#one of the names i almost picked was the spanish word for candles. so. her nickname is candles now

[crows-of-buckets]

Inquisitor Issani Lavellan yayyy

Idk how sold I am on the blue eyes that may get changed (along with the whole outfit but it's fine)

She gets to smooch Ambassador Josephine Montiliyet :3 I'm still in haven but I've been thinking about their dynamic and. She's the keepers first and I imagine Josephine often falls asleep while she tells her stories. Josie curled up on her lap while Issani plays with her hair... They're infecting my brain so so bad I need to draw them Josephine my beautiful wife...

[taurean-brat]

Cafuné - Angel Reyes

Summary— Cafuné, an unique, untranslatable Afro-Brazilian Portuguese word meaning “to run your fingers through your lovers hair”. Angel x Spanish Speaking/Latina!Reader 

Warning(s): Fluff, a little sad (?), mention of sexual situations, the grey sweats and shirtless Angel.

Final Word Count: 2.3K This was supposed to be something short. Like maybe 1K short. Smhh 

A/N: Also this is not beta read. I wrote this cause it’s cloudy and cold out and I was listening to the song Cafuné by Micro TDH. It’s a very beautiful song and one of my favorites for when I’m in one of these moods with a candle lit and the room dark and Now I wish I was being held, but sadly I ain’t got a man. 

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The moment you opened your eyes, the grey and cloudy light flooding your room through your slightly open curtains, you knew what kind of day was in store for you and wanted nothing more than to just wish you hadn’t woken up. Or that you lived in an alternate reality… or something. You hated these gloomy, cloudy days for the feelings they elicited in you, and you knew it would only get worse as the day dragged on.

Days like this were rare for you, where you just wanted to be wrapped up tight in your mans arms and do nothing all day, the feelings of listlessness and overwhelming sadness being washed away just by knowing you were safe in those arms. But staring at the empty side of your bed where your husband slept, you knew it wasn’t happening. 

Not because he wouldn’t drop everything to come home and be with you if you told him, but because you didn’t want to burden him with the neediness your emotions elicited in you. 

With a sigh, you throw the covers off you, shivering at the cool December air, and just briefly you’re taken back to growing up in New York, where it was more than likely snowy and cold enough to freeze hell over.

The reminder just made it worse and with a groan, you pull yourself out of bed, making quick work of making the bed and then heading to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth, staring at your usually vibrant hazel green eyes look more of a glassy grayish blue. 

Leaning over the sink, you stare closely at your reflection, your dark curls framing your face in the half up half down you’d thrown it in as they hell over your shoulder and down into the sink. 

“Come on, Y/N, it’s just a few hours.” You say to yourself looking for the strong woman you usually see in your reflection and not the sad girl you’re not so used to seeing anymore. “Just throw on his favorite hoodie, some leggings, and wait a few hours. Then you can cuddle with Angel all that you want.” 

And that’s exactly what you did. You made quit work of throwing on some pink fuzzy socks, black leggings and his favorite hoodie, which happened to be light pink color with a small red rose stitched over the heart and the words “almost dead” in black, gothic lettering across the top. It made you giddy every time he wore it, your giggling nonstop. It wasn’t because men wearing pink was wrong— if anything the fact he’s not afraid of wearing it just makes you love him all the more— but rather because your man, the badass, 6’3”, built as fuck biker can rock the color. And it did things to you. 

Immediately, you felt somewhat better, just standing there inhaling the unmistakeable  scent of him for a few minutes before you moved along to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee and eat the french toast you found covered on the counter, still warm and you wondered how you didn’t wake up at the smell. Just looking at it, you knew he’d made it exactly to your liking with extra cinnamon, and very obviously lots of powdered sugar. 

Making quick work of eating your breakfast, and serving your coffee (two splashes of French vanilla creamer and three teas spoons of sugar), you washed your plate, putting it to dry and then grabbed your speaker off the table. 

While you still wished you were in Angels arms, the simple gesture of him making you your favorite breakfast, warmed your heart, and you couldn’t resist sending him a text as soon as you sat down on the couch and turned the tv on: 

To: Mi Santo Diablo:

Thank you for leaving me breakfast, Mi Rey. Te Amo hasta que no queden estrellas en el cielo. 

You made quick work of taking a picture of your small smile, face half hidden in his hoodie and attaching it to the text before pressing send. 

While waiting for a response you turned on your speaker, connected it to your phone and put on some upbeat Spanish music while you put on a show on mute in the background (a habit you’d picked up as a teenager so you wouldn’t feel so lonely while studying late at night). You’d started cleaning up as the music started. While it wasn’t something you wanted to do today, it was better to keep yourself busy than disappear into your mind. 

You spent the next hour cleaning the kitchen, and moved on to vacuuming the rug in the living room when you heard your phone go off and you knew it was Angel, so you opened it quickly

From: Mi Santo Diablo:

You’re welcome, Mi Dulce. You deserved a day to sleep in. Yo también te amo. Hasta que el sol deje de arder. 

You smiled and went to send a series of emojis when another text came in. 

From: Mi Santo Diablo:

You look bella in my sweater, bebe. Can’t wait to have you in my arms.

You deleted the text you were gonna send and then proceeded to sending a few puppy eye emojis with some of the emoji with the floating hearts around the face, making use of the echo feature so it would fill up his screen. Before you went back to cleaning.

By the time you were done, cleaning, doing laundry, and putting said laundry away, the sun was starting to set and getting dark.

Walking back to the kitchen, you go about making vodka sauce and white rice to make penne ala vodka. Usually you’d wait for Angel, but you hadn’t eaten since breakfast since you skipped lunch. Plus, he called to say he’d be a bit late and to eat without him. And while you didn’t want to, and it made you frown, you did so because you’d likely pass out if you went any longer without eating. 

You ate your food pretty quickly, as always when it was a pasta dish, setting some aside for Angel in the microwave and another one for him to take to the clubhouse tomorrow before putting the rest of it in the fridge and washing the dishes. 

While still in the kitchen, you lit a few candles, setting one on the counter and taking the other with you to the coffee table in front of the couch as you watched the last rays of the sun disappear.

Sitting on the couch, you grabbed your phone off the table and lowered the music a bit so it wasn’t blaring so loudly the neighbors probably felt it in their bones. You found a not quite so upbeat song, but wasn’t so sad either. It just depended. It was one you’d found a few months back and you couldn’t help but falling in love with the lyrics. 

Putting it on repeat you laid on the couch and just stared blankly at the fire, listening to the song, and singing along certain parts. 

You were so caught up in just singing along quietly, staring at the fire of your candle, that you didn’t hear the door open and close behind you. Nor did you hear the footsteps walking towards the back of the couch nor feel the warm chocolate brown eyes staring you, full of love as you sighed and curled up a little more as the song restarted, putting your face deeper into the hoodie.

To Angel, it was cute finding you curled up on the couch in his clothes. Filled him with a lot more love than he thinks he’d ever be able to show you but he’d be damned if he didn’t try every now and then to do so. It also made him want to fuck you in them until you could only say his name and were creaming all over him 

But seeing you now, curled up as small as you could make yourself and likely a hairsbreadth away from startle to cry, he knew that wasn’t what you needed, so before he did anything he walked back up to your room, changed out of his clothes and put on some grey sweats, forgoing the shirt. 

It wasn’t long before he was standing in front of you, blocking your view of the candle and watching, slightly amused as you blinked and trailed your eyes up his legs, stopping briefly on his very obvious dick print before they trailed up his chest and then to his face before meeting his eyes.

“Move, I wanna lay down.” He says without much else, watching the small smile make its way to her face, likely about to say something, before he decided to make his way on to the couch. His girl was small, fun size, a huffing voice sounding very much like yours said in his head, and that made her easy to just pick up and carry around. So he did just that. Picked her up and then stretched himself out on the couch, before sitting her on top of him. The annoyed huff she let out was followed shortly by giggling 

“Excuse me, I was laying there.” She says and he scoffs. 

“Nah, mami, you were curled up like a little kitten.” He says and smirks, “Big difference.”  

The pout on her face is cute and he can’t help but laugh, as he brings her down to place a kiss on her lips. 

“Rude, mi amor. Very rude.” You says, quickly getting comfortable, hiding her face in his neck as his arms wrap around her in a tight embrace. And when he thinks you’re gonna be quiet, and just enjoy being in his arms, you lift your head up, eyes narrowed at him. “Also, who the fuck gave you permission to look like such a fucking thot, huh? Wearing my favorite grey sweats without my permission.” 

It made him laugh, his arms tightening around you a little more but not enough to hurt you. 

“Hush up, mi dulce, you Ain’t one to talk. Wearing them fucking leggings.” He’s  quick to move his hands down to your tights clad ass and squeezing before he lands one hard smack on each cheek, causing you to yelp and then giggle as he brings his arms back around you rubbing up and down your back slightly before embracing you again. 

“Alright, fair point.” You say, looking up at him, your eyes full of love, and if humanly possible you’d likely have hearts for pupils whenever you stared at him. You kiss at his neck and what you can reach of his jaw for a few before you just decide to lay there, the song once again restarting.

Angel lays there, just listening to you breath, feeling you inches arms, and he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, nor where he’d be. You were one of the few constants in his life. The one person he knew he could always count on to have his back and support him and he loved you for it. Always will. And hearing your even breathing on his neck, the small puffs of air warm against his neck only certified his resolve to make sure nothing ever happened to you, that he never did anything to hurt you. At least not intentionally. He knew he’d found forever with you. And he wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Listening to the song playing, he sang along so quietly he doubted you could hear him, aware of your sleepy state:

Yo quisiera darte las constelaciones

Más millones de caricias en un manantial (yeh)

Si te fallo quiero que no me perdones (no)

Porque no mereces que nadie te trate mal

Tu presencia es necesaria por razones

Que hasta el sol de hoy no encuentro ni cómo explicar

Pero estoy agradecido por montones

Porque te encontré cuando no hallaba qué buscar

Tu cabello se posa sobre mi pecho

Y es valioso el hecho de sentirte respirar

Lo creas o no, me siento satisfecho

Pues, tú me mostraste lo importante que es amar

Tus ojos me reflejan el sentimiento

Justo en tus pupilas se deduce que es real (real)

Si no quieres decir nada dame un beso (dame un beso)

Y no me sueltes nunca más

Me siento fenomenal

Porque siento que es real 

Listening to him sing the words so quietly, nearly sounding like a prayer to you, warmed your heart, and the tight feeling present in your chest from the moment you woke up seemed to just evaporate as you felt his arms tighten their hold on you, one arm staying around you and the other traveling up to card his fingers through your hair, his lips against the top of your head. And you couldn’t help yourself:

“Te amo, Angel Ignacio Reyes. Hoy y Para Siempre.” You said, with a slight squeeze of your own arms around him before you gave in to the tiredness you’d felt for hours now. Knowing you were safe. 

Slipping away into unconsciousness, you smiled as you heard his reply. 

“Te amo, Y/N Y/M/N Reyes. Hoy y Para Siempre.”

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Tags: @calif0rnia-lovers I saw you post something about being tagged in anything involving hoodie szn or just hoodies in general I think @blessedboo @angelreyesgirl

Please lemme know if you want to be tagged(or if not)🥺🥺 also I hope you enjoy it!! Comments and creative criticism welcomed🥰🥰🥰

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Pink Moon Rising

Notes: Erzulie - Gina Torres Agwe - Gary Dourdan Ogoun - Jimmy-Jean Louis Damballah - Elvis Nolasco Baron - Mustafa Shakir Maman Bridgette - Saorise Ronan Filomez - Logan Browning Ti Malice - John Boyega Papa Legba - Sydney Poitier Anaisa Pye - Danai Gurira

----

Jo knew the moment that the letter box had a raised signal that there was something peculiar going on at that point.

They rarely got mail - most post going to the bar and she or Grey would pick most up whenever they went by to either do work or visit Harry, sometimes the researcher would bring any post with him for a movie night instead - and usually only ever junk mail and not worthy of the flag going up.

She wrapped Nana’s leash around her wrist a few times as the dog pulled and tugged impatient to go inside and have some water, and flipping the mail box open; Jo frowned at the light pink envelope with something written harshly in jagged lettering in red on one side and some design on the other. Picking it up and finally heading inside and unclipping the dog as she went running down the hall towards the kitchen and her water bowl, Jo flipped the letter back and forth over her wrist as she walked after at a slower pace.

“What you got there, Jo?” Grey’s voice pulled her out of her pondering, the flipping stopping after a moment as she moved around to press a quick kiss to the back of his neck on her way past to grab a juice out of the fridge.

“Letter.”

“Oh? Did Harry come around?”

“Nah, it was in the letter box.”

“We got a letter in the letter box?”

“I did.” She replied as she moved to sit down at the kitchen table, flipping the envelope upwards to face her - taking in her name clearly but jaggedly written across the front in the dark reddish brown ink, with a few dots bled across the front. Running her finger over her name, Jo lifted her finger to her nose before pulling a face realizing it hadn’t been ink at all. Perturbed, she flipped the letter back over and sucked in a breath at the delicate design all the same dark red - blood, not ink, as she’d identified - with two waves curling opposite each other, forming a heart alongside the soft swirls and the biblical-like crosses stabbing through the center of it. A design Jo was used to drawing on a rundown floor in dust or carving into a candle. “Oh.”

“You got a letter? Here?” Grey’s voice was tinged with worry from what she could hear, finger still running gently over the design and not yet daring to break the seal. “Who’s it from then?”

“A.. friend, I hope.” She muttered the last words as quietly as possible, a tiny frown on her face before sliding a finger under the envelope tongue and slowly tearing it open.

Pulling the single card out from inside, Jo let out an unexpected laugh at the design on the front - a soft pink moon with three circles underneath it all in a soft shimmering card stock - and the swirly lettering stating ‘You’re Invited!’ written across it. Opening the card itself, there was a date, time and address as well as three little crosses in the bottom corner all in the same not-ink writing as the envelope.

“What is it, Jo?” Jo jerked a bit at the hand on her shoulder as the shadow came over to look, a concerned look on his face that she’s sure came from her laughter and the peculiarity of it altogether.

“It’s an invitation, hun. I’ve got a… party to go to, maybe.”

—

Jo let out a quiet sigh to herself as she actually found herself out front of the building compound listed at the address on St Charles Avenue. It was definitely not somewhere she would usually be found, but as she had gotten out of her car and walked up the block towards the place, she found herself glad that she’d decided to wear something nice as she looked up at the ornate doorway of the exquisite old building. It helped the layered yellow dress she’d gotten the previous year and the jeweled sandals matched with it so well but both allowed her comfort while looking in keeping with the sophistication of the event. It also helped that the skirt of her dress was flowy enough to allow a pair of thin bike shorts underneath that likewise let her wear two thigh holsters for a pair of knives, just in case - she had been invited after all, but she wasn’t completely foolish.

Stepping through the wrought iron gates of the external courtyard from the street into the space, Jo blinked in confusion as the sounds of the traffic outside disappeared and were replaced with the sweet sounds of birdsong and the soft sound of music echoing out from the doors of the building. The whole place felt peaceful yet joyful all at once, and something settled sharply in her stomach to be on guard against giving in to that feeling. She’d been tricked once before from it, and she wouldn’t give in again so quickly.

Moving along the path and up the old stone steps up to historic mansion - it's columns white and gleaming, with the white wrought iron spandrels and fretwork like beautiful spiderwebs spreading from one pole to the next over the wide porch as she made her way up. The wood didn't even groan under foot despite clearly being aged and worn in, lived in and welcoming to many, many guests over the years. The front door was intricately carved wood with brightly colored glass shards cut into the design like jewels. It all made a very beautiful and awe-inspiring visage, and as Jo lifted a hand to the elegant door knocker she half expected to be shooed off as an interloper, someone clearly not suited for such a place even with her designer dress and pretty shoes from someone who likely would fit in in such elegant surroundings.

There was an extremely tall man that opened the door, his face set in a firm but bland expression. "Invitation?"

"Oh, uh. Here?"

"Hmmm, Harvelle-" The man frowned for a moment and looked carefully at the invitation she'd handed over with a slight bit of trepidation and then pulled up a clipboard to review. There was a moment before he stepped back and to the side, door opening wider and a hand waving her in in greeting. "Welcome Ms. Harvelle. You'll find the party in the inner courtyard, and all gifts are to be presented when requested."

"Gifts?" Jo asked, confusion rife as she moved through the door and craned her neck up at the man as if he'd have an answer, before frowning in confusion as the welcoming smile slid off of his face and was replaced with the same bland look as before. His eyes looked glazed over though and unfocused as he took a step back to stand beside the door and almost blended into the shadows. Blinking a few times as they watered trying to keep his stare and catch his eye contact, she rubbed at her eyes a little before nervously making her way further into the grand house.

The floor felt strange underfoot, and glancing down, she was surprised to see the entire floor was covered in a thick layer of rose petals from the lightest whites to the deepest, darkest reds and all the shades in between. They were thick enough to coat the entire surface and the scent of roses came forth with each step but was somehow suitably subtle and delicate to the flowers themselves. The grandeur of the place was beyond anywhere Jo was used to visiting - art covered the walls of the entry foyer and then the hallway she slowly made her way into, and there were antiques in the Spanish, French and English styles as well as some clearly even more ancient designs that echoed the beadwork and colorful nature of Africa that somehow stood out even more in beauty against the other flourishes. Moving along the hall, turning left when she got through the first set of doors out of habit and then following the turn of the hall to the right - Jo stared in wonder at the light filtering through the next array of stained glass windows and double doors that opened into the inner courtyard where she could hear noise and see the shadows of figures moving around.

The courtyard was clearly where she was expected to go, as it was filled with guests milling about in different groups and the aurora of power from so many Pagan gods assembled in one place was electric. Her eyes darted about cautiously before entering the courtyard - taking in the wide number of people and the different postures across the space. That she could tell who was a god and who was merely mortal like her felt unsettling, the brightly colorful garb and confidence that rolled off of the gods so at odds with the people - horses, her mind supplied to her, or rather those that would wish to provide their bodies for possession and channeling of the gods and goddesses will - that were in mostly dull neutral clothes that hung from their frames but was not so standardised as she’d have expected. It was more the deference and slight bow of their heads that gave away those here as worshippers from those to be worshipped. There were still more people though - those mortals who offered other types of sacrifice than their own beings, clearly wearing their version of ‘Sunday Best’ and while not so subservient as the horses milling about, were still clearly deferent to the gods that moved through the space, heads tilted just that little bit or eyes just not able to hold direct eye contact with those they worshipped to. Wiping her sweaty hands cautiously against the fabric of her brightly colored dress, Jo took a calming breath before throwing her head back and stepping forward as confidently as possible once she’d taken in as much as she could from the secluded spot just before the doorway, eyes up and back straight, refusing to be thought as cowed by any of those with power in the space.

The purpose of the celebration was clearly easy to locate - the rattan throne raised up on a dais towards the centre of the courtyard was obvious and drew the eye. The peacock chair throne was resplendent in its detail the same was the goddess that sat upon it was glorious in the late-morning sun. Erzulie was holding her court.

Jo’s eyes locked onto the goddess’ after a few steps into the courtyard, and the slow smile that came across the goddess of femininity’s face grew with each step as she reached out a hand, beckoning to her as Jo moved slowly forward. Her wrists were covering in gold and beaded bangles, her golden rings shining catching the light as she called out in a warm, comforting voice, “Joanna! My darling girl, come here.”

It wasn’t a command at least, and Jo felt her own lips twitching into a smile at the way those between her and the one goddess she knew parted like the sea before her. Moving closer, the blonde barely concealed an eyeroll as she got to the raised platform acting as a dais that the beautiful goddess sat on. The rose petals were twice as thick on the platform, and Jo glanced in confusion as a man with thick braided hair stood up from a seat off to Erzulie’s right-hand side to take the brightly embroidered pillow from his chair and placed it a foot before the goddess with a smirk. Looking at the pillow and then back to meet the woman’s eyes, Jo quirked a brow at the other questioningly as the goddess stood.

“My sweet girl, how are you? Did you have a good trip down to my humble little party?” “I mean, New Orleans in Summer is a bit of the pits.” “So true, so true my dear. Much warmer here than that little lake you’ve taken to.”

Jo found herself holding back an eyeroll at that - the crisp summers at home compared to the muggy humidity of Louisiana were the difference of the sweat beads rolling down her back - and taking the goddess’ hand when she offered it before scowling slightly as she was guided down onto the bright pink cushion as Erzulie settled herself back onto her rattan throne with a ringing laugh.

“Apologies though, youngling, I unfortunately am not the one who can control the weather. Nor was I the one to name the date,” Erzulie shrugged a shoulder, the delicate golden chains that adorned her neck and shoulders rattling faintly with the movement as she shook out the yards of shimmering pastel pink silk that was draped over her body from the haltered dress the goddess wore about her to cover her own bejeweled, bare feet. Jo spotted the flash of toe rings on the feminine toes that poked out before being covered with the silk as she herself had plopped down indelicately onto the cushion at the goddess’ feet, uncaring if her shoes scraped up petals or her skirts caught between her legs. “You see, today is my feast day.”

“Happy birthday.” Jo snarked back with a smirk, picking at an invisible piece of lint from her lap before she looked back up at the other at the laugh that rang out again. “If I’d known, I’d’ve brought a present.”

“Ah, but already have - or rather, will - my little flower. It has been quite a time since you’ve made a devotional, after all, and I had hoped you would have done one before now so I could be my very, very shiny best-” The dark skinned goddess pouted, lips full and as pink as her dress as she looked the part of a spoiled child not having gotten her way, before she tossed her head back and gave another of those shrugs that made her necklaces and chains catch and shimmer in the light. Erzulie waved a non-commital hand again before she reached out to run the same over Jo’s own hair with a softer smile. “But then I thought, what better gift, my sweet, then for you to come and partake in the festivities yourself? Besides, half the point is the show after all, and your devotionals are always so… What word would you say, my love?”

The man who’d moved the pillow spoke then, even without Erzulie’s eyes moving from Jo’s face. “Awe inspiring, my beauty.” The man smiled - all teeth sharp and white like a sharks - towards Jo for a moment before glancing over his shoulder back towards the goddess’ face. “You will always in all ways be the most gorgeous woman of course, but you do always seem more refreshed and extra beautiful afterwards.”

