig ✨
♡ he’d definitely just try distract you whenever he sees you studying/training/practising
♡ forget overwork, he doesn’t even let you work 
♡ oh and y’all have started having ‘lazy days’ once a month where you make it a point to nothing but each other :))
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
you both stared at the television, pretending to be absolutely engrossed by jumanji. however, once you let out your fifth sigh that minute, oikawa could tell that you were just as disinterested as he was so he peered over his shoulder to look at you, “this is so boring.” 
you nodded, shuffling closer to him so he could drape his arm around your shoulder and bury his nose into your hair. “it’s so hard to just sit here and do nothing when i know that i have a lot to do, y’know?”
oikawa hummed in agreement, “but it’s nice to finally spend some quality time with you, angel.” he placed a kiss on your temple, scooting awkwardly in his seat before pulling you down to lay down next to him on couch. 
“yeah,” you purred, happily falling onto the soft cushions while in oikawa’s embrace, “i’ve suddenly had a change of heart - i love these lazy days.”
“that was fast.”
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tadashi yamaguchi
♡ it would take him a wile to built up the courage to actually express his concern about you overworking yourself
♡ but until then, he’ll show them in more subtle ways
♡ like if he sees you working at your desk - whether your posture is straight or not - he’ll rush up to you and massage your shoulders/back while talking
♡ he always sends you goodnight texts and gets v snappy when you text him in the middle of the night 
♡  ‘tadashi, what did you get for number five on the maths hw?’
♡ if he opens the message and notices that you sent that crazy late at night or the ass crack of dawn, he’ll lose his shit
♡  ‘(Y/N) WHY WERE U UP AT 3AM DOING MATHS HW LITERALLY GO TO SLEEP’
♡ he forces himself to ask you out on dates irl so that if you use work/training/practise etc as an excuse..he can give the puppy eyes 🥺
♡ don’t get me wrong, he’s not manipulative at all but you just overwork yourself so much he think that the teeniest tiniest little bit of fun wouldn’t do you any harm 
♡ he literally cares for you so much and he just wants you to be healthy and happy like is that too much to ask ಥ_ಥ
♡ it would take him 3 months of mental preparation to confront you but he’d do it eventually lol
♡ he’d still be super duper nervous though 👉👈
  ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
“(y/n).” yamaguchi’s soft voice rang quietly through the hallway before he stuck his head inside your room in search for you. he let out a sigh upon noticing that - like always - you were sitting at your desk, drowning in papers of schoolwork. 
he hurriedly approached you, suddenly throwing his arms around your shoulders as he hid his face in the crook of your neck before wailing, “(y/n)! i know it’s none of my business but i just think you work yourself way too hard and i see how sleepy you are all the time and you didn’t even eat the cupcakes i made you because you were too busy studying - i thought you loved my cupcakes!”
your eyes widened at the sudden contact and the string of words yamaguchi was babbling in your ear; but you semi-understood what he was getting at. so you steadily turned around to wrap your arms around his neck and rub his spine reassuringly, “i am so sorry, tadashi. i had no idea i was worrying you.”
he shook his head against the skin of your neck, “it’s fine, i worry about everything.” he joked before changing to a more serious tone, “it’s just that-- i think you should care more about yourself. take some time to relax once and a while, y’know?”
his sweet words resulted in your lips curling to a smile while his arms wrapped securely around your body brought you a much-needed feeling of peace, “alright, i’ll try.”
“good.” yamaguchi chirped, pecking your forehead then positioning his face where it was prior, going back to enjoying the feeling of your soft skin agaist his. “-so, are you gonna eat the cupcakes or”
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keiji akaashi 
♡ he overworks himself too
♡ if anything, i think he’d praise you for being ‘hard-working’ at first ‘:)
♡ but once he notices how much you work and how negatively it’s effecting your mental/physical health, he’ll intervene
♡ like yamaguchi, i think he’d start small by subtly doing things to reverse the effects of your stress 
♡ and simultaneously, it kinda helps him too
♡ for example, if you get stress ance, he’ll do a bunch of research on the best skin treatments for it, buy the products then do facemasks with you + create a whole new nightly skincare routine for both of you 
♡ or if your not taking care of yourself properly, he’ll book you both in for a spa appointment 
♡ or if you’re tense, he’ll get you both massages from those professional ppl that make you strip naked
♡ when they make you get your tiddies out, you know they are a professional  masseuse
♡ and he’ll take out on ten times more just to help you relax
♡ also, they’re always slow-paced dates bc like ofc akaashi takes you out to the park/beach for picnics....does he seem the sort of guy to take you bowling?? no.
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
you sighed as akaashi brought a spoon up to your lips, looking at you expectantly but you simply whined, “keiji, i should be at home studying right now. you know my exam in 5 months, right?” though akaashi wanted to believe you were joking, the seriousness in your voice made it clear that you genuinely thought 5 months was a short period of time - even considering all the work you’ve already done in preparation for it. 
so akaashi simply shrugged in response, continuing to prod your lip with the spoon until you parted you lips, allowing the pudding he made to enter your mouth. then, he pulled it out lower it to observe your pouty expression for a moment; you were so cute that he couldn’t help but smile softly. 
“i’m sure you’ll do fine, sweetheart. i believe in you.” he said, gripping your waist before placing a tender kiss on your cheek. “for now, let’s enjoy this perfect weather. it only comes around once a year, so why not make the most of it, hm?” 
before you were able to reply, akasshi utilized the hand  the had on your waist to pull you back onto the picnic blanket with him, so you were both looking up at the pale blue sky, decorated with delicate clouds. “what do you see?” he inquired, gesturing up to the shapes the clouds formed.
you snickered, slowly intertwining your finger with his as you examined the sky for any familiar shapes or silhouettes in the sky. “oh!” you exclaimed, lifting your index finger to point to a particular cloud adorning the sky, “that kinda looks like my maths professor in a gallon hat.” 
akaashi snorted, “i have no idea what your maths professor looks like but alright.”
you laughed, lowing your finger but not everting your gaze from the special cloud you spotted, “what about you, babe? what do you see?”
with a moment of hesitation, akaashi immediately replied, “an angel.”
your eyes scanned across the sky for a cloud in the shape on an angel but you simply couldn’t find the one he was referring to, so you whipped your head to the side to see where he was pointing, only notice that his eyes were fixated on you. 
“y-you’re such a simp, keiji.”
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jade-of-mourning · 3 years ago
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theformat wrote, "im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"
in which i spontaneously take several hours to translate nate’s awfully punctuated commentary on dog problems into Comprehensive English Words. partially so i can write my stupid essay on it for fun. but yes here you go, 4.2k words from a 2006 livejournal archive that i managed to snatch out of two saves. here’s a link if you want to read it from the source, but i’ll have you know it’s a nightmare. early 2000′s nate ruess learn how to type properly challenge.
theformat wrote,
[@ 2006-5-18 18:44:00]
"im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"
Hi,
Sitting on my couch, watching ESPN. Damn, it’s good to be home. Things have been pretty crazy the last 6 months. As a lot of you know, we were dropped by our label — we went and recorded a new record, labels became interested, [and] we decided to release it ourselves. We went on tour, and now I’m [...] home for the next week: my first week off in six months. What do I do? 
Well, my roommate and I got memberships to the YMCA down the street from our house. It’s an amazing place. Downtown Phoenix is pretty much an amazing place. It’s not like the rest of the state — speaking of which, I’m declaring war on Scottsdale, it’s the opposite of Downtown Phoenix.
Anyways, so I wake up at 9am every morning. I don’t know what it is, really — I’ve been a "pro" musician for about 3 years now, [and] we are supposed to wake up at 11 or 12. I know some dudes that wake up at 1, but no; since I’ve been home the last few days, I’ve been going to bed at 1 and waking up at 9. My roommate has a job, [so] I think it has to do with that. 
See, there are 3 showers total in our house. I have the big bedroom, so I have the big shower, [and] since I’ve been off on tour and recording, he has gotten used to the nice shower in my room (Which is fine — anyone that’s gotten close to me knows I’m not too fond of showers, so it’s not like I use it that much). So every morning around 8:45, I wake up to my door opening and my roommate going through my room to use the shower. 
You know what it’s like when you’re half asleep but you want to act like you’re awake so as not to freak someone out with all the crazy babble, but you just end up saying all the same crazy babble? I do that every morning. I turn and look at him and try to act like I wasn’t just dreaming about tootsie rolls and parrots that shatter like glass. "Hey [Roommate's Name], that was some game last night" [is what usually] comes out of my mouth — something to that extent — and I think he feels sorry for me, but continues to walk right into my bathroom, and use the shower. 
At this point, I’m awake. I usually have to pee, and I have to then use his restroom. It’s a terrible swap, and it always ends with me wide awake on my front porch (har har) smoking a cigarette and wondering how the hell I’m gonna fall back asleep when the air conditioning is broken. Ah, what a wonderful life at home, [but] that’s the weird thing — I love it. Now we wake up and we go to the [YMCA]. We run, we play basketball, we jump in the pool, we play pool basketball, we get yelled at for dunking the ball. We don’t use soap before we go into the sauna, and the night usually ends with a poker tournament. This is the life I love to live when I’m away from the road. It too is the opposite of Scottsdale. It’s who I am, [and] it’s pretty much who I’ve become.
See, for the last 23 years, it’s been about the highs and the lows for me. I’ve got an addictive personality, [so] I stay away from a lot of things because of this; however, when I find things, I get generally excited. I go crazy. It’s all I think about and all I do for the next howeverlong. For the first 23 years, it was either talking non-stop or locking myself in my room. It’s either great or terrible; not good or bad. Dog Problems changed that.
Initially, Dog Problems was supposed to be that — the original concept of Dog Problems was to be 2 sides of music, the first half taking over where Interventions [+ Lullabies] had left off: "We'll be together in the morning…"
We weren’t, in fact. We were over before Interventions was even released. We were over two weeks after it was recorded, [and] I spent the next 2 years feeling terrible. We got back together… we broke up… we got dogs… we broke up… we got back together and got dogs…
I was still miserable, but I wanted Dog Problems to get me through everything. I wanted it to help me, not anyone else — just me. The first side was supposed to be me down in the dumps [and] everything that went down: how the two of us were dealing with it differently, [and] the second half was supposed to be a realization.
The first inkling of realization was a day [when] we were on tour. We were all laughing about something I’m sure Marko or Adam said. Here I was supposed to be depressed, but the fact that I can spend all of my days in different states with my best friends, all of us doing what we love — that was major! Then my mom called… I’ve got my parents! My friends! What else could I possibly need?
At that point, I felt as if a relationship in a Michael Bolton sort of way didn’t mean anything. It was the people you surrounded yourself with — those were the people that made the difference, and that was going to be side two. I was convinced that when I just closed my eyes and thought about the wonderful people around me, I was going to be great. Not good, [but] great.
I didn’t get that far, no. I got back into the relationship. 
I was sure it was going to work. At that point, life would be perfect, and we all want perfection right? [But] things went right back to far from perfect. Things went to terrible. I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for myself, but I had a concept. At that point, I figured that even by singing and recording these positive songs I was going to feel better, so Sam showed me what was then just a short acoustic guitar version of Snails.
This was it. This was my first chance to prove to myself that life can be beautiful. The thing is, I had never been more miserable. I remember writing the lyrics to Snails: my roommate was at work, I was on the bed, on my night stand was a giant bottle of booze, and somewhere off in California she wasn’t calling me back on a Friday night. So I went to work, listened [to it] over and over. I wanted to get it right; I wanted to be positive. I passed out, then I woke up the next morning [with a] big headache (P.S. drinking is not really that cool; it’s cool when you condemn it for the first 22 years of your life, then it becomes not cool, then it becomes ok when you moderate yourself) and I started writing everything positive I could think of. [...] Snails was, in Sam’s mind, supposed to be a 2 minute kid’s song, [but] I wrote so much that there was no going back. I thought that was it — Snails solved all of my problems.
It didn’t get that far either. Nothing could shake the depression, [and] I really started to worry about myself. Here I want to feel great, but I only feel terrible, [and] a few months later it got really really bad. I had to go to my parents house that night, I didn’t want to be at my house. I wanted to feel like a kid.
It’s funny how we always want to be adults when we're younger. We want to drive cars, we want to have girlfriends. I still didn’t consider myself an adult — all I wanted was to come home, be tucked in, know that everything was going to be alright. I woke up the next day [and found out] she met someone new. I’ve got to figure myself out…
In the meantime, we've got 4 songs we are recording over at our friend Aaron’s house (he is an amazing producer and [...] musician, and his house and his roommates have gotten me through a lot of tough times. They’re some of the only people I know who would rather spend their Saturdays getting dinner and watching a movie instead of going to a party. I like that). All of this turmoil in my relationship was going on at the time, and I was trying to write side two [but] I couldn’t. There was more fuel to side one. These songs have to be done, so I wrote about what I knew, and at that point I knew how to feel terrible.
So much for side two. Dog Problems is going to be one giant mess of depression and "look what you’ve done to me".
Atlantic got those four songs, as well as a few others. They were not psyched, to say the least, but some people at the label actually cared about it enough to say "go record". So we were able to pick our producer, we met with a few people, talked to a few more. Things were looking up. Dog Problems was going to happen. 
I remember meeting Steve McDonald at his house — Sam and I were excited to be [there] because we knew his wife Anna would probably be there. Anna was the lead singer/songwriter for a band we used to obsess about called "That Dog", her brother was one of the ten drummers in the world that I actually liked, so Steve couldn't be so bad. And he wanted to produce our record, so he had to be pretty cool! 
He was just that, and more. Sam and I were eating every word that came out of his mouth. He had stories; he was young, hip, energetic, and yet very all knowing. We saw someone that was going to let us do whatever we wanted to do, and in the meantime he was going to make us laugh and make sure we didn't lose our minds. From that point on, I knew there was someone I could always trust. I made a friend pretty quick.
Things were moving forward. Steve McDonald was to be the producer. I hated Los Angeles so there was no way in hell I was going to record there, [so] we decided Palm Springs would be perfect. Weird, but perfect. I had a phone conversation with Steve that night and we were finalizing everything. I was going to call Atlantic in the morning and let them know just how everything was going to work, [but] I didn't get that far.
I was sleeping in a blowup bed at the house when my phone rang. I didn’t wake up and answer like it was my roommate and he was coming into my room to use my shower, [because] this call felt different. Right away, I was awake.
It was our manager: "You’ve been dropped." 
When I heard that, the first thought going through my mind wasn’t "Oh man...how are we going to be famous now and make boat loads of money?" It was more like "fuck...but Dog Problems. We were supposed to go make Dog Problems."
The thing is, Atlantic wasn’t into Dog Problems. They were into whatever it was they thought we were. Never had The First Single made more sense — what was supposed to be a song about getting the band started and doing something with it had actually turned into a song about how stuck we were in the labels eyes because of the song. I was past that; we're proud of something we wrote when we were 19 and 20, but when I think of music, I think of progression. 
I think of all of the wonderful records I had been introduced to when I had nothing to do riding in a van. I think of all of the new influences, all the instruments, all of the "How did they do that?" And I think of how much it gets me through everything.
Music has been the consecutive[ly] great[est] thing in my life. It’s been that one thing, and with Dog Problems, it wasn’t about "I want everyone to sing along because I can write a catchy song." It was about feeling. It was paying tribute to all of the bands that we obsessively listened to. It was for Harry Nilsson and Van Dyke Parks, it was for Jellyfish and XTC. It was our way of saying thanks for making our lives better, whether it be lyrically or musically. It was never about being something, being told something, and sticking to something. It was an adventure, for the artist and for the listener.
[And] they didn't get that. They wanted the old record, the old songs, just with different words and a few different chords here and there. They didn’t care about Snails or Dog problems [or] what it meant to write those songs. They knew it wasn't going to be huge; the guitars were not big enough (if big guitars are your thing that’s fine, it’s just not really our thing right now); it wasn’t going to be competitive, and so they dropped us. And rightfully so: we weren’t going to change, and obviously the major label business is never going to change, [so] now it comes down to who goes down first. And we weren’t ready to go down.
Sam and I had conversations about it, whether the business end of things have been fucking with us so much that we'll never be sane enough to just enjoy it. We thought about getting out — it wasn’t [be]cause we hated each other, or the songs; it was because we hated the business.
Steve called to let us know that he was still onboard, label or not, [and] we let him know we were still on board. We were going to make this record, [and] I was going to feel great! But the record was going to cost something. How could we afford it? 
We were lucky that we had a management company like Nettwerk. Not only are they the most forward-thinking music business people around, [but] they’re also (for the most part) Canadian. Oh, and they care a shit load about the music we make. They could have waited for the ship to sink, but they told us they would pay for the record if need be. Fortunately, we were able to get money for getting dropped — Atlantic actually paid us to leave, so we could afford the recording ourselves. The only stipulation was that it had to be done quicker, and when you want something quick, you have to go to the "right here, right now" capitol of the world: Los Angeles. I was a little irked at the thought at first, then Steve said it was his personal goal to make LA a wonderful city for me. Like I said, I would jump off a cliff if Steve said it was the best way to get coffee, but I wasn’t jumping off of cliffs. I was too excited to make Dog Problems, [so] LA it was.
Sam and I moved to the "Silver Palace" in Silverlake California in the middle of December. We found an amazing studio in Burbank, California and an amazing engineer in Ken Sluiter, and our goal was to just do everything free from a record label and someone constantly messing up the recording process by saying things like "that’s not high octave enough". The only pressure we had at all was from our manager saying "You have a tour you accepted in March, [so] get it done by then.” Other than that, it was me, Sam, Steve, and Ken working 13 hours a day for 6 days a week.
It became our lives we were putting so much of ourselves into. Everyone that worked and played on the record was the same way when they were there contributing. I would leave the studio at 2 in the morning and wake up at 10 to be at the studio by 11. There was no free time — the four of us were so invested in this. We all bought into the concept. 
In the meantime, things outside of the studio were getting interesting. We had a lot of labels calling and constantly asking about it. During one week of recording, I remember at least 3 different label people coming down to the studio. Our minds weren’t made up as to what we were doing with the record once it was recorded — all we wanted to do was finish it — but we kept our options open and let people sit in the big chair and listen to what we had been working on. The response was overwhelmingly positive, but we didn’t really think about it too much beyond the compliments we were receiving. Sam and I got used to LA — I was 10 minutes away from where I had been the previous summer when I was back "on" in my “on and off" relationship. I was ten minutes from her, she was calling every day, I was singing about it… but how was it not getting to me? Why did I not care?
My phone was off. I woke up in Silverlake one morning and started wondering why for the last month I had a smile on my face. Sure, I was down at times, but the thing that had been bringing me down for 3 years was now the last thing on my mind. Apparently, it had been that way for awhile. Something that took 3 years to get over… I was finally just okay with it. No big realization — just the fact that things happen. People make mistakes. And I came out of it alright. I was good; not great… I was good, and that felt good.
I wasn’t looking for great anymore. I was okay. The last song on Dog Problems is all about that. Here, this record was supposed to be the downs, and the ups, and it ended with the middle: the realization that I don’t need to be talking; I don’t need to be locked in my room — I need to enjoy what’s going on around me. And if things go wrong, they go wrong. There’s always tomorrow.
Dog Problems means so much to me in so many different ways. I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life. I cried so many times during the making of the record. All the money I had spent on therapy, and all I had to do was go make a record, realize that I’m alright, and realize that I made something that I’ll forever be proud of.
Shit… the record was supposed to be about how California can change you for the worse, [but] it played a huge part in doing the opposite!
So as we were putting the finishing touches on the record (all our friends came in and recorded! A ton of people we admired came and worked on the record! All of their responses were so positive that it's hard not to get an ego about it. These are the people I worship. They’re the ones I wanted to pay tribute to, and they think we've made something unique and special. It’s like Michael Jordan telling you that you have a nice jump shot (no more sports references… I swear I’m done)) and we started to think about what we were going to do with it. How we were going to release it. Labels were getting pretty into it, and we knew we would have to make a decision soon.
After much debate and discussion, we decided that the record was something we had made completely on our own, so why not release it completely on our own? Nettwerk was going to take care of the distribution so it would have a major label distro. It would be inside all of the Best Buys; what more did we want? We didn’t want a big fat check — we did that last time. It made us miserable, and nothing came out of it. Barely anyone at the labels helped us, we weren’t making music videos, our songs weren’t on the radio, so why would we take their criticism? After all, everything that we’ve done — any success we’ve had is from being real people who make music. From showing up to play, from 3 years on the road. 
