#my reaction upon seeing this was so normal agnes

[vwritesaus]

THEY KISSED—

hehehe they kissed 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

[slashbitch2]

Prove Me Wrong, Darling

who doesn't love a bit of enemies to lovers? :)

You and Agatha had never gotten along. From your perspective, it was due to a conflict of interest. Whereas if you asked her, she'd likely say it was a conflict of intelligence, or something else insulting along those lines. Though the issue you had with the fellow witch wasn't her attitude, rather her underestimation of your powers. It'd started with her massacre of the Coven, when she'd attempted to end your life alongside the others. But to her surprise, you'd been strong enough to defend yourself and escape. Since then, there'd been several instances where your paths had crossed, and you hadn't let her live down the failure yet.

This particular occasion was different, however, as Agatha had asked you for help.

It'd taken everything in you not to immediately mock her. But you knew that she'd leave without further explanation if she felt ridiculed, and you were just dying to know what had made her stoop to your level. So, you'd swallowed your pride and attentively listened to her proposal. It'd mostly featured the repeated phrases "immense power" and "huge source of energy," and even a confession that she was baffled by the cause, which only intrigued you further.

Although you weren't too interested in accumulating anymore power, the opportunity to be on level ground with Agatha was too good to pass on. You confessed this to her upon accepting the invitation, which resulted in an unimpressed eye roll. Regardless of her annoyance, you left that same day, arriving in the least expected location. A quaint town in New Jersey.

"Well," You landed behind Agatha in the middle of a road, surveying the picturesque, colourless neighbourhood. "isn't this lovely."

She pursed her lips, looking round similarly perplexed. "Lovely?" She echoed. "This is like every outdated suburban stereotype rolled into one. Like some kind of picture-perfect movie set."

Her condescending comment jogged a memory. "That's what I was thinking of!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands enthusiastically. "Did you ever watch that sitcom- from the 50s? The Dick Van Dyke Show?"

"From the title alone I'm glad I didn't."

"Seriously, it's practically the same setting." You moved to stand directly in front, forcing her to look at you.

"So, what you're saying is someone used this insane amount of power just to recreate their favourite TV show?" She quirked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your theory.

"Well, wouldn't you?"

"No."

"Anyway." You glanced down at the rather eye-catching ensemble Agatha was currently wearing, then at your comparably casual yet modern clothes. "This isn't going to work." With a wave of your hand, the jeans and jumper combo was replaced by a more period accurate pencil skirt and blouse. Satisfied, you looked up at her expectantly.

Taking it as a challenge, she copied the gesture, managing to both create a new dress and fix up her hair. She smirked, enjoying the chance to show off her superior abilities.

"It's not a competition." You huffed.

She placed a hand on your arm fake comfortingly. "Of course not, dear."

The contact caused you to shiver slightly. It felt as though her touch ignited sparks, though the sensation wasn't exactly unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact. But indulging in it didn't feel right either, so you were grateful when Agatha removed her hand.

Her face dropped, eyebrows furrowing. Slowly, she swivelled round to point at a house. "There. Can you feel it?"

Following her outstretched finger, you tuned into the energy, focusing specifically on the house. "Mhm." Unsurprisingly, Agatha was right. An unfamiliar energy was being emitted from whoever was inside. You tried to pinpoint what kind of magic the user possessed, but found no trace of any familiar type. "Shall we go meet the neighbours, then?"

"You read my mind." She muttered, narrowing her eyes and offering an arm without so much as sparing a glance in your direction.

You hesitated, taken aback by the kind gesture. It hadn't dawned on you until then that an incredibly powerful being was residing little over 10 metres away, and that you were both about to willingly walk into their house. Looping your arm with hers created a naïve sense of safety.

Neither spoke as you approached the house with faux confidence, only pausing for Agatha to summon a potted plant. A house warming gift, you guessed. The simple gesture of goodwill brought a smile to your face.

"I didn't expect you to be such a considerate neighbour." You whispered.

"Gotta make a good first impression." She reached out to knock against the door.

---

You sighed. Barely an hour spent in this black and white world and you were already bored. Everything was so tiresomely perfect, so normal that you questioned how you'd ever suffered through those terrible old sitcoms in the first place. Sitting in Wanda's living room, the only entertainment was your partner in crime Agatha, or Agnes, as you ought to say.

She was currently flipping through a magazine, tracing the page with her index finger and reading aloud to help Wanda prepare for her anniversary.

"Any notable date you can remember? Special occasion?" She asked the redhead. "You know, to remind him of good times." She winked suggestively, briefly glancing at you with an expression that only you could decipher. She was enjoying flustering Wanda a little too much.

"Oh...I don't know." She trailed off, untrustworthy eyes darting around the room. "Do you two have any memorable date? Maybe I could steal some ideas."

Had the sitcom spell effected you, this would've been the ironic moment in which you spat out whatever drink was currently in your mouth. Fortunately though, you'd declined the offer of tea earlier, and opened your mouth to correct her.

Agatha beat you to it by nudging you with her elbow. "Oh don't we just?" She laughed deeply until you joined in with a forced chuckle.

Deciding to join in with her game, you hummed thoughtfully. "What about that picnic we had? In Salem, remember?" Judging by the way her eyes flashed dangerously, she knew you were referring to that dreadful night with the Coven, serving as revenge for the sudden change in relationship status. "Agnes decided the best time to go on a date would be at night- and in the middle of forest of all places!"

Agnes threw back her head in exaggerated laughter. "Oh hush! I thought it'd be romantic. Besides, you're the one who got us completely lost, dear." She continued, further adding depth to the altered anecdote. "And I'd say it went pretty well regardless." She turned to whisper conspiratorially to Wanda. "So I'll spare you the dirty details."

The three of you fell into easy laughter, only interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. "If you'll excuse me." Wanda stood up to answer. "That's probably Vis."

You took the distraction as respite from forcing such an overly hospitable smile, finding that your cheeks were already aching. For the last few minutes, you'd been aware of a pair of eyes watching you closely, and finally turned to face the witch sitting next to you.

"What?"

Agatha said nothing, her invasive eyes never leaving yours as she took a sip of her drink. You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she thought something through, and dreaded to wonder what she was about to say.

Reaching some form of a conclusion, she leant forward to place her drink down on the table. "Kiss me." She murmured through clenched teeth, momentarily glancing at Wanda, who's back was turned.

"Excuse me?" Out of all the possible things she could've said, this request seemed the least plausible in your mind.

"When Wanda turns round she should see us-" Agatha gestured her hand back and forth as if vocalising what she was implying was too sinful to put into words. Her vagueness was met by your blank stare. "Y'know?"

"No?" You shook your head, unable to comprehend why she'd ask such a thing, untrusting your interpretation of her suggestion.

"Just-" Agatha raised her hands to grasp your face. Hesitated. Then threw them back down into her lap and sighed in frustration. The fact she was struggling to initiate contact was laughable, though eventually you took pity on her.

Leaning forward, you kept your eyes open to watch for Agatha's reaction. You found it amusing that upon realising what you were trying to do, her eyes shut impossibly fast. Satisfied that she was consenting, you raised one hand to cup her cheek and continued to chase after her lips. The kiss was chaste and affectionately mundane, exactly at it should be.

In response, she grabbed your knees and pulled you closer, nipping at your bottom lip. Clearly Agatha wasn't on the same wavelength as you. Her hands shifted further up to your thighs, bringing a startling heat to the kiss. You gasped, virtually melting at her touch. You wanted this. One hand slid to rest on her shoulder. But it wasn't the time or place. You gently pushed against her.

Agatha pulled away, breathless. She scanned your face with pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape like she'd just reached some new revelation. You were certain your expression mirrored hers.

Wanda cleared her throat somewhere in the distance.

"Gosh, Wanda I'm sorry." Agnes' cheerful voice reappeared as she addressed the redhead without breaking your intense shared eye contact. "But I think we ought to be heading home now." She said unabashedly. Like you hadn't just been caught making out on the neighbour's couch.

"Of course." You could hear the understanding smile in her voice, the slight awkwardness from intruding. "It's been lovely meeting you both."

Summoning an ounce of brainpower, you turned to Wanda. "And you. Feel free to keep the magazine." Then tugged Agatha up and began dragging her toward the front door. For once in her life she went willingly, allowing herself to be pulled along, calling out a last minute farewell to Wanda.

Upon reaching the end of the garden, Agatha wordlessly took the lead. Staying true to her fabricated story, she set a determined course for the house to the right, waltzing up as if she owned the place. A quick flourish of your fingers and the lock was rendered useless. Now the house was yours.

As soon as the door shut behind you, she turned on her heel and pushed you against it. Her mouth quickly sought out yours with a desperation only appropriate in private. Had you known Agatha was this good of a kisser, you would've done this ages ago, but elected not to vocalise the praise knowing she'd never let you live it down. You felt her smirk against your lips, and briefly wondered if she'd somehow infiltrated your mind. You wouldn't put it past her.

As she began trailing kisses down your neck, any concern about the invasion of privacy became inconsequential. You sighed. She rewarded the sound with a nip at your throat. Due to the haze of lust clouding your better judgment, you didn't register the sound of footsteps until it was too late.

"Woah!" A man called from the top of the staircase, presumably the current previous resident of the house. Agatha froze, her lips still pressed up to your neck.

"If you two beautiful ladies hadn't already broken into my house, I would've happily invited you in." The man grinned obnoxiously, slowly continuing down the stairs.

Agatha disinterestedly waved her hand, incapacitating him. The sound of the stranger tumbling down the stairs caused her to let out a short, cruel cackle, before returning to bury her face in the crook of your neck.

"Not big on roommates?" You joked, sliding a hand up and down her back soothingly.

She nipped at your flesh, a little harder this time. "Trust me, he doesn't want to be here for what I'm about to do to you."

Already impatient, you decided to tease her in hopes it would speed things up. "You're all talk and no action, Harkness."

She all but growled as she returned to your lips. Without warning her hands squeezed your hips. "I don't think you're in the position to be insulting me, love."

"Then prove me wrong, darling."

[ynscrazylife]

Supernova | Chap. 2

Series Summary: Y/N is the daughter of Carol Danvers with star-like powers from the Space Stone. She has come to help SWORD with the Westview case, but what happens when she falls for a certain astrophycist?

Chapter Summary: Y/N has just sacrificed herself, being taken into Westview, to save Darcy and other agents. Darcy now races to catch up with Monica and Jimmy, and they all make a plan to save Y/N.

Series Tag List (OPEN): @nyx-aira @kittendanvers​ @scarletwxtxh​ @dani-espin07​ @superbscissorsdeanexpert​ @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Supernova Masterlist

This was by far the hardest thing Darcy had ever had to do, and she once tasered a god. Running away from Y/N and knowing she’d probably get pulled into Westview broke her heart, and the fact that it was the only way for her and other SWORD agents to escape crushed it. She grabbed her laptop and then hopped into one of SWORD’s cars, driving away quickly before calling Monica. 

“Darcy!” Monica answered, and Darcy could hear the urgency in her friend’s voice. 

“Y/N is delaying the barrier so more people can escape. I-I doubt she'll make it out . . . Wherever you are, pull over, I’m coming to meet you,” Darcy said, and it took every ounce of will in her not to sob as she said those words. They left a bitter taste in her mouth. The scientist couldn’t bare to hear Monica’s reaction to her childhood best friend, sister-like figure, being in danger, so she hung up.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later Darcy pulled up behind a pulled over SWORD car and got out of it, leaving the keys inside. She walked up to Monica and Jimmy’s car and glanced over her shoulder. The barrier had stopped, and she had a slimmer of hope that Y/N had escaped. With that, Darcy climbed into the backseat. 

It was eerily silent when she shut the door. Darcy could sense Jimmy’s agitation and could see tear streaks on Monica’s face. The Captain took off driving and Darcy forced herself to focus on Y/N, putting her laptop aside and dialing her phone. 

No one picked up.

Darcy tossed the phone aside in frustration and leaned back into the seat, trying to control her tears before they spilled. “She’s not picking up,” the brunette muttered. Monica gripped the steer wheel tighter and Jimmy rubbed his forehead, but no one said anything else.

They had been driving for awhile now, no one knowing what to do. The aerospace engineer couldn’t meet them because as it turned out, they had been near the Hex and had gotten pulled into Westview. too. As it neared morning and they had all slept and rested, they turned around, parked near the barrier, in a now empty SWORD facility, and got to work. They were the only ones there. Monica and Jimmy worked on a way to enter the Hex without getting their memories erased and Darcy worked on a way to get the television up and running.

Finally, she did it! She watched the show. It was normal. Ish. Wanda was taking a day for herself, Agnes was watching Billy and Tommy and then . . . It switched to Vision. He was visiting the circus and . . . Darcy gasped and nearly cried again, but her tears soon turned to hot, bubbling anger. Vision was being given a tour of the circus and there wasY/N, a trapeze artist, energetic and with no clue what had happened. Darcy turned to Monica and Jimmy, determined.

“Wanda made Y/N a trapeze artist,” she informed them bitterly, and immediately the two stopped what they were doing to look over at it. They both frowned, clearly angry as well. Of course, there was nothing wrong with being a trapeze artist, but the trio was angry at Wanda controlling Y/N. 

Monica forced herself to tear her eyes away from the screen. “Jimmy and I have been looking at what you showed us yesterday - that my cells are being changed. We think that I’ll be able to re-enter Westview, without my memories being erased and I think . . . I think that I can take you guys with me,” she said. 

Darcy immediately nodded. She knew it was dangerous and she knew she had only just met Y/N, but the brunette had already fallen on her. She felt like she needed to go into Westview and save her, after everything Y/N did for her.

It took a half an hour more of planning and ruling out the dangerous possibilities, but Monica and Darcy were finally ready. Their plan was to have Monica find Wanda and talk to her and for Darcy to find Y/N and Vision. Darcy had hacked into technology and was able to make it so they wouldn't just see the WandaVision show, they’d be able to see everything and everyone in Westview, so Jimmy could keep an eye out if anything happened. 

 Monica and Darcy suited up and made their goodbyes to Jimmy, before heading towards the red barrier. Monica took Darcy’s hand and put her other one in the Hex, grasping at its energy and power before they both stepped inside. The sensation . . . it was like nothing either of them had experienced. It was very bright . . . and noisy . . . but it was also beautiful. They kept walking forward until they re-entered Westview, and both women took a couple of moments to take in their surroundings and catch their breath.

“Darcy . . .” Monica trailed off, turning around to face her friend. “Are you still . . . you?” 

Darcy took a moment to compose herself and then nodded with a grin. She still had all of her memories in tact and it seemed that Monica did, too, With that, they went off on different ways - Monica to Wanda’s house and Darcy to the circus.

After what felt like forever, Darcy finally came upon the circus, with its tents and people bustling about. She also noticed Vision, who seemed to be wandering aimlessly. “Hey! Uh, Vision?” Darcy called out, hoping he’d remember her. 

The robot immediately turned around and looked shocked, but relieved, when he saw Darcy, and caught up to her. “You were there . . . The other night,” he recalled.

Darcy nodded hurriedly. “Yes, I’m Darcy Lewis, an astrophysicist. I’m one of the people working to help solve this . . . case,” she explained.

Vision nodded, and he seemed grateful. “We need to get the barrier down,” he said. 

“Yes, I know. My friend . . . you know her as Geraldine, her real name is Monica, she came with me . . . she’s going to talk to Wanda, see if she can convince Wanda to take the barrier down,” Darcy continued.

Vision’s eyes widened. “I should be there,” he said anxiously, making a move to walk forward until Darcy side-stepped in front of him.

“We need to find my, er, friend first. She got pulled into Westview - she’s a trapeze artist here but in the real world, her name is Y/N Danvers,” Darcy told him urgently and a bit nervously.

