#i technically still can and it only gets bad if it's windy

[alyimoss]

i am standing with ny arms open waiting for some real fucking cold

i know it's cold as balls cause the guy who usually takes his morning walk shirtless is now wearing a sweatshirt

[majorproblems77]

Hello LU fans! I'm back with another LU update analysis! :D

Are you ready cause there's so much to unpack I'm gonna be here a while. Like last time I'm gonna put a timer on lmao, see how long this takes me.

As always grab your popcorn and drink of choice, cause we need hydration in this life.

all art belongs to @linkeduniverse and Jojo, and if I pull panels from any other pages I'll let you know where it's from! :D

Obviously spoilers for Dawn 8 :D

And a note, I've not played TP or WW, you'll see why thats important later.

Let us begin, shall we!

Man, Poor wild, he's probably beating himself up like there's no tomorrow right now. He looks HORIFIED.

Probably because in technicality, he failed.

I love how he's holding his sword here too. Kinda acting as a shield to the conversation.

Same expression as wild. He also looks horrified. Infact the resemblance between these two in uncanny.

Man time really is the dad isnt he. Unimpressed dad look at 12'oclock. Jokes aside he doesn't look angry about it. He looks like he now gathering information from those who finished the fight. As we know once he left with Twilight he was the only other one to not make it back to the fight.

Thats a fair sentence, thinking about it, I think the only other game where Iron Knuckles appear is in one of Hyrule's games? I'm surprised he's not mentioned anything about it.

Most of the others do have armoured enemies though. So while the others dont have direct experience I assume they have the basics.

All but, Sky and Wars None of them fight armoured enemies like that in their games.

I assume because he's defeated this thing like it was a guardian (Stasis and then wailing on it cause that's what i would do lmao) He assumed it was defeated when it exploded into pieces. Like guardians are prone to do. tbh he was probably gonna go back to look for loot at some point.

You tell them Wind. The small hero, underestimated by everyone BUT Time. Was correct thank you.

Justice for the windy boy.

God Wild really is beating himself up about this. I love the fact that we see four's reaction to this statement. As to be honest. Over the last few nights, Four and Wild have had plenty of bonding moments. These guys are gonna become best friends.

And now we get Time.

The way he's looking over these panels. That look. He know's he's the leader of this group but something that Time isn't used to is making Permanent mistakes.

He has the Ocarina of Time, and when he was back in Termina every time something went wrong he could just play the song of Time and restart the three-day cycle with no trouble at all.

Time, as a person. Isnt technically used to failing.

This panel is stunning. It's what I assume is going on inside his head. It's so pretty. It's so detailed it's just oh man easily one of my favourite panels.

now you know i had to talk about panels with my beloved blorbo in.

first off he's so pretty. Jojo has really outdone herself with just how amazing these updates have looked. The lighting the shading its all just so incredible.

The first half of this panel with Sky's face. He, He is beating himself up about the injury. He had nothing to do with it but he cares so much about the rest of the group he feels bad. He kinda looks like he's thinking about it. Like he can see it. Like time did but we dont see inside Sky's head.

Makes me think about what exactly he saw.

And Twilight's face, he looks so sad. His little pout. Poor wolf boy, which we can now call you properly as the rest of them know now.

And to be honest I'm glad he's standing his ground. Mr, My injury isn't that bad before falling over. the stubborn ranch hand strikes again.

The parallels from this frame and the one from later have been mentioned elsewhere but I'm just gonna post the frame here as it's turned up. Run you coward lizard. Run.

Captain link is back. Poor warriors, he's still showing signs of being stressed. He's one of the only one's who hasn't been able to rest over the downtime that they've had. He's been busy being in charge of the group while Time was out.

I can only assume it's only a matter of time before this comes back to get him. Maybe he is next on the chopping block? (Pun kinda intended) Something could happen and he messes up and gets hurt of causes someone to get hurt.

oh and also

THE SCARF

THE SCARF THE SCARF

IT HAS RETURNED ALL HAIL THE BLUE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT BLANKET WARRIORS NEEDED YOU.

None of us did, Hyrule.

The boys ever, I'm glad they are talking about this like this. And that it's legend who's starting to throw ideas out there like this. As the one who's got the most experience in the group, it makes sense that he would be the one to start offering ideas as to Why not just how.

Because you pissed it off Sky. Because half of you pissed it off. In fact I do believe he had a bunch of panels in Shifting Shadows pt2 where you indeed pissed it off.

The entire reason it started running from you and Twilight had to track it was because of FI's reaction to his sword.

Wait... that explains the guilt. It is actually potentially Sky's fault. Or if he's anything like I think he is. He remembers that fight with the shadow and knows.

He knows.

Also, with clenched fist Sky is ready for a fight. Next time the shadow turns up I assume he's gonna go after it when it's inevitablebly goes after Twilight/Wild. Maybe he'll jump in after being told not too because the Master sword appears to be the only thing as of right now that can fight the red stuff that comes off the shadows sword.

did you hear Warriors shiver? I did.

And you'd know all about that wouldn't you Four. :D

Also

Mandatory Sky appreciation picture

Him's my beloved blorbo. He's wonderful. Such a lil guy. Bestest bean. My beloved. /pl

Anyway moving on

Oh yeah, the amount of power that the items list contains We've seen the arsenal that they have between them (in the December art).

We saw what just Time could do.

Now add the rest of them and the enemies dont stand a chance. They've just gotta figure out how to either avoid the weapons of each other or work as a team with the arsenal in hand to fight better.

Like imagine if Twilight used his gale boomerang to send Wild into the air.

(Writer brain go brr, gonna write that down)

It's basically Revalis Gale.

This man is so damn dramatic I love him

And here's the parallel frame

the shadow running towards Warriors vs running away from Twilight.

You know thinking about it... Shadow didn't shapeshift until Twilight did. The push towards Warriors was when shadow thought they were on level footing.

But when Twilight went after Dink, he was the one who had to flee because he lost his advantage.

ANGRY SKY ANGRY SKY ANGRY SKY

The man is pissed that Shadow hurt Twilight. He is so damn mad and I think that he is saying what he would assume Fi would. (With more emotion because well, Fi)

Also that last frame.

TIME AND SKY ANGST ON THE HORIZON?

time is looking towards the master sword. And he looks angry. This will absolutely have gone unnoticed by the others because if they saw he was angry it was probably just because of the conversation topic.

god I love the dynamic here and I'm excited to see if it goes anywhere

Him's I love his simple way of agreeing its wonderful.

I approve to wind let's go blow some stuff up!

Hyrule shows the group why he is called the traveller. The man just wants to go on his adventures let him go!

Sky is so proud of himself

this face says 'Look guys I didn't give it to the weird toilet hand! :D'

I love this man a healthy amount.

One last thing before I go

I love this update as a whole, seeing the group gear up and getting to see the layers of the armour and straps and fastenings being put on while they are having this discussion is amazing.

I'd give you a collection of pictures but Tumblr is being rude and I can't post more than 30. So you can have these as all four panels show what I'm talking about.

Twilight adjusting his gauntlets warriors adjusting his scarf.

Hyrule attaching his shield to his back and putting his sword strap on.

God, I love this update so much. It was amazing and I very much enjoyed it. Let me know what you think! :D

Thank you as ever for reading my rambles i appreciate you :D

Have a wonderful day and dont forget to hydrate! See you next time!

[falconcoast]

taverns and tcg | cyno x reader

day six. holiday party ft. cyno 

event masterlist

cyno is stuck at a horrible staff party before winter break. you are stuck at a horrible staff party before winter break before winter break. as the only two bearable people at the party, you tough it out together. 

a/n: LATE AS HELL IM AWARE AND KAEYA’S EDITION OF THIS WILL BE OUT SOON I PROMISE

tags: brief alcohol mention (none consumed)

cyno knew that coming to the staff holiday party was a bad idea.

he didn’t really like the akademiya’s staff in the first place, so he wasn’t sure why he still came. simple conversations behind closed doors came forward, resulting in bitter discussion. the eggnog was spiked, and lips were looser than leaflet papers on a windy day. and there were an overwhelming amount of people crammed into the tiny tavern. if he could, he would escape into the night and peacefully begin the akademiya’s winter break.

but he held himself back for one reason.

“cyno!” a familiar voice called out in the crowd. snapping his head around he recognized the voice as you, one of the librarians in the house of daena and one of the only coworkers he could stand. something fluttered in his chest. “hey, hey! didn’t expect you to be here. parties don’t really seem to be your thing.”

“they aren’t,” he replied. “i was planning to leave soon.”

“oh, is that so?” you asked, tilting your head. “come here and sit. you’re the only sufferable one around here.”

he smiled, taking a seat next to you by the couch. “i don’t think staying for a few more minutes could hurt,” he conceded.

after settling beside you, you both stared out at the rest of the staff. it was like all of the decorum that the akademiya always sought to preserve was slipping through the cracks. swears were being exchanged rapidly. “they’re without composure tonight,” you observed.

“they’ve been grading all day, everyday for the last four weeks. i knew that they would be off the rails, just not by this much.”

“well, nothing we can do about that,” you shrugged. “it’s good entertainment. anyways, how have you been? i haven’t been able to see you much recently. i mean, i guess it’s technically part of your job to be out and about so much, but still… i guess what i’m trying to say is…i missed you.”

missed him? for some reason, cyno felt like he was going to be the next one to lose his composure. his cheeks warmed, and he knew it was not from the compact space. “i missed you as well,” he stifled out after a moment. “nothing as crazy as what happened this summer. most of it has just been chasing down plagiarists and accompanying a few important scholars to port ormos. nothing significant.”

“oh, is that so?” you said. “well, i think it’s a very important job cyno. not just for the praise and glory you get from the sages, but for the reason that you preserve the sanctity of knowledge. people who lie and cheat and steal to get work done take the purpose of learning and destroy it. it makes me so mad to think about, which is why i’m always grateful for the matra.”

he paused, taking in your words. people had sung his praises for a long time now, and it was so common that he would brush people off before they could even finish. but with you, it was different. in fact, he almost wanted to ask you if you could keep telling him that he was doing a good job.

“um, cyno? do i need to call the hospital? are you alright?” you asked, snapping him out of his daze.

sitting up a little straighter, he blinked rapidly. “that won’t be necessary. your compliment was just nice to hear,” he replied. “apologies for worrying you. so, how has your semester been?”

“not much on my end either,” you shrugged. “we’ve been just waiting on an order of texts to come in from liyue. they’re ancient writings from the adepti, and i know that the harvatatan scholars have been itching to get their hands on it.”

you continued talking about all the books that you were receiving, but cyno became slightly distracted. your eyes were lit up with passion, a rarity in the akademiya nowadays. you really cared about your work as a librarian rather than just wanting to climb the ranks.

he watched your hand motions flutter about, another show of your love for your work. your voice, although it went in one ear and out the other, was sweet and warm. you were so different from anyone else in the akademiya, and his heart thrummed a little faster at the thought.

“...and we also, although accidentally, got a big order of tcg cards. i don’t know how it ended up in our hands and there’s no return address, so i guess we’re stuck with them,” you mentioned, making him perk up. you smiled. “oh, do you like tcg? i’m not very familiar with it, but it looks like a fun game to play.”

“it’s certainly an interesting game,” cyno answered, trying to downplay his excitement.

“you’ll have to teach me sometime,” you grinned. “a lot of scholars play it in the library. i wanna play with them, if possible.”

“i could teach you right now, if you’d like,” cyno replied instantly before immediately feeling his cheeks rush with heat. clearing his throat, he backtracked. “if you’d like that, of course.”

“i’d love to!” you smiled. “this party is getting boring anyways. and, seeing as i have the key to the library, i can get a pack of cards from up there. it’s a date, then. i’ll get my coat and then we can head out.”

standing, you walked away from him. cyno was motionless on the couch, blinking once. twice. after a moment, his face broke out into a grin as he came to a conclusion.

first, he would be escaping this party to play a much more entertaining game of tcg.

second, you had just asked him on a date and he had never been more excited.

[finn-macuncool]

I’m just gonna ramble here bc I can lol.

I had a great time at the Beast in Black concert in Seattle! It was actually my first time ever doing stuff in Seattle (I’ve technically been there before but just at the airport and train station).

My thoughts on the trip:

I had to drive 5 hours out which honestly wasn’t too bad, cruise control is my best friend lol. It suddenly got super rainy in the pass, which is expected of Seattle, but it was a bit scary going through that with very windy roads. Very beautiful scenery tho.

Seattle roads are AWFUL. I HATE the way they are set up, they make the roads in my town look logical, which is saying a lot.

I accidentally got there a few hours earlier than I expected, so I just sorta shuffled around the Fred Meyer and got a Starbucks coffee bc I had a gift card lol. I was surprised to find that every establishment I went to had codes on their bathrooms. Like I knew Seattle was hostile to its homeless population but damn.

The whole trip I had to constantly decide if I looked more feminine or masculine and which bathroom was probably safer for me, which is exhausting. I was wearing a good amount of jewelry but I forgot to shave or else I could’ve easily more passed as feminine, but even with a little bit of beard scruff people generally still used she/her for me (I use he/they but it’s whatever).

Now the concert bit:

It started raining in good ol Seattle fashion as we waited in line outside, and while I’m used to rain I did get quite soaked lol. My denim vest and flannel were pretty good at keeping me warm tho.

The venue was very very small, which was cool but it also got very warm very fast lol. I bought a t shirt before the show started, and had to wriggle out of my flannel at one point and tie it around my waist.

I went by myself bc I don’t have any irl friends who like metal, but I was quickly “adopted” by this one group of friends which was fun. I got very close to the stage, like only one row in front of me, which is helpful bc I’m short lol. The opener was Dance With the Dead, which is only instrumentals, no vocals. But surprisingly they managed to keep the energy up the whole time, and they definitely loved what they were doing. I forgot to bring ear plugs, but one of the guys next to me offered me some after I mentioned that lol. The guard at first thought he was giving out drugs but he showed that they were just earplugs lol. I was starting to get really tired tho, since I had driven 5 hours and was standing and jumping and head banging a lot. I was feeling a little dizzy and hoped I didn’t pass out before the main event.

Then Beast in Black finally came out, and somehow they managed to completely rejuvenate me lol, I had so much more energy. At one point I did take the ear plugs out again so that I could fully experience the music (and they were causing a weird buzzing sensation in my ears).

Ahhhhhh they were just so fantastic!! So much fun, so much energy, very interactive and humorous. Someone brought a whole bunch of mini Finnish flags and they were pleasantly surprised by that. The whole crowd was very energetic too, and not really any shoving like I’ve seen at other concerts. Someone handed them a plastic cowboy hat and they all took turns wearing it lol. They said that they do plan on coming back to Seattle again, and I’ll make sure to go again bc it was such a good experience. Maybe by then I’ll have convinced more friends to like their music lol.

After that I drove to the nearest rest stop and slept a bit in my car, then went back home. I’m very sleepy now but in a good way.

Here’s the shirt I got, and I’ll probably make a another post with the videos I got (I only got two videos of the choruses of some of my favorite songs, but I didn’t get any more bc I just was really in the moment)

[allaboutnayeli]

good days [i.engen x reader]

prompt: moving on from someone you loved after they hurt you is hard, but you do it anyways.

author notes: part three and technically the last part finally! i have been so busy lately which was so annoying, but i can now sit down and write long form fics so yippie for me. enjoy it everyone!

masterlist to other two parts

GOOD DAY IN MY MIND, SAFE TO

TAKE A STEP OUT

GET SOME AIR NOW, LET YOUR EDGE OUT

TOO SOON, I SPOKE, YOU BE

HEAVY ON MY MIND

CAN YOU GET THE HECK OUT?

I NEED REST NOW, GOT ME BUMMED OUT

YOU SO, YOU SO, YOU, BABY, BABY, BABE

I'VE BEEN ON MY EMPTY MIND SHIT

the moment you landed in san diego and got into your apartment, you cried. relief and guilt washes over you as you sit on the floor (in your haste to leave, you didn't furnish the place just yet). you finally did the one thing you never thought you would be able to pull off; leaving ingrid. the weight of her lies are now off your back, but now a different weight sits there now. how could you? how could you just up and leave her with no warning. deep down you know you don't owe her anything after all the bullshit she pulled, but it's hard to think about that when you leave someone you love so deeply. it feels like you dumped her even though you two were hardly together.

ingrid's guilt tripping really has done a number on you. it's funny really, you always was the one telling her to go to therapy and now you definitely need it. maybe if you left sooner, you wouldn't be looking at different therapists in the san diego area. none look appealing to you or maybe it's just the refusal in your mind to be grouped into any type of group as your ex. it was always ingrid needs therapy, not you. now you realize having her around has impacted your mental way more than you thought. moving on is going to be a mess.

you decide to push away all these messy thoughts as you slip on your jacket; having never taken off your clothes or shoes. getting some air and looking at the new city you will be living in for an indefinite period of time is better than trying to fight against the emotions floating around your mind.

it's windy today, your hair flies around a bit as the wind hits you. the slight chill of it makes you shiver, but it's refreshing. ingrid is still weighing in on your mind as you walk around. heading to the park near your apartment building.

how was she feeling right now? what was she doing right now? has she already tried to reach you?

all these questions make you feel a bit lightheaded. how you wish you could just turn off your mind for an hour or two; get a break away from the anxiety that ingrid gifted you. it can't be helped really. you love her and that won't change for a while. you refuse to make yourself move on faster just because the relationship was a bunch of nothing; the right to dwell or not belongs to you. nobody else can dictate if you should do it faster or slower. not even the words of ingrid in your head that you can imagine her saying.

why would you do this to me?

don't you love me?

you threw everything away..

that's the ingrid that exists in your mind. all her bad moments cloud over the happy ones. you wish it was different, but it isn't.

your lips curl up into a small smile as you look at the sunset. it's beautiful with the sky being a mix of orange, pink, and blue. you use to call ingrid your sunset because just like the sunset she's gorgeous, but is only there for a bit before leaving completely. it was an endearing nickname based off feelings of annoyance and love.

this time around, the sunset is not about ingrid to you. it's about this moment. you have finally left her for good and once that sun sets fully and the moon rises, you promise to yourself to close this chapter of your life. your focus is on taking care of yourself and moving on at your pace.

once you circle back around and reach your apartment, the sun has already set. your head is feeling more empty than from before you left. is this dissociation? or is this just the feelings leaving you right now? you don't really care about it at the moment as you slip off your shoes and jacket. going into your bedroom to go lay on one of the only pieces of furniture in your apartment.

no sheets (you have to go shopping tomorrow), just a pillow. just like the blank mattress, your life is now a blank canvas for you to paint any way you want. how freeing is that.

I TRY TO KEEP FROM LOSIN'

THE REST OF ME

I WORRY I WASTED THE BEST

OF ME ON YOU, BABY

YOU DON'T CARE

SAID, NOT TRYA BE A NUISANCE,

IT'S JUST URGENT

TRYA MAKE SENSE OF LOOSE CHANGE

GOT ME A WAR IN MY MIND

GOTTA LET GO OF WEIGHT, CAN'T

KEEP WHAT'S HOLDING ME

CHOOSE TO WATCH

WHILE THE WORLD BREAK UP

AND FALL ON ME

you have a long list of worries that you carry with you throughout the day; when are you going to finally set up a therapy appointment? when is the next time you're going to see ingrid? have you lost your mind? are you ruined forever?

before you ever got involved with ingrid, you never thought about these things. it wasn't until she started to treat you like shit that all these thoughts started to invade your mind. you hate her. that you know for certain.

the fear of being forever ruined makes you contact a therapist in your area and make an appointment. refusing to be stuck in a pitiful, constantly thinking about your ex state.

you are tired of letting yourself down again and again. the mistake of not leaving ingrid the moment she showed how toxic she could be was the first of many, but now it's different. you have to do this; get some help so all these feelings can be let out somewhere.

you deserve this; this is the start of your new beginning. it won't be tainted by ingrid this time, this is all about you.

the first therapy session was exhausting. not because your therapist, ms. wright, wasn't great. the complete opposite. she was so good that suddenly all the emotions that have been building up inside of you spilled out the moment she asked what's wrong?

the internal desire to just not tell anything and be difficult was strong; a bad habit you have to shake. it's hard when in the past every time you bought up an issue to ingrid she would dismiss and deflect from it, so you just stopped trying. now you have to learn how to communicate your feelings in a healthy manner again. that they aren't miniscule, but important aspects of your being.

in the first session it's a lot of crying and not being able to say what you wanted because the words wouldn't flow out of your mouth. but still ms. wright listens and takes in every word and lets you go at your pace; this is all about you and she lets you know it.

you leave out of the modern styled clinic building with a different feeling from before. the lack of emotional weight is so freeing you want to cry again, but you have already cried enough so no tears come out as you get into your car. still there is a fight within your mind as you drive that distracts you slightly. half of your mind is still feeling guilty for just up and leaving ingrid. the other half is reminding you that she technically left you first and not once, but over and over again. why are you expected to stay, but she is free to run away from you at any moment?

you reach your apartment building after a few minutes, pulling into the parking lot. the light breeze of the san diego evening makes you smile as you get out of the vehicle. walking into the building with a small smile on your face.

healing will be a long process, but you are willing to do it. you have already taken the first step, more than ingrid has ever done for you, so it's a start. the moment your head hits the pillow you're out. for the first time in months you sleep peacefully.

