#this is mostly just debating with myself whether or not it would fall within my personal code of ethics to put him on the smash or pass blog

[cybertron-after-dark]

Folks, do we consider cheetor an adult?

On the one hand he's older than Tigatron, blackarachnia, airazor and anyone else who was only just made from the protoforms in beast wars, but nobody really has a problem with treating them as adults. He's also with the other maximals bc it's his job, implying he's fully independent, not to mention it's a job that trusts him with potentially deadly weapons, probably not something theyre trusting minors with.

On the other hand, hes pretty clearly a lot less mature than the others on his team, to the point where he gets called a kid pretty regularly, they refer to his transmetal II upgrade as "cyber-puberty" and blackarachnia rejects his advances primarily for that immaturity.

Like. Is he just programmed to be a ditz? Is it just his personality? Is he the equivalent of an 18ish year old young adult, still irresponsible and desperate to prove himself as capable to the others? Or was he created by a different method than the protoform way we see in the show that requires more time to mature because he didn't have all the same pre-loaded personality and information right off the bat? Do we treat him as an adult by technicality or is it irresponsible to ignore the show treating him as genuinely young?

These are the questions that haunt me

[sophieinwonderland]

What’s your opinion on whether or not hoardes belong in the plural community? Because I’m heard some very conflicting definitions of plurality when it comes to including or not including them. I’ve also heard conflicting opinions from within the POSIC+ hoarde community as to whether they even want to be considered plural.

I’m personally debating if I want to call myself plural. My experiences communicating with external voices of objects with their own opinions and emotions feels somewhat plural. When one of my objects is feeling a strong emotion (like Luna’s near-panic attack today) I feel the physical symptoms of that. But I am still the only person in my body. My objects have their own body. I do not switch. I will never face a lot of societal struggles systems face. When I called myself plural in the past, I felt like the ways in which my experiences are very different got erased. My experiences as a hoarde were erased. But singlet isn’t quite right either.

Should hoardes be considered their own thing? Something outside the plural/singlet binary? I’m asking you because you know a lot about plurality.

I have a pretty unique view which might be unpopular with some of the POSIC community. You might know this from my Manifestations post.

I believe that headmates can Manifest in 4-5 different ways, and that it's technically possible for any headmate who has achieved one to achieve another. (Barring aphantasia or similar conditions that could interfere with some Manifestation types.) Headmates Manifesting as physical objects is what I classify as Inhabitation.

The POSIC community seems divided among psychological and spiritual lines. To me, at least in regards to psychological interpretations of communications with POSIC companions, these are headmates who identify with a physical object and are mentally projected onto it.

I actually view it as a close relative to imposition. The biggest difference, IMO, between me as a former imaginary friend and a POSIC companion is that my original form was purely imaginary where a Companion's is tied to a physical object.

Other than that though, both would seem to be projections of the brain that are externalized.

If you want my honest opinion, I think POSIC companions are plural and that every one has the potential to learn to Manifest in other ways. Such as through an inner world, imposition... and yes, even fronting. It may take effort to learn these skills, just as it takes effort for many tulpas to learn to switch. But I believe it's technically possible.

If you take a purely spiritual view of your POSIC companions, then this may not apply. But I might refer to my Hiveminds and Multiplicity post. While this is intended mostly for analyzing works of fiction because I am skeptical that true metaphysical connection across brains in different bodies is physically possible, for those who do hold such spiritual beliefs, the takeaway is that I still view hiveminds and mental links as plural, or at least plural-adjacent.

Because at a certain level, even if your companion has their own body, you're still describing feeling their emotions in your body. You're still sharing your thoughts with them. You're still connected, which means they're at least partially in your head.

And therefore, I would still consider them headmates. 🤷‍♀️

Whatever angle you look at it from, I think POSIC Hoarde's fall firmly under the plural umbrella.

If you're not sure though, try playing around with different Manifestation types and see what happens.

If POSIC Companions are just psychological headmates locked to a physical object, then it should be possible for them to learn to Manifest in a headspace or project themselves externally through imposition.

But in theory, if POSIC companions are something metaphysical that are linked mentally to their Beholder... it should still be possible for them to Manifest in similar ways. If a POSIC Companion is linked to your brain and able to transfer thoughts and feelings, they probably would be able to transfer visual images too. And if they can project visual images into your head, then they could theoretically send a projection of themselves to your brain and appear in an inner world.

It's good to experiment and test the limits of what you believe is possible.

Finally, send my love to Luna. I hope they're feeling better. 💖💖💖

[13rie]

More random information of the Gravity Falls AU (that I'm mostly posting up to refer back to when my hyper-fixatations starts to wane)! Man, I should probably think of a name for this...

Anywho, this involves dates! When did everything happen? Where is everyone? For that, I had to do some brainstorming and math (one of my worst subjects in school).

So Torrey Pines is technically 15 at the start of the story but her birthday isn't that far away (well at least for her). I'm still debating on whether it takes place in California (where I have Shermie and his family living) or New Jersey (because I don't think Filbrick and Caryn would have the money travel all the way over to the other side of the US). As for when?

On August 31st, 1987, Torrey Pines attended the funeral of an estranged family member.

Now here's where things get complicated.

It's kinda hard to know when Stanford fell into the portal. People like to say it's the same date on the calendar in episode Carpet Deim [July 4th, 1982] but that date doesn't make sense since it was winter when Stanley arrived. So to be somewhat accurate, I read through Journal 3 (which I own a copy of and I try very hard not to remind myself that I missed out on the Blacklight Edition ;w;)

In Journal 3, the last recorded date is January 17th (assuming it's 1982) - the day they tested the portal and Fiddleford accidentally fell in. The next entry talks about what happened and Ford says, "I will speak with him tonight." So same day, night falls and Ford goes to sleep.

The next page...well, let's just say Ford knows the truth.

Reading further, he says he went into town for food after several weeks. More than 2 so 3 weeks passed. 21 + 17 = 38. January has 31 days so it's now February 7th, 1982. Now he also writes about this one place he's been going to over the past couple (2) of weeks but I think it's still within the same 3 weeks from before. More time passes, taking several days to hide Journal 2 and Journal 3. But obviously since Journal 3 is my source material and Ford had Journal 1 on him, who knows how long it took for Stanley to get to Gravity Falls. I did google for a general idea for how long it must've taken to get from New Mexico (which I think is where Stanley was when getting the postcard) to Oregon and it's about 20 hours. So like...a day.

So the date I have for the portal incident is February 8th, 1982.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk!

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Hero | Luke Patterson

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Song Fic February Week 4: Musicals 

Inspiration: StarStruck (DCOM)

Requested: Yes/No

A/N: Anon suggested doing something with the Starstruck soundtrack, so I’m writing a whole-ass series. This is based off the plot of Starstruck but the reader was a fan of JATP until she met Luke... Basically crush to enemies to lovers! Also a modern!au.

The third installment of the StarStruck series! 

StarStruck

Something About The Sunshine

Hero

What You Mean To Me

Pairing: Luke x Fem!reader

Song(s) used: Hero - Christopher Wilde (StarStruck ST)

Warnings: few swear words, mention of car accidents, mention of child abuse, mention of postnatal depression, tiny bit of angst

Words: 8.6K

I’m almost nervous to see him again. There’s a nervous flutter erupting from the pit of my stomach and I feel hot and sweaty when it’s not even that warm out. The boy didn’t have that effect on me just a day ago and now he suddenly does? I hate this. 

“Morning,” I greet when I find Luke standing outside the coffee shop with his hood pulled far over his head and sunglasses covering his beautiful eyes. He shoots me a smile, but I don’t think he actually looks at me. Right, the whole “I can’t be seen with you”-thing. 

“Want to go grab some coffee before we go?” I ask instead, pointing at the shop. 

Luke nods his head and follows me inside where we wait in line together. The silence that hangs over us is uncomfortable for the first time. I don’t know why but his mysterious, secretive antics are making me nervous. 

“Next!” the barista calls and the two of us step forward. The twenty-something woman shoots the both of us a polite smile, not even acknowledging that Luke’s keeping his head low. This is L.A., she’s probably used to it by now. “What can I get for ya?” 

“An iced vanilla latte for me, please,” I say and then glance down at Luke. 

He coughs. “Iced caramel macchiato.” His voice is low, just above a whisper, as though he’s telling the barista and me a secret. I’m glad we’re going to be out of the city soon, so Luke can go back to his regular self. Or to the singing-on-top-of-a-car-in-the-middle-of-nowhere self. 

“What’s your name, please?” 

“Y/N…” My eyes land on Luke for a split second, and I’m pretty sure he’s not even going to answer. Luke’s a pretty generic name, I’m sure people won’t even bother to look up. “Put my name on both, please.” 

The barista smiles and then dashes off after I paid to start making our coffees while we shuffle towards the end of the counter, ready to take our drinks when they’re ready. Luke keeps his head down. He doesn’t even look up at me and the awkward silence doesn’t eb away.  

“You’re not gonna talk to me yet, are you?” I ask him as I hand him one of the two straws I picked up. He shakes his head. I try my hardest not to groan and instead, hand him the keys to my car. “Here, get yourself settled in my car, I’ll handle this.” 

His eyes peer over the rim of his sunglasses, flickering with uncertainty and gratefulness at the same time. I shoot him a smile, urging him to get out of here, which he does with a quick flash of his teeth. 

The awkwardness quickly washes off me when he’s left the coffee shop and I’m all alone, hoping everything would change once we’re all alone, away from the prying eyes of Los Angeles’ residents. 

“Iced vanilla latte and iced caramel macchiato for y/n,” the barista calls and places the cups on the counter in front of me. 

I smile at her, say, “Thank you! Bye!” and then dart out of the coffee shop as fast as I could. I weave my way through hasty people and slacking tourists towards my Toyota Yaris where a hooded boy sits in my passenger seat. He still has his hood pulled up and his sunglasses balancing on the bridge of his nose. He almost looks sad, which makes me a little sad too. I wish I could do more than let him wait in my car. 

“Here you go,” I say and hand him his coffee when I’ve settled into my seat. 

“Thank you,” he mutters, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just for the beverage. 

A smile etches its way to my cheeks as I regard him. “You’re welcome,” I say and then start the engine. As I pull out of the parking lot, Luke finally sparks up a conversation. I’m almost relieved to hear his voice again for more than two words.    

“Where’re we going?” he asks. 

I debate telling him but then decide I’d do it anyway. I’ve been researching a lot last night and have found the greatest secluded spots and the time slots when they’re mostly deserted or have the least visitors. The one I wanted to take him to today was a lot closer than the other ones, so I figured we could start with that. 

“The Old L.A. Zoo. It’s less crowded before 9am, so I figured we could go explore it a bit until too many people arrive?” The statement comes out of my mouth as a question since I’m unsure whether or not he’d like that. 

“Cool,” he replies, and he sounds honest, too. “I don’t think I’ve ever been there.” 

It surprises me a little, but I go with it anyway. “Really? I’ve been there plenty of times! It’s really cool! Kinda spooky.” Luke lets out an airy laugh at that and it makes my heart flutter a little. 

Within ten minutes, we arrive at the old zoo. Ten minutes had gone by and yet it felt like a split second. The conversation ran fluently on our way there and Luke told me things about the band and his childhood that not even the biggest fangirl on earth could possibly know. I love talking to Luke about those seemingly uninteresting, small things. 

The rest of the morning, too, goes by as if there’s no concept of time whatsoever. The two of us walk through the old, abandoned zoo and explore every single old habitat. I even find a website that tells us the entire history of each section of the zoo and as I read it, Luke listens and adds in his own commentary. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this much in just a few  hours. This guy is genuinely funny and I just adore talking to him. Our conversations go from the ridiculous to the serious, and every subject in between. 

It’s just the perfect day that I wish would never end, but inevitably, Luke has his own responsibilities and has to go by lunch time. 

“Hey, why don’t you come with me to the studio?” he asks with a smile as we’re making our way back to the car. “I’m in there all by myself, aside from our producer, and I’m recording a few songs.” 

I open and close my mouth a few times, letting incomprehensible sounds roll out. It makes me look like a dumbfounded fish, I’m sure, but I don’t care. My brain is dysfunctioning for a moment. Luke Patterson is asking me to come to the studio with him. To watch him record some songs. Songs that are going to be on the album. 

Luke’s laugh makes the gears in my brain fall back into place. “Is that a yes?” he asks. 

A heat rises up to my cheeks. “Yeah,” I finally manage. 

“Cool,” he says and then gets into the car. 

The ride to the studio is filled with smooth conversation. We never miss a beat, there’s never an awkward silence between the two of us. Only when we arrive at the recording studio and we’re met with a huddle of paparazzi outside the door.

“Fuck,” he mutters and ducks down. I do the same, knowing he doesn’t want me to be seen with him either. “Drive around back,” he orders before fumbling into the glove compartment of my car. He retrieves a pair of sunglasses I kept there, along with a shawl of my mother’s that I didn’t know was still in there. “Put this on.” 

“No,” I reply sternly, pushing his hand with the shawl away. I do take the sunglasses from his hand though, and push them onto my nose. “Put that shawl away,” I bark. The boy obeys and stuffs the piece of cursed fabric back where it came from. 

Mental note: throw that out. 

When we finally do get into the recording studio, as soon as I’m on Luke’s side, he grabs my hand and drags me into the building before anyone could ever spot us. I nearly stumble on my own feet, but quickly pick myself back up before I faceplant the floor. 

Luke huffs. “Phew, that was close.” 

He looks at me, and for a second, I think he might bring up the shawl again, but he doesn’t and instead turns to his producer, who had gotten up from his swivel chair the second we burst in.  

“Connor!” Luke greets excitedly and shakes the man’s hand. 

He looks near his thirties, strong built with flawless dark skin and a full head of afro hair. Combined with his extremely savvy outfit, I find him really cool-looking. He’s the kind of guy that would get all the girls in high school while still being a sweetheart. 

“You brought some new flesh, I see,” Connor says to me and outstretches his hand for me to shake. I do so with a wide smile on my face while pretending not to be completely nervous about being in a recording studio for the first time. 

“Y/N,” I introduce myself. 

“Welcome to our little slice of heaven on earth, y/n.” My eyes flick to Luke, who’s giving me that look again, so I quickly turn back to Connor. “Any knowledge of recording studios, y/n?” he asks. 

“Never been in one, but my friend is a producer and he did teach me some things.” 

I hear Luke huff beside me. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know.” I shoot him a wink as Connor beckons me towards his deck. For a while, Connor guides me through his paces while Luke gives the best of himself on this song. 

After a few takes, Luke comes out of the booth and joins me and Connor to listen to what we’d recorded thus far. “What if –” I pause, debating my thoughts. “What if we go in with some soft backing vocals on here?” I click the part of the chorus we’d recorded and sing along with recorded Luke. 

“'Cause I I can be everything you need If you're the one for me Like gravity I'll be unstoppable I, yeah, I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy With heart and soul But if your the one for me Then I'll be your hero”

“I think if you put Julie on those backings, it could give that duet-vibe you guys are so good at.” I notice Connor and Luke glance at each other, soft smiles playing on both their lips. 

“Why don’t you show us?” Connor asks as Luke already grabs my hand. 

“What?! Me? No! Julie.” 

Luke chuckles and drags me into the booth with him. “Yeah, but we’re gonna need a demo, don’t we?” He delicately places a set of headphones on my head before placing one on his own. He signals to Connor and no later than 2 seconds, the instrumental version of the song blasts through the headphones. 

Gazing at me, Luke starts singing the first verse of the song, and I let him. It almost feels like he’s serenading me. Almost. All that’s missing is a guitar or a boombox over his head. 

“I'm no superman I can't take your hand And fly you anywhere you want to go Yeah I can't read your mind Like a billboard sign And tell you everything you want to hear But I'll be your hero”

From the chorus onwards, I jump in with backing vocals wherever I feel like it’s acceptable without taking my eyes off of Luke. 

“I I can be everything you need If you're the one for me Like gravity I'll be unstoppable I, yeah, I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy With heart and soul But if you're the one for me Then I'll be your hero”

“Could you be the one Could you be the one for me” “Oh I'll be your hero” “Could you be the one Could you be the one for me” “Yeah I'll be your hero”

“So incredible Some kind of miracle That's what it's meant to be I'll become a hero So I wait, wait, wait, wait for you”

We keep our eyes locked at the high note too, smiles plastered on our faces from ear to ear. Singing with Luke gives me some kinda rush. A feeling I can’t quite describe but it’s a feeling I want to feel more often. 

“Yeah, I'll be your hero Yeah”

“Cause I I can be everything you need If you're the one for me Like gravity I'll be unstoppable I, Yeah, I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy with and soul But if you're the one for me I'll be your hero”

“Yeah, I'll be your hero”

“Could you be the one Could you be the one for me”

“Yeah I'll be your hero”

The music fades out in our headphones, and soon, Connor’s applause sounds through it instead. I’m snapped back into reality, away from cloud 9, away from the pure bliss that’s singing with Luke and gazing into his eyes. 

“That was amazing! Good job, guys!” Connor says, beaming. 

Luke and I remove our headphones and he grabs my hand to lead me back to the decks where Connor welcomes us with open arms and a wide smile. 

“I thought you and Julie were the most watchable duetters, but I’ve been proven wrong.” 

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks before Luke snaps me out of it again. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Con. Can you send the finished product to the band and our manager? I’m sure they’d like to hear this. Don’t tell them who’s on backing vocals, though. They don’t need to know that.”

I swallow a lump in my throat and try to convince myself it’s probably not that deep. Luke doesn’t want to be seen with me. Not even by his band mates. It’s fine. It’s totally fine. 

We wrap up the recording session and I drive Luke back to the coffee shop where he looks behind him and out of every single one of the windows, just to be sure the coast is clear of paparazzi. 

“Thanks for the day, y/n. I really enjoyed spending time with you again.” 

I force a smile. Ever since his statement to Connor about not wanting the band to know about me, I’ve been going over everything in my mind and it has caused me to fold in on myself.

“Yeah, it was fun.” 

He gazes at me for a moment, inspecting every inch of my face as if detecting the lie from my eyes. When I think he’s just going to bid his goodbyes and get out, he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his body to me and reaches for his phone. I watch as he unlocks it and taps away on it before turning the device towards me. There’s a new contact form open on his screen. 

“Gimme your number. I’d love to do this again some day.” 

I furrow my brow while taking the phone in my hands. “Do you even have time to spend days with a nobody like me?” I don’t dare look at him and keep my eyes on the screen as I type my name and number. 

He doesn’t say anything either until I finally cave and look up when giving his phone back. There’s a crease in his forehead as his eyebrows are knitted together in confusion. 

“You’re not a nobody, y/n. I’d gladly make time for you. I told you, I loved spending days away from reality. Especially with you.” Fangirl Me is jumping out of my skin while Present Me tries to keep her cool and ignore all of the butterflies that erupt in her stomach. 

“Cool,” Present Me says out loud while Fangirl Me is scolding her so hard. 

Cool? Cool?! Seriously? Dude.   

“I’ll text you, yeah?” 

I nod my head in response and watch as he gets out of my car. Before I can even place my foot on the gas or shift out of park, my phone beeps in the pocket of my sweater. For the first time in forever, I smile when seeing an unknown number on my screen. 

As I look out of my window, I find Luke looking at me with his hood pulled over his head again. He shoots me a quick smile and a wave before I turn to my phone again and type a reply. 

I whip my head up to see his reaction. His jaw drops before his face turns into a scowl as he glares at me. Giggling and satisfied with the reaction, I place my phone on the passenger’s seat where Luke was sitting before and then pull out of the parking spot. 

That night, I save Luke’s number to my phone. I go between “Luke P.”, “Patterson” and “Luke ❤️” but eventually decide on the funnier option and save him as “Poo Musician 💩”.   

I stand in line at the coffee shop before 8:30 that morning and I’m a little nervous. Last night when I returned from my day with Luke, the two of us had been texting back and forth. I felt like a sixteen year old again. One of those giggly teenagers that’s texting their crush. Which is what I was, but it’s been a while since I felt like it. 

Once I have an iced vanilla latte and an iced caramel macchiato, I head outside where I find a boy waiting by my car. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt paired with a bright blue sleeveless sweater, his hood pulled far over his head so his face is hidden from prying eyes. 

I don’t need to see his face to know it’s Luke. I’d recognize those muscles from a mile away. The way he’s leaning against the hood of my car and the way he’s holding his phone is a dead giveaway too. 

“Your coffee, sir,” I say in a serious, deep voice. 

Luke’s head snaps up, eyes wide. He looks like a deer caught in headlights until he notices it’s just me and relaxes. A smile etches onto his face as he tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans whilst taking the coffee I ordered for him with his other hand. 

He takes a cautious sip from the beverage. “Hm, Caramel Macchiato, someone’s been stalking me.” I know he’s just teasing, I can tell by the way one corner of his mouth curls up and his eyes have that childlike glint in them. 

Making my way to the driver’s side of my car, I smile and say, “Contrary to popular belief, Patterson, I’m not a stalker. I just remembered your order from yesterday.” 

Luke’s smile tells me something I’d rather not think about. It’s like he’s saying “You remembered my order” in that flirty way only he knows how to. I simply shrug before opening my door and getting in with Luke following my example. Without missing a beat, he fishes my phone from between my fingers and grabs my free hand to use my thumb to unlock my phone. This time, I don’t object and let him. I know that it’s just to get to my music app anyway. 

While Journey’s Anyway You Want It plays through the car’s speakers, I pull out of the parking spot in front of the coffee shop and start driving to the next location I’d found during my research the other night. 

“Where’re we going?” he asks, and I flashback to yesterday when he asked me the exact same question in that exact same way. 

I smile as I place my cup in the cupholder between the two of us. “You’ll see.” I glance over, finding him tilting his head slightly and giving me that ‘Really?’ look. “I promise it’s very secluded and not a lot of people will be there.” 

“Cool,” he says and sips. “Is this where you’re going to kidnap me and hold me for ransom? I bet you could get a lot of money for a Julie and The Phantoms band member.” 

I snort at his remark. “How much do you think I could get for you?” 

He scrunches up his nose in thought, which I catch as I take a quick glance at him again. As I face the road again, I reach for my coffee and take a quick sip, awaiting Luke’s response to my question. 

“Like 10k?” 

I nearly spit out my coffee. “10k?!” I screech, and his laugh thunders through my car. “Careful or I’ll actually kidnap you and hold you for ransom if I’m gonna earn that much.” 

The laughter dies down and after a few moments of silence lingering in the air, Luke says, “How much do you think I’m worth?” 

Without missing a beat, I respond to his question, dead serious. “Not even a dollar.”  

