#in my defense the more I know about mythology the more I throw rocks at Ricks writing

[percabeth4life]

Me every 3 months: I no longer like my plot for HOO! Time to redo it!

[cherrycola27]

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Chapter Moodboard courtesy of @thedroneranger

...........................................

Chapter 13: Electric Touch

Thursdays at the Hard Deck were normally pretty quiet. A few regulars besides the Dagger Squad, maybe a few girls out with their friends or the occasional group of office coworkers out for a pre-Friday happy hour.

However, this Thursday was very loud. Not because of the crowds, but because of Penny Benjamin, soon to be Mitchell.

The Daggers had taken a seat at the bar, and Penny was talking to them when her phone rang. She stepped to the back to take it. Moments later, everyone heard the unmistakable sound of her yelling.

Glances were shared amongst the group as they all wondered what could be wrong. All eyes shot towards Maverick, who was innocently sitting at the end of the bar.

"I didn't do anything—this time. I swear!" He held his hands up in mock defense as Penny came back out.

"You aren't going to believe it!" She huffed to no one in particular. "My band for tomorrow just canceled on me. Something about another bar offered them more money. What am I going to do? We always get a huge crowd when we have live music!" Penny grabbed the towel off her shoulder and threw it on the bar before taking her head in her hands and sighing.

Everyone was silent for a moment, trying to come up with a way to console Penny. No one was sure what to say. Bradley looked at you and raised an eyebrow. You knew what he was thinking. You knew what everyone was thinking, but no one was going to say anything to throw you under the bus. Well, almost no one.

"You know Hades is in a band. She's the lead singer." Jake pipes up after a few beats.

You shoot him a death glare as Penny comes to stand before you.

"You're in a band?" She leans on her elbows.

"Technically, I'm just filling in until they find a new lead singer." You tell her. "So you're in a band, and you didn't tell me?" Penny scoffs.

"The Styx isn't really the kind of band you normally have here, Pen. You can ask they squad. They unknowingly saw us a few months ago for Fanboy's birthday. We are more punk rock—alternative—that kind of stuff." You tell her, hoping she'll drop it.

"Listen, I'm in a pinch. Can you call the rest of your band mates and see if you can turn the emo down for a night and help me out. I mean, surely you guys know some pop or rock or something." Penny practically begs you.

She wasn't wrong, The Styx knew a wide range of songs.

"Fine." You sighed. "I'll call them." You grabbed your phone and stepped outside. Half an hour later, everyone had agreed, and The Styx would be playing at the Hard Deck on Friday.

................

You were silent as Bradley drove to the Hard Deck early Friday afternoon. You were going to a quick sound check before the Hard Deck opened and then you and Bradley were grabbing a quick dinner before The Styx went on.

In regards to Penny's wishes, you and the rest of the band had chosen and rehearsed some more upbeat pieces, some throwback rock, and a few surprises.

You'd also traded in your usual concert attire for a black sundress with cap sleeves that tied in the front. You could take the girl out of the punk, but you couldn't take the punk out of the girl.

Sound check and dinner went fine, but when Bradley brought you back and opened your door, you refused to get out.

"I can't do this." You said to him as he stood there with the door open.

"What do you mean, Angel?" Bradley asked you.

"I can't—I can't sing in front of these people." You told him, still not moving.

"Angel, darling, I've seen you get up there and sing your heart out dozens of time now. You've never once had any reservations. Why now?" Bradley inquires.

"Because—because I didn't know those people, and they didn't know me. At other bars, I'm just a performer, but the people here know me, they work with me, they've seen me around—I can't—I can't hide." You admit to him. You'd never been one to have stage fright, but the idea of not having the security of playing a bar and then never going there again weighed on your shoulders.

At other gigs, people didn't know your name, and you'd never see them again, but the Hard Deck was different.

This audience would be filled with people who knew you. What if you messed up? Made a fool of yourself? Everyone would know.

"Baby." Bradley spoke softly. "Everything is going to be fine. You're going to be amazing. Plus, if anyone says anything to you, I will personally take care of it myself. Now, you need to get in there and knock 'em dead." Bradley smiles at you before unbuckling your seat belt and helping you out of the car.

You nod and jump out, ready to head in. But before you do, Bradley grabs your hand.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah." Bradley, stops you and tugs you back to him. You curl against his torso. As he looks down at you. "I know you aren't about to get up there and sing without me giving you a good luck kiss. C'mon Kolasi, are you crazy?" Bradley chuckles. You lean up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips.

"Much better." He grins. "Now go be a rockstar." You turn away from him and run to catch up with everyone.

You take your place with the band and exchange greetings and good luck. Lyla let's you know that everything is ready for what you have planned.

After Penny introduces you, you all take the stage. The Daggers are all front row, with Bradley in the center, looking up at you like you hung the moon.

You start out your set with some eighties rock. Bon Jovi always puts everyone in a good mood. During the set, you move through some boy band hits, pop princesses, and a dash of country, but as it comes to a close, you have two songs left, and you're nervous for them.

After wrapping up the last bars of a Halsey song, Derrick puts down his bass guitar and grabs his saxophone from the case.

You turn to the crowd and speak into the microphone. "Well, we've got two songs left in our set, and we thought we'd change it up just a bit." You speak.

Everyone cheers and settles in. You find Bradley, still watching, still captivated by you. You take a deep breath. These last two songs would be the most special of the night. Not because you loved them, but because you were singing them to Bradley. They were for him.

You nodded to Derrick, and he and the rest of the band began to play.

You opened your mouth, and the words flowed from your red lips.

"We were crazy to think. Crazy to think that this could work. Remember how I said I'd die for you?"

Bradley's ears perked up. He recognized this song. He'd heard it faintly over the roar of the shower on more than one occasion. His breath hitched. You continued to sing, and Bradley couldn't ignore how undeniably sexy you looked and sounded right now.

He could feel the heat rising in his face and all of his blood rushing south as you began the chorus of the song.

"We might just get away with it. The altar is my hips. Even if it's a false god."

Your hips were an alter, and Bradley would gladly spend the rest of his life on his knees worshiping you.

His pants were definitely feeling tighter now as your body swayed with the beat. You looked right at him. Your eyes locked into his as you sang.

As you finished the song, Bradley really thought he was going to have to excuse himself to the bathroom, but if he got up, everyone would see how rock hard he was underneath his jeans. So, he stayed seated and took a long sip of his beer, trying to collect himself as there was some movement on the stage.

He looked around the bar and tried to think of anything except for you and what you might be wearing under your dress and what it would look like when he took it off of you tonight.

When he looks back at the stage, he's shocked.

You're standing up at the microphone with a red and black acoustic guitar in your hands. Bradley didn't even know you played. Is it possible that seeing you with it has made him fall even more in love with you?

You clear your throat as you grip the neck of the guitar and squeeze your pick in your hand.

"So we have one more song for you tonight, and I'd like to dedicate it to someone special. Bradley, this one's for you, Love." You say as you begin to strum the first notes of the song.

Bradley's breath catches jn his throat. He isn't sure where to look right now. He can't decide if he should focus on the way your fingers expertly glide over the strings of the guitar or how perfect your crimson pout is while you sing.

"All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life."

Bradley thinks about how he would never break your heart and how you've told him he is the one who made you believe in love—in soulmates.

The more you sing, the more he sees your inhibitions slipping. He sees you relax and enjoy what you're doing, truly for the first time that night.

"And I want you now, wanna need you forever. In the heat of your electric touch."

God, you looked so beautiful up there. You found his eyes and smiled right at him. There was so much love for him on your face. You loved him, and you wanted everyone to know.

You stepped away from the microphone and started playing in earnest, strumming every note without hesitation or fear, jumping to the beat without a care in the world.

The bridge of the song came up. You let go of your guitar and let it hang from your shoulder as you grabbed the microphone with both hands to sing it.

"I was thinking just one time. Maybe the stars align. And maybe I call you mine—"

You locked eyes with him, and it was like you two were the only ones in the room

"Maybe the moment's right—"

You threw your head back as you crescendoed on a note at the climax of the song.

You finished strong with the absolute biggest smile on your face. Everyone inside the bar gave you and The Styx a standing ovation, and when you looked at Bradley, he was beaming at you with pride. You couldn't help it, but a few tears came to your eyes. But it was true, Bradley really did bring you back to life.

He was the light in your darkness.

He gave you a reason to live.

He saved you.

After putting everything away, Bradley found you sitting on the back deck of the Hard Deck, watching the waves roll in.

"You were amazing." He tells you, coming to sit beside you. "Why did you tell me you could play guitar?" He asks you. "It never came up." You joke with him as he pulls your stool closer to him.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you as you both stare at the ocean, enjoying each other's company.

"Bradley." You breathe out, breaking the quiet. He hums back in response. "Take me home." You say as you stand up between his parted thighs.

"Of course, baby. I can take us home, we can change into some comfy clothes and watch some more of that documentary. Bradley replies, missing the point.

"Bradley—" you sigh as you meet his confused expression. "Take me home, and take me to bed." You clarify for him. Your palm coming to rest on his bicep

His honey colored eyes turn almost black in an instant as he pulls you in for a kiss.

"Fuck—Angel. Are you sure?" He asks you as he pulls back.

"Positive." You confirm. That's all Bradley needed to hear. He quickly stands up and grabs your hand. The two of you weave through the crowd of people, not bothering to stop and say goodbye. Bradley doesn't let go of you or speak a word until he has physically put you in the Bronco and buckled you up himself.

"I love you." He says as he climbs in the car and starts it. He laces your fingers together, and the two of you drive into the night.

.................

You thought you would be nervous on the drive home, but you're not.

Then, you thought that the nerves would hit you as you rode in the elevator to your floor or when Bradley unlocked the door and pulled you in behind him.

But they didn't.

And they didn't come when Bradley pinned you against the inside of the door to kiss you. They didn't come when you kicked off your shoes and wrapped your legs around his torso. They didn't come as he carried you down the hallway while you pushed his tropical print shirt off his shoulders or pulled his undershirt over his head.

The nerves didn't come because you didn't have anything to be nervous about. You loved Bradley and he loved you.

He gently sat you down , your feet landing on the plush rug in your shared bedroom.

Bradley unbuckled his belt and quickly discarded it and his jeans, leaving him in just his tight, black boxers.

You cupped him through the fabric, and he kissed you— hard. He moaned against your mouth as you ran your hand over his covered length. You slipped your tongue between his parted lips and deepened the kiss.

The need for air became too great, and the two of you broke apart. Bradley pressed his forehead against yours as the two of you panted, sharing the same air.

His hands skimmed up your side before finding the knot that held the front of your dress closed. He slowly pulled at the fabric, tugging it lose, before spinning you around and dragging the zipper down the back of your dress. Bradley pressed featherlight kisses along the column of your spin as each new inch of skin was exposed to him.

Once the zipper was open, he rose back to his feet and gathered all of your hair away from the right side of your neck. He pushed it away as you lulled your head to the side to give him better access. His lips dances across the space, leaving a scorching trail in their wake as he pushed the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders.

It pooled in the floor at your feet. You stepped out of it and turned to face him.

You weren't wearing a bra, so Bradley had a beautiful view of your peaked nipples that were just begging for his lips to be wrapped around them or rolled between his callous fingertips.

His eyes trailed futher south to the lacy, onyx colored panties—if you could even consider calling them panties, that you were wearing.

The small scrap of black fabric left little to the imagination. The lace ran across the front of you before merging with silk ribbons that were tied and resting on your hips.

Bradley skimmed his hands across your tattoos before tugging each ribbon loose with one finger. The cloth easily fell away from you and joined your dress and his pants in the floor.

You stood there before him, bare and beautiful. It was a glorious sight. Down right heavenly.

You took a step closer to him and skimmed the waistband of his boxers with your fingers. "Well, Bradley, fair is fair. You've seen mine, now let me see yours." You teased him. Bradley smirked at you before pushing the fabric down his thick thighs and kicking them off. You sucked in a breath. Time felt like it stopped. Both of you were there, naked and unafraid, ready to take the next step in your relationship.

"Are you sure?" Bradley whispered.

"I've never been more sure of anything else in my life." You promised him.

Bradley cupped your face in his hands before placing a tender kiss on your lips, slotting his mouth over yours, trying to pour every last ounce of adoration he had for you into it.

He broke away from you, just briefly, to sweep you up into his arms. He carried you bridal style the short distance to the bed.

Bradley gently placed you in the center of the sheets, making sure your head was propped up on the pillows. Your hair fanned out around you like a halo. How fitting, he thought.

Bradley climbed over you. His large body covering yours. He kissed you once more before dropping his lips to your jaw. He followed the line of it to the place where it met your ear.

You shuttered as he kissed there before trailing them down the column of your throat. Bradley continued his journey further south, pausing to nip and suck the tender swells of the tops of your breasts before his tongue laved the valley between them.

He took your right nippled between his lips, sucking the dusty rose colored bud into the warmth of his mouth before rolling the sensitive bud between his teeth. His left hand cupped your other one, kneading and rolling the flesh, causing you to moan for him. He pulled off of you with an audible pop before turning his attention to the other.

Each flick of his tongue against your pebbled nipple sent another rush of wetness to your core. You were so worked up, your slick running down your thighs as you rubbed them together in search of some friction to provide the tiniest bit of relief.

But Bradley wasn't having any of it.

He grabbed your hips and stilled your movements as he dragged his hot, wet tongue across your stomach and over your navel before placing a kiss right above where you wanted him most.

You parted your thighs for him, silently inviting him to take whatever he wanted from you. He nudged them even further apart before lowering his face to be level with your core.

"You're so wet for me, Angel." Bradley praised you. He was so close you could feel his hot breath fan across your center. You clenched around nothing, as you waited for him to touch you.

"Bradley—please." You whimpered, yearning for him to please you.

He chuckled before leaning forward and placing a delicate kiss on your clit. Your back arched as you nearly jumped off the bed. Bradley's large hands found your hips and pinned your down.

"Easy there, Angel. Just relax. I'll take care of you." Bradley assured you as he stroked the inner flesh of your thigh. You took a deep breath and settled yourself again.

Bradley pressed another kiss to your clit before tracing your slit with his tongue, gathering your wetness before drawing the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth. A breathy moan left your lips as he lapped at your core, over and over again, drawing more sounds of pleasure from you.

Your fingers flexed against the sheets, desperately seeking something to ground yourself. With a particular harsh lick of his tongue, you jolted forward and clamped your legs around Bradley's head.

He eased your thigh open, keeping them nice and wide for his broad shoulders. Your hand found purchase in his hair. You tugged on his golden curls, the blunt tips of your fingernails digging into his scalp.

He growled at the sensation before sinking two fingers into you. He curled his left hand, stroking your walls with expert fashion. He found that spongy spot inside your velvet heat with ease, and he zeroed in on it, quickly sending you towards a release.

You cried out his name in a string of melodious whines and moans, that went straight to Bradley's cock as he rutted himself against the mattress.

He knew he needed to collect himself because the beautiful sounds you were making, coupled with your devine taste, was almost enough to make him cum.

Bradley kept a steady rhythm between his fingers and his tongue, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. It was overwhelming. You tried to pull away, but Bradley slipped his free hand under you and grabbed your ass, pulling you as close has he possibly could to him, before draping his arm over your hip bones and pinning you in place.

You threw your head back into the pillows and screamed before tugging your lower lip into your mouth in an attempt to control yourself.

Bradley continued to lap at your core as you ground against his face, but as he did, he noticed something was missing. You were quiet, too quiet

Bradley looked up at you. Your lower lip was rolled between your teeth in an attempt to silence the sounds that are music to his ears.

"Angel—" He breathes out as he crawls up the bed and hovers over you. You meet his eyes as Bradley draws his thumb over your lip and frees it.

"Don't get shy on me now. I want to hear everything. I want you to sing for me again. Can you do that? Can you sing for me, pretty girl?" Bradley asks you.

You nod your head rapidly. You could do that for him. You would do anything Bradley asked of you because you wanted to be good for him.

He was so, so good to you, and you wanted to be his best girl.

So, when his lips met your eager core once more, you let out a symphony of moans, just for Bradley, his own private concert.

"Bradley, Bradley, Bradley!" You chanted his name as you tossed a leg over his shoulder and dug your heel into his back.

"Oh fuck, fuck, o gam, o gam! Olokliróno!" You shouted, slipping back into your native Greek tongue as pleasure washed over you as you came.

Your chest heaved as Bradley eased you through your high.

He climbed up next to you on the bed, grinning.

You smiled at him shyly. "I'm sorry." You laughed. "For what?" He asked you. "For switching to Greek. It's my first language, I couldn't help it." You say.

"Don't apologize. Do you know how incredibly sexy it was to hear you shout 'oh, fuck, I'm cumming,' in your native language?" Bradley smirks at you.

You look at him shocked. "How did you know what I said?" You asked him.

"I started learning the language after you told me you were Greek." Bradley tells you. Your eyes go wide. You told him that over ten months ago, before you were dating. He'd cared about you that long.

Your heart swells as you kiss him.

"If you keep it up, who knows what else you might hear me say." You tease him as you kiss him again, tasting yourself on his lips.

Bradley chuckles and easily slides his body over yours, supporting his weight on his forearms.

You can feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance. He moves one hand down and collects some of your wetness before spreading it over himself.

His eyes meet yours, one final, silent ask for permission, reassurance that this is something you want. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him as he pushes into you, slowly.

It's a stretch. You knew it would be to take all seven and a half inches of him. But it's a good stretch. It seems like it takes an eternity before Bradley finally bottoms out, and his hips are flush with yours.

You let go of the breath you are holding and wrap your legs around him, holding him still as you adjust to his size.

Bradley is dying to move. He's willing himself to hold back, even though he wants nothing more than to rut into your tight, wet heat. He knows that it's been a while for you. He also knows how important this is for you—for both of you, and he'll be damned if he lets his primal urges fuck this up.

You wriggle your hips, adjusting on the bed. Your walls flutter around him, and Bradley can't control the stutter in his hips as he curses.

"M'sorry." He mumbles, trying to calm himself.

"It's fine, Love, you can move." You tell him. Bradley nods. He pulls back about halfway before seating himself in you again.

A groan escapes his lips as he repeats the action over and over again, pulling out more each time until he's only leaving his thick mushroom tip inside of you.

Your arms wrap around his torso as you desperately claw at his tanned skin. His thrusts are deep, deliberate. You know Bradley is searching for your gspot so he can zero in on it and have you cumming around his cock.

He leans back on his haunches and tilts your hips upwards before rutting into you again. You let out I high-pitched moan and a string of Greek, and he knows he's found it.

"Is that it? Is that the spot right there? It has to be because it had my pretty girl making those heavenly moans for me. C'mon, Baby, get loud for me." Bradley encourages you as he ruts into you harder, deeper, faster.

The head of his cock kisses your cervix before dragging along the textured roof of your walls over and over again. A symphony falls from your lips as Bradley flexes against you.

His hands grip the meat of your hips, hard enough to leave brusies, marking you like a badge of honor. Maybe you should get his fingerprints tattooed on you so you'd always have them.

"Is that way you want? Does my beautiful girl want everyone to know who she belongs to?" Bradley goads you. You didn't realize you were thinking out loud when you'd said that last part, but it was true. You wanted everyone to know that you were Bradley's, and he was yours.

"Yesyesyes!" You babbled out as you nodded your head.

Bradley's eyes darkened. He loved the idea of everyone seeing the evidence of your lovemaking. He wanted everyone to know that he was the one who got to love you, to pleasure you—to worship you. That he was the only one worthy of that honor.

Maybe—just maybe—one day, if he is lucky, he'll get you pregnant, and then their would be no denying who's girl you were. God, the idea of you round and swollen and carrying his child only added to Bradley's pleasure.

"Fuck, Angel! You feel so fucking good. Gripping me so fucking tight. I could stay buried in you for eternity. You gave me a taste, and now I'm never going to get enough." Bradley cried out as you clenched around him.

The two of you moved in a syncopated rhythm, pushing a pulling in perfect harmony. Bradley praised you as you begged him for more.

In the back of you mind, you thought that he would have wanted to fuck you into the mattress until you couldn't walk tomorrow, but he surprised you once again.

Bradley wasn't having sex with you. He was making love to you. He was showing you over and over that he cared for you with the amount of effort he was putting in.

He listened to every gasp, every hitch in your breath, in order to make this a pleasurable experience for you. He cared about what you wanted.

You lifted your hips off the bed to meet his thrusts, urging both of you to the edge. As much as you wanted to stay wrapped up in Bradley, you wanted—nay—needed for him to cum inside you. To claim you as his own. To make you his just as much as he was yours.

Bradley could tell you were close. Each time he pulled back, your pussy gripped him, as if trying to keep him in place.

Sounds of your love making bounced off the walls of your bedroom. Wrapping you and Bradley in them.

Because this wasn't just sex between the two of you, it was something more. An ethereal connection the two of you had.

Bradley had never been so in love in his life. Truly, when he thought about it, Bradley didn't think he had even been in love with anyone until he met you.

You changed the very definition of love for Bradley.

You are the most beautiful, amazing, talented person he has ever known, and he doesn't want to live one day of his life without you.

He continued to rock against you, his thighs starting the burn, and his balls tight and, aching for release, but he wouldn't allow himself to let go until he felt you coming undone around him. He needed to make you feel good. It's the only thing on his mind.

Bradley's leaned forward, bracing on his forearms, invading your space, and sharing your air.

His head dropped to the crook of your neck as he peppered kisses there before using one of his hands to trace tight circles over your clit.

You tighten around him the timing of his thrusts, and the feeling of his fingers on your neglected bundle of nerves has your head spinning, but it's too much.

You wriggle under him, trying to get away from the sensation, but you can't.

"Bradley, it's too much." You tell him, and he understands. He pulls his hand back from your core.

Instead, he grabs your left hand and laces it with his, pinning both of them over your head. You close your eyes and cry out. "Love, I'm so close! Agápi, eímai tóso kontá!" As you thrash your head from side to side.

"I know, me too, Angel. Open your eyes. Look at me. I want you to look at me when you cum." Bradley grunts out, his voice strained with pleasure.

It takes every ounce of willpower you have, but you force your eyes open and stare into his. You squeeze his left hand with your own as your orgasm washed over you.

Euphoria floods your body as you cum for Bradley, chanting his name like a sacred prayer.

Bradley cums with you, babbling your name as he spills into you, your walls clamping around him, milking him for everything he has.

He collapses on top of you, and you welcome his weight as you card your fingers through his hair. You tremble against him as he whispers praises into your skin.

You don't know how much time passed, nor do you remember dozing off. But you're startled awake when you feel a warm damp cloth between your legs.

"B—Bradley?" You stutter out, your voice still raspy with sleep as you sit up.

"Shh, Angel, go back to sleep. I just wanted to clean you up." He tells you. You give him a sleepy smile as he finishes caring for you. Bradley tosses the cloth into the hamper, and you make grabby hands for him as he walks back over to the bed. He takes you in his arms, and you curl up to him as close as you possibly can.

"I love you." You tell him as you trace lazy shapes along his torso. "I love you too, Angel." He tells you as he cards his fingers through your hair. And in that moment, Bradley decides that this is exactly what he wants for the rest of his life.

He also knows that he has to practice his Greek one more time before the morning.

............

The next morning, you wake up alone. He worried at first, but when you hear the sounds of Bradley in the kitchen, you settle.

You take your time getting up and taking a shower. You're deliciously sore from the night before, and you couldn't be happier.

Post shower, you slip on one of Bradley's UVA tees and a pair of leggings. You pull your hair into a messy bun, and make your way into the kitchen.

Hydra and Cerberus are both at Bradley's feet, no doubt waiting for him to "accidentally" drop some bacon for them. You smile at the sight.

You can't recall a time when you have been this happy.

Breakfast is slow and easy. Bradley holds your hand through the entire thing. But when you get up to put the dishes away, he stops you.

You looked at him confused. But he gives you a reassuring smile before speaking.

"Hades—Angel, before I met you, I thought I knew what love was. And I never thought it was in the cards for me. But that all changed when I met you. You showed me what it meant to love and be loved. You showed me what it means to be so in love with someone it hurts.

I have loved you since the first day I met you. Angel, S'agapó, I love you. I love you more and more each day. I the way you laugh, and the way you smile, and they way you care for others.

You are the most amazing person I have ever met. And I don't want a day of my life to go by where you aren't in it, and I may not be able to stand at an alter and do it, but it doesn't mean that I can't ask you.

So, Ángele, tha me pantrefteís? Angel, will you marry me?" Bradley finishes his speech and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. He opens it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. You reach forward and gingerly touch it and instantly see that it belonged to his mother.

"Bradley— I—we—" you stutter as tears cloud your eyes.

"We can't— not really. And didn't we say marriage was just a piece of paper?" You shake your head.

"I was so wrong to say that." Bradley tells you.

"My dad died when I was a kid. And my mom never remarried. When I was old enough to understand, I asked her why, and she said that when you married someone, you promised to give someone your heart forever. She told me she had already given her heart to my dad, and she couldn't give it to anyone else again." Bradley tells you.

"I didn't really know what she meant then, but I do now. I want to give you my heart forever—however long, that is." Bradley smiles at you. Your eyes flick between him and the ring in his hand.

You knew that your marriage would never be real in the eyes of the other Gods, but you didn't care. They never cared about you anyway.

And you no longer cared about completing your quest. As long as you had Bradley, you had no desire to be immortal. He gave you purpose. For the first time in your life, he gave you a reason to live.

And maybe it didn't make sense, but it didn't matter. He was right. Marriage was a promise to give someone your heart, and even without a ring, you'd already given Bradley yours.

So, before you can think too hard about it, you look Bradley in the eyes and answer him.

"Yes."

Special shout out to @thedroneranger for the amazing moodboad!

