#being an architect looks cool but too many people have no taste and would want me to build garbage

[talkinghead1968]

architects in their 20s post a picture of a century home on instagram and caption it "📝✏️" then they post floor plans of the ugliest fucking mcmansion you've ever seen

[elentiyawhitethorn]

feysand blind date

Loving Every Second of It

Fluff//3010 words

Feyre wasn’t sure what she was expecting tonight.

Lucien had set her up on a blind date with a friend of a friend and there was no way it wasn’t going to end miserably. Maybe Feyre would say something stupid and he would think she was weird. Maybe he would decide she wasn’t pretty enough or her clothes weren’t nice or she was just boring. Maybe some other woman who was everything she would never be would catch his eye. Maybe—

“I really hope you’re not still imagining ways this will end poorly.”

Feyre frowned. “Seriously, Lu, this is a bad idea.”

Lucien elbowed her. “You said, and I quote, “I’m done being a lonely spinster who’s too busy regretting my life choices to get laid.” Therefore I, as the good friend I am, decided to get you a date. And consequently, laid. So stop being a bitch. If it doesn’t end well, at least you put yourself out there, right?”

She sighed. “If it doesn’t end well, I will have to endure the long-lasting humiliation and despair for the rest of my life. That’s not something I’m inclined to want.”

“The only reason I’m still here listening to your self-pity is because I know if I leave you’ll chicken out.”

“And because I’m your best friend?”

“Yeah, that too.”

Feyre scowled and crossed her arms. “You don’t say that very convincingly.”

Lucien just smiled and gave Feyre a peck on the cheek. “You’ll have a good time tonight. Just be yourself.”

“But what if he doesn’t like myself?”

“He will. Azriel has good taste in people, as evidenced by the fact that he’s dating me,” Lucien stated matter-of-factly.

Feyre rolled her eyes but allowed a small smile to cross her features. Azriel had only started dated Feyre’s best friend a couple weeks ago, and she’d met the man a handful of times. It was his friend, Rhys, she thought he’d said, that she would be going on a date with tonight.

“It’s time to go,” Lu told her.

Feyre blinked. “Already?”

“Yes, don’t pretend you haven’t been counting the seconds. You’re such a bullshitter.”

A mournful sigh was all she gave Lucien before heading to the door. They had agreed to meet at the restaurant, a fancy, but also homey, little place downtown.

“Wait.”

Feyre almost growled out loud. If Lucien kept distracting her, she was going to lose her nerve.

“I’m driving you to the restaurant.”

Feyre spun around. “What do you mean you’re driving me? I was about to walk out the door.”

Lucien crossed his arms. “Yes, but that still leaves you with dozens of opportunities to turn back around. I won’t risk it.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes, but reluctantly allowed him to take her. The drive was unpleasant—Feyre would never admit it to him, but Lucien had been right. Had she had the option, she would have turned around by the time they pulled up at the restaurant. Feyre’s hands were clenched into fists to keep them from shaking.

She tried to think when she had become so nervous about dates. It probably had something to do with Tamlin. Tamlin was a bastard who had ridiculed and scorned Feyre subtly enough during their relationship that Feyre had begun to think of herself as worthless, entirely unaware it was his fault. She’d dumped his sorry ass after she caught him in Feyre’s own fucking bed with Ianthe, a “friend.”

Yes, that was definitely the cause of Feyre’s anxiety. She was never excessively social or flirty, but she had at least been cool and collected, as many guys noticed. Or they used to, anyway. Now she was scared to go on a single gods-damn date.

“Are you going to get out of the car, or are we going to sit here all night?” Lucien’s dry voice cut into her thoughts.

Feyre glared at him, not deigning to give a response other than a raised finger (try and guess which one) and getting out. She closed the door and turned around, checking her phone for the time before turning it on silent. It was only a few minutes before six-thirty, so he may or may not be there already.

Taking a moment—and making sure Lucien had already driven off—Feyre smoothed out her dress apprehensively. She was wearing a plain blue dress suited for a special occasion, but still simple enough not to be too flashy. Had she misjudged what to wear? Should she have with something more stylish? Or maybe more revealing, showing off more of her legs or breasts?

And her makeup—was it too plain? Should she have chosen better earrings? Should she be wearing more jewelry? Were her flats too drab?

Feyre almost wished Lucien had stayed to make sure she made it in the restaurant. Steeling herself for the inevitable letdown that tonight would be, Feyre went inside.

Before she had a chance to look around, she nearly ran into a man waiting at the entrance.

“Oh, you’re pretty.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

Feyre blinked. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” She was blushing and cursing herself for her lack of a filter.

Although, who could blame her? The man was dark-skinned, violet-eyed, and muscled, with dark, tousled hair and strong cheekbones. He was wearing an insanely hot dress shirt with the sleeves—the fucking sleeves—rolled up, revealing tattooed forearms. Pretty was a bit of an understatement.

The man was grinning now. The bastard probably had a lot of women telling him he was pretty. Feyre kicked herself internally.

“Well, if it makes it better, I think you’re pretty too.”

Feyre’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “Um, thanks. I should… I have a date… with um…” She trailed off, the man smirking all the while. And then she thought of something.

“You’re Rhys, aren’t you? I mean sure, there are plenty of other people here who could be Rhys, but I have the worst luck, and telling my date he’s pretty totally qualifies as bad luck. Fuck, I thought we’d at least make it to the table before I scared you away. Oh shit, I’m just making it worse now, aren’t I?”

Rhys, or the random guy Feyre was assuming to be Rhys, smiled. Not condescendingly or rudely in any way, just more of an amused expression. “I am Rhys. Which I think makes you Feyre?”

Feyre nodded sullenly.

“It takes more than a beautiful woman complimenting me to scare me away, don’t worry. Why don’t we sit down?”

Feyre’s face was crimson, she was sure of it. She hadn’t expected a compliment from him after that little incident. She tried to think of what Lucien would say right now. Don’t worry, it’ll be a fun story to tell your kids. Okay, not helping.

Trying to turn off her brain, admittedly without much success, Feyre nodded once more and let Rhys lead her over to a table by the window. It was mostly dark outside, so the choice of seating only allowed to give them some privacy as opposed to being in the middle of the room. Probably not a conscious choice on Rhys’ choice, but Feyre quite liked it.

He also pulled the chair out for Feyre to sit. What a gentleman.

Feyre awkwardly fumbled with the menu, trying not to stare at Rhys’ beautiful face.

“Have you been here before, Feyre?” So much for that.

She looked up. “No, I haven’t.”

“I’ve been a couple times. Of course you can get whatever you like, but I would recommend the braised pork. It was delicious.”

Feyre bit her lip. “It sounds good.”

The waiter came over just then and Rhys asked for the braised pork for himself, then Feyre said to make it two orders.

He left, and the pair was left in silence once more. “So, Rhys,” Feyre said, making an effort not to be entirely silent. “Tell me about yourself.”

He smiled. “I work as an architect. I like reading, sightseeing, and talking to interesting ladies. How about you?”

Feyre snorted. “I’m an artist. I like, well, painting I guess. And jogging. And talking to handsome men, I suppose I should say.”

Rhys full-on grinned. “Tell me about your work. Is it just paint, or other types of art?”

Feyre answered his question, and then a few more. She tried not to talk too much, not wanting to take over the conversation, but Rhys showed such a genuine interest in her passion that Feyre could help opening up. By the time the food arrived, he knew her style, her favorite colors to use, her methods of gaining inspiration, and her opinions on some classic pieces that Rhys seemed to know more than the average person about.

Then the waiter interrupted with their meal. Once everything was served and Feyre had already dug into the pork, which was even more delectable then Rhys had let on, he asked another question.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you decide to try out a blind date?”

Feyre finished chewing, using the time to think about how to answer his question properly. “I ended a bad relationship a few months ago, and I’ve been a bit lacking in confidence since then. I guess I’m just sick of spending my weekends alone. What about you?”

“I’ve been searching for a relationship for a while. I’m interested in the idea of spending my future with someone, so when Azriel suggested a date with you, I jumped at the chance.” Rhys seemed to reconsider his words. “Not that I would be spending my future with you, necessarily.” He paused. “I mean—”

“No, I get it,” Feyre cut in, not wanting to hear any more of this. “I’m not the type of person you want to be in a serious relationship with.” She had known all along. Rhys was charming and handsome and smart and funny and there was no reason he would want to spend his life with her of all people.

Rhys’ eyes widened. “No, not at all!” he exclaimed. “That came out wrong. I was only trying to take it back so as not to pressure you. I didn’t know how much you’d be okay with hearing me tell you how interested I was in you after saying I’m looking for a relationship.”

Feyre blinked, surprised to find that it hadn’t been a dismissal. Surprised at more than that. “Oh.”

Rhys smiled, the first signs of nervousness shining through his calm demeanor. “I like you, Feyre. We’ve only been talking for fifteen minutes, and already I like you. And I’m not getting too ahead of myself by claiming you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Not nearly this soon; hell, I just met you. But I do think you should know what I’m looking for so we can end this before it goes too far. If you’re not ready for something like that, I mean.”

Feyre was stunned. Rhys not only liked her, but enough to tell her something like that?

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but I like you too,” she replied. And she meant it. Rhys was really nice, and very intriguing. She hadn’t considered what she wanted past a date. After all, she had been positive he would diss her by the end of it. But Feyre sure as hell wanted something with this man.

Rhys almost seemed surprised. “I’m not asking for commitment or anything like that. Certainly not on the first date. But maybe you can think over that later, and we can finish dinner now?”

Feyre smiled, still processing his words. “Okay.”

They dug in. There was less conversation than before, both because Feyre was too busy letting out content groans at the taste of the food and from the lingering awkwardness. But they did start talking more toward the end, Feyre snorting into her hand as she heard the end of some ridiculous story Rhys was telling her. By the time the waiter came over and let them know the restaurant was closing now, they’d returned to an animated conversation.

From everything to Rhys’ work as an architect to gossip about Azriel and Lucien to current events and old movies and bad jokes, it had crossed the discussion. Rhys was an exceptional conversationalist.

Rhys pulled out a wallet, but Feyre said, “We can split it.”

He glanced over. “I’ve got it, darling. Consider it my treat.”

Trying to suppress a shiver at the new nickname, Feyre said, “Really, I can help out.”

“Persistent, aren’t you? Maybe I’ll let you buy me coffee next time.”

Feyre knew he was teasing; there was no doubt he would refuse to let her pay next time. He seemed like the kind of guy to insist. Still, Feyre was more than satisfied with hearing that there would be a next time.

Disappointed with the fact they had to leave, but definitely pleased with how the date had gone, Feyre stood. Rhys walked Feyre out in silence, the latter surprised to find how long they’d been chatting. The restaurant was almost empty.

Feyre pulled her phone out of her purse.

“No ride, darling?” Rhys had raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“No, my friend dropped me off. He was worried I would flee if he didn’t actually bring me here himself.”

Rhys grinned. “Would you have fled?”

“Probably,” Feyre admitted.

“Let me drive you home. No expectations,” he added hastily at Feyre’s expression. “Just so you don’t have to wait out here. It’s getting cold.”

“Alright,” she agreed, very appreciative.

She’d sent Lucien a text and he had shot back a message letting her know he would be on the way. Feyre swiftly sent another text.

nvm rhys is dropping me off

Then she followed Rhys over to his car, laughing when he opened the door for her with a bow. Feyre wished she was the one driving; it would have been easier to keep her eyes off of him if she had something to focus on.

“Am I really that pretty?” So he’d noticed.

Feyre scowled. “Shut up.”

Rhys chuckled and glanced over, then turned his eyes back to the road. “I had a really nice time tonight, Feyre.”

“Me too,” she said.

The only words passed between them after that were directions on how to find Feyre’s apartment, fairly close to the restaurant. They were a street over when Feyre pulled a scrap of a receipt out of her purse, as well as a pen—Lucien often made fun of her having everything in her purse, but it was useful—and wrote down her number. They parked and Rhys looked over.

“So you don’t have to contact me through Lucien next time,” she clarified, handing him the paper.

Rhys smiled and put the paper in his pocket.

“Thank you for the ride, Rhys.”

He frowned mockingly. “What kind of person do you think I am, darling? Didn’t you know the good guys walk their dates to the door?”

Feyre laughed and mumbled something, getting out. Rhys stepped out of the car as well. But Feyre was starting to get nervous that Rhys was expecting something from her. Tamlin always had, after all.

They reached Feyre’s door and she stopped. But before she could say goodnight, Rhys seemed to realize why she was so anxious. He was too observant for his own good.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Feyre. I didn’t walk you here because I required anything of you.”

She flushed. “It’s not that I thought you would, exactly, I guess it just… been a while since I’ve met a nice guy.”

Rhys looked very sympathetic. “I understand. And for you, Feyre, I couldn’t care less if you wanted to drag me in your apartment and have your way with me now or wait a year to so much as kiss me. You’re worth it.”

There was no way Feyre’s face at all resembled a normal color. Or her ears. Or her neck. Gods, she was positively reeling.

“Really?”

“I had fun with you,” was all Rhys said.

Feyre barely noticed herself leaning closer. “Maybe a goodnight kiss wouldn’t be so bad.”

Rhys’ lips twitched and he assessed the sincerity of the statement. He leaned in slowly, giving Feyre every chance to back away, before planting his lips softly on hers.

Feyre melted into the kiss, obsessed with the soft feel of his mouth. It only last a few seconds, and Rhys’ touch remained featherlight. He pulled back, grinning.

“Goodnight, Feyre.”

She leaned against the wall for support. She was probably swooning. “Goodnight.”

One last smirk was all she got before he turned and walked down the hall.

Making it into her apartment, Feyre tried to process what had happened.

She’d met the man and made a fool of herself. Still, he had been nice and showed an interest in her. Then he had said he desired a serious relationship with someone, and she was a good candidate. There had been some more startled deer-like behavior on her part and some more suaveness from him. Then he had been super gentlemanly about not expecting her to sleep with him.

Basically, he was all Feyre could have wished for—and then some.

Feyre groaned loudly, throwing one of her flats at the wall. Then the other. She wasn’t sure why she was angry. Probably just because she’d been so ridiculous tonight. Or maybe it was the pent-up up hormones.

Feyre glanced at her phone, saw about a dozen messages from Lucien telling her to have fun and “be safe.” She threw her phone on the couch and grumbled about what a nosy little asshole her best friend was.

Then she slumped to the floor.

Feyre was going to spend the rest of her life mooning over Rhys and making a fool of herself, she already knew it. And she was going to love every second of it.

Oh, she was screwed.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen // @feysand-loml // @infernoqueen19 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @midsizewitch // @sleeping-and-books // @story-scribbler // @thebonecarver

[demonslayedher]

Dream Analysis of Mugen Ressha

Spoilers for the movie, while it does not depart from the plot of the manga, they made adaptational choices which I may refer to within.

While Enmu has control over what kind of dream his victims see, ultimately, he would have no way of knowing all of the details of his victims' lives, so we can assume that he is prompting his victims to fill in a lot of the details themselves. These are the worlds they surround themselves with consciously, but their untouchable unconscious spaces say just as much.

I've said some of this before, but these dream sequences give us so much to say about Inosuke, Zenitsu, Kyojuro, and Tanjiro.

Into the dream: Did that "Rengoku-aniki" thing really happen???? It's animated like a fever dream (or drawn like a typical Gotouge-being-Gotouge panel), but both the movie and the manga leave this inconclusive. It can be interpreted two ways: 1. The two other demons were there all along as decoys, set to appear only when Enmu's blood technique slowly started to take effect so that they'd let their guard down. In this way, we'd know that the boys had a true way of witnessing Kyojuro's prowess and a true bonding moment, thereby making his death hit all the harder later. This would also mean that one of the cars was totally unusable for passengers, and many of the passengers were already thoroughly spooked before falling into sleep. It would also imply that they were all super excited, thoroughly relieved, returned to their seats, and then just passed out.

2. The moment the tickets were clipped, Enmu's very, very, very realistic dreams took immediate effect, but he still needed time before it took effect enough that their guards would go down. If this is the case, then it implies the following: 1. Enmu's illusions can be shared 2. Everyone syncs extremely well together to have all been sucked in by the same illusion (it's possible it was only Tanjiro's, but since we get in everyone's heads a little in this part, I believe they all experienced the same thing). Reacting in ways so true to how they would in waking like, they learned as much about each other as truthfully as they would have if they were fighting while awake. 3. The "Rengoku-aniki" thing is the moment they're falling into a deeper stage of sleep, when any bizarre thing will make sense. They've lost any sense of holding back and are embracing the emotions as they hit them. Even if that was all a dream, the bond formed was very real. But then, as they fall deep, they fall into their own headspaces. Inosuke: I love how bombastic this dream is. It moves at a very fast pace, and everything revolves around Inosuke. He is physically much larger than Ponjiro, Chuuitsu, and Pyonko, who clearly follow him as their leader, the most powerful person in this cave exploring world full of wonder and excitement. True to life, these underlings can at times be frustrating or stupid, but there is no one else Inosuke would rather have at his side to take on a hugely impressive foe. It's a relatively simplistic world, what Inosuke really cares about is his place in it, and who is there.

Taking it a step deeper, he should not be able to manifest in his self-conscious space, but Gotouge attributes his and Zenitsu's ability to do this and protect their cores from intruders to their strong senses of self. What's telling is that his subconscious space is practically identical to his conscious dream space; like there is no breakage between one stage of reality and the next. In its Zen-like simplicity Inosuke's mind is never at odds with itself, its interpretation of reality is fluid and seamless. However, being at this deeper state brings us to a deeper state of self actualization, with Inosuke manifesting closer to the ideal beast he views himself as.

Now, with Inosuke being so fully invested in what he sees as reality, he's still got a carry-over effect from dream after waking up, which one could interpret as not having fully shaken the effects of Enmu's blood technique. After all, Zenitsu simply never broke out of it, Tanjiro had to kill himself in his dreams each time to fully snap out of it, and Kyojuro was the only one powerful enough to have broken through its effects through his own willpower. When Tanjiro says the train is a demon, he buzzes with "I was right!" (a conviction that only got stronger in his dream), and Inosuke's declarations of being the boss and Tanjiro being his underling are indignantly plentiful and he fully believes what he is saying every time he brings it up, even if he's aware that he's no longer in the cave exploring dream. But, given that Inosuke is so at peace with his own version of reality, it's also just as likely that his conviction of being The Boss was also only compounded by the dream, and all that dream did was give him a more fun setting in which to play around in. But, what was so fun about the dream, what made him sleep-giggle with pleasure, was that everyone else was finally getting with the program and recognizing him as the boss, as they should. Finally. It's so frustrating in real life that he has to keep reminding them to get it right. Get it, Santaro?? GOOD. Zenitsu: What I love here is the contrast between subconscious and conscious space. Both of them have the same theme melody, but played in very, very different ways. They also both play with the same core desire in very different ways as well. Is it so much to ask that he can just spend some time alone with the girl he loves?? If we jump straight to the pitch black unconscious space, he specifies to the intruder that only Nezuko is allowed there. Not just girls in general, not a close friend like Tanjiro, only the one girl he loves, and even then, you'd have to love someone a lot to invite them into the deepest, darkest corners of your soul. And it is a very, very, very, very dark corner. Zenitsu's spent most of his life building that dark, pessimistic personality, compounded by the treatment he's always received throughout his life and what he believes about himself at his core. He's ugly and depraved there, and very defensive. Because he holds himself in such darkness, that makes him desire the bright, happy, completely idealistic world of his conscious dream world. It's rich with detail and warm and he knows it well, that places is the first place he ever felt someone have hope for him; it's Jiichan's home, that sunny place with delicious peaches and full of clovers and lush greenery and a charming stream. Of course he'd want to show it all to Nezuko, she deserves to see such a happy, pretty place! And, while the world is idealized and happy, Nezuko is e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y cute and actually wants to hang out with him too. She's willing no hold his hand, none of the girls who dated (read: used) Zenitsu in the past were ever willing to hold his hand. He even gets to show her that he can be cool, and she likes it!! She looks him in the eyes and is totally honest about enjoying his company!!

