#yes I changed it from rain to snow because what is snow if not solid rain?

[ravendruid]

Vaxleth and number 28 a kiss in the rain👀

Helloooo! Thank you for sending a prompt, friend <3 Because this is a repeat prompt, I wrote it in the Be In My Eyes universe. It happens during the week between Chapter 29 and Chapter 30. (Here's the link to the entire fic, if y'all need a refresh *wink*)

A Kiss in the Snow

(Read on AO3)

Finals week is hell, that is widely known, but Vax’ildan is thankful to have someone who makes it a little bit more bearable, even though Keyleth can be an unending well of stress and anxiety, which, in turn, spikes his anxiety. They have been studying at the library most of the afternoon, and Keyleth has finally entered what Vax has started to call the ‘info-dumping out of her ears’ phase of studying, which is to say: Keyleth is not absorbing any new information but is instead dumping all she has studied on Vax. 

If he didn’t know how stressed she is and how much pressure she puts on herself to have the highest grades, Vax would find her rambling adorable, but as it is, Vax knows Keyleth is reaching her limit, and he knows the next stage is not going to be pretty, so he grabs the hand that has been twirling a pen for the past fifteen minutes, and decides, “We’re done for today, Kiki.”

“What? No I still need to review–”

“Nope. You’re done,” Vax takes the pen away from her and starts closing her books. “We are going home, maybe we’ll stop at the coffee shop for a hot cocoa, but we’re done studying today.”

Keyleth pouts and, for a second, Vax almost falters, but then he sees the twitch in the corner of her eyes that signifies stress and his will returns. “Don’t bother trying to convince me otherwise, Keyleth,” He says stoically, then starts putting away her stuff in her backpack. Keyleth resigns to his wishes with an eyeroll and takes her bag from Vax’s hand to finish packing while he packs his own stuff.

“You’re a buzzkill, Vax.” 

“You’ll thank me later when, instead of barging into my room crying for comfort, you’ll be nice and relaxed watching a movie with me.” Vax shrugs. Keyleth gives him a stink eye that he knows is because she won’t admit he’s right, then gets up and starts leaving. 

The snow crunches under their boots as they leave the library. Keyleth is all bundled up with a thick, woolen coat, a handmade knitted scarf and a beanie, but all Vax has is his hoodie on top of a long-sleeve, which, unfortunately, it’s not enough layers to keep the cold away.

“Aren’t you cold?” Keyleth points out. 

“Freezing, but what can I do?” Vax shrugs. He gets closer to Keyleth, who wraps her arm around his to try to get some body heat into him. “It’s not like I can afford clothes right now.” 

With the holidays coming up, the twins' bank account is growing emptier every day. Vax has already started looking for temporary jobs, but he hasn’t had much luck yet. Hopefully by the time the semester ends Vax will have found something. 

“Are you sure there is nothing I can do?” Keyleth asks, even though Vax has already made it clear that he doesn’t need her to go out of her way to make sure he’s clothed and fed—she actually ignored the last part because she keeps “accidentally” buying too many groceries and keeps “allowing” the twins to have her food, which Vax is secretly thankful for.

“I’m sure. I’m looking for a job, which should help. I think Vex has a job secured, too, for the break, so it’ll be alright.” Vax says. Keyleth drops the conversation and changes topics to exams, which makes Vax want to roll his eyes. He doesn’t do it, though. He knows Keyleth is anxious and she needs to talk about it, so he lets her speak until his ears start bleeding.

“And next semester I think I’m going to replace Anatomy with something a bit more fun,” Keyleth says, more to herself than to Vax.

“Anatomy is fun, though.” He jokes. Keyleth gives him an amused side eye that makes him snort.

“You say that because you’re the best in class at it,” She points out. Vax laughs at her argument. She’s so right. “What can I say… I love studying anatomy,” He jokes with a wink, then stops, turns to face Keyleth and leans close to her face. “Especially with you,” he whispers huskily. 

Vax loves when Keyleth gets this flustered around him, how her face grows increasingly red and her lips part in a shallow pant. He loves how her body seems to have a mind of its own and leans into him, how her hands usually end up fisting the clothes at his chest and pulling him flush against her. Vax loves the little reactions that he can only witness this close to her, the little twitches of her lips, the fluttering of her lashes, the upturn of the corner of her lips.

“May I kiss you?” He mutters. Keyleth’s eyes widen in surprise—at the request itself or the fact that Vax wants to kiss her, he doesn’t know—but she nods her consent, so Vax cups her face and kisses her softly.

Keyleth tastes like coffee and pastries, her lips are soft and warmer than Vax’s and so, so delicate. Vax could live like this forever, in her hold, kissing her in the middle of the street. He would do this every day for the rest of his life if he could, and Keyleth is not showing any signs that she wants to stop, anyway, so maybe they will.

Until something hits Vax’s forehead. Something damp and cold. Then another one hits the tip of his nose, and his hands, and his head. One after another, drops of rain start falling on them, growing increasingly faster, harder and colder. 

“Is it—” Keyleth interrupts the kiss to look up. Her eyes shine with glee as the first flake melts on the tip of her nose, then another on her forehead and she starts bubbling with laughter.

“It’s snowing,” Vax laughs. They hold hands in the snow, grinning at each other like fools. Keyleth’s face is rosy from the cold and the warmth of their kiss, and Vax knows he is just as flushed as she is.

The snow starts falling faster and, in less than a minute, their hairs are speckled with white, which makes Keyleth laugh again. She tries to wipe a few snowflakes out of Vax’s hair but he brings her hand to his cheek instead and melts at the warm touch. “You’re so beautiful,” Keyleth says in a hushed tone. “So are you,” he returns, cupping her cheek and leaning into her again. From this close, Vax can see the little bits of snow dusting Keyleth’s lashes, which, together with the inviting redness of her lips, makes him want to kiss her again.

“Yes,” Keyleth whispers as if she read Vax’s mind, then closes her eyes and leans until her lips are brushing his.

Vax doesn’t delay the kiss. He holds her tightly and lets their lips touch, then their tongues explore each other’s mouths. The snow keeps falling, faster and harder, and Vax knows they only have so much time before they need to run back home before they get soaked to the bone, but for now he is going to enjoy the moment and drink in the feeling of Keyleth’s lips on his as if it’s the last time he gets to do it.

[straycatboogie]

2023/05/07 English

BGM: Sex Pistols - Holidays In The Sun

Ah, I throw myself into the time's flowing... and time passes so fast. Once I was suffered from the huge cold wave which brought terrible snow fall, but now it is certainly getting hotter. I understand that. Today it was a day off, and sadly raining. Because it was humid for me, I chose reggae music to enjoy during usual reading time at AEON as my hunch suggested. Augustus Pablo which I had enjoyed yesterday, King Tubby, and Bob Marley... If I describe that as any genre, it will become as rocksteady and dub. But I couldn't read well, so I went to Miraiya bookstore to "watch" what kinds of books have been sold. Then I found Ryuichi Sakamoto's newly released book so I bought it. I started reading, and remembered his death because that book had a "catchphrase" of praying and praising him. Yes, I can't listen to his new ones. But time goes by really soon so I can't stay quiet. It is getting into the time I should listen to my eternal classical summer tune, Scha Dara Parr's "サマージャム'95".

Reading that book by him, I think about Ryuichi Sakamoto again. His enigmatic humanity, charm, and charismatic character. I understand that he must be one of the important leaders of our era or this world. But, at least according to this book, although he was such a great genius he never showed any "bold" essence of his humanity which says as his comments "I'm, I'm!". Just like everything was a process for him. Standing on the glorious stage as a Yellow Magic Orchestra's member, or becoming a world famous musician through various works with Nagisa Ohshima and Bernardo Bertolucci. He seems never enjoying those glory or self-love as a marvelous maestro. And I also can't feel any uncool or earthy (we Japanese describes this kind of character as "muddy") from him even though he had been trying his efforts every day steadily. Natural, or as a Japanese proverb says "staying softer will rule the world's solid strength". Therefore those words he spoke can be felt from the "equal" state of stage, so they never are from any establishment. I thought it was a good book as a heritage.

And, I tried to thought what are the same between that Sakamoto and I. Me, I can remember that I couldn't answer anything to adults when I was asked "how do you want to be when you become an adult?". That is the same one as Sakamoto. I am not good at thinking through any distant time, over the gap of passing time (so I can't even think about any plan of tomorrow). My sense of time has a fatal bug or misfunction... and I overlap my life onto Sakamoto's life. Why did I go to Waseda? Unbelievable. This must sound harmful and blasphemous, but at the workplace I once was said as "btw, you are from Waseda, aren't you?". That was really shameful and I got blush terribly. Indeed, people might envy this kind of past. But once, for me, it was a terrible fact so I had to shame on myself. It was a thing to be hide. Even now, I feel hesitate to open that as "Yes, from Waseda. What's a problem?". So I decide not to talk about that at the workplace.

I am going to do a presentation at an online meeting with my friends. At there, I want to talk about Discord. But through I was thinking about that, my idea exactly changed as "a life with Discord". Ah... I have "my ever changing moods" as The Style Council sings. Like cat's eyes, my truth changes rapidly (maybe this diary already told that to you before)... I talked about that on MeWe. I am a basic, 100% Japanese so English is the one I have learned with this life eventually. Indeed, I can live my daily life without speaking English, but it is for me an important essential language to heal my soul and keep my cool head. I try to write about "my truth" onto my white screen. Why do I learn English? How should I learn? For me, learning is a marvelous pleasure, a great activity. I can enjoy learning even though I am actually getting old... about that, a MeWe friend said to me as "You are diligent and faithful". Oh my gosh, it is really "glorious" for me. BTW, how the presentation will be?

[kiirokero]

Nepenthe (KTH)

Nepenthe: A drug used to induce forgetfulness of pain or sorrow; something capable of causing oblivion of grief or suffering.

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!

Masterlist

Pairing: Baker!Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint, romance...? Reader has troubles with their emotions and TaeTae tries to help them, ft. a blonde smug Jimin,

Note: Time to sleep. Catch up on writing :)

Summary: Mama always said that sweets give you cavities. But she didn’t warn you about the boy who makes them. Or, having an insatiable sweet tooth has left you spending much of your time in Taehyung’s bakery. But nobody prepared you for the feelings your cold heart caught.

Word Count: 2.4k

      Contrary to popular belief, you did have feelings. You felt happy, sad, angry. You were human. But people tended to forget that. Whether it was because you were academically intelligent or you were just an easy target, you were used to... Well, getting used. 

     You were often the cash cow. The dead horse everyone thought was entertaining to beat. The goose with the golden egg and no farmer would leave you alone before you popped out the next solid gold money maker. And when you gave in and gave them what they wanted, you were the one left behind, high and dry. 

     Years of being treated like this in college left you emotionally unavailable. You opted to protect yourself from the hurt you felt by not allowing yourself to feel at all. You had built up your walls so thick that you barely allowed yourself to even feel happy half of the time. Many people tried to break down the brick hell you’d banished yourself to, but gave up when the stone didn’t relent. But it's not like you care, right?

      You didn’t care that you had nobody to voice your worries to late at night when the self doubting thoughts plagued your mind. You didn’t care that people avoided you because of your frigid nature that left the happy little people in Bangtan Village uncomfortable. So what if you didn’t have anyone to catch you when you fell? You didn’t need anybody. 

You just needed your comfort foods. 

     Yes, maybe it was an unhealthy habit to drown your self hating thoughts in the taste of sugar and cinnamon. Maybe anyone looking into the state of your mental health would cringe at the way you personally dealt with it. Who cares? This was your life and you would live it however the hell you wanted to. You were tired of others dictating you. 

     So you often found yourself at “Kim’s Confections” sitting in the corner, looking out with window while you ate your danish and sipped your tea. Every single day, whether the sun was up or down, you sat in the same seat, at the same bakery. You changed up the pastry, of course, you could only eat danishes for 3 days straight at most. But the routine of visiting the small shop was one thing that never changed. 

     As leaves fells and winter came, you visited the bakery. As rain fell and flower bloomed, you visited the bakery. You like the atmosphere the bakery gave off. The aroma of sugar and bread that wafted through the air made your body feel like jello as you could easily fall asleep to the smell. The small wooden tables that were scattered around made the shop feel more personal. The food that never failed to melt in your mouth calmed any tension that seeped into your bones. 

But one thing about the bakery that didn’t calm you down was the owner himself. 

Kim Taehyung.

      Nothing was wrong with Taehyung, per se. He was an attractive guy who always had a friendly, boxy smile on his face. He had beautiful brunette hair and majestic auburn eyes. His skin was always shining, 24/7, always looking like he walked off the cover of a magazine. Even if you gave off a cold, icy aura that screamed “Don’t talk to me,” he never once failed to give you a smile and a warm welcome. 

     No, you were never purposely mean to Taehyung. You never snapped at him or showed any sort of distaste towards him, because you didn’t have any. He just confused you. Normal people would stop trying to be nice to you by now. Most people would take your less-than enthusiastic responses as rudeness or dislike. Not Taehyung though. 

      You often asked yourself what was up with him. I mean, who would look at you and think, “Yeah, I’ll give the snow queen a shot,” Nobody. Except Kim Taehyung, apparently. Without fail Taehyung tried to initiate conversations between the two of you that would last more than a few one words answers (Mostly from your side,) He would ask how your day was or what you did over the weekend. To which you would respond with “Good” or “Nothing,”

      It’s not that you didn’t want to talk to the guy. He just made you feel... Weird. His smile made your heart quicken. His laugh made your cheeks heat up. Whenever he had his eyes on you, your hands would turn clammy. It just made you feel... uncomfortable. You were used to feeling 2 things, “Bleh,” and “What am I doing with my life,” not some odd feeling of quickened hearts and clammy hands. 

      But alas, no matter how much you wished to banish the invasive feeling all together, your sweet tooth needed to be satiated. So here you were, standing in front of “Kim’s Confections,” Walking in and chiming the small little bell that hung above the door. The familiar sight of wooden chairs and the glass display case full of confections filled your eyes. But there at the counter was the man himself. 

      “Hello Y/n! Welcome back!” Taehyung said with a smile on his face, enthusiasm laced in his voice. “Hello,” You said, sounding dead compared to his lively way of speech. “What will it be today, sweetcheeks?” Taehyung smirked, resting his head on his hand as he leaned over the counter. “Don’t call me that,” You said, not liking the heat that made its way onto your face the moment he called you “Sweetcheeks,” 

      Taehyung chuckled, saying nothing, just gesturing to the glass case of goodies. Taking a look, you noticed your favorite was in stock today. Red velvet cupcakes. “That one, please,” You said, pointing at the mouth-watering pastry. “Coming right up, sweecheeks,” Taehyung smiled. You decided to ignore the endearing nickname, instead trying your best to cool down the heat on the tips of your ears and apples of your cheeks. 

      Taehyung grabbed the cupcake and put it on a plate for you, sliding it towards you as you handed him the money you’d already fished out of your wallet. “Thanks,” You mumbled, grabbing the plate off of the counter. “Anything for you,” Taehyung smirked. You didn’t say anything else to him as you went to your corner to eat your cupcake. 

Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.

      You’ve read The Iliad a thousand times before. You know how the adventure ends and what the climax of the story will be. You knew what happened to the characters, and you were well versed in the outdated way of speech. But that didn’t mean you appreciated the interruption of a certain blonde haired male. “What Jimin?” You groaned, putting down your well-worn book, glaring at the man in front of you. “Ah you wound me, Y/n. I just wanted to see you is all,” Jimin shrugged. 

      “See me? Dumb move,” You countered back, face unchanging. Jimin just chuckled, shaking his head with a smile. “You know, I was talking to Taehyung and he said you barely speak a word to him. That’s surprising since your with him every day,” Jimin smirked, swiping off some stray frosting that laid on your plate and putting it in his mouth. “I have nothing to say,” You said, turning to look outside the window. 

      Jimin scoffed, “I find that hard to believe. Tae can make anyone talk, do you not like him?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “I didn’t say that,” Was your immediate answer, debunking Jimin’s dumb theory. “Well, you kinda did,” Jimin teased. “He makes me feel weird,” You admitted, unable to face the man in front of you. 

“He makes you feel weird?” Jimin asked, confused. 

“He makes my palms clammy and face hot. He’a like a witch or something,” You sighed. 

      You didn’t know Jimin, no. Jimin was one of Taehyung’s friends who tried even harder than him to get on your “Good side,” When in reality, there was no good side. You were just in a perpetual state of saying “Cool,” and throwing up peace signs at everything life threw at you. So no, you weren’t Jimin’s friend. 

So the unimpressed, disdained face you gave him when he burst out laughing at your words wasn’t entirely unwarranted. 

      “Oh my goodness, you’re funny,” Jimin chuckled out. “What did I say?” You asked. “You have a crush on Tae!” Jimin whisper shouted. Your eyes widened, and you flicked his forehead. “What are we? Twelve? A crush? That’s preschool shit,” You seethed, not allowing yourself to believe what Jimin was saying. “Woah, calm down Y/n. Crushes are normal,” Jimin explained, right before Taehyung came up to grab your empty plate for you. 

      “Did you enjoy the cupcake?” Taehyung said in his deep baritone voice that made goosebumps rise on your skin. You nodded your head yes, avoiding looking right into his eyes. “I’m glad,” Taehyung whispered to you, giving you a smile as he walked back to the kitchen with your plate. You watched him go the whole way. 

      “Scratch that, your head over heels,” Jimin spoke up, and you whipped your head around to glare at him. “Shut it,” You spoke through gritted teeth, gathering your book and purse, standing up to leave. “I don’t have a crush. That’s childish,” You countered, but Jimin just gave you a knowing look, a smirk plastered on his face. 

     You never missed a day to visit the bakery. But maybe you should’ve today. It was pouring outside. Thunder rumbled through the air and lighting flashed through the sky. You were without an umbrella or anything to protect you from the rainy onslaught that was happening outside the shop. 

      Sighing, you flipped through the pages of The Iliad. You had just finished the story another time, and the epic was still too fresh in your mind to begin reading again. So you sat in your corner, listening to the pounding of rain that rammed against the shop windows. 

“It’s pouring out there, huh?” 

      Taehyung’s soft, deep voice cut through the rain ambiance that filled the tiny shop. You nodded, tearing your eyes away from him and suppressing the thoughts of his muscular figure from your mind. “Do you have someone coming to pick you up? I don’t want you walking out in that,” He asked, coming to sit in the seat in front of you. 

      “I don’t,” You answered, avoiding his gaze. “Really? No boyfriend coming to sweep you off of your feet?” He chuckled. You shrugged, picking at the edges of your book. “I’m not girlfriend material,” You sighed, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “Not girlfriend material?” Taehyung asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “I just have too much baggage, I guess,” You shrugged. 

     Taehyung chuckled, “Everyone has baggage, Y/n,” Was his answer, looking right into your eyes with his deep auburn ones. “I guess,” You mumbled. The two of you sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just listening to the sound of the rain outside as the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence without the other knowing it. 

      “I think you’re girlfriend material,” Taehyung spoke up suddenly, startling you out of the thoughts that swirled around your mind. “Ha ha,” You sarcastically laughed, but Taehyung doubled down. “I’m serious, Y/n,” He said, leaning forward on the table. “No I’m not,” You argued, shaking your head at what you believed was a ridiculous claim. 

     “Why do you think that?” Taehyung asked, but you didn’t respond, feeling the walls you meticulously built start to crumble. That scared you. You’ve always been focused on others trying to force your walls down, but you never thought about what it would be like for someone to urge you to bring them down yourself. To want to willing talk about the thoughts that plagued your mind. To let someone cozy up with you inside your walls. It was scary how you wanted to talk to Taehyung. 

      You didn’t know what it was about Taehyung that made you want to let him in and turn your hell into a sanctuary. Maybe it was because he was always so nice. Or maybe it was because he made the best comfort food you’d every have. Whatever it was about him, he was starting to get through to you, and it scared you more than you’d like to admit. So you shut down. 

      Taehyung kept asking you why you thought that or what made you think that you were any less than amazing, but you just kept shaking your not wanting to open your mouth in fear that you’d spill out all of your emotions like a hangover full of regrets and puke. 

     You heard Taehyung sigh as he got up from the chair. You felt your heart squeeze at the thought of him finally giving up on you. You knew it was a bit selfish to expect him to stick around after you gave him no reason to, but it still hurt. You were so out of tune with your emotions that you had a hard time identifying what was what. 

Was this disappointment? It’s been a long time old friend. 

Was Jimin right? Am I in love? Is this what love feels like?

      A hand placed a plate with a cinnamon roll on it in front of you. The aroma of cinnamon filled your nose, and you cracked a small smile at it. Taehyung sat back down in the seat in front of you, giving you a warm smile. “You don’t have to push yourself to answer,” Taehyung spoke up, “I don’t know exactly how you feel, but my friend, Yoongi, is like you.” He smiled as you took a bite of the cinnamon roll. “He says that talking to others about feelings is a monumental task, so don’t feel obligated to answer my question. You have your walls for a reason, Y/n. It’s up to you if you want to let me in. But I will say, I’m waiting at the door with cookies.”