Vision thought for a moment. “I can take you to her,” he said, and then turned around, leading Darcy further into the circus. 

They found Y/N talking to another circus member, who had been a SWORD agent, and Darcy gasped when she saw her. There she was. The girl she was falling for and fast, just feet away from her, and in pain. Darcy was at a loss for words and Vision recognized this, so he did the talking. He got the other circus member to walk away and then turned to Darcy, quickly telling her to distract Y/N. 

Darcy had no clue what he meant and opened her mouth to speak to her smiling friend when Vision put his hands on Y/N’s head and she gasped before stumbling forward. Darcy caught her before she fell and Y/N gripped Darcy’s arms. “Oh my god, Darcy . . . It hurt, it hurt so bad. I think it was worse because I had powers but her voice . . . I remember everything I did but I couldn’t control it, it was so loud,” she rambled. 

Darcy’s heart broke and she gathered Y/N into her arms, wanting nothing more than to hold her forever, but seeing Vision’s uneasy glance, she knew they couldn’t do that. “I know, I know, I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Darcy whispered soothingly to Y/N, and then she pulled away and explained the plan to her. Y/N nodded, wiped her tears, and took Darcy’s hand (which surprised her, but the brunette wasn’t complaining).

They walked back into town and saw Monica standing outside Agnes’ house, looking around for something - or someone. “Monica!” Darcy called out, and when Monica saw Y/N, she broke off into a run and secured Y/N in another protective hug. 

After giving the pair a couple moments, Monica explained what happened with Wanda and that Agnes had pulled her away. She, Darcy, and Vision all began planning something else and Y/N tried to listen, but she felt like she was being pulled away. Leaving them to it, she walked over to . . . a shed of some sort. When she pulled it open, she found stairs leading to the basement, with dark vines and branches covered in some sort of purple mist.

That’s when Pietro - or Peter - super-sped up behind her.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Only Skins and Bones

Blood from the body had stained the pristine snow around it. A withered husk of what once must have looked human—it looked more like a pile of discarded clothing.

Hollow eye sockets stared back at the witch.

Agnes knelt by the drained corpse. A sweet and sickly smell emanated from it.

What were they dealing with here? She had never seen nor heard of such a thing.

Though common man would have recoiled at the grisly remains, the herbalist-witch had a strong stomach, steeled from treating patients and truly revolting ailments.

Despite what the people of Altmere had described, this could be no work of a wolf-man. What she now studied, scanning carefully with the eyes of a surgeon, was not the work of a feral beast. No feasting had occurred. The way the skin had split suggested thousands of tiny teeth.

With fingers splayed, her own hand hovered above the drained body. Nothing but skin and bones had been left behind by the unnatural culprit. Even the innards were missing entirely, taken without a trace.

And the husk was still warm.

Twigs snapped and snow crunched behind her.

The crunching accompanied heavy boots digging into the heavier blanket of snow as Luca returned to the desolate site, pushing past the barren trees of this forest. The blunderbuss in his hand rested against his shoulder and he peered over the silvery brim of his spectacles to meet her gaze.

He shook his head.

"Like the other one. Tracks just vanish into thin air. Like it went right up into the trees," he said, clicking his tongue and rolling his square jaw.

"But the trees are not disturbed," Agnes added.

He shook his head again and cast a glance around them.

"Any black rose on the remains?" he asked, letting the rest of his breath escape him as a sigh.

"None," she said.

The cold made her digits tingle painfully, even breathing made her throat burn with the freezing wintry air. She rose to her feet and patted at her dark green cloak, rustling it, and ridding it of some of the snow now clinging to the bottom.

"It is worthy of our attention. And not for nothing, but we can help the—"

"Right, that's where I'm struggling a bit to make sense of why we're even bothering. Where I come from, you have to claw your bloody way up and get nothing for free. If some creature is out here, then let the king's men deal with it, I reckon. We need to find more signs of the black rose, not some random creatures of the night. I—I just do not even understand why you are so invested. They ran you out of Crimsonport, for fuck's sake. Burned your house down for—"

"Enough," she cut him off. Frowned at him.

Using a leather-clad thumb, Luca shoved the spectacles back up the bridge of his nose. Stared at her all the while, unblinking. Studying her reactions, as he always did.

One of the most charming and handsome men she had even known, he also happened to be among the most frustrating company she could imagine.

Always stinging like a scorpion and retreating, always keeping people at arm's length. Testing limits. Expecting people to be here one day and gone the next. Just like her fire-red hair led gullible people to expect the worst superstitions of witches to be alive with her, his silver hair paired with his youthful appearance lent—

"Let's move on," he interrupted her thoughts. "The cards said we would meet our quarry out here today, and I'm inclined to believe them. Whether it is this creature or not. I'm also inclined to find a warm hearth as soon as possible." He groaned, then said, "I hate this time o' year. Why do these damned things like this time o' year so much?"

He held out a gloved hand for her to take, offering help to step over the fallen log that obstructed the path between them, behind which the bloodless, gutless body lay.

Agnes grinned at him and ignored his gesture, stepping over the log without taking his hand.

He tilted his head, flashed her one of his typically roguish smirks, and turned, leading the way.

Snow crunched and resisted their tread. Their boots sank deep and kicked up chunks of the hard-packed frosting on the forest grounds.

No birds chirped.

Most unsettling to Agnes, not even the crows cawed. There should have been crows here.

Every time she looked up, the barren and skeletal trees loomed overhead, their pointy fingers and branches running through the gloomy sky like dark veins, pulsating in how the cold breeze caused them to sway and grasp at the two lonesome wanderers.

A forest devoid of all life. That in itself felt unnatural.

Not a single animal walked these grounds. Even having spent most of her life in that big and smoggy city, Agnes always sensed the presence of the forest's own. And out here, for some reason, the wildland's creatures stayed away.

Far away.

After minutes of walking, sometimes looking over her shoulder and feeling watched—followed, even—and nervous glances over Luca's shoulder indicating he shared the same sensations—

More shoes crunched in the snow. A third figure neared.

A large, plump, pot-bellied man, whose cheeks the biting cold had rendered rosy and red; garbed in a heavy coat, hands buried in his pockets. And his hound, a large, dark mastiff, staring at them through dreary-looking eyes with a piercing gaze.

Their nearing and looks impressed upon Agnes. She could not discern why, but they felt out of place, even if they belonged and looked perfectly normal.

She had seen them in the town of Altmere that same morning, in the streets where the frightened villagers had assembled, well before Luca and she had marched all the way out here to investigate the disappearance. Many had introduced themselves—so, too, this man—but she struggled to recall his name, as she would have with so many others. They all blurred and blended.

"Ya find anything?" asked the rotund man. Raspy voice. Curious.

"Unfortunately, yes," replied Luca.

Luca, the card witch, lowered his blunderbuss to his side and nodded his head in the direction of the mysterious body.

"Not a sight for the faint of heart, but eventually, someone should take care of poor Mister Kirkham. Before any animals claim his remains, yeah?"

The rotund man pursed his lips and nodded. His beady eyes darted back and forth between both Luca and Agnes.

The hound growled. Glowered at Luca.

"My, my, Mister Bigglesworth does not seem to like you very much, Mister Vadas," blubbered the man, chuckling and then admonishing his dog. "Easy now, Mister Bigglesworth."

Luca scratched the stubble on his chin and smirked.

"It must be mutual," he muttered.

"You don't like dogs, sir?" asked the man.

"No—I just don't like your dog," he stressed the specificity. Smirking all the while. "Don't particularly like his face. Like I said, must be a mutual sentiment."

The dog growled again, almost as if it understood Luca's insults.

The card witch raised an empty hand and pointed now past Agnes.

"About ten minutes that way, you'll find Mister Kirkham," he said, the smirk finally fading from his lips and making way for another sigh. "But I warn you, again, prepare yourself. It's not a pretty sight."

The rotund man nodded slowly, shuffling his feet. Clicked his tongue twice, walking up to Mister Bigglesworth and snatching the large dog by his collar.

"Some of us saw what remained of Mister Gardiner, myself included. I believe I'll manage. See what needs to be done and let the others know."

The rotund man's chin crinkled.

Finally interrupting them, Agnes asked, "What was your name again, sir?"

The man studied her, looking her up and down. Lingering a bit too long where her figure curved the most, even concealed as it was under layers of cloak and warm winter clothing.

"Percival Teague, at your services."

"And what was it you did again?" she asked.

"Never told you, as short as all our introductions this morning were, I'm afraid," he said, blinking hastily as he pried his gaze away from below her neck to lock eyes with her. Something unsettling about the intensity of his stare.

Smoldering. Uncomfortably lustful. And something else.

"Town's smith and farrier, ma'am. Not a lot to do, this time o' year, save for some minor repairs, here and there."

"Right," Luca grumbled. "You don't happen to know your way around fixing any firearms, yeah?"

"Afraid not, sir."

Luca nodded. "Well then, we should be on our way."

He shot another glance towards Agnes and motioned to leave.

"What exactly do you do?" asked Teague. "I'm not sure I really caught that on the town square. Things went terribly fast."

Luca smiled widely, the same way he smiled whenever he played a game of cards over shillings. Agnes recognized it. A tell that misled his opponents; a gambit that suggested he was either playing a hand that could make the game or bluffing his way with a pitiful hand that could break the game if only his opponent bought the deception.

"Hunter, sir. I hunt. And truth be told, I don't think you're dealing with a wolf here. Let alone a wolf-man," he informed Teague, erupting into a clipped chuckle.

Teague squinted at him.

"What kind of hunter exactly? You don't look like a hunter to me."

Luca shrugged, "I get that a lot. Not my fault that every single one o' my peers looks like some unwashed sourpuss."

"You don't sound like one, either. Well-traveled, yeah?"

Luca shrugged again, maintaining his coy smile. But his eyes and spectacles glinted with something dangerous as he tilted his head.

Teague asked, "And you? What's a woman doing out—hunting? With a hunter? Are you two married?"

Agnes blinked.

"Yes, I like to hunt with my wife," interjected Luca, lying through his teeth. "I'm told I'm a bit eccentric, but she's almost better than me at sussing out where to find the best game." The smile dropped from Luca's face, followed by a scowl. "What about it? Are you going somewhere with this?"

Teague cleared his throat. Shook his head, stepped past them.

"Pardon, sir. Ma'am." He paused again, both in word and stride. "I think I'd seek to keep such a lovely missus close at all times, too."

Eliciting a shudder to shake Agnes' spine, Teague winked at her with a lopsided grin.

Then his face fell, turning as grave as his tone turned serious. What he next said, he breathed in an almost conspiratorial whisper. As if he feared someone else could overhear them.

"If this is what I think it is, then you're looking in the wrong place. You need to walk deeper into the Deithwynd, east of the Iron Marsh. There's an old glade there—"

The dog growled loudly, snarling at Luca. Even as Teague's big, meaty hand gripped the dog's collar with more vigor to hold the hound back, the handsome card witch took a step back from them, shooting the mastiff a dirty look.

Teague pointed in a direction, roughly northwest of where they stood.

"What do you mean?" Luca asked, without looking up from Mister Bigglesworth. "What do you think this—this thing—is?"

Every fiber and muscle in Agnes' body tightened, taut as iron.

"Fair folk, sir," Teague hissed in another hushed murmur. "Me mum and me mum's mum used to tell tall tales about the fair folk out here, and the children of Altmere were always taught not to go to the queer glade beyond the Iron Marsh."

Shivers ran down Agnes' spine again. Such tales were common and often nonsense, but Teague spoke with such earnestness. She hugged herself more closely, struggling to stave off the wintry cold, but the chill of what Teague had said eclipsed the freezing discomfort.

"Circle of mushrooms grows out there. Eerie, like. All year 'round," Teague added, nodding with growing fervor. "I'm not suggesting you go out there, hunter. But if you are willing to truly earn the alderman's coin, you're gonna wanna poke around there. Bet you a whole shilling you'll find your monster out there. Fair folk or mere man, I cannot say."

Luca exchanged a glance with Agnes.

Finally. A concrete lead.

Luca spoke up, "I'd clap you on the shoulder and express my gratitude, but Mister Bigglesworth seems to be a bit of a bitch—and it sounds like we need to take a long hike anyway. Ta."

The dog growled and suddenly snapped at Luca, prompting him to take another reflexive step back.

"Goodbye, Mister Teague," Agnes said with the least amount of vim and honesty.

Teague's nostrils flared as he looked back and forth between the two, beady eyes curiously scanning their faces once more.

"Happy huntin'," he replied. It carried a snide tone.

The hound snarled, but Teague tugged at Mister Bigglesworth's collar, then yanked, almost dragging him along. The man and his hound followed the trails in the snow that Agnes and Luca had left behind.

The card witch and the herbalist witch shot each other another glance. They wordlessly struck out in the direction that Teague had pointed them towards.

They knew what they had to do.

Thoughts of the fair folk circled in her mind—creatures they had never seen since venturing through the Blackwood and the King's Hold all winter, contrary to common lore.

Minutes later, silence rhythmically broken by the constant crunching of snow underfoot, Agnes finally grinned and asked, "Wife, eh?"

"I'll not hear a word of it, woman," Luca said.

Although she only saw the tangle of white hair on the back of his head as Luca continued to guide the way, she could tell that he grinned.

He easily kept her distracted over what amounted to close to an hour of slow and tedious hiking, drudging through the snow, crossing the pristine countryside outside of Altmere. Ever the jester, Luca engaged her jabs and countered them with playful insults of his own, the typical relaxed back-and-forth that marked their relationship.

It would forever amuse Agnes that, for all the womanizing Luca supposedly steeped himself in, he was not interested in women. She had traveled with him long enough to know that his reputation painted a different picture of him, and he made little effort to correct people about it.

Not even when it came to the more spiteful superstitions regarding his heritage; his olive complexion and the pervasive and xenophobic rumors that people spread about him and his people; calling them cutpurses and witches and child-thieves alike.

Like a scorpion he had become to guard his heart, he reveled in the distance every rumor created. When one got too close, he would sting. He hid behind that smokescreen, maneuvering outside of rigid constructs that society imposed, and conventions he cared little for. He even drew power from the fear that some people felt towards him.

Unlike herself, she pondered, thoughts turning darker amid flashes of how she fled a mob wielding pitchforks and torches as they chased her from the city, and her home burnt brightly behind her in her escape. She fell more and more silent, and Luca likely tired from keeping any playful banter rolling.

The trees eventually thinned out until they fully opened to the wide horizon of the Iron Marsh. Sunlight cut through the clouds and contrasted the gloomy day with luminescent streaks, painting beautiful and glittering, golden lines, mirrored in the silvery pools of water that littered the wetland's tenacious reeds and treacherous patches of snow.

A breathtaking vista that robbed Agnes of her breath and took her mind off more dismal ponderings.

"Don't think it's much farther from here," Luca said, breaking the silence that had spread between them. He gestured with the muzzle of his blunderbuss to the copses forming a tree line to the east.

Luca changed course, leading her along the edges of the marsh instead of cutting straight through it. He muttered, almost more to himself, "Better take the long way 'round."

Snow cracked and crunched with a subtly faster pace, and Agnes welcomed the change. With it came other thoughts, returning to the matter at hand, turning to the reason for their investigation.

In truth, she cared little for any reward the alderman had offered. Her objective was to eradicate the monstrous creatures that haunted this land. Perhaps, one day, she could lead a normal life again, without people mistaking her for the abominations that haunted dark places.

They all had their individual reasons, but all the "hunters" agreed that sightings of the creatures and the trails of bodies they left behind had been converging both on the city of Crimsonport and the King's Hold. And frequently, they featured a connecting clue: a black rose left with the bodies.

An indicting piece of evidence, as the black rose was central to the heraldry of King Michael III. But even in lieu of its absence whenever they chanced upon the dead and the damned, and stumbled across any victims of awful creatures, they often felt a call to action.