On Interventions [+ Lullabies], there might have been an Elektra logo on the back of the record, but it ended right there. We were the ones SHOWING people who we were. I wouldn’t have it any other way — no one knows us better than ourselves, so why not release it ourselves? To me, it’s not only a testament to the hard work we put into the band (Mike, Don, Marko, Toco, everyone else involved in putting these songs to life — you guys are the best thing we have. It’s pretty special when your best friends are some of the most talented musicians), but I really feel like the people who come to our shows are such good people that they don’t give a fuck what label it’s on.
They are there because we are doing something positive, and because we care about them as much as they care about us. So for the time being we've said "fuck the middleman": we're the only people we can blame at this point. I’m so tired of even talking about major labels and the split and everything like this. The music is the only thing I care about. Dog Problems is the only thing I care about, so why let someone else ruin it?
The Vanity Label was born.
The record got finished. We had no time to rehearse, and we had to go right back out to tour. Our first show before the Motion City Soundtrack tour was in Nashville — I remember the last time we were in Nashville, there were about ten kids. Reuben’s accomplice kept asking them why they hate whales, so we figured why not go there and get some of the rust out of the way. After all, we haven't toured in a year so there should be like 3 kids there; we can mess up if need be.
Unfortunately, we were not allowed to mess up. On a Sunday night in Nashville, with Ted Leo playing across the street (I <3 Ted), our first headlining show outside of Arizona in almost a year was over sold out. What the fuck happened? 
We thought we were going to have to play for another 3 years just to get back to where we were when we left, and yet it’s sold out on a Sunday night? It didn’t end there either — the whole tour went like that… night after night ("nite after nite?"). I couldn't believe it. As if having Dog Problems wasn’t enough, now we have people showing their support in the most positive way: coming to the shows, being there from the only thing they knew before. Those two months were such good months. It was the last thing I expected. Thanks so much to all the bands that played with us, and thanks so much for everyone that came to the shows and sang along. We'll be back in July.
In the meantime, things were going great on the Vanity Label front. Business actually felt natural. We are shooting a video with the directors we had always dreamed of doing a video with (it won’t be serious...no pouty face). There were magazines like AP and online magazines like AP taking notice, supporting the whole idea and concept. We actually took press photos. I’ve never been through any of this before, it’s exciting. I don’t think it’s going to change who we are, not one bit, but it’s still exciting to see people who can help out actually help out.
So where does that leave me now? Sitting on my bed. I’ve rambled for hours, the air still doesn't work, and I’ve been told that Dog Problems (something that isn't supposed to come out till July) has been leaked. Not the best news when you just got out of the pool, but it happens. I freaked out at first — I thought I was going to lock myself in my room. After all, this is something that we spent over two years making. It’s something that you have to take the time… listen to in headphones… play loud… listen to in order of the tracks… the artwork… Sam did the best artwork he has ever done. The packaging is something we paid extra for because Sam’s concept was so brilliant, and now… it’s leaked on the internet? I was locking my door, then our manager called.
"Hello?" 
"We're releasing it on the website today." 
"Wow."
So, here goes. You’ve read enough. I shouldn’t have to go on about it anymore, but I will say, if you wanna wait for the full hard copy release then do so. It’s July 11 — we are gonna be touring right after that — but if you want to get it now,.please do it by purchasing it right here. We released it, it’s our money, it’s our little baby — you should take the time to listen to it all the way through, free of distraction. You should turn the songs into your own. It’s an adventure, and it’s something that we put everything we have into; and if anyone deserves it first, it’s you guys who have been here with us all along.
Without further ado...
"Dog Problems"
- Nate
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grailfinders · 4 years ago
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Fate and Phantasms #97: Nightingale
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Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making everyone’s favorite medical practitioner and biting enthusiast, Florence Nightingale! The good Ms. Flo is the most skilled nurse in Chaldea, with a variety of techniques to deal with disease and ill health on and off the battlefield. She’s not afraid to use them, so try not to get sick.
Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!
Next up: RUN! It’s a creature legally distinct from Godzilla!
Race and Background
Nightingale’s a Human, and the variant version gives her +1 Wisdom and Charisma, as well as Insight proficiency and the Crossbow Expert feat. Some settings allow for pistols, but some don’t, and we’re playing it safe here. That feat means you can attack multiple times in a turn with a crossbow, attack within melee range without disadvantage, and if you’re holding a crossbow in your off hand and another weapon in your main hand, you can attack with the weapon as an action and the crossbow as a bonus action.
Nightingale might be a nurse, but she spent most of her time patching up wounds in the army, and the Soldier background gives her proficiency with Athletics and Intimidation, both things she pretty good at.
Ability Scores
Make sure your Wisdom is as high as possible for the best medicine checks and spellcasting. Make your Dexterity the second highest to multiclassing, damage, and to keep your AC up (that’s not exactly heavy armor). Your Charisma is next, you can be “persuasive” when you want to be. And by that I mean you’re terrifying. You may be pretty lucid, but you’re still a berserker; that means you’re hard to take down, and that means your Constitution should be next. Your Strength is pretty low. We don’t need it, but you’re still a berserker, so we’re dropping Intelligence instead. You don’t really care about topics other than medicine, so it’s not like you’ll be using it that much.
Class Levels
1. Cleric 1: Shockingly, the nurse is a Cleric. However, you know the best way to avoid infections to kill anything that could infect you, which definitely makes you more of a War cleric than a life one. As a war cleric, you start out proficient in martial weapons, which means we don’t have to jump through hoops to get your hand crossbow like we did with Shirou’s weapon. You’re also a War Priest, meaning a number of times per day equal to your wisdom modifier you can attack as a bonus action after attacking with your main action. This means you can still have two attacks per turn without having to dual wield like your feat wants you to.
You also learn Spells that you can cast and prepare using your Wisdom. You also get Domain Spells, which always count as prepared and you don’t have to spend prep time getting, like Divine Favor and Shield of Faith. The former makes your gun run a little hotter with radiant damage for up to a minute, and the latter gives a creature extra combat awareness, boosting their AC for up to 10 minutes.
You can also prepare spells outside your domain; healing spells are an obvious choice, but you should also check out Detect Poison and Disease and Purify food and Drink to make sure you have some antidotes on you.
Finally, you also get cantrips. Guidance adds 1d4 to an ability score, so long as they follow your directions for fluids and bedrest. Mending puts two things back together (it’s intended for nonliving things, but I’m sure it works fine on limbs too). Spare the Dying is what you’re actually supposed to use when people’s limbs come off, stabilizing creatures at 0 hp so they don’t have to worry about death saves.
2. Cleric 2: Second level clerics can Channel Divinity, either Turning Undead to make those that fail a wisdom save of DC 8 plus your wisdom modifier plus your proficiency, or making a Guided Strike, adding 10 to your attack roll. Some times the most effective way to end a disease is to end the person it’s afflicting.
3. Cleric 3: At third level you get second level spells, like Magic Weapon and Spiritual Weapon. Despite the similar names, the former improves your existing weapon a bit and makes it magical to avoid resistances, and the latter makes a brand new weapon that you control as a bonus action each turn. Along with your domain spells, you also get the performance enhancing drug Enhance Ability, the tranquilizer Hold Person, and more Protection from Poison.
4. Cleric 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to become a Healer. Now when you stabilize a creature using a healer’s kit they regain 1 HP, and you can spend a use of a healers kit to heal a creature for 1d6+4 HP, plus an extra amount of HP equal to their maximum number of hit dice. This healing can only be done once per short rest for each creature. Doctors gonna doctor.
Also grab Thaumaturgy so your Angel’s Yell can carry further.
5. Fighter 1: Bouncing over to fighter gives you a fighting style, like Unarmed Fighting, which gives you unarmed attacks that deal bludgeoning damage, but more so if you’re not holding your crossbow at the same time. Guns are nice, but sometimes you’ll have to get physical. You also gain a Second Wind, letting you heal yourself as a bonus action. This means you can save your regular materials for your party members.
6. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge, making it a lot easier to heal and shoot people at the same time once per short rest by adding an extra action to your turn.
7. Fighter 3: Grab the Banneret as your subclass to gain a Rallying Cry. Now using your Second Wind also heals your party members for a little bit as well! It’s not much compared to healing spells, but sometimes you run out of slots.
8. Cleric 5: Back in cleric now, your Turn Undead becomes Destroy Undead, instantly killing any undead monsters with a CR of less than 1/2 when they fail their save. You also get third level spells like Crusader’s Mantle and Spirit Guardians. The former causes everyone’s guns to run hot with radiant damage even if they’re using a sword, and the latter summons a couple angelic guards to protect your patients. If you find yourself in a lot of close-quarters combat, you can also use Spirit Shroud for some extra enemy control and damage.
9. Cleric 6: At sixth level you can Channel Divinity twice per short rest, and gain an new option to do so. You can bestow your War God’s Blessing on nearby creatures, spending your reaction to add 10 to their attack roll.
10 Cleric 7: Seventh level clerics get fourth level spells, like your domain spells Freedom of Movement and Stoneskin. The former helps you gnaw off your arm like a rabid coyote to escape capture, and the latter gives you all the relevant benefits of raging without stopping you from casting spells. By that, I mean it gives a creature resistance to nonmagical physical damage types. But you’ll have plenty of competition for your concentration, because you can also cast Aura of Life and Aura of Purity this level. One gives creatures in it resistance to necrotic damage and instantly revives non-hostile creatures who’ve been downed, and the other prevents diseases, weakens poisons, and empowers your party against most status effects.
11. Cleric 8: At this level, you can finally use an ASI to improve an ability score, bumping up your Wisdom for better healing and more bonus action attacks. Your Destroy Undead also bumps up to CR 1, and your Divine Strike makes your weapon attacks a little stronger once per turn. Turns out guns are stronger than crossbows, who knew?
12. Cleric 9: Ninth level clerics get fifth level spells. Flame Strike can be one of those neat little bottle-shaped grenades, and you also get Hold Monster for an even stronger tranquilizer. Beyond that and some healing spells, there isn’t really much at fifth level that screams Nightingale to me, but feel free to play it by ear.
13. Cleric 10: At tenth level you can use Divine Intervention to ask God for a bit of assistance in keeping your dumbass party alive. You can use this once per long rest, but also have to wait a week after it succeeds. Since you’re a full level of spells behind regular spellcasters right now, calling in a favor from time to time might come in handy.
You also pick up your last cantrip; Toll the Dead is another solid way to finish off diseased or injured enemies before they can spread whatever’s affecting them to the party, dealing more damage to creatures who are missing HP.
14. Cleric 11: Eleventh level clerics get sixth level spells, and like last time there’s not much specifically at this level that caught my eye. But that’s only if you’re playing the character religiously close to canon, and you probably shouldn’t be if you want to jive with the rest of the party. Or maybe you’re all playing expies of other characters, idk live your life.
15. Cleric 12: Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity for better gunplay and AC.
16. Cleric 13: Now you have seventh level spells, and unlike the last few levels, there’s spell outside of your usual healing you might want to check out. Temple of the Gods. lets you build your own temple within a cube of 120′. It lasts 24 hours per cast, but casting it once per day for a year in the same spot makes it permanent. Inside the temple, extraplanar entities can be kept out of it if they fail a charisma save, and they also get 1d4 subtracted from their attacks, checks, and saves while inside. The temple is immune to divinations spells, and the temple also boosts the power of healing spells cast inside of it. Great for giving your keep it’s own medical wing.
17. Cleric 14: Fourteenth level clerics have a Destroy Undead that affects creatures of CR 3 or lower, and their Divine Strike becomes a little more powerful as well. You just learned how to build hospitals from nothing, not every level can be a massive leap forward.
18. Cleric 15: You pick up eighth level spells this level. By this level, most spells are a bit too flashy to fit into Nightingale’s toolkit, but Holy Aura still manages to do it. Creatures within 30′ of you glow, and get advantage on all saves. On top of that, attacking creatures have disadvantage, and fiends and undead have to make a constitution save or become blinded for the duration of the spell.
19. Cleric 16: Use your last ASI to bump up your Constitution for more HP and better concentration saves.
20. Cleric 17: At seventeenth level, your Destroy Undead gets even stronger, you get ninth level spells, and most importantly, you become an Avatar of Battle, granting you a permanent resistance to nonmagical weapons. Effectively, you’re always raging, but still have access to your spells.
Pros:
You’re something of a tough nut to crack, especially for a healer. You’ve got quite a bit of health for a cleric, ways to heal yourself and the party at the same time, and a sort of permanent rage damage resistance going on at the end of it.
Despite being a healer, you’re also pretty skilled in ranged combat, with plenty of ways to add more damage to your crossbow bolts. You might not have multiple attacks like most fighters, but you make your shots count. This also means you don’t have to be quite as deep in combat as your standard “mace and shield” cleric.
The healer feat and your Rallying Cry give you access to nonmagical healing. This is most likely to be a niche skill, but sometimes you’ll have to deal with anti-magic zones or low-magic settings, in which case you’ll still be able to shine.
Cons:
Despite us putting several levels and feats into making your crossbow good, you’ll still always have to deal with the fact that it’s nowhere near as strong as a fighter’s would be. It’s fine for emergencies, but you probably won’t be the standout damage dealer of the group.
Bumping over to fighter for a couple levels also prevents you from getting the Cleric capstone, and they have a really good one. Guaranteed divine intervention is nothing to sneeze at.
You don’t really wear armor, and you don’t get anything like monks or barbarians do to offset that fact, so if you’re playing to character your AC is abysmal. Like I said earlier though, feel free to put on a breastplate or something, there’s no wrong way to play D&D. Except for in person, and not wearing a mask.
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pengychan · 4 years ago
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[Good Omens] Winging It - Luke 1:19
Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  
Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.
A/N: Almost done! It's not quite wrapped up - an epilogue is coming - but we're almost there!
***
“I say you should let me destroy him.”
“It was not his fault. One of yours was controlling him.”
“Demons cannot create darkness from nothing. They always work on what’s already there, to make it grow and take hold. Hastur will be punished once I get my hands on him, but this human is not innocent either.”
“No one is innocent, that can hardly be held against him. Without the heavy-handed intervention of a Duke of Hell, any dark thoughts he may have had would have remained thoughts, never acted upon. Not the way things played out, at any rate.”
“Does it make any difference?”
“It does, and you know it. All the difference in the world,” was the reply. Beelzebub scoffed, but did not argue further. They just crossed their arms and stayed behind as Gabriel stepped right in front of the man who had stabbed him, who stood still with a horrified expression on his face. 
Gabriel picked up the knife that had been dropped on the ground, pocketed it, and pressed a hand on the man’s forehead. The horrified expression melted into a distant, blank gaze. 
“Now, if you please,” he said. Several steps away, with the expression of someone who’d rather be quite literally anywhere else in creation - except, perhaps, in the presence of Satan himself - Crowley lifted a hand and snapped his fingers, undoing the time-stopping miracle he’d conjured.
Right away, the stillness was broken. People who’d stopped mid-stride began moving again, cries of alarm that had been cut short rang out once again, and the man - Noah, was it? - staggered back, blinking at Gabriel as though he had no idea how he’d even come to be there. 
From his part, Gabriel gave him a wide, stupid smile. Blood had been miracled away almost as soon as the two of them had broken apart - which did, admittedly, take a minute or two - but the front of his suit was red regardless. To be entirely honest, when he’d asked Aziraphale for some red ink and then proceeded to splash it on the front of his suit, they all had looked at him like he had lost his mind. Beelzebub had thought God had taken his brain in exchange for the wings, but now they could at least see what the archangel had been planning. 
“Noah!” said archangel was exclaiming, face lighting up. “Long time no see! How are you?”
The man blinked another couple of times, reaching up to rub his head. “What am I doing-- where-- wait, I… I remember you, don’t I? You gave me your coat. But what just… my head...”
“Sir! Are you all right! What is-- oh.” 
A man - one of several humans who’d quickly approached to see what was happening, or at least had begun to before Crowley so conveniently stopped time - stopped in his tracks. Gabriel grinned. “Ah, I’m fine, I’m fine! I didn’t watch where I was going and the gentleman here knocked me over, that is all. Entirely by accident.”
“Oh. It... it looked like--” a few pairs of eyes paused on the red stain on Gabriel’s clothing.
"An unfortunate end for an ink cartridge, I am afraid, but no harm done other than that."
“Ah.” A long sigh, while Noah kept looking around in obvious confusion. “Ah, thank God. For a moment we thought you were wounded.”
“Thank God indeed, I am not wounded,” Gabriel replied, voice smooth, and reached to put an arm around Noah’s shoulders. “But forget the ink, I think we should catch up…”
The young man - who would soon leave Soho with a dulling headache, still unsure of what had happened, and with a winning lottery ticket in the back pocket of his jeans - followed, and the crowd dispersed, the incident closed as far as humanity was concerned.
Well. Most of humanity, at any rate.
***
“More tea, Warlock?”
“You gave me three cups already.”
“Right. Right. It is cold by now, isn’t it? I will make more.”
“... Brother Francis. You do realize I am not going to stop asking what the hell happened just because you keep giving me tea, right?”
Ah. Well. Perhaps it had been a slightly foolish hope, that. Tea did have a tendency to smooth over a lot of trouble, but that was probably a little beyond its scope. “Well,” he said, putting up a smile. “I for one would very much appreciate it if you could
“That bloke had wings.”
“Yes, well--”
“And he was stabbed, but then he was fine.”
“You see--”
“And that was not normal lighting.”
“Actually, I was just reading about this interesting phenomena calling ball lighting--”
“And you had wings,” Warlock cut him off once again, glancing over where Aziraphale’s wings would be if he hadn’t temporarily tucked them away on another plane of existence. “Where did you put them?”
“That is… quite the handful of questions.”
“A lot of weird shit happened.”
“Language, young man.”
“You tell me what happened, and I’ll start talking like a duke.”
“Not like the duke who caused this mess, I should hope,” Crowley spoke up, walking - more like sauntering, he never walked like that when he was his nanny - back into the bookstore. Brother Francis, whom Warlock was beginning to suspect was not called Brother Francis at all, finally set down the tea pot to look back at him. 
“Is everything sorted?”
“Yes. Nothing of consequence happened, happily ever after, and most importantly Beelzebub and the Archangel Fucking Gabriel have left.”
“Actually, I am still here.”
“Gah!” Crowley yelped, actually leaping a couple of feet up in the air before turning. The bloke-who’d-been-stabbed-and-then-suddenly-had-wings was standing in the doorway, the splatters of red ink gone from his suit and wings no longer visible. He looked… rather pleased with himself for the reaction he’d solicited. “Why are you still here? Wait, is Beelzebub--?”
“They are off to find the runaway, luckily for you. Your forked tongue keeps slipping far too often, Crowley. Keep that up and you may end up giving your little rouse away, sunshine.”
“Sunshine, me? Have you hit your--” Crowley began, only to trail off as though struck in the face. “Ah. Fuck,” he muttered, the annoyance giving way to something a lot more similar to fear. Behind Warlock, Brother Francis cleared his throat, passing the tea pot from one hand to the other and then back again.
“When… when did you figure it out?” he asked. That bunch of weirdos was making less and less sense with each passing moment.
“The third or fourth time he added that expletive between my title and my name in my presence, I suppose.” The man grinned, more than a touch smug, before shrugging. “You need not worry. I will make no mention of it with anyone.”
“We’d be… grateful if you didn’t,” Brother Francis said.
“Speak for yourself,” Crowley muttered, clearly mightily annoyed.
“I owe you too much to do such a thing.” The man made a gesture as though to zip his mouth shut. “My lips are sealed. Ah, and I am glad to see the young man is all right, of course.” The man nodded towards Warlock. “I’m relieved you were unharmed.”
“Huh. I… yeah. That’s gonna be a fun story to tell a therapist one day. Thanks for pulling me out of the way, I guess.”
“You are quite welcome. I am here to thank you as well, Aziraphale,” the man added, turning to Brother Francis, whose name definitely wasn’t Brother Francis after all. “For all your help.”
“Oh. It was nothing.”
“It was far more than I had any right to ask of you.”
“To be fair, you didn’t ask.”
“And you took me in anyway. You do have a lot to teach about the greater good after all, but I assume you’d prefer not to be further involved in the workings upstairs. Am I correct?”