      At his words, you gave him a sincere smile. The first sincere smile he’d ever seen from you and you could tell by his huge, boxy one that it made him happy. “Thank you, Taehyung,” You said. “Anything for you, sweetcheeks,” Okay, so maybe your heart was a bit cold. Maybe the thick walls you built around yourself prevented you from properly processing your feelings. Maybe Jimin was right and the clammy hands and giddy feeling you got from being around Taehyung was love. 

But right now, the two of you didn’t care. 

Because you were in the middle of your first genuine conversation. 

[all-that-tmnt-jazz]

My Thoughts: Bayverse

Prompt: Just some thoughts that I have about the boys in the Bayverse movies

Warnings: None.

Incarnation: Bayverse (obviously)

Extra Info: Most of the info comes from the Paramount TMNT Fandom website (link here). I also put in some headcanons (Ex. Splinter let the turtles choose their own birthdays; Each brother represents a different season).

Leo: (link here)

He chose February 1st for his birthday, mostly because he just loves February, but also because he didn’t think about it as much as his brothers did

He represents Spring the most. It’s the start of new life, buds bloom, animals awaken and the earth seems to come alive the most during it.

He also loves the length of the days this season, as well as the flowers blooming in Central Park

Paramount says he is 6’2. No. He is closer to 6’7 because he is at least 1-2 inches shorter than Donnie, not 6 inches shorter

There is no way he is only 285 lbs. He’s muscular, yes, but not nearly as much as Raph, but also quite fit/slim. That being said, he’s likely 355 lbs, around Donnie’s weight

 Raph: (link here)

He chose February 28th for his birthday for the pure reason he wanted to remind Leo he was the second oldest without making it too obvious.

He represents Fall/Autumn the most. It’s a time for personal and environmental transformations. It’s a season that is perfect to reflect and embrace change.

His want for change is the largest among his brother, despite what he says, which is why he is fall/autumn

Paramount says he is 6’5, which I close to how I see him. I see him as being 6’7.5” since he is in between Leo and Donnie’s heights

He is not 340 lbs with his shell, whoever thought that can perish. Have you seen his muscles? He is closer to 380-400 lbs and is the heaviest of his brothers purely because of muscle mass

 Donnie: (link here)

He chose May 17th because May is always when spring is in full swing, and the start of summer is right around the corner

He represents Winter the most. He loves the holidays that come with it because it’s the perfect time (other than birthdays) to give his newest gadgets to his family with them questioning the reason

He loves the peace that comes when snow falls over the city

Paramount says he is 6’8, and I stan.

He is said to be 270 lbs including his shell. Just… No. He is probably 340-360 lbs since he’s tall, but not too muscular like his brothers are

 Mikey: (link here)

He chose August 24th, mostly because it’s his second favorite month (the first is April). But, he also really likes the end of summer where the days are the hottest and the nights are the coolest

He represents Summer most of all seasons. It’s often a symbol for youth and innocence, both of which he is the definition of.

It’s his favorite since the sun is the brightest and the days are always warm/hot.

Paramount says he’s 6’1, which- like Raph- is close to how I see him. I see him as closer to 6’3-6’4 since he’s a bit shorter than Leo by a solid few inches

He is said to be 215 lbs including his shell. Hell to the naw. He is likely 350 solid since he’s the shortest, but also bulky with a bit of muscle.

Splinter: (link here)

Splinter also chose his own birthday. He chose April 4th.

He never told anyone that he chose it for 2 specific reasons.

(1- to honor April; 2- April is the fourth month, and he chose the fourth day all because he has 4 sons)

I don’t really place him with a season, but I feel like he’d be soft rain- you know, the pleasant kind that comes after a dry spell. It is soft, wanted, and it sounds pretty

Paramount doesn’t give him an exact height, but he reaches about Leo’s pecs and isn’t much taller than April. It is canon that April is 5’4, and based on my analysis of Leo, he appears to be 5’8-5’11.

He also doesn’t have a specific weight. I think he is heavier than April, but not nearly as heavy as the turtles

What I did is I looked up Megan Fox’s current weight (104 lbs). The being said, I think he could be around 200-210 lbs

All:

Though it is canon that the brothers are 15 in the first film and 17 in the second, NO.

In my mind, they have to be 17 in the first and 19 or so in the second

This is due to several factors, but the main two that come up are their size and how they talk

They literally look like grown men who are built like the Rock instead of teens- even teens who work out/play football. Also, they talk more like very young adults instead of mid-teenagers.

[coldshrugs]

I WANT TO ASK THEM ALL FOR ALL OF THEM AAAAA but i shall restrain myself; 10, 14, 21 for ulysse bc I neglect her in these memes. [optional bonus round] divvy up these between any other characters you wanna talk about; 1, 5, 19, 27. Yes, this is restraint.

OKAY I’M FINALLY GETTING TO THESE! Thank you and you know I would never ask you to restrain yourself 😂 

10. What energizes and drains them most?

Ulysse is energized most by solitude. As a ranger, she enjoys the time spent alone in the wilderness; it’s where she feels most at ease. She’s one of those people that’s never bored with their own company and often prefers it over the mediocre company of others.

Ulysse is drained most by Astarion.

14. What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed?

This is tough because Ulysse is like... incredibly neutral. She cares about her own health and safety, and that of her friends and loved ones (she has few of those). Her morals change depending on the situation but she tries to go with whatever feels right or interesting at the time.

Still, when she does feel a streak of loyalty to someone, she’s all in. It’s expressed with 100% trust. She’ll always have their back.

21. What kind of relationships do they tend to intentionally seek out versus actually cultivate? What kind of social contact do they prefer, and why?

In case it’s been left to doubt, she doesn’t intentionally seek out relationships 😂

That doesn’t mean she hasn’t had to cultivate any. She’s on good terms with many hunters and druids. She speaks with animals and enjoys the bonds she forms with them. As for preferred social contact, she prefers it to be good-natured and temporary.

She has family back in Baldur’s Gate that she sees on her occasional stops into the city. She loves them but they’re not enough to keep her from her solitary lifestyle, and they’ve never tried to stop her.

And of course, lately, she has had to cultivate bonds with her ragtag group of companions. She finds things to respect in all of them, even if she can’t find things to like about some of them.

I’ll answer the rest briefly for my four current head tenants!

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

Effie: Walks with a steady, confident gait; not quite a swagger but she’s not afraid to really take up the small space she occupies. Her energy varies wildly between a bit gloomy or bright and chipper and depends entirely on the company. She doesn’t really gesture with her hands, but her face often betrays her true emotions unless she’s in Swindle Mode.

Cleo: Bouncy, bubbly quick steps. Light on her feet. Emotive and quick to smile, and gestures with her hands when speaking. She’s touchy as well, so she’ll reach out to her conversational partners or even grab an object for a prop.

Io: She’s so lanky but moves with THE MOST grace you’ve ever seen. There are no wasted actions with Io. There’s a certain restraint there, too, because she’s almost never totally comfortable around others. Her hands are often still, arms usually crossed.

Ulysse: She’s got a VERY quiet footfall and a sort of danger about her presence. There’s a cat-like element to her movements. She’s not very emotive, but her eyes are always busy, always taking in her surroundings. Often, her hands are on her hips, ready to grab a dagger or an axe. 

5. How do they dress? What styles, colors, accessories, and other possessions do they favor? Why?

Effie: A blousy top and dark corset-y jerkin, fitted but stretchy pants, and black lace-up boots that hit just above the ankle and probably have a small heel. Or at least, that’s what she’ll wear once she’s in Velantis and can afford to dress in clothes for the aesthetic. Think like, slightly more femme Renfri from the Netflix version of The Witcher and you’ve got Effie’s look. She likes muted, dark colors; burgundy, navy, plum, and black. As for accessories: she has a few ear piercings on both ears and she prefers silver jewelry in those; sometimes she’ll wear a scarf (in case she needs to wipe away blood), and then she’d consider her dagger and sword accessories too.

Cleo: Cleo's style is all about breezy fabrics, simple silhouettes, and rich colors and patterns. She's not afraid to show skin and the weather usually permits it. To accessorize, she adds layered necklaces and a staple pair of earrings, sometimes pulling sheer patterned tights into a less busy look. When the weather cools, her usual wardrobe just gets a sweater or cardigan thrown on top and she might consider adding thick solid black tights under her skirt and boots. Cleo doesn’t own pants tbh.

Io: Oh man, Io’s gone through a few style changes in her time. I like to think the more comfortable she becomes with her place in Eorzea, the more comfortable she dresses? She’s not trying to impress anyone at this point in her journey, so she’s in drapey fabrics, practical boots, and her legs are mostly free. It’s a look she can fight in if she needs to, but it’s also something she can wear around the Rising Stones with her friends and show off her personality. She’s currently decked out in chunky jewelry as well.

Ulysse: Hmm, Ulysse doesn’t really have “style” tbh. Everything she wears must be practical. She’s got no use for anything less. She favors earth tones- greens, yellows, browns. But her clothes are sturdy, warm, and allow her to move quickly and quietly.

19. How do they behave within a group? What role(s) do they take? Does this differ if they know and trust the group, versus finding themselves in a group of strangers? Why?

Effie: She’s going to default to a Follower With Opinions unless forced into a leadership role. She’s might be confident in her abilities, but she isn’t confident about how others will react to her. With Aeran, they’re often on equal footing and will just throw ideas back and forth until something they both agree on sticks. In all groups, she’s a bit of a peacekeeper but likes to share her sense of humor.

Cleo: Oh she’s immediately going to turn into the Mom Friend. Cleo’s extremely nurturing and wants everyone around her to feel cared for. In a group of strangers, she’s probably not going to be as talkative but she’d still find a way to check in on someone feeling even more awkward than she does.

Io: Please don’t make her talk. Please don’t make her lead. Please don’t notice when she quietly slips to the back of the group and then out of the room and into the comfort of the local library.

Ulysse: She does not want to lead, but she will step the fuck up if she has to. She doesn’t really get why people want to follow her when the only thing she’s been in charge of for decades is herself but oh well. Ulysse has a bit of a problem with applying the correct amount of gravity to any given situation and in a group, she’s very “that’s rough, buddy” when someone really needs a deep emotional conversation.

27. What do they strongly like and dislike, in any category? Why?

Okay, I’ll do weather 😩

Effie: HATES rain after that year in Rona. Or hates how she’s just gotten used to feeling soggy. Really likes that sort of cold autumnal sunny weather that’s crisp and comfortable.

Cleo: Doesn’t love snow from the few times she’s experienced it. She doesn’t really feel strongly about the weather otherwise. Likes rain, besides the way it makes her hair frizz.

Io: Coerthas is her favorite place in Eorzea and she loves snow. She’s not a fan of the warmer climates, her ears get too hot and it’s just very uncomfy.

Ulysse: Loves warm balmy weather. She’s another that doesn’t care for rain. It washes away tracks and scents.

[bowieandqueen11]

Positive? / Tozier!Reader x Eddie Kaspbrak Imagine

Request: Hi! I love your blog sooooo much and come on everyday to check for new imagines because they’re so good! I was wondering if i could request an adult Eddie Kaspbrak x reader where she’s Richie’s sister and when they’re all fighting Pennywise, they lose sight of her but when they’re at the 3 doors they open one and it’s like a zombie version of her and they get all scared but reunite with her later and Eddie confesses his feelings and they kiss? If not, that’s okay! I completely understand. ☺️ 

This is so sweet love thank you so so much!! <3

Warning - somewhat graphic and disgusting descriptions, as well as strong language!

Comments are always appreciated!

‘Are you sure she’s going to be through this door?’

‘Yes, I-uh, yeah.’

‘Positive?’

‘Positive!? Jesus, just come on, she better be behind this one-’

Richie doesn’t have time to mumble another word before Eddie’s hand is tugging at his elbow, his headlight nearly blinding him as he blinks back with a sharp ‘agh’. Eddie’s mouth falls into an open frown as Richie comes to settle next to him again, the thin beam of light shaking over the crumbling rock walls that seems to be closing the two of them into the darkness - that is, until he spots a striped tentacle with a frilled lace edge wind its way down the middle.

‘Yep, very scary it is’, Richie mutters as he pulls the two of them over to the wall. He swallows thickly, his fingers faltering as they hover as the rusted auburn doorknob, Eddie watching him hesitantly with a hand still on his back. Richie tries to shake the hair away from his eyes, watching the blood trail slower and slower down the cracking cream wood until it lands onto the floor in pregnant drips. Plop. Plop. Plop.

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help but feel the same fire flick and wind their tendrils around his intestines, the same burning lava that crawled up his throat as it had the last time you had gone missing. The last time the eight of you were in Niebolt. He couldn’t shake the image of you lying on the floor, blood pouring out of your mouth and dried underneath your fingertips, screaming and screaming as you were dragged out of view.

He had to keep convincing himself that it wasn’t real. But this, this felt a bit too real.

He was too preoccupied with trying to stop his hand from twitching to notice the beads of sweat Eddie wiped away from his chin, not noticing the tear stains that were mixing in and drying on his sleeve.

‘She’ll be there, Rich. She has to be.’

All Richie can do is nod, Eddie following his lead with silent resolve to stop himself from bursting out into tears.

The door banging on its hinges is what broke Richie out of his nightmare, the slight dust falling from the top edge and raining down on his hair like winter’s snow as the lock creaked with each inch it battered forward. Throwing it open, the first thing they both notice are the cobwebs that hung from every surface as if taking on the repulsiveness of old and dirty lace. The fine strands were no longer white, instead they hang heavy with grey dust. Where they have been torn by the wind that blows unhindered through the empty door frame that had stood in that spot underneath their feet from the dawn of time, they hang in clumps, the artistry of the original cobweb destroyed.

Eddie couldn’t catch the thought that tumbles out of his mouth before he’s spoken it.

‘Where the fuck is she?’

‘Wh-what-’

Darkness is a strange substance. Since it is a sort of mystical material, it doesn't fall under the laws of science, only able to change states by the user. In solid form its almost completely black aside from a very tiny shade of red at its centre, like a candle in the dark. When a non-user touches it its like getting winded, if hit by a sharp point it will penetrate and quickly infect. As a liquid its thick; sticky, and has a pungent smell of ink, it can act like quicksand or just plain coat and suffocate people. But this, this darkness, the thing that came creaking down the middle of it, passed through it with ease. It suffocated, ate away at their hearts like acid, but the cracking of heavy footprints in the darkness never stopped, no matter how much Eddie shoved his fist into his mouth or Richie stood, eyes wide behind his too large glasses and mouth slack. 

The ghost of you had one ear missing and both lips had been bitten off, perhaps that was Pennywise’s little last departing gift. One hand had been mangled and your right bicep was chewed away exposing the white humerus beneath. Each rattling breath you drew made a low growling moan that chilled Eddie’s blood. You halted by the swinging light switch and Richie could hear the bones in your stiffened neck creak. 

You had spotted him. Death was walking towards him. 

He needed no other cue, he dived for the door and bolted out into the cave entrance, Eddie coming tumbling behind him, feet dragging and tripping over the dirt but with no control. Richie had too tight a grip on his collar.

‘What-what was that, Rich. What the FUCK WAS THAT!’  

‘She’s still alive. She’s still alive, I know she is. We didn’t lose sight of her for that long, and Pennyfuck over here has been in the centre the whole time. It’s all a trick, like before, it has to be.’

~

Deadlights.

That’s all that you saw. The deadlights.

As Eddie ran back towards the others and finally spotted to where the others were pointing, your motionless body swinging lightly in the air as if a gentle breeze was caressing your body, all Eddie could feel was anger. Anger that it should have been him in those lights, not his Y/N. He hadn’t been there. But he would be now.

Stumbling to his feet, feeling angrier and more indignant now than he ever had in his life, he turns to face the thing that had plagued this town and the one who owned his heart for too long now, raising his arms out in tight fists by his side before running forward out of a floundering Bill’s grasp, passing Mike’s reaching hands as he tries to hold Eddie back, instead picking up the piece of fence railing Beverly had broken off from outside the well house and slamming it down into the spider’s mouth.

He feels the fear. He still takes the step forwards. And then, as if by magic, he finds confidence, all those steps he took in his life building up to this, building a brave soul, an accomplished person who does much for others, one who has their respect and love.

Hitting out against the thing, he kicks and scrab and fight with all that’s left in him, closing his eyes tight and thinking only of your famous Tozier laugh. And for a moment, as its hold begins to loosen, it feels as if he’s won.

Then all you could feel was his back thumping against the jagged rocks.

He runs over to you, skidding onto the floor by your side as Richie drops down onto his knees by Mike. When he finally sees you flutter your eyes, a smile settles on his face as Eddie gazes down at you, bubbling laughter ripping from his throat as he pins you down with his thighs on either side of your hips.

‘E-Eds…?’, you whisper, reaching up to rub his thumb along the bottom of his cut.

'Is this real?’

‘What do you mean-’

‘I saw you. I saw you all those years ago, back when we were thirteen, that summer, I see it now, I see us, I remember everything I felt and everything we did, and I should have told you then, I should have- I thought I was dead Eds, it felt like it, it felt like nothing-’

‘Hey, hey, slow down, you sound like me.’ Eddie chuckles as you look up at him, a warmth radiating from his doe eyes as his hands spread out next to your face, a heat coming off from his black jacket as it hangs loosely by your hips.

‘I-’, you try not to choke up. ‘I’m sorry Eds. I’m sorry. I didn’t think our lives would turn out like this.’

‘Well, we have the rest of it to make up for it, don’t we? Because I love you, Y/n. I haven’t said that to many people- well, anyone before, because I was always saving it for you. I was always just too scared to say it. Takes a killer clown again, huh?’

Breathlessly, you gaze up at the adoration that floods out of the man’s eyes, before exhaling a shaky sob, your eyes filling with tears. Eddie smiles, a huge, genuine smile, not caring about the clown in the centre of his room as he turns his concentration quickly to capturing your lips, parting his mouth as he bites your bottom lip gently, a soft groan rumbling from the back of Eddie’s throat. Breaking apart, his lips plump and swollen from the sudden attack, he gazes down into your eyes like a lost soul searching desperately for home, before smiling softly as he finds what he’s looking for.

[aion-rsa]

How Evil Season 2 Answers Whether Kristen Killed LeRoux

https://ift.tt/3cYiflE

This Evil feature contains spoilers.

“I saw that your serial killer’s dead,” Ben Shakir (Aasif Mandvi) informs partner Dr. Kristen Bouchard (Katja Herbers) in an early scene in the opening episode of Evil season 2. “Is there anything I should be worried about there?” The first thing he learns is not to be concerned about any possessive feelings Kristen may harbor towards Orson LeRoux (Darren Pettie), the man Ben says was “bludgeoned.” And while the audience is already pretty sure what happened, that’s about all he gets.  

Evil fans deliciously tortured themselves with lingering questions over the death of Orson ever since Kristen took off into the night with a sharp climbing tool and no mountain in sight. They deepened after she dabbed a drop of blood off her leg, and scarred the flesh of her palm with a touch of a crucifix. But the circumstantial evidence seemed too obvious to be true. Production delays, caused by the pandemic, boiled the anticipation to unbearable degrees. So, it is a relief when season 2 opens with the answer.

But with knowledge comes consequences. Now the concern is whether Kristen can get away with it. When Detective Byrd calls Kristen to tell her the news about LeRoux, she believes Orson’s wife killed the former serial killer. But Kristen made sure the wife had a solid alibi. It can’t be long before the clues lead back to Kristen. As a forensics expert for the District Attorney’s office, she fought very hard to keep Orson in prison, but his conviction was overturned. He shows up outside her home as Kristen is walking her daughters to the school bus. She dials 911, but he files a police complaint. We asked Katja Herbers what happens if somebody needs an umbrella and gets rained on by a snow axe.

“I think it’s going to be quite intensive,” Katja tells Den of Geek. “If not for the police looking for whoever killed him, but also just internally in Kristen’s mind, because she did that, and now what?”  

Kristen’s therapist is able to determine the crime was clearly premeditated, and her training for assistance to the District Attorney tells her that’s going to be problematic at best. We wondered whether Kristen would have done the same thing if it was someone else’s family.

“I don’t think so,” Katja says. “No. I think she would have gone to the police. I think this was a very emotional act, and I think that kind of emotionality only comes if you’re protecting your own.”

The authorities aren’t the only ones who might have suspicions. David Acosta (Mike Colter), the ex-journalist, pre-ordained priest who brews up hallucinogen cocktails for mystical visions sees Kristen blithely walk towards the devil’s sickle as it separates wheat from chaff in a field of dreams. According to Herbers, Kristen may believe David’s overthinking it a bit. Kristen has a family and there was a clear and present danger.

“I think she’s not lying awake, pondering if she did the right thing, because I do think that she did the right thing and she thinks that,” Katja says. “It was him or her children, that was very clear to her. So, what mother wouldn’t want to protect their children? But she is now a murderer, and I think it has changed her and she’s become somebody who is way more willing to go to the edge of things.”

