#his choice of the poem is immaculate

[metamorphesque]

These images of circles and circling, revolving around a great center he names God, it makes me think of the cathedral labyrinths of Europe. Or the ancient spiral glyphs carved into rocks and cave faces. I see the circling pathway around some secret center. The road can be bewildering, twisting and turning, keeping us disoriented and uncertain of how near we are, but ever moving inward.

And that courageous line –

I may not ever complete the last one, but I give myself to it.

We walk the winding path, not out of certainty, but because it is the only path worth walking. Walking that road, quietly, with attention, one foot in front of the other, becomes meditation. It becomes worship. Each ring, whether near or far, is a layer of our lives that is blessed by our passing through it.

Walking the circling path is not only the way to the center, it is actually part of the center. We learn to participate in the center by first walking the path. Obsession with the destination becomes an impediment to reaching it. Instead, by patiently inhabiting each step, we discover the center in ourselves... and our feet naturally end up there, as well.

We walk with our whole selves –

and I still don't know: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?

On this roundabout road to God, we question our own nature. We encounter the mystery of self. Who and what are we really? Ultimately, it is in that questioning of a self that eludes definition where we find the still center.

The quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes our fate; and later on, when it "happens" (that is, steps forth out of us to other people), we will feel related and close to it in our innermost being. And that is necessary. It is necessary - and toward this point our development will move, little by little - that nothing alien happen to us, but only what has long been our own. People have already had to rethink so many concepts of motion; and they will also gradually come to realize that what we call fate does not come into us from the outside, but emerges from us. It is only because so many people have not absorbed and transformed their fates while they were living in them that they have not realized what was emerging from them; it was so alien to them that, in their confusion and fear, they thought it must have entered them at the very moment they became aware of it, for they swore they had never before found anything like that inside them. Just as people for a long time had a wrong idea about the sun's motion, they are even now wrong about the motion of what is to come. The future stands still, dear Mr. Kappus, but we move in infinite space.

Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen, die sich über die Dinge ziehn. Ich werde den letzten vielleicht nicht vollbringen, aber versuchen will ich ihn.

Ich kreise um Gott, um den uralten Turm, und ich kreise jahrtausendelang; und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm oder ein großer Gesang.

I live my life in widening circles (set me free)

Starry Night (Vincent van Gogh), Widening Circles by Rainer Maria Rilke (tr. Joanna Macy), Commentary by Ivan M. Granger, The Chartres Cathedral Labyrinth, Ouroboros, 1760  (a photograph by Granger), question mark symbol in Armenian, 지민 (Jimin) 'Set Me Free Pt.2', Letters to a Young Poet (by Rainer Maria Rilke), Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen (by Rainer Maria Rilke)

[italian-lit-tournament]

Italian literature tournament - First round.

Propaganda in support of the authors is accepted, you can write it both in the tag if reblog the poll (explaining maybe that is propaganda and you want to see posted) or in the comments. Every few days it will be recollected and posted here under the cut.

The propaganda here are in order from left to right, first Carlo Gozzi and then Guid Cavalcanti

Carlo Gozzi propaganda by @girlboccaccio

Do you like theatre? Do you like opera? Are you interested in commedia dell'arte? Do you like fables with dubious morales, fairy tales with dark hidden meanings, plays inspired by 16th morally ambiguous short tales and The thousand and one nights? If yes you should take two second and vote for Carlo Gozzi (yeah the funky guy in b/w on the left). Without him we couldn't have masterpieces like Puccini's Turandot and The Love for Three Oranges by Sergei Prokofiev. He was a great admirer of spanish literature and theatre. He defended commedia dell'arte and funky plays when this manners of making theatre were dying. Immaculate yeah? He wrote an autobiography named Useless Memories, truly cunty, right? He was a rate A+ hater when he decided to start shitting against the king of the new modern way of writing theatre, Carlo Goldoni. He died in a Country that stopped existing in the last decade of his life (The Not So Serene Republic Of Venice) and lost all his friends in exile. He was the bitch of the venetian intellectual life. He was the bitch of the coolest italian actresses of the time. He was friend with Francesco Algarotti, the loveboy of Frederich the Great.

Fella, if you love the 18th century, you have only one choice in you hand: vote Carlo Gozzi.

Propaganda in favor of Guido Cavalcanti by @eresia-catara

May I add further propaganda for Guido: He's a noble, he disdains aristocrats, he was Florence's number one Server of Cunt, he was the city's faggot, he was heretical, he went on a random pilgrimage but interrupted it and managed to be buried in a church anyway, he had an archenemy who sent some men to murder him on said pilgrimage, he came back and tried to murder him back in plain daylight, he gave zero fucks about politics, he got exiled because he was considered a menace for the city. He SAW DANTE's poetical talent, encouraged it, shaped it, and through him the whole of italian literature. Think about it. Also they became besties until they evolved to a tormented psychosexual haunting dynamic (see break-up poem) where Dante himself actually exiled him. In the 13th century his poetry anticipates so many of the literary themes of the XXth century, going from fragmentation of the self (his is basically vivisection and dispersion of his parts), to dissociation from one's own mind and body, lack of identity, irony, desecration, his poetry is full of schizophrenic-like hallucinations, reading them is truly a trip, and yet his language is profoundly meoldic and sweet. And there's also gender-fuckery. and theater, of course, because his poems develop like a scene from a theater (adding layers to the dissociation). So really he has it all guys.

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @girldante

GUIDO CAVALCANTI PROPAGANDA ABBIAMO:

LA DISSOCIAZIONE SCHIZOFRENICA:

IL COMICO, IL SIMPATICO BURLONE, IL MEMATORE ANTE LITTERAM:

IL MACABRO, IL GORE, I SINTOMI™

IL BREAKUP TOSSICO PASSIVO AGGRESSIVO CON DANTE

in conclusione

[leahsfiction]

In the Mountains, After a Snowfall - Zheng Xie

dawn I open my door to snow covering the mountain

clean snow white clouds cold sun

eaves running with water no waterfall yet plum blossoms frozen

a loneliness clear silent and rare

--

山中雪后

郑燮

晨起开门雪满山，雪晴云淡日光寒。 檐流未滴梅花冻，一种清孤不等闲。

A very painterly poem (like the last Zheng Xie we translated). I like his choice of descriptors in the second line, and the suspended moment in the third.

Is there no direct equivalent of 清 with all its connotations in English?? I compromised with "clear" AND "silent"; ghoul went with "immaculate" which is SUCH a great pull. :)))

[pen-observing]

stars make us

synopsis: close to his birthday, kaeya thinks about you.

word count: 830 warnings: mentions of soulmates and breakups a/n: happy birthday kaeya ily thank you for carrying me so much + thanks @shinestrue​ for having immaculate brain cells and introducing the idea and helping me work it out 

the stars are always above you. they exist among dark nights and infinities; they follow the mortal kind with predestined endings and paths. you cannot escape them – kaeya knows that there is no possible way to do so. he has tried after all.  

being the chosen one that paradoxically has to make a choice, being the start and end of it all while knowing that there is no avoiding such fate – the stars set that thorny path for him. his blood, his legacy, his nation did. if kaeya had any way of trading places, of not being who he is, he would grasp it so quickly that the god of time would find offence in his actions.  

kaeya hates the stars and he hates reminders of himself. the stars wrote out his fate and they brought him to mondstadt – the town of freedom and the place that provided him with warmth no matter how cold his hands or his heart were. yet, in this town, he remembers his mission and the choice he will eventually be forced into, he remembers your smile and he curses the stars once again. he is not free while he walks these paths, his heart clings to his duty and to you.  

the truth is, kaeya hates his birthday because it is just another reminder the parts of fate that the higher power influenced. he has to wonder – how much of oneself belongs to mortals?  

tomorrow is his birthday and the first snow of the year has already fallen. it taunts him. time does not wait, his years pass now and they will lead to one side or another.  

the only thing kaeya does not hate is when he remembers the usual ways you would celebrate his birthday.   once – that meant showing up to his front door and forcing him to make a snowman with an eye-patch.   the year after that, he remembers you forced him to ice skate with you on a frozen lake. he still hasn’t told you how he had to use some of his powers to ensure the thin ice would not crack and ruin your fun. then there was the time you gifted him matching gloves and he didn’t have the heart to tell you he did not need any because of his vision.  

ah yes, that darn thing. when you walked shoulder to shoulder next to him, stealing glances, it seemed like he was looking towards the future. the statues around mondstadt, the vision attached to his hip, his reluctance to look at the starts... it all seemed to overwhelm him because of something the future held that he refused to speak to you about. he did hold you in his arms while dancing under the stars in windrise; he did say all the stars he wanted to see would be reflected in your eyes, but, it still seemed distant.  

because of that – you decided that his next birthday would be a surprise trip to liyue. there – kaeya had no reminders of running through the fields as a child, he had no reminders of birthday cakes with botched handwriting when diluc and crepus decided to surprise him; no reminders of places where he collected shells or collected back pieces of himself to remain sane – all he had was you. and that was enough.  

kaeya swears that was enough. he would swear it to the stars just to prove a point, no matter how much he hates them. he would swear it to you, if you would let him. with you – he started to look forward to his birthdays. and that is why it hurts even more. he can no longer gaze at you as the snowflakes fall down. he can no longer hold your hand or laugh at the snowman’s crooked nose.  

all he has are memories and moments, slightly fragmented, where you are in his world and making him realise that love is all around.   kaeya once read a poem, he no longer remembers the name or the author, but he will never forget what it said: ‘true lovers are born on different ends of the same star.’  

it looks like you were not born on the same one as him. the stars were always above him and you – wearing someone else’s engagement ring around your finger – is just one more way that the stars toyed with him.  

his birthday is tomorrow and all kaeya can think about is you. the two of you broke up but if kaeya could hold your hand right now in those matching gloves while witnessing snowflakes falling down around you – he would. kaeya believes that if you were not on the other end of his star; it must be a reminder that he is broken, this time and every other time too. it must mean that the loneliness he carries will always be there – nobody else could be his soulmate but you.

[tibby]

i would google it but i only trust ur insight/opinions/facts. why was amanda in so many traps was it before she became an apprentice or was it punishment? also ps havent seen the movies - just very interested in lesbian amanda young . pps pls share any extra hcs u have about her ppps love u

hi lovely!! so amanda has technically only been put in one trap - the reverse beartrap - but she pretended to be a victim of the nerve gas house to keep daniel matthews safe, as his survival was required for another game (there's always like three fucking games going on at once in these movies). her apprenticeship was a test, because the only thing john kramer likes more than fucking with strangers is fucking with his employees, but that was a psychological test as opposed to "let's put some guys in a contraption and see what happens." and her failure there was due to hoffman's interference. if any of that makes sense to you as someone who has not seen the movies.

but! on a lighter note, here are some random/various hcs i have for her, some of which are vaguely in the realm of the jigsquad universe as opposed to canon because i want mandy to live. idk if all of these will make sense to a non saw watcher but i am ALWAYS happy to discuss my beloved amanda young:

she's a lesbian. obviously. genuinely surprised that this isn't canon within the films like i thought this was all something we just knew about amanda young.

she's a vegetarian.

despite her...choice of profession, she doesn't enjoy horror movies that much. she says it's because everything is so obviously fake or whatever, but they just genuinely freak her out. she's dealt with enough terrifying shit in her own life and witnesses man made horrors every day (even if she DID help make said horrors), she doesn't need to deal with it in the movies too. she DOES like dramas and documentaries though and usually goes down one of those roads when it's her pick for movie night.

immaculate head game. has lynn seeing shrimp colours.

even before john taught her his engineering knowledge, she's just been naturally good at fixing things up and likes getting to take care of stuff around the house or get the Team Jigsaw Van working again whenever it breaks down. she's good with her hands and isn't afraid of getting dirty, no innuendo intended.

she's smart and got good grades in school but her circumstances and home life and mental illnesses made it difficult for her to apply herself in a way that the education system demanded of her. she definitely did not enjoy the institution of school but i think she liked learning and developing new skills.

on a similar note, she loves to read and will devour anything from 1000 page classics to shitty romantic paperbacks to essays to poems to biographies. she doesn't sleep well so she usually just reads in bed for hours or while they're hanging around waiting for victims to wake up so that the games can start. when she moves in with adam and lawrence and gains access to lawrence's expansive rich educated person library...it's a big moment for her.

she's not particularly motherly or sisterly and doesn't really Do Friends outside of team torture and maim, but she checks in with daniel matthews every so often just to make sure he's doing okay. she doesn't regret what she did to his father but she does feel bad that daniel was harmed - both physically and mentally - because of it. and he's always sweet to her even if he has his suspicions about what amanda's done and she hopes that he'll grow up to be better than his father, better than her, better than all of them.

she's got issues around relationships and also the idea of having a home so it takes her time to actually acknowledge that she lives with adam and lawrence and is dating lynn, which means she spends a long time refusing to use the keys they give her to get through the front door. instead she just picks locks or climbs through windows no matter how many times she gets told that she's welcome whenever and can just walk in. she does get over that eventually (much to the relief of adam's paranoia and lynn's protective mothering) but for awhile there they did all just have to get used to mandy climbing in through a window.

she does Not Like people being in her personal space or touching her or going near her with sharp objects so she cuts her own hair and then eventually gets adam to do it. neither of them really know what they're doing but she's not that concerned with how it turns out. lynn thinks it's pretty no matter what and adam always jokingly calls her rock star once they're done sweeping hair off the floor, and that's enough for amanda.

in an ideal world where people live and they eventually retire out of the murder trap business, amanda and lynn start working with jill at the clinic. i think amanda would take a long time to realise that recovery is possible even without twisted jigsaw games but i do think she has a good heart despite everything and she'd be surprisingly understanding with those who have been through similar shit to her. let her heal from her trauma and come to see that humans can be good and untangle herself from the twisted mindset that john gave her.

[el-starell]

*Updated 01/05/22

You lay down for a nap on April 4th '22

And

When you awaken you find yourself confused and in an unfamiliar hallway. You walk along the hall, find a window and lookout. You're in a highrise and it's dark and rainy out.

'it was only supposed to be a nap. How long was I out ? TF am I ??'

Scratching your head as you turn, still pondering the strange, you nearly collide with a long haired man as he storms down the hall. Presumably toward an exit.

"Watch where tf you're goin'!!” He yells as you knock shoulders.

"Mike ! Not like this ...! Don't leave like this ...!!” A tall, ghostly pale, man shouts after him.

He stares forelorn as the other man steps onto the elevator, never looking back.

You walk cautiously toward the tall, thin gentleman still standing in the doorway.

”Uhm, excuse me... I'm, I'm lost. I think one of my friends slipped me something as a prank. I just woke up here and I don't know where the hell I am. Can I use your phone ?

" Yea, go ahead, it's on the other side of the couch.” He waves you on inside.

You rush toward the phone to call...someone, anyone. The only number you still have memorized is your best friend from grade school. Thank God cuz why tf does this dude still have a cordless house phone ???

You call but someone else answers. They don't know anyone by your friend's name. You must have the wrong number, they say. But...you know you don't.

Whatever, you have to pee.

”Hey, someone's coming to get me (you hope...) can I use your bathroom?”

”Sure, but you're down to your one last wish...” He jokes. ”It’s down the hall... to your right.”

The guys apartment smelled like wine flavored black and milds, weed and musk. Aside from the ... Needle paraphernalia, on the coffee table the place was immaculate. So much for all the fucking books that claimed to have "the untold truth" saying his place was trashed. Fucking liars. Vultures.

Alright, bathroom. You rush inside and shut the door because...you're fucking freaking out. You're pretty sure that jerk in the hall was Mike Starr. But it couldn't be because he's fucking dead. And the tall, ghost faced, pretty boy in there looks like Layne. But it can't be because he's dead too. So, either you've finally lost it or somehow you've gone back in time.

You pinch yourself. Still here. So, not a dream.

Well, since you're here...may as well be fucking nosey. His bathroom’s fucking HUGE. Double sinks, framed black and white photos of... Demri? Yea...that's definitely she and he.

