#they have good chicken strips but I eat those at work so much I’ve been avoiding them other places

[laxchra]

((…carls jr got rid of their western burger & I may have to fite someone

[tubatwo]

words left behind - choi soobin

summary: a series of forgotten ‘I love you's becomes too much for soobin, leaving him in a state of worry

pairing: gn reader x choi soobin

genre: fluff/slight angst; 1.6k words

the words “I love you” were always exchanged between you and soobin. they were more than mere words. they were a symphony of shared affection. a daily tradition that had permanently made its way into your lives. it didn’t matter who was around or where you were, you never once forgot to exchange those three sweet words.

but lately, life had its own plans in mind, and with millions of responsibilities and burdens on your shoulders, there were a few times when you had forgotten to say the words back to soobin.

a few times too many. 

“dammit, i’m gonna be late!” you exclaim, rushing to kick off the covers that were half of the reason for your warmth all night.

the other half, your boyfriend, was currently rubbing his eyes in confusion at your behavior. “what’s going on?” he asks softly.

 “my stupid phone died during the middle of the night so my alarm didn’t go off,” you huff loudly as you strip out of your pajamas, running around the room like a headless chicken, “i’m supposed to present the financial report today and now I don’t even have time to grab breakfast or coffee and I work til late and I ju–”

your words are cut off by soobin, who has now made his way out of your shared bed to hold you in his arms. “hey hey, shhh, it’s alright..” he reassures you, “how about you shower while I make you coffee and a quick bite to eat?” and if that wasn’t enough to make you fall for him all over again, he wasn’t finished. “and text me when you’re finishing up so I can order your dinner, okay?” he leaves you with a kiss on your forehead. 

you have to remind yourself that you don’t have time to cry in his arms and ramble about how unbelievably lucky you are, so you leave him with kisses all over his face before turning to your tasks, hoping that it would be enough to convey your love. “thank you so much, baby!” 

after getting ready and grabbing all of your things, you quickly make your way to the entrance of your apartment. “i’m off now!”

“good luck, I love you!” soobin yells from the room, except instead of hearing those words in return he’s met with the sound of a door slamming shut. 

the weekend meant that there was finally some time for rest and relaxation between you and soobin. no work nagging at you and no clock dictating your day. it was a clean slate, meant just for the two of you.  

surprisingly, instead of staying in like usual, you decided to plan a small picnic at a park nearby. 

“hurry, before the sun sets without us!” you exclaim, excitedly running towards your designated spot under the tree. your picnic basket was filled with various types of your favorite foods: gimbap, dumplings, bread, and ramen in heated mugs. you even had plans to get bingsu once you were finished. 

you and soobin sat down and immediately started digging in, updating each other on the details of your week. when time is your enemy and a constant reminder of harsh deadlines, you don’t always have time to fully explain the details of your day. however, during times like this, you had all the time in the world. 

“and then my boss said I gave the best presentation, can you believe it?” soobin smiles at your enthusiasm, proudly letting both of his dimples show. “of course I believe it, my baby is the best.” his lips meet your cheeks as his arms wrap tighter around you. after finishing up all of the food, you cuddled up together against the tree. 

“I wanna thank you for being so patient with me this week.” you utter softly.

 “hm? what do you mean?” soobin asks, a bit taken aback from the sudden gratitude. 

“i’ve been so busy this week and you’ve just been an absolute angel,” you explain, “I can’t thank you enough for everything you do to help me, soobin.”

you feel soobin smile against your neck before he places soft kisses on your skin. “if I can help alleviate some of your stress then it’s no problem. you always do the same for me..”

you turn your body slightly to look your boyfriend in the eyes, the both of you grinning ear to ear before pressing your lips together. the world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the sounds of your heartbeats, and the taste of his kiss, which tasted a lot like the honey bread he had just finished.

“I love you, baby.” soobin confesses after breaking the kiss, his sudden confession making your heart swell. 

as soon as you open your mouth to respond, you feel a sudden cold splash on your forehead. “I– ah!” you look up only to feel another splash, then another, then another. 

it was raining. 

“oh god, soob, it’s raining! let’s hurry back!”  you stand up quickly to pack away any trash that was leftover from your meal. you look over to see your boyfriend staring at the ground with an unrecognizable emotion on his face. his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and you could see his fists starting to bunch up the blanket underneath him. 

“soob?” you repeat yourself. 

suddenly he snaps out of whatever state he was in and stands up, grabbing the blanket and folding it into a smaller square. while you carried the basket, he used the blanket as an umbrella to keep you two from getting wet. 

at this point, all bingsu plans were cancelled, and the silence in the car led you to believing that he was really looking forward to it. 

“hey, maybe we can get bingsu tomorrow?” you suggest, trying your best to lighten the mood. 

“okay, sure.” he says dryly. 

something had shifted. he didn’t glance at you once and didn’t even bother holding your hand with his free one. you thought that maybe he was trying to pay extra attention to the road since it was raining, so you didn’t question it anymore. 

later that night, things had started to go back to normal. it seemed like soobin has snapped out of whatever mood he was in before and was mostly back to talking normally. however, he still had a bit of hesitation with his words.

you lie in bed as he finishes his skincare routine, eyes barely hanging on as exhaustion takes over your body. you’re half asleep when he finishes, a sleepy smile on your face as he crawls into bed next to you. 