Read more

TV

Evil Season 2 Review: (Sort of) Paranormal Procedural Still Thrills

By Tony Sokol

TV

Evil Season 2 is Paramount+’s First Big Opportunity

By Alec Bojalad

During Evil’s first season, Kristen and David danced towards the brink of vow-breaking with a subtle chemistry reminiscent of the will-they-won’t-they sexual tension of The X-Files’ Dana Scully and Fox Mulder. David is weeks from priestly ordination, and Kristin is on the prowl in more secular scenarios. But Herbers says it’s got nothing to do with anyone’s vows.

“No, I think it just is because Kristen murdered someone and she’s now looking for some kind of a calmness in herself and needs to find that anywhere, and that might be with any guy in any bar,” Katja says. “She’s trying medication, she’s trying it all. I think the will-they-or-won’t-they will continue because I do think they have a very genuine connection, both intellectually and also there’s a physical attraction and I don’t think that’s going to go away.”

Ben’s also not going away, and he can’t be made to unsee what he thinks he’s seen. Last season when Ben noticed the blood on Kristen’s leg, creators Robert and Michelle King, who also made the political parody series Braindead, pulled a routine from Abbott and Costello Meet the Killer. “I don’t have blood on my leg,” Kristen says with the flourish of a Jedi mind trick. She employs this psychological superpower twice in the first episode. The first time is when she tells her kids her hands aren’t dirty from the aborted attempt to bury a hatchet.

The second comes when Kristen attempts to wipe Ben’s mind clean of any lingering questions about bandaged hands or bloody legs. There is a childlike play behind the instinctual maternal rebuke. While she didn’t exactly cite Boris Karloff, who played the killer in the 1949 suspense comedy, she admits the bit is in there for the laughs. “Yes. Exactly. I thought that was very funny,” Herbers says.

Evil continues to plumb the ambiguities of divine tragedies and human comedy. Kristen may very well be possessed, though she hasn’t shown signs during the exorcisms she’s attended. She may be able to throw enough reasonable doubt on an investigation as the series does on the supernatural.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Evil airs Sundays on Paramount+.

The post How Evil Season 2 Answers Whether Kristen Killed LeRoux appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3gIVpAS

[chibi-mushroom]

Just as a heads up, I wanted to add a disclaimer. This story is not necessarily canon to my AU's canon. I'm a long way off from these two getting to interact and I still have some things to think through. I also need to decide if Namine's backstory is going to stay the same or if I'm changing it slightly. So please bear with me and enjoy!

It was a warmer morning in Skyhold and for once there hadn't been a lot of snow. Riku and Ava were checking the Inquisition's mail when he heard the smaller girl chuckling a little to herself. He didn't know that he liked the smirk that filled her face.

"Did you get a love letter or something?" Riku inquired.

"Not at all. In fact, I think Namine's going to have quite the headache when she sees it."

"What is it?"

"Oh just another letter from Lord Odin in Kirkwall."

Riku rolled his eyes. Usually Namine handled all of the correspondence between the Inquisition and the noble class. After all, she had a knack for working with nobles, despite coming from a poor Antivan trading family herself. Still, this was the third letter this month from the man. Lea never liked to talk about Kirkwall even though he was a viscount there. Surely Namine would have told him if Odin had been reporting trouble, wouldn't she?

"He's been writing a lot recently. Is everything ok in Kirkwall?"

"As terrible as it's always been." Ava shook her head. "Listen, I have a job for you to do today."

"A job? But I promised Sora and Ephemer we'd-"

Suddenly Riku felt a very sharp point at his neck. He knew without looking that Ava had unleashed one of her daggers with the fancy waves on the hilt. She was good with a bow, but he had personally seen her be absolutely deadly with her daggers. The smirk that had been on her face once was now gone, but she still looked amused. He wondered what she looked like under that fox mask, and whether her eyes shone with good or ill intent.

"Ask Strelitzia to take you to the greenhouse and pick Namine a nice big bouquet of flowers." She instructed.

"You want me to…?"

The dagger pushed a little deeper into his throat. She hadn't broken skin yet, but the blade was really the only thing he could pay attention to.

"Pick the girl some flowers. I'm sure she would be grateful for them."

The bard removed her dagger and beamed at him. She was dangerous alright. He was relieved she was on their side, although there were days he had questioned even that. As she sauntered away with the letter from Lord Ordin, Riku rubbed the spot where the dagger had been just moments before. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see none other than Sora himself.

"So, I guess we gotta take a rain check, huh little boss?"

"I told you to stop calling me that." Riku brushed the Qun's** hand off. "It's Riku."

"Force of habit. No more difficult to stop than Lea and his nicknames."

"I guess. So, what's going on with the ambassador? Ava certainly seems quite amused."

"Namine's got a letter from Lord Odin in Kirkwall. Again. So I'm supposed to go get flowers for her for some reason." Riku sighed. "You have a good idea about how women work; what's all this about?"

"Dunno, I'm not in on the war table conversations." Sora shook his head. "Hey, I've got an idea. I'll go visit Namine and see what's up. That way you can stop being shy and tell her how you feel."

Riku sputtered, trying to argue about the way he felt. They had gotten close, but it was out of a need, not a want, right? The sky was tearing apart and they still needed to find out about so many loose ends that hadn't been resolved yet. Besides, he had no idea how Namine even felt about him. It would make meetings at the war table much more awkward if he couldn't even look at the ambassador.

"I'll take your inability to speak as a yes then. Don't worry buddy, old Sora will figure out exactly what's going on with the woman of your dreams." Sora clapped him on the back.

Sora left behind a still sputtering Riku as he hurried over to the ambassador's door. Ava had just left and Sora took a moment to listen in at the door. He didn't know Namine as well as he probably should have; she was usually working on something at her desk while he was out with his chargers**. She seemed super sweet though, and harmless enough.

He did have to admit that his horns made it hard to actually get his ear to the door, but he managed to hear the faint sound of vellum being shredded while Namine muttered something. There was a movement. She must have been tossing the vellum into the trash. More steps- walking back no doubt. The room was silent now as far as he could tell, although knowing Namine, she was likely writing out some forced and overly polite response. It was how all nobles tended to write. He waited a moment and then knocked on the door.

"Come in." She replied.

"Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time or anything." Sora entered.

"No, just writing a response to a noble in Kirkwall. After that I have a few personal responses to send out. One of which is to my parents. They've been mailing me nonstop since your chargers swooped in and kidnapped my sister on her wedding day."

With a chuckle to himself, Sora crossed his arms over his chest. He recalled how Noctis had asked him for help to rescue his beloved Lunafreya from having to marry a man from some wealthy Antivan family. The chargers had been a little less….formal than they could have, running in while the ceremony was going. But the look of relief that crossed over the bride's face when she saw Noctis made it all worth it. They had even gotten a chantry** brother to marry them in a small but intimate ceremony a few days later.

"That's right; it was a lot of fun. Hard to believe it was only a couple of months ago." Sora smirked.

"No Sora, it wasn't fun. Swooping is bad."** Namine sighed. "It's been a headache just trying to reassure both sides that the other will come around eventually."

She paused.

"Although I'm happy for her. She smiles so much now, and I know that's because of Noctis and the other chargers."

"That's what we do. Brighten the world one smile at a time."

Namine held her tongue. Luna got off easy. Although her parents were fuming, her potential groom found someone to replace Luna rather quickly. The marriage was supposed to help the Montilyet family work their way back into being able to trade in Orlais again. If it hadn't been for that rival family… She breathed out a sigh. There was no way to turn back time. She just hoped when it came time for her own nuptials that she could avoid the worst.

Sora leaned in satisfaction on the table where she worked. Most of the tables here were quite sturdy- none as steady as the table closest to the commander's quarters, of course. But then, that table was hardly ever used for writing these days, it seemed. At least once he had heard some sort of magic being made between the templar commander and their apothecary- but he was just getting off on a tangent. Namine had eyed him as if to ask what he was there for.

"Why don't you give this Odin guy what he wants?" Sora asked, hoping to draw out what was in the letter and change the subject.

"Give him- Sora, this is politics. You can't just give people what they want at face value. There are usually strings attached. Things go wrong when you simply ask for what you want."

"Someone smuggling some ancient book out of Kirkwall again?"**

Namine tilted her head, unsure if she were supposed to understand what he was referring to. He waved off her confusion, looking over her desk. There, sitting on the top of a pile of papers was a letter written in very fine ink. There was a green wax seal on the envelope that held a picture of a lotus. The ink itself was also of a high quality. The letters didn't have an occasional blot from the way it came out of the pen. Someone had spent a lot of money on the supplies for this letter.

"Nevermind." Sora shook his head. "So, this one of your responses?"

One glance at the pile of papers told her exactly what he was referring to. She raced to cover them up, a slight blush on her face from embarrassment. He didn't need to know details of the Montilyet household. He had already learned of her parent's reaction to the scandal that was Luna's wedding. Seeing how everything happened there would likely cause extra precautions when it came her turn for matrimony. She was a caged bird with no hope of escape.

"Hey, sorry, I swear I was just trying to lighten the mood. I know you're frustrated about that Lord in Kirkwall." Sora softened his voice when he saw the way her face fell.

"If you must know, his name is Naveen. He lives in Tevinter and he's the son of a very prominent magister." Namine spoke just above a whisper.

"Is he helping the Inquisition?" Sora looked at her with a cocked eyebrow.

"Not….exactly." Namine responded.

She gripped the letter harder and her hands began to shake while she bit on her lower lip. It was just like her to ruin everything. Sora could likely understand everything now. It wasn't her place to tell about Naveen, and yet there they were. The Qun likely hadn't meant to see the letter, Namine hoped. Sora didn't seem to be the kind to snoop. Still, she hadn't told anyone about this yet and needed a chance to vent a little. The letters were coming more often and Naveen had been speaking more frankly of his heart in them. Whether that was sincere or flattery she had no idea. Namine quickly moved to the entrance. Before closing the solid door, she checked the hallway to see if anyone was coming.

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. Sorry, Namine." Sora pouted.

"No, please, it might be better this way." she wrung her hands together. "But anything we say can't leave this room."

"What's going on, Namine?"

"Promise me you won't laugh."

"On my honor as a Qunari"

Namine took a deep breath before sitting down and replacing the now crinkled up letter from Naveen. She wasn't looking at him, but instead at the hands she had neatly folded in her lap. Without realizing it, she was biting her lips again. Slowly, she looked up at Sora who was waiting patiently to hear what it was that she needed to get out of her system. Even if he couldn't tell Riku about the letter, he could at least assure his friend that Namine would be alright.

"Had you ever heard of the Montilyet family before you met me?"

"Well, not really, but I was also pretty busy doing jobs all over for the longest time." Sora shrugged. "Why?"

"Well, a long time ago, our family owned hundreds of naval ships. We protected merchants leaving and coming into Antivan waters. After a scandal, we lost nearly everything and had to settle being small scale Ferelden merchants. We get by, but I can tell my parents miss it." Namine explained. "Then when I was younger, I made some choices I'd rather not talk about before being invited to come join the inquisition."

"But…"

"But in all of this commotion trying to set my family up, I guess...I sort of lost who I am….and what I care for. Now there are important decisions to be made and I'm just expected to sit still and look pretty."

Sora nodded, understanding what it was she was trying to say. She continued on about how she had met Ava when she was younger and learned about the ways of the bard from her. Although Namine was slim on the details, she did mention how much of that training now helped her avoid having to pick up a weapon again. Still, all of that had come to naught, as she still had no leads as to where to find the contracts that would help regain their trade ability. There was a wistfulness that came from her voice; it wasn't about the trade at all, even though she hadn't said it straight out.

"I may not know what path will be best for you, but I do know this: you just keep on trying and you'll reach your goal."

"Do you really think so?" Namine asked.

"Of course!" Sora stood, placing a foot on the seat of his chair. "For the Inquisition!"

She looked at him with confusion. What on earth was he doing? Sora looked down at her in the hopes he could rally her to join him. When he looked down and saw that she didn't understand what he was doing, he held his hand out for her to pull him onto the chair next to him.

"For the Montilyets!"

He placed one foot from the chair to her table. She followed his lead and scrambled onto the table afterward. With more confidence, she repeated her own family name. There was something about Sora and his rallying cry that made her want to believe that she could restore the trade abilities before she would have to face her future.

"For Namine!" Sora raised a fist into the air.

She raised a fist as well, although she kept silent this time. A small smile played on her lips. Maybe there was hope after all. Odin would give up trying to marry off one of his daughters to Riku, and Namine would find a way for her family to trade again. There was hope, there was work to be done-

There were still papers covering her desk.

Subconsciously she had stepped back to get down from where she was standing. It was sort of silly how they were standing on the table, no matter how old and sturdy it might be. Besides, Sora never seemed to wear shirts, even into battle. Instead, he opted for the Qunari vitaar, which was a poison that was fatal if it touched anyone who hadn't been born into the Qun. He wasn't wearing any now, but Namine became aware of just how close they had been standing by the strong smell of the soap he applied to get it off afterward. He didn't want to risk Kairi touching it by accident.

It was the strangest thing. Somehow she felt like she had begun falling in slow motion. As she stepped back there had been a knock at the door. Something registered in her mind that someone had entered the room, and something dropped to the floor. She gave a yelp and closed her eyes, expecting to hit the floor.

But she never did.

Instead, the scent of firewood and smoke crossed her senses and she could feel a strong pair of arms around her, holding her up. She hadn't even fallen very far. When she opened her eyes, she saw the Inquisitor. Her cheeks went crimson and she looked back to Sora who was smirking like a cat.

"Did...I interrupt something?" Riku asked.

"No, not at all." Sora hopped off the table. He picked up the bouquet and turned around before taking a step out the door. "Saving these for anyone?"

"Actually, those are for Namine." Riku responded.

"Aww, what a kindly gesture. You'll have to let her go at some point if you want to give them to her. Unless you *wanted* to hold her this long. Here, I'll leave them here for you both to enjoy." Sora put them down and then headed down the hall a short distance so he could still hear what was happening.

Riku nearly dropped Namine upon hearing that, but after catching her again, he carefully let her down. She wasn't quite ready to stand on her own, so she placed a hand on his arm to steady herself.

So that was the result of so much violence. She thought, which caused her to only glow more red.

"H-here. Ava suggested I bring these over for you. They're from the greenhouse." Riku handed her the bouquet.

"Thank you. I-I'll have to send her my thanks as well."

There was silence for a moment.

"Is everything okay? Ava said you might get aggravated by that letter from Kirkwall." Riku inquired.

"Yeah, it was just another noble. With you being the leader of one of the most influential groups in Thedas**, it only makes sense that everyone wants you to marry their children, but I figured you'd want to focus on the rift for now."

He stared blankly at her as if he didn't quite understand what she had said. Namine looked away and bit her lip again. Maybe she should have just said something to him when she got the first letter. She had learned a lot from her past, but nothing like this was covered in her training. She wasn't sure if she even *should* be feeling anything in this particular moment.

"Namine I-"

Riku was interrupted when Kairi ran into the room, Sora attempting to stop her.

"I heard a scream. Is everything ok in here?"

"It's fine! Nothing going on!" Riku blushed.

"I was just trying to reach something and Riku caught my fall!"

Both spoke at the same time in a rushed voice that Kairi knew as being a lie, but with the way they were blushing and how Sora had been trying to stop her, she automatically understood what was going on to some extent. When she smirked the same way Sora had only a short time ago, the Inquisitor and the ambassador looked to realize that she hadn't let go of his arm since he put her down. Quickly they slid apart, blush laying heavily on their cheeks.

"Sure, sure." Kairi chuckled, now dragging Sora out of the room.

When they had closed the door behind them and walked a short way away, Kairi slipped her hand into Sora's.

"Let's sweeten the pot on our bet, shall we? An extra fifty gold goes to the winner if they get together before the empress's ball at the Winter Palace."

"My dear," Sora smiled as he squeezed her hand "I think you have a deal."

Okay, notes time!

So if you saw my picture for Sokai week, you'll have an idea of what Sora is supposed to look like. For those who haven't played Dragon Age, the Qun or Qunari is both a type of people who are born with horns on their heads (with a few very rare exceptions) and the religious lifestyle they lead. They're super interesting and I love learning about them.

Sora's chargers are his best friends/band of fighters. In this particular au it consists of Mulan, Noctis and the Chocobros.

The Chantry is the major church of the world, and it kind of controls the templars who keep the mages from letting demons possess them. Long story short, a lot of people have lost confidence in the Chantry in telling them the truth and doing the right thing.

For those of you who have played Dragon Age Origins, the 'swooping is bad' line should be very familiar to you. I laugh so hard at it with every playthrough that I was practically contractually obligated to include it.

Can't say too much about the book getting smuggled out of Kirkwall, as that goes into spoiler territory. But just know that the Qun tried asking for their book back and someone ended up dead. (in canon. Not sure what I'll be doing in the au yet, haha)

Thedas is the name for the world in Dragon Age.

[abbas-ragamuffin]

AU 17, trope 4, prompt 27 for Lokane.

Thank you so much for the request! I’ve never done a band!au before, or a messy meet, so thank you for the challenge, @iamartemisday I hope I did it right and that you enjoy it anyway! :)))

17-band!au, 4-meet messy, 27-“that was a very bad idea. 0/10 would not recommend.”

 Jane was running late, like nearly an hour late, and the show was only ninety minutes long. Her car of course, a Picasso more than a car really, made up of different parts of different colored cars decided to break down tonight of all nights. It wasn’t a beautiful car by any means, but up until recently it had always gotten her from point A to point B. She didn’t come from money, and she worked her tail off in high school to pay for it. Now two years into college, she was planning on trading it in with the money she’d earn from an internship to an astrophysicist. But that wasn’t until the summer and they still had several months worth of classes. This was the worst time to lose her car.

But right now she couldn’t think if that, or the fact she’d left it abandoned on the side of the road. She couldn’t run in her heels, knowing on this uneven pavement she’d probably break her ankle. So she hobbled along on unsteady legs, carrying her violin case and cursing her course choices. Band wasn’t something she needed, or even wanted to take. Her father had played, and left her his violin before he died. Jane was about to begin her freshmen year, the loss still brutally fresh and she chose music as an elective in remembrance of him. Music was her father’s passion, astrophysics was hers.  

Still, she let out a sigh of relief as she entered the parking lot and the entrance to the Music Hall came into view. Just a short way now, she just needed to make it inside without falling and she might be just in time for her solo. It was Bach, the name of the composition still escapes her, all she memorized was the section she’d be performing. She paused as she neared the door, pulling down the skirt of her black, halter top dress and doing her best to straighten her hair. Taking a few deep, steadying breaths, she walked the final few steps to the door and reached out.

The door, however, flew open towards her – so hard it appeared it would fly off the hinges. The hinges held, however, that didn’t stop the door from hitting her in the face and knocking her backward until she fall in the garden along the front of the building. She sat up immediately despite the spots in her vision, checking her nose for blood and luckily finding none. But she noticed her bare foot, and the broken shoe that rested beside it. She faintly heard cursing in a smooth British accent coming closer.

At least it wasn’t raining. She didn’t fall in a puddle of mud and nothing was broken. Except her shoe, realizing the four and half inch heel had lost a solid 3 inches. Maybe she could get away with it. As long as she stood stock still while she played, she likely wouldn’t faceplant into the orchestra. A tall, intimidating man in a three-piece suit knelt before her, stretching out his hand to help her up.

“I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

He looked genuinely concerned and she’d never before seen a man with jet black hair that had such bright, vivid eyes. The tears burned in her own eyes, her ankle wasn’t twisted, but this day had been horrible enough and this was only making things worse. She didn’t even wanna do the stupid solo! But Mr. Selvig insisted, even called her his favorite student to butter her up.

“Oh don’t cry, Darling, very bad idea,” he said, waving his program across her face as if to dry her tears, “Your make-up will run. 0/10 would not recommend–”

“10/10 would recommend you not hit me in the face with a door and break my shoe!” she cried, swatting at his outstretched hand as she hauled herself off the ground. Before she could bend to pick it up, the stranger was already handing her the violin case, “I have a solo and I’m already running late…”

She yanked the case from his hand and took hold of the door, pushing passed him as she hobbled on uneven shoes. The nerve!

She felt him rush up behind her.

“I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but your shoe isn’t the only thing ruined…” her steps faltered at his words.

“What?”

He didn’t answer, merely pointed to her left hip. A tear in the dress that went from her hip to just below her armpit. Her whole side was exposed – she’d never be able to hold the violin up and play without everyone getting an eyeful. 

“Oh my god! Are you kidding me?!” she glared at him, mouth agape and a true loss for what to do now. She obviously couldn’t run home and change.

“Before you murder me, just follow me. I have an idea.” he said with hands in the air, walking backwards away from her.

“Follow you? To where?”

“The drama department…” he called as he ran from her view..

