#people should be able to celebrate historic moments. yes even the bad ones

[askshivanulegacy]

Yeah, seriously.

The thing that I've never understood is how no one on either side who talks about America seems capable of understanding what America IS.

The people who glorify it don't understand it. The people who whine and cry and hate on it don't understand it.

America is an idea. It's the idea of a place where you can live without persecution. It's the idea of America that we should be working toward. That's literally why we exist.

And like every other country ever on the planet, it has a bloody and violent past. And the past has great and inspiring stories on every side. And every figure on every side was a real human being with flaws and contradictions. They were good and they were bad, and they had complex reasons for doing things. History is all of it. History is fascinating. It's great stories! It's Remember the Alamo and all the great things the founding fathers did. And it's also that they fought for the wrong thing, and they owned slaves and never freed them.

You all love flawed characters and tragic stories and watching trainwrecks happen in your media. We all just watched terrible person, murderer, and war criminal Jinx in Arcane and people cheered for her. It was a great story! And also she was a selfish little bastard who murdered people for no reason and other characters rightfully wanted her dead. Well, that's what history is.

We all have the capacity to enjoy stories - and history as stories - and also to analyze the flaws and context and situations behind them. You can find the Alamo an inspiring moment in time because any life and death struggle can be. And you can also criticize it. Both can be true because people are capable of holding opposing concepts in their minds at the same time.

History isn't either/or, it's all of the above is true. And it's water under the bridge.

I think if more people understood that, they'd be able to celebrate historic moments without taking things personally when people decide they don't want to repeat that moment. And they'd also be able to recognize that you can't condemn for history either - it's over and now you take what you have and move it forward.

What I struggle with, as a public historian and a US American leftist, is how right wing US Americans can say they love history and call themselves “history buffs,” but get so righteously indignant when it is suggested that we can learn from history, and that it is normal and healthy to discuss the flaws and dark sides of various historical figures.

It’s like a wall which I, speaking as a public historian, wish I knew how to dismantle. Like when someone’s all REMEMBER THE ALAMO, I think the natural response is something along the lines of “certainly, but it’s important remember that one of the things the revolutionaries were fighting for was the freedom to continue their enslavement of other human beings.”

For me, that’s not a political statement. It’s a commitment to view historical events and figures for what they were in all their good and their bad and their complexity. But you say that to someone with right wing US American politics, and it’s like you spat on their mother and pooped on the flag.

I do make political posts here as an angry, frustrated progressive citizen of the USA who is also a historian. But right now, I’m posting as a historian, who happens to be a left wing US American. I don’t want to talk shit, I want to figure out how to fix it.

But then, knowing what I do of MAGA Americans, I don’t think there is a fixing it? Unambiguously valorizing the American past in order to maintain the illusion that this country was at some point Great is kind of their whole Thing.

Idk. Just some stray thoughts.

[chibienvychan03]

It’s Valentine’s Day?

Pairing: Victor x female MC

Warning: lots of fluff and sassy MC

Summary: Given the amount of work you’ve received, the days blur into each other and you can’t believe you’ve forgotten about Valentine’s Day. You had planned on skipping it, but something changes your mind.

Gift fic for @otome0heart. Happy holidays!

When you arrive at the office, you find the atmosphere has completely changed. Instead of being hectic and chaotic, you see your employees whispering and giggling (mainly the girls), but the mood is definitely better though you still have your assignment to work on. Even though you’re their boss, you hate having to put your foot down hard so you will be able to complete it on time and on schedule.

 As you’re about to say something, Kiki rushes over to you, looking like she’s on a caffeine and sugar high which to be honest is her default mode most of the time. “Boss, boss, boss!”

 “Yes, yes, yes?”

 “Who are you going to give your chocolates to?” Your confusion speaks in volumes. Sighing Kiki gives you that ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look. “Have you forgotten what today is?”

 “Eh?”

 “Told you so! She totally forgot.” Ah yes, Willow the voice of reason and sometimes the kill joy with reality. It makes you wonder what you forgot.

 One glance around the office, you start noticing small things, namely all those red, pink, and white hearts. Then there are a few pictures of what appears to be a baby wearing a diaper while holding a bow and arrow. Isn’t it bad parenting to let a child that age hold a dangerous weapon? This annoys you, being left in the dark.

 “What is it I’m forgetting?” You cross your arms over your chest, giving them that stern look, but it has no effect on them. They’re probably used to it by now or don’t care.

 “I can’t believe you forgot! Hey, there’s still time to buy some chocolate.” Kiki bounces around you. Why is doing it? You have no clue except you wish she would stop as you’re becoming dizzy with her antics.

 “Why is it important I buy chocolate?” What was so special about buying chocolate? It’s just another day. Wait a moment, what is today? Thanks to all the overtime you’ve been putting into this assignment, the days have become blurred. You at least know which day of the week it is, thank you Mister CEO and having to give updates.

 “Boss, you have no romantic bone in your body,” Willow sighs a long one as if she’s the one suffering. She swivels in her chair to face the two of you. “Maybe that’s why you don’t have a date for tonight.”

 “Date? We’re swamped with work. I can’t believe I’m saying, but we need to concentrate on this assignment.” For once, you’re the one who isn’t losing concentration or having a wandering mind as a certain someone who has a penchant for reminding you appears in your thoughts. You quickly squash those as now isn’t the time.

 “Don’t tell me your date is work. Boring.” Kiki makes an exaggerated yawn.

 Hearts. A baby wearing a diaper and armed with a bow. Chocolate. Date. What on earth involved all of these? Think. You rack your mind trying to figure out what they’re referring to.

 Minor comes to the rescue. “Boss, who are you going to give your Valentine’s Day chocolate to?”

 Your train of thought comes to a screeching stop. Wait a moment. It can’t be, can it? You pull out your phone to check the day. Friday the fourteenth of February. Oh shit. You can’t believe you forgot about this day. Then again, you have a habit of forgetting your own birthday. Oops?

 All three of your employees are expectantly staring at you, waiting for you to answer their question of who you’re going to give chocolate to. Considering who your boss is and your desire for your company to be successful, you have no choice other than disappointing them.

 “No one. I don’t have time for romance.” The truth hurts as many say.

 “Boo,” Kiki pouts, but at least, she stops circling you like… a predator? “Why not give Kiro chocolate? He loves eating snacks.”

 Err…..

 “No way, she’s gonna give bro chocolate,” Minor chimes in. What a major fanboy. It makes you wonder if he’s started a secret fan club.

 “Officer Gavin kicks ass,” Willow adds her two cents. “It’s a no brainer there.”

 A guy from editing peers over the partition. “The mind is the strongest part of the body. I’m sure boss appreciates someone with a high IQ like Professor Lucien.”

 “Kiro’s the same age as Boss.”

 You plant your foot on Kiki’s as you do not want your age revealed to everyone. It works as she yelps and is now hopping on one foot, her good one. While you don’t mind them knowing your birthday, you do mind them knowing how old you’ve become. Not that you’re senior citizen old, but still!

 “Two years isn’t a huge difference,” Willow points out. She knows you don’t want to reveal your age, but she does have a point about the age gap between you and a certain officer. “Not like four years.”

 Minor nods his head in agreement. “And you two have a history together.”

 “If you take into consideration, the ages people got married historically,” the editing guy counters. “Four years is nothing. Some of them are twenty years apart!”

 “Kiro’s a lot cuter.”

 “Bro can protect her,” Minor argues to which Willow agrees with. “He’s awesome with a gun and can take on ten guys at the same time.”

 “Professor Lucien has helped with the show many times.”

 Why is everyone interested with your love life? Or rather lack of it. Not that you mind as you have your priorities in order. It’s not like Minor or that guy from editing received any chocolate. The last time you checked, neither Kiki or Willow were interested in someone. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You can celebrate all you want. Just leave me out of it… and make sure you finish your work.”

 “So if you’re not giving Bro chocolate, then that means I got some and he didn’t.” Hold the phone, someone actually gave Minor chocolate? Who’s desperate enough to give him some?

 You turn your attention to Kiki and Willow. “Have you given your chocolate?”

 “Of course!” Kiki chirps and then she points to someone you can’t recall his name. The guy blushes when attention is brought onto him. “We’re going on a date tonight!”

 Willow just points to Minor. This does not compute. Error. Error. Did she just admit to giving Minor chocolate? Yes, she did. “We’re going on a double date. Someone has to keep the kids in line.”

 “Hey!” Kiki sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry.

 Reinforcements have arrived! Anna enters the room, carrying the materials needed for your latest assignment. “Back to work.” Yes! It’s nice having someone on your side.

 “Awww… it’s Valentine’s Day.” Kiki pouts, however, she reluctantly returns to her desk. “We wanna know who Boss is giving her chocolate to.”

 “She should give it to Officer Gavin.”

 “Yeah, Bro will be happy to receive anything from you.”

 “I’m sure Professor Lucien will appreciate your effort.”

 “Kiro’s the best choice.”

 “You guys…”

 “We can have this discussion during our lunch break.” You nod your head in agreement. Maybe they’ll forget by then. “Since we all know, she’s giving it to CEO Victor.”

 “Not you too.”

 Lunch happens to take out from your third favorite restaurant. You originally planned to make your meals, thanks to those cooking lessons, but work leaves you with little time and energy. When you arrive home, all you want to do is face plant onto your bed and not wake up for the next eight hours. Thank whatever deity, they have delivery. It saves you time, and you can work up until your midday break.

 Back to the battlefield you go. Your employees have other things in mind as they divvy up your portion amongst themselves and start working. You blink several times, wondering what has gotten into them. Were they not complaining about the workload? Why the sudden change of heart? There’s something fishy going on there.

 You turn to Anna. “What’s going on?”

 “I told them you’re taking the afternoon off.” Hey, aren’t you supposed to be the boss? “Hurry before the shops run out of the good stuff.” She ushers you out the door and then shuts it.

 What about your purse? As if reading your mind, the door opens. Someone shoves your purse into your hands before shutting the door again. You attempt to open the door, but it refuses to budge. It can’t be locked as you can turn the knob. No, it’s more like something heavy is preventing the door from moving.

 “You don’t want to give Kiro second rate chocolate!”

 “Don’t you mean Officer Gavin?”

 “Agreed. Bro is the one.”

 “What about Professor Lucien?”

 “You already know what CEO Victor likes.”

 You resist the urge to bang your head on the door or nearest wall. Time to head over to the nearest shop for chocolate. While you’d rather not buy it, no one says you have to actually give it. You can make up a guy to give it to and eat the chocolate yourself. Yeah, that sounds like an excellent plan. You’d give yourself a pat on the back.

 And then remember, you need a ride back to your place. Since you don’t want to give them any ideas, you decide to not call any of those guys. You scroll down your phone list and see the number to your classmate, the one Victor was ‘not jealous’ of. Yeah, right. You decide to send him a text, knowing that nothing would happen between the two of you since you’re female, and he swings that way. His quick response startles you.

 He’s on his way.

 His quick appearance also startles you. “I was in the area. You know dropping off my gift.”

 “Aren’t girls supposed to be giving the gifts?” You blink several times, trying to figure out how this same sex thing works. While you don’t mind them, you have no clue about how they interact with each other. Your research lands you straight into the doujinshi area. While they’re entertaining, you doubt they’re completely realistic. Then again fiction tends to exaggerate things.

 “Someone has to initiate it, and since he doesn’t have a clue, I have to,” your friend says with a slight shrug. It makes sense to you. “Have you given yours chocolate?” In spite of his helmet, you can tell he’s waggling his eyebrows at you.

 “Ugh… Not you too.”

 “Oh. Whoops? Sorry.”

 You wave him off. “Not your fault. My employees are more interested in the lack of my love life than actually working.” He hands over you the second helmet.

 “You gonna head home or buy something for him?”

 Good question. While you want to head home, the thought of giving your ‘crush’ chocolate on Valentine’s Day sounds appealing even if it’s store bought. Then again, he does have a very high standard, considering his culinary expertise. By now, you figure all the good stuff is gone. Now the thought of going home sounds appealing.

 “You can always make him some. I mean I did for mine.”

 You stare at him as if he’s grown a second appendage. It’s something you hadn’t considered. To cover up your inevitable blush due to your friend being too smart for his own good, you shove the helmet onto yourself. “Is there enough time?”

 “Unless you take several hours, you’ll be fine. Hey, why don’t I help you? It’ll go faster.”

 “But won’t that be kinda like cheating?”

 “You’ll be doing most of the work. I’m there to make sure things go smoothly and offer any suggestions.” Technically you’d be making it, but a little advice never hurts, right? Especially when the recipient of that creation happens to be that guy. Mister Critical.

 If that’s the case, there’s no need to think about it. “To the nearest supermarket!”

 Levi chuckled as he picked up speed without driving recklessly, making you wonder why he doesn’t seem to be the type to drive fast. His personality fits, but then again, looks can be deceiving as you’ve experienced many times, often with you looking like a fool. He pulls up close to the entrance of what appears to be a family owned supermarket.

 “Ah, friends of mine own this place,” Levi answers your question before you can even formulate it.

 Leaving your helmets, you two make your way through the shelves. You take your time to look at what they have to offer. For being this size, they offer more of a variety than you anticipated. You wonder what you’re going to use in your chocolate. Of course, it will not be too sweet as he isn’t into sweets like you. He says you’re sweet enough for the both of you. Maybe a hint of sweetness. Yeah. That means dark chocolate. You head to where they keep the baking supplies while your friend wanders through the other aisles. Dark chocolate with maybe some accents of… white chocolate?

 “How about some flavoring?” He pops up from the next aisle, completely surprising you into an almost heart attack. “Oops? My bad.”

 Once you get your breathing and heart rate back to normal, you see what he’s holding. He has a few different flavors in small bottles. They appear small, but you know better. Since they’re concentrated, a few drops will suffice lest the recipient be overwhelmed with the flavor.

 Vanilla, rose, strawberry, and mango?

 “Can you bring me one of each?” You request. Variety makes things interesting, and if one fails, you’ll have the others as back-ups.

 “Sure.” Levi disappears just as quickly and quietly as he appeared. You swear he’s part ninja or something. Maybe he’s a secret agent. You end that train of thought before it takes a surprise journey.

 With him not distracting you, you return your attention to the selection of chocolates in front of you. You read the cacao concentration before picking something not too bitter but not sweet either. On second thought, you grab more as you don’t know how many attempts you’ll need before you manage to make a decent chocolate. Having the main ingredient in your basket, you search for the others. Somewhere along the line, Levi takes the basket from you as it’s becoming heavier with your selections. Not that it was impossible to carry. Having a gentleman with you can be useful especially when you know he’s not interested in you other than being a friend and possibly siblings.

 At the register, the cashier rings up your purchases. Your friend and she know each other. Yet, why is she attempting to flirt with him? Not that it’s any of your business. You just hate it when people are disappointed. He is either oblivious or doesn’t care like a certain someone in your life. Well make that four guys you know.

 “Levi, why didn’t you call?” a middle-aged man appears. “I would have prepared your favorite snack.”

 He politely declines. “Spur of the moment decision, and I have urgent business to attend to.”

 “What can be that urgent you don’t want to spend time with your old pal?” He notices you’re in the company of his friend. “I see. What a cute girl you’re with. Whose girlfriend is she?”

 “Er…” You attempt to answer.

 “That’s the urgent business. I’m helping her win her crush over.” He appears to be teasing you, but something in his tone tells you he’s serious about assisting you with your quest to win him over and especially not make a fool of yourself like you normally do.

 “He’s not a crush,” you mumble.

 “Who took classes on cooking with me?”

 You probably could pass off as a human tomato at this point. “That’s different!” You rack your mind trying to dig yourself out of this hole you somehow managed to fall into. Your brain starts waving a white flag, easily surrendering.

 Levi chuckles. “I’ll stop teasing you.”

 “You took cooking classes?” The cashier gives your male friend those eyes.

 “Well yeah. It’s not healthy eating out or pre-made meals.” You wish you could have said that earlier. As they say, hindsight is 20/20. You hate it.

 “We’d better get going,” Levi says, prompting her to hurry up ringing you up. “She still needs to cook and then give it to him before the day ends.”

 Once you paid for the ingredients, your friend takes it back to his motorcycle before securing it and then you. He hops onto his bike and then heads to your place. You’ve been to each other’s homes so neither of you needs directions.

 “Let’s do this!” You’re very much pumped to make these chocolates. And well if they turn out not the greatest, no one said you couldn’t eat them yourself, right? You plan on eating all the fails anyways, but even though you love chocolate, you hope there aren’t too many of them.

 Levi smiles while shaking his head. “You’re like the little sister I never had.”

 You turn to stare at him. Family? This brings several questions to mind, mainly about his family which he has yet to share anything about. “Only child?”

 “No, I had an adopted brother, but that’s about it.” Levi shrugs and carries the bag for you. Good thing, it’s heavy. He doesn’t say anything more so you drop it.

 Inside your kitchen, the two of you clean up and start prepping to make the chocolate. He helps with the set up but once you start actually making it, he steps back and let’s you take over with him supervising you. You decide to create four different flavors. Kind of like the saying, ‘Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.’ In addition to the flavoring, you have picked up some nuts, because well why not? Sometimes you believe he’s nuts.

 Just as you’re about to put the pot with the chocolate on the stove, Levi holds your arm. “You don’t want to put it on direct heat. Use double broiler.” When you stare at him in confusion, he turns off the stove and explains. “Get a larger pot and fill it with water. Then you place this pot in it. Make sure the water doesn’t go into your chocolate.”

 “Oh. No wonder why my first attempt ended horribly.” Whoops? You follow his advice and grab a larger pot to fill with water. Once it’s filled, you lug it over to your stove and turn it on. Next you place your pot full of chocolate in it. When it starts melting, you stir it and are thankful it doesn’t burn or turn hard. Wow. You’ll have to remember this for future use. This batch will be the vanilla flavored, some with nuts. Once it’s a nice gooey mess, you take it off the heat before grabbing your already prepared tray. You stir in some nuts and then meticulously pour it into the molds. When you used up what you melted so far, you ask your assistant to place it in the fridge while you start on the second batch.

 As it turns out, you have more chocolate than you anticipate. Oh well you did prepare in case of fails, but so far, there haven’t been any as you have a very watchful assistant who keeps reminding you. Maybe you need to improve your concentration and not let your mind wander that often. It’s great for creating programs, not great when you’re trying to do something that requires concentration.

 “Why not chocolate covered fruit?” Levi suggests as he rummages through your fridge. He emerges with a pack of strawberries. When did you get those? Oh wait, you went on a grocery run a few days ago. Come to think of it, you wonder why you picked up strawberries as they’re not in season. Maybe they were on sale? Given Valentine’s Day, you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the case.

 “I’ll pick up some whip cream later.” When you bring your gift to him, you plan on grabbing some. That’s until you see your assistant holding a tub of whip cream. “What?”

 “I snuck it in while you’re distracted.”

 Your eye twitches as you didn’t see him with it at all, but at the same time, you’re thankful. It means no detour. After all, he’s doing you more than a favor by not only driving, but supervising your cooking. This time, you know what to do. You wash the strawberries and have your assistant dry them off with paper towels. With him being busy, you start up the.. you lost count batch of chocolate. You get it to a nice consistency and turn off the stove. Then you realize, you don’t have anywhere to place them. You notice a lined tray ready to receive the strawberries. After thanking him, you begin dipping the strawberries and placing them on the prepped tray.

 Minutes later, you’re finished and have a messy kitchen, but it’s worth it to make those home-made chocolate. As to whether, they’d taste good is up in the air. You’ve made a few extra for you two to try before you gift him with it. He gets up to start help with the clean-up, but you push him back down. Levi has done more than his share.

 Once they’ve hardened, you take out your tester chocolates and divvy them between the two of you. For your first successful batch, they’re not too bad. It’s not like those sold at candy shops, however, they’re a vast improvement on your first attempt… attempts.

 Between the two of you, you manage to find materials to wrap up your gift to him. You also decide to give him some of the chocolate as you’ve made more than you anticipated. A friendly Valentine’s gift. Levi surprisingly accepts it and pats you on the head like some sort of cute pet. Hey!

 Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

 Since you know Victor happens to be a workaholic and little romance in his body, you know he won’t take today off. If anything, he may be annoyed with the amount of chocolate he’s receiving from his female (and maybe male) fans. You stare at the gift in your hands, wondering whether or not to give it to him since he’s probably more than irritated. A nudge from behind causes you to stumble a little.

 “He doesn’t know you’re here.”

 “Er… I’m worried he’d find me annoying.”

 Levi leans back on his motorcycle. “Why would he find you annoying?”

 You wave your hand. “Capitalist CEO. He didn’t become a leading financial institution by being a pushover… or romantic person.”

 “I’m sure he’ll make an exception for you.” You blink several times. “You’re a funny, kind, generous, hard working person. How could he not fall for you? If he so much makes you cry, I’m taking him out of the picture.”

 You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead you hug him. “Thanks.”

 “Now go sweep him off his feet, and remember what I said about making him disappear.” He releases you so you can go to him.

 “Right…”

 “After all, no one messes with my little sister and gets away with it.”

 “I’m not little!” you pout, but the huge grin on your face gives you a comical appearance. You hug him for a second time. “Fine, big bro.” Then it occurs to you if he sees you as his little sister, then oh boy… Victor would be in for a world of hurt should he hurt you. Isn’t that what big brothers do?

 “Just don’t kill him. I still need him to sign my paychecks.”

 “All right. He’ll be missing a limb or two then.”

 You playfully punch him. “I’m serious. He still needs to write.”

 “Who ever said it’s those limbs?”

 This time your whole face turns red and you smack him with your purse. “You!”

 “Feeling nervous?”

 Come to think of it, you’re not. He’s distracted you with his shenanigans. “Nope!”

 Something falling catches your attention. You see Goldman hastily picking up folders and papers. Having some mercy on him, you decide to help him pick them up. Unfortunately some of them fly too far from either of you and are about to escape when your big brother catches them for you. You thank him for it.

 Goldman sounds nervous as he’s trying to warn you of something. It sounds like gibberish. “Slow down and take a deep breath.”

 “Later!” Levi waves to you.

 “Bye, big bro!”

 This time Goldman’s jaw drops. Did he think you two were? Oh boy.

 “We’re not in that kind of relationship. More like we adopted each other as siblings… unofficially.”

 Goldman lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s a warzone in there.”

 “Let me guess. Victor has many admirers giving him unwanted gifts?”

 “Ding ding ding. You have won a prize. Yeah, he’s in a very, very sour mood. Please don’t say anything to upset him further.”

 You give him that look. “I’m not that bad.”

 He returns that look. “Yes, you are. I don’t know how many times you’ve left boss stressed out. I lost count.” Hmph. See if you help him with any of his assignments.

 “I guess it’s better I don’t give these.” You hold up your wrapped gift.

 “Are those chocolates?” Goldman looks horrified at the thought.

 “They’re not sweet! I made sure of it. They’re not the greatest, but I’m getting better at cooking.” You’re proud of what you’ve accomplished and how far you’ve come from being a walking kitchen disaster.

  “You made them?” Goldman gulps as if you’ve made Victor his last meal.

 You glare at him. “I’m not that bad, and big bro helped me with them.”

 Goldman shakes his head. “Good luck in there.”

 “What? You’re going home?”

 “No. I’m running errands.” He checks his watch. “Oh crap, gotta go before it’s too late. Thanks for your help.” With his papers and folders secured, Goldman wastes no time in leaving you in the dust.

 “Bye?”

 Might as well be prepared to enter the battlefield, aka LFG. You check your gift for the hundredth time you’d probably stare holes into it. Everything is good to go… except your feet. You mentally shout at your feet to start moving. After several swear words and threats, your feet start moving to the entrance and then inside where everyone looks like there’s a ticking time bomb somewhere.

 Come to think of it, there is a literal ticking time bomb who calls himself their boss, aka Victor. The people move skittishly around you as you make your way to their boss’ office. Having given so many reports, you can walk there in your sleep. As you come closer to his office, the people become more stressed out and anxious. You’re tempted to sneak up behind them and yell “BOO!” However, a figure who suspiciously appears to be victor pops up in your mind, telling you that it’s childish behavior.

 Even in your mind, Victor is a kill joy.

 Just as you’re about to raise your hand and knock, you hear several strange noises coming from behind that wooden barrier. You blink several times before placing your ear against the door. While it’s bad manners to eavesdrop, you’re worried about Victor. Is he hurt? Does he need an ambulance? That’s what you tell yourself when that same figure chastises you about listening on other people’s conversation. From what you hear, it doesn’t sound like someone needs medical assistance. Phew. You take a step back, but being the queen of klutzes, you trip on something invisible (rather yourself) and fall back, landing right on your rear.

 “Ow…” Somehow you manage to keep your voice low though it’s not low enough as you hear movement from behind the door.

 Glancing around, you scurry over to a place to hide. Why are you hiding when you’re there to see Victor? You have no idea. Impulse perhaps? It’s small. You shove yourself into that little corner, hoping he would not venture further than the doorway to look out.

 Victor lets out his sigh which you believe is reserved for you when you’re behaving childishly, looking like a fool, or thinking something he considers stupid. “I know you’re here.” When you don’t move or make any noise, he sounds exasperated. “I’m not mad at you. Promise.”

 Since he has never broken any promises, you crawl out of your little hiding place. As soon as you appear in his sights, he seems to be in disbelief. Probably because you’re there or how you managed to cram yourself into that tiny space.

 “I heard you went home early,” Victor starts off. He appears like his normal self though you know better. Even if he won’t admit it, he’s worried about your health.

 “I’m fine.”

 “I can see that.” His posture screams he wants to know why you’re there in the first place.

 “Err… I have something for you.” You walk up to him before shoving your gift at him, more like at his broad chest.

 Victor turns his attention to the thing you’ve shoved at him. “What’s this?”

 “If you want to know, you’ll have to open it,” you tease him. Given the wrapping design and theme, it’s not hard to guess you’re giving him a Valentine’s gift.

 “I’m not into sweets.”

 You puff up your cheeks. “I know that. I made sure they’re not too sweet.”

 His long fingers start to meticulously unwrap his gift. “You made these?”

 “Yep!” You sound very proud of yourself.

 “Shouldn’t you be giving it to your boyfriend?”

 EH???

 “What boyfriend?” Seriously you don’t recall being into any guy.

 “You hugged that guy twice.”

 “Oh, what about big bro?”

 This stuns Victor into silence for a minute or two. “You don’t have any brothers.”

 “Well now I do!” Wait a moment. “You’re jealous of my gay brother again?”

 “I’m not jealous of your gay brother… again? What’s that supposed to mean?”

 This leaves you in giggling fits. It takes you a few moments and a stern look from him for you to calm yourself enough to talk. “Do you remember the cooking class you substituted for?” Nod of his head. “It’s the same guy. My gay friend turned gay brother.”

 You catch a blush appear on his face just as he turns away. “Hopefully they’re edible.”

 HEY! “I worked hard on them. Big bro says I’ve improved a lot.”

 Victor motions for you to follow him into his office. There are several stacks of papers and folders both on his desk and around it. What’s going on? It’s never this cluttered when you’re there ever. Victor appreciates his space being clean and orderly. You should know as he scolds you for making a mess or for putting away things in the wrong places.

 “If now isn’t a good time, I can leave,” you say in an unsure tone.

 “I’m almost done.” Victor ambles over to his chair behind his desk. He picks up his glasses and places them on his face. Without looking in your direction, he adds, “I’ve made reservations at that new restaurant you wanted to try.”

 What? You rack your mind, trying to think how he heard about it. The only person you told is your now new big brother while you two were making those chocolates.

 “You mentioned it in your moments post.”

 Oh that. Making those chocolates and then mustering up the courage to give them has pushed that thought way, way far down. “Hehehehe. I forgot about that.” Wait a moment. “I made that post during lunch. How could you get reservations? It’s hard to get them unless you make it days in advance.”

 “I have my ways.” Victor shuffles papers around before settling on one. His eyes never leave it as he continues the conversation with you. “It’s called having connections. You can use more of them.”

 Ouch… Does he have to be that brutal? Although you know he’s right, you wish he’d tell you in a more gentle way instead of dropping it on you like a bomb. You’ve been working on gathering connections and have invited a few influential people to your show. Had it been a year earlier, they wouldn’t even consider being on your show which indicates how much you’ve grown and learned under his care.

 “You’re better than when you started.” Is this a complement? If it isn’t, you decide to take it as one.

  “But isn’t it expensive?” You recall the reviews and how they say it’s pricy but definitely worth it for the quality and experience.

 “That’s for me to worry about. All you need to worry about is what you want to eat.”

 “Okay.” You make you way to one of the chairs when you realize one of the chairs is occupied by a large mountain of gifts. In fact, they’re practically burying the poor furniture. You hadn’t noticed this, however, to be fair, you had several things on your mind. The fact your gift hasn’t joined this enormous pile gives you hope that Victor would try what you’ve made. At least yours has a chance of being opened.

 After pulling out your phone, you browse the restaurants website, more specifically their menu. Their prices cause you to wince. It’d take you a week of work to get enough money for one meal, and that’s for yourself alone. As if on cue, Victor tell you to order what you want and ignore the price. He can afford it. According to him, it’s cheap for that kind of restaurant.

 Wow… Cheap. The life of the rich and infamous.

 You pull out a pen and pad of paper from your purse. When Victor raises a brow, you stick your tongue out at him. “It’s for random ideas.” As soon as he returns to his work, you peruse their menu. There are a lot of things you’d like to try and most likely to overeat, making a fool of yourself in the process. So this time, you’ll come prepared. You will plan what you’re going to eat for future visits so as to not tempt yourself to eat more than your stomach can handle. For a second, you consider telling Victor, however, you squash that thought. He wouldn’t praise you or acknowledge you for something he considers trivial.

 By the time you finish selecting your dishes for this visit, Victor has finished cleaning up. “Will you be ordering the entire menu?”

 Ouch… “Yes,” you reply with a cheeky grin. “Hope you can afford it!”

 Victor stands over you, looking down at you and your notes. His soft snort tells you he’s read them. “Indeed you have ordered everything.” He pauses. “Wise decision to spread it out on multiple visits.”

 Oh my. Did he just praise you again? While you’re tempted to request he say it again, you decide it’s better to not push your luck. After all, he’ll be paying for future visits. Unless he increases your salary, you doubt you’d be able to afford it without having to make sacrifices and live off of cup noodles like a certain someone who shall remain nameless.

 “Are you going to try your gift?” You ask as you follow him, noticing he’s carrying your gift with him.

 “Chocolate is for dessert,” Victor reminds you, causing you to blush. Right.

 “Does that mean you’ll try it after dinner?” You bat your eyes even though he can’t see behind him. He doesn’t have eyes in the back of his head or does he? Hm… He has a knack for catching you doing things when he’s not even facing you or looking in your direction.

 “Yes.”

 His one-word reply causes you to be giddy with delight. You hope he likes it as you’ve put effort into making it…. Even if it’s last minute, but he doesn’t have to know that! What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him for now.

 Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

 With it being Valentine’s Day and Friday night, the restaurant is packed with a long line going out the door. If they’re willing to wait outside, then the food must be worth it. You become excited with anticipation. It may not be Victor level cooking, you appreciate good food.

 “Victor, I—”

 Some heavy set male runs straight into you causing you to lurch forward. Instinctively you brace for an impact that never arrives. Instead you find yourself in the embrace of the man you like a lot… maybe even love? Once Victor helps you back on your feet, you notice two things… Victor glaring and second your high heel is no longer high heel on the left side. You believe he’s glaring at you, however, he’s not looking directly at you, more like over you.

 “Why should I apologize? She’s standing in the way,” the guy argues. Where should you stand? It’s not like there is a vacant spot for you to occupy. Now is there?

 “You should look where you’re going. Perhaps you need glasses. I can help with that.”

 The guy starts turning red. “I can see just fine.”

 “Then you should have seen her.” Victor indicates you.

 “She’s tiny. Careful someone might sit on her.”

 Why you!

 Victor stops you from marching straight up to him and giving him a piece of your mind. “On second thought, you’ll need a lawyer.”

 “What?”

 “You could have given her a concussion, and you broke her shoe.” So Victor did notice your heel-less left shoe. Hard to get anything past him.

 “Gentlemen,” the restaurant’s manager speaks up. “There will be no violence in this establishment.”

 “Tell that to him,” the rude guy grumbles.

 “How is knocking someone over not violent,” you finally explode. “I coulda gotten a concussion.”

 “Mister, please leave.” At first you think he’s referring to Victor, but his next words confirm who. “I’m terribly sorry, Mister.” He’s facing Victor. “Your table is this way.”

 “Err…” You can walk but awkwardly with uneven shoes.

 Victor understands what you’re trying to get at before you can say it. He literally sweeps you off your feet and carries you to your table. On your way there, more than a few customers look in your direction and whisper. Not everyday a guy carries a girl to their table.

 Not like you have a choice given your broken footwear. Still it’s embarrassing to be stared at by these strangers. Somehow Victor ignores every single one of them. Of course, he does. He’s the great and mighty Victor. His name is very much appropriate for him.

 At your private table, the manager fusses over the two of you, making sure you’re well taken care of before taking his leave. It makes you wonder if this is the usual service for Victor whenever he goes out or if it’s from the earlier incident. Thanks to you having decided what you want to eat before you arrived at the restaurant, you’re able to put in your order. Considering how packed this place is, you wouldn’t be surprised should service be slower than usual. Not that you’ll make a deal out of it.

 Now what?

 “Are you sure you’re just siblings?”

 You groan. Not this again. “I’m sure of it. Unless I become a guy, he’s not interested in me.”

 “You sure he isn’t lying?”

 Here we go for another round. “I’m sure of it. We both like looking at cute guys and before you say anything, appreciation for nice aesthetics doesn’t mean I’m in love with them. It’s superficial level appreciation.”

 Victor appears skeptical, but he doesn’t push it further.

 A random thought pops into your mind, causing you to giggle.

 “What useless thing are you thinking of this time?”

 “All my thoughts aren’t useless. My mind can be creative and imaginative, okay?”

 “What is it?”

 You prop your head on your hands. “You should be more worried for yourself.”

 “Oh?”

 “If he’s going to hit on anyone, it’ll be you.”