“Oh you flatter me, my love.” Jo blinked in surprise to see the slight blush on the other woman’s face before she let out another loud laugh. “But you are right. You see, Joanna, your prayers are always so invigorating for an old lady like me. And I’d love to rub that in that good for nothing Anasia’s face that I have such a daughter.”

Blonde brow raised, Jo blinked a few times as the goddess’ words before she shrugged a shoulder of her own in return. It was true she hadn’t called upon the other’s powers in some time - her hunts more straight forward lately and even more sparsely in between as she had spent more time working on answering hunter queries and helping research than actively hunting for a while, soaking in the chance to be at home during the warm months to spend with her love and baby girl instead of in her sweltering car on the road - and if the answer to getting home safe and sound was to light a candle and say her usual prayers for safety and protection, it wasn’t like that would be hard. Sitting on a cushion like a pet at the others feet however, that was not so easy, and shuffling uncomfortably, Jo raised her other brow before sighing.

“I suppose that would have ta do for a gift, right? Can’t really pull anythin’ out of my pockets when I hadn’t planned anythin’.” “So true, but don’t you worry my dear, I can promise to appreciate it the most.”

“Even more than my gift?” The man standing to the left of Erzulie’s throne spoke then, dark brown eyes sparkling with the same humour as his tone as he placed a hand over the other’s shoulder. “Why, I am hurt, my love, absolutely skewered through. I thought my love meant something!”

Erzulie let out another loud laugh, her hand moving from Jo’s hair to catch the man’s hand and pressing a bright pink lipped kiss to the palm of his hand - an imprint left behind as she squeezed his fingers. “You think so very highly of yourself, don’t you, husband-dear?”

“Of course, my dear, I’ve always done so. A snake may change his skin, but he doesn’t change what he is.” “Damballah, you think your gift outshone mine?” “Given mine did not smell of seaweed, Agwe, I am absolutely certain it did.” “Mine did not smell like seaweed, you good for nothing snake-”

The back and forth between the two men was quick and fast, Jo barely registering the jokes of the two as her mind scrambled to assign the name of Damballah, the serpent father, to the standing man and the title of Agew the sea god to the man that had set the pillow down for her. Blinking rapidly, her eyes quickly jerked between both men, scanning anything that would be recognisable before she noted the golden rings each wore with their own symbol that matched two of the three rings on Erzulie’s own hand as she laughed and batted at the both of them. Turning her eyes over towards the quiet, stoic man that sat to Erzulie’s left in front of Damballah, Jo noted the ring on his hand barely visible under his own long sleeves despite the heat matched the goddess’ last ring - identifying him as the third and last of her husbands, Ogoun the warrior. As the three others continued to speak, their tones warm and playful even if the gods both had a slight undertone of threat to it, Jo found herself simply staring back at the silent, considering look she was getting from the third.

“Come on, girlie.” Jo jerked in surprise at the hand that fell on her arm as the sea god got back to his feet with another of those sharp, white smiles. “We’ll have to show you around to our love’s guests before the devotionals and sacrifices start. It’s all part of the spectacle to show you off after all.”

“I, uh, that is, I’m not-” The hunter stammered a few times as the god stood in front of her and held out his hand to help her up. Panicked, Jo’s eyes darted back to her patron’s for a moment, as if uncertain what to do. Erzulie really was the only one she even knew how to interact with at all in the room, but the goddess was smiling gently at her as she was pulled to her feet. “Um… o-okay?”

“Don’t worry, little huntress,” Agwe spoke gently a few moments later after he’d helped her back to her feet and down the steps from the dais and back into the milling, curious crowd. Jo’d noticed how Damballah had moved to reset the cushion onto the seat the sea-god had been on and taken the spot for himself as the pair had moved away, Erzulie’s attention taken up by her other two husband’s as her first had taken Jo away. His voice, the first husband’s, was soft and his green eyes caught her uncertain ones as she finally looked back from the centre of the room to catch his own. “You are here under my lovely wife’s complete protection, little one. Nobody here could touch you, even if they dared. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Oh will I? What makes you think I’m worried ‘bout that?” “The ear splittingly loud thudding of that heart of yours, first off-” “I am not-!” “And secondly, because my darling beauty did mention your first interaction with a crowd of gods may not have been so… comforting an experience as she hopes you will find this one.”

“Oh?” Jo breathed the word out in surprise, blinking widely as she glanced over her shoulder towards where the beauty still sat laughing with the men to either side. Surprised that the goddess might have understood or possibly even felt Jo’s uncertainty and fear the first time they had met. That a being with endless years and so little humanity left to her could remember and thought to ensure that Jo would feel comfortable was a peculiar feeling. Turning back to the speculative look she was receiving from the god holding her arm as he took two cups of some fruity drink from a passing waiter and held one out to her, Jo quirked a brow up at him. “And what makes you so certain I’m safe here? I know your, uh, pantheon of sorts isn’t known to be the most…”

“Cohesive?” “I was gonna say safe.” “Ouch, cruel! No wonder you are my love’s favored!” “Favored?”

“You think all of those who pray to my love gets their prayers answered?” Agwe sent her a surprised look in return as he took a sip of his own drink as Jo fiddled with the straw on hers, before letting out a loud crack of laughter that sounded like the oncoming book of thunder rolling over an unprepared sea. “Only the most special of our devotees get even more than a scrap of our attention, given our long lives and how little you little humans deserve of our attention. And you, dear flower, are by far my wife’s most favored and most devoted and most loved daughter.”

Jo barely held back the shudder at that thought. She took a sip of her drink mulling over the words as she was slowly led in an aimless circle around the room, as if the god leading her had no intention of actually introducing her about until he was certain of her mindset and understanding of the situation she had actually entered.

Swallowing the sugary sweet nectar from the mango drink, she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them and really looking around the assembled groups. When she’d arrived she had thought that it was simply the changes in clothes and the crackling of energy that could show the difference between the gods and those devotees at the party. And while that was true, she could see clearer now as she glanced about the different groups milling about. There was no touching, no interacting, no affection or care shown between the gods and the humans in the space. The way the mortals would defer and drop their gazes after a few seconds made complete sense - devoted, god-fearing humans of course feeling unworthy of attention or uncertainty at catching more than a little attention - but blinking her eyes, Jo found herself surprised to note how those she could see to be gods barely noticed those beneath them. Their gazes would slide over and off the mortals, never catching any amount of attention for more than a second, as if there was nothing of interest to them. That was, except when she would catch an eye looking at her that stared firmly back all around the room. Even the god holding her elbow gently was unusual, no other god seemed to even brush a human as they stood talking. Everything seemed so in tune towards the fact that people were boring to this crowd of gods, that humans were typically below notice.

“Oh.” “Very succinct of you, Joanna.” “It’s Jo.”

“Of course it is, Jo.” The correction took her by surprise, eyes jerking back to the smirking god beside her as if he knew he’d managed to catch her off guard. A large hand threw out gesturing about the space for a moment as they finished the first lap about the room towards his goddess wife. “But the point stands, as I hope you’ve noticed. You are safe here, for humans are both nothing to us, and you are also important to my love so will be safe here on her devotional day.”

“So I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t her party?” “Of course not. But it is. So you will be safe.” “Uh huh.”

There was a long sigh before the god beside her let out a chuckle. “Since you seem to have grasped some of it, let me introduce you around then. But no taking advantage of your protection to cause trouble-” The look she got from Agwe, as she raised a brow and opened her mouth as if to argue, was knowing and bemused. “You think I don’t realise only one as troublesome and unpredictable as my love would catch her attention? No, I see through you, girlie, and I would think better of some of it.”

“Only some?” “He means anything that would get you into the more fun kind of trouble.”

Jo let out a surprised yelp at the interruption from her other side, eyes wide and confused at being approached out of the blue by someone here. Everything seemed so strangely structured even though it wasn’t, and she half expected to be the one taken to be introduced to whomever Erzulie or her husbands’ decided to dictate she would. Blinking in surprise, she turned to look at the boyish grin on the man that had approached, taking in the roughishly bemused look on the man’s face.

Swallowing thickly on nothing, Jo shrugged a shoulder as she glanced back at the god that had let go of her arm at the other’s appearance before raising a brow at the newcomer. “What kind of fun is that?”

“My kind, I’m betting. Or perhaps Baron and Bridgette’s type.” The boyish charm didn’t leave at all as the god grinned at her still, his eyes shining with a warmth she hadn’t noticed had been missing in Erzulie’s companions until she saw it in this god’s eyes. There was a beat before a wide hand was held out towards her, and Jo let out a loud laugh as she shook his only to have an unexpected zap come from the touch. “My bad!”

“Ti Malice, are you up to your tricks again?” “Hey, I heard you promising safety not utter boredom. Lighten up, Agwe, or your wife might get bored of all three of you and be after some more fun.” “What makes you think anyone wants your kind of fun here?” “If I wasn’t wanted, my invitation would’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

“What makes you think it didn’t?” Jo could hear herself speaking before she recognised she’d even spoken, and getting a warm laugh from the man beside her felt like both an achievement and something easy to achieve all at once. Agwe simply gave a sigh and an eye roll as she turned to look at the new god. “Or would it not have mattered if it did get lost?”

“Oh it absolutely wouldn’t have mattered. I never miss a party when I can.” The god grinned back at her, all teeth but in a way filled with joy and excitement and not the slightly cold, predatory look that the sea-god’s smile gave off. There was a beat before the other smiled even wider and gave a exaggerated bow and hand gesture. “Since the cold fish won’t do it, may I introduce myself? Ti Malice, trickster-extraordinaire, pleasure to meet you.”

Jo let out a little giggle of her own at the flashy showmanship, her mind immediately recognising some of the flare to the god’s presentation from her experiences with her fake-trickster friend. “Nice ta meet cha, I’m Jo Harvelle.”

“There now, boring bits out of the way - we can get rid of the boring old seaman, right?” Ti Malice’s smirk should have sent a shiver down her spine if it had been directed at her, instead it was fully focused on the glaring god beside her who stared back for a long moment. “Oh come on, old man. You know I might be a trickster but I’m not an idiot. Besides, your wife is waving for you.”

Jo glanced back over her shoulder as did Agwe beside her, both to see Erzulie waving a hand towards them and calling barely audibly over the distance and the hum of conversation in the room for the sea-god himself. Jo glanced up at the taller god for a long moment before he gave her a sharp nod and turned to head back to his wife’s side. Blinking a few times, she was unsurprised to realise the trickster had stepped carefully closer on her other side that she shuffled an inch away, getting a laugh in response.

“Don’t worry, I’m far far more behaved than what my title suggests-” “Oh? Because I’ve some history with tricksters. And the last one I dealt with was a right piece’a work.” “Have you now? Which of us was that?” “Stupid fuckin’ fairy-”

Her grumbled words got a loud laugh from the trickster beside her, his laughter bouncing about the courtyard and cutting over and through other conversations like a booming thunderstorm. Jo blushed as she noticed several heads turn their way and staring for a long moment, fiddling with her dress awkwardly as she waited for the man beside her to unbend from his laughter.

“Oh! Oh no wonder you looked like you’d sucked a lemon! Not all of us are like him, I promise.” Ti Malice’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears of laughter as he finally righted himself, wiping at his eyes with a few warm chuckles. “I mean, we are all like that - but some of us are a little more fun and a little less sadistic.”

“That’s good to know-” “If you want sadistic though- come with me!”

Jo let out a surprised yelp as the god grabbed a hold of her closet wrist and tugged her quickly, pulling her through the crowd and weaving through the different groups milling about until he’d reached some unknown destination. She looked up from her feet, where she’d been focusing on not tripping over or slipping on the built up rose petals covering the uneven ground, to blink in surprise at the pair that the trickster god had brought her to.

A willowy, redheaded woman with pale skin that glowed in the warm sunlight that managed to dapple through the overhead tree canopy and an even taller man with skin as dark as hers was pale looked back at her curiously. Ti Malice’s grin was uncomfortably towards that edge of sadistic glee as he gave a tug to pull her in closer to the small little group. “Hey Mama and Daddy, want to see something strange? Look at this one!”

Jo jerked her hand back out of the god’s grip, temper flaring as she slapped away the hand flourishing towards her as if showing off something to the other two. The look of unrepentant on the trickster’s face was far too well suited to his boyish face, and she barely bit down snarling at him as she was gifted with a teasing tongue stuck out at her for a second.

“Malis, what trouble are you causin’ now?” The woman spoke softly, voice gentle and lilting with an Irish accent that matched up in Jo’s mind with her looks quickly. Glancing between the goddess and the man with his arm firmly around her waist, there was a second before Jo managed to work out the pairs identity as the Baron and his wife, Bridgette. “You sure you should be playin’ such games today?”

“Oh Erzy has a good sense of humor when she wants to-” “And you think today she does?” “Well, she will. Or else she’d’ve sent Ogoun over to stop me.”

“He isn’t wrong, renmen,” The Baron said, his voice a gruff growl. Jo barely stopped the shiver the god’s voice made want to happen, the tone rough and somehow bone-chilling for her. Likely something to do with the power the god of the dead held. There was a second before she managed to get control of herself again and glanced up to meet his piercing look straight on like none of the mortals in the whole space seemingly had, and couldn’t hold back the shiver at the next words spoken. “You have died.”

“Yeah, just the once.” Jo replied after a long, quiet moment between the quartet, unable to drop the death god’s gaze. “Fun times had by all, totally enjoyed chokin’ on my own blood. Would totally recommend it.”

“Would you now?” Jo swallowed thickly herself at the dark smile that graced the god’s face as he stared back at her undeterred from her sarcasm. Baron’s eyes stared her down for a further moment before he finally turned to look towards his wife with a wide grin. “I like this one.”

“Now, sweetie, I don’t think that’s goin’ ta work very well. You know how Erzulie is about bein’ the centre of attention and sharin’ anythin’.” Bridgette’s smile was just to the side of patronising as she gazed back at her husband for a moment before rolling her eyes at his shrug. Turning towards Jo, the redhead held out a dainty hand to shake. “Since neither of these men have any manners, I’m Bridgette, and this is my husband the Baron.”

“I guessed that.” Jo smiled back slightly, still processing what the pair had been talking about before shaking her head and taking the other woman’s hand. “ ‘m Jo. Erzulie’s my, uh, I guess patron?”

“Oh yes, that’d be the right term for you-” “Good to know.” “I much prefer my followers to be like that myself too. Unlike some others.” “Huh?”

“Not enough free will, sweetheart, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Bridgette waved a delicate hand around towards the rest of the crowd, pointing out towards the horses milling about in their dull clothes and heads entirely bowed to below that of the shortest god irrespective of their own height. There was a much older man, clearly an old god from the gnarled hands and grey hairs, that was seated and slumped slightly that they all kept to below despite his clear disinterest in being so measured against. And then likewise she pointed to some of the other devotees who kept their eyes downcast but in constant look out for if they’d spoken too loud or interrupted a god’s voice. “I mean, the power is nice and all, but I miss the irreverence of the Irish sometimes.”

“Oh, but don’t you think we deserve subservience?” The chirped voice sprang up on Jo’s other side, and jerking to the side, bumping into the grinning trickster, Jo looked surprised at the young looking woman beside her with a head full of thick curls and wide almond shaped eyes. Her pink dress matched the tones of Erzulie’s herself, and Jo blinked in surprise to see it - having figured the goddess would’ve wanted to be the only one in the color on her special day. “Hi! I’m Filomez, you must be Joanna Harvelle.” There was a second before the girl seemingly broke all patterns of the other pagans and moved forward to tug Jo into a tight hug. “Erzulie’s told me so much about you! I look forward to seeing your devotional later.”

“You’ll be partaking?” The rumbled words from the Baron were less surprising this time as Jo gave a few pats to the young woman’s back before the shorter goddess - one of the only ones near Jo’s own height - pulled back. “So that is the surprise, hmm.”

Jo gave a shrug of her shoulder as she shifted a little, uncertain if she should speak more or not as Malice seemed to jump in making up some story about an entire secret room of devotees that were due to arrive and bolster the beauty goddess’ powers to outshine everyone else in the space. Filomez nodded along, agreeing repeatedly and eyes wide and happy as she spoke about her ‘big sister’ having promised something spectacular. Jo’s stomach felt slightly queasy as she listened, finishing her drink slowly as she shrunk in on herself. It was pressure, and pressure on her she could tell, even if there was any sort of joke that it might not.

Looking around the space, she noted other gods and goddesses having arrived, and especially a beautiful woman in a bright yellow dress that almost outshone against Erzulie’s own glorious gown. Jo frowned noting it, looking around the courtyard for a moment and noting how that goddess seemed to stand out alongside Erzulie. All the others, while dressed ostentatiously and clearly in rich and vibrant colors, were not eye-catching and attention seeking in a way like the newly arrived goddess was. Filomez wore a soft baby pink dress that draped around her to show off her slim figure but it didn’t scream for attention, likewise Baron and Bridgette were matched in black and red clothes that sucked the light from around them but still didn’t draw attention to them over anyone else. Malice’s bright orange jumpsuit might have stood out anywhere else, but seemed considered and paired back in this crowd somehow. But the newly arrived goddess stood out, and in a way that, as Jo flicked a glance towards the centre of the room where Erzulie and her husbands sat to see the glare upon her goddess’ face, was inappropriate.

“Look what the cat dragged in-” “Don’t you mean ‘look out for the cat fight’, Malis?” “Same thing, Baron.”

Jo frowned slightly, attention drawn back to the group she stood near to notice the glare being delivered towards the newcomer from Filomez, and blinked a few times at noticing how the younger looking woman’s face had shifted. It was something she’d seen on Erzulie’s before, the shifting of which facet took control but without the entire change of hair style like the first time Jo’d met the goddess of women. “So, uh, who’s that?”

“Anaisa Pye. She thinks she’s better than my dearest sister.” Filomez spoke, voice harsh and gravelly to the exact opposite that it had been sweet and light before, and it wasn’t until a meaty hand landed on Jo’s head that she realised she’d been waiting for the goddess to speak some more.

Jerking in surprise, she looked up towards the person who’d interrupted to see the impassive looking face of Erzulie’s third husband, Ogoun, looking back at her. “You need to come with me.” The man’s voice was still so quiet, and after a moment he removed his hand and turned back towards the dais and started to walk without waiting for her.

Glancing back to the assorted gods she’d stood with, Jo was unsurprised to see Ti Malice’s eyes glittering with mischief as he opened his mouth to suggest she stay where she was. The other three were less clearly unbothered by the massive warrior god’s arrival and departure, and after raising a quick brow, Jo turned back towards the centre and headed towards her goddess. After all, if she was being summoned, it would be to pray; and then she’d likely be able to head home before any kind of troubles could start if the change in atmosphere she’d noticed since the goddess Anaisa Pye’s arrival spelt.

As she reached the dais, Jo was surprised to notice that the newly arrived goddess was standing before Erzulie herself, cocky smile to her face. “Why, Erzulie, old girl. How lovely to see you today! I hope you’ve not broken your back putting this all on, I wouldn’t want you straining anything.”

“Anaisa, you actually managed to get out of bed for once!” Erzulie replied snippily, eyes focused like a cat on it’s prey. “Tell me, did you make sure to get all the prayers for the year in before this? I mean, that’s the only way you’d get the energy to even make it here.”

“You underestimate my followers, as always. But I suppose you can’t have quite so devoted worshippers as the rest of us who fulfil their needs better, Erzie.” “Better? Oh, you mean by having so few calls that you’ve the time for all, what, three people who ever think to ask you for help, Annie?” “They can’t be all so desperate as to have to ask for yours, you know.”

Jo had to bite down on a smirk watching the two goddesses at each other’s throats as she waited patiently a few steps away. It wasn’t surprising to find that not all gods could stand one another, the animosity reminding her of the Irish couple she’d been exposed to - but without the underlying sexual tension, which she had to cover her mouth to stop from laughing thinking at that comparison.

She must have made a noise though, as Jo found herself with the attention of both goddesses upon her then, and shrinking back a step Jo scowled at the one closest to hers remark. “Oh, what a beautiful dress. I do so love yellow. Are you one of mine, human?”

“Anaisa, that is my follower.” Erzulie’s words were hissed out and sharp, eyes just as cutting as she glared towards the other goddess. “My husband had fetched her for me, Joanna, my darling girl, come sit. We’ll get to your gift after the others.” Jo frowned for a second as she realised that her patron hadn’t dropped her glare from the other goddess’ face yet and yet pointed towards a spot for Jo to sit. Her frown disappeared to realise that she was pointing at the seat that Ogoun had been sitting in before instead of a cushion on the floor, and glancing up, Jo noticed that the tall warrior was stood behind the chair instead. “Quickly, my flower, before the stench of some uncivilised upstart goddess gets caught entirely in my nose.”

“Oh you-” Anaisa sneered back for a second, glaring towards the goddess of the day for a moment, before she turned to stalk off to the side as Jo sat down and Erzulie stood in the same moment to draw the attention of the crowd.

That wasn’t hard for the goddess though. She barely needed to raise her voice to silence all the murmuring of the gods around the space, hands thrown wide and shimmering small golden light sparks around the space where her chains and bracelets and rings caught the sunlight. Erzulie clearly intended to make a point of this all. “Everyone! Thank you all for joining me today on such an important date.” Her voice was sweet and warm, but the underlying current of power that ran through it reminded Jo of her other facet - the fierce, blood thirtsty side that gave the power to the downtrodden to rise up. “I look forward to our next gathering for the next feast day with glee, but before that can happen, so to must todays rituals. My love, the first?”

Jo was unsurprised to see that Damballah was the husband to step forward and beckon to the first of those humans here to give over a ritual or gift to the goddess. What did surprise Jo was to witness how those who were so drawn into this religion and practices gave their thanks to a deity right in front of them. She knew, of course, how the usual practices went and was not surprised to see a goat’s blood spilled at one point or, given the goddess in question, bottles and bottles of perfume poured out into vessels before the worshiper would spill drops of their own blood in as well. She was surprised however to witness how with each prayer or sacrifice that the goddess seated on the throne beside her would glow faintly, and that each devotee was granted the permission to approach the dais and kiss the goddess’ feet before being rewarded with a kiss to the crown of their heads. It was something strange to see the looks of wonder and awe on each of the worshipers faces as they genuflected over and over as they retreated after each of their provisions; that such a small symbol, from a goddess that Jo saw more as a quirky aunt that pinched her cheeks than a deity, meant so much to these people. Jo even watched with eyes wide as the practitioner who introduced her to the idea of drawing from the voodoo gods was there and gave her own thanks. Jo was more surprised to see the look of absolute astonishment and wonder when the other saw her seated there. That look would haunt her for a while.

