#rearrange stuff and figure out what's kind of repeated in different ways

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

i have a thing to answer which i was gonna do this morning but then i typed too much and now i have to go over it again but i'm also going somewhere today so i'll have to do that later or possibly tomorrow or something depending on how today goes

[murasaki-murasame]

Thoughts on Higurashi Sotsu Ep15 [FINALE]

For better or worse I think Ryukishi achieved exactly what he set out to do with this series, and I guess everyone’s just gonna be forced to reckon with how they feel about his own perspective on this franchise versus how they feel about it, lol.

Anyway, thoughts under the cut, plus Umineko spoilers.

I’m not entirely sure where to even start with this, but I guess the TL;DR is that I honestly think Gou/Sotsu was ultimately just fine despite it’s issues, and part me of can’t help but be like ‘I told you so, lol’ about how this really did end with this episode, and also committed pretty hard to the Umineko prequel elements.

It’s not like all of my theories were correct in the end, but I at least think I was pretty spot on in my prediction last week that this would end with the miracle of them side-stepping the sword issue entirely and choosing the third option of forgiveness and reconciliation. And also them ending it with an epilogue where we go back to the Matsuribayashi timeline and get a happy ending for Rika and Satoko that provides a ‘non-magical interpretation’ for the story while also giving us an idea of how Bern and Lambda formally split off into their own entities and start the relationship we see in Umineko.

I didn’t quite expect them to go down the route of having them agree to just spend a few years apart and accept that they don’t need to literally always be together, but I think that was a really good way to wrap things up between them. It’s pretty much the healthiest compromise to their conflict that doesn’t come across like it completely invalidates one of their dreams. I get why it feels too anti-climactic and convenient for people, but when you pull at that thread you get into wider topics of what the entire story is about, since this was always going to end with Satoko being redeemed and forgiven. People might not have taken him seriously, but Ryukishi was 100% genuine about his regrets about Matsuribayashi’s ending, and how part of why he came up with this new story was to create a better ending, while also doing more with Satoko as a character.

Basically I think a lot of the fandom negativity towards this boils down to people fundamentally disagreeing with the idea that Matsuribayashi was even ‘flawed’ in this sort of way to begin with, or that Satoko was badly written. It’s valid to disagree on this stuff, but at the very least we all have to grapple with how Ryukishi has his own specific relationship with this series.

People like to focus on how he’s a troll who likes to mess with people, but I feel like this is a bit of a wake-up call for people about how he’s actually extremely sincere, almost to a fault, and he likes to use his stories as a vehicle for expressing his personal philosophies and ideals. 

This whole story is also a good example of how he just sees this as ultimately being a fictional story about fictional characters, and not literally a matter of real people who need to be sentenced for their crimes or whatever. As early as the original VN he was almost being outright preachy about the message that nobody is irredeemable, and that philosophy carries through to this. But to be more specific, nobody *in this story* is irredeemable. He’s pretty open about the fact that in practice you can’t apply this sort of ideal to real life, but fictional stories are their own separate matter.

I think this whole issue of how he views this as a story first and foremost is also the central reason why this ended in a way that comes across as Satoko being let off too easy for her crimes. One way or another, Ryukishi’s made it clear that he sees this as being no different to how other characters had arcs where they committed crimes but still got forgiven, or how Takano is basically a straight up war criminal who also got forgiven for her crimes.

Anyway, this episode at least committed to the Umineko stuff, so that was satisfying. Sure there’s people that still want to deny it, but at this point I think a lot of people are just being stubborn, so it’s not like anything would have really convinced them, lol. I’m also genuinely not sure what people even would have expected them to do beyond what we saw her, aside from having the two of them literally put on their gothic lolita outfits and turn to the camera and go ‘we are literally Bernkastel and Lambdadelta from the video game series Umineko When They Cry’. I almost feel like there’s some kind of misunderstanding from people who aren’t familiar with Umineko when it comes to the idea of what it even means for this to be ‘an Umineko prequel’, or ‘a Bern/Lambda origin story’. I mean, this is quite literally exactly what I expected and hoped for in that regard. It’s not like I was expecting them to incorporate anything related to, like, Beatrice or the Ushiromiya family.

I think this is also one of those things where you just have to decide for yourself whether or not you want to earnestly engage with the story that’s being told, or if you want to assume that there’s some level of malice or trickery going on.

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting them to literally have Rika and Satoko recite part of Bern and Lambda’s final conversation with each other word for word, lmao. Combined with the scene at the end where ‘Witch Satoko’ talks to herself about how she’s going to give her body back to Satoko while she goes chasing after Rika, it was literally just the exact origin story of their relationship as it’s depicted in Umineko.

I still feel like this would all only really be ‘worth it’ if we actually get something like a full on anime remake for Umineko, but at this point I can’t help but feel satisfied with this part of it all.

It’s not like I think Gou/Sotsu as a whole is perfect or anything, though. I don’t hate it as much as basically everyone else does, but I think Ryukishi’s the sort of VN writer who really struggles with the shift to writing for an anime. I think a big part of the frustration people have is just from how this is formatted as a weekly anime series spread across basically an entire year, instead of being something like a stand-alone VN chapter that you can read at whatever pace you want, even if it ultimately takes the same amount of time to read as it would to watch all of Gou/Sotsu.

There’s also the whole issue of this being a sort-of-remake, which snowballed into a whole list of structural problems. They absolutely tried too hard to have their cake and eat it too, and they should have just committed to it being made for old fans only, instead of trying to sincerely incorporate elements from the VN that old fans don’t care about anymore because they’ve gone over it already.

And as I’ve said several times before, it was a major issue for them to decide to put Nekodamashi in the middle of Gou and then spend like 20 episodes on flashback answer arcs until finally getting back to that cliffhanger. I’ve been waiting until this all ended to decide exactly how I feel about that, and now that it’s all over I still think it was a really bad idea. I don’t think it was an issue for them to reveal that Satoko’s the culprit that early, but having the gun cliffhanger specifically happen that early just gave people misguided expectations and tainted the answer arcs because people were just impatient to get back to the cliffhanger. And then the cliffhanger itself ended up being somewhat anti-climactic, which is what I’d been fearing would happen. It would have worked fine if they shuffled it around so that the cliffhanger happened right before Kagurashi and was followed up in the very next episode, or if this was a VN where you could binge your way through the flashback stuff, but spending like half of an entire real-life year to get back to that point only to have the resolution be ‘Satoko just shoots Rika and the death loops keep going’ just didn’t really work properly.

I’m a lot more generous towards the Akashi arcs than most people are, since I think they really over-estimate how much re-used content there is there, but they still suffer from the central issue of the show trying to be accessible for new fans. It could have been heavily condensed otherwise, without losing anything in terms of Satoko’s whole character arc.

On the other hand I think the first half of Kagurashi was awful specifically because it highlighted how bad of an idea it was to put Nekodamashi so early in the story. They still ended up having to go back to that arc and repeat it anyway, in the most 1:1 recap-y way in the whole show, but that wouldn’t have even been an issue in the first place if that was instead the first time that arc happened in the show.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I would rearrange the story to make it flow better while still following Ryukishi’s intentions, and I think they could have condensed it into a 2-cour season with this sort of structure if they did something like this:

-First arc where Rika gets thrown back into the loop and quickly figures out that somebody intentionally caused this to happen, and it’s not Takano because at least in this idea of mine she’d try and investigate her only to find out that this version of Takano regrets everything and is planning to flee the village with Tomitake.

Basically I think this could tie into the idea of Satoko initially wanting to just concoct an idea world for Rika so that she won’t want to leave this time, but sort of like what I think happens in Saikoroshi, Rika would still reject it, and this time around there’d be the additional layer of her knowing that somebody did this to her for an unknown reason. Maybe they could even initially market it as a new adaptation or a remake of Saikoroshi, and then reveal that it’s a sequel, to keep that whole element to the series. Either way I think this would end with everything going to shit when Rika rejects that fragment and wants to go back to St. Lucia’s, and Satoko basically snaps and kills her, and that way the audience can find out about her being the culprit without Rika finding out about it yet.

Maybe there could even be some dramatic irony where Rika’s attempts to meddle with certain ‘trigger events’, and her displaying her looper side, inadvertently triggers people around her to get paranoid, and the whole fragment would start to spiral into tragedy from there. I think they could at least use the whole conflict in Tatariakashi about Teppei actually being good this time as a starting point for that sorta thing.

-Second arc, rounding out the first cour, which is basically just Satokowashi. I don’t think there’s much that you’d need to change here, but like I said above I like the idea of her initially trying to just invent a perfect world for Rika and her to live in, instead of jumping straight to murder. But maybe instead of her literally just watching Rika’s loops, she could instead just be stuck using her looping powers to try and figure out how to create that ‘perfect world’ in the first place, by personally investigating all of the different tragedies and how to prevent them.

-Staring the second cour, a third arc where we basically just get to see those loops Satoko goes through, and her whole process of solving the tragedies and ‘purifying’ characters like Teppei and Takano, until we eventually see her perspective on the first arc, and how she reacts to Rika ultimately rejecting the world she tried to make for her.

-A fourth and final arc which is basically just Nekodamashi + Kagurashi, where she just totally snaps and tries to just torture Rika into never wanting to leave the village again, and eventually Satoko gets exposed and they have their direct confrontation with each other.

With that sorta story structure, you’d keep all the relevant bits of Gou/Sotsu as it is now, while being more focused on Rika and Satoko instead of doing kinda half-assed reruns of the Rena and Shion arcs. It’d also push the big cliffhanger between them until near the end of the show, while still revealing to the audience relatively early on that Satoko’s the culprit.

I’d also like them to do more with Satoshi and Shion, so maybe like with how Teppei gets redeemed and Satoko almost gets to have a happy life with him in Tatariakashi, the central question arc of this hypothetical story could also involve Satoko making sure that Satoshi wakes up from his coma, and Shion also gets to have a good relationship with all of them. You could probably do something interesting with the idea of Satoshi and Shion being in the camp of not trusting Teppei and his whole redemption arc.

Honestly I could spend a long time talking about how I would have done things differently, lol. For one thing, I think the Akashi arcs would have been much better if they just changed it so that Satoko used psychological tactics to make people paranoid, and we completely cut out the whole syringe plot device. I get how it fits with Satoko’s whole certainty gimmick, but it made those arcs way too predictable. Even if we knew the outcome, it’d at least be entertaining to see exactly how Satoko might go out of her way to set up the different tragedies. We kinda got glimpses of that sorta plot point in Wataakashi when things seemed to go outside of her control, but they didn’t really do much with it.

Anyway, this is a whole lot of words to say that I think that in spite of the serious structural issues going on, I think Gou/Sotsu as a whole is fine, and was at least working with a lot of perfectly good ideas that could have been executed much better.

Also, on a side note, that one scene during their fist-fight at the start where the art-style changes a bit was kinda weird, but I really liked how it looked, and part of me almost wishes the whole show looked like that, lol. I like Akio Watanabe’s character designs, but I feel like that sort of stylized, almost TWEWY-ish art style would have been really fitting for this series, especially in the horror/action parts.

Oh, and the new rendition of You was so good it almost felt emotionally manipulative, lol.

[thorraborinn]

I know you've probably been asked this question a million times and have answered it just as many but I'm curious about your thoughts on Loki?

I know there seems to be a split in the Heathen community about Loki. But based on your research and studies, what do you think of Loki? Do you feel him to be as worthy of worship as the other gods like Odin, Thor, or even Freya? Or do you feel he's more of a problematic figure that has his role but not necessarily someone to be worshipped? And what do you think of the proposed ideas that Loki was a later invention and addition into the Norse mythos?

Regardless of the answer, I do look forward to your response - I do enjoy reading your answers to questions, and even if I don't necessarily agree with, I do learn something from them.

Well, as I’ve said before I think the greater danger than any deity is letting people tell each other who they should and shouldn’t worship. It might be an impulse endowed in me by Loki himself but nothing makes me want to venerate him more than someone telling me I shouldn’t. I hail Óðinn til sigurs, Freyr and Njörður til árs og friðar, and Loki til bölvunar. This got real long. I also wrote it in more of a stream-of-consciousness style than I usually do so I go back and forth between, like, mythology and personal stuff, sort of randomly. I would normally rearrange it at this point but I don’t really see the best way to do it.

I know we as heathens keep going back to the semantic discussions about words like "worship" and "venerate" and it can get tiresome. I haven't talked about that much on here, and I kind of just use those terms without putting a lot of thought into it. But it bears repeating and refinement and maybe hopefully incorporating better vocabulary. I do "venerate" and "worship" Loki in a way that isn't quite how I do the other gods, nor is it quite how I do jötnar like Jörð or Þorri, nor landvættir or ancestors. But then, within those categories there is also a difference in how I approach them. So I don't think that Loki stands out here, exactly. Like, I don't approach Njörður the way I do Óðinn either. So this isn't a yes/no for me, the only question I can think of that can get us anywhere is "how do you approach [god/being]?" When we read saga accounts of religious practice, at least the ones that inform modern heathenry the most, it's usually big public gatherings, often with official, legal implications. As I've mentioned before, I'm also influenced by non-Scandinavian cultures (without identifying with them -- i.e. what I learn from Buryat Mongols doesn't make me more Tengriist, it makes me a Scandinavian pagan with a broader perspective and a more international web of relations). If we look to the Baltic pagans for example, who draw more heavily on unbroken or at least more recently-attested folk practices, we see a variety of forms and contexts for worship of different gods, and not only a binary differentiation between what we might call "positive" or "light" gods like Dievas, Perkūnas, Saulė, etc. on one hand and gods pertaining to darkness and death like Velnias ("the devil" in later Christianized view), Ragana ("In the Baltic pantheon, no Goddess inspires fear quite like Ragana" (Vilija Vytė in Of Gods and Holidays 1999)), etc; but also within those categories to the point of demonstrating that binary categorization to have rather limited explanatory power anyway. Baltic pagans often worship gods in completely different settings, so that the entire form of worship of Perkūnas might be completely inappropriate for worshiping Laima, for example.

For most of us modern heathens everything is interchangeable, you just switch out some associations and say a different name after shouting "hail!" or have stuff from a different column on the correspondence chart on one's home altar. But I believe that for our ancestors this was not really a question of yes/no.

As I've mentioned before, the author/translator of the life of Pope Clement into Klements saga around 1220 seems to believe that Loki had been considered a god, as he includes him in the litany of gods who Clement denounces (Þórr, Óðinn, Freyja, Freyr, Heimdallr, Loki, Hǿnir, Baldr, Týr, Njǫrðr, Ullr, Frigg, Gefjun).

I've tended to pray to him mostly when I've gotten myself into a situation I have no business getting out of, or when I'm doing something high-risk in general, and for what it's worth I've escaped those situations unscathed every time so far. My kindred is favorable toward Loki and I hail him with them. The odds of me making an offering to him on my own have decreased over time, not because I feel differently about him, but because there's just... a lot of gods.

My thoughts and feelings about Loki are probably also colored by my having what is most likely a different conception of Óðinn than most heathens seem to. When people say “Loki isn’t the Norse devil,” to me that’s only half of the statement, the rest being “because Óðinn is.” Not to say that Óðinn is bad or evil either (being unchristian I have no particular objection to the devil... and to be clear here, I’m talking about the folkloric devil who taught Robert Johnson to play guitar, who went down to Georgia, who comes in early morning and who goes by many names), but the point is that most of the reasons people cite for why Loki shouldn’t be recognized as a god apply to Óðinn as well, but the idea that Óðinn should be excluded from recognition as a god is unthinkable to us. Much of this also applies to my conception of Gefjun, who is prominent in my practice. Most people consider her [generic agricultural earth deity #89745] but I not only think that that's wrong and a product of lazy (and misogynist) scholarship, but I actually see her as dangerous and crafty in much the same ways that Loki and Óðinn are (maybe even moreso, as she managed to convince even most of modern Norse academia of her innocence and incapability from a thousand years in the past), and I think that's good. I wrote about Gefjun here.

I have even speculated about whether it's possible that, as Óðinn rose in prominence over time as we suspect he did, starting as a darker, outsider type figure associated with death and perhaps disease, maybe something like the Lithuanian Velnias to the head of the pantheon, perhaps some of his traits that were not suitable for an Allfather god came to be associated with Loki instead (compare also the historical development of Shiva in India). I don't think that it's likely that Loki is a late invention, though I would not rule out that there could have been changes or developments leading up to his appearance in the myths. It's easy for me to believe that the myth about Loki being kept at hvera lundr ('grove of hot springs') and causing earthquakes would have developed in Iceland, though we seem to have bits of myth and even artistic depiction on the Gosforth Cross of him being bound which should be located outside of Iceland.

To explain by way of analogy, I'm going to return to the Baltic area again. It's often said that Lithuanian is an "old" language. That's ridiculous. It's no older than any other living language that isn't a creole or pidgin; it has prehistoric roots but is a fully-functional modern language that is refreshed every day. What it is is a living language that has preserved many archaic features, and yeah, that's really amazing, but we don't need to characterize it as "old" to recognize the value of that. The same is true of a religion's associated body of mythology. The only way a story can become old is when people stop telling it. When we heathens pick and choose what is sufficiently "old" for acceptance, we are actually creating a new mythology, a sort of purist mythological conlang, that responds to our modern circumstances and aesthetic choices. But, being the critic of modernity that I am, I'm not satisfied with the neo-proto-mythology of the modern heathen, I want it all. I am also interested in the historical development of Loki's myths, not because I'm looking for a reason to accept or reject, but because I want to have all of it, of all time, all at once.

It also depends on what we mean by "late." Unambiguously heathen skálds like Þjóðólfr úr hvíni, Úlfr Uggason (presumably converted in his lifetime, but the poem was composed long before then), and Eilífr Goðrúnarson not only refer to him, but refer to him in terms of his familial relations (i.e. he's already the father of Miðgarðsormr, already son of Fárbauti, etc). I don't think that a god and his entire set of familial relations can be invented whole cloth and spread enough to be repeated in disparate sources in a short amount of time. Some heathens, when they say "late," seem to basically mean anything after the Migration Age, and I don't care about that. Yeah, when you have the opportunity to take the long view like that it can be an extra dimension to observe the god over time but the heathens of the 10th century shouldn't be dismissed just because they're more generations away from the Indo-Europeans or something like that. And like I've mentioned before, this standard gets applied in seemingly random ways -- nobody mounts arguments that we shouldn't worship Iðunn because we have no early evidence of her being worshiped. We also do have evidence of cults to gods who, as far as I know, are not worshiped today (Lýtir (*Hlýtir?) and Fillinn; since they are not represented in the mythology, modern people have hardly anything to work with here, so that isn't surprising). And as always, no late innovation will compare in volume to the massive amount that was surely lost when the customs and oral lore were discontinued without being written down.

Recently I've seen some arguments that Loki is meant to be a house spirit (a la later Scandinavian folklore) and should not be considered to have a place in Ásgarðr. This is confusing to me, because Ásgarðr is also a home, so I would expect it to also have Loki. Whether this implies lots of different Lokar is not something I've seen discussed, yet we do know of at least two (Loki and Útgarða-loki, and in fact, two very different images of Útgarða-loki). We run into this problem of scaling also with Heimdallr -- heim- as in 'home' or heim- as in 'world'? Both?

I don't like making poorly-informed guesses in the space left by our lack of information about the past, so don’t take the following to be what I believe is true historically, I'm just doing some straight-up speculation, offering an alternative that I think is just as justified by the evidence as a statement that Loki is a "late invention" or a purely literary figure or whatever, to (as I seem to be saying a lot lately) open up new possibilities.

I generally advocate belief that pre-Christian Norse people had a concept of time that was circular, which broke down toward the end of the heathen period and became more linear. For that earlier time, we might imagine a yearly mythic cycle that was eventually re-encoded as a linear history of the creation, destruction, and rebirth of the world as told in Völuspá. Perhaps during part of the year Loki was bound, but, being a god, he was still able to effect things in the world, causing things like earthquakes or maybe even effecting things in the home like sparks in the hearth fire. Being bound he has an affinity with or some sort of presence in threads (að sleikja rassinn á honum Loka 'to lick Loki's ass' = to moisten a thread with your mouth to make it easier to thread) and knots (literally called loki) and so people who are accustomed to sewing and embroidering (i.e. mostly women) are more exposed him than people who don't do those, though through that knot connection he also is associated with fishing nets in some way. And there's something paradoxical about him, in that he's also related to the dangerous things outside the periphery of civilization. He might be given small sacrifices at home, rather than in big public gatherings, but especially in places where the public religious gatherings occur are also private residences, his presence isn't diminished. Then, at some point in the year, he escapes -- maybe in the spring when you start to see illusions of water on the ground, caused by the warm air near the ground refracting light and causing you to see the sky on the ground like a reflection on water -- this phenomenon is associated with Loki (Lokke) in Danish folklore (this happens in the winter too of course, but in our times that's often thanks to asphalt being a heat-sink). Or maybe with the appearance of Lokasjóður ('Loki's purse,' yellow rattle, which siphons nutrients from other plants like it's stealing cable). Or maybe when Lokabrenna appears in the sky (in which case, maybe there is also a daily cycle involved). At this time, maybe he's remembered as one of the three creators, or at least as a creator of monsters, but maybe he also joins up with Óðinn and Hǿnir, or with Þórr, Þjálfi, and Röskva. And then, at the close of this period, we could imagine some kind of a ritual drama where he's chased down captured in a fishnet, and symbolically brought back into his bound state (which could mean back to the homestead). Some of this is influenced by Algirdas Greimas' (Of Gods and Men, pp. 190-1) description of Lithuanian rituals involving Gavėnas, described as a dirty little man who lives near the furnace and is associated with light phenomena (as Loki is in late Scandinavian folklore), in which a scarecrow (representing Gavėnas) is driven around town in a cart and then dumped into a ditch or snowdrift, then picked back up, put back on the cart, and is driven back into town. Apparently, the turning him "head over heels" (dumping him into the ditch) changes him from a "winter monster" to a "prophet of springtime." Clearly this is not the same, and I'm not identifying the two figures with each other, but I'm basically riffing with the attested examples of duality expressing itself seasonally and the public and private spheres not being always clearly distinct or impassible. Again, I'm not arguing that this ever actually existed (which makes it like my deliberately divergent rune interpretations). I'm offering this as an alternative to the historical narratives that heathens have come up with so far that I think is extremely unlikely, but does technically fall within the boundaries of possibility, only to demonstrate that the evidence we have doesn’t necessitate coming down on either side of a black-and-white position on Loki being a god worthy of worship or not. It accounts for a fair bit of what we know about him, and could be expanded or modified to include other things; and treats him as a god, but not the same way as other gods. It also leaves room for historical development that would have come before, leading up to this situation (such as Anatoly Liberman's belief that Loki was a chthonic deity more like Saxo's Utgarthalocus than any of the other depictions of (a) Loki, for which see "Snorri and Saxo on Útgarðaloki, with Notes on Loki Laufeyjarson's Character, Career, and Name" in Word Heath. Wortheide. Orðheiði, 1994). I find it to be a fairly suitable neo-mythology in comparison to the picking-and-choosing of most heathens (not to mention a fun thought experiment).

Anyway, I have more thoughts but I’m running out of steam, and I haven’t even figured out how to work Baldr into this without more philology than I feel like doing right now (i.e. seeing which parts of Snorri’s narrative can be backed up by poems, theories about the age of those poems, etc). But hopefully this conveys to some degree the way I think about stuff like this.

[tarysande]

It’s the Dose that Makes the Poison: Lucifer Thoughts and Speculation

I’m going to throw the entirety of this under a cut because spoilers. I’ve been rearranging the pieces on the table and I have some meta and a plausible(?) theory about how things might shake out.

...this is almost four thousand words long, and frankly? I feel I’ve barely grazed the surface.

Also, I put it on AO3 for ease of reading and/or in case anyone wants to have, idk, threaded conversations ;D

Okay. Here are a bunch of the pieces. (Or the piece is here, as it were.)

First: The show has always been about redemption; the showrunners throw that word around all the time. Second: I don’t think we’re going to see an endgame or a narrative where God is evil. So, how to make the concept of literal Hell work, then? How to explain or justify the idea of a father who a) kicked his kid out of the house and sent him to Hell for-literal-ever and b) created children for specific “of God” purposes.

Hell

In 5x01, Lee says, “Whose Hell is this, anyway?” and ... I think that’s the crux of the matter. In S3, Lucifer realizes he gave himself the face of a monster because he felt monstrous. But the truth is, he didn’t just give himself the face.