A nod. “Quite correct, as a matter of fact.”
“Well then, I will leave you be. Time to see if I learned the lesson I was meant to learn, I suppose.”
“... Back to your hold position, then?”
“I suppose. I will have to see what Metatron will tell me once I return to Heaven. If I am indeed to return to my duties, I will need to serve notice at the warehouse back in Southampton.”
Ah, great. So everyone here is going insane. Cool, cool. 
As Warlock sipped lukewarm tea just to keep himself from laughing a little hysterically, the man he’d known as Brother Francis and who probably was neither thing nodded, and held out a hand. “Best of luck, then,” he smiled. “And thank you for saving Warlock. Crowley and I are quite fond of the boy. You have more than repaid any debt you may have had.” 
Behind the man Crowley opened his mouth as though to protest, paused a moment, and then begrudgingly closed it. Warlock was not entirely sure why that made him grin into the cup, but it did. Not that it kept him from yelping and dropping said cup to shatter on the floor with a loud ‘fuck’  when a bolt of lighting suddenly struck inside the bookshop, blinding him for a moment.
When he opened his eyes again, blinking a few times, the man was gone and the bolt of lightning seemed to have caused no damage. Well, aside from the shattered cup he had dropped, which now Brother Francis was picking up and… magically putting back in one piece. 
Okay. Okay. Okay. 
“What the--”
“Language if you please.” The man who had once been his family’s gardener cleared his throat, and put the mended cup on the table before glancing at Crowley. “Well, I suppose we do owe him an explanation.”
“He’s just a kid.”
“So are Adam’s friends, and they clearly could handle it.”
A sigh. “Fair,” Crowley muttered, and sat down as well before he reached up to take off his glasses. Warlock had never seen him without glasses, even when he was his nanny… and as he took a look at his eyes, he suddenly knew why. He stared, mouth hanging open, as Crowley scratched the back of his head. “All right, it’s a long story,” he began. “So, in the beginning - which is to say, the Beginning with a capital B…”
***
“Archangel Gabriel. It is good to see you again.”
“Metatron. It’s good to see you as well. Am I really meant to return to my old position?”
“That is the will of God. With immediate effect.”
“Ah, I am afraid I need some time.”
“Oh?”
“I need to hand in my notice at my current workplace. It would be unprofessional of me to simply walk away on them.”
“Ah, I see. I am certain that can be arranged - would it help if they happened to find a perfect fit for the job right after you notice is handed in?”
“It would be much appreciated.”
“Consider it done. Anything else?”
“... Does God have any instructions as to what plan I am meant to follow now?”
“You know the answer, Gabriel. You need to forget there was ever a plan, and do what you think is right. You, and everybody else.”
“We may get it wrong.”
“That’s part of the package, is it not?’
“Hah. Fair enough.”
“Rest assured, however, that any mistakes made in good faith will not be dealt with as… severely as your previous crime.”
“That is a relief. However, I ought to disclose that I have grown quite... close... to Lord Beelzebub in my time on Earth. Certainly, God must be aware.”
“God knows all, including your most questionable taste.”
“... Are those God’s own words, or…?”
“My own. But I am here to speak for God, so my apologies for the lapse.”
“Right. And… the Lord does not believe this impedes my return to duty?”
“Clearly not, if you’re standing here before me.”
“... I am not going to renounce Beelzebub. I told them as much and I will repeat it before the Lord.”
“God is aware of that as well. They have been following your eventful stay on Earth very closely. It will be interesting to see how Heaven and Hell are both going from here. Change is the only certainty going forward. That, and the fact you were never forsaken. No one ever is.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now, Archangel Gabriel - do you wish me to announce your return?”
“No, no, no need. I believe I will drop by to see my colleagues myself.”
***
“Hastur is nowhere to be found in Hell, Lord Beelzebub.”
“Hmph, of course he’s not so dumb he’d try to return. I want everyone to know that when found, he must be captured and brought to me.”
“As you wish. On what charge?”
“He disobeyed my direct order by approaching the traitor. Now go spread the word.”
“Of course, Lord Beelzebub.”
With Dagon gone, the Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies sat back heavily on their throne and rubbed their forehead, trying to quell a growing headache and make some sense out of the event of what was supposed to be an uneventful day, at least according to the original plan.
Plans really cannot be trusted anymore, it seems.
With a grunt, Beelzebub turned their gaze on the small table right by, where - among a few mugs of dubious taste - sat a folder. Last they had laid their eyes on it, the name Gabriel F. Archer had been written on it in blood, or rather in red ink that was purposely meant to look like blood. Now, however, the folder was blank - as were the papers in it, no doubt. There no longer was any human by that name whose sins they had to keep track of. 
There was only the Archangel Gabriel. 
By all logic, that ought to be the end of everything that there may have been between them. Except that the idiot had grasped their hands before they returned to Hell, looked at them in the eye and said, “I will not deny you”.
“Even your precious concierge upstairs denied Yeshua when push came to shove. Three times.”
“I will never.”
“What if it leads to another fall?”
“I survived the first. I can take another.”
“You’re a fool.”
“I am aware.”
Beelzebub scoffed, but a smile was curling their lips as they reached to take the blank, useless folder. It burst into flames the next moment, igniting a few of the flies buzzing around their head before they let it fall on the round - there it crumbled quietly, into ash.
***
“Ugh, where’s the folder…”
Michael rubbed her forehead with a groan, coming to the realization she was really not really meant for record-keeping. Truth be told, that was a conclusion she had come to on almost a weekly basis since Gabriel had been dismissed. She’d take on fourteen wars to end all wars rather than having to keep grappling with what had been the bulk of Gabriel’s job, but alas--
“Any particular folder you’re looking for?”
Ah, speak of the devil. Or rather, speak of the archangel. 
“The one concerning renovations of the third sphere,” Michael muttered, looking up at the wall full of… nothing but folders. Paper copies were kept even after everything had been digitized, and Michael had figured finding the physical copy would be quicker than trying her luck with the password she had written down and then misplaced a week earlier.
Gabriel chuckled. “It’s just a little on your left, fifth shelf from bottom, about midway.”
Ah, yes, there it was. “Thanks,” Michael said, and reached to take it out. 
Then she froze. And blinked. And then she slowly, slowly turned.
Standing in the doorway of his office, impeccable in a light grey suit and pink tie, Gabriel grinned. “Security has gone downhill since I left,” he said. “Just letting a mortal wander right in.”
Michael opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She worked her jaw a few moments, trying and failing to find words. “You’re not a mortal,” she finally managed. He clearly was not, giving off the kind of power only a celestial being could give. 
Gabriel’s grin widened. “No longer,” he said, and suddenly unfolded his wings, causing Michael to recoil in surprise. Not his old wings, the ones she cut and tore away herself; it was something different. The golden brown of the feathers was at odds with the immaculate white of their surroundings, but it was wings nonetheless and not the scorched black that set demons apart. The being before her was the same being she had known since almost the beginning of time. 
I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God.
For a long moment, Michael could only stare. Gabriel’s grin faded a little before he cleared his throat and folded his wings, maybe somewhat embarrassed by the display. “My apologies for startling you, I figured I’d--” he began, but Michael crossed the distance between them in a couple of strides, and pulled him in a tight embrace before he could add anything else.
Not something Michael was usually keen on doing, that, but she felt the situation warranted it - and as he returned it after only a moment of confusion, she knew he thought the same. “No one will take your wings ever again,” Michael heard herself saying, and Gabriel chuckled. 
“Not even if God orders so?”
“Especially not if God orders so.”
Until little less than a year earlier - the blink of an eye, really, in the context of his existence - Gabriel would have been both horrified and stunned to hear such words from Michael of all people, and would have hardly believed she meant it. Now he clearly did know she meant it, and he seemed neither horrified nor stunned. He pulled back with a smile. 
“It’s good to be back.”
“Good to have you back.” Michael cleared her throat and straightened herself, deciding she had shown enough unguarded emotion for the decade. “But… how did this occur?”
“Ah, it is a long story.” A pause. “Actually, not all that long. It happened fairly quickly, but there is some background you... rather need to hear.”
“Of course. There have been developments in Hell, too - it seems they may be harboring thoughts of--”
“I know. Beelzebub told me.”
Michael blinked. “Beelzebub… told you?”
“Yes. They brought it up during the train ride to London.”
“A train ride to London,” Michael repeated, faintly wondering if Gabriel was feeling well. Angels did not get fever and much less have fever dreams, but mortals did - a detail Michael had learned after the eleventh time her appearance had been mistaken for a such episode - and perhaps Gabriel was suffering from some… drawbacks, after almost a year spent as a mortal.
But then again, back when he had still been scared of them, the scars on his back still fresh, he did hide from Sandalphon… and behind the Lord of the Flies of all beings. 
But he’s here. God willed him back. Surely he did not fraternize… did he?
Michael opened her mouth to ask, but Gabriel lifted a hand with a sigh. “I know, I know. There is… quite a lot I have not told you about. I’ll explain everything, I promise - at least the parts of everything I understand myself. But first, I would like to visit--”
“Michael, I think I found the password!” Sandalphon’s voice rang out, causing Gabriel to trail off and turn back towards the door. Sandalphon was walking in with some papers under his arm. “You had misplaced--” he began, looking up, and trailed off. 
Gabriel grinned. “Hey,” he said, and all the papers Sandalphon had been carrying fluttered to the floor. If Michael had gone for an embrace, Sandalphon - ever devoid of sense of measures - went for a full-on tackle. Gabriel didn’t seem to mind, though, and Michael opted to push aside all worries and questions for a few minutes, especially as Uriel came to see what the mess was all about. It was rare to see her smile so openly, and Michael decided to leave it at that. After all, they just got Gabriel back. 
Everything else could be sorted out later.
***
“You son of a bitch!”
“You know, given the circumstances of who is personally and directly responsible for my existence, what you just said is about a dozen different kinds of blasph-- oof!”
Of course Gabriel couldn’t really be out of breath anymore, but if he could, Daniel’s bear hug would have knocked all air out of his lungs. He laughed, patting his back. “Nice to see you too.”
“Archangel Gabriel-- look at you, I can’t believe it,” he barked out a laugh and dropped Gabriel back on the floor. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were drunk!”
“Well, I was. Too drunk to know better than telling the truth. I’d never had alcohol before, let alone in a mortal vessel.”
“Hah! I did wonder how come a can of beer got you rambling like that. So what, I passed some sort of divine test?”
“It was no test, but if it were you’d have passed it with flying colors.” Gabriel smiled, and nodded politely towards the woman in the room with Daniel. “Liv, I presume?” he asked, but of course he already knew the answer. Daniel had a photo of his wife in his wallet, taken before the cancer diagnosis was ever uttered.
“It was probably already eating away at her, but you’d have never known looking at her,” Daniel had once said in a rare moment of talkativeness about the subject. Gabriel had agreed that the woman in the photo did indeed look radiant, and that was precisely how she looked now. Of course, most souls that make it to Heaven do. 
“That would be me. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.”
“What are you doing here?” Daniel was asking. “I mean, you were cast out - they decided to hire you again?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’ll have to hand in my notice back in Southampton, I am afraid, but I do plan to keep in touch with our colleagues. Hopefully they will all come here when their time is up. Although I must say, Łukasz is on thin ice if he keeps on putting cream in carbonara.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can put in a good word for him if needed, no?”
“Me? Ah, I don’t know. Maybe,” Gabriel replied, all fake innocence, and Daniel laughed.
“Never had a friend in a high place before. This is a nice change of pace,” he said, dropping a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder before his expression turned… a little more serious. “I’ve got to thank you for all your help. Finding my brother.”
Ah, that. “It is all right. I am only regretful he was not found on time for you to meet in person.”
A pained expression crossed Daniel’s features, there one moment and gone the next. “... Well, I do hope… he will come here? Eventually?”
“Oh, yes. He and his wife are well on track to gain access to Heaven.” Unlike your parents, Gabriel thought, but Daniel had not asked once about them and he chose not to bring them up. “Actually, they want me over for lunch next weekend. I figure I ought to go.”
“Ah, of course.” Daniel seemed to hesitate. “Tell him I said hi. I mean, I know you can’t say that, but if you could just-- try and-- let him know. You know what I mean?”
Yes, he did know. “Of course. And one day they will probably both want to smack me for not coming clean,” Gabriel said. “Ah, before I forget - would you like to have Lawrence’s old dog?”
Daniel blinked and looked over at Liv. She shrugged, at a loss. “Lawrence’s… what?”
“His old dog. It has passed away, and as all dogs find their way to Heaven, it is only a matter of finding out its name…”
***
“He’ll keep calling you Brother Francis for a while before he gets used to your name, isn’t he?”
“Most likely. I cannot  blame him, it was a lot to take in. I certainly do not mind, when it came to choosing a name I picked that of someone I do admire a great deal.”
“That weird hippy who talked to birds? Should have known when you kept welcoming pests into the garden.”
“Heh. Maybe you should have been the gardener after all, as long as you promised not to terrify the Dowlings’ poor plants too much.”
“And leave the role of nanny to you?”
“Well, why not?”
“You wouldn’t have looked half as good in that dress, angel.”
Leaning next to him on the huge bed in their cottage - Crowley had not expected Aziraphale to join him on it, truth be told, but he had no complaints; maybe the day had just been that draining - Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, I would say we did a decent job with the boy. He took it better than I expected he would, all things considered.”
“We did keep out some parts of the story.” Namely, the fact they had briefly talked about… getting rid of him, when they believed him to be the Antichrist. Not that either of them had followed through, or even wished to.
“True. But all things considered, he was more excited than anything else.”
“He’s still eleven, of course he was excited. He’ll be back with even more questions.”
Aziraphale nodded. “Maybe we could have him over here next time. At the cottage.”
“Can’t see why not.”
“... We could have wiped his memories off. Do you think he will really keep all this to himself?”
“He’ll be thrown in the madhouse if he tells, to use his own words. He’s a smart kid. Takes after me.” Crowley grinned. “He’ll keep it under wraps like Adam and his friends did. More smart kids. I wonder how they’re doing.”
“Well, I am reasonably certain we’ll find out in September. I would be very surprised if they didn’t receive a wedding invitation themselves.”
“Wedding invitation?”
“Ah, yes, it came in the mail. I forgot to bring it up - remember that dear Anathema and… Newton, I think the name is? They kindly invited us to their wedding.”
“Did they? How nice. I will need to find a good dress.”
“Don’t you upstage the bride now, you know it’s not nice.”
“I am not nice.” Crowley hissed, and Aziraphale just chuckled before he stretched. Crowley considered asking once again if he was sure Gabriel would indeed keep their secret, but decided not to. Aziraphale seemed certain, and he was… willing to trust his judgment, this time.
“Ah, perhaps this is a good occasion to find out if sleep is indeed all that you make it out to be,” Aziraphale was saying. “You’ll ensure I wake up in the morning, won’t you?”
Crowley blinked a moment, taken aback. Then Azirapahle raised an eyebrow, clearly confused by his sudden silence, and he cleared his throat with a quick nod. “Of course,” he said, having absolutely no intention to rouse Aziraphale any earlier than necessary. 
With complete control over his human form, Aziraphale was of course able to will himself to sleep within moments, his expression absolutely peaceful. Crowley could have done the same, but he… didn’t. Not yet.
A good night’s sleep was indeed all it was made out to be and then some more, but at the moment he didn’t mind staying awake just a little longer.
***
“So you were re-hired for your job? That sounds exciting. You must be happy to go back. Have more cake.”
“Ah, thank you. It did feel a lot like coming home, but it will be keeping dreadfully busy. I believe the entire business is long overdue for some rather radical changes.”
“Hmph. From what you have said before, it sounds as though you were fired without just cause.” Lawrence sipped some tea, leaning back against his seat. “I certainly hope they will not pull the same stunt again.”
“Ah, to be completely fair, there was due cause. I was simply in denial over it. Hardly anyone likes admitting to being wrong.” Gabriel took a spoonful of the block of carrot cake Berenice had just dropped on his plate, going his best to pretend he didn’t notice Doyle peering up at him from under the table, drooling copiously and trying with very little success to play the part of the starving stray. “And I have learned much in my time away. I believe management thinks that’s what makes me qualified for the work ahead.”
Lawrence shrugged. “Well then, if this is what you feel works best, I can only wish you the best of luck. Should you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know,” he added.
Gabriel smiled. “Thank you,” he said, glazing over to the framed photo of Lawrence and Berenice’s wedding day - namely Doyle’s predecessor, the huge Newfoundland who’d been their ringbearer on the day,. “... If I may ask, what was that dog’s name?”
Please don’t be Fido. I cannot bear thinking about how many dogs called Fido are in Heaven. 
“Huh?” Berenice followed his gaze to the photo. “Oh, that was Chewbarka. A very good boy. Slobbered an awful lot, but he was still the gentlest boy.”
Well, that was going to make the search easier. Gabriel promised himself he’d make sure Chewbarka was found and taken to Daniel as soon as he returned, ate more of the cake, made more small talk, and shook his head with a smile when Lawrence asked him if he’d like to stay for dinner. 
“No, thank you. I really do need to go back.”
A laugh. “Ah, of course. You’re a busy man now.”
Gabriel grinned back. “That too, but as of this evening, I just have a date.”
***
“You told the other archangels about me?”
“Yes. There was no reason to keep hiding--”
“How dare you!”
“They would have found out eventually--”
“You denied me the pleasure of seeing their faces as you told them,” Beelzebub muttered, causing Gabriel to trail off, stare a moment, and laugh. 
“Hah! My apologies. It did not occur to me you’d have appreciated being present.”
“Hmph. And how did they take it?”
“I think ‘shell-shock’ best describes their reaction, but they’ll get used to it. I think. I mean, I am not leaving them much of a choice.”
I won’t deny you, Gabriel had said, and kept his word. Beelzebub snorted, but did not protest when Gabriel’s arm rested across their shoulders. They glanced up at the setting sun instead.
“... Everything from here is uncharted territory,” they said. No plan, no guarantees, no nothing. 
“Yes.” Gabriel grinned. He was doing that an awful lot lately, with childish glee. It was annoying and it made him look stupid, but Beelzebub found they didn’t mind. “Isn’t it exciting?”
***
And the angel answered and said to him, “I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God, and was sent to speak to you and bring you these glad tidings." -- Luke 1:19
***
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maandags · 5 years ago
Text
Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon! reader) {part iii}
something resembling peace n  quiet (ish) b4 the real shitstorm yeet
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Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.
Word count: 6.3K
Genre: Angst 
Notes: ft witch!Coran bc he doesnt get enough love -- masterlist -- {previous} -- {next} --
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small-town boy in a big arcade
i got addicted to a losing game
 ~ Arcade, Duncan Laurence
---
His fever isn't going down.
It's been five days and his fever just won't go down.
He's passed out on your couch, waking up occasionally so you can feed him and give him water to drink. Sometimes you have to shake him for minutes at a time just so he wakes up. You tried everything you knew, but the medicine you give him has no effect and the medicine you probably need is nowhere at your disposal.
It's safe to say you have no clue how to proceed and also are frustrated: you're risking everything here. You're risking being found by everything you have been outrunning for years and years. The combined auras of an angel and a demon are the closest thing to a signal flare you know.
And he just might die, and it will all have been for nothing, and you might still be located by Management and you would have to move. Quite bittersweet, you think wryly.
So Keith dying isn't an option. That much is clear. But as you sit in your armchair and glare at him, arms wrapped around the knees you pulled up to your chest, you have no idea as to how you're going to stop it from happening.
You clumsily wrapped him in a blanket when he collapsed on your couch. He's kicked it off since, and it lies in a bundle at his feet. His skin is ashy and pale and sweaty and his hair sticks to his forehead.
And his fucking fever isn't going down.
Usually you'd go straight to a doctor if any of your human friends were to contract a fever this stubborn–but you suspected bringing a dying angel to the average doctor won't do much good except frighten the poor sod to death. He looks like Death, you remark. What with his black wings and overall dark aesthetic, which is quite rare for an angel to have. You think, at least. It's not like you've met lots of them.
You sigh, filling a glass of water and holding it to his lips. He reacts almost subconsciously–he's not quite all there, but he's gulping the water down with gusto and you can only pray to the Dark Below that he'll hold it down, though that did seem to get better the last day or so.
