#to fully trust her Chosen and probably desires they keep a distance from one another and/or have friction

[fellsilver]

My annoyance at Mys.tra referring to the creation of the Seven as a "misstep" aside, it is interesting that she identifies their kinship as the problem. She specifies that her new Chosen should be different from the Seven and each other. I think paranoia is definitely a factor in her reasoning. Cyric killing her in her own home and then spending over a century shattered rattled her to say the least. We know she starts keeping all sorts of secrets from her Chosen after she's reborn, and she commands them to keep all sorts of secrets from each other. We also know El, Storm, and Lael think their goddess is misguided in these changes and are trying to council her away from them. Good luck; paranoia's tough in mortals, let alone gods.

But, we also know Mys.tra took precautions with her daughters centuries before this. On some level, she's always feared their power. She took steps to split them up as children and ensure conflict with their foster families. She's continued to take precautions throughout their long lives to curb them. She doesn't want anyone to use them as weapons, and she doesn't want they themselves to overreach.

Arguably the number one way she's restrained them — and this is her primary tactic with all her Chosen and anyone else worth her notice — is through their relationships. Their bonds to their homes, their friends, their loves and children, each other. The previous generation of Chosen, at least the ones that stood the test of time, were all extremely close to each other. They had bonds of family, mentorship, romance, friendship — these complex literally ancient dynamics built on experiences no one else shares or understands.

Mys.tra encouraged and sanctioned these relationships. They were a source of strength and comfort for the Chosen. One of the great hurdles Mys.tra faced re: Chosen was finding people who could stand the test of time. It is an astronomical burden. The previous' batch's bonds with one another have kept them alive through it all. And, that's probably exactly what scares her now. They are incredibly powerful, capable people on their own. United? They could make the heavens heel. The Seven and El in particular know so much about her, about Azuth, about the workings of the damn universe — and they have been operating with little to no oversight for over a thousand years collectively. If I was in her position, nursing that understandable paranoia, knowing that no precautions will ever be enough to save me . . . yeah the Seven and their kinship would start to scare me, too.

[kallulovesu]

Shamelessly ripped from the previous anon's ask, how would the Nyo Axis + Nyo Romano and Nyo Baltics react to being trapped with their s/o in a floating bubble?

(A/n:) lowkey ?? off topic but I’m kinda sad that romano didn’t make it on the episode even now😭

You were so much cuter from up close.

Italy was basically straddling over you; body pinning you down as all she did was— stare. Her honey colored eyes were practically buzzing with affection as they scanned over you, a nearly cat like smile on her face as she did so.

She realized that you were more than likely not so...fond of the two of you being like this, but oh, she couldn’t care any less. It was cute how you seemingly wanted to say something, mouth opening and closing again every now and then as you thought of speaking up, but discouraging yourself after; or the way you would always try shifting away from her hold, only to give up as she held tighter onto you.

It was all cute...so, soooo cute. And she loved it.

But then again— was it right being so selfish? You were her beloved, her dear, her tesoro— so surely it wouldn’t hurt to take you feelings into account? All of this would only end up making you dislike her once you were out of this, maybe you would even start avoiding her!

...

No. why not just do something if you were so uncomfortable by her? Struggle against her, scream for help; it would all end up being useless, only serving to amuse her. No one was able to help you up here. You were completely hers now, a beautiful, trapped doll that she could play with for her own amusement. So why not try enjoying it? Enjoy the warmth— the love she gave you while waiting for this to end. This sadly wouldn’t last forever, she knew, so Italy tried making the best out of this moment.

She had come to realize that this actually...wasn’t so bad.

You were comfortably snuggled against her; arms wrapped around her hips while your face laid on her lap for comfort. her hand was stroking your hair in a gentle manner, making sure to sooth you.

Germany didn’t want to end up pressuring you too much, especially given the whole situation the two of you were in right now. You seemed stressed; nearly on the brink of panicking even— and she couldn’t have that. Doing so would only worsen the situation...and it would upset her too, thus she settled for trying to calm you down before doing anything else. It might’ve been less practical of her, yes, but she also couldn’t stand seeing you get upset over something that could be fixed with rational thinking and enough help.

...or so she hoped.

She could easily take advantage of this situation seeing how vulnerable you were at the moment. So trusting, so unsuspecting— but actually doing so left a terrible taste in her mouth, no matter how desirable it might seem. The setting didn’t matter; she wouldn’t allow herself to act out except if it were for the better of your relationship.

...she could basically hear Italy yelling in her ear about ‘lost opportunities’ or about how it would be the best chance to try and woo you, but it didn’t matter. She had already chosen what to do, and she wouldn’t go back on her own word.

This...didn’t feel enough.

The two of you were at a good distance away from each other; perhaps an arm away if she were to go by her calculations. You were looking outside, glancing over the multitude of strangers that were in the same situation and instead looking at the sky with a faraway look.

It was beautiful, she supposed, but was it truly so interesting to look at instead of her? She was right there before you; eagerly awaiting until you said something— anything. She just wanted to be acknowledged.

Japan didn’t like this at all. She didn’t like how distant the two of you were.

She didn’t care if it was selfish of her to want more— all of this wasn’t enough. She never got the chance to just...do whatever she wanted, especially since she had a reputation to uphold in the real world— but all of that didn’t matter here. No one was looking at her, expecting her to be the perfect, flawless.. It was just you and her in this sphere. And let her be damned if she didn’t take the opportunity to finally do whatever she wanted.

She craved more of you, and that was all that mattered.

It would probably take a moment for you to register her getting closer until she was right in front of you; face to face and trapping you between her arms. She didn’t give you a chance to speak— instead placing her lips on yours.

Yes, something like this was much better.

Romano

Fuckheightsfuckheightsfuckheightfuckhe

Romano could nearly feel her breakfast from this morning slowly leap up her throat every time she were to look around— hell, even thinking about the situation made her feel sick in the stomach no matter what she tried to distract herself. It felt like a never ending escape from her fear, and she wanted to cry on the spot.

Honestly? The only thing making sure that she wasn’t completely freaking out was, well, you. You were hugging her, hand rubbing her back as to try and sooth her; whispering sweet nothings that made her heart swell. It wasn’t hard to notice that you, yourself were scared of this too; perhaps for an entirely different reason than hers, which made this all the more admirable to her.

No wonder she fell so in love with you.

She reckoned that perhaps she should just suck it up and try putting up a brave front for you, because surely doing this wouldn’t help with the image you’d have of her...? And she could even try using this situation as a way to try and get you to like her more!

....

Oh, who was she kidding? She was just so terrifyingly high up and— Romano quickly shoved her face back onto your chest; trying to face away from the horrifying view, and partially so you wouldn’t have to see her being so weak.

Lithuania

This was...fine.

An amused hum escaped from the woman’s lips as she gazed down at the snoozing person snuggled on top of her; a peaceful look on your while doing so , remaining unaware of her unmoving gaze on you. Your arms were loosely wrapped around her, seeking warmth and comfort.

She had finally gotten you to calm down from your panic when first having been trapped in here, presumably getting...too? Relaxed from her touch when she tried to comfort you, and had ended up snoring off during it. Which was only noticed by the other after realizing how strangely quiet it had gotten.

You poor thing, the stress had made you pass out.

She pitied you, and slightly scolded herself for letting things escalate this way. Lithuania promised herself to always be there for you; a protector if things were to go the wrong way— but she had almost failed in making you feel safe around her. She’d have to do better next time something like this were to happen again.

It made her rethink about the option of just locking you up. You’d be completely safe and away from all’s harm, but she wondered if it truly were the path she should choose.

Sigh.

Maybe it was for the better if she got some rest as well. She usually couldn’t sleep all that well— but having you in her arms like this felt nice, nearly making her forget about all besides you.

Estonia

"Oh, feisty aren’t we?"

She laughed, an amused— smug grin on her face as she looked up at your towering form. Anticipating your next action.

Your hand; which grasped onto the collar of her shirt hoisted Estonia up, making sure to keep the woman face-to-face with you as you glared. Basically daring her to speak another word with your fist hovering above her, ready to strike if she were to run her mouth again

Perhaps she had gone a bit...too far with provoking you.

It had only been a small, childish tease at first; intended to only tick you out a little bit, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop after having seen your reactions. Taking it further and further, until touching on a particularly sensitive subject to you, which was the reason of her current situation. What probably made this worse was that you never mentioned anything that she talked about to her— all of it found through her own stalking, making you all the more irked.

It was dumb of her, she knew, but seeing you like this was...exciting.

She hadn’t known you as the type to put your hands on others; seeing you as a more passive person from the research she did. Although it seemed she was able to get you to switch up upon pushing you far enough. This all exceeded beyond what she knew you to be, and she wanted more. She wanted to break your shell. She wanted you to break down; cry, attack her, yell at her. Anything.

Estonia watched as you seemed to calm down after a while of you just looking at her, trying to regain yourself; taking deep breaths and slowly letting your fist fall. It took a moment until you fully decided on letting the other go; throwing her back with a huff and scooting away until you were fully distanced from her.

She stifled another laughter, careful not to anger you again. Of course you weren’t capable of hurting her in the end.

It was strange. One would usually find themselves panicking in such a horrifying situation; having little to no way out and being so high up from the ground... but Latvia couldn’t help but find this pleasing.

She loved how everything looked like from so high up; from the beautiful sun and the fluffy looking clouds, which she almost felt like she would be able to touch if it weren’t for the bubble keeping her in— to the pretty birds that flew past every so often.

It felt magical. Plus, she really liked birds!

The ground wasn’t so bad to look at either. It was nearly funny; everything that felt so big before starting to feel small, smaller than she was.

And most of all; she loved that you were here with her, keeping her by your side and not even protesting whenever she went onto your for hugs and cuddles. She didn’t know if it was because you thought she was scared— but it didn’t really matter, did it? At least she was able to be all close to you, not having to worry about being taken apart from you nor any competition that could possibly sweep in at any moment.

...Latvia hated competition. She hated how they thought they were able to just take you away with no regard of how she felt, ignoring her, trampling all over her feelings just because they saw her as weak. Which was why she appreciated this more, knowing that it was just you and her now, with no other interference.

[prof-peach]

Hey Prof, I need your advice.

My sister recently decided she didn't wanted her bulbasaur anymore (she got him on a whim about a month ago) and gave him to me, he is quite violent and tends to attack when I try to get close to him.

Now, that wouldn't be a huge problem, but my Purrloin has gotten hurt trying to befriend him, she's quite outgoing and never really liked fighting (we enjoy contests so she knows a few more flashy attacks), so she couldn't even defend herself properly.

I don't want to give up on him and my local rescue center is filled with Bunearies (you know, after Easter kids don't want their Bunny anymore) so they can't take him in right now, any advice in how I can go about this situation?

Sounds to me like you have a tricky little dude on your hands. So you're not battle orientated which will make this harder, Bulbasaur in the wild are actually quite combat minded to defend their families and territory, and a lot of their herds consist of strict hierarchy based on power and skill, often led by older, fully evolved members of their group. 

Before you take any actions to befriend them, its worth noting that any pokemon who comes into your care showing aggression is usually doing so for one or two reasons that are pretty universal for any species. Fear being the main issue with pokemon who have been ditched, if a pokemon is unwell, if it feels exposed, if it is unsure of you or your home, your partners, it may lash out because it is afraid. Even what looks like pure anger can stem from a fear. Of course some individuals are just full of rage, its not unheard of, but for the most part it comes from somewhere else. 

For a moment, take the time to put yourself in this pokemons shoes. It was chosen, with hopes and ambitions of its own, by your sister, a stranger to them, and for whatever reason they were cast aside. This reason may be unclear to the pokemon, it may be unfair, unkind, or even without malice just out of pure indifference. No matter the reason, this pokemon has been left behind by a trainer it at one point probably wanted to try to get along with. I don’t know what your sister may or may not have done, or provided for the bulbasaur, but it will help you understand how its feeling, if you were to ask her about their relationship prior to you receiving the pokemon. If it has always been aggressive and angry, i’d seriously consider talking to it about release, not rehome. 

We humans have a preconceived notion that pokemon are pets and things to keep with us. This may be true for some sure, but not every pokemon wishes to be a captive to a human, they may want more for themselves, and wish for a free life with their own kind. We cannot put our wants and desires above that of the pokemons, so you two need to have a talk, at a respectful distance for safeties sake, to see what the Bulbasaur feels they may want. These are herd pokemon, born and bred to be with their own kind, if not a larger group, if its lonely, if it wants to go home, to start a family, or simply to not be held in a ball as some creature to be owned, then you as its current carer must give it what you can. You can always find another pokemon who wants to be your partner, but you cannot give back lost years to a pokemon who has lived a life its unhappy with. Treat them with respect, and be open and honest. At the end of the day we have a chance to help pokemon, and forcing what we want onto them is a hinderance, and will lead to them feeling unsatisfied and bitter in the long run. 

Some pokemon lash out due to the process of being handed off to someone else, trust is earnt, not always just simply given to whoever holds the pokeball. Remember this as you move forward, and try to keep your other pokemon away from them, Bulbasaur are territorial species, and have to accept pokemon into their families before simply allowing them to come and go freely into their personal space. Despite their grouchy natures at times they usually do have a morally positive compass, and defend with ferocity when they love something. Perhaps in you showing genuine concern for their welfare and future, offering them not what you want, but instead what they want, they may give you a chance to get closer, but take baby steps, and try to be their friend above all else. I bet they're feeling pretty lonely right now. 

Its worth sharing interests with the pokemon, talk about contests, see if they're interested, some pokemon have a predisposition for this, others have no interest and prefer more battle based lives, or even peaceful non-competitive existences. no amount of pressure will change a pokemon’s nature, and some just aren't cut out for the fine art of showmanship that contests require. You can however use powerful attacks in showy ways, so theres always hope that they could enjoy it, if you can work with them to their strengths. 

If possible, work to getting them outdoors, cooping grass types up can lead to stroppy, testing personalities, many thrive in the outdoors, he may need some serious outside time to compensate for the lack of exercise and natural stimulation they may have not been getting prior to your ownership. There are plenty of areas in public that are much like tennis courts, areas of space you can book for a set amount of time too exercise difficult pokemon, these locations are often secure facilities, both outdoors and indoors, to suit a range of species. find one that has outdoor facilities and book a few hours per week to go there, increasing the time whenever possible. This exercise and time with you may help to find common ground, and topics that you and the bulbasaur can bond over. This can be anything from battles, to sun bathing, playing sports, games, swimming, running or digging, and everything in between. Bulbasaur naturally are great foragers and tend to like to snaffle about in long grass and shrubland, hiding treats like berry slices in a secure environment is good enrichment and can tire the pokemon out. a tired pokemon is usually a little less aggressive, having lower energy levels and less want to expend attacks. this process also associated you with something fun, and your scent will be on the treats too, so they'll know you were the one to provide this activity for them.   

I’d also take plenty of time to observe the bulbasaur, as your sister got them on a whim, they probably had no prior knowledge of the species, or how to correctly care for them. In a month, a health complaint could have begun to show, so observe their colouration, feet, walking gait, sleeping patterns, feeding habits, and general behaviour. Excess scratching, heavy breathing, or unusual shaking or moving can suggest a health condition is starting to take form. Most can be helped if caught early, but some illnesses give the pokemon discomfort, and can lead to snappy tempers and irritability. It could be that this individual is in pain, or finding life difficult due to its health, which can cause a lot of hostility as i’m sure anyone would agree. It can suck to be sick!

This species can be won over if you can prove you have a skill of worth to them. This is the case with a lot of pokemon, having respect for something they cannot do, and learning that they need things from you can lead to them at least tolerating us humans. Its a foot in the door. A trick i like t use with particularly difficult bulbasaur is to give them their fav food, whatever it is, then put it in a clear container the pokemon cannot open. They have no thumbs, and their vines though dexterous, aren't able to open every kind of container. The pokemon will want whats inside, and be unable to access it. they will eventually give up out of frustration. this is where you come in. enter the space, don’t let your pokemon approach as this can be threatening, and open the container. leave it on the floor open, making sure they've watched you get the thing open. They can then approach and enjoy their fav food, all thanks to you and those wondrous thumbs you have. repeating this process yields good results, and starts a mutual relationship of tolerance and acceptance between you and a bulbasaur. Most will accept they want the food more than they want you gone, and you provide something they can’t get to. whatever you do, don’t let them see that you were the one to lock the food up in the container. Get a friend to do it, or do it in the room, and leave it in place on the floor, before allowing the bulbasaur to enter and investigate the item. If they see you're the one doing it, the trick is foiled, and your back to square one. Eventually this does tend to lead to the pokemon becoming less stressed with you around them, and eventually it leads to trust, and even friendship. This trick is good to use to get them use to you, once they're ok with you being around them because of your use to them, they may start to take food from you directly, engage in play, or even just sit and tolerate company for short periods of time. Do not expect this to be quick, but it does usually do the trick. 

Regardless, i do have concern that the pokemon may want to be with its own, should you discuss this and find they're not interested in being housebound and a pet, feel free to send them our way, we had exactly this situation in mind when setting up the islands facilities, and have extensive locations designed with grass pokemosn needs at the forefront. Theres a small herd of about 12 bulbasaur evolutions that live north of our labs, no people see them, they are happy as a unit, and are left alone to go about their lives, with the only interactions between humans being us giving them their yearly health check, or should we spot them with an issue, we may intervene. They live away from others and pretty much free, in a poacher safe environment. Its not ideal, we like to keep pokemon in areas they come from, with people who love them, and you show great concern for the pokemon so it would be a shame to have to let them go, BUT sometimes thats just life, and theres nothing to be done about it other than accepting that the pokemons wants come first. They may just be mistrusting so try everything else first, and see how you go. hopefully you’ll yield some results from this all. Good luck out there trainer. 

[misanthropecopy]

@telekinetiq, @gooselullaby​

         The hour had come.

         With all the time she spent preparing not only did Psyche find a new place to stay, she also completely set up new abode for family. The Mewtwo came up and collaborated with the villagers to create a new system of the island they were staying at. She figured out all the best places they could gather food, in their new home. Finally, she found multiple, backup locations in the unlikely event that Giovanni and Team Rocket would destroy their territory once again. Legendary was NOT going to be caught unprepared, this time. 

         The layout for their new system was a fairly simplistic one, or at least something villagers were faintly accustomed towards. The Zoroark would use their illusionary powers for concealing island completely from humanity’s radars and satellites whenever there were not any real storms going over, while Psyche would make sure to amplify their skills tenfold when amidst new home. No Pokemon was allowed to leave the island unless they asked Mewtwo first and save for some situation where an individual wanted out entirely genetic experiment would take them wherever she went, then keep a telepathic eye on wandering Pocket Monsters when exploring. If in the case of an unlikely event where some person just accidentally stumbles onto their territory they were to be tested as always. Those who weren’t involved in orchestrating these trials would need to keep their distance and if a human failed even once, they were to be immediately subdued until clone teleported them back towards wherever man originated from. Finally, any drones or tracking devices found were to immediately be terminated on SIGHT. No accused device containing surveillance functions was going to enter their sanctum, again.

         It was more of a harsher life, then what the villagers had once known and Psyche did not exactly feel entirely satisfied with choices made herself but they all were pushed towards taking such measures. Besides if anyone scarcely believed this life was meant for them, individuals were free to take their own path and Mewtwo would drop them off wherever they wanted. 

         All the villagers were gathered around Mount Quena’s lakebed, taking one last look at their ephemeral home. It was evident that they had developed some fond memories here, with Stein, his clones and even “Amber”. Even if some had to hold themselves back on their natural instincts, they would never forget this place. Psyche herself would muse over these past, few weeks inside her heart for a long time. Elder clone had granted her a personal mercy, by allowing chosen kin to briefly remain here. Though whenever they spoke towards each other more masculine experiment’s tone often sounded critical, his actions spoke louder then meager words could express. She hoped that... he wouldn’t think less of her, for doing this. 