He just wants someone to want him back. He wants to belong in the sunshine too. So, even if he had it in him to wake up from Enmu's blood technique, who can blame him for staying there? (You know, besides Tanjiro, who has been desperately screaming for them all to wake up and help him protect the passengers. Zzzzz, five more minutes, Tanjiro, zzzzzzz----) Kyojuro: This... isn't really a happy dream. Kyojuro has accepted a lot of sad parts of his reality so wholeheartedly that he doesn't seek the comfort of a dream in which his mother is still alive, or a dream in which his father is proud of him. Instead, what Kyojuro was looking for was the chance to go back and say more to Senjuro. This implies that on the real day he knelt in that room, while his father faced away and read the book* while Kyojuro told him all about how he defeated Lower Moon Two and became a Pillar, and was met with his father's heartbreakingly unenthusiastic reply, he later went outside and...

...didn't say any words of comfort to Senjuro.

This regret, that he didn't do more for his brother whom he knew was hurting in his own silent ways this whole time, was what sat most bothersomely in Kyojuro's otherwise peacefully self-assured psyche (or fired-up psyche, if you go by his subconscious space) . It makes sense that in his dying wishes, the first thing he requests is that Tanjiro do this in his stead. *Speaking of that book, Kyojuro had forgotten about it until his memories pulled together to create the details of the dream, which was why he thought to mention it to Tanjiro later. This shows that Enmu is not an architect of people's dreams, he only sets them in motion. How believable they are depends on each victim. (Totally unrelated, I love the design of the Rengoku estate's garden??? It's primarily evergreen and unflowering trees, meaning it stays relatively steadfast throughout the year, a garden designed in samurai villa taste. Plus the details of the house also fit really well, I think??? Would need to review research of buke-yashiki architecture to say more.) Tanjiro: ...*deep breath* This boy really, really wants to go home. Like, the climax of the movie is amazing and all, but it's the scenes with Tanjiro's family that make me cry. Ugh, where do I start. Enmu probably just grabs on to whatever thread of a desire a person has, and then he just tugs on it and says "this way, let's go really far in this direction, show me where it goes, hmm, okay, nice, lovely. Have fun here, I've now seen enough to write my own angsty version for later." So... so I'm just going to work backwards a moment. Enmu screwed up here, thinking he could really read the depth of Tanjiro's family and his feelings for them. He thought he could make a convincing version of these "characters" cry and shove Tanjiro around and speak meanly to him and make him feel shame. And the cut to that dream, OH MY GOSH, truly horrific sound and color change. But Tanjiro's sees through it so fast that he wakes up immediately and uses that anger at how Enmu wrote them to cut off his "head." You screwed up, Enmu, you blew it, maybe other people would very so blown down by the shock that they wouldn't question how unreal that dream sequence is, but Tanjiro has honed his fighting spirit so much that it's been nagging him even throughout his happy dream. And he really, really, really wants to stay in that happy dream. Like, even though he's on guard at the beginning, so much so that he only focuses on the familiar feeling of a demon being around and does not notice the familiar landscape AT ALL. But the moment Hanako and Shigeru step in, convincingly made from Tanjiro's memories and unedited by Enmu, Tanjiro throws that all away in an instant. As he says when he's trying, after trying and trying and trying to rip himself away from the dream, he was never even supposed to had left this world. He was never supposed to had touched anything like a sword, they were all supposed to stay there together, living their simple life. If things hadn't gone wrong that one night. Tanjiro cares deeply about his mission, he's adopted his training deeply, he has serious desire to improve, which is why his subconsciously keeps trying to call himself back to reality, but it's so hard, because this is where he wants to be, and it's even harder because it feels so real. It's a little peeve of mine when families with lots of little siblings are written to be too angelic and idealistic, and there is some of that with the "let's make sembei, yaaaay" scene, but... but that's actually pretty true. I'm giving myself away with how close this hits to home, but it's a dynamic in a lot of large families, especially large families pretty happy to stay to themselves and people who live the same sort of conservative, traditional lifestyle, to foster in the older siblings some pride in taking care of the little ones and helping create that happy world for them, even if taking care of little kids can be rough. It's not to say that things are always happy and fluffy, they're not, and that's not to say even

happy kids don't resent being in a large family sometimes. But there's plenty of moments in daily life, especially in the presence of small children, that you get swept up into a sillier, happy, caretaker side of yourself, and since you all grow up with these silly moments together, you're going to naturally fall into into some silly, scripted-feeling moments of "then I'll be in charge of eating the sembei!" "no faaaaair!". So, I'll give the sembei scene a pass because that IS a moment that happens in years of moments with the same posse of kiddos around you all the time. But it's also so striking to me how each of Tanjiro's siblings, however idealized, has their own personality. The traits are so subtle but consistent and Tanjiro knows all of them. They pick up on things about each other, they grow realistically annoyed and surprised and concerned and scared like they would if they were real instead of only Tanjiro's memories of them. Those kids feel so real to me, even if they are annoyingly overidealized in some parts as Tanjiro is letting himself get swept away. And just when he's managing to part from it to go face reality, Enmu makes more attack: he brings in Nezuko, trying to make it feel like there's no point in Tanjiro running at all. She's fine. There's nothing left for him to fight for. Everything's fine. And all over again, Tanjiro just stops. He KNOWS it's not real, but he's hurting so much to hear her voice again that he just sto-o-o-o-ps. And his desire to stay with the others catches up to him all over again, and he's tempted all over again to stay, EVEN KNOWING IT'S NOT REAL and there are very, very, very pressing matters to attend to. Even if it was all a little happy and idealized, more than anything, it felt like life always did. It's telling that when Tanjiro finally, FINALLY pulls away from that that time, he doesn't look back, and the family stops chasing him. This is Tanjiro accepting reality, however much it hurts. He's already had a couple years to accept this, but it was all overwhelming to get such a vivid taste of it again.

Tanjiro wants to do well to his organization and honor Urokodaki's training and avenge the fallen and prevent anyone else from being hurt and see an end to Kibutsuji Muzan and make Nezuko human again, but more than anything, he wants that simple life. And it's so, so heartwarming that at the end of the manga, he gets it.

It's not the same. It'll never be the same.

He never wanted a life with a sword, but he's been working so hard at it anyway.

[pinkykitten]

truth or dare

- @someoneovertherainboww​ heey i dont know if u tak requests but i loved ur writing and i was wondering if u could make prompts 20 and/or 25 for zuko pls prompt(s):  “i’m not playing truth or dare.” “why don’t you take a picture? it’ll last longer.”

pairing: zuko x female! reader words: 2,210 genre: modern au, high school au, cafe au, fluff, comedy, requested

a/n: tysm!!! yes requests are opened atm! omg while writing this i thought of that thing that dante said at like a con or something where he was ordering at starbucks and the lady was like omg ur zuko!!!😂 art in title isnt mine! hope yall enjoy this ball of cheesiness that cures my acne and enjoy the love that i have for zuko to make me become a disaster for him （＾コ＾）V

Your back ached from the way you hovered over your laptop and sat at your desk. Your mind was focused on learning and getting good grades it didn’t mind the pain. Your eyes burned from the strenuous gaze at your blue screen. Your hands felt as if you churned butter and not to mention the mean girls were extra rude today at school. High school was tough and you needed the rest of the day to be filled with relaxation and peace before you hit the books tomorrow. 

“Where are you going?” Your best friend Sokka asked through the phone.

You hopped off the bus with all your items almost spilling out of your bag. “I’m going to Fire Tea Shop. I read the reviews online and people say its pretty good.”

“No, c’mon Y/N you had your chance. You mean its pretty lit!!!!” Sokka sounded too much like a kid that had eaten edibles. 

“I’m hanging up,” you said deadpanned. “I don’t even know how I’ve kept up this friendship this long. I’m so proud of myself.”

“Its because you love me.” Sokka sang. 

“It might be because I think you need my help. If I wasn’t with you and had your back like where do you think you would be? Probably eating crap off a cave right now and starving.” You walked up and inside the cafe was so cozy. It had an earthy yet red contrast feel to the place. It sure matched with the name Fire. It had some vintage Chinese architect to it. It was stunning and really caught your eye. And it was peaceful. “Do you want anything babes?” You asked as you looked at the menu. “They have cactus juice.” 

“No!” Sokka shouted on the phone. “I tried that, I couldn’t get out of the bathroom the whole day! Plus I thought I saw like mushrooms of some sort.” 

You snickered, “baby, I think you’ve been eating too many mushrooms!”

“I’m good. You enjoy it there.”

You said your goodbyes and hanged up the phone. As you did an old man came up with a long beard to say his welcoming. 

“Hello there, young lady. Might I interest you in trying our newest tea? White Jade tea. It’s very delicious.” He smiled wide. 

You read his name tag. He was such an adorable old man. “Hmmm, Iroh? Actually since this is my first time I want to try your most popular tea. How about-”

“So White Jade?” Iroh was about to punch in your order when you heard a shriek and what seemed to be a pot dropping on the floor. “One moment please. That is probably my angsty, incapable nephew that made a mess. Please look to see what you would like.” Iroh made a hasty get away. 

Out came a teen your age as he rubbed the back of his head. He was so handsome looking. His hair was disheveled and he wore a red apron. His attitude really attracted you. “Good thing I made a distraction, that White Jade tea is not a hit. I’m not that good at making tea also. That’s more my uncle’s job.” His voice was low and had an edge to it. It was so handsome. 

“Oh he’s your uncle. That’s sweet!” You grabbed your wallet out. “I would like a Jasmine tea please.” 

“Good choice. My uncle loves that tea. That will be $4.25.”

You grabbed your money and went to give it to him when you saw the huge scar. It was red and didn’t scare you but you couldn’t look away. The thoughts that went through your mind was how in deep pain this person must of been in to endure and cope through that painful wound. 

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

You wanted to hit yourself. You were taught to have manners and here you were staring at this young man. He probably felt self conscious and insecure and you made him feel worse. “Oh my God I am so sorry. I wasn’t meaning it like that. I’m just sorry that you had to go through that.” You read his name tag. “Zuko. Its a beautiful name.”

Zuko’s nose flared up, “yeah, thanks.” He grabbed forcefully at the money and you sat and awaited your order. 

You dug your head in your arms. ‘Why are you like this Y/N? Why did you stare?’

“Here is your tea miss,” Iroh instead brought the tea out. “My nephew felt he didn’t want to scare you away.”

You bit your lip, “I am so sorry. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to make him feel uncomfortable. It was so insensitive for me to do that. Please can we start over.” You felt so bad and guilty. 

Iroh thought about it then pointed to the tea. “I make the tea myself. Taste it and I’ll think about your offer.”

You sipped the warm tea and no lie it was amazing. He definitely knew what he was doing. You weren’t thinking it was fantastic because you wanted to make amends with these folks but it was actually the truth. 

“Honestly?”

Iroh nodded. 

“This is really good and totally what I needed today. Thank you for this and please take this tip.” You gave Iroh the money. “Its a way to say I’m sorry.”

Iroh saw the money and smiled wide, “I can think we can find it in our hearts to forgive you.”

You finished your tea and went to the order counter and rang the bell. Zuko came out thinking you left. 

“Yes?”

“I was thinking. Do you maybe want to go to the park tomorrow and catch some lunch? Its A way for me to apologize for my behavior today.”

Zuko looked around sheepishly, “I don’t know.”

“Please,” you pouted your lips. 

Zuko agreed and the date was set. 

After school the next day you went straight to the cafe. 

You were going to be honest in saying Zuko was really cute. You were nervous and thinking about him the whole day non stop. You even dressed up for the occasion which rarely happens! Even Sokka knew and wouldn’t stop teasing you the whole day. He should of been your hype man but he made you feel like a little girl with a crush!

“You ready Zuko?” 

“Yeah just give me a sec.” Zuko went in the back and came back with a changed look. He wore instead a red bomber jacket. Could he be anymore boyfriend material?

“Love the jacket.” You poked him on his side and he blushed awkwardly. 

The way to the park was more silent and you were considering if this was a bad idea. 

“So do you go to school or are you home schooled?’ You tried to break the ice. 

“Actually, I go to the school not to far from here.” Zuko pointed in the direction your school was at. 

“Wait! I think we go to the same school! Yeah, I’ve seen you before!”

“I’m not that hard to miss.” Zuko, in a way, brought up his scar. 

“No I would remember you from being so handsome.” You smirked. Zuko almost choked. “That school sucks though. Its the same everyday. Work my butt off and then get kicked around like dirt by the schools mean girls. I feel like my life is a movie sometimes.”

“Yeah I get made fun of too.”

“I’m sorry.” You touched his arm. 

“My dad did this to me,” he pointed to his scar. “Didn’t like me as a son and loved my sister more, I guess.”

“It’s a touchy subject. I didn’t realize it, I’m sorry.”

Zuko chuckled which was something new to you and almost shocking, “you can stop saying sorry. I already forgive you. Its not a big deal. I like you though, I think you’re cool.”

“Thanks.”

“And those people that make fun of you, they're crazy. They're probably jealous of you because you're so beautiful.”

You almost died right there! You were like already ready to get married to this man it felt like. Would it be wrong to ask if he was single? You prayed and hoped he was. 

You two sat at the bench. It was such a peaceful, sunny day. You crossed your legs and faced him. “So Zuko, lets play truth or dare!”

“I’m not playing truth or dare.”

“Alright I choose dare to get it started.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. He knew you weren’t going to do this. “I dare you to ask that old lady over there if she knows any place that sells laxatives.” You shot up and Zuko immediately regretted it. “Y/N I was just kidding. Let me do another one.”

“A dares a dare my man.” You fist bumped your chest like the warrior you were. You went up to the old lady like a lost kid. 

Zuko couldn’t help but laugh hard and try to shy away from the world. 

You ran back and fist bumped the air with a skip. “In your face fire prince!” You nicknamed him. “She said around the block they got a drug store. Boom! Now your turn.”

“Okay, truth.”

“Boriiiiiiiing! Oh my God! Fine! What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

He groaned, “really? We’re going there? I said a joke, okay, that my uncle said and it came out terrible the punchline left the building and nobody laughed. It was [pretty brutal.”

“I would of loved to see that,” you said in awe. “That’s full on cringe right there sweetie.”

“Okay, you now.”

“Truth.”

“Sissy much?” Zuko raised his brow. 

“Hypocrite! I’m just following your footsteps.”

“Okay, feisty. Have you ever kissed anybody?”

“Totally!” You struggled on that one. It was such LIES!

“You stumbled on that one. I can tell you’re lying.”

“Yes, fine I am. I’ve never kissed anybody in my life okay. Only my pillow. I’ve practiced on that and lets just say its been through a lot.”

“Wow,” Zuko tried to stifle his chuckles, “you’re unbelievable.”

“And what about you? Have you ever kissed anybody?”

“It’s not my turn.”

“Truth or dare?” You were starting to see a different side of Zuko that you really liked. He was fun and made you smile. 

“Truth.”

“Have you ever kissed your girlfriend?” You wanted to see if he was single. 

“I’ve kissed before but I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You legit wanted to party and cry because this could actually happen. “Who’d you kiss?”

“A customer.”

“Oooh, you have to spill the tea on that later. I choose dare!”

“I dare you to try your first kiss with me.” Zuko raised his brow. 

Oh my Lord was he serious? You were sweating profusely and at an alarming rate. “Are you for real?”

Zuko nodded his head, “it is a dare. And you wanted to start this. I told you not to.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone! How do I do it?”

“Just look at me and try it out and I’ll critique it.”

“I’m kinda hating you right now.” You glared at Zuko. “Only 3 seconds okay.”

Zuko surrendered to that and you closened up on him. He smelled of tea leaves that were light and airy and a burning flame of musk. He was really growing on you. You came closer and closer until your lips met. You wanted to keep still but Zuko moved his lips so you followed. You felt the whole shebang. Fireworks, butterflies, everything. You clutched onto his bomber jacket. They seemed so strong and vigorous the kisses but they were tiny pecks to start you off. Your lips moved in sync with his because you got the memo and started getting used to it. You looked down at your watch as saw that it passed the three seconds. Separating from him you wiped your lips, breathless for a puny kiss. It seemed like such a milestone for you and something so big but in reality some kids kiss their posters longer than what you did. 

“How was that?” Zuko looked away blushing. 

“Very invigorating and exciting.” You were speechless. You were such a daredevil is what you thought to kiss this complete handsome stranger. It was like a dream though. You stood on the bench and screamed out the park, “I just had my first kiss everyone!!!”

Zuko pulled you down, “oh my God it wasn’t that amazing. Chill out. I choose truth.”

You evilly smiled, “do you think I’m attractive?”

Zuko’s blush was even redder this time. “Yeah, you’re cute. My type.”

You wiggled your brows, “you’re type? You think I’m cute? He’s think I’m cute! I have finally a guy! Who thinks I’m cute! I have a chance! At not being alone! And being a crazy cat lady!” You sang as you shook your body. “Okay last one, I choose dare again. Yolo. Living on the edge.”

“I dare you to go on another date with me,” Zuko asked as he played with his fingers. 

It was silent and you were surprised on one factor. ‘This was a date?’ You grabbed his hands and smiled at him, “I’d love to go on another date with you! And you said you didn’t want to play truth or dare.”

a/n: IROH IS SUCH A MOOD OMG 😂 and zuko is so sly and cheesy sdkgjfdskgfkgjfdgk omg. i loved this wayyyyy to much as u can tell and like made this like a chapter book bc im extra like that! would u kiss a stranger if he was zuko? i prob would bc im a thirsty nerd fam 🥵

Tag list: @carat-bebe, @angelgl16, @perfectlybeautifulsuit, @hyehoney, @haven-prelude (wont let me tag), @leasly, @totally-alexa21, @creamy-pasta-boi, @multireese, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @prentisskelley, @malereaderforkpop (wont let me tag), @guardian-of-cookies, @justafangirl-97, @teenageshitposts (wont let me tag), @dippergravity (wont let me tag), @some-booty, @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople, @collectiveyou, @wtfisalltherandoms, @dirbel, @eastcoasthaven, @fangirl-4-life415 (wont let me tag), @melonreblogsstories, @fandomchick80,

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Please Reblog, like or comment! It means a lot to me and I truly appreciate it:)

[one-shot-plus-size]

Home is where the heart is. Part 6.

Imagine : Clayton Cardenas meets Olivia Mazru, who is on vacation in the USA for the first time.

Chapters: 6/10

Each of the 7 chapters will cover 3 days of Olivia’s vacation, and 3 chapters will cover the time after returning home.

Part 5

Clayton took her for breakfast and then for a walk to Central Park. Their hands were all the time intertwined, they walked through the green area. All the time his hand embraced her, his thumb gently smoothed her skin. At noon, they took the food out of the pub and settled on the grass in the quietest part of the park - Sheep Meadow.

- And how do you like it? - Clayton was looking at her pushing pasta into her mouth.  

- I am not used to such noise, you know I live in the countryside. In a small house in the forest, I have a garden and a sacred peace. This city is vibrant with life, it also has its charm. But in the long run it would be tiresome - she smiled at it, putting a little shrimp in her mouth. 

- How is it where you live ? - he rested his hands on his knees. 

- I have a beautiful little house made of wood. I built it myself, my colleague is an architect. She helped me to put on paper what I had in my head, then she adjusted it to the building conditions in the area. The family helped me with the construction and in about two years my dream places were created. - She was looking at it. 

His eyebrows reached the hairline, he was surprised how resourceful it was. 

- I don't care about the picture - she pulled the phone out of her pocket. 

She searched the photo gallery on the phone until she found this one picture of her house. She turned the device in his direction, Clay looked at the photo.

