#i am sure someone has figured out the exact plait for this but i just followed a random victorian guide i found on google last minute

[aahsoka]

first attempt at trying to achieve pre-raphaelite-esque hair . not the best but its something

[esmecvllens]

Carlisle and Esme love language, I am rooting for this

this is a bit different than usually bc it’s in emmett’s pov, but I wanted to try something new. thank you for the request!

1936

Emmett stood in front of the big living room window, watching the world outside. It was a beautiful August, one of the hottest he could remember, and bright rays of the afternoon sun made the trees seem greener and the sky bluer. Outside, in the shadow of a willow tree, Esme was lying and reading a book. She had a short dress that's rolled up to her thighs, and her caramel hair fell onto her shoulders and neck. Someone - possibly Rosalie - plaited a few forget-me-nots into her hair. Emmett thought that she looked exceptionally pretty and petite, and he'd never before seen her like that.

Rosalie was nowhere to be found, probably working on her car in the garage or reading in her room, and Emmett felt a sting of disappointment in his chest. He'd been working up the courage to tell her how he felt about her for quite some time now, but there was never a good moment - with Rosalie, joyful days were outcounted by sad ones by lots. And whenever he wanted to confess to her, something stood in his way. But there would be time for that. He just had to be patient, and love her quietly in the meantime.

So in desperate attempts to stop thinking about Rosalie, Emmett had been spending a great amount of time observing his new family members. Not able to walk out of the house just yet, he had much time to do so, and there were so many tiny things to see. He noticed, for example, that Edward keeps his eyebrows frowned whenever he composes music. He observed that whenever Rosalie would feel sad, she'd work on the family cars - improving them, even though they didn't need it at all, and she liked to be alone. She would disappear for hours, and Emmett wanted to do something to ease her sorrow - anything, really - but he had no idea how to help. A bit starstruck by her intimidating presence and beautiful features, he wanted to let her know how much he cared about her, but couldn't gather the courage quite yet. He realized that he needed some help and insight on how to build a relationship with her, so he started seeking for an example within the healthiest couple he knew - his newfound parental figures. Having paid closer attention to them, he noticed how they were basically inseparable.

He noted that when Carlisle comes home from work, the first thing he does is welcoming Esme with a kiss. At first, Emmett thought it's a bit dumb - why repeat the exact same thing every day? But then, one time, he witnessed Esme running to the doorstep as she heard Carlisle's car on the driveway, and the sheer love and excitement in her eyes made him realize that maybe it's not stupid at all. Every day, they were both so happy to see each other as if they'd been separated for weeks, and Emmett thought that he wants Rosalie to react to him that way, too.

He also noted how they always keep close to each other. Carlisle usually kept one hand around her waist when they walked somewhere or had his hand on her knee when they sat together. His fingers would always find a way to touch her skin. Esme reached for his hand to hold all the time, and the looks they shared were sometimes so intimate Emmett had to turn his sight away. With not many words at all, it was obvious how much they loved each other. They made Emmett realize how important those simple gestures were, and he started doing so with Rosalie - nervous at first, he reached his hand out for her to catch as they were hunting, and she took it. If Emmett had a heart, it would have been racing quickly. He wanted them to have what Esme and Carlisle had one day, when Rosalie would be ready.

Outside, just as Emmett was thinking about him, Carlisle joined his wife under the willow tree, and Esme smiled at him so widely, Emmett wished to make Rosalie grin like that. They exchanged a few words, but Emmett started humming, trying not to hear them. He really wanted to give them the intimacy they deserved, especially after the latest incident in Carlisle's office. It taught Emmett to always, always knock before walking into Carlisle's study, and he learned it the hard way.

Carlisle laid beside Esme on his back, so close to her she began brushing her calf against his. He reached his hand out and started playing with her hair, wrapping her golden locks around his fingers. Esme tried to keep reading, but Emmett heard how she called him a terrible distraction, and they both laughed.

"I'm going to pretend that you watching them is not weird at all," Edward's voice suddenly rang out and he stood beside Emmett with his arms crossed on his chest. "Creep."

"I wasn't watching them," Emmett replied defensively, making Edward raise his eyebrows. "I was... thinking. About something."

"I know, I heard."

Emmett sighed - he kept forgetting that his thoughts weren't necessarily private anymore. His eyes flittered over at Esme and Carlisle again, but now Esme laid with her head on his chest and they talked quietly about something he'd rather not hear, anyway.

"Are they always like that?" Emmett asked his new brother, and Edward shrugged.

"I guess? Define what you mean by like that."

"They're always so... close," Emmett took his eyes off them and focused on Edward again. "Sometimes I get the impression that it's physically impossible for Carlisle to not be touching her somehow."

"Then yes, they're always like that."

"And how long have they been married?" Emmett asked casually, but really, he was wondering if that honeymoon phase would ever pass. He wasn't sure why he pretended, though. Edward had an unwanted insight into his brain, anyway.

"I don't think it will, not for them," Edward replied with his hands tied on his back, answering to his thoughts. "This December they will have been married for fifteen years, and not much has changed. Honestly, they were such a pain in the beginning. Listening to their thoughts was a never-ending doom."

