#reflectivity and taking from and one upping one another is pretty common to the Russian folklore I’ve read

[ammg-old2]

A new sound wafts through the open windows at night in this town near the front line: children hollering at each other down the block, even long after dark.

The markets are full. Sales are surging at the local bike shop. Red tulips, planted by hand, are bursting open everywhere.

It is remarkable — “Unrecognizable,” one city official said — how different this small town in eastern Ukraine feels from a year ago. Last summer, Pokrovsk was a spooky landscape of boarded up houses and bushy yards. No one was around. Now it’s hard to take a few steps without passing someone on the sidewalk.

Nothing has changed outside Pokrovsk. The front line is still 30 miles away. Ukrainians are still dying in droves. One of the biggest armies in the world, that of the Russian Federation, is still bombing cities while they sleep and trying to take as much territory as it can, at a terrifying cost.

But what has changed — and it reflects something broader happening in small towns across this vast country — are people’s calculations. How much danger are they willing to accept? What is the best for them and their families? How should they accommodate the war on a daily basis? The answers to these questions seem different this year, and without consulting each other, many people have reached the same decision.

It is resilience, yes, but perhaps also something a little less shiny: resignation.

“The war is here. There is no safe place in Ukraine. So you might as well get on with it,” said Dr. Natalia Medvedieva, a family doctor who tried living in a safer place in western Ukraine with her son but came back here a few months later.

And home is home.

“It’s hard to describe what is so special about home,” said Pavel Rudiev, an engineer at Pokrovsk’s small train station. “It’s where everything is familiar, where you know people, where you have friends.”

When Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022, this principle didn’t hold. More than 13 million Ukrainians — a third of the country — fled from their homes. But as time went on, it became harder to stay away.

“I was running out of money,” said Iryna Ilina, a fitness instructor and beautician, sharing a common struggle of the displaced. She recently returned to Kramatorsk, another city not far from the front line where she owns an apartment. She was having trouble covering her rent in Pavlohrad, the safer city where she had been staying.

Many people said that when they were displaced, it was hard finding work. “And I need to work,” Dr. Medvedieva said. “I have my life.”

Since last summer, at a pretty steady rate, Ukrainians have been returning. More than 5.5 million have gone home, according to the International Organization for Migration, and not just to large cities like Kyiv, the capital, or Dnipro, but to small places as well, even those right behind the front line. While the exodus at the beginning of the war was dramatic and widely covered, the homecomings have been more gradual and haven’t generated nearly the same attention.

Of course there’s concern. Dr. Medvedieva keeps a bag packed with her documents, money and some clothes. Viktoriia Perederii, a veterinarian, who returned to Pokrovsk last year after trying to live in central Ukraine, said that many families bring her their pets to get clean health certificates for international travel in case they need to leave in a hurry.

“It’s difficult to evaluate the risks,” she said. “There is no safe place in Ukraine. Look at Uman,” she added, referring to the recent missile strike that killed 25 people in a city that, until that moment, many Ukrainians had considered perfectly safe.

At this time of year, Pokrovsk is basking in spring. White cherry blossom petals delicately flutter through the air and pile up along the curb in handsome drifts. The long side streets, lined by modest one-story homes with peaked roofs, smell of freshly turned earth. In the gardens out front, women in aprons and headscarves plant flowers — not something you do if you’re about to pack up and flee.

“Business is good,” said Larysa Titorenko, a seed vendor at Pokrovsk’s busy central market. Her racks of happily decorated packets were moving fast — marigolds, melons, radishes, carrots and about eight varieties of cucumber.

Then tears flashed in her eyes. Her daughter’s house had recently been destroyed in a frontline town not far away. “I’m OK, really,” she insisted, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

This duality is everywhere. People in war do something that most in the world don’t have to — they keep two big thoughts running in their heads at all times: live life as fully and richly as possible and, at the same time, plan for it to be turned upside down.

Since last summer, the Russians have sliced away at Bakhmut, pushed closer to Avdiivka and leveled Marinka — all towns about an hour’s drive away. The front line is inching closer. You constantly hear dull thuds, almost like doors closing.

But people carry on as if it’s a faraway thunderstorm. At a pond-side park near the town center, teenage girls make halos out of dandelions, as they have for eons, and TikTok dance videos.

Nearby, men pump iron at an immaculate outdoor gym with rows of high-quality weight machines, exercise bars and even padded arm-wrestling tables. With wide stances, they strut around, cheeks red, chests puffed out. If you Photoshopped out the occasional tank getting towed past on a car carrier, it might look like California.

Before the war, the population was about 50,000. It dipped to around 30,000 last spring, when so many people across the country fled west. Now it’s back up — to 57,000, actually, said Serhiy Dobriak, the head of Pokrovsk’s military administration. Beyond the residents who have returned, others from surrounding hot spots, Avdiivka or even Mariupol, have flocked in.

Before the war, Pokrovsk had big plans. A billboard rising from a muddy intersection shows a schematic drawing of new office towers and lots of lights. “But we got to be realistic,” Mr. Dobriak said. “We will most likely be a militarized zone.”

No one here expects the war to end soon. “Years” is the reigning prediction. Some worry that the acceptance of it, this notion that life should go on regardless of it, means there will be less pressure to end it.

A military convoy chugged past an intersection, leaving behind a wake of diesel haze. Not far behind, a boy pedaled furiously on his bike, determined to catch up to his friends.

It was evening, warm, and the air was crisp, feeling wonderful on exposed skin. It is such a magnificent time of year that no one wanted to go inside, even with curfew approaching.

[totentnz]

V, #14 😈

Dark OC Asks

14. What is your OC's "villain song"?

now there is at least two answers for this, i have many many thoughts on the topics and i hope i can get em all out lmao

IM BETTER

i LOVE a good joker arc, some defining moment in a characters life that just breaks or changes them in some way, this doesn't fully happen for v but she stands on the precipice plenty of times.

namely the vdb debacle and when she gains control of the blackwall via songbird. (there might be more but it's been a minute since i properly played)

now what do these two instances have in common? netrunning/ hacking. this song (and others like it) always get me thinking about v getting lost in the power she holds with her quickhacks.

a cyberdeck wasn't even her first choice, she wanted berserk in combination with gorilla arms but viktor refuses to install them for her. she could go to a different ripper to get them obviously but he's the only doc she trusts and who won't rat her out to the authorities for having cracked soft. (this explanation is a bit underbaked i will admit) she also knows he's lowkey right, she cannot be trusted with that kind of chrome.

now one could argue that being able to kill people via command does more damage than a pissed off ape but maybe she can control herself better than vik gives her credit for. or maybe he's not too familiar with netrunning/ hacking.

there is also the aspect of v knowing exactly what happens when she uses a hack, she wrote the code herself. (i'm not saying she invented them but they are her own versions, either written from scratch or modified some way)

my favourite example for this is the suicide quickhack: v takes control of the target for a few moments, she has to raise the gun, she has to pull the trigger, she has to leave the person's consciousness before they die but not too early or they will flinch away at the last moment. she doesn't die if she stays too long but the repercussions can be dire anyway: she passes out, there is psychological damage etc. if the target is right and she executes it well it can be pretty fun though, sort of like playing russian roulette but without dying.

but to get back on topic: i LOVE the mental image of her just standing in the middle of a bunch of enemies, activating overclock to wreak havoc on them AND herself.

i also enjoy copy-paste - she makes herself an easy target for another runner just to pull this out of her sleeve and fuck them over so much more, she simply IS better.

this mindset is also reflected in her aversion to chrome, she doesn't need it or rather she doesn't want it. she is better than them, she is built different. now that is simply not true, she can tell herself that lie as often as she likes but she needs cyberware to keep up. (i actually have a background story for this, maybe i will even write it one day)

so she slowly begins to betray herself: she replaces her glass eye with kiroshis, she installs extra ram, she gets the reinforced tendons. these changes come slowly and her body is still mostly ganic by the end of the game but in quiet moments she hates herself for caving in and for enjoying it.

ultimately: power corrupts, nobody is immune to that.

EAT THE CHILDREN

any otep song tbh, since it's the band i chose to use for rotten (her band) and v turns into the worst version of herself when she's on stage. it's one of the reasons she decided to end the band in the first place, though everyone involved just thinks she was being asshole (they ain't wrong)

her whole band era was a double edged sword, on one hand she finally had a voice and was adored by some but at the same time she had never been more miserable. their songs are filled with her traumas and that puts her back into a powerless position, add the adrenaline of being on stage and you get a truly volatile concoction.

[mo-old]

Hi. This is my first experience in describing a "species" and translating such a large amount of text into another language. The original language is Russian, so some errors may slip past my eyes. Thank you for your understanding!

-◉Tanlection◉-

Or "Reflexion with the shadow monster."

Tanlencia is a phenomenon. It's pretty hard to call a species such disparate and imprecise creatures, despite one beginning: Tanle - Base, shadow, you can call it many different things, but the essence is the same: It is a translucent black creature, light and barely perceptible. It balances between reality and nothingness, risking to disappear at any second. It is extremely fragile, even though it has no body in the classical sense.

Tanl is curious by its "nature". It takes a special interest in living creatures, whether dog or human, in those who can show emotion.

They become attached very quickly, but keep at a distance, distorted shadows flickering between grass and leaves, eventually acquiring the shape and habits of the object of observation.

This behavior scares away many people and even makes them express aggression to the uninvited guest. Therefore, before its "adolescent form", the shadow will usually see many, many creatures that will reflect back over time.

Behaviors and preferences

Tanl are initially neutral and driven only by curiosity. Rest assured, distinguishing traits they have adopted from past "acquaintances";

The subject of the observation is not physically harmed. The Tanl also goes away if the subject becomes very frightened or begins to feel only negative emotions due to the observation;

They don't need water or food, many shadows don't even sleep, chasing birds and running for miles due to their inter-reality.

They have no gender, and the secret of their birth is still unsolved;

They feel no pain or discomfort from contrasting temperatures, but the physical effects are more than effective;

It is quite fair to call them energy parasites, despite the actual harmlessness of their presence. As we know, there are always exceptions.

Over time, all the experiences that stretch in a plume behind Tanl manifest on his body, literally. This has no definite cycle, season or number of souls met. The fake eyes will appear sooner or later and will be the beginning of future changes. The point that holds Tanlex in this world. As if to spite the world, out of nothing, Tanlex begins to grow fur, feathers, horns, chitin….

The black silhouette is mostly unchanged, except for the paws, muzzle, and possible rudimentary limbs. The nature of the growth, though it adheres to some canons, depends mostly on the creature's lifestyle and the likely connections it has been able to set up.

There are only a few "rules"

No artificial materials or plants/crystals grow on the shadow's pelt. However, it is very common for the shape of the feathers to resemble foliage and the horns to resemble branches. There are also instances of moldy hides, but it is fair to call this an infestation rather than natural growth;

Very common: horns, wool, feathers;

Less so: bones, scales, chitin, skin, rudimentary limbs.

Tanlex have no magic, meaning no living flames, levitating parts can be had. Also, partially lose their ability to hide in the shadows, but their footsteps remain silent, and their presence or direct gaze is intangible. They are very easy to lose sight of;

T͟hey wil̴l ne͘ve̶r̀ ̨b̵e̛come ̢h͘u͜m҉a̵n̵.

Extra

Tables* are able to eat and drink, but this remains optional;

They become tougher, and all cuts and holes either heal or are covered by growths;

They have no flesh, so an empty pelt remains after they disappear;

Tanlex are friendly to their own kind, regardless of the subjects they choose to copy;

They have no odor of their own and do not cause allergies. But the "pelt" is easily recruited by the scent of the forest or the subject of observation if they become friends.

Tanlencia is a phenomenon.

You may think of them as a parasite, an intruder, a distorted reflection, or something else. It can be the physical embodiment of a diseased mind, or a "normal" animal glimpsed between the grass.

The ultimate form is said to be available only to the Solo class, but no one has ever gotten to it. Probably because of the brevity of human life, as Solo stays with his human until the end. P.S.

This was something unusual and at the same time familiar and beloved to me. I literally mixed everything I like into a black mishmash and ineptly molded life out of it, with a glimpse of the author-character theme and probably life experience that stays in my mind forever. I also like how the cute stuff here is acceptable on par with the drab and likely horror. I didn't illustrate anything overtly scary or make the boundaries too narrow, giving a decent amount of freedom for imagination but setting the point with goofy eyes. You can create your own Tanlex if you want to. You can make something based on that idea, removing the fake eyes and turning it into something else… Probably achieving the ultimate form.

[tensecondstomidnight]

on to Show and Tell! back to an OG 4-pager with this one!

i bet this is the chapter that originally introduced lucy’s deaf ear! i mean, they haven’t really brought it up since the prologue chapter, i think.

CHILL MAN

we’ve got some great faces in this one. the eyes in the early pages are so appealing to me, we’ve got the dot eyes and the “kirby eyes” (pictured above) and then we get that sorta fusion of them that kinda looks like the eyes i draw!

see, like that. also what’s this about girly romance movies? BRING THAT BACK!!! that would be such a cute reference omgggg

anyways yeah, the bit of this chapter is genetics and the different species of the cats! lucy’s deaf ear is attributed to her being a blue-eyed white khao manee, which reflects real life! lucky that she didn’t lose it in both of them. they do a cute bit where yashy thinks her own blue eyes will turn her deaf. i really miss jokes like that, the pets are so cute...

RELAX

anyways mike’s a korat (makes a point of being like “surprised im not a russian blue?” which after looking at them im kinda surprised too!) and daisy comments that she thought mike was a british blue shorthair because he’s “so intellectual.” first of all, he’s totally not a british shorthair and daisy is stupid, but more importantly, what an interesting lore bit this is! everybody is so knowledgeable about cat breeds (makes sense! they’re cats!) but they also have preconceived biases about people of those breeds, likely based on common traits those breeds share in the real world. if you wanna overthink it a bit, daisy just racially profiled mike! looks like yashy is taking the second-place for racism this time around.

daisy is half selkirk rex and half ragamuffin. looking at pictures of those cats, it seems like she represents her breed best when she’s been out in the rain for a bit! she must put a lot of work into those curls.

check out this sequence at the end of page 3. this is soooo cute! lucy getting so visibly envious of someone else getting attention from mike feels like a rarity...

paulo shows up to boast about his breed too! the more they compare their genetics, the weirder it feels. but in a goofy way, because it’s all obviously so lighthearted! paulo is a somali, and the way his breed looks in real life reminds me of a warrior cats character. he mentions his dad is “kinda lion-ish,” can’t wait to see that guy. i headcanon him as sounding like bob from bob’s burgers.

this is another really cute sequence. i like seeing mike and lucy just be friends. sooo cute... and LOOK AT DAISY!! THE SPELL CANNOT BE BROKEN!! PAULO IS TOO COOL!! i’m huge on paulo x daisy so i’m probably gonna gush like that whenever i see them together, haha

the following panels are also such a fun microcosm of what paulo and lucy are. it’s like, the easiest way to explain their dynamic to someone. so perfect!

anyways, yashy claims to be a golden retriever (obviously unintentional but it reminds me of all those “attack helicopter” jokes from like 2016) and david shows up asking to hook up with the supposed golden retriever, only to see yashy and blanch, somehow avoiding getting called the p-word. i wonder why mike gets singled out so much? poor guy.

in the final panel, we get a really funny david drawing and they toss in sue and amaya’s breeds for us to gobble up like the LEECHES we are. obviously, sue is a european burmese, but she’s missing some of the markings you might expect from a cat like her. amaya is a super obvious tabby though, she’s right.

i figured i wouldn’t have much to say about this chapter, since it’s pretty one-note. i’m fine with putting it all in one big post! NEXT TIME: Gone Fishing!

[wormholy]

Fgo fanservant I’ve been playing around w for a while now. I could go into like a 10 page rant like I have a long explanation for him, keeping in mind fgo is rarely straightforward. But I’ll try to keep it brief

This is Basically a weapons projecting berserker crossed with a support caster, misplaced in the saber class due to it being the bond which ties the 2 as “brothers,” but is capable of self applying the berserker class with one of his skills. He represents mostly “The sword forged by svyatogor.” Sword here expanded to mean any weapon he creates, which here comes from deconstructing his own body. The bigger party is a combination of rusted machine (father) and nature goddess (mother) Having transcended both flesh and machine, but mostly stays in heaven where he was banished both before and after he fell into eternal sleep. the smaller party is a possessed homunculus who was sacrificed when he turned 32, at which point his body was beginning to decompose and the experiment was deemed a failure. He was initially supposed to register to the grail as as Ilya muromets, instead forming this composite because he “hadn’t earned it” by Svyatogor’s standards because he did not come to him willingly, but instead needed to be rescued, this joining of the saint graphs patching his body to match Svyatogor’s “ideal,”. Thus he’s closer to a halfway between Svyatogor’s “wife” and “brother,” or even the son/daughter of Ilya muromets, the point at which one is sacrificed or saved by choice of the narrative, even though they are presented as equals. he is preoccupied with becoming equal to others or beating down other strong people so they become equal to the weak, or taking that which is weak and ordinary and making it shine like it is holy, all the while constantly yearning for its destruction. Even after he earns the name Ilya he prefers you call him Svy, or “fool,” as in, a holy fool who endures suffering, rather than understanding him as what he’s supposed to be, because the original was too precious to him to ever be replaced. Personality wise the big one is a bemused sadist who finds everything horrible that happens entertaining, the smaller party is earnestly dedicated, loyal, honest, perpetually poker-faced and near mechanical fighter, no matter how absurd what he says or does might appear. Because of Svyatogor’s influence is the primary function, he’s a dangerous unit to play with, strong but all his skills potentially cause damage to himself and others on his team.

[sir-subpar]

Where have you been? (Part 2)

*Warning: Blood/Gore*

Five weeks. That's how long Boyfriend had been missing. Five weeks with still no sign of the blue-haired man, it was starting to drive Pico mad. The longer this went on, the harder it was for Pico to think positively. He was starting to struggle with sleep, sometimes going days without so much as a wink of rest. His fiery orange hair was messy from him constantly running his fingers through it. It was hard to relax when someone you care about was unaccounted for. Whitty and Hex were still helping out, which Pico appreciated, but it did little to ease his fears. The three of them met up and searched for Boyfriend as often as they could.

It was late in the afternoon, another day going by with no luck finding Boyfriend. The trio had resorted to putting up missing posters for Bf, splitting up to scatter them around town. It did little to help, especially when random vandals would tear them down or draw all over them. Every time Pico saw one of the posters being ruined it pissed Pico off to no end. He didn't think it was possible to want to strangle a graffiti artist as much as he did. By some miracle of willpower he refrained from doing so (that, and he didn't know who was doing it). Pico sighed angrily as he hung another poster, his thumb turning white as he pushed the tacks into a wooden pole. His gaze lingered on the poster. In the picture, Bf was smiling. He looked so happy.. Pico felt his chest tighten around his heart. It felt hard to breathe, but not impossible. He clutched the front of his vest, fidgeting with the teeth of the zipper. Pico could only imagine what Boyfriend was going through, and his imagination was not kind. As much as he tried to ignore the worst possibilities, he struggled to stay positive. 

What if Boyfriend was dead? 

He hated the idea. He didn't want to think about it. Surely he was alive. He had to be somewhere! Anywhere! He couldn't be dead! Pico tried to ground himself by thinking of other possibilities. Maybe Bf was just hiding from everyone because he didn't want Gf and her family to know where he was. Pico grit his teeth as more anger suddenly rose from his core. Girlfriend… he was honestly starting to resent her. Sure, most people don't want to see their ex after a breakup. Pico understood that, sure, whatever. But when someone goes missing, it's good to help find them. Especially when you're the last one to have seen them…

Pico was suddenly brought back to reality when he heard his phone buzzing in his pocket. Whitty was calling. The two exchanged phone numbers after they went to that diner weeks ago. Pico tapped the green icon to answer, and brought the phone to his ear. "Hey Whitty. What's up?" Pico asked, his anger faded a bit, now being distracted with the sound of Whitty's voice. "I just wanted to let you know that Hex can't help us for a few days. He's got some computer virus that's apparently been a bitch to remove." Whitty sounded agitated. Pico figured he was probably worried about his best friend. "Is he gonna be ok?" Pico asked, he was already missing one person, he didn't want to lose another. "Yeah, some tech guy's helping him out. He should be fine soon..." Whitty paused. "Hey, do you want to meet up? I'm out of posters to hang." Whitty's tone changed a bit, Pico couldn't quite figure out why, but he brushed it off. It didn't matter anyway. "Yeah, I'll pick you up. Where are you?"

…

Pico drove in silence as Whitty sat in the passenger seat. He felt a little bad for the bomb man as even with the seat pushed all the way back, he barely fit in the car. Pico's car just wasn't designed with people over 8ft tall in mind. Whitty had the chair leaned back so he wouldn't hit his head on the ceiling, his knees were bent just so he could fit in the car. Whitty's hands were in his pockets, despite the lack of space in the car, he seemed like he was relaxing a bit. 

"Hey Pico." Whitty broke the silence. Pico let out a hum, signaling he was listening. "I had this random idea for the next place we should check."  "Hmm?" Was Pico's only reply. He was tired, but he wasn't gonna quit for the day just yet. "You know that bridge close to the freeway? The one over the ditch?" Pico had to think for a moment before he caught on. "You think he might be hiding out in the ditch?" Pico asked, a little glimmer of hope making itself known. Whitty shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno. It's a common place to hide." Pico turned on his blinker, he had to drive to the opposite side of town to get there but at this rate it wasn't a big deal. If there was even a chance of Boyfriend being there, he had to take it. He had to make sure Bf was safe. 

…

After Pico parked the car, he and Whitty climbed down into the dry ditch. It was now night, the darkness making it hard to see anything. Except Whitty's eyes, that is. In the complete darkness, Pico noticed Whitty's orange eyes were glowing. He could partially see the tall man's body as the warm light from his eyes reflected off of him. Pico found it fascinating. It was oddly comforting, like a fireplace. Pico found himself getting lost in them.

 "... Pico?" Whitty's voice interrupted Pico's stupor. Turns out the inside of Whitty's mouth glowed too. "Huh? What?" Pico asked, a little lost thanks to his little daydream. "Are you alright? You seemed out of it." Whitty asked, shifting awkwardly as he stood. Pico felt uneasy, did Whitty see something in the dark that he hasn't noticed yet? Were they alone? Pico quickly shoved his hand in his pocket and whipped out his flashlight. As soon as he turned it on, and the light flooded the ditch, he realized no one else was near them (at least no one was close enough to see). So why was Whitty uncomfortable? Like someone was staring at him? 