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[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog - 2012 annual

iirc the annual takes place between 7 and 8, or something. whatever, im gonna go for it

shifts in art style always throw me off phewwww

i cant remember what theyre doing but i find it really funny that first aid is there squaring the fuck up to punch shit

ah yes of course how could i forget the time they shrunk down to fight tiny robots in ultra magnus’s head. a comic classic 

poor magnus lmao

HBJSDKFBSHJFDHJSD HIS TERRIFYING SMILE HAUNTS MY NIGHTMARES. LOVE IT

love the continuation of magnus’s law-vision

the fact that everyone is dunking on magnus for smiling ONCE hvbhjdksbfjks

rewind and chromedome ough

i feel like cyclonus spends 90% of his early mtmte screentime staring broodingly out of windows lmao 

tg so precious

lmaooo i love the flashes of rodimus saying ‘til all are one’ All The Time

rodimus just wants to be like his dad ok

rodimus telling drift to go meditate or something vbhjfdbhdsjkf

i love rodimus calling magnus out on referring to himself in the third person lmaoooo but also I'm like Oh I See That [eyes emoji]

wish i had emojis on the computer sigh

lmao so the circle of light is a bunch of pacifists With Big Ass Swords

them betting on how long it'll take rodimus to say ‘til all are one’ vbkjsdhbfjhkhsdf

damn so ambulon rlly did switch sides late in the game 

cyclonus is here!! being an emotionally closed-off fool as usual 

nooo rodimus let tailgate speak

cant believe rodimus graffiti’d tailgate

drift, immediately: rodimus is FUCKING POSSSESSED 

ratchet: ok, no, 

godddd everything abt the galactic counsel here is so funny. ‘its big - its grey - its taxpayer funded’ hvbkjshdbfjkdf and the fact that their ship is called ‘the benign intervention’ lmaooo

also DAMN that is a BIG ASS SHIP 

‘a fleshling in a stupid hat’ i love rodimus and his irrational hatred of hats

magnus comin in CLUTCH with the dry-ass clauses shit 

rewind vhjbdskfbaksdfn ‘the sub-section 7 defense - sneaky’ ily

tailgate hvbhjadkfbjskdf its ok that you don't know what's going on

also tailgate serves a vital role in the story as the audience insert character (or w/e its called), bc he’s often confused which allows for handy exposition that we the audience also need lmao 

i find it so interesting to see how the cybertronians are viewed by the rest of the galaxy - we don't see a lot of aliens but its always fascinating when we do, because of COURSE they’re mostly gonna think of the cybertronians as destructive and war-like when that’s what they’ve been up to for 4 million years 

ooof swerve :( swerve is one of those characters who you’re like ‘haha he’s funny’ most of the time but pretty often he’ll have startling moments of like, deep pain about life or w/e, and you’re like Oh Shit and then you kinda move on, until finally the swearth arc hits and it all comes together. what I'm saying is that this is some nice building towards that 

HGDSBJFKJSJBDF THERE IT IS THERE IT ISSSSSSSSSS

THE PANEL WHERE REWIND IN ALT MODE CAN FLY FOR SOME REASONNNNNN

i fucking love that shot so much. does everyone see this. rewind is a GIANT FUCKIN FLASHDRIVE and he’s hovering ominously thru the air. like, what happened to all the biz from issue 1 or w/e where his husband was roasting him for having a non-mobile altmode? if he can fucking HOVER than Actually rewind is the fucking coolest, no contest 

or like, is the implication that they all teleported there (having switched to alt mode along the way i guess?) and rewind is just like, suspended in midair? bc that's what the speed bubble text implies, but it also totally looks like they're just travelling across the area and rewind can levitate

anyways. that panel has always cracked me up lmaoooo

rodimus calling the council ‘fascists’ hvbhduifbjsdjfajskf sir i love you 

GODDD and there's the joke payoff from a few issues ago - rewind, facing front, hearing drift transform behind him and not only being able to tell its drift without looking, but also being able to tell that drift is upset, JUST like chromedome said he could....fucking PEAK i love that type of payoff humor

ooof and more swerve introspection. i mentioned earlier but i fucking LOVE how this series showcases the extremely wide range of reactions/coping mechanisms that everyone has towards the endless war finally being over - and swerve really nails it here: confusing peace with happiness, and assuming that everything would automatically be better after the war is over, when in reality you still have to work just as hard to build shit rather than break it

also i adore the horror of a guy who is half-embedded in the wall, his face stuck in a rictus of terror & death, waxing philosophical about how peace is about the freedom of choice, and how they should all just feel lucky to have survived...oof, that's very specifically ironic coming from you, dude 

but i do love the little characterization we get here for ore, a character who is literally already dead and has so far been used as a plot device pretty exclusively, but we still get to know little things about him here, and how HE feels about the war and the current peace, etcetc. it really makes the story and characters seem believable, like every character has a story even if we don't take the time to see it 

love cyclonus posing coolly 

kinda love how clear it is that drifts whole hippy schtick is just a front to cover his anger, and a tool to make him seem like an approachable, upstanding autobot

drift dramatically monologuing while pointing his sword at the sky is extra funny with everyone else just staring at him doing this

cyclonus why are you grabbing at the edge of the hole you're falling into, you can LITERALLY FLY, 

magnus finally getting some appreciation for being The most law abiding guy like, ever 

genuinely forgot abt the whole metrotitan plot that happens here 

GOD when rodimus is like BRAIN QUEST TIME and then we smash cut to them at the brain ‘six minutes later’ vhbhkudfjbjksf i live for that shit 

also that would be even funnier animated which further proves that we need an mtmte/ll animated series, please, somebody, 

HBDSJKFSHDJF REWIND IS SO FUCKING FUNNYYYYYY you cant even tell if he GENUINELY didn't think cyclonus could talk or if hes just being a dick but either way? comedy gold 

oh i adore the flashbacks being in a different artstyle, especially one that's so retro 

i love rewind being a history geek, and cyclonus passionately explaining cybertronian creation theory

HHHH i fucking LOVE the myth/lore stuff like....a lot of franchises tend not to dwell in this type of mythology, you tend to get The True Version Of Events, but this kind of explanation rocks bc it totally sounds like the kind of religious mythology that naturally develops based on a species’ progression

and drift and ratchet’s very opposing and polarizing views certainty do make for interesting perspectives, tho i feel like the story sometimes leans too much towards ratchet being ‘more correct’ bc, logic! or something idk i feel like i used to have a couple mild opinions on this but i don't remember

and its funny bc i am, irl, an atheistic medical professional who believes in science above all else - essentially just like ratchet. but i feel like the narrative portrayal skews a little more in his favor than i’d like, despite that 

skids just out here being a bummer, completely unprompted. cant even blame you tho dude 

hhhhhh chromedome talking abt rewind ;_; 

and when he says ‘maybe there’s someone out there who can save your life, too’ and cyclonus is there....hhhh

god i fucking LOVE drift and rodimus’s entire relationship. the layers...the LAYERS!!!

OH HEY ITS THOSE ROBOTS SKIDS FOUGHT 

ah, inconvenient laser time!

ok i fuckgin love how cybertronian’s brains look just like the planet cybertron. that's so fucking great 

of COURSE brainstorm brought his shrink ray 

truly i love the convo between ore and swerve, especially overlaid onto everyone fighting 

oof, the themes and plot threads of this annual are all so nicely tied up (which is something i love abt mtmte, especially early on when the story is smaller), with swerve now choosing to disobey an order from rodimus

oh yeah, the circle of light! that's who you've been looking for this whole time basically! 

and then the ending, hearing that magnus smiled (willingly!) :) i love it

rodimus’s profile says ‘finds it difficult to sit still’ bc rodimus is an adhd icon

lmao i feel like over half of my sentences in this recap - and in most of my recaps - contain ‘i love it’ or ‘i love how-’ or some variation upon that theme. I'm predictable 

anyways - the annual! i love this issue. its really long which is cool and i feel like it does a lot to flesh out the setting and lore, and even the characters as well. also, as i said above, it does an excellent job telling an exciting and well-contained story, with solid story beats throughout and plot threads that emerge and get resolved all within this issue, even while leaving plenty of stuff up for future resolution. that's the Early MTMTE Special, and i adore it. tho i will say I'm glad we’ll be getting back to the regularly scheduled art style, bc this one didn't really do it for me 

[jbbuckybarnes]

Distant Connection - 5/11

Pairing: Bucky x Harmonia (OC) Warnings: a lot of domestic fluff Summary: After an unknown group of goons took her mom’s life and tried to get her for the dark magic powers she possesses, this untaught witch is saved by the Avengers and brought to the compound where her new life unfolds.

MASTERLIST || Distant Connection Masterlist

She was drawing in her book in the silence of the early morning hours when only Steve and Sam were up because of their military habits. The brush was just dipped into the blue to fill out the eyes of James standing in the elevator with her hands cupping his face when somebody knocked on her door. “Who?” She just asked concentrated on the brush in front of her. James would just come in and Steve wasn’t really someone to interrupt others, especially her. “Wanda. Can I come in?” A female voice answered. “Sure,” she said while covering her current painting with a loose paper and looking towards the little mini hallway leading to her door. The redhead showed herself shortly after with a little smile on her face to show that she wasn’t there to annoy her. “Do you wanna train with me maybe? Or relax together? Whatever you want,” she said with a soft voice. After looking at her covered notebook for a second an back at her, Harmony answered “Sure. Let’s do a little bit of both.” A short smile was interchanged before she stood up and both of them left for the training room.

“What things can you do?” Wanda asked curious after both of them got ready in the room. “Self defense, psychological changes, a little bit of materializing, I think that’s all,” she said scratching her neck. “Did you ever train offense?” She asked further. “With what? I don’t wanna hurt living beings and I don’t have a lot of ideas what else to use,” she said a little bit confused by the question. “I’m also not training it enough and I think nobody can truly control that kind of power but I train a lot with rocks or big fruits like melons...maybe that could help you too?” She suggested to Harmony. “Do you think I could control it well enough?” Her shy and insecure voice came back. “Of course. And even if there is something going wrong I’m there and able to stop it. This is why I wanted to train with you. We can control each other.” Wanda said smiling and took Harmony’s hands. “Uuuh, well I guess we are destroying some stones?” She asked with an unsure smile back and got dragged out a few dozen yards away from the compound into an area that was very upkept and had a rock circle. It was on the backside of the building and that’s why she never noticed it. “They get replaced frequently if I destroy them. Go ahead. Try it out. I’m here to stop you whenever it’s needed.” Wanda encouraged her. Harmony placed herself in the middle of the rock circle and moved her hands like she learned from the books and articles she researched all the weeks she sat in the library. Red energy lit up between her hands and while Wanda built a protection shield around the small field to make her feel more save. Her eyes became ultra-focused and she aimed at the stone in front of her and moved all her energy against it. With a red energy ball the 3ft x 7ft x 3ft stone just pulverized. There was a moment of complete silence and a impressed face towards her hands before she started trying out more. Pulverizing three in a row, making one fly, making another fly and throw it, make a domino effect with three others and kicking one away with her red magic. The later breaking the safety shield Wanda had created and slamming into a storage room door of the compound. The power flew out of her instantly with a wide eyed “Fuck!” coming out of her mouth. Wanda’s and Harmony’s eyes met and there was a little giggle starting between them which was only stopped by Tony in his suit landing in front of them. “Ladies? Can you explain?” He asked after the mask opened. “Overestimated my power. Looks like you need more areas for us where we can’t destroy your property.” Harmony answered still chuckling at what just happened which threw Tony off. “I guess you’re right,” he said with a resigning face. A billionaire couldn’t be mad at a door being destroyed. “And ordering more melons and human-like things would be nice. If you ever want her to help in missions.” Wanda started talking. “I’ll make sure to install a protection shield over the whole building, create a wall here and buy the ladies some more melons to smash against it. Anything else?” He asked a little more suave now. “No, that’s it.” They smiled at him like two children and he flew back to the main building again after an eye roll. “We should maybe move on to the relax part now.” Harmony still said chuckling and looking over at the destroyed door.

They sat down on the biggest rock that was still standing and started talking about magic. “Why can you do magic? Where does it come from?” Wanda asked after explaining the experiments that were tried on her. “I don’t know. I think I got it from the family of my father and my mother knew and never told me to protect me from possible enemies. But me not knowing is the reason why I couldn’t defend us when they came. I knew there was something different about me when I learned spells for witchcraft that I got into...but I didn’t know how deep this went until it was too late and you came and rescued me out of there,” she answered with her speculation. “So it’s genetical and others might be having it too. Do you know if it could originate from something like experiments or if it’s based on mythology?” She thought out loud. “I think it’s more of a mythology thing. Pretty sure I will find out at some point. They will probably continue to look for me. For whatever reason.” Harmony speculated further. “Maybe you’re some important part of their power construct? You’ve learned about your power only a few weeks ago and you’re already so great at so many things from just reading? It’s incredible, there must be something special about you when it comes to dark magic.” Wanda answered with a smile. “Well, let’s just hope they won’t kidnap me cause I’m not good with torture and I don’t know if I can fight against other magic people that are grouped up.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’d come find you alone if I need to and I wouldn’t come to play,” she said chuckling lightly with a bright smile. “Thank you...you know, for helping me figure this out and understanding.” Harmony said more serious. “Of course! If you ever need a ear or help just come to me.” Wanda put a hand on her shoulder with an empathic smile and got a nod back before they stood up and went back inside. Steve was just walking down the hallway from his room to the common area when he saw the two witches and started smiling. “I heard you’ve been acting up?” He chuckled when they were a little closer. “It wasn’t my fault the compound was so close to where I wanted that rock to go,” she said holding her hands up with a smile. “Small energy ball,” he said laughing while messing up her hair like she did with his the last time they spoke. “Still want me to look into your brain big boy?” She asked with her face looking up at him. “Now?” He got a nod back “Sure.” “Come!” She dragged him towards the training room like a little child at a funfair which earned her a little eye roll and a soft smile.

“So I just sit here and do nothing?” He asked with one brow up and a bit of nervousness. “Yes, and not being afraid would help.” She giggled before letting blue magic shine bright from her right hand while having her other hand on his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw her hand, he’d never seen her do magic before and this was more cold turkey than he had imagined in his head. “Relax,” she said softly before putting her fingers onto his forehead and seeing his eyes turn black. She went through a lot of beautiful and bittersweet memories and giggled at some of the 30s and 40s memories. “Didn’t know James looked so adorable as a teenager.” She giggled looking at a memory of them running through the streets of Brooklyn. There were some gruesome things but nothing could ever top what she saw with James and she was determined to learn self healing in the upcoming months. She put the bad memories into the back again and the good ones in the main focus before taking her hand away again and seeing a happy and hazy-minded Steve sitting in front of her. “Wow.” He blinked a few times and shook his head before looking at her again. “If this is what you did to James I’m sure he is doing much better than before. That was amazing, Harmony!” He smiled, stood up and enveloped her into a hug. “Thank you. I’m still learning self healing and can’t really experience it for myself right now. One day,” she mumbled into his chest. “And also...yes he looked pretty adorable compared to how he looks now.” She could feel the smile in her hair. She gave him a slight slap on the back “He still looks adorable.” She spoke out the facts. “You sure you’re not in love?” He smiled down at her after parting the hug again. She shrugged with a innocent smile back as they started leaving the room again. The first thing she saw was long brown hair from the back when they left the room and her first instinct was to yell “James!” and come running towards him while he turned around. She ran right into him with a dull sound and an “I’m so tireeed!” He chuckled after balancing himself out, “Why are you tired little witch?” “I practiced magic. A lot. I actually destroyed a door with a rock. Ask Tony!” She said muffled by his shoulder. He laughed out loud at the picture of that in his head, “Well, I actually wanted to make myself some coffee but if you wanna go back to sleep.” Steve and James looked at each other with a little smile before James threw Harmony over his shoulder and walked towards her room.

“You’re still adorable. Just a little bit more...hot.” She tried to explain to him and earned a smirk before being attacked with a kiss. His left brow went up, “Wh-” The explanation hit him “Oooh! Yeah, I guess I looked pretty, uuuh, soft when I was younger.” He gave her a heartwarming smile. “You’re still adorable. Just a little bit more...hot.” She tried to explain to him and earned a smirk before being attacked with a kiss.

[advocaado]

Day 11: Mythology

@thirtydaysofzutara

I’m not really sure you can call this mythology but it is a fun little story that I had a blast writing.

Find the whole collection on fanfiction.net User: Advocaat

Of all the odd places Team Avatar had visited during the course of their journey to the Northern Water Tribe, the strangest by far was without a doubt the village of Ei Hazu.

Ei Hazu was a village of only a hundred or so people and it was so tiny and out of the way that it lacked even a market. However, this didn’t stop it from being a very bizarre place. At the center of the village was a house more ornate than any of the others and Katara, Aang, and Sokka could only watch, bemused, as men, women, and children lined up at its door, each holding a plate that contained a single, unpeeled lychee.

“Um, what exactly is going on?” Sokka vocalized the question on all their minds.

An old man standing nearby took it upon himself to answer. “You lot clearly ain’t from around here if you don’t know about the daily offering to the great spirit Aa Ron.”

Aang scratched his head and raised an eyebrow at the man. “Um, the great spirit who?”

“Aa Ron,” the man repeated, giving Aang a critical once-over. “There’s an old legend ‘round these parts what says if you offer a lychee to the great spirit he may choose to impart a piece of his great wisdom on t’you. Aa Ron knows all, y’see. He even predicted this war.”

“Wait, so he can see the future?” Katara asked, interested.

“That’s right, little lady.” He turned away from them and pointed to a girl close to Katara’s age standing in the line. “That young lady over there’s going to ask the spirit about the man she’ll one day marry. All the young men and women in the village get matched by Aa Ron. He knows which couplings lead to the greatest happiness.”

Immediately, both Katara and Aang perked up excitedly. Katara was always eager to hear her love fortune. Turning to Aang, she said, “Well, nothing ventured, right?”

Aang nodded. “That’s right. And besides, it’s my duty as the Avatar to meet this Aa Ron if he’s a spirit.”

Not wasting any time, the excited duo set off to get ahold of some lychees. Behind them, Sokka rolled his eyes and followed. “Here we go again.”

oOo

Katara rocked from her heels to her toes and back impatiently as she waited for her turn to present her offering to the spirit. She still remembered Aunt Wu’s fortune. Supposedly the man she would marry would be a powerful bender. She wondered if this Aa Ron’s fortune would be the same. He was a spirit, so whatever he said had to be the truth, right?

Finally, the person who’d gone in before Katara reemerged from the house and Katara was ushered inside. Trying to rein in her excitement, Katara held her plate in a firm grip and walked through the open door.

“Welcome, child,” an elderly woman in brown robes bade as she entered. Katara looked around the room, trying to find the spirit, but all she saw besides the obviously human woman was a large hole in the floor of the house. The hole was perfectly round and so deep that Katara couldn’t see to the bottom. The old woman drew her attention again by saying, “What would you like to ask the great spirit?”

A little confused, Katara looked from the hole to the woman. She wore a friendly expression and though her face was weathered Katara could tell that she had once been quite beautiful. “Um,” she started, feeling suddenly unsure, “I guess I’d like to know about the man I’ll marry in the future. If the great spirit doesn’t mind telling me.”

The old woman smiled broadly, showing a row of somewhat off-white teeth. “Of course, my dear. Offer up your gift and I shall reveal the words of his excellency, Aa Ron.”

Seeing Katara’s continued confusion, the woman nodded to the hole in the floor. Katara’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Right. Okay.” Heeding the crone’s gesture, she walked to the edge of the hole and upended her plate, allowing the lychee to fall into the dark abyss.

A moment passed in which Katara watched the piece of fruit disappear from sight, then the old woman closed her eyes and appeared to listen for a handful of seconds. Katara waited, and finally the woman’s eyes opened and she said, “The spirit has spoken.”

Katara’s face split into a giddy grin and she leaned toward the woman expectantly. “What did he say?”

The crone smiled at her enthusiasm. “The one destined for you is close. He is an honest, compassionate, and hardworking young man, and Aa Ron sees a lifetime of love and happiness in your future together. You’re very lucky. It isn’t often that the great Aa Ron sees a union so auspicious.”

Katara squealed in delight. She clasped her hands together by her chin and did a little dance. Her excitement ripe to burst right out of her, she asked, “How do I find him?”

The crone didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by her energetic enthusiasm. “He is much closer than you think.” She reached forward and took one of Katara’s arms, grasping her wrist in bony fingers. “The next man to touch you will be him.”

Katara’s grin faded and was replaced by a look of confusion. “The next man to touch me?” she repeated. That couldn’t be right. The only two boys liable to touch her anytime soon were her brother and…

At once, her eyes widened. Aang. Aunt Wu’s fortune telling had also pointed to Aang. Could it be that the two of them actually were destined to be together?

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. She did care greatly for Aang, but love? She’d need some time to think about it.

Despite her uneasiness about Aa Ron’s prediction, she plastered a polite smile on her face and thanked the woman for her time. She made to go on her way but she was stopped when the old woman laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “Beware, child. There are forces in this world—powerful ones—who will attempt to lead you to a different destiny. You must trust the guidance of Aa Ron.”

Katara blinked in confusion at the old woman’s strange shift in demeanor. Hesitantly she nodded. “Um, sure.”

The woman released her and Katara was allowed to go on her way.

When she stepped out of the hut, Aang was waiting. He was the next in line after her. “How’d it go?” he asked eagerly. “Did you learn anything good?”

Katara nodded slowly. “Yeah. Um, I think so?”

Aang’s grin widened. “Great!” He released the plate with one hand to give her a wave. “Well then, I guess it’s my turn. Wish me luck!” With that, he disappeared through the door.

Katara watched the doorway for a moment before shaking her head and turning around. She should find Sokka before he got himself into trouble.

She’d barely made it twenty feet from the house when a cry of alarm rippled through the line of people. Becoming instantly alert, Katara placed her hand over her the cork of her water skin and looked around for the source of the disturbance.

She found it—or rather, him—quickly enough. She wasn’t even surprised when she saw the dark ponytail and angry scowl of a far too familiar figure riding a Komodo Rhino through the center of the village as if he owned the place. Flanking him were two more rhinos carrying two Fire Nation soldiers each.

“Zuko!” she cried at the sight of him. It just figured that he’d track them here. He always showed up right when they thought they could relax for a minute.

Zuko caught sight of her and his scowl deepened. “Just as I thought,” he announced, looking her right in the eye. “I knew the Avatar would travel through here.” As Katara watched, he hopped down from his rhino and strode toward her, his expression fierce. “Why don’t you tell me where he is, little girl?”

Katara scowled right back and uncorked her water skin with a deft flick of her thumb. “Why don’t you make me?” she challenged.

Zuko was, apparently, perfectly happy to take her up on that challenge because he clenched his fists at his sides and twin daggers of fire appeared from them. Without taking his eyes off her, he addressed his men. “Split up and find the other water brat. The Avatar won’t be far.”

Katara’s eyebrows pushed together in anger. “Don’t you touch him!” Before the soldiers could move, she pulled a long stream of water from her flask and formed it into a whip which she lashed at the komodo rhinos one by one, causing them to rise up onto their hind legs in fright and throw off their riders.

“Why you—peasant!” Zuko called to her, breaking into a run straight at her.

Katara hurriedly pulled her water back and, with a spin, sent it flying at Zuko. Zuko dodged expertly out of the way and shot a blast of fire at her whip, causing a large amount of it to evaporate into steam. Katara cursed at the loss of precious water and turned her head this way and that, hoping to find a well or other source of water she could pull from. All she saw were the white faces of the villagers watching their fight with fearful eyes.

Zuko took advantage of her lapse in concentration and dodged past her defenses to grab her wrist in a vice grip. “Tell me where the Avatar is!” he demanded again. His face was near enough that she could make out the individual flecks of gold in his eyes.

Katara was about to tell him to take a hike when another voice rose over the scene. “Right here!”

Before either of them could react, a strong gust of wind blew over her head, striking Zuko and forcing him to release her. Not a moment later, a yellow-garbed figure landed beside her, retracting the wings of his glider and leveling it like a staff at the downed firebender.

“Avatar!” Zuko snarled at him, hastily regaining his footing and dropping into a bending stance. Unfortunately for him, he never got an opportunity to attack because right as he pivoted into the beginnings of a punch he was knocked off his feet once again by the enormous and fluffy figure of Appa who dropped down from the sky nearly on top of him. Sokka motioned to Aang and Katara from his saddle. “Get on! If we leave, they’ll follow us!”

Not wasting any time, Aang grabbed Katara by her wrist and used his airbending to propel the both of them up onto Appa’s saddle. Sokka snapped the reins once and yelled, “Yip yip!” and then they were flying, leaving Zuko and his soldiers to stare after them, their attempt to capture the Avatar foiled once again.

Once they were sure the village would be alright and that they had nothing more to fear from Zuko, the three companions let out a breath of relief and relaxed against the sides of Appa’s saddle.

“Another close one,” Aang said what they were all thinking. “Jeez, I was only gone for like three minutes. How in the world does he find us so fast?”

Sokka made a whirling motion with one hand. “Maybe he asked Aa Ron.”

The remark was meant to be sarcastic, but it brought Katara’s mind back to her talk with the old woman in the house. Giving Aang a curious look, she asked, “Speaking of Aa Ron, what did he say to you?”

Aang’s shoulder slumped in a decidedly disappointed fashion. “I never got to hear. Zuko showed up right as the old lady was going to tell me.”

Katara laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry, Aang.”

Aang just shrugged. “Maybe it’s for the best. After all, there’s a chance I might’ve been really disappointed by his prediction, right?” His expression brightened then and he turned Katara’s question back at her. “What did he say to you?”

At once, Katara stiffened. The memory of the old woman’s words ran through her head. “Um…” she started. “He said that the man I’d marry would be honest and hardworking and that we’d be very happy together.” She carefully left out the part about how she’d know who he was. After all, she wasn’t sure she was quite ready yet to reveal to Aang that he was the one who…

Wait.

Her eyes shot wide open and she grasped her right wrist in her left hand. The first man to touch her…

It hadn’t been Aang.

“Oh, no,” she uttered, deadly serious.

Sokka raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh no, what? That sounds like a pretty good fortune.”

Katara didn’t acknowledge him. Her mind was too busy trying to process what she’d just realized. The woman had definitely said that the man she was destined to marry would be the first one to touch her upon leaving the house. But there was no possible way that could be right because the first person to touch her had been…

No. She refused to even think it. Uh uh. That was not going to happen.

“Katara?”

Katara responded to her comrades’ concern by shaking her head violently and in a voice that was maybe a little too loud declared, “I just remembered that totally forgot to pick up supplies in that village. How silly of me!” She punctuated this statement with a laugh that sounded forced even to her.

Aang and Sokka gave her dubious looks but didn’t comment on her odd behavior. The conversation moved on, much to her relief, but she didn’t participate in it. She was too busy having a silent crisis in her head.

Honest and hardworking? Compassionate? A lifetime of happiness and love?

No way. That prediction couldn’t be referring to him. Aa Ron must have made a mistake. Perhaps he hadn’t accounted for Zuko finding them so quickly. That had to be it. Even spirits weren’t omnipotent, right?

Feeling a little better after rationalizing it, Katara put the matter aside, determined never to revisit it.

Her and Zuko? What a laugh. Not in a million gajillion years.

[meetmeatthecoda]

Surprise!

@scifi-gk, I’m your Secret Santa! :D I know you’ve been going through some tough times recently but I hope you can still have a wonderful holiday and maybe this present will help with that a little! :) Much love to you and yours! <3

Just a quick word (lol as if) about your fic before I post it below: I took your prompt to heart, specifically the bit about the “shift that needs to take place within their dynamic”, and things got a little out of hand... I ended up writing just over 10k 0.0 To make that shift happen, I ended up writing a lot of mythology which is something super new to me but I know you have an affinity for! That being said, I did absolutely zero research and just kind of drew my own conclusions for shit so if I made any blatant canonical errors, I’m very sorry, just consider it an AU :’D So yeah, in addition to the mythology, there’s just a metric shit-ton of angst and drama and feelings which I felt were pretty necessary to get that shift down and then the last segment was the hardest part but also the scene I had specifically in mind when you said you wanted a believable first kiss ;) So yes, if you can wade through all the freaking drama, there is kissing at the end! :D Anyway, this fic was something new for me and I’m pretty unsure about it but, regardless of my feelings, I REALLY REALLY hope you like it and it’s an enjoyable present for you! :D Happy Holidays, my friend! :) Much, much love! <3

Everything has gone to hell.