         Honestly, it was for the best that they leave. Stein was making enemies on so many sides and even those he dubbed allies Psyche knew hardly had his best interest at heart. Elder clone had provoked the dark side to come out from others and younger one wasn’t sure who she could trust outside of family anymore. Additionally though she tried so hard to refrain from getting involved in conflict, more savage-hearted side still leaked through and now newer Mewtwo was URGED on in creating advanced Pokeballs in case a certain, alien species tried invading or destroying planet. She was falling into that Raboot-hole of hypocrisy and more feminine Pokemon felt compelled to leave before villagers were dragged down with her! They had already been through enough, she didn’t want them fighting against Silvally and foul aliens too! Besides it’s not like she failed to inform other genetic legendary about her plans. From the very beginning she stated they would remain until another, suitable home was found. However... there was a possibility his ideas on this arrangement could have changed. Either way, she was not sticking around to find out. 

         Eyes engulfing themselves in a white light, with one broad extension of her arms she teleported villagers and herself to new home. This was the start of a new journey for them; a new adventure, waiting on the horizon. If all went well, the villagers would have a peaceful life here. As she and chosen kin vanished from Mount Quena however, something special was being delivered to Stein’s fortified abode.

         With a flash of bright light, a single flower appeared near each and every one of Stein’s clones. These blossoms shaped similar towards stars contained white petals, which blended into a deep pink at its tips. Golden anther and filament stemmed from their centers, bringing with them a lovely aroma into atmosphere. They were gracideas and Psyche hoped bringing them these gifts would help appease any pain this parting evoked. 

         While each of the clones would receive their own blossom, there were two cases amidst Stein’s family who were especially lavished. Nanako, now called Amber would have many blossoms surrounding her person. Amidst these blooms would be a single note. If the little girl noticed it and picked item up, this is what she would read:

Dear “Amber”, 

I know this may all be confusing to you; having these things suddenly appear before your person, so I will try my best to explain it in this letter.  When me and Myuutsu met and he offered to let us stay with you all, it was only meant to be for a little while. We agreed that we would remain in Mount Quena until I found the villagers a new home. I have since then done that, thus by the time you read this letter the villagers and I will have already left the place. I know you considered us all family and I admit a part of me wishes we can still be that in your eyes, but this is for the best. Don’t be sad though! Life is full of hellos as well as goodbyes. Sometimes things have to change and maybe sometimes they are for the better.  Whatever the case may be, know that we all love you very much and you’ll always be welcomed in our new home. This is why we left all these flowers for you, to show that. Just because we’re far apart now, shouldn’t mean we aren’t family anymore however if you feel differently because of our leaving, I understand.  Finally, make sure to keep a good eye on Myuutsu. If he does anything that worries you, don’t be afraid to tell him about it. Out of everyone else in the world, you will probably be the one he listens to the most. 

Sincerely yours, Psyche. 

         The second person who was given many gifts was surprisingly, Stein himself. In his most private quarters lied a plethora of not only gracidea flowers but lavender as well, all piled together. It was no small present and elder clone would need to lack sight and scent, in order for offering to go by unnoticed. She hoped such displays would be enough for him to acknowledge it, at least. 

         In the center of this mound there was a truly unique blossom, as it was not natural but meticulously crafted out of various gemstones. Shaped similar to the gracidea flowers, its petals were forged from amethysts whilst clear quartz made up the anther. Moonstone strands acted as the filament and magenta-colored metal strapped against sides of petals; seemingly holding small sculpture together. Finally two, green bloodstones were carved as the bloom’s leaves and protruded on its left side. 

         Another written note was right next to this present, if Stein bothered reading it the following words would be seen:

Dear Stein,

You will be pleased to know that I managed to find a suitable home, for me and the villagers. As per the agreement, we are now officially off of Mount Quena. You will not have to worry about us anymore, though if Rocket does stir up some trouble for us again I will be sure to let you know. I did not initially intend to inform you about my discovery through this, as I desired to tell you in person. Then again, you probably realized we were going to leave which is why you left first with your clones.  The things that are coupled with this note are mainly gracidea flowers. They are said to bloom whenever an individual is extremely thankful and are given as a sign of gratitude. Each of your family members have received at least one and your little girl has been given enough for a bouquet or two. The villagers adored her, after all. The pile here however is specifically just for you, as it is a little something from all of us. I understand my family and I have thanked you numerous times verbally, for your hospitality and willingness to put up with what quirks we presented, but words were not enough. Thus we felt compelled to express our appreciation through some gesture, like this. You will also find lavender amongst your pile. This specific blossom grew in our former territory and its scent can be relaxing to where it even helps one sleep better. The gems making up this floret next to this letter are stones that I managed to salvage from the wreckage of my home. They were abundant in the caves there and each jewel is said to enhance a psychic’s clairvoyance, telepathy amongst other abilities. The bloodstone forming leaves in particular is said to protect its owner from evil, which you might need now more than ever.  I will not lie to you, Stein. Everyone is worried for your well-being. The villagers, your clones, your little girl, even I myself have become concerned. I am aware of your strength and you are fully capable of handling yourself, but you have made countless enemies recently and I will be frank that I do not trust your newfound ally one bit. However since I assume you have left us out of whatever negotiations you forged with that individual, I will refrain from delving into that matter further.  I do not doubt that humanity’s time will come, one day. They were erroneous to create sentient entities and then treat said creatures as if we were not alive. Their hubris will undoubtedly lead toward their downfall, in some fashion. I just hope they are not eradicated, while there are still other little girls like yours out there. What I am trying to say is, please be careful and most importantly watch your back. I fear that despite my efforts to crush any knowledge concerning beings like us, a flaw in our design may have been heard by ill-intentioned ears.  I hope that you will stay safe, Stein. I do not wish for your family to possibly loose its protector. I don’t want a young lady to watch the closest thing she has towards a father be seriously wounded or worse. I do not want to see you get hurt, as you have already been through so much. Regardless whatever decision you make, I will try not to stand in your way. Whatever choice you put into action, I know you will do it out of consideration for your family.  The villagers and I will never forget your kindness towards us and I confess that I hope it will not be too forward of me to call you a friend now. If you do not desire for me to regard you in such a way however, I will comprehend it.

Signed, Psyche. 

         It was Psyche’s wish that elder clone and the others might have some gratitude towards this little, grandiose gesture of theirs. She hoped that somewhere inside more masculine clone might at least appreciate the effort, put into it. However she would not set her hopes too high, on the matter. Stein, the clones and “Amber” were their own individuals, thus if any of them reacted poorly towards this she would accept it without protest. 

         She simply had to muster up faith, that they would all be okay. 

[fallenandthefaithless]

Beyond the Road: Pilot

001 “Pilot” Written by Eric Kripke Directed by David Nutter

Plot Summary

In 1983, Mary Winchester was pinned to the ceiling of her sons bedroom and murdered. Twenty two years later her sons, Dean and Sam are reunited after several years apart when their father goes missing. They follow him to the town of Jericho where a string of men have vanished and though their father is nowhere to be found, the brothers continue the investigation which leads them to a stretch of highway and the local mystery that surrounds it. 

Sam

Normal vs Safe. A good chunk of this episode is dedicated to highlighting Sam’s decision to leave the supernatural behind him and try for a safe life. He makes the distinction between ‘normal’ and ‘safe’ when Dean accuses him of running. He doesn’t think he can have a normal life. This is an issue Sam will struggle with for the whole series, going all the way up to 15x16. In this episode however, he argues that his life isn’t normal but he wants a safe life. He doesn’t want a life where he is constantly looking over his shoulder but he won’t ignore danger. We get a glimpse of this when Dean breaks into the apartment - Sam can clearly still fight. In contrast to this, we do see Sam’s aversion to anything reminiscent of the supernatural such as Halloween. He doesn’t want to think about it as he doesn’t see how it could possibly live alongside the life he has chosen for himself.

Branching off of this, I wanted to make note of a distinction between Sam and Dean and their worldviews. As Sam and Dean leave the apartment they talk harshly about the way they were raised. Sam claims that they were “raised like warriors”. He talks about how, when he was scared of the ‘monster’ in his closet John gave him a weapon. He views this as something that shouldn’t have happened - that John should have told him not to be scared. Dean argues against this but it starts to become clear that Sam can only see the horror in the hunter lifestyle. This is a contention Sam and Dean will return to in the next episode and elsewhere in the series. Sam is only able to, at this point, see the negatives of a hunter lifestyle.

Sam’s resistant to the way he and Dean were raised, but an interesting idea begins to form during their argument on the bridge. Sam doesn’t see John’s revenge plan as something he is part of, unlike Dean. He doesn’t want to avenge Mary as he doesn’t remember her. He is very unsympathetic about John’s revenge plan which, I think it’s safe to say, stems from that manner in which he was raised. He was dragged around the country and his own life seemingly put on pause so John could hunt and get revenge. Sam has far more self-preservation than Dean and puts his own life over revenge. This is a theme that will come up again and again during the show.

Something else that I noticed during my rewatch was Sam listening to Jess’s messages in John’s motel room. He listens to her messages but doesn’t actually talk to her. In fact, during his time in Jericho, we never see Sam call Jess. The only person he attempts to communicate with is Dean. He will listen to her stories but doesn’t contribute anything himself. Just like their pasts; Jess has, as far as we are aware of, been honest and open to Sam about herself. Sam, on the otherhand, is keeping so many secrets from her that it comes across as a rather unequal partnership.

Dean

First thing to note for Dean is the Original Trauma of Supernatural; Dean carrying his brother out of the burning house. This has been talked about… everywhere. I felt like I still had to mention it and how this is the base layer of Dean’s personality and something that is embedded in his sense of self-worth. I also wanted to make note of how this continues through to the show through to 15x10. Dean is put in charge of looking after Sam and so much of his life is structured around his role as Sam’s protector. This affects other relationships in Dean’s life as he struggles to put Sam down long enough for himself to pursue anything or anyone not directly linked to hunting or Sam. This is something he will eventually grow out of by the time we get to 15x10.

There’s something else that has never really occurred to me but Dean probably relates so strongly to victims of the week because he himself was a victim of a supernatural attack. Sam doesn’t remember the night Mary died and doesn’t let it rule his life but for Dean that night changed his whole world. I’ve never quite made that connection until now but, as we’ll see starting the very next episode, Dean is more empathetic to victims than Sam is and it possibly stems from this.

Okay, about Dean flirting with Jess. Obviously, at the very start of the series Dean is meant to be portrayed rather less thoughtfully than what Jensen actually did so this could be brushed aside as the writers just wanting to make Dean a fuckboy but this kind of behaviour does show up again later in the series but with more baggage tied to it. Dean flirts automatically. He makes cheeky comments laden with sexual innuendo all the time, including later in this episode to the police. It’s possible that he just finds this the easiest way to make a connection without actually opening himself up too much. Also, in recent years he has lost both Cassie and Lee so this flirting, which actually worked to distance Jess more, may have been a way of keeping out anyone he considered an “outsider” because the last two he let in didn’t stay.

Something else that was interesting about Dean’s thoughts on Jess is something I only really noted on this recent watch; he doesn’t think her relationship with Sam is healthy because Sam is lying to her. For someone who lies for a living Dean struggles to lie to people he cares about, especially people he enters relationships with. At this point Dean’s two biggest relationships have been with Lee, another hunter who worked with Dean and understood the life, and Cassie, who Dean told all about hunting and monsters and subsequently lost. As the series progresses Dean will have a serious relationship with Lisa who learns about monsters and hunting. His relationship with Cas becomes fraught when Cas lies to him in s6 and honesty becomes a central aspect of their bond, with telling the truth becoming the major story arc for their characters. 

The last point I want to make about Dean is about the bridge fight between the brothers. Dean says that Sam has “a responsibility” to their father which Sam scoffs at. In reality, Dean is the one who has tied himself to John out of a sense of duty. This line reads to me like Dean projecting onto Sam, something he will do again during the series. Dean is the one who tied himself to the family revenge crusade and his anger at Sam here hints at his own anger about his situation. This is something that will rear its head later on in the series.

Mary

The opening scene became more painful the longer the series went on for. From being sad about a family being torn apart to being sad about the loss of Sam and Dean’s mother and childhood innocence we can now see the scene from Mary’s point of view. Having lost her own childhood and parents to the supernatural Mary’s desire to run and live a normal life is understandable. In that manner, Sam is like her though unlike Sam, the price of running was paid by Mary and not an innocent bystander. The two deaths bookend the episode but also suggest a theme of continuing the cycle. 

Mary vs Constance. I’ve written about the parallels of Mary and Constance here. I do have one thing I wanted to add to this and that is something that occurs on the bridge during the brothers fight. Sam and Dean argue about Mary culminating in Dean shoving Sam against the bridge’s railing and that is when Constance appears. Symbolically Constance represents the ghost of Mary, haunting the boys even after all these years. She is summoned as they invoke her name, wearing a similar nightgown to what Mary died in. The death of Mary had a major effect on the boys and this episode begins to hint at it though we won’t see it fully realised until her return much later in the series.

“Angels are watching over you”. I know, I know. It wasn’t technically said in this episode but as it is confirmed in s2 that these were Mary’s last words to Dean I think I’m safe to talk about it. I won’t say a lot yet but this line does tie Cas into the original trauma of the show if only as the representation of the faith that Dean would learn to trust after having given up because of this trauma. Mary’s faith is something that became tainted in Dean’s eyes after she died. He never had the same faith that Sam did because of this until an angel proved himself to Dean. This imagery comes full circle in s12 when Cas does save Mary in 12x12 but more on that later.

The Story

So the episode itself is primarily linked to Mary’s death and the Trauma of the Winchester Family. It does set the characters up for their journeys moving forward as well though. The story is ultimately dominated by the brother, of course, learning to be brothers again. When the show started Sam was intended to be the main character while Dean was a supporting character. During the episode we start with Sam and don’t get much insight into Dean as a character. Knowing what happens in the rest of the series really highlights how Sam truly didn’t know his brother as well as he thought he did. Or rather, Dean managed to keep a lot of things from his brother. One of the most infamous moments is, of course, Dean’s “no chick flick moments” comment. This is something Sam will learn to see through later but in this episode he seems to take it at face value along with many other aspects of Dean.

One other thing to mention about the plot of the episode itself. One of those is the destruction of the Welch family due to the mothers actions. She acted out of intense pain and betrayal but her actions do lead to her children suffering. This theme not only pertains to the Winchester family (Mary, Dean and Sam) but also to Sam, Dean and Jack in s14. This kind of familial pain returns, again, in s15.

And with that we have 1x01 in the bag. Next week we’re off to Blackwater Ridge in 1x02 Wendigo.

Men of Letters Library

The initial summary of 1x01 The original pitch for the first five episodes The original promo for 1x01 1x01 podcast episode by @season14podcast​ A meta post on 1x01 with 14x20 in mind by @mittensmorgul​

[welcometocaritas]

‘IF YOU LOVE ME, DON’T LET GO’

Chapter: 4/7

Characters: Yumiko & Magna

Pairing: Yumagna

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Format: Multi-Chap

Summary:  At some point, you just have to let go - or so Yumiko keeps telling herself. There was never any letting go of Magna.

Links: A03, FF.NET, Wattpad

A/N: so these two finally start sorting out some of their shit in this chapter. Magna has Issues™ and Yumiko is still very hurt but they love each other enough to make it work. They just need to work on their communication.

"To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything. It liberates us from pretense, humbles us out of our self-righteousness, and fortifies us for any difficulty life can throw at us."

― Timothy Keller, The Meaning of Marriage: Facing the Complexities of Commitment with the Wisdom of God

Magna's skin itched, trapped inside the filthy clothes she'd been wearing for what had to be four days now - though time had been hard to keep track of when they'd still been in the cave, nothing but darkness and more darkness. She'd seen light when the others had disappeared out the opening, but she didn't know whether that meant it was the same day they'd ended up trapped inside, or if night had come and gone beyond their sight. The not knowing had itched at her every bit as relentlessly as her clothes did now - not knowing how long she'd been away from Miko, completely ignorant to the multitude of horrors that could have struck already during that time; what hardships the other woman could be enduring right that second, with Magna miles away and unable to do a thing.

Things could turn sideways in an instant. Safety and survival were never assured, never something to be counted on. Magna had learnt that even before the world went to hell and it was a truth that had only become more concrete in the ten years since.

And yet it was a thing she'd forgotten that day she'd set out from Hilltop without a goodbye, not even looking back for one last glimpse of the only person she'd ever allowed herself to fully love since her cousin.

She'd just . . . walked away.

Frustrated with herself, Magna pulled at the collar of her shirt - the thing almost seemed intent to strangle her; like it, too, stood in harsh judgment of her actions.

There was a stream nearby that Miko had helped her use to wash the blood and decay off her skin but there'd been no helping the state of her clothes, and nothing else to change into - at that moment, she missed the familiar embrace of her long coat; the thing was probably little more than a pile of ashes by now . . .

So besides feeling wildly uncomfortable, Magna knew she also had to stink, mostly because she could smell it.

She would have felt self-conscious about the fact if she and Miko hadn't already held each other through worse states.

Still, she regretted adding yet another thing to the list of reasons Miko had to find fault in her.

She had yet to complain about it. But, then, Miko rarely complained about anything. She endured everything with a grace that was almost frustrating.

- Yumiko's voice face trembling with barely suppressed fury, Magna's body jolting with the yell and following crack -

She shifted and the hand in her hair moved down momentarily to stroke the side of her forehead, a soothing hum reverberating in the chest above her.

Magna closed her eyes and inhaled.

Miko broke the silence.

"I missed you," she commented, so easily, like she wasn't tearing at Magna's heart with each word.

She covered the feeling with a snort. "Really? I haven't exactly been the best company lately."

"Don't be an idiot," Miko scolded. "I love you. Of course, I missed you."

Rip.

Magna tensed and she had to stop herself from reaching up to her chest, to check for entry wounds. It was nothing. Just her ribs after one too many times falling on them inside that cave. It was-

Thirteen years and still neither of them had said those words to each other. In so many ways, she had both dreaded and longed to hear them - even as she sensed their truth in almost everything the other woman did: the way Miko held her at night; the desperate urgency bleeding through some of their kisses, which was about so much more than mere desire; the tenderness she would catch in Miko's gaze too often, meant only for her.

Sighing, Magna extracted herself from the safety of the other woman's lap, forcing herself to sit up and face her.

The time for hiding was over, she knew.

The hand in her hair tensed for a second but let her go.

"Yumiko. . . what I did." She looked down. Because despite dancing around the topic, they still hadn't confronted it head on.

Something Magna had been grateful for.

But she knew they had to, or it would be just like before, Magna constantly afraid that one day Miko would look up and see her and hate what she saw.

And history had proved that their relationship couldn't survive that fear dangling between them. Magna had tried, she really had . . .

But that had been her first mistake.

Miko sighed, shaking her head. "It was never about what you did, Magna. At least, not mostly. I know who you are. Inside, deep down. At least," she looked down a moment, "I thought I did until I found out you'd been lying to me for thirteen years. Thirteen years, Magna, I . . ." This time her head shook with a speechless incapability to process her own words, the enormity of what they contained, and Magna felt something hot and heavy settle in her chest.

Guilt.

Not one of her regular emotions, but she was familiar enough to dread its approach.

She looked away for a moment, searching, as if the trees could provide her with the right words to apologize, to explain. She wasn't used to analyzing her own actions, to looking back and picking each move apart, studying it, organizing them into some crude field of data that actually made sense.

But . . . she'd had a lot of time to think in that cave. To wonder. And to regret.

Facing Yumiko once more, she took a breath. "I'm sorry. The longer I kept it a secret, the harder it became to tell you . . . until I just couldn't keep it a secret anymore."