"Why?" It felt odd to hear this about Esme and Carlisle - in Emmett's mind, they were always together. He couldn't even imagine them being uncomfortable with each other. He'd grown to the idea that they always keep close, and it felt odd to imagine them in the phase he and Rosalie were, but he felt like smiling. Maybe, one day, they would be as close and comfortable with each other as Carlisle was with Esme.

"They were both sure the other one doesn't reciprocate their feelings," Edward rolled his eyes. "It was a whole situation back then. And now they're like this. I guess it's because Carlisle isn't the best with words, so he prefers to show her."

After everything Rosalie had lost, Emmett wanted desperately to give her the kind of happy, long life that Carlisle had given Esme. He yearned to have it with her, because he knew that their future could be just as bright as their parents’. And maybe one day they would develop their own love language, special and reserved only for them. Emmett couldn't wait for that as he watched Carlisle and Esme laughing under the shadow of the weeping willow tree.

other fics / have a request?

[yusuke-of-valla]

hi, are you accepting writing prompts? would you make numbers 1,3,4 and 10? i love the way you write ♥ ... and can be Bankita? please ;w;)

Thank you! And I finished this just in time since @ren-amamiyaa is back! 

TW for canon-typical violence, Spoiler Warning for P4. No spoilers for PQ2 or PQ1, I just think it helps to have at least played PQ1. 

And finally: I’m sorry for my French.

Prompts:

”You always smile like you’re about to cry

”You hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that”

”I’m going to protect you”

”Wait. Don’t pull away… not yet”

Minato slowly picks himself off the cobblestone road. Tartarus seems to have given way to open cityscape. The early morning fog means he can't see too far beyond his own general vicinity.

"Fuuka?" He calls. There's a sinking feeling in his gut the longer he waits for a reply. "Aigis? Yukari? Junpei?"

Minato sighs. "Great," he mutters. He knows next to nothing about where he is or what actually happened, so the best option is probably to just pick a direction and start walking.

There's a restaurant nearby that looks closed, but there's a menu lying on the table. Minato digs around in his pocket and pulls out a pen, making a note of where he's been. It doesn't take him long to realize that wherever this place is, it certainly isn't built like a normal city. Cities aren't littered with winding roads and dead ends like this place is.

They also aren't this empty. At first, Minato chocks it up to it being early, but the sun doesn't seem to be getting any higher. Nothing's progressing here.

Eventually, the monotony is broken up by someone rushing past him, quickly pursued by a group of what looks like police, and Minato follows them.

The girl is cornered by the police when she runs down an alley. Minato arrives just in time to see the policemen warp into shadows and attack the girl.

Minato wastes no time calling Orpheus to reduce them to ash, though it's a bit of a closer call than he'd like. He really needs to find his friends.

Minato turns to the girl. She's pretty short, and has long blonde hair that's decorated with white flower clips. "Are you alright?" Minato asks.

The girl sorts out her light blue cardigan and the yellow ruffles of her shirt, while replying in French.

Damn it, he should've paid more attention to Mitsuru.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Minato says. The girl repeats herself, then frowning when it becomes obvious Minato is completely lost.

She grabs his hand, looking very intently at his palm.

"Um, what are you-"

She ignores him and heads to the mouth of the alley, checking to make sure the coast is clear. After a minute, she motions for Minato to follow her, even grabbing his arm to make sure he keeps up.

"Where are we going?" Minato whispers. The girl continues talking in French, and guessing from her tone, Minato assumes she's pointing out that he wouldn't understand any explanation she could give him.

"Fine, at least tell me your name?"

The girl smiles. "Je m'appelle Rei."

*

Yu breathes heavily as he defeats the last of the shadows. His companion doesn't give him a moment to rest, charging forward.

"Wait!" Yu pants. "Zen, wait!"

"Hurry up. You're wasting time." Zen snaps.

Yu wants to laugh. Wasting time, doesn't he know it? He's in some sort of shadow-infested Paris, when he should be in the TV World.

The fog is going to come in soon…

Yu shakes his head to clear out his thoughts. Now's not the time. He has to focus on the task at hand, which is finding the rest of the Investigation Team. Hopefully helping Zen with the person he's looking for will help with that- or keep Yu distracted enough from the fact that he has no clue how he got here or where his friends are, no way of contacting them, and the fog is going to come in s-

Nope. Nopenopenope.

Yu steels himself. He's no use if he's panicking.

"How much further is this meeting spot?" Yu asks.

Zen pulls a silver pocket watch out of his jeans and glances at it quickly.

"It's not that far, and almost time. If we make a break for it-"

"And get the attention of more shadows?" Yu says. "Zen, I can't keep fighting these things on my own. I'm sure Rei cares more that you're in one piece than that you're on time."

Zen doesn't object, but he doesn't look happy about it either. He stares at the clock tattoo on the palm of his hand.

"Fine." He mutters.

Yu relaxes a bit.

They take the long way to the meeting spot, midmorning sun beaming down on them. They pass countless posters proclaiming Paris the "City of Love" and encouraging people to "Embrace their love." Yu hears the same snippets of conversation on repeat as they pass crowds on the way to work, almost like a scratched record.

