#she even asked me the pain scale thing and i specifically told her yes my average day to day pain is between a 4 and 6.

[mxdotpng]

im STILL angry. its almost been an entire day and im STILL ANGRY

[bastionbibi]

"You chose the bullet, but I chose us."

[Or, the things Furuya said to his childhood lover as justifications for bringing him back.]

He warned me about you, or, more specifically, he warned me of what would become of you, if I rewrite your ending.

He warned me that your path was supposed to end that day, and if I were to force stone after stone to be built over unstable foundations, to prolong the road that is your life, I would be creating merely smoke and mirrors. And yet… he offered me this option anyway. Was it a test? Was it something else? I don't know, and would you hate me if I told you that I didn't care? Because I really didn't. He said it loud and clear with no uncertain words, that if I dragged you back from hell and recreated your path, you'll come back a scorched soul, not… my sweet Hiromitsu anymore.

But then again, were you even still my sweet, sweet Hiro?

Do you remember when we were 8? When you caught a fish for the first time? The fishermen next to us unhooked your prize and yet you threw it back to the ocean, the light of victory and accomplishment was gone from your eyes, when your brain finally understood why the animal was thrashing about, why you had to fight to yank it out of the water– Because it was in pain. It was in absolute, excruciating pain, and we were talking about eating it; we were talking about fishing, hunting, killing, scaling, eating. But you did none of that.

That animal was writhing in pain and you threw it back into the sea. You never liked seafood after that, I always wonder why, was the blood too much for you?

My sweet Hiromitsu refused to eat fish because you felt sorry for your first ever catch, it was so, so sweet, my kind, pure hearted soulmate.

You refuse to fish anymore, refuse to hunt, not even for sport. But you did kill again the last time we went to the sea, didn't you?

My sweet Hiromitsu, using a loop we both learn together in training, tying down her legs while I held down her body, Rye was there too, he held onto that massive cement bag like it weigh nothing, both of you hooking the ropes around her waist to the makeshift weight, you completely ignored her screams, didn't waste another breath before throwing her overboard. Just like how you did to your first prize, catch and release. A wet drowning, she must've died slowly.

But it was because you– we, didn't have a choice, did we? What Vermouth says, goes, and she wanted us to do a little errand and so we did.

My sweet Hiromitsu, drowning people alive.

He warned me that if you live, you will continue to fall, bit by bit, my Hiromitsu will be nothing but a cold man, heart dark as coal. But I told him that I'd rather have you like ice, than have your body decay.

That angel of death asks me, if I can live with myself, knowing the atrocities you will commit, the pain that you will inflict to others in the future, the result of your own mental undoing. You won't be able to handle the trauma of our assignments, that you will never return to my sweet, sweet Hiromitsu ever again, that the man I know you of today will be long gone when we’re 40, 50, older. But I didn't care. I don't care.

You will no longer be my sweet Hiromitsu, but you will still be mine.

So, don't blame me for that. I did that only because I love you.

I know that you feel horrible now, living with everything that you've done, the ghosts of our victims, the voices in our heads asking us why we did what we did but– it's alright. You have me, remember?

So, yes. I know it'll be painful, but I got there in time, right before you can pull the trigger. I saved you. Don't blame me now.

I sold our soul to the devil, so we can be together. Why… are you angry at me…?

…

You feel like something is wrong? Something doesn't feel right? But… But you don't know how much I hurt, you left me alone, you chose suicide, you chose the bullet, but I chose US.

I did this for us. Hiro. I did this for us. So we can be together, you and I.

…

But, but, if this really what you want, then so be it.

You want to die? You can't live like this anymore? Then so be it.

Then, you have to kill me first.

…

No?

Well… then. Will you stay alive? For me? I know you came back wrong, but you're all right in my eyes. I love you, Hiro. My sweet, sweet Hiromitsu.

[kxlinthesky]

EPISODE 6 PART 2 LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 5-8 English Translation

“... Leviathan....”

Owl unconsciously whispered the word as he caught a glimpse of her behind Nick’s wings.

Leviathan. The demon of envy. A monstrous sea serpent, perhaps the monstrous sea serpent. Legend said it was created by Heaven and sent down to Earth, and that no weapon could pierce its impenetrable scales.

“For... for her to – to become a Demon like that –” Owl’s spirits sank. He’d thought she was fine, he hadn’t even noticed how she’d been feeling, it hadn’t even occurred to him –

On the other hand, Krinos was the very picture of pride standing next to her. “What do you think?” they hummed. “Beautiful, isn’t she? She was marvelously lucky, you know. I gave her this special form because she told me she wanted ‘a heart as hard as stone.’ She wanted a heart that could not be hurt... by thorns, by spears, or even by words. That is why I chose to grant unto her the form of the Demon Leviathan, and it would seem the pair are quite compatible. She has truly become a living mineral, one that does not require a heart or free will. I have given her a form that does not feel, just as she wished.” Their eyes flicked all across Ritz’s new form, a satisfied smile rising to their face. “And, as a bonus... fish do not reek like animals.”

Nick stiffened. “A heart... that can’t be hurt...?” His mind flashed back to the police station and the agency, back to when the usually bright and positive Ritz had suddenly let her true feelings slip. How she was looked down on and lorded over by others because she was a woman, no matter how hard she worked to prove herself....

“... Ritz,” he whispered in horror. His fingers dug into the bricks below him, blood trailing in their wake. But he felt no pain. Why would he? Compared to the agony in her soul, this was nothing. “Why – why, how did things get this bad, how – you were in so much pain, why –” His bloodied hands rose to claw at his chest. Tears fell freely from his wide, unseeing eyes. “How – how did I not notice...?! Ritz, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...!! I always listened, I always heard you, but I never helped you...! This is my fault...!!”

Ritz stared back at him, utterly emotionless. Her heart truly had become stone – there was nothing that could move her now.

“Owl,” Nick screamed, “you have to fix her, NOW!!” He picked up Owl’s gun, lying on the ground by its owner. His skin instantly began to smoke and hiss as the metal burned cherry-red – the weapon refused to let any but its wielder hold it. Maybe it would be different if Nick was currently human, but right now he was a Demon, and so the gun scalded him as mercilessly as any other.

But Nick refused to relinquish his hold. He pressed the gun into Owl’s hand. “Please, Owl,” he begged. “You can do it, right?”

Owl was silent for a moment, but he eventually gave a single light dip of his head. But he couldn’t muster the strength to lift his hand, not while he was pouring everything he had into the healing spell. And all the while, the bloodstain underneath his head continued to spread.

Still, his violet eyes remained locked on Krinos in a furious glare. “What... what’s your angle,” he wheezed, “turning Ritz into a Demon?”

Krinos tilted their head. “How do you mean?”

“You picked her for a reason, right?” Nick asked. “Made her a Demon so you could use her power?”

Krinos blinked, their head still tilted. “I did require this specific Demon, yes, but it did not specifically have to be her,” they answered. “It simply worked out this way. She appeared before me entirely by chance, and she just happened to possess the sort of soul and disposition required of Leviathan’s host, one ripe with sadness and hatred. That is the honest truth. It would not have been a great loss had she failed to become the Demon I required; there are, after all, plenty of others to choose from.”

“What...?” It just worked out that way? Owl and Nick stared at them, eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

A gleeful voice rang out. “Haha, HAHAHA!! Oh, what a face you’re making, Mr. Great Detective...! Hahaha! Are you frustrated? Does it hurt you so...?!” It was Low, his howling words echoing throughout the building. “AhhahaHAHA! How does it feel, seeing your oh so precious friend turned into a Demon? HAHAHA!”

Owl squinted in the direction of the building, but he didn’t see Low anywhere. The young man continued taunting him in a voice that absolutely dripped with delight. “How does it feel, knowing your dear friend drank poison...?! I’m the one who broke her. I administered it to her with my own hands! I made her into a Demon! Me! I did this! I wrecked someone so near and dear to you! Because you had to fight back against Master Mastema...!” His laughter continued on, growing more and more manic with each breath.

“Shut up!!” Nick screamed. His eyes widened as far as they could go, staring deep into the inky darkness before him. “Detect scope!!” he shouted. “You can’t hide from me!!”

His eyes scanned the walls of the building, eventually pausing on one of the many windows. The room beyond was too dark to see anything, but that didn’t stop him. His pupils contracted until they were tiny dots, nearly invisible against a crimson background. There was no hiding from his sight. “Subject: unknown. Object: demon dog. Assessment: overly tenacious, clingy, dependency issues, and a persecution complex. Jumps on any prey that wanders in front of him. He’s decided that his ultimate joy is to wag his tail for others until the end of his days. There’s no treatment for an animal who’d bite the hand that tried to heal it before!!” Low was trying to conceal himself, but Nick could clearly see the dog’s tail. His hand gripped his crystal staff tight, his knuckles white. “Plan: zero. Owl’s healing would be wasted on you. I’ll burn you to a crisp!!”

Golden light crackled around the tip of the staff. Nick raised his arm and directed it at that tiny pane of glass off in the distance. “Erase all records!!”

And with a grunt, he bodily hurled the staff right at it.

The air shook with a thunderous CLAP as the glowing staff shot through the darkness like a lightning bolt. The earth trembled with a mighty BOOM as the glass shattered in a massive glittering spray that gleamed in the light like a firework. There might’ve been a bestial howl somewhere in between the ear-shattering roars of thunder and the crashing of glass, but the fireworks completely swallowed up any screams and even his existence in its conflagration.

Nick didn’t stop to watch the outcome, though. He turned immediately to Krinos, eyes narrowed. “You...! I’ll burn you too...!” A fresh staff appeared in his hand even as his chest heaved, gasping for air.

Krinos smiled beatifically at him. “Ahh, good, very good. You are just a tad too lovely, though – not very Demonic of you, is it?”

It was an unsettling sight. Nick was usually beaming and cheerful, but now his expression was so twisted in fury and loathing that it was beyond uncanny. Owl could see the remains of his partner’s humanity crumbling away, the last bits of his kindness and affection that had kept his Demonic impulses at bay for so long. “Nick, wait...!” he gasped, reaching out for his friend.

But Nick slipped out of his grasp. “Don’t worry, Owl,” he said firmly, quietly... almost tonelessly. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“No...! You can’t let your emotions get swallowed up anymore!”

“I, I’m going to, get everything back...! I’m – I’m going to – turn everything – that’s broken – back to normal...!” He was turning incoherent. Nick brandished his staff, his wings flaring. A cloud of scales fell from his beautiful blue wings, which spread in the air like a membrane that threatened to envelop Krinos....

... Who simply tilted their head. “My, what a troublesome little poison you have there,” they hummed. “I’ll be needing to rinse it off.” They snapped their fingers in front of Ritz’s face, and a jolt visibly ran through her body. “She may be a fingerling yet, but she has more than enough power. Now, then, by all means, show me yours.”

“... Ah –”

“Let us make the world beautiful.”

Krinos’ voice was barely a whisper on the breeze, but to Ritz, it was an unyielding typhoon that she couldn’t hope to resist, vibrating from her eardrums to her brainstem. “Beautiful – beautiful,” she repeated. “Make the world – make everything – everything – beautiful.” Her tail rose high, stirred by their words. “Cold spiral...” she hissed, faint as a bubble leaking from a goldfish’s mouth.

SLAM!! Her tail, on the other hand, smashed against the ground with deafening force, sending a rippling shockwave through the earth and uprooting a fire hydrant by an alleyway in front of the gate. A pillar of water gushed from the hole where it had once stood, and Nick found himself momentarily blinded.

“Sweep ripple.”

The droplets scattering throughout the air coalesced into one giant, rippling ball of liquid that rocketed toward Nick and Owl like it had a mind of its own, undulating through the air almost like a giant watery serpent. Nick jolted back to his senses and turned. “Owl!!” he yelled. He leaped at Owl and stood like a shield between him and the oncoming water, wrapping his wings around the injured detective.

The giant ball exploded with a bellowing roar, dousing the pair below and soaking the entire area around them. It was like a flood had hit. The sheer volume of water sent the two sprawling, this time all the way to the gate. The carriage parked outside was swept all the way to the other side of the street, though it didn’t tip.

Nick managed to grab the iron gate and hold on for dear life, Owl still ensconced in his wings. “Owl! You alive?!”

“... Yeah,” came the weak response from within. He could speak, thankfully, but as expected he still wasn’t strong enough to stand. The healing spell still glowed around him. “Leviathan is a sea monster...” he said, each word dragging out of his mouth like molasses. “It can control water.”

Of course Owl knew about it. His brain was a treasure trove of knowledge. Nick pouted. “You couldn’t have told me that sooner?” he grumbled.

The corners of Owl’s mouth twitched up. “... You cooled off now, partner?”

In contrast, Nick’s pout deepened. “Was that on purpose?”

“....”

Owl’s breath stuttered.

“Owl?”

It looked like he was trying to say something, but before he could force the words out, his body finally lost the war it’d been fighting against all the exhaustion and pain. The hand he’d been holding to the wound on his head fell limply to the ground as consciousness fled him.

“Owl?! What’s wrong?!” Nick frantically slapped Owl’s cheeks. “No, c’mon! OWL!”

The detective’s eyes stayed shut. The technique imbued into his bloodied gloves was still going, but his fingertips didn’t so much as twitch. Even when Nick shook him by his collar, he remained dead to the world.

Nick’s breath hitched. He dropped his head so his cheek pressed against Owl’s gilet, shuddering. “You can’t leave me all alone right now, you dummy!” he screamed.

“I believe this is checkmate.” Krinos sedately approached the pair. “Your name is... Nick, yes? Your azoth is wonderful indeed. Despair, remorse, rage, and that last little dash of anguish for spice make for quite the quality soul. I believe I will make an offering of you unto the great and powerful Heaven. I must harvest you right away.” A thin smile rose to their face. “Ah, but those wings of yours are a nuisance, what with that annoying little poison. Ritz, cut them off for me. Best to dispose of them before the harvest.”

With another snap of their fingers, Ritz jolted again. Her head tilted up to the sky, eyes hollow and lifeless. “Cold spiral...” she whispered, faint as the popping of a soap bubble. Her tail rose once more, then crashed into the ground again.

SLAM! A gigantic wave of water rose out of nothing and rushed straight for Nick. As it approached, it swelled and shifted into the form of a gigantic sharp sickle, its razor-sharp edge aimed squarely for the base of Nick’s magnificent wings.

It fell.

“For goodness’ sake, and here I thought the detective was the only princess element around here! Did being his partner make you one, too?”

But just then, a voice spoke from right over Nick’s head. He turned to look, a questioning gasp falling from his lips, in time to see several cards falling down to encircle him....

“But well, if the opponent’s using water, it’s better if I take this one.” Suddenly, without a sound, a slender young man appeared standing beside Nick.

“Louis...?!” Nick gasped.

It was indeed Louis, standing there with one finger proudly raised. “I’ll lend you a hand here, Nick,” he said. He traced his fingers along his cards, then hurled them all at the oncoming sickle. Every single card surrounding them released a furious gale of wind. The sickle instantly froze into ice that crackled and shattered into pieces, the shards clattering to the ground in a glittering little hailstorm.

Nick sat there in stunned disbelief for a few seconds before rounding on Louis. “Why are you here?!” he shouted. “It’s dangerous!”

“You’re really saying that to me?... I wasn’t really going to step in. But you landed yourself in such a pickle, I thought, well, guess I should step in. Plus, now you’ll owe me one, and I can collect dividends on that later.” Louis turned to stare Nick dead in the eye and murmured, “And honestly, I really liked fairies. Do you know that story about the boy who can fly and never grows up, the one with a fairy partner? I loved that book as a kid. Read it all the time.” He squinted. “... Just to check, you are Nick, right?”

“Who else?” Nick replied. “No one’s a cuter fairy than me!”

“Oh, yeah, you’re Nick all right.” Louis drew back his shoulders. He glanced down at the unconscious Owl and muttered to himself, “You’re too careless, you idiot.”

“Another intruder?” Krinos lightly sighed. “I’m getting rather tired of this. I don’t enjoy wasteful plans or hinderances like Mastema, you know.” They brushed their bangs to the side, perhaps a little irritably, and turned a cold stare on the newest arrival. “... I believe I’m done. I quite honestly didn’t need to linger in this zoo for as long as I did. I was a fool for trying to understand Mastema’s little hobbies. There’s no point in wasting so much time developing azoth – how foolish I was. But, well, the preparations are complete, so I’ll just harvest now and return home.”

They snapped their fingers. “Come to me, my hunters,” they called. “The entire city is now your hunting ground. Run down your persecutors as you please.”

A high-pitched noise began echoing through the air, high enough to pierce a person’s brain. Nick clapped his hands to his ears, groaning through clenched teeth. That voice reverberated in his skull... and a second later, he found himself about to kneel before Krinos. Somewhere in a different part of his heart, a signal was blaring, telling him, “Obey Krinos. You must obey Krinos.”

“Ears... hurt...!”

“Your ears?” Louis repeated.

“What is, that voice...!” Nick crouched down, moaning faintly.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”

A strange voice echoed from inside the building. The pair’s heads snapped in that direction in surprise.

“AAAAHHHHH!!!”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!”

One voice became two. Then three. Until soon there was a cacophonous chorus screeching from somewhere within. What the – what is that? Louis wondered. He peered into the building, through the doorway Ritz had destroyed earlier... and he could see silhouettes shifting within the darkness inside. Many silhouettes. Who are they? He squinted.

And then he unconsciously took a step back as his eyes blew wide. “It can’t be....”

The shambling, stamping crowd of silhouettes that came dragging out of that room... they weren’t human. No, these women were grotesque. Their long, ratty hair spread in thick, stiff clumps around their skulls like coral. Patches of pale blue scales had grown around their cheeks. They no longer had eyelids, their eyes wide and vacant like a fish. Their mouths split down to their throats. Their top halves were still those of human women, but their bottom halves were covered in the same scales as the ones on their faces. However, unlike Ritz and her tail, these women still had two proper legs that alternated as rhythmically as a soldier’s march as they walked along. Furthermore, each and every one held an identical razor-sharp harpoon in their hands. They looked, in short, like a battalion risen from the depths of the sea. Perhaps they were also Leviathans, just incomplete versions?

One thing was crystal clear though. “Demons...!” Louis gasped. There was nothing else he could say. There, before his eyes, was a horde of half-fish Demons. He and Nick sucked in breaths in unison at the sight.

And then a piercing scream echoed through the air, this time from the other side of the gate, followed by the wet thump of someone slipping and falling on the wet ground. “WAAAH!! D-D-D-DEMONS...!” It was a man’s voice, high-pitched and drenched in fear.

Nick glanced over to the lone man and froze. He recognized that guy! “... That’s... that’s Bigmouth Dave!” he screeched. “Hey! Get outta here!”

The guy looked at Nick, promptly let out another yelp, and scrabbled away.

One of the Demons within the horde raised her head a little, and a voice leaked out from her gaping fish mouth. “David...? Ah – David – it’s – you.” She took a step closer to the fleeing man.

The man paused. “That voice... Jane...?” he mumbled. However, when he glanced back and saw the strange figure shuffling toward him, he screamed again and scrabbled away. “H-HEEEELP! Someone! ANYONE! It’s a Demon! My wife turned into a DEMON!!”

The Demon lady raised her harpoon and chased after him. “Wait – wait – a moment – my husband – David – I won’t – ever – forgive YOU!”

“I’m sorry, Jane, I’m sorry, forgive me, please forgive me!!”

“Won’t – can’t fo-for-forgive – why should I – forgive someone – so violent – who cheated...! Who lies! Only – lies! Everything – from your mouth – is a LIE!!!” She caught up to him in the blink of an eye, her harpoon poised to spear him through.

“Ahh, no, not like that, Jane,” Krinos called from where they were watching. The Demon paused and glanced back. “We need to infect him before we can harvest,” they continued, and snapped their fingers once more.

Thick belches of silvery-violet fog poured from underneath the carriage that had been swept off down the road, which was incidentally right near where the man was as well. The rolling cloud bore down and swallowed him whole. He sputtered and coughed even as he disappeared from sight. “Ugh, wh-what is, this...?!”

And it wasn’t just one carriage, either. All of the abandoned coaches across the city were producing their own masses of the strange, wavering fog.

“C-Can’t... breathe...!” David struggled to put some distance between himself and the carriage, most likely realizing that there had to be some places far enough away from them that the fog was still thin.

But then Krinos quietly murmured, “Ritz,” and motionless, hollow-eyed Ritz waved her tail around and raised it high into the air.

“... Cold spiral.”

Every single fire hydrant in the city exploded with a deafening bang. Pillars of water rocketed into the sky one by one, forming a circle around the carriages already encircling the city.

“Excellent,” praised Krinos. “Your talent surpasses all expectations, far beyond that of those half-baked pseudo-Demons behind you. Now, to put the finishing touches on our grand hunting ground.”

The Demon Leviathan slowly raised one webbed hand. “Mist prison,” she whispered.

The water pillars burst into a fine white mist that began to spread across the city like a barrier, forming a solid wall that kept the purple-tinted fog firmly inside the heart of London. At the same time, screams began to erupt all throughout the streets from inhabitants touched by the creeping fog. Apparently there were still people out and about even in the abandoned parts of town. Like David, they fled down side streets, clawing at their throats and desperate for help.

But there was no help to be found. The struggling citizens collapsed where they stood, one by one. And one by one, their skin turned black before their eyes as they lost the remaining dregs of their humanity.

“Ugh... please, help...!”

