#youve sent me down a SPIRAL

[messrsrarchives]

So I've been having thoughts about snape and peter, as a dymanic. This came to me as i was doing the dishes, thinking about how you've talked about the personality people put on regulus is sometimes just snape's but also regupete. SO how would peter and snape work out, not nessecarily *as* a ship but dynamically because like they both were spies and such

alex i love you. i am OBSESSED with this pairing! i've never thought about them romantically at all, i think snape is reserved for very few people in my mind but !!! yes !!!! (below cut because it's long)

i think they're both people that are good at reading others. snape has his occulmency and was raised in an abusive home, he's very analytical and precise, and he's always on guard for the slightly inconsistencies. a stutter that wasn't there when he watched his back in school, or the shaking hands that weren't there in herbology class? he notices. and we know that i see peter as a people watcher too. i mean he has to be to be able to pull that off, doesn't he?

snape is also someone who knows connection when he sees it and i think, really, snily and prongstails friendship have a lot of overlap? obviously, key differences mhm yah but a friendship that fades as they get closer to others, different ideals coming into play and affecting that, eventually doing something that causes them harm? fuck yeah. dynamics.

so he's noticing pete immediately. and he's nottttt looking away. maybe he even started looking before school ended and saw signs, who knows. but he's on the lookout as soooon as pete rocks up to a meeting (or, if that wasn't the case because i don't think pete actually attended meetings without everything being foiled, then he simply puts it all together from mission reports and everything voldy says about an "informant")

pete is very susceptible. and underestimated. and snape is very good at manipulation and hiding parts away etc etc, i think they'd have SUCH an interesting dynamic of snape putting the pieces together and reaching out bit by bit when he realises that if pete's involved, so is lily, and pete who's lost his way and need someone to guide him back.

and wouldn't that be SO interesting!? two morally complex characters, two people on similiar paths but walking in different directions, and two people who haven't had a stable sense of belonging?

fuck yeah. let them fix everything. chaos. mess. dramaaaaa.

i think it's a tentative friendship, but such an important one. they don't really get into the big talks, absolutelyyyyy not. they just get each other, yk? they just understand and i think it's small interactions and short conversations until one day pete just comes barging into snape's potion room as he's brewing and he's all frazzled after hearing the prophecy and he's like "we need to go. we need to go right now."

and then it's like. ah. we are on the same page, i knew it.

UGHHHH yes !!! it's so similar what we've spoken about with regupete isn't it !? so so so similar but i think where regulus would be more forthcoming ("soft enough" and all that, very desperate to help his brother), snape is here like 😐😑😐 i do not care 😐😑😐 it either happens or it doesnt 😐😑😐

[francixoxoxo]

Hi franci! im not sure if youve written something like this before but id love to read ur interpretation about how billy would be like if reader was taken by a rival gang

No, I haven’t written about this before and I love the idea!!! 🫶

˚✧ ₊˚ No More Trouble

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝 𝐗 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐀 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐲.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞, 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

Billy had never been a man to go into a rage. He never hurt somebody who didn’t deserve it, and never because he enjoyed it. He was level-headed when it came to these things, usually.

But this wasn’t the usual.

Fury bubbled in Billy’s veins so hot he felt his insides toiling and cooking over. Fear was a distant memory, insistent and consuming rage overtaking any sense he might’ve had. You wouldn’t have gone of your own accord, without a note or so much of a trace besides flipped and strewn-about furniture, a smashed window. No, this wasn’t you running away. This was you being taken away. Stolen from him.

The moment he knew you were gone, he grabbed a few of his boys and rode out. He thought, at first, it could have been Jesse and them. He’d even approached his old friend, shouting and practically spitting at him with words that would’ve never crossed a calm man’s mind. But it hadn’t been them.

Every minute wasted was another minute they could hurt you. Another minute they could lay their grimy hands on you, and that thought just sent Billy into a spiral. If even one hair on your pretty little head was harmed, well, the gunfire would give him hearing damage.

Somewhere underneath all that anger, as Billy and his small posse searched another abandoned hideout to no avail, was guilt. it was Billy’s fault that rival gang would’ve taken you at all. There wasn’t any other reason— you had no business in this type of stuff, except by being his girl. Billy knew he was no good for you, and this only confirmed it. Maybe he should have ended it, let you loose to keep you out of danger, but…

Call him selfish, but after this, there wasn’t a way in hell he’d let you out of his sight.

The room they were keeping you in was rank.

You recalled very little of the actual kidnapping. You were walking to the small well on your property to fill your watering can for your garden. You were stopped over, placing the can down and reaching for the lever to run the water, when you felt a firm presence behind you and cool metal against your nape.

A rough voice barked your name, but something in his tone was questioning. You swallowed hard, attempting to slowly look over your shoulder at the man, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced your face against the mortar base of the well. Your nose was in the concrete as you stammered, “T-that’s me.”

Suddenly, he was pulling your head back by your hair, eliciting a pained yelp from your lips, before slamming your head back into the well.

When you woke, you were in a room without windows. Light only filtered through the crack under the door, at the top of some stairs against the wall opposite you. By the dank stench, you were in a cellar. Your head pounded as your eyes adjusted to the dark, you realized your arms were held above your head. A rough jerk of your hands was enough to tell you your hands were chained.

Pain pulsed throughout your body, in your shoulders and arms, your legs, and more terrifyingly, twixt your legs. Your legs were sprawled out in front of you, lazily spread, you scrambled weakly to close them and fold them under you. Perhaps it was a good thing you couldn’t remember.

There wasn’t much you could do, besides bow your head and cry. You wiped your tears on your shoulder, exposed by your thin house dress. You struggled to keep your shaky breaths silent, but you didn’t want to think about what would happen if you drew the attention of the men upstairs.

Perhaps a few hours passed, perhaps a whole night, but your ears were perked as gunshots rang out. It was too muffled to be within the building. After the first one, a moments silence until the next few. That’s when the yelling commotion began. You heard what could’ve been a heavy door opening, the gunfire suddenly louder than bombs.

Your mind was too hazy to feel anything except fear. Even then, it was muted. Hope was unthinkable, frankly, you wanted nothing more than to lay your head upon your raised shoulder and let your eyelids fall closed. At least the fighting was muffled in one ear by your arm. The door to the cellar was thrown open, bathing the miserable space in dim light.

A familiar voice called your name as if it were holy. You opened your eyes too wide at first, squinting against the oppressive light after so long in darkness. “Billy?” You would’ve been embarrassed by how small your voice was, if you weren’t so relieved to see him.

When your eyes adjusted, you were able to make out Billy’s expression. His eyes were blown wide and buggy, eyebrows lifted. “Oh, baby…” He couldn’t resist, clutching your face in his hands and pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Those fuckin’ bastards. What’d they do? They lay their hands on you?” He pulled away, to your despair. But he was just working at picking the locks on your chains.

You nodded your head lamely, staring up at him through bleary eyes. Billy swallowed hard, meeting your gaze and pressing his lips. He wasn’t one to cry. But he was devastated.

“Let’s get you outta here, baby. C’mon.” Billy mumbled, easily scooping you into his arms bridal-style and rising to his feet. You buried your face into his broad shoulder. He took a glance around the cellar, his nostrils flaring in rage. How could they keep you in such a shithole?

As Billy made his way up the stairs, a putrid and metallic smell reaching your nostrils, his hand under your back came to lay over your eyes. “Keep those pretty lil’ eyes closed f’me. Y’don’t wanna see this.” He cooed, reaching the ground floor of the chapel.

“What is it?” You opened your eyes a crack, only to be met with more darkness from your lovers calloused palm. He shushed you gently, stepping over a man’s body in the middle of the church aisle.

Billy hesitated to tell you, but he figured you wouldn’t quit badgering if he didn’t. “Bloodbath.” He glanced to his right, a man was face down behind a church pew. You’d been through enough without seeing the way Billy and his guys had painted the holy building crimson.

Billy carefully hoisted you up onto his horse, slipping into the saddle behind you. He wrapped an arm securely around your middle, pressed a loving kiss below your ear as reward for the way you laid back against him. “I’m glad you..”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Billy cut you off. He jogged him quarter horse into motion with a tap of his heel to her hind leg. “I’ll come n’ find you no matter how far away, darlin’.” You hummed, gratified, exhausted.

He let you sleep on the way home, the best you could on a trotting horse. He let the other Regulators go ahead. He didn’t wanna wake you by galloping fast.

When you finally did get home, he took care in washing you up and icing your bruises. You hadn’t realized how bad your face was until he showed you a mirror. He quickly took it away when he saw how it distressed you. Billy couldn’t seem to say sorry enough, for everything.

Billy didn’t go to work for a while. Only when money became a bit of a problem did he leave your side. Otherwise? He was attached to your hip. He cooked you meals and fed you himself on the days you wouldn’t eat on your own. He held you tight enough at night to dispel the memories, he listened to you when they were too strong to ignore.

He wouldn’t let anything like this happen again. You were too precious and after this? Too delicate. God help the force that tried to get twixt Billy and you.

At night, when you’d stir with tears pricking at your eyes, Billy would only tighten his strong arms around your meek frame. He’d let you wipe your tears on his neck, as he murmured with lips ghosting the shell of your ear, “Ain’t no more trouble, baby girl. S’all okay. M’here.”

Being there was all you needed from Billy.

Thank you for the ask!!!

[sophie-frm-mars]

hi! are there perhaps any thoughts youd like to share with someone navigating the early days of a BPD diagnosis? its not necessarily a call for advice, given that it's hard to do without knowing the specific situation and also youre just some lady, but rather that youve been very open about your experiences and research on the topic of mental disorders, so id be interested in any insights youve acquired through it that might be valuable for someone who's starting to properly step into the pool of psychiatry for the first time in their life and has a very interesting mixed bag of feelings about it.

ps: needless to say, im super excited about your upcoming essay.

thanks!

Sure absolutely

I was diagnosed with BPD for the first time over a decade ago and the most immediate thing that helped me was DBT, because the skills that you have to learn in DBT really are just a handbook for how to be a person, which is pretty great. I didn't have the level of independence and control over my own life at that point to be able to really build the life worth living that would help me the way I have today, but doing DBT after my initial diagnosis was still the single biggest change in my happiness, my general attachment to reality, how I treated others and everything else that mental well-being comprises. I also didn't have a very good therapist, we just didn't vibe.

This year I've been doing DBT again after realizing that grief, trauma from being in an abusive relationship and work stress sent me into a mental health spiral that involved me doing bad irresponsible kink with people and treating people pretty inconsiderately. I was derealising, paranoid and otherwise detached from reality for a lot of 2023. Looking back it became obvious that one of the core features of BPD, the "unrelenting crisis", had never stopped for me and that I hadn't made a life that really helps me be stable and secure in who I am. This year I've had more control over my world than I did when I was a university student, so I've thrown myself into DBT wholeheartedly. I know that a week where I'm not doing everything on the ABC PLEASE checklist is a week where my mental health is compromised and I need to either slow down and rest or get back on the checklist immediately. I treat it with life or death seriousness, because early this year I would have died if I had carried on how I was or if I hadn't been doing DBT. I also have a really good therapist now.

Get friends who will tell you honestly when you've done something wrong but who still love you the same and listen to them. Be aware of what your support network looks like. I have a Sophie's support bubble discord that people are in because of how immediate my crisis was, but as time has gone on things have relaxed and I usually talk to people one on one more

[fraener]

2/27/23

im drinking some tea that tastes like oatmeal with syrup in it. it’s chai and chestnut tea together with a bit of milk and sugar. last night i made lamb chili and watched a movie from my childhood. i really liked the message of it, i remember it didnt take off quite as big as other childrens movies at the time and i think its cause it had a very clear but convoluted storyline revolving childhood trauma and building resilience from an understanding that things always change and move and the future may be better. this morning i just read something about children being outside of the time conception of adults and how we force them to see and feel time the way we do as they grow up. ive been wondering if time moves so quickly for us because there are so little joyous surprises. all of the surprise is reserved for accidents, illness, death, bad news. our days are too carefully planned by ourselves- children have most things planned for them and we do our best to give children enjoyable and kind experiences. i wonder if things would be different if we treated one another with the compassion we have for children. i also wonder if things would be different if people surprised one another with joyous things more often as well. it shouldnt be rare to hear that someones partner or friend planned a whole day(only just a day) just for them, full of things they thought they’d like and all of it a surprise. children get that every day. im often convinced i knew just as much when i was a child as i do now. it feels like the other wrench in the machine is knowing too much about people. i used to know much more about the smaller animals and plants and things and i felt more like i could be on their time. less responsibility then or more forgiving responsibility so i could do things at my own time was something different as well. i havent been trying to juggle everything for very long, only a couple of years, but i really dont like having so much responsibility. im not sure that anyone does. i want to relearn surprise and find ways to live in which i dont have to “carve out time” from my day. i dont want to live with time anymore and i think id feel a lot better about it if it wasnt so engrained in me at this point. I shouldnt be able to guess the time down to a 5 minute range at any given moment. i remember some of the days going fast when i was a child and some of them going really slow. i dont actually think that time felt like it moved slower then or necessarily that it feels like its getting faster now, i think im just being forced to pay way more attention to it than i used to. this week some of the days have gone really slowly and some of them have gone really quickly. time passes much faster when youre deep in thought or in rest or in a project. time passes slowly when youve got a lot of things to do. i think it might be about finding contrast or ways to build contrast so the different types of time feel more varietal. and to find people who will surprise you. its been snowing on and off the last couple of days between the rain and the freezing. im nearing the end of the quarter, the buds on the oak are getting fat and anxious, ive been hearing the finches rehearsing their spring songs. i feel very clearly that the thing missing from my life is attention to the right things- attention to detail, attention and trust in joy, attention to time moving slowly. a lot of me is consumed by other things. i want to divert my attention away from my obsessive thoughts and cycles. i know this ocd flareup isnt about the food at all. it has nothing to do with food. i think thats just something my parts decided they could control. i think school and the emotional fallout from being in a big abusive relationship and then several smaller, sometimes more disrespectful relationships has really sent me spiraling. i think i need to focus on figuring out what exactly i >can< control. 

[notahorseindisguise]

fuck you & u deserve nothing

hi!!!! is this a joke or is that actual hate? ive always wondered when id receive my first hate!!!

now, if i deserve nothing as you so eloquently put it, then the question is "do i deserve this ask?" and based off of the terms you set (i.e my deserving nothing) no, apparently i don't deserve this.

and yeah actually youre right! i dont deserve this. i dont mind hate, because ive done a lot of bad things which i definitely regret and wish i could take back, but any hate that anyone occurs should at the very least not be anonymous in my opinion. people deserve to know who is mad at them.

also, hate shouldnt be public. if this is a genuine hate message, i think i know who sent this, and they are fully justified, but once youve calmed down a little i think youll see that whatever this was for, it was a bad idea. either it makes me spiral into old habits, or it just sorta. embarrasses you a little bit. either way, this ask was unneeded and i hope once your anger is all let out youll see that.

if this is the person i think it is, dm me. we can talk more. in private.

have a wonderful day!!!!

[sajdd]

Youve sent me down another rengoku spiral i love that man with my life he would give the best hugs :,(

YEEEEEEEES come down to our little dark hole where we cry abt him everyday

he would :(

[dershloop]

ok i know no one asked but in all fairness i havent talked about it but I HAVE NINJAGO AUS nd this is my ninjago blog so im gonna talk abt them. my main one im working on atm is the Hell On Earth AU where the preeminent doesnt get killed at the end of s5 and morro keeps lloyds body as an extra fuck u to the ninja and so he can do semi-human things while traversing the realms. it also includes my ninjago oc, Landon! if u follow me on instagram youve probably seen him but yeah! in my headcanon universe thing??? idk anyway yeah hes lloyds older brother nd kai's boyfriend bc i like him.

also!! they don't have their powers HOWEVER jay, with the help of Nya and Pix, is able to make cybernetic implants to replicate their powers. this however does come at a cost, especially to Zane and Cole.

content warning: gore, m*rder, just a lot of hurtin nd sadness. not brilliant.

Kai is the first to change. after lloyd is assumed dead (he falls off the cliff thing when morro grabs the realm crystal. kai panics and never jumps in but tries to pull him out instead. needless to say, it doesnt work. he does survive but barely, morro is basically keeping him alive at this point.) kai takes all the blame on himself. the others try to tell him it wasn't and they shouldnt have sent the ghost and guy whos terrified of water to help but he just keeps blaming himself and ends up spiralling until he just doesnt care anymore. not caring, however manifests itself in a... strange way. he begins killing (not immediately, its a slow process but after like a good month or so he gets to humans) to feel something and strangely, it helps. othere's something about the helplessness his victims as they realise who he is that just spurs him on.

Landon finds out whats happened to Kai from the others after not hearing from him in a week or so. he's convinced he can help him since they've known each other for years but that doesn't exactly pan out the way he thinks it will. which honestly is stupid on his behalf but he's a bit of a self insert so obviously he's not gonna be smart. anyway he finds kai nd actually finds him in the middle of murdering someone and naturally tries to intervene. Kai nearly kills him in the process but eventually is able to convince Landon to join him. landon also now has a huge burn mark all up the left side of his face that goes so deep his teeth and gums show around his mouth area.

in an attempt to try to kill the preeminent alone in the hopes they'll get kai, landon and lloyd back, 3 of the remaining 4 lose parts of themselves. Jay ends up getting swallowed by the preeminent. Cole gives his soul and Zane gives a quarter of his powersource to get jay back, but he's changed. they've changed too. any basic instinct of self or peer preservation Jay once had is now gone. he rambles, more than he used, and has peculiar delusions and hallucinations. he claims to have a new friend called Em who follows him around. Initially, everyone assumes its a coping strategy. purely an imaginary friend. however, jay can actually see Em and is convinced he's real. Since Jay can describe him in such specific detail and he doesn't seem to be harmful, the others aren't overly worried.

Zane's changed too. cold. calculating. apethetic towards everyone besides Cole. weaker. since he lost even more of his power source, he can't fight anymore. any attempt to over exert himself will just end in him powering down for a while to recharge. In his eyes, he was betrayed by the city they once protected. they all were. so, Zane ends up hiring Kai and landon on as bounty hunters of a sort. hired guns to do the dirty work he doesnt want to send Cole to do.

Cole is Zane's body guard. since he lost his soul, he lost any hint of personality he once had. now he only knows 3 things, protect zane. Lloyd is gone. It's kai's fault.

nya and pixal are in a strange situation. nya didnt lose anything really. shes bummed, sure, but she didnt give her soul or her heart to get jay back because she didnt have to. nya is the outlier of the group; she has developed psychosis or lost her sanity or whatever. shes survived this relatively unscathed. pixal, however, wasn't as lucky. after zane began to change, she tried to hard reboot his systems in an attempt to bring him back, but he wasn't too pleased about that. he took her processer out his system and attempted to get cole to destroy it, however Nya interveened nd saved her. now she lives in the main computer at the samurai x cave where, at night, nya tries to build her a new body out of scraps and parts of her various mechs.

so yeah!! if anyone wants to know more, just shoot me an ask or a dm or smth!! im also actually writing this as a fic so i might not answer question that'll be answered in that early on or if they'll spoil smth lol but yeah!! thanks for reading if u read this far ily mwuah <33

[shinaus]

OKAY IM SENDING IN MORE BC YOUVE SENT ME IN A SPIRAL !! okay,, hear me out,, shinso SINGING to you. not like full out, concert but it’s more a melodic little tune he does whenever he’s cleaning or cuddling with you. and sometimes you’ll just ask him to him it to you so you can fall asleep and honestly it warms his heart up SO much whenever you ask him

COME DOWN THE SPIRAL WITH ME!!!! not him singing you songs that remind him of you or that he knows bring you comfort when you're having a bad day... or playing with your hair while he does it... he would be SO sweet and willing to make you happy and if it's his voice absolutely Bet

it's shinso hours

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Sugar Rush

Summary- Taylor x Y/N. Taylors birthday is on set, and you have a surprise for him. Smut. Messy Smut. 