The first two days were a nightmare. Keith tossed and turned and held nothing down, his stomach too upset. You had him spend his second night in your bathtub because he puked all over your couch. When he was asleep (which was most of the time) he had nightmares and whimpered constantly, and when he was awake he had hallucinations, his eyes clouded over. He even tried to attack you at one point ('tried' being the keyword here–he took a most pathetic swing at your face and cried when you dodged it easily).
If you had any common sense, you would have kicked him out long ago–hell, if you had any common sense, you never even would have considered taking him in.
Yet he is here. And you are here. And you don't exactly know how to feel about that.
Half the time you wish he'd just die already so you could be done at least with all of this. The next moment you feel horribly guilty and internally yell at yourself for thinking that way–because you made this choice. You decided to help him, and you should go through with it, even if it meant to be woken up at three in the morning because Keith was wailing again.
You brush your fingers across his forehead, hoping against better knowledge his fever had gone down, but he's still burning up. He's not tossing and turning anymore, he's not throwing up everywhere anymore. The last time he had a nightmare you actually noticed was more than a day ago. His breaths are shallow and irregular, and while you're no doctor, you know that's never a good sign.
You'd almost gotten used to having him in your apartment, and now you barely even notice he's here.
You've been on some extensive phone calls with Allura since Keith flopped into your life (which mostly consist of you yelling and Allura listening, occasionally muttering "go off, sis" into the horn) and you were itching for one now. You pull out your phone. Allura picks up on the third ring.
"Y/N, love, I have time for like, maybe a ten minute rant, because I'm at work and even though it's my break time my co-workers are giving me huge side-eyes and I still have four hours to go–"
"That's okay," you say quickly. "I'm fine, actually. No rants."
Allura pauses. "Sure about that?"
"Positive. I just had a question." You decide to throw in your favourite excuse whenever you have a weird question. As a nurse and your friend, Allura is often your first choice if you need to fact-check anything health-related."I'm writing this story..."
"Ah," Allura says. "Of course. Shoot."
You feel kind of bad for lying to her. But then again, telling the truth isn't really an option here, is it? "What does one do to break a fever that's been going strong for, say, five days, and literally no kind of aspirin is working and you can't take them to a doctor?"
"Huh. Well. All you can really do without, like, medical intervention, is wait, really. Yes, Jane, I'll be done in a minute. Have them sweat it out. Keep hydrated, remove excess layers of clothing, all that jazz. How high of a fever are we talking?"
"Um..." You glance at the thermometer on the coffee table. You'd taken his temperature just before calling Allura, to see if there was any change. Spoiler alert, there wasn't. "41.2 degrees Celcius."
Allura whistles. "For an adult? 'Cause if this is a kid, they have a problem."
"No, no, it's an adult."
"Okay. Well. You know, fevers aren't inherently bad for you. It's actually a way for the body to, like, kill heat-sensitive bacteria and viruses. So it's actually a good thing. Honestly I'm gonna just advise your character to stay in bed and drink water and sit in front of a fan. They should be fine."
You pucker your lips, poking Keith's arm with your toe. He doesn't move. "All right."
"You sound kind of unsure," says Allura, a tinge of concern to her voice. A pause. "Certain this is a fictional character?"
You bite back a curse. "Well. You know. I was–I was just curious."
Allura sighs. You imagine her rubbing the back of her neck as she shakes out her legs. "You know... as a medical professional–" the sarcasm drips from her voice– "I'm not really supposed to, like, recommend these types of methods to people because generally everyone thinks they're bullshit, but..." She hesitates. "My uncle Coran has this shop. He sells lots of weird, like, plants and crystals and crap like that. God, I can't believe I'm saying this. He might be able to help. Here's the address."
You lurch over to your desk and snatch a pencil and a post-it block, scribbling down the address she dictates. "Thanks, Allura."
"You are very welcome, dearest, but I really need to get back to work now. Bye."
"Bye."
You stare at the note for a while after Allura hung up. You don't exactly know the place, but a quick Google search helps you pinpoint it. It's not even that far, maybe a 20 minute walk. But something makes you feel uncomfortable about it.
He sells lots of weird, like, plants and crystals and crap like that.
It definitely sounds like something you should be a bit suspicious of. Plants and crystals. Hm.
But then again, you think as you cast another look at Keith who hasn't moved in over an hour, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, it's not like you have many other options.
Allura said to wait it out. But maybe fevers aren't as harmless on angels as they are on humans. Maybe waiting it out will kill him, and you will have to live with it knowing that you did nothing to stop it.
Grumbling through gritted teeth, you yank your jacket from its hanger, write out a quick note for Keith in case he wakes up (he probably won't, but just in case) and dash out the door.
It takes you surprisingly long to find the place.
What was a 20 minute walk turned to a 30 minute walk, then to an hour long walk. You zoom in on your phone's map, narrowing your eyes and combing through every little alley you passed, gnashing your teeth. No matter how hard you look, the shop simply doesn't seem to exist anywhere but on the map. Is this Allura's idea of a prank?
But that's not like her, you remind yourself. And somehow, the fact that you can't seem to reach the place only makes you want to find it more. So you grit your teeth and clench the note with the address (that you just can't seem to memorize, no matter how hard you try) in your fist and march on.
You round a corner and slam into a tall and lanky body.
You yelp, arms flying out to regain your balance. The person in front of you gives a surprised hum–they don't seem to be fazed at all. You look up, prepared to give them a scolding about how they've got to watch where they're fucking going and blink, all words dying in your throat.
"You okay, kiddo?" says the most eccentric-looking man you've ever seen.
"Uh..." you give your head a shake, trying not to stare at the man's bright orange hair and moustache, or the fact that he's dressed like one of those fortune tellers out of fantasy stories, complete with the huge ornate earrings and everything. "Yeah. Fine. Thanks."
The man's light eyes narrow ever so slightly, and you make a mental note to not let his appearance deceive you: you have the feeling he's much smarter than he looks. "Were you looking for something?"
You clamp your mouth shut, running a hand through your hair. "Hm. Actually. Yes." You frown, wondering if this is a good idea, but if anyone would know where Coran's shop is–the shop selling weird crystals and plants and crap like that–this dude would be it. You hold up the crumpled note. "Do you know where this place is?"
The man takes one look at the writing and smiles, a wide and slightly unhinged grin that has you almost instantly regretting your choice. "Well, I sure would hope I know where my own shop is!"
You try and resist the urge to flinch. "Oh, really?" you squeak, shrinking back. It's not a very demon-like thing to do, you think at the very back of your mind, but this guy looks like he could give even the scariest entities of the Below a run for their money. "Neat."
The man–who you assume is Coran–grins even wider and whips an arm around your shoulders. "Well, then! Let's not beat around the bush any longer!" He has an accent you can't place. It fits him, strangely. Everything about the guy is strange.
He whirls around, dragging you with him, and walks exactly three steps before slamming open the door to the shop on the corner. You frown, ducking out from under his arm and giving him a suspicious glare. "What is this? I've passed this shop at least five times." You glance up at the sign and do a double take. Where had previously hung a sad wooden board announcing a tailor's shop hangs now a weirdly pretty sign that seems to be made out of plants. Vines twisting to and fro and entwining and overlapping, fluorescent yellow-and-blue flowers you have never seen before dropping from it in clumps. It sways slightly in the air. There is no wind.
All the hairs stand up at the back of your neck and your fists clench at your sides.
"Maybe you weren't looking hard enough," comes Coran's amused voice from behind you. You spin on your heels, narrowing your eyes at him. You're not unfamiliar with these kinds of experiences–the supernatural, the unsettling, the technically-impossible–yet Coran manages to throw you off in a way nothing really has before.
The atmosphere around you has dimmed, the sole source of light the doorway and the glowing flowers dangling from the sign. You're not in the alley you were in not one minute ago anymore. Coran raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, and you notice how different he looks in this new environment. He fits here perfectly. The slight curl of his lips says, Well? What are you waiting for?
You think of Keith. How he would react if he were in this situation. If the roles were reversed and you were the one dying on his sofa. You push the door open and march into the shop.
You almost slam directly into a tree.
"Careful, careful," says Coran quickly as he grabs your elbow. He slips past you and leads you into his shop that looks like no other shop you've ever seen.
Shelves are stacked with pots and vials and little baggies, all propped one on top of the other. It looks extremely unstable. You resist the urge to pluck out one jar from the bottom and see if everything tumbles down.
Every price tag is hand-written, and when you take a closer look a chill runs down your spine. One never-before shared secret. Three childhood memories. none of the prices ask for actual money, which now seems pretty useless and weighs down the wallet in your pocket. One particular tag says Your deepest fear. How dramatic.
Every plant seems to glow, for some reason. You notice more of those fluorescent yellow-and-blue flowers like the ones hanging from the sign outside, and flowers that look similar but in different colours. There are plants that remind you of grapevines, snaking around trees and shelves and tangling themselves around every support they can find. Clusters of small transparent bells float from the branches, even smaller flicks of light trapped inside them. You squint at one of them, grabbing it out of the air and studying it closely. Something is fluttering inside of the little sphere. A firefly, maybe. Maybe. When you release it, it zips back to its original spot among the other glowing bubbles.
Coran plucks a few dead leaves from a tree stump partially hidden from view by a huge black-and-white striped candle. He grinds the leaves to dust in the palm of his hand and drops them in the candle's flame. It glows bright green for a moment, then a comforting scent begins to spread through the air. You inhale deeply out of reflex. It smells like nothing you've ever smelled before, vaguely familiar scents all mushed into one; your favourite hot chocolate (with a hint of caramel), Allura's fruity conditioner, the animal shampoo you use on the dogs at the shelter. The air when it's just stopped raining. Towels, fresh out of the dryer.
You blink yourself back to reality with a sharp jerk of your head. Coran is already moving on to the very back of the shop and you hurry to catch up with him, ducking to avoid the arms of a rather sad-looking ragdoll as they reach for you. "Hey, hey–who are you?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Coran."
"Yes, I know that, but like–" you gesture vaguely to the general space around you– "who are you?"
Coran thinks about that for a moment, one finger pressed to the side of his nose. "A hobbyist," he decides.
"Right." You take a step back, eyeing the dark and slimy substance shlorping across the floor towards your feet suspiciously. It shrinks back beneath your glare. "What are those hobbies, exactly?"
"You know," says Coran, waving his arms around, "plants. Medicine. The occasional cursed artifact. Just regular stuff like that."
"Regular stuff like that," you echo. Caws sound from above you. When you look up, you spot a bird slightly hidden in the shadows of the tree in which it is perked (was that tree this big before?), glowing red eyes fixated on yours. You raise an eyebrow at it, cocking your head. It mirrors you, feathers ruffling and swooping from one side of its head to the other. It screams again, then spreads its wings and climbs up the tree with a speed you didn't expect. Literally climbs: there are claws on the joints of its wings that it uses to hack into the tree's bark. You brush a bit of dust off your shoulder and continue walking.
Stepping over the puddle of dark slime, you follow Coran even further into the shop. "You said you do medicine," you shout after him. "I need medicine to save my–" The words hitch in your throat. What is Keith to you? An acquaintance? An enemy? A guest? "My friend," you settle on.
Coran throws you a look over his shoulder, throwing off his ornate blue coat and suspending it in the air where it floats obediently beside him. He plants a hand on a bony hip. "Your friend," he repeats, a glint in his eyes you don't trust at all.
"Yeah." He's not getting more out of you, you assure yourself. That's it.
Coran watches you for a moment. "Hm." He turns around and starts rummaging through the shelves packed with jars and boxes and bottles, pulling out a number that all look the same to you, but evidently Coran knows exactly what he's doing. Occasionally he asks you questions.
"Reasonably high fever, is that right?"
"Yes."
He fumbles for a mortar and dumps a clump of brown-reddish leaves in it.
"Hallucinations? Nightmares? Inexplicable bouts of extreme hunger?"
"Yes, yes, and... no? Not that I know of?"
Humming, he adds a few drops of a clear liquid and a pinch of powder from a leather pouch. The mixture starts to sizzle and you eye it cautiously. Its colour shifts from a muddy purple to a darker blue. Coran whistles through his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the many pots around him as he searches for the next ingredient. His eyes focus on something behind you and he gestures with his pestle. "Grab that round orange pot for me, will you."
You turn. The pot in question is small and kind of hard to spot, and you have to twist your arm in strange shapes to reach it from where it's blocked by other plants and rocks. It's dusty and surprisingly heavy, and when you turn it over there's a crudely painted picture of a skull on the lid. Your head snaps up and your fingers tighten around the pot.
Coran rolls his eyes. "I didn't have any other pot to put it in. I'm not gonna murder your friend."
You hand the pot over to him reluctantly, keeping a close eye on whatever it is he's doing. Inside is a reddish-brown paste, and Coran scoops two heavy spoonfuls out and mixes it into the blue mixture. It becomes a pleasant shade of violet. He grabs a round marble-like thing from a vase filled with similar spheres and chucks it into a fire pit at your feet. Flames burst to life, searing hot and sending you stumbling back from the wave of pure heat that comes rolling over you. Coran puts a lid on the mortar and drops it into the fire.
"So, that's gotta bake for a minute," he says cheerily, spinning around and clapping his hands. He snaps his fingers, and immediately vines begin writhing and entwining until a stool has formed. He plops down, facing you. "You have questions. Ask them. Go on."
"Will you answer them?"
he flashes that wicked grin of his. "Maybe."
You grit your teeth, staring into the flames roaring in their pit. The longer you look at them, the wilder they grow. Agitated.
"Oh, dear, don't look at them. They don't like being watched."
Your gaze snaps back to him. "How did you know what's wrong with my friend?"
"I didn't. I guessed," he adds with an eyeroll when you narrow your eyes at him. "It's easier to guess than you might think. When customers are especially preoccupied with something I can usually read it right off of them. You were no different."
"Right." You pause, not sure which of the hundred and forty questions swirling through your mind to ask next. "What if the medicine doesn't work? Can I come back?"
"It'll work."
"But if it doesn't–"
"Are you doubting my abilities?"
"What? No, but–"
"It'll work."
His tone makes it clear there's no room for discussion. At the sight of his dangerously glinting eyes (or maybe they're just reflecting the flickering flames) you decide to veer onto a safer topic. "Can everyone get into your shop? Why couldn't I find it until you showed me?"
Coran slouches a bit in his throne of vines (it's got a back and armrests now, too, and it's growing those little glowing grapes) and considers the question. "Everyone can technically get into the shop," he says slowly, as if carefully choosing his words, "but not everyone will. It's not hidden, exactly–not to the people who aren't looking."
That confuses you. "So you're saying one won't be able to find the shop if they're actively looking for it?"
"Sort of."
"Does that mean that the people who do find it aren't looking for it in the first place?"
"I guess so? Man, kid, you're asking difficult questions."
"I'm curious." You fold your arms, tucking your chin down to your chest. "And that makes no sense anyway because I found it and I was looking for it. So."
"Yeah, but you didn't find it until you actually ran into me and I showed you." Coran leaps up and stretches out his lanky limbs. "So, we still have a bit of time left before that's ready. Do you want to arrange payment now?"
Caution crept into your veins as you remember the strange price tags you saw upon entering the store. But you're not getting this medicine for free, you remind yourself. Keith won't get better by himself. The price was the price and you're willing to pay it. So you nod.
Coran grabs a box. He opens it, and inside are the last things you expected: stacks of paper, each one scribbled upon with minute precision, every sheet adorned with different handwriting. He hands you a blank sheet: it's about the size of a business card, yellowish-white and kind of grainy to the touch. It reminds you of parchment.
He also hands you a pen. It looks like a regular ballpoint pen, and when you shoot him a questioning look–you had expected at least, like, a quill with purple ink or something–he shrugs. "They're cheap. And easy to charm."
Right. You roll your eyes. "So what's the price?"
His eyes are just a little bit too shiny. "What do you want most?"
You sigh, long and drawn out. Your grip on the pen tightens ever so slightly. "Really? The way too overused one?"
Coran shrugs again, gesturing to the blank card in front of you. "It's overused for a reason, kid. It just happens to work really well."
You clench your jaw, tapping the pen against the wooden surface of the table, forcing yourself to think about the question in a serious manner.
What do you want most?
You rack your brain for an answer, puckering your lips. There are a lot of things you want. You want Allura to be safe and happy. She's got a demon for a friend, for fuck's sake. You want to not have to worry every day about Management finally tracking you down and locking you up in the Below. To feel safe.
You bring the point of the pen down to the paper and start writing, frowning when the ink doesn't appear. You go over the lines a few times, even scribble a bunch of lines in a corner to get the pen to work, but to no avail. The ink stubbornly refuses to stain your piece of parchment.
"Your pen doesn't work," you say, irritated.
Coran casts you a knowing smile. "It works just fine. Try again."
You try again. No results. You throw down the pen, letting your head drop and taking a deep breath as you lean against the desk, because you know exactly where this is going. You have experience with these kinds of enchanted objects. You chew on the inside of your cheek, glaring at the pen as if it personally murdered your firstborn.
It wants the truth.
And you refuse. You refuse to give it what it wants because it's ridiculous. Absolutely and utterly ridiculous.
But this is the price. This is the price you told yourself you would pay no matter what.
A deep breath. One more.
You snatch up the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles go white, and press it down onto the paper. Immediately the ink flows out, letting you write your re-evaluated answer. It almost seems to sneer at you and when you throw the pen down, handing the card to a way too smug-looking Coran, you refuse to look him in the eye.
The medicine is ready.
Coran pulls it out of the fire using tongs (because it might be magical fire, but it's still fire, and it's generally not a good idea to stick your hand in fire) and drops it in a tub of water you're sure wasn't there before. A moment later he pulls it out and removes the lid.
The paste has transformed itself into a rock-hard ball about the size of a large pill, perfectly round and kind of rough and sandy at the surface, and when Coran hands it to you it's almost freezing to the touch. It startles you so much that you almost drop it.
"Smash it to bits and put the shards in this here baggie–" he hands you what looks like a tea filter– "and let it hang in a glass of cold water for a while. When the thingie's drained of its colour and goes clear and the water has turned bright blue you make sure he drinks the whole thing before it goes warm, yeah? That's very important. He's gotta drink it right away, and he's gotta drink the whole thing. It might not work as well if he doesn't drink the whole thing."
The fact that Coran refers to the pill as "the thingie" makes you more than a bit uncomfortable, but you decide to take his word for it, because what other choice do you have?
"Right." You turn to leave, when one more thing pops into your mind. "Actually," you face him again, "I have one more question."
Coran sighs. "You have a lot of questions."
You ignore him. "How do you know Allura? Or, rather, how does Allura know you? She's the one that gave me your address in the first place," you explain. "She's my friend."
To your surprise, Coran smiles–a genuine smile this time, where his eyes crinkle in the corners, not the manic grin he's shown up till now. "I knew her father very well. I've watched her grow up. She knows she can always knock on my door."
It doesn't make much sense–what business would Allura's dad, world-famous scientist, have with this man? You decided to give it the benefit of the doubt. "How much does she know? About all this?"
"I think she knows, deep down. I don't know how much she believes. What she tells herself is real, and what isn't."
You hesitate. "Does she know about me? What I am, I mean?"
Coran heaves an exasperated sigh. "Yeesh, kid. How am I supposed to know that? I didn't even know who you were up till now!" But you get the feeling he's lying. "Now get going. Go on." He starts shooing you towards the door, gently pushing you through the shop.
You blink in surprise, too stunned to do anything but follow suit. "Wait," you stammer. "Wait, I have more questions! Will I be able to come back?"
But Coran waves you off, giving you nothing but a smile and a "Bye-bye!"
You stumble over the threshold, the pill and its baggie in your clenched fist. Cold renders your fingers almost numb, and you open them, exposing the pill to the night air. White smoke curls up from it, and you turn it over to your other hand, wincing as you rub your fingers to get a bit of warmth in them again. It's like you're holding a hailstone.
When you look up, you're disoriented by the bright lights from street lamps around you, and the fact that you're not in the same alley you were in before you entered Coran's shop. It's not even the same block. You make a full turn, dazed, before you recognise the little grocery store on the corner of the street: it's the store where you do most of your shopping. It's right across from your apartment building. Coran deposited you as close as he could to your home.
You push open the door to your apartment with your shoulder, icy pill in one hand and two bottles of chocolate milk and scotch whisky in the other, letting exhaustion creeping into your muscles as soon as you enter the familiar environment. One look to your sofa confirms Keith has barely moved over the hours you were gone. The note and the glass of water you left for him sit untouched on the coffee table.