The violet-silver fog curled around David as he pleaded and soon masked him from view entirely. As the clouds constricted his throat, his struggling hands also began to change hue, his fingertips turning jet-black as if they’d been dipped in ink and spreading up toward his wrists. Even as the darkness crept up his skin, though, he still scrambled to get away from the Demons.

“This is a specially crafted high-density fog that can infect anyone in mere seconds,” Krinos said. They pointed to the gasping man. “Go and help Jane, everyone. The liar shall be your first prey.”

The mob of Demons lurched toward the man as one, unblinking eyes fixated squarely on his pitiful form.

“Cheater – liar – awful – how awful – of you – how awful – for her –”

“Must – have words – must scold – yes – repent – repent – if you – repent....”

Mutters ran through the crowd as they hefted their harpoons.

“If you – repent – you – can be – a jewel – too!!!”

And they hurled their weapons at him.

“NO!!!” Nick screamed.

But his words were nothing more than air. The harpoons skewered David. His screech of alarm pierced the air like a siren. The man was clearly too stunned to realize what had happened at first, but then he looked down and saw what exactly was sticking out of his body, and his scream rose in both pitch and volume until the sound emanating from his throat could hardly be called human. Then, as his lungs depleted and his voice faded away, so too did his body, falling to the ground with a thud and dissolving into dust.

“Huh?”

“What was –?”

Nick and Louis stared at the spot where the man had been, flabbergasted and alarmed in equal measure. Where’d his body go? They had no idea what was going on.

While they struggled to comprehend what they’d just seen, the Demon called Jane reached her hand into the dust that had once been David and pulled a crimson stone from the pile. “Ha – haha – hahaha,” she chuckled. “So – tiny.” The laughter grew more intense, more gratified, as she held it above her head. “Tiny – so tiny – must – hunt more... more – beautiful – gems....”

“Haha – hahahaha....”

“I – will go – too.”

“So – will I.”

The tittering crowd of Demons shuffled off into the city, leaving Nick and Louis to stare after them in stunned silence.

“That was....” Louis couldn’t get the image of the red stone flashing in the Demon’s grasp out of his head. “Refined azoth, without undergoing Demonization? Is that even possible?” His eyes slid to the fog creeping along the ground toward them. “That’s... highly concentrated infectious vapor,” he muttered, his hands balling into fists. “So that’s it, then. Those carriages... all those abandoned carriages across the city, they’re machines meant to spread the Black Rose Disease, aren’t they?”

Nick jolted and glanced up. “What...? They’re spreading it...?! You said you couldn’t extract it, right?!”

“Even if a layperson couldn’t, it’s possible there’s some spell of technique somewhere that can refine them. Like at this very salon, perhaps.”

“... Ah –”

“You said you first saw them around the city a month ago, right? That’s when they put their plan into motion. The note that woman Maud passed me was written on the back of a scrap that came from a map of the area. She must’ve realized the seedy plans in place underneath the veneer of the reformation parade. What the Demon Parade was really spreading about was a hallucinogen, making it easy for people to see imaginary carriages and masking the real carriages... the poison-spreading apparatuses from sight. They’re the reason there’s been an upswing in infectees recently.”

“But... how could they make someone see something so convenient to them –” How did they control people seeing carriages specifically? Nick couldn’t wrap his brain around it.

“That person’s voice has the power to control people. Maybe they sent out a wave with their voice to the surrounding area, using those weird machines strapped to the top of those things, telling people they could see carriages while they were spreading the disease around?” Louis surmised. “Pair that with the psychedelic gas, and you’ve got yourself all the ingredients for a city full of fake carriages rolling around. Everyone would watch out for moving carriages, but not for stopped ones, right?”

“But, but I never saw anything like that, though?”

“Probably because you’re already a carrier. Those women might’ve conducted their parade to keep an eye on things so they’d know the right timing to infect everyone. If the illusions don’t work on people who’ve already got the Black Rose Disease, eventually no one in the city would see them, and then they’d start noticing all the suspicious abandoned carriages, and someone would eventually start saying they should be removed. That was the signal.”

“Signal?”

“That it was time to harvest.”

Nick sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

“And in order to harvest the entire city, they’d need underlings... they’d need hunters, and they picked the downtrodden, abused women to do it...” Louis continued. “Demonization requires a powerful surge of emotion to trigger. They gathered the dissatisfied, sad, pained women of the city and carefully had them doing their dirty work, and then they used their voice to trigger their Demonization. All to make them their hunters to harvest the new infected people in the city.” Louis glanced at Krinos. “Right?” he asked them.

Krinos met the student’s glare with perfect equanimity. “You’re a sharp boy,” they answered. It wasn’t a straight answer, but the meaning was clear.

“Why would you do something like that?!” Nick shouted.

It was Louis who answered, not Krinos. “They’re after azoth.”

“Azoth?” Nick repeated blankly. “What’s that?”

“It’s the crystallized soul within a Demon... or at least, that’s what I believe. Put simply, it’s a powerful energy source.”

“And what’re they gonna do with the stuff they harvest?”

“Who knows? The minds of their kind aren’t for us mortals to comprehend.”

“Their kind...? What do you mean?”

“If Demons exist, it stands to reason that their opposite exists as well, right?”

“Huh? What’re you... that’s....”

Nick wanted to say that was impossible, but Krinos’ whisper cut through their conversation. “There is no need for you to comprehend,” they murmured. “Everything is Heaven’s plan. You all should simply submit yourselves joyfully, unaware that it is your destiny to be offered unto Heaven... or rather, it is the destiny of the jewels growing in your bodies. Now, come to me.”

Nick and Louis tensed. That order... the second that sweet and melodic order reached their ears, so too did a compulsion to obey flood their brains.

“The... voice!” Louis gritted his teeth and shook his head, doing his utmost to resist. “Nick, watch out! Their voice has the power to enthrall you!”

To Louis, this sensation felt strangely familiar. He’d studied techniques to charm people at college, of course, but he felt like he recognized this from even before that... from a long, long time ago, in a place far, far away, when he was just a child. He remembered studying something back then, listening to someone standing in front of him. That voice in his memories sounded just as tantalizingly sweet as Krinos’.

His role hammered into his skull as he was robbed of his senses, like his mind was wrapped in a soft, silk cocoon –

“... Shit!!”

Louis shook off the memories threatening to encroach on his mind. This wasn’t the time or the place to be thinking about back then. He focused his attention on glaring at Krinos.

The salon owner was staring at Louis’ resistance with a strange expression, but they refrained from commenting and said in their usual disinterested way, “Well, it’s fine, I suppose. If I can awaken everyone in the city, my plan will be complete.” They blew out a breath. “... Mastema was unnecessarily concerned with the quality of the product, but that is complete heresy. What is so entertaining about learning human emotions.... It’s horrifically inefficient to focus so intently on raising the purity of a single stone. Quantity is far superior to quality – that is the efficient way. So I will infect everyone equally and harvest them all at once. They may be small, or dull, but I will take them all the same. Yes, superior or inferior, I will leave none behind. That is ‘equality.’ That is ‘benevolence’....”

Their sigh swirled in the air around them, and before their eyes transformed into a glowing sigil. A transmutation circle.

“Let my voice reach out... to the hearses.”

A bright red light shot out of the roof of the carriage sitting near the building, as if moved by their words. High above them, in the sky, an absolutely colossal transmutation circle spun to life, glowing an eerie, ominous red.

Nick and Louis stared up at it in alarm, twin exclamations falling from their lips, as the circle expanded further, as more circles joined the first, as all the circles overlapped and spread until the entire sky above the city was blanketed in that sick glow.

“Is that... an ancient technique...?” The sigils on the circle were old, and he couldn’t decipher everything, but Louis strung together the parts he could read, and that was enough for him to realize what he was looking at. “Is that a high-level sleeping spell?!”

Nick had cottoned on as well. “Hey, that thing’s shining above where those carriages were left! There’s so many... enough to surround the entire city....”

Louis blinked. Then his eyes widened. “Of course!” he exclaimed. “Those carriages... they don’t just spread the infection around, they’re also tools for amplifying the power of that guy’s voice to activate the spell!!”

Krinos shook their head as Louis swiveled their gaze back to them. “I would prefer if you referred to me with some respect,” they admonished. “That is a divine mechanism, one could say, to more efficiently magnify my voice so that I may awaken the people.” Once again Krinos spoke, and once again their words birthed a spell circle above them. “The time has come for the miserable control that plagues the world of man to shatter! When they hear my signal of the end, the buds of hatred growing within them will awaken...!”

As they called up to the great circle above them, their voice was amplified several times over by the machines strapped to the roofs of the carriages with a groaning sound that shook the very air.

“Wah...!” Nick staggered from the sound like it was a physical blow. He clapped his hands over his ears and curled into a ball.

“Nick?!” Louis reached out to steady him. The poor informant was stiff as a board.

Teeth gritted and face twisted in anguish, Nick gasped, “What, is this...? This is, so much, worse...! My brain’s, gonna, leak out my ears...!”

“You would do well to obey me,” Krinos whispered. “Resistance will only lead to suffering.”

The weight of their words slammed into the nearby buildings, filling the neighborhood with echoes of their displeasure. The shockwaves split the night without mercy. And as their voice wound its way through the air, yet another glowing circle appeared, this time twinkling in front of their face.

“Most Demons are slaves to their desires,” they continued. “In this hunting ground, you, little Demon, would be free to rampage as you please. Release your true self from its shackles, harvest the infected to your heart’s desire, and immerse yourself in pleasure.”

Their siren song was so, so tempting. But still Nick resisted, jaw clenched and limbs locked.

The shockwaves rolled through the air, numbing their brains, but Louis saw through their lie. He sneered, “So you’re going to put a megaphone right to everyone’s ears to wake them up? Don’t make me laugh. There’s nothing divine about that! Planting suggestions, brainwashing... no, you’re rewriting what it is to be human on a cellular level...!”

Nick glanced up at him, his face still screwed up in pain. “That, gives me, a real bad feeling....”

“Yeah, no kidding. This is a person who could forcibly turn a sparrow into an eagle with a single word.”

“And, turn a human, into a Demon?”

Louis hesitated. He didn’t even want to entertain the thought, but... he couldn’t afford not to. “If someone is even the slightest bit infected, then yes, they could probably influence the ‘brainwashed cells’ to multiply rapidly and instantaneously transform someone into a Demon. Usually a strong surge of emotion is the trigger for Demonization, but that wouldn’t matter here. Far from it, actually – there’s even a twisted chance that they could even alter a person’s body or their original Demon’s species. Those women all looked like water Demons, for example.” He clicked his tongue. “‘London Bridge’.... So this is what she meant by ‘don’t become like how the song ends.’”

The idea that the smoking watchman in the nursery rhyme became a human sacrifice to hold the bridge up was a baseless rumor, but all around them, people were inhaling smoke and becoming Demons. They truly had become sacrifices to be harvested and offered.

Maud had foreseen what was to come. She had tried to tell them to run.

“Once they give the signal, every infectee within the technique’s range will Demonize at the same time, and the women they already Demonized will harvest the newborn Demons,” Louis continued. “... It’ll be hell on earth, and it won’t end there. Panic will start to spread throughout the country... and across the borders, too.”

“That’s...!” Nick shuddered at the horrific thought. One shaking hand reached out to grip Louis’ sleeve. “What do we do? How do we stop it?!”

Louis quietly shook his head. “We can’t.”

“Huh...?”

Louis raised his hands to the sky in a hopeless gesture. “Without some amazing, heroic special move or something, nothing we do can destroy that gigantic circle.”

 “... No....” Nick’s face crumpled. Then, with a scowl, he lurched up and grabbed Louis by the collar. “What’s wrong with you?!” he screamed. “How can you just say that?! Owl would never!! He’d never give up like that!!”

Louis looked at Nick flatly. “I’m not Owl,” he simply replied. He pulled a pocket watch out of his pocket, checked the time, and stowed it away again. “I’m not a detective, and I’m no hero. I don’t have any secret ultimate skills up my sleeves. I don’t particularly care about saving random strangers. Once all my magic tricks are used up, I split.” He tugged Nick’s hands off of him none too gently.

Nick stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds. He hadn’t expected him to be... so cold. His teeth gritted. “But you came to save me, didn’t you?” he pointed out.

“Yes, because I thought I saw some merit in it.” Louis smoothed his rumpled collar and adjusted his necktie, then turned once more to Krinos.

They smiled. “Such graciousness is a virtue,” they said, then breathed out yet another transmutation circle. With each new layer they sighed into existence, the energy above them swelled in intensity. “I enjoy rational folk. As a special treat, I will make you a beautiful Demon. You must have imbibed enough of the fog by now.” They held a hand out to Louis. “You have the distinct honor of making direct contact with a holy hand. Be grateful.”

Louis faced Krinos. He took a step toward them.

“Louis!” Nick lunged to try and stop him, but he couldn’t reach.

Step by step Louis approached Krinos. His arm rose, ready to take their hand.

“But as long as I’ve still got a trick up my sleeve, I’ll keep fighting!”

And he slapped it away.

“... What did you just say?” Krinos’ eyes widened at the sudden rejection, the first sign of cracks in their composure since this whole mess had started.

BOOOOOM!!!

An explosion blasted through the air, followed by a flash of crimson light and a dense plume of smoke outside the gate.

“What?!” Krinos whipped their head around to find that their carriage was on fire. A crackling bonfire enveloped the entire coach.

Nick was similarly bewildered. “What just happened...?” he wondered aloud, glancing between Louis and the burning vehicle.

They all watched as the light emanating up from the carriage vanished as it burned. The technique it was projecting into the air was gone. “My divine apparatus...!” cried Krinos. They were fully flustered now.

Another explosion boomed, this time somewhere off in the distance. Then another, and another, until the air fairly shook with the blasts. Another layer of the spell vanished with each successive outburst.

“Ahh, I guess the firepower was a little strong,” Louis commented as he listened, as casual as anything. “I’m not that well-versed in fire alchemy – must’ve gotten the composition wrong.”

As the sigils began to vanish, the voice echoing through the air also faded away. Nick felt the oppressive force keeping him pinned disappear all at once.

Krinos turned a fearsome glare on Louis. “What have you DONE, you miserable wretch?!”

Louis blatantly ignored them to focus on Nick instead. “You know, these cards also have timers,” he said, twirling one such card around his fingers. “I went looking for all the abandoned carriages based on your map and planted these cards inside them. I was running short on time, so I did ask your adorable little red riding hood girl to help, though.”

“... My map...?”

“Yes, because you kindly noted down their precise locations. Your detective’s illegible scrawls were also handy – ‘presumed sphere of influence,’ ‘possible spots to hide carriages near locations of parade sightings,’ and such. Thanks to that, I was able to look for other factories as well, and I visited one such place being constructed by high-level alchemy the likes of which I’d never seen before.” A tiny smile tickled the edges of his mouth for a split second. “Ahh, of course, if nothing ended up happening I was going to disable them all remotely, I’m not a bomber or anything. That said, I’m glad all my effort didn’t go to waste.” He held a folded paper out to Nick. “If I hadn’t found all the stuff in that new factory that revealed what was really going on, it would’ve been a lot harder to destroy everything.”

Nick accepted the paper and unfolded it. It was the map Owl had jotted his notes down on. A tiny gasp escaped him, and for a brief moment a smile threatened to split his face, but in the next second he pulled his mouth back down into a pout. “Did you nick this? Lousy thief!”

Louis clicked his tongue, waggling his finger with each click. “Please don’t call me that? It sounds so crude.”

“A thief’s a thief. What should I call you, then?”

“Well... the best thing would be –”

A whisper through the roaring blaze of flame interrupted him. “My wonderful plan....”

Nick and Louis turned to look at Krinos. The salon owner was standing in front of the burning carriage. They were trembling. “How... dare you ruin my wonderful plan....” They raised their head and glared daggers at Louis with wild eyes. “I have a suitable punishment in mind for those who would defy Heaven’s will...” they murmured. As they opened their mouth wide, another layered spell circle twinkled in front of their face. “For an unforgivable sin such as this, I will turn you into a Demon in the most painful way imaginable and gouge your heart from your chest...!”

They raised their hands in Louis’ direction and clenched them tight. Louis evaded them by a hair and replied with a carefree chuckle, “That’s fine, I don’t need your forgiveness. I know Byron will forgive me, at least. That’s all I really want.”

Krinos paused. “Did you say Byron?” they whispered.

“He’s my parent, and I’d guess he’s you guys’ enemy, too.” Louis twisted his body and raised one leg overhead to deliver a powerful kick to Krinos’ shoulder. As he knocked them off balance, he whipped a card out of his pocket and slapped it onto their body.

“Nngh...?!” The card floated around for a moment, but in the next instant it mercilessly rocketed into the ground with a resounding SLAM, shoving Krinos’ body into the dirt. They wheezed as they scrabbled in place, as firmly stuck as a butterfly specimen pinned to a wall. The card had them affixed to the ground; they couldn’t get back up.

“Ahh...” sighed Louis. “Yeah, earth techniques are hard, too. I still can’t get them properly working. I should study gravity some more.”

“Damn... you...!!”

“So how does it feel to prostrate yourself on the ground like that? It’s probably your first time, isn’t it?”

The card holding Krinos down held an earth technique inside of it, one that increased the effects of gravity several times over. They were obviously thrown for a loop for a moment, but it wasn’t long before they started trying to push themself back up, their chest puffed out. “You think, you can hold me...?!”

“Oi, don’t push it,” warned Louis.

Krinos didn’t stop, though. They struggled against the burdensome gravity keeping them immobile. And as they did, an ominous, almost metallic creaking sound started echoing around their shoulders and neck.

Louis blinked. “Is that machinery?” he mumbled. That sound... that meant Krinos’ body wasn’t human, it was....

“A technique forged by mere mortals could never hope to overpower me...!!”

With a horrifying crack in their spine, Krinos forced themself to rise. The chugging and clacking of gears grinding together emanated from their form. And as they slowly worked their way up, the card on the ground began to smoke and char at the edges. Krinos’ power was warring with the power of the card, and the force was tearing them both apart.

“‘Mere mortals,’ huh...” Louis murmured to himself. He pulled another card out of his pocket. “Well, what if I tossed the power of the divine creation I brought along with me into the mix?” He flicked the card and called, “Come on out! You’re up!”

And then a shadow hopped out of one of the trees around the building. “I’ll help, too...!”

It was a young girl. As she leaped into the air, the card flashed next to her, and she floated down as gently as a feather, as if gravity had decided to ignore her. She gently landed next to Louis and held out her hand. “With my... my power...!”

Krinos saw the young girl clinging to Louis’ back. They saw her red robe fluttering in the breeze. And their eyes nearly popped out of their skull.

original written by Nagaya Kawaji here

[peachbear88]

The Greatest Love Story

A/N: Inspired by this lovely image I saw. I'm making this into a high school angst AU that takes place in like the 1900's. For the record, I know Steve isn't a bad person but this is an AU and I need one of those... You know, guys for this story so.... Yeah! Sorry! BTW, the second poem is not written by me, it's written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and I stole some quotes from Shakespeare.

Warnings: Angst, homophobia, swearing, character death.

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Reader

----------

You scale the ancient wooden stairs of your small school. avoiding eye contact with anyone. The stares you receive from others are painfully obvious as you speed walk towards the library, seeking shelter from the judgmental glances from your peers.

"Hello dear," the kind librarian greets you as you walk past her towards your corner of the library.

You don't respond, quickly ducking behind the massive shelves, hoping to spend as much time as possible in your safe space before the classes start. Placing back your old books, you scan the shelves, until a particular title catches your eye.

"Love Poems by Women?" You murmur, flipping through the worn pages.

----------

A giant dusty book lands on the librarian's desk, making her look up.

"May I take this out?" You ask, your tone emotionless, cold yet tentative. The librarian smiles gently at you handing you back the book.

"Of course dear. Happy reading." You give her a small, thankful smile before dashing out of the library door. The halls are partially empty, save for the kids that skip class, hanging around in the hallways and dark alleys after school.

You duck your head, avoiding eye contact as you pass the group leaning against the lockers, most importantly, the hazel eyed beauty that could snap your neck in half, Yelena Belova.

"Hey!" Your head snaps up. Big mistake. You lock eyes with the famed blonde and you drop your head immediately, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Y-Yes?"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." She snaps. You peek at her from the corner of your eye, her sleek dress pants catching your eye.

"Interesting outfit choice," you note before you can stop yourself.

"What did you say?" She demands and you gulp, backing away.

"N-nothing." She slowly steps towards you, backing you into the lockers.

"Get to class. And don't ever let me see you again идиот (idiot)." You hurry down the hall towards your classroom, tripping in the process as you repeatedly look over your shoulder, watching as Yelena turns back to her friend group.

---------

"She was cute," Natasha points out as Yelena reclaims her spot leaning against the lockers. "Why do you feel the need to tease her so relentlessly?" Yelena rolls her eyes, grabbing the flask of vodka back from her sister.

"She's annoying. I don't like her." Natasha smirks.

"Sure. Whatever you say."

---------

You let out a sigh of relief when the bell rings.

Your classmates flood out of the classroom, jostling each other aside in their rush to get home. You quickly sprint out the door, eager to get home, safe and sound when a hand grabs you by the arm and pulls you into a dark alley behind the school.

"Hello there girly..." A deep voice says. You gulp. The boy steps into the light to reveal Steve Rogers. One of those people that take pride in hurting others, a bully, your tormenter.

"W-what do you want?" He smirks, stepping closer to you.

"Well, a little birdie told me that someone had an encounter with a specific blonde this morning." You flinch when he grabs you by the throat, pinning you to the wall. "You wouldn't happen to be... I don't know, one of those dykes would you?" Your eyes widen and you shake your head vigorously as he laughs. "Oh man," he sputters, choking through his laughter. "Wait till the school gets ahold of this-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence because a fist connects with his face, sending him reeling backwards.