Most folk would rather bleed from their buttocks than wrap their mind around any things unnatural—and struggled to separate sorcery from silly superstition, as well as the mundane from menacing monsters. Most folk never noticed the patterns, never followed the trails, never put together the pieces. They closed their eyes to find a shred of comfort, rather than glimpse the world behind the world.

Only ten people had found each other thus, armed with knowledge that cut through the confusion, and collecting the things they had witnessed to even uncover the pattern of the black rose in the first place.

Ten people who feared the things that lurked in the night. Ten people who dared to fight back. Who dared to hunt evil itself.

And here, Luca and she hunted.

Two victims they knew of already, both identical in how they had horribly perished. A tailor and a woodsman. Drained of all blood, muscle, innards—everything. The creature left only skin and bones behind. A puzzling pattern that stumped the duo, a behavior unheard of.

The villagers of course claimed to have seen a wolf-man, standing tall and hairy and with murder in the eyes, always before or after the bodies had been discovered. Some of the people in town even suspected each other of being such a beast in disguise, striking by night. Mere days and perhaps only one more murder away from demanding king and church to mark a triumphant return to their quaint little town and clamp down on it with an iron fist to restore order and dispel the lasting dread.

Her thoughts had strayed far enough to dull her senses that Agnes only registered with delay how Luca had stopped. She continued until she took to his side.

Both stood still, stunned by what they beheld.

They overlooked a wide glade. Brilliant flowers, almost glowing in a veritable rainbow of garish colors, had sprouted mysteriously from the thick blanket of snow. Defying the order of nature, the flowers blossomed in the face of deepest winter.

In the center of the glade, a small mound rose above the rest, barren of any snow, and shaped by what appeared to be a perfect circle. Vibrantly green grass grew there, outlined by white and yellow and brown dots of varying shape and size, clusters of mushrooms that formed a natural border around the verdant patch.

Luca exchanged a nervous glance with her. They both knew deep down what this meant.

A true fairy ring.

Agnes produced a bright red apple from her satchel. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly from the cold that had seeped into them, the pink of her exposed fingertips jutting out from the fingerless gloves almost as red as the cursed apple in her hand.

She bit into it, and Luca's head jerked around in response to the jarringly loud sound.

She smiled at him as she chewed, imbibing the potion that lurked inside the apple's supple flesh—a magicked poison to fair folk, a swift and violent doom such a creature would bring upon itself should it now feast upon her skin and blood.

Between the beds of anomalous flowers, no tracks marred the pristine patches of snow. All untouched by feet, be they human or fairy.

The cold in the air here cut even sharper than it had all day. It did not sting, but it tasted fresher, somehow. With a hint of honey. Bees even buzzed about the flowers, sharing the otherworldly defiance against winter's merciless grasp.

Mesmerized by the wondrous oasis, Agnes almost took a step onto the glade. Almost. She held herself back.

Strange fetishes, little stick figures, dangled from the branches overhead. As if they had been invisible until they stood directly beneath them.

Agnes took another bite from the apple, then held out the remainder for Luca to take. He nodded in thanks and took the fruit from her, helping himself to a healthy bite. The chunk crunched louder than the snow had during their march, echoing in a way that felt almost transgressive. As if they disturbed the surreal serenity of this place.

She added to the transgression by snatching one of the stick figures from the branches. The brittle twine suspending it snapped under little pressure, and she broke it in half, discarding it behind her, then repeating the process for other such fetishes.

After chewing, swallowing, and having another bite from the cursed apple, Luca handed it back into her palm, then cracked his blunderbuss open, loading one of his iron-shot cartridges into it, and clapping the weapon shut.

They exchanged another glance and a nod, and then stepped onto the glade.

The snow here did not crunch, it rustled like dry leaves in the wind. The breeze here did not whistle, it whispered like a lover breathing sweet nothings past the softest pillow.

Veins of the flower petals nearby caught Agnes' eye: scintillating, throbbing, infinite. Living coils within coils within coils, like a fern that had decided to transmute into a flower. And the bees looked no more like bees up close, but more like a cross between wasp and spider. She tore herself free from the eerie chimeric things that should not be thus, and they neared the fairy ring with cautious steps.

The spider-wasps did not simply buzz about the fern-flowers, they hummed as if they laid down keys for a greater orchestra to join in on. The barren trees surrounding the glade did not loom nor sway, they bowed in reverence and yearned to dance.

Dots and lumps on the mushrooms of the fairy ring wobbled and undulated. Spike protruded from them, like a vampire showing its fangs, or like the thorns of a rose growing before their eyes.

The glade welcomed them. And it warned them in kind.

Luca spun around and trained his gun upon a new presence—or one only now perceived—and Agnes swiveled at the same time. They stared at the thing that hid in the shade. A large silhouette that stood between the skeletal trees, by the edge of the glade.

Unmoving like a rock, but shoulders heaving gently with calm breaths. Taller than any man, with eyes that glowed golden, shedding just enough dim light to cast the outline of fangs protruding from a wide maw. And long, slender claws that emerged from the darkness and gingerly brushed against the bark, careful not to scratch its surface.

The creature kept its distance. Its glowing eyes burned, studying the two humans who had invaded this sacred grove.

With the most melody and inviting kindness she could summon, Agnes simply said, "Hello there."

The spider-wasps buzzed. The wind whispered. The snow and the fern-flowers rustled. All sounds melted together, forming words.

"Please leave," answered the glade. Answered the creature as it stared at them, its fanged maw never moving. The voice arrived on other sounds and echoed in Agnes' mind.

"You speak our tongue? I apologize on behalf of my manservant and myself, my liege," she said, curtsying and hoping her gesture would not take the guise of mockery.

From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Luca's furrowing brow, but he cleverly kept his mouth shut this time and swallowed whatever quip must have been burning on the tip of his tongue.

Whispered the grove in its multitude of voice, "Your kin have long forgotten this doorway, and forsaken the wonders we brought in exchange."

Agnes smiled as sweetly as she could manage, and said, "We seek to do no harm. We sort of stumbled here by accident."

The creature stared. Its coat of fur bristled in the breeze. The sounds of the enchanted glade went silent.

Then swelled to a powerful chorus that hissed, "Lies."

She shivered.

The last fair noble she met had tried to strangle her to death, on the wings of butchering a dozen capable men and putting another to sleep for eternity—merely over a passing fancy.

"You lie," breathed the glade. The ground rumbled.

"Yes, alright," she said, bowing her head in deference. "I am ashamed to admit it, but yes, I lied. It is because I sense how ancient and mighty you are, and understand now what peril we're in."

The creature maintained its stare. Unsettling as it was, it exuded a strange calm. Not hypnotic, but soothing, like exposure to a warm sun on one's skin on a cold wintry day.

"No danger from me must you expect," whispered the grove. "Another thing, wicked thing, beyond the marsh, in thine forests, between the brick walls you call homes—that, you must fear."

Luca's hands trembled. He had been keeping the blunderbuss trained on the fair creature all this while, and the gloved finger curling around the trigger trembled, ever so slightly. Ready to pull and release that iron shot as soon as the creature made the mistake of entering optimal range of the weapon's blast.

Agnes felt sick to her stomach but oddly not threatened by this presence. The unnatural fairy ring's power, the glade thrumming with energies that bled through the thin veil between worlds, the fern-flower petals now rhythmically unfurling and closing like a crowd of enthralled spectators—the whole grove breathing like a single organism. All overwhelming, all mysterious, all demanding investigation and deterring her from it at the same time, making her head swim on an infinite and unfathomably deep sea.

She reached out and gently placed her palm on the barrel of the blunderbuss. Over the brim of his spectacles, Luca glared at her until he gave in and let her hand lower the weapon for him. Helped him combat his own instinct.

"Already two people have been slain in these places you speak of, and you would say it was not your doing?" she asked, addressing the creature.

"Not I. Not even my kind," whispered the grove.

"What are you doing here, then?"

The creature's claws danced down the bark, slithering around it and melting into the shadow of the awesome silhouette.

"I seek means of returning home, for only slow death awaits me here. Or swift death, should your bloodthirsty nature get the best of you."

Now Agnes took her turn to furrow her brow in disbelief. She looked back at the circle of mushrooms, that mysterious fairy ring, a fabled portal between their world and the fairy realm.

"Is this not the doorway you spoke of? Can you not simply leave?"

"No longer. Things have changed," replied the creature. The chorus of sounds solidified, coalescing into a single voice. An old man. "One of our eldest formed a pact, and all of us were summoned to return, lest we face a fate of stranding here, to wither away with your dying world."

"I'm terribly sorry. I—I do not quite understand. Can you explain?"

"No," said the old man. Firm, resolute in his response. "I imparted lessons upon a young woman among your kin, for she had nobody else to win such wisdom from."

"Who?"

"I know not her name and it never mattered. All that matters now is that I took too long in teaching her, and now I missed the grace's period. The doorway is closed, and I cannot open it, even with my infinite age. I have seen some futures, you know? And in most of them, my destiny is grim."

"Oh? Please do share."

"I shall not. Such insights belong only to those who exist in four times at once. For all others, that way lies only madness."

"If it was not you who slew those innocent people—"

"Few of your kind are innocent. Perhaps more, once, but your tales have shaped you to be something that reached beyond purity, shedding every last vestige of innocence to explore the darkness between the stars."

"W-well, f-fair," Agnes stammered, then setting her jaw before continuing with more zest. "Now, that aside, if it was not you who slew those two—"

"Seven."

"It has slain seven?"

"Yes, child. Seven it has claimed already."

This prompted another nervous glance to be exchanged between Agnes and Luca, reassuring each other that they were making the same sense of what the fairy suggested.

Luca asked, "Who? Or what? What did this?"

The silhouette shifted, moving behind the tree trunk, where the darkened bark and layer of snow clinging to the side swallowed the eerie golden glow of those eyes.

From the other side of the trunk emerged a figure. Shorter, haggard, clothed in old robes and hides and furs. Animal teeth and claws and strange poppets and fetishes dangled from a cord around his waist. Hands gnarled like old roots ended in long fingernails.

"Something that belongs neither in your world, nor ours," said the fairy in form of this old man, now moving his mouth to speak, baring yellowed teeth. He spoke with a strange accent that Agnes could not place. An accent that reminded her of ages long gone.

The grove stayed silent, lending him no more voice.

"Something I have evaded thus far, but you have lured here in your search, and opened the path for by invading this sanctuary," the old man added. His voice quaked, and his chin quivered, as if only now the cold affected him, or a sad weariness gripped his heart.

"Would you help us find it? Fight it?" Agnes asked him.

"No. I wish to maintain my immortality. I have so many more tales to share, even if not your ears are to receive them."

She paused and let that sink in, dissipating in a soup of half-formed thoughts.

Finally, she said, "I could help you leave our world. I could help you return to yours."

"Wha'?" Luca muttered in utter disbelief.

"How?" asked the old man, narrowing his eyes. He then took a step towards them and stopped again.

She said, "I know how to open such pathways, and how to close them. I could open the door long enough for you to leave. But I request your aid in return."

Everything about her turned fierce, and sharp, and as unbending as the veins of the earth; as if the apple's curse had fully taken root in her body, turning her blood to iron and her will to steel.

"Please," she added, ending her request, and bowing her head respectfully.

Whatever this old man represented, it was ancient. Not necessarily evil, not even selfish. And Agnes sensed he had been telling the truth. Contrary to the things she had learned of the fair folk, this creature spoke with sincerity.

And the creature, in the form of an old man, said, "There is little aid I can offer beyond advice. Advice is all I have given thee since the dawn of your empires and the first of thine towers cast shadows upon the fertile earth."

Luca's mouth opened, but Agnes' response cut him off.

"We will take any help we can get."

The old man folded his hands in front of himself. Not like in prayer that humans understood, yet it resembled occult gestures.

"Your weapons will do you no good against it," said the old man. "You must employ your sorcery. Both of you. I can feel it in both of you. A soft song, echoing the gentle breeze, soothing skin, and soul. And a droning chant, a dark pact that smiles devilishly and keeps hungry maws at bay in its rebellion."

"What is it?"

The old man hobbled towards them, a guise that defied the sheer power he radiated. An illusion, betrayed by each footfall, never sinking into snow, never harming those wondrous blooms of unnatural flowers here. The world around them pulsed with each pace of his, the rushing of blood in Agnes' ears thrumming to the tune.

"It has many names, cares for none of them, and answers to all of them," he said. The tremors of old age made way to a more firm and commanding tone, like a rising storm, or the welling of an earthquake. "It feeds upon fear and thoughts, it feeds the dark desires you dream of in its wake, only to take all what belongs to others, and covet more—forever more."

The old man grew, soon reaching the staggering, towering height of the creature they had seen in the shade of the trees, mere moments ago. The golden glow flaring up in his eyes soon swallowed any guise of humanity.

"But what is it?" Agnes breathed, timid as a child. "Please, speak not in riddles any longer."

"You would call it usurper. Invader, devourer. Evil spirit. Your kind has many names for many things, and mistakes one for another. You who is blessed with greater wit, you would call it—demon."

The last word lingered, reverberating in her skull.

"And how do we find it? Where is it now?"

He towered over them, only steps away. The two humans here posed the only thing standing in between the old giant and the fairy ring.

Luca's hand—the one holding the blunderbuss—twitched.

"It is here."

She looked around with haste. But saw nothing else.

"Too close already, I can feel its rotten presence, taste the death staining its avaricious fingers, and smell the stink of deceit befouling the very air it breathes. It nears," said the old giant. Then he crouched. Or shrank. Whatever it was, his face soon leveled with theirs and he whispered, "It followed you. It followed you here."

"Are you are certain you cannot help us?"

"It is as old as I, suffused with an evil to match. I would endanger you in your struggle. If it drinks from my essence or overtakes me completely, it will be unstoppable. You brought it here. To me. To its true quarry. Masked its scent and distracted me from its stalking approach, broke the safeguards in your careless search. You unwittingly did its bidding," said the old man. His voice trembled again.

With fear.

All true. 'Twas no magick that lent Agnes her empathy. Just an old instinct she had honed from childhood on. The old fairy's words all rang true. The realization of what she had done by breaking the stick figures now sank in, sickening her to her stomach.

There were things that devoured and grew stronger as they did. Wraiths, vampires, and—yes, even demons.

Agnes stammered before finding confidence again, "I—never mind. I—I am sorry. Begone, old one, and may you find peace wherever you wander."

Swiftly she turned from the old man, facing the fairy ring. Felt the inquisitive stares of both Luca and the old man resting on her back, observing her every motion.

From her satchel, she produced a tiny pouch, untying it and sprinkling from it a pinch of quartz sand across the threshold of the mushrooms. The dust glittered in the rays of sunlight, dancing as it fluttered to the lush grass grounds.

Agnes whispered the incantations her mother had taught her, calling upon the favor of Bergiddhe and Morrigaine and Velenn. She knelt and her hand quivered, hovering near one of the impossible flowers. Then plucked it with a loud pop.

She cast the fairy flower into the ring and peered beyond. There, she saw an ocean in the sky, where whales drifted and mountains floated upside-down above a sea of thorny vines, from which a giant castle emerged, slowly growing more and more as she gazed upon it, with its silver cages and magnificent beasts, swallowed by the bramble. And eyes—so many eyes—staring back at her, sensing the opening of this doorway, the breach in the veil, a hole that should have stayed closed.

Things, curious, some of them wicked, they all stared. All springing to life, popping from bizarre hidey-holes, all eager to approach and question the little human whose audacity had pierced the intersection between worlds. Some of them very, very hungry.

"Now," she uttered. Repeated it with more force, commanding the old one. "Go, now."

The old man paced past her, striding into the circle of mushrooms without pause.