- This is a photo a few days after the construction and cleaning up of the site. Now I have an access road, I've given myself a place where I park my car. A friend helped me to make a terrace at the back of the house and a porch in front.

- I will be honest, right ? - He was looking at it. 

- Sure - she nodded her head blocking the device and putting it away. 

- Marry me - he laughed - he has lived in this world for 33 years and I have never met such a resourceful and overwhelming woman as you. You have your own company, you work on a full-time basis and you have built a house with your own hands. I am in shock, the guy you give your heart to will be the happiest guy in the world. 

She snorted under her nose and twisted her head. 

- Poland is not like the United States. In my country, people like me are somewhat excluded. Maybe not excluded but more unwanted. There, people with colorful hair, numerous earrings and quite a lot of overweight are different, avoided. Guys want beautiful women, slim with normal hair color. Well I don't fit in, I've never been like most people and never will be. My introverted character doesn't help to meet new people. Some time ago I realized that I want to live on my own terms. This is my life, I am what I am and nobody can dictate my conditions. - She looked at it - I'm sorry, I'm talking nonsense.

Clayton was staring into the space in front of him, holding a box of food in his hands. His eyebrows were wrinkled in thought. 

- You don't say stupidity, people can be cruel without any reason. And how you handled all this is admirable. Wear yourself proud, because you deserve it - He leaned slightly and wet her on the cheek. 

- Thanks - she blushed. 

After the meal they lay down on the grass and talked about everything and nothing concrete. They simply enjoyed their company. After resting they went to METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART. 

- Do you want coffee? - Clay stood before her.

- With milk, please - she smiled and sat on the stairs.

- Good - he nodded his head. 

He put his hands on her knees and leaned on them. He leaned down and kissed her a little bit harder first. Her hand rested on his cheek and smiled slightly. He broke away from her, cmocked her in the forehead and went to the coffee shop. Olivia ran her thumb over her mouth and smiled like a fool. 

- It's good to be in love - a voice was heard behind her. 

She turned around behind her, saw a middle-aged woman with a smile from ear to ear. 

- That boy of yours must love you - she looked at him - you can see it from people, I used to be like that too. Please nurture love is the most important thing in your life. 

- Thank you - she smiled slightly. 

She turned her head when Clayton ordered coffee. She looked at him, his ass was perfectly exposed by dark jeans. The horizontal line shirt emphasized his shoulder muscles and slim figure well. Hair in total disorder added to his charm, he turned to her as if feeling her gaze. He smiled widely and returned to the woman in the booth with his gaze. When he smiled on his cheeks two sweet bouquets were formed on his cheeks like in small, plump children. The smile was spreading all over his face, he looked so charming then. She smiled to herself and let her head down. She wanted to have such a guy with her, all her co-workers' jaws would fall down. After a few moments, Clay fell down next to her giving her a cup of coffee. 

- Thanks - she nodded her head. 

She looked at the streets and the cars driving around, this city was really bustling with life. Crowds of people were walking the streets, people were hurrying. Businessmen in well-cut suits, women in perfect suits. Everyone was in a hurry, chasing for money. For a fortune which, after death, will be of no use to any of us. But each of us had different priorities in life, each of us wanted to experience them differently. 

- What are you so proud of? - Clay poked her on the shoulder. 

- Nothing concrete. 

He nodded his head slightly and stared at the space in front of him. 

- When do you start recording the second season of Mayan's MC? 

- In just over a month we start working on the set. 

- Cool, I watched all seasons of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix when I worked at home for some time. I was absorbed by this series endlessly, Kurt Sutter did a good job.

- Have you watched us? - He looked at her - in the sense of Mayan's MC?

- Of course I did - she was nodding her head - a bit illegal, but I had no other choice. 

- Oh - he laughed. 

- You know, in my country there is no such access to series and films as here. Sometimes you have to exercise yourself to get over something.

- He promises you that when we record the second season he will send you records with episodes so you don't have to break the law - he laughed.

- I take your word for it - she patted it on the shoulder. 

- SAMCRO's favorite character?

- Chibs - she laughed. 

- Why ? - He was drinking coffee by peeking at it.

- Throughout the whole series he probably went through the biggest change, even though he was broken so many times, he was hurt so much, he was still such a wicked Scotsman. Then I guess Jackson didn't quite understand the ending, but after a while I know that he was just being eaten by remorse. 

- And at Mayan's? 

- Honestly it's hard to say, this is only the first season, it's not known how the characters will develop. But if I were to say now it would probably be either Bishop or a young part of the club. Bishop because he emanates such strength, decisiveness and power. And young because there is a great relationship and interaction between them. Your role of Angela Reyes is really cool, you play him great.

- Thanks - he blushed on his cheeks. 

- You play really well, you are talented. 

- That's enough or I'll blush. 

- Too late - she laughed. 

- Shut up - he snorted at her. 

She leaned her chin against his shoulder. He looked at her and smiled slightly. 

- So where are you going to take me today, what?

- What would you like to see? - He finished his coffee. 

- I was planning a Time Squer in the evening. 

- So we will go there - he nodded his head - any more special wishes ?

- I guess not for today anymore, but I will come up with something for tomorrow. 

- How about if he plans a great day tomorrow, then we'll go to dinner in the evening. And we will spend the next day in bed ? You're out in a few days, and I'd like to give you some more pleasure. 

He noticed how he bites his lower lip. 

- If you want to, of course - he added quietly. 

Olivia put the coffee mug on the step between her legs, grabbed Clayton's beard and turned his face in her direction. She dipped him in the mouth without taking the look away from him.

- She wanted to - she smiled slightly. 

He leaned harder towards her, nudged her nose and kissed her lightly. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the taste of her as she opened her lips, he entered them with his tongue. He broke away from her and looked around him biting his lower lip.

- Come on - he squinted and rose. 

He dragged her behind him to the Museum building, walked quickly to the ticket offices. 

- Can we use the toilet? My girlfriend wants to pee terribly - he gave the cashier his company smile.   

- You have to buy the tickets - the cashier did not even look at them.

Clayton snorted under his nose, took the amount deducted to the counter. Then he dragged Olivia to the bathrooms. 

- What are you doing? - She followed him. 

- You'll see - He pushed her into the bathroom. 

He looked around again and followed her into the room. He locked the door behind him, pressed her firmly against the wall and kissed her. A moan came out of her mouth when he rolled his hips into her. She felt his penis pressed against his pants, her hand slipped down on his crotch. She rubbed them a few times, and he broke away from her. He leaned his forehead against her forehead and moaned.

- Do you like to do this in a public place ? - she looked into his eyes.

He smiled wide, his hands slipped on her pants. He unbuttoned them and slid his hand into her panties, he felt how wet it was. He slipped his fingers inside her, she moaned in his ear. He moved them strongly and quickly, stabbed his teeth in her neck. 

- Clay...- she moaned constantly. 

- Come on, baby - he whispered in her ear - he feels you clench, come on my toes. And I'll give you what you need. 

He moved faster and faster, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. When she had an orgasm, she stuck her teeth into his shoulder, and he hissed. He pulled his fingers out of it and put them in his mouth, stared at her eyes. 

- You taste so good - he muttered. 

She grabbed his hand, slipped her fingers into her mouth. She braided them with her tongue and kept eye contact with him all the time. 

- Enough - he muttered.  

He grabbed her ass and led her to the sink, on which he had planted her before taking off her pants. When he kissed her, she was getting to him. She unfastened his belt buckle, button and lock. He helped slide them down to his knees together with the boxers. She embraced him with her hand and moved him several times. 

- Fuck - he leaned his forehead against her shoulder. 

She braided him with her legs at the waist and attracted to herself. He moved his penis along her entrance, irritated her for a while, and then finally went deep into her. 

- If they catch us it will burn - she moaned.

- A note of adrenaline - he laughed.

He did not brake, they did it quickly. Initially she was worried that someone might catch them having sex in the Museum bathroom, but as the pleasure grew, she did not care. She was sticking her teeth into his shoulder when she had a second orgasm, Clayton needed a longer time to come. He stabbed his face in her neck and grunted when he was falling down inside her. Olivia was smoothing his hair while he calmed his breath, raised his head slightly. He wetted her in the mouth and slipped out of her. First he wiped himself and packed into his boxers and pants and then cleaned her up. With a soaked towel, he helped her put on her underwear and pants. He pushed her to the door for a while and kissed her deeply.

- You are the first woman I have done such a thing with - he smiled at her mouth.

 - I am usually not like that. 

- Usually you are polite and laid out ? - she improved herself in the mirror. 

- So that you know - he nodded his head. 

He opened the door, slid his head through the door and looked around the hallway. When he saw that nobody was there, he pulled Olivia out of the room.  

- I won't believe you are a good boy - she laughed following him.

Part 7

[scorchedhearth]

Fanfic asks: F, G, L, S, P for 'Lost and found out there among the paths' and W please <3 if it's too much, you can break them up or skip them, no worries

Thank you!! not sure I understand the title? Hope I answered like you wanted anyway <3

Fanfic asks

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Out of order baby! I do try to have an outline or a small summary written out first but my usual process is writing the cool scenes first and then struggling to connect them with the less fun one

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

I write in short bursts, so every time I go on the wip I do some editing too, which I know isn’t the best method but who cares. I tend to write it out first, sit on it a couple days, read it over to revise and correct and then post it. After that there’s the usual re-reading and finding about 10 mistakes you didn’t spot before and try to fix quickly now that it’s online

S: Any fandom tropes you can't resist?

I don't like much fandom tropes but it's true that I do love a good hurt/comfort, let’s be honest. That's all I can really think of? That and secret dating maybe, because sometimes rom-com are the way to go

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

I am a gardener, as much I tried to be an architect. Over the years I’ve had to accept that I cannot handle large planned projects, I feel stuck and can’t write anything at all. So lately I’ve tried to do more of a gardener approach and let the wip develop as I write it. I find that planning works well for gifs and edits but I had to find a different method for fics which so far seems to work!

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

I prefer specific ones because I tend to get lost in general ones, if you tell me hurt/comfort it’ll take me much longer to write than if I get “X gets a wound because of this”. Also, if I write for someone, I like to know I’ll make something they really enjoy

And answering F undercut!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

This is from something I’ve never published online, and I don’t think I ever will, but it was very cathartic for me to write. It’s not my best dialogue, by far, but this scene means a lot to me. It’s from a modern au character study of Natasha and Clint’s relationship, focusing on their meeting and how they evolve together and grow to be the most important person to each other. This is a scene where Natasha and Yelena talk about their past, and it just stuck with me so hard I named the series after it.

There’s a long pause where none of them say anything, and Yelena just looks at Natasha. Really looks at her, like only a Widow knows how to.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, you’ll miss it.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll miss it, and you’ll come back to it again, sooner or later. You don’t grow up in violence to just leave it all behind. That’s not something you do.”

“Maybe I’m optimistic,” Natasha says, and Yelena laughs. That big, throaty laugh she gives to people she thinks are being delusional.

“I’ve never known you to be an optimist, Natasha. Are you going soft?”

“I’m starting to see life isn’t only confined to what the Room made us to be.” Yelena pauses, tilts her head before proceeding with her thoughts.

“That’s why you’re going after every heir of Room clients?” Natasha ticks. “I’m watching. We’re all watching each other, Natalia. That’s what we do, we keep knowledge, because knowledge is power. More than any money or politics will ever be. We know Natasha. We know what we are, what we’ll never be.

“You’ll never get away from this. You like it, you enjoy doing what you do. Like a dog that tasted blood, you’ll never stop.” She sits back, satisfied with her speech. The darkness in her eyes is all Natasha needs to see that she knows. She knows this applies to her as well. They are all stuck in this cycle.

[loveisblindfanfictionbka]

Love Is Blind: Chapter Two

A: You know it really just sounds like your sister really cares about you

C: She does but she’s making this such a bigger deal than it needs to be. I just want to be able to sort my feelings out without feeling like I’m obligated to do something with them immediately

A: I know that feeling so well. My friend asked me if I was still in love with my ex and I don’t know how to answer her

C: I mean your relationship was unfinished so I could understand the possibility. No closure makes it feel like things never ended. They just stopped

A: you put it in much better words than I ever could. 

C: Coming from an emotionally challenged man, sometimes the right thing doesn’t always feel right at the time. It hurts. Caring about anyone comes with that risk but sometimes you have to see it from their side before you can heal. People tend to enter situations expecting others to be like them and we hurt ourselves by doing that. Your ex may have loved you but he didn’t know how to love you anymore and felt it was better to let you go than ruin you. It couldn’t have been easy for you to watch him struggle

A: No but I felt like he never gave me a chance to help

C: People don’t always want to be fixed. Being damaged may have been too comfortable for him

A: I wish I could’ve known if it was. He never really talked to me. I think something happened that he couldn't deal with it and he shut me out because of it

C: thats always possible especially if he wasn’t like that before

A: You ever think about getting into another relationship?

C:Thought about it? Sure but I think I only got enough love in me to take care of my daughter. I haven’t quite rebounded back either.

A: Did you and your ex-wife have the child together?

C: No, I”m in the process of fostering and adopting. I got Anesa when she was one years old

A: That is so cool.

C: You ever consider having a child?

A: It was a part of the plan when I was married but we never quite made it that far

C: Same here but there’s always alternatives

A: I’ll think about it. I am getting up there in age

C: If from any indication of your photo, you’d have no problems. Many women are having babies at your age

A: Why thank you for the ego boost

C: You ever consider dating again?

A: No. I think I am way too damaged to not ruin somebody else

C: Ah, I know the feeling

A: You’re a good listener, Chris

C: Thanks. You too. So what’s your night looking like?

A: A movie and a glass of wine. You?

C: Grading papers

A: for a music class?

C: They still have to do research papers for me. Allows me to gage how they grasp concepts and detect their style

A: Hmm...that’s interesting

C: Part of my class is songwriting and music composition, at least a basic level teaching of both. I have separate sections that go into each more in depth but only a few students are selected to be invited to take those classes. This is my main selection pool outside of those who audition

A: that sounds extensive

C: it can be but I like it

A: Do you only teach major classes or can students take you as an elective?

C: They can take me as an elective but most end up dropping the class by the second week

A: Really? Why?

C: It’s more work than they intended to do in an elective especially if you’re like a business or science major. It’s not exactly contributing to anything but your credit requirement 

A: True. I can understand that

C: Anna?

A: Yes?

C: You ever think about us meeting one day?

A: I’ve considered but I don’t know if I wanna ruin the mystery of you, yet. You?

C: Same lol

A; Well I got some wine and a movie to get to and I’ll leave you to your papers. Have a good night

C: You too

Robyn logged off and pressed her head into her pillow. Was it weird for her to start to like this guy? Honestly, they’ve never met so she wouldn’t know him from a hole in the wall yet she feels close to him like they’ve been friends forever. The fact he didn’t turn away when she started talking about her ex and even tried to help her understand some things was really deep for her. Her friends and family had tried but so much of what they said just seemed so biased and sympathy-ridden for her ex. Like where’s her sympathy? Did nobody care about how he acted affected her? Somehow Chris understood her and it was the craziest thing.

Chris turned to the next paper for one of his students and after a few moments acknowledged his mind was with Anna and not on his work. He could sympathize with her struggle to move on and the fact that she was probably still in love with her ex. He didn’t hate his but he was too damaged to love her like she deserved. A part of him hates that he wasn’t man enough to tell her that when he left. She probably had a hole in her just like Anna or maybe she had moved on just fine. It’s not fair to project his life onto her.

“Daddy, are you going to sleep soon?”

Chris turned to see Anesa standing in the doorway of the kitchen with her teddy bear in her arms. He opened his arms and she climbed into his lap, “Hey Love Bug, what you doing up?”

“It’s raining.”

Chris glanced over at the window and nodded his agreement, “you got scared, huh?”

“Yea.”

“Well there’s nothing to worry about, Daddy’s right here.”

“Daddy, am I ever gonna get a mommy?”

“Well Sweetheart, that’s a very complicated question.”

“Is it?”

“Yea, see I don't’ know if I wanna share you with anybody else.”

Anesa giggled, “well if I can share you, you think you can share me?”

“I’d have to think about it really hard. Is that something you’re nervous about?”

“I just don’t want you to be all alone.”

“I know, Love Bug but I’ll be just fine.”

“Auntie Jessica said you were married before.”

“I was.”

“What happened to her? Did she die?”

“No. Things just didn’t work out. I wasn’t exactly the right guy for her.”

“Oh. So she left?”

“No, I did but I really thought it was the best thing to do at the time.”

“Do you miss her?”

Chris sighed as he leaned his chin on the top of her head, “sometimes I do. Sometimes I do.”

“Does it make you sad?”

“It can but I’ve learned to deal with it.”

“Do you think you’d ever go back to her?”

“I don’t think that would be the right thing to do either.”

“Oh.”

“You sound so sad, Honey.”

“I’m sad for you, Daddy.”

“Why? I’m happy. I’m exactly where I want to be. Here with my Love Bug and my work. Daddy’s just fine.”

Anesa turned and hugged him as Chris blew out a breath over her shoulder.

                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robyn washed her hands then sat down in her office. She had steady appointments all day, luckily mostly check ups but she was still tired. Being the head vet and the owner and shelter organizer always took a toll on her body. She twisted her neck from side to side to relieve some tension just as her office door opened, “Hi Beverly.”

Beverly, her trusty assistant, was always ready to rain on her parade, “Ms. Fenty, we just received a really huge invitation in the mail.”

“We?”

“Well you but you know what I mean.”

“What is it for?”

“The New York Society Charity Awards Gala. They want to recognize the shelter for its success.”

“That’s nice. Tell Ashley to go in my place.”

“Wait. What?”

“I don’t feel like rubbing elbows with the rich, that’s Ashley’s forte, let her do it.”

“Fenty, this is a huge opportunity for donations and connections. You cannot send your shelter manager in your place.”

“Why can’t I? She’s dealt with these people before. She even knows most of them. She has an Ivy League Degree, why can’t she go in my place?”

“The award is for you.”

“So?”

“Robyn, you can’t be serious.”

“I am in no condition to be bothered with anyone.”

“The gala isn’t for another month, you can’t muster up some give a fuck in a month.”

Robyn glared at Beverly, who simply folded her arms across her chest in response, “I’m not doing this.”

“You are doing this. I will schedule your appointment with your stylists for fittings and hair tryouts. We’ll see about getting you an escort and get a speech written for you.”

“I’m not going, Beverly.”

“You will go even if I have to get your entire family from Barbados to make you. This is a perfect opportunity and you will not squander it being anti-social.”

“Get out of my office, Beverly.”

“I will add the appropriate appointments to your calendar. Your 2:30 appointment canceled so you’re free until 4.”

Beverly promptly walked out of her office and Robyn tossed her head down on her desk. She couldn’t do this. She hadn’t been to an event like this since she was married to Chris. He’s a well-known architect and had a hand in a lot of buildings in the city. The circles aren’t that large in this tax bracket so she’s sure to run into people she knew back in California. She wasn’t ready for the questions and the stares if she showed up and especially if she showed up with someone else. They had kept their divorce quiet for several reasons mainly because she didn’t want to be embarrassed. Robyn Fenty, veterinarian extraordinaire, can’t even keep her marriage together. Some of those people would be colleagues, alumnus of her alma mater, people who whispered that once Chris got a taste of the good life, he wouldn’t stay with his middle school girlfriend long. Sadly, they were right. They barely made it three years before he walked out. She wasn’t going to this gala.

C: I really think you should attend. It’s for business.

A: It’s business that I don’t want anything to do with. I have associates specifically for things like this

C: Why is it so bad for you to go?

A: These parties always have people I knew back when I was married. Many of them don't know I’m divorced

C: Well people get divorced all the time

A: Yea but they normally don't have to be around the same people who said it wouldn’t last

C: Anna, you can’t be embarrassed about something so common.Things happens

A: That’s easy to say

C: Besides I would love to see a photo of you in your gown

A: Lol, is that the real reason you want me to go?