She rolled her eyes, removing her other shoe to run after him. As she passed the backstage door of the auditorium, she could hear they were nearing the end of the song before the movement. Luckily, her solo was about five minutes into the piece, which meant she had just under 8 minutes to get new clothes, new shoes, and get back and in place to play. By the time she caught up to him, he was bent in front of the door, she assumed he was picking the lock.

“Do this a lot, do you?” she asked, stopping at his side.

“Not since I was a child.”

The lock clicked and despite herself, Jane was relieved to see the doors open. He switched on the light, seeming to know his way around. He rifled through the rack of costumes, some of the most ugly and ostentatious dresses she’d ever seen.

“Are you in the drama department?”

“Yes, as well as the band.”

She scoffed, “You’re not in the band, I’ve never seen you in our rehearsals.”

“I’m usually late due to one of my courses. I try not to draw attention, so I sit toward the back and I’m always first to leave.”

Jane didn’t respond. It wasn’t impossible, she just couldn’t believe this man had sat a few rows behind her for the last few months and she never noticed.

“What do you play?”

“The chello…Ah!” he pulled a black gown from the rack and held it up to her. It was a long, A-line slip of a dress, black with a plunging v-neck and lace trimming. He held it out to her and motioned to a small fitting room to the right. She sighed and took the hanger. What choice did she have?

“I’ll sort out some shoes for you in the meantime…” he said as she closed the door behind her.

“Thank you…” she called, studying her face and still in shock that it wasn’t bruised or bleeding. That door hurt, and she was certain her nose had been broken. 

There wasn’t time to waste and so she pulled the dress up and zipped the side the closed. It didn’t quite fit. She’d worn the halter top because it was form fitting and left her arms free to play. This dress was way too long, and the plunge of the v-neck nearly reached her belly button. 

“It doesn’t fit…”

“I expected as much. Step outside, I have a remedy.” his voice was much closer and she bit her lip as she debated just staying in this dressing room all night, or at least until everyone from the concert had left.

Jane did as he asked though, reluctantly opening the door and holding the dress closed across her chest. His eyes did a swift once over, not in lust or anything inappropriate, but appraising and calculated. In his hands he held a pair of black heeled boots; the heel was not only shorter but wider as well.

“Put these on first…” she took them with one hand, unwilling to release her grip of the front of the gown.

“So why did you leave in the middle of the performance?” she asked, trying to distract herself as she slipped on the shoes. A near perfect fit. 

“I just needed some air,” he replied, already kneeling before her in an obviously expensive suit, several pins stuck out the corner of his mouth. She held her breath, watching his deft fingers work along the hemline, pinning the fabric where it reached her ankles. A man of many talents…odd talents, but full of surprises.  

Staring was rude, but Jane just help couldn’t help herself. She’ll be needing some air if she doesn’t get herself together. All she could think about was how those long fingers would feel brushing along her jaw, or moving through the short length of her hair. The man could be a model with those angles to his face, but Jane could swear she’d never seen a more gorgeous man than him.  

His long black hair, the paleness of his complexion, those mischievous, vibrant green eyes. If Snow White had been a man, Jane was sure this man was him. And his eyes never wavered as he stood, pulling her wrist away and gathering the fabric in the valley between her breasts. She could hardly breath and he seemed entirely unaffected as he bunched the fabric, inserting two more pins to keep it together.

He stepped back abruptly and turned her around to face the mirror. He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders as he, too, studied her reflection in the mirror. He’d created a rather nice looking knot where he’d gathered the fabric, it almost looked like it belonged there. The v-neck was still lower than she’d normally wear, but he’d done a remarkable job covering her up. A cellist and seamstress...

“You look perfect. Even your make-up held up.”

“Thank you…for all your help – for everything.” she turned to face him, extending her hand, “I’m Jane.”

“A pleasure to meet you Jane. I’m Loki.” instead of shaking her hand, he knelt down to kiss the back of it. She couldn’t control her giggle.

She smiled, “That explains it then…”

“What?” he asked, gently releasing his hold.

“Loki…God of Mischief.” It was his turn to smile, and even look a little surprised. 

“Ah, very good. Most people around here don’t know my namesake.”

“I’m not most people…” she said, and his smile only widened. It made him even more attractive if that was even possible. The blush tainted her cheeks and Jane ducked her head, retrieving her violin and making her way back to the auditorium.

**

“No Miss Foster, you are definitely not most people.”

Loki watched her leave, allowing her to get back and enter the auditorium alone. He didn’t need any gossip getting started. But he couldn’t stop smiling after meeting such a captivating and beautiful woman. Perfect complexion. Heart-shaped face. And her wide blue eyes, looking up at him with – ok, scorn – but also curiosity. And maybe even a touch of awe. But now was not the time to dwell on that.

He’d had his eye on her for some time, but he knew her from his astrophysics class. Her understanding and grasp of the subject awed him, and he’d spent several months just working up the nerve to talk to her. Instead he slams her in the face with a door. Hardly his best moment, but what’s done is done. The hard part is over, they’ve met, he knows her name and she knows his.

Turning out the light, he closed the door behind him, unable to lock it. The sound of her violin filled the halls and he picked up his pace, sneaking in the back stage door. He watched from the shadows, strangely proud of her for her determination to be here and not just give up. He was also proud of his own quick thinking - the dress really did look made for her. He’d have to remember to thank his mother later, despite always complaining when she taught him such feminine things.

After the show, he would offer her a ride home. Come Monday, he intended to start getting to know her and courting her properly. 

[typewriterghcst]

Title: Leave Us Your Stardust Rating: G like all my other fics l m ao Characters: Natoru, babby Lune, Natori. Mentions of other characters. Words: 2730-ish Summary: The World can be quite an intimidating, tough place for a seven-year-old, particularly after the sun goes down for the first time. Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, in particular the ‘Ghosts’ prompt. Notes: This is chock full of headcanons regarding these three, particularly during Lune’s childhood, so uh. Hopefully someone else finds this interesting or amusing like I do orz I will admit I’m hesitant on Natoru’s portrayal here because I’m not sure how most people interpret her (or him, if you prefer the dub, aha). I haven’t gotten the chance to write her that often on my RP blog, so this kinda feels to me like jumping headfirst into a shallow pool

                                                          &&&

Natoru plays a lot of roles. She is at once first-line defense and confidante, exorcist and companion. She weaves wild stories and tall tales while battling and eradicating the monsters that manage to sneak out of their imaginary environments to threaten her little ward’s security. She takes care of spiders and hornets. Checks the closet for less rational pests. Peers under the bed each night to shoo out the monsters, too.

It’s because of this, she thinks to herself later once her wits finally arrive, that she ends up being very gently nudged awake by a visibly shaken charcoal-colored kitten in the middle of the night during an extended visit to a neighboring but distant kingdom (the queen’s original home, in fact, a detail that still brings Natoru no small amount of confusion).

“...Natoru..?” Lune sounds hopeful but timid.

“Ehhh.” It’s vaguely questioning, she rationalizes, if a little muffled. She hasn’t quite found the motivation to lift her face from her sleepy haze just yet.

“Can I… can I sleep in here?”

“Why do y’ wanna sleep in ‘ere..?”

Lune fidgets, plays with the edges of his sleeves. “...be… because there’s a ghost in my room.”

Oh. It takes at least a solid minute for that childish (albeit straightforward, she’ll give him that) reasoning to sink in, but once it does, Natoru realizes she’s not getting off the hook that easily. Finally resigning herself to being awake and active again, she hauls herself up from her face-down, torpid position and searches for Lune in the darkness, rubbing at her eyes sleepily.

“Should I go throw him out?”

It takes Lune some time to answer, and when he does, he stares down at his feet as he speaks. “...N-No. I’d rather just stay in here.”

“Eh? How come?”

“...b-because… um. What if… what if the ghosts here are stronger than the ones at home?”

“There are no ghosts stronger than me,” Natoru brags. What a more sweet-natured, maternal cat might have claimed only in the interest of reassuring Lune, she seems to wholly believe, and not for the first time it becomes obvious just why the kitten has taken such a shine to her.

“Really..? How do you know?”

Natoru doesn’t falter, patting her chest with one paw and planting the other on her hip.

"Because I'm the strongest," she answers matter-of-factly.

Lune, still standing at the edge of the bed she'd chosen (though now noticeably with a straighter posture than before), seems to spend some time thinking that over. Finally, hesitantly, he says, “But this isn’t home. What if the ghosts here are stronger than the ones you know? What if the dark makes them stronger?”

Natoru pauses thoughtfully, but ultimately shakes her head. “Nah. I’ve been all over, Lune. And I was born in the human world-- it gets dark there, too. Still no match for me~” She gives him a sunny smile, patently cute as it always is because of her soft, chubby face, but the undercurrent of chaos can not be denied.

What had been a gradual and noticeable decrease in his fear appears to reach a plateau; Lune is convinced, his tail and ears perking back up.

“I’m so grateful! You’re super cool, Natoru!”

“Yep,” Natoru agrees as she hops off her bed to join him on their trek back to his room.

                                                         &&&

Lune begins to trail behind her the closer to his guest room they approach, but she neglects to comment on it. Instead, she tosses the beaded curtain in the doorway aside like a particularly bothersome obstacle, and strolls inside. In stark contrast, Lune tiptoes in behind her, looking furtively from one corner of the room to the next as if he expects to be ambushed. (Well, perhaps he does.)

“Okay, Ghost, you had your fun!” Natoru starts as boldly as she can, paws on her hips. “How’s that one song go? You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here! It’s bedtime for Lune.” Then, a little quieter but just as determined, and in a smug tone that shows she absolutely relishes saying it, “And if you don’t listen, then I’m gonna kick you in the head.”

To Lune, she adds, “That’s another great song. Recommend it.”

“It’s about kicking monsters in the head..?”

“Yeah,” Natoru says with a cheerful, heedless shrug.

The two of them are met with a stifling silence afterwards, as Natoru expected, but still she waits for Lune to give his approval. Creeping out from behind her, he pads softly further into the room, one, two steps at a time, again scrutinizing the corners. In the end, he doesn’t turn directly to face her, most likely mindful of the darkened void beneath the bed behind him, but he does look back to her.

“...will you check the bed and closet too..?”

“Of course.”

                                                         &&&

It’s after he’s tucked back into his own bed that Lune asks, “It gets dark in the human world?”

“Every night.”

“How long does a night last?”

Natoru pauses there. 

“...I don’t remember.” She does remember it feeling quite long sometimes, though. It doesn’t seem pertinent to tell Lune. “Time feels different in the human world.”

“How so?”

Again, she pauses, this time in thought more so than in uncharacteristic caution.

The truth is, she thinks, maybe it’s not that time feels different in the human world, but simply that she had once been different. A long time ago, before she came to the Cat Kingdom. Those memories are odd— they don’t fit like they should. She thinks sometimes it may be akin to trying to play one of Natori’s beloved records in a CD player. 

“It’s different because you can tell time has passed just by looking around at the sky and the ground, but it doesn’t actually feel like time has passed. It’s disorienting.”

“The ground changes, too?”

“Yeah!” She chirps. “Sometimes it snows, or it rains. Then you get mud. That stuff’s tons of fun.”

“I’ve seen pictures of it,” Lune starts thoughtfully. “It looks messy.”

“Mm. Natori would have a fit if you discovered how fun it is, too.”

“Maybe I’ll get to play with it, too, then. Someday.”

“Probably! You’ll have your own adventures in the human world, eventually.”

“I hope so,” Lune starts. “It sounds like such a funny place.”

Whatever Natoru might have planned to say to that, no doubt to agree, to tell him of the other oddities abound in the human world, it’s lost in obscurity, as, of all cats, Natori seems to see fit to enter at that time, peeking in through the beaded doorway with a look of subdued disapproval. In some distant part of her brain, the part that’s always faintly amused at her coworker’s finicky quirks, Natoru briefly entertains the idea that perhaps he’d been supernaturally summoned by the talk of mud.

“What on earth are the two of you doing awake at this hour..?”

Natoru answers easily enough, tone blithe as ever. “Don’t look at me, Lune’s the one who dragged me out of bed ‘cause of a ghost.”

Judging from Lune’s offended expression in return, he’s not at all appreciative of his idol throwing him under the bus. Natori, also, regards her with a disapproving frown, paws settling at his hips. To herself, Natoru thinks his current countenance lines up pretty solidly with that of the quintessential, matronly governess.

“Natoru, don’t go blaming your foible on the child.”

“But he did wake me up because of a ghost,” Natoru protests.

It’s at this exchange that Lune’s indignation seems to fade, so that he appears relatively chastened, shamed. “...I’m sorry, Natori, I did wake her up for that.”

Natori seems to… deflate, almost, padding to Lune’s bedside with a sigh. “It’s nothing that warrants an apology, my prince. You’re in no trouble.” Then, while busily straightening the crocheted blanket atop the comforter, “...another ghost, then..?”

Lune’s embarrassed silence says it all, he supposes. So it appears then that Natori decides to move past it without comment in response. A phase, he tells himself, brought about by recent stressors, and one that will fade as they do.

“Well. It is quite late, and there’s an early morning ahead of us all. We should all be more rested, you know. This isn’t the night for tall tales.”

“Hey, speaking of, how come you’re awake, Natori?” Natoru starts shrewdly.

An inquiry the grey cat was clearly not prepared for, as his first response to it is to open his mouth to voice his answer… only to close it again with a light snap once he realizes either he has no suitable excuse or that that suitable excuse is tremendously weak in theory.

“...It’s not important,” he eventually settles on, formal, demure. Leaving precious little room for followup clarifications, though he must know by now that such a thing will not stop Natoru.

“Natori, have you ever been to the human world?” Lune asks.

“Yes, occasionally,” Natori replies, head canted just slightly in curiosity at where Lune’s evident investigation is going.

“Do you have a favorite thing about it?”

“A favorite thing? Well, let me think…”

After a moment, all too aware of Lune’s expectant gaze on him and doing his best to ignore Natoru’s amused, knowing stare (yes, Natoru, he realizes he’s being massively hypocritical right now), Natori seems to decide on, “I suppose I’d say it’s probably the scenery— er, the variety in it, in particular.”

Lune nods excitedly. “The variety! That intrigues me so much, Natori. I’ve seen the pictures of the  forests and mountains and the oceans— they’re all so huge, Natori, aren’t they? I can’t imagine how big the human world must be to have multiple oceans in it..!”

“I do imagine it must be hard for you,” Natori agrees indulgently with a laugh. Then, a touch diffidently, “...having seen but a fraction of it myself, I must admit it’s rather difficult for me, as well, at times.” His attention wanders to Natoru, who is still lounging propped up on her paws on the end of Lune’s bed like a proper house cat. She wears a thoughtful, somewhat faraway expression, and he wonders what it is she’s thinking of. But, unobtrusive and respectful as ever, Natori doesn’t pry. Instead, he asks, “Did you shoo out the ghost, then?”

Natoru snaps out of her apparent reverie, nodding a time or two and waving her paw in disregard. “Oh, yeah, he’s toast.” And to Lune, “I scared him off, didn’t I?”

“Yup! You said you’d kick him in the head if he came back.”

Ah, that earns her another long-suffering look from Natori, though he doesn’t voice his disapproval this time. Natoru just gives him another of her patented sunny smiles.

“...Well,” Natori starts readily. “If that’s the case, I think that’s enough ill-timed chatter to last us the night. Morning will arrive before you know it, and I’ll not oblige any requests to sleep in.” Spoken while gently tugging the comforter up over Lune’s shoulders, now that the crocheted blanket has been righted.

“Can I ask one last question, Natori?”

“Yes,” Natori answers primly, somewhat absently, if his concentration on Lune’s already straightened bedcovers is anything to go by.

“It’s about the human world again.” And there Lune hesitates, at least until Natori gives another acknowledging noise. “I keep reading about... how big the human world is, and you and Natoru say it is, too. And— and all the stuff that’s in it, things you can’t see here. Do you think… I mean, because it’s so… There’s so much in it, so do you think… someone could go there, but eventually run out of things to see?”

His voice has lowered to be so soft his two companions nearly miss his question in its entirety, and it along with his insistence on keeping his gaze glued to some indeterminate spot to his side tells them both this line of questioning is not just a child’s rambling, all-encompassing curiosity. Because of this, it seems the two of them struggle for an answer for some time— one that must be reassuring and optimistic, but also can not conclusively discuss the issue. It hasn’t been named yet; it has yet to be spoken aloud to Lune, and it is not the place of the royal advisor nor their vaguely-defined assistant to do so.

Paws lingering over the plush comforter where he’s folded it over Lune’s shoulders, Natori finally replies, timidly, “...Anything is possible.” 

“Sure, there’s a lot to see. But nothing beats good old home,” is Natoru’s helpful addition. “A cat’s bound to get homesick at some point.”

Lune doesn’t respond for a few long minutes, but neither Natori nor Natoru move to prompt or hurry him, even when the silence begins to feel acutely oppressive, and Natoru almost wishes a real ghost would break the tension. Eventually, however, Lune gives a very small sigh, and his attention wanders from his earlier inconsequential spot to Natori’s face. It’s not quite his more usual bright and inquisitive demeanor, but it’s at least a step away from the nervous reserve he’d been exhibiting just moments before.

“...I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes. It’s certainly a fascinating place, but it’s no Cat Kingdom. The comforts of familiarity compel all of us to look homeward at least occasionally.”

Lune seems to think that over for a moment, glancing down to the hem of the blanket covering him once (Natoru thinks he must be imagining his own bed back at home, and his colorful bedroom, eternally bathed in sunlight). This time, when he looks to the two of them, it’s with a decidedly more self-assured air. 

“Okay! So I’ll stay as familiar as I possibly can!”

Natoru laughs— she can’t help it. It’s such an endearingly straightforward conclusion to come to. Natori, however… she notices the way his expression tenses, the conflicted, nervous debate he must be waging on the inside. Lune has taken away the wrong message from all this, and it should be addressed and amended, but... it’s only getting later, and Natori had entered the conversation with a chiding lecture about the late hour. He looks tired, too, Natoru notes to herself, probably a crucial trigger for his indecisiveness.

“You got it, Lune,” she decides to chime in, pushing herself up onto her haunches now. “But I think it’s time to stick a fork in this one, because I’m ready to go back to dreamland.”

Lune’s eyes light up further. “Oh! Maybe I’ll dream of the human world.”

“Maybe!”

Natori seems to just accept this abrupt left turn in the conversation in his usual yielding way, but he does see fit to add, in a soft tone that comes perhaps dangerously close to pleading, “...Lune… it’s all well and good to desire to remain... recognizable, but…”

There he dithers for some time, at a loss for what he wants to say or how to say it, most likely, as he utters numerous false starts before finally appearing to give up. Instead, lips straightening to a thin line, he fixes the kitten with a sort of wistfully helpless smile, and gives a comically uncharacteristic shrug.

“...Well. It’s late, as we’ve all pointed out. Goodnight, my prince. Now that your room has been cleared of its phantoms, please don’t dawdle on your way back to the Land of Nod. The sun will rise before you know it.”

“I won’t, Natori.”

Natori inclines his head once in wordless approval as he turns to leave, gaze also lingering meaningfully on Natoru (one she again only returns a blithe smile to), before he leaves in much the same natural way he’d first arrived. Natoru takes the opportunity to hop off Lune’s bed and dust herself off, though even her own reasoning for doing so escapes her. Lune, meanwhile, appears somewhat thoughtful, if distantly uncertain.

“Is it really so close to morning? I’m sorry for waking you, a-and for keeping you up all this time.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll let you in on a secret, actually—” Here she glances behind her to confirm that Natori has, indeed, left, before continuing in a hushed but shrewdly amused manner, “I know Natori said he wouldn’t let us sleep in, but just keep in mind that what your dad says goes, and he hasn’t seen a morning in years.”

And so it was that Natoru gained another point from the child prince to set in her ‘cool’ pile.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Recovery

I was several prompts behind in @drawlight‘s advent challenge.

So I, uh, I did all of them.

8,500+ words hurt/comfort snowed in and there’s only one bed tenderness bonding pining bedsharing walking arm-in-arm protective crowley hurt aziraphale makeovers Greek poetry genuine affection and then I BREAK YOUR HEART.

This is your only warning.

15 - Laughter 16 - Ice Storm 17 - Ornament 20 - Reindeer 21 - Gift

Aziraphale woke, which was itself unusual, because he didn’t remember falling asleep.

He didn’t like sleeping. It was strange, it was pointless, and downright disorienting. His mind was filled with patent nonsense about…trees? Swimming? Something about the Garden of Eden. And a lengthy diatribe on different cloak materials given by…Gabriel, he thought.

All of that faded away into a sense of being comfortably buried in a pile of soft, dark feathers, an earthy smell, mixed with smoke and pine, and warmth.

This was the point where he woke up.

He was still trying to sort out what was dream and what was reality. The scents seemed real, the soft pile seemed to be furs (some of them dark), not feathers. He tried to sit up, but his limbs still felt all soft and heavy…

“Are you finally awake, then?” demanded a very familiar voice.

