#that ephemeral thing that makes you want to keep watching a dance when you see that the dancers are emotionally connected

[merigoldaround]

It seems that in Like crazy the dancers represent different sides of Jimin or the thoughts keeping him trapped, possibly both (a bit like in SMF2 as well). And army was right again about the woman being Jimin's reflection, in the choreo it's just more clear.

I think I want to see the music show performances and a possible dance practice before I can really form an opinion on the choreo though. The tonight show performance lacked a bit of something, not from Jimin's part, but from the backup dancers part. There wasn't really a connection between Jimin and them.

(The interactions between Jimmy Fallon and Jimin in those skits were funny. It's nice to see genuine appreciation for Jimin.)

[rawmeknockout]

Jetfire/Starscream/Bumblebee Commission

I was contacted by a follower who wanted me to write out my SkyStarBee idea, so here it is! I hope this is what you wanted! I haven’t ever written a complete fanfic before, just blurbs and short scenes, so I hope this is okay. I want to try writing longer form but it’s hard to formulate full plots. (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)

The blinding gleam of yellow and white is easy to see from high up in Earth’s atmosphere, mottled eggshell colors glinting, dancing, in the Sun’s dying light, and it calls the flighty Seeker back to the ground before he can stop his instinctive descent. He wasn’t looking for them, but lately he’s adopted an uncanny habit of finding these two during their moments alone. At least he’s been quiet about it, quick to appear and quick to leave. Most nights, he can convince himself this is just reconnaissance. After all, he doesn’t hold any feelings in particular for any Autobots.

There’s precious little Air Commander Starscream, second in line to rule the Decepticons, actually cares about. Everyone knows this. He holds little value in life in its abstract form, in other people's lives, in the lives of those serving under him. He cares about power and strategy, his trine when they see fit to follow his orders, and the glory of leading the Decepticons. Half the Decepticon army could keel over dead in a solar cycle, and Starscream wouldn’t blink an optic for them. His spark has frozen over in an unending winter, petrified and withered under the harsh life he leads.

Once upon a time, maybe, Starscream had cared about something. If he reminisces hard enough, which he rarely is wont to do, he can evoke the feeling of caring so deeply that it feels it would never end. That type of thing had been so important to him once; the feeling of knowing that he was loved, and loving in turn. He had once believed that if all was lost, he would need only to remember that such a strong feeling exists within him and he could keep going. That such a strong emotion could live even in the coldest, most ancient of sparks. That a strong enough feeling of fondness could keep him going, in spite of the cruelty of life on Cybertron. Those memories are pushed down with the weight of responsibility, with his long term goals. There’s nothing more important than ruling the Decepticons and demanding the respect he deserves. He can’t rely on fickle things like emotions or others’ loyalty. All things ephemeral would scatter to ash in his servos and leave that gaping wound within. Power is the only thing worth fighting for. With that right sort of strength, he could ensure pain was a thing of the past.

And things of the past should be destroyed, forgotten, left to rot so they don’t rot him. Why should he give a flip about some traitor and his annoying little companion? It doesn’t make sense. Starscream nearly wants to out himself, jump from his hiding place, and blast those goody two shoes Autobots right in the faceplates. How utterly infuriating, to catch them canoodling in broad daylight over and over again. His clawed servos nearly score lines in the boulder he’s hiding behind, but Starscream, ever tactful, has enough discipline to relax his grip. If only so he can observe their romantic moment for just a second longer. That’s what he always promises. Just a moment longer.

His tank turns in on itself watching them. The way Bumblebee’s servos caress over Jetfire’s flushed cheekplates. Starscream can remember so clearly the feel of that face in his own servos, the way Jetfire would press his helm into his reach, the soft curves of that warm smile shown just for him. The sensation of those memories is so clear, like it was only yesterday that they were working side-by-side on Cybertron. Perhaps Bumbler’s servos are smooth and soft, the faintest brush on battle-scarred metal. The burn of envy in his system is so familiar, his clawed digits puncturing the smooth metal of his servos.

Jetfire looks better than Starscream last remembers him, he’ll at least admit that much. He’s well-rested, expression peaceful and stature relaxed, plating bright under Earth’s alien star. His frame is curled, bent forward, towards the yellow mech in that way Starscream remembers always hating. He resented how Jetfire had to make himself smaller just to be heard properly. His soft demeanor and gentle tone of speaking was always a hindrance, although he didn’t used to think so. There’s a nagging in his spark, just on the other end of a self-enforced barrier, something he can never reach for again. It’s a burden, one he’s somewhat successfully ignored for a long time. Even if he reached to take it, would he be welcomed back? If he was… Starscream might be even more enraged. How dare Jetfire be so weak.

And he had to choose the weakest of the Autobots to replace him with. Pathetic, really. The idea makes Starscream wince… He likes Bumblebee, more than he should. A small gray servo holds tight around one of Jetfire’s, their digits too different in size to truly interlock. Starscream’s servos would be perfect for holding either, a disgusting thought he tries to will away. Buzzer seems to be regaling Jetfire with one of his missions, if his errands could even be called that. Those bright optics shine with energy, wide and kind. It’s no wonder why soft-spoken, outcast Jetfire would choose Bumblebee. Starscream purses his lips into a thin line. It’s no wonder why two soft, kind, gentle mechs would end up finding safety in each other. The way they inch closer has his tank feeling heavy with dread, lead-coated despair making a home in his system.

Bah! There’s nothing Jetfire has that Starscream could possibly covet, and if he did… Well, Starscream could just steal it away! Who would stop him? He’s far too commanding and ruthless for Jetfire to beat, far more cunning than the other mech, too. Bots like Jetfire, they can’t compete with mechs like Starscream. Try as he might to protect the things he holds dear, there’s always going to be a bigger, stronger force that can, and will, come in and take it away. Starscream knows that better than anyone. And he won’t feel a lick of shame for crushing his former associate.

When Bumblebee is secure in his arms, Starscream will relish the broken, devastated look upon Jetfire’s face. It’s a look he has come to know so well. Despite everything: too much engex, numerous head injuries courtesy of Megatron, and several millennia upon him, nothing could erase that expression of hurt from his memory. He could make out that face in a sandstorm. Erase the entire contents of his being, and, still, Starscream would remember it.

That sinking hole of greed opens up its wide maw within him, even hungrier than before. It demands he take what he wants, even if he has to work day and night for it. Greed is something he can work with, a feeling he’s become used to. Starscream hates to reminisce, to envy and ache, but to fill his greed is something he can do. Envy directs him to long for things, for people, for what he could have if only he were someone else. It reminds him who he is, who he has been, what he will never be. Greed can be fed with position and infamy, the look of terror in an Autobot’s face, the sight of Megatron laying helpless at his pedes. It can be fed by forcing others to give him what it wants.

Seeing him happy only further strengthens Starscream’s resolve to have more. When he’s leader of the Decepticons, then Jetfire will be begging him for mercy. Apologizing for ever turning his back on what Starscream has worked so hard for. Apologizing for ever opening this festering wound in his chest, leaving him to agonize.

—————————

Jetfire catches the distant sound of plating snapping and transforming. His optics dart quickly up to Bumblebee’s faceplate, but the young scout is too preoccupied with his story to notice the distinct sound of a Seeker taking flight. Starscream always prided himself on being stealthy and quick, the fastest flight frame in his entire graduating class. The thought teases a weary little smile onto Jetfire’s face, trying to nod along with Bee’s words. It’s difficult to think about anything when his spark is thrumming hard in his chassis.

He shouldn’t keep his little lover in the dark about Starscream’s eavesdropping. He’s done it so often that it’s becoming a bit of a concerning habit, but… Jetfire can’t bear to take another thing from his old friend. This is the most time he’s been able to spend with Starscream ‘amicably’ in years, even if it’s indirect and worrisome. He’ll tell Bumblebee. He has to, eventually, but just not yet. The little yellow mech is more understanding than most, more likely to listen to his explanation about why he let it go on so long, but he hasn’t quite figured out just how to say that Starscream is spying on them in particular. He’s not even sure why Starscream is spying on them in particular. His intuition tells him things that are too hopeful, too painful, to be real.

All he knows for certain is that this can’t go on. Maybe confronting Starscream would be better than telling Bumblebee outright, but thinking about keeping such a secret from the kind minibot has him feeling sick. Bee deserves to know. He should never have let this go on so long. It’s a selfish act, a selfish desire. Jetfire greedily wants so much; so much love, so much time, so much from mechs he’s not even sure he deserves anymore.

Bumblebee, sweet Bumblebee, is unaware of his inner turmoil as the mini settles back onto his thigh, optics watching Earth’s star rest its heavy body below the distant horizon. His own body also feels incredibly heavy with the thought and burdens of tomorrow. For now, Jetfire cradles close the little mech and tries to find peace in the moment. For now, he knows Starscream will be back, and, for now, he can have them both close.

[suncaptor]

The comparisons and contrasts of every song in down in the weeds to dance and sing..

Literally it's about "got to keep on going like it ain't the end got to change like your life is depending on it" // "nothing is changing to state the obvious" & "going to scream when I sing going to die in the ring" & "not afraid of the future have to suffer and repeat" & "fading like a photograph your tailights in the dark" & "now that I'm out here on my own it won't be long until I have to pay for what I've done" & "she doesn't know yet what a Comet does. You're approaching even as you disappear" nothing lasts. it will destroy you or it won't...

"I'm yours you can decide what fate I'll have on the firing line"// "just felt like dying when you thought of us" & "enough blood to fill up this fish bowl" & "just a dog dying in the Chevrolet baby it's okay I love you baby" & "Do you worst to me now before I change my mind" & "let's stroll to the edge of the cliff stop here and give me a kiss now we're walking on air" & "a coward is what a coward does and maybe I always was but I'm sick of it I've had enough and now I'm ready for the war" & "saw a valley of bones where no man shall be saved and now you come to me asking that" & "I will always wait for you if you will wait for me like a baby or apocalypse" or it will: you'll let it

"I'll grieve what I have lost forgive the firing squad how imperfect life can be" // "just once in the world a love as absurd a love as absurd as ours I'd scream what we lost" & "came to the wedding you were looking rough watch all the masochists celebrating love" & "this world went down in flames and man made caves an island of lepers" & "nothing changed you just packed your things one day" & "life's a lonely love affair kaleidoscope beyond repair it vanishes into thin air so suddenly" & "make a list of what you lost that's all I want" it's loss and can you forgive it

"With every step there was spinning around there was only love" // "I just want to stand by your side when everyone calls you a lie" & "this fleeting feeling is infinite" & "our love was not in question" & "life a solitary song" & "a distance I see everything at once feel the wind through the window and I'm overcome with love" & "keep swimming around the exit's blocked no where to go same fears only difference is you're not here" & "if I was in London I'd hold you to everything if I were in Cardiff I'd just sing" & "tell me you understand my love" and it's all love. whatever that means that's what it is. and this album is about loss. so what does that mean about what we're made of, ephemeral and throughout what life is?

[buckybarnesdiaries]

my sergeant

© credits to the author, i found it on pinterest. if you are the author, please send me a message to add your @.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky breaks into your house to make you keep remember one thing.

word count: 1.352 words.

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! clothes on, unprotected sex, hair pulling, language, cursing, sergeant!kink, praise!kink, mention of bodily fluids, a little possessive!bucky, and i don't know what else.

author notes: i'm not sorry for this scene turning me on af every time i watch it. reposted because it didn't show in the tags. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Your eyes snapped open, sitting up on your bed barely breathing. You were agitated after having another nightmare you couldn't remember once you were awake. At least this time, you weren't covered in sweat, but your whole body was on fire. Tossing the sheets away, you got up bare feet to head to the kitchen and drink a very much needed glass of freshwater. You drank it in one gulp, gasping while leaving it inside the sink. With both hands on the edge of the counter, you inclined your head back, putting your eyes on the ceiling. Those bad dreams would be the death for you one day, you knew it.

As you felt more calmed and recomforted, you turned around with the intention of going to your bed again. But that was left in the background at the moment you glimpsed Bucky sitting at the dinner table. He didn't scare you, not at all. You were starting to get used to find him there, waiting for you, in the middle of the gloom. He looked exhausted too. Deadly tired. He was reclined against the chair, legs slightly spread and his arm made of vibranium over the table. The soldier didn't utter a word, following your steps walking closer to him with his shiny blue eyes. He didn't even move a muscle when you sat on his lap and placed both hands on the sides of his neck.

Leaning ahead, you pecked his rough and dry lips slowly, taking your time with no rush. Bucky just closed his eyes, slipping his hands down to your hips, nailing his fingers there. He couldn't help but growl quietly the second your mouth trailed a path of short, ephemeral kisses to his jawline till reaching his throat, forcing him to toss his head back. Unconsciously, he urged you to swing your body on top of his. You dragged your incisors on his Adam's apple, causing him to swallow a soft gasp, feeling his digits grabbing your hips strongly —probably, that gesture would leave some marks on your skin.

“I've missed you”. You purred coming back your attention to his lips, as the bulge under the rigid fabric of his pants became bigger and harder because of your dance. You were aware that he looked for you whenever he wanted to put his feet on the ground, feel loved, desired. “My Sergeant…”

Bucky didn't open his eyes, sliding his cold palm to your lower waist and landing the warm one on the back of your head to tangle it in your hair. You groaned against his lips before they were hungrily devoured. The heat in your core grew by leaps and bounds when he repositioned you on his legs and his solid erection was placed under your weakest spot. You couldn't hold back a delicate, sweet moan. One of these that used to drive him insane. With his left hand, Bucky continued encouraging you to rock your hips against his crotch, rubbing it concretely among your folds covered by the soaked fabric of your panties.

You hated sometimes the control he had over you, over your body, over your mind. He could put you to beg with just one look. And he knew it. You were his, that was the absolute truth. And he wanted something else from you, as soon as you increased the pace. Bucky didn't care about your t-shirt, using both of his hands to rip it off from your body. Ruining it like he was going to ruin you. His hand of vibranium went straight to your breasts, giving you goosebumps because of the contrast of his cold fingers pinching them as he caught one of your nipples between his warm lips. You whined his name, securing your hands on his shoulders, out of the world while the sensitivity of your wet and needed cunt became more sensible to the firm rubbing against your panties.

“You want to cum, don't you, babydoll?” He hummed squeezing the nipple covered in his saliva using his thumb and his forefinger, bringing his lips closer to yours.

“Yes… Yes, Sergeant”. You pouted at him, nodding with your chin and looking at him through your eyelids.

“I knew you needed me… I knew my sweet girl needed her Sergeant to make her feel good, am I wrong?” Bucky's hoarse tone was pushing you to the seventh heaven, feeling the tickles borning within your lower belly, swinging your body faster over his rock-hard dick.

“No… No, you're… you're not”. You babbled this time, seeing him curling up the corner of his lips in that charming and breathtaking smirk of him. “I ne— need you inside me… I need you to… fuck me like you me— mean it, my Sergeant, please, I beg you”.

“I will, babydoll, I will… 'Cause you're a good, good girl”. Bucky affirmed unhurriedly, peppering your swollen lips, remembering how good they looked around his cock —sucking his soul out of his body— the last time he appeared in your house. “Open your mouth”.

You obeyed instantly, swallowing a loud whining, letting him tuck his cold thumb between your lips. You licked it using your tongue, giving him a whole show and noticing how a storm of darkness covered his pale blue orbs. When he decided it was well covered in your saliva, Bucky directed it to your panties, not pulling them aside. And he drew circles on your throbbing clit, pressing his fingertip enough to stroke it.

“Oh, f— fuck, Sergeant”. You sobbed arching your back, very close to being thrown above the edge of your limits.

“C'mon, babydoll… cum for me… Show me what only I can make you feel”. He whispered into your ear. A raspy voice that gave you shivers down your backbone. “You're so damn soaked I can feel it under my clothes… Good lord… what a dirty girl you are…”

“Only fo— for you”.

Your response came an instant before the fireworks exploded inside your belly, not being able to stop when the orgasm hit your soul crying his name, dancing your cunt onto his hard cock needed of him. Your thighs strained, your legs were shaking, hanging above the floor and you were panting nonsense words about your Sergeant.