It started with a phone call from Jennifer and her hushed words over the bad connection, “It’s time, Liz,” sending shivers down Liz’s spine. But she set a meeting with Red at his safehouse before she really knew what she was doing and texted Jennifer the address, sending the message with something like dread reverberating within her. She drove through the cold winter air, running a red light or two in her frazzled state, watching a few small snowflakes fall halfheartedly, melting as soon as they touched the pavement.

Not sticking.

And now, they’re here, waiting for Jennifer to arrive, and Liz’s gun is pointed at Red and he’s on his knees in front of her.

And the worst part is that it’s not the first time.

He’s looked very calm since she burst into the room with her gun drawn, maybe a little surprised and definitely curious, but calm. She tries to access that too-familiar well of anger she has stored up for him, that well that should be overflowing at the sight of his nonchalance, but it keeps eluding her. All she really feels is cold.

Numb.

When he saw her gun drawn, his eyes tightened a little, but he nodded solemnly and set down the book he was reading before she burst in, rising from his armchair.

“What have you found out, Lizzie?” he asked calmly, a mere query, as if he were asking her about the weather.

Liz didn’t bother questioning his assumption. He was right, of course. Why would she be on the rampage with a firearm if she hadn’t discovered something incriminating?

“You’re an imposter,” she blurts now, letting go of the ugly truth she’s been holding like a dark secret inside her for weeks, no pomp and circumstance, just lets it out. “You’re not the real Raymond Reddington. You’re not my father, or Jennifer’s. You’re a…pretender,” she hisses the last word, finally finding a little anger and betrayal from somewhere to throw at him.

(He’s hurt her so badly. It’s like Tom all over again.)

“Yes,” he says simply, as if he’s not rocking her entire world by admitting it. She had accepted it as the truth from the minute she looked at the DNA results, but she can feel now that there was a little nugget of desperation inside her that hoped he would deny it and explain everything.

(That would be a first.)

“Would you be amenable to hearing me out? I can explain things to you, once and for all, since you’ve discovered it on your own. And perhaps you could lower your gun?”

She blinks, taken aback by his reasonable suggestions, and she finds herself wanting to comply, wanting to trust, as she’s done many times before. Her gun wavers and lowers an inch or two.

Trust…

(The memory of Tom punching her in the face flashes before her eyes.)

Liz jerks her gun back up, trying to ignore the trembling in her hands. “No,” she spits. “No, I can’t do that.”

“All right,” Red says easily. And Liz watches as he slowly and carefully lowers himself to the floor, bending his knees until they touch the wood, holding Liz’s gaze the entire time.

Something aches inside her.

She should love this. She should revel in the victory of having the imposter prone before her. She should feel joy.

(But she really just hates this.)

“Are you sure you won’t listen? Just five minutes, Lizzie, that’s all it will take,” he tells her quietly.

That’s it, she wonders, that’s all it will take to explain her whole existence? Is she really that trivial?

(Yes.)

“No,” she repeats forcefully, telling herself as much as she’s telling him. “We have to wait for Jennifer to get here.”

“Jennifer?” his voice is sharp now, a cold tone of surprise, and she sees the skin below his eye twitch before he smothers it.

Ah.

Liz knows that he’s worried now, wary. He doesn’t know Jennifer, not like he knows Liz, he can’t predict what she’ll do, doesn’t know how to sway her.

Liz feels a frisson of fear go through her at the realization. Jennifer is angry. Jennifer is vengeful. Jennifer is unpredictable.

Oh.

But Liz doesn’t have time to ponder the implications of this before the door is bursting open once again and she whirls around to see her half-sister, eyes wild, holding a gun of her own, now trained on Red.

Oh.

(What has she done?)

“Jenn—” Liz starts to speak but Jennifer takes no notice, her eyes glinting with a dirty kind of pleasure at seeing Red there on the floor.

“On his knees already. Well done, Liz,” she smirks, a nasty thing that contorts her pretty face, darkens her eyes.

(Liz is reminded forcefully of Tom, no familiar glasses, all unobstructed cold eyes.)

“I –” Liz starts again but she doesn’t make any more progress.

“Well,” demands Jennifer loudly, speaking to Reddington now. “Liz and I have discovered you. And we want to know the truth, all of it. And then we’re gonna kill you,” she spits the last part and the vulgar words having Liz choking, afraid.

They never talked about this part. Sure, it was implied – mostly by Jennifer – that harm would come to Reddington once they gathered as much evidence as they could and confronted him. But Liz hadn’t thought about it. Perhaps she hadn’t allowed herself. Her primal need for the truth had driven her to this point but it prevented her from looking beyond.

Does she really want to kill Red?

She breaks her frozen gaze from Jennifer and turns back to him, now looking much tenser, his face and eyes tight, gaze cold, and back rigid.

(He looks scared.)

No. No, she doesn’t.

“Talk!”

Jennifer barks it, loud and unexpected, scaring them all. Liz jumps, her hands shaking around her gun, and she sees Red’s hand instinctively twitch towards the small of his back, reaching for the holster Liz knows usually rests there, the one she now sees on the table across the room.

He is unarmed.

And of course he is, he was expecting her after all, Lizzie, not an ambush from both of his angry pseudo daughters.

(No. No, no, no.)

Liz remembers that he made no such defensive move when she burst into the room, angry and scared. He didn’t try to defend himself. He saw no need because he trusts her. Seeing him glaring at Jennifer now, the difference is stark. He feels no affection for her, this girl, this comparative child. Liz feels her heart pound.

(Red trusts her, loves her. The look in his eyes is proof enough. And she’s betrayed him. Again.)

She has to do something.

Liz tries to think, desperately trying to come up with a way to distract Jennifer, just long enough to talk some sense into her, maybe she can –

“Fine.”

Red’s voice immediately distracts her. He’s going to talk. Explain. Tell them everything.

Finally.

And without further ado, he begins.

“Your father, Raymond Reddington, was involved in covert ops for the United States government. He had a wife, Carla, and a daughter, you, Jennifer, before he was asked to go undercover to Russia to gather intel from a double-crossing Russian agent, his CI. Your mother, Lizzie, Katarina.”

Liz feels a shock, warm and sudden, as Red meets her eyes.

“Little did he know,” Red continues, “she was already entangled with the Cabal. But as Raymond Reddington became more involved with the situation in Russia, things became more dangerous for his family in the U.S. and Carla entered the witness protection program with you, Jennifer. As things progressed, R—”

“Wait,” interrupts Jennifer. “Did mom talk with you, I mean, the real Reddington, my dad, before she went into witness protection? I was so young, I don’t…” she trails off, her brow furrowed.

“No,” answers Red calmly. “Carla suspected an affair between Reddington and someone he was working with in Russia and was resentful of all the pain he had put their family through, as well as leaving her alone to care for you, as young as you were at the time. Carla up and left and, as far as Reddington was concerned, you two had all but disappeared.”

“That’s why you didn’t know where they were,” whispers Liz, the pieces fitting together slowly. “Reddington didn’t know, so you didn’t know.”

Red nods once.

“But why did you want to find them if they weren’t your actual –”

“I was curious,” states Red dispassionately. Liz can feel Jennifer stiffen beside her. “And the real Raymond Reddington would have stopped at nothing to find them both. I had to stay in character.”

“But,” splutters Jennifer, and Liz glances over to see tears are leaking from her eyes. “I – So – Dad didn’t abandon us? Mom always made him out to be the bad guy!”

Red looks at her evenly. “That depends on what you consider abandonment. Carla certainly felt abandoned. Reddington dedicated more time to his mission than his family. Not to mention he had an affair with Katarina, hence Elizabeth.” Liz watches Jennifer’s lip tremble as she listens. “But who’s to say that he didn’t come to his senses when they disappeared. He may have regretted his thoughtlessness. I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” shouts Jennifer suddenly, tears falling outright now. Liz feels a surge of adrenaline as Jennifer whips an arm back to wipe carelessly at her eyes, barely missing the trigger of her gun. Too close. “I have to know – how did – didn’t he care?”

She’s shouting now, furious and frustrated, and Liz feels a pang of sympathy. Jennifer has had much longer to stew in the mysteries of her past than Liz has. And, as Liz knows from experience, the not knowing is the worst part. Now she has the opportunity, Liz doesn’t blame Jennifer for pushing to know more.

(They must get their tenaciousness from their father.)

“Jennifer,” Liz says softly, trying to placate, but Jennifer jumps anyway, whirling towards her, gun and all, and Liz sees Red lurch forward on his knees, the first time he’s moved since Jennifer entered the room, with his hand outstretched as if to stop her. The unexpected motion has Jennifer turning back to train her gun on Red, conflicted and scared, and now it’s Liz’s turn to panic.

“Jennifer,” she says sharply. “You know that’s all he can tell you. You have to let it go now.”

“What,” she spits. “Are you on his side now?”

Liz’s heart stumbles.

“No,” she says, her voice trembling, the untruth burning her face. “But you’ve heard what you wanted to hear and I’m still waiting. You said we’d do this together. It’s my turn now.”

She sees Jennifer grit her teeth, annoyed but hearing the truth in her words.

“Fine.”

Liz wastes no time, turning back to Red immediately and finding him already staring at her with a curious expression. “Keep going,” she says urgently, desperately, and he nods after a brief moment.

“With Carla and Jennifer effectively removed from the situation, Reddington threw himself into his mission with Katarina and, as I said, things developed between them. They began an affair and she became pregnant with you, Lizzie. However, her husband, Constantin, was a loyal Russian agent, a dangerous one, and was unaware that Katarina was seeking asylum in the United States. Her desire to immigrate became even more urgent when you were born, Lizzie, and Katarina had to pretend you were Constantin’s daughter.”

“That’s why he came looking for me as a genetic match, he thought I was his,” Liz inserts the information she already had into the intricate tale Red is weaving, her eyes drifting as her mind moves a mile a minute. “But you persuaded him that I wasn’t…” Then she gasps, and her eyes fly back to Red. “You told him the truth, didn’t you? That I am Raymond Reddington’s daughter as he once suspected but his revenge was lost on you, since you aren’t…” she trails off, still having trouble disassociating Raymond Reddington from…well, Raymond Reddington.

“Yes,” Red affirms. “And I made sure he was eliminated afterwards. No one that I don’t implicitly trust can be told the truth and survive. It’s necessary to maintain the illusion.”

“What else?” Liz breathes, drunk on all the knowledge he’s giving her, more than he ever has before, afraid that he’ll stop and close off, return to the unreadable enigma he’s always been.

“The Cabal would only grant Katarina asylum if she brought them compromising information on Russia, which she finally managed to do when you were about four, Lizzie. She obtained the Fulcrum and fled Russia with you in one night, leaving Constantin, who had since begun to suspect Katarina and become dangerous to you both. Raymond Reddington escorted her to the house where everything changed…for all of us.”

“The house that caught fire,” Liz whispers, fully ensconced in his story, her story.

Their story.

“Wait,” Jennifer interrupts again, and Liz can tell she’s still interested, despite herself. “You keep saying ‘Raymond Reddington’ as if he’s another person and that’s because you’re referring to our actual father. But you haven’t mentioned yourself yet, so where do you come in? And how do you know all these things if you weren’t there yourself?”

“I was briefed on all of these events after the fact by reliable sources, after I assumed Raymond Reddington’s identity.”

Liz feels another shock go through her. This is the first time he’s said it outright like that. Blatant. Honest.

“You can trust my telling, it’s all true. And, to answer your other question, I’m about to enter the story. I was an up and coming naval intelligence officer while Raymond Reddington was in Russia. I was a hard worker and loved my job and, as a result, I rose to the top of my branch fairly quickly. Because of this, I was approached by the Cabal, masquerading at the time as a special branch of the military that needed my services. I considered it an honor to be asked to serve. I thought I was doing something worthy to serve my country. Little did I know the rampant politics and collusion that I was walking headfirst into.”

Liz can hear the bitterness in his tone, the regret and anger at the government he was once loyal to. She can easily imagine a younger Red – except he wasn’t Red then, no, he was someone else entirely, and god, her head hurts – as intelligent and driven as he is now, just more starry-eyed and hopeful, eager to please, only to have his whole life turned upside down by an evil organization intent only on serving their own interests. Liz absurdly feels her throat tighten at the thought.

“I was recruited and thrown into the situation in which Reddington and Katarina now found themselves. The Cabal –”

“Wait,” this time it’s Liz that is interrupting him, her tone slightly guilty but desperate. “Didn’t you have your own family? In your file, it says you abandoned your wife and daughter on Christmas Eve but…” Liz trails off, confused, and watches his eyes darken and pain take over his countenance. She suddenly regrets asking.

“Yes, I did,” he murmurs. “The Christmas Eve story in Reddington’s file is true. That was what happened to my own family, my wife and daughter, when I discovered what the Cabal truly was and attempted to reveal them. I disregarded their threats and…they killed my family. After I assumed Raymond’s Reddington’s identity, I changed the identities of my deceased wife and daughter to those of Carla and Jennifer to help protect them. That’s how I met Mr. Kaplan, actually.”

“Why?” demands Jennifer, chiming in now as the story returns to her personal history.

Red turns to look at her. “Witness protection is not infallible, Jennifer. Reddington had, and as a result I have, very powerful enemies. If they all believed you’d been killed, that was another layer of protection for you.”

“But why?” Liz asks in a much different tone, her eyes feeling wet. “Why would you make it look like your family never existed? Didn’t you –”

“They were both very loving and generous people, Lizzie,” he interrupts quietly, his eyes looking suspiciously wet now too. “I think they would both be happy to know that their deaths weren’t completely pointless. That they helped someone else somehow.”

A single tear escapes his long eyelashes and falls to the floor.

(And Liz feels the insane urge to lay down and cry at his feet, this man who sacrificed everything he held dear for people he didn’t even know.)

Red clears his throat roughly. “But by the time Katarina and Reddington made it safely to the United States, the Cabal assumed Reddington was more loyal to her and her daughter than the Cabal and sent me in to kill them both and obtain the fulcrum. I far as I was concerned, my family was gone, and I had nothing left to live for. I was weak and followed their orders blindly.  However, the Cabal was wary of any changing loyalties and sent a team with me. When we arrived, I ordered them to hold position outside while I snuck in the house undetected, hoping to catch Reddington and Katarina unawares. I arrived just in time to hear them fighting over what to do about the Fulcrum.”

Red looks directly at her now, intensely. “They were very much in love, Lizzie, from what I understand. They were just having a disagreement over how best to handle the situation and, ultimately, protect you. You were there though and only about four years old and you didn’t know Reddington was your father. You only knew Constantin at the Summer Palace, that’s why you had such strong memories of the place. You didn’t know Reddington was your father, Lizzie, and he was fighting with your mother. You just wanted to help.”

His expression is earnest now and she can tell how much he doesn’t want to hurt her by telling her the truth. She feels tears rolling down her cheeks now as she nods at him. “How did it happen?”

Red swallows, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing in a hushed tone. “There was a gun, I’m not sure whose it was, probably Reddington’s, one he had carelessly abandoned. You had lived among spies and traitors long enough in your short life to know what a gun did. I watched from the shadows as you took the gun and pointed it, too quickly for me to stop you, there wasn’t any time, I couldn’t get to you in time –”

He seems desperate for her to understand this, and she can see the guilt weighing on him, her Atlas, trying to hold up the world for her, because he feels he owes her for what happened.

(She’s seeing him more clearly than ever.)

“It’s okay,” she’s whispering, shaking her head. “Keeping going, it’s okay.” And she can feel Jennifer looking at her oddly, but she ignores her because their story isn’t over.

It’s just beginning.

“You shot him,” Red gasps, a little exhale that has her hurting inside, even though she already knew what happened that night. She’s feels like she’s reliving it with him. “He died instantly, you must have hit a vital organ, and Katarina screamed. The gunshot tipped off the team waiting outside and they…they set fire to the house. They must have had other orders from the Cabal. Thinking their job done, they left. You ran off, frightened, and hid somewhere. I went outside and tried to put the fire out from there, but it caught too quickly. Knowing you and your mother were still inside, I went back in. Even though it was my directive to kill her, I couldn’t leave her to burn. Somehow that was…worse. I could hear her still there crying over your father’s body, but by the time I had returned, the flames had blocked off the room and I couldn’t get to her. I made the choice to leave her and search for you. I assumed she died in the fire until I later found out she survived the fire and, thinking you dead, walked into the ocean at Cape May. I don’t think she ever knew you survived. I tried to save her Lizzie, but I couldn’t find a way to get to her. She couldn’t hear me over the flames.”

A curious look glazes over Red’s eyes. “Fire is as loud as it is hot. I had no idea…I didn’t think that it…” he trails off, lost somewhere in the past until Jennifer shifts impatiently on her feet and he seems to snap out of it.

“The fire was bad by this point, everywhere, bringing the house down in places,” he continues haltingly, and Liz can tell immediately that he’s editing something out. Her throat is too clogged with tears to stop him. “I couldn’t save Katarina, but I knew you were still somewhere in the house and…I couldn’t leave you. You were just a child. I searched and yelled for you and soon I heard you screaming from inside a closet. Miraculously, the fire hadn’t reached you yet, but we didn’t have much time. I pulled you from the closet, you and your stuffed bunny, and we…escaped.”

So, he saved her. Liz must have always known on some level because she feels no true surprise at the revelation, just a calm acceptance. Some unidentifiable feeling is trying to push through the tears clogging her up, but she shoves it back, unable to handle anything else right now.

“I took you to Sam,” he says on an exhale, and Liz can tell the worst of it has passed. “He was my good friend from our military days and I didn’t know what else to do with a child. The Cabal was after me at this point for directly disobeying orders and I couldn’t take you with me, it was too dangerous. Besides, Sam always wanted a daughter.” He looks up to give her a watery smile and she lets out a small huff through her tears.

“I know,” she murmurs. Sam had often told her as much.

(God, she misses her dad.)

“I hid out for a few days,” Red’s saying now. “And thought everything through. I felt responsible about what happened to you and your parents. I soon decided that, with no family of my own left, the only thing I could do was try to fight the Cabal to create a safe future for you, in case they ever figured out who you were. My only goal was that yours was the last family the Cabal destroyed.” A dark fire enters Red’s eyes at his last words and Liz knows that this desire still burns within him.

(That’s the Red she knows, a dark harbinger of vengeful justice.)

“But I had nothing and no one to help me and it didn’t take me long to realize that Raymond Reddington many more contacts and resources than I did. So,” – the nonchalant shrug he gives here is almost hilarious – “I became him. We already had the same basic facial structure, body type, hair color – all things I considered signs that I was doing the right thing, though obviously they were just coincidences – and I had a few changes made to become a passable likeness. I didn’t have to do much, considering Reddington had been a top-secret agent, uncover mostly, and no one truly knew what he looked like. He was a ghost, a shadow, a rumor. So, I learned as much as I could about him and adopted some mannerisms but, mostly, I remade him. Created a new Reddington and built a criminal empire, making connections and calling in favors, running from the Cabal and trying to dismantle it from a distance.”

Red looks up at this, gazing somewhere over Liz’s shoulder in slight wonder. “The strangest part is, no one questioned it. It’s amazing what people will accept if you believe it yourself. Besides, I’d always been a good actor.” He meets Liz’s eyes then, curiously tentative and unsure. Afraid.

It hits her then how much he has just revealed, everything he has told them, things he has only trusted with a select few, and she wonders if she knows who he is anymore. She enormity of it all makes her head spin and she just blinks back at him, unfocused.

“Is that all?” asks Jennifer abruptly.

Red turns to her, his gaze hardening. “Yes.”

Jennifer glares at him long enough that Liz wonders what she’s thinking.

(What will she do?)

“You had no right!” she explodes suddenly, her eyes wild again in an instant and Liz feels cold dread settle in the pit of her stomach. “You sullied our father’s name, changed who he was, made a criminal out of him! You as good as killed him!”

The gun in her hands is shaking now and Liz is afraid. She understands though. Jennifer’s had comparatively little to do with this whole mess but everything she has learned tonight is shocking. Her father, whom at one point she thought was still alive and standing in front of her, betrayed her mother, may or may not have regretted it, had a child with another woman, and died an accidental death at the hands of her bastard half-sister, entangled in the politics of his job and the complications he created. Before now, maybe Jennifer had been holding onto the insane hope that her father was still alive somewhere. And even if not, Liz is sure she was holding onto some vain hope that he had good reasons for doing what he did to his family.

(Jennifer wants so desperately to forgive him.)

But, finding him irredeemable and nothing but more anger in the truth she’s wanted for years, she’s near homicidal. The only one here to blame is Red. And she’s got a gun.

“Jennifer –” starts Liz for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, but Jennifer is shaking with rage.

“No!” she yells, glaring at Red. “It’s all his fault! If he hadn’t – he shouldn’t of – he can’t –” But she’s too upset to form words, baseless accusations, desperate blame-placing, and the only thing she can do is cock the hammer of her gun with a damning click that sounds like a bomb to Liz’s ears, and point it at Red.

Red.

“NO!” the yell is ripped from her before she even knows what she’s doing, and she’s moved to stand in front of Red, who’s still defenseless on his knees, and suddenly she’s staring down the barrel of Jennifer’s gun.

(How, oh how, did she get here?)

Liz meets Jennifer’s eyes over the gun, which has lowered slightly in surprise, and watches as confusion colors her face, some of the anger seeping out.

“What are you doing, Liz? Get out of the way!” she yells. “This is what we’ve been waiting for!”

“No, Jennifer,” Liz says firmly. “This is what you’ve been waiting for! I never agreed to this!”

“What are you talking about?” she demands, incredulous. “He’s the reason our father’s dead!”

“No, he’s not!” Liz says, her voice rising. “He’s not and you would understand that if you calmed down enough to think!”

Jennifer grits her teeth and scowls at her. “Well, he as good as killed him! And it doesn’t even matter, he deserves to die after everything he’s done!”

“You’re not the one that gets to decide that, Jennifer!” yells Liz. “And he’s saved my life too many times for me to just let you kill him like this!”

“What do you like him now?” sneers Jennifer. “Has he become the daddy you always wanted?”

Liz feels anger spark hot embers inside her and she glares at Jennifer.

(She feels Red shift slightly behind her at Jennifer’s words.)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jennifer,” she says lowly, seething. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Oh, you’re gonna hurt me, Liz? Your own sister?” she taunts, heedless of her warnings.

“Half-sister,” Liz corrects nastily. “And I will if I have to. You need to walk away.”

“Why the hell would I walk away?” screams Jennifer, truly losing it now. “I’ve been waiting for years to get my revenge and I’m not gonna let you stand in my way! What incentive do I have to leave right now? And even if I did, I’d just find another way to get to him!”

“No, you won’t,” snaps Liz, an idea occurring to her that gives her hope. “Do you have any idea how many people you’ve killed, both indirectly and by your own hand, in pursuit of evidence against him?” she jerks her head backwards towards Red.

Jennifer blinks. “So?” she demands.

“I work for the FBI, dumb-ass!” snaps Liz. “I can implicate you in so many murders that they’ll put you away for life. Is that what you want?”

Jennifer’s guns wavers. Liz has her.

“I’ll make you a deal. As long as you stay far away from Red and I, just walk away and leave us, you’ll stay in the free and clear. But only as long as you do that. If you come near us again, if you ever try to hurt him, I will personally pick out your prison cell. Understand?”

Jennifer grinds her teeth, furious, looking for a way out and, not finding any, puts her gun down with a frustrated scream.

“Fine, Liz, stay with the imposter, the traitor, if that’s what you want, I don’t care! Just know that you’re no sister of mine! And you –” she leans around Liz to point fiercely at Red, making Liz lift her gun warningly “– know that I will never forgive you.”

They stare each other down for a long, tense moment before Jennifer whips around and storms out of the room, gone.

There is a long moment of nothing while Liz stares after her, feeling empty, numb, until she hears Red stir behind her, standing slowly.

He waits a moment while Liz reels inside before he speaks.

“Lizzie?”

She can’t say anything.

“Lizzie, I –”

And she feels his warm hand tentatively touch her cold one from behind, startling her to her core and she whips around, feeling her breathing start to speed up, her eyes wide. Red remains frozen, watching her warily with concern, and she just stares blankly at him for a moment.

There’s only one thought echoing over and over in her over-saturated brain as she looks at him.

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”

It’s a whisper, broken and tearful. Scared.

Red looks at her sadly.

“Yes, you do.”

He matches her, tone for tone, and it’s too much, something breaks inside and she’s spinning for the door, with a wordless groan.

“No, I have to leave –”

“Lizzie –”

“Leave me alone!”

She slams the door behind her, running from him, terrified and alone.

And she doesn’t know if she’ll ever stop.

Liz doesn’t remember getting back to her house – she suspects more traffic violations were involved, dark roads and loud car horns in the swirling snow – but when she becomes aware again, she’s sitting on her bathroom floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking.

Everything she knew, everything she learned, everything that’s real to her now is crashing over her in waves, trying to sink her, and she’s just barely treading water, kicking her feet wildly, trying to keep her chin above the water line of everything that is too much.

Her father and her family and her history and her past and –

She’s pulling at her clothes now, yanking her shirt over her head and kicking out of her jeans, desperate to be free of the restraints, and stumbling towards the shower. Yes, a shower will help, hot water fixes everything doesn’t it?

(But she already feels like she’s drowning, so why is she heading into deeper water?)

Liz sets the water to the hottest it will go and turns her face up, her eyes closed and her thoughts racing.

She was the product of an affair, as she suspected, and supposedly there was love between her parents but who really knows? She’ll never be able to ask them because she killed her father and her mother – well, Liz is responsible for her death as well, isn’t she? Oh god, she killed both her parents –

And Red.

Red.

He saved her from the fire. He saved her life because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and his family –

It’s getting harder to breathe now, standing in the shower thinking about all this, and some voice in the back of her brain is telling her she’s quickly entering the throes of a panic attack, but she can’t stop it. She only manages to shut the water off and stumble out of the shower, tears starting to mix with the water dripping from her hair as she yanks a towel off the rack to wrap around herself as she sinks to the floor, gasping for air amid her sobs.

Red, the one she swore to destroy, the one she thought destroyed her life, is a victim of destruction himself. He did the best he could with the awful circumstances he was thrown into and he didn’t mean to, Red didn’t –

But he’s not Red. She shudders from the cold settling into her wet skin and she feels so violated. He’s a strange man she doesn’t actually know, and he pretended to be someone else to get close to her –

Wait. No. No, that was Tom. Tom did that. Red? Red cares about her. That much couldn’t have been a ruse, not with the way he looked at her tonight. The only person Red has been pretending to be is Raymond Reddington. Her father. But he’s still Red to her and Red loves her. But –

Liz can’t take it anymore, she’s gasping and crying, and she can’t calm down and the only thing she can think to do is reach for her discarded pants and pull out her phone, hitting number seven on her speed dial with a shaking finger.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Lizzie?”