White carpet on the bathroom floor, walk in closets, fluffy towels, and robes. Lots of shelving but not a lot of clothes. Just screen print shirts, a few button downs, jeans, lots of converse and combat boots. Ha, you recognize those old boots. Some stereo speakers and lots of notebooks.

You quickly flip thru some of the notebooks. Drawings, sketches, poems...songs? Random

thoughts quickly jotted down.

Ok, you quickly flush the toilet and wash your hands. As you compose yourself with a deep breath you realize you may very well be the last person to speak with Layne. Because it's fucking April 4th. History says he dies some time between this evening and early morning.

God, everyone thinks they'd have the perfect thing to say in moments like this. Your mind is drawing a blank. Is this even any of your f*cking business? The choice to live or die is the most inherent one a man has...Still, could you live with yourself knowing you couldve said the one thing that might change his mind tonight? Yea probably not...Mike didn't survive the weight of that guilt.

Alright, mind made up, you emerge from the bathroom traveling the length of the hall leading back out into the living space.

You find Layne in the kitchen. He's bare foot, dressed in a plain white T and red plaid pajama pants. He hasn't noticed you yet so you stop and observe for a minute.

Annnnd, you've just lost all nerve. How do you even broach the subject??

The light from the hanging kitchen lamps cast a halo atop Layne's thick, long curly hair.

Yea it's fucking weird staring like this but who cares. It's not like you'll ever get this moment again. Looks like he's making a small plate of food for himself and pouring a drink. Two glasses? Please please please ...? Yea !!!

He's so thin...He just looks like he needs the longest hug from, anyone, fuck. His hair falls forward as he concentrates on preparing his plate. He's smoothes it behind one ear. Which takes considerable effort, apparently, as it won't stay put. It's too thick. You catch a glimpse of frustration as his brow momentarily furrows in irritation. Dude needs a fucking haircut. You chuckle a bit. He looks up.

L :”Hey, you're alive! ...was about to send a search party. Then I thought better of it...didn't want them to find my stash." He jokes.

You: "Yea, well thanks. My, uh, ride should be here any minute. So, uh, I'll just go wait out there."

Just then thunder claps and lightening briefly lights up the stormy evening sky. You remember it being kinda cold out in the hall. Apparently, you didn't sleep-teleport with a jacket. Lame.

As you make your way to the front door Layne speaks up, " I'm not a jerk you know.”

You: ”come again?”

Layne: ” I said I'm not fucking jerk. It's raining out there. You can wait for your ride in here. Just grab a controller ...sit down. Or, go stand in the rain. What do I care.” He says with a small smirk.

You: ” Yea, sure, alright I guess.”

(You might have a chance afterall)

As Layne steps from the kitchen, small plate in one hand and two glasses of whiskey in the other, you quickly walk and take a seat on the couch closest to the phone.

Layne: ”So, are you always this rude?”

He says with a raised eyebrow.

You: ”im sorry, what?”

Layne: ”I mean you just barge into my home, use my phone, and my toilet. And you don't even bother to tell me your name? ...fucking rude.” you spy a wry smirk.

You: "Oh, yea. I guess that is kinda rude of me. I'm, X."

Layne: ”Yea? Well, I'm --.”

You: ”Layne! I know, I know.”

You gush like a fucking dweeb.

But he turns his head to hide his smile. So, whatever. It's a win.

Layne: So, if you're gonna be here. Play.

He gestures at the black Sega remote and he slides a glass of whiskey across the table toward you. You wonder if you ate before having that nap. Whisky on an empty stomach? Too nervous to ask for food...Whatever you're not a bitch.

The two of you play 2 rounds of some old skool racecar game and 3 rounds of Tekken. You do alright but Layne's fucking good and he's fun as hell. Funny too... hilarious if you've had whiskey on an empty stomach.

But then, after a couple hours, Layne sets the controller down. It's game over anyway but he's gathering his needles from the table and placing them in a box.

Layne: ”Bathroom. Back in a Jiff. If your ride comes just shut the door on your wait out.”

It's now or never. What do you say ???!

You: "Layne! Wait."

He stops and slowly turns around. The look on his face says 'really? You don't think I've heard it all before??’

But you press on anyway.

You: ”i know what you're about to do. And if you do it you'll hurt millions of people. Some of your own friends, that you love, they won't survive it. They'll die too. Literally, Seriously. I know this sounds crazy. Like how do I know? Who the fuck am I, Right? I must be some crazy person. But I promise I'm not ( at least, I think I'm not. I don't know how I got here but... whatever.)

Layne: ”Yea, you're fucking crazy.” He says with a breathy chuckle. ”Dont let the door hit you on the way out.” He turns to walk away.

You: No! Layne, I swear to God I'll do it.

Layne: "You'll do what?”

You: ”I'll fucking call 911.”

You stand there, phone in hand.

You expect an angry reaction. Shouting, maybe some pushing and shoving over the phone. But, no.

Layne, just stands there. Expressionless. N Completely...Zen. The two of you stare at each other. You, wonder...

But then you get it. He's cool, he's completely at peace because... He can wait. He can wait you out. You're leaving at some point. And... he can wait.

You set the phone back on the base. Layne, returns to his seat on the couch opposite of yours. He sets his wooden box on the table.

Layne: ”So, we're gonna be here for awhile, huh?"

He shrugs, ”I'm fucking doing it anyway.” He says matter of factly. ”So you can call whoever or watch. I don't fucking care.”

You: ”But why don't you ?!” "Why don't you care ?”

Layne: "Why don't you ?!!" "Why do you want me to live everyday in pain for the rest of my life?"

"You want me to fucking live for YOU. Not for me. Don't act like youre some saint come to save my life." "Cause if I have to live in pain or depended on this shit then I don't want to live at all.”

Damn. Now what? What Would you say???

Well, he wasn't wrong...As a matter of fact, he was absolutely right. Damn, you hadn't really thought of it that way. You wanted him live to not be in pain, neither physical nor emotional. You wanted him to know how great he was. And, given enough effort he could be that great again. Or, even better. As if truly knowing those things would be enough to take his pain away.

You watch as he preps and prepares his needles. Very exacting...And it suddenly occurs to you that he's an alchemist. He knows exactly how much will get him high, get him through, and how much will take him away from here.

He reaches behind him to grab the neck of a tall couch-side lamp and bend it closer to shine enough light on his milky pale skin to find a suitable vein. Not a quick task (thankfully).

You: So...what made you. I mean what possessed you to...Fuck it. What made you ever want to try this shit, man ?? You had to know...right?

He pauses his search to consider your question. Brows furrowed, he turns and looks at the floor.

Layne: "I guess I always knew I'd try it. But, that night wasn't something I'd planned. It was after a show. We still had weeks of touring ahead. I was so tired... I asked, someone, to find me coke.They said couldn't find any but they came back with this. First time was like heaven. Nothing hurt. There was no pain. It felt, I felt, free. And, like every idiot before me, I felt like a 2nd time couldn't hurt. And, that was it right then. I felt it. I remember the exact moment I was hooked. But I wasn't afraid, at first, because I had all this money I could get more. And it gave me what I needed to get up on stage night after night and be Staley. It wasn't until it wasn't getting high anymore that I was terrified. Because I still needed it.

You read the stories, I died so many times, I rehabbed so many times. But, there was one doc I saw when I was in Europe. Before all of that. I saw him on my own, not long at after I knew ...didn't tell anyone where I was going. He's the only one that was ever honest with me. The receptors in my brain that receive serotonin and dopamine are damaged.They aren't responding to those chemicals anymore. He told me I would eventually get to this point. People think this is about Dem but this isn't about her. Not really, because my brain physically won't let me get over her. It won't let me get over letting my band down.Then I have to fucking watch the people I love, watch me die. I can't get over it. People think I'm given up on myself. But Im not. I just feel like I don't deserve this pain. No one does. I deserve better."

Layne, his voice, soft spoken like baby powder.

He looks you squarely in the eyes right then.

His, big pools of blue.

Layne: ”Don't you think I deserve better ?”

You: You watch as he sinks the 1st needle in to his chosen spot.

"Layne, don't." But it's useless, because, you believe him.

There's three more needles. You suddenly feel like you shouldn't be here. You love him, of course, you'll stay. But his mom, or Jerry, anyone else should be here. Just, not a stranger.

*****What would you say ? What would you do ??

You understand where he's coming from and what right do you have to judge his choice ?

The drug washes over him and he sinks back on to the couch, his long legs drawn close. He reaches for the small remote on the table and turns on the fireplace. Perfect for a stormy night. He finally invites you have whatever food's in his fridge. Gee, thanks you're only half starved.

Guess he figures there's no ride

coming for you, might as well feed the crazed fan with balls enough to get past security and into his home.

There's a fuck ton of food in his fridge. He must have someone deliver his groceries. As pale as he is it's evident he hasnt had sun in quite awhile. Of course the amount of food doesn't jive with his weight. He's not eating. Someone's gone thru a lot of trouble to put variety in his fridge and pantry.

You quickly prepare a turkey sandwich and sit down on a barstool at his kitchen counter. Still considering how you could change his mind, you wish you could find a way to call friend of his...get Mike back here ...talk to Jerry.

Right then, you find yourself standing in another hall, plate with sandwich still in hand. People are bustling bye on either side of you. Suddenly a large man in an awful tan blazer comes up to you yelling.

Man: "Hey, what the hell are you doin' ?? Get that plate to studio 51 ! Now or your fired!!

Startled you take off in a half run down the hall. Until you wonder why and who the fuck was that anyway.

Walking the dark,winding hall, at a casual pace now you think you've definitely been slipped some shroom or acid.

The walls are black and the hall is dimly lit with a small light above each numbered door.

You come to what must be "Studio 51." The door is slightly ajar and there's a man's voice coming from the room. Sounds angry but he's not yelling.

Voice: "...Because he's not my fucking problem anymore, Mike.That's why."

You peer inside just in time to catch a flash of long blond hair disappear behind a wall. Shit, this is not happening...this is fucking wild. You slowly step inside. Eavesdropping, but they did say deliver the sandwich.

Voice: "...He wants what he wants. I'm not flying back there just to yell thru a closed door.

Suddenly, the man steps from behind the wall and fixes you with an angry steel blue gaze. Jerry. He suddenly closes his flip phone. No warning to the other party.

Jerry: "It's about time. I fucking ordered this sandwich an hour ago." He says, monotone.

He grabs the sandwich from your plate and takes a bite.

"Needs salt. Where's the chips and beer ?? ...fucking PAs."

He turns, thick, long ponytail flowing behind him. "Set the plate down and you can go." He says over his shoulder as he disappears behind the wall again.

Did he just dismiss me?? You think to yourself. You don't leave. You're getting an attitude because that was YOUR sandwich afterall and you're starving. But, you compose yourself because that's FUCKING JERRY Cantrell. Signature combat boots, skin tight jeans, and a Danzig band shirt, stretched, with sleeves cut off.

You slowly follow after him. You hear soft guitar strumming coming from the hall as you round the corner. You find Jerry, cross legged in a chair with an acoustic. He looks up with a stare bespeaking slight curiosity, annoyance and boredom.

Jerry: Can I help you?

He says as he returns to soft strumming.

You: Yea. I'm a friend of Layne's and uh, Mike and I, we...Well, he and I were at Layne's and-

Jerry: Oh, you're a friend of Layne's. I don't recall ever meeting you. I thought I knew all his friends. Well, whatever. Go on. You were at Layne's and...?

You: Yea. Um, I think you should maybe go see him tonight. Like, now. He isn't doing well. He's talking about ODing.

Jerry looks up again. You watch a faint play of emotions cross his face. Alarm, angst, anger. Then, nothing as he returned to strum.

Jerry: So, what do you want from me?

Damn.

You: I guess I want you to go to him. Call his mom. Send an ambulance. Something. Don't you fucking care?!

Jerry, stops playing and fixes you with a steely glare. He sets his guitar aside and rises to a height towering well above 6ft in his boots and slowly approaches you.

You quickly think of leaving. But, no.

That'd be quitting on Layne. And you're here for him. You're not leaving without doing all you can.

So, you don't look away. Even as he towers over you now. He gently takes the plate you'd been holding and turns to have a seat in an overstuffed, black leather chair.

Since he didn't wrap his hand around your neck, you have a seat on the adjoining couch nearest him.

Jerry takes a bite of the, well, your sandwich.

Then he reaches for the cordless phone on the side table.

Jerry: Yes, can I get a Budweiser and a Pastrami with Lays to Studio 51? Thank you. No, wait.

He looks at you.

Jerry: Can I get you anything ?

You: A Pastrami and beer will do. Thanks.

Jerry: Double the order. Thank you.

He ends the call and discards your sandwich into a small, nearby bin.

Then, silver-tongued and ever so matter of fact, he turns his attention to you and asks:

Jerry: So, what makes you think I don't?

And, before you answer that. I'd also like to know what gives you, an obvious stray that Layne recently acquired, the right to even ask?

Taken aback but slightly proud of being described as anything belonging to Layne, you retort.

You: Look, you arrogant son of bitch, this ”stray" has been the only one by Layne's side tonight. I'm literally trying to save his life as we speak. Why won't you do anything?!

Just then, you catch what seemed to be a faint look of admiration as he held your gaze. It quickly disappeared.

He raises one thin elegant eyebrow.

Jerry: Again, what makes you think I haven't?

You: Well, you're just sitting here like-

Jerry: Like, it's his choice.

You watch as he gets up, leaves the room and walks down the hall.

He returns with two wrapped sandwiches and two bottles of beer. He tosses a sandwich to you.

You tear into it, slightly scared that you'll be snatched into another dimension before you can eat it. As crazy as this night's been, who knows when you'll get another chance to eat.

5 minutes later and sated, you decide to give it another shot. This time with a bit of humility.

You: Okay, I'm sorry. I admit I just got here (literally). I'm just saying, it's a little disappointing. Given all the stories and songs of friendship. I don't know, maybe it's all bullshit. I mean, what do I know, right? I don't know you two from Adam.

Quietly, with anger barely checked, he replies.

Jerry: Think what you want. I'll tell you just as I've told the press. Sincerity is heard in everything I've said, in everything I've written. I don't have anything to prove to you or anyone else.

You: Right. So, if all the stories are true. Then you have to care. So, why are you still here?

Jerry: Songs...Stories. A good song is born from a good story. A good story is born from a lived experience. He, I, the band, we've had a lot.

Jerry leans back in the chair with his beer. He looks away, in a sort of distant nostalgia.

Jerry: All our songs are based off experiences we've had, both together and apart.Those songs represent a small portion of our lives together. There's so many more songs I've written but ...I doubt I'll ever release 'em.

Lately, whenever I do an interview people wanna know how Layne and I met, and how Mike and I formed the band. I'm sure you've heard those stories.

But the one that comes to mind now, I haven't shared.

*Jerry, still distant, smiles to himself and sips from his beer:

It was after Layne and I met and just before we officially joined as a band. Mike and I were still scratching our heads on how to get Layne to commit.

I'd just entered us into a contest going on at the time. Best band won 2500.00 or something like that. We needed money for equipment. The contest was about two weeks away. At the time, Layne was dividing his time between rehearsals with us and his other band. This particular evening all of us were in the studio. We'd scheduled a 4hr block. Half way through our 2nd set Layne goes to the restroom and comes back like a half hour later. His hair was all teased up with hairspray. He's got red lipstick...blushed cheeks, just all this shit. And he says he's leaving.

Now, granted, I hadn't talked to Layne before signing us up. And he'd always maintained he wouldnt commit to any single band. BUT for the last 6wks he'd been coming to our rehearsals for this contest. He had us thinking we had a lead singer. And, of course, if we had him winning was a given. But I didn't just want us to win. I wanted to grab attention and in order to do that we needed to be the best. Which meant rehearsal. And he's walking out on our rehearsal. I couldn't reconcile that in my brain. Back then I had somewhat of a temper, to say the least. I found Layne to be my exact opposite. He was so... Infuriatingly, collected, calm. Self possessed. Never reactionary. I lost it that night. I just felt, lead on. The word whore was just front and center on my mind right then.