Bucky stormed his tongue into your mouth, invading it with no mercy to dominate yours. Placing his hands back to your hips, he forced you to keep moving, stealing the less air inside your lungs. He was about to cum too, but it'd be a waste if he did it in his boxers; stopping you at the precise moment to push you back enough to undo his belt and zip. Bucky didn't let you time to react. As his cock covered in his own arousal broke free and he removed your ruined panties to the side, he lifted you sufficiently to impale your pussy down.

“Fuck!” You both hissed at the same time, closing strongly your eyelids.

Bucky made you bounce onto his rigid erection, once and once, keen to fill you up with his heated seed. You were a bundle of moans, sobs, and pleas, feeling his most sensible skin stretching your soaked walls and twitching between them. He didn't give you prior notice. Bucky just cum inside your cunt, pushing you down harder till his dick was balls-deep beyond your limits. He growled against your throat, pulling back your hair and your head, to nail his teeth in your sweaty skin.

“Oh, god, my Sergeant…” You gasped with a wrecked tone of voice, finding balance by gripping his jacket in two fists.

“You look like Heaven, babydoll… But you feel like Hell”. Bucky rumbled, making your whole anatomy shake again. “What a shame 'm gonna destroy you tonight…”

And by destroying you he meant you wouldn't be able to walk the next morning, not even to talk because what he has planned for you was to fuck every sweet, warm hole of you —your mouth, your ass, your pussy. Or rather, his mouth, his ass, his pussy. Bucky would make you keep remembering who you belonged to.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and REBLOG!!! 🤍

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[blue-pastel-cat]

Xiaobedo Fanfic Recommendation

Welcome to my personal “if you are new to xiaobedo peeps please read these” list. As said before this is my personal list so please feel free to reblog/comment/hit me for not including any gem here. I might miss a lot of them because I am drunk or blind. (mostly have them on my to read and then forgot as I am being assault by real life shit).

I would like to say first that so far there are 150+ Xiaobedo fics on Ao3. I can’t review all of them but I can say that I have read a majority of them. Most of them are just pure love and I would like nothing more than a thousands thank you for all the fic writers who spent their free time writting these gems for us to read for free. But these...these takes the cake as it finds a special landing spot in my heart that I would just thrust them into someone’s hand if they say “I am new to this ship can you recommend me?”

1. Orange dust by bobamilkteas (Wes)

In which Xiao learns to open himself up to the world a little more after the collapse of Rex lapis's contracts but it was not always easy for a soul doomed to eternal damnation. Meanwhile, Albedo liked to tempt fate where the extraordinary are concerned.

If only the traveler's comrades are made of saner bunch.

Comment: Long ago when I like both Albedo and Xiao as a character, I was wondering hmmm....will anyone actually even write about them lmao they never met each other. I am surprise to see this one as the 3rd fic in the whole 3 Xiaobedo fic on Ao3 (yeah back when there’s literally only 3 fic for this couple). I was like I’ll read it for the curiosity, I’ll probably won’t ship them. And that people is how I put my clown make up on my face upon finishing reading it. This ONE fic alone convert me into a devotee of Xiaobedo. Please consider joining me in this circus if you want to know what is Xiaobedo. I would put this as the first of my “Big 3″

Orange Dust also come with its compliation of short stories over the course of the game and a big sequel to it. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

2. Solar Wind by birdpriestess (Sparrow)

For the yaksha, his duty was his life, and his life was his duty. No human could ever hope to understand the eternal war he fought out of sight and in silence.

So why, then, did he feel that Albedo would understand?

---

Finding himself at death's door once more, Xiao is saved by a surprising person, setting off the unlikeliest of adventures.

Comment: Do you like crying? Do you like the feeling of getting your heart ripped into pieces as the author destroy your emotions over the end of each chapter as the story picked up the climax? Yeah, this one is for you masochists. The action, the characterisation, the drama THE EMOTIONS OH WOW. I kid you not that it was so good I read this while workinng when I am not suppose to me. Also, this fic has my favourite characterisation of Gold ever. I love that dramatic queen Mad Alchemist. AND DAIN. I LOVE DAIN IN THIS FIC. Our dearest Sparrow manage to toy with our feelings like how I bully ruin guard for big numbers lmao. This is the secound of “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list.

Again, just like Orange Dust, Solar Wind comes with its own compliation of short stories of what came after that. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

3. Castle of Glass by AlchemicalStardust (Morgie) 

A black shadow rises over Huaguang Stone Forest. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, Albedo flees the shaking ground and the crash of boulders tumbling form the sky. As the dust settles, Albedo finds a young man – an Adeptus – amidst the carnage. Despite the karmic agony ripping his body from the inside, Xiao’s only question is “How?” How did a human survive after witnessing his battle?

Comment: The last of the “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list. And it is still on going! Castle of Glass? More like I AM IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTIONS! Have you read a fic about 2 people yearning, longing, reaching out for each other so damn well that you just want to throw your phone in the air as they both had their impending doom coming down upon them? Yeah this is one of them. You will like want to be stuck in the moment they express how much they just yearn for each other’s love and care that you want to shake the author for what comes next. Like...everytime Morgie update I am expressing my gratitude at the end of the chapter by writing on Xiaobedo discord “MORGIE COME HERE AND LET ME BONK YOU WHY ARE YOU ENDING IT THERE”

trust me when you read you will def feel the same. With just Big 3 and their compliation alone that would give you like a LONG list of reading already LMAOOOOOOO

4. Find a place to call it home  by yamajiroo 

Our room, he said. Xiao’s brow twitches. Zhongli never said anything about this. But then again, perhaps he should anticipate this from the beginning...

Xiao looks over at Albedo, who is now tilting his head, his look as innocent as ever.

“Are you not okay with sharing a room?”

Comment: College AU for Xiaobedo! One thing that I love this is the slow burn and what made me LOVE LOVE LOVE this fic more is how cute Klee is in this fic. Their relationship in this one is very simple, but that simplicity highlight why their chemistry work. Xiao is someone who was just very gentle, who was largely misunderstood by his lonesome nature. Albedo was someone who like peace and quite in his introvert bubble. And how they respect that bubble that each other has actually made their relationship work. I love it when fic highlight this and this one captures it.

5. I Can't See Your Face From the Other Side of the Classroom by MissWeaver  

When Albedo and Xiao unexpectedly start eating lunch together, they begin to find that they have more in common than anyone would have realized. They both struggle in their own ways with blossoming feelings, too many assignments, and annoying classmates as they navigate a relationship for the first time.

Comment: I’ll be honest, I usually hate high school au just because its so cliche. I don’t even watch and drama/anime surrounds high school student anymore LMAOOO (unless it’s very good). So if there’s an high school AU that I actually keep come back and read after a couple of chapters, it means that the cliche that I hate wasn’t there or barely was there at all. The pinning in this fic makes me want to bang their head together sometimes LMAOOO The tag wasn’t kidding when they said both Xiao and Albedo are bad at feelings. Also that’s a lot of heart broken caused by these two idiots XD

6. new world, same me, same bullshit  by  bobamilkteas (Wes)

At the belly of Dragonspine, Albedo lost control to the festering corruption that permeated his senses and watched, from the recesses of his mind, as his devoured body turned his allies into enemies. Before his rampage reached its climax, he is sealed in a crystalized confinement by the last hand of Reindottir, where he then reawakens centuries after, in a rebooted Teyvat.

Comment: Yeah I know it was list in Orange Dust but here me out. This sets out in an entirely different universe. And if you like Polyamory, this one has Zhongli joining the duo and I love it because I also love ZhongXiao with my life. Time Travel is my biggest kink. Especially when I am the person who love it when people explore Archon War era/ Alatus!Xiao. So this one hits double of my kink. Of course it is still on going and I will bully Wes whenever I can to see that new chapter. Albedo is a total fucking badass in this story and I completely agree from using him in Abyss so often. Everyone should write badass Albedo.

7. misplaced heart of mine by  inkburn           

“If you are ill, then you should be resting at home. In Mondstadt.” He emphasized Mondstadt with a pointed look in his direction.

“I assure you I won’t be troublesome, Adeptus Xiao,” Albedo said, “You’ll find I’m a rather low-maintenance traveler.”

“Travel,” Xiao scoffed, “without airstep?”

Albedo looked him up and down. “Are your legs just for decoration?”

(albedo is sent to liyue on mandatory vacation. xiao is his unfortunate bodyguard.)

Comment: Most of the time you will see Albedo and Xiao starting their relationship with one of them taking interest in another. But this one took another approach, they starting off by make them hating each other’s guts LMAOOOO and I live for every second of it. There’s only 1 chapter so far but wow it was SOOO GOOD. I am really really excited for next chapter and is waiting patiently ;w;

8.  Blossom of Grace  by birdpriestess  

One day in Liyue Harbor, Albedo watches a street performance by an enigmatic dancer named Xiao. And he becomes completely obsessed.

Comment: Have you ever look at Xiao fight and thinking that he’s one of the most beautiful deadly thing ever? How it was like he was dancing around the battlefield? How about actual dancer Xiao being so absolutely beautiful and perfect and that slow burn of Albedo falling in love with that beauty with a touch of Modern AU and cute Ganyu as the Wing woman. Yes, Sparrow delivers yet again another beautiful slow burn and while it’s still ongoing it is worth the read.

9. i think we could make this work (could get used to this) by outspaced               

“Xiao? What are you doing out here?”

“I—”

“It’s raining,” Albedo says, as if it isn’t obvious. “You could get struck by lightning.”

“What are you doing out here then?” Xiao does the only thing he knows how to do, he challenges Albedo. “It’s raining.”

Albedo just hums. “If I get struck by lightning, it’s for science.”

Comment: A short one-shot where I read the summary and went “This is it... this is their relationship.” I am sold immediately. Oh god Albedo why are you like this.

10. Ephemeral by criedprinz        

“It’s not for your investigation, is it?” Aether asked mildly.

Albedo traced a finger around the sketchbook, considering the question. “No,” he admitted finally. “I... I just want to see them again.”

He opened the sketchbook to reveal the drawing he’d just finished. Aether nodded, clearly recognizing the sharp golden eyes.

“Xiao,” he said. “You were rescued by an adeptus.”

When a visit to Dragonspine goes horribly wrong, Albedo is rescued by an unknown stranger, wielding powers he's never heard of. Led on a search to find out who it is, he finds himself in the middle of an unforgettable encounter..

Comment: A really really well written one-shot that I love. The yearning oh godddd the yearning from Albedo side is just so so much that I have to put it here. (I think you can see the trend here lmao. I am a sucker for yearning). And the moment they get to meet each other again is just chef kiss. MWHAA

11. Idle Yaksha, Brilliant Yaksha by Pit0fTheEarth

Alatus didn’t have a lot of responsibilities to keep. He spent most of his days dancing across the sky and eating away all nightmares that plagued a person’s sleep.

But one fortunate encounter led to too many unfortunate ones, taking his carefree existence and plunging it in darkness. His wings, stripped from him. His gentle touch, replaced by an unforgiving grip of destruction.

There was a lot of blood on his hands. With each passing moment, it became harder for Alatus to recall the last time someone gently held him.

Comment: This is one of the ongoing fic where I am very very much excited on the take of Naberius. And the way the author portray Xiao when he’s still the innocent Alatus is just *clench fist*. Baby ;w; Baby why do you have to lose all that innocence. Also the fic has long LONG flashback to Xiao past and his relationship with Naberius. We are unwielding more what happened to both of them and why perhaps does this have to do with Albedo.

That’s it for now, might add more later! Thank you <3

[rosafione]

"Come Closer."

title; How Far Will I Fall, 'Till You Catch Me In your Arms

pairing; xiao x reader

desc; you never really lacked the guts for these kinds of things, but before everything else, you valued his feelings, and most of all, his consent. in the end, it still takes two to tango.

a/n; xiao drabble xiao drabble xiao drabbleee now, he might be ooc, im not sure, but this is mostly just an hc if you guys are close— to an extent muahahahahaha

Time was at a standstill for a certain young adeptus.

For someone who's lived a millennia, you'd think two months would only feel like a second. Before, Xiao would not deny the frequency of those moments— of loneliness, and melancholy; Of time spent watching the Guyun Stone Forest and awaiting his time to strike.

Every day that passed was one spent with his guard high, back then.

And yet now, those moments seemed as if they existed in a far different time. A time before the Traveler plunged Osial into the ocean, stripping them of their adeptal duties and eliminating a cause for Liyue to seek their guidance.

Though possibly the greatest disparity from that time could be that.. It was a time before you— before he had you by his side.

You were a mortal, one he considers to be above average, yet a mortal, nonetheless. You still had times where your humanity catches up to you, and you are left vulnerable in the hands of the evil that lurks among the lands of Tevyat.

Xiao met you at your weakest; But he watched you grow into your shell.

It wasn't as if he regarded you with any special fondness. At first. You were no different from any other mortal that walked Liyue— a fragile creature he was tasked to protect, and a being he needed to steer clear off, lest he harm you with his adeptal energy. (Death from the sheer force of it was no stranger to him. He does not want to carry another human's death on his shoulders.)

Xiao had a complicated relationship with the mortal realm. It was not disdain he harbored for humans, only vigilance and curiosity.

Their realm and the adepti's were two worlds apart.

What differed you from the mortals is that you crossed that distance. And somehow, you stood before him, right in the in between.

He wonders how you do it; You've always been unyielding in his presence. He knows you are aware of his prowess, but every time he looks at you, there is nothing but fondness and adoration he sees in your ancient gaze.

You offered him Almond Tofu almost every day. It makes him anticipate your troubles, yet you do no else other than indulge him in small chats, and silly escort commissions into the mountains or the forest. At times, you'd just watch him feed on your offerings.

He knew it was a bribe, the Almond Tofu. You did it almost everyday— Until you didn't have to.

At some point, Xiao stopped denying your presence. He's warned you enough— He respected you enough to know that you were an adult, and you could think for yourself. And though the moments you'd offer him were memories worthy to look back on, he dares not seek you out.

But he didn't have to. You always came to him first.

His relationship with you only grew from there. It was no earth-shattering occurrence, that's for sure. It was a parasite that he didn't know had been rooting itself into his being so deeply that he cannot bring himself to part with it.

Though if not a shocking event, it was still a crushing revelation.

"Good day, Xiao."

The lady-in-charge, Verr, seemed to be searching for something before her gaze flitted back to his. "No Y/N today?"

"Y/N is off to the harbour for a few days," he'd answered instinctively as he walked to the usual table prepared for him near the kitchen.

"And you didn't come with?"

His slit brows raise in confusion. "Why would I?"

"Oh dear, my apologies. I just figured—" a bashful chuckle leaves her— "Since I see you guys together all the time."

He frowns at the memory. It was a realization that started his resolve to put some distance, yet it was also the beginning of your.. lengthy travels.

When your few days became a few weeks, his resolve easily yielded to his eagerness in meeting you once more.

-

Time used to pass by swiftly, but nowadays, a year spent with you feels as if he had already spent half of his life.

He sighs, shaking his head at himself. "Reduced to just standing around. How absurd."

"If you think standing around was such an absurd concept then why do you still reject the idea of travelling with me?"

The familiar voice wills him to rip his gaze away from the scenery.

He knows it is yours— your steps, your scent, your weight, your presence. Xiao feels you the moment you stepped into the inn. Yet he does not move, run, nor show any sign of the buzz that vibrates from inside his chest.

Yet when he sees you, you are beautiful, safe. Ephemeral.

He forgets every aching minute he's spent in the eight weeks you were not in his vicinity.

Time runs again.

Still, everything about you is slow; The way you walk carefully to his side, the way you drag your fond gaze from his, to the scenery before you.. The way your hair flows and dances with the evening breeze.

He knows. The wind has always favored you.

"Ever since meeting the Traveler, all you've talked about is travelling," he chose to say.

"With you."

"What?" he frowns.