C: Well considering we aren’t meeting anytime soon, it’d be nice to see

A: it wouldn’t be a face shot.

C: Not changing anything for me

A: I mean I could just get dressed, post the picture and you’d be none the wiser

C: You could but I sense you’re a little too honest for that

A: Lol, I’ll take that as a compliment

C: Good, because I meant it as one

A: lol

C: are you writing lol because you’re actually laughing or because you’re smiling?

A: both

C: they do make emojis

A: Yea but I feel silly using them

C: Ah, I guess

A:You know what, I will go to the gala if you agree to go on a virtual outing with me

C: Like VR

A: More like a video meet up but no cameras

C: Just voices?

A: automated voices

C: you really wanna hold onto this mystery thing, huh?

A: I feel so comfortable with you, probably because I don’t know you but I feel like once you remove the mystery, shit gets too real

C: That’s a good rationale. How about this, my job has some assistance programs that can do text to speech. I can send you a few options, you choose one, we pick a date and we have our little blind date so to speak

A: you would do that for me?

C: Absolutely. I really like you, Anna

A: I like you too, Chris

“So you really like him but you won’t go on a real date with him?” Melissa asked.

“Mel, if I do that then this becomes way more than what it is.”

“Which is?”

“Two people just getting to know each other.”

“Without having to really know each other. You haven’t told this man your real name.”

“Because it doesn’t matter. That’s what I like most. The little things don’t matter.”

“So if he was using a fake name too, it wouldn’t bother you.”

“No. He’s not obligated to give me anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You are petrified of commitment.”

“I’ve been hurt enough, I don’t want to go through that again.”

“And you think by withholding basic information yet spending time with this man will prevent that.”

“The longer he remains a stranger, the easier it will be to walk away. I’m not looking for love or to move on. Just a new friend,” Robyn replied as she held a dress up to her body, “what do you think?”

“It’s nice. You really want to go long sleeves for this?”

“Either that or get a nice jacket. It gets cold at these things.”

“That’s true. So who’s your escort?”

“Nobody. I told Beverly that I’d go but I am not taking anybody with me.”

“Not even me?”

“Do you want to go? I can send in for a plus one.”

“Not really but it was nice you offered.”

“You sure Sis?”

“Very sure. I got a boyfriend to do things with on the weekends so I’ll be busy.”

“Oh rub it in. How is Juan anyway?”

“He is good. We were thinking about doing a friendcation next month. Go back to PR to see his family.”

“Oh that’s nice. I’m sure Lele and you will have a great time.”

“You wouldn’t come?”

“No. Hard pass.”

“I’m really tired of you ducking us, it’s not like we’re gonna fix you up on a blind date or something.”

“I know but I also don’t want to be the fifth wheel. No thank you.”

Melissa sighed, “I guess. Maybe if you’d get your life right with this new Chris, you could bring him.”

“I don’t want to meet him, Mel”

“I really don’t understand why not, y’all seem to have great chemistry.”

“Yea but I really just wanna leave it at that. I’m too fragile for anything more.”

“Have you ever thought to talk to your ex-husband?”

“Why? So he can make me feel even worse?”

“Or maybe so you can heal. Robyn, y’all had a really abrupt situation. You both were in a bad space. Maybe you just need to talk things out so you can move on.”

“Why do y’all coddle him so much? Why is it nobody’s mad at him but me?”

“Because we love both of you. Clearly, neither of you were in your right minds. Nobody thought you should've gotten divorced but neither of you were happy.”

“I did not want one. He wanted out and nobody seems to be lying that at his doorstep. It’s almost like you know something that I don’t.”

“Robs, that is most definitely not the case. We just don’t think being mad at anyone is gonna solve anything. Chris was hurting, from what we don’t know, but we all knew something wasn’t right with him. You were hurting, we all knew that too. Neither of you needed the extra weight of anyone else’s judgment.”

“It doesn’t feel very neutral.”

“Because you don’t want neutral, you want us to pick sides and that’s not gonna get any of us anywhere.”

“Well have you spoken to him?”

“We texted a few months ago but that was it.”

“Oh.”

“Do you wanna see him?”

“No because I’m still angry. Seven years later and I’m still fucking pissed. Seeing him would do me no good.”

“Robs, I think it might.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m thinking the navy blue, what about you?’

Melissa sighed, “I love it.”

“Great.”

Robyn grabbed the dress and headed to the cash register.

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 11/26(?) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Dragon Age: Awakening Ensemble Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

She didn’t ask, Loriel would tell herself, after. She never asked.

But that was later, much later. For a long time, everything was fine.

After the bloody clearing, Loriel fell into her work the way one might fall down the stairs—not all at once, but once the process had begun, it became almost impossible to stop.

It was almost like being back in Kinloch. She spent all day surrounded by stone, studying magic. Only now it was on her own terms, something she was doing because she wanted to. Her freedom looked an awful lot like her prison, but it didn’t matter what it looked like. What mattered was what it was.

And of course she still had Yvanne.

Most days she woke later than she liked, with the whole morning having slipped away from her. The guilt of having done that was enough to rattle her out of any desire for breakfast, so she would go without. She would spend the day at her work, following one idea and then another. It went intolerably slow. Sometimes she couldn’t tell if an experiment had failed because her idea was bad, or because she’d done something wrong. It was just so hard to do this alone. But asking Yvanne to help was unthinkable (though she had promised, hadn’t she? She had promised to help.)

And when she could no longer stand going back and forth with herself about whether her ideas or her methods were bad, she would go back to her bedchambers. Yvanne would be there, along with a dinner in any possible condition between ‘slightly cooled’ and ‘stone cold and beginning to curdle.’ They would talk, or rather, Yvanne would talk. Loriel would nod along and eat her congealing meal, hardly tasting it. Her mind would be on the project she’d abandoned downstairs, churning with ideas for new ways to try it, if maybe she should return to an earlier form, if maybe she was struggling fruitlessly and Avernus had figured it out decades ago and it would have been faster simply to ask him.

Yvanne would finish telling her about her day, and ask her about hers, and Loriel would shrug and report that it had been pretty uneventful, really. Just work. And they’d maybe break out an aged bottle of red, and go to bed, and have sex, and afterwards Loriel would lie awake and think of blight and blood and spirit, and eventually, often when the dawn rays were already beginning to break over the horizon, she would sleep.

And then it would begin again. And again. And again.

—

Her library grew, as she requisitioned books from distant libraries, or else copied treatises herself. Her quantity of notes multiplied precipitously, until she could no longer easily keep track of them herself—and it wasn’t as though she could hire an assistant. Nobody else could understand her shorthand, anyway.

Letters from Avernus weren’t frequent, but always illuminating. Rarest of all were cryptic scrawls coming from the Architect. These generally raised more questions than they answered. She wondered if he wrote them himself, or if Utha or Seranni scribed for him. Perhaps Velanna would recognize her sister’s handwriting if she saw it—but Loriel never showed her. The thought of going out and talking to people, of being seen by them, turned her stomach.

She still had the opaque black crystal the Architect had delivered to her with Velanna. It had seemed so exciting at first, like it was surely the answer to everything. But the longer she tried to puzzle out its secrets the less she understood it. The rare times she had contact with the Architect, he was less than helpful. He kept assuming that she knew all sorts of things that she didn’t. When she asked in writing, his response WOULD explain the parts she already thought were obvious. Useless. Avernus, being nearly two centuries old, was bad enough, but the Architect was not old but ancient, and his humanity was further behind him.

She left the crystal on her desk, until looking at it made her sick with anger at herself. Then she shoved it in a drawer where she couldn’t see it anymore.

Probably she would have made more progress if she kept things better organized, but she’d never needed to be particularly organized before, and now she had no idea how to do it. Nobody had ever taught it to her. Every time it occurred to her that today would be the day she put things in order, it only took a minute of looking around at the mess for her to despair and give up.

It was pathetic. It wasn’t as though she’d never done original magical research before, but the Calling was another beast altogether. There were so many moving parts, and the more she learned the more confused she got. She needed a break, but a break simply wasn’t possible.

Because the clock was ticking. Every day she didn’t understand the Calling was another day that the unthinkable might happen. That one of them might begin to hear the song.

Alistair had said thirty years, but that had been at most thirty years. And even if the average was twenty, twenty-five, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be as few as five, for some people. Was it written down somewhere, how long each Warden lasted before the Calling claimed them? Where would she find such a document, if it was?

Yvanne still had awful darkspawn dreams. Did that mean she was more vulnerable to the Blight than other Wardens? Did that mean the Calling would come to her sooner? Did sooner mean twenty years rather than thirty—or as few as five? How much time did they have?

What made one person vulnerable to the Blight, and another one hardy to it? What made one person survive the Joining, and another one perish? What made one person’s blood different from another’s?

Or was it in the blood at all? Maybe it was something else. Some quality of the spirit, the same thing that made some children mages and spared others, perhaps. What made spirits different? Maybe Justice would have known, but Justice was gone. Justice was gone because of her. She and Yvanne pretended like it was because of Anders, but really it was because of her. Anders was gone because of her, too. What a farce. What a ridiculous, ugly farce. It was a wonder Yvanne didn’t hate her. It was all such a wonder, the fact that they still loved each other, such a wonder. It made her exhausted.

But what else was she going to do, with the time left to her? This was all she was good at.

Death’s child could do this one thing. She couldn’t do everything that was asked of her, not even most things. But maybe she could do this. Just this one thing. Just this one.

—

The thing about their arguments was that they really weren’t all that frequent. Most of the time they got along fine. Most of the time they lay down together, and rose up together, and kissed each other fondly. And it was not the most exciting of all possible lives, but wasn’t that what they’d fought for? Most days, when she was with Yvanne, Loriel could half-believe herself happy.

The problem was that it was always the same argument.

Yvanne would drink too much, and Loriel wouldn’t say anything, because it wasn’t her place. Yvanne would always do exactly what Yvanne wanted, and all attempts to prevent her would be ultimately fruitless. It still put Loriel on edge. So every time Yvanne brought it up—she only did it when she was drunk—Loriel was already on edge, so who could fault her for reacting the way she did?

“We could leave all this behind,” Yvanne would say. It was what she always said, as though wheedling would do it, as though she could wear her down. And usually Loriel would demure and conciliate. She’d always been so good at it.

But today she lost her temper. “That is not an option,” she snapped. “I’m not like you. I don’t give up on things.”

As soon as she said it she held her breath, waiting to see Yvanne draw back in hurt and offense. But instead she just rolled her eyes.

“That’s not even true,” Yvanne said. “You’ve given up on lots of things. You’ve given up on almost everything.”

Loriel stiffened. “Just what, exactly, have I given up on?”

Yvanne made a broad, flicking gesture around the room. “What haven’t you given up on?” She started counting off on her fingers. “The rest of the world. This Keep. Everyone we ever knew.”

Her mind went instantly to Anders. You gave up on him, too,  she thought poisonously. Faster than I did. But Yvanne wasn’t done.

“You know you keep accusing me of running away,” she said sardonically. “But notice how I’m still here. I stayed. I never ran, I always stayed with you. It was always, only, ever, you.”

You wanted to run, though, Loriel thought. You wanted to.

“All I ever wanted was a home in the world, with you,” Yvanne said. She’d said it before. Many times. “But you’re not with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Loriel said, exasperated. It was a lie. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“You have, though.”

No more than you have, she thought. It was almost as though Yvanne didn’t see her at all, when she looked at her. What did she see?

“All I ever wanted was to be with you,” Yvanne repeated distantly. “There wasn’t room for anything else.”

But I am with you! She had to say it out loud, but her throat was so tight. She had to say it. She had to. If she could just— “But I am with you,” she echoed. “I’m here. I’m not gone.”

“Not yet.” Yvanne put her hands over her face. “Maker, I’m so afraid. All the time I’m afraid.”

A cold pit of ice dropped into Loriel’s stomach. This was not a standard part of The Argument. “Afraid. You’re afraid of me.” Was it so shocking? Everyone else was afraid of her. She had made herself frightening. She had done it on purpose.

Yvanne’s head snapped up. “ Of you? You bloody idiot—I’m afraid for you! I’m afraid I’m going to walk in on you in a pool of your own blood and won’t be able to bring you back. I’ve researched so many advanced healing spells, just in case, but it might not end up mattering. You can’t bring back the dead.”

“I’m not going to die,” Loriel scoffed. “Not any time soon, anyway.”

“You can’t know that.”

As many as thirty? As few as five?

“I know it as much as anyone can know anything,” she retorted. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not taking any undue risks.”

“Now that’s rich!” Yvanne said scornfully. “That might be the boldest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Now that got under Loriel’s skin. What right did she have to say that? And to say it as though it was self-evident. As though Loriel were simply being obstinate in not acknowledging it. As though it were anyone’s business but her own what she did with her own life and her own body.

“You don’t own me,” she said, too harshly. “I own me.”

“Wasn’t saying I did,” Yvanne muttered.

“No, I rather think you were,” Loriel said icily. “It isn’t what you said, but it is what you meant.”

Yvanne huffed, threw her hands up slightly. “Excuse me for suggesting that people with lives as tangled up together as ours might owe each other something!”

Then maybe they shouldn’t have gotten so tangled.

“And I owe you what, exactly?” she said instead. “To do with myself as you will, simply because you don’t trust me?”

Yvanne took a long time to respond. Then, quietly, “I don’t often ask you for things. But I’m asking you for this. Please.”

Loriel wanted to ask her what in the Maker-forsaken void she was talking about. Did Yvanne think Loriel would be any different outside the comfortable confines of Vigil’s Keep? Did she think the poison was in the flagstones?

For a brief moment she considered it. Abandoning her work, come what may. The Calling would take them some day, and she would never know which day—only that when it took one of them, it would take them both.

She thought about the great wide worlds, its endless sky, its infinite varieties. It choked her with its vastness. Who would she be out there?

“No,” she said eventually. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

“Right,” Yvanne muttered, in the tone that meant the argument was over. It was the answer she’d been expecting. “Course you can’t.”

Loriel shrugged helplessly. She couldn’t. She was sorry, she was. But she really, really couldn’t.

—

Her newest idea was to test everything on rats. Surely it would have better results than trying to recreate the Blight in a glass vial. The Wardens had a vial of Archdemon blood, which had to be added dropwise to darkspawn blood, along with a dozen other things, to function in the Joining. She could infect the rats, and study them, try to cure them. She would regret their deaths, but it would all be worth it in the end.

A part of her knew she didn’t understand the Blight well enough to even bother with the rats. But she was so tired of failing. After all, Avernus had most of his success with live subjects.

Catching the rats was the hard part, requiring an elaborate series of paralysis glyphs and sense crystals. Then there was the matter of keeping them contained, fed, and watered. She spent weeks figuring out some way to manage the rats, all the time her mind wandering, such that the work of a few hours stretched into a full week.

In the end it didn’t matter. All the rats she infected with Blight died right away, and she didn’t know why. Had she miscalculated the dose? Were rats fundamentally different from people, in some way? But animals could be blighted, so that couldn’t be the case. Could one of the lower animals be made into a broodmother? Could rat-darkspawn be created?

The thought of trying to get more rats to try and find out was more than she could bear. She sat splayed in her chair, wondering if perhaps she could find a breeding pair and have them produce offspring for her, but in order to make that work she would need to figure out some kind of accelerated growth spell. It was surely doable, in theory, but it would involve creation magic, a field she knew nearly nothing about.

(Yvanne knew about creation magic. Yvanne had promised to help her with this, once. She had promised.)

So she abandoned the idea entirely, and returned to glass vials. Months of effort, wasted.

She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes. Tired. So tired.

You don’t have to do this, Yvanne had said. I’m doing this for you, Loriel had said. So many times she had said that.

And it was true. It was! She was doing this for her, for the both of them. For all the Wardens. For all the people of Thedas. Because she was the Hero of Ferelden, and a piss-poor one at that, and she owed this to them. And to her Wardens. And to Yvanne, and to herself.

It was true. Wasn’t it? It was. It was! She was doing this for her. For everyone, but really just for the two of them. Who gave a damn about anyone else? The world had turned its back on them, over and over. Loriel had struggled so hard to save them, and were they grateful? They weren’t. Was it so wrong to want to do something for the one she loved?

(If Yvanne really loved her she would have been grateful. If she really loved her she would have supported her. If she really loved her she would have been able to see—)

—

That year had been a late winter followed by an early summer, and Loriel nearly missed the whole spring.

Months later (who knew how many). The same argument.

Yvanne had said: How do you think I feel?

How you feel, Loriel thought scornfully. “How you feel!” she said, not nearly as scornfully. “It’s always about you, somehow. Always about Yvanne and what Yvanne wants and how I can give it to her, that’s always been the story. Maybe if you really loved me—”

She broke off. That wasn’t fair. It wasn't fair and it wasn't true. Yvanne loved her. Loriel loved her back. That much was true. That was the one eternal constant of the universe.

It wasn’t fair and it wasn't true, and when Loriel could think straight she remembered it. But she was so tired, so exhausted that the world bent and twisted before her eyes and she couldn't tell truth from darkspawn blood.

She pinched the bridge of her nose . “I’m...I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. I didn’t mean that.”

Yvanne seemed to soften. More than anything Loriel ached for comfort. Not even magic. A touch would do. She was reminded of the time at Redcliffe, when she had first done blood magic, and all she had wanted was reassurance that everything could be alright. Yvanne hadn’t given it then.

“You’re right. You aren’t thinking straight,” she said, not giving it now. “So let me know when you are.”

Usually at this point Loriel would storm off in a huff to go work, and in a few hours she would come back and everything would be forgiven. Because that was what love was about, wasn’t it? It was about pain. It was about forgiveness despite the pain. It was about the choice to love and forgive and forget the pain. But this time it was Yvanne who managed to storm away first, except she didn’t storm. She walked calmly and closed the door quietly, not in anger, but resignation. Loriel was left alone in their chambers, the last place where they still shared a life.

(Maybe if you really loved me—)

No, that wasn’t true, Yvanne loved her. ( But she couldn’t see her anymore .)

Loriel needed to sit down, but there were so many articles of clothing on the nearest chair that she sat on the bed (their well-used bed, that had so delighted her when this had all begun) instead. And even sitting took too much energy, so she lay back. Maybe she could sleep for a while. Just a little while, so she could think straight.

But sleep didn’t come. Her racing thoughts were wide awake, and hungry, and had no pity for her.

She had always been afraid that she wasn’t good enough for beautiful, vivacious, lovely Yvanne. That one of these days Yvanne was going to figure it out and leave her. For a long time she’d been holding her breath, waiting for the blow.

But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe it wasn’t that she wasn’t good enough for Yvanne. Maybe it was that she was just all wrong for her ( wrong wrong wrong, it slithered through her mind like crawling worms in the dirt), maybe they only fit together at all because they’d grown together like the intertwining roots of trees. She thought of vines twisted together so tightly they had fused ( parasites, living off each other, sucking the life out of each other, unable to survive any other way)

Now they’d traded the Circle for the Wardens. And love born of terror, perpetuated in bondage, what was that worth?

What did they have in common, anyway? Their whole lives. Their magic. What else?

She stared into the darkness, wishing she knew some spell to end all thought.

(What else? What else? What else?)

—

It wasn’t about the blood. It was about the sacrifice.

In that sense, to call it blood magic was a misnomer.

You can’t get something for nothing. This was the oldest rule in the book, from back before there were books, before writing, before language. It was as simple as anything, and it was as true of entropy magic as of blood magic.

Loriel knew all about entropy. The rule of entropy was this: you can’t get something for nothing.

That was why it was impossible to draw her own blood, store it, restore herself, and use it later. Blood stored in a vial, divorced from the pain and loss it had caused, had no power. The blood itself was inert. It was the pain that mattered.