ALL THE WHILE, I'LL AWAIT MY

ARMORED FATE WITH A SMILE

STILL WANNA TRY, STILL BELIEVE

IN (GOOD DAYS)

GOOD DAYS, ALWAYS (GOOD DAYS)

ALWAYS INSIDE (ALWAYS IN MY MIND,

ALWAYS IN MY MIND, MIND)

GOOD DAY LIVING IN MY MIND

TELL ME I'M NOT MY FEARS, MY LIMITATIONS

I DISAPPEAR, IF YOU LET ME

FEELING LIKE (ON YOUR OWN)

FEELING LIKE JERICHO

FEELING LIKE JOB WHEN HE LOSE HIS SHIT

GOTTA HOLD MY OWN, MY CROSS TO BEAR ALONE, I

OOH, PAID A DEAL, WAY TO KILL THE MOOD

KNOW YOU LIKE THAT SHIT, YEAH, GROOVY BABY, BABY

HEAVY ON MY EMPTY MIND SHIT

you constantly have to remind yourself that healing is a process. one that takes time, energy, and willingness. that's so hard to remember on the nights where the only image in your mind is of ingrid every time she left you to dry. the endless times she refused to make you two's relationship work, the fear that always lingers in her eyes when you would open your apartment door to let her inside. the norwegian's biggest fear was someone "catching" you two. whatever that means because at the end of the day what you two were wasn't illegal. she just made it seem like it was. perhaps for ingrid, in her mind for herself, something like that is wrong; is illegal. in the court of the public, it was worthy of punishment is probably what she thought whenever you two kissed. whenever you two cuddled. whenever you two acted like any other couple, was ingrid worrying about how it would look to others?

oh, god and every word she has spoken to you is imprinted into your mind at this point.

you know i can't

if you loved me, you would wait

i swear i love you but i just can't..

ingrid always had a thousand excuses and a thousand more lies to cover up all her problems. it didn't matter if her actions heavily affected you because it was all about her and what she feared and what she needed. what about you? you weren't a fucking robot. fears and worries clung to your conscience too. there were needs that needed to be taken care of too. but did you run and deflect at every turn? no, you wanted to sit down and talk them out like a normal couple would. too bad nothing about you two's arrangement was normal. sneaking around like romeo and juliet wasn't as thrilling as it sounded. and just like those two, you two's story ended in death. ingrid was the first to stab it and you were the one to send another stab straight into it's heart. ripping it apart into shreds until it was unreadable.

however, those nights were just moments in your new life where the past got the better of you; and that's all they would be, moments. those haunting thoughts don't push you into a corner anymore like before. outside of therapy and those late nights, ingrid is the last thing in your mind.

being around your teammates at san diego wave lightens up your day so much. a group of goofballs who refuse to let you be sad for even a second. the times after practice when you all just decide to go to dinner make all the worry in your body leave. transferring from barcelona was possibly the best decision ever for you.

you would have probably isolated yourself back in spain, not wanting to be around ingrid anymore than you have to be.

outside of your teammates, there was something else making the move to the wave worth it; someone else. a pretty journalist who you met at an interview. she wasn't even the one who was interviewing you.

you have bumped into her while looking for the bathroom. saying a quick apology after realizing you bumped into a really pretty woman. she gives you a warm smile, "it's fine" comes from her lips. why do her words sound so satisfying? before you could completely gay panic, you excused yourself and eventually found the bathroom. suddenly feeling too shy to ask that pretty brunette about where to find it.

you thought that would be the end of it. one small interaction that you forget about after a while, but no. the universe for some reason was pushing you and this woman together. she became a regular journalist for the san diego wave. you come to find out her name is julianna; how gorgeous. even when you kept seeing her around, the reminder that you needed to heal and work on your trust issues was constant in the back of your mind. but you couldn't really help it, could you? eventually you started to spend more and more time around her whenever she came around to training or at games. being the first to volunteer for an interview after a good match. it was honestly sorta embarrassing; why were you feeling all giddy like a teenager again? still julianna was still so pretty and kind and many other positive adjectives that you could think of. the woman spoke with such a tone like she was deeply interested in whoever she was talking to. strong eye contact and always having something to say that would lead the conversation to be more interesting.

soon enough the time spent around her bled into spending time outside of soccer. you took the first step one day after asking her out for coffee after a short interview. julianna laughed softly as she asked, "is this a date?" the bashful smile on your lips answered her question. she said yes; leading to one of the best dates you have ever had.

you two spent a good hour at a cafe just talking. getting to know each other outside of y'all's work personalities. the conversation was so good, you two didn't want to end so julianna suggested going to a nearby board walk; and that's exactly what you two did.

sitting beside each other on a bench on the boardwalk, overlooking the ocean. talking for hours until the sun set. it took all the resolve inside of you to not invite her over to your place. you didn't want the date to end, but that was okay as you weren't going to let it be the last.

after dropping off julianna off at her house you headed back to your apartment. a light feeling in your chest as you changed into your pajamas before laying on the couch to find a show to watch. the moments from the date replaying in your mind. you couldn't believe you have been missing out on stuff like this for so long. with ingrid a simple date like that would have never happened. it was too risky because "what if someone sees us" was always her answer whenever you asked to go anywhere outside of your or her's apartment.

it seems like it will be another one of those nights where you think about ingrid. a soft sigh escapes your lips as you reminisce. nothing could ruin how good your day was, but these thoughts were definitely darkening it. you remember the first time you built up the courage to ask ingrid out on a date.

it was around new years, spain was electric with celebration. this was around the early stages of the relationship and still you two have never been out on a proper date; and that bothered you.

you thought it was just because of the busy schedule you both had. being too tired to do anything else but a few cuddles before bed or a hug after practice before going to your two separate apartments. so as you sit next to ingrid on your couch, cuddling up to her, you ask her; "shouldn't we go for dinner. to celebrate the new year?"

the way ingrid tensed up didn't go unnoticed. you look at her confused as she says, "how about we just stay in and cook? that's more romantic, right?" the words sounded forced like that option wasn't even that appealing in all honesty. just a cover up, so she didn't have to say what she actually wanted which was no.

that moment was one that stuck with you throughout the relationship. every lie, broken promise, and lack of attention weighed heavily on you. that should have been the first sign that ingrid was ready to be in a relationship with you, but no. out of pure blind love you moved past that and agreed.

now the fear that julianna might be the same way settles in your mind. she might not have said no to a date, but what about bigger commitments? would she run just like ingrid has.

a string of anger hangs in your heart; this is so unfair. even with ingrid not around she ruins your day in a way only she can. it was fucking frustrating, you wish you didn't have to deal with all the left over baggage she left you.

an annoyed sigh leaves your lips as the sound of all american plays in the background. you decide to push your feelings away and to just indulge in a night full of watching a meaningless tv show; wanting to get annoyed at the problems in the characters lives, not your own.

and that's exactly what you did. watching random shows back to back until you drifted off to sleep.

I GOTTA KEEP FROM LOSIN'

THE REST OF ME (LOSIN' THE REST OF ME)

STILL WORRY THAT I WASTED

THE BEST OF ME ON YOU, BABE

YOU DON'T CARE

SAID, NOT TRYNA BE A NUISANCE,

IT'S JUST URGENT (IT'S URGENT)

TRYNA MAKE SENSE OF LOOSE CHANGE

GOT ME A WAR IN MY MIND (MY MIND)

GOTTA LET GO OF WEIGHT,

CAN'T KEEP WHAT'S HOLDING ME

CHOOSE TO WATCH

WHILE THE WORLD BREAK UP AND FALL ON ME

ALL THE WHILE, I'LL AWAIT MY

ARMORED FATE WITH A SMILE

STILL WANNA TRY, STILL BELIEVE IN

(GOOD DAYS, GOOD DAYS ON MY MIND)

GOOD DAYS (GOOD DAYS ON MY MIND)

ALWAYS SUNNY INSIDE (ALWAYS IN

MY MIND, ALWAYS IN MY MIND, MIND)

GOOD DAY LIVING IN MY MIND

therapy was getting better. ms. wright knew the exact words to say and the exact ways to help you with your mental state. you have started to journal at her request, at first thinking it's slightly childish. writing down all your feelings like some type of diary? you left that in highschool ages ago, but somehow that method still works when it comes to your emotions. whenever your mind felt clouded with ingrid you would write your feelings out.

not only that, but you started to run. outside of your usual workout routine and the training sessions you had as a professional footballer, you never was one to be interested in exercise. most workouts were just ways for you to keep up your physic for games; nothing more. however, running was freeing. not only mentally but physically.

just like how ms. wright has said, mental stress weighs heavily on the body. causing tension and discomfort even though it's all mental. you knew this of course but never wanted to admit how your mental health has been causing your body to feel like it's tight enough to burst at any moment. in your mind it didn't make any sense, but ms. wright reassured you that it was natural. the mind and body are undeniably connected, one will always follow the other. anyways back to running, the feeling of your body being sore as you pant was exhilarating. your chest feeling so light after each run.

you take one in the morning and one at night. making sure not to miss the run at night because that's when your emotions always get the best of you.

not only did you work on finding healthy coping mechanisms to let out your emotions, but you worked on your trust issues.

the process was dreadful.

when people say the path to healing is linear, it's true. some days you felt like you could trust anyone with anything and on others you wished you could isolate yourself from the world so you wouldn't be hurt ever again.

your therapist was there at every step. guiding you and also sometimes letting you figure out some thoughts on your own.

"why do you think i couldn't just, you know, up and leave her?" you asked one day as you sit in front of ms. wright. the tall woman smiles at you. staying silent for a moment before saying, "why do you think so?"

getting a question back for your own questions makes you frown. how were you supposed to know? the whole reason you're in therapy was for your therapist to help you out, not make you figure out issues on your own. that was your mind process at first but after leaving the appointment, you really sorta understood why ms. wright didn't just give you some answer.

there are some things in life that only you know and can answer; this is one of them. you didn't want to sit around or even journal about the why. instead you go for a run. it was around time for your evening run anyways, so why now kill two birds with one stone?

the thoughts flow easily as you step out onto the trail. ready to go down your usual path. the why doesn't come immediately, but you think about your feelings for ingrid again.

it wasn't a lie to say that you loved ingrid. that you were in love with her. why else would you fight for her so badly? not even in just a romantic sense. before you two dated, you were obviously teammates and had a sorta close relationship. hanging out outside of practice with the other barcelona players often. talking about current shows and books that you both liked. it wasn't your fault that you fell in love with the friend version of ingrid. who would have thought she would be so different as a girlfriend?

perhaps that's why you clung on. you hoped, no, begged that that version of ingrid that you knew in the past would come back. that it was deep inside of her and just needed some pulling to come out. you just had to fight for it and throughout all that effort, it would appear. which wasn't true in the slightest. the ingrid from before wasn't the one you knew throughout that time where you two hid and snuck around; you should had known.

well, you just found your why. you smile as you finish your run, turning back around to walk to your car.

did you just realize you were chasing after someone who didn't exist, to you at least, anymore? yeah.

would this realization haunt you for the rest of your life? maybe so..

but still you felt lighter. not just physically, but mentally. the sun looked brighter as it set low in the sky.

god, how gorgeous life is when you aren't chasing after broken dreams. after something that doesn't and will never exist again.

why do you feel so free?

GOTTA GET RIGHT, TRYNA FREE

MY MIND BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD

I DON'T MISS NO EX, I DON'T MISS NO TEXT

I CHOOSE NOT TO RESPOND

I DON'T REGRET, JUST PRETEND

SHIT NEVER HAPPENED

HALF OF US LAYIN' WASTE TO OUR YOUTH,

IS IN THE PRESENT

HALF OF US CHASIN' FOUNTAINS OF

YOUTH AND IT'S IN THE PRESENT NOW

ALWAYS IN MY MIND, ALWAYS IN MY MIND, MIND

YOU'VE BEEN MAKING ME FEEL LIKE I'M

ALWAYS IN MY MIND, ALWAYS IN MY MIND, MIND

you post julianna on your instagram after four months of being together. she has asked you after a nice dinner date that ended in a walk near the beach. you remember feeling so special, like a priority when she pulled you close by the waist. her hand gently caressing the skin that was exposed there. a warm look in her eyes as she smiles at you. "can i be your girlfriend?" the brunette asked. giggling once you just pulled her into a kiss. no words needed.

back to hard launching you two's relationship, it was a whole new feeling. a mix of uncertainty and happiness was floating around in your heart. what if julianna changed her mind? that she didn't want to publicly claim you? that would definitely drive you insane, but it was the complete opposite. julianna was fine with you posting a picture of you two; the picture is from one of the earlier dates y'all went on. you're holding her face as you kiss the tip of her nose. she's smiling, her hands holding onto your waist.

you could finally do normal couple things like post about cute dates and funny off guard photos and walk around in public while holding hands. there was no risk attached to it. no "we can't let them know" coming from julianna. she was happy to hold your hand and give you a small peck on the cheek while out. the lack of shame was refreshing.

the teasing comments from your teammates on how you charmed the team's journalist away were slightly annoying, but it was all in good fun.

life was truly looking up. your therapy sessions were centered around just ingrid based issues anymore, but others you have been needing help with. ms. wright was one stable support pillar in your life who consoled you for everything; especially the pressure from being a footballer in the limelight. san diego was really shaping up to be your home.

the day you heard about ingrid's new relationship was a day that you wish you could forget. it was a late saturday night, you had just got off a facetime call with julianna who was away in france for some press work. scrolling through instagram, seeing a post about ingrid and mapi dating on your feed. it wasn't some speculation post but one that was completely official. a photo that was obviously posted on one of their instagrams.

that single photo almost made you throw your phone against the wall.

after all the fighting and struggle.

all the begging and trying to help her face her fears.

all it took for ingrid to be open was for her to date someone else? that's all it was? so was it really just an "afraid of being open" thing or a you thing?

a sense of anger hits you. the audacity for her to move on after everything she put you through was laughable. of course you didn't expect her to sit around, crying over the relationship forever. that wasn't realistic or healthy, but you just didn't get it.

what was wrong with you? why couldn't she do that for you?

then came the rush of guilt; you had no reason to be angry. you had moved on, so why couldn't she? it was a double standard that you didn't want to touch on.

it took two hours of journaling to get your feelings sorted out. that sense of anger was just from feeling like this whole situation is unfair. ingrid refused to be public with you; claiming to be afraid, but pops out with mapi? you should be happy for her. that obviously means the norwegian went and got help like you always told her to. she had finally faced her fears.

but you are healing, not healed so you allow yourself to fully stick with your emotions. watching trashy rom coms while thinking about that post.

the next day, you slowly but surely got over it. once you talked to julianna in the morning your feelings were quite small about that lil reveal post. who cares if ingrid moves on? you have moved on too! this is for the best, so you shouldn't care so much about it. at least you wouldn't have to see her any time soon.

or so you thought.

you became a puma athlete only recently after your partnership with adidas ended. puma had the bigger offer, so you went ahead and signed the deal. the athletic brand wanted you to come to an event for their new campaign and you obviously didn't refuse. throwing on a gorgeous dress along with having julianna help you do your hair; keep cute giggles still in your mind as you sat at one of the tables in the large room.

there were many other athletes here, not just footballers. some you knew and others you didn't. it was nice to see players you haven't seen in forever. expect for one in particular.

you were daydreaming about what to do when you went back home. already about to grab your phone to text julianna when you looked up and saw her.

ingrid was sitting at a table across from yours; enjoying some pasta. she looked just the same as when you left her. just as pretty. hopefully not as toxic. your eyes must have been burning her hole through her as she finally looks up and sees you. her eyes dilating slightly as you two hold eye contract.

you're the first to break it. not being able to stand looking into her eyes for any longer. those same eyes that always held fear in them were different now. beside the opposite panic in the norwegian's eyes, there was something else. sprinkles of happiness in her eyes. the sound of a chair moving and steps passing your table snap you out of your thoughts.

ingrid was heading towards the bathroom. should you follow her or would that be weird? with how she looked back at you, maybe she had something to say. did you want to listen? you don't know, so you stand up and follow after her. of course letting a few minutes pass before following; no one could know, right?

once you walk into the bathroom you can hear the water running. ingrid is putting some water on her face. you had to say something to get her attention since she definitely didn't think you would go after her.

"i didn't expect to see you again," you say softly. she gives you a glance, obviously about to say something. the surprise that comes into your mind once she starts apologizing is hard hitting. you never thought she would apologize; that wasn't the type of closure you thought you would ever get.

hearing her apologize and put all the blame on her should be satisfying. finally should be sitting in your mind in bold letters, but it wasn't. after all the therapy and finding someone else, an apology wasn't something you wanted anymore.

"i don't forgive you," the words come out of your mouth easily. you never thought you would ever be able to say that to her; in the past you always ran to forgive her and just forget. not this time around. the small disappointment in her eyes makes you almost reconsider, but no. you have a right to not accept an apology. "but i'm glad you got help. finally," you say genuinely.

you two just stare at each other before you turn and leave out of the bathroom. not wanting to deal with the awkward silence anymore.

ingrid has done it; gave you the thing you needed and wanted from her. and you didn't even accept it.

why was that so freeing to do?

the apology wasn't the closure, being able to give ingrid the rejection and disappointment you experienced from her countless times before was the closure.

you're officially over ingrid engen.

© thinkingaboutjaedyn

[joshslater]

Beached

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It's really amazing how the beaches can be so empty when the weather is this good. It's technically winter or spring or whatever, but that just means you can spend all day on the beach without getting heatstroke or sunburn. No one else appears to agree with me though. Someone is walking a dog in the distance in one direction, and some surfers are ignoring the warnings of big waves in the distance in the other direction. Like that would be bad thing in their minds, though just right now it isn't as windy as in the morning. Volatile weather is another drawback of spring weather.

I don't think it is the weather that is keeping people away though. This whole plague thing is really messing with people. The hotel was almost deserted and the room dirt cheap. Flight was cheap too. The plan was to go here with Will, but he chickened out at the last moment. Probably the positivity rates of their "second wave" or whatever. The tickets were refundable, only way they can sell anything these days, but I had already made up my mind to go here. Spring in Rio is better than summer at home, and the summer is decidedly over now, where you are never sure in the morning if you need jeans and hoodie. Here it is shorts and T-shirt every day, and the water is really nice when the waves aren't fatal. I really thought it would be colder the way the ocean looks.

As I walk along the beach in solitude I spot a gaudy, cheap beach chair also alone in the sand. I look up towards the road that goes along the beach. Sometimes there is a bunch of chairs or stuff chained together, waiting for busy days when the owner can charge a coin for a tourist to sit on it, but I don't see anything up there. I take a seat and look out over the crashing waves. There is a zen-like quality sitting on a lone chair on a vast beach, alone in a different country, watching the waves while the warm spring sun smiles down on you. No birds or animals around either, so you just have the white noise of the ocean keeping you at peace. I had fernet and coke in the lobby bar last night and evening has been going slow even before this, but somehow I felt I deserved a break from doing nothing.