 Victor is stunned into silence. You’re not sure if he’s against same sex couples or tolerates them. Maybe it’s the realization that yes, there are men who would be after him. He probably had not even considered it much less thought about it.

 “And if you hurt me, well you know how big brothers are overprotective of their little sisters.” You somehow recall he’s good at martial arts, very good at it. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to put it to use against a certain someone.

 “He won’t have a chance.” Oh confident now are we?

 Before either of you can say another word, your waiter arrives with a bottle of fine wine. “On the house.” She places it in a prepared container of ice. You peer at it. Oh it sounds good from what you’ve read. Apparently you’re not the only one who read it.

 “You can have one glass.” That’s better than nothing. You’ll take it.

 Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

 Man you’re stuffed. The food is too good, but not as good as a certain restaurant which Victor knows all too well, considering he owns it. You’re thankful you ordered just the right amount. Knowing yourself, you’d still keep eating even if you’re full.

 You pull out your phone. “I’m going to give them a five-star review.” In your review, you write about your experience there including the incident before dinner and their heavenly cuisine. If Victor asks where you want to eat and doesn’t feel like cooking, you know what you’re answer will be.

 Victor scoffs at this though he seems to be amused and overall in a good mood. When you place down your phone, you notice your gift has been opened.

 “So what do you think?”

 “Needs improvement.” Your spirits sink. “But you’ve come a long way from when you started. I’ve had my fair share of less than desirable results in the past. No one starts out good or perfect.”

 Then Victor must have had some fails when he first started cooking. This somewhat lifts your spirits. Considering he has a huge head start over you, you take it stride. It’s not like Rome was built in a day as they say.

 After paying for your meal (minus the wine), Victor once again sweeps you off your feet to carry you to his car. Unlike some big wigs, he doesn’t need a chauffeur to drive him around. He’d probably become too impatient waiting for the poor person.

 “Where are we headed?” You ask as soon as you’re safely secured and he’s behind the wheel.

 “To the mall.”

 “Eh?”

 “Your broken shoes.”

 Oh. “I can repair them at home.” You don’t want to trouble him more than necessary.

 “I’m buying you better ones, sturdier shoes.” In his language, it means more expensive and better quality.

 By now you should be celebrating. Free dinner and shoes, but somehow your heart isn’t into it. You’re not sure why.

 “Aren’t you going to gloat about getting free shoes?”

 You turn your head to face him. “Not in the mood.”

 “Is something wrong?” Victor sounds genuinely concerned, given how you love to banter with him.

 “It’s… I don’t know. I guess I’m not ready for this to end.”

 “Is that so?” Victor takes a few seconds to look at you before turning his attention back to the road.

 “I’m actually enjoying spending time with you.” Shut up mouth! Why don’t you dig a hole and bury yourself in it?

 “Are you sure it’s not the food?”

 This time you glare at him. “It’s not always about the food. Believe it or not, good company makes the food taste even better.”

 “I see.” No, you don’t.

 You puff up your cheeks and stare out the passenger side window. Could this get any more awkward? Scratch that. You don’t want to jinx yourself.

 “Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

 Say what?

 “A certain someone says she doesn’t want this to end.”

 Right. “I don’t have my stuff.”

 “Already taken care of.” How in the world? You decide not to question it.

 Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

 At the mall, Victor carries you as he’s not willing to risk you tripping and falling due to your broken shoe. Says that you’re a walking disaster with two good shoes. When he teases you, you can feel the warmth and affection in his voice. He does care in his own way, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. It just wouldn’t be him.

 When the sales lady notices you and your predicament, she hurries over to you. “You poor thing. I’ll find a pair of shoes that’ll flatter your figure.” How does she know your size?

 After Victor places you on a chair, you take off your shoes and turn one of them over. Oh… Right in the middle is your size. You haven’t worn this pair enough times to wear out the writing. Meanwhile Victor stands guard over you. Not like you’re going to have another person try to shove you to the ground.

 The sales lady returns with a dozen pair of shoes. How she managed to carry all of them. You’re not sure nor do you ask. She does have good taste in footwear. You try on all of them, some of them twice. So many nice shoes, but you only need one pair. You don’t feel like owing Victor a lot. After some consideration and thought, you narrow your selection down to two.

 “Which looks better? This or that?” You’re wearing one of the pairs.

 “We’ll take them both.”

 “Um… I need one pair.” Mouth, stop moving and let him buy you the damn shoes.

 “Since a certain dummy can’t decide, I’ll buy them both for her.” Victor grabs the box for the shoes you’re wearing and the other pair. He heads over to the cash register.

 “You have a nice boyfriend.”

 BOYFRIEND?! “Er… we’re good friends.”

 “Are you sure about that? The way he looks at you.”

 You blink in confusion. “He’s probably annoyed with having to replace my broken shoes.”

 She laughs. “No. He looks at you like you’re his most precious person, a treasure he intends to protect.”

 “Eh? How do you know it’s that?”

 She holds up her left hand. “My husband does that a lot.” Now you notice the ring on her finger. She’s married. “Take my advice, don’t let this one go. He’s a keeper.”

 “Right.”

 Once he’s paid for the shoes, you insist on taking a stroll through the mall to walk off dinner. Victor isn’t happy though he indulges you, and the two of you take a leisurely walk through the building. Good thing this is an indoor mall so you don’t have to deal with the cold weather. As you pass by the window displays, you take a good look at their merchandise. A pair of rings catches your attention.

 “Promise rings.” You didn’t plan to say it out loud. You did anyways.

 “Those are for children.”

 You roll your eyes at him and point at the price tag. “I don’t think children can afford that on their allowance.”

 “Right.”

 The cute puppies and kitties catch your attention. You hurry over to look at them and maybe they’ll let you pet them! They’re so adorable. Although you’re tempted to adopt one, you know you don’t have the time or energy to properly look after one. Maybe one of your friends will let you pet sit? You’d be more than willing to look after their furry four-legged family member for a short time. After all, you took care of Pearly while Gavin was away on a mission.

 Inside the store, they have more than kitties and puppies. They have fishes, mice, lizards, and birds. You’re not crazy about mice or lizards. The fish are pretty to look at, but they’re kind of boring. It’s not like you can play with them or pet them. A small bird wanders to you and starts whistling. Is it serenading you? You glance around to see if the employees would let you pet the bird. Sadly they’re all busy. You reach in and the bird scoots over to your hand before climbing onto your finger. Then it makes its way up your arm and onto your shoulder. It snuggles against you.

 “Oh wow, he’s never been this friendly with anyone.” A store employee appears, startling you and inadvertently the bird too. “Sorry. We normally don’t let people touch him. He tends to be grumpy most of the time.”

 You reach up and start petting him. He leans into your touch, chirping in content. “Really? He seems friendly.” If this bird is as how the employee makes him out to be, you’ve found Victor in bird form it seems. Maybe this can be Victor Junior? Thinking about Victor, where is he? You thought he’d follow you into the store.

 “Miss?”

 “Yes?”

 “Please adopt him! I’m begging you.”

 What?

 “You’re the first person he’s been nice to. I didn’t think he would be attached to anyone.”

 “Um… I’m busy so I don’t think I can properly care for him.”

 “You’ll do fine. These are great starter birds since they’re not hard to take care of.” The store employee begins telling you the benefits of having a pet and one that’s low maintenance. You find out this is a cockatiel. Thinking about the name causes you to giggle.

 Between the store employee and the cute birdy eyes, you break down and decide to adopt this adorable creature. This time, you’re paying for him along with what’s needed to keep him happy and healthy. He’s content to sit on your shoulder the entire time and growls whenever he thinks someone is a threat to you.

 Cage, food, toys, perches, feeding dishes, something for water, some basic first aid, and the bird himself.

 “What makes you think you can take care of a pet?”

 This startles you and causes him to almost fall off your shoulder. “They’re not hard to take care of, and he’s cute.”

 “All animals are cute to you.”

 “Not all of them.” You glance over to the lizard section. “And he really likes me.”

 “Right. Are you sure it’s not some sales gimmick?” Victor folds his arms over his chest, waiting for your answer.

 “I’ve seen him interact with others. He isn’t social but he’s friendly with me.” You reach up to pet him, which he happily accepts. “He’s like a bird version of you.”

 Victor lets out an exasperated sigh. “Since you’ve already bought him, let’s take the stuff to my car.” Wow, you didn’t think Victor would be on board with you purchasing a pet this quickly. You decide not to point it out.

 On the way to his place, the bird is content with being on your lap. You’ll need to name him since you can’t keep calling him the bird or bird.

 “Victor Junior or Vic for short.”

 “What are you up to this time?”

 “He’s just like you.”

 “….”

 “So I’m naming him after you.”

 “This is ridiculous.”

 You stick your tongue out at Victor. Victor Junior copies you, much to your amusement. “Our son isn’t ridiculous, are you?” You coo at the little bird.

 “Our son?”

 “Fine, my son.”

 Victor-Victor-Victor-Victor

 Victor Junior has picked up quite a vocabulary during his stay at the pet shop. You can’t help but giggle at his antics. Since you’re spending the night there, you’ve set up his cage once human Victor has brought in his supplies. It’s getting late and Victor Junior looks tired. He’s yawning up a storm. You place him in his cage so he can get some sleep.

 Since Victor is a gentleman, he insists you sleep in his guest room. It appears while you’re taking care of the bird, he prepared the guest room for you. Before he takes his leave so you can change, he holds out a small box. Is that a ring box? You open it to find one half of the promise ring set.

 “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

 Victor stutters, attempting to deny it and saying that you’re interested in it.

 “Now look who’s being silly.” You pull out the ring and slide it onto your finger before giving a surprised Victor a hug. “Does this answer your question?”

 His response? He pulls you in for one passionate kiss.

 Where the hell did he learn to kiss like that?

[apiratewhopines]

Look at the mesmerizing artwork by @teamhook. Can you spot the villain of this little story?

In the Offing

Chapter 18 — The Stable Boy

Summary: In which our heroine misplaces something

Chapter 18 on AO3

“A guilty conscience means at least you’ve got one

Who will forgive you when I’m gone?”

-Here He Comes, The Wallflowers

“That went further than I intended,” Killian whispered against her throat. She could feel his smile against the sensitive skin and knew that while his words sounded like the beginning of an apology, it was really more of an observation on their current status. Their completely unclothed, totally sated status.

“Hmm, there is something about the motion of the water,” Emma said by way of agreement. She was lazily running her fingers through his mussed hair, appreciating the way the thick, short locks felt silky in her hands. His laughter rumbled through his chest and she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through the hair there as well.

“I’ll make a pirate out of you yet, Swan.”

“Well, I need to do something special for a man who would trade a secluded afternoon with the most famous actress in the world to spend time with his unknown, magnet-for-trouble house guest.”

She should get up. Lord only knew if there were locks on the door or if they could be interrupted. However, she wasn’t lying about the sensation of being lulled to sleep by the waves. Although sleep was the furthest thing from her mind a few minutes ago.

“House guest? Is that the label we’re going with? How about girlfriend? Lover? Angel? Magnificent creature?” He punctuated each question with a nuzzle against a different section of exposed flesh. “Besides, I am a seafaring man and all sailors know that it’s bad luck to have a redhead on board. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take her out on the open seas. You may never have seen me again.”

“That would have been a shame. I do enjoy seeing you. The more of you, the better.” She allowed her hands to wander over the expanse of skin on display, thankful that the afternoon was warm since there was only one sheet and their picnic blanket from the other day to cover up with. Her eyes had drifted closed during their idle exchange but she cracked open her left to look at him as she felt the bed shift under his movements. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was resting on his side. She was surprised to see his expression had turned serious. “What’s on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we talk. I like the odds of you staying put since you’re naked,” he added with some of his usual swagger.

“If you’re ready,” she told him. Reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, she knew that nothing he said would make any difference to her. She was too far gone already. The only possible outcome was she would fall deeper under his spell. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know what those words mean to me, love.” He pressed a forceful kiss to her lips and returned to his earlier position. His eyes focused out the window and glazed over as he became lost in his memories. When he spoke, his voice had deepened with emotion. “Liam and I moved here a decade ago with one purpose and one purpose only: To find Frederick’s bloody treasure trove. There was nothing for us in England, hadn’t been in years really. I was graduating and Liam was finishing up his enlistment with the Navy. To my surprise, he didn’t doubt for a moment my claims that I could find our fortune on the rocky beaches of Maine. So off we went without a backward glance at the shores of our ancestors.”

She could imagine a younger Killian, full of life and confidence, pulling along his older, more seasoned brother. After all, no one was more jaded than her and she was already prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth.

“It took us more time to find the pub in Storybrooke than it did to find the first treasure hoard. Oh, Emma, I wish you could have been there.” His grin was something that belonged on a schoolboy’s face, not a man in his mid-thirties. Unable to help herself, she reached up and traced it with her fingertips. He captured her wayward digits and pressed a heartfelt kiss to the tips. “Most pirate treasure was in the form of goods like timber, cotton, sugar, or tobacco. But good old Frederick didn’t disappoint. There was enough silver to make us wealthy even by today’s standards. There were some interesting historical bits as well that will one day find their way into a museum but I won’t bore you with those details.”

“Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a chuckle. “What did you do with it? Aren’t you supposed to alert the authorities when you find stuff like that?”

“I want to be a better man for you, Swan, but I will never be a saint. We haven’t disclosed any of our findings. We simply dip in when we need something extra. Some day we’ll let it see the light of day but for now it rests in Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Wait, I know that one. You mean it’s hidden under the sea?”

“No, we put it in my grandfather’s old locker and buried it under the cottage. It’s the only thing my father left behind when he abandoned us all those years ago.” When she rolled her eyes at him, he simply chuckled. “But to answer your question, the laws vary by state and country. Maine is actually quite lenient with their buried treasure as long as it isn’t found on state property. Luckily, two of the piles we found were on my land at the cottage. Technically, I didn’t own the land when I found the first one but it was under contract. I quickly remedied that and it was all above board when I found the second stash a few days later. That one had more coins and a few loose gemstones.”

“Gemstones?” Visions of The Goonies filled Emma’s mind and she had to stop herself from asking about One-Eyed Willy. Because, as fantastical as it seemed, the man who held her heart in his hands also had a knack for finding buried treasure. A gift she hoped he would survive considering someone out there desperately wanted to get their hands on it.

“Yes, darling,” he answered. “I think several have your name on them.”

“No way,” she argued. “I don’t want any of it. What if it’s cursed?”

“Cursed, you say?” He looked thoughtful as the sunlight was momentarily blocked by an errant storm cloud outside. “Yes, I suppose that may be true. Shortly after I uncovered the third pile, I went to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate my victory. Liam had just met Elsa so I was on my own for the most part those days. Not that it mattered, you know how this town takes to new people so I never lacked companionship for a drink or...whatever.”

“Whatever, indeed,” Emma teased in her best impression of his accent. She sensed he was coming to the part of his story that was the most difficult to relay and tried to infuse some humor into the conversation.

With a rueful grin that acknowledged her effort, both with the accent and the humor, he continued. “I met Milah that night. She was a sight to behold in the dim light of the bar, vibrant in a way that seemed too much for this little town.” He narrowed his eyes as they made contact with hers. “I didn’t know at first that she was married. Lads of twenty-four aren’t known for pumping the brakes when a beautiful woman gives them nothing but green lights and I was no different. Honestly, I was probably worse. I was a rash young man far from home and high on my own cleverness. It never occurred to me to question my good fortune or wonder why no one else was vying for her attention.”

“How far gone were you when you found out the truth?”

“Completely,” he confessed with a shaky breath. “The fight we had when I found out, well, it would have melted paint off the walls. I was a dirty little secret, the younger man who captured her attention but not her affections. It was always like that with her. She was so restless. Always moving, always searching. Nothing was ever enough. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t enough either. She wanted someone to rescue her from a life of boredom, someone who would carry her away and show her the world and fill her days with adventures. I couldn’t be that for her but I nearly destroyed myself trying to be.”

He was lost in the past, his eyes distant and filled with pain. Reliving the end of the most meaningful relationship of your life wasn’t easy, Emma definitely understood that. Especially when you gave all you had to it and it still collapsed in pieces around you.

“Her husband came to visit me one night toward the end. Offered me money to break it off,” he scoffed as if the idea still insulted him. “I refused of course, convinced he was the villain in our little drama and that I would win the heart of the fair maiden in the end. At it turned out, I was wrong on both counts. The villain was the fair maiden. Mr. Gold and I were both pawns in her scheme to escape a life she hated. When she had the opportunity, she took the money and ran. In my kinder moments, I feel sorry for her knowing she must have felt trapped. But then I remember the way the whole town thought I killed her and any kindness I’m able to scare up disappears. Just like she did.”

“You’ve never heard from her? You have no idea what happened to her?”

“No. When it ended, it ended badly. She wanted me to take her husband’s money so we could leave town together, was angry when I refused to be chased off into the night. It was then that I realized she didn’t care who she was with, as long as she wasn’t in Storybrooke. It was a tough blow to stomach. I only saw her one time after that, a couple of nights before she disappeared. She showed up at the cottage to apologize. Told me she would never regret our relationship but it was time to move on. She left the map as a parting gift. I knew then that she meant to leave. Make no mistake, Emma, Milah is alive and well somewhere on this globe, living her life to the fullest and not sparing a thought for anyone in this town.”

“Then her absence is no great loss,” she observed.

He shook his head slowly as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment. “The day after she stopped by for the last time was when I pulled my idiotic stunt. I got drunk and tried to sail directly into a Nor’easter. Liam caught me at the docks and insisted on coming with me when he couldn’t talk me out of leaving. Our boat capsized about a mile up the coast. I’m only glad I was able to pull him to shore.”

“You saved his life? One-handed in a gale?”

With a bitter twist of his lips, he bit out, “Not sure you’ll allowed to claim such a thing when the only reason a person was in danger in the first place is because of you. He was trapped under the broken mast. I’m still not sure how I got him out but I crushed my hand in the process. Got a pretty nasty infection and the doctors told me the hand couldn’t be saved and if I wasn’t lucky, I’d lose the arm too. Seemed like a no-brainer.”

She felt the tension gripping him and trailed her hands down his left arm, running her fingers over the smooth scars she felt there. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t relax either. “We’re all scarred in one way or another, Killian. Yours are a bit more on display than the average person but this shows that you are a survivor. I’m beginning to think it might be a bad idea for me to find Milah. She has a lot to answer for.”

“You know, I’ve tried to track her down but I’m afraid I don’t have your abilities at finding those who don’t wish to be found. I thought I had tracked her to Paris a few years ago, there was a new artist there that had her style of sketching but I could never be sure and they disappeared before I could make contact. I still have a file on my desktop with the various artwork I found in the gallery catalogues. I always thought I’d pick up the search again later.”

A little afraid to hear his answer, she nevertheless asked, “Why do you want to find her?”

“At first, I missed her. I wanted to hear her voice. Pathetic, right?” When Emma simply gave him a look that clearly disagreed, he smiled at her. “Hmm, my secretly romantic Swan. You have a tender heart that I adore but don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know.” He looked at her with such fondness that she was tempted to go for round two right then. However, on some level, she knew this conversation was more important than their physical connection.

Unaware of her thoughts, he admitted, “Lately I’ve wanted closure. Not for the relationship. It’s been dead and gone for years. For the case, in order to clear my name. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not particularly proud of since I arrived here but I would like any doubt removed about this crime.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, perhaps we can find her together,” she offered shyly.

“Emma, everything I have is yours,” Killian told her. With a laugh he added, “Including the gold bars I found in the third treasure hoard I uncovered.” Taking her in his arms, he held her as they laid in the Captain’s Quarters in peaceful silence.

—

The rain that had threatened in the afternoon made good on its promise by the time they arrived back at the cottage with carryout from the pizza place. Fortunately, it was the kind of summer rain that moved through quickly and left the air feeling crisp and clean.

After her third slice of pepperoni, Emma leaned back in the patio chair and sighed. “I’m supposed to meet Graham tonight to search the woods. I guess I should head back to Mary Margaret’s place eventually anyway.”

With a quizzical look, Killian took a sip of his iced tea. “A date with another man and moving out? Have I done something to offend you?”

“Very funny,” she retorted. “I think we’ve gotten things a little out of order but there’s no reason to rush into this.”

“Darling, we have already fallen headfirst into the fast lane. There’s no reason to get scared now. Besides, I happen to know that David and Mary Margaret have reached the toothbrush phase of their relationship. You will be taking your sanity into your own hands if you head back there tonight. David is a loud...sleeper.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Emma said with a shiver of disgust. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to stay with you for the foreseeable future. If you don’t have any other plans, you can also join me on my date. We’re looking for bodies in the woods.”

With a grimace, Killian studied her profile. “Okay but only if I get to plan our next outing. A man likes some mystery in a relationship but dead bodies are a little overboard.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Jones.”

Forewarned about the activities for the evening consisting mainly of traversing hilly, overgrown terrain, Emma did a better job of dressing the part. Outfitted with flashlights from Killian’s emergency kit, she knew if the search lasted beyond the light of the midsummer sun they wouldn’t injure themselves in the dark at least.

Arriving at the Sheriff’s station shortly thereafter, Emma was surprised to find it empty and unlocked. Since another brief summer rain was moving through town, she texted Graham and they decided to wait it out at the station. Twenty minutes later, the rain was over but she still hadn’t heard from the sheriff. “That’s weird. He’s usually better about replying.”

“Text him a lot, do you?”

With a amused shake of her head, she admonished him. “Now is not the time to be jealous, Killian. He’s a friend and, unless I’m mistaken, he’s your friend too.”

“He’s not an enemy,” Killian conceded grudgingly. With a hint of teasing, he said, “But perhaps he is competition.” He moved around the station nonchalantly as if he might find the sheriff under a pile of papers or resting in one of the cells at the back of the open room.

With a deep breath, she walked over to him and linked her arms around his neck. “Not in my eyes. I’m not sure how to convince you that you’ve ruined me for other men.”

“I can think of some persuasive methods that will get your point across.” His roguish eyebrow was cocked in a way that she always found so endearing and sexy. “Why don’t we postpone this search party and you can give it your best shot? I promise to keep an open mind.”

“Keeping an open mind has never been your problem,” she laughed, playfully punching him in the arm. “I have a job to do so stop trying to distract me. We’ll have to go without Graham. We’re losing daylight and I’m running out of time before Henry comes home.”

What she didn’t add was the crossroads his arrival would bring. As much as she had fought against this thing with Killian, now that she was in, she was all in. While the four hour drive to Boston was not an insurmountable distance, she found the idea of being separated distasteful. She knew it was a conversation they needed to have and she wasn’t avoiding it exactly. Her rational mind kept reminding her that they had only met a month ago and people didn’t fall in love and move to different states after a few weeks of knowing someone. Especially single mothers who had children to think about.

Having officially given up on the sheriff, they headed toward the town line. Minutes later, they arrived to find the cruiser already parked on the narrow shoulder, driver side door open and cabin lights on. Jumping out of the truck, Emma exchanged a worried look with Killian and observed, “This looks like trouble.”

He followed her to the cruiser and placed his hand on the front seat. “It’s dry so he probably didn’t get here until after the rain moved through.”

“Graham!” Shouting his name repeatedly probably wasn’t an effective strategy but damn if she could think of anything else to do. Settling in the driver’s seat she found the keys still in the ignition and his walkie on the dashboard. Picking it up, she paged David. Within a minute, he answered, confusion evident in his tone.

“Emma? Why do you have Graham’s walkie?”

“We found his cruiser at the town line. No sign of him. We’re going out to the woods to search but you probably want to get here as quickly as possible. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole scene.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”

True to his word, David’s battered old Ford pick-up pulled behind their truck in record time. Mary Margaret had made the journey with him and as soon as the car was in park, she rushed to Emma’s side. “Still no sign of him?”

“No,” Killian answered with his eyes scanning the thick woods.

“He headed this direction and he was in a hurry,” the brunette observed, her finger pointing toward an invisible trail as if it were obvious. At Emma’s silent question, she explained, “All-State Orienteering champion and the best tracker in town besides Ruby. Knowing your way around the forest is still a skill set that’s valued in Maine.”

“Sure. I mean, why not?” Emma said sarcastically. “Why don’t you lead the way then? We’ve already wasted time waiting around the station.”

Grabbing the flashlight that David handed her, Mary Margaret stepped off the shoulder and moved noiselessly into the woods. She would occasionally murmur an observation regarding a broken twig or boot print in the soft ground. Emma made a point to try to locate whatever signs the other woman noted on their pursuit but was only able to see the tracks occasionally. In no time at all, they had circled back up the hill to come out at the road not even a quarter of a mile from the cruiser. “Great. Back were we started.”

“No,” Mary Margaret disagreed. “Look here.” She squatted down and shined a beam of light on the asphalt.

Sure enough, Emma saw some kind of liquid that had dripped on the road. “What is that? Motor oil?” Reaching down, she lightly pressed her finger in one of the droplets and smeared it against her thumb. Looking at the bright red color, a chill ran through her. “Blood.”

“And tire tracks from an SUV if I had to guess,” David added, his light illuminating the wide tracks partially visible on the wet dirt of the shoulder. “Someone took him.” He immediately started back toward his truck, getting on his radio and calling the other deputy to round up some volunteers and meet them out at the woods.

—

Entering the cottage at four the following morning, Emma dropped on the couch in exhaustion. They hadn’t found any other clues as to the whereabouts of the sheriff or who grabbed him off the deserted road. Had he been followed out to the town line? Is that why he hadn’t responded to her text? Why would he have not reached out to her or David if he thought he was in trouble?

Settling next to her, Killian pushed her hair back behind her ear. “We won’t find him by staying up and worrying. You need to rest.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that this has to do with me.”

“With you? Why do you think so? Didn’t you say he found something in the woods? Something related to a disappearance that happened when you were a baby.”

“I know it’s crazy...”

“I didn’t say that, love. If you think this has something to do with you, I wouldn’t bet against your instincts.” Smiling at her with an expression of full support, he added, “You’ll figure it out. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“He could be out there hurt, Killian, or worse. I think we need to regroup. Go through everything again. I must have missed something. And we’re going to need all hands on deck. The situation is escalating. When are Liam and Elsa supposed to come back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you should convince him to come back sooner.”

“That will be a pleasant conversation,” Killian muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll call Elsa instead. She’s the more reasonable one.”

“Coward,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him softly. She would never get tired of this, having him within arm’s reach. His very presence made all her worries melt into the background.

“You have more than enough bravery for the both of us,” he complimented her. “But I’ll do as you ask. After all, he’s the one who brought you into this mess. Not that I’m complaining.”

“See that you don’t. I have ways of dealing with complainers,” she ordered tartly, forcing herself to get lost in this moment with him. As she got up to walk away, his fingers hooked into the pocket of her jeans and tugged her back into his lap.

“Saucy. I like that.”

“Behave, Dr. Jones.”

There weren’t any coherent words spoken as the early morning light started to break over the horizon. He had decided to disobey, misbehaving in the most delightful ways.

[96thdayofrage]

As much of White America scrambled to not be the bad guy, the holiday commemorating the last vestiges of legalized slavery came right on time. At the height of protest season, here was an opportunity that seemed primed to absolve America of a piece of its slavery-addled past by embracing the true and final date of full emancipation. News stories gave remedial history lessons in advance of the June 19 celebration, and makeshift festivals sprung up despite having to make numerous pandemic concessions. And then there were the T-shirts.

A year later, not much has changed about the state of Black America. More people are aware of modern activist lingo, so we’re having the same old arguments with more up-to-date language, but the needle hasn’t moved much on any given condition. In fact, the backlash against more education on Black history has largely fallen into two categories for much of White America: doubling down on its erasure, or commodifying it. Magically, the lead-up to the 2021 edition of Juneteenth seems to have done both in equal measure.

The erasure of Juneteenth has been the campaign of choice until last year. You could live almost anywhere in Texas outside of Galveston (where the holiday was born, in 1865) and have never heard of it. Thanks to the spike in activism and White guilt last year, the ignorance platform took a big hit. But since this is America, commodification stepped in like a champ. Businesses have taken the opportunity that Juneteenth affords to present themselves as progressive on race issues, though most don’t just make it a proper day-off kind of holiday. Retail-minded entities have taken the commodification to heart and silk-screened the day onto cotton tops. All commodification isn’t about money, and so festivals all over the country in various states of organization are back on deck, fueled by people seeking to extinguish post-quarantine fatigue and kick off a proper Black-folks summer.

Depending on how and why one celebrates Juneteenth determines how far they lean into the observation over party aspect. For a holiday whose commemorations range from stoic reverence to being called the Black Fourth of July (complete with the requisite fireworks and cookout spreads), there’s a pretty wide spectrum of practice. Many Juneteenth celebrations are less about the end of slavery and more about what has happened to Black people, period, making such affairs just miniature Black History Months.

I asked a friend of mine, Valerie Boyer, a crowned former Miss Juneteenth raised in Galveston, what she thought should happen at a Juneteenth celebration. “I believe that the Emancipation Proclamation should formally be read to begin Juneteenth,” she replied. As an event organizer, this made sense to me, but as someone who used to do workshops breaking down how Lincoln’s order didn’t actually free all of the slaves, I had reservations. She assured me there was a lot of spiritual meat and affirmation in an intentional reading of the document in a context that only Juneteenth can provide.

“When it gets to that ‘whereby henceforth both now shall be and forever remain free,’ folks get weepy. And some folks holler, and some folks just cry, and some folks just don’t know what to do with themselves,” she continued. “I argue that that was my first experience with what we would call today ‘ancestral generation.’ You’re just very clear that you are not there alone.” She also stated that there should be dancing, singing, and food, which means we might be related, and impressed the importance of moments of both joy and stillness throughout.

One of the reasons many of the problems in America persist is that most people don’t have a good grasp on the scale of America itself. When you can’t see the size of the problem, you can’t comprehend the ramifications of allowing that problem to fester. Rather than contend with the legacy of slavery, America has opted for poor navigation. The legend of Juneteenth suggests that America was so vast that news took years to get across it, which is a patently ridiculous notion. As my former Miss Juneteenth friend likes to say, Black folks have always had a rumor mill. News travels fast, whether you like it or not.

In 1860, the Pony Express started delivering mail between Missouri and California. In the year-plus that followed, you could send word between the two states in as little as 10 days. That was two years before the execution of the Emancipation Proclamation. Bottom line: It doesn’t take two years to send an executive order from one end of the country to the halfway mark. There was a lot of collusion at play that prevented word from getting to Galveston in 1865, a denial of change, and thus an erasure of justice.

That is the reality of Juneteenth that we come close to addressing but fall back on the freedom part when the conversation gets too real. The end of slavery could not make it halfway across America’s body for two years, not because the message was slow, but because the message was stopped. We do not have Juneteenth because America doesn’t know how to deliver mail. We have it because parts of America thought if they ground their heels into the dirt, they could stop change. What happened on January 6, 2021, at the U.S. Capitol isn’t a new strategy. It has a lot of precedent, and Juneteenth is evidence of it.

As of this writing, the Senate has passed a bill declaring Juneteenth a federal holiday. It still has to pass through the House before we can start singing the Schoolhouse Rock song about bills. But let’s be clear: There’s a reason why that measure is sailing through Congress and the anti-lynching and reparation bills are stalled out. The Juneteenth bill is the one White folks can (falsely) claim they got right with the least amount of historical baggage. Juneteenth ends slavery. The others just make White people look bad.

There’s a standing criticism from a segment of activist circles that questions the point of Juneteenth. In pointing out the many ways in which liberty still doesn’t fully apply to Black life, such critics suggest that we still aren’t free at all. While I wouldn’t make a strong case against such observations, I’ve never allowed myself to be so militant that I couldn’t recognize a win when I saw one. I may celebrate only for a day or a news cycle or a breath, but to never be able to hold up the resilience of your ancestors is to disrespect them. I may be a pessimist, but I am never dishonorable. We are free with an asterisk. Considering what we’ve come through, that’s worth at least a day off. Ultimately, I care less about what people do to Juneteenth so long as the people and places that know what it’s really about — and those who have bonded with the power and implications of that history — are celebrating it, and unapologetically so.

It’s impossible to keep anything pure in America, even our pains. Of course your job is going to blow it even if they try to celebrate it right. Of course White America will hold up its federalization as evidence that the country is less racist. And yes, someone is going to make a commemorative plate out of it. The selling of Juneteenth is a horse already out of the barn, because commerce is often the balm America uses to soothe its conscience. The question isn’t ever about what the wrong people do with our history and celebrations, but what the right people do with them.

[leviskokoro]

Christmas in The Devildom | Home Alone Edition

desc :: Mari tells a tale of what happened during her Christmas during her exchange student program.

word count :: 2247

note/s :: I got this idea about Mari having to defend herself from demons while she’s alone on Christmas. But then I realised... “Hey! This is literally just the premise of Home Alone!” so I decided to write it.

relationship/s :: implied fluffwings | jack x mari / implied greedwings | mammon x mari

art credit :: KEMM01 on Deviantart

edit credit :: me

Holiday season was a lovely time of cheer and giving for most people. Mari gave a sigh of relief, finally done giving her last gift of the day. Yes, seeing the generally happy reactions of the people she cared for brought joy to her weary heart, even if those people didn’t necessarily care for her back. Now it was just time to relax during the NRC Christmas party.

Everyone from every dorm had gathered to the cafeteria to partake in the festivities. Every nook and cranny had been decorated to perfection. But maybe that was pushing things a bit since Mari was the one that had to decorate everything after Crowley pushed the work onto her for the hundredth time she’s lived in Twisted Wonderland at the last minute when he just decided that a Christmas party might help bring students together more. At least she can rest while the first years talked about how they spent their Christmas at home.

“Mari.” The girl looked up to see Epel looking at her with a curious gaze. “What was Christmas like for you when you were in your world?”

“Yeah, we’ve been the ones talking here but you haven’t shared anything the whole time,” Ace spoke up as he bit into some cookies.

“Ah, sorry—”

“Didn’t you live in Hell for a year? What’s Christmas there like?” Deuce asked, placing a finger to his chin in thought.

Mari was silent for a moment, trying to get her thoughts and memories in order.

“Um… it’s kind of a long story. Are you guys alright with that?” She glanced at each of their faces for confirmation.

“You’re an excellent storyteller, Mari. It’d be wonderful to hear it,” Sebek chimed in, placing his food on the table and sitting with them.