"I love you so much, honey."

"They're perfect for each other."

"I'm so glad that relationships are so easy."

The whole thing leaves a bad taste in Yu's mouth, but he can't exactly put why into words.

They also pass the occasional policeman looking for "loveless outlaws," which Yu takes to mean himself and Zen.

To add a final cherry of weirdness to the top of a cake that's already pretty damn weird, "soulmates" are brought up more than once.

Yu doesn't know what to make of it all.

They arrive at the meeting spot, near a set of stairs someplace relatively free of shadows. Zen checks his pocket watch again. "We're early," he mutters, more to himself than Yu. "She'll be here."

"So why do you have to be so secretive?" Yu asks.

Zen doesn't reply. He just paces back and forth in front of the stairs, absorbed in his own world.

Yu starts folding the map he'd been drawing on an old receipt he'd found on the street into a crane to keep his mind from wandering too much when two figures come down the stairs.

"Zen!"

"Rei!"

The two embrace, but Yu's eye is drawn to the person who came with Rei. It's a boy in a Gekkoughan uniform and headphones.

"Rei, who's this?" Zen asks, echoing Yu's own thoughts.

"He can fight the police, Zen!" Rei says excitedly. "He helped me get here!"

"Hi. I don't speak French, so I can't actually understand what you're saying, but I'm Minato Arisato."

"She said you helped her get here." Yu explains. "Are you a Persona user by any chance?"

Minato's unobscured eye widens. "Oh thank god, someone I can understand. Yeah, I'm a Persona user. Did you lose your friends too?"

Yu nods. "It seems we're in the same boat then. Any clue what's going on?"

"All I know is I was in Tartarus one second, then everything started going crazy, and now I'm here."

"Tartarus?"

"Yeah, you know. Giant tower that appears during the Dark Hour, full of shadows?"

"Dark Hour? Sorry, I don't know what exactly you're talking about." Yu says. "But, the place where we go to fight shadows started acting weird too, before it spit me out here."

"This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder." Minato sighs.

"Then I guess we should probably try and stick with Zen and Rei. I've got a feeling we can trust them."

"Yeah, me too. But neither of them fight, right?" Minato smiles and sticks out his hand. "So looks like for now, we're partners."

"Agreed," Yu says, taking his hand. "My name is Yu Narukami."

*

"Your French is pretty good." Minato says after a battle. Shadows had jumped them at the stairs, so Zen wants to go somewhere more covered to explain. Time isn't passing normally here either, but at least now it's perpetually 8 AM instead of the crack of dawn.

"Thanks. My parents travel around a lot for work, and I picked up a few languages along the way." Yu says. "So, what do your parents do?"

"They're dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Minato shrugs. "It's fine. Some people have 'em, some people don't. It's just how life goes. Do your parents know about your shadow-related extracurriculars?"

Yu bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, no. They're abroad doing business. I haven't heard from them all year."

"So the relationship there isn't great?"

"It's... strictly professional." Yu says after a minute.

"Oh."

"Nous arrivons!" Rei announces.

She and Zen gesture to a café, L'Horloge. There's an entrance in the alley next to it that they slip into.

"Finally." Minato all but collapses into a chair once they get inside.

"What I wouldn't give for some of the shrine fox's leaves." Yu says as he comes to sit down next to him.

"Is that a new way of saying weed?"

"No there's a literal fox that lives at a shrine who we take to the TV World and sells us these weird leaves" Yu explains.

"You buy weed from a fox?"

"It's not weed," Yu sounds annoyed, but he's smiling. "It just restores our energy so we can fight shadows longer."

Minato laughs. "I'm just messing with you. Think your fox is with your friends?"

Yu frowns. "No, I couldn't find her before we left so we went in without her. We don't have time to waste. The longer we take..." Yu trails off.

Zen says something quickly in French that rouses Yu from his thoughts.

"D'accord, desoleé." Yu says, then turns to Minato. "They're going to explain things now."

Minato nods, so Zen and Rei start explaining as Yu translates.

"This is a world where everyone is born with a mark on their palm." Zen says. He and Rei each hold out a hand, showing a clock face and a rabbit, respectively. "Each mark has one exact match, and that's the person you're destined to fall in love with and marry. But as you can see, ours don't match, which means we're not allowed to be together. I'm supposed to fall in love with a girl named Rhea- who I do love, but like a sister."

Rei slips her hands into Zen's. "The person who shared my mark, her name was Yuki. We were best friends at the hospital where we grew up, until she died. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, I'm not supposed to fall in love with anyone else. I'm supposed to die, alone."

"Is there anything we can do?" Minato asks. Yu translates the question with the same concern on his face.

Zen and Rei both say something at the same time.

"Uh... repetez, si vous-plait?" Yu asks.

Zen says something, and Rei looks at him angrily.

"What are they arguing about?" Minato whispers.

"Rei just wants to leave the city, while Zen wants to show us to the mayor."

"Why?"

"Apparently since we don't have soulmates, we can prove that the system is fallible. This mayor guy they keep talking about apparently just wants what's best for people, and thinks strictly enforcing soulmate pairs is the best way to spread peace and love. If he sees people without the soulmate marks, he'll realize those aren't the sole definers of happiness."