I lost track of how long I was sitting there. I have all week after all. I'm taken out of my trance by someone behind me talking agitated in Spanish. No, Portuguese probably, as that's what they speak here. I turn my head and a stereotypical Brazilian beach greaser steps into my view. He wears a loose, pink tank top with Copacabana printed on the front. It reaches almost far enough to hide his green speedos that peeks out every step he takes. Brazilian tan, white teeth, black, slick hair, and a swagger that comes equally from acting macho and years of bodybuilding that prioritized looks over range of motion. "What?" I ask him, mostly just to tell him to speak English.

"This is your chair?" he asks. "Yeah," I say tentatively. At least I'm using it right now. It really was calming to look at the ocean like this. "No. No, it is not your chair," he says in an accusing tone, visibly upset. "You want to sit?" I don't need any trouble. It's soon time for lunch anyway. I start to raise myself from the chair. "No, you sit! You sit!" he almost screams at me, and I fall back into the chair.

I'm confused. Did I sit down again, or did something push me down? He steps towards me, and I again try to get out of the chair, but I'm somehow not strong enough to lift myself. He grabs the front neck of my T-shirt and pulls it up over my head. My arms do nothing to stop him. He then grabs hold of the legs of my shorts and pulls them sharply forward. Again, I can't do anything to stop him. I can move my body, sort of, but it's sapped of all strength.

If things were weird up until now, it just turned impossible. Instead of my Hanes underwear I wear black speedos with yellow print "ca-rio-ca" in front. How the fuck did they end up on me. He doesn't waste any time, but just bunches my clothes together in his hand and angrily marches off towards the road behind me. "Hey! HEY! I don't want this fucking chair." I shout at him while making another failed effort to get out of the chair as he disappears out of view. It's like being stuck with your ass in a big bean bag. I just can't get up somehow. I try to rock sideways to knock the chair on its side so I can roll out of it, but again with no success. Exhausted I fall back into the chair.

It's a cheap-looking foldable beach chair. Some green tubes as a frame with some blue and yellow nylon fabric as a seat, suspended between the tubes. I could see how someone would pick it out for its "Brazilian" colors, but all the shades were totally off compared to the flag. It couldn't be more than $10, probably much less down here. Why would anyone make such a fuss over it? I touch my magically appearing speedos. They appear completely normal. Some type of high tech stretchy fabric with yellow print on top. As I touch the print on the front of the speedos there is like a shock wave through me, like I rubbed the exposed head of my dick. I quickly move my hand back to the dainty armrests, but the damage is already done, at least for now. I can feel the blood inflating my dick, at least partially.

I look back at the ocean, trying to distract myself. I still see the surfers way off in the distance to one side, but I don't see anyone in the other. I'm a bit limited in my field of view though, reclined in the beach chair. Dammit, and I was about to have lunch. Fuck! My wallet is in the shorts. My phone, my credit cards, my cash, my hotel room key, all in the hands of some dude made of muscles and STDs. If he doesn't come back I'd have to walk back to the hotel, wearing only speedos like a fucking douche, tell the lobby staff to get my passport from the room to identify me, and issue a new key card. Then I have to take the laptop and block the credit cards and the phone SIM. I hope you can do that online. If nothing else you can call 800 numbers from Skype, I think. But first I need to get out of this fucking chair.

I make another failed attempt to get up. How can this be happening? Did he poison me somehow? Perhaps I just need to relax for a bit and regain my strength. That doesn't explain how my underwear was swapped out. Perhaps I'm making this more complicated than it has to be. These could be two unrelated events. Perhaps the speedos were somehow in my room, and somehow I put them on this morning without thinking about it. I think I've seen something similar in a store back home. "CA" could just as well mean California. This pair could have been forgotten by someone and then mixed into my laundry somehow, packed in my travel bag by mistake, and then ended up on me without me thinking about it because of the fernet. No, that doesn't make a lot of sense either. If you remove all impossible explanations, the remaining one, however improbable is the right one. It's just so very fucking improbable.

I want to drop it. Thinking about it more won't solve anything, and my current problems notwithstanding the day is still very nice. The slow burn of the spring sun, the smell of sand and salt, the soothing white noise of the ocean, and the wide visuals to go with it all. If I just let go of my predicament it was easy to relax again. That's what I needed to do, right? Just look out and feel the sun rejuvenate me. Despite it being essentially just indoor temperature, I've managed to get a tan. I trace the skin from my knees and up with my eyes. No, this is wrong. I should have tan lines where the shorts and T-shirt ended. I've only been sitting here topless for ten minutes, twenty at the most. There's nothing to tell time. The surfers are gone.

And I really shouldn't look this good sitting down. I don't sit down with a flat belly. I can't remember that I ever did, not that I really paid a lot of attention to how I looked. I try to stand up to have a better look, but only manage to lift a few inches before falling back. "Merda!" I say out loud. Not only did I fall back into the chair, but I managed to pull something. There's a cramp in the abdominal muscles that hurts like hell. I squirm in the unyielding chair and arch my back to make it stop, which results in both my legs cramping at the same time. I let go and fall back into the chair, and raise my legs up and try to shake them. I tense and relax the muscles over and over to make the feeling go away.

When it finally goes away I feel exhausted. I certainly don't want to feel that again. It's like a cosmic force doing everything to keep me in place, docile, and watching the ocean. While I want this to all be over I don't feel like I want to put up a fight. I scratch an itch on my face and feel my beard. I know I shaved less than... I know I shaved this morning, whenever that was. I've done that every morning from when I started to grow facial hair. I know nothing that looks worse. Nothing that looks more like you are taking a shortcut, or don't care. Yet I could clearly feel strands of hair all around my mouth and up the sides of my face. Not just stubble either, but fingertip length beard. The kind that doesn't look like a planned and neatly maintained beard either, but an accidental one. I didn't think I could freak out more when my hand touched the hair behind my ear, and I frantically felt the rest of my head. It was clearly a curly mess, and not just wavy but a tight curl. My hair is straight.

"Olá!" one of the two young surfers greet me. I'd been too preoccupied and had completely missed them walking across the beach towards me. They looked very similar, same height, same short cropped pitch-black hair, handsome white smiles, black and blue Mormaii wetsuit. My startled mind feels blank. I have no idea what to say to them. Somehow, inappropriately I can feel my dick stirring again. "Você quer foder?" I shout back at them. I have no idea what it means. They just keep walking, shaking their heads and ignoring me. What the fuck is going on? Can't I control myself anymore? I haven't since I sat down, I realize. This fucking chair is ruining everything.

I'm angry with it. I start hitting it. At first I'm just feebly pounding the armrests, but then work myself up to start hitting anything I can find. I'm banging the tubes, I'm pulling the synthetic fabric of the seat, I'm trying to pry the joints free. I'm only hurting myself of course, though not bad enough for any visible bruises. After some minutes someone has had enough of my tantrums and I feel a searing pain across my chest, back, and right ribs. I cry out in pain. My noise is met by the constant noise of the ocean. When it stops, just as suddenly as it started I look to either side and all I see is empty beach in both directions.

I'm almost afraid to look, and it is difficult to see well, but the skin has discolored where I felt the pain. On the right side of me is a sentence tattooed in cursive. I can't tell what it says. On my front chest is another large tattoo saying something almost as difficult to read upside down, just below my chin, also in cursive.  "Live fast, die young" I think. I can only imagine what platitudes are on my back. "Carpe Diem?"

My legs are hairy. They've been that for years, but now they are black pubes kind of hairy. Did that happen just now as well? What's with the slow walking? Just do all the things to me and be over with. Arms are hairy too. I'm not even going to be upset anymore. I'll just sit here until it ends, whatever that means. Listen to the ocean and let the sun do its thing. Holy shit, that isn't suntan. I have a different skin color for sure. No. Not upset, just listen to nature and come what may. Let the sun sparkle in the water.

I can also see a sparkle from my right nipple. I feel drained, dazed, and dumb. Did the nipple piercing come with the tattoos and I had just missed it, or did it sneak up on me somehow? I don't really care. I slowly reach for it with my left hand. It feel an explosion of sensations as soon as the vibrations of my touch reverberate into the nipple. It shoots right into my balls, into my spine, into my brain, into my dick. Not quite an orgasm, but definitely not not an orgasm. I can feel the cramp again. The muscles on my front all contracts, but this time it isn't really painful. It's more like when you exert yourself during sports.

As before I arch my back to flex the chest and abs differently to make it go away, but the cramps just spreads. I can feel it in my back as well, and my arms, then finally in my legs. It's like those youtube videos where you can see the muscles moving under the skin all on its own. I just turned to the side and rolled in the sand, unable to control anything. It wasn't pain, but definitely not not pain.

When it finally stops I'm on my back in the spring warm sand, exhausted, panting, looking into the blue sky, hearing the waves crash down at the edge of the beach. I somehow know before I see it. My arms are almost twice as muscular as this morning, my chest and abs chiseled, and my legs are massive.

The sun is getting low. It is probably getting close to dinner time, though it sets early. I sit up in the sand, looking in both directions down the beach. There's nothing but sand. I know how to walk back to the hotel, though I can't remember the name of it, and I think I know what my name is, but I'm pretty sure nothing on that passport will match me. I don't feel like going there though. I really, really need to find someone to fuck. Or be fucked by. I don't care.

[pbandjesse]

It got really cold tonight! Last night was cold to but it's like very windy right now. I woke up a few times cold last night, I hope I am cozier tonight.

Today was not a bad day at all. I got a lot more accomplished. It wasn't perfect. But it was something.

I didn't sleep great. I was up to late and it just wasn't great sleep. But I felt alright when I got up.

I got dressed and would have preferred a sweater but the shirt James picked was still nice and I still felt cute.

We got to the museum early. I hung out in the back room eating breakfast. Stanley came and hung out with me for a bit. And he pointed out that the group I was with only had 5 kids?? Super weird. We thought maybe it was a special needs group. But we were prepared for anything.

It was nice though because it was 3 programs and the 3 of us were tag teaming them. I was technically in charge but we each out take point and be in charge of a different one and I would just jump in when needed.

When the school got there it turned out they were a robotics club! Neat! But it was weird we were doing like a little kids program with them. But honestly it was fine and we just took them on a longer tour. It was fun. They were good kids.

One little girl became my best friend after having a little break down during our assembly line project. She was sweet but got flustered easy. But we would end up having a good day. Even if three programs was tough! Like just on the body and mind. I think two programs and a tour is a little better but it was still fun.

We even did a scavenger hunt and I got to give the flustered girl a prize of a torn pokemon card, a pin, and a marble. It was very silly and good.

At the end of the day there werent a ton of supplies to do. So I ended up joining my coworkers up in the cannery and just hanging out with them while they glued cans. We talked about how wild some theaters and museums are and how we gossip and complain and absolutely love our jobs. Also how me and James got together. And just general slutty behavior. It was a lot of fun and very goofy.

I was very glad to go home though. I was determined not to be to sleep. I had to accomplish stuff!!

I got home and ran into Kim and Nick. They invited me to come for an acupuncture thing tonight but I ended up falling into a project and wasn't able to make it work. But maybe next week. It was still really nice to chat with them.

I would do some cleaning. And dye my hair. And did my knitting. And then James was home!

I just did some hanging out. I washed the dye out of my hair. I opened the mail. And was disappointed in one thing because the size was wrong. But I decided I want to try to change it up. I don't know if this is going to look good but I'm excited to try.

I did not do the sewing part but I cut the fabric and did all the pinning. Maybe tomorrow I will sew. I also did some water color. And decided to start another print playing with more open shapes. It was nice to carve something.

I took a bath and put on my jumpsuit and did a lot of reading. I have been having a really nice night honestly.

Tomorrow is a different schedule then planned and I get to go in a little later then normal. So I can just have a chill morning and then it's just tours and it will be good I think. I hope it's a lovely day for all of you. Sleep well my friends. Good night!

[thedarkducktective]

Due to popular demand, I'm going to break down the styles of Inazuma Eleven characters and review them. What? Nobody asked for that? Well, too bad. I already have it here.

We start with Hokkaido's Blizzard Wizard, Fubuki Shirou (or Shirō if you like macrons). The OG version, by the way. I need another rewatch for all the Ares/Orion folk and I don't think I can sit through those shows again.

Disclaimer. I might discuss the games in these reviews but most likely not. Since the games are not very good representations, I feel. Also, feel free to correct me on anything.

So, when Shirou was introduced, he was shown to immediately have a powerful kick. Strong enough to clear off snow in a snow field. He also apparently did a lot of training out there, honing his lungs and temperature tolerance. From his introduction, we can conclude two things—he has a strong kick and probably good stamina. He would go on to train harder than the rest and even barraged Desarm.

When we first saw him play for Hakuren, he had taken up a defensive post. It baffled Raimon, since they were looking for a striker in the mould of Gouenji. Very quickly, he showcases incredible physical strength. Dragon Crash, which generally seems like a full-force power-oriented Kick, was stopped easily.

Whenever he charges as Atsuya, that strength was also highlighted. He was able to fend off multiple opponents and take tackles. His balance was definitely something, he did not fall over very easily.

His speed is also of note, and he surpassed Kazemaru during his first appearance. Kazemaru was the fastest of the gang in terms of raw speed but he was outclassed. Fubuki would trail behind the windy one-eye later on but still stays as one of the fastest players.

Overall, Fubuki has good strength and speed, as well as a thumping kick and a workhorse's stamina. He is short and does not have a good record of winning aerial duels, though. He also happens to not be fond of crossing but that might be because crosses in Inazuma Eleven only work when you have Gouenji.

Fubuki supposedly plays as a forward and a defender. But what exactly is his playstyle?

As a defender, Fubuki has shown good positioning. I do not remember him being hard on the tackle but I assume with his strength, he should. With his dribbling, he can bring the ball out of the defense line and charge up the field. Because of this, I believe he would work as a Full Back, with license to drive up the field. Maybe even get him to Invert, since he is not too fond of crosses. Whatever the case, his dribbling and tackling makes him a good option for the sides. Do not put him in the centre, long balls would fly over him and Fubuki dribbling out of Centreback might be a positional problem.

As a forward, Fubuki could use his strength and speed to bring the ball past the defence. If the offside rule was used more often in Inazuma Eleven, he would be the perfect choice to counter it. A one-two with Gouenji could see him get past the line easily. And his strength would also allow him to keep the ball to pass for a teammate. Fubuki is physically exceptional, even if he doesn't look like it.

I think that he could play as an Inside Forward, starting from the wings and breaking in from the side. That is the best use of his sudden bursts of speed and dribbling ability. It would give him license to protect the side if need be, by just telling him to play with less aggression.

Personally, I find him to be a good example of an all-around player. He can even do midfield, in various positions. Defensive, Central, Side. His only lacking trait is that he is not a particularly skillful passer or crosser (That I know of) and that counts against him. I don't think of him as a very technical player even if he does have some fancy dribble moves. A fantastic Utility player but I'd personally put him on the left side of a front three or as an attacking Wing Back.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 03

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i love writing ingenue readers, it’s my absolute favourite thing. i hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

The contract.

That goddamn contract had haunted Y/N throughout the whole night. There were several points that not only made her even more scared of the myth that was the mob boss Sebastian Stan, but made her fear for her own safety if she were to slip outside those rules. On the other hand, several other points stated and talked about terms she’d never really heard of. It made sense to her why no one dared oppose him, if she was being completely honest, she didn’t feel like opposing him. Things were different in his family than the tight knitted Forrests, more technical even, all held up by blood contracts that made it sound like she herself was selling her soul in order to serve him.

This was not the way things had been taught to her. No. She had always been treated as almost a foster daughter of Mr. Forrest, going to the same prestigious schools as his daughter, attending the same events, being cared for the same way with only the price of making sure Gwen kept her feet on earth and was safe enough by constantly having her by her side. The Stans had an almost hierarchic way of doing business with the family itself being at the top while the employees stood right at the end of the pyramid. She couldn’t blame them for that, after all, they had held the highest rank in all of the families for over a century, but it still wasn’t free of criticism. 

Gwen had returned from her date with the mysterious guy with a spring on her step, and purple hickeys on her neck and collarbones. She had just sighed at the sight, rolling her eyes at the very much engaged woman’s behaviour. Y/N didn’t want to blame her or shame her into at least trying, fully knowing it was common for mistresses and affairs to occur in the mafia. However, Gwen was her friend and she’d rather have her try to at least be friends with Sebastian. Nevertheless, that probably wouldn’t happen and she should probably prepare herself to discuss the contract with someone who could possibly kill her and make it look like an accident. Could she even amend a contract? She didn’t know, but she was gonna try.

With all the might she could, she strutted towards his office, taking a deep breathe in. You’re a powerful woman, Y/N, she told herself. Powerful woman, Catherine Tramell levels of power. With all that, she knocked on the door, mumbling his name and wondering if she could run away had he not heard it. Sadly he did, telling her to come in. She opened the door, shaking like a leaf on a windy night. There he was, sprawled over his office chair like a king in his throne, slightly unbuttoned dress shirt.

     - Miss Y/N ... - her name rolled off the tip of his tongue just like honey, sickeningly sweet. Sebastian observed her too, her sleep filled eyes from what he guessed due to waiting for Gwen and her oversized baby pink dress which he was sure probably had belonged to Gwen too. - How can I help you?

     - I’m here for the contract. - she walked to his desk, contract in hands.

     - Did you sign it? - he questioned, pointing at the chair so she would sit down instead of spending the whole time on her feet. Not that he didn’t enjoy to see her standing.

     - Not really, I have a few questions. - she bit onto the skin of her bottom lip, placing the contract on top of his desk. - I also don’t agree with some points of this agreement.

    - It’s a contract, Miss Y/N. You sign it or you don’t sign it, we don’t discuss it because I have better things to do. - he put both his elbows on top of his desk but she instead opened the contract, pointing at one of the first bullet points right at the top. 

    - The subject will not pursue any legal action. Why would I pursue any legal action and why would I not be allowed to pursue it? - Sebastian chuckled, leaning against his chair with the most unnerving grin ever seen. 

    - Well, angel, if you were to pursue any legal action against me you wouldn’t win and considering your prior employer didn’t pay you ... I don’t think you have enough money to get good enough lawyer to fight mine. Even if you did, I own the jurors, whatever you did, I would still win.

    - I would still like the ability to sue you. - she crossed her arms. - Please. 

    - No, that stays. 

    - If that stays then this point ... - she changed to a different page, looking for the sentence she had highlighted the prior night. - The subject is to carry a firing weapon and receive training if untrained. This point leaves. 

    - That is also a hard no. It’s for yours and Miss Forrest’s protection.

    - Isn’t that what the weirdly suited man’s for? - his name was Christian and he constantly followed Gwen and Y/N around. Based on what she had noticed, he had at least two guns in his belt and was constantly annoyed at something. 

    - Alright, angel. How about you do the training and I don’t force you to carry around a gun? - he took a pen from his perfectly organised pen holder filled with the same matte coloured black pens. That type of organisation and colour matching was only seen in office supplies magazines. He turned the contract to himself, crossing it out and writing the newly discussed point. - Anything else?

    - When you said that all your employees must be submissive to orders ... how would you describe submissive? - Sebastian took a double look at her, wondering if she was teasing him but no. She had the most confused look he’d ever seen on someone’s face and he wondered how sheltered she was from the world she lived in. - Mr. Stan? 

    - Pardon me. - he woke up from his thoughtful state. His early morning brain did not dealt well with the words submissive followed by Mr. Stan in the same sentence, specially coming from her. - I think I would describe it as the dictionary describes it, Miss Y/N. Additionally, I believe I told you to call me Sebastian.

    - Yes, sorry. I just ... I don’t wanna, I don’t feel comfortable with the idea that I have to do everything you tell me to do. 

   - With all due respect, Miss Y/N, you are a handmaid. You’re a female servant and being a servant means you do everything you’re told.

   - Means I do everything Gwen tells me to me and even with that, it goes through some critical thinking. My loyalty does not lie with you until you’re married to Miss Forrest. - in any order circumstance, he would’ve had her punished for that snarky comment. However, this was Y/N and not only would the Forrests take it as an insult, he did not want to hurt such a precious little innocent thing. - So I would like that removed. 