Wait… 

Pico had almost physically face-palmed. He was staring at Whitty. He just stood there in silence and stared at this dude's face in the darkness. From Whitty's point of view, that probably came off as creepy. Now he felt a bit guilty for being so weird. Damn it, he had to say something to break this weird silence! But what? Should he apologize? Or just brush it off so they don't have to talk about it? 'Damn it Pico, say something! Anything!' He mentally chastised himself. Just when he was about to blurt out what probably would have been nonsense, Whitty piped up. "Did my eyes creep you out?" Whitty asked, sounding disheartened. Pico suddenly panicked, speaking before his brain could filter it. "What- No! No. Not at all. Your eyes are cool! Like a jack o lantern or something. They're neat! They like.." Pico cleared his throat to compose himself again. He had to give a rational response. "I think your eyes are fascinating. I didn't mean to offend you, I just got distracted. I'm sorry." Pico's face turned a light shade of pink out of embarrassment. He hoped his disjointed response would somehow make the situation less awkward. Whitty's eyes widened, and his cheeks glowed a bit as his expression shifted from surprised to bashful. He started rubbing the back of his head, a nervous habit, Pico assumed. "I… thanks. I've had people say my eyes remind them of Jack O lanterns before, but I think this is only the second time someone's used it as a compliment. Bf was the first." Whitty confessed, his tone sounding fond. Pico smiled a bit, of course B would say something like that. Pico snapped out of his trail of thought before he got more distracted with reminiscing. "Speaking of… we should get back to looking for him." Pico stated, bring their focus back to the task at hand. Whitty nodded. The two chose to walk throughout the ditch, hopefully they'd eventually find a sign of Boyfriend under these bridges. 

Each step they took echoed off of the cement around them. It was a little eerie. Pico was glad that he wasn't alone, Whitty seemed like he could hold his ground. It was comforting. After a few minutes, they came across a blanket laid out next to a few plastic water bottles. They couldn't necessarily say they belonged to Boyfriend, but it felt like they were on the right track at least. They continued their walk, hoping to find more signs of Bf. A few more mostly uneventful minutes went by, then they saw someone not too far ahead of them. Pico lowered his light a bit so it wasn't shining in their eyes, but he could still see them pretty clearly. They were leaning their back against the wall of the ditch with their arms crossed. They had what appeared to be a goat skull for a head with long horns er.. Horn. Pico noticed that one of their horns had clearly been broken off. Their face had multiple large cracks all over it. He wore a dark blue hoodie that matched his hat. His jeans were either a darker shade of blue or black, Pico couldn't quite tell. The skull-faced stranger had turned their head to look at Pico and Whitty, clearly having noticed Pico's flashlight. His black eye sockets with glowing yellow pupils staring them down. Pico admittedly got a shady vibe from him, but he was accustomed to shady people due to his type of work. He decided to approach the man, but not get too close, he just needed to know if he had seen Boyfriend. "Hey. Mind we ask you something?" Pico called, hoping the stranger would cooperate. "What do you want?" The horned stranger rudely snapped in a clear Russian accent, he was clearly agitated. Pico wasn't that fazed by the man's rudeness, again, he was used to that kind of behavior (not to mention he wasn't all that polite or well mannered himself). "We just have some questions. We're looking for a friend of ours, maybe you've seen him around." The man appeared to relax a bit after hearing that. His expression was less aggressive. "What does your friend look like?" He asked, his tone a bit less harsh than before. Pico pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his gallery until he found a picture of him and Boyfriend. He turned the phone around to face the man. As soon as he saw the photo, his eye sockets widened, and he tilted his head back a bit in surprise. "Boyfriend?" The man questioned.

Now it was Whitty and Pico's turn to be surprised. "You know him?" Whitty asked, bewildered at the man's recognition of Bf. "Yes, we are… acquainted. I see him a lot lately." That, admittedly, made Pico angrier than it probably should have. This guy knew where Bf was while no one else did. B had trusted this guy instead of Pico? Or Whitty? Pico once again asked himself the question that plagued his mind for weeks. 'Why didn't he come to me?' Pico tightened his grip on his flashlight. He should be glad. They finally had a potential lead. Pico forced the irrationality down for what felt like the 100th time that day. "Do you know where he is?" 'Please. Tell me you know where he is.'  Pico begged internally. The man nodded his head in a 'sort of' fashion. "I know where he's been hiding lately. It's not too far from here." He looked around a bit, as if checking to see if they were alone. "You know that little theater on Chavez road? The closed one? He's been around there lately. You'll find him if you go there." Pico suddenly felt a small rush of relief. That sounded promising. "Thank you, Mr..?" "Tabi" "Thank you Tabi. We appreciate it. Oh! I'm Pico, by the way. This is Whitty." Whitty waved, and Tabi nodded in acknowledgment. Tabi bagan to walk away. "Take care of Boyfriend you too. He's fragile right now." He called before departing. "We will," Whitty replied, "Thank you." Pico mumbled one more time before he and Whitty rushed towards the car. 

…

For the first time in weeks, Pico felt hope. He felt almost giddy in a sense. Soon this nightmare could be over. Soon Bf could be safe. But there was still a chance that they wouldn't find Bf. There were a lot of emotions running rampant in his head. Nerves, excitement, doubt. He couldn't remember the last time he was this conflicted. Various 'what ifs' both positive and negative coming forth to give their piece of mind. Pico gripped the steering wheel of his car tightly, his knuckles turning white. 

Tabi's words echoed in his head. 'Take care of Boyfriend, he's fragile right now.'   

Was this all really because of Bf and Gf's breakup? It just felt extreme. Most people don't go missing for weeks after a breakup. Especially Boyfriend. This was out of character for him. He hated being alone. There was more to it. There had to be. Pico was sure of it. 

Pico pulled over as the old theatre came into view. The decorative walls were a bit worn, but still beautiful. He knew this old place fairly well, it made him a little sad when it was shut down. Pico and Whitty stepped out of the car. Whitty stretched his arms, glad he could stand at his full height again. The bomb man looked at the various posters on the theater's walls, each one advertised some sort of play or performance. "Huh." Was all Whitty said. "What's up?" Pico asked. "I don't know why, but I thought this was going to be a movie theater. I didn't realise it was one of those performing arts places." Whitty replied. Pico turned to Whitty. "You've never been here before?" Pico asked, genuinely surprised. Whitty only shook his head in response. "Aw man, that's a bummer. This place was nice. It was family-owned, a local theater, ya know? It went bankrupt, but when it was open it was cool… B loved it here." Pico's tone shifted as he reminisced. Going from casual to bittersweet. Whitty tilted his head curiously, waiting for Pico to continue. He didn't make eye contact with Whitty, instead focusing his gaze on the theater's doors. "Ya know… sometimes, after a show, the owners would let B and I use the stage. We'd sing there for as long as they let us. We did it almost every week." Pico couldn't help but feel nostalgic. He remembered those times so well. It was years ago, back when he and B were together. They were memories he cherished. "Sounds like it was fun." Whitty commented briefly. "It was." Pico's tone continued to be bittersweet. Deep down, he hoped that he and Boyfriend could have what they did back then. He always regretted letting B go, but never said anything. Once Boyfriend found someone else, he figured he'd never have a chance again. Pico's vision started to blur slightly. 'Goddammit Pico! Now's not the time!' He mentally chastised himself, he didn't want to cry. Not when Bf was still lost. Not in front of Whitty. He was able to bury this before, he could do it again. Pico did his best to refocus on the task at hand. He needed to stop doing this. 

Pico cleared his throat.

"A-Anyway, we should look for Boyfriend. He's probably around here somewhere." Whitty nodded. Pico was thankful that Whitty didn't pry into his emotions. He'd rather NOT talk about that at the moment, thank you very much. "Let's check inside." Whitty proposed, Pico gave a brief sound of agreement before pulling the front door's handle. Surprisingly it was unlocked. Was Tabi right? Was Boyfriend here? Did he unlock it? Pico made a mental note about the door and continued inside, Whitty following just behind him. Once again he needed his trusty flashlight. The theater was usually dark as is, but it was extra dark with it being the middle of the night. While in said darkness, Pico was briefly reminded of earlier that night when he stared at Whitty's eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time. Pico's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. This was definitely going to be one of those memories that kept him up at night whenever he thought about it. Then, Pico had another thought. "Hey Whitty." "Hm?" "How come you haven't been using a flashlight too? I mean, I don't mind sharing mine, I'm just curious." Pico hoped it wasn't a rude question. "Oh, well, uh.." Whitty began, Pico once again noticing how the inside of Whitty's mouth glowed like his eyes. "I don't really need a flashlight. I can see in the dark." Whitty's cheeks glowled orange a bit, now Pico was convinced that was how Whitty blushed. He found it kinda endearing, to be honest. "That's really cool. Wish I could do that." Pico said and chuckled a bit, feeling a bit lighter in spirit. Whitty also laughed coyly, feeling a bit flattered. "Let's check out the stage first." Whitty directed, already walking towards it. "Yeah, good idea." Pico agreed, following suit. The 'house' was dusty, and the seats clearly hadn't been used in a while. Well, most of them hadn't. Pico paused, getting a better look. He quickly noticed that a few of them had been folded out, the armrests were raised, and what looked like a shiney red blanket was draped across them. Someone had been using them as a makeshift bed, Pico realized. Someone was definitely here. "Psst, hey Whitty." Whitty turned around to face him, Pico waved his hand in a 'come here' gesture. Whitty nodded and approached him. 

The tall bomb headed man leaned over Pico, looking down the same row of seats he was. It didn't take him long to catch on. "We must be on the right track. Wait, is that a curtain?" Whitty reached over Pico to pick up and hold the 'blanket' which was, in fact, part of a stage curtain that had been cut. Pico felt his heart clench. B was using a curtain for a blanket, he must be cold. Pico looked at the chairs/bed. One of the seats had a pile of clothes/costumes haphazardly bunched together, probably being used as a pillow. This was just… sad. Bf didn't deserve to live like this. 

While Pico looked at the seats, Whitty took a second to inspect the curtain. It was red on one side, and white on the other side- wait, no, the other side had red too. In weird splotches and smear-like patterns. Whitty held it stretched out in front of him, the white and red patterned side facing him. The patterns looked inconsistent not just in size and shape, but in hue as well. Some of the red splotches looked darker almost..wet, while others looked faded, like stains. Whitty touched one of the darker red spots with his thumb, surprised when it was actually wet. Realization suddenly dawned on him, this wasn't a pattern. Now he was worried. "Hey Pico?" His scratchy voice quietly called, Pico turned around to look Whitty in the eyes. Whitty held the curtain in a way that only let Pico see the shiney full-red side and not the 'patterns'. "I'm not entirely human, so correct me if I'm wrong but… human blood is red, right?" Pico gave him a confused and worried look, then nodded hesitantly. "That's what I was afraid of." Whitty admitted, turning the curtain around so Pico could see. Pico's white eyes shot open wide, before giving Whitty a panicked look. Pico's heart dropped.

Just as Pico was about to say something, there was a loud *CRASH* from a distance. 

Pico and Whitty's attention snapped towards the stage, it looked like a shelf had fallen over from backstage. Frantic footsteps could be heard. Neither of them had to say anything, they both bolted towards all the noise. Running up the small stairs to the stage. They ran towards the backstage area. Their own footsteps echoing as their shoes hit the wooden floorboards. Whitty, with his longer strides, took the lead ahead of Pico. Once they arrived at the backstage room, they saw the metal Exit door slowly closing. Whitty slammed it back open, dashing through it, Pico not far behind him. Once outside, they had stumbled into a fenced in parking lot. Street lights illuminated the empty lot, now they could see the other person running away from them. They were short, around Pico's height. They had a black hoodie on, the hood was up so they couldn't see their head. Even so, Pico was sure that it was Boyfriend. It had to be. 

The hooded person ran into the parking lot's locked gate. Attempting to climb over it, but they weren't fast enough. Pico and Whitty were on their tail. They still tried, though. They were clearly struggling to get up the fence's bars, it looked like they kept slipping, like they couldn't grip the bars. Just as they were about to make another attempt to climb, Whitty caught up to them. The tall bomb man swiftly wrapped his hands around their torso, easily lifting them off the ground. Like holding a kitten. They helplessly swung their arms and legs, attempting to free themself from Whitty's grip. Amidst all their wild flailing, the hood came down, revealing a familiar face with blue hair. Boyfriend. They found him.

"N-no! Let me go! P-Put me down!" Boyfriend yelled, his voice filled with panic. His eyes were closed, and tears soaked his cheeks. Whitty knelt down to bring Boyfriend closer to the ground, still not letting go. "Hey! Hey… Boyfriend, it's just us. It's okay." Whitty did his best to keep his scratchy voice steady, hoping to calm down the terrified bluette. Despite not having the most soothing voice, it seemed to help a bit. Bf stopped flailing and yelling for the moment, his eyes snapped open. He seemed to have come to a sudden halt. His fearful eyes scanned the environment around him. Pico tried to approach him slowly, he didn't want to spook the poor guy more, but he too, was shaking. He had seen Boyfriend scared before, sure, but not like this. This was a new level of absolute terror. He looked so… fragile. Like if someone so much as flicked him, he'd fall to pieces. This was a far cry from the Boyfriend Pico knew. The dumb, reckless, confident man was no where to be found. What really struck Pico though, was the noticeable dampness of Boyfriend's hoodie sleeves. Pico figured he must have been injured, and he had to help. 

In the moment though, he was overwhelmed. He was happy that they found him. He was also worried about him. Part of him was angry. After all the weeks spent searching for Boyfriend, after spending those weeks bottling up all his frustrations, fears, grief, worry. He had reached his tipping point. He couldn't hold back anymore. The tears in his own eyes couldn't be stopped this time. Pico threw away his inhibitions, and just ran up to hug Boyfriend. Pico buried his face in the crook of Boyfriend's neck, and dug his fingers into his blue hair. He was there, they actually found him. And he'd be damned if he lost Bf again. His own face was wet with tears. "G-god Damn it you- you fucking idiot. Don't scare me like that again. F-fuck." Pico's voice shook, sobbing, his cries making it harder to speak. Whitty let go of Boyfriend's torso, instead wrapping his arms around both Pico and Boyfriend, trying not to cry himself (emphasis on tried). A few of his hot, orange tears fell onto the other two boys, but neither seemed to notice.

After a few moments, Whitty and Pico pulled back from the hug. Pico kept his hands on Boyfriend's shoulders, he didn't want to let go. His attention was once again brought to the dampness of Bf's hoodie, he knew it had to be blood. "B… let's go home." Apparently that was the wrong thing for Pico to say, as soon as he did, Boyfriend panicked again. "I-! N-no! I don't want to see her again please Pico-! Don't make me go back!" Pico rushed to ask what was wrong, startled by Bf's reaction. "B, who are you talking about?" Pico gently grabbed Boyfriend's hands, he wanted to be comforting, but that changed when he noticed Bf heavily flinched, and his hands were wet. Pico gently brought Bf's hands into the light. His hands were cracked and bleeding. Badly. The skin and flesh looked like it was just barely holding on to the bones. Some of the blood was dry and crusty, while some of it was fresh. Pico furrowed his brow. "B… what happened?" Bf began crying again. "Gf.. She.." Bf's voice trembled, his lip quivered. He started sobbing. Whitty's orange eyes widened, in a spur of the moment, Whitty gathered both the shorter males in his arms. Lifting them off the ground and standing at his full height. "Hey Pico, why don't we all head to your place?" Pico nodded, still holding Bf's hands. "You can stay with me, B. I promise I won't take you to Girlfriend. She won't even know we found you, okay?" Bf looked into Pico's white eyes, then Whitty's orange ones, before slowly nodding and letting out a barely audible "okay". 

Whitty carried them to Pico's car, he decided to sit in the back with Boyfriend so he wouldn't be alone while Pico drove the car (they moved the front passenger seat as far up as they could to make more legroom for him). Bf was huddled to Whitty's side, the tall, warm, bomb man made him feel safe. Whitty had one of his arms wrapped around Boyfriend, hoping to comfort him. The bluette was still crying, but not as much as before, he seemed to have calmed down slightly. No words were exchanged during the car trip to Pico's house. 

Once they arrived, Whitty gently carried Bf into Pico's house and carefully set him down on Pico's couch. Pico ran off to grab his first aid kit from his hallway closet, mentally preparing himself for how wrecked the rest of Bf's arms might look. He didn't want to end up freaking out and scaring Bf more. Pico moved to sit next to Boyfriend on the couch. "Okay B, show me what hurts." Boyfriend seemed hesitant, Whitty, who was sitting at Bf's other side, rubbed his back. The small gesture seemed to comfort Bf a little, and he removed the black hoodie he was wearing, hissing as the fabric pulled away from his wounds; he was only wearing a tank top under it, so the damage to his arms was revealed easily. Boyfriend's arms looked worse than his hands did somehow. Cracked and bleeding, in some places, it looked like the skin had stitches only to fall apart more and undo them. He could see the bone in Bf's elbow and shoulder. 

Pico felt sick. It was a mystery how Boyfriend wasn't just screaming in anguish. Pico took a quick glance at Whitty, who also looked appalled at the gorey sight before them. Pico looked into Boyfriend's teary eyes, then back at his arms. "We should take ya to the hospital." Pico said nervously, his gauze and hydrogen peroxide couldn't fix this. "I-I already tried that. They couldn't- *sniff* they couldn't stop it. I-It's magic." Bf confessed, Pico noticed Whitty's expression changed from shock to sympathetic. Whitty gestured to Bf's arms "Was this Girlfriend's magic?" Boyfriend nodded. Pico felt rage bubbling in his core. His attempt to keep calm and collected was thrown out the window. "Did she do this on purpose!? That's it! Imma beat her ass!" Pico whipped out his gun. Furious. "I'm gonna pump that bitch full of lead!" Pico was about to storm out his house when both Boyfriend and Whitty stopped him. "PICO DON'T!" Bf and Whitty said in unison. Whitty gripped Pico's arm (which was super easy seeing as his hand was big enough for his fingers to wrap all the way around Pico's forearm), and Boyfriend hugged him, burying his face in the crook of Pico's neck. "Why the fuck are you two stopping me!?" Pico shouted, still undeniably pissed. "Please don't go, Pico!" Bf cried. "Listen dude, as much as I'd love to see ya give that girl more holes than swiss cheese, if you even try it, her family will kill you. Plus, if ya went to her now, they'll know we found Bf, and who knows what they'd do to him then!"

Pico hated to admit it, but Whitty was right. He'd just make it worse by confronting Girlfriend. Her family was powerful, her parents would definitely come after all of them if he tried to do anything to her. His anger was screaming at him to go and blast her with his Uzi, but reason objected to it. Pico sighed, and put his gun on the table. "Alright. Yer right. I'm sorry." Bf hugged him tighter. "Thank you." He said quietly. "Well, if I can't shoot that bitch, let's at least try to solve… this." Pico gestured towards Bf's arms, which were bleeding all over him in the hug. Whitty rubbed the back of his head, unsure. "Well, demon magic did this in the first place, maybe another demon can undo it?" Whitty offered, Pico thought about it, it made sense. If hospitals couldn't treat a curse, might as well try magic. "I can't say you're wrong, the issue now is finding a demon who would be willing to help. The only other demon I know I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw her. Do you know anyone?" Whitty shook his head. The three stayed quiet. Pico wracked his brain for anyone who might be helpful. Maybe his dad knew someone who could help? Probably not. His brother definitely hung out with demons and whatnot, but most people his brother hung out with were bad news. Not to mention he hasn't spoken to his older bro in a long ass time. That was a no go. Who else could he ask? Pico glanced at Whitty, he appeared to be going over various options in his head too. They were silent until Boyfriend chirped in. "I might know someone. Maybe tomorrow we can find her?" Pico shrugged. "I guess that's just what we gotta do. For now though, you should go get cleaned up. You remember where the shower is?" Bf nodded, and started walking down the hallway. "I'll bring you some clean clothes you can borrow!" Pico called, Bf replying with a distant "Thank you" before disappearing around the corner. 

Pico made eye contact with Whitty. He might not have known this guy too well, having only met him a couple weeks ago, but the time they spent working together trying to find Boyfriend made Pico appreciate him. He wanted to know more about him. Whitty was so helpful, even managing to calm Pico down when he was two seconds away from snapping. He found the gentle giant fascinating and comforting. "Hey Whitty?" Whitty let out a curious "hmm?" 

"I just wanted to say thanks.. For everything. You've been really helpful and great and.. I really appreciate it." Pico's earnest tone made Whitty's cheeks glow slightly. "It's no problem. You don't have to thank me or anything. I just.. Wanted Bf to be safe too, ya know?" Pico nodded understandably. "I wish we coulda met under better circumstances. You seem like a great guy, I uh… I'd really like to keep hangin out with you. Maybe once we get this whole curse thing sorted out, we should do something together? Maybe all three of us should." Pico felt color flooding in his own cheeks now, feeling somewhat nervous. Whitty smiled. "I'd like that." Pico let out a small chuckle. "Cool. Cool. Sounds good." 

An awkward lull took the conversation, neither saying much. Whitty eventually stood up and stretched, feeling a bit sleepy. "Well, I should head out. I'm gettin tired. Want me to meet up with you guys here tomorrow?" Pico hesitantly nodded, he almost offered to just let Whitty stay the night, but if he had plans to go home, who was Pico to stop him? "Sounds good. Imma uh.. Get some clothes for B." Pico attempted to make the situation less awkward, he was never good at goodbyes. "Yeah, that'd be good. I'll see you tomorrow." Whitty and Pico parted ways after that. Now, Pico just had to help Boyfriend. Hopefully this woman he was talking about can reverse whatever demon spell was on him..

Pico let Bf borrow his spare pajamas, and threw Bf's clothes in the wash. He wasn't sure if the washing machine was gonna be able to get all the blood out. As he was going through it, he noticed that the inside of Bf's jeans were bloody too, the curse must've been affecting his legs as well. Pico kept the 1st aid kit out, that way he could bandage what was left of Boyfriend's limbs. While Pico tended to the bluette's wounds, he made small talk with Boyfriend, hoping it would put him at ease. It seemed to help. Eventually it became time to turn in for the night. Both boys were exhausted.

 "Hey Pico?"

 "Yeah B?" 

"Can I sleep in your bed with you? I don't wanna be alone."

"... Yeah. C'mere."

"Thanks Pico."

"No prob. G'night B."

"Good night Pico."

[james-joyces-right-eyeball]

Absolute Favorite Books I’d Recommend to Anyone

This is a list of my top-tier favorite books that I would recommend/talk about endlessly to pretty much anyone (in no particular order). I know people probably don’t care but I just like talking about books I love so here we are.