Suddenly, Aziraphale had all the energy he needed to sit upright. There, not ten feet away, stood a certain demon in black breeches and belted tunic. A certain demon, he realized in a rush of heat, who had made a small but rather memorable appearance in his dream.

“C – Crawley! What are you doing here?”

Golden eyes stared at him for a moment. “Well, I live here, for a start.”

Aziraphale looked around – as his eyes adjusted, he could see that they were in a small, round hut, with a tall conical roof. The fire in the center illuminated Crawley, but mostly just created darker shadows. Just enough light to see that the walls were stone filled in with mud and straw, the roof a thick thatch of some form. In the darkness on the other side of the hearth, a rectangle of light marked the entryway, covered by some kind of mat.

“Ah. Right. And…where is here, exactly?”

“Probably the fourth most miserable island I’ve had the misfortune to be assigned to. The locals call it Pritani, though this far north it’s Alba.”

“That sounds familiar.” The fog of sleep had mostly cleared, and he could now remember Gabriel, rather rudely interrupting his lunch in Halicarnassos to tell Aziraphale he’d been reassigned. A quick message to deliver to one of the tribal leaders, teleport in and out, back before you know it. “I thought it was in the Celtic lands.”

“Oh, it is. This is definitely Celtic land.”

“Then wh –” Aziraphale very abruptly realized that the pile of furs he was lying among was almost certainly Crawley’s bed. He still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but he needed to get out of it. Immediately.

He tossed aside the layers covering him, jumping to his feet – and instantly regretted it.

Despite the fire, the hut was frigid. Aziraphale’s feet froze on contact with the bare earth, and a cold wind seemed to twist around him, cutting through the light linen of his knee-length wrap. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck prickled, standing up, and he felt the shivers begin somewhere between his shoulder blades and ripple out through his entire body.

Aziraphale had never, ever been so cold.

He snapped his fingers, trying to increase the heat of the fire.

Nothing.

He tried again, attempting to manifest warmer clothes.

Nothing.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers over and over, trying to summon his cloak, a bowl of soup, even one of the furs off the bed behind him.

Nothing worked.

“What…” he demanded faintly, suddenly unable to focus. “What did you do…?”

“I didn’t do anything, except drag you in here out of an ice storm. Get back in that bed before you discorporate on me.” Despite his harsh tone, Crawley’s hands were gentle as he shoved Aziraphale back onto the fur-covered bench, pulling the thickest back over him. “Stay here, or I swear I’ll sit on you.”

“This is absurd, why am I – why can’t I –” He sneezed.

They both stared in shock for a moment. Angels sneezed even less often than they slept.

“If you’ve got some wretched virus,” Crawley growled warningly, “you’re on your own. I’m not making you soup or…whatever it is humans do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m an angel. I don’t get sick.” Or cold. Or tired. Or lose my ability to perform miracles. He finally relented, curling up in the bed on his side. “Do you…do you know what happened?”

Crawley shrugged, stepping back to tend to the fire again. “I was sitting here, getting ready for another bloody winter of ice and ten-foot snow drifts when suddenly I sensed a lot of power somewhere in the area. I figured either a small angelic army was about to appear on my threshold, or some idiot had just teleported himself across the entire continent without preparing properly. So, I went to check it out.” He glared across the fire, eyes catching the light like golden embers. “One idiot, frozen almost solid.”

“But I did prepare myself,” Aziraphale insisted. “I’ve been to the Celtic lands before, and I’ve never burned out my powers doing it.” He shivered, huddling deeper under the furs. “And it certainly wasn’t so cold, either.”

“Really? Which tribes have you visited, then?”

“Many! Thracians, Illyrians, Dacians. Not to mention the tribes north of the Latin cities.”

Crawley hmm’d over that rather longer than he needed to. “Sounds like you haven’t really been outside the Greek-speaking sphere, then.”

“I went to Iberia once,” he admitted. That could explain things, if he’d teleported himself from the eastern end of the Mediterranean to the western. “The Lusitani, then?”

“Getting closer. Go north.”

“Gauls?”

“More north.”

Aziraphale had to wrack his brains. He’d never even heard of people living beyond the Gauls. “Belgae?” he ventured.

Crawley sighed and pointed towards the entryway. “We’re about eight miles northwest of the nearest Votadini settlement; go north about a day and you get into Pictish lands. Right here, though, is just about the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ve…never heard of any of that. Are we…far from Halicarnassos?”

“Oh, Angel. You just teleported yourself about twenty-five hundred miles. You’ll be lucky to get your power back before spring.”

--

It had taken over an hour of searching the woods to find Aziraphale, his sense so dim it might as well have not existed.

An ice storm isn’t as dramatic as the name sounds. It looks, from the safety of a warm shelter, like a gentle rain. Except that each drop burned with cold where it found bare skin, except that the ground froze into layer after layer of slick white ice, except that the wind cut through everything, biting, tearing away every bit of warmth.

Even with his full power, creating a bubble of warmth under his furs, Crawley had been miserable every second he’d been outside. How much worse, then, for Aziraphale?

Crawley had found him, unconscious and barely shivering, under a fir tree, useless linen cloak soaked through, ice already forming in his hair. There’d been a scroll clutched in his hand, but the ink had run, the message ruined.

A few quick miracles had stabilized the now-all-too-mortal angel; now he just needed time to recover his strength. He’d slept through most of the day, pale white face nestled among the dark furs of Crawley’s bed. He snored. Not very angelic, a snore like that.

Now that he was awake – now that he was aware of how badly he’d burned himself out – Crawley let Aziraphale sulk, hiding under the covers, for a bit longer. Then he dropped a pile of clothes on the end of the sleeping bench. “You’ll want to get changed. Fine linen won’t do you much good up here.”

The angel sat up, tugging at the tunic Crawley had manifested for him. It wasn’t easy, manifesting clothes for someone else, since Crawley generally just made them appear on his own body. Nothing his size would fit, so he’d probably erred on the side of making them too big. Leggings. Tunic. Wool cloak. All in undyed white, since Aziraphale probably wouldn’t appreciate black and red.

“You, ah, you didn’t need to do this.”

“Yes, I did. Once you’re ready I can walk you to whichever settlement you’re supposed to be at and you can spend the winter with them. But if you try and step out dressed like that, you’ll probably be discorporated in less than an hour.”

“Well. I suppose you have a point.” Aziraphale pulled his arms out from under the fur and quickly unhooked one of the pins holding his wrap together. It parted at the neck, revealing quite a lot of bicep and chest.

Crawley spun away, startled at how hot his face felt. It was just a body, for Satan’s sake. Not even his real body, just a false one he wore to look human. There was no reason to feel embarrassed or…whatever this other emotion was.

“I’ll just. Get some more firewood while you do that.” He hurried out, pushing aside the willow mat to step into the frigid air once again.

Most of the firewood had already been moved inside; realistically he wouldn’t need to replenish from the woodpile for at least a month. But the slap of the wind in his face, the splash of rain down the back of his neck, was exactly what he needed just now.

The ground was treacherous, even more than it had been this morning. He waved his fingers, manifesting a clear path, but even as he walked it began to freeze up again, and where the water stayed liquid it leaked into his shoes, freezing his toes.

It took ten minutes to get enough dry wood free from the pile to make the trip worth it. That should be more than enough time for the angel to figure out breeches. But walking back with his armload of wood only reminded him of the other burden he’d carried in earlier.

He hadn’t wanted to carry Aziraphale in his arms. Oh, he could miracle himself strong enough for the task, for a short while at least. But it had seemed almost a violation of trust, an intimacy that he should have asked permission for. To have his arms around the shoulders and legs, to feel the soft curve of the belly pressed into his, to have Aziraphale’s face rest on his shoulder, so close…

To hear that breath get more and more shallow, to feel the heat slip away…

With a shudder, he pushed back through the mat into the dark roundhouse. Aziraphale was sitting on the side of the bed, fiddling with the brooch that held his cloak shut.

“Here, I’ll do it.” Crawley tossed aside the wood. He could stack it later. He sat down on the bed, and found that Aziraphale was trying to clasp his cloak with one of the long, straight fibulae that had held together his linen outfit. “This isn’t going to work. Use one of mine.” He snapped his fingers and summoned – oops.

“How interesting.” Aziraphale picked up the nearly circular piece of iron. The metal was twisted, as if coiled, and the two ends where they parted had the shape of snake heads. “I suppose serpents are quite fashionable, aren’t they?” His tone suggested he was teasing, but Crawley couldn’t see any hint of it in his eyes.

“I can…I can make a new one. What do you want? Just plain? Maybe some feathers?”

“No, this is fine. I want to blend in, don’t I?”

Crawley shrugged, and quickly jabbed the penannular brooch through the wool of the cloak, fastening it over his left shoulder. “When you want to take it off, just pull it over your head. Don’t mess around with the pin again.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale stood up. “I suppose, yes, this outfit is fine. If you could see your way to giving me some shoes, I can be out of your hair.”

“So soon?”

“I was under the impression that my presence was making things difficult for you.”

Crawley gulped, tracing the toe of his shoe through the earthen floor. “Not difficult, really. I just…I thought you were really sick for a bit. I don’t know how to take care of someone who’s sick. Kind of useless like that.”

“It would appear you have taken care of me…more than adequately.”

Crawley nodded. “Well, if you go out now, you will get sick. And then I’m stuck with you making all kinds of weird body fluids. Let’s wait until the storm is over.”

--

By the time night fell, the rain still hadn’t stopped. Crawley manifested some hot food – roasted meat, berries and nuts, a bit of bread.

“I’m not very good at it yet,” he grumbled, taking a drink of something from a mug. He had stockpiled several large jars of alcoholic-smelling liquid, but very little actual food. “I only eat occasionally, so I don’t practice.”

“Well, it tastes very…authentic,” Aziraphale encouraged. It did taste exactly like real food, or at least he couldn’t tell it wasn’t. He didn’t know what these particular berries were supposed to taste like. “And it’s quite filling,” he added, breaking off another piece of bread.

“Nh. I can make you more of the same, but that’s about it. You’re going to need to eat and sleep every day until your powers return.”

“I’m sure I can manage on this for as long as I need to.” He hesitated, hand halfway to his mouth. “Sleep, too?”

Crawley shrugged. “Maybe every two days. I don’t know how it works with angels. Are you feeling tired yet?”

“No.” Aziraphale struggled to stay sitting up. “I’m just… My mind feels a little slow. And my head is heavy. And my legs feel…strange…”

Crawley laughed a little. “Yes, that’s the exhaustion. Lay down for a bit.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, certainly not. I slept enough today.” Perhaps a quick walk would clear his head, if only there was somewhere to go.

“Doesn’t matter, Angel. You’ve been sick and, healing or no, you need rest.”

“I’m not tired, Crawley. It’s probably just all the smoke. Why do you have the fire in the middle of your living chamber? It can’t be good for the lungs.”

“It keeps the walls from freezing. And I can see you’re tired, it’s all over your face.”

“You’re lying.” Aziraphale caught himself rubbing his hand against his eye and slapped it down on the ground.

“Aziraphale. Do I have to force you back into the bed?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Crawley considered this. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. Seems like a strange thing to do. Sleep on the floor if you like, it’s what I plan to do.”

“Now you’re just being silly. You take the bed, I’m not planning to sleep.”

Crawley just rolled his eyes and drained his cup. Then he stretched out next to the banked fire, as if he hadn’t even heard the suggestion. “Night.”

“Don’t be absurd, I know you can’t fall asleep that quickly.” No response except for the gentle flicker of the cooling coals. Aziraphale stared at them, hoping the light and heat would give him something to focus on. And he could recite.

“Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumber’d, heavenly goddess sing! That wrath which hurl’d to Pluto’s gloomy reign The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain…”

He tried to focus on the words, to ignore the way his voice started to slur them almost immediately, the way he kept faltering through the familiar lines. It was like being drunk, but not being able to sober up. And there was the yawning. Just losing control over his jaw, his breathing. How do humans live like this?

“…’Instab…Insatiate king,’ this man relied, ‘Fond of power…ah…fonder…something…prize! Would’st thou the Greeks…their something something prey… The…spoils? No reward, oh blast, of…field…should yield!’”

“So, is everyone in this poem an ass?”

“Beg your pardon?” Aziraphale didn’t even have the energy to be indignant. His whole brain felt stuffed full of cotton.

“All the men fighting over who gets to torment which women. Do the women kill them all in the end?”

“Mmmmh, no, mostly they kill each other.” He struggled to remember. “Agamemnon gets killed by his wife, though.”

“Nice.” A pair of gold eyes appeared in the darkness beyond the hearth. “Just lay down and go to sleep. You need it.”

“No. I hate it.” Aziraphale rubbed his face again. “I hate sleeping. It’s a waste of time, doesn’t make sense, and gets all…dreamlike,” he found he couldn’t even make a sentence. “And it feels like dying.”

“What?”

“Falling asleep. Mind slipping away. Everything goes dim. Like dying.” He dug both hands into his eyes. “Don’t know if I’ll wake up.”

“Of course you’ll wake up. There’s nothing wrong with you, Aziraphale, and your body is fine, just a little worn out. Even if something did go wrong, you’d wake up back in Heaven.”

He shook his head. Then he shook it again, hoping the movement might help. It didn’t.

Suddenly, Crawley was standing next to him. “Get in the bed.”

“Mmmh?”

“You’re about to fall over on the floor. It’s going to be undignified, and you’ll be embarrassed in the morning. Just get into the bed.”

Aziraphale was too tired to protest. The soft furs embraced him, and once more were piled on top, it was all he could do from slipping into complete insensibility.

Crawley knelt beside the bed. “I’ll be right here. Nothing’s going to happen to you while you’re asleep.” He placed his hand on the furs next to Aziraphale, and he found his own fingers curling around the demon’s warm palm.

“You need to sleep,” Aziraphale reminded him, voice now thick and slow.

“Nah. I only sleep cuz I like it. You’re the one who needs to sleep.” Crawley’s thumb traced across the back of his hand. “Just close your eyes. You’re almost there.”

Aziraphale didn’t remember falling asleep.

He did remember that this dream featured more than just a brief appearance of red hair and golden eyes.

When he finally awoke, it was to find Crawley still beside him, still holding his hand, and fast asleep.

The demon’s head rested on one of the furs, red hair spilling around it. It was shorter than he usually wore it – a little more than shoulder length – and bits of it were woven into braids, while other parts were loose and free.

Feeling strangely emboldened – maybe from the sleep, maybe from the dream – Aziraphale reached over and shifted one braid where it hung across Crawley’s face, tucking it back behind his ear. The demon’s face was so relaxed, none of his usual sour expression. So peaceful.

Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Aziraphale got out of the bed and set about building the fire. When Crawley finally woke, Aziraphale didn’t tell him how they’d slept, fingers entwined, faces so close. How could he explain it?

What if it made Crawley angry?

What if it didn’t?

--

“We should try going for a walk,” Crawley said as Aziraphale picked at some food by the fire. “The nearest settlement is a little less than a day in either direction. I want to make sure you have your strength back before we try that.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I’m fine, Crawley. There’s no need to worry.”

“You only slept the entire day yesterday. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” He squinted at Aziraphale’s face, which had been bright pink all morning. “And you look a bit flushed. Maybe we should stay in after all, you might be getting worse.”

“Stop fussing. I’m probably just…sitting too close to the fire.” Aziraphale climbed to his feet. “If walking will prove I’m fine, then we walk. I will need some form of foot covering, of course.”

Crawley manifested a pair of leather shoes, then another when the first didn’t fit. He added extra woolen leg wraps, a felted hat, and finally a large, heavy fur. Again and again, Aziraphale told him not to fret – but he put on each new addition.

Crawley still didn’t like how pale he looked, in between the moments of pink flush. Of course, wearing so much white was bound to make anyone look sallow; but the only other color Crawley knew how to make was black.

“Are you satisfied?” Aziraphale asked. “I look like a ball of cotton.”

“One more.” He snapped his fingers and produced a long wool scarf.

“Really, my dear fellow, I don’t think I’m going to need a sweat cloth out there.”

“What? No, up here they wear them for warmth.” He showed the angel how to wrap it around his neck, cover his mouth, and tuck the rest under his furs.

“There really is no need to worry,” Aziraphale started again in a slightly muffled voice.

“Maybe a pair of mittens?”

“I’m walking outside now.”

The storm had covered the world in beautiful devastation. Every twig on every tree was coated with almost half an inch of perfectly clear ice, sparkling in the sunlight. Several smaller ones had been pulled double, bent to the ground under the weight of frozen water. Enormous icicles hung from the eaves of the roundhouse.

“It’s incredible,” Aziraphale breathed, a hiss of white vapor working its way out from under the scarf. “I assume your home isn’t usually in the middle of a lake.”

“Nope.” He rammed his heel into the ground, planning to break off a piece, but instead nearly fell over. Aziraphale laughed as he skidded, grabbing at the roundhouse for balance. “Never mind that. But it’s not even two inches thick.” He waved a finger at the path ahead, parting the ice enough for the two of them to walk side-by-side.

The angel looked around appreciatively as their path brought them deeper into the white forest. “It’s very quiet, though,” he said suddenly. “No birds or anything.”

“I don’t know about down in the Greek lands, but most birds and animals don’t stick around once it starts getting cold. They either sleep through it or head further south.”

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Winters in Ephesus or Neapolis are definitely warmer. Where would you rather be?”

“Ah, I’m not much for migration. Normally I sleep through the winter, but someone’s been using my bed.”

When Crawley realized what he’d said, he wished he could encase himself in ice. No chance Aziraphale missed it, either, he was looking right at Crawley, and with everything else buried in warm layers it was very obvious how wide his eyes were, how high his eyebrows.

“But, you know, some animals are very stupid. Some birds from even further north like to spend the winter here. Probably moved on ahead of this storm, but if you’re lucky there might be some ducks at the lake. Would you like to see the ducks?”

He was babbling, but he needed something, anything to get Aziraphale to stop staring at him like that. He walked off, as fast as he could, leaving the angel to hurry in his wake.

“Crawley! Slow down!”

He turned to walk backwards, planning to say something clever, but realized Aziraphale was genuinely struggling. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…” He bent over, hands planted on his knees, gasping for breath. “I don’t seem to have any, you know, stamina today.”

Crawley rushed back over, pulling down the scarf to get a good look at Aziraphale’s face, studying his eyes especially. “I don’t like how you look. We’re going back.”

“Oh, not yet.” Aziraphale took another breath. “I’m not that weak. Can we walk to the lake? I would like to see the ducks.”

“It’s pretty far. I’m not sure you can make it.”

“No, I’ll be fine. I just can’t go too fast.” Aziraphale smiled, but Crawley wasn’t convinced.

“Fine. But hold onto my arm.”

“Crawley, I’m not an invalid.”

“Take my arm or we’re going back.” He held out his right elbow, and after a moment Aziraphale slipped his arms through. “Alright. This way.”

--

It was a rather long way to the lake, and more than once Aziraphale was glad to have Crawley’s arm to lean on. Not that he would say that.

“I haven’t seen any other houses.”

“And you won’t. No one lives on this strip of land except me.”

“Whyever not? It’s quite lovely and peaceful here.”

“Only because everyone’s bundled up inside for the winter. There’s at least four different tribes in easy walking distance from here, and they’re constantly fighting, stealing each other’s cattle, and generally making nuisances of themselves.”

“That’s a pity.  Why…” Aziraphale glared at him. “Crawley.”

“What? I’m a demon. Did you think I was up here getting in touch with nature for my health? For some reason, Hell constantly wants to see them fighting each other, so every week I’m Tempting one clan leader or another tribal elder. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” He shrugged. “They are loud, though, so I usually take the winter off.”

“Still. I can’t believe you’ve been up here for – how many years now? Just making sure a few hundred people are constantly at war?”

“They do most of the work themselves, honestly. They were fighting long before I showed up, and they’ll be fighting long after I’m reassigned to some other unnamed pile of rock in the middle of nowhere. Which is just about every decade. I’ve been here for seven years now.”

“Seems rather pointless, when you put it like that,” Aziraphale murmured, looking again around the silent glass forest.

“I mean, it’s better than being Gabriel’s messenger boy. Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped as Aziraphale turned his glare back at Crawley. “You told me yourself he’s been sending you to deliver messages all around the Mediterranean. Are they really that important? Is what you came up here to say worth risking your life for?”

“Not my life, just my corporation,” Aziraphale insisted, then sighed. “But, no, I memorized the message before I came over, and I don’t think it was worth the journey.”

“Really? What did it say?”

The angel tried to look stern. “I’m to tell one of the tribal leaders to stop fighting with his neighbors.” Crawley’s eyes went wide with shock, and suddenly Aziraphale couldn’t hold back the smile. “There were several very elaborate pleas and arguments I was supposed to make, you know. Very convincing material.”

Crawley threw back his head and laughed. “Well. I’m sure whatever Gabriel wrote for you to say is more than enough to counteract my influence.”

“Oh, it was a very compelling argument. All about the many advantages of joining civilization.”

“Really? Advantages?” Aziraphale didn’t like the grin Crawley was giving him now. “Name one.”