You make your way to the kitchen and set down the bottles, grabbing a small tray on which you drop the pill. Smash it to bits, said Coran. The back end of a kitchen knife does the job just fine. To your surprise, the pill shatters immediately, shards flying everywhere. You curse, sweeping them all up and dropping them into the tea filter and filling a glass with cold water. As soon as you hang the bag in the glass, blue drips out of it in wisps, slowly tinting the water a cool blue colour. You drop onto a kitchen chair and watch with your chin in your hands, the droplets of blue seeping from the bag mesmerising.
When the water doesn't seem to get any bluer, you peek into the bag. The shards are completely colourless, now resembling bits of clear glass more than anything else. You carefully pick up the glass, hissing through your teeth at the coldness of it.
Keith is still fast asleep, shivering. He's thin, you notice. You can see his ribs through his shirt. Setting the glass down on the coffee table, you try gently nudging him awake. He doesn't respond.
"Come on," you grumble, grabbing his face and tapping his cheek. "Wake up!" Your stomach twists at the thought that he might not wake up in time. The medicine will have warmed up. You should have woken him before preparing it! "Please," you whisper, swallowing back the lump in your throat. "Don't let this have been for nothing. Come on. Wake up, dammit!"
He groans under your touch. You breathe out a shaky sigh of relief as you coerce him into sitting up. "Don't you fucking dare fall asleep again." He looks at you groggily.
You raise the glass to his chapped lips. "Drink up."
He takes a sip and flinches, bursting into coughs. "Cold," he manages. You almost wince at how weak his voice sounds–barely a whisper. He'll get better, you remind yourself. He just has to drink this and he'll get better.
"I know," you mutter, nudging the glass to his lips again. "Drink it. It'll make you feel better."
He eyes you suspiciously but obliges, squeezing his eyes shut as he gulps down the contents of the glass. He shivers, smacking his lips when it's empty and you put it on the floor. "Ah. Gross." But as he shifts, you can already see the colour return to his cheeks.
"Rest," you say, brushing strands of hair away from his forehead. "You'll feel better in the morning." Your voice is shaky and your hands tremble as you bring the glass back to the kitchen and thoroughly wash it, using about a quarter of the bottle of dish soap, running it under the hot water until the stubborn cold is completely gone.
You're tired. You don't even have the energy to shower, so you brush your teeth and crumple into bed, only taking off your boots and trousers. You keep your socks on and pull the comforter tighter around you. You're cold.
As you turn to face the wall, you think back to Coran's stupid enchanted pen. Wondering if you've made a mistake. The words you ended up writing down looping through your mind, over and over again, lighting up in front of you whenever you close your eyes. What do you want most?
I want to be safe from Management, was your first answer. The answer the pen hadn't let you write down. And it was what you wanted most–or at least what you wanted most until Keith had shown up on your doorstep just over a week ago.
What do you want most?
You drift off to sleep, the question nagging at the back of your mind.
You jolt awake at the crash, bolting up from your bed and racing for the kitchen, where the sound had come from. In your hand is the knife you keep in your nightstand. Your knuckles are white around the hilt. You slam a hand on the light switch, and the person bent over and hidden behind your fridge hits their head and yells in pain, and you brandish your knife and scream at them to Stay back!
"It's just me! Y/N!" Keith says, holding up his hands above his head.
You huff out a breath, letting the knife drop to your side. "Keith?"
He nods, blinking and squinting against the bright light. You're only barely over the shock of seeing him up and about, yet you can't help but notice how thin he looks and how weary and sunken his eyes are. His eyes keep flicking back to the knife still in your hand, and you quickly snap it shut, slipping it in the pocket of your sweatpants.
"So I take it you're feeling better?"
He nods again. "I'm hungry," he says. His voice isn't quite back to normal–it's still quite hoarse from not having used it in over five days–but you suspect it won't take very long. "Sorry for startling you. I'll go back to sleep."
You grab his arm before he can walk past you. "Nonsense. You've slept for five days straight. I'm hungry too, anyway. I can order takeout?"
He gives you a tentative smile. "That'd be great."
And that's how you end up sitting in your brightly lit kitchen at four in the morning, eating out of cardboard Chinese takeout boxes, with an angel whose life you saved. His wings are completely concealed now and don't bother him when he sits in a chair or lies down. While neither of you talks much, you both sneak glances when you think the other isn't looking.
What do you want most?
He looks nervous, and even though he insists he's not tired you can tell he's fighting against the weight of his eyelids, his movements droopy and slow, as if he's moving through layers of syrup. When he almost drops his fork (at four A.M. you're allowed to eat Chinese with a fork) out of exhaustion, you nudge his leg with your foot under the table.
"Go back to sleep."
"I'm fine. I'm still hungry."
"You can eat tomorrow. You're barely able to hold yourself upright, idiot."
He sighs but pushes his chair back and stands up. His knees immediately buckle beneath him, and you shoot out of your chair and only just manage to catch him before he drops to the ground. "All right, okay. There we go. I got you."
"Not feeling as good as I thought," Keith mutters into your shoulder as you practically drag him to the sofa.
"Evidently."
You tuck him in (it seems like such a childish gesture–but curled up like that, looking thin and fragile, Keith reminds you of a small kid and it just feels like the right thing to do) and resist the weird urge to plant a kiss on his forehead. You settle for a somewhat awkward pat on the shoulder.
You stick the leftover food in the fridge and make your way back to your own room. You're still kind of cold, so you keep the sweatpants and sweatshirt on, bringing the knife out of your pocket and setting it back on your nightstand before climbing into bed.
The buzzing of the city outside of your window keeps you up for hours as you toss and turn. Feelings you don't know what to make of churn through you. Relief at the fact that the medicine seems to be working. Fear, because you don't really know how to proceed now. A demon saving an angel's life–that one's pretty much unheard of, you think bitterly.
Oh, if Management were to find out... not only would your fate be settled, you would have signed Keith's death warrant along with it. The comforter bunches in your clenched fists and you twist around, shutting your eyes resolutely.
What do you want most?
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mirroredtranslations · 7 years ago
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Karen Ogre - Chapter 13
Wazamonogatari – Nisioisin p. 179-186
[Previous Chapter]
Even if any of widely-known, prominent plant foods were growing deep in the mountains, they probably wouldn't taste very good.
After all, the vegetables sold in supermarkets and stuff are raised with people's assistance in order to make them easy for people to eat.
The more I think about it, the more profound my dietary problem seems.
But that was a rather shallow concern—I was in no position to worry about taste or ease of eating; I was in a state of extreme hunger, and I just wanted to put something in my belly.
Having said that, I had eaten yesterday, so even if I missed breakfast, I thought I'd be able to make it to midday at least, but there was no way.
I wasn’t gonna last that long.
Couldn’t I just eat some of these weeds around here... I'd heard that a lot of grasses are edible, after all.
And they say there's no such thing as a weed.
If I boiled them using the mess kit, which no longer had a purpose due to the loss of the rice, maybe they wouldn't turn out all that bad...
Or so I thought... well, I'm not sure whether I was thinking or not, but anyway, I staggered toward a nearby thicket and reached out my hand—
“...Why are ye deliberately reaching for a poisonous plant?”
Something firmly grabbed my wrist.
Deja vu.
My wrist was grabbed this same way yesterday, when I was about to fall off the rock face—oh, is it that little girl again? I looked to my side; right next to me was a blond-haired mountain climber, and she was not a little girl.
She looked like a high school girl, and was wearing twintails—well, the definition and age of a high school girl aren’t the same overseas as they are in Japan, so I can't say for certain, but in any case, the blond girl looked to be of my generation.
“I cannot lick a rash. That would be awful for my tongue.”
It sounded like Blond Twintail-chan knew that Blond Bob Cut-chan had licked my shoulder—I wonder, do they have family telepathy or something?
Tsukihi-chan and I definitely don't have anything like that.
Well, I was in no condition to be thinking logically, so I'm not sure I'd heard Blond Twintail-chan correctly; maybe, as a mountaineer and lover of mountains, she was just telling me to take the mountain seriously.
For sure, brashly going around picking up wild plants is way too desperate—if I'd really gotten a rash as result, it would be no laughing matter.
“So... um...”
“I'm a cousin.”
...Well, I suppose she would be.
Just how big is this mountain-climbing family?
They're really scattered around too, considering that.
And did they not have a single lecturer to teach them modern Standard Japanese?
“Did my cousin not tell ye to not put anything and everything in your mouth?” Blond Twintail-chan said, yanking my lethargic wrist away from the thicket (the poisonous thicket).
She looked frustrated, as if it were her own warning that I'd ignored. I guess she has a high level of empathy for her cousin.
But, did someone tell me that?
I didn’t remember at all.
“That's probably just an issue with your memory, but I'll chalk it up to ye hitting the wall; how about ye remember something else, then. Did a noble and kind mountaineer not provide ye with a ration?”
Oh.
I remembered.
I mean, how could I have forgotten about that until now? It was just two days ago, but it felt like it happened two years ago.
That's right; at the foot of Oniai Mountain, the first of the Three Ouga Mountains, I received a bar of chocolate from Blond Ponytail-chan.
Chocolate! Calories!
Uhh, where is that thing, again?
Oh, right, I'd put it in the pocket of my jersey and left it there, hadn't I?
Pondering what I'd do if I'd lost that too, I groped around in my pocket—the pocket didn't have a zipper, but luckily, the chocolate was still there.
Its shape was warped, as if after two days of scorching heat it had melted and rehardened, but that hadn't changed the taste very much.
“Chomp. Crunch, crunch... Oh, I can feel it! I can feel the polyphenol!”
“Ye have quite the sensitive tongue if ye can feel the presence of polyphenol.”
After exasperatedly telling me to wait, Blond Twintail-chan went back to the thicket.
She didn't go very far away, keeping about as far from me as my shadow went; I wondered if she'd dropped something.
As I stood there absent-mindedly (one bar of chocolate just isn't enough to make my head start working again), Bond Twintail-chan returned to me with her hands full of herbs—an herb bouquet.
“Here. I've picked ye some herbs that are alright to eat.”
“You're so kind!”
I hugged Blond Twintail-chan.
I demonstrated my gratitude in an un-Japanese-like way toward a tourist from overseas who was overly close to me.
“I've decided, you'll be my partner for prom!”
“There's no such thing as prom in Japan.”
“You're an angel! No, a goddess!”
“Ah, stop, stop. If you call me an angel or a goddess, something really bad might show up.”
She’d dropped her antique manner of speaking.
Something really bad?
What's that?
“I'll cook these right away! You eat some too!”
Even if I said “cook”, I'd just be boiling them using my mess kit, but I'd gotten all hyped up from getting some of the food I was so desperate for, so I invited Blond Twintail-chan to lunch.
“My apologies; I must reject your invitation. I cannot eat things that sprout up from the ground.”
I was curtly rejected.
My feelings of gratitude started to dwindle.
And what a harsh rejection it was.
If that's the case, I wonder why she knows so much about which wild plants are edible and which are poisonous.
“Well, due to personal circumstances, I'm finicky about food. Or perhaps 'twould be better to say there's a guy close to me who's finicky about food—ka ka.”
After that enigmatic declaration, Blond Twintail-chan let out a loud, yet somehow self-deprecating laugh.
“As such, I cannot partake of the meal, but I suppose I can at least sit with ye.”
She plomped down next to the gas burner I was getting ready—she was sitting with one knee raised, and I could hardly call it good manners; even so, she somehow engendered a sense of nobility.
Maybe more like divinity than nobility.
Oh, sorry, I'm not supposed to call her a goddess, right? Why is that?
“Eh? What?”
“Oh, um... Right. I was just thinking, they say there's a god in the mountains, don't they.”
Questioned, I replied vaguely.
That was too vague.
But I had certainly heard something like that before—it's definitely not that I'd mistaken a tourist from overseas I'd happened to come across in the mountains for a god.
But it's the truth that I'd received considerable help from this Blond Twintail-chan, as well as from her whole blond family.
At this point, even a careless girl like me will start feeling like it's passed beyond chance and coincidence and into the realm of divine intervention.
“Hmph. A mountain is just a mountain. There's no god in it.”
Blond Twintail-chan was resolute.
It appeared her sense of piety was not very strong.
“Though, 'tis indeed a mystical place. That may be the crux of the matter—but for me, 'twas the exact opposite.”
“? The exact opposite?”
“For me, 'twas a lake—well, that's an old tale. There seems to be a tendency in this country to regard natural phenomena as gods, and a tendency to regard them as monstrous apparitions as well—to revere nature, to fear nature. And thus, oddities are born; though perhaps, in truth, oddities can only exist within the hearts of people.”
“? ? ?”
I'd completely lost track of what she was talking about—it's pretty embarrassing to be taught Japanese culture by someone from overseas, but since she's a mountain fanatic who's sightseeing this deep in the mountains, maybe it'd be weirder if she didn't have any personal opinions about mountains.
Oddities, huh.
But, thinking it'd be rude to listen in silence to the person who saved my life, I interjected.
“Is that like the expression, 'suspicion begets monsters'? Like, demons are born inside a suspicious heart.”
As I was talking, I felt like my interjection had completely missed the point, but whether out of self-importance or generosity, Blond Twintail-chan agreed.
“Well, something like that. Demons are born in one's heart, and live in one's shadow—though, I expect the demons I'm talking about are different from the demons of this country. But ye might say 'tis that difference which makes humans so interesting. So, how about it?”
“? How about what?”
“Enough of gods and demons—have ye met yourself yet? Your journey is nearly in sight of its goal.”
“Ah...”
Huh?
Did I mention that my goal was to have a dialogue with myself? Well, if she knows, then I must have mentioned it. That's no good; looks like my brain's still in “hit the wall” mode.
“Can't say I've met myself yet. I'm doing my best just to stay alive—I guess I won't be able to tell until I actually bathe in the waterfall.”
“Doing your best just to stay alive, eh. That can be an enviable state of affairs; there are people vexed by not being able to die, ye know.”
“Really? There are people like that?”
“Ye could say there are, and ye could say there aren't. Could say the same about them being alive or dead, too. Look, 'twould seem the herbs are cooked. Time to eat.”
“Oh, right. Thank you for the meal.”
Thus prompted, I scooped the wild plants directly from the mess kit into my mouth.
Hhmm, I suppose you could call it a vegetable soup---but to be frank, you definitely could not call it tasty.
Either it was tasteless, or bitter; maybe I boiled it for too long, but it had absolutely no consistency—it even felt a bit like I was eating poison.
I very much doubted the idea that hunger is the best seasoning, contrary to what you might expect—but I mustn’t act spoiled. This was what Blond Twintail-chan gathered for my sake (although, she'd refused to ingest it).
Nourishment, nourishment, nourishment.
Life, life, life.
Repeating those words in my mind like an incantation, I stuffed the wild plants down my throat. I needed to eat sufficiently in order to reach my goal, which, according to Blond Twintail-chan, was already in sight.
“Try to remember the look of these plants. From here on, pick them up whenever ye see them; they ought to be growing on the first mountain as well, so ye can use them as food on the return journey.”
“Thank you for everything.”
“No need to thank me. Now then, 'tis time to take my leave.”
Blond Twintail-chan abruptly stood up.
Somehow or other, after eating the bar of chocolate and the wild plants, my head had started working again to some extent. I became intrigued, and asked, “Hey, just how many of you are there?”
I'd already seen one, two, three, and including Blond Twintail-chan, four members of her family on my journey so far.
The third, Blond Bob Cut-chan, had warned me that I might meet more of them on my way---one had already rescued me---but they always appear so suddenly, so it startles me every time.
It's bad for my heart.
So it was more than simple curiosity that made me want to know, a bit more specifically, where and who they might be, if I'm going to meet another member of her family; I wonder.
Are there still a bunch of blond, golden-eyed cousins making their way down the mountain, or is this Blond Twintail-chan bringing up the rear?
Her answer to my question was, “Let's set aside how many people I've come with—how many have ye come with?”
She asked me the same question.
Isn't it obvious how many people I'm with? As I struggled to respond, Blond Twintail-chan flashed a smile that was far from angelic—it was demonic.
“Surely ye don't think you've come alone, do ye?”
[Next Chapter]
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yellingmetatron · 7 years ago
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A Scene in a Bookshop
(I have no idea what possessed me to write this.  Just kinda felt like it.  It’s been awhile since I had that impulse, and it’s nice.  Anyway, just a little scene between Meta and H. P. Lovecraft’s eldritch asshole, Nyarlathotep.  I realize that parts of this story may be kind of unclear... but that’s what I was going for.  This is the Cthulhu mythos, cryptic unexplained references are par for the course.  Hope it amuses.)
--- Metatron hated Nyarlathotep for a number of reasons. Foremost, of course, was the alignment issue.  Beings whose essence was Cosmos tended to be instinctively repulsed beings whose essence was Chaos.  The keyword, of course, being “tended”.  Personality could make a big difference.
Nyarlathotep had a shitty personality.
��—And then, oh, fuck, his eyes just, like—melted!  Ha!  And all over his fuckin’ daughter!” The Crawling Chaos made a noise at the intersection of giggling, guffawing, and crowing.  “I mean, she was probably too out of it to experience it properly, but I can always slip some images in while she sleeps.  Pretty sure humans make three-year-olds take a lot of naps, right?”  He looked at Metatron attentively, eyes hidden behind smoked lenses.  “Serious question.  Been awhile since I fucked around with toddlers.”
“Yes,” Metatron said, voice neutral bordering on disinterested. Showing how angry he was would only goad the entity on.
“Right, right, that’s what I thought.  And I mean, she’s got her whole life ahead of her, so that’s a lot of time to really make some memories, ya know?  And GateKey knows I’m gonna make sure she lives good and long.”  He leaned back, satisfied.  “Anyway, that’s how I spent my summer vacation.”
“Your summer vacation.”  Metatron said.
“That’s right.”
“Your summer vacation, which, if I have the chronology of your story right, began in October and has now ended in mid-February.”
It was best to signal incredulity at the least harmful of Nyarlathotep’s eccentricities, Metatron had found.  He was fairly sure the god-thing had him pegged as an absurd pedant whose main concern was with procedural correctness rather than morality. It was usually the reaction that Nyarlathotep was after, regardless of what he’d done cause it.
“Ya-hm,” Nyarlathotep affirmed, grinning.  It was a pleasant grin, incandescently white against the darkness of his human skin, in no way indicative of the yawning void that hid behind it.  “Summer is as summer can be extracted from, and boy did I do a lot of fuckin’ extraction.”
Metatron did his best to keep himself grounded.  He concentrated on his surroundings, and not the fact that every fiber of his being was pulled taught near to snapping, thrumming in bellicose rage against the very existence of this... person.  It really was a nice little second-hand bookstore they were seated in.  A nice little table by the window where people can eat without risking the books.  A nice little New England commercial district by the sea.  The nice little doughnuts and nice lot of coffee the bookstore sells were, well, nice.  The sun was shining, but there were enough clouds to make the sky interesting and… reassuring.
Metatron had always wondered why humans claimed to love a cloudless sky; didn’t they know what kinds of things could come down out of that flat, merciless blue?  Couldn’t they remember?  How much hope could there be for a species who didn’t understand the danger of empty space?
“But!”  Nyarlathotep said, “You didn’t invite me for snacks and conversation.  I take it there’s family you want me to troll?”
“If you want to think of it that way.”
“I don’t,” said Nyarlathotep.  He took sip of coffee.  “I want to think of it as undermining the very foundations of their putrid, pretentious little not-lives.”  He smiled. His smile was not as nice as his grin. The void peaked out, somehow.  “So: Who, how, where, why do you care, and why should I?”
“Gloon,” said Metatron.  “His statue has fallen into the possession of an art collector with a philanthropic streak, and she intends to display it publicly.  Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts.  I have a few mortal agents in the area who are at risk, and are unlikely to survive without outside intervention.  You fucking know why I can’t take direct action.  And as to what’s in it for you…” Metatron half-shrugged.  “You have your own reasons to do this.  Gloon is currying favor with the Outer Gods.”
“…Interesting that you are aware of that.” Nyalathotep said.  His tone changed almost imperceptibly; beyond the void, there is something more.  Something weary and saturated with hate and madness.  “Mm.  Yes.  Pretty happy with him, or as close as that mindless pile of spaceshit gets to happy.  So yes, for myself, I might do this.  But why should I for you, my dear featherduster?”