Some things approached from the other side. As he stood in the center of the circle, he turned, and raised a hand. As if to wave, but without motion, an alien gesture of farewell. His mien displayed no emotion, but she felt a deep gratitude from that wizened face, eyes glowing golden, still.

Before an onset headache could assault her senses and split her skull, she nodded to the old fairy, and focused with all her might, willing the door to close. The wondrous world beyond the ring began to fade with him.

Gone was that sloshing sky, and the clockwork dancers tick-tocking down paths of gilded roads, and the singing pumpkins, and the waters flowing uphill, cascading into the heavens, where bug-eyed things cackled and waved wobbly wands at her. And with the other world's fading, so did the old man, blending in with the weird world around him, vanishing as it all turned translucent.

And then was completely gone.

A deep, baritone growl echoed across the glade. A ferocious snarl.

As the two swiveled again, Luca had, again, trained his blunderbuss on the newly arrived. Pointing the weapon at that rotund man, Percival Teague, and his foul-tempered mastiff.

The large man still clutched the collar of the hound, holding it back. Ready to unleash its wrath at any moment. The creature barked, but it sounded no more like a dog, and more like a bear, or a tiger, or a boar, or all of them combined.

Teague grinned. The grin crept wider, to grotesque proportions that no human face should ever feature. With more teeth than a man's mouth should ever yield.

"Shame, you sent that ripe old morsel off already," said Teague through rows of eerily perfect, gritted teeth. Every syllable he spoke with unsettling enunciation. "Shame to see such a fine vintage go to waste. But no matter, no matter at all."

His raspy voice turned to growls, blending with those of the mastiff. Rising in volume, drowning out all else. Dropping octaves, turning sinister. Thunderous. And infinitely sadistic.

"YOU TWO LITTLE TARTS WILL SERVE AS ADEQUATE APPETIZERS FOR THE GREAT FEAST."

He let go of the collar and playfully wiggled the fingers that held it, spinning on the spot like a dancer performing an elegant pirouette. The beast charged at them, and the thunderclap of the blunderbuss' shot cracked a fearsome echo. The flare from the muzzle illuminated the glade in a bright flash, and the shot ripped the mastiff apart.

Instead of a spray of blood and brains and intestines, pure darkness and writhing tentacles exploded outwards from the hound, continuing with the same velocity as the beast had pounced, and speeding towards Luca. That living shadow engulfed him, and Luca's angry shouts turned pained and panicked in the blink of an eye.

Teague—whatever his true name was—lumbered over towards them, emitting bellowing laughter that no human throat could produce, raspy as the crackle of hellfire, and hungry as the dark flames that it bore. Bright blue embers spilled from his toothy maw as he sauntered towards his next victims, smacking his lips without the monstrous guffaw ever ceasing.

Agnes crammed her numb fingers into her satchel, pawing and digging around in it until she found the thimble and the needle. Over and over again, she whispered the names of Koronos, and Paan, and Roon, and Uana; beseeching old, uncaring gods that favored only strength born from raw passion, and unbridled chaos that reigned supreme.

Whether they listened or not mattered little. Her precision in saying those names and words, not stuttering nor missing any components was all that counted; that perfect recital of the ritual was all that mattered for their survival.

The darkness that swallowed Luca engulfed her next and her skin began to burn, blister, and peel. Madness seeped into her mind. Voices to drown out her own. Urges to undress, to rip the cloak and clothing from her skin, for the heat was so unbearable, burning up from the inside, boiling her innards, demanding release lest it devour her in a flash.

Blinded by waves of fury and envy and a lust for vengeance upon all who had ever wronged her, it was too late for her to notice the hungry mouth of Teague splitting open. Not just where the teeth parted, but down the center of his face, opening to triangular flaps lined with rows upon rows of sharp spikes and throbbing pink flesh.

Instinctively throwing a hand up in self-defense before her, the flaps enveloped her entire arm, and the teeth sank into her skin by the dozen. The pain took its time, starting as a thousand needles piercing flesh and muscles, and then ripping and tearing and something suckling on her forearm, sucking the blood right out by the pint, threatening to suck the skin right off, and eliciting agonized screams to escape from her mouth.

Yet she lunged and retaliated with a single sting. The needle from her satchel—the cursed little sewing needle—repeating the names of those old forgotten gods, and thrusting that needle right into whatever fleshy, toothy mass she could connect with.

And Teague's hideous laughter ceased instantly. High-pitched, deafening shrieks followed, making it impossible for Agnes to even hear her own trembling voice as she chanted and chanted and thrust and thrust, time and time again, hoping to banish this thing, this foul thing.

The pain overwhelmed her, and she fought the urge to vomit; a losing battle that she soon surrendered to as the stench of rotten eggs and decaying carcasses filled her nostrils and those dozens of teeth that felt like a thousand continued to ruthlessly rend her flesh and suck the blood from her tortured arm.

Somewhere in the bedlam, Luca's screams mingled and canonized with her own and the shrieks of the demon.

The living smoke cleared, but the sky had turned into a pool of inky-black darkness.

Teague had split apart, down the middle, ghastly and indescribably inhuman parts flailing about and flapping around, fused with whatever Mister Bigglesworth had reverted into. A mass of too many milky-white eyes and toothy mouths and tentacles and roiling mounds of pink flesh that oozed with pus and plague.

Rays of pure darkness shot out from every orifice of the abomination, wilting the impossible flowers, and rotting the glade's grass wherever they swept over it, caressing it with kisses of death. Then the monstrosity exploded, showering its environs with stinking slime. The inky black of the sky rippled and then broke apart, flakes of it drifting away like ashes, and the gray gloom and clouded sun returning to decorate the heavens in place of the phenomenon.

Agnes shook all over, gripping her mangled and trembling arm, with far too much blood still pumping from it, dripping from torn holes in the skin in rhythmically pulsating rivulets of dark crimson, staining the snow by her knees where she had collapsed. The world spun around her, the nausea fully taking hold.

Luca embraced her, scrambling to tie her arm, or bandage it, or do anything of use to staunch the incessant bleeding. The symmetrical spectacles on his nose were bent and one of the glasses cracked, and half his face painted vermillion from an injury that bled from somewhere underneath his silver hair.

He spoke to her, trembling almost as much as she, but the rushing of blood in her ears, a pounding that must have reached the heavens, deafened her. His speech sounded like it was a million leagues away, muffled through walls or layers of thick fabric; unintelligible and with nothing she could read in it but despair.

Using his teeth, he uncorked a vial of strange, dark purple fluid, and showered her arm with it, following up with another alchemical tincture from his coat pockets.

Agnes expected unconsciousness to descend on the wings of the pain, to rob her of her senses, but no such luck. The taste of vitriolic stomach fluids clung to her tongue, and she simultaneously wanted to vomit while dreading the agony that throbbed in her growingly numb arm to flare up far worse if she spasmed and retched.

She just rocked gently, in a daze, watching Luca frantically work to do whatever he could to save her arm, speaking to her with concern plastered across his chiseled face, and she understood not a single word he said.

They had won against the demon that had called itself Teague.

But she may have lost her arm if Luca's magick refused to help where conventional medicine could not.

A small price to pay, she wagered, dismissing the dizzying thought of its reality. After all, it had worked. Luca's cursed shot and old pact had bought her just enough time to banish Teague and Mister Bigglesworth.

Any longer—any second longer—and others would have only found their skins and bones.

—Submitted by Wratts

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

eyooo!! i listened to firesorrow girl [TUMBLR | SOUNDCLOUD] by @gerrydelano and HAD A MIGHTY NEED (to also analyze this)

disclaimer: I have only listened to TMA through one (1), read it ONE time, so if you read something that seems wrong it probably is because my memory is not The Best (the seasons are 40 eps long and 30 mins each, Jonny why) and I’m probably straight-up not remembering or misremembering some aspect or detail about a character/a relationship/a part of their narrative

(and before you say it, i absolutely CANNOT just go relisten to an ep out of order. my nd brain Will Not Let Me until i have listened thru all 4 seasons, In Order, several times)

ALSO: i speak very definitively here, but it doesn’t mean i’m right abt my analysis

italics and bold are lyrics, normal is analysis. if there’s a way i can make this more accessible, lmk!

analysis under cut

little girl tries sleeping in the fireplace at home no one banished her inside it, she just lay down on her own she stares up into the darkness of the chimney and she hopes that someday she may go up in smoke this makes me think abt hilltop road first and foremost (but i have a feeling i’m missing something aljlkdjf) this is also the first hint to agnes’s wavering thoughts abt her being “the chosen one” for the lightless flame she’s already wishing she could burn, or in other words be normal

oh, the ends of her hair curl into embers in the wood beneath her head like a pillow, splintered shoulders in the soot flickers turn to flame and moves in kisses up her arms it loves her, so refuses her a scar i really like the imagery here bc, aside from the splinters, it evokes a softness embers are pretty, pillows are soft, “moves in kisses up her arms” really evokes a gentle intimacy, even before the line “it loves her” but then the last line really solidifies agnes’s relationship with fire--she wishes it would burn her but it loves her too much to do that, so she doesn’t

she doesn't burn oh, she learns again, reinforcing the motif agnes’s relationship with fire--the layers of 1) her not wanting this but 2) the first doesn’t care and loves her anyway i also see it as foreshadowing, or at least leading up to what she learns (put a pin in this)

pretty girl sits quiet in the coffee shop alone staring empty out the window like she used to do at home she feels his eyes fall down upon her from the counter, like a doe the ache of yearning blisters in her bones jack barnabas! hilltop road the use of doe, evokes the visual of “wide eyes,” which, in turn, evokes naivety--jack doesn’t know who agnes is, what she is, or that she could hurt him, even if she didn’t want to love, love, LOVE the fire motif here and used throughout the song--using fire metaphors bc it’s so fitting (put a pin in this)

he follows her up to the hill where water never works to send him down she broke his crown and blessed him with a curse her only kiss a smear of kerosene, a desperation unrehearsed and love made sure to let her know it hurts (love made sure it hurt) this only hit me like after the 5th time listening in a row, but LISTEN, “jack and jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.” i think it could also mean hilltop road, but i do think the stronger theme lies in that nursery rhyme. his name is jack and then to solidify that, “to send him down she broke his crown” vs. “jack fell down and broke his crown” i really love the contradiction of “blessed him with a curse” *ben from parks and rec voice* it’s about the layers. so listen, love is often seen as a blessing. but coming from agnes it’s a curse bc she burns anyone she touches. this is also in reference to her momentarily transferring her curse (the love from the lightless flame/fire) to him through her kiss “smear of kerosene”--another way of using a metaphor that evokes images of fire, and I LOVE IT “a desperation unrehearsed” MORE LAYERS YO. she knows what her touch will do to him but she’s so desperate to feel normal for even a second, she kisses him anyway “and love made sure to let her know it hurts”--going back to her curse, the love from fire/flame, and the destruction is causes bc of this. it could also be representative of how love can be very destructive. ppl often describe “the fires of passion” or passion as being like fire/hot *eyes emoji* i think the addition of “love made sure it hurt” could also communicate how the fire’s love for agnes is possessive--she cannot be normal or human or have any other relationship except with the lightless flame

he burns oh, she learns a parallel to “she doesn’t burn”--the striking difference between her and jack (the lightless flame and the rest of the world) what she learns here, tho, is also a parallel between what she learns at the beginning of the song there she is learning abt herself, here is is learning about everyone else

learns that breathing screamsmoke blackens hearts as much as lungs a heart motif, representative of love another fire-related metaphor that breathing in smoke doesn’t just fill your lungs with soot, but also covers the heart (love) in soot, as well a toxic love, as soot is bad for lungs and hearts it can’t be coughed back out and she can’t glisten like the sun using fire-related metaphors--the soot in her lungs and on her heart cannot be “cleaned” or cleared from her body with the body’s natural reaction to something obstructing breathing, which is coughing listen, i’ve said this before AND YOU’LL HEAR IT AGAIN: i really love “she can’t glisten like the sun” bc the whole point of fire, as the lightless flame sees it, is what the fear is named for: desolation. BUT fire is ultimately a neutral thing. if you respect and carefully control it, it can give warmth and life--like the sun (tho you can’t control the sun lmao). so there are positive aspects to. but not for agnes, given her upbringing and literally how she was conceived there’s no one left to save with love and no one she can touch affection is the pyre built on wildfire in the brush reinforcing her being unable to connect with normal humans bc of who she is ALSO i’m pretty sure this is referencing the bonfire she was born in--the ritual that made her the lightless flame’s messiah also, also, the use of the word “affection” uses the theme that fire itself love agnes, in it’s own, twisted way

her hands were only ever made to press through burning flesh and boiling tears won’t put it out but scald it like the rest referencing her birth again--that she was made to be this messiah for the lightless flame, for their ritual to remake the world through the lens of the desolation also more fire-related metaphors that i am IN LOVE with ugh, and, okay “boiling tears” communicates what agnes is feeling again--that she Does Not want to be their messiah, she just wants to be normal. she doesn’t want what the fire has given her but even her tears burn bc that’s what she is, what she was made for and the love of waxen women makes no difference in the end if never she can make and keep a simple human friend reference to jude, specifically, but other members of the lightless flame, as well. from what i remember, they all loved her but in the way that the fire loves her: possessive and toxic (like soot in the lungs) and then the reinforcement that she’s not human and cannot have the connection with humans she desperately craves, even if it’s just a tiny sliver

she can’t burn oh, she’s learned YO the difference between “she doesn’t burn” and “she can’t burn”--there’s a passiveness to it in the first line, but it’s more active in the second. here me out: as i said before, the “learn” lines communicate the inner thoughts of what agnes is thinking, the revelations she makes as he grows and lives. so “she doesn’t burn” communicates her learning and get used to the fact that fire doesn’t hurt her. versus “she can’t burn” communicates her knowing and accepting that the fire doesn’t hurt her, but she can hurt others with that very same fire. lowkey it’s so hard to articulate this difference, but this is the best my brain came up, hope it makes sense