"I mean that yes, all I've talked about is travelling—" you chuckle bashfully, averting your eyes away from his— "That is, travelling.. But with you."

His eyes widen, then hardening with a purse of his lips, before he turns to glare into the distance. "My answer will not change. I cannot leave Liyue."

"And my reply is the same," you sigh. "The place does not matter. As long as we'd be together."

It is a sensitive topic, and an inevitable taboo.

There was a line neither of you should ever cross— a line he's put there himself, and one he disdains all the same.

Silence ensues. It is a frequent occurrence, ever since you first brought up the prospect of adventuring. Stubborn and troublesome. Xiao finds himself needing to track back in conversations just to figure you out.

Mortals were such complex creatures.

And yet it was so easy for you to read him like an open book. Or so he assumes. You always knew how you'd deal with him. Even Xiao knows that it is no easy feat.

"You're always like this," he grumbles.

You do not answer, and he settles for the tranquility, all the tension leaving his body; And for once, after two months, he felt as if he could actually breathe.

He wonders how much longer he'd be stuck in this area of torment and bliss. Wonders how much longer he'll continue to drag you into it.

Wonders when you'll snap and just leave him all together.

He frowns grumpily at the thought.

-

"Can I?" you ask.

Xiao looks into your eyes— swirling hues that didn't return his gaze, far focused on a lower part of his face. His lips, he realizes. Your gaze had been focused on his lips.

The epiphany wills a streak of crimson to rise to the tips of his ears, and his own focus is stolen away by the pink appendage that wets your lips.

"Your question is incomplete," he says instead, feigning ignorance.

Shaking his head, Xiao crosses his arms and forces himself to concentrate on your eyes. Only on your eyes.

Maybe then, he wouldn't get so distracted.

"Regardless of how your question would go, I don't understand why you need my opinion," he huffs, grumbling. "It's your body. You would know it best."

You press your lips together. A gentle, bashful smile spreading on your face as a fond look emerges in your eyes. "My apologies," you chuckle. "It was the wrong question to ask."

He faces you to narrow his eyes at your suspicious behavior, but he's far too distracted by the way your hand lifts, trailing from the side of his neck to gently cup his cheek, and his breath hitches, eyes widening.

Warmth radiated from your touch. Xiao knows better than to reject such touches any longer when with you. So he leans into it, presses his head closer to your palm, closing his eyes and exhaling in surrender.

"What i meant to ask was," he opens his eyes to look at you.

Your gazes clash. They meld and melt into each other as you slowly raise yourself closer and closer — or perhaps it was him who'd been leaning down.

The hand that traces the tattoo on his right arm, as well as the other that caresses his face with an aching gentleness, reels him in. enthralls him. It lures him into succumbing to your presence, and his body goes through that familiar feeling of softening under your touch.

"May I?" you whisper.

Suddenly, you are leaning in more eagerly— more determined, as if with a clear intent in mind. He thinks he understands your words enough now, swirling in his mind, goes through consideration, and the one practical response he could muster with his focus in a jumble is to deny you permission.

He gulps soundly; He can't bring himself to.

Xiao thinks this is it, watching you move in as he struggles to keep his eyes from fluttering shut. He thinks it would be this moment— this moment in which he dooms the unspoken rule between mortals and adepti. Dooms the contract he's worked so hard to fulfill in service of Lord Morax, now Zhong Li. He'd doom your friendship, or whatever it is you've offered him up to this point.

Yet even then.. Even then, he doesn't say no.

He stays quiet; Waiting. Wanting.

It's funny— the mortal language, how one could switch out a letter, and a word would seem that much different.

It was true, nonetheless.

Xiao waits. Xiao wants.

He wants the closeness, the intimacy— the affection you provide. He wants your lips to meet his just to know if it is as soft as the rest of you is. He wants to see if a kiss— curious, like a child— truly lives up to the countless tales told by the experienced. He wants to know.. If you will give him those answers.

His amber eyes meet yours. He does not breathe, as if doing so would scare you away. As if doing anything would give you a response he does not want to give.

It is enough. Your noses bump for a second, his eyes fluttering closed; Your scent wafts from beneath his nose, crisp burning incense, molded into the fresh smell of the forest that is brought about by the wind.

He curves into you, a single thought shaking him to the core, making him tremble - so utterly pathetic.

'Please..'

Your lips do not meet.

And suddenly, there is too much air between you and him.

Xiao opens his eyes to see you trailing back, fidgety— you looked like a walking contradiction, twitching fingers trying to cross the distance, gaze darting between looking away or staring regretfully at his lips.

There was a crimson hue staining your cheeks, he noticed.

"Why.." he whispers, then catches himself.

The inside of his chest strains from all the emotions he has to keep hidden— all the emotions he has to keep denying.

Disappointment. Loneliness. Exhaustion. Desperation.

Xiao wants.

-

You couldn't believe you almost kissed him.

It was a heavy violation of contract— not that you two had ever agreed to one, but it was an unspoken compromise. It was a truth you both knew, yet continued to ignore.

So that this— whatever this was, could survive.

Archons, you almost laid it all to waste!

(Either way, any decision would still leave you with regrets, had you continued or pulled away.)

"Ah, would you look at that!" you laughed out loud in a panic, perhaps to cover up the tense atmosphere. "I did it again! I asked a question without completing it, yeah? Guess it's a really bad habit on mine!"

Xiao does not answer. You spare him a look. And you wish you hadn't.

He looks dejected, disappointment and frustration showing through his slit eyebrows and wide eyes.

As if your choice was a surprise to him.

As if he wanted you to continue.

As if.

You couldn't deny you wanted it, too. Whatever he could give you. And, more.

You mentally scold yourself, knowing you're already stretching Xiao's patience with your friendship as it is.

You have to remind yourself that Xiao is immortal, and no matter how humane he may seem, you cannot trouble him with matters such as the turmoil in your heart.

It's really hard to say anything, when all the thoughts that circle in your head is how wonderful he is. How amazing he makes you feel. How he is all you've ever wanted for the whole year since you've realized you'd developed a certain affection for him.

"Sorry, Xiao," you say, throat tightening with bubbles of emotions threatening to spill. "I should.. Go away, for some time."

( And the first thing Xiao thinks is to dejectedly reply 'Again.?' )

"No," he says all too quickly, detaching from the banister.

"No?" you echo, confused. "N-no what?"

"Stay," he says, but it is not a command. Not from the adeptus. It is a soft request; A wavering plea that reaches to you soul.

"Where?" you ask. 'How far?'

"Here," he whispers now. "With me."

You push your luck, craving just a bit more patience from Xiao.

"Close?"

You could see Xiao consider. His eyes showing his heart, but his silence showing his mind.

He gives in.

"Close."

That day was the nearest you've peered, held and embraced Xiao's soul, moving closer, and softly leaning your forehead on his, clenching onto the white fabric of his shirt as he loosely wraps an arm around your waist— under the watchful eyes of the night sky.

There is still a distance that Xiao dares not cross.

And for now, maybe it's enough.

[author-morgan]

Would you please write some more Havi&Frigg? I adore these two, in mytology when I read about them I always think their relationship is so beautiful, so lively. 😊😁

here you are! sorry for the long wait, but i hope you enjoy it! ♥ plot idea from late-night convos with @angstygunslinger

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

THE KING OF the Æsir has many battles beneath his belt from the passing millennia. His victories too numerous to count. But there is one victory he has not been able to claim in all his years —for all his efforts, Havi has never been able to best his sweet Frigg. He claims you use the gift of foresight bestowed by the Nornir to stay one step ahead of him —a kinder way to say you cheat to win against him in physical battles and those of wit. This day is no different. Staring down the length of the training staff pressed into his gut, Havi’s gaze flicks up to meet yours, already accusing. “My queen resorts to trickery,” he notes as he rises. Huginn squawks his agreement from the right arm of his throne. Muninn only keeps a watchful eye trained on the contest.

“My love for you is no trick, dear Havi,” you refute, taking a step toward your husband, letting the training staff fall from your grasp. He follows your movements, moving closer to his queen when you lift a hand to his scarred cheek, smiling. Havi leans into the gentle touch, lips parting to exhale softly. Your fingers trail along his jaw —brushing through his golden beard, up along the scar cutting across his cheek, and further to the eyelid that droops shut, hiding the empty cavity where an eye had once been. A sacrifice for knowledge. Lips twisting into a smile, you lean into him, placing a chaste kiss upon his unmarred cheek. “Perhaps your misjudgment has something to do with your forfeited eye,” you quip.

Havi shakes his head, disguising his laughter as false annoyance. “Sweet Frigg,” he chides, arms moving to encircle your waist. Since returning from Jötunheim, he’s been subjected to his queen’s endless taunts and jests for weeks.

Twining your arms around his neck, the corner of your lips quirk upward —a confident smirk and a look Havi is unaccustomed to seeing grace your fair features. There’s a glint in your eyes, too, reminiscent of one of Loki’s impish looks. “I do not need foresight to best you,” you tell him.

“No?” Havi challenges with one of his brows raised.

Your smile softens, hands slipping down to feel the planes of his chest through his rough spun tunic. “I know you, my love.” Havi hangs off your every word; he knows it’s true, though —there are millions of souls in the Nine Realms, and none save his sweet Frigg truly knows him. “And that makes you predictable.” He lets out a long sigh, silenced when you brush your lips against his, but pulling away too quickly for him to return the kiss in earnest. “Come,” you breathe, stepping out of his loose embrace, “walk with me, dear Havi, let us not dwell on your loss.” The king of the Æsir offers the crook of his arm, willing to follow his queen to the very end.

PUSHING OUT OF a stalemate, you run the edge of your sword across a Dane’s throat, deflecting another blow with the steel gauntlet wrapped around your forearm —steadily moving across the field toward their leader, Eivor Wolfsmal, carving a path of blood and bone. With a cry, you level your blade and seek to end the battle with a fell swoop —he catches the blade against his bearded axe, teeth bared and blood streaking his face, eyes burning with the fires of Muspelheim.

The impasse stands, neither of you unable to move against the other and a fleeting moment when your eyes meet is all it takes. You stand high above the Nine Realms, training staff in hand, circling the man before you. The grip you have on your sword’s hilt falters. She smiles, dancing around him with grace, blocking his blows and dealing them out just as quickly. His axe slips from his hand, his shield lowering.

“Frigg,” Eivor breathes. The whispered name strikes something deep within you —the revelation forces the two of you apart, weapons falling to the muddy earth. Eivor’s gaze softens, his face contorting as he takes a step closer, disbelieving. “No!” He shouts, but it is too late —the lance of a great two-handed axe meets your temple, and with speckled vision, you fall into darkness.

“EIVOR!” DAG SHOUTS, standing over an unmoving figure on the field of battle. “What about this one?” Eivor steps next to him, looking down at you —face a mess of blood and dirt with a long cut running across your thigh, still seeping blood. He crouches down, slipping his hand below your neck to cradle the back of your head, as though he’s holding a lover. Just the brush of your skin against his sets him alight and brings memories that do not belong to him flashing across his mind. A smile, a kiss, sitting next to his sweet Frigg at the head of the table overseeing a bountiful feast.

Weary, you open your eyes, feeling the cool rain wash over you. You glance around the battlefield, strewn with the corpses of your people and those of the Danes and Norse, and then to the man tenderly holding your head. Their leader —a haunting reminder of the dreams that’d plagued you since childhood. We fought, and neither of us could deal a final blow. “Who are you?” Eivor asks.

“No one,” you answer. He frowns, knowing it is a lie. There is something about you he cannot explain. Eivor knows you. He knows your face, the whisper of your voice, the gentle brush of your fingers against his cheek, and yet, you are but a stranger to him.

Deciding what it is he must do, Eivor slides his arms under your knees and around your shoulders, hefting you up from the muddy ground. The protests on your lips remain unvoiced. Laughing. A hall filled with joyous cries as your dear Havi lifts you into his arms with the same giddiness as the night you wed. When your eyes meet once again, you both look away, quickly. Overwhelmed by a strange swell of relief —as though long-departed lovers are reunited. “Take her to my tent” —he passes you to Dag— “I will tend her wounds.”

With great effort, you strip away your armor, discarding it in a pile —if Eivor Wolfsmal meant to kill you, he’d have done so already. You remain mostly unscathed, save for the throbbing cut on your thigh. It is not deep enough to warrant stitching, nor does it bleed heavily enough to need the cleansing touch of fire. Tearing a strip of linen from the hem of your tunic, you bind the wound, awaiting whatever cruel fate lies ahead.

When Eivor returns, he comes with a basin of water and several long strips of clean linen. He kneels at your side, wordlessly, peeling away your poor excuse for a bandage and the split wool of your breeches. You watch him, see his brows furrow in concentration as he dips a rag into the water, wiping the muck and blood away with a gentleness unbecoming of the berserker you witnessed in the heat of battle. “Why are you helping me?” You ask, wincing when he presses down on the cut.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Eivor says —a tinge of amusement in his voice— his gaze flitting up from your thigh. After a pause, he speaks again, answering your question but creating several more. “You remind me of someone I know” —he ties a knot in the linen— “or rather knew.” Eivor scrubs his hands in the tainted water, sitting back on his haunches. He looks over you, curious, replaying what happened when your blades locked in battle, and the memories he’s seen, vivid as a waking dream.

Your breath catches when your eyes meet his, clear and nigh cold —reassured and frightened to know he had seen the same thing you had. “Who?” It’s a foolish question. You know who it is he’s reminded of. You, or rather Frigg. Why else would he glimpse you as though he’s seen a ghost?

He shakes his head, running his hand down his face and through his golden beard, still tinted with blood. “I’m not sure,” Eivor answers.

Biting down on your lip, you glance through the crack in the tent’s opening, heart hammering in your chest as ravens croak and squawk over a feast of flesh. “Havi.” It’s a whisper so faint Eivor barely hears it.

His eyes widen, lips parting in surprise —his heart thuds loudly in his ears. “How do you know that name?” He asks. The shock of hearing one of Odinn’s names amplified by your standing as a Saxon warrior.

An ephemeral smile crosses your lips —there and gone in a heartbeat— as you think about sweet Frigg and dear Havi. “I hear it in my dreams,” you admit. “It belongs to a man who looks like you.” Eivor is the image of Havi. His clear blue eyes are the same, as is his golden hair and the scar running across his cheek. The only distinction is Eivor has a mottled patch of skin on his neck, and Havi is missing an eye. “Only he has one eye.”

Eivor lets you a shaky breath. He’d spoke of these dreams to Valka —her cryptic response had made him uneasy, but that feeling pales in comparison to now —he has Frigg sitting before him. He cannot run from the gods’ plans any longer. “Fate has brought us together for a reason.” You don’t doubt it. A lifetime of praying to a Christian god, and yet it has always been the ways of the Danes and Norse that called to your soul the most.

“I know you saw what I did when we crossed blades,” you tell him, holding his gaze. Eivor’s shoulders fall. He wants to think of you as a stranger, but it feels as though he’s finally found something —a piece of him he hadn’t even known was missing until he looked over steel and iron and into your eyes. “You called me Frigg.”

He swallows the knot in his throat. Havi and Frigg —the High-One and his queen. “We were bound in another life,” Eivor tells you, there’s no uncertainty in his voice, and you do not doubt him. He moves closer to you, albeit unwittingly, and you do not shy away. You had not been afraid of him on the field of battle; you would not be now either. “Come with me” —he offers his hand— “I know someone who can help answer our questions.”

You slip your hand in his as Eivor begins to rise, helping you up to your feet. He frowns at the grimace twisting your expression —your leg pained you more than you let on. Eivor steadies you by the waist, and for a moment, the world outside the canvas tent vanishes. Instead of the edge of a battlefield, you are high above Asgard and all the Nine Realms. You lean into him, breath catching when he leans in too.

The tickle of his beard against your cheek is warning enough for you to pull back, but you don’t. Eivor’s lips brush yours, hesitant at first until he remembers you are his Frigg and, he, your Havi. It is just as sweet and soft as you knew him to be. You both part with a sigh, foreheads resting together. A smile twists your lips when you reach up, following the scar on his —fingers combing through his beard. After a millennium, you’d finally found each other.