It wasn't nearly enough of an explanation and it certainly wasn't much of an apology but it had still felt like pulling teeth.

Miko's face was expressionless. "I'm glad," she said bluntly and didn't miss the face Magna pulled in response. "Really." Seeing that she was still unconvinced she sighed, taking a moment to collect the right words. "It's a part of you. And I've always, always wanted to know all of you. Even the parts that hurt. But the lies . . ." She shook her head. "It made me feel like I couldn't trust you. Like I didn't know you, not really."

Magna broke their gaze, latching onto one singular tree in the distance, trying to find something to hold onto that wasn't the hurt in Yumiko's eyes. "You're the only person who's ever really known me."

Yumiko nodded slowly, taking that in.

When she looked down again, the movement drew Magna's attention to their joined hands and she realized suddenly that, not only had she not let go after leaving her hold, she'd started squeezing too tight. Exhaling, she forced her grip to relax.

Miko was still here, she wasn't leaving, not yet.

She drew upon that for courage. "All my life, you're the only person who's ever looked at me like I'm actually worth something." True, Maisie had looked at her like she hung the stars, but that kid had loved everyone, the good and the bad, much like Judith - and it had taken everything in Magna to accept the expectant and oh so innocent hand held out to her that day, to not run.

And Connie, Kelly and Luke . . . they needed her and they cared for her. Magna was useful, she knew how to use a weapon and she'd drawn first blood even before the collapse of society had forced that out of the rest of them. She never hesitated, and that had been the difference between life and death on more than several occasions. She kept them alive. Or, at least, she tried.

But it had been circumstance that had thrown them together, desperation. The apocalypse made for strange bedfellows and the fight for survival had just sort of made them . . . stick.

But Miko . . . Miko had chosen her. She'd lived through the latter half of her prison days, her trial, and even after she'd succeeded in doing all she'd come to do, she'd stayed. She'd stayed when there had been nothing to keep her there.

Nothing but Magna.

Thirteen years later and she still didn't know what to do with that information.

Miko stared at her now, mouth opening and closing, eyes becoming wet. "It didn't," she broke out at last. "But it hurt so much to think that in all those years you'd never really trusted me. When I trusted you most of all."

Magna looked away, the words like knives to her heart, punishing. "It was never about that."

"It was completely about that," Miko hissed and Magna drew back on instinct, hand slipping away.

"I . . ." And maybe it had been. But that was never, she'd never meant to- ". . . I'm sorry."

Yumiko took a breath, looking up at the night sky as she tried to collect herself. She was blinking back tears. The realization hit harder than any punch to the gut Magna had ever received.

She'd done that.

She searched for something to say, something that would make this better, that would wipe the pain from Miko's face and return the smile that she'd first fallen in love with, all those years ago, even when the sight had scared her for the feelings it evoked. But all she could come up with was, "I'm sorry."

And she was.

She always had been, even beneath the white-hot rage that had been flooding her veins for weeks, that had led to her spewing out the truth to Miko before either of them had been ready - and yet, at the same time arriving, far too late. The resentment that had caused her to walk away so many times, to turn up the music in a dismissal that had been rude at best and cruel at worst.

She had always been sorry.

Hurting Miko had been like hurting herself, but she'd had enough practice in that arena to stubbornly charge ahead anyway.

For too long they sat in silence - Magna waiting; fearing; hoping. Just when she was beginning to think that this was it, she'd ruined it, for real this time, she felt something brush against her hand. Glancing down, she found that Miko's own hand had inched back towards hers at some point, was now lying open on her thigh, inviting.

Hesitantly, Magna placed hers on top, the breath rushing into her lungs as Miko's hand closed around it, fastening into place; holding tight.

They sat in silence for a little longer - but it didn't hurt nearly as much.

"I know it's not easy for you to let people in," Yumiko granted at last. "But you can't shut me out again, not like that. You were so angry with me and I didn't even know why. This relationship, friendship, whatever we are to each other . . . it can't work. Not like that. Do you get that?"

Magna continued to avoid her eyes, knowing the desperate plea that would greet her if she didn't. "Yeah. I just . . ."

She breathed out, frustrated at herself, at her inability to articulate all the feelings raging inside her, the chaos of thoughts that attacked her constantly, the confusing stream that even she struggled to puzzle out.

Miko ducked her head, searching out Magna's eyes, urging her to look at her as she offered a faint smile. "I don't need all of you all at once. And we all have things that we deserve to keep to ourselves, if that's what we want." Now it was her turn to grip Magna's hand tight and she both ached and thrilled under the pressure. "But I need to know that you're trying. That this won't happen again. No more walls or passive-aggressive bullshit."

The snort escaped her before she could stop it. "You realize that that's like ninety percent of my personality, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Magna-" but the younger woman was already reaching out, catching the hand that wasn't tangled between them with her own, stilling her. "I'll try." Gently, she brought it down to rest in Miko's lap, bringing all their hands to join together at last. "I'm not good at any of this."

Miko's frown broke into a smile, teasing. "What? Having a romantic relationship with your best friend in the middle of an apocalypse?"

She allowed a slight a smirk at the words. "Best friend, huh?"

But Yumiko's expression had turned thoughtful as she spared only the slightest nod. "It goes both ways, you know?"

Magna frowned in confusion, opened her mouth but Miko was already continuing. "No one knows me better than you." She bit her lip and, drawn by the action, Magna's eyes flickered down against her control. She allowed the temptation to pass over her, refusing to give in. They weren't there, not yet. "And you're the only person I still have from before. You're the only person who knows 'lawyer Yumiko', who remembers my mother, and how I used to be addicted to caramel frappuccinos with extra whipped cream and crazy amounts of chocolate syrup-"

"So gross."

Miko's eyes danced. "You've been by my side for thirteen years and I've loved you for almost every one of them. There's no other person I'd want to be known by."

Magna's breath caught in her throat. "I . . ."

"Shh." Yumiko freed a hand, her thumb pressing against her parted lips, a fleeting glance of pressure, before she soothed it over the hard rise of Magna's cheek. "You don't have to say it. I know. I've always known."

"But I . . ." But she wanted to. Not for the first time, she felt the words pressing at the back of her throat, pleading to get out . . .

And still all she could do was choke on them.

"I know, Magna."

"i'm not so good at the 'words' thing," says the poet. says the author. says the girl who loves words more than anything else.

"i'm not so good at the 'words' thing," she says, but it's not what she means. words are easy, woven syllables in a typed-up tapestry. truth is not as easy. emotions are not as easy.

she means to say,  "i don't know how to say this without cracking myself open." she means to say, "i don't know how to say this without bleeding." she means to say, "i know exactly how to say this, but i'm scared."

she means to say a lot of things, but all that comes out is:

"i'm not so good at the 'words' thing." and she doesn't mean it."

- gallixie (tumblr)

...

"You can run away from yourself so often, and so much, just because the broken pieces of you cut your feet too deeply if you stay around for too long. But then what if someone were to come along and pick up those pieces for you? Then you wouldn't have to run away from yourself anymore. You could stop running. If someone sees you as something worth staying with— maybe you'll stay with yourself, too."

― C. JoyBell C

 A/N: hopefully this made up a little for some of the angst? Much more softness to come. Next chapter is still from Magna's POV but in chapter 6 we get to dive into Miko and see some of her backstory cos she is a queen and deserves the attention every bit as much.

As always, reviews are like oxygen to me - so please let me know what you think, or just you know come and cry with me about yumagna (I'm bonnielextra or welcometocaritas on twitter and or bonnielextra on instagram). I appreciate so much what you guys have told me about this story, means the world <3

[jenovahh]

KYKM - 14 Months, 26 Days

He feels rested.

Which is strange, considering how little rest he truly needs. His body feels  relaxed and at ease, not plagued by exhaustion or pain. You had healed him swiftly with the aid of Y’shtola, his wound sealing up quickly and with hardly a scar, not that he would’ve minded. It is rare someone of his prowess ever attains one, and to see the marred skin is strange and exciting in a way that is almost childish.

It is also warm.

The sun peeking in from the window warms his creamy skin, shines on fine strands of his golden hair. Birds are chirping outside, the sounds of the city rise up through the window, festivities continuing in celebration of the unending Light being purged. He idly runs his eyes across the many features of your room, having little else to do.

After all, you refuse to release him.

Your nude form is firmly tucked against his own, hidden underneath the blankets of the bed you two share. You arms are wrapped around his torso as best as possible, your face nuzzled into his neck, your strong legs tangled with his own. He has been awake for at least a bell, but given your recent trials, he saw fit to let you wake when you were ready.

You were welcomed back to the Crystarium with cheers and ale, the sound of celebration ringing everywhere within the city. He was not one to socialize amongst the common folk (or much at all), but he let you receive your thanks and declarations of gratitude from the seemingly unending denizens of the Crystarium. Contentment filled him as you finally let go; enjoyed yourself as you danced with the twins, engaged in merriment with the Scions. It took everyone’s mind off the unsure future ahead, knowing that one unsundered Ascian remained. 

Once you had your fill, your eyes met his in a way so fiery that anyone else would have been floored by it’s intensity. The way you so casually strolled up to him betrayed nothing of your intentions; intentions he was unsure of even as you took his hand in yours and led him back to your rooms and pressed him against a wall. He had forgotten how demanding you could be when you were taken over by desire, but he was not wont to deny you as you pressed your lips to his own and his arms brought you flush against him.

For bells did he worship your body much like a beastman to his savage god, finally able to slake his lust as he filled you with everything he had. No ilm of skin went untouched or unmarked, until he saw you claimed fully by him and him alone. Once again, the rightness of it all threatened to undo him; of how well you fit into his arms as he plunged deep within your core, his hands on your hips, his name falling from your lips so sweetly. He took his pleasure and gave as much in return, unhappy until the only words that fell from your lips were cries of his name.

Sighing, he contents himself with running his fingers across your skin, taking note of it’s softness, noticing the marks of bruises forming. You have slept deeply, practically dead to the world as you trusted in his ability to protect you.

Such responsibility you place on him.

He considers himself up to the task.

“I will never get used to this...”

Thancred's words reach him, from even outside the door. Zenos arches an eyebrow as they enter the Ocular, his form tall and imposing compared to the smaller statures of the Scions. When you had arrived, it was hand in hand, not at all ashamed of displaying your togetherness.

The Crystal Exarch politely coughs to gather everyone’s attention, his cowl now back in place. “Well then. While we have an unexpected addition, full glad am I to see everyone hale and whole after last night’s festivities.” He begins, fingers tapping lightly on his staff. “Warrior of Light?”

He watches as your eyes turn to the Exarch, giving him a stunning smile. “Yes, G’raha Tia?” You reply, giggling as the smaller man seems to freeze for a moment. Eventually the Exarch chuckles a bit himself, crystalline hand reaching for his cowl to tug it backwards, revealing his ruby red hair, tinted with silver.

“Thank you.” He beams, red eyes sparkling. “You have all done wonderfully. While saying this might sour the mood, I believe the Warrior should return to Eorzea, to recount the happenings here to your allies back home, as it seems you all are still unable to return.”

“And leave us here with him?” Thancred huffs, not all bothering to hide just who he’s referring to, eyes trained on Zenos’ form. He can’t help but smirk back at the snowy haired man, shifting his stance slightly. “Afraid, savage? Worried that the Warrior won’t be able to protect you when you finally slip up for the last time?” Zenos taunts, grinning at how Thancred stiffens.

He’s not at all deterred by you giving him a firm slap on his arm, scoffing as he sees your pout. 

“Strangely enough, I am unsure by what means this is possible, but I had spoken with Y’shtola prior to your arrival...” The Exarch begins again, drawing attention back to the matter at hand. “Zenos is like the Warrior of Light, in terms of his spirit. He is here with us, body and soul, and should be able to return to the Source without issue.” Alphinaud visibly relaxes at that remark, Alisaie clicking her tongue and clenching her jaw as if she is holding back her rage.

You fingers give his arm a good squeeze, not bothering to hide your smile at the unexpected news. “That being said, I suppose for everyone else, if you have any other business you wish to attend to, now would be the time as the Warrior returns to the Source.” The Exarch smiles warmly at you, though there is a pain in his eyes. “As for you, my friend, if there is anything you wish to take care of before returning to the source, do as you must. Pray return here when you are ready.”

With those words, the Scions depart for the lands they had called “home” in their stay on the First. The goodbyes are somewhat awkward, their eyes drifting to his form as he stands at your side, silently overseeing your farewells. Eventually, everyone has left, leaving you and Zenos high on a tower gazing into the lavender forests of Lakeland in the distance.

“Do you want to go back?” He hears you ask, your fingers running gently over his knuckles. He did not think you to be one so affectionate, let alone so publicly, but has no objections. If anything, it shows those who know about him that you have made your decision.

You have chosen him, and there is naught they can do about it.

“To the Source?” He inquires for clarification, letting you cradle his hand in yours. You touch him in a way that feels exploratory; as if memorizing every ilm of his skin and committing the feel of him to memory. He will never ceased to be amused how someone as magnificent as you still seem so small due to his height and stature.

“Yes. You...I will return. To tell the remaining Scions of the Source what has transpired.” You murmur, fingers tapping lightly across his knuckles, betraying your nervousness. “But...you don’t have,”

“Do not tell me. You want me to remain in Eorzea?” He asks, scoffing as your head shoots up to look at him. “Warrior, you leave me to wonder if you really want me around at all.” He teases, enjoying the way your skin flushes red.

“That’s not it!” You snap, all teeth and power, striking like lightning. “I just know that you probably don’t want to sit here and return to the First, just to sit around and watch me search for a way to bring the Scion’s home.” You fret, eyes filled to the brim with worry.

“You are correct in that researching a way to return your friends home will be most dull.” He drones, smirking at your bared teeth. Sighing, he clutches your hand and brings you against him, giving a snicker at your surprised yelp. “You are foolish to think I would part from you. Have I not defied death, crossed realms to track you down?” He questions, using his free hand to tilt your chin upward to face him. “Perhaps, I should brand it on your skin? I am loathe to keep repeating myself, even for you.” He hums, watching as you get misty eyed.

“You’re the fool...” You sniffle, burying your face into his chest to hide your tears. He smooths a hand down your back, the motion slightly more natural to him now. “What hunter looses his quarry once it is caught?” He asks, wrapping his arms around you. He should be frightened at this closeness he desires, he can feel it lurking in the back of his mind. It is such a monumental change, for who he had been alone for so long.

Not having known the touch of another aside from him blocking their fist, their blade slicing his skin, their foot pinning him to the ground. Your caress differs from those he had felt from the courtesans he had attend him during his life. The warmth of your body feels soothes him in a way your blood does not.

Not to say that the sight of you beaten and bruised does not excite him. Oh, how he hungers.

“You have not caught me yet.” Your smile is coy, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Is that so?” He responds, playing along as he arches a delicate eyebrow. “Elaborate if you would.” He prompts, smirking as you crook a finger at him. Bending slightly, he shudders as your hands brush his hair to the side, your lips close to his ear.

“You still do not know my name.” You whisper in a way that is both sensual and charming. His hands reach for your hips, pressing you flush against him. As if you were not close enough already.

“Shall I go threaten the Scions with murder to find out?” He jests, growling playfully as you nip at his ear in reprimand. “Do that again and it is not your name that will be falling from those sweet lips of yours, hero.” He warns, enjoying the feel of you taking your turn to shudder against him.

“What would your countrymen say if they saw you Zenos? Their prince being so amorous, with the Warrior of Light no less.” You purr, setting his blood aflame. To take you here would not bother him in the least, after all he was never one to feel shame. It is only in consideration of you does he repress his urges despite your teasing.

“Would you prefer if I withdrew my attentions?” He asks, pressing a kiss of his own to your neck that has you sighing dreamily into his hold. 

“I would prefer if you called me by name.” You answer, giving him a light squeeze. You are pliant against him, molding against his body perfectly. He can feel every breath you take, feel the thudding of your heart against his own. 

“Then by all means...I am listening.” He murmurs, breath stilling as if you are both trapped in this moment where there is only the two of you.

When you lean in even closer and whisper your name, he cannot help the grin that spreads across his face.

[waywardnerd67]

From the Inside

Summary: (Y/N) struggles to handle her life and ends up falling down a dark path. The only person who can help her is thousands of miles away. Characters: Jensen Ackles, Reader Pairing: Jensen x Reader Warnings: Angst/Mental Illness/Depression/Suicidal Thoughts/Thoughts Self-Harm Word Count: 1872 Prompt: Solitude - a state of seclusion or isolation. A/N #1: This is for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing Beautiful Words Challenge A/N #2: As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy!

“Let me ask you something. If you cared about someone but didn’t feel the same for them as they felt for you then what would you say?” (Y/N)’s boyfriend for the last two years asked her one night on the phone.

She chuckled, “I don’t know. I might say we need to go our separate ways.” He had been acting weird the last six months ever since she moved to Austin, Texas to be closer to her family and friends. He was an executive at a financial firm in New York.

“(Y/N)…” she hummed her response as the next words hit her like a ton of bricks, “I think we need to go our separate ways. The whole long-distance thing is not really working, and I have met someone…”

The rest of his words fell on deaf ears as her heart pounding was louder than anything. When there was a brief moment of silence she spoke, “O-Oh okay.”

That was the last time they spoke. He had shipped anything of hers to Austin with a note simply saying sorry. She spent weeks in a fog barely making it through the day without bursting into tears. Her boss was sympathetic to a point until it was obvious that this was not going to end until soon.

She was sitting in the break room staring at her phone. She had chosen this time since it was after lunch and no one would be in there to stare at her or look at her like she was a pathetic loss dog.

“(Y/N), how are you?” her manager asked as she shrugged. “I’ve noticed your numbers are down for the last month and your performance surveys have been low as well.”

She sighed heavily, “I’m sorry. I will try harder.” She looked up to see her manager’s face and a feeling of dread spread throughout her body.

“Sadly, there won’t be a chance for you to make up the deficit. We’re going to have to let you go.” (Y/N)’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. She felt like she should be crying but her eyes could no long produce tears to match the level of sadness sitting in her chest.

She simply nodded getting up and grabbing a nearby empty paper box to collect her things. It was just the next thing in her life to kick her while she was down the final straw was losing her apartment and having to move in with her parents again in Dallas.

That was where she was now. The bottom of the barrel, surrounded by soul crashing darkness and silence. Her brain urged her to pick up her phone and dial the one person who instantly made her feel better. The thought of his olive eyes and charming smile almost gave her the strength to press his name on her phone.

Yet, she never did. The silence and darkness consuming her slowly with each passing day. Not remembering if she had eaten, drank or the last time she had spoken to someone. Her parents would knock and call out for her. The anguish that started off so small a couple of months ago after her break-up had now completely shut her down.

Just as she had finally come to peace with the sadness taking her away there was a piercing light that shined into her room. Her eyes squeezed shut at being able to stand the brightness. (Y/N) pulled the cover over her head praying whoever opened her door would simple leave her to rot in the pit she had built for herself.

“Hey pretty girl.” His deep draw and special nickname stirred something within her that she had not felt in what seemed to be forever.

She peeked her head out from the covers, “Jensen? W-What are you doing here?” she asked her voice cracking and throat burning from not speaking in god knows how long.

She listened as he closed the door slightly the burning light being pointed in another direction. Her eyes adjusted watching as his tall, dark shadow moved about her room. The sound of his boots being kicked off near the door seem unbelievably loud. His silence spoke volumes though as she could make out him taking off his jacket or over shirt.

“Jay, what are you doing?” she asked a slight panic settling in her stomach.

He stood beside her bed, “Scooch.” He instructed.

She moved over to one side, her body stiffening as Jensen climbing into her bed next to her. “C’mere.” He said softly holding his arm out holding up the blanket he was slipping under with her.

