#look at all those people we could get into dog training a kinder way than the majority of those 10 buck drop ins

[sophiashortcake]

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑'𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: more tsukishima content because i can’t kiss him at midnight, but i guess this will suffice 😞

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of alcohol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

𝟏𝟏:𝟑𝟎𝐩𝐦

“i can’t believe that you’re drunk.”

“i can’t believe you aren’t.”

you sighed as sugawara cackled to himself, the champagne he had been downing since the party was evident in his behavior. his head was rested on your lap as his flushed face gleamed at yours. you quipped an eyebrow at his grin, knowing all too well he had something mischievous running through his mind.

“who are you kissing at midnight?” he chirped. ah, so that was what he was thinking about.

“the dog, if i’m lucky,” you replied, flicking his forehead. he whined at the impact, and scrunched his face in disapproval. you giggled, spotting daichi’s dog curled up on asahi’s lap, not too far away.

daichi had thrown the new years eve party as a reunion of sorts, so you and the former volleyball club had piled into his new apartment to countdown to the new year. sugawara had been up to no good since the party had begun. but to be frank, he was always up to no good, but it seemed his mischief was directed at you particularly. he had been trying to coerce answers about your love life out all night, but you hadn’t budged. not yet, anyway.

“i know who you really wanna kiss,” he sang, his voice high and bubbly.

“oh, and who is that?” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“a certain tall blonde beanpole named tsu- mmph!”

“keep your voice down!” you hissed, clamping a hand over his mouth. sugawara was too loud for his own good. hopefully the boy in question hadn’t heard, but from the way he was chatting casually with yamaguchi in the kitchen, it seemed he hadn’t.

sugawara pulled his face away from your hand with a shiteating grin, “oh, so i was right?”

“fine,” you groaned, “how’d you know?”

“how couldn’t i? you’ve had googly eyes for him since you two were wittle tiny first years!” he giggled, smiling at the thought of you two all those years ago (really only three, you’d just started college together this year.)

“now you two are adults with unresolved feelings!” he dramatically sighed, throwing his arms in the air for effect. he narrowly avoided smacking you as you sighed.

you supposed your feelings for the middle blocker weren’t as hidden as you thought. since your first year, you’d been teased relentlessly from your friends about your crush for him. while your crush seemed obvious, tsukishima was oblivious to it. it was a miracle that he would even give you the time of day, much less have a crush on you but it was okay, being friends was more than enough.

“unresolved feelings, really?” you sighed, “it’s not that deep, i just never got over my tiny crush is all.”

“tiny?” he scoffed, “i’m pretty sure you’re in love with him.”

“shut up!” you hissed, smacking his head, still laid on your lap.

“i’m right, i’m right!” he sang as you pelted him with tiny smacks. “you love him!” it was funny to think he was now an elementary school teacher, responsible for children, when he was acting like a kid himself.

but he definitely was right, you might be in love with him.

𝟏𝟏:𝟒𝟎𝐩𝐦

sugawara had climbed off your lap to go find bother daichi. now abandoned, you found yourself digging through the kitchen for something to pair with the cheap champagne you all had been drinking throughout the night. your head was stuck inside a cabinet, rifling through the shelves. seriously, who plans a party without snacks?

“looking for something?”

“yeah, something to eat- ouch!”

you hit your head on the shelf as you tried to turn around to the voice behind you. you clutched your now throbbing head to meet tsukishima. you nearly groaned, just your luck.

“great job, dumbass,” he chimed, not bothering to hide the amused grin plastered on his face.

“yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, rubbing the corner of your head that you had hit.

tsukishima snickered, grabbing the nearby ice bucket and towel that had been thrown onto the counter, “sit up on the counter.”

“huh?”

“do i need to repeat myself?” he replied, rolling his eyes, “i don’t wanna bother reaching down, so go sit on the counter.”

realizing he had grabbed the ice for you, you jumped onto the counter to let tsukishima play nurse. you giggled to yourself as he wrapped the towel around some ice, he looked down at you with a questionative face.

“should i be worried you got a concussion too?”

“no, just didn’t think you’d care about my boo-boo,” you grinned. the alcohol in your system made you a little bolder, so why not tease?

“well, i can’t let you go around getting hurt like the other idiots around here,” he mumbled, holding the ice to your head, eyeing the ruckus hinata, tanaka, and nishinoya were causing in the living room. hinata had fallen on the floor after drunkenly trying to do a handstand on nishinoya’s shoulders. tanaka had tried to catch hinata, only to run directly into nishinoya and end up on the floor himself.

you blamed the alcohol for the way your cheeks burned, he was just being nice.

but you had to admit, you liked him being nice.

𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟎𝐩𝐦

“you think we should get back in there?” you asked, glancing at tsukishima.

“nah,” he replied, “i don’t think i could deal with all the noise.”

tsukishima had dragged you outside with him onto the balcony, claiming the cold air outside would help your head, but you knew he was using that as an excuse to escape the chaos inside. daichi’s apartment was on a high floor that overlooked one of the busier parts of miyagi. buildings were lit up with festivities, and you could see the bustle of the crowd celebrating the holiday below. despite the muffled sounds of the party inside, the cheers and bustle below you, and the distant sounds of fireworks being lit every so often, a comfortable quiet fell between you and tsukishima.

“do you have any new year's resolutions?” you questioned, attempting to make some small talk.

he hummed in thought, his eyes still trained on watching the people below on the streets. the soft light from inside made his skin glow, and the soft wind rustled through his hair. behind his glasses, his eyes were noticeably softer than they usually were, the harsh glare he wore had been replaced with much kinder eyes than you were used to. you knew tsukishima was attractive, but right now, he looked somewhere near beautiful. you shook off your thoughts when tsukishima replied.

“i guess it would be working on my feelings, being more honest with them.”

“you? honest with your feelings?” you teased, “never thought i would see the day.”

“oh yeah?” he scoffed, “and what’s your new year’s resolution, huh? bet you can’t accomplish it either.”

“it’s stupid.”

“probably not as stupid as you.”

“hey!”

tsukishima laughed, and it was noticeably different from his typical laugh. usually it would be quick and condescending, and maybe it was the alcohol, but it seemed lighter and more happy, almost as if he momentarily let down the guard.

“well, what is it?” he questioned.

“i guess, being honest with my feelings too,” you answered, “but more so towards someone.”

tsukishima’s grin faltered, causing your heartbeat to stop. shit, you accidentally admitted that to him. that damn champagne!

“as in you like somebody?”

you had backed yourself into a corner, hadn’t you? his eyes stared at yours for an answer, and under his heavy gaze you could only bring yourself to nod. what was he being so questionative for?

“you know, i think we could help each other accomplish our new year’s resolutions.”

from inside, and from the people on the streets below you, you could hear the countdown begin.

“10, 9, 8, 7!”

you could only manage to stutter out a meek, “w-what?”

“6, 5, 4!

“do i have to spell it out for you?”

“3, 2, 1! happy new years!”

tsukishima brought his lips to yours.

𝟏𝟐:𝟎𝟎𝐚𝐦

after a few breathless seconds, you both pulled apart. tsukishima’s eyes were still focused on yours, and normally you would have felt smaller underneath his gaze, but with his eyes on you, you felt like you were on cloud nine. you could still taste the mint chapstick he wore on your lips and the aftertaste of the cheap champagne you all had been downing all night.

“i heard you and sugawara earlier, do you like me?”

no use hiding it, was there?

“considering i just kissed you, i think i do.”

tsukishima’s mouth opened to retort back, but the way you were smiling was enough to shut him up. you giggled as you enveloped him in a hug.

“happy new year, tsukki.”

🏷 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @tetsurolls @zumisace @savvamuraz @tsukisemi @dai-tsukki-desu @wisteriarain @shittykawaa @owlnymph @kiraakaashi

[loving-all-for-loki]

Voiceless Love Chapter 6: Downfall

Loki x reader, Bucky x reader

Word Count: 3452

Warnings: angst, lots and lots of angst, some Loki fluff, swearing

A/N: I’m sorry. I cried while writing this and had to take a break to gather myself. It’s a rough one

Tag List: @caffeineoverloadandstudying @zizzlekwum @buckylokisimp @daddysfavoritesexkitten @lokiyoulittle @magicalpieex

You spend three days in bed with Loki resting after the Bucky incident. Even though you’ve been able to get up, Loki refuses to let you do anything and forces you to lay all day with him serving you hand and foot. The team watches in disbelief as Loki makes you lunch, gets you your clothes, and even slipped your fingernails once. They find excuses to walk past Loki’s room to spy on you two, but they always catch Loki reading to you or you asleep.

“You can’t be really mad at him. He’s taking care of her,” Natasha states. “Yes, that may be the case, but what are his intentions? She’s not a super soldier or a government trained assassin. She can’t defend herself if Reindeer Games decides to pull any tricks,” Tony pipes in.

“Tony’s right,” Bucky says, “She’s not a superhero in the sense we are.”

“You boys are so paranoid. Obviously, they got closer while we were gone. Is that such a bad thing? Loki finding someone who calms him and makes him kinder?”

“Yes.”

Nat rolls her eyes at Tony and Bucky, sitting down on the lounge seats. 

“What are we discussing? I heard my brother's name.”

Thor enters the room which gains everyone’s attention. Steve and Sam put down their sandwiches and tune into the conversation.

“We’re discussing Loki’s intentions with Y/N.” Nat informs.

“Oh, it is very sweet isn’t it?”

“Not to Tony.”

“It’s like he’s grooming her!”

Everyone groans in disgust. 

“Tony, I think you fail to realize how hard it is for Loki to connect to people, especially Midgardians yourself.”

“I don’t. I know he’s an arrogant prick whose head is shoved up his ass.”

“Yes, he thinks highly of himself, but he’s capable of feelings beyond pride and rage.”

“Most people aren’t like you Tony,” Steve jokes, which earns him a hard look from the billionaire.

“But with Y/N? Someone who’s so defenseless and vulnerable?” Bucky adds in.

-

Loki comes in with a bowl of mac n’ cheese, setting it before you.

“I had to get Thor to help me. I’m very good with Midgard technology. I’m not even sure what a microwave really is.”

You chuckle inside at Loki’s innocence and start eating the macaroni before he joins you on the bed, his arm resting over your shoulders. You lean your head against his as the two of you watch some history documentary Loki was intrigues by. Since you’ve been in bed for three days, you’ve only been watching shows and movies you like so you gave Loki a chance. He felt bad then complained about poor Midgard entertainment, but as soon as you showed him the history channel, he changed his mind.

You take your pen beside you and grab Loki’s hand that’s gently rubbing your back. On the side of his index, you write thank you for everything.

“Oh course, little one. You need to be well rested.”

Do you think I could get my own water?

Loki looks beside him to see your glass empty and sighs.

“I suppose you can.”

You smile up at him before getting out of bed. It’s weird to feel the cold floors on your feet after spending so much time under thick warm blankets. You shuffle your way over to the other side of the bed and take the glass. Loki keeps an eye on you as you make your way around, ready to pounce at grab you if you fall over and pass out. You give him a smile and pat on the shoulder before making your way to the door.

Taking your time, you walk down the hallway and hear your name come up in conversation. You stop right before the entrance to the living room, your hands shaking as you grip the glass cup tightly.

“But with Y/N? Someone who’s so defenseless and vulnerable?”

“I know it seems what you would say sketchy, but Loki’s intentions are honorable.”

“And Buck, you’ve seen the way she is with you. She holds onto your metal arm. She’s not afraid of most things other people are,” Steve adds.

Listening to them discuss you like they know you is irritating. Bucky goes on to talk about how weak and fragile you are and the others don’t disagree. They add comments about Loki that infuriate you. ‘He’s dangerous’. ‘He’s using her’. ‘He’s tricking her’. It didn’t feel like manipulation when he made you tea last night. It didn’t feel like manipulation when he explained book plots you didn’t understand. Why did they see him for someone he isn’t? Why do they still hold New York against him as if it was completely him?

You get pulled out of your thoughts when you hear Bucky speak again.

“I don’t like that he went after someone so innocent and defenseless like her.”

You step into their sight as soon as the words leave Bucky’s mouth. Everyone turns to stare at you, realizing you heard them talking about you. Bucky’s eyes go wide at the hurt expression written across your face, realizing he had messed up.

“How much did you hear?” Steve asks.

You slowly and nervously shake your head in disgust. Bucky takes a step forward to come near you but you stumble over your feet as you back up, falling and landing on your wrists. Tears start forming in your eyes as you look back up at the team, specifically Bucky who looks likes he just ran over someone’s dog.

“Y/N, you know I didn’t mean-”

You shake your head and run back down the hallway, ignoring Bucky’s pleads and the Avengers trying to diffuse the situation. Your vision was so clouded by the tears that you miss Loki coming up behind you and run straight into him.

“Woah, woah,” he gasps, grabbing your forearm as you stumble, “what’s-”. He notices the tears slowly falling down your face. “What did they do?”

You shake your head and push past him, retreating into yout room and under your blankets. Loki storms straight to the Avengers instead of with you.

“Tell me what in the nine realms you did to make her cry?”

The team is stunned as Loki raises his voice. There’s fury raging in his eyes, popping his veins out in anger. 

“She overheard something. It’s fine.” Sam says.

“Then tell me why she looks like someone hit her dog?”

Bucky puffs up his chest and walks straight up to Loki in a threatening manner, but Loki doesn’t react even an inch.

“Why do you care, huh? Why are you so attached to her? I thought you hated humans! That’s why you attacked New York right? You wanted to take control of us ‘weak humans’, but you failed, so what gives you the right to take her?”

“Are you implying she is weak?”

Bucky stays silent and holds his stoic look. 

“You are. That’s what you were saying, wasn’t it? She heard you call her weak.”

Loki scoffs at the soldier and looks to the other avengers for a sign of confirmation. They don’t meet his eyes with trigger alarms in his brain.

“You are all despicable. You know nothing about her. She is not as vulnerable as you think she is.”

“That’s not the point, Reindeer Games,” Tony cuts in, “The point is what are your intentions with her? Why do you want her so bad?”

“What? You think I’m manipulating or messing with her in some way. Is it impossible to imagine me liking someone’s presence?”

“Honestly, yes. We do. We’ve seen you do it in New York. Why can’t you do it now?”

There’s a deafening silence looming over the room. Loki’s eyes go cold as he clenches his fist, trying to not knock Tony out on the spot. Bucky still stands in his face, searching for some kind of vulnerable moment, but all he sees is fury in Loki’s face. He realizes they may be wrong in this situation. No one gets angry like this over nothing. They have never seen him like this before, so much so that even Thor takes a step away from his seething brother. Like nothing happened, Loki swivels and rushes away down the hall, but passes his room and goes straight to yours to find you balling underneath your sheets.

His anger does not go away, but only lessens as he removes the barrier between you two. He sees you curled into yourself, crying as if you had to get rid of every ounce of water in your body. No human has ever seemed so in need comfort to him before than now. Picking you up, he adjusts in bed with you on his lap, gripping your hands tight to his neck, burying your face in his chest. Loki pats your head and shushes you, trying to calm you down while his own burdens flash through his mind.

“I am absolutely outraged by those people,” he says, “how dare they speak like that about you. Do not listen, little one. You are stronger than you know and they are not aware. They do not know you like I know you.”

You continue to sob into him but the tears slow down. Heavy gasping turns into staggered breathing as your heart races less.

“I cannot fathom their incompetence. Pathetic Midgardians. I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me for my advances.”

“I forgive you.”

Loki snaps his head to look down at you, who is staring up at him, face flushed with tears. You had spoken.

Your voice. It’s unlike anything he’s ever heard and he only heard three words. Three so very important words he never thought he’d hear anyone say and you said it with such meaning. Such kindness and heart. It sounded like the heavens themselves opened up and relinquished its glory to him. He felt his body get a rush of warmth flowing through him, one that reminded him of being home with Frigga.

“Thank you,” he says, “I fear you may be the only one.”

He’s scared to say anything about you speaking and freak you out. If he has to go another lifetime without hearing your voice again, he’d never forgive himself.

“I’m tired,” you say sheepishly.

“Then go to bed, darling. I’ll still be here when you wake.”

-

You wake the next day to the sounds of crashing. Manly voices you have never heard before boom. Springing awake, you forget about Loki falling asleep next to you and accidentally elbow him in the face. “What the-”

“Loki, I’m sorry! I forgot-”

“It’s okay, little one. Accidents happen,” he groans.

The two of you get up off the bed for you to change. With a flick of the neck, Loki uses his magic to change into a three piece suit as he usually wears. You come out with a deep green overalls that makes him smile.

“I like it when you wear my colors.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hearing your voice in the morning reminds him why he’s around. You’re so perfect in so many ways and that angelic noise only proves that more and more. The sounds of a male booming voice brings him out of his paradise. Taking your hand, the two of you enter the main room where the other Avengers are gathered with a man you’ve never seen before talking to Thor.

“Heimdall,” Loki announces, “what are you doing here?”

The man turns to see Loki standing next to you and doesn’t miss the interlocking of your hands. He turns to Thor who gives a weak smile and whispers something for only him to hear before looking back to you and the god.

“I am here to take you back to Asgard.”

“Father has requested you to come home and get punished for your actions on New York since you have been spending time here. He wants to take proper precautions on behalf of Asgard,” Thor adds.

“That’s ridiculous. He can’t beg for me now.”

“He can, brother, as I am afraid.”

You take Loki’s collar and bring his ear closer to you.

“Does that mean I won’t get to see you?”

“Don’t worry, darling. I won’t let them take me.”

Steve looks between Bucky and Tony who are staring wide eyed at your interaction with the god. Even Clint and Nat stare in awe as you have a private conversation, clearly speaking to Loki.

“What is happening?” Heimdall asks.

“She’s never spoken before,” Thor whispers.

“And she’s speaking to Loki? Why him?”

“I’ve said ‘I’m afraid’ many times and I’m going to say it again. I’m afraid they’ve bonded greatly. This will be an issue if All-Father intends to keep Loki in prison on Asgard.”

“Wonderful.”

Loki walks away from you and takes Thor’s arm, pulling him away to the side.

“Do you really expect me to fall for this?”

“For what?”

“Father wants me home. I know all he wants is to throw me in some cage for eternity. I’m not going no matter how much you plead or even if Father wants to come down here himself and drag me through the Bifrost.””

“There’s nothing I can do. Heimdall had strict orders.”

You walk over to Bucky who puts a protective arm around you, trying to ignore the pain of being second to comfort. He kisses the top of your forehead which you smile for. A glimmer of hope rests in Bucky’s heart that you still have feelings for him despite spending all your time with Loki. You hold to him tight, hugging him around his waist, in anxiousness. You can’t imagine if Loki is gone, the one person you trust the most, you haven't hurt before.

“I can’t leave Y/N,” Loki whispers, “I don’t think you understand that.”

“Brother, I understand your connection to her, but I-”

“Don’t say you have no choice. You can go back to Father and tell him that I’m not coming.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“There’s no point in arguing about this, Loki. You have to go home.”

“What will happen to her, then? She’ll be stuck here with people who treat her like a child.”

“She’ll be fine. She’s a big girl.”

“Not to them. To them she’s weak and useless. She’ll never be used for her powers properly. She’ll never be treated as an equal.”

“I’ll make sure that she does.”

“Brother, I’m the god of lies. I can see straight through you. You’re not going to do anything but sit by and watch them.”

“I’ll watch out for her.”

Loki’s chest rises as he takes in a deep breath, knowing his brother won’t do anything. He contemplates his options: either go with Heimdall or stay here and face worse punishment when he sees his Father one day.

“How long will I be gone for?”

“My hope is a month or two, but most likely two or three years.”

“I can’t leave her that long.”

“Then I will fight for your freedom or escape every day.”

Loki takes a look at you hugging Bucky. The exact image in front of his is what he fear most: losing you to the soldier who looks at you the same way he does. He knows he has no choice if he wants to face a lesser punishment.

“Fine. Give me a moment to say goodbye.”

“Of course.”

Loki walks to you who lets go of Bucky and hugs him. He wraps an arm around your waist and walks with you over to the entrance of the hall where no one can hear you.

“I have to go, darling.”

“Please, don’t.”

The team watches as you open your mouth and speak to Loki, proving to them there was a situation at hand with your attachment to Loki.

“Oh no,” Tony mumbles.

“We’re in trouble,” Nat agreed.

Bucky tries to drown out the anger and instead, a wave of depression over comes him. He knows he messed up with you, but seeing how quick you moved to the god makes him sad, knowing he could have had that with you had he not gotten hurt or even gone on that mission.

“I have no choice, Y/N, but I promise whatever happens, I will come back.”

“What do you mean ‘whatever happens’?” 

“There is a good chance I’m being locked away for some time. Thor said that if that is the case, he will help me get out and return to you.”

“You promise you’ll come back?”

“There is not a soul in the nine realms that can stop me from coming to you, because you are my home and you can’t rip my heart away from you.”

Silver tongue. You knew they called him that for a reason.

“I promise, my darling.” 