He gave himself the place, too. 5x01 is littered with clues that indicate this. Lucifer says “you to your torture and me to mine.” Lee’s entire speech—the one that pushes all Lucifer’s buttons because of course Lucifer’s projecting all over Lee’s “worst memory”—might as well be Lucifer talking to himself (not unlike Uriel in Lucifer’s hell loop). You know, the part of Lucifer that’s starting to understand all the psychological stuff Linda’s been yammering on about.

Lucifer created Hell. To torture himself for what he believes he did. He created the mechanism that you can walk out any time you like—but no one ever does. None of the doors are locked, right? 

On some level, Lucifer, who is all about fairness and justice, looked at what he did and decided the Hell as we’ve seen it was the appropriate punishment. And with Lee, Lucifer almost figures out that the goal of “Hell” isn’t to eternally loop through guilt-fueled self-torture but to forgive yourself and apologize or make amends or not repeat the mistakes. Most of all, learn that nothing changes if you stay in the loop and the only way to break the loop is to take risk that you might fuck up and do something that you feel guilty for again. 

Names/Family

Something that’s always jumped out at me is that no matter how many millennia have passed, Lucifer—to whom nicknames and names are canonically really goddamned important—always refers to his family by their familial connection to him “brother, sister, Mum, Dad.” When he banished himself from Heaven—and I’m starting to think he did—he didn’t stop feeling like he was a part of his family. Even when he wanted to eat Amenadiel’s heart someday, he still called him “brother.” Even when Uriel was threatening Chloe (and Mum), he was still “brother.”

For that matter, isn’t it interesting that all Lucifer’s estranged siblings refer to him by the name he chose for himself—not the one he was given? Except, of course, when they want to hurt him. We’ve known since what, S1? That Lucifer cannot abide the name Samael. Even Uriel calls him Lucifer. Or Luci. Mum calls him Lucifer. Lucifer was given Poison of God and he chose Bringer of Light. And everyone who loved (and loves) him said, “All right. Lucifer it is.” And though Lucifer is originally a little eye-rolly with nicknames—Luce, Luci—it’s fond, not the “I’m going to rip out your spine and beat you to death with it” response Samael elicits. Essentially, Samael is Lucifer’s deadname. And people who use intentionally are dismissing and rejecting the identity Lucifer chose, which is vile.

When I was researching/writing Taking the Fall and I knew I wanted to talk about the name thing, I came across this quotation ascribed to Paracelsus, and it really resonated: “All things are poison, and nothing is without poison, the dosage alone makes it so a thing is not a poison.” The dosage, in fact, is the difference between whether something is a poison or a cure. And if that doesn’t align with the themes of the show, I don’t know what does. 

Lucifer has spent all this time thinking he is a poison; he has never imagined that he might be a cure. (To angels embracing their free will; to ending the sharp black and white segregation between Heaven and Hell; to darkness, to fear. Yet the more Lucifer learns and the healthier he gets, the more we see cures in what he does: i.e., Brody and also, you know, solving crimes.)

Michael, on the other hand, means “Who is like God?” It’s meant to be a rhetorical question, but in the universe of the show, I think Michael’s twisted version is that he used the question “Who is like God?” to plant the seed of Lucifer’s rebellion ... and is now answering the question “Who is like God?” with the reply, “I am."

Maze

But just in case we head too far down the Lucifer is Great line of thinking, we’ve got a big old example of how he’s still a poison, too.

Contrast this discussion of family with the lesson Lucifer still needs to learn about Maze—he’s managed to absorb that she’s not his servant anymore, but he’s still clinging to that soulless demon/just a demon dismissiveness. And despite self-worth coming from within, bitches, Maze still hasn’t truly absorbed that. She still looks outside for validation—and resents or backslides when she doesn’t get it. Especially from Lucifer. Because Lucifer was the first being to treat her like she mattered. She admires him. Looks up to him. Loves him. In many ways, Maze is the shadow of Chloe—drawn to Lucifer but never, from his perspective, his equal or his partner.

And he, for all the strides he’s made, still default to “demon” as derogatory and dismissive. Something she can’t transcend, even though all the evidence suggests the contrary. As long as Lucifer sees Maze as just a demon, she can’t truly escape from that identity. 

Why does Maze keep “betraying” Lucifer? It’s tempting to think it’s because she’s a demon. Because she doesn’t have “a soul.” But that’s not true. She can learn; she learns from “betraying” Chloe and doesn’t do it a second time. She learns from “betraying” Linda and Trixie. Even she and Amenadiel seem to have reached a real (and much more healthy) understanding of who they are to each other.

She keeps betraying Lucifer because he keeps deserving it.  

Servants 

The thing is, I think there’s something important in Lucifer’s “You’re not my servant anymore” to Maze. Because I think angels believe they are God’s servants. And I suspect the reason God’s been so AFK is because he really wanted them to ... break free of that. On their own. Without him telling them to—because if he told them, it wouldn’t be choice anymore. It wouldn’t be free will. It would be Following The Will of DadGod. 

Here’s another relevant Paracelsus quotation: “No one who can stand alone by himself should be the servant of another.” 

Angels self-actualize. They have powers. Sometimes those powers change (as with Amenadiel). I don’t think angels ever lacked free will. 

What is self-actualization but literal free will? You become what you believe you are; you do what you think you’re supposed to. You literally change based on your choices and feelings about those choices. Angels basically have human free will on a kind of EXTREME SCALE that they’ve remained mostly ignorant of throughout time. But how do you get your kids to figure something out without telling them how to figure it out when they’ve all got this WILL OF DAD complex? He gave them the tool of self-actualization. When they didn’t ... do that, he created humanity. He tinkered with the model. Took away the names and the powers that were such a stumbling block for his angels and such a shining example of how he failed them. If someone hangs on your every word, if you are not just their father but their master, how can they ever know love? Trust? How can they ever be free? Be themselves? I think God wanted his angel children to learn from his human children and was disappointed when they pretty much decided to just be remote and Angelically Superior All The Time, instead. Of course, that's mostly on him, too.

Except Lucifer. Because Lucifer’s curiosity (yes, from the beginning of time) kept bringing him so close to figuring things out. (Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven, amirite, Paradise Lost?) And as close as he was to figuring things out, Lucifer was still prideful and selfish and superior. The result was what happened with (and in) Hell. Things got twisted down there; he was in a God role over the demons and he was not hands-off. Cue endless loops of pain and torture and despair and self-recrimination and poison. Lilith may have started their pain, but Lucifer, however unintentionally or ignorantly, continued it. 

At least Lucifer could escape it sometimes. Those poor demons. Those poor abandoned children. They had two rocks.

Pretty sure there’s going to be an echo of Dad abandonment with his angel kids and Lilith of her demon kids, by the by. Because abandonment is a theme. And good intentions or not, well, you know what they say about the road to Hell.

Humanity The more Lucifer interacted with humanity, the more he learned from humanity. And, of course, the entire journey of the series has been about Lucifer learning, growing, adapting, changing because of this. And not in a Superior Angelic Way, but in a person-to-person real way. Not just with Chloe. With everyone.  But yeah, Chloe is the catalyst—precisely because (as Amenadiel says) she’s the only mortal who sees Lucifer for who he really is, without her reflected desires getting in the way. No one, no one else can truly reflect back to him his worthiness or lack thereof.

Does Chloe have a power? It’s not laser-beam hands. But I’ve always thought Chloe has the power of seeing things and, in seeing, encouraging others to see, too. And this is most obvious with Lucifer, whose power has never let him be seen. Because of his power, he can never know if the reactions of others are about him or about their own desires. 

What agony for someone whose chosen path is bringing light: to be forever hidden in the shadow of the light others see.

Until Chloe.

Michael tells Lucifer his greatest fear is that of being unworthy. We know Lucifer has always feared he’s not worthy of Chloe. But now that she’s told him, shown him, his worthiness? You’d better believe that he will never, ever abandon her—will never, ever let her suffer from her worst fear. Gosh, and by suddenly being invulnerable again, it’s almost like he’s assured that, isn’t it? “You make me vulnerable” was about his walls. “My invulnerability ensures I will never, ever abandon you,” is all about hers.

So, back to learning from humanity. We’ve seen Lucifer and Amenadiel do it. It’s been hinted that Azrael has done it, at least a little. Then we have Michael’s frustrated tale of how the other angel siblings are taking note of Lucifer’s actions—with the implication being that maybe they’re learning, too. Maybe they’re starting to understand that they can be more than they think they have been made to be. More than just a “Something” of God.

Control 

Meanwhile, of course, Michael’s concocted some kind of Make Heaven Great Again plot—ironically, it appears, by doing exactly what he accused Lucifer of doing: believing he can run things better than Dad. And, I suspect, by trying to set himself as Master and his siblings (and other assorted peons) as his servants. Only, he’s not doing it in Lucifer’s ultimately forthright (and even honest) way of “This sucks and I’m rebelling” but in a conniving, secretive, Machiavellian way that probably sounds a lot like “Dad says” or “Dad’s not here” or “Who is closer to God than I?” ...

Who is like God, indeed. He even throws down the word archangel when he speaks to Dan: an angel above even other angels. I’m 99% sure that word’s never been used before on the show. Because that’s what Michael desires. To be more. To be everything. To control.

He’s what Lucifer was as the Lord of Hell. He’s everything Lucifer has made such progress toward overcoming.

Incidentally, and also essay-worthy: This is why the progression of the scene where Lucifer and Chloe make love is so incredibly (heh) important: Lucifer of the perfect appearance, perfect pocket square, perfect car, perfectly clean apartment; Lucifer of control control control control ... surrenders. He offers. She accepts. And in these first moments—“Incredible,” he breathes before they’ve done anything more than kiss—she is above him, in control ... and nothing bad happens. Nothing hurts him even though she makes him hurt-able. She doesn’t take advantage of him. She loves him; she treasures him; she protects him. It’s beautiful. It’s everything he’s been so afraid he could never have.

And for the first time (very possibly) ever, he sees himself as worthy. He sees himself as belonging. He believes he is not alone; he is not lonely.

Power

Amenadiel “lost” his power to stop time when he decided he didn’t want to stand apart from humanity anymore. Essentially, just as he lost his wings when he was so horrified and disgusted by what he’d done (to Lucifer, with Malcolm, etc.) he caused himself to Fall. He regained his wings when he made it his purpose to bring Charlotte to Heaven. He stopped time again in S5 when the question of humanity—of his own child being human, and thus ‘not like him’ or ... not that ‘special’—reared its head. With the nuns, he reflects their love of God, right? And in part, that’s because he’s in this father (or Father) role now. 

Angel powers, like all power really, are double-edged. In the wrong hands or twisted the wrong way, a good power can bring about evil. Look at the almost throwaway line with Brody in 5x02: Lucifer’s “desire” power—so often spun as about sin or hedonism—brought Brody peace and forgiveness. That Lucifer doesn’t lie or take without giving in return indicates that, on some level, the level that values true justice—and even a bit of mercy—he was never able to use that power against others (the way we see Michael do with his); he didn’t want to use as he felt he’d been used; he also didn’t want to feel used by those whose desires he provided (this is why the parade of one-night stands and “it was just sex—great sex, but just sex” partners upset him so much back in S2). Favors—and even the give and take of sex—were a way to balance that scale. Again, this could be a whole essay all its own.

This makes me suspect that the dark side of Lucifer’s powers played some part in his Rebellion. That he abused desire the way we’ve seen Michael abuse fear. 

So, about that power of fear, then. I mean, it just sounds negative. How can FEAR be positive, right? But if Michael were using his powers to draw out fears so they’re named and dealt with (LIKE PEOPLE DO IN THERAPY???) instead of manipulated for personal gain—it could be a very healing power (LIKE THERAPY???).

Greatest Strength/Greatest Weakness

The absolute thematic and narrative brilliance of twin brothers having the powers of fear and desire whilst also being held back BY the “power” of their twin is so amazing it really needs its own essay. But I do want to mention this relative to the overall arc heading forward. Much of Lucifer’s work with Linda has been about addressing his fears; he’s made a ton of progress with this. As I mentioned earlier, with Linda’s guidance, Lucifer has been drawing out his fears in a safe(r) space and learning to deal with them and heal. And, in doing so, his own power of reflecting desire has increasingly been less and less about artisanal honey and car batteries and more about drawing out desires that help others heal, grow, become their best selves, release their inner demons.

Michael is (both literally and figuratively) twisted by his desires (to be powerful, to be stronger/better/more admired than his brother). I’ll bet some cold hard cash that if Lucifer’s the source of the original injury to his shoulder/wing, Michael has self-actualized into keeping that injury—perhaps even magnifying it—to a) manipulate others into feeling sorry for him, b) to remind everyone who looks at him how awful Lucifer is, and c) to trick people into believing he’s weaker than he is. 

At the end of the day, fear and desire are two of the strongest motivating forces in the world (universe); the show is showing us all the messy ways those forces come into play. And it’s also showing how connection and love and trust are the forces that both fight the worse facets of these powers and that let these forces be useful in helpful and ultimately healing ways.

Because THERAPY.

Home

So, we know we’re rolling toward what was meant to be a series finale; it’s time to start tying loose ends together, right? Again and again, the question of home comes up. Lucifer only ever refers to Los Angeles as his home. Maze, on the other hand, still defaults to Hell as home. 

Hell as we know it is over. But Hell as a place where Maze tries to impart the lessons she’s learned on Earth to her abandoned, twisted-by-hate-and-loneliness-and-Lilith siblings? Perhaps even with Eve “mother of all humanity” at her side to help clean up some of the mess Lilith made when she decided to abandon connection in favor of more selfish desire? I think that’s plausible, while also managing a significant nod at where Mazikeen ends up in the comics and a heavy dash of “the things we learn from therapy and/or being best friends with a therapist.” 

Now, I know the question of how things will end for Chloe and Lucifer is contentious in fandom. So, you know, grain of salt. I don’t think Lucifer’s home is Los Angeles; the Los Angeles in Hell wasn’t enough because it didn’t have her in it. In a literal embodiment of “Home is where the heart is,” Lucifer’s home is with Chloe. And since Chloe’s worst fear is abandonment, Lucifer will do what it takes to stay with her—because that’s what’s most important to him. The utterly unselfish choice. I think there’s some pretty reasonable foreshadowing (Lilith’s choice—if that choice was even real, of course—for example) that Lucifer may choose to renounce his immortality. Or to give it to someone else. Or that immortality won’t matter at all anymore. 

From his reactions in 5x07/08, we know that Lucifer’s identity and ideas of usefulness/self-worth/worthiness of love are still connected to his identity as an immortal with powers; I think, though, he’s beginning to piece together the complications therein, especially regarding questions of partnership and vulnerability and equality. 

Personally, Human!Lucifer has never been my preferred outcome, but I can see how it might work/might be what they’re heading for. Even if I’d still prefer the “you can use me as a bullet shield” partnership with supernatural elements—because those have always been at the heart of their partnership. The strengths of one make up for the weaknesses in the other (and vice versa).

Hell (Redux)

Finally, I’m still pretty sure we’re going to see a complete overhaul of the Heaven/Hell dichotomy. One with a lot less THIS IS THE WAY IT IS BECAUSE CONTROL and a lot more CHOICES MATTER (maybe Linda can have a turn as a salamander after all). And a major catalyst, of course, is Lucifer and his love for the chosen family on earth (and through them, a renewed love for the estranged family he’s never actually stopped loving; 5x01 basically makes canon that it's not that Lucifer hates his family—it's that he's terrified of disappointing them again, of causing problems again). 

So why does Hell have to change?

Because right now, every human he loves is sure they’re going to Hell. And after all the time and all these friendships, can you really see Lucifer being okay with that? Okay with Ella or Linda or Dan or Trixie tormenting themselves for all eternity? When he wasn’t even okay with Mr. Said Out Bitch doing so? When he gave this guy who he barely knows every opportunity to change his fate in ways he’s never done for any other tortured soul? Because they had a tenuous connection on earth?

Can you see him being okay with Chloe choosing Hell to be with him?

When it boils right down to it, Lucifer has learned to love others. And I think, especially given his revelations about self-loathing last season, that love isn’t going to let him be okay with or encourage the self-loathing in others. Love—selfless love, real love—is, in fact, the cure to the very concept of Hell. 

And it’s also the cure to the very concept of Heaven, too.

How could Heaven ever be perfect if the people you love aren’t in it?

It can’t. It might be more silver and have fewer demons, but I don’t think it’s any less an eternal torture. Eve basically tells us as much.

So, on that note, I’ll leave you with another fine quotation from Paracelsus:

“When a man undertakes to create something, he establishes a new heaven, as it were, and from it the work that he desires to create flows into him... For such is the immensity of man that he is greater than heaven and earth.”

And that, I think, is going to be the takeaway. We create what we are; we choose what we create. And in the act of that creation, we choose whether we are the poison or the remedy. And if we make mistakes, slip up, hurt people, hurt ourselves—it’s not a Hell-sentence. It’s the dose that makes the poison. We learn, we grow, we apologize, we strive to make things better, we love and love and love and love, and we never stop striving to be the cure.   

[nozomijoestar]

Cannot get this out my head so just remember what I said about these two becoming more like each other and turn that into an entire piece, if you think abt it they're the same character interpreted two ways as is (tws for one sentence of body horror)

The philosophy of the Trikaya came to mind so I tried to embody it in sections and at times blurring together; my paragraph length is deliberately formatted to show the differences in character, have fun trying to decipher what the paragraph lengths mean for each character mindset

I couldn't decide 100% on what Susumu Hirasawa song fits them best so for now (lyric index) I'm considering Moonlight/Shadow of the Moon, The Master's Mountain, A Strange Night of Omnificence, and Venus

Individually Reina's Hirasawa character song is Day Scanner, Kumiko's is Snow Blind

For non Hirasawa music there’s You by Kazami off the Samurai Champloo ost / Eternal by SCANDAL (lyrics)

Also Yūko is listening to Tupac's Life Goes On & Me Against The World

There was something different. Not a bad thing surely, but different all the same. Was it Kumiko standing straighter than usual? No perhaps it was the way her jaw set while weighing decisions. Maybe it had to do with ease of her touch, or the resolve that could flash like lightening through slow motion at random in her gaze. 

Whatever it was and why didn’t change its singularity against all else. It was a difference. The concept sent a chill rippling through her; she imagined a figure being peeled back then rearranged before being resewn. A terrible nausea took her then and her playing faltered. Her fingers may as well have become lead on the trumpet valves. She stopped and lowered her trumpet ever so carefully. Change. Would Kumiko one day forget her sound?

Why had Reina stared at her like that after practice? Was there something in her teeth today? No she couldn't be silly. Reina would never see through her over anything trivial. If you asked Kumiko, that intensity easily took its place as the scariest feeling anyone worth more than five minutes of effort had shown her. But she wasn't saying Reina, or anybody, came off as some pet project! It was just...she couldn't give everybody equal time. There were only so many pieces of herself to split for everyone. There were only so many Kumikos before she burst at the seams. At least, these days there were. She preferred that; she knew what the alternative made her.

If you asked her to rank them though, Reina had a slice so huge it was unfair. Kumiko was sure she knew it too. So why had her eyes grasped her heart? She felt a repeat of the feeling now as it struck her even in memory. She was naked before that stare- like her whole being had unfurled the moment Reina's presence approached. Like she saw herself outside her own body. Like Kumiko could die fulfilled.

Her fingers slid over the cool brass of her euphonium. The way the sensation prickled her skin made the air sharper, let it flow through her touching everything before she exhaled. It didn't come frantic but steady and coaxed.

She brought the mouthpiece to her lips and played. Her eyes closed amid the cicada calls in this familiar nook under the shadow of Kitauji's building. Her feet planted easy on this ground that'd received her sweat and blood without complaint season after season. She played.

She played a note for everything, for every breath gave rise to a memory. High notes lifted joyful moments like bubbles meeting the sky. Low notes spiraled their way up beside them in hesitation, but rising nevertheless. Soon the divide blurred and she no longer knew where the two separated.

Together they soared from her; the music a tapestry woven in on itself over and over. The feeing was older than her, older than anyone she knew living. Notes wandered, whole passages surged endless. The piece that wasn't a piece vibrated her blood. The sound rattled her bones. She played.

Her fingers burned exhaustion asking so much of the euphonium. She didn't dare stop. A little more and it'd take a true shape and-

From everywhere a calm that stood side by side with anticipation washed over her. There came the sound of footsteps. Reina turned the corner eyes widened by a hair and lips barely open. Her cheeks had gone flush coloring her like a human sized red crayon. Seeing her in shock drove Kumiko's mind frantic and buzzing until all she blurted out after scooting backward was-

"Do you have a fever?"

"........I could ask you the same thing. Here."

The water was cold and the bottle sweating condensation. Drinking it melted her adrenaline into lava. Her body aches as if scrubbed raw beneath the heat under her skin. The world spun just for an instant before Reina pressed a second water bottle against her neck.

Kumiko yelped, jumping out her chair and scrambling to keep her euphonium from crashing to the floor. Her shoe trips but in an instant Reina is behind her holding her upright. Water from the bottle Kumiko clutched splashed across their skirts and sleeves. When she registered the cold dripping down her knees the picture of what she'd done snapped into place. Before she could control it her voice stuttered out.

"T-T-thanks. Sorry for the mess."

"It's fine. Come and sit."

She let herself be guided by Reina's hand. When they sat side by side the world became right again. Kumiko still gasped and wheezed as she let Reina's fingers tidy her hair. Over time the motions had graduated from bumbling to meticulous; she couldn't clearly remember a time Reina hadn't been doing this anymore.

"What were you playing? I've never heard it."

The tone to her words made Kumiko's stomach sink a little. It wavered between curiosity and scolding; yet at the same time found itself half smothered by her quiet voice. Had she been at it that long? Her body certainly said more than either could.

"Nothing. Was just free-styling and stuff...practice."

"Practice doesn't almost give you heat stroke."

"Maybe not for you, but if I'm special too now then I have to catch up. If I don't there's no point."

Reina's laugh burst from her clear and free. Kumiko's eyes widened. She knew exactly what was coming. The way Reina's black hair draped down her shoulders, the way this angle teased at her nape, the crinkle of her eyes and wiggling eyebrows as her head was thrown back; everything was Reina, and it emptied her mind. She remained staring with her mouth slack like an idiot when she heard it. Now Reina's voice became love.

"You're awful." 'Don't you know we're already alike?'

Reina had finally deciphered Kumiko's new attitude three days ago. Perhaps. Almost. Maybe. Her hunch was solid. Now she needed proof. She wanted proof so bad her blood boiled. Voices leaked through the band room doors. Picking out Kumiko's laugh was child's play. It had a warm quality she couldn't describe even as it calmed her heart.

She entered and wrestled the surge of emotions she couldn't pick apart coursing through her. Her expression remained flat. Calm. Centered. Reina Kousaka did not roar at the world before an audience.

For whatever reason Kumiko had yet to notice her in their crowd of bandmates. She slowed her steps, kneeled near a wall pretending to search her bag. Kumiko sat with Midori and Hazuki today. Their conversation filled her ears, stoked her irrational fear. That fear which hung over her heavier than a headman's axe. That fear who's tendrils constricted her heart at its leisure.

'You wouldn't abandon me without a word would you?'

Childish, Reina Kousaka!

"That part is so tough. My mom's been putting dinner aside when I come home late."

"You always practice real hard Hazuki. It'll be worth it. That's what Nationals are all about! Don't you think so Kumiko?"

"Lately it sounds like my breath control's gotten stronger. When I play the sound is talking...or something like that. I wanna give it all I've got. So I'm glad we're going for it."

"Who're you now? Reina?"

They giggled even as they complimented her after. It didn't matter, her mind raced. What emotions had coursed now rose to a flood. She felt her heartbeat through her tongue. Pride? Kumiko felt...pride in playing...because of her? At the very least with her as a reason?

"Kousaka what're you doing?"

Yūko loomed over her causing Reina to smack into her pink headphone wire when she turned. She flinched and rubbed her nose. She looked up at her; her mind blanked.

"Checking my things."

"You must have a museum in there to be checking your bag for three minutes straight. You look super weird, what's going on?"

No quips or barbs loaded in response; nor could anything dampen the joy already swirling in her head. Besides, any qualms with Yūko were long outgrown. Why dwell on what was settled? Her body still tingled. Kumiko was proud because of her.

Yūko kept staring in anticipation as the song blaring through her headphones faded into another. Reina noticed that little twist of the mouth she did whenever she got impatient. Reina's lips moved to answer her but Yūko cut her off.