"What the-" A strong hand wraps around his throat, pushing him backwards till his back connects with the wall.

"Listen to me you маленькое дерьмо (little shit), if you ever even think about coming near her again, I will sneak into your house at night, gut you like the fish you are and paint the school with them." Yelena warns in a surprisingly calm voice. Steve's eyes widen and he nods his head frantically until she lets go.

"Crazy bitch!" He spits, backing away quickly. You shuffle your feet, looking down at the ground as she watches him run.

"T-thank you." You mutter, not daring to look her in the eye. She sighs.

"This better not become a daily thing Y/L/N." You nod feebly. "Get out of here." You quickly pick your bag back up and sprint out of the alley, leaving Yelena by herself,

---------

"I'm home mom!"

"Welcome home sweetie!" Your mom pokes her head out of the living room.

"How's your book going?"

"As great as a woman writing a book can be." She chuckles forcibly. There's an awkward silence before she continues. "Your father came by today." She pauses as you swallow, feeling like something lodged itself in your throat.

"And what did he want?" She frowns at your tone.

"Sweetie, I know you don't like him but he's still your fa-"

"I don't have a dad," you growl, picking up your bag. "My dad died when he chose to abandon us." She watches as you climb up the stairs, sighing and rubbing her temple.

---------

You flop onto your bed, dropping the thick dusty buck onto the bed. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading through the poems until your mom calls you down for dinner.

It's an awkward dinner, quiet, only the sounds of dishes, chewing and utensils filling the room.

"I'm going to bed." You say after washing the dishes, not bothering to wait for a response.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of your room.

"Love poems by women." You mutter, an idea popping into your head. You quickly sit up, flicking on your lamp and pulling out the book and a pen.

----------

"Good morning dear," the librarian greets you like she does every morning.

"I'd like to return this book." You reply coldly, passing her the book once again. She smiles gently at you.

"I hope you enjoyed your reading." She says while passing you, returning the book to its original shelf.

-----------

"Hello hon, can I help you with anything?" The librarian asks the dirty-blonde haired girl.

"No, thank you." The girl sends the librarian a tight lipped smile before returning her attention to the shelves. A ripped leather cover catches her attention. Love Poems by Women. She smiles, pulling the book from the shelf. Flipping open to the title page, a neat cursive catches her eyes.

Love flows between beings Gift from the gods Curse from the demons The missing part of every person Destined to be opposites Love is flexible Yet some seek to objectify love Love is not for the weak willed. - Aristophanes

The blonde haired girl hums, pulling a pen from her jacket's pocket and discreetly writing in the book, right next to the poem.

------------

Terrible.

That's the only way to describe your day. You received your essay back, ecstatic to see that you had received an A. Steve on the other hand had absolutely flunked. Instead of dedicating his time to studying, he decided to beat you up as a way of taking out his frustration.

You ended up limping out of the women's toilet, your leg flaring up whenever you moved, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

"Hi sweetcheeks," the librarian murmurs, her eyes trailing down your injured leg.

"'Ello." You quickly duck behind the shelves, pulling out the book you were looking for. Your brows scrunch together in confusion as you see a messier scrawl next to your handwriting.

Reality hits hard

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

- Orpheus

You smile letting a light laugh slip from your lips. A sweet titter revealing the little girl underneath your cold, traumatized exterior.

Quickly, you grab your pen from your pocket and begin scribbling.

-----------

The air is knocked from your body as your back makes contact with the floor.

"Listen here dyke. I don't like you alright," Steve growls into your ear as Tony cracks his knuckles. "So here's what's going to happen: Everyday you're going to meet us here and," he pauses, cracking his neck. "Help us relive some stress." He smiles wickedly before punching you in the stomach, making you double over in pain.

Your eyes flutter shut as they deliver blow after blow 'till they finally stop. You tentatively open your eyes to see Yelena tackling Steve to the ground as Tony stares at them, eyes wide.

"I. Told. You. To. Leave. Her. Alone!" She screams, pummeling Steve with her fists. He groans, unmoving. You watch in terror as Tony picks up a trash can lid, sneaking up behind her as she punches Steve in the face.

"Watch out!" You scream, taking Tony as well yourself by surprise. She looks up to see you slamming into Tony sending him flying into the nearby wall of the alley.

He crumples, unconscious.

"Are you okay?" You mumble, limping towards Yelena, who's clutching a blood gash on her arm.

"'M fine,' she grits out. You shake your head, grabbing her wrist. She flinches but doesn't push you away.

"You're not okay. Let me help you." You plead. She stays silent and you quickly take her silence as a yes, leading her to the front steps of your home. You rummage through your back pack, finding a large wrap of bandages that you kept after your daily beating from Rogers and his friends.

She winces as you wrap her wound swiftly.

"Gentle!" She growls and you stare back at her defiantly.

"Well maybe if you would stop moving, it'd hurt less!" You retort and she shuts up, staring off into the distance. You dab the cut with a small bit of alcohol before wrapping the bandage all around her arm.

"Thank you." She whispers, giving you a small smile. Reaching out, she gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you flinch back. You quickly, shovel the bandages and medicinal alcohol back into your pack, not noticing the hurt look on her face.

"No problem. The least I could do since you saved me." You reply bluntly, swinging the bag over your shoulder and slipping through the door.

"Wait-" She sighs as the door slams shut in front of her.

You exhale, leaning against the door as you try to catch your breath.

-----------

Yelena sighs exasperatedly, tugging at the collar of her dress shirt.

"What's wrong little sis?" Natasha smirks, plopping down next to her.

"I got hurt and Y/N patched me up." Natasha jumps up, eyes wide.

"You stained your new shirt?" She groans shaking Yelena violently. "God I'm going to kill you!" Yelena grabs her sister, stopping her.

"You're missing the point!"

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Nat challenges, flopping back down on to the couch.

"She patched me up!" Nat's eyes widen.

"Oh. Oh." She inches closer to her sister, nudging her playfully, much to Yelena's dislike. "So are y'all like," she winks at her sister insinuatingly. "A thing?" Yelena scrunches her brows in confusion.

"A thing?" Nat rolls her eyes, sidling closer to her.

"Yes. A thing. An item? Lovers?" She shrugs, missing the way Yelena blushes.

"In her dreams," Yelena snorts, leaning back into the couch.

"If you say so..."

-----------

"Morning pumpkin!" The librarian chirps.

The blonde girl ignores her, breezing past her towards the the shelves at the very back, peeking over her shoulder quickly before pulling an old, leather bound book from the shelf.

She flips the leather cover aside to reveal the title page. Next to her messy, distorted scrawl was a neat, distinctive cursive once again.

Speak low if you speak love

- Aristophanes

She smiles gently, chuckling as she shakes her head.

"Shakespeare of all people," she whispers, her accent thickening. Pulling a forgotten pen from the shelves, she begins writing,

-----------

The highlight of your day became going to the library and reading the little messages scrawled in between the margins of the book by Orpheus. Like:

If music be the food of love, play on

Or

Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love.

They made you smile on a daily basis, sometimes even eliciting a rare light laugh.

"Good morning sweetpea." The librarian greets you, not expecting a response. To her surprise and yours, you muster a small smile and a wave.

"Hello." You can feel the librarians shocked eyes following you as you round the bookshelf corner to find Steve, eyes wide, mouth open in shock as he stares down at something in his hands.

Your heart plummets. A book with a soft leather cover, yellowed pages. The book of poems.

You lunge for it but he step sides you swiftly, raising the book above his head.

"Speak low if you speak of love huh? I'm not surprised you know Shakespeare, you're such a nerd." He sneers, waving the book above his head.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." You stutter, backing up. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, lifting you into the air.

"Don't fuck with me!" He growls, dropping the book and kicking it to the side. "Who's Orpheus?"

"G-Greek hero. Musician." You stutter and he slaps you, hard. You can feel your cheek swelling under his fiery gaze.

"Don't even try me. Who. Is. Orpheus?"

"I don't know, I swear!" You mutter, wincing when you accidentally bite your cheek.

He drops you, watching as you scramble to your feet, backing away.

"This isn't over you little shit. I'll be back for you," he warns, giving your book one last kick for good measure before storming out of the library with Tony and Bucky on his heels.

You fall to your knees, silently sobbing as you crawl over too the book, dusting it off and hugging it to your chest.

Yelena sighs, her heart breaking as she watches you curl around the book protectively, lying on the floor.

-----------

"Where are you going?"

Yelena turns to find Nat, leaning against the school stairwell doorway, watching her.

"Just up to the roof. Need some fresh air," she lies, avoiding Nat's gaze. Nat lifts Yelena's chin up, staring into her eyes, boring into her very soul. Yelena squirms under her gaze until she finally lets go.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." She smiles sadly at her little sister. "Just-" Her voice cracks as she pats her sister's shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry. I won't." She gives Nat a brief hug before hiking her pants up and starting up the stairs.

-----------

"Ah, well look who decided to join the party!" You look up from the ground to see Yelena, your eyes clouded with pain.

"No..." You croak but Steve pays no attention to you.

"Come to save your love Yelena?" He sneers, dropping you to the ground. "Or should I say... Orpheus?" Your eyes widen as you watch him advance towards her, pushing her closer to the edge of the roof.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She deadpans and Steve chuckles.

"Sure. If you won't admit, I'll just have to settle for destroying you from the inside out instead." He grabs her by the arm. "I haven't forgotten what you did to me." He points at a long thin scar along his jawline.

You watch as Tony sneaks up from behind Yelena, striking her with a metal bar. She crumples, falling to her knees.

"Hold her." Steve directs and Bucky dutifully grabs you by the arms. He holds Yelena's chin in between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. "Now you watch as I destroy the one thing you love the most." Tony tosses his the metal bar and Steve prepares himself before swinging it like a baseball bat.

There's a sickening crunch followed by your scream as the bar makes contact with your ribs.

"Stop!" She struggles, her eyes never leaving your broken body as he hits you over and over again. "Please! Leave her alone!"

Steve smiles evilly, locking eyes with her before swinging the bat again. Another scream. Blood trickles down your face from your nose.

"Is that right? Did the famous Yelena Belova just beg me?" He smiles cruelly before pushing you down on your back, his foot on your chest. You scream as he increases the pressure, your broken ribs digging into your lungs.

Yelena screams, kicking Tony's legs out from under him before punching Steve in the jaw. She grabs the iron bar before it hits the ground, clobbering Bucky in the stomach before kicking Steve in the stomach.

"ты сука (you bitch)!" She steps on his face swiftly, taking satisfaction in the groan of pain he emits before turning to you, gently cradling your face.

"Wow... That was pretty badass," you mumble and she laughs, tearing up. You reach out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Don't cry." She frowns.

"I'm not crying."

"You are too." You smile, wincing in pain. "I didn't know you knew Shakespeare."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let this happen." You frown, caressing her face, forcing her to look at you.

"Hey, hey. It's fine. Don't worry. I'll be fine." You attempt to smile reassuringly but it comes out as more of a grimace. "Listen, if I don't make it-"

"Don't say that! You can't leave me!"

"Shush, listen you thickheaded poet. If I don't make it, go back to the book." You instruct her. She frowns but you can her off. "Promise me."

"But-"

"Promise me."

"I promise..."

"Good." You smile at her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, your eyesight blurring. "Wait for me okay?" Your eyes flutter shut.

"No! No Y/N! Come back!" She shakes you roughly, sobbing when you don't respond.

----------

Yelena watches as your body is carted off under a white sheet. Nat stands to the side, watching as her sister stares off into the distance, all life drained from her body.

Go back to the book.

She stands, slowly trailing towards the library, her eyes bloodshot, cheeks caked with dry tears.

"Hi dear," the librarian greets her, discreetly wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "What a shame. She was a lovely girl."

"She really was the best." Yelena agrees quietly, giving the librarian a small, comforting pat on the back before moving to the back of the library where she finds the book, lying on the floor.

Yelena,

I believe that we are the greatest love poem ever written. I love you always,

Y/N

A choked sob escapes her lips as she stares at the page. You knew. You knew the whole time and you didn't even say anything. A pair of soft arms wrap around Yelena's stomach as she lets go of the dam, her cries echoing throughout the library.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm sorry...

----------

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

[atths--twice]

Chapter Four 

Sunday afternoon, two days after they had dined together, Dana and Fox were strolling through the marketplace, looking at the many wares people had to sell. She was carrying a basket and had already purchased a few pieces of fruit he had never seen before. He had offered to pay for them seeing as it was he who had asked her to join him, but she would not hear of it.

Since he had last seen her, he had begun a quest to learn all he could in regards to Kha’ari. He had read what was available in his room, venturing back downstairs when he had finished, looking in the larger library for more information. He had found only one book and the description of her had been more informative, but not enough.

Saturday he had gone to the library in town and spent the majority of the day within its walls, hunting for even more information. Copying down what he had learned into his journal, he had begun to gain an idea of who that goddess was and also was pained to think of why Dana had been so drawn to her.

He had thought of her hand grazing her throat, touching the chain and locket, wondering about the picture held inside. Was it a lover? Her husband? She wore no ring, so he could not be sure. Whatever had transpired, the source of it included the contents of that locket.

“Have you had any other adventures since I last saw you?” Dana asked with a smile. “Any new sketches to share?” He chuckled and shook his head.

“No. Not any new sketches, but I have been researching Kha’ari.” She stopped walking and he saw a look of shock on her face.

“You have?” she asked and he nodded, taking her arm and moving forward as a man with a wagon attempted to pass by.

“Your account of her intrigued me along with the fact that I seemed to have completely glossed over her existence among the other goddesses.”

“It’s understandable, as I did the same,” she said with a nod. “What did you find out?”

“Quite a bit. She’s actually incredibly interesting. Many of the gods and goddesses had a scale of measure it seemed. The goddess Ammit, for example, devoured the hearts of souls who were not justified by Osiris. A scale of worth.”

“True, but it’s similar to most religions. The concept of heaven or hell, where a soul will reside, is dependent on your behavior and belief in the higher power.” He nodded with a smile and a tilt of his head, asking her a silent question. “I was raised catholic, though… I’m questioning some things these days.” She sighed and removed her arm from his, switching her basket to that hand.

“Yes, they are similar. But with Kha’ari,” he said as she stopped and spoke to a woman, picking out more fruit. “She was one who accepted all, turned no one away, and took on their pain, demanding or expecting nothing in return.”

“Yes,” Dana said, thanking the woman with a smile and a nod. “Yet many people brought offerings and gifts for their thankfulness.”

“Understandable,” he said. “Without the show of appreciation, they may have felt that pain and suffering would come to them again.”

“Yes,” she said again, softly, her hand once more going to her throat for a brief second.

“I would like to ask something of you,” he said, his heart rate increasing with his worry at what her response would be to his question.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to know if you would consider… being my guide, your knowledge of her being greater than my own.” He watched her profile and saw when she understood his words. She turned her head and looked at him with an expression he could not read. Incredulity? Fear? Anger? He did not know.

“You… you can’t be serious,” she said, shaking her head. “I… it’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated with a bitter laugh, her anger now more than obvious. Walking through an archway and away from the marketplace, he quickened his steps to keep up with her.

“Why are you angry with me?” he asked, not understanding what happened.

“I’m not angry. Well… I don’t know if I am. No, I am angry with you.” She stopped walking and stared at him, her entire countenance exuding her anger. “How dare you… to suggest…” She shook her head, words failing her.

“I… I thought you would be pleased,” he replied honestly, surprised at her words.

“Pleased? No, I am not.”

“Why?”

“Do you have permission? Do you have a team of people? A plan? Have you any of that?” She stared at him, her eyebrows raised and he shook his head.

“No.”

“No. You haven’t. And yet you ask me, a stranger, and a woman, to traipse off into the desert with you, alone, to find something of which you knew nothing two days ago.”

“I… Miss Scully,” he said, choosing to not use her first name, showing his respect to her. “Please know I meant no harm or disrespect. Honestly that thought never even entered my mind.” He shook his head again with a shrug of his shoulders. “I only meant that I see the appeal of such a discovery, and I would like to conduct a search, though only with your assistance.”

Her anger, which had risen quickly, was cooling as he saw her relax, her shoulders dropping as a breath was released. She swallowed and closed her eyes briefly, pressing her lips together.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her slightly wet eyes on his own. “I’ve wanted to search for it for so long, but I also know it’s impossible.”

“Begging your pardon,” he said quietly. “Without meaning to offend… for you it may be, but not I.” She stared at him and he continued. “You hinted at it the other night. I have considerable wealth, thanks to my family, my father specifically. I have no wife, no children, and unless I change my bachelor ways, it may always be so. I haven’t… I’ve had…” He cleared his throat and sighed deeply, not wanting to share his past hardships and pain. “I want to do this and I will work to find a way to make it happen. If I am able, will you join me?” She took a deep breath, looked around as she let it out. He waited, understanding the weight of his  question.

“Can… can I have some time?  It’s all so much so quickly and I…” She looked at him, beseeching him to understand.

“Of course. I understand the hesitancy. It will be some work and so…” He nodded with a smile and she released a deep breath.

“Thank you. I… thank you.” She looked around and spotted a bench. “Would you like to try some of this fruit?” Gesturing to her basket, he nodded with a smile, the awkwardness of the discussion pushed aside.

For now.

_______________________

Over the next couple of weeks, he saw less of Dana, both because she seemed to have pulled away from him, not returning quick informative letters of updates to his plan which he sent to her flat, and he was inquiring how he could gain permission to claim a dig site.

Told different information from many people, he decided to act as he believed he should have from the beginning, and speak to the person in charge of the museum.

He dressed carefully the day he visited, wanting to convey his wealth, something he never paid much attention to, it simply being a part of him. He was not a man who flaunted it, wanting others to see him and not his money. But in this instance, if they saw him as being beneficial, he would do what he could to acquire what he wanted.

Waiting outside of the office of a man named Jean Badeaux, he rehearsed his speech once again in his head. Key points were hit and then the door opened, his heart racing as he stepped forward to plead his case.

It did not go as he had planned.

Jean Badeaux was a man of sixty, loud, large, and obnoxious. Fox did not like him, finding his manner crude and embarrassing. He knew, however, that Mr. Badeaux held the key to his future plans and thus he remained relatively silent while in his company.

When Fox told him of his desire to discover the temple of the goddess Kha’ari, Jean Badeaux laughed heartily and shook his head.

“There is not a temple erected to the goddess Kha’ari, Mr. Mulder. I do not know where you heard that it was a possibility.”

“I believe it is true,” Fox said, standing his ground.

“You can believe as you like, sir, but it’s simply not true.”

They stared at one another and Fox once again stated that he believed himself to be correct. Mr. Badeaux shook his head, looked at his pocket watch before sticking out his hand, dismissing Fox with a condescending smile.

He stood, but instead of accepting his hand, Fox reached into his coat pocket and took out his pocketbook, his eyes on Mr. Badeaux.

“Could your museum do with a donation? A quite… large donation?” Fox asked and Mr. Badeaux stared at him, his eyes falling to the check which Fox knew was within his view. Giving him a curt nod of acceptance, Fox knew the matter had been solved.

The amount was large, but to him it was worth every cent if he could have a chance to find his purpose, and most importantly, if Dana could fulfill what she believed to be an impossible dream.

Leaving the office, a letter of approval in his pocketbook, he walked downstairs, pacing in front of the door which led to the staircase to the research office. He debated internally whether he should bother her while she was working again, especially as they had not had any contact recently.

But this information, the excitement of it, could not be contained to a letter. He was sure that his penned words would never be able to suffice the happiness he felt.

Looking around, he quickly opened the door and walked down the stairs, down the long hallway, turned left and arrived at the glass door marked ‘Research.’

Pacing again, he looked down the hall, feeling he would be caught at any moment and ordered to leave. He clenched his jaw and nodded his head. A hand on the doorknob, he looked through the glass and saw Dana staring at him.

She was a few feet away, but he could see her eyes widen as she glanced to her right, her fellow researcher walking past and not noticing him, Dana saying something to her which he could not hear. She shook her head as she began to step closer to the door, the blue cap covering her hair making her eyes seem even bluer.

He waited for her to open the door, trying to calm his racing heart. When the knob turned, she stepped through it quickly and motioned for him to be quiet and to follow her. He did with a nod and they walked down the hall to a door which she opened, revealing a decent sized supply closet with brooms and mops. She closed the door and they were plunged into darkness.

“Uhh, sorry.” Opening the door, she took the matches and lit the lamp hanging from the ceiling and closed the door again, staring up at him expectantly. “What are you doing here now?”

“I had an appointment.”

“An appointment.”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

“Jean Badeaux.” Her eyes widened again and she looked down, shaking her head.

“Mr. Badeaux, the man in charge of this entire museum?”

“Yes.” Looking up at him, she let out a breath before licking her lips. “I told you I would find a way.”

“And have you?” He smiled slowly with a nod. “No. Are you serious?” She seemed near shock and he smiled wider.

“I am exceedingly serious.”

“You… how?”

“It’s amazing what a donation to the museum can do to help a person’s cause along.”

She stared at him and then she began to laugh, stunning him and rooting him in place; he had never heard her laugh in that manner. When she calmed, she shook her head.

“And he took it of course? That man is nothing if not greedy.”

“And if we find something, he gains praise and attention. If we fail… he gains a donation and he doesn’t need to get his hands dirty.”

“We?” she asked softly, and he nodded.