“Red – please – h-help me –”

“I’ll be right there.”

And he is, like he always is, throwing open the door an unknown amount of time later to find her still sitting there crying, still huddled in her towel, still needing him.

“Lizzie –” he gasps and he's down on the floor within seconds, tearing his coat off and wrapping it around her, quickly followed by his arms.

And she's desperate for the warmth and comfort he has always provided her and she's turning her face into his chest, wetting it with her tears, mumbling indistinct phrases and words while he rubs her back and tries to calm her.

“I killed them both – how can I – oh god – and you – you saved me – you –”

“Lizzie, it's okay, sweetheart, you just need to breathe and get warm, it's okay, I've got you –”

She manages to get her breathing under control and stifle the tears long enough to look up at him, his hand pausing in its ceaseless stroking of her hair, and he looks down at her, concern and anguish plain on his face.

He cares.

Doesn’t he?

“Red?” she whispers, sniffling pathetically.

“Yes, Lizzie?” he asks desperately, worried.

“Do you care about me? Even though you’re not my father? Cause if you don’t, I don’t have anyone left, anyone at all, that cares – so please tell me you still – if you don’t – I can’t –”

“Oh, Lizzie,” he murmurs, rocking her gently. “Of course, I do, don’t be ridiculous –”

“But,” she hiccups, plowing forward, working herself up again. “We’re not related, I’m just some kid you saved from a fire. My parents are the reason your family died, if I was never born, you’d still have your wife and your daughter –”

And she’s starting to spiral again, the enormity of it hitting her all over again, just too much to comprehend, and Red knows it and he’s trying to help her, speaking quickly now.

“Lizzie, Lizzie, you can’t do that, don’t think that way, Lizzie, it won’t help anything –”

“How can you stand me?” she’s sobbing uncontrollably now. “I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you –”

And suddenly hands are gripping her face and he’s turning her around to face him, looking her so fiercely in the eye that she finally stops speaking.

“Lizzie, listen to me. None of what happened to me is your fault. If anything, you helped me stay alive for the past thirty years. You’re the only thing that’s kept me going through this never-ending battle. You have no idea how you’ve saved me, the things you’ve made me feel again, Lizzie, please – don’t doubt for a second – you must believe me – Lizzie, I adore you –”

He breaks off, biting the side of his mouth to stop himself, but his eyes are still speaking, burning at her in a way she’s seen a few times, but it’s never glared at her like this before.

(It’s near blinding but she can’t stop looking because it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.)

And she’s been hanging on his every word, here on the bathroom floor, aching to believe him, needing something real to hold onto as badly as she needs air, and the words he’s forced into her ears have her gripping him back, watching his lips as he bites them, fighting at the strength of his emotion and some insane, uncontrollable urge has her surging forward, almost climbing up his prone body on the floor, completely heedless of her towel and his jacket, her hands going to his shoulders to steady herself as she moves to kiss him and it will be perfect, everything she needs right now, everything will fall into place, and –

But no, his hands are suddenly strong on her shoulders, pushing her away, not pulling her closer, and the thought has tears welling in her eyes yet again, because he doesn’t want her after all –

But he’s speaking again, just as urgently as before. “Lizzie, no, sweetheart, you’re not thinking clearly, we can’t do this, you’ll regret this later, Lizzie, please, don’t cry –”

And she’s sobbing again, her heart breaking in so many pieces she can’t even count and she’s choking out words. “You – don’t – want – me –”

But he’s holding her firm again and speaking in that same way, undeniable. “Lizzie, this has nothing to do with what I want, you have no idea, if only you knew how much I want you – but Lizzie, you just need to calm down first, that’s all –”

And she’s throwing her arms back around his neck in relief and he’s holding her but what’s that she feels, right under the edge of his dress shirt? She slides a shaking hand down a little further, any sense of discretion lost long ago when this suffocating waterfall crashed down on top of her, and she feels a curiously familiar texture the further down she goes and he’s tensing beneath her and oh no –

“Lizzie –”

It’s all very clear suddenly. This is the only thing he edited out tonight, that one small nugget of information he visibly held back, the thing that changes it all, because these are scars he suffered for her on that night –

(He gave her everything.)

And very abruptly it’s all too much. Lizzie feels herself starting to pass out with something like relief, her brain just shutting down, falling into blackness, and she’s so grateful that she can finally escape it all. The last thing she hears is Red calling her name and the last thing she feels is the odd sensation of being lifted when the rest of her is sinking downwards and she knows he’s taking her somewhere and she truly doesn’t care where.

(He can do what he likes with her.)

Liz wakes late the next morning, her eyes gritty and her sinuses congested, and for one moment she is blissfully unaware of everything that happened the night before. It takes a full minute for it all to come flooding back, hitting her with a physical force that makes her let out a lungful of air, and she turns her head into her pillow, trying to sink back into the darkness.

(She knows she can’t hide forever but can’t stop herself from trying.)

When that doesn’t work, she slowly pushes herself up into a sitting position, finding herself still wrapped in her now-dry towel and Red’s coat as well as tangled in her sheets. She kicks it all off and stands naked in her bedroom, about to head for the bathroom, figuring she should finish the shower that she never really started last night, when she hears a noise downstairs. There’s someone else in her house and she has no doubt that it’s Red.

(She’s not sure what it means that she knew the second she woke up that he was near.)

Not particularly bothered by the fact that he never left last night, Liz proceeds with her shower, taking the opportunity to think as she couldn’t last night, with a slightly more clear and objective head and some sleep.

She feels a bit more human by the time she’s scrubbed her face clean and washed her hair and when she gets out of the shower to dry off, she stops to examine her face in the mirror.

She looks awful.

Liz’s face is very pale and drawn, with dark circles under eyes despite the fact that she slept the whole night and most of the morning undisturbed. Her eyelids are heavy and swollen there’s very little life in her face.

(She supposes that’s what receiving life altering information does.)

Feeling no motivation to make her presentable, Liz simply draws her half-dry hair up into a messy bun and finds some clean, warm sweatpants and a hoodie, feeling slightly more protected this way.

(Protected from what, she doesn’t exactly know.)

Without further ado, she picks up Red’s coat and leaves her room, heading downstairs. She’s heard no more movement from Red, but she gravitates towards the living room, walking quietly in her bare feet and peeking around the corner to see him there.

He’s asleep, which surprises her, though she supposes it shouldn’t. He went through just as much trauma and emotional pain as she did last night, not to mention everything he had to deal with coming from her. He’s curled up on her couch, still completely dressed, including his shoes, looking small and cold. He has no pillow or blanket and she immediately feels ashamed.

(She couldn’t even manage to provide a blanket for the man who saved her life. She’s awful.)

Liz hurries over and gently drapes his coat over him. He doesn’t stir, and she takes the rare opportunity to kneel on the floor in front of him and stare at his face.

He looks younger when he’s asleep, his tan face relaxed and his jaw slack. Liz misses the expressive depth of his eyes, but she examines his eyelashes instead. How did she never notice how long and blonde they are? He’s a beautiful man.

And she immediately shoves that inappropriate thought out of her head. She can’t think that way, not about Red.

(As much as she may want to.)

She’s loathe to wake him but she knows they have to talk. And as painful as the subject matter is, she has a feeling she won’t truly feel better until they discuss things. So, Liz reaches out and very gently rests a hand on his cheek.

His eyes flutter open immediately, with no utterance from either of them, and she can tell that he’s instantly alert, looking directly into her eyes and nowhere else. There is silence between them for a long moment before he breaks it with her name.

(What else?)

“Lizzie.”

His voice is husky as well as deep in the morning and she shivers pleasantly at the sound of it before she manages to suppress it. She must stop that.

“How are you this morning?”

After everything that happened last night, and his first thought is still of her.

(Oh, Red.)

“A little better, thank you,” she murmurs. “I…I am so sorry about last night, Red.”

He frowns and is taking her hand from his face before she can move, turning it to cradle in both of his as he sits upright, his coat slumping off him onto the couch.

“Lizzie, you have nothing to apologize for,” he says, quiet but intense. “Yesterday was…too much. I would have been surprised if you weren’t overwhelmed. My only concern is that you’re doing better now.”

Liz’s eyes fill with tears at his kindness. No. No more tears. Enough of those were shed last night. “I am. Sleep and a shower does wonders for a person,” she manages a thin smile that he instantly returns. “Come on, I could use some coffee.”

She gently removes her hand from his and stands, heading for the kitchen. She hears him rise and stretch, following her a moment later and perching at the bar while she starts up the coffee maker and puts out mugs mechanically. Neither of them speaks while the coffee maker spurts and brews, some unspoken agreement keeping them silent while they wait for the coffee to brew, putting off the broaching of any sensitive topics.

Once the coffee is poured and their hands are wrapped around their warm mugs, Liz speaks.

(She might as well dive right back into the bottomless ocean Red dragged her out of last night. At least, he’s here as her lifeguard this time.)

“I…I don’t really know where to begin,” she mumbles. “But I guess the two most important things for me to say to you right now are ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’.”

She looks up tentatively from her mug to see Red frowning in disagreement and opening his mouth to speak. She waves to cut him off.

“Don’t. Just…let me talk, please. There’s some things I need to…say out loud.”

He purses his lips but nods, gesturing for her to continue.

“I’m sorry that I went behind your back, again, and conspired with Jennifer to hurt you. I was just…so angry at the things I found out and I couldn’t fathom just asking you about them. I should really know better by now.” She gives a little sad smile and shakes her head lightly. “I’m sorry for putting you in danger last night. I didn’t think far ahead enough to predict what Jennifer would do in that situation and…it was too close. We’re just lucky she left, and no one got hurt.”

Liz chances a look up at Red again and he’s just staring at her, with a solemn expression on his face and kind eyes.

(She almost can’t take it.)

“And as far as ‘thank you’ goes…,” Liz trails off and shrugs helplessly at him. “I mean, there’s literally nothing that’s happened in my life that I shouldn’t be thanking you for. I’m alive because of you. I had Sam because of you. And…I survived last night because of you.”

He has tears in his eyes now and honestly, so does she, but she refuses to let them fall. She has to be strong now.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” she whispers ardently, looking him in the eyes as she speaks, and he shakes his head vigorously, finally breaking his promise to let her talk uninterrupted.

“Lizzie,” he breathes. “You have nothing to thank me for. If I had simply held true to my beliefs and stood up to the Cabal, your parents would still be alive. It’s my fault they’re dead, Lizzie, you should be furious –”

“Furious?” blurts Lizzie with a watery and slightly hysterical laugh. “Red, I’m the one that pulled that trigger. You can’t –”

“You were just a child, Lizzie!” He abandons his coffee mug to grab her hands and pull her close. “In no universe can you be blamed for what happened that night. I was the only other adult there, I was the one that should have stopped it all. I could have.” He lowers his eyes and his voice drops to a whisper. “Lizzie, you have no idea how many nights I’ve laid awake wishing I could change what happened. And I’ve been trying to make it up to you ever since.”

Liz’s throat tightens. “I know. And you have made it up to me. Hundreds of times over. Red, I don’t blame you for that night. Please believe that,” she grips his hands. “It was a horrible tragedy. And it could have been worse. I could have died. If you hadn’t been there, I would have. And that’s what I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to repay.”

To her surprise, Red smiles and lets out a wry chuckle, and the words he says next are ones that she’ll never forget.

“Don’t you see, Lizzie? Saving you was the only good thing I did that night. If you hadn’t survived, I would have had nothing to live for. Saving you was my salvation. And, while I’ll never be able to repay that debt, I will never stop trying.”

Liz can do nothing now but throw her arms around his neck, completely in awe. Red wraps his arms around her waist in return, pressing his face into her shoulder and inhaling. The warm feeling that goes through her feels so good it must be wrong, and she pulls back to look him in the eye.

“Looks like we’re never going to see eye to eye on this, are we?” she asks unsteadily, and he stares at her with a tender gaze, shaking his head slowly. Liz sighs in defeat.

And then Red surprises her by suddenly bringing a hand up to her cheek, much like what she did to wake him. The look in his eyes intensifies and becomes so captivating that she can’t possibly look away, his eyes burning through her helplessly.

(She’s afraid.)

Liz somehow manages to rip herself away from his gaze and his grip, moving away and returning to the safety of her coffee mug at the counter, feeling light-headed and uncomfortable.

“Well, what do we do now?” she asks breathlessly, not turning around.

It’s a tense moment before he replies. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she thinks for a moment. “Do we continue with the blacklist? We haven’t dismantled the Cabal yet and, now that I know your true motivation behind the mission, I want to help you.”

“Lizzie,” Red starts and she feels brave enough now to turn and look at him. “I don’t want you to help me because you feel obligated to. I need you to want it too. That’s the only way this can continue.”

“I do want to,” she assures him, and she can feel that inside. There’s a small flame that was ignited last night, somewhere underneath everything else that demanded her attention, a fire that burns to avenge her parent’s deaths. “Even though I was the one to pull the trigger that night, the circumstances around my parent’s deaths were out of my control. It all stems from the Cabal. And they have to pay.”

She can feel the fierce look on her face and he’s smiling at her proudly, a look that inspires her next words. “And, as I think we’ve proven time and time again…we make a great team.” She gives him a crooked smile that he can’t help but return, beaming at her and she feels warm again.

“All right, then,” Red says happily. “The blacklist will continue.”

Liz smiles triumphantly at him.

(She has an odd feeling that her parents would be proud of her.)

Liz turns back to her coffee mug, feeling tired all over again but still strangely energized.

And then Red surprises her by speaking again.

“I think there’s still one other thing we have to discuss, Lizzie.”

Liz freezes with her hands around her mug. She thought remembered something else happening last night, something she did that was potentially mortifying, but she’s been ignoring it until now, hoping it wouldn’t matter in the face of all their other issues.

(Silly her. It’s easily the most important thing. It always has been.)

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Do you remember trying to kiss me last night?”

God, he just gets right to it, doesn’t he? What is she supposed to say to that?

“Vaguely,” she mutters, feeling herself redden. “I’m sorry about that, Red. I wasn’t in my right mind. I know it wasn’t appropriate and I understand why you pushed me away.”

There is a beat of silence where she holds her breath.

“You don’t remember what I told you, do you?”

Liz looks up at that, surprised. “No. Things are a little…muddled.”

He nods understandingly. “Lizzie, I didn’t push you away because I thought it was inappropriate. I pushed you away because you were in no state to go there and, frankly, neither was I.”

Liz stares at him blankly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have no objections to pursuing that now,” he finishes plainly, stating his words very clearly, as if it were completely expected.

(She stomps fiercely on the small flutter in her chest.)

Liz’s mind starts to whirl. She abandons her mug on the counter and hurries past him, starting to pace back and forth across her living room.

“Red, what –” she stutters. “What are you – are you crazy?”

(Back.)

He just blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

Liz looks at him like he has four heads. “We can’t be together, Red!”

(Forth.)

He merely looks confused now. “Why not?”

Liz gapes at him. “You’ve been pretending to be my father for thirty years!”

(Back.)

“No.”

And his tone, suddenly sharper and very direct, all traces of kindness gone, make her turn abruptly to face him, ceasing her pacing.

“I’ve been pretending to be Raymond Reddington for thirty years,” he states, now moving towards her across the room. “There’s not a day in my life that I’ve pretended to be your father, Lizzie.”

(Her heart stumbles in her chest. Is he saying what she thinks he’s saying?)

“But – but –” she stutters, completely taken aback. “Other people – they’ll think –”

“What will they think, Lizzie?” he presses, moving slowly closer to her frozen form. “I’ve gone to great lengths over the past three decades to make sure that no one knows the true identity of your birth father. Any bystander would assume it was Constantin or even Sam. Or perhaps you never actually found out. People will believe what you tell them, trust me.” He chuckles dryly. “The only people on earth that know your father is Raymond Reddington are Jennifer and Dembe. Jennifer has been rather effectively silenced, thanks to you, and I think it’s safe to say that we both trust Dembe with our lives. Anyone who puts the pieces together – which is highly unlikely, if you ask me – could conduct a simple DNA test to find out that we are not related.”

The words are spoken with such emphasis as he advances towards her, passion evident in his eyes, and Liz can do nothing but stare incredulously at him, unconsciously backing up as he moves forward, starting to hear the logic in his words.

(It’s incredibly, beautifully, impossibly, dangerously tempting.)

“There is absolutely no genetic or societal reason why we can’t be together, Lizzie,” he continues fervently. “We know the truth. The only thing standing in our way is…preconceived notions.”

“Preconceived notions…” she breaths.

Her back hits the wall.

“I have feelings for you, Lizzie, and I have for a long time. Do you have feelings for me?”

He stops in front of her now, close to her, and her heart hammers at his proximity. Can it really be that simple? Can she allow herself to want what she’s denied herself for so long on baseless principles?

(Maybe. But she’s afraid.)

“Lizzie…”

He moves closer, placing his hands gently on either side of the wall behind her, not constraining her – he would never do that – but persuading her, gently trying to convince her to give in to what he knows is right. He’s murmuring sweet words to her, things she knows he’s always wanted to say and he’s leaning forward to ghost his nose down her neck and into her hair, smelling her shampoo and sighing happily.

Liz’s head thumps back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as lazy pleasure unfurl through her body at his ministrations, and she sighs helplessly, whimpering a little when his lips pass over her pulse.

(She wants him. God help her, she wants him.)

“Red…” It’s breathy sigh that she’s been holding in for longer than she knows, and he looks up at her, cupping her cheek gently and gazing into her eyes.

“Why not us, Lizzie? Why not us?”

And in that instant, everything clicks into place. Why not? Why not them? Why deny themselves this connection, this spark they’ve been ignoring for years? They may be unlikely and unusual but that’s what makes them them and they know the truth and the truth is that there is nothing inherently bad about them, nothing that can stop them. They are made for one another and how rare is it to find your perfect match? Because the minute they saved each other from the fire that changed their lives, their fate was as good as sealed. And if there’s one thing that rings true with Liz, it’s that fate can’t be denied.

She loves him.

(And the minute she admits it to herself, she feels more at peace than she has in the last six years.

She’s home.)

And he’s waiting patiently for her to decide and he’s been waiting for much longer than she realizes, and it feels better than anything she’s ever felt to say the word to him.

“Yes.”

The happiness and love in his eyes is everything to her and he wastes no time in pressing forward to touch his lips to her, taking in a breath against her lips as they meet and kiss for the first time, and Liz does the opposite, his perfect match, sighing in relief and wrapping her arms around his shoulders as they melt against each other.

(It feels wonderful to finally stop fighting.)

Red presses closer to her, using the wall to keep them anchored, and Liz leans against him, as she’s always been able to do, cupping her hands around his neck and trembling from want. It’s another long moment of intense feeling and being and living before Red gently pulls away and they stare at one another in shock at what they are together.

Liz can’t help but gaze at him in wonder, marveling at how they got here and how, against all odds, things have worked out for them, and she’s speaking softly before she’s truly digested everything.

(He’s always been the first to hear her thoughts.)

“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it, Red?”

Red lets out a quiet laugh, his warm breath wafting over her face and he just smiles and nods, stroking her hair lovingly.

“It is. I must say, I never expected to fall in love with you…” His thumb passes over her cheek. “But the biggest surprise…is you loving me back.”

Tears fill Liz’s eyes once again and she can do nothing more than kiss him again because why on earth wouldn’t she love this man? This selfless, pure, giving man who has spent the better part of his life rescuing her.

(She only hopes that they can spend the rest of their lives saving each other. Together.)

They continue to kiss, wrapped up in their warmth and newly accepted love, while the snow falls outside her window in the light of the setting sun, peaceful and quiet.

Tonight, it will stick.

[dreamingofthedeepbluesea]

Trollhunters: True Lies

Chapter One: Buzz Kill

For the first time in a long while, Strickler felt old. There were more gray strands in his hair and some of his past injuries ached more with each coming winter. Old memories haunted his dreams at night but he still found the courage to move forward. After all, the Changeling had finally found a place where he belonged. He had fought in the war, he had survived Gunmar’s wrath, and somehow, he had found his place in this world. Instead of looking constantly looking over his shoulder, Strickler felt safe and confident in his allies. It certainly had been a positive change in his life.

“Time has sure steadily flown by, hasn’t it, Strickler?” Blinky asked as he offered a drink to the changeling. “Master Jim has grown into a fine young man. Clarie is a lovely lady, by human standards, of course. Tobias is…” He glanced to see the Toby attempting to help Claire hang a congratulations banner, nearly falling off the ladder in the process. Jim quickly steadied his friend and scolded Toby, telling him to be careful. While Tobias had shed a tiny bit of weight and gained some battle skills, there were still that clumsiness factor and love of spicy tacos. “… still Tobias.”

Troll Market was throwing a huge graduation party for Jim. Strickler helped where he could, including saving Jim’s cake from being a complete disaster. Try as she might, his mother had the best of intentions but could not cook. At least Barbara did decently at icing the cake and decorating it with candles. There were banners hanging from every vendor station declaring celebration. Barrels of mead were in every corner as were food stations, both human and troll dishes. There were some soda pop drinks from the surface, a fizzing liquid that made Argh’s nose sting. None of the trolls seemed to enjoy it but a few changelings did. The invitation extended to his friends and family. Supposedly, there was a surprise gift from Blinky. Yet, he would not tell anyone what it was to avoid spoilers for Jim.

“Indeed, it is strange to think that young Atlas is getting ready to leave high school and then go to college.” Strickler recalled writing the letter of recommendation for James. He wanted to stay in Arcadia to be close to his family and friends. His grades were high enough to apply anywhere he wished and acceptance was almost a sure guarantee. Despite a lot of objection, he applied to the local university to study, oddly enough, history. James had developed a love for mythology and legends over the years of being the Trollhunter. With a sigh, the Changeling took the mug from Blinky. “It seems just a few short years ago, we were trying to best each other in the dining room.”

“You still try to best each other in Barbara’s dining room.”

“Barbara asked Jim to take out the trash and he picked me up over his shoulder.”

“I recall that incident, we laughed about it for weeks.” Blinky admitted honestly with a small snicker. “Actually, we’re still laughing about it.”

“Good one.” Argh chuckled as he brought over a tray of used socks, soap bars, and broken vinyl records to share. “Laughed and laughed.”

“Well, I’m glad that you two obtained some amusement at my expense.” Strickler rolled his eyes and shooed away the plate full of distasteful goodies. He did not eat disgusting trash like trolls. Maybe the occasional pencil accidently had an eraser top chewed off the top due to not paying attention. It was part of the occupation, he supposed. “Younglings are so rude nowadays, thinking everything is a joke.”

“You just mad cause Jim taller.” Argh munched on one of the soap bars. “Taller than you.”

“Do they have any real food at this graduation party?” Strickler scowled at the brute, instantly wanting to change the subject. He would never admit it, though it did secretly bother him. Young Atlas had sprout up like a weed, surpassing him in height by a few inches. “Something that isn’t socks or garbage?”

“Yes, there’s lots of human food set out over there next to the fizzing lime liquid that Tobias loves to consume.” Blinky pointed in the direction of the table. “We’re waiting until Jim’s surprise gets here.”

“And exactly what is this surprise?”

“It’s for everyone, not just Jim.”

“You’ve been secretive about this for nearly a whole month.”

“I contacted many old friends to pull this off and I won’t have anyone spoiling it.”

“No surprise if know.” Argh reminded Strickler with a grin. “Excited!”

“And exactly when is this surprise supposed to arrive?” Strickler was beginning to think Blinky ordered a box full of cats for Jim. “Gift wrapped, I presume?”

“Stop pestering Blinky, Walter.” Barbara walked up behind the changeling, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Placing a kiss on his cheek, Doctor Lake knew her husband hated not having all the facts. She guessed that was part of being a history teacher. “You’ll find out soon enough what it is.”

“And what if it is a stripper inside of a cake?” Strickler asked his wife. “What will you do then?”

“What’s a stripper?” Argh swallowed another sock.

“If I remember correctly, it’s a human male or female who takes off their clothing for money usually while dancing around a pole.” Blinky quoted the statement from memory, earning a look from Barbara. He could not understand why Jim’s mother seemed a bit irked from his words. It was only the truth he spoke! “… that’s what it said in that human dicks-ton-airy.”

“That’s not the surprise, is it?” Barbara questioned in an accusatory tone.

“No!” Blinky replied very quickly, all four hands raised up in defense. “Most certainly not!”

“Hey, book brain!” NotEnrique jumped onto the bar, knocking over Blinky’s beverage. “You better go get things ready! The special package has arrived!”

“You could have announced that without jumping up on the counter and spilling my drink.” Blinky grumbled as he used a cloth to wipe up the mess. “But then again, that’s what you do, you create messes.”

Since Blinky and Argh had their attention on NotEnrique, Barbara took this as her chance to steal Strickler away from the party. Between work at the hospital and helping Blinky set up the party, she barely had time for her husband this week. Sometimes, a woman required quality time with her lover. Standing on her tip toes, she whispered into his ear.

“No one is in Blinky’s library.” Barbara murmured in a suggestive tone. “What do you say we do some research on the reproductive system?”

Perking up at the offer of pleasure, Walter smirked from ear to ear.

“I believe the Kama Sutra has some excellent references to offer.”

~

Blinky gathered everyone in the middle of Troll Market. He decided to leave Walter and Barbara to their odd human mating customs. If he interrupted them, it would surely cause unwanted embarrassment on both ends. He only hoped his table would survive all that rocking. So, he returned his focus to the gathering. After expressing how proud he was of Jim, he then explained he called in a favor from an old friend. When Blinky pulled back the curtains for Jim’s grand surprise, it was a gift he never anticipated. There was stereo equipment hooked up to a DJ system. It was the latest, top of the line products to produce music. At first, Jim and his friends exchanged confused glances. All three of them enjoyed music, but Jim never expressed interest in becoming a DJ.

“Yoohoo, little ones, up here.”

Everyone looked upward to the source of the voice. On top of the tallest stereo, there sat the esteemed guest of honor with her legs crossed. Multiple braids dangled from her curly locks and she had a smile that lit up the cavern. Waving at the graduates, she could not help but giggle at their shocked faces. She was a tall woman dressed in flashy clothing and wore expensive designer boots. From her overall reaction, she had seen trolls before and was not alarmed. The lady seemed quite comfortable in Troll Market.

“That’s… that’s…” Tobias stammered, his brain unable to process proper wording. “That’s…”

“The Siren!!!” Clarie squealed at the top of her lungs in absolute glee, causing some other trolls to wince. Even a few of the gnomes groaned their displeasure at the noise. Humans could be so loud and annoying. “Jim, you seriously like have the best mentor ever!!!”

“I know!”

“How in the name of the Heartstone was he able to pull this off?!” Tobias grabbed Jim by the shoulders and shook him. “That’s Loralei Abrielle! Her entire tour is sold out! There’s like no way to get tickets or backstage passes! How did he get her to come here?! Or allowed inside of Troll Market for that matter?!”