Luke gasps, his mouth dropping in absolute disbelief while I can’t help but cackle loudly. Judging from this conversation alone, I’m positive today will be a good day. A good, fun day. 

“I’m worth more than a dollar, right?” 

“No, you’re right, I’d probably ask like a million and then no one will pay the ransom and you’ll have to stay with me for the rest of your life.” 

I let out my best maniacal laughter as I feel him watch me. I know the exact look he’s giving me. The look. The one with the glistening eyes and the slightly turned up lips. The one all girls and gays swoon for. The one I would swoon for if I’d turn my head right now. But I don’t. For once in my life, I’m smart and keep my eyes on the road. 

“You like me,” he states proudly. 

“Slightly less strong dislike.” I’m lying through my teeth, but I’m hoping Luke won’t notice. Or at least not acknowledge it because I can already feel the heat rising to my cheeks. 

“I’ll take it.” 

He reaches forward and turns the volume up as Taylor Swift’s “Blank Space” floats through the speakers. Very loudly, and very obnoxiously, the boy begins to sing along. If it wasn’t for the velvet smooth voice, I would’ve scolded at him to keep it down. But the sound actually makes my toes curl and my stomach flutter. For a verse, I let him sing by himself while I enjoy his performance but by the chorus, I can’t withhold myself and sing along with him. 

The rest of the ride is filled with belting of the road trip tunes, laced with patches of small talk. It’s the perfect car ride, and before we know it, we’ve arrived at our destination. Santa Fe Dam Recreation Area. The parking lot is practically empty, aside from two cars, which I’m assuming are the staff’s. It’s the perfect indication that I picked the right spot to go to, and I can tell Luke knows it too. 

He’s bouncing in his seat, either from excitement or the amount of sugar that was in his iced coffee, and when I turn off the ignition and turn to him, he looks at me with the widest smile plastered on his face. He almost looks like an excited toddler on Christmas morning, ready to open his presents. 

“I came here once with my parents when I was younger,” he tells me, “I love this place.” 

His confession makes me smile. “Good because I’ve been scouring the internet for the perfect place.” He shoots me the look again. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re going to kiss me.” 

He shrugs, “Maybe I want to.” 

“So you want me to slap you?” 

His smile fades away immediately. “Let’s go,” he grumbles and quickly gets out. 

I heave in a deep breath, recollecting myself before getting out too and retrieving the backpack I brought, filled with stuff for today. Including my itinerary – or just a notebook filled with some ideas I had. 

“How about we start with a bike ride across the park?” I suggest, pointing at the bike rental shop I found on Google the other night. 

We walk into the rental place, expecting there to be bikes upon bikes but instead, we’re met with kayaks, pedal boats and go-karts. My eyebrows furrow, creasing my forehead as I look around the space. Why’s this called a bike rental when there are technically no bikes to rent? No actual bikes. 

“I thought we were going for a bike ride?” Luke says, teasingly. I look up at him, and I think my face tells him enough about my knowledge about this place. My research clearly wasn’t sufficient. 

Deciding to just roll with the circumstances, I roll my shoulders back and put a smile on my face. “Yeah, we’re going on a bike ride with one of these!” I say and point to the large, green go-kart. One of those that look like an old-school car at the front and have children’s seats in front of the terribly cushioned seats for adults. The ones with the small plastic wheel and bike pedals for two adults. I remember going on one of those big ones for six people with my family. 

“You’re serious?” Luke asks, his eyes wide. 

Instead of answering, I shoot him a smile before stepping forwards towards the staff member at the counter. The woman behind the counter looks no older than 45 and has long, billowing blonde locks that cascade down her shoulders. Her bright blue piercing eyes glisten as they land on the two of us, clearly glad she sees some customers so early in the day. 

“Good morning,” she greets with a smile, “We open in half an hour.” 

“Oh…” My research has been poor. 

Before I can possibly think of an answer, Luke steps forward and flashes the woman a smile. I’m not sure if he’s going to use his manly charms or if he’s going to pull the “Don’t you know who I am?” card. 

“Can’t you… make an exception for us?” he asks, leaning his elbow on the counter as he looks at the woman through his lashes. The woman looks up at Luke, her face like stone. She doesn’t recognize him and doesn’t fall for his charms either. 

Shaking my head, I spring into action. I quickly change the ring on my index finger to my ring finger and wrap my arm around Luke’s bicep while the other rests on his chest, making sure the ring is as visible as can be. As I flutter my eyelashes at the woman, I let the words tumble out of my mouth. 

“Please, ma’am? It’s our one year engagement anniversary and he was going to take me on this romantic bike ride….” I then lean forward over the counter. “He’s not very good at researching our dates, but he tries.” 

The woman’s eyebrows knit together as her eyes dart from me to Luke and back. 

“Aren’t you guys a little young to be engaged?” 

Luke jumps into the improvisation spot. “We’ve been told that a lot but we’ve been best friends for years and there’s no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” He looks down at me and when I glance up, too, he kisses the tip of my nose, which I then scrunch. 

I ignore the flutters in my stomach and face the woman again. She seems to have softened, her eyes less icy than it was before. Then, she turns to her computer and clicks through a few browsers before facing us again. 

“What do you guys want? The Surrey?” She points to the green bike-thing at the front of the shop. I nod my head in response. “Okay. You’ve got it for two hours for the price of one hour.” 

A smile etches its way to my face. “That’s perfect, thank you.” 

 Luke pays the woman the rental fee and then she helps us get Surrey out of the garage. After bidding our goodbyes, Luke and I pedal off on the bike. 

“One year engagement, really?” Luke asks me when we’re far enough from the rental and I switch my rings back around. 

“Well, whatever you were doing didn’t work.” 

 He scoffs. “It was working.” 

We pedal down the winding road with the wind blowing through our hair. I love how warm the breeze is and how the birds are chirping in the trees around us. This is the perfect day to go out and do this. 

“What exactly were you planning to do?” I ask him, glancing up at him. He’s focusing on the road ahead of us, a comfortable smile resting on his lips while his eyes flick from one side to another, taking everything in. 

He glances down at me, the smile turning into a smirk. “I was going to charm her with my manly wiles.” 

“And how was that working for ya?” 

For a second, we lock eyes. Luke has an annoyed look on his face while I can’t help but have my lips curl up on one side into a smirk. When he whips his head forward again, I notice the slight tint of pink covering his cheeks. 

Did I just make Luke Patterson blush? 

“So,” he coughs. “Whatcha wanna do?”

I shrug. “We could play twenty questions? Get to know each other better.” 

He nods his head in response. “You wanna start?” 

“That’s your first question?” 

“That’s yours?” 

I press my lips together, shutting myself up for just a moment before recomposing myself. I’m not going to lie, I totally Googled some questions to ask in a game of 20 questions. So, I’m prepared. 

“If you had to be trapped on a deserted island with one of your friends, who would you pick and why?” Luke’s eyes widen at the question a little. 

“Woah, straight in! I thought you were gonna start with ‘favorite color’ or something.” He chuckles lightly, and so do I. “Uhm… Not Alex, he’d probably be super anxious and pace all the way across the island and make me nervous. Not Reggie either, he’d be singing country songs the entire time, though he is a great cuddler. Maybe Julie? Though she’s gonna be miserable without Flynn….” 

With every thought he says out loud, my smile grows bigger and bigger. 

“You?” My heart leaps in my chest at his answer. “Yeah, I like spending time with you and what better place to get away from real life than a deserted island, right?” 

Without missing a beat, the next words pour out of my mouth. “It’s cute how you think we’re friends now.” I surprise myself with the words I speak. We are friends, but I like winding him up into thinking we’re not. 

“Friends who wanna kiss each other.” 

Ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks, I reply, “You mean kill?” 

Luke shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. “When are you going to admit that you like me?” 

“Never – Next question.” 

“Uhm… What was the last thing you stole or shoplifted?” he asks and I’m glad he doesn’t push any further on the fact I basically admitted that I like him. 

“Oh! A magnet in a tourist shop in Lanzarote,” I reply, giggling a little at the memory. “I was there with a couple of friends during Spring Break and those magnets cost way too much for what they are and there was like a rack outside the shop. So, I shoplifted an overpriced Lanzarote magnet.” 

Luke throws his head back as he laughs, nearly steering us into the bushes. “That’s amazing,” he cackles.  

We cruise through the entire park for two entire hours, asking each other questions, and after returning the Surrey, we walk towards the lake where we settle down onto the blanket I brought for some food. I’d prepared an entire picnic basket for us to enjoy during our lunch. 

“I find it very cute that you made an entire picnic basket for our first date.” 

I smile. “I find it very cute that you think this is a date.” 

He gives me the look again, but I ignore it and get every piece of food out of my backpack, sprawling it out around us. Sandwiches, chopped up vegetables and fruits, muffins,... All the delicious foods you’d find in a picnic. 

“Tell me more about your childhood,” Luke then says as he takes a chicken sandwich and takes a bite. “You don’t talk about it much.” 

My heart drops into my stomach. I wish he wouldn’t ask about that. Talking about my childhood means talking about my mother and I’ve been trying to avoid that for the past years. Not that many of my friends even know about that. 

“I told you plenty.” 

“You talked about your teenage years, but never about your childhood.” 

I take a deep breath. He’s not going to shut up about this until I tell him. It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s just that I don’t love talking about what happened with my mother. It’s something I’d much rather forget. 

“There’s a reason for that,” I reply pointedly and then shut myself up by taking a sip from the box of orange juice. I’d packed one for the both of us, but I’m the only one who’s opened it already as Luke had gone straight in with the sandwiches. 

Luke stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. His eyes pierce through my soul and give me a sense of comfort. They lift a weight of my shoulders and chest that I hadn’t even noticed were there. His eyes feel like coming home. Comfortable. A place to relax. A place to be me, be myself. 

I heave in a deep breath and place my juice box on my nervously bouncing knee, holding it with my hand. It doesn’t stop the bouncing, so now my whole body is practically shaking along with the movement. 

“I–” I stop myself, reconsidering my words. “My childhood wasn’t the sunshine and roses it’s supposed to be.” I chuckle nervously and when I meet Luke’s eyes again, they’re looking at me with such intent that I almost launch forward and kiss him. But I don’t. 

“Mom was… difficult to live with…” I start cautiously,  not even daring to look at Luke as I speak and keep my eyes on the still lake in front of us. “She uhm… After I was born, she kinda went into postnatal depression. She didn’t take care of me, she barely even looked at me… At one point, it went so far that she got into an accident, on purpose, with me in the back. She did it a few times, even, to the point where dad just had to report it. She was admitted to the psych ward and that was that... I was ten at the time.” I swallow to hold back the tears that are pricking behind my eyes. 

Feeling a soft brush of the hand on my knee, I glance up, meeting Luke’s eyes. They give me that sense of comfort again, that sense of home, the reassurance that I’m okay. 

“We haven’t really seen her since. She’s out of our lives…” I sniffle and place my hand over Luke’s, giving it a thankful squeeze. “I don’t like talking about it.” 

Luke carefully laces his fingers through mine, his cold rings cooling my warm hand. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” I shrug dismissively. “But thank you for telling me.” 

“So, tell me,” I lift our entwined hands for a second as though pulling us back into reality. “How did Sunset Curve-slash-Julie and The Phantoms came to be?” 

Luke chuckles before engulfing our locked hands with his other and tumbling into the origin story of the bands he was in. He talks about meeting Reggie and Alex in primary school, and then meeting Bobby in middle school. He explains how they started the band in music class and then continued playing together until Bobby moved away from Los Angeles. The story then lapses into giggles and chuckles about all the things they tried to keep Sunset Curve alive, but terribly failed. 

“But then we met Julie in high school and �� the rest is history.” 

We’re clearing up our mess before making our way back towards the car. I love hearing Luke talk, especially about the band. It makes his eyes light up and he gets all bouncy and enthusiastic. It’s the cutest side of Luke I ever did see in the past few days of hanging out with  him.

I take one last look at the lake where tiny dots of humans are floating along on the lake in their tiny boats. There are just a few, so nothing to worry about, but it does make me want to go kayaking too. Mostly because I don’t want the day to end. 

“Wanna go kayaking?” I ask Luke, pulling him to a halt by tugging at our still intertwined hands. His eyes dart from mine to the lake and back. I can tell he’s debating it, but then he nods and a smile appears on his face. 

With our hands intertwined, we go back to the rental place and ask the woman for a double kayak. We pay, put on the safety vests she’s given us and then proceed onto the water. As we pedal along, Luke tells me about all the adventures he’s been on with his friends and how he used to do this all the time before his schedule got so crazy. 

Every now and again, he stops and pretends to tip the kayak, making me squeal each and every time whilst he laughs his most maniacal laugh. 

The wall I’d built around my heart was slowly crumbling. Every laugh, every touch, every glance took away a small part of the brick wall. I’m falling in love with the boy I’d had a crush on and then strongly disliked for a good five-ish days. 

Getting distracted was not a good idea as I’m not prepared for what follows next. Luke pretends to tip it over again, but this time, he wobbles too hard and actually makes the boat topple overhead. I squeal, but quickly shut my mouth as I tumble into the water, making sure not too much of the lake’s contents gets into my body. 

“Patterson!” I scowl as I crash the surface again and find Luke laughing a few feet away. His brown, shaggy hair sticks to his head, dripping small drops of water onto his face. If I wasn’t so angry at him, I would definitely kiss him right here, right now. 

“I hate you!” I splash some water at him as the words roll off my lips. Luke’s laughter abruptly stops and he stares at me. His once glistening eyes dull down while his mouth falters into a frown. 

“You do?” 

My face softens as I watch him. He looks so beautiful with his hair all dishevelled and the reflection of the sun on the water mirroring onto his face. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so bad. 

I swim closer towards him and stroke his wet hair out of his face. My breath hitches in my throat at how close we are but I try to play it off by keeping my hands on his face and my eyes locked with his. I notice his eyes flicking down to my lips a few times, telling me he wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss him. 

Should I? Full throttle? Or step on the brakes? 

I don’t even get the time to think about it as Luke presses his lips to mine. Now I don’t hesitate a single moment and immediately kiss him back. Sliding my hands into his wet locks and pressing my body as close as I can, I melt entirely into him. The same sense of bliss I have when singing with Luke washes over me and I find myself on cloud 9 again.  

We pull back after a moment to catch our breath. The glint in his eyes is back and his mouth, though a little swollen and red, curls up into a smile. He presses one more kiss to my nose before helping me towards the shore. We climb out of the water and bring the boat back to the rental place, along with our safety vests. 

Grabbing my backpack I had left with the woman for safekeeping, Luke and I bid our goodbyes and leave the rental, intertwining our hands again. The feeling his hand in mine gives me will never get old. 

As we get to the car again, I yawn, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over me. Luke smiles upon noticing this and takes the keys from my hand. Wordlessly, he presses a kiss to my forehead and then leads me to the passenger side. He opens the door and lets me get in before shutting the door and jogging to the other side. 

The car is filled with a comfortable silence, just the crackling of a song playing on the radio filling out the quietness. I rest my head against the headrest and glance at Luke every now and again as he drives Sabrina. He has that one-hand feel on the steering wheel and the other rest comfortably in mine on the gearshift. 

“I had a lot of fun today,” I mumble, unable to speak any louder. 

A smile etches its way to Luke’s face. “Me too.” He takes a quick glance at me and then lifts our hands to plant a kiss on my knuckles. “Our band’s house is closer, you want to stop there and get us dry before you go home?” 

I hum softly, letting my eyes fall shut for a moment. Luke’s thumb grazing the back of my hand almost lulls me to sleep until he curses before the car comes to a halt. He pulls his hand away from mine and when I look up, the driveway and street in front of the enormous white-brick house is filled with dozens of cars. 

“Fuck, I forgot about the album wrap party,” he grumbles and then looks over at me. I’m shivering from the cold and exhaustion. “I can’t let you drive home like that.” 

I’m unsure if he’s talking to me or pondering out loud, but I shake my head instead. “It’s fine,” I say. “My house isn’t that far away… I think…” 

“No, y/n. I’m not letting you drive home exhausted and cold.” His voice is stern, yet laced with a bit of worry. “You’re gonna come in and I’m– I’m gonna bring you up to my room. You can dry off there and maybe take a nap or something. Yeah! Yeah, that’s it!” He sounds way too excited about something so banal. 

He hops out of the car and quickly jogs over to my side whilst I’m already opening the door. Before I could react, he tugs me towards the house. I can barely get my bearings or take the time to look where I’m going before I’m pulled into a room. 

“There are shirts and joggers in the dresser over there, pick out whichever you like and then take a nap or something. I’ll be back before you know it.” He kisses my cheek and then dashes towards the door. 

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” 

He lets go of the door handle and slowly turns towards me. His eyes are laced with regret as he takes in the sight in front of him. I must look ridiculous with my hair and clothes wet and bags under my eyes. 

“Please, y/n? I can’t have people know about us, okay? I just – can’t…” 

Turning on his heel, he opens the door and leaves me in his bedroom all alone. I take a minute to let the information process in my brain before turning around and taking in the room I’m in. 

The walls are painted white, except for the one wall behind his bed that’s a muted dark blue. His bed is king size and on either side is a nightstand. I inch closer to the one that’s actually filled with stuff, which I’m assuming is the one he uses most. Nightstand contents often tell a lot about a person. His contains the band’s autobiography, “Bruce Springsteen: All The Songs” and “Beach Read” by Emily Henry, the book I started the other week and shared on Instagram Stories. 

Would he have seen that and decided to read it too? 

Shaking the ridiculous thought out of my head, I move over to his dresser and take out a pair of joggers and his Rush muscle tank I’ve seen him in many a time during gigs. I peel my drenched clothes off my body and get into Luke’s freshly washed ones. They smell of his laundry products. It’s a fresh and calming scent.

For a while, I look around his room. The books on the shelves and the pictures on the walls, most of which of the band and some of him and Carrie Wilson. There had been a rumor about him dating the Instagram Influencer, but I’d never believed it until I saw her face pop up in some of the framed photos in his room. 

I decide to go and venture about the house since all the commotion seems to be outside in the garden. I weave through hallway upon hallway, finding more photos and more things that belong to the band. The living room walls are adorned with platinum records and other awards they’d won over the two years they’d been active in the music industry. I can’t help but feel a sense of pride rush over me. That’s my favorite band right there. That’s the boy I’ve fallen in love with. 

“Excuse me – Who are you?” 

The voice makes me jump out of my skin. I thought everyone was outside. When I look up, I find the perfectly flawless face of Carrie Wilson. Her long, blonde hair cascades into curls down her shoulders and back while her round, brown eyes stare at me with intent and curiosity. 

“Oh, sorry. I’m y/n. I–” I stop myself, remembering Luke didn’t want anyone to know about us. That includes his girlfriend – or ex-girlfriend. 

Carrie’s mouth curls up into an amused, curious smile, catching onto what’s happening. “You’re Luke’s new adventure, aren’t you?” I huff out the breath I was holding. It’s a telling huff, I’m sure. “You are…” She trails off and inspects me for a second before continuing. “Just so you know, it’s not going to work. Luke’s too infatuated with this lifestyle of his. He loves his job, he loves his stardom. He loves it too much to ever focus on a partner. Believe me, we tried.” 

I exhale at the use of her past tense, but then all the other information downs on me. Luke’s life is so much different from mine. While I work several jobs to pay for college and still live with my dad, he lives by himself and tours the world. He’s too busy to start anything serious with me. Whatever happened in the last few days was just temporary. 

“You seem sweet, y/n, so I’m going to be frank. Get out before it’s too late. You’re only gonna get hurt if you’re gonna stay.” As she passes me, she places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.  

If my brain wasn’t going a mile a second about everything she’s telling me, I would be caught off guard by how sweet Carrie Wilson is. She’s always portrayed as this complete ego-centric bitch who used people to her advantage. 

The exhaustion taking over, I shuffle back upstairs and sit down on Luke’s bed but when I hear the commotion outside die down and guitar strums float through the air into the house, I grow curious. I get up from the bed and make a beeline towards the ceiling-to-floor glass doors that give out onto a balcony. I carefully open the door and step out, the summer breeze tickling my skin while Luke’s voice reaches my ears. 

The balcony looks out onto the garden, it’s just out of sight from where everyone’s huddled up around the band. I lean my elbows on the bannister and watch on as Luke’s voice floated through the air. 

“I'm no superman I can take your hand And fly you anywhere you wanna go, yeah I can read your mind Like a billboard sign And tell you everything you wanna hear, but I'll be your hero”

I smile at the memory of us in the studio yesterday. The last few days have been perfect. Just… Perfect. And now this girl has to come and ruin it by pulling me back into reality. 

“Cause I, I can be everything you need If you're the one for me, like gravity, I'll be unstoppable I, yeah I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy without his soul But if you're the one for me Then I'll be a hero Oh, I'll be a hero, yeah I'll be a hero”

It’s not that Carrie isn’t right. She is. Luke is way too busy with the band and his fame and everything around it. He doesn’t have time or room between those things for me. Not for an ordinary girl. Not for anyone. 

“So incredible Some kinda miracle That when it's meant to be, I'll become a hero, oh So I'll wait, wait, wait, wait for you”

Luke’s eyes meet mine as he hits that high note and his mouth curls up into that beautiful smile I’ve come to love. Once again, I’ve fallen in love with someone who would never reciprocate those feelings. If I don’t get out now, I’m going to get hurt. 

“Yeah I'll be a hero Cause I, I can be everything you need If you're the one for me, like gravity, I'll be unstoppable I, yeah I believe in destiny I may be an ordinary guy without his soul But if you're the one for me I'll be a hero Yeah, yeah I'll be a hero, yeah I'll be a hero Hero”

As the last notes of his song ring out into the night, I grab my still wet clothes and my keys Luke left on the dresser, and then leave the house. My heart breaks with every step I take, but I know it’s what’s best for me. It’s what’s best for both of us. There’s no room for me in his life. Like he said, he’s no superman, he can’t handle this many things at once. Not even a hero would be able to.  