“Spiting your masters doesn’t interest you?” Metatron asked.  He knew what the answer would be, but he needed Nyalathotep’s hackles raised.  The Crawling Chaos was more pliable angry.  He watched the wry little grimace on Nyarlathotep’s face with a certain satisfaction.
“There will never be anything I can do that would be spiteful enough,” Nyarlathotep murmured, hissed, “As well you know, friend.  I’ve watched Gloon with increasing… distaste, yes, but the satisfaction I derive from fucking him over shall be fleeting.  And then, why, I’d just be all worked up, wouldn’t I?  Might need to do a little venting.”  He grinned again, exhaling through his teeth.  His breath was cold, smelling of coffee and something… else.  He drummed long, sharp-nailed fingers against the tabletop.  “If you don’t give me something more, I will take it, angel.  You won’t like what I take from them.”
Metatron spent a moment quietly watching Nyarlathotep’s face.  Then, he reached down to the black leather satchel he’d brought with him.  Pushing his cup and plate aside, he placed a small, red, spiral-bound notebook on the table.  It was wholly unremarkable, save for a strange repeating pattern of geometric shapes drawn in the lower right-hand corner.
“Living names,” Metatron said, “Two-hundred and forty-nine of them.  Some you may know, but certainly not all.  I think you’ll agree it’s a better chance for ‘venting’ than you’d get otherwise.  Just promise me you’ll leave the mortals alone, get the Gloon fuckery done quickly, and they’re all yours.”
Metatron knew he had succeeded from the moment Nyarlathotep had seen the pattern on the book.  As uncomfortable as it was to acknowledge the fact, he and the Crawling Chaos had certain similarities.  They understood each other, messenger to messenger, and Metatron knew that he’d take the same deal if it were offered to him.  And yes, there was that smile on Nyarlathotep’s face again.  The sunlight seemed to take strange colors against that smile.
“Deal,” Nyarlathotep laughs, “I promise all you ask.”  He reached for the book, then stopped.  “Or will you only trust me if you’re holding this over my head?  I trust you, natch.”
“Take it,” Metatron said curtly.  He did not tell Nyarlathotep that he trusted him back, because the words would taste like ash and bile, all the worse for the truth of them.
Nyarlathotep made a pleased noise as he picked up the book. For a moment, the shape of it wavered; it sunk into his flesh like blood into gauze, and he stood, crane-like and serene.
“Well,” Nyarlathotep said jovially, “Guess I’d better skedaddle. Busy times ahead.”  Metatron made a noncommittal grunt of affirmation.  He picked another book from his satchel without looking.
Chesterton.  Good.
“Remember,” Metatron said, “You aren’t going to damage the mortals unduly.  And you know what I mean by that.  No fucking around with loopholes.”
“I’ve yet to disappoint, hm?”  Laughed the god-thing.  “No.  We have our understanding.  Ha.  Yes.” He flashed a winning smile, tipping an imaginary cap, and waltzed out of the store.  All his movements were vivacious and elegant; people he passed on the street smiled a bit wider without realizing it.
Metatron closed his eyes, and counted to five.  He opened them again, and tried to read, but found his gaze drawn back to the window. The sky was clearer than it had been a moment ago.
And Metatron prayed.
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sarahjane0886 · 7 years ago
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Fix a Heart 29
Chapter 29 - A Thousand Years
Heartbeats fast Colors and promises How to be brave How can I love when I’m afraid to fall But watching you stand alone All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow One step closer I have died everyday waiting for you Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you For a thousand years I love you for a thousand more  
“Ohh, there ya go. I should probably go down and we can start getting breakfast but I think I’ll enjoy some snuggles first. How about you? That sound like a plan. Today is a huge day for us. We have our hearing this afternoon and you’ll officially be a Chmerkovskiy. Not that daddy and I didn’t see you as anything less but it’s nice to hear that the whole world agrees. Huh sugar? Do you even realize what a big day today is?” Sharna said as she talked to Bella one morning while she rocked her. She had gotten up early with the little one and fed her while they relaxed in the rocker. Typically she would then go down and start breakfast or at least coffee for her and Val. Today however it felt more appropriate to just slowly take in the day.
“We got you a new pretty dress and then after we get back, everyone is coming to visit you. We’re going to have cake. Maybe we’ll let you try a teeny tiny bite. I feel like that’s allowed today. You can have green beans and cake for dinner sound good?” Sharna said smiling as Bella reached up and put her fingers in her mom’s mouth. Sharna pretended to chomp on them making Bella giggle in response. Considering how things could have went, Bella was an amazingly calm back. She was most content when she was curled up with one of her parents but enjoyed her extended family as well. She rarely cried except for when she was scared or not feeling well. Her anxiety had calmed immensely as they had got home and sorted out a routine for the three of them. Once she realized things were normal and this was her new life she was good.
“You know, there was a time when I thought I would never get this opportunity.” Sharna whispered softly after Bella was done playing and went back to just cuddling into her mother. She pulled Bella in tighter as she felt tears fill her eyes.
“You have a big sister but you won’t ever get to meet her until you go to heaven which is a long long time away. She was in my belly but God decided that he wanted her as an angel  instead of a baby just like he needed your momma and daddy. When he took Rose away, I thought for sure that he was punishing me. For thousands of things. For not being a better kid, for not getting out of the situation I was in, just for anything. I thought he didn’t think I could be a good mommy because of my past so he took that chance away from me. Then daddy and I got the call that you needed someone to love you. And I thought, well that’s not fair to this little girl, what did she ever do? She didn’t have anything that caused her to need to be punished. And then after being with you and falling in love with you, i realized something that daddy had been trying to tell me all along. I wasn’t being punished and neither were you. We all just get dealt a hand of cards and sometimes our cards aren’t as fun as others but that doesn’t mean we should give up. Sometimes it means we need to be patient, sometimes it means we need to be creative, sometimes it means we can’t always have what we want, and sometimes we just need to remember that it’s not all about us and there are people in our lives that are there to support us. And you know what, daddy and I will always always be there for you. No matter what.” Sharna said bringing her up to pretty a kiss to her cheek.
“And daddy will always be there for mommy.” Val’s voice came from the doorway startling Sharna and Bella both.
“Babe. How much did you hear?” Sharna said sheepishly once she got her wits about her.
“A lot. I realized you weren’t in bed and weren’t in the kitchen. So I made coffee and came to find my girls.” Val said as he crossed the room and put the coffee he was carrying on the nightstand. He knelt down next to the two and found Sharna’s hand.
“I guess it’s not really a secret. But it’s how I feel. I feel like I’ve waited forever for this Val. And now it’s here. I mean it’s been here for the past 6 months but now it’s official. I didn’t need for it to be official but to know the whole world is going to make it official is a whole other ordeal.” Sharna said as she gripped his hand.
“I get it. It’s a huge day. For us and for Bella and just for you in general. Are you feeling okay?” Val asked.
“Uhhh…yeah. Normal anxiety, I think.” Sharna said softly. Val studied her for a moment before stood and held out his hand.
“Come sit on the couch with me. I wanna hold both my girls for a minute.” He said.
“Val we have to get ready. She needs bathed, we both need showers.” She said giving him a look that plainly said she didn’t want to talk about this. However, he had learned a long time ago when to push and when to let her be. This time wasn’t a let her be moment.
“I know, we have time though. Come on, please? Just come sit. Talk to me princess.”
“Fine, here, I think someone wants some daddy cuddles though. Huh Bella?”
“Ohhh come here my tiny princess.” Val said as he took Bella into his arms and loved her up for a few moments. She cuddled into him before going into a string of rambles. He listened intently to her as they made their way to the family room. He chimed in when it felt appropriate. He let Sharna get settled on the couch while he found one of Bella’s current favorite toys. Then he settled next to his wife situating Bella before tucking her into him as well.
“I love listening to you talk to her.” Sharna said as she smiled while Bella played with her cloth book.
“I love talking to her. And to you. Tell me, what’s going on in that head of yours princess.” Val said pressing a kiss to her head as his hand stroked up and down her arm. Sharna buried into Val while her hand rested on Bella’s leg.
“I’m okay. I just….I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whether it’s with you and now with her. Like I believe what I said to her about it not being a punishment but at the same time it just hangs out in the back of my mind. And then in huge moments like these it creeps up.” She said with a quiet shrug.
“What can I do?” He asked.
“Nothing really. Just don’t judge me. I know you love me. I know that she’s here with us. And that something can always happen but that it’s pointless to live my life in that fear.” She said as she finally picked her head up and looked at him. He could see the resounding fear there but he could also see the strength and courage and knew it was just something that they just had to deal with.“
"You’ll let me know if you need anything? No hiding?” He said looking at her.
“I promise.” She nodded.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” She whispered as she leaned up to kiss him. Right as their lips met, Bella let out a shriek startling the two.
“Oh, someone wants in on the lovings.” Val said as he scooped her up and tickled her belly while Sharna moved to press kisses over her cheeks as the little one giggle in relief. They spent the next half hour just playing and enjoying the morning before it was time to get ready. They bathed Bella first before taking their turns showering. Bella took a mini nap on their bed while they finished getting ready. Then it was Bella’s turn which thankfully she had just woken up so she wasn’t too grumpy.
“Oh my goodness, look at the family all matching.” Peta said with a chirp of excitement when she appeared with Maks and Shai.
“We don’t look stupid do we? It’s subtle isn’t it? I just felt like we needed to be a unit.” Sharna said as she fixed Bella’s shoes for what felt like the 50th time. She had found a sleeveless pink chiffon dress for Bella. Her dress was light pink as well with a black accent belt around the waist. Val was sporting gray dress pants and a light pink dress shirt with a gray jacket over his top.
“I think it’s absolutely adorable and perfect. Not stupid at all. Relax babe. Everything is going to be set in stone here in just a little. Breathe. And let me see this precious thing.” Peta said stealing her niece and snuggling her in.
“See princess. Relax.” Val said coming up behind her and resting his fingers on her shoulders.
“Aunt Sharna! Bella is going to be in our family forever!” Shai said as he hugged her legs interrupting the mini intervention that was occuring.
“Yes, she is. Are you excited?” Sharna said as she leaned down and scooped the munchkin up.
“I am! She’s gonna be friends with Evia. Momma say they be best friends.”
“I think your momma is right. And you’re going to be their protector right?”
“Right! Papa teached me to be kind and helpful and pro…..aww papa. I forgetting again.” He said looking at Maks.
“Protective buddy. It’s a big one.” Maks said ruffling the little one’s hair.
“Yeah, that word. It is big, Aunt Sharna. But I’ll do it. Just like papa and Uncle Val teached me. I keep Bella and Evia safe. Momma I wanna see her. I didn’t give her any loves.” Shai said holding his arm out for his cousin. Surprisingly he had taken to Bella extremely well. They had all been concerned that he would be jealous especially because of his bond with Sharna but he took it in stride. Thankfully considering his little sister was coming regardless of how he felt. A month ago, Maks and Peta found out that the next baby Chmerkovskiy was going to be a girl. Shortly after they announced her name would be Evia May.
“Here bubby.” Peta said coming closer allowing Shai to give Bella a kiss.
“I’ll cuddle you later Bells. Aunt Sharna can I help feed her later?” He asked sweetly.
“Sure buddy, as long as she’s not grumpy.”
“Okay, don’t be grumpy Bells, then I can love you.” Shai said as he kissed her once more.
“Alright, we should probably get going.” Val said reaching for his little one. Peta huffed but handed her niece over. Then the family headed out. They had decided when they got their court date that Maks and Peta would come along with Shai if he chose too which he did. Larisa and Sasha were going to handle getting together a small get together for when they came back. However there was going to be a surprise for Sharna at the get together.
Time stands still Beauty in all she is I will be brave I will not let anything take away What’s standing in front of me Every breath Every hour has come to this One step closer I have died everyday waiting for you Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you For a thousand years I love you for a thousand more  
“Do we bring her with us?” Sharna asked Lydia as they were waiting their turn to go before the judge. Bella was currently sitting in her uncle’s lap while Shai entertained her playing peek a boo.
“It’s completely up to you. If you think it’s scary for her, she can sit with Maks or Peta. If you think she’ll be okay, bring her with you. There’s not really a whole lot of rules here other than the givens.” Lydia said as she rested her hand on Sharna’s shoulder.
“Okay.” She nodded.
“Chmerkovskiy vs. State.” The officer at the door announced making Sharna jump. Val slipped his hand into hers and they stood together. Maks, Peta, Lydia, and Shai stood as well.
“Do we?” Sharna said looking at Val.
“She’s content so it’s up to you.”
“I just don’t want her to pick up on my nerves so maybe if you’re okay Maks?” Sharna said quickly.
“I’m more than okay. Go get the papers that makes this little one permanently in our lives.” Maks said as he shifted Bella in his arms. The group followed in with Maks and Peta sitting with the kids directly behind Sharna and Val. The next ½ hour was filled with legal jargon and things none of the adults completely understood.
“I would to speak to the petitioning parents.” Judge Madison stated sharply after he had listened ot all the material presented.
“Go ahead.” Lydia nodded at them to move forward. They took a few steps towards the podium and waited to be told what they wanted.
“I’m slightly unorthodox in this aspect but I would like to know why you two feel you would make good parents for the infant.” He requested before leaning back in his seat like this was a huge test.
“Well your honor. We feel that we could make good parents because…” Val started before the judge cut him off.
“No offense Mr. Chmerkovskiy but this isn’t a high school essay. I don’t want numbers or norms. I want to know why this is important to the two of you.” He explained throwing them both off for a second.
“Your honor, sir. Ever since I was little I dreamt of being a mother. It was one of my passions. To have a family, and grow old with that family. The American dream almost, ironic since I’m Australian however it was my dream and I intended to chase it. However that dream was crushed when I was put into the situation of an abusive boyfriend and became stuck for quite sometime. During the time frame, I had my chance and unfortunately my little girl, Rose was taken from me. Since then Val helped me to get back to me. Once we decided to start a family we found out that it was high unlikely, there was much damage as well as my body just will not support this. We decided to move forward with adoption. During that time frame, I struggled immensely with why the one thing that meant the most to me was taken away. Why I couldn’t have this one thing. And then we got the call that Bella was in need of our love. As soon as we got to the hospital and met this little princess it was clear that she was meant to be in our lives. You see being a parent isn’t always about money and goods but it’s about love. It’s about teaching this human being to grow up to be a strong individual. To reach for the stars and to know that just because your dream doesn’t come true the way you thought it should doesn’t mean that it’s out of reach.” Sharna stopped to take a breath when Bella burst into tears. She turned to look at Maks who was already trying to settle the upset little one.
“Excuse me.” Sharna said moving out of Val’s grip and going to get the little one. She didn’t think twice about the reaction she had to needing to calm the little one. Maks handed Bella to Sharna who tucked Bella into her chest and started to hum as she moved back to where she had been standing before. Bella started to settle instantly as she was tucked into one of her few truly safe places. Val smiled at the two as his arm looped around his wife’s waist.
“If I can pick up where my wife left off, sometimes parenting isn’t about what’s best or what’s right. It’s about instinct. It’s about knowing in the moment that this moment is what is supposed to be. And I can tell you from the moment we met Bella, we knew that she was supposed to be a part of our families. We love her like she is part of us. And she will forever be a part of us. That is why we feel we would make the best parents there could be for Bella.” Val said as he watched the little one drift off into sleep as she listened to her mother’s heartbeat.
“Thank you, you may be seated.” He stated allowing the two to return to their seats next to Lydia. The next 5 minutes were full of not so patient waiting as the judge looked over everything. After awhile he finally looked up at the group. “I have come to a decision. By the power vested in me by the state of New Jersey, I grant full custody and parental rights to Mr. And Mrs. Valentin & Sharna Chmerkovskiy.”
“Seriously?” Sharna said in pure shock making Lydia laugh out loud.
“She’s yours guys. Fully and completely yours for, forever.” Lydia said as she watched the two. Sharna’s eyes filled with tears and they started in cascade down her cheeks quickly before she looked at her husband and realized his face matched hers.
“She’s ours princess.” Val said as he stroked Bella’s curls gently as he watched the baby with a new found admiration. He leaned over and kissed his wife gently before leaning down and kissing Bella as well.
“She’s a Chmerkovskiy! Forever!” Shai’s tiny voice yelled out interrupting the sweet moment but just making it all the better. Everyone chuckled at the young boy’s excitement who was clearly thrilled that his cousin was coming home for good. The next hour was filled with paperwork and lawyers and much much more. They shared their thanks with the judge who stated that he had all intentions of granting them custody but the parents testimony of love was always his final cinching point. They got some information with Lydia about a few follow ups that would need to happen and then they got to go home.
“Hey sweetheart, we’re going home.” Sharna said as they got her situated in the car seat to head to the house. Bella cooed at her mother grasping her hand. She slid into the backseat next to the little one making Val chuckle slightly. He squeezed Sharna’s hand before they headed home.
“Alright tiny princess, now this is an important moment. We knew that you were staying with us forever because we believed it, but now it’s official. We’ll never take the place of your angel mommy and daddy but we’ll love you just as much as them and hopefully fill their void in your life.” Val said as the three stood in front of the doorway. Maks, Peta and Shai had gone ahead to let everyone know they were coming but additionally they wanted to give the family just a few moments on their own.
“Ready?” Sharna asked as her hand reached for the handle. Bella was safely tucked into her father’s arms. Val nodded and Sharna turned the handle.
“Congratulations.” A soft chorus sounded as their family waited anxiously however there was a special set of people in the middle that made Sharna gasp.
“Mom, Dad.” She whispered as tears filled her eyes. Her parents had fully intended on coming to visit Bella shortly after she initially came home but her dad had a kidney scare that turned out to be okay however halted all travel. They were planning on coming after the hearing however Val had convinced them to come now as a surprise for Sharna.
“Surprise baby.” Lucy said as she wrapped her daughter up in her arms. Ray was close behind them holding both Lucy and Sharna after letting the girls have a moment.
“How’d…” Sharna rambled pulling back to look at the .
“That one helped us out. He figured it was the perfect time for Bella to meet her Woo and Paw.” Lucy said wiping a few tears off her own cheeks.
“Babe.” Sharna said turning around and looking at her husband in disbelief.
“Surprise.” Val said pulling Sharna into him and giving her a kiss.
“I can’t believe you did this. Thank you. I love you.” Sharna said as more tears streamed down her face. Val held her for a second before wiping the tears away gently and then handing Bela over to her.
“I think it’s time someone met her grandparents.” Val said giving her a nudge. Sharna smiled up at him and kissed him once more before pressing a kiss to Bella’s head as well. She turned around and placed the little one in her mother’s waiting arms.
“Woo, Dad, I’d like you to officially meet Bella Joy Chmerkovskiy.”
And all along I believed I would find you Time has brought your heart to me I have loved you for a thousand years I’ll love you for a thousand more
I have died everyday waiting for you Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you For a thousand years I’ll love you for a thousand more
**The end. Completely.
**Just kidding. This aint be over yet. But this update is. Don’t throw eggs since it’s been so long. I love you guys! She’s a Chmerkovskiy! Officially! WHOOP! I feel like i just shipped a baby bird out my nest. BFF and I legit had this update planned when I started this story. So exciting that it’s finally here. Don’t forget to like this one up and let me know what you thought. Love you guys, alllll so so so much!
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lilreesenerd · 7 years ago
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Babysitting IX
“Whoa, whoa, just calm down,” Dean was freaking out and trying not to show it. “Cas, this is our sister. Mais, this is Cas, our friend.”
Cas stared at the girl with the angel blade in his throat, “I can see the resemblance.”
Maison smiled, “So you are learning sarcasm after all.” She thought a moment. “If you promise to behave, I’ll let you sit down and heal yourself. If not, I can clip your wings.” Castiel didn’t doubt her sincerity by the ice in her eyes.
He nodded grudgingly and felt the blade leave his throat. 
Sam and Dean breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Rufus was still locked on Castiel, the two of them speaking telepathically. They spoke of the guardian’s death, his ward, the Winchesters, and of his current state. Once they were done, Cas looked at the ground awkwardly.
“I am sorry for my behavior, Maison Greene. I apologize.” 
Maison grunts in response, nods to Rufus, and leaves the three boys in the house to talk. 
“Are you alright?” Cas is genuinely concerned about the boys.
“Dude, chill,” Dean claps Cas on the shoulder, “we have a sister!”