As the last person bowed and scurried back from the dais, Jo was unsurprised to see a hand held out to her from the god standing behind her. Ogoun helped her to her feet, even though Jo raised a brow at the sheer idea she might have needed the help, and walked her to the same spot that the others had stood to put forth their sacrifices.

Jo waited a second after he’d let her hand go and moved to take the seat that she had vacated to look about uncertainly. It was all well and good to pray, and she would easily, but after witnessing the others it felt a little anticlimactic, especially since she clearly held far less belief than the others.

“Um…” She shifted her weight awkwardly, weighing up the options. “I, uh-” Looking around, Jo could see a few gods shifting their own weight and twisting to mumble to one another. Obviously laughing at the lost little girl, and likewise laughing at Erzulie who stared down at her impassively. There was a moment as a dark brow quirked at her, before Jo glanced around again before letting out a quiet noise of approval as she spotted something she could contribute. Approaching the closest table, Jo pulled a lit candle from the centrepiece before moving back before the altar - candle still aflame and the wax dripping down one side of the candle to the floor. It took barely a moment to pull one of the blood-dipped daggers she had strapped to her legs to start the carvings that she knew off by heart at this point, even as she felt her cheeks flushing brightly at the laughter and murmurs she could hear from those around her at that. As she finished the last of the swirling curls of the heart design for the goddess before her, Jo raised an eyebrow back at the other before setting it down.

There didn’t seem to be anything for a moment before Erzulie gestured towards the flame with her hand and Jo gave a quiet sigh. Kneeling down, she pressed the edge of her blade to her thumb before holding her dripping finger over the flame itself. Pressing on the wound gently with her other hand until a enough drops of blood had fallen to extinguish the flame, Jo let out a gasp as she noticed the light in the room change from the overhead shadows of the sun to something shining and golden before her. Looking up, it wasn’t just her clearly surprised to see the amount of light shining off the goddess. Erzulie sat smiling wide, toothy and pleased, as her skin seemed to almost glow golden like her necklaces and chains, and her hair likewise shone golden. The shine didn’t go down completely like it had after a few seconds from the other sacrifices and rituals, it seemed to sink into the goddess’ skin but not leave as a whole, her whole being softly radiating light under her form as she smiled down towards the blonde.

Rising to her feet, Jo approached at the hand the goddess held out towards her, frowning slightly as she got before her. “I ain’t kissin’ your feet, just so you know.” Jo heard herself speak again, and scrunched her eyes up as she heard what she said, before letting out a sigh of relief at the laugh she got in response.

“Of course not, my flower,” Erzulie replied gently, standing from her seat for a moment like she hadn’t for the other followers before surprising her with a kiss to her forehead unlike anyone else. “You’ve been having a very good time lately, Joanna, I am so happy for you and that I can share in even a little bit of it. Thank you again, my sweet girl.”

Jo felt herself frowning slightly as the goddess pressed another kiss to her forehead before letting go of her, and stepping away, Jo was not surprised to see that those milling around were no longer looking at her at all but drawn entirely like moths to the flame towards the power exuding from the goddess behind her. It was expected. Gods of their kind, those with slowly diminishing follower bases but who still relied upon them would always be drawn towards such sparks of power, and especially the god or goddess that had it at the time.

Moving through the crowd moving forward was easy enough for her - no other mortals seemed to still be present, having left after each of their sacrifices or prayers themselves; and what was a mortal to a god? Shaking her head to herself as she wiped her dagger off on a nearby cloth napkin, Jo was actually surprised to hear a cough from behind her. Turning about, she kept a firm grip on her blade and the cloth as well as she stared cautiously towards the god before her.

“A pretty demonstration there, girl.” The god was surprisingly tall compared to when she’d seen him before, spindly though and his eyes seemed almost ancient as she looked up at him. The god hadn’t moved at all throughout the whole time she’d been there from the seat he’d been sunk into, his old body clearly reflective of his age and looking down at the cane and dog by his side, Jo let out a whoosh of air as she realised which of the loas had approached her. The only one old enough not to care for the frenzied and overly bouncy reaction of the goddess on her throne. Papa Legba stared down at her with eyes milky from cataracts but that seemed to see right through her. “I would leave if I were you, child. They say beware being a favorite, but also being known to be favorite can be even more dangerous. Especially amongst those starving for power.”

Jo frowned slightly, twisting the hand at her side holding the cloth napkin as the god’s dog shuffled forwards to sniff at her hand, before she moved to stroke the animal’s head for a moment. The god’s words felt kind in a way none of the other’s had - the trickster wanted to cause trouble; the god of the dead wanted to get under her skin and his wife was simply bored; the young goddess was bold but didn’t have enough to know what was right or wrong; the fiery competitor had said no kind words towards her that weren’t selfish in it’s own; the three husbands cared only for their competition and their wife; and while Erzulie favored her, that was always self serving and selfish as the goddess was. The old man’s words felt kind for the sake of kindness and compassion. The voice that spoke of more than just his own power nor the demands for power from humans, the communicator between the worlds of gods and the realms of humans, the one who still held a compassion for humans and their fleeting worlds.

As the dog snuffled at her hand and after she scratched under it’s chin, Jo glanced up ready to thank the other to note his warm eyes already nodding to her without her having to speak. There was another moment before the old god turned, picking his way back into the crowd, through which Jo could still see the golden goddess spinning and laughing and soaking in all the attention she craved so much. Drinking in being the centre of the world for a few brief hours in a way that left the blonde sighing in sympathy and pity as she turned to head home to true safety and where the world span from.

----

[narcissawilted]

n a r c i s s a   l u c r e t i a   b l a c k

basics:

name: narcissa lucretia black. pronunciation: naar·si·suh  loo·kree·shuh   blak. meaning: narcissa- daffodil, narcissism, numb. lucretia- to succeed, wealth. birthday: october 3rd. age: eighteen. pronouns: she & her. sexuality: heterosexual. siblings: bellatrix black, andromeda black. parents: cygnus black, druella black nee rosier. other family: orion black (uncle), walburga black (aunt), alphard black (uncle), sirius black (cousin), regulus black (cousin), evan rosier (cousin). languages: english, french, spanish, greek, gaelic, russian. current residence: walden macnair’s home. hometown: norfolk.

wizard fun:

hogwarts house: slytherin. year of graduation: 1979. occupation: socialite. pet: two pet snakes named ophelia and desdemona. blood status: pureblood. species: witch. patronus: luna moth. luna moths represent rebirth, renewal of body and spirit, regeneration and may even symbolize the soul itself. luna moths, like many types of moths and butterflies, are quite beautiful in appearance and have docile personalities. their physical beauty and charm make these large moths symbols of reflection, nourishment and life. boggart: narcissa’s greatest fear is always feeling as powerless, controlled, and alone as she has been for the majority of her life. she sees so many people, even lowly mudbloods, with friends and love and warmth in their lives, but she doesn’t have it. she’s so afraid she never will. amortentia:   snow. the crisp, biting scent that hits your nose the second that you step foot outside the morning after a fresh snow is one of narcissa’s favorite things in the world. especially if it’s the first snow of the year. something about that is just so different and special. she couldn’t quite put into words the way winter made her feel. christmas garland. christmas was always exciting to narcissa because it meant that there would be more people in the household than just her sisters and parents. she loved seeing her aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins, especially when they brought her presents. she also loved how much effort went into decorating their home for the holidays with garland, wreaths, candles, tinsel, and charms. narcissa was nothing if not a connoisseur of beauty. peppermint. narcissa, nor any of the Black sisters, were allowed sweets growing up. druella insisted that it would make them fat and lazy and completely undesirable. as a result, the closest thing they were allowed to have was peppermints, and narcissa went overboard on them. she almost always keeps a tin of them next to her bed. wand type: 12 1/3″, pine wood wand with a unicorn hair core, understandably delicate. pine is a quiet wood, not powerful, not weak. it is a softwood, and thus has a bit more yield, making it more inclined to a quick-learning but less powerful wands. it is, however, excellent for divination. pine wands choose independent, individual masters who may be perceived as loners, intriguing, and perhaps mysterious. pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells. many wandmakers insist that pine wands are able to detect, and perform best for, owners who are destined for long lives, including garrick ollivander who had never personally known the master of a pine wand to die young. the pine wand is one of those that is most sensitive to non-verbal magic. delicate wands are a special case. it takes special care to learn spells with this wand, but it is rarely extremely powerful. they tend to choose witches and wizards with somewhat frail personalities, and once a spell is learned, although it is not as strong, it is extremely reliable. unicorn hair can be used in wandmaking; they produce the most consistent magic, least subject to fluctuations and blockages, most difficult to turn to the dark arts and the most faithful of wands. however, they do not make the most powerful of wands and are prone to melancholy if mishandled.  affiliation: narcissa is loyal only to her family.

appearance:

height: 5′6″. hair color: pale blonde. eye color: mint green. typical hair style: parted in the center and hangs straight to her shoulders. fashion style: narcissa wears only the color black unless it is a very special occasion. she only wears skirts and dresses, no pants. she prefers a short black dress with a high neckline and no sleeves with a late modern appearance. cissy wears boots with a heels most often. she has a love for jewelry that looks like bugs. [ fashion ] distinguishing features: narcissa is known for being pale and icy in appearance and demeanor, but strikingly beautiful especially against the darkness usually around her. her eyes are hawklike and intelligent, but the rest of her expression is almost always unreadable. she has no blemishes to speak of, but a scar on her thigh and one on her collarbone.

personality:

positive traits: maternal. thoughtful. observant. negative traits: icy. haughty. deceitful. theme song: behind blue eyes by the who

headcanons:

narcissa likes bugs and insects decidedly more than she likes most people. there has never been a time when she wasn’t completely enamored and fascinated by the often spurned creatures. in her opinion, they are by far the most beautiful and stunning creatures. she has extensive knowledge of them and has created a haven for all manner of insects in the greenhouse at black manor.

narcissa has always secretly dreamed of going to study dragons in romania. she’s always loved them and been fascinated by them. however, she knows that would never be allowed so she would never voice it out loud. in fact, only a handful of people even realize how much she loves the creatures. 

christmas is decidedly narcissa favorite time of the year. it is the one time that she allows herself to warm up and be totally enraptured by the holiday. her face will light up as bright as any tinseled tree. she will spend hours out in the snow and picks her presents meticulously for everyone she deems deserves one.

biography:

From the moment she entered this world, during that liminal time before the sun has risen, but the sky is still lighter than in the depths of the night, Narcissa was the antithesis to the traditional Blacks. Where her sisters, mother, father, cousins had dark hair, sharp features, cutting eyes, and venomous mouths, Narcissa was a ghost; soft, curved, delicate, haunting.

The third and final disappointment to Cygnus the Third who so desperately wanted a son, Narcissa was all but ignored by her father from the beginning. If he wasn’t presenting her with a lavishly expensive doll or gown, he didn’t care to talk to his youngest. Bellatrix was the apple of his eye.

Alternatively, Druella became enamoured with their fair daughter. Her features were unlike any others in the family, and Druella valued two things above all else; beauty and how that beauty can be useful to her. Before Narcissa was even capable of speech, she had a string of pearls too tight around her neck like a collar that her mother used to remind her that her grasp was inescapable. Her youth consisted of years of lessons, tutors, and strict schedules. Even by Fitzwilliam Darcy standards, Narcissa would be considered an accomplished young lady. The better she became at any given task, the more her mother demanded of her. There was no such thing as perfect to Druella, only more to improve upon. That was the beginning of Narcissa’s deceptions. She was certain to never show how talented she was, and let her family believe she was completely average.

She envied Andromeda, whose quiet nature and subdued appearance made her free of their parents tutelage. The middle child was left to her own devices and could go as she pleased throughout the day. If ever given a moment, Narcissa would soon enough steal away to a private corner of the attic, basement, or garden with an old tome from the Black’s personal library. Of course, her respites never lasted too long. The house elves, her sisters, or even her mother would find her and drag her back into the endless lessons. Narcissa never complained. She did all that her mother asked, biding her time.

The solitary light at the end of the tunnel was Hogwarts. Bellatrix had gone, Andromeda had gone, and Narcissa had been left solitary for a year, yearning for the day she’d be able to board the train at King’s Cross Station and disappear to a year away from her suffocating mother. It occurred to her a few months before she was meant to leave for school that perhaps her mother wouldn’t allow it. She even thought she’d overheard Druella begging Cygnus to let her homeschool Narcissa for the rest of her academic career, but thankfully, he’d sternly refuted his wife. Narcissa needed to be sociable and influential at school if the Black family was to continue its powerful grip on society.

Druella wept when Narcissa packed her trunk for her first year. She’d been distraught about her youngest daughter leaving for weeks. Their mother kept wringing her hands and proclaiming that she had no idea what she would do with her time now. Narcissa feigned regret for leaving and assured her mother that she’d find some way to fill her time. However, Narcissa had never been more excited to experience the freedom that came with school. From the moment she stepped on the train, it felt as if a world lifted from her shoulders. Even her pearl necklace didn’t feel quite so strangling.

Narcissa sat in a compartment with Andromeda and a few of her classmates instead of trying to find other first years to talk to. Frankly, she appreciated simply looking at the scenery as they went along. She enjoyed just sitting and being without having to do anything. Andromeda warned her that there would be people at Hogwarts who would have heard of her, and there would be plenty of rumors about her and her family, but Narcissa didn’t care. They could say that she was the devil incarnate, and she’d still be excited to hear a voice that wasn’t her mother’s saying it.

After the sorting ceremony, she began to realize the full implications of her sister’s warning. She unpacked her trunk in the Slytherin dormitory with the rest of the first year girls and attempted to make her first friends. They all smiled until names were exchanged. She heard the whispers when her back was turned. They only intensified when the eldest Black sister appeared to check on Narcissa her first day. After a quick greeting and good luck, Bellatrix told the rest of the Slytherin girls to be nice to her sister or else. As kind as the gesture had meant to be, it assured Narcissa a rather lonely first year. Even those who wanted to suck up to a Black sister didn’t bother to talk to Narcissa for fear of invoking Bellatrix’s wrath. Not to mention, Andromeda came off far more personable- an easier friend.

Narcissa threw herself into learning who she actually was. She had plenty of free time without friends to worry about and without her mother’s constant presence, though she did have to dedicate a portion of her week to responding to her mother’s letters. She decided to have average marks in her classes despite fully understanding the material and even studying further than what the classes required. It was to her advantage the world continued to see her as the beautiful sister. While the rumors about her spread even more, Narcissa became more and more lonely. She decided to play into the persona that everyone had created for her.

Her school life continued as such until the middle of her third year. Narcissa began to study legillimancies and occlumencies. She was very good at it. Disturbingly good at it. During the middle of the night, she began to explore the innermost thoughts of her schoolmates, professors, and anyone else she thought would be interesting to understand. The more accomplished she became, the more willing she was to do what was ethically questionable. The more ethically questionable her decisions became the more her curiosity for the darker arts and divination became. However, her studies no longer fill that space in her that craves connection.

Things changed when she agreed to an engagement with Lucius Malfoy prior to her graduation from Hogwarts. He was one of the few to ever see through her facades, and managed to melt away a bit of her ice over the years. However, it was soon revealed that he’d been promised to her by her father from the beginning making everything a lie. This enraged the girl who promptly called off the engagement and absconded from her parents home. While the Blacks are trying their best to keep this a secret, Narcissa has been well hidden from everyone looking to pull her back into the fold.

[psychemeanscure]

PART 6

“Are you pretty sure you can go there on your own?”

For the ninth time, she finally rolled her eyes on him. “Will you please, Spare me with your words Jang? I had enough. Don’t you know how many times you asked that question all over again? I’m not a child not to understand. Jeez.”

“That’s not my point there, Sung Eunyoung. You don’t know what kind of young man Zilo is, I tell you.”

“I know, alright? I’m fully aware. I can handle myself. Can you stop acting like a je--- Urgh. Dios Mio, why am I even explaining myself to you.”

Almost unmindful of what she blurts out, she quickly diverted her words certainly. Fortunate that he didn’t seem to notice as well. He was too preoccupied of much possibilities. Does not like the idea from the start surely, that with another few days he had also seen the true colors of a Zilo Alcaziar.

A filthy wise 20-year-old that should never be underestimated regarding his age for he is beyond than that. When during first impression, he thought he was just a typical reckless go lucky son who can do all he desires given with his dad’s on his back. Turns out, it was him who’ll be taken aback by the youngster’s decision making. He’s not wandering for nothing because he’s actually making a name of his own. He is indeed mature not for his built but the mindset itself. The old Alcaziar isn’t lying after all.

He has nothing against it anyway, except for the real problem which give him a knack of headache. The open affection of the rascal with Sung Eunyoung. That even after knowing her as his bride-to-be, he still mentions and complimented her name in front of him like it was just a casual thing to say. Words like, ‘By the way, how was sis?’, ‘Urgh. I haven’t seen her ever since the dinner, Aww. When can I able to see her again. How I wish I have a beautiful fiancé as sister.’, ‘Send her my regards, alright.’, And the hell he cares!

“F*ck! I do have a bad feeling for this, Sung Eunyoung.”

And he truly wasn’t joking when he said that. The moment he learned about Zilo wishing to meet her in private for a reason of giving her a special gift on them. The hades he would bite. He knew the tenacious young man is planning for something. “Great. So where is your ‘You think declining him ain’t do any suspicions?’ now, Huh, Jang Taeyoung?”

She even emphasizing it with a quoting gesture which only made him eat his own words in some way. He almost forgot that she is as well the reciprocal queen. “Damn it! This is different, Sung Eunyoung. Can’t you just trust me for once?”

“Whatever. As if I need your permission anyway.”

Yet, this volatile woman in front of him is as well stubborn as the other that he had no choice but to leave her office with no hopes. But even after he came back to his Casino Hotel, her decision keeps bothering him still. “Tss. Don’t blame me if something happens to you, woman.”

Only to make his assistant, confused in the middle of their discussion over a gang hideout. “Come again, Boss?” thus he glances though, absentminded. Assuring for nothing but not long to realize a pop-up idea. “Jae, for a while please.” His call indeed before the latter could went out finally from his office. “Yes, Boss?”          

“You don’t have to come with us to the bust. I will have Lee to accompany me for now.”

“Boss? But---“

“I want you to do something for me.”

That’s how his blunt decision ended somehow, not regretting after he received the call he expected it to be.

~

“Sis! Over here.”

The resounding voice of Zilo, waving her from the sea of people. Greeted by the wild dirty music, make-outs, smokes and random liquors of every party goer. She’s definitely cursing Jang Taeyoung in her mind for turning her Nightclub in a mess that she is starting to doubt her decision upon passing the management to him was right enough.

“I wasn’t truly not expecting you to come, considering you’re a busy woman, sis. But thanks anyway.”

The first word of young Spanish to her indeed the time she finally managed to walk through the VIP Lounge of second floor. Relieve with the less loudness of the first floor. “Oh. No, no. It’s okay. I had free time anyway. Well, except that my Jang were grumbling the whole day for not letting him go with me. You know, he can’t help missing me by his side every day.”

With her nonchalant loving laugh that the latter only had to look in awe. “You really do love-struck with each other, eh?” a convincing disappointing response certainly that she only answered with a smile. ‘What a great story to tell, Sung Eunyoung. Great story.’  Her proud silent compliment for herself as well. “Anyway! Here is the present I’m telling you about, sis. Fresh from Madrid.” She was handed a black paper bag with various scented candles in it. As she picks out one from it. “Oh wow. Plaza Mayor de Madrid. Thank you, Zilo. Jang will be delighted with this for sure. You see, I love surprising him. If you know what I mean.”

Giving him her lovesick appearance again, just enough to see the cringing reaction from the persistent youngster. “I intended to bought it just for you though since you mention your obsession with scented candles last time. Only to learn that you’re actually doing it for your husband-to-be. I guess, I better give you a good luck, then.”    

“Of course, Zilo. For whom would I ever be.” Thus seeing his more aggravating reaction makes her jump in success totally, for she really intended to bringing up her acting lovey-dovey like with her acting fiancé to let the persistent boy wake up from his reverie. The heck she entertains. She didn’t even let Jang Taeyoung fool her, what more with this imbécil in front of her. “Wah. How I wish I have my own romantic love as well.” As if his jealous stance from them which only made her laugh in mind, as her go with the flow proceeded anyway.

“If you’re that jealous with our relationship. Then go and make yours now, young man.”

As if her encouraging words then, somehow. While seeing the excited-like eyes from the latter. “Shall I?” his even preceding statement before offering a cocktail drink for her. “I guess; I need to start then.” Later, excuse himself to the comfort room afterwards.

Left on her own. Sung Eunyoung just diligently gulp the drink offered to her. Little did know, the drink may actually put her on danger. The next thing she knew. An unexplainable dizziness has hit her absolutely that she even starting to feel a swirling from her surrounding while the people seemed to split in her visions. And with heavy breaths she tries to fight, by gripping her hands with the bar counter yet didn’t work out.

Soon enough drowsiness came after. Thus she had no chance to sight the devilish desiring smile of the young Alcaziar approaching, for the blurring contacts has filled her as well. If there could be a kind someone who’s willing to rescue her, then good enough. If she may or may not be saved. She just wished one person to grant it, though.

“Jang Taeyoung.”

Her last fading words before she finally went blackout. No longer knowledgeable of what happened to her next.

[extraneousdominomask]

Family.

This was, technically, Elyna’s second ever Día de Muertos.

That first autumn had bled into winter in a blur. Things in the house had been hectic, and tense. Understandably tense. Justifiably tense. Even without the exceptional circumstances, the ghost of a murderer hanging over this lovely home, it was easy for traditions to slide a little. It had taken a lot of careful effort to “adopt” her.