“today was really fun..” soobin murmurs quietly. you hum in agreement as sleep begins to take over your body more and more. 

“night baby, I love you.” soobin confesses. 

he felt stupid after multiple attempts of trying to hear you say it back. he didn’t understand what was going on, I mean, things seemed to be going okay? you still hugged and kissed him as if nothing was wrong. so why was he hurting so much? 

each time, it pricked at his heart, a tiny bit of insecurity growing with every missed "I love you." he began to wonder if this was the beginning of you slowly distancing yourself from him. 

and you, half-dreaming already, hum once again in response, your mind already halfway between dreams and reality.

“please say it back..” soobin whispers, his voice cracking and eyes beginning to tear up.

the vulnerability and emotion in his voice immediately breaks you out of whatever dream you were having. you turn to look at him and the sight of a tear streaming down his face was stronger than any alarm could possibly be.

wide awake now, you reach out to cup his cheek. “i’m here, honey, i’m so sorry,” you whisper. a mix of insecurity and embarrassment washes over soobin’s face, and he can’t help but to ask quietly:

“do you still love me?”

it’s almost as if you could hear your own heartbreak at the words. all you could feel was guilt and hurt due to the doubt you had unintentionally given to the person you loved most. “yes, of course baby,” you begin, “I love you so much, I promise I love you with all of my heart.”

soobin immediately shows a relieved smile, happiness consuming his entire body after finally hearing the words he was desperately missing this week. 

“i’m sorry, i’m a bit embarrassed now..” soobin wipes some of the stray tears on his cheek before letting out a sad chuckle. “I know it probably wasn’t intentional but you haven't been saying it back and I got in my head..”

you shake your head as you wrap your arms around him, face buried in his neck as your hands rub gentle circles on his back. “no, I should be the one apologizing,” you state firmly, “I am so so sorry for leaving you hanging and taking advantage of your love.”

before soobin could even interrupt you to deny your words, you were already sitting up. “you know how much those words mean to me, and i’m sorry I let the craziness of the world take them away.”

“truthfully, you’re the reason why I was able to get through this week. even though you didn’t necessarily hear it from me, your love is what anchored me and gave me strength. but.. I don’t want to make it a bad habit. because you deserve to hear those words more than anything. you deserve to feel the certainty of my love.”

soobin’s smile blossoms into one of pure affection, his fingers caressing your cheek with a gentle tenderness as he leans in to meet you in a kiss. a kiss that conveyed everything you two wanted to say to each other at that moment.

i’m sorry

it’s okay

I love you

I love you too

[keefwho]

May 01 - 2023

3:10 PM

I’ve decided to step away from thinking about things so much aside from the 2 days a week I’ve set aside for it. On those days I’ll do my analyzing and action planning, the rest of the week the most I’ll try to do is write down my feelings and events without going deep into them. I think I’ve been experiencing burnout always being in problem solving mode. I forget to live and apply the things I’ve already learned. 

My tummy hurts a little today. I couldn’t eat a whole breakfast, I barely had the appetite for a pack of ramen and that’s it. I completed commission time and my workout and now I’m trying to make lunch but my appetite is still somewhat poor. I’m clearly hungry though. I’m makng rice a roni and some weenie bites. I’m guess my diet yesterday is making me feel like this but I wish I wasn’t so sensitive. Yesterday’s breakfast was a corned beef hash quesadilla which I think is the main culprit, something similar happened the last time I ate one of those. I never feel like it should though. Maybe I just needed more fiber. Lunch didn’t help, being sausages and butter noodles. That wasn’t really a good choice especially for the time of day. Dinner was rice a roni because I could stomach it and a buffalo chicken strip because I don’t have any other chicken. 

I’m sure I’ll feel better soon, I have to be more aware of my meals. I usually try to balance it out but then I get too comfortable and think I can eat anything. Then I suffer. 

7:57 PM

I have a lot of work ahead of me. Storms are starting this week and I have to work on getting over the stress they cause me. I’m much more prepared than I was last year but it will still be an ordeal. 

[bluewolfplumbing]

Top 10 Most Underrated Things to do in Gilbert, AZ

If you're new in town, or just want to visit a place that isn't filled with tourists, there are many things to do in Gilbert, AZ to keep you busy so you won't get bored. I've compiled a list of some of the most underrated things to do in Gilbert AZ that will educate and entertain you.

Freestone Skatepark

Freestone Skatepark is the only skatepark in Gilbert, AZ. It was built in 2004 and has been a staple for skaters and BMXers ever since. The park is located at Freestone Park, which is a large park with baseball fields, tennis courts, basketball courts, and more.

The skatepark itself is an old-school street-style skatepark that has been redesigned over time to make it better for all skill levels. There are ledges of all sizes, stairs with rails and gaps to grind, fun boxes to jump off of, banks for manuals, and much more.

The park also has a flow bowl that is perfect for beginners who want to learn how to get air on their boards before they try street skating.

Try a new restaurant

There are so many great restaurants in Gilbert. I always get excited when I see a new one open up, but then I'm disappointed by the lack of business they get. Some great places to eat include:

Cafe Rio - If you love Mexican food, you need to try Cafe Rio! They have delicious tacos, burritos, and salads. My favorite is their chipotle chicken salad with extra tortilla strips on top!