Word Count- 2.2k

A/N- @official-and-unstable-satan​ I hope this is what you wanted to celebrate Kitsch’s birthday with. The best and improper way to enjoy cake. XD

“Hey, you there?” One of the sets assistants, Jane asked as she knocked on the door to Taylors trailer, and you popped open the door, and ushered Jane inside, who had a rather large, over sized cake, swirls of green and purples in the frosting, Happy Birthday Taylor written across the whole span of it. You immediately popped open the top and sampled the frosting while stuffing candles all through it. 

“God I love the La Briouches bakery.” You say as Jane takes the candles from you and finishes placing them in a nice design. “He still has no idea right?” 

Jane nodded, and handed you a lighter, which you slipped into your pocket. “Clueless Y/N, hes finishing up on set and going straight into makeup. Hes going to be shocked.” 

Your mouth uplifts in a devious way, thinking that you finally were going to pull off the perfect surprise party for your boyfriend. He didnt even know you were on set today, or that the crew was setting up one of the sets unused for a party after filming today. Todays all about you Sir, you think to yourself. “Good, Im just gonna hang here then till you guys are already.” 

Jane checks her watch quickly. "Theres still 3 hours on set till you can go to stage 3" she sees you going for more frosting and swats your hand. "And stay out of the cake!" You wave her off and she leaves you to entertain yourself till they are done.

Taylor had been avoiding the Happy Birthdays singing fest all day, ducking off set as soon as cut was yelled, and not that he didnt appreciate the sentiment, but he really just wanted to be spending the day with his girl. Pulling out his phone as it was finally a break, his co stars went off there separate ways, and he needed five damn minutes to himself before he was shoved into a chair for makeup. He passed Jane in a rush, who whipped around and muttered ‘shit’ to herself, trying to find someplace to ditch the large box of scripts to chase after him. “HEY TAYLOR, wait!” 

Taylor though was lost in his phone, typing out a message telling you how much he missed you, and his long strides was taking him to his trailer. Jane finally just ditched the box, running after him. “Shitshitshitshit” Taylor didnt even pause, going in the trailer and almost soundlessly the door shut Jane out. There was no way for her to warn you.

Your phone buzz’s next to the cake, and you pick it up, your finger wanders back into the sweet sweet frosting, slicing it through the sugary fluff to bring to your lips when you hear someone clearing there throat. “Oh Jane, did you for-” Turning you see that it definitely is not Jane. 

Yet there is a amused Taylor, holding his phone, looking at you standing next to his surprise birthday cake, that you were just about to taste.... again. You give a shy smile, and a wave of your fingers before stuffing the frosting covered one in between your lips, and that he certainly perked at. 

“Eating my cake on my birthday Little Songbird?” He said with a hint of disbelief, moving in close to take a look at the cake, and then at you with an arched brow, waiting for an answer. Your finger comes out with a pop, and a dart of your tongue to clear the excess. 

“Maybe?” 

He tilted his head, his eyes flashing in warning, your thighs squeezed together at that all to familiar look.

“Maybe Sir” 

“Dont you think you should perhaps share?” He still looked amused catching you like this. 

You reached behind you out of his sight and sunk your entire hand into the cakes corner, grasping a palm full, while his attention turned to the cake. “And how did you manage this Sweetness?” Distracted by what youve done, you smash the piece cake on the side of his face, cupping his face in your hands and turning him to look at you with a sly grin. 

“La Briouche special Sir you like?” Your giggling at the way he is looking at you, whisps of green and purple frosting all along his cheek, and up in his hair and eyebrows, he gave a growl and pulled you in close.

“Oh very much Songbird! But you've been pretty naughty...” He to had taken some and smeared it along your neck in retaliation, making you squeal and try to pull away, but there was no way Taylor was letting you escape that easily. Huffing as he tipped his head, running his tongue along the length of your neck, smacking his lips against your clean cheek.

“Well look at that, I get to have my cake and eat it to.” he bit your cheek playfully, softly as your laughing and tilting your head in to lick at the frosting by his ear, purring against him, and turning it into kisses, he twirls you around and sticks you to perch on the table next to his now destroyed birthday cake, and takes a bite of the treat. 

“You didnt just say that” you snicker and he claims your lips, the push of his tongue pushing pieces of cake between you two, and his sticky hands slid up under your shirt peeling it off, it was his birthday after all, you consider while wrapping your legs around his waist and you pushed yourself in against him. Messy Cake Sex it would be. You take a fistful of the frosting and smear it across your chest, smudging it in your bra when he yanked off your shirt. Sure enough he dragged his lips down your chin and dropped to nip down your collarbone chest to bite of the treat, placing heavy bruising kisses along the curve of your breasts as he yanked down the offending bra. 

“Your so messy Sweetness” he mutters as his mouth closes around a nipple, the grainy feeling of the sugar rough and smooth along the swirls of his tongue. Fuck! Your fingers bury into his hair, spiking it with dried confections, pressing his head in closer “Fuck yes!” You hiss and he chuckles with a bit of a rush, when he lifts and you both are going through a sugar rush, laughing as your mouths clash once more, and both your hands are at your pants, yanking on buckles, buttons, and zippers, getting them down, both pop open at the same time and yank down, he backs away to yank yours all the way away, your legs kicking out to get rid of the denim.

“I was all dolled up and waiting for you! Sir!” You enunciate his title as he stuffs more cake between your lips and nips at them with a smirk, yanking his pants down. 

“That should shut you up sweet little Songbird” he smirked as you moaned at the sugar rush once more.  

You mumble through the bite, and rub your smooth pussy against his groin and along the length of his erected cock pressing against his lower belly. Taylor cussed under his breath and place his hands against your ass cheeks and slide you forward. You smirk as you take your cleaner hand and line him up to fill you in that far more delicious way then any cake could ever be. Swallowing your bite and giving the most filthy moan as he filled you with his thick cock, his tongue swiping up your neck to bite that sweet spot behind your ear with a growl, bottoming inside of you. "What was that little one, so fucking tight around me today." He rutted sharply and you gasped, clutching your fists into his shirt. 

“You feel so good, deep inside me Sir.” You repeat yourself, still adjusting to feeling him pulsing inside you, He gave a roll of his hips, and your eyes flutter back, nodding. Your frosting smeared face was covered, your hair was had bits of cake streaked through it, and Taylor couldnt have had a better birthday gift. Then you purred at him in that way you do that spirals his blood to rush right into his groin, that ‘give it to me Sir’ noise of yours with the hooded gaze you locked your eyes on his, practically begging to be destroyed. That look. 

He grabbed your hips and started thrusting, your legs crash around him to hold on and you fall back against the table with a cry, feeling him just hit and crash into you over and over, your ass and back rubbing raw on the linoleum of the trailers table, the wobbling of it just adding momentum to the way he jerks you back to bury himself balls deep. 

You dragged Taylor down to crash over you, your hands ripping at his shirt as he fucked you hard enough for you to give sharp cries and bursts of screaming his name, oops to not calling him Sir, you just had to get to skin, touch, scratch, taste him and he let your hips go long enough get it off, falling back to his hard grip on your hips, crashing against your chest to claim your lips, a plunging of tongues sloppily tangling and bites against lips to inhale each others cries. The cake, that destroyed cake that the bakery sent over special for today, well that toppled off the table into the bench seat. 

“Fuck sorry?” Taylor grunts against your mouth, and your responding answer is nothing more then swiping your tongue back into his mouth and groaning, your hands clasping against his broad back and raking nails into long red welts down his back until your able to find a spot to grasp onto, those clenching ass cheeks, pushing him to crash into you, fluttering your core around him cause you were that damn close. 

“It was your cake Sir” you huff against his lips, and move to bury your face in his neck, nipping against the shell of his ear. Your lower back arching into the firmness of his chest, feeling the waves start to threaten to crash, the coil snap, all of it to take over. His hand slides into your hair, hard and sharp as it pulls you back so he can look down at you and change his angle, just slightly, since he knows you, he knows how to make you properly fall apart just for him, why hes Your Sir. 

“Give it to me Little One” and his cock rubs against that spot, that sweet unleash and you tighten, locking yourself around him as you release. Flooding yourself around him, he never slows himself, but rides your orgasm to chase his own, and deep, out of sync thrusts roughly claim your still tight channel, and his warmth spills, thick coating of cum being milked from him and you arch just from that sensation again, you could be reminded through the rest of the day from him sticky on your thighs, and well that was a gift all for you. 

“Mmmhhh, Happy Birthday Sir.” You nuzzle against his shoulder as hes experiencing his own high, deep breaths against your neck warmed you, and he lifted his head to look down at you, the corner of his eyes crinkled in his grin, this time his claiming kiss was not hard and demanding, but a teasing exchange. “Better birthday gift then I could have hoped for. If you got a chance to read my message Little One, it was saying how much I wanted this right here” He lifted to his elbows and ducked his head to lap off a bunch of crumbs and frosting that had wedged itself into your cleavage. 

You giggled as you tilted to watch him, arching your brows. “You wanted us to ruin your surprise birthday cake with impulse messy sex Sir?” 

“Well not exactly. This was just an added bonus.” Taylor chuckled around lapping off the frosting from around your nipple, making you whimper at the sensation, and finally he pulled back to slide from you and ease you back into a stand, looking down at the mess the two of you promptly made. The cake was completely ruined, leaving the both of you laughing. 

“the crew... they are gonna be disappointed.” You pout slightly, knowing how hard they worked to pull all this together, and Taylor already has a napkin to wipe his hands clean and dug out his phone, sending off a quick message to Jane. “We really know how to destroy a cake.” 

“Dont worry, I will make it up to them.” He grasped your chin and put a peck on your sugary lips. “Jane will go pick up another cake down the street, and they will be none the wiser that it wasnt the original one.” 

You swipe a finger along the center of his chest and looked between him and the small trailer shower. “What do you say we continue this cleaning up?” 

His hand snapped on your ass and growled “March baby, youve been filthy and Sir has to clean you up.” 

You hop with a giggle, still on your sugar rush, and the two of you go to tumble into the shower, washing away your sticky mess, and making a whole other one. BEST BIRTHDAY EVER! 

@official-and-unstable-satan​ and @kimisama1989​

[knybits]

hi!!! how about a soulmate au with tanjirou where the indicator is related to their hands (red string, marking on the palms, etc... anything is ok, so whatever works best for u! im just a sucker for these aus lol 😭 ty!

yES MY BOY!! MY BABY BOY!! SUNSHINE!!! im so happy you requested this my hands havent flown faster since SEVENTH GRADE LMAOOOOO ugh this was too blissful for me to write :,) my crops are THRIVING youve saved my grades THANK YOUUUUU!! i too am a sucker for these aus and i cant believe youve hit the jackpot. wow. incredible. anyway i hope you enjoy this bc it was so fun to write!! ily!!!!!

SOULMATE!AU TANJIROU X READER

Everyone’s soulmate indicator is different. Nezuko has a timer on the back of her neck, and Tanjirou’s mother had his father’s first thoughts of her written on the bottom of her foot. 

Lucky for Tanjirou, his own mark is on the palm of his right hand. 

It’s a compass, always seeming to point east from his tiny village at the bottom of the mountains. 

Despite being a charcoal seller with dirty hands, Tanjirou always tried his best to keep his hands as clean as possible, although it was always extremely difficult. His clothes were especially dirty due to the countless times he would rub his hands all over them, but as long as he could see his compass, he’s more than happy. 

Nezuko always teased him for constantly thinking about his soulmate. She’d weave tall tales for him, claiming his soulmate lived across the ocean and that he’d probably spend a good portion of his life searching for them with how obsessed he seemed to be when it came to keeping his hands clean. 

But Tanjirou would laugh, wave Nezuko off, and claim that he’s more than happy living with his big family in the mountains, and that he doesn’t need his soulmate to be the happiest person in the world. 

But Nezuko would be unsatisfied with his answer, and wish that he would pursue a different happiness from his constant familial one. 

Tanjirou completely forgot about his soulmate the day Nezuko turned into a demon. 

He’d spend his days at Urokodaki’s house, training and training until his hands split open, only to repeat the next day.

The day he arrived at Urokodaki’s house and began his 2 years of training, it pointed south, but he hadn’t noticed. 

At the final selection test, it pointed south-east, and he still didn’t notice. 

In Tokyo? West, but he was too focused on staying alive to notice then either. 

When he met Zenitsu and Inosuke, it continued to point west. 

Nezuko was the only one to have continued to pay attention to his mark despite Tanjirou forgetting completely. Either that or he’s far too focused on Nezuko to care about his future. 

Nezuko’s heart would drop at the sight of his broken hands, the hands he always worked so hard to maintain to make sure that he could see his compass. It’s buried under calluses and cuts, scratches and dirt littering every line. They’re no longer soft like they used to be, instead thicker and worked to the bone.

In the midst of battle, she saw it waver from north to east before the two were captured and sent straight to the Butterfly estate. 

And now in comes you. 

Another pillar that basically lives at the Butterfly estate.

You were drinking tea out in the backyard patio when the three males (along with Nezuko) were heaved into the estate. 

At the sight of Tanjirou, your hand hurt enough for you to drop your teacup, and Aoi yelled at you for hours on end after, but for once you weren’t bothered by her screams. 

Your compass needle spun wildly the closer you walk up to Tanjirou, and when you flipped his right hand over, palm up, your eyes watered at the sight of how broken it looked. 

You could faintly make out the compass, and too pained to hope and be let down, you turned his hand over once again. 

But now, you can’t seem to erase his kind face from your mind, and your thoughts are littered of the injured demon slayer that resides in the medical ward next to your room. 

The day he finally wakes up, you decide to visit him. 

Upon knocking on the door to the room, you step in, a tentative, “Kamado… Tanjirou, is it?” 

Said male perks up at the sound of your voice, tightly gripping his right hand once seeing you. His nose twitches and his eyes widen; all movements easily seen by you. 

“Good, you seem well now. Care for a walk?” 

He mindlessly nods his head, lost in your eyes while the pain in his hand seems to grow. Nevertheless, he crawls out of bed and follows right behind you, where you lead him to an empty room with optimal privacy. 

“Tea?” You gesture to the pot, and he thanks you. 

You smile, looking down as your fluid motions captivate the male, and your voice snaps him back to reality. 

“You know, I think we’re soulmates. Do you?” 

Tanjirou’s face flushes a deep red, your honesty reminding him of himself. 

“May I see your hand?” 

He’s quick to obey your orders, laying his open palm into yours before grimacing at the sight of his hand. 

It’s recovered a little since his rest, but the sight is still nasty. You continue to smile anyway, tracing the faint compass that seems to be spiraling out of control. Your’s does the same, so you can easily confirm that he is in fact your soulmate. 

Your fingers trace over every bump on his hand, memorizing lines and rubbing circles with your thumb over specific spots. Your eyes are half lidded, focused without a hint of unwavering, but Tanjirou can’t seem to place love in your eyes.

“Sorry my hand is like this… I swear I didn’t mean to show any disrespect towards my soulma-” 

You silence him by bringing his hand to your lips, and he stiffens, face as red as Haganezuka’s mask. 

“You’ve worked so hard to find me… These hands are proof of your sacrifice, and I highly doubt it was the compass that led you to me in the end, Tanjirou.” He can’t help but shiver when his name passes through his lips once more, and his insides are in a violent turmoil. 

Just how much damage can your words do to him?? 

“Believe me when I say this, my love,” he can feel himself melt in your hands (literally). 

“But I’m so extremely happy to have you as my soulmate.” 

He can see the love in your eyes now. 

[soybeantree]

blossom 

pairing: mark x reader  genre/warning: singleparent!reader, teacher!mark; some soft shit word count: 7k description: soft mark as your son’s teacher. a/n:  buckle in buttercups

“Do you ever feel like your life is spiraling down a black hole headed nowhere?” “No. Is that an adult thing?”