Beloved - Toni Morrison

~ Based off the real story of Margaret Garner, a slave woman who escaped slavery and when captured killed her child in order to prevent them from ever being enslaved again, Beloved tells the story of a mother named Sethe, born in slavery who eventually escaped and is haunted by the figurative demons of her trauma and the literal (arguably) ghost of her dead daughter, who she herself killed. It is an excellent exploration of the horrors of slavery and of the haunting legacy of the institution for those who were subjected to it.

Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

~ If you’ve been on Tumblr for a while, you probably know what Lolita is. The story of the predatory Humbert Humbert who lusts after, rapes, and kidnaps the “nymphet” Dolores Haze. An excellent construction of how predators, unreliable narrators in their own right, hide behind fabrications, almost-believable excuses, and pretty words to make their actions seem maybe not so bad. In the words of the book itself, “You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.”

Ulysses - James Joyce

~ Notoriously one of the most difficult books in the English language, Ulysses lifts its structure from Homer’s Odyssey to tell the story of a common man, Leopold Bloom, as he goes about his day. Yes, this book takes place over the course of only one day. We follow Bloom as well as Joyce’s literary counterpart Stephen Daedalus through their thoughts and actions, gathering details of their lives previous throughout. It’s a book that, in my own words, “is life”. It is sad, funny, strange, vulgar, disgusting, beautiful, revelatory, sensual, and nonsensical all at once. Joyce aimed to create a reflection of life through his stream-of-consciousness style which some people might find confusing, but I personally find absolutely beautiful and honest and realistic. The prose is also gorgeous, but that could be applied to everything Joyce wrote. 

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

~ The classic gothic book that tells the tale of Heathcliff and his ultimately destructive love of Catherine Earnshaw, whose eventual marriage to someone else and the general mistreatment of him by her family drives Heathcliff insane and he spends the rest of his life trying to take revenge by abusing and torturing the next Earnshaw and Linton (the family into which Catherine marries) generations. If I’m being honest, I like this book mostly because of how wild and dark it is, but the writing is also genius and beautiful. I think the book also carries an interesting view of the destructive nature of revenge, overzealous love, and othering.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith

~ A coming-of-age story at the turn of the century that tells the story of Francie Nolan, a young bookish girl growing up in a lower class family in New York City. It tells about her father’s struggles with alcoholism as well as her mother’s struggles to deal with that and at the same time raise Francie and her brother. Francie is confronted with a strange, uncertain world as a young girl, but tries to face it with bravery throughout childhood

Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

~ Another coming-of-age story, this time about four young sisters: Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy March. You are probably familiar with this book already; it’s had more movie adaptations then I can possibly remember off the top of my head. It’s the story of four sisters as they try to navigate growing up, love, and loss during the mid to late 1800s.

The Color Purple - Alice Walker

~ A novel that tells the story of Celie, a young black woman who is raped and then married young to a man who will go on to use and abuse her, through her letters to God. Throughout the novel she meets Shug Avery, a woman with whom she eventually falls in love and begins a relationship with. Through this and her eventual freedom from her abusive husband, she is able to gain at last her own sense of self and take back control over her life, a life no longer ruled by the abusive men around her.

The Bluest Eye - Toni Morrison

~ The tragic story of young black girl Pecola Breedlove, who wants nothing more than to have blonde hair and blue eyes just like the women she sees in the movies. Both a deconstruction of the whiteness of beauty standards as well as how these standards can utterly destroy vulnerable young girls, it is also an exploration of the people who allow these sorts of things to happen, including Pecola’s mother and father. The Bluest Eye, I think, showcases one of the aspects of Toni Morrison that I like the most, that I aspire to the most: her ability to enter the minds of all people, even people who you might despise at first. Her characters, especially Cholly in The Bluest Eye, are ones you might not entirely sympathize with, but they will always be ones you understand.

The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

~ Based off of the author’s own experiences as a young college student, The Bell Jar tells the story of Esther Greenwood, whose depression over her place as a woman in a patriarchal society as well as her inability to choose a life path for herself leads to a suicide attempt and a subsequent stay in a mental hospital. A very nuanced portrayal of mental illness, especially anxiety and depression, The Bell Jar is an extremely moving and relatable story for me and clearly is as well for others. It is a classic for a reason.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou

~ A memoir of Angelou’s childhood, this book tells the story of her experiences living as a black girl in the south with her grandmother and brother as well as her later years living with her mother. It also tells of how she was raped by her mother’s boyfriend when she was around eight or nine, and how she struggled to live with that and find her voice, both literally and figuratively. A wonderful book about overcoming struggles and the power of words and literature in such times.

Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison

~ Ellison’s novel tells the story of a young black man, never getting a name in the text, and his feelings of invisibility and his struggles to find a place in society to belong. His struggles only lead him further into despair, until he decides to “become invisible” as people seem not to see him as a person anyway. Invisible Man is an exploration of American mid-century racism and the isolation it causes to those subjected to it. Not only that, but it is surprisingly relevant to our times now, especially on the subject of police violence. (Personal anecdote: When I first read this book, when I got to the aforementioned police violence part it was right in the middle of the BLM resurgence last summer and I cried for a good twenty minutes while reading that chapter over how nothing had changed and it still hurts me to think about it. Embarrassingly, my dad walked in on me while I was crying, and I had to quickly explain it away.)

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - James Joyce

~ The title basically says it all lol. This book tells of the coming-of-age of Stephen Daedalus (the same one from the later-written Ulysses). His sensitive childhood, his awkward and lustful adolescence, his feelings of Irish nationality and Catholic guilt, and his struggles to fully realize himself, both as an artist and a human being. It is a very hopeful story, and one that I love mostly because I relate so much to Stephen Daedalus as an artist and as a person.

One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

~ A magical-realist intergenerational family drama, Marquez’s book traces the various lives and loves of the Buendia family over the course of (you guessed it!) one hundred years. A beautifully written, at times extremely emotionally moving and chilling masterpiece, Marquez in a way retells the history of Colombia, of its colonization and exploitation.  

Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

~ A classic Russian novel of society and love, Tolstoy tells the story of Anna Karenina, married, wealthy woman with a child she adores. However, she falls in love with another man, Count Vronsky, and comes to a tragic end for her love. The parallel story of the novel is that of Konstantin Levin, a wealthy landowner who also struggles to find fulfillment in his life and understand his place in society.

The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner

~ A novel that features an entire family of unreliable narrators, The Sound and the Fury details the fall of a once-prominent southern Compson family and always-present place of the past. There are four different narratives: Benjy Compson, a mentally disabled man who is unsure of his surroundings and of time and only knows that he misses his older sister Caddy; Quintin Compson, the eldest son and a Harvard man both obsessed with his sister retaining her “purity” and the fact that she failed to do so and had a baby out of wedlock, going as far to claim it is his baby in an attempt to preserve something of the family reputation; Jason Compson, who is the caretaker of Caddy’s daughter and believes her to be going down her mother’s “sinful” path; and Dilsey, the black maid of the Compson’s who unlike the people she cares for is not weighed down by their history. The narratives take place in different time periods and is in a stream-of-consciousness style. It’s a deeply dark and disturbing novel about the haunting nature of the past, a common theme in Faulkner’s work (see Absalom, Absalom! for more of this).

Song of Solomon - Toni Morrison

~ It is the story of Milkman Dead, a young black man growing up in the south and his relationship with his very complicated family. To say anymore would be to spoil the novel, but I will say that it is an excellent book about family, self-fulfillment in a world that tries to deny you that, and, like The Bluest Eye, exhibits Morrison’s excellent character work.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof - Tennessee Williams

~ A play which takes place on the patriarch of a family’s birthday in the oppressive heat of the midsummer south, Williams’ play explores lies, secrets, and how repression only results in anger, frustration, and sadness. It’s a tragic but brilliant play that I think was very ahead of its time. If you’ve read it (or do read it) then you know what I mean.

Giovanni’s Room - James Baldwin

~ This book tells the story of a young man and his love of another man named Giovanni while he is in Paris. It is a book about love, queer guilt, and has what I would call an ambiguous ending. There is uncertainty at the end, but there does seem to be some kind of acceptance. It is a bit of a coming-out story, but more than that it is a story of personal acceptance and at the same time a sad, tragic love story.

HERmione - H.D.

~ An underrated modernist masterpiece, HERmione is a somewhat fictionalized account of the author, Hilda Doolittle’s, experience as a young aspiring poet dating another poet (in real life Ezra Pound in this book named George Lowndes) who is a threat to her both physically and emotionally. It explores her own mental state, as she considers herself a failure and falls in love with a woman for the first time (Fayne Rabb in the book, Frances Gregg in real life). 

To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf

~ People think about going to a lighthouse. They do not. A couple years and a war passes then they do. That may seem like a boring plot, and you may be right. However, To the Lighthouse is not much about plot. It is more about the inner lives of its characters, a family and their friends, on two different occasions of their lives: one before WWI and one after WWI. Woolf explores in this novel the trauma that results from such a massive loss of life and security. Not only that, she also explores the nature of art (especially in female artists) in the character of Lily Briscoe and her struggles to complete a painting. It’s a short novel, but it contains so much about life, love, and loss within these few pages.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers

~ A southern gothic novel about isolation and loneliness in a small town. Every character has something to separate them from wider society, and often find solace and companionship in a deaf man, John Singer, who himself experiences a loneliness that they cannot understand. There are various forms of social isolation explored in this novel: by race, disability, age, gender, etc. A wonderful, heart-wrenching book about loneliness and the depths it can potentially drag people to.

The Waste Land - T.S. Eliot

~ A modernist masterpiece of a poem, Eliot describes feeling emptiness and isolation. The brilliance of it can only be shown by an excerpt:

“Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence.”

“The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. “

(My personal favorite line from this poem is, “I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”)

The Trial - Franz Kafka

~ The protagonist of the novel, Josef K., wakes up one morning to find that he has been placed under arrest for reasons that are kept from him. Kafka creates throughout the novel a scathing satire of bureaucracy, as K. tries to find out more about his case, more about his trial, but only becomes more confused as he digs deeper. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the world he lives in, and the more tries to explain it the further the more that proves to be the case. An excellently constructed novel and a great one to read if you would like to be depressed about the state of the world because, though Kafka’s work is a satire, like a lot of his other work, it manages to strike a strangely real note.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead - Tom Stoppard

~ An absurdist play that is a retelling of Shakespeare’s Hamlet from the perspective of minor characters, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who in the broad overview of the original play, do not matter. Throughout the play, they question their existence and the purpose of it and through that Stoppard dissects not only the absurdity of life, but how fiction and theater reflect that absurdity inadvertently.

As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner

~ The novel details the journey the Bundren family makes after the death of the family matriarch, Addie, to bury her. Each chapter offers a different narrative from the family members and those who surround them, revealing some ulterior motives to them “going to town” to bury Addie. The patriarch Anse desires a pair of false teeth, and the daughter Dewey Dell is pregnant and needs an abortion, as there is no way for her or her family to support it. It’s about the powerlessness of people in the impoverished south. The Bundrens are constantly subject to forces beyond their control, struggles which would be easily solved if they had the money to spare for it. There is more to the book, but that is my favorite reading of it, that of class. Faulkner’s ability to create distinct voices for every one of his characters shines through here.

And, last but not least:

The Collected Poems - Sylvia Plath

~ All the poems Plath wrote during her tragically short lifetime. The best way to demonstrate or summarize the book’s brilliance is just to show you. This is her poem “Edge”, which appears in the book:

“The woman is perfected.   Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment,   The illusion of a Greek necessity Flows in the scrolls of her toga,   Her bare Feet seem to be saying: We have come so far, it is over. Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,   One at each little Pitcher of milk, now empty.   She has folded Them back into her body as petals   Of a rose close when the garden Stiffens and odors bleed From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower. The moon has nothing to be sad about,   Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this sort of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED! HAPPY READING TO ALL!

[heart-eye-harrington]

i wanna get stuck in your head

(gif credit to @harringtown​, thank you!)

Summary: There was so much you wanted to tell Steve, but the words always seemed too scary. When an even scarier situation arises and you find yourself trapped in a Russian base, what do you have to lose?

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: A few curse words, implications of death

Author’s Note: Hi! Based on the song pancakes for dinner! I hope enjoy! I love you! 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The soft hum of distant machinery and Russian chatter filters into the small room you’ve found yourself in. Blinking through the fluorescent lights and tears is all you can manage with the thick leather straps keeping you bound to the chair. What feels like hours of screaming has robbed you of your voice, leaving words and cries stuck in your throat,  forcing them to tumble around your head. It’s you, your thoughts, and an unconscious Steve Harrington. 

When you were first thrown in here and your voice still worked, you tried for two things; pleads for help in the off chance someone would hear, and for Steve to wake up. In some twisted way, you were thankful they had you strapped together. 

If you’d been left apart you wouldn’t be able to feel his soft breathing or the warmth trapped beneath his skin. The small indications that his injuries, though bad, weren’t bad enough to make him lose himself. If you were apart you’d be losing your mind wondering if he were okay. At least with his back pressed against yours, he was here, even if he wasn’t. 

Your head falls on Steve’s shoulder, tears freely flowing like raindrops down a car window. They race one another down your face and onto the fabric of his sailor uniform. 

There were so many things you wanted to say to Steve but never found the courage to, and the realization that you might never get to causes your eyes to screw shut, squeezing more tears down your temples. You’d never been forward, not wanting to cross any lines. 

There were moments where you tried saying something else instead. After hearing his off-handed comments to Robin about nightmares, you made an effort to ask him how he slept, covering his shifts on the days the nightmares were bad. When he’d talk about bands he liked, you listened, even getting him a new Queen CD after his got scratched. 

There were glimmers of hope that he was doing the same, maybe even feeling the same way. After learning that you’d bike in the dark after the closing shift, he insisted on driving you home, even oh days he wasn’t scheduled. Whenever he went to the vending machine he’d buy you a cookie, the chocolate chunk kind, because you stole a piece of his on your first day at Scoops. 

But that was it, small actions with nothing explicitly being said. He was probably just being nice, nothing more. You were reading too into things, like an English teacher who took their job way too seriously. 

You’re jostled from your thoughts when Steve rolls his shoulders, carrying your head with his movements. He groans, letting the waves of pain escape through the small noise. 

“Steve?” your question barely a whisper, both for his benefit and yours. Any noise leaves your throat stinging and his ears pounding.

“Hey”, his voice groggy, head still slumped forward. You sniffle, quickly trying to compose yourself. Steve was always the brave one, as you just saw with him stepping up to deal with rude customers and even more extremely charging and fighting the Russians guard. The least you could do was be brave for him now. 

“Are you okay?” you will your voice to come out louder, more solid. He answers you, not initially taking notice of your shaky performance. 

“My ears are ringing, and I can’t really breathe. My eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull, but-” he sucks in a breath, just speaking winds him, “-ya know, apart from that, ya know, pretty good.” You sniffle again and nodding, then realize he can’t see you. You hum, not knowing what to say or do. The moment of silence is all Steve needs to process what’s going on with you.

“What about you? Are you okay?” He tries to push through his unsteady voice, trying to find a more solid, comforting one. Steve lifts his head enough to look straight in front of him, wishing he could see your face. He knew you were never completely honest with your words, but your eyes always gave away what you were really feeling. He knew it was a clique, but he could look at your eyes for hours, trying to crack the case of your hidden thoughts. But instead of getting playing 007 as he usually does, he’s faced with the stark contrast of a metal door and fluorescent lights. 

“I’m okay. Just, ya know, never saw myself in a situation like this,” a deep breath fills your chest, puffing it out in an attempt to dislodge the weight settled inside. “I never knew what I pictured, never really wanted to think about it, but I thought I’d be older. I thought I’d have grown old with someone.” You curse your damn nose for running again and the sniffles it caused. Steve shifts, craning his neck in vain to try and see you, to comfort you. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t cry, please,” his voice soothing, soft yet delicate, like an old teddy bear so well-loved the stitches become exposed. “Listen, we’re gonna get out of here. I just need to think.” The strength is back behind his words, conviction trying to drive his point home. His words do register, but your mind is somewhere else. It’s screaming to say something, what do you have to lose? Your stuck what must be miles under Hawkins tied together by a foreign enemy. The words you want to say somehow seem scarier, so you opt to say something else instead. 

“There was so much I wanted to do.” the words float out before better judgment can stop them, your head still leaning against Steve’s shoulder. 

“And you’re going to. C’mon, we’re gonna get out of here.” Steve seems a bit more frustrated, not exactly thrilled with the direction you’re taking. His brain continues to race, eyes jumping around the room as he looks for any way out. While he becomes more frantic, you only seem to relax. Steve’s focused on the present, while you’re off in dreams of the future, of what could have been. 

“I want to eat pancakes for dinner. I wanna watch a T.V. show together, and when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed. I wanna go out on the weekends. I wanna dress up just to get undressed.” the window into your daydream now wide open, the air catching the visions and letting them flow. They hang there a moment before tugging at the corner of your lip. As quickly as it opened, the window snaps shut and reality sinks back in.

“I’m sorry, I just think that I should probably tell you this, in case something happens, something worse than this.” the weight of your words sinks into Steve’s heart, and you’re able to feel the slight difference in his breathing. 

Images dance in his head of you using too much syrup for pancakes as the glow of his kitchen lights catches your grinning cheeks. He hears the static of a tv as you laugh at how overdramatic he’s being over a common cold, but play along to indulge him. You’re dancing at house parties, happiness twinkling in your eyes as he tries to slow dance to the pounding upbeat music. He sees his reflection in the mirror as he does his hair for an obscene about of time, just for you to stand behind him and rustle it undone. 

After all that, he realized you never the words, but he knew. 

A weight sits on his chest as he feels your tears land on his shoulder.

 After flirting with customers all summer, he realized he was never saying anything. Sure he spoke to them, and he thought the words were true, but they were hollow. He was saying something with evening drives when he picked you up and played the cd you got him. He was saying something when he bought you cookies. Most importantly, you were trying to say something all along, but he was never listening for it. 

Red hot embarrassment burns the rope holding the anchor in his stomach, which burned into a new blaze behind his eyes. If he was determined before, he damn sure was now. He shifts against the restraints, cursing at their tightness. 

Before he can say anything to you, the Russians return. 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The reflections of the mall’s neon lights melds with the emergency crew’s on the wet parking lot. You stare at it all from the back of the ambulance, tugging the blanket they paramedics had given you tighter. Your well-check was quick, you were luckier than most you’d escaped the night. 

You watch how the rain catches the vivid color before you feel a presence next to you. You turn to see a bandaged Steve giving you a weak smile, which you return. There’s a moment of comfortable silence before you speak up. 

“I’m sorry if I crossed any lines while we were down there. I just-” you huff, squeezing your eyes shut as if your eyelids could hide you from your actions. “I had to say something.” 

“Are you hungry?” A small smirk plays Steve’s lips as he looks at the confused expression on your face, knit brows and all. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but not outright avoidance.

“Cause I make some mean pancakes.” 

The offer causes a light laugh and your eyes to meet his. He’s smiling like a dork, obviously proud of himself. Joy washes over you, warmer than any emergency blanket ever could. You throw your arms around him in an awkward side hug, face smushed into his chest despite his soiled uniform. 

“I’d love some.” your words muffled through the fabric and his arms wrapped tightly around you. Nothing else needed to be said as his hands rub up and down your back. Words would eventually come, but for now, the promise of pancakes for dinner was more than enough.

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: we are FINALLY talking about the Pet Shop Boys! They’ve only been my favourite band since I was, like, eight. Whether you want to understand the hype or you’re already Team PSB, come check out this video and hear all about 1990′s Behaviour. (Or read the transcript, below the break.)

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! It’s time for me to finally do a video on one of my favourite bands of all time, and the very first band I obsessed over when I was a kid: the Pet Shop Boys! Their fourth LP, 1990’s Behaviour, is considered by many to be their best work, and it’s also one of my personal favourites of theirs, so it seems like a great place to start.

The preceding Pet Shop Boys LP, 1988’s Introspective, was their deepest dive into densely-arranged, nightclub-ready post-disco compositions. Nowadays, people tend to praise it for its more experimental and baroque qualities, but it’s also very much a party album, blending synth-pop with house and rave influences.

Music: “Domino Dancing”

At the cusp of the 1990s, there was certainly no shortage of interest in upbeat, rave-y party music, and the so-called “Madchester” scene was in full swing. But the Pet Shop Boys’ follow-up to Introspective would take their sound in a different direction. They went to Germany to work with Harold Faltermeyer, best known for his instrumental synth smash “Axel F.” There, surrounded by Faltermeyer’s collection of analogue synthesisers, they would create an album that was...well, kind of a downer.

Music: “Being Boring”

Behaviour’s opener, “Being Boring,” is a track whose reputation probably precedes it--it’s one of the best known Pet Shop Boys songs, and over the last thirty years, it’s become emblematic of its era. “Being Boring” is a stark and pensive reflection on the tragedy of the young lives lost to the AIDS epidemic, and the uncanny strangeness of getting older while knowing a lot of others didn’t have that luxury. But at the same time, there’s something surprisingly jubilant and triumphant about the way that chorus rises up, almost like exultation at having survived, even though the verses feel more downbeat. Lyrically, the focus on “having never been boring” puts focus on having lived a vibrant life moreso than it does the silence of the crypt. Behaviour might be a somber album, but it’s not without a sense of hope or optimism; just listen to the track “The End of the World.”

Music: “The End of the World”

While “Being Boring” deals with the very adult gravity of death, grief, and survivorship, “The End of the World” asks us to imagine the petty romantic squabblings of teenagers, and their magnified sense of importance. While its title is a bit ambiguous, the song itself is quite clear: what is going on here is, by no means, the end of the world! Like I said, Behaviour is far from all doom and gloom, though it has sort of gotten that reputation. While acclaim for Behaviour is certainly as common among hardcore Pet Shop Boys fans as it is anyone else, I’m tempted to think that some of the praise it receives from relative outsiders is connected to this perception of it as the “serious” Pet Shop Boys album, that deals with real issues instead of being packed with fun pop songs. While I like gloomy, serious music as much as anybody, and personally prefer it to the more light-hearted releases, there’s no reason to predicate appreciation for the Pet Shop Boys on their being cerebral or high-minded. But that seems to be a common plague of a lot of music criticism, particularly of that rockist sort. The track “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?” serves as its own sort of commentary on rock culture.

Music: “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”

In “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, the titular question is posed to rock stars whose inflated egos make them think they have something meaningful to say about big issues like politics. The song’s rougher soundscape stands out against dreamier tracks like “Being Boring,” and perhaps kicks it slightly closer to sounding like a rock song. While I can certainly get behind a song that mocks rock and roll self-righteousness, it does seem a bit ironic in the context of Behaviour, an album that would see the Pet Shop Boys making a clear effort to tackle meaty, real-world issues. I suppose that any album released by artists who were already established in their career might be expected to include some consideration for the dilemmas that come with that territory. Another track that explores this theme is “My October Symphony.”