   - I must say, Miss Y/N, you’re a good negotiator. - he crossed the point out, wondering if he’d ever regret it before handing it the pen back to her. - Now, would you please sign it?

   - Oh, alright. - she put the pen’s top up to her mouth, mindlessly bitting on it as she read the contract all over again, something Sebastian choose to advert his gaze from. His gaze only returned back to her as he heard the scribbling pen being put back on his desk. - I have a question. 

   - When don’t you have a question, Miss Y/N? - he put the pen back in its holder, filling her contract along with the rest of his staff. 

   - Can I decorate my room? - she played with the hem of her dress, back again to bitting her lip. - Not that I don’t like your taste I ...

   - I didn’t decorate it myself, Miss Y/N. You can do whatever you please with your room as long as it doesn’t disturb its safety and over wall construction design. 

   - Thank you. - she gave him that cheek to cheek smile, getting up from the chair and moving it back to its initial state.

   - I hope to see you at the engagement party tonight, Miss Y/N. That is, if you’re not covering for Miss Forrest’s affairs. 

   - It’s a party, I’m sure she’ll attend. 

She closed the door behind her, letting go of the air she had been holding in like a nervous little kid. Her hands flew to her cheeks which were severally heated up, but at least she had gotten half of what she wanted and that was worth the whole nervous scenario that would probably haunt her during sleepless nights. Nevertheless, she had gotten her way and right now she had enough strength in her to go awake up a very grumpy sleeping Gwen. 

Y/N walked into her bedroom, opening the door quite harshly to see if it would wake up sleeping beauty but she remained still in her slumber, as if the very loud noise wasn’t even there. Annoyed, Y/N grabbed the remote from her dresser, pointing it towards the windows so they shades would give way for the natural light to enter in. That seemed to do the trick as Gwen hissed like a cat, hiding her head under the duvet which Y/N unceremoniously pulled away from her. 

    - Rise and shine, Gwen. - she held the duvet in her hand as Gwen raised her head, giving her the scariest glare she’d ever seen. - Next time don’t stay out until 5 AM. Don’t you have an engagement party to get ready for?

     - Shopping does sound like a great idea. - she sat down on her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. - How do the hickeys look?

     - Like you were mauled by a bear. What do you even do with those boys that gets you looking like a TV hero after a fight? - they were fresh hickeys and just like any bruise they looked very red, starting to turn purple. Y/N might’ve never gotten a hickey but as a rather clumsy person, she did understood bruises very well which meant in a few hours that same hickey would start becoming very ugly. - Can’t you act like an engaged woman?

    - Can’t you act like less of a prude? - she grabbed her phone, turning it on to check for messages. 

    - Hey, I’m not a prude. - Y/N whined like a child, taking her phone away from her too. - Please go take a shower, put some makeup on those hickeys and get ready for lunch.

    - I wanna go shop for a new dress, Y/N. We can probably go and have lunch somewhere in the Upper East. - she wrapped herself in one of her countless satin robes. - I’m sure you can convince the Big Bad to allow us to go.

     - No. I covered for you last night and he caught me. I’m not gonna ask him for anything, you ask him, you’re his future wife.

     - C’mon, Y/N. What’s the worse he can do to you? - she could think of several things he could do to her that all ended up with her at the bottom of a lake sleeping with the fishes or whatever method of deposing he preferred. - He can’t kill you, that’s bad practice. 

     - No Gwen, you talk to him. I’m not gonna ask him anything after he caught me lying. - Y/N pulled the duvet back onto the bed as Gwen stepped into her wardrobe, looking at what to wear. - I’ll go grab my bag, I guess. 

     - I’ll talk to Sebastian, stop being such a scared little sheep. - Gwen screamed as she walked out and into her bedroom. Y/N eyes immediately scanned the room from side to side, wondering if someone had heard and thankfully no one had heard such thing.

She returned to her bedroom, taking note of a few things she would’ve grabbed from the shop to make it a bit more homey, maybe a nice dusty pink throw and some nice pillows. Yeah, that would make it look so much better.

Y/N grabbed her bag, putting her purse and phone in it before going down the stairs where a very annoyed Gwen was standing next to Sebastian who constantly had the same stoic look that made anyone want to immediately bow down.

     - Sebastian is coming with us. - Gwen shot him a glare for which he didn’t mind too much. 

     - If you’re gonna behave like a child, I’ll treat you like a child. - Y/N just followed them onto the lift, exchanging an uncomfortable look with the chauffeur as Gwen huffed, understanding she was not gonna have her way with this. 

The journey to the Upper East Side shopping street was even more uncomfortable. Everyone was mostly quietly, Gwen unhappy with not getting her way which was foreign to her, the chauffeur who barely spoke to begin with, Sebastian in the front looking over some papers and Y/N trying to turn invisible. Soon enough they were on the street with Y/N following Gwen into Prada, her favourite shop, along with the security guard while Sebastian took off to go somewhere else.

Going into expensive stores was something Y/N was used too but it still made her feel wildly out of place. From the clerks handing them expensive champagne to Gwen going over several newly in. She walked out in a red bodied dress that flared out from her waist, giving a little twirl.

    - Does this dress say forced engagement or not? - Gwen asked, shaking her hair a bit for volume. - I need a matching mask.

    - I thought you said covering your face was sacrilege. - Y/N leaned against the comfy coach in the changing room.

    - It’s a masquerade party. It’s really in right now, besides, a man in a mask is always entrancing.

    - Please don’t make out with someone at your own engagement party.

    - Alright, Y/N ... - she turned around. - I really don’t need your criticism right now.

    - I’m ... I’m sorry. - she bite onto her lip, getting up from the coach, picking onto the skirt of the dress. - I’ll wait with Amos outside. 

Gwen crossed her arms, watching her leave. Y/N knew for a fact she wasn’t being critic out of meanness alone, she just didn’t want her friend to be gossiped about in mob circles. She was a smart girl with capacity to take over her father’s place if it came the time to do so, however, Y/N guessed maybe her opinion wasn’t called for. 

She stepped in outside to stay with the very silent security guard. Did his contract say he couldn’t speak? Y/N didn’t know, at least it was better to be there without having Gwen wanting to have her head on a plate.

    - Found a dress already? - she turned to where the voice was coming, finding Sebastian waiting by the parked car. 

    - Oh, no. I have a dress at home, besides ... Gwen will probably buy two so if she doesn’t like the one I choose, I can always wear the one she doesn’t. 

    - Do you always let Miss Forrest pick what you wear? - he cocked his head to the side. - And you had an issue with being submissive to orders?

    - It’s not the same thing. - she crossed her arms, rolling her eyes.

    - Did you just roll your eyes at me? - he chuckled darkly, noticing how one of her hands came to rest upon one of her heated up cheeks. - Have you ever had a piece of clothing that wasn’t a hand out?

    - My school uniform was mine, I still have it, very soft dress shirt. 

    - Come on. - he snapped his fingers for one of his security men to follow him. Y/N scrunched her face, holding her bag as she walked behind him until he stopped in front of a store front which Y/N recognised as one of Gwen’s favourite shops to go in. Oscar de La Renta. - We’re getting you first new piece of clothing. 

    - I can afford a napkin from Oscar de La Renta. Much less a dress.

    - Consider it a gift from me. 

    - I can’t ... - she was interrupted by his phone ringing. He took it off his pocket, face lines intensified as he noticed the name on it. 

    - Stephen, make sure Miss Y/N gets a dress. 

    - Wait, Sebastian, I don’t need ... - he picked up his phone stopping her mid sentence. She stood there, watching him walk down the street on the phone. Biting her lip, with a little naughty smile, she entered the store with the security guard behind her.

Time to buy a dress. 

taglist: @sideeffectsofyou​ @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee​

[lordeasriel]

ATTWN: A Look at Miss Brent

I keep circling around the idea of writing And Then There Were None meta, like a full, proper analysis of the novel, but I just can't settle down on how to do it, cause I do have many thoughts, but I can't seem to organise them in a way it will make sense. But-

I was thinking about Miss Brent today, and she's not exactly a character I have that many thoughts compared to Vera or Armstrong, but she certainly has my interest. What strikes me stronger about her is her complacency, in a way.

Let's look at the novel first: here's this sixty-something woman, a spinster who takes on girls from local charities/orphanages to train them into proper maids or whatever. It's not an unusual thing for that time based on the rest of Christie's novels, it seemed like a common occurrence for the period. At any rate, she's very righteous, uptight, her belief is almost borderline fanatical, she never hesitates over her "innocence" in front of the accusations, and the thing is: she doesn't deny shunning the girl away.

Unlike the others, who remain resilient on their innocence (Lombard the exception cause he literally confessed right away), Miss Brent never denies that she did refuse to help Beatrice. In her own mind, she didn't do anything wrong - and if we're going there, in its fucked up way, she technically didn't do anything wrong. She had no familial attachment to the girl, she didn't have to do anything for her legally speaking; morally, of course, she should have but we don't arrest people for being morally corrupt lmao Let alone death sentence them. *coughs*

But what gets me it's her complacency. You know, I'm blaming this on the windy day, but thinking about her, sitting by herself almost all the time (including when she died), she never does anything. Unlike the others, Vera included considering how Christie often writes the women isolated, Miss Brent never gets involved in either investigating or helping them to find a way out; she just sits and knits and eventually bosses Vera around or say some mean stuff to someone. She doesn't act, which is odd for us as a reader; I mean, if I was in her spot I would have already made a signal for help, even with the bad weather lmao This book heavily traumatised me anyway--

Miss Brent doesn't act, that's my main point. In her head, I suppose she expects some sort of divine intervention, in its way; not a miracle, but you know, she expected her righteousness guaranteed her safety. She sees the other deaths as punishment, she thinks them all guilty, perhaps not the General or Wargrave, but I've no doubt she considers the rest of them wicked and deserving of the punishment, but never herself. She didn't do anything wrong, she has got nothing to feel sorry for. There is a whole section, where Vera asks Miss Brent if she is not afraid or if she simply doesn't mind dying. To which she reacts exactly like I said before, like she was above them all, like death wouldn't come for her.

Now, I will just vaguely go over the show because I think their choice of handling her was an interesting one. I like most of the choices made by show, except the ending which I'll save for another day of ranting, but Miss Brent in the show behaves similarly, but her background gets deeper. For one there was two key things - I say two because I've seen two different interpretations of this - and they were 1) repressed lesbian and 2) predator. Now, these two could coexist with each other, she could have been taking in girls to take advantage of them, but I don't know, I think it would be hard for her to do that always, so I like to think if repressed lesbian was it, then it makes more sense for her crime and her reaction. It would be related to a feeling of betrayal - "I've given you a home, a job, affection and you still went behind my back to be a whore" - and it's something Miss Brent would probably not acknowledge. She was always too religious, too righteous, so Beatrice probably haunted her more in death than she did in life: no one would believe this ragged girl over any accusations - even if there was consent on her part. But that's just beside the point.

What I mean for the show is, they go in a different direction. Miss Brent's reactions over the murders are a little more in line with her religious dynamic for the show: when Tony dies, she makes a little prayer, she worries about Mrs. Rogers state when she sees her passed out (despite the fact she humiliated her earlier over being meek and weak and so on), she has a judgemental attitude towards Vera, but even that comes from a place of almost understanding? She still judges them harshly, but she is a lot less harsh to the ones she consider less harmful (aka she is absolutely distasteful about Lombard, whose crime is easily the worst crime in the show and she thinks so).

Of course, all of her views and beliefs and behaviours are based on her own lifestyle, so she is a bit blind and biased - when Lombard points out about the missionaries crimes in Africa, after she calls him out; or when she states she couldn't imagine crossing paths with a man like him, despite the fact she knows well enough they're all there because they're guilty - so she is bound to hypocrisy every now and again. But her fanaticism from the book is turned into a proper, religious attitude; she does abide by the Bible, she condemns very little her other companions (I mean, she still judges Vera over her youth and her inertia, she judges Armstrong's lack of calm, she judges Lombard because well, because of his Existence™ lmao) She is, of course, judgmental and vain and arrogant, but this is less cartoony and more realistic. More importantly, because her beliefs are much more ingrained in her life, she is afraid. She is genuinely afraid and that is an important, key change that I genuinely like.

Miss Brent has faith, at first, that they will leave the Island, so she stills acts very coldly at first and of course, she still denies her guilt, she still claims she did the right thing and Beatrice caused her own undoing. But, the show pursues the idea that Miss Brent, upon being reminded of the event, starts to feel guilt: when she is praying she hallucinates Beatrice (hallucionation was a choice they did to convey these feelings, but you could just claim that's a memory in her head); and more importantly, before her death - which happens the day after she hallucinates - her demeanor changes entirely. She goes from trying to stay calm and resolute before the tide, to feeling weary. That's important because unlike Book! Emily, she is fully aware she has committed a sin, and now whether that is her neglect of Beatrice's pleas or her own feelings for her, that's beside the point. The point is this woman realises she is very close to meet her maker and the burden of having sinned wears her down.

Miss Brent also adds "It's only wool" when Vera is pouring her coffee (which I had to crop cause Gif size), which is her redirecting her distress to something mundane (in another scene later, Vera mentions how doing the dishes is a mundane task, which she finds soothing. In fact, seeking a sense of normalcy is a recurring theme for the show, but also for the book) and ordinary. Vera, of course, notices her distress over being hunted; she shares the feeling, and I don't want to focus too much on Vera because I'll talk about her eventually later, but this shows how Miss Brent changes drastically.

On their first conversation after the dinner, Vera's impression of Miss Brent is of an uptight, self-righteous, straight-up cruel woman and she avoids her if she can help it, and truth be told, Miss Brent does act very badly and says bad things, Vera is not being touchy about it. So when Vera lays the coffee tray, she is ready to walk away before Miss Brent addresses her (she even makes a dry remark on "There is no milk, I'm afraid", which is meant to spite Miss Brent's earlier attitude over asking for perfect eggs after Mrs Rogers died and so on), and Miss Brent talks so unlike herself, a weariness that makes Vera reconsider and come back, to pour her coffee. She feels sorry for Miss Brent, because she finally cracked like the others; Miss Brent knows now that no amount of faith might defend her from this killer, because this killer has got nothing to do with a justice kill.

She stays seated, knitting again, but when she reaches for the coffee she hesitates. She realises Vera could have poisoned it (before entering the room, since she watches Vera pouring the coffee), and then she puts it down. There is a sense of danger in her, and she has no desire to die, unlike in the book where she so casually just stays behind, unafraid in her own attitude of superiority. I like this change a lot; I think showing her fear before her God enhances her religious mania a lot more, because she truly fears Divine Judgement, because she understands, deep down, that she did a bad thing; maybe not murder - I mean, it wasn't murder after all - but she still did a morally bad thing. If there is a Heaven, it won't be for her.

[rmtndew]

Begin Again

Summary: Walter Marshall is a dedicated homicide detective doing his best to balance his work life with being a single father to a teenage girl. Fiona Sparks is a woman doing her best to take care of everyone and everything around her, except for herself. Neither has had the best luck with relationships, but once they meet, they’re willing to give it another shot, this time with each other. (It’s basically just romantic fluff) 

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This is a sequel to ‘All I’ve Ever Known’. I started writing this because I needed an escape for some personal stuff going on and my coping mechanism included giving Marshall all the love that man needed, and imagining him being the softest boyfriend to me, then passing those details on to Fiona (my OFC).

I also made a Spotify playlist for this story, if anyone is interested - Begin Again Playlist 

 Tag list - @hollydaisy23, @alyxkbrl, @onlyhenrys, @omgkatinka, @speakerforthedead0​, @gearhead66,  @thethirstyarchive, @oddsnendsfanfics, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira, @aaescritora, @justaboringadult, @beenthroughalot, @seriouslygoodlookinggents,  @xxxkatxo

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

The last Wednesday in October was a gray, misty, windy day. It was cold, the kind you felt more in your bones than anywhere else, with the sky occasionally spitting out sleet. I spent the entire twenty-minute drive to my job at Waverly Catering clutching the steering wheel so tightly that my hands were cramping by the time I arrived from white-knuckling it the whole way there. Usually, I would get to work early enough to enjoy the silence and finish off my coffee before officially starting my workday. That day, however, I spent the very little extra time I had trying to get my hands to stop hurting, then chugged down my coffee that had cooled dramatically to a gross lukewarm temperature. 

Before going in, I checked my phone. I always kept it on silent while I drove. My mom had a tendency to text me, make a dozen spelling mistakes because of auto-correct, then correct them one by one, leaving me with about thirteen separate texts to read. It didn’t use to bother me, I thought it was charming and very distinctly Mom. But when she’d gotten sick at the beginning of the year, every text she sent that I couldn’t read immediately made me panic, worrying that something terrible had happened to her, even when I’d just seen her at home a few minutes before. So for my sanity - and hers - I started putting my phone on silent until I got to work, or wherever else I was going. It was a habit I’d kept even after she’d gone into remission because her cancer may have been gone, but my anxiety over her wasn’t. 

That morning when I checked my phone, I saw that I had two texts, but they weren’t from Mom. 

Marshall:  Good morning, Fi. I hope that I get to see you today. I’ll be chained to  my desk with paperwork for a while. This is the first time I’ve not dreaded it. You’re my silver lining.

That was cheesy. I’m sorry. I’m bad at this.

And just like that, all of my stress melted away. The weather didn’t matter, my disappointing coffee didn’t matter, even the cramping in my hands didn’t matter. All that did matter was that Walter Marshall thought of me as his silver lining. Yes it was early days, yes we’d barely known each other a month, yes we’d only gone on two dates, but he made me happier than I’d been in a long time. I felt like I’d been holding my breath for two years, starting when my dad had died in a car crash, followed by my boyfriend Ezra breaking up with me, then losing my job as an interior designer, and capping off with my mom’s cancer diagnoses. Then Walter came along and it was like I could finally breathe again. 

Me:  Please don’t apologize. You have no idea how much I needed to read that this morning. Feel free to be as  cheesy as you want. And I hope I get to see you today, too, even if it  means you’re chained to your desk.

Marshall:  If I don’t see you for some reason,  can I call you tonight? I miss your  voice and you make me want to get better at this talking thing. 

I could feel myself blushing. Even over the phone he made me feel like a teenager with a crush. I had no idea that anyone could make me feel that way as an adult, but he did every time he texted me. 

Me:  Of course you can. Even if we do see  each other, you can still call, if you want? Practice makes perfect, and all that.

Marshall: I’d like that. Talk to you soon.

I sat back in my seat with a sigh as I looked out at the sleet falling from the gray sky, spattering my windshield, blurring out the image of the trees in the park across from me blowing and bending in the wind. 

It was going to be a good day. 

“You look...dare I say it? Happy?” Darcy said as I walked into her office.

I smiled. “You may dare to say it because yes, I am quite happy.”

“And what brings you to such an extreme emotion so early on such a disgusting day?”

I went to her desk and sat in the chair opposite her. “Well, for one, I know that you’re about to do me a big favor that I will forever be grateful for.”

“Fiona Sparks asking for a favor? I’ll mark the day in my calendar,” she joked. “What kind of favor do you need?”

“I need a copy of the peanut butter cookie recipe.”

“For what purpose?” 

“See, that’s where the happiness part comes into play and you, being one of my dearest friends, would love to see me happy.” 

“I would but I’m unsure how a cookie recipe is going to do that.”

“It’s not for me,” I said, smiling wide. “I met this guy -” 

“What? Who?” she asked enthusiastically, her eyes wide with excitement.

“His name is Walter Marshall. He’s our detective who never changes his lunch order.”

“You’re dating one of the homicide detectives? You can feel free to thank me later for giving you that order, by the way. But right now I want details: How long have you been dating and why am I just now finding out about it?”

“We’re not technically dating. I met him a few weeks ago for the first time and we went on two dates last week.” 

“You haven’t dated anyone in over two years, and then you go on two dates in one week?”

“Well, the first was just a coffee date. Saturday we tried having a proper one.” 

“Tried?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. 