(Y/N) hesitantly slid down the bed further, her head resting on his chest as he gently laid his arm across her waist. His other arm wrapped around her back as his hand slowly caressed it. Her body refused to relax against his. That meant trusting and letting someone in again. The thought terrified her to the point of trying to push Jensen away.

They had been best friends since childhood. Even after he became a celebrity they were still as close as ever. Though she had been harboring feelings for him since the seventh grade, she never once thought about acting on them. She was a screw up and constantly going from one dark moment to the next. Jensen deserved someone who was amazing, talented, smart and beautiful. Not someone who fell down the darkest pit of despair after some douchebag dumps her for someone else.

“Stop pushing me away, (Y/N). I’m not going anywhere until either we starve to death or you walk out of this room with me.” He held her firmly against his lean body as she struggled against him.

“Jensen Ackles, let me go… please… I can’t…” she begged trying to sound angry.

He shook his head stubbornly fully wrapping his arms around her and pulling her body on top of his. Shock numbed her mind as her hands pressed against his broad chest. “I’m not letting you go, (Y/N). I’m not letting you go until we have talked, cried and agree that we are going to walk out of this room to get ice cream from our favorite place.”

His words were slashing at her causing immense pain to burrow in her chest. She felt as if she could not breath and wanted nothing more than the darkness to take her away from this world. A world that gave her a man who cared about her deeply, but she could never be with. A cruel world that would give her a best friend to fall in love with that would never see her in that way.

“Jay… I can’t. I just can’t. I have felt too much, and I-I’m scared to feel anything again.” Tears slipped down her cheeks for the first time since losing her job.

He pressed his lips against the top of her head whispered, “Scared to feel what?”

(Y/N)’s hands clenched his soft t-shirt as she fought to keep her emotions from erupting all over him, “To feel this. Hope, love, uncertainty. It’s taken every bit of strength and energy to keep myself only in isolation. I’ve… I’ve wanted to go so bad. Just let go and be free of all of this. I don’t want to feel anything again.”

She felt his body tense up for a moment as she spoke the realization of what she admitted hitting him, “Did you?” he asked his voice filled with anxiety.

She shook her head, “No but I wanted too. The only feeling I ever wanted to feel was the pain. It makes my skin tingle just thinking of the pain slicing through me. I can’t though. I promised you I would never do that again and I’ve kept that promise.”

Jensen’s body relaxed immediately hearing she had not given in to the deepest desire to hurt herself. He let out a long breath, “I’m proud of you for resisting the urge. I know that is incredibly difficult.”

“I still want too. I want to end it. My heart is beyond repair. I’m damaged goods and always have been. Just a waste of space taking up air that should be for someone worthy to breathe it.” Her brain screamed for her to shut up and to revert back into herself.

Jensen always had a power over her to get her to speak. That was probably why her parents called him. Knowing that it was all because of her that he had flown from Vancouver to Dallas for her filled her body with guilt on top of her self-hatred.

He pulled back slight bringing his hands on either side of her face. His dark eyes staring deeply into his (Y/C/E) eyes. The small amount of light shining in her room revealed the glistening tears welling up beneath his eyelids.

“Listen to me, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You are not a waste of space nor are you unworthy of the air you breathe.” He paused for a moment his eyes moving rapidly from side to side then he pressed his full lips against hers.

She did not move or blink in fear of it all being a hallucination. Jensen pulled back biting his lip nervously, “(Y/N), I love you.”

The three words she had always dreamed of hearing filled her with seer panic. “No.”

“No?” Jensen asked in disbelief scoffing.

“No. No. NO! You can’t love me. I’m no good and horrible for you. Everything about you is perfect and hopeful and wonderful. You can’t love someone like me… you just can’t!” She said watching his face fall slightly as he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, the fierce determination shining in them intimidated her. “(Y/N), you’re perfect and hopeful and wonderful. How anyone could not fall in love with you after being around you is either dumb or oblivious to how amazing you are.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks and he quickly wiped them away, “Jensen, I…”

He pressed his finger to her lips shaking his head, “No more words.” He whispered leaning down kissing her again.

This time she gave in to every feeling she had built up inside of her for him. Allowing him in to show her how love was supposed to feel. He hovered over her his body pressing against hers his lips brushing against her as he whispered, “(Y/N), I…”

(Y/N) woke up her heart beating rapidly. She looked around for Jensen the feeling of his body against her still as her skin was set ablaze. Her lips tingling still from his pressed against them. “Jensen?” she whispered, and the looming truth settle onto her.

She was still along in her room. She curled up tight under her blanket the weight of the darkness surrounding her crushing her spirit. Her self-imposed seclusion from the world bringing out her deepest desire urging her to take the first leap of faith into the unknown.

Sitting up, she grabbed her phone and dialed the familiar number. After the first few rings she almost hung up until the soothing voice said her name, “(Y/N)? About time you called me. I was getting worried about you.”

She took a deep breath before speaking, “Jensen, I…”

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[moiraineswife]

The Locket Part 1: In The Quiet Hours - A Molly & Yasha Fic

Thank you @9thlevelcounterspell  for reading over this!!! (and to all the people who replied to that random post I made and showed support for a Molly/Yasha friendship fic) 

Title: The Locket Part 1: In The Quiet Hours

Fic Summary: Molly has no memories of his past before he woke up at the side of the road, half-dead, and was taken in by the carnival that became his family. 

The only connection he has to who he was before is a locket given to him by Yasha. Now travelling with his new, strange group, he begins to understand who he was before, and is forced to face the ghosts that emerge from the locket he opened with unthinking curiosity.

Mollymauk backstory/character study/exploration of the new team dynamic. Something in here for everyone. And shit loads of angst. Because I'm me.

Chapter Summary:  post episode 5/the battle of Alfield, Molly is still struggling and can’t sleep. He retreats to the common room of the inn not wanting to stay in the shared room and a friend arrives in the early hours of the morning to offer some advice and comfort. 

Teaser:  On the brink of lashing out and driving his fist into the table just to have something to do with the boiling energy that had no outlet, he found himself stopped by Yasha’s hand settling gently, tentatively, on top of his.

Link: AO3

Molly tossed another log onto the dying fire in the common room of the Alfield in. The rough grain of the raw wood scrabbled at his fingers, but he barely noticed. A burst of bright gold sparks erupted from the embers as the fresh fuel struck them. He stared blankly into the pit, watching as the flames rose to gather the wood into their heart, engulfing it as they slowly rose higher and higher. He threw another log on then returned to his chair.

The inn had several squashy armchairs gathered around a small table next to the fire, and he had chosen a deep, winged one to settle himself in. It gathered him up in darkness as surely as the fire gathered up the logs he had fed it. Each consumed their prey.

He wasn’t sure which was the worse fate. To be consigned to the flames, to burn and be consumed by that roaring, raging inferno...Or to be swallowed by the silent darkness, as he was, to drown in it, without sight or sound, never truly knowing when death claimed him, for the oblivion felt so familiar it would probably feel more like coming home than truly dying.

It was late. Or maybe it was early. He had lost track of the time after his fourth (or was it fifth?) shot of the liquor the barkeep had given him. The rest of his strange little ragtag group, exhausted from the battle that day, had one-by-one fallen asleep in the room they’d been given in the Feed and Mead tavern.

Sleep had refused to claim him, however. He had sat there, nursing his drink, the sting of the liquor as it burned its way down his throat a perfect complement to the torrent of images and sounds that had ravaged his mind, not all of them from the horrors of the day.

All he’d had for company was the slow, soft breathing of his slumbering companions, the faint snuffling snores of Nott, curled in a ball beside Caleb. It had started to drive him mad. The steady, rhythmic sounds refusing to let him go, let him sleep, let him breathe.

In the end, he had snatched up the bottle the inn keep had given him, gotten to his feet, sheathed his swords at his back, having felt naked without them, and crept out of the room. None of his new...What were they? Travelling companions? No. Friends. He could call them friends. They had killed together more than once now, had saved each other’s lives. He figured that qualified them as friends.

They hadn’t stirred as he had left them, as unaware of his absence as they had been by his presence, and he slipped down the stairs like a ghost, cloaked in silence, shrouded in the haunted screams of his waking nightmares.

The common room had been quite empty, and quite silent, to his relief, and he had slumped down into the chair he currently occupied, staring at the dying fire. He stared at it again now, as the flames reared like angry serpents from long grass, and imagined, for just a moment, stepping into them, letting them embrace him and carry him off to the nine hells where he might finally get a shred of damn peace.

The shot glass in his hand exploded and he cursed savagely under his breath as blood began to bead on his palm. He hadn’t realised how tightly he’d been squeezing the glass and now...

Hissing in irritation, he got to his feet, cradling his bleeding hand against his chest, tail lashing furiously, he ducked behind the bar and managed to find a reasonably clean rag, which he used to quickly clean and then wrap his hand. The cuts weren’t deep, and would stop bleeding on their own if given a few minutes. One of the benefits of his lifestyle was that he was intimately familiar with the healing capabilities of his own body.

He slouched back to his chair and collapsed into it once more. He had just raised the bottle of liquor, which was still almost half-full, and promised an excellent night of fogged thoughts and slurred vision, fully intending to just drink of it in lieu of a glass, when the door to the tavern opened behind him.

Throwing the bottle back onto the table where it skidded before coming to a stop near the edge, he leapt to his feet, reflexively drawing his swords and settling into a ready stance, heart hammering in his chest.

He froze when he recognised the figure standing in the doorway. Tall, her pale skin glowing faintly as though illuminated by moonlight, though the cloudy sky obscured it, her hair fading from midnight black to the white haze of morning mist as it tumbled down past her shoulders.

“Yasha,” he muttered, sheathing the blades and striding over to her.

She looked mildly around the completely empty room, mismatched eyes taking in the bottle of liquor at his solitary table, before her gaze rested on him. Many people found that stare disquieting, but as a master of uncomfortable stares himself, with his two burning red eyes, Molly had never understood what all the fuss was about.

He didn’t embrace her, Yasha was not fond of being hugged, as they had all quickly learned when she joined the carnival, but she did permit him to grasp her forearm and squeeze gently. It was their compromised greeting, caught somewhere between Molly’s desire for a bear hug, and Yasha’s two-fingered handshake.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Molly commented, sauntering back to his table, retrieving his bottle, then throwing himself back into his chair.

Yasha paused a moment, then followed him, sitting herself down, with rather more grace, into the chair beside his.

Molly took a swig of the liquor and added, since Yasha hadn’t deigned to answer his first comment, “I thought you weren’t going to catch up to us until Zadash.”

“I wasn’t,” Yasha said quietly. Her gaze had found the flickering flames he’d been losing himself in for the past few hours as she spoke. “But as I was travelling I saw the fires burning here from the distance,” she turned and looked at Molly as she said, “Figured it was a pretty safe bet you’d be here.”

He snorted softly into his bottle at that, “Well you figured right, my dear, didn’t you. And now I have the pleasure of being graced by your company once more.” Yasha made no comment to that, just continued to watch him, quiet, thoughtful. “Your journey went well, I trust?” Molly pressed.

This was typically the way their conversations went. Molly talked, and talked, and then talked some more, and Yasha occasionally peppered his monologues with small comments here and there.

In the beginning, when he had understood how it felt to be new, the intruder in the established family group of the carnival, he had gone out of his way to find Yasha and speak with her, but her less than eloquent responses had him feeling he was bothering her, and he’d stopped. She’d come to him after a few days to ask quietly if she had done something wrong. He had realised then that she apparently liked these little conversations of theirs, one-sided as they often were, and he hadn’t made any effort to stop them after that.

“No-one bothered you, tried to rob the clothes off your back?”

She gave him a flat look that had him actually smiling. No-one would be stupid enough to bother Yasha. Even if she had been travelling alone. One look at her was typically enough to dissuade the intelligent folk of the world. And those that weren’t intelligent to be put-off by the mere look of her...Well, that was just natural selection at work, wasn’t it?

“The journey was fine,” Yasha said, quietly. Then, “What happened here?”

Dear Yasha, blunt and to the point as ever.

“I have missed you,” Molly told her frankly, leaning over and patting the top of her hand.

The woman was nothing if not straightforward. She disliked wasting time, as she saw it, on flowery speeches and the art of saying much while saying absolutely nothing, which he himself was so practiced at. If she had something to say she said it in as few words as possible and saved everyone time.

In many ways the two of them were complete opposites. He was ostentatious and flamboyant, he enjoyed being at he centre of things, and commanded attention as skilfully as a general commanded troops in battle. Yasha was much happier in the shadows, in the quiet pockets of calm that lingered on the edges of his chaos, like the shadows that always existed behind a fire. He lied and twisted and manipulated while she preferred to be honest and simple. What you saw with her was what you got. What you saw with him, well, that tended to vary by the hour, as did his mood.

Yet that had one single similarity that overcame all of their apparent differences. Both of them were lost in this world. Like ships with cut anchors set adrift, without purpose or place in the new world they found themselves in. They had connected because of that, and had found that, for the most part, their differences tended to complement one another.

Yasha raised her eyebrows to prompt him into answering her question and he sighed, “We lost. That’s what happened,” he said, then took another long drink. This stuff really wasn’t half bad.

Yasha eyed him for a long moment, but didn’t press him for details, for which he was grateful. He really had missed her. It was inordinately refreshing to be around someone who didn’t feel the need to fill silences with empty drivel whenever anyone paused for more than a breath. Ironically, he reflected as he took another sip, that applied to none of them so much as it did him. But then he’d always been terrible at heeding his own advice.

When he emerged from his latest foray into this new experience, he found that Yasha was still eyeing him wordlessly. He was about to open his mouth to ask what was the problem, when she said softly, “What are you doing, Molly?”

He raised the bottle and gave it a little shake, “I had thought that was fairly obvious, dear,” he replied sardonically.

“It’s past three in the morning,” Yasha said, “You should be in bed.”

“As should you,” he replied, lightly, “And yet, here we are.”

“I was travelling and didn’t feel like sleeping in another field,” Yasha said shortly, “You look half-dead but you’re sitting here drinking instead of resting up.

Well she had a point there. Yasha remained silent, knowing he would fill the silence if it dragged on too long, damn her. Finally, he did indeed say, “I’m playing a game, you see.” She just blinked at him. He held up the bottle again and gave it a little shake so that the stuff inside it sloshed around, “We’re going to see who drowns first: my demons, or me.” He took yet another sip of the stuff, then leaned in conspiratorially and said, “My money’s on them.”

He must be starting to get drunk, if his tongue had become this loose. If he’d been with any of the others he might have guarded it better, might have stopped and gone to bed before he said something he’d regret more than the hangover he could already feel smacking him across the head tomorrow. But Yasha...Well, Yasha was Yasha, and the words spilled out anyway.

Yasha motioned for the bottle and he handed it over. She sniffed at it, then took a cautious sip and immediately pulled a face as she shoved it back towards him.

“I wouldn’t feed that to a dog,” she commented drily.

“I should hope not,” he replied, his tone mild, “It’d be a waste of a perfectly good liquor.”

She snorted softly at that, then abruptly got up and walked away from him. He assumed she was going to disappear upstairs to appropriate a room for herself, she did that, just got up and drifted away without warning or explanation whenever she felt like it. He was surprised, therefore, when she returned a second later with two glasses and a bottle of whisky she’d evidently swiped from behind the bar.

“You have to pay for that, you know,” he told her, as she pulled the stopper out with her teeth and poured out two glasses for each of them.

“I left a gold piece on the bar,” she replied, without looking at him.

He smiled faintly, of course she had. “You were always too good for us,” he said, taking another swig of his drink. He couldn’t really taste it anymore, and was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to taste anything at all for another decade or so following this.

She shrugged and nudged the glass of whisky she’d just poured towards him, “If you’re going to drown,” she told him, “You might as well drown in something that doesn’t taste like it was made to strip paint off our old wagons.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Molly replied, tasting the whisky. His eyebrows lifted slightly, it was good stuff, he hadn’t known Yasha had it in her to choose something like this. “You never cease surprising me,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

But she smiled, a soft, genuine thing, and said, “I try.”

They sat and drank in companionable silence for a long time, until Molly’s tongue loosened yet again, and he found himself saying  rather hoarsely, “I couldn’t sleep.”Yasha glanced towards him looking away from the fire which he was currently staring into, “That’s why I’m down here, that’s why I’m...” he trailed off and gestured vaguely towards the whisky and the bottle of teal liquor still on the table.

“Why?” Yasha asked quietly after a long beat of silence.

“Why what?” he snapped, rather more aggressively than he’d intended, but Yasha barely even seemed to notice the tone.

“Why can’t you sleep?” she said, her soft voice curiously gentle.

He stared at her for a long moment. He raised his glass to his lips...Then slowly set it down on the table again without drinking from it.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. Then, more loudly, “I don’t know. I don’t know why this has bothered me. I don’t know why my heart’s racing, why I can’t breathe, why my hands won’t stop shaking.”

He clenched them tightly into fists in an effort to stop them. It didn’t work any better now than it had three hours before when he’d been lying on the floor of their room trying to force himself to stop panicking and rest.

Yasha glanced down at his trembling hands, then back up at his face.

“They’ve been doing that since the battle ended,” he confessed, turning away from her and feeling a sharp stab of shame as he did so, which only stoked the frustration burning inside him that much higher for it.

On the brink of lashing out and driving his fist into the table just to have something to do with the boiling energy that had no outlet, he found himself stopped by Yasha’s hand settling gently, tentatively, on top of his. He blinked, shocked. This was the first time she had initiated any contact between them. Her pale skin was cold and her touch was oddly soothing and calming. For the first time, a faint tingle of peace threatened to wash through him.

He raised his head slowly and found her looking steadily at him, “It will stop,” she said softly.

“You say that like you know,” he said, and though he tried, though he hated himself for letting it slip, he couldn’t help the faint note of desperate pleading that coloured his words.

“I do,” Yasha replied, just as blunt and simple as she had always been, “It will stop.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Finally, he pulled away from her touch and reached again for his glass of whisky. “And in the meantime,” he said, trying again to restore that light, casual, ‘couldn’t care less’ tone his voice was always tinted with.

Yasha, however, reached forwards and plucked the glass out of his hands before he could take another sip of it.

She set it down on the table again, still well within his reach, and said, “It doesn’t help.”

“On the contrary,” Molly replied, frowning at her, “I think it’s helping a great deal.”

“Really?” Yasha said, raising her eyebrows, “You’ve been drinking for what? Four hours? More? Have your hands stopped shaking? Can you sleep? Has it stopped? The feeling that...That you have to tear the whole world apart with your bare hands and it still won’t be enough. Has that gone away?”

This revelation, small as it was, was enough to quieten him. He knew enough about Yasha, about as much as she knew of him. He had guessed more, as she had guessed more about him, he was sure. They had lived in close confines, and worked together putting up tents and promoting the carnival together for over a year. You picked things up about people you spent that much time with, it wasn’t possible to avoid that. But in all that time she had never given him anything this...Intimate, this vulnerable, before. And for once he shut his mouth and bit down on the sarcastic comment that rose on instinct.

“No,” he admitted finally, “It hasn’t.” His fingers twitched towards the glass again, but he didn’t touch it this time.

There was a long silence between them, in which Yasha stared into the fire, refusing to look at him. Finally he said softly, “I don’t know if I want to sleep for a week or if I want to go back out there and fight again, just to have something to do with all this...All this-“ he broke off, unable to find the word, and gestured towards his chest with both hands instead.

Yasha nodded, understanding.

“And I don’t know why...Why they’re all fine,” he bit out. Now that he had started talking about this he didn’t seem able to stop. Yasha had always had that effect on him, and he on her, to a lesser extent. She was easy to talk to. She felt safe, that reservation, the silent air that clung to her made a person feel sure their secrets were safe with her.

“They’re not,” Yasha said quietly.