Eivor gestures to the cot, knowing he must speak to his allies and men, and you need time to recover your strength. “Rest, sweet Frigg,” he says, lips brushing against your temple before stepping back and out of the tent. In his place remains a raven with dark, beady eyes watching over you as Huginn and Muninn once had.

[taglist:  @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

[spicycreativity]

Fantasy au moceit fluff, for the ask thing. <3<3

Thank you for the request! And sorry it took so long to fill 😅

I went with a Mushishi fusion. The simplest explanation of Mushishi is that mushi are creatures somewhat analogous to fae/faeries and tend to cause chaos when they interact with humans. So it's Japanese fantasy, but it's still fantasy!

I could go on a whole rant about how Mushishi is such a great reflection of Japanese cultural Shintoism and how Janus as a character rejects that and Patton embraces it, which is a fun juxtaposition because Janus is the mushi-shi in this story, but I won't 😇

Anyway! It's a little under 2k, CW for very mild body/eye horror (Patton temporarily gets afflicted with frog traits that affect his skin and eyes)

The steep mountain path was neither well-worn nor clearly-marked, the ground a uniform carpet of deep green pine needles dotted here and there with pinecones. Still, it was a path Janus could tread with his remaining eye closed. A few wooden signs still stood, though they were mostly grown over with moss. Janus let them be. Very few visitors came to this tiny mountain village, at least by this particular path. He was more interested in the chorus of frog croaks that grew ever louder the closer he got to the village. He thought, though it was hard to be certain, wispy and ephemeral as they were, that the mushi were increasing in density, too. This place had always been a hotbed for mushi, even without Janus' presence to draw them near. It was unusual, he reflected, to hear this many frogs this high in the mountains. The croaks were now a maddening constant, enough to make him wish that he only had one working ear, instead of one eye.

He guarded that wish carefully, in case any mushi with the power to make it come true were nearby. 

He made it into the village unscathed, pausing when he realized that the croaking had stopped. For the most part. He looked around, rubbing his face against the sharp, familiar bite of the mountain wind, cooled further still by the nearby presence of a lake. Now, only one plaintive croak reached his ears. He tried not to let his heart sink, tried not to jump to conclusions, though he set off for the house where his sweetheart waited for him with an uncharacteristic urgency in his movements. 

The life of a mushi-shi did not foster close relationships, and Janus had long since closed off his heart to new connections. Growing close was a one-way journey to becoming hurt, as he could never stay anywhere for long. Yet somehow, on a trip to a lonely mountain village, Patton had slipped through his defenses. They couldn’t be together, not the way they wanted, but they had promised themselves to each other. It was an easy thing for Janus to promise not to love another. The challenge had been in entrusting Patton with his heart. But he had gotten there in the end. In the absence of a proper wedding ceremony, they had simply taken a scrap of the other’s clothing as a token. 

Janus didn’t bother to knock on the door when he arrived. Patton’s door was always unlocked, unbarricaded. To Janus’ dismay, the croaking did not stop upon his arrival inside, and several mushi danced in the corners where the walls met the ceiling. “Patton, love?”

“Don’t come closer!” Patton’s voice was high, tight with panic. “Just wait a second,” he added in a pleading tone. “I’m glad you’re back, but--”

“Having trouble with mushi?” Janus guessed. The singular frog croaks had stopped when Patton spoke. “Please, do keep worrying about how I’m going to react.” he tugged on the scrap of cloth tied to the straps of his woven backpack. It was old and tattered now, no longer smelled like Patton or bore the pattern it had before.

“It’s just…” Croak.

Janus considered. Whatever mushi had latched onto Patton, it was probably affecting his appearance, hence the hesitancy. “Come on, love, let me see. I’ll have you cured in no time.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Besides, it’s not like I’m a paragon of good looks, either. Maybe we’ll match for a bit.” This was only partially true in Janus’ mind. His own looks were inoffensive, but strangers tended to shy away from him, frightened by the piercing gold and slitted pupil of his remaining eye.

It was silent for a moment. Then came the shuffle-scrape of bare feet on wooden floors. Patton appeared at the end of the hall with his head angled downward. Even still, Janus could see the patches of mottled brown skin on his hands and cheeks. Frog skin. “We do match a little,” Patton said, forcing humor into his voice. He came closer and lifted his head to reveal that one of his eyes was now golden, with a horizontal pupil.

“Oh,” said Janus, careful not to tease. “That’s not so bad.” He cupped Patton’s face, gently running his thumb over a slightly damp patch of frog skin. “You’re still beautiful, love.”

“But you can cure it?” Patton asked.

“Of course.” Janus smiled a little. He hoped it was reassuring. “You’ve been poisoned by a kaeru mushi.”

“Poisoned?” Patton yelped, and a little nervous croak escaped his throat.

Janus patted his cheek. “If only you knew a deeply intelligent, highly skilled mush-shi who could take care of that for you.”

“If only,” Patton repeated, widening his eyes at Janus. The effect was somewhat dampened by his frog eye, but only somewhat. It was still enough to send a wave of fondness through Janus’ chest.

"Come on," Janus said, taking Patton by the hand. He led Patton to the kitchen and set his backpack on the ground with a light thump. The tight weave was strong, but it was beginning to get creaky with age, and Janus made a mental note to see about getting a replacement. "You can take it as a tea, although the flavor is more savory, like a soup." He opened up his backpack and began to dig through it. The paper-wrapped vials rustled and clicked beneath his fingers, and a few specimens brought back memories of his recent trip. "Here we go." He held up the vial and showed it to Patton. "It does take a while to brew. I hope you don't mind being stuck like that for a bit."

Patton extended a hand to help Janus up and pulled him into an embrace, mindful of the glass in Janus' hand. "I already feel better now that you're here."

"You know me," Janus said, nuzzling Patton's forehead. "I live to serve."

It was meant to be sarcasm, though Patton refused to take it as such. "You're so selfless," he said into Janus' chest.

"Patton, love, you are the first and only person to ever accuse me of that." It was true. Janus' bedside manner was objectively abhorrent, his patience for stupidity and stubbornness nonexistent. Most villages regarded him as a necessary evil, rather than a presence to be celebrated. He pulled away before Patton could get it into his head that Janus needed comforting. "Let's get going on the antidote, shall we?"

Patton nodded. "There's a patch of snow out back," he said. "I've been fishing, trying to make the most of it."

"Fish soup?" Janus asked, putting the pieces together.

Patton nodded. "You'll have some, won't you?" He made a point of looking Janus up and down, and even the golden frog eye did not diminish his look of somewhat paternal concern. "You work too hard."

"Again, Patton," Janus said, turning to examine the cooking pot, "you are the only person who's ever said that about me."

"I think I would know," Patton said definitively, taking Janus by the hand to lead him outside.

They held each other while they waited for the cure to steep properly, Janus wrapping his arms around Patton and holding him close. He rested his chin on Patton's shoulder and watched the mushi dance around them. He found it hard to regard them as anything other than vermin, little nuisances who made his life worse. The world was cruel and arbitrary and mushi were no more than a reflection of that, but he couldn't help but resent the situation at hand. Patton didn't deserve this.

As though reading his thoughts, Patton nuzzled Janus' cheek. "Are they here now?"

"The mushi?"

"Mm-hm."

"Yes." Janus pointed even though he knew Patton couldn't see them.

"Describe them to me?" A principle difference between the two of them: Patton treasured every living thing. He never resented the bears that sometimes stole his fish, he never resented the deer when they ate the flowers he'd worked so hard to cultivate. He cherished them. He cherished mushi, too. Even now, when the poison coursing through his body was turning him into one (though Janus had decided not to tell Patton that, thinking that there was no sense worrying him when the cure was at hand).

"They're moving around a lot," Janus said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Though he harbored no love for mushi, he loved Patton dearly. "There's one that looks like a little octopus." Patton was not very well traveled, though he had gone to the ocean once. "And a few that look like worms. They're all glowing."

"They sound so pretty," Patton said, covering Janus' hands with his own.

"I'll bring you back some candles next time I go out," Janus promised, the idea occurring to him in one lightning strike. "And some lanterns made of colored paper. You can string them up outside."

"Oh!" Patton spun around to pull Janus into a proper hug, and Janus was careful not to stare at the frog skin now slowly-advancing down his neck. "That would be lovely."

"Lanterns are better than mushi, anyway," Janus said, his resolve finally cracking a little, "because they're actually useful."

Patton only smiled and brushed a few stray strands of hair out of Janus' face. 

It was around evening when Janus deemed the cure properly steeped. Patton made him sit down so they could eat together, smiling all the while, and Janus found any protest he might have melting away in the face of Patton's innocent kindness. It wasn't like the cure could hurt him, after all.

It took effect when they were washing the dishes with water Patton had carried in from a nearby stream. He stopped what he was doing and touched his face, already turning to Janus for confirmation.

Janus nodded, privately satisfied to see both of Patton's eyes back to their rich, deep brown. "Back to normal."

"Thank you, love." Abandoning the dishes, Patton pulled Janus in for a hug. His hands were wet, but Janus couldn't couldn't bring himself to mind the icy droplets that crawled down his neck.

Janus, who was incurably given to teasing, finally let himself off the leash. "Oh, don't thank me; it was for my own benefit. People would laugh if they found out I was in love with a frog-man."

"Oh, you don't mean that," Patton said. He had known Janus far too long, long enough that Janus no longer had to beat back the urge to flee like a startled animal in the face of such intimate knowing.

"You're right," he said, and he meant it.

[unpopularwiththepopulace]

Chicago at Long Beach, LA, 1992: A Story of Bebe Neuwirth, Choreography, Riots, Revivals, and Relevance

Recently and rather excitingly, more footage made its way to YouTube of the 1992 version of Chicago staged at Long Beach in LA, featuring Bebe Neuwirth as Velma and Juliet Prowse as Roxie.

Given its increased accessibility and visibility, this foregrounds the chance to talk about the show, explore some of its details, and look at the part it might have played as a contribution to the main ‘revival’ of Chicago in 1996 – which has given the show one of the most resonant and highly enduring legacies seen within the theatre ever.

This Civic Light Opera production at Long Beach was staged in 1992, four years before the ‘main’ revival made its appearance at Encores! or had its subsequent Broadway transfer, and it marked the first time a major revival of Chicago had been seen since the original 1975 show disappeared nearly 15 years previously.

This event is of particular significance given its position as the first step in the chain of events that make up part of this ‘new Chicago’ narrative and the resultant entire multiple-decade spanning impact of the show hereafter.

But for all of its pivotal status, it’s seldom discussed or remembered anywhere near as much as it should be.

This may be in part because of how little video or photographic record has remained in easily accessible form to date, and also because it only played for around two weeks in the first place. As such, it is a real treat on these occasions to get to see such incredible and unique material that would otherwise have been lost forever after such a brief existence some 30 years ago.

This earlier revival of the show still feels like what we have come to identify “Chicago” as in modern comprehension of the musical, most principally because the choreography was also done by Ann Reinking. As with the 1996 production, this meant dance was done “very much in the master’s style” – or Mr Bob Fosse.

The link below is time-stamped to Bebe and Juliet performing ‘Hot Honey Rag’. As one of the most infamous numbers in Broadway history, it’s undoubtedly a dance that has been watched many times over. But never before have I seen it done quite like this.

https://youtu.be/4HKkwtRE-II?t=2647

‘Hot Honey Rag’ was in fact formerly called ‘Keep It Hot’, and was devised by Fosse as “a compendium of all the steps he learned as a young man working in vaudeville and burlesque—the Shim Sham, the Black Bottom, the Joe Frisco, ‘snake hips,’ and cooch dancing”, making it into the “ultimate vaudeville dance act” for the ultimate finale number.

Ann would say about her choreographical style in relation to Fosse, “The parts where I really deviate is in adding this fugue quality to the numbers. For better or worse, my style is more complicated.” The ‘complexity’ and distinctness she speaks of is certainly evident in some of the sections of this particular dance. There are seemingly about double the periodicity of taps in Bebe and Juliet’s Susie Q sequence alone. One simply has to watch in marvel not just at the impressive synchronicity and in-tandem forward motion, but now also at the impossibly fast feet. Other portions that notably differ from more familiar versions of the dance and thus catch the eye are the big-to-small motion contrast after the rising ‘snake hips’ section, and all of the successive goofy but impeccably precise snapshot sequence of arm movements and poses.

More focus is required on the differences and similarities of this 1992 production compared against the original or subsequent revival, given its status and importance as a bridging link between the two.

The costumes in 1975 were designed by Patricia Zipprodt (as referenced in my previous post on costume design), notably earning her a Tony Award nomination. In this 1992 production, some costumes were “duplications” of Zipprodt’s originals, and some new designs by Garland Riddle – who added a “saucy/sassy array” in the “typical Fosse dance lingerie” style. It is here we begin to see some of the more dark, slinkiness that has become so synonymous with “Chicago” as a concept in public perception.

The sets from the original were designed by Tony Walton – again, nominated for a Tony – and were reused with completeness here. This is important as it shows some of the original dance concepts in their original contexts, given that portions of the initial choreography were “inextricably linked to the original set designs.” This sentiment is evident in the final portion of ‘Cell Block Tango’, pictured and linked at the following time-stamp below, which employs the use of mobile frame-like, ladder structures as a scaffold for surrounding movements, and also a metaphor for the presence of jail cell bars.

https://youtu.be/4HKkwtRE-II?t=741

Defining exactly how much of the initial choreography was carried across is an ephemeral line. Numbers were deemed “virtually intact” in the main review published during the show’s run from the LA Times – or even further, “clones” of the originals. It is thought that the majority of numbers here exhibit greater similarity to the 1975 production than the 1996 revival, except for ‘Hot Honey Rag’ which is regarded as reasonably re-choreographed. But even so, comparing against remaining visible footage of Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivera from the original, or indeed alternatively against Bebe and Annie later in the revival, does not present an exact match to either.

This speaks to the adaptability and amorphousness of Fosse-dance within its broader lexicon. Fosse steps are part of a language that can be spoken with subtle variations in dialect. Even the same steps can appear slightly different when being used in differing contexts, by differing performers, in differing time periods.

It also speaks to some of the main conventions of musical theatre itself. Two main principles of the genre include its capacity for fluidity and its ability for the ‘same material’ to change and evolve over time; as well as the fact comparisons and comprehensions of shows across more permanent time spans are restricted by the availability of digital recordings of matter that is primarily intended to be singular and live.

Which versions of the same song do you want to look at when seeking comparisons?

Are you considering ‘Hot Honey Rag’ at a performance on the large stage at Radio City Music Hall at the Tony Awards in 1997? Or on a small stage for TV shows, like the Howard Cosell or Mike Douglas shows in 1975? Or on press reel footage from 1996 on the ‘normal’ stage context in a format that should be as close to a replica as possible of what was performed in person every night?

Bebe often remarks on and marvels at Ann’s capacity to travel across a stage. “If you want to know how to travel, follow Annie,” she says. This exhibits how one feature of a performance can be so salient and notable on its own, and yet so precariously dependent on the external features its constrained to – like scale.

Thus context can have a significant impact on how numbers are ultimately performed for these taped recordings and their subsequent impact on memory. Choreography must adjust accordingly – while still remaining within the same framework of the intention for the primary live performances.

This links to Ann’s own choreographical aptitude, in the amount of times it is referenced how she subtly adapted each new version of Chicago to tailor to individual performers’ specific merits and strengths as dancers.

Ann’s impact in shaping the indefinable definability of how Chicago is viewed, loved and remembered now is not to be understated.

An extensive 1998 profile – entitled “Chicago: Ann Reinking’s musical” – explores in part some of Ann’s approaches to creating and interacting with the material across a long time span more comprehensively. Speaking specifically to how she choreographed this 1992 production in isolation, Ann would say, “I knew that Bob’s point of view had to permeate the show, you couldn’t do it without honoring his style.” In an age without digital history at one’s fingertips, “I couldn’t remember the whole show. So I choreographed off the cuff and did my own thing. So you could say it was my take on his thoughts.” Using the same Fosse vocabulary, then – “it’s different. But it’s not different.”