“I did not mention you to him, did not speak of you at all,” he assured her. “But my offer, my plan in my mind includes you. I don’t… I don’t have an idea of where to start, but I know you do. It would be a strictly professional relationship. I will employ you, so you will not be lacking monetarily.” He wanted to say more, but left it there, letting it be her decision.

She took a deep breath, crossing her arms as she dropped her head. He waited, nearly certain her answer would be no, fear holding her back even as he knew she ached to go. She sniffled twice and then raised her head, a hand at her throat, her eyes wet.

“When can we leave?” she whispered, wiping her eyes.

He grinned slowly as she laughed and cried simultaneously, his laughter soon joining hers.

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @jeremystollemyheart​

“How’s it going?” Christine questioned when Raoul appeared in the kitchen doorway. He made no attempt to hide his motivations: the oven timer had just gone off. She peeked inside the oven and removed the cookies, satisfied with their golden brown color.

“I don’t think Erik is taking the whole gingerbread house thing very well,” he confessed, a breath of a laugh sneaking into his voice. 

“Isn’t he? I thought it would be up his alley.” 

“I think,” he responded, his tone slow and contemplative, “that it might be a little too much up his alley. The consensus seems to be that nothing is to scale and that gingerbread is an unstable building material, and that he can’t—“ he made a face, trying very hard not to laugh. 

“He can’t what?” Christine prompted, one corner of her mouth also turning up, dangerously close to a smile.

“He can’t figure out how to install a trap door.” 

Christine worked very hard to maintain a straight face, and ended up ducking her head to hide her smile and muffle her giggle. 

With her guard down, Raoul made a strategic move to sneak a cookie. Or not so strategic, because he immediately yelped in pain and dropped it back onto the pan. 

“They’re hot!” Christine said, swatting at him too late, “Raoul, you just saw me take them out of the oven.” 

“I thought I was willing to risk it,” he confessed, unabashed. 

“Well since you weren’t, I’ll bring some to you and Erik once they’ve cooled.”

Her cheerful expression faltered a little at their partner’s name, and she added, lowering her voice, “You do think he’s enjoying it, don’t you?”

“The gingerbread house? I think I’m going to have to intervene in the next ten minutes.” 

“Not the gingerbread house specifically. The holiday celebrations as a whole.” 

“Ah.”

“Because I want him to have a nice Christmas, a real Christmas, but if he isn’t enjoying himself…”

“I think,” Raoul spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, “That he is a little overwhelmed right now. I imagine it’s a lot to take in at first, I mean, if you’ve never...celebrated.”

It was a given, almost, that Erik had never celebrated Christmas (or any holiday) in the way that Christine and Raoul would define as celebrating. He hadn’t said as much, but it was obvious in the way that he observed everything ritual, as though he was documenting something strange and alien. 

(In spite of that, he knew every Christmas carol they could think of, and a few they had  never heard of, which somehow made the gaps in his knowledge all the more eerie). 

For Erik, Christmas was still some fragile, breakable thing, whereas Christine was celebrating with fierce determination, as though she could marathon a lifetime’s worth of holiday memories in one season. Her baking alone is impressive, exhausting just to think about. 

“And if you want my opinion,” Raoul continued, sounding like he was a little hesitant to give it, “I’m sure he appreciates the baking and the decorating and all of the tradition, but I think he—and I—would rather have...you.” 

Christine blushed, hid her face in her hands for one flustered moment, and then emerged, her cheeks dusted in flour. The sight overcame Raoul and before she could say anything, he had blurted out, “Can I kiss you?”

She went even more red, but nodded, so he crossed the distance between them in one stride and did so. When they parted, Christine gave a breath of laughter and Raoul flicked a bit of flour off of her nose. 

“Now I know he would rather have you,” he whispered.

She giggled, averted her gaze, and said, “I just want everything to be perfect.” 

“I know. But if you’re celebrating with us, it will be.” 

Before she could respond, the sound of a piano drifted into the kitchen. The first few notes, played fortissimo, sounded angry and staccato. After those first few bars, the music smoothed out into something sweeter. 

“And it sounds like we’ve abandoned the gingerbread house,” Raoul said, chuckling and pulling himself away from Christine, “So maybe we’d better check in.” 

Christine discarded her apron and together they hurried into the living room. Passing through the dining room, they saw that the gingerbread house had not only been abandoned, but systematically destroyed in a tableau out of a disaster movie. The roof was caved in almost artfully, one gingerbread man had been tragically snapped in two pieces and lay in a puddle of frosting that might or might not be meant to serve as blood. 

“Right. I think we’ll write off gingerbread houses in coming years,” Raoul said. He was trying to pretend that it wasn’t funny. But it was very funny. He plucked up the deceased gingerbread man and offered half to Christine, keeping the other half for himself. 

In the living room, they found Erik at the piano, improvising an arrangement of “O Holy Night.” 

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard them, and gave a nod of his head to beckon them closer. They gathered around him on either side. 

“Sing?” He requested, his voice soft, but clearly audible over his playing. 

Christine joined in first, her crystal clear voice soaring with the music. Raoul hesitated, but eventually joined in as well. His voice, nice enough but less trained than Christine’s, occasionally went a little flat. No one said anything. Last of all Erik joined in, harmonizing as he played. 

“O Holy Night” melted into “Little Drummer Boy,” which melted into “The Christmas Song.” The marathon of music went on like that, not stopping until a particularly frantic “Carol of the Bells” left them all breathless and laughing. 

“That was beautiful,” Christine said, when she had caught her breath. She kissed Erik on his unmasked cheek. 

“Can I ask what happened to the gingerbread house?” Raoul put in before the music could start back. 

“It met with a very terrible accident,” Erik responded, grinning.

“That was the conclusion I reached, yes,” he tried to sound even slightly stern, but failed miserably when he saw the gleam in Erik’s eyes, and added, “Maybe just let Christine and me finish it next time.” 

But he also gave Erik a kiss, this one on his temple. 

“I made cookies,” Christine said, sitting on the piano bench next to Erik. 

“More of them?” He questioned, a little drily. 

“More of them,” she confirmed, laying her head on his shoulder, “I know things have been a little hectic,” she added, “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“My dear,” Erik responded, taking a moment to stroke her hair, “Everything is already perfect.”

“I told you so,” Raoul mouthed over both of their heads, knowing neither of them would see it. He put a hand on each of their shoulders, and enjoyed the warmth of their presence. 

“Except for the gingerbread house,” Erik added, his rich chuckle filling the air. 

“Except for the gingerbread house,” Raoul agreed. 

“What about some non-gingerbread cookies?” Christine offered, jumping up from the piano bench, “I think they’re cool enough now.”

“And she’s off again,” Raoul said with a grin, as she sped away without waiting for their input. They both watched with fond expressions as she jogged to the kitchen. 

Erik turned back to the piano and began to play again, resuming the Christmas carols. He and Raoul both sang along once more, with Christine’s soprano coming in muffled from the kitchen as she arranged a plate of cookies. She returned just in time to hit the high note of “Silent Night,” and handed out cookies as the song ended. 

The cookies were perfect, still warm (but not so hot that they burned Raoul’s fingers). There was a general agreement between the taste testers (Erik and Raoul) that this was the best batch yet, and everyone helped themselves to seconds before Erik started to play again and they exhausted Raoul and Christine’s catalogue of songs (although not Erik’s). Surrounded by the sounds and flavors of Christmas, Raoul decided that this year’s celebration really was perfect. 

Author’s addition: Playlist of music from Phantom casts and actors that I compiled to go with this fic:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/44xYiva3QZTc3iQZ2mSZpI?si=56Le_UUJStCBYTAbMg2E7w

[hellomynameisbisexual]

In recent years, the LGBT+ community has become more public than ever, causing it to grow, as more people feel comfortable expressing their sexuality.

Society still may have a long way to go before LGBT+ people are completely accepted into society, but, generally, people today are more accepting of the community than ever before. Still, for all its progress, one orientation in the queer community is still often overlooked: bisexuality.

When most people mention the LGBT+ community, the first thing that comes to their minds is either gays or lesbians, because people like to put complicated issues into simple boxes. Too often, bisexuals are seen as either “confused,” “just experimenting” or “not ready to come out yet as fully gay” by both straight and gay people. I myself have been told by both straight and gay people that eventually, I would have to “pick one or the other.”

While yes, I will eventually end up with either a man or a woman, that doesn’t make me any less bisexual. My sexuality, as well as the sexuality of anyone else that identifies as bisexual, is legitimate; it’s time to stop the negating the reality of bisexual people.

The pressure for Americans to put themselves into specific categories, whether in terms of sexuality, gender or race, is one of the main reasons that bisexual people are so easily overlooked. Sexuality is seen as a set thing that doesn’t waiver or have room for flexibility. This very narrow view isn’t true, and two of my favorite quotes on bisexuality, both of which help explain why such binaries are inaccurate, come from TV shows.

In “The L Word,” Shane, who is a lesbian, says, “Sexuality is fluid. Whether you’re gay, or you’re straight, or you’re bisexual, you just go with the flow.”

And, in “Orange is the New Black,” Piper, when asked if she is gay, replies, “You don’t just turn gay, you fall somewhere on the Kinsey Scale.”

The main reason I like these quotes is because they so perfectly describe a bisexual’s ability to be with someone regardless of gender. The Kinsey Scale is the perfect way to describe sexuality, because it covers a spectrum, ranging from completely straight to completely gay, with a lot of grey area in between. The Kinsey Scale is much more inclusive than traditional sexual denominations, and better fits a more modern understanding of attraction.

Bisexuals are often seen as too straight for the gay community and too gay for the straight community. This type of rejection can obviously be painful, but it also forces bisexuals to conform to one sexuality or the other in order to fit in.

I know this type of confusion firsthand. When I first noticed that I was bisexual, around the age of thirteen, and attempted to tell the people around me, I was definitely not met with an arms-wide-open acceptance. I may not have faced blatant homophobia, but I was told that I was “just confused,” “going through a phase” or “would figure out my true sexual identity someday.”

After hearing these phrases from the people who were the closest to me, I definitely thought that I somehow was in the wrong. I figured that I was too straight to be a lesbian, and suppressed my sexuality for many years. Although I was trying my best to suppress the way that I felt, there were definitely a lot of sleepless nights I spent wondering what—if bisexuality was not real—my real sexuality was.

It was a painful time for me, because not accepting myself for who I was felt like erasing a little part of me. It wasn’t until my sophomore year that I started to accept myself. I met other bisexual people who were confident in their sexuality, and it made me realize that I didn’t have to choose between being gay or straight; I was bisexual and didn’t have to live the way that others wanted me to.

The bisexual community is resilient; it is constantly fighting against exclusion from other groups. Activists, members of the LGBT+ community, allies and even celebrities like Cara Delevigne, who stood up for herself after her sexuality was questioned by a writer, are making headway in destigmatizing bisexuality.

“My sexuality is not a phase,” Delevigne told the interviewer from “Vogue.” “I am who I am.”

The more bisexuals talk about their reality, the more people will learn about it. Sexuality is fluid, and everyone should all have the right to love whoever they want without having to explain themselves or feel like they are being judged. No matter what your sexuality is, if you feel that way, then it is valid.

Life is short, and you shouldn’t have to change the way you are in order to please other people. It’s time for society to stop trying to erase bisexual people, and time for the queer community to remember what the “B” in LGBT+ stands for.

[sami-at-ciela]

Prompt 3: Scale

Or: “I was chomping at the bit to write about feeding the Exarch, but then these two dingdongs decided to get serious with each other.”

So much for slow burn. =3= 

Shadowbringers timeline spoilers, probably.

Rhea wasn’t expecting a knock at the door of her suite in the Pendants at this time of night (yes! Night! Finally! Glorious night! Even if she ended up being a weird aether sponge to make it happen). She looked up and scanned carefully to see if the former (?) Warrior of Darkness was making an appearance, but…

Right. Ardbert couldn’t knock even if he wanted to. Poor soul.

“Who is it?” she asked even as she headed to check the peephole in the door.

“Rhea, it’s me,” said the Exarch from the other side.

“What do you want?” Rhea said, partly because she knew better than not to ask and partly by accident.

“I need to discuss something with you in private,” he replied, sounding ever so slightly tense.

“So? I’ll come to the Ocular first thing in the morning,” Rhea grumbled back.

“Rhea, please, this is important-” A disgruntled huff came from the other side of the door. “I’ll admit that it’s not that important, and perhaps we could discuss it in the Ocular for the sake of privacy, but it wouldn’t be the most comfortable place for me to do it. Does that satisfy you?”

Rhea tilted her head at an angle that made her egg earrings bob from her Viera ears, equal parts confused and intrigued. “People are going to talk about this, you know. ‘Did you hear? The Crystal Exarch was knocking on a woman’s door last night! And then she let him in! So scandalous-’”

“Rhea, please!” the Exarch half-whined before regaining his composure. “A yes or no will do.”

“Fine. Come in,” Rhea muttered, opening the door to let her favorite pain in the rear into her room. He entered, and when he hesitated, she added, “Do you want to take your hood off?”

The Exarch sighed. “Might as well, since you ruined my cover earlier. Thank the Twelve no one else saw.” Once the door was shut behind him, he revealed himself.

“So, what’s so important that you had to barge in right before I went to bed?” Rhea asked, taking a seat on her bed.. “I’d really appreciate getting to remove my brassiere at some point. Men just don’t get that-” A beat passed, and her face scrunched up. “Please tell me that’s not what you came here for.”

“N-no, of course not, I wouldn’t dare!” the Exarch sputtered, holding his hands up. He released the gesture, and a quiet mutter escaped his lips: “I’ve already been pressed to your bosom at least twice already.”

Rhea caught the mutter and straight-up cackled, causing the Exarch to jump. “You want another go? C’mon, sit on Momma Rhea’s lap, tell her what’s going on.”

“Rhea, please!” the Exarch full-whined this time, drawing out the syllables in distress. “I assure you, none of that is what I came for. Rather, I… need you to see something. On me.”

“Oh? You want to give me a show instead?” Rhea’s tone became less mocking, partly because she wouldn’t mind at all and partly because she wanted to know what his angle was.

The Exarch grumbled, growing frustrated with all the teasing. “Perhaps this will all make sense if I preface this with the following: please stop sending food back to the Ocular. Alphinaud doesn’t finish his, Alisaie eats like a bird, and then Alisaie in particular thrusts her leftovers at me.”

The mention of the food and Alisaie’s specific insistence on giving her leftovers to the Exarch made Rhea burst out laughing all over again. “Oh, yeah! I told Alisaie to keep an eye on you and make sure you were eating and taking care of yourself while I wasn’t there to nag you about it, because I got the impression that you don’t take care of yourself.”

“What?! What do you even mean by that?” The Exarch’s ears flattened in consternation.

“You work hard and often. Maybe too often. I’ve barely seen you rest since I got here,” Rhea said. “So I’m making sure you’re properly fueled and rested, whether it’s by nagging you, or having Alisaie do so.” The Exarch seemed to pout, folding his arms, only for Rhea to coo at him, “Aww, you made that pouty face back in the Source too!”

“I appreciate the concern,” he growled. “But now I have a concern.” He unfolded his arms, giving Rhea a view of his robes. “Does my robe appear to be hanging… differently to you?”

Rhea squinted. “Are you seriously asking me if your dress makes you look fat?” A surprisingly pointed look jolted her out of teasing mode. “Whoa, geez! For the record, no, I don’t see anything different. You look like the same cryptic stranger you’ve been this whole time.” She had a feeling that his ears could steam, they would.

The Exarch raised his crystal hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve tension. “You’re right. It’s probably too hard to see anything with this on.” He then promptly began disrobing, causing Rhea’s mouth to hang open. When all was done and his robe hit the floor, he put his hands on his hips and looked her dead in the eyes. “How about now?”

Rhea stared as she scanned him over. She remembered how he looked when they’d met in the Source (perhaps from looking at him a bit too often), and even if he’d supposedly gained weight, she still thought he looked thinner. Drawing her attention more, however, was the spread of crystal inclusions across his body. There was, of course, the large area ensconcing his shoulder, neck, and right arm, but there were smaller streaks along his sides, almost giving the illusion of stripes. Mysteriously, his legs were free from crystal, and they were perfectly good, muscular legs that almost made Rhea think about what part of him she wanted to touch first. “Come here,” she said, after mouthing the words silently once.

He tilted his head, then approached, his lips pursed.

Rhea raised her hand, hesitating before resting it on his chest and stroking downward to his stomach, an area mostly free of crystal. He shuddered, and she pulled her hand away. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

“No, no, that’s nothing,” the Exarch murmured. “It… feels nice.”

“Is that so?” Tilting her head, Rhea rested her hand on his stomach once more, then traced over to his side, at which point he jolted again. “Ticklish?”

“Maybe a little.” A thin smile spread across his lips. “Forgive me. Sometimes… the skin that still feels longs for a touch that is not fabric.”

“Honey, you’re fine,” Rhea said, “honey” slipping out of her mouth somewhat by accident. “You’re still a man. No, you’re still a person. I can only imagine how lonely you’ve been. It makes sense that you, not your skin, want a little intimacy now and then.”

“Ah… I suppose you’re right,” he said, lowering his head. “I promise that isn’t why I came here. I wouldn’t dare abuse your trust for something like that. So…” He swallowed nervously. “Do I look fatter to you?”

“Not at all.” Rhea shook her head. “Obviously I don’t know where you were at when I got here, but you look fine, okay? Maybe even like you could use a few more loaves of the mushbread or whatever that was.”

“Never again,” the Exarch blurted out. If he wasn’t blushing before, he certainly was now, looking off to the side as the pink in his cheeks highlighted the blue of the crystal on his face. “Very well… thank you, Rhea. I couldn’t ask anyone else to do this.”

“Wait. Don’t go anywhere.” A small but tender smile spread across Rhea’s lips. “I… wouldn’t mind if you got comfortable here for a while.”

“Ah- really?” His breath caught in his throat.

“I’m not going to force you into it. I’m just giving you an option.” Rhea watched the Exarch carefully. “If it makes you too anxious, don’t do it.”

“I… the truth is…” He sucked in a deep breath and released it. “I would like to. I would very much like to, but I feel as though I’m breaking the rules of our engagement, or… something to that effect.”

“G’raha, I offered,” Rhea said, and she thought he twitched at the mention of his old name. “In fact, let me make it clearer for you: I would be happy if you made yourself comfortable, even if you crawled in bed with me, even if you asked me to rub your head and make you feel good. How’s that?”

The Exarch swallowed nervously once more. “That’s more detailed than you originally specified, but I’m not complaining. Would you do those things for me?”

Rhea scooted over and patted the spot next to her. “Just get over here. Want me to tuck you in?”

“N-no, that’s fine,” he muttered as he slid under the covers and turned onto his back, looking up at Rhea expectantly, almost pleading.

“There you go.” Rhea went under the covers next to the Exarch, drawing him close and positioning herself to rub his head. With gentle motions she stroked through his hair, periodically massaging his scalp or scratching behind an ear. A soft hum not unlike purring escaped him, and the pleasant sound nearly lulled her into drowsiness until a whimper broke it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong,” the Exarch murmured. “I haven’t felt like this in so long… warm, cared for, connected, secure. It’s…” He sniffed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d end up quite so emotional.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Rhea stared at the Exarch, and he looked so vulnerable in that moment that she felt compelled to act. She put both arms around him and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “I want you to feel cared for.”

“I…” He turned over onto his side, his face tense from what Rhea guessed was trying to hold back tears. “Forgive me for being selfish. If you can’t do this for me, I understand… but I would like more. A proper kiss, like the one you gave me now, but on my lips.”

A brief silence passed as Rhea mulled the request over. As much as she loved to tease the Exarch and bully him about the stupid things he’d done to her and her friends, she found herself concerned and wanting to care for him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to punch him for soul-napping my friends, do what he wanted, and get out. Why is he so easy to forgive?

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, lingering for a precious few seconds before parting. Her hand rose to his chest, where she felt the pleasant yet quickening beats of his heart.

“Please, allow me one more indulgence, just for the sake of saying it- take it how you will…” The Exarch’s voice went low. “I love you.”

Rhea stared at him, the words zapping her like a sharp, potent spell. She felt she had mere seconds to put her feelings in order. Could she say she loved him back? Did she love him at all? What were her real motives for caring for him?

Then again, what need was there to say anything when she could let her actions speak for her?

She lowered herself to kiss him once more, adjusting herself so that she could be over him without pressing her weight on him.

The Exarch had closed his eyes at that moment. He slowly opened them, looked into the eyes of the wonderful woman above him, and smiled. A beat passed. “You know, this position is kind of…”

“Hmm?” It took Rhea a moment to realize that she was in a rather compromising position. “Oh.” Another beat passed. “Do you want to…?”

There was a lengthier pause as the Exarch thought the implications over. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

“Maybe not now, then.” Rhea repositioned herself so she was back at his side. “It’s okay.”

The Exarch exhaled through his nose, reaching to hold Rhea’s hand in his, making sure he used the flesh one and not the crystal one. “I am happy,” he murmured.

Rhea gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m glad.”

A few quiet minutes passed, and Rhea used her free hand to stroke the Exarch’s head once more. Suddenly, he chuckled. “How did we get here? I was just coming in to ask you a personal question…”

Smiling, she gave his hair a ruffle. “I don’t think that’s important.” She paused, then added, “Look, one of these days, if we have a moment between all this crap, we’re going to have a proper date. I’m going to get some amazing chocolate, and I’m going to spoil you rotten with as many treats as you’d like.”

“So much for me being worried about tipping the scales!” He leaned back into her touch. “But I think I can handle a little pampering.”