Anyway, he says he's leaving and :

Layne: Alright, I'll catch you guys later. I'm meeting Bacc at his place. Gig tonight. Mike, you comin' ?

*Mike looks up from a magazine and a bowl of cereal.

Mike: Yea. Me, Sean and his girl.

Layne: Awesome. I might pull you up for the last two songs tonight.

Jerry: No.Wait, what ?? We have another 2hrs here.

Layne: Sorry, Jerr. Johnny and I have two gigs this week. I'll catch up with you at the next rehearsal.

Jerry: Two gigs?! Layne, the contest is in two weeks!

Layne: What do you want me to say? This contest is your thing. Not mine. But Ill be there to front you guys, don't worry.

Layne turns and walks to the door. Jerry darts after him. Just as Layne opens the door Jerry grabs him, turns him around and slams him against it.

Jerry: You fucking...whore !

Mike: Jesus Christ, Jerry. Fuck him or move on already !

Shocked by his choice of words, Jerry turns to Mike.

Jerry: What ?!

He looks back at Layne.

Layne, smiles and winks. Eyelashes thick and heavily coated.

Layne: Easy tiger.

Jerry: Whatever, fuck off.

Jerry pushes Layne out of the way to leave. Presumably to walk off his temper on his own.

Couple hours later Jerry returned to their shared living unit. Mike was in front of their television set. Sean was off with his girlfriend. Jerry grabbed a beer from their fridge and plopped down next to Mike on the couch.

Mike: Dude, you need to get laid.

Jerry: Fuck you. You aren't pissed he walked out on rehearsal??

Mike: I mean, yea it bothers me a little. But I guess I'm looking at the long game.

Jerry: How do you mean?

Mike: I mean like...you gotta figure out what he cares about. Cuz it ain't the fucking money.

Jerry: but we need the fucking money and we need him.

Mike: Yea but forget about the money for right now just focus on Layne. All we need is him, right? So, to get him we gotta figure out what's important to him. It ain't the money and it ain't the fame. We figure out what it is, and that'll tell us how to get him.

But hey I'ma go pick up Sean and his girl. You comin'?

Jerry: To Layne's gig? Nah. I can't look at him right now.

Mike: alright suit yourself. See you tomorrow then ?

Jerry: Yea, see ya.

Later that same night, sometime after 10, as Jerry was leaving a corner smoke shop he spots a group of guys across the street. Jerry recognizes one of them. Dude had stolen 100.00 bucks from his backpack at a park concert months before. Apparently he was apart of a band. They were unloading gear from a van and heading into a bar.

The guy that stole his money set down a badass baby blue electric guitar in the back of the van. He left the door open as helped the other guys take a drum set inside.

Jerry made his move. He ran across the street, grabbed the guitar from the van, slung it across his back and took off running in the opposite direction. The guys saw him and took off after him.

The path Jerry took led toward the club Layne's band just finished playing. Each of the guys in Layne's band left with girls they'd met that night, leaving Layne to find his own way home. Just as Layne rounded the corner on his way home he and Jerry collided falling backwards to the ground.

Layne: What the fuck ?!!

Jerry: Fuck. Get up, get up, come on, run!

Running together now, Layne asks:

Layne: Where are we going?? Why are we running?!

Jerry: Some guys wanna jump me for my guitar.

Layne looked back to see four guys close behind them. Knowing the city better, he grabs the back of Jerry's shirt as they run, pulling him down a side alley.

Jerry watches as Layne hops on top of a dumpster and, effortlessly, scales a fence. Fuck. Jerry's not quite that agile. He tosses the guitar over the fence to Layne and climbs on top of the dumpster. He leaps to the fence but not before being pulled backwards to the ground by the guys as they proceed to stomp and kick him.

Jerry swore he saw his life flash before his eyes. As small as he was, there'd be no way he'd make it out of this alive. He was already feeling sharp stabs of pain as ribs cracked beneath steele toe boots. But suddenly, it all stopped.

Layne: Get outta here! Jerry run!

Layne shouted, throwing enough punches to create a distraction for Jerry to run before making a break for it himself.

Once again running side by side, Layne directs them down another alley where they crouch down behind a dumpster. Bloodied and bruised, they wait for what seems like an eternity before emerging.

Layne: So, you wanna tell me what that was all about?

Jerry: No. I wanna know why you didn't keep running while you had the chance?? Why risk getting your ass kicked on account of me?

Layne: Jesus, I'm not a dick, Jerr. Not gonna run while you get jumped. We're friends, right?

So what the fuck was that about??

Jerry: Told you... They wanted the guitar.

Layne: Whatever. I just wanna lay down. Not feeling so great.

Jerry: Yea, neither am I.

The rest of the way back all Jerry could think about was how Layne came back for him. He coulda fucking left. Kept running. But he didn't.

Ha, Layne had held his own too. Gave as good as he got, Jerry laughed to himself. Who'd have thought skinny little Layne had it in him to take on four dudes like that.

Their bond was solidified that night. Layne hadn't abandoned him. Therefore he had Jerry's loyalty. Always. Unconditionally. No Excuses.

But you figure understanding and accepting are two different things.

Plz comment below 🖤🖤🖤

[itachiiwrites]

Aurora.

Jihyun x fem!mc, pure smut, explicit language, read with caution.

Summary: Jihyun always loved secrets, and mc digs out one of the most harmless and mischievous one.

During his two year voyage, there was this one last thing that was kept in the shadows from her, it surely was harmless but something quite unexpected from a person like Jihyun, she vividly could remember Saeyoung mentioning that he could almost see a halo over the mop of his crazy mint hair, however now it striked her that the man himself had denied such claims of being nearly as innocent and ‘holy’ as the ginger called it. The mischievous secret was shrouded right inside the loose drawer below his nightstand, a collection of various erotic poems it was, the mere thought of the cerulean haired male being interested in such prosiacs made her cheeks flush with excitement.

Even when now he was back, the fact that she had gone through his not so prized possessions was locked and buried deep inside her heart, and the key was tossed irresponsibly, and the irresponsibility meant her ever growing urge and interest into those poetries, not as if Jihyun would ever learn about it, right?

One of the days in their hermit lifestyle as a couple, her husband had been endlessly working on the muse he had picked right at the dawn, while the sky was still birthing it’s blues, the soft lilac slowly swirling away, there wouldn’t be a better opportunity to get her hands on the crisp and slightly foxed and aged paper of the books, accompanied by an aromatic cup of jasmine tea, which both of them had tried together only in a recent few weeks, JIhyun being a bit hasty over his immaculate choices while it came to selection of tea, which she did find utterly adorable.

Today, she had been feeling particularly lazy, and so she indulged herself to be huddled up in the overly fleecy mattress and sheets, as she still felt the same way even after her regular morning routine and a session of stretching. The worry of being caught was nowhere in sight by far, but then her body slightly flinched at a sudden touch,right around the area of her belly, she relaxed at the familiarity of her husband’s paint clad hands but involuntarily tensed back up, it struck her that she was caught red handed. MC, bit her lip, her face searing into a bright pink but it was all hidden and kept away by the book curtaining her face.

“I never deemed you as someone who’d be interested in Bukowski.”

“Well...he’s certainly not my favourite, I never like the use of crude language too much.” He answered her statement followed by a sigh, her eyes peaked over him from the top of the book, he gazed back at her with his bright valiant blue eyes, flashing her his priceless dimpled smile.

In the wash of the new light, his face took on the appearance of an old photograph, one of nostalgia, so beautiful. She watched as it brought his skin into focus, not yet animated with the warmth of who he is, for she was still in the land of dreams. And since there was no better thing to do but to bring her body so close that their hearts synchronised, She wanted to hug Jihyun, but he surely had different plans.

“Keep reading darling, out loud. Which poetry is it again?” He ordered, making her eyes widen at the sudden shift in his demeanor, she gulped down in shyness, answering his question in a low voice, “6 foot goddess..” she smiled, watching his expression turn just as playful while his eyes now clouded with an intense desire, a gasp left her lips when he slid off her panties in a swift motion.

“Excellent, keep..reading.” He spoke in his usual serene voice, but with a small tone of impatience to it.

“I’m big..I suppose that’s why my women always seem small.” The first lines did not make her waver as he was only laying his head on her bosom, but his hands had been wandering around like how a moth does around a tube light, he hummed reaching to slide up her comfortable cotton gown, one hand fondling with her breast while his tongue gingerly lapped at her nipple and she let out a shaky breath, moving on to the next lines as he had seemed to lead along the lines of the poem too. Tease.

“But this six foot goddess who deals in real estate and art and flies from Texas to see me and I fly to Texas to see her-” he had now reached near the area of her navel, planting tender kisses on the sensitive area of her abdomen. “Jihyun..” she called out his name in desperation, almost in an annoyed cry.

“Enlighten me further, my dear..” He chuckled, encouraging his dear wife to go further into the poem, her reactions only pressing him to eagerly continue but he always knew how to keep himself under control and composed, typical of him, a trait MC usually admired but now it was simply making her mad.

“Well,” she continued, “ there’s plenty of her to grab hold of, and I grab hold of it of her, I yank her head back by the hair, I’m real macho,” Jihyun only groped onto her bottom as he was against any action that would cause her pain and she was aware of it and respected that, a moan eluded from her lips at his action, he was getting closer to what she wanted.

“I suck on her upper lip…” She moaned, as he kissed her pelvis, eyes bored into hers when she took a pause, rolling her eyes she continued. “Her cunt.., her soul.” a loud gasp escaped from her mouth, as he followed the words of low eloquence, sucking on her clit, the rhyme of her moans were in a full burst.

Gradually, all of them turned into desire, his steady and mellow thrusts, he begged her to not close her eyes and maintain eye contact as he loved her slow, tender and so full of love, she cupped him by the nape of his neck, lips connected in a desperate kiss, bodies pressed against each other, fresh smell of dews mixed well with the room which now felt as if it were a thousand degrees and his fingers were embedded into the deepest crevice of her body, the paint on his hands, melted away on their bodies, mostly on hers while sparkling in sweat. Jihyun made them sit, locked in an embrace and grabbed her hips, the sharp thrusts made her feel all of him in her bones, they locked their eyes once more, cheeks flushed, both of them savouring every inch of the moment, setting each other’s souls on fire while seeking heaven in his eyes, he’d tell her how much he loves her to her numbing and tired existence, and she too would smile back, saying it back, so naturally.

“You’re all I could ever want..” He spoke to her in a gentle whisper, brushing away her hair, falling in a peaceful slumber in the home of her arms. Bukowski’s corrupted words were long forgotten while Jihyun showered her adoration and his embrace wrapped in only love, so unshakeable.

[sillybub]

🐄 au of choice?

Call me basic but college aus are my FAVORITE ones so we're going with that!

Alonzo is low-key a lite pretentious about his literature major. He thinks that romantic era was the pinnacle of art and there hasn't been a good movement since. Like, "To each their own but you're seriously into Faulkner?" He has dozens and dozens of poems memorized, and he only reads hardcover.

By all means he's a good smart student who works hard. He sits next to windows so he can handsomely contemplate the trees and people walking by. His handwriting is immaculate and he talks the most in class discussion.

He got better about being a snob after he became a tutor at his campus's writing center. He was talking to Electra, and she was like "I'm gonna write my Wuthering Heights character analysis based in what Pokemon starters the characters would choose" and Alonzo said "That's a very discrediting topic, is this a joke to you?" and Electra said "Yes, actually" and Alonzo realized that maybe this really isn't that deep after all.

[ziraley-j-crow]

“When I’m 64″ - Crowley x Aziraphale

This one is going to be based on one of my favorite Beatles songs. Each chapter will be based on a verse of the song.

I know some of the lyrics might not coincide with their celestial nature, but we’ll have to make do!

I know Aziraphale doesn’t sleep, but I wanted to work it into my story, I just felt it worked. Thank you!

Here’s a link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCTunqv1Xt4

1.

“When I get older losing my hair, many years from now, will you still be sending me a Valentine, birthday greetings bottle of wine?”

13th February 2020.

The day before Valentine’s Day.

“What do you mean you’ve never celebrated it?” Aziraphale was almost dumbfounded by the words coming from Crowley’s mouth, his hot coca not even meeting his lips.

“What?! It’s just a human holiday! Why do they even celebrate it, anyway?” Crowley said defensively, leaning against the kitchen counter. Another morning gone by without the worry of impending doom looming over both of their shoulders. 

It was a bright and early Thursday morning at Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley had found himself in Aziraphale’s kitchen, tinkering around the place before Aziraphale offered him a warm drink. The two sat together, embracing in chat.

“Well, although the humans had made a story about the Saint Valentine, I believe it was the poem by the great Geoffrey Chaucer that really helped boost morale for the holiday! The Parliament of Fowls, if I remember the name correctly..” Aziraphale tried to remember bits of the poem.

“So tomorrow, you will see humans expressing love for their loved ones. Family, friends, partners...” Aziraphale trailed off, smiling fondly. “Just to show them they love them. It’s rather lovely, the whole thing.” 

“Whatever it is, I certainly haven’t dabbled with it.” Crowley said, sounding uninterested. 

Oh, but how we had wanted to. For the past six thousand years pining for the angel, to finally have a whole day dedicated to spoiling him? You bet your ass he was on board with this.

“Oh, well I hadn’t really expected such a devilish fiend such as yourself to celebrate a rather joyous occasion.” Aziraphale said sarcastically, taking a sip from his drink. Crowley sneered at him, getting up from his spot at the kitchen table.

“Where are you going so soon?” Aziraphale asked, setting his mug down on the table, his gaze following Crowley.

“To get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car. Thanks for the coffee!” 

-

Crowley made a beeline for Soho.

“Right. What the fuck do I buy him?” Crowley muttered to himself, gripping the steering wheel as his mind wondered. Ignoring the smell of burning rubber (presumably the tires), he dodged the slower cars ahead of him - rather flawlessly. He needed to get something before tomorrow, and he needed something now.

“Okay, what does he like...” he asked himself out loud. 

A memory suddenly came to him.

~

“Listen,” said Crowley desperately, “how many musicians do you think your side have got, eh? First grade, I mean.’’

Aziraphale looked taken aback.

‘’Well, I should think-’’ he began.

‘’Two,’’ said Crowley. ‘’Elgar and Listz. That’s all. We’ve got all the rest. Beethoven, Brahms, all the Bachs, Mozart, the lot. Can you imagine eternity with Elgar?’‘

Aziraphale shut his eyes. ‘’All to easily,’’ he groaned. 

~

Crowley eventually pulled up outside a rather modern looking vinyl store in Soho. Several artists he had never heard of plastered the names on covers of vinyls, which were so neatly placed in the shop front. He hesitated.

 “Would he even like a vinyl?”

“Of course he would, he hoards the bloody things.” he reassured himself, getting out of the car and approaching the store. He knew all the composers Aziraphale loved. In fact, he shamelessly knew everything that Aziraphale loved. He made his way into the shop, the many names of Aziraphale’s beloved composers whirling around his mind as he scaled along the aisles of neatly stacked and alphabetically organised records. 

A song played smoothly from the shop speakers - a song that can only be described the way the warm sunrise touches your face first thing in the morning, the violins could carry your troubles away and leave you floating in sempiternal bliss.

“When I fall in love... It will be forever...” 

Initially, this wasn’t Crowley’s type of music. But have you ever heard a song that makes you stop in your tracks and think-

“Oh.” 

Because that’s exactly what has happened to Crowley.

-

“To get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car. Thanks for the coffee!”

With that, Crowley was gone. The bookshop was filled with silence once more, the bustling of the streets muffled by the walls of the lonely shop. 

“Oh.. I hope I didn’t offend him.” Aziraphale sighed sadly, turning back to the table. His mind was too focused on what happened, he wasn’t interested in finishing his drink. Had he ruined the wonderful routine he and Crowley had subconsciously slipped into?

“Don’t be absurd, you fool. It was hardly that easy to offend him!” he tried to reassure himself, but his mind wouldn’t lay off as he got up from the table. He paced the kitchen, and when he had paced all he could in there, he paced the whole bookshop, all the while overthinking.

He stopped in his tracks.