“I’m scared if you don’t come back.”

“I know. I am too. I fear that I’ll never forget you and spend the rest of my days in a cell longing for your touch.”

“Please, don't’ say that.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I take it back. I’ll see you in good time.”

Loki gives you a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You start crying on his shoulder, leaving dark spots on his suit. Before walking to Thor, Loki lifts your chin up with his hand, connecting his lips to yours. 

You taste like strawberries and wine. Loki thinks to himself that he could get drunk on your lips all the time, always thirsting for you. You’re so soft, like floating on a cloud. He thought your voice was the closest thing to nirvana, but he was wrong. He is just the same. He tastes like whiskey and is sensual with his touch. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach flying around, fluttering their wings and bumping into the insides of you. A chill runs down your spine as the two of you hold each other. You never want to stop kissing him.

Thor coughs under his breath, distracting you and Loki, breaking your kiss. Loki turns to his brother with sadness in his eyes that every person sees. The Avengers look at one another, seeing how painful this is for him, but they don’t dare to look at you. Tears roll down your face, flushing you over. They’ve never seen anyone look so desperate for help. It breaks them, but they don’t dare go against Odin’s word.

Loki walks over to Heimdall who places a hand on his shoulder. He turns back to face you across the room.

“Goodbye, my love.”

In a flash, the two are gone, leaving you a blubbering mess in front of the heroes. Bucky takes a step forward to console you, but you fall backwards shaking your head.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but Loki needs to take responsibility. He’s a criminal.”

“No!” You scream.

Everyone is taken back by the anger and desperation in your voice. Nat and Sam share a look, in awe of your vocal power. Bucky goes wide eyed, staring at you whose eyebrows are furrowed and mouth wide open. You’re choking on your own breath as you hyperventilate. No one dares to say anything as they urge you to break the silence, not wanting to miss a single thing you say.

“You don’t get to say shit!” You yell. “You don’t know him! You don’t get to say ‘he’s a criminal’! He’s a good man and you all are disappointing children! You’re children! Only mature people don’t try to hurt those who hurt them! They understand and listen and make them better! You’re only out to destroy! You’re not heroes fighting for vengeance! You’re villains wanting revenge! You disgust me! The way you treat him and me, so don’t say anything about Loki! People say things happen for a reason, so when I punch you in the face for ever saying anything bad about him ever again, remember I had a reason!”

You turn to walk away from the paralyzed group. They try to take in everything you said, shocked by your first words to them being rage over Loki. There’s no words they have left in them as you’ve taken all of them, except for Bucky. He stand there, heart shattering in a million pieces from watching you pour your heart out for a man who did his people wrong, for a man who is a war dictator. 

“Why do you care so much about him?” He screams at you.

You stop in your tracks, facing them with your face full of pain and sorrow.

“Because I love him.

[sushisketching]

No sleep!

INTRODUCTION

1. Can you introduce yourself? “Serafin. Alchemist and combat healer. Lady of the House Druidphuse.”

2. What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship? “I am a woman, through and through. I like men, but my partner is a boy.” She looks at Raziel, her mouth a straight line. “Not married yet.”

3. Where and when were you born? “28 years ago, in Divinity’s Reach.”

4. What is your weapon of choice and fighting style? “I could go on for days and days about this. But I’ve opted to train myself in a variety of weapons, rather than in magicks. I learned healing magic for the sake of being an alchemist, but I adore my swords, my daggers, more than my bow and staff. They were a gift from a friend, long gone, now.”

5. Are you happy? “Many days I have asked myself if I was.” She looks at Raziel, smiling. “Even if my lover is as scarred as me… We’re trying our best to find some semblance of peace.”

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

1. What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them? She laughs nervously. “That feels intensely personal. But…” Looking upward, she answers, as if trying to hide her tears. “My mother was one of my best friends growing up. She was as sweet as a spring breeze, as lovely as the first dawn of time. My father was her opposite, brash and bold, yet loving to both of us. While she was alive.” She exhales. “I used to adore my father. Until he twisted my alchemy into his way with the White Mantle, trapping me in a laboratory to make enhancement potions using bloodstone. For 10 years I was his slave. He wanted to resurrect my mother using magic, but I knew it was impossible. I miss the memory of their good souls.”

2. Have you ever run away from home? “I never ran away from home with my mother alive. But in that laboratory… Running away was punished with lashes, verbal abuse. It was not a home.”

3. Would you consider marriage or having children? “I think Raziel said this for me, but all of that has to come later. If we live.”

4. Do you secretly hate one of your friends? “Some days I hate my fellow engineer, Solmira. Asura are extremely boastful, but I’d go to hell and back for all the people I know and love.”

5. Which friend knows everything about you? “Delta Moonbreaker. She’s too kind, too soft-spoken to even be related to other war-hungry charr. She was there when the Priory raided the laboratory, and was one of the people who saved me.”

ASKED BY FANS

1. Are you literate? Have you been to school? “Yes? I hope I can read. I schooled myself for the most part, but have attended a few Priory sessions. I like to read in silence most of the time.”

2. The eeriest prediction you made that later came true? “That my love for alchemy would be twisted against me somehow.”

3. What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize? “Similar to my lover, how much I loved them. We’d always bicker, but… after we got together, there was more bickering, more understanding. I don’t deserve him, he’s far kinder than he lets on.”

4. Do you have mental or physical health issues? “I can’t stand the color red. Bloodstone is awful. So many mental issues. Some nights I wake up from nightmares because they were real. I have some scars on my hands when I began taking care of my pet menagerie. A few scars on my legs from bad swordplay.”

5. What is your current main goal? “To sleep without those nightmares. It’s gotten better lately, but it still happens.”

CHOICES

1. Drink or food? “Food. My favorite hound, Asa, can transform into other animals sometimes. And she likes to eat all my bread.” She pats Asa, who sleeps at her foot.

2. Cats or dogs? “Dogs.”

3. Early bird or night owl? “I love the night. So many things to be done, so many things to see. I love stars. The nice breeze. The way my lover glows in the dark, and how he brightens whenever I say something.”

4. Optimist or pessimist? “I am… without a doubt, intensely pessimistic. There’s a downside to everything.”

5. Sassy or sarcastic? “Sarcasm. I love when people can’t get my dry humor.”

HAVE YOU EVER

1. Been caught sneaking out? “Yes.” Her eyes glow with fury, refusing to expand her answer.

2. Broke a bone? “The mantle were very cruel. They have broken my legs on many occasions. I am glad that they still work.”

3. Received flowers? “After the Salvation Pass raid… After I thought I had lost Raz, when everyone thought we lost him, I received many flowers. I used them for sleeping potions and fragrances instead, refusing to believe he was dead. It’s a good thing that he isn’t.” She smiles at Raz, his eyes blurred by tears.

4. Ghosted someone? “I was the person who Raz ghosted. It was funny for a day and a half, I won’t joke. It was very interesting to pass through walls and spook people by popping my head through the floor with some spatial magic.”

5. Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get: “One time a friend said I was a botanist because I was raising plants. I laughed, but I didn’t get it, and told him I was an alchemist. We were both confused after that.”

[deans-haunted-baby]

Lately I can’t stop thinking about Adam, like I’m legit crushed over what this show did to him. I know Supernatural was never perfect but the way it treated this character was so damn vicious, condescending and nasty; no different than a high school bully picking on an injured elementary schooler.

He never stood a chance. The thing is I don’t know what it was that made me latch onto Adam so strongly for over a decade. Maybe I could just sympathize and easily relate to his situation of being discarded and forgotten by family members. Or maybe I saw potential in this character and couldn’t fathom why no one else on that writing staff and the SPN fandom couldn’t.

I want you to take a second and absorb these pertinent facts about Adam Milligan that this show put forward. This is not anti-anything this is all the truth so bare with me:

He was the illegitimate youngest child of hunter John Winchester; a man who treated his older sons Sam and Dean like soldiers on his platoon.

Adam only saw his bio dad ONCE A YEAR and it was only to take him to ball games not to train him so that he could protect himself and his mother from (supernatural) threats.

He never knew the existence of his older brothers nor did they know about him because John deliberately ripped those pages out of his journal. Essentially trying to erase any evidence of Adam and Kate.

Because Adam grew up having no clue what was out there or about the “family business”  he and his mother suffered VIOLENT PRE-MATURE DEATHS at the hands of ghouls which Adam STILL REMEMBERS long after being murdered.

Oh and John failed to kill those ghouls, providing them the golden opportunity of impersonating him and his mother so they could kill John and his half-brothers.

Adam was only an 18 year old pre-med studying medicine. Probably wanted to follow in his mother’s footsteps in helping people as she was a nurse.

Because Kate worked nights as a single mother, Adam had to grow up being his own parent at times; cooking his own meals and putting himself to bed.

Adam was ironically born on September 29th (1990) which is also known as Michaelmas aka the Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. A potential storyline that could’ve gone somewhere but didn’t.

Adam is also by birthright a Men of Letters legacy though his brothers fail to mention that 10 years later.

The last thing Adam was doing while he was in Heaven, designed to look like his Prom, he was kissing a girl Kristen McGee; whom we’ll never know about or if he’ll ever see again.

Adam was ripped out of Heaven against his will by the angels to be used and manipulated as their backup device in the Apocalypse because Sam and Dean refused to comply with their demands.

After being resurrected, Adam was then recovered, kidnapped and held hostage by TFW (Sam, Dean, Bobby and Castiel) where they all took turns mouthing off at this angsty teenager about why he should trust a bunch of complete strangers over those who made him promises.

Adam only wanted to work with the angels in order to stop Lucifer and return to his mother. Highlighting that this character had a sense of justice, responsibility, cared about doing the right thing but also had his own reasons for wanting to save the world.

Sam tried to emotionally manipulate Adam with excuses for why their dad never told him about his family. And actually had the gall to say that him and Dean would’ve looked for him had they’d known he existed so they could be a family. Forgive me if I just laugh at this for a moment 🤣

Zachariah was able to get into Adam’s head because he knew how vulnerable he was. Telling him that trusting the Winchesters would only let him down which *SPOILER ALERT* turned out to be true.

Zachariah tortured Adam for hours before the Winchesters arrived to save him. And Dean was only willing to submit to the angel when Sam was just briefly tortured.

One of the last things Dean says to Adam in 5x18 after he was shocked to see his half-brothers come to his rescue was “Cause you’re family”. Again I have to...🤣🤣

At the moment of their escape, Dean doesn’t even help Adam (WHO’D BEEN INJURDED AND TORTURED) out of the room nor does he care about ushering him to safety. Dean just grabs Sam and hurries out the door. So much for being part of the family.

The last thing Adam screams before before being possessed by Michael was “Dean, help!” and then he hears Dean say “Just hold on!”

Adam, not being Michael’s true vessel yet born from the powerful Winchester bloodline, was able to look directly at the archangel’s true form without his eyes burning out. And this is NEVER explained why.

Dean mentions Adam only a total of THREE TIMES after this happens in 5x19, 5x22 and 6x11 while Castiel mentions it to Sam in 5x21. And Sam, WHO’D BEEN THE MAIN EMOTIONAL MANIPULATOR, just doesn’t give a shit to remember him.

Castiel threw a Molotov cocktail at Michael (who was using Adam’s body) to briefly cast him out which Adam probably felt in excruciating detail based on what Michael says in 15x08.

Sam, possessed by Lucifer, pushed himself and his innocent half-brother possessed by Michael into the cage for all eternity.

Castiel somehow managed to pull Sam out of the cage but decided to leave Adam behind.

After Dean bargains with Death to get Sam’s soul and Adam out of the cage. Only to get just Sam’s soul and leave Adam to his fate. The issue is never brought up again between the Winchesters.

Adam sits a prisoner in a cage with an archangel for 10 years our time but thousands of years Hell time.

Michael most likely protected Adam from some of the horrors in Hell which is why he was able to keep his sanity.

Sam and Dean went to Hell to talk to Lucifer in the cage but continue to ignore Adam’s existence and don’t bother releasing him yet they let Lucifer escape.

Dean also went back to Hell to retrieve Bobby’s soul so he could go to Heaven and again doesn’t even bother with Adam.

Season 10 for Supernatural’s 200th episode, Sam and Dean were reminded by SPN fans putting on a musical that Adam was still in the cage yet THEY NEVER DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT.

Mary Winchester STILL doesn’t know about Adam even though she was reunited with John during the 300th episode. He’s never mentioned during their big family get-together. I guess he never counted.

Adam and Michael are finally set free of Hell only because Chuck threw a giant hissy fit at the Winchesters and opened all the gateways.

The first thing Adam wanted to do as a free man in 15x08 was not seeking revenge on his brothers for abandoning him, but to eat some diner food, change his clothes and get a “little job”

After years of imprisonment, Adam actually befriended the Prince of Heaven aka the one friend he has/the only other person besides his mother who actually gave a damn about him.

TFW trapped, kidnapped and imprisoned Adam and Michael at the bunker in order to force them to help against Chuck.

And Adam, though still angry, hurt and worn out over the situation; chose to help his brothers when there was NOTHING in it for him and successfully convinced Michael to do the same.

Despite how his brothers treated him, Adam STILL believed in their best and vouched that they “always try to do the right thing”

Adam went to Hell a cranky, sassy, angsty, naïve teenager and returned a kinder, wiser, more patient, humble and rational-thinking man who still managed to smile and laugh after enduring centuries of pain.

Dean gives Adam his much due apology for not saving him but Sam doesn’t. In fact Sam doesn’t even bring him up the next time the Winchesters see each other.

Adam’s last words on this show are to Dean and they’re “Since when do we get what we deserve?” and “Good luck” 🤓

Chuck Thanos-snapped Adam’s soul out of existence OFF-SCREEN yet Michael somehow remained in his body.

Adam was 90% of Michael’s impulse control hence why he was so dark in his last appearance without Adam because that’s the only way I can cope with that disgusting character assassination in 15x19

Jack supposedly revived Adam along with everyone else after becoming the new God. BUT his current status now reads “Unknown” instead of “Alive” so what the fuck am I suppose to think now?!

Sam and Dean didn’t even think about checking in on Adam to make sure he was okay before they hit the road on their last solo bro-outing.

If Adam really is alive then he’s doomed to a miserable, lonely existence without his best friend (who’s now dead). Broke, homeless, jobless; his brothers STILL DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS after he’d helped them in good faith. He’s legally deceased thanks to the ghouls. And he gets to look forward to demon city the moment he dies cause guess where he’s ending up?

No one remembers him even after he’d returned in 15x08

The car and the dog are more important to the Winchesters than their innocent half-brother.

Okay I realize I just unloaded a whole mountain of salt but this is the full outline of Adam’s tragic story on Supernatural. These writers never cared about him and why? What did he do to deserve this gross treatment from the show’s protagonists or just in general? Why was he even introduced if this was going to be the outcome of it all? I don’t know what’s worse leaving him in Hell (cause at least he had Michael for company) or bringing him back and not knowing what became of him after. It’s insufferable 😣 I just want everyone to know that the showrunners and writers may not care about him BUT I DO.

[flowerflamestars]

PLEASE elaborate on cassian and azriel as teenagers PLEASE

 YES MY BOYS OKAY LETS GO

So the moment it all actually comes together and starts is in Starlight: that first blood smeared kiss with aching ribs, Cassian’s retrospectively enormous fuck you to authority, that searing absolution: he’s Illyrian. 

What Azriel hears: Illyrian like me, like me, the only one.

This is where Azriel understands all at once. That he might have nothing but an uncertain future, but he can belong with this one bloody, beautiful boy who is just as deadly. That this is why Rhysand- Rhysand who has known love every single day of his life- is jealous. 

It’s about recognition. That the High Lord chose Azriel and recognized his talent- even if Rhys is the one who really has a father, who gets letters and gifts, who has a father. 

That Rhys’ bleeding heart that both Cassian and Azriel find incomprehensible meant that he’d dragged Cassian to shelter- but the High Lady had looked at the strongest Illyrian born of his generation and said, yes, you can stay by my sons side. 

Rhys went: New? Brother? 

But Cassian understood exchange. Alliance. And proceeded to prove himself further to the Camp Lords who spit on him by thrashing Rhysand within an inch of his life, every single day. 

Enter, Azriel. Overpowered, out of control, almost executed because an Illyrian who can’t fly is worth less than a lame hunting dog. 

Rhys might have come to learn Illyrian techniques, but at the end of the day, his power is incompatible with siphons, isn’t Illyrian at all. 

Cassian has been alone his entire life. He could shake the mountains when he was eight- but it didn’t earn him anything but more fear, more anger, more people who’d called him a bastard, a monster. He doesn’t remember his mother’s name, he’s never had anyone and doesn’t count Rhys because he thinks the High Lady is trying to collect him because her precious Prince clearly needs a guard dog. 

(he’s not 100% right, but he’s not 100% wrong either. Alyssar and Rhain plan for Rhysand to rule the Steppes one day, befriending Cassian has great future value if they all survive to adulthood)

And then Azriel blows up the first few shitheads they throw him in the ring with. No control, so very much power.

There’s a timeline where they ended up sexy rivals, each other’s only benchmark- but what happens instead is someone pushes Az off a cliff in training and he just falls. 

Azriel can’t fly.

So Cassian teaches him. This weary, beautiful boy everyone is afraid of who the dark loves, who spends every spare moment staring at the heavens like he’s never even seen the sky before. 

The snows blow in early. Cassian looks at Azriel. They’re exactly the same height, which is to say, already enormous, but Az always makes himself smaller. Always. He’s deadly and graceful and so, so, afraid. Not that anyone notices but Cas- no one else ever gets close enough to this boy the Camp Lords call a devil hidden in Illyrian skin.

Cassian sneaks Azriel back to the cabin, to his gifted bedroom that he is abruptly nauseatingly both proud of and ashamed by. 

He’s so sad, Cassian can easily share, easily keep him from freezing to death.

(in the back of his mind, he knows he wouldn’t. Az is strong like him, he wouldn’t freeze. He’d live, but it would hurt. Pain is supposed to make them stronger, and they hurt each other all the time. Surely, surely, that’s enough.)

The thing is, they’re equals. They’re alike, the only people either of them has ever met who are. And, as we know from Daylight and Starlight, they get each other. As friends, as brothers, as everything, they understand one another. 

Az might not talk much, but Cassian always listens when he does. Laughs, the sound so vast and lovely Azriel never knows what to do in the face of it. 

Cassian is absolutely brutal, but he’s fair too. Kind. Bewilderingly willing to share whatever he has with Azriel, who has even less, for the easy price of fighting each other, watching each others backs. 

They go to sleep each night in a too-soft bed, warm for once. Confounded by so many things around them- Cassian is briefly, utterly vindicated at the look on Azriel’s face when Alyssar gives him a pillow. 

Flash forward through winter and spring, to that early summer day.

Rhys is jealous of Azriel- because he and Cassian belong together. That Cassian had looked at Azriel- so very wrong to behold, more shadow than teenage boy, scarred and scared, half blind in the sunlight- and seen an equal. In Azriel. Not Rhysand.

Rhys, much like the spoiled child that he was who’d never before had someone say no, never before considered that anyone could be better, is a little bitch about it. He spends their teenage years getting over it, slowly. 

But in the meantime, Azriel is having a revelation.

He can belong.

It’s about recognition. Love, but also so much more than love. It’s only with each other- as friends, as lovers, as some mix in between because they know better than to think this will last forever, better still than to imagine that something so inconsequential as Azriel someday finding a man a who could love him without secrecy, that Cassian does like the way Morrigan looks at him, could ever, ever tear them apart- that they learn they can have. 

They hurt each other all the time in training, they have to- Cassian learns what Azriel thinks, that Az says to himself so many times over, with every reach- Cassian would never hurt me for real. Azriel realizes that no matter how strange he is, how scared, Cassian has never been afraid of him.

They look at each and see only equals, all in the world that can really belong to each other, because no one else exists as they do.

It’s Cassian setting the bones in Azriel’s hands after he broke them, Azriel using the darkness to steal bandages and to wrap Cassian’s weeping fresh tattoos, even though they’ll heal fine untended. Sleeping in that too small bed, warmer, because now they can touch. 

Gentle because no one in their world is gentle, but they can learn to give that to each other.

It’s standing shoulder to shoulder under hateful eyes, stronger, the strongest, together. Earning the exact same number of siphons, undeniable. 

Cassian telling Azriel the little stories he made for the constellations he found in the summer sky as a child. Azriel reciting, carefully, the fairytales him mother told him in secret before she died, just an hour each week- of honor, of valor, of love, of Illyrians who were more than violent.

They’re family, they’re everything, and that doesn’t change when Azriel turns twenty, and the High Lord of Night calls him into service. 

One last night, the desperate strength of Cassian’s embrace, his hands shaking, always gentle. Cassian telling Az not to trust those fucking high fae, Azriel making Cas promise he’ll be here when he can come back. That he’ll live. That they’ll both live.

A year of madness, a year of learning, a year by side of a High Lord who knew every inch of his territory, feared, respected, loved across of the Court of Night and beyond.