“Please. One night of wining and dining won’t turn you into those Miqo- those Mystel from Eulmore. I think you’ll like it.” Dulia-Chai is kind of cute in her own way though, Rhea mused as she mentally prepared a shopping list for the date.

“I’ll look forward to it,” the Exarch said before glancing towards the door. “I… should probably leave when no one is around to see me do so.”

“I’m sure they’ve got security out here, not to mention the person at the front desk. I think we’re busted no matter what,” Rhea said. “Might as well stay the night, if you would like to?”

“I would like to,” the Exarch said with a nod. “You ought to get comfortable as well. And…” A smirk crossed his face. “I promise I won’t look when you remove your brassiere.”

It took Rhea a moment to remember where that came from, and she broke out into giggles. “That’s up to you, hon, though I don’t think you’ll be able to see me in the washroom from here.” She got out of bed, went to the wardrobe to pull out some pajamas, and turned around to flash the Exarch a wink. “Don’t make any trouble while I’m gone!”

“I’ll behave myself,” he replied with a grin.

As Rhea prepared for sleep with an unexpected companion, she tried to sift through her emotions and determine how she truly felt about tonight’s episode. She could not bring herself to admit that she loved him in any way, which concerned her. Still, she had decided firmly on one course of action.

I will hold him close, keep him safe, and give him all the care he could ever want.

[littlebitoffanfic]

Trust

Fandom: TMNT Characters: Raph, Donnie, Leo, Mikey Relationship: Raph/reader Request: I love all your TMNT fics. I was wandering if you could maybe write a fic. Raph x reader, Raph and reader get into a fight and she is walking gets into trouble and calls Raph but he doesnt answer and so she calls Donnie. Reader gets hurt bad and Raph shows up and Donnie is working on reader but Leo and Mickey have tears in their eyes. Reader survives but Raph realises he needs her and super fluffy ending.

 Sprinting down the alleys, you tried to find somewhere to stop and hide. anywhere. You could heard your chasers gaining on you again so you took off. There was no point in running into the street. There wasn’t many people about and you knew the foot had no qualms about killing innocent people. You had been attacked, managing to escape by the skin of your teeth. But you could taste the blood in your mouth, you could feel the swelling around your right eye and the scuffs and bruises that now littered your body. Your clothes were ripped in serval places with blood here and there. You needed help. Digging into your pocket, you pulled out your phone. Running while unlocking it, you nearly fell as you turned a corner but kept your balance as you pulled up Raphs number. You felt nothing but fear as you pressed ‘call’. You didn’t care about the argument you had had with him the day before, or even remember him specifically telling you not to come running to him next time you needed help. Of course, he wasn’t referring to this sort of situation. raising the phone to your ear, you listened to it ringing but there was no answer. Sprinting around another corner, you saw a chain fence with some boxes stacked up beside it that you could scale. Behind it was an empty factory you only knew about because April had done a report on the fact it was abandoned due to the previous boss being involved with a mafia like gang. A female voice spoke, stating you were through to a voicemail service and to leave your name and number after the beep. You wasted no time as soon as the shrill beep sounded. “Raph, its me. The foot found me and they are after me. Im at the abandoned factory. Please hurry.” You could hid how your voice was hiccupping out of fear. You had no doubt that he would come, you just needed to hide to buy yourself enough time. Scaling the fence, you might have had a chance. Until something whizzed by your head, missing your skull by millimetres. A throwing star. It caused you to jump and loose your grip. You fell to the other side of the fence on your left side. Pain shot through your arm, hip and thigh as they took the brunt of the fall. You had tired to protect your head but at the risk of your arm. adrenaline wasn’t enough to mask the pain as you let out a cry of pain. But the pain in your thigh felt different. Looking down, fear flooded through you. You had landed on broke glass and some was now in your thigh, penetrating your thin leggings that were now darkened with blood. Thankfully, it wasn’t large shards, or you could have been at risk of slicing and artery, but it didn’t help your chances.   Scrambling to your feet, you felt every part of you ache as you focused on getting to a safe place. The foot followed behind you, a little closer now. You tried to run, but you couldn’t. so you limped into the factory, using the door which had remained unlocked since you and April had broke the lock for her to do some snooping. You remembered that there was a room in the back of one of the upstairs offices which was hidden. The door, when closed, blended into the wallpaper. Racing as quickly as your damaged body would allow. once inside, you went straight to your hiding place which you were thankful for the several bolts on the door. Once you were sealed inside, you took out your phone to try again. You called and called, with no response. You even texted him, saying he needed to pick up the phone. But another 3 missed calls later showed he didn’t have his phone. Or he was ignoring you. “Stubborn brute.” You growled through gritted teeth as you found Donnies number. Of the brothers, he was the most likely to having his phone with him. Or connected to his Bluetooth. It rung three times and was picked up. Donnie had barely said ‘hi’ when you interrupted. “The foot found me. Im in the abandoned factory.” You were trying, your voice cracking as you fought against screaming in pain. You didn’t have to say anything else about your location. You had allowed Donnie to put a tracker on your phone. “Are you hurt?” Donnie asked. The sound of Mikey and Leo asking questions in the back about what was happening. But no Raph. “yeah, pretty badly.” You winces as you looked at your leg. “Im in the back hidden room. Theres too many to fight.” “is there a window?” Donnie kept his cool which you were thankful for. You needed that right now. “Yes.” You look to the small window. “Put the phone in the window. I’ll track it. We’ll get in through the window, get you, and get out?” Donnies voice sounded like he was asking a question, probably directing it towards Leo to make sure it was a plan. Leo agreed. “Hang tight.” “What about Raph?” You heard Mikey ask in the back ground. You could hear the worry in his voice. “We don’t have time to find him. Shes hurt and they will find her.” Leo sounded angry. “We’ll be there in 4 minutes.” Donnie spoke a little louder, obviously trying to mask the argument. “Okay. Hurry.” You whimpered, before the line went dead. The fear of the situation caught up with you as you sat down on the floor next to the window, carful to keep your bleeding thigh up. Pulling your sleeve up carefully, you could see the bruising from your fall starting to form. At least you hadn’t broken your arm or hip. Sobbing, you could hear the foot tearing apart the downstairs. you tried Raph. Again and again and again. Looking back to the door, you could hear they were coming up to the level you were on. You would need to put your phone up on the window ledge in a moment. But you really didn’t think they would make it in time. Pulling up your messenger, you quickly typed. ‘I love you, not matter what happens.’ once sent, you reached up and placed your phone on the ledge, immediately feeling pain course through your arm. Perhaps you had knocked your head in your fall, or you had lost more blood than you thought, because you were feeling the adrenaline wear off. In its place was weakness and sleepiness. ‘don’t fall asleep’ you told yourself again and again as you stared at the door. Banging filled the room. They had found the door you were hiding behind. Crashing filled the room as you felt your arms across your face in defence, fearing the worst? “[y/n]?” Leos voice settled your fear as you looked up. They had came through the window, right over the top of you. “Here.” You called out, your voice weak as you tried to stand but collapsed down. “Hey, hey, don’t move.” Donnie held up his hands. “anything broken?” “No, but ive got glass in by thigh.” You told him the thing that was concerning you the most. “Okay, im going to give you some painkillers okay. And pick you up.” He pulled out some pills and raised them to your mouth. You took them and swallowed, grateful he had thought ahead. Donnie had the stronger stuff doctors used in his lab. more banging told you all that you couldn’t stay here much longer for the painkillers to kick in. Donnie apologised before picking you up. Pain spread through your body like fire as you fought to keep from screaming. Everything hurt and you closed your eyes as you gritted your teeth. “You’re doing well.” Mikey’s words of encouragement didn’t fall of deaf ears as the cool wind hit your face. Opening your eyes, you saw that Donnie was using a grappling hook to attach himself to the building and scale down from the window. Leo and Mikey raced down, making sure the coast was clear. They couldn’t exactly race from the top of buildings with you now. “My phone.” You suddenly remembered. If you had left it, they might be able to trace the others. “Mikeys got it. Don’t worry. You’re safe now.” Leos voice calmed you greatly, but it wasn’t what you needed. You wanted to hear Raph calming you, his words of encouragement. But he wasn’t here. They took you a few blocks from the factory before dropping into the manhole which would lead back to their home. “Wheres Raph?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from the pain. “He went out, not long after you guy had…” Donnie trailed off, obviously not wanting to finish his sentence or bring up the fight. “We thought he had went to find you.” you shook your head. That had been 3 hours ago. You had went home for 2 hours then went for a walk to clear your head. He must be on some roof top, brooding. “I tried to call him. A bunch of time. He didn’t answer.” You shook your head. “I think he left his phone in his room. I heard it going from my lab. I thought he had just left an alarm on or something.” Donnie looked down, feeling guilty even though it wasn’t his fault. You felt your trust in Raph dwindling. He had promised to keep his phone on him at all times in case you needed him, and vice vera. Donnie reminded silent as the three turtles slow to a walk as they made their way into the lair. The silence told you Raph wasn’t here. Donnie took you straight to the lab, placing you on the table which was thankfully clear. you heard Donnie telling his brothers what to get. He used a needle to inject you with some more painkiller while grabbing some scissors to cut some of your legging. “What else hurts?” leo asked you, his eyes scanning your body for any more signs. You told him about your arm and hip, then your bruises and scraps and how you got glass in your leg. “I think we need to remove the glass first. I don’t think you need stitches, but we need to clean the wound.” Donnie said and Leo agreed. “The only thing is it will take time for the pain relief-“ “Screw the pain relief. Its fine. Just get the glass out.” You told Donnie, earning a worried look from Mikey, but everyone knew. You only had a little time, and without the strongest anaesthetic or pain relief or blood transfusions, you needed to get fixed now. Leo disappeared for a moment and came back with a leather strap for you to bite on. But it didn’t help. Screaming, Mikey was then assigned to hold you down. He apologised the entire time as Donnie pulled each shard from your leg. You didn’t think there was that much, but it felt like he pulled out glass after glass after glass. You screamed the entire time. “[y/n]!?” A voice called through the lair and everyone seemed to freeze. Donnie looked up at Leo, unsure of what to do. Leo seemed to have a plan as he walked up to the door as Raph came racing in. you could see the fear in his eyes when they found you on the table. but Leo was in front of Raph in a heartbeat. “Move!” Raph growled at Leo, but he didn’t. “She doesn’t need this right now.” Leo spoke in a calm voice, but you heard some venom behind it. “I was away for a few hours. Why didn’t you protect her?!” Raph pushed Leo back. “Perhaps we could have. If she hadn’t put so much faith that you would.” Leo didn’t fight back, didn’t raise his voice, but his words cut through Raph. They were angry at each other, but Leo was right. You didn’t need this. You didn’t need them fighting and Mikey and Donnie so on edge that they cant help you. Leo had more medical knowledge that Raph, and Raph didn’t know what had happened so far or the full extend of your injuries. So you said something you never thought you would ever have to say to Raph. “Raph, can you just leave? Please?” Your voice held no venom, no angry or aggression but it caused Raph to freeze. He didn’t look at you, or he couldn’t, you didn’t know. he looked at Mikey, who was shaking quite badly and on the verge of crying. Then to Donnie, was had your blood on him, then to Leo. All the colour seemed to drain from his face. And he left. When Leo turned back towards you, you saw he had tears in his eyes. And you understood. They were scared. You closed your eyes, tears streaming down your cheek as you tried to regulate your breathing. “[y/n]? we have to continue.” Donnie said, placing his hand on your shin to offer some “Okay, okay.” You nod, putting the strap back in your mouth as Mikey braced himself.

---------------------------time skip ----------------

An hour or so later, and you had passed out. When you awoke, you were in the bedroom which you use to sleep in when you stayed at the lair before you and Raph had been together. Donnie came in to check on you when you woke up. He told you that you had been asleep for 12 hours, and they were starting to get really worried. Donnie had to put about 4 stitches in 2 of the wounds but he said the rest just needed paper stitches, which you were grateful for. You had thankfully just bruises your arm and the rest of your injuries were easy to see to. “Thank you.” You smiled, grateful for Donnies vast knowledge. “You’re my sister. Theres nothing to thank.” Donnie shook his head, just happy you were still alive. “Could, could you see if Raphs about? Ask if he can come in?” You ask, hesitating a little. You didn’t like sending the brothers as messengers between each other, but Donnie nodded and left. A few minutes later, there was a quiet knock at the door. “Come in.” You called, unable to quiet your own racing heart. You didn’t want to be fighting with Raph, and you didn’t want him to blame himself for this. Raph came in like a kicked puppy. He walked across the room and sat on the sofa that was by your bed. “Leo said to give you this.” He held out something to you. Your phone. “Oh, thanks.” You smile, taking it and placing it on the bedside. “i-I eh, I didn’t have mine on me. When you had tried…” Raph trailed off, unable to even look at you as he struggled to find the words. “yeah.” You nod, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.” He breathed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” “I know, I know.” You say in a soothing voice. “[y/n], you could have died!” Raph snapped a little, but not at you directly. “I know, but I didn’t.” You shrug. “Donnie thought you’d shattered your bones.” Raph shook his head, unable to understand why you sounded so care free. “But I didn’t.” You point out again. “We thought you weren’t going to wake.” Raph looks up at you, bewildered. “But I did.” You raise your eyebrows at him. Raphs gaze was one of utter confusion, and it breaks your serious facade. You couldn’t help the grin that pulls at your lips or the chuckle that leaves your throat. But it seemed it was what the room needed, as Raph ended up having a smile pull at his lips. It cleared the room of the tension and the awkwardness. However, Raph did stop smiling as he thought. “you texted me saying you loved me. After you’d phone Donnie. Why?” He asks, his eyes darting to your phone and back. He had read your messages, seen how you had tried to call him and probably listened to your voicemail. “Because I wanted you to know that. I knew when you found out what was happening that you might blame yourself. But I know you wouldn’t put me in danger on purpose or not help me to be malicious. I just wanted you to know that I held nothing against you if the worst happened.” You explained to him, unable to stop tears from forming in your eyes and cascading down your cheeks. Raph nodded looking away from you as you saw tears pooling in his own eyes. You had never, ever seen Raph cry. “I love you. You know that, right?” He asks you. He looked… concerned. “Yeah, of course.” you nod, unsure why he would ask such a question. “do, do you still trust me?” He asked, seemed terrified of the answer and you suddenly understood. trust was so important in your relationship. You didn’t mean trust as in infidelity. It was the sort of trust that allowed you to fall and know he’d catch you. The type that told you he was always close when you needed him. The trust in his vow to keep you safe. You paused, trying to think of your answer. While you didn’t hold any grudge against him for your injuries, you couldn’t say if he would be the first person you called if something happened again. “I want to say yes, but it wouldn’t be entirely true.” You finally say. You didn’t want to lie to him and part of him probably knew the answer already. Raph takes a deep, shaking breath before nodding. “but I want to.” You add, offering him a lifeline. Raphs head snapped to your own, as if to make sure you had actually spoken and it wasn’t his imagination. “Really?” He breathes, hope in his eyes. You nod with a smile, confirming what you had just said. “I’ll do anything, anything you want.” He vows to you, moving from the sofa to kneel beside you. You smile and take his head, giving it a little squeeze but you felt a small pain niggling in your leg. “Could you ask Donnie for some more pain killers?” You ask, wanting to stop it before eit starts. “yes, of course.” Raph jumps up, ready to run to Donnie but you didn’t let go of his hand. “But first, you could start with a kiss.” You smile sweetly. Raph all but melts as he leans down and gently presses a soft kiss to your lips. He was highly aware of all your injuries, but couldn’t deny you such a request. you were about to reach up and touch his cheek, but you felt a sharp, shooting pain in your right shoulder. Raph quickly moves away, afraid hes hurt you but you just smile as you let go of his hand to rub  your shoulder. “Right, pain meds.” He nods, his new task in the forefront of his mind. “I’ll be right back.” He rushes off to find Donnie. You couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t much, but it was a start to regaining that trust.

[rediscoveringmichelle]

An Apple a day keeps the cravings away

January 2021, back in London after spending Christmas at home in Ireland with my family. This time had been a very different experience to the last. Freer, both mentally and physically. The last time I had been home was at the beginning of the global pandemic, restricted to the 2km radius of my home in Clontarf, North Dublin. However, on this occasion not only had restrictions been lifted by the Taoiseach for the Christmas period, I had lifted my own restrictions too. The beginning of the pandemic was the turning point of my recovery and now, 9 months later, I was no longer limiting myself to 3 healthy meals per day, with no snacks and a strict schedule of two 10km runs per week and a minimum 2 and half hours of walking per day. I felt happier and healthier than I had been in years, able to relax and enjoy late night glasses of wine and mince pies with my parents, meals out with friends and the odd day of rest and relaxation with nothing but a few hours of TV to pass the day. It didn’t matter how much weight I had put on; I had gained my life and laugh back, and I would be forever grateful for the lesson I had learnt thanks to this awful pandemic. That making myself thinner and fitter, didn’t make me any happier. And that being physically healthy is nothing if you destroy your mental and social health too.

January 2018 was really where it all began. Recently single and having spent a lot of my newfound freedom on nights out, eating takeaways and drinking large volumes of alcohol, I had understandably put on a bit of weight. The guy I had been seeing, suddenly stopped texting me and I felt rejected. My parents were back to living their lives after their run-ins with poor health. Dad back to smothering his toast in thick layers of butter and Mum loving her newfound ‘real-Mum’ life of Pilates and coffee catch ups since selling her practice for good. I was no longer needed. Mum didn’t need me to drive her to chemo or cook my Dad his no red meat, no oil, no salt dinners. I felt anxious as they went back to living their lives. No longer able to control them, especially my dad. I couldn’t force him into living a by-the-book healthy lifestyle. But I figured what I could control was myself. I could be the healthiest person I could possibly be. And with the added benefit of making that guy wish he’d never let me go. My perfectionist self would ensure that I would be the perfect picture of health. No cheating, no dieting, just a new lifestyle. A new me. One I could love.

I scoured the internet for all the advice on changing your lifestyle, getting fit and losing weight. Running apparently boosted your metabolism and was an efficient way to burn calories and fat. So, I started by running 5km, three times a week. Weights would help then to reduce my body fat and tone up so I coupled the running with strength training in the gym, also three times a week. I pounded out Kelsey Wells workout routines, while listening to ‘This is me’ from The Greatest Showman, a song about not being afraid to show the world exactly who you are, as I was ironically punishing my body into a shape that was not naturally me. I strictly followed Dad’s cardiologist’s advice and cooked everything from scratch, substituting beef mince for turkey mince and not using oil, butter or salt in my cooking. I cut out all snacks and limited myself to three meals per day. Social Media became my home ground for weight loss advice. ‘You’re not hungry, you’re thirsty. Drink some water.’ ‘No pain, no gain.’ ‘Ignore your cravings and they will eventually go away.’ ‘Craving sugar? Have an apple instead’. Each day would end with eating an apple to stave off the cravings and to quieten the rumbles in my stomach.

I started weighing my food, tracking everything from litres of water drunk and then steps walked and active minutes of exercise. I upped my runs gradually to 10km, twice a week because social media told me that after running for 35 minutes, you no longer just burn calories, but also fat. And yes, I do realise that anyone who has a degree in anything science related would quickly realise these were all completely made up and not based on fact, but I guess I wanted to believe them. I would believe anything that forced me to push (or punish) myself more. I stopped going out for drinks or dinner with friends. Too many calories and too worried that I wouldn’t be able to get up and run in the morning, unable to flex from the specific days I went running, for fear I would never run again. When I moved to London, I spent my weekends walking 40 thousand steps so that I could then earn a slice of banana bread from Deliciously Ella’s Vegan & Gluten Free Deli. I felt a rush of joy wash over me each time I saw the number on the scales or the minutes of my 10km runs decline, but like a drug, the high didn’t last long. I was addicted. I had no trust in myself. ‘You’re so controlled’, they complimented me. But deep down, I felt like there was a lazy, sugar and fat loving girl inside me. An imposter in a gradually reducing body. Fearing that just one biscuit and I would be back as that unhappy and overweight rejected girl.

I really believed that being thinner and looking like those girls I idolised on Instagram would make me happier. They were all smiling, surely that meant they were happy? As the compliments turned to concern, I felt that surely people were just jealous of how much weight I had managed to lose. Weight loss was something to be proud of, wasn’t it? The truth of it all didn’t hit me until the pandemic. As I sat up in my bed struggling to breathe on the night of the Taoiseach’s first lockdown announcement, I started to wonder what I was really fearing. During a time when people were dying, all I could fear was not being able to exercise enough and being locked up in a house full of food. I feared putting on weight and relinquishing control. I felt trapped with nothing to look forward to. Holidays cancelled and my boyfriend of two months at home with his family 167km away in Belfast. That was my rock bottom.

In an effort to cheer myself up I started to make a list of all the things I wanted to do post lockdown. Have date nights in with my boyfriend, making pizzas, ordering takeaways and eating breakfast in bed. Then the excitement of getting to do these things started to dwindle as the anxiety crept in, as I tried to count up how much exercise I would need to do in order to earn those nights. A day in bed with no exercise? Nope, that’s a no go. And that’s when it hit me. I had made myself thin, with the thought that then I would be lovable and that then I could enjoy my life. But I was thinner, thinner than I’d been since I was a preteen and I still wouldn’t let myself go enough to do the things I deeply wanted to do. To let myself enjoy life. How freeing it would be to just, let go!