Bella Vita - Bella Vita has fantastic Italian food, including pizza and pasta dishes. Their menu is large enough that everyone can find something they like here!

Pita Jungle - Pita Jungle specializes in Mediterranean food, including gyros and shawarma sandwiches. They also serve up healthy salads if you're looking for something lighter!

Honey Bear Bakery and Cafe - This place has amazing desserts! They have cakes made from scratch as well as cookies and brownies (my favorite!). The best part? They're all gluten-free!

Participate in a local farmers' market

It's hard to beat the freshness of locally grown fruits and vegetables — not to mention the fact that they're usually cheaper than those at the grocery store. The Gilbert Farmers' Market gives you access to more than 50 vendors selling everything from organic produce to homemade baked goods. Visit their website for dates and times.

Shop at Power Road Market

The Power Road Market is an outdoor shopping center that combines several different stores under one roof. The market features over 60 stores including Best Buy, Gordmans, and Target as well as other smaller shops like Pier 1 Imports and Party City. There are also restaurants including Chili's Bar and Grill and Chipotle Mexican Grill available at this outdoor mall. The food court features Panda Express and Chick-fil-A among other fast food chains for those looking for a quick meal without having to leave the mall area.

Visit Agritopia Farm

Agritopia is a working farm with a large variety of animals, crops, and produce. Visitors can see how food is grown at the farm and sample fresh produce from their own garden. There are also several restaurants on the premises where you can try locally sourced food for lunch or dinner.

Check out the Gilbert Regional Park

Gilbert Regional Park is one of the most underrated parks in the area. Located at the corner of Val Vista Drive and Gilbert Road, it's a great place for families who want to enjoy the outdoors without traveling far from home.

The park has 12 picnic areas with tables and fire pits, as well as an amphitheater where concerts and movies are screened every summer. There are also two playgrounds for kids, as well as restrooms and drinking fountains for visitors who don't feel like packing a lunch or snacks with them on their trip.

Gilbert Regional Park is open daily from 6:00 AM until 10:00 PM during the summer months (May through September), but closes earlier during other seasons due to cooler temperatures and shorter days during the fall and winter months.

Be a part of the Gilbert Concert Series

Gilbert's summer concert series is held every Thursday night from 6:30 p.m.-8:30 p.m. at Heritage Park on East Civic Center Drive between Guadalupe Road and Warner Road. The lineup features local musicians, food trucks, and a beer garden.

Watch a movie outside at Water Tower Plaza

Watching movies outside at Water Tower Plaza is something that should be on everyone’s bucket list. It’s a great way to spend an evening with friends or family and enjoy some time in nature. The movie schedule changes every week, so it can be hard to keep up with what is playing and when.

Enjoy an outdoor event at Freestone District Park

Freestone District Park is a great place for families with children. They have a playground, picnic area, and fountains to cool off during the summer months. The park also hosts several events throughout the year including the annual Gilbert Rodeo Days Festival, which takes place in May.

Get your adrenaline pumping at Sanderson Ford's Mustang Alley event

Sanderson Ford's Mustang Alley event is back this year and it’s bigger than ever! The event takes place on Saturday, April 27th from 10 am-3 pm at their dealership located at 1730 S Sanderson Rd. Bring your family and friends along for a fun day of food trucks, live music, and hundreds of classic Mustangs on display.

Takeaway: We hope you find this guide useful in exploring the great city of Gilbert, Arizona. There is plenty to see and do here, so be sure to enjoy your time in The Valley of the Sun!

Are you looking for a professional plumber in Gilbert, AZ

Are you looking for a professional plumber in Gilbert, AZ? You've come to the right place. At Blue Wolf Plumbing, we specialize in providing top-notch plumbing services to residents and businesses throughout Mesa, Tempe, and other surrounding areas of Arizona.

We offer a wide range of plumbing services that include:

Drain Cleaning Services

Toilet Repair Services

Sump Pump Repairs and Installation

Water Line Repairs and Replacement

Water Heater Repair or Replacement

Our team is highly trained and equipped with the latest tools to ensure our customers get the best possible service at an affordable price. We are committed to providing our clients with excellent customer service from start to finish by taking time to listen to their needs and answering any questions they may have about their plumbing systems.

Blue Wolf Plumbing Gilbert AZ 85295 480-637-3541 https://bluewolfplumbing.com/

https://goo.gl/maps/NHgjKEpisf6ZpZ889

[soundsgoodfeelslikeshit]

Fights and Waves

Summary: JJ and Y/N have been fighting constantly and JJ finally decides to end it. Will John B be able to bring Y/N back to the group? Will JJ and Y/N be able to fix the relationship with each other and get back together? 

A/N: If enough people like this I can do a part two. This was in my drafts for a pretty long time and I finally decided to finish it. Lmk if you want a part two. 

“JJ, stop. Not tonight, I can’t do this tonight.” You mumbled as you rubbed your hands together. You had gotten off a tough shift and the last thing you wanted to be doing was going head to head with JJ in another argument. 

“Why not? We can’t keep pushing shit under the rug!” JJ said raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Babe, I’m tired, you look tired, and I’m sure the Pogues would rather not hear another fight.” 