She had to suffer. It had to be this way. It could never have been any other way.

Life was pain. It wasn’t all pain. But it was pain, sure enough. And pain was life, for only living things could suffer. For every sting of the blade, she knew herself to be alive. Here she was in the depths of the underground, nearer to the deep roads (the darkspawn) than to the sunlight, but while she hurt she lived.

Yvanne didn’t understand that. Yvanne was a healer. She didn’t understand the necessity of pain. She never had.

But you can’t get something for nothing. That was the rule. (Loriel knew all about rules. She had always been so good at following the rules. So, so good, and what had it gotten her?)

Her current project involved attempts to refine blight from blood—her own, a darkspawn’s, and an archdemon’s. Each Warden-Commander was entrusted with a vial of Archdemon blood, a single drop of which was used in the Joining cup. Loriel had it here, a measly quantity of it. It ought to have been refilled when Urthemiel had fallen, but nobody had been there to tell her to take its blood. She hadn’t known she was supposed to do that, and now here she was wasting the small quantity she had away on her useless experiments. (But that could be a good thing, that could mean that when she used it all up there would be no more Wardens and if there were no Wardens that meant there was no Warden-Commander and if there was no need for a Warden-Commander then Loriel could—go where? Do what?)

She wanted to understand what made Warden’s blood different from darkspawn blood, and what made both of them different from archdemon’s blood. She had for days now been heating, distilling, refluxing, heating again, countless hours spent staring at glassware full of the murky stuff, ( half-wondering what it would feel like to take the vials and smash them on the table and feel the shards of glass in her skin ), because surely it couldn’t be a matter of mere concentration. Darkspawn were not Wardens with more Blight inside them. And Archdemons were something different entirely.

Why were all the archdemons dragons? What did dragons have to do with Blight? But no, not dragons—old gods. But why were the old gods in the form of dragons? The Chantry would say that they were false gods of no significance, but even if that were true, why would beings clearly much more powerful than mere animals take those forms? Urthemiel had been the god of beauty; the Architect had been his high priest. Loriel had slain Urthemiel. She had driven a sword—

( she barely knew how to use it, it should have been Yvanne, it should have been her, none of this was meant for her, that was why she was down here in the dark, because she had taken what rightfully ought to have been somebody else’s, because she had transgressed, and now she was being rightfully punished )

—through its skull. She remembered how its bones had cracked. It had already been most of the way to dead by the time she finished it off. She’d hardly contributed to its killing at all.

(she’d picked up the sword, nearly as long as she was tall, because she happened to be nearby, it had just happened, she hadn’t meant to—)

Did the Architect know that? Did he know she had slain his god? Did he still regard the archdemon to be his god? It was no more corrupted than he was. (Would that be Loriel’s fate? Was that the fate of every Warden, to someday become the monsters they fought? What was the difference between them and the monsters, anyway? That wasn’t so bad. She’d been a monster all her life, what would be the difference?)

The bright blade bit into her scarred skin. The veins there were weakening. She would have to pick a new place to cut, soon. Her blood ran hot and warm down her skin. Loriel incanted. Nothing happened.

(What was the Architect’s name? What had he looked like? Who had he been when he had been a man?)

She changed the words of the incantation, then the pronunciation. She changed how she held her fingers. She cast again and again. Nothing happened.

(He deserved it though, that’s what he got, for breaking the rules. Rule-breakers had to be punished, that was the rule. That’s what he, what she deserved. That’s what she deserved, for expecting something for nothing.)

Her blood clotted and the flow stopped. It still hurt, but was that enough? No, it wasn’t, she could tell. The pain was necessary but not sufficient. She needed to bleed to cast spells like this, or else they’d always fail, and she’d have no one but herself to blame.

The knife bit into her flesh again.

(Yvanne didn’t understand, of course she didn’t, how could she?)

She didn’t feel the knife slip from her numb fingers, and though she felt herself slipping, felt herself fall, by the time she hit the floor she had already slipped into something like sleep—but not peace.

She dreamt herself in the Black City, wandering its winding streets and high towers. She knew only that she was desperately searching for something—someone?—that she couldn’t find. When she looked down at her hands they were claws, the bulging veins there black with the same Blight that ran through the gutters and oozed down the walls. It flooded the streets and rose higher and higher, up to her hips and shoulders, in her mouth and her eyes and over her head, and all was black.

—

Loriel woke slowly. First she became aware of her body and the bed it was lying in. At first she didn’t notice anything unusual, and then she did—the absence of pain. Nothing ached or throbbed or stung. She felt better than she’d felt in many months. She was suffused with the vague sense that whatever dreadful thing had been happening, it was over now, if it had ever even happened. Perhaps it had only been a terrible dream.

For a while she let herself float peacefully in the dim twilight of half-sleep, aware enough to relish the glorious lack-of-pain. But finally she had no choice but to open her eyes, and remember everything.

Yvanne sat sleeping in the wooden chair besides the bed. Her cheek pressed against her shoulder, her chin on her chest. It looked singularly uncomfortable.  Loriel wondered why she’d sat there instead of getting into bed with her. She reached out and touched her gently on the elbow.

Yvanne started, her eyes flying open, then relaxing. There were dark circles under her eyes, and they were red-rimmed; she’d been crying, but had stopped some hours ago, presumably when she’d fallen asleep.

“You’re awake,” she managed, “That’s good.”

Loriel coughed hoarsely. Her throat was dry. “How long was I…?”

Yvanne glanced out the window. It was dark, with no trace of either daybreak or sunset. The candles were all extinguished, and all that illuminated the room was a trio of Fade-wisps fluttering around Yvanne’s head like a halo, casting her in an eerie greenish light. “I don’t know. Most of a full day, I think.”

A glass of water stood on the bedside table. Loriel drained it, leaning on her elbow. She opened her mouth to ask what happened, and then closed it. Some of her memory was trickling back, as though after a hard night of drinking. You bloody idiot, I’m afraid for you! I’m afraid I’m going to walk in on you in a pool of your own blood and won’t be able—

Instead she lay back. She knew better than to insult her by apologizing. The fact that she was even thinking of apologizing annoyed her. I’m the one that almost died, and somehow I need to comfort her ?

Eventually Yvanne said, “How do you feel?”

Loriel thought about it. “Good, actually,” she said. “Better than I’ve been. Much better.” Whatever exact combination of healing spells and potions Yvanne had administered, it had really done the trick. She felt like she could think clearly for the first time in...she didn’t even know how long. She was herself again.

She had the sudden traitorous thought—all along Yvanne could have helped her like this, and for whatever reason, she hadn’t.

“That’s good.”

What a funny path life took. Only a handful of years ago their positions had been reversed, and it had been Loriel sitting and fretting at the bedside, feeling helpless and afraid. She didn’t feel helpless or afraid now. She just felt tired—clear-eyed, but so tired.

“Thank you.”

At that Yvanne couldn’t take it anymore. She drew a rattled half-sob of a breath, and suppressed a hiccup. “‘ Thank you’? What was I supposed to do, leave you there?”

It occurred to Loriel how exhausted Yvanne looked. Not just tired, but...older. It could have been only the flickering Fade-light, but—some of the lines on her face looked new. Were they really new, or had Loriel just not been paying attention? Would she have turned to her, years down the road, and been surprised to see an aged face looking back at her?

All at once the guilt crashed over her, so intense it made her nauseous.

It would have been easier if she’d loved her any less.

Did you love me for me , she thought, or because there was no one else? And that thought hurt.

Then she thought, did I love you for you? And that thought hurt much worse.

“Loriel, I…” Yvanne swallowed, staring at her laced fingers between her knees. “Loriel, I can’t do this anymore. Something has to change.”

You’re right, Loriel thought, deciding. It does.

She struggled into a sitting position, and then realized it wasn’t much of a struggle. She was only stiff from sleeping so long. She scooted out of bed and found herself shivering in only a billowing nightgown. She didn’t have to look long for her robe; Yvanne had put it in the top drawer of the northmost chest of drawers. Her feet were cold on the stone floor, but she could live with that.

She went to her desk, rummaged for parchment and ink and quill. It was really more Yvanne’s desk these days, and she kept it in order. She stood as she wrote; the document would not need to be long. It only required her signature, and her seal.

“Do you know where my signet ring is?” Loriel asked.

“Upper right drawer,” Yvanne said automatically. She hadn’t spoken or moved, had only watched Loriel move about the room with uncertain eyes.

She found the ring. “Thank you.” Sealing wax lay in the same container, dark burgundy stuff; blue was more fitting for the Warden-Commander, but red would do. She dripped the wax onto the bottom of the document and pressed her ring into it, leaving an impression of the double-headed griffon symbol of the Wardens. The ink had had time to dry while she’d fumbled with the wax.

She read over what she wrote, once, twice, thrice, just to make sure. But her mind was clear, and short of letting it sit overnight—not an option—she was sure she’d covered all her legal bases.

Yvanne finally rose. “Loriel?” she said hesitantly. “What is that?”

Loriel rolled up the parchment and handed it to her before she had a chance to lose her nerve.

“It is a legal document, signed and sealed by the lawfully appointed Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, and Lady of Soldier’s Peak,” said Loriel. “It states that Warden-Lieutenant Yvanne Amell is abroad on official Grey Warden business of highest priority, and that any attempts to impede her free movements will be met with swift reprisal by the Grey Wardens of Ferelden and the Ferelden Crown. And there’s some more legal jargon at the bottom if you want to review that.” She raised her chin. “I can’t promise it will keep you safe from anything out there, far from it, but it should make public life as a mage on her own a much easier prospect.”

I can’t do this anymore, Yvanne had said. It was her favorite gambit. It meant— I’m doing as I’ve decided. Do whatever you want, but my course is set. Most times in their life it had been a bluff—until Amaranthine.

Well, no more.

“I don’t...what?” Yvanne looked at the parchment, then at her. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Loriel said tiredly. “You don’t understand. And you never will.”

She knew it for the truth as she said it. For the nearly twenty years that they had known each other, for all the things they shared, for all that they had walked within each other's very souls, Yvanne would never understand. What did Yvanne know about darkness, about decay? Yvanne grew gardens and built castles in the sky, content to pretend that the world ( their bodies (them)) weren’t falling apart. Yvanne would never understand Loriel, and Loriel—it had become now blindingly obvious—would never understand Yvanne.

Loriel would never understand Yvanne, and she was tired of trying.

For an endless, awful moment they stood suspended in time. Yvanne stared at the parchment, the wheels in her head turning and creaking as it dawned on her, the full significance of what Loriel meant. In that long moment, it dawned on Loriel, too, the magnitude of it. She was standing on a shore, beholding a massive wave rising up to swallow all that she knew, and it had not crashed down on her head yet, but it would, any second now, it would.

“Are you telling me to go?” Yvanne said. Just to make sure. Just in case she’d misunderstood.

Ask me to come with you, Loriel thought then, desperately, as though that was going to save them. If she only asked, Loriel’s resolve would break, and she would have said yes. She would have followed her to the ends of the earth, if only because the prospect of living without her had now become terrifyingly real.

But Yvanne didn’t ask.

She didn’t ask, Loriel would tell herself later. She never asked.

Loriel would remember for the rest of her life the sight of Yvanne clutching the parchment and tearing out of the room. Loriel didn’t know why she would go after this—only that it would be far away, and that she was unlikely to ever see her again. Because she understood as well as Loriel did, what this meant for them—that the farce was finally over, the soap-bubble of their shared dreams well and truly popped. As it had always been destined to be.

For Loriel’s basic nature was that of entropy, and that meant she understood the nature of all things was to, eventually, cease. Every mechanism must someday wind down, and every life must eventually extinguish, and every love must eventually fizzle. You could run and run and run, but entropy would always get you in the end. Loriel had tried denying it, had tried cheating it, but it was no good.

Because you couldn’t get something for nothing. That was what Yvanne couldn’t seem to understand.

And that was why it had to be this way. That was why it had to end.

[its-me-screeching]

Catalysis - Chapter 9: No wonder

The moment Anna had first spoken to her sister again after years of silence, at the police station in Bergen, she'd looked her own definition of 'normal' in the eyes and said goodbye. She'd eaten low-quality cookies, all the while trying to figure out who Elsa was and what had happened to her, and she'd accepted that her life had taken a big, strange turn.

And indeed, Elsa's arrival had marked the end of her quiet days, those days in which she didn't have to worry about much besides… well, homework, and maintaining friendships, and being alive, which was all easy enough.

When Elsa had been doing regular assignments, or even when she'd been adamant on uncovering the mystery surrounding their parents' accident (if there even was a mystery, that is), Anna had been able to handle it. Sure, it was peculiar, and she would have appreciated it if Elsa had been involved in less dangerous affairs, but she couldn't change her sister's profession by merely wishing it, and she knew Elsa was experienced and cautious enough to deal with or stay away from the most hazardous of jobs.

Then Elsa had gotten herself shot, and Anna had seen her collapse right in front of her. And even though her sister had been fine, she'd felt a surge of panic rush through her like never before. How she'd managed to collect her wits and reach Merida was beyond her even now, and if Elsa hadn't realised by herself that she had to slow down a bit when it came to work, her younger sister would have been sure to give her a stern reminder.

But to Anna's relief, such a reminder had not been necessary. The week following the shooting incident, in her opinion, had almost resembled her earlier days, her normal days. She'd gone to school, laughed with friends and flirted with Hans; she'd waited for Elsa to come pick her up, which was far easier now that she was stuck at home and quite possibly bored out of her mind for the most part, and she'd spent what remained of her day with her sister. 

All in all, not much had happened in her brief, peaceful days of slow motion, though she found it easier to try and connect with Elsa: they'd tried to improve Elsa's cooking (an unsuccesful, fruitless attempt), and Anna had done her best to help her rearrange their living room a few times (it came back to her that her sister had wanted to be an architect when they were younger; she'd had a talent for it, which apparently resurfaced when she had nothing better to do). 

Okay, it wasn't like Elsa had thrown all work out of the window. She'd poured quite a few hours into researching the bug Merida had given her, her eyes glued to her laptop, and she'd kept in touch with aforementioned redhead as if it was some sort of daily religious ritual. Though Elsa claimed it was all work-related, Anna had her doubts, but she knew better than to say anything of it. She was content with the way things were: she'd never had that much time in a row to spend time with her sister, and she used the new situation which allowed them to have more actual conversations well, even if said conversations were nothing more than discussions about the quality of the latest movie they'd watched on Netflix.

Even if they couldn't yet speak of the past, even if Anna still had many questions left unanswered, she found she could really say she was making some progress, at least. She had patience, and Elsa's self-imposed work-detox and the time that had given them had had positive effects. Her sister seemed to be more comfortable with her, more adjusted to the idea of having her around, and if Elsa was comfortable, there was a chance Anna could try her luck soon and ask the questions she still kept hidden within.

It wasn't time for that yet, though. The longer Elsa stayed silent, the more Anna got the idea she herself indeed didn't want to see what had happened to her sister after she'd run away. If someone was that adamant on keeping her past hidden, couldn't that mean it was better off buried? Anna wanted answers, but sometimes, when she lay awake at night, she feared those answers too. She knew she didn't want to be fed lies and half-truths all her life, but as long as it tasted good… why not?

The dilemma of the unanswered questions, however, was best left alone now. She didn't want to think about it too much, lest it would ruin the amazing moment she found herself caught up in. She squeezed Hans' hand tighter as they walked through the park near her school. An incredible way to spend their break, in her opinion.

"I think," she began in a sing-song, "that this is the most romantic spot in the entirety of Oslo."

Hans chuckled. "Then you haven't seen much of the city yet, trust me."

"Would you show me?" She tried to recall Merida's perfected, mischievous flirty look, and couldn't help but think she was failing horribly at it.

For a split second, Hans frowned, and his silence stretched on a little too long. "I'll think on that," he said. The smile he sported didn't reach his eyes. Eyes that, for the first time, had something… off about them. Anna had never seen it before, but there was a darkness in them, a cold even Elsa couldn't match, and she saw an emptyness combined with something predatory. 

It sent shivers down her spine, but it was gone before she could fully register it. Back came friendly Hans with his soft features and sexy Danish accent and citrus scent.

"I'm… I'm sorry if that rubbed you the wrong way," Anna muttered, still unable to get that look out of her  mind. She swallowed hard, as if trying to get rid of the bitter aftertaste he'd left her with. "I mean, I guess we hardly know eachother, right? We, uh… it's been… three weeks? And I know it might be a little early to go on the whole romantic lovey-dovey tour, but-"

"Anna." It was sudden, his voice so calm she shut her mouth without a question. She gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to speak. He didn't say anything anymore, but lifted her chin, cupping her cheek, and leaned in. Anna felt butterflies go ballistic in her stomach, her entire body a bundle of nerves. She closed her eyes and waited for his kiss, the one she'd been dreaming of for weeks.

"If only there was someone out there who loved you."

Her world shattered as if it had been made of glass.

She opened her eyes, saw his face hovering unbearably close to hers, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He took a step back, away from her, and shoved his hands in his pockets, his movements almost as lazy as the cruel smile he wore.

Anna frowned, ignoring the hollow, aching feeling in her heart. "I… I don't understand."

"Silly, silly Anna. I didn't expect you to. Did you ever understand a single thing since the moment you were born?"

Truth be told, she didn't think she'd ever understand anything anymore after this. She blinked in confusion, unable to find words. "Hans, what are you doing…?"

"I can't believe you actually thought I'd date you. Take you to the Halloween party and such." He smirked, patted the pocket of his jeans. "Damn, Gaston didn't believe I could seduce the new girl, but he owes me 300 kroner now."

"You… you used me?"

He laughed. "Oh, no. We simply had fun while it lasted." His features hardened. "But you? With me? What a joke that would be, Anna. Who could ever love you?"

Her mind scrambled to find something, anything, to say to him, but to no avail. She wanted to curse him to hell, punch him in the face, crush him with words like he was doing to her, but her breath hitched and she had to put all her focus into stopping herself from crumbling under his annihilating gaze.

"You don't have anything to offer me, don't you see? You've got a pretty face, but in the end, you're just a broken little girl with too many problems who doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut. Fragile, insecure, desperate to be loved."

Keep breathing, don't listen. She kept her gaze trained at the ground and grit her teeth, hoping to keep her tears inside.

"You can't even look at me." The snark left Hans' voice, leaving only pity. He truly did think her pathetic. "No wonder your sister abandoned you for years."

Out of everything he'd told her in his attempt to break her, that comment hurt the most. It stung so much she snapped her head up, pure fury in her eyes, and she balled her hands into fists, ready to deliver on her vow to punch him if push came to shove. 

"You don't know what you're talking about, you… you jerk!" Her voice sounded higher than she'd wanted, but the words came out strong either way. Hans pulled a face, but Anna didn't fail to see how he took yet another step back to save his skin.

They stood there in silence, one filled with a cruel indifference, one trembling with rage. The other people in the park passed by in a blur, some sneaking glances at the scene that had been caused, but they went on with their lives within seconds. Was lunch break over yet? Anna wanted it to be over. She wanted to fall in a pit with no way out and stay there forever.

"I'd argue," Hans finally replied, still surrounded by an eerie coolness, "but I doubt you're worth my time."

She'd had enough of it. She raised her fist, but stopped herself. He wasn't worth her time either. To save herself from potentially being arrested for assault, she turned and ran, away from all the happy people in the park, back to class. She ran faster than she thought she could, pushed forward by adrenaline and pure, unbridled anger, and she told herself to focus on anything but her burning eyes. She couldn't cry now. She wouldn't. He didn't deserve  the satisfaction.

Class hadn't started yet when she arrived back at school. She doubted Hans would show up for the rest of the day, choosing instead to go and collect his filthy money from his filthy friend, but Anna didn't mind. She didn't think she could see his face again today without being consumed by the desire to tear it off. With very little grace, red-faced and sweaty, she plopped down next to Moana.