My love for learning kicked in and I made the decision to start reading up and educating myself. I came across a book my mum had not so subtly left lying around the house. ‘Just Eat it – How Intuitive eating can help you get your shit together around food’ by Laura Thomas. I didn’t believe I had an eating disorder until I started reading her book. As she listed off the disorders, she then came to Orthorexia – defined as an unhealthy obsession with healthy eating or over exercising. ‘When was the last time you even asked yourself what you’d like instead of what you ‘can’ or ‘should’ eat?’ she queried. The sad reality was that I couldn’t remember. ‘We trust our phones more than we trust our bodies’. Well that was certainly true for me. She used science, showing that weight was in fact not a determinant of health but that by exercising, eating healthy and not smoking we could be healthy, regardless of our size. That eating a donut didn’t in fact negate the nutrients of the carrot we ate earlier. And that white flour was actually infused with calcium and that those carbs are what give us energy to move and enjoy life. My eyes gradually opened to all the lies diet culture had taught me and I felt empowered.

I moved on to more books and podcasts and started culling my social media feed of anyone that didn’t make me feel good. I started following intuitive eating dietitians and anti-diet advocates. Following people of all shapes and sizes and realising how biased our society is towards people in smaller bodies. Not just the size of airplane seats but assuming that all health issues experienced by fat people can be solved by weight loss. I learnt that the night sweats I had been experiencing, the pretty much non-existent sex drive and the inability to maintain body heat for any length of time were in fact all side effects of the restricted eating and over-exercising. Half the time I didn’t even look as thin as I had become because I was wearing so many layers of clothes in order to keep warm. Walking around the house with a hot water bottle strapped to my waist and wearing a fur coat indoors while out for dinner with friends. Only now can I laugh at the image of it. I started to make a list of all the things I would gain through gaining weight and glancing back over it now, I have gained all of these and more. My headspace, my laughter, my body heat and a fantastic relationship that I thankfully didn’t destroy because of my restrictive, anxious mind-set.

My recovery hasn’t been easy. The steps toward eating intuitively start with banishing your food rules and allowing yourself to eat what you want. A process that takes time before you can start tuning into your hunger and fullness cues again and introducing gentle nutrition. It involved allowing myself to devour entire tubs of Oatly chocolate fudge ice-cream, multiple evenings per week. Making my way through all the delicious Deliveroo takeaway options London had to offer – Honest Burgers red meat beef burgers with rosemary salted fries, Franco Manca pizzas, with all the toppings, and Kin & Deum Thai curries, with full fat coconut milk. Gradually I started being able to listen to my body and trust it. Whether it hungered for a salmon stir-fry or was seeking out a slice of chocolate cake. The interesting thing being, that months later it now craves nutritious food the majority of the time. And that by allowing it to have higher sugar or fat containing foods whenever it wants, I no longer feel out of control around them. I no longer find myself devouring three large sized bags of crisps in one sitting, overtaken by the fear that I will never let myself eat them again.

I have days where I find myself critiquing my larger thighs in the mirror but instead of allowing the thoughts consume me, I allow them float by with curiosity and continue about my day knowing that the way I look doesn’t define me and that the greatest things about me have nothing to do with my body shape or size. I am a thoughtful friend, who prides herself at remembering important moments in friends’ lives. A courageous girl who isn’t afraid to try new things, whether that be travelling solo across Vietnam or signing up to a surf and yoga retreat in Cornwall. A creative person who loves to draw and a lifelong learner that is open to new ideas and wants to challenge her way of thinking. My body will change a lot over the next 50 plus years of my life, but the great thing is that thanks to freeing myself from the disease, I get to look forward to the possibility of being alive for that long and to enjoying every waking moment, no longer postponing life for when I look or am a certain way.

© Michelle McCarthy January 2021

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Forever- Utter Nonsense Drabble... 40 Questions!

Yeah so don’t ask me where this came  from, but I saw these floating around and for some reason decided it would be funny if Steve and Katie answered  some of them instead of me...

I think the original post was from @odaatlover​  and I think I was taggeed by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​. Anyway, I took my favourite ones and this was the result...enjoy!

1. What’s one animal you wish you could have as a pet but can’t?

Katie: I’d kinda like a tiger. They’re so graceful and  pretty but pack a mean bite and you wouldn’t mess with one would you?

Steve: Who does that remind you of?

2. Favorite thing to wear to sleep?

Steve: (grinning) Nothing.

Katie : I can confirm that is also my favourite thing he sleeps in...

3. What song really gets you going?

Katie: In what way? If it’s to dance and just act like a crazy fool to then its always going to be “Back in Black” because it reminds me a lot of Tony and happy times growing up. But if its one to spark memories then its our wedding song.

Steve: “The Only One In Color” by Trapt. I also kinda like the John Legend song  “You and I” because it reminds me of her, you know, the bit aout trying on every damned out fit she ownes before we can go out.

Katie: I don’t do that.

Steve looks at Katie, eyebrow raising.

Katie: Ok, maybe I can be a little incecisive....but tha wasn’t really the point of the...you know what, never mind. Next...

4. Where do you usually eat your meals?

Steve: It depends. If its breakfast or lunch dring the week then it’s usual eaten on the go whilst we’re getting the kids sorted or I’m in between classes...but dinner, well we always try and sit down. And at weekends we always eat at the table with the kids. 

5. Favorite meal: breakfast, lunch, or dinner?

Katie: Dinner. During the week Steve and I eat a little bit later than the kids so we have that time to ourselves just to decompress and talk about our day, have a bit of us time...and at weekend we’re al together so I love it.

Steve: I love it for all those reasons, and also because she’s the best damned cook on the planet.

6. Most embarrassing habit?

Katie: Erm...

Steve: It’s pretty embarassing when you throw a Brat tantrum about something.. Katie: I don’t do that in public.

Steve: Bullshit. I refer you to the whole car purchasing situation a few years ago.

Katie: Jamie was only a baby...I was hormonal.

Steve: Hormonal my ass, you were being a brat.

Katie:  Whatever.  Yours is definately the need to stand with your hands on your hips and give someone your Captain look, especially when it’s someone you have never met before but they just happen to be doing something to piss you off.

Steve:  I make no apologies for this.  People can be idiots.

7. Chocolate or fruity candy?

Both at same time: Chocolate.

Steve: Preferably British.  Cadbury’s to be specific. I got a taste for it when I was in London during the war.

Katie: He has a secret stash he hides from the kids...it’s great to blackmail him with.

8. Soft or hard tacos?

Steve: Soft

Katie: Hard

Steve: Although hard ones always remind me of when you went into labour with Jamie.  We were making them for lunch and you had a contraction and crushed one...

Katie: Oh yeah, maybe soft in that case...because that was painful.  And then I went throguh that another 3 times.Which is your fault.

Steve: I take full responsibility, yes. 

9. Worst way to break up a fight?

Katie: Walk into the middle of it and say “Prove it, put the hamer down...” Steve: sighs, That was one time.

Katie: And it levelled a forest.

Steve: Did it work?

Katie: Hmmm, suppose so.

Steve: There you go ...but if its a fight between us, the I can think of the best way to break it up...

Katie : grinning, yeah...that’ s pretty funny. Or the worst one is telling you you’re in the spare room.

Steve: Yeah...that sucks.

10. Best thing to say in an elevator of strangers?

Katie: Putting on deep voice “Before we get started, does anyone wanna get out?”

Steve: Sighing  I wish I had some smart reply to that bu I don’t...

Katie: No, you just threw us out the side of the damned thing from 14 storeys up

Steve: 19

Katie: That’s...that’s not better Steve.

11. Any hidden talents?

Steve: Not so much hidden really but I’m not a bad artist and Katie’s singing and piano playing is off the scale.

Katie: Steve’s really good at DIY. Like, brilliantly good.  And also pretty savvy with technology all things considered...

Steve: When you say all things considered you mean because I’m like 112

Katie: Actually, you’re like 127 if you count the 15 years you spent back in time after putting the stones back.

Steve: hesitates I thought you said they didn’t count because I didn’t spend them with you.

Katie: They don’t, but they still happened.

12. Socks or bare feet around the house?

Steve: Socks

Katie: Bare feet

Steve: Neither of those protect you from standing on lego, which for the record, I reckon has to be a pain worse than chilbirth.

Katie:  Seriously? You’re going there?

Steve: Ok, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration but it still hurts like hell.

13: Favorite board game?

Katie: Monopoly. Its funny to watch Emmy and Jamie getting really agitated and annoyed. The younger 3 don’t really get it, Rori just likes to help Steve by sorting all his money into piles and suggesting things he can spend it on.

Steve: Namely tutus and tap shoes...she still wants to be chorus girl.

14:Heat on or keep it cold with lots of layers?

Katie: Oh my God. Steve is a nightmare as he runs hotter than any of us, so whilst we want the fire or heat on he’s complaining he’s boiling hot all the time. Our bedroom is like an ice block.

Steve: Doll, I’ve been in an ice block. Trust me, our bedroom is like a furnace in comparison.

Katie: It si nice though, like sleeping with a big hot  water bottle.

15: At what age did you first have alcohol?

Katie: I’m sure Tony gave me beer when I was 15 or something but the first time I ever got drunk was aged 17. I went to a keg party at one of my friends and I was aboslutely shit faced. Tony held my hair back whilst i puked my guts upt for a good hour once I was home. I had the hangover to end all hangovers the next day and he cracked JARVIS up to maximum volume just to teach me a lesson.

Steve:  I think I was 18. Me and Buck drank a bottle of his dad’s home made hooch...yeah, it didn’t take me much to get me drunk back then and I was very, very illl. Ma thought I had a fever. Mr Barnes thought it was hilarious, but still gave us both a slap upside th head...

16. What’s the most amount of money you’ve spent on a single item of clothing?

Katie: I would say my wedding dress, but Tony bought that for me, so it would probably the the dress I wore to the  SIP Launch for The Color Of Revenge...that cost...well it was in the tens of thousands

Steve:  Blinking How much?

Katie: You don’t need to know.

17. What do you typically wear to formal events?

Steve: Whatever my gal tells me to.

Katie: And you always look great Soldier.

18. Favorite memory?

Steve: Oooh, other than when we adopted Emmy or the kids were born, I’d have to say when Katie agreed to be my wife. I’ll never forget that day as long as I live.

Katie: Me neither, not least becase I got my camero...

Steve: rolls eyes.

Katie:  Joking aside, yeah the engagement sticks in my mind but I think it was when you finally kissed me for the first time. I knew then that I was never gonna let you go.

Steve: yeah...that...ok you know what this is an impossible question after being together for so long.

19. Favorite shoes?

Katie: I have a pair of sparkly gold Jimmy Choo stilettoes that I’ve had for ages. They’re gorgeous, with ankle straps and pointed toes. I’ve had them for almost  17 years but they’re amazin.

Steve: grins. Yeah, they’re my favourite shoes too...

Katie: Pervert.

Steve: I’m not even gonna deny it. Those shoes ALWAYS stay on if I can help it.

20. Most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?

Both start to laugh hysterically.

Steve: Where do we start?

Katie: New York, Washington, Sokovia, Lagos, Leipzig, Siberia, Wakanda, Upstate and proablly a whole load of other places in between could be good places Stevie.

Steve: Yeah, this...I can’t answer this. 

21. Most embarrassing thing your parents have caught you doing?

Katie: I was 7 when my parents died but taking Tony as surrogate, I reckon him catching us in the kitchen when we were...you know, and he didn’t actually know about us has got to be up there.

Steve: Yeah, that was pretty bad... although my Ma once caught me and Bucky measuring our... looks down.

Katie: splutters What? You never told me this?

Steve: Well its not exactly somethign that crops up in conersation sweethheart? “Oh by the way, once when we were 16 me and Buck compared sizes...” Katie: Blinks. Boys are strange. So who had the biggest...

Steve: Next question...

22. Last time you had an orgasm?

Both grin.

Steve: Last night 

Katie: I can confrim this...there’s not many nights to be fair where we don’t...

23: Celebrity Crushes?

Katie: grins. Does Bucky Barnes count?

Steve: Fuck you.

24: Makeup or natural?

Katie: Normally I just wear a bit of tinted moisturiser and mascara, now I have the kids anyway. I don’t have time to really do my face in a morning. I’ll make the effort when we go out though...

Steve: You don’t need it honey.

Katie: Awww thanks baby.

Steve: Although that red lipstick you wear, the bright red..yeah...I like that... grins wickedly and winks It smears well...

Katie flushes: dirt bag

25. Favorite season?

Katie: Summer. Growing up in Malibu I like the sun and warmth.

Steve: Fall. It’s an artists dream...the colours and textures are amazing to work with

Katie: Fall is rubbish. Everything dies and it’s a bit shit.

Steve: But you make apple pie and get to snuggle in my sweaters.

Katie: literally the only 2 things good about it. 

26. Are you a competitive person?

Katie snorts and looks at Steve

Steve: I’m not even going to deny it. 

Katie: He even refuses to let the kids win a games sometimes.

Steve: Important life lessons, Doll. 

27. First pet you’ve ever owned?

Katie: My goldfish Flounder, the one that Tony replaced about 8 times. Other than that it was my Turkey Marv, he was ace.

Steve: I didn’t have any growing up so mine would be Lucky. He was a great dog. 

28. Favorite pasta dish?

Steve: Mac and Cheese, specifically Katie’s. It’s amazing.

Katie smiling: Yeah  I like Mac and Cheese, but I also enjoy carbonara.

29. Favorite kind of pizza?

Both: Pepperoni.

Steve: New York Style.

Katie: I like Deepdish every now and then.

Steve: It’s not the same...

Katie: well dur, that’s the point.

Steve: Yeah, not convinced. 

30. Lots of acquaintances or a handful of close friends?

Katie: Handful of close friends, without a doubt. They become an extension of your family, you know. All of us in the Avengers were close and when you have that bond, you’ll do anything for one another.

Steve: Agree completely. When you’re close like we all are then it makes everything that little bit easier, knowing that whatever you’re facing you’ve got each others 6.

31: Something that ruins your appetite?

Katie: Narrows eyes Whenver I see Ross on Tv. Makes me want to puke.

Steve: You really should let that go you know?

Katie: Never. I hold a grudge very well.

Steve: Don’t I know it.

32. Night out with a bunch of friends in public or night in with one friend having deep conversations?

Steve: I’ve never been one for big nights out. I enjoy the odd one now and then but, I’d much rather curl up on the sofa or round the firepit with Katie or Sam or Bucky with a beer and some decent talk.

Katie: Yeah, at one time I would have said night out hands down, but certianly since having the kids, or even since we started dating, it’s definately change my ideas a little. Some of the nicest nights we’ve had have been spent on the sofa.

Steve grins: yeah...

Katie: And not just because of that....

33. Have you ever told someone you loved them first?

Steve: I’ve only ever told one girl I loved them and she’s sat right here, and I said it first that night...

Katie: smiling Yeah, yeah you did. I wasn’t far behind though, like 3 seconds or something.

34. Have you ever had sex on the first date?

Katie: Does a one night stand count as a first date? Because if so then yes...

Steve: Same.

Katie: Lottie?

Steve: Storm?

Both look at one another,  teasingly.

Katie: Ok next question...

35. Heroes or villains?

Steve: Some people might say there’s a fine line between the two. Katie: Oh here he goes, getting all Captain Philosophical again...look, everyone knows we were suposedly the heroes Steve, and to be fair we saved the world a fair few times, we were even fighting in the shadows during the Nomad years.

Steve: I know, I know...

36. How many plates can you eat at a buffet?

Steve: You know I’ve never actually counted.

Katie: You did 20 at the last brunch we went to.

Steve: 20...that’s...impressive.

Katie: smirking Bucky did 22

Steve: sighs Of course he did...

37: Favorite dessert?

Steve: Apple pie, preferably Katie’s

Katie: Pecan pie. Hands down. 

38 Would you rather watch a TV show or a movie?

Steve: Ooh, that’s..i suppose it depends. I do like a good TV series, especially if we can curl up and binge watch once the kids are going to bed but I do have fond memories of us working through the films on my list...

Katie: smiling, yeah we had a lot of fun. Still

39. What’s your favorite compliment to give?

Steve: I love telling Katie how beautiful she is, and what a wonderful mother she is...all of which is true.

Katie: I like to remind Steve that he’s my Steve Rogers, not Captain America...because he is. And he’s the most amazing man on the planet, with or withouth that serum coursing through his veins. Which is what makes him the best dad the kids could wish for.

40. What’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to you?

Steve: smiling,  she’s sat right next to me.

Katie: smiling , back at ya soldier.

[schleierkauz]

The Color of Revenge: Chapter 10

Surprise! :3

For some reason (I have to assume as a birthday gift, for me, specifically,-) two chapters were uploaded last friday! Sooo here’s the second one! Enjoy!!

Shoutouts go to @bluejayfiredancer and their art textbook and @firejugglinghobo who both make my life much easier by Speaking English

Chapter 10: Death has the Color of Ash

The last book the Great Balbulus worked on had been commissioned by Violante of Ombra for her 32nd birthday.  It was meant to celebrate the natural wonders of Ombra in words and vision. The nymphs in the river, the fire-elves in the nearby woods, the giants in the mountains that could be seen from the highest tower of the castle when the weather was clear, and the unicorns in the holly oak groves east of Ombra.

The writers had delivered the pages with the finished text to Balbulus the evening prior. He was, as always, less than thrilled with the ink quality and the arrangement of words, but he had given up on trying to convince Violante to hire new writers. She would just give him the same answer over and over again:

“Balbulus, these men have families to feed.“

So what? Did that excuse that they might be tainting his posthumous fame with carelessly placed letters and ink that was too pale? Art didn’t care about a few hungry brats. Great art demanded sacrifices to be made!

He used a few color pigments that were left over from the other book.

The other book…

He was glad that the filthy troubadour with the sly smile would take it away soon. Ombra was filled with dark rumors and lamentations. The Bluejay had disappeared, alongside his family. And it wasn’t just him. Where was the Inkweaver? Where was the bookworm woman Loredan? Where was the beautiful Roxane?

It was said that the Fire-Dancer had gone all the way to the White Women to ask about her.

He would not find her.

Balbulus hurried to take his brush off the parchment. His fingers were shaking. He thought he could hear them all from between the pages since the book had come back from the new bookbinder, who really couldn’t compare to the Bluejay.

Finished books were always sent to Balbulus first, in case he needed to make any last corrections. But this one? To hell with it! He had wrapped it in a brocade bag and put it in the chest where he kept used parchment and his linseed oil.

When the screaming in the streets had started, he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of opening it and looking at the faces of those who had disappeared. How they had looked at him… Thanks to his mastery it seemed as if they were breathing on the pages, and maybe they were. Anything was possible when it came to magic.

With shaking hands he had pushed the book back into the bag and wrapped it tightly before putting it in the chest again. It was made of oak wood and the lid was so heavy that he could barely open it. But still, he thought he could hear them screaming between the cover, between the pages of parchment he had trapped them on.

What had he done?

Stop it! You practiced your art, Balbulus! That’s it!

He clenched his fist to stop his fingers from shaking. Dusk was beginning to fall outside and the troubadour, if that unsavory character deserved to be called that, would take the book and everyone trapped within it away. Yes.

Forget it and focus on the work, Balbulus.

How could he have known that he would be made into a tool for such demonic magic? He dipped the brush into the silver which he used to make the nymph’s scales glow. They lived in the river which flowed through Ombra and Violante loved to watch them from the castle’s crenellations. There were rumors that she regularly left them cakes and grapes at the river bank because she believed that the nymphs brought good luck to the city.

Superstition!

Balbulus cleaned the brush and dipped it into the dark green he had mixed for the nymph’s hair. He painted a wisp of hair, floating on the water. Exquisite! Yes. No one could match his brushstroke.

Balbulus looked up and out of the window. Outside, the day was dying.

… Maybe he should throw the bewitched paints away. He stood and stepped to the shelf where he had put the glasses in which he had filled them. They really were one of a kind. He had never seen such brilliancy before. No.

No, he would keep them and use them for Violante’s birthday book. It would spread the word of Balbulus’ mastery all the way to Venetia. No, he had to think bigger – people would talk about him in Lutici, in Nuremberg, Metachirta, yes, even in Constantinople, where the great Bihzad was illuminating the sultan’s manuscripts so wonderfully that they allegedly spawned golden camels and birds of paradise.

So what? The pictures painted by the Great Balbulus would make the world with all its wonders pale in comparison and everyone who looked upon them would yearn to get lost in his landscapes. The blue of the sky would seem washed out compared to his own. His red would put the most beautiful rose in Violante’s garden to shame and his yellow would outshine the sun.

With a smile, Balbulus stepped back to his desk.

Magnificent Balbulus. Glorious Balbulus. Immortal Balbulus.

He reached for his finest brush and painted another strand of nymph hair onto the water when a noise made him flinch. Cursing, he dropped the brush and looked at the ruined page. How many times did he have to tell those idiot servants that no one was allowed to step into his workshop unannounced? He had even put up a sign which threatened to throw any unauthorized visitors into the dungeon.

“I will ask Violante to withhold your p-“

The words died on Balbulus‘ lips. The troubadour stood in the door. He pulled it closed behind him and gave the illuminator an oily smile. Balbulus always saw the color black when he was face to face with Baldassare. A worrying association. Black, and a poison-green yellow. Yes, those were the colors he would choose to portray Baldassare Renaldesci.

“I was visiting one of Violante’s maids. She would do anything for my verses, the stupid little thing, so I thought, Baldassare, do Balbulus a favor and go fetch the book now. He’s probably in his workshop.”