She nodded, relieved that they seemed to be alright to tell them.

“So… I was mostly left alone during the holidays—”

“Eh? Left alone?” Ace raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah… We were going to celebrate but the demon brothers and the folks at Purgatory Hall were called to a meeting and had to take care of some business in a farther area in the Devildom. I wasn’t able to come because that place had particularly deadly air for humans…”

“Why do I have to go?! There’s gonna be a whole bunch of Christmas special limited edition figurines for Rurichan and all my favorite idols!” Levi had complained as he stuffed his fifth Rurichan figurine into his luggage.

“I was planning on eating a Christmas feast…” Beel had also whined, rubbing his stomach. In his hands were three gigantic bags filled with snacks and snacks only.

“Is it really okay to leave Mari here?” Asmo asked, who was mostly just clinging onto her body; She’s had to swat his grabby hands from touching her more intimate parts a couple times but cuddles with him were generally still quite lovely. Among them, he had the most packed luggages that was all dedicated to his beauty and fashion.

“Yeah, lesser demons might take this opportunity to sneak into this place and eat Mari.” Satan at least had a reasonable amount of bags. Though, he held one novel in his arm.

She sighed, running her hand through her sift chocolate locks. “Guys, no offense but you were the ones to put me in the most danger here during my exchange program here.”

They all seemed sheepish now. “Uhh—“

“Enough whining. We’re going to be late already,” Lucifer spoke up. “Mari should be fine. No one would be stupid enough to harm her if they knew the consequence will be being charged with treason and being tortured for eternity.”

Mari gave a thumbs up. “Yeah. There’s nothing to worry about.” Her eyes widened, noticing something rather odd.

She looked around. “Where’s Mammon?” She asked.

“He said he had something to do,” Satan answered.

Lucifer turned around and started walking. “We’ll leave him behind. He can catch up,” he spoke. His shoes made light clicking noises against the floor as he left the premises, the rest of the brothers followed him.

“Hey! Wait up!” Mammon yelled as he darted out of his room, carrying a bunch of stuff with him.

“Hey! Are you guys telling stories?” Kalim’s bright voice interrupted her speech. A large grin was plastered on his face.

“Kalim, don’t just barge into conversations like that,” Jamil scolded him. He carried two trays filled with food, one for him and one for Kalim.

“It’s fine! I was getting to the interesting part.”

“Très bien! How wonderful to see you all spending quality time during this festive party! It touches my heart,” Rook’s voice appeared from behind them, causing some of the first years to jump in surprise.

“Your bodyguards left you alone during Christmas? That seems rather irresponsible of them if they knew there was still a chance of you being attacked by demons,” Vil spoke as the two also sat down at the table next to theirs.

She nodded, looking down and biting her lip. “Well… The house did end up being attacked.”

“EH?!” Their eyes were as wide as the plates they were eating from.

“How did you manage to survive?”

“During the last day of school, a bunch of lesser demons had whispered about taking the opportunity to come by and eat my soul after classes. Little did they know, I had overheard their conversation and that gave me some time to prepare…”

Mari rushed around the House of Lamentation, rope and other sorts of equipment that she hastily purchased from Akuzon in her arm. Knowing that this house had a variety of magical items that even she could use despite having a lack of it.

Satan’s room had all sorts of cursed books and Levi’s room had magical merch. If worse comes to worst, she’ll use the grimoire underground. It’s more of a last resort since she knew what happened when Luke was lost and ended up there. Lucifer would’ve killed her if it weren’t for Diavolo.

She stopped in her tracks when she looked into Mammon’s stuff in case he had anything that could be used. Her eyes widened to see a murder of crows in his room.

… What?

One of the crows flew up and landed on her shoulder. “Hey there! You’re Mari, right? We’re Mammon’s familiars! He told us a lot about you. He had us stay here to watch over you.”

“That idiot is so reckless that she’d probably get herself into trouble without me so make sure nothing bad happens to her!” … were his exact words.” A different crow spoke up, imitating his voice and tone with such perfect accuracy that it startled the girl.

A grim pulled at her lips. “Great! A bunch of demons are coming here soon and I’ll be needing your help to defend the place.” She explained her plan to them.

“Wow! You already got this thing planned out,” the first crow commented. “Just give us the order and we’ll do our best!”

Mari nodded, smiling in gratitude for them. She turned around and rushed out the room to start setting everything up.

Using her knowledge of the items in the House of Lamentation, she set up a bunch of traps around the place and sat in the living room, waiting for them to trigger. Near each trap was at least one crow to lure the demons into the traps. In one hand was a controller for one of Levi’s consoles. The other held a specific book that was just titled “Void”.

“Really hope this works…” The girl muttered, her grip around the items tightened.

A cacophony of screams echoed throughout the place and several crows flew to her from different directions, signalling that the traps were successful.

She gave a sigh of relief, happy that they worked. There had been this worry that gnawed at her heart when she thought of the possibility of her ropework being too weak. Fortunately, that seemed to not be the case.

Mari checked the bands she put on their feet. Each crow had a different color so that she would know which traps got triggered.

Red, white, yellow, and green… Ah!

Red was in charge of luring the demon into a tripwire trap where if they triggered it, it’d pull the pin from a makeshift grenade she made out of Ruri-chan’s Extra Devilish Spicy Powder that she got from Levi’s room. Levi described it to be so spicy that it can cause a demon to pass out as soon as it comes into contact with their nose and eyes.

White was in charge of watching the catapult. If the door with the trap gets opened, the demon would get Asmo’s “special rope” launched at them. It would completely immobilise anyone if it makes contact with someone’s skin.

Yellow was the one watching over the gun trap. If the window was opened, it’d pull the trigger on the replica gun she got from Levi’s room. It had been from “I Got Isekai’d To A Fantasy Historical Drama But I Didn’t Expect To Find Out That 7 Generals Would Fall For Me”. The bullets weren’t lethal or anything, but they were the magical sort that could knock out a demon with one bullet.

Last but not least was green, who watched over the back door. She roped up a bunch of cursed books from Satan’s room, careful not to touch them with her bare hands, and hung them over the door. If triggered, it would drop all the books and curse the demon into 5 months of deep slumber. 5 months felt a bit excessive, but it was probably better than being charged of treason and being tortured for eternity.

However, it seemed that the other two crows didn’t return just yet.

Then, rushed footsteps started approaching the living room. She looked up to see the last crows flying and two demons running towards her. The looks on their faces oozed with murderous intent as they neared her.

… Shit, looks like the last two traps either didn’t get triggered or they found a way around them.

But all she did was bite her lip and opened the book with the pages facing them.

The room started shaking as a dark aura covered the book. The demons screamed when they started getting pulled into the pages of the book, scrambling to keep their ground. However this was in vain, as they ended up getting sucked into the book anyway.

And with that, Mari gave a loud sigh of relief, dropping her body onto the couch. She pressed a button on the controller.

Nothing around her really happened upon pressing it. But the other demons that were immobilised were put into Levi’s game. She had to know their identities first, which was surprisingly easy to find on Devilgram. She should be able to let them out later. Hopefully they don’t die in the game. She had set it to easy mode, after all.

“Yay! We did it!” The crows cheered, gathering close to each other and even doing a little dance in the process.

“... And that was the end of that story. After that night, the demon brothers came back and we spent a lovely Christmas together, the Devildom way.” Mari’s story came to a close. She looked at all the students that were immersed in her story.

“You were able to defend yourself against a whole group of demons in a single night?!” Ace’s eyes were wide open. His expression was mirrored by the others.

“Très bien! You’ve displayed such wonderful resourcefulness against opponents who are much stronger than you!” Rook praised her in his own fashion, gazing at her with his amused hunter green irises.

Jamil nodded, placing his hand to his chin in thought. A small smile could be seen on his face if one were to look close enough. “Using what you had around the house to use as traps… How clever,” he mumbled.

“You’d be a great fit for Scarabia!” Kalim grinned.

“You were able to set all those traps in such a short amount of time. With that sort of workspeed, Pomefiore could make use of your efforts,” Vil retorted, crossing his arms.

A new voice spoke up, “Oh, but her cunning wit should be further honed in Octavinelle. I’m sure I’d make better use of her skill.”

Jamil’s expression turned sour at the sight of the dorm leader of Octavinelle.

“Nonsense! She belongs in Diasomnia with the young master!” Sebek’s voice boomed across the cafeteria.

“Oi! Quiet down, you noisy brat,” Leona spoke up from another table beside them. He glared at the first year.

And that was the start of a rather chaotic argument between all the dorms.

Jack and Mari looked at each other with exasperated expressions.

“You wanna get out of here?” She offered.

All he did was scratch the back of his head and nod. “Yeah, it’d be better if we just went somewhere else.”

The two of them got up and sneaked away from the group that was too absorbed in their fight.

Although, Mari couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face as she processed the fact that they had complimented her. At the time, she didn’t think it was all too special. But it felt really nice to receive such validation.

Perhaps they saw her better now. Someone who isn’t weak all because she had no magic.

The thought soothed her.

[goodpeachtea]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘥. (𝟎𝟐)

 Summary: People could say that Baby was crazy, so they could say that hell is more preferable than spending a day with her. Baby agreed. But no one could say that the girl was not a genius or that she was like everyone else. Baby Jones was special - yes, she could be a nicer special type, but anyway, special.

Couple: Spencer Reid x OC.

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: PTSD. Panic attack. Mentions of suicide, drugs, torture and kidnapping. Cigarettes. Under-age drinking.

➤ MASTERLIST.

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            (𝟎𝟐). 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖧 𝖠𝖭𝖭𝖨𝖵𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖠𝖱𝖸

   BABY’S CHRISTMAS WERE NEVER FORECASTED. This phenomenon happened because December 25th was not just what everyone celebrated as Christmas, but it was three more things: Baby Jones’ birthday, the anniversary of the death of her family, and the anniversary of the day she was kidnapped. Believe what you want, the little redhead has every right to enter a state of depression, anger and madness while it snows outside and normal children celebrate the date with their absolutely alive parents.

   That day for Jones was always a roller coaster of events. On the first anniversary of the-day-that-everything-went-wrong, in 1998, the 9-year-old, so young but so broken, tried to commit suicide. In the second, all the ideas that went through her head were homicide. In the fifth, Baby Jones caused a commotion and despair by fleeing the Sunshine Orphanage to visit 19 graves in Washington, covering 10 miles. In the ninth, Baby ended up in the emergency by alcohol intoxication.

   The Tenth Anniversary was the current one. Honestly, Baby was really committed to the (almost) promise she made to David Rossi. She was, really. If you asked her what happened that day, she wouldn’t be able to explain. Not because she was drunk, drugged or insane. She was none of those previous things - so I don’t lie, I will say that at least she was not at the apex of any of those things. Baby was just so sad that something needed to be done. And she did. Oh, she certainly did.

   Everything could have happened. Literally, everything. Nothing was a limit for Baby Jones, especially a Baby Jones at the peak of her grief. What happened was particularly unique. Of all the scenarios that the (now) short-haired redhead could imagine, she didn’t expect to end up handcuffed in the FBI building on Christmas Day.

DECEMBER 24TH, 2007.

   Baby hated snow. Don’t come up with all that magic, beauty and blah blah blah. For Baby, almost nothing was worse than Christmas Eve and everything that involved that day - the tree, decorations, snow, music and the hated Christmas spirit. The only Jones alive made a point of trying to bring everyone down with her in those days (she didn’t try very hard, but she didn’t pretend to be happy to cheer up the rest of the kids) and of course she couldn’t, because “Christmas is such an incredible time”. In December, she just wanted to die.

– You’re so boring, Baby! – Exclaimed Max, a 7-year-old boy who also lived in the Sunshine Orphanage, nudging the older one, who sighed deeply, concentrating all her strength so as not to strangle him. – You should help us decorate the Christmas tree, we never have something like this here. It’s fun, I promise! Stop being a killjoy!

– Max, have you heard of the phrase “fuck off”?

   Baby smiled when she saw the brat’s astonished face when he heard her swear, watching him run away from her and towards one of the women who took care of the children at the Orphanage. “Denise, Baby said a bad word again!”, he shouted as the redhead rolled her eyes and muttered “blabbermouth”. Denise, a blonde woman who loved all the control she could exercise over children, gave Jones a sharp look, who showed her tongue as a naughty child - and it’s very difficult to find differences between Baby and naughty children.

– Go straight to your room. Congratulations, you just lost your dinner!

   The almost 18-year-old teenager raised her eyebrows, holding the older woman’s disapproving look at her. She got up from the couch she was on, showing the middle finger to little Max, who was laughing at the girl’s misfortune. “If you want to eat breakfast, I advise you to improve this behavior, young lady!”, the blonde said, with an angry expression. Baby J. smiled fakely at the woman as she walked up the first few steps, watching the other narrow her eyes. The girl with golden red hair went up the stairs, mumbling “bitch” as she went to her room.

   Baby slammed the door of her room hard - not to provoke the controlling blonde downstairs, but out of pure tension that agonized her head and body. She locked it quickly, closing the windows and lowering the blind, knowing that even if she smoked the smell would dissipate and no one would bother her for hours on end (besides she herself). Bored, she looked around her, watching her room for something to do.

   The teenager with hair that reminded the dawn and freckles that were golden specks on her skin arched her eyebrows as she captured an idea from her brain about what to do to pass the time. She bit her lip, carefully locking the door, listening to the sounds of plates and cutlery downstairs. She knelt beside her bed, searching with her hands for the notebook that were taped to the wood of the furniture.

   The notebook was almost a diary for her. There, the most personal things in her life were sheltered. Written in angled and spaced handwriting, there were no emotional reports about Baby’s feelings or her complaints about her day-to-day life. Those paper sheets filled messily and with determination were all about the informations on the Jones Case that could take her to a closure.

   She glanced at the digital clock nearby, dinner time being 7 pm. Jones then looked at the black-lined notebook, prepared to read the information and theories she had already memorized backwards, hoping to get something new so that everything would be cleared up before the anniversary of her family’s death. The redhead flipped through the pages with frequently used marks, more and more aggressive as the time went, the realization slowly slapping her in the face that her hands were tied and she would not be able to solve the crime that defined her life - and the death of 19 people. Baby looked at her watch again, widening her eyes and punching the floor she was sitting in frustration, noting that it was already 11 pm and the whole house was quiet and dark.

   The teenager felt a little better when she realized that the little orphan Sophie was not going to sleep in the same room with her that night, the two women who took care of all 10 children who lived in the house knowing about Baby’s dangerous historic on Christmas Day and preventing a possible accident with the little girl. Jones got up from the cold floor, beginning to feel her heart stir and her fingers that did not want to stop moving as she paced. Baby thought again about her failure with her family, the tenth anniversary that she would not be able to resolve her inner demons and offer a worthy end for her relatives. She punched the door with an adrenaline rush, no longer caring whether the noise would bother the other habitants of the residence.

   Everyone knew the rules that were not spoken. That day, don’t mess with Jones. It doesn’t matter if you are only concerned about her health or if you want to cheer her up. No. Do not try.    The nightmare that was that day started with the fact that during the 24 hours she endured, no time she would be able to sleep. That’s how it started. Four red zeros on her alarm clock signaled that Baby Jones was doomed to misery for the next few moments. The redhead sighed, murmuring an ironic “happy birthday” to herself, blowing out the fire from the match she used to light a cigarette. She stared into nothingness, putting death between her lips and knowing that things were going to change - for better or for worse.    All that was needed was a brief glance. In a second, she was in her room smoking and trying not to cry. The next, Baby was back. Panic invaded her chest when she realized that she was lying on the floor, her eyes going to the clock hanging on the wall with a splash of blood: 20:11.    It’s amazing how a situation can change from one minute to the next. It’s amazing how the Jones family couldn’t be happier at 8:10 pm and a minute later they faced the worst moment of their life (or the end of it) face to face. And it all happened for Baby.    A shot was the first thing that warned the Jones that everything would go downhill. The immediately dead body of Mary Jones - Baby’s loving aunt - fell to the floor with a loud thump, screams being heard throughout the suburban home. Baby Jones went to the floor under the influence of her parents, Marie Ann and Thomas, who saw an armed shadow in front of the open door. At the same time, everything and nothing went through their minds, adrenaline and agony dominating their senses. They wanted to send their daughter run away from the house, while their eyes alternated among all their children: she, Amelie, Owen and little AJ, who was on the other side of the room, with no idea what was going on. But when they looked at Baby again, all they managed to pay attention to was the stranger behind her.

   The eight-year-old girl felt hands grabbing her as her parents screamed, asking for mercy. She struggled, feeling the hot tears on her face and the tightening the long, manicured nails on her skin, leaving marks because of the fight that had already been won. It was when his father advanced on the woman with black hair as the night that the second shot was heard, Baby feeling a pain she never felt before - and probably never will again - gasping and sinking in countless feelings. Little Jones sobbed, watching Marie Ann cry over her husband’s dead body.    Baby J.’s vision was blurred, everything was spinning and her screams of horror did not stop the situation, which happened in the blink of an eye. One, two, three, four shots. No way out. The little redhead couldn’t breathe and the strong, motherly grip of the woman who held her only made it worse. Baby saw three unknown men at her home and suddenly those three were almost all the males left. Giving up on struggling, Jones only managed to cry desperately when she saw her sister walking away in shock from Baby’s lifeless older brother, Owen. 

   Baby opened her eyes, feeling the damp on her face and the lump in her throat. She felt her chest rise and fall at an accelerated frequency and her head sinking into the pillow, gulping and scrambling up from the bed, drying the tears that seemed not to end. When trying to get up, the girl fell to the ground without even a resistance, feeling the tremor in her legs and hands. Jones put her hands on her chest, unable to breathe and panicking even more.

   So she just did what she needed to do. Baby cried. Panic spread throughout her body as she sobbed and searched for air, tears making everything worse. In fetal position, she clasped her hands tightly, not from physical pain but from mental pain, feeling her nails pierce the skin.

   Baby felt like she was going to die. “Maybe it’s better this way, maybe I have to give up,” she thought, her body softening and the feeling of something in her hand that was under the bed. The only Jones alive closed her eyes strongly and deeply regretted it, feeling the tightness in her heart get worse.

– Oh, my love, don’t cry.

   She felt the fingers running through her vivid hair, the tightness on her wrist and the tears in her eyes. “Please, let me out!”, she cried out with all her might, shifting and listening to the frustrated sigh of the man in front of her. “Why can’t you just be a good girl, huh? A good daughter? I love you, Baby, but… you’re just making things worse for you”, Jones ignored the man, who was still touching her hair affectionately, speaking tenderly.

– You are not my father and you never will be! You killed him and I hate you! – She yelled in the midst of tears, the scary Ryan Copper’s face tensing and his jaw clenching.

– I don’t accept this behavior under my roof! I struggle, I fight, I do everything to give you a great life and that’s what I get. – He squeezed the girl’s orange hair, pulling her face closer and staying millimeters away. – If this behavior does not improve by tomorrow morning, you will have serious problems, young lady. Honey, feel free. 

   Blue eyes blinked in fear, shifting her attention from the man who went from one extreme to the other in a snap of the fingers to the woman with black hair and a disturbing smile, a knife in one hand and a whip in the other. It was only Baby’s first day there, but she knew she wasn’t going to last long and maybe she would never leave that filthy, empty cellar again. Baby Jones heard the whip crack before she felt it burn on her skin.

   She opened her eyes, pulling what was under her bed into view. Baby felt the dust on the piece of photographic paper, smiling weakly and feeling the agitation in her chest lessen. She saw her parents hugging each other tightly, smiling at each other. Her mother, Marie Ann, had a big belly, sheltering who would become AJ in the future. The older brothers were on the floor, laughing and fighting over something and Baby was beside them, concentrated on a Rubik’s Cube.

   Her breathing was soon regulated and she bit her lip in a failed attempt to hold her tears, looking at that photo and soon holding it close to her chest. “I miss you”, Baby J. whispered so low that even she couldn’t hear herself. The girl spent about an hour in that position, crying and calming down, in a cycle, again and again. When she finally had the courage to get up, she felt dizzy, remembering the horrifying touches in her hair from one of the men who had kidnapped her. That affection seemed so real that it scared Baby more than anything. She felt a chill on her back, terror. The girl could feel everything even after 10 years. Those despicable hands in her hair, face, arm.

   Baby rushed to the bathroom, kneeled on the toilet coughing and throwing up. The day hadn’t even started and it was already one of the worst in Baby’s life (and that was a tough competition). The teen weakly got up, looking to herself in the mirror and just knowing what to do to repress that memories of the touches. Being a nervous wreck, she rushed to grab the scissors she always used to cut the hair of the other kids in the house - as lovely as this may seem (and it is), Baby make sure to threat the youngers with the sharp object, not wanting to be seem as a big sister. The tears were nearly stopping while cutting sloppily more than 10 inches of red hair, not caring by the mess she made on the sink or the length her hair was going to be. Jones didn’t really care for her hair, but made sure the pixie cut was acceptable.

– Booze. Yeah, I need booze. – The eighteen-year-old girl whispered, rubbing her eyes and preparing to be extremely silent.

   In a house with so many children - and one of them being the problematic Jones - the two women who lived there needed a little alcohol from time to time (having to hide for the same reason that they needed to have it). Baby grabbed her bag, making a grimace at the sound of a creak and snore as she opened her bedroom door, freezing for a moment, not wanting to be caught and punished. She went down the stairs carefully, kneeling on the floor and facing the last step when she reached the first floor. “Eureka!”, murmured a excited Baby, “or should I say “tequila!”?”.

   When she sneaked out of what they said was her home, it didn't take long for Baby to end up in the same spot of a few previous nights, when she got a call from the longtime acquaintance, David Rossi. This time, her brain didn't work the same way, especially after several sips of the alcohol in her hands. Baby Jones had her (not so) great idea when she was halfway through the bottle, getting dizzy when she got up quickly, totally excited about what she was going to do. Come on, she was already eighteen! Jones could do whatever she wanted, right?

   Baby J. took the first bus of the day out of Alexandria with the money she had saved, sitting away from the few other passengers and sipping from the bottle of tequila hidden in her bag from time to time. In a little over an hour, the young and not-so-innocent girl headed for her final destination.

– Excuse me! Good night, I want to visit David Rossi, if possible. – Baby said in her sweetest tone, winking her blue eyes at the receptionist.    The woman smirked, raising her eyebrows, not even bothering to look at Baby. It was not the rarest thing in the world for people to try to enter the FBI building and visit the famous author who was Rossi. "Agent Rossi is not expecting company and there's no autograph session going on now, child. You can go out that door," the brunette nodded the exit with her head as Baby Jones grimaced, determined to enter that building in Quantico. – You didn't understand, he knows me. – The 18-year-old explained, still trying to win over the receptionist, even though she suspected that the facade of being an innocent and kind child would not catch on. – Miss, please leave or I will call the security.    "Hey, now you're just being ... you know what? Nevermind! Call Rossi and say that Baby Jones has come to visit. Go, see for yourself, call!", Baby crossed her arms, almost tripping over her own feet as she leaned against the desk of the secretary who was beginning to have doubts if the girl was really just a fan. Reluctantly, the brunette, Miss Parker, picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Italian-American's office, staring at Jones with suspicion throughout the process. – Sir? Yes, there someone here that claims know you, her name is Baby Jones. Yes, Baby Jones, sir. – She seemed nervous about talking to David, looking at the floor constantly, looking up at the redhead with interest. – Of course, sir. Guard! – Hanging up the call, secretary Parker nodded to a large, menacing FBI security, Baby's eyes widening. – But I did not do anything! That jerk! Rossi didn't ...?

   “Follow Miss Jones up to the fifth floor", the older one said to the guard, who waved quickly, looking at the smaller one whose smile was growing on her face. Parker handed the girl an FBI visitor's badge, trying not to doubt David Rossi's sanity by letting the girl go up to the BAU upon hearing Baby exclaim "that's what I'm talking about!". 

   The eyes of serious security remained on the petit girl the entire time, noticing her strange behavior and trying to solve the mystery about whether that slight smell of alcohol he smelled was just an impression. The ride in the elevator was quick to the relief of Jones, who soon left the cubicle and smiled awkwardly at the man twice as tall. "I need... you know, go to the bathroom," Baby laughed embarrassed to the security (her acting skills were surprisingly good when it came to trick someone).

– Go to the end of the corridor and turn right, miss.

– Thank you very much. – Baby smiled and took quick, sloppy steps to the pointed direction, looking around and smirking to herself, noticing the calm movement of the building and no people around her.

   She read the signs on the doors, looking for a specific room, hoping that the seriously frightening security guard wouldn't come looking. Baby gave a slight "hooray" when she found what she came to, biting her lips when remembering that she needed to be silent, looking around and entering the agile room like a cat. The redhead clapped her hands excitedly when she saw a room full of files and a computer full of horrible cases that she would love to have a look at.

   Soon, Jones was digging through the numerous unresolved case documents, having already looked at the resolved case reports - she liked to deduce things about the suspect and then see if she got it right. She completely ignored the computer, knowing it would have a password and that her technological skills were not enough to hack the FBI. 

   Baby thanked for not being drunk enough to not know what she was doing, but to be a little more excited and happy than usual. Unfortunately, her current condition was not enough to pay much attention to the light noise the door made when it opened, only noticing the presence of someone else there when she heard a false cough, startling her.

– Miss, you are not an agent. – Said the handsome man, a little surprised by the situation and looking at the visitor's badge attached to the girl's black leather jacket.

– Huh, are you... sure?

– Yes, I’m sure. What are you doing here, miss?

– I think I getting myself in serious problems. – Baby laughed awkwardly, scratching her neck and seeing the badge with the name Grant Anderson on the clothes of the FBI agent who looked at her with extreme suspicion, prepared to solve that problem that was having an extremely strange girl accessing FBI files.

   Agent Anderson insisted on staying close to the girl, with his hand on her shoulder, with the suspicion that she would run away from there while he took her to the office of one of his bosses. Jones threw a smile and a wink at the security guard who escorted her to that floor, even though deep down she was a little afraid that the problem she created it would jeopardize her possible BAU spot.

   Two knocking on Aaron Hotchner's door was all it took for Baby Marie Jones to be in real trouble, walking in and facing a way-too-serious-looking man and a blonde lady. Unfortunately for the short-haired redhead, in that room there was not only the BAU Unit Chief but the all-powerful Section Chief, Erin Strauss. Anderson was afraid to say anything, the bosses' sharp eyes cutting him off, but he soon managed to announce the situation to both. "This girl was reading case documents, she was stealing some too," he explained, Baby looking at him ugly, opening her mouth in surprise. "I wasn't stealing! I was just... borrowing... for an undetermined period of time."

– What?! Handcuff her. How did she get in here? – Asked Strauss, squinting, irritated by the security breach, wondering if that child could be part of an illegal organization. Agent Hotchner, however, was looking at the girl with curiosity, finding her strangely familiar.

– She has a visitor’s badge. 

– What’s her name? 

– You know I’m right in front of you and you can ask me yourself, right? – Jones asked, her gaze going from Anderson to Strauss, who didn't have a very good expression.

   “What’s your name?”, the Section Chief of the BAU sighed, seeing the girl actually think to answer, looking to Aaron and remembering him. “Bring David Rossi here and we’ll answer all your questions!”, ordered the kid, seeing the two big bosses exchanging looks. 

– “We?”

– Yeah, me and him. Trust me, you are not going to regret it, this is gonna be super duper fun! – She smiled excitedly, seeing that the three people in the room were not understanding anything and were not sure how to act in the face of the unusual situation.

   “Why I’m not surprised that you caused that much of a problem in such a short period of time?”, asked David Rossi, drawing attention and sighing deeply to see what he was up to and how the next few hours would be somewhat unpleasant. Baby, lightly drunk and unfiltered, grinned when she saw the older man enter the room. “When I was told you were here I already knew that my day wouldn't go as planned, but you could have caused a minor problem, don't you think, Baby?”.

– Well, you can say whatever you want, but you must admit that's gonna be a damn good story to tell.

– Baby Marie Jones. – Murmured Hotch, finally remembering where he knew those red hair and striking eyes, seeing the girl do jazz hands, exclaiming “surprise!”. He couldn’t forget that case even if we wanted.

– Can somebody explain what is happening? – Asked Strauss, as Anderson left the room, closing the door and seeing the curious looks of the other BAU agents regarding that little meeting.

– So...!

– You! You don’t speak a word, miss. – David pointed his finger at the youngest, who took off her imaginary hat in a gesture of understanding, the sound of handcuffs filling the room, the girl laughing, but going quiet. – Erin, sit down, please. We have a lot to talk. Tell me, how do you fell about breaking some rules? 

[dinosaurtsukki]

across the sea | a bokuaka fanfic (act. II)

inspired by the movie ‘portrait of a lady on fire’ by celine sciamma which is sad and lesbian

pairing: bokuto koutarou x akaashi keiji

word count: 21.8k words

contains: historical setting (actually the setting is vague bec if i tried to describe it more it would take 5 extra pages), heavy angst, slight fluff, greek mythology references, implied smut

summary: when Bokuto accepted a portrait commission for the young, engaged Akaashi Keiji, he never expected him to be so beautiful. he knows it's a mistake to be attached, a mistake for them to fall in love in a time when they know it's impossible for them to be together.

a/n: i’m a sad gay who loves sad lesbian movies and portait of a lady on fire is peak film. a lot of the things here are based on the film so i suggest you check out this beautiful movie, but i added a few tweaks here and there to make it my own.

chapters: act. I, act. II., act. III

The next day, Bokuto found Akaashi in the kitchen, of all places, kneading what appeared to be a bread dough next to a distressed looking Kageyama. Bokuto paused for a while, standing by the kitchen door with his arms crossed and a smile on his face, as he watched the young master, who was probably forbidden from working in the kitchen, and the house butler, who was probably worried there were repercussions for allowing Akaashi to do what he was doing.

“Akaashi-san, please allow me to take over from here,” Kageyama pressed.

“Nonsense,” Akaashi chuckled. “I never knew bread-making was this fun. And the dough texture isn’t even near what you described.” Just then, Kageyama had discovered Bokuto was already there.

“Bokuto-san! Please tell Akaashi-san that I can handle preparing breakfast myself!” he demanded. Akaashi lifted his head slightly to greet him.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san. I hope I’ll be able to make you a good enough breakfast with my limited cooking skills.”

“I’ll be making breakfast!”

Bokuto chuckled and approached the wooden table where they were walking. “Kageyama’s right you know. You shouldn’t be the only one making breakfast.”

“Right,” Kageyama nodded. A look of slight annoyance crossed Akaashi’s features. Up close, Bokuto see that a corner of his cheek and a bit of his brow was streaked with flour.

“In fact, I should be helping Akaashi out!” Bokuto grinned cheekily at an even more flustered Kageyama. “Come on Kageyama. Sit this one out just this once. We won’t burn down anything. Promise.”

“And as owner of the estate, I demand that I get to cook breakfast in my own kitchen,” Akaashi backed him up.

“Alright, I guess I’ll sweep every inch of the manor,” Kageyama huffed.

“Nope, not even that,” Akaashi shook his head. “Don’t you have some kind of hobby?”

“Well… I,” Kageyama cleared his throat and looked away with a slight flush in his cheeks. “I suppose I can work on my embroidery.”

“That’s the spirit,” Bokuto grinned. Akaashi had finished kneading the dough and was now shaping it into a bowl on a wooden board. “I’ll scrounge up something to fry,” he said, heading into the larder. A moment later, he came up with some unsliced bacon and a basket of eggs.

“That should go well with the bread,” Akaashi remarked as he slid the unbaked dough into the oven before dusting off his floury hands on his apron. Seeing him without his usual jacket and scarf with the sleeves on his shirt rolled up had a certain charm that stopped Bokuto from looking away as much as he should.

“Would you like to do the frying?” he asked, plucking a knife from where the kitchen utensils were to slice the bacon into thick strips.

“You’ll have to show me how first,” Akaashi said. After slicing the bacon, Bokuto ignited the stove and instructed Akaashi to place a pan over it. As it turns out, Akaashi was a quick learner, even with Bokuto as a mediocre cook and instructor, and in a short while, all the bacon had been fried perfectly and all he had left to do was to crack eggs one by one into the pan.

“You’re not that bad of a cook yourself, Akaashi,” Bokuto commented. The two of them were standing next to each other by the stove, barely inches apart.

“If I’d have known I should have told my mother earlier,” Akaashi smiled wryly. “I feel guilty for saying this but I’m glad she isn’t around. I wouldn’t be here cooking bacon and eggs if she was.”

“Well, not be an instigator but…” Bokuto shot a sidelong glance at him. “Would you want to… do some things you wouldn’t be able to do?” Akaashi raised his eyebrows at him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t think I was already planning to do such things.”

After the bread finished baking and the eggs finished frying, they lay their breakfast out on the kitchen table and brought out plates and forks for everyone. Kageyama, who seemed to have finished a good amount of his embroidery and was no longer distressed, thanked them for the breakfast. Bokuto couldn’t help but watch Akaashi eat with his hands: picking up bacon with his fingers and mopping up egg yolk with bread. His master told him that hands were the hardest things to sketch so Bokuto spent an entire year on hands until sketching them became second-nature to him.

After finishing breakfast, Akaashi met Bokuto again in the dining room to continue the portrait. This time, Bokuto decided to paint more slowly, taking the opportunity to perfect mixing his colors. He hadn’t foreseen needing to paint a second portrait so he noticed that he was running low on oil. ‘I could ask Kageyama to buy some for me from the town nearby,’ he thought, before glancing up at Akaashi. ‘Unless…’

“What are you thinking about Bokuto-san?” Akaashi spoke up, as if reading Bokuto’s thoughts.

“I, uh…” Bokuto stammered. Akaashi cocked his head.

“You had that look on your face again,” he said.

“What look?”

“The one where you’re deep in thought and you raise your left hand to your chin,” Akaasi smirked as Bokuto realized that he was in fact holding that pose. “I do have an excellent view of how you work from here and while I’m not adept at painting, a lot of your habits have been noted down in my mind.”

“Most subjects wouldn’t even pay any mind to the painter,” Bokuto raised his eyebrows.

“You’re not just a painter,” Akaashi said simply. “Back to my question, what are you thinking about?”