Az takes his vows, becomes something even more fearsome. And then Rhain sends him back to Illyria, to guard the Morrigan, his personal choice for his sons future bride.

(The bidding war for Morrigan’s hand has already commenced. To send her to Autumn is, more than anything, a fuck you from one High House to the highest. Rhain is hoping his terribly romantic, dreaming young son, might just elope. Do something foolhardy and reckless that he can pretend to disapprove of, and still get what he wants.)

The Morrigan thing happens.

Azriel understands- Azriel isn’t mad at Cassian. They’ve made no promises, this cannot even begin to touch what they each other.

Azriel is mad at Morrigan.

Because she used Cassian, because she hurt Cassian, and she doesn’t care. Doesn’t begin to understand. Thinks it’s nothing because of course bright, laughing Cassian would go along, act as though being dismissed is nothing to a bastard born boy.

But it’s still his job to protect her, and he will. Azriel is resolute in his duty, the best, right up until the moment Morrigan’s father takes her home. 

The one relationship in which Azriel has no authority, that Rhain had ordered him specifically not to interfere in. 

Still, Azriel warns the High Lord.

Still, it isn’t enough, and it takes him days to find her.

He has nightmares about it for three hundred years. It changes all of them- Morrigan, a casual rebel, who’d now rather die than not escape. Azriel, from dutiful to duty incarnate, locked in ice. Cassian, to whom the world had proved that in the end, no matter how much better he was, kinder, he was still a weapon.

A few things happen in short, dangerous succession. Alyssar takes Morrigan to Sangravah to heal. Azriel disobeys several direct orders to stop Rhys from killing Cassian. 

The boys reunite, the boys mourn.

Rhys takes formal control of the Steppes.

It’s love, it’s recognition, it’s existing in the understand they will never let something like it happen again: Cassian kills Azriel’s half brothers. Azriel goes with Cassian, shrouds in unescapable and devouring darkness the camp where his Mother died. They rebury her bones.

Cassian and Azriel, shoulder to shoulder against the world. Cassian and Azriel, a promise bound if not spoken: to protect Morrigan, who they’d failed.

Cassian and Azriel, the whole sum of each others family, no matter what shape it took. 

A whole world, together, Illyrian as no one else ever was. 

[yegarts]

“I Am YEG Arts” Series: Kristi Hansen

Photo credit: Ryan Parker Photography

Kristi Hansen. If the name sounds familiar, it’s for good reason. She’s an actor, creator, and advocate for inclusivity who’s disrupting traditional leadership models to create opportunities for equity-seeking communities. Impressed? So was the Edmonton Artists’ Trust Fund committee, who recently recognized her as one of their 2020 award recipients. But that’s not the only place you might know her from. If you’re lucky, you saw her in The Silver Arrow or Woody—her one-woman show that compares and contrasts her life as an amputee to other amputees (real and imagined) around the world. But as impressive as what she does may be, her greatest accolade is who she is. A person unafraid to look deeper, feel deeper, question deeper, and present truths that aren’t always put forward.

Actor, teacher, co-conspirator, and self-proclaimed brat in the making—this week’s “I Am YEG Arts” story belongs to Kristi Hansen.

Of all the titles used to describe you and what you do, which do you use to describe yourself? Is there one you hope to add?

I have started to refer to myself as a “co-conspirator” when entering an art practice. I am always hungry for a collective process and am constantly looking for how each artistic process can create an ensemble of co-conspirators who develop a language and community agreement for how we want to work. I am drawn to other co-conspirators who are “brats” (artists who are constantly finding ways to gently subvert and find new pathways in the process). It is my greatest aspiration to be a brat. ; )

What was it about the arts that made you feel it could be your community?

I had a sneaky feeling when venturing into my life as an artist that as someone who never really had a community growing up, the arts could be my place where people weren’t afraid to look deeper, feel deeper, question deeper, and present the truths that weren’t always being put forward.

What keeps you choosing Edmonton as your place to live and work?

I came to Edmonton in 1999 to study at the Grant MacEwan Theatre Arts program without any real sense of how special a place Edmonton is. I didn’t imagine myself still being here 22 years later, and yet the more places I work outside of Edmonton, the more I can’t imagine myself calling anywhere else home. After Grant MacEwan, I went to the University of Alberta’s BFA Acting program and continued to meet folks within the Edmonton theatre and arts community who inspired me with their DIY punk attitudes. I’ve always been attracted to folks who make their own paths, and Edmonton artists seemed ripe with that resilience and subversion. I always felt like transformation, curiosity, and FUN were at the center of so much of the work in YEG. I got hitched to a really cool Edmonton artist (Sheldon Elter), I bought a very affordable house in the Alberta Avenue neighbourhood (which I love), I can bike downtown in seven  minutes, I have a great dog, and I get to work with so many different companies in so many different artistic mediums. I am truly #LivingTheDream.

Photo credit: Ryan Parker Photography

More people are wanting to build inclusive communities and spaces that don’t exist—like what you did with The Maggie Tree. Tell us about that experience and the first steps you took to make it happen.

Inspired by the Edmonton “If you are looking for an opportunity, create it yourself!” creation method I’d seen in so many other Edmonton artists and art companies, my friend Vanessa Sabourin and I saw a need for more women theatre artists to work and create together and to be IN CHARGE of their own productions and careers. We started an ad-hoc women’s theatre company, The Maggie Tree, in 2007. We had no money, but we had a community of supporters: Azimuth Theatre had a small space at the time that they rented to us for a cut of our box office. Vanessa’s dad built the set for us. Edmonton art superstars Amber Borotsik and Lori Gawryluik joined us in the process. Lori let us use the Artery (which she was running at the time) for a fundraiser. Then we did a run of a show. People came. And then we were a theatre company. It grew from there.

We learned how to write grants. We learned and continue to learn how feminism is intersectional and how to be inclusive and welcoming to gender diverse humans and other equity-seeking communities in our practice of what we want our inclusive, feminist theatre company to be. I often get to sit down with young artists who want to know “how to do it.” Honestly:

1. Find a thing you want to do.

2. Find a place where you can do it.

3. Commit to dates.

That’s the foundation. Once you have those three things, you’re off to the races. Not to simplify the other producing aspects of getting something together (all that grant writing, contract building, budgeting, policy creation, and marketing stuff is hard), but I honestly find once I have the three basics decided, I am flying.

Is there a particular piece of feedback you lean on when days are tough?

I’ve had the good fortune of working with many amazing artists who have given me GREAT advice/feedback over the years, but I want to offer a mantra that I came up with years ago (Ha! How hilariously self-congratulatory of me, but it’s honestly my go-to) that serves me well any time I enter a new artistic process: We are going to try some things: Some of them will work, some of them will not, and we are going to keep trying. This mantra keeps me going on the tough days, and keeps me brave when I want to retreat into the safety of what is already known and maybe not as interesting.

Tell us about the role funding and awards have played in your career. What doors do they open?

I first started writing grants for The Maggie Tree as an individual artist to fund our productions. I learned the art of grant writing from Vanessa Sabourin, Steve Pirot, Murray Utas, and Vern Thiessen: All brilliant artist and producers who know how to weave an undeniable narrative and craft a beautifully specific budget. The Maggie Tree started being successful in our asks for Edmonton Arts Council, Alberta Foundation for the Arts, and Canada Council for the Arts grants. This enabled us to engage more and more artists in our projects and to start moving into being able to offer equity contracts for artists and to create viable work opportunities for Edmonton artists. These grants allowed me to advance myself as an artist and producer and to be able to PAY myself for the art I was creating and/or producing. I’ve been lucky enough to receive a few awards in my career that have helped to launch my profile as an artist locally, provincially, and nationally, and I am grateful to now be known inside and outside of Edmonton artist circles.

Grants and awards offer artists the opportunity to create their own opportunities and to expand their profile so OTHER folks can offer them opportunities, as well. Before you know it there’s a career in the arts in front of you.

What excites you most about the YEG arts scene right now?

I am constantly inspired by the younger generations of YEG artists coming up. I am here for the push for a kinder, more inclusive, more transparent workplaces (cuz let’s face it: Art is WORK, and as much as we love our art, we are still workers). I am excited for new art spaces: CO*LAB, the new Roxy… I’m also pretty hyped for new performance technologies being created right here in YEG with Moment Discovery.

Photo credit: Ryan Parker Photography

Tell us about your workshops and commitment to being an educator/mentor. What do you hope people will take away?

I am pretty into the idea of educating/mentoring folks by being led by them and the artist they are. I’m not interested in people changing themselves into what they think is marketable or palatable for whoever their “audience” is. I want them to be the best and most authentic THEM they can be in their work. When I work with a group of humans, I am most interested in ensemble training and dismantling hierarchy in groups. I return to the idea of the co-conspirator and the brats: How can we work together? What agreements need to be made in order for us to do our best work together? What are the rules? And when do we know it’s time to break the rules (cue the brat)?

I had the good fortune of many wonderful mentors who taught me so many important lessons and also taught me things that no longer serve me. I hope that for any of the folks I have helped mentor that they take anything that I pass on that is useful and let go of anything that is not or that no longer serves them in their practice. We are all on our own artistic journeys, but it is as a community—or ensemble—that we grow and move forward. Ultimately, we need each other.

You’ve talked about the importance of artists generating opportunities for other artists. Can you speak to that a little more?

I truly believe this is the way it works. When you care for your community, the community cares for you and those you keep bringing into the circle. I also think it’s important to nudge people when you see opportunities that could be good for them. Let them know you’re thinking of them. They may not have the confidence to apply on their own, but that little push can go a long way. There is nothing more encouraging as an artist than to know that someone else believes in you and your work.

Who’s someone inspiring you right now?

I’m pretty inspired by Carly Neis, Cynthia Jimenez-Hicks, and Cameron Kneteman (along with producer Mac Brock) as they continue to workshop and produce their new TYA play focusing on disability, Tune to A. They are being giant brats and being kind all over the place on this one, and I couldn’t be more proud of the accessible practice model they are building in their process.

Describe your perfect day in Edmonton. How do you spend it?

Breakfast on my patio in Alberta Avenue, putzing in my garden, taking the dog on a bike ride through Dawson Park, a piece of cheesecake from Otto, seeing a show (art show, theatre show, music show), then finishing the night off with a beer and burger from the Next Act. I’m a simple creature, really. ; )

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Click here to learn more about Kristi Hansen, her workshops, and upcoming projects.

About Kristi Hansen

Kristi Hansen is a disabled theatre artist who has called Edmonton home for the past 22 years. Kristi trained as an actor at Grant MacEwan’s Theatre Arts Program from 1999-2001, and then at the University of Alberta’s Bachelor of Fine Arts Acting Program from 2001-2004.  Kristi is the co-founder and co-Artistic Director of The Maggie Tree and the former co-Artistic Producer of Azimuth Theatre in Edmonton, AB.

Acting credits include Candide (Edmonton Opera); The Silver Arrow, A Christmas Carol, and Alice Through the Looking Glass (Citadel Theatre); The Invisible: Agents of Ungentlemanly Warfare (Catalyst Theatre); Mr. Burns: a post-electric Play (You are Here Theatre/Blarney Productions); The Bad Seed, The Jazz Mother, Pith!, The Scent of Compulsion, and The Ambassador’s Wives (Teatro la Quindicina); The Hollow (Vertigo Theatre); Small Mouth Sounds, 10 out of 12, and Passion Play (Wild Side Productions); Irma Voth (Theatre Network); Christina/Philippe (Northern Light Theatre); The Sound of Music (National Arts Centre); Comedy of Errors, Hamlet, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, King Lear, Romeo and Juliet and Love’s Labour’s Lost (Freewill Players); The Snow Queen and Apocalypse Prairie (Azimuth Theatre); The Supine Cobbler, Monstrosities, Age of Arousal, Hroses: An Affront to Reason, Folie à Deux, and Hunger Striking (The Maggie Tree). Her one-woman show, Woody, explores the themes of privilege and disability in a reflection of her life as a disabled human living in North America in contrast with other amputees (real and imagined) around the world.

[ivystjamess]

𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐈 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍

WHO: @jazziejazxo​ and ivy st.james. ft mentions of: davis, julien, joey, kenna, noah, sammy, otto, lemon, ruby, eli, and winnie. WHEN: fri night. 2/5. WHERE: north hills mall. WHAT: bumping into each other at the mall, jaz and ivy have a heated exchange turned dream sequence of p!nk’s ‘cuz i can leading up to new direction’s regionals competition.

IVY LIKED TO THINK SHE HAD THREE HOMES. her actual one, whatever stage she be performing on (whether that be field or actual stage) and north hills mall. since entering her teenage years, she’d spent about as much time at the mall as she did doing her morning and nightly routines. so naturally, she knew the busy and the less busy times to go on her bi-weekly shopping sprees. thursday night was always pretty mild, and ivy liked it that way. she didn’t want to deal with a bunch of other people while shopping, who would? as she stepped onto the escalator to head down to the main floor, she caught the unmistakable gaze of jaz evans standing by the fountain and glaring daggers up at her. at this realization, ivy expedited her time on the escalator by walking down to give jaz a piece of her mind.

jaz’s intentions weren’t malicious at first. part of jaz’s goal for this semester was to refocus on the things that really matter. She was helping ND win regionals, being the best possible friend/sister/daughter, and checking drama at the door. after spending an entire weekend in bed and in constant worry that her voice wouldn’t recover from her random weekend sickness, jaz was more focused on these goals than ever. she was at the mall searching for the perfect gift to thank her mom for both taking care of her all weekend and helping her prep vocally for her big competition debut. but when she spotted ivy, all of that focus went out of the window. suddenly she was feeling just as insecure as she did when vocal adrenaline stormed the auditorium. her gaze didn’t waver even as ivy picked up speed. who did she think she was?

stepping up to the other girl, ivy shrugged her purse up on to her shoulder and flashed the fakest of smiles, “jaz so funny to see you here!” she started mild before concluding with a blunt, “i like couldn’t help but notice that look you were giving me.” a signature ivy st.james condescending pout graced her lips before she continued, “all shook up from the fundraiser? or was it our performance last week?” she asked with the tilt of her head. relations between ivy and jaz hadn’t always been so tense, in fact, they had a pretty healthy relationship prior to the blow up in the green room at sectionals. jaz always encouraged ivy to maybe be a little kinder, and ivy encouraged jaz to trust her talent a little more. that was all well and good until jaz had made it personal. taking ivy’s spot as captain? doing that duet with julien on the ski trip? ivy figured maybe jaz was a little ruthless with all this effort clearly being put into making her angry or jealous and arguing with her. with all this pent up frustration toward her former friend, ivy had no problem letting venom flow off her tongue unrestrained. “well, i have to get going! good luck with like, buying new directions’ cheap-o costumes or whatever you’re doing here. hopefully you find something that can hide the inevitably horrible choreography you’re going to be doing tomorrow. bye!” and with that, ivy turned her back, ready to walk away.

in a few blunt and nasty words, ivy had somehow confirmed all of the misconceptions jaz had made about this girl. somehow this new ivy was so bitter about not getting her way at sectionals that she literally transferred schools to create a “aha i told you so” moment. jaz was suddenly extremely angry at ivy, more than just disappointed. could she have been the reason davis just stopped talking to her out of the blue? jaz’s mouth moved faster than her brain could process. “honestly, whatever, ivy. just storm out or something…it’s the only thing you’re good at.” jaz spoke, venom dripping off of her words. she rolled her eyes and turned around, mumbling. “how were we even friends?”

wondering if maybe she had been a little too harsh, ivy froze in her place. obviously she didn’t want things to be this way. but ivy made her bed and had no problem laying in it. sure, there were surges where she missed the team, or the little moments like going to the pumpkin patch with jaz. it was the same as she got her surges of missing julien. but those days were over and gone. now? they were at war. 

both still heated from the exchange, their backs still turned, suddenly rock music began sounding throughout the mall as the pair aggressively whipped around to face each other. speaking over the music, jaz began ‘Rock and Roll, Rock! And I drink more than you! And party harder than you do! And my car's faster than yours too!’ making disgusted vocalizations at each other complete with lots of eye rolls and aggressive expressions, ivy pushed past jaz and strutted to the bathroom as she sang ‘P.I.N.K. P.I.M.P I'm back again I know y'all missed me.’ 

as the bathroom door swung open, ivy was suddenly in a locker room, donning work out gear. in the locker room, ivy continued to sing as she sat down on a bench and began taping up her hands, ‘Yeah I talk shit just deal with it.’ hands now taped, ivy continued to sing hostilely, slamming locker doors shut as she passed, the final one slamming shut as she belted, ‘You can try and try you can't be me!’

at the chorus, ivy and jaz both sounded as they popped up in different locations. ivy could be seen doing a variety of activities such as jumping rope, doing laps around an empty boxing gym characterized by black and blue ropes and banners, as well as sit ups all while davis lingered in the background either timing her, egging her on, or sitting on her feet as she did her sit ups. jaz, on the otherhand, remained in a gym decorated similarly to the other one, but with red and white adornments. in work out gear similar to ivy’s jaz also did a number of training activities; push ups, speed punching a punching bag, and running up and down the stands while julien stood by encouragingly as her coach. as this training went on they sang in perfect harmony, “but it's alright, I don't give a damn, I don't play your rules, I make my own, tonight I'll do what I want 'Cause I can”

when the chorus came to an end, the focus was pulled to jaz coming up from a push up and looking directly forward and singing, “I know I'm rare, you stop and stare, You think I care, I don't You talk real loud, But you ain't saying nothing cool” rising to her feet, she passed julien and gave him a high five as she moved to grab a water bottle and continued singing. glistening with sweat and aggression in her eyes, she arrived to the end of her verse and dramatically dumped the contents of her water bottle over her head as she belted out, ‘You can try and try you can't be me!’

moving into the second chorus, ivy and jaz were suddenly in a filled arena full of cheering fans. in ivy’s corner, eli, winnie, kenna, and sammy could be spotted sporting their TEAM IVY shirts in the front row, while in jaz’s corner noah, otto, lemon, and ruby could be spotted wearing their TEAM JAZ shirts as they cheered for the impending match. cutting between ivy and jaz as they entered with davis and julien from their tunnels, their voices again joined as they eyed each other from across the arena and sang their angst out. 

jaz hopped into the actual arena first where joey stood center in a referee’s shirt, but ivy was close behind. they were both followed by their respective coaches. as the bridge arrived, joey called the competitors to the middle of the ring. ivy and jaz shrugged off their blue and red robes and made their way to the center of the ring. while joey soundlessly laid out the rules of the boxing match, ivy and jaz’s eyes narrowed as they stared each other down. jaz began singing ‘yeah I'm super thick, people say I'm much too chick’ now verbally competing, ivy tauntingly cut her off, ‘come and kiss the ring, you just might learn a couple things.’ they were equally matched though as jaz now jumped in with ‘i'm tryin' to school ya dogs--’ but was abruptly stopped by joey blowing his whistle (which sounded a lot like ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff) and signaling their conduct was disorderly. paying no mind to the ref, ivy got right back in on the action with ‘i'm your worst nightmare.’ followed by a ‘bring it we can take it there’ from jaz, then concluded with ivy belting ‘what are you scared?’ over jaz singing the chorus.

with the climax of the song behind them, the last two sets of the chorus were filled with cut scenes of ivy and jaz leaning up against the ropes and vocalizing individually, circling each other in the rink ready to strike, and retreating to their corners to talk to their coaches. occasionally, a fan or two got rowdy enough in the crowd that it cut to their equally as energized antics, but when all was said and done, ivy and jaz stood in front of the north hills mall fountain wearing their normal clothes, backs facing each other, and absolutely silent other than the water bubbling beside them.

eventually both seem to come to the conclusion, it wasn’t worth engaging with one another. it would only be trouble, and a stinging reminder of friendship lost. it was easier to say nothing at all. so ivy stuck her chin up in the air, and jaz pushed some hair behind her ears, and they carried on their separate ways. 

THE END.