“I could call him! It’s not too soon after breakfast, surely?” Aziraphale rushed to his study, almost tearing the old phone from the wire. But he stood still, clutching the phone to his chest. Was it hesitation? Was he nervous? Just call him!

Aziraphale prepared himself for what he would say.

“Crowley! I was just wondering... No, not like that.” 

“Crowley, you wily, old serpent! No, that doesn’t work either.”

He took a deep breath, and dialed in the demon’s number slowly, his heart racing. It’s simple, just call!

He finally pressed dial, each beep feeling like eternity. Any minute now, he’d pick up on the other end and everything would be fine.

Any second now.

With every beep, Aziraphale could feel his stomach churn with anxiety. He could picture Crowley look at the caller ID on his mobile, and scoffing as he tossed his phone on the sofa. 

The call ended without anyone picking up, and Aziraphale brought the phone away from his ear. He considered calling again, his brain trying to think of reasons why Crowley hadn’t answered.

“Perhaps it’d be best not to call again, don’t want to be a bother.” Aziraphale said sadly, and placed the phone down.

-

Crowley didn’t know how he managed to find his way back to the Bentley while carrying a tower of vinyls, but he did. He could have easily miracled them into the car instead, right?

But no. He is an idiot.

An idiot in love, who has no idea what he’s doing, but he like feels he should.

Once he had the vinyls in the car, he got into the driver’s seat, and another memory came to him.

~

“That’s it then,” said Crowley, with a gleam of triumph. He knew Aziraphale’s weak spot alright. “No more compact discs. No more Albert Hall. No more Proms. No more Glyndbourne. Just celestial harmonies all day long.”

“Ineffable.” Aziraphale murmured.

~

Crowley was getting the hang of his gift buying shenanigans. Perhaps he was excited about this? Was he excited about showing the gifts to Aziraphale? To see how happy it would make him? Is this a good deed?!

“Hardly... I mean, technically it’s not a good deed. Because I’m buying these things, that means someone is missing out! Yes! HA!” Crowley reassured himself as he sped back to his apartment. 

As he staggered in the door with the vinyls to his chest, he finally realized he could simply miracle the vinyls into his apartment. While glowering at his plants, who were trembling at the sight of him, he snapped his fingers, and the vinyls disappeared neatly to the kitchen. 

“Right. Glyndbourne. Let’s see.” Crowley flopped down on the sofa, pulled out his phone and worked a few little miracles of his own. 

-

14th February 2020.

Aziraphale’s Bookshop.

Aziraphale didn’t get much sleep last night. His mind was too full from the previous morning’s events. He was ridden with anxiety, thinking he had hurt Crowley with what he thought was friendly banter. And now he wouldn’t answer his call?

The sunlight peeked through his bedroom window, the new day announcing itself to Aziraphale. But he has been awake long before the sunrise. He sighed, sitting up in his bed. He spent most of the night reading to help ease his mind. Perhaps Romeo and Juliet wasn’t the best choice of book

As soon as he was dressed in his usual attire, there was a loud knocking on the shop door. He glanced down at the bedside clock for the time, and frowned.

“It’s not even 9 o’clock yet. Who could possibly be looking for books at this time?” As he let his bedroom he quickly adjusted his bow tie, scanning the room to ensure it was in it’s immaculate state. 

Another irritable knock came from the door.

“I’m here! Just a tick!” Aziraphale rushed to the door, unraveling the blinds on the door, putting on his best shop keeper smile.

It was Crowley.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley said aloud when he saw Aziraphale through the window of the door, and smiled. Aziraphale, who was certain that he felt his heart stop for a solid two seconds, immediately opened the door, letting Crowley in.

“Crowley, I-”

“Before you say anything, Aziraphale, I had no idea what to buy, so I bought everything.” Crowley rushed as he walked into the bookshop past Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was stunned, “Everything?! What do you mean?” He shut the door behind Crowley as he strolled in, and rolled down the blinds.

“Valentine’s Day? Remember? You said people buy each other things when they... Yeah, I bought you some stuff, I guess.” Crowley trailed off, trying to be suave as he investigated the shelved books like he always does. 

And it happened. It was quick, but intense. So intense, Aziraphale thought he had lost his vision. In that moment of realization, a soft pink aura had appeared around Crowley. 

Something in the way Crowley was skimming through the various books had caught Aziraphale in a trance. Crowley had removed his sunglasses to get a better look, his golden snake eyes relaxed as they studied the unfamiliar titles. The sunlight complimented his hair, an illuminating orange, and visibly soft to touch. Crowley had picked up a random book, flicking through the old pages. Aziraphale smiled at how his brows furrowed as he tried to understand it’s contents. The soft glow from the aura was immensely calming.

Love.

“Dunno what that means. Are you alright, angel?” Crowley became uninterested in the book and placed it down, his focus returning to Aziraphale, who was staring at him in awe.

“Yes, I-I’m quite alr-”

“The gifts! I nearly forgot the bloody gifts!” Crowley suddenly exclaimed, and Aziraphale jumped slightly. Crowley snapped his fingers, and every visible surface of the bookshop had gifts of many sorts on top of it.

“I just.. Y’know.. Knew what you liked because you always talk about them.” Crowley explained, almost bashful as Aziraphale gasped at the sudden entourage of gifts. 

Neatly wrapped classical vinyls. Flamboyant bouquets of flowers Aziraphale had never seen. Several bottles of Aziraphale’s favourite wine stood glistening in the sun. There were small boxes in shiny wrapping paper topped with delicate ribbon, with beautiful colors. Aziraphale walked over to the vinyls, all composers he loved dearly. His attention was drawn to the flowers, their smell so overwhelmingly fresh. 

Aziraphale was speechless as he tried to take everything in.

“You don’t like it?” Crowley asked after a minute, seeing how Aziraphale had said nothing for some time. 

The total opposite, in fact. Aziraphale, who had his back to Crowley, felt his eyes welling up with tears of pure joy. He tried to blink them away quickly without them being noticed, but he was so overwhelmed with sheer bliss, there was nothing he could do.

“Angel?” Crowley asked him softly, “I can return them if you want. Can get cash or store credit-.” 

“I love them.” Aziraphale interrupted, not facing Crowley. His fingers gently traced the delicate petals of a pale pink rose.

“Then why didn’t you say anythi- Wait, angel, why are you crying then?” Crowley approached Aziraphale with caution. He’d never seen the angel cry, and was certain he’d never made him cry before.

“Oh no, no it’s fine! I’m fine, my dear.” Aziraphale quickly wiped his eyes, but the tremble in his voice gave it away.

“Please don’t lie to me, Aziraphale. What did I do wrong? What can I do to make you better?” Crowley’s voice was softer as he got closer, stopping when Aziraphale raised his head, and turned to face him.

Crowley’s expression soften, his eyes widened as Aziraphale looked at him with glistening blue hues. Although his bottom lip was quivering, he still managed to force it into a smile.

“Crowley, you have done nothing wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile. “I suppose I’m just overwhelmed with joy!”

Crowley blinked. “Joy?” he studied Aziraphale for a moment. “But you’re crying? I don’t understand...” The angel wasn’t used to such attention from the demon, and tried to avert his gaze.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’ve just never had... This!” he gestured to everything Crowley had gifted him. He took a shaky breath in. “It’s such a wonderful feeling, I can’t even begin to explain.” Crowley was amazed.

“What do you mean, you’ve never had this?” Crowley remained focused on Aziraphale. “Are you telling me, in the 6000 years we’ve known each other, nobody has ever bought you anything? Gifts? Nothing?!”

Aziraphale said nothing, but simply shook his head, somewhat ashamed. Crowley stepped over to Aziraphale and gently gripped his shoulders, which took the angel by surprise. Aziraphale looked up at him, confused.

“Crowley, what the Heaven’s are-”

“I don’t know how many people you have known you throughout the last six millennia..”

Aziraphale couldn’t focus on Crowley as he trailed off on a rant. His eyes, as bright and intense as burning stars, were hypnotizing Aziraphale. He lied to himself. He told himself he wanted to look away, but the thought of shamelessly admiring them was too inviting. It was a sin he was willing to repent for, for all eternity.

There he was, in the middle of his bookshop, face to face with the most delectable and alluring creature he had the grace of walking the earth with for the past 6000 years. There he was, standing in the middle of the room, listening to his demon list every reason why Aziraphale should be cherished. What did he do to deserve this?

That’s when it hit him.

“So whoever hasn’t taken the time to treat you with an ounce of respect is a bloody idiot.” Crowley said, blinking at last. He was about to say something else, but stopped himself, his grip loosening from Aziraphale, and he took a step back. 

Azirphale was speechless. His vision became cloudy, causing Crowley to appear blurry in front of him, but this time he didn’t try hiding his tears, and let them roll down his cheeks. 

“Aziraphale? Did I say someth-”

“How long?” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice a shaky whisper.

“What?” Crowley asked softly. Aziraphale cleared his throat in an attempt to stop the lump in his throat from giving him away, and adjusted his bow tie, a habit for comfort.

“H-How long have you...” Aziraphale gestured to the gifts that were surrounding them. “This?” He felt rather meek, trying to discreetly get his words out.

“Angel, this is not the time for a game of charades.” Crowley said desperately, imitating Aziraphale’s gesturing, causing the angel to huff.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Crowley. How long have you been in love with me?” Aziraphale’s nerves got the better of him, the question ripped itself out, and his hands flew up to his mouth to stop his from saying anything else.

“Now look what you did, you’ve ruined a perfectly good friendship. Well done, lad.” he thought to himself. He couldn’t read Crowley’s expression. Was he angry? Was he going to laugh and walk out? He had to do something. Maybe there was a way he could turn back time to literally ten seconds prior?

“I-I mean, ignore that question. Dear, what I meant to a-ask was-” 

You’ve heard of the age old expression “to take your breath away”, right? Well, that’s what happened to Aziraphale. In a flash, Crowley was gripping Aziraphale’s coat front, their bodies rigid with nerves. Crowley caught Aziraphale in a nervous kiss, which made the angel yelp in surprise. Crowley immediately retracted, not daring to look the other in the eye.

“Angel I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me again. See ya.” Crowley turned quickly and made his way to the shop door, but was stopped from opening it when he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley didn’t half expect Aziraphale to have followed him, and certainly didn’t expect to be kissing the angel again, this time against the bookshop door. This kiss was urgent, exciting. Aziraphale took in a deep breath, hesitantly putting his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. It was messy, but it was new to them. It’d be like learning to ride a bike, they’d just need more practice.

“Mm.. M-Wait. Angel, wait.” Crowley mumbled between kisses, slowly opening his eyes. Aziraphale stopped immediately.

“Did I do something wrong?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley shook his head, excited, fiery eyes gazing dotingly at the angel.

“No, quite the opposite, But I think we have some explaining to do before anything else happens.” Crowley said with a smile. Aziraphale nodded, his heart beating with excitement, but led Crowley into the living room.

“Have a seat, my dear.” Aziraphale gestured to the couch that Crowley had sat on many times before, and once more he made himself comfortable. Aziraphale sat on the seat opposite him, adjusting his coat. 

However, the two sat in a deafening silence for the first time, shooting quick glances at each other. The streets outside had come alive now, Aziraphale was certain it was past the shop’s opening hour, but that didn’t bother him at all. The ticking from the clock seemed to be the peacemaker.

“Perhaps I should start.” Aziraphale began. He was nervous, good God he was nervous, but at least they had the time and space to say what they felt. They had waited for so long to bring this to the table.

“Crowley, I have been foolishly blind to your emotions. For how long, I do not know.” Crowley stared intently at Aziraphale, listening to his every word. “But for however long I haven’t acknowledged your feelings, I hope you know I am deeply sorry.” Aziraphale finished with a sigh. Perhaps a sigh of relief. He looked to Crowley.

“Sorry? Aziraphale, what could you possibly be sorry for?” Crowley asked, shifting in his seat. “It wasn’t deliberate. You, not knowing how much I... I like you, is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” he said with a soft chuckle. “I just wish I had told you sooner.” Crowley said quietly, and Aziraphale smiled softly at him. He thought for a moment.

“My dear, may I ask exactly how much you like me?” Aziraphale asked, the questions sounding more flirtatious than innocent, which took Crowley by surprise.

“H-How much?” Crowley said, and Aziraphale nodded eagerly. Crowley cleared his throat, quickly thinking for the most appropriate action to do next. An idea came to him.

“Would you like me to show you exactly how much?” he asked gingerly, leaning forward in his seat towards Aziraphale. The angel’s eyebrows knit together.

“Crowley, we’ve made this clear. You already have shown me-” He stopped when he noticed Crowley raising an eyebrow. “Oh,” he said softly “Then yes, I’d very much like you to.”

In the blink of an eye, they were on each other once more. With eyes closed, their lips met with an urgent crash, neither of them seeming to mind the blunt force. The kiss meant a number of things for bth of them - comfort, relief, delirium, certainty, worship, love.

Six thousand years of friendship, bonding, judgement, rejection, fighting, all for this moment. And boy, was it worth it.

They were excited, roaming hands touching everywhere they had waited to. Crowley’s hands gently cupped Aziraphale’s face, pulling his lips impossibly closer to his own. He breathed him in through his nose, sighing contently into the kiss. Aziraphale’s hands had snaked their way around Crowley’s waist, and was pulling himself flush against the demon. 

Personal space? Who’s that?

“Mm..A garden saw I... Full of blossomy boughs...” Crowley breathed between kisses. Aziraphale stopped kissing him. The two were breathless, but stayed where they were. Aziraphale was wide eyed, visibly impressed by the words he just heard.

“Crowley? Was that-” Aziraphale voice was excited.

Yes, it was. The poem Aziraphale briefly mentioned to Crowley the day before. The poor demon took it upon himself to study the poem inside and out. Just to impress his angel. 

“Upon a river, in a green mead.” Crowley continued, gazing lovingly at Aziraphale, a tempting smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale wasted no time in returning to the kiss, nearly knocking Crowley down with sheer excitement. Crowley giggled at the behavior of the seemingly quiescent angel

“There as sweetness evermore enough is..”

Crowley slowly trailed his hands down Aziraphale’s back, the angel not seeming to mind the slightest, seeing as one of his hands were busy with Crowley’s hair, and the other was cupping the back of his neck. He certainly didn’t mind when Crowley gently squeezed his buttocks, the thrill of it caused him to gasp and grab a fistful of Crowley’s fiery hair.

“My dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Aziraphale said suddenly, when Crowley moaned at the sensation. Crowley opened his eyes slowly, as if to relish in the feeling. His pupils were fully blown, a sight Aziraphale wasn’t too familiar with.

“I think.. I think I liked that.” Crowley said, his voice was gravelly and he squeezed Aziraphale’s buttocks again, pulling him flush against him, smirking down at the angel as he did so. 

“Oh, is that so?” Aziraphale played along. “What if I did it again?” he asked innocently. Crowley suppressed a moan, and began kissing below Aziraphale’s ear. It was Aziraphale’s turn to moan, pleasure rippling through him at the unfamiliar sensation. The sound Crowley elicited from him was heavenly. It excited Crowley, and he wanted to hear more.

“Better make haste, angel, or I may just discorporate in your arms.” Crowley growled into his ear, slowly peppering light kisses along Aziraphale’s soft neck. Aziraphale sighed in bliss, his fingers threading through Crowley’s hair once more. He’d never felt anything like this.

“Oh Crowley, that’s wonderful.” Aziraphale purred in bliss. The last place he ever imagined he’d be was in the middle of his bookshop, with a demon whispering sweet temptations into his ear.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this..” Crowley said between each kiss.

“Do what, my dear- Ohh my goodness!” Aziraphale moaned in euphoria when he felt Crowley nip a tender spot on his neck, and tugged Crowley’s hair once more, high on pleasure. 

With that, Crowley found Aziraphale’s lips again, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. It was urgent, passionate, and they were both drunk on love, feeding off each other. Crowley gently guided them towards the couch, neither pausing for a breath. Aziraphale collapsed onto the couch, dragging Crowley down with him. The demon straddled his hips, completely flush against Aziraphale. The world could be ending right now, and this is all they would want to be doing. Nothing else mattered at this point in time.