“I guess Blinky has connections we didn’t know about.”

“Forget that, we get a private concert!”

“From only the most famous, greatest, totally awesome techno, raving, music star in the whole country!!!” Tobias had to take a breath at the end of his excited rambling. “And she’s here! I can ask for an autograph!”

“Maybe she’ll sign my tour shirt!” Claire exclaimed as she pulled out several sharpie pens from her back pocket. Lately, the girl had developed a habit of collecting all the colors of sharpies like it was a hobby. Bright neon shades and pastels were her favorites. She doodled on every notebook page and blank surface she could find. Strickler had scolded her for drawing a rather crude drawing of him breathing fire on her desk. The rest of the class found it hilarious. “And I can get a selfie!”

“Think she’ll do a group photo?” Jim held up his phone and turned on the camera. “How do you set the timer on this thing again?”

“Don’t you think you should enjoy the music first?” Loralei asked them with a chuckle. “I came all the way from Malibu Beach to play for you.”

“Can I go back to Malibu Beach with you?”

Jim nudged Toby in the ribs for that statement.

“Heh, I appreciate your enthusiasm.” Loralei shook her head lightly with an amused grin. “But I think you’re a little too young for me.”

“She’s talking to me.” Toby nearly swooned and presented his most charming smile. “And you can’t be too much older than me, you’re what? Twenty-three, twenty-four? I can handle an older woman.”

“You have a girlfriend.” Claire reminded Toby with a cross of her arms. “Remember? Her name is Darci? Ringing a bell there?”

“Tobs, seriously, not cool.” Jim ran a hand down the front of his face.

“I’m actually a few thousand years old.” Loralei held up her fingers and counted in silence. “I forget my exact age, little one. After you live for so long, it becomes rather pointless to try to keep track of the years.”

Toby choked on his drink.

“Wh-What?!”

Scooting off the edge of the stereo, Loralei landed on her feet. The trolls would not allow any random human inside of their home. She supposed it was acceptable for these three kids to know the real her. With a blue flash, she transformed into her true appearance. The widely adored musician was a changeling. The musician had turquoise skin with dark blue streaks here and there. Black claws adorned her hands and feet, even blacker curved horns, standing proudly from her head. Strangely, Loralei’s eyes in this form had black sclera and glowing turquoise slit. It reminded Jim all too much of Gunmar, a slight chill going down his spine. Who exactly was this changeling? He could not look too suspicious. Questions could come later, seeing she posed no threat.

Toby’s jaw dropped, Jim stood there stunned, and Claire poked both boys in the chest with a triumphant yell.

“I told you, I told you and you two didn’t listen!” Claire held out her hand. “Pay up, I win the bet.”

“You predicted that she was a magical creature, you didn’t specifically say a changeling!” Toby protested with a pout. Jim swore there was no way a changeling could be that popular and hide among humans. Evidently, even a changeling could be a celebrity. “For all I know, you could have been calling her a unicorn!”

“Magical creatures include changelings, I win, you lose.”

“Urgh, fine.”

“That means you buy dinner at somewhere other than Tito’s Tacos.”

“But Tito’s Tacos is so tasty!”

“You can live off tacos, but Jim and I can’t.”

“Darci likes Tito’s Tacos.”

“Darci likes you, she tolerates your love of tacos.”

“Okay, let’s just come to a compromise and go to Amor’s and get pizza.” Jim interjected in the argument. “Then the girls will be happy.”

“And garlic bread.”

“Seriously, Tobs? That stuff reeks on you for weeks.”

“If I’m paying, I’m getting the garlic bread.”

“Girls like it if you shower them with delicious food, little one.” Loralei loved the banter between friends. “If you buy her food, she will feel obligated to eat it and not feel guilty about it later.”

“Really?”

“Why do you think the females wanted the best hunter as a mate?”

“Because… they got more food?”

“Exactly.”

“What do you know?” Toby shrugged. “Learn something new every day.”

“Now, little ones… what song would you like me to play first for you?”

“It’s Jim’s party, so he should pick first. Though, if I guess right, he’s going to pick ‘Take Off to the Stars’ cause that’s his favorite song.” Claire informed Loralei with a delighted clap of her hands. She was doing her best to remain casual in front of her idol, but it was hard. How could someone be so torn between wanting to scream from joy or embrace someone as tightly as possible and never let go? “Then me, the Toby, then uh… I don’t suppose your mom likes her music?”

“Mom likes Elvis, Sinatra, Darin, and Manilow.” Jim told his girlfriend. “She’s not too big on this type of music.”

“Only one question left, Jim.” Loralei put on the headphones and flipped on the power. “Original or remix?”

~

“I think we have officially disgraced Blinky’s library.”

“And sock pantry.”

“Don’t forget the potion closet.”

“Hrm, well, what should we disgrace next?” Barbara purred as she ran a single finger down Walter’s chest. Maybe menopause was making her more so feisty. It seemed lately that she could not keep her hands off her husband. The last time she acted like this was when she was pregnant with Jim. It was probably just the cascade of hormones. “I would like to nominate… the corner of bean bag cushions.”

Strickler gave a mock gasp.

“Scandalous.”

“You’re the one who suggested Blinky’s beloved desk.”

“Hrm, the book brain had it coming when he called me an old timer.” Strickler huffed as he pulled Barbara closer, nuzzling her hair. The scent of lavender and coconut oil lingered from her shampoo. Her hairstyle was out of place now from all the wild movement. He ran his fingers through her reddish locks and she tended to pull on his horns during love making. Such a sharp tug always aroused him. However, Strickler’s favorite thing that Barbara did was a simple act of when she traced his markings after the deed. He had gotten used to the affectionate gesture and a purr rumbled lowly in his chest. Now, the changeling craved her tender touches. Strickler expected harsh words and striking blows. Cruelty was all he ever received from Gunmar or Bular. His wife, his sweet wife, helped him heal in ways he never expected. “Saying I was getting paler and grayer with age.”

“You are an old timer.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, honey.” Barbara laughed at his sulking. “You can still keep up with me and I’m almost in my forties.”

“And your Krav Maga, your horrible cooking, and your insatiable appetite in bed, my love.” Walter nipped at her ear as he rubbed his left horn. “I must say, I thought you were going to pull out one of my horns this time.”

“Sorry.” Barbara apologized sheepishly with flustered cheeks. “I didn’t mean to pull so hard, I just… well…”

“Trying to urge me on, are you, temptress?” Walter ran his teeth down her throat with a playful growl. “Faster?” His hand slid up her side, inching closer to her breasts. “Harder?” He pinched her nipples, earning a jolt from Barbara. “Deeper?”

“Walter!” Barbara squirmed in his grasp, laughing. “What are you doing?!”

“I am expertly obtaining my answer.” Watler buried his face in the nook of her throat. “Will my lady tell me or will we have to find the answer after round two?”

“Fine!” Barbara scoffed as she poked his nose. If the two of them had a second bout of intercourse, they would both miss Jim’s surprise. She knew that her son liked to focus more on his friends and love interest since he was older. Still, she would like to at least see him open his graduation cards and cut the cake. That was more of a birthday tradition, not really a graduating one, but she would always treasure, especially seeing such a smile on his face. “Yes, I was horny because we haven’t had sex in over a week, happy now?”

“Yes.”

Music started playing from above in the market. The beats echoed down to the library as did the cheers of the participants. Both Walter and Barbara perked up at the noise. It seemed the party had started without them. Blinky revealed the surprise without their presence, so Walter expected that the nerd smelled the two of them mating. Or maybe it was Draal, he had a bad habit of showing up out of the blue. Nomura was not kind enough to keep her mouth shut, she would have said something to embarrass him. Then again, he had not seen Draal or Nomura. Maybe the two of them were patrolling the tunnels for wanted Gumm-Gumms. Someone detected their act of mating and decided not to interrupt them. Of course, he would keep this little detail from Barbara to spare her any mortification. Trolls and Changelings had sensitive noses, so it was not surprising to him that someone would find out eventually about their sexual activities in various areas of Blinky’s home.

“Damn, we missed it.”

“Language, Lady Lake.”

“I’ll fucking swear if I want to swear, thank you very much.”

“Spirited, aren’t you?”

Barbara shoved at his shoulder, before arriving at a conclusion.

“We missed the surprise, so while they’re enjoying the music, we could go for round two before presents and cake.”

“Depends on how hard you pull on my horns.”

“Oh, shut it.”

~

“Best. Party. Ever!” Toby was sweating profusely from all the dancing. Having the time of his life really turned out to be an excellent workout. Burning calories during a graduation party was the best way to stay in shape. He started to chug down a bottle of water to rehydrate. “You know, if her songs were on that game called ‘Dance Just to Dance’, I could totally nail all those arrows and be king of groovy.”

“You do have the moves, Tobs.” Jim spun Claire around and then dipped her. “Darci has really rubbed off on you.”

“Darci took ballet, tap, and even ball room dancing.” Toby sighed dreamily, thinking of his perfect girl. “And she can twerk like—”

“T.P.! Seriously don’t need to know that.” Claire stopped her friend before he went into a ramble about Darci’s perfect backside. She already heard Toby go on and on about Darci’s bubble butt and did not care to hear it again. Puffing a strand of hair out of her face, Claire then signaled that she needed a break from dancing to Jim. “Let’s go and get some food, yeah? I’m starving and that barbeque looks amazing.”

“Hey, Miss Abrielle?” Jim asked the musician, gesturing to the table of cooked food. “You want to join us for some grub?”

“Call me Loralei. I’d be honored to feast with the legendary Trollhunter.” Loralei left a personalized playlist running on the computer. Claire had taken the initiative of uploading a playlist of all Jim’s favorite songs to a flash drive and had it in her backpack. Dialing the volume to low so people could converse, the artist walked up to young graduates. “When Blinky contacted me, and told me who you were, I figured the least I could do was play my music for you.”

“Hey, being the Trollhunter is a privilege.” Jim was modest about his position. Since maturing, he had less bravado and was becoming more of a humble man. There were a few times when overcoming a new challenge that the streak of invincibility returned. “It’s given more than it’s taken. I’ve made a lot of new friends, seen new worlds, learned magic, how to fight, and I kept evil at bay. The adventure is still continuing.”

“Life is an adventure and yours will be fruitful.” Loralei agreed as Jim offered her a drink an empty plate so she could select what she wanted. “It is nice to be back in Troll Market after being gone for so long. There’s many familiar faces.” She looked at her surroundings, taking in the beauty of the glowing stones and listening to the chatter. “I would like to greet your mother as well. Is she here?”

“Yeah, she’s… let’s see.” Jim peered through the crowd. The trolls blocked most of his view. He finally spotted his mother preparing the candles on the cake. Pointing across the way, the Trollhunter gestured to his mom. “Oh! There she is! Her name is Barbara. She’s right beside of Strickler. See the dude dressed in the suit?”

“… Strickler?” Loralei set down her plate and drink rather hard on the table. Her voice sounded urgent. She wanted clarification. “As in Walter Strickler?”

“Yeah, changeling, greenish avocado color, throws knives around like they’re going out of style?” Toby filled his plate to the top with barbeque chicken, baked beans, slaw, and a sizable piece of cornbread. His love of food still lingered and he still ate like it was his last meal. Wriggling his fingers, he gazed at the plate full of chocolate browns as it were gold. “Talks like he’s from last century? That’s him all right.”

“Excuse me, little ones, I’ll be right back after I kill him.”

Dumbfounded, Jim, Claire, and Toby watched Loralei tromp in Strickler’s direction. Toby was chewing a mouthful of food and froze. Jim was holding up a potato chip to his mouth and stopped halfway. Claire was quite certain her idol could not be capable of murder until now. The look in Loralei’s eyes said it all. However, she did notice that Jim was not chasing after the music star. No one moved until Claire spoke.

“Guys?”

“Yeah, Claire?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but, didn’t she just say she was going to kill Strickler?”

“Oh, you heard it too? Thought I accidently got cornbread in my ear or something.”

“Don’t you think you better stop her?”

“You think I’d be able to catch a break at my own graduation party.”

“Just go diffuse the situation before it starts.”

“Too late.” Toby noticed Loralei right in front of Strickler. “She’s got him.”

“You!!!”

The chatter instantly died and all eyes were on the musician. Loralei’s voice was so full of hatred, it gave Jim pause. Something told the Trollhunter that Strickler’s past was coming back to get him. Before Strickler could even react, she grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against the wall. Argh pulled Barbara out of the way, not wanting her caught up in the scuffle. The stone crackled from her brute force and Strickler yelled from the crushing blow. It dazed him so badly, his vision blurred for a moment. He was not prepared for a fight. As soon as he could see clearly, Strickler gasped at the face in front of him.

“What are you doing?!” Barbara shrieked, trying to wriggle out of Argh’s grasp.

“Murderer!!!” Loralei spat in his face, her eyes seething in rage. She pushed Strickler even further into the rock, causing the cracks to spread. He grimaced and grasped her wrists, trying to push her off him. “I should have killed you right after Gunmar ripped out your wings, you coward! They’re all dead because of you!!!”

“Loralei, let him go!”

Jim grabbed her shoulder and was immediately shoved backward by the angry changeling. He fell over a table, knocking the contents to the floor and bonking his head on the wall. Claire rushed over to Jim to make sure he was all right. The changeling did not even glance over her shoulder at him. Her sole focus was on Strickler. A piercing growl rumbled forth from her. With teeth bared, Loralei was expecting a fight. She wanted to fight, she had that need for bloodlust. More importantly, his mother cared for his exasperating teacher so much, she married him. He did not have an excuse for letting him die so easily. Tolerating Strickler was easier said than done. First, he moved into the house, then he started the cooking competition to see who was the better chef, and finally, Strickler then asked his mother to marry him.

“Stay out of this, Trollhunter.” Loralei snapped at Jim. “This is between me and this foul fiend.”

“You let go of my husband before I rip off those horns of yours!” Barbara shouted as she tried to get free. “Put me down!”

“Husband?” Loralei sneered at Walter. “You? That’s laughable.”

“That’s what I initially thought at first, but he’s been good to my mom!” Jim protested, wanting to avoid a duel his favorite musician. “Mostly good, if you minus that Angor Rot incident that shall not be named but… more so annoying.”

“James Lake Junior!” Barbara started to scold him but Blinky entered the conversation.

“Loralei! Whatever are you doing?!” Blinky exclaimed with two hands motioning to her hand on Stricker’s throat and the others on his face under his eyes. “This is a party, not a battlefield!”

“Blinkous, why is this murderer here?” Loralei still held Strickler against the wall, never breaking eye contact. “Does he really have you all fooled? You know he worked for Gunmar! He should be killed!”

“He helped us defeat Gunmar!” Claire came to Strickler’s defense. “He used to be evil, but he righted his wrongs!”

“Not all of his wrongs.” Loralei squeezed tighter around Strickler’s neck, causing him to choke.

“Just let him go and we’ll talk in a civilized fashion. We’re all adults here, right?” Toby even tried to present his two cents. “So, let’s just sit down, have a nice cup of joe, and discuss this.”

“Lo… r… lei!” Strickler managed to say between gasps for air. His lungs were burning, screaming for air. Flashing green, he managed to kick Loralei back, causing her to stumble. He coughed, the oxygen rushing to his lungs. Pulling the knives from his collar, Strickler felt uneasy. “I… I didn’t know Gunmar was going to slaughter them! I didn’t even know you were still alive!”

“Lies!” Loralei hissed as she sharpened her claws on the stone ground. “You saved your sorry ass and left us all for dead!”

Lunging at him, Loralei aimed for his throat. The entire market scurried out of harm’s way, wanting nothing to do with the fight. Dodging her sharp talons, Strickler ducked and then rolled to the side. With a grunt, he hurled one knife after the next at her, seven total. Each blade was for a specific weak point. One for each knee, one for each shoulder, one for each wrist and one for her stomach. Loralei flipped in midair, twisting and turning flexibly so she caught each dagger between her fingers. Strickler’s confident expression instantly fell, knowing that his advantage of having a weapon just ended.

“Forget who taught you?” Loralei scoffed, twirling a single blade around a finger. Wisdom usually came with age, but it seemed Strickler was senile. Maybe he thought he was seeing a ghost. Perhaps she should remind him she was here, alive and well. “You stupid boy!”

One by one, she started slinging the blades back at him. Strickler managed to block the first three by grabbing a nearby tray. The knives dug into the wood. The fourth grazed his thigh and the fifth dug into his shoulder. His shoulders were his weak points. Strickler grimaced loudly and tried to pull it out from his stone skin. The remaining two blades, Loralei held in each hand. The green changeling swiped at her. Avoiding his claws, she slammed one dagger into his arm, causing Strickler to yell. Twisting his arm behind his back, Loralei had the final blade at his throat. He froze in place, not daring to move a muscle.

“Loralei, I swear I—”

“All I want to hear from your mouth is a scream!”

Before the final blow was dealt, Draal appeared and snatched Loralei from behind. His arms held her tightly so she could not get loose. She screeched in fury, kicking her legs wildly, spouting curses. Nomura helped Strickler to his feet. Reaching to pull out both knives, the pottery fanatic earned a strident objection from Strickler to leave it alone. His wife was a doctor and she could attend to the wounds.

“Should I put her in the cell?” Draal asked and Loralei aimed carefully, throwing her leg back to hit the troll in his weak point. Instantly dropping to his knees, he held in-between his legs. He exhaled forcefully. “That was… a dirty move.”

“No fight.” Argh told Loralei firmly, keeping her from her objective. “Talk.”

“Strickler, Loralei… I think there is indeed a tidbit of explaining to do.” Blinky looked at the pair, crossing both pair of arms. “You have made quite a spectacle of Master Jim’s festivities.”