His dull eyes looked at Balbulus‘ possessions as if he were estimating which would be easiest to sell to Ombra’s fences. Baldassare Rendaldesci’s eyes were always dull, whether it was due to wine or elf dust, Balbulus couldn’t have said. He didn’t know much about the intoxicants that were popular in Ombra. His art was the only drug he was addicted to.

When he turned his back to his visitor, Baldassare locked the door to the workshop. The latch was slightly rusty but Balbulus was struggling to open the lid of the chest and didn’t hear anything.

“Here it is,“ he said, reaching for the bag with the book. Once again Balbulus thought he could hear the prisoners whisper inside. If only he had listened. Maybe they were whispering “Watch out!” or “Don’t turn your back to him, Balbulus!“

“This Walter von Vogelweide,“ he said with his glum voice for which he was just as known as for his art, “does he have a famous library?”

“I have no clue,“ Baldassare answered. “He’s not really the one who commissioned this book.”

Balbulus thought that was a very mysterious answer, but Baldassare didn’t give him time to solve the mystery. He plunged the dagger into Balbulus’ chest as soon as the other man turned around. Right into his heart, just deep enough that it stopped beating without spilling too much blood. Orpheus surely wouldn’t have liked splatters on the book.

Oh yes, Baldassare was a master as well, though not of the art of rhyming like he would have wished to be. He had a lot more talent for murder. Destruction is so much easier to learn than the creation of beauty.

Balbulus slumped down with a surprised expression on his face. Surprise, pain and a hint of indignation that his talent was being snuffed out so soon. Baldassare pulled the bag with the book from his weakening fingers and admired the shimmering brocade. The bag alone was probably worth more than everything he owned.

Oh, the treasures he could earn if he sold the book in Venetia or Mantova instead of leaving it in Violante’s library like Orpheus had ordered… He leaned down and pulled Balbulus’ rings off his lifeless fingers.

No, it probably wasn’t a good idea to steal from Orpheus. After all, he was allied with a witch, a devourer of children if the rumors were true, but maybe he would get rid of his glass man. Even just the thought of carrying him on his shoulder for days and listening to his chatter all over again… Not to mention that he would probably tell Orpheus all sorts of unflattering things about him.

Oh, what a disaster, a raven picked him off my shoulder…

Of course, the Shard Head had wanted to come with him to the castle, but Baldassare had told him in great detail what the maid’s cat liked to do to glass men. Baldassare smiled as he imagined feeding Ironstone to a few hungry rats. The glassy flesh wasn’t very tasty, but apparently those pipsqueaks had a delicious core that even human gourmets valued greatly. In Ombra it was unfortunately illegal to sell glass men for that purpose, so… that treat had to wait.

Baldassare stepped closer to Balbulus‘ desk and looked around, wondering where the sticks were that had served the illuminator as references. He eventually found them in a big casket, alongside a bag of gold coins, silver cutlery and a necklace that Balbulus liked to wear during official events and distinctions. Baldassare took all of it, even though the payment for this murder had been much better than he was used to. He looked at the parchment which his victim had worked on.

Not bad, no. Not at all.

For a moment he regretted that he hadn’t given Balbulus time to finish the page. After all, his death would make his work even more valuable. Well… Nothing could be done about it now. Even a master couldn’t think of everything. Baldassare stepped over Balbulus’ cooling body, a bloody red flower blooming on its chest, and unlocked the door.

Violante’s library was empty when he snuck inside. The maid has assured him that her mistress spent only her mornings in there. Then he left the castle the same way he had gotten in: Through the courts and corridors used by servants and maids. The guards who saw him simply nodded and let him pass. He had spent many evenings entertaining them with his songs and some of them had bought elf dust of excellent quality from him.

Balbulus‘ corpse wasn’t discovered until the next morning.

(Next chapter)

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 19: The Enemy Might be Our Friend and Vice Versa

But the seeming idiot is definitely our friend

First  Previous  Next

"Lance?"

"Hm?" Lance doesn't turn, watching the city rapidly come into view.

“Why the florist and forgemaster specifically?”

“Because I thought you might like them. Also, I need more arrows. My quiver is looking a bit sparse.” Lance indicated the quiver at his hip which indeed only had a few arrows in it. “The forgemaster himself isn’t a fletcher, but his daughter is. His son is a glass-smith.”

“Maybe you could take better care of your arrows?”

“You don’t use arrows a lot, do you?”

“No, why?”

“Well when you hit things with them, like bone or a tree, sometimes they break.”

“Oh. Sorry?” Keith squirms, unsure if he’d actually hit a nerve or if Lance is just messing with him.

Lance offers him nothing more than a deeply amused look, perhaps a little endeared. It’s easier to read Lance’s expressions than his tone. Keith doesn’t process sarcasm very well.

“Crown Prince Lancel! Prince Yorak!” Keith turns, drawing his braid over his shoulder. It’s Lord Lanval, pulling a young woman over by her hand.

“Hello, Lord Lanval. It’s a lovely day. Who is this you have with you?” Lance smiles, clicks his tongue, dismounts as his shreika kneels. Keith follows his spouse’s lead.

“Your Majesties, may I introduce, informally, Lady Gloriana of House Trivaine? She and I are courting.”

Lance places his hand over his heart, bowing as he takes the lady’s hand, kissing the back of it. “My Lady, it is a joy to make your acquaintance. You have not yet been presented, I should think? Bold though it might be, I say I would remember you.”

“I am to be presented at the next ball, your Majesty. Forgive me, as this was not a proper introduction.” Lady Gloriana tucks a lock of pale pink hair behind her ear, blushing under golden scales. She has gold and pink eyes, too. She's beautiful. She turns to Keith with a nervous smile.

Keith bows, right fist over his breast, customary of his own people. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. What brings you here today?”

“We are-”

Keith interrupts Lord Lanval. “I asked the lady. She can speak.”

Lord Lanval splutters, indignant, but Lady Gloriana blushes, seemingly a bit pleased. “We were on our way to the florist, but Lanval wished for me to meet you.”

Keith recalls something of Adam’s lessons. “We are on our way there as well. Something about me being seen among the people so that they don’t hate me quite so much. Perhaps you could help me?”

“Oh.” the lady giggles as Keith offers her his arm. “Well, alright. So long as Crown Prince Lancel doesn’t mind.”

“I have no objection at all, my lady. Perhaps you two could lead the way.”

Lady Gloriana nods, guiding Keith toward the florist, pointing out the things in the square that she likes, some of the more important people. Keith listens, asks her questions. Lance raises an eyebrow. Keith’s lessons are going better than Adam had let on.

Lanval falls in beside him.

“I don’t know if I told you, but I made sure the rumors of your… escapades made it to Daibazaal. I told quite a few people about it when I saw an opening. Including Prince Yorak’s mother.”

“Telling his mother might have been a little much, but I thank you. Thank you also for making that comment at the banquet. I wasn’t sure how else to break the ice. Or how to get him out of there before one of us snapped.”

“I know how lofty your ambitions are. I thought you might like the challenge. And you are most welcome.” Lanval frowns as Keith leans forward a little as he pays Lady Gloriana a compliment. Or perhaps it’s a tease, given the sly smile. Either way, she laughs, clapping lightly.

“Forgive him,” Lance murmurs, walking next to Lord Lanval a few paces behind. “He has the manners down, but the social mores still escape him. He probably assumes that because he’s married, he can do as he wishes. He’s emulating me a little too well.”

“It’s no trouble. Poor little thing needs friends. He did quite put me in my place, though, didn’t he?” Lanval frowns. “Is he really a kit? Lady Renli said as much at your wedding, though I put little stock in it at the time. Watching him since, however…”

“He is.”

“By the Ancients! Your Majesty, with all due respect-” Lanval seems horrified. As he should be. If nothing else, Lance feels gratified that he and Adam aren’t the only ones. Though to be honest, if Adam finds something morally abhorrent, people seriously need to rethink their lives. He sighs, turns to glance at his life-long friend.

“We are several things to one another, but ‘mate’ is not among them. My father posted a Listener outside our door. I made Adam take care of it. I believe my father still suspects, but I haven’t laid an untoward finger on Keith. Frankly, I refuse.”

“But that Alfor would even allow such a thing! Lancel, he’s your father! Our King!”

“I don’t think he quite understood. I think he assumed Galra age in a more linear progression, as Alteans do. But I agree, a better King would not trade in children. It wouldn't have hurt to wait a decaphoeb.”

Lance clasps his hands behind his back, watching his spouse navigate social activities with the help of Lady Gloriana. She beams, gently explaining social rules as he breaks them, guiding him through a conversation with the florist. The florist seems bemused, but willing to be patient for the prince. Keith, for his part, has a look of great concentration on his face, stumbling as he tries to learn.

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s clever. And her own person, which is a trait we both seem to enjoy. I suspect that if Prince Yorak hadn’t put me in my place in the square, she would have done it later herself. Your prince… Are you sure he was a lord?”

“He was only appointed to his title a phoeb or two before he came to me. Before that… I think he spent most of his time completely alone.”

Lanval turns to him, alarm in his eyes, though not on his impassive face. “Your evidence?”

“I can’t say for certain. Call it instinct.”

“Your red quintessence edge serves you well, it would seem.”

“So it would seem.” Lance sighs, watching the florist lead Keith and Gloriana through to a back room. “Not that anything I have to offer does him any good. He’s not safe. My father is still subtly pressuring me to essentially assault him. He struggles to understand our customs. He doesn’t know how to rule or lead. He can’t even eat our food! He’s out of his depth and away from his home-”

“And you care. Listen, I’m not that much older than you, but I’m old enough to know that giving a quiznak about someone when they’re in a bad place makes all the difference in this reality. You two don’t come across as lovers, though that’s more his fault. -He’d likely be uncomfortable with you even implying it. No point in attempting that sort of illusion.- But you do come across as friends. Add to that the fact that you’re clearly very devoted to letting him make more friends, and you’ve got an excellent start to whatever sort of relationship you wish to have with him. If I may, your Majesty, what would you like to see from your marriage long-term?”

Lance is silent for far too long, which is answer enough. In the end, all he says is, “Seems foolish, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps not. For someone with a blue base, you’re rather dense when it comes to yourself, your Majesty.”

“That’s where you come in, my friend.”

Keith trots up, holds out a tablet. “Um, the florist says you need to sign this.”

Lance looks at it. It’s a digital receipt. He raises an eyebrow. “Why do I need to sign it?”

“It’s being billed to the royal family. I can’t-”

“You can.” Lance leans past his spouse. “He can sign for this, Sir. He is my spouse. What is mine is his, to do with as pleases him.”

“Of course, your Majesty. Forgive me.”

Lance waves away the florist’s apology, turns back to Lanval with a whisper. “There’s also that nonsense. He only has what power I say he can have.”

“Everything in good time, Prince Lancel. I know it isn’t your strong suit, but do have patience. Trees grow much more in summer than they do in winter.”

Lanval is still quite young, but the lord’s always been wise. Losing one’s parents at the age of six tends to do that to a person. Lance can see it, in the thin lines of grief beneath Lanval’s eyes, the creases at the corners of his mouth. It’s contradictory, given the smile ever present in his brown-eyed gaze. Lanval, like himself, knows well the complications that come with pain. Lanval also knows that people are just that: people.

“Lanval, remind me to make you my advisor one of these days.”

“I am here whenever you need me, old friend. Either of you. There's something you should know: There is a whisper from somewhere in the courts that Altea still prepares for war?”

"What? Are you certain?" Lance narrows his eyes, watches Keith make some inquiry about the clay pots on the counter.

"I'm certain there is a rumor. What truths are hidden therein, I cannot say."

"Thank you. I will look into it promptly. Do keep an ear out." Lance smiles as Keith turns, holds out a hand for Keith to take. Lady Gloriana takes Lanval’s arm. “Did you enjoy yourself, my lady?”

“Oh yes. Thank you for lending me your husband. He’s quite charming, in his way. And very pretty.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Lance smiles, shifting to put a gentle hand around Keith’s waist. It’s a sign not to fight the flow of conversation, one they picked together only yesterday. “And a very quick wit.”

“Well, we should get going, I'm afraid. My mother and father are quite eager to meet Lord Lanval.” Gloriana smiles at Lanval, who lays a hand over the one on his arm. Lance smiles too, seeing that their feelings are reciprocal. A lucky thing. An enviable thing.

They say farewell to their friends. Lance turns to Keith. “Are you still up for the forgemaster or are you tired?”

Keith sighs. He’s exhausted. He likes Gloriana well enough, but trying to maintain that level of decorum, trying to learn and understand all of these things that Lance knows inherently is exhausting. His spouse smiles, takes his hand, kisses his cheek, leads him to their mounts still waiting in the square. “Tired it is. Let’s go home.”

“Lance?” Lance hums, watching the castle approach, silhouetted by a twilight sky. “Is it normal for people to talk about their partners like they’re not there?”

“Not really.”

“Wonderful. I thought she liked me.” Keith’s ears wilt.

“She does. Very much. Just… We’re all trying to learn how to be friends again, right? That doesn’t happen overnight. We must try to be patient.”

“Patience really isn’t my thing…”

“Mine, neither. But we must try, alright?”

Keith nods, silent. Lance might not know, but he overheard much of his conversation with Lanval. He hadn’t realized the two were friends, or that Lanval was essentially a spy for the prince. He hadn't realized that Lanval's comment about his youth and civility had been intentional. He also hadn’t realized the pressure Lance is under. How stubbornly Lance is clinging to something the people around him say should be discarded for the greater good.

He really could do much, much worse than a young man who clings desperately to his morals while his fathers bend and break them in the name of peace. Of all the royals -all seven of them- that Keith has met, Lance is the first one that he would choose to follow.

The longer he sits there, dwelling on everything he overheard, the more bitter Keith feels for his spouse's plight. This is especially true once he sees Adam waiting impatiently at the gate.

[dbhtychou]

Valentine’s Day Excerpt

This is old, but since it’s both Valentine’s Day and day one of CG&HA Week, I would repost this Valentine’s Day scene from “Chicago.

Full, finished fic can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717597/chapters/41798249

A week and a half later, it was February 14th. It went on like every other day at home, but that evening after dinner, Samantha presented Connor with a brown padded mail envelope.

“Sorry, I don't have any wrapping paper, so it's just in the package it came in,” Samantha said. “I hope you don't think it's weird I got you a present for Valentine's Day. I just wanted to buy something for someone.”

Connor said nothing as he put his hand into the already opened package. As usual, he had no opinion on this particular holiday or presents. But then he pulled out a bright red tie and something inside him that wasn't supposed to move shifted just a little. He held it in his hand, just staring.

“I saw you looking at it both times when we went to the mall,” Samantha said. “I thought you'd like it.”

Connor continued to stare at the stark red tie. “It doesn't really match my suit.”

“But do you like it?”

The answer fell out of his mouth before he could even think about it. “Yes.”

Samantha smiled. “Then wear it anyway if it makes you happy.”

Connor then looked up at her, his expression suddenly worried. “I didn't get you anything. I... didn't expect this.”

She just smirked at him as she walked toward the kitchen. “I had something in mind that you can do for me if you wanted to give me a present.”

“Yes, I'll do whatever you want.”

Samantha grinned to herself. The things he said to her sometimes. If a human man had said them, the meaning would have felt so much different.

“Good.” She set out two wine glasses from the cupboard. “I would like you to drink with me tonight. That is my request.”

Connor looked at her in confusion as she poured one glass of wine. “I can't drink that.”

She then pulled out a silver canister and poured a deep blue liquid into the second glass. “High grade. The amount was measured specifically for your size. Just enough to give you a good buzz, said the guy I ordered it from.”

“When?” Connor asked in puzzlement. He was with her practically every moment of the day.

“When I was on the library computers. You can get anything done online.” She picked up the glasses in one hand and the wine bottle in the other. “Come on.”

To the parlor they went, as they often did at night. The world outside was brown and ugly in February, half the snow melted, but still miserably cold out. Instead of turning out the lights to watch out the window, Samantha turned on the fireplace with the flick of a switch. They sat together on the couch in front of the fire, lights on.

Samantha sipped her drink as she sat with back against the arm rest, feet on the couch cushion so she could face him. “Try it,” she said, nodding to the drink in his hand. “I want to see what it does.”

Connor would have never tried this of his own volition. He was doing it because Samantha asked as a thank you for the tie that he, honestly, looked forward to wearing. He sipped the glass carefully under her gaze. The sensors in his mouth that he used to identify certain types of evidence immediately analyzed the substance. It was indeed thirium, but in a heavier concentration of certain elements. It went down thicker than the regular kind, sticky and warm, but not unpleasant.

“How do you like it?” Samantha asked.

“It's... nice,” he took another sip.

She watched him, pleased, chin resting on her palm. It took until Connor had fished her from the lake for Samantha to really look at him. She asked him to tell her about his time working for the Detroit police so she could continue to study him without it seeming weird.

He had kind eyes, she noticed. Soft edges and brown like melted chocolate. His voice wasn't the same as other androids. Theirs were always manufactured to be crisp and clear. Connor's was... smokey. How does one make a robot's voice sound smokey? And that mouth, how it would seem so stoic to the casual observer. But Samantha noticed how it quirked itself in little ways when he talked to her. And that adorable smile when he saw the tie she gave him. That mouth was downright kissable. Why were these Cyberlife jokers making an android that was so kissable?

Samantha averted her eyes after that, wondering where that thought came from. Even worse, her brain was still going. He'd let you kiss him, it told her. He doesn't care if you touch him. Which meant it wouldn't mean anything to him. Because he was an android, not a person. Samantha was letting the wine and the loneliness get to her. What a hell of a holiday to spend the evening alone with a handsome man who was wholly incapable of reciprocating any affection she could give him.

Her gaze wandered from him, looking past the back of the couch around the rest of the parlor. It settled on the dusty piano and Samantha let out a long breath. Connor had paused from giving a rather report-type accord of some of his cases as he noticed her attention was focused elsewhere. He followed her gaze to the piano.

“Good enough time as any, I suppose,” she muttered.

Connor wanted to ask what she meant, but he said nothing as she downed the full contents of her wine glass and stood. She walked over to Connor and reached down to push his glass up with her fingers.

“Drink it. All of it.”

Connor did not comply. “Since I have never ingested this type of thirium before, I think it will be more pragmatic if I take just a little at a time.”

“Drink and I'll play you something.”

Connor's eyes widened. He glanced back at the piano. “On...?”

“Drink it.”

Connor tipped his head back and poured the entirety of the contents down his throat. He could immediately feel the thick liquid spreading through his system as he set his glass down on the coffee table with finality.

Samantha grinned at him and held out her hand. He paused before taking it and she pulled him to his feet. Hand in hand, she led him over to the piano. Connor's gaze was transfixed on where they joined. He had never held hands with anyone before. If he could like something, he would like this.

Samantha sat herself at the bench and patted the space next to her in invitation for Connor to join. He sat with enthusiasm, eyes full of interest as she lifted the cover from those pristine black and white keys. The stark colors were beautiful to him. He watched as Samantha raised her hands and then set them on the keys. She pushed down gently at first, a C Major chord. Then she ran a few scales, familiarizing herself with the movements.

Connor was mesmerized as each key was pressed. They all made a different sound. So many, many different combinations of possible sounds. He raised a hand to press those tempting keys himself, but paused when Samantha made a grunt of displeasure.

“I can hear it,” she said with distaste as she played a simple tune with her right hand. “I can hear this stupid fake hand hit those keys. I hate that sound.”

“Play louder,” Connor suggested.

Samantha's response was to suddenly run her hands up and down the keys in a cascade of notes. Connor jumped a little from surprise at the sound. And Samantha was so animated doing it, being purposefully sloppy and loud. Connor found it quite comical and a noise escaped him, something he had never done before.

Samantha instantly stopped playing. “Connor, did you just giggle at me?”

“Did I?” he wondered.

She started laughing. “You have this stupid grin on your face.”

“I do?”

“Do you feel... happy?”

“I...” He could feel that smile pulling at both sides of his mouth. There was a giddiness bubbling up inside him, trying to come out. He barked out another laugh and quickly covered his mouth.

That just made Samantha laugh more. Her laugh made him laugh and now both were just laughing and pointing at each other.

“They weren't kidding with that stuff!” Samantha giggled. “You're laughing like a little kid. I need to get some more of that!”

“No! I don't want any more!” Connor protested, though he was still laughing uncontrollably. He covered his face, trying to get this weird malfunction under control.

His struggle just made Samantha's laughter turn into a tickled cackle—which just got Connor laughing again at seeing this new, weirder laugh that Samantha was demonstrating. Samantha laughed until tears were coming out of her eyes before she finally got it under control.

She wiped her eyes as her giggles began to settle. Connor's attempts at composing himself were becoming more successful as well.

“I guess I needed a good laugh,” she said, rubbing the wetness on her finger. “Can't remember the last time I had one.”

“Cathartic,” Connor agreed.

“I didn't even know androids could laugh,” she answered, grinning wide. She knew she was probably going to laugh about it later, too. Seeing such a stoic face just break into giggles was a treat.

“I didn't know either,” Connor mused, and seemed not entirely happy that he now had the ability.

Samantha grinned to herself as she started to play the piano for real. A playful, upbeat jazz song skipped over the keys, jumping and dancing from one chord to the next as if Samantha were sampling multiple songs at a time. Connor loved, it; hearing the melody, watching her fingers fly over the keys, each one producing a different sound. The cadence of swing, of not quite being on the beat, of pushing each note with feeling, was surprising and wondrous. For a time, he was lost in the music as it swirled around him, making him dizzy and giddy all over again.

Then, the music suddenly tripped over itself and came to a halt. Samantha held her right arm, watching the fingers twitch with a pained expression.