Oops. She was doing it again. The thing her therapist had pointed out where she didn’t classify the things that happened to her as real, because she didn’t see herself as real, but everything she felt was more than real so it only made sense to drop that habit and accept herself.

It had taken a lot of effort to adopt her. Yes.

That was what had happened. About fourteen months ago, this family, this wry and well-liked pillar of the local community, had revealed that they actually had a second daughter. Older and taller and much more purple than the pre-existing daughter. And they included her in everything. Last night, she had shared a wonderful Hallowe’en with them.

And now it was November 1st. From one holiday right into another.

Sly wasn’t a particularly spiritual man, despite - because of? - all the actual, literal undead creatures he had battled in his youth. He loved a good excuse to celebrate, though. As well as the big, basically secular holidays, he was happy to join his wife in her own traditions. The Montoyas and the Foxes were spread across pretty much the entire Spanish-speaking world and beyond, and at this point Carmelita essentially just picked her favourites. Factoring in all the globe-trotting they had both done, separately and together, the household’s annual calendar was… interestingly blended.

So, an archetypal Hallowe’en was always followed by a traditional Día de Muertos. It wasn’t a total shift in tone - it was important to remember the deceased with love and good humour, something this household could produce in industrial quantities - but there was a certain reverence to proceedings that was noticeably absent on the preceding night of pumpkins and candy and horror films.

Carmelita took this fairly seriously. That was why Elyna was dreading it.

Sly had stepped out, taking B with him. An annual raid for clearance candy. A shared activity Elyna preferred them to keep for themselves. This was her best shot. She had no idea how she was going to get through this conversation, even removing the possibility of her father bursting in with a poorly-timed joke.

‘Her father’. She reflected on those words as she stalked towards the living room. Sly Cooper was the source of half her genetics. The necessary ingredient that made her a test-tube baby instead of an unfeasible clone. And despite a… tense first meeting, she hadn’t had much difficulty accepting the fact he was her father. It was exactly that. A fact. His overtures of friendliness, everything he did to make her feel welcome, came with a solid, scientific basis.

His wife, though… 

Elyna let herself into the living room. It already looked so different from the makeshift movie theatre it had been last night. This was a small town, with an almost suspiciously low crime rate. There wasn’t that much work even for the Chief of Police, and that leftover energy meant quick and efficient decorating and undecorating and redecorating. 

The only survivors were the skeletons, grinning and painted, specific to Día de Muertos but certainly not out of place last night. But the pumpkins and cobwebs and big orange candles were gone. The back wall had been cleared, making space for several beautiful ofrendas. 

Elyna’s eye lingered on one corner, distinct from what was otherwise a sea of severe foxes. A photograph was the focal point, per tradition. It depicted two raccoons. One had black hair and sharp, intelligent eyes - still noticeably green in the otherwise faded colour palette. She was giving the camera a quiet smirk. The other was only identifiable as a raccoon by the hint of his striped tail sneaking up through the bottom of the frame. His arm was lovingly around the woman’s shoulders, but his face was totally obscured. 

Every year, Carmelita asked if Sly seriously didn’t have a better photo of his father, and every year, Sly would make a fresh joke about the man’s lifelong animosity with cameras. Just another tradition. Another ritual, part of the smooth running of the holiday.

“Your grandparents.”

Carmelita was adjusting a small figurine of an acoustic guitar with pinpoint precision, getting it in exactly the right spot relative to a smiling ancestor. But she had heard Elyna come in, and knew where those hazel eyes were focused.

“Conner Cooper, and his wife Beatrice,” she continued. “B is named after both of her grandmothers, actually. It’s made easier by the fact Sly’s mother preferred to be called Trixie.”

Elyna took another look at the bulk of the ofrendas, remembering her sister’s full name. “But, um, Zoe’s not up here, right?”

Carmelita smiled to herself. “Not yet she isn’t. Or my father. Too stubborn. At this rate, they might both outlast you.”

It was a harmless joke. One Elyna had to stop herself from hearing as a threat.

Carmelita straightened up, turning thoughtful. “We’re overdue for a visit,” she said. “I thought we had introduced you, but apparently not.”

These sorts of forgetful exchanges were becoming rarer. Elyna fiddled with a stand of her black hair - she was growing it out, and still getting used to it, and didn’t need distractions right now. Didn’t need to think about how she never met her father’s wife’s parents. Her step-mother’s parents. Her step-grandparents.

This was her chance. Her best shot. She should just follow her training and seize the moment. Without fear.

“I have a question,” she mumbled. “About this, I mean.”

“Oh?” 

“I, uh,” said Elyna, “have no idea whether I should put up a picture of my mom.”

The living room went silent.

Silence was one of the reactions Elyna had been expecting, and it was honestly one of the better ones. But that didn’t make it comfortable. “It’s just,” she attempted, “it’s kinda unclear to me if it’s all your family, or just the ones you…”

“The belief,” said Carmelita, crisply, “is that by setting up an ofrenda you’re inviting that person’s spirit into your home.”

“Right.”

“So you do it for people you want in your home.”

“Right,” said Elyna again, quieter.

A few moments passed. And then Carmelita sighed. Her posture, which had become rigid, uncoiled a little. “There’s no one answer,” she said, more diplomatically. “The spirit of the holiday is remembering the togetherness of family. But we both know that’s how things should be, not how they always are. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“I’m sorry.�� Elyna was back to fiddling with her hair. “I know it’s a stupid question.”

“Not at all. I’ve always held there’s no such thing as a stupid question.” She put on an expression of exaggerated tiredness. “Or at least I used to say that, before moving in with your father…”

Elyna chuckled at that, and Carmelita smiled. That was always Sly’s strategy for smoothing a bumpy discussion - knowing when to include a soft joke. Carmelita had gotten better at it herself over the years.

“Has this been worrying you for long?”

“It’s kind of been in my head on and off for the past month. Sorry for only bringing it up now. And sorry for…” Elyna sighed. “I shouldn’t even be asking you about this. I know how much Mo- …how much Neyla hurt you both. Obviously you don’t want a picture of her in your living room.”

“The question,” said Carmelita softly, “is do you?”

Said question hung in the air for a few moments, unanswered. Carmelita intently watched the teenage girl in front of her. She looked so much like Neyla. But standing there, her paws awkwardly clasped, her gaze nervously on the floor, she couldn’t be more different.

“Do you know the origins of this holiday?”

Elyna managed to tear her eyes off the carpet, watching Carmelita carefully.

“It’s pre-Columbian,” she explained. “The practice of honouring the dead is rooted in the ancient cultures of Mexico. It was an important part of life for the people who lived there long before the Europeans came.  The modern version we celebrate today is a mixture of those original practices with a Catholic influence. That’s why it’s held on this date, for instance - to sync up with the church calendar. I think it’s important to remember it’s a blend.”

Elyna’s ear flicked. “A ‘blend’? That’s a pretty nice way of putting it. I’m no historian, but Hernán Cortés didn’t just step off his boat and ask everyone to play nice, did he?”

“No,” said Carmelita quietly.

“It’s not a blend. A blend would be if the Europeans and the natives set out to make something nice together. This is some kind of Frankenstein monster made when one group was just minding their own business and someone else came up behind them and-”

It was Elyna’s turn to fall silent.

“Oh,” she said.

Her face scrunched up a little, and Carmelita sighed. “That’s… not what I meant. Or at least not exactly.”

“You only kind of meant to call me a Frankenstein, got it,” muttered Elyna, who was, fantastical circumstances or not, still a teenage girl.

“I didn’t call you anything.” Carmelita’s voice was steady. Not sharp, but steely, leaving no room for argument. She hadn’t thought much about motherhood earlier in her life, but she had always been able to keep a firm grip on an unpleasant discussion, and that was one of the fundamental requirements. “Try not to assume the worst of what I’m saying.”

Elyna stayed quiet.

“But… yes. I suppose it might be an applicable metaphor. You’ve got two sides to you, too. You’re Neyla’s, and you’re Sly’s. You’re the result of some cruel revenge scheme, and you’re a person with your own desires. Who you are now is a product of both.”

“That’s… yeah.” Elyna rubbed her arm sheepishly. “That’s pretty much what’s been eating at me. Neyla was an objectively bad person. And like, I never even met her, so it’s not like I’m attached. Or at least I shouldn’t be attached…”

Not for the first time, Carmelita privately despaired at the uncertainty in the girl’s tone. That therapist had a lot to work through.

“…but the fact is, I wouldn’t exist without her. At all. And that’s… It’s just weird.” She paused. “Yeah.”

“And now all those confusing feelings have a physical problem. Whether or not to put up her picture.”

“Yeah…” 

“I’m not being flippant when I say I don’t know what to tell you,” said Carmelita. “Not everyone in my family tree was a saint. No-one can claim that. But as far as I know, we never had a Neyla.”

“As far as you know,” echoed Elyna. “That sounds like the answer, then. Monsters get written out of the family history.”

“They don’t get invited to parties, at least,” she replied. “Which, like I said, is the spirit. It’s keeping your family close, because you never want to forget their warmth.”

Elyna resisted the urge to scoff. Purely for Carmelita’s benefit - it wasn’t directed at her. ‘Remembering warmth’. There wasn’t any warmth to remember when it came to Neyla. To the brisk, clipped instructions Elyna had been left in lieu of a childhood.

She felt the decision click into place.

“Let’s not do it.”

Carmelita, to her credit, kept her reaction diplomatic. “You’ve decided?”

“Yeah. If the point is remembering the good times, well… A photograph of Neyla is just a waste of space.”

In other circumstances, Carmelita would have shown more enthusiasm for an insult that harsh, that confidently delivered. But she knew to tread relatively lightly, so she just offered Elyna a smile. “Well said. I’m glad I could help.”

“Yeah. Thanks a lot.” Elyna nervously returned it. “I was hoping you’d know what to do. And, I knew that you, y’know… I mean, I can ask Dad for advice on a lot of things, and it’s usually pretty good, but-”

“Happy Skeleton Day~!”

The door swung open, revealing a grinning Sly. They hadn’t heard him come through the front door, but he had no qualms about announcing his presence.

“How’s it going?” His eyes, the same hazel as Elyna’s, fell on the ofrendas. “Oh, wow. These look better and better every year, ‘Lita.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much differently…” said Carmelita, but her face betrayed how much she appreciated the comment.

He planted a kiss on her cheek, then planted himself beside her, husbandly. 

“Where’s B?”

“Oh, she ran straight to her room,” he said. “Pretty sure she’s stashing her candy in a secure location. Or locations. Who knows how many caches she might have…”

Carmelita sighed. “Is that raccoon behaviour, or fox behaviour…?”

“Oh, both. Absolutely both. It’s a marvel she eats anything at dinner.”

He turned his warm smile more towards Elyna.

“So, what are you two talking about?”

“Just, uh, holiday stuff,” said Elyna. “I had a weird question. Carmelita is a good person to ask.”

“She is! Honestly, I just follow her lead.” He glanced over to her. “Speaking of, there’s still a few things to figure out about the big dinner. Bentley and Penelope are easy to cook for, but I like to give Murray new options where I can. Any thoughts?”

Seizing this chance for a tactful retreat, Elyna began to drift towards the door. “I might, uh, go check on B.”

“Good idea,” said Carmelita. “Again, I’m glad I could answer your question. You can always talk to me, Elyna.” That earned a smile, once much less nervous.

“Thanks, Mom.”

There was a pause.

Sly was pretty sure that blushes weren’t supposed to show up through fur, and yet, the lilac of Elyna’s face seemed to briefly veer into a much more reddish purple. Her hazel eyes were wide and unblinking. “mrrghg,” she said.

“Come again?” said Sly, unruffled.

“I said ‘okay bye’,” said Elyna and she was gone an instant later.

The door clicked shut with surprising gentleness. Sly chuckled. “Well…”

He stopped, finally noticing his wife had a similar facial expression.

“‘Lita? Everything alright?”

She blinked, twice, and suddenly she was back. It was still hard to slow Carmelita Fox down. “Sorry. Just wasn’t expecting that.”

Sly’s smile was wry, but his voice was soft. “I was.”

Carmelita leaned against him, and they stood there for a moment, half-embracing in their living room. Logistical questions about dinner plans and decorations fell away, briefly, as they savoured the feeling in the air. What had just happened, and the unique atmosphere of the day, and, of course, each other.

The silence was broken by a soft murmur.

“She’s a good kid.”

“Really?” said Sly innocently. “She doesn’t get it from me!”

Carmelita scoffed. 

“Okay, maybe she does,” he admitted. “I have many wonderful qualities to pass on, as is evident in both our daughters…”

He cupped his wife’s cheek. Lost himself, for a moment, in those deep brown eyes.

“But you’re a better influence than I could ever be.”

Her reply was a kiss. 

The moment passed, slowly, but they didn’t hurry to get back to decorating. It was still early, and they had several hours before the annual dinner they held for Murray and Bentley and Penelope - familial relations just as important as the gallery of photographs in front of them. As the girls engaged in hushed discussion of cheap chocolate upstairs.

“Oh,” said Carmelita. “While she and I were talking, I realized that Elyna’s never met my parents. We should fix that.”

“We should,” said Sly. “Sometime in winter, maybe? Whenever suits your folks. Might take us a little while to get over there, but we could throw in a few detours on the way, really make use of the journey…”

She smiled. “And when did I say we’d be going to them? They’d be perfectly happy to come here. You’re just-”

“-taking every chance I see to go on a trip, yes,” he smirked back. “C’mon, ‘Lita, you can hardly be that surprised. Old habits, etcetera…”

“Are you really so eager to escape?”

She said it as a joke, but he didn’t bounce back with another quip. He stood there, in his living room. His daughters upstairs. His parents watching over him from behind the glass of their picture frame. His brothers and sister-in-law, still thriving, quietly, the same way he was, on their way in a few hours. And, above all else, the love of his life in his arms.

His smile was as warm as his voice.

“Nah. We’ve got something pretty good here.”

[thecasperanfamily]

can we hear the story of lin's first piercing please?

A/N: Lin is about 16 here. Hope you enjoy!

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” 

“For the last time, Jules, I’m positive,” Lin asserted, ignoring the nervous clench in his stomach as the needle in Julia’s hand flashed dangerously. “You said you know how to do it.” 

“I do.....Sort of. I mean, my Tia Dolores showed me how once--she does this often at her work. I just...maybe it would be better if you went to someone else? A-and your parents, do they know you’re doing this?” 

“Mom and Dad said I can get piercings, but I either gotta pay for ‘em myself or wait until my birthday.” Lin rattled off the list of requirements in such a way that made Julia suspect he had been told those things many times already. “...Bu-u-ut if you do it for me, then I don’t have to pay for it, and I can save my birthday for something else.” 

“I don’t remember saying I wouldn’t charge you,” Julia remarked coyly, holding the needle in the open flame of the candle on her windowsill. 

“I should at least get a Best Friend’s Discount,” Lin replied. In spite of his best efforts, he couldn’t help swallowing nervously as Julia slipped on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a marker from her bedside table. 

“Where do you want it?” she asked, brushing his hair out of the way and tilting his head up so the light hit his ear directly. 

“Everybody does the lobe thing these days,” he observed. “What if we put it on top? Like what you have?” Julia gave him a mildly horrified look. 

“You want...? Lin, that is going to hurt like...” She scrambled to find an appropriate English idiom, before abandoning the search with a frustrated huff. “...I cannot find the word for it, but trust me, it is going to hurt!”

“I’m not a baby, Jules. I know what I want, and I can handle it.” He surreptitiously reached over and adjusted his inhibitor cuff as he spoke, setting it to completely siphon all of his magic. 

“Are you sure?” she asked again. Lin gave her an exasperated look. “Fine, fine. But you must not jump when the needle goes in. Understand? If you move while the needle is still in, it will tear your ear.”

“...Okay,” Lin gulped. Julia grabbed his chin and looked him dead in the eye. 

“Swear to me. You will not move.” 

“I got it, I got it! I’ll hold still.” He hooked his legs around the stool beneath him and braced his hands on his knees. Julia took a deep breath, marked the spot on the top of his ear, then took up the needle and a cotton ball. She placed the cotton behind his ear and lined up the needle. She hesitated for a moment, then pulled back and grabbed a leather belt out of her dresser. 

“Bite down on this,” she ordered, shoving it in Lin’s hands. 

“Oh, come on, Jules, really? I’m not that--” He stopped short at the look Julia sent him and obediently slipped the folded leather between his teeth. 

“Okay,” Julia breathed, lining up the needle once more. “On the count of three, ready? Uno...Dos...Tres!”

*****

“Douxie!” 

The single, distressed cry of a small wood nymph jolted Douxie awake as effectively as a nearby gunshot. He flailed for a moment, blinded by the book that had been covering his face, before tumbling off the sofa with a yelp. He scrambled to his feet just in time to catch Nari, who had tripped over his shoes when she came running into the living room. 

“What, what?! What’s happening?” Douxie demanded somewhat blearily, holding Nari out at arm’s length and instinctively searching her for injury. 

“It is Lin! I do not know what has happened, but I felt his soul cry out just now. He is frightened and in pain!” By now, Zoe and Archie had appeared on the scene, the former with her wand still between her teeth and a half-finished gadget clutched in her hands. 

“Skateboarding accident, most likely,” Archie suggested. 

“No, I can tell when he is injured by something like that,” Nari fretted. “His aura shows pain, but it never trembles with such fear like this.” 

“...Oh, fuzzbuckets,” Douxie muttered, summoning his vambrace from where he had left it on the coffee table and slipping it over his wrist. 

“I thought he was with Julia!” Zoe burst out, her wand now back in her hand where it belonged. 

“Yeah, that’s where he’s supposed to be!” Douxie agreed, tugging one of his high tops onto his foot with one hand while the other pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Lin. “But since when has that ever mattered to--Lin? Lin, where are you?!” 

***** If there was a worse time to get a phone call from his parents, Lin couldn’t fathom it. He was trying to muffle his screams into one of Julia’s pillows as she frantically dabbed at his new piercing with rubbing alcohol, crooning what Lin assumed were comforting words in rapid Spanish, but he was too preoccupied with the apparent fire she had set to his ear to translate. 

“BLOODY FUZZBUCKETS!” he screeched, voice still muffled by the pillow. “GODS DAMMIT ALL TO--” His string of expletives was cut off by the sound of his phone going off, clattering against the surface of Julia’s nightstand where he had left it. He emerged from the pillow and stared at it in horror, feeling his heart jump into his throat as he saw a photo of his father staring back at him tauntingly. “Oh sh--wait, what are you doing?!” Julia had picked up his phone and was trying to hand it to him. 

“You have to answer it!” she insisted, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“What am I supposed to tell him?!” Lin argued. 

“Anything is better than letting it hang up and having him come looking for you himself!” she reminded him sternly. 

“Touche...” Lin grumbled, taking the phone from her and accepting the call. 

“Lin? Lin, where are you?!” Douxie didn’t even give him a chance to say hello first. 

“With Julia,” Lin squeaked, tears smarting at the corners of his eyes as his left ear continued to burn. 

“With Julia, where? Nari said she could feel something was wrong. What’s happening?” 

“I’m at her house. Nothing’s happen--” He emitted a very high-pitched yelp as Julia chose that unfortunate moment to obsessively pour more alcohol on his wound. 

“MERLIN SAMUEL!” Zoe’s voice thundered into the phone this time. “WHERE ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” 

“I’matJulia’shousesheknowshowtopierceearssoIwentaheadandgotonedon’tworryI’mfine!” 

Why is my name so scary when she says it like that? And how the frick does she always get me to tell the truth so fast? Lin wondered, not for the first time, as silence fell between them. 

“You’re safe?” Zoe demanded, voice a touch calmer this time. 

“Yeah.” 

“And Julia’s not hurt?” He winced at this. He wanted to be offended by the notion, but he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that if he had not thought to adjust his cuff as he had, his friend could have been seriously injured. 

“No. I had my cuff set to max. She’s fine.” 

“Why in the name of sanity would you get your ears pierced without warning us?!” Douxie’s voice this time, and it sounded as tight and strained as it always did these days. 

“You said I could as long as I paid for it!” Lin countered, his cuff humming all the louder as defensiveness boiled up inside him. 

“I didn’t say you could do it without...!” Douxie trailed off and heaved a frustrated sigh. Lin could easily picture the way he was probably pinching the bridge of his nose right now. “...If you’re going to do something like that, you have to tell us,” he continued, sounding more tired than angry now. “You scared your Aunt Nari....And me.”

“Sorry, Aunt Nari,” was all Lin said. There was an uncomfortable pause. Julia had stopped fussing over his ear, and now she stood with her hand on his shoulder, listening to the conversation play out. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and he felt the defensiveness churning in his stomach boil away entirely. “...Sorry, Dad,” he added softly. 

“...How about we finish this later?” Zoe suggested. “When we’re not all keyed up like this. I want you home no later than seven, Lin. Got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. 

“Okay.” She paused for a moment. “...We love you, Lin.” 

“...I know,” he sighed. “I’ll see you later.” He ended the call and leaned forward until his elbows rest against his legs, phone still in hand. 

“It looks good,” Julia said after a while, handing him a mirror so he could see her handiwork. “You want to do the other one?” 

“Not today, thanks,” Lin decided, feeling strangely hollow at the sight of his newly pierced ear, with its silver stud gleaming in the warm yellow light of Julia’s bedroom. 

“...Was your father mad?” she asked tentatively. 

“Not really. He doesn’t usually get mad so much as just...tired. Which is almost worse, somehow, but it is what it is. Still, I technically didn’t break any rules, so they can’t ground me for that long.” He straightened up and flashed her a smile. “I think it was worth it either way though. It looks great, Jules. How much do I owe you?” 

“Fifty-five dollars. And yes, that’s including the Best Friend Discount.” 

“Okay, nevermind. Not worth it.”

(Please don’t ask me how this thing got written in a single night while my other WIPs have been languishing for literal months, because I do not know. Regardless, thank you so much for the ask, Non! 🥴✨)

[antisocial-af]

Day 20: Kadir/Maryse

Title: Peaceful Times

25 Days of Pairings: Day 20: Kadir/Maryse

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1588

No Major Archive Warnings

SFW, Fluff, Holidays, Book Timeline, Side Pairings Follow Book Canon, Kadir/Maryse is canon in my heart but not in book...yet.