Crowley pulled back from the kiss, the taste of the angel still on his lips. He placed his hands on both of Aziraphale’s shoulders for balance. Breathless, the two sat on top of each other, a childish giggle erupting from the both of them. Crowley could watch Aziraphale’s face light up when he laughed for the rest of his eternal life. The way his nose wrinkled when he beamed a smile was nearly enough to discorporate him. But his laugh - oh, his laugh - gleeful and bubbly, was enough to rid the demon of any negativity.

“Has anyone told you how devastatingly radiant your eyes are?” Crowley said, his tone drenched in awe as he lightly traced his thumb across Aziraphale’s cheek, causing the angel to blush.

“I hardly believe anyone would think such-” Aziraphale hushed when Crowley gently placed his finger on his lips, and gave Crowley a look which translated to “And what is the meaning of this?!” 

“Cerulean blue, like the ocean on the sunniest day. Clinquant in the sun’s brash rays. A sapphire paradise I am eager to drown in, if you’ll allow me to. If I stare any longer, I’ll be floating in sempiternal tranquility. If your eyes are the sea, then I’m shamelessly a thalassophile.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Aziraphale was speechless due to pure astonishment at Crowley’s flawless use of words. Crowley, the now hopeless romantic, was still gazing into Azirphale’s eyes, perhaps staying true to his words.

“Crowley, where on earth did you learn that?” Aziraphale asked quietly, blinking to wake Crowley from his trance. Crowley was visibly pleased with his work, beaming a smile.

“When I first lay my eyes on you, it’s the only thing that went around my mind that day. And everyday since then. Just kept it tucked away until now.” Crowley confessed. 

“Oh Crowley, my dear.” Aziraphale cooed. His brows drew together as he turned a deeper shade of red, looking away to avoid Crowley’s gaze. He was at a loss for words, the charm from Crowley was something he wasn’t used to, and Crowley knew. Crowley gently put his fingers under Aziraphale’s chin to guide him back.

“Hey,” he said softly to get the angel’s attention once more. “Would I lie to you?” he asked, his eyes trailing down to the angel’s plush lips, before lazily dragging his gaze back up to meet Aziraphale’s. 

With a coy smile, Aziraphale pressed his forehead against Crowley’s. “No.” 

The two share a chaste kiss together. Unbothered, peaceful, on a Friday morning in Central London in the bookshop.

Their first Valentine’s Day was a success this year.

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 191

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 42 - “Rin and Karen’s Secret Promise” Date watched: 1 June 2020 Original air date: 2 December 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/FiOgssJ Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Just a couple of gals being pals: part 2

Karen and Rin seem like an odd pair of friends. This has been pointed out before by me, and by the show itself. In a way, they resemble Nagisa and Honoka from the first series, so while they don’t share as tight of a bond as the original duo, they do have a unique closeness in that “opposites attract” kind of way. Today we’re going to explore that a little more!

The Plot

It’s now December so the girls get to decorating Natts House for the Christmas season sale. Everyone contributes in their way to make sure it looks immaculate, but they forgot to get flowers, so Nozomi voluntells resident flower experts Rin and Karen to go get some.

In Nightmare, Hadenya mocks Bunbee for his constant failure and reminds him that failures usually get the Black Paper. (remember this for next episode)

Rin and Karen arrive at Fleuriste Natsuki, only for Rin’s mom to ask Rin to tend to the shop so she can pick up the twins. Since Rin is stuck, she suggests Karen take the flowers back to Natts House by herself, but Karen offers to stay and help as well. Rin doesn’t think she’s up to the task, but Karen proves her capacity when she helps some customers while Rin is tied up with a phone order. Karen impresses Rin with her knowledge, and Rin impresses Karen with her people skills. Since they’ve been gone a while, Komachi begins to worry about them back at Natts House, and Urara fears they may have gotten into another fight over flowers. Nozomi, however, has full confidence in her decision to send both of them together and tells the others not to worry. Rin and Karen continue to work side by side, and at the end of the shift, Karen observes that Rin is really passionate about flowers, in a more tender way than herself, and tells Rin she could do this for a career. Rin admits that while she certainly enjoys helping out at the shop and playing sports, she doesn’t see them as future careers, and she has no real dream for the future. Karen admits to Rin that she’s in the same boat, even though she’s able to apply herself fully to any task, she struggles with identifying an actual long-term goal for the future. They each compliment Nozomi, Urara, and Komachi in their ability to find and work towards a dream so steadfastly. Then, Rin proposes that they make a promise: whenever one of them finds a dream, they’ll tell the other first. Karen agrees and they share a smile. Unknown to them, Bunbee is around the corner and overhears their conversation, silently mocking their shared goal.

A little later, the pair are on the way back to Natts House, each with flowers in tow, when Bunbee intercepts them, turning some falling leaves into a giant leaf Kowaina. Rin and Karen quickly transform into Cures Rouge and Aqua and start to battle the Kowaina but it overpowers them. Bunbee suggests that, since they have no dreams, they are in despair and should join Nightmare to gain more power. They rebuke him and vow to find their dreams someday. They argue back and forth with Bunbee about the validity and importance of hopes and dreams, similar to Nozomi’s fight with Despariah in episode 39, but he manages to kick them around. Nozomi, Urara, and Komachi arrive in time to tell him that their friends would NEVER fall to despair, and they transform into Precure. They kick the Kowaina a few times, but despite being a leaf, it’s very sturdy. They then turn back to the ideological debate with Bunbee, speaking of the important things they’ve learned from their friends Rin and Karen. Mint recalls the tiara that Rin made for the wedding (ep 32) and Milk remembers how Karen took care of her when she was sick (ep 34). Both instances displayed some true passion and sincerity, and it fosters a realization in Rouge and Aqua. They stand back up, newly energized by the amount of appreciation and support that their friends hold for them, and together they perform Rouge Burning and Aqua Tornado, destroying the Kowaina. Bunbee flees.

Back at Natts House, everyone admires the flowers Rin and Karen brought, but there is some latent curiosity about why they brought two different types: cyclamen and cattleya. Rin explains that they both felt two types would be better than just one, and Nozomi is happy about their choice. While the other three are busy, Karen confides in Rin that she may have found her dream, and Rin admits the same. They dance around admitting that it was the others’ strong words that made them realize how happy they felt working for others in the ways they did, and the audience is left to try to piece together exactly what their newfound dreams are for themselves. (don’t worry, we’ll get find out soon enough.) The episode closes on a shot of the flower arrangements.

The Analysis

Rin and Karen are a really fun duo to watch. I honestly do think it’s because they remind me of Nagisa and Honoka a lot. One is a short-haired working class sporty tomboy with feminine interests, the other is a long-haired intellectual from a wealthy family with absentee parents, and both are well-respected by other students. Before becoming Precure, they had little reason to interact, but now they’re friends. Obviously, the team dynamic means their friendships are different, but out of all the pairs of friends in this series, Rin and Karen bear the strongest resemblance to the originals. Regardless, I genuinely enjoy seeing them come closer, admiring and complimenting each other’s work, and opening up to admit that they don’t have dreams yet (another trait they share with their predecessors). Their promise to tell each other first if they find a dream is really sweet, and even Nozomi and Rin don’t have that kind of a friendship. I just love seeing their bond deepen here.

Unfortunately, the villain plot of this episode doesn’t do a whole lot to help, not in my view. I will always stand up for the girls standing up for the importance of hopes and dreams, which is what they’re doing here, but it just comes down to the same argument they had with Despariah a few episodes ago, or with Bloody the last episode: “Dreams are important!” “No they’re not, I’ll beat you!” until the girls prove that their friendship is actually more powerful. The kowaina is quite strange. It’s a giant leaf, but it’s as sturdy as a brick wall, but Bunbee does most of the fighting while the kowaina just stands around. To his credit, Bunbee is a pretty good fighter, with a devastating dropkick that incapacitates both clusters of girls, but fortunately everybody’s support for Rouge and Aqua inspires them to stand back up and finish off the monster. However, this episode also reinforces a running trend that’s been developing over the series, since the reform of Nightmare’s Dream Collet division: their opinion of Bunbee is in the toilet, and his constant losses do nothing to change this. In fact, this is the last time Bunbee will see the battlefield this season, as the next couple episodes will be fought by Hadenya and Bloody, and then Kawarino during the endgame. It was an alright final fight, but he didn’t use the full range of his abilities, particularly his projectiles, which would have been nice to see.

The best aspect to come out of this is that the Rin and Karen do finally start to realize their future dreams. They’re not expressed out loud quite yet, but this is also a 13 year-old series so I’m going to go ahead and reveal that Rin decides to pursue making jewelry and Karen wants to be a doctor. When you look at their past, it becomes pretty clear. Rin has had a penchant for it since she showed off the bracelet maker way back when, while Karen took her first steps way back in episode 6, when she was able to transform by realizing she wanted to help everyone. That’s the spirit she’s carried all season, and now she’s figured out how she can translate that into her goals for the future. I think it’s particularly great how it was choice words from their friends that made them realize what they love doing. Sometimes it takes that external push, people appreciating your passion when you don’t recognize it about yourself. I struggled with that for a long time, and while I knew kind of where I wanted to end up, a friend’s words definitely helped point me in the right direction. It’s good to see Precure do this, and it will be enjoyable to see how these characters grow and develop their dreams from here, over the rest of this season and the next one.

Some minor aspects I enjoyed were in the opening sequence, when they’re all decorating Natts House. Urara is trying to get position some spotlights just right on a display, because as a performer she knows how the right lighting can influence opinion. Komachi sets out a poem of hers intended to greet guests, and she gets flustered when Karen reads it. It goes:

“A holy day, a holy night. What sort of sky lies above you---... Once again, I wander in search Of you in the sea of stars this night...”

translation not guaranteed to be perfect

Also, Nuts is a total Scrooge, grumbling about how he doesn’t see the point of Christmas. Coco says the girls are enjoying it so it can’t be all bad, and Nozomi informs him that it’s a really important holiday for young girls. (Christmas in Japan is a big night for couples to spend time together.)

And the last bit is a little continuity, they use a Pinky named Clearkuman to copy fliers advertising their Christmas sale. This might be the only Pinky to recur, as it was seen doing the same task way back in episode 10. Also, I don’t think I’ve commented on the cards before that they use to summon Pinkies out of the Dream Collet, so here’s a look:

It’s just so transparently a toy, with the barcode and CARD IN on it. This is about the last chance they have to get kids to ask their parents for this big ticket item before Christmas, and then in 2 months the Rose Pact will be the hot new toy to have instead. So it goes.

All jokes aside, this was a solid episode with some characters I love spending time with and seeing grow, both because they remind me of the original pair and because they’re great in their own right. Next time, we turn our focus back to Komachi and her struggles with authorship. Look forward to it, it’s going to hurt.

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 3 kettei!

[4-25-am]

nami’s most listened to songs of the month! ~january edition part one~

1) heat waves - glass animals 

other than the obvious which would be the dream smp brain rot, this song is a vibe! there’s this one drum part right before the chorus starts and it feels so satisfying. the heavy bass sets the scene of melancholy and dilemma. but when the chorus starts the song feels lighter because the lyrics scream yearning and bittersweet hope.

this whole song to me is the definition of loving someone but also knowing you're not good for them. this can be summarised with the second verse : now i gotta let you go, you’ll be better off with someone new, i don’t wanna be alone, you know it hurts me too, you look so broken when you cry, one more and then I say goodbye (the drums stop in the last two lines mentioned and the sudden emptiness feels like a punch to the gut)

2) hayloft - mother mother

my friends call it anxiety inducing music. i call it my badass villain entrance music. i really like repetition in music so the whole bit with “my daddy’s got a gun. you better run.” it fuels me with the confidence of an anime villain. the guitar is immaculate it scratches my brain just right.

the bridge!!!! I love it. all the instruments are dropped so its only vocals for the first line and then there’s a single strum of the guitar that cuts through which I imagine to represent the father entering the hayloft. and then the instruments just go boom at “loft!”. sexy. the drums. following that is so underrated but it gives so much flavour

3) saline solution - wilbur (tw// substance abuse, depression, mentions of death)

strumming. pattern. is so pretty. there’s a somewhat soothing melody and calmness to the song which is ironic because the song is about depression, substance abuse and many more not so soothing topics. the song picks up speed after the bridge. in a way i see it as crossing the line from misery and sadness to straight up unhinged and self-awareness. 

the fact that the song is called saline solution is so smart because saline solution is an all in one product which essentially fixes all your problems. and boy does he have a lot of problems. i think i've made my choice. i'm a deceased playing victim. slip the fate slip the victory. i think i've made my choice. sink secluded in hatred. void the plans friends are making. I think I've found my voice. i'm a leech sucking blood bags. taste defeat, it's a sandbag. : just about sums up how he no matter how hard he tries he’s just not himself anymore. he’s not the person his friends know. but at the end of the day, he’s still crushed by his problems.

4) your sister was right - wilbur 

what can i say about this song hm... it’s a bittersweet realisation that you were the problem all along. the lyrics speaks for itself. its half a reflection of himself and half a letter/apology to his ex. it’s coming to terms that you fucked up : i hate to say it but your sister was right. don't trust english boys with far too much free time. i hate to say it but your sister was right. i'm nothing but a problem, leave you crying overnight. and i hate to say it but your sister was right. i can't focus on the future, only my short sight. i hate to say it but your sister was right. i'm a wanker, complete wanker. a fucking waste of time

the song itself has a pretty simple strumming pattern nothing too out of the ordinary. it carries just the right amount of weight for a song that’s pretty emotional. it's a good middle ground of weight in a pretty heavy album.

5) jubilee line - wilbur (tw//implied suicide)

oh my god, where do i begin? this song is so sad. the lines are really short so it feels almost like a poem than a prose. the lyrics are not very forthcoming and you have to read between the lines a bit more. when you do read between the lines is when you realise how heavy the song actually is : there’s a reason, london put barriers on the tube line. there’s a reason, london put barriers on the rails. there’s a reason, london put barriers on the tube line. there’s a reason, london put barriers on the rails. there’s a reason, they failed.

[gascon-en-exil]

I’m the anon who was directed here from teaveetamer. I have 4 questions. 1. What are your tags for the posts about Rhea and the Blessed Mother? 2. I’ve seen several in the fandom connect Rhea as the goddess that Edelgard wishes to get rid of, despite Rhea’s connections to Mary (particularly with a name like The Immaculate One), and her never claiming to be the goddess. Why or how do people mistake this? 1/3

3. What do you make of the potential for a cultural clash of ideas of purity within 3H? Edelgard seems to be presented as innately pure, as in Shinto all humans are pure until corrupted by outside forces. Edelgard had that Hegemon Cipher card and as her stans argue most of her sins are caused by TWSITD. While Rhea is probably more corrupted by her own sins of commission/omission. Or maybe she still has the symbolism of innate purity??? I’m not sure where the Original Sin of the Agarthans plays i

if it does. 2/3 4. I’ve heard that Satan is sometimes referred to as the hero of Paradise Lost, despite being, well, Satan, because he stands up to God and is the underdog and underdogs are heroes, along with his heroic presentation. And I wonder if such a similar occurrence has happened that people view Edelgard as heroic despite the devil symbolism. Thoughts? 3/3

1. I don’t use tags for Rhea too often,and when I have I don’t think it was for anything too substantial.

2. Edelgard herself either outright makes this accusation or implies it, and as has been established her diehard fans take everything she says at face value. They could also be reading into her claiming that humanity has no need for gods as she kills Rhea. From a cultural context, anti-Catholic Protestant rhetoric likes to harp on our veneration of the Blessed Mother, that we call her the mother of God in the Ave Maria and that she’s really a pagan mother goddess with a Christian gloss. Both of these are true to some degree - I personally consider the pagan-inspired elements of Catholicism to be a feature rather than a bug, and one that most of us are freely aware of - but the negative perception as well as the misconception of how we actually regard her could be fueling this interpretation of Rhea.