[esabri]

German in English wie as ich I seine his dass that er he war was für for auf on sind are mit with sie they sein be bei at ein one haben have dies this aus from durch by heiß hot Wort word aber but was what einige some ist is es it Sie you oder or hatte had die the von of zu to und and ein a bei in wir we können can aus out andere other waren were die which tun do ihre their Zeit time wenn if werden will wie how sagte said ein an jeder each sagen tell tut does Satz set drei three wollen want Luft air gut well auch also spielen play klein small Ende end setzen put Zuhause home lesen read seits hand Hafen port groß large buchstabieren spell hinzufügen add auch even Lande land hier here muss must groß big hoch high so such folgen follow Akt act warum why fragen ask Männer men Veränderung change ging went Licht light Art kind aus off müssen need Haus house Bild picture versuchen try uns us wieder again Tier animal Punkt point Mutter mother Welt world in der Nähe von near bauen build selbst self Erde earth Vater father jeder any neu new Arbeit work Teil part nehmen take erhalten get Ort place gemacht made leben live wo where nach after zurück back wenig little nur only Runde round Mann man Jahr year kam came zeigen show jeder every gut good mir me geben give unsere our unter under Name name sehr very durch through nur just Formular form Satz sentence groß great denken think sagen say Hilfe help niedrig low Linie line abweichen differ wiederum turn Ursache cause viel much bedeuten mean vor before Umzug move Recht right Junge boy alt old zu too gleich same sie she alle all da there wenn when nach oben up Verwendung use Ihre your Weg way über about viele many dann then sie them schreiben write würde would wie like so so diese these sie her lange long machen make Sache thing sehen see ihm him zwei two hat has suchen look mehr more Tag day könnte could gehen go kommen come tat did Anzahl number klingen sound nicht no am meisten most Menschen people meine my über over wissen know Wasser water als than Anruf call erste first die who können may nach unten down Seite side gewesen been jetzt now finden find Kopf head stehen stand besitzen own Seite page sollte should Land country gefunden found Antwort answer Schule school wachsen grow Studie study noch still lernen learn Anlage plant Abdeckung cover Lebensmittel food Sonne sun vier four zwischen between Zustand state halten keep Auge eye nie never letzte last lassen let Gedanken thought Stadt city Baum tree überqueren cross Bauernhof farm schwer hard Beginn start Macht might Geschichte story Säge saw weit far Meer sea ziehen draw links left spät late laufen run unterlassen Sie don’t während while Presse press Schließen close Nacht night realen real Leben life wenige few Norden north Buch book tragen carry nahm took Wissenschaft science essen eat Zimmer room Freund friend begann began Idee idea Fisch fish berg mountain Stopp stop einmal once Basis base hören hear Pferd horse Schnitt cut sicher sure beobachten watch Farbe color Gesicht face Holz wood Haupt- main geöffnet open scheinen seem zusammen together nächste next weiß white Kinder children Start begin bekam got gehen walk Beispiel example erleichtern ease Papier paper Gruppe group immer always Musik music diejenigen those beide both Marke mark oft often Schreiben letter bis until Meile mile Fluss river Auto car Füße feet Pflege care zweite second genug enough Ebene plain Mädchen girl üblich usual jung young bereit ready oben above je ever rot red Liste list obwohl though fühlen feel Vortrag talk Vogel bird bald soon Körper body Hund dog Familie family direkt direct Pose pose verlassen leave Lied song messen measure Tür door Produkt product schwarz black kurz short Zahl numeral Klasse class Wind wind Frage question passieren happen vollständig complete Schiff ship Bereich area Hälfte half Stein rock bestellen order Feuer fire Süden south Problem problem Stück piece sagte told wusste knew passieren pass seit since obere top ganze whole 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drive stand stood enthalten contain Front front lehren teach Woche week Finale final gab gave grün green oh oh schnell quick entwickeln develop Ozean ocean warme warm kostenlos free Minute minute stark strong besondere special Geist mind hinter behind klar clear Schwanz tail produzieren produce Tatsache fact Raum space gehört heard beste best Stunde hour besser better wahr true während during hundert hundred fünf five merken remember Schritt step früh early halten hold Westen west Boden ground Interesse interest erreichen reach schnell fast Verbum verb singen sing hören listen sechs six Tabelle table Reise travel weniger less Morgen morning zehn ten einfach simple mehrere several Vokal vowel auf toward Krieg war legen lay gegen against Muster pattern schleppend slow Zentrum center Liebe love Person person Geld money dienen serve erscheinen appear Straße road Karte map regen rain Regel rule regieren govern ziehen pull Kälte cold Hinweis notice Stimme voice Energie energy Jagd hunt wahrscheinlich probable Bett bed Bruder brother Ei egg Fahrt ride Zelle cell glauben believe vielleicht perhaps pflücken pick plötzlich sudden zählen count Platz square Grund reason Dauer length vertreten represent Kunst art Thema subject Region region Größe size variieren vary regeln settle sprechen speak Gewicht weight allgemein general Eis ice Materie matter Kreis circle Paar pair umfassen include Kluft divide Silbe syllable Filz felt groß grand Kugel ball noch yet Welle wave fallen drop Herz heart Uhr am vorhanden present schwer heavy Tanz dance Motor engine Position position Arm arm breit wide Segel sail Material material Fraktion fraction Wald forest sitzen sit Rennen race Fenster window Speicher store Sommer summer Zug train Schlaf sleep beweisen prove einsam lone Bein leg Übung exercise Wand wall Fang catch Berg mount wünschen wish Himmel sky Board board Freude joy Winter winter sa sat geschrieben written wilden wild Instrument instrument gehalten kept Glas glass Gras grass Kuh cow Arbeit job Rand edge Zeichen sign Besuch visit Vergangenheit past weich soft Spaß fun hell bright Gases gas Wetter weather Monat month Million million tragen bear Finish finish glücklich happy hoffen hope blume flower kleiden clothe seltsam strange Vorbei gone Handel trade Melodie melody Reise trip Büro office empfangen receive Reihe row Mund mouth genau exact Zeichen symbol sterben die am wenigsten least Ärger trouble Schrei shout außer except schrieb wrote Samen seed Ton tone beitreten join vorschlagen suggest sauber clean Pause break Dame lady Hof yard steigen rise schlecht bad Schlag blow Öl oil Blut blood berühren touch wuchs grew Cent cent mischen mix Mannschaft team Draht wire Kosten cost verloren lost braun brown tragen wear Garten garden gleich equal gesendet sent wählen choose fiel fell passen fit fließen flow Messe fair Bank bank sammeln collect sparen save Kontrolle control dezimal decimal Ohr ear sonst else ganz quite pleite broke Fall case Mitte middle töten kill Sohn son See lake Moment moment Maßstab scale laut loud Frühling spring beobachten observe Kind child gerade straight Konsonant consonant Nation nation Wörterbuch dictionary milch milk Geschwindigkeit speed Verfahren method Orgel organ zahlen pay Alter age Abschnitt section Kleid dress Wolke cloud Überraschung surprise ruhig quiet Stein stone winzig tiny Aufstieg climb kühlen cool Entwurf design arm poor Menge lot Versuch experiment Boden bottom Schlüssel key Eisen iron Einzel single Stick stick Wohnung flat zwanzig twenty Haut skin Lächeln smile Falte crease Loch hole springen jump Kind baby acht eight Dorf village treffen meet Wurzel root kaufen buy erhöhen raise lösen solve Metall metal ob whether drücken push sieben seven Absatz paragraph dritte third wird shall Hand held Haar hair beschreiben describe Koch cook Boden floor entweder either Ergebnis result brennen burn Hügel hill sicher safe Katze cat Jahrhundert century betrachten consider Typ type Gesetz law Bit bit Küste coast Kopie copy Ausdruck phrase still silent hoch tall Sand sand Boden soil Rolle roll Temperatur temperature Finger finger Industrie industry Wert value Kampf fight Lüge lie schlagen beat begeistern excite natürlich natural Blick view Sinn sense Hauptstadt capital wird nicht won’t Stuhl chair Achtung danger Obst fruit reich rich dick thick Soldat soldier Prozess process betreiben operate Praxis practice trennen separate schwierig difficult Arzt doctor Bitte please schützen protect Mittag noon Ernte crop modernen modern Elementes element treffen hit Schüler student Ecke corner Partei party Versorgung supply deren whose lokalisieren locate Rings ring Charakter character insekt insect gefangen caught Zeit period zeigen indicate Funk radio Speiche spoke Atom atom Mensch human Geschichte history Wirkung effect elektrisch electric erwarten expect Knochen bone Schiene rail vorstellen imagine bieten provide zustimmen agree so thus sanft gentle Frau woman Kapitän captain erraten guess erforderlich necessary scharf sharp Flügel wing schaffen create Nachbar neighbor Wasch wash Fledermaus bat eher rather Menge crowd mais corn vergleichen compare Gedicht poem Schnur string Glocke bell abhängen depend Fleisch meat einreiben rub Rohr tube berühmt famous Dollar dollar Strom stream Angst fear Blick sight dünn thin Dreieck triangle Erde planet Eile hurry Chef chief Kolonie colony Uhr clock Mine mine Krawatte tie eingeben enter Dur major frisch fresh Suche search senden send gelb yellow Pistole gun erlauben allow Druck print tot dead Stelle spot Wüste desert Anzug suit Strom current Aufzug lift stiegen rose ankommen arrive Stamm master Spur track Elternteil parent Ufer shore Teilung division Blatt sheet Substanz substance begünstigen favor verbinden connect nach post verbringen spend Akkord chord Fett fat froh glad Original original Aktie share Station station Papa dad Brot bread aufladen charge richtig proper Leiste bar Angebot offer Segment segment Sklave slave ente duck Augenblick instant Markt market Grad degree besiedeln populate küken chick liebe dear Feind enemy antworten reply Getränk drink auftreten occur Unterstützung support Rede speech Natur nature Angebot range Dampf steam Bewegung motion Weg path Flüssigkeit liquid protokollieren log gemeint meant Quotient quotient Gebiss teeth Schale shell Hals neck Sauerstoff oxygen Zucker sugar Tod death ziemlich pretty Geschicklichkeit skill Frauen women Saison season Lösung solution Magnet magnet Silber silver danken thank Zweig branch Spiel match Suffix suffix insbesondere especially Feige fig ängstlich afraid riesig huge Schwester sister Stahl steel diskutieren discuss vorwärts forward ähnlich similar führen guide Erfahrung experience Partitur score apfel apple gekauft bought geführt led Tonhöhe pitch Mantel coat Masse mass Karte card Band band Seil rope Rutsch slip gewinnen win träumen dream Abend evening Zustand condition Futtermittel feed Werkzeug tool gesamt total Basis basic Geruch smell Tal valley noch nor doppelt double Sitz seat fortsetzen continue Block block Tabelle chart Hut hat verkaufen sell Erfolg success Firma company subtrahieren subtract Veranstaltung event besondere particular viel deal schwimmen swim Begriff term Gegenteil opposite Frau wife Schuh shoe Schulter shoulder Verbreitung spread arrangieren arrange Lager camp erfinden invent Baumwolle cotton geboren born bestimmen determine Quart quart neun nine Lastwagen truck Lärm noise Ebene level Chance chance sammeln gather Geschäft shop Stretch stretch werfen throw Glanz shine Immobilien property Spalte column Molekül molecule wählen select falsch wrong grau gray Wiederholung repeat erfordern require breit broad vorbereiten prepare Salz salt Nase nose mehreren plural Zorn anger Anspruch claim Kontinent continent

[dokuhebi]

"I fail to see why you'd want to live forever." Mako eyes drift downwards as he speaks. He doesn't seek the gaze of the strange serpent beside him, nor is he looking for any particular answer and Cloud offers little more than a dismissive roll of his shoulders. "But that's how we differ, I guess. I've made my peace with the knowledge that I will meet an early end. I'm not afraid of death, more so I'm afraid of accomplishing nothing before that time inevitably takes me."

Impromptu Asks // @azure-steel It is almost hard to hear them, when the winds and rain batter harshly against the tents walls. Threatening to tear open the sealed doors that flap helplessly. Bringing in a certain chill, the floors soaked by invading rain water. “Why is it you think me afraid?” Their words are spoken as a curious question, one of placid intrigue, as they continue with their work. A medical tent housing more people than it could comfortably hold, though no battle ever cared to cater to a medics capacity. Demand was high, when fighters and citizens alike fell to grave and minor wounds. Amid the wounded, only Cloud seems in control of his good senses, although the serpent has denied him the right to leave the tent regardless. Informing him he was to sit it out, that some damage only showed itself gradually, symptom by symptom. The human body was a complicated machine, one wrong move could spell unforeseen setbacks. Still, surrounded by coughing, whimpering and pleading bodies, all stabilized and awaiting the serpents decision on further treatment, leaves no room to question why this conversation has entered Cloud’s mind. Why it rolls off his tongue. A man unafraid of death - they imagine he wouldn’t be in this dangerous field of work if he were timid of his own mortality. Orochimaru has their hair tied back now, all gathered above their head in one single high ponytail, as they move about the tent as a nurse might. Tending to the needs of the patients they knew needed the most help, and having to avoid caving in to the patients who merely bellowed the loudest for attention. It hadn’t been in their contract to aid the wounded and play doctor, but then, it hadn’t been in anyones contract. So the duty fell to them, if only to keep their employer satisfied, if only to do a little more than the job called for when given little choice, when being the only medically trained person around. They have no medical gloves however, no mask or coat. They can only stay as hygienic as the scene allows, with long kimono sleeves torn right off to get out the way, used as makeshift bandages, with hair tied back, with constant sanitizing. It isn’t ideal, but it is all they can do for now. With Cloud being in relatively good condition, holding his own far more than the rest of the group during the surprise attack, they request he stay near to them and help when asked. Many hands making light work, so they recall their mother telling them time and time again. “In that way, we don’t differ at all,” they correct, as they begin inspecting one mans vital signs, as they monitor his progress, or in this case, lack thereof, “I did not seek immortality because I feared death. I would not have obtained it at all if such fears were holding me back, wouldn’t you agree? The human design is flawed, it is weak and fragile, and I sought to change that. I sought to better it. More than anything however, I sought to find some truth to this world. Your truth, my truth, and all the truths in between. I want to create something new, and understand what is old, and I would never be able to do that with one life time,” they say, before offering their patient a light smile, and telling him that they would be offering him something to dull the pain. That he would need to trust them, that he would be out of his misery shortly. They then bring his wrist to their lips, where fangs find a prominent vein, sinking in painlessly. Sharp as needles, breaking skin before the patient even knew he was bleeding. “Fear had nothing to do with it. I have stared death in the eyes for the sake of my ambitions time and time again. I have offered death when it is kinder than life, when it is a mercy,” they say, as the man they promised relief to becomes unresponsive. Looking as if he merely zones out, though it is soon apparent such loss of mind is eternal when a small trickle of blood runs down the corner of his mouth. Slender digits then move to close his eyes, drawing eyelids down, before drawing his blanket over the body to keep it shielded from the gazes of others. Attention now looking back to Cloud, “you may find death can be more of a cowards way out than a will to live forever. Than accepting a life so very long, of bidding farewell to those you love, to being there when the world is empty, when only the seas remain, then only the winds, until one by one our sun and moon blinks out one by one. That’s more scary than death, but I’d like the luxury of seeing it. Maybe then I’ll understand everything.” They move to inspect Cloud’s bandages next, ignoring the demands from the other patients, while well aware that there was nothing to be done for anyone yet. That time would see to it that they mended, while only the serpents vigilance and mild aid would give these women and men a fighting chance at living long enough to see a full recovery, to see morning. They can spot the drops of crimson beginning to stain through Cloud’s bandages, calling for a change and inspection. To which they begin, unwinding what hides his wounds, no minor laceration by any standard, but not fatal either. Tenderly, with the stillness of a surgeons hands, cleaning away what was spilling from the stitch work. Apologizing when the inevitable tug would cause him discomfort as they clean it up. For only infection would prove fatal now. They move on to using a nearby spare cloth, a glorified title perhaps for shredded material, to help dry off his hair. Something that may simply look an affectionate and caring gesture, from a doctor to a patient, but was more practical when one knew of the immune system. How the cold would drop it, how injuries would take advantage of that weakened body. Golden hair usually tussled and full of life now weighed down by the rain that had soaked it. Causing those tufts to hang downwards, reminding them a moment of a dog with lowered ears, a sight they find brings a light smile to their lips as they work to banish the cold from him. “An early death,” they repeat his words, moving back their own hair when it slips forward from the tie and gets in their way. Taking a moment to tighten the band and guide the loose strands framing their face away again, “you sound a little too at peace with that Cloud-san, with all your spirit in battle, I might have thought you had more fight in you than that. Live a little longer than your youth, will you. I would quite like to see who you may become.”

[geekgemsspooksandtoons]

Be warned while this isn’t anything serious or....something strangely soft. This is something I don’t really write about. While I wonder about the canon of this story. It was another short one I wrote. Basically featuring Elizabeth and a character named Archie. Be warned of spoilers possibly for the series like the last few posts.

It’s been 5 hours.....5 hours since what happened. They were in Tenenbaum’s safehouse. Elizabeth had locked herself in and she was in there for nearly 4 hours. Tenenbaum said it was maybe best to leave her alone. She tried comforting her and she tried, others did as well. But she still put herself in the room. 

He waited for her, Archie didn’t wanna disturb her. Including he tried to comfort her as well. But he wondered if it was only the revelation that was hurting her. It may of been other things. Because as of now. This was almost like she was putting herself back into her tower on purpose. Not wanting to escape and live. He wanted to help the best he can. 

As he approached the door, two Little Sisters were at the door. With one trying to look through the door hole. 

“Hello mister” The one peeping through the hole turned her head as her friend tapped her shoulder. “We just wanted to check on the lady if she was okay”. He explained to her.

“That’s absolutely fine. There’s nothing wrong with that.....how is she doing?” he asked the Little Sister considering she was looking through the door hole.

“She’s just laying in bed. Not moving. What is she sad about? Maybe we can make her feel better” the Little Sister told him. She wanted to help more.

“She’s sad about....something about her dad. Something she thought wasn’t possible. I think it’s best if I don’t tell you” Archie told the young sister.

“Okay mister” the Little Sister sadly accepted that. After what Archie heard. He didn’t wanna tell of what happened to these girls. What Elizabeth experienced. He didn’t want these girls to doubt they might ever be loved by a parent after this event. He thought it was the best to not tell them until they’re older. They’ve been through enough. 

“I’m gonna try to speak to her. Maybe you can see if Mama Tenenbaum needs help” he told the girls.

“Bye mister” they both told him as he walked away. Then the one who was mainly speaking said something. “I hope she feels better if you speak to her” she said before leaving. It was kind of weird calling Brigid, “Mama Tenenbaum”. He kept calling her Tenenbaum, Dr. Tenenbaum, or Brigid. She didn’t mind anyway. Mainly because he wanted to show her respect. But these girls even after what happened to them, called her mama still. She tried helping them as much as she can after what she need. 

Archie didn’t trust Tenenbaum at first after hearing she was the one who did that to those girls. But seeing her try her hardest to be a better person after all that. She was believing her. Including showing to Archie, maybe Rapture didn’t change everyone for the worse. It was just nice to see that after seeing a city that torn itself apart, that someone still valued these girls as kids.

After all that he decided to speak.

“Elizabeth....it’s me Archie.....I just wanted to check on you. If you want to talk then I’m here. But I want to see you in person......I know today has been one of the hardest days in your life...but I want you to know a lot of people are wanting to make sure you're okay. So if you want to. Is it okay if you can open the door please? I just wanna make sure you know I’m here” he said. After that he simply sat in front of the door. Just in case if she were to take her time. He didn’t wanna rush her. He was there for a minute. Until he heard a lock opened. He stood up and then slowly opened the door to see inside. 

He saw the woman get back into a bed. She was laying there for a long time. He then heard some sniffing. Elizabeth had been in there for a long time. She knew she had comfort from people who seemed to care about her. But what she learned hurt her so much.

Throughout her whole life, Elizabeth was in a way an orphan herself. She was isolated and stuck in a tower for nearly her whole life.. She never had a parent. Hearing so many wonderful things about Archie’s father got her thinking. 

Andrew Ryan never really cared for her. She was just an assist to possibly be used later. He only said she was his daughter because he got her at an early age. She thought she could change him. Thinking maybe he didn’t want her living in Rapture because of what it was becoming. As in a way to protect her. Until he revealed she never was his daughter.

It got worse after that soldier named Derek revealed to them it was this Dewitt man who was chasing them. She thought he didn’t know, that maybe if she could talk to him, things may change. That he would have a better outlook on life if he found out this woman he was chasing was her daughter. Derek said he found out recently by Andrew Ryan and Tenenbaum.

It hit her hard. Hearing the man who was actually your father. Know who you are exactly, but didn’t really care. That he gave you up on purpose, that he blamed you for causing the death of his girlfriend. Hearing your own father call you a mistake and that he blames you for how his life ended up. Despite he could of changed for the better, it was his choice. But he thought differently. That was worse than Andrew admitting he was never her father. 

Archie just stood there staring at her for a minute. He then walked slowly to the side where she was laying. He saw her face, it looked as if she was mentally destroyed. There were tears there. Her eyes were red. Today was probably the worse day of her life. Because just imagine your own father thought you were a mistake. Including blame you for what happened to his girlfriend. 

“Hey” she said to him as he got there. She slowly tried to get up from the bed. She then just sat there.

“Hey. Do you want to talk? Or do you wanna just stay here for a while? I’m sorry I’m just worried about you” Archie asked her. 

“I’m good right now” Elizabeth told him. 

Could you just imagine the impact of what this young woman has seen? This was a girl who had been isolated for so long. Just being observed because of what you could do. Now she was out, finally met someone real like Archie. But finding out your in the middle of a civil war in a city that is being torn apart. Being viewed as what some folks have called her, “The Goddess Of Rapture” despite it’s non religious views. Seeing people kill each other, children being used and targeted because of what’s inside them. Just imagine if she never left? If Archie wasn’t the one to get her out there?. Which is something both him and Elizbeth don’t wanna think about.