“Well, since I didn’t prepare for painting two portraits during my stay here, I seem to have run out of oil,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his hair, no doubt leaving streaks of paint there, not that he particularly cared. “I was thinking about asking Kageyama to pick some up for me at the town tomorrow, but I’m also curious about the town here.”

“So am I, I’ve never been,” Akaashi said. Bokuto felt a smile play on his lips.

“Your tone suggests that you know exactly what I’m planning.”

“Kageyama would forbid it.”

“As if that’s going to stop you, Akaashi.”

“You know me well,” Akaashi chuckled. It sounded like music to Bokuto’s ears. “Are you always this chatty with the people you paint?”

“I do try to get into some casual conversation to put the model at ease,” Bokuto said, dipping his paintbrush in a lighter color to highlight the edges around the portrait. “And I can’t imagine how boring it must be for them to have to sit completely still for hours.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Akaashi cleared his throat. “Have you ever had to paint nude models?”

Bokuto chuckled. “Almost everyone asks that. And yes, I did. My master sent me to classes on nude painting with live models in front of us. Though, it’s not as erotic as most people think. At one point, while painting a woman, I found myself sobbing because it had been more than an hour and I couldn’t get the shadows right and I had run out of paint.” Akaashi laughed again.

“That certainly clears up a lot of mystery,” he said. “Although, I can’t imagine you a sobbing mess.”

“Oh, I was very moody growing up,” Bokuto grinned. “I’d easily feel down when I couldn’t do something right. And that was often.”

“How did you readjust your mindset?”

“Well, I took a step back to look at how far I’ve come. Once I remembered that years ago, I couldn’t even sketch an apple but had reached a point when I can paint one in less than 10 minutes, I knew I could do so much more with practice. And now, I’m here.”

“Now, you’re here,” Akaashi smiled. And Bokuto knew there wasn’t any place he’d rather be.

That night, they convinced Kageyama to let them go to town the next day and that Bokuto would know doubt watch over him and that they wouldn’t let Mikoto-san know. Kageyama agreed, and the next day, after breakfast that was once again cooked by Akaashi and Bokuto, the three of them headed out to town. Something about the day and occasion made Bokuto bring out his nicest shirt which was powder blue in color, with pristine, white buttons. Akaashi looked more casual in his appearance than usual dressed in suspenders and a light, cotton shirt that he had left unbuttoned from his chin to the top part of his chest.

The town near the estate was quite different from the ones Bokuto visited in the city. For one, it was much cleaner, less-populated, and less noisy. Most of the houses and buildings were low, at most three floors in height, and the pathways around town were in cobblestone. The townspeople however, were busy and hard at work preparing for what seemed to be a summer festival. ‘It is the first of May,’ Bokuto remembered and paused during their walk to watch a group of men erect a tall, twelve-foot maypole that had colored ribbons tied around it. Bokuto took a mental image in his head of the scene, eager to recreate it.

“It’s a May Day Eve festival,” Akaashi said, standing beside Bokuto. “Right, Kageyama?”

“Yes sir,” he nodded.

“Have you ever been to one?”

“My hometown celebrates it,” he said, a faint smile crossing his face. “We have a similar way of celebrating as the people here, actually. There will be stands serving blackberry wine and cold drinks. Special stew and fried food made with fresh, summer vegetables. The flower sellers would be weaving flower crowns and selling them for people to wear. And at night, the dances will begin.”

“Is it true that the young girls dance around the maypole?” Akaashi asked.

“Yes. It is a sight to see,” Kageyama nodded.

“If that is so, maybe we should stick around to witness it,” he said. Bokuto raised an eyebrow and smiled at the suggestion.

“But—”

“Come on, Kageyama. Even you want to stick around,” Akaashi nudged him, smiling playfully. “My mother is a boat ride away. The worst thing that can happen is that I get the flu again.”

“We’ll return home before midnight,” Bokuto added. A conflicted look came upon Kageyama’s face.

“Eleven o’ clock,” he finally said.

“Deal!” Akaashi said quickly before turning to Bokuto. “Now, where to?”

The festival was still hours away from starting so after Bokuto purchased his oil, the three of them roamed around town, being dragged off to wherever Akaashi pleased. But neither Bokuto nor Kageyama minded much, seeing as how happy Akaashi was to finally get a glimpse of the outside world. They visited dress shops, groceries, a woodworker’s studio, and florist’s shops where people had already begun making flower crowns. They lingered in a shop selling fabrics and yarns where Kageyama had perused and bought different threads for his embroidery before passing by a bakery to buy bread for lunch.

By the time the sun was close to setting, the town had come to life as the May Day Eve festival began. The town was lit with lanterns everywhere and a bonfire in the town square. “Well, it has started. Anything you want to do first?” Bokuto asked Akaashi.

“Well, the blackberry wine seems interesting,” Akaashi said, looking at one of the stalls.

“Have you ever drunk alcohol before?” Bokuto asked.

“I have the occasional glass of wine when my mother lets me.”

“Just, make sure not to get too drunk,” Kageyama muttered. But Bokuto was feeling mischievous and he was curious as to how a tipsy Akaashi looked like.

“You heard him, Akaashi. Let’s drink to our heart’s content!” he cheered, slinging an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder as they made their way to the stall with Kageyama following behind them. Bokuto had never tried blackberry wine but it was much cheaper than usual wine and sold by the bottle. He bought all of them one each. The wine was sweet, much sweeter than grape wine, but packed more of a punch. Kageyama only finished half of his bottle before retiring to one of the benches to sit down and most likely take a nap, leaving Bokuto and Akaashi to roam around the different stalls by themselves. They passed the rest of Kageyama’s wine between them and Bokuto was highly conscious of the fact that their lips were touching the same bottle. Bokuto knew that at some point, he’d have to stop drinking if he wanted to make it home with Akaashi and Kageyama, but it was a summer night and summer nights were dangerous and recklessness hummed through the air and Akaashi’s smile was dangerous and his hands were warm, and both of them ended up visiting the blackberry wine stall a few times.

By their third bottle, Bokuto found himself standing to the side and watching Akaashi peruse the flower crowns being sold by a vendor. Both of them were sweating from the summer heat and Bokuto could see that Akaashi’s cheeks were especially flushed by the alcohol. “Bokuto-san, how does this look?” Akaashi asked, looking up at him with a daisy crown on his head. Bokuto chuckled, noting that Akaashi seemed to be a bold, impulsive kind of drunk.

“This suits you better,” he said, gently removing the daisy crown and placing one of golden chrysanthemums on Akaashi’s head. “The gold brings out the green in your eyes.”

“You sure seem to like looking at them,” Akaashi scoffed. Bokuto could tell he was teasing him. The blackberry wine made him bold too, and two could play at that game.

“I’m supposed to. I’m your painter, aren’t I?” he raised an eyebrow, nearing closer to Akaashi’s face. By the way his eyes darted, he was caught off-guard for a second, but quickly regained his footing. Just as he was about to respond, a loud call echoed throughout the square.

“The maypole dance is beginning now. If you would like to join, come up front,” a young man yelled. Almost immediately after, people began skipping over to the maypole to claim one of its long, colored ribbons, most of them being young girls. But there were a couple of men as well.

“You should join,” Bokuto blurted out, nudging Akaashi with his shoulder. “To make the most of your May Day Eve festival experience.”

“You think so? What if I get the dance wrong?” Akaashi asked.

“You won’t,” Bokuto grinned.

“Alright,” Akaashi agreed, stepping forward, and turning around to say “But your eyes better be only on me,” he said, fixing Bokuto once again with that piercing stare of his. ‘Dangerous, dangerous,’ the insides of Bokuto hummed but he could only nod and watch Akaashi walk over to the maypole to claim a ribbon. He held it in his hand, taking position with the rest of the dancers. When the music began, Akaashi keenly observed the dancers’ movements, moving slowly at first to copy them, before slowly gaining confidence to not have to look at the others around him. As he danced close to the maypole before spinning outwards, Akaashi caught Bokuto in his gaze once again for one second, before smirking and turning around. Again and again, their eyes would meet, almost as if Akaashi was making sure Bokuto was looking at only him. ‘No, he’s definitely doing that on purpose,’ he said to himself. But with the way Akaashi looked tonight, he shouldn’t have even been worried about Bokuto looking at other people in the first place. His movements were graceful and elegant, especially for someone who had just learned the dance a few minutes ago, and the light from the lanterns and bonfire nearby made his tanned skin appear to glow.

Finally, the dance ended and Akaashi rejoined Bokuto. He was flushed, breathless, and his clothes were in disarray, but he looked more alive than Bokuto had ever seen him. “How was I?” he asked.

“It was as if you were on fire,” Bokuto answered.

They rejoined Kageyama by one of the benches and headed home, occasionally laughing and jostling each other like the young men on the way to serenade a woman. Only, Bokuto had never in his life been interested in women. Not even the most beautiful models that he had encountered during his apprenticeship. Rather, he found himself more drawn to men: those in famous paintings recreating Greek myths and stories from the Bible. His first time had been with a male model he had been working with. It was no secret among painters that homosexual relationships do occur, but it was scandalous enough to be kept secret and away from prying eyes.

Except now, Bokuto could tell that something was different about his feelings for Akaashi, the same way he knew to destroy his first portrait of him and delay the wedding. As a painter, Bokuto was only ever concerned about whether his paintings captured every lifelike detail of the model. But as he progressed through the portrait, he found himself constantly wondering whether Akaashi would accept the final product as a reproduction of himself. Bokuto found himself hating Mikoto-san and Akaashi’s arranged suitor, wherever in the world she was. How could they expect Akaashi to be married to someone who only saw a portrait of him? Especially one created by someone who had actual feelings for Akaashi.

“Akaashi-san, please be careful,” Kageyama said, helping up his master who had tripped once again inside the house. The alcohol seemed to have taken full effect as Akaashi could barely stand and his eyelids kept drooping. Kageyama put an arm around him and attempted to help him to the stairs.

“I can do that,” Bokuto volunteered, quickly lifting Akaashi in his arms. He weighed very little, most likely because of how sickly he was, and he groaned a reply before leaning his head against Bokuto’s chest. “It’s alright, Kageyama. I’ll put him to bed.”

“Alright, you can definitely handle him,” Kageyama nodded. “Well, good night, Bokuto-san,” he bowed, before leaving for his own quarters.

“Mmm… tired…” Akaashi mumbled.

“I know, I know. I’m getting you to bed now,” Bokuto said gently before going up the stairs. He struggled a bit with getting the bedroom door open with one hand before finally making it inside. Gently, he lay Akaashi down on his bed and lit the oil lamp on his bedside table to prevent himself from bumping into anything. Akaashi was still wearing the flower crown and Bokuto plucked it from his head and lay it gently on the table when Akaashi stirred awake.

“Bokuto-san,” he blinked, sitting up.

“You’re in your room now,” Bokuto smiled, lifting the blankets to tuck Akaashi in. “I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve gotten drunk.”

“How could you tell?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe you’re still like this even though you’re drunk,” Bokuto chuckled and shook his head.

“This was the best day I’ve ever had,” Akaashi sighed happily, looking up at Bokuto with sleepy eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” And, without him thinking, Bokuto found himself bending closer to Akaashi and gently stroking the side of his face. To his surprise, Akaashi didn’t pull away, rather, he raised a hand to press Bokuto’s against his cheek. It felt as if there was something he should say at this point, and so he said “You were an amazing dancer.” His voice was surprisingly hoarse and deep, even in his own ears.

“And you kept your eyes on only me,” Akaashi whispered in return, he was sitting up on his elbows and their faces were even closer.

“How could I not? You were the most beautiful one there.”

Bokuto had always read that summer evenings were wonderful, magical, and passionate. A time when the impossible crosses into the realm of the possible But, they were also dangerous. As dangerous as the look in Akaashi’s eyes, as dangerous as the heat that radiated outside and inside Bokuto. Not only were summer evenings dangerous because of the air of recklessness and impulse, but because anything good that happened lasted dangerously short. ‘I’m going to regret this someday,’ Bokuto knew. He could tell Akaashi knew. But that still didn’t stop them from closing the distance between their lips, for Bokuto to instinctively wraps his arms around Akaashi to pull him closer, for Akaashi to, in turn, wrap his arms around Bokuto’s neck. It was a kiss as passionate and dangerous as a summer evening, but nowhere near as short. When they emerged, both of them were as breathless as the maypole dancers.

Bokuto sucked in a breath and stood up, swallowing hard. Akaashi was wide-eyed, seemingly snapped out of the drunken state he was in. “I…” Bokuto stammered. “Should I…?”

“I think, it’s time we said good night now, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi nodded, sounding back to his rational self. Bokuto couldn’t agree more, muttering a hasty ‘good night’ before leaving the room, the summer evening’s kiss still on his lips.

…

Both of them were quiet the next day, even during breakfast that Kageyama woke up, earlier than both of them because he wasn’t hungover, to make. Bokuto couldn’t help but glance up sat Akaashi as he nursed his cup of strong, black coffee, only to find the young man distractedly looking out the window. ‘He couldn’t have forgotten about last night, could he?’ Bokuto wondered. He wouldn’t help but feel disappointed if Akaashi had. It couldn’t just have been the wine doing the talking, or rather, kissing.

Finally, it came the time for them to work on the portrait. Akaashi came into the dining room dressed once again in the same expensive suit with his hair fixed and yet, Bokuto couldn’t help but remember the wild-eyed, breathless Akaashi from last night. Wordlessly, the Akaashi in front of him sat down, got into his pose, and waited for Bokuto to start. Only, he was only able to get a few strokes of paint in before putting his brush down and confronting Akaashi.

“Are we not going to talk about last night?”

Akaashi’s eyes widened a fraction at the sudden gesture. “I…” he began and trailed off.

“Was it just… the wine?” Bokuto asked, feeling the wave of disappointment begin to wash over. “Because if you think that’s the case—”

“I was scared that you’d think that,” Akaashi suddenly interrupted him. There was a conflicted look on his face. This time, Bokuto waited for his full response. “I may have been drunk but, kissing you, that was fully intentional. I think, I think I wanted to do it for some time.”

“Y-you have?”

“I was just unsure if you felt the same way,” he continued. “That night, when you told me about you being a painter, I wanted to see if you befriended me because you saw me as someone worth being with. And when you said that you did it just to get the job done, I was disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, I lied,” Bokuto sighed. “I was, I didn’t want to finish the painting at that point. I thought it would be better if you hated me and I moved on from this whole thing.”

“But you didn’t finish the painting,” Akaashi said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t you I painted. It was so different from the you I know and it didn’t feel right for me to turn that portrait in,” Bokuto answered, stepping forward. “Why did you finally choose to pose?” he asked, walking to Akaashi. Although, at that point, the answers were falling into place.

“Because I didn’t want you to leave. I wasn’t ready for you to leave,” Akaashi said, his smile growing until Bokuto stopped in front of him.

“I’m here now.”

“I know.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“You know the answer to that.”

And Bokuto did. Bending down, he cupped Akaashi’s face in his hands and kissed him. Gentler this time, gentler than their summer evening kiss last night. He felt Akaashi’s hands on the sides of his waist, clutching at his shirt as if he was scared of him letting go. Bokuto gently circled his thumb on Akaashi’s cheek, as if to say ‘don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,’ and the grip on his shirt relaxed. It didn’t matter that what they were doing was taboo or that Akaashi was engaged. In this estate, one that villagers didn’t visit and was bordered by the sea, no eyes were on them. They were in a world of their own.

“Where have you been all my life, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi murmured once they parted, their foreheads pressed against each other. “It’s strange. One of the reasons why I’ve never run away from this place despite the engagement and the constraining feeling is because it felt as if I would get a moment of liberty if I just waited. And it has come, in the form of you.”

“I don’t know about that. All I know is you’re the most beautiful and hardest thing I’ve ever had to paint,” Bokuto whispered.

“That beautiful?” Akaashi laughed, his breath tickling Bokuto’s nose.

“They say you’re more beautiful than your suitor.”

“Who’s they?”

“The ferryman of the boat I came here in,” Bokuto chuckled and stood up.

“Is it true?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“You are a self-indulgent man, did you know that?”

“And you are the one who indulges me,” Akaashi grinned. “I don’t feel like posing for the portrait today,” he sighed. “Can’t we do something else.”

“We did something else yesterday,” Bokuto said. “But I think an extra day can’t hurt,” he smiled.

“Can we go to the beach again?” Akaashi brightened.

“Of course,” Bokuto chuckled.                                

This time, when they walked to the beach, they walked hand in hand, laughing and talking, stopping once or twice to kiss again. Years later, Bokuto would find himself unable to recall what it is they were talking about and instead, remembering only sights and sensations, which was more than enough for him. By the time they reached the beach, instead of Akaashi exploring the tide pools and wading in the water with Bokuto sketching in secret, they both sat down in the sand and spread their jackets out to lie on. Akaashi rest his head on Bokuto’s lap and handed him the volume of Greek Mythology book that he had snuck out.

“Read it to me again,” he said.

“Demanding, are we?” Bokuto raised an eyebrow but opened the book nonetheless.

“Of course,” Akaashi smiled and closed his eyes.

“Any particular story you have in mind?” he asked, thumbing through the pages.

“Look for what interests you,” Akaashi waved. Bokuto shrugged and went through the book until he came across a beautifully illustrated picture of a man staring at his reflection.

“The Myth of Narcissus,” he read aloud. “Am I saying the name right?”

“Yes,” Akaashi nodded. “Read on.”

And so Bokuto read aloud, feeling much more confident now than when he first read to Akaashi. Maybe its because he knew that the young man lying on his lap enjoyed the sound of his voice, something Bokuto never thought he’d bring. After a good half hour of reading, Bokuto himself felt tired and lay back in the sand. “Your turn,” he nudged Akaashi’s shoulder gently.

“Me?” he sat up, smiling sleepily at him before laying down on his chest with the top of his hair tickling Bokuto’s chin. It was a welcome, warm, weight on his chest and Bokuto circled an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder, pulling him close.

“Tell me a story.”

“Another Greek myth?” Akaashi asked. “Which one do you want to hear? I don’t even need to read aloud from this book.”

“Hmm well then. I’ve never really understood that epic poem. The one about Troy with Achilles and Hector,” Bokuto said. “I tried to read it once to study on Greek myths since they were so popular with painting commissions but it gave me a headache.”

“Ah, the Iliad,” Akaashi said. “Well, I’ve read about a million times. You’ve come to the right person.” Bokuto planted a kiss on his forehead. “There are many ways to start the story, but I like to take it back to when the goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite appeared in front of a poor boy named Paris.” And so, Akaashi told the story of the Iliad. His voice was nice and calming, enough to make Bokuto’s eyelids grow heavy, but engaging enough to keep him awake. Akaashi colored the tale with his own inserts and opinions, sometimes going to into detail about a particular hero’s story. And then, they came across the part of the story when Achilles had heard of Patroclus’ death.

“According to the story, he mourned for days and days on end for his dead lover,” Akaashi told.

“Wait, his lover?” Bokuto jerked his head up in surprise. “No one told me that his lover was Patroclus.”

“Well, in most translated versions of the text they describe Patroclus as a companion and a close friend. In the original text however—”

“Wait, you know Greek?” Bokuto sat up, disturbing Akaashi from his resting place. Akaashi raised an eyebrow at him.

“I can speak quite a few languages, Bokuto-san. I didn’t just twiddle my thumbs right here.”

“I should have known then,” Bokuto chuckled. “Anyway, you were saying…”

“Right. In the original Greek text, or as much was restored of it anyway, Patroclus is described as Achilles’ lover. And in fact, homosexuality was quite normal in Greece. There was a special troop of soldiers who fought in pairs with their beloved. They say they were won of the best fighters out there, because they always fought for their beloved. Additionally, it was believed that unions of the same sex were the only true kind of romantic love since it is not based on procreation unlike that of a man and a woman. And let’s not forget Sappho’s poetry and the Island of Lesbos,” Akaashi enumerated.

“Wow. So, why have I never heard of it before?” Bokuto said.

“The usual. The Christianized, civilized societies frown upon the practice so they conceal it in the translations,” Akaashi shrugged. “But I’ve always liked Achilles and Patroclus.”

“It’s all the more tragic then,” Bokuto sighed.                                      

“Yes, but upon Patroclus’ death, Achilles wished for his ashes, when he died, to be buried with Patroclus’. So that they’d meet in the Underworld even after he died,” Akaashi smiled wistfully.

“So, that was after Achilles got shot in the heel, right?”

“You’re skipping ahead,” Akaashi nudged him.

“Tell me the rest of the story then,” Bokuto nudged him back.

“It’s getting dark,” Akaashi shook his head. And true enough, Bokuto looked up to find that the sun was just about to set. He always loved watching for sunsets and yet, he didn’t notice it.

“Tomorrow then,” Bokuto pouted slightly and stood up, dusting the sand off his trousers before picking up his and Akaashi’s jackets.

“Unless… you would be content with reading by the fireside in my room.” Akaashi had said it almost nonchalantly but even in the dim light, Bokuto could catch the hopefulness in his gaze. And who was he to refuse?

“Alright. But let’s have dinner first. I think we’ve worried Kageyama to death staying outside this long.”

Although, it seemed that Kageyama wasn’t worried one bit as he was doing his embroidery by the small fireplace in the kitchen when they came in. Bokuto wondered if Kageyama was doubtful of how much time Akaashia and Bokuto had spent together that day that wasn’t related to the portrait. Either he wasn’t that perceptive or he just didn’t care. Akaashi and Bokuto finished dinner quickly and locked themselves in Akaashi’s room. Instead of going to bed, he stretched out on the carpet by the fireplace and patted the spot next to him. ‘Just like the beach,’ Bokuto thought with a smile and stretched out across the carpet with his head tucked on Akaashi’s lap. He closed his eyes and felt a hand gently run through his hair.

“Aren’t you going to continue the story?” Bokuto mumbled.

“I may have decided to preoccupy myself with,” Akaashi hummed and Bokuto felt fingers lightly skim over his cheeks and forehead and down his nose. “I wish I had your eye and skill to capture a subject through a painting.”

“How do you know I have skills with painting? The first portrait was a ruined one and you haven’t even looked at the one I’m painting now.”

“I just know,” he felt Akaashi shrug. “What goes on in your head when you paint me?”

“Well,” Bokuto opened his eyes to look up at him. “First, I sketch a basic outline on the canvas, just so I know where everything is in relation to each other. And then, I pencil in your features. You have really delicate features so I try to keep a light hand,” he said, raising his hand to brush against Akaashi’s cheek. “And I spend as much time as I want to on your hands.”

“And then?”

“Then I start mixing my colors. That was always my favorite part when it came to learning how to paint. It’s how my master trained me too. I would sit for hours scrutinizing something and mixing the right shade,” Bokuto chuckled at the memory. “I take my time too when I mix the color of your skin. Browns and yellows and a bit of red. And then I make different shades from that color with white or mixing in a bit more brown for shadows, and a bit more red for that healthy flush on your cheeks.”

“At least I look healthy in my portrait,” Akaashi said dryly.

“You look absolutely stunning in your portrait,” Bokuto laughed as Akaashi playfully swatted at him.

“Once I have your healthy complexion, I move on to other bits. Like mixing the perfect color and shades to match your green robe. The dark brown for your hair. And then I paint it all in, adding colors and blending in shades so that it looks as realistic as possible. And by far,” Bokuto ran the crook of his finger near Akaashi’s temple. “Your eyes are my favorite thing to paint. Actually, I could spend hours just looking at you and sketching you.”

“Haven’t you already?” Akaashi smiled.

“Eveything I’m doing now feels slightly different though. I guess it’s quite task having to paint someone you love.”

The word left Bokuto’s mouth before he even knew what he was saying. He could feel Akaashi tense slightly under him and he sat up quickly. “I—I didn’t mean, I mean I did but—I’m sorry, let’s pretend that never happened,” he stammered, seeing the shocked expression on Akaashi’s face.

“There’s no need for you to apologize,” he shook his head with a slight laugh. “Actually, I thought I was the crazy one for thinking that.”

“Wait, you mean…?”

“Would it be crazy for me to say that I think I’ve loved you ever since the day we first met?” Akaashi asked. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve always had the feeling that you were someone I’ve always known would come into my life.”

‘What a naïve thing to think,’ was what Bokuto knew he and Akaashi were thinking of. But Bokuto had also witnessed it happening. There were friends he knew back at the studio or met in bars who would talk about the ease they felt when falling in love. ‘I’ve been with many women before, but this one felt coming home after a long journey,’ one friend had told him.

“When you think about it, what were the chances of me being chosen to paint you, out of all other painters? What were the chances of me having to paint you, out of all other subjects? What were the chances of me arriving here safely out of all the accidents that occur at sea? What were the chances of the days we’ve spent here happening smoothly in perfect succession out of all other outcomes?” Bokuto said. He saw his questions answered in the look on Akaashi’s faces. “Maybe we were meant to meet each other.”

With that, Akaashi leaned in close to kiss him again, and again, and again. It was no longer that summer night kiss but one of longing and elation of having met and knowing that they were both on the same page. Bokuto could feel Akaashi’s hands cupping his face and sliding down his torso, thumbs hesitating near the buttons of his shirt until Bokuto permitted them to undo each one. Meanwhile, his kisses trailed down from Akaashi’s mouth to the side of his jaw, down to his neck, and in the center of his collarbone, just under his throat, lingering like a question mark. Akaashi adjusted his position, lying back onto the carpet, and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, baring his chest.

“I’m yours… Koutarou,” Akaashi whispered, beckoning him closer. Bokuto ran a finger tip down from Akaashi’s throat and down to his sternum. For once, he couldn’t imagine sketching nor painting this scene because there was no way it would be complete without the warmth and heat in their stares and beneath their fingertips. Sometime after Bokuto leaned down to kiss Akaashi and before they fell asleep in each other’s arms with only a thin blanket pulled from the bed to cover them, the image of the ghostly figure of Akaashi that Bokuto saw a few nights ago flashed in his mind.

…

The next few days were spent like so: Akaashi would pose and Bokuto would work on the portrait for a few hours each day before they’d go to the beach, or walk through the fields, or stroll through the town. At night, after dinner, they’d retire to Akaashi’s room with the door locked and their clothes ending up on the floor on more than a few occasions. Bokuto had never been happier waking up feeling Akaashi buries his face in the crook of his neck or waking up in the same position they had fallen asleep in when morning came. He’d always wake up before Akaashi did and held him tightly in his arms, praying that the sun would rise a bit more slowly or that Kageyama would wake up a bit later each day.

And the portrait was almost finished. Bokuto could feel himself subconsciously painting less each day or tweaking things like changing the color or painting over a finger again. He remembered one of the stories that Akaashi told him about Odysseus’ wife, Penelope, who had been left in their home island when he went to fight in the Trojan war. She was courted by many suitors and in order to delay having to marry someone until her husband came back, she excused herself by weaving her bridal train and unraveling the works she made each night. In the end, it felt pointless because delaying the portrait wasn’t going to do anything. Akaashi’s mother would return in a few days and leaving the portrait unfinished would just leave Bokuto without a job and having to cross the sea to go back home.

Bokuto took a small brush with a bit of the dark brown color he used to draw in details and scanned the canvas for anything left that he could possibly fix only to find nothing else. He was done. Bokuto stepped back and put down his paintbrush and palette.

“Do you need to take a break, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked.

“It’s…finished,” Bokuto shook his head. The look of concern on Akaashi’s face dissolved into his usual stoic expression. “Would you, uh, like to have look?”

“Alright,” he nodded, standing up from his chair and walking over to look at the canvas. Bokuto knew that it was a lot better than the previous portrait that he made and destroyed. While looking at it, he couldn’t help but feel that everything about the portrait was truly his because only he could look at it and know that he captured more than Akaashi’s likeness, but everything he had come to know about the young man over the past weeks.

“Is that really how you see me?” Akaashi asked.

“Yes.”

“I look beautiful.”

“You do.”

“Do you think my fiancée would be pleased?” he asked. Bokuto felt a lead weight in his stomach.

“She should be. I could imagine this hanging over your mantle in the parlor.”

“I heard she lives in Kyushu, the place where my Mother is visiting now. It’s quite far from here,” Akaashi kept talking, his voice sounding dead in Bokuto’s ears.

“I’ve never been to Kyushu but my master has. He says its beautiful during the springtime with all the cherry blossoms in bloom. There are wonderful art museums to visit and there’s a local theater nearby that places traditional music ensembles,” Bokuto trailed off when he saw Akaashi looking out of the window where the sea was.

“I know you’re saying all these things to comfort me Bokuto-san, but to me it all just sounds like you’re trying to console me. Like how mothers would talk to their toddlers about giving them a treat to stop them from crying,” Akaashi said.

“What else am I supposed to say, Akaashi?” Bokuto sighed. “You know as well as I do that this can’t last. The hate and the scorn we’ll have to experience. I could lose my credibility. Your family would disown you.”

“Then let’s run away! Can’t we? We could just pack our things and leave on a boat and get out of here,” Akaashi exclaimed. Bokuto saw so much hope in his eyes and was loathe to crush it. The world that he wanted to live in existed in the pages of a book.

“They’re going to do everything to find us. Do you really want us to live our lives on the run? And what will we do when they do? I don’t know if your parents would still force you into an engagement but they’ll throw me in jail for kidnapping you,” Bokuto argued. He didn’t notice that his hands were balled into fists.

“Why does it sound like you’re just willing to let this pass?!” Akaashi suddenly raised his voice, shocking Bokuto. “After all this you’ll still find someone to love and warm your bed, maybe in secret but you’ll still have that chance. Once you hand over that portrait to my mother, there’s nothing more for me!”

Bokuto stepped back. In front of him was the Akaashi who had grown up in a lonely manor surrounded by books, who had seen himself in the love that Achilles and Patroclus shared but knew that it was frowned upon in the world outside, who had purposely delayed his inevitable engagement by putting off any painters who came. “I’m—”

“I need to be alone,” Akaashi cut him off, walking around and past him to leave the dining room. With nothing left to do, Bokuto sat back in his stool and stared at the painting of Akaashi as if it would give him answers. He received no answers, only the knowledge that this may be the best painting he had ever created.

…

Akaashi had locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, and the day after that, so it came as a surprise when Bokuto saw him in the kitchen with Kageyama. The two of them were seated at the table, sifting through grains of rice to find tiny insects, rice weevils, that hid themselves among the grains. Kageyama looked up to greet him first.

“Bokuto-san. Dinner won’t be ready until an hour from now. Do you need anything?” he asked.

“No, it’s alright,” Bokuto shook his head, eyes unable to help themselves from glancing at Akaashi whose head was bent over in his task, before sitting down at the table. “Actually, I’ll give you guys a hand.”

“It’s not an immediate task. Although, I find it quite relaxing to do so,” Kageyama explained.

“I could use some relaxing,” Bokuto nodded, looking down at the bed of rice grains that had been spread out on a large platter made from woven leaves. He spotted a weevil, as small as a rice grain but standing out due to its black color, and picked it out quickly before crushing it in between his fingernails. Akaashi still said nothing.

“The madam is coming back in two days,” Kageyama said. “She didn’t entrust me to check on the portrait but personally I do wonder about how it’s doing.”

“It’s already finished. I think she’ll be happy with it,” Bokuto answered.

“I’ll definitely miss this place,” Kageyama hummed to himself as he sifted absentmindedly through the grains with his fingers. They were long and elegant too, but not as fine or delicate as Akaashi’s was.

“Where will you once we leave?” Akaashi asked, looking sideways at Kageyama. “If ever you need a job, I’m sure I can lend a hand.”

“Thank you, Akaashi-san. Actually, my family comes from Kyushu. My grandfather and older sister run a small bakery and I was thinking of working there from now on until I get bored,” he said.

“That sounds wonderful,” Akaashi gave a small smile. “I’ll be nearby then.”

“I was also thinking of working at a library.”

“A library?”

“Yes,” Kageyama nodded. Bokuto smiled slightly to himself at how chatty Kageyama was being today. Maybe it was all that time they spent talking to him and trying to make breakfast in the kitchen. “My sister works as a governess and she made the effort to teach me how to read and write. Sometimes I…” he glanced at Akaashi and blushed slightly. “Forgive me but, sometimes I borrow a few books from the library to read at night.”

“You don’t need to be ashamed about that,” Akaashi chuckled. “That makes me happy, actually, knowing that I’m not alone reading all those books.”

“I also browsed through your favorite book once. The Greek mythology one…” he added shyly.

“What was your favorite story?”

“The one about Hercules because it sounds so amazing,” Kageyama smiled. “What about you, Akaashi-san?”

“I have a lot of favorites,” Akaashi smiled wryly, picking out a weevil and crushing it between his fingers. “But the one that resounds quite a bit with me now is the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.”

“I don’t think I’ve read that one.”

“It’s quite the tragic love story, actually,” Akaashi said. This time, when Bokuto looked up, he caught his eye and held his gaze for a few moments. “I could tell it to you if you like.” It was directed not only to Kageyama but to Bokuto as well, so he nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

“Once upon a time, there was a man named Orpheus. He wasn’t a man though, not really, because his father was Apollo, the god of the sun and music and medicine, and his mother was a Muse. Because of that, he was gifted with the art of music. He traveled with a lyre and his voice was so high and sweet that anyone who heard it couldn’t help but stop and look for where the sound was coming from.

“Now, Orpheus fell in love with a woman named Eurydice. But their love didn’t last long for Eurydice died from being bitten by a snake. Orpheus was distraught with the loss of his wife that he resolved to save her. So, he took his lyre, and plucking it with his fingers, he sang a song so beautiful that the ground underneath him opened and he could walk all the way down to the Underworld. He kept singing on the way down and his voice lulled Cerberus to sleep and kept the monsters guarding from attacking him, all the way until he came upon Hades, the God of the Dead and Ruler of the Underworld, and his wife Persephone. And Orpheus sang a song about them that was so beautiful, they both bowed their heads and let him pass to greet the ghost of his dead wife, Eurydice.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Kageyama said.

“But it doesn’t end there,” Akaashi shook his head. “Hades allowed Orpheus to travel to the surface with his wife and for her to come alive once they returned to Earth. But he gave one condition: Orpheus wasn’t allowed to turn around once during their walk on the way up because if he did, Eurydice would return to the Underworld.