 The young boy sitting across the table from you asks, pausing in his breakfast consumption. Sighing, you put down your spoon and shake your head. “No, I think it’s a me thing. Your mom is a mess. Have I apologized to you lately that you ended up with me as a mom?” The young boy chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re a great mom and a beautiful mess.” He says as he stands up and clears his dishes, heading for the sink. “I’m a blessed mess.” You call over your shoulder as you stand up. “It’s the only way I could end up with a kid like you.” You add as you follow your son’s example and place your dishes in the sink. As you start to rinse them off, you catch sight of the clock. “Oh, shhh-It’s time to go!” You save yourself, shooting your son a smile. The kid shakes his head. “Swear jar.” “I didn’t say it.” “Swear jar.” His arms cross his chest, and his feet stand firm. Your cause is lost. “Fine. Go grab your jacket and backpack. And hurry about it!” You call as he disappears into his room. Heading towards the annoyingly large glass jar which sits in the far corner of your living, you dump all of your change into it. The jar is nearly full, and the sight makes you cringe. The past few weeks at work have been stressful, leading to your statement at breakfast and the full jar. While you hope the trend won’t continue, reality leads you to believe otherwise. You do need to find a better outlet for your stress though, or you’re going to end up broke. “Mom!” “Coming.” You rush to the entryway, slipping on shoes before dashing out the door your son is so kindly holding open. His school is close by, the reason you chose the apartment. He insists that being ten he is old enough to walk to school by himself. You insist that being twenty-eight you are not old enough for him to walk to school on his own. You plan on living a long and healthy life, and if something happens to him, you’ll either end up dead from grief or in jail for vengeance. So the two of you walk to school together. These couple minutes are sacred to you. With all the stress and demands of work, time with your son is scarce, so you take advantage of every minute you have. “Alright, what do I need to know about this coming week?” You ask as you head down the street. Your son walks silently beside you, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “What is it?” You ask at his hesitation. “We are currently in a full honesty, no judgment zone. Didn’t you see the sign we just passed?” You gesture over your shoulder to the non-existent sign behind you. He cracks a smile and shakes his head. “There was no sign mom.” “Okay, but my point still stands.” Taking a deep breath, he starts. “I want to make a deal with you.” His eyes dart to yours, and you nod urging him to continue. “If you say yes, you can take back all the money in the swear jar.” The money in the swear jar is designated for charity. You two had come up with this deal when he was in first grade and was sent to the principle’s office for swearing in class. You had been mortified but were even more mortified when you realized it was your fault. That day you had told him that swearing in school was not okay and promised that you would stop swearing, and that ff he caught you swearing, then you would put all the change in your wallet into the swear jar. Once it was full, you would take all the money and donate it to the charity of his choice. While you hadn’t been able to keep your promise as diligently as you would have liked, you two had donated quite a bit to charities. “Kid, that money-” He holds up his hand though, and you zip your lips. It’s his time to talk. “At the end of the month, we’re going to have a choir concert.” Everything within you plummets as your mind follows the path he’s laying out. “Minnie’s mom was supposed to help with the costumes and the set, but she broke her arm and can’t. Mr. Mark can’t do it all by himself, and he asked if any other parent’s might be able to help. I know you’re busy with work, but no other parent’s can help and if Mr. Mark doesn’t get any help then we can’t do the concert and-and…” His shoulders heave, and his eyes start to glisten, and you stare back at him helpless. Ever since that first day when the doctor placed this tiny bundle in your arms, you’ve been helpless whenever you look in those eyes. “Okay.” “Okay? You’ll do it!” He bounces on his feet, smiling up at you so brightly, and you know if you could you would give this kid the world. “Yes, yes, I’ll do it.” “Mr. Mark will be so happy.” He beams as he starts to skip down the street. “Mhm.” You nod as you follow him at a more moderate pace. Mr. Mark. Mark Tuan was your son’s first grade teacher, the one who had sent him to the office for swearing. He was there when you came to pick him up. Your son had been in tears. He hadn’t realized what he said was a bad word. Mommy said it all the time. He didn’t want to be a bad kid. Mark had sat beside him, telling him that just because he said a bad word didn’t mean that he was a bad kid. People made mistakes. He just needed to learn from his mistake, so that way he didn’t make them again. Standing down the hall watching the interaction, your mind was a war of emotions, the chief being mortification. You were mortified that you were teaching your son to cuss; that because of you, he felt this way about himself; and that Mark witnessed it all. The second emotion was gratitude. You were grateful that Mark was the one who witnessed it, that he would sit with your son and comfort him, and that he had somehow found a way back into your life. Fate is funny, you think as you give your son a kiss and send him off to school. While the goodbye embarrasses him as it would any ten year old boy, he lets you do it every morning. Because, as he has told you so many times, his love for you is greater than any embarrassment. You hope it’s something he learned from you. That cussing isn’t the only thing you’ve taught him.  Your love for him is greater than any embarrassment. You wish it was the same for your family. Heading towards the nearby bus stop, your mind wanders through old memories. You were young when you had your son. Fresh out of high school, you found out you were pregnant. You were unwed and unemployed with only your family to lean on, except you couldn’t. They wouldn’t let you. Coming back from another unsuccessful job hunt, you had found a suitcase on your parent’s doorstep with all your clothes in it. Your father wasn’t pleased with what had happened you could tell that by his stony silence and your mother was always looking away when you entered a room, but they were your parents. They should love you more than any embarrassment. You had stood on their doorstep, pounding on the door and screeching until night fell. But the door never opened. They probably weren’t even home. They had kicked you out and fled. You collapsed against the door, staring at the sliver of moon which hung in the sky. That’s when Mark came. You had known Mark your whole life. He lived down the street from you and was by far the coolest kid on the street. All the boys wanted to be his friend and all the girls wanted to be his girl-friend. He was your first crush and your first love. Being two years older than you, he had already gone off to college. So when he came and crouched down in front of you, you were shocked to see him. He had undoubtedly heard you screaming, the whole neighborhood had, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t ask about it or offer any false words of hope. Instead, he held out a hand and asked if you wanted to grab something to eat. As you board the bus, you smile at the memory. His face had shone with kindness, but all you wanted was to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone and stop trying to be nice. With him there, you couldn’t curl up in a little ball and cease existing. But you said none of that. You couldn’t. While the thing inside you was probably no bigger than a grain of rice, it needed you. Without you, it couldn’t survive, and you refused to abandon it. Your love for it would be greater than any embarrassment. So you took Mark’s hand and let him pull you up. He grabbed your suitcase and, with his hand still wrapped around yours, started walking down the street. He did all the talking which was shocking because he never talked. Mark was always the quiet, mysterious type, but tonight he was a fountain of words. He told you about how he was studying to be a teacher and about his roommate Jinyoung who was also pursuing education. The two of you headed to a local restaurant, and over a steaming bowl of soup, he continued to speak. Eventually, you started talking too and joking. He never asked about the pregnancy or made any comments about it. For one night, you were able to just be you. After dinner, he offered you his sister’s room for the night. Being older than him, she had already moved out. Hesitant, you declined, but he assured you his parents wouldn’t mind. Having no other options, you relented and agreed. His parents didn’t mind. They welcomed you in with open arms, showing you the spare room. A towel lay folded neatly on the bed with little bottles of shampoo and soap. After a warm shower, you laid down and fell asleep instantly. The next morning, you woke before any of them. During your shower the night before, you had accepted the truth. The life you had lived before came to an end when the second pink line appeared. Your parents made it very clear you no longer had a place here, and you couldn’t live of the Tuan’s kindness forever. Before they could wake and talk you out of your decision, you left with only a note to thank them for their kindness. Life was hell after that. Working, raising a kid, and putting yourself through college, you wonder how you did it. There were lots of tears and sleepless nights, but you survived. After all your hard work, you were able to land a good job and send your son to a good school. He loved his school, especially his teacher Mr. Mark. It wasn’t until that first parent-teacher conference that you realized Mr. Mark was your Mark. That had been a fun night, followed by more fun nights. Over the school year at different functions, you and Mark had filled each other in on those years since you left. He regaled you with the tales of him and his friends, and you allowed him a glimpse of your hell. Feelings you had thought long dead floated to the surface. They weren’t the same though. The infatuation of a young girl had matured into respect and appreciation and desire. For a time, you entertained your childhood fantasies. Then your son swore. Standing there watching Mark comfort him, you were thrown back to that day on your parents doorstep. After all those years and all that hell, you were still the same girl who needed Mark to step in and help her up. You couldn’t face him after that. The feelings which had surfaced, you forced back down. Your son graduated to second grade and your interactions with Mark dwindled until your son decided to join the school choir. For years, the school choir had been run by a kind old man who had lost his hearing at some point during his tenure. No one had the heart to tell him though. But, before your son’s third grade, the old man announced that that year would be his last. Mark, a music minor, was unanimously elected as his successor, and your son was one of the first kids to sign up the next year. Now, you see Mark on a weekly basis. Thus far you have successfully limited your interactions to polite greetings and small talk. Stepping off the bus, you acknowledge that moving forward this will no longer be the case. The two of you will be working closely until the concert. The feelings you sunk, stir at the prospect, but you force them to still. Mark has always been a pleasant fantasy, but you live in the real world and have dealt with too much shit to indulge in fantasies.

Later that week, you sit hunched over a sewing machine as you curse under your breath. The damn bobbin keeps messing up, and if you have to re-thread the needle one more time, you’re likely to shove the whole thing off the table. Believing the school would have adequate equipment for the task at hand, you left your beautifully functioning sewing machine at home. The mistake would not be repeated again. Next time, you would bring it. 

Needle re-threaded, you run the cloth through the machine, only to hear the whir and feel the tell-tale tug. Before the machine can meet the floor, long hands pull it out of your reach. Glancing up, you find Mark standing above you. A smile tugs at his lips, but he forces them to still. He wants to appear serious. “Would you be able to help me with the set pieces? I’ve finished cutting them out. I just need someone a little more artistic to paint them.” Sewing had offered you the opportunity to distance yourself from Mark, but if you spend any more time with that machine, you’ll end up owing the school a new machine. Maybe that’s what you should do with the swear jar money this time around. You muse, chuckling to yourself. “What?” Mark’s eyes catch yours. “Nothing, I was just- it’s nothing. I’ll just get started on those set pieces.” You stand heading over to the cut-outs. The less talking you do the easier all of this will be. You grab a nearby paint brush and bucket and begin outlining the branches. Mark settles next to a fence as an uncomfortable silence falls. “Do you mind if I put on some music?” Mark’s voice breaks the silence. Your brush streaks across the tree leaving an ugly stain. You hadn’t expected him to speak. Determined to escape the awkwardness, you had filled your mind with everything you had to do for work. “No, I don’t mind.” You clear your throat. “It’s fine.” Music starts as you try to fix your mistake. The two of you continue to work, as the music pushes the silence back. However, the awkwardness remains and grows worse as the night drags on. You continually check your phone, hoping hours have ticked by. But only minutes have passed. “Mom!” Your sons voice enters the room, and you glance up from the bush you’re working on. A relieved smiled slips on your face. Today’s torture is coming to an end. “Hey, sweetie. How was studying at Minnie’s?” You ask as you start to gather up the brushes and paint. Not able to physically help with the concert, Minnie’s mom had offered to watch your son while you worked. “I finished all my homework.” He beams. “You did? Good job, kiddo.” “Yes…” A glint appears in his eyes. Pushing off the floor, you cross your arms and nod for him to continue. “Since I finished all my homework, I was wondering if we could go and get some ice cream.” He fixes you with those eyes, and you tell yourself that he earned a treat. You’re not being a pushover. “Okay,” He fist bumps the air before you can finish, “We can get ice cream.” You chuckle as he proceeds to do the dorky victory dance he learned from you. “But first, help me clean up. We don’t want to leave this mess for Mr. Mark.” “Oh, Mr. Mark,” he turns to his teacher, “do you want to get ice cream with us?” The invitation should have been obvious. You should have waited to agree until after you left. Now the invitation hangs in the air, and you can’t face Mark. You can barely face your son for fear he will read too much in your expression. Smoothing your face, you turn to Mark with a simple smile. “You’re more than welcome to come with us.” “Sure, I can always eat ice cream.” He returns the smile. Drawing on a strength you didn’t even know you possessed, you manage to keep the smile on your face and nod. With the three of you working together, you finish the clean up in minutes. Down the street from the school is a local ice cream shop which has been run by the same family for generations. Here you three head for the promised treat. Your son is quick to order chocolate fudge, requesting a second scoop when he thinks you’re not paying attention. He receives one scoop with sprinkles. You request the more moderate vanilla. Mark completes the trio with cookies ‘n cream. Outside the shop, benches and tables sit clustered around a little wishing well. Your son plops onto a chair, and you settle on the bench across from him, failing to realize your mistake until Mark exits the shop with his cone in hand. The cluster your son has chosen only has the chair he occupies and the bench under you, leaving the only available seat beside you. Glancing at your son, you find that glint in his eye as he slowly licks away at his ice cream. “Do you mind?” Mark asks gesturing to the accursed spot. You shake your head scooting over until the arm rest bites into your side. Mark lowers himself, careful to keep an arms width of distance between you two. “Mr. Mark?” Your son asks. Mark motions for him to continue. “Did you really know my mom when she was little?” Sputtering turns to coughing as you choke on your ice cream. Mark pats you gently on the back, but you wave him off. “Sorry.” You cough. “Wrong pipe.” “Ummm…” Mark glances at you, but you wave him off again as you regain your breath. “Uh, yes. We grew up in the same neighborhood.” He turns his attention to your son. “What was mom like when she was little?” “We didn’t know-” “She was very independent,” He cuts you off, “like she is now.” “Really? How so?” “There’s one thing I remember from when we were really young. She would wander away from her house all the time, and the whole neighborhood would know when it happened because her mom would rush out of the house screaming. Everyone would start looking for her, and she would be somewhere different every time. When she finally returned home, her mom would rage at her.” “Mom!” Your son accuses. “And you won’t even let me walk to school by myself.” “Do as I say not as I do. Have you ever heard that expression?” You defend your protectiveness. “I was lucky that nothing happened to me.” Mark clears his throat before taking another bite of ice cream. You eye him. “What?” “You weren’t always lucky.” He mumbles, but you still hear him. At your bewildered expression, Mark continues more clearly. “There was one time I saw you wandering, and there was this guy. He made me feel uneasy, so I went and got my dad. And he reported the man to the police.” The knowledge sends a chill racing down your spine, and you stare at him horrified. “After that, I would always keep an eye on your door, and if you ever went wandering I would follow behind.” “You did?” Clearing his throat, he nods, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “So you were my mom’s guardian angel?” Mark chuckles. “I wouldn’t say that. I was just worried something might happen.” His focus goes to his ice cream as he continues to chip away at it. You stare at him and then a crack in the sidewalk until your ice cream drips onto your hand. Cursing in your head, you lick up the mess and make quick work of the frozen treat and cone. Your son works more slowly, that glint in his eye ever present, so you hurry him along and excuse yourself from the situation. You need to get home before any other secrets come to light.

At work the next week, you sit through yet another meeting. This one thankfully marks the end of the project you’ve been slaving over for the past month. You wish your boss would show his gratitude for your teams hard work, by not having a meeting. Glancing at your co-workers, you can tell they are of the same mind set. Your boss does end the meeting earlier than usual though which everyone applauds. 

As you gather your things and prepare to return to your desk, you hear your name called. Your boss stands on the other side of the room a smile on his face. That smile sends your stomach plummeting. It means more work for you. With this project completed, you had hoped you would receive a reprieve from your overloaded schedule, but you seem to be luckless.

“I’m sorry sir, could you repeat that?” He chuckles at your bewilderment. “I want you to head our new office.” “If I’m not mistaken, that office is in a different country.” He nods. “Of course the promotion comes with a move, but the company would assist with your relocation, and you would be allotted a housing stipend.” The offer is an honor, recognition for all the work you’ve put in. Everyone knew about the new office opening, and the office gossip had all been supposition about who would helm it. You had never given consideration to the idea that it would be you. While work can be exhausting, you are content where you are, and you believed the company was content to keep you where you are. “This is a big change, sir. Could I have some time to think about it?” “Of course, we don’t have to announce anything for another two weeks. Take your time think it over, but I’m sure you’ll find the benefits outweigh any minor inconveniences you face now.” His smile broadens as you nod. Exiting his office, you find your co-workers packing up and saying their farewells. A glance at the clock confirms that the workday has come to an end. You breath a sigh of relief. After that bombshell, you wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything. Grabbing your own bag, you head out of the building to your bus stop. The bus ride home is spent in silence. You watch the world pass by, but notice nothing as your mind weighs the benefits against the “minor inconveniences”. While your boss saw them as minor, you did not see them the same way. Moving meant leaving the apartment you had worked for years to be able to afford. It meant tearing your son from his school and his friends. It meant uprooting the life you had worked so hard to achieve. Did the benefits really outweigh what you would have to give up? You would have a new apartment, probably better than the one you had now, but it wouldn’t be the apartment that you had walked by every day for three years, promising yourself that one day you would live there. Your son would make new friends. The new city would have a good school, maybe a better one than he went to now, but Mark wouldn’t be there. That last thought stills you, and you almost miss your stop. Hoping off the buss, you start towards the school, but the familiar path is a blur as you try to rid Mark from your mind. He doesn’t fit into any of your plans and isn’t one of the “minor inconveniences”. Your relationship with Mark ends at the school gate. As you approach that gate, you find your son standing there talking with Minnie and a few of his other friends. When he notices you, he says his goodbyes and heads towards you. “How about a hug today, kiddo?” You hold your arms open wide, and after a moments hesitation, he walks into them. Squeezing him tight, you breath deeply. “You know I’m the only kid my age whose mom still hugs him?” He mumbles into your shoulder. “That’s either because they don’t want to be hugged or because their moms don’t love them as much as I love you.” You reply, releasing him. He gives you a look, causing you to chuckle. “I was thinking BBQ for dinner tonight. What do you think?” “Really? Yes! Let’s go!” He starts off down the street before you can change your mind.

Sitting at the table waiting for the waitress to bring your drinks, you prepare yourself for the coming conversation. This move will affect him just as much as it affects you. He has a right to know what’s coming and to add his input. 

“Mom, what is it?” His question startles you and draws your attention to him. “What?” “You keep staring at nothing and sighing, and you said we could have BBQ tonight. Something is going on.” Your poker face never was the greatest. Nodding, you begin. “I’ve got some good news, but it could also be bad news.” He nods for you to continue. “My boss called me into his office today to offer me a promotion.” His eyes go wide, and he beams at you. “That’s awesome, mom! You’re the best worker at the company. You deserve a promotion. Why is that bad news?” “The promotion means we have to move.” “Where?” “Another country.” Silence. He stares at you, the joy from moments before washed away by this revelation. “Sweetie-” “Mom, we can’t move to another country. What about my friends and my school and our apartment, and everyone here. We can’t leave all of that.” His voice is a squeak, evidencing the boy he still is. He stares at you with those eyes, and you feel your inside crumble. “I know we would have to give up a lot, and I know that would be hard. But, there are a lot of good things that would come with the new job and the move. We would find you a new school, and you can make new friends. I would be making more money which means that we would be able to do more fun things like go on vacations and adventures.” “Would you be working as much?” You’d be working more. The answer shows on you face. He snorts, crossing his arms. “We won’t be going on any adventures. You’ll be too busy working, and I’ll be home alone with no friends.” “Kiddo, you’ll make-” His glare cuts you off. He’s angry, and he has every right to be. “I think we should both give this some serious thought, and then we can talk about it again.” His response is a huff.

Working with your sewing machine is a relief. If you had to struggle with the demon school machine, you would have gone on a rampage. The promotion has been dominating your thoughts, robbing you of sleep and leaving you peevish. You’ve weighed the pros and cons a thousand times and come to no satisfactory conclusion. Your son is firm in his resolution to stay and refusing to speak to you which irritates your aggravated state. You’re a toe stub away from a full melt down. 

A knock, knock on your work table draws your eyes to Mark who is standing above you with a two steaming mugs in his hand. “Tea?” He offers. While you should say “no” and return to your work because being around Mark isn’t helping your situation, you straighten, stretching the muscles in your back, and reach for the mug. The warmth spreads through your aching fingers, and you sigh as you breath in the tea’s earthy smell. The steam caresses your face, relaxing the muscles. “Thank you.” You mumble as you bring the mug to your lips. “You know even Okoye needed the help of the Dora Milaje when she took on Killmonger.” He states as he perches on the edge of the table. You snort, nearly spilling tea down your front. “What?” “Okoye is the greatest warrior Wakanda has, but she was still able to accept the help of her fellow warriors.” He says, taking a sip from his own mug. “I’m sorry. Are you using a Black Panther analogy to tell me that it’s okay to accept help?” You raise an eyebrow at Mark as you lean back in your chair. Mark smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “It got you to smile didn’t it?” The smile, he referenced, thins to a line, but you can’t keep the edges from tugging upward. “So it at least accomplished one of it’s tasks.” “And the other was to get me to accept help?” “To let you know that you can.” His eyes hold yours, and you feel yourself falling back through time to that day on your parent’s doorstep. The last day you had accepted anyone’s help. “Are you offering again?” Your eyes fall from him as you set the mug on the table, your fingers fiddling with it’s handle. “I’ve never stopped.” His voice is light, and you can hear the smile in it. But the words lay heavy on your shoulders. “Mark-” But you don’t know what to say after that. Does he want you to apologize? Do you want to accept his help? You don’t even know what you want?   “I hear congratulations are in order.” He says sparing you from your unfinished thought. “What?” “Your son told me that you’ve been offered a promotion.” Mark explains. The action shouldn’t surprise you. Your son has been attached to Mark since his first day of school. He’s the first solid male figure in his life. “What else did he say?” Mark pauses, his eyes drifting to a corner of the room. “You said it was okay to accept your help, Mark.” You don’t look at him as you speak, and the words burn on the way out. But you say them in the hopes of alleviating your ever mounting stress. “He won’t talk to me. I’d like to know how he’s feeling.” “He doesn’t want to move. He’s afraid he’ll be alone because he won’t have any friends and you’ll be too busy to spend time with him.” Your son is shy. A truth which you have buried as you’ve contemplated your decision. His fear is well-founded, and it rips at your chest. “You don’t think I should take it.” The irritation that’s been gnawing at you bleeds into your words, turning them from a question to an accusation. Mark holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and with a simple smile says, “I think you should do what you think is right.” He relaxes his arms, folding his hands on his lap. His smile and demeanor fit his words, supporting them, but his eyes don’t. His smile doesn’t reach them and an emotion resides in them which sets your heart racing. The emotions which you have been suppressing for years burst forth, and you find yourself asking, “How do you feel about this, Mark?” The question encompasses more than this moment and this decision. The question goes back years to when you were kids growing up in the same neighborhood. You ask him how he feels, but really you want to know why he followed you all those days, why he offered you a hand and a place to stay, why he was with your son at the principle’s office, and why he keeps showing up in your life. “I don’t want you to go.” The answer is simple and soft. No loud declaration or demand. “What?” “I’ve never wanted you to go, but I understand that just because I want you to stay doesn’t mean you should.” He smiles, shattering everything inside of you. “Why?” The question is pointless and self-serving, but you have to know, want to hear him say it. “Because I love you. I have since that first day I followed you on your wanderings.” Tears leak from your eyes, evidence of your wreckage within. “I-I...” You stutter as your brain shifts through the rubble for a response. “I have to go.” You stand up, grab your bag, and run like you did back then like you always do.