Summary:

Maryse and Kadir both set up for a reveal and a family meal.

Click Here to Read on Ao3

Story:

Maryse pushed into the large abandoned office, struggling with the large cooked ham she was carrying. She peered inside and stood in awe of Kadir’s work while she was cooking. They had both spent all Christmas morning cooking and sprucing up the old room up for a family meal. Kadir had chosen the room with an out of use fireplace, the reliable Shadowhunter even got working earlier on in the day. 

“This looks amazing,” Maryse complimented while making her way to the decorated large meeting table; they had draped a red table cloth with a festive white snowflake pattern and placed some candles down the middle. “Did you get firewood?” 

“Yes,” Kadir pointed to a neat pile by the lit fireplace. “I think I am about done as well with the tree. What do you think?” 

Maryse set the food down on the table and turned to face Kadir and the tree. She looked at all the ornaments and garland wrapping the pine and smiled. Maryse let her eyes drift up to the shining soft yellow star on top and tried to recall the last time it was peaceful enough to entertain the idea of a shared holiday meal. She had mentioned her thoughts to Kadir in passing after a hunt and was surprised with Kadir’s insistence that maybe it would be a good time for them to ease her children into the idea of their relationship. 

Their relationship was still new to them. Maryse wasn’t searching for anyone; they were at a time of constant skirmishes and near death. She didn’t have the time to think of things like that; her children needed her. Still, before she knew it, Kadir had found a place next to her. He was reliable and balanced, a compliment to her sometimes rash nature. 

Maryse hadn’t realized when she started to rely on him for things outside of Shadowhunter’s duties. The dance between them was a slow one; they recently had put a label on it themselves. Maryse and Kadir had Blueberry to thank for that. Babysitting the energetic warlock had pulled them closer rather than separate them as Maryse had feared. 

She felt Kadir walk up behind her and wrap his arm around her waist. Maryse turned and rested her head against his shoulder. They were both out of their standard Shadowhunter gear and in a pair of odd sweaters Clary had assured her were part of the mundanes’ Christmas traditions to wear. 

“They’ll be here soon. I should go get their presents,” Maryse sighed, taking in the decorations Kadir had carefully strewn around the room to make it look festive and welcoming. 

“I’ll go get them. It’s better if you are here to greet them, in case they are early,” Kadir volunteered.

“My children early?” Maryse laughed and smiled. “Alright, you can go get them. I’ll finish setting up the food.” 

Kadir smiled and pulled away, placing a chaste kiss on Maryse’s cheek before he went off to retrieve the gifts. 

She looked around the room and decided she should put up the fireplace protector in place. Maryse didn’t want Max getting any ideas while the get together was going on. She hopped the enchanted train set she had purchased from the Shadow Market would keep the little warlock entertained. Rafe was still a wild card on what to get; she had to question her son-in-law through some drinks on what her newest grandson liked. Magnus had mentioned Rafael’s love for Spanish lullabies and light up sneakers. Maryse resolved to find something in the Shadow Market as well. She was pleased when she passed a Seelie’s booth with music boxes; of course, she got it checked over by Magnus and Catarina, but purchased a light metal box that played the tune of ‘Arrorro Mi Niño. 

A fire message shot through the air, snapping Maryse from her thoughts as her hand reached for the small paper. 

‘Is portal good, or would you rather we made a Lightwood-Bane entrance? -Magnus Lightwood-Bane’ 

Maryse sighed with a smile and sent back that a portal would be fine. Her son-in-law had taken pride in using his full last name whenever he could. Maryse could recall how boldly Magnus had written his full name on the Shadowhunter documents. 

“Hey, mom, look who we found,” Jace called out as Clary walked in, carrying two presents. Jace behind her had more than ten, and close behind him was Kadir balancing even more gifts. “Wow, you went all out!” 

Maryse walked over and pulled Clary into a hug, and greeted them. “Of course, I did. Honestly, Jace put the presents down; you are going to fall or something. How are you, Clary?” 

“No fair. How come Clary gets a nice greeting,” Jace pouted and went with Kadir to start putting the presents under the tree. “Is Alec here yet? He’s the one that texted me not to be late earlier.” 

“You almost were if he hadn’t texted me too,” Clary reminded him as she smiled at Maryse. “This looks lovely, Maryse. I can’t believe you did this all by yourself.” 

“Thank you, but I didn’t. Kadir helped me out,” Maryse confessed with a small smile. “He set up the room whi-” 

A portal opening behind her cut off Maryse’s words, followed by a curse from Jace. 

“Got it,” Kadir called out before Maryse and Clary could fully see what had happened. 

“Sorry!” Max’s voice called out. 

Maryse watched as Max was now on his uncle Jace and Kadir was balancing even more gifts than before. 

“Maxie! Dad said we couldn’t just run through portals,” Rafe scolded his brother as he passed through the portal. 

“But Rafe, I saw Uncle Jace! It was safe!” Max fought back with a pout. 

“Dad still says no, Maxie.”

“Boys,” Magnus’ voice follows as the warlock passes through accompanied by Alec, who is shaking his head at his children. “We are here to have a meal with family, no fighting on holidays, remember?” 

“Sorry, Ayah.” both boys responded. 

“All good boys, just remember good children get hot chocolate and movies before bed,” Magnus added, reminding them of their promised reward if they behave.  “Maryse! What lovely decorations, look darling a mistletoe.” 

Maryse looked over to Kadir, and both raised a brow; neither remember putting up mistletoe in the decorations. 

“Are we late?” Simon called out from the door holding Isabelle’s hand. “Sorry, we had patrol before this, so we had to clean up. I don’t think ichor would be a nice addition to the menu.” 

“Si,” Izzy sighed and smiled as she walked forward to hug her mom. “It smells so good in here. I can’t wait.” 

“Kadir, are you joining us?” Alec asked as everyone had settled inside. 

Maryse walked over to Kadir and stood by him. She looked up at him as her children’s and their partners’ eyes watched them both. 

“We actually have an announcement to make,” Maryse answered for them both. “Kadir and I have been seeing each other for some time now.” 

“Was it before you babysat Max?” Jace asked first. 

“No, we were still trying to figure things out at that point,” Maryse answered as she felt Kadir squeezed her hand in his. The support allowed her to keep going. “It is all still very new.” 

“That means,” Simon started and stopped as he looked to be in deep thought. “Clary wins!” 

“Wins?” Maryse and Kadir both asked, confused. 

“Shame. I was planning to get some free babysitting days from winning,” Magnus chimed in with a sigh. “I was betting it takes you both till New Year’s.” 

“Excuse me?” Maryse asked again. She was aware that her children were prone to different types of bets, but she wasn’t aware that some would involve her. “Did you all bet on this?” 

Isabelle and Jace looked immediately to Alec, knowing that tone of voice from their mom. 

“We want you to be happy, mom,” Alec started as he discreetly glared at his younger siblings. “We knew Kadir was someone worth your time after we picked up Max. I know how many  accidents  can happen when babysitting Max. Still, he shook it off.” 

“So you did bet on this,” Maryse concluded as she sighed. “Please don’t bet on my life events.” 

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” Kadir said, wrapping an arm around Maryse pulling her closer. 

Maryse looked up slightly and blushed at his words. She heard the not so quiet giggles and whispers from around her and cleared her throat. 

“Alright enough about my love life! Let’s get ready to eat before the food gets cold.” 

“It’ll be great to have you, Kadir,” Isabelle smiled before hooking her arm around Simon. “My brothers have told me some about you, but it will be nice for us four to have a conversation later. Come on, Si, I think mom made baked macaroni. You have to try it.” 

Maryse shook her head, slightly mortified at the idea that her children might attempt to give Kadir the shovel talk. 

“This is… not as bad as expected, “ Kadir mentioned to Maryse as they stood to the side watching the festivities take place “not as chaotic,” Kadir smiled, placing a hand on Maryse’s shoulder.

Maryse leaned into the touch, “well, of course, these are my kids.”

“Maryse,” Kadir chided her playfully. 

Maryse sighed. “I know, I know, I’m surprised as well all the chaos in our lives, this is nice.”

She took his hand and pulled him to the table where their family awaited. 

[lovemesomesurveys]

1. If you found a baby turtle on the side of the road, would you pick it up and keep it? No. 2. Did you and your mum ever have a big fight that caused you to move out? Nooo. 3. Has the last person you kissed ever been to your house? Yeah, a few times. 4. Have you had a good day today or was yesterday better? It’s only 3 in the morning. We’ll see. I have a doctor appointment this morning; though, so it’s not going to start off great. 5. Do you have any plans for the upcoming weekend? Nope.

6. How about you, do you have a bf/gf? No. 7. Could you date someone very attractive, but who thought they were better than everyone else? Absolutely not. I wouldn’t give a shit how attractive they were if they were like that.  8. So do you have a best friend? Yes. 9. What would you do if your best friend kissed the last person you kissed? My mom would never do that. 10. Do you dislike anyone? No one I know. 11. Did you message your best friend today? No. I’ll see her later on, we live together. 12. Do you think you will be in a relationship two months from now? Nope. 13. Do you always feel like you’re making mistakes? Always. 14. How do you feel about your hair right now? I love the color since I just got it done a few weeks ago and it looks healthier since I got it trimmed, but still I hate that I don’t do anything with it besides throw it up in a pony tail. I’ve never been good at styling my hair, it never comes out good. I have long hair, it would be nice to actually do something with it. 15. Does anybody have a tattoo with your name on it? Well, I’m sure there’s people with “Stephanie” tattooed on them, but not anyone I know. 16. Who did you last see shirtless? An actor on TV. 17. How would you feel if you got the person you liked? I don’t like anyone in that way. 18. Do you think you can last in a relationship for six months without cheating? Yes. 19. Do you like to make the first move? Noooo. 20. Do you think you will ever be married? No. 21. Have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end? I’m a big disappointment to myself and everyone else I feel like. 22. Is it possible to be single and happy? Yeah. I mean, I’m single and unhappy, but it’s not because I’m single. 23. Was the first person you talked to today male or female? It’ll be male (my brother). 24. Do you remember who you liked on New Year’s? No one. 25. Are you a morning person or a night person? I’m barely a person. 26. Could you go the rest of your life without drinking alcohol? I’ve gone 7 years so far and have no desire for it. 27. Have you ever felt like you weren’t good enough? I’ve always felt that way. 28. Is there anyone who likes you? Not in the romantic sense. 29. If the last person you kissed saw you kissing someone else, would they be mad? Ha, no. They wouldn’t give a single fuck. 30. Do you understand football? I get there’s touchdowns... that’s about it. ha. 31. What’s the first thing you heard this morning? It’ll be alarm. D: 32. Who last called you beautiful? My hair stylist did after she finished with my hair.  33. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night? No. 34. How many kids do you want when you get older? Zero. 35. Are you the type of person who has a new boyfriend/girlfriend every week? Uh, no. I’ve been single for 7 years and haven’t even talked to anyone in that way in 4. 36. Ever been called a jerk/bitch? Yes, playfully. 37. Do you have feelings for anyone? Not romantic ones. 38. If you fell pregnant to the last person you kissed, what would you think? “Fell pregnant.” I’m a virgin and can’t have kids anyway, so. 39. What’s your full name? Stephanie is all you need to know. 40. Are you young or old? I’m old. 41. What’s the gender? I’m a female. 42. How’s your heart been lately? Physically, it’s fine.  43. Why aren’t you in bed? I am. 44. Did you do laundry today? No. 45. What kind of computer do you have? A MacBook Air. 46. Are there always other fish in the sea? So they say. 47. What can your tongue do? I can’t curl it or make a clover or anything. 48. What do you think your mum does when she goes out? My poor mom doesn’t do much outside of work, taking care of my family, especially me, and caring for a family friend. She hardly gets any time for herself.  49. Do chickens have feelings? Yes. 50. Do you think the body is the most beautiful thing that was ever made? We’re made in God’s image. I need to learn to love myself and my body, though, cause I definitely don’t. 51. So how are you feeling today? Blah. 52. Where is your sister right now? I don't have a sister. 53. Name five things you did today? So far just YouTube and surveys. 54. What kind of phone do you have? An iPhone XR. 55. What are you listening to? An ASMR video. 56. What do you smell like? Like me. 57. What colour are your eyes? Brown. 58. Have you ever done a Chinese fire drill? No. 59. Do you know someone named Betsy? No. 60. What colour is your mum’s hair? Black. 61. Do you have a dog? Breed? Name? Yes, a 3 year old German Shepherd/Lab mix named Princess Leia. <3 62. Do you remember singing any songs as a kid? Yeah. A lot of Barney songs, especially. 63. Are you married? Nopeee. I’m very single. 64. When was the last time you talked to one of your siblings? Last night.  65. Do you play an instrument? I played some piano back in the day. I regret not keeping up with it, though. I wish I took it more seriously. 66. Do you like fire? I like bonfires or fire in the fireplace. I love that autumn fire smell. However, you’ll never catch me lighting a fire. Not even a candle. I’m a big scardy cat. 67. Are you allergic to anything? Tangerines. 68. Have you ever been to a spa? Nope. 69. Do you miss someone? Always. 70. Views on premarital sex? I’m just waiting to be in a loving committed relationship. Someone I’m very comfortable with. He’ll have to be someone very patient and understanding. 71. What is a noise that you cannot stand? Eating sounds--slurping, smacking, sucking... I CAN’T. 72. Do you know how to do a cartwheel? I can’t do that. 73. What is the most you are willing to spend on a pair of sunglasses? I don’t wear sunglasses as someone who has to wear glasses because I’m basically blind without them. I’ve had the transitional glasses in the past, though. I don’t have them currently cause I didn’t want to pay for that. 74. Does your mum vacuum early in the morning while you’re asleep? No. 75. Do you shower naked? Uh, yeah?  76. Does wearing glasses really make people look smart? It can. Doesn’t make me look smart, though ha. I’m not fooling anyone. 77. Are you ADD or ADHD? No. 78. Do your band-aids have cartoons on them? No, we just have the boring plain ones. 79. Have you ever kissed someone you shouldn’t have? No. 80. In one word, how would you define yourself? Disappointing.  81. Tell me about a dream you had recently? Nah. 82. Who’s the funniest drunk person you know? I haven’t been around drunk people in a long time. 83. How did you feel when you woke up? I haven’t gone to bed, yet, but I know I won’t be happy when my alarm goes off. I have a doctor appointment in the morning. :/ 84. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up this morning? It’ll be “ughhhhh I don’t want to get up.” 85. Name something great that happened on Friday? I don’t know, it’s Thursday. Ask me tomorrow. 86. When was the last time you saw your father? Last night. 87. Do you wish someone would call or text you right now? No. You know... it’s weird. I heard from Ty out of the blue yesterday for the first time in almost 5 years and it didn’t stir up anything in me like it would have in the past. 88. Have you ever been kissed by a person whose name starts with J? Yes. 89. Do you crack your knuckles? Yeah. 90. What were you doing twenty minutes ago? This. 91. You’re thinking about someone, aren’t you? I am now cause of that question where I talked about Ty. 92. Have you held hands with anyone in the past twenty-four hours? No. 93. What would you do if your partner still kept pictures of their ex? I would have an issue with that. 94. What if your partner went through your cellphone? I don’t want that kind of relationship. Like yeah, we should have nothing to hide, but still there’s just no reason for it. 95. What if your partner was flirting with another girl/boy? I’d most definitely have a problem with that and would say something. 96. Ever liked someone you thought you didn’t stand a chance with? Yes. 97. You want someone/something? I’m already looking forward to lunch. 98. Is there really a difference between Coke and Pepsi? There absolutely is. Coke all the way. 99. Is there any emotion you’re trying to avoid right now? I’m hungry, but it’s 330 in the morning and I’m not going to get anything. I’ll get something later after my doctor appointment. 100. Are there any mistakes with your recent ex you wish you could have changed? It really doesn’t matter anymore. 101. Has anyone ever been with you while you were throwing up? Yeah, my mom many times whenever I was sick. That’s even still to this day as an adult. One of my former friends was with me a few times after getting sick from a littleee bit too much to drink. :X 102. Background on your computer? Alexander Skarsgard. 103. Have you cried recently? Yes. 104. Who has hurt you the most? Myself. 105. Are you happy with where you are relationship-wise now? I’m perfectly fine with being single. 106. What language do you want to learn? I want to be fluent in Spanish. I should start practicing again, it’s been yearsss so I’m definitely rusty. 107. Your ex’s car breaks down and they ask you for a lift. Your response? I don’t drive, so I’d be of no help. 108. Would you hit a member of the opposite sex? I’d only hit someone out of self-defense.

[sintheyokai]

El Día para La Glotonería y La Lujuria

Oct 19th: Food play || Sounding || Rimming/Analingus

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Suitor: Arthur x Karmick (OC)

Dedicated to: @alloveroliver

Additional tags: Semi public sex, orgasm denial, quickie, AU! (in which everyone makes it out the door, so we’ll call it modern AU for now), this is just fluff with a bit of a quickie at the end and I’m convinced it’s my worst one.

*Karmick is my OC and the female presenting form of Gluttony

**Y’all this is for Day of the Dead! Y’all I did more research on this to refresh myself!! Although I’m ashamed that I had to because I myself am half Mexican.

***(Bold writing such as this are translations. The title translates to: The Day for Gluttony and Lust)

He stared at the brightly colored paper cutouts that hung on a string above him. So intricate, perhaps Vincent would learn to make some. He suddenly heard his name.

“Aaaaaarrrrrrthuuuuuuuur!”

He turned to see his girlfriend, Karmick, running over to him, carrying a large sack.

“There she is, the love of my life! Why the sack?”

“Oh this? It’s cempasuchitl!”

“Se- Sem what?”

Mick drooped her head, but perked back up almost instantly, “Cempasuchitl! Sem-pah-soolt-chee! Marigolds!”

“Ah! Well, you could’ve simply said marigolds, Mick.”

“Yeah, but they’re very specific! This holiday only uses this specific variation of marigold.”

Arthur nodded as they began to walk down the crowded street.

“What is this holiday, anyway? You never did tell me in your call.”

Mick bounced up and down, running ahead to turn around and walk backwards with a huge grin plastered on her face.

“This, Arthur, is el Día de los Muertos!”

He grew puzzled but smiled.

“Muerto… That sounds like what Leonardo has said, morte.”

“Well they mean similar things! ‘Morte’ is death, while ‘muerto’ is dead. ‘Los muertos’ is ‘the dead’. 'Día’ means 'day’ as I’m sure you assumed.”

“So… 'Day of the Dead’?” He asked. Mick nodded, and he looked around.

“Why is everyone celebrating? You would think a holiday of death would be mournful and calm.”

“Well, in my experience, it’s calmer at night. But to answer your real question: People celebrate it because it’s the day their passed loved ones get to visit from the Land of the Dead-that’s what the cempasuchitl’s for!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! Since they’re bright and pungent, they guide the souls to their ofrendas-their memorials.”

“And these… ofrendas, what are they decorated with?”

“Lots of things! The dead’s personal belongings, their favorite foods, candles, pictures, the like! C'mon, here’s a street with some.”

And sure enough, upon turning a corner, there was a small neighborhood, littered with the brightly colored petals leading to an assortment of equally bright ofrendas. He took a deep breath, various scents filling his nose.

“Smells good, right?” She asked, “Everyone on this street knows me, so I can stop by any house to grab some food in exchange for the cempasuchitl.”

“Then perhaps we can… try something new~”

“You’re implying something and I’m not sure I know what it is.”

Arthur put an arm around her shoulder as they walked down the street, “Well, a little angel told me about how you and him did this thing called food play last year on Hallow’s Eve. I like the idea, personally.”

Mick was silent for moment as they approached the first house and rang the doorbell.

“I’ll have to tell La Catrina why we’re late then. I always visit her-she’s kinda like the goddess of Día de los Muertos.”

Arthur smirked, “Fine by me!” he said, nipping at her neck enough to get her worked up as the door opened to reveal a rather short elderly woman.

“¡Ay, Karmick!”‘ she cried, pulling the demon into a near suffocating hug.

“¡Hola, Abuelita! Estoy aquí por la comida.” (Hello, Granny! I am here for the food.)

The old woman laughed and smacked Mick in the shoulder, “¡Gracias por ser honesto conmigo! Dios mío…” (Thank you for being honest with me! Jesus Christ…)

The woman walked in, with Mick close behind, but Arthur stayed outside. That is, until Mick turned around.

“Arthur, you can come inside! Abuelita says her door is always open to friends of mine!”

As he took a step forward, he heard an accent from the back, “Oh? Does he not speak Spanish?” Abuelita peeked her head out from the kitchen. Karmick shook her head.

“No. Es de Europa. Un gringo blanco.” (No. He is from Europe. A white foreigner.)

Abuelita snorted, “¡Callete, tú también una persona blanca!” (Be quiet, you are also a white person!)

Now it was Mick’s turn to snort, only much louder than Abuelita. The latter approached Arthur and hugged him.

“Hola, chico, my name is Rosita. But, as you’ve heard from Karmick, you may call me Abuelita.”

“Thank you, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Arthur. I’m one of Mick’s lovers.”

Rosita raised an eyebrow and turned to the demon, “¿Tienes más de uno?” (You have more than one?)

Karmick nodded before holding up two fingers. The old woman’s eyes widened.

“¿Dos?¿Quién es el segundo?” (Two? Who is the second?)

“Vincent, Abuelita. Te hablé de Vincent, él es un ángel.” (Vincent, Granny. I told you about Vincent, he is the angel.)

“Oh, the sunflower angel? And who is this then?” she glanced back at Arthur for a second before returning to Karmick. A mischievous smile crept onto her face, and Arthur suddenly feared for his safety.

“Es un hombre fácil coqueto.” she said. (A flirtatious manwhore.)

Rosita whipped around to look at him. He figured he was in trouble.

“What did I do?”

“I called you a manwhore. Don’t worry Abuelita, he’s changed since he met me.”

“I would hope so!” she cried, “Dios mío, come along now! You came to pick up food.” the trio made their way to the kitchen, “I assume you have the petals? I’m running low again this year- I think your sibling has been taking them.”