She never thought about Hell...but right now Rapture seemed like it was looking like it. Unforgiving, horrifying, and something no one should have to witness. The only things that were keeping her sane and hopeful were Archie himself and whoever helped them. 

In a way she looked at Archie despite finding out how young he was. He was like a superhero to her. That knight in shining armor who just wanted to help people in stories she read. A protagonist who wanted to change things for the better. That there was hope above the surface. 

But Archie was thinking some things as well. He was near her age. This young man didn’t knew Rapture existed. He thought what would happen if he escaped and told his superiors? How would his government and the world react to Elizabeth? They would probably never let her go to Paris. Almost everyone might see her as an assist for power. Calling her a freak. Never letting her live a normal life like she wanted. That’s something that lingered in his mind as he was with her. He wanted to tell the world of what happened here. Thinking Rapture was a mistake, that maybe almost everyone wasn’t a good person. What happened to those Little Sisters he met. 

It wasn’t until he met others especially Elizabeth.  There was this innocence. In a way he reminded was of himself. He had been through some things in childhood. This girl was in her tower for nearly her whole life. All she saw was the ocean, read countless books, and other things. He wanted her to have something better. That was maybe because of these strong feelings for her he developed. It could be a puppy dog crush or so.

But just imagine after what you witnessed in Rapture. Thinking it was all bleak. Until certain things happened. Meeting a person who just wanted to go to Paris....there was this purity, this hope that there was something kinder in Rapture. Something tender, and considering that he himself was tender. He wanted to make sure that tenderness wasn’t taken away. What made it so harder of how he wasn’t more experienced. He was trained though. But everything just hit him in the face of what he has seen. How it’s never going to leave his mind even when he leaves.

They were just there for two minutes. Then it hit her.

“Can we dance?” She asked him. He was surprised. 

“....I guess so”. He then looked around the room. Seeing some sort of music player. He looked through it and tried to put on something. He was able to find something. Some sort of relaxing Jazz music. He didn’t wanna turn it up too loud. It was up at a nice volume where every didn’t hear it unless they wanted to get closer.

Elizabeth stood up and came forward to Archie. She grabbed his hands slowly. He then kind of blushed red a bit. 

“It’s okay” She told him, finally smiling. Because she noticed that flustered face of his. 

“Okay again I don’t really dance” He said trying to explain himself. There was only one other time she asked him to dance. She was more cheerful. He was nervous that time as well yet he did danced with her. The young man hardly danced. He thought he might be bad. Including he didn’t wanna embarrass himself in front of her.

“Hey that’s fine. Just I want you to be comfortable. It’s not gonna be like last time. It’s slower”. She told him. Elizabeth saw he was nervous. They slowly moved and held hands. They were just swaying. As they danced, he seemed finally calm. It was strangely cute to her seeing this man who she heard was the top of his class in training. When she saw him and how he was. It seemed like he had everything under control. But the moment she asks him to dance he just stops. He seemed like a nervous kid who never danced. 

But it’s also possible he never danced with women much. Despite everything, he was so soft, he tried to comfort her as much as possible. Especially when he was forced to kill some men who tried taking her. Trying to explain to her the situation. He didn’t wanna ignore her feelings, he didn’t wanna excuse anything. The man just wanted to tell her, “Everything is gonna be okay”. Because he genuinely wanted to make sure she felt okay. He was patient with her. Yet she didn’t wanna waste his time. Including what surprised her was how soft he was with those Little Sisters. How he seemed so gentle with them.

They just danced for a while. It was about five minutes. Then Elizabeth slowly put herself against Archie’s chest. She put her arms behind his back. He was surprised by this but didn’t wanna push her away. After that he slowly put his hands on her back. 

A minute passed after that. It was so peaceful. The music was still going. Everything was so calm. Then Elizabeth finally said something.

“This is probably the best thing that’s happened all day”. she said with a smile. Including having some tears down her face. But they were more like tears of joy. She had her head on his right shoulder. 

“Yeah it probably is” Archie told her. They danced slowly and just closed their eyes. As if nothing else was happening. That it was all peaceful. 

The door wasn’t closed all the way. Unknown to them, Tenenbaum just watched, smiling gently at what she was seeing. What she was witnessing was kind of beautiful. After everything that had happened. It’s like their was beauty in Rapture again. She was worried of her Archie was, but seeing him in action and who he was. After he saved a couple of her little ones and how he was treating the situation, especially with Elizabeth. It was just wonderful and warm to see. After that she left and left the two with what they were doing.

[morbid-n-macabre]

This is Cody Posey. Cody murdered his entire family when he was 14 years old; a few years later, at age 21, he was released back into society.

Cody had been living on a ranch in Hondo, New Mexico with his father, Delbert "Paul" Posey, his step-mother, Tryone, and his step-sister, 13 year old Marilea Schmid. From day one Cody's life had been troubled; two electricians would later recall doing some work for Paul when Cody was approximately 18 months old; apparently baby Cody did something which his father didn't appreciate, and Paul took his belt off. The electricians claim they had to physically pull the man off of this baby. Cody's biological mother, Carla Burst, couldn't deal with the abuse, she left Paul pretty early on. A bitter custody battle which stretched out over the years ensued; Carla finally gained full custody after Cody was beaten black and blue with a board by his father. The boy was thrilled to be with his Mama, but tragically Cody's happiness would only last a few months; there was a roll over car wreck which took the life of Carla Burst. Cody begged and pleaded not to be placed with his father, but that's precisely where he was sent.

From here on out Cody was abused each and every single day. The boy was beaten and forced to work 7 days a week on the ranch, from dawn to dusk, often without any food at all. But simple beatings and work wasn't the worst of it, Paul was sadistic bastard; he used an electric cattle prod on his son, beat the child with a lasso, dragged him behind a horse, and this is only some of the physical abuse in which this child withstood! Sadly Paul's wife, Tryone, was no better, and even Cody's stepsister was recruited to join in on the abuse; Marilea was rewarded for telling her parents whenever Cody did something his father wouldn't approve of. Even at school Cody could find no solace; he was watched like a hawk by his perfect stepsister who was just slightly younger than him, and beaten for every and any little thing. For Cody there were no buddies to hang out with, no football teams to cheer for, no days spent riding around on his bicycle, no little girlfriends to crush on. Cody was nothing more than an unpaid ranch hand and his father's whipping boy, and that's it. Well, I say unpaid, but that's not completely true: Cody was allowed ten dollars per month. Paul cashed the monthly SSI checks which Cody received from his mother's death, yet the boy reportedly worked every single day for months with holes in his boots until he could save enough allowance to purchase a new pair of work boots! Yes, child protective services was called several times throughout the years (I read somewhere that the abuse was reported 7 times!) but nothing was ever done; it's just one of those cases where everyone dropped the ball.

All of this went on for years, and maybe the teen never would've retaliated but Tryone and Paul finally pushed the boy too damn far. You know that old saying: There's only so many times you can kick a dog before he bites back? Cody finally bit back. On the evening before of the murders, 4th of July in 2004, Cody claims he was called to his parent's bedroom; when he walked in to see what was required of him, Cody found his stepmother, Tyrone, laying completely naked in her bed. Paul ordered that Cody be intimate with Tryone while he watched, and his nude stepmother attempted to pull the teen to her chest. When Cody refused, his father burnt him on the shoulder with a scrap of metal and a torch! The teen bit Tryone, an act for which Cody was burnt by his father once again. He somehow managed to get away from the situation, the teenager ran to his bedroom where he claims to have cowered in fear the rest of the night. Paul and Tryone had been abusing this young man for years; they'd beaten, tortured, isolated, starved, and humiliated him, but they would not sexually abuse him. In the morning Cody went out to perform his usual duties which included cleaning out the horse stalls. He wasn't performing this "chore" quickly enough, and his father slapped him; Cody later testified that this was when "I more or less lost my mind", it's thought that the teen likely dissociated. Cody grabbed a .38 Special out of his sister's saddlebag, went into the house, and walked up behind his step mother who was nestled up on the couch with a book; the teenager blew a couple of holes through his female abuser's skull. When his father and step sister heard the gun blasts they immediately ran to see what was the matter; the teen shot Paul, then he turned the gun on his sister. How could he leave Marilea alive when it had been her job in life to tattle on him for everything? When his family was dead, the teen loaded the bodies up in a backhoe, dumped them in a ravine, then covered them up with piles of manure. That right there says a whole heck of a lot about the way Cody felt, doesn't it? He physically buried his family in actual crap! Afterwords the teen discarded the murder weapon in a local body of water, drove his murdered father's vehicle to the store for a bottle of Sprite, then he went off to stay with a buddy until his arrest.

So the ranch was owned by a well known local reporter named Sam Donaldson, and by the 6th of July Sam had grown concerned. Paul had been strangely silent, so Sam and his wife decided to drive out to the property and see what was going on. Though Cody had buried the bodies in a crappy shallow grave, he hadn't even attempted to clean up any of the blood or gore; after walking into the home Sam called police. Cody was promptly arrested and charged with triple homicide, crimes to which he quickly confessed; the three corpses were soon recovered.

Much of the abuse in which Cody had survived came out during trial; literally dozens of witnesses testified on the teenagers behalf. A ranch hand named Isabel Vasquez testified to having seen Paul hit Cody in the stomach and shoulder with a pipe for no reason whatsoever, he had watched Paul strike the teen with rocks the size of golf balls, and in the photo I'm enclosing Isabel is demonstrating how Paul used a large metal hook to punish Cody for not moving bales of hay quickly enough.

The physical and emotional abuse was backed up by many witnesses, but of course nobody had been around during the attempted sexual abuse. That said, there's evidence which points towards it being the truth: during the investigation police discovered incestuous pornography on Paul's personal computer. This type of porn, much of it parent/child incest, had often been frequented while Cody and his sister were at school.

Sandy Schmid was Paul's second wife; the two had been married for 5 years while Cody was little. Sandy testified that Paul had always been abusive, and while she was living in the home she had done her very best to protect her stepson from his father's wrath. Sandy also stated that Paul had always had a strange obsession with incest porn. Nearly everyone begged the judge to have mercy on this young man, including the biological father of Cody's murdered stepsister; Marilea's dad, Jake Schmid testified on his daughter's killers behalf! It's a strange situation though, because Jake knew Cody pretty well; Jake had married Paul's second wife, Sandy, so when Jake would pick up Marilea for weekend visits, Cody would come with and spend time with the stepmother. Jake stated on the stand that he had always believed Paul to be abusive towards Cody, that he'd seen fear in the boy's eyes more than once when it was time to go home; Marilea's father also said that he did not hold any ill will towards the young man for what he had done, he felt nothing but empathy for his daughter's killer.

Now not everyone felt sorry for the teenager; the state claimed that Cody's abuse was widely over exaggerated. Their case was that Cody had become angry after his father smacked him as punishment for not cleaning out the horse stalls quickly enough, and they submitted seemingly happy family photos as proof that there had been no ongoing abuse. One of the few witnesses for the prosecution was Verlin Posey, Paul's brother. Verlin claimed that he had never noticed any abuse, nor did he ever see any bruises on Cody. Verlin was seemingly pleased with the idea that his nephew would be spending his life in prison: "One lifetime in prison is a pretty small debt for three.".

Cody was convicted of 1st degree murder in the case of his stepsister, Marilea, 2nd degree murder for killing stepmother Tryone, and manslaughter in the case of his father, Paul. There were also 4 charges of evidence tampering; Cody was looking at life imprisonment. Apparently it was left up to the judge to decide whether the teen was sentenced as an adult or a youthful offender. After hearing all of the evidence in this case, the judge had mercy; Cody was sentenced to psychiatric treatment, and to remain in a juvenile facility until he turned 21 years of age.

In September of '06 a couple of Paul's relatives (I'm willing to bet it was his brother, Verlin) filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the creators of the video game Grand Theft Auto and Sony, among others. In a nutshell, they claimed that the teen had been trained to kill by the video game GTA.

While incarcerated the teen finished highschool and continued his education with college. On October 9th of 2010, which was Cody's 21st birthday, he was released; today he is free, and that's pretty much all we know. He's blending in somewhere, presumably living amongst us.

*I usually *try* to leave my opinion at the door, so to speak, but it's not really possible in this case; this is one killer who I would not mind living next door to me. There is so much abuse which was witnessed by people, so much was left out of this article. They isolated and abused this kid in every way possible. Anyways, I hope Cody is faring well out there, and that adult life is kinder to him than childhood was. Everyone has their breaking point, right? Have you ever thought about it? What could drive you to murder?

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Eighty-Nine: I Wish I’d Never Seen ___ ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ AO3 Link ]

...this is a disaster. Hinata barely understands what’s going on, but one thing she does know is that this is bad. Like...really really bad.

Sasuke has, on occasion, tried explaining various parts of Nightwalker culture to her. But that on top of her university studies (especially since he rarely talks to her when it’s not extremely late at night and she’s exhausted) just...hasn’t really stuck with her very well.

Right this moment, however, she’s really wishing she’d paid more attention.

All she knows is that she is currently the ‘guest’ of one of the most powerful people in Japan. And by powerful, she doesn’t just mean influential, or rich, but literally powerful.

Because he’s a centuries-old vampire.

Uchiha Madara has been a name she’s heard several times while speaking with her vampiric friend, Uchiha Sasuke: a descendent (she’s not sure how directly) of Madara. Part of the same vampire coven here in Japan. Hinata met Sasuke when he saved her life from a different vampire who very much wanted to kill and eat her.

And that meeting led to...well, this. And many things in between.

Sasuke, you see, works for Madara as a kind of...officer. Madara, from what she understands, is something called a Senator. In short, he represents all of the vampires in Japan...in both a national Senate, and a global one. Which makes him a very important figure in the world of monsters, or as they prefer to be called, Nightwalkers.

Hinata, on the other hand, is a descendent of a different ‘breed’. Not human (or Daywalker, in the old terms), not Nightwalker...but a Twilightwalker. Known by varying names all over the globe. In English, most simply summarized as a witch. In Japan, they took on roles as miko. And miko - witches - have interesting powers over not only a specific element, but...Nightwalkers, as well.

...and possibly humans. She’s not sure on that part, she’s still learning.

Point being...she’s considered a very dangerous breed to Nightwalkers: the only thing they really fear. Sasuke discovered her powers by accident when she stopped him from wiping her memory to try and keep her from discovering their world. Hinata, however, had long since known about Nightwalkers, able to see them in ways humans can’t due to her powers.

...but that sight is getting her into rather deep trouble.

Sasuke had, at first, worried Madara might want her killed to eliminate a threat. True witches and descendents of the old miko with power still in their veins are rare. But Madara appears to have other plans: ones to possibly harness her abilities for his own gain.

...it’s apparently not the first time he’s done so to other Nightwalkers.

Hinata ended up in the Senator’s clutches after letting herself be out at night alone, for the briefest of times. And now, she’s awaiting her fate as Itachi attempts to negotiate and salvage the situation.

Sasuke, on the other hand, is playing guard dog outside her door.

...part of her wants to invite him in to have a friend with her, but...there’s a slight complication there. Madara, in all his wisdom, took Sasuke’s valiant speech in her defense to translate to one thing: he’d fallen in love with her.

...she...still isn’t sure what to think about that. She’s come to care for Sasuke quite deeply, sure - she saved his life once, and...well, he’s saved hers at least once. Probably more she isn’t even aware of. But...love? It just...hasn’t ever crossed her mind.

Does she...love him…?

That train of thought, however, is rather difficult to have with everything else rushing around in her brain. Hence just sort of...becoming a standing bundle of anxiety and panic, left in the middle of the room where Shisui led her and unable to do anything else. There’s too many thoughts to process, too many what-ifs to drive her mad.

...she really just needs a hug.

Swallowing thickly, she takes a trembling breath, holding it before letting it escape. She’s more than certain she won’t sleep, so...why even bother pretending?

Making up her mind, the Hyūga manages to get herself to turn around, body feeling almost strangely numb. Almost like she’s reached a weird nirvana state beyond absolute panic and just feels...nothing. But a hand manages to grasp the door handle, pull it open, and reveal the hallway outside.

...as she honestly expected, Sasuke is literally seated just outside her door on a chair, looking ready to flay anyone alive who even walks past. And even without his keen senses, he would still hear her exit, turning to behold her.

“...what are you doing?”

“Could...could you please come in?”

Dark eyes flicker over her face, as though looking for some kind of ulterior motive. But when he finds none, he abandons his perch and steps inside.

It’s a rather plain room. A bed rests in a corner, a desk with a chair along a wall. There’s a table with a few more, and it’s there Sasuke goes to sit.

Feeling a bit directionless, she follows and does the same.

“...are you all right?”

The question hangs in the air for a long, silent moment.

“...I don’t know. It’s almost like...I’m so afraid, I can’t even be afraid anymore. I know I should be, and yet...I feel like I’m not.” She manages to turn pale eyes to him. “...do you...think he’s going to kill me?”

“...no. I think we’ve convinced him you’re not a threat. Not a legitimate one, at any rate. But I’m almost worried what other path he’ll take instead. I don’t want you to live the rest of your life under his thumb.”

“...you think it would be kinder for him to kill me?”

“...for you? Possibly.”

“...but you don’t want me to die.”

“I don’t want any of this. I don’t…” He sighs, bracing his brow in a palm as his elbow perches atop the table. “...this is my fault.”

“No it isn’t -”

“If I’d just...walked away. Left you alone. Saved you, and just...forgotten about it, then you’d never have ended up here. But I kept coming back. I let my curiosity put you in harm’s way, and now -!”

“Sasuke…”

The word brings him to a stop, realizing she’s not employing the typical suffix.

“...when I was young...I was so scared of the things I would see. My mother, when she was still alive, tried to teach me about your world. About you, and people like you. But...I lost her so early, and I missed out on so much of her wisdom. And that turned my naivety into fear. My father, he...he tried to stomp it out of me. Thought that my ability could be lost if I t-tried hard enough. But even as I did my best to ignore it...it never faded. Not even a little. I just...got used to it.

“And then, that night, when that vampire was going to kill me...I felt all that fear again. I had wished I’d never been able to see your kind. And for a while after I met you, I still felt that way. But...the more we talked, and the better I got to know you, the more I realized you...you really are just...people. There’s good Nightwalkers, and bad. I have n-nothing more to fear from you than I do any human I ever meet. I was only afraid because...I didn’t know. I didn’t...understand.

“I think...that’s why I’m not afraid now. I’ve reached a point where - even if maybe I don’t know everything about all of your politics and your culture and your people - I at least know that Nightwalkers, and Daywalkers, and Twilightwalkers...we’re all the same in the w-ways that really count. We’re all just...people. And what we are doesn’t make us good or bad. We make ourselves good or bad. And...you, and your brother, and your cousin? You’re good people. Maybe Madara is...is the kind of person who would use me, and hurt me. Maybe that makes him bad. But...the rest doesn’t frighten me. Not anymore.”

All the while, as Hinata softly rambles, Sasuke watches her silently, taking in every word. Funny...he never would have imagined that the timid little human he met all those months ago would ever become someone like...this. In a way...he’s proud of her.

...but he’s still scared. Because he knows to what lengths Madara is capable of going.

“...I’m still sorry I dragged you into this. And I promise you...I’ll do everything I can to make sure you get out of this in one piece.”

Her gaze flickers over his face. “...you were already planning to try, weren’t you? To...change things in your coven. You, and your brother, and your cousin.”

“...we were.”

“...have I...made you want to change things more?”

He doesn’t have a need to lie. “...yeah. You have. If that’s what it takes.”

“...that’s dangerous for you...isn’t it?”

“It is. But it’s a risk I’ve been willing to take before now. And now, I’m just all the more resolute. For now, we need to lie low. He might expect retaliation. But I keep my promises, Hinata. You will get out of this.”

She simply nods, and another silence blooms. But within it lingers the unaddressed subject between them.

“...was he right?”

“Who?”

“Madara. About...about you, and...why you’re doing this?”

She can see him swallow dryly. “...in all honesty...I’m still thinking. I don’t...I don’t know. I’ve never…” A stressed hand combs back through his hair. “...I dunno what that means. To...be in love with someone.”

“You’re as old as you are, and you never have?” Hinata can’t help but lightly tease, managing a ghost of a smile.

“No. Never wanted to, never tried, it just...never happened. So I don’t...I don’t know. What I do know is that the moment I thought they’d hurt you…? I went full frenzy. Without batting an eye. I’ve never...done that before. Lose my cool so completely, so quickly. I saw red. I was so angry, so ready to…”

She doesn’t reply, unsure what to say.

“...I know that...you mean a lot to me. We’ve gotten close, but...I don’t know where ‘friends’ ends and…‘more’ begins.”

“...in all fairness, neither do I. But...I know you’re very dear to me too, Sasuke. And...I feel safer with you around.”

“...even now?”