She felt tapping on her shoulder and turned around to see Kristoff, his brown eyes full of concern. "Are you okay?"

All she could do was shake her head.

Moana, who had followed that little exchange, expressed worry as well. "Trouble with Hans?"

"He's an asshole," Anna hissed. It came out angrier than she'd intended, but she had to let it out somehow. "He was playing pretend this whole time."

Kristoff hit his desk with his fist, mirroring Anna's own anger. Their teacher shot him a warning look, but he didn't pay attention to him. "I knew that guy was an asshole."

Moana frowned. "Don't you think all guys are assholes?"

"Oh, people in general are huge assholes, but Hans is the biggest one. The absolute king of assholes."

"On that we can all agree."

Though her pain didn't recede, Anna couldn't stop the smile from forming on her face. Even if she'd been rejected in the worst way possible, she still had friends she could count on to cheer her up. "Thanks, guys."

Their teacher shushed them, threatening to send one of them out if they didn't stop interrupting the lesson. Anna readied herself, almost grateful for the distraction her schoolwork could provide, but Moana grabbed her attention once more."

"Remember, your first day?" She whispered, careful not to be heard by the teacher. "When I told you I'd show you my boat sometime?"

Anna nodded.

"How about tonight? I've got work this afternoon, but when I'm done we could take my boat out and… I dunno, relax, explore? It might take your mind off things." Moana turned to Kristoff behind them, as subtly as she could. "If you're not too repulsed by the thought of socialising today, you're welcome to show up too."

Kristoff frowned at the comment and Anna couldn't help but giggle at the funny face he'd pulled. "Great idea," she told her friends, making sure to keep an eye on the teacher. "We're on. I just… I need to check up with Elsa, but I doubt she'll have any problems with it."

When the thought of her sister invaded her mind, rushing in at lightning speed, Anna no longer registered whatever other things her friends were saying. She knew she shouldn't have attached any value to Hans' stinging words, but what he'd said about Elsa still found a way to worm itself into her brain, burrowing deep inside with no intention of leaving. No wonder your sister abandoned you for years.

It had been weeks, and still Anna didn't know what her sibling had gained by taking her in. She didn't feel like an improvement of her sister's life. A burden, that was more likely. Elsa had taken her in, and what had it left her with? A meddlesome teenager who couldn't keep her nose out of another's business. A silly little girl with no understanding of anything… not even love. Yeah. No wonder Elsa had abandoned that, indeed.

If their parents hadn't died, Elsa wouldn't have resurfaced in her life at all. She knew that much, at least. Was that why her sister's mind was so set on not talking about the past? Because she knew it would hurt Anna's feelings? The younger girl remembered the last days before Elsa left and disappeared. Her sister had been different in those days: she'd never been loud, but she'd been exceptionally quiet, keeping her distance, and every attempt Anna had made at communicating with her had been shot down with curt answers, laced with a cold she'd never known her sister possessed. 

What if Elsa had left because of her? Had she been so stupid, so childish, so much of a nuisance that Elsa had simply discarded her, easy as that? It made sense, in a messed up way. After their parents' accident, Elsa had felt obliged to take her in, obliged to pretend they would be okay, and now she was only waiting for Anna to turn eighteen and start her own life in which she wouldn't be Elsa's problem anymore. The hesitance to talk about the past… what if what Elsa was hiding was the fact that she'd left because she didn't want anything to do with her sister anymore? And now that she'd taken Anna in, an unexpected turn of events, she knew she couldn't tell her to her face how worthless and how pathetic of a younger sibling she was, which led to Elsa keeping her vow of silence as some sort of damage control.

Her eyes began to burn yet again, but she still managed to stop the tears from falling. No. No, that couldn't be it. Not Elsa. Not her sister who'd always looked out for her, who'd steal extra chocolate for them when their parents weren't watching. The sister Anna remembered had always known what to do in any situation, and she'd listened to whatever Anna told her, and she'd always been so warm. Anna knew that warmth was still there, albeit hidden behind all the walls and defenses and thin layers of ice Elsa had tried to bury it under. She'd seen it herself, when she'd been given a kitten, and when Elsa did her best to show up on time to pick her up from school and kept trying even if the circumstances didn't always allow it.

And yet… there was something so conflicted about all of her sister's actions through the year. At this point, Anna wasn't even sure if Elsa herself knew what Elsa Arens was hoping to achieve. Ever since their parents' accident, life had been a hurricane for the both of them, and Anna could only hope she'd live long enough to eventually see the calm after the storm.

Perhaps a fun night with friends was indeed what she needed, she thought, pushing all her depressing thoughts to the background as she packed her books and stood up at the end of their school day. Like Moana had said, it would serve to take her mind off the complications in her life… she hoped. She said goodbye to her friends, promising to see them later that day, and set out to the parking lot to find Elsa.

Oh, god. She hadn't even thought about what Elsa would say when she heard of what Hans had done. Anna remembered their conversation when Elsa had been in Sweden. She'd been so convinced that what she had with Hans was real, so captivated by her beautiful illusion that she knew what love was, that she'd gotten snappy with her sister.

It pained her to admit it, but Elsa had been right about Hans all along. Two-minute loverboy. She'd known Hans was trouble, and Anna hadn't listened, idiot that she was. She could already feel the inevitable 'I told you so' stabbing her in the heart, and she wasn't sure she was equipped to handle that pain. Her somberness stayed with her all the way outside, and she kept her eyes trained at the ground until she reached the parking lot, fully aware of how miserable she must have looked.

The stupid thing about Elsa and parking was that she never parked in the same spot twice in a row, or even in the general vicinity of a spot she'd occupied before. Anna figured it was some sort of spy instinct of unpredictability, of keeping the element of surprise alive, that her sister subconsciously listened to. The potential life-endangering hazards to be found in high school parking lots were numerous, after all. Though the lot wasn't large, the unnecessarily complex method of parking still meant Anna had to do her best each time to figure out where Elsa had decided to place her car.

It was easy enough to find her sister this time. She was standing next to her car which stood in the middle of the parking lot. Her eyes were glued to that ancient flip phone she owned. The fast movements of her fingers indicated she was texting, something Anna considered to be easier on a modern phone, but if Elsa wanted to do her own thing and stick with the prehistoric one, she wouldn't  judge. She figured there was a chance of ninety-nine percent it was Merida her sister was talking to. If the circumstances had been different, she would have made a light-hearted joke about it, but she didn't have energy left to try. Whenever people spoke of sadness, they always forgot to mention how exhausting it really was.

Elsa looked up from her phone upon hearing Anna's fast-approaching footsteps, a worried expression crossing her face as she put her phone away. "I was going to ask how your day was, but I'm assuming it wasn't so great."

Was it that obvious? Did she look that defeated? She lowered her eyes once more and sighed, looking for an explanation she could give.

No wonder your sister abandoned you for years.

She felt her eyes begin to water. "It's… I…"

Elsa crossed her arms, now stuck somewhere between worried and utterly confused. "Hey… what happened?"

Anna didn't care anymore. She let her tears flow and looked Elsa in the eyes. "Hans… Hans said…" she choked on a sob.

"What? Anna, what did he say?"

She shivered as she felt Elsa's hand on her shoulder, so cold, but still a comfort. She appreciated the gesture, even if it meant nothing.

"He said… He said I didn't, didn't understand anything, and, and that I, that no one could ever… love me and… and… you… I…" And it's no fucking wonder you left me all alone.

Elsa didn't say anything. Anna could see the thoughts rushing through her mind and that dire look of concentration she wore as she put two and two together, but she couldn't tell what her sister thought of the answer. She readied herself once again for the  merciless 'I told you so' she'd been expecting all along. She fidgeted, waited for the blow.

It didn't come.

Instead, Elsa pulled her into a hug. It was hesitant, tentative, as if she wasn't sure she had permission to touch her, but it was a hug nonetheless, warm despite the freezing cold hands and all the initial caution. Anna hadn't felt that safe and protected ever since she'd hugged her parents goodbye for the last time. The past didn't matter in that moment, not at all; she was perfectly content staying like that, sobbing her eyes out with her face buried in Elsa's shoulder and her sister's arms wrapped around her. It was an assault on what little dignity she had left, but the simple fact that she was getting a hug from Elsa outweighed that. She hadn't even realised she'd been craving the contact so much.

"If you can't or don't want to tell me all of it, it's fine," Elsa began. She made a gesture as if she wanted to wipe a tear from Anna's cheek, but decided against it at the last second. Anna almost felt disappointed, but the hug in itself had been a very pleasant surprise and she'd take what she could get.

"But… whatever he said… he doesn't know anything about you, you know? You're… amazing. And if he doesn't see that, it's his loss."

"You- you think?" Anna sniffled.

Elsa gave her a small smile, something dark embedded in her eyes. An edge of sorts, almost angry, but Anna didn't think the rage was directed at her. "If he said no one could ever love you, he's a fucking fool. There are so many people who love you, and you know it, don't you?"

"I… I think so."

"No, not 'I think so'. It's the truth. Mom and Dad loved you, and Kai and Gerda would give up their whole lives if you asked them to, and you have friends, and…" Elsa fell silent for a bit, but picked up where she left off within seconds. "…And I love you, too. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't there."

Anna giggled through her tears. "Now you're exaggerating."

"Believe me or don't, but I wouldn't lie to you about this. You're one of the best people I know, and nothing that son of a bitch says is going to change that. Not for me, and not for you either. Got it?"

Of course there was a chance Elsa was lying to stay in her good graces, but it sounded so sincere and genuine Anna couldn't convince herself it was anything of that sort. It wasn't in her nature to assume the worst in people, and if Elsa told her she loved her, her words for once straight-forward without the usual amount of evasiveness, she was inclined to believe she wasn't being lied to. And even if it turned out to be a lie, she'd savour the moment in which she took it for the truth. Elsa was here, Elsa loved her, and her affection and words were worth far more than that lying jerk's cruelty.

"Do you want to go somewhere? Get something to eat or drink? Or is going home okay?" Elsa asked as they entered her car and drove away.

"Home is fine," Anna mumbled, though the idea of going out and getting donuts or some other comfort food was strangely appealing. "My friends invited me over for tonight, though," she followed up. "Is that okay? We're going to do… boat stuff."

Elsa frowned. "What's boat stuff?"

"Uh… exactly what it sounds like?"

Her sister considered that answer for a second, seemed to give up entirely on trying to understand, and formed a reply. "I don't see any harm in it. As long as you stay with your friends and don't go wandering off alone."

That was a reasonable request. Anna knew her sister had been worried for her safety after the shooting incident, among other things, and the younger girl could understand where she came from. In fact, Anna had been wary of her surroundings  herself ever since the shooting happened, her imagination running wild and cooking up crazy chase scenes and freaky James Bond villains out to get her, shadowy people with shady pasts who would take her life without blinking. She hadn't given much thought to how dangerous her sister's profession could be, but the shooting had changed her perspective on that. She understood that Elsa wanted them to stay safe, and if there really was someone out to harm them, she wouldn't try her luck by sneaking away from her friends to go gallivanting somewhere.

"Don't worry. I'll be careful." She gave her sister the brightest smile she could manage.

"I'll bring you to your friends later, if you want me to."

"That would be great, yeah. Thanks!"

"It's not a problem, really."

Silence fell, and so did Anna's face when she realized something. "Wait… are you sure I can go? Wouldn't it be selfish of me? I mean, I know you've been really bored and such, so wouldn't it be more fun if I stayed home and we did something together?"

Elsa laughed and shook her head. "It's nice to know you care, but it's okay. Please, go have fun with your friends. Don't let me stop you."

Anna watched a mysterious smile creep into her sister's features. 

"Besides, I have plans anyway."

"Wait." Anna narrowed her puffy eyes. "No offense, but… plans? You? Since when?"

Elsa thought about it. "Since approximately ten minutes ago," she finally answered, that darkness Anna had seen in her eyes before coming over her again. "There's someone who needs to be taken care of. It's a bit unexpected, and also a bit… classified."

'Classified' meant 'I want no questions', and Anna would respect that. Curiosity aside, she wasn't all that eager when it came to possessing knowledge that could get her killed in a worst-case scenario. Was this what Elsa had been talking to Merida about? Were they starting a new assignment, or about to investigate a pending one? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever it could be, Anna came to the conclusion that the look on Elsa's face was an unpredictable one, a look that screamed she was ready to throw all caution to the wind if a situation called for it. It didn't suit her, and it didn't bode well either.

"Elsa," she told her sister, "I don't like that look."

"What look?"

"That look. Like you've come up with some crazy idea that's awesome in theory but kind of a mess in practice? It's your personal 'insane genius' look."

"… I don't have a look like that."

"Yes, you do. Just… whatever you're up to, be careful, okay? Don't do anything you'll regret."

Elsa gave her a cryptic smirk, amusement shining in her eyes. "Oh, don't worry about that," she replied. "I've thought this through for a bit. I know what I'm doing." 

The mischievous energy surrounding her reminded Anna of the impish schemes her sister used to come up with. The best way to sneak chocolate into your bedroom, or the infamous 'top ten excuses to get out of trouble', which had given their poor parents hell quite often. But whatever Elsa was up to now, it wouldn't be childish mischief. No, it would be far, far more serious.

"And if anyone's going to regret anything tonight, it's not going to be me."

Elsa's last comment was dramatic and vague, which was something Anna had gotten used to, so she didn't ask anymore. The words puzzled her, but her sister seemed so confident about this that she decided to let it slide. Elsa said she knew what she was doing, and who was Anna to doubt that? She was going to have a fun night with no worries whatsoever, and her super-spy sister could go ahead with her classified plans, as long as she was careful and came back alive.

For once, Anna truly didn't want to know what Elsa was thinking, which was freeing, in a way. She sat back in her seat, made herself comfortable as the day's pain faded, and all she did was hope the peace of the previous week would still be there when she'd wake up in the morning.

[esthersnippe]

In Brussels? Here are my top picks on what to do, see, drink, and eat

I am not going to claim to be an expert, but this winter I will be celebrating my 7th year in Europe’s Captial City—and I adore this city. 

I have gone to hundreds of cities, I believe there is nothing quite like Brussels. 

But it took me years to get here, and many tourists don’t immediately find it charming. And that’s ok. Because Brussels is small and too many tourists is not super good...and I am only partially joking. 

It is a secret city. Non-obvious and full of delights.

Over the years, I have learned one or two things about Brussels, and today I present you with my list of top things to do, see, drink and eat. You can do all of this in 24hours. 

My 10 favourite things to do in Brussels

Here we go! 

1. Eat a waffle in the Grand Place. 

It is best to see the Grand Place at night first, then in the day after.

For my vegan friends: Go to The Sister’s Cafe for vegan waffles WITH vegan ice cream.

For my non-vegan friends: Go to Maison Dandoy—they are simply the best waffles in the city. There are two kinds Brussels (light and airy) and Leige (thick and cakey) so if you are with someone else, get one of each, and if you are alone, choose wisely! 

Once, Victor Hugo, who wrote Les Miserables, lived in an apartment in the place. He said it is “a dazzling fantasy dreamed up by a poet, and realized by an architect.”.  There is so much history I would love to share with you about it, but I’ll save that for another time. Just go an enjoy it. It is truly spectacular. 

2. Walk from Park Royal to Park Cinquantenaire. The whole walk takes about 35 minutes, and you will see three beautiful parks: Park Royal, Park Leopold, and Park Cinquantenaire, as well as the Royal Palace, the European Parliament, and the Triumphal Arch.

Its a much better way to spend your time than going to the Atomium—which will take 2-3 hours minimum and is ok, but really rather touristy. 

3. Go and see the Palace of Justice at sunset Or any time, but it is the best at sunset. You can go to the grocery store and buy some drinks and snacks and sit up there to watch the sunset, it is chill and has a great view of the city skyline.

4. Eat chocolate at the Grand Sablon: My top picks are

Frederic Blondeel

Wittamer

Pierre Marcolini

How it works: you buy the chocolate by weight, so choose 2-3 different pieces from each place. 3-4 chocolates should cost between €4-€7.  Usually, the people behind the counter are not very helpful, but I still ask for personal favourites and recommendations anyway. Either way, you should always try the “Grand Cru”, this is the best the chocolatier thinks they can do. Yum is usually the result. Plant-based buddies: most of the dark chocolate is vegan! But make sure you double check, because some of the other ingredients might not be, like caramel being made with butter, etc.

5. Go to the European History Museum in Park Leopold 

It is free. And amazing. One of the best and most interactive museums I have been to: it has great tech, tons of ways to get involved with the exhibits, and tells a fascinating story. 

6. Go see our national monument, the Manneken Pis Also... the Manneken Pis Museum. It is just up the street and guaranteed a right giggle.

7. Sit at the top of Mont des Art. Best in the early evening. then walk through the garden. There is always a lot of animation and things going on, but it is also very relaxed. 

Make sure you check out the architecture on Rue Montagne de la Cour, like the Musical Instruments Museum and the Old English Pharmacy. 

8. Do some unique shopping/browsing. I am not personally big on buying loads of stuff, but these little streets are jammed packed with the unique and wonderful. Here are my top picks:

Rue de Rollerbeek

Rue du Haute

the Royal Galleries (Actually, I have never bought anything here, but the buildings are amazing.)  

9. Eat some fries.

I might be plant-based but I make an exception for the occasional frites treats, because they are the best in the world. There is no contest.

For the sauce: you can go:

Traditional with a dollop of Mayonnaise

Spicy with the Pili-pili (less spicy) or my favourite Samurai (more spicy).

Not spicy, but with a burst of flavour go with the Andalouse (which is kind of mayonnaise with tomato and basil) or Curry Ketchup (which is exactly what it sounds like.) 

Aioli is another very popular sauce, but I find it too garlicky (but if you are into garlic, try it out. Just don’t try and kiss me after.)

Vegans + vegetarians: the frites definitely contain animal fat.

My top picks

Fritland right by the Grand Place

Friterie Saint-Josse

Frit Flagey

Which brings me to number 10! They are related. 

In Brussels, there is a local phrase which goes “faire du gras” which translates to something like “lay down the fat” and means “eat something heavy”—and is good advice before you start drinking in Brussels. 2 strong beers on an empty stomach is almost a guarantee you will end up tripping on one of our many uneven, cobblestone roads. 

10. Drink beer. 

Also—the best in the world (Yes Germany, I have tried your beers, and I am sticking to what I said.) God, this needs a whole other post. But you are only here for a short time, so let’s get into it.

First: where to drink.

These are my favourite watering holes and their locations.

Le Coq in front of Beurs: Classic Belgian pub, and very fairly priced. (ie. cheap) 

Zebra in St.Gery: This old island is the best spot to drink and people watch after work and on the weekend. 

Bar Llanes or Café Charbon on Marche du Charbon in front of the Notre-Dame de Bon Secours. They are beside each other. 

Monks in Saint Catharine: a bit overpriced, but great selection and cool ambience. 

The Brussels Beer Project Brewery by the canal: They are constantly creating new brews, and you can test out the new flavours, then vote on them, which is fun. 

Le Barboteur Bierothèque in St.Josse: Amazing selection and very unpretentious. (But only good if you are in the neighbourhood, because it is pretty far from the city centre.)

Le Verschueren in St.Gilles: Sit with the cool, Belgian artists. Great people and good prices, but also only good if you are in the neighbourhood.) 

Café Belga and L'Amère à Boire in Place Flagey: Really different atmospheres, but both are fun, although a little hipstery. Don’t make a special trip out to see them, but if you are in Flagey, they are great. 

If you want to see some breathtaking architecture from the turn of the century and drink some rather overpriced beer, visit:

Le Cirio

Cafe Metropole

Mort Subite

There are 1150 Belgian beers, which is an overwhelming number. Even if I had drank a new beer every other day since arriving, I still wouldn’t have tried them all. So don’t feel bad if you don’t know where to start. Here is a quick and dirty guide to some of my favourites. For something heavy that will get you drunk almost immediately, try the Trappist beers. There are only 6 breweries in the world, and the beer is brewed in the traditional style by monks! (Note: Proceed with caution) 

Rochefort 10: Hold on to your hats, you are heading to drunk town on a smooth chocolate river.