“It’s time to go.” Your son informs you. They’re the only words he’s spoken to you in the last week.

You catch his eyes in the bathroom mirror and give him a smile as you nod. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.” His lips remain a thin line as he turns and heads for the door. A sigh forces the air from your chest and slumps your shoulders. After a final check of your make-up, you head out of the bathroom and towards the front door where your son is waiting. He fixes his eyes on  the door as he waits for you to slip on your shoes, and he is out the door the second they are on. He keeps two steps ahead of you the whole way to the school. “How much longer do you plan to keep this up? If we move, are you never going to speak to me again?” “You’re going to take the job.” He whirls around to face you with tears welling in his eyes. Clearing your throat, you respond, “I didn’t say that. I just wanted to know.” “If I say ‘yes’, can we stay here?” Hope has replaced the tears, and you find it wrenches your heart more. “We should hurry. I don’t want you to be late.” You start to walk again, and your son plods along behind you.

The concert is beautiful. The costumes, the set, the singing. Everything turned out perfectly. But you notice none of it. Your attention is split between your son who whispers and giggles with his friends during each song break and Mark who directs the boys with a patient smile. 

Since the night he confessed, you have kept your distance from him, not even helping with the final set up for the concert. Mark never texted or called about your absence. He allowed you your space like he always does. Staring at the most important person in your life and the person who has always been beside you, you make your decision. The weight which has rested on your shoulders since your boss offered you the promotion lifts instantly. You exhale all the stress and smile as you sit back and enjoy the rest of the concert. When the last song is sung and the children take their bows, you stand up and applaud with the rest of the parents. Your son finds you in the crowd. His smile pushes his cheeks into his eyes, and he practically glows with pride. But all too soon, memory returns, and he whips his attention from you. You continue to applaud though until the children take their final bow and exit the stage. Leaving your seat, you head back stage to share your decision with your son. Before you can reach him though, you run into Mark. He freezes when he sees you, and you mirror the behavior. Clearing his throat, he nods to you and continues on his way. “Mark.” He stops. “Can I talk to you?” He turns his eyes finding yours. The way he looks at you stills your heart and stops your breath. He’s searching, and you wonder what he sees. Whatever he saw causes him to nod again as he walks towards you. He leads you to a small alcove which allows you both a modicum of privacy. Standing a few feet apart, Mark starts talking, “If this is about what I said the other night, I want to-” You hold up a hand stopping him. “I’m sorry.” You apologize, staring him straight in the eyes though your mind screams in protest. “I’m sorry I ran then and that I ran all those years ago. I tell myself that I’m strong and independent but most of the time I’m just scared. And I act out of fear. Even as I say all of this to you, I’m scared,” you release a shuddering breath but continue, “but I’m tired of letting my fear control me. I love you too, Mark. I’ve loved you since before I can remember.” The truth flies from your lips leaving you with only fear as you study Mark’s face. He smiles, not big and bright but small and sad. Watching him, your heart plummets. “What I said that night is the truth. I love you, but I know that just because I love you doesn’t mean I can stop you from doing what is best for you.” You blink as your mind works to unravel the meaning behind his words. His response was unexpected and unwanted. Searching his eyes, realization strikes. “The job. You’re talking about the job.” You chuckle to yourself which furrows Mark’s brow. “I’m not taking the job, Mark.” “If it’s because of me…” You both know the end of the sentence. You smile up at him, and yours is big and bright. “It’s not because of you. Well, it’s not fully because of you.” Your smile eases as sensibility asserts itself. “I would be lying if I said you didn’t play into my decision. “The truth is it really is an incredible job. It comes with more money and more opportunities. And for those reasons, I’d be a fool not to take it. But it also comes with more hours and more traveling which means less time I get to spend with my son. You pause, your eyes becoming unfocused as your mind travels back to your early years. “When he was little, and I was putting myself through that hell; I told myself it’ll be worth it. If I work hard now and put in the hours, when he’s older I won’t have to. I can have time with my son.” Glancing back up at Mark, you continue, “If I take this job, I’ll have lied to myself all those years. I only have so much time before my son goes off to live his own life. I want to spend all the time I can with him until that day. “After that day,” you shrug your shoulder, “I’ll take a job with money and opportunities and hours and traveling. So I guess, I’m not saying no. I’m saying not now.” “Not now.” Mark nods with a true smile. “Not now.” You repeat returning his smile. “So what happens now then?” “I wouldn’t be opposed to dinner.” You cock a brow. “I also like movies. Video games occasionally. They’re really good stress relievers.” Mark snorts and nods. “I’m free for dinner most nights. And I also like movies and video games.” “Do I get to go to dinner and the movies and play video games too?” Both of your heads turn to face your son who stands in front of the alcove, smiling up at you two with his hands clasped behind his back, a familiar glint in his eye. “How long have you been there?” You ask. “Long enough to know that you two love each other and we’re not moving.” He smiles up at you. You’re caught between wanting to scold him and wanting to laugh. “And you didn’t think you should announce your presence?” “No.” Mark laughs, and you glare at him, but he continues. Shaking your head, you rub your eyes. “I’m hungry. Are you both hungry?” Glancing between the two, you find them both agreeing. “Good. Then let’s go to dinner, and we can talk about all of this there.” Your son smiles wide and heads for the door. As you start to follow him, you feel a hand slip into yours. Mark meets your eyes and offers you a simple smile. You return the smile and fall into step with him as you two head after your son.

[sunlitroom]

Gotham – s5e05 – Pena Dura

 As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham:

Selina went stab stabbity stab. Alfred told Bruce he can’t save Selina from herself.  Ed woke up on a rooftop.  Jim gave speech #357 on the value of hope. Then Haven exploded, proving that hope can only do so much against an RPG. Jim’s been promised help for weeks!  He also won’t stop until he finds who’s responsible for Haven.  Ed was responsible for Haven, albeit in a weird trance-like state.  Jim stared at the charred remains of Haven.

As always, long post will be long.  There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot might appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)).  There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism.  Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

In a church, a man is watching an old black and white film.  From what I can figure out from the actors involved and the character names, it’s a George Brent film called Tangier Incident.  It’s not a particularly interesting film.  He is, however, in a good creepy film called The Spiral Staircase, which I recommend.

Anyway

Jim and Harvey approach him, guns drawn, and ask him turn around.  Apparently, he’s the one who sold the RPGs.  He seems pretty unimpressed by them, and rather insolently asks if they’re going to arrest him.

Jim says he wants a name. Old film guy addresses some unseen minions

What do you say boys?  You wanna show the lawman how we feel about uninvited guests?

No-one is backing down. The stand-off is broken up by the arrival of lots of large people dropping through the stained-glass ceiling, who promptly take the thugs out.

While this is happening, Jim wrestles the weapons dealer/film enthusiast.  He still wants a name.  The fight is pretty even until the old guy is shot in the head.

We now get a slow-motion shot of shiny army boots approaching to some foreboding music.  Jim rises, frowning in confusion as shiny boots man removes the mask covering his face.

Eduardo?

Nice shot right?

We get the military music we last had with Barnes to let us know that Jim likely met this man in the army. His men are still pointing guns, one at Harvey, so he tells them stand down.

Jim asks Eduardo what he’s doing here.  He tells Jim he last saw him running through sniper fire to save him from a burning truck.

Jim claims he had the old guy where he wanted him – but he’s glad he’s here. Eduardo says he is too

 They wander through the church chatting. Jim tells Harvey they hated each other in boot camp. Jim thought Eduardo did things too fast, while Eduardo thought Jim was too careful.

A sarcastic Harvey says that Jim’s taught him a thing or two about being careful.  

Jim and Eduardo lapse into military jargon – talking about the mission plan. Eduardo says that they’re helping Walker (the woman Jim’s been talking to on the radio). They’ve to make this hellhole safe.

Jim, disgruntled, comments that all it apparently took for them to be sent help was the murder of hundreds.  Eduardo says they’ve to remove all criminal elements and make the city safe.  He introduces his second in command, who hands Jim a ledger they’ve found.  On it – we see Ed’s name against two RPGs.

Jim turns to Harvey. He and Eduardo will go after Ed. Harvey is to set up a command centre at GCPD.  Harvey protests.

I’m not as fast as I used to be, but I still got some fight in me. I’m not some desk jockey – I’m a street guy

Jim says Harvey’s the best cop he knows.  Ed tends to think ahead.  If this goes sideways, Harvey will need to take over.

I need your help buddy

Harvey nods.

GCPD where Bruce runs into Alfred.  Alfred tells him Jim isn’t there – they’ve got a strong lead in the Haven bombing. He asks Bruce what’s wrong.

Bruce tells him worriedly that he can’t find Selina anywhere. Alfred replies that Selina is capable of looking after herself.  Bruce says that she’s not herself, though.   Alfred pulls a face and tells him that Jeremiah deserved to die.  A resentful and upset Bruce says that Jeremiah made Selina a murderer – just like Ra’s did him.

(An aside.  Much like Alfred, I don’t really have a problem with Selina stabbing Jeremiah.  But this is only one of many times this episode will get a bit forgetful.  Selina was a murderer before she killed Jeremiah, Bruce.   You were there when she shoved that guy out the window.  Not that I really have any time for Alfred’s ex-army friend who stabbed him and robbed you – but Jeremiah wasn’t the first time she’s killed)

Alfred quibbles this, claiming that Ra’s goaded Bruce into murder, but Selina did what she did with open eyes

And you’ve got to learn to respect that son

Bruce wants to find her, though, and leaves – as Alfred watches.

(An aside - Eh.  On one hand, yes – Selina can make her own decisions.  She has autonomy.  On the other hand – Selina did what she did while still struggling to cope with the trauma of Jeremiah shooting her.   Alfred excusing Bruce but condemning Selina – even though he agrees Jeremiah needed to be removed – doesn’t really sit well with me.  On top of all that – Selina’s endangered herself for Bruce on a number of occasions, gone out of her way to help him, in fact.  She’s clearly not coping now – and leaving her to her own devices seems off to me.)

In the library, we see Ed listening to his blackout recordings.  He howls with frustration, unable to establish a pattern.

It makes no sense!

He catches sight of himself in a nearby mirror

You're not a murderer, Ed.  Except Kristin Kringle, and Officer Doherty.

He goes on

But all those people.  And children. How could you do it?  Why?

He roars

It doesn't matter – it’s you - not me

(An aside.  This is really a bit of a mess.  So.  Am I to assume that Ed is being a massive hypocrite, and selectively editing his criminal record?  Or am I to assume that Ed differentiates between murders committed by Ed and those committed by The Riddler?  Maybe, that doesn’t really work here – since some of these were committed before he discovered that persona.  Besides – wasn’t one of the features of his ‘becoming’ his personalities becoming fused?  Or are the writers choosing to forget some of Ed’s other murders?  Who knows.)

Hearing a sound, he turns. It’s Jim and Eduardo – who have arrived to arrest him.  He holds his hands up defensively.

No - Jim - I can explain

Jim is taken aback.

Explain?  You son of a bitch - you actually did it?

(Interesting. Although Ed’s name was in the ledger, Jim doesn’t seem to have thought that Ed was truly responsible – or didn’t want to believe it might be true.)

Eduardo tells Ed to get on his knees.  That’s three Eds in this show now – not counting Ed’s many personalities.  For reference, if they’re all ever in the same scene, the dog is Ed1, the lanky green one is Ed2, and beardy army guy is Ed3.

Ed protests, and says he didn't – but he needs a little bit of time

Eduardo is still pointing his gun – and tells Jim to just say the word.

Ed pleads.  You know me, Jim.  People that I have...hurt - they hurt me first

(Eh? There are multiple gif sets going around which show how ridiculous this remark is.  Ed’s hurt plenty of people just because he wanted to.)

I didn't know a single person in Haven

Eduardo glances at Jim

Your call, buddy – he basically confessed

Ed watches carefully as Jim thinks and then decides,

Bring him in – he stands trial

We’re saying this again? What kind of court will this be? Who is the judge?  Lawyers?  Jury?

Ed isn’t enthused by this. He touches a book from the bookcase. Eduardo is apparently standing on pressure-plated ied.  One twitch, and he’ll repaint the room with his organs.  He smiles.  

Jim points his gun. But apparently Ed has also devised some sort of watch that monitors changes in Ed’s heart rate if it deviates by more than 10 bpm up or down, and can cause an explosion - if necessary - from as far as a mile away. Whatever. Apparently, in a fit of sexual frustration after his recent contact with Lucius, Ed sublimated his lustful stirrings into an inventing binge.

Ed and Jim try and stare each other out a bit.  Jim says Ed will be a target once news of his guilt gets out.  Eduardo says he thinks Ed’s threats are bluffs.  Jim says Ed doesn’t bluff.  Well – there was the time with all the cops and the poison gas that turned out just to be sleeping gas, but - hey.  This episode is having severe difficulties remembering details, storyline, characterisation….take your pick.

Jim lets Ed leave. Summarising because this recap is lengthy – Jim uses his cat-like reflexes to leap across the room and finds the right book to free Eduardo – whose whole take on the puzzle is that he’d like

to wring this nerd’s neck

Jim gives him a welcome to Gotham.  Wanting to wring Ed’s neck is just part and parcel of visiting. He adds that the city grows on you, before contacting Harvey and telling him to put the word out: Ed is wanted for the attack on Haven

Bruce strides into Sirens, looking for Selina.  A fairly happy-looking Barbara leads him towards a booth.   With a flourish, she tells the crowd to raise their glasses for the killer of Jeremiah Valeska.  The crowd parts, and we see Selina sitting in a booth with a group of girls.  Is this the booth of Bruce’s downward spiral?  Is this the ‘I am having a long dark night of the soul’ booth?  Do you have to book ahead?  

Selina raises her glass, but her smile is more ironic than anything else.

(An aside. Barbara seemed happy.  It's hard to say whether having the killer of Jeremiah Valeska at her club is bring extra cachet, whether her one-night stand with Jim brought her some closure and happiness, or whether she and Jim are still having sex and she’s pleased about this.)

In some abandoned building, we hear a radio send out the message about Ed being wanted by the police.

A tall skinny man wearing a green suit and eyeglasses

They left out his BritPop hair.

Outside an angry mob gathers and chants.  We see Ed hiding from them, before slipping off.

 At City Hall, Oswald stands, flanked by his henchmen, as a visitor opens a box for him.  Whatever it is seems to make him happy – and he pays the man 200 bullets in return – telling him to go have fun and keep up the good work.  

As the man leaves – Oswald is brought a message

He reads aloud

Edward Nygma is the monster responsible for killing the innocents of Haven

Oswald looks incredulous for a moment, and then worried – wondering aloud,

Ed…what have you done?

The mob from earlier runs past.  Ed hides – but is walloped on the side of the head.

GCPD.  Eduardo tells Jim they’re pushing uptown – but there’s still no Nygma. He’s confident they’ll get him though.  He then asks Jim to tell him about Scarecrow.  Jim says his guys would need gasmasks – but taking him down would be a big one.

We’re on a sort of rural street.  We pan up Ed’s body.  I own those boots.  He’s unconscious and tied to some kind of deck chair.

An older blonde woman leans in towards his face.

Time to wake up!

Forgive me – American readers.  I can only tell that she sounds Southern, which I know isn’t very specific.

She tells Ed she’s the woman who will carry out his execution, along with her two boys – two men, who are sitting in a truck parked facing Ed.

They’ve basically created a makeshift electric chair.  There’s a lot of whooping and laughing as they give Ed a tester jolt.  He yells in pain, gasping when they stop.

The woman tells him that was only a taste.  It’s fair that Ed should die to pay for JoJo, who was in Haven when Ed blew it up.

She holds up a photograph. Ed seems afraid to look at it – then bursts into laughter when he sees it’s a dog.  For good measure – he calls the woman an anthropomorphizing nincompoop when she claimed that JoJo was happy and smiled often.

They give him another burst of electricity.  Ed hallucinates – seeing a spiteful Oswald telling him

I'm going to fix you, Ed

Ed blinks – confused. They jolt him again.  This time he sees a sincere Oswald, repeating the same phrase.

Everything stops when there’s some kind of fault with the electricity.  Ed quickly spots a way to trick them and escape.  In doing so – one of the men’s legs catch fire. As Ed runs off, he declares that he’ll fix Oswald.

 At City Hall, we hear distant explosions.  One of Oswald’s henchmen tells him that the army has invaded and men are heading this way. Oswald asks him if Nygma has been located – to which the man replies he has feelers out.  Oswald tells him the first man to find him gets to live.

Turning, he tells his dog he is surrounded by morons.  If he didn’t have his empire – he’d go get Nygma himself

(An aside – it’s actually something that has been frustrating about Oswald in later seasons. Season One Oswald was very mobile. He moved around a lot: think of all the places we see him.  Fish’s club, Gertrud’s apartment, GCPD, Jim and Barbara’s place, Maroni’s weird lodge, Falcone’s mansion, Loeb’s house…. It helped give a sense of how he had a finger in every pie, but also how much he truly inhabited the city.  He was everywhere.   But after they have him empire building – he becomes much more static.  He’s usually stuck in a grand house or hall, and has to send other people out to do his bidding.)

He spots that the gun on his desk has gone. He turns – and now it’s pointing at his head

It’s Ed2

(Ed gets demoted if the dog is in the same scene)

Hello Oswald.  We have a great deal to talk about.  But first - did you name your dog after me?

(An aside.  You know – that dog is sweet, but the naming decision feels like self-indulgent fic territory.  Unpopular opinion, I know – but there it is.)

 At GCPD, Harvey says Nygma’s been seen at City Hall – he’s going after Oswald.  Eduardo says Oswald is at the top of their list – so this sounds like a twofer

Jim says Oswald has all the ammo in town – so they need shock and awe

Eduardo says that’s his default, and asks Jim if he’s ready to go.

Jim looks a little dubious, and tells him to take Harvey.  He’ll keep things locked down here

(An aside – it’s possible that Jim does this because he wants to salve Harvey’s bruised ego from earlier, although sending him to City Hall with Eduardo to face a heavily-armoured and very irritated Oswald would seem to be a bit of an over-correction of that earlier moment.  It is amusing to consider, though, that Jim did not want Eduardo to witness what would likely have happened at City Hall if Jim had gone instead – i.e. Oswald wheedling his way out of a visit to the precinct, Jim telling Oswald to please be good this time, and then some emotionally vulnerable and sexually charged staring.)

At Sirens, a flippant Selina tells a serious-faced Bruce he’s killing the buzz. Bruce tells her this isn’t her.  Selina smiles, and asks Bruce if he really thinks he knows her. He solemnly tells her better than she knows herself.

Selina smiles.  She tells Bruce that the night his parents were murdered she watched it all and did nothing.

Her eyes fill

She says she watched

That guy shoot your father and shoot your mother and through it all - I did nothing

She lets out a laugh that turns into a sob

I didn't call for help. I didn’t scream at him to stop

Bruce tells her it wasn’t her fault – she was a scared kid.  Selina tells Bruce he was the scared kid.

Bruce has teared up now too. She continues

We are not the same.  I didn't do anything because I was not willing to risk my neck - because I didn’t care.  That's who I was and that's who I am

A different song starts playing.  Selina puts on a faux-smile and says she loves this song.  A tearful Bruce watches her walk away.

 Back at City Hall, an irate Ed is questioning a confused Oswald.