"Fine. You don't have to tell me. It better not divide the band though."

"...It's between me and Kumiko. No one else."

"Oh. In that case uh...if you want to talk to someone..."

Watching Yūko look away and scratch her chin awkwardly made her swallow a laugh. Instead she smiled and nodded. Maybe she should blame her mood but a calmness settled her back into reason. Like a bridge connecting, a hand outstretched, she grasped Yūko's kindness. It was good to be alone, not lonely.

"I will. Thanks."

Nights on Mount Daikichi were more natural for them than breathing. Cloaked in the silver and blue of moonlight they glowed at first glance. Countless lights below lit the city like a map of stars. Like gazing up at the sky on Tanabata to find Orihime and Hikoboshi. The cicadas buzzing filled in their silence that wasn't silence. They held their breath even as they breathed.

"When you think about improving, what does that really mean?"

Reina inched her pinky atop Kumiko's. Kumiko did the same. Her head went back as she watched the sky.

"Hmmm...probably a road. There's a place far away just enough for me to see. I don't know everything it has; I know because of that, chasing it makes me better. I used to think it had to stay straight once I started. Kinda stupid, 'cuz I take turns on it all the time. You?"

Reina paused a moment, face contemplative.

"There are stars. Most despite sitting in the sky are far from the moon. Most burn out. Some fall. Fewer get their chance beside the moon. Their light shines the longest. Their light inspires people."

"Pft hehe, there you go saying stuff like a book character again. That's just like you. Is there any room for the band up there?"

"...Maybe..."

"Is there any room for me?"

Without warning Reina leaned closer; her expression went stern. Her voice faltered though it tried being firm. It was the softest tone Kumiko had heard in her life.

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"Ok. I won't."

Their foreheads touched and the cool breeze turned warm on their skin.

"What do you think of the others then...past and present?"

Kumiko shut her eyes. Aoi. Haruka. Kaori. Natsuki. Shūichi. Nozomi. Mizore. Midori. Hazuki. Yūko...Asuka.

The faces of all who's paths intersected and footsteps left prints as guides, tethers connecting her to the universe, appeared in her mind. Each had drawn on a blank sheet of her soul. They were nowhere near her yet she felt them echo. They were her as she was them.

"Unrivaled under Heaven."

"Now who's talking like a novel character?"

"Cut it out." Kumiko replied through a chuckle.

Their eyes met. Reina smirked but only for a pause. She inched forward, asking a question. Kumiko shut her eyes again.

The kiss was unlike anything before and possibly after. An explosion of sensations though they didn't move a muscle. There was no time to remember it yet each second couldn't be forgotten. Feelings of melting, soaring, absolving, each melded and surpassed bliss. The result transcended any name they could give it. A release.

They pulled away. Both panted for air then examined each other as if for the first time. They no longer looked; they saw. They no longer knew, they understood.

Many questions were on the verge of pouring; instead Kumiko cupped Reina's cheeks and smiled. Her thumbs brushed off the forming tears. She didn't say a word when Reina fell into her arms. She simply rested a hand on her head and held her trembling body.

The moon's brightness peaked. If you asked her, it'd moved a little closer.

[rivalsforlife]

that's really cool that you put together the aai2 minisprite sheets! if it's alright to ask, can you explain your process for making the animations with them? (I've always thought that kind of thing was cool and wanted to try for myself, but I have no idea how to know what the timing of the frames and stuff should be)

Sure thing!! There’s a video here explaining how to use the sprite sheets for the close-up sprites, and you can use a kind of similar process for the minisprites... but the program this person uses is photoshop and probably has a much better process artistically over mine, so here’s my free version because photoshop is Money. Consider this a lazy and cheap tutorial to putting the sprites together haha.

I use GIMP, which has some of the same features as photoshop but it’s free to download (or at least was when I downloaded it ages ago for a comp sci project...) 

... And I’ll put the tutorial under a keep reading because with the images it’ll get kinda long. I don’t know how familiar you are with the program and image editing stuff in general (I’m... not very myself,) so I’ll probably overexplain things a bit haha.

First, you pick the sprite sheet you want. I’ll use... this one! It’s sufficiently complicated enough I should be able to cover everything necessary.

Then, create a new “canvas” for the minisprite. Normally for these minisprites I use 100x180, and that seems to fit them well, but since Kay’s got her scarf here I’m going to make it 180x180 for now... we can always resize it later if necessary.

I should note here that I’m not an artist and hence I’m probably missing some super obvious features that make this super easy haha.... but, oh well, this is at least my process.

Next, pick your “starting sprite”. This can be kind of difficult on some of the sheets... but if you know what the sprite’s supposed to look like at the end it helps a lot. There are youtube playthroughs that can help you find it! It also helps to know that in this case, maybe because it’s originally Japanese, but the sprite sheets are often read right->left (at least in this case.)

 In this case, the full animated sprite is actually on the wiki so I can reference that -- it’s not always an option, though, so you’d have to hunt it down somewhere in a playthrough if you remember where it is.

We’ll pick the sprite on the bottom that actually has her scarf in the air as our first sprite. I was going to use the one in the top right corner, but her leg is actually cut off in the image... so we’ll move that one in later. Carefully select and then copy+paste it onto the canvas. Also, make sure you put it on a new layer and not the background layer - once you make the new layer you can delete the background, it makes things a pain later.

The workstation now kind of looks like this. I definitely made the image too wide so I’ll crop it down a bit to 150x180 using the “Canvas size” tool under Layers, just be careful that you offset it properly so it doesn’t crop the image you actually want, and to resize the layers so things look nice. It shouldn’t actually affect the image if you do it right. ... I’ll probably have to crop it again later haha, but.

Now things get difficult, because this is the only completed sprite of Kay that’s in there. All the others are limited to her head or head+torso with the legs off-center for some inexplicable reason, which is why I picked this to account for that.

Let’s deal with the sprite we wanted to use first. I’m going to carefully select the part on the legs where it cuts off, and then copy+paste it onto a new layer. In this case I’ll call it “layer 0″ just so I don’t forget I wanted to put this one first.

It now looks like this. I already did this, but carefully position it above the old sprite so that the similar parts line up. In this case it’s pretty easy since the only thing that changes is the scarf, so I matched up the hair.

To check, you can put the visibility of both layers on and turn the visibility of the top layer on and off repeatedly using that little eye you can see to the left of the layer name, and all it should be able to show is the scarf moving - or whatever you want to change between frames. I definitely recommend this step because even if it looks right... it might not be.

Now, GIMP works in a weird way where each layer can be a new “frame” in a GIF, so we want to make that layer 0 look like layer 1. This is a pain and probably why it’s better to use a program like photoshop haha but we can pull it off anyways. To do this, we’ll first duplicate layer 1. This will be our “base layer”.

The top layer is Kay’s head+torso, which is the part that changes in the frame. So we’ll carefully select that part, move to the base layer, and then press “delete” to get rid of everything except for the legs, which are all we need from that sprite.

Then merge the two layers together by right-clicking on layer 0 (whichever the top layer is) and selecting “merge down”. This will make it into 1 layer. (I renamed it to layer 0 again, too.) As long as both layers are visible and you don’t have any weird effects like transparency or something on them (which you shouldn’t, since it’s not necessary for a sprite edit) it should look the same as the original.

The difference isn’t super visible here but it will be for the later ones.

... Next, this sprite is kind of complicated because the rest of these are just headshots. The one to the left of the top-right sprite is the base sprite, as far as I can tell, so we’ll pick the next one over, the one which is third from the right.

I rearranged the layers so 0 was on the bottom for the GIF process later, and made a new layer 2 for the next “frame”.

Things... get kind of weird here because the scarf kind of goes below the neck cut-off point, so when repeating the process I did above with copying the base sprite + cutting out the replaced parts, I’m using the neck as a base guideline instead of the lowest point of the scarf, so that the sprite doesn’t end up looking weird.

Normally when I do these, I use the frame just before the current one as the “base”, so that I conserve as much as possible. In this case, though, I’ll keep using frame 0 as the “base” sprite because the scarf stays above the neckline, so it’s much neater to cut out than the ones where the scarf goes below.

Lots of times you’ll just have to use your best judgement on where to cut things so that you keep what you need. Sometimes I’ve had to just take out an eraser and erase some of the sprite where there’s no easy way to do it haha. Anyways, here’s the third frame.

I’m not going to show it because this went on long enough, but by repeating the process, I get the next frames for all the little headshots there.

Now we thiiink we have our frames in place, so we’ll export it as a GIF! Once you do that (you go export, change the file type to GIF, and then add .gif at the end just to be safe) this pops up.

Since I already was working on these before it’s already filled these in haha. If it’s not checked already, check the “As animation” box. Make sure “loop forever” is selected. Then, you add in the “delay between frames where unspecified” - an earlier sprite had 130 as a walking speed, but the scarf animation I got from the wiki had the frames at 100, it honestly depends. Use your best judgment by eyeing the originals as best you can where a source doesn’t exist.

I tend to find that 100-150 works for most little actions. You can change the individual timing of the frames by adding ([x]ms) to the end of any individual layer name. (For instance, (100ms) if you want that one frame to be 100 milliseconds long. The layer name would then be something like “1(100ms)”.)

The “replace” option is there because otherwise the layers would just pile on top of each other which doesn’t look good. “Replace” treats each layer as a new frame, which is what we want. For some, you might want to use cumulative, but I’ve yet to figure out where to use it haha. If you need it changed between different frames, you can add (cumulative) or (replace) beside each of the layer names in a similar manner you would with the milliseconds.

Once that’s all done, you export, then check out the gif! Here’s ours.

... And thinking about it, I think I might’ve actually messed up a bit. I don’t think that frame at the bottom was supposed to be there, and the one I thought was identical actually wasn’t. By replacing that one with the other frame we get this...

Which looks similar? But a bit better? It’s hard to actually tell the difference. I highly doubt anyone would notice unless they actually know how sprite sheets work - I don’t! I really don’t! That’s why I’m suffering here haha.

I genuinely don’t know how to get the timing perfect - referencing the original sprite or similar sprites is the only advice I have here. I’m sure someone who knows more about this than me can give a better answer.

This is one of the trickier sprite sheets to do, I think.  Some of them are much easier... like the walking sprites. You just overlay them as necessary. And some of them I genuinely have no clue how to work out... just look at this mess that is Gumshoe and the metal detector.

Half the struggle is deciphering what is going on with the sprite sheets actually. Looking back I kind of wish I picked a different example because I’m not confident on this one... but I’m not redoing this tutorial haha.

Anyways I hope this helped, probably was more than you were actually looking for... probably was less helpful than you were looking for... but hopefully at least the general process made sense? I’m sorry haha.

[effable-ineffability]

this touched on all the prompts (minus the nsfw one), but tbqh i’ve already got a more proper wing!fic in the works, and i have a little something else that i wrote days ago (haven’t posted yet because i’m tryna find the right words for parts of it; revising, am i right) that is v similiar to tervaneula’s prompt.  plus prompt-related smut, of course (bastille rping?  yes plz).  so uh, hey, guess that means there’s more on the horizon, right?

anyway, without further ado:

home

It started with a jacket.

Aziraphale had found it just a few minutes after Crowley had left to return to his apartment one evening; it had been tossed apparently carelessly over the back of his desk chair.  Crowley had never forgotten any of his belongings before.  Aziraphale wondered if it had been left intentionally, then further wondered why Crowley would have done that.  He hung it up on the coat rack for Crowley to retrieve in the morning.  It never left, except for the occasional excursion.

Then it was an extra pair of sunglasses.  Crowley had broken his one afternoon while trying to reach something from a top shelf in the shop.  The glasses had slipped off his nose and clattered to the ground; when he climbed down from the step-stool to pick them up, they instead ended up under his shoe.  Grumbling and cursing, he stomped out to the Bentley to grab two pairs from his stash.  He shoved one on his face, and thrust the other under Aziraphale’s nose as the angel sat at his desk.  “Keep ‘em here somewhere,” Crowley demanded, stomping back over to the step-stool.  “Just in case.”  Aziraphale arranged them in the corner of his desk, where they stayed.

Then a plant.  “You need some green around here, angel.”  Then another, and another.  “Don’t be too nice to them, or else they’ll get lazy.”  Then a painting.  “Nah, looks better on your wall, anyway.”  Then a small statuette.  Another painting.  A pair of boots.  Another jacket.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale began one evening, as they sat with glasses of wine in the small living space above the bookshop.  Crowley was sprawled over the loveseat, one leg hanging over the back.  Aziraphale was seated comfortably in his armchair.  They had been talking about the American Revolution until the topic hit a lull.  “I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale continued slowly, swirling the wine in his glass and watching that instead of the insouciant demon.  “You spend so much of your time here.”

Crowley glanced over at him.  “Yeah?” he prompted when Aziraphale hesitated.

“Well,” the angel said primly, straightening his shoulders a little.  “With Armageddon averted, and our respective Head Offices leaving us more-or-less alone, and - of course - our new, ehm, relationship[1],” his ears went slightly pink, but he soldiered on, “I thought that maybe, if you’d like, you could… you could move in.”  He raised his glass to his lips, sending a furtive glance towards the loveseat.

[1] - To be exact, “new” meant about five months.  It had taken a month after Not-Quite-Armageddon before something clicked and they came together properly.  A story for another time, though.

[ read on ao3 ] or continue below

“Move in?” Crowley repeated, unhooking his leg from the back of the couch and sitting up.  “Here?”  He looked around the comfortable living area.  “With… with you?”  He turned his yellow-gold eyes to Aziraphale.  Both of them were painted with hesitation of a different kind.  Does he want to?  Does he want me to?  Nevermind the daily kisses and “I love you”s and gestures and, on occasion, sex; this was an entirely different kind of step to take.

“You already have some of your things here,” Aziraphale explained, setting his empty glass down on the table between them.  “And you have been spending more time here than in your own apartment.  I just thought, for simplicity’s sake, you see.”[2]

[2] - Old habits die hard, after all.  There really was no need for excuses like this, but Aziraphale had always been a little resistant to change.

Crowley’s eyes hadn’t left the angel.  “Move in with you,” he repeated, sounding a little stunned.[3]  “You’d… you’d actually want that?  Me?  Here?  All the time?”

[3] - This is when Aziraphale realized that Crowley leaving his things around had not, in fact, been intentional.

Aziraphale bobbed his head a few times, and a nervous little smile came over his features.  “Would you?” he asked in turn.  “Want to be here, that is.  With me.  All the time.”

Crowley’s wine glass rattled as it landed on the table.  All at once, he was scrambling off of the loveseat and over to Aziraphale, climbing into his lap and kissing him firmly.  “Oh, angel, I’d love nothing more,” he murmured, holding Aziraphale’s face in both hands, as the angel’s arms wrapped around him.  He went back for another kiss; their smiles got in the way.

The next day, they piled into the Bentley and returned to Crowley’s apartment, where they gathered up the rest of his plants, a few more decor items, and a handful of other things; they packed the car, and returned to the bookshop.[4]  The rest of the day passed in a haze of lighthearted busywork as they rearranged Aziraphale’s living space to accommodate for them both.  There was a minor disagreement over the bedroom - “bedroom, angel, we’re putting a bed in here”; “but my dear, you sleep on the couch anyway”; “we’ll move the bookshelves to the living room”; “there’s so many, they’ll never fit” - that was only settled with a few small miracles to get all of Aziraphale’s books to fit in just the two shelves in the living room.[5]  They bantered teasingly as they figured out where to hang up paintings, where to display figurines and statuettes.

[4] - Crowley wouldn’t break the lease for the apartment.  “Never know,” he told Aziraphale with a shrug.  It would indeed serve its purpose, in time.

[5] - The resolution was also helped along by Crowley pointing out that, even if Aziraphale didn’t plan on sleeping, he could read in bed while Crowley did.  Aziraphale agreed somewhat nonchalantly.  Though they weren’t to know it, they had both conjured up the exact same image:  Crowley, deep in sleep, arms and legs wrapped around Aziraphale as he tried to read, more than a little distracted by the auburn hair on his cheek and quiet snoring against his neck.

Crowley obstinately refused to allow Aziraphale to help him arrange his plants around the kitchen windows, so the angel stood in the doorway and watched as the demon, muttering to himself the whole time, carefully placed each pot and planter on the window sills and shelves.  By the time he finished, the kitchen had begun to resemble a garden nook more than a kitchen.  Aziraphale was unsurprised to find that he rather liked it.

By the time the sun had set, the small apartment, already full of one lifetime’s worth of things, was comfortably crammed with the collected treasures of two.

Aziraphale sat on the couch with Crowley’s head in his lap, combing through his hair.  They had settled here about twenty minutes ago, after having hung the last of the paintings.  “Well,” Aziraphale said with an air of finality, breaking the contented silence between them.  “I suppose I could say ‘welcome home’, my dear.”

Crowley laughed a little, turning on his side to nuzzle the angel’s stomach and wrapping his arms around his waist to hug him.  “Keeping my stuff here is just a formality, angel,” he said, looking up to meet the fond gaze falling down upon him.  “Home’s never been a place for me.  It’s always been you.”

=  =  =  =

Their first proper day cohabiting was not unlike every other day before, except for waking up.  Crowley awoke to quiet humming and gentle fingers in his hair.  Aziraphale was reading, Crowley's head on his chest, four legs tangled together.  When the angel realized Crowley was awake, he smiled down at him and kissed his temple.  "Good morning, my love," he murmured.

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's night shirt to hide just how terrible pleased he was.  Aziraphale saw it anyway.

Throughout the morning, Crowley hovered.  He let Aziraphale go about his routine - tea, breakfast, reading - while he watched.  Learned.  Aziraphale didn't comment on it, but might have known what was going on.  Around half-past-nine, they went down to open the bookshop, and everything went back to the Normal that they had defined for themselves in the past few months.  Crowley spent a few hours as a snake, sunbathing and dozing on a shelf, and only scaring two customers.  He stepped out in the early afternoon, returning with Thai takeout for lunch.  Aziraphale closed the shop at six, and they went to dinner at a nice little Italian place on the water.  They drank entirely too much wine, returned home just after eight, and collapsed onto the couch laughing over a rather stupid joke Crowley had made.  By midnight, they were in bed.

It was much the same the next day, and the day after.  By day four, Crowley had learned the patterns well enough.  He slipped out of the bedroom while Aziraphale got dressed, and had tea and croissants waiting for him when he entered the kitchen.  Aziraphale thanked him with a kiss that was perhaps a little more effusive than strictly necessary.

All in all, Crowley was the one to adapt.  His own routines - primarily gardening and sleeping - slotted in nicely around Aziraphale's; the angel barely had to change anything about his lifestyle to accommodate his partner.

It would take two weeks before Aziraphale had a chance to show Crowley that he was willing to adjust as well.

It happened at night.

Crowley was asleep, sprawled on his stomach, one arm over Aziraphale's chest, the other wrapped underneath a pillow where his head rested, and a bit of drool was soaking into it from his parted lips.  Aziraphale was engrossed in his book when Crowley whimpered.

He glanced over at him.  Crowley's brows had furrowed, and his lips were moving as if he was trying to say something, but no words came out.  He was still very much asleep, but Aziraphale could see tension forming all over his body.

Then, with a rustling and a sudden whoosh, Crowley's wings sprang from his shoulder blades.  Aziraphale tumbled from the bed with a surprised cry.

He quickly righted himself, preparing to climb back in bed and awake the demon, but something stopped him.  Crowley stopped him.  Because Crowley was staring right at him.

Well.  Not exactly.  His eyes were open, and he was sitting up, and his head was turned towards Aziraphale, but the angel quickly realized that Crowley was still asleep; his eyes were staring straight past him.  “Crow---” Aziraphale began.

But then he noticed that something was changing.  Crowley’s skin was starting to pull apart, revealing jet black scales.  The gold in his eyes was overtaking his scleras.  His wings were stretching out to their fullest extent behind him.  And something more subtle, like a small flame at his core coming alive, spreading, consuming, growing.  His human form was fading; dozens of eyes long-closed were opening, another set of wings joined the first, the indistinct fire was turning into a blaze, making him glow.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale finally managed through his shock.  He scrambled to his feet and got back on the bed.  “Crowley, it’s me---”

“Get back.”  The voice was not his, either, but something bigger, deeper, more.  Wings flared as though in warning, feathers ruffling furiously.  A wave of ethereal flame shot from him, missing Aziraphale by millimeters.

“Crowley, my dear, you’re dreaming,” he called.  “It’s me, it’s Aziraphale!”

There was a tremor through the air around them, and then the same changes happened again, but rapidly and in reverse.  All four wings shrunk out of view.  Extra eyes closed.  Gold retreated to reveal white.  Freckled skin came back together over scales.  “Aziraphale.”  And the voice was familiar once again.  Crowley blinked once, twice, saw the angel’s frightened expression, and turned away, covering his face with one hand while groping blindly with his other towards Aziraphale; Aziraphale took his hand and held it tightly in both of his.  “Sorry,” Crowley said, voice muffled.  “Fuck, I’m sorry, I--- nightmare, it was a nightmare, I just, sometimes it happens, and I can’t---”  He took another shaky breath, and though Aziraphale couldn’t see his face, he did see the slumping of shoulders, the droop of his head, and a renewed tension in his entire being.

Aziraphale moved closer, reaching up to place a hand on the back of Crowley’s neck.  Crowley jumped, startled, and turned to look at the angel, lowering his hand so just his eyes were visible.  They were heavy with tears yet to fall, and worried.  Worried that he had scared the angel, worried that something had broken, worried that he had crossed some kind of line.

But Aziraphale’s expression had smoothed into something kinder, and his hand was warm against Crowley’s sweat-cooled skin.  His other hand squeezed Crowley’s gently, and he leaned closer.  "It's okay," Aziraphale assured him in a tone of voice that would have soothed the Big Bang, "it's all right.”

“But I--- I could--- angel, I could hurt you, what if---” Crowley tried, his hand falling away from his face.  “If-if I don’t wake up, if you can’t wake me--- oh, what if---”  The thought terrified him more than anything else.  Let Heaven and Hell come for them, let the Angels and Demons track them down to make them pay with their lives, and Crowley would stand between them and Aziraphale until he couldn’t anymore, and would keep going anyway.  But the thought that he might, that he had the capacity, that he could - even without meaning to - cause Aziraphale, his angel, his world, harm or even injury was enough to stifle his words as though his throat had clamped shut.  A great shuddering breath, a sob, and tears spilled over, running down his cheeks.

“Shh,” Aziraphale whispered.  His palm was flat against the back of Crowley’s neck now, and he brought him closer until their foreheads met in the space between.  “Crowley, my love, it’s all right.  I’m here.  And I always will be.”

“Promise?” Crowley managed through the storm of anxiety blustering in his mind.  “Angel, please, promise me, promise me I’ll never lose you.  I can’t, I can’t lose you.  Please.”

“I promise,” Aziraphale said without hesitation.  “Crowley, I promise.  I will be here, at your side, until the end of Time.  And beyond.  If you’ll have me.”

Crowley surged forward, wrapping himself around Aziraphale, and they fell back against the pillows.  Crowley took a few steadying breaths in Aziraphale’s neck, and the combination of the angel’s familiar warmth and scent was enough to finally make him believe that he was safe.  “Of course I’ll have you,” he murmured.  “Dunno what else I could ever want, long as I have you.”

Aziraphale ran his hand up and down Crowley’s back as the demon calmed down, as his breathing began to fall back into normal patterns, as his heart stopped trying to beat a hole through his chest.  “I love you,” he said.  A statement.  A reminder.  A promise.

“Love you, too,” Crowley answered with a soft kiss against Aziraphale’s jaw.  “More than anything.”

Aziraphale hummed contentedly and closed his eyes.  Not to sleep, but to just enjoy this:  having Crowley on top of him, needing him, but most importantly being able to relieve some of the pain that was always so close under the surface.  He continued rubbing Crowley’s back for what might have been an hour.  He expected the demon to fall back asleep, but he didn’t.  He stayed awake, drawing little patterns with his finger on Aziraphale’s shoulder and planting the occasional kiss on whatever skin was closest.

“Would you like to get some more sleep?” Aziraphale asked eventually.

“Mmn,” Crowley hummed noncommittally.

“How about this,” Aziraphale offered instead.  “Why don’t you lay down, on your stomach like before, and let your wings out.  You ruffled them something awful during all that fuss, so let me smooth them out for you.  Maybe that will help relax you back to sleep, hm?”

It took some time before Crowley answered.  “My wings?” he repeated.