“...especially now.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, glancing aside. “...you should rest. I know you probably won’t sleep, but...at least lie down. All right?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve gone a lot longer than one night without sleep. What matters more is keeping an eye on you.”

Hinata gives another soft smile. “...thank you. I’ll lie down for a while. But...could you stay?”

“...in the room?”

“I’ll feel safer.”

“...all right. I’ll stay. Go rest.”

Nodding, she drags herself from the chair, curling up in the bed and hiding beneath the blankets. A few moments later, she feels a weight settle along the edge.

“...goodnight, Sasuke.”

“...night.”

                                                            .oOo.

     (This is a sequel to days 35, 44, 52, 80, 82, 105, 115, 133, 159, 162, 188, and 193!)       WELL, it's been a LONG stinkin' time since I've written in this verse, hoo boy! I have...majorly missed it. And also didn't realize just how many other days I've done in this verse, let alone in this mini series xD I'm so sorry for the long break, but...I just haven't felt a prompt was the right "next step" in this one for a while, but we've got one now!      (For those unfamiliar, I suggest checking out at least some of those previous works, but in short, this universe is one completely original to me based on politics, monsters, and all sorts of shenanigans - and I've taken to crossing Naruto into it from time to time!)      Poor Hinata...little thing's really being put through the wringer. Go all your life seeing monsters, almost get eaten by one, get SAVED by one, and then have him just...turn your life upside-down xD But overall? I think she's more glad than regretful for it all. Even if she's in one HECK of a pickle right now...she doesn't have to face it alone.      Also, just in case it's not clear, the /change things/ in regards to the Uchiha coven means that Sasuke, Itachi, and Shisui have plans to TRY to eliminate Madara. There's a lotta politics there I'd LOVE to get into...if not in the prompts, then when I try to turn this mini series into a proper fic! But that won't be until the challenge is over and I have a bit of a break :'D      ANYWAY, it's...waaaay past my bedtime, so I better stop rambling, I'm just happy to have done more in this verse! I hope y'all enjoyed, and thanks so much for reading!

[tigereyes45]

For @arabelahyuuga13011992 I hope you enjoy!

________________________________________________________________

                                                   Eyesight

There were times when he still feels his eye. Brief moments where he thought he could see out of both still. The walls would stretch out before both sockets early in the morning. Then as the minutes pass by the clarity slowly escapes him. The long ceiling and walls slowly growing smaller and less in depth.

There were times when he was back in the Red Keep. Still in the middle of fighting for his life as dragon fire rains down from above. Fighting for his life against his brother and the building as it crumbled around them. He arms struggling to move as his eye is pushed out of his head. The pain is still fresh in the socket under his eyepatch.

“Sandor are you alright?” Her sweet voice fills the room. The sound of sweet chirping chasing away all the fire and ash. His mind conjuring up images of red-feathered birds singing sweetly as they swallow all the ash. As they grow bigger they eat the entire damn Red Keep. As her fingers cross his face the birds all scatter. Their feathers falling from their bones as he struggles to open his eye again.

“Early morning light creeps in,” Sansa begins as her songs begins.

“Only to see all the warriors are dead.

Their dreams holding them captive

Sweet lips turning into nightmare fuel

The sun waits to greets his warriors

But they all still worship her highness the moon,”

“It’s too early for songs,” he tries to push her away. To push himself deeper into their featherbed. She knew nursery rhymes could not stir him free of his stupor.

“It is too late to still be in bed.” Sansa insists. He could feel her weight disappear. His heart goes with her. He throws his hand out only for his fingers to wrap themselves around her wrist. Her arm tenses for a moment before she releases a deep sigh. Her muscles ease as her fingers wiggle her wrist free.

“Sandor,”

“It hurts.”

“It always hurts.” She sits back next to him on the bed. Carefully she digs her hands under his head. Her spindly fingers curling around his face. She is careful to avoid getting too close to her eyes or scars. “That’s why you should drink the maester’s concoction.”

“It doesn’t help.” It didn’t matter how much he growled she always made sure he took his medicine. The only use to the potion was dulling his senses. The pain still remains. It always remains. He rather have his senses as sharp as the pain then to still feel it and not be at his best. His queen needed him at his best. So many men want to be the one to stand beside her. Yet she chose him. Despite his words and injuries. Despite the fact he was the same fighter with twice as many weaknesses now that his eyes were shit.

She lightly strokes his hair from his face. Her fingertips soft against his burnt skin. There were new scars she has to dance around. So her fingers more often than not formed patterns over his skin. Dancing in circles to gather as much of his hair as possible. Just like a dancer who has to tiptoe around glass.

“If you drink your medicine it will dull it at least.”

“My senses too,”

“Sandor even with your senses dull you are still the strongest knight in all of the North. Stop acting like a child,” She lifts his head and pulls the top of him up to meet her lips.

He growls at her but does nothing else to stop it. She rolls her eyes in that way that only Stark girls do. Ever since he had first returned to the North he had been seeing that roll more. From Sansa, from her little sister, hell even once or twice from Jon. Though the bastard wasn’t ever much of a warrior. Even his little sister had a larger kill count. Not that anybody had a larger kill count then Arya.

“No one will judge the man who took down the mountain,” Sansa whispers soothingly.

“Second man,” Oberyn had killed him first. He just got the leftovers.

“You finished him, now get up. Arya will be arriving any moment.” Sansa insists as sets his head aside.

Sandor wraps his arms around her waist to hold her still. He buries his face back into her lap. Her blue and grey dress filling his eyesight. He leaves it open as his arms block out any light from his sore eye. This solid darkness granting a mercy the light never could. This way she didn’t have to look at his face. She would just see the back of the dog she had known when she was young. Perhaps the deadly Starks would finally kill him. He laughs at the thought, but no their aim is true. If they had wanted him dead he never would have made it back to finish his brother.

“Why are you laughing?” Sansa asks as she buries her fingers into his hair.

“She’s probably already here. Slinking around the corners of this old castle.”

“No one knew them better,” Sansa agrees as she curls a few strands around her fingers.

“Rickon did,” He groans as he hears her. Sure enough Arya was here clear in their doorway most likely.

“You really should announce yourself,”

He could hear Arya’s laugh. It was somehow deeper then it had been when she was a child. Not as sweet. There’s been an icy edge to her voice ever since she had killed the damn ice king. It was even in her laugh now. Corrupting every word she says. Sandor didn’t like it. Arya hasn’t sounded like Arya for a long time, and the only break he saw in it was at the red keep. In those final moments before his eyesight was taken.

“If she announced herself how would she be able to kill?” Stealth was what she relied on the most. She didn’t have the height or raw strength to overpower people. “Too short to do anything otherwise.”

“Taller then you right now. Why don’t you get up?”

Sansa pushes his shoulders gently. “She’s right Sandor. It’s time to start the day.”

“She’s too short to be right.” He lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder. Standing there in a brown shirt with loose pants on. An attire that any decent sailor wouldn’t wear. “Still dressing like a boy?”

“Safest way to travel,” She admits with a shrug. Her eyes light up as she looks at Sansa. Her lips curves up in a smile as if to say, ‘really, him?’. “How did you know I was arriving?”

The sisters share a look. In that one moment seemingly everything passes through them. Everywhere they had been, what they’ve missed, how they felt. A connection between family that Sandor knows to be singular to the Starks.

“Bran,” the two say in unison. They share their smiles and Sandor forces himself to sit up. Sunlight blinds his eye from the window as he stands. He groans and cover his face before swearing under his breath. He could hear his queen stand behind him. She sets his clothes out on the bed as he tears off his shirt. He pretends not to hear her whispering to her sister, about how she may want to leave. It isn’t because she hadn’t seen men naked before but to save his dignity. Once more he curses his eye. The one whose pain wakes him often in the middle of the night. The one who he had to dull his sense for. Whose lack of purpose and use render him only half able to tie his own armor on anymore. He listens to Arya’s feet as they leave. Only a dog listening intently could hear those steps. He would not be taking the concoction today.

“You should have risen earlier?” Sansa points out as her hands pull on his undershirt.

“I can do that!” He growls snapping at her.

“Yes you can, but it is faster if I do it,” She points out as she folds the shirt onto the foot of their bed.

“You keep talking of me sleeping in, but it is still morning’s first stroke.”

“Dawn may still be gracing us but my day starts early. So does yours.”

Silence fills the room as she applies his armor. Her hands methodically sort through the metal for the next piece she wants. She was better at it then all the squires at King’s Landing. Even better then he had been at tying the armor up tight enough that it wouldn’t fall loose. It had barely stayed on him during the first half of his journey back North. As he arrived in the Riverlands he remembers hearing that Sansa Stark was traveling South. His whole reason for going back North gone. He immediately turned his horse back around and found Arya Stark at King’s Landing. She was the one to help the master nurse his wounds until Sansa arrived. It was the kindest and tenderest he had ever seen Arya act. After training with the faceless men, Sandor thought all the kindness had gone from the girl. Then she was, and Sansa was even kinder. Visiting him in between the meetings with the other lords and ladies. It was she who told him that his left eye would never be recovered. He would never see out of it again. Sandor had already suspected as much, but it still hurt to hear.

Sansa had dressed him that day and for most of the days after. Just as she was doing now. “I can do it,” he protests again.

“Nonsense. I’m finished.” Sansa Stark then steps away and looks him over once more. They weren’t married, but they shared a bed. She used to avert her gaze whenever he was near, and now he was the one who could barely get his remaining eye to focus in on her form. Her soft smile melts into a thoughtful frown. The laughter lines around her mouth becoming less defined then the wrinkles in her forehead. He wills his other eye to come back. So he could see her properly instead of in this thick haze. Then he may be able to see why she was sad. Instead, he must ask.

“What’s wrong Wolf Queen?”

“I had wished you would take your medicine before.” She looks back at the door. “We should meet with my sister in the solar. There is news.” Sansa explains carefully measuring the emotion in her words.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” and he knows its a lie. He wishes she had left with him. Then he could still see the truth behind her lies, but now her face is a mask. One she molds so easily between her fingers. Even her hair was an accessory to hide her secrets. Now Sandor can barely tell when she’s lying. When he does, he can no longer discern the truth. Arya was easier to read then Sansa.

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Sandor huffs before he pushes his way past Sansa and out the door. The littlest Stark was sitting outside the door. She was twirling her valaryian blade between her fingers as he walks out. The door almost hits her but she pushes it past with the tip of her blade.

“Shall we go to solar together?”

“In a bit. I need to see the master.”

“Going to take your medicine.” Her voice was teasing, but it only made him want her gone faster.

“Fuck off.”

Arya doesn’t fuck off. She walks steadily beside him. Offering kind smiles to the commoners wandering around the castle. Some doing their jobs. Others just exploring while they have the chance. Arya had been gone for a long while, but people still recognize Ned Stark’s ghost. He was always just a step behind Arya. Walking there side by side with the aunt she looked alike. Arya didn’t seem burden by the spirits anymore. For she was the slayer of the Night King. The bane of white walkers everywhere. She had come into her own, and even made discoveries most of Westeros will never see.

She had a right to not fear the ghosts.

Sandor wishes he didn’t fear his own.

When they make it to the maester’s office he walks in unannounced. Knocking didn’t matter for he already knew the maester would be. The old man looks up from a book bemused. He points towards a bottle on his desk and returns to his work. This was one maester Sandor could stand. He didn’t insist on lectures or talking. Understood that some people just wanted to get their business done and leave. That was just what Sandor did. He took his medicine, steadied himself and walked back out.

‘Now we head to the solar.” Sandor concedes.

“Do you have any idea what Sansa wishes to share?”

“Nope.”

As they spy the solar’s door.

“I wonder if she’s pregnant. Or decided to get married. Maybe that’s why she wanted you on your medicine Clegane. She’s marrying someone and needs you not to cut him in two.”

“The medicine wouldn’t stop me,” was his only response to Arya’s teasing.

Sandor knows Arya’s words carry no weight. If Sansa had decided to take a husband to rule the North with her she wouldn’t allow him to stay in their bed anymore. She would have kicked him out as soon as the thought entered her mind. He knows that much at least. As they enter Sansa smile only confirms that this was not a talk of marriage. She wouldn’t be smiling for that. Her emotions would be reigned in and under control. She would let no emotion out measure the other or break through her facades. No, whatever the news was it was something Sansa was looking forward to.

“Arya I know you are looking forward to returning to the sea or even to Storm’s End. However, I have a request.” Sansa holds out her hand and Arya stares at it confused. Sansa grabs her sister’s hands and squeezes them tightly. “I will need someone here I trust to help me.”

“What is the news?” Sandor asks stepping away from the women.

“Y-you’re pregnant. Aren’t you?” Arya eyes widen as her sister simply nods.

Sandor doesn’t say anything. He has several questions. Does she plan to raise the child as a bastard, will she legitimize it? Will she tell people who the father is? He had little doubt that it was him. Sansa Stark was not the kind to step around that way. Yet what her plans were going forth left a lot to be pondered. How were they going to raise this child, and what will the northerners think?

“This couldn’t have been discussed in our bedroom?” Sandor finally asks. He pushes all the other thoughts from his head.

Sansa rolls her eyes. She kisses Sandor’s cheek while still holding onto her sister’s hands. She could do this alone, but she didn’t want to. That was why she wanted to talk in the solar. A room where her family used to gather. A room where she wanted her remaining family to gather in.

“So what do we tell the North?”

“The truth, and we raise the child prepared to lead it next.” She looks back at Arya. “Please stay. At least until after the birth.”

Arya smiles a thin little smile. “Until the child is born, but we must write to the boys. Jon will want to visit and I shall make sure Bran does as well.”

Sansa hugs her sister then and for a moment Sandor could imagine this working out. This plan of Sansa’s unit the past and future of her family. To unite all the ghosts and create a new present. Sandor was going to have a child. A child with the wolf-queen and the child would only know him as he was now. Better, but broken still. Just as it’s mother would be. Silently he hopes it will be enough, and that the child would grow up healthy, strong, and all Stark.

[dryandsweet]

Coffee & Sympathy (Berena)

Before they become the world to each other, Bernie and Serena are a world unto themselves. (Also on Ao3)

For @santahanssen for @berenasecretsanta 2018 who asked for ‘coffee dates & lingering hugs.’

Bernie took Serena up on her offer of a coffee and a chat early on. Bernie wasn’t exactly swimming in offers of friendship and here was Serena going out of her way to make Bernie feel welcome.  She’d have been a fool to lock herself away in misery for its own sake.

Serena suggested meeting up away from the hospital to free them from the awkwardness of prying colleagues. The walls have ears and they talk. Bernie didn’t want any more talk if she could avoid it.

Serena bought Bernie coffee at this little place a few blocks away from the hospital. The mugs were large and sat heavy in both hands; coffee filled them to the brim.  Long minutes passed where all they did was drink and people watch. Semi-familiar faces, some from other hospitals, some former patients; lots of university students lumbering through, half-dead and dazed. The typical haunt for anybody subsisting on caffeine and a vague sense of purpose.

“Tell me about you,” prompted Serena. Bernie resisted her natural tendency to redirect.  She wanted to befriend Serena, not frustrate her into indifference.

“What haven’t you heard?” According to Mo Effanga there was all manner of rumor circulating Holby already. Bernie was a loveless, self-aggrandizing narcissist or a decorated officer tragically cut down in the prime of her military career. The truth was altogether more ordinary than either extreme.

“I want to hear your story from you, not the tittle-tattle from the grapevine.” Serena’s foot nudged Bernie’s under the table, reminding Bernie this was a friendly chat, not an interrogation.  Serena wasn’t her solicitor asking for the intimate details of her infidelity, pricking her with her weaknesses. Her intentions were kinder than that.

“Former army medic out of RAMC, Major. Married for twenty-five years. Two kids I hardly see. Blown up by an IED a few months ago. Did a number on my back.”

“Way to bury the lede.” This startled a laugh out of Bernie though there was nothing much to laugh about. She supposed most people would have led with getting blown up.

“It was. It was frightening. I try not to talk about it if I don’t have to.”

“So we won’t talk about it. Tell me about your kids.”  Serena glossed neatly over that conversational hiccup and Bernie followed her. Keep calm, carry on, and so they did.

“Cameron, 26. Charlotte, 21. Cameron’s still trying to figure out his future. Last I heard he was backpacking in Australia.  Charlotte is at university, reading law last I heard. Not sure if that’s changed. We haven’t had a chance to catch each other up on future plans.” The house was tense when Bernie first came back. Once they were certain Bernie would survive, they were all reminded that they scarcely knew each other. Then, the silence crept in.

“Too much uncertainty in the air?”

“You could say that.” Bernie took a noisy sip of coffee. It was good stuff. Far better than anything Pulses had to offer.  Were it closer to work, she might come here more often.  “Tell me about you?”

“Divorced. One difficult daughter, Elinor, and a wonderful if somewhat challenging nephew, Jason. Elinor is studying drama and Jason is a porter here at Holby. You already know what I do.  There’s not much to say about me.” False modesty was a poor color on Serena.

“I don’t believe that.”

“I like red wine and old movies and moonlit walks on the beach, if you know somebody who might be interested in such a thing.”

“I prefer white wine.”

Serena held her heart. “Oof, hold off a couple of dates before you stab me in the back, why don’t you?”

“Thought I’d be better rip the plaster right off. Wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Too late for that. Somehow, contrary to years of romantic and platonic experience, that wasn’t a deal breaker. I must like you.”

Bernie smiled. Serena smiled. There was a great deal of that going around today.

“I have a suggestion. Let's play Three Truths and a Lie." “What for?” “So I can get to know you better without resorting to shoving bamboo shoots under your fingernails to get you to talk.”  Bernie was anything but the easiest person to get to know where personal lives were concerned. She was willing to give it a shot. “Okay. Do you want me to go first?” “Please do.”

Bernie picked three facts out of the air and an obvious lie. This wasn’t one of the games she’d excelled at in her youth. “I have two children, I was in the army, I had an affair, and I'm afraid of heights.” “Should I have specified truths I don't already know?” Everybody knew Bernie’s business thanks to her nervous hands mistyping Dom’s email address. Her mistake. “I’ll work my way up to it.” “Fine by me. I assume you aren't afraid of heights.” “I'm not. I tend to be steady at any altitude.” “Likewise. Though if you ask me to climb a mountain there'd better be an above average vino waiting at the summit to make it worth my while.” “Duly noted.” She waited for Serena take her turn. "Three truths and a lie. Hmm." Serena tapped her jaw till a smile stole across her lips. She'd thought of something.  "My older sister was adopted out before I was born, I wanted to be a professional dancer growing up, my father was an accountant, and I always wanted more children but never found the time.”  There was enough gossip fodder about Serena to fill a dossier. Bernie had heard some things, but stopped listening fairly quickly when someone began to fill her in on Serena’s late mother.  Some topics were too personal to hear from a stranger. “Let's see. Those all sound likely enough. You have an MBA, could be your father inspired you.” “Could be.” “Any chance of a hint?” “None at all. Working it out is part of the fun.” “Could be your dad was an accountant so I'll say 'true' on that.  I always wanted more children in theory but in reality I wanted to advance my career more. I scarcely made time for Cameron and Charlotte before dashing back to theater. I am going to say 'true' again. You mentioned your nephew Jason. Could be he was your sister's child. Or he could be from a different sibling, not necessarily one who was adopted. We'll leave that one for the time being. You wanted to be a professional dancer. That one’s out of left field. You're graceful in the theater.” "I'll take that." “But you don't move like a dancer.” Bernie had occasion to meet many dancers in her travels and there was a difference, not matter what style they were trained in, in how a dancer moved, whether they were dancing or not.  Serena had her own flowing manner, but it wasn’t that of a dancer. “Were I a tiny bit less confident, I'd be offended.”

Bernie tapped a finger on the back of Serena’s hand.  "You have every reason to be confident, dancer or not. You have attributes most dancers would kill for.” “Are you flirting with me?” “Will that get me out the dog house?” Serena laughed, and Bernie dipped into her coffee to hide how Serena’s throaty laughter sent a ripple through her.  “I think it just might,” she said. “Then I'll keep going.” Bernie had a way with people she hadn’t noticed till she took up with Alex this past year. Men responded to it, but women, some women went molten for it. She wasn’t ready to examine how much she wanted Serena to be one of them.  “Was I right?” “You were bang on the nose. My father was an accountant and he inspired me to attend Harvard for my MBA. Jason is my half-sister Marjorie's son. We never met.  I wanted more children but I did not want them with my ex-husband. Our marriage was unstable right out the gate and I don't believe in having multiple children to hold bad relationships together. I never found anybody else worth having a family with. Elinor is enough.” “No aspirations to professional dance?” “I did take ballet classes as a little girl but I was a touch too clumsy and my proportions were never ideal, as I heard often. I was fine because I tried but I wasn't anything special and I quit as soon as I was allowed. I was, however, something of a marvel on a stripper pole back in uni to hear my friend Sîan tell it. Serena Ballerina, she called me.” “Ding dong, I'd pay for that show.” Serena short-circuited Bernie’s instinctive mortification response with a conspiratorial whisper. “Catch me at Albie's after a couple of bottles and you'll see more than that.”  Serena lightly nudged her ankle. “Your go again.” “I dance a mean waltz, I can operate an armored tank, I speak German conversantly, and I don't regret my upcoming divorce.”