“Well maybe if you would tell me what was going on with you, I haven’t heard from you in three days! You just show up here like nothing happened. I get it you have your episodes, but I was worried. Where were you?” JJ pushed. 

“I was working, my phone has been off for the past few days. I needed some quality me time. It was nothing personal and you know that.” You mumbled, rubbing your sore, aching back. 

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing personal whatever! I’m your boyfriend. If you can’t let me know what’s happening maybe we shouldn’t be together, hmm, what do you think about that?!” JJ screamed. 

“I think you’re being dramatic, it isn’t that serious Bub.” You said taking a step to him. 

“No, you don’t need to come closer. We’re done.” He said stepping out of the Chateau, while slamming the door. 

You sighed, and ran your fingers through your hair. This had been a recurring thing, every fight JJ would leave. This time it was different, he ended things. You watched with tears in your tired eyes as he sped away on his bike. 

You decided to just call it a night and went to head towards your car. 

“Y/N, hey where you going?” John B yelled. 

“I’m going to head home, just not feeling too well today.” 

“Where’d JJ go?” Kie asked. 

“None of my concern anymore, I guess.” You mumbled wiping another tear. 

“Hey, wait what?” Pope questioned as you shut your door. 

“I’ll see you guys when I see you, but JJ will always need you guys more just like you’ll always need him more.” You smiled sadly and drove off. 

................................................................................................................................ 

It had been weeks of the pogues trying to meet up with you and trying to call or text, but all of their attempts were left unanswered. 

You’d started working more at a new shop that opened up and they of course never shopped there since they’d prefer to get their surf gear from a local shop and not a corporate one. You quit the wreck and apologized to Kie’s parents. You changed your number so you didn’t have to feel guilty about the numerous messages you were ignoring, but your hopes for the guilt to go away were unanswered it was still very much there. 

“Hey, Y/N. There’s some people here to see you.” Your mom said as she opened your door slightly. 

“I’m not feeling too well, can you have them come by another day?” You questioned as you rubbed your eyes. 

“I’ll let them know.” She said smiling sadly. 

You stared at the picture of you and the Pogues and threw it on the ground. No need for it to be on your bedside table anymore. 

Your bedroom door opening startled you and looked up with wide eyes at John B. 

“Hey it’s just me.” He said softly. 

“I’m not feeling well.” You mumbled looking away. 

“Y/N you’re like my sister. I know you. You’re not sick, you’re sad.” He said as he sat next to your frame. 

“JB I can’t, JJ needs you.” You said with a break in your voice. 

“I think you need me more.” 

You looked at him with tears in your eyes as he pulled you into a hug. 

“I-I can’t. I’m so sorry.” You sobbed.  

“Shh, let us in. You can’t block us out forever.” 

“I love J, I just can’t end up like my mom and my dad. They constantly fought, dad turned abusive, left and felt a better family. I can’t do that with him! JB I can’t!” You said through hysterics. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he said pulling you on his lap and rubbing up and down your back.

“You and J won’t end up like them I promise. Things just got complicated. There were a lot of stressors for everyone and JJ took it out on the wrong person.” He said, rocking slightly.

You stifled a sob and leaned further into him.

“Are you hungry? Sarah said she’s drop some food off with your mom. I told her I was gonna spend the night.”

“I’m okay.” You mumbled quietly.

“I’m gonna get you some food I know you haven’t been eating like you should.”

You sighed and let your mind race as you listened to your best friend’s breathing.

................................................................................................

“I’m just gonna sit this here. Thank you John B. She really needed this.” Your mom said smiling at the boy.

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N. She’d do the same for me so I have to do the same for her. She’s the little sister I never had.” He smiled back.

Your mom smiled and placed the food down and left the room.

“Okay Y/N/N, come on time to eat,” he mumbled into your hair quietly.

You sighed and leaned away from his chest.

“Got you some chicken parm. I know it’s your favorite.”

You gave a soft smile and grabbed the takeout box he was offering. 

“Get a movie and put it on please. We’re going to eat and talk and then go to sleep. Okay?” He asked.

You sighed and nodded as he left the room.

He walked back in with TV trays and set them up and then moved the food onto them.

You put Hercules in and smiled as you sat back down.

“Alright so why did you decide to leave? No contact, no response, nothing.”

“I-“ you started and set your fork down. “I couldn’t let JJ have the option to not be with you guys. I know when he starts spiraling he needs someone. He needs them in those first few days or weeks. When I spiral I don’t even realize I am, so I just handle it when I notice. I could help myself but JJ needed your guys’ support.”

“You need our support too. When you’ve spiraled in the past I’ve always been here. You can’t place JJ’s happiness above your own. You can’t fix JJ while you are falling apart.” John B said biting into his burger.

“You were there after I handled it for a while I got through the bad. Just needed the last few pieces put back together. JJ deserves you guys. I can’t keep him from you. I can’t make him choose to see me with you guys or just not come around. If it came down to me or JJ needing to leave the group it would have to be me.” You said sadly.

“You can’t do that. Listen if it was you or JJ it would be both of you. We would split our time. But that’s not the case. JJ came back that night devastated you were gone. Screaming and crying. He tried to break everything he could, he knew he messed up. He wants to fix it.” John B sighed.