“See? Like I said, sit down, have a cup of joe, civilized conversation.” Toby repeated his same phase from earlier. “If they would have listened to me, this wouldn’t have resulted in a fight. I know things, you know.”

~~~

Thank you for reading!

Likes are sweet, reblogs are awesome, but getting feedback is the best!

Chapter 2: Coming soon!

[jakiphyr]

Jak (re)plays FE2  [Part 01]

Awright!  It’s been a good four years since I’ve last touched Gaiden fully (late Dec 2013 - Feb 2014), so I’ll be doing a challenge this time around.

This LP is brought here today by HistoryoftheEmblem’s Gaiden event Kickstarter. So feel free to join the ride, or follow along!  Now, without further ado...

Introduction

I will be doing a Gaiden Novels Canon Playthrough challenge.  I will explain what this is, then lay out the rules that are styled similar to a draft now that I look at this back over.

My Motives (a.k.a. why am I doing this) 

This run is based on Fire Emblem: Gaiden’s two-parter novels that were released back in 1993.  Scans of illustrations can be found starting here, the rest are linked from there for those interested.

After @azebraslife ‘s discovery posts about the craziness that is Silque+Kliff subplot being half-siblings, Kamui dying to a necrodragon, possessed!Delthea killing Luthier and snapping out from that…

I meant to record my in-depth findings/summaries from what I read so far off my twitter live log in June but forgot to write them down as more than just quick blurbs.  This liveplay event will help me on being continuously motivated to read these books, from start to finish.  So I’ll be using my posts to record these summary translations, so expect those inserted throughout my LP entries.

Which is OK, the novels are easy enough to read as a beginner for the most part and makes for a fun experience.

It’s time to dig whatever hidden gems there are (and there’s plenty, I’m sure).

Rules, to keep myself organized and for followers to know what I’m doing:

(1)  Whoever dies in the novels dies, and stays dead.  No exceptions.  If you know exactly who dies from the scan posts I’ve made... a~yup, those will be dying at the same story/battle points whenever possible.

(2)  To branch off from 1, if revival springs are used, I will use them for that character to be revived from the dead.  AFAIK, the author didn’t use any, but I’m hoping for a pleasant surprise.

(3)  I’m allowing myself the old-fashion method of the Mila Turnwheel — save states.  Someone dies when they aren’t supposed to?  Reset.  There’re likely other scenarios I’ll keep a mind for when replicating novel events in my play.

(4)  Whatever the novel does — give certain classes to villagers, equip certain items to units, kill a boss with a certain strategy, choice recruitments, lionhead statboost uses — I must replicate those events and actions in my run, thus making it a challenge.  If something’s almost or actually impossible, well... I’ll figure a way around it by having the next closest thing to it.  If nothing’s specified, I’ll use my own discretion (and hope it doesn’t conflict later).

That’s the basis, for now.  I don’t want to restrict myself too tightly so I’ll be a little more flexible — unless, of course, the novels dictates otherwise

The Game

Okay!  Now with that out of the way, let’s begin.

I’ll be going Easy Mode for the ease of training female mages to level 20 to not be hellish again like on my first blind run.

And now... we get to Act 1.

But wait!  The novels have a couple of things to say before I can truly start.

It has a backstory and some pre-game exposition with our favourite Deliverance gang—their own Rise of the Deliverance DLC in novel form.  Let’s have a look.

—

[Novel]

Prologue:

Greek mythology-esque poetic literature that dragons are gods and how their actions affect weather/nature.  A roar brings the rain and lightning storms, humanity questioning why the heavens are always angry.  As the two dragons have always fought as if they were born to, and birthed Valencia to be a reflection of their souls (North vs South fighting mirrors the Duma vs Mila conflict).

It gives a history lesson of how Rigel and Zofia came to be, describing Duma and Mila like oil and water put in a single vase, eventually growing murky and bad as it mixes from being stabilized prior. And now Valencia faces the worst war in its history.

—

Chapter 1 - Liberation Army Part 1-1: 6 Fake Death Pills

[ This entire part is pre-game, contains graphic depictions of events. Warnings for characters contemplating suicide, gritty themes, blood, and graphic descriptions of murders. ]

Starts off with a visible blood splatter on the polished stone floors of Zofia Castle, the military fill the halls leading to the throne room.  An old man with pale skin, has long, hairy legs, and a long white beard, sits on the tall golden throne with a sword lodged in his bleeding chest.  King Lima IV stabbed by none other than Desaix.

Lima IV still draws breath, barely living as he’s groaning painfully and flailing an arm searching for support (but gets none).  His last words condemn Desaix for being ambitious, having stolen the sword of the royal family which he had taken out at the scene as his second sword.  (The royal sword is apparently forged with steel.)  Desaix mocks the king, and his army begins to chant as he takes the next course of action.

The royal sword was then swung to behead Lima IV, the bloodied head rolls to the stone floor, his half-opened eyes looking up at Desaix with resentment.  The usurper declares the rest of the living royal family to be thrown into dungeons or killed.  The defense rebellion broke out immediately after and utterly failed, their numbers whittled down brutally.  Desaix’s reformed royal army heed all responsibility on throwing rebels and other captives in the dungeon (which hasn’t been used for many years in the peaceful kingdom of Zofia).

The anti-Desaix faction’s numbers continue to decline until six (named) knights remained with very few others who were still fighting vigorously.  It is revealed that the six are Clive, Mathilda, Clair, Lukas, Python, and Forsyth.  Eventually, they were captured and got locked up in the cold dungeons.  Frustrated by their circumstances, Clive grieves that death is preferable for the sake of their knightly pride over being tortured by the usurpers.  An old(ish) soldier with graying hair starts talking to Clive (he is the generic looking man in the first illustration).

The six really want to die, as they’re depressed, but the generic soldier makes a deal with them: drink the 6 “death” medicine pills he had made (and calls them lucky he has that many), which will put them in heavy sleep for four hours.  He’ll disguise himself in the enemy’s uniform, cart their “dead” bodies to the graveyard catacombs full of Terrors (the Deliverance Hideout), and buy them time to rebuild forces to liberate Zofia.

He calls six names, the novel describes each one as the following: Clive, the young chief knight, Clair, the Pegasus Knight who was rewarded good luck by the gods for riding a temna, Lukas, a hot-blooded soldier whose spear strikes like a lightning bolt, Forsyth, his character is different from Lukas, whose calm judgment is true, Python, a genius archer whose bow technique is clear [and shoots] with anger, and Mathilda, the female knight who has a brave soul, as beautiful as the night sky, and is as good as Clive.

Clive rejects the offer, shouting it won’t fly with them as knights, still insistent on preferring death.  Mathilda and Clair nod in agreement with them.  A tearful Forsyth insists on all of them dying together as was their knightly vow if it came down to it, the gray-haired man calls them foolish.

The soldier persuades Clive and the others a little more, until finally, Clive makes the first move on reaching for the “death” pill, which then the other five immediately follow suit.  The man tells the knights about Mycen, a holy knight who was banished by Desaix ages past and currently living in Ram, a village located at the cape of the southernmost tip of Zofia.  He tells them to form the liberation army together with Mycen and free Zofia from the hands of Desaix.  The six proceed to swallow their pills and “died” on the spot.

The consumed medicine causes a foul odor to fill the prisons, signaling some had died to the unaware.  The guards drag their six bodies out of the dungeons, sending them to the caves on the far coast from the castle. 

Upon waking, they salvage the caves for weapons, arrows, armour, and garments.  They also attempt to cover up the cave’s entrance with rocks and leaves to keep Desaix’s men from finding the location again.  Lukas was chosen as the messenger because he can hide himself the best from being captured, he is given a map of Zofia that was found and the journey would take three nights.  Lukas and Forsyth hug it out before patting each other’s backs with fists, then Lukas departs.  Clair follows Lukas out of the cave and mentions she is going to find her pegasus.

Forsyth and Clive have strategy talks while waiting for Clair for return and talking about accommodating Mycen.  Python’s polishing his arrows.  Mathilda returns with urgent grim news that the royal army has found their hideout, rushing them to go deeper into the thin, narrow caves.  Meanwhile, Clair did not hear the loud distant yells from Desaix’s army descending upon the caves, chasing her fellow soldiers.

—

[Game]

Whew, apologies for the length so far.  It was to set up the atmosphere of how the chaos will unfold in the future.

If Gaiden’s character endings weren’t potentially depressing enough on their own, we get them from the very beginning...  

So I suppose from that cliffhanger, that was how Clair and Mathilda get captured, which is different from Shadows of Valentia’s depiction where Mathilda was taken hostage before Lukas left, and Clair got kidnapped after his departure for Ram.

These fills in the fe2′s story gaps are interesting to note (as well as the author’s portrayals of the RGB trio’s personalities).

Okay, back to the game...

Act 1 will begin in the next post.  (This one is already long enough, and the next part’s 6 pages long.  In comparison, part 1-1′s was ten pages long.)

To be continued...

—

→ Next installment: Yo, Alm! Listen to this guy! (3x)

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 60

Sarah ended up staying a month longer than she thought she was going to. I guess she didn't feel like she had given a proper goodbye to her mother, and needed to pack more. In any case, it was nice to see her a few more times, without Alex around. Is it wrong that I prefer to hang out with my friends when their boyfriends aren't present? Even if I like their boyfriend overall? I remember playing the racing game for Nintendo with her. We listened to Mark Lanegan's early solo album The Winding Sheet on repeat. I remember Sarah getting in one fight with her mom, but I don't remember what it was about. I think Sarah got upset because her mom passive aggressively demanded something indirectly, but didn't explain herself as to why. She had a way of being intentionally obtuse in order to avoid intimate conversations. So there were some things that Sarah's mom would never talk about, sides of herself she didn't let anyone see. At times she seemed rather cluelessly cold. It eventually could hurt people's feelings. Though I don't think she ever intended it. Her mother never did end up explaining herself. She ended up sort of chastising Sarah for her outrage. Sarah's reaction was oddly childlike. I wouldn't say childish in that her objection and frustrations were sound and valid, though her approach to getting upset seemed to close the opportunity to challenge her mother in a more clever way. I sided with Sarah in the sense that I thought her mom had these moments where she didn't like questioning anything. She sort of sidestepped certain aspects of people, and might low key shame you if you took a step out of her safety zone. She seemed to be very caring and impersonal at the same time. Like, she was sensitive and really wanted good in the world. But at the same time she seemed set to be disappointed and it sort of went in this loop. In some ways, she was altogether unreachable. You realize these flaws about your parents in your mid to late teens most of the time, and it's completely normal.

We ended up going to this all girl ACDC cover band that came to town, called Hell's Bells. I hesitate to criticize ACDC. I have learned to appreciate them and what they stand for. They were a top notch rock band. I realize the more I get older though that I don't really like hard rock all that much. I am not opposed, but it doesn't resonate with me. I prefer folk, artsy stuff, synth pop, experimental, and garage bands. The all girl ACDC cover band did alright – though I respect it now more so than I did back then. This was also the first time I realized my father was drinking again. He had stopped drinking after going to AA. I had suspected it a few times but I couldn't be sure, but here he was doing it openly. I guess it made perfect sense. You would have to be inebriated to really want to hang around Billy all day. And that John guy – the musician my father was hanging around probably drank a lot. Peer pressure got the best of him, and it was a way of coping with the death of both his mother and  his ex girlfriend.

There would be some difficulty with getting me to school each day. At first, my father bought this strange looking green car from the 70's on a whim, since one of my father's brother's had it. But it was a terrible gas hog, and while we were driving on a farmer's road shortcut we accidentally didn't take a correct turn and ended up crashing the car into a ditch. It wasn't broken or anything. It just felt like an unfeasible vehicle. Which left my father with this old pick up we had – very reliable in a way but an even worse gas hog. It took thirty dollars just to drive me to school and back. I kind of knew based on these things that going to school wasn't going to last.

But I didn't know what else to do anymore. Sarah was well on her way to being gone, and I didn't have anywhere else to go. I really didn't look forward to the prospect of being home with my parents all day. I thought momentarily at times about going to college, but the idea of going seemed a bit like an admittance of failure on my own part. I felt like I was throwing away time I could spend honing my skills as an artist. I was too proud to admit that going to college might have been worth my time. In any case, my choices were incredibly limited, and I had no idea what I was doing with myself.

Going to school without Sarah present was kind of a trip for me. I felt sort of lost not having someone else there. I walked into class always a little unsure of myself, my head down. I tried not to have conversations with anyone. I think at first Mike felt defensive towards me, but he quickly grew to feel genuinely sorry for me. I have always been an introvert with random outbursts of impassioned outspoken moments or moments where I was feeling rather humorous or jolly, but I had never felt this introverted before. I didn't smile very much. I didn't get that sad anymore either. I just felt locked in myself. When someone addressed me with even a simple question about my day or what I was reading – I sometimes couldn't even answer. What people seemed to expect of me out in the external world was very hard for me to immediately grasp, and when someone asked me incredibly simple questions, it felt like they were presenting me with a puzzle to solve. Everyone else seemed to be able to solve each other's puzzles, and I was left stupefied.

I was having troubles focusing.  I felt myself drifting off in class quite often. Not to mention, my father couldn't take me to school about 10-20% of the days – and this was going to make it impossible for me to get any credits whatsoever. Furthermore, the class in second hour was a Mythology class. Mike wanted us to draw out a family tree of the Roman Gods. I didn't get the point of studying Mythology in school at all, but the idea of creating a family tree was incredibly intriguing to me, but the project ended up bogging me down when I found over 5000 deities and demigods and even real actual people that I had to somehow display on this tree. There wasn't a piece of paper big enough for me to draw this out. Not to mention that different stories had differing ideas about who had fathered whom. Zeus couldn't ever keep his pants on it seemed, which made things even more confusing. And then there was the fact that many of the Greek Gods sort of got passed down and renamed as Roman ones. I think there were even a few areas where you might have been able to connect some of the Norse Gods if you went back far enough and you were looking at the beginning time lines. I ended up having something I could not possibly turn in. I found Mythology tedious, and I didn't feel like I was learning anything by knowing about ever poor water nymph (that was probably also his daughter) that Zeus had taken a fancy to on a whim. I wanted to know about true things. I wanted to learn about facts – not stories. I didn't see the value in these stories.

So I went to Mike and told him I was going to leave that class and I needed to talk to Jenni. He didn't look particularly surprised, but he seemed annoyed momentarily, as he seemed to think that I was somehow trying to meekly make him do something for me. He looked at me and told me that I needed to talk to Jenni myself. I looked at him in the face calmly – in a way I don't think I would have the year before – and I just said, 'I know, that's what I am intending. I just don't know her schedule and I assumed you probably do'. And he suddenly sort of softened up. He looked at me quizzically, hesitated, and then said 'You've changed.' And after that, he wasn't rude towards me anymore. If he looked at me at all, his expression mostly conveyed sadness. I think he was in someway pleased with my personality. He felt that I was more 'mature' in my approach towards people – far more direct than I had ever been and with an absence of fragile egotism, but at the same time, what had to die in my eyeballs for me to suddenly grow up like this was almost not worth it – and the grim prospects of my future that I am sure he was all too aware of made him feel rather sorry for me.

Mike ended up meeting my father in person one day. My father came to the school to pick me up, and he wanted to meet Mike. I had said enough about the alternative school to where my dad started saying things like, he thought Mike was probably hitting on the teenage girls. I felt that was incredibly insulting as Mike was probably one of the most appropriate men I had ever met in my entire life, and it was obvious to anyone who knew him that Jenni, the overall quest for knowledge, and snowboarding – but mostly Jenni was his focus point on life. He put a great amount of effort to make everyone at the school feel extremely comfortable. My father sort of cornered Mike. Mike didn't seem particularly pleased, and I just sat there in shock, as they both represented two different worlds, and their two heads both being in the periphery of my vision at the same time was sort of mind boggling. I remember Mike being kind of short with my father. I've never seen anyone so passive aggressive towards my father. It was a strange occurrence.

The next day, Mike pointed out to me in passing that he was surprised by my father. He had been working under the impression that my dad was an old drunk hippie that couldn't speak well. He was sort of taken aback that my father was right wing, was rather muscular and big, talked well and extremely assertively and was the sort of person who sort of moved in on what he wanted very openly and seemed to grasp some psychological conversation, as in the conversation, he was able to carefully craft compliments and mix them with questions that seemed harmless, but were mildly intrusive. My father is a smart guy, and he behaves far more like something between a salesman and a cop than he does an old stoned hippie. If you know him, you know he is also incredibly gullible in certain ways, and is very much a one trick pony who's suspicions eventually lead him into being weirdly isolated and crazy. Also, he was about as unreliable and emotionally unstable as your typical good for nothing barfly type can be at times – so there was that. But on the surface, my father is pretty much a salesman who uses friendliness and openness to push people into corners. It's a skill – you have to acknowledge it for what it is. It's gotten him through life. I certainly don't have it. And I think Mike had been working with the assumption that I had been reacting to a different sort of homelife than he was. I could tell it sort of blew theories Mike might have had about me out of the water a bit. Plus,  he just couldn't get my father's overall forward conversation out of his mind since he is a very unusual character. Mike was not used to having to pry control out of someone else's hands in social conversation.

I grew to resent waiting for my father to arrive to pick me up. It caused me to feel stressed as the clock came to that time again. He forgot about me twice, and was always extremely late, like five or six hours late a few times. Moscow, even in the fall, gets really windy and cold. I had no jacket. I would curl up into myself the best I could as the wind pelted me. I would sit outside the school on the bench and watch everyone else drive away or put their headphones on and stroll to wherever they were going. Twenty or thirty minutes later, the teachers would leave the school. Mike felt badly, and he might stay a few extra minutes, but I would always kindly assure him that my father would eventually come to pick me up, though as time went on, I would grow more and more uncertain. I knew there was nothing he could really do for me, and I didn't want to cut into his homelife. So eventually I would be alone. The school was closed, and everyone was gone in the small parking lot but me. I'd get this weird dull anxiety of feeling alone. I felt like I was caught in the echo of the world, and not in the world itself. I would watch the 5 O'clock traffic roll by and wonder who all these people were who seemed to have lives. It felt very real to me that the world was spitting me out. I was never actually going to get the chance to become a person like them.

One of the times that my father didn't come and get me, it was due to him forgetting. He tried to assure me he had not forgotten to get me, but my little brother David later clarified that he had. My father had been too busy hanging out with Billy and the local guys – basically trying to be a cool loser like them. Billy and my dad eventually showed up in Billy's beat up car with duck tape and such. I crammed into the back of the car with Billy's girlfriend and a bunch of other people. It seemed profoundly silly to me that my dad wanted to hang out with these people. They were bad news. Billy's claim to fame other than sleeping with all the girls in town was his infamously terrible driving. He liked to speed, and play racing games with other vehicles. I remember sitting in that car having to hold something to keep my position as he hollered and screamed at other vehicles. I took a look at the speedometer and it said 85mph, and I knew we were on a 40. It was insane. He was swerving around to pass vehicles on solid yellow lines. My father looked nervous – but he also looked like he didn't want to seem uncool. He tried to softly say 'Hey now..' but Billy of course didn't respect that kind of authority, and didn't care. I eventually just closed my eyes and hoped for the best. I knew Billy and Zack were best friends. I tried to understand why that was.

Sitting outside after school, I remember Mike coming out, seeing me huddled up and feeling badly on particular time. He hung out with me for about ten minutes. He explained to me that he didn't think it was right that I didn't have a coat. It was kind of an awkward conversation. I was trying to play it like I wasn't that cold, though it was most likely obvious that I was freezing. He just started letting me know that he felt I was being neglected, and that it was a parents duty to buy their children coats. My father had a job, he clearly wasn't physically incapable of getting me a coat. And yet, I hadn't owned a real coat since 7th grade. In passing he asked me why I had decided to leave Mythology. I explained that I felt it was not worth studying unless you were for whatever reason a very strange sort of nerd who was into such things. This ended up being one of the most important conversations of my entire life.

Mike didn't really reprimand me for my negativity as I had expected, but he asked me why I believed that was true. I sighted the Norse myth of Skoll and Heti, two wolves that chase the moon and sun in hopes of catching them and eating them. I scoffed at the whole thing, and I basically felt they must have been very stupid back in those times. Ancient people truly believed that was what was going on in the sky everyday – and that seemed unacceptable. It was part of their perspective of life, deeply ingrained into their thinking. I wish I could remember the precise conversation, but Mike essentially got me to admit that I didn't feel like ancient people were as 'real' as people of today. I think this was my way of passing off their experiences, and therefore deeming humanity's momentary position as the right one – my own position in particular. There are elements of studying the perspectives of ancient people that can really unwind how you think the world of today is sociologically, philosophically and even scientifically.

As soon as I admitted that I didn't see their perspective as equal, Mike took apart my assumption piece by piece before me. My arguments didn't hold up. It was suddenly and quietly dawning on me that I had based my entire ego and belief system on a certainty with no basis. In conjunction with this, I also stated that reality was real – as I experienced it and saw it. I believed my brain alone was not incapable of any mistakes. I believed my perceptions were perfect in all ways in representing the truth. And I guess you couldn't blame me. I had only ever been around people who were incredibly certain of their own perspective. I had never seen anyone logically question themselves. Mike turned this around on me big time, not too much with info, but by asking a series of questions that lead me to realizing my incredible shortcomings in my belief system and my biases.  It had never occurred to me once that people were hindered by their biases, or that you couldn't actually prove anything truly. I had never entertained Cartesian logic. Solipsism had never once occurred to me.

In the end, I was asking questions on what Mike thought. Because I had just found a glaring blindspot in my entire perspective. Mike explained that science was a means of us manipulating our surroundings to acquire information about it, but you couldn't prove it was real per say. It proved itself. This wasn't a reason to dismiss science in any way, but it left you feeling rather confused about reality, or your place in it. There could theoretically be places where the laws of physics are contradicted. Even in our own solar system there are things that have been observed at great galactic distances that prove that even in our own observable universe, the law of physics didn't seem to apply. Our understanding of the world was limited, and real wisdom couldn't simply be acquired by taking for granted what you see as being all there was. Compared to the vast expanse of reality – whatever reality even is, what were our little finite minds? Was the ideas that I held about my own place in the world that much different than believing in Skoll and Heti?

Nobody had ever pointed any of this out to me before. And it meant everything to me. It meant that I didn't truly know anything. And before I could know anything, I would have to know how I could know anything. Otherwise, I had no premise to believe in anything.  And in connection with this, language itself was quite limited. How could human language even scrape the surface of our existences. We formed most of our biological traits and even our concepts of the world from a very base place of eating, forming healthy tribal groups, fucking and raising our young. Our thoughts will always be hindered by the basic human needs. I could not prove, outside of my own interpretation of what science meant to me, and what could actually be said about time, reality or the meaning of our existences because all of it was limited by my own humanness. My Objectivism was completely crushed in that moment. It was almost exciting in a way, to be shed of my limited scope. I was cold, and Mike ended up going home. But I felt like an animal that had escaped from some kind of small terrible cage. I realize that these days every other successful podcast breeches these deep topics, but it had seriously never once been proposed to me. I have been surrounded by egomaniacs that thought they knew everything, and I had seamlessly become one of them.

This dawning realization also had it' toll on how I saw my own existence in the universe, and how I should forge and create my life. How I judged other people in the grocery store. Instead of my ordinary black and white do or die mentality, I fell into this gray uncertainty, somewhere between a grand and opened mind and a contrary yet equal dose of skepticism. Everything in the world was no longer one dimensional. Even the most simple of subjects could be broken down and understood in a way that connected with everything else. Everything in this weird way was connected, and it was exhilarating for me to think about why that was. I realized that with my own mind, I could strip away aspects of falsehoods. I could find answers to questions. And still more questions would always blossom from that particular answer. I wanted to sort it all out.

What if we were all so small and our lives so minute in the grand scheme of things, or lives so fleeting that I could look at everyone around me and realize that we were all going to die. I never really made it known to a lot of people, but I used to adore the front cover of Hole's 'Live Through This'. I hung it on my wall as a reminder when I got up each morning that I had to fight till I got what was owed me. And I had to earn it. It helped suppress the sad nerdy child in me that was dopey and uncertain of herself. Say what you will about Courtney Love (privately I don't think she's a nice a person), but she really hit some kind of nail on the head for us strange looking girls and that album. The cover, if you don't know, shows this crying woman who looks like she has won the pageant of all pageants. It embodies this extreme western ideal of winning, and at the same time has this disturbing gritty element to it. It's these two contrary realities working together in that picture that I think makes it very genius. She was won the fight to be loved and adored and admired as a woman finally. I had up to that point wanted whatever it was that was being conveyed in the picture. It fed my ego. It made my awkward ugly girl teen years far more bearable to know that if I wanted something badly enough I could transform myself and change my brand.  

But I never really thought about that being some manifestation from an unhealthy ego that was merely trying to compensate from a wounded and broken self esteem. A self esteem that would soon be dead, just like every other great human being in history. Forget the woman on the cover of Live Through This. Think about the glory and success of someone like Alexander the Great. It was all temporary. That glory lives and dies, and I was coming to realize that even though a part of me would always crave attention, and beauty – it would never be enough. Think of all the stars who lived and died in our culture, momentarily worshiped and then forgotten about. In the end they were as revered and remembered as the smelly homeless woman who nobody wanted to touch. They both lived and died. And even a woman say like Marilyn Monroe who was sensationalized by her death and reached a place of fame where she would always be remembered. I imagine it's very lonely at the top. She's an icon, not a human being to most of us. Is it any wonder that so many CEO's commit suicide? I think that when you base your life on these arbitrary standards of achievement, it makes everyone at the top and the bottom and in between completely miserable. But it's those at the top and those at the bottom who can see it the clearest.

It's not that my ego went away. My ego has never gone away, and I feed it what it wants from time to time. But I was now aware of my own ego. It's healthy to remember how brief and sometimes pointless life can be. It doesn't mean that you shouldn't have goals, but the way I was seeing my place in the world and my personal goals was totally destructive to me. And was it what I really wanted? At one point I wanted to be some kind of punk rock queen. But was that really who I even was? Didn't I just want to be a punk as a backlash against having been rejected by Kyle all those years back? The boy next door turned jock turned me down. I think at that early age, it really represented to me that the 'normal world' was never going to accept me. And Sarah seemed to be able to fit in wherever she went. Granted, the strong rednecks didn't want to have much to do with her, but I was always comparing myself to Sarah. And the funny thing is was that it didn't matter to Sarah if she fit in with anyone or not. She couldn't help who she was – or that she was pretty, or slender. I think privately, she suffered from depression regardless. She wanted to be connected with in a real way just like me. She was just as insecure as me, and maybe more so in some ways. I was attributing my failures onto what I perceived to be her successes, which was just about every conversation she had with anyone that went well, or made the other person think well of her. To her, these were friendly exchanges, nothing more nothing less. But to me, I saw every conversation I had as a competition. Life had up to that point become this competition for me, and when I lost I felt like a failure. And that was wrong. I had projecting my insecurities into the friendship, and it had lent it's hand in nearly ruining our friendship. This wasn't to say that it was all me, but it was a good part of it. It was I think the most immediate and obvious problem.

I now wanted to be the kind of person who, rather than define myself by everything I hated, defined myself by what I did and what I loved. I went over the things in my life that I had always bashed on a daily basis, and when I really observed them objectively, and studied my feelings for what they really were, I found that I didn't dislike half as many things as I thought I did. I still had things I disliked, but far less than before. I didn't want to embody some kind of superficial genre anymore. I didn't even like the idea of that kind of categorization. Because isn't everything made out of everything else to some degree? I wanted to be my true self and reach my full potential. I actually wanted to know myself.

My father ended up being even later that day. It was freezing cold – and I was near tears and it was almost ten o'clock at night. He ended up picking me up with that guitarist he was hanging out with and lending his amps to – John. John seemed kind of messed up. He had just broken up with some woman. My father was all about talking badly about women with John. Their was always a sort of competition of stories about women – or they would take turn listening to rock songs on the radio and making fun of the ones that incorporated synthesizers. I remember feeling really annoyed at my father for acting like a jerk, picking me up five hours after school had closed and not even saying sorry. I had been close to panicking when he finally came by. Of course, my father was notoriously late. He was late to his wedding with my mother back in '91.

For the few weeks that Sarah lingered around, I would try to rush to see her when I could. We drove around a little bit. Thom Yorke had come out with his amazing solo album, and we would listen to it on repeat. She had a somewhat new look about her. She seemed more grown up, a little more reserved. I tried to explain to her what I had come to realize about life, and I do believe she tried to listen. She and I were just in very different places at the time. It was dawning on her I think that she was leaving the world she knew behind. She was leaving me behind, and her mom. Sarah didn't have to deal with some of the problems I had. Sarah – for all her problems was a much calmer and more courteous human being by nature. Her ego rarely got her into issues that manifested themselves out into the open. We didn't have the same chips on our shoulders. She didn't react like me to the world. Life just wasn't so immediate and hostile. So what I was saying didn't really apply to her then. We tried to make the best of it all.