One further facet that was directly carried across from the initial production were original cast members, like Barney Martin as returning as Amos, and Michael O'Haughey reprising his performance as Mary Sunshine. Kaye Ballard as Mama Morton and Gary Sandy as Billy Flynn joined Bebe and Juliet to make up the six principals in this new iteration of the show.

Bebe, Gary and Juliet can be seen below in a staged photo for the production at the theatre.

The venue responsible for staging this Civic Light Opera production was the Terrace Theatre in Long Beach in Los Angeles. Now defunct, this theatre and group in its 47 years of operation was credited as providing some of “the area’s most high profile classics”. Indeed, in roughly its final 10 years alone, it staged shows such as Hello Dolly!, Carousel, Wonderful Town (with Donna McKechnie), Gypsy, Sunday in the Park with George, La Cage aux Folles, Follies, 1776, Funny Girl, Bye Bye Birdie, Pal Joey, and Company. The production of Pal Joey saw a return appearance from Elaine Stritch, reprising her earlier performance as Melba Snyder with the memorable song ‘Zip’. This she had done notably some 40 years earlier in the original 1952 Broadway revival, while infamously and simultaneously signed as Ethel Merman’s understudy in Call Me Madam as she documented in Elaine Stritch at Liberty.

Juliet Prowse appeared as Phyllis in Follies in 1990, and Ann Reinking acted alongside Tommy Tune in Bye Bye Birdie in 1991, in successive preceding seasons before this Chicago was staged.

But for all of its commendable history, the theatre went out of business in 1996 just 4 years after this, citing bankruptcy. Competition provided in the local area by Andrew Lloyd Webber and his influx of staging’s of his British musicals was referenced as a contributing factor to the theatre group’s demise. This feat I suspect Bebe would have lamented or expressed remorse for, given some of her comments in previous years on Sir Lloyd Webber and the infiltration of shows from across the pond: “I had lost faith in Broadway because of what I call the scourge of the British musicals. They've dehumanized the stage [and] distanced the audience from the performers. I think 'Cats' is like Patient Zero of this dehumanization.”

That I recently learned that Cats itself can be rationalised in part as simply A Chorus Line with ears and tails I fear would not improve this assessment. In the late ‘70s when Mr Webber noticed an increase of dance ability across the general standard of British theatre performers, after elevated training and competition in response to A Chorus Line transferring to the West End, he wanted to find a way he could use this to an advantage in a format that was reliable to work. Thus another similarly individual, sequential and concept-not-plot driven dance musical was born. Albeit with slightly more drastic lycra leotards and makeup.

But back in America, the Terrace theatre could not be saved by even the higher incidence of stars and bigger Broadway names it was seeing in its final years, with these aforementioned examples such as Bebe, Annie, Tommy, Juliet, Donna, or Elaine. The possibility of these appearances in the first place were in part attributable to the man newly in charge as the company’s producer and artistic director – Barry Brown, Tony award-winning Broadway producer. 

Barry is linked to Bebe’s own involvement with this production of Chicago, through his relationship – in her words – as “a friend of mine”.

At the time, Bebe was in LA filming Cheers, when she called Barry from her dressing room. Having been working in TV for a number of years, she would cite her keenness to find a return to the theatre, “[wanting] to be on a stage so badly” again. The theatre is the place she has long felt the most sense of ease in and belonging for, frequently referring to herself jokingly as a “theatre-rat” or remarking that it is by far the stage that is the “medium in which I am most comfortable, most at home, and I think I'm the best at.”

Wanting to be back in that world so intensely, she initially proposed the notion of just coming along to the production to learn the parts and be an understudy. Her desire to simply learn the choreography alone was so strong she would say, “You don’t have to pay me or anything!”

She’d had the impetus to make the call to Barry in the first place only after visiting Chita Rivera at her show in LA with a friend, David Gibson. At the time, the two did not know each other that well. Bebe had by this point not even had the direct interaction of taking over in succession for Chita in Kiss of the Spider Woman in London. This she would do the following year, with Chita guiding her generously through the intricacies of the Shaftesbury Theatre and the small, but invaluable, details known only to Chita that would be essential help in meeting stage cues and playing Aurora.

Bebe had already, however, stepped into Chita’s shoes multiple times, as Anita in West Side Story as part of a European tour in the late ‘70s, or again in a Cleveland Opera Production in 1988; and additionally as Nickie in the 1986 Broadway revival of Sweet Charity – both of which were roles Chita had originated on stage or screen. In total, Velma would bring the tally of roles that Bebe and Chita have shared through the years to four, amongst many years also of shared performance memories and friendship.

They may not have had a long history of personal rather than situational connections yet when Bebe visited her backstage at the end of 1991, but Chita still managed to play a notable part in the start of the first of Bebe’s many engagements with Chicago.

After Bebe hesitantly relayed her idea, Chita told her, “You should call! Just call!”

So call Bebe did. One should listen to Chita Rivera, after all.

Barry Brown rang her back 10 minutes later after suggesting the idea to Ann Reinking, who was otherwise intended to be playing Velma. The response was affirmative. “Oh let her play the part!”, Annie had exclaimed. And so begun Bebe’s, rather long and very important, journey with Chicago.

In 1992, this first step along the road to the ‘new Chicago’ was well received.

Ann Reinking with her choreography was making her first return to the Fosse universe since her turn in the 1986 Sweet Charity revival. Diametrically, Rob Marshall was staring his first association with Fosse material in providing the show’s direction – many years before he would go on to direct the subsequent film adaptation also. Together, they created a “lively, snappy, smarmy” show that garnered more attention than had been seen since the original closed.

“Bob Fosse would love [this production],” it was commended at the time, “Especially the song-and-dance performance of Bebe Neuwirth who knocks everyone’s socks off.” High praise.

Bebe was also singled out for her “unending energy”, but Juliet too received praise in being “sultry and funny”. Together, the pair were called “separate but equal knockouts” and an “excellent combination”.

Juliet was 56 at the time, and sadly died just four years later. Just one year after the production though, Juliet was recorded as saying, “In fact, we’re thinking of doing it next year and taking it out on the road.”

Evidently that plan never materialised. But it is interesting to note the varied and many comments that were made as to the possibility of the show having a further life.

Bebe at the time had no recollection that the show might be taken further, saying “I didn’t know anything about that.” Ann Reinking years later would remark “no one seemed to think that the time was necessarily ripe for a full-blown Broadway revival.” While the aforementioned LA Times review stated in 1992 there were “unfortunately, no current plans” for movement, it also expressed desire and a call to action for such an event. “Someone out there with taste, money and shrewdness should grab it.”

The expression that a show SHOULD move to Broadway is by no means an indication that a show WILL move. But this review clearly was of enough significance for it to be remembered and referenced by name by someone who was there when it came out at the time, Caitlin Carter, nearly 30 years later. Caitlin was one of the six Merry Murderesses, principally playing Mona (or Lipschitz), at each of this run, Encores!, and on Broadway. She recalled, “Within two days, we got this rave review from the LA Times, saying ‘You need to take the show to Broadway now!’” The press and surrounding discussions clearly created an environment in which “there was a lot of good buzz”, enough for her to reason, “I feel like it planted seeds… People started to think ‘Oh we need to revive this show!’”

The seeds might have taken a few years to germinate, but they did indeed produce some very successful and beautiful flowers when they ultimately did.

In contrast with one of the main talking points of the ‘new Chicago’ being its long performance span, one of the first things I mentioned about this 1992 iteration was the rather short length of its run. It is stated that previews started on April 30th, for an opening on May 2nd, with the show disappearing in its final performance on May 17th. Less than a fleeting 3 weeks in total.

Caitlin Carter discussed the 1992 opening on Stars in the House recently. It’s a topic of note given that their opening night was pushed back from the intended date by two days, meaning Ann Reinking and Rob Marshall had already left and never even saw the production. “The night we were supposed to open in Long Beach was the Rodney King riots.”

Local newspapers at the time when covering the show referenced this large and significant event, by noting the additional two performances added in compensation “because of recent interruptions in area social life.”

It sounds rather quaint put like that. In comparison, the horror and violence of what was actually going on can be statistically summated as ultimately leaving 63 people dead, over 2300 injured, and more than 12,000 having been arrested, in light of the aftermath of the treatment faced by Rodney King. Or more explicitly, the use of excessive violence against a black man at police hands with videotaped footage.

A slightly later published review wrote of how this staging was thus “timely” – in reference to an observed state of “the nation’s moral collapse”.

‘Timeliness’ is a matter often referenced when discussing why the 1996 revival too was of such success. The connection is frequently made as to how this time, the revival resonated with public sentiment so strongly – far more than in 1975 when the original appeared – in part because of the “exploding headlines surrounding the OJ Simpson murder case”. The resulting legal and public furore around this trial directly correlates with the backbone and heart of the musical itself.

I'm writing this piece now at the time of the ongoing trial to determine the verdict of George Floyd’s murder, another black man suffering excessive and ultimately fatal violence at police hands with videotaped footage.

I think the point is that this is never untimely. And that the nation is seldom not in some form of ‘moral collapse’, or facing events that have ramifications to do with the legal system and are emotionally incendiary on a highly public level.

Which perhaps is why Chicago worked so well not just in 1996, but also right up to the present day.

Undoubtedly, we live in a climate where the impact of events is determined not just by the events themselves, but also the manner in which they are reported in the media. Events involving some turmoil and public outrage at the state and outcome of the legal system are not getting any fewer or further between. But the emphasis on the media in an increasingly and unceasingly digital age is certainty only growing.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ A MIRACLE ❜

with Angel Reyes.

Warnings: none, just a lot of fluffiness.

Word count: about 1.5k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to the author.

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“Where you at, mi dulce?”

“I'm with Pop”.

“He okay?”

“Kinda like. He called me because he wasn't feeling good. Stomach ache. But, don' worry. I prepared him a good dinner. Why don' you come with EZ?”

“Yeah, okay. We're on our way”.

Hanging up the call, you frown at Felipe, who is not paying attention to your indications, setting the table with some grunts. Rolling your eyes, you walk towards him to take the cutlery off from his hands.

“Pop, sit down, please”.

“I wanna help, mija”.

“You help me sitting down”. Chuckling, you continue the task, hearing him complaining in murmurs. “Your boys are coming too”.

“Good”.

Coming back to the kitchen, you take a spoon of soap to taste the salt in it. It's perfect and the smell is simply delicious. You couldn't imagine almost a year ago that you would be the connection between the three Reyes, after what Angel told you about his family. With your eyes fixed on Marisol's urn, you can't help but pucker your lips with a soft smile on them. She would be proud. And you would have liked to meet her. Your boyfriend always says that she would have loved you, and you can't agree more. Sometimes you find yourself talking to her about her family, about what they have done through the day, or even about you. You understand Felipe. You understand why he does it. Sometimes it helps, feeling like if she actually was listening to you.

Bringing the saucepan to the table, placing it over a wooden board, taking off the cover to put it aside. Felipe leans forward, getting a whiff from it with both eyes closed. The pleased humm in his throat makes you know that he is delighted.

“Smells good, mija”.

“Tastes better, you'll see”. Palming his shoulder, you turn to the window next to the main door.

The characteristic sound, which you are used to living with, is increasing as the motorcycles drive through the neighborhood until parking in front of the house. Going to the entrance, you wait for them resting your body against the frame. Getting off from their bikes, EZ smirks at you when he's able to hug you tightly, upstairs. Pecking your cheek, he comes inside to greet his grumpy father. In the meantime that your boyfriend embraces you closer, resting his forehead over your chest, curving a little his back.

“Been all day without seeing you”. He mutters, raising his face to reach your lips.

A softly and slow kiss caresses them, taking his time to enjoy your warmth, wrapping him with both arms.

“You missed me?”

“A lot, mi angelito”. You say with a honeyed tone of voice. “C'mon. Dinner is gonna get cold”.

“Yeah”. He nods.

His heavy steps go straight to his father, placing a kiss on top of his head.

“What's up, Pop?” Angel asks sitting at the table, by his left.

“Jezz, it smells so good, (Y/N)”. EZ says, waiting for you to serve the soup. “What's in it?”

“Rice and chicken. A classic”. You reply very proudly.

When the dinner is finished and the younger Reyes has taken charge of cleaning the kitchen, you share some beers in the living room watching a movie. Ezekiel is now lying on the recliner next to Pop's couch, while your boyfriend and you are sharing the sofa behind them. You actually aren't paying attention to the TV. Facing each other, with a leg over his, your arms are tangled on his neck and his on your waist. You love that sofa because, even if it's a little small for you two, that let you be so, so close. Traveling one of your hands to his right cheekbone, you caress it with your fingertips before touring his dense beard covering the line of his jaw. Angel has his eyes closed, peacefully breathing, but awake. Just enjoying your displays of love. Almost one year, and you keep falling for him every day a little more.

Bowing slightly, you press his cheek with your lips, leaving soft and shorts kisses not wanting to disturb his calm. But you kiss every single inch of his face; his temple, his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the tip of it, his chin. Until reaching his lips. At first, it's just an ephemeral taste. The beer on them gets mixed with your. He licks himself slowly, drawing a light smile on them waiting for another one. Touching his nose with yours, you kiss him again. His arms hold you a little closer, a little tightly, needing your proximity. You two look like two teens under EZ and Pop's eyes, who smile delighted looking at each other. And there's nothing sexual there. You could spend hours kissing him, just enjoying his tongue playing with yours and running out of air, to end up laughing. Your hand caresses his throat, while your lips continue dancing with his in a romantic and a measured improvisate choreography. You can feel his warm breathing, through his nose, colliding to your skin. With your leg around his waist, you push him so much closer until there's no distance between your chests.

You don't know how you have been living without him all your life. Angel either. Everybody says that you're like the light that illuminated his darkness, that he has changed since you met, to a small extent. Now he's more well-balanced. He thinks before acting. And he is mostly wearing a kind smile, good-humored. You know all his secrets, all his fears, all his insecurities; and for Angel is amazing how, knowing everything about him, you are still loving him without judging. Helping him to be his best version. Not only that, but helping him to have a close relationship with Felipe. That man is pig-headed to the limits, but he appreciates and loves you since the moment Angel introduces you. He is the first one who began to see the change in his son.

When your lips get separated in a clingy way, as if they were stuck, Angel is looking at you with a gaze full of love. Hiding his face on the gap of your neck, he takes a long deep breath of your scent, putting his lips there to kiss your skin so gently that gives you some nice chills. Your fingertips stroke his scalp, while he looks for some more calm.

“How I have been so lucky to find you?” You whisper into his ear, feeling his mouth curving in a fleeting smile. Just for a moment.

“I'm the lucky one, mi dulce”. He replies without hesitation, and a purr fixed in his throat. “Te amo”.

“Y yo a ti, mi angelito”.

Molding your body to his and resting your head over the cushion, you close your eyes. After a long day at the hospital, you are so tired that you don't care to fall asleep there. And it doesn't take you too much time, focused on Angel's breathing and his hands caressing your back. The only thing you feel after that, as if it was part of your dreams, is the brief weight of a blanket covering you two and a kiss on your forehead. Tightening your arms around your boyfriend by inertia, you continue immersed in your sleep.

Waking up bit by bit, hearing some noises inside the kitchen, you turn on the sofa. Angel isn't there anymore. Ezekiel and Felipe either. Getting up and stretching your back and arms, you walk barefoot following their voices.

“... and sometimes I find her talking to your mother”.

“How's tha'?” Angel whispers a little confused, having a sip from his mug.

“Yeah. When she's here, she talks to her. About you, about me, about your brother”. Felipe explains. “I really like her for you, mijo. She cares about you”.

“I know, Pop”.

“Good morning”.

Coming into the kitchen, after some seconds of silence, the three men turn at you to greet you.

“Buenos días, Marisol”. You mumble, slightly touching the urn, before continuing to kiss every man there.

Sitting on Angel's lap, you steal his coffee to drink it, hiding a delighted smile against the porcelain.