“I can’t promise I’ll take him back immediately, it’s not the same anymore. There’s things we both could fix and that’s not gonna happen with the relationship we have. I can’t be the reason why, if JJ and I were to get married and have kids, that my kids have emotional trauma from seeing a parent be verbally abusive to the other. JJ and I are borderline abusive now.” You said fighting back tears.

“Y/N/N. You won’t end up like your dad. Okay?”

“John B I’m not saying I would I just don’t want that to be the course that could happen. Taking a break will be good for us. I’m not saying I won’t try, because believe me I will. JJ is it for me and I know that.” You said pushing your plate away.

“You wanna go surfing with them tomorrow and have a marsh day?”

You nodded and gave him your new number to put in a group chat with them.

“You aren’t gonna eat anymore?”

You shook your head.

“Haven’t been too hungry lately.” You sighed and gave your attention to Hercules.

................................................................................................

“Wake up, sleepy.” John B said shaking you.

“Leave me alone JB. It’s too early.”

“We’re going surfing for sunrise.”

You sighed getting up and seeing it was 4:50am.

You pulled your closet open and pulled out a bathing suit and a pair of shorts and a tank top.

“Did you bring stuff?” You questioned.

He nodded his head.

“You can change in here, I’ll be in the bathroom gotta make myself look semi-approachable.” You said as you shut your bathroom door.

You stripped off your old clothes and quickly shaved and showered. Washed your face, brushed your teeth, did your hair, and finally pulled your swimsuit on. You sighed at your reflection noticing the spots that were thinner. You just decided to throw your tank top on and find different shorts to wear.

“Hey you ready?” John B questioned.

“Yeah one sec. Need to find my swim shorts.” You said digging through your closet.

You found them and slipped them on and followed John B out of your room.

Scribbling a note to your mom you left and took your car to the Chateu to grab the Twinkie and JB’s board.

“You ready to see him?” He questioned.

“Absolutely not, but it is what it is.” You said with a small laugh.

He nodded as you began your drive to the beach.

You arrived after what felt like years but was really only a few minutes. You could see Kiara and Pope but no signs of JJ.

You prepared yourself and grabbed your wetsuit and board and followed JB.

“Heyy.” You said awkwardly scratching your arm.

Kiara pulled you into a hug and Pope quickly followed.

“Don’t do that again.” She scolded.

You sighed and nodded.

“We have a lot of catching up to do. But we can surf and have our day first.” Pope smiled.

You nodded as they rushed out to the water with their boards. You slowly put your wetsuit on and allowed John B to zip it.

“Don’t freak but JJ just got here.”

You nodded and turned to the boy.

“Hey.” He said softly.

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry. I know it was wrong, you had a lot on your plate and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Guess we just know the right buttons to press.” He said sadly.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve give you an explanation and not just expected you to understand. I do think it’s best we stay apart for a while. Fix ourselves and then maybe try again if it’s feeling like the right time and everything feels right.” You said.

“I agree.”

You smiled and led the way to surf with your friends.

[winter-fox-queen]

The Gentry’s Gifts: Max Phillips

Hello!  This is sort of a sequel to the Pero story, in that we saw Max and now we know what he was doing there and what choice he needed to make.

Warnings:  Cursing. Angst. I had the trick of having to put both blank canvas characters into one story, lol.  But I think I finessed it.  The “you” character is a blank slate, mostly gender neutral (mentions of wanting to have children could sway your perception one way or the other.). Not betad.  

This is my late #writerwednesday entry, thank you to @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and @clydesducktape​

Prologue:

Max Phillips slammed the hospital doors open, eager to get outside.  The sound beeping machines seemed to echo in his ears, making them hurt.  The smell of the place stuck to the back of his throat.

He tilted his head back in the afternoon sun, and breathed in, breathed out.  Tried to make himself calm down.  The Autumn are cleared his head as he jogged across the road.  

“Bad day?”  A voice asked.

Between two benches, almost hidden in the orange leaves, was a woman, instead of the ‘Nam veteran he usually passed a few moments talking to.  Her wiry steel colored hair was in a messy bun, covered by a turban.  She wore layers and layers even though it was a warm fall day.  “Where’s Raffi?”  Max asked.

“His daughter found him.  He decided to try living with her again.”

Max nodded.  “I hope it works out.  She wasn’t…apparently he isn’t easy to live with.  Bad dreams.”

“It’ll be better now.”  She said with such serene certainty that Max believed her.  He gave a little wave and walked away.  

He was back, twenty minutes later.  He put a chocolate shake in front of her, and a boxed fried chicken meal.  If he had known his folklore…which, sadly, he would become intimately familiar with, he would have understood her amusement.  Milk, bread…these were the Old offerings.  

Instead he shrugged, uncomfortable.  “What?  I figure everyone likes chocolate.  And I needed to eat, too.”  He sat next to her.

“How old are you?” She asked, though she knew.

He shrugged.  “Seventeen.”  He buttered a biscuit and took a huge bite.  He ate like he was starving.  “Why?”

“You seem to be awfully young to be hanging out with homeless people.  Where are your parents?”  