Minato crosses his arms. "I can see both sides, I guess. Is there any guarantee the thing with the mayor would work?"

"Doesn't seem like it." Yu says. "Still, I'm inclined to agree with Zen, if only because it might give us a chance to find our friends sooner."

"But it wouldn't be that inconvenient to help them get outside the city then find them. At least they'd be safe and we'd be able to move around more easily."

"Yeah, you've got a point." Yu sighs. "Either way, that's a lot of shadows we're going to have to fight our way through."

"Scared?" Minato says. "Tell you what, if we run into anything too big, I'll protect you."

Yu stares at him, then Minato bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. That was so cheesy-"

"I liked it." Yu says softly.

"Really?"

Before Minato can really process that, there’s a bang at the door.

“Odds they just want to use the bathroom?” Minato asks.

“I’ve certainly never been that lucky.”

Zen moves in front of Rei while Yu and Minato prepare to fight. Sure enough the shadows break the door down.

He and Yu manage to fend them off, but then Minato's evoker gets knocked out of his hand. He sees the shadow ready for a second attack and braces for impact.

The hit never comes, however, and Minato opens his eyes to see Yu standing in front of him.

Yu collapses to the ground.

Minato grabs his evoker and rushes over to him. "Yu! Yu are you alright?"

"Y-yeah, I'm-" Yu winces.

Minato casts fire at the shadows, and puts a wall of flames between them. Minato kneels down in front of Yu and pulls him into his lap.

Yu's got a nasty gash on his head, and there seems to be a slightly purple tinge to his skin.

"Shit, you've been poisoned." Minato mutters.

"S-sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that." Minato grabs a cloth napkin from a nearby bin and presses it to Yu's forehead. "Zen, Rei, you guys run."

They don't move.

"Guys, run! We'll be fine." Minato snaps.

Zen seeks to get it and grabs Rei's hand. They disappear into the smoke, just as more shadows break through.

*

Yu feels like he's been stuffed inside of Teddie's costume, rolled down a bumpy hill, and landed in a pile of weapons.

He opens his eyes slowly, and zeroes in on the man making a speech at a podium. Everything seems to freeze in place once Yu recognizes him.

"Namatame," he mutters. Yu pushes himself onto his knees. "Namatame!" he shouts. "Where's Nanako?"

The man looks annoyed to have his speech interrupted. "Who?"

Yu's nails bite into his palm as he crushes his card to summon Izanagi and forces himself to stand up.

"Yu!" Minato calls.

Yu finally registers that there are people here aside from Namatame. He has Izanagi attack the guards surrounding Minato, who in turn summons Orpheus.

With Minato accounted for, Yu turns back to Namatame.

"Now, where is Nanako?" Yu asks as he stalks over to the "mayor"

"I d-don't know who that is!" Namatame whimpers. He keeps repeating himself, and Yu is a second away from breaking the guys nose when he realizes that Namatame isn't lying.

"What the hell?" Yu mutters. The anger that was fueling him dissipates, and Yu stumbles backwards. What the hell is going on here?

"Yu, let's go!" Minato shouts.

Yu follows him in a daze and doesn't even pay attention to where they're going, until he all but crumples onto the street.

"'M sorry," Yu mutters, "I-

"Did not have the energy for that? I can tell."

Minato helps Yu sit up against the wall of a building. “Ok so what’s your deal with that guy?”

“My friends and I are trying to catch a serial killer.” Yu explains. “They kidnap their victims and throw them into the TV World, where the victim will be killed by their own shadow if we don’t rescue them in time.”

“And Namatame is that killer?”

Yu nods. “We managed to pinpoint him as the kidnapper and he… he ran into the TV World with my cousin.”

“So that’s Nanako?”

“Yeah. I only met her this year when I came to Inaba, but she’s become like my little sister. If I let anything happen to her-”

“This isn’t your TV world.” Minato says. “You said so yourself, and besides how would I have gotten here? So whoever that is, he’s not the Namatame you know, and Nanako isn’t here either.”

“I know. I know, I snapped when I shouldn’t have. If the others saw me like that-”

Minato sits down next to him. “Hey, you’re their leader, right? I’m sure they understand you’re under a lot of stress.”

Yu smiles “Yeah.”

Minato doesn’t return the gesture.

“You know.” he says, “you have this thing you do sometimes where you smile like your about to cry.”

Yu’s shoulders slouch. “It’s just I act as their leader, but I’m sure I’d be nothing without them. My friends faced their Shadows, and came out stronger for it, but I never met mine. To make up for that, though I’ve had my friends to help me mature. It’s my companions that I draw strength form in all this, and now I don’t know where they are or if they’re alright.”

“Well, I’m here. You can lean on me too.”

Yu doesn’t say anything, just leans his head against Minato’s shoulder.

Eventually, Minato hears a soft snoring. He moves to get up and leave Yu alone, but a hand grabs his sleeve.

“Wait.” Yu murmurs, “Don’t move away, not yet.”

[princepestilence]

2017′s “worth it” things.