What did you do?

What are you talking about?

Ed is insistent

You!  You are the reason I killed those people!  How could you?  You have made me some murderous puppet!

(Just a reminder here that when Ed found a seriously injured and traumatised Oswald in the woods, he took him home, injected him with God knows what, told him he had no option but to stay there, and rubbed his hands with glee when he figured out the best way to manipulate him to his own ends – which was through his grief for his murdered mother.  You know, just while the story is touching on stuff like taking away someone’s agency, and using them for your own selfish ends.)

Ed rants that he’s spent weeks waking up strange places - driving himself mad, thinking he’d gone mad - now he knows that it’s all been Oswald’s doing

Of everything that you have put me through - this is the most cruel

(Just another reminder that - you know, while we’re discussing cruelty – Ed tried to drive Oswald insane, dug up his father’s remains, humiliated him, attempted to demonstrate that he wasn’t capable of love (so – you know – tried to completely dehumanise him), and then shot him in the gut and pushed him off the end of the pier. Just, you know, in case we’re looking for some kind of gold standard for cruelty).

Oswald blinks in confusion, and tells Ed that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.  Ed quotes the ‘I’ll fix you’ from his hallucination.  He goes on – telling Oswald he didn’t fix him: he broke him

Realisation dawns on Oswald’s face.

Wait - I said that to you on the night the bridges blew!

He tells Ed that he saved his life.  He found him and paid Hugo Strange to save him – but Hugo must have done something when he was patching him up.

Ed is incredulous. Oswald is indignant – asking him what he was supposed to do?  After Butch, Ed was his only friend.  Ed exclaims that he shot Butch, to which Oswald retorts that’s why he needed Ed alive.

Oswald is frustrated. He sighs and turns to him

Edward Nygma - if I wanted you to suffer, I would never do it in some backhanded way.  If we are ever at odds again, you will know without a doubt that I am your enemy.  I promise you that, as a friend.

(An aside.  I have made no bones about the fact I’ve found just about everything they’ve done with this relationship over the seasons to be utterly forced - clunky and leaden.  If anything ever exemplifies a lot of what I don’t like about it, it’s that moment just there.  Compare how natural and nuanced almost any other interaction in this episode was in comparison with this moment.  It’s self-indulgent and melodramatic in a manner usually reserved for bad fanfiction. Bear it in mind particularly when we get that lovely scene later with Bruce and Harvey, and compare the two.)

Ed considers him for a moment, then yells

What a mess!  I might have killed you, Oswald.  And if that day comes, I swear to you that I will stare you in the eye as I stab you in the heart.

We already saw that, Ed. Back when you shot him in the gut

Oswald nods tearfully

(An aside, something else I hate about what they’ve done with this – insta-woobie ooc Oswald)

Oswald tells him to look on the bright side.  If Strange messed with his head, then Ed’s not responsible for what happened.  Ed asks where to find Hugo – but the conversation is interrupted by an explosion.

One of Oswald’s men tells him that GCPD and the army have blown the gates

Oswald whispers to him

Grab Nygma - they want him, not me

(An aside – the speed with which Oswald is willing to sell Ed out is honestly hilarious)

Ed – however – has legged it, leaving a fulminating Oswald behind.

The doors to the main hall are blown open, and a smoke bomb is rolled on. Harvey and Eduardo enter.  Oswald waits amidst all the smoke – probably for the drama more than anything

Why hello Harvey!

He teases him about the ammo situation last time.  Harvey tells him they don’t want his territory. They want him to put down his weapons and hand over Ed Nygma.

The situation, I think, is now more about Oswald being pissed that his turf has been invaded than anything else. He tells them to leave by the time he counts to three, or he’ll shoot everyone.

Harvey stands his ground.

Oswald smiles

You’re not thinking clearly, Harvey.  Maybe call your boss - see what he thinks

(An aside – Oswald is so offended that he’s even having to look at someone from GCPD who isn’t Jim.  Ugh. This day just gets worse.  Funnier yet is his conviction that Jim will tell Harvey to come back to GCPD and stop bothering him)

There’s a staring match. Oswald’s men all wind up shot, and Oswald is taken in to GCPD. 

Ed is in Sirens - on his knees in front of Barbara.  She tells him all Gotham is looking for him

He replies that he needs information – your speciality

(An aside.  What?  Since, like - when?  When did information become Barbara’s speciality?  I know she likes power and money.  She’s also fond of violence and casual cruelty.  But information?  When was that supposed to have happened?)

Barbara says she’s going to cut his face into a jigsaw puzzle.  Ed urgently asks her if he’s dumb.  If – in all the years she’s known him – he’d ever done anything as brutally idiotic as this.  He didn’t kill those people.

Well…. not exactly.

Barbara dismisses her guards.  Ed tells her about Hugo Strange’s involvement, and how he suspects mind control. Whoever is responsible for the mind control killed those people, not him

Barbara says if by some miracle she believes him – why would she help?

Ed piques her curiosity by wondering what kind of powerful person would hire Strange and have Ed adapted in this way.  He says that Barbara must know where Hugo is, and when he finds out who was responsible for the chip – he’ll share the intel.  She’ll want to know, because, after all

Information is your lifeblood

Sure, whatever. 

Barbara doesn’t know precisely where Hugo is, but can direct him to his Igors.

 An interrogation room in GCPD.  Oswald lies on his front on the floor, his lip bleeding.  He looks up at Jim, who is apparently watching, and his face twists for a moment into a combination of pain and an appeal for help

For his part, Jim looks troubled.  He’s not enjoying this – in fact, I would go so far as to say it looks like he can’t stomach it – but he’s tolerating it.

Jim replies to his pained look

You’re protecting a mass murderer - don't look to me for sympathy

(An aside. Yes – I ship this, but even with shipper glasses off – it’s pretty much there in the text. Oswald knows that he can appeal to Jim for sympathy.  In responding to his look as he does, Jim is openly acknowledging that he would usually be a source of sympathy for Oswald.  It’s an admission from them both that there are dimensions to their relationship that go well beyond cop/gangster and – more than that – an admission that they’re both aware of that)

Oswald spits blood

Fine.  But not with that meat head around

Jim nods, and Eduardo leaves

Oswald laughs and rises from the floor

You know – they say you can judge man by the company he keeps

Jim retorts

This from a man who has no friends

(An aside – that sounds meaner than it actually played.  It’s delivered in that slightly schoolyard  tone Jim reserves for teasing Oswald – it’s not earnest or cruel.  Also – as we’ve seen this season, just saw in this scene, and will see again in a moment – it’s just not true.  Jim and Oswald have a relationship beyond work.

On top of that, you know – Jim – if not for the fact that Harvey is an extraordinarily forgiving man, your own friend list would have tumbleweeds blowing through it.)

Jim and Oswald take a moment to give each other a long, complicated look.  This scene is full of long complicated looks.  Neither of them particularly want to be in this situation, but their hands have been forced.

Oswald tells Jim that Nygma is a patsy, not a mass murderer.  He likes puzzles, games, killing – but killing hundreds of people – that’s not him, Jim knows this.

Jim asks who set him up

Oswald laughs, and leans back in his chair.

Jim - you want info, I want to go home

Jim grimaces.  

Eduardo’s not going to go for that.

Oswald smiles before pressing Jim’s button

I'm sorry – I thought you were in charge

Jim grimaces angrily and leans on the table

Even if I were to let you go – the army is going to come after you: things are changing in Gotham

I'll take my chances

Jim blinks.  He seems, to be honest, tired and uncertain.

Do you want Nygma or not?

Jim looks at him, and then glances sidelong at where Eduardo waits outside.

Jim leaves the interrogation room and talks to Eduardo

I know where Nygma’s going

Eduardo looks at him, then past him, nudging the door to let it swing open – revealing an empty room. He looks back at Jim

I trust you know what you’re doing?

They leave to go find Ed

(An aside. Quite a complicated little scene.  Neither Jim nor Oswald want to be in that room – but external forces have shoved them in there anyway.  

There’s a lot of history in the looks that are going back and forth.  Like I said, we have the explicit acknowledgment that Jim is likely to offer Oswald sympathy when others won’t.  We also have the open admittance that Jim knows Oswald sees him as a soft touch, and that he will likely give in anyway – just not in this particular circumstance, because the destruction of Haven was such a big deal.

Oswald also knows that pressing Jim’s buttons over control and power is likely to be effective.

Last up – we have Jim obliquely warning Oswald of the danger the army poses to him.  He’s not threatening him here, or trying to intimidate him.  If anything, his tone is almost pleading.  He doesn’t know how handle this situation.  He’s asked for help – and help has finally arrived – but Jim’s not actually sure what to do with it now it’s here.  Eduardo plainly told Jim that Oswald was at the top of their hit list.  Jim’s response?  Let him go, warn him that danger is coming.)

 In some lab facility somewhere, a body slides down a hatch.

It’s Hugo!

He’s complaining that the last body he was brought was gangrenous and completely unsuitable. When he turns, though, he sees Ed pointing a gun at him

Mr Nygma

Ed want to know how he control of his alter ego.  He’s rambling a little, talking about his Ed side.

A curious Hugo remarks that he is Ed Nygma.

Ed says he’s also the Riddler.

Hugo’s professional side makes a rare appearance

How interesting

He adds, though, that he knows nothing about all that.  He just tinkered and inserted a chip in his brain.  

Ed wants to know who requested this.  Hugo says he’ll write it down, so he can truthfully say that he didn’t tell Ed who was responsible.  His pen, though, contains knock-out gas – which he sprays at Ed.

Hugo says that he’s mystified as to how Ed regained any awareness – and that he’ll just have to open him up and take a look under the roof.  

 Bruce is at GCPD looking for Jim.  Instead, he finds Harvey, working at his desk

Sorry kid – it’s just me

He quickly takes in Bruce’s obvious distress, and takes his glasses off to regard him more carefully.

You all right?

Bruce says he’s fine – just looking for Jim. He remarks that he saw soldiers downstairs, trying to make some conversation – but still seeming distracted.  Harvey watches him, concerned.

Yeah, the Army's finally gotten off their asses and decided to help.  Jim's out with them now.  Are you sure you're all right?

A tearful Bruce says that he doesn’t know.  His usual careful defences crumble.

I see people losing their will to do good.  People I love.  What if we don't make it out of this?

Harvey looks at him. His face is sombre.

I'm not gonna lie, kid.  These past few months, I've wondered the same thing.  And when I don't know what to do, I come up here and I dig into these case files. I sit my ass down and I get to work.  I used to hate this kind of paperwork; now it's the only thing that keeps me going.  Why? Because the little things matter.  Act by act, deed by deed, it means something.  Even if no one notices or cares.

Bruce listens – taking in what he says

Thanks, Harvey.

He then does the classic Batman quick exit – leaving a slightly befuddled Harvey

(An aside - This scene between Bruce and Harvey was really lovely.  Bruce is tired, upset, and worried about Selina.  He's lost his conviction that things will work out, and everything looks hopeless to him right now.  Harvey doesn't have the answer to any of that - but he does have an honest way to go on with things: do the work.  It doesn't have to be showy and praised by all and sundry.  Do something useful - and know that the deed itself and the results are both worthwhile.

It was an understated scene that still got across some very big issues.

There’s the flagging of some key differences between Jim and Harvey – Jim’s need to be seen as a hero, and Harvey not sharing that same concern.  There’s also insight into how someone who is as fundamentally unhappy and alone as Harvey finds a meaningful way of living.  There’s also how much Harvey has changed since we first met him.

It's sweet, too, that Bruce confides in him.  They don't know each other well - but he's still been a constant.  Equally sweet is how Harvey talks to him.  He doesn’t coddle him, or just try to cheer him up in the way that Alfred or Jim might.  He’s simply honest.  No platitudes, and no inspirational speech.  He tells Bruce he’s just as scared as he is, and then offers him a way to deal with his fear.  

Now - compare that simple moment of compassion, all the subtleties and pathos, and all the meaning it holds with the yelling and stilted dialogue at City Hall with Ed and Oswald.  The difference is glaring.)

Hugo has top of Ed's skull off – pretty much like Hannibal tried to do to Will. According to Hugo, the gas he used on Ed immobilised him – but he can still feel pain.  A simple reboot will fix the problem, though.

 A City Hall, Oswald carries his dog along to a hatch in the floor.  He carefully descends a ladder, still carrying him, and turns on a light. It’s a massive vault – full of gold and money and shiny things.  

He smiles and tells the dog that the time has come for a change of scenery

I’ve said this for ages, sweetie.  You’ve got all that crime money.  Buy yourself a flat in Paris, another in Berlin.   Florence, Athens, Barcelona…. go for it.

 Back in the lab.  Hugo says the electric charge must have overloaded the chip – but he’d fixed it.  He will pass the good news to his handler.  His smiles disappears when he realises that a gun is being held to his head.

He protests.  He’s just helping a man who needs medical attention! Hugo is vile – but BD Wong is fantastic.

Jim walks round Hugo to look at Ed, whose eyes are open.  Hugo petulantly says he gave him biomedical anaesthesia – and brings him round.

Ed screams in pain and then immediately protests his innocence

I told you wasn't me!

Jim tells Hugo to talk. He says a contract came along, and developed a tool – gesturing to Ed, who is indignant.

How dare you

Eduardo contacts one of his men and tells him to escort Hugo out.  He leaves with a ta ta

He smirks at an incredulous Jim

Sorry pal - this part of the op is need to know

Apparently Walker – the woman Jim has been talking to one the radio – wants Ed taken out now.  

Jim is puzzled – asking if Walker is behind this - controlling Nygma

Eduardo shrugs that he hates the spooks crap.  He just follows orders

Jim mentions Haven – reeling from the idea that Walker might have been behind it.

Eduardo says Jim is to put a bullet in Ed's brain

Jim replies with a flat no

Eduardo tells him to call it proof of loyalty - what Walker needs to see from him before she implements the relief plan.  He tries to persuade him

Look at him.  He's a loon. A cop-killer.

(An aside – the strong feeling we’re getting from Jim at this point is ‘yeah – but he’s my loon’ – in the same way that this is his screwed-up home, and his tyrannical gangster.  I suspect this storyline might have lasted longer had the season not been truncated – and we’d have seen Jim gradually pull away from Eduardo, the man he thought was his friend, to acknowledge that he belongs to Gotham, and has emotional ties there that he’s not willing to break.)

Jim just wants the truth: did Walker destroy Haven?

Eduardo tells him ours is not to reason why – and says this is his chance to be part of the plan.

He adds that if Jim can’t pull the trigger on Ed – I’ll pull it on you

Jim stares

You’d kill me for some bureaucrat?

Eduardo is unperturbed. There’s really not one thought rattling around in that big beardy head of his

Mission comes first - you taught me that.  What's your answer?

Jim says he saved his life one too many times.  He feints putting his gun down, and then runs and escapes down the hatch in the wall we saw earlier.  Wheeee!

Eduardo presses a button, and orders EdBot to find Jim and kill him

EdBot immediately complies, and also goes wheeeeee down the chute.

Eduardo watches him go – secretly envious that his orders apparently don’t allow him to go wheeee too.

Aha – so this is where that absurdly beautiful image of Jeremiah came from. He’s lying down, eyes shut, in some kind of cave.  We see a rock pulled aside by Ecco

Boss - wake up

Jeremiah winces as he sits up.  Ecco asks sympathetically if the stitches are still sore, and tells him he should have worn the armour she made.

Jeremiah curls his lip contemptuously, and tells her the bullet is making her sentimental – she should gave it a shake.  Ecco obligingly does so – and nods excitedly when he asks her if that’s better.

He tells her he had to let Selina stab him once - verisimilitude trumps precautions.  Ecco nods – and says Bruce and Selina had to think he was dead.  Jeremiah rolls his eyes at her summary, and comments impatiently that he takes it she has news.  She replies that it’s all systems go, and they head out.

(I suppose this is essentially canon, but – wow, does Jeremiah treat his ‘girlfriend’ with contempt).

Is Jeremiah in Wayne Manor? He addresses a man in a white coat, telling the dr he’s hearing good things.  The doctor tells him his assistant thought he’d like to see the results.

Jeremiah is wide-eyed as he approaches two people we can only see from behind – who look, as best as memory serves, to be Bruce's parents.

Jeremiah laughs for a second, then opens his eyes wide – and tells them they look beautiful

I just love family reunions - don't you?

Jeremiah, confronted with the problem of what gift you can buy for your billionaire crush who likely has everything, has seemingly got very creative and cloned his dead parents.

General Observations

Jim is doing a classic Jim. He's been unhappy about the situation in the city for weeks – pleading for help.  But now that official help of a sort has shown up - the kind Jim should want, and should back, and should identify with - he's wobbling. He balks at the idea of shooting Ed.  He had no interest in arresting Oswald, let alone any qualms about letting him go, and looked downright unhappy in the interrogation room.  When push comes to shove, Jim has relationships with these people - whether he’ll acknowledge it or not

To analyse it more closely in terms of Jim's psychology - the army element plays a role too.  He might talk about his time there fondly - but, ultimately, he chose to leave. When Barnes - who was father figure and army past combined - showed up, Jim barely waited until the end of his first episode before disobeying him to going off to see Oswald – leaning on their special relationship and warning him about the new regime.

He repeats that pattern again here.  Jim might want to represent that kind of authority - but a part of him is always looking to buck it, too.  It's part of the reason, I think, that he and Oswald are more likely to squabble during Oswald's particularly tyrannical phases.

And all of that disquiet is even before we find out that Walker is likely corrupt and dreadful.

 The whole thing with Ed. Eh.  I know what they’re trying to do here. The problem, for me, is that it’s not really outside the bounds of possibility that Ed could knowingly have destroyed Haven.  Sure – the whole affair would have been showier, and Ed would have made some kind of speech beforehand – but still.  Ed - and Barbara – actually, both watched from a high window while Gotham tore itself apart under the Tetch virus.  Neither of them flinched at what they saw.

It’s weird – because you don’t need to downplay Ed’s capacity for sadistic violence in order to also entertain the notion that part of him might be horrified by it.  That, after all, is a crucial part of his characterisation: that he is frequently fractured, with various facets of his personality more or less dominant.  In season one, we saw that certain aspects of his personality were almost completely suppressed.  Later, we saw the season one version of him humiliated and berated by darker aspects of his personality, as well as horrified by what it had him do when it ‘took over’.  

So – you can have your cake and eat it really – you can have a character who is capable of dreadful things, as well as the tragedy that some drowned part of him is horrified and disgusted by what he has done, and simply endures it with no ability to speak up. That would work with Ed’s extreme rage and fear at the loss of control he’s been enduring.

What doesn’t work, though, is retconning him to be a better person than he is. I’ve watched Ed torture because he enjoyed it.  Kill because he felt like it.  I’m not entirely sure I buy that he’d be horrified by what happened to Haven.

Miscellaneous

I have no idea whether Selina knows about Tabitha yet.  She must – it makes no sense that she wouldn’t – but there was no indication of her reaction to that.

Similarly – I don’t really understand why no-one has said a word about Lee yet.  I’m guessing it’s because we’re simply not ‘there’ yet in the story – but it makes no logical sense.

Alfred said a lot that was true about respecting Selina’s decision, but – ultimately- his advice to leave Selina alone simply comes off as callous.

Lucius must have had a day off today.