“He wanted to take me to dinner, so we went to an Italian place, but before we could order, his daughter called. She was supposed to be at a Halloween party, but some of her friends had lied to her, I guess, and it ended up being a basement party with slightly older boys and she felt uncomfortable, so we went and picked her up. Then we all went for pizza together.”

“He has a daughter, which is some heavy baggage to begin with, but you met her on your second date? That’s a lot, Fiona.” 

“I know it seems like it, but it’s really not. She’s a good kid. And he’s an amazing father, which, oddly, just makes him more attractive,” I said. “But that’s not the point. The point is that his daughter was, understandably, a little iffy about me being with him when he picked her up until she found out that I’m the one who brings the cookies. She apparently loves them and I told her that I might be able to get her a copy of the recipe and that seemed to pave the way for her not hating me instantly. And she’s thirteen, so that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I have so many questions right now but I can’t sort them all out so I’m going to be annoying you with them all day, just be prepared for that. All I want to know right now is if you want the recipe laminated or not?” 

I let out a relieved breath. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind. And thank you so much, Darcy. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I do know. You never ask for anything, even simple things, so the fact that you’re willing to ask me for a favor means this is a pretty big deal,” she said. “He must be a good guy.”

I nodded. “He really is.” 

I arrived at the police station that morning a little before eleven. I’d left the shop early, worried the weather might get bad again and didn’t want to be late for my delivery. Thankfully the sleeting had stopped, allowing me to get there a few minutes early. A few minutes that I used up trying to pull my dolly through the parking lot. The lot had been salted, which was good in that at least it wasn’t icy, but the wheels on my dolly didn’t seem to like the brine mixture. They kept locking up on me. Between that and having to fight against the roaring wind, it took me an embarrassingly long time to reach the station door. Before I could push it open, someone opened it from the inside for me. I looked up, expecting to see Officer Bates. He was the security officer that was posted downstairs and always went through the containers full of lunches that I brought to the homicide unit every week. Instead, I saw Marshall.

“Hello,” he said with a smile. 

I immediately felt like giggling. The last time I’d seen him, we’d kissed. And seeing him right then, seeing his beautiful, handsome face, I wanted so badly to kiss him again. Instead, I felt myself grow shy as I blushed so fiercely that my cheeks stung with the new heat that rushed to them. 

“Hi,” I said. He pulled the door open all the way, then stepped back, allowing me to walk in. My stomach fluttered as I looked back at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He closed the door behind me. “May I help you with your cart?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Would you let me help you take it back to your car when you leave, at least?”

I fought every instinct inside of me that insisted I say no. Darcy was right: I hated asking for even simple things. I never wanted to burden anyone. But since I’d met Marshall, I’d learned that his way of showing interest or affection was to do things for me. But he always asked first, wanting my permission. It challenged me, but in a good way. I didn’t need to always go it alone if I didn’t have to. 

“Um, yeah, I’d appreciate that. Thank you,” I said. “The wheels didn’t seem to agree with the salted parking lot. You could probably pull it a lot easier than me.” 

Marshall stayed with me as Officer Bates went through the containers I’d brought in. He wasn’t close enough to make anyone passing by question it, but it was close enough that my hand hanging at my side could feel the heat coming from his hand and forearm, that was visible from the blue henley that was pushed up to his elbows in a way that I found incredibly attractive. My fingers itched to seek out his, but I fought it. Keeping them obediently beside me. Once Officer Bates was done and gave me the all clear to take the food up, Walter walked me to the elevator and pressed the button to call it down. Then he held the door back, letting me in first before following me. After the door slid closed, he fell back half a step, putting him right beside me. His hand bumped mine, his fingers snaking through, gently holding mine. I smiled, knowing I wasn’t the only one itching for contact. 

I turned without a thought and placed a kiss on his shoulder. Then I paused, a moment of panic rising in me that maybe we weren’t at that level yet. But before I could move or feel too worried, he placed a kiss on the top of my head.

“I keep thinking about Saturday,” he whispered. 

“Me, too,” I said. I looked up at him. “It was...pretty amazing.”

He smiled. I could see his sharp canine teeth. They were oddly charming. “Yes, it was.” He laced his fingers with mine more securely, properly holding it. “I know I mentioned calling you tonight, but I hoped that we might have dinner again instead. If you’re not busy?”

“I’m exceptionally not busy tonight.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead before turning his head back to face the elevator door. “I won’t be able to finish all my paperwork today, there’s too much and it keeps multiplying like rabbits, so since I have to do it tomorrow anyway, I’m going to knock off here around five. Could I pick you up after that? Around five-thirty, perhaps?” 

I nodded, smiling. “That sounds great.”

The elevator dinged as we reached the homicide unit floor. He gave my hand a couple of gentle squeezes before letting it go as the door slid open. He stepped out, then held the door for me like he had before, letting me pull my cart out. He walked with me almost all the way to the break room before a shorter man with glasses stopped him. 

“Lieutenant Marshall, can I speak with you in your office for a moment?” he asked. 

“Of course.” Walter touched my shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said to me quietly before leaving for his office. 

I continued on and was met by most of the detectives waiting for me. Like usual, they didn’t talk to me much, just thanking me for the food before taking their box and going. I took my time, hoping that by the time that I was done, the man speaking with Walter would be gone before I brought him his lunch. When I was done, I packed up my cart before taking Marshall’s boxed lunch and walked down the hall, finding the door to his office open. I could hear him talking still and wasn’t sure what to do. I’d made a deal with him a few weeks back to always bring his lunch to his office whenever I delivered - the first time was because a uniformed officer looked like he was going to swipe it, after that, it was to thank him for rescuing me from a pushy creep while I was with my ‘friends’. We’d never discussed if I should interrupt while he was working. I chewed my lip, debating what to do for several seconds before deciding to just take a chance and knock on the door frame. The worst case scenario was that I looked like a very dedicated delivery woman making sure that all of my orders reached their proper owners. 

“Yep. Come in,” Walter called out in response to my knocking.

I entered his office only far enough to be seen and not a step further. I didn’t know if Marshall wanted people to know about us, so I was prepared to make a quick exit if I needed to. “I have a delivery for Detective Marshall,” I said. 

He looked at me and smiled, then waved me in further. “Harper, this is Fiona Sparks. Fiona, this is Commissioner Harper.”

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I said. 

“You, too.” He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “You don’t happen to be related to Rodger Sparks, by any chance?” 

I felt speechless for a moment. I hadn’t heard anyone other than Mom say Dad’s name in months. Finally, I forced myself to nod. “Yes. He was my dad. How - how did you know?” 

“We went to college together. You’re the spitting image of him,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about him passing away. I lost my wife around two years ago as well. A brain aneurysm.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t get any easier.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.

He looked at me for a moment longer, then back to Marshall, who was standing patiently with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked back at me briefly before taking the folder he was holding and tapped it against Marshall’s shoulder. “You know what? This can wait until tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll bring it by in the morning.” He left Walter and stopped beside me before leaving the office. “I’m very sorry about your father. Rodger was a horrible sport when he lost at cards, but other than that, he was a great guy. And probably the smartest man I ever met.”

I smiled slightly. “He was a horrible sport at cards.” 

He smiled back. “The worst.” He gave me a wink. “It was a pleasure seeing you.” 

“You, too.”

When he left, he closed the door behind him. I looked at Marshall as he walked towards me. “Did I interrupt something important?” I asked. 

“No. He was just asking about a cold case.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to come in since he was here. Next time, if you’re talking to someone, would you rather I left your lunch in the break room?”

He stopped in front of me. He was so close. He smelled like coffee and Old Spice. I swallowed thickly, trying to meet his gaze as he looked down at me. He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. I’d still like you to bring it to me, please. If that’s alright?” 

“Yeah, of course. I just don’t want to get in the way of your job.”

“You won’t,” he said. “But I’ve let my job get in the way of other things for too long, so maybe it’s time someone got in the way of it for a bit.” 

“You have an important job, though. If you were a boat salesman, I might feel a little differently about disrupting your work.” 

His smile grew as he tilted his head at me. “A boat salesman?” 

“I mean a job where it wouldn’t really matter all that much if you were distracted every once in a while. If someone doesn’t sell a boat, it’s not that big of a deal. But if you don’t solve a murder case...that has very real repercussions. I wouldn’t want to be a reason for something slipping by in a case.” 

He put his hand on my cheek, directing my eyes back to his. “That won’t happen,” he said. “I take my job seriously. That’s never been a problem for me. My problem has always been figuring out how to balance it with the rest of my life, which I never could, and I neglected a lot of people because of it. Especially Faye.” He shook his head. “I’m still not good at it. But I had a case back in the winter that...put Faye’s safety in jeopardy, among other things, and it made me realize that I need to put more of an effort in my life outside of this job. Despite how hard that is for me.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You motivate me to slow down a bit. And that’s a good thing.”

I took my free hand and placed it over his, then turned my face slightly and placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “I would be happy to slow down with you,” I whispered. 

Marshall had a smile that somehow showed in his eyes more than his mouth, and that’s how he was looking at me right then. “I’d like that.” 

A knock on the door startled me. I took a step back, his hand falling from my cheek. He then ran it over his face, almost like he was trying to scrub the irritation of being interrupted off it. Then he folded his arms across his chest before calling out for whoever it was to come in.

The door opened and a man stepped up to the doorway. He was wearing plain clothes like Walter, so I assumed he was a detective, too. He all but ignored me as he and Walter spoke. Half of what they said was in a jargon I didn’t understand, so I just stood there, head down, waiting. After a few minutes, the guy left, only halfway closing the door as he did. When Marshall finally turned back to me, I could see that he was frustrated. I knew he wouldn’t admit it, but me being at his work right then was only going to cause more irritation with every interruption we had. 

“As much as I hate it, I should probably get back to the shop. We have a big order going out tomorrow, so there’s quite a lot to do today to prepare for it,” I said. “Plus, I have a date with a very handsome detective tonight that I want to get ready for.”

The frustration on his face seemed to melt away as he looked at me with a smirk. “Is it anyone I know?”

“Possibly. He does work in your unit.” 

“Is that so?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, if I see him around, I might have to have a talk with him.”

“And what would you say?” 

“I’d tell him that he better be good to you because you deserve to be treated well.” 

My stomach fluttered. “You can rest assured that he treats me very well. Better than any man ever has.”

“All those other men were idiots.”

I smiled. “Maybe so.” 

He shook his head. “Definitely so.” He reached out and took his lunch from my hand, then turned and placed it on a filing cabinet behind him. “Will you let me help you to your car now?” 

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

He put on his coat and followed me to the break room. He pulled my dolly for me, moving it like it was as light as a child’s toy. Even when we made it to the parking lot, he didn’t seem to have any issue with the wheels fighting against him. Then he picked it up and placed it in my trunk with ease, despite how I very often fought to get it back in. I thought about telling him that he was welcome to help me anytime he wanted, but I was afraid it wouldn’t come across as a joke and he would feel obligated to actually help. 

“Thank you. You made my morning a lot easier,” I said after I closed the trunk. I looked at him. “I guess I’ll see you around five-thirty?”

He nodded. “I’ll call you when I leave here, but yeah, I should be there by then,” he said. “And I promise it’ll only be the two of us and no cheap pizza.” 

“To be honest, I quite liked the pizza. It didn’t taste cheap. And I really, truly didn’t mind Faye joining us, but it'll be nice to have dinner with just you tonight,” I said. “But that reminds me - I put a copy of our cookie recipe for Faye in your lunch box.” 

He smiled. “Thank you. She’ll be very excited about that.”

“You’re welcome. And let her know if she has any issues with it, she can call or text me.” 

The crease between his eyebrows appeared as he looked at me thoughtfully. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I’ve made them enough times over the last year and a half to make every mistake you can with them. If she has a problem, I can probably diagnose it over the phone.” 

“You don’t mind her having your number?”

I felt my facial expressions mirroring his, but from confusion. “Of course I don’t mind. As long as you’re okay with it,” I said. “Unless you think your ex-wife would mind? I don’t want to step on her toes or anything.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think Angie would mind for that purpose, and I don’t have a problem with it. But I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t but I’ll leave it up to you. If you’d feel more comfortable being the middleman you can always call me for her.” I gave him a big smile. “And I can help you practice the whole talking thing. Then it’s a two birds with one stone kind of deal.” 

He smiled back, nodding his head. “And if she doesn’t need help?” 

“You can still call.” I shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to have a reason for calling. If I’m not at work, I’m usually pretty free. I may be cooking, or watching ‘The Golden Girls’ with Mom, but that’s about it,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re courting quite a socially boring person.”

He laughed. “I’m not sure if you’ve caught on, but I’m not exactly a sociable person, either,” he said. “So perhaps we make a good fit for each other.”

“Perhaps so,” I agreed. “We can be selectively social together.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

I let out a sigh and watched my breath turn to steam in front of me. “I better let you get back to your paperwork and I need to go help Darcy at the store. We have over fifty loaves of bread to bake before the end of the day, so depending on when I get home, you may have to deal with your date smelling like freshly baked bread.” 

He squinted slightly. “I’m not really opposed to that,” he joked with a smile that showed off the sharp ends of his canine teeth. 

I laughed. “Good to know.” 

He gave me a short hug, kissing my cheek as he pulled back. “I’ll see you this evening.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.

[welllpthisishappening]

Where the Love Light Gleams

Killian was going to kill his brother. 

Which wasn’t very festive, but neither was being away from his girlfriend on Christmas Eve and this was all Liam’s fault. Or so he would claim. While rationalizing his current tendency to wallow, and stare at his phone and he’d spent far too much time on his phone that night. 

Whatever, it was Christmas Eve. That was definitely a reasonable excuse. 

---

Rating: Teen, with banter and friendship and kissing Word Count: 5.1 K AN: It’s me! Someone who can’t seem to write an MC to save her present life, but loves few things more than Christmas-type fluff and is therefore filling Christmas-type prompts again. Today’s comes from @shireness-says​​ who is always wonderful about replying to these sort of things and requested: 

"you had a business trip and i missed you so much that i kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety… sorry?" and “we’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about. "

Both of which I almost legitimately filled. Just kind of—twisted. As is tradition. If you are so inclined to send a prompt from this very long list, you can pick one here, and I’ll do my best to write it before Christmas. 

This one is also on Ao3 if that’s your jam, where I’ll be posting all of ‘em. 

---

“Are you moping? It kind of looks like you’re moping.”

“Wow, such unparalleled observational skills. You should become a private investigator.”

Sticking her tongue out, Ariel made some sort of objection-type noise in the back of her throat, which probably would have made Killian smile in any other situation. On any other day. A day that wasn’t Christmas Eve. 

When he was absolutely, positively moping. 

It was a miracle he hadn’t frozen like this. That would have done irreparable damage to his spine, he was sure. 

He wasn’t really sitting up very straight. 

“There can’t possibly still be private investigators in the world,” Ariel challenged, brushing a wayward strand of hair away from her face and it was far too windy on the docks. If Killian didn’t get off the docks soon, he was going to scream. 

Or mope for the rest of the holiday season. At least until the New Year. That seemed reasonable, honestly. 

He was going to strangle Liam. 

This was all his fault. 

“You’re kidding me, right? What—what kind of world do you think we’re living in?” Ariel shrugged. “One that’s progressed past the need for private investigators, obviously. And I object to the notion that I would require any sort of PI-type skills to know that you’re being an absolute and complete, although also kind of understandable, idiot.” 

“Those words don’t go together.” “What do people hire private investigators for, anyway?” “Loads of stuff.” “Give me one example.” He huffed, irritation rattling around his skull and mixing in with a begrudging appreciation because he knew Ariel felt bad and maybe he’d kick Liam too. “Missing kids.” “Yeesh, that’s awfully negative.” “What was that about accusing me of moping before? I’m playing to those accusations.” “Ok, but we already decided they were observations, so you don’t get to rename them now that you’re feeling particularly jerk-like.” “I’m here, aren’t I? Makes it seem less jerk-like.”

Another shrug. And a specific quirk of her lips that Killian was far too well-acquainted with. The muscles in his cheeks were almost starting to ache. 

Presumably from holding them in this position for so long. 

He was absolutely moping. 

But he’d already been in Boston two days longer than he planned on, and none of this was really going according to plan. He’d checked his phone no less than forty-seven times in the last forty-five minutes. He hated that. Staring at that screen made him feel like a clingy freak, who couldn’t go more than a few minutes without talking to his girlfriend, and Killian had complained about those people enough times that his current tendency to do it made him despise himself just a bit. 

And yet he couldn’t stop. 

His thumbs flew across the keys, sending complaints and updates and smiling in spite of his own situation. 

Like a psychopath. One who was quite obviously frustrated. 

With several thousand things, it seemed — the most pressing of which was his distinct lack of festive nature, caused almost entirely by the issues with the expansion in Boston and adding another ship in Boston was supposed to be easy. 

Until Eric got the flu, and it was understandably difficult to captain a sightseeing holiday cruise when you couldn’t actually stand up for more than two minutes at a time, and Killian couldn’t say no to his brother when they both had so much money tied up in this, and if Liam was going to fly in to make sure everything stayed the metaphorical course, then the least Killian could do was drive in from New York. 

Or so Liam had told him. In no uncertain terms. 

Except Liam had also brought Belle with him and that somehow seemed like cheating, and Killian should have asked Emma to come. 

She had to work. He’d missed Mary Margaret and David’s Christmas Eve party. 

Which normally wouldn’t have felt like the end of the world, partially because Mary Margaret’s fruitcake was notoriously awful, but this year it made Killian’s heart feel like it was fragmenting in his chest and Emma’s photos had gotten progressively more and more blurry as the night went on. Mary Margaret also notoriously bought a questionable number of Prosecco bottles for the Christmas Eve party. 

“You are,” Ariel agreed, a string of words that caught Killian off guard when he was so deep in his own wallowing. “Which is super nice, but—” “—How can there be a but in this situation?” “There are several, actually, except the biggest one is how three different people on tonight’s cruise wanted to know why the first mate was so obviously distracted.” “They called me first mate?” “People think it’s funny to use nautical terms in real life.”

Slumping forward did not do anything to help the state of Killian’s spine, only managed to make sure his hair fluttered in front of his eyes when a salt-tinged breeze blew off the Harbor and he briefly wondered how dramatic he could get. He needed to exhale some more. 

He needed to go home. “Anyway,” Ariel continued, “they wanted to know why the first mate was on his phone all the time, and if the first mate was available and—” “—I’m sorry, what?”

“You have a face, you know that right?” “Now you’re just saying words.”

If she kept sticking her tongue out at its current rate, it was going to get frost-bitten. “These are compliments, you’re an ass and I owe you just—a metric ton of rum, the good kind, for doing all of this.” “Giving me whiplash,” Killian muttered, but one side of his mouth tugged up despite his best efforts to remain as depressing as possible. Ariel’s eyes got brighter. Rivaled the lights still flickering along the railing of their very nice, very new, decidedly expensive multi-level ship, and it had only taken about fourteen seconds for Killian to make that one photo Emma had sent him his phone background. 

That probably wasn’t weird.

“So, people wanted to know about you,” Ariel said, “and your previously discussed face, and rather than employee a PI because it’s not 1947—” “—Oddly specific.” “I will kill you.” “God bless us, everyone.” “Your very helpful and exceedingly sure of his own obnoxious brand of humor brother was very quick to inform all the interested parties that the first mate was distracted because he unfortunately wasn’t with his wife for Christmas.”

Ariel’s murder threat was not only out of place considering the date, it was pointless because he was going to guarantee he died all on his own. Killian nearly fell off the edge of the dock. 

One of his knees buckled, gaping at his friend and business partner like she’d only recently grown a few extra heads. She didn’t shrug again. Smiled, in her best impression of a variety of fictional and overly confident cats, but her shoulders stayed frustratingly still and that was—

“Emma and I aren’t married,” Killian sputtered, not entirely stunned to find those particular words difficult to say in that order. Half a plan rattled around with the rest of the emotions circling his skull, and he hadn’t really acted on the plan, but he’d been pondering and considering for at least a few weeks before his phone had rung. 

And that was only kind of a lie. 

He’d been doing a lot more than pondering for much longer than a few weeks. Considering had flown out the imaginary window, like—as soon as he and Emma had moved in together. 