“Yeah,” Sam adds, “and she’s pretty cool.”
Cas is wary, “You do know that her so-called dog possesses angel grace?”
“Yeah. Cas what’s this about?”
Castiel checked to make sure Maison was out of earshot. “Her soul is splintered in more ways than I have ever seen in modern times. I was concerned for your safety.”
Sam smiled wryly, “She’s been through a lot, man. Stuff you can’t just walk away from.”
“Something we have experience with,” Dean added.
Cas grumbled and let the brothers relay Maison’s story.
“I know, I don’t like it either, but he’s saved my brothers more times than I could imagine. We need to try.”
No. He killed me. He stole me from you. He killed me from you. He needs to go.
“I understand. I think the boys will understand, too once we tell them Cas killed you.”
But who do you think they will side with? Me? An angel stuck in a dog’s body? Or their new angelic brother?
“They will understand the circumstances. I think we can make it work. I want it to work–I need it to work. I want to have some human family again. I need that. You know I do.”
Silence from her companion.
“Please? Just one try, then, if it doesn’t work, I’ll drop it for good. Deal?”
As you wish.
“Thank you, Sensei,” Maison teased, and she could feel his warmth returning in her consciousness as they turned back towards the house.
With the group gathered on the porch, Sam started the crucial conversation. “So…,” He glanced at Cas and Dean, “Uh, Cas is sorry. He didn’t mean to kill your guardian, he was possessed by all of those leviathans in his body, and–”
“We know.” 
Sam stared, “Um, uh, so…‘we know’ like its okay or ‘we know’ but like we don’t care?” 
Maison dropped her hand to Rufus’ head, “We know, and we are willing to work around it.” She smiled at Rufus, his eyes blue with grace from their telepathic conversation. 
“So,” Dean is fiddling with his knife, “are we cool?” He gestures to include Cas in the ‘we.’
“Yeah…for now.”
“Heh, ominous,” Sam teased. 
“Oh, shut up,” Maison punched Sam half-playfully. “We still have more work to do. And…,” she looked meaningfully at Cas, “you two need to talk. In private.” 
Maison sent Dean to tune and repair a gravely, old Nissan, and several guns. She then set Sam up with instructions on how to reload shotgun, rifle, and pistol rounds with the appropriate grain. She went to fix the shingles on the roof and check the vigils that kept her property shielded. 
At the house, Cas sat stiffly into a rocking chair, startled at its movement, but eventually appreciating its rocking motion. He decided he wanted a rocking chair at the bunker. Rufus laid across the creaking swing, studying Cas. His murderer. They spoke inaudibly.
It has been awhile. 
“Yes, it has.” Cas answered. 
A pause. 
“So, um…how is Maison Greene doing?”
She is on the path to recovery, no thanks to your intervention.
“Yes. I am very sorry. I lost control of the leviathans and hurt many people.” 
You killed me, Castiel! 
He hung his head in shame, the angel seeming more and more righteous in his anger and less and less like a canine. 
Not only had I just saved Madison, but she was doing better. Good, even. 
“Brother, I am so sorry. I will do anything to right this wrong. Anything.” 
You cannot right this wrong Castiel. However... 
Cas looked hopefully at his brother. Not at the body he was inhabiting, but at the speck of angel that resided there. Tired, angry, at his wit's end. 
I will allow you and the Winchesters to know her and to be involved in her life. She needs her family more than I need to be angry at you for ending my life. 
“Thank you, brother. The Winchesters will be happy to hear of this--” 
Yes, they will. But I retain the right to terminate your visits. I can destroy them and hide Maison where you will never find her, should anything happen. This you well know, Castiel. 
“Yes. You were known for your...enthusiasm in Heaven's battles. That is why you were assigned to the guardian regiment: to learn to control it.” 
Rufus was visibly angered by Cas’ comment, but quickly regained his composure. And I have, but I still retain that... enthusiasm... as you call it deep in my soul. And I am not afraid to unleash it upon he who threatens my ward. 
“You are righteous in your worry for the girl. There are many threats, but I am not one of those threats, brother, and neither are the Winchesters.” 
Ha! Everyone who walks with them dies, Castiel. Dies! Without fail! And Maison's soul has been through so much, that it might not be able to be brought back if they get her killed! She needs more time to heal before I allow her to leave the clearing. 
"I can’t leave the clearing."
"We can take care of your guardian," Dean said under his breath. They were back at the house, now, waiting for Rufus and Cas to finish their conversation.
"We have an angel blade and he's weak. Plus," Sam added, "we have Cas too." 
"You don't understand." Maison ran a hand down her face. "After everything that I went through, my soul is still healing. Literally. Like, if I die, I probably won't be able to survive a resurrection attempt." 
"So...what? You're gonna hide here all your life?" Sam exaggerated, trying to get her to their side of reason.
"Don't you try that. My soul is on the mend. In time--soon-- it'll be safer to tempt fate." 
"We killed Fate," Dean bragged, puffing his chest. 
"Maybe the goddess, but not the concept or the effects." The three looked around the house. Maison had picked up a stick, flicked open her knife, and started whittling at it absently. Dean was drumming his fingers and bouncing his knee. Sam had his hands folded in his lap, brow furrowed, deep in thought. 
"What if," Sam sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, "we get them--the angels-- to fix your soul? Then you'll be okay." 
"Why?" 
"Whaddaya mean 'why?'," Dean stopped fidgeting and sat up, finger in Maison's face, "Your life matters, Mais, you're what? 20? 22? And you can't leave a clearing in the middle of nowhere for a milk run!" 
"I'm not hiding, Dean," Maison said. "And that’s not what I meant. First of all, angels can’t run around fixing souls. Nuclear reactor, remember? Second, I happen to know what happens to people when they get involved with you, and that they usually end up coming back once or twice, which--news flash-- I can't do! I'm too broken!" 
Rufus' head snapped towards the door, snarling. He was picking up on Maison's emotions. He felt the expected red anger, the confusion, the frustration...but he didn't expect the pain like an arrow through her heart, the gray memories of her past... He felt the splinters of her soul piercing him from inside the house. 
Enough of this, I'm going inside. 
“No. She needs to figure this out for herself.” 
I will not allow them to make her revert to a dark place. Even if they are family. 
Just then, he felt Maison pleading him to let her handle it. She could do it. It would be okay. He sat back on the swing, eyes and ears not leaving the door. 
Maison took a deep breath, "Ask Castiel to describe my soul. What it looks like. That I shouldn't be here alive right now." She held the knife in both hands now, "I want to be there for you. I know you are already attached to me. I know that you'd take my death hard, especially with no hope of bringing me back," she threw the knife and it lodged into the wall above a picture of her and her mom. She looked her brothers in the eyes, tears in hers, "I don't want you to lose me and blame yourselves. And you will."
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thedeadflag · 8 years ago
Text
I didn’t manage to finish it yet, not 100% sure how to end the prompt, but I figured I may as well post what I have here.
If anyone has any way they’d like to see it end, feel free to give feedback, I’m open to suggestions
Prompt: I wish you would write a fic where Clarke goes to visit her girlfriend Anya but she's not in the house, instead she finds Lexa sitting on a big chair, going like "You're the one who stole my sister's heart", in parallel to the "You're the one who burned 300 of my warriors alive" line.
**Ficlet under the cut**
"So what's going to happen with Luna?" Anya asked, lifting her cup of tea to her lips.
Lexa opened her mouth to speak, but yet another loud thump against the nearby wall delayed her speech for a moment, her sister frowning and letting out an annoyed huff. "We held an election with the board. I won, she didn't. I hope she'll just lick her wounds, but she'll probably run off to another company."
"She always was the kind to take her ball and go home." Anya added, brow furrowing as another thud sounded from the wall, followed by a loud moan. For the past half hour, Lexa's neighbour had seemingly been going at it pretty roughly next door. "Is that not the living room?"
Lexa shook her head and laughed. "Some people have strange kinks, Anya. This one seemed nice enough when I met her this morning, but...honestly, if she and whoever she's with plan on having sex in the living room, banging furniture against the wall like this, I might have to register a complaint."
Anya reared back a little. Lexa had always been a stickler for rules, but it seemed hasty to go after someone who hadn't even lived there for more than a single day. "Isn't that a little much? She just moved in. Why don't you see her in person and try to settle things?"
"You know that rarely helps. If she doesn't end this racket soon enough, I'll go to the rental company in the morning." Lexa answered with a shrug, cocking an eyebrow her way. "But if you feel an intervention would be worth it, then by all means, go over there. Just don't come back complaining when she slams the door in your face."
If there was one thing that aggravated her, it was Lexa challenging her. Especially since Lexa almost always ended up on the winning side, which was more frustrating than anything.
Still, while Anya had her own place a little outside the city, she'd spent a few years in apartment complexes and knew how things tended to go down. She knew that people could be reasonable, especially when they'd just moved in and don't want to make enemies.
Diplomacy, even if it was one of the most frustrating processes in existence, truly could work. And when it didn't, it let her rain down hell on her enemies, so that was always a plus, too.
"You should have more faith in me, dear sister." Anya noted with a grin, getting up from the kitchen table. It was a little late in the evening, and she was wearing a camisole and sleep shorts since Lexa had invited her to sleep over, but she could hardly imagine a neighbour would be too perturbed about an in-person noise complaint at quarter past nine.
Anya put on her sandals and exited the apartment, heading down one door to apartment three-nineteen. Readying herself for a possible confrontation, Anya knocked at the door and waited for the inevitable long wait and likely second and third attempts until the people inside realized she wasn't going away.
Except, the response was rather immediate. "Come in!" Lexa's neighbour called out, sounding panicked.
Confused, Anya leaned closer to the door. "Hello? I was wondering if I could talk to you about the noise?"
Anya heard a loud whine from inside. "Damn it! Please, can you come in and help me here?"
It was entirely bizarre, but she was nothing if not curious. Maybe a little worried at the distress in the woman's voice. "Are you decent?"
"I'm clothed and injured!" The woman called back, and whatever strange sex act was going on there, Anya was hopeful that she wouldn't end up scarred for life, as she could hardly turn down a request for aid.
Anya turned the doorknob and felt a little fortunate it was unlocked, letting her step inside. She only needed to take six more steps to get a good look into the living room, the sight stilling her in place.
A blonde woman was desperately trying to hold up a massive wooden cabinet full of fine china, but from the blood on the floor nearby, her quivering legs, and the broken bottom of the unit, it didn't seem to be a winning effort. Anya quickly rushed over and pressed up against the cabinet.
"I can hold it. You should go clean up your leg, unless you need help?" Anya asked, turning her attention to the blonde and immediately paling at the sight of her.
Oh no, she's hot...Anya mused to herself, already feeling herself sweat at how pretty Lexa's neighbour was, how beautifully blue her eyes were. She found herself smiling at the woman before she knew it, and sincerely hoped she didn't look like a creeper.
"Oh god, thank you. I'm a med student, my leg will be good to go in a jiffy. I'll be right back, I promise!" The blonde answered, quickly hobbling off towards what she expected was the bathroom.
The cabinet was hellishly heavy to hold up on her own, a credit to the physical fitness of Lexa's neighbour, but true to her word, the blonde was back barely two minutes later with her leg wrapped up. "Sorry about this, I tried calling my friend Raven, but I wasn't sure if she checked her voicemail. I dropped my phone after, so..." The woman stated, picking her phone back up. "Yeah, no calls or messages since. Shit, what am I gonna do?"
"I saw a bookshelf across the room. You could use those to stabilize this beast long enough to pull all the china out." Anya suggested, earning a harsh gasp.
"You want me to let it crush my books?" Lexa's neighbour sounded almost outraged.
"Just a suggestion. It'd keep it from falling forward and crushing us, and it'd buy time for me to get tools from my car and fix the bottom of the cabinet. A few minutes with my saw, and this will be good as new." Anya clarified, earning a second more horrified gasp to go along with the light smack to her shoulder.
"You want to mutilate my grandma's china cabinet?!"
Anya fought against rolling her eyes, knowing she was in a bit of a dangerous position if the huge wooden monstrosity fell on her. "You're a med student? Want to be what, a surgeon?" Anya asked, earning a wary nod. "I'm just trying to save the cabinet. Sometimes you need to amputate a limb, or remove some other damaged part of the body. It'll still be your grandma's cabinet. Just slightly shorter, and not prone to falling forward onto her granddaughter."
The woman lifted a finger as if to object, but seemed to think twice, letting out an aggravated groan and instead rushing out of Anya's view. She could hear the woman grumbling and muttering behind her, but eventually Lexa's neighbour returned, moving to a kneel and stacking a few books under the damaged area.
"I'm sorry old friends, I'll make it up to you." The neighbour mumbled, and soon Anya didn't feel the crushing weight of the cabinet. At least, not nearly as much, even if it was dipping forward still. "There. The cabinet's accepted my sacrifice."
"We'll do right by your noble charges. Let's get this china out." Anya suggested, earning a determined nod.
"So...I guess it's a little late for introductions, but I'm Clarke." Lexa's neighbour offered as she pulled out a stack of plates and ushered them to the nearby coffee table.
It was a peculiar name for a woman, but not entirely out of the blue. Given Clarke's clear love of her books, she wagered a guess. "As in Arthur C Clarke?"
Clarke spun around with a surprised smile on her face that immediately had Anya thankful for those books, because her legs were suddenly weak. "You're the first one to guess it right. My dad was a huge sci-fi nerd."
"In for a penny, in for a pound. At least you were named after one of the good ones." She noted with a grin. "I'm Anya. My sister's your neighbour...she thought you were having sex, so instead of formally complaining, she sent me over."
Clarke let out a laugh that immediately had Anya's mouth going dry with how melodic it was. "What, did she think I put my bed in the living room? That I'd have my headboard right up against the wall?"
"Well, to her credit, we heard regular thumps against the wall, and you moaning and crying out." Anya teased, hart fluttering at how red Clarke's cheeks went.
"I was wounded! I was defending myself against a really heavy china cabinet! I'd been stuck there for over forty-five minutes!" Clarke yelled, glaring in the direction of Lexa's apartment before loading up on more plates, her frame sagging slightly at the weight. "Ooof, these are heavy."
Anya swiftly grabbed them up and carried them over to the table. "I can get what's left, you just rest up."
"You're an angel, Anya. Thanks for all this...I'm pretty sure I could have died, I'm a little too stubborn for my own good sometimes." Clarke admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of her neck. Anya just hoped that her own blushing wouldn't be visible at the sweet compliment. "I'll go grab some water for us."
Anya stilled at the thought of spending time with Lexa's neighbour, but she certainly wasn't opposed. It probably wouldn't be a long visit, anyways, so she was sure Lexa would understand.
Six more trips between the cabinet and the coffee table, and she was done, leaving the piece of furniture as far less of a safety hazard than before. "I can go down and grab my tools, if you'd like to take care of this tonight? Or I could fix it some other time?"
"If you can keep my books from facing too much permanent damage, I'll love you forever!" Clarke called out from the kitchen, giving her an easy enough answer.
Maybe she jogged down the four flights of stairs and out into the parking lot. Still took the elevator back up, of course, given she was carrying her massive tool kit from her recent home reno. Walking up four flights of stairs with her own body weight in tools was not advisable.
She had to text Lexa that she'd be back a bit later after helping her neighbour, but Lexa got back quick saying it was fine, that she'd just make them some snacks for the movies they'd watch later.
It only took a few seconds for Clarke to answer the door when she knocked this time around, though in the time she was gone, Clarke had not only changed into nicer, more form fitting clothes, she'd also let her hair down.
Both of which had Anya's gay heart pumping harder as she licked her lips, trying to fight the sudden desert-like qualities of her mouth. "Hey. This shouldn't take long, I promise."
Clarke stepped out of the way and gestured her to enter. "Would it be too much to ask if I could help? As much fun as it is learning about the human body, it's been a while since I'd had some hands-on education in something else."
Anya gulped and set her tool kit down in the living room, knowing that she was well and truly too gay for this, but she'd try anyways, hoping it wouldn't blow up in her face.
"Alright, so all my tools are labeled. Can you get me the laser level while I ease this onto the floor?"
---
Clarke stared at her handiwork now that the cabinet's bottom supports had been shaved down and sanded smooth. It'd taken longer than Anya could have probably managed on her own, but Clarke appreciated the impromptu lesson, knowing it could come in handy in the future.
And, well, having a pretty woman giving her some hands-on help? Well, she couldn't help herself. It wasn't just the fact that Anya had saved her from being crushed and had saved the last remaining thing she had to remember her grandmother by, even if those two things were pretty big. In all honesty, she liked Anya's wit, her smile, and the woman had legs for days.
There were worse things she could do than seducing her neighbour's sister.
"There, that should do it. Everything's leveled out...let's see how it looks standing up." Anya noted with an infectious grin. Truly, when Anya had rushed into her apartment and held up the cabinet for her and shot her that adorable smile of hers, Clarke had immediately found herself short of breath and had to hobble off to a safe distance where she could breathe again. Well over a dozen smiles later, it still had the same effect.
Clarke nodded and helped Anya slowly lift it back onto its supports, maybe pulling a hand away once it was upright enough to rest at the small of Anya's back. After all, it wouldn't do for Anya to feel unsupported, and Clarke had always been a fan of non-verbal gestures of thanks.
It was kind of marvelous that the cabinet stood tall, not even remotely wobbling. "It looks as good as new. I think this calls for a celebration." Clarke stated, turning on her best puppy dog eyes when she saw a flicker of hesitation in Anya's eyes. "You can stay for a drink, can't you?"
Clarke wasn't entirely prepared to take no for an answer, steering Anya towards her loveseat and gently prodding her to take a seat before rushing back to the kitchen to grab the bottle of wine she'd opened earlier and the cupcakes she'd stress-baked that afternoon after reality had sunk in about living on her own for the first time, in a new city to boot.
And maybe she didn't have to resign herself to the idea of eating all three dozen on her own, now.
Clarke took two glasses and carried them, the bottle, and one of the cupcake containers out to the living room, setting them on the table. "I figure there's nothing wrong with a glass of wine to celebrate a job well done and a new friendship, right?" She asked, pouring the wine and handing Anya one of the glasses.
Anya's smile was warm as she took hold of it, giving it a glance before taking a sip. "We're friends?"
Clarke shrugged and took a seat, feet tucked beneath her, body angled towards Anya. "Unless you can think of something more fitting."
She watched Anya's eyes go wide, watched her swallow hard, but it was clear that Anya wasn't some helpless prey. The heat in her eyes told a different story. "I might have an idea or two."
"Well, you are crafty. I'd imagine you would." Clarke shot back, leaning ever so slightly closer, tracing her tongue across her lower lip.
Anya set her glass on the table, watchful eye flitting between Clarke's eyes and lips. "Mmmmh. But first I have to thank you."
"For what?" Clarke asked, inching closer, her heart beating stronger, faster the nearer she was to her guest.
Anya was a breath away, and like hell if the woman didn't meet her in the middle, the languid kiss sweet with the taste of wine, Anya's hand smoothing down her cheek, fingertips pressing at the bottom of her chin like she was drinking in everything Clarke had to offer.
It was flattering, really, and only had her pressing forward, prodding Anya to turn as she guided her guest down against the armrest and straddled her hips. Clarke was reluctant to allow her much of any distance, but when Anya's kisses grew fleeting, fluttering across her lips, nose, chin, punctuating against the mole on her upper lip, maybe that was all cute enough for her to give her room to breathe.
Anya made it easy, the giddy, gleeful expression on her face spinning Clarke's hearts into somersaults. "For giving me some sugar." Anya finally answered, shaking with laughter as she brought a cupcake from the table to her mouth and took a bite out of it. Anya let out a content hum, gazing down at the remainder of the cupcake in appreciation. "These are really good. They taste almost as good as you."
The cheesiness was too much not to laugh at. "You've only had a tiny sample of what I offer, babe. Trust me."
"Oh, I do. But here's the thing, darling..." Anya let out all low and slow, that last word lighting a blazing fire in Clarke. "See, by the look in your eyes, I get the feeling that you want me to stay for more than just a drink tonight. And yet, I promised my sister a movie night."
"And if I asked you to consider changing your plans?" Clarke probed, heart twisting at the thought of Anya trying to find an escape, that maybe she'd read the woman wrong.