“Orpheus agreed to these conditions and set off with Eurydice following behind him. As he neared the surface, his heart was overcome with fear that he was walking alone and longing to see his wife again. And in a single, tragic moment of weakness, he couldn’t help but to turn around to see his wife tumbling back into the darkness.”

Everything was silent for a moment, except for the shifting of fingers through the rice grains. And then, Kageyema spoke up: “That’s pretty foolish of Orpheus to do.”

“Maybe,” Akaashi chuckled. “But there are different versions to the tale. In some, they say that Hades tricked the both of them, not intending for Eurydice to be let go, and so designed an impossible task for them to fulfill. In another, Orpheus instead chooses the memory of Eurydice and so turns around to have one last look at her. And in another, Eurydice knew that the test was impossible in the first place and whispered ‘Turn around’ to see her lover one last time.”

“It’s a tragic story,” Kageyama said. Bokuto silently drew swirling patterns in the rice when Akaashi said,

“All the real ones are.”

…

This time, it was Akaashi who knocked on Bokuto’s bedroom door. It was nighttime, almost an hour until midnight, and they were both far from the shores of sleep. Bokuto wordlessly stepped aside and let Akaashi in. He scanned the surroundings of the room curiously before choosing to sit at the edge of the bed where Bokuto joined him. “I… wanted to apologize,” Akaashi spoke up. His head hung down and he played with his hands on his lap. “It was unfair of me to ask unreasonable things of you when both of us knew where this was eventually going to head. I knew it even before I kissed you. I just… wanted to hope, that’s all.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I wanted to hope too,” Bokuto reached over and took Akaashi’s hands in his. “I knew a fellow painter, we both attended classes together, who was caught sleeping with one of our male models. Both of them were kicked out of their respective guilds and blacklisted from ever being able to take commissions or enter another guild. I saw him in the street once with slurs being hurled at him while he begged around for alms.”

“That’s terrible,” Akaashi shook his head. Even recounting that memory left an acidic feeling in Bokuto’s stomach. He felt Akaashi clutch his hand gently with both of his, as if he was cradling a bird, and press it to his chest. Akaashi hung his head down and from the shake of his shoulders and the dampness on Bokuto’s hand, he knew he was crying.

“I don’t see what’s so wrong with us being like this,” he sobbed, his words coming out in hiccupped breaths. “I’ve had to deal with knowing this all my life and the one time I’ve found someone to love, it’s all going to be taken away again.” Bokuto wrapped both of his arms around Akaashi and pulled him close. Akaashi clutched at his arms and buried his teary face on Bokuto’s shoulder.

“I just want you to know that I regret nothing from these last weeks. Nothing at all,” Bokuto felt his own voice breaking.

“I regret locking myself in my room for so long. Who knew that an entire day could be wasted so, so much?” Akaashi hiccupped. Bokuto pulled away and brushed the hair that stuck to Akaashi’s forehead, cupping his face in his hands.

“Let’s make the most of the time we have left then,” he said, leaning in to kiss him. Akaashi’s mouth was soft and warm and wanting as they both fell down into the bed. They rushed through nothing, taking their time memorizing as much as they could of each other’s bodies and as much as they tried to fight it off, sleep came eventually.

…

“You know, you’re probably the only person who’ll ever get to touch me like this,” Akaashi said, breaking the silence of the muggy, summer morning air. It was the day of Mikoto-san’s return and they hadn’t left the bed yet. Bokuto wasn’t sure if he had really slept that night, only that Akaashi was continuously stroking his hair and their breathing fell into the same pace.

“I’m probably the only one who knows how to touch you,” Bokuto rolled over to press his face against Akaashi’s bare chest.

“Yeah, that too,” Akaashi said sarcastically. “If only we could stop time and let things just pass like this.”

“If only, if only,” Bokuto sang, propping himself up by his elbows on the bed to look down at Akaashi. His hair messier than usual, mostly due to Bokuto’s wandering hands, and there were a few marks on his collar bone, also due to Bokuto. He liked seeing him like this and knew he would keep this image in his head to save for his future mornings.

“I could draw you like this,” he mumbled, dragging his fingertip lightly across Akaashi’s cheekbone.

“Then draw me like this,” he smiled.

“Alright. So, I have something to remember you by.” He got out of the bed and walked over to where he kept his sketchbook and drawing charcoals before coming back.

“How do you want me to pose?” Akaashi asked.

“Just like that,” Bokuto smiled up at him as he flipped to a fresh page and started sketching an outline. Akaashi held his position: head propped up with his hand with an elbow on the bed, the curves of his body just barely covered by the thin blanket. Bokuto made sure to capture everything, going in with a heavier hand to make Akaashi’s facial features as stark as possible. He prayed that termites or insects wouldn’t eat at his sketchbook, that the charcoal lines would never fade, that the paper would never tear. Finally, he finished and showed it to Akaashi.

“It’s beautiful,” he smiled, running his fingers on the paper around the sketch, careful not to smudge anything. “Make one for me too. Something to remember you by.”

Bokuto unhooked the small mirror that hung on the wall above where he kept a basin of water for washing his face. Akaashi took it from him and held it steady in front of his chest while Bokuto peered at his reflection in between sketching. He had opened his sketchbook to a fresh page when Akaashi stopped him.

“Wait, can you sketch it here?” he asked, handing over his book of Greek Mythology that had somehow made its way to Bokuto’s nightstand.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

Bokuto thumbed through the pages until he landed on one with a good amount of free space. He had been trained to create self-portraits and could do passable ones. This time, he took extra care in capturing the details of his features. It was the only thing Akaashi would have left of him, so Bokuto wanted to capture himself as accurately as possible. ‘Remember this, and everything that happened here,’ he whispered into his sketch. Finally, he passed the book back to Akaashi.

“Page 57. I’ll remember it,” he smiled, sitting up to kiss Bokuto on the lips. It was sweet and wonderful and made them both long for more, but they knew it was there last. “I’ll always love you. No matter what happens,” Akaashi whispered, taking Bokuto’s hand and pressing his lips against the knuckles. “My beautiful painter.”

After dressing up and going downstairs for breakfast, they passed the time playing chess in the library, barely speaking except for when Akaashi was teaching him how the game was played. Finally, they both heard a knock at the door, the sound of Mikoto and other people coming in, and knew that their time had come.

The rest of the events that happened were a blur for Bokuto. He nodded and smiled as Mikoto gushed over the portrait and praised his skill before sealing the canvas away in a wooden box, much like the one Bokuto traveled with. The sound of nails pounding into the wood to seal it shut made Bokuto think of coffins. Mikoto called Akaashi to his bedroom upstairs to present him with a gift. After making sure the portrait was safe and taken care of, he headed to Akaashi’s room to bid his goodbyes.

Before that though, he clearly remembered Kageyama approaching him to say goodbye. He had said something along the lines of ‘Thank you for coming here. Akaashi-san was happy these past weeks,’ to which he nodded and smiled, giving him a hug before saying his goodbye to him. Bokuto threw his things into his suitcase before finally going to Akaashi’s room.

What happened upstairs wasn’t a blur in his memory either. Bokuto remembered, knocking politely on the door, hearing Mikoto inviting him to come in, going inside to receive his payment from her. He was aware of Akaashi standing in the middle of the room but couldn’t raise his head to meet his eyes. ‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me?’ Akaashi had said out loud, calling to him. Bokuto could hear the slight crack in his voice. As much as he knew it would be more painful for him to do so, Bokuto walked forward, his eyes still downcast, to wrap his arms around the man he loved with all his heart. He closed his eyes to remember this last feeling of warmth before quickly disentangling himself and heading out the door.

His own footsteps thundered loudly in his ears, especially because of how little he could see in the dark interior of the manor. Bokuto almost slipped on the carpet but caught himself using the stairway railing. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was suddenly aware of another set of footsteps but it was only when he opened the manor’s door that he heard Akaashi speak:

“Turn around.”

He didn’t even need to be told twice. Bokuto turned around to find Akaashi standing in the middle of the parlor, illuminated by the single shaft of light spilling into the slightly ajar doorway, wearing a new, navy blue suit that his mother bought. The suit he was going to wear for his wedding. Akaashi’s eyes betrayed the words ‘Keep this memory.’

Bokuto let out a single, choked sob before leaving the manor, shutting the door, and losing Akaashi to the darkness.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #313

“i’m your turbo lover  /  tell me there’s no other”

Where are you located at this moment? In my bed. What if you found out your ex was having a child with someone else? If it was Sara, I'm finding out who the fuck I'm flying up there to punch his face in. If it was Jason, I'd either faint or be in the bathroom vomiting. Or both. I can almost promise you at least one or the other while I have an absolute emotional breakdown. I'm not at the point in my recovery where I can hear that and be entirely okay. I'd be happy for any of the others. At what age do you think you'll be ready to have children? Never. When was the last time you couldn't stop laughing? Why? I don't recall. Which of your friends do your parents get along best with? I guess Girt, since he's known my mom the longest of the friends I still have. I don't know about Dad; he barely knows any of my friends seeing as I don't live with him and see him rarely. Is there anyone in your friendship group that your parents don't like? No. Can you recall the last time you were extremely disappointed? I surprisingly can't remember, even though I know it was recent. Who was the last person to un-friend you on Facebook? I don't know, it's not like I go hunting people down if I notice the number has dropped, lol. Do you know why he/she decided to un-friend you? I'm certain it would've been something political. Are there any food wrappings, boxes, containers etc. in your room? No. Do you know anyone who does have cancer? I don't think anyone who currently has it, no. I may know someone via association, but idk. What is the worst medicine you've ever taken? There are two that very strongly stand out: the first one was in middle school, and the second sometime last year. I was put on an antidepressant that made me absolutely love life in the morning, like I would practically prance through school, but come afternoon, I was a fucking demon. Mom took me off that shit so fast. Most recently, my birth control was changed to have more estrogen for some reason I can't recall (maybe it had to do with mood?? idk), and it made me... I'm just gonna say I was a ~mess~. I slammed on breaks with it so fuckin fast. Safe to say I returned to my normal pill. Has your house or where you stayed ever flooded? My childhood home came very close during Hurricane Floyd. Thankfully the water never got actually inside the house, but it was an absolute lake outside. What was the last event or special occasion you participated in? My niece's birthday was actually a couple days ago, so we celebrated at my sister's house. What do you find yourself reminiscing about the most? I'll give you one guess. Do you have a favorite pianist? No. Song you listened to last is...? I have "Turbo Lover" by Judas Priest on right now. What's the last type of cookie you ate? Uhhh I would assume chocolate chip. Do you have your own computer? I have my own laptop, and I'm possibly getting an actual computer come May?? One of my WoW friends knows the hell I've been through with this laptop, and she and her husband are getting new computers then, so she's basically pushed her husband's old one on me, lol. Apparently it works just fine, he just wants something better. I've told her again and again to make some money off of it, but she's pretty much giving me no choice lmao. I appreciate it a whole lot, though. It'd be pretty nice to separate games onto an actual, capable desktop versus making my laptop sound like it's screaming for God's mercy if I boot something up. Describe your computer chair? I don't have one. Well, there's an old one in the extra room I'm going to end up using, but all I know is it's black. I've never paid closer attention to it. Do you sleep with your door open or closed? Open. I feel too isolated with it closed. Are you going to keep your last name when you get married? God no, it's very unlikely. I hate my last name, take it away. Does it bother you when people beg? Why are they begging, and how insistently? It depends. Do you have any weird rings? I have two, but neither I consider weird, at least. Well, I suppose the one with "bitch" carved on the inside would confuse non-Supernatural fans, haha. Are you anything like your siblings? Not really, no. At least, my two immediate sisters. Mom says I'm extremely similar to her eldest daughter though and wishes we'd talk more, but yeah, I just don't have anything to talk about with her. I'm so bad at initiating conversation. When was the last time you shaved your legs? October for when I was doing that witchy photoshoot with a friend. I absolutely hate shaving my legs and pretty much only do if anyone else whose opinion would affect me may see them. What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? Uhhh I guess all the "upgrades" I want to make to Venus' enclosure: a 40g tank and a nice, accurate hygrometer and thermometer, as well as the proper kind of lamp for her. I feel like such a "bad snake mom" still having her in her current terrarium because, while it's perfectly liveable and not dangerous, it's too small for her. It's pretty much always on my mind to some degree nowadays, so just like, dropping the terrarium and extra tools off would be a massive weight off my shoulders. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? No, but I was able to skip the intro Writing course the last time I was in college; I just started in Writing II. Who took your profile pic? Anywhere where it's a picture of myself, odds are me. I hate getting pictures taken, but if it's gonna happen, it'll be through myself, knowing my "good" angle and such, lol. Have you ever been fishing? Do you know anyone who likes fishing as a hobby? I've been fishing many times, especially as a kid with my dad. There are pleeeenty of people I know who enjoy it. I don't anymore. Do you own any cats? What color are their eyes? Yes; his are a light blue. Is there a rose bush in your garden? What color are its roses? We don't have a garden. When was the last time you spent over $100 in one transaction? What did you buy? Over $100 with my own cash, a plane ticket. My recent tattoo deposit was exactly a hundred. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? Would you judge a grown adult for doing so? No; Roman would NEVER allow me to cuddle anything else, and I am not even remotely kidding. I couldn't care less if any adult does, though. Would you rather read an erotic novel or watch an erotic film? Ew, neither, but I guess a book would be better just so my eyes weren't forever scarred. What’s your favorite way to make your home smell good? Do you spend a lot of money on making this happen? INCENSE!!!! God, I love incense burners. I don't light it anymore though because Venus' terrarium is also in my room, and it's not good for snakes. What are the main two colors in the room you’re currently in? Did you pick these colors out yourself? Just... white. That's it. Well, my furniture is brown. I didn't pick either. How often do you wake up in the night needing to pee? Usually once, sometimes not at all anymore. I guess my bladder actually grew a pair. If you live in a household with pets, who is responsible for their care - both in terms of finance and the physical tasks involved? As far as the physical care, me. Mom does help me do a full clean of Venus' cage sometimes, though, because I don't trust myself to both keep her around my neck while I scrub the tank, hide, bowl, etc., with a cat that is my absolute shadow. I don't want to be bent over the tub and Roman tries to do something; he's shown very little interest in Venus, but still, I'm one hell of a paranoid snake mom that doesn't want to risk her life. Full cleans only happen like twice a year, so I don't mind too much asking my mother for some help. I should point out that Mom doesn't want to hold her, so we can't reverse roles. Do you have anything hanging from your ceiling apart from lights? Not anymore, no. At my old house and the one before, I had lots of Pyramid Head gift tags hanging, but our landlord doesn't want me to do that here. Would you describe yourself as neat, messy or somewhere in-between? I'm in-between. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them needed to go the vets? Venus had to go to the vet about a year into me having her because she was showing symptoms of an RI in strange breathing episodes, which can be fatal to a snake. Thank God, nature, whatever, that she didn't. There were warning signs, but closer watch over her humidity saved her. Roman, meanwhile, was taken to the vet like a year ago to be neutered. When the pandemic is over, what is one thing you can’t wait to do again? I barely ever left the house beforehand, so... I guess go to the movies. What’s one thing (aside from essentials) that you spend the most money on each month? Has anyone ever told you you’re obsessed or addicted with it? N/A What’s your favourite genre of TV show to watch? What’s your favourite show that’s not from that genre? If I had to pick, uhhh... yeah, idk, due to the whole "not into TV much to begin with" thing. Would you rather be employed or self-employed? Why? Self-employed, though taking care of all business matters yourself is/would suck. I just really want to be my own boss for the sake of photographing whatever I want. IIs your hair naturally curly, straight or somewhere in between? Do you wish it was different? It's straight, but on the wavy side, and I wish it wasn't. Do you ever play online games with your friends? Which one(s)? Just WoW. In the last week, have you had any alcoholic beverages? Which? No. Do you ever wear accessories in your hair? Which ones? No. Do you feel free to post your views on social media? Yep. I honestly don't care who it pisses off. What is your favorite work of historical fiction? Well, I don't really know what you consider truly "historical" in age... That, and I'm bad at dates to begin with. There are lots and lots of older books and movies I adore, though. Old Yeller is one of my favorite books ever, for one. The Boy In The Striped Pajamas makes me sob, too. What cartoon character looks like you? I remember when Hotel Transylvania came out, my ex's mob pointed out how much she thought I looked like the daughter, especially when my hair was dyed black. Do you have hope for the future? Some days I do, some days I don't. Do you believe in yourself? Ehhhh... debatable, idk. Do you have trouble letting go of your past? Oh yes. Were you happy in high school? It's funny, I was very depressed in HS, but due to Jason and friends, it's one of my most cherished time periods. Were you ever a teacher's favorite? I mean it modestly, but I was almost always pretty obviously one of the teachers' favorites. I was a good student. Are you popular? I wasn't. If you won a title in the senior class polls, what was it? I didn't. Have you ever had a medical condition that made you unable to work? My social anxiety is so debilitating that it's made it questionable. It ruined my very short-lived previous jobs. What makes your life worth living? My future goals, family, friends... What is your favorite Bible verse? I don't have one. List five careers you've considered. Paleontologist, vet, game designer, author, and wildlife biologist are all past ones. Do you have any unusual talents? If so, what? No. What do you get compliments on? My hair and my art, mostly. What have people told you you should be? I've heard "a vet" most in my life. What is holding you back? My (mostly social) anxiety and extreme fear of judgment. Do you have anyone purely evil in your life? Hell no, I wouldn't allow that person to stay in my life. Have you ever felt threatened for your life? I've felt scared for it, yes. While riding my bike once, I ran into a guy in my old neighborhood who had a criminal history, including assault, just asking what I was listening to on my iPod. I stopped because I was scared to keep going, and he wound up asking for my Facebook, but guess who didn't accept THAT friend request. List ten positive words that describe you. That's too much thinking, man. List ten negative words that [you feel] describe you. And that's too much negativity to fish in. Are you a good person or a bad person? I mean, I try to be a good one. Have you ever contemplated being a bad person? I've done bad things, but I've certainly never deliberated tried to be an overall bad person. Have you ever resorted to vandalism because you didn't have a voice? No. Have you ever egged someone's house? Wow, no. Do you want to egg someone's house? Also no because I'm a fucking adult. Have you ever seen a piece of graffiti that you are thankful for? What an odd question. I mean, no? Name three people who hurt you and didn't care. I am quite positive Colleen doesn't care about the many times she did considering she's always right. Was your first crush sexual, or no? No, I was just a kid. What would you do if you got pregnant right now? I honestly can't say I know. If I was God forbid raped, I'd probably have an abortion because I psychologically could not handle that without being scarred for life. If it was by my own stupidity, I feel I'd probably have the baby but give it up for adoption. I just can't raise a kid. Do you have a medical condition that you are embarrassed or ashamed to tell people you have? No, I don't think so. What do you get asked the most? Hm. OH, WAIT, THAT'S EASY. I get asked a lot if my lip piercing hurt. Have you ever stood up for someone else who was being bullied? I know I have before, but I don't remember the occasion. What tragic news stories that you've heard has touched you the most? Man, that's a lot to think about. You see news articles on Facebook all the time, and a whole lot of them touch me, so I dunno. What is your favorite thing to order at Taco Bell? I like the cheese quesadillas, and whatever those cinnamon bites are called are really good. I'm still tilted they got rid of the fiesta potatoes, because I adored those. Where do you have cutting scars (if you have any)? I only ever had them on my wrist, but you can't see them anymore. Do you like cotton candy? Not very, but I mean, I can have a bite or two. It's way too sweet to eat a lot of it. What's the best piece of graffiti you've ever seen? I'm unsure, but I've definitely seen beautiful work, especially online. Do you like tattoos? "Like" is a colossal understatement. Do you like piercings? Yep yep yep. Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? No. Those are not people I hang around with. Who is the last person you slow-danced with? Slow-danced? I don't think I've done that since Jason.

[knightthunderis]

Christmas Cordonian style Knight Thunder Twist.

Christmas cordonian style with a Knight Thunder twist

  author's note   this story takes place a week after the arrest of Barthelemy Beaumont and those who were with him in the coup against the crown of cordonia.

 The Palace of Cordonia is a buzz with excitement as servants and people alike work together to decorate the capital city for the upcoming Christmas celebration.

Karyson and his Queen Reimeiko were observing as the decorations and preparations were happening.

“It is a Happy Time For Us my dear Reimeiko.   What a celebration the preparations have been going on for days.” Karyson gushed.  “ old man Beaumont and the rest of his conspirators are behind bars my aunt and uncle can finally rest in peace knowing that they're killers are incarcerated for the rest of their lives.   I am relieved as well.   Rhiannon and the twins are growing up free from Barthelemy's tyranny.   and peace is once again returned to our kingdom.”

 “oh yes.”  Queen Reimeiko agreed. “ we are finally able to live our lives and our children are free the grow up away from all the evils that were thrown at them.   all of our friends from all around the kingdom and Beyond have come to help decorate.   BJ and the trio were getting along beautifully and this is our first real Christmas together as a family.”

 before they knew what was happening,  a loud crash could be heard from the kitchen close to the ballroom.  Karyson and Reimeiko  exchanged fearful looks and took off in the direction of the crash.   they both get through this serving doors only Drake fell out on the floor with a bowl of cake mix on his head.

“ what happened?”  the king demanded attempting to hide the laughter behind his feigned anger.

 “It was an accident, honestly.” Maxwell Beaumont  quickly said.  “I was coming one way with a bowl of cake mix. He was coming the other with the apples and we collided. Nothing major we’ll fix it we’ll fix it.”

“Well you had better fix it.” the  King growled  in feigned anger.  “Racine will get both of your butts if you mess up her kitchen and you know how fiercely protective Racine is of her kitchen.” as the king and his queen turned away and walked out of the kitchen once out of earshot they finally busted up laughing. “ did you see the look on Maxwell's face  when he and Drake  thought they were in trouble?  The look of fear was priceless. “

As they exited the kitchen and returned to the Ballroom  and the decorating, Marco and Valerie from Lythikos  and Jiro and Camila from Applewood arrived with their families with more sweet treats and snacks for the celebration.   The Cordonian children  we're given permission to take the time to play with BJ and the trio.

“Thank you for inviting us to your Christmas celebrations your Majesty's.” Camilla announced.  “And we are glad that you were able to save your daughter from being taken over by that bad man.”

“ well the bad man will be no trouble for no body anymore.”  the queen replied. “ he is locked up for the rest of his life and will never harm another Soul ever again.   you know what I have got an idea.   what do you guys say you guys heard BJ & the trio up to the playroom and then I will come and tell y'all A Christmas Story tell you all about how it all began with me and my family.”

“ that would be awesome your highness.” Marco gushed. “ it would be great to hear all about your first Christmas and how things meant for you and yours.”

“ well okay if you will take BJ Rhiannon Ethan and  Gabriel do the playroom The King and I will be up in a few minutes with the Christmas book.”

 without another second to spare the cordonian children took the younger ones up to the playroom and waited for the queen to arrive with her story.   within about 10 minutes the king and queen arrived at the playroom all the children were sitting in a semicircle in front of the rocking chair waiting to hear the Queen's famous story.

“ truth of the matter be told.” Karyson replied. “I cannot wait to hear the story you have come up with my love.”

“ well this is a story that everybody will enjoy.” Reimeko said.  instead of sitting in the rocking chair she pushed it back and set down in the floor with the children and her husband and began her story.  “ this is the story of a Time long ago back before my parents back when my grandparents were still just children my grandfather told us the story years later and it's become a family favorite:  Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring not even a mouse the stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that st. Nicholas soon would be there the children were nestled all snug in their beds with visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads.”

 This part of the story is where the king picked it up. “ oh I remember this with mom and her kerchief and I in my cap we had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.  When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter away to the window I flew like a flash tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.  The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below when what do my wondering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer with a little old driver so Lively and quick I knew in that moment it must be Saint Nick More rapid than the Eagles his coursers they came and he whistled and shouted and called them by name now Dasher  now Dancer now Prancer and Vixen on Comet on Cupid on Donner and Blitzen to the top of the porch to the top of the wall now dash away, dash away dash away all as dry leaves up before the wild hurricane fly when they met with an obstacle mount to the sky so up to the Housetop the coursers they flew with the sleigh full of toys and Saint Nicholas II and then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the Prancing and pawing of each little hoof as I drew in my head and was turning around down the chimney st. Nicholas came with a bound.”

 The queen took up the story from then on.   but the story had brought in everyone else to hear the long and blustering Tale. “ he was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot, a bundle of toys he had flung on his back and look like a peddler just opening his pack his eyes have a twinkled his dimples how merry his cheeks were like roses his nose like a cherry his droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow the stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath he had a broad little face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly he was chubby and plump a right Jolly Old elf and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself a winking his eye and it twisted his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread he spoke not a word but it went straight to his work and feel it all the stockings then turn with a jerk and laying his finger aside of his nose and giving a nod up the chimney he rose he sprang to his sleigh his team gave a whistle and a way they are flew like that down of a thistle but I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight Merry Christmas to all and to all a good-night.”

 The children and everyone assembled sat there in awe as the queen finished the long historical story Amazed by the beauty and the imagery she weaved as she told the story.

“Tell us more your majesty.” Camilla gushed.  “is there more Christmas poems and stories you know that one was amazing especially the tale of the snow.”

“ there is much more there is one by Charles Dickens that was entitled The Christmas Carol but that is a much longer story to be told and right now we have not the time.” the queen replied. “ but the moral of the Christmas story is at least A Christmas Carol is a story if you like I will read to you all at bedtime but for now we have a celebration to get to and hopefully everything is in order.”

 Ethan, Rhiannon, and Gabriel, along with BJ approached Queen Thunderis  with curious eyes. “ was there more to the poem Aunt Rena?” BJ asked. “ it was a very short story but I'd like to know more.”

“ me too  mommy.” Rhiannon echoed. “more Christmas Story pease?”

“ alright here's one I can tell you since we do seem to have time before the big celebration.”  the queen replied.  “ when Jamie Randall and Shannon we're just nine maybe ten years old that was one Christmas that turned into a Christmas miracle.   The  Llewellyn's  had just moved in next door Mr. Llewellyn had joined Thunderstar Universal  and his children Tristan, Erin,  and Jordan had  just enrolled in the nearby Elementary School.   Mrs. Llewellyn was traveling the country with her family to meet up with her married family in time for the holidays.   Miss Rihanna drove a special delivery truck all over the country and was to an extent a female version of Santa Claus. but it wasn't just gifts for the children that she was hauling every year she was also doing everything to help families that didn't have everything they needed. “

“Was there a lot of families like that?”  Camilla asked.  “ I do not understand what did it mean that these families did not have everything they needed?” 

“The families I am referring to are the ones like well your Nobles and Royals call them,  commoners.”  the queen replied. “ because unlike the Nobles and Royals The parents of these families had to work for a living. not everybody born is born into it a family where all they have to do is bark orders at others and get what they want the commoners had to work for everything they had but because of a lot of the Nobles and Royals of the history there were a lot of things that they were unable to afford.  Anyway, Mrs. Rhiannon owned her own Trucking line and was an independent truck driver. Well  this particular holiday season she was called on by a very special family she had grown up around over the years. they asked her to drive what they call the Christmas truck because what  was in the trailer of that special truck what's going to save this one town utter destruction.   well the week before Christmas Mrs. Rhiannon packed it up And headed out for the town of Lincoln Falls which was apparently somewhere in Alaska. they drove for the longest time she and her brother but always called back to her family in order to keep them up-to-date as to where she was she dropped off her load and was on her way back first few days before Christmas Eve when she was supposed to call she did not.   the truck had been found jackknifed into a snowbank on her way back to her family but there was no sign of her or her brother come to find out she and her brother had been rescued by a stranger but this was no ordinary stranger at least I did not think so according to Rhiannon  The Stranger had seen what it happened the snow so hard to see through Rihanna's lost control of the truck and hit the snowbank almost burying the big truck in the snow. The Stranger welcome them back to his home where they could get warm and wait out the blizzard that it hit for what seemed like several days the blizzard blew and blew and blew and by the time it finally stopped Rescuers had found the truck and we're working diligently to dig it out  Rhiannon and her brother had wakened from the sound of someone digging around the in the snow around the truck they were thankful that they had been spared. when they told the dispatcher about what happened and who had helped them they did not at first believe what she said come to find out the stranger name was Liam Alexander that is the name he gave us Rhiannon declared but that is impossible the dispatcher replied Liam Alexander died back in 1956 due to snow storm this just as this one was it couldn't have been him come to find out Rihanna looked in the direction they had gone towards  Liam's house but all she saw for miles and miles with nothing but snow but he was here she protested he saved us we were we were in his house. Liam Alexander was quite the angel back in the day he was always doing everything humanly possible to help all the families who were unable to have anything extra for like Christmas and whatever else even those who were struggling financially and otherwise he would always do what he could to help the night he died he was on the same kind of run you heard the song Angels Among Us by Alabama the dispatch arrest well yeah of course who hasn't Rihanna declared that song tells a story quite literally the dispatcher said I believe there are Angels Among Us sent down to us from somewhere up above They come to you and me In our darkest hours to show us how to live pto teach us how to give and to guide us with the light of love. the dispatcher took Rhiannon to the cemetery and showed her Liam's tombstone with that Epitaph written in the Stone.   Liam James Alexander born March 25th 1936 died December 16th 1956 he was an angel Among Us and he will always be remembered and loved He was only 20 years old the dispatcher said but in his short  years of life he gave more of himself did many others ever thought about. Rhiannon continued home that night and when she finally walked in her door Christmas morning her husband sons and daughter as well as their new neighbors were there to greet her relieved that she made it home safely the last thing she said before she went to bed herself if it was not for Liam Alexander I would not be here today no matter what happens my children never take strangers for granted because when you least expect it they could very well be angels in disguise.

“ it was amazing.” Camila gushed. “ is Miss Rhiannon still alive? I would have loved to have been able to have met her.”

“ well actually you already have.”  Queen Seidre  replied. “ she was me in my younger years. and it was the last run I made before I returned to my husband and my children and my reign as Queen of Thaddea.”

“ all right you guys that's enough stories for now.”  Maxwell called. “ the ballroom the snacks and everything is ready time to get this party on and Christmas Jamboree kicking into high gear let's go you guys come on what do you want stories later.   it is time for presents let's go let's go.”

 as everyone began to move out of the playroom and head back to the ballroom the king embraced his Queen before she left.” I will have to admit that this is the first of the best Christmases ever put together my love.”  he replied. “ I look forward to a whole lifetime of more to come to watching our children grow up happy and healthy to being together and finally living in peace here so much I want to do.   you have a very thoughtful look on your face my queen is there something on your mind?”

“ I got some test results back from dr. Ramirez the other day.”  the queen announced. “ I did not want to say anything and get your hopes up until I knew for sure but now that I do…”

“ oh my goodness Queen Reimeiko what is it?” King Karyson asked. “ please do not leave me on tenterhooks what is going on?”

“ it seems that Rhiannon and the twins are going to be having a sibling or two soon.” Reimeiko replied.

“ wait, what? seriously baby?” Karyson asked. “ this is beyond any shadow of a doubt the best news all day and one of the best Christmas gifts ever.   oh now we had to make this big announcement and now.”

“ we will in due time but for now let us just enjoy the peace and quiet of the celebration and not worry about telling everybody else any more than what we already have.”  the queen replied. “ I definitely do not want a repeat every Rhiannon and the twins first year”

“ oh good point my love.”  King replied. “ now come on we have a celebration to enjoy.”

 the Cordonian King and his Queen return to join the others in the big Christmas celebration relieved to have made it through their first two years despite all the shortcomings trials and tribulations they have had to face from the beginning.  as she watched her husband her family and her friends celebrate the Christmas holidays, Reimeiko  knew  that no matter what the future held, they would always face everything together as a family as a unit as a very strong compassionate loving and caring Kingdom.

The End

[worldcakecakecake]

On Deutschland and Italia by Lovino Valenti

Lovino writes a series of blog entries on the relationship between Germany and Italy as he deals with a move to Hamburg, his brother’s wedding, and his budding romance (which he denies) to the infuriating Gilbert Beilschmidt.

                                                                Chapter 6

On Deutschland and Italia.

Educational Exchanges.

 I studied in Italy, while my brother did a semester in Germany. We can assure you that in these institutions there is a promotion to study in each other’s countries. There are constantly discussions forums, research on common historical facts, festivals, new ones each week. I was asked many times to guide the German students around Italy, while my brother happily joined whatever excursion offered to Italians to understand more of Germany.

 We offer each other a special kind of comfort, with warm welcomes that could even remind of home. I guess this is why we always go back to being Germany’s number one holiday destination from time to time.

 I’m aghast by the amount of Italians that actually enjoy going to Germany, romanticizing it that perfect holiday destination.

 Sometimes we make it so easy for them and then they make it easy for us, as it is established in my last few blog entries. We give a perfect exchange that I believe it to be fair and just. The offerings are for one to help themselves, and I myself might soon fall into that very welcome.

  “You wanted white, didn’t you?” Lovino heavily questioned.

 “I did, but…I’m afraid that it will put me too much in the ‘bride’ position,” Feliciano wondered, still eyeing the white suits with question.

 “To tell you the truth, white would better suit you than black.” As Feliciano changed between a black and white suit on the mirror before him, he realized that his brother’s words were right.

 “…I don’t want to go with this typical cut though.” Most white suits held it and he didn’t want to be wearing what any other could on such a day. He wanted to be an image that Ludwig could well keep in his head for the rest of their lives.

 “We just have to keep looking. I’m sure they’ll have something,” Lovino smiled and Feliciano felt confidence in it, putting the two suits he held back and getting deeper into the store hoping to find that exactly.

 Lovino, originally was going to use this as a chance to hijack and get Feliciano to choose the ugliest thing possible…but today, he didn’t feel that wish of ruin, instead with happier moods that wanted to help. Compassion and love for his younger brother shined today, over hatreds against matches and Beilschmidts. Indeed it was to be a memorable day for his brother…he didn’t deserve to be wearing something so ridiculous, when he had the composure, shine and beauty to wear the best any seamstress or tailor had. He would be true, he would help him find that suit that would get Ludwig surely drooling that day. Luckily, they had this store alone for them. The tailor was Italian and a good friend of their father, his shop tucked away from the usual toll of city center life. It was such a sweet place with wonders to see, calm, surely with no expectance of another and so Feliciano and Lovino could well spend their day there.