Everything taglist:

@wanniiieeee @phantompogues 

JATP taglist:

@hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @charliesmountains @thedarkqueenofavalon @calamitykaty @caitsymichelle13 @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti @stellasmusa @n0wornever @kaitieskidmore1 @tefilovesreading @pxperphxntom @crybabyddl @crybabyddl @headheartbellarke @authentic-gillespie @happinessinthedarkesttimes @bright-molina @rangerelik @cordeliascrown @willex-owns-my-heart @fangirlangioma @frickin-bats @flower-name @jaskiers-sweetkiss @jandthephantoms @kelpwithawhy  @the-hufflepuff-hunter @lookingthroughmirrors @buckybarnesishot310 @echocharm17618 @littlemissaddict @mystic-writings @joynerxmercer @brooke0297 @magicalxdaydream @musicianspiritsblog @bexxy @ruvaitkevicius @whitetigerlover17 @stressyanddepressysimp  @talk-on-the-street @theolivekiddo @sunsetcurvej @teti-menchon0604 @candycornmgg @gray_jato

Charlie/Luke taglist: 

@lukeys-giggle​ @gingerxarmy​ @lovesanimals​ @lolychu​ @perfectlywrongformend3s​ @luckylouiebug @camiladelrio98​ @myfriendscallmebeans​ @rachmmb​ @whitemanshoe19​ @killerqueenfan​ 

TAGLIST |  MASTERLIST 

[fadedflame]

Carols and Circuits Day 11

Detroit: Become Human Prompt Challenge from @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Summery: Hank’s confrontation with Connor on the rooftop ended badly. Certain the fall had killed him, the last thing he was expecting was the kid to show up on his doorstep a year later. Traumatized and falling apart at the seams, Hank doesn’t know if there's anything he can really do to help the android. But he sure as hell is going to try.

Day eleven - Christmas Firsts

Words-722

< Previous Chapter / Next Chapter >

Ao3 or

Hank wouldn’t exactly call himself a tidy person, never had been. He had tried, back when he was married, but once he was divorced with an infant son and a full time job, he didn’t have time to worry about doing the dishes every day or whether or not there were a few toys on the floor. After Cole had died, he hadn’t had the energy to care.

So yeah, the house was a bit of a mess, so what?

“What the fuck?” Hank exclaimed as soon as he got inside, almost dropping his keys in surprise.

“Welcome home, Lieutenant,” Connor called from the kitchen. “Please wipe your feet, I just mopped.”

Yeah, he damn well had. And that was just the beginning. It looked like the whole goddamn place had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. “What the hell are you doing?”

Connor turned to look at him, paused, glanced at the dishrag in his hand, then returned his gaze to him. “I assume that was a rhetorical question?”

Hank sighed, pausing only to wipe his feet on the doormat as he had been told. “Alright, let's put it this way. Why are you cleaning the house?”

The android’s expression was still puzzled, as though it should be obvious. “Because it needed to be cleaned.”

Well that was debatable if you asked Hank. Sure, maybe it had been a few weeks, maybe months since he’d dusted, but the house was fine. “Right,” he said instead of arguing. “And you just decided to clean it?”

“Not just,” Connor told him, turning back to the dishrack to continue his task of drying and putting them away. “I always intended to assist in the household maintenance. It was just… daunting.”

“Daunting?” Well shit. Hank couldn’t very well complain if this was a sign of growth.

He looked over his shoulder, but didn’t pause in his work. “You were right about the gloves, Lieutenant,” he said with a smile. “I really should have thought of it myself. They dampen the external stimuli and help prevent my sensors from overloading.”

Hank hadn’t really thought anything about it, but yeah, Connor was certainly wearing gloves. They were a set of bright yellow, one-size-fits all, rubber utility gloves that Hank had probably forgotten about right after he’d bought them.

“I’m glad they help,” he told him, walking over to the sink to help. He pulled a dish from the rack, shaking the excess water from it rather than bothering with a towel. “But, you know you don’t need to clean the house, right? You're not my damn maid.”

“I know I’m not,” Connor insisted. “But I do want to contribute to the household. Besides,” his expression was less than amused as Hank put the mostly-dry dish in the cupboard. “I suspect I have a higher standard for cleanliness than you do.”

Hank rolled his eyes and flicked some of the water from his hands over at the android who blinked it away with a smile. “Alright, fine. Smartass,” he scolded without any venom. “You can clean if you want. Just as long as this isn’t some new neurosis or some shit.”

“It’s not,” Connor promised, returning to his towel. “Besides, wouldn’t it be better to celebrate Christmas in a clean house?”

“Yeah, I guess it will.” It was going to be a first, that was for damn sure. With the usual chaos of the holidays, cleaning was usually at the bottom of his to-do list. It wasn’t the only first either, he realized, sparing a moment to take in the unusual sight of CyberLife’s most advanced tactical android drying his dishes in oversized rubber gloves.

Even last year, Hank never would have thought he would be celebrating Christmas with Connor.

He left the dishes to the kid, and grabbed himself a beer from the fridge. “Just don’t work yourself too hard or anything,” he told him. “You’re supposed to be enjoying the holidays, remember.”

Connor absently assured him that he would take time to enjoy himself and Hank found that he wasn’t really all that worried. He had an energy to him today that hadn’t been there before, as though an unseen tension had eased, if only a little. Dare he say, Connor seemed happy.

No way in hell he was going to argue with that.

[spencersgfwrites]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: a new family: found:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

authors note: this is from sherlock's pov btw

Matter, does it not, that John called me a freak the other day. I know deep down he didn't mean it. What does matter now is saving Rosie. That's what I tell myself at least, while I'm making coffee. It is not going as planned, so I'm glad when John comes down.

When his phone bings, I assume it's his work. I realise I'm wrong when I hear him suddenly breathe in. While we watch the video I have to resist from crying. John almost falls, and I catch him, almost as an instinct. I turn him around so he's facing me and let him cry into my dress shirt, not even caring. My heart is still beating fast and my hands are shaking, and I think John notices when he stops crying for a moment. I say the first thing that comes to mind, which in foresight may not be the best idea. When he responds I smile a bit, and rest my head on his, which is still buried into my dress shirt. After a bit, and when John's crying has subsided a bit, I push him back so I can look into his eyes and say "Let's go find your daughter,".

John responds with "I couldn't agree more,", and then it's like we've come alive again. I hurry to go change into clothes, and John grabs his wallet. Soon we are off, and on the cab ride, I watch the video again and again, trying to notice more things. John stays silent and looks out the window. When we arrive at the police station, John asks me if I found anything out from rewatching the video.

"The video was taken midday, most likely yesterday. None of Rosie's injuries are too bad, mostly surface cuts and minor bruises. If you listen closely you can hear a train. So we're looking for a probably abandoned building, within half a mile of train tracks where a train goes by around 1. Also the room is facing West, so once we find the building we should be able to find the room with relative ease." I say and John nods

"But will she be there?" John asks, and there is no question who she is.

"I'm... I'm not completely sure. Even if they are not, we still might be able to find something," I respond, trying to look on the bright side, even though, as Rosie has told me, I'm not very good at it. John just nods and we head in. When we get there Lestrade watches the video, and acts like he understands what I'm saying, but I doubt he does.

"John and I will go ahead, bring your men, and try not to shoot us," I tell Lestrade. John and I are both anxious to go to the building and hopefully find Rosie. Lstrade agrees and goes to get his men ready. John and I hail the cab and tell the cabbie to let us out about a block away from the building.

Once we get there it seems mostly abandoned. John and I slowly walk up to the building. I consider knocking, but decide to go the easier and quieter way and pick the lock. Once it's picked and we're inside it's mostly vacant. We're in a hallway and there is about 5 rooms coming off of it. I walk slowly up to the first door and gently push it. Inside it's completely vacant. The next door is the same, but the third one has something inside. I can't immediately see what it is so I step into the room and John follows. Inside is a chair, and some rope. It takes me a second, but I realize that the rope was never used to tie anything. I realize a second later than would have been ideal, since at that moment a man walks out from behind the door.

"Hello Mr. Holmes," he says with an Irish accent. He is pointing a gun at John, which is smart because as I have been told several times by various people, I value John's life over mine.

"You're not Moriarty's brother!" John says. I refrain from saying obviously, as it probably wouldn't help and would most likely earn me an annoyed look from John.

"How observant of you," says another voice. Someone else walks in the room, and them I recognize. I glance at John, and see he looks like he might kill someone. I debate whether I should try and keep him from doing this, and decide it will be easier for everyone involved if John doesn't kill anyone tonight.

Moriarty's brother seems rather calm. I am about to say something when I hear a gunshot. I immediately turn to John to make sure he wasn't hit and see him staring at me. We hear a gasp from Moriarty's brother and turn to look. On his chest there is a red mark that is getting bigger by the second. KJ drops his gun and runs over. He tries to keep Moriarty's brother from falling. John pushes past them into the hallway and I follow.

Once we leave we see Graham Lestrade standing there with a gun in his hand. John ignores him and walks down the hallway, I on the other hand nod to acknowledge his presence, then follow John.

We look through room after room before finally getting to the right one. Inside Rosie is sitting in a chair. John runs over and hugs her tightly. I want to hug her, but let them have their moment. Instead of just standing there I go over behind Rosie and start working on the bonds on her wrists. I get them off and she throws her arms around John. I am about to leave the room when I hear a voice behind me.

"Sher, come here," it's Rosie's voice, weaker and softer than normal. I turn around and go over to her. She wraps her arms around me and buries her face into my chest. I lean my head on her hair. I glance up and see John looking at us embracing with something in his eyes I can't quite distinguish. Love maybe?

❤ part 9: family

❤ a new family: masterlist

❤ my main fanfic masterlist

[angelofbloodlust]

A/N: Y’all. Listen. I know I only ever write about the canon Scream characters, but I genuinely cannot get this idea out of my head and I wanted to give myself a lil break cuz my brain was blanking from any other ideas </3 this is mostly for me but feel free to read if anyone is interested in some content about my OCs!I also may give some of the canon characters a cameo, as this takes place before any of the main storyline in Scream :D (besides Maureen’s death)

I’m not sure whether I’ll write any actual romance into this, it’s more meant to be a story about getting caught up in the Winslow’s secrets, as well as your own. but we’ll see!

(Put a cut for the sake of y’all scrolling cuz it’s a little long 😀)

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Eternal Slumber - Reader & Noa/Zephyr (Part One)

Chapter One - Room 1

You were fucking exhausted.

You felt your body was riddled with restlessness as you adjusted within your spot sat in your car, you had no idea that running cross-country without so much as a word to any of your loved ones would suck this goddamn badly. You didn’t remember the last night you had gotten a full 8 hours of sleep, your last few days being entirely caught up in mindlessly driving down endless roads throughout the states towards your destination, California. It wasn’t your first choice, but it was the furthest away from.. your issues. Things you knew you needed to escape, to get away as far as possible to have your best chance at forgetting.

Though, currently the only thing absorbing your mind was the hunt for a decent place to crash. You had finally arrived in California, though you had no real place to call home as of yet. Being an 18 year old runaway, you didn’t think you would for a long while. You only had scraped up enough money from your job to afford a hotel and food. You figured it was enough, you didn’t plan on wasting any time before searching for a new place of work.

Your gaze was caught soon enough, finding a dainty sign ahead of you, having “Winslow’s Bed & Breakfast” written out in a pleasant, curvy font. It seemed innocent enough. Despite it being slightly further away from the town, the two-story, farmhouse-resemblant building appeared warm and inviting, a soft yellow glow emanating from the windows and filling your dazed mind with daydreams of being out of the slightly chilly midsummer night. And hell, if this place had a bed, it was more than perfect for you.

You didn’t take any longer to debate on your decision, pulling over to park within the forest-encased lot and letting out an exhale of relief as you unbuckled. You viewed your car as a prison at this point, and were more than eager to finally escape.

Slinging your backpack of randomly-packed items over your shoulder, you headed down the cobblestone path up to the front door. Rubbing your eyes to keep yourself aware and temporarily escape your thoughts of falling asleep the moment you met the warm air of the hotel’s inside, you pushed the door open and took a look at your surroundings.

Surrounded with soft and simple decor to further emphasize the farm-like feel of the hotel, you felt more than safe here. It was nothing like those dirty motels you had been reluctantly sleeping in before, this place was spotless and comforting. Maybe this was meant to be the place you’d stay until you got on your feet, and you hadn’t even seen where you’d be sleeping just yet.

Turning your head, you locked eyes with another being. A short, freckled blonde flashed you a warm smile while approaching her spot behind the front desk in front of you. You didn’t bother to question why she wasn’t already there to begin with, it was late and you were sure she was just as eager to get some shut-eye as you were. Resting her peach-toned arms on the desk, she chimed out to you.

“Welcome! Need a place to stay, I’m guessing?” She giggled questioningly, tilting her head as her light blue eyes watched you walk closer. You gave a nod in reply when you passed the amount of cash requested on the small sign beside you, being too caught up in examining her to give any real words in that moment. You could tell she wasn’t any older than you, most likely right around your age. This made you feel oddly comforted, you were at least relieved you wouldn’t be the youngest person there.

She offered you the clipboard and pen to sign in, and you noticed the amused expression on her soft features. Your felt your face heat with your mind sticking on the thought that her gaze was on you rather than the words you were writing on the paper, were you really that interesting to look at..?

“Here.” You mumbled out as you returned the pen and nudged the clipboard back to her, snapping her out of whatever was going on in her head as she looked down to the sign-in sheet and perked up.

“Alrighty, Y/N! You’ll be staying in Room 3. Right next to my room!” She spun to collect your key from the wall behind her, placing it down in front of you to flash you a kind grin when you took the key and tucked it against your palm. “And don’t worry, I promise I won’t bother ya. Be lucky you’re not next to Noa’s room, at least.”

“Noa?”

“My sister! Oh, and my name is Zephyr, by the way. You might see my dad at some point, but he’s not usually around.. But that’s okay, it makes it feel like Noa and I run this place, which is really cool!”

You felt the edge of your lip curl up in enjoyment of the girl’s short burst of rambling, there was something to her that seemed so genuinely innocent as she spoke. You felt as if she could be a real friend to you, and this thought made your heart flutter with joy as it only urged you further into wanting to stay here. Maybe this was a good decision after all.

Zephyr stopped in front of your room’s door, her expression soft as she turned to face you. “Here’s your room. Will, uh.. you be staying past the morning?”

Her gaze was hopeful as she awaited your answer, her hands fiddling with the lacy edge of her dress as you assumed she may be slightly nervous around you. It was sweet, and entirely clear that she wanted you to stick around in hopes of getting to know you. Luckily, you had an answer for her that would make her more than overjoyed.

“Yeah! I just moved here, and I’ve gotta look for somewhere to stay, so I’ll probably be here for a little while if it’s okay.”

You almost yelped as the girl leaped forward to wrap her arms around your torso and squeeze you tightly, bubbly laughter leaving her as she gave a nod out of delight.

“Of course it’s okay! Oh, I’m so happy you’re gonna stay, I can finally have another friend! I always try to hang out with Noa and Billy, but I don’t think I fit in with them.” Zephyr pouted as she continued to ramble once more, “But luckily I have you now! We’ll be best friends, Y/N, I know it!”

You snickered as she almost squealed with her happiness, it warmed your heart seeing that someone was so eager to have you around. It was a nice change of scenery..

Giving a couple soft pats to her back, you nodded contently in confirmation. “I think we will, Zeffie. Thank you for being so welcoming, I really appreciate it.” You spoke in a gentle tone as your exhaustion started to prickle at your body once more, causing you to internally curse at your lack of energy now that you had someone worth being awake for. This was new to you, but you couldn’t complain.

Pulling back, Zephyr took a moment to examine your facial features and seem to take a look of understanding as she recognized your sleepiness. Her soft pink smile widened, before giving a small nod of her head when her high voice shifted to match your near whisper. “You don’t need to thank me. Now get some rest, kay? We can hang out more tomorrow!”

After a brief exchange of “goodnight”s, you finally made your way into your new bedroom. It wasn’t anything special, though you noticed one thing had been slightly off whenever you walked in. There was a slight.. smell.

You couldn’t place it exactly, but it was something you hadn’t ever smelt before. It was faint, nothing you couldn’t eventually drown out, but unpleasant. Though in your exhausted state, you didn’t care much to focus in on it instead of getting some sleep. So, you tossed your backpack to the side and fell face-first onto your bed and knocked out without hesitation.

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You were jolted awake by the sound of four knocks in a happy tune against your door, causing you to give a soft groan from the interruption of your slumber. You blinked yourself a bit further awake to find the clock beside you, reading that it was already 9 AM.

“Shit, I slept 10 hours..?” You muttered in a groggy tone, a pout forming onto your dry lips as you forced yourself to sit up and rub at your eyes. Luckily you had fallen asleep fully dressed, so it didn’t take you more than a few moments to get up and crack the door open to meet Zephyr’s sunshine-y grin. The girl never stopped smiling, did she?

“Goood morning, Y/N!! I hope ya slept well! Sorry for waking you, I just wanted to ask if you’d want to join me for breakfast downstairs in a bit? Noa might be down soon as well, though I’m not entirely sure if she’s awake yet..” Zephyr snickered, her hands keeping up their subconscious movements of tapping her fingers together in a rhythmic pattern. You began to pick up on the girl’s habits, she sure messed with her hands a lot.. Was she nervous? She sure didn’t act like it.

“Oh! Yeah, sure. Just gimme some time to shower and all that and I’ll be right down, okay?” You replied softly, being as kind to your dried out throat as you could when you spoke to her. Water sounded way too appealing to you within that moment.

You watched as Zephyr gave one quick nod and trotted off, bringing a chuckle out of you when you shut your door once more to lock it. With your mind full of curious thoughts about what might take place in your day, you collected a change of clothes and entered the bathroom to finally rinse off all of the displeasure of your previous day to prepare for your new, hopefully much more enjoyable one awaiting you.

✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧

Slicking your fingers back through your wetted hair, you placed yourself down at the dining table and made an effort to get comfortable in the wooden seat. While their beds were the equivalent of sleeping on a cloud, their choice in chairs could definitely use a little bit of work..

But your attention was pulled from your discomfort as Zephyr entered the room, smiling warmly as you gave a soft nod in thanks while watching her place the plate of food on the table in front of you, before continuing on to lie out two more plates. One at your side, the other across from you.

“I’m guessing our third will be Noa?” You asked in a soft chuckle.

“Yup! I think my dad already left, so it’s just us! Till those other people staying in room 2 come back.” Zephyr chirped in reply, her wavy hair giving a soft bounce as she dropped in the chair beside you.

“..What about Room 1? Who’s in there?” You didn’t think your question would cause much issue, until Zephyr stiffened in front of you with her eyes showing something resemblant to a mix between panic and fear.

“Room 1 is.. out of order at the moment.” She responded in an anxious mumble, staring at you for an extra moment until she quickly shifts to continue on with eating as if nothing was ever wrong to start with.

Weird.

But you pushed it off, you didn’t wanna pry at a situation that was possibly upsetting to her. And your starvation drowned out curiosity regardless, so you instead diverted your attention to your plate to leave Zephyr be until she was settled again.

Still, your habits of overthinking got the better of you. What the fuck could’ve happened in that room to scare her so badly..?

Perhaps you could find out. But nowhere near now, not when it would be too obvious.

Halfway through your plate, you paused as you picked up on the sound of another pair of footsteps entering the room. Lifting your head to take a glimpse, you almost felt your heart sink into your stomach with the pair of silver, dead eyes that met yours.

A tall, pale raven-haired girl, also looking to be about your two’s age. You immediately noticed that her and Zephyr didn’t share a feature in common, with Zephyr’s soft and kind face heavily contrasting the threatening sharpness of Noa’s. She looked as if she could tear your heart from your chest within a second, and you had no intentions of poking the bear as she silently took a seat in front of you.

“Good morning, Noa!” Zephyr squeaked joyfully from her spot, though Zephyr’s greeting didn’t even cause Noa to think about removing her eyes off of you for even a split moment. Jesus fuck, someone isn’t a morning person.

“..Morning, Zephyr. I see we have a new guest.” Noa finally spoke, her deep and gravely voice almost causing you to flinch as you tensed in your spot.

“Mhm! They showed up last night!” Zephyr’s smile widened as she spoke of you, flashing you a giddy smile with the mention of your arrival as you swore she was on the verge of bouncing in her chair out of excitement.

Noa nodded in response to her sister, lifting her fork until she paused to narrow her eyes at Zephyr. “Which room did you give them?”

“Room 3. Duh.” Zephyr snorted, bringing a look of relief onto Noa as she settled and turned her attention to her food. They were definitely hiding something, that much was completely obvious to you now.

“So.. what town are we in?” You hesitantly asked, bringing the two women to glance up at you as Zephyr gave a giggle.

“Woodsboro! Though, we’re kinda on the outskirts right now.” Zephyr explained simply.

“Woodsboro..? Never heard of it.” You shrugged, placing your fork onto your empty plate after you had finished.

Zephyr gave you a look of disbelief, “Really? Not even the murder of Maureen-”

“Alright, Zeffie, enough.” Noa hissed in a successful attempt to interrupt her from continuing on, narrowing her eyes to the now stiffened girl at your left side while she gave an apologetic nod. Your curiosity was now entirely aflame, why did she need to stop? You wanted to know more!

But to avoid Noa’s wrath, you kept silent. You figured you could pull it out of Zephyr the next chance you two were alone, anyways.

The room went awkwardly silent for around a minute or so, causing you to almost cringe to the point of retracting into yourself as you picked up on Noa’s continued glares towards you. She did not like you, and you couldn’t decipher what you had done wrong.. Was she just like this?

“So, any plans today, Noa?” Zephyr chirped.

“Billy’s gonna come over in a bit, he wanted to shoot some shit with the rifle I just got.”

“Oooh! Just, uh.. don’t shoot more of my stuffed animals, okay? I spent a lot on some of those.” Zephyr pouted.

“No promises.” Noa grinned, holding down her laughter at the rage-filled glare Zephyr gave in reply to her defiance. New rule, don’t fuck with Zephyr’s plushies.

“I’ll watch you guys and make sure! Y/N, you’ll help me and make sure, right??” Zephyr questioned you through a pleading smile, and with those painfully innocent puppy eyes, you had to give in as you nodded.

“Sure, why not? I’m interested to see this rifle, anyways. Never once saw a gun where I come from.” You chuckled.

“Where’d you come from, anyways?” Zephyr tilted her head towards you, forming a frown over your lips as you immediately decided on a state to lie with. You needed to forget.

“..Idaho.” You mumbled.

“Oh! Okay!” Zephyr nodded happily, hopping up from her seat a moment later to collect your plates and head to the kitchen. Phew, crisis averted.

A content smile stuck on your lips while standing back to your feet, before it dropped with a choke growing in your throat as you found Noa’s cold gaze once more.

Before you could get any chance to escape, she stood herself to walk around the table to drill her eyes into you deeper than any sharp blade could. She radiated violence, despite the appearance of being entirely calm.

“I don’t know a damn thing about you, stranger, but I’ll be watching you like a fucking hawk for as long as you’re here. Don’t go snooping where you don’t belong, and don’t lay a finger on Zephyr. You understand?”

Her tone was bone-chilling, how the fuck could some moody teenager be this fucking aggressive?

“Yes, ma’am.” You mumbled meekly, taking a subtle step backwards as you stared up to her in terror. Ma’am? Where the fuck did that come from?