YOOOO GIVE ME A MOMENT THIS NEXT PART IS MY FAVORITE PART

firesorrow girl says, “hang me up; i’d like to go” (i would like to go) referencing her death--her realizing that bc she’s fallen in love with jack, she can no longer lead the ritual for the lightless flame. but bro, listen, the addition  of “i would like to go” is a direct line to what agnes is thinking and feeling. more than not being able to lead the ritual, she doesn’t want to live like this anymore; doesn’t want to live her life unable to make connections with humans this isn’t quite a chimney she can column up to choke (i choose now to choke) a throwback to the first lines about her lying down in the fireplace and looking up through the chimney ALSO has a double meaning here, reinforced by what agnes is thinking: you can choke on smoke. her death involves literal choking the “i choose now to choke” again is a direct line to what agnes is thinking/feeling BUT ALSO a decision she finally gets to make autonomously the weighted hand upon her waist is chained there like a ghost, (always been a ghost) i know you’re probably tired of hearing but i ain’t gonna stop saying it. I REALLY LOVE THIS LINE. the lyrics say one thing, agnes’s internal thoughts say another bc raymond fielding is a ghost. not just like a ghost. he is one to her. i believe it was distortion helen who said that there was a scar on hilltop road. and we find out later that it’s bc hilltop road belonged to the web and even tho agnes burnt the house down, the web still left a mark on her. part of that mark is fielding, who i assume, was an avatar for the web. and it’s quite literal, as agnes never got rid of his hand he literally is a ghost haunting her bc of this but the rope she wears is woven cold with hope (yearning to be cold) THIS LINE BRO,,, i’m gonna say it I FUCKING LOVE IT. of course, referencing the rope she uses to hang herself BUT LISTEN “woven cold with hope” YOOOO THIS IS TAKING THE FIRE LOVES HER THEME AND TURNING IT ON ITS HEAD COMPLETELY she has been burning with fire this entire song, her body a raging inferno, contained in a body that appears human but hurts anything she touches. BUT AT THE END OF THE SONG WE GET THE COLD fire is often associated with warmth is often associated with hope, right?? but this time bc of the circumstances and what fire means to agnes and the lightless flame, being cold, not burning everyone she touches horribly, is her hope ”yearning to be cold” strengthens that message coldness is also associated with death, and here it’s quite literal but it’s also important to note that it’s also still agnes’s hope. so it’s still a very positive thing, even tho it’s associated with very negative things. bro,,, i gotta go lie down

those who can remember sing her name out like a prayer (i am not your prayer) the lightless flame, of course, bc they are a cult. don’t @ me, i’m right BUT “i am not your prayer”: again, a direct line into agnes’s thoughts. she never wanted, nor asked to be their messiah. she was thrust into the position against her will as she was literally borne in flames. from birth she had this shouldered on her. and she doesn’t want it, even in death the music to it hollow of the truth in her despair (hollow with despair) goes along with the “prayer” for her above: the lightless flame sing and mourn her but they’re not mourning her, not agnes, they’re mourning their messiah, the one who was going to lead them through a ritual that would remake the world. their words ring hollow bc of this. and it hurts even more with “in her despair” bc even in agnes’s despair at not being able to connect with a human, as well as not being able to lead the lightless flame like they wanted her too, they’re only mourning the idea of agnes they’ve created in their minds, not who agnes really was in wickerwind the crackleburn of candles cries for fate (i rewrite my fate) and firesorrow girl may someday be chosen again (firechosen girl, again) i LOVE the use of “wickerwind” and “crackleburn.” no analysis i just love the way they sound okay but the “cries for fate.” i think this has a lot of meanings. one is the fire crying out either about agne’s ultimate fate (having to kill herself or die, anyway) and/or crying out for another to fill her position (putting agnes’s fate onto someone else’s shoulders). another is the lightless flame also crying out for the same reasons. and the third is agnes, herself, crying out about her unfair fate. i think that last one is strengthened by “i rewrite my fate.” a common but powerful theme in many stories of a character defying fate bc it’s unacceptable to them. it’s also wholly contradictory to what the lightless flame wanted and then, of course, the second line strengthens the idea that they’re already looking for another messiah for their ritual

and so the wheel turns ‘round and ‘round

final note abt the music that is probably wrong bc i’m not musically inclined BUT i have been listing to sideways on youtube, who is very musically inclined. and that makes me an expert right? /s anyway, what i wanted to note abt this musical structure is that the beats aren’t the usual 4/4 that most popular songs use these days.

and what that means is that you get gratification ever 4 beats. (sideways describes it way better than i ever could here) this song doesn’t follow that structure (i think lakjlkdjf again, i’m not musically inclined at all) and i think it really adds to the theme of how agnes feels: trapped with this fire burning inside her until she finally chooses freedom (tho i know it’s more complicated than that in-verse).

now whether was was purposeful or not, i have no idea. but still a cool detail i, personally, noticed.

--

again hope it was semi-coherent. as with my other analysis, i just listened to the song and wrote what i was thinking, stream of consciousness

bloodwater ballad analysis | bonus meme i made for these analyses bc it’s funny and i wanted to share

[mariposalass]

Weird Candy Cane Tasting (Candy Canes)

Summary: Mari, Philip, Ron, and the Gru girls taste some weird tasting candy canes and their reactions to them are absolutely priceless.

Notes: My Day 3 entry for @silentlyfangirlingselfshipper​’s A Very Shippy Christmas event with the theme of candy canes. It’s just a short drabble of Philip, Ron, Mari, Margo, Edith and Agnes trying out a plenty of weird candy cane flavors and the results are pretty awkward to put it nicely. Diabetics or people whose families have a medical history of diabetes should be careful in reading this: this might make you squick in horror with plenty of sugar involved.

Tags: a very shippy Christmas, Christmas, Defying Time, Renewed Potential, Weasley the King, Orphanage Sweethearts, candy canes, sugar time, warning: sugar intake, crossovers, fluff, weird candy cane flavors, chaos ensues, spicy flavors

Modern holiday traditions and trends both perplex and amaze Philip at the same time: for one, he is trying to wrap his head around with the whole celebration shindig that the people of the present day are raving about, but on the same note, he’s quite intrigued by their interest in keeping the holiday spirit alive and well. After all, in his old timeline, there were simpler times then and sometimes using candles on trees might sound like a bad idea in hindsight.

It was a calm normal day in the shopping mall when he becomes all too curious about candy canes in general: he, Ron, and Mari were accompanying Margo, Edith, and Agnes at the mall while the girls’ parents, Gru and Lucy, are on a complicated and hard mission for the AVL at the moment. Mari doesn’t think letting the Minions to after the girls will stay as a good idea so she has Philip and Ron to help her out in the event of Edith and Agnes get lost; Margo, she knows, can look after her when solo, so she isn’t too hard to handle. They were passing by a nearby candy chop when he stopped to see what is available for the season: among the sweets being sold were candy canes of various colors, flavors, and manufacturers, and, since he’s fully aware of Edith and Agnes having a sweet tooth and mainly out of curiosity over the candy canes, he brought this up to them, and the response is mixed to say the least.

“We’re going to get CANDY CANES today!?!” Agnes shirked in happiness upon hearing his words.

“This is so awesome,” Edith happily gasped, her jaws feeling like they’re dropping onto the ground.

“Philip, you know that my sisters can be handful at times if they are anywhere near sugar, right?” Margo asked in concern, she wasn’t too crazy over sweets unlike her sisters though she loves to get some once in a while.

“Well, I...”

“Errr… Won’t the girls’ parents get mad at us for bringing them to the candy store without them knowing?” Ron brought up a big concern to his friend’s sister’s boyfriend while they look at Agnes and Edith jumping around in excitement.

“Can we go inside the store now, PLEASE!!!” the 2 younger girls pleaded, puppy dog eyes widen to get some sympathy.

“Do we have a choice?” Ron asked Mari.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ron, I didn’t expect a candy store detour either, but… I didn’t want the girls to feel deprived of something they really want so much,” Mari mused on the thoughts before making her decision, “We can check out those candy canes Philip’s being talking about.”

“WHA-” Ron’s shock was cut off by a concerned Margo who then told him to bear with her sisters’ eagerness and Philip’s curiosity for a while, to which he reluctantly agreed.

The candy store is not heavily packed of customers when they got inside and the candy display is filled to the brim with all sorts of candies: lollipops, gummi candies, gum drops, candy tapes, and, the candy of the day, candy canes. Ron’s thoughts soon turned from worry to amazement as the contents inside are starting to remind him of the Honeydukes candy shop back in Hogsmeade, temptation is creeping upon him but he is smart enough not to let animal instinct to go nuts in a candy store. One of the staff, a store clerk, running the store saw them coming in along with a few more customers from outside and had offered them candy canes, chopped into bite sized pieces, for any customer to try out. The pieces range in color and flavor, but who knows what the latter would taste like unless you try it yourself. People soon grabbed some of the pieces and popped in their mouths, trying to savor them as humanely as possible, though some people aren’t so lucky in picking the flavors in hindsight.

Mari randomly popped in a yellow/white stripped piece which she though would be lemon, but it turns out to be Mac and Cheese, which is interesting in the mouth but not pleasant enough in candy form for the picky librarian. Ron had his eyes closed and doubt in his mind as he picked up a green and white colored candy cane piece and tasted it, only to gag on it a few seconds in and realized from the store clerk’s speedy answer that he had gotten pickle flavored candy cane. Shocked to discovered that his beloved Mari and Ron weren’t so lucky, Philip absentmindedly selected a gray black/white striped candy cane piece and, the minute he popped it into his mouth, he was horrified to discover that he had eaten a coal flavored candy cane.

“Oh dear Lord, what kind of blasphemy is this?” he gagged in between words as he raced to get water in the store.

“Well bloody hell! I didn’t expect pickles to be a thing in normal candies lately,” Ron gasped while trying to erase his mind of the dreadful pickle candy cane.

“It seems that my luck at the mac n cheese candy cane seems to look sane so far,” Mari nodded back as she turned to Margo, “Hey Margo, what’s that candy cane piece you have going to taste like?”

“Hopefully it doesn’t taste like soap,” the eldest Gru sister sighed, holding onto a brown and beige piece of candy cane before she dropped it into her mouth then began to grimace at the taste of it, “Hmm… Tastes so bitter and so unpleasant… Huh?!? I got Coffee! Dad & Mom wouldn’t ever give me, Edith, and Agnes that as long as we all live.”

“What the-” Mari was panicking at the words her cousin spoke when Edith grabbed onto some light green candy cane pieces.

“Eh, they’re just candy, guys! Besides, how bad those green things I have now can be?” she innocently asked everyone as she tossed the candy pieces onto her mouth before her face started to cringe at the first taste and began to pant her tongue much faster than a dehydrated dog and began to scream in horror.

“Edith!” Margo cried as she did her best to comfort her sister in that dire moment when Mari picked up a box that featured the candy canes in the same color scheme as the ones Edith tasted and made a terrifying discovery, “It turns out Edith took some wasabi candy cane pieces without knowing that too much wasabi can mess up your tongue and taste buds.”

“Unbelievable!” Philip’s eyes widen in shock while drinking up the water from the water dispenser in the store and giving one more cup of water for Edith to drink from, “She didn’t even took a second look to be sure?”

But before anyone can give a conclusive answer, the most awkward and scariest of them all came when Agnes unsuspectingly took in some piece of chopped candy canes in a dazzling array of white, red, and green; it seems to look seasonal enough, right? Turns out that this was a bad idea in the end when her face slowly turned tomato red and began to cry profusely with tears running down her eyes. Margo was shocked that little Aggie had unwittingly eaten something her little body isn’t ready to feast on yet, so she and Edith (after recovering from her wasabi candy cane nightmare) ran up to her and did their best to calm her and make sure that everything will be fine.

Mari, after being given the location of the water dispenser from Philip, headed for the said water dispenser, took a cup, filled it with water, and ran back to Agnes who took the cup from her and began to drink all the water very fast with no second thoughts. Once Agnes finally regained control of herself, everyone had a sigh of relief, though this whole candy cane tasting shenanigans did taught everyone in the store.

“You know something?” Mari spoke to her friends as they left the candy store, still dazed from the events that had transpired there, “Sometimes, you can’t always successfully re-invent the wheel and expect great success from it. And candy flavors are no exceptions.”

“I agree, Mari,” Ron noted it, “They’re just like Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans back home, you never know what kind of flavor your mouth is going to get until it goes inside, and the results can be very weird.”

“Absolutely on point, Ronald,” Philip nodded back, “I still don’t understand why some of those people thought it was a good idea to experiment with those kinds of flavors, even if they’re not that bad with the actual food they’re based on.”

“Well, Philip, that’s the crazy world of modern candy making to you,” Margo sighed, “Sometimes, it’s best to stick with the classics, especially during the holidays.”

The End

[roominthecastle]

post--“620″ ramblings about stuff & things

so 620 picks up one week after the succulent goose incident. Despite those 7 days, our Red remains as angry and hurt as he was before (if not more), which is our first key point. “I can neither kill... nor trust... nor forgive.” It’s quite an unsettling thing to hear, to say the least, and Liz, unsettled, immediately counters w/ “You forgave Dembe.” This Liz vs Dembe thread that’s been earnestly pulled on since 618 gives us the second key. It reaches all the way back to the first episode of this season where it gets established why such a comparison is not working as an argument: “That’s different.”

In both 620 and 601 we have a moment where Liz and Red try to drag poor Dembe in between them as an “example” to deflect pressure, but each immediately rejects this stunt bc they both know that the nature of their relationship is different. The forgiveness of a parent (figure) is not forthcoming for Liz bc Red’s feelings for her are not really those of a parent. This exact issue emerged after her faked death, too, and Bokenkamp touched upon Red’s point of view already, i.e. how the parent figure would have to forgive but the romantic partner is, in fact, conflicted [x]. But I’ve already written a longer piece on this duality, so I won’t get into it here.

And Red’s been struggling. He is heartbroken again and not as a parent. A parent’s heartbreak is equated to “being impaled by a unicorn” and -- still barred from being in her life -- it’s little Agnes whom Red watches riding a unicorn on the carousel. :)

With Liz, Red is suffering through something else that 100% parallels what Liz went through w/ Tom re, love, betrayal, and forgiveness. She was in limbo where she couldn’t kill, she couldn’t trust, she couldn’t forgive. She lost control and cold fury was the only way to get some of it back. And then she gave in to hope and “forgave every lie and believed every promise” only to get betrayed again. Red describes his predicament the same way: she “has lied and deceived me and I've forgiven her every time” and “I knew but I let my hopes convince me that she wouldn’t betray me.” This ties straight back to the idea of being in love == being rendered powerless, which is part of a larger quote from James about self-deception vs true romantic love. Part of this had a cameo in S2 and another is echoed at the end of this episode (the greeting card bit).

The topic of appearance vs truth is the third key that slides neatly into the broader question of Red’s identity. We have two important scenes that poke this issue:

one w/ Ressler when he questions Dom’s story and Liz’s willingness to gloss over the holes to preserve a neat surface appearance: “But is it the truth? Does it make sense that this is the answer?”

and the other is w/ torture master Teddy who points out how Red lives a charade: “The code's like the suit and the hat. You feel good wearing it. Look good, too. Million bucks. But, and I gotta think deep down you know this, it's like lipstick on a pig. It can cover a lotta sins. End of the day, it's still trayf.”

and all this nicely echoes Dom’s words from the previous episode (the “architect of this charade” who’s “stepping into the lie”) and the way Red kicks off the whole show in 101: “Everything about me is a lie.”

Red wears a disguise, is the point. “Raymond Reddington” is a lie he’s been inhabiting for a yet to be fully uncovered purpose. But ever since he met Liz, he’s been longing to break from this. It’s clearly expressed in all those emotional moments he shares w/ her, e.g.:

“I haven't been home in years. But if anyone can give me a second chance, it's you.”

“Sailors have been navigating by the stars for thousands of years. Odysseus spent a decade at war. But his biggest battle was finding his way home. That's Polaris, the North Star. That's how sailors used to find their way home. When I look at you, that's what I see. I see my way home.”

“It may be hard for you to imagine, but I once had a relatively normal life... bills to pay, play dates, family, some friends, people to care about. Lost all that. // Lost how? // In Mexico, there are these fish that have colonized the freshwater caves along Sierra del Abra. They were lost. They found themselves living in complete darkness. But they didn't die. Instead, they thrived. They adapted. They lost their pigmentation, their sight, eventually even their eyes. With survival, they became... hideous. I've rarely thought about what I once... was. But I wonder...if a ray of light were to make it into the cave, would I be able to see it? Or feel it? Would I gravitate to its warmth? And if I did, would I become... less hideous?”

When Red looks at Liz and Agnes, the deep longing for that past self w/ a wife and daughter stirs in him. It surfaces when she tells him her simple yet distant dream of walking in the park w/ her husband and daughter. They want the exact same thing. This is consistent throughout the seasons. He’s been gently signaling this to her and she’s been fleeing from it bc he is just... too much and the idea of him in that role in her life is an attractive yet scary image (see her steamy dream of him in S2 that blends sensuality and dread as Red, having murdered her husband, stalks up to her bed asking what she really wants).

Red’s anger as a way to reestablish a semblance of soothing control and Liz’s refusal to face the truth to protect herself are what we have in that last scene in 620. “father figure” is a buffer zone, always has been, it’s part of the charade Red lives while wearing Reddington’s identity. Despite having pushed for the truth, she is now trying to lock him into this lie, telling him that that’s what he will always be. And if you keep in mind those quotes above that show how Red longs for a past life around her, then you can see how her words likely inflict more pain.