He snorted in derision, “They’re up there sleeping peacefully and I’m down here half-drowning myself in cheap liquor. I think there’s a very definite divide between ‘fine’ and ‘not fine’ in this little group right now, and it’s very clear which side we all belong on,” he snapped.

“They’re not fine,” Yasha repeated, “No-one can be ‘fine’ after something like that.” There was a weight to her words, a haunted heaviness in her eyes that stayed his tongue again. She knew. Perhaps better than he did. “It will come for them one day. Someone who spills blood for a living can only go so long before they start drowning in it. They can only lie to themselves for so long before it breaks something in them, and then they can’t go back. It will come for them, too. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but...It will come.”

He laughed bitterly at that and said, “So you’re saying I’m weaker than them? Because I broke sooner?”

Yasha looked at him, her mismatched gaze steady and penetrating. Then she said, “You’re not broken, Molly. You’ll know when you are.”

A chill shivered down his spine at that.

“Is that why you left home?” he found himself asking her, genuinely curious, “Did you break?”

“Something like that” she murmured softly.

“I thought it might have gotten easier,” he said, “The more you did it, the more you got used to it. I mean, if you’re going to break, it seems to make more sense that you’d break on your first battle than your fiftieth.”

Yasha just shook her head at that. “It never gets easier,” she said, that haunted weight returning to her words. “I was raised to this. I was trained by the best of our warriors from the moment I was old enough to understand. They put an axe in my hand before I learned to walk and I killed my first man when I was twelve.”

A faint thrill of shock flared through him at that, not just the words, but the fact that she was admitting it to him.

He stayed quiet. She was staring into the fire again, but he sensed that she wasn’t finished yet, and he had no desire to interrupt her.

“I still see him in my dreams,” she confessed quietly, one hand clenching into a fist on her lap. “I still feel the warmth of his blood on my hands after I cut him. I still...I still hear him scream in the quiet hours, that time where my people would say the world would hold its breath, where everything stopped, and there was no-one to save you from yourself but you.” She looked up at him, her words faint and shaking slightly, but her gaze quite steady, and said, “Anyone who tells you it gets easier is either lying, to you, to themselves, it doesn’t matter, or they’ve never experienced anything like this.”

Molly watched her and for the first time, though she remained tall, and muscular, and imposing, he saw a quiet, frightened child in her eyes, haunted by the things she had done. He reached out to her and took her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly but sincerely.

Yasha nodded and faintly squeezed his hand in return.

“I hear screams in the quiet hours, too,” he admitted softly, now taking his turn at staring into the fire and avoiding her eyes. “But they aren’t from today. They’re from before.”  

Before that word that meant so much to him, and yet at the same time meant nothing at all. Before he had met Yasha. Before the carnival had found him. Before when he had still had a before.

Yasha stiffened slightly at the mention of it. He had never addressed it explicitly with her, with any of them, but they had all known. Now he had his lies ready. He had a million stories about who he might have been, what he might have done, what he could have achieved. He fed them to people, carefully keeping track of who he had told what, making a game of it. How many lies could he tell? What could he make people believe? What could he make himself believe...

But with the carnival...He hadn’t had the wherewithal to invent those first few months, and it soon became clear when a man had no history, had no...Nothing. No-one could pretend to be that empty, could erase their history that completely from those they lived with, not even Yasha. She knew. They all had.

“I don’t understand,” he admitted softly, “I don’t know if I’m the one who caused those screams...or if I’m the one screaming. I don’t know what I might have done, or what might have been done to me I...I don’t know, Yasha.” He looked up at her and found her watching him with a carefully guarded expression he couldn’t read. “I don’t know who I am.”

“Yes you do,” she said, softly. “And I know, too. You’re Mollymauk. You’re my friend. You’re a good man...Even if you’re a bastard sometimes,” she amended, and his lips twitched up into a smile. “You know who you are, you’re just...not so sure who you were.”

He smiled sadly at that. “Who we are is informed by who we were, Yasha. No-one exists in a moment.  We’re all a patchwork of our experiences, our loves, our losses, our lives. And I don’t have that.” He trailed off, lifting his chin slightly, watching the smoke that coiled up the chimney, blackening the walls around it.  

He fiddled aimlessly with a loose thread at the cuff of his cloak, and made a note to address it later. Then he said, “I told myself I didn’t need to know. I told myself I could simply build from where I was, simply become who I would become, and that the past didn’t matter. But now...I don’t think that’s something I can do.”

Yasha studied him for a long moment, then said, “I’ve spent the last three years running from my past, from who I was, from what they tried to make me become.” Her eyes once more bore that haunted cast, and he believed her, believed that she would run through each of the nine hells to get away from whatever it was that tormented her. “You’re free, now. What you were, what you might have done...It can’t hurt you, now. Knowing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Being empty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either,” he replied with a twisted smile. “At least you know what you might have been, and that you don’t want that, and you can make the choice to become anything other than that. And if you’re running from something, you’re also running to something in a way. Even if it’s just anything that’s not what you once had, it’s something. It’s purpose. I have nothing, Yasha. Nothing.”

She made no answer to that, so he continued, “You have a choice. To run, or to stay, to become what you were made or what you want. Even if it’s an easy choice, no real choice at all, it’s something. That’s all I want he said, shaking his head. I want a choice. I need that. I need something. I need to know, to understand.”

Yasha is quiet for a long time, staring at him, apparently deep in thought. Finally, she reached into a pouch around her belt and fished out a small golden something dangling from a chain. She hesitated a moment, then slid it towards him.

He caught it up in long, dextrous fingers and examined it. It was a small golden locket, perfectly round, and about the size of a gold piece. The front was carved with intricate, interlocking shapes that looked like strange gears.

“I did go back to see Orna before I left,” Yasha told him quietly as he continued to gaze at the necklace she had given him. “She gave me that and said I should pass it on to you.” He looked at her sharply as shrugged and said, “If you really want to try and find out about your past, maybe you can start there.”

On that mysterious note she finished the rest of her drink, then rose to her feet and drifted off towards the distant stairs without another word, leaving him sitting alone by the fire again.

He stared down at the locket then, gently, flipped open the clasp and opened it. He stared down at what it contained for a long time, committing every intimate detail of it to memory. Then, slowly, he got to his feet, slipped the locket around his neck and tucked it down the front of his shirt, then followed Yasha upstairs, leaving the fire to burn itself into embers once more in his wake.

[onouwu]

Nekimo’s Story - Capter 2 Part 3 - Unethical

As the sun lands on the horizon the cook brings out large dishes of rice and meat, fruits and vegetables. When they sit down at a few long wooden tables for the food they’re preparing to eat, Nekimo looks at the food prepared for her, staring in thought.

Not even in whispers do they speak ill of her name. And yet… they… they look miserable.

the group looking over to her and hesitating to take a bite until she does, her looking over at her doctor, Orisa. As the doctor shrugs her shoulders and takes a bite of the meat they all begin to eat, many of them stuffing themselves while Vee, Lilly, and Cassidy join the whole camp at the table.

Orisa notices them pulling off their scrubs and approaches the trio.

“You’re medical staff, right, And that’s your office?” She asks

Vee smiles and shakes her hand “Victoria Stone. Yes, uhh… Cardiologist… It is my clinic.”

“Orisa Essa Adeyemi, Thoracic surgeon and physician. So, uh - Oh… okay. It looks small, I’d love to see what it’s like in there. Also, what brings your group here?”

Cassidy’s eyes light up and she interjects. “Maybe a little later on if you’d like. We’re studying local physiology to help medical professionals like yourself serve the people here. May I ask what you do here?”

Orisa’s expression is unamused, begging more answers than she could be given.

“That’s strange. Dalia has never mentioned this place before. Who do you work for?”

Cassidy responds cautiously “We’re independent… Dalia - Isn’t that the leader of the tribe you’re fighting against?”

Orisa pauses a moment. “That’s… complicated. This isn’t my fight. I’ve worked with the tribe for over a decade and have special privileges with them even now. As for why I’m here? That question is a bit awkward since this is my home. I left briefly for university and training but my family lives here. Who do you get your permissions from?”

Vee interrupts. “We’re very careful about the ethics of our research and gain full active consent form the locals and their familites.” She asserts.

“Thank you.” Orisa nods. She quietly and abruptly walks away, an ominous feeling washed over her.

After finishing a plate, Nekimo excuses herself and walks toward the trees just a few yards from the table where many of the group are eating. After a moment of thought and staring at the stars between the trees, she peeks over at all the people sitting there, watching Cassidy. The way this camp operates, The social structure is so perfect, so unfamiliar - it’s frustrating.

Could she just be some amazing observant leader? If so it means I can’t possibly compare.

She looks at the group from a distance and wonders if she’ll find something out. Looking at the guest table, she notices Aretta missing.

“I knew she’d be first to go” she whispers to herself.

Cassidy’s eyes turn toward her which surprises her but suddenly it all makes sense. Finally, with a smile on her face she walks back and sits at the table to continue eating.

“Apologies, I just needed a moment to think.”

Ginika taps Nekimo on the shoulder and asks her to coordinate their next move. Reaching the edge of the camp, Ginika turned back to face her.

"We should not sleep here, I do not trust these people, nor should you. Do you notice Aretta is not eating with us? Orisa whispered to me while you were away. She told me that they could be trying to experiment on us."

Nekimo seems to make a revelation "Oh? She did…Actually, you know, don’t worry about that. We will sleep here. Aretta… She has chosen her path. I wish her well."

"I pray that you do not fall into this trap, Nekimo. Don’t be naïve, they would be wiped off the map if it were just this easy. We are not the first to pretend our intentions are noble."

Nekimo puts a finger to Ginika's lips.

"I… now know this woman's heart. Trust in me, Ginika. We will be gone by morning, and with some of their weapons in hand. You should find one of them to ask you how to use them. ‘Even in death’, you recall? Trust me."

"Ignorance is not leadership. You've been an excellent judge of heart until now. I hope we survive long enough for you to learn your lesson. You're not dealing with blind soldiers led by an arrogant tyrant now." Ginika said forcefully, visibly angry at being ignored.

Nekimo smiles "Let's finish eating before they run out of food"

Ginika walks silently back to the camp, followed by Nekimo.

"Apologies, we needed to plan for tomorrow."

"None needed, we wish you well in your fight with that pestering tribe now." Cassidy grinned before taking a bite of the food in front of her.

"Queen Cassidy, I ask that I can speak with you about the plans we've discussed." Nekimo says before short laughs are heard among the research group's members.

"Queen, I'm beginning to like that" she says with a smile.

"I ask that we can speak in private. These matters are sensitive."

"I'm sorry if I don't trust you to take me from their sight." Cassidy points at the women with rifles.

"I'm familiar with guns. Surely they can aim their weapons at me from a distance."

"Fair enough" - "Hailey, Wanda, stand over there. We will be discussing matters in front of the last van"

The two women with rifles move within visual range while Nekimo and Cassidy reach the camper, Nekimo looks over at the women with their weapons drawn.

"I was actually sent by the Adaego to eradicate you after they captured us, but Instead, I seek your help in pushing back their government."

"Hmmm" Cassidy smiles.

"That's an interesting story. They probably fear us because the last time they came it was to take out our camp but our snipers outmatched theirs. They came with aggression and we met back with equal aggression. However, we can't help you as part of our ethical obligation to the land is to avoid interfering in local conflict. We can only wish you luck in your journey."

"We have similar goals, you know. I know your plans for our people, how your people react to you, your power as a leader, and I know how you perform research...

"You do?"

... I'm asking to assist you, Cassidy. You can hear everything that goes on in this camp. I've figured that out a while ago. I could not even attempt to turn on you, nor plot your demise and you're fully aware of that. I only ask to borrow some of your spare weapons and, in exchange, you will have thousands of willing bodies marching in for whatever you do. I only ask that I am able to meet my desires as well."

Shock and excitement are brimming in Cassidy’s eyes.

"Hmm... Agreed."

Nekimo thinks for a moment and gets closer to Cassidy before whispering.

"My people, I care little of them. It is not that I didn’t notice Aretta betray me, I didn’t care.”

She continues

“But, now that we’ve got this out of the way. I’m interested in knowing your story. As a leader, it might help me have what you have here.”

Cassidy leans back on the trailer and looks up.

“Well, you see, we’re working on finding and replicating super-genes for a group… I can’t get into specifics there. First, we need to assess what traits are best for maximizing real-world physical performance by running various extreme stress tests. Then we pinpoint what specifically attributes to higher levels of performance, then common genetic traits between them. For this we need thousands of participants across several groups.

Nobody could afford that, especially if it’s found out that the goal is so controversial. So, we came here where there’s very little oversight going on. We began as a group of four, just Vee and I with our snipers. However, after we were deemed official after this... organization was found out and had to explain things away, more researchers came and fellows from various organizations were sent to check in on us. It became a hassle to continue research so I let everyone know what was going on and started another form of research… psychological.

I let them all know and made sure the more noble of them understood that leaving or attempting to stop us meant a fate worse than death. Initially I had no way to enforce that, but that’s when I bugged the entire camp myself over the course of a month. I let them plot against me, I let them try to escape only to counter every move. I studied their reactions, and how long it took them to give in as well as all of the stages they went through before they did. Now everyone just knows that whatever they say or do, every action or even inaction, I can hear them and probably see it too.

Nekimo smiles and stretches, watching Wanda peer across her sights while Hailey’s weapon is lowered, returning her focus to Cass. "That is truly amazing. So everyone serves you, because insubordination will be punished severely it seems. What of Lilly?, she seems special."

"Lilith... that weak little woman. She tried the hardest to stop me, and she was the focus of my attention. Some would simply end her but instead I broke her down, I made her central to acts which disgusted her. Little by little, failed attempt to flee, failed attempt to usurp me, it became amusing to watch her. I put her in charge of operations because I knew it would break her will. I could see and document how, over the years she went from lying about everything, trying to poison me… non-fatally of course because she just can’t bring herself to even endanger a life intentionally… to dutifully responding to my every need years later. I remind her that she's keeping me alive, keeping my research going as part of my ongoing effort to ease her will into that of mine and study her progress."

Nekimo watched the light in her eyes glow as she opened up, the pride pouring out in her words.

"I thank you. Until then, let's rest for tomorrow

“Your traitor… she has been very valuable to me, by the way. Thank you.” Cassidy says.

“My honor.” Nekimo laughs.

As Nekimo wakes up after sleeping in the camp, Lilly has a bowl of soup prepared for her.

"How lucky you are, I'm astounded that she would agree to give your tribe guns. Do you think it could end peacefully if they are simply too afraid to fight?."

"No, I think the luckiest person today will be you, Lilly."

Nekimo downs her soup before getting up without further speaking, leaving the young woman slightly confused.

Cassidy and her guards show the troops how their rifles and pistols work. All brand new.

Nekimo fumbles with the handgun as if she had never handled one before but learns quickly.

She aims her pistol at a stump and a click is heard as she pulls on the trigger.

"Gunshots aren't good for the ears, you see."  Cassidy smiles and taps the earpiece.

After handling is down, Cassidy has someone bring out ammo and she takes out her earpiece while they all load their weapons.

Nekimo gets the hang of her shiny new pistol and fires it off a few times at the stump, aiming at the center ring and missing the first time completely, then hitting the edge after a few rounds.

After looking disappointed and lowering her gun she asks to try Wanda's rifle, the woman handing it over to her upon Cassidy's okay to let her inspect it. She then takes her pistol and points it at Cassidy's chest, looking at her with the widest of smiles.

"I am your new queen. Who else will challenge me?”

Silence fills the air as everyone looks at Nekimo. Lilly starts to cry and walks over to Cassidy’s side, grabbing her pistol.

“Shoo!” Nekimo says, ignoring the traumatized looking girl.

Cassidy grabs her earpiece and slips it in her right ear, the look of anger turning to defeat.

"The silence is deafening, isn’t it? Do you know how I found out about your ability to hear what goes on in this camp?"

"Tell me" Cassidy asked of her, defeated but still curious.

You're not dead yet. A proud people talk among themselves, they mock their leader, they challenge authority even in passing talk. Your few soldiers stand silently, as if any sudden move, a word of ill will might follow them to their death. I wondered if they might be brainwashed into worshiping you, but not a single person here spoke highly of your leadership. No, their revolt was already happening, and I saw it in every set of eyes living in your camp.

And now I have taken your village, as nearly all of them would have had they trusted their sisters. Not a gun is pointed at me right now."

"That's what you think." Cassidy threatened.

Nekimo pushes the gun’s barrel against Cassidy’s chest and nuzzles it between the buttons of her shirt to let it rest on her bare skin. She can feel the gun quake in her grip from cassidy’s hammering heart as the woman does her best to control her breath.

"The words of a woman who can hear everything but still lives in darkness."

“Tie her up.” Nekimo continued, Hailey running to get rope, then grabbing Cassidy’s arms and binding her wrists together before shoving her to the ground and tying her ankles. The uncomfortable silence among her people is broken by a few who group together and start openly discussing plans to leave.

Nekimo walks up to Lilly who’s shivering in tears; consumed by fear. “Seeing as you were undecided, you will pledge your loyalty to me or stay by her side and become my enemy.”

“I … I was afraid. I’m so sorry!”

Nekimo pauses a bit. “Show me the loyalty you’ve shown her.”

ch2pt4 Click here

[lazywriter7]

For @ishipallthings​, some ace Nat and aroace Bruce because she’s a fantastically wonderful person who flails about the same things I do and knows the potential of the ship and where it could’ve gone. Warnings for crass language, internalised aphobia, brief thoughts of suicide, and Bruce Banner’s generally messed up brain. Bruce Banner’s first girlfriend cheated on him.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a monotone. Snot dripped out her nostrils, caked the foundation on her upper lip. Red-rimmed lids peeked behind mascara-thick lashes. “I’m really sorry.”

This probably wasn’t heartbreak. Fifteen though he may be, Bruce was peculiarly well acquainted with this conflagration of emotion – humiliation that scalded his skin red, made his bones shake – rage deep and banked, eating away at his gut, springing bile from his throat. The impulse to hurl was sudden and overpowering, though he couldn’t tell if it’d be last night’s chicken parma or the invective he’d borne and swallowed during it: Brian Banner’s ugly words cast new shape in his own voice box.  

This wasn’t heartbreak

(click below to read more)

“I wasn’t thinking.”

How lucky for you. Teenagers weren’t built for this kind of viciousness, Bruce thought, finger nails gouging bloodless lines on the insides of his wrists. His frame, short and weedy, shook with it like a rattling plastic bag, too brittle to hold the hatred hostage for long. It would rampage through his body, eventually tearing itself out – and what would he do then?

“He was…offering. And I didn’t know how to say no.”

The injustice of it rankled the most. Which was strange in its own right, because Bruce had never grown with the ideals of good and bad, the world as a perfectly fair, balanced scale and destined to stay that way, pre-established in his head. But it still, frustratingly, rankled; not six months had gone by since she’d pressed and he’d reluctantly agreed, not six months till he’d gone about losing his virginity as a stuttering coward would. And still, instead of asking: why would you do that to me, he found himself with why wouldn’t you just do this earlier.

“I.” Holly gnawed on her lip, hazel eyes running over him in a terrified flitter. “I feel terrible. And this is going to be a dick thing to say, but.” He’d liked her for that, when they’d first gotten together. For saying the dick things. His dad called him a pussy every morning, it seemed a match made in heaven. “I didn’t think this would…matter to you. That much.”

Bruce had never put much stock in heaven, himself. “Sorry to exceed expectations.”

Holly laughed, a little burble of distraught, amused sound. Such a dick. “You were always so nice. It never seemed to translate to caring, though.”

Bruce didn’t contradict her. “I trusted you,” he said.

“Yeah.” Holly breathed, blocked nose clearly audible. She knuckled at the base of it, and Bruce wondered if it was supposed to make him feel nostalgic, or bitter. It accomplished neither. “I suppose you did.”