I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but I do believe that we can learn a lesson from anything. We can give a meaning and a purpose to anything that happens to us, which means even difficult or terrible things might become a catalyst for great and important growth. There’s a saying that god--or whoever we’re blaming for all this--never gives us more than we can handle, but what I believe is that, throughout our lives, we will be faced with moments that again and again will ask too much of us and we have no choice but to rise to the challenge, despite how impossible and insurmountable it might feel. We handle it because that is the only option, and perhaps that proves god right, after all.

Ruminating on this philosophy has been part of my process for making 2017 bearable in the moments where it felt like it was really a bit much, and for a year that was unexpectedly, and at times frighteningly, more difficult than I had anticipated, I think it was necessary for me to have a slightly fatalistic bend to getting through it. What is is what must be. Looking back, I can appreciate that the steep climb of this year was taking me to a better view of myself and life in general. Just as in any decent garden, I can see now how the green and growing things I’m here to cultivate benefit from all the old bodies in the dirt. 

Here’s some things that made this year meaningful for me: 

I’m very proud of my academic successes throughout 2017, partly because there have been so many of them and partly because I wouldn’t have been able to actually imagine any of them even two years ago. I went from awkward, anxious first-year PhD candidate to HDR rep., organiser of several events (HDR symposium, conference, book club), became a tutor for the first time (and got nice feedback from my students), gave my first guest lecture, got work as a research assistant (for someone who isn’t even my supervisor! I was selected because I am, humbly, very good), gave my first conference paper, went to a conference--two, actually--as an academic for the first time and had the most excellent time at both of them, met several important-in-the-field academics and got on with them pretty well, found my people! (started networking for serious--i.e., made a whole heap of new nerd friends), discovered possibilities for my future career as well as got a lot of positive support re: trying for an academic career, became reinvigorated about my research and my thesis and remembered the whole point of this process is to create something that I love and am proud of. I feel more capable than ever. 

I bombed the 3MT this year. That was the worst thing that could happen at the time, but frankly, it’s only made me want to do better next year. I’m good at this and I want to be known for being good at it. I am fully capable of winning, if only I can get my nerves in check. Next year when I go for it, I’m going to be ready. I’m going to look back on this year’s failure as the last time it happened to me, before I became the (exceedingly good) version of me I will be by next year and all years after. 

I played Bastion for the first time (finally!) and absolutely adored it. It’s lighted in me a fire that reminds me that I actually do like to have fun and I deserve to seek out things--games, books, movies, whatever--that bring me delight and experience pleasure for the sake of pleasure, without having to have some justification behind it or bigger picture purpose for enjoying life. 

I made up with a friend I care about very much. I was devastated when I thought it was over, especially since nearly all of my favourite memories of the previous year were with this friend (and our other mutual friend). Figuring out it was all an enormous misunderstanding was the hugest relief. Acting like little kids and saying, “Do you still want to be my friend?” to each other and hearing yes was even better. This year had been lonely without her. 

near the beginning of this year, I shared recordings for the first time ever on this blog, which was a really big deal for me at the time. I’ve always been self-conscious of how I sound, which really clashes with my life-long dream (started when I was about five) of doing audiobook recordings or poetry readings or any kind of audio medium work. I’ve gotten more confident since then--confident enough to seriously work on a new project idea that was suggested by a friend/producer a couple of months back. (I’m not saying it’s a podcast, but. It’s a podcast. I’m very excited about the prospect).

I discovered a lot about myself this year. Most of it, unexpectedly. Much of it, difficult to work through and a struggle to accept. I thought I’d gotten through the worst of it all and was already on the other side, with only blue skies ahead; instead, I found out that, often, when you’ve been through a lot and years ago put all the pain aside to deal with later, the later comes when you finally reach a certain state of stability, safety, and happiness, regardless of whether you want it to happen then or not. You can’t delay it indefinitely, it turns out. It was confusing and upsetting to begin with, while I tried to understand why being happier than ever caused every hateful, hurtful demon to rise up, writhing, out of the past and into my everyday life. It seemed counter-intuitive and deeply unfair that the reason for crashing so spectacularly, repeatedly, was the absence of truly terrible things. There’s a lot more that could be said about this part of my year, which in many ways feels like the biggest and most central theme of it and the underlying purpose of 2017′s narrative arc, but the reason it’s here as a good thing is that I am so much better for having gone through it. I have never been healthier: I had some of the most meaningful, necessary conversations with my therapist ever (probably the most, actually); I finally gathered all the bits of the puzzle I’ve needed to put myself back together again, better; I am more willing than ever to actually look at, to acknowledge, to speak about how I feel, what I’ve lived through, what I’m dealing with; and I’ve learned how to reverse a curse rather than keep hexing myself on someone else’s behalf. This year has been like pouring cold water on a burn. 

at the beginning of this year, I made a resolution to use the nice things I have, and get nice things for myself when I want them. My exact words were, “If using things will ruin them, they deserve to be ruined by you. That’s an honour. They’re lucky. Love yourself the most.” This has been my favourite resolution of the year, I think. Because of it, I’ve lit candles around my bath, and worn my favourite belt, and written in lovely journals, and drank from teacups I was once too precious to risk using for anything less than the most grand of occasions (which almost never happened). It’s becoming a way of life now. 