Liam didn’t know any of that, though. 

At least in theory. 

Maybe strangling his brother was something of an overreaction. 

He still wanted to go home, though. 

“Liam knows that,” Ariel reasoned, “and I know that. And obviously you know that, but none of your on-water admirers know that, and you were playing your part very well.” “What?” “Glued to your phone, all night. Like a clingy newlywed.” “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it? Because while not technically true—” “—Or true at all,” Killian interrupted, and he wondered if he was getting used to the feel of his heart doing whatever it was doing, or he was just growing more melodramatic by the second. At some point in the last twelve minutes the idea of walking back to New York had become rather appealing. 

“Well, whatever. It was a good excuse, and it’s not like it was one-sided texting and it’s kind of romantic. All things considered.” “What are all the things, exactly?” That shrug came with another smile — far too knowing for Killian’s liking, but he also knew Ariel wouldn’t go back on her rum-buying word, and he supposed there was something to be said for that. Especially if it was good rum. “If you’re going to play the part…” “Look who’s being a romantic now.” “I’ve spent most of the lead-up to Christmas trying to force-feed Pedialyte on my husband. Got to get my romance from somewhere and you’re like—Hallmark Channel ready.” “Probably couldn’t have as much alcohol, then.” “How many bottles of Prosecco do you think Mary Margaret bought this year?”

Tugging his phone out of his pocket, Killian scrolled back through the more than two dozen photos he’d been sent over the course of the night until he found the one he was looking for. Of a table covered in green-hued bottles with plastic champagne flutes that Mary Margaret must have bought in bulk and— 

Ariel’s laugh hung in the air around them, louder than it probably should have been considering the time, but they were also by themselves and he was still kind of moping. So. The world could cope with their collective volume. 

“Do you think she gets a discount for buying so many?” Killian shook his head. “If she doesn’t, she’s being robbed.” “Get the private investigators on the case.” “Challenge Liam to a comedic battle.” “Not if we’re calling it that,” Ariel argued, bumping her shoulder against Killian’s leg. And he wasn’t sure if he was actually smiling, but his lips were moving and his heart didn’t appear to be shattering quite as much anymore and he hoped Emma fell asleep. 

On Mary Margaret and David’s couch. 

They wouldn’t let her go home, he was sure. 

He hadn't gotten a text in awhile. 

He was less sure about the shadows moving towards them, though — because he’d been a little distracted when they docked, but he watched Liam and Belle get into their rental car and there was absolutely no reason for either one of them to be back on the docks, but anyone else showing up on the docks at eleven o’clock at night was probably a sign that Killian and Ariel were about to be robbed. In a far more literal sense than whatever happened with Mary Margaret and her plastic champagne flutes. 

“You guys good?” Ariel asked, sounding more aware of what was going on than she should have been. Killian’s eyes narrowed. 

That made it only slightly difficult to see the overall width of his brother’s answering smile. 

Plus, it was dark out.

“Better,” Liam said, “she's an absolute natural.”

Scrunching her nose, Belle waved off the compliment. “Please, all I have to do is stand there and be helpful.” “Yeah, but that’s more than Killian was able to do today, so…” “He was distracted.” “And standing right here,” Killian muttered, although standing was a little generous. His left knee was still awful bent. In an unnatural sort of way. “Doesn’t that hurt?” Liam asked. Gesturing towards Killian’s posture, he tilted his head and that was even more judgmental than any of the words Ariel hadn’t bothered saying. “Can’t be good for your ACL or whatever.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Adding the whatever makes it sound less official, really.” “And we’re trying to be official,” Ariel chipped in, clamoring to her feet. By using the side of Killian’s jacket for leverage, tugging on fabric until she threatened to tear it and that also would have been impressive if it didn’t feel suspiciously like he was about to pass out. 

She wrapped her arms around Killian’s middle. 

That kind of helped, honestly. 

He’d never admit to it.   

“Official about what, exactly?” Killian asked. “What are you guys doing here?”

Liam’s smile got wider. “We could ask you the same question, but we’ve already claimed way too much of your time and—” “—Wait, what?” “Killian seriously,” Ariel sighed, “if you keep interrupting, we’re never going to get to the fun and passably romantic part of the plan.” “Oh, no it’s definitely more than passably romantic,” Belle argued. 

“Depends on him, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but he was glued to his phone and I’ve got at least twenty bucks on this happening before New Year’s Eve, so—” “—New Year’s Eve would be really romantic, actually!” “No, no, no,” Liam objected, voice rising on every repeat, “I’ve got Christmas morning, and that means he’s got to go now.” Not having anything to drink made it impossible for Killian to claim intoxication as a reason for the current spin rate of his head. Metaphorically, at least. Even so, he felt a little dizzy and slightly out of breath, trying very hard not to topple into the water. 

There was no way he’d be able to disentangle himself from Ariel before he did that. 

And then she’d get annoyed. 

“What is going on?” Killian demanded, pausing between each word for emphasis. Liam’s lips disappeared. Behind his teeth. 

While he failed spectacularly at containing his laugh. “We’re kicking you out,” Belle said simply, like that made sense and they hadn’t all but required his presence in Boston less than seventy-two hours earlier. 

Killian blinked. Once, twice. Half a dozen times. Nothing changed. Ariel’s arms tightened, maybe — but Liam didn’t move, and Belle’s nose still had that scrunch-like effect, and the lights on their ship really did make it appropriately festive. 

“And apologizing,” Ariel added. “We should make that more obvious.”

Blinking more was stupid. 

Talking probably would have helped. But Killian’s tongue suddenly took up far too much space in his mouth, next to all the imaginary cotton balls that were impeding his ability to breathe and it could not have been healthy for so many body parts to consistently fail like that. 

“This is really my fault,” Liam admitted, taking a step forward to clap Killian on the shoulder. His right knee bent that time. At least his reactions were symmetrical. “And I—well, I...I was so worried about the money and the party and—” “—We didn’t really think about your plans,” Belle finished. Opening his mouth, Killian genuinely could not come up with a word to describe whatever sound he made. Something between a scoff and that huff he was trying to accomplish before, but also drifting dangerously close to laughter borne of disbelief and his back actually had the gall to pop when he leaned forward. 

“I don’t have plans.” “Please,” Ariel scoffed, “you have at least the hope for plans, and that’s nice in a way that deserves a better adjective and all that rum I promise.” Liam’s eyes widened. “How much rum are we talking?” “Enough that you stop spending so much time talking about the proper light to string ratio.” “What does that even mean?” Killian balked. 

Shaking her head, Belle moved into his space as well. Both her hands landed on the front of his jacket, and Killian wasn’t exactly cold per se, but there was something inherently comforting about his sister-in-law’s smile and the way she always smelled a bit like vanilla. 

As if she were just minutes away from baking something, at all times. 

“Telling you to come here was a dick move,” Belle announced, Ariel’s head finding Killian’s shoulder when she started to cackle once more. They were all standing too close to each other. Someone was going to step on someone else’s foot. “And,” she continued, “Liam was right. This is totally his fault, but he’s running on like...no sleep, because we’re—” She grit her teeth, another unfinished sentence that frustrated Killian for about eight and half seconds. Before it all clicked at nine. “No, shit.” “Shit,” Belle confirmed, another smile and her left foot landed on Killian’s right when he pulled into a far-too-tight hug. Ariel had to move her arms. “Babies are expensive you see,” Liam said, “and we’d already funneled so much money into this, the party had to happen and I wasn’t sure if Belle was going to be able to come with me because—” “—They don’t tell you morning sickness lasts all day,” she grumbled. Killian’s laugh had an almost manic edge to it, suddenly happier than he thought he could be and that was more appropriate for the time. Of both the day and season. 

“So,” Liam added, “I kind of lost my mind about Eric, and didn’t think about you or Emma or how stupid you’d be when you weren’t around Emma at Christmas because it’s so goddamn obvious what you’re planning.”

Heat rose in Killian’s cheeks, a questionably large inferno that suddenly flared to life in the pit of his stomach. “I haven’t totally decided.” “Yeah, well that’s dumb.” “Rife with opinions tonight, aren’t you?” “We’re kicking you out,” Belle repeated. “With our apologies that I wasn’t on the ship tonight because that shrimp appetizer smell made me want to die a little.” Ariel sighed. “Do all our statements have to be so violent? There should be more positivity to all of this.” “There will be if Killian can get me my twenty bucks.” “Why are you betting on this?” he asked, but the distinct lack of frustration in his voice was obvious even to him. Belle laughed. “Because calling you a newlywed was not nearly as unbelievable as it should have been, and if you get with the program you could probably have your rehearsal dinner on one of our very accommodating ships with an appetizer that does not include shrimp.” “I’m not really a huge fan of shellfish.” “See, the perfect plan.” An objection sat on the tip of Killian’s tongue — if only because he was decidedly stubborn and now a little worried about his brother’s expanding family, but his own family was not in Boston and he’d really like Emma to be his family. In an official sort of capacity. 

“But what about—” “—No, absolutely not,” Belle cut in before Killian could finish, “that’s what we were doing. Going over the plans for tomorrow’s lunch cruise, and everything you were supposed to do, which I’m pretty confident I can do now, mostly because my husband is here and I won’t be tempted to text him the entire time.” “At least not much,” Liam quipped. The pinch between Killian’s eyebrows was going to stay there forever. If not longer. “And then I’ll also text you, at an appropriate time tomorrow, to apologize for being a massive Christmas bastard.” Hair hit Killian’s cheek. Not his. Distinctly red and smelling like shampoo she’d definitely spent far too much money on, Ariel’s hair blew around her when she threw her head back. With laughter. The catching sort, spreading like wildfire through their tiny group, until Belle had to wrap her arm around her middle to stay up, and Killian’s stomach ached just a bit and it took him a moment to realize he’d made another fire pun. 

In his head. He needed to go home. 

“Was Ariel a distraction?”

She kicked his ankle. “Rude, and yeah obviously. Liam is so goddamn overprotective with his unborn child, it’s disgusting.” “And nice,” Belle grinned. 

Exhaling, Liam tugged on the back of his hair. A tell, and an apology without the words. Killian wanted the words. Even if it took a few extra minutes. “Seriously,” Liam said, “a Christmas bastard, which is not an excuse, but—I’m sorry. For the batard’ness, and bringing you here, and not explaining the reasons behind the bastard. And also for ruining your plans.” “I really have no plans,” Killian promised, but that fell a bit flat and he at least had rather specific wants. Of the desire-type variety. 

“So fix that. Like as soon as possible.” “For my twenty bucks,” Belle said with another yank on Killian’s jacket. The poor jacket was not going to last much longer. 

Ariel rolled her eyes. “She’s obsessed with the twenty bucks.” “Because your husband will have to pay it!” “Should you have bet with an invalid?” Killian asked, trying without much immediate success to take a step away from either one of them. “And what kind of Pedialyte flavor are you forcing?” “The purple kind.” “Blue’s definitely better.” Liam looked frustrated. 

That felt like something of a victory. “Were you going to go, Killian? Or—” Kissing the top of Ariel’s hair and pulling Belle into one more hug, Killian flipped off his brother, muttered Merry Christmas, don’t sink the boat, and would never admit to running back towards his car. Or how quickly he drove home. 

It took at least twenty-six minutes to find a parking spot. 

Four blocks away. 

Still, Killian assumed he was running on holiday-fueled adrenaline and something almost resembling romance and the distinct lack of anything in his pocket was a challenge he viewed as quirky more than anything else. 

He bounded up the steps, nearly dropping his keys more than once before he managed to unlock the door only to be immediately hit in the face. With what felt suspiciously like garland. 

And Killian hadn’t really planned on spending much time in their apartment, only thinking about a few hours of sleep before driving to Mary Margaret and David’s house on the Island because he might have come up with half a list of sweepingly romantic things to do, but he wasn’t a total jerk who would show up on someone else’s doorstep in the middle of the goddamn night, and it obviously did not make a single ounce of difference. 

While he was being strangled with garland. 

Blinking against the darkness of their living room, Killian’s brain couldn’t quite come to terms with what he was seeing. Like the ninth floor of the Herald Square Macy’s had exploded. Tinsel hung from what appeared to be actual ivy, pinned along the top of the wall with startling accuracy. Lights meant to resemble icicles reflected against every window pane, and there was an actual tree in the corner. 

Every one of his inhales had a distinct pine-like scent to it, like he was standing in the middle of a forest, and Killian did not think they owned that many ornaments when he left. 

They hadn’t owned any ornaments, so it was a rather easy number to remember. 

A star was balanced precariously at the top of the tree, paper snowflakes dropping from the ceiling and—

Emma curled in the corner of the couch. 

With at least four blankets covering her. She was a notorious blanket thief. 

Mary Margaret hadn’t woken up either, twisted into the other end of the cushions, and Killian couldn’t fathom how they were comfortable, but he was also admittedly a little distracted by the desire of his lungs to keep providing oxygen to the rest of his body and David’s eyes were alarmingly wide. 

“What are you doing here?” “I live here,” Killian hissed, swatting away the garland. Bits of it fell onto the top of his sneakers. “What are you doing here?” “Helping.” “What?” “Helping,” David said slowly, like Killian simply did not understand the word and not all the meaning behind it. “She—well, the decorations left something to be desired, and you know Mary Margaret. There’s a project, so she’s got to help and—” “—Wait, wait, wait, did Emma do all this?”

Waving both his hands in the air, David didn’t bother to say obviously when the movement made it so abundantly clear. Killian’s jaw dropped. 

Something popped there as well. Which probably wasn’t what woke Emma up, but thinking that was almost nice in another way that deserve a better adjective, and the overall force of her smile as soon as her eyes landed on him made every bit of splintered heart still lingering in his chest knit itself back together. 

Immediately. 

“Should I be concerned that you’re deserting?” she asked, hooking her chin over the back of the couch. As if she’d been expecting this exact situation. Killian shook his head. “Nah, this is a wholly authorized shore leave.” David’s groan very likely hurt the inside of his throat. 

“What happened here, Swan?” Pink immediately colored her expression, every one of her teeth obvious when she grit them. Mary Margaret must have been the soundest sleeper in the Universe. Or she’d had a questionable amount of Prosecco to drink that night. “Christmas?” That was as good a reason as any, honestly. Although that stubborn streak of his ran several nautical miles wide, and nearly tripping over the garland on his few steps towards the couch made Emma’s shoulders shake. 

Killian knelt in front of her.

Step one accomplished, then. 

“It’s super lame,” Emma warned, but Killian’s heart was doing more biologically impossible things and his eyes fluttered when she brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I just—well, you weren’t here, and that kind of ruined any of my festive-type feelings, which as we all know are shaky at best.” “Work in progress, love.” Her tongue sticking between her lips was not as annoying as Ariel’s had been. Killian figured that had something to do with the desire to kiss her. And not Ariel. Who would have smacked him at even the allusion to such a thing. “Well,” Emma mumbled, “the lack of appropriate holiday spirit reared its head like—as soon as you closed the door behind you, but then I went to the party and you kept texting me and—” “—I’m sorry, I was texting you? You were texting me!” “God,” David grumbled, dropping into the only chair left in the living room. There should have been more chairs in the living room. “It’s ridiculous, the pair of you.” Killian narrowed his eyes. Glaring was too difficult. “Why are you here?” “I told you, helping.” “He did,” Emma said. “Both him and Mary Margaret, really. I, ok—well, whoever was texting who, it doesn’t really matter. Just that Ruth thinks we’re married.” Of all the ways that sentence could have ended, Killian was loath to admit hearing that David’s mother believed the same lie Liam had been spouting to Boston tourists was not one of them. 

“She does,” Emma continued, rushing over the words, “for some reason. But she kept saying how nice it was that a young couple like us was able to keep in touch when we weren’t together for the holidays and I was really kind of drunk, and even more upset that you weren’t going to be here, so my mind just kind of latched onto things and—” Pulling in a deep breath made her shoulders shift again, Killian’s eyes taking in every moment so he could commit them all to memory and the question was out of his mouth before he realized Emma was still talking. “Will you marry me?” “Do you want to get married?”

David fell out of the chair. 

Slid, technically. Directly onto the floor and next to presents that were almost perfectly wrapped with color coordinated bows on each of them. 

“What?” Killian breathed, Emma’s hand flying to her mouth. Left one, so that helped too actually. None of his fingers shook when he reached up, pulling that same hand down and kissing the bend of her knuckles. Tears clouded Emma’s eyes, falling on her cheeks faster than he could brush them away. 

With his mouth. Killian tried all the same. 

While ignoring the increasing volume of David’s rather uproarious laugh. He was texting someone. Probably Ariel, who very likely was requiring play-by-play. And had timed Killian’s drive home. 

“That was kind of...this,” Emma explained, nodding towards the living room. “I—I wanted to decorate, and make it Christmas when you got back because...well, I blame the alcohol and your brother and—” “—That’s fair, honestly. Belle’s pregnant, by the way.” “No shit.” “Shit,” Killian confirmed, a repeat he’d share later. Once they got all this engagement business sorted out. “They’re pretty incredible decorations.” “Yeah, well flattery will get you everywhere.” Huffing out a breath, Emma’s head dropped to his, and that made it easier to get his fingers in her hair. “This made a lot of sense when I was drunker. But, uh—I needed to do something with all that energy and sudden holiday thoughts and I’ve got a lot of thoughts about your face, you know that?” Ariel was going to be insufferable. 

Killian would make her buy some Moscato, too. That was Emma’s favorite. “Gave me something to do,” Emma added, “and then I figured you’d get home and there’d be some sweeping and we could do something about Ruth’s assumptions and I think we’d be really good at being married.” Kissing her was the only reasonable option. Even as David sounded like he was in physical pain. 

Surging up, Killian’s mouth all but slammed into Emma’s, tilting his head so he got to that one, perfect angle that allowed his tongue to swipe across her lips and draw that even more perfect sound out of her, and he was only dimly aware of Mary Margaret waking up. The couch creaked when she moved. 

Killian didn’t. 

His fingers carded through Emma’s hair, only breaking apart to appease his lungs and the requirements of his body before kissing her again, and his knees kind of ached. Presumably from supporting most of their collective weight when Emma was kind of draped across him. “Don’t go in the bedroom, ok?” Humming against her only guaranteed David made another noise of protest, but it was nice that they’d helped decorate and Killian could only imagine how they’d gotten all that ivy on the wall. 

“That’s, uh—” Emma leaned back, one of her eyes squeezed closed. “Where we put all the extra non-holiday stuff, and it’s kind of a disaster.”

“Tore up the apartment, like she had separation anxiety,” Mary Margaret slurred, and Killian refused to be held accountable for whatever his face did at that. 

David rolled his whole head. Emma shrugged. He liked that one the best. “So, uh—” “Yeah,” Killian finished, before he could stop himself and any qualms either one of them had once had about clingy relationships or relationship qualifiers appeared to disappear before their eyes. Like frost on the window. Which was seasonally appropriate. “I think we’d be really good at marriage.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Where’d you get the decorations from, though?” “You’re welcome,” Mary Margaret replied, sounding a bit more coherent and just as exhausted. That was fair. It was close to four in the morning. 

Emma nodded. “Definite separation anxiety. So we should probably not do this again, and then you can help decorate.” “Deal,” Killian promised, and they didn’t bother waiting for an appropriate time to call Liam. Or Ariel, who crowded into the video call because, as she claimed, it was her living room and her twenty bucks and her shriek probably affected the structural integrity of her house. 

The rum showed up two days later. 

And made for a very good toast, as soon Killian slipped the ring onto Emma’s finger. They picked it out together. 

[ickle-ronniekins]

forgiveness

request from @evadne-poventis: I was thinking my character Eva has known the Weasleys for years and she eventually got engaged to Fred, then the war happened, he passed and she moves in with George for support and they fall in love

pairing: fred x reader, george x reader

word count: 3.9k (YIKES)

warning(s): mentions of death, anxiety, mental illness, nightmares, implied sexual content so ~proceed with caution~ i s’pose

A/N: i am just.. so sorry

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @perksofbeingawf @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @how-do-life-does @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @snakesonaplane-7 | message me if you’d like to be added!