“Name one? It’s civilization, it’s all advantages.” Aziraphale huffed. “Fine. Roads.”

“Already have them. Nice and broad and connecting most of the settlements.”

“Trade networks.”

“Have those, too. It’s a bit slow, but the metals get where they need to be.”

“Literature.”

“No one needs your misogynistic war poem. Next.”

“Fine, how about writing? Do they even have record keeping?”

“Nope. But talk to some Druids, they have this oral tradition thing down to a science.”

“Bath houses.”

“Natural hot springs.”

“Stone working.”

“Did you see my house?”

“Monumental architecture.”

“Make sure you visit some of the stone circles on your way out. Might not be Khufu’s pyramid, but it’s not nothing.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “You sound almost proud of them.”

Crawley didn’t even bother to hide his smile. “Look, they might be a bunch of cattle-stealing shit heads, but they don’t need an emperor or a king or a senate or some other collection of assholes sitting in a fancy building to tell them how to do things. They do fine on their own.”

“It’s not about the leader, it’s about a structured society. It’s the only way to get things accomplished!”

“Is it though?”

Aziraphale concentrated on walking, and fuming in silence. How much further was this stupid lake anyway?

Suddenly, Crawley stopped short. “Look!” he pointed ahead.

Between the trees, Aziraphale saw – not a lake, but a herd of enormous deer, half with antlers, covered in thick fur coats in brown and grey and white. They stomped at the ice, shuffling it aside to browse at dried grass, leaves, and even rocks. One scraped its fuzzy antlers at a tree trunk, cracking the ice, nibbling on the bark underneath.

“Those aren’t ducks,” Aziraphale said cleverly, watching the herd slowly move across their path.

“Obviously not. Reindeer. They don’t usually come this far from the mountains.”

They watched for a long time. There was something majestic, peaceful about the enormous creatures, nosing their way through the forest. Where a deer might have panicked and run, these hardly even spared a glance toward the angel and demon.

When they finally passed out of sight, Aziraphale realized he was leaning quite heavily on Crawley. “I suppose we should head back,” he said softly. “That’s more than enough for today.”

--

Another meal, another few hours by the fire, and Crawley was pleased to see Aziraphale’s color was turning back to something almost normal, by his standards. Not that he was watching.

At least, not obviously watching. He was holding the wool cloak he’d manifested the day before, trying to add a bit of color.

“It’s probably fine, Crawley,” Aziraphale said, watching him struggle. “I don’t mind wearing white.”

“Well, the people you’re supposed to visit will. Bright colors, fancy borders, lots of ornamentation. If you want to get their leader to listen to you, you’ll have to look the part.”

“I thought you didn’t like my message.”

“Just because you’re obviously doomed to failure doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get a chance to try.” He glanced up, then took a longer look. Aziraphale’s face had fallen, though he was trying not to show it. “What? What did I say?”

“No, it’s…you didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, I obviously did.” Crawley stood up and moved to sit beside the angel. “What is it now?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just.” He fiddled with his tunic, as if trying to figure out how it worked. “Whenever I have an original idea, Gabriel tells me I’m welcome to try, but it’s obviously doomed to failure. He’s usually right, too.”

“No he isn’t.” He focused on the cloak again, trying to imagine a pattern with simple stripes. “I’ve known you a long time. The ideas you come up with on your own are much better than whatever orders you’re given, and you know it. Have you actually ever successfully thwarted me by following what Gabriel told you to do?”

“Well, usually when I manage to thwart you, it’s because I convinced you that getting drunk was better than whatever you had planned.”

“And it works!” Crawley smiled at him. “I’m sure if you come up with your own argument for the leaders, it’ll work much better than the original message. Just don’t tell them to get drunk, they do that enough as it is.” He turned back to the cloak, which was now covered by a pattern of vertical and horizontal lines in beige, dark grey, and red. “Oh, what even is this?”

Aziraphale pulled it out of his hands. “I don’t know. It looks rather stylish to me.”

“You’re going to look ridiculous. No one dresses like that.”

“No one dresses like you either, dear. Maybe I should take a lesson from you.” He settled the cloak back around his shoulders, serpent pin under one ear, strange crossed line pattern falling down his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“It’s a start.” Crawley glanced at the willow mat; already all trace of sunlight was gone. Days were generally less than six hours this time of year. “But take it back off, you’ll just throttle yourself in your sleep.”

“Crawley, I’m not tired,” Aziraphale said, immediately betrayed by an enormous yawn.

“Yes, you are, because I’m also tired. Anyway, at least get under the furs so I can bank the fire. Then you can tell me more awful stories of horrible Greek men.”

Surprisingly, Aziraphale didn’t object this time. Crawley turned to the fire. With a flick of fingers, he lowered the flames to nothing, then carefully separated out the glowing coals, and piled ash on top of the remaining wood to keep it hot and ready to burn in the morning.

He turned back to find Aziraphale was in the bed, but the covering furs were still thrown open, and he’d left room enough for…

“No, Aziraphale. That’s. We’re not…No.”

“You said yourself that you prefer to sleep through the cold weather, and someone stole your bed. This is the obvious solution.”

“The obvious solution is for you to throw me one of the furs so the ground is more comfortable. Not…that.” Why was his face so hot?

“I really must insist,” Aziraphale said softly. “I saw…how you fell asleep last night. That angle could not have been comfortable. And if I’m worrying about you, I’ll never be able to sleep.”

It really wasn’t anything to worry about. Nothing was going to happen. They were only going to sleep. It even made sense because of body heat or something, which Crawley seemed to have more than enough of at the moment. They were two supernatural beings who just happened to be inhabiting human-shaped bodies that were both in need of sleep and warmth and really, wasn’t this the optimal storage solution?

Crawley wasn’t buying any of it.

“Look. Angel. Um.” What was he supposed to say? I can’t share a bed with you because I keep feeling things I’m fairly certain I’m not supposed to feel? He could never admit to that.

He carefully climbed onto the sleeping platform, taking care not to brush against Aziraphale in any way, pulling the furs up to cover them both.

Crawley was very…aware. Aware of every inch between them, where the distance was greater, where it was not. Aware of the brush of Aziraphale’s breath on his cheek and shoulder as they lay facing each other. Aware of how loudly his heart was beating. As his sight adjusted to the dark, aware of Aziraphale’s eyes, wide and very alert.

“You, um. You need to sleep, Angel.” As if either of them could sleep. No, don’t be stupid. Aziraphale’s awake because he doesn’t like sleep. He isn’t going to be feeling any of this, he’s an angel.

“But I mean it, Crawley, I’m not tired. Maybe I won’t sleep at all tonight.”

And now Crawley was aware of Aziraphale trembling, and not from the cold.

“It’s going to be alright. I’m here. Where’s –?” He found Aziraphale’s hand again, as he had last night, holding it loosely so the angel could pull away whenever he wanted. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Just fall asleep, dream a little, and when you wake up, it’s morning. Easy.”

“No, that’s all exactly what I don’t like. How can you stand it?”

“I don’t know. Makes a nice break from reality, I guess. And I like that part when you first wake up, and everything’s still slow and heavy. It’s nice.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I hate it. I hate all of it.”

“The more sleep you get, the sooner you’ll have your strength back.” He ran his thumb across Aziraphale’s fingers. “Go on. Tell me more of your poem. Was it almost over?”

“Oh. Ah. The works of Homer are…quite extensive, actually.”

“Nh.” Crawley closed his eyes. “Alright. Hit me with it. We were arguing over who got to keep women captured in battle, I think.”

The soft voice out of the darkness began to recite: “’Insatiate king,’ Achilles thus replies, ‘Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize! Would’st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, The due reward of many a well-fought field…?’”

Eventually, the drone of dactylic hexameter lulled them both to sleep, and when Crawley awoke, he was alone in bed, and Aziraphale was lighting the fire.

--

Each day, they walked a little further. It was frustratingly slow.

Aziraphale felt an urgent need to leave, almost as strong as his desire to stay.

“I mean, these bloody leaders fight over everything!” Crawley complained as they followed the same path towards the lake, still arm in arm, this time startling out a few white-feathered ptarmigans.

“Isn’t it your job to make them fight?”

“Yes, but – so last fall, I was trying to convince one of the leaders she should duel one of the others. There was this whole code of honor thing I was supposed to be setting up, real generational vendetta stuff. And instead, they start arguing over who has the best cheese!”

Aziraphale laughed until he had to lean his full weight against Crawley.

“That’s not even the worst of it! Instead of a battle, they’re going to settle this by rolling their cheese down a hill.”

“They –” Aziraphale gasped between laughs. “They haven’t done it yet?”

“No, apparently they need all winter to create special rolling cheeses!”

This so completely diverted the angel’s attention that his foot found a patch of ice and he nearly lost his balance, clutching tightly at Crawley to keep from falling entirely.

And they stood there, echoes of the laughter still faintly bouncing among the trees, Aziraphale clutching tightly to Crawley’s shoulders, Crawley’s hands holding Aziraphale’s waist, for far too long.

It wasn’t illness that had the angel’s face so hot, his heart hammering ready to burst. He was looking at the angle of Crawley’s cheek, the slope of his jaw, his golden eyes, the braids mixed with the loose curls of his hair – there was so much to see, and he just kept drinking it in.

“We, ah.” Crawley cleared his throat. “We should go back.”

“I’m not tired,” Aziraphale insisted. “It’s just the ice.”

“We’re going back,” Crawley said more firmly.

Aziraphale nodded, and carefully stood up to take his arm again.

--

Every night, Crawley worked on another piece of Aziraphale’s clothing. The blue embroidery on his tunic came out much better than whatever had happened to the cloak. Red for the hat, which was a relief. He was good with red. The fur could stay white, but he carefully manipulated it, changing it from a generic piece of manifested pelt to something that looked like an actual white wolf. That would get the Celts talking.

“You’ll need more jewelry, too. They’re big on ornamentation.”

“What, exactly, did you have in mind?” Aziraphale was picking at his food. It couldn’t be comfortable, eating exactly the same thing every day. Crawley had tried mixing it up once, but the fish had been a disaster. He would need more practice. Still, the angel never complained.

“To start with, if you want to look important, you need a torc.”

“I have no idea what that might be.”

“It’s like a collar. A gold collar, no, silver. You look good in silver.”

He didn’t realize what he’d said until Aziraphale had been blinking at him for quite some time.

“Arg. Look, it doesn’t matter what I think, right?” Crawley looked at his hands, trying to picture the piece of jewelry. “But you want to look good for these chieftains and everything, and I’ve been working with them. I know what they like.” A long, solid circle of silver-white metal appeared in Crawley’s hands, slightly twisted and covered in a feather-like pattern. “They’ll all be wearing gold, so this will make you stand out.”

“You’ve been saying I want to blend in.”

Crawley shrugged. “Mostly blend in. But you still need something to differentiate you. So they know you’re someone to pay attention to.”

“It’s lovely.” Aziraphale took the ring of metal and started fastening it around his neck. “I’ve seen these before, in the southern Celtic lands. It goes like this?”

The widest part of the ring hung at the hollow of his throat; the feathery twists of the white metal perfectly matched the platinum in his curls.

Crawley reached over to adjust it, even though it didn’t need it, just for an excuse to brush his fingers across the soft skin. “Perfect.”

The next night it was a long, twisted arm band that ran from wrist to elbow. The night after that a collection of rings. More and more trinkets, carefully crafted to fit him exactly.

Every night, they lay in bed together, Crawley trying desperately not to notice the heat of another body even as their hands twined together between them. Every night, more of the same endless poem; it wasn’t about the story. The droning of it seemed the only thing that occupied Aziraphale’s mind, let him slide into sleep without fear.

Every morning, Crawley woke up alone. He worried a little that the angel always woke up first, but Aziraphale insisted that he wasn’t having nightmares or waking before dawn. That he rose early simply because he didn’t like to linger in bed doing nothing, even though most of their day was spent doing nothing.

--

After a month, they finally made it to the lake. There were no ducks after all, but the shining plate of pure ice was impressive nonetheless. Crawley ran out onto it, skidding and slipping and sliding across the surface, while Aziraphale stood on solid ground and cheered him on.

Something was changing between them. Aziraphale had tried to deny it, but he could see it now. Crawley laughed more. He smiled more. He was almost completely at ease when Aziraphale took his arm or held his hand.

The angel almost wished it wasn’t true. It would make leaving so much harder.

That night they sat back against the sleeping bench in the dying firelight. “What we need to ornament now is…you,” Crawley explained.

“Hasn’t that been the entire point?”

“I mean tattoos.”

“Oh, no. No, I couldn’t.”

“Look, obviously not real. I don’t have a needle and a supply of woad. But…watch.” Crawley rolled up his own sleeve and traced a finger across his forearm. Where it went, a trail of blue followed behind, curling and curving across his skin, creating a triskele.

“I can’t go around branding myself with pagan symbols.” Aziraphale thought it was a rather weak argument, all things considered.

“It’ll come off. As soon as your power is returned, just like this.” He brushed his hand across the tattoo, and it vanished. “The Picts are absolutely mad for them, and the others are almost as bad. They won’t believe you’re anyone of importance if you don’t have a few.”

Aziraphale rubbed his hands on his knees, trying to think of an objection. Any objection. Finally he thrust up his sleeves.

“Spirals, lines, knotwork. Only abstract shapes. And absolutely no serpents.”

Crawley smiled, and began to trace his finger up Aziraphale’s arm.

The heat that raced through him had nothing to do with the manifestation.

Aziraphale had been afraid Crawley would go overboard, but just as with the jewelry, he seemed to know exactly what was appropriate. A spiral on one arm, a long cartouche filled with elaborately crossed knotwork on the other. Thick lines on his neck, an arch above one eyebrow. All the time Crawley was working on that one, so close, so very close, Aziraphale had to fight the urge to put his hands around Crawley’s waist. It seemed so natural now, and it shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t.

After some debate, they settled on a twisted line pattern, similar to the torc, across one bicep. It was unlikely to be seen, but would be impressive if revealed.

It meant Aziraphale had to take his tunic off while Crawley worked.

A month ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. It was just a body, not even his body, just one that he wore to fit in. He shouldn’t be self-conscious about it.

No, it wasn’t self-consciousness. He saw the way Crawley glanced away from his work to take in everything. And he welcomed it.

He really, really shouldn’t be trying to think of reasons to add more tattoos, to have Crawley touch every bit of skin just to feel the gentle tingle of those fingers…

“Alright,” Crawley sat back, clenching his fist. “Is that all? Do you want another?”

Not the question he wanted to be asked right now.

“I think I’m ready to sleep.” He wasn’t.

Aziraphale climbed into the bed, sliding over, making room as he had every night.

Crawley stood beside it, staring. “You. Um. You forgot to put your tunic back on.”

“I’m feeling a little warm.” That was true, in a way. “Does it bother you?”

Crawley stood there for a long time. Aziraphale knew that expression. It was one they’d both worn many times in the last month, when each desperately tried, and failed, to come up with an objection. Crawley failed tonight, and climbed into bed without comment.

When he took Aziraphale’s hand, the angel was almost certain they were both trembling.

“Right.” Crawley swallowed. “Right. More of that blasted poem. Are we done listing all the ships yet?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Shimmering-throned immortal Aphrodite, Daughter of Zeus, Enchantress, I implore thee, Spare me, O queen, this agony and anguish, Crush not my spirit.”

“That,” Crawley’s voice was hesitant. “That sounds different.”

“It’s a different poet. I thought we could use a change.”

“Whatever helps you.”

“Whenever before thou has hearkened to me - To my voice calling to thee in the distance, And heeding, thou has come, leaving thy father’s Golden dominions,

“With chariot yoked to thy fleet-winged coursers, Fluttering swift pinions over earth’s darkness, And bringing thee through the infinite, gliding Downwards from heaven,

“Then, soon they arrived and thou, blessed goddess, With divine countenance smiling, didst ask me What new woe had befallen me now and why, Thus I had called thee.

“What in my mad heart was my greatest desire, Who was it now that must feel my allurements, Who was the fair one that must be persuaded, Who wronged thee, Sappho?

“For if now she flees, quickly she shall follow And if she spurns gifts, soon shall she offer them Yea, if she knows not love, soon shall she feel it Even reluctant.

“Come then, I pray, grant me surcease from sorrow, Drive away care, I beseech thee, O goddess Fulfill for me what I yearn to accomplish, Be thou my ally.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“That was…certainly different,” Crawley said.

“Did you like it?”

Pressure on the hand between them. “Maybe…I should hear it again?”

Aziraphale nodded, and recited the poem over and over until he drifted to sleep.

--

When Crawley awoke the next morning, Aziraphale was not tending the fire.

He was still in bed. And very much not where Crawley had left him.

Crawley opened his eyes to find two soft, muscular arms wrapped around him, pressing him back into the curves of belly and chest that he had dreamt of all night. Aziraphale’s hot breath was right on his shoulder, just by the nape of his neck.

He tried very much not to move, not to wake the angel. How was he ever going to explain –

“Are you finally awake, then?”

“Aziraphale. What. What are you doing?”

“I’m not moving. I’m not getting up. As you’ve suggested.” The arms were very, very still. “Crawley. This is how I’ve woken up every morning since we started sharing this bed. I don’t…I assume we move in the night. In our sleep. And we end up like this. Every time.”

Crawley didn’t say anything. Just listened to that shaky breath behind him.

“At first I thought you would be angry. So I would get up without waking you. But lately…I haven’t been so sure. And I think you deserve to know. To know that I reach out for you in the night, even when I don’t mean to. To know that I dream about you every time. To know that…I’ve probably been well enough to leave, powers or no, for at least a week, and I’ve only been leaning on your arm as we walk because…because I like how it feels.” The arms around Crawley’s waist tightened, just for a second. “To know that…if I don’t leave today…I don’t think I ever will.”

At that, Crawley turned to face him. The arms loosened enough to allow the movement, but didn’t let go. He lay there, Aziraphale’s hands on his hips, his own clutching the angel’s shoulders. “What…what do you want?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing. He could hardly think of what to say. His breath stuck in his throat as he stared at that beautiful face.

“Don’t ask me that. I’m an angel. I don’t get to want things.” He shivered, his blue eyes closing. But when they opened, they were full of tears. “But right now, I don’t feel like an angel. I feel very, very human, and so very weak. So I need you to do something for me, Crawley.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale’s voice was nearly breaking. “Because…I need you to throw me out. I need you to send me away, Crawley, I’m not strong enough to leave on my own.”

“Ang–”

“Please, Crawley.”

Crawley looked down at his own hands, resting on Aziraphale’s shoulders and chest, trying to steady his breathing. He closed his eyes, and moved his hand down the fur that covered them.

And pulled it aside.

“Get out of my bed,” he ordered, in as angry a tone as he could muster.

The arms vanished from around him, and a moment later, all the glorious heat he had grown so accustomed to was dissipating into the cold air.

He huddled down into the furs, trying to hold onto it, to keep some sense of Aziraphale, even as he heard the angel behind him, gathering his things – his clothing and jewelry that Crawley had made for him, all his gifts. He couldn’t turn. He couldn’t watch, or else he’d lose his resolve.

“Take the food,” Crawley snapped, not looking away from the stone wall. “I don’t need it.” He swallowed, trying to keep his voice from softening. “Go to the lake, and follow the river south until you reach a settlement. Give them the name of the leader you’re supposed to meet. They’ll tell you where to go.”

“Of course.” No more noise. He must be ready to leave.

“And don’t be there when I come down in the spring. Don’t be anywhere near here when the frost melts, do you hear me?”

“I won’t say ‘thank you,’” Aziraphale said, from someplace far too close. He should be leaving. “But I would like to give you a gift.”

“Well, you don’t own anything but the gifts I gave you.” Crawley bit his tongue, not trusting another word.

“All the same.” Something was placed on the bed by his feet. “I always thought this was a little too much. Goodbye, Crawley.”

The rustle of the willow mat. And then silence.

Crawley turned just enough to see the bright white scarf, folded carefully beside him.

He snatched it up, burrowing deeper into the furs. The scarf was still filled with of the wonderful, indescribable, pure scent of Aziraphale.

And soon, with Crawley’s tears.

--

As Aziraphale walked away from the roundhouse, dressed in the rich outfit Crawley had given him, he felt stronger – and weaker – than he ever had before.

His tears fell on the ground, freezing to ice.

(For those who lost track: Aziraphale started in modern-day Turkey (Halicarnassos) but the story takes place in Scotland, roughly where Edinburgh is today, though I kept the geography vague. Also the time period, but it’s at least the fifth or sixth century BC. There’s a lot we don’t know about Celtic cultures that far back (including whether the Picts should be considered Celtic or Celtic-adjacent) so I have almost certainly incorporated details from later time periods. 

The main poem Aziraphale recites is Alexander Pope’s translation of the Iliad, which I’m not a huge fan of, but it was on hand. The longer one from the end is the Hymn to Aphrodite by Sappho, the only complete work of Sappho we have. 

All of Aziraphale’s Celtic outfit and ornamentation are as accurate as I could manage, but tartan didn’t become a thing in Scotland until the 16th century, so he’s being VERY fashion-forward there.