 Lovino heard the ring of entrance, rolling his eyes expecting yet another couple ready to annoyingly fill the air with their own questions and presence. By the sound of the footsteps, it was only one person, and by the nearing this person took, right beside Lovino, it was someone familiar.

 “Ludwig is going in black,” the voice announced, Lovino startled to find Gilbert in his vicinity, smiling with his deep pride as always. For once, Lovino didn’t attack it instantly, only but a small glare before he turned back to the store…wondering where his brother went now.

 “Why should I care?”

 Gilbert shrugged, “maybe you want to help your brother match. Italians worried about fashion and all.”

 “Feliciano can decide whatever the hell he wants. I’ll just make sure he looks good.”

 “Well, I can assure you my Ludwig will have him dropping his mouth,” he decreed sure.

 “Hmph,” Lovino challenged with a smirk, daring, attractive, charming, for a moment Gilbert was swayed. “We’ll see about that.”

 They lay in mellow silence, for once not at all burning and deadly.

 “What are you doing here anyways?” Lovino could utter.

 “To be honest, I was hoping we could do some more tricks.”

 “Not with Feliciano’s wedding suit. He actually deserves to look amazing that day.” This beloved sweetness Gilbert found rather endearing. He grinned at it and for once Lovino didn’t mind it.

 “Then I’m here to offer my help!”

 “You?” There was large insult, Lovino staring him down, judging the very baggy purple hoodie, the red shirt underneath and the tight black jeans, all a disaster in his vision. And he wanted to offer his help looking like that? “Feliciano and I can do well by ourselves,” he was sure.

 “Hear me out! I just went yesterday with Ludwig to get his own suit along with everything else he’ll wear that day. I know how he’ll look.”

 “Come on, actually leave that a surprise for the wedding.”

 “I won’t say anything, I’m just suggesting to help, so Feliciano can match amazingly well with Ludwig.” He had a point that Lovino could understand, but he was still clearly hesitant, needing more words than that. “I know how hard this can get, even my brother needed like three other opinions before he decided on the one he got. I care a lot for Feliciano and I intend to help him look his best as well. Please, just let me join you.”

 It was the plead that had Lovino smiling at him, accepting and decided. “Well, come on then. The more we do something about it, the earlier we can leave.”

 Although indeed surprising, Feliciano happily welcomed Gilbert’s encouragement and so the three settled in diving to the necessary depths of the tailor shop to find the perfect treasured wear. Although it took nearly an hour, they managed a pile of contenders, Gilbert and Lovino going as far as organizing them by numbers. They had Feliciano try every single one of them, at one point hilariously sitting down with notes they made on their phones, shouting and clapping as if this was some high fashion runaway. It eased well Feliciano, who laughed loud and began to enjoy from this instead of the stress it had started as. He turned, he winked, threw kisses and made himself believe a fashion icon and overall, they enjoyed their time.

 And then Feliciano came out in…it. The moment wasn’t a joke, what Lovino and Gilbert held was true impression, and Feliciano…he felt comfortable in it, great, like it was meant to be his, spinning and dancing himself with it for the longest while.

 Yes…he could imagine being held in Ludwig’s arms like this, being his star, his shine. Gilbert and Lovino understood that feeling of being lost in dream and so they let Feliciano in that starry trip.

 They still had a couple of other suits to go through, but they knew well which one was decided, Feliciano holding it dear in his arms when the moment came to choose. There were still some things he wanted to fix from it, so they scheduled another appointment with the tailor to work on it, but they pretty much had something important checked out from their list.

 As celebration, they headed out for a drink, the three spending wonderful company, in chats and laughter that Feliciano did not expect he would share with Gilbert and Lovino together. In their table, there never came a moment where Feliciano had to worry about firing fights that could end in punches. No, it was all an ease, if it ever reached that point, it was playful, only earning mocking hits from Lovino against Gilbert’s shoulder.

 This was another touch to make the day perfect, wonderful. Oh, how he hoped it could grow.

 In that moment Feliciano saw so much potential.

  It was a day much like any other, one the soon to wed couple could relax in, for once not planning anything but just spending a lazy day on their apartment. Feliciano sketched anatomy practice, and Ludwig was checking some things they could do in the Dominican Republic for once they moved there. They lay together in peace, silent, wishing nothing else for the moment.

 “You have to see these beaches in Punta Cana,” Ludwig wanted to show, passing the phone so Feliciano could see such clear blues.

 It was in that exact moment that he received a call, the name showing his boss, which he knew he had to quickly answer to. He apologized to Feliciano and went to the kitchen to properly speak. The usual greetings were exchanged, but in a matter of seconds, it soured, showed in Ludwig’s expression and his insulted, “what?”

 They fought, quick and agitated, many times Ludwig slapping his hand against the counter, firing and holding himself from wording a strong insult. In the hurry the German was spoken in, Feliciano could barely understand it, but from the bits he got, it was bad, bad as in whatever plans they had were about to deeply change bad. When Ludwig hanged up, without a proper goodbye to his superior, he gripped the phone tightly, Feliciano wondering if he was to hurl it against the wall. He let it go so it wouldn’t happen, breathing and turning to sit once again in the couch beside Feliciano, hoping it could do well to quickly calm.

 “What…happened?” Yet Feliciano deeply wondered, sitting up and taking Ludwig’s hand in comfort, ready to hear.

 He sighed, “the company has gone bankrupt.”

 “What?” Feliciano couldn’t understand it. It was doing so fine! Reaching points throughout Europe, Africa and Asia. This deal Ludwig participated in would bring it to the Caribbean, helping the islands prosper with their transportation. “But you were all doing so well! How could this have happened?”

 “My boss didn’t hire the best people to deal with the sales department. Apparently, they were hiding that we weren’t getting any money to start new projects. They have to cut down on a lot to be able to save something of the company. Starting in the Caribbean is now out of the question.” Ludwig groaned and dropped more on the sofa, the news tiring and bringing a weigh to keep him laid. At least he was cuddled still with his beloved.

 “But-but-but…we have already done so much to settle in Santo Domingo!” Feliciano couldn’t sit well on the sofa in turn. “We-we-we’ll, have to cancel everything! And-and settle here!”

 “There’s nothing for me to turn to here in Germany,” Ludwig anguished.

 “What do you mean? They can’t just take you out from your position here!”

 “Feliciano, I was completely settled to go to the Dominican Republic and deal with everything there. They already gave and established my part here to another person.”

 “And they can’t take you back!” Feliciano was indignant for him.

 “Well…they suggested one thing.” Feliciano lay attentive and willing to listen. “They told me, if I’m willing to start a whole new part of the company for me to take control of, they’ll give me all the help I need.” Feliciano thought about it, but was still deeply questioned, wondering how it could affect them. Ludwig could see it well, “but unlike what was planned…I’ll start from zero and probably not get any kind of pay for months while I settle it.” He was already stressing at all the hard work he would have to do, something that Feliciano heavily disliked.

 “I don’t think you should exhaust yourself like that and then struggle so much at our home,” he sighed, turning away, already unsettling for all the damages it would surely bring.

 “It’s either that or doing the same here.” Ludwig was letting it well settle on Feliciano’s decision. He mattered more and he was willing to go wherever he claimed his words on.

 “What about my volunteering?” He reminded. It was well settled, still standing and the other nurses that were to expect him were constantly sending him messages about his arrival.

 “What do you want to do?”

 “I do…want to keep it,” he was honest, yet showing it shy, knowing it just made things more complicated. “But Ludwig…it’s not paid…”

 “What if you gave them a different offer?”

 Feliciano sighed, “this is a low resource hospital.”

 “Feliciano, we can’t just go there without having some money to fall on.”

 They were lost, silenced, caught in a maze, but Feliciano was determined to go through. “I’ll…” he really shouldn’t be demanding anything from such a hospital, but… “see what I can do…I’ll talk to some of the other nurses and see what I can find. If I can’t get anything then…I don’t think we can go anywhere.” It will be breaking and disappointing, but Ludwig agreed to give him that time.

 “It’s also best we don’t tell anyone in the meantime.”

 “Why?” Feliciano thought they could use their families’ help.

 “They’re worried as it is with both of us leaving. Your family doesn’t agree with that and they’re depending on me to take care and even sustain you. There’s also the wedding and…” the stress was strong in Ludwig’s tone.

 Feliciano tried to ease it by taking a gentle hold of his hands. “We’ll figure something out.”

 Ludwig smiled and they went into their embrace, trying to get back to the plan of leisure for the day.

  On Deutschland and Italia.

Representation and Honesty.

 In recent years, with this heavy structure of economy and diplomacy, there hasn’t been much positive representation of Italy’s state in the media abroad.

 Germany, like Italy, has also gone through collapses, corruptions and questionable partnerships that end up costing millions of euros. But, the Germans managed to isolate all these situations, managing to keep an image of honesty and rigor, and so they are still seen as our current heroic European leader.

 I really cannot defend Italy, as most of the time, the things they mention are tragically true. Yet sometimes Italians do try, from those in the homeland to those even in Germany or other countries. We form protests, we stand with our culture at the threat of trying to make us more like Germany. We speak out and try to defend how we can, but no matter how we do it, word, especially by the Germans, would be written against us saying that whatever is useless and will never be as helpful as we think.

 I detest how sometimes these articles just go on and on with our faults and stir away from the main issue they were speaking on.

 Not all Germans have this mindset, luckily, and you know what, there are Italians who prove to be just what the image abroad wants us to be. But in my situation, it is not the case.

 I’ll admit, the Valenti and the Beilschmidts share a wonderful friendship and love that stand against these images, and I admit that the Beilschmidts will never ever do such a thing as to lie and tarnish us. And despite my personal opinions on the Beilschmidts, we would never betray or misuse of their trust.

 It’s being well put in the line with my brother’s marriage to Ludwig, who both, more than anyone, would have to prove and be these very qualities that describe the family’s relationship. No uncertainties, no doubts and no lies.

 We’re putting out a lot, but a lot of trust on them to know that they will take care of each other well.

  “I actually really like the theme you chose,” Lovino admitted as he looked through the file on Feliciano’s tablet, admiring the golds, the pristine white fabrics and the brazen ornaments that gave it power and elegance. Feliciano didn’t answer, his glance on a large spiraled sponge cake, coated with red sprinkles, pink and white frosting, and of course, wonderful strawberries. He was drooling and trying to lean more, Lovino knowing he was fighting an inner battle to not eat it all in one gulp. But he was not doing this, he was just staring at it…quite blindly.

 “Hey! Did you listen to me?” He had to shout, for Feliciano to shake and finally put his head on something else.

 “Oh…so you really think it’s fine?” He smiled true like nothing happened.

 “Are you all right?”

 “Ye-yes, I-I’m fine, perfectly fine!”

 And Lovino knew something really wasn’t. “Mhm…” clear unbelief.

 “Yes, yes…everything is fine. Please don’t’ worry and let us actually…decide on a cake.” And now he could notice the cake he was spacing out into earlier. “Oh, this one looks great!”

 “I don’t think it will match with the theme though.”

 “Yeah, but it still looks cute.”

 “Let’s focus on getting something that doesn’t look like were taking it to a kid’s slumber party.” Lovino stood and motioned Feliciano to a part of the bakery shop filled with more pristine cakes, shinning in bronze and gold, artistic flowers and seeming encrusted with jewelry when it was really frosting. They were all so gorgeous, Feliciano enamoring with every single one, making the decision harder.

 “Oh, I can’t do this!” He looked strained as if he took a hardened headache.

 “It’s just a cake. You just need three colors and if anything we can ask the baker to make us something new.”

 “Okay, okay, but first we need some sort of idea.”

 “Tall! Really tall! As in, touching the ceiling tall!” In came crashing Gilbert, wrapping an arm around each’s shoulder in greeting.

 “Gilbert! Oh great, thanks for coming! We need all the help!” Feliciano lunged himself forward and took him in a tight and suffocating embrace, Gilbert tripping and losing his breath. For some reason, it drove Lovino nuts more so than usual, pulling Feliciano out rather harshly.

 “Hey! Don’t swarm him like that! Feli, remember that you’re getting married.” Lovino was clearly annoyed.

 “What…what was wrong? And I know I’m getting married, why do you think we’re here?”

 “Don’t worry about it, Feli, he just got a little jealous is all.”

 Feliciano chuckled while Lovino raged. “I did not!”

 “He was Mad! Couldn’t stand us just hugging!” Gilbert dramatized.

 “Oh, Lovino, don’t worry! I just needed comfort.”

 “I wasn’t! I was just…I was just…” he truly did not understand.

 “Don’t you worry, my gorgeous little…” and Gilbert plucked a strawberry from one of the cakes, stuffing it in Lovino’s mouth, a smirk and a near with a shadow that Lovino hoped was enough to cover the flush he grew. “Erdbeere. I’m all yours.” He was near to eating a piece from the fruit Lovino still held in his mouth, but he instead spit it out, hitting Gilbert straight in the eye.

 “Oh hell no!”

 Feliciano laughed and Gilbert tried to do so between the pain, trying to rid of whatever juice got in.

 “I hope you gentlemen have made your decision and are intending to buy this cake,” came the figure towards them, scolding and meaning business as she pointed to the near rose cake Gilbert just took the fruit from. It was too pink for the party.

 “Kandake!” Feliciano distracted, jumping and embracing, breaking her from this business and professionalism when she was a dear friend, one meant to even go to the wedding.

 “Feliciano…we are meant to discuss this seriously,” yet she smiled and was near to jumping in excitement herself.

 “Come on! We can have some fun and I could use some more help. Do you have something you’re sure me and Ludwig will like?” He took her hands like a plead.

 “I narrowed it down to three choices to make it easier,” she winked, “but I know one of them will be the true one.”

 “Then let’s go see them!”

 “The sketches are in my office,” she led for him to come. “You two can stay here and see if there’s anything else you need,” she smiled as she headed behind Feliciano, both the men left perplexed and confused as to what to do.

 “I’ll see if they have some other thing here.” Lovino went on to inspect, landing and leaning to an underwater sea themed one, beautiful, but surely not all to go with Feliciano’s wedding.

 “What else is there to get? We just need one cake.” Gilbert found comfort in nearing to Lovino, leaning next to him and Lovino smiled, not glaring or tensing at his vicinity.

 “We might need other sweets. Maybe Feliciano wants cupcakes, cookies and macaroons too.”

 “Isn’t your family already gonna cook?”

 “Yeah, so?”

 “Are you going to spend the entire ceremony stuffing us?”

 “Yeah, that’s the typical Italian wedding for you.”

 Gilbert chuckled, “I thought you were doing it because you wanted Feliciano to use more money on the wedding.”

 “No, I just know Feliciano would want it. He’s into that sort of thing.”

 “No sabotaging.”

 “I don’t want to ruin something that I’ll end up eating, anyways.” He thought that much ahead.

 “Good call, but I mean, we could just do something to one of them and really ruin it for someone else.”

 “Not Feliciano.”

 “Nor Ludwig… How about my cousin Berwald?”

 Lovino laughed, already imagining a great turning of expression on that man’s rather constant sterile face. “We’re definitely doing that!”

 “We have to plan it out well though.”

 “We’ll figure something out,” Lovino shrugged, holding still to a smile that Gilbert couldn’t help but keep his gaze on. But before Lovino could notice it, he had to omit more words as to distract his stare…as well as keep that grin.

 “Just Berwald?”

 “Yeah, we don’t need to make a bigger deal out of it. Despite everything I really think…Feliciano should enjoy that day.”

 “I’ve been thinking the same about Ludwig…”

 “Yeah…”

 “What was the point of even trying to ruin it?”

 “I guess to…make them grow apart so we wouldn’t have to…deal more with each other.” Any other time and they would have been proud to admit that, but now it was just beginning to look useless when something was opening up between them…and when they knew that their brothers were so happy with each other, seeing it much strongly as they awaited the day.

 “We should get a cake for ourselves,” Gilbert recommended to keep from harsh thoughts.

 Lovino laughed so lovingly again, “for what?”

 “For no other reason than to just buy and eat a damn cake! Come on, we can come over to my place and stuff each other.”

 Lovino raised an eyebrow, a new look in his eyes that made fires, “just of cake?”

 Gilbert stunned, the fire heating him and leaving his tongue burned away from answers. But he couldn’t scorch, he grinned himself, coming nearer, helping better the flame. “Do you have any other suggestions?” Gilbert was near enough to spot the difference patches of gold and olive in Lovino’s eyes, tempted to lay his head against his curls.

 “I don’t know…what can you offer?” And Lovino played, a lithe finger spreading only in the fabric of Gilbert’s sweater. It wasn’t even truly touching him and yet Gilbert felt in it a calling that moved his body closer, Lovino accepting that touch of their legs, the temptation in his eyes hinting at an intertwine.

 “Um…plates, drinks, TV,” he shrugged, “my couch…my bed.”

 “Your…bed?”

 That smile had Gilbert at an edge he was happy to fall over. “Ye-yeah, my bed, I-I mean we could e-eat cake there, and uh…watch some TV, uh…I don’t know.” He was such a fool.

 “I can think of a couple of other things.”

 “Oh, do tell.” Eagerness even shone on his teeth, teeth Lovino wanted against him and he was close to simply pulling it forward, but he kept only the simple caress of his finger.

 “Dimmed lighting.”

 “Mhm.”

 “Dancing and music…” whispered in such a melody.

 “…ja.”

 “Close to you…”

 “Uhu…” Gilbert was nearing his arms around him, ready to make those words instant.

 “You and me-”

 “I got the cake!” Feliciano came like a storm into the room, washing away everything, his lightning being the picture he held high in his hand. It made Gilbert and Lovino notice, stuck under a spotlight that they did well to run away from, coming close to distract, looking at this cake that should be worth the washing away of this sudden passion.

 It was rather simple, in white and cream with roses and glitters of gold. Gilbert and Lovino were honestly in awe.

 “Isn’t it wonderful?” Feliciano excited.

 “It’s perfect.”

 “And not excessive.”

 “Yes! I just have to show it to Ludwig already! Come on, come on, we have to go now!”

 “Don’t you have to place the order?”

 “Already did!” Feliciano was off the door before he could notice the chuckle the elder brothers exchanged, stars in both their eyes and smiles that wished could say more.

< previous chapter

next chapter >

[allbeendonebefore]

I was kind of under the impression that this is just a widespread thing in Alberta, especially because of the Angus Reid fractured federation survey (I cant include the link here, but you can Google it, its from January 24th 2019). When got back into Hetalia, I imagined the dynamics kinda changed to this, which would be pretty bad tbh. I hope its not that aggressive in Alberta, I will never be able to go check tho, too expensive :( I loved the bad french btw

i see you guys sending these asks super late at night and i wonder whether any of you sleep - idk where you’re writing from and i may be on the west coast but are you guys ok wherever you are? I just woke up but I have my tea and if I’m not caffeinated now I surely will be as I answer this.

I’m sure I’ve seen the survey you’re speaking of before and before I address it in any specific detail I just want to back up and re frame Why I’m Being Like This in regards to recent events and my orientation towards answering these questions in terms of Hetalia the way I do, because I think it’s the heart of how I answer.

the tldr of it is:

1. I have an opportunity to make interpretations of reality in unexpected and challenging ways, therefore widespread opinions don’t govern anything but my stupid gag comics in the simple sense that if everyone was represented by widespread opinion alone all the time, nothing would change and

2. if i can answer dozens of asks about ralph and oliver hanging out there’s absolutely no reason I can’t answer asks about ralph and jean hanging out, lol.

3. If you’d like a shorter, more concise “vision statement”, I have one on @battle-of-alberta here. (although now I notice the links don’t work on mobile so you’ll have to be on desktop for that one)

I’m assuming this will be long so cut time

(and yes, alas, the bad french is my legacy and I’m afraid it has not improved much although i swear i was an A student when i was actually taking it) (and no please don’t visit now, purely for pandemic reasons, it would be really expensive And you’d have a bad time) (and talking to me is free lmao) (I do not mean to say that you need to have feet on the ground to understand a place at all, i mean, at the moment I don’t lol)

headings because I say a lot

what even is hetalia

At the most basic level, Hetalia is a tool that can be used in a variety of ways. It can be for memorization, current politics at a glance or historical relationships in different settings. I use it for all of these things, of course, I certainly use it a lot in comics that take place in the much more distant past in @athensandspartaadventures. When I was writing that, I was in undergrad and AaSA was a tool to help me pass my exams, I didn’t think of how it might be read or interpreted by people who have lived in or experienced those places these days, or what kind of political and cultural tensions it might reveal. (Not to say that it has gotten me into sticky situations, exactly, but I am more aware of where things like that would arise now).

These days I look back on a lot of my experiences - both in IAMP/Hetalia and just as a person, and I think that if Hetalia is a tool it should be used with some awareness of intention and responsibility. Things in the fandom have changed as it became more mainstream and more well known and I think there’s a definite worry about screwing up or not representing Everything or not pleasing Everybody or not doing it Right. I have a simple, insufferably academic principle.

(That said, yes, you can still do it very wrong if you write a methodology.)

Still, it’s a comfort to me that I’m just doing the things the way I say I’m going to do them, and that is the underpinning of Inspired But Not Constrained By Hetalia. I don’t do things Himaruya’s way, I can’t do things the way IAMP would do them if it were running today because it’s not and things have changed, all I can do is do them how I would do them.

I have hurt people in the past because they sometimes couldn’t tell whether I was writing From an Albertan Perspective or not, and I’ve evoked some preeetty spicy comments over the last decade, and I realized that tone and perspective are something that really shapes how people understand and interact with my work and I’m trying to use that understanding in a conscientious way)

what even is alberta

So when you’re me and you’ve grown up in a province that is the Angriest in the country and the most Misunderstood in the country and the most Entitled in the country and nobody outside of maybe Saskatchewan has a good thing to say about you half the time and maybe you’re tired of that... you get kind of depressed thinking about how every year some kiddo comes on the internet ready to be excited about making or celebrating characters that represent themselves and No Matter Where They Go running into everyone else’s negative impressions first and foremost.

We joke about how everyone hates Toronto, though I’ve always understood it in a teasing way because I’ve never ACTUALLY met someone (outside of our current legislative assembly) who REALLY hates Toronto, but it does feel like I’ve encountered (directly or indirectly) people who do Genuinely hate Alberta and hoo boy is That a strange feeling. I mean, there’s an understanding that BC also ‘hates’ Alberta but half the people in BC are originally from Alberta so it’s a, uh, different feeling.

The story of Alberta from everywhere else is always the story of that Angus Reid article and the memes and comments and listicles that spin out around mainstream media. Alberta is giving too much. Alberta is getting too little. Alberta is too stupid to understand that equalization payments are a good thing actually, and Alberta is too dumb to understand you don’t really need EI if you make enough money in six months to own a house and multiple vehicles Just Because you own a house and multiple vehicles. Alberta is destroying the environment for everybody. Alberta has a huge concentration of white supremacists. Alberta is the Texas of Canada* and has the conservative streak and bible belt to match. Alberta should get annexed by the US. Oh, but Banff! We like Banff, though.

And like I said, politicians use these widespread feelings to stir up the sentiments of people who can’t afford to travel, people who are naturally suspicious of mainstream news, people who have barely even left their hometowns let alone the province and have no other means of validating what they hear, but people who’s emotions are genuinely tied to real feelings of alienation that really exist and HAVE existed for generations. And when the so-called “laurentian elites” in ontario and quebec make fun of them for being uneducated red necks, well, you hit a wasps nest and expected what, exactly?

what even am i doing

And like I’m faced with this question every day I decide to pick up my stylus and badger you all with unsolicited comics: do I want this to continue? Do I want to wear the mask that fits? Do I want to stand aside and say #notallalbertans #notlikeotheralbertans and stand over here on the island** patting myself on the back for not? being? there? Do I say yes, you’re right, and stand aside and watch loud mouth white supremacists co-opt wexiters and let them lead the perception of the province I grew up in just because that is what’s currently happening? Do I acknowledge the widespread sentiment and then pick apart every other province to say Well Actually You’re Equally Problematic Hypocrites, So There?

Obviously I’ve been saying no for a while. I’m perfectly happy to acknowledge the reality and when I draw stupid gag comics like this or this you can tell (hopefully) from my style that it’s tongue and cheek. When I draw less stupid not-gag comics like this or this I am trying to explore the Real Sentiments in a way that doesn’t completely polarize the issue and spin it out of control. I’m more of the opinion that even though Current Sentiments do get in the way that as personifications they 1. have some perspective and as people they 2. have some interest in not throwing out a friendship that was a struggle to build up every time the polls change or some new radical party seizes power. I do a lot of research and I want that to be reflected in my understanding of each characters deep seated beliefs and motivations, but I don’t want to let either the history or the current realities dictate the future if I am going to try to do that myself. 

why even am i doing it for

So like really the heart of the matter is: I am writing what I write for my thirteen year old self. She was the me who moved back to Canada from the United States, who’s first introduction to living there was a hellish surge of nationalism after September 11th. Who’s defense against that was to hide behind a shield of Canada is Better, Actually and who returned to Alberta during the boom years to realize that, oh wait, the rest of the country thinks we’re assholes just like they think the United States is. Who spent her teenage years learning that, boom or bust, the widespread sentiment in and out of the province is just as narrow, shortsighted, self interested, and stubborn as her own fiction of What Canada Was Supposed to be Like. Who learned that propping up that image at the expense of her friendships was not worth it, that propping up that image at the expense of people who are suffering and dying under that image is not worth it. Who found herself rehashing the same sort of gut reaction defensiveness online because the Guilt and Apologizing on behalf of her province compared to others felt Really Heavy for a kid who didn’t have any clue what to do about it and was just there to have fun and learn some stuff.

So I’m writing for anyone else who finds themselves exhausted and saddened by coming online and seeing that the only way that people can imagine Alberta is as an antagonist. I’d like to challenge everyone to start to imagine it better. It’s my little “escape” from reality, and for me it’s much easier to talk to people here where the stakes aren’t as high and the grievances a little less personal.

I’m also writing (in a more secondary way) for everyone who’s ever looked at alberta from afar and wondered What is going On inside your Head and is it always This

(no comment at this time)

as always, I’m here to explain At The Very Least what goes on in My head because at the end of the day, that’s all I can do. And though there are some things that make me angry and emotional, I’m happy to explain why. Happy to answer asks or chat on discord or whatever, any time I have the time. :)

footnotes

*This is just a footnote to say something I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of my comments, but this is an annoyance that me and my Texas Tomodachi share lol

**You’ll notice angry Albertans online have a favourite tactic, and that’s pointing out hypocrisy. They can justify A N y T h I n G by calling another province a hypocrite “so there” (i.e. BC can’t claim to be environmentally conscious because of Victoria’s sewage problem or Site C) - and while I am interested in shattering the image of Alberta vs. the Perfect Rest of Canada a little bit, I feel like it’s a very lazy argument that is used to deflect and not to help. I think it is more useful to unpack the sentiment of Why Alberta Still Feels Taken Advantage of rather than mudslinging, and when the mud starts flying no one seems interested in addressing problems anymore.

[bluffbomb]

Fic - Warm Water

Bruno Bucciarati/Leone Abbacchio

R18

I hope you like it ♥

Construction noises stirred Bruno from his sleep. The clanking of metal on metal and loud beeps from reversing machines made him frown at the window of their hotel room. He could tell it was cloudy by how the light coming from the window looked gray and dreary. He thought because it had snowed so heavily the night before, the builders wouldn’t be working, especially not this early in the morning. Bruno rolled his bleary eyes over to the alarm clock, blinking a few times to see clearly.

7:00 a.m.

Come hell or high water he supposed. Too bad he was a light sleeper and would never be able to get back to sleep with all this noise. A drill ground hard into the earth and he sighed, the sweet wisps of sleep fully leaving him. He hadn’t got much sleep last night to begin with, so this was more than disappointing. He tiredly rubbed his eyes, causing the blankets to slip and reveal his bare chest. He shivered, goosebumps raising on his skin from the chill in the room. The space heater in the corner was working hard but was no match for the biting cold.

He deserved it in a way. It was his choice to go to Milan in the winter, his choice to book their stay at a historic hotel. He could have done this trip on their anniversary, when the weather was nice, and they could enjoy the view from their room. Though, this trip was mostly to introduce his mother and half-siblings to the love of his life, and because that love was a man, he didn’t want a possibly crushing reaction during such a happy time for them.

However, with hindsight, he could see he was just being overly cautious. His mother had met Leone the first night they arrived and was absolutely smitten with him after dinner. She’d even bought him several pieces of jewelry that Bruno didn’t have the heart to tell her he wouldn’t wear. She was just happy to see Bruno had someone that loved him, and that made all fear and trepidation melt away and yes, he absolutely cried.

A shame his father couldn’t meet him, but Bruno knew he’d like him, too. His father would probably take them out on his boat and pop a bottle of prosecco to celebrate. Probably would have given Leone one of those crushing bear hugs that Bruno missed so much. A body shivering next to him stole his attention from his thoughts. “S’cold,” Leone murmured, tiredly grasping at the sheets. When they slipped off of Bruno, they must have slipped off Leone as well. When he finally found the hem, he made a fist of the sheets and brought them up to his nose.

Leone could sleep through anything. Fire alarms, bulldozers, the rapture. Anything. Bruno genuinely envied him for it, how he could just fall asleep when his head hit the pillow, how even an ice cube down his shirt only resulted in half-hearted reaching. He knew that because he tried it. “Leone,” Bruno said softly. If he had to lay awake, he at least wanted some company.

No response. “Leone,” he sang, rolling over to face Leone’s back. He slept almost completely face down, one leg bent and hugging a pillow right under his chin. Bruno thought that was so cute. “Leone,” he whispered, sliding an arm over his back. This time, Bruno got a deep exhale. One a horse would make but without sputtering lips “ ‘m tired,” Leone slurred, not moving a muscle.

“I can’t sleep,” Bruno whispered, snuggling closer to the warm body next to him. “Mm,” Leone replied, probably not even awake. “Talk to me,” Bruno whispered. Nothing. Bruno pouted, rolling onto his stomach and leaning up on his elbows. He gazed down at his boyfriend, his face almost fully obscured by a veil of silky silver hair. Without his makeup, Leone looked so youthful, truly looked his age. Bruno could see the faint dusting of freckles on the bridge of his straight, sharp nose, plush dusty pink lips that were parted just the slightest bit.

Long black lashes rested atop marble carved cheekbones. He was magnificent, angelic even. Even in sleep, he must have felt Bruno staring and slowly cracked one sparkling eye open halfway to look at him. “What?” he mumbled. “You’re pretty,” Bruno replied, caressing a few strands of hair away from his face. Leone didn’t reply, but Bruno knew he’d roll his eyes if he had the energy. He didn’t have much capacity for compliments and was probably maxed out from all the praise his mother had showered onto him.

Bruno leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his shoulder, letting his lips linger for a moment. He loved this man so much, sometimes his heart couldn’t take it when he thought about it. Leone huffed but didn’t move away. “It’s cold and I’m tired,” he said, voice less heavy with sleep. Bruno smiled against his shoulder, his plan was working. He grazed his teeth over the spot he’d kissed, making Leone exhale again. This time he swatted half-heartedly at the spot he thought Bruno was in and groaned. “It’s cold, baby, let me sleep,” he said, closing his eyes.

Baby. Bruno loved little pet names like that, but Leone usually only used them in times like this, when he was too tired to feel embarrassed by them. Bruno caught his hand mid swat and brought the knuckles to his lips. “Don’t be mean,” he said against the smooth knuckles. Leone’s hands were surprisingly soft, much like the rest of him. He put on a tough front, he had to in his line of work. And it worked, people were terrified of him, most people didn’t even look him in the eyes when speaking to him.

But Bruno knew him, he knew that under that front, Leone was just a big, ooey-gooey softy. Leone let out a defeated sigh, knowing he wasn’t beating Bruno’s persistence. He rolled onto his back, bringing up one hand to rub his eyes. “Good morning,” he said, a tiny bit of bite to the words. “Good morning, Leone,” Bruno said. Leone could hear the smile in his voice.

“What time is it?” he asked once he fully opened his eyes. Bruno glanced over his shoulder to the clock before looking back at Leone. “7:15,” he said simply. “Jesus,” Leone sighed, letting his hand cover his eyes. “Don’t fall back asleep!" Bruno commanded playfully, tugging on Leone’s hand to bring him closer. “It’s the crack of fucking dawn,” Leone whined. “And it’s cold,” he added, still letting himself be pulled by Bruno. “Well then come here and cuddle me and we’ll warm up,” Bruno whispered teasingly. Leone didn’t fight being pulled to the middle of the bed, if anything he helped by scooting himself over.

“Baby, it’s so early,” he croaked, scooting into a half-sitting position, his shoulders touching the headboard. He hissed at the cold contact but didn’t flinch from it. “I know, the construction woke me up and I couldn’t fall back asleep,” Bruno pouted, deeply and dramatically at his boyfriend.  This earned him the tiniest smile and an even tinier laugh. “Princess can’t sleep with a pea under her mattress,” he mocked lovingly.

“So now what?” Leone asked through a yawn, stretching his arms and letting one fall to wrap around Bruno’s shoulders. “Smooth,” Bruno teased. Leone clicked his tongue and winked, reaching to the end table on his side for a glass of water. “I was thinking I could order room service for us, since the kitchen opens at six.” Leone tilted his head and stuck out his lower lip at the suggestion, clearly thinking about it. “Sounds like a good idea, what do they serve?” Bruno shrugged and went to search for the menu on his end table. Once acquired, he snuggled back into Leone and pulled his arm around his shoulders again.

Leone stroked two fingers up and down Bruno’s arm absentmindedly, as if it was just natural to do so. Bruno hummed while scanning the menu. “Feta and cremini omelet with a side of sausage.” Leone considered it silently. “Spicy sausage and spinach frittata, apple or cherry cornettos with a side of fruit or fried egg toast with two sausages or prosciutto on the side.” Leone contemplated the options silently, sipping his water and scanning over the menu in Bruno’s hands.