“Yes, my dear, your wings.  They’re so lovely, I’d love the chance to see them properly again.”

With a deep breath, Crowley lifted himself.  But he didn’t immediately leave Aziraphale.  Instead, he looked down into the angel’s face for a moment.  Then he apparently reached some kind of conclusion[6], so he leaned down to kiss him, before finally rolling off and moving back over to his side of the bed.  He clutched his pillow with both arms, laid out on his stomach again, and slowly let his wings unfurl.

[6] - The conclusion, for inquiring minds, was this:  “If I could see this face every day for the rest of Time - and beyond - it still wouldn’t be long enough.”

Aziraphale sat up and moved to sit at Crowley’s hip.  Indeed, the black feathers were untidy, sticking in different directions, a few bent, a few twisted.  So he set about fixing them, one at a time, carefully, gently, patiently.  Crowley gave a satisfied sigh, and closed his eyes.

“If I may ask,” Aziraphale said after a few minutes of silence; he knew Crowley hadn’t yet fallen asleep, “how often do you get nightmares?”

Crowley shifted a little.  “Once a month,” he guessed.  “Sometimes less.  Not often.  Don’t like ‘em,” he continued.  Aziraphale saw his eyes open again, but they were staring across the room.  “When I’m by myself, I’ve woken up on the ceiling, or in the living room.  Disorienting, being someplace unexpected, human vessel starting to fall apart.  Takes a minute or two to pull it back together.”  He paused, but Aziraphale just went on smoothing feathers.  “Glad you were here,” Crowley added.  His cheeks darkened.  “Wish you didn’t have to see me like that, but.  Glad you woke me up.”

Aziraphale smiled to himself.  “Well.  One of the benefits of living together, I think,” he pointed out.  “I’ll be ready next time, my dear.  Next time, you won’t have to face the nightmare alone.”

“You’ll be here,” Crowley said, a question without the question mark.  His eyes flicked back over his shoulder, and met Aziraphale’s sky blue over his wing.

“I’ll be here,” Aziraphale confirmed with a reassuring smile.

[bagels-and-seagulls]

can we get some davenzi angst

how about some angst and a future fic? bc it’s all i can think of right now

David dialed Matteo while he was cleaning off the counter. He hadn’t made anything super fantastic for dinner, just rice and vegetables, since it was all he really could cook without Matteo or Laura watching over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t screw anything up, but somehow Matilda and him still managed to get what looked like half the box on the floor and all over the counter. The phone rang two times where it was in between his shoulder and his ear before it connected with a shriek on the other side. 

“Daddy!” Sofia squealed, and David had to quickly take the phone away from his ear in fear of permanent hearing loss in his right ear. His daughter had always managed to hit decibels he never thought possible. He tried to crack his neck. 

“Hey, sweetie. How are you?” He asked and leaned back against he counter, crossing his ankles. 

“Good! We’re having so much fun, Daddy! We went to this museum thing, and Papa showed us all of this old stuff. That wasn’t too fun, but then we went to the lake for Great-Grandma’s party, and that was, like, super fun! Great-Grandma gave us these little candies wrapped in wax paper and played with us until Grandpa told her to stop,” she rambled. 

“Did you get to go swimming?” David asked as he started to pace around the kitchen. 

“Nooooo,” she whined. “Grandpa said that that’s not a lake you’re supposed to swim in, but when he wasn’t looking, Papa let us dip our toes in. So you’re not supposed to tell him that.” 

“I won’t tell,” David laughed. 

“Micha, stop poking meeee. I’m talking to Daddy,” Sofia said loudly, and David pulled the phone away from his ear again, already forgetting his mistake from last time.

“Does Michael want to talk to me?” David asked. 

“He says yes.”

“You can put it on speaker. Get Papa to do it.” 

There was some shuffling and a couple of low murmurs that he couldn’t really hear, before he heard his son go, “Daddy!” very similar to the way his sister had done a minute before. At least this time, someone was holding the phone away from their mouths, so it was bearable. 

“Hey, pumpkin,” David greeted and couldn’t but help to smile. He didn’t realize how much he missed them until he was putting Matilda to bed and walking down the quiet and empty house, wondering when everyone was coming back. Whatever the answer was, he knew it was going to be too long. “Sofia was just telling me what you did today.” 

“Oh! We went to go look at some statues that are supposed to be really important, and it was super cool because they were huge and, like, so detailed and stuff. And then we went to meet all the cousins with Papa and Grandpa at the lake, and that was cool, too. Great-Grandma was really nice and told stories to Papa and then Papa told us,” Michael rambled off a similar story. 

“Did you like all the cousins?” David asked, pushing his toe into the ground. He had been worried about this trip since Matteo brought it up, a family reunion in Italy for his grandmother’s birthday. David didn’t know if going was too good of an idea. Matteo hadn’t gotten along with that side of the family for a while, longer than he probably understood. His father hasn’t even come up to visit them since Matilda was born, not that David bothered too much. He was a cold man, Matteo’s father. But David knew how important Matteo’s grandmother was to him, and he knew that he would be crushed to not see her. And he also knew that she had been hounding him about meeting her great-grandchildren. 

“I mean, I guess. They couldn’t understand us,” Michael said, and David imagined that he was shrugging. It was better than nothing, David supposed. 

“They kept saying the same thing over and over again,” Sofia added. 

“What’d they say?” David asked, not really believing that.

“I don’t speak Italian, Daddy,” Sofia whined. “You know that.” 

“Then how do you know they were saying the same thing?” David teased. 

“Yeah,” Michael added, and David just shook his head, trying to hold back a little laugh. 

“Time for bed,” David heard a little muffled. Matteo must have been on the other side of the room. He sounded just far enough away for David to get a taste, but not too clearly to satisfy, like a dream almost. 

“Papaaaa,” Michael drug out. 

“We just started talking to Daddy,” Sofia said, most likely with a pout. 

“Yeah,” Michael repeated. 

He heard a couple sounds, and David started wiping a towel over the counter just for something to do while he was waiting to see how this played out. He already knew who was going to win, but he was still interested. “We can call him again in the morning, but it’s time for bed now.” 

There was some vague whining noises where he’s sure the twins were pulling off the best puppy dog eyes that haven’t worked since they were toddlers before Matteo said, “None of that. Off you two go.” There was some more muffling. “I’ll be right back,” Matteo said, and it sounded like he wasn’t on speaker anymore. 

“Alright,” David said with a little nod, not that Matteo could see it. 

He waited for a minute or two while he was rearranging the papers on the fridge, some of Michael’s drawings, a picture of Sofia from her last gymnastics meet, one of Matilda’s school reports that she insisted they put up because it had a sticker of a ladybug on it, a picture of Matteo and David from their wedding day, looking sharp in complimentary suits and holding hands while both of them pretended like they weren’t crying. 

“Hey,” he heard. 

“Na?” 

“Na,” Matteo sighed. 

“How’d it go today? You went to a museum?” David asked. 

“Yeah, an art thing, just to kill some time before meeting the family.” 

“Was it fun?” 

“It was alright,” Matteo said simply and didn’t elaborate, not like the kids. He sounded tired, David thought, and not the kind of tired he usually got corralling the twins by himself all day. That one David could tell right away, and he would usually laugh, and kiss Matteo’s nose, and tell him that at least they’ll be asleep by ten. No, he sounded like the tired that was down to the bones and then a little bit further, one that was saying a hundred different things at once and none of them good, the tired you couldn’t really get rid of with sleep. 

“Everything okay?” David asked a little quietly. 

“Yeah,” Matteo responded quickly. “Yeah,” he repeated a little smaller after a minute. “I just miss you. And Matilda.”

“We miss you, too. All you guys. The house is too quiet.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” David asked, not wanting to push, but not convinced that this was just a little thing like missing home. 

“It’s just,” Matteo stopped himself, and David could hear the way he was swallowing something down. Something heavy sunk into his gut, and he sat down on the kitchen floor, knowing where this could be headed, and not liking it already. “I just don’t know why I bother trying,” Matteo said through his teeth, and David imagined him pulling at his hair, and scrubbing at his face, and trying to pretend like the world wasn’t getting to him even though it was and did and will forever. 

“What happened, baby?” David took a deep breath to prepare himself. He already disliked most everything about Matteo’s father, knew it from the first time they were still kids and trying to figure life out, when they still had things like school to worry about and social status and how to pay for alcohol, and Matteo told him out on the balcony with a joint in his lips that his dad had run off without a second thought, and good riddance, too. Matteo didn’t need that prick. Not one bit, he said. Somehow David knew that he was going to really start hating him by the end of this conversation, if it was possible to hate him more than when Matteo called him to tell him that Matilda was coming home with them, swaddled in Matteo’s mama’s arms, and Matteo’s father told him he would call him back. And then didn’t. 

“Just-” And Matteo cut himself off with a heaping breath, and David wished more than anything to be there right now, to hold his face in between his hands and tell him that he would protect him from the rest of the world if he would just let him, to squeeze him tight until all the sadness drifted out of him like smoke. He curled an arm around himself in consolation. 

“They were so mean,” Matteo said with a sob. He sniffled, and David gripped onto the side of his shirt hard, his nails digging into his palm on the other side. “They were saying all these things behind my back, all of them, about my kids. My kids, David,” he heard Matteo sniffled hard. “And Sofia and Michael didn’t even know because how could they. They just wanted to play with the others. And they were just so cruel. To children. My children.”

“What did they say?” David asked through gritted teeth. He tipped his head back to push the crown of his skull into the cabinets behind him. 

“That they didn’t look like me, weren’t ours. That they were going to frow up messed up. That they weren’t really family. That they were adopted by a couple of-” Matteo stopped. He sniffled again and then swallowed hard enough for David to hear. “And the kids were looking at Sofia and Michael and said that they didn’t want to play with them and just repeated back all the shit their parents were saying.” 

David was mad as fire. No- madder than fire, he was a volcano ready to erupt, a pittbull with rabies and a t-bone on the mind who had been locked up a little too long for his own good, a tsunami that has been pulling back from the shore for hours now, wanting to see the sea floor to rise. He was ready to get in a car and drive all night and all day if he had to to go give these people a piece of his mind, tell them to fuck off, that they were ignorant bigots who had nothing better to do than pick on people who were blissfully unaware. With the sound of Matteo quietly crying to himself half a continent away, away from where David would comfort him and tell him he didn’t need those bastards anyways, and trying to pretend like everything was fine because the walls were thin and the kids could understand this conversation just fine, David finally figured out how mad you had to be to contemplate murder. 

“What did your dad do?” He asked. 

Matteo huffed a breath. “Nothing, just stood there.” 

“I’m coming,” David said suddenly and picked himself off the floor, fully convinced to find his suitcase and start shoving his clothes into it, anything really, already thinking of how to pay back Laura for watching Matilda for the rest of the weekend. 

“No, David. Don’t,” Matteo said quickly. 

“I’m going to kill him,” he responded. 

“It’s not worth it.” 

“The fuck it isn’t!” David yelled and then pinched the bridge of his nose to remind himself that Matilda was sleeping. “They have not fucking right to talk about them that way, talk about us that way. If they have a problem, they should say it to my fucking face.”

“David,” Matteo chocked out. “I just want to come home.” 

“Baby,” David said, calming down. “Just- get on the first train tomorrow, or a plane, or a bus. I don’t care. I’ll come pick you up if you want me to.” 

“No, I don’t want the kids to think something’s wrong.” 

“Something is wrong.” 

“They don’t know that,” Matteo said. “You heard them. They had a blast.” 

David sighed. “Then cut it short. Don’t come tomorrow, but the next day. Say Matilda got sick, or that something came up and I had to go out of town and you have to watch the kids.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll look for flights.” 

Matteo sighed. “Okay.” 

David scrubbed at his face. “I’m sorry this happened, sweetheart. You don’t deserve it.” 

“Whatever,” Matteo mumbled. “Grandma loved them. Said they were her favorites.” 

“Did she?” David asked, trying to see a bright side after his vision just went black and white. 

“Yeah, right in front of my cousins. Said they were the cutest and most well behaved kids she’s ever seen. She asked for a picture of the family.” 

[theskyeandsea]

Out of the Dark || Shiloh & Skylar

Location: Skylar’s Apartment

Notes: Takes Place During the Darkness. Shiloh decides to surprise Skylar and the two have an unexpected conversation.

TW List: Chronic Illness CW

Shiloh had been thinking about Skylar (sometimes she’s not sure when she isn’t) and as a result, when she got home from work, she decided she wanted to pay her a visit. Having been to her place before - albeit drunk - she could recall where she had lived. Still, Shiloh knew better than to show up empty handed. Plus, she still felt like she needed an excuse to stop by other than the fact that she wanted to see her. She had expected to make sushi for dinner that day and so most of the preparations were made before work so by the time she came home all she really needed was to slice the fish and put it all together. She’d yet to make sushi for Skylar so there was a bit of anxiety over the idea of sharing it with her, but she did remember Skylar especially liked meat, so she made sure there was plenty of fish. Once it was all packed, she started to head over to Skylar’s place with a smile. She did have a moment in the car figuring out if she should message Skylar, but figured a surprise would be nice. A good surprise for once. With a smile still on her face, she knocked on Skylar’s door, the container of sushi rolls in her hands.

Today was… not one of her greatest days. As soon as Skylar had gotten home from work, she’d pulled on her softest sweater and sleep shorts and curled up on the couch for a nap. After everything she’d been through in the last week, her symptoms were hitting her hard. It seemed that stress only sped up the onset of her problems. What with her roommate suddenly disappearing on her without a word, the cannibal watermelon attack, and the continued darkness wearing on her nerves, she was exhausted. And on top of the fatigue, the pain was starting to come back. The aching in her bones, that no amount of sleep could fix, it was starting to affect her. And she didn’t… she didn’t want to change. She didn’t want to relive the memories that she’d experienced last time. When a knock came at her door, Skylar frowned, confused. Who could it be..? Padding barefoot across the room, she opened the door and stared wide eyed at Shiloh. Oh no. Oh god. Why was she here, now? Letting out a squeak of panic, Skylar shut the door quickly, mortified. 

Shiloh lit up at the sight of Skylar. “Hey -” And then the door was shut in her face. Shiloh blinked in confusion, trying to think of what could be wrong. She did notice Skylar looked different - comfortable. Tired. And she noticed this in the nicest way possible. Shiloh herself was exhausted but she really wanted nothing more than to see Skylar. She tried knocking again. “Uh, is everything okay, Skye?” She realized now it was pretty rude to show up unannounced like that. Was Skylar upset because of that? “I brought you some food,” she added weakly, looking down at the container in her hands, wondering if that was good enough for Skylar to open the door. “I can go?” Shiloh wasn’t sure what Skylar wanted but she definitely didn’t want to upset her.

Skylar squeezed her eyes shut tightly, her hands cupping her mouth as she tried not to freak out. Why was she visiting her, now of all times? She looked like a mess, her apartment was half dismantled, and… Shiloh was out in the hallway. And she’d just slammed the door in her face. Eyes flicking open, Skylar let out a long sigh. She couldn’t just leave her out in the hallway. Opening the door, Skylar winced apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, I panicked.” She mumbled, not making eye contact. As she glanced around, she realized that Shiloh was holding something-- a tupperware? Had she brought food? A pang of guilt made Skylar swallow uncomfortably before glancing at the other woman. “I’m really sorry. Um. Did you want to come in?”

Shiloh could hear once Skylar began to talk that she didn’t have her hearing aids on. So she probably didn’t hear her outside the door. Which was kind of a relief. She could start over. “It’s okay.” She let out a breath of a laugh, finding the whole door slam kind of funny, now. Shiloh nodded at the question to come inside. “Yeah, but only if you want me to come in.” Shiloh would be okay to turn around and leave if that’s what Skylar wanted. She didn’t look okay, though and that made Shiloh want to stay. Pursing her lips, Shiloh looked down and opened the container to show Skylar what she had brought. She looked up at her. “I made you sushi.” She handed it out to her, just in case she wanted Shiloh to leave, she would have the sushi she had made her.

Reading Shiloh’s lips, Skylar’s finger fidgeted in the sleeves of her too-long sweater, playing with the hem. She had an out to tell Shiloh that she really wasn’t feeling well-- and it wouldn’t be a lie at all. She wasn’t feeling good and she really didn’t want her to see this side of her. But… Shiloh had come all this way and she’d even brought sushi. Guilt tugged at the pit of her stomach and she stepped back out of the doorway, “Mm, please, come in. I’m so sorry about that. Make yourself comfortable, I just need to grab my hearing aids.” She said. Once Shiloh had stepped inside, Skylar darted back to her room to grab her hearing aids, slipping them in before hurrying back out to the living room. “Sorry. I’d, um, been napping. The weird night time stuff has my sleep schedule all messed up.” She said with an awkward laugh.

Shiloh came inside, happy to hear she wanted her to stay. As Skylar left for a moment, Shiloh shut the door behind her, noticing that some things looked a little different from the last time. Did Skylar rearrange some things? She couldn’t quite tell what the difference was. As Skylar entered the room, she glanced back at her with a smile. “It’s fine, I didn’t mean to interrupt your nap, I’m sorry.” She felt really bad for that, hoping Skylar didn’t think she was rude. She walked over, the container of sushi still in her hands. “Here, for when you get hungry.” She handed it over, before leaning in to give Skylar a kiss.

“It’s okay, really. I needed to get up anyways. Otherwise, I’d just end up lying awake all night or something.” Skylar said with an embarrassed laugh. It wasn’t strictly true-- she was still exhausted. No matter how much she slept, she couldn’t shake the fatigue, the pain. Taking the container from Shiloh with a small smile, she was a bit surprised when she kissed her. Not in a bad way, but… just in a nervous way. Even though she’d told Shiloh about her seal situation, she was still very aware that she wasn’t human and didn’t want to do anything overtly weird. Her hands were slick in the sleeves of her sweater, a mixture of anxiety and her symptoms coming to the forefront. But, she tried to push the thoughts from her mind, focusing instead on how soft Shiloh’s lips felt against her. Pulling away, Skylar smiled, a bit wider this time. “Hi. I didn’t actually say that when you came in.”

Skylar’s smile made all the difference in the world and Shiloh felt like things were better, that she was better. “Hi.” Shiloh repeated with a short laugh. “Don’t worry though, I deserved it. I caught you off guard.” She looked up at Skylar, eyes softening as she took her in. She didn’t look too well and it worried Shiloh but man was she still beautiful and there was something about seeing Skylar like this way that made Shiloh feel warm all over. “Can we sit down?” Shiloh asked turning to look for Skylar’s couch before walking over to sit on it. “Hey, by the way did you move things around? It looks a little different from the last time I came here.” Then again it could have been the drunk haze that warped things. “Sorry, I probably am remembering it wrong anyway.” She chuckled, shaking her head. She hoped it didn’t sound too weird that she remembered what it looked like. It’s not like it was a night she wanted to forget anway. 

“No, no, it’s not your fault at all.” Skylar replied, shaking her head. It was her fault, really. She should have tried to play it off. But, she’d never been good at that. And, what with everything going on, her nerves were shot. Seeing Shiloh here, now, when she was like this? It just felt… weird. She didn’t want the other woman to know how bad things could get, she didn’t want her to see that side of her. “Mhm, that sounds good. I’ll just pop this in the fridge first.” She said. No one wanted warm sushi, not even her. Hearing Shiloh’s voice, Skylar’s face turned a bright shade of red and she was suddenly very glad that she was in the kitchen. “Oh. You’re not wrong. My roommate she… she moved out suddenly. So her things aren’t here anymore. It’s okay, though!” She said, trying to sound upbeat about it. When really, she had no idea what she was going to do.

Shiloh leaned back against the couch, waiting for Skylar to come join her. “Oh really? Is that allowed? I don’t know how leases work if I’m being honest.” She did wonder if that’s why Skylar appeared different. Did she not like living on her own? Was there something wrong financially? “Is everything okay, Skye?” It really wasn’t a question she felt comfortable asking but she really hoped Skylar would be honest with her. Ever since Skylar told her about the whole selkie thing, Shiloh had been feeling really confident about the whole thing but she knew that there were still some things they just hadn’t talked about. Work was stressful but they never got anywhere deeper than that kind of talk and Shiloh was willing to be patient and give Skylar time. Which is why she worried asking questions like that may appear as if she was pushing Skylar to do something she didn’t feel comfortable doing.

Settling next to Shiloh on the couch, Skylar chewed the inside of her cheek before responding, “She broke the lease-- it was an emergency, I don’t really blame her for it. But, it’s going to be okay. I’ve got it figured out.” She said with a nod. Did she though? Not really. Her plan for the time being was to try and sell some of her things, try and pick up more students who’d be interested in sign language, and just tough it out. She had some savings, but… she needed to find a roommate, soon. “It’s all good, really.” She said, though her smile was slightly wan, her expression was just a bit more tired than normal. “How have you been doing, with um… with all of this?” She gestured at one of the windows to the darkness that shrouded the town.

Shiloh moved closer to Skylar on the couch, listening to what she said. The whole situation did seem stressful. Shiloh couldn’t imagine what it must be like. A roommate leaving and suddenly Skylar would have to be the one paying for the cost of the whole apartment by herself? “Let me know if you need my help with anything.” She reached out, unable to get Skylar’s hand and opting to just set a hand on her knee. “I can spread the word if you need a new roommate. Help you interview them - anything you need, I’m here for it.” At the mention of the darkness, she looked out the window and sighed. “It’s annoying, makes it hard to work.” She returned her attention to Skylar. “It makes me a bit more vigilant than usual.” She shook her head. “I just can’t wait for it to be over.”

As Shiloh scooted closer to her, Skylar could feel her heart start to pound just a bit more. Her hands, already damp with slime, were only getting worse in the confines of her sweater. Balling her hands up into loose fists, she hoped that would be enough to stop the whole… nervous slime thing. But, the prospect of Shiloh offering to help her only made her stomach lurch. She didn’t want to be a burden, she could handle it herself. “Thanks. I’ll, um, I’ll be sure to let you know.” The sensation of Shiloh’s hand on her knee was comforting for a moment, before Skylar realized that… her legs had the thinnest sheen of slime as well. The moment she realized that, Skylar honestly wished that the floor would open up and swallow her. “It’s okay, really. But, thank you.” She smiled, doing her best to keep herself in calm. Maybe if she just calmed the racing of her heart, the slime would go away and it would be fine. “I’m glad that you’re being safe, though. It’s better to be more alert than not, given how dark it is. It’s hard to see much of anything around here, even with, um, my vision.”

“Oh right, your vision.” Shiloh remembered that Skylar had mentioned being able to see in the dark better than humans because of being a seal. “It does seem a bit darker than normal dark. I figured it’s just ‘cause we’re not used to seeing this kind of extended darkness.” Shiloh sighed looking back at Skylar. “Babe, what’s wrong?” She spoke softly, bringing a hand up to caress Skylar’s cheek, moving away stray strands of hair. “You look like something’s bothering you.” Shiloh only hoped it wasn’t rude of her to admit she was noticing something off but she really didn’t want Skylar to go through something alone, not when she was here. “You can tell me anything, Skye.” She kept her hand at Skylar’s neck, her thumb gently running across Skylar’s cheek, which she noticed was a little clammy but felt that would definitely be too rude to bring up and she was more concerned with what Skylar had to say than anything else.

“Mhm.” Skylar hummed in agreement, her hands still balled up in her sweater. She shifted a little on the couch-- the brief spike of anxiety and adrenaline from Shiloh’s sudden appearance had begun to fade and she was very aware of how exhausted she was. She honestly wasn’t sure how long she could keep up this conversation. The sudden term of endearment startled her, though and she blinked as the other woman gently reached out to her face. “I--” She started, but bit back her words. She didn’t want to put this on Shiloh. She didn’t want to show her just how not okay she really was. Wasn’t it bad enough that she wasn’t even a normal human? The pressure of her hand against her cheek was comforting, soothing, and she found herself leaning into the touch. Twisting her head to kiss Shiloh’s hand, Skylar took a deep breath. “I-- I’m not exactly okay. Right now.” She said, words coming out a bit choppy. How could she explain this? How could she explain any of what was happening? She didn’t know, but she had to try. “I’m, um, I’m a little sick right now. Because of my seal situation.”

Shiloh wondered what it could be and at this moment she wished she knew everything there was to know so she knew how to help her. “Is there any way I can help you? How are you getting sick?” Her worry was written all over her face as she started to wonder what was going on with Skylar. Were there supernatural hospitals? Did she need to go to a hospital? Shiloh chose not to overwhelm herself with questions and instead focus on what Skylar had to say and what she needed. Even if it was just a comforting word and touch from Shiloh, she’d be more than happy to give it to her.