[adelaideattractions]

How Tiger's wife caught him cheating

For Tiger Woods, 2009 was both the height of his career and the year it all went off the rails. He played in 19 tournaments, finishing in the top 10 in 16 of them, winning seven. But he also was addicted to painkillers, sleeping pills and sex. He was living recklessly, hooking up with porn stars and keeping a regular girlfriend, Rachel Uchitel, secret from his wife, Elin. As recounted in the recent best-selling biography Tiger Woods it all fell apart that Thanksgiving, when the National Enquirer revealed Tigers cheating. The emotional fallout, coupled with escalating back pain, would keep Woods in the wilderness for a decade before his spectacular win at the 2019 Masters. THE QUOTE THAT STARTED IT ALL When it became apparent that a platoon of high-priced lawyers were not going to be able to derail the story, Woods and his team started circling the wagons. It fell to Tiger to convince his wife. He told her the tabloid story was a lie, that there was no affair between him and Rachel Uchitel. But on Monday, November 23, in advance of publication, the Uchitel expos began circulating on the internet. It contained a quote attributed to her that read like a dagger directed at Elin: Its Tiger Woods. I dont care about his wife! Were in love. Blindsided, Elin didnt know what to believe. It was the week of Thanksgiving, and their second child, Charlie, had just learned to walk and was starting to say his first words. For Elin, these were monumental milestones of joy. But the suspicions in her mind were making it impossible to focus on anything else. In need of someone to confide in, she called the one person she trusted above all her identical twin, Josefin. They had been best friends since childhood. Elin knew Josefin would know what to do. After obtaining a Master of Laws from the London School of Economics and Political Science, Josefin received her law degree in Sweden and joined the American-based firm McGuireWoods LLP. When Elin called her, Josefin was working out of the firms London office, where she specialised in mergers and acquisitions. She immediately came to her sisters aid, providing emotional support and advice.

media_cameraTiger Woods with then wife Elin Nordegren. AFP PHOTO / Files / Robyn Beck WOODS ARRANGES PHONE CALL With the situation worsening, Woods took the extraordinary step of arranging a phone call between Elin and Uchitel, who corroborated Tigers account that there had been no sexual relationship between them. Unconvinced, Elin wanted to see Tigers phone. Afraid that she would find out about the other women in his life, Tiger frantically tried to cover his tracks. He left an urgent voicemail with Jaimee Grubbs: Can you please take your name off your phone? My wife went through my phone and may be calling you. So if you can, please take your name off [and] just have it as a number on the voicemail. Youve got to do this for me. Huge. Quickly. All right. Bye. The following day, the Enquirer landed on supermarket racks in the Orlando area. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and the World Exclusive headline Tiger Woods Cheating Scandal splashed across the cover intensified the already dire atmosphere in the Woods home. The tension was amplified by the fact that Tigers mother, Kultida, was visiting for the holiday. Nothing triggered anxiety in Woods like the fear of disappointing his mother, and nothing had ever disappointed Kultida more than family betrayal first when her parents abandoned her, and then when her husband was repeatedly unfaithful. It was overwhelming to contemplate how she would react to the realisation that her son had far eclipsed his father in the infidelity department. The holiday provided a false appearance of reprieve. The Enquirer story got very little play elsewhere. But Tigers cell phone was an explosive electronic record of his illicit affairs. His device had also become another addiction. On Thanksgiving Day, Woods couldnt resist texting multiple women, including Grubbs. In a short exchange, he wished Grubbs a happy Thanksgiving, and she replied, u too love. At the same time, Elin remained fixated on Tigers phone. After he fell into an Ambien-induced sleep on Thanksgiving night, she searched his text history. She found one from him that said: You are the only one Ive ever loved. He had not sent that text to her. Unsure of the recipients identity, Elin sent a text to the person from Tigers phone. It read, I miss you. When are we seeing each other again? Before long, a reply came back. While her husband slept, Elin called the mysterious number, and Uchitel picked up. Immediately recognising her voice, Elin lost it. I knew it, Elin shouted. I knew it! Oh, f***, Uchitel said.

media_cameraCover of US Weekly on December 4, 2009. TIGER FEARED HIS MOTHER MORE THAN WIFE Moments later, Elins shouting roused Woods from his slumber. Stumbling half-dazed out of bed, he took his phone and retreated to the bathroom. She knows, he texted Uchitel. But in truth, Woods didnt fear the woman standing on the other side of the bathroom door. Hed been cheating on her for years with dozens of women, feeding an insatiable appetite for sex that had spiralled into an out-of-control addiction. No the only woman he had ever truly feared was the one sleeping in a guest room in another part of the mansion: his mother, who was visiting for the holiday. Now a widow for more than three years, Kultida Woods had endured what was at times a humiliating marriage that included verbal abuse, neglect, and adultery. Tiger worshipped his father, but he hated how hed broken his mothers heart. For Tigers sake, Kultida never divorced Earl, choosing instead to preserve the family name and dedicate her life to raising her only child to be a champion. Reputation and Tiger: nothing mattered more than those two things to Kultida. When Tiger was young, his mother had laid down the law: You will never, ever ruin my reputation as a parent, she told him, because I will beat you. When he was a boy, the fear of her hand had helped keep Tiger in line. Now that he was a man, there was nothing more terrifying than the prospect of his mother learning that he had followed in his fathers footsteps. Looking her in the eye would be brutal. Wearing nothing but shorts and a T-shirt, Woods emerged from the house into the forty-degree air. Elin reportedly gave chase with a golf club in hand. In an attempt to get away, Tiger hustled into his Cadillac Escalade and sped out of the driveway, immediately crossing over a concrete kerb and onto a grass median. Swerving hard to his left, he crossed Deacon Circle, jumped a kerb, grazed a row of hedges, swerved back across the road, and collided with a fire hydrant before ploughing into a tree in his next-door neighbours yard. Swinging the club, Elin shattered the rear drivers side and rear passengers side windows.

media_cameraA police image shows the damage to Tigers car. AFP PHOTO/FLORIDA HIGHWAY Kimberly Harris woke to the knocking sound of a sputtering engine. Looking out the window, she saw a black SUV at the bottom of her driveway. The front end was crumpled against a tree, and the lone remaining headlight was shining at the house. Worried, she woke her 27-year-old brother, Jarius Adams. I dont know whos outside, she told him, but I think you need to go out there and find out whats happening. Adams walked cautiously out the front door, trying to process what he was seeing. Woods was lying flat on his back on the pavement. He was shoeless, unconscious, and bleeding from the mouth. There was broken glass on the driveway and a bent golf club beside the vehicle. Sniffling, Elin hovered over her husband. Tiger, she whispered, gently shaking his shoulders. Tiger, are you okay? Crouching down, Adams observed that Tiger was asleep, snoring. His lip was cut. His teeth were bloodstained. Please help me, Elin said. I dont have a phone with me. Will you call someone? Adams ran back inside and yelled to his sister to get blankets and pillows. Tiger is down, he told her. Then he ran back outside and called 911. Suddenly, Kultida Woods emerged from Tigers house and ran toward the scene. What happened? she yelled. Were trying to figure that out, Adams told her. Im on the phone with the police right now. Tears in her eyes, Kultida turned to Elin. Soon they heard a siren and saw blue lights approaching. From Tiger Woods by Jeff Benedict and Armen Keteyian Originally published as How Tigers wife caught him cheating https://www.adelaidenow.com.au/sport/inside-the-night-when-everything-unravelled-for-tiger-woods/news-story/e06962a446da0e1bae08b373298d70b5?from=htc_rss

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Qi Flows for Her

Chapter Four

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC x Bucky Barnes  |  Word Count: 8162 Warnings: Language, Angst, Languages which may or may not be correct

The next morning, Bucky and Steve left their adjacent rooms at the same time. When Bucky’s nightmares spiraled out of control, Steve was usually the only one who could calm him down, pull him out of them, or - if the worst happened - fight him off long enough for him to snap out of the HYDRA induced memories on his own. It made sense to have rooms close together and further from the rest of the team so as not to disturb the others.

This, in turn, had left them with a good chunk of the floor to themselves for even at a distance, one could usually hear Bucky scream. However, one of the only things Charles had stipulated with his offered X-Men was they be housed on the same floor. He hadn’t elaborated, only made it part and parcel of his acceptance.

As the X-Men now living in what had been fondly dubbed by the others as old man central was Celine, neither really minded.

Dressed for training, they walked with determined strides down the hall to her rooms where Bucky gave the door a firm knock. Without discussing it, they had come to the mutual decision to ensure she was included in all aspects of Avenger life, starting with the customary five am wake-up call which would see them through their early morning training prior to breakfast.

No one wanted to be thrown up on, so breakfast was always after the first round of spars. Later they would return to do whatever other training they wished, cardio or weights, go for a run or to the gun range, but first was sparing.

When no answer came at her door, Steve reached out and gave it a solid bang. “You think she’s a heavy sleeper?” Bucky shrugged. There was no noise from within the suite that he could hear at all. Finally, Steve called out, “FRIDAY, locate Celine Ena.”

“Lady Celine is in the training facility, Sir Rogers.”

Sighing, he exchanged a look with Bucky. “FRIDAY, who set your program to Asgardian?”

“Master Parker.”

“Revert to regular programming.”

“I cannot comply without Master Parker’s override, Sir Rogers.”

Bucky snickered softly. “Peter’s going to get his butt whooped, ain’t he?”

“Yes,” Steve grumbled.

Peter tended to pull these little pranks just before being out of the building for three or four days.

“At least the Asgard program isn’t as annoying as the gangster one he set her up with.”

Bucky nodded for listening to FRIDAY spout off in rap had been three days of hell. “Oi, FRIDAY, how long has Celine been up?”

“Lady Celine has been awake and in the training facility since zero three-thirty, Sir Barnes.”

“Jeez! What the hell?” he barked, astounded.

As one, he and Steve jogged toward the elevator, wondering just what had possessed her to be up so early. They got on in silence and off the same way, and turned toward the doors where Wanda stood gaping into the room.

“Wanda?”

“Shhh!” she hissed, waving them forward. “Look!”

So much excitement laced her voice they joined her with haste only to stare in amazement.

Celine stood balanced on one foot, her hands held before her. She stepped, sweeping down and up, the moves of Tai Chi becoming fluid and evident with each carefully placed footfall. Her hair was tied up in a messy knot at the back of her head, black flats matched the loose pants and high collared shirt she wore. The sleeves fluttered with the movements of her hands, but it was the radiance of her chi to which they all stared in awe.

For, floating around her when the action she went through had an animal in the name, the animal appeared in the glow of her chi. Tiger, snake, bird, horse, crane, monkey, all burst to life. It was an immense manipulation of power, yet she did it with relative ease, all while remaining serene. When she reached the end of her moves, she brought her hands up, allowing the chi to flow down, twist and twine around her.

It formed coils like a snake until the head dropped down and Steve gasped quietly.

A dragon made of glittering golden light surround her, it’s chin resting in the palm of Celine’s hand. The energy morphed, flowed, spiral up, and wings burst forth as a phoenix rose into the air, remained suspended for but a moment, before all her chi fell down, coating the woman wielding it in a radiant golden glow which faded back into her skin.

When Celine opened her eyes, they gleamed the same shining colour as her chi before they returned to amber. “Good morning,” she said softly.

Wanda was quick through the door, excitement evident in her swift strides. “That was… amazing!” she said, her hands twisting together. “I can do so much with my powers, but this… this was…” Wanda shook her head, unable to find the right words. “The animals were all so lifelike.”

Celine looked down at her hands where a ball of chi appeared. “It is not so difficult. A little practice and concentration.” A bunny sat, nose wrinkling, in the palm of her hand.

“What is their purpose?” Wanda asked.

She flicked the hand with the bunny outward, turning it into a tiger whose snarling mouth and sharp teeth were quite impressive. “Just because it is energy, does not mean it cannot be dangerous. The tiger will bite if I wish it.” Again her energy winked out, flowing back inside her. “But fighting with the animals makes it too easy to… lose the connection. I do not do it often.”

“So you can fight, too?” Bucky asked, striding into the room with Steve.

Celine tilted her head. “I can. I would make a poor X-Men if I were only good for my power.”

“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got, doll face.” Bucky smirked as he moved toward the mats on the other side of the room.

Steve sent her a glance; one Celine returned full of cool, detached professionalism. It had him narrowing his eyes, but she only shrugged and followed Bucky.

“The animals, their detail, it gives you greater control, doesn’t it?” asked Wanda as she sidled up beside Steve.

“It does. I must have control at all times. It is essential to both my health and those around me.” She looked to Bucky and glided out onto the mats. “Rules, Sergeant?”

“Don’t hold back, and when I win, you don’t ever call me Sergeant again.”

Brow arching, Celine asked, “And if you lose?”

“I don’t lose.”

“Hypothetically then.”

He blinked for a moment, thinking. “I’ll let you help with my aura.”

The look of shock on Celine’s face had Steve’s brow arching. Just what did that mean?

“Very well.” Celine moved to face him, her body just slightly turned, and tucked one hand behind her back. “Begin.”

Bucky circled as Steve watched.

Celine remained still, unmoving. She didn’t even turn her head to keep him in view. Her lashes lowered, neatly shuttering her eyes. Her breathing was slow and deep. She appeared as if she were meditating, not preparing for battle.

When Bucky lunged, throwing a half-hearted punch, she simply flowed out of the way.

“You are not trying… Sergeant.” Celine smiled, placing both hands behind her back.

“Neither are you, darlin’,” Bucky smirked.

“Come at me then.”

The punches flew swiftly afterward, Bucky no longer holding back.

Steve and Wanda stood to the side, watching in amazement. He’d thought Celine fast last night, but here, now, she was lightening contained in flowing black clothes.

She moved like water, in and around, ducking beneath his friend’s flashing fist. Rarely did she throw a punch or strike, simply learning Bucky’s ways, forcing him to expend more energy in order to keep up with her. Once she slammed her elbow up into Buck’s armpit, making him grunt. Another saw her fist connecting firmly with his jaw, snapping Bucky’s head back.

Up to that point, Buck had been lenient when it came to his left arm, but the fist to his face had clearly stung. The wiring of the gears in his arm was a warning, yet, Steve did not see fear or concern on Celine’s face.

Her eyes lit up — excitement gleaming in the suddenly golden depths.

When Bucky threw the punch… she caught his fist. “Son of a bitch!” he hissed. “Not you, too?”

“The metal arm is quite impressive,” Celine smirked, stepping swiftly into his chest. She turned and threw Bucky over her shoulder.

He skidded across the floor and came to a stop at Steve’s feet.

“Well, shit.” Steve chuckled, holding down his hand to help Bucky up.

Celine stood in the center of the mats and smiled while she rocked up on her toes. “Give up… Sergeant?”

“Not on your life, doll. We’re just getting started.” He darted across the room.  

Steve crossed his arms, shook off the shock, and began to actively assess Celine’s style. She fought with the skill of a Kung Fu master, but there was something strange about it. “Wanda? What do you see?”

“She’s channeling her power around her. Bucky isn’t missing his strikes. She’s… deflecting them. It’s brilliant.”

Hearing this, Bucky switched tactics. His flesh hand snaked out and closed around Celine’s throat.

Her eyes glowed a little brighter. She turned her body, grabbed hold of his wrist with her left hand, brought her right arm up and slammed her elbow into Bucky’s bicep. It jerked his friend forward and down, his grip on her throat failing. Her elbow connected twice more. Once with Buck’s neck, the other his ear. Twisting back, she kneed him in the solar plexus, shoved his head under the arm she still held and knocked him to the ground where she proceeded to kneel on his throat.

“Damn,” Steve muttered, impressed.

Celine had gone from her flowing Kung Fu into a Krav Maga move with little effort. Just how much did she know?

But Bucky wasn’t finished yet. His metal hand grabbed a fist full of clothing and threw her across the mats with a flick.

Celine rolled, getting quickly back to her feet. “You are quite good.”  A smile flitted across her face.

Bucky smirked and gave a nod of acceptance. “So are you, Celine.”

She ran at him, her long legs eating up the distance, and Steve flinched for they were all familiar with the move. When she leapt up, intent on wrapping her legs around his neck, Bucky simply plucked her out of the air and dropped her on her back to the mat. He went with her, his heavy as hell best friend, laying his metal forearm across her throat and pinning her to the mats.

“Wrong move, doll. That's one of Natalia’s favorites.” Bucky smirked, sending Steve a nod.

“That’s the match,” Steve called.

“Are you certain… Captain?” Her eyes gleamed wickedly when she balled up her fist and slammed it into Bucky’s ribs. The blow was enough to knock him off her.

“I said match!” Steve bellowed, striding onto the mats.

“Only because you assumed I had lost,” Celine said, getting gracefully to her feet.

“I called the match because I knew he’d lost!” Steve snapped, heading toward Bucky who still had yet to get up. “He can't keep up with you right now.”

“What?” she gasped, turning to look. “Bucky!” Celine landed on her knees beside him.

“Bucky, you okay, pal?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Caught the same ribs,” he grumbled, holding his side.

“You sparred with me… while injured…” she whispered, horrified.

“S’okay, doll face. Took a bullet a while ago. Ribs are still tender.” Bucky shrugged.

***

“Tu es un homme stupide! Comment pourriez-vous être si arrogant? Je pourrais vous blesser sérieusement!”  The stream of French poured from Celine’s lips as she shoved Steve out of the way to wrench Bucky’s shirt up. (You foolish man! How could you be so arrogant? I could have seriously hurt you.)

“Pas besoin d'appel de nom, Celine,” Steve grumbled. (No need for name calling, Celine)

“You speak French?” she gasped.

“Oui. Si tu me voulais sortir de mes vêtements, ma chérie, tu devais juste demander.” Bucky smirked at her. (Yes. If you wanted me out of my clothes, darling, you just had to ask.)

“Shut up, Barnes.” She slapped his hands away as she jerked his shirt up to see the mess of bruising around his ribs. “I did this…” she whispered sadly.

“Nah, doll. I took a bullet. You may have pissed them off some, but it’s fine. If not you, then Steve there would have put a fist or foot into them later.” He shrugged as if it were nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to her. “Ní bheidh an chúis pian liom deireadh,” she whispered. 

“Huh?” Bucky asked.

“Nothing,” she cleared her throat and ignored the way Steve frowned at her. “Hold still.”

“Why?”

Celine lifted a hand and set the glowing appendage over his ribs. She closed her eyes, turning internal to focus on the energy living in her heart chakra. She drew it forth and sent the healing into Bucky causing the color around her hand to shift to a soft green and spread out over his skin before sinking in.

When the black and purple bruises faded, she lifted her hand, let the glow wink out, and weaved slightly as she slumped back on her heels.

“Celine!” Steve grabbed her by the shoulders.

“I’m fine. Headrush.” She batted her hand at him.

“What… what the fuck?” Bucky gasped, hand going to his unmarked side.

“Good to go, Barnes.” She patted his knee before pushing to her feet to walk away. Her wrist was captured in an unbreakable, cold grip. The metal hand of the soldier was not going to allow her to leave.

“What did you do?” Bucky demanded.

She sighed. “Healed the damage I inflicted.”

“You healed a hell of a lot more than that. Are you going to be alright?”

She shrugged. “I will live.” She would renew her chakra point later with mediation. Feeding would help, but she doubted whether they would allow her to leave to do so, and knew they would insist on going with her if they did.

“Celine,” he growled, a warning in his voice and eyes.

“I will live,” she stated firmly. “Remove your hand.”

“Make me,” he snarled.

“Bucky.”

They both glanced at Steve. “Celine is perfectly capable of telling us what she needs when she needs it. I trust her to do so.”

Stunned, she stared at Steve before looking away. “Thank you, Captain.”

“It’s Steve, Celine. If I have to go my own round with you to get you to use it, I will.” His eyes were amused when she looked up.

The soft colours of his aura and the kindness which seemed to be innately inherent in him made her smile. He was a good man, right to the core.

“Thank you… Steve.” She looked at Bucky and arched a brow.

“When you want me?” he asked, releasing her wrist.

“Want you for what?”