I swear I didn’t mean to end two stories in a row like this. I also didn’t mean to go over 8,500 words. Holy cow.)

[genericfandomname344]

Kintsugi of the Heart (Steven Universe)

 Chapter 1: Steph

Next Chapter: Here

Summary:  Kintsugi - Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold.

Or:

Steven shattered Jasper in a fit of rage. He tries to fix the only person he thinks he needs to, himself, by traveling into a different timeline and taking his younger self away to try and repair the damage inflicted upon him in his childhood. Only now his younger self is placed in the guardianship of someone else unstable and losing himself by each passing day.

Author Note: 

Please do not read this story if you are a minor, the relationship depicted is not only toxic, but dangerous. This story is not based in reality and if you ever feel like you are in a relationship similar to the one in this story, platonic or romantic, please find help out of that situation. 

...

It was a sunny day in Beach City. 

It was always a sunny day in Beach City, it rarely rained or snowed. It stayed hot most of the year, and like most of the year, he had been left on his own for about two days now. Pearl, Garnet, and Amethyst had to go do Gem Stuff, and Greg had to do actual work at the car shop. There is a mudding truck event nearby and some of the drivers swear by Greg’s handy work at car hygiene. He thought of going to help his father- but on days where he was loaded with mud-covered trucks, he seemed to only distract his father.

He had spent most of the morning playing his console games, reading comics, watching movies and playing with his toys- but after spending the better of a couple of days doing these things, he felt that he couldn’t spend another moment in the house alone. Without many options, he had tried to dial up Connie, but the house phone wouldn’t answer.

He hung up the phone, flopping on the couch with an exasperated sigh. He allowed the phone to slip off the couch as he stared at the ceiling with a pout. It was only the afternoon, how could he already be out of things to do? He stared at his feet above him, resting on the wall by the couch as he laid there on his back, just vegetating for the time being. 

He hasn’t tried to go to town at all today. 

That perked his interest, as he sat up from the couch, lifted up by his elbows. Surely one of the townsfolk would have time for Steven and his antics. He slid off the cushion of the couch with a new plan of action. It took him a moment, but he got off from the couch, grabbing the phone to place it back on the landline hook.

He placed the phone back on the hook and left towards his room to get ready for the day. Wiggling up his jeans, he got on flip flops, ran a wide-tooth comb through his curls, and grabbed his burger bag. He was equipped for his visit to town!  

His first trip was the Donut Shop, with the few dollars he had left, he got himself lunch of a few donuts and after fifteen minutes of talking with Sadie, she left for her break and Lars was less enjoyable for chit chat for a longer period. He found himself out after a bit of back and forth with the more grumpy employee. 

Peedee had work, and most of the other townies he was hoping for a visit from were either busy, working, or out of town. Even the popular kids had taken a road trip to the city. He wasn’t exactly sure where Onion was- and he was still banned from the amusement park and arcade for something he vaguely remembers. 

Feeling defeat, he returned home, slouched over with his paper bag dragging behind him. He descended the long stairs, feeling bored already. Maybe there’s a rerun of Crying Breakfast Friends, he could take a nap- and hopefully, the gems will be back. 

He stepped onto the porch, lost in his running thoughts before he caught a glimpse inside the beach house and, for a moment, was stunned by the sight past the mesh doors and clear windows. 

A form, unable to be recognized yet was lazing over the sofa, relaxed with their legs crossed. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face. The gems had to be home, and he knew that must’ve been Amethyst on the couch! He raced inside, almost dropping the donuts as he shouted his welcome. 

“Guys! I’m so ha…” His mind drew a blank at the sight before him. He found himself frozen as he stood before a stranger in his home, scrolling through a phone he didn’t know the model of. The teenager had relaxed in his home as if he was on his own. Steven couldn’t find the words, standing aimless at the front door- sent into shock from a stranger.

Maybe it wasn’t the fact there was a stranger. 

Maybe it was because the stranger was a fluorescent hot pink, buff like an action movie with an amazing looking pompadour hairstyle to boot. His chin had some unshaven scruff of a beard, and his clothes were worn and torn- but his black had the same star as his. 

The stranger only looked up when the screen door shut behind him, Steven was far too in a daze with the sudden events to hold the knob or notice the door shutting. He turned sharply at the sound, wincing as he heard a simple hum come from the man on the couch, turning his attention over his shoulder to gawk at the teenager.

“Oh! You’re here,” The glowing pink male before him laughs, standing up as he dusted himself off. He pocketed his phone, leaning on one leg in his stance as he casually crossed his arms. He acted as a friendly guest rather than a home invader. “I was kinda worried, don’t want to meet the gems before you.” 

“Who.. are you?” 

“Oh!.. uh.” The man seemed uncomfortable with the question. “I’m, well…” The man placed his hand on his hip, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck in a sudden nervous fit. Steven turned fully to the man, awaiting the answer. He looked familiar to his dad- if his dad was buff and young. The man was tall, Steven could tell the stranger could tower over him greatly even if he was at the entrance door- and the man was still standing by the couch. 

He didn’t want to get close, as the man released a few more clumsy chuckles before he finally answered.

“It’s kinda complicated- but I’m your brother, from another timeline.” He gracelessly began to make finger gun gestures in the direction of the younger with both arms. “It’s like the hourglass- but no one dies..” Quickly adding the last bit, he was smiling sheepishly at the hopes of the child’s reaction, there was a pause in time, and the sweat on the brow on the man was growing thicker.

“Whoa.. like, that Dogcopter movie, where his alternate timeline’s owner comes to help him save the world from Cattruck?” Steven grinned, fisting his hands in anticipation of the answer. He had taken the half-witted, on the fly answer and believed it.

The room fell in silence,  the man rapidly blinking a few times as his brow raised before his face relaxed. A smile formed on his face as he continued. “Yes, exactly like that.” Before he could speak, he was interrupted again.

“Woow!” Steven abandoned the fried dessert’s bag, running up to the man and pulling up his pink shirt to reveal his stomach, “Do you got one- like me?” He flopped his hand onto his stomach, allowing it to jiggle as the other man only shook his head, lifting his tattered shirt to show his own gem.

“‘Course I do.” The other male seemed more confident now, lifting his ripped top to showcase his glimmering gem. 

“Woh…” Steven’s eyes turned into stars as he stepped closer to the man, who was more than happy to have his trust. The younger’s fingers brush over the gem before he scrunched as he realized the already flawed logic of the older’s words. “Wait, how could mom give us both a gem?” 

“Like I said- it’s complicated. But that’s not important right now.” The mention of their mother seemed to make the other male uncomfortable, something flashed over his features- but it didn’t last long. His cocky smile and demeanor were back within seconds, ready to change the subject. “I came to help you, Steven.” 

“Oh?” Steven fidgets with his shirt lightly, looking up to the stranger. “How can you help me? Is there an evil Steven? Are we gonna team up and stop-”

The man took a sharp, loud inhale as if he was gearing up for a speech, successfully making the younger quiet down. His hands interlock at his torso as he began, in a tone of someone reading a script rather than speaking to someone organically. “I came to help you with your powers, I wanna train you.” 

“Whhaat!!” The younger boy shrieked, making the other grab lightly at his ear in shock. The boy was excited, shaking his fists lightly as the stars in his eyes only brightened. He grins, unable to even dampen the expression as he lightly bounces on his feet. “Did you train the other me- um, your brother in your dimension?” 

“I, uh... I did.” The pink-skinned man nodded quickly, smacking his lips at the question. “And now I’m gonna train you.” He turned from the boy, who followed his shadow like a lost puppy. He returned to where he sat at the couch, plucking a pink jacket that wouldn’t seem to fit someone of his bulk- and pulled out a glass-like box from the pocket.

“Can I go do Gem Stuff after I train? I’ll be a Crystal Gem, then, right?”

“Of course you will… You’re going to help a lot of people.” His voice was soft, but the tone was blank, sober in a way Steven couldn’t read. He simply stood beside the man, who for the first time since he realized he was in the room stopped looking at him.

The man pressed his thumb down on the top of the surface causing a bright light to fill the lid, transforming the box into a flat tile structure that covered to the floor the moment he tossed it. The once solid box became like a thin floor padding with a single half circular orb in the middle of it. He flung the pink jacket over his forearm, taking Steven’s arm and guided him towards it.

Being brought closer, he could see the shine from the polished black, he couldn’t put a finger on what the material was, it was like a plastic steel hybrid. The tile was a large square on the floor, enough room for multiple feet to stand on it.

Steven bent down, looking over the odd new technology. The man released the boy’s arm as he inspected the new gadget. He hasn’t seen anything like that before, no gem tech ever looked sleek and dark like this. He glanced back to the man, the pink teen seemed to always have his eyes directed on him.

The eye contact felt heavy now, as Steven turned his eyes to stare at the blackened flooring.

“What is this?” Steven pokes at it once, the man only offering a shrug. 

“It’s a teleportation device. It’ll take us where we need to go to train.” The man stepped onto the newly blacked tile, as soon as he stood on it, a holo touch screen came up from the orb in the middle of the square structure. His fingers went to work, using his fingertips for a scan and soon typing, the chirp made the man hum in approval. 

“C’mon Steven, we’re going.” The pink male gave no effort as he lifted Steven from the collar of his shirt,  plopping him on his feet upon the tile.

“Wait- how long? I don’t even - what’s your name?” It seemed to finally hit him that he was being whisked away somewhere, with someone he didn’t know. The man’s expression stayed somber, as he kept a firm hand on the younger’s shoulder so he couldn’t step off. 

“Call me Steph.” 

It was the last thing he said before tapping the holographic screen once as the two disappeared from the living room in a burst of light.

...

This is a very short chapter! I think this is the first time I ever wrote a chapter of any story under a week, it only took a few days, which is crazy? I am a very slow writer, so I loved it! Hopefully I can continue to push chapters like this out!

[sapphic-tea]

Today is tired. Yesterday, I had said it was a “sleepy day”, but that was more an expression of myself. Today, regardless of how I feel, is tired.

A week ago, a smoke flooded in overnight. We’re lucky, especially this year– the smoke made breathing a little hard and it caused headaches, yes, but there were few fires close to us. Most of our smoke came from fires hundreds of miles away. Our smoke was livable.

And soon after it came, the air started to feel rainy. The plants let out their overworked oils, the grass turned more vivid, the wind smelled wet and cloudy. We commented on how welcomed it would be, giving the plants a rest and drowning some of the smoke. But the rain didn’t come.

There was no way to tell just by looking if the clouds were still here. The sky remained a solid beige all day long, a bright orange sun barely visible. My father provided weather reports supported by satellite and radar, but I always like to keep the weather free to do as it pleases. If you look ahead and see that it’ll snow on Monday, then it will snow on Monday. But if you don’t look, then Monday still has the chance to change its mind. Schrödinger’s weather.

Today, the sun didn’t come out. I can’t say it didn’t rise, and the sky is a pale bluish grey meaning that there must be some light behind it, but rays never came in through my window to wake me up. The sun hid itself every moment of the day, first by Eastern mountains, then smoke, then clouds. The birds chirped chaotically but softly, excited for some change in air, and the grass turned vivid again, and the rain finally came. Not pouring, just dripping. Slow and light, but there nonetheless. There for hours.

While rain comes with clouds, and wind, and sometimes storms, embodying change and motion, today’s rain was pure release. The clouds have been building for days, doing their best to make sure that when it did rain it would rain enough. So with sweet, clear, wet air, the sky stopped holding everything. The rain’s coming down on its own, because it’s what’s meant to happen. Some things are more easily stopped than started. And as I sit here, propping myself awake in a desire to do work, the world around me isn’t still, it isn’t quiet, but it’s most certainly sleeping.

19·9·20

[purplesurveys]

1076

Be honest, did Fifty Shades of Grey arouse you in any way? I honestly never felt the need to see a single page, hear of the plot, or watch any part from any of the movies tbh. I just heard from everyone it was full of smut and it was enough to turn me away from it. Then it got banned in my school which definitely helped in not having to hear anything about it again.

What does your sibling(s) call you? In third-person they refer to me as Ate, which is the honorific for older sister. But my sister usually addresses me simply by looking my way and starting her sentence/question from there.

Do you have any close friends that are the opposite sex that your significant other dislikes? I don’t have a significant other anymore but my ex used to be unnecessarily mean about some of my close guy friends. I didn’t like some of her friends too, but I always had some valid reason behind it, e.g. they were creepy around her, they were aloof towards me, etc. But she didn’t like some of my guy friends by the sole fact that they were guys and she didn’t trust them around me, and like it was just something I couldn’t do anything about tbh. It also hurt me, because I love my guy friends and it didn’t feel right that she hated and criticized them without even wanting to make the effort to get to know them.

Do you honestly believe everything happens for a reason? Why or why not? My life is the grand sum of what I make of things. Idk if that’s able to address the question, but that is how I see the world in general.

Do you believe in reincarnation? Why or why not? No. Doesn’t really sit well with me, simply put. I believe that when I die, that is it for me; same with all other living beings.

The Hunger Games or The Maze Runner? I guess The Hunger Games. I saw the first movie and fairly enjoyed it, but that’s it as far as my interest in the franchise goes. I have never had any idea what The Maze Runner is about, and I honestly keep confusing it for the Divergent series for some reason lol.

Has anyone you’ve known claimed to be psychic? I don’t think so. If I did, I probably have already made the conscious decision not to hang out with them a lot haha.

Did/do you believe them? If I did know someone, I would not believe them.

Is anything annoying you right now? It’s fucking Sunday evening and I am not in the mood to go back to work tomorrow. I’m also staying up late (it’s already past 11 PM) and I know I’m already going to regret this, which is annoying me even more.

Have you ever been ice-skating? Yes! So many times as a kid. We don’t get actual snow though, so some malls have artificial ice skating rinks for those who want to do so. From ages 8-10 my mom would drop me off at the rink for me to practice/play in for a few hours because she knew I didn’t like tagging along in errands.

Does the sound of rain at night help you sleep? I wouldn’t say it helps me sleep since I generally have no issues dozing off, but the sound does make me feel calm and relaxed.

Have you ever seen an albino person, in person? Yes, I had a classmate with albinism at one point.

Have you ever worn a pair of scrubs? I don’t think I ever have. I never had to.

Have you ever walked into a massive cobweb? Probably. Or, at least, shot my hand out in an area where I ended up feeling a big cobweb.

What would you say is your strongest felt emotion right now? Despair. Hahahaha. Give me a longer fucking weekend, universe.

Are you talking to anyone at the moment? No, just this survey.

Do you have trust issues? Well now I do.

Have you ever found an arrow head? I don’t know; I don’t think so.

Who is with you? It’s just me in my room now. Kimi didn’t enter with me, and I think he wants to hang out in the corridor for a bit tonight. He’ll knock once he wants to be in here.

What can you not stop thinking about? How much longer I should continue doing this survey because I need to get sleep if I don’t want to wake up cranky.

Do you forgive easily? No. I tend to hold grudges, and I’d rather be honest and straightforward about my grudges than lie to someone’s face that I’ve forgiven them when I know within myself that I still resent them. I feel like that would be unfair to them anyway so it’s grudges all the way for me.

In what part of your life so far, have you learned the most about yourself? Not sure there’s a most. I possess self-awareness so I continue to learn as I get older. < Yeah I gotta go with this one. In every start of a new chapter in my life, I always seem to pick up new details or lessons about myself.

Have you ever been in a fist fight? I’ve been in physical fights but no fists were ever thrown.

Are your ears pierced? Yes, they are indeed.

What did you last say out loud? Something along the lines of “Not yet? Alright” to Kimi when he decided he didn’t want to enter my room with me.

What are you waiting on? I’m waiting on Friday already -____-

Do you tell people when they get on your nerves? Not usually. I like expressing it indirectly, like having shorter patience with them or ignoring them completely.

Are your feelings hurt easily? This working girl has to sleep, lmao. Catch y’all soon. Okay, where were we... Yeah, I would say being sensitive is one of my main traits. It’s fairly easy for me to get my feelings hurt, and I tend to overthink/overanalyze the simplest of jokes or comments towards me.

What's the most expensive piece of clothing you have? Did you buy it yourself? I haven’t started shelling out when it comes to clothes; like I’ve mentioned before, most of my money goes to food and the rest goes to gas, lmao. My most expensive clothes are probably just my WWE shirts. The merch I own are of the biggest wrestlers during the time I got them, so it was their shirts that cost the highest.

Who is your closest platonic friend of the opposite sex? Probably Hans. The two of us don’t talk much at all, but we always bond super well when we’re together and I can count on him to give me honest, hard-pill-to-swallow advice. Angela has to be with us though, or else I’ll feel awkward and shy.

How do you think your first relationship shaped who you are as a partner now? Yes, but there are good and bad sides to it. I will always be thankful to Gabie for tirelessly encouraging me to try out new things, expand my horizons, and to be unafraid to discover what I am capable of. She was undoubtedly my biggest supporter, especially when it came to going out of my comfort zone. I grew a lot from my relationship with her, so much so that it has definitely helped shape me to be the much braver, risk-taker person I am today. I like who I am now, and I won’t deny that it was she who helped in bringing that person out of her shell.

Bad side...she made me say sorry a lot. For her, she could do no wrong; and even if she did, she was always able to flip a situation around to make it sound like it was actually my fault. And so I said sorry, a lot. For four years. And on my end, I don’t think I received a lot of the apologies I think I deserved. So these days, I get jumpy with people and always feel the need to panic and apologize for the smallest shortcomings. She also always wanted to win arguments. Getting her point across and me agreeing with it mattered more than actually resolving arguments and moving our relationship forward. Bad as it was, it taught me a personal lesson: I learned how to negotiate and communicate better in my other relationships because I wanted to avoid the toxic dynamic I had in my own relationship.

As sad as I am that I lost the relationship and as much as I continue to think of the things that could have been, these days I get sadder instead when I think of how much I allowed myself to be treated that way. Of course, I’m very aware that I had my own set of problematic traits too. I’m not saying I was the model significant other (I was far from it), but the main difference between us is that I was always striving to be better in the relationship. I wanted to address the issues she had with me and to try to be a better, kinder person from it, for her sake and for my own personal growth. Unfortunately, all my attempts at healthy communication with her was always met with, “I can’t change who I am because this is already me.” Anyway, I’m rambling and I’m starting to feel sad again. Next question! Hahahaha.

Who is your favorite protagonist of the same sex? Claire Foy’s Elizabeth from The Crown.

Were you popular in high school? What was your reputation like? I was invisible in freshman and sophomore years, High school was the start of a new chapter, and my track record with new life chapters was never impressive because I take longer than normal to adjust to new environments. By third year I reconnected with Angela, and she hung out with the popular kids, so soon enough I got pulled into that crowd. I’d say by the end of high school I was a solid point on the radar - it was also thanks to my open secret of a same-sex relationship in a Catholic school, if we’re being honest lol - but I never liked having the spotlight on me. I liked that I had popular friends, but I myself never wanted to stir up shit on my own. I was just glad to be constantly invited to soirées and underground parties, lmao.

Have you always known your sexual orientation or did something happen to make you realize it? I’ve always been icky about the concepts of dating and sex. I could never imagine being intimate with anyone, and sex isn’t the biggest priority for me in relationships. The only time it makes the most sense to me is if I did it with someone I’ve built a solid, strong connection with; a close friend that I could trust. Realizing those made it easier to accept within me that I’m demi, or at least dancing around somewhere under the asexual umbrella.

What was the hardest part of your last break up? Coming to terms with how shittily I was treated, during and after. By the end of our relationship, she made it seem as though talking to me and maintaining the relationship was a chore. Every mistake I made sent her into a rage, which always ended in me rapidly apologizing in tears. Then after the breakup, she simply wanted to cut ties with me. She was never willing to allow me to healthily process the situation, and whenever I had questions in mind she would answer them curtly, and not give me reflective answers or perspectives. I begged for a long time to have my questions answered and to allow myself the teeniest bit of closure. 

I had such a shiny, sparkly, perfect, can-do-no-wrong idea of my girlfriend for our entire friendship; so to take my rose-colored glasses off was the hardest part of it all. But taking that hard step was also the first step to healing, so it brought some good too I guess. I just wish getting to the good and easy part didn’t have to be so painful.

What brought you out of the hardest period in your life? The awareness that I had friends who unconditionally care about me. Also if I’m being honest, the Christmas break. I realized I was having such a hard time with my breakup because I was also already dealing with work burnout and the pressure of being in a new position and trying to make as few as mistakes as possible  – so by the time the Christmas break rolled around and I had two weeks of no work, it was enough for me to recharge, realign my priorities, and determine the things and people that matter and that I want to keep.

What's your favorite kind of smiley face? Idk, I guess just :)? I like keeping my emoticons simple.

Does anybody know your deepest darkest secret? I dunno if I have one.

Did you ever watch Rugrats? (the babies) I did, but I never liked it. I remember Rugrats very specifically because this was the show that would be on Nickelodeon whenever me and my sister would be woken up at 5 AM to prepare for school. It came before Legends of the Hidden Temple, which was a lot more fun to watch.