She only gave a slight smile to your obedience at her request, lifting a hand to give one rough pat onto your shoulder before striding out of the room without any further threats. Finally.

You were unsure of how safe you felt in that house anymore, especially now that you were aware of what Noa was like.

If only you had been able to predict how much worse it would get from there.

[dutchdread]

What is Love? Baby don't hurt me.

This article sets out to define different types of love in a meaningful way, and argue why the specifics surrounding Aerith and Cloud makes it so that the commonly accepted romantic version of the emotion can't apply. __________________________________________________

Whenever you talk to anyone, it's important to be on the same page, and one of the most important parts about that is making sure that you're speaking the same language. I am sure we've all had moments where we were arguing with someone only to discover that you both believed the exact same thing, but that you simply used a different word to describe said thing.

"That's what I've been saying" "No, that's what I've been saying!" "Well what are we even arguing about then?!"

When that happens, you're not arguing about the topic itself, you're arguing about semantics, about language.

An argument about whether or not what Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith felt for each other would fall under "love" is a debate about language, not FFVII, and I am not here to have a conversation about language. Unfortunately, before I can actually have a conversation about FFVII, a conversation about language is apparently needed.

Love is an incredibly broad term, used to express what we feel about our family, our pets, our friends, our "lovers", and even our favorite songs, weather, and food. So why the hell do we ask "who did Cloud love" as if love is some singular binary system?

I can never prove that what a character feels isn't love, I can only assert that I personally wouldn't use the word "love" to describe said feeling, and explain why I wouldn't. When we ask "does Cloud love Tifa or Aerith", we are presupposing a concept of "love", and asking who it applies to.

"I pity you, you just don't get it at all, there is nothing I don't cherish"

But it applies to both, and it applies to Barret, and Marlene, and Denzel, and everyone. Because love is far too broad a term to start with, it's a catch-all. Instead of starting with a preconception of what love is, and seeing who has it, we should describe what people actually have, and see what their individuals shapes of love look like.

Even so, I will do my best to describe what I mean by romantic love, as opposed to a crush, or infatuation, or attraction, so that when I say "Cloud and Aerith don't (and can't) romantically love each other", that it's clear what that assertion means to me.

I'm going to tell you a story, a story that, admittedly, doesn't make me look good, but which will hopefully provide context for what I think love is and why.

When I was younger I wasn't the most popular kid, back then I assumed I was unattractive, as an adult I realize its because I was socially awkward as fuck (I was actually cute as heck if I do say so myself). However, by the time I got to highschool I had made a best friend and had managed to figure out and fake social conventions enough that I could at the very least solve my issues through humor instead of violence. The change from typical village kids to a wider pool of potential friends also enabled me to finally find people who were more like me. Even so, the whole social outcast part was still ingrained deeply enough in me that I was mostly putting on an act in front of people, saying whatever I needed to say in order to get a certain reaction, in order to be liked, rather than just being myself. I had had crushes before, when you're alone it's easy to really fall for someone, and hell, I was always a sucker when it came to love stories, but my childhood had basically left me too nervous that I'd say the wrong thing to ever actually say the right thing when I really liked a girl. However, generally being the life of the party left me with a string of girlfriends I didn't care too much about. Even so, I eventually met a girl that I was instantly smitten with, the most attractive girl I knew and somehow I managed to start dating her, and hell, I even thought I loved her. I dated said girl for several years, but without going into spoilers I'll just say that I left that relationship pretty jaded and and disillusioned with the concept of love. I felt like I had done everything I could and love in general was bullshit and was honestly pretty done with women in general. Ironically my new pessimistic attitude made me much more successful with women than I had ever been before, by that time I was known as someone who was fun to party with, and unlike the majority of people my age I was in incredible shape and still had all my hair. However, while I enjoyed my newfound popularity there was a part of me that really resented it because I realized that what women seemed to react positively to wasn't what I imagined love to be like and I hated that. I hated that when I used to be kind and filled with notions of "true love" no one was interested, but now that I was disinterested and clearly manipulative women seemed to throw themselves at me. During that time I basically stopped looking for a meaningful relationship and just decided to have fun until my life would, inevitably, fall apart.

Eventually though I got a girlfriend who I didn't deserve and was much too good for me. However, when I did I was no longer interested in building a relationship and I was pretty certain that it would eventually fall apart anyway like everything else. As a result I mainly cared about what I could get from her, I didn't act like a proper partner and I when I thought about "fixing the relationship" I was thinking mostly about what she could do to be a better girlfriend, honestly, part of me actually resented her for not being my ex. When talking about our issues the general terms were "I'll do this, but only if you fix that". Without going into details, the general gist is that we had a horrible start to our relationship and that affected everything that came after it.

Eventually though this girl who I once mainly saw as just another temporary part of my life became something more to me, she became a more complete person. I mellowed out, and started appreciating her more, I decided to get us to work on the relationship but the damage was basically already done. She'd given up on me ever wanting to settle down and had started distancing herself from me emotionally and eventually I became sick of fighting for the relationship by myself and we broke up. Afterwards, free of pressure, I sat back and l evaluated what I wanted in life, I thought about myself, and her, REALLY thought about her. The good parts, and the bad. And I realized that all the things I was annoyed about were honestly absurd. I decided I was going to fight for her, not just "try to fix the relationship" by figuring out what worked and what didn't, but I just decided I was going to properly appreciate her, be the best boyfriend I could be, and not ask for anything in return. And let me tell you, that change in mindset changed EVERYTHING for me. Within months I became absolutely smitten with her, when I first started the relationship I was honestly annoyed if we met up and didn't have sex, now just sitting on the couch under a blanket with her became the highlight of days, even the things I once saw as negatives became a precious part of the puzzle that made her her. My biggest regret in life is still that I couldn't be the person she made me back when I first met her. (and concerning looks, she is honestly so much more gorgeous than the ex it's not even funny, how did I not see that?). The point of all this is that love isn't automatic, it's not something that happens without your consent, it's the result of actions, of decisions. When you choose to take the time to look at your significant other, and soak up and appreciate who they are and what they do, when you put in the effort, that's when love grows. I've gone from being sick and tired of someone I had been with for years, to being absolutely infatuated with them, simply by making a decision. I could not have made that decision had I not been myself, that decision would have been false. Looking back, all those earlier girls I've been infatuated with, that wasn't love, I didn't even know who they were, I barely knew who I was. No matter how much passion I felt in the moment, no matter how much fun I had in the times we spent together, now I don't even remember their names.

Love isn't your heart beating faster, it's not that instinctive nervousness that comes with talking to a cute girl you just met. It's a complete and deep appreciation of a person, un understanding of who you are, who they are, and what that means to you. Love is what I feel for my brother, who is as much a part of me as my own arm, without whom I would not be me. Someone who isn't just another person in your life, but is a part of what you consider to be your life, without them your life could not be the same, because they're an absolutely crucial part of it. That doesn't happen in a week, because you can't really learn who someone is in a week, even if you could see all of it, you couldn't internalize it. You can always imagine living without them, because you were, just last week. There are people who meet their soulmates sure, and say they knew within a week, but had they never seen that soulmate again, they would not still be pretending they were "the one" years later, and if they were, their friends wouldn't be saying "that's love", they'd be saying "that's an unhealthy obsession". Cloud and Aerith barely knew each other, both when it comes to time, as well as to how much they actually knew about each other. Cloud had no idea of who he was or what was important to him in life, he was unable to be honest with others or even himself, so how would he ever be able to meaningfully make an informed decision to make the kind of emotional commitment that's the cornerstone of love? He didn't know himself, nor did he know Aerith, to whose feelings he was canonically oblivious and whose entire life was a mystery to Cloud. How can we say that Soldier Cloud is capable of knowing who he loves when he's not even aware of the the gigantic Tifa shaped area of his identity. Can Soldier Cloud determine what he values and why without the knowledge of what he's gone through in his life? Sure, but can Soldier Cloud make that determination for the real one? No. Soldier Cloud, and his emotions, have no relation to that of the real Cloud. The real Cloud must determine what people mean to him all by himself. And when it comes to real Cloud, it is pretty obvious who is the biggest part of his life, the person who defined it from the time he fell for her as kid, right through when he became a soldier to impress her, and up to and past the moment he started raising children with her. For Cloud it's pretty obvious who he has the deep personal understanding with, the girl who filled his sub-conscious, and was literally in his head with him, the girl who is stated to understand him best, and who has a shared story with him, having experienced both the good, and the bad, alongside him. Who was there with him when he was a child, who was there with him in Nibleheim, who found him when he lost his identity and gave him a new one, who was with him when Aerith died, who was with him when he broke, who was with him when he was catatonic, who was with him and helped him find himself again, who was with him during the last night underneath the highwind, who was with him at the end in the north cave, who he started living with afterwards, who waited patiently while he went to find himself, and welcomed him back with a smile. I am sure Cloud liked Aerith....but he LOVES Tifa.

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Beauty In the Blood - Part Two

Summary: One day your friend convinces you to join a dating website that matches people based on their search histories, and when you match with Loki Odinson, a handsome, intelligent coroner who’s a fan of your murder mysteries, you’re absolutely thrilled. But there’s something off about Loki, and as your relationship progresses, you discover that his dark side is even darker than you could ever have imagined…

Pairing: Serial Killer!Loki x Writer!Reader

Read part one here!

Read part three here! 

A/N: This story is based off of this post! I hope you guys enjoy; this is my first time writing Loki, and this will probably be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Please let me know what you think as the story progresses!

Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of death! This chapter also has mentions of smut in it, so read at your own risk! And, above all else, enjoy!

Your bottom lip was bright red from how ferociously you’d been chewing on it. The menu in your hands was crumpled from where you’d been gripping it, and your thigh was starting to feel sore from how fast your knee was bouncing under the table.

Another glance at your phone revealed the time to be 12:14, and your heart fluttered with a fresh wave of anxiety; you and Loki had agreed to meet at noon, and he didn’t seem like the type to be late. What if your first date with him hadn’t gone as well as you’d hoped? What if you were going to be sitting here, alone, for the next hour or so, waiting for a date who had no intention of showing up? What if-

Your musings were drowned out by a flood of relief when you saw the man in question walk through the bistro’s doors, and immediately you chided yourself on being so paranoid. His crystalline eyes scanned the small restaurant until they finally fell on you, and his face lit up when your gazes met.

Your heart squeezed as he started walking towards you, and you slowly scanned him up and down as he made his way to your table. Today, he was dressed in charcoal grey trousers with a light green shirt tucked into them, and though you knew it was silly, you couldn’t help but grin when you saw the briefcase he was holding. How professional.

“I am,” he huffed, sitting down across from you, “so sorry for being late. The police strolled in today ten minutes before my break with a body they’d dredged up from the Hudson this morning.”

“Just another day at the office, then?” you joked, and he chuckled under his breath.

“When you’re in my line of work, yes.”

“Well, it’s ok. You could’ve called to cancel if your work needed your attention-“

“No,” he shook his head resolutely. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since the café. Nothing was going to make me miss this.”

Your cheeks felt even hotter, and you tried to hide your enormous smile behind your menu. A cold hand wrapped around one of your wrists, and you glanced up as Loki pulled your hand to rest in his on the tabletop. You shared a small, almost shy, smile with him before your waiter approached.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted the two of you. “My name is John; I’ll be taking care of you guys today. May I start out with your drink orders?”

After you’d placed your order of iced tea and Loki had requested a water with lemon, you sat your menu down and turned to him.

“So… How have the past three days been for you?” you asked, and Loki’s eyes flicked up from the menu as he answered.

“Busy. But not unmanageable; the police have been particularly obnoxious this week, but then again, New York’s finest have always been a pain in the arse.”

You chuckled and took a sip of your tea.

“Well… I’m sorry they’ve been giving you a hard time.”

“It’s fine; after all, that’s what they do best.” Having apparently decided on what he’d have for lunch, your date set his menu on top of yours and squeezed your hand. “How about you, though? Any new projects you’ve been working on?”

“Maybe,” you hummed. “I actually just sent the second draft of my latest novel to my publisher, so hopefully it’ll be on shelves in a few months’ time.”

Loki’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward on his elbow.

“Oh? What is it about?”

You laughed at the eager look on his face and quirked an eyebrow.

“You don’t really want me to spoil it for you, do you?”

“Spoil it? No, but just a brief summary of the plot would be enough to satisfy your most dedicated reader. For now, at least.”

You pretended to think for it a moment, biting your lip and tilting your head to the side.

“Hm… I don’t know…”

Turning back toward Loki, you watched as he lifted the back of your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he winked at you.

“Please?” he asked, his voice just a note huskier than it had been a moment ago. “I can think of a few ways I could repay you…”

You swallowed, the cadence and timber of his voice going straight to your core, and you clenched your thighs at the implication of his words.

“Wh-what do you have in mind?” you stammered, and Loki gave you a knowing smirk.

“The only way to find out is if you tell me what I want to know,” he murmured.

Before you could say anything else, though, your waiter arrived with your drinks, and Loki’s eyes didn’t stray from you for even a moment, not even while he placed his order. You hoped the waiter hadn’t overheard your conversation as he walked up, and you stuttered your way through asking for the lunch special.

Once he was walking away, Loki’s smile stretched into a full-on, mischievous grin.

“I believe you had something you wanted to tell me, love?”

You blinked a few times and cleared your throat.

“Ah, yes. So,” you started, “the title I finally settled on is Cracked Glass, and it’s about two detectives who are partners – their names are Smithback and Charles. And the premise of the story is that one of them is a serial killer who keeps dropping bodies all over Chicago, but you don’t know which one is the killer until the very end. I’m actually pretty excited about it! My editor said that it’s her favorite of my works to date.”

Loki grinned, setting his chin in his palm while tracing your knuckles with the thumb of his other hand.

“That sounds incredibly intriguing, my dear,” he praised. “I’m guessing that there’s a plot twist of epic proportions at the end?”

“Well, I don’t like to brag, but…” You trailed off with a laugh, shrugging. “I just hope people like it. Especially my ‘most dedicated reader’.”

“I know that I’ll adore it, just as I have all your other works,” he assured you.

After that, the two of you made small talk until your food came. You found out that Loki’s favorite color was green, that he had a black cat named Lovecraft, and that his brother was planning a trip to New York to come visit him.

“We decided on May,” Loki informed you, “which gives me two months to prepare myself mentally for the onslaught that is Thor Odinson.”

“I’m sure he’s not that bad,” you chuckled, and Loki gave you a skeptical look.

“My brother once ate two entire rotisserie chickens in one setting while singing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ drunkenly with his group of Neanderthalic friends,” he deadpanned. “We were twenty-eight at the time, and he’d consumed… I want to get the number right; I think it was twelve Jaeger Bombs.”

You almost choked on your tea from laughing so hard, and the smile he gave you was so genuine, so full of affection, that it made your heart swell almost painfully in your chest.

After finishing your meal, Loki insisted on paying the bill, and the two of you walked out of the bistro arm in arm. It was a beautiful, albeit cold, day in Manhattan. The sun was shining; the birds were singing; a saxophone player could be heard performing on a nearby street corner.

“It’s days like this that make me fall in love with New York,” you sighed, tilting your head back as the wind whipped through your hair.

Loki’s eyes followed the curve of your neck as you tilted your head towards the sky, and he licked his lips as he imagined wrapping his hand around it. He wouldn’t do any permanent damage, of course; he would sooner destroy a stained glass window than take the life of the woman he was already madly in love with. But his cock twitched at the thought of you walking around with bruises he’d painted across your body, starting with that elegant neck…

“Loki?”

He cleared his throat, snapping out of his reverie as you raised your eyebrow expectantly at him.

“I’m sorry, darling, did you say something?” he asked distractedly, and you chuckled before repeating yourself.

“I asked when you have to be back to work,” you said, and Loki glanced down at his watch.

“In about twenty minutes,” he sighed. “But the hospital is only a fifteen minute walk away.”

You hesitated, debating whether or not to ask the question that had popped into your head. You didn’t want to seem desperate, but at the same time, you didn’t want your date with Loki to end just yet.

“Would it be ok if I, um…walked with you to the hospital? If it’s ok,” you quickly added. “If you would rather have the time to yourself, then I can head home. It’s just-“

You were cut off by Loki’s lips as they pressed against yours, and you smiled as you sunk into the kiss, resting your hands on his chest as he nipped lightly at your bottom lip.

“Of course you can,” he whispered, running one of his hands through your hair. “I would leave work early, if I could, to spend the rest of the day with you.”

You grinned and stood up on your tiptoes to peck his lips again, warmth blooming within you.

“Okay…”

Reaching down, you laced your fingers through his as he started off in the direction of the hospital, and the walk was mostly silent as you took in the sights and sounds of the city around you. People were milling about busily, oblivious to you as you watched them. Loki, for his part, was too focused on how warm your hand felt in his and how good your hair smelled when the breeze carried its scent in his direction. This was only his second date with you, but you were already driving him mad; he’d never desired another person this way before. All of his previous attractions had been fleeting and superficial, but your mind drew him in like a moth to flame.

Before either of you knew it, the Bellevue Hospital Center was rising before you, a monolith of brick and glass, and you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by it. After all, it was one of the oldest hospitals in the city; Loki must have been fantastic at his job to be able to work in such a prestigious establishment.

“This is the office,” he joked, leading you in past the front doors.

You weren’t able to form a response as you stepped into the modern entry hall of the hospital. Curved walkways lay overhead, and the walls and ceiling were mostly made of glass. People were milling about everywhere, not sparing the two of you a single glance as they went about their business.

“Wow…”

Loki chuckled at your wonder, stopping next to a set of elevators as he rummaged through his pocket. You glanced down to see him pull out an ID card with his name, picture, and the words ‘Medical Examiner’ in bold font on it.

“I’ve never been to such a fancy looking hospital,” you admitted.

“After a while, it gets old,” he admitted, glancing around with an unimpressed look on his face. “It’s big and expensive, yes, but it nearly takes me twenty minutes just to walk from my office to the cafeteria.”

The two of you shared a laugh, oblivious to the detectives who had paused too look at you. Natasha turned to Steve, both of them shocked at seeing Loki actually laughing with someone. Not just someone – a pretty young woman who was currently holding his hand.

“I…don’t think I’ve ever seen him genuinely smile,” Rogers mused, and Natasha quirked an eyebrow, and unreadable expression on her face.

“Neither have I…”

They watched as you leaned up to press a kiss to Loki’s cheek, and something in Natasha stirred at the sight, something that hinted at feelings she’d never even considered having towards Dr. Odinson.

“I’ll text you tonight,” Loki said, oblivious to the officers staring at him from across the room. “Maybe we can do something this weekend? After all, I still need to repay you for letting me in on what your new masterpiece is about.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you playfully rolled your eyes.

“I definitely wouldn’t call it a masterpiece,” you insisted humbly.

“Mm, we’ll agree to disagree on that, love.”

You made to pull away, but Loki’s grip on you tightened, making you turn back to him curiously.

“Before you leave,” he murmured, “can I ask you another morbid question?”

“Of course,” you laughed. “I’m always up for one of those.”

Loki’s thumb traced your knuckles as he spoke to you in a hushed tone.

“Last time, you told me how you’d kill someone out of necessity,” he said, a twinkle of mischief alight in his eyes. “Tell me how you would kill someone who deserves to die. Maybe someone who’d done bad things to innocent people.”

You chuckled at the sincerity of the question; if it was anybody else, you’d be worried. But this was Loki; he had a morbid career just like you, and you knew better than to put any thought into his question.

“Is this going to become a game between us?” you giggled. “Exchanging ideas for murder?”

Loki snickered at the question.

“It can be, if you’d permit it.”

“Oh, I’m always down for some homicide.” You thought about it for a moment, biting your bottom lip in contemplation. “I guess… I would probably drown them. I’m not the strongest person in the world, but if you put someone in a bathtub and hold their legs up, it’s nearly impossible for them to right themselves. And, plus, it’s definitely not a painless way to die, so whatever horrible things they did will be paid for, I suppose.”

Loki nodded, filing away the information for later use.

“Elegant,” he praised, and you playfully bowed your head.

“I aim to please.”

After you said your goodbyes, the two of you parted ways, oblivious to the detectives still watching you. They were too far away to overhear your conversation, but both of them were intrigued to see Loki seemingly happy with someone.

As you walked out of the hospital, your eyes caught a flash of red hair, and you turned to see a drop-dead gorgeous redhead standing next to an equally attractive blonde man. Typically, you wouldn’t of given them a second glance, but… They were both watching you. Intently.

For a moment, you faltered in your step, the distinct feeling of being watched prickling at your scalp. But then the blonde man smiled at you and politely inclined his head, the way two strangers might do if they were both in line at a coffee shop.

You hesitantly returned his smile before walking out the doors, still feeling unsettled by the exchange. Because despite the friendly gesture of the man, the woman with him hadn’t even faltered in her stare. She’d just continued to watch you impassively, her arms crossed against her chest and her lips pressed firmly together.

The couple left your mind soon enough, though, and after sitting in a cab for twenty minutes, you were once again in your comfy townhome. You spent the rest of the afternoon in front of your computer, an empty word document open before you. It was true that you’d just finished up your latest work, but you knew you couldn’t get to comfortable. Bills would continue to come in whether or not you felt inspired, and though you had a comfortable cushion of money in the bank, you still didn’t want to get too comfortable.

And so, you’d decided to move on to the next project. But what would you write about?

Your mind, indubitably, strayed to Loki once more, turning over the last few minutes of conversation you’d had that day. He was so…elegant, with just a hint of a sinister edge that you were sure had come from his work. You were intrigued by his career, truth be told. How couldn’t you be? You’d written about death for years, now. But he’d lived it; he’d touched it.

And it was that thought that sent your fingers typing away at your keyboard.

It wasn’t that she’d chosen to live on the line between life and death; she liked to think that death had chosen her to be among its closest of companions, shaping her since her youth to be the walking Death Knoll that she’d become…

___________

Loki didn’t consider himself to be a full-on sociopath, but it was typically hard for him to empathize with others. Or, rather, it wasn’t that it was difficult for him; it was that most of the time he simply didn’t care to try to feel sympathy for other people.

But even he had some broken semblance of a moral compass, and no matter how dark his inner feelings grew, he knew that he would never be able to harm a child. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with that particular sentiment, but at least he could do something about it.

He stayed late at the hospital two days after your lunch date, that familiar hunger within him having only grown since seeing you again. Usually, he could keep the beast under control, but something about you fanned the flames within him until he felt as if he’d burn alive if he didn’t do something, anything, to satiate them.