got my heart broken for the first time. I know that’s probably an odd thing to put on the highlights reel of my year, but. In one way, it’s nice to be participating in my own life in such a normal, banal, real sense: it feels like a rite of passage that somehow I missed earlier. It feels mortal, something I can share with nearly every other person who has ever lived or will ever live. (Now I know I have a heart, says the tin woodsman, because it’s breaking). From a distance, watching myself, I even kind of like it? It’s a new experience, which comes with its own sort of thrill. I’ll write a better heartbreak story from here on for having known this. In another sense, it’s been freeing, because before was without doubt worse for me, and I know it’s for the best that things change. Something else can happen now. I’m hoping someone who can return my feelings will walk into my life eventually. Soon would be nice, of course, but I can wait. It might take a few more heartbreaks between now and then, but that’s okay. This first one was good practice for the future. (I can’t think of anyone I’d have rather been heartbroken over. Thank you). 

a slam poet called Bill Moran changed my future. That is to say: I saw him perform and it was a revelation. He turned my life into before and after, where before I was hungry and lonely and after I had found the missing piece I’d been looking for but couldn’t name or describe. The slam has become something of a religion for me since then; being in the room while poets tell their stories is the closest thing I’ve ever experienced to something genuinely holy. I’ve never felt more okay than when someone is onstage, furious and miserable and spitting bits of hurt onto the audience in these beautiful, pithy verses and everyone is clicking, clicking, clicking. (I spoke to Bill Moran, right before he left. We hugged. I think meeting was meaningful for both of us).

started growing my hair out. I’ve sort of dreamed about doing it for years, but could never commit. I want to be able to wear it in a plait one day, although I’m not sure why that’s my goal. I’ve just always had this longing. 

[elrondsscribe]

The Seventh Avenger: Chapter 3

All rights belong to the Tolkien Estate and to Marvel Studios.

Additional disclaimer: Obviously I know about nothing about real swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. And I can't quite make out from the descriptions I've read exactly what was the color scheme of Glorfindel's Gondolin armor. The fight with the Balrog as recorded in BoLT seems to indicate that Glorfindel did not have a shield, so I've made the sword a two-handed longsword.

The central command center of the Helicarrier was bustling with activity. The floor was lined with rows of computer stations, with an agent seated before each screen and a supervisor hovering here and there. More agents were hurrying in and out, and each of the two entrances was guarded by two heavily armed men in black.

On a raised round dais in the middle of the room stood Director Fury, surrounded by an array of screens and controls of his own.

"All engines operating," barked a surprisingly young woman (she couldn't have been more than thirty) on the tall side of average height with securely drawn up chestnut hair and an earpiece attached to the right side of her head. "SHIELD emergency protocol nine-one-three-point-six in effect. We're level, sir." The last words were addressed to Fury.

"Good," said the Director. "Let's vanish!"

Vanish? Glorfindel wondered.

But when the woman turned and shouted "Engage retro reflection panels!" he understood. This must be new technology for keeping out of sight.

Then Fury stepped off the dais and approached the large round table where Glorfindel was sitting with Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner (the latter still hanging around Glorfindel and obviously uncomfortable). "Gentlemen," he greeted them.

Steve got up and silently slipped Fury a ten dollar bill on his way past him. The smug smirk on Fury's face as he took it told Glorfindel that he'd won some kind of bet with the Captain.

"You good?" he then asked Glorfindel.

"I could use some coffee, but otherwise I'm fine," said the Elf. "Still waiting to try on this amazing uniform you were telling me about."

Fury turned his head. "Hill?" he called.

The woman with the earpiece who had been giving orders earlier came up to the table, and Glorfindel saw that her name tag read 'Deputy Director Maria Hill'. "Right this way," she said, and he got up followed her out of the central room. As they left he heard Fury say, "Doctor. Thank you for coming," and Bruce reply, "Thanks for asking nicely. So, uh, how long am I staying here?"

"He seems nervous," he commented.

"If he can find the Cube soon, he has nothing to worry about," said the Deputy Director.

"If all you're after is the Cube, what exactly am I doing here?" asked Glorfindel.

Hill threw him a look. "You are here because we believe you're best suited to cross Loki off if need be."

"Indeed." Glorfindel nodded. "Then why do I get the distinct impression that you're the only person I've met on this Helicarrier so far who wishes I wasn't here?"

Hill pulled up mid-stride, obviously startled. Then she resumed walking at a speed which Glorfindel knew (but she possibly did not) was just slightly faster than before. "That's not so," she said defensively.

"No?" asked Glorfindel. "My mistake. You're merely uneasy."

She threw him another look. "All of you together - the Avengers - are an unknown variable," she said. "And unknown variables are rarely advantageous." She had by this point led Glorfindel up to a glass compartment built into the wall of the level below the central room. "Here's what we've got," she added. "Try it on and see what you think."

Glorfindel gazed critically at his reflection. The chain mail he was wearing was relatively light and flexible, and the green surcoat over it bore a nearly exact replica of his old device, the eight-rayed sun.