Westmalle Tripel: This is a very good, bitter, mega strong beer.

Chimay Bleu: A sweet, dark, internationally-known bestseller! Stop at one though, it gives a vicious hangover after you’ve had 3. 

For something unique only to Belgium, and is stupidly delicious, like a refreshing beer-lemonade, try the gueuze:

Gueuze Boon: This is my all time favourite drink in Belgium. Possibly the world.

Oud Beersel: Also a hella delicious gueuze, but brewed in the old style, without wheat. 

Mort Subite Kriek: a gueuze sweetened with cherries. I can only have one of these at a time because they are intense, but a good occasional treat.

If you are not even sure you like beer, but are in Brussels so what the hell:

Faro Lambic: light and sweet and way too drinkable. Like juice.

Tripel Karmeliet: a delicious, well-balanced crowd pleaser

Chouffe: very light tasting, but watch out! Strong in effect. 

Saison Dupont: a very popular, classic Belgian beer. 

You are not a fan of stong or heavy beers, and really want a pils (once again Germans, I am looking at you.) we have three very popular pilsner brands that you’ll be able to get just about anywhere. 

Jupiler: mildly sweet, and the most popular beer in Belgium (especially with sports fans). 

Maes: a little closer to a lager than a pils, but if I am going to drink a pils, I choose this one. 

Stella Artois: This is Belgian, not Italian beer! It is a pretty easy drinking beer and also available just about everywhere....including the country you are coming from.

Like Stella Artois, I have a tendency to tell guests to avoid Duvel and Leffe—while they are fine beer brands, they are available around the world, and you will probably be able to find them in your home country, although perhaps for a much higher price. 

There is a lot more I could say about Brussels, but I hope this is enough to get you started! See you soon. 

Want to read stuff I’ve written about Belgium? 

Here are a few other posts about life in Europe’s Capital. 

21 Reasons to love Belgium

20 Canadian/British Habits I Lost When I Moved To Brussels

An Adult Tour of the Beaux Art Museum Part 1: The history of Belgium Part 2: Because art is awesome

I am safe: A post about what it felt like to be in Brussels after the Brussels Attacks. 

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Monday, 17th September 2018 – Day 1, Kiev

Finding myself in Kiev for a 2-workshop and meeting session with the rest of the 12-strong team I am part of, the London contingent (two of us) were on the ground and in our hotel about 3 hours ahead of everyone else, so with the dispensation of our lovely manager, we didn’t have anything to do until the others showed up. With that in mind, and arriving on a gloriously sunny afternoon, I persuaded my colleague that we really, really needed to go out and do some sightseeing. It was too good an opportunity to waste. Based in the Park Inn hotel, right next to the Olympic stadium which is now home to Dynamo Kiev, we were well situated to walk to the main attractions of the city centre.

Armed with the Lonely Planet guidebook to Ukraine, and a free Kiev map from reception, I now knew where we should aim for, and so cameras in hand, we walked up towards Taras Shevchenko Park initially, along Velyka Vasylkivska Street and over to Lva Tolstoho Street, admiring the variety of architectural styles which ranged from Stalinist flats to turn of the 19th/20th Century blocks with fabulous decorative features, some of them more “foreign” looking than others.

We also encountered the first of many, many terraces which seem to be attached to every restaurant no matter how basic or how grand. Later some of us would come to think these might not be such a good idea, for a variety of reasons, not least the prevalence of both cigarette smokers, and for that matter, shisha pipe users, mostly young women, who seemed not to care how far and wide the awful perfumed fumes spread from the damn things!

We also found the first of many, many murals, usually beautifully done, and covering the entire end walls of numerous buildings around the city. These apparently sprang up everywhere after the 2014 revolution and the plan is to have at least 200 of these instances of street art. There’s even a map of all of them.

This was also roughly the time we realised that crossing the road can be something of an adventure in Kiev. The traffic is heavy, and despite the crossing lights counting down how long you have to cross, and making it very clear that you are allowed to cross, car drivers still try and come round the corners and carry on regardless. You have to adopt a very determined demeanour and trust you’ll survive! Fortunately for the viability of the local population the really big road junctions have underpasses, complete with doors which I assume are especially necessary in the winter to stop the tunnels filling up with snow. The result is a number of underground spaces, full of ad hoc shops, selling all sorts of stuff you never wanted, or in fact never knew existed.

We survived the crossing to the park, and found quite a few things to amuse us. Temperatures were in the high 20s, so pretty much anyone with nothing better to do was perched on the benches in the cool shade of the trees. And the thing is, the benches themselves came in all manner of shapes that can only be described as playful, with no one bench the same as its neighbour. There were fountains, and flowerbeds full of marigolds, and statues of course, including this rather splendid – if rather gloomy – one of Mr. Shevchenko, the multi-talented national poet himself (which probably beats Austrian nymphs on plinths into a cocked hat).

It’s a very busy place, with all sorts going on, and with cafes and coffee shops and pretty much the entire student body of the university across the road sitting talking, dancing, playing music and generally living life outside. Even late in the evening it remained busy (as we discovered later in the week). We continued up Volodymyrska Street, passing the rather fabulous Taras Shevchenko Ukrainian National Opera House on the way.

The Golden Gates of Kyiv (Золоті ворота) were the main gates of the 11th century fortifications of Kyiv, the capital of Kievan Rus’, and were built between 1017 and 1024 (6545 in the Byzantine calendar) at the same time as The Cathedral of Saint Sophia, which was where I was keen to get us, was built. The whole thing was demolished in the middle ages, and was completely rebuilt by the Soviets in 1982, presumably entirely from their imaginations, because there are no images of the original gates available. The whole rebuilding was extremely controversial, and I did wonder why people were visiting it apart from out of curiosity. Hopefully, they don’t think they’re seeing an historical structure.

It was shortly after this that things started to get weird. Across the square from the gates we found this.

It’s part of the same initiative as the murals. It’s all part of the “ArtUnitedUs” iniative, which is the biggest urban street art project in the world. The hedgehog is a monument to a cartoon, “Hedgehog in Fog”, which was produced in 1975, and it’s the work of the Kyiv Landscape Initiative. The claim is that in 2003 a survey of 140 cinema critics and animators declared it the best cartoon in the history of animation. How true this is, I have no idea, but it seems reasonable. And it certainly wasn’t the only odd art work we encountered. There was a cat made out of white plastic forks (by Constantin Skretutsky)…

And also, in the grounds of Saint Sophia’s cathedral, a squishy piece of work (by Beata Korn) that has a sign asking visitors not to cuddle it. You can see why because it’s oddly irresistible. This is part of the art-project “3D.Public Art” and if you can read Ukrainian, then you’ll know a lot more about it than I do!

We had enough time to investigate the cathedral, but not the rest of the “territory”, so handing over a very small sum of money, we went in. I wasn’t allowed to take photos, which was a shame, but understandable. To give you a taste, I’ve found this on the Wikipedia page for the cathedral.

The building work started somewhere around 1011, and it was founded by the Grand Prince of Kievan Rus’, Vladimir the Great, and building has 5 naves, 5 apses, and 13 cupolas, which is not normal for Byzantine churches. it has two levels of balconies on three sides and it’s full of the most stunning 11th century mosaics and frescoes. I can only imagine what it must have looked like when the mosaics were new, with gold everywhere, and paintings on pretty much every surface. The Kievan rulers were buried here, and the grave of Yaroslav I the Wise is still there.

It has suffered substantial damage more than once, and the hands of Andrei Bogolyubsky of Vladimir-Suzdal in 1169, then the Mongolian Tatars in 1240. By the time that Poland and Ukraine were trying to unite the Catholic and orthodox churches it had pretty much fallen into ruin. Repair work was finally undertaken in 1633 by the Italian architect Octaviano Mancini in what is known as Ukrainian Baroque, at least on the outside, while still preserving the interior art.

Its fate was in the balance again in the 1920s, when the Soviet government wanted to destroy the building (a fate that did befall St. Michael’s Golden-Domed Monastery on the other side of the massive square from Saint Sophia’s). It ended up being re-classified as an architectural and historical museum, a function that it still fulfills now. In a side area there is currently a display of some of the art that was saved from Saint Michael’s prior to its demolition. There was also an interesting work made out of thousands of Ukrainian pysanky eggs, highly decorated Easter eggs. The work, a depiction of the Virgin Mary in the cathedral, is by Oksana Mas, and is made out of something in the region of 15,000 eggs, all different. It’s really impressive, and it takes the eye a moment or two to realise that it is actually made of individually painted eggs.

Back outside we admired the bell tower, which, like those we saw in Finland, stands separate from the main body of the church. It’s beautiful, and apparently affords some fine views over Kiev. We didn’t think we had time, though. I took a few photographs, and bought a guidebook before we left to head back to the hotel to meet up with our colleagues.

The park was still buzzing, and the roads were as lethal as ever. I did spot another of the rather fine murals as we were walking along, and if/when we get back (there’s a suggestion of a repeat visit in Spring) I want to see how many of the 200 works I can find.

We were back at the hotel by 18:00, after a couple of hours of nosing around, and I know my impression of the city was pretty positive already, though I was slightly startled by the presence of a bagpiper outside the Metro station opposite the hotel. It wasn’t that he was playing an instrument most people assume to be Scottish, because I know enough to know that it’s a very common instrument worldwide (after all, it’s really just a bag with hollow pipes), it’s just that I’ve tended to regard the playing of bagpipes as an act of war! The Ukrainian version is called a volynka, and originates in the Carpathians.

It remained to be seen what else we might find, as we were due to be taken on a short tour by our Ukrainian colleagues at 18:30. Sadly, the Danes had fallen victim to a taxi driver who had misunderstood his instructions, and they were now on a misguided tour of the city as he tried to find his way through the rush hour gridlock back to the Park Inn from the Holiday Inn. By the time they finally made it in the door, it was dark outside, and the place we were headed for was close to closing. At least the two of us had seen something of the city.

Travel 2018 – Day 1, Kiev Monday, 17th September 2018 - Day 1, Kiev Finding myself in Kiev for a 2-workshop and meeting session with the rest of the 12-strong team I am part of, the London contingent (two of us) were on the ground and in our hotel about 3 hours ahead of everyone else, so with the dispensation of our lovely manager, we didn't have anything to do until the others showed up.

[hillnerd]

Taking a Shallow Breath Ch 7

|Harry Potter | Fanfiction | PG-13 | in-progress | Ch: 3706 words

Ships: Rose/Scorpius, canon and others | FF.net

Romance friendship comedy family & drama | starts super silly- will get more serious as we go. 

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Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 

A person's front door can say a great deal about them.

Some people enjoy choosing grande hand-carved doors that have history, and speak of times of old. Scorpius tended to like people who chose such doors. It meant they appreciated artistry, quality, and could embrace the unique. They also had a flair for drama. Rose loved those kinds of doors.

Some people prefer the clean lines of an Edwardian door. These usually put more effort into the knobs, hinges, and door-knockers than the wood itself. They speak of someone who enjoys details, while being beyond the fuss of the overly grande, and relatively down to earth. Scorpius had such a door.

There were also doors filled with character but no artistry. Albus had such a door. It was beaten up from years of use, a faded orange color, and the number six hung down so that it looked like a nine. He had a shoddy matt out front with stripes, and though it was anything but put together, it had a certain charm about it.

And finally there was the red hunk of metal Brad had the audacity to call a door.

It bore no decoration- there wasn't even a welcome matt: just a cold steel handle, highly glossy red metal and a black peep hole. It spoke of someone slick like the varnish, cool like the metal, and flashy like that atrocious tomato red.

Scorpius hated that door.

What he hated even more was that he had been staring at it for one hour, nineteen minutes, and ten seconds.

"Rose! Open this door! This is getting ridiculous!" yelled Brad.

One hour, nineteen minutes, and fifteen seconds with the poncy owner himself.

"Calling her actions ridiculous will hardly entice her to leave," Scorpius drawled from the floor.

Brad tried another spell. The door glowed blue then turned garish red again.

"You've also tried that spell already," said Scorpius, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Rose's Charms are the best. Get a magical locksmith: I doubt drawing up contracts for overpaid Quidditch stars has improved your charms enough to worm your way in."

Scorpius was satisfied to see Brad's shoulders tense. Until Brad, Scorpius had never met someone he could not get a rise out of when he wanted to. He had never seen the man lose his cool, which made Al's theory that 'Bert' was not human slightly more plausible.

"It's a Sunday. Magical Locksmiths are like banks and private practice Healers- closing at the merest hint of a Holiday or weekend." Brad leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "Rose's Uncle is a cursebreaker... Perhaps I could get him to open the door."

"If you want the whole Weasley family to know your personal business with Rose, by all means do," said Scorpius. "I'm sure her father would be keen to know why his only daughter has barricaded herself."

Brad blanched.

"You know, this is probably the most I've ever heard you talk, Scorpius."

Scorpius stoically did not mention he despised Brad and generally made excuses to escape his company.

"I suppose I just don't see enough of you and Al, though I think Al orchestrates that. He seems to rather despise me. If it weren't for the fact that he and Rose were cousins ,I'd think he were jealous."

"He is very protective of Rose," Scorpius said with a schooled shrug.

"As are you."

Scorpius remained silent. He didn't like where Brad was probing with this conversation.

"You know, there is a closeness between you and Rose I quite envy at times..."

"Perhaps, if you weren't so busy negotiating with Melrose Fenwick, you could spend time with Rose," said Scorpius.

"We spend plenty of time together," Brad said with a raunchy smile that made Scorpius roll his eyes. "But I still envy your friendship. Sometimes I even worry she tells you things she would never tell me."

"I wouldn't know. I'm not privy to your private conversations, after all." Scorpius could not recall being more uncomfortable. He hoped this would bring an end to this intimate look into Brandon Bradley's perspective. He came from a family where you were taught to never reveal your weaknesses, or worries, for fear they would be exploited later. Being a Slytherin only further enforced this. Scorpius had very few people he trusted with his insecurities, secrets and dreams. Brad would never be one of them, and he had no idea why Brad felt the need to share such details with him.

"She's incredibly special, you know? I even wonder how I was lucky enough to catch her."

Scorpius had pondered that subject many a time.

"I don't pretend to understand your relationship, but your friendship means a great deal to her, so whatever it is you're holding against me, I hope we can move past it. I know she'd appreciate it if we got along," said Brad.

Scorpius resisted a gaffaw.

Either Brad was very shrewd, or he was a much more gracious person than Scorpius had thought him. He hoped it was the former, that way his continued hatred would feel even more just. Was he trying to weasel something of a confession out of Scorpius?

Or maybe he was hoping to use Scorpius as a way to quickly earn Rose's forgiveness.

Scorpius had never cared much for Brad. The man was much too keen to have everyone's approval, an attribute Scorpius disdained. What tolerance he had for Brad dipped when he took up with Rose three years prior- but following the proposal, Scorpius found it hard to recall one pleasant thing about him. If someone like Rose could manage to stand the bastard, he had to have at least one redeeming feature, and after thinking, Scorpius discovered it. He had clean fingernails. There! That was surely enough for karma's sake.

Looking at the shiny door, Scorpius could make out their reflections as they sat together. At first glance one might think the rivals friends.

What if they were friends? Wouldn't Rose appreciate it? Wouldn't Scorpius have more opportunities to sabotage Brad and leave him in a crying mess on the floor for others to mock?

Scorpius felt a bit ill. It was uncomfortable to come to terms with how deeply rooted and savage his feelings towards Brad had become.

The most ruthless part of him wanted to sabotage Brad in every way. He did not want to stop at just stealing Rose, but hurt Brad's reputation, and leave him gutted. He wanted revenge against the ponce for ever having taken Rose's time and attention.

He shook his head to rid himself of this dangerous territory of thought. He never considered himself spiteful- though he had been known as a bit harsh at times, he was nothing if not fair. He was not terribly fluent in underhanded dealings, only ever dabbling in them when necessary, for he had always regarded himself as above that. He was a pillar of virtue, compared to many of the Slytherins he knew.

Of course, being friendly with Brad could have other benefits, like research on how to get Rose to see all the faults in him Scorpius and Al did. He would finally end the hold Brad had on Rose's affections, and if Brad would suffer, so be it.

"Yes, she would appreciate us getting along," Scorpius finally conceded.

"I'm willing to try."

"And I'm willing... to look past your atrocious taste in architectural features."

Brad laughed.

"Yeah, it's not quite as classic as your tastes-"

"That's one way to put it," said Scorpius with a raised brow at the door.

"I suppose that's why you're the architect."

"I don't have any business cards with me, but feel free to floo my secretary. It needs an overhaul, if not for taste's sake, then for your neighbors'. I would have lodged a complaint years ago."

"You know, it's been over an hour," Brad said, deftly changing the subject. "Part of me is wondering if she's in there or not."

Scorpius turned his head to the side. A spark of thought burgeoned within him. Rose was not there at all... and he had a reasonably good idea of where to find her. The more he thought on it, the more he felt the need to leave immediately.

"Well, it seems there is nothing I can do to rectify this situation. I suppose I'm going to go home," he said, hoping Brad took no notice of his sudden inspiration. Brad didn't seem concerned, so Scorpius took his leave, doing his best to look unhurried. The moment the doors closed on the the elevator he apparated.

He was immediately in the familiar alleyway near Marylebone High Street. Of all the wizard inventions, how they had not managed to get better apparating points, he was unsure. The alley had the same long abandoned posters featuring bands he had never heard of, and long-forgotten flyers of past classes liberally lining its its brick walls. At one point people must have passed by this area quite often, but the foreclosed building at the end of the alley looked like it hadn't seen people in a decade. It was a shame, really, as it was built rather handsomely, and with a few spells and layers of paint, it would be a grande place for a business of some sort.

He walked fast as he could without gaining unwarranted attention, until coming to the dark blue doors of the museum.

"Malfoooy!" he heard a voice trill from inside. Vanessa, a plump genial woman called him from the desk. The bubbly woman had worked there ever since its opening, she told him some years ago. She seemed an odd fit for the quiet rooms of the small museum, especially as her trilling laugh would echo off the walls disturbing the guests. He fished in his pockets to pay her for admission. "Don't you try to pay us. You and Rose are in here often enough, it wouldn't be right to ask you to pay each time."

"Fine, but I swear I'll manage to pay you eventually," Scorpius said, re-pocketing a muggle bill. "Is Rose in her usual spot?"

"Oh yes! Same as usual," Vanessa said with a laugh. Scorpius gave her a nod of thanks, before making his way into the gallery. A few turns and flights of stairs, and he was able to see Rose's bright hair. She sat alone on her bench, firmly staring at the painting front of her. Her hand tried to sneakily remove a piece of chocolate from her purse. The purse crinkled in a way that made him suspect this was not her first piece of the day.

"I believe it's against the rules to bring in outside food or drink," said Scorpius, pointing to the sign above her head that said 'no outside food or drink.'

"It doesn't say anything about chocolate," she said pushing another chocolate into her mouth, and licking her fingers. She moved the purse, almost overflowing with wrappers, to the side. Whether she moved it to make room for him to sit, or to conceal how many chocolates she had eaten, he was not sure.

He silently sat on the proffered spot, though not without spelling away a pair of chocolate finger prints from the seat.

Rose continued to chew, a look of consternation wrinkling her brow. She had a bit of chocolate in the corner of her mouth.

"Here." He handed her a handkerchief. She wretched it from his hand and wrathfully swiped at her face.

"Are you all done depriving the greater Western Hemisphere of cocoa, or should I wait until we can roll you out the door?"

Rose scowled at him.

"You're not going to hex me into the wall like your fiance, are you?" he asked.