3. I don’t know anything about Shinto theology, although Catholics believe that humans are innately good and are corrupted by original sin which is removed in the sacrament of Baptism so it sounds a little familiar. As the Agarthans hold themselves apart from other humans it’s difficult to ascribe a representation of original sin to them, although the slaughter of the Nabateans and the creation of Crests and Relics did lead directly to much of the systemic inequality in Fòdlan so it’s still there somewhat. Edelgard’s perceived purity is a messy subject, one tied up inextricably with her appeal as a love interest which itself plays into perceptions of femininity across cultures, but from my perspective the confrontation of wrongdoing is the main thing that separates her morally from Rhea. Rhea literally and symbolically confesses her sins at the end of two routes, and in her S rank resolves to atone for them and receives absolution in the form of hot sex with her child/grandchild/siblng/mother because this is still a dating sim with a lot of kink under the table. Edelgard meanwhile never even acknowledges that her actions or her choice of allies might be flawed, to the point that one could say that her tragic flaw is her morally self-centered, uncompromising nature.

4. What I think is important to remember about Paradise Lost is that it was written by a Protestant, and it features some anti-Catholic rhetoric typical of Milton’s time. From a literary perspective Satan is absolutely the protagonist of the poem and could be considered an antihero (or a proto-Byronic hero, as the Romantics who popularized that archetype were very fond of Milton’s Satan). I haven’t read it in years so I can’t recall specific passages, but the thrust of this positive interpretation of Satan is that it’s a fundamentally humanist one which perhaps not coincidentally aligns with some of the stated goals of the Reformation positing a more personal relationship with God for individuals in contrast to the austerity and corruption of the Catholic Church. I don’t think that works too well in practice as a framework for understanding Edelgard - she has zero interest in reforming the church even if she claims not to hate the religion itself, and she demonstrates little genuine interest in commoners and never abolishes the nobility - but it remains about the only way to spin the darker imagery associated with her as being actually heroic. Besides, that she’d rather obliterate the church completely than reform it probably endears her even more to anti-theistic fans, and as such a figure like Milton’s Satan is a better fit than likening her to someone like Martin Luther or John Calvin.

[erideights]

Through history to get to you. (2)

Summary: Reader's an angel casted out of heaven because, well, she's weird. She's in love with Crowley and, of course Crowley is in love with her. Our poor Aziraphale is just fucking tired of seeing how neither of them realize the feelings of the other.

Part one: here

Pairing: Crowley x Angel!Reader (Good Omens)

Word Count: 3219

Warnings: None, I think.

A/N: Okay so I actually have to wipe out some details because tumblr said it was too long to post it. Bitch, wtf? I've seen fics with 8K but yeah, you do you. For the record, I could (and I would love to) write a 3rd part if you guys like this so, let's go!

What for any human being were seconds, for him seemed like hours.

The hours days, and the days weeks.

How could such a vain human feeling as that one destroy his world piece by piece and rebuild it upside down?

His heart was beating so hard inside his chest he truthfully believed it would come out of it at any moment.

But yeah, often, —from time to time—, Crowley also remembered past times, crucial moments in his life.

Crucial moments with her.

How each interaction by her side throughout history had achieved the impossible: to fall in love with her a bit more, a bit deeper, every-single-fucking-day.

41 AD, we find ourselves again in the large and great Rome, its taverns still full and its people enjoying the wealth of their lives, but this time, the perspective of the universe will turn 180 degrees and will present us his point of view.

Just nipped in for a quick temptation, he thought, a simple job, going in and out, enjoying the best concoction he could buy and leaving as he had come; without friends, without insubstantial talks of any kind with drinking companions or beautiful ladies to enjoy a night of pleasure.

He would leave the same way he came there; alone.

Having clear his priorities and how events would develop, he should add that the presence of Aziraphale didn’t surprise him. Not at all. They had the strange tendency to meet once every certain number of years and exchange a couple words, like two old friends who meet in the darkness of the night to become a distant memory when the sun rises.

However, he saw her.

A young woman with long hair, smooth and immaculate skin and so bright, Crowley could confuse her with one of the many stars that he, before falling into darkness and the shelter from Hell, helped to build.

Not only did she stand out for her colorful choice of attire, which he no doubt saw reflected in him, but for her presence; It gave the impression that she could change the world if she wanted with a single smile of hers.

But Crowley didn’t see her smile, not yet.

She nipped her bottom lip nervously, eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s, who after inviting the demon to eat, had excused himself for a second without giving reasons. Without saying why.

She was the why, or so Crowley guessed, taking a long sip of the drink in his hand to hide a small, amused grin behind his pottery; what could it be that would hysterise so much the nerves of that beautiful woman?

He was dying to know it, and long before he had even known her name, he was already thinking of her with more interest than, perhaps, he should.

1538, oh, the beautiful Venice during the heyday of the Renaissance in Italy, what a joyful time for artists, aristocrats, noble European families with their ornate clothes and eccentric homes.

Its intricate canals were full of life, of gondolas with lanterns as companions and lovers enjoying the calm offered by the night while the musician, unknown to his people but key to the romantic atmosphere that reigned there, dedicated his poems and songs to the most beautiful of the ladies, the one who lived in his memory, who stole his heart and prevented his rest when trying to sleep.

Oh, Venice, cruel your final sentence, the destruction that awaited you behind the darkest corner, because a demon without bad intentions but with a job to fulfill walked for your cobbled streets and through your low buildings, the smell of salt flooding his nostrils and filling his lungs until exhale a deep sigh that would be lost in the night air.

He couldn’t help but think that scenario would have been to the liking of his friend, the book-loving angel, because if he wasn’t misinformed, the magnificent city housed the first public library in all Europe. He could already hear Aziraphale eager about all the books he could read during his stay, or see reflected in his eyes the affection that the celestial being professed towards all the knowledge of the universe stored in those leather covers full of sheets of paper.

He’d thought of her, too. Crowley always thought about Y/N when visiting a new city, how he would enjoy walking hand in hand with her when discovering the hidden beauty in its streets or hearing her melodious voice, probably excited to discover a new artist to idolize; she loved art.

The problem was that each and every time he was thinking about her in that way, he felt disgusted with himself. He hated it. He hated that warm feeling that spread from his heart to every one of his nerves when he thought of her, when he met her soft gaze or, when by chance, he felt the brush of her fingers on his skin.

He hated love.

He was a demon, for fuck’s sake! He shouldn’t be able to feel love. He shouldn’t want to feel love. He shouldn’t even think about love.

But there he was, making a fool of himself whenever he could be with her.

He hated it, but at the same time, He needed it. He needed her.

Melody of soft, sweet violins then slid through the air and between the voices of those who walked down the avenue to reach the demon, who with slow but sure steps was heading towards his destination, ready to start the mission assigned to him and be able to move quickly to another place. Or enjoy the experiences Venice could give him, whatever first seemed to crave his exquisite persona.

A huge mansion stood out among all the houses at the end of the road, its eccentric facade screaming loudly that it belonged to Italian nobility that little wanted to leave to the imagination of others; showing off was a luxury that not everyone could enjoy. And so, its tall and ornate doors, wide open so that everyone could look inside, let the light escape from it to illuminate the street, successfully attracting the gazes of children, families, onlookers and other spectators who, by chance, passed by.

Two vast guards, whose clothes gave the impression of imitating the fates of The Death, made sure that no one who didn’t have an invitation could go inside.

Crowley, for example, was one of those people not invited to the party, but bold of anyone to assume something like that could stop him, because with a small, subtle and smug smirk adorning his lips and a snap of his fingers, both guards nodded at once and stepped aside, imitating for him a small corridor to get to the inside.

But that smile? Vanished from the moment he put a single foot in that place, feeling his whole body assaulted by a violent shiver that ran from head to toe and held his breath for more seconds than he would have wished.

He knew by heart that feeling, and from the moment he felt it ruffling his skin, he knew he was fucked up and that, most likely, he wouldn’t accomplish his mission. It couldn’t be that easy, right?

A deep and heavy sigh, followed by a shake of his head, accompanied him to the true interior of the luxurious home, crowded to the unthinkable by hundreds of people of high social status in the Italian community, their faces hidden behind masks of thousands of colors and different forms, their bodies, at the same time, wrapped in clothes, jackets and dresses of an exquisite quality that of course, matched the theme of each of their costumes.

A venetian masquerade wasn’t exactly the best scenario to search and identify someone from among all of its guests, but soon his slitted eyes scanned the huge room with hysteria running his veins and an iron pressure tightening his mischievous heart.

The positive side of all that? His mask —black, with golden and red details; what an unexpected surprise— fitted perfectly to a large part of his face, making unnecessary the use of sunglasses so that his peculiar eyes didn’t draw attention to him and, therefore, helping being able to see perfectly normal in the dim light of the hundreds of candles that illuminated the ballroom.

Couples dancing to the tune of the tender melody were gathered in the center of this one, the rest occupied by groups that chatted lively, young men waiting their turn to dance with the lady of their dreams and some more… unfortunate, who only dreamed from their corner with a glass of champagne between his fingers and his sad expression hidden behind a venetian mask.

Some collide against him, too absorbed in his search to bother to dodge people or find a safer route to move, but would he apologize? Never. Not only because Crowley hadn’t apologized in his entire life, but because he didn’t see it necessary to do so. After all, the reason for his hasty movements was far more important than anything that those idiots could ever imagine.

However, when he saw her, everything stopped.

Even his heart.

She had her back to him, her beautiful silky hair pulled back in a high bun that left a pair of curls falling down her shoulders, one on each side, towards her chest.

She wore an apple-green dress with white and gold details here and there, the tight corset making it inevitable to notice right away her beautiful body and the huge skirt attached to it, giving her the look of a gorgeous european princess.

No, from his perspective he couldn’t get to see her whole face, —he barely reached part of it thanks to a couple movements of her head—, but he knew it was Y/N.

There was no doubt.

She laughed, chatting with those she supposed were acquaintances of the angel and the cause and reason why she was there, that among all the times, among the hundreds of masked dances that Venice was witnessing, she was there, the same day, in the same place as him.

Oh, destiny was some capricious bitch and he ended up being a mere puppet that would dance to its tune.

Clearing his throat by positioning himself just behind her —so close that he would only have to put his hands on her waist and turn her around to finally kiss her— he successfully attracted the attention of those around them, who gave away strange glances at the demon; some confused, others suspicious, others distrustful.

The one Y/N gave him when she turned around and their eyes met for the first time in some years was the only one that really mattered.

Her hypnotic eyes, behind that mask that so gracefully embraced her sweet features from the middle of her forehead to below her eyes, opened wide recognizing the gold ones of Crowley, who without thinking twice, took the left hand of the girl, lifted it to his lips and left a kiss right on its back.

"May I have this dance?" He asked, more like a mockery for those presumptuous around him than as a formal request to the angel in front of him. It was easy to appreciate how his eyebrows were raised upwards in the slightest in a subtle grin and how that small and mischievous smirk that she loved so much was partially hidden only by the back of her hand that he still held against himself, and before she could prevent it, that same expression was drawn in her own features, hopelessly excited to find him in that kind of situation.

‘’I’ll be damned.’’ she answered in an incredulous, playful whisper, the demon the only being that could get to clearly hear her and, therefore, tearing a low and attractive chuckle from his throat as a result. She thought she was gonna melt in that very moment.

Saying that, Crowley rose from his bow and, pulling her hand, he led the girl —who didn’t have time to say goodbye to her company— to the center of the room, avoiding the rest of the guests as much as possible and when they arrived, the demon separated the angel from him, throwing her gently in the opposite direction to attract her to his body just a second later in graceful and elegant move thanks to the grip he had in her hand, making the chest of Y/N softly collide with his own.

In the blink of an eye, Crowley's free hand was at her waist and hers, on his shoulder, an amused expression adorning her face. ''I thought demons didn’t know how to dance.'' She teased, raising an eyebrow, her eyes fixed on his at absolutely every moment.

''I thought angels didn’t dance at all.'' he remarked in a flash, as arrogant as always, rocking the girl to the sound of the music that echoed between the walls of the room.

‘’Touché.’’

Not that much passed in silence between them until Crowley raised his voice again, trying to relieve the tension that was gradually forming inside his chest because, of course, she didn’t feel the same. Or so he thought.

Also, not looking at her lips having her so close to him and without his sunglasses that could conceal such act became more difficult each passing second. ''Are you going to tell me what are you doing here or will I have to take a guess myself?'’

''The question is not what I’m doing here,'' she said firmly, twirling in the demon's arms as the rest of the ladies swiveled in the ones of their partners as if that were a choreography with hundreds of dancers in perfect synchrony, only that in her case, when she resumed her position, her voice became just an audible whisper that went straight to the ear of the ginger, the soft velvet of his ornate jacket caressing the palm of her hand when gently pulling it towards herself to bring him closer to her. ''but what are you up to, Crowley. Nothing good, I assume.''

The hit of her breath against his skin and the seductive tone the woman used made every hair on his body stand up and his breath trapped at the beginning of his throat, unable to fight her words with some intelligent and sarcastic comment for his part.

He could only watch, in silence, as Y/N parted a couple inches to be face to face with him again, a smirk on her lips as she knew, she’d won that round.

‘’Touché.’’

Nowadays. Again. Almost 500 years later.

''Crowley?'' Her voice echoed through the walls of the luxurious flat while the front door —its white glass showing a dim light inside— opened wide, braking just before reaching the back wall. ''I just saw your message, is everything okay?''

Not too many minutes ago she’d received a "strange" message from the demon asking her to go to his apartment as soon as possible, making the angel inevitably frown, worried, and teleport there with a simple snap of her fingers.

The strange thing definitely wasn’t him sending her a message, but everything else. It was 2 o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday night, there hadn’t been any serious event that required her attention —or so she thought— and in general, it was Crowley who always, no matter what time, was looking for an excuse to drive his beloved car through the streets of London to the destination he wanted.

That it was she who should move this time was... odd.

The only source of light in the room was a small lamp placed on the huge red marble table that occupied the center of it, which barely came to illuminate enough to know if she was or not alone there.

She didn’t have to raise her voice again, anyway, because the ornate throne next to the table slid back carefully and the demon could be perfectly made out from the rest of the shadows in the room.

‘’I’m sorry.’’ It was the first and only thing Crowley said once he turned around and fixed his gaze —which seemed to shine with its own light— on Y/N, who astonished, raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips in a thin and incredulous expression; it was the first time in her life that she’d listened him ask for forgiveness, no matter what or whom.

''What are you sorry for, hm? What have you done now?'' She asked in her usual playful tone, waiting for the most elaborate and mind blowing response ever from the redhead.

But it never came.

He moved quickly to erase the distance between them and without stopping to reconsider his next step, —although she could swear, she saw a glimpse of doubt and fear in his eyes—, Crowley took her face with both hands to caress her cheeks and kissed her right away, giving her all he got.

No, it wasn’t tender, romantic or typical for the first kiss you give to your first love. It was hungry, animal, passionate, needy and desperate, as if he’d waited his entire life to be able to taste her lips and lose himself in them while his heart hammered his chest and deafened his ears.

In fact, that was exactly what happened.

And he didn’t expect Y/N to kiss him back in that very moment, because an act as impulsive as that should have shocked her to say the least, but she did, and before they could really think about what was happening, the demon had his angel cornered against the wall, her hands lost in his reddish hair and his, squeezing and pressing her hips against his own body with such force he suspected, could leave bruises on her skin.

But she didn’t mind.

His kisses were all she ever dreamed of and more, a slight taste of whiskey and coffee lingering in his mouth while doing everything possible to steal her breath and make her addicted to him; she was intoxicated, she couldn’t think of anything else.

She didn’t have time to be shocked or to ask herself the most obvious question: why now.

And that's why, when he parted just enough to lean his forehead against hers and breathe on her lips, a heavy sigh left her without any oxygen in her lungs, displaying her annoyance at the lack of his wet touch.

''Am I going too fast for you?'' He asked, the same fear she saw in his eyes minutes ago now in his voice; it was, again, the first time in his life that he looked so worried about messing something up.