He shrugged again.  “My mom’s gone.  My father…”. He pointed towards the hospital doors with his chin.  “He’s dying.”  He hunched over the greasy box of chicken, potato strips and biscuits, eating like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

She sighed.

He looked at her, and she shook her head, and ate the food he brought her.  You are going to go off the rails Max Phillips.  You are going to go off the rails so badly and there’s nothing I can do about it.

The Present:

He entered the library through the basement, crept up the stairway.  The first floor was nearly empty…the university library kept late hours so that students could cram late into the night, but it was Thirsty Thursday and most of the students were elsewhere.  

He waited until you were focused on the book cart again, back towards the main floor, and got himself around the corner.  Then he pulled out his cell and dialed the front desk.

You now turned to go to the phone, at least he hoped so, as he disconnected the call and opened the side door to the area behind the circulation desk…

You were there, leaning against the cart, arms folded.  “Nice try, but I know your tricks, Mister Phillips.”

He grinned and advanced on her, step by step.

“No no…”. You point a finger at him.  “Stay back, this is a work place…”. You shoot a look towards the front desk as he backs you into your office.   “You are going to lose me my job.”  You hiss at him, and he bends a little, and kisses you breathless.

“Quit.  I’ll take care of you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders.  He’s cool to the touch.  It’s not disconcerting, not like it used to be.  “I wish I could.”

“Stop wishing...”

“If you say ‘and make your dreams a reality’, I’ll bite you.”  

Max looks offended.  “It’s a great slogan!  Do you know how many units of Losapill those golden words have sold?”

“I don’t understand how I can love someone so much and want to punch them so badly.”

He grins down at you.  “I can name several reasons why you love me.”

You smirk up at him.  “I’m sure you can…let me go, honey.  I’ve got to tell everyone we’re closing in half an hour.”  He listened to your voice on the loudspeaker, buttery and gentle and reassuring, and smiled a little. He could listen to that voice forever.  He could sell holy water to a priest, but so far all his skills had failed to net him the one thing he wanted.

He walks with you, as you check the restrooms (He even does the men’s for you on each floor, turning off the lights and blocking the doors open) and stands behind you, hands in his pockets, looking gloomy as you gently tell students to take their books to the front desk if they needed to check them out, that the library was closing shortly.

He waits, patiently, while you close up and lock the doors and usher the last people out.  

“I really wish you’d let me turn you,” he says when you are both in your car and on the way home.  Max often took the rooftops from his office to the university.  He was fast, and strong, and being fairly indestructible made him long for the thrill of possibly getting hurt, so he parkoured his way through the city once it got dark.  It was disgusting, how he looked so good after running and leaping five miles.

He shifts in his seat as you let the silence grow.  “Are you ignoring me?”

“Yes.”  You stop at a red light.  

“Why?  You said you’d think about it.  You’ve been thinking about it for a month.  Any idea where you are on it?  Like, from the scale of one to ten…”

You’ve been wanting to avoid this.  You’ve really been wanting to avoid this.  “Zero.”

She waits.  She waits for the torrent of salesmanship.  The spiel.  Why becoming a vampire and living forever is what she wants, she just doesn’t know it’s yet.  

For once, words fail him.  No quick comeback, no charming lines. “I can’t believe you don’t want to be with me.”  He says it so softly that you almost aren’t sure you heard it.  

You pull into the apartment parking lot, picks a spot quickly you can park and take his hands in yours.  “Max.  I do.  I really do.  But just…I don’t want to be a vampire.  I don’t want to give up the things I would have to give up?”

“Like what?  Death?  Getting old?  Getting sick?  Being weak?”  He pulls his hands away.  “I am offering you unlimited time.  Think of the things we can do together!  And you don’t have to kill…I haven't killed anyone in ages!”

“Sunlight.”  You say.  “Food.”  He makes a disgusted sound and looks out the window.  “A family.”  You take a deep breath.  “Children.”

He finally looks at you again.  “Then I won’t waste any more of your time.”  He raises his hand, and time goes wonky for a moment, and when things snap back into place, he’s gone.

You stay in your car a long time, hoping he’ll come back. Every step up to your apartment, you look around, hoping.  

It’s dawn, before you give up, dried out from crying, your mouth feels full of ashes and your heart full of regret.

The next day:

Max was not in a good mood the next day.  Usually he has a nice word for, if no one else, his PA, a miracle worker of a woman he’d always been fond of, but he just glared at her and slams his door shut.

Emails.  Reports.  He plowed into work.  

The door opened, and he ignored it, steadfast in the hope that whoever it was would go the fuck away.   I could always eat them.  I don’t have to be good anymore.

A cup thumped down on his desk.  He looked up.  He didn’t recognize the woman — her steel grey hair was neat, her suit elegant.  Her heart beat strangely, and he could tell she was not — quite—human.  Great.  Someone new from corporate?

“I thought you said that everyone loves chocolate?”  She said, pointing at the milkshake.  “You’ve come far, since we last spoke outside the hospital…”

He shook his head.  “I remember you, but…”. How did she come to be here? Why? His brain was still trying to match up the homeless lady with the epitome of corporate flash in front of him.  

“Now, I didn’t say you moved in a good direction.  How did the sweet boy who spent his last twenty on dinner for himself and a homeless woman end up being a bloodsucking asshole selling fake products?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s schedule an appointment, maybe for the next century?”