“You slept well?” He asks, placing a kiss on your shoulder. You just nod, putting an arm behind his neck. “Good… Plans fo' today?”

“Nothing, actually. Got a day off. Maybe I'll go to see Bishop. He told me that he needs some help with one of Vicki's girls”.

“Hm”.

“Feeling better, Pop?” Turning to the old man, he smirks at you. “Not lying to make me leave?”

“Not lying, mija. Your soup was like a miracle”.

“She is a miracle, papa”. Angel replies, rolling his eyes as if it wasn't obvious.

“And more like a trouble when she gets drunk”. Ezekiel laughs loudly, probably referring to the last Mayan party where you drank too much and maybe you lost control a little.

“Shut up, prospect”. Hitting his shoulder, you end up laughing too. “Anyway, call me if you feel sick again, okay? Got nothing important to do today”.

“I will keep it in mind, mija”.

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[dascarecrow]

Dating Advice II

Oscar: *Approaching JNR* Hey guys. 

Jaune: Hey Oscar what’s up? 

Oscar: *A bit nervous, rubs the back of his head* Well Jaune... You know how to talk to girls right? 

Jaune: *a bit confused* I... guess? What’s this about? 

Oscar: *still nervous* Well... I was hoping you could help me. See there’s this girl I like and I was hoping you could help me talk to her. 

Jaune: Now when you say like do you mean “I like your hair” like or do you mean “I’d love to go out with you” like? 

Oscar: *bashful* The second one. 

Nora: Oh my gosh! You’ve got a crush! Oh that is wonderful! Who is it? Who is it? Wait it’s not Neon is it? Ugh that girl lives to drive people mad. 

Oscar: Uh no it’s not Neon.  

Nora: Then who? Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!  

Jaune: Nora! *gently pulls Nora back* So who is this girl anyways Oscar? 

Oscar: *bashful and nervous* I’d... rather not say. I don’t want to set things up that might not happen. 

Jaune: *very understanding* Alright. Well you’re in luck. The Arc family has a bevy of secrets and knowledge. And I think I can share some of it with you. 

Oscar: *completely earnest* I know. That’s why I came to you. You’re an expert when it comes to girls. 

Jaune: *flattered* Well I wouldn’t say expert. *places his hand with his index finger pointing on his chin and flashes a confident grin* Though it wouldn’t be inaccurate.  

Nora: *whispering to Ren* I wouldn’t say expert either. And it would be accurate. 

Ren nods his head without a change in expression. 

Jaune: Here’s what you need to do Oscar. Women like confidence. Just go up to them like you know what you want and they’ll respond. 

Nora: *still whispering* Yeah with biting commentary. 

Oscar: Confidence huh? Well the thing is I can’t even get near this girl without freaking out. I don’t know if I can just go up to her like that. 

Jaune: You get nervous huh? Don’t worry, happens to the best of us. 

Nora: *still, still whispering* How would he know? *no longer whispering* Okay that’s enough of that. *Pushes past Jaune* Don’t listen to Jaune. He got shot down at Beacon all the time and couldn’t see a girl crushing on him when it was lit up with a neon sign. 

Jaune: Nora! Not in front of Oscar! And I didn’t get show down all the time! It was just Weiss being... Weiss. 

Oscar: Wait you went after Weiss? 

Jaune: *now embarrassed* See what you’ve done now? Ahem. I attempted to court Weiss and she was not receptive to my advances. She chose to pursue someone else and I accepted with grace and dignity. 

Nora: After she turned you down flat for like the thirtieth time. Look ignore him. Take advice about girls from an actual one. Be direct, okay? Don’t dance around or try to hide it form her. Just go right up to her and lay everything on the table. Leave no doubt about how you feel about her. 

Oscar: *doubtful* And what if she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I wind up ruining something good because I push too strong? 

Nora: *a bit saddened now* Then... at least you both know what’s going on and can figure out where to go from there. Even if she doesn’t feel the same way at least you’ll know whether or not there’s a future there. *looks at Ren, who looks away* Trust me it’s better having everything in the open instead of just dancing around trying to see what might happen if you wait. 

Oscar: *uncertain* Any advice Ren? 

Ren looks up, a bit confused. 

Ren: You’re asking me for advice because...? 

Oscar: Well you and Nora... I don’t actually know what you two are right now but you’ve both gotten your feelings out in the open. You’ve made whatever this is work for you. I just want to know how you were able to say it. 

Ren: *feeling uncertain* Okay then. I don’t think I’m the best source of advice for this sort of thing. I’ve spent most of my life mastering my emotions so they won’t rule me. *gaining confidence* But if I were to give you advice it would be to try and determine how this girl would feel before you say anything. It’s easier when you know how someone else feels to say what you have to say to them. And you should also determine if what you want to say is something that they should hear. You could give them an undue burden or you could be giving them a source of comfort in difficult times. Just be mindful is what I’m saying. 

Oscar, Jaune and Nora look at him in awe.

Ren: What? 

Jaune: Nothing. That was just... incredibly profound. Way better than my advice. 

Nora: Yeah. How are you so good at this? 

Ren: It’s not that difficult. When you look with your heart you see things rightly. You can see the things truly matter and should be done. So look with your heart Oscar and you won’t be led astray. 

Oscar (smiling): Thanks Ren. That’s actually very helpful. Okay I’m going to go try that. 

Jaune: That’s the spirit. Go for it Oscar! 

Oscar: Right. 

Ruby: Hey guys! 

Oscar: *internally* Oh Dust. 

Team RWBY walks up to them. 

Ruby: What are you guys up to? 

Oscar: Well... 

Nora (grinning): Oscar here is crushing on someone! 

Ruby: Wait really? 

Nora: Yep. It’s so adorable. He’s so shy that he can’t even go near her without freezing up. 

Ruby: *excited* Oh my gosh! *gets in Oscar’s space* Oooh who is she? Is it love at first sight? How long have you known her? What made you fall for her? Details Oscar! 

Oscar: *in crisis mode of the inside* Well it’s not that big of a deal. 

Ruby: Not a big deal? Oscar you have a crush on someone. That is a tremendous deal! So tell us about her. Is it someone we know? 

Oscar: ‘You have no idea’. Well she’s someone that I’ve known for a while. She’s... amazing really. Being around her I don’t feel like the next life of Ozma, I just feel like me. As for what she’s like... well *starts smiling* there just aren’t enough words. 

Ruby: *smiling widely* Oooooooh! You make her sound so wonderful! Stop being so mysterious about it! 

Oscar: Er... well... I... 

Jaune: Okay give him some breathing room. This actually might be an opportunity for us. Would any of you be willing to help Oscar? 

Oscar: *starting to panic* Wait what? 

Jaune: If you’re having trouble going near this girl then maybe you just need to practice talking to someone so you know what to say to her. Now any volunteers? 

Ruby: I’ll do it! 

Oscar: *goes wide eyed* You will? 

Ruby: *oblivious to Oscar’s panic* Sure. Might be nice getting to hear romantic things from a boy. Light knows Dad made sure I never got the chance back in Patch. Besides this’ll help you out. So *grabs Oscar’s hands in her own and lifts them up* what do you want to say to her? 

Ozpin: I honestly can’t tell if the Brothers above are blessing you or cursing you right now? 

Oscar: ‘I lean strongly into curse’. 

Oscar looks at Ruby, entranced by her gleaming eyes and gentle smile. 

Oscar: Well no turning back. The first time I ever saw you I was entranced. My whole life had been in chaos and then I saw you and none of that mattered. I saw your eyes and I knew that I would never see anything else so beautiful. And then I got to know you. I saw you for all that you are. Your strength, your wisdom, your resolve. Nothing would ever turn you from the fight to save us all. As I’ve gone on this journey you are the most amazing thing I have seen. Somewhere along the way things changed for me. I don’t know if it was the first moment I saw you or one of the many incredible things you’ve done. You’ve gained my heart and soul ever and eternally for as long as I live this life. You are special beyond measure. Ephemeral. And for all of that... I have fallen in love with you.  

Everyone looks in awe and wonder at Oscar for the words he’s just spoken. 

Ruby: *touched in her very soul* Oh Oscar. That was beautiful.  

Oscar: *emotions all over the place* Y-you really think that was good. I just... spoke from the heart.  

Ruby: It really was wonderful! You better be careful! If you keep talking like that I just might have to fall for you myself! 

Oscar: ‘By the Brothers above!’ 

Ozpin: Alright Oscar this is your chance. Just tell her that you meant those words for her and you will find victory. 

Oscar: I... I’m glad that you liked what I said Ruby. It really does help to know I can say the right thing. 

Ruby: Of course. Well we’re going to go over the mission board. Tag along if you want but I’m guessing you still have to think over what to say to this mystery girl. 

Team RWBY walks away as Oscar watches Ruby. 

Ozpin: I try not to be too condemning or judging of the souls I reincarnate in but I can honestly say that was one of the biggest shows of foolishness and cowardice I have ever seen. 

Oscar: ‘What was I supposed to do? Confess to her in front of everyone?’ 

Ozpin: Of course. You just had the perfect setup to reveal your feelings to her and walked away from it. 

Jaune: Wow. Just wow Oscar. I mean where did all of that come from anyways? 

Oscar: *not fully tuned in* Just something that’s on my mind a lot. I had a lot of time to put the words together. 

Jaune: Well you know what to say. Now we just have to get you to the point you can say it to this girl. *leans in and whispers* Don’t suppose you could give me some pointers? 

Oscar: Another time. I think I’ll see what the mission board has available. *walks away* 

Ozpin: What are you actually planning to do? 

Oscar: Find the hardest wall I can and hit my head against it until I either forget his whole thing or I’m so dazed that talking to Ruby seems like a good idea. 

Ozpin: Believe it or not this actually isn’t the worst luck we’ve had with romance in our lives. 

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

Autumn Leaves Fall While Love Is Fading Andy Biersack X Reader

Word Count: 1,662

Warning: ANGST

Lyrics: Seasons Of Wither By Aerosmith (Except Changed Her To Him

An inextricable sadness can be experienced when love fades. You're left questioning what is left when the one you promised to love forever no longer loves you. I experienced this. I understand this. I know what it feels like to have my heart ripped out, leaving a gaping hole which can never be filled. I know the pain that comes with wondering. What did I do wrong? What didn't I do right? Is there any way I could have prevented this from happening?

The feeling of loss which stuck me whenever I thought about him.

Andy's words still lingered in my mind; Love fades, mine has…

They stung. After everything we'd been through together this is how it was ending. I'd glimpsed that light at the end of the tunnel; the one telling me that I had what I'd dreamed of in my grasp… but now it has slipped away… it's just completely gone. Andy no longer wants me… the realization hit some storms are simply not meant to be survived but designed to strip you of everything and anything. 

Loose-hearted man, sleepy was he

Love for the devil brought him to me

Seeds of a thousand drawn to his sin

Seasons of wither holding me in.

Flashback…..

“Andy,” my voice is thick with emotion because all that we'd been through. Anger is turning into desperation but he can't, he just can’t do this anymore. – “Please. I need you here.”

“I can’t.” his voice is weak and trembling slightly and I force my eyes shut–   the singulat though flashed...damage. Hide. Now. In that moment there was no way to know my world would completely unravel, we were two souls of one beating heart cursed to be untied never to be whole. But the love between us Andy discarded aside as if it were nothing, yet out of our control we would be forever tangled within each other's embrace. 

I didn't exactly understand why he felt differently or what caused him to just without warning drift. All I now knew, was that the man standing before me has changed, there is an indifferent air around him. 

*********************************

6 months ago…..

Andy pressed his chest against my back  wrapping his arms around my waist before kissing the back of my shoulder tenderly. My heart swells at his gesture, leaning back into his embrace.

“I love you” You whisper, Andy’s arms tightening around me.

He presses another kiss onto my shoulder. I let out a small sigh, I breathe him in deeply, taking in his the deep scent of hiscologne. Letting the smell wash over me, I close my eyes, I completely lose myself in the feel of his presence. 

……….

I trudge through the apartment, breath shaky and tears welling in my eyes. But they still don’t fall. I feel completely numb.

I walk into our bedroom, completely catatonic and moving as if on auto pilot. I sit on the bed, staring at nothing in particular. The moonlight streams through the window catching a large photo frame hanging on one of the walls. My eyes are unspeakably drawn to the glinting photo.

It’s our wedding photo.

It’s a candid shot. Me and Andy are staring at each other, smiling tenderly at one another. Andy’s arm is around my waist, his head slightly bent and leaned into mine, almost as if he’s about to kiss me. The white of my dress is a stark contrast against his black suit, the pale pink bouquet of roses on the floor as I hold onto his arms. The sun is setting in the background, both our silhouettes set ablaze with a halo of sunlight.

I remember the day as if it were yesterday. It was the happiest day of my life. Andy sang to me in his deep vibrato voice of his. He danced with me. Held me close. He kissed me telling me he loved me. The memory of him reciting his wedding vows pops into my mind.

I can’t help it. I break down, sobs wracking through my body as I cry into the dark, quiet of the room. My body shakes with the cries, tears flowing freely. I feel the warmth of them run down my cheeks before disappearing into my shirt. I fall back onto the bed, curled into a ball as I weep out all my feelings, all of the hurt and heartache I feel.

I cry and cry until finally, I can’t cry anymore. My throat is raw, now only dry hiccuping as I somehow run out of tears. My heart aches, my headaches and my eyes sting. 

I tried my hardest to remind him why we fell in love with each other  and why we married. But the harder I tried, the more he pulled away. Bit by bit, he slips from my life. I didn't understand why can but he fell out of love with me; I could see it in his eyes when he walked away. He wouldn't buy me flowers every week anymore. He no longer kissed me goodbye. He no longer sent me little messages about how much he loved and missed me. The more I try to occupy his attention, the more he refuted me, and my heart just aches all over again, longing for him to come back to me.

Heat of my candle show me the way

Seeds of a thousand drawn to his sin

Seasons of wither holding me in

Oh woe is me, I feel so badly for you

Oh woe is me, I feel so sadly for you in time

Bound to lose your mind

Live on borrowed time

Take the wind right out of your sail

Time heals nothing it only makes the memories fade away, It’s sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew. 

What hurts more than losing Andy is knowing that he wasn't fighting to keep me. Nothing hurts more than realizing he meant everything to me, but I meant nothing to him. It’s funny how he could break my heart, and yet I can still love him with all the little pieces. 

Love is not as much a choice as it is considered a feeling. Staying in love takes a commitment. The worst thing is not only being told that someone has fallen out of love with you but being told that they haven’t been in love with you for some time. When you find out you're losing your soulmate it's as if every bit of oxygen has been expelled from your lungs. 

Flashback…..

“Do… do you even love me anymore?” I whisper, dread heavy in my bones as the question slips from my lips. Andy’s eyes soften and I see the hesitation on his face as he contemplates whether he should answer me or simply walk away. Finally coming to a decision, he stares directly in my eyes and I can almost feel the next words.

“I don’t know” he replies, the uncertainty reflected in his eyes before he walks away.

I watch him walk away from me, I was trying much harder to save this relationship than he was. In the last few months it was a last ditch effort to go through couples therapy. I know my husband wants to be anywhere but here at the moment. His entire demeanour is closed off, arms and legs crossed as he stares out the window. 

"When was the last time you actually paid attention to your wife?” he asks and Andy balks, unsure of what to say at the sudden tangent. More importantly, he doesn’t know the answer to his question. Andy abruptly turned about to storm out of the office, “If you have nothing to say that’s fine. Just think about it. I believe our next session is in another two weeks. I want you to think about this relationship carefully." The therapist says, his tone final. Andy quickly leaves the room, his mind in a jumble for the first time in a while. 

…………..

For the first time in over half a year, Andy look at me; pays close attention noticing the sadness in my eyes. He swallows thickly, eyes scanning over my face and as if willing me to look at him. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t even know where to start. He frowns slightly at that. You’d been together for almost ten years, so why was it suddenly so hard to speak to you?