Music: “My October Symphony”

While never released as a single, “My October Symphony” is a popular track nonetheless. It was inspired by the life of the great Russian composer, Dmitri Shostakovich, and portrays the grave uncertainties presented to the artist by the collapse of Communism, and with it, the prevailing sense of mythology and moral values. Given the themes involved, many have interpreted it as a track that obliquely questions where famous queer artists like the Pet Shop Boys were going, in a world that had been devastated by AIDS. While it’s about a very different kind of musician, I certainly like to think it’s a track that “rhymes” with “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, in that it also questions the relationship between artists and the values of the society around them.

Behaviour’s cover art recalls that of the Pet Shop Boys’ 1986 debut, Please, with a strong emphasis on empty, white space, and a small design in the center. While the relationship of its four panels is ambiguous, it could be interpreted as a representation of death--as a face turns away, the human figures disappear, leaving the still, unchanged inanimate objects behind. As children, we quickly learn that not being able to see something doesn’t mean the thing is truly gone, but nevertheless, we sometimes have a tendency to ignore things we wish would go away. Perhaps the cover of Behaviour is an allusion to the way world governments buried their heads in the sand, so to speak, regarding the AIDS crisis, hoping it would conveniently die down and vanish when it wasn’t being observed.

The title of “Behaviour” is perhaps even more mysterious and up to interpretation than the cover. There’s something very detached and clinical about that word--an impersonal ambiance. I’m reminded of the seemingly unsympathetic narrators of several tracks, such as “The End of the World” and “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, that seem to cast judgment on the actions of others without taking an interest in their emotional internality. They discuss “behaviours” as cut and dry phenomena, and focus on the actions that people take. While neutrality can be cold and condemnatory, it can also be a welcome change when introduced to a subject traditionally treated with hostility. In that light, I’m tempted to think of the title as referring to homosexual “behaviour,” contextualizing sexuality as less of a fixed identity, and something that one intrinsically “is,” and more about an action, a decision, something that one “does”--a mentality that a lot of people find rather liberating.

In introducing Behaviour, I described it as an album that’s often considered the Pet Shop Boys’ best work. But their 1993 followup to it, Very, is also a strong contender for that title, in the hearts of many of their biggest fans. *Very* has a lot more in common with *Introspective* than it does Behaviour, going back to rich, dense productions and upbeat, poppy love songs. The fact that the Pet Shop Boys managed to pull off two very different, but both very acclaimed, releases back to back speaks volumes about why people love them as much as they do. Whether you like them or not, they’re undoubtedly one of those artists who some people can turn to in just about any mood, or any season of life, and that’s a powerful thing.

Music: “I Wouldn’t Normally Do This Kind of Thing”

My favourite track on Behaviour is its lead single, “So Hard.” It’s one of my all-time favourite Pet Shop Boys tracks, and almost certainly my favourite of their singles. With its wryly bitter narrative of two-timing lovers, and harsh, clattering analogue synthesiser soundscape, “So Hard” has a pretty different feel to the rest of the album--dark and ominous, without that wistful, sentimental aura. But that’s exactly why I like it. The Pet Shop Boys were among the first artists to deliberately adopt analogue synths for the subjective qualities of their sound, and this track employs them in a way that’s reminiscent of what artists tend to do with them nowadays. It’s punchy, with that clunky, mechanistic analogue quality to it. Not a typical Pet Shop Boys song, but a damn good one nonetheless! That’s all I’ve got for today, thanks for listening.

Outro: “So Hard”

[stones-x-bones]

The Real Gamble (Pt. 2) || Mina and Bex

TIMING: Current (part 2 of this) PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable and @inbextween SUMMARY: Here’s where the real gamble comes in. Will it pay off? CONTENT: Underaged drinking, Brief Domestic Abuse mention, NSFW-ish (Kissing)

Once the bartender had gone off with their drinks, Bex readjusted herself and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. It was something she always did when she got nervous. “Well, it’s, you know,” she started off again, leaning fully against the counter now, hoping the low lights behind them wouldn’t show off her red cheeks too much, “that’s the wonderful part about history. To me, at least. Humans have changed so much since they first came about, but there’s so many things that have stayed the same. So many things that we’ve chosen to preserve, so we can remember. So we can be better.” She knew she probably had that stupid, dreamy look on her face as she talked, but she was never able to help herself. Once she got talking about history and how much the past really informs the present, she couldn’t stop. “Every cycle is just a repeat of the same things, just slightly changed. It’s incredible, don’t you think?” She finally turned to look at Mina again, eyes sparkling. The other girl’s wide-eyed stare wasn’t lost on her, but she chose not to mention it yet. “Much better than the city of Chicago. So,” she said abruptly, “you explained how to play Blackjack, but you still haven’t taught me how exactly card counting works,” she continued, scooting a bit closer. “Wanna give it a shot?”

Swallowing, Mina managed to clear her throat and her head, honestly just grateful that the bartender had come along before she’d made an absolute fool of herself. Now, at least, she was only a partial fool. “I think that’s always been one of the most beautiful things about humanity, to me, the capability to change so much and yet remain so similar to where you started. I mean, a lot of major things have changed: the fact that human sacrifice isn’t a big deal anymore is pretty great, and I really enjoy the internet, personally, but humans still play games and still form societies and still spread themselves out as far as they can go.” That was one of the things that she’d always thought, more than anyone else’s teachings, that made humanity better. Fae, other supernaturals, so many of their rituals, for all that they’ve managed to blend into human society, were still archaic and secular. They looked down on humanity, but, honestly, how could they not see their incredible marvels? How could they not want so desperately to be a part of something so big? “You’re right, it’s absolutely incredible.” She clasped her hands together. “Right, I haven’t explained card counting while we were at the table because I didn’t want to get thrown out for it. But, essentially, what I’m doing is keeping track of the cards that I see, the values of those cards, and how many cards are in the deck to essentially predict the probability of what type of cards will come next: something of high value, or something of low value. And then I make bets or don’t based on that number, depending on whether or not I want to win or lose the hand.”

“It’s more than that, even,” Bex said, “it’s not just that we form societies, but how. And how there’s always some form of community at the center, some need to draw people together. Whether it’s religion or protection or common goals. The first civilizations formed not out of necessity, but out of want-- to make life easier and to spread the amount of work. To share. The leap from hunter gatherers-- cavemen-- to a collective society? It was astounding. It still is.” She let out a content sigh, the smile on her face natural. When was the last time she’d raved about history this much with someone? Probably when she’d last spoken to Professor Campbell, but the feeling was different here. She felt more at ease here. “We’re explorers,” she added on after a moment, “always have been, always will be. Whether it's our own planet, or the stars, or, well-- a place we created. Like the internet.” The bartender returned with their drinks and set each one down in front of them before nodding and heading to another needy patron. Bex grabbed hers and slid the other to Mina. “Sorry...I know you didn’t ask for a lecture on humanity. But I did warn you, I don’t know when to shut up sometimes.” Taking a sip of her drink would certainly shut her up, though, so she did just that, focusing back on Mina as she explained what all it took. And when she was done, Bex could only stare for a moment. “See,” she started, “you say that as if that’s all easy but sometimes I can’t even keep track of the number of meals I’ve eaten in a day, let alone that many cards all at once and then also calculate probability from that. Sheesh, you really underplayed this.” A chuckle, though, as she took another sip. She’d never had a cosmo before, but it wasn’t bad. Strong, but not bad. She hoped it wouldn’t mess with her painkillers too much. C’est la vie, she supposed. “Did you learn from someone or did you figure it out all by yourself?”

“See, and that’s-- yes!” Mina nodded. “That’s it, actually, how societies came together and, I don’t know, keep coming together? The, ah, the connectedness of people, of humanity. I’ve always liked learning about that.” She smiled. “I’ve always liked that, too, the exploring, the desire not to just stay in one area, secluded and never being more.” She should, as a nix, want something stable, something lasting. A lake or a river bed to stay in and protect, a piece of nature that belonged to her and her kin. But Mina didn’t grow up like that. She’d never had those thoughts, those desires. She’d attached and detached herself from places her entire life, and she couldn’t imagine not doing that anymore. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. I like hearing you talk about it. Besides, I could use a lecture on humanity every now and then.” She took her a sip of her drink. The last time she’d had vodka had been straight from a bottle two years before with the daughter of a Russian slayer her father had been working with, the girl more fascinated than disgusted by Mina as she asked questions about Fae that Mina just didn’t know the answer to. What would she know about Fae when she’d never been never really been around them? The cosmo was much sweeter, though she still felt that bite. “I really-- I mean, you don’t actually have to remember the numbers, just highs or lows.” She shrugged. “I learned myself. My schooling was kind of my own, so I just learned what I wanted after I learned what was useful. I, ah, didn’t realize that I knew how to count cards until I was… actually counting cards. Which is why I got in so much trouble the first time I did it.”

“Connection is the most important part of a culture,” Bex said, “it’s what creates a healthy, functioning society. If people can’t connect to each other then--” she paused for a moment, reflecting on her own words. Connection. It was such a strange concept to Bex. She hadn’t had many opportunities to connect to people before, as a child, as a teengaer, even as a young adult. She was isolated and awkward and anxious, and even the connections she did make always turned out wrong or bad or toxic. She was sure from an outside perspective, it all made sense, but to her, it was her own fault, her own failure. And her parents agreed. “--well, then, there’s just nothing.” She finished rather somberly and tried to move the thoughts away from such a low place, sipping the drink again. Maybe a larger amount than she should have, but unbeknownst to most people, Bex’s first drink of alcohol had been vodka and it had been when she was twelve. It seemed her father’s taste ran in the family. She gave a short laugh at Mina’s next comment. “Couldn’t we all?” She nearly rolled her eyes, then, pushing away from the counter and taking Mina’s hand again. “God, you really need to follow my wisdom and just let me compliment you. I know it’ll work out in the end. Now c’mon,” she urged, “I wanna see you in action again. You get that funny, smug look on your face when you play and I wanna see it.”

“I agree, totally, though I’m, ah, I’m bad at those. Connections.” Mina kind of swirled her drink a bit, though she smiled to sort of lessen what she was saying. Recovering, she said, “But you already know that.” She’d never really made connections to anything that was a part of a code. Except that she’d founded so much of what she was on that fact, and now she was having to rewrite all of it. “You know, I actually think a lot of people have the whole humanity thing down. It’s just how they use it that matters.” She allowed Bex to take her hand, careful not to spill her drink, and lead her back to the main floor. “Sorry, I’m not particularly used to it. Ah, accepting compliments. Not my area.” She felt nice, though, when Bex said she was going to keep trying, even if it made her cheeks warm a bit with embarrassment. She looked over at the tables, deciding that it was probably a bad idea to go back to the one that they’d previously been at, but the only one open had the leprechauns at it. Mina pulled a face but went in that direction. “Okay, I’m not sure if I trust you, now. I’ve never been called smug in my entire life.” But she pulled up a seat for Bex and sat down herself, putting her chips down and motioning for the dealer to deal her in. The leprechauns turned, and she could barely make out their eyes staring at her before she looked away. Fae unity or not, she detested leprechauns.

“Well, me, too,” Bex shrugged, “all we can do is keep trying, though, right? And...we have each other, right?” And though Mina’s smile was soft and it cut through the more hardened part of the sentence, Bex could still feel the sorrow behind the words. “You know you can do both, yeah? Connect to nature and other people?” A little lighter this time, teasing in her voice as she squeezed Mina’s hand. She wanted that other smile to be on her face, not this one. “Hmmm,” she hummed in thought, “I guess you could have a point there. But hey, don’t apologize for that. Like I said, I’ll keep trying.” She wouldn’t mind doing that at all. She turned her head enough to make sure Mina saw the smile on her own face, pinching her eyes closed ever so slightly. It was only a little hypocritical, considering Bex herself often fought to accept compliments given to her, when they didn’t concern her looks or attractiveness. But how many people did she know who cared to compliment her intellect or enthusiasm? 

Once they were on the floor again, Bex let Mina decide which table to head to, hand tight in hers. “Ah ah,” she said, sliding into her spot, “no take backs. You already said you trusted me, so now you’re stuck with me. Sorry not sorry.” A cheeky grin flashing from behind her glass as she took another drink, before reaching in to pluck out the cherry. “Besides, it’s not like it’s an obvious smug look,” she went on, looking over at Mina unassumingly as she popped the cherry into her mouth, tugging the stem off. “I just see it in your eyes.”

“Right,” Mina said quietly. She attempted to match Bex’s tone. “You know, I’m just as good at connecting with nature as I am with people. I fell out of a tree once, actually. My dad said I broke my leg in three places. He had to carry me to the end of the hike.” And then to a body of water to heal herself enough so that she could walk on her own, but that wasn’t worth mentioning. Not when it would have made Mina look unnatural. She didn’t even know why she said it in the first place; she was trying not to worry Bex. She shook her head a bit, but she was laughing. “If you keep trying, I’ll get a big head. Isn’t that what most people try to avoid? I don’t think it’d be a good look on me.”

Mina made a face. “Wait, no, fine. I mean, I trust you, but not about this funny face business, especially with the smug comment, and…” she trailed off before she looked away from Bex, back to her own drink, before she took a swallow. The leprechaun slammed the table with their chips, startling Mina a bit. When she looked down the table, the one on top was glaring at her. She stared back. She would not be cowed by a stack of little stone men. That would be ridiculous. She looked at her cards and motioned for the dealer to hit her for another before moving on. Who allowed leprechauns to play blackjack, anyway? Wouldn’t they be better at poker, with their little stone faces and their inability to communicate properly with humans? Then again, blackjack was more about hand gestures than speaking, but still, and it was certainly a good way to make money. Some of the chips had a certain shine to them that she was sure the leprechauns liked.

“Oh, geez,” Bex said, exasperated, “another story about a broken bone, huh? And I thought I was clumsy.” The truth was that she wasn’t really as clumsy as she let people believe-- though she was clumsy, and their hike up the falls had proven that to her-- but bruise after bruise meant story after story, and she’d only tried to tell the truth once before she realized that only made things worse. “I hope you’re more careful about climbing trees now, I don’t think I could carry you to a hospital. I’m not strong, like, at all. And Nell hasn’t taught me any levitation spells yet.” Another tease, even if she didn’t quite know what she was saying. And there it was, the smile she’d been waiting for. It was back. She bit her lip and raised a brow. “You know, I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides,” she answered, leaning into her again, “you might look good with a big head.”

Mina’s words trailed off but Bex wasn’t paying too much attention. She jumped slightly when the small, angry looking man slammed his chips onto the table and glowered at the two of them. God, where were all these grumpy men coming from? Then again, this town had always had them in spades, hadn’t it? Bex had learned that the hard way. Her father’s friends were not fond of her, and while as a child she hadn’t the slightest clue why, she understood now. Her grip tightened on Mina’s arm as she wrapped one hand around it, watching the game play out. She was trying to do what Mina had said, keep track of the cards, the highs and lows, but there was too much information being given too fast. The next thing she knew, the round was over. “Wait, did you win?” she asked, looking at Mina, then to the little man. “I missed it.”

“I’m not clumsy, I was just up too high,” Mina said. “The forces of gravity working against me hardly counts as clumsiness.” She did look at Bex, though, a bit confused. “Why would you have to carry me to the hospital?” It wasn’t like that warranted going to the hospital. Did it? She thought that place was for emergencies. “But of course I’m much more careful. I don’t climb trees anymore. No chance of falling and breaking two different kinds of limbs.” No, these days she just fell off cliffs into churning ocean water. Honestly, that was far more dangerous. She wasn’t bringing that one up again. She snorted. “No, I would not look good with a big head. Absolutely not.”

Mina looked down the table and readjusted in her seat as the chips went to the leprechauns. The top one’s expression didn’t change, but it radiated smugness. She wondered if they were from the little colony that had been on campus. Had being the appropriate word. She’d done a very good job at scaring them off. “No,” she said, scrunching up her nose a bit as she laid down more chips as the dealer started passing out cards again. She muttered, “They did.” Bloody leprechauns. Especially these ones. “It’s fine, really.” She trusted in her next hand, determined to pay more attention. She didn’t really get it. She rarely lost track of things like this.

“You call it gravity,” Bex pointed out, “I call it being clumsy. Don’t worry, there were plenty of times ‘clumsy’ was gravity for me, too. Now we match!” She leaned over, patting Mina’s arm comfortingly, as if she’d just been given a truth that was hard to bear. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Bex let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Because I’m not a med student, I’m pre-law and I only took one First-Aid class. You do not want me splinting a broken bone. I’d probably do more damage than help. But I do know CPR,” she tacked on with a grin, “you know...just in case.” She nodded, putting her chin back in her palm, watching Mina with amusement. “Mmmhmm, well, you never know until you try, right? Isn’t there a saying about that?” 

Bex watched as all the chips were slid over to the frowning man, and she felt a tiny surge of anger as well. Sipped her drink again as she glared at him glaring at Mina. Well, now she really wanted MIna to beat him, if only to wipe that look off his face. She clung to Mina’s arm, watching the cards get doled out again, waiting to see how it would turn out. Her heart was racing again, as she watched Mina’s hand. Was it good? She hoped it was. It looked like it was. She only had a few cards. That was good, right? Mina had said fewer cards meant a better hand. Really, she didn’t even care if Mina won, she just didn’t want the angry man to win. It would be nice, though, if she did win. Bex barely even noticed her grip tightening on Mina’s arm as she waited with anticipation.

Mina narrowed her eyes just a bit before pulling a face, scrunching up her nose as she tried not to smile. “You’re teasing me. Stop it.” Or don’t, I really don’t mind, actually. It’s perfectly okay if you want to just keep teasing me for however long you like. She laughed. “Oh, well, if that’s the problem, then I can splint my own leg perfectly, actually. So, you won’t have to worry about that, Ms. Pre-Law. The CPR might be useful, though.” She leaned back, raising an eyebrow at the younger girl. “I’m quite certain that there are some things that shouldn’t be tried, like poisonous berries or, maybe, inflated egos. Maybe I’m wrong, though.”

Tapping her fingers against the table, Mina allowed a small smile to work its way onto her face as she won the hand, the chips being slid towards her. She heard the disgruntled clicks coming from the torso area of the stacked leprechauns, and, okay, maybe she was feeling just a bit smug. If she was, there was really only one person to blame. She smiled, first at Bex and then at the dealer, and then she raised her bet. One a hand. Raised it again. Wash, rinse, and repeat. The leprechauns weren’t the only people at the table getting frustrated. The dealer raised an eyebrow at her, but Mina simply asked, “Do you believe in luck.” He motioned toward where a pit boss was headed towards them, a frown on his face. “No, apparently not, right?” She looked between Bex, the chips, and the pit boss. “We, ah, we might have to leave.” Then moving closer, she quietly added, “Quickly, or do you remember what I told you happened the first time I played? There, ah, might be a repeat of that here.”

Bex put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. Fingers grazing wounds she’d nearly forgotten about in her delight from the evening. “I would never,” she scoffed, doing her best impression of a British accent. “Okay, show off. But how would you get back to town or to a doctor’s so you could heal properly, hmm? Would hate for you to regrow another bone wrong,” she said, raising a brow inquisitively. “You know someone had to try them first to find out they were bad ideas, though. Would it help if I told you I’d probably still like you, even if you had a big head? You’re like, pretty much the only one that tolerates my history gibberish.” 

Bex quieted as she watched, with increasing fascination, as Mina won. Hand, after hand, after hand. Their chips were piling up! It wasn’t even about the money, Bex didn’t need money, but it was might satisfying watching everyone else-- especially that stone-faced man-- lose theirs. Steal from the rich, give to the-- well, okay, that metaphor didn’t apply, but Bex did like proving people wrong. She hadn’t even noticed the angry look on the dealer’s face, or the rather scary looking man ina suit heading towards them until Mina pointed it out. “What?” Bex asked, looking up. Her gaze followed Mina’s over and she inhaled sharply. “Hmm, you know what? I, uh-- I think I’ve had enough cards for one night, yep! We should, ah-- we’re just gonna--” Sliding out of her seat, keeping a tight hold on Mina’s hand. She stopped for just a brief moment to finish off her drink, before turning and tugging MIna after her. They definitely could not get caught, and not just because Mina was card counting. There were at least two other illegal things they’d done here, and both of them were about Bex. “C’mon, c’mon,” she urged, looking behind her to see the very disgruntled security man trailing after them. She weaved her way through the tables with ease, despite the increasing pain in her chest that seemed to be smothered by the adrenaline of the situation. Pushed out the same door they’d come in, laughing as they ducked past the bouncer outside and into the cool night air.

Once they were far enough away Bex was sure they wouldn’t be followed, she finally stopped, still beaming. “You know,” she panted, a little winded, “I don’t think I’ve ever been thrown out of somewhere before!” 

Mina opened her mouth slightly in shock before she snapped it shut and then gave a small laugh. She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t need to find a doctor, you know I wouldn’t need a doctor, I’d just need to find something to support me while looking for shelter.” Specifically, a body of water. Then she could heal over the course of a few days enough to eventually make it back to wherever she was supposed to be headed. She hummed. “Alright, let’s get this clear, shall we? I don’t think your history talk is gibberish. It’s fascinating, especially to someone who has no real prior knowledge about any of what you’re talking on. I like it. I like hearing you talk.” 

There wasn’t really much time for conversation as they made their escape, the chips left deserted on the table and the top leprechaun’s stone stare following them through the crowd whenever Mina had the chance to look back. But she let Bex lead her, directing them passed the tables, passed the security guards. Mina gave one of them an apologetic wave and resigned herself to being on her best behavior the next time that she came to the Stacked Deck unless she had another reason not to be. Another reason like the sound of Bex’s laugh as they made it out into open air, happy and breathless, and, wow, Mina could only compare this to an adrenaline rush during a fight, except it wasn’t quite like that, not really, and she didn’t really know what to do with it. She looked at Bex, laughing. “Yes, well, usually, when I get thrown out of places, it’s a bit more dramatic than this. I think they stopped caring here when they realized I’d left the money.”