“Nope.”  She reached across the desk.  “You gonna drink this?”

He shook his head and she took the milkshake, leaned back in her chair, moving the straw back and forth in the lid, making an annoying shriek sound that hurt his ears.  

“Do you think I wanted this?”  He snapped at her.  Vampires didn’t really need much in the way of sleep, but he was tired.  Tired and hurt.  “And who gives you the right to fucking judge me?”

“I’m one of the gentry,” she said.  “That doesn’t give me the right, but it gives me the power.”

“You’re fae.  That explains it.  You don’t seem human.”  

“I thought they taught you the rules.  You never call us out so clearly.  Always call us by some euphemism and hope we don’t take a notion to turn our attention towards you.”

He threw up his hands.  “Why?  Why does it matter?”

“Because if I wanted to, Max Phillips, I could turn you back into the weak, dying, foolish mortal you once were.”

This stopped him.  “You could?”  He said carefully.  

“I could.”

“What’s the catch?”

She smiled.  “Good boy.  Maybe they did teach you something, after all.”  She put the milkshake on the desk.  ”You were…what?  Twenty, twenty one when you got turned?  I could, if I wanted to, make it as if you never got turned.  I could choose for you to age to the age you should be, had you not cheated death…or I could make you start from where you are right now.  If I was feeling so inclined.”

“Why would I want that?”  He scoffed.  “Do you think I want to get old and sick?  Do you think I want to spend the last year of my life in a hospital bed, unable to even piss for myself?  You think this is a fucking gift?  Enticing?  No.”

“So you don’t want a life with the librarian? Probably for the best. She is made out of sunlight and deserves so much better.”

He stopped.  He could feel the slipping…where the darker side of him started clambering up, eager to take control and rend and kill.  

“Hush.”  She said, and the blood stopped rushing in his ears, the fangs stopped aching.  “I shouldn’t needle.  It’s just so frustrating.  You were a sweet boy and you just allowed the bad in your life to make you…well, frankly, a bit of a jackass.”  She shoot him an apologetic look.  “OK, that was a cruddy apology.  But.  Back to the subject at hand.  Once, you were kind to me.  And if you do me a favor — one more favor — I will give you a choice.  A chance to choose a life for yourself instead of being a victim of bad choices and worse luck.  No strings.  No further price.”

He side eyed her a long moment.  He was intrigued, despite himself.  “What’s the favor?”

She took a small painting out of her pocket and slid it over to him.  “Another debt to pay…that woman has a soul mate out there.  I know where he is.  If you get her to my house tomorrow night, I can unite them, give them a chance at well deserved happiness.”

“Yeuch.”  He said, then picked up the painting.  “Wait.  That’s my PA.”

“Is it?  How delightful.  Isn’t just splendid how fate intervenes.”  She put a card on the desk.  “This is the address.  Hope to see you.”  She held up her finger.  “There is one thing.  She can’t know.  You have to get her there without her knowing why.  Alright?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”  He muttered.

“Good.  I am glad you understand.  Ciao!”

He picked up the card.  And cursed a bit.

NIght, in the time middle of nowhere:

“So, Mister Phillips…are you taking me out into the middle of the woods to murder me?”  His PA asked, laughing.  She didn’t know he was a vampire.  Telling people what he was hadn’t worked out very well at his last job, so he’d been much more circumspect this time.

“I promise, you are safe.  From me.  I don’t know what Corporate will do, though,” he said, turning down another road.  

“So, did they tell you what the meeting is about?”

“It’s meant to be a retreat.  All the heads of the various branches and their PA’s.  They want to re-envision the future of the company”. He took one hand off the wheel to put air quotes in the right place.  “Apparently they messed up your email address so we didn’t get the invite in time.  Someone caught it and called me directly.”

“I hope the place they picked is nice…”. She was looking out the window, trying to make out the road ahead.  “Carol in accounting is super jealous.  I think she has a bit of a crush on you…”

“Well, I am irresistible.”

“Mostly.”  She grinned at him.  A square of light grabbed her attention.  “I think we’re here.”

He pulled up to the house.  It looked sketchy at best, and the looks his PA were casting made him wonder if her trust was stretching a little too thin.

He got out and walked up to the porch.  The Fae came out this time wearing a chic, flowery dress.  She ignored Max and called to his PA.  “Don’t be afraid.  You are here so I can talk to you about your dreams…and by that, I mean the Spaniard, with the scar over his eye.”

The PA froze.  “You…you know about him?”  

“Go inside, dear, and I will tell you all about him.  But I need to talk to Max, here, first”

His PA stopped next to him, put her hand on his arm.  “Will you be OK?”

“Absolutely.  You know me.”

She went into the house.  

“Come here, Max.”  The Fae held out her hand, gesturing him to come up to the porch.  He did.  A card table was set up, with one chair.  Two cards lay face down.  “Here is your choice.  Are you ready?”

He stood there, looking at the table, and nodded.  Fear coursed through him, as strong as the day cold hands grabbed him from behind, teeth sinking into his throat…

She reached down and flipped over a card.  The Queen of Spades.  “Darkness ever lasting.  A vampire queen even now is looking for her equal.  She will choose you, and the two of you will know power beyond your wildest dreams…until enough people get angry about it and decide to deal with you both.  You will not love her, but who needs love when you have sex and death and all the power you ever hoped for?”