“I’ll get the toast with sausage,” he said finally, putting his glass back down. He picked up his phone and checked it silently, his fingers now making circles on Bruno’s shoulder. “I’m thinking I’d like the omelet,” Bruno said, reaching over to pick up the phone and order. The kitchen staff took the order quickly, giving them an estimate of fifteen minutes for it to be ready. “And now we just wait,” Bruno said, rolling back over to smile at his boyfriend. “What should we do today?” Bruno asked, tracing small shapes on Leone’s chest. “Nothing, I checked the weather on my phone. It’s gonna look like shit all day.”

Bruno frowned. “But this hotel is really nice, lots of historical things we can look at and read,” Leone added, trying to cheer him up. “True,” Bruno affirmed, taking a strand of Leone’s hair and twirling it between his fingers. Leone pulled him closer and kissed his forehead. “Thank you for doing this,” he whispered against his skin. “I’ve had a lot of fun, even if we’ve been snowed in for two days. I got to spend it with you.” With his words, the temperature in the room didn’t matter, Bruno was melting in Leone’s arms. “Meeting your mom was fun.” Bruno hummed a reply. “And your siblings are nice.” “Yeah, I don’t know them very well, though,” Bruno sighed.

“Seeing where you grew up was cool.” Bruno smiled but didn’t reply. Leone could tell his mind was wandering and wanted to bring him back to the moment.

“I love you,” Leone said, placing another kiss on his forehead before squeezing him against his body. “I love you, too,” Bruno replied, kissing Leone’s chin. That got him an actual smile and he was definitely melting now. Leone had such a beautiful smile. It wasn’t a catalog smile or an ear to ear smile, but it was sincere and rare. Bruno loved it so much. Loved Leone so much. “Kiss me,” Bruno said, pulling Leone in closer. “But I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he protested. “I don’t care,” Bruno replied. When their lips brushed against each other, Bruno sighed in something close to relief.

When it finally turned into a kiss, he sighed in actual relief. Leone’s lips were petal-soft and pillowy, addicting in how they moved with expertise against his own. He was such a good kisser. His nibbles were never too hard unless requested, he used his tongue just enough to flick over Bruno’s lips and make him dizzy, and pulled away to make Bruno chase his lips, kissing the smirk that tugged at his mouth.

Bruno rolled on top of him, slithering his arms around his shoulders to pull him deeper into the kiss. Leone put one hand on the small of his back and the other right under the curve of his bottom. He slid that hand up and down Bruno’s thigh, squeezing it gently every now and then. When he smoothed his hand to the cheek of his ass and squeezed, it reminded him of a very important fact. They were naked.

Still bare from their attempt at tired, half-drunk sex the night before. They hadn’t got passed kissing before deciding to just take a shower and go to bed, not even bothering to get dressed for bed. At 22 and 23, they were getting old and domestic. When Leone gave it a little smack, Bruno yelped in surprise before giggling into the kiss. Leone smoothed over where he smacked with a kind of care that made Bruno weak. He was so sweet, too sweet sometimes. “A little early for spanking,” Bruno whispered against Leone’s lips. “Can’t help it, it’s so nice it was asking for it,” he replied, nipping at Bruno’s bottom lip and pulling a little bit. Bruno shivered, kissing Leone again with more force. He moaned into their kiss when Leone used his strong arms to squeeze Bruno against his body.

“I’ve missed you,” Leone whispered, pulling away to trail kisses on Bruno’s neck. Bruno tilted his head back, smiling as Leone sucked on his pulse point. “I’ve been here the whole time,” Bruno sighed playfully. “You know what I mean,” Leone said, his voice carrying a hint of seriousness. He squeezed Bruno against him and let out a small grunt when his thigh pressed into his semi-erection. Bruno grinned, no wonder Leone was being so affectionate this morning.

Calling him baby and being so touchy, so receptive to his teasing and to waking him up so early. “Oh,” Bruno cooed. He leaned up and looked down at Leone who was just the slightest bit flushed. Bruno was always amazed at how pale he could get this time of year. “First thing you want in the morning is me?” he asked, feigning surprise. Leone just bit his lip, letting his hands wander to Bruno’s hips and squeezing. “I always want you,” Leone whispered, his honesty making Bruno feel guilty for teasing him. “But I can’t always have you, at least not without embarrassing you” he added, a hint of mischief in his voice “Well, you have me, now, don’t you?” Bruno taunted.

Leone didn’t respond, but his raised brow said everything his words didn’t. “I guess I do. Right where I want you,” Leone said finally, his hands coming to Bruno’s chest and tracing the filigree of his tattoo. “But do I have you, Leone?” Bruno asked, mostly so he could look Leone in the eyes to see those sparkling lavender gems again. He could get lost in those eyes, as corny as it sounded. They were so expressive, so vulnerable in a way that made Bruno want to cherish the times where they just looked at each other.

“You always do.” He leaned up to kiss Bruno again, but Bruno leaned away, squinting and smiling at Leone. “Even now?” Leone’s lips parted. “Especially now,” he replied. “Then,” Bruno started, walking two fingers up his chest, stopping to tap the tip of his nose. “Can I do it?” Leone blinked a few times before his face flushed pink with the realization. “I-I don’t know,” he said, averting his gaze. “You know I’m not that great at it.” Bruno fought back the urge to giggle at Leone’s shyness. “You’re amazing at it, love. You just don’t relax enough,” he said, placing a kiss on the tip of Leone’s nose.

“It hurts,” Leone grumbled in his defense. “I know, my love, I know. It’s gonna hurt at first, or at the first couple of times when you get started.” Leone looked everywhere except Bruno’s eyes. “Your size doesn’t help,” Leone grumbled again. Bruno winked, even though he knew Leone probably didn’t see it. “But I’m always gentle,” Bruno said softly, dipping his head to tease his lips over Leone’s collarbone. “That’s true,” Leone breathed, tilting his head back to give Bruno more access. “And I’ve only put it in you twice the whole time we’ve been together, so it’s normal that it’s still…” Bruno searched his mind for a word that was accurate but not crude.

“…a snug fit,” he finished. Leone pressed his lips together, thinking carefully on his words. “I have thought about it,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. Bruno’s eyes brightened. “Yeah?” he asked excitedly. His excitement must have embarrassed Leone, as his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. “Yeah,” he affirmed quietly. He cleared his throat. “The times that we’ve done it, when we’d find our rhythm it would feel really good.” He took a breath and looked at Bruno dead on. “It’s nice…being full of you. I get to be close to you in a…such a special way. I like it.” It was Bruno’s turn to blush, and he did. Hard. “Just wish it didn’t hurt so damn much,” Leone added, laughing lightly.

That was partly Bruno’s fault. He had less experience than Leone and had rushed through stretching him those times. He’d gotten so worked up, he overestimated how prepared Leone was. It was selfish, and he felt immense guilt when Leone would wince and grit his teeth as he accepted him inside. Thankfully though, Bruno had been doing research and had found something he could do that both let him get worked up while working Leone as well. He just had to tell Leone what it was. Or show him.

“Well,” Bruno began. He had clearly piqued Leone’s interest, as he leaned up onto his elbows when Bruno sat back on his heels. “I’ve thought of a way to get you…more accommodated.” He grinned at the way Leone’s breathing got shallow. “I’ve thought about doing it many times, I just worry about how you’ll react.” This caused Leone to furrow his brows. “You’re not talking about putting your fist in my ass, right?” Bruno couldn’t help but sputter out a laugh. “No, honey, no!” he giggled, placing his hands on Leone’s chest. “What I’m thinking of is a lot gentler than that. It’s just…different from anything we’ve done.”

“Oh,” Leone said with relief before taking in a deep breath. “What is it?” he asked shyly. Bruno turned his head coyly. “It’s a surprise. I want to see your natural reaction to it. Sometimes you try to please me too much, even when you’re uncomfortable.” Leone mumbled something inaudible and glanced over Bruno’s shoulder.

“As long as you’re not putting a fist in my ass or anything with feet, I’m willing to try it.” Bruno let out another laugh. “It’s definitely neither of those,” he assured with a kiss. “I think you’ll like it. It’s different but not in a weird way. And if you don’t like it, you can always tell me.” Leone pursed his lips to the side, and Bruno could see the gears in his mind moving as he was considering it. He chewed on his bottom lip before letting out a breath. “Okay. I’ll try it. I trust you,” he said. Bruno’s heart swelled so big, he didn’t think his chest could contain it.

The confidence and vulnerability Leone extended to him was truly something special, something to be cherished. Just like Leone. “I’ll make it worth it,” Bruno whispered, coming in for another kiss. This time their kiss was different. It was hungry and wild. Leone pushed his tongue into Bruno’s mouth and licked urgently into it. His hand went to Bruno’s throat and he rested his fingertips there, keeping himself grounded and present in the moment. It was easy to float out of his body when Bruno kissed him like this. Bruno moaned when Leone smacked his ass hard and squeezed after he did so. Their tongues danced together, moving and sliding with practiced and delicious rhythm.

Bruno kissed like he was going to die of thirst, sucking on Leone’s tongue with urgency and desire. Leone was no better, kissing desperately at Bruno’s cheeks and chin when he pulled away to breathe. Bruno slid his hands into Leone’s silky mane and pulled him closer, deepening their already passionate kiss. He was getting dizzy, needing more air than their kiss allowed, but he wouldn’t pull away, he needed Leone’s mouth on his just a little longer. His lungs stung with neglect, but it didn’t seem to matter. They broke apart with a shared gasp and without skipping a beat, Bruno’s mouth found Leone’s neck and he sucked hard at the joining of his throat and jaw, knowing that was one of Leone’s many secret soft spots. Leone made the most beautiful sigh when he grazed his teeth over it. “You know too much about me,” Leone breathed, smirking as he gazed down at Bruno. He smiled against his skin and laughed softly, lapping at the pink mark he left. Leone closed his eyes, relaxing into the feeling of Bruno’s mouth as it left wet, opened mouth kisses down his neck and over his collarbones and chest.

Bruno used his teeth to gently scrape the skin he kissed, staring up at Leone in wonder at his beauty. In these moments, he was convinced this man was divine. The muscles in his neck and chest flexed and fluttered under the taut, opalescent skin as he arched from Bruno’s kisses. His platinum hair seemed to gleam like precious metal against the flat white of their bedsheets, splaying behind him in a corona. When those plush, perfectly shaped lips parted, Bruno was convinced he’d hear hymns and chants to a higher power. The dim sunlight that filtered in through the clouds and curtains glinted off Leon’s fine, silver body hair when he sighed and shuddered. He was glowing, blessed and highly favored as Bruno’s mouth kissed lower and lower.

If it wasn’t for the low, raspy curses coming from Leone, and the whistle of hard wind against their window, Bruno would have believed he was making love to an angel. He was so lucky to have Leone. His hips flexed as Bruno’s mouth stilled just below his navel. “You’re staring at me, babe,” he said, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Bruno, still dazed by the seraph looking down at him, didn’t replay. Instead, he licked a long, slow stripe up the defined v of his hips. They flexed again and Leone cursed low and raspy once more, resenting how close but still how far Bruno’s mouth was from his straining manhood. Tanzanite colored eyes narrowed in suspicion at him, but in this moment, Bruno could only use his mouth for worship rather than words. He licked up, then rounded back down to the other side, sucking and nipping as he reached near the base of Leone’s swollen column.

Their eyes stayed locked onto each other, one contemplating while the other stared in devotion. “I love you,” Bruno whispered, the words feeling so good coming out of his mouth. Leone pressed his lips together to hold something back, probably another curse. “And I’m going to make you feel so good,” he said, letting his eyes flutter closed as he kissed a velvety smooth thigh. He felt Leone shudder against his lips, and it made his veins thrum under his skin. Leone had more stamina than he did, always lasted longer than he did.

But this morning, Bruno was going to use everything he had to send his personal deity straight into the arms of ecstasy. He spoiled himself when kissing up and down Leone’s strong, smooth thighs, leaving pink splotches and faint teeth marks as he silently praised the skin. He relished in the feeling of those thick muscles flexing and the sounds of Leone’s groans and breathless compliments. Bruno could tell by the way his hips were jolting, Leone was trying to control himself, trying to behave as he was getting pampered. “You’re so beautiful,” Bruno said, opening his eyes and kissing the crook of Leone’s knee. Leone broke their shared gaze, his blush deepening.

Leone had a hard time receiving praise, always too humble or too sad to listen or take it to heart. “I mean it,” Bruno said gently, moving his head so their eyes met. “I know you do,” he said, a small smile breaching his otherwise stoic expression. Bruno kissed his thigh again, nipping it hard enough to get Leone to look at him. “Let me make you feel good, Leone. Let me show you how much I love you.” His blush got even darker. He pressed his lips in a tight thin line, then let his shoulders drop in agreement. He plopped flat against the mattress and exhaled. “You’re too much for me sometimes, Bruno,” he said, hoping his lover could hear the smile in his voice.

“I only give what I think is deserved. And you deserve to be spoiled.” Leone’s thigh twitched when he nipped it again. “I’m going to spoil you so much, you have no clue,” Bruno said, mostly to himself. That earned him a breathless little laugh from Leone, and it made his heart jump. He was so cute, and he didn’t even try. “Gonna treat me like a good little pillow prince?” Leone teased. “Mhm, I’ll make you feel so good, you won’t be able to think about anything else,” he replied, planting an open-mouthed kiss on Leone’s hip. “I’ll even buy you a crown,” he teased back.

“Well I definitely want the crown,” Leone sighed, doing his best not to buck as Bruno’s mouth got agonizingly close to his still painfully straining and unattended member.

“That mouth is dangerous,” he rasped, leaning up onto his elbows to get a better view. Bruno smirked against his skin, nibbling the inside of his knee. “Just you wait, I’m only warming you up,” he replied, cupping the undersides of Leone’s knees and folding him over, nearly in half. The confident, almost taunting look on Leone’s face turned to one of surprise and confusion. “Hold your legs like this for me, baby,” Bruno purred, smoothing the backs of Leone’s thighs with his fingertips. He hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing quickly, then setting back into a pensive expression. He snaked his fingers over Bruno’s and swallowed audibly.

“It will feel good, I promise,” Bruno said, mouth on the back of his thigh just below the swell of his buttocks. “Okay,” Leone breathed, both trust and trepidation in his voice. He hugged his legs tighter, mostly in a form of self-protection. “Close your eyes and just feel it,” Bruno commanded in the softest way he could. Leone squinted, then obeyed, slipping his eyes shut with a sigh. Now it was Bruno’s turn to be nervous. He’d never done this before, only seen it in porn and read about it in books. How would he know if he was doing it right? Was there even a right way to do it? Was there a wrong way to do it?

Does he just…go for it? Does he stick his tongue in? What does it taste like? What happens if it turns out to be too extreme for them both? Bruno sighed, letting his mouth linger on Leone’s thigh, flicking his tongue to give it something to do. He’d just have to trust his instincts, use his experience and the conversations he’d had with others to his advantage.

Leone cleared his throat impatiently and Bruno knew he had to move. Slowly, Bruno gave the cheeks of Leone’s ass the same treatment as his thighs. Sucking, nipping, kissing and licking the creamy skin until Leone was twitching and jolting again. He was becoming painfully aroused, Bruno could tell by how his sounds were going from raspy sighs to quivering moans. He couldn’t torture his angel like this any longer.

He placed a small kiss on the swell of Leone’s scrotum, smoothing his tongue over it to give himself confidence for what he was about to do. Leone’s hips jumped and he huffed out a little moan from the brief contact, his fingers pressing hard into the back of his knees. His trust in Bruno had him keeping his eyes closed, making him unaware of the way Bruno chewed on his lips nervously. “Ready, Leone?” he asked, mostly for himself.

“Mhm,” was all he received, but he could hear the shakiness in Leone’s voice. With a final deep breath, Bruno gently spread Leone open and let his tongue slide down from his sack and over his entrance with the most confident lick he could muster. A sharp gasp cut through Bruno’s anxious thoughts. “Fuck!” Leone whined, bucking hard against Bruno’s mouth. He whined. Bruno had never heard him sound like that before and licked again to see if it had been real. Leone whined wordlessly this time, taking his swollen lower lip between his teeth. Bruno was both in awe and relieved.  Leone tasted like nothing if anything it tasted like his soap.

He also seemed to be enjoying himself more than he ever had. “Keep going,” he panted, his eyelids slowly lifting to reveal needy, dilated pupils. Bruno hadn’t realized he’d stopped. Hadn’t realized he was staring at Leone again. “Please,” Leone whimpered, tilting his head in the most heartachingly submissive way. Bruno nodded quickly, snapping out of his trance. He stuck his tongue out again and licked long, up and down strokes and Leone was whining again. Bruno pressed his tongue flat, smoothing it slowly and deliberately over Leone, reciprocating the moans he was freely letting out of his beautiful lips.

God, those sounds were so beautiful from him, so guttural and so primal. So different from the short grunts and reserved groans he’d become accustomed to. Those were beautiful in their own way, but the sounds Leone was making now were absolutely dizzying. Ringing between his ears like the songs of cherubs. Bruno was hooked, addicted to the way his lover fought to catch his breath as he lapped at him. He was so happy he chose to do this, so happy to make Leone feel good like this.

He moaned against him, feeling bold enough, drunk enough on Leone’s sounds to try something else, something more. Without warning, he stilled his licks at Leone’s entrance, pointed his tongue and dipped it inside.

Leone seized, his body locking up as a sharp gasp cut off any sound that would have come out of his throat. It was so quick, less than a second, but Bruno had brought Leone to the brink with a push of his tongue. “Good god!” Leone choked out, thrashing as Bruno lapped inside of him, his thighs shaking in his grip. “What the fuck?” he huffed, more in disbelief than anything else. His cock was leaking now, so swollen that the tip seemed to glow a dark fuchsia against his pale skin. He bucked and whined sharply, and Bruno was convinced he was with an angel.

He felt encouraged to go further, living for Leone’s sounds. He wanted to up the ante, increase Leone’s pleasure and tried something else. He fluttered his eyes closed and sealed his lips around Leone, sucking gently. This earned him a gorgeous throaty moan, and he thanked his heart for not stopping. “Holy shit, baby!” Leone growled through gritted teeth, bucking hard and squeezing his own legs so firmly the skin around his fingers turned white. He’d leave bruises on himself, squeezing like that, but Bruno could see Leone wouldn’t care. He’d probably be proud of them. His eyes were squeezed shut and his brows furrowed desperately. Bruno couldn’t smile or talk, but he was beaming inside and would be praising Leone if he could.

Slowly, he crept his hand over, lifting his mouth off Leone just enough to slip a finger inside of him. He locked up again, his back curving beautifully off the mattress. “Does this feel good, Leone?” Bruno asked softly, eyes just as desperate as the man panting underneath him. “Y-Yeah,” was all Leone could stammer out, sucking in a breath when Bruno added another finger. “I want your mouth on me again,” he panted quickly, saying it like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “Please, Bruno, I-,” Leone tossed his head back, a moan cutting off his words as Bruno’s mouth made a seal around him again. “Thank you,” he breathed, letting his chest sink with another moan.

If Bruno could talk, he would have told Leone not to thank him, but he chose to keep working him open instead. He alternated between sucking, licking and thrusting his tongue inside Leone, adding another finger and earning both cries and growls from the folded man beneath him. The way Leone’s eyes would roll back made Bruno’s whole body vibrate with love and devotion and painful arousal. Leone was having such a good time, Bruno was making him feel so good that he couldn’t even put words together. His curses disappeared under gasps and Bruno’s name turned into a drawn-out hymn.

When he added a third finger, he pushed deep enough to press Leone’s prostate and he all but screamed, his already raspy voice growing hoarse from his cries. “Bruno, I-I…fuck I’m.” Leone’s hands left his legs and balled into fists, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe and moan. Bruno continues his ministrations, thrusting his fingers and tongue in and out of Leone with unwavering vigor. Leone growled and threw his head back, trying to make words but only managing broken syllables, slurring the sounds together.

Then Bruno noticed a change. Leone’s sounds were becoming short, high pitched, cut off and louder than before. He’d never heard Leone make noises like these. His bucking turned into hard rocking against Bruno’s mouth and his eyes watered when he opened them. It was too late when Bruno thought about stopping.

“Oh god, o-oh shit!” Leone stuttered. His body locked up again, then trembled and twitched. His loud, rumbling moan shook Bruno’s skull as it escaped gritted teeth. His body shook violently as he panted and whimpered. His legs dropped limply, and his watery eyes blinked several times, still in awe. “Bruno, honey… what the fuck?” he deflated, his pulsing member dripping with his release. Honey. There was another little term of endearment that let Bruno know he’d done a great job.

 Bruno’s eyes widened. “You came?” he asked, probably with too much excitement. Leone let out a huff of disbelief, half-lidded eyes looking seriously into sapphires that gleamed with happiness. Leone only had enough energy to smirk. “Yeah. Real hard,” he panted.

They shared small laughs before Leone flopped down, splaying out like a starfish on their bed. Bruno crawled over quickly and sat between Leone’s spread legs. “I told you that you’d like it,” he gloated. Leone just waved him his defeat, body too spent and mind still reeling to put up any kind of fight. “I thought I was gonna pass out,” he admitted, a small blush creeping over his already flushed cheeks. “Oh yeah?” Bruno taunted. “Yeah,” Leone affirmed, finally opening his eyes to look at Bruno.

It took everything in Bruno’s power not to gasp.

“I still have so much more I want to do with you, you know,” Bruno said. Leone’s cheeks flushed deep and rosy at his words, recalling the pact they’d made earlier. “Right,” he mumbled. Bruno smirked, rising from the bed and stretching his long, elegant limbs. “I’m going to brush my teeth first, though. I can’t imagine being inside you and not being able to kiss you.” Bruno made an effort to purr out his words, making sure they sounded as sensual and tempting as possible. “R-Right,” Leone repeated, stumbling over the word this time.

He was so cute when he was flustered. “Do you still want it, love?” Bruno asked, looking at him a little more seriously, which was so hard to do because Leone looked heaven-sent. His cheeks dewy and pink, lips swollen and almost red from kissing and biting into them. “Yes,” Leone said, voice confident and unwavering. “But.” Bruno raised his brows.

“You promise to be gentle?” Leone asked in a near whisper. They both stilled, feeling their shared nervousness in the air. “Of course,” Bruno affirmed. He scooted closer, draping his arms around Leone’s shoulders and gazing down at him, letting all his sincerity and devotion speak through his stare. Leone Abbacchio, the hardened ex-cop turned gangster, was the biggest softy Bruno had ever met, and he adored him for it.

“I’m going to make such good love to you, baby. I’ll have you moaning and shaking from how good it’ll feel.” Bruno kissed Leone’s forehead, combing a hand through his thick hair. “You won’t be able to say anything besides yes and please, more. I’ll make sure of it.” Leone's lips quivered in an attempt to grin. “Yeah?” he asked shakily. “You’ll make me beg?” Leone tilted his head playfully, wanting to join in on the fun, even with his shaky, nervous voice.

Bruno clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No. No begging. You deserve to be spoiled. You deserve to feel good.” Leone looked away, his blush growing hotter on his face. Bruno brought a hand to cup his cheek and he took it and brought it to his lips, kissing his palm and sighing. “Let me make you feel good, Leone.” Leone’s blush got even darker. He pressed his lips harder into Bruno’s palm, doing his best to maintain eye contact. “You’re gonna kill me, saying things like that.”

Bruno shook his head. “No, I’m gonna make you feel so good, Leone. So good.” Leone pressed his lips together and Bruno could see his thoughts working behind his eyes, then a smirk replaced his pensive expression. He placed Bruno’s hand back on his cheek. “Yeah, but I might die from the shock.” Bruno grinned. “You mean the ecstasy?” he corrected, playing into Leone’s game. “Whichever comes first.” Bruno snickered. “You can’t die yet though, you don’t have your crown.”

Leone gasped in false surprise. “You’re right! I’ll have to wait till I get my perfect prince tiara.” Bruno’s smile turned gentle and Leone smiled in kind. “You are perfect, that’s for sure,” he said, curling a silver lock around his finger. “Stop it,” Leone laughed, unable to keep his smile from growing wider. “Never,” Bruno said, squinting at Leone.

They both laughed, Bruno tried to hold Leone without getting any of his cold release on his stomach. “Okay,” Leone started, unwrapping his arms from Bruno’s body. “Go brush your teeth so we can make out. And bring me a towel, please.” Bruno kissed Leone’s forehead one final time before hopping off the bed. “Yes, your majesty,” he teased. Leone laced his fingers together behind his head, making a show of eyeing Bruno up and down, watching him with hungry eyes as he walked to the bathroom. He bit his lip as his mouth curved into a smile.

“Where did you learn to that?” Leone called from the bed. Bruno leaned back to peer through the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of Leone from the weird angle of the bathroom. “It’s a secret,” he called back, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing his mouth. He grabbed a towel on his way out and threw it softly at Leone. He caught it and wordlessly began wiping off what hadn’t dried. “Thank for doing this, honey,” Bruno said, taking the towel back from Leone between two fingers and dropping it in the laundry basket.

Leone gave him a weird look as Bruno settled next to him. “For doing what?” Leone asked, turning his body to get a better look at his boyfriend. “For all of this. Letting me do all of this to you, trusting me to be gentle. All of it.” Leone smiled, warm and sweet and Bruno could swear time stopped. “You don’t need to thank me for any of that,” he said softly, pulling Bruno closer. “I love you. I’d let you do anything to me.” Jesus, Leone was really trying to stop his heart, wasn’t he? “Good thing I just want to make you come your brains out tonight.” Leone’s eyes widened in surprise, his smile stretching wider. “I need to let you take the reigns more often,” he mused.

“Right now, you need to let me kiss you,” Bruno replied, cupping Leone’s face and bringing him closer. Leone grunted his agreement and closed the gap between their lips. Their kiss was sweet this time, both taking the time to appreciate each other’s lips and tongue. Bruno stroked Leone’s cheek with his thumb and earned such a delicate sigh it made him whimper in response.

Leone’s hands roamed freely over his body, squeezing and caressing every inch he could get a handful of, pulling Bruno’s thigh over this body for more contact. Bruno’s knee brushed over Leone’s stiffening member and grinned against Leone’s mouth. He reached a hand down and gently pumped the half-hard column, stroking it to full mast. Leone moaned and went close to limp, his lips going slack as he slowly opened his eyes. “You’re so good to me,” he said softly, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I only give what I get,” Bruno replied, kissing Leone’s parted mouth. “I want you to be on top,” he said after a pause. Leone tilted his head and looked at Bruno with confusion. “I thought you wanted to…” his eyes widened, and he grinned wickedly when he put the pieces together.

“You’re so hot, babe,” Leone mused, getting onto his knees and crawling over Bruno to reach for the bottle of lubricant they’d left out from the night before. It was still by the lap where they’d left it, cap popped up. He remembered both of them groaning when he clicked open, realizing how exhausted they were. That couldn’t be farther from the truth now. “Capo wants me on top,” Leone teased, purposely arching his back and sticking out his perfectly sculpted cheeks.

Bruno cracked a hand down hard on one of them and laughed at cute little yelp that left Leone’s lips. “Better hurry up, your Capo wants you right now.” Leone shuffled back over with a devilish grin, throwing his leg over to straddle Bruno, handing him the tiny bottle. “Do you like when I call you that?” Leone asked, his voice sweet with genuine curiosity. He hovered over Bruno’s lap, watching him coat his fingers with anticipation.

It was mostly a courtesy at this point, Bruno had worked him pretty open earlier, but he still appreciated the consideration. “Yeah, a little too much sometimes.” Bruno flicked his eyes up from his fingers to Leone. “Sometimes it can be a distraction.” “Is that why you say, just call me Bucciarati right now?” Leone taunted, already knowing the answer. Bruno tapped Leone’s hip with his clean hand, gesturing Leone to come closer. Leone obeyed, shuffling closer on his knees. “Tell me if it hurts,” Bruno said, softly but with enough seriousness to make Leone answer formally. “Yes, capo.” It was almost like a switch they had in their brains, being able to instantly pick up each other’s moods. Capo only being used to reciprocate the serious tone.

Leone knew Bruno wanted to make him feel good and was serious when it came to lovemaking. He was playful up until the final act. Bruno slid in two fingers easily, fighting the urge to smirk as Leone sighed beautifully above him. “Does that feel good, Leone?” Leone groaned, his voice sounding like a compliment when Bruno said it so sensually like that. Bruno hummed happily, flicking his tongue over Leone’s nipple as he gently worked him carefully. He hadn’t expected to make Leone come earlier and needed to be more cautious if he wanted to last.

“One more,” Leone breathed, slowly rocking himself on Bruno’s fingers. “Anything for you, Leone.” Bruno obliged, slipping a third finger inside and tilting his head to scan Leone’s face for even the slightest discomfort. Leone pushed himself onto Bruno’s fingers with the same caution Bruno used while thrusting his fingers, closing his eyes and licking his lips in concentration. Slow, deliberate and sweet, they both stayed like that for a few moments. When his fingers found Leone’s spot again, he did his best to stroke it enough to watch Leone’s body tremble, but not enough to make him for limp.

“I think I can take it now, Bruno,” Leone panted, opening eyes Bruno hadn’t noticed he closed.  He must have been staring at him again, daydreaming about the love he was about to make to his beautiful, blessed seraph. It was truly Bruno that was blessed to be doing this. “You sure, baby?” Bruno asked softly, stilling his fingers. Leone nodded quickly. “Yeah, I can’t wait anymore.” His eyes locked onto Bruno’s and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. “I want you to fill me up, Capo.” Bruno knew it was a taunt by the grin on Leone’s face but godddamnit, it sounded like his mouth was made just to say his title like that.

Bruno let out a shaky breath and nodded quickly, carefully pulling out his fingers and wiping them on the sheets. He scooted up to sit against the headboard and grabbed Leone’s hips to position him. “Come here,” Bruno said shakily. It was finally happening, he’d fantasized about this for so long. He’d spent many solo missions stroking himself to the thought of something like this and it was happening. Leone moved closer, placing his hands on top of the headboard and leaning up to allow Bruno some room to position them together properly. Leone groaned when he felt the thick tip of Bruno’s cock brush against his entrance, fighting the urge to just sit down on it. Bruno nudged against him again before letting out a deep breath. He pushed in just the slightest, torturous bit, then looked at Leone with commanding blue eyes. “Ride it, Leone.”

“With pleasure,” Leone purred, flipping his hair to one side so elegantly Bruno swore he would faint. Slowly, he lowered himself down onto Bruno’s throbbing, cock, hissing with pleasure as he did. “Ah, this is everything I wanted it to be,” Bruno moaned, eyes fixed at where his body joined Leone’s. Leone grinned above him, silver hair falling around them like a curtain. “Me too,” he said, capturing Bruno’s mouth in a searing kiss. Leone worked himself further down, whimpering when Bruno’s cock rubbed against a particularly sensitive area.

“I love how big you are,” Leone groaned, pressing his forehead to Bruno’s as he finally reached the base, Bruno filling him completely. He lifted his head and Bruno felt dizzy. Leone was a work of art, hand-sculpted by the gods of beauty, and bestowed to the earth as a blessing. An angel of highest, most beautiful order, here to send Bruno off to heaven in the most wonderful way. Or at least, that’s how he felt looking at Leone’s euphoric face. “Leone,” was all he managed to say, moaning it so loudly it shook his skull.

It was the only name he needed to say, the only one he wanted to say. Leone began tot move again, riding Bruno with cautious undulations of his hips. “Oh – Leone – just like that,” Bruno moaned, his head dipping back against the headboard, giving him a view of Leone’s grinning, pleasured expression. Suddenly, Leone slammed himself down onto Bruno, whining and throwing his head back as he did it one more time, then again, and again.

“Leone!” Bruno cried in pleasure and surprise. “I wanted to know what it felt like,” he panted, starting a deliciously harsh pace. “You like doing that so -,” he moaned loudly, using Bruno’s cock to press against his prostate. “I-I had to see what was so good about it.” “How’s it feel?” Bruno gasped as Leone did it again. Leone dropped a hand to Bruno’s throat and nearly burned through him with the intensity of his stare.

“I might get addicted to it.” They grinned at each other. “Let’s hope,” Bruno winked. Words were lost to them when Leone leaned back onto his hands, bracing them between Bruno’s ankles. In this position, Bruno not only got a full view of Leone’s god-like figure, but also a perfect view of where they connected, and he felt dizzy again. Leone began riding Bruno with fervor and desperation, the new angle allowing him to hit his spot over and over without fail. “F-fuck, this feels so good,” Leone moaned, letting his head fall back as he fucked himself on Bruno’s cock. “God, I love it, I-I love it!” Leone cried, his face twisting in ecstasy. Bruno couldn’t reply, only moaning as a response. Leone squeezed him so good, so wonderfully, like he was made for it, like they were made to fit each other perfectly.

Leone was perfect, Bruno didn’t need any more convincing. “I love you, Leone.” Bruno was proud he was able to string that together, his brain foggy and slow with the heavy, burning euphoria wracking through every nerve and vein in his body. His gut twisted, coiled and taut with pleasure. “I love you, I l-love you,” he stammered, his mind forgetting any other words. “L-Leone, I love you!” he cried, reaching out and wrapping his hands around Leone’s slim waist. He sounded like a sap, like a cheesy romance novel, but he couldn’t help it.

“Leone, I-I-,”

“Baby don’t say it anymore! I’ll come if you keep saying it like that!” Leone gasped, his hips staggering in uncoordinated patterns. “I don’t want to come yet. I want more of this,” Leone whined, resentfully slowing down to pace himself. Bruno wanted to obey, wanted just as much to be inside Leone for longer but, damn his release was already shredding him inside and he couldn’t say anything else still, despite knowing other words, could only repeat himself.

“I-I love you, Leone,” Bruno whimpered, thrusting up into Leone. With a growl, Leone, dropped onto his elbows, hoping the shallow angle would allow him to last longer. “B-Baby. I love you,” Bruno moaned. Progress, a new word. “You’re so beautiful, you’re amazing. I love you, I love you so fucking much, Leone!” Leone’s eyes locked onto Bruno’s and he saw something in the man snap. “Fuck it!” Leone growled, leaning back up carefully before grabbing the sides of Bruno’s head, keeping him from looking anywhere else. As if he’d even want to. Leone began slamming down hard onto Bruno, the sound of their skin slapping so lewd and loud, but it didn’t matter.