“I lost. Guess that means you get to play in my aura.” He rolled his eyes.

“No.” She shook her head.

“What the hell you mean, no?” Bucky scoffed.

“I can’t help you if you don’t want help.” She turned on her heel and walked away. “When you wish my help, I will give it. For now, I am content.... Bucky.” She smiled at Wanda who seemed delighted with the way she had disconcerted both super soldiers. “If you wish to join me for meditation, I can assist you in finding further control of your power.” Though the woman had helped Stark manipulate things the night before, Celine could see how much it upset her to do so. It would not hurt to assist Wanda in mastering a few skills.

“I would.” Wanda nodded.

Tilting her head, Celine glided from the room. “Stark. Romanoff. Sam,” she murmured as she left, walking past the three of them standing in the doorway.

***

Looking to Bucky, Steve made a small motion with his hand.

Bucky nodded, turning to get the others moving as Steve jogged out after Celine. He hadn't liked what she'd said. His Gaelic may be rusty but to hear her say the pain she caused would never end had been heart-rending.

She was just getting on the elevator when he caught up.

“Hold up.” He got on with her, ignoring the way she sighed. “What you did back there was pretty impressive.”

She shrugged but kept her head down.

“Celine.” He stepped into her, reached for her chin, and tilted it up. “You didn’t have to run off. You could stay, spar with some of the others if you want. I’d like a go,” he said with a grin.

A smile twitched her lips. “Such boys.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “Don’t run away, Celine.” A curl had fallen from her messy knot which he tucked back behind her ear.

“Next time. I am tired, Steve. It has already been a long morning.”

“Why were you up so early?”

“I was tuning you all out. It takes time and silence.” She looked at him questioningly.

“We stopped by your room. FRIDAY told us.”

“Ah, the slightly archaic but polite AI. I met her.”

Steve shook his head. “She doesn’t usually sound like that. Parker tends to play pranks.”

“The tricky little spider did that?” she chuckled. “He is much like my students at the school.”

“You were a teacher?” The information surprised him. He hadn't known that. “Of what?”

“Languages and history. I also taught meditation and self-defence to those brave enough to spend time with the school’s resident vampire.” Scorn laced her tone.

“The way you fight’s pretty impressive.” He pressed the button for the floor with the team’s community spaces, determined to keep her talking when he realized they were just standing in the elevator.

Celine relaxed into the wall and shrugged. “It was Charles’ idea. I had issues with control when I was younger.” She looked away.

The doors slid open, and Steve took her by the hand, causing her eyes to dart up when he drew her toward the kitchen. “So, he taught you Kung Fu?” he asked, smile a little wry.

Celine chuckled but nodded. “Not Charles, but yes, he had someone teach me. The disciplines behind Shaolin Kung Fu, the Zen, the Buddhism, it all helped me learn to control myself. Control is essential. I added on from there.”

“No going hog wild for you then?” he teased lightly, heading for the coffee pot. When silence was his answer, he looked up only to find her eyes glazed, memories flitting behind them as devastation coated her face.

“Celine?” he called cautiously, moving toward her.

Tears had gathered on her lashes by the time he’d taken the three steps he needed. “Celine, baby. Come back, darling.” Cupping her face, he gently stroked his thumbs over her cheeks.

Her hands wrapped around his wrists, an action he felt right to the core. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Celine. I’m here.”

Her breath hitched. “Did I… hurt anyone?”

“You were only gone seconds, sweetheart. Does that happen a lot?” He’d seen it before with Bucky when the memories and terrors of HYDRA drew him back in.

“Not anymore. Not in forever. What are you doing to me?” she whispered, fear in the words.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You shake my foundations — you and Bucky. I haven’t had a flashback in years. Now, twice in less than twenty-four hours.”

So much fear filled her voice it physically hurt his heart. “I don’t know, Celine. But I’m here, we’re here if you want to talk about it.” He drew her in, wrapped his arms around her back and held on tight. The stiffness in her posture told him hugs where not something she was used to. It only made him hold her tighter.

“Steve… I still can’t be your friend,” she murmured, even as her arms went around his waist and her head landed on his chest.

He chuckled softly.

They’d see about that.

***

A few days later the team stood before the quinjet, waiting on Celine. The call had come in and the mission was a go. Take out a Hydra base and retrieve what intel they could.

Steve looked at the gathered Avengers and felt nervous for the first time in … years.

Celine, Tony, and Nat had formed a wary sort of truce. Tony, unbelievably, trying harder than even Steve had expected.

Apparently, Celine wasn’t just languages and fighting. She had enough tech nerd in her to speak Tony’s language. She wasn’t a hacker by any means, but she liked his lab and asked - according to Tony - not entirely stupid questions.

The rest had gotten on board and been much more accommodating. Celine had seemed to develop a bit of a kinship with Wanda. He couldn’t call it a friendship, not with how she protested about having friends, but they shared similar powers and had bonded over them. Celine’s ability to so thoroughly manipulate her chi had intrigued Wanda. The control Celine exhibited when she used it was effortless, something the Scarlet Witch longed for.

Working together, Wanda was making progress. It made her happy, which made Vision happy. He had no qualms about Celine at all. His polite and casual nature the easiest to get along with.

Sam and Scott had taken to teasing Celine, all in good fun of course, and she seemed to revel in the attention. Both treated her as if she’d been with them for years instead of days. Their easy acceptance had drawn her in and drawn peels of laughter from her at regular intervals.

Thor, big, boisterous, booming Thor, was having the hardest time. He was so determined to make friends; he was disconcerting her a little. His bigger than life ways had finally forced Steve to draw him aside and tell him to tone it down, an action which had caused the big blond to brood something fierce.

Peter’s return had brought forth the side of Celine he figured was her teacher side, for when Peter - the little spider as she called him - whined about his history homework, she’d been more than happy to assist.

But with the approach of this mission, she’d withdrawn again, preferring to spend her evenings alone no matter how hard he and Bucky had tried to coax her out.

When the doors opened, he and Buck looked up together.

Both were kitted out in their standard gear. Steve’s suit the stealth one for this evening mission. Bucky’s arm hidden beneath the sleeve of his black shirt, chest covered with the vest sent from Wakanda.

T’Challa had heard of Bucky’s injury and had a new vest made; this one lined fully with vibranium. There wasn’t a weak point in the design a lucky shot could slip through, even though both he and Bucky had assured the King of Wakanda it had been a complete fluke of a shot.

When Celine walked through the doors, they swallowed reflexively. Her dark suit, standard issue for all X-Men it seemed, fit her like a glove. A belt rode low on her hips, the X symbol seated in the center. Her hair had been pulled back in a low tail, sending the length cascading down her spine. Boots laced from ankle to knee appeared like lower leg armor with how the black leather gleamed.

But it was the lack of weapons which made them both frown.

“Ain’t you going a little light there, doll?” Bucky asked.

A smile, sharp and deadly, graced her face. “I don’t need weapons. I am the weapon.”

Her predatory look had a few of them stiffening, but Steve only cocked a brow. “If you say so, Celine.”

As the others piled onto the jet, Bucky took Celine by the elbow. “Tell me what to expect?”

“I already have.” She shook her head.

Tensions had been a little thick between the two of them since her spar with Bucky. Steve knew it was simply Bucky's protective side sandpapering across Celine’s independence, but he needed them to get it together before he sent them off on their own.

It was a weird feeling, partnering with someone besides Bucky. They knew each other like extensions of their own bodies. But Buck had made it perfectly clear he was going to have Celine’s back this first mission. Out of all of them, himself included, Bucky was the least phased when Celine did something supernatural.

The rest stopped to stare. Buck just kept on moving.

She'd been here four days.

He was pretty sure his friend was falling hard for the newest member of the team. It made him sigh in regret for Steve was developing his own feelings for the slightly broken beauty.

Neither of them had said a thing to the other, and neither would say a thing to Celine. Both had made the unspoken choice to keep those feelings locked away. Tightly away from the woman who could read auras and emotions. She didn't need the pressure when she was so shaken at the prospect of being friends.

“Celine, once more for the old guy. They say hearing and memory are the first things to go,” Steve said with a smirk.

“Don't go starting something I'll have to finish, punk,” Bucky snickered.

“Jerk.”

“Both of you are idiots,” Celine sighed. “Short version. I will give Stark his demo.”

“Looking forward to it, vampira!” Tony called.

She rolled her eyes. “Then, no matter what you see or hear, you do not touch me, Barnes, and you stay out of my way.”

“And if he gets in your way?” Nat called out from beside Sam.

“I may just eat him,” Celine crooned, eyes glowing softly.

Clearing his throat, Steve motioned for all of them to get moving, wondering just what it was about those words that they could have turned him on so strongly.

***

Steve had hand-picked the team for this mission, but Bucky wasn't too happy with it.

Nat, Wanda, and Sam were going to be dealing with Intel. Tony was flying the perimeter with Vision. He, Celine, Steve, and Peter were tasked with clearing the base. Thor had been called back to Asgard, Scott was doing something for Pym, and Clint was back home, for the time being, so they were a little short-handed.

It was a big base. A weapons facility housing some of HYDRAs newest designs. It was an important target, but he still didn't like it.

In the farthest corner, slightly darkened in shadow, Bucky sat brooding. Torn between having Steve's back and having Celine's, he’d chosen someone other than Steve for the first time… ever. It left him conflicted. If something happened to Steve while he was looking after Celine, he'd never forgive himself.

“Bucky?” Celine’s hand landed lightly on the back of his when she sat down beside him.

“Yeah?” he looked up and fell into amber eyes.

“Go with Steve.”

“No.”

She smiled sadly and touched his face. Her eyes gleamed. “Yes, it's what you need. Go with Steve and Peter. I work best alone.”

“Not happening, doll face,” he said with a shake of his head.

The colour of her eyes brightened as her hair darkened. “Yes… you will.”

A foggy feeling filled his head, and he jerked from her hold, anger written on his face. “Don't.”

“Bucky…”

His hand snaked to the back of her neck, clammed tight and jerked her close. His whisper was low and harsh with hurt and anger. “After I stood up for you, after what I told you in the park, you dare sneak into my head? That's fucked up, Celine. I don't know what shit you're trying to pull but stay the hell outta my mind.” He released her with a little shove.

Shame coated her features, and her hand fell to his chest. “I… forgive me, Bucky. You're hurting. I… I… can't stand it. Being the cause of your pain.” She bit her lip.

“Damn it, Celine,” he sighed. “I'll be fine. Steve will be fine. I ain't so sure about you.”

“Please go with Steve,” she pleaded softly. Eyes downcast she whispered, “I don't want you seeing… me.”

“Why are you so scared of yourself?” he asked, gently lifting her chin.

“My nature…” A tear glistened on her lashes.

He swept it from her cheek when it fell. “Your nature is only a piece of you. Only a part. I'm not scared of you, Celine.”

The jet touched down.

She got slowly to her feet, sorrow coating her before her entire demeanour changed. Lifting her head, it was like her face froze over. “You will be.” The ramp at the back of the jet opened, and Celine walked out.

“Buck? Everything alright?” Steve asked.

“I don't know, Steve. Ask me again when this is over.”

They followed Celine into the forest until she stopped short of the treeline. From the ridge overlooking the base, they studied the layout of this hidden HYDRA fortress.

“Kinda wish we had Bruce,” Sam muttered.

“He was worried he'd bring the whole mountain down,” Nat said.

“What’s the play, Celine?” Steve asked.

She pointed. “Four towers, four guards.” She walked to the cliff's edge. “We’re too far away. I need to be closer.” Before anyone could stop her, she walked off the edge of the cliff.

“Celine!” Bucky darted forward only to watch her land lightly in the snow roughly twenty feet down. “Jeez, woman!” Rolling his eyes, he stepped off after her, swiftly followed by the rest, as those who couldn't make the jump were assisted by those who could.

Peter swung down and landed beside Celine. “Wow! You just stepped off! So cool.”

Even now he made her smile. “Promise me, little spider, you will stay out of my way. I have not gotten you fully tuned out yet. I don't want to hurt you by accident.”

“No problem, Celine!” He was gone in a swing of webbing.

Close enough to see the first tower, Celine paused to wait for the others. In the heavy twilight of evening, she let her nature change, let herself become Styx.

When they arrived, she did not turn around. “Your demonstration, Stark.” She lifted her hand and closed her eyes. “Tell me now, what is my level of force?”

“Huh?” Tony asked.

Sighing, she said, “Incapacitate or Kill?”

“Incapacitate, always, as long as it won't leave you vulnerable,” Steve stated.

“Hm,” she hummed, lifting the other hand.

Celine blew out a breath, inhaled slowly, and closed her fists. Qi flowed in sparkles like icy snowflakes through the air to wrap around her hands. It hung there, glowing, before falling to the ground and disappearing into the snow, back into the energy of the earth with her lowered arms.

“Celine?” Bucky asked, moving closer.

“They are down.”

When he stopped directly behind her, he murmured, “Why didn't you feed?”

“Can't. No emotion. They were too calm.” She shook her head.

“Then let's stir things up for you, vampira!” Tony chuckled.

“Let the others get in position first, Tony,” Steve warned him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled.

Sam, Wanda, and Natasha all darted away, heading for the fence line.

When they glanced her direction, Celine turned her face away, keeping her eyes downcast and heavy-lidded.

Bucky frowned and took her by the elbow. “Dollface?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed, pulling her arm free. “What did I say about touching?”

He lifted his hands in surrender. She was so stiff; she looked ready to break while they waited.

He glanced at Steve, watched the man frown, clearly concerned, but all Bucky could do was shrug. Once it was all over, then and only then, would he be able to prove his words to Celine. Prove he saw her no differently now that he’d watched her work.

“In position,” said Sam.

“Let’s go, doll.” He turned to look at Celine, only to find her gone. “Fuck!” he hissed, following her tracks in the snow.

He stumbled to a stop when he found her. “Celine!” he hissed.

She was standing in the middle of the damn road, staring up at the gate.

“This is how I work, Bucky.” She turned her head to look at him, and his heart stuttered. The goddess from the lake was back. “Stay out of my way.” Her voice seared through him, bled power, made him ache.

Jerking himself back, he nodded. “Do it.”

She tilted her head, a smirk twitching her lips as she reached behind her and pulled the band from her hair. The long chestnut locks had already darkened, but they turned into sleek coils sparkling with stars once released. She snapped the band around her wrist and walked into the lights from the gates.

A spat of Russian was barked at her. “Kto tam? Kto ty? Halt!!”

…Who goes there? Who are you? Halt!...

“Skazhite mne, deystvitel'no li vy byli khoroshimi lyud'mi?” Her voice rippled on the air and seemed to pulse with power and life. The glow around her intensified.

… Tell me truly, have you been good men?...

“Ostanovites', ili my budem strelyat' v vas!”

…Stop, or we will shoot you!...

She laughed.

The sound sent trepidation screaming down his spine as Bucky moved through the trees, shadowing her. Her next words sent ice through his veins.

“Then shoot me.”

They opened fire.

Her hands swept up, the golden light of her barrier deflecting the bullets. She continued forward, striding into the danger as if she were walking through Central Park. Her hips swayed, and her hair billowed out behind her in a cloud of night. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he knew they would glow. Her pace quickened, and she broke into a run allowing her to leap straight up to the catwalk, well over fifteen feet in the air. Her shield shrank down to inches from her skin, and she grabbed the closest guard.

Bucky watched as she dragged him in, holding his arm down while the man unloaded his weapon at her feet. He hadn’t known what to expect when it came to feeding, but when she pulled the man in, tilted her head, and opened her mouth inches from his, Bucky hadn’t expected it to look like a lover’s embrace. If not for the people running, trying to shoot her, or the screaming, he would have been strangely aroused by the whole thing.

She dropped the first guard, licked her lips like she’d eaten something delicious - sending a shot of heat straight to Bucky’s groin - and turned to face the others. This time when she reached out, the golden chi flowed to her in streams laced with reds and blacks. In seconds the five men on the gate were down.

She looked to where he stood stunned. “Coming, soldier?”

“Yeah,” he smirked, seeming to surprise her. He ran up the hood of a nearby truck, gave a heave of effort, and landed behind her with enough force to shake the structure. Explosions and gunfire were coming from everywhere, but Bucky only had eyes for her. “Shall we… Styx?”

A predatory smile appeared, one that flashed a set of wickedly sharp canines. Had she always had fangs?

“As I’m doing all the work… it would be nice to get a hand.” She sauntered away, her ass looking spectacular in those tight pants.

He was so turned on; Bucky had to fight not to react physically. “Just making sure you ain’t hungry, doll face before I start shooting people.”

A hand flicked in the air, dismissing him soundly. Her sultry voice called back, “I am satiated for the moment.”

He shot the man coming out the door, the bullet singing past her ear.

She stopped, turned, glared at him.

Bucky smiled and shrugged.

“And if you’d missed?”

“Darlin’, I don’t miss… ever.” He winked at her.

Rolling her eyes, she slammed through the door, the golden light of her barrier going before her. A hard crash and groan were heard as she took out the guards waiting, throwing them into the walls.

“But if you had?” she quipped.

“You’re all glowy, Styx. Ain’t worried about clipping you with a bullet.” He whipped his arm up, deflecting the bullets aimed at him, shot three rounds back, and continued on, following her out into the main facility.

Celine gave her wrist a flick and her shield extended to encase Bucky.

He shivered when her chi passed over him. It was stupid how turned on he was. How ridiculously sexy he found her at this moment. “Can I shoot through this?”

“Hm,” she hummed, leaning on the railing to glaring at the weapons on the floor below. “Only if you wish to blow us up. Look.”

Bucky looked down and swore. “Fuck.” He brought his hand to his ear. “Steve! We’ve got a problem.”

“What’s that?” Steve’s voice was as calm as ever.

It made him feel better. Steve wasn’t struggling; his breathing wasn’t laboured, meaning whatever he was facing was minimal work for Cap.

“We gotta shit ton of WMD’s in here. Some seem chemical in nature.” A few of the bigger shells had containers in the middle filled with a grey fog.

“Damn it,” Steve hissed. “Any ideas?”

“Celine’s up to something. Stand by.”

Beside him, Celine had already pulled out her phone and was taking pictures. “Hold this. Answer it when he calls.” She handed Bucky her phone, walked a few paces away, and lifted her hands. She appeared to connect with every person within the space of the warehouse and then pulled.

Chi of all colours flowed into Celine, wrapping her in a rainbow. It was beautiful and a little terrifying when Bucky looked away, only to watch a handful of bodies fall. They all just… slumped to the ground, no resistance, just down as if they’d been hit in the head.

“Wow,” he muttered, sliding his finger over the phone when it buzzed in his hand. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence came before the person on the other end of the phone said, “I’m looking for Celine?”

“She’s busy. I’m Bucky.”

“Ah, the Winter Soldier.”

“Former,” he grumbled, watching as Celine slowly inhaled. She seemed to grow darker as she did, her hair becoming a veil of night, her nails growing into talons, but damn if she didn’t become even more beautiful.

“Hm, indeed. Hank McCoy. They call me Beast. Celine sent some interesting pictures.”

“Any idea what we’re dealing with?” he asked, heading for the stairs to get a closer look.

“Chemical weapon, for sure. I’d need to get a sample to tell you what kind.”

“We can do that.” He weaved through the tables, approaching the gas canisters.

Appearing at his side, Celine held out her hand. “Hey, Blue Boy,” she smirked when Bucky handed back the phone.

“Beauty, you keeping them Avengers in line?” he chuckled.

“You know it, Beast.” She glanced at Bucky.

He only arched his brow. “Beauty and the Beast?”

She shrugged. “Standard collection?”

“Anything and everything you can get your paws on, Celine.”

“Gotcha.” She hung up the phone and tucked it away.