“Indi es el pecado de la codicia, Abuelita, tú sabes esto.” (Indi is the sin of Greed, Granny, you know this.)

“Sí, pero ojalá tuvieran algo de moderación.” (Yes, but I wish they had some restraint.)

A wave of different scents hit Arthur as he entered the small kitchen, both savory and sweet.

“You’ve never tried any verdadera cocina mexicana, have you?” Rosita asked. Arthur desperately wanted to answer, but couldn’t find the words to answer.

“No, he hasn’t. You don’t get true Mexican cuisine in America and Europe, Abuelita.” Karmick smirked. Rosita pulled out a basket. It smelled amazing.

“Hay tres pasteles de tres leches, empanadas, churros, pan de muertos, tamales, y calaveras. Y…” (There is three milk cake, empanadas, churros, bread of the dead, tamales, **sugar skulls, and…)

She discreetly put something in Karmick’s hand. She peeked for but a second before going red.

“Abuelita no.”

“Abuelita sí. Tomarlo. Necesitarlo.” she pushed Karmick over to Arthur, then proceeded to shove them out the house, “Now go! Go and have fun, you two!”

Now outside, the demon found herself being dragged off by the author to a back alley a few blocks away from Abuelita Rosita’s house. She nearly dropped the basket as Arthur pushed her up against the wall, immediately kissing her neck and moving her top and skirt out of the way.

“A-Arthur!” she moaned, managing to place down the treats, “C-Can’t you wait?”

“I think not, love~ We already have so much to use, I’d hate to wait and see what’s left- let’s use it now!”

With that, he opened the basket of goodies, pulling out a slice of tres leches cake and a spoon. Slowly, he took a bit of the fluffy, creamy icing and spread it over her rosy buds. As he took one into his mouth to suckle, he spread more down her stomach and over her wet slit.

“Ah, it’s so sweet, Mick! Your Abuelita must be a master at baking: the icing only makes me want you more~”

She flushed, moaning as he sucked her other bud clean before lapping up the cream further down. Down, down, down until he was breathing heavily on her warm folds

She didn’t have time to register his tongue sucking and licking furiously at her heat, as Arthur suddenly spread her lips and put a churro in between them. Karmick’s hand flew to her mouth as she gave a loud moan. But it was out of her almost as soon as it was in, and she whined.

“Arthuuuur~ Come o-ah!”

Arthur had shoved his tongue deep inside her, pumping it in and out, making sure to not miss a single speck of cream or a grain of sugar.

She was so close, she could barely stand the pleasure, she felt the pleasure grow, and grow, and just as it nearly tipped over the edge…

His tongue was out.

She cried out in frustration, not caring if anyone heard. She pouted at him, sticking out her bottom lip. Arthur chuckled.

“Now Mick, don’t give me that look!” he smirked, picking up the basket and standing over his girlfriend, “I’ll give you plenty more after our visit to your friend, La Catrina.”

She nodded in agreement, albeit still giving him a pouty lip. He handed her the container that held the now nearly naked slice of cake.

“Care to finish this off, dear?” he asked. She nodded, taking the whole thing with her hand and practically inhaling it. Chuckling, the duo exited the alley, making sure no one came and spotted them. As they did, Arthur felt the need to ask.

“What is my primary sin?”

Mick raised an eyebrow, but answered anyhow, “Well, it’s a tie between Greed and Lust. I’d kinda have to go with Lust.”

“And what, might I ask, is the spanish word for Lust?”

“La lujuria. Or simply lujuria.”

And how do you say Gluttony?” he then asked.

“La glotonería. That’s also a way of using the word Greed.”

“So we are Lujuria y Glotonería!”

Karmick laughed, and a they continued on their way as she said:

“Sí, Arthur, la lujuria y la glotonería están caminando por la calle.” (Yes, Arthur, lust and gluttony are walking down the street.)

[berniesrevolution]

In Dilley, Texas, there is only one grocery store, and that grocery store is Lowes. (It is not a Lowes, like the home improvement center. It is a totally different and legally distinct store that also happens to be called Lowes.) Lowes is a place of many mysteries. I once went there to buy vegetable broth for a sick coworker, and combed the soup aisle for nearly 20 minutes before being forced to admit that no, Lowes does not carry vegetable broth. The closest thing they had was a can of something called “vegetable beef.” Lowes does, however, carry bacon-flavored pancake syrup, quite a lot of animal pheromones in spray cans (including such choice selections as “raccoon urine” and “sow in heat,” which I assume are for agricultural rather than cosmetic purposes), and a large selection of devotional candles in glass cylinders.

I had never paid much attention to the candles, but a friend of mine was in town, volunteering at the child internment camp where I work as an immigration lawyer, and he wanted to bring back a candle for some eclectic ofrenda-type situation he had set up in his D.C. apartment. He is a meticulous and thoughtful sort of person, and took a long time debating between various candidates. I had come to Lowes primarily to buy Cheez-Its, and was getting impatient. I picked up a candle at random. “How about this one?” I said.

The candle had a picture of a Little Lord Fauntleroy-type in a plumed hat and a white ruff, with a pink seashell pinned to his cloak. I glanced at the label on the back. Glorioso Santo Niño de Atocha, it said, patrón de las que están injustamente en prisión, protector de viajeros y que das la mano al que se encuentra en peligro…

I didn’t know anything about this saint at all, despite having grown up Catholic, so I looked him up on my phone. I soon discovered that he was not really a saint, per se, but a special Limited Edition version of baby Jesus. Wikpedia offered up the following backstory:

In the 13th century, Spain was under Muslim rule. The town of Atocha, now part of Madrid’s Arganzuela district, was lost to the Muslims, and many Christians there were taken prisoners as spoils of war. The Christian prisoners were not fed by the jailers, but by family members who brought them food. According to pious legend, the caliph ordered that only children under the age of 12 were permitted to bring food. Conditions became increasingly difficult for those men without small children. … Reports soon began among the people of Atocha that an unknown child under the age of twelve and dressed in pilgrim’s clothing, had begun to bring food to childless prisoners at night. The women of the town returned to Our Lady of Atocha to thank the Virgin for her intercession, and noticed that the shoes worn by the Infant Jesus were tattered and dusty. They replaced the shoes of the Infant Jesus, but these became worn again. The people of Atocha took this as a sign that it was the Infant Jesus who went out every night to help those in need.

This all got me rather excited, because I am very fond of medieval history, and regularly drive around rural Texas blasting 13th-century Spanish pilgrimage music. Who would’ve thought that a little vestige of the medieval world would turn up in my local grocery store? Secondly, what better patron for someone who works at a jail for child refugees than a child-saint who defends both travelers in peril and the unjustly imprisoned?

And that was how I first ended up buying a Holy Infant of Atocha candle for my kitchen table.

Later, when I researched the matter further, I found out that the Wikipedian history of the Holy Infant was—shockingly—likely incorrect. The medieval origin story was a post hoc invention, an attempt to give an older European pedigree to a wholly Mexican tradition. The Holy Infant’s mother, as it turns out, was an authentically medieval character: Holy Mary of Atocha appears in several of the 13th century Cantigas de Santa Maria (a.k.a. the sick beats currently blaring from my Kia Forte), mostly as a patroness of field workers. When her shrine at Atocha was selected for special favor by the Spanish monarchy in the 17th century, she was transformed from a saint of the people into an emblem of Spanish governance. It was in this capacity—as a defender of Spanish colonial might—that Mary of Atocha found her way to Mexico. Sanctuaries in her name were built in the state of Zacatecas, in Fresnillo and Plateros.

But through some obscure evolution of local devotion, it was the image of her child, the Holy Infant, that became the primary locus of worship. The Holy Infant of Atocha eventually came to be revered as a protector of ordinary people, especially of miners, travelers, and prisoners. An 1848 novena written by one Calixto Aguirre was instrumental in popularizing the cult of the Holy Infant, and the cover illustration of the printed pamphlet version was the first to show him as a pilgrim rather than a prince. Instead of a crown, a globe, and a scepter—the traditional iconography of power—he had a big hat, a food basket, and a traveler’s staff with a gourd hanging from it. The first episode of the novena tells of a legal miracle.  It begins with the tale of a poor woman by the name of Maximiana Esparza, who wanders to four different cities, seeking succor. In each city, she is imprisoned for her malas costumbres—some unspecified bad manners—and, having no family or other advocate to speak on her behalf, she languishes for years in prison in each place. At last, after being in prison a year in Durango, she prays to the Holy Infant of Atocha:

…who listened to her kindly and took her out of her captivity; for in all the time that she had lived there, there was nobody who would defend her, until the Holy Child of Atocha, dressed as a handsome youth, visited her in that prison and gave her some bread in the name of his mother, saying to her that same afternoon she would see the judge and he would take up her case, which caused no little amazement among the rector and the other inmates; and when the time arrived that the Child had named, she was set free.

Mary of Atocha, the former people’s saint, may regrettably have become more conservative in her waning years, but she nonetheless succeeded in giving the world an even more radical son. We should all be so lucky!

It’s actually pretty absurd that I knew nothing about the Holy Infant of Atocha until a few months ago. Once he was on my radar, I soon realized that he’s a pretty standard figure in Mexican and Chicanx Catholicism. But I stumbled into immigration advocacy three years ago knowing next to nothing about Latin American cultures, and even now there are huge gaps in my understanding. My Spanish, too, is still pretty atrocious. I have been working at it for three years, but it’s like speaking through a mouthful of broken glass. I muster my words with pain, and my meaning comes out all mangled. I now feel a strong affinity for all those immigrant grandparents who understand English perfectly and never learn to speak it; I am sure I would be just the same if I were ever to immigrate to a non-English-speaking country. I often feel that any bilingual person, with or without a law degree, could do most of my work a lot better than me. But I am here, so I do my best.

Sometimes I wake up in the mornings very anxious, usually when I have to draft a big court filing or an important request to the asylum office, to try and stop a detained family’s deportation. I come up with soothing little rituals to ease my transition from fretful sleep to focused work. I put on some music. I make a big pot of coffee. I light my Holy Infant of Atocha candle. It’s really because I like the way the candlelight makes me feel, not for superstitious reasons. I’m really not one for good luck charms, astrology, or premonitions. I remember that shortly after Trump first announced the family separation policy this summer—this was when I was still in Massachusetts, getting ready for my move to Texas—I was walking down a familiar street near my home, feeling very disturbed and heartsick. All of a sudden I saw a rabbit on the sidewalk a few feet ahead. It was standing quite still, and it let me walk up close. For a moment the encounter felt almost magical. Then the rabbit loped off, and where it had been, I saw two small baby bunnies lying dead on the pavement. When I bent to look, a little cloud of flies dispersed, then settled again. As omens go, that was some Roman-level bullshit. But I don’t think it was anything but coincidence.

The area of south Texas where I live now is teeming with strange sights, and sometimes everything I see feels pregnant with meaning. The drive from my apartment to the internment camp is only four minutes, but the road is always strewn with strange corpses. A dead dog or house cat is an everyday casualty; but I have also seen bodies of armadillos, bobcats, and javelinas, all mowed down by a speeding truck, or a passenger-bus of incoming detainees, or one of the heavy tankers that barrel continually to and from the nearby oilfields. No waste collection service ever disposes of the animals, so I watch their corpses bloat and distend and then disintegrate over a period of weeks. I have heard a rumor too that there are zebra on one of the ranches around here, flown in and kept in captivity so that deer-weary hunters can have something exotic to shoot. I’ve yet to see an escaped zebra lying dead by the side of the road, but give it time.

Also on the same road as the child internment camp, if you can believe it, there is a Texas state prison. It lies alongside a large ranch, and in front of the jail there’s a field of watermelons. Sometimes in the early morning, on my way into work, I see a group of prisoners in white jumpsuits and white caps, working the watermelon field. Ringed around them are three or four heavily-armed officers on horseback, in case anyone tries anything. The thing is so ludicrous it’s hard to know whether to laugh or cry. It’s as if this tiny town has been selected as a kind of roadside showcase of human cruelty.

(Continue Reading)

[tjkiahgb]

Episode Recap: 3.10, “The Quacks”

The episode picks up not long after the last episode ended, with Buffy asking her friends just what in the hell that Secret Society scheme was all about.

Her friends, who were super excited to help Walker out last week, waste no time throwing him under the bus now.

Jonah didn’t like the Secret Society stuff.

Cyrus didn’t like the robes.

Andi thinks it was kind of a sick way to ask someone to a dance.

Walker watch out for the bus oh my god he has airpods in he can’t hear us! oh my god!

Buffy reels off a list of the things she didn’t like about what happened: no to surprises, no to being put on the spot, and no to predictability. The candles were cool though.

Andi asks if Buffy still likes Walker and she gives a resounding ehh. Buffy explains that Walker made her shoes like how he made Andi shoes once, a long time ago. Andi thinks that is so wrong. Buffy says it’s his “signature move.” Andi and Buffy imagine Walker’s given shoes to every girl in town.

Am I going crazy here? He’s an artist? He makes artsy gifts for people? This would be like getting mad at Andi for making you a craft gift. It’s what she does! It’s not like Walker’s going around giving everyone cheap store-bought gifts like horrible little gnomes or neon green shoelaces. As long as he didn’t copy the exact mural he made with Andi that one time, what’s the problem? It’s a homemade gift. He had to spend time working on it. It’s still really nice. By this standard, would he have also not been allowed to make a drawing of Buffy as a gift? He’s already done that for Andi so that’s off the table. Find a new way to be creative, Walker. Make a necklace out of discarded soda can tabs or make a headband out of an old belt or something. I know art is your thing, but, sorry, you’ve played that card. It’s over now. Move on.

By the way, Andi and Buffy assume, with zero evidence, that Walker is going around town giving shoes to every girl like an unfixed cobbler in heat. Why?

They also assume all those girls would wear those shoes he gave them as gifts to public places like the school dance, despite not being in a relationship with him. I do feel like most people wouldn’t wear something an ex gave them while currently being in a relationship with another person. That’s so thoughtless. Wear shoes Walker gave you as a romantic gift while hanging out around your current boyfriend? Who in the world would behave like that? That would be crazy. A monument to poor decision making. I simply can’t imagine.

Aaaaaanyway, Cyrus assumes that’s it then. Buffy’s breaking up with Walker. And Buffy’s like, yeah, we’re done. I’m ghosting him. Cyrus tells her that’s not good enough. Talk to him. Break up with him in person.

Feels like Cyrus could save himself a lot of energy by recording a voice memo on his phone that says “YOU HAVE TO COMMUNICATE!” and just playing it for his friends over and over again.

Buffy thinks Walker knows, but Jonah assures her he doesn’t because: “He’s a guy.”

The pinpoint accuracy of those three words rattles Buffy to her core.

At the dance studio, Cyrus... dances?

...has a seizure?

...gets attacked by a swarm of gnats?

...reenacts the Ides of March?

...is possessed by the spirit of an evil marionette?

I’m just not sure.

Amber shows up and asks if he’s rehearsing being electrocuted.

Ah. Damn. That’s a good one.

Cyrus tells her he has to come up with an original dance for his choreography final and perform it. Wild that he’s already got a final exam. His dance class was like a month long. No wonder it seems like all he’s learned to do is flail his arms about. Amber volunteers to tutor him in the art of dance choreography.

Wait, does Amber know how to dance? I mean, I guess she did at the house party that one time. But can she really teach Cyrus to capture the raw, super strange energy of this performance?

I have my doubts.

Over at Bex’s, Bowie presents Andi and Bex with a surprise.

That’s right! A plank!

Andi wants to know who the Quinns are. Bowie thinks they all will be, after the marriage. Bex isn’t so sure. (Maybe hyphenate?) Bowie thinks it’s important, bonding them all together as a tribe, but Bex also thinks it’s important for everyone to choose their own identity. (Hyphenate?) Mack is part of who Bex is. For example, it’s on her bowling shirt. (Hyphenate. Stitch “-Quinn” right on to the end of that bad boy.)

Andi proposes they mash up their names but they realize that would make them the Quacks and abandon that idea so quickly they never even consider they could also become the Mann family, which is pretty sweet.

Back at the dance studio, Amber asks Cyrus to touch his toes. He can’t, but in fairness, he’s only been at this dance thing for like two weeks.

Amber tries to get him to do some moves but Cyrus says it’s too hard, so Amber hair-slaps some sense into him.

At the gym for the first Spikes game, Buffy watches the opposing team warmup and settles into some depressing fatalism.

Her teammate, who the end credits tell me was named Kaitlin, says the team is well-aware of that because Buffy’s been saying it all week. Kaitlin tries to get Buffy to say something that builds confidence in the team but Buffy’s not interested.

The team’s coach shows up.

Her name is Mrs. Deborah Mendenhall. She’s the guidance counselor. She’s also late to the game, knows nothing about basketball, has the gait and posture of an elderly woman, and is dressed like a flight attendant for some reason.

On the bright side, she brought orange slices.

So at least no one will get scurvy.

Kaitlin points out that the good news is they don’t have enough girls to even play. Buffy’s shocked no one else is coming and wants to know why. Kaitlin tells her it’s probably because Buffy’s spent the entire week telling everyone they were going to lose and be humiliated.

Look, say what you will about TJ as a team captain, but he only went after one player on his team. Buffy recruited this girls’ team, then spent several weeks alienating and insulting them and eventually got 2/3s of her team to quit before they even got to play their first game.

I hope she’s cleared her calendar for a ton of redemption arcs.

Buffy says the loss would have been really embarrassing, but now they’re going to have to forfeit, which she feels is way worse.

I disagree. You can forfeit with some dignity. Floundering around the court while the other team beats you down leaves barely any room for that.

It’s like this. Say you’re going to a party, but right before you get there, you get mud all over the back of your pants. Huge stain. Can’t get it out. Just go home, right? Forfeit the evening. You walk into that party and everyone’s going to think you had a horrible accident. You can desperately try to explain it’s mud, or you can try to own it in some weird way I can’t even imagine, but let’s be honest, all you’re going to get is a mean nickname and an unflattering reputation about town.

The lesson, kids, is if you have a chance to forfeit, forfeit.

Buffy decides, instead, she’s going to try calling the team.

Up in the stands, Andi asks Libby if she’s still planning on breaking up with Jonah. Libby is. She then points at Jonah and mimics him texting like a dope. Jonah, who is good at picking up subtle hints, wonders if these two are talking about him.

Buffy has no luck convincing anyone from the team to come get publicly humiliated. I say call TJ. Tell him to grab a wig and race down to the gym. Worth a shot.

Instead Buffy looks into the stands to try and find a replacement. She spots her artsy friend who’s shown almost zero athletic ability over the years...

...and thinks, yep, there’s the ticket.

So, Buffy drags Andi out of the bleachers and to the locker room to change as Jonah and Cyrus head up to sit next to Libby.

Cyrus greets Libby with sign language.

Oh, by the way, Cyrus also knows sign language now. Where did he find the time? I can barely commit to the 10 minute Duolingo Spanish lessons on my phone.

Jonah asks Cyrus to do some translating. He wants to know if Libby is mad at him. Libby wants him to learn sign language. Jonah apologizes through Cyrus, but Libby walks away.

Cyrus tells Jonah texting Libby used to be an okay way to communicate, but now the two have been going out for a while. Perfect opportunity for him to pull out his phone and play the “YOU HAVE TO COMMUNICATE!” message.

Also, a while? It’s not been like, a couple weeks? Cyrus’s dance class is over already, Buffy’s team is just now having their first game of the season, Jonah and Libby have been dating two years and I’ve lost complete understanding of the timeline again.

Jonah says he hasn’t learned because he’s afraid he’ll be bad at it.

Cyrus says it’ll be enough if he’s making the effort, but I just want to put this back on the table: forfeit the relationship. Take your mud-stained pants and go home.

At Bex’s, Bex approaches Bowie to do some compatibility testing of their relationship by asking some big questions and jotting down some answers to compare.

Bowie asks her about calzones. I’ll take this one, Bex. It’s pizza with excess bread. It’s hard to get a good cook on the stuffing. The toppings are rarely dispersed in a satisfying way. Not worth it.

Oh? Guess Bex and I are more compatible than I thought.

Bex wants to play seriously though, so they jump in. Bex asks if Bowie would ever want to have more kids, to which Bowie is like...

I mean, why not? If it all goes wrong, Celia’s still around, right?

Buffy brings her newest basketball recruit out to the gym so the game can finally begin. Things don’t start so hot.

Andi gets a pass and then takes off running with the ball like a halfback on a football team.

She forgot about dribbling. Bad sign. Dribbling is probably the second rule almost all people know about basketball behind knowing that the ball has to go into the basket to score points. God, I hope she remembers that at least.

Things don’t get much better from there. The public humiliation of the basketball team happens just as it was foretold.

Mrs. Mendenhall, meanwhile, spends time handing out snacks to the opposing team.

I’d normally be mad about this but she clearly has too many oranges. There’s only five people on Buffy’s team. Might as well not let them go to waste.

Andi gets the ball again and immediately turns it over.

Buffy was worried about being embarrassed, but honestly, Andi’s taking the brunt of it here. Maybe stop giving her the ball? Save her from herself.

Buffy mercifully calls a timeout to think things over.

She pulls the team into a huddle. They think she’s going to chew them out, but instead, she thanks them for showing up. She apologizes for being a bad captain and says she’s realized losing is not the worst thing ever. It’s great that those who showed up are there and that they’re in the game.

Or, basically, isn’t it nice to just be alive and doing stuff? Which is a decent message for life but a really low bar to hurdle for team sports. Congrats to us all on not dying.

They start playing again with a newfound, joyous outlook. I’m glad they’re happy with this, but their play is hurting me physically.

Kaitlin catches a pass and goes up for a lay-up from about a foot away from the basket and nearly misses not just the hoop, but the entire backboard.

It thuds off the side of the backboard and makes a noise that’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. This should be a wake up call for Kaitlin to get her vision checked. Or some kind of medical checkup. Something’s wrong.

Andi gets a pass, then, for some reason, spins, runs the wrong way, and hucks a wild shot up from half-court at the wrong basket.

It goes in as the game ends. Everyone celebrates for different reasons. I’m light headed.