Letting out a shaky breath, Skylar glanced up at the ceiling-- it was easier to focus on the off-white paint than to have to look at Shiloh. She had no idea how to even start with this. But, she wanted to try and explain. So that way Shiloh didn’t have to worry so much about her. “Mm. So. You know how I said I can turn,” The words stuck in the back of her throat, but Skylar forced herself to speak, “into a seal? Well. If it’s been too long since I’ve changed, or if I get stressed out, I start to get… bad. I, um, I get tired a lot quicker. I get really achey too.” Swallowing, she blinked for a moment, allowing her eyes to drop back down to her hands. “I also get really depressed. I’m not sure if it’s because of the seal thing exactly, or just everything else on top of it. But… yeah. I’m not, not exactly at my best right now.” She said quietly. How was Shiloh going to react to all of that?

It wasn’t something she was used to thinking about, Skylar turning into a seal and sometimes it still caught her off guard when it came up but Shiloh had accepted it. “It’s okay, you don’t have to be at your best all the time.” Shiloh reassured. However, being stressed out was something even Shiloh had difficulty overcoming. “What are you stressing over? Your roommate?” Because it definitely wasn’t the fact that she hadn’t changed into a seal right? Shiloh didn’t know why that would be a thing so she just assumed it was the stress. “I can help you, Skye. If you’ll let me. You’re not alone in this.” Shiloh didn’t have a clue as to how she was feeling but she couldn’t just sit here and know that Skylar was in pain. She’d do anything to help her feel better.

Skylar found herself bracing for Shiloh to walk out, for her to say something disbelieving-- but, neither of those things happened. And when she realized what she was saying, Skylar couldn’t help but feel guilty for having second thoughts. “Thanks.” She said with a tired smile. She knew how she looked. Whenever she felt this bad, it was difficult to hide her weariness. At the mention of stress, she shook her head silently. It wasn’t stress. It wouldn’t be right to lie to Shiloh and say that it was just stress, that calming down would make all this go away. “You can’t, though. You really can’t. I’m the only one who can help me and, I-- I don’t want to. I don’t want to be this way.” She said, looking at Shiloh desperately. “I don’t like what I am.”

“What do you mean?” Shiloh asked despite being able to guess what she was referring to. She didn’t like being a selkie. Shiloh didn’t see any problem with it but she wasn’t the selkie maybe there was something about it that wasn’t favorable but there was something like that in everything. Even being human. “Why don’t you like being a selkie?” Shiloh wasn’t about to say there’s nothing wrong with it because clearly there is something that Skylar views as unfavorable to the point where she rejected that identity. Still, the rejection was making her sick and Shiloh wished there was something she could do to help her realize that this was part of who she was and she couldn’t escape from that and to just love and accept herself but Shiloh knew it wasn’t going to be easy and something like that wouldn’t be achieved tonight.

“Why don’t I like--” Skylar said, incredulous before stopping herself. Shiloh didn’t know, she didn’t understand. Which is why she was asking. And just asking meant a lot, the fact that she wasn’t telling her to just… love herself. That’s what Ricky and Remmy had tried to tell her, that she should just be happy with what she was. And she wasn’t. She hated herself, she hated her skin, she hated her dependence on it. But, what she hated the most about it was the fact… “Because being a selkie is why my family hates me. And if I’m a selkie, that just means they’ll never love me again.” She said. For the first time, she’d allowed herself to voice that thought that had been dwelling in the back of her head. It was a small doubt, that had only grown bigger and bigger, until her mother had cut her off completely. Until there was no denying it any more. And now Shiloh knew. Quiet tears streaked down her face and Skylar shook her head, wiping them away with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I-- I’m sorry.” She apologized, without really knowing what she was apologizing for. Was it the tears? Or the truth?

Her family hated her? Shiloh couldn’t believe that, how could anyone hate Skylar, especially her own family. “Oh, Skye.” Shiloh let out a sigh. “I’m so sorry.” Shiloh couldn’t imagine feeling like that, that being a certain way would mean your family hated you for it. Especially when it was something Skylar couldn’t even control! She wasn’t made into a selkie she was born that way - how could you not accept your daughter or sister, adopted or not? “You don’t have to apologize for anything, it’s okay.” Of course Skylar didn’t like being selkie when she felt that her family hated her for it. Shiloh knew nothing of her family other than what she said about her siblings so she couldn’t say with certainty that they didn’t and because of that, she wasn’t sure how to reassure her. “Why do you think your family hates you for being a selkie?” Shiloh knew there were prejudices in the supernatural community but it was still so disheartening to see how much Skylar was affected by this. She was putting herself in pain and suffering all because she couldn’t accept a part of herself because of what it meant in her relationship with her family.

“It’s o--” Skylar stopped herself. It wasn’t okay. She couldn’t say that any of this was okay. Her parents hated her, her brother had hated her since the day she left, and Bri? She didn’t even know what her little sister thought of her any more. “It is what it is.” She said with a thin smile that she didn’t fully mean. Maybe her parents didn’t love her right now, but if she at least tried to not be like this, if she just tried to be human, maybe they would? Blinking at Shiloh’s question, Skylar grabbed her phone from her pocket and dialed her mother’s number. Then her father’s. Her brother’s. Her sister’s. Each one of them played the same message, “We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” Sliding her phone away, Skylar nodded. “They blocked me on everything. They don’t want me. And I don’t-- I don’t really blame them.” She said, shaking her head.

Shiloh just watched and Skylar took out her phone and wondered what she was doing. Only when she kept calling did she realize she might be trying to call her family. And they weren’t answering or rather, had blocked her as she said. Shiloh knew she couldn’t say anything to reassure her about her family. Shiloh wasn’t going to insult her family either because it was apparent she still cared about them and saying they were ignorant or undeserving of Skylar wouldn’t make her feel better. She also couldn’t give her hope that they would come around and eventually love her because what if they didn’t and also, that didn’t help how Skylar felt now. Shiloh reached over to cup Skylar’s face once more, picking her head up to look at her. “I’m sorry about your family, Skye. I know this… isn’t the same as their acceptance but… I want you. I accept you and I’m here for you. Whenever you need me, I’m here.” Shiloh had said this before, she knew it but she knew that for Skylar, it was better to keep saying it than to assume she heard and believed it. If she kept saying it Skylar wouldn’t forget, she wouldn’t doubt and eventually, maybe, she’d believe her completely.

When Shiloh lifted her head, her calloused fingers gentle against her cheek, Skylar didn’t immediately want to look at her. She knew that she should be better than this. She shouldn’t be putting all of this on Shiloh, she shouldn’t be telling her about this. But, Shiloh’s words, they helped her. Maybe she couldn’t have her family, and maybe her family didn’t want her. But hearing that Shiloh did… it made things hurt a little less. It reminded her of all the people in town who cared about her-- Remmy and Winston and Morgan and all of the other people who’d been so kind to her. “Thanks.” She said with a watery smile. “It’s just hard for me to… to want to be this way.” She said, gesturing to herself. “I didn’t want this. But, if I don’t turn then things just get worse and worse.” In the back of her head, she wondered if maybe that was a good thing. If maybe, if she just pushed through it, if she just gritted her teeth through the agony-- maybe she wouldn’t need her skin. But, she wasn’t going to tell Shiloh that. She didn’t want her to worry.

Shiloh leaned forward, giving Skylar a kiss on her forehead. “It’ll be hard to accept it and that’s okay. Things take time.” Shiloh knew it must be hard to love something that pushed you away from those you love. “You don’t have to want to be a selkie today or tomorrow.” However, Shiloh didn’t want Skylar to continue to be in pain and depressed. “How about you just work on making your life easier with things you can control, hm?” Shiloh suggested, hoping that Skylar would understand it was probably best to at least do what needed to be done so she wouldn’t be like this. Skylar seemed to have been through enough and she didn’t need to put herself through this as some form of punishment for herself. “The world is already going to make your life suck through things you can’t control. Don’t do it to yourself too, okay? You deserve better than that.” Shiloh didn’t know how her transformation worked, for all she knew it was unpleasant or she needed to be a seal for a certain amount of time… but was this all worth the hassle of not changing? Shiloh couldn’t imagine it being so.

Shiloh’s words, they provided Skylar with some small measure of comfort that others hadn’t. People just kept telling her to… accept things. Like Ricky, who would never understand why she couldn’t just accept this-- how could he? He’d known his whole life what he was. And she’d been thrown into this world, completely blind and alone. At her suggestion, Skylar bit the inside of her cheek anxiously. The things she could control? She really couldn’t control any of this. Her hand was being pushed to turn, the only power she had over any of this situation was… not shifting. But, that wasn’t what Shiloh was asking, what she was hoping for. “Okay.” Skylar said quietly. It wasn’t a happy answer, or one that she really meant. “I can do that.” I can do that because you asked, because you think I deserve better, she thought to herself. Shifting a bit, Skylar leaned against the other woman, resting her head against her shoulder. “Just… not now. Tomorrow, I promise I’ll turn tomorrow.” For you.

“Okay, that’s fine.” Shiloh rested her head against Skylar’s. “Take your time. Whenever you’re ready.” Although she didn’t want Skylar to prolong this pain any longer, she understood that this took some time for her. It wasn’t something she actively wanted to do but something she needed to do. The fact that she was willing to do it for her was touching and it was a start. Hopefully Skylar would soon be doing it for herself but Shiloh wasn’t going to push that on her right now. It was fine to do it for others for now. Her eyes shut as she just let herself enjoy Skylar’s close presence, finding comfort in it and hoping she did as well. Her hand started to lightly run through Skylar’s hair and Shiloh let out a sigh. She’d have to go back home eventually, but right now there were no other priorities outside of Skylar. She could stay here as long as Skylar wanted her to. With how comfortable she was right now, that could be forever and she wouldn’t mind.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 16

*~*Sebastian*~*

I really should be given a lot of credit for how long I stayed away from Emma.

Day one I couldn't stop holding her hand. Day two I had to touch her. Day three all I want to do is hold her. Well, not all I want.

Since I woke up with her in my arms there's a part of my brain constantly on the look out for how to get her back there. I have to admit I’m not super confident because my brain has failed me numerous times in trying to figure out kissing her. Had it helped me out with the kissing I wouldn't be so fucking desperate to hold her. Probably wouldn't be talking so much to myself either, but that isn't really unusual. Maybe just different topics.

My mom is having fun with this. I'm not always translating everything she says. She told me Emma was beautiful and she understood why I hadn't come home. She told me I had to work for at least an hour before I could see her. Then she sent her to the opposite side of the house from me and stood guard across the hall.

When I was "allowed" to see Emma again I scared the shit out of her. It was fucking hilarious. When I grabbed her into my arms I held her head against my chest so maybe she wouldn't know I couldn't stop laughing. I couldn’t stop laughing until she ran her hands down my back. It was the same barely there sensual touch that went from my shoulder diagonally down and around to the side of my stomach. I closed my eyes to enjoy it and imagined it didn't stop there. So when she led me into the guest room, a room with a bed, it took every ounce of self-control in my body not to throw her on the bed and cover her with me.

The picture snapped me out of those thoughts. It had been years since I’d seen it. It was full of happy memories of a good time in an otherwise gray period. I wasn't old enough and I think mom shielded me from much. She tried to make whatever food we got something fun for us to build meals around. It wasn’t that we didn’t have food. We didn’t have a lot and we didn’t have choices. We played a form of bingo with what we'd get. Meat, dairy, and fruit were coveted. Except that one weird cheese that we got every six weeks or so. Nothing made it not horrible.

I can't remember telling any other girlfriend about how the beach in a communist country taught me freedom and curiosity that culminated in me being in a NASA movie. Coolest thing ever. Now I’m in the guest room telling secrets I barely remember. Frightening secrets for a kid. There's really no way to escape that without carry some things with you. I don't talk much about Romania because I don’t remember much, but what I do remember I don’t really want to talk about. I wonder if my mom planted the picture for me to share a happy memory.

I dropped Emma off at the kitchen and went back to the family room. Anthony and I headed out to the garage to find a couple of things he knew were missing from the room. Back inside we started arranging things. The kitchen wasn't far away. Every so often I'd catch words or a sentence. They were talking about winters and snow removal. I listened closer when mom asked where and how long she'd lived here. Nothing I didn't know. As Emma explained where her place was, she told mom about local shops and answered questions about the area. Very sweet.

Meanwhile in the family room we got things arranged based on where the TV hung on the wall and came to the realization it was all wrong. I yelled for mom. Emma followed her into the room. Mom looked around, "This is all wrong."

A ridiculous amount of time later we'd rearranged everything. The only thing left was for me to move the TV and rewire everything. I'd be an expert by the time we were done. Mom suggested a break and went to get beers.

I flopped onto the couch and when it looked like Emma was going to sit too far away, I grabbed her hand to pull her closer. Damn near landed her in my lap. Wouldn't have been a bad thing. I recreated the scene from the bench last night with my arm around her shoulder and her holding my hand. That left each of us with a free hand for beer. Emma turned a little where she was leaned against me and laid her head back on my shoulder. I buried my nose in her hair, breathing her in until mom brought back beer.

I doubt this was what Emma had in mind when I suggested she come with me. Mom and Anthony were talking so I gave Emma's shoulders a squeeze to get her attention. "Not much of a rest day for you. I'm feeling selfish. I wanted to spend more time with you.” I was coming clean. I wasn't going to apologize because that would be a lie.

She smiled, a sweet almost shy smile, that made my stomach flutter. "I wanted to spend more time with you too." Her smile tuned to a smirk, "So don't suggest taking me home unless you're ready for me to leave. I'm enjoying myself."

"No problem."

Mom's voice broke the moment, "Emma, have you had Romanian food? We were thinking dinner and a movie. If my son gets the TV hooked up."

"You've just given me motivation, mom."

I felt Emma laugh more than heard her. "No, I haven't and sounds great. Thank you."

Anthony stood up, "Let's get back at it."

Mom excused Emma from the kitchen after Anthony and I got the TV sorted. He went to his office. Mom stayed in the kitchen and I got an assistant for hanging shit and putting up books. There were an obscene number of books. Thankfully they were sorted into boxes in a way that made alphabetizing them by author not so much a pain in the ass. The ease with which Emma alphabetized the titles within each author was super hero like. My job was to hand them to her. By the respectful way she handled them I knew she loved books. She took a stack from me, "Do you like to read?"

I nodded, "I've read most of these. I’ve always liked to read. I do a lot of reading to research characters.”

"Like what?"

I went with the most obvious. "For the Winter Soldier and Bucky I read a lot about psychopaths and PTSD. They’re really two different characters, maybe four.. True crime procedural stuff for Destroyer. Way more space shit than I needed for the Martian. Loved the book."

"Do you prefer non-fiction to fiction?"

"Pretty equal. I'm usually reading a couple of books at a time. I switch back and forth. I love Harlan Coben from before they were making his books movies. Have you read anything of his?"

Her eyes shifted up as she thought. "The one that was a French film. His wife dies then like ten years later he gets a message."

At the same time we said, "Tell No One."

I continued, "Loved that one. He writes lots of those thriller mysteries and has a series about a detective. Lots of humor and his best friend is a millionaire sociopath. Those are fun. Always reread classics and my favorite novel is changing all the time. A lot of mindfulness, Buddhism."

Her eyes lit up, "Have you read Illusions by Richard Bach?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"It was written in the seventies. We passed it around in college. Once you read it you had to buy a copy, highlight some of your favorite bits and give it away. Basically, a Messiah is training his replacement. He gives him a handbook only the pages are empty, except when he opens it, he finds answers."

"I think you can do that with anything. Even a newspaper." This was turning into another one of those great conversations like music and movies. I knew it would.

She was nodding quickly, "Me too. It is full of short insights. My favorite is "You're never given a wish without the power to make it come true. You might have to work on it, however." It's a faux Christian eastern religion self-help novel."

I laughed, "That's great."

"Yeah, we'd get high at frat parties and talk in Illusion and movie quotes." She snorted laugh.

"Did you break into the pantry for snacks like we did?"

"Of course. Always cheese."

I was amused by the thought of Emma as a grunge loving stoned psuedo intellectual. Made me remember my days as an 80's music loving stoned theater major space nerd. College was fun.

Back to books. "What's your guilty pleasure reading?"

"This is my Jessie's Girl." We shared a smile. "I love paranormal romance."

"Paranormal romance? "I repeated." Ghosts and shit?"

"Oh no. Vampires, dragons, shapeshifters."

I couldn't hide my smile, "Way worse than Jessie's Girl."

She glared at me, "It's close."

Her glare turned to a smile then a laugh and I had to hug her. I wanted to hold on to the moment, take in how much fun this was. The conversation, the teasing. She felt like an old friend I'd just met. Only with a lot more sexual attraction. The kind that had me noticing how every curve of her body was pressed against me. Had me wanting to run my hands on top of her clothes before moving underneath them. Wishing she'd slide her hand under my shirt so I could feel her touch my skin.

I took a step back, "Hit me with the details."

She laughed again, "There's two series I love. Some variation of a testosterone filled alpha male who thinks he's rescuing a woman who ends up being his soulmate and saves him. One is grounded is Greek mythology and finding his mate can literally free his soul and the other creates its own mythology. One or both always have a heartbreaking past, there's something they have to go through, and then the happy ending. They're well written and incredibly satisfying."

"Do you believe in that?"

She drew her eyebrows together, "Happily ever after?"

I shook my head, "Soulmates."

Emma looked at the ceiling, screwed up her face, then looked back at me. "The chickenshit answer is people come into our lives for a reason and go away when they’ve served their purpose."

I wasn't so sure. "Not necessarily chickenshit."

"I meant the safe answer.” She bit her lip and continued, “I do believe in soulmates. But I don't think there's necessarily one person for anyone. A soulmate a twenty might be different than a soulmate at forty. People change and grow, so it makes sense your perfect partner might not stay perfect. You can grow together or grow in different directions.  I'm a hopeful romantic."

I liked that. "I think some people use the concept of soulmate to not work for it. It takes a lot of work and vulnerability to be with another person. Hell, to be with yourself. It's hard to be honest with yourself sometimes, forget about laying yourself bare to another person." I shook my head, not believing the strange direction this had gone. "I'm not always that brave."

We'd gone from laughter to this intensely intimate place. I'm talking about how difficult it can be to be vulnerable, which is a very vulnerable thing to do. Maintaining eye contact was hard.

"Everyone struggles with being brave.”

The matter of fact way she spoke reminded me of the gym when we were talking about insecurities. This was the second time I’d shared something and she didn’t try to convince me I was wrong. She accepted what I’d said as true for me. She’d accepted me. Well, now, there’s a thing. I smiled. “I think it’s about finding someone you’re ok being afraid with and is brave enough to be afraid too."

Slowly she started to smile, “Awfully deep conversation we’re having.”

“No shit! How the fuck did we get here?”  I shook my head and laughed. “I think we were talking about Jessie’s Girl.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” She joined in laughing before learning forward to lay her forehead on my shoulder.

I put my hand on the back of her neck and leaned my head against hers.

[fightmewiatch]

Long Time Coming

Pairing: Colin Shea x Reader

Prompts: “ Is that my shirt? ” & “ Did you do something different with your hair? ” & “ You’re teasing me again… ”

          It was not often that you had the chance to go out and have some drinks at the bar with your friends, but when you managed to scrape together enough money and enough time to do it, you were all over it, happy to be able to feel normal for just a little while. 

         It was a little more often that you found yourself ending those nights in your neighbors apartment, tucked into his bed or wrapped up in a blanket on his couch, sleeping off the booze in your blood. Colin was probably your favorite neighbor, despite the fact that, half the time, you could hear his escapades through the wall when you were either trying to work or trying to sleep. He was always willing to lend you a hand if you needed it (as long as you promised him some kind of food). 

         At first, he put you to sleep in his bed and took the couch when you came knocking after being out most of the night drinking, and then being unable to unlock your front door, fingers fumbling too much with the keys. Colin had been a little drunk, too, so, rather than trying to figure out the key to use himself, he just brought you in, took your shoes, and tucked you in. 

         It was a month of him catching you after nights out, letting you sober up in his apartment, before the ritual grew to include him making coffee, and then throwing in breakfast. 

         It was the first time you sat down for that breakfast and coffee that you looked at Colin and felt your breath catch in your throat. Those blue eyes were shining as he looked over at you, his lips curled into a hopeful smile as you sat with a bite of the chilaquiles he tried to insist he’d made but had actually run down to pick up from the Mexican place around the corner before you woke up. You were suddenly finding yourself looking at Colin like it was the first time, his hair mussed from sleep still, sitting beside you in the wrinkled clothes he’d grabbed off the floor. He wasn’t just your great but sometimes annoying neighbor. There was something else about him in that moment that was just so sweet that you had a moment where you forgot that he was just your friend. 

         You took a few weeks, after that realization in your head, before you even considered going out drinking again, but now, almost a year after that first breakfast, it was almost a regular occurrence. You still couldn’t always afford to go out and get drunk, but Colin was more than happy, most days, you have you crash at his place and get smashed with him while watching crappy television and eating whatever takeout sounded good after a couple of beers. 

         The sound of your knuckles on the door was always crazy loud, enough to echo in the hall, but it always got Colin to open the door in less than a minute, a big grin on his face. 

“Hey! I was wonderin’ if you were comin’ over. Did you do something different to your hair?”

“No?” you asked, reaching up to pat your free hand over your hair, handing him the six-pack you’d picked up. “I mean...it’s just...hanging around my face, I broke all the hair ties I had, and forgot to get more.” Colin hummed, nodding, and shrugged. 

“Well, it looks good. C’mon in,” he invited, stepping back as you slipped by him into the apartment, tucking the keys from your place into your purse and hanging it up on the hook along the wall. “Is that my shirt?” You couldn’t help the laugh off your lips, turning to see him as you kicked off your sneakers. 

“Is it? It was in with my stuff,” you replied, shrugging casually, but you knew damn well it was his - you hadn’t owned a henley of your own since college, and Colin’s just looked so freaking comfortable. As you turned to see what food he’d ordered in, he caught your elbow, his hand sliding down to yours as he spun you around to look at the shirt. “Colin!”

“It is my shirt! I’ve been looking for that!” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m gonna need that back.” You quirked a brow, tilting your head as he shrugging. “My shirt, neighbor.” 

“You want it back now? Because if I do that, you’ll have to give me another shirt to wear.” Colin stepped back, slowly looking you over, before you started snickering, reaching out to shove him. “You stop that, Colin Shea.”

“Ah, you love it, sweetheart. Alright, I will put this in the fridge, and good call bringing more because I only have two left in there,” he grinned, patting your shoulder as he moved to tuck the case you’d given him into his fridge, and retrieve the two bottles that were in there. “Hope pizza is good.”

“Pizza is always good.” 

         Sighing, you buried your face into the pillow, and rolled onto your stomach, snuggling further into the bed. This part, you knew well. Colin let you take the bed after dinner and drinks and whatever crap was on television, just like every other time you crashed at his place. What you didn’t recognize was the warmth along your side, and, after scrunching up your face in confusion, you turned your head, startled to see Colin laying beside you, his arm tossed across your waist. 

“...what…?” you mumbled, mouth dry and tongue heavy. Colin cracked one eye open to peer up at you, sleep pulling his lids back closed as he hummed and snuggled back in. 

“I ever tell you how pretty I think you are?” he mumbled. You blinked at him, before sighing, thumping your head against the pillow.

“You still drunk, Colin?” 

“Nope, not drunk,” he promised, his hand moving to slide warmly across your back. “But you. You’re teasin’ me again.” 

“Again?” you asked, surprised, before his fingers plucked at the fabric of his shirt you were wearing still. “...what about it?”

“Second time you’ve stolen one of my shirts, beautiful.”

“...And?” you asked, brow quirked, as you studied his face, the way his lashes fanned out softly against his cheeks as his face smoothed out into a small smile.

“It’s in a guy’s DNA, seein’ their favorite girl in one of their shirts is incredibly sexy.” 

         The room was quiet for a moment, long enough for him to open an eye to peek over at you, before you shuffled around until you lay on your side, facing him. 

“...did you just call me your favorite girl?” Colin’s eyes both opened that time, and he studied you, then, gauging the question you’d posed, before shrugging, and nodding.

“Not like I just let anyone come by every couple weeks to drink, eat, and sleep in my bed.”

“...but, your one night stands…”

“Haven’t had one in...almost a year,” he admittedly quietly, his hand slipping up to brush your hair from your face. 