This brings another quote from Red to mind:

“You said something before. The truth doesn’t matter, that the only thing in this world that matters is just the appearance of truth. I fear you might be right about that. Lately I find that the truth has become… so elusive. Often imaginary. But in the end, it’s all that we’re left with, isn’t it? What is real, what you can taste and touch and feel. The words that pass between us as we look each other in the eye are… all we have to hold on to. The truth. I hold it dear.”

In their first scene where Liz talks about finally having the opportunity to be completely honest w/ each other, they sit face to face. And then promptly dance back from it all, esp Red. Then she soon admits to Ressler that she might be closing her eyes to the whole truth to keep things simple, safe and "sweet”. And so in their last scene, there is no eye contact at all as she tells Red that it doesn’t matter who he once was (never mind that months ago she was willing to put him in jail to find out) bc this fake identity is who he is and who he will always be, which apparently dictates that he must play father and grandfather.

The sheer arrogance and presumptuousness of this statement are already begging for a strong rebuttal but it also nicely reflects Liz’s tendency to make things about herself while brushing aside how others might feel or think. She did this w/ Tom when she refused to see who he really was and tried to convince herself he’d changed. And she does this to Ressler, too, when she tells him she knows he did everything bc he thought it was what was best for her, never mind that that was not Ressler’s motivation at all and he, in fact, said that to her already. Her last scene w/ Red has this vibe to it.

The fact that Agnes is part of this park scene is no coincidence, imo. Red is not comfortable w/ playing Liz’s dad. If he were, he wouldn’t have denied being her dad when she asked him in S1 (since wearing Reddington’s identity provides the wiggle room here), he wouldn’t have winced and cringed every time she referred to him as “father” in S5, and he wouldn’t have had the same reaction at the end of 620, either. He doesn’t embrace it, he doesn’t like it, he just endures it. There was a (sadly discarded) line back in S1/S2 about how he would be willing to play any role she wanted him to play but I believe something has changed since then. Even back in 102, he enthusiastically offers her the role of girlfriend and when she refuses, he flatly tells her that she can play daughter then. The preference on his part seems consistent but it will always be up to Liz to give the green light. Or the red one.

He wants to be a father to Agnes and he’s already confessed it in 319 (“I would give anything to be a part of that child's life... hold her... watch her grow.”). And the only time during the park scene when we can see the cold tension melt off him is when he sees the little girl. And when he hears Liz’s decision to bring Agnes home, his stony demeanor crumbles completely.

This is also where another part of that quote from James mentioned above seeps into the dialog: when Red remarks that Liz’s code is not a code but a greeting card -- confused, self-deceiving bullshit (just like Teddy called his code part of a charade designed to hide the scary truth). They are still not being honest w/ each other, they don’t look each other in the eye, they are still dancing around the actual truth at the core of their relationship. Red is deeply hurt, all his hopes seemingly dashed, which drives him to clam up even more and detach to mitigate the pain. He can’t kill but he can try and kill his true feelings for her, I suppose. And Liz is still afraid to face what it is exactly that fuels his intimate commitment to her, so she draws a line in the sand, declaring it permanent. But...

“You know the problem with drawing lines in the sand? With a breath of air, they disappear.”

James stated -- while talking about TBL -- that he’s not interested in material that doesn’t have a romantic/sexual aspect to explore. He also said that he is fascinated by Red and Liz’s relationship, that Red’s feelings for her are strong, complex, and complicated, and that neither is sure of the true nature of their relationship.

so bottom line (to quote Ressler who’s fast becoming the only voice of reason now that Dembe left): Red locked in the surrogate parent role just bc he wears Reddington’s identity for a different, still mostly unknown purpose -- is it the truth? does it make sense that this is the answer?

nope.

And I think it’s interesting that Cooper was designated as a “spokesperson” when he is in the dark about what happened between Red and Liz: the one who is mostly in the dark speaks about a family bond but his assessment (of love, faith, commitment) could easily pass for a wedding vow, too. It’s nothing but fitting, imo.

This latest fallout created a huge fracture in the Red/Liz relationship and I don’t expect them to repair it in the 2 episodes we have left this season. But Agnes is back and I think she will be the glue for these two idiots in the long run, allowing them to slip into a family rhythm that could potentially coax some buried feelings to the surface -- feelings both are trying to ignore at the moment.

[madegeeky]

Sideways (an accidental Good Omens fic)

So, my muse held me hostage and wouldn’t let me do anything until I wrote this and so here it is. I’ve been poking at it every day for over a week now and I don’t think I’ll stop until I post it so here it is, to save my sanity if nothing else. I’ve only see the tv show once and I’ve never read the book and this was way out of my comfort zone, so please be kind. This is an idea that’s been rattling around in my head since I saw the last ep. Credit for the mental image for the bathtub scene from this absolutely amazing post.

Warning for major spoilers for the tv series.

In a universe slid sideways, The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, is burned and nothing remains.

In a universe slid sideways, there is no prophecy that falls into the hands of an angel-who-is-not-quite-an-angel-anymore who shows it to his friend, a demon-who-is-not-quite-a-damon-anymore. 

In a universe slid sideways, this angel-who-is-not-quite and this demon-who-is-not-quite are left to figure out what to do on their own.

Aziraphale and Crowley run. They have no other options and can’t think of any other plans so they run. (Aziraphale once hesitantly brings up the idea of switching places but the idea of Hell finding out they have an angel in their midst that Heaven doesn’t care for is so horrifying that Crowley shuts it down immediately. There are very few things which terrify Crowley; this is one of them.) They go to Alpha Centauri and travel around there for a bit but end up back on Earth (Earth, it was always always Earth, their first and only choice). They continue to run, constantly on the move, and it’s hard, harder than they thought it would be. Aziraphale misses his books and Crowley definitely doesn’t miss his plants but they have each other and that’s so much more than they had ever thought they could ever have, once upon so long long ago, so those hurts are barely hurts at all.

Crowley fights like a demon when they finally find them and Aziraphale, not a fighter, still fights as well as he can. But in the end they are but one angel-but-not-quite and one demon-but-not-quite against a group of demons and angels and they are caught. And they are separated. And somehow that hurts worse than the knowledge that their entire existence is about end. 

Seeing the world, traveling together, being together. That’s a good way to live before dying though. 

Crowley finds it ironic that it is holy water that they are going to use to kill him, considering what Aziraphale had thought when he had asked for it. Aziraphale finds it fitting that he, an angel who has fallen but somehow not, would end in the fires of Hell.

They both go to their deaths with the other on their minds. Crowley, being the dramatic being that he is, stands with his back to the bathtub and allows himself to fall backwards. He fell once and regretted it; he’s falling again and he doesn’t regret a single thing that led up to this moment. Aziraphale, trying his best to stay composed, smiles weakly as he walks forward, only a slight moment of hesitation in that first step. He will meet his death head on; after all, he has already fallen in all the ways that matter to Heaven, this is just finally acknowledgement of the fact.

They close their eyes.

Crowley falls. Aziraphale falls. 

Crowley finds the water comfortably warm and for a moment wonders if this is some kind of stupid torture that these idiots in Hell came up; to make him think he’s going to die via holy water, only to pull out something else. However, the look on their faces when he opens his eyes disabuses him of that notion. They are horrified. All of them are backing away from him, except for Beezlebub who is seated, but whether it’s his continued existence or the holy water that he splashed out of the tub that is making them move away, he’s not sure. Crowley is just as surprised as they are.

Aziraphale finds the fire comfortably warm and waits for the burning to start. And waits. And waits. He opens his eyes and finds himself looking directly into the utterly horrified eyes of Michael and the angels standing next to him. He raises his hand, sure that despite the fact that he’s not feeling anything, he will find it burning away. His hand is still there, flames licking up it but doing nothing more than leaving a slight tickling feeling behind. He looks back up at Michael and finds the angels have all taken a step back, their faces showing nothing but shock and terror. Aziraphale is just as shocked as they are.

Everyone stands still for several moments, the universe slid sideways.

Then Crowley begins to laugh and laugh and laugh. And Aziraphale begins to smile, his grin getting bigger and bigger.

The shock wears off quickly and Aziraphale’s mind immediately turns to Crowley. Maybe. Maybe if the universe is kind (and sometimes it is, sometimes it can be so very very kind), then maybe Crowley... The angel-who-is-more-than (more than an angel, more than a demon) steps calmly out of the flames, straightening his jacket as he goes. “Well, unfortunately, I really must be going. I appreciate the hospitality that you've all shown me, but I'm afraid I really do have a prior commitment that I must be getting to. Gentleman,” he says, acknowledging them with a slight nod of his head, his tone smooth and calm instead of nervous like it was before. But there is something beneath its surface, something weaving between the words, something more, that makes the angels flinch. 

Aziraphale stares at them with a polite smile on his face as he gathers his power. He is more and angels can’t stop him and Hell’s fire doesn’t hurt him and so demons can’t stop him either and so there is nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop him from going to Crowley. Right before he flashes away, his powers punching through both Heaven and Hell, he flashes the angels watching him a grin. There is a little too much teeth, he knows, because he learned that particular smile from Crowley, and then he is gone.

Crowley tilts his head in that way that’s all easy-going aggression and asks, “Have you got a rubber ducky then?” When no one speaks, he takes a moment to splash idly at the water, watching as every demon, both those on the other side of the glass and those across the room, take another step back. Beelezbub, unwilling to give ground by standing from their chair, still presses themself a far back as possible. However, now that the shock is wearing off Crowley’s thoughts are turning toward Aziraphale. Maybe. Just maybe. If the universe is kind to him (and sometimes, very very rarely, it can be kind to even him), then maybe, just maybe Aziraphale…

At that moment, a stunningly bright light starts to seep through the outline of the door and Crowley gets ready to enjoy the reaction of an angel seeing a demon sitting in a bathtub of holy water. But the light gets brighter, so much brighter than the angel with the pitcher’s was. The power is seeping into the room like smoke under the door and Crowley sits up straighter because he knows this light, this power. It’s as familiar to him as his own at this point. 

And then Aziraphale is opening the door, as calmly and casually as though he’s entering one of his favorite restaurants. Crowley knows him well enough to see the nerves underneath his placid demeanor but he knows the demons won’t and he watches as they all flinch back from the holy shine. The light flares even brighter for a second as Aziraphale takes in the scene, sees the demons watching and the tub of holy water and Crowley sitting in it. But then the light slowly fades until Aziraphale is no longer glowing with the type of light Crowley has only ever seen on vengeful angels ready to smite the wicked. (Crowley wallows in the smugness he feels that Aziraphale looked like he was going to go to war for him.) 

“You always did enjoy a bath, Crowley,” he states, his voice calm and even, as though it’s an everyday occurrence for him to find the demon-who-is-more (more than Hell, more than Heaven) laying in a bathtub full of holy water.

“Well, these fine gentlemen got it ready for me, so how could I possibly say no?” Crowley says, sending an idle splash toward the glass and enjoying the way the demons scramble over each to try to get even further away.

Aziraphale makes a tutting noise as he conjures as pure white towel for the demon-who-is-not. “Your clothes are absolutely soaked. Those pants you’re so fond of are certainly ruined,” Aziraphale says in a faux chiding voice. Crowley has just sat up and put his hands on the side of the tub to pull himself out when the angel with the pitcher walks in. And freezes.

She stares, her eyes widening, as Crowley grins at her, all teeth and sadistic glee as he continues to stand, splashing holy water out of the tub as he steps out, water pooling around his feet. Her attention is then drawn to Aziraphale as the angel-who-is-not moves toward Crowley and her eyes, somehow, widen further. 

“You were supposed to burn in Hellfire!” she says, her voice accusing. Crowley, currently toweling his hair off, freezes, goes very still, and there is a beat where the room suddenly feels too small, but then it’s gone as though it never were, Crowley continuing his movements. And if he takes a step closer to his angel (no matter what, Aziraphale is his angel), no one except Aziraphale notices, too caught up in hearing the answer.

“Oh, that, well of course I stepped into it. Michael and the others were just so polite in their asking, how could I refuse? It was quite a delightful experience, actually. Very warm, although it did tickle a tad.” Aziraphale says all this calmly, his tone the same as one talking about how they met up with an acquaintance for tea, as though that is an entirely normal response to have when someone asks him why he didn’t burn in Hellfire. 

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley says, his grin bright and gleeful, as he hands the towel back to Aziraphale. Aziraphale waves it into non-existence and, for a beat, they all just stand there: demons, angel, demon-but-not, angel-but-not.

“Well,” Aziraphale says, clapping his hands together and startling the demons and the angel, “I do believe that it’s time we get going. We’ve had an absolutely wonderful visit. It really was too kind for you to invite us. But, well, I hope you don’t mind me saying that I do find it a bit drab and dreary and won't be accepting any invitations in the future.” A beat. “And neither will Crowley, I imagine.” And there it is again, something more, twisting and twining around the letters, between the spaces of the words.

“Absolutely correct, angel,” Crowley says. “And I think that’s a sign that we should get the Hell out of here.” He wiggles his fingers at the horrified demons and angel as he pauses just long enough to see Aziraphale's eye-roll before he reaches out with his magic, Aziraphale following suit, and in perfect sync, they yank themselves out of Hell. 

For a minute, as the smell of Hell is replaced by the smell of Earth, Crowley is sure that he’s going to collapse, the knowledge of what happened, what almost happened, what didn’t happen, feeling far too heavy to withstand. But then suddenly arms are wrapping around him, holding him in place, and he’s being squeezed so tightly against another body and it’s too much and not enough and without even a thought his arms are going around Aziraphale and he’s cupping the other’s neck with one hand and he just breathes. And then Aziraphale is the only thing he can smell and he knows how he smells, of course he does, and it’s the most comforting thing in the world and if there’s anything that’s close to home, then it’s this. 

Touching is something that neither Crowley or Aziraphale are quite comfortable with yet. Touching is just not a Thing in either Heaven or Hell so it’s not something that comes naturally to either one. But it’s something they’ve been trying out, fingers brushing lightly against hands and hands lingering on arms and shoulders. It feels very nice but it’s also too much at the best of times and this desperate hug is both, many times over. It doesn’t last long, it can’t last long. As comforting as it is, it’s also stifling to two beings who Don’t Touch but are learning to. So sooner, rather than later, they’re pulling apart and taking a small step back to look at each other.

“Sooooooo,” Crowley says, dragging out the vowel to an absurd degree. “You survived Hellfire.” Crowley tries to go for nonchalance but the horror at the idea twists his face, too comfortable around Aziraphale to be able to hide his emotions perfectly anymore.

“And you survived holy water,” Aziraphale returns, his face lined with worry and the terror of what might-have-been. They stare at each other for another long moment before he says, tentatively, as though it’s not already a fact and the words are what will make it real, “I’m not an angel anymore, I don’t think.”

Crowley hums thoughtfully, rocking back on his heels before going flat-footed again, “And I suppose that means that I’m not really a demon anymore.”

And it’s Aziraphale who asks, “What are we, do you suppose?”

Crowley rocks back again and then looks around Aziraphale’s bookstore, the only place he had wanted to go after being in Hell. Out the window, human beings are walking past, going about their business as though the apocalypse had never happened. (Which, he supposes, for them it didn’t.) 

“Well, not an angel and not a demon,” his lips quirk up in that sardonic, crooked grin he always gets when he’s about to say something he knows is going to make Aziraphale sputter. “The only thing I know of that fits that description is humans.”

Aziraphale does not disappoint and does indeed sputter. “Why, that’s complete nonsense and you know it. We still have our wings and our powers and although I’d rather not test it any time soon, I’m certain that we’re not mortal.”

Crowley shrugs, as he moves toward the couch and flings himself on it. Aziraphale follows, because he can’t not follow, not now, probably not ever again. “I say it the way I see it, angel, and the way I see it is that if we’re not angels and we’re not demons, there’s only one other category that we could fall into.”