“We’ll get through this,” Fred said. He was standing across from you, outside of the Burrow, in the chilly, windy atmosphere, the sky turning a darker grey above you both. “We’ll get through this, and then we’ll get married and live happily ever after.”

You snorted at his silliness. Happily ever after. Who says things like that?

“Freddie,” you said, sniffling a little bit, trying your best to not think of the unknown.. the impending war just moments away, “What if—”

“No,” Fred silenced you by pressing his lips to yours, his hands cupping your face, your tears surely falling onto his fingers, “Don’t. Everything will be alright. You’re strong. We’ll be alright.”

You believed him. You believed him with every ounce of your entire being.

“Okay,” you replied. You peered at him with solemn eyes.

“Besides,” he started, losing the very serious tone to his voice, “if something happens, who’s going to dance with you at our wedding?” He began to dance very obnoxiously, making you laugh through your crying. You couldn’t help it. Fred was always making you laugh. He spun you around, lifted you off of the ground, and then placed you gently on your feet. But he was nervous, too. Very scared. You could see it in his eyes and in the way his voice was caught in his throat when he said, “When this is all over, you’ll be my mine forever—and the rest will be history.”

“Y/N?”

A soft voice wafted into your bedroom, taking you by surprise, and bringing you back to reality. It was George. His eyes looked red and tired. Like he’d been crying.

The apartment you shared was grey and colorless. It desperately needed to be dusted, but you both couldn’t bring yourselves to do so.

It had been six months since the war.

Fred hadn’t survived. One of many.

Your ‘happily ever after’, was it shattered? Were you to be considered a widow? You didn’t know—you weren’t technically married to him when he died. You adjusted yourself on the bench near your window and George came over to you and sat himself down next to you.

“You okay?”

“Just thinking.”

George nodded and offered a small smile. He didn’t need to say anything else. You both just knew. “Hungry?” He stood up and stuck out his hand and helped you gently to your feet.

You let out a soft hum and the two of you made your way into the kitchen.

After the war, after Fred had been killed, you asked George to move into the apartment that you and Fred had lived in together right after your engagement. When he saw how distraught you were, the emptiness and loneliness in your eyes, he immediately packed up his things and took to the empty room across from yours.

You’d fallen into a comfortable living arrangement. You’d spent your days at work, and George did his best to make his way back into the shop with Ron by his side. But it wasn’t the same. It was drastically different than how you imagined life after the war.

George found himself growing very comfortable beside you. It was nice to have someone else in the house—another body, another presence. It helped to not feel so desperately alone in what seemed like the worst few months of your entire life.

But you still desperately missed Fred. It seemed as though he came to visit nearly every night. You felt him beside you—when you slept, you could almost feel his arms around you, his smirk against your neck, hands tightening around your waist.

But each and every time you woke up, the space in the bed next to you was empty. You re-lived it every single day. You constantly grabbed at the sheets, desperate to feel his body. George re-lived it everyday, too..

You both missed Fred more than you could express with any amount of words or tears.

“C’mon then—we’re going to be late for class,”

“I don’t really care about class, to be honest with you,” he pulled on your hand and gently pressed you against the wall in the emptying corridor.

“McGonagall’s going to have your head.”

“Then let her,” Fred said breathlessly, brushing his thumb swiftly against your cheek, “I just need a bloody moment alone with you.”

He gently pressed his lips to yours, and you thought that maybe you could skip Transfiguration, just this one time— “It’s a shame we never get to be alone.”

“Mm,” he replied, barely breaking from you, “tell m’ about it,”

He moved down to your neck. Breathlessly, you told him, “Reckon you’ll just have to find a way to sneak into the girls dormitory tonight, then.”

He pulled back, eyeing you curiously. “You? Breaking the rules?” Such a tease.

“Oh shut up,” you replied, slapping him playfully. “You going to do it, or not?”

He laughed before kissing you again, “Love it when you talk sweetly to me, my love.”

One day George took you into the shop. It was only his second time back since his twin’s untimely demise.

“Does it look absolutely dreadful in here?” he asked you, laughing softly as he turned on the light.

“Not at all,” you replied and squeezed his hand. “Still just as bright and inviting as the day you opened.”

He offered you a small smile, grateful for your kind words. “D’you ever think I’ll be able to do it again? You know...run this place? Without him?”

His voice caught in his throat. It seemed as though tears were welling up in his eyes. “Yes,” you told him, confident as you’d ever been. “I do. And I think Fred would want you too, don’t you reckon?”

George laughed again, leaning against the counter. The shop, so very large and inviting, seemed so small now in its emptiness. “Can’t you hear him? Scolding me.”

“Yeah, I can,” you agreed. Was it okay to smile yet? Seemed as though George felt the same way, because he let himself grin from ear to ear, and immediately stopped when he felt a guilty pang in his heart. You felt a tug on your heartstrings. He looked so broken.

George was your best friend in the world. That’s how it had always been. He’d always been your closest confidant, the person you went to for everything. He was the first person you spilled your guts to when your feelings for Fred had changed, the first person you ran to when Fred told you he felt the same way. You didn’t tell anyone else about your engagement until you told George first—that’s how Fred wanted it. And now that Freddie was gone, it seemed to have only brought you and George closer. Was that a bad thing?

You both felt guilty about it, but, at least you had one another.

One night, you dreamt of Fred. It was one of many dreams you’d had since he died, but the most vivid. He was sitting across the Divination classroom from you, gazing at you as if he were in some sort of trance, sending winks across when Professor Trelawney wasn’t looking. Then it flashed to a scene outside in the corridors, when he’d kissed you on the cheek before heading in the opposite direction. Freddie, come back! Where was he going?

A crack of thunder woke you with a start. You felt your fingertips brushing your cheek, where Fred had just kissed you. For a moment you thought it was very real, only to stare down at the space next to you in bed.

It wasn’t the first moment of panic you’d had since the war.

You began to cry uncontrollably, gasping desperately for air, your face blotchy and red and swollen from the tears. The rain was coming down harder, now. George nearly scared the living daylights out of you when he opened your door, looking panicked as well.

“What’s wrong—are you alright?”

But you didn’t need to tell him. He knew you’d dreamt of Fred. “Lumos.” He placed his wand on your bedside table and pulled you into his arms as he sat down next to you, your head resting delicately against his chest as you continued to cry. Your body shook in his arms. His presence was comforting, though. He kept gently sweeping his hands through your hair, telling you softly every few moments that everything would be alright, squeezing his arms tighter around you. He wanted you to feel safe. That’s all he’d ever wanted. He wanted to take the pain away, and it broke his heart every single day that he couldn’t. He just wanted Fred to be here.

He pulled you to your feet and cupped your face in his hands before pulling you into him and pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead. As your crying slowed, your hands tightened around his waist. At least he was here. At least you hadn’t lost him too. You choked back a sob and he asked you delicately, “D’you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

You shook your head.

“D’you want a bit of tea?”

You shook your head again. And then, to his surprise, “Just...stay?”

He felt nerves like he’d never felt in his life, but he didn’t let on. He didn’t want you to see, because you didn’t know. Nobody did.

Nobody knew that George had been madly in love with you since before you and Fred had gotten together.

Not even Fred knew. And being the gentleman that he is, George never said a word to his twin, or to anyone, when you two began dating. And when you’d decided to move in together, he helped you unpack things in your new home with his brother. And when you and Fred ran to him to tell him you were engaged, he swallowed his pride and held you both in his arms, ready to celebrate.

And when Fred died, George promised himself he’d do everything in his power to keep his brother’s fiancé happy and safe.

So, if you wanted him to stay now, he shouldn’t feel guilty about that, right?

He swallowed over a lump in his throat when you peered up at him, eyes solemn and bloodshot and needy. Why were things so much easier to spill in the middle of the night? There was something about the darkness, about the stars twinkling in the sky, that made him feel so vulnerable.

He ran his hands from your neck, across your shoulder blades, down your arms and around your hips, squeezing tightly. Was this a mistake? You were closer to one another than you’d ever been.

You had this overwhelming urge to just.. inch forward.

He pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your lips and when you pulled away, you kept your eyes closed for a brief moment before opening them again. He waited with baited breath for your next move, the very quick rise and fall of his chest visible to you.

It was easy to become vulnerable in the middle of the night.

You grabbed the collar of his pyjamas, pulled him closer to you and kissed him sweetly. It started relatively slow, easy.. innocent. But it quickly turned hungry and dizzy and dangerous. He was on top of you, his lips on your neck and his hands underneath your shirt. He was desperate to feel your soft skin beneath his fingertips. The rain continued on, drowning out the rest of the world around you, but you could still hear soft moans escape his lips. It was comforting, in a strange way, to be in a world of your own..

Because while the rest of the world was rejoicing at the ending of the war, you and George were just doing your best to find something that felt normal. Okay. Real. So was it so terrible that in the midst of all of this, you’d found one another? Feeling his body pressed hard against you, in this way.. it felt strangely familiar. Like home.

Your eyes fluttered open to the light sound of the rain pattering on the rooftop a little while later. Inches from you, George’s eyes were opening too and he reached out to run his fingers through your hair. He leaned forward and kissed you gently.

You were both quiet, drifting in and out of sleep, lazily pulling your sheets across your bare bodies. You were busy running your fingers gently over his muscles when he awoke and smiled softly at you.

He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, and then you noticed it.

Your engagement ring. You hadn’t had the courage to take it off since..

You stopped short, and George noticed. Panicking, you backed away from him, tightening the covers around your chest and slamming your hand across your mouth to keep from screaming. Tears escaped your eyes with no effort.

He shot up immediately, pulling himself closer to you on the bed. “It’s—it’s alright—”

You bit back a sob, shaking your head violently, pulling your robe around you as quickly as you possibly could. George did the same. He stood up, feeling incredibly guilty, and walked around the bed and stood in front of you, looking as sad as he did on the day his twin was taken from him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head at him and finally found your voice—though, admittedly, rather shaky due to the tears. “No, no it’s—this—” you pointed back and forth at one another, “We—we can’t, George.”

“I know. We can just.. we can pretend like it never happened. I’ll just—I’ll go back to the Burrow.”

It felt as though your heart was breaking all over again. You couldn’t lose George, too. Panic was rising in your chest. “No, no! Please don’t go. We—we can work through this, okay? We’re just—sad. That’s all it was.”

You immediately regretted these words. George felt as though he was reliving every painful moment when he was reminded that you were not his. When after a Quidditch cup victory, Fred scooped you up into his arms and kissed you fiercely and George just had to pretend it didn’t hurt. When he’d painfully join you in the common room and you two snuggled close together on the couch. When you said to George, over and over and over again, how much you loved Fred when he’d finally asked you to marry him.

“Right,” he begrudgingly agreed, “we’re just.. sad.”

There was a heavy, painful silence between you both before George squeezed your hand and headed back to his room, alone, feeling more empty than he ever had been. He fell backwards onto his bed, and then pulled out family photographs from his bedside table. He cried nearly the entire night looking through them—guilt and sadness and pain taking him over. He was sure his twin would hate him now. He didn’t sleep. Your bed was cold without him. You didn’t sleep, either.

Things seemed to fall back to normal after that. Well—as normal as things could be, you supposed. The two of you did not discuss that night. It truly was like it never happened. But every so often, you found yourself bringing your fingers to your lips, remembering how it felt to be close to George in that way.

And George always remembered the feeling of your body pressed to his.

He was very apprehensive, but he stayed in the apartment. He didn’t move back home. He didn’t want to leave you. He needed to keep the promise he made—to make you feel safe and happy. So he stayed, and went back to pretending, went back to silently hurting. He went back to making his number one priority, you. Giving you a normal life, no matter what.

He watched you one evening, hovering over the soup on the stove, breathing in the steam—surely thinking about things, and he wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and kiss you sweetly in the sunlight flooding the kitchen. But he couldn’t, and he didn’t.

Another three months had passed. You hadn’t once spoken about that evening, but you thought about it every single day. So did George. He tried very hard to suppress his feelings, he’d been approached by many at the shop, but he’d turned down each and every single one of them. He just couldn’t let you go. And your growing feelings for him were scaring you. You couldn’t stop them, no matter what you did. Was it wrong? What would people think—what would his family think? You had many restless nights, arguing with yourself to stay in bed, to not go into George’s room and slide in next to him—and just a few feet away, in a bed meant for two, George was arguing with himself about the exact same things.

You felt guilty, yes, you but even more so, you felt so incredibly alone—because now it didn’t seem like just Fred was gone.

It felt like George was gone, too.

He was busy closing up the shop one evening when you approached him, careful not to scare him in the quiet. You tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around slowly, eyes tired and.. broken. “Hey,” he said, offering a small smile, “ready for dinner?”

“Not very hungry,” you admitted sheepishly, grinning a bit. “I—I just—”

George’s eyes grew with concern, and his heartbeat increased a considerable amount. Not a word, not a glance, nothing was exchanged about those moments since they happened—were you really about to bring them up?

“You and your brother are very different, you know.”

Surprised, he took this in. He smiled. “Yeah? Tell me.”

“Fred was.. boisterous,” you both grinned, thinking on this. “Not that you aren’t too, he just.. was a bit more outgoing. Loud. Exuberant. You’re.. more sensitive, and delicate,”

“That doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?” he asked teasingly.

“You know what I mean,” you continued, looking down at your feet. “Fred always wore his heart on his sleeve. Everybody always knew what he was thinking. He always made it rather obvious. But you—” you reached out slowly and placed a hand to his cheek, choking back tears that were rising to the surface, “you keep it all in, George. Nobody ever knows what you’re thinking.”

He blinked and waited.

“And it drives me bloody crazy, you know?”

You both laughed at this, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. “I’m.. so sorry about that night.”

“Y/N, don’t—”

“No, please,” you said, taking his hands in yours. “That night, I—I think I asked for a little more than I could bargain for. You just.. looked like home to me. Felt like it. You are home. But sometimes it still feels like yesterday that he died, and I felt so bloody guilty, and I didn’t want you to think that I was with you because—”

Because he was the closest thing to Fred you could have. Because he looked exactly like him. Because it was like having Fred back in your arms.

The guilt that overtook you was almost crushing.

“I hope I’m not overstepping.”

George cleared his throat and squeezed your hand. “You’re not. I appreciate your honesty.”

You nodded slowly and opted to continue, “You’re my best friend, George. You always have been, ever since we were little. But I want you to know that—I see you for you. I’ve always looked at you and Fred as different people. You’ve never just been ‘Fred and George’ to me. He’s always been his own person, and you’ve always been yours. Just because you look alike doesn’t mean you’re exactly the same. I’ve always loved how different you are. So please know, that night, it—I wanted it. To be with you, I mean. I wanted it.. not because of all the reasons one may think, I wanted it because I’d.. fallen in love with you.” George’s insides suddenly felt warm and gooey, and his nerves were going mad. Embarrassingly, you asked, “I’m—I.. I love you. Does this make any sense at all?”

“Yes,” he replied with a catch in his throat, “It does. In our own, strange way.”

He squeezed both of your hands and pulled you closer to him, when he noticed something.

Your finger. It was bare. He glanced down at it, and then at you.

You pulled out your engagement ring from Fred, twirled it slowly in your hands, both of you peering at it with tears in your eyes before placing it gently back into your pocket.

“I miss him.” George admitted. He furrowed his brows and a few tears escaped his eyes.

You sniffled a bit and bit your lip. “Me, too,” you replied breathlessly. And then, moving closer, “D’you think he’ll ever forgive us?” Guilt was still eating you alive, but why were you depriving yourself of some type of happiness, when it was standing right in front of you?

George thought on this for a moment, clearly feeling the guilt in waves, too. But he wanted you. He had for years, and he was so close to having you in his arms—but with what price to pay?

The loss of a brother, of a friend, of his own flesh and blood.

“I think,” George began quietly, blinking to push away any tears rising to the surface, “that he’d say there’s nothing for him to forgive.” And you knew it was true. Fred was just as selfless as George was. One of the few similarities between them both that you didn’t mind noting.

You looked up at him, finally feeling somewhat of a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

“Maybe this is his way of.. helping us. Bringing us together in a way we didn’t expect.”

You swallowed, “Do you still want to? Be with me, I mean.”

Laughing at his own overwhelming feelings, George resisted the urge to spill everything to you right then and there at that moment—how he’d been head over heels for you for years and never, ever once felt those feelings fluctuate. But he waited—he’d tell you one day. “Of course I do. Do you?”

“Yeah,” you told him, nodding your head in agreement, “I do.. I really do.”

He pulled you in, finally, for a searing kiss, the first time since that night all those months ago, and that feeling of familiarity and home flooded throughout his body. He gently brushed away the tears that fell from your eyes, and kissed you softly a few more times before pulling away completely. “I love you, you know.”

Forgiveness. A new beginning. It was a normal you never expected to have. Fred was still there. He always would be, in a different way. It was comforting in a way that nothing else ever would be, and you and George both knew that. He asked, watching you think, “Want to have a bit of tea?”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly, as if you’d just had a million pound weight lifted off of you. And then, softer now, as he intertwined his fingers with yours and let a small laugh escape his lips, you said, “Tea sounds lovely.”

Somewhere in the beyond, in a space filled with white, Fred Weasley was watching down on his brother and on the one who was supposed to be his.

But things changed, he supposed. He shrugged at the thought, and laughed.

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. “They’ve found happiness, haven’t they?”

He turned towards Sirius, who grinned at him.

Fred smiled softly. “There’s nothing more I wanted for them.” He felt an overwhelming, overbearing, astounding amount of happiness, warmth, and peace overtake him. There was nothing more he needed or wanted. Thinking on her and his brother, he replied, “Our story was meant to only last a short while.. theirs is meant to last a lifetime.”

reblogs & feedback are always appreciated 🥰

[thewindsofsong]

get to know me

tagged by @xcziel. Took me a few days, but I finally just sat down at my computer and got to it.

name: my internet name is thewindsofsong. I also go by windy. I don’t give my rl name to anyone i haven’t met irl because I am technically internet old and trust no one with personal information

pronouns: she/her

Break so this isn't super long and annoying to get past

star sign: aries but I don’t really know what that means because I don’t follow astrology at all

height: 5'4"

time: 9:42

birthday: 4/10, but sometimes i say 4/13 because thats two unlucky numbers in one birthday

nationality: american

fave bands/groups/solo artists: Hozier, Florence and the Machine, Mitsuki, Liu Chang are the ones that come to mind right now. There’s more, but those tent to be the artists I come back to a lot. Neutral Milk Hotel is old and gone and only listened to when the mood is right

song stuck in your head: Highland cathedral because of a tiktok atm. A bunch of people sang different notes and layered on top of each other to sound like bagpipes. It was pretty awesome.

last movie you watched:Rurouni Kenshin! The 2012 live action movie!! Currently one of the organizers for a weekly watch party that happens in the dmbj discord server. Its been a lot of fun watching movies with everyone there every week!!!

last show you binged: Does Moonfall Echo count? I technically binged it, but the whole series is also like a hour a most and I watched half of it on my lunch break today

when you created your blog: some time in early 2012 i think?

the last thing you googled:月陨回声 - would it surprise anyone to know that thats the original Chinese title for Moonfall Echo? No? No one? ok….

other blogs: twoscats. I sent all the cute animal things there and then watch them on worse days.

why i chose my url: I was young and knew that i liked music and that my favorite element was air. One day the winds of song came into my head and it has been my online handle ever since.

how many people are you following: 140 which is actually a lot for me. I should go through and do some pruning… I usually keep it down to around 100. I curate my tumblr experience a lot and I credit it to being the reason why its been as positive as it has been.

how many followers do you have: 675, but my blog is also suuuuuper old so the majority of them are probably inactive blogs that are just hanging around.

average hours of sleep:6-7. I’ve tried to sleep more than that but it just doens’t happen easily. I tent to wake up super early and have a hard time falling asleep again

lucky numbers: multiples of 3 and 13

instruments: marimba. Used to play it back in high school and just loved the sound of it. Also have a lot of great memories playing in both marching band and drumline.

what i'm currently wearing: halloween pjs. They’re very comfy and Halloween is great and deserves more than just one month ok?

dream job: housewife/artisanal soap maker. Let me do nothing but focus on keeping a clean house, cooking new foods, occasionally making and selling fantastic handmade soaps! I could binge all the dramas! Write all the fanfics!! DO ALL THE THINGS!!! But alas, I live in a capitalist hellscape and must work to contribute to bills. I think I’m doing close to the next best thing which is working from home atm tho.

dream trip: all expense paid trip across japan during a non busy season. My Japanese is bad and suuupeer informal because I absorbed it all from watching 15ish years of anime, but it's workable.

fave food: right now the first thing that comes to mind is a great breakfast sandwich.

top three fictional universe you'd like to live in: star trek times? Where capitalism has been abolished and things are pretty great? Ummmmm beyond that, maybe Natsume Yuujincho universe because interesting things can happen, but they aren’t world ending. Spirits exist and sometimes they form heartbreaking connections to mortals, but they're still so beautiful! Third might be idk, dmbj world so long as I never enter a tomb? Hearing about Wu Xie’s disastrous adventures could be fun

last song: That wasn’t the tiktok one? Probably Golden Sands sung by Liu Chang

last stream: I watched a bit of Liu Chang’s 4/28 stream that got uploaded to youtube. I do not have a problem, don’t judge me.

currently reading: Cats Paw by Merinnan & xantissa for like the 16th time. I don’t really read books and i’ve never really taken the time to examine why, but with fics like theirs, I never really saw a reason to try and go into reading random books that I don’t know or characters that I don’t already have a connection to.

currently watching: Moonfall Echo. I’ll probably be rewatching it a few times because I can. Its so weird. I don’t understand how they’re actually making this work with everything else? And apparently A Chinese Ghost Story is a part of this somehow?

what is antipoetry to you: Absolutely no idea. I had to analyse a bunch of poetry back in high school, but that was a long time ago. Is antipoetry just prose?

currently craving: takoyaki lowkey allllllllll the damn time. I actually have a takoyaki pan, but making takoyaki takes so much work. I usually just make pancake balls and drench them in syrup.