 ~

 She’s pretty. It was as one might feel, distractedly coming to a stop at the sidewalk and admiring the house up by the turn of the road. Absent musings, worth much of nothing.

It was the most, and the least important thing about her. Bruce could only muster an abstract, almost contemptuous regard. She’s pretty.

Natasha Romanoff blinked prettily at him, the barrel of her gun only slightly off the midline of his throat. She probably didn’t need point-blank range to get a shot in. Still, at this distance the arterial blood would catch her in the face, bright red to match the sweat-sodden hair tucked behind her ear. Frothy too, if she also managed to nick his respiratory tract. Sure, all that mess could be avoided if she adjusted her angle a bit, came in from the front…though that wasn’t guaranteed, especially if the bullet got deflected by his thyroid cartilage – maybe crushing in the trachea, maybe shredding the carotid sheath–

She raised a hand to her ear, nail scraping down the lobe, bumping the ear piece on the way. “Stand down. We’re good here.”

Kolkata shuffled around them, the rustle and clicks of a squad of men disarming drowned in the din. The gun lowered.

Ah, life. The constant balancing act between murder and suicide. Bruce smiled. “Just you and me, huh?”

 ~

 “Banner!” Barton bellowed, even though he was barely twenty metres away and sprawled on the common room’s shag carpet like an overly spoilt pet. “Come, educate the ignorants on spin the bottle.”

“I claim privileges of token straight Avenger.” Bruce tried not to let his lips quirk, but it was inevitable with the camera-worthy splutter Cap had just executed over the lip of his beer bottle. With Tony and Barton on the team, he rarely ever elicited this kind of reaction – it was hard not to feel a touch of self-satisfaction. “Considering present company and the four in five chances of kissing a guy, I’d prefer not to join in, thank you.”

“Codswallop.” Came the dramatic declaration from the couch – Tony rolling over onto his belly to suit the motion. “You’re in a house with Barton’s arms,” An empty beer bottle used efficiently as laser pointer to emphasise the words, Barton flexing his biceps helpfully to assist, “my butt, and Capsicle’s abs. There’s no way you don’t have a queer boner in your body.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how the idiom goes.” Cap pointed out lightly, upper lip still shiny with spilled beer; but gave himself away a second later when his chin dipped, eyes glancing down at his own abdomen with a flush rising to his cheeks.

“Do I not have any desirable physical attributes, Stark?” Thor was squatting on the carpet too, but with a kind of leonine grace that made even the crosslegged pose look regal. His eyes glinted, like he wasn’t really expecting any kind of slight on his looks, but wouldn’t be affected if it came all the same.

“Well, hair.” Tony shrugged loosely, bottle rolling out of his grip to fall to the floor with a muted thunk. “But that isn’t gendered, so.”

“And abs are?” Bruce stiffened as a shadow fell over the counter he’d propped his back against; Natasha leaning in from the other side, newly poured scotch gleaming in a tumbler set by her elbow. Her chin rested casually on folded knuckles, her lashes gold-tipped in the lighting.

“Just saying that some confused youngin’ could delude himself into straightness over lush rivers of gold-spun locks.” Tony’s fingers reached out to tug at said locks as if to illustrate, immediately retracted at the sight of Thor’s toothy don’t-you-even-think-about-it grin. “Rogers’ rock-hard plateaus are a bit more in-your-face in that respect, y’know?”

Natasha wrapped two fingers around her glass, her silken sleeve whispering against the granite counter as she raised the drink to her lips. No reply seemed forthcoming; the comment had too obviously been made for Cap’s benefit anyway, who looked keen to migrate straight out through the doorway he’d been leaning against all night. Poor man, probably hadn’t anticipated the level of sexual harassment involved when assuming leadership of a superhero team.

Poor man, blessed with preternatural good looks and a serum-perfect body. Bruce didn’t censor the faintly bitter thought. Sometimes you had to make compromises, to ensure ugliness of this kind wouldn’t spill over his lips into the real world.

Internally caught up as he was, he couldn’t stop the errant flinch when soft tones spoke not far from his ear. “Straight, you said?”

Bruce looked back. Natasha had the scotch glass comfortably cradled in her palm, not a hint of a smudge visible on the rim, the russet mouth hovering inches above it flawless. It was uncanny.

“It isn’t nice to whisper.” He said it before he’d fully thought the words out, but there was nothing for it. That was Natasha for you: always faintly jarring, setting off prickles along the skin no matter how much she tried to put you at ease. Or maybe it was just him. “While talking in a group, I mean.”

“Sorry, were you going to participate?” For the words being what they were, Natasha’s tone was spectacularly even-keeled. Like she was asking a genuine question.

“I was participating.” The conversation had already picked up again behind them; Bruce’s jaw tightened by a fraction.

“How long have you had that line you just said to Clint stored up in your head?” If Bruce were the bristling kind of person, that sentence would have definitely set him off. She wasn’t even looking at him as she said it; eyelids fluttering as she took a casual sip of her drink before pale green eyes drifted up again to regard him calmly.

Because that was her chosen form of approach, with him. With Tony it was all coy smiles, sharp barbs and riddles galore, with Cap it was open eye contact and as much sincerity as was permissible. This…this quiet regard where she didn’t taunt, didn’t sound mocking, just watched as if waiting to see how long he’d keep playing the part – was reserved especially for Bruce.

He was coddled by the world that would still interact with him, with the exception of Natasha Romanov. And Tony freaking Stark, but at least Tony freaking Stark’s motives were transparent. Misguided, but transparent.

Tony wanted a science partner, and a friend. Natasha…most of the time, Bruce didn’t know what the heck Natasha was playing at.

But if he’d been that easy to rile, the world would’ve gone to hell in a handbasket a long time ago. “Fine, you got me.” Gentle, mild self-derision – he pulled it off well. “It would’ve taken me at least another five minutes to screw up the courage to say something else.”

“I don’t know if it’s to do with courage.” And that was startling in of itself, Natasha Romanov beginning a sentence with I don’t know. Another ploy of some sort, inevitably. She wasn’t looking away, irises steady. “I think you just don’t like talking to people that much.”

And you’re seeking me out for conversation – why? Bruce dipped his head to his collarbone, a gradual motion, not quite a nod, and said nothing.

Natasha wouldn’t relent. A sip of scotch, an ingenuous blink. “So, straight?”

Bruce held back a sigh. From the rabble, Thor and Barton appeared to be comparing bicep sizes, Tony gleefully presiding over the proceedings, with frequent asides to a distinctly amused looking Captain America. Yeah, no help from that quarter. “Functionally, sure.”

Bruce half-expected an arched eyebrow. It seemed like the sort of urbane, inscrutable expression ex-Russian spies would sport. Natasha greeted him with another blink. “Now that’s a qualifier I haven’t heard before.”

“I’m not too…interested in that side of things.”  Nice and non-committal. Nothing to do with how even the idea of having someone that close, breath hitting skin, was enough to send Bruce’s heartbeat skittering. “But if I…uh, hypothetically were, then it would…”

“Be in someone of the feminine persuasion.” Natasha completed, eyes straying back to the drink as if in concluded thought. Probably adding the fact to the file. Bruce would hesitate over giving her yet another tool to technically play him with, but she’d never needed tools to do damage.

“You’re bisexual.” It came out as a blurt, too late to pull back and hanging awkwardly; probably because Bruce wasn’t halfway as good at the ‘make incisive assumptions about people and quote it to them like life-truths’ thing that Natasha did so well. Not that Bruce wasn't fairly certain about this little bit of trivia, he had –

Natasha laughed. It lasted for a second, a rise and fall of low-pitched sound. And the murmur that followed in its wake was interminably amused. “No.”

(So that flushed ‘fairly certain’ right down the drain. Unless she was lying to him, because it was easier to discern why she would lie to him, than why she wouldn’t.)

It took a few seconds of perplexed staring for Bruce to realise the drink set down by his elbow now was unattended, and that she was walking around the counter, inexorably approaching his side. “I said it wrong before.”

That particular combination of words from her mouth did not help in the least, not with how spectacularly unmoored Bruce was feeling. This conversation was evolving too fast for him to keep up with. Natasha came to a standstill, a few scant inches away, lips still upturned. “As nice a line as ‘functionally straight’ makes at parties, Dr Banner – have you considered that maybe you just don’t like people in general?”

“…right.” Bruce pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, fingers suddenly itching. It did nothing to obscure the sight of unswerving green eyes.

Natasha’s lips pressed in on themselves, gaze growing bright. And before Bruce knew it – there was a hand darting up to weave through the curls at his hairline, mussing it slightly before patting it down, there and away in an instant.

Did. Did she just…ruffle my hair?

Unmoored wasn’t quite the word to describe it, anymore. Flabbergasted, maybe. And he wasn’t the only one – before she wiped it completely, Bruce caught a distinctly discomfited expression on Natasha’s face, almost wide-eyed; like stage seven of some elaborately hatched plan had gone Very Wrong, and regrouping was required, stat.

“Um.” Natasha stared at the slightly depressed portion of Bruce’s hair for a couple more seconds, before her eyes jumped to the far end of the room, face perfectly composed. “Have a pleasant evening, Bruce.”

And off she went, crossing the room in a deceptively small number of steps and politely excusing herself through the same doorway Bruce was sure Captain America was going to use as an escape hatch not so long ago. Also – the ‘Doctor Banner’ thing had apparently been deliberate.

Not important right now, Bruce told himself firmly – though it was yet another blip in a conversation that had been a raging spike from baseline. They were on first name terms, the way people who were adults and co-workers and weren’t the rest of the Avengers were on first name terms; unfailingly cordial and non-passive-aggressive. There was an undercurrent though, to their talks. Some form of…if not hostility, then at least unease. Had been from the very beginning.

And yet now there were repressed smiles and amused eyes and hair ruffles – a softly enunciated ‘Dr Banner’ that was nothing like the way Bruce addressed Barton by his last name, that was almost…playful? He wasn’t used to this; the Natasha he knew had every move planned ages in advance, paid attention but always from behind shielded eyes. And that was how Bruce approached their talks, always guarded and wary, but this…

This. Bruce stared bemusedly at the half-empty tumbler of scotch on the counter, lone and deserted. This was altogether inexplicable.

 ~

 It was probably more traditional to let the water keep beating down on his neck.

Instead, Bruce turned the shower off, knob squealing under slippery fingers. The cold prickled on his skin, droplets trickling uncomfortably down the line of his back. He stood till his frame trembled with shivers, air drafts chilling on wet skin.

Had they figured it out yet? Probably; he’d given them the clues himself, felt the words ricochet emptily in the dry expanse of his mouth. Staring at a corpse, made of shattered gold light.

“Ultron could've assimilated Jarvis. This isn't strategy, this is...rage.”

The back of his head thudded against tile; he felt nothing. The team only saw Ultron’s swift talking, the casual assumption of knowing what was best for the entire world. And Tony made it so easy too…with his derisive laughter, distracting aggression. All attention focused solely on him. Maybe it was deliberate, maybe an unconscious reflex – Tony could be a self-sacrificing fool like that sometimes.

But a propensity for banter and warped futurism weren’t the dangerous things that Ultron inherited. They didn’t drive him towards wiping out the planet of humanity. Rage did.

And Bruce knew where he got that from.

By the time he stepped out of the cubicle, his teeth were chattering. The towel was too soft against his skin; he dried himself with rough, cursory strokes. The only clothes he had were tossed carelessly on the floor of the room he’d been assigned, and they’d have to do; borrowing from Barton while they were already intruding on his privacy like this felt out of question. He secured the towel about his waist mindlessly, and stepped out bare foot on the room’s linoleum floor.

“I would’ve joined you, but it didn’t seem like the right time.”

A prolonged exhale. He pulled his eyes up reluctantly from the floor’s checkered patterns, up to the figure leaning by the door. The outline was a little blurred sans glasses, but unmistakable.

Natasha slipped in. Drew close, step by increasing step. Paused just at the outside edge of personal bubbles, then stepped right through.

The tilt of that uplifted chin was…enchanting, Bruce could admit. Their very breaths seemed aligned, push and pull, ebbing and flowing in eddies. But it came accompanied by a butterfly touch: a light-fingered hand skating up the line of his collarbone, and Bruce’s mind whited out.

No.

The angle of her chin grew more prominent, her entire face tilting to the side. As gently as it had come, that light touch whispered away. Natasha watched him, soft-eyed. “Not even for comfort?”

“It.” The word struggled in his throat, rough and ungainly – and for all that Bruce made a practice of loathing himself, it rarely overcame him so completely. “It wouldn’t be…comfortable. For me.”

A few seconds more of silent watching. “Good.” Natasha said, and withdrew; nimble feet padding over to the bed, the frame creaking as her weight settled on the mattress. She crossed an ankle over the other, green irises clear. “I’m asexual.”

Bruce blinked rapidly. Conversations lapsed ages ago shot across his brain in a blur: that quiet laugh, the firm denial when he’d literally accused her of bisexuality.  His mouth worked uselessly for moments, before words started spilling out, ill-hewn and incoherent. “But you just…why would you…”

Even her shrug was elegant, a little loop that her shoulders described in the air. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m not sex-repulsed; just indifferent to it.” Her lips curved, ever so slightly. “And with how tied up physical intimacy is with…other kinds of attraction, I guess it just seemed easier.”

Other kinds of attraction. And quick on the heels of it, the old memory still playing: “have you considered that maybe you just don’t like people in general?”

His expression was a little too brittle. “Lucky for you I’m a bit too much of a coward for sex, then.”

He was anticipating any number of answers. Maybe a delicately drawled, lucky? does that mean this is a yes? To which he’d have replied, a thousand times.

But Natasha’s lips only flattened, gaze implacable. “Have you thought not wanting to do something might not be the same as being a coward?”

I wasn’t talking about you. Just me. Bruce smiled, resigned and dark. “Never been able to tell the difference before.”

 ~

 “What’s your favourite book?”

Bruce supposed the expression on his face was more than a little sceptical, because Natasha kept watching him, patient and unblinking. There was never any sulking, or pouting, or plaintive ‘come ooooon’s with Natasha. Just out-waiting the silence.

He cracked. “I’ve never decided on just one.”

The swing frame creaked, clods of dirt disturbed as heels skimmed against the earth. Quite impressive really, that she managed to maintain eye contact despite all that. Bruce sighed.

Four weeks after Tony had driven off into the distance ‘forever’, he came roaring back into the Facility: new car, new glares and loudly demanding new upgrade requests. After a few seconds of silence, during which the New Avengers all looked at each other awkwardly – Natasha asked for a swingset.

(“Didn’t know you guys were already there, but anywho – I’m a bit of a virgin with sex toy design.”

“Outside.”

“Kinky.”

.

“…ohh.”)

Tony continued to assume it was all still a joke, Natasha remaining unruffled as only one who’d made a career out of profiting from people’s assumptions of her motives could. (Bruce didn’t try to much, anymore. She spoke, and he listened: an honest exchange. A bit of a revelatory experience for the both of them.)

But anyway – schematics for a swingset arrived at the Facility within a week, extravagant enough for a Disneyland ride. Natasha scratched the entire thing out and sent back a poorly rendered doodle of something more suited to a children’s park. Now fully committed to the ‘joke’, Tony sent handymen to the facility with the crayon drawing in hand. Natasha directed them to the meadow behind the east wing.

And now they were here: Bruce motionless, tailbone pressed against the wood of the swingseat, even as the chains for the adjacent seat rattled next to him. Natasha’s back curved into the motion as she propelled herself further, the swing describing an arc that stretched farther and higher with every gentle whoosh.

The sun was glinting in his eyes; Bruce plucked off his glasses and reflexively began wiping them on his sleeve, finally slipping the frames into his shirt pocket. The world and his vision was still overcome with gold spots; Natasha must be positively blinded at that height. He wondered how she bore it. If he helped.

“What’s yours?”

The swing continued to creak – Bruce kept watching. The lobes of her ears peeked behind a mass of riotous, poppy-red waves; she probably hadn’t combed her hair since morning. There was a spring leaf caught just above her hairline.

“The Kite Runner.” Her voice was borne on the breeze, quiet and fleeting. “Afghani writer, Khaled Hosseini.”

There was a beech tree twenty metres to the left of them, thick trunk and towering foliage; the sunlight strained through its leaves, casting dappled shadows on Natasha’s face. Light and dark and clear and bright. Bruce breathed. “I thought it might be something you might’ve read when you were…growing up. Can’t imagine Russian fairytales to be the cheeriest, admittedly.”

“Fairytales aren’t supposed to be cheery. They’re supposed to introduce you to life-truths, in a format you can handle as a child.” Any other person might have called her tone detached. To Bruce, Natasha sounded contemplative. Like her emotions worked best when they were separated from her. “Parents die, you have to leave your home, there is always someone in the world that means you harm.”

Here there be dragons. Her feet made perfect ballet points as she swung back, the leaf escaping her curls and drifting down to settle on the grass-covered ground. “Of course, they also sell you ideas that make it easier…possible, to live in the same world as those truths.”

“True love.” Bruce’s lips were moving, he didn’t make an effort to still them. “Soulmates.”

“Yes.” Whoosh. Those eyes strayed skywards, where cloud-wisps were being buffeted about by the wind, ephemeral white on blue. Natasha’s lips curved. “And freedom.”

Quiet. Bruce waited her out, unspeaking.

“The Kite Runner sold me on the idea of redemption. No matter how far man falls, how despicably he stains his hands. There’s always the hope of washing it all away.” The arc was shortening, the swing beginning to creak to a stop. Natasha’s heels skimmed the ground. “I suppose it was my fairytale.”

The swing trundled, slowly, before coming to stillness. Bruce turned his head to face her, palely green eyes meeting his own, calm and peaceful.

“I didn’t like those stories much. The notion of true love.” When Bruce breathed deep, he could smell the grass under his feet. His heart lumbered under his rib cage, slow and steady. “Maybe because I …don’t like people in general.”

It was barely visible, which was how he knew it was genuine – the curve of Natasha’s smile.

“I thought it made me selfish. Coldblooded.” His mouth felt strange, trying to shape itself into an expression that didn’t contain derision. “The antipathy towards sex didn’t help either.”

“I.” And it caught in his throat again, but Bruce breathed. Again and again, and Natasha waited for him through all of it. The words were ineloquent, but they were finally there. “I don’t know why you’re still here.” With me. “Maybe you’ve been a spy too long. Maybe the other person has always been more invested in the relationship than you have.”

“Maybe I don’t feel sexual or…. romantic, attraction.” Maybe I’m not a selfish coward. Bruce’s throat was dry, but his words were clear. “Maybe you think that means you can’t hurt me.”

There’s a holly tree he could glimpse, beyond Natasha’s head of hair, far off into the grounds. “You’d be wrong.”

I care. I always have.

Natasha met his eyes, like she could hear the words. Like she had instilled them inside his head, with incisive comments that were never taunts, with calmly knowing gazes, with a patience that spoke volumes to the…adoration, she felt. Her own eyes looked content. “I know.”

[momtemplative]

The Long Game

A conversation about schools reopening:                               Part one (uno, un) of presumably many.

There was one year I celebrated the First Day Of School with such vigor and rebelliousness that the moment I got home from the double-drop-off, I stripped down to my undies and ate pesto from the jar, on the couch, like a crazy woman. 

Last year, the first day of school was delayed for four days because of construction and I had a full-on meltdown. Get these kids out of the house!!

Now, here we sit, atop an entirely different perspective. That Holiest of Days means nothing. 

Finish lines and dates-to-look-forward-to-with-certainty during this pandemic are as arbitrary as the outcome of a toddler game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. I’ve been applying a lowered-gaze to these long, long days, a here-and-now approach to get us through to the finish line of school starting. Not thinking about the Long Game has been a survival tactic to avoid an onslaught of overwhelm and to allow more room for joy and sanity. (There are plenty of tough days that happen organically, without the pressure of trying to figure it all out.)