What about Hey Arnold? I caught it often because this was also an early morning show (it came after Legends of the Hidden Temple), but I was never into it either. I also never got to watch the episodes in full because the school bus would pick me up by the time this was on the air.

Do you like pep rallies? Idk what that is.

Have you ever had pneumonia? No.

What do you feel about surgeries? Do they worry you? The possibility of accidentally waking up in the middle of a surgery and being unable to speak out because I was anaesthetized scares me more than anything else. But since I’ve never had to have a surgery before, I imagine feeling completely terrified if the time ever comes for me to have one.

Do you play Minecraft? if so, feelings about servers? I don’t play it. I think I tried it before, but it just never stuck with me. The most I’ve gone with it is to watch several playthroughs by Pewdiepie. I have no clue what you mean by servers.

Do you read creepypastas? No. I’m familiar with some, but I never read any.

Do you think vlogging in public is scary? I feel like this survey contains snippets from many different surveys because I’ve definitely answered this question before...but anyway, I wouldn’t say it’s scary per se but I AM shy when it comes to these things, and I don’t think I have it in me to carry a camera around in public and directly speak to it.

Have you been to an escape room? Was it a success? Mmm no, doesn’t sound like my idea of fun either. I don’t like solving puzzles hahaha.

What social class would you say you're in? Middle class. We live a relatively comfortable life in this country.

Have you ever recorded a cover of a song? Nope. I have never recorded myself singing because it has never been necessary lol.

How do you feel about guns? Not a fan. If I needed weapons for self-defense, I’d get anything other than a gun.

What's the most traumatizing event that ever happened to you? The drunken rages I had to helplessly watch from my childhood years.

Are you faint to the sight of blood? Yeah absolutely. Like I’ve always felt bad about it but I was such a shit helper whenever my ex had her semi-regular nosebleeds. I did help, I just panicked and nearly hyperventilated every time I did so because of the blood HAHA

Do you like spicy food? Love them, but the food has to be meaningfully spicy for me to enjoy it - like curry or laksa. Spicy food shouldn’t just be dishes with sprinkled spicy powder as a finishing touch, because for the most part that just irritates my throat and it doesn’t allow me to appreciate the spiciness.

Do you have good dreams or nightmares more? I think I am back to having simply strange dreams. But in the last few months, my nights had. been regularly plagued with nightmares.

When was the last time someone insulted you? What was the insult? Idk it was probably something my mom said that I had discarded from my memory. I’ve gotten so much better at that now.

What’s your second favorite color? Baby pink/pastel pink.

Do you ever wish you lived in a different country? I think about this everyday. Yes.

Who’s the last person you “pounded” fists with? One of my uncles.

Have you ever been involved in an affair? Nope.

How many times a week do you speak to your boss? I talk to them everyday since we have a Viber chat. I wouldn’t know what tasks to do or prioritize without them, so we need to be in touch all the time.

What do you want for your birthday? I don’t even want to think about my first birthday without her...but anyway, mine and Cooper’s birthday are super close to each other, so I actually want to throw a small party at home celebrating our birthdays haha :) Cooper can get his own doggie cake and cupcakes, heheh.

Have you ever been to a masquerade? I don’t think so.

Is there anybody you think is hot over the age of 40? I’m sure I can think of a couple of people I know.

Who in your phone has a heart after their name? Angela.

Anything you’re avoiding? I wanna avoid work for the next hour or so. Then once I’ve done some recharging, I can continue with a few tasks tonight so that my workload can be just a bit lighter tomorrow morning.

After breaking up, what’s the worst? Depends on the breakup. < Agreed.

Does your sibling have a significant other? I don’t think either of them has.

Do you use Skype? Not since a decade ago. At work, we mainly use Google Meet. Some clients will use Zoom; one client uses Teams.

Are you a fan of acrylic nails? Not yet, but I do want to try it out someday just to spoil myself haha.

Name one happy song that describes you better than any other. Idk if I can call myself happy just yet...hmm. Paramore does have a short song/interlude called I’m Not Angry Anymore, and it’s a happy-sounding song with a very passive-aggressive message hahaha. I’d say that’s me right now. Some of the lyrics go:

“I’m not bitter anymore, I’m syrupy sweet I’ll rot your teeth down to their core if I’m really happy

Depends on the day, if I wake up in a giddy haze Well, I’m not angry, I’m not totally angry, I’m not all that angry anymore” and everything about it is so meeeeee.

Name one sad/mellow song that describes you better than any other. Forgiveness, also by Paramore. Sorry I’m in a music slump y’all. Only Paramore has been able to make my days the slightest bit better.

What is your most used pick up line? I don’t use those, nor do I like hearing those.

Do you like the taste of alcohol? Sure. I like strong mixed drinks the best, though.

What kinds of food make you sick? I don’t have a weak stomach when it comes to food. The only food that has made me sick are expired foods.

[ljones41]

"MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" (2001) Review

"MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" (2001) Review There have been more adaptations of Agatha Christie's 1939 novel, "And Then There Were None" than any of her other novels. That is quite an achievement. The only other novel that comes close to producing this number of adaptations is her 1934 novel, 'Murder on the Orient Express".

Christie's 1934 novel managed to produce four adaptations, as far as I know - two movie releases and two television movies. The least famous of this quartet of adaptations was the television movie that aired on CBS in 2001. This version is famous or infamous for one thing - it is the only one that is not a period drama and set in the present day. "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" made a few other changes to Christie's narrative. The television movie's beginning established a complicated romance between Belgian sleuth Hercule Poirot and a sexy younger woman named Vera Rossakoff. The number of suspects was reduced from twelve to nine. And the Orient Express was stalled by a mudslide due to heavy rain and not a snowbank caused from an avalanche. Due to the film's setting, some of the characters' backgrounds and professions had been changed to reflect the late 20th century and early 21st century setting. "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" begins in Istanbul, Turkey; where private detective Hercule Poirot had just solved the murder of a dancer at a local nightclub. After a brief quarrel with his lady love, Vera Rossakoff, Poirot sets out to fly back to London. But an encounter with his old friend Wolfgang Bouc, an executive with the the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits, leads Poirot to return to London via the famed Orient Express train. During the eastbound train journey, an American millionaire named Samuel Ratchett tries to hire Poirot to protect him from a potential assassin who has sent him threatening letters. However, Poirot refuses the job due to his dislike of Ratchett. During the second night of the journey, heavy rain causes a landslide, blocking the train to continue its journey. And Rachett is found stabbed to death inside his compartment, the following morning. Bouc recruits Poirot to solve Rachett's murder. I have a confession to make. I had disliked "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" when I first saw it on television all those years ago. My main reason for disliking the television movie was the fact that it had a modern setting, instead of one set in the 1930s. It was not a period movie. And for a story like Christie's 1934 novel, I resented it. However, I do believe the film's modern setting provided one major flaw for its narrative. Since the late 20th century, passengers for the Simplon Orient Express have to book passage on the train long before the date of its departure - six months to a year, more or less. The idea of Poirot managing to get a compartment aboard the Orient Express at such short notice in 2001 strikes me as pretty implausible. And when one adds to the fact that the train travels to and from Istanbul at least once a year, makes this narrative in a modern setting even more implausible. Another problem I had with "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" was it made the same mistake as the 2010 adaptation from "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S POIROT". They used the wrong rail cars. The 2010 television movie used the blue and cream Pullman cars for the journey from Istanbul to Calais. The 2001 movie used the brown and cream Pullman cars, usually reserved for the Orient Express from London to Folkstone, as the main train, as shown below:

Do I have any other problems with "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS"? Well . . . yes, I have one further problem. But I will address it later. Aside from these problems, did I enjoyed this recent re-watch of the television movie? Yes, I did. More than I thought I would. Which is ironic, considering that I disliked the movie so much when I first saw all those years ago. I finally realized that I had automatically resented the film for not being a period drama. And over the years, I had erroneously believed that the movie was set aboard a modern train and not on a restored one from the past. It took my recent viewing of the television movie for me to realize I had been wrong. However, I did noticed that the sleeping compartments did look surprisingly bigger than usual. Despite some modern updating in the film's visual look, the characters' background and dialogue; "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" did a first-rate job of adapting Christie's novel. What many might find surprising is that screenwriter Stephen Harrigan and director Carl Schenkel did not inflict any drastic changes to Christie's plot, unlike some recent Christie adaptations from the "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S POIROT" series and one or two miniseries produced by Sarah Phelps. Harrigan and Schenkel did not drastically change the movie's narrative, aside from reducing the number of suspects and having the train delayed by a mud slide, instead of a snow drift. Yes, the backgrounds and professions of the characters were changed due to the modern setting. And characters also change nationalities - like Bob Arbuthnot, an American tech CEO (British Army colonel in Christie's novel); Senora Alvarado, a widow of a South American dictator (a Russian princess in the novel); Phililp and Helena von Strauss, a German or Austrian couple traveling the world (the husband was a Hungarian diplomat in the novel); and even Wolfgang Bouc, the Franco-German Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits executive (who was solely French in the novel). This version of "Murder on the Orient Express" was not the first or last time when some of the characters' backgrounds and nationalities were changed. All four adaptations (including the highly regarded 1974 version) were guilty of this. But despite these changes, Harrigan and Schenkel stuck to Christie's narrative. And thanks to Harrigan's direction, this version proved to be a lot better than I had originally surmised. I certainly had no problems with most of the film's performances. "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" provided solid performances from Amira Casar, Kai Wiesinger, Dylan Smith, Nicolas Chagrin, Adam James, Tasha de Vasconcelos, and Fritz Wepper, who managed to create an effective screen team with star Alfred Molina as the investigative pair of Poirot and Monsieur (or Herr) Bouc. I thought David Hunt did an excellent job of conveying the aggressive, overprotective and slightly arrogant traits of American CEO, Bob Arbuthnot. I enjoyed Leslie Caron's colorful, yet autocratic portrayal of Senora Alvarado, the widow of a South American dictator. Meredith Baxter was equally colorful as an American character actress, traveling around Europe as a tourist. Her portrayal of Mrs. Hubbard reminded me of a younger version of a character she had portrayed in the 1980 miniseries, "BEULAH LAND" - but without the Southern accent. And I was really impressed by Natasha Wightman's performance as British tutor Mary Debenham. What really impressed me about Wightman's performance is that her portrayal of Miss Debenham was the closest to the literary character than any of the other versions. There was one performance that fell flat with me and it came from Peter Strauss, who portrayed the victim, Samuel Rachett. If I must be brutally honest, I found it rather hammy. Strauss, whom has always struck me as a first-rate actor in other productions, seemed to be screaming in nearly every scene. However, there is one scene in which I found his performance impressive. The scene involved Rachett's attempt to hire Poirot as his bodyguard and with a performance that permeated with subtlety and menace, Strauss reminded audiences of the excellent actor that he had always been through most of his career. I have never come across any real criticism of Alfred Molina's portrayal of Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot. Well . . . I did come across one article that discussed Molina's performance from Vulture magazine. But the critic seemed more focused on the movie's modern setting and Poirot's relationship with Vera Rossakoff, than Molina's performance. Personally, I thought the British actor did a superb job in portraying the detective. He managed to capture all of Poirot's intelligence, mild eccentricities, slight pomposity and talent for emotional manipulation. One thing I can say about Molina's portrayal is that his performance as Poirot was probably the most subtle I have seen on a movie or television screen. Whether someone would regard this as good or bad, is in the eye of the beholder. But I feel that this subtle performance suited Molina's style. Some have commented that Molina's Poirot was more "youthful" than other portrayals. Hmmmm . . . how odd. Molina was in his late 40s when he shot the television movie (perhaps 47 or 48 years old). Yet, Albert Finney was a decade younger when he portrayed Poirot in the 1974 film and his Poirot came off as a middle-aged man. David Suchet was five or six years younger when he began his twenty-four years stint portraying the detective for ITV's "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S POIROT". And during those early years, his Poirot also seemed slightly middle-aged. Because of this, I find this observation of Molina's Poirot as "youthful" rather questionable. It is a pity that the "official" opinion of "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" is so negative. I used to share this opinion until I did a re-watch of the television film with a more open mind. Like others, I had been dismissive of the 2001 version, due to its modern setting. I now realize I had been rather narrow-minded and prejudiced. Despite its flaws - and it had a few - "MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS" proved to be a lot better than I had originally surmised, thanks to director Carl Schenkel, Stephen Harrigan's teleplay and an excellent cast led by the superb Alfred Molina. I hope that one day, other Christie fans would dismiss their prejudices against the movie's setting and appreciate it for the entertaining production it truly is.

[skyerana]

tagged by @ashipwreckcoast​ for a question thinger. I’m bored out of my skull and I like these questions so here you go. You should do it. Yes, you. Why? Because? I don’t have real reazons.

Putting this under a cut because its long and I don’t want to clog up your dash.\

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? Black, specifically Pilot G2 pens. But really? I like a good dark dark green. My dog ate my favorite pen and I haven’t been able to find one in that color since.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? I’ve sort of done both. I love living in a city, with all the vibrancy and life that it entails. There’s public transit, arts and culture, so many kinds of food, interesting people and always something going on. But for the last few years, I’ve been wanting to get back to something like where I went to school, where I lived for 7 months on a lake and the next closest people (besides us 9) were 5 miles away (the road up to the field station was 2 miles by itself and we got snowed in and flooded in on more than one occasion). I miss being close to deep nature and the peace that comes from being alone.

So which do I prefer? I don’t really know. I’ve been living back in a city for the past eight years but I’m feeling like its time for a change. I don’t think I’ll leave cities forever though. I like people and diversity too much.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? For fun, I’d want to pick up leatherworking, blacksmithing, and/or woodworking. I’m currently not set up well to do any of them though. For practicality though, I’d want to learn general house maintenance.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Depends on the tea, but often yes. Coffee gets an obscene amount of hazelnut creamer because I hate coffee but I love caffeine.

5. What was your favourite book as a child? The Hobbit. My dad and step-dad both read it to me at different points of my childhood and my dad gave me his copy (The Hobbit or There and Back Again, 1977 Illustrated edition)

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Showers. Baths are well and good if you have a big enough one (which I don’t) and you don’t stay in so long it gets cold (I don’t).

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? Upon reading this question, every single mythical creature that I’d ever read about immediately vanished from my memory. I’m going to have to come back to this one.

I came back to this one and I still don’t know. I like the idea of flying. But I don’t really want to be hunted out to extinction.

8. Paper or electronic books? I love paper books, but I read much better via ebook. I still haven’t read Gideon the Ninths because the pages are so soft I just sit and pet them instead of read.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? BOXERS! Or rather, boxer-briefs. I know this sounds weird but bear with me. For some reason, when I started transitioning, it did not occur to me to buy mens underwear. When I finally did, It Was Amazing. I looked great. I felt great. I finally understood why so many people had “fun” underwear that they liked. Before, I had like one or two that had patterns/stuff on them. Now? I’ve got Star Wars and Captain Marvel and Deadpool and mountains and mushrooms and one with boxers that makes me laugh because there’s boxers on boxers!! And I can wear them whenever the fuck I want! So I always have something fun on, even (especially) if other folks can’t see it. Switching to boxers was such a weirdly affirming thing for my gender and I love it.

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? This is complicated. I like my legal name, sure, but its not me, not really. I did get the spelling updated on it legally when I was 16 so I could actually get my driver’s license. I haven’t had a chance to change my legal name since transitioning (between the election and COVID, I don’t know that I’d get through all of the legal rigmarole in time to vote in November), but I really like my chosen name and an altered version of my legal name will be my new middle name.

11. Who is a mentor to you? I’ve had so many over the years. I learn so much from people, but I had so many great mentors when I worked at the museum. Timshel stands out. If I can be half the mentor she is to someone, I’ll have put some real solid good into the world. 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? No. Not in the everyone knows you sense. That’s not my jam. I wouldn’t mind having fame more in the sense of within a tiny field, being well known and respected.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? Yes... to the point where I’m seeing a sleep specialist in a month to sort it out.

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? Very much so. But there’s so many different ways to be romantic.

15. Which element best represents you? I hate these questions. I see bits of myself in all of the elements. People often associate me with air or water though.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? Distance wise, my family in California. I come from a bunch of very close knit families and so having folks on the other side of the country that I’m super close with is ihard.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? “Everyone. Being solitary by choice as opposed to demand is a big difference.” I’m just going to leave @ashipwreckcoast​‘s response here because it fits. I’m very lucky that I am still working in a (relatively) safe environment, but we’re all missing out on things like throwing a housewarming party for one of my closest friends/coworkers. Even though we see each other almost daily, we’re still missing out on a lot that we’d normally do. That’s even worse for folks I’m not seeing at all because of COVID.

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. I legit thought I was a wolf and would howl at the neighbors when mom packed me into the wagon to go do laundry at the laundromat. The neighbors, being good people, howled back.

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? There have been a few times where I wasn’t sure what I was eating. One was at a wedding with 10 or 12 courses (I lost count) and some of them were foods I’d never seen before. I know jellyfish was on that list but there was a bunch of other stuff that I don’t know what it was. The few times I’ve been out of the country, I ate stuff I couldn’t identify (often due to language barriers). The seafood soup at the one place was just whatever they caught that day and it had a lot in it. I remember being disappointed in my fellow grad students when some of them turned it down. You don’t turn down food when you’re a guest unless you have a medical reason for doing so. But the thing is, none of these are strange, except by the US standards. So if that’s true, then the deep fried dragonfly should also be on this list. 

20. What are you most thankful for? Most? That’s so hard to quantify. If I really think about it, it’s things like having a loving partner and a home and food and the ability to pay my bills, I guess.

21. Do you like spicy food? I do not like capsaisin related spices but I love horseradish type spices. I do liked well spiced, but not necessarily spicy, foods.

22. Have you ever met someone famous? A few times. Sometimes at the museum (worked with some of them). Sometimes at special events, like attending lectures.

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? Generally no. I do sometimes get the urge to write and reflect on stuff, so I’ll do that when the mood strikes.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? I’ve been trained to use pens for everything (I work in a chem lab). Pencils are fine, but you need the right kind for the satisfying scratchiness. I cannot abide scratchiness in my pens.

25. What is your star sign? Cancer. Why is this important?

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Not super soggy but not straight out of the box crunchy. Does that make sense?

27. What would you want your legacy to be? I  want my legacy to be built on kindness and helping others. I know that’s cheesy and cliche, but I have so much privilege that I want to use to benefit others.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? I love reading. I’m on book 30 for the year. The last one I finished was Starsight by Brandon Sanderson, which is book 2 of 3 of the Skyward series and HE HASN’T STARTED BOOK 3 YET!! I read Skyward and Starsight in four days total.

29. How do you show someone you love them? I often cook for them.

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Only for certain things. I don’t mind drinking most drinks at room temperature and ice waters stuff down. It’s good for iced tea though, but only if you need to cool it.

31. What are you afraid of? This isn’t a fair question. I’m afraid of being abandoned or fucking things up. I’m also afraid of spiders and the milk in my fridge expiring. I’m afraid of filling out forms (forms are really hard and make me extremely anxious). I’m afraid of phone calls, but I’m good at them. I’m afraid of public speaking, but you’d never know it unless I told you. I’m afraid of losing the people I love, of dying without having put some good into the world. I’m afraid for my neighbors, for my brothers and sister, for my niece. The world is overwhelmingly scary right now.

32. What is your favourite scent? Campfires, the smell of a fresh spring rain, leather, the weird musky scent of my kitten, of garlic and onions cooking low and slow. There’s too many.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? Depends on who and in what context I know them.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I’d travel a lot more. I’d donate to a lot of things. Museums, arts, individuals. I’d love to just go on to gofundme and just straight up fund folks to their goals plus a bit extra. And then go figure out where the systematic failures were that lead to them not being able to afford it in the first place.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? Ocean. Absolutely. But this is also lake and river erasure.

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? I guess exchange it for USD.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Yeah. They’re magical every time.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? Be kind. To yourself and others.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? I’ve got several I want. I was supposed to get an anchor with an octopus chilling on it on my inner forearm for my one year anniversary on testosterone but then COVID hit and well... who know when I‘ll get it.

40. What can you hear now? Mostly just the AC and the tack of the keys on the keyboard. Occasionally a particularly loud vehicle makes itself known.

41. Where do you feel the safest? Curled up with my partner and dog.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? Probs my anxiety.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? 

44. What is your most used emoji? The crying laughing one. I survive on sending stupid memes and shit back and forth with too many people. After that, the heart.

45. Describe yourself using one word. Oof

46. What do you regret the most? Not trusting myself when I figured out I was trans back in undergrad. That whole decade of burying it all and internalizing a lot of transphobia really did a number on myself.

47. Last movie you saw? I think it was Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn

48. Last tv show you watched? Rewatching Avatar with my partner right now. We just finished She-Ra.

49. Invent a word and its meaning. I just... I don’t know. I’m a Webster. I just compile what other people say in a book.