         You were embarrassed when you thought about it, realized that you hadn’t heard another person in his apartment in months. You heard noises, still - him cleaning up (rare) or rearranging furniture, or practicing now and then when it wasn’t a good idea to do so up on the roof - but you hadn’t realized none of them were of any kind of date. It made you blush, lip pulled between your teeth, and the sight of it brought a smile to his lips as he tucked his hands beneath his head. 

“Look, I’m not saying you gotta feel the same way or anything, you know. Been a long time since I met anyone I would be happy just being friends with, if that’s what you want, but...you’re my favorite girl, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

         Laughing softly, you covered your face, hearing his laugh against your ear as you leaned forward to bump your forehead against his arm. After a moment, you sighed, tilting your head back to see him. 

“Well, I suppose it’s only fair, right, that I tell you that you are my favorite...neighbor.”

“Oooh, I get favorite neighbor?” he asked, whistling as you snorted. 

“Keep up the noises, though, and I’ll take it back.”

“But you love my noises,” he grinned, so cheekily, as you poked his side. “Ah, hey! I thought I was your favorite!”

“I might change my mind!” you teased, squealing as he threw his arms around your waist, mostly as a way to block your hands from reaching his sides. “Colin!”

“You are my favorite girl,” he repeated, as your giggles eased, your hand resting lightly against his bicep. The feeling of your heart racing in your chest was a new feeling, too, as you leaned in closer, scratching your fingers against his shoulder. 

“Good...cuz you are also my favorite guy,” you admitted, shyly. 

         Not that you had much of a chance to dwell on it, as Colin met your gaze one more time before his lips brushed yours, pulling you close as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and deepened the kiss. 

         Coffee and breakfast were just going to have to wait. This was a long time coming.

[pinkevilbobdoesthings]

It continues again! Right so I'm just doing fics for Nano, I'll probably be posting most of them as I go along, because if I wait too long, I just sometimes don't post stuff for months and hate every word I write. So posting as I go.

Oh yeah, the title of this fic comes for "Scared" by The Tragically Hip. So here’s the 3rd chapter of “Make You Scared”.

Jester was right when she called the Chateau lavish. It dripped with finery. Caleb had never been anywhere half as fancy as the hotel. Not in the human world and certainly not in the monster world. The colors still felt wrong to Caleb, but he was growing used to it and the hint of alien made the Chateau all the more alluring.

"Come on, Caleb," Jester said as Caleb paused to take it all in. She still held onto his hand and she made her way up the stairs. It was obvious that she had been there many times before. "Here we go!" Jester stopped a particularly ornate door. A tough looking minotaur stood in front of it. "Blude! Is my mom here?"

Blude nodded with a snort. "She is, but she's currently occupied."

Jester giggled. "Oh okay. This is my new friend, Caleb. He's kinda weird and shy, but he's super nice and is going to be hanging out with me for a bit."

"Hallo," Caleb said softly.

Blude eyed him and then nodded. "They're serving dinner still downstairs."

Jester perked up. "Oh, yes! Thank you, Blude!" She grabbed Caleb's hand again and led him downstairs. "Oh man Caleb, you are in a treat. The food is super good here."

"Do you visit here often?” Caleb asked.

Jester shook her head. “Nope! Mama and I live here.”

Caleb looked around. He couldn’t imagine living in such a place.

“Come on. You’re going to love dinner here.” Jester pulled him along to the restaurant in the hotel.

“Can humans even eat what monsters do?” Caleb asked. “I don’t even know what monsters eat.”

Jester stopped and stared at him. “I didn’t think of that,” she whispered. “Oh crap! What if you can’t even eat food and then you starve and then taking you down here would be for nothing.” She ran her hands over her tail nervously.

Caleb was tempted to take one of her hands and try to calm her, but he wasn’t very good at that sort of thing. “We can try it. I’ve been down here before and didn’t starve.” The food wasn’t very good and all hospital fare, but he survived off of it. Though Ikithon might’ve had the food brought down for the test subjects. Ikithon was thorough to a fault.

“Oh, yeah.” Jester grinned and Caleb could feel his heart flutter. He had seen quite a few monster women since they were here, but none of them compared to Jester. “You’ll love it.”

Caleb stopped. “Is the restaurant as fancy as the rest of the hotel?”

“Yep and they have this really tasty thing with this broth that is super-” she paused and looked Caleb up and down. “There’s no way that they’d let you in dressed like that or let you keep your hat on.”

“I can’t eat with my scarf on anyways.” Caleb’s stomach grumbled its complaints.

Jester snickered as Caleb ducked his head down hiding even more. “We’ll go someplace else then.”

***

Someplace else being the monster equivalent of a burger joint. Technically it was a burger joint, but the shape of the buns was odd and the meat was the wrong color. The french fries were good though. Caleb rearranged his scarf so that he could slip fries through an opening and into his mouth. Jester also got him some chicken nuggets that looked suspect, but to be fair, Caleb was suspicious of most chicken nuggets.

Jester took a loud slurp of her milkshake. “So, what do you think?”

“No matter what world you are in, chicken nuggets’ true ingredients are unknown,” Caleb said. He took a cautious bite out of one. It didn’t poison him right out and it was as technically edible as a nugget was in his world.

Rolling her eyes, Jester stole a chicken nugget.

“Hey!” Caleb protested.

“I thought you didn’t like these?”

Caleb glowered. “It doesn’t stop them from being mine.”

Jester laughed and gave it back to him. “I’m sorry. I was just teasing.”

“Ja, I know.” Caleb smiled at her. There was something easy about being around her. “Where are we going to go?”

“After this? I figure we’d go back to the Chateau. My mom should be done soon,” Jester said.

Caleb shook his head. “I meant where do we go after the chateau. We can’t stay there long.”

“I know. It’s just,” Jester sighed and shrugged, “this is just a lot. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I have,” Caleb said.

“When?” Jester asked.

Caleb took a fry, but didn’t eat it. “When I first escaped from Ikithon. Veth, Nott, gave me this backpack. I had a different fake id back then. Traveling place to place trying to be invisible, it was-”

“Hard?” Jester suggested.

“It was a lot. And I didn’t have anyone to miss me,” Caleb said. “You don’t have join me. You shouldn’t join me. You have a life and friends here. Don’t abandon it for me.”

Jester played with the straw of her milkshake making a point to stare downwards. “Not really. I mean I have Mama and Blude and Nott, but beyond that not really.”

“Someone as wonderful as you surely must have more friends than you can shake a stick at,” Caleb said.

Jester shook her head. “A lot of people wouldn’t agree with you on that one, Caleb.”

“Then there must be a lot of fools down here to not see how lucky they’d be to know you.”

“Well, that’s the thing. Not a lot of people know me. I mean they do now, but when I was little, I kinda had to hide a lot,” Jester said. She dabbed her fry into her milkshake and used it to draw pictures on napkins.

Caleb stared at her. “Hide?”

Jester nodded. “Yeah, see my mom was a super famous scarer and then there’s her side job and people wouldn’t want to hire her if they knew that she had a daughter.”

“That’s sexist.” Caleb pointed his fry at her. “At least that’s called sexist in my world.”

“Uh huh, it’s sexist here, but she still had to hide me. That doesn’t mean that she didn’t love me. She just had to hide me. So I’m super good at hiding and I’m used to it. I can help you hide too,” Jester said.

Caleb frowned. “It’s not that easy.”

“Yes it is,” Jester said.

“No it’s not. No one knew you existed, ja? Ikithon knows that I’m alive and he’s going to be looking for me once he realizes that I’m missing,” Caleb said. “No one was looking for you. No one realized that there was anything to look for.”

Jester slammed her hands down on the table. "I'm just trying to help!" she yelled and ran out of the restaurant.

Caleb stared helplessly as she disappeared out the doors. Only one thought ran through his mind. He screwed up.

***

Jester ran back to the hotel with tears in her eyes. She could barely see where she was going, but she didn't care. What Caleb said kept repeating in her head. It was good that no one knew about her that meant that herr mother's secret was safe, but that didn't mean she was unimportant. But the truth was that no one cared to find her mother’s secrets. And that indifference kept her family safe. But it still hurt. Jester wanted to be seen. When she was little she ran through scenes of someone accidentally finding her, but instead of her mom getting in trouble or people being disappointed in her, everyone was fascinated and awed by Jester and she'd be super popular. It would've never happened, but it was a nice day dream.

Stopping in front of the hotel, Jester wiped the tears out of her eyes and went inside calmly. She ascended the stairs like she didn't just yell at someone she thought could be her friend. Blude opened the door for her and Jester flashed him a smile. Her mother sat in front her mirror brushing her hair and spun around with a smile. "My little sapphire," she said brightly.

Jester leaned into her mother. "Hi mom."

"Oh what's the matter?" Jester's mother asked with the perfect amount of concern.

"Nothing Mama," Jester said. She was just being upset over silly little things and didn't need to bother her mom with them.

Jester's mom frowned. "Don't give me that. I've known you for far too long for you to hide your frowns from me. Now sit down." She got up from her chair and waved at Jester to sit down.

Jester had trouble saying to her mother and plopped down on the chair. Her mother stood behind her and began to comb her hair. "I got into a fight."

"What? Who was it? What happened?" The tone in her mom's voice was ready to begin and end wars.

"Not like that. I mean I got into an argument with an almost friend." Jester pouted. "He was being mean and dumb."

Her mother sighed. "That's part of having friends my little sapphire. It can be hard sometimes, but you need to know what arguments are worth ignoring and which ones are the signs to say goodbye."

"He said that no one knew to look for me," Jester said. "That I basically didn't exist. Well, maybe he didn't say it like that, but he was being mean."

"Oh, my little sapphire." Jester's mother wrapped her in a hug. "If only I could've put you on the display you deserved, but the world can be cruel sometimes. It's safer to be hidden."

Jester nodded but her stomach churned with the thought and how she left Caleb. "Mama? I might've been the one who was mean."

***

Caleb quickly finished his fries and stuffed the chicken nuggets into his pockets. As unappetizing as they were, they still counted as food and he couldn’t say no to a free meal. Part of him was tempted to go find Jester, but he knew that she was better off without him. The money that Jester used at the register was different from his, but from the way she talked, he could probably find some kind of shop where he could sell his cash for monster money. Apparently there was a market for human stuff. It’d be a little tricky to avoid questions on where he got it, but he’d manage.

As Caleb left the burger joint, he overheard a snippet of conversation and froze. "Yeah, it's all over the internet. Apparently someone totally saw a human down here."

"Yeah right. Has to be a hoax."

"I’m not lying, Phil. There's even a picture, see?"

"It's all blurry. There's no way it's real."

Caleb came back to his senses and hurried out of the restaurant. He had been seen. There was evidence of him being there. How could he be so dumb to have left his guard down? Of course hiding behind Jester wouldn't be enough. Now there was proof he was there and Ikithon was going to find him. It was stupid to think that he would ever get away.

But there was no way he was just going to give up now. Despite everything feeling wrong here in the monster world, Caleb's natural sense of direction was still with him. He'd just have to keep going in the opposite direction of where they exited his apartment and see if monsters had any form of public transportation. With any luck, he could get away for this city and find a place to lie low for a month before getting further away.

Caleb started to calm down. He's done this before and he'd just do it again. Distracted by his own thoughts, he walked into someone. "Oh sorry," Caleb said tugging his hat down lower.

A tall, yellow scaled monster smiled down at him. His teeth made Caleb feel like he was staring at the maw of a crocodile."Oh, that's quite alright, Bren."

Ice entered Caleb's veins. He knew that voice all too well. Ikithon.

_____________

Notes:

So giving you guys a heads up, starting the next chapter, this fics going to be a bit dark and have some body horror cause Ikithon. It will most likely have a happy ending, but um yeah I'm currently writing some messed up stuff.

[helenarlett-rex]

Goosebumps Review #11

So I started this little project to read all the Goosebumps books I wanted to read as a kid but never got the chance to. Which makes this next one a little out of place because it’s from the Goosebumps Most Wanted series, which was published in 2013, long after my childhood had ended. But when I saw it, it looked kind of interesting and I thought, well... I already reviewed Creature Teacher: Final Exam, which was from the same series... I reviewed that one because it was the only sequel to the first Creature Teacher, which I recently reviewed and loved. So I figured I’ve already broken my childhood cut-off date... why not check out a few more of the new ones?

(Spoilers ahead)

How I Met My Monster

Goosebumps Most Wanted #3

So right from the start I was a little confused by this book. It’s a part of the Most Wanted series and I was under the impression this series was meant to be a who’s who of the most famous Goosebumps monsters. I mean, other books in the series have brought back The Haunted Mask, Mrs. Maaargh, Slappy, The Lawn Gnomes... But I couldn’t figure out who this book was supposed to be about. The monster on the cover wasn’t instantly recognizable and nothing about the title gave it away. I guess it kind of looks like a werewolf, and it does have that t-shirt that says I Love Wolves... Was this about one of the werewolves in the Goosebumps mythos? But I’m pretty sure I’ve read every werewolf book in Goosebumps at this point and none of the character names given in the blurb are ringing any bells... Is this a new character? How can it be one of the Goosebumps universe’s most wanted monsters if this is its first outing?

I really wanted to know because if this was a monster from an older book I really wanted to read the first book before I read this one. But I couldn’t figure it out. Not even the Goosebumps wiki was giving me any answers. So I finally just said screw it and started reading. And then I saw that one of the characters was named Monroe Morton, and our protagonist, Noah Bienstock, believes he might be a monster. And suddenly I was like, Morton...? Like, Mr. Mortman? I know you are spelling it differently, but it still sounds the same and this is almost the same plot... Is this just a retelling of The Girl Who Cried Monster? Okay... Calling it. The twist ending is that our protagonist was secretly a monster himself all along...

So the story turns out to be about Noah Bienstock, who everyone just calls Bien. He lives in an apartment building in the city, which is a bit different from the new house in a sleepy rural town where most Goosebumps protagonists live. The apartment building is called Sternom House. That’s mildly important... His best friend, Lissa Gardener, also lives in Sternom House. That’s also mildly important... They’re about the same age, they go to the same school, and they are both bullied by a big fat kid named Harlan.

I hate to use the word fat, but the book pretty much calls them all out on it. It’s a book about... kids with greater weight than their peers. The only person in this book who isn’t... a larger kid... is Lissa. Everyone else is... rather corpulent... Bien’s mom, who isn’t winning any mother of the year awards, flat out calls him fat to his face in the beginning of the book. Or excuse me... She tells him he’s “a chub”. And I’m just like, Jesus... and I thought my parents were bad...

But Harlan is the... largest of the large kids, so he bullies everyone else. In the beginning of the book we see him stealing Bien and Lissa‘s lunch money and using it to buy extra pizza at the cafeteria. When the characters stop bringing lunch money and start packing a lunch, he just flat out steals their lunches. Harlan’s only real character traits are that he enjoys shoving people around with his belly, and stealing lunches. I don’t think any of our protagonists ever get to eat lunch once in this book. Which as a hypoglycemic, that kind of pisses me off. Some people literally can’t afford to miss lunch, you know? Harlan‘s the kind of kid I would have beaten the shit out of if he messed with me. In fact... I did have a bully exactly like this when I was a kid. I beat the shit out of him... Funny enough, he stopped messing with me after that.

Bien doesn’t beat the shit out of Harlan though. Bien is a paranoid mess because he keeps having nightmares about being attacked by monsters. And that’s our plot for this book. Bien is so paranoid from his monster nightmares that he sees monsters around every corner. So naturally he won’t stand up to Harlan. And when a new kid by the name of Monroe Morton (he’s also a fat kid) starts school, Bien becomes friends with him at first, but it doesn’t take long before he starts to believe Monroe is also a monster. And what do you know... Monroe has also moved into Sternom House. It seems like the only person in this book who doesn’t live in Sternom House is Harlan.

The book, sadly, is pretty slow. I’ve read Goosebumps that were slow burns before, and it didn’t bother me. The Werewolf of Fever Swamp took its time, but it managed to stay interesting. This one, not so much... The book was just a constant rinse, wash, and repeat of Harlan acts like a total shit, Bien sees a hairy monster, Bien tries to tell someone, and everyone laughs it off and tells him to deal with it. The characters all take Bien’s worries about monsters as if it’s a joke, and I know we are supposed to believe it’s because he keeps having nightmares and complaining about monsters, like a boy who cried wolf scenario (or a Girl Who Cried Monster scenario maybe?) but the whole time I’m just sitting there saying, they are laughing at him because they are monsters! Everyone in this book is a monster! You already showed your hand, Stine! Just get to the point already!

There are a few interesting parts in the book, (and only a few) like when Bien and Lissa are both trying out for the school swim team and then Bien starts looking around and realizes he doesn’t see Lissa anymore, just before he is attacked by some kind of aquatic tentacle monster in the pool. And I’m thinking, oh cool~ Is Lissa a tentacle monster? Of course nothing comes of this and it was just a segue into a scene where Harlan strips Bien naked in front of everyone at the pool. (Yeah that happens, and I find myself wondering if I even want to know what kind of shit Stine is working through in this book...)

There’s also this weird subplot about the school Pet Fair... Where all the kids are supposed to bring in their pets and whoever has the most interesting and unusual pet will win $300... Is this a thing schools do? I’m pretty sure its not... I mean, I know R.L. Stine used to be a teacher, but he has some really weird ideas about how schools work. He also has some weird ideas about what is considered an unusual pet... Bien takes two betta fish and they way Stine writes it, it’s like he actually believes that is the most unusual pet a kid can have... I mean, there’s a kid who brings a fucking monkey to the pet fair. Who has a pet monkey?! But no, the betta fish... Those are sure to win. He actually chooses that over a myna bird. I didn’t even know what a myna bird was until I read it in the book and had to look it up. I’m starting to think R.L. Stine’s never been in a pet store before...

Also I want to point out that Bien takes two bettas to the pet fair and puts them both in a tank together so they can fight. Oh my god! Do not do that! That’s probably the scariest thing I’ve read in this book...

Eventually the plot does finally start moving along... more than half way through the book... Lissa sees the monster and finally starts to believe Bien. Lissa tells Bien he needs to spy on Monroe and get proof it’s actually him. The monster starts attacking Bien directly (but doesn’t do more than threaten him). Bien’s parents go on vacation and tell Bien he’s going to be staying with Monroe‘s family for the week. Bien wakes up one night and finds Monroe missing and the window open and sneaks out to try and get pictures of him. The monster corners Bien in an alley and reveals its human from to him. And... it’s Lissa...

Damn... I was hoping she would turn out to be that tentacle monster in the pool. Considering she’s such a good swimmer and all the set up with the pool scene... But no, we are just forgetting that whole tentacle monster attack ever happened. Lissa is that big harry monster on the cover. And she was attacking  and scaring Bien to try and get him over his fear of monsters... I don’t think this girl knows how getting over a fear works...

Oh but hey, the book still isn’t over yet. We still need a handful of pointless chapters where out of nowhere Lissa starts acting like a total dick towards Bien so she can... scare him into keeping her secret? And I’m talking like, totally wrecking the school pet fair, eating Bien‘s fish, blaming him for it, and getting him suspended from school. Her character does a total 180 for no reason at all. Until she finally chases Bien down, he tries to hide at Monroe‘s house, but oh no! Monroe is also one of those monsters on the cover! Everyone is because I fucking called it in the first chapter! Remember how I said Sternom House was mildly important? Well Nilbog spelled backwards is goblin! Err... I mean... If you rearrange the letters in Sternom it spells Monster. Although honestly, I may as well be watching Trolls 2 at this point...

Yes, everyone in Sternom House is a monster. Even Bien. Although Bien didn’t know it because, “it’s against the rules.” Everyone has to find the monster inside of them on their own. And because the rules say everyone has to find the monster inside of them on their own and can’t be told about it, that’s why Lissa and Monroe told him about it and then forced him to drink some stuff that would force him to turn into a monster... I’m seeing a contradiction here... I’m just going to guess they were tired of Bien‘s shit and decided to break the rules so they could get on with their lives... The book doesn’t say that’s what happened, but if I was in their situation I’d do the same thing.

And so the book ends. We never find out what was the deal with that tentacle monster. The pet fair subplot was totally pointless. Bien, Lissa and Monroe are all monster buddies now. And they decide to go eat Harlan, or something... I mean the book’s not specific on that point, but it sure sounds like they are going to go eat him.

I had mixed feelings about The Girl Who Cried Monster back when I first read it. There were some problems with it. But overall I didn’t think it was a bad book. This one... is kind of the same on the mixed feelings front. I liked the characters but the story was just... borderline painful. And I’m not sure what was Stine’s deal with calling the characters out on their weight. Does Stine have a problem with kids who are larger than the cultural norm? I feel like you just don’t call people “fat” or “a chub”. That’s something you just don’t do.

I don’t know... This marks the second Most Wanted book I’ve read and so far I haven’t been impressed with either of them.

[hurt-care]

Behind the Scenes

So, @salamanderskin and I had the pleasure of writing together again for the first time in ages! This one features her OC, Frank, who you can read about here and my new OC, Hugh. This is set in England in the late 1940s, post-war. Enjoy!

----

The end of another show. The cast filtered back into the dressing rooms to change, chorus dancers stretched out muscles, musicians wrestled instruments back into cases and the magician's glamorous assistant worked cold-cream into her stubborn stage makeup. Most of the Cabaret cast were keen to leave and find a pint at the bar while it was still serving. Soon enough, backstage was nearly empty, the lights dimmed and costumes folded more or less neatly away for the matinee the next day. Only one performer was left, leaning against a counter with his head propped on his arms. His dark hair had enough gel to hold it in position despite his angle, still in a smooth side-parting away from a handsome, good-natured face. Frank Westmore, fast asleep.

Hugh Morris pushed the dressing room door open with his hip, arms full with a bucket, mop, and rags. Whistling quietly to himself, he set down the bucket and sloshed the mop in. The deserted dressing room glowed softly under the vanity light bulbs surrounding the varied mirrors. Pausing to check his reflection in the glass, Hugh suddenly felt the rush of startled fear as he saw the man on the opposite corner of the room.

The mop clattered out of the bucket, spilling the water onto the tiled floor. Hugh spun around, his heart racing.

“Oh my god, sir, I’m sorry,” he stammered, rushing to gather the mop and bucket. “I thought you was a ghost for a moment. They said everyone had gone and it was alright to start the cleaning. And they told me the theatre was haunted, but then again, aren’t all theatres haunted? S’what I’ve heard, anyhow.”

“Hmm?” The ghost in question raised his head, holding a hand in front of his eyes against the light. He shook his head groggily. It took a good few seconds to establish where he was, then he offered Hugh a disarming smile.

“I- no- it’s just me. Is it late?” His words were interrupted by ticklish cough smothered against his shoulder.

“Half-past ten,” Hugh said, consulting his watch. “The others haven’t been gone too long. I heard a few of ‘em discussing going down to the club around the corner. But I don’t know who they were. I just started last week and this is my first shift after a show.”

He stepped forward, extending his hand towards Frank.

“Hugh Morris,” he said with practiced politeness that seemed stuffy coming from his otherwise rather bohemian air. His trousers were a size too large and slouched on his thin hips, cinched with a belt. And the auburn hair that framed a lightly-freckled face was a touch too long and it curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck.

The other man rose and shook hands. “Frank.” He looked Hugh up and down. The man looked like he would fit in at the theatre just fine. Was it really half ten already? He thought he’d only laid his head down for a few moments. Speaking made him cough again and he had to clear his throat before continuing.

“How are you liking it so far? Did you see any of the show?”

“Only the last bit with the magician,” Hugh replied, taking up the fallen mop and leaning on it. “But it seems like a nice spot. I just moved into town to help out my uncle but his business is a bit...well, a bit conservative for my tastes. I figured I’d find more of my sort of people here and I like to keep busy, so the night shift suits me fine. I’d like to be a stagehand, really, but they had a spot for a cleaner. That’s alright though; I’ve worked pretty much every job under the sun.”

“What about you?” he asked. “How long have you been here? You’re a performer?”

“Dance in the chorus.” Frank explained. “It’s a pretty good gig, you’ll soon find your feet. It’s my first season and everyone welcomed me in straight away. Here, let me move my stuff and you can talk and mop, or we’ll be here all night.”

He gathered his waistcoat and jacket from the the floor at his feet and returned them to his hanger. Then without further warning and no shame at all, he unbuttoned removed his shirt and hung that up too. He turned to rummage for his street clothes with only his undershirt on, rubbing his upper arms for warmth. As he bent over into his bag his shoulder shuddered in a sudden sneeze. “hWRSHuh!-WRSSHue!... excuse me.” He continued dressing, shaking his head muzzily.