Back in March, I thought, (many of us thought), ok this is crazy, but they’ll surely get back to school in the fall. And what an epic celebration THAT First Day will be! 

Especially after this four+ month stint of no school, no sitters, no public places open (safely), no playdates or kid swaps, no summer camps or extracurriculars, and no travel! I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t holding up the First Day as a beacon of hope, grabbing at it like fruit for a starving soul that hangs way beyond my reach.

Up until last Wednesday, we could still speculate about school as some far-off agenda. Of course there was no way school could start up again as per usual, but I pushed that slippery little thought out of my mind every time it landed.

Now, heavy with reluctance, I am beginning to mourn the loss of the reality I was hoping for—to have Opal back in school and Ruth in preschool three full-days a week! (That was new, for the two years prior, she attended preschool for three half-days, which just barely covered my part-time work load.) The generous portions of un-scheduled time (that far surpass the needs of my job, which I will not be doing for the foreseeable future anyhow, since giving massage to elders with dementia and Alzheimers is such a dangerous gig right now) were joyfully staggering to think about. 

Once the facts came to light, hard and fast on the computer screen, it no longer worked to play dumb about what the fall might look like. They announced this week that BVSD (Boulder Valley School District) would be opening schools for two days a week, a “hybrid model,” starting one week late, end of August. Half the class will attend Tuesday and Wednesday, half will attend Thursday and Friday. On the not-in-person days, kids will do online schooling. (Kids can also opt out of this for fully online, at-home schooling.)

The kids will be required to wear masks and keep their distance. There will be partitions and well-spaced desks and lots of outside time. The precautions will be thorough and lengthy, but necessary.

Joseph G. Allens, assistant professor of exposure assessment science at Harvard says, “On prevention, we are seeing that in many hospitals, the number of infections of front-line doctors and nurses has dropped way down. Why? Strict controls are in place focusing on just three things: mask-wearing, hand-washing and air-cleaning.”

This is positive news for the kids who are old enough to be mindful and take precautions. Luckily, Opal is old enough to be developmentally capable of following all the rules, not only because that is who she is, but because she understands this is what needs to happen for the public’s health. Five years ago, she may have had good intentions, but would’ve been developmentally unable of doing what needed to be done. Five years from now, she may be nursing a rebellious phase—who knows. So, we rejoice at the fact that she is eddying in the safest spot—age and development-wise—that she possibly could. (Not to mention her motivator-of-wise-choices is far more ubiquitous and scary than simply aiming to be a ‘good girl.’)

Ruth, who is four and still taste things from the ground, is another story altogether. And to intensify that reality is that she’d be in a classroom of 11 other small-children-examples. When I imagine a birds-eye-view of her classroom, I see piles of children, not individual bodies, all heaped onto a particular play area like puppies on a teat. The personified opposite of social distancing. 

And because we have grandparents to think about, we have chosen to keep Ruth from the fray of preschool for the time being. (I acknowledge we are fortunate to have this choice.) This is devastating and confusing for her, she is longing for her friends and teachers, the world she cultivated for the prior two years, half her life. She still doesn’t understand why school stopped so abruptly, why she never got to say goodbye to her class, why she can’t see any of them now, except for on a screen. 

(Ruth sometimes refers to The Virus as almost a villain-character. She’ll be lying in bed and suddenly, disgustedly, shout, “THAT VIRUS IS SO RUDE!”)

For the last few days, I’ve been saturating myself in news articles about how schools plan to re-open next month and the safety of it all—for grandparents, for teachers, for us. I vacillate between, this will be weird but fine and yikes and wait, is this the best approach? 

There is a staggering amount to consider, and yet a minuscule amount of certain information out there. Almost every article I read about young kids and COVID—can they spread it??—is filed under the opinion section of the paper. Info feels sparse and mostly speculative. I don’t trust it. At least not on her grandparents’ lives. Schools in Europe reopened months ago, where is the research from that?

Brian P. Gill, senior fellow at Mathematica, (a nonpartisan public-policy research and analysis firm), had some optimistic things to say. He said, “When reopening schools, he’d most recommend a staggered start and to reduce the number of students in schools and classrooms. “We believe this can dramatically slow the spread of COVID-19—even if children are not especially good at wearing masks or maintaining physical distance.”

I really don’t know who or what to believe at this point. I find myself glomming on to the positive bits, sharing a hopeful thought or article with friends, accompanied by a prayer-hands emoji. Then I will read something that troubles me and I turn leaden and sink to the bottom of my mental well. I usually don’t share those articles. It cycles back and forth like this. 

But returning to the bricks-and-mortar plans for Opal’s upcoming school year:

I try to imagine what this will all look like. The rooms will be half-full of socially distanced little bodies, all looking like mini-surgeons in their masks and ranging in age and size and from approximately 5 to 10 years old. Opal is on the older end, and I imagine her classroom to look like theater—where everyone has an excessive personal bubble and the plastic partition creates a glare from every angle and warps the images on either side. Connections will have to be made in code, sideways, or way too loud to overcome the cloth curtains that cover mouths. I imagine the resurgence of note-passing, like when I was a kid and we’d fold them into little origami packages and pass them along to the desired recipient, hopefully out of the teacher’s gaze. But in this case, they’d need to be tossed rather than passed—the closest desk will be six feet away.

Will they be able to see the preposterousness in all of it? Will they be able to share a good laugh about it or will it all seem like dreadful torture? I’m sure perspectives will vacillate from one end of the spectrum to the other, the way they do now. 

I do solemnly wish that everyone enter the first day of school expecting nothing less than chaos and confusion, and because of that, they will offer each other more slack and kindness. This sucks equally for everyone, the whole dang village. There’s got to be some solace in that?

(And can I get a moment of silent mercy for all these teachers, even the grumpiest ones? I cannot fathom the ninja-brainwork required to hold all these pieces together. The effort is heroic.)

We would probably consider kiboshing the whole operation if it were to last any longer than two days. That’s plenty manageable. And Opal wants it so bad. The sense of purpose, of community, of life-beyond-the-walls-of-our-home. She told me she’s dying to see the eyes of all her friends, even above a mask, as long as it’s not on a screen! Preach.

I am well aware that this equation doesn’t help parents who are trying to get back to work, but, again, I appreciate what Brian P. Gill has to say about it:

“As parents ourselves, we would much prefer that our child’s school be open for a predictable two days a week than a highly unpredictable cycle of opening and closing. But more important than our own preferences are these facts: Unpredictably difficult experiences create more stress and more downstream health problems than predictably difficult experiences, even if the experience itself is equivalent in all other respects. And for children, more predictability yields better emotional health, a key predictor of life outcomes.”

SO here we are, bouncing around the map of this pandemic with, what often feels like, no real direction. At the entrance of yet another entirely foreign trail to blaze—with kids, with grandparents, woven into the threads of our decision making more than ever before in our previous lives.

We want to give our kids the moon, but for right now, maybe the best thing we can give them is predictability. 

Joseph Allen said it well, “I wish it was different. We can continue to push for things to get better — and maybe our government will course-correct. Until then, we must forge a path forward with the reality we have, not the one we want.”

[emalynde]

Dwin’orrel & the Dinner Date 9

Emalynde sipped at her own flute of champagne delicately, letting the golden liquid coat her lips before running her tongue across them in a gesture that was both dainty and almost sensuous.  "I cannot deny as much; I do have that drow priestess to thank for my life, in all likeliness.  But it is certainly an intriguing subject--the drow as a goodly race."  The redhead was not responding in any negative fashion, more so musing about how ironic it was.  She took Thalandril at his word, it seemed, and trusted his knowledge of the matter, despite being somewhat fascinated by the concept in general.  At the mention of his direct involvement, both crimson brows loft in subtle incredulity, "You?"  A light laugh parts lips like velvet, sure that Thalandril was in some way mocking her.  "I have not known you to care about anything other than yourself, and now you suddenly have an interest in saving an entire race of almost exclusively evil elves--the same elves who you keep from encroaching upon our fair city with their single-minded plans of destruction?  Surely you jest."  Emalynde shakes her head, jostling the curls that fell about her doll-like face, "Next you shall tell me that you're hopelessly in love with me and wish to be bound."  It was definitely Thalandril's altruism that the freckled elf did not believe in--not that the drow could not be redeemed.  She'd seen proof of that already.  Thalandril's innate selfishness was what was in question.

***

After reality warps and the tea had turned into champagne, Thalandril sipped delicately at it, enjoying the sweet aroma and fizz.  He thought about what the priestess was saying to him.  Indeed, he did probably seem selfish--and in many ways was; yet, few knew of his actual intentions.  "By the gods, not the entire race.  However, everyone deserves a better life if they are willing to put in the work, don't you agree?"  Thalandril gave her an amused, knowing look.  It was much the same as he did for her: offer assistance to those who want a to better themselves and could be useful to him in the future.  He taps the flute of bubbly liquid with his fingers in a rhythmic pattern while pursing his lips, thinking.  "You say that like it would be a bad thing."  An arched brow matched by a single side of his lip curling upwards donned his handsome face, wondering how she would reply.

*** At the mention of his own benefactor-like role in her life, the freckled elf quiets for a moment, rolling the notion about within her mind before replying smoothly, "Your personal doting does not align with those sentiments.  You did what you saw fit because that effort served you.  You now have a rather disposable asset who can gather what information you might need with the skills toward that end and the perfect 'cover' to execute them from.  You did not mold and groom me from the kindness of your heart."  She hated speaking of this; it left such a sour taste in her mouth to be reminded she was just another one of his tools--especially as of late.  Thusly, Emalynde was not convinced of any altruism Thalandril might claim.  She by no means thought him a bad man, but he had ever shown himself--in her opinion--to be single-minded and concerned almost exclusively with his own desires.  

But the jibe at falling in love with her catches Emalynde off her guard.  She had fully expected him to roll his eyes or otherwise express a lack of interest--in the very least--toward the entirely playful proposal.  Golden orbs hold his gaze, if he would allow it, visibly searching for signs of mocking or crueler such antics.  She found none.  "It would be," she replies for him, a hint of bitterness subtly coloring her speech--although it would only ever be noticeable to one as perceptive as Thalandril, "you not only are bound already, but love another--do you not?  Did you not wish--just this past week--to be free of my company in such a manner?"  It was... a low blow.  The redhead already knew, but decided to drag out Thalandril's dirty laundry anyways in a small semblance of spitefulness.  She rarely did such things, but the pair did have their fights.  It was a display of hurt feelings more than anything, but she was not above such things.

*** Thalandril listened quietly as the young priestess of Hanali talked about his selfish nature, it was not wrong.  There was always a plan to use her.  "I could have chosen any number of other candidates for my personal designs.  However, you kept coming back, kept impressing me, kept trying to prove yourself.  That is why I made the arrangements that I did."  He spun the half empty flute of champagne enough to get the liquid within to create a small whirlpool.  "You are correct.  I did benefit from our exchange, but it was because of who you are that I chose to engage you in the manner that I have.  You have always impressed me and that meant you deserved a better life."

Thalandril keeps her gaze a moment but soon darts his eyes off to the side to look across the rolling river before them, just listening.  The flute stops moving and his visage takes on a grave look to its handsome contours. "It seems that you are not the only one to think negatively of me in such a way--being in love and bound to them.  It would seem to be a fairly common sentiment of late." The flue was making straining sounds under the pressure of his two fingers holding it. ***

Emalynde did not know what to make of Thalandril's declaration.  Another compliment seemed hard to believe, not to mention that the redhead was rather cross with him, and so she assumed he was simply being logical.  That made the most sense.  Dry logic was something the rogue was unprecedentedly adept at.  "It seems you simply chose the most suitable candidate for the job, then.  It was nothing more than a business deal.  You would have nothing less than your expectations and I was the only one to meet them.  You know nothing of, nor little care for, who I am as an individual."  She'd remembered the zone of silence, no longer letting her anger simmer underneath the perfected mask she wore.  Her outer visage remained pleasant, but her brows contracted every so often, betraying slightly--alongside her tone--her irritation.

The freckled elf makes note of the diverted gaze when she spoke of the intelligence agent's bindings.  A sinking feeling manifests in her stomach.  She'd gotten what she wanted, but the result did not make her feel any better.  Guilt at her behavior starts to creep up Emalynde's spine, like a slow, eventual chill.  After a few moments of weighted silence, she exhales in resignation, "You have my apologies.  I should not have.  It is not my business and... "   Her torso heaves a sigh once more, "I am sorry, Thalandril."  That apology was not for her conduct, but more for the fact that he, too, had been rejected.  While the enchantress could be petty, It was usually only a flash of anger--lashing out like a lick of flame only to retreat once more.  Normally, she would have comforted him physically--a hand on his, upon his knee or shoulder, etc.  But she refrains, still miffed about being an implement but not so heartless as to not see her closest friend's pain.  She still did not believe him about his altruistic 'goals' or that he in any way loved her--besides a small affection given their time together.

*** "It seems as though you and Chelyse both would prefer to keep me at a distance as a business acquaintance."  Thalandril made a motion implying washing his hands of the situation.  He would not look at her.  His face was grim, tight, pulled into a very business-like manner.  "It seems as though that is what I am best at, and so I shall keep it at that."  He moved to get out of his seat unless stopped. Pain was evident in his eyes; this was not how he wanted the evening to go.  He had fully planned on expressing himself in some way to Emalynde, to let her know he did in fact have feelings for her, however, perhaps that was not what was best.

*** Emalynde's brow furrows, confusion marking the delicate contours of her face.  It was... so unlike Thalandril to be emotional, much less self-pitying.  Could he really be so thoroughly affected?  The redhead quiets, watching the facial features of the intelligence operative closely and placing her own anger aside for the moment.  Elongated ears wilt slightly at recognizing just how hurt Thalandril must be to have been rejected by the person he cared so deeply for.  It was likely the first time he'd cared about anyone other than himself.  And she was not like him, in that manner, Emalynde reassures herself.  She was being as selfish and self-centered as she chided the blonde for.  As the freckled elf sorts through all this, her visage begins to reflect her thought process, sympathy slowly overtaking her.  At the declaration that business arrangements were all that the rogue was cut out for, Emalynde's resolve breaks.  While he had hurt her, hers was not the only hurt in play.  The rustle of chiffon sounds as the Companion rises quickly in Thalandril's wake, closing the distance between them in short order to attempt to wrap her arms about him.  "I am sorry she did not return your affection; she knows not what she surrendered," the fiery-tressed elf murmurs gently to her friend, petting the back of his head in soft, soothing motions if he would allow it.  They had only been here a select few times--perhaps twice in their many years in each other's company.  And this was in public--Thalandril must have loved her greatly, Emalynde admits with a pang of disappointment. *** Thalandril allows the affection.  Instead of leaving, he even returns the embrace.  He looked quizzically at her for a moment, though. "Oh.  You think I am upset because she did not return my affection?  I could not care less that she did not love me in return."  He continued the embrace if allowed, permitting the young elf to question what he meant if that was her course of action, as he had assumed it would be.

[asenseofagency]

Easy as That

After several days of being gloomy and non-communicative, my husband approached me last night and announced with trepidation that he thought we should separate. I knew it, or something like it, was coming. He was clearly heavy-hearted about speaking his mind. I, on the other hand, had to hold back my DELIGHT.

There is nothing like the feeling of coming to the same hard-won conclusion at the same time. The overriding feeling was relief for both of us I think and I’m so proud that we were able to be honest - with zero enmity so far - about the fact that our relationship had more or less traveled its course and that we wanted different, irreconcilable things out of our futures. 

Mine is still unclear; I don’t wrap up grad school interviews until the end of February and it could be well into March before I’m sure what my options are. At the moment, under the best of possible circumstances, I’d end up in Southern California by the end of the summer but the reality could be very different and a lot more humble. We’ll see what materializes.

I’m a little sad, a little scared, and a lot relieved.

The fear is a product of the realization that as I take a shot at my academic dream, I’ve jettisoned a lot of personal relationships along the way. This has been mostly a coincidence of timing. I began to see that a lot of the relationships in my life took more from me (in an energetic, emotional sense) than they gave back. So I’ve been letting go of a lot. That’s all good and arguably healthy but it has served to isolate me. My relationship with my soon-to-be-ex-husband was one of the last really emotionally intimate relationships I had with anyone. Breaking that off strips me of essentially my last confidante, my last emotional safety net, the last person with whom I was able to be fully, unreservedly honest, which feels, admittedly, dangerous.

I’m also aware that if I did want to replace that relationship with a new one, the trust/honesty/communication bar is set almost impossibly high.

But maybe a high bar is a good thing. And if I do get the opportunity to move, I’ll be rebuilding a life from scratch anyway, and maybe the stripping of personal ties will turn out to have been inevitable. In doing it ahead of time, I might have saved myself some later grief. You never know until you know.

The fear persists. I know I have a tendency to isolate myself. Though I’m not shy or socially anxious, I’m an introvert through and through, preferring coffee and books and cozy rainy days at the house nine times out of ten to parties, events, and girls’ nights out. Losing my husband (and best friend) in this process means making a conscious effort not to allow my natural isolation to become pathological.

Again, a relocation could make a lot of things academic...

I’m a little sad because I know, once the distance happens, once the real break takes place and we’re not co-habitating anymore, I will start to miss his companionship in earnest (and probably vice versa). We lived largely separate lives for sure. That, I expect, will make the change less noticeable but our routine included various weekly dinner and brunch dates, shared sit-downs in front of whichever TV series we might both be following at the time, and the absence of those things - our opportunities to bond and catch up with the events of each other’s week - that absence will be the thing that stings most. Repeatedly, and for a while. That will be hard to prepare for.

The relief, however, comes in many, many forms.

If I get the opportunity to move in conjunction with grad school, or even if I move for the purpose of taking another job, housing becomes infinitely easier under some circumstances. My needs are very minimal. In fact, I thrive on a streamlined environment, for a long while in my young adulthood not owning so much as a single piece of furniture. I look forward to the opportunity again. Minus a partner, a pet, and a pile of shit, subsidized campus housing in the form of studio apartments becomes a really appealing option to me.

And I’m relieved because my husband, at least at the moment, wants to stay in the house we’re currently in. That house feels every bit an anchor. I haven’t got the first idea legally how it might transpire and perhaps it’s financially disadvantageous to me but if given the opportunity to sign the house over to him instead of putting it up for sale indefinitely, I’d gladly take the easy way out to get the payment off my hands. His ability to make that payment on a single salary is what’s in question. He’s got a line on a better job, so it could be an eventuality, but I’m skeptical. In either case, the possibility of having the house end up squarely in his hands is ideal to me. We’ll see under what circumstances it can be accomplished. A troubling outcome would involve living in another state on a shoestring and remaining jointly financially responsible for a monthly mortgage payment; I’m motivated to avoid that at all costs, so it’s imperative we remain on the same team as we sort those problems out.

I’m relieved he was able to be honest with himself too. I didn’t dread anything so much as him convincing himself to relocate and then regretting the decision later. He was able to be totally honest with himself, even when it was painful and awkward, and I’m so happy about that. He likes where he’s at, he likes his small circle of friends and family, and he has zero desire to uproot. Easy as that. I don’t understand it but it was a matter of him acknowledging his own truth. If or when I move, that unloads me of a huge emotional burden; I’ve only got myself to manage.