Are we really sure that wasn’t worse than just leaving early? Are we really going with the lesson here of: “Kids, it doesn’t matter how terrible you do, as long as you do.” I hope no one growing up to be a doctor or pilot feels that way. Please, do those jobs well or don’t do them at all. No one’s gonna cheer you if you put the wrong organ inside your surgery patient or get lost and crash land into the ocean.

At Bex’s, Bex and Bowie review their answers and find themselves to be really compatible.

I think the biggest sign of their compatibility was that neither of them thought to ask the other any of these big, important life questions before agreeing to get married.

Lack of forethought and an improvisational approach to life problems suits them well, I guess.

Jonah meets Libby outside the school. He asks her to teach him sign language in sign language.

If he really wants to learn, he should hunt down the 5th grade teacher who made everyone else so fluent.

Libby agrees to. She tells Jonah she likes him.

Jonah says he likes her, 2. They seem to have reached a good level of understanding in their relationship. Amazing what COMMUNICATION! can do.

At Cyrus’s dance class, Cyrus prepares to deliver his final. Amber psyches him up, he heads out onto the floor, and...

Guys. It’s no good.

I mean, he’s doing this march walk thing.

And this scuba move like he’s dancing at a party from some 1960s beach movie.

And the robot.

His big finale is the sprinkler, of all things...

...followed by the Glee throw-your-fist-up-and-look-to-the-sky move.

I just don’t see how Cyrus passes this.

How do you watch that as a dance teacher and not go, “That was the laziest collection of basic, stock dance moves I’ve ever seen. Did you learn nothing? Did you even practice?”

Is this all another lesson about just showing up and doing a terrible job and being happy with that? Again, it’s good to have a positive attitude, but that’s not going to save your GPA.

At Bex’s, Bowie sits Andi and Bex down for a new surprise.

That’s right. Another plank!

Bowie probably should’ve learned to get everyone on board with his decision first before committing to a plank. That “The Quinns” plank is basically expensive firewood at this point.

But Bowie wins Andi and Bex over with this one.

And the news that he intends to take the Mack last name. It really was a foregone conclusion. Doesn’t he know what show he’s on? It’s called Andi Mack, not Andi Quinn. There’s already all tons of merchandise. What are you going to do, render that stuff worthless? Pfft. Good luck going up against the Disney Corporation’s profits, bud.

Bex wants to know if he’s sure he wants to be a Mack, and deal with all of the things that come with being a Mack. But Bowie’s in.

So, the Quinn names dies with Cookie. Long live the Quinns.

At school, Buffy takes out her phone and makes a call. The person on the other end of the line picks up. Buffy’s like, hey, last time I saw you, I don’t think I handled things very well and can we please meet up to talk?

And who’s on the other end of the call?

This guy!

Oh, who is this guy again? God, it’s on the tip of my tongue. It was a weird name. The kind of name they stopped giving babies in the 1950s.

I wanna say Harry? Ronny? Ralph? Was it Ralph? I feel like there was a Y in there.

Let’s just call him Not Walker for now until I can dig through the Andi Mack wiki for answers.

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

@thecorteztwins

I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop myself.  Inspired by Pyro’s gothic romances, and that ridiculous Slate letter.  Sorry also for the purple prose, I’m sure St. John is a much better writer than I am.

           It had been a few weeks, and Tansy was starting to settle in to her role as governess.  The manor house, which had seemed to loom menacingly at her first approach, now settled around her like a faithful watchdog, although she would not roam at night without a candle in hand.  Sometimes she thought she saw flickers of movement in shadowy corners, odd reflections in the mirrors, but it was surely her imagination.  She had to be strong and sensible, with a fanciful child like Rowan in her charge.

           “There’s things in this house that you cannot see, child,” said old Mrs. Scragg when the two of them took tea alone at the kitchen table, far out of earshot of Lord Edgeware.  “Believe me, there’s old blood in this house.  But none of the spirits will mean you any harm, not a sweet girl like you. It’s the living you’ve got to fear.”

           There was only one man in the house that Tansy truly feared, and that was Lord Edgeware himself – stern and cold, with a face as hard and sharp as a bare mountain crag.  Tansy could barely bring herself to speak in his presence.  But the rest had found a place in her affections.  Lord Edgeware’s son Edgar, a beautiful, gentle soul whose eyes were haunted by tragedy of his wife’s passing.  Their son Rowan, who had inherited his father’s dreamy, melancholic disposition – Tansy often had to call him to attention during lessons. Edgar’s sister, the Lady Estella, a lively and intelligent woman, although there were times when sadness seemed to creep over her as well.  Perhaps it ran in the family, or perhaps it was simply living in the shadow of their tyrannical father.

           She got along with her fellow servants.  There was the family lawyer, Paul Bryson – every inch a gentleman, but always kind rather than condescending, and he treated her with such warmth.  Bill Wick the groundskeeper, brawny and rugged, who made up for his lack of manners with open-hearted good cheer.  Despite his rough manners and immense strength, Tansy always felt completely safe around him.  There was Ambrose Lockley the valet, who radiated peace and calm no matter what mishaps befell the household – he was often on the receiving end of Bill’s chatter, but never seemed to mind.  Mrs. Scragg the housekeeper, who spun wild stories but seemed to take a motherly interest in all the manor’s inhabitants.    

Unfortunately, there was one other guest at the manor.  Lord Edgeware was the only man that Tansy feared, but there was only one man that she hated – the Spanish nobleman Fernando Cortázar.

           It wasn’t entirely clear what his connection was to the family – no one seemed to want to claim him.  Paul said that he was the son of Lord Edgeware’s old business partner, although the two of them never seemed to discuss any actual business.  Fernando seemed more interested in drinking up the family’s good wine, and cornering the maids in stairwells.  Mrs. Scragg proclaimed him to be the Devil in human form, and would cross herself whenever his name came up in the kitchens.  

           He’d set his sights upon Tansy from the moment she’d crossed the threshold, a predatory stare that made her shiver.  He was an attractive man, that much could be said.  His face was noble and well-formed, and he had long scarlet hair that made Tansy think of a crown of autumn leaves.  But, just as hints of cruel Winter lurked beneath Autumn’s glory, malice peeked out through Lord Cortázar’s handsome visage – a certain gleam in his eyes, cruel lines around his thin mouth.  Tansy hated to be alone with him, but he seemed to track her through the house, like a hunting dog on the trail of a fox.

           She had just finished putting Rowan to bed, telling him stories and stroking his hair until the poor, nervous child drifted off to sleep, when Cortázar found her again.  She was in the drawing room, searching for a suitable book to pass the lonely evening hours, when he suddenly came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her golden hair.  She could not stop herself from shrieking, pulling away with a startled jolt.

           “Forgive me, my sweet, I did not mean to frighten you,” the Spaniard purred, grabbing her hand and pulling it forcefully up to his lips.

           “My Lord Cortázar, please do not take such liberties.  Perhaps things are different in Spain, but I am a proper English girl,” Tansy scolded as harshly as she dared, folding her arms around herself as if to protect from further assaults.  He seemed to occupy a place of importance in the household, despite being disliked by nearly everyone, and she could not risk offending him.

           “So you are,” Cortázar chuckled indulgently.  “I apologize for such unseemly behavior, but I was so moved by your beauty that I could not help myself.”

           “I am not so beautiful,” Tansy said, turning away.  It was true.  Her arms and legs were too slender, her eyes too large, and an old shade of blue that in certain light appeared almost violent.  With her pale blond hair, she seemed almost unearthly – a fairy-like creature that could not exist among normal folk.  It was her curse to bear.  How she longed for a plain, simple face like a proper English girl.

           “My darling, you are ethereal.  You are angelic.  You are la belle dame sans merci, and I am in your thrall.” Cortázar took a step forward.  Tansy stepped back.

           “Then I release you, good sir,” she said, attempting to walk around him, but he blocked her path.

           “You cannot.  That face, it haunts me.  Your voice sings in my blood.”  He grasped her hand and began kissing his way up her arm.  Tansy wished desperately that Paul would suddenly appear. Although she couldn’t stand the shame of such a compromising position, surely he would see her reluctance. Surely he would put a stop to this.    

           “Please, control yourself,” she begged, managing to pull her arm away with a jerk.  “Surely you should not lower yourself to the likes of me.  I am but a simple governess, from a poor family.  You could have your pick of any woman.  Someone closer to your station.”  Not she wanted Cortázar to unleash his passion upon Lady Estella, but she suspected Estella could deal with him quite easily.  Estella did not suffer fools.

           “Oh, I already have many,” Lord Cortázar said, waving his hand as if it were trifling matter.  “My wife, she understands.  And my many mistresses.  But I am always looking for a new member of my harem.  They would welcome you with open arms.”

           “Harem?”  The word was unfamiliar to Tansy, but she was more focused on what she did understand. “Did you say you are married, sir? Then surely you must cease this behavior and keep faith with her.”  

           “I have a wife who understands.  There are many women in my house, and they all understand.  I am a man of extreme passion.  My appetites are larger than normal men.”

           “This conversation is quite inappropriate,” Tansy said, retreating again. This time she moved towards the doors on the far side of the room that let out onto the veranda.  

           “Ah, you English are so prudish,” Lord Cortázar laughed, following her again.  “But that is part of your charm.  You are so innocent.  Pure and untouched.  Let me take you away from here.  With me, you would not be a servant.  You would live in luxury.  I think my English was mistaken previously – I said ‘house,’ but I really meant ‘palace.’ You would have your own set of rooms, maids waiting upon you hand and foot, the finest foods.  I would drape you in silk and diamonds, as such beauty deserves.”

           “Surely you have enough women, sir,” Tansy tried.

           “Never enough.  You must understand, I am cursed with…certain problems.  It is difficult to speak of –“

           “Then perhaps you should not speak of it.”

           “Oh, but I must!  For you to understand.  As I said, I am a man of appetite.  And I am too much for any one woman.  I require such extensive…..stimulation…that as much as I delight my partners, they quickly tire.  My wife could not bear such a burden alone – it would destroy her health and send her to an early grave.  I must look for outside conquests for the sake of my wife, so that I will not harm her with my relentless passion.”      

           Through the drawing room doors, the full moon shone upon the windswept moors, and just beyond that, the cliffs that overlooked the ocean.  When the window was open in her bedroom, she could hear the dark waves crashing against the shore, seeming to murmur dreadful secrets. Lord Edgeware forbade anyone from venturing near the cliffs, citing the danger, but Tansy had often seen Lord Edgar staring out across the moors with a hungry, longing expression.  And of course, it was forbidden to speak of the white-shrouded figure that was sometimes seen wandering through the bracken towards the sea, although she had heard servants whisper of their own encounters. Even so, Tansy was at that moment weighing in her mind whether or not to fling open the doors and run wild upon the moors, even to those dreadful cliffs, if it meant an escape from Cortázar’s company.

           “It can take hours, you see,” Cortázar continued.  Tansy placed her hand on the door handle.  “And I am….not built like most men.  I can take a woman to the heights of ecstasy, but the toll upon her body and mind…..It is like looking upon the true face of God, no mere mortal can withstand –“

             “So, when will the silly girl realize her mistake and fall in love with Cortázar?”  Fabian asked, putting the book down for a moment with his finger keeping his place within the pages.

           “That’s not exactly the direction I’m going with it,” said St. John.  He had been watching Fabian read in much the same way that he might watch someone open a lovingly gift-wrapped dog turd.

           “No? Don’t tell me he’ll die some beautiful, tragic death!  Or perhaps he’ll find another woman more worthy of him.  Perhaps this ‘Tansy’ is not really the main character, and she’ll soon be replaced by some fiery noblewoman who will join Cortázar’s harem.”

           “He’s not really meant to be the main character.”

           “But why not?  He’s so handsome, strong and virile!  The perfect epitome of machismo!  How could you put such a man in the book and not let him be the hero?”  Off to the side, Avalanche choked on his beer, and had to spend a moment coughing before taking another swig.

           “I mean, he’s a bit of a prat, isn’t he?”  St. John suggested.

           “I can’t imagine what you mean.  He must be charismatic to have charmed so many women.”

           “Yeah, about that.  He’s also a bit of a liar.”

           Fabian’s eyes widened in surprise, then he began to nod sagely, as if he’d just solved a difficult riddle.

           “Oh, of course, of course.  I should have seen it.  He is a fraud.  What a brilliant twist.  You set up the image of a perfect man, then shatter the reader’s expectations.  It is a shame, though, to waste such a likable character.  Perhaps he has a twin brother, who really is brilliant and handsome and virile, and Fernando is copying his life out of jealousy for what he can never be.  And then the twin shows up at the end and sweeps Tansy away in his arms.  Why aren’t you taking notes, these are brilliant suggestions.”

           “I’ll consider it for the sequel,” St. John shrugged, taking no notes whatsoever.

           “So, is that really the only thing you noticed about Fernando Cortázar?” Dominic pressed.  He seemed to be getting impatient.  St. John preferred to just quietly wait for the bomb to go off, it was more fun that way.  Although Cortéz was so unbelievably thick, it seemed like perhaps it never would.  “He didn’t seem at all familiar to you?”

           “Well, I am well acquainted with a handsome Spanish aristocrat,” Fabian preened, putting a hand on his own chest to emphasize the obvious.  “I was flattered at first, but from what you’re telling me about the story’s development, obviously he can’t possibly be –“ Fabian stopped abruptly, realization dawning in his eyes once more.

           “Oh. Oh, I get it.  This is all a bit of a joke.  The suave Spanish nobleman who is not what he seems.  You’re making fun of that pendejo de la Rocha, aren’t you?”

           This time Pyro was the one to choke on beer, while Avalanche thumped him helpfully on the back.

           “Yes, yes, mate, you’re exactly right.  I’m making fun of Empath, and not anyone else,” he said when he could speak again.  “You should go tell him that right now.  Read the book aloud to him and the other Hellions.  It’ll be great.”

[sailorportia]

Lost, In More Ways Than One

Fandom: Little Witch Academia

Pairing: Hannah England x Amanda O’Neill

Femslash February 2019 [Index post] Day Three: “Lost”

approx. 1,700 words, rated T

also available on Ao3

In which Hannah and Amanda get lost in the woods and they totally don’t end up in awkward situations.

"Admit it," Hannah said, "we're lost."

"That's such a cliché line," Amanda retorted. "No imagination. Can't you spice it up a little?"

"How about this," Hannah said. "We're so far in these woods that the cops will never find your body after I bury you alive for getting us in this mess!"

"Ooh, a death threat," Amanda said, unfazed. "Very nice. But I know for a fact you'd never go to the trouble of digging a grave yourself. Too much dirt involved."

"Oh, I don't know. I might get my hands dirty just for you."

"That's dangerously close to flirting, Miss England."

Despite Amanda's bravado, Hannah was right: they were desperately, hopelessly lost. Who knew the woods around Luna Nova were so treacherous? It didn't help that it was pitch-black, even-the-moon-ain't-showin'-up dark outside. Amanda and Hannah only had themselves to blame. In one of their seemingly constant arguments they ended up challenging each other to a test of courage: journey deep into the woods at night and back out again together—running away meant an automatic loss. The plan had been to touch a particularly recognizable tree stump and then turn back... but they couldn't find the stump.

"How did you even get us this lost?" Hannah groaned. "All you had to do was walk in a straight line in and out!"

"You know me better than that," Amanda said. "I can't do anything straight. That's more your responsibility."

"If we relied on me, I'd have us walking in two different lines at the same time," Hannah replied.

"Right, right." Amanda said. She was still trying to get used to the fact that Hannah was bi. Not that there was anything to get used to. It's not like she had a reason to be acting differently around Hannah or anything. Knowing that Hannah was technically available to date didn't mean anything to her. Not that Hannah being bi meant that she was automatically available for Amanda to date. For all Amanda knew, Hannah wasn't even into Amanda's type. Not that Amanda had any interest in dating Hannah. Nope. Not at all. She definitely didn't spend any time thinking about that possibility.

"Are you listening to me, Amanda?" Hannah was almost yelling. "I said we should stay put until we figure out how to get out of here."

"Oh." Amanda was grateful the cover of darkness that would conceal her blush. What am I doing, get all lost in thought over Hannah, she berated herself. She plonked down on a fallen log and patted the spot next to her, inviting Hannah to join her.

"I'll pass," Hannah said. "Goodness knows what's on that log."

"Suit yourself. Any ideas how to get out of here, bossy pants?"

"One comes to mind," Hannah said. "How are your marks in astronomy class?"

"Dismal," Amanda answered. "Wait, abysmal. Which is worse?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. She should've known better. "Good thing one of us pays attention in class instead of making paper airplanes out of her worksheets."

"Sneer all you like, but when the Royal Paper Air Force hires me as it's top pilot and gives me tons of medals, you'll sooo jealous."

Hannah laughed, despite her annoyance with Amanda. "Royal, eh? Not American? You plan on staying in the UK?"

Amanda shrugged. "Well, England has its appeals." And wasn't that just the Freudian slip of the century.

Hannah coughed and shuffled awkwardly. And told herself not to read too much into that statement. "Um, anyway. We can figure out which direction we need to walk by using the stars."

"Just like sailors," Amanda said.

"Yeah. How did you know that?"

"I wanted to be a pirate when I was younger. Well, I kinda still do."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Hannah said. "Give me a minute to check out the constellations and I'll be able to point us in the right direction."

"Thank fuck I'm stuck in the woods with you," Amanda said. "I mean—with an egghead like you." Nice save, she thought. What is wrong with me tonight?

It's not like Hannah was anything worth getting worked up about, or so Amanda told herself as she looked over her companion. She's so pale she practically glows in the dark, so who even cares that her skin is flawless? And her hair looks so dorky in that ponytail, it would look so much better if she let it down. And her attitude is almost as bad as mine, we're practically evenly matched. Then Amanda realized that even her insults were failing her. What's the opposite of a backhanded compliment?

Hannah clapped her hands together, startling Amanda. "I've got it. We went north and drifted east, so we just need to follow that star, going south-west."

"If you say so." Amanda hopped off the log and went to Hannah's side. "Lead the way, Magellan."

Hannah shifted awkwardly again. "Francis Drake would be a better reference," she said. "He was an English explorer. And a pirate."

"Do tell."

Whereas the journey into the forest was made in awkward silence punctuated by barbed comments, on the way back Hannah entertained Amanda with the exploits of Sir Francis Drake: his circumnavigation of the globe, his piracy in the Caribbean, his efforts against the Spanish Armada. Hannah grew more animated as the story went on, seemingly encouraged by Amanda's interest increased. Everything was going swimmingly.

Until they encountered complications.

Hannah stopped dead in her tracks. "My foot is stuck."

A tree root had ensnared Hannah. Quite intentionally, seeing as it was one of the mischievous mandrake trees that enjoyed trolling humans who wandered the forest. It was bad enough that they'd made hideous wailing sounds at the pair all night, now this?

"Frickin' mandrakes," Hannah said. "Can you hold your wand light down by my foot?"

"Why?" Amanda was feeling particularly self-conscious around Hannah and didn't want to get that close to her bare legs; the wand light would make it impossible for Hannah to miss the way Amanda had been looking at her all night.

"I can't use magic to coax the root off me and hold the light at the same time," Hannah said.

"What's the problem? I thought all bisexuals could dual-wield. Isn't that one of your class features?"

"Ha ha, very funny." In any other situation Hannah might've laughed for real. "I need my other hand to pull the root off my foot once I've charmed it. Get on your knees and help me out here."

Amanda felt a surge of feelings she didn't have time (namely private time) to address. She did as she was told and held her wand light near Hannah's trapped foot. Hannah kneeled down as well and used a spell to relax the root. As it loosened, Hannah tugged it away with her free hand.

Amanda didn't pay much attention to this process; she was far too distracted by her proximity to totally-not-worth-getting-worked-up-over Hannah. As she weren't so distracted, she might've noticed Hannah's hands trembling for similar reasons.

Hannah freed her foot and both girls stood up very quickly, eager to put some distance between them. They continued their walk in silence.

Until their next complication.

Their wand lights disappeared, snuffed out like a candle flame.

"What the hell?" Amanda yelled. "What now!?"

"We must be near a forest dragon nest," Hannah explained. "Dragons absorb magic energy, that must be why our wand lights went out."

"Thanks for the lecture, doc, but how are we going to find our way back now?"

"Slowly." Hannah was too nervous to say the next part, so she locked arms with Amanda without saying a word.

Big mistake.

"What are you doing!?" Amanda did not need this kind of pressure right now.

"We can't see anything without our wand lights!" Hannah said, her voice shrill all of a sudden. "If we're not careful, we'll get lost. We need to stick together."

"D-Do we need to stick this close?" It was important for Amanda to know; her heart was in danger of imploding.

"L-l-like you aren't loving this!" Hannah stuttered. "I-I-I bet this was your plan all along! You wanted me to cling to you, didn't you!?"

Amanda almost jumped out of her skin. It would've made for a great escape from this situation. "W-w-why would I want you clinging to me with those bony arms of yours!"

"My arms aren't bony! They're slender! We can't all have nice muscles like you!"

"What was that about my nice muscles?" Amanda wanted to know more about Hannah's opinions on her physical appearance, but something more pressing had just come up. "Wait, is that light?"

Amanda and Hannah's eyes were drawn to the tree line. They had made it back to the edge of the forest, and they could see lights coming from the windows of the school building.

"We made it back!" In her excitement, Hannah hugged Amanda. And immediately backed off out of embarrassment.

"Let's get out of here," Amanda said. "You can cling to me later."

Hannah made a strangled noise, but Amanda was already too far ahead of her to hear it. They emerged from the forest and started brushing themselves off and picking grass and other forest debris off their clothes.

"I guess we both lost, since we never made it to the stump," Amanda said.

Hannah made a noncommittal noise. "I wouldn't say that. It doesn't feel like a loss to me."

"I guess I did get something out of it." Amanda conceded. "I learned a bit about being lost in... a forest."

"What do you mean by that?" Hannah asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know." Amanda reached out and pulled a twig from Hannah's hair.

Amanda couldn't be sure because of the darkness, but she could've sworn a blush crept into that pale, glow-in-the-dark, flawless skin of Hannah's. "Like you have any secrets I'd like to know." Her voice wasn't the slightest bit convincing.

"Speaking of secrets," Amanda said, "let's tell the others that we actually made it."

"Let's definitely not mention the part where our wands went out."