His slitted, golden, demon eyes scanned her face for any sign that would make him stop, so close that the image faded irretrievably, and when in his place he found the same craving he felt in his veins, he dampened his parted lips, knowing there was no going back.

‘’If anything, you’re being too slow.’’

[crimes-and-gelato]

Title: Leave Room for the Unexpected Rating: M Pairing: Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian Chapter: 1/5 Tags: Mpreg, A/B/O, Fake Dating, Modern Setting AU Summary: Wei Wuxian would be anything but ordinary. And being second gendered as an omega doesn’t stop him from bending the laws of society on what to expect from his kind. He might say he’s just applying his adopted family motto — “to attempt the impossible” — but many would say that, naturally, he’s just unrestrained for an omega. Sometimes he himself thinks that maybe in his past life he was an alpha, he clearly has the traits of one. That’s why some people call him unorthodox. But nonetheless, he will live his life as he likes: untamed by what is expected of him.

‘And having a baby is another attempt at defying society’s expectation. How exactly?’ Nie Huaisang, another omega, raises one delicate eyebrow at Wei Wuxian, taking a sip of his tea.

or Wei Wuxian asks Lan Wangji to be his baby Daddy, but things go different from what he had planned.

Chapter 1: Starting at the Beginning with You

I tried to write you a love poem but it ended up looking like a grocery list 

an inventory of all the things we’d need for breakfast. I tried to write you a love poem but it ended up looking like a thank you note tucked underneath the heart shape fridge magnet.

I still don’t know how your name found its way into my prayers

how your silence ripened into something this soft and pure

how this sky is no longer mine but ours.

-Mariah 

***

Wei Wuxian would be anything but ordinary. And being second gendered as an omega doesn’t stop him from bending the laws of society on what to expect from his kind. He might say he’s just applying his adopted family motto — “to attempt the impossible” — but many would say that, naturally, he’s just unrestrained for an omega. Sometimes he himself thinks that maybe in his past life he was an alpha, he clearly has the traits of one. That’s why some people call him unorthodox. But nonetheless, he will live his life as he likes: untamed by what is expected of him.

‘And having a baby is another attempt at defying society’s expectation. How exactly?’ Nie Huaisang, another omega, raises one delicate eyebrow at Wei Wuxian, taking a sip of his tea. The four of them — Wei Wuxian, Nie Huaisang, Wen Qing, and Wen Ning — are gathered outside of Wen Ning’s bakery, enjoying cupcakes and afternoon tea, and the rare sunshine of mid-Spring.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes and licks his fingers free of chocolate icing from the cupcake he’s eaten. ‘By not having to tie myself to an alpha,’ he explains in between licks. ‘While having an offspring of my own.’ He wipes his hand on a napkin. ‘Just how many single parent omega is there? Most of them are widowed. There are no omegas — that I know of — that have kids just because they can and want to, since the rest of the world thinks an alpha is needed to be a parent. And don’t get me started on their endless praises on alphas who choose to be single parents. They act like it’s the world’s most heroic decision.’

‘So, you’re starting a propaganda,’ Wen Qing points, merely stating a fact and not at all condescending like most alphas. She supports Wei Wuxian’s progressive lifestyle as long as it’s not him being an idiot, which is often since Wei Wuxian has some complicated hero complex that gets him hurt for the sake of those he loves. Sometimes, she wants to either wrap him a blanket and protect him, or stick her needles into him so he cannot move and make rush decisions that would send him to an early grave. Not that she’s ever going to tell him of the first because she’s got a reputation to uphold, that’s why she often threatens him with the latter.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. ‘Not really.’ He takes a bite of his new cupcake. ‘I just want to have a baby without an alpha.’

‘How is that even possible?’ Wen Ning asks innocently, because he is their group’s youngest member and their sweet summer child. The beta looks very confuse as if he’s recalling what he learned in Biology class in case he has missed something about reproduction.

Wei Wuxian sighs and focuses on his cupcake instead of answering the question.

‘Wait a minute.’ Nie Huaisang stops Wei Wuxian mid-bite of his treat, hand clasps on Wei Wuxian’s wrist. ‘How _really _are you going to have a baby without an alpha?’

He glares for a second at Nie Huaisang and pulls his arm away to eat his dessert in peace. ‘I’m gonna have sex of course,’ he says in frustration and rewards himself with a bite of his cupcake.

‘That we know,’ Nie Huaisang points out. ‘To whom is the underlined question?’

All three pairs of eyes curiously focus on Wei Wuxian as he chews his cake. The father of Wei Wuxian’s child should be a big deal. He can’t just get someone despite him being one of the most sought after omega because of his family background and his genius brain.

‘To create an offspring that would put all other offspring to shame, because let’s be real, any child of mine would be the paragon of beauty and intelligence,’ he announces haughtily that has Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang rolling their eyes. Wen Ning gives a small nod because he’s supportive like that. ‘I have found the perfect seed to match mine. And together our offspring will be perfect.’

His three friends all wait with bated breath for Wei Wuxian to say who, only that the arrogant bastard keeps prolonging it too much.

‘Wei Wuxian, if you don’t say it this instance I will stick my needles in you,’ Wen Qing threats.

‘It’s Lan Zhan, okay?’ Wei Wuxian answers abruptly because he doesn’t doubt that she will surely follow through since she’s often with acupuncture needles on her person. Wei Wuxian believes she’s some sort of Black Widow spy in her past life. And if he leans away from Wen Qing it’s because he’s smart enough to be cautious than be sorry.

All three have their mouths gape at Wei Wuxian, he doesn’t notice, still wary of Wen Qing.

‘Lan Zhan as in Lan Wangji?’ Nie Huaisang inquires just to be sure he heard it right. ‘He agreed to be the father of your child?’

‘Only biologically,’ he explains. ‘I just need his genes.’

‘And he agreed?’ Wen Qing’s eyes are wide, eyebrows almost up to her hairline.

‘What are you implying?’ Wei Wuxian frowns at the question. ‘Lan Zhan and I are friends. Best of friends actually. He’s been very supportive of me since the beginning when people don’t see omegas beyond their second gender.’ He smiles at the memory of being rivals with Lan Zhan in high school and university. The other man had always been respectable to Wei Wuxian and other omegas, never seeing Wei Wuxian as someone who is beneath him or fragile like others do just because Wei Wuxian is an omega.

‘What exactly did he say?’ Nie Huaisang prompts, edging closer to Wei Wuxian. ‘And how did he take it?’

Wei Wuxian shrugs again. ‘He just agreed.’ He takes another cupcake from the plate. ‘We made a contract so it’s all professional and all that… Plus, I think I wore him down after whining to him about it for so long. I even had to make a back-up plan, if in case he doesn’t agree within my time stamp.’

‘And what exactly is your back-up plan?’ Nie Huaisang reaches for his tea blindly, still trying to absorb the news, and holding himself back from the other questions he wants to ask. 

‘I’ll either ask Da-ge or Xichen-ge to make the baby with me.’ He ignores how Nie Huaisang chokes on the tea and the Wen siblings’ saucer eyes. ‘I told Lan Zhan this just so he doesn’t have to feel pressure, and also, so that he knows I’m serious about this whole pregnancy.’

None of Wei Wuxian’s three friends move, still processing the shock of their friend’s news. They dumbly blink at him as if to make sense of his existence and the insane information he’s sharing.

‘Lan Zhan agreed after that,’ Wei Wuxian states, ignorant of his friends’ current turmoil. ‘I believe he also realised that his genes and mine would be extraordinary.’ His lips form a smug grin. ‘He was my first choice to begin with. And he would know better how right I am since genetics is his field of expertise. Right?’

All three of Wei Wuxian’s friends groan in frustration on Lan Wangji’s behalf. And he ignores them, thinking that they’re mocking his brilliant idea and instead focuses on his third — fourth? fifth? oh, who cares — cupcake.

‘Oh, right.’ He wipes his fingers again and unlocks his phone. He’s quite pleased with himself that none of his friends have yet to notice the change in his scent. ‘Do you guys want to see the ultrasound?’

There’s a lot of screaming after that.

*****

6 months ago…

‘Lan Zhan,’ Wei Wuxian greets, all formal and business-like, sitting across Lan Zhan’s wooden desk. They’ve decided to do the contract signing in Lan Zhan’s home office because Wei Wuxian is often at the alpha’s estate than he is at his own penthouse.

‘Wei Ying.’ Lan Zhan’s eyes never leave his as he pulls the manila envelope closer to himself. He fishes the document inside: two A4 white paper, not quite filled with scribbles. He already knows what it contains but reads it thoroughly nonetheless.

‘My heat is coming next month,’ Wei Wuxian states as Lan Zhan reads, the man continues on but Wei Wuxian knows he’s heard him. Despite it being the end of their work day, Lan Zhan is still looking all pristine in his baby blue turtleneck and white blazer. Lan Zhan had always been unfazed since Wei Wuxian knew him in their youth. Not even his schedule at teaching in university and doing research in his lab seems to fluster his ever-so immaculate countenance. Wei Wuxian loves how sturdy Lan Zhan is all through the years he’s known him. Anyone would be lucky to have such a dependable alpha. ‘I think it’s the perfect time. Don’t you agree?’

Lan Zhan looks up to him, eyes wide but not in panic. There’s something in there that Wei Wuxian cannot fathom, he thinks it’s because of the low light in Lan Zhan’s study that’s only coming from the desk lamp which hinders his ability to read Lan Zhan fully. He’s sure it’s not because Lan Zhan is having second thoughts about their arrangements since the man’s usual scent of sandalwood and grapefruit remains pleasing. He fervently hopes not, because he really wants Lan Zhan’s baby and no one else, even when he did voice out before that he’s willing to try with Nie Mingjue or Lan Xichen. He’s not above begging the two older men. Wen Qing, despite being an alpha, is out of the question, she’ll probably skin him alive before he can even finish his request. Plus, she’s like a sister to him.

‘Lan Zhan?’ Wei Wuxian is slightly nervous, for reasons he doesn’t know of. He’s never felt so helpless in a boardroom full of alpha and beta who looks down on him for being an omega. ‘You’re not changing your mind, are you?’

Lan Zhan shakes his head slowly and composes himself, the unknown expression is changed into Lan Zhan’s normal jade-like profile that some would call: cold. He thought of it, too, before, when they weren’t close friends as they are now. But it’s just Lan Zhan’s normal face — well, if you can call an ethereal beauty normal, but that’s just Lan Zhan and his older brother, Lan Xichen — close off because he doesn’t say much or when he does it remains the same. People often brush things off that they don’t understand, or when it’s not in their taste of normal, not knowing that it creates a gap between individuals that turns into prejudices, or worse: hate.

Wei Wuxian’s quite intimate with these biases ever since he’d presented as an omega, and an orphan at that. He was luckier than others when he got adopted into the prominent Jiang family since his late father was close friends with Jiang Fengman.

Other orphaned omegas are usually wedded off immediately by eighteen to any capable alpha, that is if they’ve never gotten adopted. And most often they are not since it’s hard to raise an omega; too many responsibilities and they need a lot of taking care of especially that they have heats once every three months. They need suppressants, too, to keep off their smell and so that they don’t get pregnant.

So, maybe Madam Yu will never win Best Aunt Award — ever — but at least she tolerated Wei Wuxian’s and took him into her household, and never once complained about him being an inconvenience because he’s an omega. As an alpha, she has more power in the Jiang family than her beta husband and it would have been easy to kick Wei Wuxian out if she wished to. But she let him stay. And Wei Wuxian will forever be grateful for her benevolence, however little it may seem to others, it meant the world to him.

He’s not the one to look at the gift horse in the mouth, so he’d never actually asked Madam Yu why she never turned him away even when she clearly wasn’t happy with his presence since she’d always been jealous of his mother, Cangse Sanren, for being Jiang Fengman’s first love (as cheesy and childish as that sounds). But he’s heard of Madam Yu’s older brother, an omega, who was sent away by their parents — wed off to the richest alpha who proposed since these were the older days when omegas don’t have much rights. He’d like to think it’s because of that dear brother who had to leave because their parents were tired of having an omega child. Too difficult. Too needy. Too much.

‘Wei Ying?’ Lan Zhan calls.

‘Huh?’ He can’t believe he got lost in his own thoughts again. He needs to stop thinking of things that he can no longer change and focus on what he can do now. The sad reality of omegas before — and even until now — will only upset him and it certainly won’t aid him in fixing what he wants to improve.

‘Are you okay?’ Lan Zhan’s put down the contract, all his attention on Wei Wuxian.

He beams a smile at Lan Zhan. ‘Just thinking of who the baby will take after,’ he lies half-heartedly, wanting to erase what he’s been thinking and also realising that he’s quite curious about his baby with Lan Zhan. ‘What do you think, Lan Zhan?’ He puts both arms on the table, enjoying Lan Zhan’s startled expression at the topic. ‘Will they have your eyes? I wish they would... And your features? I would love that... Can you imagine how cute they will be if that happens? A mini you pouting about wanting sweets and whatever strikes their fancy that are totally bad for them.’ Wei Wuxian can already imagine them and can’t help the smile growing bigger on his face.

‘They’d look cuter if they have Wei Ying’s smile,’ Lan Zhan states seriously.

Wei Wuxian’s heart tripped thrice in his chest as he tried to process what Lan Zhan had said. Lan Zhan sounds genuine with his declaration, golden eyes focus on Wei Wuxian. Sometimes he forgets how honest Lan Zhan can be that often it does weird things to his chest. He had to visit a cardiologist thrice to be sure that there’s nothing wrong with his heart.

And his only excuse right now is that he’s making a big decision with his best friend, so it’s possible to be nervous and easily flustered over simple words. That’s it. He doesn’t need to be weird about it because that would be uncomfortable to Lan Zhan if Wei Wuxian thinks too much of it, the alpha is already doing him a big favour.

‘I think any kid of yours and mine would be cute,’ he adds casually because he’s not going to be weird about it, and missing to notice the reddening of Lan Zhan’s ears.

[megastarstrike]

hi it’s me, the motherfucker who has too many ideas about hifumi and yusuke being friends so i wrote another one. but this time, featuring guest artist yutaba.

it’s basically both of them being disasters while hifumi helps him get ready for a date. heres the trash. 

word count: 2360

-

[17:46] Yusuke: Hifumi, I urgently require your assistance.

Well, that was never a good start to a conversation.

Hifumi stopped in the middle of her walk back home from her daily shogi practice at church. She stepped next to a lamppost and squinted at her phone.

Would this be important? Last time he sent a text this ambiguous, it was a poem about him being torn between eating a mushroom he found growing next to the school building and not wanting to risk being poisoned. It ended with her dragging him away from the mushroom and into a grocery store so he could buy real food for once. And while it was fun navigating the stores by riding inside the cart while Yusuke drove it forward, it wasn’t fun ramming into a crowd of people and almost being banned from the store.

Her thumbs danced over the screen of her phone before she finally decided to reply.

[17:48] Hifumi: Please don’t tell me you’re about to eat another questionable plant… [17:48] Yusuke: No, not this time. [17:48] Yusuke: Please come to my dorm as soon as possible. I have a time limit.

And now she was more alarmed because it sounded like he was trying to disarm a bomb. Knowing all the shenanigans he had been pulled into this year, it was impossible to not be worried.

So she texted her mother she would be coming home late and redirected her route to Kosei High School.

-

Yusuke flung the door wide open before Hifumi could even knock on it (she was left sadly, slowly putting her fist down by her side). “Thank goodness you’ve arrived. I have a predicament I couldn’t solve alone.”

Hifumi stepped into the dorm, carefully stepping over an empty bottle of paint. She shut the door behind her and finally allowed herself to take in the disaster that was her best friend.

Firstly, his room was usually immaculate, a feat he had managed to accomplish even with the messy nature of his passion. The sight in front of her, however, looked like a war zone. None of his paintings had been disturbed, but the amount of clutter everywhere was enough to make her worry the school would make him pay for a deep cleaning. On top of that, his closet door was wide open, revealing the utter mess that was inside. Had he really been disabling a bomb and failed to do so before she arrived? It sure seemed like it.

“Yusuke,” Hifumi called, her voice flat as she scanned her surroundings. “Were you robbed?”