“This damn hand,” she hissed. “It can't keep up.”

“I thought it was very nice,” Connor said. “The best I've ever heard.”

She wasn't listening as bitterness set into her voice. “Why did they have to take this hand? Why couldn't it have been the left one?”

Connor felt that question was rhetorical, so he said nothing. Though the statement was curious and his LED flickered blue as he thought about her words.

Samantha covered her face, letting herself sink into self-pity for a time before she pulled herself back up. With a deep breath, her hands hovered over the keys again and she played. This time, the melody was slow and soft with a bittersweet romance to it.

Connor sank into the music again, closing his eyes for a moment. But opened them again when he heard Samantha's unexpected voice.

She'd trade Colorado if he'd take her with him Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in And wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay She's answered by the tail lights Shining through the window pane

He said I wanna see you again But I'm stuck in colder weather Maybe tomorrow will be better Can I call you then She said you're ramblin' man You ain't ever gonna change You gotta gypsy soul to blame And you were born for leavin'

A story, Connor thought. A story through music.

Samantha glanced his way as she started on the second verse. Her voice was sad and haunting, even though she was smiling at him. The music became louder, more soulful as it reached the bridge.

Well it's a winding road When you're in the lost and found You're a lover, I'm a runner We go 'round 'n 'round And I love you but I leave you I don't want you but I need you You know it's you who calls me back here, baby

Her fingers flew unerringly over the keys this time, her face flushed, eyes closed with the thrill of playing a beautiful melody. And then it suddenly drifted into nothing and her voice, alone for a moment, continued to sing.

When I close my eyes I see you No matter where I am I can smell your perfume through these whispering pines

The piano picked up again, a few simple keys to accompany her voice.

I'm with your ghost again It's a shame about the weather I know soon we'll be together And I can't wait 'til then I can't wait 'til then

She finished the song with the closing melody and then the sound drifted off. The music left the two of them sitting alone together.

“That... is a sad song,” Connor then said.

“I'm a sucker for a good, sad song,” Samantha responded, her hands now sandwiched between her knees.

“Thank you for playing for me.”

“You're welcome. Thank you for bothering me about it. I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

“Samantha, the song... what does it mean: stuck in colder weather?”

“I didn't write the song, so I couldn't say exactly.”

“What is your interpretation?”

She took a moment to look thoughtful. “I guess... it's cold weather of the heart. He's not ready to commit. He hasn't warmed his heart all the way to let this other person in. But, the bitter sweetness of the story is that he also won't let her go. Some part of him wants her and expects her be there. That line: 'it's a shame about the weather' says to me he just wants to sit in limbo. He doesn't want to change, but he doesn't want to give her up either. And I think one day he's going to show up to see her, and she won't be there anymore because she's done waiting for him to get out of that weather.”

Connor made a sound of acknowledgment, but said nothing more on the subject. They eventually drifted off to different topics, talking idly as the night went on. Then, they just sat together in silence. And the silence was nice as well. Connor was beginning to understand this concept of bonding without speaking.

His inner thoughts drifted off to do their own calculating until he felt a weight next to him. He looked over to see Samantha leaning against him, eyes closed with her head on his shoulder.

“Samantha, I think it's time for bed,” he said.

“Mmm,” she agreed. But then didn't move.

It was a few minutes before Connor decided he would have to do this himself. “Come on.” He put his arm around her and pulled her to her feet as he stood. Samantha walked with an unsteady pace, lightheaded from the late night and the alcohol in her system. Connor, who had already cycled through his thirium by then, was the steady one of the two as he tried to help her across the room. He noticed she wasn't even keeping her eyes open as she walked. That didn't seem safe.

The only recourse was to take control. He bent down and picked her up. Her form was boneless in his arms, one arm reflexively going around his neck. As he carried her through the house, her nose brushed against the sensors behind his ear and an unexpected but pleasant sensation went down his spinal strut.

“You don't smell like anything,” Samantha murmured to him.

“I don't?”

“I don't know why, but I thought you would. You look like you smell good.”

“I do?”

“Mmhm.”

Immediately after, it seemed Samantha had drifted off. Connor carried her to the bedroom and, with an impressive show of his android strength, held her with one arm as he used the other to fold back the covers. One knee pressed to the bed, he set her upon the mattress and pulled the blankets over her. As he moved away, he felt something catch the tail of his jacket.

“You can stay... if you want,” Samantha mumbled, eyes still closed.

Connor looked down at the hand holding onto him. When he didn't say anything, she eventually dropped it. He turned back and watched her lay motionless on the bed. She wasn't asleep yet, he knew. He waited.

“Why are you still standing like that?” she then muttered with one crack of an eye.

“You said I could stay.”

Her body shook with silent, tired laughter. “I can't even tell if you are being facetious with me.”

“I am not aware I have this capability.”

“Okay, now you are just being a smartass. If you want to get in the bed, you can get in the bed. Or if you want to leave, you may do that, too.”

“If I am in the bed, I will be the one closest to the door,” he informed her.

She cracked an eye at him again, a big grin on her face. “Yes, sir.”

“It's for your safety,” he insisted as he removed his jacket. He folded it carefully and draped it over the reading chair in the corner. Next came his tie as he toed off his shoes. Practicality said he should remove his dress shirt and pants as well if he did not want to wrinkle them. Practicality also told him that sliding into bed without clothes was not necessarily appropriate.

Unbuttoning the first top buttons of his shirt, he slipped into bed next to her, still dressed. Samantha slid over to make room for him. He settled on his back, laying stiffly with arms at his side, looking at the ceiling. He had never had a reason to lay down in a bed before. This was all new to him.

Samantha slid up to his side, propped up on an elbow as she watched him. Her finger played with the LED at his temple, covering the light with her finger and then revealing it again.

“You're my best friend, Connor, do you know that?”

The android blinked at her. He could never guess what was going to come out of her mouth. “I'm your best friend? You can just decide this?”

“Well, you're the only friend I have, so I guess it's you by default. Plus you did save my life. You're so easy to be with. I never thought having you around would be like this. Life is... better with you in it. I want you to know that.”

“Good. My primary objective is to take care of you. If you feel that way then I am doing my job correctly.”

Her smile to that was hesitant and Connor felt a distinct sense of falling short of what a correct response to something like that should be. He knew better. His advanced programming knew of a better response, but he couldn't feel that response. He was an android after all. This was the extent of his emotional range. Still, he added, “I prefer seeing you happy, Samantha. I hope you are always happy.”

Then her expression just melted and she lightly kissed his LED. “Best android ever,” she said with humor before settling in next to him. The only physical touch was her head on his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, very acceptable.”

A small laugh from her. “Good night, Connor.”

“Good night, Samantha.”

[phanomeheart]

do u have any recs for good omens blogs or fics?

Anon, I have SO MANY good omens fic recs!

I’m gonna put them under the cut, but this inspired me to finally make a spreadsheet of recs that will autofill from my master spreadsheet of GO fic with fics I’ve finished and recommend.

On to some specific recs, if you’re not wanting over 150 fics to wade through:

First and foremost, I have to rec the first good omens fic I ever read, Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) by @drawlight. This fic made me go from adamantly insisting I wasn’t going to get into good omens fic yet cuz I still had to finish my thesis to now having read 245 fics in less than 2 months (send help). I’m going to go ahead and rec all of their fics and can so far personally attest to the brilliance and soul crushing beauty of: Quiet Light, Ad Astra, Alegría, and I Will Get Up Now And Go About The City. I consistently need a minumum of 24 hours to recover after reading something of theirs.

The rest, in no particular order:

small infinities and all that (M, 13.2k) by @billypotts: And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them. Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human. This is the aftermath.

lit in the darkness (M, 40.5k) by ToEdenandBackAgain: Aziraphale returns to Crowley's flat for the night after Armageddon. After all, it's hardly the first time they've shared sleeping arrangements. Or: Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak (M 17.1k) by triedunture: "Yes, exactly. Retire." Aziraphale reaches for the last remaining tartlet brimming with summer berries. "Somewhere along the south coast, perhaps." Or: Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape (G, 14.2k) by @mortuarybees: After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives. 

Something to do with these sacred words (T, 11.k) by Solshine: Crowley confesses early, and Crowley confesses often. Aziraphale never knows quite what to say.

Anywhere You Want to Go (E, 9.9k) by Aria: Aziraphale knew Crowley liked him. He'd known it with a horrible clarity since around 1100, which was at least a thousand years after the first time he'd thought of kissing Crowley, and some eight hundred and odd before it occurred to him that the specific quality of Crowley's regard could be very dangerous for both of them, if they actually admitted their feelings aloud. It was also two weeks since any of that had mattered at all anymore.

Slow (T, 9.4k) by @theirdarkreturning: It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it. It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

At Least Eleven Second First Times (M, 8.8k) by enjambament: Aziraphale deals with the consequences of having a brand new body after he'd broken the last one in for 6,000 years. Crowley helps. Taking a drunk-on-life Aziraphale on an impromptu road trip through French wine country to the North of Spain for a beach holiday is definitely helping, right?

An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually (G, 7.5k) by @theladyzephyr: “Why does it bother you?” Crowley asked. “Even if you can’t get to them in time to wipe their memories, it’s not like anyone’d believe them. Kid goes running to her mum saying Ooh, I’ve just seen a bloke with three heads and a sixteen-foot wingspan, what do you think’s going to happen? Chances are they’ll just pat her on the shoulder and tell her what a vivid imagination she’s got.”“That’s not what worries me,” said Aziraphale.

it's the light (it's the obstacle that casts it) (T, 5.8k) by Handful_of_Silence: It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale.Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is. Or: The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.

every angel is terrifying (T, 4.8k) by punkfaery: “Why does it bother you?” Crowley asked. “Even if you can’t get to them in time to wipe their memories, it’s not like anyone’d believe them. Kid goes running to her mum saying Ooh, I’ve just seen a bloke with three heads and a sixteen-foot wingspan, what do you think’s going to happen? Chances are they’ll just pat her on the shoulder and tell her what a vivid imagination she’s got.” “That’s not what worries me,” said Aziraphale.

a city wall and a trampoline (T, 4.7k) by kafkian: In their cottage in the South Downs, when Crowley eventually succeeds in getting Aziraphale to use a laptop, it takes Aziraphale literal hours to get past the default Windows screensavers of picturesque locations because 'oh, look, isn't it lovely, Crowley!' 5 times Crowley knows he’s in love with Aziraphale + 1 time he knows the reverse.

Morning Has Broken (T, 3.9k) by @dwarven-beard-spores: The year is 1972 and the last surviving member of Aziraphale’s gentleman’s club has passed away. (Warning for this one: heavy discussions of death and mourning. These are things I normally avoid for personal reasons, but this fic was gorgeous and just the right kind of painful on this topic for me.)

Love Hath Made Thee a Tame Snake (E, 3.5k) by @thehoyden: He was the bloody Serpent of Eden, and he wasn’t going to stand for this kind of flagrant trespassing.

An Invitation You Can't Decline (E, 2k) by @thehoyden: “I have standards,” Aziraphale huffed.“Don’t I know it,” Crowley sighed. And then, like he’d done it a hundred times before, he covered Aziraphale’s hand with his.

You, Soft and Only (E, 9.4k) by @thehoyden: He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

the deft, sweet gesture of your hand (E, 12.1k) by @mortuarybees: Crowley arrives injured at Aziraphale's door. He takes care of him, reads him an awful lot of Mary Oliver, and knits elaborate metaphors for his insecurities (literally).

the technology is neutral (E, 6.9k) by @deputychairman: “Stand up?” he echoed, incredulous but too undone by sensation to express the full force of his disbelief. “I can barely even remember my own name after that, and you want me to stand up?”“Your name is Anthony J Crowley, apparently, although you never did tell me what the J stood for so I can’t help you there,” he said, not hiding his smile. “Do stand up, I promise you’ll like it.”

Sudden and Surprising Moments of Overwhelming Affection (G, 2.7K) by @forineffablereasons: Aziraphale has not shut up in thirty-four minutes. Crowley’s been counting.

get religion quick (cause you're looking divine) (G, 4.3k) by @brinnanza: So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

Wings and How to Hide Them (M, 10.1k) by triedunture: Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?

i know i've kissed you before (but i didn't do it right) (G, 4.8k) by @gallantrejoinder: They'd given it a go once. Ages ago. And they'd both agreed it wasn't for them.

I’ll cut myself off there, but the Good Omens fandom is distressingly full of amazing fic, and there are so many more I love too (see the spreadsheet)! All of the above fics have personally ruined me and I cannot rec them highly enough. Don’t forget to leave a comment if you feel up to it! 

In terms of blogs, I don’t know that I’m a great source for that, but some blogs I follow: @rafaelafranzen, @forineffablereasons, @drawlight, @thehoyden. I’m realizing that’s really it on the primarily GO focused blogs. I also have a GO sideblog, @sansevieriatri, but I don’t know if I’d rec it, as it’s mostly me reblogging art and fic I love and screaming about it in the tags (so basically like this blog).

Thanks for the ask! I enjoyed this more than I think probably anyone else will, lol. (Also, my constant disclaimer, if I’ve made any mistakes let me know.)

[anindecisivespirit]

Mary’s Song

This is just a short little thing I wrote a while ago because I was bored. I figure, why not post it? I’m bored again, after all.

Words: about 1840

Warnings: uh... Mention of burns, scars, and the attempted murder of a child. Other than that there’s not really anything?

                           --------------------------------------------------

   There was once a young girl, whose name hasn't been important for a very long time, but for the sake of this story we will simply call Mary.

   Mary had a childhood that she called ordinary, but most would call odd. But to her, but the frequent shivers of people walking over her future grave only meant that when she was buried, she'd have a lot of company. Others said she looked sick, shivering as she did. She didn't mind.

   And many thought it strange, how crows and rats and cats swarmed around her home. She thought they liked the berries in her yard, and the pies she left on the windowsill.

   But there were things she couldn't explain. The way shadows moved with nothing to cast them. Messes cleaned themselves, as long as she wasn't watching. She didn't understand these things, but that didn't really bother her.

   But one night, Mary was woken up. A song rang through the house, a song her mother often sang. And that couldn't be right, because her mother had been dead for years. She had died when Mary was eight.

   She slipped into the living room, and there stood a shadow of a man. His skin and hair were black as night, his robes somehow darker. So dark they warped the air around them. His eyes gleamed, bright green and white, nearly glowing against the black of his face.

   And he smiled when he saw her, the song cutting off. He'd been the one singing, she realized, though his voice was indistinct. Soft and warm as a mother's lullaby, and hard and strained as a scream.

   "Mary," he said softly, "it's good to see you again."

   "Well," Mary said slowly, not very frightened for this man felt kind. "I've never seen you. So I suppose it's good to see you for the first time."

   And he frowned.

   "Are you certain?" he asked, worried and perhaps even slightly scared. "Are you sure you've never seen me, not even once?"

   "Yes," she said. She felt she would recall this shadow, had she seen him before. "But when have you seen me? Do you know my mother?"

   "I think you meant did I," The man said. He crouched down, until he was her height. He was tall enough standing that he'd have to duck under the doorways, and even at twelve Mary was short.

   "Alright. Then did you know her?" Mary tried again. The man nodded.

   "I did, but I met her only once. If she'd been alive still, I wouldn't be here. Not in the house, or the yard- not even the street."

   "Then," Mary began, "she didn't like you?"

   "No," he said. "Though I never liked her much either."

   "Then why are you here?" she asked. The man's roundabout talking was rather annoying. This was Mary's house. He should speak clearly. "You can't know me. Did you know my father too?"

   The man shook his head.

   "You never had a father," he said. "Even your mother was never truly yours. And I do know you. I have, since the day you were born."

   "No," Mary said. "No, that can't be right."

   "Can't it?" he asked, tilting his head. "Have you never wondered why the beasts sing when you greet them? Why the moon shines all the brighter when it sees you? Why the birds circle above your head- Or, perhaps, how you got that scar?"

   She looked down at her hand, where a raised pink scar disappeared beneath her sleeve, stretching across her arm to her chest.

   "It was a camping accident," she said quietly. "I fell into the fire."

   The man shook his head, looking slightly desperate now.

   "Your mother told you things that you must learn to let go," he said gently. "Likewise, she hid things from you. Did she ever tell you of the Wildwood, where goblins and ghouls roam free? Where dragons lurk among the trees, where shades dance and specters sing? The witches and warlocks, who've power over night and day?

   "Have you heard of the pixies and of their cousins the fae? The way the branches twist, dance, and sway?"

   Mary shook her head. She'd never heard of such things. But she could remember, now, a glen. A green garden of a forest, with shadows that danced with nothing to cast them. Of the light refracting in translucent wings. Of scales so vibrant, they nearly glowed. Music, and laughter, and life.

   But she had never seen a forest like that. She'd only seen the sad, small trees of the woods in the park.

   "Please," Mary said, though she was very nearly begging. "Tell me what's going on. Why do I remember that? I've never seen it!"

   The man drew back, half a pained surprise, and half a strained knowledge.

   "Oh, how I wish, little one," he said softly. "That I could take all your troubles away."

   "Please," she repeated. He smiled softly.

   "There was a time you knew us- all of us," he said. "When the wind whispered in your ears, and the goblins crafted you crowns of gold. When you pulled the shades from the earth into being, and conversed with ghouls. All the fae would speak to you, and you knew all their names."

   Mary felt tears falling down her face, of love and loss and heartbreak, and everything underneath.

   "I don't know what you mean," she said desperately. She wanted so badly for him to stop, but she needed to hear him say more. She could remember. She could remember the ghosts that would smile only at her, the way the trees bowed as she passed. She remembered pulling shades from the ground, so that they could more easily dance and find their voices and sing. But she had never done it. She can't have.

   "And the creatures of the earth, and the moon, the stars, even the ground itself," he continued, "saw you. Saw this child and saw everything. Their ward, their heir, their friend... All but one.

   "And the creatures were silent. Silent. Waiting for a gasp or scream. The oil burned like fire, but cold and dark as ire. And the child was only quiet. She fell to the earth without even a sigh. And the Wildwood, it felt it, and the witch was struck down in a second.

   "But the oil - so tainted the wicked would stay their blades for fear of it - had done too much by then. Burning and corrupting, tearing at body and mind," his voice was so quiet now. As if speaking any louder would shatter the very air itself. "The earth would have enveloped her, kept her safe til the magic of the Wildwood healed her. But it froze at the presence of a stranger.

   "A mortal woman," he said. Mary knew, without a doubt, that it was her mother who had stumbled into the glade then. "The stranger didn't see the spirits, and the fae and pixies had hid. But she saw the child covered in burns, saw the shadows cast all around her, and the man made of darkness-" his voice gained a touch of bitterness at that, "-standing at her side."

   "Oh," Mary said, because she could tell how this ended. Why this shadow of a man - or, actually, this shade that had been pulled from the earth and forced to remain - was telling her this.

   "The woman acted without thought," he said. "She took the child and cared for her. But she had the cause of the damage wrong. It hadn't been the Wildwood, nor a shade or dragon or goblin. But the one foolish witch, who acted on malice and greed.

   "To keep everyone away, the woman learned and cast spells. None of us could reach you, Mary. None save the brownies and shades," he smiled slightly, though he seemed sad, "The ones still tied to the earth, at least. They helped you. Made certain you weren't alone, that you were cared for, and the house was clean. But any attention you gave them would only make the wards stronger. "

   Mary thinks she might have known that. Thinks that maybe that's why she never gave the shadows and moving objects much thought. She knew that they were kind, and she didn't want them to leave.

   Tears threatened her again. Pain, loss, and fear.

   She wanted to say she didn't remember. But she did. The glade, the trees, the earth. The animals and creatures of the wood. The names of fae, who knew what she could do with them and gave them anyway, who never asked her name even then, for worry of earning her fear. She even recalled pulling this specific shade from the earth. Remembered how he sang and danced with his brothers and sisters. How she had lowered them each back save for him, because that's when the witch came.

   "How did you know?" she found herself whispering, having no other words that would come. "Where I was?"

   He smiled, standing to his full height.

   "The birds kept an eye on you, and the cats listened. The rats watched and the serpents looked for ways the brownies could slip through," he said. "The Wildwood, I'm sure you can remember, has roots in every corner of the earth. As such, the animals all hear its wants, and they ensured your safety where the shades could not."

   "So then- then my mother-"

   "She loved you," he interrupted. "Very much. But she didn't know who you were, and made assumptions of us we couldn't dissuade. But she did love you."

   Mary believed it. Her memory only stretched back to the age of six, and her mother died in her eighth year, but she believed it.

   Without even a thought, she flung herself into the shade's arms. He caught her easily. She knew he would. Just as she knew that he would never hurt her. That the moment he ever did would be the moment he burned himself away.

   "I'm sorry," she whispered. He hesitated, before wrapping his arms around her. He was cold, but in a comforting sort of way.

   "Oh, Mary... What are you talking about?"

   "I never- never let you back into the earth with your family. They can't talk to you like this," she said. He paused.

   "Do- do you remember, then?" he asked quietly. "Remember me? Remember them?"

   "A little bit. Not much," she said. "Not much of anything."

   "That's alright," he said. "You've only a hundred years to remember. When you return to the Wildwood, you'll have a few hundred more to figure it all out."

   He let her go then, frowning.

   "If... If you want to return?" he asked. She nodded.

   "I... I need to see it again," she said. He smiled

   "Then let's go see it."

   And together, they went home, to the very heart of the wood. And the girl we simply call Mary - for her name has not been heard by any mortal ear for thousands of years - returned, and remembered, and the very world seemed to thrive.