And so he found himself sneaking into the pediatric ward at 7 pm, just as the day-shift nurses were finishing up and the night-shift nurses were starting to take their place. A pair of deep purple gloves clung to his hands, and he was careful not to make too much noise as he snuck into one of the doctor’s offices. He went down the hallway, trying three before he found one left unlocked. HIPAA would have a field day if they only knew…

From there, he searched the room for a password to the computer, not surprised to see it written on a sticky note hidden beneath the keyboard. Whoever this doctor was, Loki made a mental note not to trust him with any of his medical records.

Taking a seat at the desk, he located the file of patients seen that day, scrolling through them for what he was looking for. A case of the flu, a sick stomach, an allergic reaction – no, no, no. He let out a huff of frustration as he pulled up patients seen the day before, then the day after that, looking for something he could use.

And that was when he saw poor little Annie Rineback.

He pulled up a picture of the five year old, frowning when he saw the deep purple bruise around her left eye. Loki skimmed through her vitals, scrolling down the page until he pulled up the doctor’s and nurse’s notes.

Patient refused to say anything in regard to how she’d received her injury. Pt’s mother insisted that Annie fell down while playing in their yard, but could not answer specific questions as to what specifically had caused pt’s injuries, the nurse had written.

Suspected case of abuse, the doctor had followed up in his own records. When asked, pt’s mother said that her husband had been at work during the time of the incident, though I have my own personal suspicions. Will call pt’s mother in a week to follow-up.

Loki made quick work of retrieving the little Annie’s address before closing out of the browser and locking the computer once more. After doing a quick scan of the room to make sure he’d left no trace, he made his way out, a sinister smirk on his face.

Time to get to work.

_________

It was Friday night when Loki got your call. His heart leapt with joy upon seeing your name flash across his screen, and he didn’t even hesitate as he answered.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Your own heart contorted upon hearing his voice; it had been Tuesday when you’d gone on your little lunch date, and the two of you had been texting each other at every opportunity ever since. But his voice just did things to you; you would always prefer it to texting.

“Hey, Loki. How’s it going?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” he replied, glancing around his basement. He’d recently dusted the space and sprayed it down with linen-scented air freshener, and he was quite happy with the result. The knives and saws gleamed against their white pegboard, and if he walked over to the examination table resting in its middle, he’d be able to see his reflection in its surface.

The only thing out of place was the large tub of water he’d dragged into the room. Well, that and the woman he had tied up in the corner. She was still passed out from the blow he’d landed to the back of her head, and he’d preemptively gagged her for whenever she woke up; his ears were still ringing from the way she’d screamed when he grabbed her in the alleyway near her apartment.

“How about you, darling?” he asked, leaning back against the metal sink behind him. “How’s the new book coming along?”

“It’s actually going really well; you’ve been quite the source of inspiration.”

Loki grinned widely, knowing that he must have looked like an infatuated schoolboy as his heart fluttered. But he didn’t care; the only person who could have seen the effect you had on him was currently passed out, and even if she hadn’t been, she would be soon.

“Really? I’m inspiring you? How so?”

“Well… The latest character in my book might be a suave, attractive medical examiner.”

His heart swelled at the idea of her basing one of her characters off of him, especially since he truly did love her work so much. He swallowed thickly before replying, internally berating himself for being such a sap.

“Oh? And do I have anything else in common with this fellow?”

“Not really. She also happens to be a woman. And she kills people, so… Yeah. I sure hope she doesn’t!”

Loki laughed along with you even as he cut his eyes towards his soon-to-be victim.

“Ehehe, yes. Well, I can’t wait to read all about her.”

His eyes widened when he saw Annie’s mom start to stir against her bonds, and he immediately straightened up.

“Hey, love?” he suddenly said. “Could I call you back in half an hour or so? I just got a text from Thor to call him, and I’d better make sure he isn’t setting something on fire.”

“Oh, sure thing,” you assured him, hoping that you hadn’t bothered him. “I’m sorry for calling at a bad time…”

“No, love, don’t apologize! I want nothing more than to hear your lovely voice,” Loki promised. “I’m just paranoid when it comes to Thor.”

You softened at that, letting the doubt you’d started to feel seep out of you.

“You’re a good brother, Loki,” you smiled. “I understand. Just give me a call back whenever you can.”

“I will,” he stated. “It shouldn’t take longer than thirty minutes.” He watched as the woman he had tied up started to blink her eyes open, and he knew that he needed to go before she started with her incessant screaming again.

“I’ll call you right back,” he said once more.

“Okey, doke. Bye, Loki!”

“Goodbye, love.”

Not a moment after he’d hung up, the woman made a small noise of panic, which amplified into a full-on wail once she saw the wall of torture devices Loki had constructed. With a roll of his eyes, and shoved his phone back into his pocket and marched over to her, kneeling down to her level to grip her throat.

“If you don’t shut up,” he growled, “I will cut off your fingers and toes one by one until you have nothing but bloody stumps left. Do you want that?”

The woman’s mascara was tracking down her cheeks, staining the rope that was currently gagging her, and after a few sniveling gasps she nodded her head.

“Good. Now,” Loki continued, “let me explain your current situation. You are in my basement right now under layers of concrete and insulation. This room is locked and sound-proof, and I live alone. No one will come to help you, and no one knows where you are.

“Now, I have a few questions to ask you, so I’m going to take your gag off. But,” he added when he saw the woman perk up, “if you start with that screaming again, I will slit your throat and call it a day. And neither of us want that, now do we?”

Once again, the woman shook her head, and Loki gave her a tight smile.

“Very good.”

He reached out and gripped the rope, tugging it out from between her teeth until it rested loosely around her neck. To her credit, she didn’t scream as he’d expected her to, nor did she persist in struggling against her bonds as she had been a moment before.

“Hm. Very good,” Loki praised as he stood up.

“Are you going to kill me?” the woman asked, looking up at him with pleading, tearful eyes. “Please,” she continued after a moment of silence, “please, I have a family.”

At that, Loki threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, Mrs. Rineback, I’m aware,” he chuckled. “In fact, that’s exactly what I had questions about.

“See, I don’t have children,” he mused, starting to pace in front of her. “Nor do I think I ever will. But I do understand the general concept. You’re supposed to love your children unconditionally and care for them, nurture them, blah blah blah… But you, Mrs. Rineback, you do none of those things, now do you?”

The woman’s face grew guarded upon hearing that, and she stiffened.

“I… I don’t know what you-“

“Oh, don’t insult me,” Loki scoffed. “I already know all of your dirty little secrets. Poor little Annie… Originally, I’d started researching her, believing that maybe her father really hadn’t been at work the day she was brought into the hospital with a black eye and bruised rib. That was what the doctor assumed to be the case, at least.

“But all too often, the mother is overlooked as the possible abuser, is she not?”

Loki stood still in front of her, watching as horror started to fill her gaze. He took a moment to enjoy this intoxicating moment of complete power; he could get off on this alone.

“Yes, Mrs. Rineback,” he cooed. “I know. I know everything. I know of what you’ve put Annie through, and I know what you put little Micah through before his…untimely end.”

A whimper escaped her upon hearing her son’s name, and she looked away, no doubt feeling hot shame wash over her.

“Micha…fell down a flight of stairs,” she whispered. “It was an accident!”

“Oh, I have no doubt that he fell down some stairs. But I very much doubt that it was an accident.”

Silence hung heavily between them, until the click of his shoes accompanied his steps as he approached her.

“Tell me – how do you sleep at night with the murder of your seven year old son looming over your head? Evidently, not too restlessly, if you still continue to abuse your remaining child-“

“Stop!” she suddenly shouted, bowing her head. “Stop, please; I’m a good mother. I… I love my child. I loved… I loved Micah.”

“But that doesn’t stop you from drinking, now does it?” he snarled. “I only watched you for a day before knowing I wouldn’t be able to stomach another. Do you always start drinking with your breakfast?”

She didn’t look up at him, and he watched with a sneer as her shoulders shook with her sobs. He knelt down beside her, gripping her throat once more and forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You,” he whispered, “repulse me.”

With that, he hauled her to her feet, ignoring the way she writhed and twisted in his grip. Her attempts at fleeing were borderline laughable as he neared the tub, and with a kick to the back of her knee she was kneeling before it.

“The world will not miss you,” he assured her, twisting a hand in her hair and yanking until she was halfway in the water. “Nor will your family.”

And with that, he shoved her in, dropping to his knees and flipping her onto her back. Her restrained arms twisted, and most of her weight was placed upon her tied hands where they rested against her lower back as Loki grabbed her ankles.

From there, it was only a matter of time. He stood up, keeping her legs in the air, as she floundered under the water. It was delightful to watch her at this angle, and Loki once again said a silent thank you for the idea. He could clearly see her face as she fought towards the surface, resembling a fish flopping around on a pier as she struggled.

It didn’t take long before her harried motions started to slow down, though, and Loki almost was disappointed as the fight left her. He watched her chest expand as she took in a large lungful of water, and the sputters she made were music to his ears. And disappointment he had faded when she went completely motionless, and in her last moments, she opened her eyes and looked up at him through the haze. Even through the ripples in the water, he could distinguish the moment that she knew she was about to die, and the fear within her gaze was euphoric to him. He wondered, for a moment, if she was afraid of waking up in hell, even though he’d long since dismissed the idea of such fanciful, religious notions.

When he was finally sure that she was dead, he let go of his grip on her legs and took a step back, glancing down in disgust at the water that had gotten on his clothes. But, then again, he typically left his basement covered in blood, so this was amongst the cleanest ways he’d killed one of his victims.

Ten minutes later, he was in his bed, stroke Lovecraft as she laid against his side. He’d cleaned up and put on some sweatpants before settling in to call you, and butterflies flapped around his chest just at the sight of your name in his phone.

“This is ridiculous,” he huffed, sending a bemused glance towards his cat. “I’m a thirty-six year old man – I’m a fucking serial killer – and this woman already has me wrapped around her finger.”

His cat only blinked slowly up at him, not caring in the slightest about his internal distress, and with a small smile, he pressed the call button.

Meanwhile, you were in bed yourself, reading a book you’d picked up from the store a few days ago, when you heard your ringtone. With a squeal, you all but threw your book down and accepted the call, a huge smile on your face as you answered.

“Hello, again.”

“Hello, darling. Sorry again about earlier.”

“No, it’s fine! I totally get it. How is everything with Thor?”

“Thor is fine,” he smiled. “He needed my help installing photoshop on his computer. Why he needs photoshop, I’ll never know, but I walked him through it and now I only have a mild headache from the endeavor.”

“I really need to meet your brother in person. Just wait until I tell him all the things you’ve been saying.”

“I assure you, it’s nothing I haven’t told him directly in person. But he’s gotten me back a few times, despite his incompetence. One time, he tried to sell me on Craigslist.”

“Oh, no! That’s…that’s actually hilarious.”

“Mm, well. The concerning thing was that I had a few interested parties.”

You both laughed at that, and after a while you were both left in an almost awkward silence.

“So…” you finally began nervously. “I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow.”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Loki said. “Did you have anything in mind for us?”

“Well… I was wondering if you would like to come over and be seduced by my cooking skills.”

“I think it’s fair to say that you’ve already seduced me,” he chuckled. “But I would love to. Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself! …And actually, a bottle of wine would be awesome.”

“Then I’ll pick one up on the way.”

You grinned, sitting up in bed.

“Well, then. I’ll plan on seeing you tomorrow, Dr. Odinson.”

There was something about the way you said his title that made Loki’s cock twitch in his pants, and he absentmindedly reached down to give it a squeeze.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he breathed.

As soon as the two of you said your goodbyes, Loki practically leapt out of bed and hopped into the shower, both to wash the scent of Mrs. Rineback’s cheap perfume off of him and to quell his sudden lust for you. He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you had in mind for tomorrow; he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to wait until he all but threw you onto the nearest horizontal surface and fucked your brains out. The way you made him feel was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and he could only hope that you felt the same way.

Meanwhile, miles away, you were looking at the new set of lingerie you’d bought that evening as it lay atop your dresser. You closed your eyes and let yourself fall back against your pillows, fantasizing about the look on Loki’s face when he saw you in the dark green bra and panties you’d picked out just for him. A hand slipped into your pajama shorts at the thought, and unbeknownst to either of you, you both came at almost the same time that evening, your minds focused on the exact same thing.

Tomorrow night.

[friendoftheelves]

People, what is somethings you wish writers knew about your culture, I'll start (I'm English):

If you say British-English I will riot. It's standard English, American English is just the most commonly spoken version of English, being the dominant culture

Nobody cares about sports at Secondary school, I didn't realise my school had sports teams until like year 11 when I saw them leaving and it was just a casual observation

Also Primary school = reception to year 6 or ages 4 to 11, Secondary school = years 7 to 11 or ages 11 to 16, Sixth Form (attached to a secondary school) and college (independent from a secondary school but otherwise same thing) = 16 to 18. Primary school to Secondary school is compulsory, after that you have to attend some form of further education whether that be an apprenticeship or sixth form/college is up to you. It is common to have a compulsory uniform for secondary school and less common for both primary school and sixth form/college. Primary school and sixth form/college uniforms are noteworthy whereas a lack of compulsory uniform in secondary school is noteworthy

American culture is the dominant one, we have watched and read a lot of American media

If you're poor, you live in a council flat and probably have free school meals, "trailer trash" isn't really a thing because trailers just aren't a common occurrence, the only group I can think of that commonly lives in "trailers" is 'gypsy' who are their own community and live in motorhomes. Discrimination against them is common but not in your face, which I will explain in a bit because that is its own point

People care a lot about both rugby and football and if you call it soccer and act all superior about you will make a lot of people mad because British football officially came first and a lot of languages call it something that sounds very close to football in their language and American football is closer to rugby in how it looks to us so it is a very sore point

Also, in case you haven't gathered, Britain is subtly anti-American we had an empire and we are bitter we lost it so seeing America get to where we were is something Britain does not react well to

British culture is all about pretending everything so normal and subduing, ignoring and otherwise refusing to acknowledge what strays from that "normal" so unless we are forced to openly acknowledge it we will not and then we will passive aggressively snipe at it. American culture is all about being in your face, British culture is all about pretending we don't see what's wrong. We refuse to acknowledge we even had an empire

Class is a big deal. The elites in our culture have historically been their own one and this is still seen today. Class divide is what defines us. We have things like the house of commons and the house of lords. Rather than the rich ending up in positions of power due to society falling to prevent their privilege, British culture and actively encourages elite power. There is still discrimination but because of the importance of class divide and the British refusal to acknowledge our own faults, it presents differently. Race is seen as it's own class below working class and there is discrimination between the white classes. The working class are seen as beneath the rich and the rich are seen as 'upperclass tw**s'. The middle class are then seen as traitors and having abandoned the working class because the elite government has purposefully drafted policies to ensure that happens

Also,all of the above applies to English culture. There are three countries in Great Britain and 4 countries in the UK. England, Wales, Scotland and North Ireland and the divide between these countries is clear. Scotland actively hates England, Wales passive aggressively hates us and Ireland is a mess we created (I would suggest waiting for someone who is Irish to explain that because I don't know enough about it and it is an incredibly complicated topic which plays a significant role in politics)

Also we dislike the French, Britain and France are rivals because we have been fighting on and off for centuries but the French are still seen as equals. We dislike them but we will fight alongside them if if comes to it

Also accents are important, because of the class divide, if you have a working class accent you are being discriminated against, if you have a posh accent you will be hated but people will respect your 'authority', no matter how much they hate

Oxbridge is elitist but there are so many other great Unis across the UK

To American media specifically, stop romanticising British culture, I have never seen the academia aesthetic you are portraying and it irritates, we are not just the rich upper class, look at our history people you portray and because of the class divide it hurts to see that as our only representation

Also London is its own thing, Britain does not recognise London as representative of Britain and London does not like everywhere that is London, it is the most diverse and the biggest city in the entirety of England by a large margin, it does not feel like the rest of Britain

On that point, there are many, many other cities and other towns outside of London, please acknowledge them (having never been to a lot of cities I can't explain them to you)

London does have divides within it such as the divide between North and South of the river, the South does not want to be part of London and the North refuses to acknowledge it. The Northern edge of London is also up for debate, for me it is the edge of Zone 3 (on a tube map) and the other side of the North circular by car but for others it might be further in or out so be aware of that. There is also divide between the post codes for example Wood Green and Tottenham, both have the same council (Haringey) but there is a clear divide between them only further emphasises by Haringey having two MPs one for Tottenham (David Lammey) and one for Wood Green and Hornsey. Both Wood Green and Tottenham have bad reps but the Wood Green half of Haringey starts drifting into middle class at its edges with Hornsey being solidly middle class so be aware of the variation in boroughs

And, London has no centre. It is a city that grew with its country and absorbed the surrounding towns. So if you say the centre of London people will assume you mean a specific part in zone 1 but will not know which part you are talking about and will assume you are talking in a generalisation. If they are traveling with you though, they will expect further clarification, don't say the centre and expect me to know where

Also, there is no space between houses in England, they are mostly semi-detached. I once watched an episode of escape to the country where someone tried to find a detached house and just struggled massively. You either have to pay loads of money or be in the middle of nowhere before your house is fully detached and it will still be only the same distance away from another house as the average American house is. We have one of the highest populations in Europe but a small land mass

Going on from that, Britain is definitely European and has a lot of shared culture whilst still obviously being it's own thing (like every single other country) but Britain acts like and will get mad at the suggestion that they are European like any other European country because 'we are entirely seperate and on an island and how can we not have become our own thing' the actual variation is because Rome (contrary to what the school system will teach you) had very little impact on Britain so we aren't as similar to the other Latin speaking countries as is expected, the main reason we are still similar is because of the impact of Norman conquest. Also everyone underestimated the effect of Scandinavian and Germanic culture on Britain because we act like all they did was pillage when in fact they settled down and where embraced by Briton (unlike Rome which did actually pillage and subjugate Britain without being widely accepted) so that's why there is variation. We are very European but not in the way people expect so Britain refuses to acknowledge it

Honestly British culture is a lesson in tolerance versus acceptance. But there is still active discrimination as people of colour and the LGBTQ+ can attest

Also Christianity is baked into Britain to the point that even atheists follow Christian customs without questioning it but significantly less extreme than France which just stops on Sundays (but is acknowledged as a Christian country so you know) and 'pagan' - so, in this case, Celtic, anglosaxon and Norse - culture has effected us being carried down in fairy tales and witchcraft

Some of this will be upsetting to many people as it should be because British culture hurts, it discriminates without acknowledging it and I want people to know that. I want people to see that when they write about it because the alternative is writing about Britain as if it has faults and that would be so much worse. So writers, please bear all of this in mind when talking about Britain, even and especially, the ugly parts

This has been a white, middle class, Londoners, perspective on Britain and no I will not call myself English because the divide between England and London means that being a Londoner rather than just English matters in this context

I would recommend listening to the perspective of Brits from other groups, such as England, Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland, working class, upper class, Brit of colour, non-passing queer folk, Muslim, Hindu, Indian (the largest immigrant group is actually Indian and that's just immigrated in their lifetime rather than born British and Indian), Jewish (especially Jewish I can talk about that on another post but let's just say the Jewish have never been accepted but always been part of Europe) and so on, to get a more comprehensive view of Britain

[v-velvetykisscs]

Safety Net

Note: here’s the update after two months. I’m so sorry, I’ve been going through personal stuff and school has been stressing me out like crazy. Hope you like this !!

Chapter 2:

My heartbeat is ringing in my ears. I watch the figures in the passenger seat attentively, whilst inhaling deeply and exhaling once again. 10 minutes have passed inside of this car, and not a single word has been spoken by Historia or either of the people in the driver and passenger seat. My palms are moist and a warm rush passes through my body. I dig my nails into the soft, damp skin of my palms. My eyes divert to the window of the car, following the fleeting street lights with my eyes before screwing my eyes shut. I'm going to be sick. This dread has formed a coiled-up knot in my stomach, I fear it'll travel up my throat and out.

"What is this?" I state firmly.

Historia turns her head away from her black ballet flats to look at me, rigid strands of her golden hair falling onto her face. Her eyes widen and her eyebrows furrow. She purses her lips as she looks away from me.

I stare furiously into the rear-view mirror.

"Who are you guys?"

The man in the driver's seat, pushes his glasses down onto the bridge of his nose and makes eye contact with me. His dark, thick eyebrows are relaxed and his chocolatey eyes pour indirectly into mine.

"So she didn't tell you."

I've seen those eyes somewhere.

"No, why would I be asking?"

As if on cue, he stops at the red light, turning around slowly.

"She's a feisty one, Krista."

He sports a light brown messy hair-do and leather jacket as a replacement for the white shirt, brown waistcoat and black bow tie.

"What the fuck?! I recognise you, you're the bartender I spoke to back there."

"I'm Jean, Sugar Cube." he smirks, quirking an eyebrow.

I spare him a glance before waiting for the other to speak.

"And I'm Armin." A shorter, skinnier man speaks quietly before turning to give me a small smile. He has short, straw-blonde hair and dusty blue eyes.

"Nice to meet you, although this doesn't answer my question."

The red-light fades to green and Jean turns around and pushes the pedal, resuming his driving.

I focus on Historia again, waiting for her to give me a response.

"I swear I was going to tell you-"

"And I was there to make sure that she would, but when I realised you ran into trouble, I got my baby ready for a swift escape." Jean intervenes.

"Who do you work for?"

"I work at Yeager Corporations, Jean and Armin are my colleagues."

"And where are they taking us?"

"The HQ. It's the safest place at the moment." Armin butts in promptly.

"You obviously don't know the first thing about me but I would definitely feel much safer within the walls of my house."

"I'm sure anyone would, but right now we need to make it to HQ, where the boss will know what to do."

...

I eye the pair as they slam the front doors of the vehicle and walk to either side of the car to prompt the doors open for us.

I huff, snatching my messenger bag up from the floor, reaching for the door handle. I hold onto it. Jean notices and frowns a little. He speaks loud enough for me to hear him through the glass with a muffle. "Allow me." he insists. I let go of the door handle and wait for him. He moves to the side and I step out of the car. "Thank you" I fix the neat rows of cars parked opposite us instead of making eye contact.

Historia falls behind and walks besides me.

"Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"Because there's more to it."

"God you sound so morbid. Look, I've covered your ass more times than I seem to recall, so nothing you do shocks me. I know you better than anyone else."

"But this is different."

I pause.

"Different how?"

"We're nearly there, ladies."

"Alright Jean."

She wobbles forward as she tries to walk faster than before to avoid resuming our conversation. I glance at her injured foot; her ankle is bruised and battered with purple and blue. It looks as if it's swelling. I move up next to her and hold her arm, putting it gently around my shoulder to support her. I look away from her. There's an elevator. The boys pause and we walk a few more steps. Armin's finger skims over the numbers. He pushes the button. After a while, the metallic doors slide open smoothly.