"I'd say I'm a woman of my word. When I make a promise, I keep it. So I have to go soon." Anya clarified, and Clarke couldn't quite hide her disappointment. "Clarke...think of the big picture here. I keep my promises...so if you were to ask me to be free on a certain day...or if you wanted me to do something specific for you and I agreed...or you managed to talk me into something when we were a little distracted...you can always count on me to live up to it. Always."
She could feel the sweat at her brow at the implications. And really, while it was deeply disappointing that this new connection wouldn't continue overnight, Clarke did see the appeal in Anya's honesty and loyalty. It was a breath of fresh air compared to some of her past exes.
Still, she could hardly let Anya go without showing her disappointment, letting out a heavy sigh. "I guess that's perfectly fair and reasonable of you. It'd be wrong to break your plans with your sister like that. So...if I wanted to take you on a date on, say, Saturday?"
Relief shone in Anya's eyes. "Any particular time on Saturday?"
"Noon and onward?" Clarke asked, relishing in the excitement swirling amidst Anya's wide-eyed surprise. "I want to get to know you. That means spending time with you...we grab lunch, spend time at the park together, catch the afternoon concert, grab dinner, head to either of our places, and see where the night takes us?"
Anya leaned up, bringing their lips together in a sweet, lingering kiss. "That sounds perfect."
"Then Saturday it is. And since I won't be able to give you any more sugar tonight...the least I can do is offer you something that tastes almost as good. For your movie night." Clarke offered, taking hold of the tupperware container holding now eleven cupcakes. "I'll give you this and another one. I stress bake, so you'd be doing me a favor in taking two thirds of these off my hands. I don't want to have to eat more than a dozen."
"That sounds like a sweet deal to me." Anya laughed, and maybe if Anya wasn't looking up at her with such warmth, maybe she would have been her usual coy self and played it off as nothing, certainly not a sign of commitment or anything like that.
In reality, she wanted Anya to be reminded of her all night. She wanted Anya to snack away on those cupcakes and think about kissing her. And she wanted to get in Anya's sister's good graces after taking up so much of their time already.
"Sweet gifts for a sweet girl." She conceded, adoring the sudden shy smile and glimmer of hope in Anya's eyes, even if the woman schooled her features quickly enough into a less vulnerable and transparent sort of happiness that was no less adorable.
Anya rolled her eyes, laughter bursting out a little harder. "You're probably the first person since my teacher in sixth grade to call me 'sweet'."
"Maybe so, but it's the truth." Clarke admitted, pulling out her phone, unlocking it, and starting up a new contact. "Now, would you be so gracious as to give me a way to get a hold of you whenever I can't literally take hold of you?"
She handed the phone to Anya, who held her gaze for an extra moment or two before turning focus to the screen, calmly tapping away as her smile grew. "I could hardly decline. You're all here by your lonesome, it's important to have someone you can get a hold of if you need to." Anya murmured, quickly finishing inputting her information, handing the phone back. "Here you are, darling."
Spurred on by impulse, Clarke took her phone, switched to the camera, and snapped a quick picture of her blushing, smiling guest. Anya rolled her eyes and let out a huff at her antics, and maybe it was justified, but she couldn't just leave her contact page free of photo evidence.  Certainly not after Anya had been cute with the pet names again.
"I guess I should let you go, then." Clarke said, reluctantly getting off the couch and packing up the cupcakes.
By the time she'd grabbed the other container from the kitchen and returned, Anya had just finished packing up her tools. From where she was kneeling, Anya glanced up at her; she must have seen something, whether it was Clarke's encroaching feelings of loneliness or something else, because like a flick of a switch, her eyes softened with sympathy.
Clarke set the cupcakes on the side-table by the door. "I hope you have fun with your sister." She tried to distract Anya, but her guest just wasn't having it, closing the distance between them and reaching down to take hold of her hands.
"I really like you, Clarke." Anya murmured, her warm brown eyes focusing intently on Clarke's. "I'm really looking forward to Saturday. But our date's thirty-eight hours away, so I was wondering if you could indulge me a little until then?"
She felt herself swallow hard, and even if she could clearly see that Anya wasn't the needy one out of the both of them, at least at the moment. She nodded along, relieved that Anya could tell she was feeling a little insecure and wasn't teasing her over it. "Of course, anything."
"Could you text me in a few minutes so I'll have your number? It's just that here you are, freshly moved into your new place, and I don't want you to feel alone. I know what it's like to move into a new place by yourself and to feel a little lonely." Anya noted, pretty much getting it in one in terms of how she was feeling. "When it was me, my friend insisted that we text each other when we went to bed, so that we could be there for each other, if just in those moments. It helped me feel less alone."
Clarke sunk her teeth into her lower lip, heart fluttering at the sweet offer. "I'm a bit of a night owl, fair warning."
Anya shrugged. "Then I'll at least be able to wish you sweet dreams when I head to bed. And Clarke...you can text me if you ever want to talk. I don't play games, if I like you then I like you. I'll answer as soon as I'm able to."
It was a kind offer, one she didn't want to abuse, but she mind end up doing anyways. With no friends or family in Baltimore, or even within five hundred miles, she was very much alone in any reasonable sense. For someone she'd just met to offer to be accessible for her, even if it was someone who was romantically interested in her, it was huge.
"There you go being sweet again." She murmured, taking a half step closer to lean in and press a lingering kiss to Anya's cheek. "I'm really glad I met you, Anya. Maybe I could make friends with your sister, too?"
Anya laughed, pulling her hands away to wipe at her right eye with the edge of her hand. "Oh god, Lexa's going to smell you all over me, and she's going to get protective and territorial. Not a chance in hell she'll be your friend for at least the next week or two."
Clarke paled at the thought of inadvertently having made an enemy. "Well...shit."
"Don't worry about her. She'll come around, she always does...just be prepared for a little dramatic flair from her for a while, and be prepared to win her over when she comes for your throat." Anya added, not really giving her any confidence that she hadn't made a life-long enemy for expressing her interest in Anya. "She respects courage and honesty. My past few exes were...lacking in that department. So just tell her the truth, don’t buckle under pressure, and stand by your feelings, and you'll be fine."
"You're talking as if you think we're going to be a thing for a while." Clarke suggested, deciding to focus on the silver lining instead of the intimidating-sounding sister.
"I have a good feeling." Anya answered, fingertips gently stroking down her side. "On that note, I should go. I'll talk to you soon, Clarke."
"I hope you and Lexa have a nice night. Take care." Clarke offered, waiting for Anya to grab her tools before plopping the tupperware containers on her arms.
She watched Anya leave, carefully padding her way down the hall and kicking apartment three eighteen's door with her foot. A few seconds later, the door opened, and Anya disappeared into her sister's apartment, leaving Clarke alone to finish unpacking.
But not entirely alone, she knew, as she grabbed her phone and sent off a quick text to Anya, swiftly changing her contact profile right after.
Clarke Griffin Let me know if Lexa enjoys the cupcakes!
She only had to wait a half minute for a response.
Anya Sweetheart Woods She spent the past hour making snacks for our movie marathon and has decided to utterly ignore them in favor of your cupcakes.
She's moaning *very* loudly. It's really embarrassing
Clarke grinned at her phone as she made her way to her bedroom, flopping heavily onto her bed and curling up with her collection of pillows.
Clarke Griffin You did say that they taste nearly as good as me. This shouldn't come as a surprise
Anya Sweetheart Woods I might have just relayed that fact. She's entirely suspicious now, but is still happily eating cupcakes
I think she's too focused on snacking for now to interrogate me. Just starting up John Wick 2, but if you need to talk I'll be here
Clarke sighed, staring at that last message, at Anya's earnest offer.
Yeah, Saturday couldn't come soon enough.
---
Sixteen days later
---
Clarke was capital E excited as she got out of her car and stared up the long flower-lined walkway to Anya's house. She'd been twice before, but this would be her first night sleeping over. Hell, it was their first time sleeping over anywhere, and Anya also wanted her to stay the weekend. While she had adored the past two weeks of dating and taking it slow, she was more than ready to take the next step.
So yeah. Excited wasn't really a word that could fully describe how she felt as she made her way up the walkway with her luggage in tow, but it would have to do until her vocabulary could recover.
She'd received a text from Anya a few minutes earlier telling her to just walk in, so even though her manners willed her to knock, she trusted in Anya and opened the door, hauling her luggage across the threshold. She could smell a fresh fire in the living room, so she left her luggage in the foyer and went down the hall, looking forward to snuggling on the couch with her girl.
Except as she rounded the corner into the living room, it wasn't Anya she saw.
There, at the end of the room, the early evening light streaming in the windows behind her, was Lexa, seated on an oversized, ornate, silver leaf-decorated chair that very well might have been a throne at some point in its lifetime.
Clarke offered a wary stare at Lexa, who was holding a very large and dangerous-looking knife in her hands, green eyes boring into Clarke's skull.
"You're the one who stole my sister's heart." Lexa stated, voice dripping with danger even if Clarke couldn't quite make sense of why. It would make sense for Lexa to be happy, not upset.
Deciding to rise to the challenge, Clarke stepped closer, stopping directly ahead of her a few feet away. "You're the one who sent her over to see me."
Lexa lifted her chin, her hard, intense stare unrelenting. "Do you love her, Clarke Griffin of Pasadena California?"
She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, knowing full well the answer to Lexa's question. Still, like hell if she was going to tell Lexa before she told Anya.
"I have an offer for you." Clarke asserted, only for Lexa to lift a hand and send a disapproving frown her way.
"This is not a negotiation." Lexa practically growled.
Still, she had to stand firm. She had to pull out the big guns. "I can help you learn how to make my cupcakes."
The hunger and lust the woman was giving off was palpable as Lexa's eyes grew wide, throat straining as she visibly swallowed. "Go on."
Clarke nearly recoiled at how easy it was to get Lexa hook, line, and sinker, but willed herself not to react, knowing it could blow the opportunity she had managed to earn. "Between what Anya has stocked, and what I brought with me, I can teach you how to make them. I've never written the recipe down, but I could give it to you."
"In exchange for not having to answer that question." Lexa said, eyes narrowing in clear suspicion.
"That word, and whether or when it's been spoken to whom, is entirely between me and Anya." Clarke countered quickly, though she could see Lexa weighing the offer, and could see she hadn't won the woman over. Deciding maybe a little embarrassment was worth ensuring Lexa would be on her side, Clarke decided to pull the lack trick up her sleeve. "I'll show you what I brought with me in my luggage and you can infer what you want from that."
Lexa held her stare for agonizingly long seconds, the intensity spurring seat to bud at her hairline. So she felt light as a feather when Lexa eventually nodded and got up from the chair. "Why did you bring luggage, anyways?"
"It's our first sleepover. I wanted to bring the necessary stuff, and things to help celebrate." Clarke clarified, leading Lexa off to the foyer to grab her luggage before wheeling it into the kitchen. "Not that you need to know, but it's all innocent."
"I'm sure." Lexa noted, not sounding entirely convinced, but also not really sounding entirely invested in whether they'd be up to anything depraved in nature.
Clarke set her luggage up on the kitchen table and opened it up for Lexa's perusal. And of course Anya's sister would pull out some of the food first, holding up packs of graham crackers and marshmallows, eyebrow cocked and questioning. "It's for s'mores. I figured the fire pit in the back would be good for that."
"Yes, I suppose, but...why? You're not out camping or anything, certainly you have strong baking skills." Lexa stated, probing at the first of the things that would probably result with her having to make it up to Anya. Not that Anya wasn't in the know about any of them, essentially, but making all of that more public wasn't something she'd talked about with Anya yet.
Still, it was Lexa. Clarke wanted to hope Anya would forgive her. And it wasn't as if she didn't have leverage over Lexa.
"I hoped to make them with Anya and...well, I was going to tell her I adore her s'more and s'more every day." Clarke answered despite the rising blush in her cheeks, bracing herself for laughter as she stared down at the bars of chocolate in her luggage.
She hadn't even accounted for the possibility of the sniffling sounds beside her, or the single tear track on Lexa's face as the woman gazed softly at the pack of marshmallows. "That's beautiful."
Maybe there was just something in the Woods family tree that ensured they were all entirely sappy individuals, but it was endearing nonetheless. "Yeah, well, she deserves it. She's pretty much the sweetest person I've met, so it's only right that I step up and treat her right."
Lexa's laughter rang out this time around, Clarke having to wait about a half a minute before Anya's sister calmed herself enough to speak again. "Anya? Sweet? You must be joking." Lexa spoke between laughs, though Clarke simply raising her eyebrows expectantly stilled that compulsion, leaving the woman to express her complete bewilderment Clarke's way. "You're not?"
Clarke shook her head. "Wouldn't dare. And don't even ask for details, that wasn't part of the deal. But speaking of our deal...I think you have your answer, don't you?"
"I believe I do." Lexa agreed, a hint of a smile on her lips before turning her focus to the rest of the kitchen. "Now, we should get to these cupcakes. Anya will get home in a little over ninety minutes. I want to have my cupcakes, help you clean up, and make sure you're all set to treat my sister before she arrives."
More than a little thrilled to have Lexa backing their relationship, Clarke quickly gathered the ingredients from her luggage and brought them over to the kitchen island. A minute or so later, everything was ready, leaving her the excuse to grab the pad and pencil on Anya's fridge and start jotting down the ingredient list and instructions.
"So okay, here's what I need you to do..."
---
(that’s where I’ve left off...any ideas?)
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intothemines · 8 years ago
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oh my god THANK YOU for sticking up for jess in terms of her reasoning for the prank. obviously the prank was needless and mean but hannah should have known better than to try to make a committed person cheat. she was naive, yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that her actions were hurting people, including her own friends. the prank was awful and ended up doing more harm than anyone could have predicted, but hannah's not an angel and jess is not satan
!!! you’re welcome.
there’s a lot of complicated feelings that go into talking about the prank and the motives behind it. and i think a lot of people go into it thinking that jess and em are your typical mean girls, picking on the geeky, shy girl with a crush on the most popular boy in school, and leave it at that. and the more i think about it, the angrier i get, because a lot of people don’t want to talk about the shit that hannah did wrong?
because yes, she is naive, but she’s not dumb. and like you said, she was willing to hook up with a guy who was not only taken, but dating her supposed friend!! and that’s not a cute look on anyone whatsoever! and, with the magazine clippings in her room, and the way you can read her diary and her pure excitement and badgering of josh in terms of if mike was going or not, you can come to the conclusion that she was actively flirting with a man who was dating her friend. she put emily’s feelings and wants aside because i’m a nicer girl, therefore i deserve this and she doesn’t. and a lot of people follow suit in that logic.
just because emily is rough around the edges does not mean she isn’t suddenly deserving of happiness, and like it or not her and mike were and item, and even after they broke up the game makes it obvious that they’re still close. and emily shouldn’t have to sacrifice that momentary happiness because hannah stomps her feet and thinks her and mike are gonna get married and ride off into the sunset. no one’s really there to set her straight about it – sam is her best friend, so she’s understandable delicate, and beth is her sister, so beth has her back no matter what she gets herself into. so, really, jess and emily are the only people who really try to get the idea into her head that it’s not her time.
now, does this justify the cruelty of what they did? no way. they went too far, and they got themselves in over their head when they realized just how badly they fucked up. though it’s hard to see it, they had good intentions of trying to show and tell hannah that she was making a horrible mistake ( by going to hook up with her friend’s boyfriend not two doors down from where her friend was ), but jess and emily ( and mike ) let their own agendas get in the way, and instead of staging and intervention how i met your mother style, they chose to humiliate her. ( and i can only assume the idea to go this far came from frustration on emily’s behalf, watching someone pine after her boyfriend every single day, and protection on jess’s behalf, since emily is her best friend and would do anything to help her. )
this probably came out in a way that looks like i’m shaming hannah, which i’m not, but it’s just frustrating for me, too, to look at this situation and see the way people react to it, shoving all the blame onto jess and emily when hannah was very much in the wrong, and very few people are actually willing to say it out loud.
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brido · 7 years ago
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Mike and Vicky Go to Ecuador (Day 4)
Way back in 1687, Sir Isaac Newton did some science stuff and concluded that the Earth bulged at the equator. French scientists, who preferred homeboy, Rene Descartes, and his older theory that the Earth elongated at the poles, launched a mission in to South America in 1735 to do more science stuff and settle the argument once and for all. It was like the powdered-wigged, 18th Century version of the space race.
The implications of the mission (spelled out in Larrie D. Ferreiro’s 2013 book Measure of the Earth) included improved ship navigation, more accurate maps, the ‘discovery’ of rubber and a big reason Ecuador named itself that when it won independence in 1822. Even though, like, 10 other countries have the equator running through them.
In my head, I want the mission to have been more like the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark or The Lost City of Z, but I think it was mostly French scientists triangulating distances and bickering amongst themselves. 
It was the Spanish scientists who went along on the mission that actually ended up being the most interesting, in my opinion. One of them ended up becoming a spy against the British navy. Another, Antonio de Ulloa, discovered platinum, got imprisoned by the British on his way back to Europe (he was released due to the intervention of British scientists), eventually became governor of Louisiana and got kicked out of New Orleans in the Creole rebellion of 1768.
Anyway, to commemorate the equatorial mission, the government of Ecuador built a Disneyland-like theme park and monument just outside of Quito called Mitad del Mundo (or Half of the World). It’s complete with a big yellow line that runs through the exact location of the equator, which makes for some fantastic photo opportunities. It’s just a shame the line is off by about 300 yards.
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I guess the overall setting and wrong-ness of the equator line could make the place seem super cheesy, but I honestly didn’t care. I was having fun. I made DX crotch cops straddling the fake equator line and took other fun pics along it with the wife and fam. It’s not like everybody’s always had GPS. Well, I guess the pre-Incan mountaintop site of Catequilla is exactly on the equator. But I doubt they give out free chocolate at their ticket window.        
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Honestly, I learned a lot of interesting stuff at the little exhibits. I’d never really seen a cocoa pod in person before or put one of its slimy raw seeds in my mouth (which sounds kinda hot). I also didn’t know anything about chocolate percentages (much to the chagrin of my Trader-Joe-shopping wife). And part of me actually fantasizes about becoming a chocolate connoisseur now. Hey, isn’t Joe Maddon a honey connoisseur or something? I’m sure it’s cool. 
Oh, by the way, I just ordered a book called The Chocolate Connoisseur by Chloe Doutre-Roussel on Amazon, used, for a dollar. That’s the same price I usually snag shit I used to think was good in a vending machine. Oh, I can’t wait to be even snobbier! I will one day become the Augustus Gloop of Silver Lake!    
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Besides the chocolate, I also learned a little more about the diverse cultures and traditional dress of Ecuador (the coast, the highlands and the Amazon are all very different), I looked at science stuff about the equator, found out more about Panama hats (which are made in Ecuador, but confused Americans who bought them as they were being shipped through Panama) and took a probably-culturally-insensitive photo with Victoria on a green screen.    
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There was even a restaurant there that served cuy (you might know it better as motherfucking guinea pig), but I chickened out on eating it (no taste-alike pun intended). Maybe cuy does taste like rabbit or dark meat chicken, but I’ll probably never know. I’m gonna be way too busy deciding how bitter I like my Cecilia Tessieri chocolates (I Googled that).
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When we departed from the almost-center of the Earth (I saw online that someone made a joke that it should be called “Mitad del Mundo, Mas o Menos”) we drove straight to La Floresta, the nicest neighborhood I saw anywhere in Ecuador. One article I read even said it was one of the most “beguiling” neighborhoods in all of South America. I guess I was only there briefly, but if you would have dropped me in there blind and told me we were in Beverly Hills or somewhere fancy in San Francisco, I would have believed you. I’m also very stupid. Anyway, we ate at URKO, another mind-blowing Ecuadorian restaurant that leaves me to be absolutely sure that this country knows what it’s doing in the food department. Well, other than the llamas and the guinea pigs.
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Since November 2nd was fast approaching, we stopped by a bakery and honored the Ecuadorian “Day of the Deceased” celebration by picking up t’anta wawa or guaguas de pan, which are sweet rolls that are supposed to look like babies and are filled with jam. And we also got a jug of colada morada, a drink made with blackberries, spices and other fruit rinds. You serve it hot and it gives Mike Bridenstine the diarrheas.
The fam got home with just enough time to settle in and watch Game 1 of the World Series. It was the game they played in 103-degree Los Angeles heat and I spent way too much time trying explain to my niece why Justin Turner looks like that. Thus concluded Day 4.
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