Serena eyed Bernie up, no doubt seeking justification of one possibility over the other. Bernie prided, and derided, herself on being unreadable.

“Here’s what I think: I buy the tank as a fact. I can just picture you forging across a battlefield in one.” “Dare I ask what you think I got up to out there?” “Lots of heroism, I expect. Dirt on your face, windswept hair, rippling muscles. Staring stoically toward the horizon. Am I getting warm?” “It wasn't anything that romantic, or remotely that sexy.” “I know. But, you're built to be a romantic hero. It's the cheekbones.” Bernie snorted. “Bite your tongue.” “I’m not the only one thinking it. You should hear how the juniors sigh over you.” “My CV maybe.” “That isn't all. I admit I keep expecting to see ‘I heart Major Wolfe’ scribbled on the walls of the ladies.” “Go on.” “I'll never tell.” Serena smirked.  “Operate a tank, yes. Dance a mean waltz? You have a sort of grace about you, don’t you?” “Do I?” Serena looked her over once more, taking her time to inspect Bernie’s hands and arms, lingering at the set of her shoulders and the column of her throat. Bernie softly cleared her throat and Serena’s eyes jerked back to her face. “I’m going to say yes to the waltz. And it’s obvious to me that divorce is the right decision for you. I hope you don't regret it." It was she that reached out this time, a light touch of solidarity that had Bernie reaching back.  Their hands linked fast, fingers almost knotting in their eagerness to take mutual hold.  Yes, Bernie had made the mistakes, but it was still her family in flames.

“I regret the pain, not the decision.”

“Good enough. As for German…”  Serena thumbed Bernie’s wrist.  “You can't speak a word of German, can you?” “Nein.” Bernie dodged Serena's ensuing swat.  “No need to get physical, Ms. Campbell. We haven't even had dinner yet.”

“Just for that—“ Serena balled up a paper napkin and threw it at Bernie’s head. “Manners!”  Bernie tossed a second balled up paper projectile back at her. “Act your age!” “No, you!” “We're the same age.”

There was a better than good chance they were never permitted back at that café, so it was good luck it was out of Bernie’s way.

Serena was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes on the pavement outside the coffee house they’d just been politely ejected from.

“I don’t think I’ve had that much fun on a coffee date in—actually, ever. That was one for the books.”

“You like your dates to end in permanent bans from public establishments?”

“It wasn’t permanent; they said we could come back in a month if we could behave ourselves.”

“We are never coming here again.” Bernie didn’t think her stoicism could withstand the judgmental stares. Knowing Serena they’d find themselves in twice the mischief next time around. She’d probably enjoy it, damn her penchant for troublesome brunettes with beautiful eyes.

The first Serena Campbell hug Bernie ever experienced took her by surprise.

Serena’s arms came around her and Bernie froze.  Serena was shorter than her by a couple of inches, though her trainers largely compensated for the disparity. She was so very different from Bernie physically that it took her arms just that little bit longer to remember what they were meant to do. She returned Serena’s hold as she was starting to let go, and they were stuck in this awkward tangle of limbs that was no less embarrassing than Bernie’s initial lapse. It was just—people didn’t touch Bernie. Could be a symptom of her rank or her natural reserve; whatever the reason, others were loath to cross Bernie’s unspoken boundaries and Serena had charged right through, not unlike a bull in a china shop, though nothing was broken.  Everything was fine. Better, even.

“Not much for hugs?” Serena asked once they’d sorted out whose limbs was whose and teased their bodies apart.

“Not many people are in the market for a full-on embrace in the army, no.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice. I can’t remember the last time somebody was happy to see me.”

“More fool them. You’re amazing.” Bernie scuffed the ground with her boot, wanted so very much to hide behind her fringe but felt that would be telling.

“Was that coffee Irish, by any chance?”

“Hardy har har. No, I’m demonstrative to my friends. Hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all.” Bernie pursed her lips. “Could we, could we try again?”

“We can.”

When Serena went for the hug, it was met with Bernie’s full-bodied approval. Serena’s sigh of contentment unleashed a flurry of emotion in Bernie’s heart.  Somebody wanted her here, somebody was happy to see her.

When Serena didn’t protest, Bernie hung on a little tighter for just a little longer. It was nice to hold someone and be held in return.

Serena greeted Bernie at the entrance to Pulses with an excitable grin that would have been the equivalent of an intravenous caffeine drip were Bernie slightly more rested. They’d gone on multiple coffee outings at various spots around Holby outside of work hours and it had cemented them as firm friends.  Bernie hadn’t made a friend like Serena before.

Serena guided her into the wending line of customers, holding onto her arm eager as a child at Christmas.

“I’ve decided we’re going to be adventurous this time.”

“Are we?”

“No more Americanos.”

“But I like my coffee black as my mood.”

“So do I, only my daughter was telling me just today how boring that is. You and I are at the top of our field, we are not boring.  We’re branching out. How does caramel macchiato strike you?”

Bernie screwed up her face. “Sounds sweet.”

“We’re trying it.”

Bernie groaned and shuffled nearer to the counter as the queue ahead of them shrunk.

“Oh god, Serena, why?”  Karma had come for Bernie Wolfe, surely.

“We’re going to carpe that diem, Bernie.”

“Can’t we carpe our usual and save the exotic alternatives for a day when I’ve slept more than two hours?”

“What were you doing that kept you awake?”

“Assembling my new dresser.”

“You should have called me. I’ve spent years putting together my own furniture. I have a tool kit.” The idea of Serena wielding home improvement tools was intriguing and Bernie wasn’t lucid enough to contemplate the reasons why.

“The instructions were in Mandarin.”

“Did they send you the wrong set?”

“I really don’t know.” She yawned into the crook of her arm. “Anyway, I got the thing together in the end, threw myself in bed and got a whole two hours of sleep before my alarm sounded this morning.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Serena rubbed her arm and pulled her to the counter to put in their order.  “In that case, black coffee for you, because I know the army runs on the stuff. I’ll have a mocha frappuccino.”

The barista was quick today and produced their drinks order in about ten minutes. Bernie spent the wait daydreaming about getting back into bed.  Serena’s previously jolly spirits were already beginning to flag.  By the time they were handed their respective cups, she was thoroughly disheartened. They took their first sips after knocking their cups together in a companionable ‘heads up.’

“How is it?” Bernie asked once the world began to regain its color.

“Sweet.” Serena winced. She’d mentioned her preference for dark chocolate over milk or white once before. “Loving the bite of chocolate though.”

Bernie raised her cup in a mock salute. “Better you than me.  You can share my coffee when you’re falling asleep half an hour from now.”

“Generous of you.”

They hauled arse to AAU with the speed of clinical leads, in other words, as quick as they bloody well felt like it, which is to say not at all quickly by either of their standards. They arrived on the ward to stow their belongings in the locker room and check on the state of things with Morven and the other F1s under her tutelage. They did a few superficial obs, ordered some tests, bloods, and diagnostics and gathered their paperwork for a meeting with Hanssen, the Board, and the other senior consultants.

Bernie grabbed her lukewarm coffee as she left the office. Serena’s frappuccino was nowhere to be seen. They squeezed into the back of the crowded lift for the ride upstairs. Bernie took the furthest corner from the door while Serena propped herself up against the rear wall to make room for a porter and a nurse wheeling in a couple of non-ambulatory patients.

“Do you want a sip? Your eyelids are drooping.”

Following a voracious yawn, Serena took a hearty gulp of Bernie’s coffee.  “Remind me never to listen to my daughter again. She gives terrible advice.” That would not be the last Serena said that in their years together; in the end, Bernie will wish she got to say it more.

They departed their meeting upstairs hours later much diminished for having sat in a darkened conference room listening to a board member entirely lacking in charisma drone on about profit margins into the early afternoon.  Bernie’s almost positive Serena mentioned dating him once.

Serena stared at the down button for the lift for roughly thirty seconds before remembering she needed to push it first.  “Was that the most boring meeting we have ever attended or am I just exhausted?” “It's up there. Coffee?” “An emergency shot of espresso is in order unless I want to be snoring into Mr. Donorat's abdominal cavity at 3:30.” “I’m slightly more lucid, want me to take him?” Bernie could subsist on a single cup of coffee for twice the amount of time of the average person. Necessity and all that. “And I'll review your half of the admin?” She sounded hopeful. “I wasn't going to suggest that but if you're offering.”  Bernie hated the usual NHS administrative drudgery something terrible. She’d take most any out she could get to avoid it. “Consider it done." Serena ambushed her with a brisk hug. Bernie hadn't known hugs could be brisk. Serena rubbed her back and bussed her cheek, then dashed for the elevator with a backwards wave, no doubt off to  wade into their chest-high backlog like the expert swimmer she was.  Bernie smiled at her retreating figure and made for the stairs, whistling softly as she began her descent. They were workplace hugging friends now.

Bernie came back to their shared office after Mr. Donorat’s surgery ran into the early evening. There had been complications, including a couple of free bleeds that had necessitated a transfusion and a fresh set of scrubs for Bernie.  If he survived the night, he’d live to see seventy, in Bernie’s opinion.

On Bernie’s desk, there was a steaming cup of coffee in a cardboard cup holder that read Ziggurat’s Coffee & Patisserie.  They’d been banned from there months ago and all of Serena’s wheedling hadn’t convinced Bernie to go accompany her there again. The smell of dark hazelnut roast greeted Bernie. There it was again, that feeling of being cared for, wanted and appreciated.

“You didn't need to bring me back coffee.”

“You saved my bacon on that surgery, it's the least I could do.”

Bernie didn’t tell her that friends did that for each other. That was a given. Serena didn’t need to be told what friends should do; she needed to see it. So Bernie would do it and Serena would see the kind of friend she had in Bernie. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.” Serena tapped her fingers on the edge of her keyboard. “Dinner tonight?”

“Kebab?” “You read my mind.” After their shift, they repaired to a wonderful Turkish eatery they’d found on their meanderings through town and split a set of beyti kebab while treating themselves to a pot of fortifying Turkish coffee.   Noting how Serena was eyeing the last skewer on the platter, Bernie signaled the server to their table to expand their order. It would take a stronger woman than her to deny that face anything. "Take two?" They pored over the menu, likely butchering the pronunciation of every dish but giving it the old college try before settling on çöp şiş for Bernie and patlıcanlı kebap for Serena. Sharing food was out of the question; they both enjoyed eating their fill too much to share.  Marcus used to give Bernie grief if she ate too much at once. For all that he claimed it was for her own good, Bernie often questioned whether he wasn't worried she wouldn't look the way he preferred if she gained a few pounds. Serena didn't care. She made the right noises about diet and exercise but Bernie had yet to meet a woman more content in her body, or who had more of a right to be.  “Back to our game,” Serena announced unprompted between bites of pide bread dipped in yogurt sauce. “We have a game?” Bernie asked around a mouthful of garlic and tomato dripping with oil, tasting of black pepper and thyme. It was so good she didn’t actually want to stop eating to speak. Serena raised a finger, finishing a segment of eggplant off in its entirety. “Three Truths...” “...and A Lie.” She snapped her fingers. “Okay, let's go.” Bernie liked getting to know Serena this way. It was low-pressure and Serena made it even more so. She wanted to know Bernie as a person, not Bernie as some larger than life heroic figure. Bernie wanted to know everything there was to know about Serena and more. “You first.” Serena counted off her on her fingers: “I played hockey as a girl, I once dyed my hair an unfortunate shade of dishwater blonde, I tried yoga—twice, and I have always dreamed of summering in the south of France.”

Bernie sat back to let herself digest some of the food she’d just eaten. She had every intention of going back to it. “I don't think you'd like yoga very much.” “Ah ah ah, I can be flexible.” In theater, yes; in life, Bernie had observed that Serena had difficulty with sudden, unexpected change.  She and Jason very much had that in common.  Nevertheless, both were adapting swiftly now that Bernie’d come around. “I know you can bend when needed, I've seen you in theater.”

Serena batted her eyelashes.  “Flirt.” “Likewise.” Flirting with Serena had become Bernie’s latest cardio fad. Nothing got her heart rate up like seeing Serena shine with mischief.  Back on task, Wolfe. “You'd love wine country.” “We'll have to go together someday.  I can ply you with the best varietals of Shiraz until you come to your senses.” “Not if I get you to enjoy Malbec first.” Serena unleashed a mighty scowl.  “Never gonna happen.”

“We'll see.” Bernie had Serena beat for bullheadedness any day. “Hockey?” “Never underestimate school mandated physical activity.” Serena’s scowl was more annoyance than disgust this time.  “What are you staring at?” “Trying to imagine you shouldering a bunch of year eight girls out of the way to launch the ball into the net.” “I could have done it,” she defended.  Serena balked at the implication that she wasn’t as capable as anyone.  Bernie would have done the same, had done the same on other subjects. “I bet you could. But you didn't.”

Serena cradled her cup of coffee and narrowed her eyes as if to intimidate Bernie into flinching.  It would have been more effective were it not for the drop of coffee on the corner of her mouth that Bernie couldn’t stop staring at. She wanted to kiss rub it off. “Your final answer?” Serena asked her. Bernie contemplated what remained of her food and threw a hand up to request a take-home box.  Her stomach was doing somersaults; she was in no fit state to eat more. “My final answer.”

Serena flopped back her chair with an air of disgruntlement not unlike the Elinor she’d heard countless tales about.  "You're annoyingly good at this game." “You have a tell.” “What?” Serena followed Bernie's line of sight to her necklace and the double charm she was dragging along its chain. “I've been doing that all my life. Don't even notice it most of the time.” “You do it when you're nervous or when you fib.”

Serena chuckled.  “I'll keep that in mind if we ever play poker.”

Bernie could see Serena on Keller with herself and the others having hospital-approved drinks at the end of shift and dealing cards in the break room. Something told her this woman talked a much better game than she played. “I'd wipe the floor with you.”

Serena’s eyebrows inched toward her hairline. She sensed fresh meat. Bernie sensed a trap and like a lemming she dove right in. Serena propped her chin on her hands.  “Can't wait to spend your hard earned money on coffee next time.” “Was that a challenge?”  Bernie liked to win, but more than she liked to win, she liked Serena. She’d take her up on a game of Twister if Serena decided it was a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon. “Name the time and place, Ms. Wolfe.” “My place, next Tuesday after work. I’ll provide the booze.” “I'll bring the takeaway.”

“It's a date.” Bernie finally heeded the internal alarm shrieking that she was coming dangerously close to asking out her newest friend and changed the subject.  “So dishwater blonde?” Serena deflated. “I hoped you'd forgot about that.” “Memory like bank vault, me.  Was it a dare? Is there photographic evidence?” “Never you mind that.” "Should I ask Jason?” Serena almost spit out her coffee. “No! And you are never allowed to meet Sîan Kors.” “I am going to ask every one of our colleagues until I get her number, and I am going to start with Ric.” Ric enjoyed getting Serena’s goat slightly more than Bernie did and he didn’t care one way or another about taking sides. If nothing else, he could tell Bernie where to search next.

“Bloody Ric Griffin.” Serena gave Bernie all the best bits of Ric’s history to make up for his inevitable betrayal. Bernie forgot all except the choice tidbits. Rocky Griffin had met his match in the two of them.

Serena and Bernie said their goodbyes at street parking. Bernie had a meet-up with the kids in an hour or so if they decided to show. Part of her wanted to ask Serena to tag along for moral support, but she knew this was the time for her to be brave again. That was the version of Bernie her children needed to see. Serena knew all about the upcoming meeting and had done all she could to keep Bernie’s mind off it. She’d done well.  That was her gift, aside from being an excellent surgeon and a relentless shill for the Shiraz makers of Europe, she was a daunting distraction.

Serena bumped Bernie’s shoulder.  "Not a bad meal, and I can't fault the company."

"I'll take that for a review."

“You can take that to bank.”

Serena took one of Bernie’s hands. They were cold as the year grew cooler with a change of season.  Serena never took any notice, seemed as eager to touch Bernie when she was warm as when she was icy.  “Thanks for today.” “Just doing what comes naturally.”

“Saving my sorry backside?” “Looking out for one of my own." Bernie slunk forward to put drape her arms around Serena.  She even dared a kiss upon the rosy apple of Serena's cheek. “You're welcome in my foxhole any day.” “I bet you tell that to all the pretty consultants.”

“Just you.” Serena buried her face in the folds of Bernie’s coat and laughed.  It was only a second and Bernie heart rate still climbed.  Serena pulled back and brushed strands of hair from Bernie’s coat.

“You’d better get a move on before I try to take you home with me.”

Bernie clicked her tongue.  “You won't hear me complaining.”

“Be good, Ms. Wolfe,” said Serena, going stern though not nearly as convincing as she seemed to believe.

Beautiful. Beguiling. Utterly unattainable. Just Bernie’s type. “Where would be the fun in that?”  Serena held Berne’s door for her as she got into her car. They clasped hands through her open car window.  “Goodnight, Serena.” “Goodnight.”

Bernie waited to see Serena safely back in her car and they drove their separate ways. As always.

Serena held the lift doors long enough for Bernie to squeeze through. Yes, she was running behind. She had slept in.

“Good morning, birthday girl.”

Bernie cocked her head. “How’d you know today’s my birthday?”

"I'm clinical co-lead of our ward, not to mention former deputy CEO. All the personnel files used to cross my desk, including yours.” “You remember my birthday?” She was lucky if her children remembered. Sometimes Alex had. Bernie had stopped celebrating in her thirties; there’d been more pressing concerns, career, marriage, kids. It ceased to be an event to anybody else and so Bernie had let it go.

“I remember the birthdays of all my friends.” Serena dug around in her seemingly bottomless coat pockets and produced  a large novelty size Crunchie bar, an oversize travel mug that smelled of Bernie’s favorite decadent coffee beverage (one of Serena’s ideas for an Americano alternative had stuck) and a paper packet that was giving off an aroma so sweet Bernie’s mouth began to water on the spot. Bernie hardly knew what to say.

“You got me cheese Danish.” “You're always eyeing it up on the dessert case and talking yourself out of it. Eat up, you're beautiful, Bernie, and you're as young as you feel.” “I feel about 22 right now.” “You look it.” “That settles it, it's time for a visit to the optician. I’ll drive.” “I’ll go if you go.” "So you can steal my glasses like you steal my hoodie?" Serena turned beet red.  “I did that once because a patient sicked up on my blouse and I didn't have a spare. I washed it and returned it the very next shift.”  Bernie had smelt of Serena's laundry detergent for three days, light and floral and soft.  Time and again, she would catch a whiff of herself and whip around, mistakenly thinking Serena was nearby. Serena's scent was a comely ghost she wanted to be haunted by, that she mourned not a little when it faded to nothing.  “So you did. That wasn't a 'no', by the way.” “You would let me borrow your glasses, wouldn't you?” Without hesitation. Bernie had proven herself a soft touch for this woman from the first handshake. “You'd only steal them if I didn’t.” “I wouldn't steal them, I would borrow them while you weren't looking.” “As I suspected.  You're not to be trusted. And no pouting, you've only got yourself to blame.”

Serena’s lower lip poked out in defiance.  “I've got a department head meeting to haggle over budget acquisition for your trauma bay. When my birthday rolls around in a few months’ time, I want you to remember I took this bullet for both of us."  She pulled Bernie into her arms. Unlike her usual brisk, crushing hug, this was a steaming bath of an embrace, soothing and deep. She held Bernie as tight as their respective possessions allowed and rubbed Bernie's back, stroking a line of bracing heat down her spine. She then kissed Bernie's cheek twice in quick succession. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Bernie didn’t get out more than a stammered word of thanks before Serena pushed her out the lift onto AAU and headed upstairs for her budget conference.

Bernie and Serena had leveled up to a shared ward, unsolicited gestures of kindness, hugs, and terms of endearment. Bernie greeted the ward staff feeling lighter than she had in months. Her feet scarcely touched the ground. 

Months and years and births and deaths hence, Bernie stretched sloth-slow on her side of the bed.  “Coffee?” she offered, voice hoarse and croaky from deep, restful slumber. Serena reached out of her goose down hibernation cave to reclaim Bernie's sleep heavy body for a pre-dawn snuggle. “Five more minutes?” Bernie rolled over to nuzzle under Serena's chin, going limpet and creeping vine stuck with her under the covers.  She wasn't going to turn down a lovely cuddle in this winter weather, nor with this lovely woman. The children and grandchildren and extended relations would be arriving soon and they’d expect food. "Five more minutes." They made it downstairs in fifty. Close enough.

[eerythingisshaka]

Wakanda Got Y’all Pt. 7

[Black Panther x Insecure Mashup]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Word Count: 2.2k

The outreach center was operating in its usual mode.  Children playing in the gymnasium and fitness centers, tutoring area giving one on one help to kids on their studies, lunches and snacks distributed on schedule.  Luckily attendance rose with the stat of the regular school year.