“What complete balderdash,” Aziraphale says, his hands fluttering around the books piled on shelves, looking for something to do to hide his nerves. But the look on his face is the one he gets when he’s starting to come around to an idea, where he’s turning the possibilities over in his head and everything is falling neatly into place. Because what Crowley said is true. There are angels and demons and humans and, by sheer process of elimination, if they don’t fit in the former two then that leaves only the latter.

Aziraphale has always loved humans. More than angels did. More than angels should. They were so fragile and so short-lived and, yet, that never stopped them from taking their potential, their choice to do what they wanted with their life, and making beautiful things like food and art and technology and books. Aziraphale had never stopped finding it breathtaking. He was an angel, yes, but human beings were, at the end of the day, so much more than that and Aziraphale has always, in the deepest dark recesses where even he dared not shed light, been envious of that freedom to be more.

But here he and Crowley were. An angel-who-is-not and a demon-who-is-not and nothing but potential stretching out them before them, because who would dare stop them now? Oh, Heaven and Hell would regroup and they’d come back but, for the first time, Aziraphale wasn’t worried (or, well, he was a little worried but not nearly as much as before). He and Crowley had stood against Satan and angels and demons and they had come out stronger and better and more. Human might not be the exact right term, but he had to admit that Crowley was right: it was closer than angel or demon.

“Being human, that would be something new, wouldn’t it?” Aziraphale said a bit tentatively, not entirely sure of Crowley’s thoughts on the matter. It was sometimes hard to tell, when Crowley got in a teasing mood, how he felt about something outside of the enjoyment he got from provoking those around him.

“Human,” Crowley says, rolling the word around on his tongue, as though tasting it, unsure but intrigued. “A damn sight better than demon, I’d say.”

“And angel,” Aziraphale agrees.

“Oh, I dunno,” Crowley says, glancing slyly at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eyes, “Angel isn’t so bad.”

Aziraphale gives him an exasperated look and then goes to sit with Crowley on the couch, the other man folding his long limbs in so there’s actually room for Aziraphale, his head leaning back on the top of the couch and his eyes closed. Aziraphale eyes Crowley’s right hand, resting on his leg. Very slowly, he brushes just the tips of his fingers against the back of Crowley’s hand, before withdrawing. Touch is still hard and awkward and still feels mostly unnatural, even as it also feels like the most natural thing in the world. But he needs to feel Crowley under his fingertips, of his friend here and not unmade, here right next to him just… being.

Because that’s what they’re allowed to do now. They’re not an angel or a demon, they’re more than that, and they’re not quite human either but it’s the closest way to describe themselves and they’d choose that over angel or demon any day of the week, even before they became whatever they are now.

Aziraphale leans his own head back, closing his own eyes. The couch smells like Crowley and home and Crowley is radiating a bit of heat where their legs almost touch and it’s almost like touching but without being quite so overwhelming. 

Earlier today there had been nothing but the looming unmaking that was inevitable for an angel that had betrayed Heaven but also somehow not fallen. Earlier today there had been nothing but an end to the best being that he’d ever known in his thousands of years of existence. And now, here they both sat, nothing but potential spread out before them. No wonder humans were the way they were. What a beautiful and terrifying existence, to have so much possibility at one’s fingertips, Aziraphale thinks, as he feels himself drifting off. 

In a universe slid sideways, Aziraphale and Crowley close their eyes and fall. They fall asleep. They fall a little more into each other. They fall into all the possibilities that weave in and out of the space they occupy together. The world turns. And they rest. And the possibilities for tomorrow--for the rest of their very long lives--are endless.

[myrooks]

Hush A Bye Baby Chapter 3

Oh my goodness this is beyond late, but hopefully the fluff found in this chapter will make it up to you all :’)

This was quite the beast to write as it kinda dragged for me. But it’s important stuff. Next chapter will be much more exciting though, I assure you all ;) 

hint hint that’s where you (the reader) may finally be meeting Jacob

But without further ado, here you go my lovelies!

Nothing but embers had been left to burn in the fireplace. The early morning air was crisp and chilly, a frost even covering the windows of the train as it continued its trail down the tracks. The melodic chugging of the wheels intermingled with the occasional whistle the engine gave, the distant sounds of the busy city trickling in to make their way to the man’s ears. 

He had fallen asleep sitting- in Evie’s chair, no less. As he slowly became conscious to the world, what truly caught his attention, however, was how he instantly noticed how he had never felt so warm. The second thing he acknowledged was the unknown weight to his chest too, which also prompted Jacob to twitch his fingers. He could honestly barely feel the added weight in the first place, but all the same his digits still felt numb due to whatever force had been sitting on his arm, and he couldn’t understand what was lying on top of him, that is, until like a waterfall, all the memories from last night splashed down onto his mind.

Maisy.

And then he felt it- what he now realized being her tiny body shifting against his chest, a pair of thin and frail arms wrapping around his neck as the hair from her head tickled against his skin. 

He blinked open his eyes, his body being promptly forced awake. His hazel hues instantly locked onto her form, any fatigue he would usually feel upon waking flying from his body as he quickly rubbed the sleep from his golden irises. Apparently, she must have awoken before him, as the second Jacob turned his head to look down at her, she picked up her own gaze to stare at him. 

Cold and pale stony-grey once more clashed against the man’s warm green and golden-brown hues. For a moment he couldn’t utter a single word, the memories from last night heavy on his mind. All she did was stare at him, with those large, innocent eyes. It took him a second before he could manage to utter a single sound from his throat.

“Good morning, Maisy.” His tone was hoarse from just waking up, causing him to clear his throat as he then gave the little girl a soft smile. She gave him no reaction, however, her pale orbs only flickering around his face in a somewhat curious manner. She didn’t even smile at him. That worried him. Could she possibly just not understand what he was saying? He believed her to be around two years old; did toddlers at such a young age even have that extensive of a vocabulary? Or perhaps being out in the cold had truly made her sick- and his heart leapt for a moment as he considered that. 

The concern suddenly ignited within his eyes, his upper body sitting up straight as the infant slid down his chest to gingerly have her weight shift to his lap. Her hands still clung to the front of his waistcoat, however, as her eyes remained locked onto his features, and the hand that now began to tingle with feeling again rested on her lower back, while his other hand cradled the back of her head. 

“Are you feeling alright?” The sincerity was clear in his voice. He only had to worry for a half a second longer too, before Maisy finally responded to him, her still dirtied face moving up and down as she gently nodded. He almost wanted to sigh in relief. That meant she did understand him, but said feelings of relief were only partial. He couldn’t help but notice how the tiny brunette was still acting distant. The worry almost didn’t want to seem to fade, and he briefly wondered if this is what being a parent truly felt like. Was it normal to worry this much over the tiniest things? 

“Would you like some breakfast then, darling?” He tried his luck once again, giving Maisy a comforting and tender smile as he spoke gently to her. He also didn’t really understand where it was coming from, but his hand almost seemed to move on it’s own accord as he lightly stroked her hair, brushing the strands out of her face and moving a few pieces behind her ears. 

Maybe he should have mentioned food earlier, for that clearly caused the reaction he was looking for. He watched as Maisy nodded once more at him, but this time with a beloved smile that almost seemed to make his heart instantaneously melt. Seeing it alone made his own lips widen into a toothy grin, the warmth that was starting to become familiar to him now tugging at his heart. 

He was also beginning to understand that perhaps Maisy was just shy. The poor little thing was acting so timid, which he could understand, of course. It made him wonder if that would break at some point, or if that was just who Maisy was. Only time would tell him the answer to that one. For now, though, he was just glad Maisy was okay, and that she had a basic understanding of English. That surely saved him from an immense amount of trouble. 

“Well, then, shall we?” Jacob playfully asked, moving his hands to pick the little girl up from under her arms. She merely continued to smile at him as he finally stood from the chair, his muscles and bones stretching in pleasure as he finally moved for the first time since last night. 

Jacob shuffled Maisy to sit on his forearm again as the brunette comfortably grabbed the Englishman’s chest as he straightened himself. As he began walking through Evie’s train car, the man couldn’t help how he released a loud yawn as he arched his back, stretching himself out completely as he finally blinked away any lingering fatigue. 

If that didn’t wake him up, however, the nice cold gust of wind from Evie swinging open the car door directly in front of him sure did. 

He swiftly felt Maisy cling to him, and whether it was from the cold or fright he couldn’t tell, but either way, he may as well have been up for hours with how his senses instantaneously sharpened, his reaction immediate. 

Without a second thought his free hand came up to create an almost protective shield as it lied completely across the little girl’s back. He couldn’t help how he also gave Maisy a worried glance, entirely ignoring Evie’s entrance into the cart. Evie, of course, was quick to notice her twin was finally awake, promptly shutting the door behind her. Jacob just barely managed to peel his eyes away from Maisy at the noise, finally acknowledging Evie- and how she was already dressed for the day too. Of course.

“Oh, good morn-ing-” Evie began to say, but she faltered as she spoke, a hand flying to her lips as a sudden mirth sparkled in her eyes. Oh goodness, she most certainly hadn’t been expecting this. Evie, quite honestly, might have to say for one of the first few times in her life had been completely, and utterly, caught off guard.

She couldn’t help it. Stumbling upon the sight of her brother, his normally slick, smoothed back hair a ruffled mess that stuck up in odd places coupled with the sight of the two of them, staring at her owlishly- for by then Maisy had even turned her head to shyly stare at the intrepid sister, the toddler curious about the newcomer. Maisy and Jacob were still clearly dazed from just waking, and as she stood there, taking the image of the two of them in, it was just, too cute. 

Jacob, for once, had no idea what Evie was thinking, only left to raise a suspicious and confused eyebrow as he watched her fail at trying to contain her laughter. His eyes flickered across his twin, wondering just what in the world was so funny. 

“What?”

Jacob’s brow had even furrowed by then, completely at a loss for what had possibly amused his sister so much. The hand Evie had hovering near her face was placed on her chest briefly as she controlled herself, her laughter finally dying as she went to go answer Jacob instead.

“Nothing. I’ll go see what Agnes is planning for breakfast.” Despite her short answer, the smile Evie wore coupled with her clearly amused tone indicated to Jacob that it was most definitely not just nothing. Even with the suspicious glint in his eye as he watched his elusive sister turn back once more towards the door, Jacob couldn’t help himself as he decided to play along with Evie’s game. He wasn’t about to let her have the upper hand. He quickly glanced down at Maisy.

“That, my darling, was Aunt Evie, and in case you didn’t notice, she also happens to be a little nuts.” Jacob stated with a sugary-sweet, innocent tone, showing he was only saying such a thing in order for Evie to hear and ultimately, become annoyed at. 

“Jacob Frye! I heard that!”

Obviously, it worked.

Now it was Jacob’s turn to laugh, his chest rumbling with a chuckle as Evie probably mumbled yet another complaint about her incorrigible little brother as she made her way out of the train car. If asked, Jacob couldn’t say he was even aware Evie had said anything as the door shut behind her. What he was truly aware of was the most adorable twinkling sound that had ever happened to reach his ears. 

It took him a second to realize it, but Maisy was giggling.

Immediately, the man gave her an incredulous look as his eyebrows shot up. He could have sworn he felt his heart clench- but in a good way. 

“Oh? You thought that was funny?” He couldn’t help but ask, part of his tone truly holding disbelief, but the other completely and utterly teasing. It was brief- much too brief, and as Jacob gazed upon the smiling infant in his arms he wondered if he could elicit such a noise from her again. 

He wouldn’t have to think too long, for upon his inspectful gaze Maisy shyly glanced away, her smile becoming wider as she buried her face in Jacob’s side. And then he heard it again. 

The twinkling of little glass bells.

Jacob could never explain it, but the immense amount of joy that flowed through him upon hearing the sound could only be released by the laughter that erupted from his own lips. Apparently, their merriment seemed to fuel each other’s, for as the Assassin even briefly threw his head back he could easily hear Maisy’s giggling become stronger as his chest vibrated from the glee he expelled. 

It was then that something- something that felt so inherent, so integral to his being, surged vehemently all of a sudden within him, and Jacob was powerless against the outright yanking to his heart. 

Gingerly, he hoisted Maisy up higher against him, causing her to raise her head to look at him. She had a full-blown toothy grin by now, the soft twinkling still ongoing. He couldn’t remember a time where his cheeks practically hurt from how wide it caused him to smile. 

And then, as if he had done it a thousand times before, with his lips still set in a wide smile he leaned down and planted a large, loud, loving kiss to her cheek. Her reaction was instant. Her giggling just turned into straight up laughter, and she even let out a tiny squeal of happiness, one of her little hands coming up to touch the scruff on Jacob’s chin, before resting her chin to her chest and retracting both her hands to her neck, as if she were guarding it. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out- the scruff of his facial hair had clearly tickled her when he went to kiss her, and at that point, Jacob was sure his heart had completely and utterly melted.

There was no stopping him then, the fondness shining so brightly in his gaze, and the warmth blossoming across his chest and squeezing all the love from his heart as he got lost in the moment, playfully leaning in once more.

“Oh no, is somebody ticklish-“

Jacob quickly muttered in a heavily mischievous tone before his lips were upon her again. Maisy tried to lean away as she squealed once more, Jacob delivering a series of obnoxiously loud, playful and affectionate kisses to her cheeks. He didn’t care that she was still filthy. Any dirt he got on him was meaningless compared to the absolute bliss the lovable kisses provided for both him and Maisy.

The man was finally forced to relent when Maisy, through all her laughing and squealing, decided to unexpectedly throw her arms around Jacob’s neck, rapidly burying her features against his skin. He would have thought he might have offended her, with how sudden her actions were, if it weren’t for her own playfully giggling he still heard, indicating that was her way of ‘hiding’ from him. Feeling her tiny nose rub against his neck, coupled with the fading sounds of her twinkling merriment, he couldn’t help it as he just stood there, taking it all in as he let the awe and the love just wash over him. Jacob Frye had never felt like this before. He had never felt so full of joy, of this kind. 

He had always heard of the cliché warm, fuzzy feelings people would get during sentimental moments, and quite frankly he would make fun of them- but now, he realized it was no joke. This was the farthest thing from a joke for him. Nothing before had ever felt so… real to him. 

His smile was nothing but tender then, Jacob’s gaze glancing down at Maisy as his hand gingerly moved to rest between her shoulder blades.

“Alright, my little one, Daddy promise’s he’s done now.” His tone was soft and sweet, her hair once more tickling underneath his chin. All she did in response was nuzzle into him, and if anything, that just made him want to take her adorable, tiny chubby face into his hand and kiss her even more, but the man knew better. It was time to start the day. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t play with Maisy later, of course. 

Already looking forward to such a thought, Jacob then trekked through the train cars, making sure to keep their exposure outside to a minimum. Even with just the few seconds of being outside, though, Jacob could feel the chill go straight to his bones. There was no way this could be good for Maisy. A slight frown had made its way to his face as he finally made it to where Agnes normally served the twins breakfast. 

He was already thinking about it since last night, but this train was obviously no place to raise a child. Jacob was no fool. There was not only no room, but it was completely unsafe and nothing but impractical. It served Jacob and Evie well, but as for Maisy… Jacob knew it wouldn’t do. The man might have just the solution to such a problem as well. 

“It’s about time you two showed up.”

Jacob instantly looked up to see Evie was already sitting at the table situated against the side of the dining cart, her dainty fingers holding up the day’s newspaper. Her eyes never left the page, allowing Jacob the freedom to casually roll his eyes at her without hearing some form of rebuttal. He would have verbally made a quip right back at her too, just as he usually did, if it weren’t for the Assassin suddenly noticing what had been placed upon the table.