All Bex could see in this moment was Mina’s smile. Her face, framed perfectly by her hair, that chocolate-y shade of brown that reflected the moonlight just right. Bex’s breath was coming out in front of her in little puffs of air as she huffed to catch her breath-- she knew most of it was because her body was still trying to catch up to itself while it healed, but there was something else there, and she knew it. Her entire body even felt like it was vibrating, she barely heard what Mina was saying. She was just stuck, staring at her, feeling something building in her chest. Something so odd and yet distantly familiar she couldn’t help but want to feel it more. To understand what it was. And maybe she did understand, but right now all that mattered was this moment, her body flushed with excitement and a happiness she’d rarely felt. And she grabbed onto those feelings and she just...acted. Something Bex rarely, if ever, did. And the impulse came as her stepping forward to close the distance between her and Mina and cupping Mina’s face with her hands and pressing her lips to Mina’s in a flurry of emotions. And, oh, wow, did it feel nice, so nice. It just made her heart pound harder and faster and all the air in her lungs left, and after only a short moment she had to pull away to gasp for breath, still holding onto Mina.

And then the reality of what she’d done slammed her into the cement and Bex felt her entire body go cold, save for the burning in her chest. She let go of Mina and stepped back. “I--” she didn’t know what to say, she had no words, cold and frozen on her tongue. “I’m so sorry,” she managed to say, “I’m so-- I didn’t mean to-- I should’ve asked, I’m sorry.” Because what else was she supposed to say?

Fight. Flight. Freeze. Mina was very good at freezing, at going still in the face of something coming at her. Sometimes, she believed if she stood strong enough, she could be prepared for whatever was coming at her. Nothing could have prepared Mina for getting kissed. Really, she hadn’t expected it. Not that she’d never been kissed before! She had! But those times it had been expected, and it just… it never ended well. It was hard for things to end well when the ways that she saw herself and the ways that other people saw her were so… not well. But this was unexpected, and it was nice, and Mina didn’t think that Bex saw the way hunters and slayers and wardens-- and Mina herself-- saw her. She couldn’t breathe, for just a moment, couldn’t think, couldn’t really do anything, and just when her brain started to feel less like a jumble of ones and zeros in an order that didn’t make sense, Bex was pulling away, and Mina was left standing there blinking with her mouth half open trying to figure out what was going on. 

“Wait,” Mina said. “Wait, wait, wait.” She reached out for Bex’s hand before pulling back, reaching out again, opening her mouth, closing it, trying to figure out what to do. “Wait,” she said again because apparently that was the only thing she could actually figure out how to coherently say. Words, she needed to say words, more than just one. “You-- I--” Good, yes, incredible. She’d kick herself if she was able to. “You’re sorry?” she finally managed to ask. She swallowed tightly, before looking into Bex’s eyes, at her lips. Mina licked her own. “I mean, if-- if you’d asked, the, ah, the outcome. It would have, well, I mean, it would have been the same, really, so you just sort of skipped a step or two.”

Wait. The word made Bex pause. Mina said it four more times and still Bex didn’t move. She watched her with her own wide-eyed stare, hands shaking, as Mina’s mind seemed to crank back to life. Was she mad? Was she upset? Was she going to leave? Bex wouldn’t blame her. She hadn’t meant to. The feeling of the moment had just grabbed her and whisked her away and maybe, at heart, she’d always been this oddly impulsive. But her heart was still pounding, and her mouth felt dry and she watched Mina looking at her, and watched her lick her own lips and felt her heart squeeze and-- Mina said she didn’t mind. Perhaps had even liked it, from what Bex could parse out of her jumbled sentence. It was Bex’s turn to stutter. “You-- if I--” swallowed the lump in her throat, vibrating. She reflexively reached out and met Mina’s hand between them, “it was okay?” Was that really the problem here? Making sure it was okay? Even to Bex, it was clear it was, now. “I can--” she started again, moving a little bit closer, “--do you want me to...do it again?” Her voice was shaky and her breath was hot, but she moved in closer again, feeling the pull inside of her own chest telling her to do it. Do it again because it was the best she’d felt in literal years. And she wanted to, fuck did she want to. “Cause I can do that. I can definitely do that, i-if you want.”

“Bex,” Mina said, and she laughed a little bit, unable to truly catch her breath. “It was okay. It was more than okay, actually, really much more than okay.” So much more than okay. Stupidly more than okay. Mina wasn’t breathing properly. That was the only logical explanation to this lightheadedness, this tightness in her chest. But it was altogether quite illogical, really. She looked at their hands, laced their fingers together. “Please,” she said. She brought her free hand to Bex’s face, lightly stroking the younger girl’s cheek. “I want that.” She wanted it a lot, more than she could say, in any language, and Mina was practically fluent in three. She wanted it like she’d wanted so few things in her life because she’d never been given the opportunity to properly want things, hadn’t really understood that wanting was something she could do, and now that she’s started really, actually wanting something, something like this, well. She couldn’t just stop now, could she? They were close. They were so close, and all that Mina could do was nod her head and close her eyes and say again, “Yes, I want that a lot.” And, honestly, Mina would have kissed Bex herself if she wasn’t a coward, but even when she knew what she wanted, she was so, so scared that it’d be taken away, even if the probability of that was low. Bex had kissed her first! But it could be a joke. But it probably wasn’t. But it could be. So Mina just had to say what she wanted and hope, hope, hope for the best. Blackjack wasn’t real gambling. This was.

This wasn’t what Bex was supposed to want, but there was that saying, right? The heart wants what it wants? And, really, how often had Bex gotten what she wanted? Probably never. Maybe never. Her mind tried to find something to prove herself wrong, to prove that she didn’t have to give in to this strange, yet wonderful feeling inside of her, because her life was fine. Just fine. And she didn’t need this to make her happy, she could be happy in other ways, right? But it found nothing, and maybe she hadn’t wanted it to. Definitely hadn’t wanted it to. “Okay,” was all she said, barely nodding, because she was afraid if she started talking again she wouldn’t stop. And right now she didn’t want to talk, she wanted to kiss Mina. So she did, leaning into her this time, pressing their lips together gently. Fingers intertwined, Mina’s hand on her cheek, there wasn’t possibly anything else Bex could have wanted in that moment. She even let her free hand grab onto the fabric of Mina’s shirt and bunch it up and kiss her just a little more desperately, because who knew when she’d get something like this again. Who knew when this was going to simply slip through her fingers, like all good things did. And this time, when she had to pull away to breath, she didn’t say anything-- just looked at Mina and hoped she wasn’t dreaming.

The second kiss was better than the first, and, really, Mina could have asked for a third, possibly even a fourth, but they were just standing there, out in the open, and, wow, Mina really wanted this. She could stay in this moment and just enjoy it if she was allowed to, for as long as she was allowed to. But she and Bex both needed to breathe. She kept her eyes closed for just a moment longer, trying to slow down her rapidly beating heart with a few deep, even breaths. When she opened her eyes, Bex was staring at her. She hoped she wasn’t blushing too hard. Impulsively, she rushed forward and gave Bex a soft peck before pulling away just as quickly, smiling contentedly. She hoped she didn’t look like a fool. She probably looked like a fool. Did she even care that much, though, really? “Yeah.” Mina cleared her throat. “Yeah, that was-- That was absolutely more than okay. Just, I mean, just so you know.” She paused, eyes widening a bit. “I mean, actually, unless it wasn’t okay for you, in which case, and are you alright? You seem alright, but--” she laughed nervously. “Um, yeah. Yeah.”

It was Bex’s turn to just smile, the grin spreading across her lips as she watched Mina and listened to her fumble over her words. They really were quite similar, weren't they? Bex waited patiently for Mina to finish before she reached out to brush Mina’s hair behind her ear again. “Like you said, it was more than okay. And I’m okay.” She gave a short nod-- it wasn’t a lie. “I’m really okay.” Squeezed her hand tighter, rolling her lip between her teeth before she glanced around them. Her gaze landed back on Mina. “I really like your smile,” she said quietly, wondering if she could get Mina to blush anymore than she already was. She didn’t want to leave this spot, but it was getting colder outside and they were sort of in the middle of a public parking lot, and if someone hadn’t already seen them, they surely would soon. She tugged on Mina’s hand gently as she motioned towards the parking lot, walking backwards so she wouldn’t have to look away from her for too long. And if she fell, she knew Mina would catch her. “We should probably get back,” she commented, still hoping this moment wasn’t just a dream, or that she wouldn’t wake up tomorrow and immediately regret everything. Or even that this would make things weird between them. She wasn’t even sure what this meant, but those were all things for her to worry about tomorrow. For tonight, she would just give herself this. This one small thing that made her happy. “If you’re not too tired, we could watch another movie. You know, there’s still three Jurassic Parks left to watch.”

Mina managed to laugh. Relief, overwhelmingly so. “Good, good. That’s good.” She could be okay with this. Was this that whole ‘going after what you want’ thing that she’d been told about so much? Because, if it was, and the results were this positive? She could stand to do it a bit more often. Really, she could. Her smile managed to brighten as she said, “I like yours, too, you know. It’s cute.” It was cute and sweet and kind of wonderful when it reached Bex’s eyes, and every time Mina saw it, she couldn’t get enough. She let Bex lead the way back to the car before she unlocked and opened the passenger side door for her. “You’re right, absolutely. It’s late.” She’d really like it if this didn’t end, if she could just hold on to this moment and the lightness and heaviness and overwhelmingness of it all. How often does someone like Mina get things that she would like to hold onto? Not particularly often, actually. Maybe more than usual in the last year, but she could probably count the occasions out on both hands. She walked around to the driver’s side and got in, looking at Bex seriously. “Three more movies? Well, actually, I don’t think I know nearly enough about dinosaurs, so I guess we’ll have to watch at least one to fix that.”

Well that backfired. Now Bex was blushing, hiding her face against her shoulder as she felt the heat rising in her cheeks, a smile permanently on her lips. “That’s objective,” she said, “and I think you’re a little biased at this point.” She climbed into the car when Mina opened the door for her and folded her hands into her lap as she waited, turning to look at the other girl as she hopped in the driver’s side. “Yep,” she answered simply, giving a toothy grin, “and they’re working on one more right now. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of dino content to help catch you up.” She really wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss Mina again-- she’d never kissed anyone in a car-- but opted for just placing a hand on her knee. Leaning over to kiss someone seemed as if it might strain her injury and then Mina would probably get worried and the whole night might be ruined. Bex didn’t want that at all. The drive home somehow seemed longer, but maybe it was because Bex was desperate to be out of the car and close to Mina again. She’d never felt like this before, never ached to be near someone. It went against everything she told herself she was, and everything her parents told her not to be. She didn’t want that to matter right now, though. She could figure out the complicated stuff tomorrow, when her head was on right. 

Bex opened the front door to Morgan’s as quietly as possible as she held on to Mina’s hand, slipping inside with her. It was quiet, but she knew Morgan and Deirdre rarely slept. Bex felt as if she’d slept too much these past few days, but it was getting better. And she somehow figured she’d sleep really well tonight. “C’mon,” she murmured, “we can watch in my room. There’s a TV in there.” 

It was nice, Mina thought, to be the one teasing instead of getting teased. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’m the only biased one here, so.” She was beginning to recognize the feeling she felt as something akin to being mildly intoxicated, which was actually quite impossible, since she’d barely had one drink, and she didn’t start feeling anything for a bit. But that was the only comparison that she had to draw from that wasn’t violent, and so maybe she needed to worry about that. If she was feeling buzzed off of one drink, something might possibly be wrong. Unless this wasn’t that at all. In which case, she was confused. Bex’s hand was warm on Mina’s knee. She kind of wanted to kiss Bex again. “See? I was worried. Three more movies is not nearly enough dino content.” She could barely remember what happened through the first movie because she and Bex definitely ended up falling asleep. 

Mina let Bex lead her inside, trying to be quiet. Really, what she should do is excuse herself for a bit and go to the pool; since Bex had woken up, Mina hadn’t been able to go in the water and just stay there for extended periods of time like she used to. It was hard to do such things with a human in the house who would definitely notice a water nymph hanging around the pool, especially if that water nymph was actually someone that she spent time with. Instead, she followed after Bex, saying, “I’m right behind you.” It was fine. She could always just soak in the tub later.

Bex could list all the reason this was a bad idea off the top of her head, if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t. Maybe it was time for her to just make all those bad decisions that had been hiding themselves inside of her. It wasn’t like there was anyone to tell her not to. There was no one around that would stop her, or tell her she shouldn’t, or tell her this wasn’t the way she should be acting. There was only her wants and her needs and everything else be damned, she wanted to feel good for once. Even if none of it stuck tomorrow, she wanted tonight to stay. She didn’t want these feelings to end, this emotional high she was riding. She led Mina up to her room and closed the door, turning around to face her. She didn’t move to turn on the TV, but instead reached up to smooth down the collar of Mina’s shirt. “I’ll um,” she started, but her heart was hammering in her chest again and she was sure Mina could hear it, “I’ll put on the movie, if you want to just--” she paused, looking into her eyes-- “sit on the bed.” On her bed. In her room. The one and only other time she’d ever had someone alone in her room like this it had turned out catastrophic. Turned her entire life upside down and dumped her here, stuck under the scrutiny of her parents’ thumb. Would this turn out like that? She really hoped not. She still hadn’t moved, she needed to move. She didn’t want to move. 

One of Bex’s hands was on the collar of Mina’s shirt. It was a bit distracting, not unlike the hand on her knee or literally any time Bex had touched her at all over the period of the entire night. It was always a shock, whenever people touched her so carefree, something she’d only started getting somewhat used to since coming to White Crest, and Bex did it a lot, and it was lovely, really, it was, but it was also so distracting, and how did people think like this, anyway? She managed a teasing smile, very little thought required. “Right, of course, I can go sit on the bed.” One of Bex’s hands was on the collar of Mina’s shirt. Mina squeezed the other one from where it was still firmly laced with hers. “As soon as you let go?” Just like earlier, it felt good to tease, to have fun, to not have to be so serious or nervously, anxiously energetic. Mina had a lot of energy, all the time, far too much of it, really. She’s always wondered if that was a Fae thing, a desire to always be getting into something, causing mischief, running away. She’d assumed that any sort of mischief had been carefully and methodically worked out of her system years ago. It was nice to know that it wasn’t. She moved closer to Bex. “Or we could just stand here?”

Bex could feel her entire body warming up. The blush from cheeks was spreading to her entire face, perhaps even down her neck and to her chest where her heart pounded against her ribs. Mina was closer now and Bex heard blood rushing through her ears. “Right,” she agreed, not looking down at their intertwined hands at all, “I just have to...let go.” It felt as if the words were meant for more than just referring to their hands. Just let go. Of everything that had been holding her back up until this moment. Just let go, of all the pain and hiding and denial. Just let go, of pleasing everyone else before herself. Just let go. But she didn’t let go of Mina. Instead she dug her hand into Mina’s shirt again, fingers bunching up cloth, and tugged her closer. If this was the only night she got to feel this way, to be this way, then she wanted to make sure she used every opportunity to have it. “Or you could kiss me again,” she suggested quietly, “while we stand here.” Her voice was wavering, but she’d never felt more sure about anything, about what she wanted. “Because I kinda don’t want to let go.” 

They were just standing there in front of the door, facing each other, and all Mina could think was, Oh. There wasn’t much else going on in her head except for that and the fact that, why, yes, she could kiss Bex. She could just lean in-- not far, they were already so close-- and kiss her, and, wow, okay, yeah. She could do that. So she did that, leaning in slowly but surely, one hand tightening a bit on Bex’s while the other moved to Bex’s hair. Kissing Bex made Mina feel warm and light and fuzzy, all kinds of soft feelings that she felt would turn her into a puddle if she lingered too long. Maybe this was what happened to nixies when they got so happy they just died from it; they turned into a puddle of water and soaked back into the earth. But she didn’t particularly want to stop, not yet, not when she didn’t really know if she was going to be able to keep doing this. Nice things didn’t stay. Bex could wake up the next day and laugh in Mina’s face, but, really, if she could just enjoy this moment, for a moment, maybe that could be enough. It’d make this whole wanting thing worth it. When they both seemed to need to breathe she pulled away, her hand still in Bex’s hair. She had such soft hair. She ran her hand through it, unable to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. “Ah, good?”

Was it supposed to feel this good? It wasn’t supposed to feel this good. This wasn’t supposed to feel good. But, god, did it ever. It felt so good. Bex didn’t want to stop, even to breath. She wanted to keep kissing Mina, with their hands intertwined and Mina’s hand in her hair and Bex’s hand bunching up her shirt. Or maybe she’d be okay with moving somewhere else, as long as they kept kissing. She didn’t care about watching a movie anymore, or pretending like she wanted to watch a movie. When Mina pulled away, Bex stayed close, leaning into her. “Good,” she exhaled breathlessly, hoping to quell the uncertainty in MIna’s voice, “really good.” So good, in fact, she didn’t really want to keep talking about it. So she just leaned in again and pretended like they’d never stopped in the first place, gently prodding Mina to walk back towards the bed. She unfurled their hands in order to get a better grip on Mina as she kissed her and she pretended like nothing else in the world mattered. Because, really, it didn’t. It simply didn’t. Not right now. There wasn’t even that strange, growing dread in her stomach like last time she’d kissed a girl this much. There wasn’t even that little voice in the back of her head telling her this was wrong. This was just...all that mattered. All that she cared about. All that she wanted. And god damnit, she was going to take it. 

Mina allowed Bex to back her up towards the bed, using her recently freed hand to feel around behind her to make sure that she didn’t just hit it and fall over. Nothing about kissing should be this interesting and overencompasing and so much, but Mina felt stupid with it, giddy with it. Her hand hit the bed, followed by her knees, and she rocked forward, winding both hands into Bex’s hair, unable and unwilling to break away. Could she keep this, please? Just for a bit? She’d like this for a moment, maybe longer, maybe two moments, something that could last long enough for her to know that it was real. Because things like this were usually fake, and that was fine, really! She was used to it. Mina just didn’t think she deserved nice things. This was kind of a given, but she wanted them, and she wanted this, her fingers in Bex’s hair. And it seemed so real, and it just kept going on. She brushed the side of Bex’s face with her thumb. Eventually, she broke away briefly, momentarily, because she needed to breathe, before kissing Bex again. And again. And again. 

Bex would have believed this was a dream, had she not been able to feel Mina’s hands in her hair. Her lips against her own. This had to be a dream, though, right? For so long, Bex had been so afraid of dreaming again. Of being in that place again. But if this was what was there this time, then maybe she didn’t mind so much. No, she definitely didn’t mind at all. Mina’s knees hit the bed and their progress stopped and in the back of Bex’s head she knew they should stop for a moment to adjust, the tinge of pain in her chest reminding her why, but she didn’t want to. Not yet. Just a second longer. Just a little more. Her chest heaved after a moment and she had to pull back to breath. Her face was on fire and, actually, her entire body felt like it was on fire. She prodded Mina to sit back on the bed and climbed up next to her, breathing heavily. She leaned back in, brushing her lips against Mina’s gently while she still struggled to breath through the pounding in her chest. She didn’t want this to end, and more than that, she didn’t want Mina to leave. Sleep didn’t seem so hard with Mina around. And maybe if she never left, it would mean that this wouldn’t have to end. “Will you stay with me?” she asked under her breath, forehead pressed to Mina’s. “Just...for the night?” 

There was a distinct lack of a lot going on in Mina’s head. She almost always had something going on, too much, really. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t let anyone see what you are. Be on guard. Remember what you’re doing in class tomorrow. A thousand numbers and phrases and reminders going off all the time, like the reminder that she really shouldn’t stay the night, that she should go relax for a bit, that she should go and sit on the bottom of the floor and think very intensely about what was happening. But Mina didn’t get that reminder. Instead, there was just Bex, and the feeling of Bex’s lips on hers, and the way their foreheads were pressed together. “Yeah, yes, I can stay tonight.” She could absolutely stay the night. Now that the option was there, she clearly, very much wanted to stay the night. Even if she was mildly uncomfortable and had to make up for it later, she wanted this. So much. She didn’t even really know how to comprehend how much she wanted it. Her brain still wasn’t working as well as it should be. Still, she knew enough to ask, “Are you okay?”

Whatever signals Bex’s brain usually gave her that something was probably a bad idea, or that she wasn’t supposed to do something, were completely shut off right now. In fact, her mind was barely functioning, because all of her concentration was on Mina’s eyes and her lips and trying to calm down her own, rapid heartbeat. Her cheeks were warm, so warm, and Mina’s hands were still holding her face and she pressed into Mina’s palm, because what else was she supposed to do? They were so soft and comforting. She drew in a breath, held it for a moment. She needed to calm down, but how was she supposed to do that, when they were still so close and Mina had said she’d stay. She nodded, perhaps a bit more hastily than she should have. “I’m okay,” she insisted, and she was. Really, she was. She looked up into Mina’s eyes, then. “But you-- you’re sure?” she managed to stutter, hands still buried in the cloth of her shirt. She knew the answer, she did, but she had to make sure. Had to make sure this was real and her mind wasn’t tricking her, and then once she was sure, maybe her heart would stop pounding out of her chest and she could kiss Mina again. She clung to her as if she was the only thing keeping her grounded right now, and if she let go, she would simply fall through the Earth and cease to exist. “You’ll stay?” And maybe she was asking too much, but hadn’t she suffered enough? Didn’t she, too, deserve something nice? 

“Yes, absolutely sure. Really, really sure, actually,” Mina said. Bex’s hand was still clutching her shirt, and she was so close, and, really, what else could she possibly say? The thought of leaving and going back to her room or the pool or just being anywhere that wasn’t in that room, in that moment, seemed impossible. If Mina wasn’t Fae and didn’t know any better, she would think that Bex was a leanan-sidhe with poisonous, perfect kisses, stripping Mina of any ability to want to do anything else. She should have known, probably, what this feeling was, that tightness that had been growing in her chest, warm and painful and happy, since she’d first started really talking to Bex. And she had, but it hadn’t solidified until she felt Bex’s lips on hers? She didn’t think so. She’d never been taught what to do with this. She’d never been taught how to handle this kind of good hurt. She leaned forward again, and gave Bex a soft kiss, gentle and lingering for only a moment before pulling away again. “I want to stay tonight, as long as you want me to.” She moved one of her hands from Bex’s face and held out her pinky. I am not saying the words, but this is proof that I mean this. I mean this. I mean this. 

“Of course I want you to stay,” Bex exhaled, nuzzling into Mina’s hand still on her face. “I want you to stay.” She felt more words bubbling up in her throat, begging to be let out. I want you, I want you, I want you. Words she’d thought a million times over, words that someone else had heard her think. But she swallowed them down, because they scared her. It absolutely frightened her, the prospect of happiness. Instead, she held up her own hand and locked pinkies with Mina and she meant it. She meant it. She wanted nothing more than to make sure this lasted as long as possible. So with their pinkies hooked, she leaned forward again and kissed her and poured all of her thoughts into the action. Whatever the world held for them tomorrow, they could figure it out, then. This was all that mattered. This, just this. This and only this. She pulled Mina with her as she laid back on the bed and finally moved her hands from Mina’s shirt, circling them around Mina’s shoulders and pulling her closer. If that was possible. She was staying, she was staying, she was staying. It was hard to believe. People didn’t stay. But Mina was staying. And Bex wanted her to stay. And her stomach felt tight, and warm, and floaty all at the same time. It was nothing like the last time she’d kissed a girl. Mina was nothing like her. She could trust Mina. She could want Mina. She pulled away after a moment and looked up into Mina’s eyes. “I--” she started, but stopped, words bubbling in her throat, “tonight was-- I just want to tell you…” took a breath, “T-word. For tonight. I-- I really liked it. Being with you. Out. Being out with you.” She was beginning to feel her nerves build up again. She needed to shut up. Her hands shook again and she shut herself up by pulling Mina back down to her and smothering her own lips. She should’ve done this sooner, she realized. Why hadn’t she done this sooner?