All of a sudden, the distance between you two hits me like a freight train. I can feel the huge rift between the two of us. I sigh slightly, wondering when it had gotten so big. Did he always feel this far away from me? 

Why did it feel like I was worlds away, almost unattainable? The two of us had always been close, always been able to speak about everything and anything. There were times when we’d both wake up in the early hours of the morning, still in bed and voice heavy with sleep and speak about the smallest, silliest of things. 

We had spent close to a decade together; we knew each other like the back of each other’s hands. He didn’t look back as the the door closed behind him that night.  Bereft now of pain and I felt the dying spark of embers from our relationship. Like autumn dyes the leaves bright red, I encountered a love that I'd hoped would last longer than a fading breeze. 

Beauty is fleeting, evanescent,  But all of it ended, Andy’s presence in the photos won't fade away as easily with the flow of time.

Because love is ephemeral and memories die, only the photos of him will accompany me until I take my last breath. I can say, I was once loved; Together, in the fires of hell, we will burn with the memories of the most beautiful moments in life, the moments I shared with Andy the remaining proof.

[pearl-pilots-in-chains]

Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

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

Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

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

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

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

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

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

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?

[stellarfoam]

“I love you.”

“I’ve seen you a lot.”

an abruptly-ended 3k WIP of beau/yasha/jester polyamory negotiations written around episode 70. below the cut for length.

“You know,” Jester began in that hesitant way of hers, fidgeting with her pen then her dress then her hands, “Mama often saw more than two people at once.”

Beau stared, unblinking, her arms crossed to signal confusion and that she wasn’t liking the feeling. There was a beat of silence before she replied with, “Yeah, of course she did.”

Jester sighed, looking frustrated and momentarily upset before finally looking up at Beau. “No, I mean, they both knew -- it was agreed --” She broke off, angry. Angry at not being able to explain, angry at Beau for not understanding, angry at herself for not being able to describe her feelings and hiding, always hiding --

“Hey, Jester, it’s okay,” Beau broke in with a hand on her shoulder. Jester had curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees, and she felt her shoulders sink from near her ears to where shoulders usually were. Beau looked confused still, now with the addition of concern. Jester tried not to let herself feel warm with such evidence of caring, she really did, but she failed (like usual).

Jester stared at the ground glumly, thinking. Beau sat next to her, leaning back on one hand and staring at the fire. It was warm here, from the flames and from Beau’s presence. Beau politely pretended not to feel the transfer of blue eyes from analyzing the dirt to memorizing the way a shadowed jawbone curved.

“I haven’t had to share a whole lot,” Jester tried again, and let her fingers dance and wriggle along the patterns of her dress. Her eyes fell to the squares there and the way the fire created valleys over the wrinkles and creases. Her dresses at home never had to be wrinkled for more than a day. And hadn’t Beau looked like something or someone from another life, dressed in a red that looked better against dark brown skin than it ever had against blue? The thought inspires her enough to add her true point: “I could learn to share though. For you.”

Beau frowned, her face blinking and twitching as Jester watched her silently cycle through her various reply options. “I don’t - I think - you share fine already, Jes. You don’t have to learn to share for me.” A pause. “Especially not for me.”

Jester nodded in a way that meant she very much disagreed. Her back straightened and she faced Beau with a sigh. “I think I do though,” she argued. She tried for light tones, or something firm, but all she sounded was resigned and sad. That wouldn’t do at all.

“No, you don’t,” Beau replied, and her voice was firm. “You don’t have to do anything for me Jester, especially not something you do” - and here she waved her arms around - “already.”

Jester’s mouth turned up at the corners at the sight, but she wasn’t swayed. “You deserve the world, Beau,” she said. She watched the fondness of her words, the absolute truth weighed in them, sink into Beau. It seemed to make her sink. It also seemed to make her float.

“Yeah well,” Beau sighed. “You do too.” And her little half-smile cut Jester’s heart clean open and sealed it up again with something warm and clear.

“Thanks, Beau,” she said, and then giggled, ducking her head. It was hard to stay sad and resigned with Beau here next to her. If Beau was with her, Jester thought she could handle anything and everything - or at least, knew she had someone to tell her that she didn’t have to handle everything.

They sat together in their warm silence until Jester’s smile faded back to what it had been. She wasn’t the only one who found her world more manageable with Beau.

There was Caleb, of course, and Fjord - their friendships with each other were important to all involved. But it wasn’t friendship she meant, and with the looks from one beautiful Yasha Nydorin, Jester could no longer pretend that Yasha and her meant friendship with Beau.

Yasha. Beautiful, tall, strong Yasha. She was quiet, steady like the constancy of the ocean, ephemeral as the foam Jester would watch fizzle on the sand and disappear. Violent like its storms, soft like waves against an arm stretched out from a boat, seeking something. Jester couldn’t help but feel drawn to Yasha, try and figure her out; she was a mystery, a wonder, and a friend. (She was also lost.)

But that didn’t matter. Not right now. What mattered was the looks Yasha and Beau would send each other when they thought no one was looking, or when they couldn’t bring themselves to care. What mattered was Beau’s physical attraction being joined slowly, surely, by platonic and then romantic interest. What mattered was the same happening in Yasha’s slow, glacial, slightly reluctant way.

Jester thought the both of them knew.

Jester also thought they would never do anything about it.

See, the thing was, Jester was in the way. She was friends with them, maybe sort of slightly in love with Beau, and trying for the second time in her life to not fall in love with someone else. Jester didn’t think that Beau should have to choose, and Jester was far too selfish to give up so easily. So: the plan.

Tell Beau that she had two hands and should use them (haha).

Tell Yasha that Beau was interested and that she should join them.

And then reconcile the fact Jester was going to be sharing two of nine of her favorite people with each other. (Okay six of them already shared each other, but this was different.)

Step one was watching Beau for a good time to talk, and then sitting by the fire, and then next up was Yasha. Jester didn’t know why such a good plan turned so difficult when actually faced with words and cues.

“Beau,” Jester tried a third time. “You know Yasha likes you, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Beau replied, gruffly interpreting the statement as platonic. “I like her too.” There’s a moment where Jester opens her mouth and Beau beats her to the punch with a question of her own. “You like her too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course I do!” Jester answered, knowing she was far too flustered in her response, especially compared to Beau’s crossed armed stoicness.

“Good. That’s good.” Beau nodded to herself sharply and stared at the fire. Maybe she was looking for answers. Jester had tried that a time or two herself.

“I think she likes you, Beau,” Jester pressed, and couldn’t help a giggle and a teasing smile.

“Yeah, well,” Beau replied, fighting a smile and failing. “I like - I mean, who could blame her?” She flexed her arms, her tongue sticking out past a teasing smile of her own. “I’m the whole package.”

Jester giggled, then laughed, then felt her expression fade into something softer. “You are, Beau,” she replied gently. Her eyes met Beau’s, but only for a moment, before Beau looked away.

“You keep doing that, Jester,” Beau said. Jester couldn’t tell whether Beau was still joking or if she was frustrated about something.

“Keep doing what?” Jester asked, her head tilting to one side. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, and she blew out a breath in annoyance to try and get them to move.

“Just…,” Beau motioned to Jester with a hand. Jester stared blankly. Beau sighed. “What do you want from me, Jester?”

Jester frowned, hurt. “What do you mean?”

“I mean -- Jester, are you in love with me?”

Jester’s heart stopped, and her lungs followed suit. Her eyes refused to blink, her muscles clenched, and she tried to decide if she needed to run or burrow down into her blankets and refuse to come out. She managed a shaky breath, squeaked out a sound, but couldn’t otherwise say anything but, “What?”

Beau’s lips thinned and she looked angry. About what, about who, Jester didn’t have the brainpower to guess right then. She looked back at the fire with a harsh motion and ran a hand through her undercut. It needed trimming, Jester thought. “Never mind,” Beau asked. “Stupid question - I shouldn’t have asked - I’m --”

“Yeah, Beau. I think I am.”

Another time freeze, another pair of lungs stopped. Beau’s neck cracked as she looked back at Jester again. Jester, who found herself breathing more freely now, and who was filled with the calm of certainty and the reassurance of a choice finally made.

Now it’s Beau who could only choke out a question, who could hardly seem to breathe, and Jester smiled. “I’m in love with you,” she repeated, her smile only growing larger and warmer and brighter. She laughed. “I’m in love with you, Beau.”

Beau stared and tried to stammer a reply. “I’m - I love - you too -”

“It’s okay, Beau,” Jester said softly, reaching out a hand to tap one of Beau’s gently. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“But I want to,” Beau croaked.

“It’s okay,” Jester said. “You have time.” She grinned. “Besides, I have other news too.”

Beau at this point looked like she could be blown over by a stiff wind. “What’s that,” she managed to ask.

Jester leaned in, still smiling. “I think Yasha is falling in love with you, too,” she whispered.

Beau almost fell over, caught herself, and then sat with her hands in her lap. Then she covered her face with them, groaned, and refused to do anything more for long enough that Jester got worried. “Beau?” she asked, peering under the hands covering Beau’s face for any sign of the thought processing going on under there.

Beau groaned.

Jester frowned. This wasn’t how she had planned things on going - not by any stretch of the imagination.

“Do you… not like Yasha?” Jester ventured. She could have sworn the blooming romance went both ways, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had read too much into it. Maybe she wasn’t as good at this as she thought -

“It’s not that,” Beau finally mumbled past her hands.

“So what is it?” Jester asked, her head tilting again and her bangs falling in her eyes again.

Beau hesitated, then blurted it out with a loud explosion of sound and arm movement. “Two of you?” she yells.

Jester flinched back, then stared. “Four if you count Reani and Keg,” she finally replied. The reminder left a bitter taste in her mouth, and Jester wished she hadn’t brought it up.

Beau buried in head in her hands and groaned again. “I can’t do this,” she mumbled.

Jester felt her heart plummet to the soles of her feet, which is a challenge since she was sitting. “Oh,” she murmured past numb lips. “Okay.”

Beau’s head again went snapping up. “Not like that!” she rushed to reassure her. “I just - two - three of - me? You all - me?”

Jester felt her brow furrow. “Yes?” she confirmed, confused as to why this was a sticking point.

Beau’s hands and arms moved wildly again. “But - I’m just - me. Just Beau.”

Jester shrugged. “Just Beau is enough.”

The answer seemed to stun Beau, again, and Jester was beginning to worry about getting through this conversation all in one night. “Look, Beau --”

Beau held up a hand. “Hang on. I have to think.” Jester nodded, and let there be silence for a few minutes. Night had truly taken hold now, painting the sky black and dark purple, and she stared up at the unfamiliar constellations. She thought Caleb might know what they were. She didn’t feel the need to ask.

“So,” Beau began, “you love - you’re in love with - you think you’re in love with me.”

Jester nodded.

“And you think Yasha is also in love with me.”

“I think she’s currently falling in love with you,” Jester corrected.

“Right. Yasha is falling in love with me.”

Jester nodded. “You got it!” she replied cheerfully.

“And you’re not jealous of this because…?”

“Oh I am!” Jester again corrected, still cheerful.

Beau stared, then analyzed, then stared some more. “Okay I’m still confused,” she said.

“Yasha likes you, you like her, I like you, and you like - me?” Jester bit her lip, still feeling uncertain about it despite Beau’s earlier reassurance.

“Yeah, I - I like you, Jester,” Beau said. “I just - this seems more like a tragedy than something to be happy about.”

Jester sighed and leaned back on her hands. “I don’t know,” she mused, looking up at the sky. “I think it could be something really cool.”

Beau was quiet for a moment, and Jester didn’t look at her. “...How are you saying we should do this?” Beau asked quietly as if she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be heard. As if she wasn’t sure she should even be asking.

“I mean, knowing us, it’s probably gonna be really complicated and messy and weird at first,” Jester pointed out. “But I think it could also be really cool! And I think we should try it.”

“And what should we try, Jester?” Beau’s soft fondness, her surfacing curiosity, her unmasked worry, makes Jester look over. She found herself held captive by Beau’s expression and eyes, and couldn’t bring forth enough want to set herself free.

“You and me and Yasha,” she replied softly. “Together. Holding hands, talking, sharing. Kissing, if we want.” Jester giggled and couldn’t stop the flush on her cheeks. She also didn’t think about how her brain brought up what Yasha’s lips might feel like under hers.

Beau looked at Jester for a long time, though it could have been seconds. She was looking for something, Jester figured, and held still so Beau could find whatever it was she needed to find. “You think we could do this?” she asked finally.

Jester nodded. “I think we could.”

Beau looked at the space between the two of them and nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, and then added with more strength, “okay.”

“Okay?” Jester asked, a grin taking over her face.

“Okay,” Beau echoed and began to grin as well. Then she stopped and began to frown instead. “Have you talked to Yasha about this?”

Jester winced slightly and sighed. “No,” she replied glumly. “I wanted to talk to you first. Seeing as you’re in the middle, and all.” She nudged Beau lightly with her elbow, and could only grin seeing a large blush take over Beau’s face.

“We should uh, we should go do that,” Beau stammered. She looked around frantically for Yasha - Jester thought it was funny she was trying to escape. Like that would happen now that Jester finally had her, and now that there would be two of them to hold her down and make sure she was okay.

“She’s out in the woods,” Nott piped up from nearby. Her large yellow eyes stared into Jester’s as she yelped in surprise.

“Have you - have you been here the whole time?” Beau asked. She didn’t seem concerned or surprised which Jester figured was fair considering it was Nott.

“Long enough,” Nott replied cryptically, taking a swig from her flask. Jester looked at the flask disapprovingly, and Nott caught her glance and scowled. “I’ll need this drink if the two of you go wandering off for shenanigans!” Nott moved her glare to Beau. “It’s your job to keep an eye on them. You know what happened the last time they went off together.”

“This is different!” Jester protested. She felt like she had to defend her honor, and also felt like the dark was suddenly far too imposing and the world too big. Beau only nodded, looking fond, and grabbed Jester’s hand.

“I’ll keep track of her,” Beau promised, glancing at Jester with a small grin.

“Gross!” Nott exclaimed. “Don’t have sex in the woods, the leaves and dirt get everywhere.”

Fjord paused from where he had been collecting more firewood for the night and frowned. “Who’s having sex in the woods? And how would you know, Nott?”

“No one’s having sex in the woods!” Nott yelled. “And you don’t know me, Fjord. You don’t know what me and my husband got up to…”

Fjord, smart folk that he was, decided not to inquire further and only nodded as he made his way back to the fire. Caduceus looked up at him with a slow smile and pulled out incense, leaving Nott and Caleb on the next watch.

“You and Caleb got this?” Jester asked, just to be sure, already standing and moving towards the woods.

“Of course we do,” Nott said, waving her concerns off with a flapping hand. “And Yasha went that way.”

“Right.” Jester course-corrected and set off. “C’mon Beau! Let’s go find Yasha!”

Beau sighed in fond exasperation, following a step behind. “Are we trying to be quiet about this?”

Jester hummed, her steps slowing as she considered. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Should we be?”

Beau shrugged. “If we sneak up on her, we might scare her and someone might get hurt. But we don’t know the stuff that’s in these woods.”

“Let’s go quietly, and then when we see her make sure we’re out of range,” Jester decided, taking more care to watch where she stepped. The two of them made quick, quiet work of the walk and soon found Yasha staring up a tree.

“What’s up there?” Beau asked, moving towards the tree without thinking. Yasha spun around and had her sword half-drawn before she realized who it was.

“You scared me,” she said softly, resheathing her sword and looking back up the branches.

Beau stood next to her for a minute and Jester stood back slightly, just watching them. When it became clear Yasha wasn’t going to answer her question, Beau asked again what Yasha was looking at.

“There’s an owl up there,” Yasha explained softly. “I thought maybe it was Professor Thaddeus.”

Beau’s lips quirked and she nudged Yasha with her elbow gently. “I don’t think it is,” she admitted, “bastard would’ve flown away as fast as he could if he saw me here.” She took a breath and then added, “Thank you for - for looking, though.”