In his hands was a longsword such as he had wielded long ago, such as he had wielded in the Battles of Beleriand, the fall of Gondolin, and the wars against Sauron. He inspected the sword, and some pattern on the blade caught his eye. He looked more closely, and saw that there were lines of Quenya and Sindarin words etched in Tengwar into the steel.

Laurefindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Ondolinde

Glorfindel, Master of Arms in the House of Imladris

There was only one maker who could have etched such perfect Tengwar in such fine lines.

"These all came from Aiglos Creations, didn't it, or is that classified?" he asked of the Deputy Director.

To her credit, Hill refused to take the bait. "Technically, yes, it's classified," she said. "But I might have accidentally broken protocol when I made the commission, and AC sends their regards."

There was just the barest hint of a smirk in her voice, and Glorfindel arched a brow. "Oh, did they say that?"

"Well, the boss's actual words were 'tell that straw-headed mutt he can tell me if he wants any adjustments made to the mail or the blade.'" Hill's tone and inflection did not change. "Same difference."

"Son of a gun! That's about what I thought," Glorfindel chuckled, thinking of how Egalmoth had so strategically capitalized on the new Lord of the Rings craze. "Well, the device looks perfect, and I can move about pretty well in the mail. And as for this -" he slung the sword into its sheath at his hip. "I'll need a bit of practice with it, but it should be all right."

"Good," said Hill. "I've got to get back to the central command room." And she turned and left.

Glorfindel unbuckled his belt and struggled out of the hauberk. He set both against the far wall, walked into the middle of the room, and went through his routine morning stretches, twice. Then he retrieved the sword, and took about an hour to re-familiarize himself with it.

"Looks like you could use someone to spar with," said a voice.

I'm getting soft in my old age, was Glorfindel's first thought, for he had entirely missed the Man's approach. Steve Rogers was leaning against the wide entrance of the exercise room, looking much more appropriately respectful.

"Looks like you could use something to do," panted the Elf, prying his loose plait from his neck (he still hadn't put in his warrior braids). "Or an excuse to escape all the prying eyes. Or both."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "They weren't kidding about how observant you are," he said, coming in. "Unless you just read my mind or something."

"I've been around you humans for about sixteen thousand years," said Glorfindel, still catching his breath. "I don't have to read your mind to make a good guess as to what's probably going through it."

Annoyance with himself (probably at having ignored something so obvious) flickered in Rogers' eyes. "Makes sense. So this is your uniform?" He gestured generally to Glorfindel's outfit as he began unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

Glorfindel nodded as he put his sword back into its sheath and leaned it against the wall again. "For now, at any rate." He came back to the middle of the room to meet Steve. "Now come, I want to see for myself how strong you are."

Steve proved much stronger and faster than Glorfindel had expected - in fact was actually stronger than Glorfindel himself, though not quite as fast. The Elf's great height also proved to be something of a disadvantage at such close quarters, for he was always having to stoop somewhat to reach Steve. The Man figured this out very quickly, and got into the habit of throwing his weight to try (often successfully) to pin Glorfindel to the floor or his arms to his sides or his legs under him.

"Ai!" cried an exasperated Glorfindel at length, going limp in Steve's grasp. "All right, I've had enough."

"Already?" Steve mocked, but the effect was rather spoiled by the his sweat-soaked hair and undershirt, not to mention his puffing like a steam engine.

"Let me up, you smug bastard," groaned the Elf, his pride smarting from having been essentially tackled repeatedly by a mortal Man. "Eru, this is embarrassing."

Steve looked like he was on the verge of a smart retort, but as he moved to get up he grimaced in pain. "Ow, damn it!" he hissed. "Knew I shoulda stretched." He pulled himself to his feet, grabbed Glorfindel by the hand, and hauled him up. "Good deal?" he asked, heartily clapping Glorfindel's shoulder.

"Sure, sure," huffed Glorfindel, resisting the urge to reach back and rub his shoulder. I can't believe a Mortal just beat the living daylights out of me.

Well at least I beat the daylights out of him too.

And of course Steve would choose that moment to ask, "So when exactly did I meet you before?"

"At a screening of Captain America and the Siege of Anhalt-Cothen, back in 1943 when you were touring," he admitted. "I'd be surprised if you remembered me, you met about three hundred other people at that screening."

"I don't," Steve looked apologetic, then suddenly squinted. "Wait a minute! Yes I do. Weren't you holding a colored kid with a comic book he wanted me to sign?"

"Yes, that was me," said Glorfindel. "And sixty-nine years have passed since then. You can't say 'colored' anymore."

"Oh, right. Sorry," said Steve reaching for his shirt and pulling it on. "Still, you know, you're kinda hard to miss, what with all that hair and glowin' like a lamp and whatnot."

"The glow is optional," said Glorfindel, choosing to ignore the jibe about his hair for the moment. "Without it I can blend in pretty well when I want to." He didn't add that the ability to tamper with people's perception also helped.

"Must be nice," Steve raised his eyebrows. "So why'd Fury bring you in?"

Really not much for small talk, this one. "Because I once had a run-in with him a number of years ago, and this is his way of thanking me, I suppose."

"In that case, what made you come out of hiding?"