[ms-rampage]

Eden’s Gate: The Mother Chapter 5 - The 4 Steps

Warnings: Mandy being an actual mother towards John, Angst.

Word count: 2.5k

Where it all began. 

Summary: Mandy goes through the 4 steps of joining the Cult to claim the name, and role as The Mother. 

Guest OCs: 

Guest Characters: Archangel Raphael (Supernatural), God/Chuck [mentioned].

Note: This takes place in 2012.

**********************************************

The next morning Mandy wakes up, expecting to see Joseph laying next to her.

Waking up in an empty bed, she looks over at the clock on the nightstand, 6:57am. 

She groans, getting out of bed, going to the bathroom in her and Joseph’s shared house. 

Doing her business, washing her hands, she hears footsteps outside the bathroom coming from their room. 

“Joseph?” she calls out, waiting for a response. 

She opens the bathroom door, poking her out, looking around. No one there.

She looks around the small house.

Still no one there, Joseph must’ve left early for his sermon.

It’s weird because you figured he would have woken her up.

Since she’s a part of their family now, and she plays an important role in the Project.

Not thinking anything about it, she goes to the kitchen, and makes some coffee.

As she’s filling the kettle with water, a shuffling sound comes from the bedroom.

“Hello?!?” she calls out again, “Joseph?”. 

Putting the kettle down on the burner. Investigating the suspicious movements.

She goes over to her and Joseph’s room, the door magically closed. 

Knowing well she had left it open. She slowly opens the door, and finds it empty. 

No one there. She checks the closet, no one in there. 

She sees that the window had been open a bit, she goes to shut it, and locks it.

“I see he’s treating you well” a familiar voice says from behind her. 

Mandy nearly jumps out of her skin, and nearly throws a copy of The Book of Joseph at the Archangel, stopping herself. 

She lets out an annoyed huff, “Raph?!?! What are you doing here?!?”.

He looks around the room, “Joseph. I see he’s treating you well”.

Still annoyed that this Archangel just showed up unexpectedly like the majority of angels, and demons do.

“Yeah? So what?” she asks, annoyance in her voice. 

“I just came by to see how you’re doing” he says.

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking” she says, sarcastically. 

She leaves the room, and goes back to the kitchen. 

“I can see why God chose you to gain Joseph’s trust” he says, “You have that fiery, intense attitude that every man wants in a woman”. 

Mandy scoffs, “Is that really why Chuck chose me?!?”.

“He has many reasons. That one is a very very minor one” he replies, taking a seat. 

“So why are you really here?!?” she asks, while pouring coffee into her mug.

“Mainly to check up on you. Chuck wanted to make sure you weren’t screwing up”.

She rolls her eyes, “You’re angels. Can’t you just hear my thoughts all the way up in cloud city?!”.

“Yeah. but physically seeing you is always better for us” he says, shrugging his left shoulder.

Confused, but she goes with it.

“Umm, okay?. Do you know where Joseph went?” she asks, before drinking her coffee.

“He’s at his brother's church. He wanted to bring you along, but he wanted you to sleep in” he answers.

“You spoke with him?!?” she asks, her eyes slightly widened. 

He shakes his head, “No, Chuck doesn’t want us to communicate in any way with him or his siblings. Only I can communicate with you. Unless I have one of my brothers do it for me”.

“What happens if Joseph sees you?!” she asks, hesitantly. Eyebrows raised.

“I wipe his memory of me, and whoever else sees me”.

She tilts her head at the Archangel, “Really? Not killing them?!?”.

He shakes his head, “No I can’t kill them. I can’t kill you either, well I can actually but God said I’m not allowed to, and neither can the other angels”.

Mandy finishes off her coffee, “Well I think-” she gets interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. 

“Mother Amanda?!” a female voice asks.

Mandy turns to the door, and immediately back to Raphael who is now gone.

“Great” she whispers in annoyance at the celestial being.

She opens the door, and is greeted by a female cultist.

“Yes?” she responds. 

“Father Joseph wanted me to bring you this” she says, handing her a white dress.

“Thank you” she responds with a smile.

“He also wanted me to tell you about your baptism this afternoon” she says.

“Oh okay” she says,

“It’s gonna be at the Lamb of God Sacristy” she tells her, “Joseph wanted to cleanse you himself”.

Mandy nods, “Okay that’s fine with me. I look forward to it”.

The cultist leaves, Mandy shuts the door behind her.

Taking a look at the dress.

It’s a beautiful white full length dress with long lace sleeves.

Almost similar to the one she wore when she got married to Joel, 20 years earlier. 

Giving her flashbacks to when she was actually happy, and her husband was still alive.

******************************

A few hours later, Mandy gets dressed for her baptism.

Putting on her white dress, barefooted.

A black SUV enters the compound. Pulling up in front of the church.

She leaves the house, and goes into the vehicle.

Sitting in the back along with a few other female cultists.

Driving down the road towards the Lamb of God church in Holland Valley.

Looking out the window of the vehicle, watching her life go down this somewhat dark path.

Arriving at the church, being helped out by a few cultists so her dress won’t expose her privates because it was very windy that day.

She was told to wear the dress without a bra, and panties on.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable because of the cool breeze, and the water was very choppy.

Joseph waits for her by the water. Wearing an all white suit, similar to the suit he would often wear. 

He wanted to cleanse her himself, God wanted him to do this. 

Walking towards the water, he reaches out for her hands.

She takes his hands, he guides her into the water. Ankle deep so far.

He places a kiss on her forehead, everyone minus Jacob is there.

John who is helping Joseph with the ceremony, Faith who made several Bliss flower bouquets, and crowns for the ceremony. Also supply the bliss for the water.

Jacob would’ve probably slaughtered some animal for the ceremony meal afterwards. 

“Are you ready my love?” Joseph asks, his forehead against hers.

“Yes” she responds.

He guides her further into the water. Waist deep now. 

Joseph places one more kiss on her forehead, as John reads from the Book of Joseph.

“Let the water purify your soul. Let it cleanse you, and free you of sin. Let God’s guidance free you of sin, and you will become pure again”.

Joseph places one hand on her waist, and the other on her upper back.

Holding her underwater for a few seconds. 

Her vision blurry, the bliss infused water filling her lungs.

The sun shining down on her as she’s underwater. 

He pulls her back up, she gasps for air. He moves her hair away from her face. 

“How do you feel?” Joseph asks, moving her hair back.

Her vision disoriented, everything looks like it's in 3D, blue and red colors.

“I-I feel great” she says, panting.

He kisses her again but this time on her lips. 

****************************

4 days later, Mandy goes through the next step on being The Mother of Eden’s Gate, her Confession. It shouldn’t be hard right?!.

She has to confess her sins to John, but Joseph isn’t going to be there to witness it.

You figured he would since she’s technically his “wife”. 

John had some of his men get Mandy, and take her to his gate.

They couldn’t take her by force because she’s in favor of being The Mother, and Joseph wouldn’t like his Children manhandling her at all.

They arrive at John’s gate for her confession. 

When she enters the building John is right there waiting for her.

He smirks at her, “Good, you’re here”.

“Yeah I’m here. So now what?” she says.

“It’s time for your confession” he says, walking her down a hallway. 

They enter a room that resembles a torture chamber.

“So what?, you gonna torture me or what?!” she asks, looking back at him.

He chuckles at her comment, “I’m just gonna use this” he shows her, holding up a tattoo needle, “and I’m gonna put your sin onto your skin. Then you’ll be free”.

“I thought this was a confession?!” she asks, suspiciously. 

He hums “Amazing Grace” as he sets up his equipment, “Oh it is, and it's also your atonement”.

She stands 5 feet behind him, arms crossed, looking like a disappointed mother. 

Although she’s not intentionally doing this at him, it's a permanent look for her. 

Once he sets up everything, he turns to face her. Tilting his head like a confused child.

“Why so disappointed?!” he asks, sounding like a child who upsetted his mother.

She shrugs, “I’m not, it's just my face. It’s normal for me to look disappointed, when you become a parent you’ll understand”. 

He chuckles, “I don’t think that’ll be happening anytime soon”. 

He grabs the needle off the table, and says “I don’t really see myself being a parent”.

She nods, “Yeah I didn’t see myself getting married, or having kids either. It changes you”.

John looks away, looking down at the tools on the table. He’s trying not to let her words get to him.

But they do anyway, he clears his throat and says, “You- you’re different. A lot different from my mother”.

Mandy, just from looking at the back of his head, she can see the sadness in his posture. 

“I’m guessing she wasn’t the best?!” she asks, slowly walking up to him.

“Trauma, abuse. That’s all I’m gonna say’ he says, as he slightly pushes Mandy onto a chair.

“You’re the way you are because of them” she says to him. Holding back tears, he takes a deep breath.

“So Amanda?” he slowly approaches her, “Are you going to say yes?”.

“For consent?” she asks.

“What sins do you have to confess?!” he tells her.

She looks down at the floor for a moment, her mind wanders off into space. 

“What sins do you confess? What bad things have you done that you wish to relieve yourself from?” he asks, leaning against a table.

She looks around as she reminisces all the bad stuff she’s done.

“I um- I confess” she looks around once again, her mind going foggy.

Tears began to form in her eyes, “Several months ago when I lost custody of my daughters, we were living in Des Moine, Iowa, and they were at a high school in the city. My youngest daughter, one of her teachers, saw a bunch of bruises, scars and cuts on her arms and hands. The teacher reported it to Child Protective Services, and the police showed up at our home. They took them, I’m not allowed to see them until they turn 18. My youngest told me the name of the teacher that reported it”.

She stops talking, tears streaming down her face, she looks down at the floor.

“Yes?” John says, wanting her to continue her confession.

“I went to the school that same night, and I-” she starts to cry even more. 

“Yes? What else happened?” he asks, his voice calm. Placing his hand on her shoulder.

She looks up at him, and says “I killed her, I bashed her head in with a textbook. I buried her body, and the book in the woods a few miles away from the school. I was so angry, I had my husband taken from me, and then my girls”.

She looks down at her hands, tears falling into them. 

“Wrath” John says softly, “Your sin is Wrath, it eats at you, it controls what you feel, it eats away at you. Any other sins you want to confess?”.

He asks, moving her hair away from her face behind her ear. Keeping his hand on her back of her head, rubbing circular motions in her hair. 

“Pride, because I take pride, too much pride in what I do. I think I’m helping people but all I do is make things worse. I did kill that woman, that teacher because of my own Greed, my own selfishness. I didn’t even stop to think if she had a family or anything. I let my own emotions, feelings take control. I ruined her family because she ruined mine”.

He moves his hand from her head to her shoulder. 

“Wrath, Pride, Greed” he says as he starts up the tattoo needle, “Wrath would look nice right here” he points to her chest.

He leans her back, and tattoos Wrath on her chest.

W, then R, A, T and finally H.

It’s not the worst pain she’s ever experienced. It stings, but childbirth is a lot more painful in the moment than getting a tattoo. Of your sin, that will live on your skin forever unless you cover them up.

“Only two more sins, then you’ll be free” he tells her, “Greed will look nice on your left arm”.

He rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, and tattoos her second sin on her left arm.

G, R, E,E then D.

“Just one more sin” he says, wiping her arm.

“Okay” she says, voice trembling.

P, R, I, D and lastly E.

The most sorta painful moment of her life, time seemed to slow down during this whole moment.

“You’re all finished my dear” he says.

Mandy looks down at her arms, Greed and Pride on her arms.

“So is that it?” she asks, wiping away her tears.

“That’s it. You’re all done, most don’t survive, and I gotta say, if most sinners acted more like you. Well behaved, calm and just accept the Power of Yes, they wouldn’t have to endure all the pain, and suffering they get when they resist, or refuse. It’ll make everything a lot easier”.

Mandy looks over at him, and says, “Well I’m The Mother, and I can’t resist”.

She stands up from her seat, and approaches him. Placing her hand on his forearm. Giving him a mother’s loving touch. 

“I know deep down you’re a good kid John, maybe if you didn’t go through what you went through as a child your life would be so much different now. But then you would’ve never met me, and I know you wouldn’t know your purpose in this life. But, all you need is a caring parent that’ll never do you harm. My life wasn’t easy growing up, my parents were away from me and my sister. A lot, working”. 

She stops, and leaves the room. Leaving John to sink in, and process her motherly words.

[blackcoffeeandblankpagess]

NOLA marathon recap!

-now that it’s over I know it all worked out but in retrospect new orleans was a horrible place to pick to run a marathon lol the race itself was great but it’s definitely a party city and especially because jared’s parents are here with us (and not running) it kinda felt like we were missing out on the full experience (for instance last night we were at a jazz club but had to leave early and didn’t get drinks, etc. but we still have 24 hours of fun!)

-I was STRESSIN about what to eat yesterday/this morning because I really did not practice that while training because I just wanted to live my life and not worry about eating a certain way for a long run every weekend (plus on a normal run its no biggie to stop to use the bathroom) so I was feeling very ahhhhh!!!! yesterday, again, also because jared’s parents were here and don’t understand my running related insanity like jared does lol

-so yesterday I ate: bagel w/ cc and strawberries, pineapple

-oyster/shrimp po boy (I mean we are in new orleans) with fries

-a glass of white wine, shared fancy brussel sprouts with the table, cacio e pepe pasta (which was basically like less creamy mac and cheese and I was worried might be a bad decision but oh well) and a couple bites of a dessert we all shared (only recording this for future marathon reference)

-generally I don’t eat before morning runs but when I have all the time in the world (aka over winter break) I like to eat breakfast, poop, and then run and that was always when I had my best runs, I felt conflicted over whether or not to get up early to eat before the race because even though technically I have eaten breakfast before runs I have never intentionally woken up early with the explicit goal of eating before a long run PLUS when I ate (5am) here it was 3am my (CA) time and I was v worried about not being able to poop and then having to run feeling bloated and bleh

-but I decided to eat oatmeal and I DID poop (aren’t you all glad to know?) and that was well and good

-I had been wavering between my race plan because half of me was like “find the 4 hour pacer and just run a little bit faster at the end and you will break four” since my nyc time was 4:12 and my main goal was to break 4 but THEN my ego jumped in (that’s always good!) and was like nah nah nah nah nah but I want to go FASTER. Honestly I had NO idea what pace I could maintain for 26.2. I have been running most of my runs VERY slowly (for me) at like 10-12min pace but then I also have runs where I’ve run 6-7-8 pace (although short distance) and felt good so I was like uh uh uh because I didn’t want to finish feeling like I had more in me but I DEFINITELY didn’t want to burn out SO I decided I would find the 3:50 pacer and run the first half with them and then reassess (also, I generally run a race pace about 30 seconds faster than my usual pace comfortably because adrenaline so even though I thought the 3:50 aka 8:46 pace might be a little bit pushing it I was like welp I can always pull back if it feels like too much in the beginning)

-anyway! got to the start, found the 3:50 pacer, decided I would glue myself to her hip forever.

-THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY: I don’t know how many of you have heard but last week in oklahoma a driver hit a group of runners from a highschool xc team while they were on a run and killed 2 of them and injured 4 others, I read that headline the other day and was like holy shit. THEN! In the starting corral I was next to this guy and he asked me if I had heard about that and I was like actually yes and HE IS A RUNNER ON THAT XC TEAM AND HE SAID HE WAS THERE TODAY TO RUN IN MEMORY OF HIS TEAMMATES WHO WERE KILLED and I was like holy shit you are incredible and that’s amazing and also I’m so sorry that that reason for being here exists in the first place but like WHAT! small world

-anyway! the pacer’s name was kim and she was from new orleans and we talked a bunch and kinda formed a little 3:50 squad and all got to know eachother and it was GREAT I 100% plan to run with a pacer in the future it was a game changer and I honestly believe I owe my race to it. It forced me to hold back in the beginning and hang on at the end and took all of the thinking and calculations out of it because I knew if I just hung onto her I would get there in time

-the first half of the race was nice and in the downtown area but the second half was ROUGH. It was along the lake and it was WINDY AS SHIT! And there were a bunch of bridges and even though the rest of the course was flat they were...tough. Around 18 I was like ok starting to enter the pain cave and then at 20 I was like ahhhhhh

-But I had mentally prepared myself for the mental battle of the race *see alexi pappas quote on hand* and I told myself to just stop thinking and keep moving forward, before the race even started I knew my biggest challenge in this race would be my brain, not my fitness level

-But then at 21 I started to think about dropping off the pace group because another 5 miles at that pace just seemed so. hard. But I hung on

-And then at 22 I was like ok no I need to walk for a sec my stomach did NOT feel good, so I stopped to walk on a WINDY FKING BRIDGE and then I started dry heaving into the wind but had basically nothing in my stomach I guess and I was like well this is bad but I feel validated in my need to walk for a sec!

-Miles 22-24 were just fucking hard. I had a super bad cramp and was in the pain cave and honestly walked a fair bit and the whole time I was like bitch we are not having an nyc repeat!

-I knew that I had run the first 22 miles fast enough that if I just kept. moving. I would finish under 4. Even though my sub 3:50 ship had sailed I was like YOU HAVE COME TOO FAR TO LET THIS GET AWAY FROM YOU.

-I SHUFFLED mile 25 but I was like if you can just run, even your slowest possible pace, you will make it.

-And then there was a HUGE BRIDGE HILL that I had forgotten about just past 25 and I was like holy shitTtTtTt

-But then I had .7 to go and I KNEW I was going to make it

-And the whole time I was just like “Danielle just keep fucking moving. Just get there under 4 hours. You can take 500 years off of running after this. You can get a fancy drink with dinner tonight. Just keep fucking moving.”

-And I did just that

-As I approached the finish I looked at the seconds on my watch because I honestly felt like I had NOTHING left to give so I was like ok how close am I to the next minute and I was at like 3.52:20 or something and I was like oh we HAVE this

And then it was over! And I am so happy with the result! And I found jared and his parents and it was the best I could have asked for and honestly, I respect the marathon so much more. I feel like after nyc because my pacing screwed me over I was like pft I can run a WAY faster marathon if I’m just smart! I just didn’t run that one intelligently! (which like yes true BUT) but today I was like fuck no marathons are just HARD. That’s the tea!

So! 3:52. 20 minute PR. Honestly not the best training cycle. Can’t wait to see what I’m capable of when I really give it my all.