His plate was clearly already waiting for him, still steaming with some warm crumpets, fresh eggs and even a few links of sausage. The jam, milk, tea, and sugar were also already placed on the side. Nothing out of the norm, that is, except for the small bowl next to his full of what he quickly identified as oatmeal. 

Jacob almost gagged. He was aware that was definitely not for him. The last time he could ever remember having such a revolting thing was when he was twelve. 

“So today’s breakfast consists of some lovely oatmeal?” He obviously teased, making a more disgruntled face as he made his way over to his chair. It was then the man also realized Maisy wouldn’t be able to sit on her own. She was much too small. If she were to try sitting in a dining chair in a normal manner, her head would barely rise above the table. Perhaps that’s why Evie didn’t bother pulling up a third chair, and had placed Maisy’s breakfast right next to his. He nearly wanted to sigh at what she was insinuating.

How was it that she always seemed to be one step ahead of him? 

“I’m assuming you’re not wanting to partake in this, are you?” Jacob’s voice carried over to Evie as he pulled out his chair. His eyes locked with her own over the newspaper as Maisy slipped from his grasp as her feet met with the hard seat. It didn’t need to be stated for her to understand what Jacob was referring to.

“I will help, but Maisy is ultimately your responsibility. If you’re truly choosing to take care of her, you must learn how to do so.” Evie’s answer was blunt, and she quickly went back to reading as soon as she was done answering Jacob. The man most certainly got her message, and held back from quipping back to her. It would only lead to a much more involved conversation, and it was one he was nowhere near in the mood to have right now. For the moment he decided to just remain satisfied with his sister’s response, wanting to keep the mood light as he instead glanced between Maisy and the table. 

“Well, in terms of being helpful, it seems we’re still not used to having a third guest, seeing as we do not even have a third glass.” Jacob mentioned, in a teasing, perhaps even passive-aggressive manner towards Evie as he pointed out the missing item on the table.

Evie just chose to ignore him, if anything merely giving a short roll of her eyes as she continued on reading the day’s paper. It was obvious Jacob was just trying to get under her skin, and that was something she wasn’t about to allow. “Alright, my dear-“ Jacob began, once more focusing his attentions back to Maisy as he allowed her form to fully slip from his arms. He didn’t really acknowledge the sudden hesitant look that crossed the little girl’s features, however, Jacob already turning to walk over to the cabinets.

“No-!”

All the muscles in his body tensed. His gaze snapped back, glancing down to his arm, where he felt her tiny fingers wrap around his sleeve in a death grip. In an instant his golden irises zoned in on the distressed look Maisy gave. What on earth-? 

“-What’s wrong darling?” Jacob quickly asked, still rooted to the spot. He noted how she now tried clinging to his arm; Jacob forced to lean down slightly, for if he moved any farther out she would fall right off the edge of the chair and onto the floor.

“Daddy-” 

The Assassin practically felt the stabbing pang within his chest with the broken way Maisy uttered his new title. The word was nothing more than a sob, and the concern completely washed over the man’s features the moment he realized Maisy was practically on the verge of crying. 

It was also then, Jacob realized- with the way she clung to him, it was quite clear that she merely couldn’t bear to have Jacob leave her, even if it was just a few steps. Such a discovery only served to make the pain in his chest wrap around his lungs tighter, as it confirmed all the more his suspicions of her being abandoned. Oh, if only he knew who the bastard was…

“Darling, daddy’s right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Jacob’s voice was soft and reassuring as his body leaned down on one knee before her own, his hands grabbing her tiny fingers. His palms completely engulfed Maisy’s, the man bringing her knuckles up to his lips where he planted a tender kiss upon each one.

“Daddy wouldn’t leave you,” He began to say, a warm smile upturning his lips in an effort to reassure the toddler that everything was okay. Hoping he had gotten his point across, his form straightened again, despite Maisy instantly beginning to whine in protest. It took all of Jacob’s will power to continue backing away from the little girl, especially with the way she reached out to him the second he let go of her little hands. 

“I’m right here, I’m just getting you a cup darling-“ unfortunately for Jacob, Maisy’s whining didn’t lighten as he hoped it would when he finally reached the cabinet. Despite his goal being clear the little girl was completely ignorant to Jacob’s intentions, only focused on the gap between them as her whine finally developed into an outright cry, her gray-blue orbs glazing over. 

“No, no! Sweetheart-!” Jacob had managed to get the cup like he wanted, but it came with a cost. Apparently her separation anxiety was far worse than he thought. His form was back at Maisy’s side in record time, engulfing her in a hug as the toddler latched on to his neck. The Frye twin could physically feel his heart splintering in two as she relentlessly began to sob, Jacob unable to do nothing more but hoist her against his chest and into his arms as he slid into the seat. Unbeknownst to Jacob, Evie had been watching the whole scene as she peered over her paper, and finally seeing the distress paint over her brother’s features, she could watch on no longer.

With a subtle, sad sigh of her own Evie rose from her seat, even surprising Jacob as she walked over to his side. He truly had no idea what she was up to, that is, until he saw her pick up the oatmeal, and taking a spoonful she placed it in front of Maisy’s mouth.

“Here you are. You want some yummy food, don’t you?” The woman cooed, and with the way the infant cried the twins both thought such a tactic wouldn’t work, if Maisy hadn’t proved them wrong, that is. 

All it took was her gaze to lock on to the spoon, and assuming Maisy finally had a chance to smell her breakfast of cinnamon and apple infused mush, instantly decided on shoving the oatmeal into her mouth, cutting off her own crying. 

“Good girl. Would you like some more?” Evie praised with a pleased smile. Maisy still had tears falling down her face, and whined between her chewing, but it was clear her attention was quickly becoming focused on the food in her mouth verses her sadness. She nodded to the female Assassin’s question, her chubby hands now reaching out over Jacob’s shoulder for the bowl.

Before she could truly grab it, of course, Jacob was already doing so, Maisy watching the food like a hawk as her tears had now fully dissolved into sniffling. The man felt a swell of relief, but it was only partial- his heart still heavy as he simultaneously wiped the little girl’s face with his thumb while helping her spoon the oatmeal into her mouth.

“There you are…” Jacob’s soft words trailed off under his breath, Evie going back to her seat as her brother finally allowed a small smile to grace his lips. “… I’m not going anywhere, my little Maisy…” He continued to mutter reassuringly, but the soft smile on his face was deceived by the despair that was hidden in his gaze. 

Evie of course could see right through the man, knowing full well how large Jacob’s heart was- and knowing that was exactly why he was currently experiencing so much pain. She could see it as plain as day from across the table, unable to help herself in wondering how often his compassion would truly be the end of him if it weren’t for her. But, that’s also why Evie wasn’t surprised at Jacob’s next set of words as Maisy seemed to finally get a hang of shoving the spoon into her mouth on her own.

“So, as you know, the train isn’t exactly the most suitable place to raise a child.” Neither of them made eye contact as he spoke, as Evie knew where Jacob was heading. They were twins, after all, and chances are they shared the same thoughts about the situation as they both drifted off to sleep last night. But, that’s not to say Evie still had her own desire of ensuring Jacob knew that life did not suddenly grind to a halt at his recent findings.

“Your food is getting cold.”

“Evie.”

“What? You wish to use the flat- then use it.” Evie only gave her twin a brief glance before going back to reading her newspaper. Jacob couldn’t help but raise a brow. Was his sister actually… agreeing with him?

“So, you think it’s a good idea then?” The man curiously asked, absentmindedly stroking Maisy’s hair as he spoke. 

“None of this is a good idea, Jacob.” Evie plainly stated, which in turn unsurprisingly caused Jacob to roll his eyes with a sigh.

“And yet it’s so odd how nearly every time you’ve told me that it’s those exact ideas-“ Jacob suddenly cut himself off as he subconsciously glanced down at the toddler in his lap-

-Only to find his sentence dying in his throat. All the annoyance instantaneously evaporated from him. Instead, nothing but an amused smile graced his features as he swiftly grabbed a napkin.

“Do try to get the food in your mouth, darling, not around it.” He mentioned, and it was then the infant stopped stuffing her mouth to look up at him. Her large, sparkling eyes paired with her stuffed cheeks covered with bits of sticky oatmeal did nothing but serve to make him chuckle. Clearly, Maisy was not enjoying his amusement, quickly shoving his hand away with the napkin as she wiped at her face with a pout. Almost as if to spite him she then ate the oatmeal off her hands before going back to now rightfully using her spoon.

Jacob was also not the only one who was amused by Maisy either, Evie finally cracking a smile of her own as she watched the little girl begrudgingly obey her brother with a feisty glare. 

“Oh my, with that look you better watch out now, Jacob Frye.” Evie couldn’t help but state, causing Jacob to glance between Maisy and his sister, before scoffing.

“Oh please, like a toddler will be what causes me to admit defeat.” The man confidently answered, even leaning his broad shoulders back, his muscular bicep hanging over the back of the chair as he offered his sister his trademark smirk- 

A sudden burp cut off any and all conversation. 

For once, both twins were caught off guard as their eyes swiftly locked on to the tiny toddler.

“Maisy!” Evie incredulously stated, Jacob unable to help himself as he threw his head back, laughing wholeheartedly.

“Well, at least we know she enjoyed the food!” The man amusingly commented, before finally being reminded to reach for his own breakfast. He ultimately began with one of the crumpets on his plate, ignoring the still shocked expression of his sister as he went to spread some butter on it- that is, before a tiny pair of hands suddenly appeared to try and grab at his food.

“Oh? Would you like to try some?” Jacob asked, wondering if Maisy may still be hungry. 

“Start with this, sweetheart.” The man motioned, breaking off a small piece of the crumpet before handing it to the curious infant. Within seconds he then proceeded to take the rest and go stuff it in his mouth- before Evie suddenly clearing her throat stopped him in his tracks.

“Jacob.” The female Assassin merely said, her azure gaze simultaneously glancing between his wide, open mouth and Maisy’s own. The man instantly became aware the girl was copying him, trying to shove a much too large piece of bread into her mouth. 

“Oh. Right.” With an unsure smile upturning his lips, he quickly pulled his arm back, braking off yet another piece of his crumpet, politely popping it in his mouth instead. He then smiled down at Maisy, watching her doing the exact same as she too, glanced up at him with an expectant smile of her own. There was no way he could help the chuckle that tickled in his throat at her actions, his hand coming to pat her head to praise her. 

“Children are like sponges, Jacob. You must remember that. Everything you do, they follow.” The sound of Evie’s voice finally tore his gaze away from Maisy, his smile fading. Jacob couldn’t help but raise a brow at her words, truly pondering them as he glanced to the side wearily. 

“God, I hope not. But speaking of sponges…” The Assassin trailed off, finally remembering the tasks he had to do today. He cracked an almost guilty looking smirk, locking his gaze with Evie’s own.

“Do you think you can do some shopping while I give the little one here a bath? Or would you like-“

“I will be back.” Before he could even finish, Evie was setting down the newspaper and heading for the door. Perfect. 

Jacob chuckled triumphantly to himself as she made her way out of the car, as he was right in assuming his sister would take the bait. He didn’t know the first thing in what to buy Maisy, especially when it came to dresses or other girly things. Hell, he didn’t know what toddlers needed in general, let alone a female toddler. 

But then, his chuckle fizzled out in milliseconds, realization washing over his face.

He had also never given any child- or person for that matter, a bath in his entire lifetime. And the only other person who could possibly help him in giving one to Maisy had just walked out the door.

He took one glance down at the tiny brunette, locking eyes with her. The sticky oatmeal from her breakfast was still smeared around her lips.

  “Oh, damn it all.”

[roominthecastle]

I love reading your take on TBL so if you could indulge me one more time... Why do you think Red was so affected by Elizabeth's fantasy? His reaction - his unusual silence - is something that always comes back to me... (I'm sorry if you have talked about this before) Thank you!!!

I’m always happy to go down these rabbit holes over and over again, anon. but let’s take it behind a cut:

Yes, this question came up a few times before, so first let me copy-paste one of my old answers here:

(the episode referenced is 304)

Ithink the look on Red’s face upon hearing what Liz really wants and him fallingsilent for a while signal an internal struggle. A dilemma, if you will. Red waswrestling with himself and then he reached a conclusion: it is as it shouldbe.

Sowhat was this inner struggle about? Why did Liz’s confession that she wants anormal life send Red spiraling all of a sudden? I mean, it wasn’t exactly brandnew information, right? It couldn’t have been an unexpected revelation,especially for Red who has a knack for reading people and gauging their wantsand needs (a talent which is also referenced in the episode: “It appearswe’re all good at reading people. What fun.”). What was up with him? Well,I suspect that he suddenly felt conflicted about his precise role in all this: doI wanna be an observer of her fantasy or a participant in it? Can I even be aparticipant? Should I be? And I think this dilemma is visualized by himmoving from the acting area where Liz sits to a seat in the viewing area andthen back to the acting area again (when the subject of Tom is brought up)where he eventually sits on the bed, quasi-separated from Liz but still onstage w/ her (then, at the end of the episode, he is back in the viewing areaagain).

Reddid not want Liz to end up a fugitive but she did nonetheless. She crossed intohis world and I think part of him cannot help but relish in her company despitethe unfortunate and perilous circumstances. They basically live together nowand in this particular episode they are hiding out in a theater where the stageis arranged as a home. It’s their (temporary) home. In other words, theyare literally playing house. It is their shared, collective fantasyright there, something they both lost and a possibility Red wasn’t entertainingprior to his arranged partnership w/ Liz, and they are briefly enacting ithere. But it is a fantasy and I think what hits Red later on is that a) this isprobably as close as he will get to living it and b) this “walk in the park”scenario is kinda unattainable for him but it is still within reach for Liz andhe will do anything in his power to help her attain it because she deserves it.

Now we can also add to this the “shippy end” of ep 302 where Red brings up the story of Odysseus while the song “Our House” plays in the background. There are many similarities btw Red and the legendary schemer/warrior, the most obvious being the governing theme of finding one’s way back home.

Liz’s fantasy hits Red like a ton of bricks bc it reflects his most profound loss and also his most profound yearning that was likely much more dormant before he “exposed” himself to Liz. His behavior in subsequent episodes supports this idea too, e.g. how he shatters to pieces after Liz’s “death” (a loss I believe he later equates with his own death and compares it to being lost at the bottom of a fathomless sea) and how he clings to Agnes. I also think that his initial willingness to "let go” has been compromised by several factors, one being Liz’s fake death which was all too real for Red. When we lose someone and then get them back, it is only understandable that we cling to them tighter, not wanting to experience that devastating loss in any form ever again. Loss also clarifies things and this “death” certainly seemed to clarify Red’s feelings as he essentially interrogated himself in “Cape May,” ordering himself to expose the truth to himself (”Tell yourself.”)

so folding this back to the topic at hand:

Liz and Agnes are Red’s home but he is kept “away”. He is even willing to tolerate Tim if it allows him to linger on the periphery of their lives, which alone should give you an idea of just how deep his yearning cuts - a yearning he is increasingly powerless to “mitigate” as his mental-emotional turmoil amplifies. And this only feeds the core “observer/facilitator vs participant” dilemma mentioned above, and generates more and more conflict bc one cannot fight a war and be home at the same time w/o contaminating it with death/destruction. One can’t have it both ways and Red is, imo, stuck and torn in-between - as a prisoner of his own choices, as a victim of circumstance, and yes, as a man in love. He wants to come home (”May I see your new apartment?”) but he can’t, he isn’t allowed bc his war is not done (”Not yet. Maybe someday.” cf. Red’s assessment in 311: “It’s a mythic battle, and it’s not anywhere close to being over.”)

But we know Odysseus also had to prove himself to his wife and kill her suitors/interlopers (who also lived with her) before he was accepted back, so…

;)

p.s. yes, I know I’m esp stretching it w/ the apartment thing but I couldn’t resist.