“A dancer, huh?” Hugh said, sloshing the mop into the bucket and starting on the floor. “I wish I could dance. I think I might have two left feet.”

He glanced up shyly at the back of Frank as he removed his shirt.

Looks like a dancer, he thought to himself, admiring the smooth lines of the man’s torso as he bent to look for his clothes. And that bum…definitely a dancer.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden double sneeze.

“Bless you!” he said, pushing aside a clothing rack with his foot and sweeping the mop behind it. “It’s a drafty place, this theatre. I think I should probably bring something warmer next time. You alright?”

“Fine, I…” Frank’s voice cracked and he released a rushing “hWRSHuh!” into the back of his wrist.

“Think I might have caught whatever’s going around.” He shrugged, with a smile to show it wasn’t serious. He certainly didn’t want the new cleaner to avoid him or create any awkwardness. Frank finished dressing in a hurry.

“Bless you,” Hugh repeated. “Going around, eh? I guess I ought to clean extra well.”

He finished his work on the floor and turned to scrubbing down the sink in the corner of the dressing room. Glancing up into the mirror, he watched Frank as the man finished buttoning up his shirt. It was hard to believe that someone as handsome as that was only in the chorus.

“I’m nearly done here,” Hugh said, running the tap. “I was going to put a pot of tea on in the green room before I head home. Did you want some?”

The dancer looked as though he was about to decline, them shrugged and gave Hugh another warm smile. “Why not?” He grabbed a cloth from the counter and helped Hugh finish the last few jobs, then the two walked to the green room side by side.

He heating in there had been turned off and it the air had an icy edge that set Frank coughing again. While Hugh put his bucket away he took a moment to blow his nose and try to rearrange himself. There was no denying the tight threads of a headache behind his eyes and he was sure he must look groggy and half-asleep. Perhaps he could sit and put his head in his hands just for a moment, while the kettle boiled. That was how Hugh found him when he returned.

“You look like you should be home in bed,” Hugh said when he re-entered the green room. “I won’t keep you.”

He poured the boiling water from the kettle into an old, chipped Brown Betty and set it to steep.

Settling into the couch opposite Frank, he stretched out his legs and rocked his neck side to side, feeling the pull on tight, tired muscles.

“So, where were you before you came here to dance?” he asked, leaning forward to pour the tea into mugs. He passed a steaming cup to Frank. “Sorry, I looked but there’s no honey.”

“What-? Oh, that’s sweet of you.”

As he took the tea he gave Hugh a thoughtful look, meeting the man’s eyes. Kind eyes, he thought, liking them immediately. “I’ve been dancing a few different places. London mostly. Brighton. I was drafted right at the end of the war, got to France and got sent home again. Lucky really. My old lady didn’t really want me home again, so here I am.” He says it’s lightly, like it’s nothing. It only stings a little these days. He hopes Hugh will understand the unspoken implication. The theatre is as safe as place to be queer as any, the rest of middle England not so much. He watches Hugh carefully, to gauge a reaction.

“Here you are,” Hugh said, smiling. “A fellow soldier. Though I suppose most of us were involved somehow. I was in the Merchant Navy, myself. Stationed down off the tip of South America. Didn’t see much action there beyond dodging icebergs and chasing the occasional penguin off the deck.”

There was no action in South America, but the way home had been a different matter altogether. He rarely talked about the U-Boat attack, or the hours in the frigid Atlantic waiting for the rescue vessel, or the way his left leg ached to the point of a limp when it rained. He did not talk about Jack, who had been his closest confidante on the ship, and the fact that he didn’t make it out of the water that day.

Clearing the thoughts of the war from his mind, he focused on his cup of tea and the handsome man sitting across from him. He did not respond to Frank’s comment about his ‘old lady’ not wanting him home. Hugh was fairly certain he understood Frank’s meaning, but this sort of thing was a delicate dance and the last thing he wanted to do was offend a new colleague.

Frank actually snorted his tea when Hugh mentioned the penguin. “You’ll have to tell me the whole of that story when I’m awake enough to listen.” He watched Hugh’s face, wondering if he really caught a moment of sadness on there. He, too, did not want to offend.

His tea finished, Frank stood and stretched. His nose was tickling something fierce and scrubbed it with the heel of his hand was no longer making any difference.

“Thanks for tea but I’d better be go-oh-ing…” he managed, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I think that’s probably for the best,” agreed Hugh. “I’ve just got to shut out the house lights and lock check in with the door guard and I’m good to go. What direction are you headed? I’ll walk with you a bit, if you’re headed down towards Brook Street.”

“Yes, that’s…” It was no good. Frank’s voice hovered up an octave as he tried to continue. “That’s-“ he gave up and managed a “sorry, gonnasneeze…”which bought him just enough time to pull out a white handkerchief before a heavy fit overtook him.

“hmptCHSsshhoo! CHSSsshoo! hWRSHoo!!”

It took the man a minute to get his breath back. He shook his head and gave Hugh an inquiring look. “Are you sure? M’not exactly good company… I feel like a mess.”

“Bless you,” Hugh offered sympathetically. He patted his trouser pocket, hoping to find a spare handkerchief to offer, but he’d left it in his coat. “It’s alright. I’m walking that way anyhow. Might as well go together.”

He gathered his coat and bag from a nearby storage room and put away the tea things while Frank gathered up his own belongings. They walked down the hallway and up the stairs to the back of the theatre orchestra seats. Hugh reached for the panel of lighting and switched off the breakers for the house lights, plunging the room into darkness. Alone in the middle of the stage, the ghostlight shone just enough light to make out the arch of the proscenium and the gilded footlights along the front of the stage.

“Besides being all lit up for a show, I think it’s the most beautiful in here like this,” he said, staring up at the light.

“Wonderful.” Frank agreed, voice soft. It wasn’t the stage he was looking at.

The walk home went too quickly. Frank enjoyed his new friend’s chatter and contributed as much as he could, but most of his attention was focused on minding his now dripping nose, subtly wiping it whenever Hugh’s attention was diverted. He muffled a series of sneezes into the sleeve of his coat but managed to keep walking and listening to the man’s pleasant voice. It was much colder than previous days and he found himself wishing for gloves and a scarf.

At the corner of his street he paused. “This is my stop. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in around eight, actually. They asked if I could take care of concessions for the intermission. I guess the usual guy is out.”

He shrugged and grinned.

“I haven’t worked food since I was sixteen slinging popcorn at the local ballpark, but I think I’ll manage.”

He thought about extending his hand to shake Frank’s, but one look at his reddening nose made Hugh think twice. Poor guy. Instead, he settled on a nod and a smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Get some rest.”

He watched Frank retreat down the side street before strolling onward to his flat above his uncle’s office. It was a sparse but cozy little spot furnished with a twin bed, an armchair, and a desk along with his own sink for washing up. The toilet and kitchen were shared with one of his uncle’s clerks who lived at the opposite end of the flat, but he was away visiting his ill mother for the week.

Hugh limped slightly up the stairs, feeling the strain of a day spent on his feet. He settled into his arm chair, massaging his sore knee while his thoughts drifted to the handsome dancer. Fingers crossed that he’d get more time to talk to Frank tomorrow.

-

By the time five o’clock rolled around the next day, Hugh was eager to leave the office and to get to the theatre. He didn’t mind the work in his uncle’s firm, but it was boring columns of numbers and figures calculated alongside a dozen other men who had no discernable passions or interesting personalities. The theatre was a much more colourful cast of characters.

He ate a quick dinner in his room, had a cat nap, washed up and changed, and then headed down to the stage door. The show had already begun and Hugh peered in through the back audience doors, craning his neck for a glimpse of Frank among those assembled onstage.

It wasn’t long before his patience was rewarded with a tap dance from a few members of the men’s chorus line. They were smartly turned out in black tailcoats that span outwards as they turned. Of the three, one caught the eye; for the sharpness of his movements and for his genuine, handsome smile which recanted all the way to his eyes. The shadows under his eyes and pale sheen to his cheeks were only noticeable if you knew to look for them, which Hugh did.

Poor Frank looked just as ill as yesterday, but you wouldn’t know it from the dancing. Hugh watched, transfixed.

“Have you fetched the bottles of wine from the cellar yet?” a voice behind Hugh whispered sharply. He spun around to see Mr. Thompson, the house manager.

“No, sir,” Hugh said, shutting the theatre doors from the lobby quietly. “I was just about to.”

“We aren’t paying you to watch the show,” Mr. Thompson chastised.

“No, I know, sorry,” Hugh apologized, rushing to prepare the intermission concessions.

Soon the lobby was filled with patrons enjoying a glass of wine and a cigarette between acts. Hugh managed well enough but was relieved when the bell chimed to signal the patrons to return to their seats. With the second act underway, Hugh tidied up the concessions stall and wandered towards backstage, digging in the closet for a broom and biding his time sweeping the back hall by the dressing rooms. He wasn’t technically scheduled to start his cleaning shift until after the show was over and the actors had gone, but he had an ulterior motive to the early start: he was hoping to chat with Frank again.

In the distance, he heard the roar of the applauding crowd. The show was just finishing up. Soon, a stream of singers, dancers, and other acts flooded into the hall and Hugh stepped aside, leaning casually on the broom as his eyes scanned the crowd.

He heard Frank before he saw him. There was a terrible, damp-sounding cough from around the corner and then Frank appeared, still in his top hat and tails.

Unaware he was being watched, Frank turned away towards to wall to cough hard into his handkerchief. His other hand rested on top of his breast-bone, nursing a tightness that wouldn’t seem to shift. When the fit subsided he looked up at the other man, startled. His pupils were huge in the low light.

“Hello! How long have you been standing there?” He waved a hand to show it didn’t matter, but a distinct blush rose in his neck and the tops of his ears. He would have preferred to pull himself together and ‘accidentally’ run into his new friend at a time of his own choosing. Oh well, too late now. To make matters worse the prickling need to sneeze, which had never been far away throughout the performance, fanned to unavoidable levels and he could only draw a quick panting gasp before doubling into the handkerchief, stifling it as much as he could.

“ah-dZsch!”He recovered with what he hoped was a casual smile. “You should do a better job with your cleaning. It’s awfully dusty down here.”

“Long enough. You look dreadful, but somehow I don’t think my cleaning is to blame,” Hugh said gently. “Cold not improving? I can’t believe you didn’t call out of the show. I saw a bit of your number and there’s no way I could do that with a clogged head.”

He smiled sympathetically.

“The kettle is on in the green room if you want some tea. I just heard the stage manager say so.”

The dancer laughed a soft, almost shy, “hah” at the news that Hugh has seen his act. About himself he replied, “It’s really nothing. But tea sounds great. Do you have time for one before you start? It’s freezing down here.”

“I need to wait for everyone to clear out of the dressing rooms,” Hugh confirmed. “So I have a while. You want to get out of your show things and I’ll pour us some cups?”

“Deal.”

Frank changed as quickly as possible. The moment where he was naked between changing shirts made his skin stand up in gooseflesh with shivers that reached his teeth and made them chatter. It was a relief to put on the thick jumper he’d brought with him and he added his overcoat too. He pulled a comb through his hair and let the pomade already in there do it’s work. Close enough. His nose was really stuffed now. He tried blowing it with very little success and wished he’d brought another handkerchief with him, but they were at home and he wanted to put off going home for as long as he could.

Hugh’s auburn hair made him easy to spot in the green room. Frank accepted the cup of tea gratefully and curled his fingers around the mug for warmth.

“Thanks.” He said, sitting himself on the edge of a sofa and patting the seat next to him for Hugh to join him. “I could do with something warm. The heat’s off at my house again, really need to get it seen to.” Another round of damp coughing rather proved his point. He learned away from Hugh as best as he could, careful not to spill his drink.

Hugh sat down with his own mug and frowned at the admission.

“Your heat’s off?” he asked. “But it’s been so cold and damp out. I mean, more than it usually is...you know, England and all that nonsense about our climate. But really...it’s a terrible time of year to go without heat.”

And there was that brutal cough again. Hugh resisted the urge to put a hand on the man’s back to comfort him but instead he dug into his trouser pocket for the clean handkerchief he’d packed that morning.

“Here,” he said, passing it over. “I can’t believe you spent a night in a house with no heat and with a cold too!”

Before he really knew what he way saying, the words tumbled out.

“My flat’s really quite cozy and the heating works almost toowell sometimes. There’s one of those big steam radiators in my room and it clunks and clatters all night long. Why don’t you come and stay there until you heat gets repaired? I can’t let you go home like this knowing you’ve got no way to get warm.”

Frank accepted the handkerchief with ease and a grateful smile, but hovered over the invitation. He eyed Hugh, trying to gauge if it was a genuine offer, because it was certainly tempting. “I mean… are you serious?” He thought of his cold, damp room and the prospect of somewhere he could actually get some rest, and some pleasant company to boot. “What are you, an angel?”

Hugh laughed loudly.

“Far from it,” he said. “But I know what it’s like to be in a place without heat and you seem like the sort who won’t rob me blind. So, it’s all yours.”

He fished into his pocket for his key ring and removed the single gold house key from it.

“It’s 13B Mountsfield Ave. Go in the door to the left of the office front and upstairs. My room’s the one on the right. My flatmate Stephen has the room at the end of the hall but he’s up in Cardiff for the week, so don’t worry about disturbing anyone. Kitchen’s through the sitting room and the loo is down the hall before Stephen’s door.”

He dropped the key into Frank’s hand.

“There’s a kettle in the kitchen and tea in cupboard beside the stove. And there should be some food in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you like. Spare handkerchiefs are in the box on top of my dresser, if you need one.”

He drained his mug of tea and gave Frank one last friendly smile.

“I should start on the cleaning. Usually the principals are clear of their rooms by now. Make yourself at home and I should be back by eleven at the latest.”

“You’re really sure? Thanks a million. That’s brilliant.” Normally he might have protested more and been more effusively thankful, but honestly Frank was too exhausted to overthink the offer. All he could do was accept the key, and the smile, and shake his head in happy puzzlement as his new friend left on his rounds.

………..

Frank Westmore stood in front of the kettle in Hugh’s little flat, waiting to muffle the sound as soon as it began to whistle. He made himself a cup of tea, trying hard not to pry into Hugh’s sparse living arrangements too much.

As Hugh has promised, it was pleasantly warm inside, a wonderful contrast to the outside air where a fine drizzle was beginning to fall. Frank had on a thick woollen jumper that had been knitted for him by the mother of a friend. His hair was tousled from it’s usual neatness and fell to one side of his face, the darkness contrasting his pale skin. He may have been warm but he honestly felt awful. When he first let himself in to the flat he had been stifling his outbursts of sneezing, not wanting to disturb the neighbours through the thin walls. It soon proved impossible and he surrendered himself to sneezing thickly into a borrowed hankie every five minutes or so. He was well aware he sounded dreadful and was too tired to care.

He sat down on the sofa and listened to the sound of the rain on the window and the unfamiliar creaks and gurgles of an unfamiliar house, fingers gripping the mug for warmth. He felt weak and shivery enough to wonder if he had a temperature and fervently hoped not. He was causing his new friend enough trouble already. He had been home with plenty of gentlemen after less that acquaintance than this, but this was a different matter altogether. As soon as the tea was finished he found a blanket on the back of the sofa and tucked it over his legs, curling his tall frame into the sofa. Perhaps he could close his eyes for a few minutes…

Back at the theatre, Hugh went about his cleaning duties. When he’d emptied the last of the trash cans and swept the dressings room, he bid farewell to the stage door guard and stepped out into the rainy night. A glance at his wristwatch showed the time to be nearly eleven. The streets were quiet on his walk home and he hurried along, eager to be out of the rain. With his spare key, he let himself into his flat and climbed the stairs slowly. The damp weather always aggravated his old war injury and his knee throbbed insistently.

He reached the landing and shed his coat, hanging it on the coat rack alongside Frank’s. Then, with careful steps, he crept into the small sitting room.

On the sofa, Frank snored softly, sounding completely miserable with congestion. Hugh frowned and stood watching the man for a moment. He chastised himself for not offering Frank the use of his bed, where he’d be far more comfortable. Frank’s position on the couch was an awkward cramming of limbs that looked like it might result in a sore neck in the morning.

Still, it didn’t seem worth it to wake the sleeping man for that. Even in the dim moonlight, Frank’s face looked pale and exhausted as he slept, his mouth hanging open slightly in a battle for air.

Hugh went down to the kitchen and poured himself two fingers of Scotch. He wandered into his own room, pausing to look at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the wall. Looking back at him was a tall auburn-haired man with lines beginning to form around his eyes and a shadow of stubble on his chin. He yawned and then stuck his tongue out at his own reflection. Who was he kidding trying to woo someone as handsome as Frank?                                            

“ah-dZsch!”

His thoughts were interrupted by a hoarse, congested sounding sneeze. Then another, then another. Frank struggled to sit up on the sofa and helplessly cupped his hands over his nose and mouth as the ticklish sensation flared. “ah-dZsch!dZsch!--dZsch!”He tried to give his host an apology but his breath caught in an unsteady inhale and a heavy, “hWRSHoo!! … ugh.”

There was still a sneezy, irritated look around his eyes but he managed, “Hugh! How -snf-was your shift?”

“Christ, man,” Hugh said, come out into the living room and catching the end of the brutal fit. “Bless you.”

He sank down into the armchair opposite the sofa and shrugged.

“It was alright. One of the girls spilled her setting powder in the dancers’ dressing room. Took me ages to get all of it cleaned up.”

With a lop-sided, sympathetic smile he added, “Better question is how are you?”

“I’ve been worse.” He was actually feeling better for the sleep, well enough to tease Hugh a little.

“Don’t let me keep you up if you’re going to bed. The sofa’s just fine. Though I have to ask… do you invite all the dancers back to your flat or just the really charming ones?” There was no doubt in his mind that any chance he might have had was ruined now Hugh had seen him like this, but it was his nature to at least give it a try. He finished the statement with another ticklish sneeze and a wry smile.

“Hey!” Hugh said playfully. “I told you it was my first week on the job. What kind of guy do you take me for?”

He was certain this was flirting. What he wasn’t sure about was whether Frank was one of those cads who flirted with anything with legs, or if this was genuine. Frank certainly seemed genuine enough, so Hugh pushed his luck a little.

“I promise you,” he said with mock seriousness. “I only ever invite handsome, charming ones back but they’ve been awfully hard to find. I had to find one with broken heating as an excuse to get him to come over. Can you believe that?”

“Times are certainly hard, when this is best the theatre has to offer.” Frank agreed with equal sincerity, gesturing to himself with vague emphasis on his nose and throat.

He came and sat on the arm of Hugh’s chair, then asked, “Oh, are you hurt? You sit with your leg funny.” Almost immediately he realised how that sounded and his cheeks flushed.

“Err, it’s an old injury,” Hugh said, glancing down at his knee. “From the war.”

He felt a strange reluctance to admit it. There were many men who came back injured in much more serious and life-altering ways. A bit of an ache was nothing, really.

“At least I know I’ll never be a dancer,” he said with an awkward laugh.

Frank was sitting so close now and Hugh shifted in the chair, unsure of what to do with himself. He glanced up at Frank’s flushed face and they exchanged a small smile. Hugh bit his lip, gathering his courage, and slipped a hand casually onto Frank’s thigh.

“I’ll leave the dancing to you,” he said.

Frank brought his own hand to meet Hugh’s and intertwined their fingers.

“We’ll see about that.” He murmured.

There was a long moment. Frank played his thumb over the tendons in Hugh’s hands, enjoying the lean strength. He almost held his breath, savouring the moment and the possibility. Unfortunately all the pleasant company in the world couldn’t stop his nose from running. He cursed inwardly as he felt the need to sneeze again, and rubbed a knuckle hard under his nose to try and stave it off. That was easier to suppress than the enormous yawn that followed.

“Excuse me, I’m just a bit tired. Not of you.”

“It’s late,” said Hugh softly. “You should get some more rest.”

He squeezed Frank’s thigh gently and stood up, stretching out his long limbs.

“Be right back,” he said, heading for the hall closet near the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a quilt and a proper bed pillow.

“These might be a little better than the throw blanket,” he said, offering them up. “Sorry, I should’ve mentioned them before.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.” Frank said sincerely. The moment Hugh’s hand had left him, the chilled, shivery feeling had returned and he was more than happy to lie down on the sofa under the quilt. He rubbed his legs together for warmth and watched Hugh undress for bed through a half-open eye. He himself slept in his undershirt, a thick shirt and a jumper, and was very glad of all of them. Lying down was not so kind to his nose. He felt congestion throb across his sinuses and forehead, forcing him into a set of sudden sneezes that made his throat ache.

“hWRSHuh! Hi-hWRSHue!”

He honestly felt bad for his friend having to listen to him all night. And yet, despite it all, he fell into a heavy sleep.

Hugh looked up from buttoning his pyjama top to see Frank’s shape shaking under the quilt on the couch as he sneezed. By the time he had gone to brush his teeth and came back to turn down his sheets, it sounded as if Frank had fallen asleep. There was a soft, rhythmic wheeze coming from under the quilts. Hugh went to the kitchen and poured a tall glass of water, sneaking back into the living room to leave it on the coffee table in case Frank woke in the night.

Then, with a yawn, he went into his room, leaving the door open a crack, and climbed into bed.

Only a few hours later he was awoken by a loud thump, a crash and stream of swear words followed by a worryingly long bout of coughing.

In the living room Frank sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa, trying to get a clear breath so he could focus on what havoc he had caused. His head was spinning. It took him a long minute to work out where he was, and the time in between made his heart race with anxiety. He’d woken up on the floor with a shock. Standing up dizzily he’d managed to knock something over- a glass?- and now the floor and his sock were wet, he was covered in sweat, it was still too dark to see properly and what was Hugh going to say? He really meant to get up and start cleaning but he couldn’t think where to start. Maybe he’d wait for the dizziness and hot clammy feeling to pass. Honestly he felt like he wanted to cry.

Hugh woke with a start, confused by the sudden clatter in the living room. His heart hammered in his chest from the rush of adrenaline and he sat up, searching the darkness for the source of the noise. He reached for the bedside lamp, switching it on. His brain fog cleared and he recognized the sound that was happening now: a terrible cough.

Swinging his legs out of bed, he rushed to the living room and fumbled on the wall for the light switch. In the dim glow of the inefficient floor lamp, he saw Frank bent over on the sofa looking absolutely dreadful. The glass he’d left on the table was a cracked and broken mess on the floor along with a pool of water but he didn’t give it a second thought when faced with the state of the man sitting nearby.

He hurried down the hall to the kitchen and filled a new glass with water, bringing it back to the living room and stepping gingerly around the glass shards on the floor. He sat down beside Frank on the sofa and held out the glass of water.

“Here,” he said gently, putting a comforting hand on the man’s back.

Frank gulped the glass of water in one go and then leaned into the touch, resting his weight against Hugh’s supporting arm. Hugh could feel his quick breaths and the kick of his ribs as the occasional cough interrupted his words.

“I’m so sorry- I woke you up- I fell out of bed then I broke- I’ll clean it in a minute.”  The low light played on his dark eyes, making them huge in his face, making him look surprisingly young. He managed a half laugh at himself. “I- I’m not doing very well.”

“Hey, hey,” Hugh said, rubbing a small circle on Frank’s back. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

He finally got a good look at Frank’s face and he frowned. His cheeks were flushed a bright pink against an otherwise pale and sweaty face. With his other hand, he reached out and gently laid it on Frank’s brow.

“Oh, Frank,” he said, feeling the heat radiating from the skin. “You’re burning up.”

He pushed Frank’s thick hair back off his forehead and the mix of sweat and old pomade made it stick up in an endearingly boyish way.

“It’s fine. I just need to sleep it off.” Frank murmured. “Do you have some aspirin or something?”

That said he made no move to pull away from Hugh.  It was surprising how comfortable he felt with a man he had met only yesterday. Even as he spoke his eyes were fluttering closed again. His head lolled against the man’s shoulder but he shook himself awake, truly intending to get up and clean the glass. In a moment. Or two.

“Yeah, in the medicine cabinet. You alright for a second?”

He carefully guided Frank’s head back against the couch and tucked the quilt over his legs.

“Be right back.”

He took the unbroken water glass and went to the bathroom. Finding the aspirin bottle and the glass thermometer in its case, he took both with him along with the refilled glass of water.