“It was nothing of the sort,” Yusuke said hurriedly. “Though you could say I was robbed of my sanity.”

“What happened?”

He averted his eyes, his shoulders tensing. “It… It seems my talent for art does not extend to the fashion world as much as I thought it did.”

Hifumi frowned. Was he embarrassed or sad? Whichever it was, she hated to see him like this. “Nonsense. I’m certain you’ve just overextended your creativity for the day. Allow me to help.” She walked towards the closet, browsing through his clothes and completely unsurprised at his sense of fashion. “What event is this for?”

At that, Yusuke’s entire body tensed. He turned away.

“Yusuke…?”

He spoke after taking a deep breath. “I believe… I’m due for an outing with someone I have a romantic interest in.”

“So a date?”

“... Yes.”

Hifumi blinked. She had pieced together who he had been particularly interested in after she was invited to one of his afterschool activities (which was really just hangout time for the former Phantom Thieves because come on. Being subtle was not their strong point). But for either the other person or Yusuke to finally say something about their feelings…

Well, it seemed her best friend had a date.

Wait. Her best friend had a date!

Hifumi grinned and poked his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Yusuke. Did you ask Futaba or did she ask you?”

Yusuke tilted his head away from her finger, an annoyed expression crossing his face. “I believe she asked me.” He paused. “How did you know it was Futaba?”

“Neither of you were very subtle about your feelings.”

“... Ah. So I’ve been told.” His gaze moved down to his hand, which was still stained with paint. “I was engaged in a conversation with Ann a few hours earlier and explained my predicament. She asked me what I was going to wear for this date, and I asked if that mattered. She said it did and that she would help me after she finished her shift, but her shift ends after my date begins. The timing wouldn’t work out.”

Hifumi nodded along. “So now I’m here?”

“Apparently so.”

Being the second choice didn’t hurt; Ann was a model experienced with fashion, after all, while Hifumi was just as much of a social recluse as Yusuke was. In all honesty, being invited to make suggestions for something this personal made her heart warm. Was this what normal teenagers did for their friends? Even if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Allow me a moment to rummage through your closet,” Hifumi said. “For now, you can wash the paint off your hands.”

Yusuke nodded and headed into the bathroom.

Her movements as she shifted through the clothing paused.

Her suggestions were actually being taken seriously? She was being listened to? That was a feeling unlike any other.

Hifumi smiled and hummed to herself, continuing to take inventory of the clothes in the closet.

-

“Yusuke, you have four shirts and two pairs of pants that are the exact same shade of black. How have you survived up until this point?”

“You ask that as if I have a satisfactory answer.”

Hifumi supposed she shouldn’t have expected the person who regularly skipped lunch to buy new paints to have a plethora of clothing, but she certainly didn’t expect his closet to be this sparse. It was almost sad. How often did he have to do laundry?

“Please do not be concerned,” Yusuke said. “Ann promised we would buy a new outfit together later during the week. However, this is what is at my disposal now.”

She sighed and shook her head. There was nothing she could do about his concerning priorities now. Instead, she settled for picking out a light pink shirt with a white outline at the top circling the neck and a brown jacket with an odd, asymmetrical design. “I believe this would suit you nicely. Could you try them on? I’ll even allow you to choose which of your two pairs of pants you want to wear with it.”

“... You’re teasing me.”

“Only a little bit. Now hurry, we don’t have much time left.”

Yusuke took the clothes (and predictably took the shinier pair of pants because of course), thanked her, and stepped into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he called, “I’m fully clothed. You may come in if you’d like.”

Hifumi stepped into the bathroom and stood beside Yusuke, who frowned as he smoothed out some stray wrinkles in his clothes. She stared at their reflections in the mirror. Their small height difference would never cease to amuse her, especially with how tall Yusuke was compared to the other members of his group. But now wasn’t the time for that. “Is this to your liking?”

Yusuke redirected his gaze at the mirror. He looked his figure up and down with a blank expression. “The combination of colors is not off-putting, and it seems to be in line with current fashion standards as I understand them. Thank you for your assistance.”

Oh, thank god. Her lack of any artistic talent whatsoever hadn’t failed her yet.

“I’m glad. However, there are still some things I would like to improve.” Hifumi picked up a comb and began untangling his hair, standing on her toes to reach the top of his head.

His shoulders tensed under her touch, then relaxed. A few seconds later, he leaned into the touch just the slightest bit like a cat who wanted affection but was too prideful to admit it. (Hifumi should know; she had met that cat before.)

It was at times like these Hifumi remembered Yusuke hadn’t been exposed to much physical affection while under Madarame’s supervision. Even teenagers with normal childhoods missed having their hair touched by someone else, and Hifumi still had her hair done by her mother sometimes. How many times had he been deprived of something as basic as this? Anger simmered in her gut, but anger wasn’t the emotion needed here. She stowed it away and was careful to ensure her contact was gentle.

Finally, Hifumi set the comb on the counter and took a step away, smiling at the new shine in Yusuke’s eyes. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Has disaster been averted?”

“Yes, I’d say so,” Yusuke said quietly. His lips curved into a satisfied smile that radiated more light than a star. “You have my gratitude. I’m in your debt.”

Hifumi’s heart warmed. She flicked his cheek and grinned at the resulting side-eye directed at her. “Don’t say that. These are typical actions friends take for each other.”

“Truly?”

“Um… I believe so?”

It wasn’t like either of them could confirm or deny. Both had only entered the realm of friendship just recently, stumbling on various obstacles as they observed others and tried to comprehend what friendship truly entailed. It wasn’t a simple endeavor by any means. Friendship wasn’t anything like shogi; it was illogical, emotional. It was like trying to understand a storm’s motivations. Hifumi had almost given up multiple times trying to piece it together, but in the end…

Well, what could she say other than she was glad to have a friend?

“I suppose you should head out to your date now,” Hifumi said. She took a few steps out of the bathroom before realizing Yusuke wasn’t following. She turned back with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you alright?”

Yusuke’s demeanor was as calm as ever, but throughout her attempts to understand him as a person, she had learned most of his turmoil took place inside. His shoulders and arms were stiff, and he looked frozen in place. A clear indication he was hesitating, if all those body language guides she had read were correct.

“Yusuke?”

“We planned on meeting at Leblanc. Please accompany me there.”

Ah. He was nervous. That much was clear. She saw no reason to decline.

The two departed from the Kosei dorms, and Hifumi continued nitpicking every detail of his appearance. Yusuke eventually recognized most of her comments weren’t serious and gave her an exasperated stare.

Hifumi laughed. It was her god-given right as a friend, after all.

-

“You do have enough money to take her somewhere nice, yes? And for that matter, you most certainly have a plan. Oh, and brush that hair out of your eyes. Shy eyes haven’t been in style since decades ago.”

“You’re enjoying this far more than you should.”

“I’m enjoying this the appropriate amount.”

Yusuke stopped to give her another cold instance of side-eye, his favorite maneuver to pull when he suspected Hifumi was teasing him. The annoyance on his face dissipated upon realizing they had made it to the corner just by Leblanc. They could see the entrance from where they stood.

“I haven’t the slightest idea why I’m feeling this way,” Yusuke said, his eyes trained on the doorway.

Hifumi gave him a sympathetic smile. “Nervous? Anticipatory? I understand. I get the same way before a tournament.”

“This is frustrating. These feelings are a curse.”

“I know you don’t truly feel that way.” She patted him on the shoulder, and some of the tension present faded. “You were focusing on what a human heart contained during your latest study, correct? Now that you have an opportunity to experiment with it, will you allow it to fly past you?”

He glanced down at the floor, digging his shoe into the sidewalk. “No, I suppose not.”

Their conversation was cut short when the bells above Leblanc’s door rang and the door slammed open. Futaba came stumbling out, panic written all over her face. She whirled around back to whoever was still inside the shop.

“Akira!” she shouted. “No friendly fire allowed! I’m banning you from this server!”

“You’ve grinded enough for this mission. You’re locked out of the tutorial area,” Akira replied. That was the only reply he gave before waving and shutting the door.

Ouch. Cold, Akira.

Yusuke’s expression softened into a fond smile. “Those two… They truly do resemble siblings.”

Hm. That reminded her…

She wasn’t done with her job.

“Sorry, Yusuke,” Hifumi said before taking a few steps back.

Yusuke’s eyes widened. “Wait… don’t tell me—”

Hifumi pushed him forward, sending him stumbling into view. It was possibly the rudest thing she had ever done and she wouldn’t have done it to anyone else, but she was certain he would thank her for it later.

“Hifumi! You traitor!” Yusuke yowled. He whirled to round on her, only to freeze upon seeing Futaba giggling. “Oh. Good evening, Futaba. Please stop deriving joy out of my pain.”

Futaba’s laughter only grew louder. “Yeah, but you were so dramatic about it! You were like, ‘You traitor!’ and you looked so pissed. Who wouldn’t laugh at that?”

“A mature person, something you are not.”

Hifumi sighed. Blunt as ever, Yusuke. Never change.

“Please, I’m pretty sure I barely count as a person,” Futaba scoffed. Following that statement, the confidence was drained from her body. She averted her eyes and picked at her fingernails. It seemed she was gathering the courage for—

Oh. She leapt forward and tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Let’s just… Let’s just get going.”

Yusuke smiled down at her fondly as they walked away together.

Back at the corner nearby Leblanc, Hifumi checked her wallet to ensure she had enough funds before walking towards the cafe. Might as well buy something while she was here.

But her best friend was happy. And seeing that, she was happy as well

[detectiveguapo]

Crushed by their own mundanity

I have no doubt that what happened with you and Ezekiel Reyes was devastating. But you were young, resilient, so smart. Was it just a cosmic "fuck you" to the silly pale people being crushed by their own mundanity? I understand that. I really do. Needing something bigger, bolder, more dangerous.

Or I fell in love.

The house is so still when you enter; it’s as if no one’s lived here for years. But everything is immaculate — not a speck of dust on any surface, not a throw pillow out of place, not a pair of red Vans left haphazardly by the entrance. Someone lives here. She’s baking shortbread late in the afternoon, the scent of butter and sugar enticing you to the kitchen.

Everything looks the same but more sterile. Devoid of personality. Devoid of any memories that make it feel like home. The fridge isn’t covered with your macaroni art from first grade, your poems from fourth, your A+ essays from ninth, your picture from senior prom when you were just a junior. You hated your dress and you hated the formalities of the dance, but you loved everything else about that night. Then it all came crashing down when you slipped in the morning after — your father’s car missing from the driveway and his work boots unaccounted for on a Saturday.

“Emily, I didn’t hear you come in.” It’s almost like staring into a mirror from ten years ago. Bright blue eyes and brown, almost-auburn hair, set against the palest skin in all of Santo Padre. “You’re just in time, the shortbread is just coming out of the oven. And it should be soft enough for the baby.”

“How are you doing, mom?” You take a seat on the stool on the opposite side of the kitchen island and watch as she takes the baking sheet and sets it down on the cooling rack. She smiles wide, proud of the golden yellow colour of her cookies. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

“You never called.”

Fair point.

“I’m doing fine, honey,” she says as she continues to flit around the kitchen like a 1950s housewife. “I bought this new cookbook online and I’ve been testing out all these recipes. It’s a lot of baked goods for one lady, so I’ve been bringing most of them over to the parishioners at Sacred Heart. They’ve been a hit!”

“That’s great, mom. But, really, how are you doing?”

“I don’t understand,” she says with a dismissive shake of her head. “I’m telling you I’m fine.”

You know better than to pick at old wounds, but you can’t help but be reminded of your mother’s proclivity for baking when she’s in one of her moods. Most husbands would love to come home to a house smelling of Irish apple tart, but your father despised it. It was like a smoke signal to turn around, back to the office and back to the secretary, who looked at him with sultry eyes and made him feel like he was young again.

“I’d be better if my grandson came to visit me more often,” she says in a cloyingly passive-aggressive tone. Removing her oven mitts, she sets her hands on the counter and finally makes eye contact with you. “Where is he? Is he with the nanny?” She glances over to the kitchen window above the sink, where she hopes to see Maria wheeling the stroller.

“What?” You’re caught off-guard. Does she know about the kidnapping? No one outside the cartel and their associates should know about any of it, but has word spread? You clear your throat and try to swallow down the rising panic in your chest. “He’s with Miguel.” It’s not a lie. He really is with Miguel detained at the border for god-knows-what reason — another giant, unexplainable ‘fuck you’ before you can finally be reunited with your son.

She stares you down with suspicion. “You only ever come to visit me with Cristobal. It’s so you don’t feel guilty about him not having a relationship with his maternal grandmother.”

“That’s not true.”

“And when you do visit, it’s what?” She glances at the old clock on the wall. “Half an hour before you have to go back to your mansion on the hill. Wipe your hands clean of the notion that you’re keeping your grandson from me.”

“I’m not keeping him from you. You’ve always been welcome,” you say curtly. “It was your choice never to set foot in my house.”

“No, Emily. It was your choice to marry into that sick family and create a child whose legacy is rooted in greed and violence.”

“Save me the self-righteous bullshit, mom.” You scoff, pushing yourself off the kitchen island. This was a bad idea coming here. You’re not even sure what compelled you to make the trip. Maybe, subconsciously, being apart from your son for so long had you seeking out the comfort of a mother — something you hadn’t really felt from Dita ever since you slowly situated yourself within the cartel’s inner circle. “You don’t know Miguel. You never gave him a chance.”

“I don’t need to know the man to know what his family has done to people on the other side of the border.” She pauses and takes a steadying breath. “Your father and I — we talked about the atrocities that family has committed. You were there with us, listening at the dinner table. You agreed with us. You told us you wanted to be a lawyer so you could help people find asylum in this country, and yet you marry him? What was it, Emily? Was your heart so broken that you wanted to rebel against the world? Become someone you’re not?”

“I fell in love.”

She sighs. “You were angry.”

“I don’t have to justify anything to you, but I know how I felt then and I know what I feel now.”

“You were scared of being alone.”

You pace toward the hallway, and turn on your heel. You don’t mean to raise your voice, especially in one of the quietest streets in town, but your mother has a way of pushing your buttons. “You don’t know a thing! Ever since dad left, you’ve been so addicted to your own misery while putting on this facade that everything’s fine. You know, business as usual, right? That’s what you’ve been doing for at least half your marriage — pretending like you two were happy, like you didn’t resent him for moving the family to this godforsaken desert. Dad’s silence and absence. Your passive aggressive remarks, all the baking and the doting housewife bullshit to hang over his head to make him feel like he was the bad guy. You still think that way, don’t you? You still think it’s all his fault.” You watch as she stares at you with wide eyes, as if she has the audacity to be offended. “Of course you do. You believe only what you want to believe; you don’t have a clue what is and isn’t real.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“Or what?” You challenge back as you storm down the hall, toward the front door. “You’ll kick me out because I’ll stop playing along with your fantasy?”

Your mother leans against the banister, her bottom lip quivering as she attempts to keep her tears from falling. “Is it so wrong to want someone safe and stable for my daughter?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say yes to the first nice, hard-working man to ask me to marry him.” You open the door and feel the cool, evening breeze. Out on the street, the black SUV is parked and Tiago stands waiting by the passenger side door. When you turn to face your mother, it’s like looking at a mirror of who you were eight years ago — heartbroken, angry, scared of being alone. And you were those things when you met Miguel. But you didn’t say yes when he got down on one knee for those reasons. She’ll never understand no matter how many times you needlessly justify it. “When I was growing up, you and dad showed me what a safe and stable marriage looked like. You were married, lived under the same roof, yet so distant from each other. Was it for my sake? Or was it because neither of you could admit that you had made a mistake and stopped loving each other so long ago?”

“Why did you come here, Emily?”

“I —” You shake your head. “I don’t know. Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“Maybe you do love him,” she concedes. “But maybe, if he was right for you, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Goodbye, mom.”

Your mother watches at the doorway as you make it back to the car. As soon as you hit the sidewalk, she puts on a cheery voice. “Next time you come over with the baby, let me know beforehand. I want to make him a fresh batch of shortbread.”