“Standard collection?” Bucky asked.

“Not the first time I’ve come across things of a... curious nature. I collect what I can and take it back for Hank to sort through. Between him and his staff, they’ll figure it out.” She glanced his direction and took a step away from him.

Saying nothing, even though he wanted to, Bucky began searching through the shit on the table, working his way down all the weapons. “Damn, there’s a lot.”

“They radiate death,” Celine murmured, hand hovering over the tops.

“You can tell?”

“Hm,” she hummed, nodding.

“Nat,” he said, hand going to his ear. “You in those files yet?”

Gunfire came back through his com before she muttered, “Working on it!”

“We got some kind of chemical weapons here. You need to get everything you can.”

“Don’t I always?” she sniped.

Bucky headed for the structure which looked rather office-like in the center of the warehouse.

“We’re circling around to you,” came Steve’s voice.

It didn’t surprise him Cap would want to see what they’d found for himself. Bucky started digging through the papers and pulled free a few which looked promising. Finding a notebook in a drawer full of test notes, he swore again when he figured out what they were dealing with. “It’s aimed at mutants.”

“Huh?” asked Steve, jogging through the door.

“The chemical compound. It’s aimed at mutants. Does something to the gene.” He held up the notebook. “I don’t understand enough of the medical jargon to get more than a gist.”

Looking past Bucky, Steve frowned. “Where's Celine?”

“She was right… fuck!” Bucky snapped. “She needs to stop doing that!” He tucked the notebook away and picked up one of the shells as he went. “Some guy named Hank wants them.”

“Hank McCoy. Bruce equivalent except he's permanently blue and furry, not green and angry,” Celine called from her perch on top of a tank.

“Whatcha doing up there, doll?” Steve called.

“Leaving a parting gift.” She held up the string of explosives.

“That a smart idea?” Bucky asked, following Steve up to crouch across from her.

“I've already set another string under the gas canisters. Get Stark to launch a few of those missiles of his, and there will be enough heat and flame to destroy everything.”

“You sure?” Steve questioned.

“Hank texted me.”

When Peter swung down, landing on the edge of the tank, Celine jerked away, causing her hair to fall forward and hiding her face from view.

“Wow! Celine!” Still, Parker’s voice held a wealth of reverence.

“Thought I told you to watch the doors?” Steve said.

“Yeah, yeah. You guys were just taking forever.” Peter bent to see her clearer. “I cleared out all the people Celine took out. Figure we'd be blowing this place sky high.”

She tucked her face farther down. “Let's go then. Tony can set these off once we're out.” She turned away from Peter and jumped off the side of the tank, an action which put a good chunk of distance between them.

“Parker, over the roof if you would,” Steve commanded.

Peter snapped to and nodded. “Yeah, sure thing, Cap.” He was gone in a sling of webbing.

Bucky exchanged a glance with Steve. “Puppy.”

“Completely,” Steve smirked. “Though you can't blame the kid.”

They stepped off the tank and jogged after Celine.

She was striding out the main exit when her hands came up in a blinding flash of power, deflecting the sniper's bullet at the last second. “Damn it! We missed one!”

Separating to either side of the door, Celine ended up beside Steve. “Eyes on the sniper? Anyone?”

“Not outta the building yet,” said Natasha.

“Dealing with something,” Tony remarked.

“I am dealing with the same something,” came Vision’s calm voice.

That could be just about anything at this rate, but there were an awful lot of explosions going off.

“I have him,” Celine said, her eyes coming open as she rounded away from Steve and charged out the door.

“Shit!” barked Steve.

“Fuck!” swore Bucky.

“Celine!” hollered Peter. He was swinging off the roof before anyone could stop him, heading straight for Celine.

***

She looked up. “No!”

The sniper's attention shifted from her, turned to Peter, and fired. The bullet slammed into the little spider’s side and sent him crashing to the frozen ground.

Rage washed through her, residual from all the power she’d absorbed mixed with her own at seeing the sweet boy fall. “No!” Celine screamed, feeling the pain and terror of Peter, the one person she hadn't tuned out fill her as if it were her own.

Her power whipped up, swirled and circled as she threw her arms into the air, commanding, “Bring him to me!”  

The dragon, the most powerful of her creatures, rushed away in a whisper of wind. It's giant maw opened but no sound emerged. The glow lit up the compound as the twisting writhing body flew over it, streaking up the side of the mountain like a comet. It circled and swooped, diving for its prey. A scream rent the air when the taloned hands of her dragon snatched up the sniper.

Swinging around and down, it returned, dropping the man in the snow before Celine. The dragon landed behind her, its coils writhing, kicking up snow, talons digging furrows in the ground. Made of only her energy he was quite transparent, yet he still struck fear into the hearts of those around her.

When she glided through the snow toward the terrified soldier, she unleashed the full fury of Styx upon him. Power rushed through her, lines of chi in shimmering colours of red and black, gold and white spun out, surrounding them in a cage no one would be coming through. The black lines slammed into the ground and erupted out beneath the man who’d shot Peter to lift him into the air.

“You would kill an innocent? Take the life of a boy!” she howled with rage, and the scream of the underworld seemed to roar with the voice of death.

His fear was complete. His terror so strong she could taste it on her tongue.

“The river of life flows through me.” Beckoning him forward, she drew him down until he hovered inches before her upturned face. She tugged the mask and helmet from his head, took his chin in her hand, and lifted his head up, so he was forced to look in her eyes. His were a murky brown full of fear which shifted swiftly into awe.

“What is your name?” she asked whisper soft.

“Al-Alexi…” he whimpered.

Celine caressed his cheek. “You stand at the crossroads, Alexi. At the doorway of death. Show me your life. Have you been a good man? Or did you do evil? What innocence have you taken?”

His aura shifted, darkened, showed the evil of his life, his depravities, the people he’d killed and how he’d enjoyed doing so.

“You are unworthy of this life!” she hissed, eyes blazing. “Do better in your next one!” Celine opened her mouth and drained him dry, pulled every ounce of chi from his body, while the screams of the underworld raged on the wind.

Darkness ripped an opening between the living realm and the dead, a river winding away into the land of night, and Celine lifted her hand. Her light held the darkness at bay, kept the things which should not return to the land of the living from spilling out into the world. With her opposite hand, she slammed her palm into Alexi’s chest and sent his soul through the doorway to find safe passage back into the river of life where, in time, he'd be reborn.

The doorway closed, the corpse dropped at her feet, and she snapped her hands out, releasing the cage and drawing her power back into her body.

The silence sounded too loud when she turned and started toward the form of Peter whose blood marred the snow beneath him.

Steve and Bucky stared at her, stiffening as she came closer. Their reactions seared pain through her heart and cleaved a new wound in her soul. But it was Peter, holding out his hand weakly, the fear in his aura screaming at her, who broke Celine in two.

“Peter, I can help you,” she said, stopping when he cringed away.

“NO! I... I’m okay… Celine…” He shook his head.

She clenched her fists and looked to Bucky and Steve knelt beside the little spider. Their faces were unreadable, but their auras were not.

A bitter laugh spilled from her lips, and she looked up at the others.

Tony and Vision gaped at her. Vision always so difficult to read looked at her with suspicion, distrust, and worry. Tony, hidden behind his suit screamed concern.

The other three, Wanda, Nat, and Sam looked at her with varying levels of shock, fear, and in Natasha’s case... triumph. The Black Widow had had her point proven rather spectacularly.

Nodding slowly, despair taking her breath away, Celine looked at the two super soldiers. “Now, now you see. Now you understand.” She called the dragon to her, allowing its coils to wrap her up, offer false comfort when her chi sank into her skin. It disappeared, and she walked away, heading back toward the jet.

She wasn’t needed anymore and staying would only make things worse.

Blood dripped into the snow from where her nails had pierced her palms.

Next Chapter

[thefinalcaw]

I’m going to celebrate the little accomplishments in the best way I know how -- by acknowledging them. I bought a couple of things to get my room more organized. A laundry hamper, a nice little basket to transfer my “Memory Box” into (they’re no longer in a shoebox! look , ma! i’m maturing!), hangers for my closet, and this gorgeous mini-dresser to stick in my closet and will be used solely for lingerie.  I also want to get new bedsheets, another silk pillowcase, and maybe a memory foam topper for my bed.  I need to make this room more comfortable, more livable. There’s a lot of bad memories in here. But that’s behind me. I painted over the sharpie scrawled on the walls, filled in the holes, took the shelves off the wall, replaced the broken/kicked in power outlet plate thingies, and had new floors put in. I’m going to take off the blinds and replace them with curtains, I’m going to set my piano in front of the window. I’m going to paint that window sill while I’m at it, too.  I’m going to take the closet doors off. I’m going to move my yoga mat out in the open. I’ll move the weights while I’m at it too. I’m going to put up a wall mirror. All negative associations with this room will be...covered up. In the process of healing. An ongoing, exhausting process.  This will no longer be the room I was molested in as a child. This will no longer be the room I had many, many, many breakdowns and isolative spells in. This will no longer be the room that I tried to kill myself in.  This is my new room, new self. I found the notebook where I wrote down the 39 messages you sent me when you went off on me in 2017- the ones that left me spiraling. They were probably the cruelest things you’ve ever said to me. And that’s saying a lot considering you were mentally and emotionally abusive as hell. But I mean, after a while, I didn’t put up with that shit. I was just as emotionally and mentally turbulent. (moreso than you, if I’m going to be honest once we got into the full swing of it all.)

I found them a few months ago, to be honest. I read the first 3 words and I chucked it into the back of my closet. Didn’t want to look at them and be reminded of it all. Couldn’t be reminded it of it all, if we’re following the same thread of honesty here.

I had locked myself in my room for a week. A handle of Sailor Jerrys, and 4? or was it 5? six packs of IPAs.  I came out once or so in the day to eat the same thing (as I sometimes do. I’ve hyperfocused on meals before which is another thing to look at at maybe another time) --  fried chicken and coleslaw with pepper. For every “meal”. That was for 3 days. The rest of the week it was pulled pork on a bun.  For every “meal”. Funny the details your brain decides to keep with you.

Anyways. That was the week you sent me those messages and it hammered in the truth I’ve lived with ever since my mental illnesses started showing themselves - I wanted to kill myself. Truly , terribly was in a bad place. I’ve been avoiding rereading them. But I did. This is what this is all about. It’s a long, meandering way to acknowledge it all, but this is what I wanted to get to. I did read them. I read every word. And then I burned one page, and shredded the other.  I’m letting that heaviness go. I’m (attempting to. remember- it’s a process) letting that chaotic, nasty, terrible time of my life go. After I got rid of the words, I smoked a big ass bowl. And now I’m going to type up some quotes I’ve saved/written down so I can finally throw the fucking papers away.  Get ‘er done.

[johnboothus]

We Asked 15 Brewers: Whats the Most Comforting Beer Youve Had in Quarantine?

As the coronavirus pandemic continues, and bars and brewery taprooms remain closed for on-site consumption as part of concerted efforts to suppress the infection’s spread, you’re likely drinking more than usual at home.

A few weeks ago, we looked at the growing trend of beer enthusiasts digging into their cherished collections and opening special bottles during quarantine. But in these uncertain times, it turns out that many of us — including brewers — are reaching for what’s easy, as well as what comforts us in these uncertain times.

While social distancing, we spoke to 15 brewers about what they’ve been drinking while sheltering in place. It turns out, they’re reaching for everything from bourbon-barrel-aged barleywines to triple-hopped lagers — and yes, hazy IPAs.

“It’s a simple answer: Sante Adarius’ Amongst Friends, a barrel-aged, mixed-fermentation beer with cherries. Featuring soft, subtle acidity, which is rare amongst cherry mixed-ferm beers, this wasn’t bracing in any way. And it was gone from my glass too soon, just like times spent with close friends, cooking up tacos or pizza when general revelry was involved. A beer I wish I had been able to share amongst more friends, but look forward to in the future.” — Zac Ross, Owner and Brewer, Marlowe Artisanal Ales, New Haven, Conn.

“The most comforting beer I’ve had during quarantine is easily the All Together IPA, a worldwide collaboration spearheaded by Other Half that’s supporting hospitality professionals. Since I’ve been self-isolating down in Miami the past month, I picked up the version brewed by Tripping Animals, and wow, did this beer have me missing Brooklyn more than ever. It immediately reminded me of riding the G train all the way to the Smith & 9th Streets stop, and taking a routine photo of the Manhattan skyline before taking the short walk over to Other Half. I’m looking forward to the day that I can get back to the city, but until then I‘ll bide my time in Florida and watch people make bread.” — Kyle Gonzales, NYC Field Marketing, Brooklyn Brewery, Brooklyn

“I’m drinking some funk right now, because that’s what we like and focus on. We had a couple of collaborations that we had to shelve the first week of shutdown in Minnesota. One of those collaborations was with Branch & Bone Artisan Ales. A few weeks prior, their team sent us their house yeast culture along with a few of their bottles. One was Silence Mill, a gin-barrel-aged, mixed-fermentation saison with local honey. I had this beer in Chicago at FOBAB, where it medaled, and then had one last night after a long day of delivering beer, doing what we can to keep the doors open. The beer reminded me of simpler and less chaotic times.” — Jason Sandquist, Co-founder, Wild Mind Artisan Ales, Minneapolis

“I’ve had a love affair with Oxbow’s Italian-style pilsner Luppolo since my first sip, and it’s everything I want in a beer: crisp, citrusy, floral, malty, and dry AF. The head’s incredibly pillowy and fluffy, which always makes me smile. With a lot more free time on my hands, Luppolo is perfect at 5 percent ABV because I need to treat each day like a marathon, not a sprint. It’s my safety beer even when the world isn’t turned upside down.” — Jen Wyllie, Director of Marketing and Events, Austin Street Brewery, Portland, Me.

“Jarl by Scotland’s Fyne Ales is a session blonde ale hopped with Citra that you can drink throughout the afternoon and well into the evening. However, don’t be fooled by it’s low 3.8 percent ABV; Jarl is packed full of citrus flavors and a really clean, refreshing finish. And what has elevated it into my top lockdown tipple is its availability in 5-liter mini-casks, meaning you can pour yourself a full pint (remember them?) within the comfort of your own home! Which, if you’re like me and you’re missing pubs and well-kept cask beer, this really will provide you with some comfort.” — Harriet Edgar, Brand Development, 71 Brewing, Dundee, Scotland

“You would think that drinking during quarantine would mean a beer you can crush throughout the day, but I’m a hophead at heart. My usual go-to is a clean, crisp, refreshing West Coast IPA. Yet during this lockdown, my faith in hazy IPAs has been restored with Equilibrium’s scientific approach to the fundamental process of brewing. Its dHop series, for example, is a perfect display of how hops can change a beer, and I feel it keeps redefining the New England style with each release. Right now, I’m drinking a collaboration with Arkane Aleworks: For Every Action Is A Reaction. This triple IPA is bursting with tropical mango, papaya, and guava hop flavors, complemented by a creamy, pillowy, soft mouthfeel that keeps me coming back for more.” — Kyle MacDonald, Head Brewer, Inu Island Ales, Kaneohe, Hawaii

“Sierra Nevada and Bitburger’s collaboration, Triple Hop’d Lager. It’s perfectly balanced and endlessly drinkable with an incredible hop profile that lets you know you’re drinking a German beer. But it still flashes with a lot of Sierra Nevada character. Pilsner or hoppy lager has been a mainstay for me lately, and I think that’s just reflective of my current state of mind: trying to stay simple and balanced, but kinda freaking out too!” — Brett Smith, Founder and Head Brewer, Branch & Bone Artisan Ales, Dayton, Ohio

“That’s a super-easy one for me to answer: NYS Pils from Big aLICe in Queens [New York]. It’s super crisp and clean, soft and delicate; everything you would want from a pilsner. It’s a beer we love to drink and share with friends around a fire, which I am so looking forward to doing again!” — Liz DeSousa, Co-owner, Kismet Brewing Company, Westfield, Mass.

“Things are getting kind of crazy out there, and drinking Temporal Artisan Ales’ Ruby Continuum is a great distraction from the stress and pressures of our current environment. Ruby is a heavily fruited, oak-aged wild ale with raspberries and tayberries. The beer is a blend from wine and port barrels, giving it a layered complexity that takes my mind away from the here and now. It’s jammy. It’s bright. It’s tart. It’s what I want to drink right now.” — Kent Courtice, Founder and Brewer, Boombox Brewing Company, Vancouver, B.C., Canada

“Hitchhiker’s Bane of Existence hazy IPA has been my go-to comfort beer during this quarantine, which, as an extrovert, has been the bane of my existence, though I know it is 100 percent necessary. Brewed with flaked wheat and oats, and liberally hopped with Simcoe and Citra, Bane has an approachable hop bitterness and medium-full mouthfeel. Top notes of candied tangerine, mango, and passion fruit are supported by a resinous fresh-pine undertone, with citrus pith carrying through the finish. At 6.6 percent ABV, it’s quaffable and explains why I just finished the last of my stash. Hitchhiker was the last brewery I visited before the world shutdown, so I’m holding on tightly to those memories of sitting in its Sharpsburg taproom with some of my dearest friends, laughing, and being able to actually clink glasses in person instead of over Zoom.” — Hannah Gohde, Brewer, Free Will Brewing Company, Perkasie, Penn.

“The Lost Abbey’s Angel Share that I drank out of my cellar. The bourbon-barrel-aged version. I believe a 2009, when it was still in the 750-milliliter bottle. One of my favorite barleywines of all time. The dark fruit and bourbon characteristics that come across are amazing. Lost Abbey nailed that beer, in my opinion.” — Johnathan Wakefield, Owner and Head Brewer, J. Wakefield Brewing, Miami

“I’ve been drinking a ton of Silver City’s Ride the Spiral. I love Silver City for a ton of reasons, but it’s really heartwarming because my husband and I sat at their bar while we decided to buy our house in Bremerton, Wash., where we’re currently quarantined at. The beer is strong, sweet, and pretty tropical so it makes going on hikes in the woods behind my house a joy and is usually the only thing that gets me back!” — Sarah Flora, Owner, Flora Brewing, Los Angeles

“I’ve been trying to keep the drinking light during these times, so I‘ve been leaning toward lagers. Indoctrination is a great collaboration from Threes [Brewing of Brooklyn] and Hudson Valley [Brewery in Beacon, N.Y.]. This hopped-up pilsner is crispy AF and has a great body, created by aging in foudres. Also, it uses the super-fun Zuper Saazer hop. I’ve been drinking this one on my stoop daily. Cheers to everyone, stay home and stay safe.” — Geriz Rameriz, General Manager, Other Half Brewing, Brooklyn

“It’s hard not to go drink Triple Hop’d Lager with friends because it seems that’s what it’s made for. Consistency and creativity from two amazing breweries such as Sierra Nevada and Bitburger is what makes this a comforting beer to me during this dreary time. It’s crisp, clean, and perfect for porch sittin’.” — Matt Denham, Head of Brewing Operations, American Solera, Tulsa, Okla.

“Honestly, I wasn’t very excited to celebrate my 30th birthday in the thick of a pandemic, but I was able to hang with some of my best friends, one of whom was gracious enough to open a bottle of Side Project’s coveted stout, Beer: Barrel: Time. To describe it, think bourbon dark chocolate cake batter; silky and full of caramel, while having a touch of roasty bitterness, reminiscent of coffee. It was just a small gathering outside on a patio, but it was relieving to drink beer with a few of my closest friends during these strange times.” — Cameron Owen, Brewer, The Eighth State Brewing Company, Greenville, S.C.

The article We Asked 15 Brewers: What’s the Most Comforting Beer You’ve Had in Quarantine? appeared first on VinePair.

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