There was a time a few days before she finally tried to leave where I asked my dad if I could travel up to her house to see her. It ended up being this really strange altercation – and it made me realize just how done I was with being a legal child. Normally, my father was pretty lenient about me going up to Sarah's. I wouldn't actually say he ever gave me too much of a problem, at least not in the last few years of my later teens. But when I asked him if I could go up there, he got red in the face and sort of had this attitude in his voice and he said 'NO'. I asked him why. I might have let it go ordinarily, but I wasn't going to be seeing a lot of Sarah. She had to also say goodbye to other people in her family, and I wanted to get as much time in as possible. His answer to my question was this surprising and loud 'BECAUSE I'M AN ASSHOLE!!!' I was shocked and upset. He then started walked towards me as if I was some drunk at the bar who had challenged him to a fight. I looked at him then, with his hat turned backwards all stupid – him trying to pretend he was nineteen again I guess. And I just decided to disregard his insane demands. If he had had any reason that even remotely made sense I would have listened, but this was bordering on mentally unstable. I felt shaken and upset, but I was also so disgusted by this that I held my own at least till I could get a ways up the street where I knew he couldn't see me.

I have this suspicion that Mike and Jenni asked this girl named Tatianna to try to be my friend. I was really closed off. I didn't talk to anyone, and she kept offering to hang out with me – volunteering to be my school work buddy. Tatianna was kind of a brilliant human being. She was gorgeous for one with black curly hair. Her parents were a mix of Chinese, Mexican, Brazilian and Russian. She knew all these languages fluently as well as English. With the knowledge she already possessed, she could easily become a translator.  I definitely felt outclassed by Tatianna and was sort of short and nervous behaving when she did talk to me. She talked to the teachers and Jenni quite a lot. I have a feeling they told her to befriend me, for whatever reason – because I was lonely and they might have been worried about me. Don't get me wrong. I think she was a nice person – I don't fault her for taking recommendations from Mike and Jenni and I actually think she was all the more kindhearted for considering talking to people who needed it, and she didn't at all mind reaching out to people like me. I don't think she was getting paid or anything ridiculous. I feel like Mike had pointed me out, and asked her if she could get me to open up a bit. So she really tried. But it was of no use. I got so nervous when she talked to me, that I could barely understand a word she was saying. When I tried to respond, sometimes I just couldn't speak. I felt confused and incredibly panicked when she talked to me – and whenever she would say something I came to associate it negatively with feeling vulnerable and dimwitted.

Billy's girlfriend for a short time started going up to the alternative school. Because of this, I was able to get rides in the morning from Kendrick to Moscow – which saved my father part of a trip. This didn't last too long. Both of us were very quiet. Her name was Casey. She was the girl I went to The Children of Divorce Club with back when I was in 4th grade. She was not especially bright – though she wasn't that dull either, she was extremely pretty, and overall a doormat to Billy who was never remotely respectful towards her and treated her like a lamp when he was around his buddies. Both of us said very little as we drove to school in the morning. One morning as she was driving us to school that late September morning, she in passing told me something that completely cracked my head open and caused me to reevaluate my entire existence. We had been driving in silence for twenty minutes or so. Then she suddenly after this long period of silence, she spoke up  as she had finally remembered something she was supposed to say to me. She explained how she had told Zack as he came over to visit Billy, that she had been driving me to school. She told me that he had lit up when he heard that. He had gotten extremely excited. She said she had never seen him light up like that before. She then proceeded to explain that Zack really missed me and wanted to get in touch with me. He would be writing me a letter in a few days. He was sorry we hadn't stayed in touch, and he wanted to get in touch with me and hang out with me again. And he had told Casey that he loved me.

Ladies and gentleman, my heart dropped in my chest. I felt literal year of emotional weight fall off me. I felt as in love as the day we had hugged one another in the gym as the school bell rang and my friends looked on semi jealously in '03. It confirmed something my heart always told me, but I had begun to stop believing. Whenever I had been alone or lost in those years, Zack had thought of me too. He had cared about me. I felt like he was looking in my eyes. He loved me. He loved me. He loved me. That is all my mind kept saying all day. My soul felt vibrant. I felt like I suddenly had a purpose again. I was shaking. I felt light. I couldn't wait to get his letter. I knew I would not put off writing him back this time. I had spent literally years of my life going over and over what I had done wrong. I was older now, and I would not make those same mistakes. I would give to the conversations. I would always right back. I would tell Zack the truth. I almost thought this had to be some kind of miracle.

That evening when my father came to pick me up though, he explained to me that he was having no luck being able to afford coming and getting me after school. He didn't want to tell me I had to leave school. He never told me to quit. But I knew it had been coming. I volunteered to drop out. I didn't want to anymore, at least not really, but I just imagined that there wasn't much of a choice. My father could literally not get me on days he worked until much later. It was going to cost him a fortune to drive from Kendrick to Lewiston, up to Moscow and then all the way back to Kendrick again each day. What's more, I wasn't doing well in school anymore. This was technically my twelfth grade, but if I did the math, I would be twenty-one by the time I graduated, and that would only be if I got perfect grades. Despite having a good year the previous year, I would never be able to undo the several years where I had gotten zero credits. This whole thing wasn't working out.

A part of me was hopeful too, that if I could get in touch with Zack and plan to meet him, that this would give me the time I needed to be around him and hopefully we could form a long overdue relationship. I wanted to start my own studying into philosophy as well. As much as I loved what I was learning in the alternative school, I wanted to take what I had learned and apply it to what I was interested in. I didn't know anything about philosophy, other than that it pertained to what I had been thinking about – but what little exposure I had was enough to completely reshape my entire reality. I wanted more of that. I also wanted to start painting again. I was tired of drawing cartoons. I wanted to be a professional painter. I wanted to learn the harmonica. I felt like school was sort of wasting my time. On the other hand, I didn't want to be stuck at home with my parents. That prospect frightened me. Had there been an easier way to get to school – I would have stayed, but it felt like all of this was sort of falling into place. So I conceded with my father, and explained I would drop out. I could tell he felt weird about being relieved to hear his daughter would be dropping out. I could have quit then and there, but I told him I wanted to stay till the end of the week. He was fine with that. I felt that would give Zack enough time to write me.

That night I forgot to eat dinner. I was too wrapped up in this new phase of my life that was coming to pass. I got in the car with Casey the next morning as soon as I could. Casey ten minutes into the drive suddenly said 'Oh Shoot. Zack wrote you a letter, but I forgot to grab it off the coffee table.' My heart sort of sunk and lifted. I wanted that letter. That letter was the key to everything I had suffered for up to that point. This gave her till the next day. During class, Mike had regretfully informed us that we would have to pay for free food. It was an order from above his head. So I didn't have any money of course for food. I was getting pretty hungry. I explained to Mike that I was leaving school. He said he was sorry, and told me I would have to sign out properly the next day with Jenni. He would be sure to tell her. He was very nice about it. Staving off hunger, I was reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. It was one of Mike's favorites, and he always told me he thought I would really get into that novel, since it sort of pertained to a lot of the psychological things I noticed about the way power manifests itself. I was anxious about that letter. I was a little misty eyed, looking around at that school. I had really grown as a person since having been there. I would miss the computer room, even mundane places like the hallway to the bathroom meant a lot to me. It had sentimental value to me.

I was very hungry by the time I got home, having missed dinner the night before. I sat upstairs for some time, just sitting on my bed and waiting for dinner to be done cooking. I was busy daydreaming. Eventually I went downstairs to see if dinner was done. Everyone was sitting around the couch. I asked where dinner was, and they all three looked up at me guiltily. They had eaten it all. They forgot about me. My heart sank. In most households, there is always something else to eat. In bigger towns and cities, there is usually at least one grocery story that stays open all night. But in small rural places, that's not the case. My father didn't keep food. He brought food for dinner each night. This actually caused extreme food insecurity in Allison and David. They never got enough, and what there was leftover often times I ate up – not realizing they were that hungry, and eating to suppress my emotional instability. So there was no option for me but to go to bed the next morning.

The next day, I was feeling dizzy. I really was crazed hoping for that letter. This was the day. After this, I wouldn't be going to school anymore, and Zack wouldn't really find a way to get the letter to me. I actually got up the courage to ask Casey finally about the letter as she didn't mention it at first. She looked confused when I asked her. I think she was most likely always stoned. That had to be why she was that way. She said 'Oh damn! Did I leave it in the car? Is it down by your feet?' I looked around, pretending not to be desperate. Eventually she looked distant and forlorn. 'I must have lost it.' My heart sank. I didn't feel like it was the end of the world. I felt like after the ear infection, I had already met with the end of the world. I was just incredibly disappointed. I had to hide it though. I guess Casey had tried her best. And at least now I knew – which was the most important thing – that Zack still loved me. It was disappointing that I would never be able to read that letter he wrote me that he intended for me. It was some kind of terrible coincidence that this was all happening on the last days of school. I tried not to compare it to the ending of Romeo and Juliet. We just missed one another. It was all coincidence. O happy dagger. This is thy sheath.

I was dizzy from hunger and disappointment. I went into Jenni's office for our last meeting. She seemed disappointed that I would be leaving. She tried to talk me out of it, but I explained to her in plain terms that staying in school was now officially impossible. She tried to give me some advice. One thing she told me was that being seventeen was going to be difficult, she said, because your parents still have the rights to control you like you are a youth, but you are technically thinking like an adult, and they will also expect you to live up to adulthood. I took that into consideration. She sort of bantered with me about not wasting my time. I assured her that I would not waste my time. She wanted me to go to college still, which I shrugged off. She said she knew a lot of students that, when they lived with their parents they ended up stuck where they were and they spent all day watching Opera on the couch. I scoffed, as I wasn't a daytime television fan – kind of sidestepping the point she was making. She didn't want to support me on leaving like I was, but she knew that it was out of both her and my hands. I also made the mathematical assessment known that I wouldn't be graduating till I was 21 and only then if my grades were perfect, which I knew they would not be. She had to agree. I remember I was looking at this stack of hearts that said 'Don't Break My Heart By Doing Drugs' on them. I think they were meant for taking notes on. I asked if I could keep one of them as a remembrance item. She let me have one happily. She looked me in the eye, and said 'Go Get Your GED Renee'. I nodded to that.

I wanted to say goodbye to Mike more formally, but hunger had completely taken over all thought by the end of the day. I had never gone without food that long before. It was two and a half days now. I had managed to scrounge up ninety cents on my bedroom floor that morning. Nothing in the gas station across the street from the school was that cheap. I knew I had to do something. I snuck in the kitchen, found a bag of bagels, and I stuffed one in my mouth and devoured it as fast as I could. I then grabbed another one, and ran to the front door. I knew I was supposed to pay for them but I didn't have the money, and I didn't want to be caught stealing. I was just so hungry I couldn't think anymore. Had Mike truly known just how starved I was I am sure he would have let me eat these, but I didn't know. Also, as I grabbed the second bagel, the bag fell off the counter, and I just ran anxiously out the door.

In the gas station, I found the cheapest thing I could afford. It was this package of fig newtons. To back up, I don't enjoy fig newtons at all, but I was so hungry that I crushed these guys in my mouth and I never tasted anything so delightful in my life. I was still shaky, but it was alright. I had gotten my father to agree that I would wait in the gas station rather than outside. I finished reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. That book was so intense and real to me. I was keen on ever subtle thing in the book and what it meant. I felt like it was the perfect novel. I was slightly crying at the end. I was still hungry. I was feeling twelve feelings all at once. It was a lot to look at the big picture and fully come to terms with the reality that school was over. I had made it through twelve years of hell. I had been all these different people, I have loved and lost, and found new reasons to be alive again. I had gone from a good student to a terrible student to a fantastic student. I had made friends and then lost of all of them. And now it was just me against the world. I no longer had to get up and do school work anymore. It felt surreal. I couldn't believe my life was what it was. I felt happy about Zack, sad about Zack. Happy to be out of school, sad to be out. I was still starving. I sat there in a daze. I am sure I looked strange to the other customers in the A&W.  Then my dad came and waved me into the truck, and that was my last day of high school.

PART 59 - https://tinyurl.com/yd79nbcs

PART 58 - https://tinyurl.com/yc3zzr5k PART 57 - https://tinyurl.com/y9slhq2w PART 56 - http://tinyurl.com/y7v9kbn2 PART 55 - http://tinyurl.com/y8fy3uew PART 54 - http://tinyurl.com/yb8nlwvh PART 53 - http://tinyurl.com/yae9wgbj PART 52 - http://tinyurl.com/ybwft2g6 PART 51 - http://tinyurl.com/y9gsjg4j PART 50 - http://tinyurl.com/y7729d45 Part 49 - http://tinyurl.com/ydbpgkqw PART 48 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcn5uuu PART 47 - http://tinyurl.com/y8xyogl9 PART 46 - http://tinyurl.com/ybqoxned PART 45 - http://tinyurl.com/y94784tz PART 44 - http://tinyurl.com/ydfpbzxt PART 43 - http://tinyurl.com/yckvswd7 PART 42 - http://tinyurl.com/ycnng83q PART 41 - http://tinyurl.com/y84kmttv PART 40 - http://tinyurl.com/y8aj6kmq PART 39 - http://tinyurl.com/y97vprft PART 38 - http://tinyurl.com/ycr7la8q PART 37 - http://tinyurl.com/y8trssqd PART 36 - http://tinyurl.com/y9ygq9q8 PART 35 - http://tinyurl.com/ya5xhe2f PART 34 - http://tinyurl.com/yc6y4p69 PART 33 - http://tinyurl.com/y87449dz PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep PART 31 - http://tinyurl.com/yae3o4rd PART 30 - http://tinyurl.com/ybht9aul PART 29 - http://tinyurl.com/ybfcr9j2 PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47 PART 27 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcj5fgf PART 26 - http://tinyurl.com/y73nvl73 PART 25 -  http://tinyurl.com/y6v6pgoj PART 24 - http://tinyurl.com/ycak5d8r PART 23 - http://tinyurl.com/yac6sk3g PART 22 -  http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw PART 21 -  http://tinyurl.com/y783egno PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8 PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng PART 16 - http://tinyurl.com/yadpsv8c PART 15 - http://tinyurl.com/yb3lt6k5 PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94 PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84 PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24 PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw   PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2 PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

[5hfanfiction]

SEASONS - CHAPTER 02

I hope you enjoying it :)

Summer: Welcome to the new reality

Camila’s POV

We reached the eastern part of the school, there was almost nothing but a poorly tended garden. Dinah was agitated, mumbling things I couldn’t understand. What the hell was that?! How did our janitor turn into a prototype of Hulk and attack a student? Alright, everyone deep down wanted to punch Jauregui, but that was just metaphorical, at least most of the time!

“Mila, don’t freak out now!” Dinah noticed my breathing quickening with confused thoughts. “First we have to go somewhere safe, okay?”

“What is happening, DJ?” I asked a little tearful, trembling with fear.

“It’ll be okay, I promise. But let’s go to the plan that is quite simple: run away from school, go to my house, put together a real plan.”

“But what about Lauren?!”

“She can find us on the way”

So sure about that, Dinah looked around and stared at the wall. Then with incredible agility, she jumped and climbed easily up the rock wall, sitting on top with one leg on each side. Dinah offered her hand, helping me up and mumbling something like I had to stop eating pizzas. All that, the only normal thing that happened was that when I jumped to the outside of the school, and fell to the ground. Dinah Jane helped me up without any joke, which was odd.

We run down the street, but before entering the main avenue, Dinah stopped and looked around. She approached a car, a popular and old olive color, and pulled a pocketknife out of her pockets. Spun it between her fingers and seemed to activate something, turning into a car key.

“Okay, first a lighter that turned into a sword. Now a pocketknife that has a car key?” I asked completely confused.

“It’s a master key, idiot” Dinah grunted and fit the key in the car, turning and opening the vehicle easily. “It opens almost everything. Now go in”

I didn’t dare question her anymore. It was all madness and for good reason. My reason was to go and let my instincts command most of my behavior. We got into the car and Dinah yanked and at that moment I discovered that my friend wasn’t a good driver… At all.

“Dinah, for God’s sake, could you at least explain what’s going on? What did the janitor want with me?!” I questioned loudly, out of desperation, my mind going back to work slowly.

“That’s a great question, I was pretty sure you weren’t one of us.” Dinah groaned frustrated. “I’ll have to put up with Lauren saying; I told you so”

“What kind of drugs are you taking? What do you mean, one of us? Is it a gang? Was I involved for being your friend?!”

“A gang? It would be pretty cool and dangerous.” Dinah laughed and shook her head.

“Then what the hell that man grew up like Hulk? He just didn’t turn green”

“Oh, he wasn’t a man. He was a Laistrygonian. A kind of mini-giant cannibal, they aren’t smart and that’s our advantage, but they’re cannibals and strong”

“Cannibals? You’re kidding, right?!”

“I wish, Mila, I wish… HOLY SHIT!”

Dinah braked once, throwing me forward as in my despair, I didn’t put the seat belt. I hit my head hard on the dashboard, I was lightly dizzy as I looked up and saw Lauren standing in front of the car, hands flat and breathless. She was lightly bruised, her clothing covered with a golden dust. The Hispanic girl punched the hood of the car and got into the passenger seat behind me.

“You still haven’t improved your direction, Dinah!” Lauren groaned and Dinah grimaced in disgust. “For a Hermes’ daughter you’re very slow, why didn’t you step on that accelerator yet?!”

Okay, she was alive and grumpy as usual. I couldn’t explain the relief I felt when this happened. Dinah didn’t answer, just put the car back in motion and drove it even more precisely. I looked over my seat, staring at Lauren as if she were an alien. After all, an hour ago she was just the troublemaker from school, which everyone knew not to mess with. Now? She still was all of this, but she earned a bonus from being a swordswoman. I noticed better her state, the sleeve of her torn shirt, bruise arm and a cut on her chin that was still bleeding. The black and long hair was messy, her eyes were most intense shade of green. I swallowed a tired sigh and sat on my seat.

No one talked, my head hurt because of the mental confusion I was having. Dinah focused on keeping us alive in traffic and Lauren? Just folded her arms and stared at the street. Dinah parked on a suburban street, very quiet and almost without homes because it was so far from downtown. Beside us was a well-kept but very simple house. Was that her house? Me and Dinah could be friends, but we didn’t get to the level of going to visit each other in our residences.

“Let’s go, Cabello” Lauren pushed me when I stood looking at the house.

I didn’t reply as I would have, she, in a way, had saved me just like Dinah. The tall brunette followed in front of us, opening the room and waiting for us to come in so she could lock the door once more. The place was simple but completely bewildering. There was an old sofa, but a TV that just by looking I knew it was expensive, along with a video game. The circular table where dinner was probably served had a funny towel with flower prints. But in the center had a beautiful sculpture of an angel, I could swear that the details were golden. The painting on the walls was completely old, but on the walls there were also beautiful pictures of landscapes.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Jauregui warned before disappearing down a hallway.

“Is this your house?” I asked just to confirm, still looking everything around.

“Yeah… or was” Dinah threw herself on the couch and sighed. “I was beginning to like it here”

“Was?” I ran to sit beside her. “Dinah, please explain to me what’s going on or I’ll go crazy. You messed with the wrong people, is that it? Did Lauren make you do something you didn’t want?”

“Oh, so many times” Dinah chuckled sadly and shook her head slowly in a denial way. “But I would have regretted if I hadn’t followed this girl. Mila… It’s so complicated that I don’t even know where to start. You need to have an open mind, okay?”

“I need answers!” I demanded, I knew I would have an outbreak if I don’t start to understand things.

“Alright. So… What do you know about Greek mythology?”

“DJ! There’s no time for history classes, you can tell me what’s going on, I swear I won’t judge you and–”

“I’m serious Mila. Mythology is the answer. Greek gods, monsters, nymphs, satyrs… All that we think exists one day, still exists. I am what we call half-blood, or the most popular term a demigod”

Demigod. My mind quickly projected the Hercules of Disney, a hero son of a powerful God who had super strength. Dinah was telling me it was something like that? I groaned loudly and slumped on the couch.

“Didn’t you have anything better to come up with?” I asked incredulously and indignantly.

“JJust keep an open mind, okay? You’ll believe with time.” Dinah grabbed my arm trying to get my attention. “The Gods do exist and they sometimes come down here to do anything, one of those things is to have fun with humans. So we’re born, some don’t even discover that they are half-bloods because the power doesn’t develop at all. Others are more subtle and can go unnoticed. But there are those who have the Greek side and develop certain skills. So these are hunted.”

“Hunted?” I repeat; finally surrendering to history. It cost anything to listen, right?

“By monsters, like that janitor. They literally kill us or eat them out of revenge or because it was their nature of pursuit the demigods.”

“And that Lais… whatever, was after me?”

“Laistrygonian” Dinah corrected me. “It seems so. Why? We don’t know yet.”

“This is crazy Dinah… I want to go home, I have to tell my mom!”

“You would only put her in danger.”

Lauren’s voice was so unexpected it startled me. She was standing at the top of the hallway, arms crossed. Her hair was darker and wet, her clothes changed. Now she wore torn jeans, a loose Nirvana shirt, and a very serious look.

“What do you mean in danger?” I repeat with my stomach wrapping up.

“That Laistrygonian said something like ‘Master sent’. If his Master sent such a monster after you, he’ll send others. Your head may be the prize and now that you has been found and knows things, your presence will increase and will be easier to find you”

I didn’t understand half of those things. All I wanted was to desperately get back to normal, to go home and hug my mother. I stood up, my instinct screaming that danger was knocking on my door, I had to run away.

“I’m going home.” I announced as firmly as I could. “I’m not involved with these things just like you two! I did nothing!”

“We never did anything” Lauren groaned and looked away. “And yet we always pay the price”

“I… I…”

Shook my head strongly. Again the reason was running away, I did the only thing that seemed right at the moment. I turned on my heel, went to the door, and tried to open it. I completely forgot that Dinah had locked it.

“Dinah, let me go!” I begged.

“Mila, wait” Dinah asked patiently. “I know it’s all crazy, I know that everything is confused. That’s how I discovered it, too. But as soon as I did, I also had to move away from my family. Lauren had too. It was for their good.”

“I will not left my mom!” I yelled. “This is insane! I’m underage, I don’t know what the hell is going on!”

“Deep down you know it’s true” Jauregui kept the same cold and calm tone. “The sense of persecution, the fact of being at the wrong time in the wrong place for those strange things happen. Unexplained accidents. This will all get worse, Cabello”

“Mila, we–”

A powerful growl hushed Dinah. Just like that, all of a sudden, as if someone had connected a broken engine right next to us. My blood froze and my whole body felt a cold shiver down my every nerve. Dinah ran to my side, picking up her pocketknife, turning it twice in her hand and it turned into a beautiful silver dagger. Lauren already had her sword turned, her position totally defensive.

Then it came out of nowhere, literally. JJumping from a shadow that was produced from the hall, a huge black dog appeared and threw himself against Lauren. She tried to deflect, but fell to the ground and with the impact her hand dropped the sword. I screamed in despair, being pulled back by Dinah who used her own body to stand in front of me. Lauren was on the ground, the huge paws with huge claws were on either side of her body. The monster was like the worst nightmares that every child has. Huge, red eyes, claws and sharp teeth, a black aura hanging around. He opened his mouth to bite Lauren, but she opened her left hand and pointed toward him, releasing a burst of lightning that threw him away.

Lauren crawled to the sword on the ground and Dinah was pulling me close and leading to the door, unlocking it. My eyes were fix on the surreal scene that happened to me. Jauregui reached the sword, spun around and had no time to get up. The big and evil dog was wincing, but about to jump in her direction. I knew Lauren couldn’t defend herself, she was really bad and would be hurt.

“STOP IT!” I cried before the big dog make his attack. “DON’T HURT HER, PLEASE!”

Of all the strange things, of all that madness .. It seemed to overcome everything. The dog growled, looked from me to Lauren, and tried to move forward, but I screamed once more.

And he obeyed me.

He pulled back and kept the tense eyes, staring at the girl on the floor like a beautiful piece of steak. But he didn’t attack.

“Mila, how can you–”

“Let’s go!” Lauren jumped to her feet, running up to us and kicking the door with a big impact, causing it to break quickly. “Let’s not play around with luck, DJ!”

Dinah held me and practically pushed me all the way to the old car. I still stared at the house, afraid that black beast come out and attack us. As the three of us got into the car, Dinah sped up the tire, driving us away. So finally I understood that the danger was real. That those strange and absurd things Dinah told me were real. And Lauren was right, at least this time, when she said that my mother would be in danger. I let out a long sigh, cowering on the bench until I could hug my knees. Then I cried.

[bloodinhershoesrpg]

WHEN THE CURTAIN DROPS...

Kindness, the term you’re most frequently associated with. The definition of the girl next door, every teenage boy with a fable for cheesy romance’s wet dream to the extent even your nickname fulfils the criteria. Little Barbie has been attached to your heel ever since your brain could fathom the concept of memory, bubbly little Barbie, an angel in pastel tulle, embodiment of untainted purity and infantile naivety. Illusions that happen to be a newer addition to your reputation, illusions that have you toss your head back amidst laughter in the safety of your own company as you recall the faux sadness displayed in their eyes right before they lean in to purr tales of the cold harsh truth — as they call it — to one another, well out of earshot, about how a girl as fragile as you will never last. Oh, how wondrous they find it to be that you have come this far without caving in; oh, how they long to discover your secret for this ostensibly undeserved success. At long last, they’re all the same, the ones you call friends seamlessly fitting in with the ones you’ve remained wary of: narrow-minded, short-sighted, heart-renderingly superficial. What they can’t see doesn’t exist, a logic so simple it sickens you in secrecy. You’re too soft, they whisper, you’ll never be able to stomach the struggles of a real ballerina long enough for your name to gain immortality and you wouldn’t dare to correct them.

...YOU SHOW YOUR TRUE COLOURS

For what they neglect are layers, depth, more than meets the eye. A devoted believer in the theory of everything having a reason, your kindness does not come devoid of one, naivety and greenness the furthest from fitting descriptive terms for a girl of your calibre. Confidently, you would proclaim you’ve seen it all, felt it all, slight exaggeration being part of the calculation but the essence of your statement indisputably truthful. From the punching bag to the one dishing out punishments to the reformed sinner — your journey has been rocky at best, your willingness to fight for your values and desires the sole reason you have pulled through and now find yourself seated on marble steps between rehearsals, invitingly patting the free seat beside you, your encouraging smile always reaching scintillating eyes. A certain comfort you have found in peace, all disturbances of it striking you like a dagger to the chest, the frequency increasing drastically the further your career progresses. If there was a choice to make between tranquillity and triumph, they might picture you overtaken by weakness but you alone know that you would not need to ponder. Even your duties as voluntary advocate for tolerance and collaboration has its limits and, alas, when push comes to shove, aren’t we all, even the most fragile of us, fighting our own battles?

VICTIM OR CULPRIT?

Of the twenty years you have thus far lived, seventeen have been filled with ruthless training, your successes not in the least as uncalled for as some might wish for them to be. The name Barbara Donne, often synonymous with Barbie, has been on the tip of every ballet aficionado’s tongue, including those possessing enough power to secure your reign, your new role as The Lilac Fairy inevitably bound to garner the most attention you, the glowing spitting image of Skyler Samuels Kat McNamara, have ever received. 

IN RELATION TO

ADELINE MOREAU: A girl of your upbringing is hardly used to compliments on her accomplishments, let alone heartfelt praise. Adeline has given you all that and more, her words laced with a form of encouragement you had yet to experience. Prior to her employment you had inarguably exhibited talent but your technique was lacking, never quite graceful enough for perfection; with her by your side, however, your shine is undimmished, your way to the top paved with tiles of pure gold. There is no way to thank her enough, albeit her help is much subtler than its effect, but you attempt to with sweetness and understanding, conviced that the time will come when the woman might hope to find an open ear and a friend in you. LINDSEY DAVIES: The hatred of envious commoners has hit her with unfazed force even succeeding the one you have fallen victim to before, your sympathy for her sparked at first sight. No nasty rumour could lead you astray, draw you away from pursuing a friendship with the girl whose stardom, soon to come, everyone finds even more unearned, even more suspicious. A part of you pities her for the spiteful glares so often directed at the back of her head, if not thrown straight at her, eye to cold eye, whereas another silently rejoices over her taking your place as the one everyone loves to pester. With a temper like hers and the right arguments, she might just teach those snobs a lesson on your behalf.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW

Chances of Survival: Slim Applicant must be open to portraying childhood trauma (form UTP) Faceclaim is negotiable

Starring: Becky as Barbara Donne

BARBARA. Hailing from the Greek word barbaros, meaning foreign or strange - she’s always figured that she had been named aptly. Always an outsider, always a stranger, even in her own skin, she takes comfort in Saint Barbara, in her strength. She knows how the story goes: every wound inflicted upon her healed, every fire brought near her skin extinguished. But she knows how the story ends and sometimes, in the dead of night, Barbie wonders if she’ll end up like her: end up the martyr, end up the sacrifice, with the insides of her veins painting the ground. ANAIS. French for grace, her middle name always seemed like a taunt to her – in her former years, she had always been lacking grace, been too much raw power and not enough silk covered elegance. But in recent years, she has lived up to it, coating her movements with an old world finesse like a second skin, moving through the ranks without a ripple, leaving onlookers always confused as to where she came from and how she ascended. (Surely, she cannot deserve it.) DONNE. Rooted in Irish mythology as Donn, the god of the dead – her last name always felt like a little bit of a promise, and a little bit of a curse.

PERSONALITY. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be? Barbie thinks she remembers being soft, being kind in the beginning – and part of it stems from her looks. She was born with delicate features, handpainted on a canvas of porcelain, doe eyes that changed with the context of her background (green in the woods, golden on cloudless mornings, honeyed hazel in the pale afternoon light), and hair so bright it was only rivaled by her smile. When people saw her, small and lithe and fragile, flighty in essence, a little dove that alighted in the palm of their hand, it was hard not to trust her, an impossibility to expect cruelty from her. And because the world craves sweet things, beautiful little souls, because it aches in constant hunger for a minute kindness, it swallowed her up, turned her softness into a warzone and layered her edges into knives.