Then it was simple. Mina would stay. She’d do anything to hold onto this moment for as long as she possibly could. She squeezed Bex’s pinky with hers while they kissed, the promise of it lacing in her stomach. She could feel it in the way that Bex kissed her, in the way that she kissed back, and it was comforting in a way that promises rarely were. She could enjoy this. This wasn’t something to fear. It wasn’t a weight bearing down on her chest, something cold and metallic in the back of her throat like a reminder. It was solid, and real, and okay. Smiling against Bex’s lips, Mina wrapped one arm around Bex and got close, using the other to prop herself up. She pulled away, breathing heavy. “You really don’t have to thank me, you know. Or, even, not thank me, in this case. I really liked it, too.” She had to get it all out quickly, as quickly as possible. “I always like hanging out with you, whether we’re doing something like tonight at the falls or just drinking tea and watching movies. I’m not very good with saying these things, but-- but--” But she kissed Bex again, and, really, that was just as good as words, right? It seemed to be working pretty effectively for both of them, so far. And, sure, she knew that eventually they would get tired and need to breathe, but that was later. This was now.

But what, Bex wanted to ask, but what? But, well, that would require breaking the kiss, and why would she do that? She could ask later, when she had to breathe. Or maybe she just wouldn’t ask at all. Maybe they didn’t need to talk anymore. Hadn’t they spent all night talking? Maybe they could do with talking less, even if words tried to fight their way onto Bex’s tongue. It was just nerves, when she got nervous, she just started talking. She didn’t want to do that here. She wanted to just do this. But when they broke to breathe once more, she couldn’t help it. Her hands went up to Mina’s face, cupping her jaw, thumbs brushing her now rosy cheeks. “But I wanted to,” she huffed, her breaths coming up heavy, “I want to. You won’t let me say it, anyway.” She smiled, she couldn’t help it. She always smiled around Mina. “I like spending time with you, too. Doing anything,” her words got quieter, “but I think...I really like doing this.” But what? She still wanted to ask. She strained a bit to move herself up to press a soft kiss to Mina’s lips, lingering, before she laid back down. “But what?”

“‘Course I won’t let you say it,” Mina said, her eyes closing without her really wanting them to as she leaned in to Bex’s touch. “Saying thank you is like,” she paused, thinking it over, “it’s like owing something. Some even find it offensive, but it’s more about the owing of something. It’s saying ‘I thank you for this thing and owe you a favor’ for it, which can be something you don’t want, right? And you don’t owe me anything, ever.” She looked up briefly and smiled, and, when Bex kissed her again, she hummed in the back of her throat, not really realizing that Bex said something when she pulled away and Mina realized she needed to say something. Her eyebrows furrowed. “But what?” What ‘but what?’ What did ‘but what’ have to do with anything? Oh. Wait. “I’m not very good at saying these things, or any things, really without getting it all mixed up, sometimes, but I mean this. I like doing this. I really-- fuck.” She didn’t say that often, old habits of always being so careful of what she said hard to shake off. “I really like this, being with you, spending time with you.” She leaned over and kissed Bex because she couldn’t not, propping herself on her arms. She pulled away just a bit, her eyes tightly closed. Her voice felt rough as she said, “I’m so happy around you, and I don’t know what to do about that. I’ve never been like this before.” It was concerning. It was terrifying. It was really, really nice.

The words were strange. Bex had spent her entire life owing people things. She’d never realized the innocuousness of the words, either. How they could be said in kindness and taken in maliciousness. “Okay,” she answered quietly, “I won’t say it.” Even if she knew she wouldn’t mind owing Mina. Even if she knew she’d do anything for Mina. Bex did her best to look up into Mina’s eyes as she spoke, feeling her heartbeat increasing with each word Mina said. Even let out a small giggle when Mina cursed, biting her lip. She let her hands brush into Mina’s hair gently before coming back around to smooth down the front of her shirt again, palms flat. Bex licked her lips, felt her heart beating in her throat. “You could just...keep doing this? Because...I like being around you, too. You make me happy, or make me feel like everything’s going to be okay. That one day...I’ll be okay.” It was terribly, horribly frightening, that prospect. That one day Bex could be truly happy. That one day, maybe, she didn’t have to live her life in debt to someone else. That one day, maybe her life would be her own. That maybe Morgan was right, she did deserve to be happy. Gently, she prodded Mina to sit up again, still staying close to her. She moved them so that they were laying properly in the bed now, and curled up beside her, moving the hair from her face. “We can just...have this. Can’t we?”

“If you want to say it, you can, but I won’t accept,” Mina said quietly. “As I’ve said, it’s better to appreciate things, or to be grateful, or to simply do something in return. An equivalent exchange, right? That’s always better. It’s harder to twist those things, make them ugly. I’d never do that, though, even if you said ‘thank you.’ I’d never, I p-- you know.” She was having trouble focusing again, but she did her best to remain in the moment, to keep listening, to not get lost inside her head or heart over what she wanted versus what she feared could possibly happen. Honestly, if she woke up from this at the bottom of the pool, she was going to scream. “I could, quite honestly, keep doing this, yes. Easily. I’d really like it.” Is she allowed this? Can she please keep this? Mina felt a bit like she was going to shatter at the thought that Bex wanted this just as much as she did. It hurt, but in a good way, like when something was healing, and it was settling back into the right position, and that made it hurt, but it’d all be better as long as it got the chance to heal. “We can have this,” she said, laying down but never looking away from Bex. You deserve such good things, and I would like to give them to you if I can. She pulled Bex’s hands to her lips as she nodded. “We can have this.”

“I never really...thought about it that way,” Bex said quietly, “and, well, I appreciate you. But you already know that. Right?” she looked up into her eyes, pleading with her quietly, to say that yes, she did, she knew that. “I know you wouldn’t. Do that to me. I know.” She leaned in closer, kissing her softly, as if punctuating her statement that she knew. She knew Mina would never hurt her like that. She knew. And maybe that, even if she did, she would forgive her. When she pulled away again, she stayed close by, close enough to feel the warmth of Mina’s breath. She let her pull her hand up to her lips and felt something flood through her entire body. It was a strange sense of peace. It made her entire body relax as she realized that, in this moment, there wasn’t a single thing in the world that could hurt her. Not her magic, not her parents, not the world in her sleep that kept threatening to take her back-- not even the thing that caused the scabs on her chest. Mina was safe. She let out a long breath, then, and decided everything was okay. She moved her hand to intertwine her fingers with Mina’s again, before she moved herself forward, and nestled against Mina’s chest, sighing. “I’m so grateful for you, Mina,” she whispered against her chest, eyes already growing tired.

You say that now, but you could change your mind, and I absolutely wouldn’t even blame you, not with everything that I keep from you, Mina thought, but she just smiled. “I appreciate you, too. That feels like a given, at this point.” The world was round, the ocean was dangerous, and Mina appreciated Bex Ochsenstein. These were some of the well-known facts of the universe. She couldn’t imagine her life anymore without Bex in it. It wasn’t that she didn’t remember life outside of the other girl; she did. Every scar was a lesson, every lesson refused to properly fade from her brain, even though she was trying to change and be better. She still had that training, and she still had school, and she still had the whole getting better at ‘being a person’ thing that she tried to work on with varying degrees of success. But being with Bex kind of… made all of that sort of fade into the background sometimes. It was still there, but it wasn’t the most important thing. Being in this moment with Bex was the most important thing, and that was so utterly scary as much as it was comforting. Mina wrapped her arms around Bex and moved up to rest her chin on top of Bex’s head. Quietly, she said, “Ich genieße jede sekunde mit dir.” Sometimes, things were easier when they were harder for other people to understand.

As her eyes drifted closed, Bex realized that this feeling in her chest was a brand new one. Mina’s arms were wrapped around her, and it was with a startle that she realized she’d never had this before. She’d never felt safe in someone’s arms before. Safe and warm and comforting. She supposed that was partially her own fault-- she didn’t usually get this close to people, and even then, she rarely let them hug her or hold her. And she understood, ultimately, that Morgan’s arms would never hurt her. And though they brought her comfort, she was too used to arms and hands meaning pain, false comfort, punishment. But no, not here, not now. Not in Mina’s arms. Her heart had finally settled, even if Bex still felt as if she were floating. Both floating and grounded all at once. She pressed in closer to Mina and let out a sigh, moving to rest one of her hands on Mina’s side. She heard the words but they were foreign to her ears. Still, somehow, she understood enough of their meaning. Their intent. “I know,” was the last thing she murmured before she fell asleep, softly and soundly and knowing, for once, that she would wake up alright.

[pocketmouse18]

Thank you so much to @herosofmarvelanddc @cloudypaws and @mtab2260 for the tag! This was so much fun to think about :)

(fair warning, I wrote too much for many of these...)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Just 2 :)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

450,577 if I did my math right!

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Officially? Just 1 - Agents of Shield (two, I guess, if you count MCU as separate, since I use characters from both...). Off the record, many more than that! I have lots of bits and bobs from other fandoms that I tinkered with when I was younger, still getting the hang of writing, not brave enough to post things, etc. etc. Some of those include X-Men, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, the Fosters, Star Wars, the Hunger Games, the 39 Clues, and a few others I can’t remember. None of those will likely see the light of day, mostly because they’re unfinished, not very good, and just not reflective of who I am as a writer anymore, but they were fun to play around with at the time :)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I just have the two, but The Important Thing is to Try wins, hands down, with 1227. Shoulder to Shoulder has 95, though, which I’m also very proud of! Important Thing has a definite advantage, being as long as it is, so I don’t know if that’s really a fair comparison between them.

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes! Or at least, I always try to! I just can’t believe someone would be kind enough to take the time to tell me what they thought of my story, so I always want to take the time to thank them and return the favor :) Plus, as I’ve learned, it’s a fantastic way to get to know some really lovely people!

6. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Well... I technically only have one story that has an ending, at least on Ao3, and it’s not an especially angsty one, since it ends in Phil and Melinda getting married :) I have some angsty chapter endings in Important Thing, if that counts? I’m not even sure if any of my unpublished fiddlings have angsty endings (most don’t have endings at all lol)... I don’t mind writing angst, but I don’t know if I’m capable of making something without a happy (or at least hopeful) ending.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've ever written?

Not really, unless you count AoS/MCU crossovers (which I guess technically count, but also I would argue it’s not a true crossover since (and I will die on this hill) AoS is a part of MCU canon). When I was younger I was a fan of playing around with crossover AUs more so than the actual characters crossing paths (so like, what if these characters from XYZ were demigods or went to Hogwarts or what have you, and not so much what would happen if the X-Men met Luke, Leia, and Han on one of their space adventures). I started writing a crossover between AoS and the Marvel Rising cartoon once (which again, not sure if that’s a true crossover, since Daisy was in Marvel Rising, but I digress), where Coulson tasks Daisy to work with Kate Bishop and Rayshaun Lucas to collect and train a team of young Inhumans, starting with Kamala Khan, but I ran out of steam pretty quickly when it got too plot heavy.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I don’t think so. I’ve had some people not understand some choices that I made, but they asked it in a way that I thought was perfectly nice, and I was happy to talk about it with them. Sometimes people get “mad” at me when I cause pain and suffering, but I know that’s all in good fun :)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope, not for me. I don’t read it or write it, personally. Writing a kiss is hard enough!

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge! Important Thing is probably too long and unwieldy to ever steal :P

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone once asked me on FFN if they could translate Important Thing to Russian, which was basically the coolest thing I’ve ever been asked!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A fic, no. I’d love to try sometime! I had a friend in college who I co-wrote with A LOT, though, so I know I enjoy that process, given the right partner. We wrote several short plays together (ranging from ~15-50 minutes in length, including one that we wrote in a single afternoon!), selected scenes from a larger (unfinished) play inspired by historical letters we found in an archive that were sent between a man from Massachusetts serving in the American Civil War, his wife, and his 8-year-old son, and several scripts for TV sitcoms (2 pilots for 2 different shows, plus additional eps for those pilots, and a couple of later eps for a different show that a classmate of ours wrote the pilot for - we were trying to practice what it would be like to be on a staff with a showrunner haha). The sitcom scripts in particular I’m very proud of, and could talk somebody’s ear off about if asked (one’s about ghost hunters and one’s about a DnD party!), but maybe that’s better saved for another post ;)

13. What's your all-time favorite ship?

That’s a very hard question for me! Mostly because shipping stuff is usually one of the last things to register for me when I’m thinking about shows/books/movies I like haha... I’m always a sucker for Philinda, and younger me was rather taken with Percabeth, I suppose.

14. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Hmm, several, really. The aforementioned AoS/Marvel Rising crossover I think could be really cool if I got it to work, but I don’t think that’ll ever happen. I also have a WIP that’s like an angstier version of a Hallmark Christmas movie AU where Daisy has to come home to her small town right before Christmas and figure out what she wants out of life, but I’m a little stalled out on that one, mostly because I’m waffling on who the charming love interest should be and because I don’t have enough of a plot, just lots of feelings about coming back home to a place you thought you had left behind lol.

I’d put Important Thing and it’s (as of yet) untitled sequel on here as things I want to finish, but I’m much more determined to see those through, so I don’t think they qualify for the “never will actually write” part of this question :)

15. What are your writing strengths?

I don’t know if other people agree with this, but I think I write pretty decent dialogue. My “training” (if you can call it that) is in, as you might have figured out by now, script and screenplay writing (those were the only creative writing classes I took in college). So having a sense of the rhythm a conversation needs to have and how to write dialogue that sounds mostly like how people really talk (but shined and tightened up enough so that it’s not actually like verbatim dialogue, which is far less interesting to read!) is something that I feel like comes pretty easily. I also think I do okay with similes and metaphors - my brain tends to work in that way. It’s easier for me to think of stuff (feelings, especially) in terms of comparing it to more familiar things than to just think of the thing directly, if that makes sense?

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

If I was being honest, this would be a very long section, but I know it’s not fun to read a big ol’ paragraph of someone self-criticizing, so I’ll keep it to one or two items ;) A big one for me is pacing, I think. I tend to write more than I need to and to over-explain things, so my chapters get very long and sometimes don’t really go anywhere? Until all of the sudden, they DO, because things need to HAPPEN! I’m a pretty rigorous self-editor, but I do have a really hard time cutting out sections (unless they’re really just not working), so even if it would help the pacing to leave out this conversation between character A and character B, I often can’t make myself cut it. I also think I struggle sometimes with balancing my ‘showing’ and my ‘telling,’ especially in the sense of me over-explaining certain things - like when it comes to feelings/facial expressions/etc, for example. I compensate for that in Important Thing by making it a part of a few people’s POV, but it’s not really a good habit to have in general. Also spelling! I’m really bad at spelling and run my stuff through robust spellchecks and text-to-speech before I post anything to make up for it :)

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I do it with some regularity, although I always get nervous about doing it wrong! It’s hard to avoid in AoS, where characters are spies and should (in theory, at least) have a working knowledge of multiple languages (”We’re spies, I thought we all learned languages?!”). Even in an AU, where characters aren’t spies, I like to try and pay homage to that, plus pay homage to certain characters’ native languages or just general multilingualism. I’ve spent a fair amount of time around people who speak more than one language, so I feel like it’s a natural part of groups of people to have more than one language spoken. I have a pretty good handle on written Spanish, a patchy idea of French, plus I know some Russian phrases from my dad and some German words from my grandfather, but I do rely on internet translation a lot. I usually run stuff through google, then run it backwards to see just how far off the initial translation was, then consult some actual, like, language learning sites to see if there’s particular idioms or common phrases that use different words than what google will give me, then run those words through backwards in the place of the original words to see if I can massage the whole thing to sound reasonably competent. Languages like Russian or Mandarin (which have their own alphabets/characters) are the hardest, since I have to also try and do a transliteration. I always try to put an apology/disclaimer in the notes any time I write in a language that isn’t English, because I’m sure I make lots of mistakes.

Also, I tend not to italicize words that are in other languages, because it looks weird on the page to me to set the other language apart like that (and because I italicize mainly for internal thoughts or emphasis, and usually what’s being said in another language isn’t internal or being emphasized). I put a rough translation at the end so we don’t have to pause the story for a parenthetical translation, but because the translation’s not right there, I try to either put in enough context clues that a person can still understand what’s going on, or I make sure that what’s written in another language isn’t critical to the overall understanding of the scene.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Officially, it’s AoS, since that’s the only fandom I’ve published for. I think the first true fandom I wrote fic for was probably either Harry Potter (entirely populated with OCs lol, I just liked using the world/setting), Percy Jackson (a mix of OCs and canon characters), or X-Men (all canon characters). I was a bit of a latecomer to fanfiction, though, like, I wrote a ton as a kid, but mostly original stuff, because I didn’t know that fanfiction in its current form was even allowed until I was in high school lol.

Oh! I almost forgot one! I’m not sure if this really counts as a fandom, but it’s definitely the earliest version of fanfic I wrote haha... I was like 12 and I wrote more than one story of an OC joining Robin Hood’s band of Merry Men, and then also one of that same OC becoming a knight of the Round Table, so like... do what you will with that information haha.

19. What's you're favorite fic you've written?

I can’t choose between my two darlings :( I mean, okay, technically it’s probably Important Thing. That story’s my baby. It’s huge and I’ve been working on it for almost 2 years, and I’ve poured a lot of my heart and soul into it. I’ve fallen in love with the universe I built in it, so much so that I wrote an entire prequel and have very concrete plans for a lengthy sequel. But I can’t not crow about Shoulder to Shoulder (the aforementioned prequel!), too... I’m just really proud of that one - it has a lot of firsts for me. First completed story. First romance-focused story. First foray into expanding the Important Thing universe. But yes, if I have to choose, then Important Thing wins. That’s a story that I started writing exclusively for myself - to give myself characters I could relate to and to explore a style of AoS fic that I loved reading - and that’s a story I will always and forever be proud of.

I think most people have probably answered this tag game at this point, so I don’t want to accidentally retag anyone! If you haven’t yet, and would like to join in, please do! This is your invitation <3

[morfinwen]

For the 10 facts ask: Christopher, Reagan, Connie, Q, Niner, and Darcy, please!

Here, have a readmore:

Ten Facts about Chris

1. His mother's ancestry is mostly Italian, with some of the nearby countries mixed in. On his father's side, his grandfather's ancestors came from England in the early 1800s, while his grandmother's parents immigrated from Russia.

2. While she's almost as insanely talented as Chris, his older sister Marie has focused more on scientific, technical pursuits in comparison to his artistic ones: he's into theater and music, she works for NASA.

3. He's actually pretty rich, relatively speaking. Both his parents came from well-off families, particularly his father's, and his mother was not too proud to accept help from her former in-laws after her ex-husband left and didn't pay his child support.

4. He's never been out of state, let alone the country. It's something he'd like to do, it just keeps getting pushed further down the list as he takes on other things.

5. Chris is generally a pretty even-keeled, if not positive person. But when he gets angry, he gets angry. It's usually pretty targeted at whatever/whomever made him angry, but it's safest to get out of the blast radius all the same.

6. It took him an unusually long time to learn trumpet -- unusually long by average standards even, not just his own. He still isn't sure he's got the hang of it.

7. His mother took them to Catholic mass a few times every year when he was growing up, always intending to make it more regularly.

8. He occasionally attends Catholic mass as an adult, but he also visits Russian Orthodox services. His grandmother took him to one as a child several times, and there are aspects of it that appeal to him more (like the music).

9. His sister is married and has two kids. Chris has met his brother-in-law a few times, his nephew once, and his niece never. It's a bit of a sore point between them.

10. Cats just love Chris, even ones that normally hate all people. He used to feed stray cats, and he visits an animal shelter regularly to say hi to all the cats that don't get enough love.

Ten Facts about Reagan

1. In every way but emotional, her aunt Jane did a decent if not good job raising her. Emotionally, it was a total failure. Reagan doesn't hate her aunt, but she doesn't miss her.

2. It bothers her a little that she doesn't miss the woman who raised her.

3. She takes after her father more than her mother -- she knows this mostly because her aunt kept complaining about how different she was.

4. She didn't get diagnosed with dyslexia until her first year of high school. She'd learned to work around it, for the most part, but the diagnosis gave her more tools.

5. Her aunt made her learn piano (because Reagan's mother played piano), but Reagan preferred the guitar. She still has some piano pieces memorized, but rarely plays.

6. She's got deft fingers. This was partially learned by sneaking money from her aunt when she refused to buy Reagan something (her aunt often refused, but Reagan only stole from her a few times), but mostly to sneak things into the pockets of kids who were bothering her at school. She rarely got caught.

7. More than once, Reagan has ended up in a "second-in-command" type of position: she doesn't like being told what to do, she doesn't like being in charge, but she doesn't mind telling people to do what someone else told them to do, and if someone proves to her they know what to do and have a good plan in place to do it, she'll go along with it.

8. She doesn't like the cold, or driving in snow, but the worst part of winter is how dark it gets in the afternoon.

9. She occasionally works on writing her own songs; instrumental, since she can't write lyrics worth a darn. She's never shared them with anyone.

10. She doesn't mind being tall in and of itself, but it makes clothes shopping hard, people are liable to comment on the fact that she's so tall for a woman, and she's hit her head on more than one low-hanging doorway.

Ten Facts about Connie

1. Plenty of people have assumed "Connie" is a girls' name. He doesn't mind. People only tend to tease him about it good-naturedly anyway.

2. Of all his many, many siblings, only his older brother Dylan ever really understood him: why Connie preferred reading indoors to rough-housing outside, why he spent more time on his science and math homework than playing sports, why he hated all those big group events. It would have been better if Dylan could be around more when he was a kid, but just having someone understand helped a lot.

3. While Connie was at college, a scandal broke out in his pack back home that ripped it down the line, and his parents were right in the middle of it. More specifically, his father was one of the causes of the scandal.

4. He hasn't talked to his father since.

5. He is more open to talking to his mother, but their conversations alternate between her trying to guilt him to come home, her being upset with him for being at college when it all happened, and her being depressed. He doesn't talk to his mother much.