Glorfindel did not bother to say he hadn't really been 'hiding' because he had, after a fashion. "He had intel on me - and a few friends of mine - that I didn't want getting out."

Steve blinked. "How many of you people are there?!" he asked in amazement.

I suspect I'm going to get very tired of that question. "Hundreds of thousands, probably a few million," he said. "Barely a thousandth of the human population of course - which, considering your lifespan and frailty is quite impressive - but there are quite a few of us."

"I'm not even gonna try and figure out if that's a compliment," said Steve. "So I basically could've passed any one of you - uh, what do you call yourselves?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "The most accurate politically correct term is probably 'elf,' but most people think of elves as -" his voice leapt into the soprano register. "- tiny, delicate pixies with donkey ears -" he resumed his normal voice again. "- and I don't appreciate it, so why don't you say 'Quendi' instead?"

"Kwen-dee?" Steve tried out the word. "Is that - nah, that's not English. Anyway, I'm assuming you Kwen-dee could really be anywhere and nobody'd know, is what I'm saying."

Glorfindel folded his arms. "Why, are you looking for them?"

Steve spread his hands. "C'mon, give me some credit! I just found out today that elves actually exist, and that they can kick ass too." He subconsciously rubbed his back. "Maybe I wanna meet more of you, is that not a compliment or something?"

Glorfindel frowned. "Well, maybe it is, and maybe we just want to be left alone! Obviously this hasn't occurred to you, but when you're immortal and everyone around you is mortal, they usually start to get suspicious and resentful when you don't fall ill or age like them!" His voice was rising. "You know we used to be sacrificed to fertility gods, or cut into pieces and sold for good luck, or hanged and burned for witchcraft, or, or -"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, sorry!" Steve raised his hands, looking startled, and the Elf became silent, drawing breath sharply.

"Okay," said Steve. "I really wasn't trying to trigger anything, and I'm really sorry for what you and anyone like you has had to go through -"

Glorfindel resisted the urge to leap on the Captain and strangle him. "I don't want your self-righteous pity!" he all but snarled.

"I understand that," said Steve. "and I'm really not trying to come off that way -"

"Then why don't you keep your nose in your own business where it belongs, you orc-lover?" Glorfindel shot back, and he turned away and picked up the staff.

". . . Okay, I have no idea what you just said!" protested Steve.

Did I speak Sindarin? I must have spoken Sindarin. "Then I won't hurt your feelings by repeating it," he threw over his shoulder as he stalked off in the direction of his locker.

"Okay then!" he heard Steve mutter as he left.

When he reached the locker he changed back into his clothes and put the uniform and armor back where they had been previously kept. He stared at it for a moment, lost in old memories of days he had lately tried very hard to bury.

None of that was Steve Rogers' fault, nor Fury's, nor SHIELD's either.

But I still don't trust any of them yet. Not really.

He thought of Banner, hunted like a beast to the far corners of the earth, for a condition practically inflicted on him that he could barely control. He must be even more uncomfortable than I am.

Reluctantly he made his way back up to the bridge (which was now much quieter) and sat down at the table. He laid the folder he'd been given on the table and opened it, reading once morr over all the other official Avengers' files.

The only Avenger he had not yet met was Anthony "Tony" Stark, or Iron Man, whose cocky smile (among other parts of his body) was all over national and international television, not to mention social media.

This time he heard the quiet footsteps approaching, though he did not look up till the woman Romanoff was across the table from him and about to sit down. Her face was impassive - even her eyes revealed nothing - but he knew perfectly well she meant business. She looked directly at him and asked, "Is it true Elves can read minds?"

No small talk for you either, I see. "In some cases," he answered carefully, shutting the folder.

This was no answer, of course, and Romanoff was having none of it. "Loki brainwashed two of our best, one of which was my partner, Agent Barton. If we find him, can you get his mind back?"

Glorfindel did not hesitate. "I am nearly certain that I can. But I don't yet know what Loki's magic is like, or how powerful it is." He looked closely at Romanoff. "This looks like more than an agent's concern for a fellow agent, if I'm not mistaken."

She stiffened slightly, and her guard slipped just a little. Where's my daddy? came the echoes of the voices of two children, and a dark-haired woman stared anxiously through Romanoff's eyes.

Glorfindel opened his mouth, but just at that moment an agent sitting in front of one of the many screens (Sitwell, by his name tag) called out, "We got a hit! Sixty-nine percent match. Wait - cross-match seventy-seven percent."

"Location?" asked Agent Coulson from where he stood next to Steve.

"Stuttgart, Germany, 28 Koningstrasse," said Sitwell. "He's not exactly hiding," he added dryly.

"Cap, Glorfindel," said Fury. "You're up."

"You've found the Cube?" asked Glorfindel standing up.

"We've found Loki," said Agent Coulson. "That's a start."

"Guess we better suit up," said Steve, and disappeared in the direction of the lockers where the uniforms were kept.

Romanoff's hand clamped down on Glorfindel's arm. He looked down in surprise to find her glaring fiercely up into his face. "Not a word," she hissed.

"Understood," he said, and she let go and walked away.

He was halfway down to the lockers before he realized neither of them had spoken aloud. She had implicitly allowed him to read her mind.