Yasha looked down at Beau, and a small smile transformed her face from something impassive and scary to something soft and beautiful. “Of course,” she replied gently. Jester saw Beau’s cheeks flush and Beau looked away, a hand rubbing at the back of her neck.

“I’m here too!” Jester added cheerfully, hoping to stop the usual awkwardness of the two of them before it became unsalvageable.

[sexymanera]

cantarella

vil schoenheit + neige leblanche

female reader

full imagine

angst

note: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED YOUR REQUEST I AM SO SORRY OHMYGOD AND IM SORRY IF THIS ISNT THE REQUEST U WANTED HHHH vil might be out of character here uhhh

play- cantarella: kaito ft. hatsune miku

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

“You thought you could drink this powerful                                                          potion you knew so well”

the ensemble played in a graceful tone. it was a waltz. vil’s right arm was supporting your back as his left was outstretched. your feet matched his and the pace of the music. it was pure bliss. how funny though. you were dancing with your knight. the person who swore on their life to protect you. the party was getting boring, as it always has for you, and you needed a partner for the upcoming dance. 

you and vil had already practiced this multiple times since you were children. the feeling stayed the same for you- but for vil? he was ecstatic. he was finally near you not as a mere knight but as a person. it gave him pure joy. but of course, good things come to an end and you had to switch partners. though, vil expected you to switch with some random noble the random noble he caught a glimpse of before passing you to the mad clad in white and sky blue and his eyes widened. it was neige leblanche. 

vil had already known of the black haired man’s limerence towards you. after all, the look neige gave you was very familiar to the blonde haired man. since he, too, stared at you with those same, loving eyes. a sigh of defeat escaped from vil’s lips. he knows he can’t do anything about it. a woman of high nobility like you? ending up with him? sure vil had high confidence but even he has doubts of his own.

“y/n,” a sweet voice rang through your ears. you didn’t even notice you had to switch partners with vil. you looked up and saw shiny brown orbs and silky black hair. the man before you was breathtaking. “neige...” you spoke. neige laughed softly as you both danced without ever making a single mistake through the lively ballroom. 

“how have you been, y/n?” he asks, getting closer to you. “ah, i have been well. you?” he twirls you around before gripping on your waist and hand softly and pulling you closer to him that you can feel his breath practically fanning your face. you silently gulped at his abrupt action. “good now that i’ve met you here.” although neige’s face was covered half by a white masquerade mask, you could tell that his eyes were shining. 

neige leblanche. the crowned prince of the neighboring kingdom of pomefiore. you already expected to meet him here. the person who ordered you to kill this man has predicted everything correctly. you were known to be very good with expressing your emotions. people have ordered you to kill their target and you have never been caught. not even once. you have never been suspected. how could they suspect the princess of pomefiore to have done such a cruel thing? 

the song ended before you knew it and you walked towards vil to see how he was holding up for the remaining parts of the ball but neige grabbed your hand, “oh, sir leblanche? is something the matter?” neige frowned slightly at your formality. you weren’t formal earlier while the two of you were dancing, so why? he shook off his frown and chuckled for a moment, “ah, you see, i just so happen to travel far just to attend this ball that you had invited me to. so i was wondering if you would give me a room to stay in just for tonight?” 

you bit your lip. no, you didn’t hesitate. it’s just that you weren’t really in a position to grant him a room to stay in. your parents decide that. neige seemed to have read your mind and snapped his gloved fingers, “mm, i see! i already asked your parents but i just needed to see if you would be alright in seeing me tomorrow for breakfast,” he started, “after all, you might be surprised to see me at your breakfast table tomorrow morning.” ah, so that’s how it is.

“oh of course i’m alright with it! i haven’t seen you since grandma’s funeral. i’ve always wanted to catch up with you!” you grabbed his hands and held it tight, indicating how happy you truly were. neige glance up to see vil narrowing his gaze at the black haired prince. all he could do was grin in a mocking manner before kissing your hand and taking his leave. vil was powerless. he couldn’t do anything. he had no authority to force neige out of the kingdom or your heart. he was always second. he hated it. 

you noticed vil looking down and ready to draw his sword but you lowered it and smiled at him, “it’s okay, vil! i know he has good intentions.” vil, even if he wasn’t your knight, couldn’t disagree with you. he has a soft spot for the princess. all the fellow guards knew. “now,” you cleared your throat and intertwined your hands with his gloved ones, “let’s go, okay?” 

morning soon arrived rather quickly. it almost seemed like the ball was just ended a few hours ago. you stretched your arms in bed and yawned a bit before receiving a knock at your door from vil. “princess y/n, neige leblanche is here to see you.” his voice seemed drained of life. it’s like he was defeated from a duel. you panicked and scrambled to get your indoor dress for today. a few moments of no response and vil knocked again, slightly glad you were taking time to reply. looks like sir leblanche has to wait until breakfast. vil thought to himself, smirking at the man who was shorter than him. neige noticed vil’s self-victory and gritted his teeth.

“apologies. if the princess hasn’t woken up yet, tell her i’ll be-”

“i apologize,” you quickly squeak out, slamming the door open. you fiddle with your fingers as neige observes your ghastly attire. the dress has clearly not been ironed as wrinkles were clearly visible. your shoes were mismatched and your socks have not been pulled up properly. you obviously didn’t have the help of a maid. neige stifled his laughter but failed and started chuckling at how you presented yourself. noticing how neige was laughing, your cheeks flushed from embarrassment. “mm, nothing to be embarrassed about y/n. i find it cute,” he whispered before leaning back. 

“going back to the reason of why i am here, i simply ask for your presence at the garden this afternoon,” your cheeks heated up at the thought of simply being with neige at the garden. walking together, possibly holding hands, talking about literally anything, oh how the thought made your heart flutter with excitement. “definitely! i’ll see you there soon, sir leblan-” in one swift movement, neige already has you pinned against the doors, causing vil to step back as he draws his sword, ready to behead the crowned prince. vil carefully watched his movements as neige put a hand under your chin and tilted it up so you would have nothing to stare at but his shining orbs. you almost got yourself mesmerized in them.

“i’m tired of the formalities, princess. just call me neige,” he lets go of you and walks away, leaving you stunned and your heart ready to jump out of your chest. vil immediately rushed next to you and held you in his arms. “princess? princess y/n, are you alright?” he gently shook your figure. you glanced up at your childhood friend who is currently your knight and chuckled, “vil, why do i feel this way whenever he’s near me?”

the invitation from neige to meet him at the garden drew near and you felt excited. you helped the chefs in preparing the snacks and tea that would be served for the both of you. your orbs narrowly glanced at the tea. jasmine, huh? you thought to himself, silently bringing out a vile that contained white powder that looked similar to arsenic. you bought the vile to the teacup and tapped the rim of the vile, allowing some powder to escape from its container.

you walked out the door, surprised to see vil. was he always there? you shook your head, hoping he hadn’t noticed you walking in with the poison. you made sure to keep it hidden in your fists.

“vil, all you have to do is stay by my side! i’ll never abandon you, so you won’t either, right?” 

your child voice echoed in his head. things just had to get complicated. it just had to take a wrong turn. just as it always had with vil.

-

“that knight is absolutely spineless,” neige muttered to himself as he made his way towards the garden where he was supposed to meet you. his eyes landed on your ephemeral figure. it drew him closer. “y/n!” you lifted your head up from your lap and smiled at the man in front of you, “sir lebl- i mean, neige!” you greeted, getting up from your seat to do a curtsey. neige appreciated the gesture as the two of you sat down in front of each other. nothing much has happened except for when the tea was served.

you glanced at the man seated in front of you. you had already taken the teacup that didn’t contain any poison. neige sensed the presence of the loyal knight named vil behind the large hedges of the garden. vil was left in the shadows. what could’ve he done? nothing. he was letting you go without putting up a fight. it sickened him. this wasn’t who he was but he couldn’t help but be that weak, powerless person since he was just a mere knight.

neige takes a sip of the jasmine tea and instantly felt his throat burn. a cough escaped his throat along with a spot of blood that stained his white gloves. your eyes widened. the poison people usually gave you were subtle and killed the victim in an instant. why was neige in pain? why is he suffering? did you acquire the wrong poison? you slowly walked towards neige as he fell on you, his eyes almost lifeless. you orbs widened as he placed an empty vile in your hand and smiled. you immediately realized that was the vile that contained the poison.

he knows.

at this point, you weren’t worried on getting caught. you were worried about his safety. vil stepped out of the bushes and rushed towards the two of you. neige was then brought into the care of the paramedics as the guilt slowly consumed you until you were never able to sleep.

the clashing of swords woke you up in the dead of night. what on earth was causing the ruckus? you walked up to your balcony to see neige and vil having a duel with neige looking injured. rushing outside, you ran towards the garden despite your feet aching without any shoes.

vil raised his sword to swing at neige who was obviously worn out. you stepped in between the two men and expected vil’s sword to have an impact on you but you felt nothing. only the drip of cold liquid on your face. neige’s blood.

neige had prevented the sword from harming you with the help of his hand. the back haired male dropped to his knees as you cradled his tired body in your arms. tears escaping your eyes.

the blonde haired knight’s hands shook violently. what did he do wrong? he almost harmed you. he almost killed you.

“vil, all you have to do is stay by my side! i’ll never abandon you, so you won’t either, right?” your child self grinned brightly, holding his hand. vil only stared at you before bursting out in a fit of laughter. “hah, once i become king, i’ll be the one abandoning you,” he said, cockily. you pouted before punching him. “you’re so full of yourself! bleh, you becoming king would never happen!” you taunted before running away from vil. the blonde was left dumbfounded and doubtful but chased after you, “just watch me! if i become king, i’ll protect you, you know!”

protect you. 

he had failed you.

vil stared at neige clutching his hand and you holding it as he walked away from the scene. he couldn’t face you. before vil could walk away completely, he looked around his shoulder to see neige’s face contort into a mischievous smirk as he hugged you. a finger pressed to his lips. vil’s eyes widened. this...

this was his plan all along.

his plan to force you to poison him. 

his plan to make you his.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

a/n: I KEPT CHANGING THE PLOT OF THIS SHIT IM GOING TO CRY AND PROBABLY DO A REMAKE OF THIS SINCE ITS SO SHITTY AND CONFUSING UHJDSK IM SO SORRY

[siverwrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alma/Cabanela (Ghost Trick) Characters: Alma (Ghost Trick), Cabanela (Ghost Trick) Additional Tags: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Final Fantasy VI AU, FFVI GT AU, Fluff Series: Part 58 of Final Fantasy VI/Ghost Trick Summary: An ill-at-ease time in an empty airship leads to something more...

-

Happy Birthday dear @azurefishnets!

She should have gone into town right away with the others, Alma thought. The airship was eerily silent without the ever-present underlying hum of the engines or the daily bustle and chatter. She brushed a hand over the wood panelling as she made her way back to the central area and imagined the chill touch of stone.

This was the Vanguard. The others were simply in town. She would see for herself shortly but still as she calmed herself her pace quickened until slowing at the sudden sight on the lower level.

She wasn’t as alone as she thought. Cabanela was asleep on the couch leaned back into the cushions, legs stretched out and mouth slightly open. She wondered if he’d sat down and simply fallen asleep right then and there. It seemed likely. She didn’t catch him asleep much these days; it was bound to catch up. There was a comfort in the sight: no displays or shows here. Honest and simple. Real.

Blankets were stored in a cabinet built into the wall just passed the sofa. The ship could grow cold when everything was shut down like this. She could at least make him more comfortable before she left. Light quiet steps carried her down the stairs, but as she passed by him, Cabanela stirred. Half-lidded eyes met her gaze and his voice was distant and still low with sleep.

“We’ll find you.”

Alma froze. After a swallow and a quick count to four, she spoke. “You did. I’m right here.” I am here.

His eyes slid shut and Alma took a deep breath. It was only a dream, only his dream and nothing more than that. A natural thing. Nothing more. She started to move away when he blinked and she found herself in his gaze once more.

“Alma?”

“I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“I thought you were in town, baby.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Weeell,” Cabanela said with a wave of his hand and a grin that shone too falsely to Alma’s eyes, “someone should watch the old girl.”

“I see,” Alma replied with attempted levity, wondering if it rang as true as his grin. “And I’m certain you were doing a fine job from dreamland.” She took a seat beside him. “It’s not like you to skip a day in town.”

“Maybe when I can really visit,” he said blithely. “Tip-toein’ does get tiresome.”

Alma winced. She should have known; he was always so out there, so present. Of course he wouldn’t like having to keep a low profile or even relying on outright invisibility at times.

“It’s not all bad,” he continued. “After aaall I’ve found myself with far better company here.”

“I don’t know about that,” Alma found herself saying. “I don’t feel very ‘here’.” She stopped dead, clenching her teeth over the sudden admission.

“I count every day we see you as a blessing,” Cabanela said. His eyes met hers and she thought she might burn under his stare. “Every day we didn’t lose you to Doma.”

“I…”

Alma cast around the room for something to say or do. How could she reply to such open… intensity? Her gaze landed on the gramophone in the corner of the room. The recent find had been a moment of smug pride for Memry and a rare sight of unadulterated delight in Cabanela.

“Wait here,” she said and abruptly rose.

There were only two records: one from Memry’s own eclectic collection of various things, and the other won from Jidoor’s auction. She settled for the Jidoor find and soon music washed out over the room and she returned to stand in front of Cabanela who watched curiously.

“It’s not often we have the ship to ourselves.” She offered him her hand. “How long has it been?”

Maybe it was a mistake, careless words born of her own wondering about a past that felt as ephemeral as not these days. He started to open his mouth to respond and stopped with a blank stare.

“I don’t know,” he finally said.

She kept her hand out. “Then let’s fix that. May I have this dance?”

To her relief and mounting tension despite herself, he took her hand and unfolded from the sofa. She guided him to the floor where he looped an arm around her waist. She forced herself to relax. His hold was firm in support and nothing more; she could easily slip away if she chose. Slipping away wasn’t what she wanted to do as the music played, their fingers intertwined, and Cabanela let her lead them into their first dance.

Strange how easy and natural it suddenly felt. He was as graceful as ever and old training came flooding back. It didn’t take long to find their rhythm and for the duration of the song Alma found herself focusing only on their movements and flow, letting other memories fade.

The next song was livelier and to her surprise Cabanela continued to let her keep the lead. They stepped and spun taking greater advantage of the empty floor. She caught Cabanela mid-whirl and with a flash of a grin and without a second thought she dipped him.

For a moment they remained in perfect balance. Cabanela gazed up at her and she noticed once again how his eyes were subtly lighter than they once were, and yet still so very… him.

“My Queen,” he breathed.

There was no mistaking the tenderness or wonder in his voice, but still she faltered. Queen: was that all she was? Was that what she was doomed to remain to all, even to him? She pulled him back up, letting him straighten, hoping to simply continue the dance.

Instead, he stopped. Had he sensed her thoughts? Had she messed this chance up? Could nothing ever be simple?

Cabanela hesitated then lifted a hand to touch her cheek, his touch feather-light and his fingers warm.

“Our Alma.”

Once again there was only sincerity and no sense of an expected old possessiveness. She leaned into his touch not trusting words, not knowing how she could respond.

The current song faded. For a moment they stood in silence, poised in a place she wondered at; could it last? Could this be? Then the next song started, another lively beat, and Cabanela grinned and caught her other hand.

“The ship to ourseeelves indeed. It’d be a shame to waste it now. Shaaall we?”

She couldn’t help but return a small smile at that. “After you.”

This time he took the lead and she was content to let him do so. It was another upbeat song and they fell into a quick step and possibly more twirls than were strictly necessary. She spun away hand outstretched not quite losing contact with him.

He cast an arm up and with a snap of his fingers golden sparkles rained down around them.

Alma couldn’t stop the small bubble of laughter even if she wanted to. “Memry wouldn’t like that.”

His eyes crinkled in amusement. “Memry isn’t here to see it, baby!”

“You are incorrigible,” she replied and let him pull her back, take her around the waist and guide her into the next whirling steps in another shower of sparkles.

One song and another before they fell back onto the couch hand in hand, and the ship was warm and their hearts full.