"I would never do that in a museum!" Rose replied, scandalized. "But once we're out of here, there are definitely no guarantees."

"Good to know. You should never warn your enemies, though," he replied, patting his wand.

"That's such a Slytherin thing to say!"

"And that's such a a Gryffindor response!" he mocked.

They sat in companionable silence, staring at Rose's favorite painting "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." Scorpius suspected she loved it because of the featured temptress who had hair every bit as red and wild as Rose's. Everything about it was like a person were in a mythical dream. The redheaded woman who held an otherworldly grace of temptation, the grande steed, the bright glow of the knight's armor; all of it created a picture one could get lost in. Rose attempted to get lost in it weekly, and sometimes more.

"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, alone and palely loitering?" Rose recited.

"Besides having to put up with your wild temper, and a bad case of asthma, I'm doing fairly well," Scorpius laughed.

"It's from the poem the painting is based on, dimwit," said Rose.

"I knew that and was being ironic, swot."

"Who wrote the poem it's based on, prat?" she challenged.

"Keats, gasbag. I do occasionally listen when you go into your long speeches about paintings."

"You're on my good side again, then. Plus, I didn't feel like being a human thesaurus any longer. Want to get going?"

Scorpius acquiesced and they left the museum, Rose leading the way. With them, a good teasing argument usually settled any disagreement. The cool air gave Rose a lovely flush under her spattering of freckles. They walked in silence before Scorpius suddenly asked the question:

"Was there a particular reason you were so miffed at me, earlier? With Al and Brad it was fairly obvious, but me..."

Rose stopped at a window display and feigned interest in the vases there.

"So, was there a reason, or were you just exercising your right as a redhead to have a perilously short temper?"

"I was just a bit mad at you for escalating the argument with Brad, really," she said coolly. "All your annoying asides didn't help an already difficult situation."

"Ah, and here I thought you were jealous of my orgy with Lily and Mags," said Scorpius, demeanor calm.

Rose made a face and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"You wouldn't do that," she stated firmly. Scorpius silently watched her reflection, eyebrow arched.

"Or at least Mags and Lily wouldn't do that. I'm still... unsure about your moral ambiguity."

"Hmm," he replied, seeing her flustered expression. "I must admit I can be very morally ambiguous. I suppose I'll just have to depend on you to rehabilitate me."

Scorpius then did something reckless. He was standing intimately close to her and took a curl from her forehead and pushed it to the side, his fingers grazing her pale brow. She seemed to hold her breath, but he could still smell the chocolate in it. Her blue eyes deepened, her delicate and inviting lips opened as her eyelids started to flutter shut. But suddenly Rose backed away with a great jerk and the spell was broken.

"Very funny, you dirty minded thing," she exclaimed, with an overdone laugh. "So! What were they doing in your apartment? Besides the 'orgy'— you can leave those details for someone who cares."

"They decided my wardrobe needed an update."

"I like your old clothes better."

"Lily sort of insisted—"

"Since when do you listen to anyone's advice on anything?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes. Rose always had an answer for everything, one of her traits that both annoyed and endeared her to him. In this case, though, she was chattering to keep him at bay.

"Well, perhaps this little experiment in fashion proves I am right in not listening to people's advice," he said. "But I do not want to argue about it anymore, Rose."

"Scorpius! Rose!" they heard from down the street.

They turned to see Lily bounding towards them. Scorpius supposed Al had told her about Rose's little street.

He was going to give a greeting when Lily pressed herself against him and kissed him. Had she been someone else, he imagined he would have greatly enjoyed such a kiss. It was far too long for propriety, and left him rather dazed as one of her hands snaked its way into his hair. After a few moments of her exploring his molars with her tongue she popped off of his face and gave him a sultry grin.

"Hullo, lover."

"Hi," he said with a great breath, trying not to pull a face.

"Hi..." Rose said in such a cantankerous way that Scorpius suddenly realized what had just transpired. Her expression looked somewhere between confusion, distaste and anger.

"So... What are you doing here?" Scorpius let out, his mind catching up to the situation as rapidly as it could. He would have to ask her to refrain from such kisses in the future as it muddled his brain.

"Brad Flooed me and told me what happened. We started looking in all the spots she might be, and I knew Rose comes here often enough. I'm not surprised you were the one to find her first. I definitely am going to give you another examination tonight."

Scorpius glanced between the two women, Lily giving him a rather convincing besotted look, and Rose giving an incredulous stare.

"Well," Scorpius swallowed, and calmed steadied himself before letting out the most stupid lie of his life.

"As you can see... Lily and I... We're involved."

"Involved," Rose repeated flatly.

"Wait a moment," Lily said before giving him a swat. "You haven't told her yet?"

"No," he said coming back to speed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Rose. It just sort of ... happened."

"A few months ago, actually," Lily added. Albus was right. Lily was an incredibly adept liar, and continued to play her role perfectly. "With all the wedding plans he didn't want to distract from you and Brad, but I thought he must have told you by now."

Rose shook her head.

"No... No he didn't tell me a thing."

"We ok?" Scorpius asked, trying to look her in the eye.

She hesitated, then gave them a smile, never looking him in the eye.

"It's fine," she said. "Really, it is. There isn't always a time to say those kinds of things the way you want to. I guess that explains your taking her fashion advice."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Lily said breezily. "On another note, Brad is worried– and we need to do some tests on Scorpius to see what he's allergic to. Why don't you go back to your apartment and then we can figure out your flower arrangement?"

"Why don't we meet at your place, then Floo him, Lily?" Rose supplied. "We could apparate there right now, in fact. You've been to her place before, right Scorpius?"

Scorpius dumbly nodded. He had never been to Lily's home. He didn't even know if it was in London. Lily gave him a panicked look.

"Are you sure you want to come directly with us? Don't you want some alone time with Brad?" Lily asked.

"It's ok," Rose said, looking between Scorpius and Lily. "You two don't want alone time do you?"

Scorpius and Lily exchanged awkward glances.

"No no! There will plenty of time for us to be alone again when you're on your honeymoon," Lily supplied quickly. "But, uh, why don't you go ahead, and we'll meet you there. I have something private to tell him."

Rose made one of her faces. "Right... Well, see you there in a minute, then."

As she walked away, Lily gave her a little wave. Her other hand snaked into Scorpius' back pocket and gave it a squeeze that made him jump from her.

They could distantly hear Rose's apparation.

"Oh, God! She's going to my apartment! Why did you say you had been to my apartment?"

"I couldn't very well say I hadn't been to my girlfriend's place, could I?"

"Yes! Yes you could have! You won't know where any of my shit is, which will be a dead giveaway! Rose isn't stupid, remember?" Lily spat, clearly aggravated. "Are you sure you're a Slytherin? Because you are pathetic at this whole 'plotting' thing."

"I'm sorry, it's a bit hard to concentrate when your tongue is exploring my esophagus and your hand keeps grabbing my bum. Overkill much?".

"Ok, so I was a bit demonstrative. I'll try to hold back from making her jealous," Lily growled. "God, this is awkward as fuck."

"I agree with your sentiment," Scorpius said, giving her a look of distaste.

Lily rolled her eyes. "I could never date anyone so stuck up."

"Next time warn me before you touch me with that filthy mouth of yours," he said, leading the way to the Apparition point.

"Don't make me get those bouquets from the wedding, Asthma Boy!"

"Perhaps we can stick more to witty banter instead of wagging tongues, if you think you can manage."

"Fine. No more unexpected wagging-tongues. She'll get so jealous that you're arguing with me, instead of her, she'll dump Brad immediately," she said dryly.

"Well, at least warn me a bit. It befuddles the mind," he said. "And I need it to stay sharp for all the 'plotting' I'm so pathetic at."

"Let's just Apparate," she said holding his arm a bit too firmly.

Scorpius felt a squeeze around his chest. He hoped it was just due to the side-along apparition, and not nerves at having begun a farce that meant continually lying to his best and oldest friend.

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[jettremy]

11 for cas!

( * seven minutes in heaven . )

                    ➥  (   11.  )  needy, hungry kiss.

            WHEN YOU LOSE EVERYTHING & all at once, it’s laborious & nearly impossible to escape a mindset so disturbing, jaundiced & detrimental. you morph into an ominous, dark thundercloud, spreading your electrifying negativity like a virus via air particles. those whom you haven’t pushed away yet, you’re poisoning with your blackened blood that’s being paradoxically pumped by the sheer N O T H I N G N E S S between your rotting lungs. you inject your venom into their pristine flesh with every graze of your lips & teeth against their body while hidden beneath thin sheets. all of your friends you’ve abandoned, determining that you’ve acquired a peculiar taste for the menacing touch of self-hatred, the strangling embrace of solitude & the deadly kiss of depression, a taste none of them would understand. you resort to numerous unfit lovers whom you throw away when they fail to make you feel ANYTHING, even if it’s repulsion. you’ve become erratically violent towards your own skin & bones, mutilating & scorching not only your own costume but the world around you as well   ——   seeing something consumed by flames is comforting & calming, makes you feel as if the destroyed object might sense a sliver of what your insides are going through constantly, or at least when they’re not numbed by the substances that will steal your life away prematurely. all of it jeremy has tasted on his tongue, felt on his skin. all it took was a single summer for him to lose two of the most substantial people of his life and for everything to turn to shit. so far, he’s been through three notable phases & all of them could be linked to a particular love interest of his.

CASSIUS HWANG   ——   the happiest version of jeremy. back then, everything was normal &, most importantly, easy & painless. he often dreams of the life he used to have & is desperate to experience it all over again.

RHEE TAEMIN   ——   the worst version of him, one that he wants to erase from his own memory. one that he’s ashamed of, one that he despises with every single cell of his lanky body. occasionally he’s tempted to fall back into his old ways, but, thankfully, he’s regained enough strength to pull himself up every single time & escape his old vices’ vicious claws.

KERRY HIMURA   ——   the newest version of the artistic male, one that’s yet to be fully explored because he’s stuck healing & finding himself all over again. it’s as if he’s walking on thin ice, deathly afraid of potentially relapsing to his second phase, when all he wants to do is be who he was while dating cas. he masks his true sensitivity with jokes, too busy teasing people to form DEEP, emotional connections with them.

            EXTREMELY INFREQUENT ARE THE INSTANCES when the four of them find themselves in the same room, when all of jeremy’s emotions and old selves come crashing together, his various identities colliding and threatening to D E M O L I S H anything and anyone, guilty or innocent, that’s in their way with an overwhelming, disastrous force. he’s on edge whilst appearing to be comfortable on cassius’ sofa, his feelings confusing the living fuck out of him as his wild eyes try to take in everything that’s going on around him. the only indicator that he might be feeling UNEASY is his left leg which is mercilessly bouncing, though, if you know jeremy, you know that’s one of his many, many annoying habits that he can’t seem to shake off. on days when it’s just too hard to breathe, jeremy skips out on these cutesy get-togethers and exchanges them for a night of spray painting and liquor abuse. however, today’s too special for him to ghost on his friends, both in an unexpected, unannounced manner & with a fake excuse. a long time ago, this date used to be one of the most I M P O R T A N T ones to him   ——   CAS’ BIRTHDAY. days before it, jeremy would prepare gifts for his then boyfriend, little drawings and paintings, he’d rehears playing his favourite songs on his old, beat-up & sticker-covered acoustic guitar, even when he wasn’t the biggest fan of said tunes. he’d treat him like a king on that day, perhaps only a smidge more than he normally would on any other   ——   he always made sure that cassius was feeling good and was treated properly. whilst recalling some of their joint memories that he holds very dear, like piercing cas’ nose and inking up his skin ( a sign of TRUST in jeremy’s eyes ), or having him lovingly hold remy’s hand when a piercer stuck a needle through his privates, his often red-rimmed, black oak bark orbs are tirelessly following the birthday boy who’s dressed up so nicely. even jeremy found it in him to put on a proper outfit for this occasion   ——   a dark rose gold silk dress shirt embellished with onyx embroidery on its collar & the very ends of its sleeves ( dae did make him laugh previously by saying it looked like a delicious, mouth-watering raspberry adorn with the sun’s breathtaking golden glow ) paired with tight charcoal jeans that beautifully show that he never skips leg day at the gym. they carry his characteristic edge & rebellion, since they’re tastefully ripped. when he talked to the blond, they might have told him that the fashion major of the group would surely find him attractive in this outfit, which might have caused him to smile secretly. his stomach was tied in knots at the thought of kerry’s reaction & impression of his garments which he assumed she’d keep to herself. chimlin did surprise him with her obnoxious ‘ OMG LEE, YOU CLEANED UP NICELY ’ which earned her a scoff from jeremy who stated that he had a good fashion sense, but that he preferred his cozy, oversized sweatshirts. though, surely everyone would argue that tight-fitted shirts like this one, which show off his lean waist & broad shoulders, suit him far better. 

            THEY’RE ALL SUPPOSED TO BE pregaming before going out to celebrate cassius’ birthday, but the architect has done his fair share of prepregaming all alone in his bedroom before kerry, bless her heart, came to notify him that it was time for them to leave & go to the mansion next door. though he was, at first, buzzing around the little brunette, complimenting her new hairdo & expressing that he could never in his life decide whether it fits her better than blonde locks or not, once he stepped into his ex’s house, it all stopped abruptly. the two men from his past aggressively dragged his thoughts & feelings away from kerry, mostly because seeing them in the same room always reminds him of how defeating it feels to hurt or be hurt by another person. he realises how badly he’d burn her if she came too close, how she’d get swallowed by his endless darkness if she peeked into his heart   ——   HE’D DESTROY HER. she doesn’t deserve that. thankfully, he’s not in the limelight tonight, resulting into no one noticing how mopey he’s become whilst sitting on this damned overpriced sofa and gulping some fancy-ass, well-aged whiskey. he’s not sure exactly whose idea was it to engage in many different drinking games, but he sure does pick up on chimlin trying to persuade them to play seven nights in heaven   ——   sure that childish bitch would propose that, a lover of all things dramatic & secretive. he witnesses her hand the empty whiskey bottle to the peach-haired man, encouraging him to give it a spin. it unsettles the tattoo artist who immediately recalls his ex-boyfriend crawling out of a closet with a blossoming bruise on his neck, made by no other than han yeseul. he’s well aware of the fact that he doesn’t get to be J E A L O U S, mostly because that night he got marked up by kerry and, yes, he fucking liked it, but it still made him feel uncomfortable, tightened his chest significantly. he knows that during these past three years cas must have dated, loved, screwed who knows how many people   ——   it’s something inevitable   ——   but the thought of him loving someone else shatters his whole being, mostly because he hasn’t been able to have true feelings for anyone ever since they parted ways. perhaps because he didn’t get proper closure.

            HE’S ITCHING FOR A CIGARETTE, a glorious death stick that would ease his nerves while the bottle’s spinning on the floor, making him queasy as he thinks about all the possible outcomes of this situation. he knows that cas doesn’t mind that he smokes, but this happens to be junhyuk’s house as well & he has no fucking clue how the writer feels about having one lit in his home. this is why jeremy ends up anxiously drumming his tattooed, slender fingers on his knees instead. he could deal with cas going into that stupid closet with dae, jaewon, jaesung, dylan and kerry. everyone else ? it’s a strong no from him, considering that yeseul, rin and chim could do who the fuck knows what with him, jun is obviously into him, and … having taemin & cas in a small closet together ? a war would happen and there’d be only ONE survivor   ——-   yes, he’s the one to blame for that as well. his lids shield his eyes from the bottle, protecting them from what’s about to happen & his head falls back   ——   he’s not even tipsy at this point which SHOULDN’T come as a surprise to anyone since he’s quite experienced in this domain, his body used to all sorts of opiates that it’s begun to welcome them as if they’re a normal part of his system. having tuned everyone out for a mere second as he braces himself for the worst, he suddenly senses a shove to his ribs   ——   he’s being elbowed by none other than daehyun for a reason still unknown to the older male. as soon as his chestnuts are revealed, they’re faced with the opening of the glass bottle, which is pointing at him, & numerous sets of eyes boring into him   ——   F U C K. act cool. act fucking cool. this ? this is the last thing he thought would happen. jeremy forces out an exasperated sigh and theatrically reacts as if he’s done with their childish bullshit when in reality his heart’s shaking in terror in its cavity, like a leaf repeatedly hit with light wind. he pushes himself up & off the elegant piece of furniture casually, his body moving unhurriedly, and refuses to allow anyone to see how solicitous he is about what’s in his and cassius’ near future.

           JEREMY’S MASK FALLS AS SOON AS the door closes behind him & he’s all alone with his former lover. his beaming smile lights up the darkness of the tight place they’ve been shoved in, his whole expression indicating that he’s nothing but amused & sated. he reminds himself not to lean back & hit the wood in order to prevent the others from being suspicious of what they’re doing.          ❛     oh me, oh my … all alone with the birthday boy ? me ? how did i get so lucky ?     ❜         it occurs to him that he has no idea what cas is feeling towards him at this point, or if he has any feelings left for him after all this time. hell, he has no clue what the fuck his own mutilated, bleeding heart wants. still, he takes a courageous step forward, carefully presses the older against the closet wall and snakes his arms around his neck. it feels delightful doing it to someone else for once. although his go to type are petite girls & boys alike ( exhibit a, KERRY   —–   exhibit b, TAEMIN ), he’s always loved his and cassius’ height difference, basked in feeling small for the first time in his life in the taller man’s arms, adored how he could feel like a protectee rather than a protector, even though cas is much softer & sweeter than jeremy is. it’s good not to get neck & back cramps from leaning down so much, even more amazing having to look up in order to see his handsome features.        ❛    this must be the best present you’ve gotten thus far, but the night is full of surprises, cassie.     ❜         a whisper taunts cas’ earlobe, along with a set of incisors that graze it dangerously. his desire leads him to the jawline he’s explored many, many times ( much like every other spot of the radio host’s body ), his naturally pouty lips planting kisses on their path to jeremy’s final goal. a pair of nostalgic, desperate hands caresses cas’ sides and then goes all the way down to POSSESSIVELY cup the curve of his back, squeezing hard enough to make their hips clash together, and perhaps earn a gasp.         ❛     do you still have that little tattoo i gave you down there ?     ❜         of course it couldn’t have disappeared on its own, like cas did from jeremy’s life, and the younger truly doubts cas would go through all that pain just to get it removed, but he needs to ask, his question making his smirking lips brush against the other’s   ——   he doesn’t cave in just yet, though, he waits for the answer to his teasing. in a pointless attempt to bring his F R I E N D closer, he rests one of his hand on the back of the taller’s neck, and with a hard grip on his thigh, brings his leg up and around his own waist, pressing cas into the wall. immediately after connecting their mouths for the first time after three years, jeremy has to pull back to catch a breath because the overwhelming, much needed contact sucked all the air out of him with its intensity. like a starved animal, he eyes the other’s parted, glossy lips ravenously, along with his somewhat hooded soul windows, & his irresistible expression pushes jeremy into a lip-lock that promises to provoke a spontaneous combustion. his blood vessels are boiling, body shaking as his tongue licks between cas’ precious pillowy softness, tugging on his bottom pinkness afterwards. using his exceptional upper body strength, he picks cas up for a few seconds, just enough for him to crouch and sit on the floor with cas on his lap because ... why exactly would he be standing if he can be comfortable on the ground while sharing needy kisses with the birthday boy ? jeremy slowly dials down on the desperateness, savouring the moment while he can. he pulls away, his hands going up to the other’s face. he brushes his knuckles against his cheek which leads him to gently cradling both of them and tracing cas’ adorable dimple with his thumb.         ❛     happy birthday, cas.     ❜         he whispers softly, pressing their lips  together in a fond, lingering peck. his eyes are shut, his brain going back to the texts they exchanged the other day, when cas asked him whether he was still in love with him. this, this very moment is when jeremy’s insides start PAINING HIM UNBEARABLY.