“Say it,” Leone grunted, his movements erratic and fast. Bruno’s release clawed at his gut, his toes curling to hold off just a little more. Leone had to come first, he had to. “I love you, Leone!” “I love you, too, Bruno,” he breathed, attempting to kiss him but so drunk on ecstasy he licked his cheek instead. Neither of them cared. And the lick seemed to only make it harder for Bruno to hold off. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He reached for Leone’s hips, holding them in place and thrusting into him deep and fast, giving him everything he had left. “Come for me, Leone. Come for your Capo,” Bruno commanded through gritted teeth It was too late, he was already coming. “Goddamnit,” he moaned, feeling himself flood Leone with his seed. Leone grunted helplessly, knowing he was no match for the determination in Bruno’s eyes. “Say it,” he managed to whimper, the final thread holding him from his climax fraying, waiting to snap at Bruno’s words. “Leone, I love you! I fucking love you! I lov-.” A rumbling groan tore through Leone’s throat, his body jerking as he came hard, spurting all over Bruno’s chest. He pumped himself through it, stroking out every last wave of ecstasy before falling forward and crumpling on top of Bruno.

They panted, trying to catch their breath but still wanting to dole out praise as their lungs burned.

“You’re incredible,” Leone barely managed to say.

“You’re divine,” Bruno replied, equally breathless.

Leone wrapped his arms around Bruno’s shoulders and pulled him down as Leone’s flopped onto the mattress. “I know this is corny but…” Leone began, taking a break to pant some more before continuing. “…the only thing I could think the entire time was…how much I love you, and how happy I am to have you.” Bruno wrapped his arms around Leone’s waist and squeezed, turning his head to kiss his neck. “Glad I wasn’t the only one,” he said, smiling against his skin.

He wiggled himself out of Leone’s embrace just enough to lean up and look at him. Opalescent skin flushed and nearly iridescent with sweat, silver hair sticking to his cheek and eyes still hazy, recovering from the rush of pleasure that had shot through him. Bruno sighed. “You’re a gift from the heavens.” They were Bruno’s thoughts, but they came out of Leone’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful, Bruno. You’re making my heart hurt,” Leone said, laughing lightly. Bruno blushed bright red, not expecting such tenderness. Leone was always sweet, but this was a lot, even for him.

“You look like you’re made of gold.” Leone tilted his head, as if to get a better look at him. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you were.” Bruno flopped down next to Leone, reflecting his beaming smile back at him. “I want to say something cute, but I can’t think straight thanks to you.” Leone snorted out a laugh and pulled Bruno closer to him. “You’ve said enough,” he said softly, closing his eyes to rest. “But now I’m hungry. When is the food coming?” Bruno paled, going completely still before scrambling to their door. He whispered a curse as he quickly brought the tray in. “They probably heard us!” he said, not able to hold back laughter. Leone leaned up tiredly and gave a half-smile. “Good for them.” Bruno put the tray down on the bed, crawling next to Leone and scooting up to sit against the headboard. Leone did the same thing, turning on the tv and flipping through channels before landing on a mystery show they both liked.

“It’s cold, but I honestly don’t give a shit. I’m so hungry,” Leone said, his mouth full of food. “It’s our fault it’s cold,” Bruno replied, mouth equally full. He rested his head on Leone’s shoulder when has finished, letting himself ease into the person he loved most. Surprisingly, he felt himself slipping into slumber, despite the construction, the wind, and the tv, Bruno felt his body get heavy with the telltale signs of approaching sleep. He indulged, slipping his eyes shut and drifting, but not before feeling Leone’s lips gently on his and a whispered, “I love you.” Bruno smiled, then gave into sleep.

They could explore the hotel later.

[slurrmp]

not another info sheet.

                                        sasha o’neill (stargate sg1)

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: sasha maria o’neill PRONUNCIATION: SASH-ə MEANING: defender, helper of mankind REASONING: named after her mother’s grandmother NICKNAME(S): sash (most common), ash, asha, kid PREFERRED NAME(S): just her full name or sash BIRTH DATE: october 20th 1972 AGE: 33 (as of season 9) ZODIAC: libra GENDER: female PRONOUNS: she/her ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual NATIONALITY: american ETHNICITY: white CURRENT LOCATION: colorado springs, cheyenne mountain LIVING CONDITIONS: a little apartment in the city, but will mostly stay at jack’s home. TITLE(S): miss

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: san francisco HOMETOWN: fairfax SOCIAL CLASS: fairly wealthy, but not exactly rich EDUCATION LEVEL: almost finished college FATHER: angus o’neill (deceased) MOTHER: maria o’neill (nee barnes) (mia) SIBLING(S): none BIRTH ORDER: only child CHILDREN: none PET(S): a pet gold fish named bruce, however, is too busy with work to actually have the dog she always wanted. OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: jack o’neill (uncle), sara o’neill (aunt), charlie o’neill (cousin) (deceased) PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: max turner (four years), jonas quinn (two years), cameron mitchell (??) ARRESTS?: when she was a teenager and her father passed away, and her mother basically disowned her - sasha rebelled against her aunt and uncle, doing petty crimes such as shop lifting and grand theft PRISON TIME?: spent two nights in the county jail for stealing a car from the mayor

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: working for the sgc SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: it’s really disguised as working for the air force TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: she writes a column in the local paper APPROXIMATE AMOUNT PER YEAR: uhhhh couldn’t tell you, but it’s enough to live comfortably CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: very much so PAST JOB(S): worked at a fast food chain until she was 17, then worked for a supermarket (but was caught stealing & was fired) SPENDING HABITS: she knows what she loves and will always buy what she needs MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: her father’s dog tags, which she constantly wears around her neck

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: she was a cheerleader in high school before her father passed - moving into senior year of high school, sasha locked herself away from others and herself - which meant that she wasn’t as physically fit as she used to be. she was never overweight, but she couldn’t do a cartwheel to save her life anymore. however, joining the sgc - she’s managed to gain back her fitness and once again can do that cartwheel. OFFENSE: no DEFENSE: yes. her fighting style is more protect her body than anything else. SPEED: she’s not incredibly fast, but if something is chasing her, she has the will to go faster. INTELLIGENCE: rather intelligent, however, it is less mathematical smart and more historical smart. ACCURACY: she grew up in a military family, she’s very accurate AGILITY: after working back her fitness, sasha’s very good at climbing walls and leaping across tall buildings. STAMINA: it’s fairly good but no where near as good as it should be TEAMWORK: she depends on her team to survive and they depend on her to keep them alive TALENTS: can translate a different language within an hour, rather good at the piano SHORTCOMINGS: she’s judgemental, snippy and can be rather short with people. all in all it’s that o’neill charm LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, german, russian, dutch and japanese DRIVE?: yes JUMP-STAR A CAR?: yes CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: yes RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes, badly though SWIM?: yes PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: kind of, without practice she loses her skill PLAY CHESS?: no (daniel’s trying to teach her though) BRAID HAIR?: yes TIE A TIE?: yes PICK A LOCK?: yes

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: alyssa milano EYE COLOR: brown HAIR COLOR: brown HAIR TYPE/STYLE: there’s almost a different style each year. season one: short and almost in a bob. season two: it has grown out more and now reaches her shoulders - curls. season six: it was shaved almost completely off. season three, four, five, seven, eight, nine and ten: it remains at shoulder length and wavy. GLASSES/CONTACTS?: only for when she’s reading DOMINANT HAND: right HEIGHT: 5′2″ WEIGHT: 60 kg BUILD: athletic EXERCISE HABITS: spars with teal’c once a week, while also uses the gym equipment at the sgc twice a week SKIN TONE: pale, but is able to tan rather easily TATTOOS: one on the back of her neck and one on the left side of her lower back PEIRCINGS: both lobes, including seconds, has her nose pierced as well MARKS/SCARS: there is a birthmark over her left hip. a scar just on the right side of her upper lip (which she got when she fell over on the driveway of her family home when she was six), a scar through her left eyebrow - which eerily is like jack’s, however, it was given to her on a mission NOTABLE FEATURES: her eyes and the mirroring scar in her eyebrow, just like jack. USUAL EXPRESSION: she is beaming most of the time - bright and bubbly expressions CLOTHING STYLE: very modern, loves a crop top and low cut jeans, but while she’s on base it is the typical sg uniform. blue fatigues mostly, considering the green makes her look sick JEWELRY: nothing too fancy considering her line of work, a couple of rings and bracelets ALLERGIES: peanuts, bees BODY TEMPERATURE: a normal body temperature DIET: she’s lived with jack for most of her life, it mainly consisted of bbq steak and when she was old enough beer. donuts, and snacks. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: continuously breaks limbs, but nothing too serious to bench her from off world work.

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: enfj ENNEAGRAM TYPE:  the achiever MORAL ALIGNMENT:  chaotic good ELEMENT: air PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE:  logical-mathematical APPROXIMATE IQ: 124 MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: struggles with ptsd after the death of her father and the events that have occurred in her life so far SOCIABILITY: very out going and loves to meet new people EMOTIONAL STABILITY: she’s been hurt so many times that sasha has started to pull away from anything emotional lately, so not good, but she hides it well with her outgoing personality OBSESSION(S): making sure that everything is perfect, making sure that missions will go correctly and nothing bad will happen. PHOBIA(S): tight spaces, spiders, flying, ADDICTION(S): none DRUG USE: none ALCOHOL USE: limited, loves a good beer every sunday afternoon PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: if push came to shove

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE:  she’s very articulate with her words. when the occasion calls for it, she can speak in a rather professional manner. but when she’s around friends or family, she won’t talk quite as stiff ACCENT: very clearly a west coast accent QUIRKS: she bounces a lot when she’s excited or even happy. it’s absolutely because she’s the shortest of the group and it makes her feel tall HOBBIES: reading is a big one - basically what she does to escape the ‘real world’, mainly romance and comedy novels because horror/sci-fi and action is what she lives on a daily basis HABITS: she has a habit of biting her lower lip, usually when she’s thinking or worried.  NERVOUS TICKS:  bounces her leg up and down when nervous, she will also pace a lot DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: one is absolutely to save the world from the goa’uld, while the others is her family and her friends FEARS:  losing said family and friends. she has a terrible habit of latching onto people she’s met - which isn’t good in her line of work. however, it helps her  POSITIVE TRAITS:  loyal, strong willed, will fight for her family NEGATIVE TRAITS:  falls in love too easily, tries to see the best in everyone - which usually gets her into trouble SENSE OF HUMOR:  very dry, it’s that o’neill sense of humour though DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?:  on and off CATCHPHRASE(S):oh for crying out loud

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: reading ANIMAL: fox BEVERAGE: beer BOOK: pride and prejudice CELEBRITY: brad pitt COLOR: pastel brown DESIGNER: vera wang FOOD: fried rice FLOWER: sunflower GEM: diamond HOLIDAY: christmas MODE OF TRANSPORTATION:  mini cooper MOVIE: sleepless in seatle MUSICAL ARTIST: elton john SCENERY: snowy day next to a fireplace in the city SCENT: lavender SPORT: football SPORTS TEAM: 49ers TELEVISION SHOW: simpsons WEATHER: winter VACATION DESTINATION: bora bora

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: to see the goa’uld destroyed and to have her family safe GREATEST FEAR: to lose the planet and her family MOST AT EASE WHEN: things are going the right way, no matter the scenario - could be in the middle of a mission, but as long as she knows what’s she’s doing, sasha can breeze through it LEAST AT EASE WHEN:  everything is going wrong, mainly when missions stuff up. as well as when she has no control over a situation WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: one of the alternate world’s reality, becoming her reality. the goa’uld taking over the world and enslaving humanity BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: finally getting into college BIGGEST REGRET:  losing her daughter MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT:  it’s not everyday that you come face to face with a new species, it’s also not everyday that you decide to trip UP stairs when coming to greet them, falling flat on her face and breaking her nose BIGGEST SECRET:  max and sasha were expecting a baby - but they were not compatible and the baby died during the first trimester, she never told anyone besides janet TOP PRIORITIES: her job and her family

[arabellaflynn]

Text of a test monologue. Would you like to see me deliver this on camera, with no makeup, no lighting equipment, and using Notepad as a TelePrompTer? Head on over to my https://www.patreon.com/ArabellaFlynnPatreon, and for a dollar a month you too can see me waffle on in real time.

Hi, all. You may notice that I am on video now. I was going to shoot a couple of tests and apologize for the poor quality of the footage, and explain that I want to start vlogging and streaming in addition to writing, but I need some equipment to do it properly and for that I need to raise some funds... But fuck it. This is going out first instead.

As I record this, it is the fourth of July. You can probably hear the fireworks outside my window. I know I can. There are a lot of those, because we've all been inside and bored for the past four months. 

I know a lot of people who have opted not to observe the holiday this year. The 4th of July is often viewed as a celebration of the American institution, which is a little bit on fire right now, with a few people determined to squirt lighter fluid all over the flames like a bored suburban dad at a barbecue. On the other hand, it's also Independence Day, and marks the end of the long, painful process by which a population broke free of distant, uncaring overlords who cared mainly about the financial dividends of their colonies, and ignored the grievances of the people until they started breaking shit. So YMMV.

I would comment on some of the details, but I don't know them. The Late Show is on hiatus, and John Oliver doesn't air until tomorrow. I, like a lot of my demographic, get most of my current events from comedians. There's a reason for that.

I actually watched a lot of news as a teenager.

Well, "watched" might be too strong a word. It's easier for me to fall asleep if there's some sort of droning noise in the background. When I was about fifteen, I discovered that, unlike the main CNN channel, which has actual shows and documentaries, CNN Headline News just runs the day's top stories over and over again in an unending 30 minute loop. Interesting enough to keep me from falling into a train of thought that will prevent me from sleeping, boring enough that I don't want to stay up and listen.

I have no memory of the desk anchors. I'm sure they were consummate professionals, but they also had no distinguishing human characteristics whatsoever. I know they were updating the loop live, because occasionally a story would be added to the list and another one would drop off the back, and occasionally one would flub the text on their prompter, but other than that there was no hint that the face at the desk was attached to a living, breathing person.

I do remember a couple of the correspondents. One was Christiane Amanpour. Her voice stood out; CNN is an American news station that was originally restricted to American cable networks, and the vast majority of the staff is from the US. Amanpour is British-Iranian, having split her childhood between Tehran, before the revolution, and London, after. They liked to send her to the bowels of Eastern Europe to report from the war-torn streets of Citygrad in Countrystan. She had already caught some criticism on her reporting of the Bosnian War, for advancing the apparently controversial opinion that genocide was bad. I didn't know that at the time; I just thought she sounded more like she told real stories than read off lists of facts.

Another was Anderson Cooper, who was not nearly such a big deal then as he is now. Cooper, a self-described adrenaline junkie, was a war correspondent at the time, with a habit of ducking only briefly for explosions before standing back up to continue his piece to camera. He wouldn't be infamous until his coverage of Hurricane Katrina years later, both for the overall stellar job he did, and also for that one time he got tired of getting non-answers from some government toad in a live interview and very professionally flipped his shit at the lady, asking if she realized how tone deaf it was to sit there thanking other politicians for doing essentially nothing while there were still bodies in the street.

I quit watching the news when I moved away to college. It wasn't necessarily that knowing was worse than not knowing, but I felt a lot of pressure to be "adult" about it at that point, and watching proper news shows made me anxious to the point where I wouldn't sleep. I outright avoided it to the point where I made it to a canceled class at 4 pm, Mountain Standard Time, on September 11, 2001, before anyone told me what was going on.

I wasn't able to put my finger on why I found the news so horrible until many years later. I can't remember what rabbit hole I'd fallen down, but I ended up sitting on YouTube watching segments of the live news coverage of the 1981 assassination attempt on President Reagan. Reagan was shot in the side and later recovered without complications, but his Press Secretary, James Brady, was struck in the head and sustained considerable neurological damage. Brady, together with his wife Sarah, later went on to be a noted advocate for gun control, but at the time was reported to have died on the scene. 

I wound up watching a lot of one of the news desks -- ABC, I think. It started out like all the others, until the anchor tripped up a couple of times and referred to Press Secretary Brady as "Jim", and I realized: He knows these people. Personally. He's a member of the White House Press Corps, or a friend of the Bradys, or both. I'm watching a journalist reporting on a moment of historical significance to the American people, and a human being who has to tell the entire nation about someone's personal tragedy. His investment did not make him any less professional or informative than any of the others, but it did make his coverage feel very grounded in reality in a way that most news, then and now, does not.

The older I get, the more disquieting I find it to have a talking head behind a shiny desk read me a list of horrible things that have happened today without any apparent reaction. It makes it seem like these things are a randomized representative sample of the cruelty of the universe, rather than what they are, which is a list of things so unusually terrible they made the news. I realize that this is part of an effort to remain impartial so that the viewer can decide how they feel about events, but it's also disturbingly normative. Yes, everything is on fire, everything is always on fire, this is nothing new. 

I can't say I'm any more enamored of the opposite, either, the more recent style where the news anchor's entire job is to tell you that entirety of human existence is awful and here's what you should prioritize being afraid of this week. Everything around you is on fire, the fire is racing right at you, and here's whose fault the fire is.

A lot of Americans, especially younger ones, have taken to getting their news mostly from political satire because-- well, one, because for about the past twenty years, our comedians have been better at fact-checking than our actual newsrooms. You can thank Jon Stewart for getting a bee in his bonnet over that. But also because their coverage of major issues takes neither of those paths. The Daily Show alumni write up stories like they actually live on the planet they're reporting from. You're on fire? They're on fire too! Holy shit, let's all find some water! 

The conceit behind the comedy of The Daily Show and the Colbert Report and Full Frontal and Last Week Tonight and now the monologues on The Late Show is not that this is a normal amount of fire for everything to be on so it's fine, nor establishing that someone has set you on fire on purpose and here's who should be punished for it. It's bewilderment and frustration at the way we somehow keep catching on fire over and over again. Yeah, they crack jokes, because it's their job, but all the jokes are predicated on the idea that this is, above all, just very, very, inexplicably stupid. We can, and we should, be better than this. And the hosts stubbornly refuse to just give up and internalize as immutable all the reasons why we aren't.

You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Jon Stewart has accumulated "fuck you" money from his time on The Daily Show, among other things. I really hope the rest of them are doing the same. Because we need some figureheads who are able to say "fuck you" to a lot of authority figures right now without having to worry about how their family is going to survive the next month. John Oliver has HBO backing and I'm pretty sure Last Week Tonight has roughly equal budgets set aside for handling lawsuits and shoveling money at charity. Stephen Colbert has been insulting Donald Trump as hard as he possibly can since day one, and he just re-upped until 2023. Samantha Bee has her husband holding the camera to shoot her monologues out in the woods. 

They've all figured out how to produce their show over the internet, so at least we have something to watch in the After Times.

I really hope the neighbors run out of fireworks soon. Aside from not wanting the neighborhood to be literally on fire at any point, one of my housemates has a dog, and the dog has epilepsy, so this has been an interesting evening. Sorry about the fireworks, sorry about the camera, sorry about the country, sorry about the state of the world. Imma go find my Xanax. G'night.

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[pope-francis-quotes]

10th April >> (@RomeReports) #PopeFrancis #Pope Francis Relive the Celebration of the Passion of the Lord, which #PopeFrancis presided over on #GoodFriday. #EasterAtHome

Pope celebrates Passion of the Lord, as papal preacher reflects on Covid-19 pandemic

Pope Francis presides over the Celebration of the Passion of the Lord, with Fr Raniero Cantalamessa reflecting on the positive fruits that God draws forth from the coronavirus pandemic.

By Vatican News

The celebration of the Passion of the Lord took place on the evening of Good Friday in a near-empty St. Peter’s Basilica.

Pope Francis presided over the liturgy, which was live-streamed to the faithful across the world through media outlets and social media.

At the moment of the Adoration of the Holy Cross, only the Pope was able to venerate the Cross with a kiss, in compliance with measures to avoid the spread of Covid-19.

The Preacher of the Papal Household, Fr Raniero Cantalamessa, preached the Sermon, reminding everyone that God has plans for our welfare, and not woe, even in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic.

Below please find the full text of his Sermon:

“I HAVE PLANS FOR YOUR WELFARE AND NOT FOR WOE”

Sermon for Good Friday 2020 in St. Peter’s Basilica

St. Gregory the Great said that Scripture “grows with its readers”, cum legentibus crescit.[1] It reveals meanings always new according to the questions people have in their hearts as they read it. And this year we read the account of the Passion with a question—rather with a cry—in our hearts that is rising up over the whole earth. We need to seek the answer that the word of God gives it.

The Gospel reading we have just listened to is the account of the objectively greatest evil committed on earth. We can look at it from two different angles: either from the front or from the back, that is, either from its causes or from its effects. If we stop at the historical causes of Christ’s death, we get confused and everyone will be tempted to say, as Pilate did, “I am innocent of this man’s blood” (Mt 27:24). The cross is better understood by its effects than by its causes. And what were the effects of Christ’s death? Being justified through faith in him, being reconciled and at peace with God, and being filled with the hope of eternal life! (see Rom 53:1-5).

But there is one effect that the current situation can help us to grasp in particular. The cross of Christ has changed the meaning of pain and human suffering—of every kind of suffering, physical and moral. It is no longer punishment, a curse. It was redeemed at its root when the Son of God took it upon himself. What is the surest proof that the drink someone offers you is not poisoned? It is if that person drinks from the same cup before you do. This is what God has done: on the cross he drank, in front of the whole world, the cup of pain down to its dregs. This is how he showed us it is not poisoned, but that there is a pearl at the bottom of it.

And not only the pain of those who have faith, but of every human pain. He died for all human beings: “And when I am lifted up from the earth,” he said, “I will draw everyone to myself” (Jn 12:32). Everyone, not just some! St. John Paul II wrote from his hospital bed after his attempted assassination, “To suffer means to become particularly susceptible, particularly open to the working of the salvific powers of God, offered to humanity in Christ.”[2] Thanks to the cross of Christ, suffering has also become in its own way a kind of “universal sacrament of salvation” for the human race.

***

What light does all of this shed on the dramatic situation that humanity is going through now? Here too we need to look at the effects more than at the causes—not just the negative ones we hear about every day in heart-wrenching reports but also the positive ones that only a more careful observation can help us grasp.

The pandemic of Coronavirus has abruptly roused us from the greatest danger individuals and humanity have always been susceptible to: the delusion of omnipotence. A Jewish rabbi has written that we have the opportunity to celebrate a very special paschal exodus this year, that “from the exile of consciousness” [3]. It took merely the smallest and most formless element of nature, a virus, to remind us that we are mortal, that military power and technology are not sufficient to save us. As a psalm in the Bible says, “In his prime, man does not understand. / He is like the beasts—they perish” (Ps 49:21). How true that is!

While he was painting frescoes in St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, the artist James Thornhill became so excited at a certain point about his fresco that he stepped back to see it better and was unaware he was about to fall over the edge of the scaffolding. A horrified assistant understood that crying out to him would have only hastened the disaster. Without thinking twice, he dipped a brush in paint and hurled it at the middle of the fresco. The master, appalled, sprang forward. His work was damaged, but he was saved.

God does this with us sometimes: he disrupts our projects and our calm to save us from the abyss we don’t see. But we need to be careful not to be deceived. God is not the one who hurled the brush at the sparkling fresco of our technological society. God is our ally, not the ally of the virus! He himself says in the Bible, “I have . . . plans for your welfare and not for woe” (Jer 29:11). If these scourges were punishments of God, it would not be explained why they strike equally good and bad, and why the poor usually bear the worst consequences of them. Are they more sinners than others?

The one who cried one day for Lazarus' death cries today for the scourge that has fallen on humanity. Yes, God "suffers", like every father and every mother. When we will find out this one day, we will be ashamed of all the accusations we made against him in life. God participates in our pain to overcome it. "Being supremely good - wrote St. Augustine - God would not allow any evil in his works, unless in his omnipotence and goodness, he is able to bring forth good out of evil.”[4]

Did God the Father possibly desire the death of his Son in order to draw good out of it? No, he simply permitted human freedom to take its course, making it serve, however, his own purposes and not those of human beings. This is also the case for natural disasters like earthquakes and plagues. He does not bring them about. He has given nature a kind of freedom as well, qualitatively different of course than that of human beings, but still a form of freedom—freedom to evolve according to its own laws of development. He did not create a world as a programmed clock whose least little movement could be anticipated. It is what some call “chance” but the Bible calls instead “the wisdom of God.”

***

The other positive fruit of the present health crisis is the feeling of solidarity. When, in the memory of humanity, have the people of all nations ever felt themselves so united, so equal, so less in conflict than at this moment of pain? Never so much as now have we experienced the truth of the words of one of our great poets: “Peace, you peoples! Too deep is the mystery of the prostrate earth.”[5] We have forgotten about building walls. The virus knows no borders. In an instant it has broken down all the barriers and distinctions of race, nation, religion, wealth, and power. We should not revert to that prior time when this moment has passed. As the Holy Father has exhorted us, we should not waste this opportunity. Let us not allow so much pain, so many deaths, and so much heroic engagement on the part of health workers to have been in vain. Returning to the way things were is the “recession” we should fear the most.

They shall beat their swords into plowshares

and their spears into pruning hooks;

One nation shall not raise the sword against another,

nor shall they train for war again. (Is 2:4)

This is the moment to put into practice something of the prophecy of Isaiah whose fulfillment humanity has long been waiting for. Let us say “Enough!” to the tragic race toward arms. Say it with all your might, you young people, because it is above all your destiny that is at stake. Let us devote the unlimited resources committed to weapons to the goals that we now realize are most necessary and urgent: health, hygiene, food, the fight against poverty, stewardship of creation. Let us leave to the next generation a world poorer in goods and money, if need be, but richer in its humanity.

***

The word of God tells us the first thing we should do at times like these is to cry out to God. He himself is the one who puts on people’s lips the words to cry out to him, at times harsh words of lament and almost of accusation: “Awake! Why do you sleep, O Lord? / Rise up! Do not reject us forever! . . . Rise up, help us! / Redeem us in your mercy” (Ps 44, 24, 27). “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” (Mk 4:38).

Does God perhaps like to be petitioned so that he can grant his benefits? Can our prayer perhaps make God change his plans? No, but there are things that God has decided to grant us as the fruit both of his grace and of our prayer, almost as though sharing with his creatures the credit for the benefit received.[6] God is the one who prompts us to do it: “Seek and you will find,” Jesus said; “knock and the door will be opened to you” (Mt 7:7).

When the Israelites were bitten by poisonous serpents in the desert, God commanded Moses to lift up a serpent of bronze on a pole, and whoever looked at it would not die. Jesus appropriated this symbol to himself when he told Nicodemus, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life” (Jn 3:14-15). We too at this moment have been bitten by an invisible, poisonous “serpent.” Let us gaze upon the one who was “lifted up” for us on the cross. Let us adore him on behalf of ourselves and of the whole human race. The one who looks on him with faith does not die. And if that person dies, it will be to enter eternal life.

"After three days I will rise", Jesus had foretold (cf. Mt Mt 27:63). We too, after these days that we hope will be short, shall rise and come out of the tombs of our homes. Not however to return to the former life like Lazarus, but to a new life, like Jesus. A more fraternal, more human, more Christian life!

______________________________

Translated from Italian by Marsha Daigle-Williamson, Ph.D.

[1] Moralia in Job, XX, 1.

[2] John Paul II, Salvifici doloris [On the Meaning of Human Suffering], n. 23.

[3] https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/coronavirus-a-spiritual-message-from-brooklyn (Yaakov Yitzhak Biderman).

[4] See St. Augustine, Enchiridion 11, 3; PL 40, 236.

[5] Giovanni Pascoli, “I due fanciulli” [“The Two Children”].

[6] See St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologicae, II-IIae, q. 83, a. 2.

Topics

POPE FRANCIS

CORONAVIRUS

HOLY WEEK

LENT

LITURGY

10th April 2020, 19:03

[adityatodi]

New Orleans

October 6, 2019 Sunday

On my way back to Boston from New Orleans.

I arrived in New Orleans late Thursday night (midnight) on the same flight as Angel Saez. We took an Uber to our AirBnB in the French district.

Friday morning started with breakfast at Bear Cat Café with Ben, his wife Ilkania, Akash, Dana, Jaclyn and her boyfriend Blake, Rebecca, Macy and Kumiko. The huge portion sizes served as a welcome to the city. We then headed to the Whitney Plantation to get a tour of the plantation and learn about the history of the plantation and more about slavery. Some of my takeaways/learnings:

Often when we think of slavery, we think of slaves working in plantation or house maids. But system of slavery also included skilled Black labor and craftsmen whose stories are often not ones told

The first form of dehumanization in this whole process was stripping the recently arrived Africans of their African name and giving them French name

While in 1808 Trans-Atlantic slave trade ended, it continued to flourish within US boundaries until 1864 and beyond

When we talk about colonialism, often large portions of blame is assigned to British. Why do we not put same blame on the French, Belgian or the Portugese, who were actually the ones who were “pioneers” of Trans-Atlantic slave trade

Often times when we talk about humans doing bad things to other humans the reference is Holocaust. Slavery was brutal, why are these analogies not made—because they are Black lives?

Why are the rebellions that slaves fought, e.g. there was one in 1811, not given the same heroic importance as the Revolutionary Wars for American Independence?

After the tour we head to the historic Café Du Monde to get coffee and the delicious beignets. Walk around the area, head home to do some work, drinks at Cane and Table and 3-course dinner at Sylvain. We then go to a bar playing Jazz on Frenchmen street (really good music), then a handful of us (Kumiko, Dana, Liz, Akash, Zubby and I) go bar hopping along Bourbon Street.

Saturday morning starts with brunch at Ruby Slipper with people in my AirBnB (Kuba, his girlfriend, Tory, Claire, Graciela, Eren and Katie). I then join a group from the other AirBnB to do a walking tour concentrating on the musical and artistic history of New Orleans. Thankfully the weather is bearable and not too hot. The guide carried a speaker and iPad with him to show us pictures and take us through the evolution of music starting with Armstrong Park dedicated to Louis Armstrong. I had first heard of Armstrong in college when I heard “What a Wonderful World” and was blown away by the melody and the tune. Some learnings

Urban slavery was different than rural slavery (e.g. plantation). In New Orleans given the influence of the Catholic Church, Sunday was a holiday for all including the enslaved. There were Sunday market gatherings at Congo Square where enslaved people could buy and trade for money it this became a step towards emancipation

Jazz originates from the confluence of traditional European music, particularly brass band with the Afro beats that African slaves brought with them

Armstrong received very little formal music education. It was a total of 18 months that he spent in jail because of firing blank bullets during a celebration when he was 11. In a crazy coincidence, his first wife dies of a heart attack while playing the piano at Armstrong’s funeral

After the tour we walk around, go to a café and then I head to the AirBnB to get some work done. At 7:45 Zubby, Kumiko and I go to the Spotted Cat Bar on Frenchmen street to hear some jazz. This was certainly the highlight of my trip. It’s a small bar and we’re all gathered around the stage. The band of 7 plays amazing amazing jazz—probably the best live jazz performance I’ve heard. Band name—Panaroma Jazz Band. The vibe of being in this small bar in New Orleans, drinking beer and chilling with a couple of friends on a wonderful evening with great music. This is the sort of stuff one imagines doing in New Orleans and I’m glad I got to do this. Zubby and I then head to get some Cajun food at Pierre Maspero’s. We strike a deep conversation on race, sexuality, and how often times those who complain of being oppressed are oppressors in other situations. After our meal we find ourselves walking back to Frenchmen street and somehow end up doing Karaoke on the way and improvising and just having a great time singing, making things up, being complimented by passerby’s on our skills, goofing around. The karaoke session continues at the AirBnB with the culmination of Louis Armstrong’s “What a wonderful world”. Ah! Grateful for such moments of pure joy. Zubby has an early morning flight so he heads to bed. I head out to Blue Nile to join a few others who are there. Some more jazz performance and back home for the night.

Sunday morning—late wake up, pack-up and get ready. Brunch at Satsuma Café and then I go to explore the WWII Museum. Takeaway/Learnings/Thoughts:

WWII was framed as a fight for democracy and democratic ideals. If today the US does not stand up and defend these ideals abroad, can one not say that WWII was fought in vain

Good to see a portion of the museum devoted to Japanese internment and the treatment of African Americans as second class citizen along with Native Americans and Latinos. However, the section seemed very small and I would have liked they spent more time talking about the implications of war on minorities

• I was able to better understand the significance of D-Day and the heroic efforts of the troops to capture Normandy. I especially enjoyed learning about the detailed deceptions that were devised to trick Nazi Germany to believing that the Allied Troops would instead attack Calais. The sheer number of tanks, planes, ships, boats and troops used for this battle was mind blowing

I found myself eager to see how this museum would talk about the dropping of the atomic bombs especially since the Hiroshima Peace Museum left a lasting memory on me. I was disappointed (but also not shocked) that only a very small small portion is devoted to it. Basic narrative---the Japanese were not willing to surrender->Americans dropped the first bomb->Japanese still not willing to surrender->Americans drop second bomb->Japanese finally surrender->Pictures of some devastating effects of the bomb->This evil was used to stop a greater evil of losing more people through conventional fighting

This narrative and the fact that the human impact and after affect of the dropping of the nuclear bomb was not covered thoroughly left me deeply frustrated. You have devoted 90% of the museum on technicalities, on how brutal war was for soldiers, how industry and Americans mobilized to fight the war, but how the f*** can you not talk about the bombing in a more sensitive way. War is not glorious. Let’s engage with this issue

Would Americans have given it more of a thought if they had the option to drop the atomic bomb on the German population? Of course, definitely yes. Because these were “Japs” who are supposed to be brutal and animal-like according to all the propaganda you spread, you find ways to justify killing civilian population and use mathematical logic of numbers to explain a war crime. Had Germany dropped nuclear bomb on U.S. cities and lost war, would the planners and executors of it not been tried for such an atrocity? Of course they would have. F*** this sh** and this convoluted logic. The U.S. needs to issue a blanket apology for what they did. It is a war crime and the American leaders who made this decision should have been tried—yes Truman should have been tried.

Step back. New Orleans.

Glad I came for this trip and was able to see this part of the U.S. Amazing food and music—such a touristy New Orleans thing to say. But honestly, that evening in the Spotted Cat bar was magical!