6. He hates wearing pants. In professional contexts, he wears them because he has to, but otherwise he only wears shorts.

7. He hates wearing shoes, too. He's constantly having to buy new pairs, in part because he just doesn't take good care of the ones he has.

8. He can play the guitar and the cello, the former very well. Most people don't know this because he doesn't play often, and never in public.

9. He doesn't like to listen to music much, which is another reason people are surprised to know he plays. His mother made him learn.

10. Like a lot of werewolves in that part of the country, his pack had a church that was somewhat LDS, though it's questionable whether it would have been acknowledged as such by the official church. He's moved away from that, but Connie does believe in a God, he's just not sure which one.

Ten Facts about Q

1. He has a large number of contingency plans, for a large number of extreme scenarios. Some are more plausible than others. Some are considerably less plausible than others.

2. He was envious of his cousin, for having parents and for being so rich, for exactly two years. He has never envied him since.

3. His parents are not actually dead, they got involved with faeries, messed up, and are currently paying off their debt. Q has no idea.

4. He hates his aunt more than his uncle. They're both awful people, but Maitland is much more explicit in his awfulness, and if you have something to offer him, is willing to work around any dislike he may have of you. Chantal is manipulative, cunning, and always comes out on top.

5. Has the phone numbers of multiple celebrities, famous athletes, rich people, and foreign royalty saved from his days in boarding school. He doesn't reach out to these people often, but he keeps their contact info, just in case.

6. Gained a reputation in boarding school for being up for anything not stupidly dangerous or seriously illegal, as long as he was being offered money to do it.

7. Knows a ton of things about rich people, a bunch of common strategies for poor people, and absolutely nothing about the middle class.

8. Went by Dell as a kid, switched to Q when he moved to the states. Not particularly fond of either name, but they beat Quincy Odell.

9. He's never liked a girl strongly enough to feel it was worth taking the risk to ask her out. His one romantic relationship came about because she asked him out, and ended in part because he wore himself out trying to make it work by being who she wanted him to be.

10. Between a drug dealer roommate in LA and his cousin's ... friends, it's a toss-up whether he knows more professional criminals than royalty. Some days, he reflects on this, and lets out a soft, pained groan.

Ten Facts about Niner

1. After more than twenty years together, Niner's parents are still affectionate. Disgustingly, honeymoon-phase, over-the-top affectionate. None of their children can stand it.

2. She is going to master the fast part of "Hardware Store" by Weird Al. She's still struggling with the first few lines, but it will happen someday.

3. Gets along really well with Connie, despite werecats and werewolves not generally being known for getting along.

4. Gets along terribly with Aidan, though with no clear indicators as to whether him being a "bird" (phoenix) is part of that.

5. About the only people towards whom Niner will openly show affection are her younger siblings. She has a lot of them, but she adores each and every one of them.

6. Hates, hates, hates the vacuum cleaner. Just Ash bringing it out of the closet is enough to send her running, and she won't be back for at least two hours.

7. Wants to climb a mountain. Particularly Mount Everest, but she's accepted that she should start with one of the smaller ones.

8. She doesn't talk a lot about her past. Not because it was painful or anything, it's just not something she does.

9. In the latter part of her time on her own, she and another werecat split off from the group they were hanging with, as most werecats do when they form a relationship. Niner's relationship went south. Badly south. She's never spoken about it to anyone.

10. With the exception of cheese, she doesn't care about condiments on things like burgers or hot dogs. Just cheese, the works, lots of mustard, she barely even notices.

Ten Facts about Darcy

1. He comes across as the least upset about the move to Chicago, and he is. It bothers him more than he lets on, but Darcy doesn't have friends to miss like Kira, or feel half as cooped up in the city as Susanna.

2. People sometimes mistake him for the oldest, when he gets to talk on one of his special interests, or the youngest, when in social situations.

3. He has one, maybe two very vague memories of his parents. He insists he doesn't miss them, because he doesn't recognize his emotions for what they are, and because he doesn't realize that you don't need to remember someone well to miss them.

4. Darcy is unquestionably intelligent. He is a little lacking in common sense.

5. His special interests are math, science, and history. History is the most appealing to him personally, but people tend to be more impressed with his grasp of math and science, and he likes impressing people. He doesn't dislike math or science, either.

6. He was named after his mother's best friend in college, and his middle name is his father's best friend since childhood. He's met both of them, but when he was much too young to remember.

7. He's actually a decent actor, he has a great memory, and he gets terrible stage fright. There are a couple very awkward school plays in his past.

8. Darcy still has a crush on Kelsey, the pretty blonde high-schooler he had as a babysitter when he was six. In general, the existence of pretty blonde girls make him glad that a) he's naturally quiet around other people and b) he doesn't blush easily.

9. He typically spends his time in Minecraft building computers and playing very simple versions of Minesweeper and Solitaire on them. Susanna thinks he's entirely missing the point of Minecraft.

10. His ideal pet is a dragon.

Thanks for asking! 

[torpublishinggroup]

Love. Magic. Betrayal.

Januaries—a stunning new short story and novella collection from bestselling author Olivie Blake!

Dive into stories of twisted fairytales, contemporary heists, absurdist poetry, and at least one set of actual wedding vows.

[angelofberlin2000]

A great read!!!! I love it ♥

As John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum hits DVD and Blu-ray this week, we saw many articles hyping Keanu Reeves’ return to the action genre, speculating about the next chapter in the John Wick series, boasting the newly born franchise’s virality.

But as the third chapter hits streaming services, there’s one thing I haven’t seen anyone discussing: the deep, psychological reason the franchise blew up in the first place.

In my opinion, there’s actually a very specific reason for John Wick’s success: the movie explores something that eventually happens to everybody. It can last a week, a month, an entire year—sometimes it never goes away. But at some point…we all feel like we’re broken. And it can seem like it’s never going to get better.

Maybe a loved one dies. Or maybe you get dumped. Or maybe you lose your dream job. Or maybe you realize you’re never going to achieve your dream job. These kinds of experiences can make us feel as though our lives are on dark, treacherous paths that we didn’t plan for, that we don’t deserve. It can seem as though the entire world is piling on our backs and pressing us permanently into the ground. It can feel like we’ll never recover.

I’m sure Keanu Reeves has felt that way. His father bailed on him at the age of three. His best friend River Phoenix died in 1993. Reeves’ sister Kim battled cancer for more than a decade. In late 1999, Reeves and his then-girlfriend Jennifer Syme lost their baby. Then less than two years later, Syme died in a terrible car accident.

At any moment, Reeves could have given up—so many people do. He could have recoiled and hid himself from the spotlight. And for all we know, maybe he did for periods of time. But today, Keanu Reeves seems more relevant and important than ever before. In fact, people are calling 2019 the “Keanussance.” His career has taken off once again thanks to the John Wick series.

It just so happens that the character of John Wick had some hardships as well. After losing his wife to a terminal illness, John abandons his career as a hitman and retreats to his empty home. All he has is a beagle puppy named Daisy that his wife left for him.

I think that just about everyone—including Keanu Reeves—can connect with that image. That lonely, desolate home became a symbolic representation of grief and hardship that feels like it’s never going to go away. When something that terrible happens to you, you’re incapable of thinking long-term or looking for solutions to get better—all you can do is sit in your grief.

But then something happens that forces us to evaluate ourselves, that nudges us to become more mentally stable. In John Wick, the first film of the franchise, that came in the form of murderous mobsters. After John refused to sell his vintage car to a young entitled punk, the boy’s gang breaks into John’s house and murders Daisy and steals John’s car.

The plot that follows seems pretty typical for an action film. John is pulled back into the hitman game and chases down the Russians who stole his car. One by one, person by person, John obliterates everyone in his path until he’s able to take the life of the man who killed his dog. It’s a revenge plot pulled straight from the genre playbook.

Except…there’s so much more to it all. Because John’s dog wasn’t just a companion—it was John’s last living memory of his wife. Daisy as a puppy was the metaphorical start of a new life, a chance to begin anew when everything seemed lost. As John tended to and cared for this puppy, John was actually tending to and caring for himself as well. Instead of retreating into nothingness, John kept pushing forward and caring for his new friend.

Yet here’s the thing: John never left his home, his safe space. Despite what comforts John’s puppy provided, Daisy allowed John to remain tethered to the home he shared with his wife. That was until the Russian mobsters killed his dog and stole his car. This forced John to awaken from his comatose state, to take on the life he lived before his wife’s death, to prove to the world that he still had something to offer.

Movies (and all stories for that matter) aim to artistically explore the universal truths of life. And films in the action and sci-fi and horror genre can blow up those common life experiences to hyperbolic proportions—that’s exactly what the John Wick series does. In a state of grief, John’s way of coping is becoming a hitman once again. Every life he takes is a step forward. Every despicable hitman who wants to end John’s life is another hurdle John must jump on the road to recovery.

When Santino burns down John’s home in John Wick: Chapter Two, John must rebuild. When a hit is put on John’s life in John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum, John must fight back. Film after film, the John Wick series continues to place strain on John, who must in turn continue to press forward. This becomes reflective of the draining grieving process, which can feel like an endlessly uphill battle…until you’re better. Until you cross that final barrier and normal starts to feel normal again.

That’s what John is working towards film after film. However complex and detailed the world of John Wick becomes, that core dynamic will always be present. John has something to fight for: his former self.

Grief can eventually win out—but only if we let it win. Only if we give up. And I think anyone who’s gone through the grieving process can connect with John Wick’s plight. In my opinion, that emotional, psychological connection many of us share with the John Wick character is what drives us to pay to see what happens next. And the box office results prove it: John Wick made $88.8 million in 2014; then John Wick: Chapter Two accrued $171.5 million 2017; and finally John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum blew up with $321.7 million earlier this year.

This is why we pay the price of admission when we go to a movie or buy a Blu-ray. We’re looking to be entertained…but we’re also looking to connect with these characters plastered on the big screen. And many people’s deep, underlying connection with John Wick may just be what allows the franchise to continue to grow for years to come.

[sjru]

Blog: “I don’t care”

Apathy, indifference. Negative emotions that are more often found online than IRL. This is, because dehumanizing someone and neglecting to take in account someone’s feelings is very easily done without knowing when all  you know and see about this person is an egg as an icon, a bunch of text or a talking duck.

It’s easier to be ‘rude’ or dismissive to something or someone your brain considers inferior (Say stock avatars, names etc) even if you have a belief there’s someone behind the display. Many ppl been burned out already interacting with bots that a natural reaction to ‘the new’ may be of direct hostility or indifference.

Well I mean, why wouldn’t you? You are playing CSGO and after a while you see 5 invites from ‘pretty russian girls’ that are offering  you free skins if you enter this sketchy website that looks exactly like Steam. Soone or later you will realise that blonde Anna that always add you after your game is not actually trying to give you a gift –nor getting into your pants- but that she’s just a program and now your items are gone.

Instinctively now all the ‘pretty girl avatar’ are just bots, anyone with a “?” avatar is a bot, anyone with the stock image on twitter is a bot or does not take the site seriously and that perhaps the ad of sexy single dragons in your area is actually a scam.

Obviously, not everyone is there to get you, in fact if you enter paranoi mode and start treating everyone with suspicion just because you can’t see their face, chances are you are going to run into drama sooner or later or just face little connection with others online outside of ppl you know IRL.

You ‘must’ be able, or at least be open to the idea of trust in some regard with others online. People, behidn the screen, that you have not seen IRL yet, maybe you have seen a picture or something, but not gave a real hug or whatever.

The will of trust, to inreact, is needed to make friendships, relationships, and good things. If you outright close the door, chances are nothing deeper will develop with those pp,l.

That is something that will happen even if you don’t want tho, you can’t be friends with everyone. You can’t spare emotional ‘brain time’ to every person you meet; which I guess it’s fine, some ppl handle it better than others.

You can chose!!, but the problem I am going to poke today is about appareances.. Yes it’s easy to be ‘friendly’to anyone or everyone you meet, you can say nice things and stuffs. Deep down you don’t always mean anything you say, it’s just nice to be nice , it allows ppl to cohexist better.  

Now, if you share common ground, a space, a group, server, do things together sometimes, you ‘would expect’ or the other would expect, that some sort of friendship, emotional response, or anything to develop over a certain amount of time. Some ppl develop connections easily, easier, hard or (even never!) specially online, but due to human nature, this feeling often is not at the same level for both parties at the same time. Some might think the other is just an acquaintance while the other believes it’s their best friend.  

You may be able to speed up positive emotional reactions with someone, but genuine connections take time. So yeah you can’t be instantly be friends with someone, but you can act like it, (May make things easier). Things are going well.

But then suddenly, a negative interaction happens; a discussion, argument, disagreement, whatever, can be small tiny, insignificant thing, but enough to make the person that considered the other “just another one” while the other considered them a friend, to flip out and do more negative interacitions (like a block or ignoring etc). Yes person A, did not really care or considered person B a friend, and couldn’t be arsed or wanted to spare emotional time to overcome a hurdle; “it’s not worth it” (Despite saying being a minor thing that can be easily talked out). Obviosly not everyone reacts or have these same interactions so it’s just an example; person B ends up thinking they lost a friend or ends up expecting a emotional reaction from A that did not care in the end, and never happens.

Well A now managed to disregard the emotions of another person, perhaps made it easier by the online environment. From A, they did not care enough to be have the empathy , the want to overcome any hurdle, nor any need to know if their actions hurted the other person.  Unless person B tries to talk again (Perhaps making things worse) nothing will happen.

Now Person B is more isolated, sad, and lots of negative emotions. Without repercusions is probably A will never care or realise the negative damage they have done.

These kind of  negative interactions happen all the time online, and you may have done that several times without realising. Because yes, in the end is harder to empathize via text and just seeing a cute icon as your mental image.BUT you can try to recognise negative interactions you are doing and reflect on if the exchange you did with someone had negative consecuences for that person.

Or you can be just like  “Meh I will ‘never’ meet that person so whatever”. Perhaps there will be no consecuences to be indifferent. We’ll see

~Sjru

[forever-more-never-again]

Slow Crescendo (A Natasha request)

Requested: @inshitsuna-kage

Word Count: 5K (Uhh...oops? :) haha)

Pairing: Natasha X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood, torture, beatings, kidnapping, angst

Request: Heyy, first of all: I really like your Natasha Masterlist, I enjoy reading them so much and they‘re my favourites! Thank you so much for this amazing work you‘re doing!!! So may I request another Natasha x fem R? Natasha started a while ago taking ballet classes again to have a little time out of her every day life being an Avenger once or twice a week. R is a beginner and has her first lesson, in which she feels a bit anxious and is very shy. Of course she’s amazed by Natasha’s elegant and smooth moves. However, the other members of the group don’t care about the newbie and ignore her. But Natasha sees potential in R and wants to help her improving by giving her private lessons to which R agrees. Getting better and better at dancing, they‘re growing closer and developing feelings for each other, but neither of them wants to admit it yet. Until one day, when Natasha has built up the courage to confess her feelings for R, but R doesn‘t show up for her weekly private lesson and doesn‘t answer her phone. Even a few days after, there‘s still no sign of R and Natasha begins to worry and switches into Avenger mode, determined to find her... Now it‘s up to you to decide and to find out what happened to R and how the story will end. It can also include angst, hurt, torture, injuries,... I‘d prefer a sweet and fluff ending, but as I said: it‘s up to you! Sorry for this long request... If this is possible, thank youu!!!

a/n: I had so much fun writing this! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Sometimes she wondered why she put herself through the torture. True, she was good. And true, it was a part of her. But it brought back awful memories.

Memories of guns, bullets, tears, sweat, whips, chains, emergency rooms, syringes, blood.

So much blood. Cracked feet, broken toes, chapped lips. Split skin.

Her mind was a dizzy mess as she went on pointe and pivoted with the music.

The small classroom was empty. A common factor. As soon as the other students saw her enter the building, they scattered.

Nervous… or scared, she wasn’t sure, to be in the same vicinity as the Famed Black Widow. Ballerina Killer. Ex-Assassin. Current Avenger.

Her recent good deeds did not wipe the memories of her past from the civilians of New York...Or the world for that matter. No matter where she went, they would judge her.

The song built up tempo and speed, urging Natasha to spin feverishly across the room, her feet aching from staying on pointe, but she dismissed the pain. Pain was a momentary weakness. Ignore it, and it would go away.

And then she did something she hadn’t since she had been a tiny little girl in the red room, fresh from the orphanage.

She stumbled.

The reason was nothing other than shock.

The door to her little classroom had opened. The sound loud in the small space, ringing out above Beethoven's orchestra playing from Natasha’s ipod.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was told there was a class here at two.”

A soft voice. A voice that held none of the contempt, wariness, or hero admiration that Natasha commonly heard when people spoke to her.

Turning, trying to pretend she hadn’t just stumbled mid spin, Natasha faced the person who had interrupted her dancing.

“Unfortunately I think that class was canceled today. I was told I had the room for the rest of the day.”

The person at the door didn’t look the least bit perturbed. Staring at Natasha in a foreign way, making Natasha want to fidget under their gaze.

“Well. I saw a bit of you dancing before I caught you unaware. You’re pretty talented. Are you an instructor here?”

And there it was. The reason why Natasha was so confused by their strange behavior. She felt her eyes widen and her breath catch. They didn’t know who she was.

Natasha chuckled, a defensive action, not sure what to do, “No. I am not.”

The person moved in, the door closing behind them. Natasha tensed. No one willingly put themselves alone in a room with her. Not even her teammates.

Steve once said it was because of an energy that Natasha gave off. Deadly. Filled with intent. That made people nervous to be around her.

The woman who walked into this little classroom, though, didn’t seem to mind. They sat down against the wall, underneath the beams and began pulling out their ballet slippers from their bag.

Natasha hesitated. One foot tapping against the worn wood floor as she watched their lithe fingers lace up the faded pink velvet.

“Uh. Your class isn’t here today.” Natasha repeated.

The figure glanced up at the red headed strange woman. A shy smirk on their lips. One that caught Natasha off balance again.

They spoke clearly, “I know. But I figured, I’m here. Why not practice. I know I’m horrible. I could use the experience.”

Natasha fumbled, moving towards her ipod resting on the music station, soft russian lullabies whispering through the air, “Alright. I’ll get out of your hair then.”

The person stood, eyebrows lowered in confusion, “What? You’re leaving?”

Natasha had never had this much trouble forming words. Why was she fumbling in front of this person? She faced down deadly assassins and Hydra combat shooters on the daily. This was just an ordinary girl.

“I figured you wouldn't want me intruding.” She stated. The confusion she had been trying to hide, inching into her tone.

The woman laughed, and Natasha swore her heart stopped. The sound was so carefree. And innocent. Something she hadn’t heard in forever.

“You are obviously talented. And I don’t want to stop you just because I obviously forgot to check my email. Why don’t we practice together? You can help me. Teach me how not to be a klutz.” Spoken so lightly. So Softly.

Spoken by someone who didn’t know that the feet that were toned and could go on pointe and hold it for two hours were the same feet that could incapacitate a man and snap his neck in two seconds. Spoken by someone who didn’t know that the practice and obedience from ballet

came from years of being locked in the red room. Teachers barking, yelling, flinging whips and chains.

Spoken by someone innocent.

Natasha didn’t want to taint that. And yet, something was urging her to stay. An inkling in the back of her mind. A guilty pleasure. A shameful one.

Here was someone who didn’t cower when Natasha took a step forward. Whose eyes didn’t reflect fear and hope, an odd mixture.

Someone who saw Natasha as simply...another person.

“[Y/n].” The woman stuck her hand out, an easy grin gracing her face.

And Natasha found her hand reaching out and clasping the warm skin, found her face mirroring that silly little grin that made her heart beat just a tad bit fast, and made her mouth form the name she held hidden in her heart from her childhood,“Natalia.”

~~~

It had been six months since that first meeting. [Y/n] had ended up canceling her dance classes. Instead, she stuck with training with Natasha. Or Natalia as she knew her.

“[Y/n]!” Natasha’s carefree laugh, one that had become common during their weekly ballet trainings, rang across the room, “Remember to keep your eyes on a single point. It helps you stay in place.”

Natasha reached down and pulled you up off the floor.

You grinned sheepishly. You had been doing pirouettes and had a bad habit of getting dizzy and then falling over. Your klutzy nature standing out.

Grimacing, you rubbed your posterior. Dressed in comfy sweats and a tank top, didn’t provide you much protection against the worn wood floor of the dance studio.

“Why don’t you show me again?” You asked innocently. In reality, you just wanted an excuse to watch this amazing red headed woman dance across the floor.

Her movements were like water and fire. Hot and cold chasing each other as her arms swam through the ocean air and her feet danced like flames. Her face completely relaxed, as if she went to a different world when she was dancing. Lost in the freedom of movement.

You often thought that showing up for that class and finding Natalia instead had been faithful intervention. So that you could meet this beauty who had a grace unlike any other.

Of course, you kept your weekly dance studio meetings a secret. Your family and friends would want all the details, and for now, you wanted to keep Natalia a secret.

The way your heart beat a tad faster in her presence. The way her warm vanilla scent followed you home, her laughter ringing through your head, you knew you were in deep trouble.

And trouble often had a way of finding you.

“[Y/n]..are you paying attention?”

You sharpened your gaze onto the green emeralds staring at you in fake accusation.

You shrugged, “Oops.”

Natalia laughed, “You’re never going to learn how to do a simple Assemble.”

You eyed your shoes. The bandages wrapped around your poor toes and heels as you put your feet through their paces. Who ever knew Ballet was so hard?

“I think my feet are grateful I can’t do that yet.” You admitted.

Natalia gripped your hands, determination in her eyes, “Aww. Come on. It’s easy. Follow me.”

And you copied her movement. The subtle sound of violins filling the air. The music flowing through you.

One foot up on pointe, then the other. And then flat. One foot up, and using your body, launching into air. Bringing your legs together, twisting, and then landing in fifth position.

Natalia clapped her hands, “You did it! See!”

You collapsed onto the ground, giggling, “Agh! That was too much. I can see the end.”

A dark silhouette fell over your face, blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights hanging in the studio.

“Oh you dramatic baby. Up you go.” And Natalia pulled you back up.

The end of the practice snuck up on them. And soon, you and Natalie where sitting against the cool glass mirror, untying your shoes.

“Natalia.” You spoke her name. The woman hummed to show she heard you, though she didn’t lift her head from her hands and feet.

You leaned your head back, keeping your eyes on the red hair that was up in a bun, sweat causing small strands to stick to the back of her neck and against her cheeks.

“What do you do outside the studio?”

You didn’t miss the way she tensed as you spoke your question into existence. One that you had been working up to ask for months now.

Though you spent twice a week with Natalia in the studio. You barely knew anything about the woman. And your heart desperately wanted to know more. Selfishly wanted to know.

“Why are you asking now?” Voice just a tad too cool to be calm. A tad too controlled.

You frowned, blinking, looking down at your feet, “Well. We see each other a lot. But we don’t really know much about each other. We never even hang out outside the studio.”

Natalia sighed, brushing back her hair. Looking over at you, her heart panged tightly. She didn’t want to puncture the bubble that surrounded the both of you in the dance studio. The one that made you treat her like someone...normal. Because you didn’t know who she was.

“I know plenty about you.” Natalia said instead, flashing a grin, forcing playfulness into her voice. “I know that your favorite color is [F/c] and your favorite food is [F/food] and that one time your little cousin guilted you into a trip to Coney island and you threw up all over the carousel.”

You would have normally laughed at the memory. But now you just frowned deeper. Eyebrows pinched together as you stared over at Natalia. Her forced smile. Her eyes dim.

“Why are you so scared? Do you think I won’t like the true you?” You asked. Soft. Hesitant. Afraid of the answer.

Natalia stood abruptly. Rocking you back as the temperature seemed to drop drastically.

The red head spun to you, hands up in the air, like she didn’t know what to do with them, her face desperate, “Why now? Why are you pushing this now? Isn’t it enough to spend a couple hours with you?”

You stood up slowly, cautiously. “Is it that bad to want to know the woman I spend time with? To want to be friends outside of ballet?” You wanted to be more than friends, but you knew now was not the time to address that topic.

“I know the Natalia who smiles when I stumble. Who laughs without thought when we attempt new moves. Whose eyes crinkle in the corner with concentration when picking out a song. Who likes the color red and hates the color blue. Who thinks hotdogs are disgusting and that ice cream should be considered a breakfast food. But,” You drew a deep breath, holding the trembling gaze across from you, “ I don’t know You. I don’t know what you like to do. What you think about the world. What made you a good ballet dancer. Why your face hardens when the song changes to that one Russian one. I don’t know what you do for work. Or what you had for breakfast or dinner last night. I don’t even know your last name!” You shouted in frustration.

The green eyes hardened. And ripped away from your gaze.

And then Natalia left the studio without a word. Taking your breath from your lungs. The door slamming shut on your heart.