Issa helped in the tutoring room with Frieda and a couple of other volunteers.

“Issa!  We have really picked up our numbers since the first week, isn’t this exciting?”  Frieda asks with a smile bigger than her hair.

Issa couldn’t help but admit the same.  “I know! I really can’t believe it, but I guess T’Challa was right.  They will come eventually, long as we are consistent and patient about it.”

Frieda puts on a thoughtful look peering at Issa.  “Wise words, from a king nonetheless. Have you guys been...getting along?”

Issa instantly starts to sweat.  “Hey Bradley! Don’t let those equations divide your attention.  Multiply your knowledge young’un!” Issa yells out across the room abruptly, causing the other students to sit up and look at her suspiciously.

“Which one is Bradley…”  Frieda asks searching the room.

There was no Bradley, Issa just needed an excuse to change the subject from T’Challa.

“He back there.  So, um, have you seen Nakia around today?  I was hoping to get to talk to her a little bit to go over some stuff.”

“Oh no worries.  I already got with her about the one piece she wore.  I saw you couldn’t keep staring so I asked where she got it, but she said it’s exclusive to her tribe so we probably shouldn’t appropriate.”

Issa blinks wildly, shaking her head.  “Wait, did she say we shouldn’t appropriate?”

Frieda shakes her head.  “No, that’s my thoughts on it.”  

“Frieda, it wouldn’t be appropriation if I did it.  You passed the diversity training with flying colors, I don’t know why this trips you up still.”

“Ohhh, right.  I’m sorry I almost stripped you of your Black identity to your roots.  Honestly, I can’t believe my foolishness.”

“Plus that wasn’t even what I was talkin about.  I need her to-”

“Can y’all take this conversation outside or put a pin in it?  My thesis ain’t gonna write itself.” One shiny, round boy boy spoke up from his laptop.

“Sorry!  Bradley…?”  Issa asks.

“Stefon, lady.  Damn!” He corrects.

“Young man, remember the clean language policy please.”  Frieda warns gently.

“How about y’all just REMEMBER, ma’am?”  The boy says with some neck work.

Issa mutters to herself.  “Damn, he really is a Stefon.  Um, sorry. Frieda, I’m going to find Nakia, you got this?”

Frieda waves her off.  “No doubt. Take your time!”

Issa walks out of the tutoring area towards the administrative offices where Nakia is located.  The secretary says hello as she confirms with Issa that Nakia was present and wrapping up a meeting.  

Issa sat down and pulled out her phone to pass the time, seeing a message from Kellie in the group chat.

(K) Is Tiffany covering the bill for this girls night since this was her damn idea?  Shit is high as hell, even after happy hour discount.

Molly pops up.  No girl, just stick to what you can do, we’ll wind down at my spot afterwards anyway.  Save your drink money.

That’s👏 what 👏 I’m 👏 talkin 👏 bout!  Kelli emotes.

Oh, Molly, you cool if Nakia is at your place too?

(M) She comin??

I’m about to ask…

(K) Oh!  If we bringin plus ones, lemme bring my Butterball to the function too!

(M) NO!  Y’all ain’t fuckin in my damn apartment.

(K) Woooow, like I’m that disrespectful.  Fuck you too then!

So is that a yeah or…

(M) If you get the balls to ask, she can.  But she ain’t my business, so if things go south, she out!

Issa hears Nakia’s door open followed by laughter.  Nakia walks out with T’Challa, stopping to give him a hug, making Issa squirm uncomfortably.  T’Challa breaks away and turns to see her.

“Issa!  Hello, you look well.  Were you waiting on me?”  T’Challa asks, while striding over to Issa, holding her hand to stand her up.  His sunny demeanor was hard to ignore, especially when she wasn’t sure if it was truly for her or from Nakia.

“No, actually, I am here to see Nakia.  I wanted to have a little talk, girl talk, you know.”  Issa says, stammering slightly.

T’Challa smiles looking back at Nakia.  “Be kinder to her than you just were to me, eh?  Issa, I would like to see you later. Call me when you are free.”  He says kissing the back of her hand with a wink.

“Issa, come in.  I was hoping to see you actually.”  Nakia’s ethereal voice calls out to her as she gracefully turns to go back into her office, beckoning Issa with a twirl of her fingers in the air.

As Issa walks in, she is caught up in the decor of Nakia’s office.  Earth tones set her mood at ease with the dark wood panel walls, rich tapestry lining the wall behind her.  Exotic plants emit fragrances to tickle her senses. The babbling of a large waterfall running over the plastic rock formations sing in her eardrum as she takes a seat in the comfy chair.

“Wow, I didn’t know you worked in a spa.  I should’ve came here more often.” Issa says in amazement.

Nakia smiles sweetly, folding her hands on her desk.  “Trust me, this wasn’t in the budget, but I figured I could splurge myself for a home away from home.”

Issa nods.  “Yeah, I can only imagine being outside of where I’m from.  It’s kind of exciting but scary too.”

Nakia waves this notion off.  “Oh no, I am used to being away from home.  I have traveled all around the world as a War Dog for Wakanda.  This is a vacation in comparison.”

Issa blinks, feeling her anxiety grow.  “Excuse me? War Dog?”

Nakia nods, looking at Issa in surprise.  “Yes! I thought I told you? Anyway, a war dog is like a spy.  It’s how we keep tabs on the happenings around the world, intervene when necessary, other classified things.  It’s so exciting, for selfish reasons really; half the reason me and T’Challa couldn’t work out.”

“Oh.”  Issa says softly.  The reality of being the one after Nakia to T’Challa breaks her confidence down further.  

Nakia cocks her head to the side with concern.  “I hope us working together does not make things uncomfortable for you.  He seems to believe in you a lot and T’Challa’s judgment is pretty sound for the most part.”

“No, not at all.  We’re taking things slow anyway.  I would barely call it a relationship, I mean, we’re talking but nothing deep, you know.”  Issa stammers

“It’s all good!  Long as everyone’s happy I’m happy.  And speaking of, I wanted to talk to you about We Got Y’all.”

Issa sits up straighter.  “Yeah, go ahead.”

Nakia twists her hands together anxiously.  “I wonder exactly how well we mesh together as a unit.  Don’t get me wrong, I still feel that the benefit of mixing us together helps our causes more than it hinders but there are little parts that may be a challenge to the overall goals we are trying to achieve.”

Issa furrows her brow.  “Well, ok. Could you be more specific?”

Nakia bites her lip.  “Some of the coordinators seem a bit out of touch with the culture here.  And that is coming from me, I’m, certainly not tied to America in the slightest, nor would I permanently choose to be.  But some are either too, let’s say ‘engaged’ with the students and their needs to the point of concocting worse backstories on assumption, while others are completely aloof to put it nicely.”

Issa knew exactly the ones that Nakia was talking about.  “I get it, you don’t even have to say a thing about it. Like you said, they try for the cause by showing up but it’s hard for them to see past innate differences sometimes.  You should’ve seen them trying to use me like a cheat sheet on what to even say to you guys, and even Erik, and he’s from here!”

Nakia shakes her head in disbelief.  “It’s outstanding the lengths people will go to appear accepting only to trip and fall on their own face, when you’ve asked for none of it in the first place.”

Issa nods encouragingly.  “Can we just say it now? White people?”

“Pssh, I was just about to, you beat me to it!”  

They share a genuine laugh that felt so good for Issa to let go, like a weight was lifted from her shoulders.  “I can talk to them, try and make things a little less tense and remind them you guys aren’t aliens.”

“The curly haired nervous one, she can be that way sometimes.  Very knowledgeable but everyday does not have to be CNN.”

“Right!  Just talk regular, she is an easy fix.  Frieda is the ally you want to have around here.”   Issa assures Nakia.

“Noted, thank you again for your input.  I won’t keep you from your weekend any longer, please have a good day.”  Nakia gets up, collecting some papers on her desk.

“Actually that is something I wanted to bring up.  Me and some girlfriends of mine were gonna have a girls night out, and we haven’t gotten wind down time together.  So I thought maybe you’d wanna come?”

Nakia’s eyes lit up.  “Sure! That sounds like a good plan!  I’d love to join your friends, just let me know what I should bring.”

Issa dismisses her, getting up.  “Oh just bring yourself. You’re my guest, it’s not problem.”

Nakia stands coming around to give Issa a strong hug.  “Thank you for the invitation. I cannot wait!”

“Great!  I’ll give you the details later!”  Issa says goodbye, leaving her office on cloud nine.  Their talk went way better than she ever expected, and now the other girls will get to meet her too.  Issa began to look forward to the night even more now. And with a ding of her phone, T’Challa gave her reason to leave work a little early.

Before she texts him back, she messages the girls.

Hey! Confirmed one more head for our night!

(T) I don't know her. Molly may not have room at her place...

(M) Uh, don't shade my apt...

I thought we were eating out?

(K) Call your man for that.  Tiffany tryna be bougie cheap is all.

The hell is bougie cheap?

(K) Avoiding tipping by doing a house party which is more expensive.

(T) whatever.  I just couldn't find a reservation last minute. But she can bring something to contribute.

Ok what are we needing?

(T) No no. She can bring something. We don't know her, let her impress us.

It wasn’t even Tiffany’s party and she was already running shit

---

T’Challa wanted to eat out tonight, so he picked her up for a night out to a mid range restaurant for them to enjoy.

“Ooh!  I think I’m going to get the shrimp.  I’m feeling fancy and delicate.” Issa says, bopping in her seat slightly.

T’Challa looks at her, staring at the candlelight illuminates their table romantically.  “Whatever you like sounds good to me.”

“No, you have to get something different.”  Issa protests.

“And why is that?”

“....so the table can have some variety?”  Issa mutters.

“But the meals are individualized.”  T’Challa asks in confusion.

“Well, if you don’t have a preference you should try the chicken marsala, that sounded good to me too.”

T’Challa closes his menu.  “So, if you have shrimp, and chicken marsala, what am I eating then?”

Issa looks up at the ceiling in dramatic thought.  “We haven’t seen the dessert menu yet.”

T’Challa chuckles, taking his glass up to Issa.  She mirrors him. “To dessert then. May it be sweet enough to lick the plate clean.”  He sips his wine looking at Issa with desire. Issa almost chokes on hers, sputtering and wiping her mouth dry.

“So, did you have a good talk with Nakia today?”  T’Challa asks looking back to his menu unphased.

Issa blinks a incredulously, unprepared to discuss his ex so soon.  “Diving right in huh? Well, yeah, it was good. She wants me to kind of talk with my folks about their methods around the kids and I invited her to go out with me.”

“Oh!  Is she stealing you from me now?”  T’Challa quips.

Issa looks sideways.  “I mean, she kinda pretty.  We’ll see after these drinks we bout to have Saturday night.”

T’Challa’s mouth hangs open before melting into a smile.  “I’m glad you are in good spirits considering.”

Issa sips from her glass.  “That she is your ex and you didn’t tell me ahead of time?  Yeah, I’m pretty fucking good.”

T’Challa calls over a waiter.  “It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell you, it’s just that I hadn’t gotten a chance to.  And I also didn’t expect it to have to be explained. I didn’t get into this program expecting to fall for one of the coordinators.”

“Well pick yourself back up.  This is going to stay as professional as possible out of respect.”

T’Challa shrugs.  “Then we will be going dutch on the meal, then?”

Issa cranks her neck back.  “Uh, don’t be rude. You invited me anyway, so that’s the rules.”

T’Challa squints at her.  “Wakanda is a bit different than America.  I might have to claim ignorance on that.”

They laugh as the waiter approaches.  “Welcome to Chez Magnifique. I’m L-”

“Lawrence?!”  Issa gasps.

“Yes, Lawrence.  She will have the shrimp and the chicken marsala.  We are sharing tonight.” T’Challa smiles at Issa but it swiftly drops when he reads her expression.  “What’s wrong?”

Part 8

Masterlist

RagTag

@hbicprettyprincess @theunsweetenedtruth

@kimianostalgia @airis-paris14

@afraiddreamingandloving

@chaneajoyyy

@myfavemarvelfanfics

@nys30

@blkintrovert

@allhailnjadaka @cutewylie @bidibidibombaclaat @muse-of-mbaku @wakanda-inspired @klaine15689

[curufins-smile]

Best Served Cold - Chapter 2

Celegorm and Curufin are the last Fëanorians left alive, not Maedhros and Maglor. This has consequences.

Warning for descriptions of the aftermath of a massacre

-

Outside the quiet sanctuary of the room, the city is in chaos. Elrond can hear screaming, and can see smoke, and smell an awful stench he remembers from when he caught his hair on a candle, as well as what he dimly thinks might be burning flesh. There are people constantly running past, and Celegorm barks orders to several breathless elves who come up behind them to ask questions.

“It’s almost over,” Curufin says, dispassionately, and Elrond can still hear Elros crying quietly nearby and distantly realises that he is crying too.

He looks around as much as possible, taking in what he knows must be the last sights of his home. Even in his numb state, what he sees is shocking. There are bodies everywhere, lying unmoving and bloody. Stalking between them, feasting is a pack of the largest dogs Elrond has ever seen.

One of them trots up to present an unrecognisable scrap of flesh to Celegorm, who crouches down, Elros still on his shoulder, to enthusiastically pet the dog and congratulate it on its prize.

He gasps in horror as he realises it is a hand. Abruptly, his head is covered by something, and he realises Curufin has tossed his cloak over his head.

“Turco,” Curufin says, “we don’t want them traumatised any more than they have to be. Cover his head.”

Elrond is more grateful than he should be.

“Hadn’t thought about that,” says Celegorm, and Elros’ sobs are abruptly muffled. “Guess we’re a bit desensitised to this stuff now, huh?”

Elrond can see nothing now, but he is glad for it, for his other senses still work and he knows he does not want to witness the things he hears. There is still the occasional clash of swords, but mostly there is only the screams of the dying, and the sound of those awful dogs enjoying their meal. Above them, he can hear the mews of seagulls that he and Elros feed by the harbour, and he sniffles as he realises they never will again.

They are moving out of the city, Elrond thinks, and is proven right when he is set down and his makeshift blindfold is removed and they are some way away from the gates, on the grassy cliff overlooking the harbour where he and Elros liked to play occasionally.

There is thick black smoke billowing from the harbour below, and Elrond realises with a jolt that they must have burnt the ships to prevent anyone from escaping. The numbness is receding now, and the abrupt rush of emotion makes him wish for it back.

“Elrond!” Elros cries, immediately running for him once out of Celegorm’s grasp. He is grabbed instantly by the back of his tunic.

“Don’t even think about running off,” Celegorm says, smiling. “Be good, and I won’t have to hunt you down.”

Elros is dropped and seconds later, Elrond is embraced tightly. He hugs back, closing his eyes with relief. Mother may have jumped, Father may have left, but he still has Elros.

Curufin’s voice interrupts them. “If you can walk, and keep up, we will not carry you. If you cannot keep up, we will carry you again.”

Elros looks stricken at the thought of being lifted by Celegorm again, and Elrond is glad that he seemed to have the nicer of the pair.

Elrond grabs Elros’ hand tightly, and they set off after the retreating brothers. Elrond does not want to become food for Celegorm’s dogs.

The brothers approach a pyre set up on the clifftop with two bodies lying on top of it. Elrond is too small to view them, but he can see Curufin bury his face in his hands and Celegorm pull him into a hug, resting his chin on top of Curufin’s head. They are saying something again in the language that Elrond doesn’t know, and he feels a curiosity completely inappropriate to the current situation about it.

Elrond is surprised as Curufin breaks the hug and motions them over, lifting him and Elros up in turn so they can see. The elves on the pyre are red haired, like no elf Elrond has ever seen before, and their identical faces are unexpectedly peaceful. Below the neck they are covered by what must have been their cloaks and Elrond is glad for it, for they are stained dark with blood.

“They are our brothers,” Curufin says, and his voice is heavy with grief but it does not waver. “These are the fourth and fifth of our brothers to die, and now we are all that is left.”

“Is that why you’re stealing us?” Elros asks, always braver than Elrond. He keeps glancing nervously up at Celegorm, and gravitates more to the so far kinder Curufin.

“No,” Curufin says, surprised. “Why would we want you for that? Our brothers are irreplaceable and you will never be them.”

Celegorm nods in agreement. “It would be an insult to their memory to replace them with you.” He looks down at them. “You’re hostages that we plan to treat as though you were made of glass, and perhaps we’ll raise you properly. But don’t ever think you’ll be family like they were.”

Elrond swallows, then surprises himself by asking, “What were their names?”

Celegorm and Curufin exchange a glance, then Celegorm shrugs and calls over a waiting elf with a torch. He motions them to step back, before setting the flame to the pyre. As they watch the flames begin to lick at the bodies, the smoke joining the plume from the harbour, Elrond hears Curufin speak quietly.

“They were Ambarussa.”

-

By the time the pyre burns down, the remains of the Fëanorian host have assembled, and are ready to depart.

“We make for Amon Ereb,” Curufin says, before unceremoniously bundling Elrond in front of him on his horse. Elros is grabbed and hoisted up in front of Celegorm, whose horse has no saddle and no reins.

“You better hold on properly to me, kid,” Celegorm says. “She knows where she’s going, but she won’t particularly care if you get there with her.”

Elros nods shakily and grips tightly to the arm around his waist. They have never really been on horseback before. They have lived in the city their entire lives. Elrond immediately decides that he doesn’t like it. The rolling gait is like being on a ship, but without the option of standing and stretching properly.

They ride until the sun begins to set, and then stop to make camp. Elrond is surprised at the quick efficiency of the army, as there are soon many tents set up from the baggage train of sturdy horses.

Celegorm whistles for his pack of dogs and they come instantly, barking excitedly, milling around him in anticipation. He waves to Curufin, then disappears into the darkness for an hour or so before returning with several fat birds and two rabbits. He passes out his prizes to several nearby elves, saving a plump bird that Elrond does not know the name of for their own fire.

Celegorm immediately sets to quickly and professionally dressing and plucking his kill. He banters lightly back and forth with Curufin in the other language while he does it. Next to Elrond, Elros nudges him.

“Hey,” he says, in a hushed voice. “I don’t think they’re paying attention to us now.”

Elrond eyes the pair. “No, I don’t think they are. But we can’t run.”

“That’d be stupid, those dogs would have us in seconds,” Elros replies, and Elrond is relieved that he’s not trying anything stupid. “But that’s not what I want to talk about. I’m scared, Elrond.”

Elrond grabs Elros’ hand. “Don’t worry, if they haven’t killed us yet, I don’t think they will.”

Elros shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m scared about!”

He looks over at Celegorm, who is now enthusiastically rubbing some sort of herb on the plucked bird. “Remember what Mama told us?” he asks. “About the monster with silver hair?”

Elrond did remember. Mother had told them of the monster, more animal than elf, that had killed her family and forced her to flee to Sirion, where she had met their father. She was always really worried about them leaving her side, and almost never let them play alone for fear that the monster would snatch them.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Elrond asks, but in the pit of his stomach he knows.

“I think it’s him!” Elros hisses. “I’ve been so scared and it’s all I can think about. Mama is- is gone and the monster came for us!”

The sound of laughter shocks the pair of them apart, looking across guiltily at Celegorm, the source.

He grins widely. “So, that’s what she told you?” Next to him, Curufin is scribbling busily on a parchment, and doesn’t even look up. “She said I was a monster, that I’d do... what?”

Elrond swallows. “Sh-She said that if we went wandering off you’d track us down and probably kill and maybe eat us.”

Celegorm’s smile widens, and Elrond is reminded of the sharks that the fishermen sometimes would return with in the markets of Sirion. “I wouldn’t be tempted by such skinny kids anyway. And you’d give little sport, too slow to run from me.”

Elrond presses closer to Elros, who loops an arm around him protectively. Elros has always been braver when Elrond needs comfort too. Elrond remembers how frantic their mother had been when news of the approaching army. They had wanted to go and play by the waterfall that morning, but Mother had made them stay inside instead. He wonders now if it was because she knew Celegorm was coming.

“But then,” Celegorm continues, “perhaps I could make some new hair ornaments from your bones. Your fingers look like they’d be delica- ow!!”

Curufin elbows him without even looking up. “Stop scaring them. I know you think it’s hilarious, but I need them only mildly traumatised, not screaming and refusing to go near you.”

Celegorm grins, unrepentant. “You kids want some food?”

Elrond is suddenly so hungry that he has second helpings of the surprisingly delicious meat. The dogs are quiet around them now, and despite knowing that he should not be, Elrond finds himself boneless and sleepy. The exhaustion of the day is catching up with him, and Elros too judging by the yawns. They fall asleep curled together near the fire, and do not even stir as Curufin lays his cloak over them.

-

This isn’t going to be like all the fluffy dysfunctional family M+M+E+E fics. There will definitely be fluffier moments to come, but the twins seeing the aftermath of the kinslaying and also being told scary stories about Celegorm (the terror of Dior’s line) means that they will be slow to trust.