Stepping out of the lift, Armin strides forward, his shoes clunking somewhat gracefully onto the white marble tiles. Jean follows quickly behind, not wanting to be the one left behind to tail the group. He puffs his chest out, straightening his posture to make himself seem taller and more intimidating. He turns and gives me a side smirk, but I scoff and roll my eyes, not allowing myself to associate with that heathen. Historia places a hand on your shoulder almost comfortingly, ushering you to follow behind Armin and that cocky bastard Jean. I exhale defeatedly, having no choice but to follow along and play their stupid little game. Historia whimpers, her ankle still being in moderate pain and currently untreated. This left her hopeless at the back, hopping along and trying to keep up with everyone else's paces. I check back on Historia every so often to make sure she's okay, and the lift door shuts, leaving only the cityscape lights to illuminate the room. I think to myself for a moment, how blindingly bright it must be here on a sunny day, the room being mostly white, and white being a reflective colour. Is that why mafia bosses wear sunglasses? I guess we'll never know. Focusing myself again, I turn back around to face the backs of Armin and Jean, whispering to one another, Armin occasionally glancing back at me.

"So.. where are we going?" I ask, feeling quite awkward being sandwiched between these weirdos. There was no response from either of them. Only the low chatter and the monotonous sound of a few keyboards typing away filled the silence. In fact, they both stopped whispering and continued to walk. I narrow my eyes, balling my hands into a fist and beginning to pierce my skin with my nails.

"Hello? I know the two of you aren't fucking deaf." This was a bold move from me, adrenaline rushing through my body as my anger levels continued to rise, them both still ignoring me. These fuckers. I look back at Historia hopelessly, asking for assistance with my eyes. She just stares back blankly at me, trying to keep her own balance whilst walking, leaving me to debate whether I should just throw a tantrum in the middle of the workroom, there and then, oblivious to the consequences.

"What the FUCK is this." I raise my voice this time, close to a yell. They both stop and look at each other, then turning back around to me. The sound of Historia's shoes stopped behind me. I gulped, looking up at the two of them. "Our workroom." Armin would finally reply, scarily calm.

Jean intervenes "It's our condo. We make business here, We drink and eat and socialise. No need to get so worked up, you little lemon. We're nearly there."

I let a short, humourless laugh escape, pulling my lips into a horrid smile. Jean smiles, unbothered by my sour attitude. "Bye Hitch!" Jean exclaims, waving at someone; a woman, in chunky, leather Dr. Martens black boots, red fishnet tights, a red lingerie silk dress with a khaki green jacket. She's carrying a black duffel back over her shoulder. She waves back at him with her free hand, smirking. "You have a goodnight" he says to himself. We make a right turn, down a corridor, past white office doors with plastic plaques. We walk past a red haired man, sliding a piece of paper with printed lettering through one of the transparent plates. "Still on prep duty I see, Floch." Jean blurts as he passes the man.

"Shut up Horseface." he retorts bitterly, sparing a quick glance at me before returning to his job. A few steps away sits a nameless mahogany door. Armin takes a nimble step forward, knocking on the door softly. When no one responds, Jean twists the door handle, leaving the door ajar. He slips through and we follow. The room is illuminated by a dim light dangling from the ceiling, above a round, oak table. The table is littered with playing cards, 3 cans of coke and 3 open packets of potato chips on the surface, crumbs splayed all over. The space smells of cheap lavender diffuser. Two people are sitting at the table, simultaneously turning their heads around to look at the commotion. One of them- a woman- with long brown hair, tied back in a dishevelled ponytail and beige skin, has potato chips crumbs on her face. Her chocolate eyes widen at the sight of us. The other, a man- has a buzz cut with prominent, light green eyes that mirror the woman's expression.

"Oh- Jean! We didn't expect you to pay us a visit. Otherwise I might've thought about saving you some of these." The woman admits, her tone guilty as she looks down at the empty, open crisps packets.

"Oh spare me the apology Sasha, these things have a lot of calories in them anyway. I was hoping you'd know where I can find Jaeger."

"Jaeger? He should be in his office, working late." The man adds.

"Thanks Connie."

Connie nods, craning his neck and swinging his chair back, his hands holding the table as he gazes at me curiously.

"Who's this?"

"Y/n, Y/n L/n." I respond before Jean can

Sasha laughs loudly, seeming to have heard that.

We've now walked back to the main lobby and steered towards a set of a coiling staircase. I pause at the bottom of the stairs, grabbing Historia's arm gently. " I'm not letting you go further in the state you're in." I eye Armin, his eyes already fixated on me. "Will you please take care of her?"

Armin nods sharply, walking towards Historia.

"Y/N, I'm okay-" She begins, but I turn around beginning to walk up the steps. "Lead the way" I ordered Jean. At the top, Jean saunters over to a pair of opaque double doors. Next to those are 3 velvet cushion chairs. I stare at him as he brings his fist up on the door, to knock gently.

I gulp.

"Come in." a voice from within says clearly, with a neutral tone.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 3/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Read on AO3.

January 15th –

He opened his eyes!

He opened his eyes and looked at me!

After hours of waiting in the dark and in the cold, despairing every second and wishing I was dead myself, he opened his eyes.

But it came close to being all for naught because I almost died myself right then and there.

It was good to see him with his eyes wide open, but the golden eyes I loved so much are gone. 

These new eyes are white on white, the pupils infinitely dark, the irises torn. They stare without blinking. They look into me, into my soul, it seems. They connect to the love that runs deep within me, to every touch he has ever left on my skin, to every promise we both made. 

But they do not recognize me. 

Am I, at all, familiar to him?

I don’t want to reject him, whether he knows me or not. But those eyes unnerve me.

There’s so much about them that’s innocent and frightened.

So much about them that’s desolate and dead.

We literally spent the morning just looking at one another.

I would give anything to know what’s going on in his mind. 

What does he see when he looks at me? 

I want to reach out and touch him, but I’m afraid. I know it won’t be the same. He won’t be warm, won't be comforting. What could be worse than a dead copy of a once alive and loving creature? I don’t know. 

But whatever this is, it might be. 

He won’t smell like Crowley. He won’t have his cheek, won't have his soothing voice. It’s almost as if I adopted some wild animal and decided to make it my husband.

What have I done?

***

January 16th –

All day long, he tried to move, grunting with the effort of struggling to stand up and get out of bed. He didn’t speak words; he just groaned. I wanted to help him. I wanted to pretend that he was simply convalescing after a horrible illness. I wanted to bathe him and dress him. I wanted to sit him down in front of the television, prop up his feet, and feed him brandy and ice-cream. I wanted to put this chapter behind us and get on with our lives.

I wanted to make believe him dying had never happened.

But I’m not that good an actor.

He behaves exactly the way the old woman warned me he would. He reminds me of a child.

I never wanted children.

This is the ‘in sickness and in health’ part of the marriage package, which I agreed to without hesitation.

Never mind the ‘till death do us part’ portion.

This comes with my vows, and I will honor them.

My love will help him. I know it will.

…

Can I really do this, or am I fooling myself?

***

January 17th –

I’m trying my best to take the bad with the good.

I managed to get him to the living room sofa. His legs were stiff, and he couldn’t seem to bend his knees.

He had been declared dead-on-arrival because of the injury to his neck. But I wonder if anything else is broken. I wasn’t really paying attention to the doctor when he went over the extent of Crowley’s injuries. After I heard the word dead, I tuned out.

I should get a copy of Crowley’s hospital records.

But if his legs are broken, how will I deal with that? Will the potion magically fix everything? It brought him back to life. Could fixing broken legs be more difficult than reanimating a corpse? What is the extent of the potion's effects? Do I need a secondary potion of some kind to repair internal injuries?

Maybe I should call the shopkeeper back and ask.

We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

He stumbled numerous times and fell on me. I did my best not to cringe at his touch or accidentally drop him. But those eyes, so close to mine, were like looking into a nightmare. I could see through them to the veins and arteries behind, the blood inside them black and unhealthy.

The fourth time he stumbled, though, I got the feeling that maybe he was falling on purpose so that I would be forced to catch him.

I even thought I saw the shadow of a smile cross his lips.

I watched him as he sat in front of the TV and renewed his passion for The Golden Girls. That show had been one of his favorites since he was a small boy.

He sat so still. 

He didn’t swallow. 

He didn’t appear to breathe.

The only time he moved was when he looked over to where I sat, I think, to make sure I was still there.

He sat for hours and watched TV. 

There was nothing else for him to do.

I fed him salad for dinner, let him stay in front of the television instead of making him go to the dining room table. I didn’t see any reason to move him. He leaned down and sniffed the cold lettuce leaves, but he did not eat.

Neither did I.

***

January 19th –

After a full day of limping him around the house, Crowley is surprisingly steady on his feet. He can make it from the bedroom to the living room sofa by himself. It takes him a while, but he can do it.

His body is still in rigor, but he seems to be getting more comfortable with it.

I should be jumping for joy at his progress. The more mobile he becomes, the less dependent he will be on me. Every day that he improves, even a little, he is closer to becoming the man he was.

But I don’t know how comfortable I am with that anymore.

***

January 21st -

He doesn’t sleep. And now that he doesn’t rely on me to get around the house, neither do I. I know he sees me as a parent-figure, so he won’t hurt me. But he’s such an alien creature. Not like the old Crowley at all.

It’s strange having this version of him around the house.

When Crowley was

Before the accident, Crowley was so independent. He didn’t need me, didn’t need my help with anything.

But now, he needs to be near me all the time.

I understood there would be a change in our dynamic, but it’s such a striking change that it’s difficult to get used to.

I took a shower for the first time in days. I left him in the living room watching TV, but when I finished and opened the curtain, there he was, standing there … staring.

I fell asleep for about an hour afterward, and when I woke up, he was kneeling beside me, again staring at me.

He’s always staring.

What does he think about doing when he stares at me?

***

January 22nd –

I finally broke down and gave Crowley a shower. He didn’t stink, but there was something about him, something that smelled … well, I can't seem to find the words to describe it. 

I just wanted it gone.

I’ve seen the injuries to his chest numerous times, but I haven't paid much attention to his back.

When I saw them, I almost threw up.

And he noticed. 

He heard me gag. 

I gasped, held in my urge to be sick.

He turned to face me, and for the first time, he had an expression on his face different from his blank one … but also different from that smile I thought I saw when I was helping him walk around the house.

He looked hurt.

***

January 27th -

Each day that he improves, I debate telling our friends that he's here. I know they miss us terribly. But in the end, it would be too cruel. He’s not himself anymore. He never will be. Most days, I curse myself for doing this to him. My motives were selfish. I wasn’t thinking of anyone but myself when I made the decision to bring him back. 

I wasn’t even thinking of him.

Our lives are unrecognizable. We’ll never travel the world like we'd planned. Who knows if I’ll make it back to my bookshop? Should probably shut it down and have my books transported here. The way things look, the rest of our days will be spent in this cottage. 

I have to be okay with that.

But what about Crowley?

If you asked rational me if I think he wants to live this half-life, with no potential to be anything other than a human puppet, who only barely resembles the man that was Anthony J Crowley, I would have to say no. Absolutely not.

But I can’t turn back now.

What am I expected to do? Poison his tea? Smother him in his sleep?

Would attempting to kill him even work?

And what about his soul? 

If there is a Heaven, I surely pulled him out of it with my cock-eyed plan. What if there is no going back for him? 

I can only hope that my love for him is enough to keep him from hating me when he’s able to comprehend what I’ve done to him.

***

February 1st –

I’ve finally gotten him to eat – bits and pieces mostly, bites of vegetables and corners of bread. It doesn’t seem like he likes it, but he eats it, and that’s good. He eats because I tell him to. It shows that he trusts me.

He’s more self-sufficient now. 

He showers and brushes his teeth on his own. He picks out his pajamas and dresses himself. Sometimes he tries his hand at making the bed. He is attempting to be more vocal, but he has yet to say a single thing that isn’t a grunt or a moan.

I’ve been looking up the subject of speech delay on the Internet, trying to find ways to help him learn. I came across one website in particular with fun, creative ideas. I started making flashcards of consonant blends and one-syllable words. I felt so accomplished, so hopeful, like I was actually doing something positive toward the goal of moving us forward. I felt confident that after a little work with them, everything would be all right. I was so excited to show them to him, but then I realized …

… I have no idea if he can read.

***

February 3rd –

I tried calling the old woman at the antique shop in Soho to ask about the effects of the potion, but the phone has been disconnected.

I guess they went out of business after all.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing appears to be broken. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t feel pain.

I was teaching him how to cook, hoping it would bring a bit of the old Crowley back. We used to cook together all the time. Honestly, we weren't all that good at it, but that didn't stop us from trying. We had just gotten the hang of a decent souffle before ...

Anyway ...

I started him small. 

I had him grating cheese. 

Seemed simple enough. The grater stands on its own, so not much to juggle. But he pressed too hard, ran the grater over the backs of his fingers, scraped off skin. He didn’t so much as flinch. I think it bothered me more than it bothered him. I bandaged it up and, without thinking, I kissed the wound. I looked at him in utter shock …

… and he smiled.

My heart leapt.

It’s so nice to see him smile again. 

I never thought I would.

***

February 4th –

I took off Crowley’s bandage, and his wound from the cheese grater is gone! There’s not a trace of it left!

I guess that answers that question.

I should be relieved, but it bothers me, and I don’t know why.

***

February 21st –

Today was the most unexpectedly intense, depressing, and wonderful day all at once.

It started when Crowley woke this morning. He got up before me and tried to make me crepes. I had no idea why. He hadn't tried to cook by himself before, didn't even show an interest in cooking without me. He burned them, himself, and the stove all in one go. The fire alarm woke me, blaring in my ears. I managed to get to the extinguisher in time, but poor Crowley looked heartbroken over his ruined pan of blackened food.

Then, before lunch, he wanted to go outside. I think he was trying to sneak out, but I caught him jiggling the front doorknob (he has yet to master the bolt - thank God). When I caught him, he slammed his hand on the door in frustration and sprinted for the back one. I followed him, knowing it was locked and that he wouldn’t be able to open it. When I reached him, he was trying to wedge his way out of the old cat flap. (Note to self - board up the cat flaps! I don’t know why we kept them. We’ve never owned a cat.) 

I patted him gently on the shoulder and asked him what he needed. He stood up and groaned, moving his mouth and wiggling his tongue, making nonsensical sounds. When he couldn’t say what he needed to, he pointed out the window to the garden. I assumed he wanted to check on his dahlias. I’m a disaster with flowers, and, unfortunately, I haven’t been able to keep them up the way he could. 

Of course, it's one degree outside. The poor things are frozen solid. They're not even flowers any longer, I don't think, but the frigid remains of what they once were.

But he’d had yet to show any interest in them, either, before today. 

I shrugged, repeated that I didn’t understand. He pointed more forcefully, jabbing at the window with his index finger.

“I don’t know what you're trying to tell me, my dear,” I said. “Do you want to go for a walk?” 

I've taken him walking around Soho a few times. I've been trying to tie up loose ends, decide if selling the bookshop is the road to take. I wrapped him up in a full-length coat and scarf with just his eyes peeking out. I guess he enjoyed it, but he’d never asked to go outside. He shook his head and pointed again, this time at the dying rose bushes that I hadn’t had time to deadhead. I didn’t get it. I shook my head, and he stormed off to the bedroom.

I followed him there, but he blocked the door.

I could hear him inside, moaning. It was horrible. It sounded like pain and embarrassment and frustration, all rolled together. And I couldn’t help him.

He wouldn’t let me.

I tried to lure him out several times, but he didn’t come out till dinner time.

And when he did, he was dressed in a black Bergdorf suit.

Crowley has dozens of expensive black suits, and he looks stunning in all of them.

But this suit.

This suit in particular.

This suit had been hanging front and center in his closet.

Because it was the suit I had planned on burying him in.

It threw me for a loop, dragging me kicking and screaming back to that day I found out he had died, before I’d decided to try bringing him back, before I knew that I could. I took out the suit to air it. I guess I hadn’t put it back with the others because there it was, standing before me with the living corpse of my husband inside.

The sight took all the air out of my lungs.

“Take it off,” I said quietly, trying not to alarm him, but how was I supposed to explain to my somewhat dead husband that I didn’t want to see him dressed in the suit I had planned on putting him in the ground in?

He looked confused and shook his head, opening his mouth and groaning.

“Please, Crowley,” I begged, hoping he would hear my anguish and understand, “take it off.”

He stomped his foot and shook his head, the way a petulant child would. It should have been cute, but I couldn’t handle it. I've had issues getting used to his looks lo these many weeks, but for the first time since he came back to me, he looked dead.

“Take it off!” I screamed. I ran at him, grabbed the lapels, trying to tear it off his body. He held me, pinned my arms, and I could feel his renewed strength. I hadn’t really let him touch me before, but now I knew that if he wanted to, he could probably hurt me.

I stared up at him, realizing that he was hovering above me, and I was lying on my back on the floor. My heart stopped. He had never looked menacing before. Even in death, he seemed so innocent. But now, he looked like a monster. He had a piece of paper balled in his grasp, and he tried to make me look at it, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from his face – pale and cold and lifeless, regardless of the fact that he was my Crowley.

He stared at me, trying to speak.

It hit me like a pile of bricks.

Speak.

That’s exactly what he was doing. 

His lips were moving in exaggerated, grotesque ways that shouldn’t be able to turn sound into words, but they were.

“A … Az … Azi …”

Crowley blinked and shook his head.

“Azir …”

“Aziraphale?” I asked in awe that he was trying to say my name.

Crowley laughed. It was a glorious, hollow, frankly frightening sound, but I couldn’t help smiling when I heard it. He put his fingers to my lips. 

I guess he didn’t want me to steal his thunder.

“Azzzir-uh-phale,” he said, smacking his lips. “I … lo … I lov …” Crowley swallowed again, closing his eyes, trying to make the words in his head match the movement of his lips. “I … love … you … Azzzir-uh-phale.”

Crowley tapped again at the paper on the floor. This time I did what he wanted and looked. He had torn off the current page from the calendar and was poking at a box circled shakily in red. I peered down at it.

I could have cried.

“Our ... our anniversary?” I asked, looking into his broken eyes. He sighed, nodding.

It was our anniversary.

He’d wanted to make me breakfast in bed … for our anniversary.

He’d wanted to get me roses … for our anniversary.

My husband had wanted to do something nice for me … for our anniversary.

My husband had spent all day teaching himself how to say, “I love you, Aziraphale,” because there was nothing else he could do for me.

My husband remembered our anniversary ...

... even when I had not.

***

June 4th -

Five months-ish later…

I can’t believe it! 

I cannot believe it!

Five months later and we’ve made it! Despite the odds. Despite the difficulties and the heartaches. Despite every time I thought about giving up, here we are.

Happy.

Together.

We spend our days wrapped in each other’s arms. We watch TV. I read books out loud - he sits and listens. Crowley is re-learning how to drive, and I’m on the hunt for a new Bentley. Our lives might not be what they were before, but they’re perfect for us.

We’ve managed to go to the city more, spent a few glorious nights at our flat in Mayfair. We've even interacted with one or two of our old friends. It's a wonder what some foundation and blusher can accomplish! I told them it was a medical miracle, and they believed me.

Because that's what Crowley is.

A miracle!

Okay, maybe I am tempting fate. But maybe fate needs to be tempted from time to time! 

His vocabulary has expanded immensely, and a hint of his old suave confidence has come back, along with the muddy accent I so often teased him about.

I am finally at a point where I am optimistic about the future.

Because I’m beginning to think that there might actually be one for us.

***

August 13th –

I woke this morning to a strange squealing noise. At first, I thought it might be the smoke alarm again - odd since we got the cooking situation sorted, I thought. The longer I listened to it, the more I realized it wasn’t the smoke alarm. It didn’t sound familiar at all, so I didn’t worry too much about it. As long as an errant sheep didn’t get hit by a car, there was really no reason to jump out of bed and investigate. After a few minutes of listening to the goings-on outside, I determined that wasn’t the case, so I considered going back to sleep.

But then I noticed that Crowley wasn’t laying beside me in bed.

That isn’t too unusual. He’s normally the first one up on any given day. I just curl back into a ball holding his pillow to my chest until he returns.

He always returns.

The squealing wasn’t really that weird. I’ve thought for the last few months that we might have rats. Or squirrels. Or possums. I’ve heard that same squealing a few times before. But seeing as I can’t find any evidence of rodent-caused destruction anywhere in the house, I haven’t been too aggressive about hunting it down.

My stomach began to growl. I guessed I had been asleep for longer than I thought. Instead of returning to bed, I decided to make some waffles for breakfast. So I got up and went out into the kitchen.

That’s where I found Crowley.

He was crouching on the floor …

… covered in blood …

… biting into the spine of what used to be a raggedy old Maine coon …

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

He grinned his old, sly grin, licked his bloody lips, and said, "Hello, Aziraphale. Can I get you a cuppa tea? I know just how you like it."

He winked at me, and my heart stuttered.

…

I may have a problem.

***

Those are the last words on the page.

A page where the ink is smeared from tears, and the edges crusted in blood.

I haven’t seen Aziraphale or Crowley in decades. They used to send the occasional letter, but those stopped a while ago, and they never call. But something tells me neither of them ever left this house alive.

I’m afraid my time, too, has run out. I came to this house alone. But huddled in the darkest corner of the attic, I hear footsteps coming closer, a sour voice on the wind calling my name …

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

KA-THUNK!!

***

“Warlock Dowling!” Crowley calls, barging into the attic, footsteps heavy on the worn floorboards. “Are you recording another one of those Clip-Clop thingies again?”

“It’s TikTok, Nanny,” Warlock replies, rolling his eyes, “and no. I’m reading a story for my YouTube channel.”

“Well … you done getting a costume together or wot?” Crowley asks, changing the subject, saving face that he actually understands anything Warlock just said. “Adam and his hooligans are gonna be here in a minute. Aziraphale is gonna have kittens if you’re not ready to go Tricks or Treats!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Warlock says, gathering up his camera. He loves Halloween with a passion, but he’d been eyeing this one journal in Aziraphale’s bookshop for some time now. This video he’s been putting together promises to be epic - the crowning achievement of his burgeoning story channel. Most horror story channels get their material from the Creepypasta Reddit, but he has a unique source of original material … when he can get out to Soho, that is. “I’m coming.” He pulls the lapels of the leather jacket he’s borrowing for the evening together in front to tighten it up. 

It’s slim fit as it used to be Crowley’s from back in the day, but thirteen-year-old Warlock still swims in it. 