“Alright, he were are,” he said, returning to Frank’s side and putting the pills and water on the table. “First things first; let’s see what we’re up against.”

He slid the thermometer out of its case and passed it to Frank to put under his tongue.

“Hold that there for a second. I’m going to get the broom and clean up this glass.”

The other man sat obediently still, only his eyes following Hugh’s movements as the mess was swept away. Congestion made it hard for him to breathe and he had to concentrate hard on keeping it in there. Strange. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had his temperature checked this way, not since he was old enough to remember. He was determined to be a good patient but it was difficult when his nose was trickling and he desperately wanted to cough.

After what seemed a reasonable amount of time he took it out and had a look, squinting through the glass at the mercury, then passed it to Hugh with a helpless shrug.  “Is that okay?”

Hugh looked at the thin red stripe and gave Frank a good humoured smile.

“Well, the thermometer and I agree: you’re hot.”

He laughed softly at his own joke and then caught himself and blushed. He sat down next to Frank again, putting the thermometer back in its case and screwing open the aspirin bottle.

“Here we are,” he said, dosing out two tablets and holding them out.

“So I’ve- snff-heard. He was too out of it to make a good response, especially with his nose running. He held the back of his hand against it as he rifled through the sheets for the handkerchief. “S-scuse me- snf-Snff”He gave his nose a fierce scrub with the heel of his thumb. “Ugh. Sorry. It’s really itchy…” The fever made him a little weak and distracted. It was hard to think of taking the aspirin, finding the hankie and chatting with Hugh at the same time.

“It’s here,” Hugh said, reaching down to the end of the couch where the handkerchief was lodged between two cushions. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t have anything else to make it better beyond aspirin and the old ‘head over a steam bowl’ trick. But somehow that doesn’t seem like a good idea with a fever.”

He looked affectionately at the struggling man and then clapped a hand lightly on his back.

“I have an idea though. Take the pills. I’ll be right back.”

He went back to the washroom and soaked a flannel in cool water, wringing it out until it was just damp and bringing it back to the living room.

“This might help a bit,” he offered.

Frank looked up with a distracted, ticklish expression. “Hang on…I-hWRSHuh!”A quick, stuffy sounding sneeze followed quickly by two more in quick succession. The motion made him dizzy again and he leaned on the arm of the sofa until his head cleared enough to take the cloth.

“Good idea. Thanks. Look, you should go back to bed. I can look after myself.”

He tucked his legs back up onto the sofa and lay down again, trying to settle the cloth on his forehead. He didn’t particularly want to be left alone in an unfamiliar house, but his host was starting to look tired too and he didn’t want to become a burden.

“Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” Hugh asked. He was sure that Frank would refuse it, but he felt bad leaving a guest, especially a sick guest, to sleep on the lumpy couch.

“Let me help,” he offered as Frank reclined. He adjusted the cloth on Frank’s brow, tucking it under his fringe. The man’s face looked exhausted and a little frightened, and Hugh couldn’t help but pause to run his fingers through Frank’s hair.

Frank closed his eyes to the touch and when he opened them they his gaze was soft and unfocused. “You can keep doing that if you want. I won’t get bored.”

Hugh laughed and smoothed back the hair a few more times.

“Alright, get some rest,” he said quietly as Frank dozed off. He crept quietly back to his room and climbed into bed. The next thing he knew, he was blinking in the morning sunlight. In all the excitement of the previous night, he’d neglected to shut his curtains.

He yawned and stretched and snuck out of bed, past the still-sleeping Frank in the living room and he made himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.

By the time Hugh returned, the man of the sofa had stirred himself and even gone so far as to sit up, though he looked pretty groggy.  Frank was trying to settle his hair back into shape, a sure sign that he was doing better. More or less.

“Morning.”

It came out as a husky rasp much lower than his usual tone. “Ugh. Crikey!”  He was too congested to pronounce all the consonants, making the effect more endearing and less sexy than he had hoped.

Speaking irritated his throat and nose, and he gave Hugh an apologetic ‘hold on’ gesture as he bucked his head into his shoulder in a set of tight, stuffy sneezes.

“ah-tsgh!Tsgh!--tghSch!”

“Well, that answers my morning question,” Hugh said. “I’ll go pour you a cup. Kettle’s still hot.”

He returned a moment later with a second mug of tea and sat down next to Frank on the couch.

“Morning,” he said with a shy smile. “Feeling any better at all?”

He extended a hand tentatively and let the back of it brush Frank’s brow.

“Fever’s gone. That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Frank moved a little closer to take the tea. Their legs were touching on the couch and he didn’t mind that at all. When his host didn’t move away, he leaned into Hugh’s side, resting his head against the back of the sofa.

“I’m ok, I think. Just -snf-full of cold. Thanks for having me…” he tailed off as memories of the previous night surfaced. “Bet you didn’t think I’d be this much hard work. Definitely beat spending it alone with the heat off, though. It’s… really nice of you to take care of me like that. You’re good at it.” He coughed, a little embarrassed but managed to look Hugh directly in the eye.

Hugh gave a little smile back and chewed on his lip nervously.

“Well, I didn’t mind. It was nice, in spite of you being sick.”

He nudged his leg playfully against Frank’s.

“Good thing there’s no show tonight. Gives you a bit of time to get better.”

“Thank God.” Frank agreed. “Hey… when I’ve beaten this thing, can I take you out for a drink?”

He went to say more but was interrupted by a sudden, ticklish sneeze that made him lean on Hugh’s thigh for support. Surfacing, he shook his head and laughed at himself. “Not because I owe you for having me,” he continued, “though obviously I do. What do you say?”

“I say ‘bless you’ first,” Hugh teased. “And yes, I’d like that very much.”

A coy grin spread across his face.

“You want to know what really stinks?” he asked. “When you’d really like to kiss a guy but you’re afraid to catch the flu.”

He squeezed Frank’s thigh in a teasing gesture.

“Let’s say you owe me that too.”

[ogygia]

What the fuck is the hexagram ritual?: a guide

By reader request, welcome to the sequel to my guide on ‘What the fuck is the LBRP?’, taking you from a five to a six (Thelemites will appreciate the numerology there). I answer a less-asked but still equally common question: what the fuck is the hexagram ritual?

Recalling that the pentagram is a star with five points, the hexagram is one step up from that, a star with six points (d’oh). In the classic Western paradigm, while the five points of the pentagram represent the elements (including Spirit), the points of the hexagram are typically understood to represent the seven classical planets—

Wait, how the hell do seven planets fit into six points?

—I’m getting there. The six points represent (in clockwise order from top, based on the Golden Dawn/Thelemic schema) Saturn, Jupiter, Venus, the Moon, Mercury, and Mars, while the Sun is represented by the centre of the hexagram.

Hence the hexagram and the pentagram generally work on two different levels: the elements making up the pentagram are right here, with us, in this material realm. The hexagram, representing the planets, are out there, floating in the great inky space that lies beyond.

In other words, the pentagram primarily represents our microcosm: the hexagram, the macrocosm.

Okay, who made that shit up?

Probably the Golden Dawn. Ish.

This assignation of the points isn’t arbitrary: the modern Hermetic Kabbalah assigns planets (including the modern ones, i.e. Uranus, Neptune and Pluto – yes, Pluto) or the Sun or the Moon to each of the Sephiroth, or spheres on the Tree of Life.

The Tree of Life?

It’s hard to explain Hermetic Kabbalah concisely and satisfactorily here, so I’d recommend a book such as Lon Milo DuQuette’s The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed ben Clifford. In essence, the Kabbalistic Tree of Life is a diagram that visually represents the ten spheres (the Sephiroth) that embody the process of how creation emanates from the original Source, i.e. God with a really big G. Imagine a light shining through ten different filters, the last of which crystallises it into the thing we perceive as Creation.

It’s probably easier to show you:

Do you see the hexagram in the middle of the Tree, centred around Tiphareth/the Sun? That’s exactly where the hexagram correspondences come from.

I thought you said ten spheres – why are there eleven? Also, Uranus is at the top point, not Saturn.

... because Daath (‘Knowledge’), the sphere to which Uranus is assigned, isn’t a ‘real’ sphere, so to speak. The theory is rather more than this primer can cover, but in short, Daath is more of an ‘illusory’ state that sits right on the gap between the spiritual consciousness attainable by humanity (culminating at Chesed) and the ‘pure’ Divinity that lies beyond the veil separating us from the source of all things. This is the gap known as the Abyss, and is a trap for any spiritual seeker. The next 'real' Sephirah after Daath is Binah, which in Thelemic cosmology is also the seat of Babalon, the Great Mother, who assists us safely beyond the Abyss. This is why Saturn takes the top point where Daath should be – it’s the culmination of the journey over the Abyss.

The Earth isn’t included in the correspondences, because the Earth is a given: we have our foot planted firmly in Malkuth, the realm of physical manifestation, of this tangible world around us. This is where the four classical elements live, and where we are. It is from here that we have a base from which to manipulate the six spheres above us, and being rooted here ensures that the higher influences in our lives are balanced, pleasant and stable.

So how does the hexagram ritual fit into all of this?

Easy-peasy: just as the LBRP is our key ritual to balancing and harmonising the influences of the four elements in our life, the hexagram ritual is our key to accessing the power of the macrocosmic forces of the planets. 

I’m not actually going to post the full ritual text here, as it would make clutter this post, but you can find it here, in Crowley’s Liber O. Note: Make full use of the illustrations included by Crowley.

Blimey, looks complicated.

... it’s a lot less complicated in practice. 

To break it down, the ritual opens and closes with a series of steps known as the Analysis of the Keyword, which is essentially an enacted analysis of the symbolic meanings of the word INRI (which, if you know your Christianity, was the abbreviation the Romans placed on the cross of Jesus, identifying him as Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum, ‘Jesus, the King of the Jews’). Thelemistas has a fantastic analysis which I won’t repeat here, but if you have any questions feel free to drop me a DM or an ask. But in short, the Analysis of the Keyword is a method of accessing and drawing down macrocosmic energy. It’s like making sure you’re the right shape of plug before you stick yourself into the power socket of the universe. Terrible analogy, but you get the point. It’s analogous to the Qabalistic Cross in the LBRP.

What’s with all the Egyptian stuff?

Blame the Golden Dawn again.

The Cliffs Notes version is that the Golden Dawn was deeply influenced by the major developments in the study of ancient Egypt – and fashion for Egyptian ~aesthetics~ – that exploded during the Victorian era. There was a strong association of Egyptian religion with the mysteries of life and death (for good reason, however), and so its pantheon and symbols became a language for expressing the mysteries that the Golden Dawn was obsessed with. 

Isis, Apophis and Osiris don’t just represent three deities – they are also symbolic of a process of deification and rebirth. Isis is the Mother that generates, Apophis the Serpent that destroys, and Osiris the King that is reborn. And of course, the initials spell I-A-O, a Gnostic god-name that appears everywhere in the Golden Dawn and in Thelema.

After the opening Analysis of the Keyword, you go to each of the four quarters and, as with the LBRP, draw hexagrams and vibrate ARARITA. 

AR— what?

ARARITA, the notariqon, i.e. acronym for Achad Rosh Achdotho Rosh Ichudo Temurato Achad, a Hebrew phrase sometimes translated ‘One is his beginning. One is his individuality. His permutation is one.’ The meaning and analysis of this phrase is beyond the scope of this post, but perhaps it would suffice to point out that the word has seven letters. Now, where did we just see that number?

Oh, I know! [answer redacted]

Yup. It all comes back to the [answer redacted].

Okay, great. But what’s with all the triangles? Some of these aren’t actually hexagrams ...

Technically they are; they’ve just been sort of ‘deconstructed’. I don’t myself know exactly why or how they’ve been taken apart the way they are (answers on a postcard, please), but as you can see the interlocking triangles of the hexagram have been rearranged to form four ‘variants’ that are each assigned to a different element. My theory is that, for example, the hexagram for Fire has two upward-pointing ones, which symbolises the upward-moving nature of the element. 

I thought we were done with the classical elements.

... I know, I lied. 

Well, I kind of didn’t. We are done with the classical elements, or rather, we’re done with the four elements as they exist in our regular mundane world. We’re looking at these elements as symbolic of more idealistic, transcendental realms – this is why they’re assigned to different cardinal directions from the LBRP. In the LRH, Fire is in the East, Earth to the South; Air is in the West, and Water is in the North (as opposed to the LBRP schematic, with Air=East, Fire=South, Water=West, Earth=North). This assignation is based on where the four fixed signs of the Zodiac are found: Leo (Fire), Taurus (Earth), Aquarius (Air) and Scorpio (Water).

It shouldn’t be a surprise now that we’re talking about the zodiac signs: we’re operating on a macrocosmic plane now, where the stars and the planets are.

One thing we should also point out: another possible reason why the two triangles are taken apart is because they technically are two separate symbols: an upward-pointing triangle and a downward-pointing one. In the traditional Golden Dawn association the former should be visualised in red, symbolising Fire, and the latter should be visualised in blue, symbolising Water.

Crowley, being the sort of person who wasn’t going to be tied down by such silly things as traditional correspondences, suggests in Chapter 69 (yes, I know: Crowley being Crowley, this isn’t actually an accident) of The Book of Lies that the magician swap these associations around, so that the upward-pointing triangle is blue and the other one red.

... the descending red triangle is that of Horus, a sign specially revealed by him personally, at the Equinox of the Gods. (It is the flame descending upon the altar, and licking up the burnt offering.) The blue triangle represents the aspiration, since blue is the colour of devotion, and the triangle ... is the symbol of directed force.

The fuck.

Do what thou wilt, mate.

Anyway, unlike the LBRP, there is then no invocation of archangels or anything after the quarters are called: we simply return to the Analysis of the Keyword, neatly closing up the ritual by going full circle (ha-ha). My theory is that because the LRH functions on a macrocosmic, and thus more conceptual level, there is no need to invoke figured beings to ‘ground’ or personify the work. 

Thanks, I’m cool with the symbolism now, sort of. But how do you use all this ... stuff?

My own understanding of how one employs the LRH draws on the work of Scott Michael Stenwick on the ‘operant field’. According to this technique the LBRP and invoking form of the LRH (or LIRH) are employed in tandem as a standard opening to ceremonial work. The LBRP clears and creates the vacuum within which magical work occurs, while the LIRH opens up a channel to ‘higher’ energy, rather like plugging yourself into a spiritual power-point. Put another way, the LBRP proclaims your decision to perform magic to the ‘lower’ realm, and demands that your work remains unsullied by it, while the LIRH then announces your intention to the ‘higher’ spheres of power and invites them to charge your work with pure energy.

The operant field technique is in my experience a powerful and effective method of initiating any ceremonial work, and is just good practice in general.

What about the banishing form of the hexagram ritual?

Most of the time I’ve used the banishing form of the LRH is when I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked up some planetary magic and/or an imbalance of planetary energies are causing trouble in my life, or in my magical work. I wouldn’t advise using it too much, if only because the level on which this ritual operates means that trivially employing the banishing form is rather like using a gun to kill a fly.

At the end of the day, it’s all about using the most appropriate tools for the most appropriate purpose. Hopefully this guide has given you some idea of what the hexagram ritual is appropriate for.

Just don’t use it to kill a fly. A swatter will do. 

[wildtige429]

Missing

@lynea-kureji

Taken a day after Toffee (possessing Ludo) destroyed the book and Glossaryck with it. 

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Why must this happen to us?

Mint has heard rumors and stories about Ludo having this mysterious wand with a half of the star of Star's wand. She even heard that Glossaryck had betrayed Star and join sides with Ludo.

Such rumors have irked her and Toshi's attention. Thinking back on the days after Toffee's death a week ago, her son was haunted by a spirit of his dead father. But as it turns out, it was an essence delivered by his father who, her son believes, is alive. Someplace they don't know where he is. Alive. Alone. Confused.

Why did she think of him being confused? Toffee is the most serious monster she has ever met.

All of a sudden, coming from a rat she had just caught for a snack, she was told that Ludo is somewhat....not himself. He spoke in a voice that is not his, his eyes green and glowing like he's been possessed and his new hand missing a finger. The little rodent once told her that instead of being called Ludo, he prefers to be called...

"Toffee, you really are alive," she muttered to herself as she released the rat as an act of mercy for good information, "Toshi was right."

What's worst that happened to her? 

Well, it all started few nights ago. It was cold outside one night and Toshi went into his mother's room to search for any jackets that fits him. When he finds the right one, he donned it on and was checking himself out in the full-length mirror.

It was a bright red jacket with maroon accents, fashionized with spiked shoulder pads. He wondered where his mom found this.

"This is cool," he grinned, checking it out.

He stopped when he saw the reflection of his mother at the doorway, petrified by shock and surprise with her mouth slightly agaped. Spinning around in startlement, he was about to remove the jacket when she spoke out.

"No, no, no, it's okay!!" She called out, marching up and rearranging the jacket till it was fully donned on him. Patting the cloth down at his front, she whispered, "This was your father's."

She can tell how surprised her son is that the jacket once belonged to his father. And it fit him very well even with it unbuttoned.

"You look just like him wearing that," she whispered, sorrowfully, pushing back a bang from his face, "I still kept it after he joined the army ranks as general."

She jumped a little when grey claws wrapped around her's, encasing them gently. She sensed him smiling and resting his forehead agaisnt her's.

"I won't let anything happen to it," he promised, "Just like how I won't lose this."

She knew he meant the red ribbon with the Japanese bell he wore around his right wrist. It was a present Toffee bought before Toshi was born, unsure if the child will be a boy or a girl. He thought it would be a girl, but turns out it was a boy. But who cares? It fits him well.

"Toshi.....," she began, pulling her hands out to hold his, "There's something I need to tell you. And you better listen to me carefully."

She began to tell him about Ludo finding a wand of his own using the other half of Star's wand, Glossaryck's betrayal and siding with him and finally, Ludo acting and becoming more like Toffee than himself, believing to be possessed by him. Toshi was bewildered by this immense information because he was right about his father being alive. 

"I'll go make tea so you can calm down," she insisted, leaving the bedroom with him sitting on the bed.

She had started making tea when she heard a thud from her bedroom. Curious and wary, she calls out for her son as she walked there. And that's when her horror overwhelmed her.

She found the window opened, allowing cold winds to blow into her room. And it was a clear sign of what happened.

Toshi had ran off to find his father. In Ludo's body.

And here she is, scouring the forest in hoping she would find where Ludo is living. And by finding Ludo, she would demand answers from her estranged husband on the wheareabouts of their son.

"It's a good thing I know his smell," she said, lifting her nose in the air to sniff the avian's scent. She pinpoints it and immediately ran towards the source, freeing herself from the clutches of the forest and into a barren landscape that leads to a mountain.

Panting and adjusting her coat, she continues up the mountain until she reached to what she believes is some kind of ramshackled fort of bones and debris.

A large eagle and a spider approached her, screeching and hissing. She let out a snarl/hiss as a warning and they took it seriously, whimpering back into the shadows.

"I know you're here, Toffee!" She called out in a serious voice, feeling like her second-in-command general self again, "The real Toffee would never hid and cowerike a coward!"

She noticed something in the fire,making her step closer to take a closer look. Her eyes widened when she recognized the burnt debris as the book of spells.

"You're truly are a killer, Toffee," she commented in total shock.

"Yes, if you say it that way....," she spun around immediately and was met with a small figure. As he steps out, Ludo looked so different after being missing for months. She can feel her scales prickle when she felt an ominous presence emitting from him.

Glaring into his glowing green eyes, she uttered, "Toshi was right about you being alive.....Toffee."

A grim smile crept on the possessed avian's beak, "Hello, Mint. It's been a long time."

"Twenty years," she corrected, "20 years after you left us, Toffee. You have no idea what we've been through after you left."

His grim smile grew grimer, "It has. And I see you raised our son well after I'm gone. Never thought you had it in you, Mint."

"Speaking of our son, why did you make him turn agaisnt me?" He demanded with narrowed eyes.

"Turn him agaisnt -? What are you talking about?" She demanded, confused of his demand, "YOU made him turn agaisnt you after you left us that day after you lost your finger to Queen Moon. And as far as I know my son, he is not like his father."

Toffee folded his arms, eyes still narrowed demandingly, "Oh! Care to explain to me why he dressed up like a blue knight ripoff and disrupting my plans before I took this simpleton's body?"

Mint grew more confused by his demands now, "Wait? Are you saying our son, OUR SON, Toshi, is The Wyvern?"

"Judging by your tone, you HAVE heard of him," the possessed avian hummed with a very sarcastic smirk, "Too bad our son has been keeping secrets from his own mother."

The half Lacertian thumped her tail in frustration, "You're lying. My son can't be The Wyvern! If he's really The Wyvern, then show me proof!"

Toffee lets his arms fall to his side, pinching the bridge between his eyes a bit, "Here's your proof. The Wyvern broke and fractured many bones of some of my soldiers using Muay Thai that I basically am familiar with, has a grudge agaisnt me and he happens to heal when I stabbed him in the back. Is that proof enough for you, Mint?"

The proof was so shocking and overwhelming it left her speechless. That explains why Toshi, Star and Marco are being so strange and her son returning home late and absent. She can clearly tell they were lying by their scent of nervousness produced by their sweat but she figured it has something to do with teenage stuff. Now that Toffee has revealed that her son is masked hero, The Wyvern, she just had to let out something.

"You probably know why I'm here," she growled, feeling her claws clenching with unfelt anger.

"I don't know, does it have something to do with me destroying the book of spells and having the other half of the wand?" He scoffed.

"More than that," she retorted, "Our son has ran away from home few days ago because I told him he was right about his dead father being alive in someplace we don't know because his supposed ghost was haunting us, you possessing the nitwit Ludo and the other half of Star's wand, you destroying the book with Glossaryck and you defeating the High Commission that made Queen Moon retreat like a coward. No offence to her."

"And...?" He hummed.

She couldn't take it. Without warning, she stomped forward and grabbed the posessed avian's chip bag tunic and brought him to her face. He was taken by surprise by her action and the furious expression on her face.

"Where is Toshi!?" She snarled.

"What are you-?!" He started to argue.

"Where is my SON, Toffee!?" She seriously roared, her fangs bared, "TELL ME WHERE HE IS NOW!!! IF YOU OR ANYONE HURT HIM, I WOULD TEAR THIS WHOLE PLACE APART AND TELL THE KINGDOM THAT YOU'RE -!!"

"I... DON'T.....KNOW!!!!" 

She gasped in startlement by his outburst, his hands gripping the collar of her coat during his outburst. He relaxes his grip and looks away with what she believes is shame. 

Fatherly shame.

"I don't know," he repeated, much calmer. Mint knew he was telling the truth. So, she released, not caring if she hurt Ludo being somewhere under her estranged husband's control, and took a step back.

"I always wanted our son to accept who his father is," she confess, sounding hurt, "And to forgive him one day. But seeing you in this state......I had to admit. Toshi was right about you."

With a turn of her heel, she walked away with a deep dissapointed frown on her face. Toffee was stunned by her confession, looking down at the hand that held the other half of the wand. 

"I wish you weren't my father," his son's haunting words echoed through his mind.

He wrapped his fingers around it, clenching it. He began to regret and remorse everything that his family had been through without him after the war 20 years ago. 

"Mint wait!!" But it was too late for she was gone out of sight. 

He groaned and sighed to himself in full frustration, annoyance and anger to himself. All he could do was sit there and wallow in his self shame.

"What have I done?"

(Epilogue)

Mint walked along a clear path through the forest, hoping she can find some abandoned place to settle in so she can sleep for the night. She stopped, mid-step, when she hears the engine sounds of a dragon cycle following behind her.

Cautiously, she looked back to see a very familiar-looking white and blue dragon cycle with a cybernetic appearance gazing up at her like a lost pet. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Kurogane on the saddle, paws on the horns in fact, meowing at her.

"Razor right? You're Toshi's dragon cycle?" She asked it. The beast chuffed and moaned, sounding similar to a tiger's, to answer her question. The tatzelwurm yowled at her too, adding another answer as well.

"Can you help me find him?" She reached out and stroke the dragon cycle's nose, making it purr. Razor grunted, meaning it's a yes, as Kurogane hopped onto it's head to give her a seat on the saddle.

"Good dragon cycle," she praised it, laying her forehead on it's forehead as a thank you gift. She lifted leg over to the other side and positioned herself correctly so she can be comfortable on it. With her hands gripping the horns, Razor launches off into the wilderness, carrying her to the location of her missing son.

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Well Toffee. This is what you get if you get on the wrong side of the mama bear. Or in reptilian term, mama crocodile.