"Yeah, that. Definitely that."

Oddly enough, neither of them waited to tell their roommates all about what happened when they were lost in the woods.

[aclamclriver]

start from scratch

he can’t find a babysitter.

daniel’s spotted a cat sitting on the doorstep a few houses down       though he doesn’t pull forwards,  the enthrallment is enough to afford jude a moment to bunch the phone more comfortably next to his ear,  his breath hurried out of him as he struggles to hold his composure.  traffic is slow on the little street;  the sound of leaves crunching underfoot heralds their pace as the father and son make their way home in uneven stride.

“      been talking about this for  weeks,  jude       ”

“i know,  i know you have,  but you didn’t mention me and i need to be home to pick daniel up by three,  i  need  to,  there’s no one who can watch him       ”

“one late night is not going to kill you,  jude,  considering how much this project means       there’s a ton of daycares in the area alone that you can drop him off.  you need to plan for these things.  i’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

he can’t cuss in front of daniel,  but it’s on the tip of his tongue       the words curdle like spoiled milk as he shoves his phone back into his pocket,  fumbling for his keys to unlock the door to their apartment.  it’s a far cry from before  (  but then,  of course,  wasn’t that the point?  ),  and it’s got more neighbors than he’s used to,  but it was close to work,  close to school,  and far away from everything else.

“okay?”  daniel asks;  his voice is pitched soft,  his eyes wide and inquisitive       it discomforts jude,  sometimes,  to think of the baby who once was,  and the young child just becoming.  

“okay,”  jude replies,  because he’s not going to unburden himself on his five year old son.  the key is proving to be more elusive than he thought;  he’s practically ripping his pocket inside out.  

“i’ll stay at patrick’s tomorrow?”

“no.”  it’s so automatic,  so absolute,  that he flinches,  even as it snaps off his tongue       mina couldn’t have done it better herself.  in the one night where he lost damn near everything,  he’s learned to be cautious;  he can’t risk anything happening to daniel.  not ever again.  “don’t worry about it,  i’ll       where is my damn key!”

it bursts out of him,  a flurry of anger that isn’t really anger;  a cocktail of something he’s sick of,  forcing him to drop daniel’s hand as he roots furiously through his pockets.  it’s the hours,  and his boss,  and not being able to find a babysitter because he doesn’t  trust  anyone in this fucking city,  can’t risk letting the  one person he has left  go with just  anyone,  and his goddamn key is  missing     

“hey,  jude?”

his head snaps up to see the door to the right opened       you’re already out on the landing.  neighbors,  though he’s only spoken to you once or twice;  you always smile at him if you cross paths.  there’s a pretty crochet owl on your purse that daniel always points out when he sees you.

“are you looking for your key?  i think you dropped it this morning on your way out       i found it after you left.  it’s yours,  right?”

and it is       miraculously,  fortuitously,  offered in your hand like some gleaming artifact of religious significance.  he wants to weep as he takes it from you,  stammering thanks and apologies as he jams it in the lock,  twisting it open far enough to let daniel scamper inside.  

“you seemed to be pretty frazzled,”  you say,  when he pauses for breath.  “is everything okay?”

(  when was the last time someone asked him that?  )

“i need to work late tomorrow,”  he offers,  hands fiddling with the strap of his bag.  “and i don’t have a babysitter for daniel.  my boss won’t reschedule.”

“that’s awful!  he really won’t let you reschedule?”  you lean against the doorframe of your apartment,  frowning in sympathy;  the action puts a tiny furrow between your brows,  an expanse of emotion he has long forgotten.  “getting a babysitter for a tuesday afternoon  ...  it’ll be tough,  too.”  you hesitate;  he watches you tilt your head in thought,  working on an offer that takes some time to reach your lips.  “if you really need the help  ...  i can always pick him up?”

something in his expression has to give you insight to what he’s thinking:  you’re hasty to add  “i understand if you’re not comfortable with that,  but since you’re in a bind       i work from home,  so i’m here all the time anyways.  my cousin just had a baby,  and we’re quite close,  so the apartment is baby proof       i know we’re pretty much strangers,  but i’d like to help,  if i can.”

beggars can’t be choosers,  he knows;  he’s out of options as it is.  

he stills waits until the last minute next morning,  to knock on your door,  and take you up on your offer.

the whole day is a bust       he can’t concentrate,  beyond imagining what horrible things you’re doing to his son.  visions of anti-nutritional oil and empty plates seem to dance behind his eyes,  and when he’s finally released,  jude  sprints  out.  he’s home in record time,  practically racing up the stairs to your door,  heart hammering in his chest.

he’s shocked,  in the split second before his fist hits your door,  to hear laughter.

when you open the door,  daniel is right at your heels;  he shouts  “daddy!”  and throws his arms around jude’s legs,  hugging tight.  your smile is bright and reassuring,  warm,  as daniel immediately begins a detailed description of his day.

“he was just fine,”  you remark,  as daniel pauses on a breath.  “picked him up with no problems,  brought him here       he’s been drawing for you all afternoon!  i started making dinner,  just because he was so easy to watch;  did you two want to stay a while?”

and it smells so  good  in this little apartment,  with the little lavender candles splayed out on a bookshelf,  and your dinner cooking in the oven;  it’s warm,  and safe,  and daniel is shifting through a number of drawings to show jude his latest batch.

“that’d be great,”  jude says at last,  and you two share a smile.

daniel is your biggest fan,  now.  he likes how soft your carpet is,  how nice your paintings on the wall are.  you help him with his homework,  and read to him       he brings you books that jude has started,  and you pick up easily where he left off.  you’ll even do voices.  

he doesn’t mean for this to become regular,  but his boss is demanding,  and the hours are picking up,  and you wave off his apologetic request with a smile and  “you’re both welcome here any time.”  

something in how you talk to daniel makes it easy to leave him,  though it wrenches jude apart,  every time.  you lean forward,  bend down       you always talk to him at his own level.  you offer your hand for him to take,  but never grab his own;  you laugh at every silly joke he makes,  even if he tells it six times in a row.  you run an editing business from home,  and there are books aplenty on your shelves:  jude never knows what he’ll find,  if he were to go perusing.  

smalltalk occurs,  as smalltalk tends to do.  you went to school here.  you worked there.  you joined up in editing because you loved words.  you know italian,  but you’re better at spanish.  you like the idea of starting a garden,  but love the vegetables in the farmers market.  

(  you’re not like mina.  )

you ask him how his day was,  as soon as he’s on the landing;  you smile when he tells you.  daniel is wonderful,  engaging,  funny,  bright:  he loves to tell you stories.  

jude talks about mina.  we were married.  she’s dead.  we were separated.  i don’t know.  daniel doesn’t really know.  it’s a confession and a scrutiny:  if he tells it enough times,  maybe he can find where it all went wrong.  married.  pregnant.  unhealthy.  confused.  separated.  out of love?  out of patience.  out of time.  out of options.  we got married in a little italian diner.  i sang for her.  you’ll never believe how we met       yeah,  it’s as gross as it sounds.

you share your own.  engaged,  okay,  but wanting more.  broke it off two years ago.  don’t fret for you!  you don’t regret a thing.  “when it’s time to move on,  and you do,  you know it’s the right thing.  it’s peaceful.  it’s good.”

he wonders what that must be like.

you’re worried about daniel one night,  when his temperature is high;  when jude comes to pick him up,  you’ve already iced him for an hour.  “it’s probably that bug going around,”  you fret,  wringing out the towel draped across daniel’s forehead,  “but i don’t know.  i wanted to take him to the doctor,  but that’s your call,  jude,  really.”

they’ll go in the morning,  jude reasons       it’s late enough as it is.  daniel offers a tired whine and a sniffle,  once lifted in jude’s arms,  and you can’t help but follow them back into their apartment,  compelled by the tired little eyes that peer blearily at you from over jude’s shoulder.

somehow       jude isn’t quite sure how       he wakes up on the couch,  sometime after midnight.  daniel is sprawled out,  his head resting on jude’s knee,  fast asleep.  he’s breathing easily,  fever dissipated.  on the floor below,  your head tilted against the cushion,  you doze.  your hand is raised just enough for daniel to grasp it in his sleep.

his mother is furious.  

“i didn’t go to prison so you can do all of this all over again!”

he knows what she’s thinking.  he’s always been easy to push over,  easy to cow;  he let mina push too hard,  too far.  if he had a backbone,  it never would have ended here       but he shoves that thought away,  as far as it can go.  

“it’s not a romance,”  he tells her,  placating,  the peacekeeper.  “she’s just babysitting.”  

and it’s the truth!  he doesn’t need to justify that.  he doesn’t need to quantify it:  does it matter that the three of you have dinner,  almost every night?  that you ask him how his day was       noticed when he got his haircut?  does it matter that you have a key to his apartment?  emergencies happen,  and it’s best to be prepared       he’s got one to your apartment,  too.  you know the name of his boss,  his best friend;  he even put your number on a form for school,  surreptitiously listed under  “emergency contact.”  it’s just being prepared.  he knows what book you’re working on,  how you like your coffee;  it’s just the nature of the beast.

“it’s not like before,”  he says,  thinking of the other night,  when you and daniel baked cookies:  he was smeared with chocolate and  beaming,  when jude came through the door.  “it’s not like mina.”

and there’s no greater truth than that.

“i came in her,”  he tells you one day,  while daniel plays in the next room.  “she told me not to.  i fucked up.  i knew she was leaving.  i don’t know  ...  i thought maybe,  if she had another reason to stay  ...  it was awful,  what i did.  it was stupid,  and selfish,  and awful.”

he hates that you think less of him       he can see it in your eyes,  the purse of your lips as you nod in agreement.  somehow,  the truth never gets easier,  no matter how often he tries it;  he knows that it’s followed with grief.

“goodbyes are hard,”  you say at last,  and your shoulders bunch forward as he watches you.  “trying to hold off on them is harder.  no one ever wants to let them linger.”

“i was never good at goodbyes,”  he admits,  and there’s more truth in that than he can fathom.

he misses adulthood.  drinks in the bar down the street,  with the dingy neon lighting,  and bad art galleries with his friends where they laughed themselves sick.  he misses casual conversation that revolves around nothing,  and minutes you don’t have to count on the clock.

he’s lonely,  is all:  he can’t be faulted for that.  daniel is his boy,  but only a boy still,  and when he’s put to bed,  he falls asleep immediately.  nothing wrong,  jude reasons,  with seeing you for a moment.  you make him a cup of tea,  and sit on your couch,  and talk about everything and nothing,  and jude finds himself laughing with his whole belly,  like he hasn’t done in years.

he’s bold enough to ask about your fiance,  the one you left behind;  you correct him on the wording.  “people change,”  you explain,  eyes out of focus,  thinking on the memories.  “but you don’t really know a person,  really  know a person,  until you’ve seen them panic.  he was everything i thought i knew,  and then,  one day  ...  he wasn’t.  and i realized i didn’t know him at all.”

it’s the lateness of the hour,  he thinks:  the flow of good conversation,  that urges him forward,  has him saying,  “i don’t know       i haven’t seen you panic,  and i know you pretty well.”

and everything is innocent until it’s  not:  that he’s suddenly so close,  so close,  with lips just an inch away from yours,  heart hammering in his chest as he looks at you.  you,  and everything that isn’t mina,  but more importantly is  you:  the laughter,  and the warmth,  and the way you smile when you don’t realize jude’s looking at you.  

just you,  and just him.

and suddenly,  just is too much,  and you’re on your feet;  so discomforted is he,  that jude doesn’t see your hand shake as you set your teacup down.

“i’ll pick up daniel tomorrow at three like always,”  you say,  and there’s distance there,  a separation.  jude doesn’t argue.

later that night,  in his own bed,  he thinks on how long it’s been,  since he’s had butterflies in his stomach.  it’ll be best to quash out every one.

this is how the story works:  that daniel is the baby,  and you the babysitter,  and jude the father who longs to come home.  mina is the mother,  and that’s without change:  you don’t pass stories and smiles with a man who lost his wife.  you in your home,  and jude in his,  and daniel as the interloper,  four times a week,  and jude buys you a bottle of wine at christmas for your trouble.

but stories have a way of changing,  and it’s only three days after tea on your couch that you call him from the hospital.

“daniel’s fine,”  you say,  adamant and reassuring.  “everything’s okay,  don’t worry.  we were rear-ended coming home,  and it was a minor incident.  daniel is completely fine,  but i got a tiny scratch on my leg,  so they drove me in.  can you come pick him up?  he’s absolutely fine.”

and he believes you,  even as jude breaks about every traffic rule in the book as he speeds to the hospital;  believes you,  even as he nearly smashes the doors off their hinges.  daniel is fine,  absolutely fine       not a scratch on him.  the miracle of seatbelts,  and good driving besides.  

your scratch is more a cut,  is more a little more than  nothing:  you had to get stitches,  almost as soon as you arrived.  despite your protests,  jude sits and waits for you to be signed out,  with daniel snoozing in his arms;  he drives you both home,  hands at two and ten.  he puts daniel to bed without fuss,  and kisses his forehead goodnight;  his boy is asleep before jude has even left the room.

in your apartment,  the lights are off:  you’re struggling in the kitchen.  he finds you there,  leaning against the counter,  catching your breath as you move your crutches out of the way.  it’s only for a week or so,  but you already hate them       they’re in the way more than anything else.  

“i’m okay,”  you tell him,  with your eyes drooping from exhaustion.  “i’m just glad daniel wasn’t hurt.”

in answer,  jude cups your face in his hands,  and kisses you.

are you cold?  you can’t stop shivering:  jude’s body presses against your own,  careful not to jostle your leg as he holds you.  he’s so much taller than you,  so big and broad       he leans in and tilts your head to better receive his kiss,  nose brushing against yours.  warm,  and solid,  and  real.

“i panicked,”  he admits,  when at least you break for air.  he rests his forehead against yours,  hands sliding to your waist,  offering you warmth as he stays close against you.

“so did i,”  you admit,  and pull him in for another kiss.

this is how the story works:  a kiss changes nothing.  two is irrelevant.  you keep your promise to take care of daniel,  and jude learns everything about you.  dates are played out on the living room floor,  as daniel shrieks with laughter from a flurry of tickles;  it’s snatched in the kitchen as jude helps you with dinner.  

daniel turns six and you bake him a cake:  his friends gather in your living room,  wild and excited.  jude takes too many pictures;  he only thinks of mina once. 

i guess we did something right.

it’s the next night,  when daniel is sleeping soundly in the other room,  that jude slides his hands between your legs,  and kisses your neck with an air of worship.  he parts your thighs and curls his fingers inside your cunt,  marvelling at the curve of your throat when you throw your head back.  it’s everything to him,  when you roll your hips against his;  it’s everything,  to hear the way his name falls from your lips,  when he slides inside you with a groan.  it’s too much,  too much after too long,  and he can barely focus on the rhythm of his breathing as he feels you tight around him:  it takes a moment to realize how you’re kissing him reassuringly,  warm and solid in his fluster.  he makes love to you,  slow and purposeful;  he discards the condom afterwards with a little gleam of pleasure.  

this is how the story goes:  where the leaves are crunching underfoot,  and there’s a cat on the front step a few houses down.  daniel is singing about the man on the sea,  and jude wraps his arm around your shoulders,  pulling you close enough to kiss.  “i love you,”  he whispers,  and you smile at his touch.  daniel starts another verse,  dancing in the sunlight.

[stormtrips]

- therapy #1 -

This place is a lot less... clean, for lack of a better word, than the pictures they put online. The building this therapist is in seems newer, but the waiting room is dingy, latticed aluminum ceiling holding up popcorn gray panels and yellowing fixtures for fluorescent lights. There’s a rack in the corner holding worn children’s books and a tired-looking wooden train set abandoned behind a set of threadbare office chairs.

There’s also no receptionist behind the front desk, just a window with a sign that says, in both English and Spanish, “PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.” The lights aren’t on back there, but there are forms and a sign-in sheet waiting for you on the ledge.

This is stupid. You scratch your name and the time, take the loose leaf papers, and get started.

Yeah, yeah, basic demographic information. Insurance—well, technically you’re still on your dad’s, but he doesn’t even live in this country anymore, and fuck if you can remember the information. Family history? You don’t know anything about this. Personal medical stuff? The only time you’ve been in the hospital was for rehab. They want to know what medications you’re on, too, which is awkward, because you don’t know the name or the dose of what Fucker gave you, you just know it’s not working.

Underneath those basics are questionnaires, Becks something or other. All of these questions are stupid. You score a 31 on the first one (kind of depressing) and a 22 on the second (not so bad, really). After circling all the numbers and x-ing all the boxes, you don’t really have anything else.

So you wait.

Click the pen a little bit in your hand, twirl it around your fingers. Your dexterity got thrown off a little bit again by last weekend’s events, but you’ll get it back eventually, right? You jiggle your leg, crack your neck. One of the lights is humming obnoxiously. There’s a fly trapped under one of the busted metal quarter-inch blinds. With this much time, you let your eyes trace out patterns in how the dirty linoleum peels up from the floor at the seams.

You’re almost nodding off when the door to the office opens. “Oh!” a female voice says softly, keys jangling. “Are you early, or am I late?”

“Are you Alex?”

“Yes, hello!” She’s already looking in her phone. She might be a few years older than you if you had to guess, brown-skinned with long black hair, wearing floaty clothes in neutral colors with long gold earrings. Damn it. You had been hoping for a dude—and that tiny expectation takes you by surprise. You make a mental note of it for later. “Oh, I was late, I’m so sorry. Please, follow me.”

You stand up—had your feet really fallen asleep?—and get ushered into a tiny side room, only just wide enough to fit a full-length overstuffed couch with too many tasseled throw pillows. When you take a seat, it wheezes. The corduroy feels crumbly under your fingertips.

Alex shuts the door behind her, blocking out the dead, clinical light of the waiting room. It’s much darker in here, only lit by a nightstand lamp with maybe a fake candle bulb in it. Alex sits down in a large armchair, her bag landing heavy on the floor when she drops it and starts looking for something. “You’re a new client, right?”

“Yeah. I filled out all this paperwork.” You offer her the stack.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” She apparently had been looking for a pen and a clipboard, because your papers get neatly pinned and she starts taking notes immediately. “So, John, how did you find out about us?”

You shrug. “I did a Google search. This was the only place that had an appointment this fast.”

“Oh, that’s because I had cleared my schedule for Good Friday.” Shit, you’re so out of it that you forgot it was a holiday weekend. “I’m glad you came in. Now, what brought you in to see us?”

You freeze.

You were expecting this question, yeah, got dogged by it for four hours last night while you were unable to sleep and worrying about Dolch. That doesn’t mean you have a good answer for it. You’re pretty sure you filled out a thing online for this place (or maybe it was for one of the ten other places you tried to get ASAP appointments). Why can’t she look on there? Whatever. You pick the simplest answer first. “I went to rehab and they said I needed to keep doing therapy when I got out, so I thought I would start.”

Alex’s pen stops. “Rehab? For a... drug addiction?”

“Alcohol.” Dead and clipped off.

“Oh, right.” Like it wasn’t as serious as Percocet or heroin. “Well, we don’t really do addiction counseling here—or alcoholism counseling, whatever—but I can see what else I can do to help you today. Maybe get you a referral. How does that sound?”

Something in that guarded, hopeful part of you deflates, an already-drooping Mylar GET WELL SOON balloon destroyed by a dart. “Fine.”

“Oh, you didn’t fill out this section of the form.” She tilts the clipboard towards you and gestures to it with her pen.

“That’s because I don’t know.”

“Don’t know your family medical history?”

“Not really.” Is it that surprising? “We didn’t really talk about that stuff a whole lot.”

“Ah, right, gotcha.” She sounds like she got a bunch of insight about you out of that last sentence. “Did you bring your medications with you?”

“Just the one.” You were careful to bring this in your jeans pocket, so no one would have to see you manipulating your sylladex to get to the goods. The pills you got from Fucker look pathetic in this little snack baggie, but it’s all you had. “I lost the bottle, sorry, I forget what this is.”

Alex peers at it under the low light, then draws back into her own space. “Looks like a low dose of sertraline.”

“What now?”

“Generic Prozac.” Oh, wow. Fucker really put you on an antidepressant. Like that’s supposed to help with whatever has your brain this rustled. “Just a baby dose,” she says, like that’s supposed to make you feel any better. “How long have you been taking it?”

“Just since Sunday.”

“Any side effects?”

“Not much of anything, really.”

She clicks her tongue. “That’s too bad.” What the hell does that mean? She flips over to another piece of paper in your makeshift chart, tapping her pen down the page until she turns to the next one. “Thirty-one, yes, same number. Oh, dear, that’s not good.”

“What does that mean?”

“That’s in the range for severe depression, Jonathan.” Ugh. You hate it when people try to get cute with your name. “And the anxiety inventory, this is in the moderate anxiety range. Good thing you got an appointment!”

“Yeah, no kidding.” There’s no mirth in your voice, yet no sarcasm, either. No one told you therapy would be this boring.

“Well,” And Alex jingles her wrist to shake her bracelets away from her watch, “that might be all the time we have for an initial appointment like this. I’m sorry we can’t take you on long term, but if you’d like, I can send on your name to another practice. Oh, and, credit card, please.”

She plugs a chip reader into her phone port as you fork over the plastic. You feel a little nonplussed. You’re pretty sure you scheduled for an hour, and you’ve been here for much longer, but you could have sworn this whole thing in this room only took a few minutes. “I guess,” is all you really have to say.

Alex is focused on her phone again, then smiles as the app resolves the transaction. “Great!” she says, far too chipper. “Well, check your portal, and by the end of next week, you should have a message from us about next steps.”

“End of next week?” Full offense, but you’ve already been waiting long enough for an appointment when you’re in so much emotional pain it literally feels like it’s cracking your sternum in two.

“Yeah, all referrals take at least 72 hours and it’s a holiday weekend. Thanks for your time!” She’s already standing, opening the door to usher you out.

Good. You don’t want to be here any longer. “Thanks,” you tell her, an automatic politeness, but as you leave the office and take the elevator down to the building lobby, all you feel is confused. And kind of laughing at yourself for how seriously you took it. If it’s all going to be bullshit, at least you know what to expect for next time.