So she remembers her obsidian mouth, flinty and stone cold but still beautiful – tongue cutting through skin so thinly, down at a molecular level, that most of the time, people didn’t even notice blood being drawn until they left, drained and cold. But she believes that everything has a purpose, and this portion of her life is no different. She remembers that it feels just as empty, just as painful, to be throwing words like punches as it does to receive them, and how truly heavy lies the head that bears the crown. She dissembles her weaponized empathy, sheds her cloak of cruelty – it never suited her well anyway.

So here she stands, bearing kindness around her neck like a cross on a chain, letting it glint and dangle in front of everyone, takes the shattered glass hate and grinds it to dust beneath the molars of her smile. She tastes war, heavy on the back of her tongue, and everyone knows the innocents are the first to go. But here’s the beauty of being delicate: when she shatters, all her broken little pieces will cut them right back. And everyone leaves none the wiser; everyone thinks that it’s their fault for breaking it in the first place. Everything has a purpose, everything is by design.

BACKSTORY.

i. dig up the bones

Her father likes to talk about the day she was born – about how when her mother finally had her after an exhausting eight hour labor, she had said, half delirious, “She will have a hard time of it.” He likes to talk about how her mother had cried and held her close after that, rocking her gently as tears dropped from the tops of her cheeks onto Barbara’s forehead. “She is so beautiful, and the world will not stand for it. Don’t argue with me. Just answer me this, my love: why do flowers wilt? Why do they wilt, when they should bloom forever?”

He has no answer for that question, and Barbara learns early on not to ask it.

But her mother is right, in the end. She spent her childhood tucked away and loved, hiding like a little mouse from the rest of the world, spoiled sweet to the core. But the world finds you eventually, and everything will come all at once.

It starts because her hair gleams like a halo of fire around her porcelain skin, and the kids at school tug at it and make fun of her for the translucence of her cheeks when blood rushes to the surfaces and matches her hair. They call her carrot-top and throw the baby carrots from their neatly packed lunches at her, and she finds out everything can hurt her, no matter what it is.

She goes home and cries in her room, cursing her hair and her fair skin and her thin frame. She wishes she were big and burly and tall, so no one would dare hurt her. She begs her father to let her take self-defense over dance, but can’t find her tongue when he asks why. So she channels her hurt and her anger into ballet – it makes her feel beautiful and strong, this tulle-layered corner of hers, far away from playground wounds. (All this hurt and loneliness and spite bites her in the ass one day, when they say her dancing is too much the raw provocateur and too little of the soft princess they’re looking for.)

Either way, her wishes aren’t heard, and this is how she learns the casual cruelty of children.

It changes in high school – while she’s not big and burly and tall, no one dares pick on her because her beauty becomes her sword and her armor. Boys who used to pull her pigtails find themselves wanting to tug her hair for different reasons, those who laughed at the easy blush of her cheeks covet how naturally color comes to her, and with time, they want to press bruises into her skin with their lips and not the packaged contents of their lunches.

She is a stroke of lightning upon her childhood tormentors, just how a vengeful god smote St. Barbara’s killer where he stood after her death. She hides wolf grins behind demure hands, sharp teeth snapping, blood-hungry. Is she not made from the gilded dust of monarchs of ages past, sitting pretty with a crown tipped on a bed of curls?

Payback feels like freedom until you stop and realise you’re still just as pissed as before.

ii. but leave the soul alone.

In the end, it’s love that unclasps the years of trauma she wore swathed around her delicate shoulders, that pulls her down from where she played judge, jury, and executioner in her academy. They find her in an empty training room, lights dimmed and pushed up against the mirror, only it’s not any of the boys they find her wound around, and the lipstick prints on her neck attest to that fact.

Barbie is all little red riding hood to Isa’s big bad wolf, and she’s homesick for a sixty second love, hungry for the sink of her canines.

She is quickly and swiftly ousted from the uppermost echelons of academy hierarchy, but she can’t bring herself to mind. (What she does mind are the slurs pressed in whispers behind her back, dyke dyke dyke.) So she goes back to drinking venom insults and letting it drip off her lips like honey instead, lets herself be repainted kind-bubbly-weak-Barbie, kind smiles reaching welcoming eyes, the Sistine Chapel amongst a sea of sinners, a safe harbor in a storm. She pats the seat next to her and her quick taps sound like welcome home, stay for a while.

[tumblunni]

HEYO! oh man now my friend helped me get all inspired again for working on my Cathedral Tower Defense game so WOO lets have another long post of miscellaneous ideasies for storyness! may not be very coherant tho cos i am super tired and ill! but happy!! THANKS SUMMON-DAZE FOR BEING MY ULTRA BESTIE

* Okay now I am super sure that I’m gonna let you choose the gender of the protagonist! And I wanna keep it so that their name is Amity either way, cos that’s kinda stuck in my mind. Surname Amity, player gets to decide the first name, but people will still be calling you Amity a lot at first cos you start off all awkward and formal with everybody. You’re a newcomer to this cathedral town and nobody knows whether to trust you, from their perspective you’re this dangerous person theyre forced to accept just because they need you to help protect them, whether you’re good or bad. They’re all worried what price they might have to pay for this, trying to figure out how to minimize the damage if you turn on them... and its not like they’re bad people for being untrustworthy, they’re just scared people huddling in a church and trying to keep their families safe at any cost. So try and prove your worth to them, and help them learn to protect themselves too, and make this ramshackle settlement into a real home! ....anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, gender selection is a good! And it could be relatively easy to impliment too, cos of the situation. Doesnt even necessarily have to be a menu or anything, it could just be like sir amity/lady amity/master amity. Cos you’re this paladin knighto, itd make sense for them to ask for your title. And it could just be like a shot of protagonist’s badass silhouette in the gateway of the cathedral and then you get the dialogue choice to pick your identity, and its all Super Cool~!

* It also actually gives me more of an idea of what i could do for their design, like I dunno maybe they have some sort of face-concealing helm or headdress or something. I was just thinking of them being dressed like a generic nun or princess but maybe emphasize more on the knight aspect instead of the holy part? So like anyway, maybe they have a very all-concealing outfit and that could be the framing of the first scene instead, its like *pulls off the mask and you’re into the character selection screen* Orrrrrr maybe there doesnt need to be any magical setup for a gender selection and it can just be a menu before the first scene starts XD Or maybe you have a cool face-concealing helmet thing anyway, like all three gender options just have a different one, lol

* More random magical names i got via the cool name generator site summon-daze linked to me! Dunno if I’ll actually use any of these but im writing them down here so i dont forget. Berebath, Betnia, Amurziz, Jetre, Miemahl, Semdach, Batxahl, Sidefarch, Botolohn, Vausach, Thammoch, Droibhal, Lekonach, Zeidhal, Tieloch, Rabrohm, Maesur, Smoiroch, Baelbuhr, Axoth, Jige, Chushou, Hukru, Nejeget, Roucu,  Jinah, Aujus, Yekoth, Nugresah, Israfel, Jabriel, Tabris, Douma

* Also I’m remembering Jade Cocoon and how I liked that the different ‘families’ of monsters shared naming traits. Like how all those weird snake/slug cutiepies that i loved best were nushab, rashab, etc etc. And tamatoch and somethingtoch and so on. I think there was at least one where the modifier was a prefix too? I dunno why i’m talking about this, but there you go. I just think if i wanna do full original made up names for demon species then i wanna make em stuff that just... feels like that. I dont actually wanna make like five different elements of each one tho, i wanna have only one per element and then they have like two different higher level finalized forms. Like, the human characters can have two job classes each and the demons can have two specializations within an element. That helps me think about how to limit it down to four or five elements, if we can combine common fantasy elements together! And yeah I was thinking it’d be cool if the demon ‘job classes’ could have their own evolving appearances and new names!

* Thoughts for the ol elemental groupings! The only one I really have finalized is grass + poison = same thing. Florin, why u always the character that gets developed faster than everyone else XD And I’m thinking giving them their own made up names would make it easier! Like how in SMT you have spells being stuff like ‘media’ and ‘agi’ instead of cure and fire. But here (hopefully) it’d be easier to memorize cos its just the element names that’re fantasy words, and the attacks themselves would be a little more self explanatory. i just think it’d work cos like... the idea i had of rock and fire being one single demon type, you could just call that magma. But i mean, what can you call plant + poison? Except.. like.. plant. Cos poison is reasonably often a grass type skill anyway. And i mean, game creators dont often worry about making sense, what with how ‘grass’ is the common element name when thats just one plant in a million. I cant stop thinking about that now I’ve noticed it! I legit thought grass was a synonym for plant when i was a kid, i learned to read from pokemon yellow... ANYWAY IM GETTING OFFTOPIC AGAIN The other idea I had for groupings was fire + non-elemental together? I was just thinking like... aura. Non elemental/physical attack as a ‘magic’ could be fighting spirit! And thematically speaking it tends to be shown as fire effects in anime, i guess XD But then i couldnt put fire with rock and that means I’d have to redesign malachi again. his design ended up looking more firey than rocky :P Another idea is maybe darkness + non-elemental together? like, interpret non-elemental as ‘void’. Or light and dark could be together actually, that could be an interesting way to do it, instead of having them opposing. Like maybe the elements could be colours! Grey element, able to specialize into white or black but neither is any sort of ‘good and evil’. And then the rest could be like green or like.. instead of red maybe fire could be bronze and thats why it has rock skills too? or man, maybe rock and metal could be one element and fire could be grouped with something else. And would water and ice be too ordinary and boring? do they already kinda count as one element? should I throw in something else? GAHHHHHHH

* Ideas for the multiple religious groups aligned with each element! I’m thinking I want one of them to interpret the setting’s absent god as two deities. like, every perspective on this deity is a wildly different character, this one is just even more so! they’d see malahat (tentative name) as two people, but kinda more like a shared soul that can manifest as either a male or female form. But there’d be ambiguity and debates in the mythos over whether this is actually a genderfluid god, or if its ‘twins who were cursed to never exist at the same time’, or various other variations on the story. I wanna make it like real life, where even within (for example) catholocism, there’s different sects and different translations of the same text. And where there’s predjudice against minority groups and people like to twist their faith to ‘justify’ it, even when parts of the original tale could easily justify treating those people with kindness too. So there’d be some followers of the twins religion who are very openminded to LGBTQ people, and historically anyone trans was able to hold a unique position as a priest, being treated as someone blessed by god. But like in norse mythology, this wasnt necessarily a sign that society was 100% okay with LGBTQ people. Its kinda depressing to read about how trans women and gay men were considered the only people able to become a specific kind of witches, but also how you kinda HAD to take this one safety net in society to stop people from making you an outcast. It was like ‘make them fear me so they dont fuckin kill me’. You had to become a medicine person and at least claim to believe in these magic powers, you had to be blessed by the gods to prove you were like.. one of the good ones. Otherwise its like youre saying the gods made a mistake when they made you, or youre choosing to be a deviant against nature. i can only imagine how terrifying it must have been if you believed in that religion and had to like.. be forced to go against it and leave society, or be forced to lie about being chosen by a god for a higher purpose, while believing that any moment you might get struck down for lying. And then I read in other history books about how the concept of homosexuality was far different in that old society too, how male-on-male sex was accepted at sea as long as you were the dominant one and you were forcing something unwanted onto a lesser shipmate as punishment. Like ugh, rape being more socially accepted than consensual LGBTQ relationships! I guess the only solace is that we can never be 100% sure how much of historians’s theories are correct and what might have changed in retellings of history, but honestly I can believe the past is this fucked up when the present is already fucked up in different ways. BUT ANYWAY I wanna explore those themes in my story maybe. And I wanna do more research into the subject to make sure I’m doing it justice, even though its a very sad subject that might be quite stressful. Maaaaan, I remember how I used to obsess about researching norse myth as a kid, it was one of my first Special Interests and I really wanted to see all the different reinterpretations of Loki and write my own fanfic/adaptation/vaguely inspired original story about What If He Stayed A Good Guy. Man I had soooo much sympathy for the poor sod. I mean it depends on the retelling whether he was always evil or whether he was like a comedic neutral ally to the gods who just abruptly becomes evil and gets killed off without remorse in the final story. And gahhh he’s like the biggest LGBTQ bastion in the whole mythos, and how can I not feel sympathetic?? When we get all these stories about him being a literal genderfluid shapeshifter and giving birth to half of his children and just like seriously its like The Story Of the One Trans Man In Homophobic Transphobic Valhalla and he was probably meant to seem Bad and Funny and whatever but im gonna sit here and grumpily cling onto the idea that he was deliberately written as trans, or that if these gods actually do exist out there somewhere then Loki would support me. *pout* I just have a lot of good memories of how this was like the first sign of me realizing my own gender, back when I first learned about Loki in school and then devoured every damn history book about the dude. And got in a million internet pissing matches about how innacurate the marvel version was XD Also it sucks that we like to believe that modern times are always 100% more enlightened in every way, yet its modern adaptations that always censor out the bits about him shifting gender identities and getting pregnant once. ... man this has gone offtopic too much, im really tired but seriously its funny how teenage bunni had NO CLUE they were nonbinary, no clue why they got so obsessed researching gender-defying mythological figures and historians who created gender neutral pronouns in the 1800s. i was so supernaturally oblivious, holy shit...

[junker-town]

The U is finally fun again, but in a very Mark Richt kind of way

After years of failing to remind anybody of the glory days, the Canes are starting to carry themselves a little bit more like the Canes again.

In Week 6, the Miami Hurricanes finally beat the Florida State Seminoles, breaking a streak that’d dated back to 2009. With the victory, the Canes also hit 4-0 for the first time since 2013.

It would appear that Miami, now ranked No. 11 in the country, finally has its swag back, but it’s not the exact same swag that was the trademark of the program from the late 1980s to the early 2000s.

Let’s take a quick trip down memory lane.

The U’s dynasty dates back 30 years, when the Hurricanes found massive success, with national titles in 1983, 1987, 1989, 1991, and 2001 — but with a non-traditional style.

The U’s identity was being the team that came off the plane wearing army fatigues before the 1987 Fiesta Bowl and the program that later inspired the NCAA to create taunting rules.

Miami fans loved it. Younger college football fans loved it. A lot of people hated it. But in the decades since, as the program tried to clean up its image, a lot of supporters — such as 2 Live Crew’s Uncle Luke — worried the program was erasing its identity.

Miami’s now consciously referencing its classic era, but with new twists.

There’s physical evidence of this — Miami’s turnover chain! Every time a Canes defensive player forces a turnover, he’s donned with a very Miami-esque piece of jewelry.

Baller. http://pic.twitter.com/RxM7SBwnv5

— Canes Football (@CanesFootball) September 2, 2017

According to the Sun-Sentinel, two weeks before the season started, UM cornerbacks coach Mike Rumph called a Miami jeweler to ask if he could make a rope chain.

“Naw, man,” chimed in [former Miami Hurricane Vince] Wilfork, recently retired after a 13-year NFL career. “We got to do the Cuban link, AJ!”

The consensus among the three was a collective “Hell yeah!”

“In Miami, what are we famous for? We’re famous for the Cuban chains,” Machado says. “But we need to add a little something to it.

“So we did a big U charm — orange stones, green stones in there to flash it out.”

What U know about school spirit??? Ball hawk of the week goes to my guy Malek Young @uno_deuce_ ✊ ⛓@realkingofbling @joshthejeweler @miamihurricanes @canesfootball #yourjewelersfavoritejeweler #realkingofbling #custom #gold #miami #miamihurricanes #hurricanes #canes #canesnation #theu #um #305 #madeindade #nfl #onlybuilt4cubanlinx #homegrown #collegegameday #swag #mvo #miamisveryown #turnoverchain

A post shared by ajsjewelrymiami (@ajsjewelrymiami) on Sep 2, 2017 at 1:10pm PDT

But Mark Richt’s version of swag is a different than the past.

“Here’s the deal with swag,” Richt said via the Palm Beach Post. “I’ll say this: if you want to dance, go to the club. I’m about whipping somebody on the other side of the ball, OK? That’s what swag is. Swag’s not about how you dress or how you dance or how you try to talk to somebody, all that. That’s a bunch of bull to me. Swag to me is doing your job and doing it well and whipping somebody across the ball.”

He’s explained this philosophy to his players in pregame:

“Everybody talks about Miami having ‘swag,’” Richt said before 2016’s Appalachian State game. “When I took this job, all they wanted to talk about [was], ‘Is Miami getting the swag back?’ I said, ‘You know what? Swag ain’t dancing to me. Swag ain’t saying, ‘I got a first down.’ Swag ain’t swaying before a kickoff and they run back to the 45-yard line.

“Swag is whooping the man on the other side of you! That’s what swag is. Swag is, when the game’s over, we win the game! That’s what swag is.

“I don’t care what the boys did in the past. The reason why it was swag is because they WON! Not because they had some kind of antic. You understand what I’m saying? I’m counting on every one of you guys to whoop the man across from you, EVERY. SINGLE. PLAY.”

After Miami’s win over FSU, he stopped his team from doing a very “The U” thing.

Some of the Canes players began simulating digging a grave over the FSU logo. Richt came in hot and put a stop to that real quick, to say the least.

#Canes coach Mark Richt telling his players to get off the Seminole head after #Miami win #GoCanes http://pic.twitter.com/Vv3qqztDVv

— Carlos F. Pineda (@CarlosFPineda) October 8, 2017

The rebuke was swift, and there’s an audible “ass” in there. Richt was, at least for a moment, pretty upset about this.

There are likely a few things at play. First, Richt got his biggest break in coaching from his time at Florida State. He was Bobby Bowden’s offensive coordinator, and from there became Georgia’s head coach. There’s an ingrained respect for the institution. There’s also the fact that he knows that that will become bulletin board material for next season for the Noles, and tempers might have flared if there happened to be any FSU players still around.

Richt is also a pretty pious fellow. It’s not a veneer, and that’s not me poking fun. He’s just a pretty staunchly Christian man.

One of his former players, Garrison Smith, said this about him a few years ago:

“I’ve seen coach Richt so mad one time that he almost said a cussing word. He said fiddlesticks,” Smith said. “A lot of people put on that façade of being a Christian guy and it’s just a tool that they use. I can honestly say, and I’m a stand-up guy, that coach Richt, he’s a genuine guy.”

That doesn’t mean Richt’s Miami is boring.

"I've been coaching 33 years and I've never had more fun than just now." - @MarkRicht http://pic.twitter.com/1rDASp4VI6

— Canes Football (@CanesFootball) October 9, 2017

He’s continued his backflipping-off-a-high-dive tradition at Miami, which he did each offseason in Athens.

Richt’s annual summer camp in Coral Gables is dubbed Paradise Camp. Last summer, he had a slew of former legendary Canes on-hand for it, including Ed Reed, Jeremy Shockey, Willis McGahee, Michael Irvin, Jonathan Vilma, Wilfork, and Devin Hester.

As a former Hurricane himself, Richt’s got an inside pull on the recruiting trail already.

“I understand the pride and traditions of the University of Miami, academically, athletically, football in particular. I know what it’s about,” Richt said via the Miami Herald. “I came close to being on a national championship team, left in ‘82 and that ‘83 team was the one. … I do understand what’s expected and really, I don’t want to make a lot of promises other than I’m going to promise we’re going to get to work and we’re going to try to earn the right for victory. It’s a process and it does take a lot of work, it takes a lot of people doing things the right way.”

His 2017 recruiting class ranked finished 12th in the nation, Miami’s best since 2013.

He’s even rocking a goatee now, which he didn’t have at Georgia.

So hey, I guess this could qualify as Richt’s swag!

To be honest, it kind of looks like the Evil Mark Richt goatee that EDSBS created for him back in 2012:

Evil Richt does all of the things Mark Richt did in 2007, encouraging outlandish celebrations, winning games, throwing caution to the wind, and calling plays that work more than once or twice in a football game. Mythologically, he is the harbinger of victories and the antithesis of the Bobo-guard, the living avatar of Mark Richt's often beneficial and always frustrating conservatism.

Conservative UGA Richt might’ve called for something safe to set up a game-tying field goal late against Florida State, but Miami Goatee Richt called a shot to the end zone to beat the Noles right then and there.

Whether Miami’s program is truly BACK or not, Canes fans certainly are.

long time coming but it's here now. @canesfootball beats @fsufootball we r really on r way back. my reaction in my suite when we scored http://pic.twitter.com/rnxEtjypEG

— Michael Irvin (@michaelirvin88) October 7, 2017

Confirmed. RT @OfficialCSO: MOST MIAMI FAN EVER. http://pic.twitter.com/4X8dnpksvT

— rebkah howard (@pink_funk) October 7, 2017

I think @edsbs put it best when he compared the Miami fan base to a poison dart frog; small, colorful, and dangerous http://pic.twitter.com/bAJLFQuDOd

— Brody Logan (@BrodyLogan) October 7, 2017

http://pic.twitter.com/uQqspbt1ox

— DABESTEVAROUND (@hish1520) October 9, 2017

Miami still has a lot of big games in front of it, including a home game against Georgia Tech this Saturday, some road games, and Virginia Tech and Notre Dame. But this is already an exciting season and Miami team, and I can’t wait to see what it does for the rest of the year.

Especially if defensive tackle Kendrick Norton keeps playing guitar on rival quarterbacks’ legs, something the Canes of old definitely would’ve appreciated.

[bihsconstruction]

WHEN THE CURTAIN DROPS...

Kindness, the term you’re most frequently associated with. The definition of the girl next door, every teenage boy with a fable for cheesy romance’s wet dream to the extent even your nickname fulfils the criteria. Little Barbie has been attached to your heel ever since your brain could fathom the concept of memory, bubbly little Barbie, an angel in pastel tulle, embodiment of untainted purity and infantile naivety. Illusions that happen to be a newer addition to your reputation, illusions that have you toss your head back amidst laughter in the safety of your own company as you recall the faux sadness displayed in their eyes right before they lean in to purr tales of the cold harsh truth — as they call it — to one another, well out of earshot, about how a girl as fragile as you will never last. Oh, how wondrous they find it to be that you have come this far without caving in; oh, how they long to discover your secret for this ostensibly undeserved success. At long last, they’re all the same, the ones you call friends seamlessly fitting in with the ones you’ve remained wary of: narrow-minded, short-sighted, heart-renderingly superficial. What they can’t see doesn’t exist, a logic so simple it sickens you in secrecy. You’re too soft, they whisper, you’ll never be able to stomach the struggles of a real ballerina long enough for your name to gain immortality and you wouldn’t dare to correct them.

...YOU SHOW YOUR TRUE COLOURS

For what they neglect are layers, depth, more than meets the eye. A devoted believer in the theory of everything having a reason, your kindness does not come devoid of one, naivety and greenness the furthest from fitting descriptive terms for a girl of your calibre. Confidently, you would proclaim you’ve seen it all, felt it all, slight exaggeration being part of the calculation but the essence of your statement indisputably truthful. From the punching bag to the one dishing out punishments to the reformed sinner — your journey has been rocky at best, your willingness to fight for your values and desires the sole reason you have pulled through and now find yourself seated on marble steps between rehearsals, invitingly patting the free seat beside you, your encouraging smile always reaching scintillating eyes. A certain comfort you have found in peace, all disturbances of it striking you like a dagger to the chest, the frequency increasing drastically the further your career progresses. If there was a choice to make between tranquillity and triumph, they might picture you overtaken by weakness but you alone know that you would not need to ponder. Even your duties as voluntary advocate for tolerance and collaboration has its limits and, alas, when push comes to shove, aren’t we all, even the most fragile of us, fighting our own battles?

VICTIM OR CULPRIT?

Of the twenty years you have thus far lived, seventeen have been filled with ruthless training, your successes not in the least as uncalled for as some might wish for them to be. The name Barbara Donne, often synonymous with Barbie, has been on the tip of every ballet aficionado’s tongue, including those possessing enough power to secure your reign, your new role as The Lilac Fairy inevitably bound to garner the most attention you, the glowing spitting image of Skyler Samuels Kat McNamara, have ever received. 

IN RELATION TO

ADELINE MOREAU: A girl of your upbringing is hardly used to compliments on her accomplishments, let alone heartfelt praise. Adeline has given you all that and more, her words laced with a form of encouragement you had yet to experience. Prior to her employment you had inarguably exhibited talent but your technique was lacking, never quite graceful enough for perfection; with her by your side, however, your shine is undimmished, your way to the top paved with tiles of pure gold. There is no way to thank her enough, albeit her help is much subtler than its effect, but you attempt to with sweetness and understanding, conviced that the time will come when the woman might hope to find an open ear and a friend in you. LINDSEY DAVIES: The hatred of envious commoners has hit her with unfazed force even succeeding the one you have fallen victim to before, your sympathy for her sparked at first sight. No nasty rumour could lead you astray, draw you away from pursuing a friendship with the girl whose stardom, soon to come, everyone finds even more unearned, even more suspicious. A part of you pities her for the spiteful glares so often directed at the back of her head, if not thrown straight at her, eye to cold eye, whereas another silently rejoices over her taking your place as the one everyone loves to pester. With a temper like hers and the right arguments, she might just teach those snobs a lesson on your behalf.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW

Chances of Survival: Slim Applicant must be open to portraying childhood trauma (form UTP) Faceclaim is negotiable

Starring: Becky as Barbara Donne

BARBARA. Hailing from the Greek word barbaros, meaning foreign or strange - she’s always figured that she had been named aptly. Always an outsider, always a stranger, even in her own skin, she takes comfort in Saint Barbara, in her strength. She knows how the story goes: every wound inflicted upon her healed, every fire brought near her skin extinguished. But she knows how the story ends and sometimes, in the dead of night, Barbie wonders if she’ll end up like her: end up the martyr, end up the sacrifice, with the insides of her veins painting the ground. ANAIS. French for grace, her middle name always seemed like a taunt to her – in her former years, she had always been lacking grace, been too much raw power and not enough silk covered elegance. But in recent years, she has lived up to it, coating her movements with an old world finesse like a second skin, moving through the ranks without a ripple, leaving onlookers always confused as to where she came from and how she ascended. (Surely, she cannot deserve it.) DONNE. Rooted in Irish mythology as Donn, the god of the dead – her last name always felt like a little bit of a promise, and a little bit of a curse.

PERSONALITY. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be? Barbie thinks she remembers being soft, being kind in the beginning – and part of it stems from her looks. She was born with delicate features, handpainted on a canvas of porcelain, doe eyes that changed with the context of her background (green in the woods, golden on cloudless mornings, honeyed hazel in the pale afternoon light), and hair so bright it was only rivaled by her smile. When people saw her, small and lithe and fragile, flighty in essence, a little dove that alighted in the palm of their hand, it was hard not to trust her, an impossibility to expect cruelty from her. And because the world craves sweet things, beautiful little souls, because it aches in constant hunger for a minute kindness, it swallowed her up, turned her softness into a warzone and layered her edges into knives.

So she remembers her obsidian mouth, flinty and stone cold but still beautiful – tongue cutting through skin so thinly, down at a molecular level, that most of the time, people didn’t even notice blood being drawn until they left, drained and cold. But she believes that everything has a purpose, and this portion of her life is no different. She remembers that it feels just as empty, just as painful, to be throwing words like punches as it does to receive them, and how truly heavy lies the head that bears the crown. She dissembles her weaponized empathy, sheds her cloak of cruelty – it never suited her well anyway.

So here she stands, bearing kindness around her neck like a cross on a chain, letting it glint and dangle in front of everyone, takes the shattered glass hate and grinds it to dust beneath the molars of her smile. She tastes war, heavy on the back of her tongue, and everyone knows the innocents are the first to go. But here’s the beauty of being delicate: when she shatters, all her broken little pieces will cut them right back. And everyone leaves none the wiser; everyone thinks that it’s their fault for breaking it in the first place. Everything has a purpose, everything is by design.

BACKSTORY.

i. dig up the bones

Her father likes to talk about the day she was born – about how when her mother finally had her after an exhausting eight hour labor, she had said, half delirious, “She will have a hard time of it.” He likes to talk about how her mother had cried and held her close after that, rocking her gently as tears dropped from the tops of her cheeks onto Barbara’s forehead. “She is so beautiful, and the world will not stand for it. Don’t argue with me. Just answer me this, my love: why do flowers wilt? Why do they wilt, when they should bloom forever?”

He has no answer for that question, and Barbara learns early on not to ask it.

But her mother is right, in the end. She spent her childhood tucked away and loved, hiding like a little mouse from the rest of the world, spoiled sweet to the core. But the world finds you eventually, and everything will come all at once.

It starts because her hair gleams like a halo of fire around her porcelain skin, and the kids at school tug at it and make fun of her for the translucence of her cheeks when blood rushes to the surfaces and matches her hair. They call her carrot-top and throw the baby carrots from their neatly packed lunches at her, and she finds out everything can hurt her, no matter what it is.

She goes home and cries in her room, cursing her hair and her fair skin and her thin frame. She wishes she were big and burly and tall, so no one would dare hurt her. She begs her father to let her take self-defense over dance, but can’t find her tongue when he asks why. So she channels her hurt and her anger into ballet – it makes her feel beautiful and strong, this tulle-layered corner of hers, far away from playground wounds. (All this hurt and loneliness and spite bites her in the ass one day, when they say her dancing is too much the raw provocateur and too little of the soft princess they’re looking for.)

Either way, her wishes aren’t heard, and this is how she learns the casual cruelty of children.

It changes in high school – while she’s not big and burly and tall, no one dares pick on her because her beauty becomes her sword and her armor. Boys who used to pull her pigtails find themselves wanting to tug her hair for different reasons, those who laughed at the easy blush of her cheeks covet how naturally color comes to her, and with time, they want to press bruises into her skin with their lips and not the packaged contents of their lunches.

She is a stroke of lightning upon her childhood tormentors, just how a vengeful god smote St. Barbara’s killer where he stood after her death. She hides wolf grins behind demure hands, sharp teeth snapping, blood-hungry. Is she not made from the gilded dust of monarchs of ages past, sitting pretty with a crown tipped on a bed of curls?

Payback feels like freedom until you stop and realise you’re still just as pissed as before.

ii. but leave the soul alone.

In the end, it’s love that unclasps the years of trauma she wore swathed around her delicate shoulders, that pulls her down from where she played judge, jury, and executioner in her academy. They find her in an empty training room, lights dimmed and pushed up against the mirror, only it’s not any of the boys they find her wound around, and the lipstick prints on her neck attest to that fact.

Barbie is all little red riding hood to Isa’s big bad wolf, and she’s homesick for a sixty second love, hungry for the sink of her canines.

She is quickly and swiftly ousted from the uppermost echelons of academy hierarchy, but she can’t bring herself to mind. (What she does mind are the slurs pressed in whispers behind her back, dyke dyke dyke.) So she goes back to drinking venom insults and letting it drip off her lips like honey instead, lets herself be repainted kind-bubbly-weak-Barbie, kind smiles reaching welcoming eyes, the Sistine Chapel amongst a sea of sinners, a safe harbor in a storm. She pats the seat next to her and her quick taps sound like welcome home, stay for a while.