Warlock marches to the door under Crowley’s watchful eye. Before he can make his way through, Crowley stops him, slipping a hand underneath the jacket and rescuing an extraneous prop - an antique journal.

“Have you been snoopin’ through Angel’s old manuscripts again?” Crowley asks, wiping the cover clean. “You know how he feels bout that.”

“I know,” Warlock admits sheepishly, “but my audience loves them! I get thousands of hits off his stories! Besides, I put my own twist on them, freshen them up a bit.”

“Do you now?” Crowley asks with an unamused eyebrow notched.

“Why didn't he get them published?” Warlock shifts gears before the lecturing can start. “He’s an amazing writer!”

“He had his reasons,” Crowley mumbles, flipping through the pages. After skimming a passage or two, he puts it down on a pile of similar journals, a shiver sliding down his snakey spine. “Oof! Those things’ll give you nightmares.”

“They should terrify you. He’s murdered you in every single one!”

“Ah, but he does it with love.” Crowley grins wide enough to swallow his whole face. “It’s an honor.” 

[cherrylining]

Kakuriyo Light Novel Volume 5: Finale

I debated whether to translate this chapter for a long time, but in the end they didn’t confirm it in the anime, so...... you’re welcome, everybody. 

Picks up after the ceremony, when Orio-ya and Tenjin-ya are saying their farewells to each other. This is from Ranmaru’s perspective (mostly. I guess.)

If you were waiting for this, thanks!

Previous chapter

My body, will be imprisoned here forever. 

My destiny, will forever be watched over by the cradle of this sea. 

Sometimes, I will suddenly want to return back to a certain destination. 

I feel that I can hear, from the far end of the sea, from the far end of the country, that there are compatriots who are calling me. 

But my body however, is still bound to this southern land. 

Maybe one day, my soul will be able to travel through the storm, and return to that country.

Dear children, please forgive my waywardness.

Isohime-sama wrote down these words in her notebook. 

This is the handwriting left by her after the failure of the ceremony, just before she slept forever in the filthy cave. 

.

“Ranmaru, do you hate me?”

While looking at the majestic sea in the south, Ginji asked me. 

I stroked Nobunaga’s back in my arms, and laughed. 

“You ask me this even now? Didn’t you make up your mind to leave Orio-ya already?”

“But……”

Ginji’s silver hair fluttered in the wind, and his face still carried an earnest look. 

“In the end, I just evaded the fate of the southern land and put all the responsibility on you.”

“......”

“Only I was free. But Ranmanru, you have always been here……”

“Ha! Ginji, you are still as naive. I thought you were using your own way to accomplish this mission.”

“What?”

What does this mean- Ginji showed a dumbfounded expression, as if these words were written on his face.

He has so much capability in doing business, but sometimes he could still be so natural. Really, it’s unbearable. 

“Your decision to leave then was a turning point, just like this time, and triggered a series of fates in the end. You returning, this fact alone, has already brought many additional good things.”

“Additional…… are you referring to Aoi-san?”

“Not only that woman. I’m also referring to the Odanna of Tenjin-ya, the Fuyin couple, and many others that were also affected by you. Thanks to them, this ceremony ended with a great success- I knew by my intuitions that this time it would be successful, and until I had been notified by that messenger of the water mirror in the palace giving out a good omen, could I really confirm it…… But this success is by no means only on the surface. I also feel that I, who had been trapped for so long within the stagnant waters, being unable to escape, has finally been able to take a step forward.”

“......Ranmaru.”

These words, so different from what I would usually say, made Ginji feel overwhelmed. 

However, the truth is that aside from achieving success for the ceremony this time, we have also received considerable gains in reviewing the form of the ceremony. 

Although there is no way to know how long the ceremony of the southern land will last in the future, we must rethink how to receive the Umi-bouzu. 

‘Entertainment’ should not be a ritual dominated by fear and silence in the past, but should be full of warmth. 

Being able to find a view like this, that not even Isohime-sama had seen, could be possibly because we work in the industry of ‘inn’, and thus were able to find such an answer. 

“In the end, the Umi-bouzu was just an ayakashi who was locked in the darkness and led a lonely life.”

“That place…… is it actually the dark side of the Eternal Realm?”

“Who knows. The only thing that is certain, is that the Black Sea at the other end will open once every hundred years, allowing impurities to pour out, causing disasters. But the Umi-bouzu isn’t an impurity, I think…… he probably exists to manage the impurities there.”

“An ayakashi to manage the impurities……”

Assuming that both the treasures and kagura dance were both necessary procedures to purify filth, the function of the ‘ocean treasures’ was different from the beginning. 

--Only to satisfy the Umi-bouzu. 

As for why his displeasure with the banquet would lead to the ceremony to fail, one of the reasons probably lie with whether he had enough “power” to keep the filth back.

In some respects, this power may refer to whether he ate enough and whether he was in good spirits. Although it sounds cheap, I think everyone can understand that without this banquet, the ceremony would not be successful.

From this point of view, the food and hospitality provided by Tsubaki Aoi this time were indeed surprisingly good. The reason lies with the fact that her cooking improves the “spiritual power” necessary for the survival of all youkais. 

“Ginji, you made the right choice to initially leave. If we had both remained here, maybe we would not have been able to see these facts. It was you who led this ceremony to success.”

“No…… how could it be, Ranmaru. The effort that I could give was limited, and it was all thanks to Aoi-san’s help……”

“Ha! And that was all thanks to you that we could get her to act. DIdn’t she do all this, just to bring you back?”

“......”

Ginji suddenly looked up at Tenjinmaru, which was stopped at the docks.

His eyes followed the target of Tsubaki Aoi, who had poked her head out from the deck to bid farewell to the twins. 

Even I, who had known him since young, seemed to have never seen before the warmth that was contained in his eyes. I think to myself, this really is……

“Haha! I really think you are a guy who likes picking the hardest road to walk.”

“What?” 

“Falling in love with that woman…… you will be the one who suffers in the end.”

“......”

Ginji’s eyes slowly widened.

Seeing this guy’s surprised and speechless appearance, I could only speak happily. 

“Alright, you should quickly go back. Your home is not here anymore.”

I patted Ginji on the shoulder, then left him and walked towards the front of the pine forest to meet the other groups in Orio-ya who came to see them off. 

Glancing back at Ginji, he looked thoughtful and stared at the sea again. 

After a while, he quickly climbed onto Tenjinmaru. 

“Ah ah, that’s right, you should quickly go back. Just cherish the most important person in your heart right now, and it will be fine. Take care, my stupid brother.”

That will definitely change our way of survival in the future, and bring us good luck. 

Tenjinmaru, which Ginji had boarded, set off not long after, and left here. 

Carrying Ginji and the hero of this time, Tsubaki Aoi, returning back to where they should go. 

“Goodbye!”

“Take care!”

“The clouds are gathering in the sky, watch out for the rain!”

Orio-ya’s employees and Tenjin-ya’s were fundamentally enemies of each other, but by the time they parted, they had formed a connection worthy of saying farewell to. 

I thought this was a strange chance, and I smiled wryly. 

“Hmph!”

“What’s wrong, Nobunaga?”

The normally well-behaved Nobunaga started rubbing his nose against my chest, whining frequently, looking up at the sky with an uneasy expression, and extended his tongue. 

Do you want to leave this place also?

--He seemed to question me like that.

“Ha! Nobunaga, what nonsense are you saying. I like this southern land…… I, and my body, will coexist here with Orio-ya forever.”

My body, will be imprisoned here forever.

My destiny, will forever be watched over by the cradle of this sea. 

Sometimes this heavy burden will also make me feel overwhelmed, thinking of what Isohime-sama said.

But I have never thought of flying far away, nor did I want to run away. 

This magnificent southern sea endows me with grace, and I will be able to dare continuously. I have only this awareness.

Together with the companions of Orio-ya.

The beam of light shot into the sea from the other side of the sky illuminates us, who have struggled in the dark clouds and are finally breaking through.

Just like a blessing brought from the deceased person I love and respect, Isohime-sama. 

[for-your-therapeutic-smile]

They Never Teach You How to Stop

Rarely do I lack the words to express myself. Perhaps this reflects my failure to maintain my journal consistently throughout 2020. Here goes an honest attempt to capture and document my mental state and the fatigue of Covid, the inertia of this shelter-in-place, the anxiety of this political crisis we face as a nation, the pressure of being a 1L in law school against the backdrop of civil unrest and Justice Ginsburg’s death, coming out - my dad told me he was disappointed -, the possible erosion of my relationship with someone I love, and this feeling of absolute dread and resentment for a system that continuously fails my and future generations (robbing us of a social contract that promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness), among many other things I’m too tired to consider. When did we accept a $0 baseline as the American Dream? Oh, to be debt free - free from this punishment for having pursued an education. Stifling the educated to prevent them (myself included) from organizing and mobilizing the masses so we can supplant this system with a better one is the overall objective of the oppressive class (read: Pedagogy of the Oppressed); it’s the conflict between the bourgeois and the proletariat. The proletariat has swallowed the middle class, leaving only the ruling class. I am essentially on autopilot, forcing myself to go through the motions so I can survive another day. I know others join me in this mental gymnastics of unparalleled proportions, one social scientists and medical researchers will soon study and subsequently publish their findings in an attempt to explain the unexplainable. Despite a lack of air circulation, we are breathing history; the constitution, like our societal norms, must adapt accordingly. Judge Barrett: there is no place for originalism. While I seldom admit weakness or an inability to manage life’s curveballs, this series of unfortunate events seems almost too much to bear. 

And yet somehow I continue to find the energy to submit assignments due at 11:59 p.m., write this post at 1:38 a.m., “sleep”, wake at 7 a.m. so I can read and prepare (last minute!) the assigned material leading into my torts or contracts class. I find the energy to text my boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend) so I can attempt to salvage the real and genuine connection we have, cook elaborate meals to find some solace, wrestle with whether or not to hit my yoga mat (I don’t), apply to a fellowship for the school year and summer internships, prepare my dual citizenship paperwork, manage a campaign for two progressive politicians, and listen to music in an attempt to stay sane . . . ~*Queues John Mayer’s “War of My Life” and “Stop This Train”*~ . . . I realize I have to be kinder to myself, give credit where credit is due. I hate feeling self-congratulatory though.

Mostly, I am too afraid of the repercussions if I stop moving at a mile/minute, that I can just work away the pain and be the superhuman who numbs himself from the low-grade depression and nervous breakdown. My body tells me to slow down, as evidenced by the grinding of my teeth, but I take on more responsibility because people rely on me. I must show up. I am a masochist in that way. This is what I signed up for and I’ll be damned if I don’t carry through on my promise to do the work. Pieces of my soul scattered about like Horcruxes, though they’re pure, not evil, so I hope nobody resolves to destroy them. 

My mind rarely rests. It’s 3:08 a.m., one of the lonelier hours where night meets morning; it’s the hour for and of intense introspection. It makes you consider pulling an all-nighter, one you reserve for an “important” school or work deadline. We always put our personal lives on the back-burner. 3 a.m. sets the tone for a potentially awful day. But that doesn’t matter right now. I’m letting some of my favorite albums play in the background: Joni Mitchell’s Blue, Mac Miller’s Circles, Rhye’s Blood, Alicia Keys’ ALICIA, Coldplay’s Ghost Stories, Frank Ocean’s Blonde, Miley Cyrus’ Dead Petz in addition to other playlists, Tiny Desk performances, and tracks (I unearthed last week, like When It’s Over by Sugar Ray). I need to feel something. I need to feel anything. I need to feel everything. We experience such a broad spectrum of emotions throughout the day that we lose track of if we don’t pause to absorb them. Music reinforces empathy; it releases dopamine.

I spent the past two hours reading through old journals and posts, as scattered as they were, on a wide range of topics: poems I had written about falling in and out love, anecdotes about my world travels, and entries on personal, political, and professional epiphanies. The other night I found one of my favorites, a previous post from my time living in Indonesia, centering on the dualities of technology. It resonated with me more than the others. To summarize, I wrote about my tendency to equate the Internet with a sense of interconnectedness (shoutout to Tumblr for being my digital journal; to Twitter for being a place of comedy and revolution; to Instagram for curating my *aesthetic*; to Facebook where I track my family’s accomplishments and connect with travel buddies displaced around the globe all searching for a home). And yet I feel incredibly lonely and disconnected whenever I spend too much time using technology, so much so that I set screen time limitations on my phone recently to curtail this obsession with constant communication and information gathering. Trump and Biden admitted that it’s unlikely we’ll know the results of the election on November 3rd during their first presidential debate. Push notifications don’t allow us to learn of trauma within the comforts of our own homes. I’m already fearing where I will be when that news breaks. 

This global pandemic and indefinite shutdown of the world (economy) undeniably exacerbates these feelings. This is some personal and collective turmoil. But I was complicit in the endless scrolling and swiping of faces and places long before Covid-19. Instead of choosing to interact with my direct environment (today’s research links this behavior to the same levels of depression one feels when they play slot machines), I am still an active on all these platforms, participating the least in the most tangible one: my physical life. I am tired of pretending. I am tired of being tired. I am tired of embodying fake energy to exist in systems that fail me. I am tired of the quagmire. Like Anaïs Nin, I must be a mermaid [because] I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living. This particular excerpt from that 2016 entry was difficult for me to read: “The fantasy of what could have been if a certain plan had unfolded will haunt you forever if you do not come to peace with the reality of the situation. I hope you come to terms with reality.” I am not at peace with my current reality. But is anyone?

It’s a bit surreal for my peers to have suddenly started caring about international relations theory. It’s transported me back to my 2012 IR lecture at Northeastern: are you a constructivist or a feminist? Realist or liberalist? Neo? Marxist? The one no one wants you to talk about. Absent upward mobility, this is class warfare. But I cannot be “a singular expression of myself . . . there are too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers” . . . It feels like America’s wake-up call. But I know people will retreat into the comforts of capitalism if Biden wins and, well, we all enter uncharted waters together if the Electoral College re-elects #45. For those who weren’t paying attention: the world is multipolar and we are not the hegemon. Norms matter. People tend to be self-interested and shortsighted. Look to the past in order to understand the future. History, as the old adage goes, repeats itself. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Taxation without representation. Indoctrination. Welcome to the language of political discourse. Students of IR and polisci have long awaited your participation. Too little too late? Plot twist: it’s a lifelong commitment. You must continue to engage irrespective of the election outcome or else we will regress just as quickly as we progress. Now dive into international human rights treaties (International Covenant on Civil & Political Rights; International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights), political refugees, FGM. No one said it wasn’t dismal. But it’s important. We need buy-in.  

While I am grateful for the continuation of my education, for this extended time with family, for this opportunity to be a campaign manager for two local progressive candidates (driving to Boston to pick up revised yard signs as proof that the work never stops), it would be remiss of me, however, not to admit that I am lonely: I am buried in my books, in the depressing news both nationally and globally, and in precedent-setting Supreme Court cases (sometimes for the worst, e.g. against the preservation of our environment). In my nonexistent free time I work on political asylum cases, essentially creating an enforceability framework of international law, for people fleeing country conditions so unthinkable (the irony of that work when my country falls greater into authoritarianism and oligarchy is not lost on me). I am fulfilling my dream of becoming a human rights lawyer which stems back to middle school. I saw Things I Imagined (thank you Solange). I have held an original copy of the Declaration of Independence that we sent to the House of Lords in 1778 and the Human Rights Act of 1998 while visiting the U.K. Parliamentary Archives as an intern for a Member of Parliament. This success terrifies and exhausts me; it also oxygenizes and saves me. Every decision, every sacrifice, has led me to this point. 

“It’s the choosing that’s important, isn’t it?,” Lois Lowry of The Giver rhetorically asks. This post is not intended to be woe is me! I am fortunate to be in this position, to have this vantage point at such an early age, and I understand the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. My life has purpose. I am committed to the work that transcends boundaries; it is larger than life itself. It provides a unique perspective. But it makes it difficult to coexist with people so preoccupied in the drama they create in their lives and the general shallowness of the world we live. It feels like there is no option to pump the brakes on any of this work, especially in light of our current climate, and that pressure oftentimes feels insurmountable. Time is of the essence. It feels, whether true or not, that hardly anyone relates to my experience, so if I don’t carve out this time to write about it, then I am neither recording nor processing it. 

Tonight, in between preparing tomorrow’s coursework, I realize that I have an unprecedented number of questions about life, which startles me because typically I have the answers or at least have a goal in mind that launches me into the next phase of life or contextualizes the current one. These goals, often rooted in this capitalistic framework, in this falsity of “needing” to advance my career as a means of helping people, distract me from asking myself the existential questions, the reasons for why we live and what we fundamentally want our systems to look like; they have distracted me from real grassroots community organizing until now. They distract me from the fact that, like John Mayer, I don’t know which walls to smash; similarly, I don’t know which train to board. Right now feels like we are living through impossible and hopeless times and I don’t want to placate myself into thinking otherwise despite my relatively optimistic outlook on life. As we face catastrophic circumstances – the consequences of this election and climate change (famine, refugees, lack of resources) – I do not want to live in perpetual sadness. I am searching for clarity and direction so I can step into a better, fuller version of myself. 

It’s now 3:33 a.m. Here is the list of questions that I have often asked myself in different stages of life, but recently, until now, I have not been willing to confront for fear that I might not be able to answers them. But I owe it to myself to pose them here so I can have the overdue conversation, the one I know leads me to better understanding myself:

Are you happy? Why or why not?

What do you want the future to hold? What groundwork are you going to do to ensure it happens?

What does your ideal day/week/month/year/decade look like? Why?

With whom do you want to spend your days? Why?

Who do you love and care about? Have you told people you care about that you love them? Does love and vulnerability scare you?

What do you expect of people – of yourself, of your partner, of your family, and of your friends? Should you have those expectations? Why or why not?

What do you feel and why?

What relaxes you? What scares you? What brings you joy?

What do you want to improve? Why?

What do you want to forgive yourself for and why?

Does the desire to reinvent yourself diminish your ability to be present?

Do you have a greater fear of failure or success? Why?

How do you escape the confines of this broken system? How do you break from the guilt of participation in it and having benefited from it?

How do we reconcile our daily lives with the fact that we’re living through an extinction event? This one comes from my friend (hi Jeanne) and a podcast she listened to recently.

How do you help people? How do you help yourself? Are you pouring from an empty cup?

How will you find joy in your everyday responsibilities, in the mission you have chosen for yourself? What, if any, will be the warning signs to walk away from this work, in part or in its entirety? Without being a martyr, do you believe in dying for the cause?

So here are some of the lessons I have learned during this quarantine/past year:

“I’ve Got Dreams to Remember,” so do not take your eyes off them. Chasing paper does not bring you happiness.

Be autonomous, particularly in your professional life.

Focus on values instead of accolades.

Do everything with intention and honest energy.

Listen to Tracy Chapman’s “Crossroads” & Talkin’ Bout a Revolution for an energy boost and reminder that other revolutionaries have shared and continue to share your fervent passion . . . “I’m trying to protect what I keep inside, all the reasons why I live my life” . . . When self-doubt nearly cripples you and you yearn a few minutes to run away when in reality you can’t escape your responsibilities, go for a drive and queue up “Fast Car” . . . “I got no plans, I ain’t going nowhere, so take your fast car and keep on driving.”

With that said, take every opportunity to travel (you can take the work with you if absolutely necessary). Go to Italy. Buy the concert ticket and lose yourself in the moment. Remember that solo excursions are equally as important as collective ones. But, from personal experience, you prefer the company. Find the balance.

Detach from the numbers people keep trying to assign to measure your personhood.

Closely examine the people in your inner circle and ask them for help when you need it.

“And life is just too short to keep playing the game . . . because if you really want somebody [or something], you’ll figure it out later, or else you will just spend the rest of the night with a BlackBerry on your chest hoping it goes *vibration, vibration*” (John Mayer’s Edge of Desire) . . . so love fiercely and unapologetically.

Be specific.

Go to therapy even when life is good.

[maryellencarter]

Queer asks copied from @corelliaxdreaming :

1. Is your family accepting? -- Hah. No. My bio-family is not accepting at allllll, so I went and got myself an internet family instead.

2. What is your sexuality? -- Weird. The strongest part of my identity is Aromantic. I seem to be pretty much allosexual, maybe bisexual; most of the people I find myself attracted to are men within a fairly specific category (physically fit to muscular, at least as competent as me, kind, and often a bit dorky; I also have a weakness for clever hands and sexy voices), but the women I'm attracted to cover a much broader range of appearances and personalities. I fall pretty much in the category of the one Tumblr post that said something like "Being bisexual means you're attracted to three specific fictional men and all women", even though the attraction to men... feels... more attraction-y? I'm still really struggling to figure that difference out.

3. What is your gender identity? -- Sort of genderfluid, sort of genderqueer, sort of maybe agnostically agender? I used to ID really strongly as a trans man, and then after a year or so of being accepted, I found myself turning female. I bounced back and forth for a lot of years but seem to have settled down at a point where it doesn't especially matter to me most of the time. Which is a lot more comfortable than hurtling around to different points on the gender spectrum without warning.

4. Favorite color? -- Blue. Royal blue, mostly. That really deep sky blue you get sometimes during the fall. A bunch of really bright colors.

5. When did you find out your sexuality? -- Oh, it's been a process. For a long time I identified as asexual. It took me years to figure out I was actually romance-repulsed, and more years to figure out I had any attraction to women. I'm still sort of confused by that part. Like I mostly just want to look at them being pretty, but I also definitely want to look at their boobs? Maybe touch some boobs? I'm honestly not sure.

6. What do you wish you could tell your past self? -- Oh lord. Sexuality and gender wise? I'm not sure young me could have been hurried along the process of self discovery. I'd really like to tell her she was being abused and gaslighted and that she needed to take her great-aunt's offer of a free ride and major in geology *before* she broke her health, and maybe also tell her she needed a CPAP machine, but she might just think I was a temptation of the Devil. Also I'm not sure if the CPAP machine was an option before Obamacare. Or the psych meds she needed, either.

7. Have you changed labels since realizing you were queer? -- Oh yeah, all over the place. Asexual, trans, genderqueer, biromantic (for about a week), aromantic allosexual bisexual maybe pansexual... some people apparently even count PCOS as an intersex condition, since I have a lot more beard and chest hair than is normal for perisex women, to the point that I always have to explain to a new doctor that I'm not in fact on testosterone, my body just does that. I've never quite felt right claiming the intersex label, but I've tried on a lot of others. I think my header may still say "queer on every conceivable axis".

8. How was your day? -- Um. I got stuck wandering Cracked.com for most of it. Then I drove up to check out my pulmonologist's office, which doesn't *say* they're closed for the pandemic, so I guess I'll go up again on Thursday and poke them about whether my appointment still exists. Then I went and wandered around a very large very dead mall on that side of town, hatched a bunch of pokeymans, then came home and ate some split pea soup.