~~~

“You seem down Red. I thought today was your ballet day?” Clint hopped up onto the counter in the avenger’s common kitchen.

Natasha paused her search for milk in the fridge to throw a glare at the archer. He simply smiled at her.

Sighing, she averted her eyes, scanning the contents of the fridge, “I decided not to go today.”

Clint grunted. The sound irking Natasha. She gritted her teeth and slammed the fridge shut. Clint jumped and looked at her in surprise.

“I just….” She didn't know what she wanted. Things to go back to before [Y/n] had tried to discover who she was. Back to before she met [Y/n]. Back to before she joined the Avengers and things got so damn complicated. She didn’t know.

“Uhh...you okay there Nat?” Clint placed a hand on her shoulder. Eyes narrowed in concern.

Natasha drew in a calming breath, “Do you ever meet someone who drives you crazy and feels like home but makes you so damn scared at the same time?”

Clint’s eyes melted into understanding as a soft smile graced his face, “Yeah. I found that with Laura.”

Natasha spoke softly, like she was talking to herself, “They don’t know who I am. And I’m so damn scared.” Then, Natasha turned to him, a plea in her eyes, “How do you handle it? The double life? The secrecy? The fact that she might look at you differently if she found out about all the blood you spill and the people you hurt?”

Clint knew Natasha wasn’t talking about him and Laura.

“You just take it a day at a time. When I told Laura about my past, I knew there was a risk of her leaving me. Of her not wanting anything to do with me.”

Natasha laughed, the sound caustic and harsh, “Thanks.”

Clint continued on, “But I also knew that she needed to have that choice. Leaving her in the dark was bound to hurt her just as much as putting everything out into the open. I knew that for her to really love me, I had to give her the choice. To see all of me, all my scars, all my mistakes, and for her to decide if I was worth it.”

Natasha groaned, burying her head into her hands, “I might have screwed it up to much.”

Clint laughed, “Nothing is ever screwed up too much to fix. You just have to do it as soon as you can.”

“How are you so wise and yet so dumb?” Natasha asked with a wry grin.

Clint shrugged, “All part of my charm. Now, I suggest you go to that studio and explain yourself to this person who has stolen your heart.”

Natasha punched his shoulder, “How do you know it’s someone from the studio?”

“Why else would you avoid it today? And I’ve seen the way you light up before you go and the way you glow when you come back. Go get them. Let them see you. The real you. It’s been building up for months to this.”

Natasha muttered, a smile on her face as she walked out of the tower, “A slow crescendo.”

~~~

“[Y/n]! Sorry I’m late! I have something to tell...you” Natasha trailed off as she burst through the studio doors.

The class was empty.

“[Y/n]?” She knew she was an hour late. And [Y/n] might not have showed up after how they ended things last week.

Except that her dance bag was sitting there against the mirror. Her tennis shoes sitting next to it.

“[Y/n]?” Natasha walked back out to the reception area. Looking down into other classes. People stared back at her in fear and awe.

Natasha cringed, their gazes filling her with sorrow. They were not the carefree, loving eyes of [Y/n].

She walked up to the receptionist, the older lady giving off a dazzling smile of hero worship as Natasha stood in front of her.

“How can I help you Dearie?”

Natasha ignored the shine in the lady’s eyes, the lips turned up a tad too much in excitement. “Have you seen [Y/n]? Their stuff is in our room but I can’t find them.”

The lady nodded, the smile turning thoughtful, “You just missed them. Walked out of her about fifteen minutes ago with a couple of nice looking gentlemen. Said they were her brothers taking her out for lunch or something. It was odd though, she was still wearing her ballet slippers and one of her brothers had an arm wrapped around her waist.”

Natasha stilled halfway through the lady’s rambling. [Y/n] didn’t have brothers.

“These men,” Her voice harsh, frantic, cut through the lady’s rambling, causing her to startle and freeze, “What did they look like?” Natasha didn’t care that the people in the waiting area seemed to hold their breath at her raised voice or that the receptionist started to shake.

She stuttered as she spoke, no longer looking at Natasha in awe, “Uh...they...they were older...and they….they wore suits. One had black hair. No...Brown. And the other was blonde. I overheard them talking. They had accents….Not...not sure what kind.”

That was all Natasha needed.

“Fuck!” She screamed, pounding her fist against the desk.

A gasp behind her. She turned to see a mother covering her young daughter’s ears.

Natasha flushed in embarrassment, “Sorry.” She whispered. And then she was running. Running out of the dance studio. Running. And hoping. Hoping she could find [Y/n] before Hydra did anything to her.

~~~

“Mädchen. You will tell us what you know.” The chillingly soft accented voice seeped into your ear.

You had trouble focusing on it. Your arms straining as your hands were tied and hooked to something above your head. Your feet barely touching the ground. Scrambling for purchase on the cold cement. Your ballet slippers now covered in grime and blood.

Dimly, you thought, you’d have to buy new ones.

If you ever got out of here.

You had been attempting to do an Assemble alone, furtively checking the door to see if Natalia would show up after what had happened at the end of practice last week. The door had opened, and you had turned with a relieved smile, ready to apologize for prying, when you froze.

It wasn’t Natalia who walked into the room. But two men, outfitted in suits. A brooch settled against each tie.

Their eyes glinted dangerously in the light.

And your body went into flight mode. You ran, trying to get past them. But they caught you too easily.

One wrapped their arm around you, a hand covering your mouth as you tried to scream for help.

Their voice was rough, a laughing lilt, “We’re going to walk out of here. You’re going to tell anyone who asks that we are your brothers taking you for lunch. If you don’t…” You stiffened as you felt the unmistakable barrel of a gun press against your ribs, “We shoot. Verstehen?”

You didn’t understand the word. But you knew they wanted some sort of reaction. So you frantically nodded your head, scared, terrified.

What was happening? No one got kidnapped from a dance studio in broad daylight. Who were these men? What did they want with you?

You walked out of the studio. One of the men still keeping an arm around you, the gun pressed against you, hidden by their suit coat.

“Oh. [Y/n]. Where are you off too? You still have the room for a few more hours.” Miss Greshlen, the receptionist, peered at you and the men.

With a trembling breath, and the nudge of the gun against you, you flashed a wobbly smile at the elderly woman, “Uh, these are just...my brothers!” You cursed your voice, it was an octave too high, too light, “They uh, they’re taking me out to lunch.” You silently hoped that she would notice something was off.

But no, she simply smiled, nodded and waved, “Well have fun dearie!”

And then you were ushered out into the street and into a van.

“What do you want with me? Where are we going? If it’s money, you can have everything I own. Please.” Tears began to spill down your cheeks as your body finally processed what was happening.

“Shut up!” One of the men growled, and then you felt something slam against your head and all was dark.

You woke up, however long later, arms tied above your head, feet barely touching the ground, and blood dripping from a gash in your forehead.

That had been an hour ago. The men had returned and started questioning you about the Avengers.

You didn’t understand. Why would you know about the Avengers? You were just a normal civilian.

“I grow weary of your ineptitude. You will tell us what the Black Widow is planning!” A sharp punch to your gut.

You cried out, hoarse scream pushed out past chapped lips.

The faint pain was one among countless others. Bruises and cuts littered your body.

Your sweats now no longer grey, a faded pink as they stained with your blood. A puddle of red sticky liquid under your feet, the substance a disturbing feeling on your poorly clad feet. Your slippers ruined in red.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cried, tears stinging the cuts on your face, You pleaded with the men, “Please! I’ve never met the Black Widow! Or any avenger! I’m just a normal woman! Please let me go.”

Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you knew they wouldn’t let you go. You knew enough about kidnappings and crimes to know that since you had seen their faces, they would not let you free to tell your story to the cops. But you couldn’t dive into that depressive thought. You had to maintain the thought that you could possibly get out of this dingy warehouse and see the sun again.

“Lies! We have seen you, been monitoring you, little Mädchen. We know you have been plotting with the widow under the guise of dance classes.” A slice as a knife glided over your cheek.

Another broken scream fell from your lips. Eyes closed as tears fell without notice.

“That’s not...that’s not…” Your words halted as your mind snapped. Natalia. You couldn’t give her to them.

These deluded men with red brooches and hungry eyes.

You spat at the man, a flicker of glee as the spit landed on his cheek.

He raised a hand slowly, wiping it off. A nod to the man behind you, and you screamed in agony as something blunt and hard slammed against your spine.

Your arms strained, your shoulder joints screaming for release as your feet momentarily lost their purchase and all your weight was hanging from your arms.

“The red head. The one who joins you in the class. Natasha Romanoff. The Widow. What is she planning!?” The man roared, his face getting close to you. His breath cascading over you, making you miss the soft vanilla smell of Natalia.

Natalia. Nat. Natasha. The Black Widow? Your mind ran furiously as your thoughts scrambled.

Was Natalia the black widow? Was that why she never spoke of what she did? Why she was always so surprised to see you walk through the door every week for your lessons?

Why hadn't she told you who she was? Did she think you would fear her? Treat her differently? You didn’t care about any of that.

You cared only for the soft way Natalia danced. Her free laughter and loving smiles.

And now, you would die without seeing her dance one last time.

You gritted your teeth and raised your head to stare the man in the eyes. His black depths holding a terror that shook you to your core. But you didn’t lose your sudden nerve.

“Rot in hell.” You hissed through your teeth, yous glaring daggers.

You would never give up Natasha. Natalia. Whatever her name was. You had realized you loved her. And you would die protecting her.

“Kill her.” Two words. Spoken calmly. As he stood up from his crouch and walked a few paces away.

You kept your glare on him. Your body tense as you sensed movement from the man behind you.

“Goodbye...Natalie. I love you.” You whispered as your eyes slid shut, waiting for the world to go dark in death.

“I love you too, [Y/n]. Hang in there!”

A voice. Spoke loud, clearly. With love and fear and hope.

Your eyes flew open, wildly looking around for the source.

There.

Fighting hand to hand with the man before you. A flash of red against black. A blaze of emerald green.

“Natalia!” The relief and love and prayer flying across the warehouse to her.

She spared a glance to you, and you smiled at the familiar smirk on her face.

And then she returned her attention to the man fighting her.

You couldn’t give up now. You couldn’t let Natalia do all the work.

Using your momentum, ignoring the way your body screamed at the movements, you spun around. Surprising the man behind you.

“Hello.” You said, syrupy sweet. And then you stood on pointe and leapt into an Assemble. As you went down, you stretched out a leg and kicked the man in the head.

He stumbled backwards, hand holding the gun dropping to his side as he clutched his head.

You laughed, the sound slightly delirious. From blood loss, no doubt. But you had more important things to focus on then the blood pooling on the ground below you.

All those ballet lessons paid off as you stretched one foot straight in front of you up towards your hands.

Using the chains binding your arms, you gripped them and pulled yourself up and over them.

Stabilizing in a split mid air above your tied hands, you surveyed the man below you.

Natasha was still handling the other one.

The one you had kicked had regained himself and brought the gun up, eyes wide as he realized you had managed to move from dangling like a damsel to using your core to hold you up above him.

A smile, “Goodbye.” And you let your strength go as you fell.

Your swing had a good amount of power behind it as you sped towards the man. His eyes comically wide as both of your feet, straightened to en pointe, knocked him in the chest hard enough to send him flying backwards.

The gun clattering to the ground by your feet.

“Little Bitch!” The voice too masculine, too furious, to be Natalia’s.

You turned and saw the man wiping blood from his mouth. Natasha knocked aside. His gaze on you.

Your heart started to pound. You had to get out.

Your feet, slick with your blood, your slippers tattered and covered in grime, struggled to grab onto the metallic gun on the ground.

“Come on, come on.” You muttered to yourself. Eyes darting between the approaching man and your feet.

Once your feet found purchase around the gun, you once again used your core and the chains and folded yourself in half, your feet touching your hands. Hands closing around the gun.

You quickly, using touch to feel the gun, turned it so that you fingers were on the the trigger and it was pointed down at the man.

He grinned, blood lining his teeth, his eyes demented. “Little Mädchen. You really think you can pull the trigger? You’re no killer.”

You smiled, “Maybe not. But she is.”

And the man turned, startled, as Natasha barreled into him, her hands around his neck.

A gut wrenching snap, and he was dead.

You rearranged the gun and pulled the trigger, head hunched, eyes closed.

Chains fell and you collapsed onto the ground, the bullet breaking the chains that were holding you up.

Warm arms wrapped around you and pulled you into a lap.

“[Y/n]....oh my god. I’m so sorry. So Sorry.” Tears. A voice too sad. You didn’t like it.

Smiling up at her, you spoke as calmly as you could as the adrenaline wore off and your wounds became apparent in their pain, “Hey, now I know who you are. Natasha.”

Natasha laughed wetly, sniffling as she stroke a hand softly down your cheek. You winced slightly as she traced the cuts.

“I shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with you. You wouldn’t be here if not for me.” She declared. Blaming herself.

Dimly, you were aware of sirens coming closer. Natasha probably told the cops when she had found you.

You frowned, grabbing ahold of her hands in yours, drawing her gaze to yours, “No. Don’t. I wouldn’t trade the time with you for anything. I got to know Natalia. Not Natasha. And I got to see a side of you most probably don’t. I love you.”

She smiled. Eyes the brightest you had ever seen, “I love you. I was so scared. Scared of what you would think of me if you ever found out who I was. When I realized you didn’t know me...I wanted to stay in that bubble.”

You laughed, coughing when your ribs protested against the action, “Trouble has a way of finding me. Can...Can we still practice together? And maybe...after class...go out for coffee?” You asked weakly. Hopefully. Carefully.

Natasha smiled, leaning over, she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “I’d like that.”

And then you laughed, “I guess I’m also a killer ballerina, huh?”

Natasha laughed with you, “You still have a long ways to go.”

You smiled up at her, at the woman who you had fallen for, the one who only you knew, “I’m looking forward to it.”

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t @mialeelavellan @rainydaysrnevergrey  @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither @mcuimxgine @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger

Natasha Taglist:

@ludwigvonbaethoven @hanjiscience-slut @kitten-q-p @morbid-gaymer @honeybadgerwhodoesntcare @sunnyandtwisty @zoeyknight @kurlyafro @thewomanofwonder @5aftermidnight @myfemininelesboworld @rizamendoza808

Avengers Taglist:

@jadepc

[hostagine]

- Our World - Chapter 2

The one who wasn't Kaoru was, Hikaru.

The one who wasn't Hikaru was, Kaoru.

They didn't have time for those who couldn't tell the difference.

"You see..." The timid girl in front of them paused for the fifth time, her hands trembling around the envelope she was trying not to let go of. "It's my birthday this Saturday. And..."

The twins stood beside each other, with their backs to the wall, staring at her blankly, as if not paying her anymore more attention then they paid to the breeze that blew through their hair.

"I thought you might... want to come."

Walls were built around their hearts. They were built strong, and were only built for two.

They were built from their fear of being hurt, the doubt that they'd never be noticed, and their insecurities that society held over their heads because of the way they looked.

They hated looking alike, but they were afraid to look any different.

Their individualities were practically bursting at the seams, but you can't help the blind.

Hikaru turned his eyes towards Kaoru and the brothers exchanged a look that they've learned to understand. They've made their own language to block out the entire world.

She was the daughter of one of their mother's business associates. Although they never learned her name, they were urged to be nice to her. They were sure she was, too.

He looked up through his fringe. Her eyes were focused on the ground as she held out her invitation to him.

"Which one of us are you asking?" he asked.

She swallowed, fidgeting in her shoes. "...Both of you."

They were silent for a moment, exchanging another glance, before Kaoru reached out, slowly taking the envelope for himself.

"I thought that... we could be friends." She added hesitantly.

They both tensed. The paper crinkled between Kaoru's fingers.

"Tell you what," Hikaru said pushing himself away from the wall. He took a step closer to her, making a blush rise on her cheeks.

"If you can tell which one of us is which," he stooped his nose near her face, "we'll go to your birthday party. And we'll be your... friend."

"Huh?"

Kaoru smirked. "So which is it?"

They both gave her the same haunting stare. Their eyes were just begging her to get it wrong. "Which one of us is, Hikaru?"

The young girl puckered her lips, pouting at their sadistic game. Everyone in their grade had fallen victim to the Hitachiin's own version of Russian Roulette at least once. Everyone else simply stayed away from them just to avoid the embarrassment, but she's been in their class since elementary school. She'd been watching them from a distance for years.

After just a moment's thought, she threw her hand towards the eldest one.

The one who wasn't Kaoru was, Hikaru.

The one who wasn't Hikaru was, Kaoru.

They didn't have room in their hearts for people who didn't try.

"You're, Hikaru."

She was right.

Hikaru seized up. "Your reason?"

She drew her hand back. "What'd you mean? I'm right, aren't I?"

"You tell me."

The nameless girl stuck her nose up, stiffly. "That's not fair. You only said I had to get it right, and I did."

Kaoru glanced at his twin, watching a wicked smile stretch across his lips. Oh how they loved when they fought back.

He took a step forward, and bent his face down, almost nose to nose with the short girl. They liked the way they shriveled up, and backed away in fear. They liked that she started to tremble.

"Then prove it." He hissed.

She couldn't, and apparently wasn't even going to try. She threw her head back with a groan, turned on her heel and walked away.

They both fell silent, watching her walk away.

They always had the last word. The last laugh.

They always won.

And yet, somehow they always lost.

_______________________________________________

Class was starting. It was the start of a new year, their first year of high-school, and the students were picking their seats. They took turns yesterday at the class 1-A's assembly. Girls picked first, then the boys.

They always sat beside each other every year. Everyone made sure to avoid sitting between, or even beside them, but high school was different, they concluded. A lot of the new students didn't know who they were, therefore, didn't know.

The twins looked down at the empty chair between them, dreading that they'd have to sit beside a blubbering teenage girl all year. Oh dumb.

But as class started, one student stumbled through the door, quickly apologizing to the teacher for being late, and, with their big ugly bag, slumped into the seat between them.

At least it wasn't a girl, they both thought, looking at the apparent scholarship student in disgust. He was ugly, with his short, messy hair and dirty shoes. Judging from his brown, too big and too worn brown sweater, he couldn't even afford a school uniform. Must be a... commoner.

The new boy ducked his head inside his text book and didn't say a word through the entire first lesson. Or the second. Or third. He annoyed them, hating that he didn't know he was in their space. They wanted to push him out of his chair, at least poke fun at the stain on his shirt, but as they were caught staring at him, the teacher scolded them to pay attention.

The last hour dragged on the worst. Hikaru clicked his pen, thrumming it against his paper, while Kaoru doodled something on his homework. The boy mumbled quietly to himself, reading his notes to himself.

Hikaru twitched, as the boy repeated everything the teacher said in a whisper.

At last the bell rang and the teacher hurriedly tried to remind them of homework and to study for the upcoming math exam, as all the students scrambled out of the classroom, eager to get to their clubs. The air was stiff until the ugly boy finally decided to get up and leave. Good riddance. That was torture.

Kaoru grabbed Hikaru's hand, as they both stood up.

"You're pretty brave." One of the last girls in the hallway muttered.

"I'd never be able to sit between the twins like that." Another one added.

They stopped.

The one that wasn't Hikaru, was Kaoru.

"They're twins?" They heard the new guy reply.

And the one who wasn't Kaoru, was Hikaru

"How could you have not noticed? They're identical."

"I guess I didn't."

That was obvious.

They ignored him, made their way down the hall. They felt people staring. They heard them whispering, but they expected this. People were always surprised, and shrunk away. People were always afraid. Good.

They liked it that way.

"Places everyone," Tamaki bustled around the club room, making sure not a single rose petal was out of place. He was the picture of perfection. His club also needed to reflect that. "It's a new year. New high school students. Things are gonna get busy."

He sat himself down in one of the chairs he deemed his throne. "Remember to act natural. And, Hikaru- fix your face. No one likes a frown."

Hikaru was about to shoot back, but the doors opened so he bit his tongue. Kaoru slipped his hand into his, and they straightened up, forcing on their practiced smiles to properly greet their new guest.

They froze, staring right into the eyes of that dirty commoner boy.

"Ah, sorry! Wrong room." His words stumbled as he struggled to get the heavy door back open. But fate had it locked.

"Hikaru, Kaoru," Kyouya turned to them, "This young man is in the same class as you, isn't he?" Saying that, as he already knew the answer.

Yes...

They glared, staring the new kid down, their eyes pointing strings of fire, ready to set him and hideous glasses ablaze.

And what a strange development this was.