We had also become more roommates than spouses. There hadn’t been any kind of romantic feelings in a long time and no rekindling was forthcoming. That transition is probably inevitable with all long-term relationships: the slow dying of passion and its replacement by... sweatpants and familiarity. We talked about that openly, that maybe monogamy as we know it is a scam. My mother-in-law, with whom my husband had apparently rehearsed some of our conversation, confessed to him that had it been socially acceptable in her day, she might never have stayed married as long as she did (!). Also, some of our mutual acquaintances who seem the most self-actualized are committed bachelors and bachelorettes, without the stability of a life-long partner, yes, but free to take life’s opportunities as they come. The likelihood that either of us gets into a long-term relationship in the immediate future seems vanishingly small and that doesn’t speak to any kind of bad experience we’ve had together as much as it does the realization that lust (certainly) and love (often) die. Friendship remains, which you can have anyway, at any time, with essentially anyone, to your chosen degree of intimacy. So maybe it’s time for a change of perspective with respect to what you’re looking to get out of romantic relationships. At the very least, it’s worth sampling and an ancient, long-subdued part of me is excited about the idea of casually dating again at some future point in time, without the expectation of longevity. It seems bewildering to navigate at the moment but on the whole, what a relief.

The separation also alleviates some of our long-held grudges. Though we’re great friends, we’re incompatible on some level. I’m disciplined; a thinker, a worker, a grinder. He’s short-term-oriented, easy-goin, and basically unambitious. Those aren’t statements of personal worth or value but they are fundamentally incompatible modes of operating and things that were never going to change about either of us, I’m sure now. He was almost certainly irked by my obsession with productivity; I grated at his escapism and lack of motivation. It’s a relief not to have to fight that fight anymore.

But if I’m relieved that there are no bad feelings toward each other now, I’m cautious, too. We’ll have to live apart for a year before we can legally divorce and in that time, I know, feelings can change. Resentment can grow from the smallest kernel of inconvenience and bad communication, so I’ve got to remind myself that even after we’re not living together I need to prioritize keeping the lines of communication open and constructive. We’ll be disentangling our financial lives from each other for a while and that’s just the type of thing that can go badly wrong if you lose common ground and end up at cross-purposes. Though it seems impossible now, I want to make sure we avoid becoming, in any way, adversaries.

Still everything feels... movable, unencumbered now. There are plenty of compromises to be made but they are the mundane compromises of timing, convenience, money not of personal desire or ambition. It’s an indescribably strange feeling to have made such a big decision and not be able to act on it quite yet either, to be in a holding pattern while the options develop themselves. We’ll be living together at the barest minimum for two or three months more, likely longer, watching, day-by-day with bated breath, as the future pieces itself together into something recognizable, actionable. Without a doubt, it forces you to live in the moment. You put one foot in front of the other and trust that the path will materialize as you go.

[yourkittywilde]

JET LAG

TAGGING → @yourkittywilde & @sammynolanh

TIME FRAME →  either the end of jan or the very start of Feb. 

LOCATION → Sammy’s apartment, NYC.

WARNINGS →  it’s kitty & sammy so it’s not real nsfw, but probably nsfw - ish.

NOTES → Sammy comes back for the weekend. Kitty gets annoyed (but totally acts like she doesn’t) when he falls asleep straight away. 

SAMMY

It had been a little over a week since he had left New York, and while LA was fun and shooting the new movie was great, he missed the city terribly. Well, he missed Kitty and Dude the most. So when he got the news that he would have a couple days off, Sammy immediately booked a flight to the city. He thought of surprising the girl but tension had risen between them over the distance and he didn’t want anything hinder them. He booked the earlier flight he could get which happened to be over night. He packed a backpack with essentials and was headed her way. The flight felt longer than normal and Sammy was getting antsy by the second. He couldn’t wait to see his girlfriend, he hated being away from her for so long. He finally arrived in the city and grabbed the first cab he saw, it was definitely earlier than he liked. 5am wasn’t really a time he liked to be awake at and he was exhausted but he was making his way home and that’s all that mattered. He was soon at his apartment and keying in the code to get inside. He let out a big sigh of relief once inside his apartment, closing the door behind him quietly and putting his bag down before heading to the room. In his bed he saw his favorite sight to see. His girlfriend and the small dog, cuddling together and fast asleep. Sammy smiled and kicked his shoes off as he gently made his way under the covers to spoon Kitty from behind, his arms wrapping around her and his face burrowed in her shoulder, leaving soft kisses to her skin. He was so happy to be home.

KITTY

Kitty has struggled with Sammy being away much more than she thought she was going to. She prided herself on being independent -- god knows she'd managed to kick ass in New York just fine before Sammy came along. But since he left it was like a part of her was missing. It was weird and she kind of hated it.  After finding out he was coming home for a couple of days, Kitty was positive she wasn't going to sleep. All she wanted to was wait for him to walk in the door and literally jump him. But in an effort to stay warm she'd curled up with the small puppy  to watch tv and sometime in the early hours of the morning  her eyes had fluttered shut. She’d not heard the door, and she’d not even really registered the puppy had moved from her arms. And it took a few moments for Kitty’s brain to catch up with what was happening, to realize she wasn’t just dreaming of the boy's arms around her. “Sammy?” She whispers, her voice sleepy as her eyes open slowly. “Oh my god, you’re home.” She smiles, turning her head so that she could place eyes on his perfect face and grinning widely when she does. “Hi..” she murmurs, lifting her head slightly to kiss his lips softly.

SAMMY

Sammy almost wished she hadn’t woken up, wanting to admire the girl as she slept so peacefully but a grin creeped on his lips as he heard his name being whispered. He was home. She was his home.  “Hey, babygirl.” He whispered, his eyes squinted in the dark room  with just the soft glow of the tv on them. He kissed her back and pulled her in closer, just wanting to cover every inch of her with his body. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed her until he was here with her. “Mmm I miss you so much.” He mumbled against her skin.

KITTY

Kitty was still trying to wake up, it was early and she tried not to make a habit out of waking up early. But for Sammy? She'd make an exception. Her body sinks into his and she closes her eyes against his lips. He was warm and safe and everything she had missed. "I missed you so, so much, babe." It was true. She turns herself into him fully and wraps her arm around his waist. "Can I pinch you to make sure you're real?" She chuckles sleepily.

SAMMY

“You can” He chuckled. With every minute passing, Sammy could feel sleep fall over him. He didn’t know if it was the comfort of being home in his own bed and with his beautiful girlfriend or that he was out of the cold and hadn’t really slept on the plane but he was so cozy and Kitty was so warm. His eyes fluttered closed and open as he fought sleep. “I’m so happy you’re here.” He murmured, his eyes falling again.

KITTY

Kitty pinches him his arm, a faint smirk lighting her lips. "Okay,I'm satisfied." She looks up at him, shaking her head as his eyes shut. "Hey." She pokes him playfully and leans in to kiss his collarbone gently. "Where else would I be?" Her shoulders half shrug. "You're the closest I have to a home. And this is the closest I've got to having you here... Well until now." God she was so much cheesier than she used to be. She reaches up and runs her hand softly over his cheek where he had shaven in the week he'd been gone. "I love you."

SAMMY

Sammy jolted the slightest bit, his eyes opening with a sleepy smile. “You’re so cheesy.” He grinned and let out a soft moan, as she kissed his collarbone, a place she knew he was sensitive. “I love you.” He repeated, his eyes closing once again. Not that he wanted to sleep but he couldn’t help how tired he was.

KITTY

"Fiiine..." Kitty mumbled, watching his eyes close again. In his defense shooting a movie was probably a lot more work than going to a few classes and looking after a puppy. And he'd been on a plane all night to come and see her. She pressed her lips together, and moves her hand under the hem of his shirt to trace circles lightly on his skin with her finger tips. She'd let him sleep, but it was awfully hard for Kitty to close her eyes again knowing she finally had her boyfriend next to her again. She'd missed having him here to touch whenever she wanted to.

SAMMY

Sammy flinched a bit at the cold hands going under his shirt and touching his skin. The touch of the girl, stirring his stomach and rushing blood down south. Sure, he was exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open but he didn’t need to see to feel the girl around him. “Baby...” he whispered with a small growl to his voice. The arms wrapped around her stretch down so his hands can grab at her curves.

KITTY

"Oh my god." She chuckles quietly, not expecting Sammy to even wake up let alone react the way he did. "Can I help you?" She smiles, leaning in slightly for her lips to press soft kisses along his collarbone and along the side of his neck. "You can sleep, babe." She whispers into the warmth of his skin. "I don't need you to be awake to remember how much i love your body.”

SAMMY

“Two weeks.” Sammy mumbled incoherently. The smile on his face not leaving as he let out a couple more quiet moans. He grabbed at her ass without a second thought, not that he was even very coherent at the moment, he definitely already half asleep but the hard on in his pants definitely keeping him awake slightly.

KITTY

"Hmmm." She hums happily her lips effortlessly work their way up his neck. Kitty wasn't sure what he meant by two weeeks, but she didn't need him to make sense right now -- she had the next two days for that. Right now she just wanted to be close to him. Possibly tease him since he's chosen to sleep after being apart. The distance between the two of them was basically non-existent at this point, it would have been impossible for her not to feel how hard he was right now. She slides down the hand that was resting on his abs,  feeling his cock through the fabric of his pants. "Damn..." She muses quietly, kissing at the smile on his lips.

SAMMY

Sammy moans into the kiss, lazily kissing her back. He was so tired but so horny at the same time, his brain just wasn’t completely comprehensive of the situation but his body just reacted to it. His hips trusting involuntarily as she touched him.

KITTY

Kitty closes her eyes for only a moment as she holds back her desire to unzip his pants and get closer to what she was desperately missing. They might have been that couple so crazy in love they couldn't take their hands off one another, but she didn't want to cross any lines while he was practically already out to it. "I'll let you sleep, hot shot," she says, kissing his shoulder over his tshirt and crawling in closer to the warmth of his body.

SAMMY

What came out of Sammy’s mouth was almost a whine but sounded more like a muffled half whimper, that soon died down because he was already asleep. It wasn’t long before soft snores left his mouth as he laid wrapped around  the girl

KITTY

Kitty frowns slightly and kisses his cheek before untangling herself from his limbs and crawling from his bed. Despite sleeping in it just fine for the past week, now that Sammy was actually back and clearly needing sleep most of all it felt like she was in someone else's bed and somebody else's space. She was also awake enough to feel sexual frustration. But since Dude had zero concept of time or personal space she'd take him and uber eats coffee. "Cmon," she whispers to the dog, calling him to follow her and wrapping the two into blankets on the couch.

SAMMY

It was only a couple hours later that Sammy had began to wake up, at first confused as to where he was but very soon realized and was calm again. He looked around the room and then at the empty spot beside him and he frowned. Shit, he had fallen asleep on Kitty and now maybe the girl was upset at him. Had she left? He had some serious apologizing to do. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to knock the sleep out of his system, wasn’t really working but it was enough to get out of bed and head into the bathroom for a quick shower.

KITTY

Kitty had ordered coffee, fed the dog, and taken him outside briefly. Long enough for him to get whatever fresh air dogs needed or whatever, but not long enough for them to freeze to death. The two were on the couch watching the Bachelor when kitty heard the sound of the running shower. Sammy had not even been gone two weeks but this felt... awkward. This wasn't actually her apartment, the bed shes been sleeping in wasn't her bed, and she was just dog sitting the puppy she'd grown probably too attached to. This was all Sammy's, and right now it felt like she should be letting him have his space back. Besides, she needed clothes. "Welcome home, babe. Dude is fed, but dont turn the bachelor off. He has a thing for Demi. Will see you when I see you - Kitty x" She scribbles onto a piece of paper before placing it onto the table and picking up the small bag which she'd sort of been living out of and slipped from the apartment.

SAMMY

After he was showered and changed, Sammy made his way to the living room, hoping to find Kitty there as he heard the tv on but the apartment seemed to be empty. He frowned as he looked around the room and toward the kitchen which was also empty, as if Kitty had never really been here. He sighed sadly and threw himself on the couch, the puppy jumping up to greet him and Sammy pulling him on his chest with a soft smile. “Hey little guy. Where your momma?” He asked the pup , who just responded by licking Sammy’s face. He knew Kitty would never accept it but in Sammy’s head they were definitely dog parents, Kitty wasn’t just some dog sitter. In between dog licks Sammy’s eyes landed on the piece of paper left on the table, he reaches out for it and gives it a read. Another frown appearing on his lips, he was disappointed, he had come back for her and she hadn’t even stuck around. He debated between giving her space or texting her, deciding that texting her would be the better option, seeing how not texting her hadn’t really gone over well last time. He pulled out his phone and opened up her contact. ‘Hey, where did you go?’ He simply asked. Not wanting to jump to anything too quickly.

KITTY

Kitty reached for her vibrating phone, chewing on her bottom lip as she read the message. "Heading back to Louis'" She types, waiting for the barista to hand her the coffee she found herself now needing as it approached a normal people time of the morning. "I have zero clean clothes, and you need the sleep. Relax and hang out with Dude. He missed you."

SAMMY

Sammy read the messages as they came in. The frown on his face still plastered as he replied ‘:(‘. He really didn’t get Kitty sometimes. ‘I already slept. I miss you.’ He replied once again.

KITTY

Kittys eyebrows furrow, "Don't sad face me!" She purses her lips and looks out the window for a moment. That relationship guide she harps on about would be pretty helpful right now. "I was just there. It was weird... idk, kinda felt like I was invading your place now you're back? Also you fully turned me on and then fell asleep this morning, so I should totally be sad facing you."

SAMMY

Sammy bit his lip reading her response, his own brows furrowing. He was a little annoyed and took a deep breath. ‘I came back for you. If I wanted to be alone, I would have stayed in LA... I’m sorry I fell asleep. It was 5am, Kitty and I hadn’t slept all night.’ He explained himself and sighed. He didn’t want to fuck up again.

KITTY

It didnt really bother kitty that he fell asleep. Not really. As much as she wanted him awake, she knew it was early and he'd been on a plane all night. She could deal with sexual frustration, hell she'd been single for an awful long time before Sammy. "You dont need to apologize, dork... Idk. I was at your apartment to make life easier for Dude. You're back so it felt kinda awkward being there tbh" She takes a long sip of coffee. "There are legit movies about those gfs who are super clingy and never realize when they should leave, you know that right?"

SAMMY

Sammy let out a sigh of relief, knowing he wasn’t in trouble. ‘I want you here... It’s awkward being around me? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m a hell of a lot more clingy than you are.’ He let her know, rubbing his face. ‘I don’t want this kind of distance, Kitty. I haven’t seen you in almost two weeks and I love that you spend time at my place. I have no issue with it at all. I want you here.’

KITTY

Kitty rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips once again. One day her feelings for Sammy wouldn't overwhelm her quite as much, today clearly wasn't that day. "It's just awkward-" She began to type before closing the message half way and sighing. "Screw it." She mumbles under her breath and reaches down to pick up the bag she had with her. Her boyfriend was finally in the same state and she really should be there with him and not... texting. It only takes about 15 minutes for the blonde to return. She opens the door quietly and drops the bag next to it. "Hi..." She greets him quietly, biting down on her lip and looking at him with a somewhat apologetic smile. "I brought you coffee."

SAMMY

When Sammy hadn’t gotten a response right away, he got worried. Had he said the wrong thing? He put his phone down after a few minutes and looked back at Dude with a small purse of his lips. He sighed and looked up at the tv as he pet the dog gently not expecting the girl to come through the door not even 10 minutes after. The smiled that grew on his face was unimaginable as he set the dog aside and stood up to greet the girl with a tight hug and kiss.

KITTY

Kitty knew as soon as she saw his face they were OK and she couldn't help but  breathe a sigh of relief, silently thankful she had found the one guy on the planet that seemed to understand she was awful at this. She places the coffee on the table and wraps her arms around his neck, jumping into him and hooking her legs around his waist. "It's the fact I brought you coffee, right?" She jokes, leaning her forehead in against his. "I'm sorry... It all just felt like yours suddenly and-" Her shoulders shrug. "It was sort of awkward. But I'm really happy you're here... Awake even." She adds teasingly.

SAMMY

Sammy grinned into the kiss and as they pulled away, he just kept peppering her with more. “Baby. What’s mine is yours, always. You don’t even have to ask.” He assures her. “I want whatever you want... Fuck, making you happy literally makes me feel like the happiest guy. I hope you know that.” He told her as he held her in his arms, he kissed her lips again. “I love you.”

KITTY

She nods, smiling blissfully at his lips. One day she would have a place that didnt feel like a place holder in her life, but until then it could be worse than having a boyfriend who wanted to share his life with her. "Having you back makes me happy." She assures him before leaning in to his kiss, humming contently against his lips. "I'm probably gonna hold you hostage. Never let you leave the state again." She chuckles.

SAMMY

Sammy raised his brow. “Oh yeah? Kinky.” He grinned and brought her over to the couch where he sat down with Kitty in his lap. His hair was still a little wet, and the sleepy ness was not completely gone as a small yawn escaped his lips. He was very tired but he’d stick it through for Kitty. He wanted her around. “So, you have any plans this weekend?”

KITTY

"Are you going to fall asleep again?" She rolls her eyes playfully as he yawns. "Because that's fine... You just need to pay me far more attention before you do." She teases. Being the understanding girlfriend was boring. "Well I really do have like zero clean clothes." Kitty shrugs. "Thankfully I hardly even own underwear let a lone wear it so that's not a problem, but at some point I need to go back to Louis' apartment and get things to wear that I won't freeze in. But other than that? Dude and I are all yours." She says with a smile. "I mean, Dude's all yours always, obviously... but you know what I mean."

SAMMY

Sammy wrapped his arms tightly around her. “Just wear my clothes. You can use my washer machine.” He told her and kissed at her neck. “I think we can agree that Dude is ours. I don’t care what you say, your his dog mom.” He said as he continued to kiss at her skin

KITTY

"You're like more than a foot taller than me, your clothes will make me look like a wannabe rapper." She laughs, though finding it harder and harder to concentrate as Sammy's lips press against her neck. Kitty had gotten more attached to the puppy than she had intended to,  especially considering she didn't even like dogs when he had informed her he impulsively adopted one. But somehow right now hearing that the dog was theirs didn't scare her quite as much as it would have once upon a time. "I can't believe i'm in a relationship where being a dog mom is a thing." She's not able to stop herself from leaning her body into his kisses, "I'm so happy you're home."

SAMMY

Sammy grinned. “I think you’ll look super cute.” He laughed lightly. “Well believe it. I think we’ve gone through a lot of firsts in this relationship.” He reminded her. “I’m happy I’m home too. You know, it’s insane to me how we still made this work... I still think about a few months back and how I thought I was never going to see you... man, worst time of my life.” He told her with a sad smile, his hands coming up to rub her arms. “I’m so crazy about you.” He spoke as he leaned to press his head against hers

KITTY

"I never said I wasn't going to be cute." She smirks. "I'll be the cutest wannabe rapper you've ever seen." And there it was again; the sharp pain in her chest which reminded her of every feeling she had while watching Sammy be with someone else, the reminder that she wasn't his first choice. She actively didn't think about that, she made jokes when it suited her, but choosing to be with Sammy meant trying not to hold that grudge. Her lips twist, and her shoulders shrug, "I tried to never see you again. But you kept bringing coffee... It's hard not to fall in love with a man that brings you coffee." Kitty says as a smile tugs at her lips. "Then I guess you kind of became my weakness."

SAMMY

Sammy never meant to bring up the past, knowing how Kitty felt about talking about her feeling but he wanted to be more open with the girl, deal with the good and the bad, and so far, it was working for them. He wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her to his chest. “I want to be your strength... I don’t want to be the thing that breaks you ever again.” He spoke quietly. Most people would kill to be someone’s weakness but Sammy just wanted to empower Kitty, help her thrive.

KITTY

"This new movie is making you cheesier, who would have thought?" She teases,  twirling her fingers loosely into the hair at the back of his head. "If you do, you do." Kitty muses simply, kissing the tip of his nose lightly. It was what she hated about relationships. "I spent months avoiding my feelings for you because I didn't want you to hurt me again. But I don't know... I guess I figured I'd rather you hurt me than keep pretending you weren't the only person I wanted to be with. You know, besides Henry Cavil --  so, it's worth it... But you do strengthen me plenty, Sammy."