9. Do you have any queer friends irl? -- I don't have *any* friends irl, and it's kicking my ass. I have like one or two coworkers I could hypothetically hang out with outside of work if we weren't so all-fired busy. But if we're talking "friends I have seen irl at some point", I'm pretty sure they're all queer. They might also be limited to @tigerkat24 and one other person who doesn't use Tumblr, I'm not sure.

10. What's your favorite hobby? -- Probably knitting. It's soft and squishy and brightly colored, and it can be as brainless or as complex as I could possibly want.

11. Who's the best queer icon in your opinion? -- I honestly don't have an opinion. I've always been too far outside the community to figure out whomst the options were.

12. Which pride flags do you like the most design / color wise? -- Pansexual. I'd probably have a lot more pride merch if I IDed as pan, but it just never feels like it fits quite right.

13. Do you wish you could change any pride flags? -- YES. The aro flag is the exact same colors as the agender flag, just in a different arrangement, and it pisses me off because you can't distinguish aro merch from agender merch unless it's specifically flag shaped / has the stripe arrangement. I liked the yellow/orange/green/black aro flag, I found it much more cheerful, but apparently it was too similar to something Rastafarian. But you can't find alloaro flag merch at *all*, even though it has the green and yellow, which I like.

14. Are you openly out? -- Can't really help it, since I legally changed my name to a distinctively masculine one back in the day, and I do not remotely pass as male. So anybody who both sees or hears me and knows my legal name, knows there's *something* queerish going on. (I go by a gender neutral name these days, but haven't yet been arsed to change it legally because it's an entire hassle and a half.)

15. Are you comfortable with yourself? -- Mneh. I'm not *un*comfortable with my gender and sexuality, particularly. Sometimes I wish I could pass as male, sometimes I wish I could have cute cleavage. Sometimes I tie myself in knots with my feelings about women.

16. Do you experience dysphoria? -- I used to, very strongly. It hasn't been very aggressive lately.

17. Bottom, top, or verse? -- *shrugs* I guess I'd be a switch or "verse" because I'm down for whatever.

18. Are you femme, butch, or neither? -- I swing wildly between wishing to present Extremely Butch in a lumberjack style, which is impractical in the Southwest, or wishing to present Extremely Femme but being unable to do so, and tying myself in knots over the inability. (I can't wear femmey shoes due to my stupid feet, I can't have pierced ears as they get infected and the one pair of nice lightweight handcrafted earrings I paid $50 for is gone with the rest of my shit, I'm too lorge to find any nice dresses or be able to like try on prom dresses and stuff, I have a tendency to break jewelry as I'm extremely rough on my possessions... etc.) In practice my gender presentation is Fat Slob. :P

19. Do you bind? -- Not technically, but I do wear cheap sports bras which tend to flatten rather than lift or shape.

20. Do you shave? -- Only by necessity. I shave my face when I remember, because my beard looks extremely douchey and rather like pubes. Occasionally I shave my cleavage if I'm trying to present femmey. I pretty much never shave anything else unless the hair is getting Smelly.

21. If you could date anyone you wanted, who would it be? -- Um. Good question. The thing is, I am fairly strongly romance-repulsed, but I do want and enjoy queerplatonic relationships, so I would draw a distinction here between "dating" someone and being "in a relationship" with them.

22. Are you in a relationship? -- Yes, in fact.

23. Describe your partner. -- @camshaft22 . Um. She's very much the Hobbie to my Wes. She's very snarky and dies a lot and I love her very much.

24. Have you ever dated anyone of the same gender? -- Given that we're both genderfluid, I would say I'm in a relationship with someone of the same gender, yes.

25. Dated anyone of another gender? -- I've never dated or been in a relationship with anyone else, so I guess the answer is no.

26. Tell me a random fact about yourself! -- I always use this one, but I once lived in four different states (mostly non-contiguous) within a calendar month.

27. Do you own any pride flags / merch? -- No. I used to have a whole-ass collection that I added to every Pride, and then I lost all my damn shit and haven't had the heart to start looking again. Well, I have a rainbow necklace Kat sent me which is pretty nice. Can't wear it till my damn sunburn heals, though. :P

28. Have you ever been to a pride parade? -- Yes, when I lived in Bisbee. They have quite an excellent Pride which draws people from as far off as Denver.

29. Any advice to someone who isn't out or is exploring themselves? -- Take your time. It's okay if things change. You don't have to solve yourself all at once. It's more important to find people who will accept whoever you turn out to be.

30. Pineapple on pizza? -- I've honestly never tried it. Part of me feels like I should, in order to develop an opinion, and part of me feels like I'm just as happy being outside of that particular debate.

[notapaladin]

so say you’ll stay with me tonight

Because Acatl deserves to be in love, and I felt like cheering myself up by writing fluffy smut.

Also on AO3!

-

Tizoc is—regrettably—still Emperor today. Acatl’s trying very hard not to let it bother him, but it’s hard not to when the man is coming up with plans for a grand new renovation of the Great Temple and he doesn’t dare bring up all the excellent magical reasons why it may not be a wonderful idea. (Aside from the risk of exposing Coyolxauhqui’s prison to moonlight if the support scaffolding is driven too deep, all the wards will have to be remade and thousands of sacrifices procured, and there’s always the chance of the boundaries weakening with their largest anchor disrupted. Instead of bringing any of this up, Quenami—whose actual job this is—is smugly thinking only of his own prestige, which doesn’t help either the Fifth World or Acatl’s mood. Acamapichtli, of course, remains just this side of useless.)

It’s late by the time they get out of that meeting, and all he can think is that he does not want to spend one more second within the palace walls. He wants his own house, and his own mat, and his—

Well. He wants Teomitl.

In general he doesn’t want to be alone, but in specific he wants Teomitl—wants to wrap his arms around him, hold him close, kiss that soft and smiling mouth. They haven’t put words on what they are to each other, they’ve made no promises, but Acatl knows his own heart well enough to tell when so, so much of it has been given over to someone else. His (lover? friend?) is somewhere in the palace, but he hasn’t seen him all day and he’s seriously debating the idea of going to look for him. Of finding him wherever he’s been spending his time, pulling him aside, telling him…

I want you.

I missed you.

Come home with me.

The idea of that makes his face heat. They’ve stolen plenty of time together, but never has Teomitl spent the night at his house. (He doesn’t count that time after Axayacatl’s death. He’d been asleep for that, and also still so deep in denial that he wouldn’t have been able to find his way out with a tall ladder.) To do that now would be...well. His eyes have been opened, and he’s fairly sure they wouldn’t be spending too much time sleeping.

“Acatl!”

He jolts; he’s been so lost in thought that he didn’t even hear those impatient, beloved footfalls approaching from behind. Something in his heart clicks and settles into warm contentment as he turns around. “Teomitl,” he says, and adds—because it’s the truth—“I was just thinking about you.”

Teomitl doesn’t quite blush, but his smile goes measurably warmer around the edges. He looks good all in red and white, with gold earflares and a simple gold lip plug that draws Acatl’s eye to the curve of his lower lip. “And I was just looking for you. Are you all done for the day?”

“...Unless some emergency beckons, yes.” He really hopes it doesn’t. Duality, just give him one night.

“I’m glad.” And Teomitl draws closer to walk in step with him, their hands almost brushing. “Heading home?”

He nods, and then takes a breath. “Walk with me?”

Teomitl beams, and somehow he falls even deeper in love. “Of course.”

They’re quiet for a while. Part of him is still on a low boil after spending so much time with Acamapichtli and Quenami, and he doesn’t want to ruin this pleasant stillness by unleashing his fury. Besides, walls in the palace always have ears, and he’s sure it would get back to Tizoc somehow. So instead he walks in silence, feeling the warmth of Teomitl’s body in step with his, and he thinks oh, this is nice. (It could be nicer. They could be holding hands. But they have to be discreet, still, and so he can’t risk it.)

(Gods, he wants to see Teomitl crowned.)

It’s not until they leave the palace that Teomitl says, “So. Tizoc’s still going ahead with his...refurbishment.”

Acatl grimaces. “Indeed.”

“Didn’t listen to any of the reasons why he shouldn’t.”

He bites his lip. “...I…”

Teomitl turns to look at him; at first he’s frowning, but then understanding dawns. “...I see.” He looks like he wants to say something else—probably something angry—but all he does is sigh, shaking his head. “I tried too, you know, but he’s only thinking of his legacy and not what it might do to us. It’s probably for the best that you didn’t say anything; he’d think we were conspiring against him.”

Acatl considers this. Looks at him.

Teomitl looks mildly offended. “I did say I’d give him time.”

“You did.” And he slides his fingers against the back of Teomitl’s hand to show he’s not upset, nor holding a grudge. He’d meant it, after all, when he’d said there was no need for apologies between them. It has the desired effect, because Teomitl’s eyes grow warm and bright.

And then he leans in and murmurs, “Unless you’d rather I not.”

“Teomitl,” he huffs, but he can’t be mad. Teomitl’s smiling, after all, and it’s the one that means he’s not entirely serious—that says yes, he might still kill his own brother on Acatl’s orders, but it’s far more important to him that Acatl has asked him not to. “Please don’t.” After a moment’s thought he adds, “At least warn me and Mihmatini first when you do.”

Now Teomitl’s really smiling, though it’s somewhat rueful. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. You know that.”

“I do.” He angles himself as he walks, so that they’re nearly touching, and lets the tenderness he feels color his voice. I trust your words. I trust you. I know you, my heart. And he’s suddenly more than mildly annoyed that they’re still in the Sacred Precinct, because the way Teomitl looks now—softly pleased, eyes shining—desperately makes him wish he could kiss him right here. If he were braver, he thinks he might even risk it; he knows where the shadows of the temple gates will hide them from prying eyes, and he knows how sweetly Teomitl presses against him when he’s pleased.

Though he says nothing, it must show on his face, because Teomitl takes advantage of the camouflage provided by their billowing cloaks to firmly lace their fingers together. His voice lowers, rich with promise. “We should eat dinner before we reach your place, shouldn’t we? Unless you want to cook. I hope you are; we’ll need our energy.”

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s blushing. “I. Um.”

“Well?”

“...I leave a pot of stew on the hearth in the morning.” It’s a habit he’s gotten into since Tizoc’s begun these building preparations; they often go long enough that he’s ravenous by the time they’re over, and utterly unwilling to expend any more brainpower on exactly how to fill his stomach. It’s hard to overcook stew, after all. “Though I don’t know if it will be to your taste—”

Teomitl smiles at him. “Acatl. You know my feelings on your cooking.”

He finds himself smiling back. “I still think you flatter me far too much.”

Teomitl pokes his side teasingly. “And I think you underestimate the effects of a meal made with care and devotion by a man I trust above all others in the Empire. I’d eat what you made if it came out as charcoal.”

“Well, hopefully this won’t be that bad.” Honesty compels him to add, “It may be a bit spicy. I wasn’t expecting company when I put it all together.”

Teomitl huffs, “I can handle spice!”

He makes a mental note to serve plenty of flatbread on the side.

-

It’s not far to his home, and the stew—mostly beans and corn, with a long-simmering and very tough haunch of dog from an earlier sacrifice thrown in to cook until tender—is just about done when he takes it off the fire. Teomitl clearly wants to help, but after a moment’s searching forces him to realize he has no idea where Acatl keeps anything, he takes himself out to the courtyard with a terribly put-upon sigh. It’s adorable. Acatl wants to kiss his cheek.

So when he sets down their bowls, he does. Teomitl promptly blushes, which is so terribly endearing that Acatl has to kiss him again. On the mouth this time, which turns long and lingering before Teomitl slowly pulls away. “Mmhm. Not that I’m complaining, but what prompted this?”

He really only needs one hand to eat, so he’s free to settle the other at Teomitl’s waist and revel in the way the man nestles against his side. (It’s no longer surprising that Teomitl is so tactile, but it will always—always—be delightful.) “...I missed you.”

Because he had. Every time Tizoc had opened his mouth, he’d thought you are unworthy of your crown. Every time Quenami had worn that supercilious smirk of his, he’d thought Teomitl would never let you get away with that. He’d felt himself alone, and he’d wanted his lover by his side. Now that he is, there’s something going soft and warm in Acatl’s chest. They’d definitely be kissing again if it wasn’t for the stew, which he knows won’t be nearly as good cold.

Teomitl presses a kiss to his cheek, which makes him blush in turn, but then he’s applying himself to his dinner. Acatl waits as he takes the first spoonful.

To give him credit, his beloved doesn’t flinch. But he does turn red, and when Acatl hands him a piece of plain flatbread he shoves it into his mouth as though his life depends on it. When he can talk again, his voice is a little rough. “That’s—not bad.” And then, ruefully, “I should have expected that.”

“Mm.” He thinks briefly of seeing whether there’s anything else he could serve, but he knows Teomitl will turn it down. Even now, his lover thinks his own limits are mere suggestions.

It’s a quiet meal. Teomitl settles more firmly against him as they eat, one hand resting lightly on his thigh, and the promise of it makes him shiver. I won’t be suggesting he go home tonight, he thinks, and knows it for the truth. The silence between them feels good—feels comfortable—but though he doesn’t want to spoil it, there’s something he knows he has to say.

The sun is setting, bathing them in twilight. Their bowls are scraped clean, even Teomitl’s. (With the aid, Acatl can’t help but notice, of several cups of water and all of the flatbread.) Teomitl himself is resting his head on his shoulder, looking utterly content with his lot in life. Warm, calloused fingers are tracing slow circles on his thigh. Even the air feels peaceful, with just enough of a breeze to keep them cool but not enough to raise the dust. As Acatl takes a deep breath, he realizes he’s not afraid. Maybe he should be—maybe this is too much, he’s moving too quickly—but he isn’t. Not with his man by his side.

“I love you,” he whispers, and it comes out so quietly that at first he doesn’t think Teomitl’s heard him.

Then Teomitl smiles, soft as the dawn, and breathes, “I love you, too.”

Then they’re kissing again, and this time it’s much less sweet. There is some restraint—while Teomitl’s not precisely shy, he’s well aware of Acatl’s vows—but it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world to be tumbled backwards on the mat, to have strong hands buried in his hair, to feel the heat and the faintest suggestion of teeth in each press of Teomitl’s mouth down his throat. And yet, for all that, there’s still a gentleness to it, because he’s loved. And better than that, he’s respected. If he asked Teomitl to stop, he knows he would.

He doesn’t think he’s going to ask Teomitl to stop. He arches into another kiss, letting his head fall back, and breathes, “We should...nnh…” Words fail him, because there’s a featherlight press of lips to his collarbone and it’s a lovely little spark of pleasure.

“Mm?”

He shivers in anticipation, seeing the warmth in his lover’s eyes. “Let’s go inside.” He swallows. “If you want to continue this.”

Teomitl pulls back a little to look at him. The smile on his face turns teasing. “Oh, I do. But it’s getting late, and you should sleep.”

He’s suddenly very, very aware of his lover’s weight on him—of the way they’re touching, pressed together from very nearly the waist downwards, and how the building heat in his blood is moving with purpose. He shifts, rolling his hips a fraction, and feels Teomitl twitch in response. “I’m not that tired.”

Teomitl grins, all wicked hope. “Want me to help you with that?”

He sucks in a breath. I took vows, comes his first thought. But it’s followed fast by a second, stronger one—I don’t care. So instead of answering in words, he pulls Teomitl into a hungry, searing kiss.

He’s honestly not entirely clear on how they manage to get inside. While he’d be glad to kiss Teomitl forever, his lover is the sort of impatient man who comes up with plans; they’re barely on his sleeping mat before Teomitl’s scattering their cloaks and working at the knots to their loincloths, letting his hands roam shamelessly over every inch of bare skin. Acatl’s not idle; though he might kill something for a light so he could at least see the unveiled glory that is his naked lover, he’s free to map out the lay of the land with his palms.

And gods, but Teomitl melts into each touch. If he were the jaguar Acatl sometimes thinks of him as, he might even be purring. Experimentally he draws his nails down Teomitl’s back, and is rewarded when he moans into their kiss. “Mmm…”

Then there are warm, calloused fingers trailing down his chest, and he can’t quite muster up the ability to feel smug anymore when they find one nipple and start toying with it. “Oh, gods,” he gasps—he hadn’t thought he’d be sensitive there, but Teomitl is very effectively proving him wrong. He’s been half-hard since the moment his loincloth hit the floor, and Teomitl’s hands are getting him the rest of the way there. It’s even better when Teomitl moves to straddle him, half so they can grind against each other and half so his free hand can skate down the plane of his stomach.

Their eyes meet, and Acatl feels himself flush at the look in Teomitl’s eyes, the one that says without words that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “You feel perfect.”

“Flatterer...mmm…” That one hand is sliding lower, shameless, and he wriggles a little to press their cocks together. He wishes again for light, but smoothing his hands over the solid muscles of his lover’s back and down over his frankly glorious ass will have to do. Teomitl must enjoy it, because his whole body trembles—and then Acatl’s being kissed, long and slow, and he arches with an utterly wanton groan.

“Love you,” Teomitl breathes when they pull apart. “Tell me how you want me to please you.” Acatl has to blush a little at that—it’s hardly as though Teomitl ought to need instruction, when he’s so hard against him—but well, he is asking. He’s owed an answer.

Still, saying it out loud makes him squirm. “...Touch me.” He rolls his hips, and his lover’s eyes spark fire. He doesn’t need to say anything else; Teomitl takes him in hand, and the friction that had been merely good builds into something he can fall into, something that sends pleasure coiling through his veins.

“Like this?” Teomitl’s setting a steady pace, fingers rippling; he needs his other hand to brace himself on the mat, bringing him in range to punctuate his words with a hungry mouth on Acatl’s collarbone. It scatters Acatl’s thoughts to the four winds; helpless, he scratches down Teomitl’s back again, and this time the vibrations of his lover’s moan sinks into his skin.

More, he thinks, and yes. He barely recognizes his own voice when it leaves his mouth. “Nngh, yes—no, wait, wait, I want to—” It’s not a want but a physical need, bone-deep, that has him working his hand between them to wrap around both their cocks at once. Teomitl’s roughly the same size but a little thicker, all rock-hard heat under his palm, and when he squeezes it pulls the most amazingly wrecked noise out of him.

“Oh,” Teomitl gasps. In the darkness, his eyes are wide with stunned hunger; his hips shudder, rocking in unconscious little circles like he’s not sure whether he should be letting Acatl set the pace or not.

“Have to feel you,” he pants. All that stroking had been pleasurable, yes, but he needs to feel it properly when Teomitl falls apart against him, under his hand, sliding past his own cock with each thrust. He wonders, briefly, how it would feel with Teomitl inside him—but then Teomitl’s hand leaves his shaft to slide lower, and the first purposeful caress to his balls makes him whine.

“Hah.” It’s more of a gasp than anything else; even the attempt at a self-satisfied smirk is erased in the next instant, because Acatl leans in to nip at his throat and grinds his hips up, a firm stroke making their cocks pulse in his grip. “Gods, keep doing that—”

“Mmm,” he hums against his lover’s skin. “Is this how you like it?” There aren’t words for the feelings coursing through him, lust and the mounting lightning of his own pleasure mingling with a fierce joy that he’s the one doing this for Teomitl, that it’s his mouth and hands that are pulling such sweet sounds from his lover. A little more, he thinks. A little more. I need to see your face.

He gets his wish a moment later; no doubt Teomitl has a warrior’s stamina, but it can’t last against the way Acatl’s handling him. He gets increasingly vocal as he nears his peak, wordless cries ringing in the night air as Acatl bites at his shoulder. When he mouths a red mark into the thin skin at his collarbone, Teomitl nearly sobs. “Yes—yes, gods, Acatl—” Then he’s coming, hard and fast and all at once, spilling himself over their hands and bodies, and his voice cracks into a desperate keen.

It’s perfect. He’s still unfulfilled, but he almost doesn’t care. Almost. After a moment where Teomitl’s catching his breath and he thinks he might have to seek his own pleasure, his lover is grinning hot and hungrily down at him and oh gods, now that he’s not distracted by what Acatl’s doing with him he proves merciless. He settles back on his haunches, freeing both hands to squeeze and stroke and pump Acatl’s throbbing flesh, and all Acatl can do is take it. “Nnnh, Teomitl, please…”

“That’s it,” Teomitl breathes, and if it wasn’t so awestruck it would be a royal order. It feels like a royal order, feels like the words of the gods themselves when he growls, “Come for me, Acatl-tzin.”

He does. He can’t do anything else. It’s shattering knife-edge pleasure that pulls all his thoughts out of his head; for a small eternity, he can’t even feel his own limbs, lost in the white-hot spasms of his own release. Awareness filters back in slowly; there’s Teomitl slowly petting his thighs, there’s his hands settling at his lover’s hips. And there, shining in the darkness, is Teomitl’s tender gaze.

“...Duality,” he manages breathlessly. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, but thank You. Thank You for this gift.

“We made a mess,” Teomitl murmurs—and then, with a downright wicked smirk, drags his fingers through it and slowly licks them clean.

Spent as he is, it still makes Acatl’s cock twitch. He has to close his eyes lest he do something that...well, something that seems like a very good idea, to be honest, but his body is letting him know he’d regret it later. He’s not that young anymore. “Teomitl.”

“You taste good.” It’s almost—almost—innocent.

He draws in a shuddering breath. “I need to recover, damn you. Give me a moment before you do things like that!”

“I just wanted to clean us up, but you’re right.” Teomitl kisses him again, slowly, and he can taste himself on his lips. “I won’t tease, love.”

Love. He smiles at that, feeling his face warm. “You’d better not, after being so concerned about my sleep schedule.” It comes out as more of a mumble than anything else; he’s forgotten how draining orgasms can be, especially on a full stomach after a long day. Sleep really is sounding very tempting.

“Mmm.” It’s a warm, utterly contented hum. Even when Teomitl pulls away to clean them both up properly with a cotton towel, he doesn’t go far; indeed, the cleanup itself is slow and tender and interspersed with long, gentle kisses.

Acatl responds as best he can, but he really is very tired. When Teomitl slides his arms around him, it’s all he can do to nuzzle into his chest. “Mmhm.” He feels boneless. Weightless. Teomitl is stroking his hair, and he never wants it to stop. “Teomitl...”

Teomitl’s arms loosen. “I…” he begins.

He knows what Teomitl’s going to say—I should go, I shouldn’t be here in the morning. He knows he’s not going to let that happen. Not after the night they’ve shared; not after the love they’ve shared. “Stay.”

Teomitl stays.