She reaches again, flips over another card.  The Queen of Hearts.  “And this.  This is life.  Your soul will wake up, and you will be twenty one and full of possibilities again.  Your heart will beat every beat that was stolen from you.  The slate will not be wiped entirely clean, but you will have a chance — a chance with your lovely librarian.  Children.  Be kind when you were once cruel, and live a decent, good life.”  

His lips were numb.  “How…how long?”

“Long enough.  You will not feel cheated.  It will be a plain sort of life, but it will be yours, and you will have the woman you love…some would say that is worth dying for.”

“What do you know about death?  Your kind just fade when they are tired of living.  You will never know the absolute fucking horror of your body betraying you.  The fucking humiliation that waits.  The pain.”

“No.”  She said softly.  “I do not.”  She kissed his temple.  “I am sorry.  If I had met you sooner, perhaps…but, in any case, I consider all debts paid.  When you are ready, pick up the card representing your choice, and rip it in half.  Choose well, Maxwell Phillips.  May we never meet again.”

He didn’t notice her leave.  He sat down, weak, at the table.

Life.  Death.  Life.  Death.  

He’d seen both his parents die terribly.  After he was turned, he’d mourned, then he realized the gift he’d been given.  No hospitals.  No lingering disease.  No pain.

His hand hovered next to the Queen of Spades.  No love, but power and sex.  He’d tried to recover, tried to be good, for you.  And he’d started feeling the guilt.  And with guilt, came all the excuses.  That he was living according to the nature that had been forced upon him.  That he was giving people a gift…they died, or they become something that could never die.

You don’t punish the wolf for being a wolf.

But that was why it had been easy to walk away.  Because you deserved better.  Not a vampire.  Not a wolf.  A man…

He did not hear the car, but he heard the thump of the other man’s steps as he mounted the porch.  

“She’s in there…”  he said, barely paying attention.  

When the other man left, he repeated what he said to him, in his head.  Choosing between life and death.

He picked up the Queen of Hearts.  His hands were shaking.  He ripped the card in half.  Darkness roared around him, pulled him under.

When he woke up, he was on the floor of his apartment.  

No.  His fucking.  College.  Dorm room.

“Dude, you started early.”  Evan’s stupid face appeared as he bent over him.  

Max wondered if he could punch him in the face.  It would feel really, really good to punch the other man in the face,

“OK, well, I’m going to an away game…see you sometime tomorrow.”

He put the palms of his hands in his eyes.  “Yeah…have fun.”

Evan stepped over him.  “See ya…wouldn’t want to be ya!”  The door slammed shut and Max raised both hands in a one finger salute towards it.

He made himself get up and go to the bathroom.  He looked younger but not better, per se.  What is wrong with me?  What’s this feeling?

It wasn’t just that he could feel his body working.  Feel breath (was breathing always so fucking noisy?) and heat beats and aches in his neck and back from laying weird on the floor.

He’d lived for years.  But right now, he was still the same angry, miserable hit mess of a man he’d been at this point of his life.  

A phone was ringing, he went and grabbed it.

“Hey Maxie.  Is Evan gone?”  Evan’s girlfriend.  Great.

Oh.  

“Yeah.  Yeah.  Look…”

“Awesome.  I bought the cutest bra and panties…”

And this is where, he thought, this is where he took the step to becoming the man you deserved him to be.  “That’s great.  But you know…I only want to fuck you because your boyfriend is an annoying twit.”

Shocked silence.  OK still an asshole.  Check.  So much for being a sweet boy when I was younger.  “Look. I meant what I said.  You are beautiful. You are probably far, far too good for Evan. Or maybe not, if you are willing to screw around with an asshole like me. In any case, you deserve better. But you have to decide what better is.”

This treated him to a string of profanity before the woman hung up.

Then, he walked to the infirmary, and asked for aspirin. And if there were any free spots for the therapist.

Sunday, the conversation between roommates went like this:

“So you were going to screw my girlfriend?”

A shrug — Max concentrated on the video game.  “Changed my mind.”

“Why?”

He paused the game.  “Because you deserve better.”

He felt Evan throw himself on the couch next to him.  “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I don’t hate you. You’re just so fucking happy and peppy and optimistic and everything is going to be awesome but I think the world is shit and misery and maybe if you dialed it back a little I we could have conversations that didn’t end with me wanting to punch your face.”

“Dude.”  It sounded defeated and apologetic at the same time.

Max held a controller out to him. “Sorry. I’ll try to be less of an asshole.”

He took it.  “I’ll try to be less…happy?”

Max sighed.  “Just don’t get me kicked out, ok? I can’t afford anywhere else and I really don’t want to end up in Transylvania.”

Two years later, he decided he could go and find you.

Most people went to nice places on their spring break.

Max got on a bus and headed to a University in the next state.  They’d had their Spring break a week sooner.

There you were. Sitting cross legged on a bench with a man with a streak of blonde in his hair, and a suit coat with elbow patches.  Elbow patches.  Pretentious asshole.

You were tucking hair behind your ear. You liked him. Max wondered if he should leave, come back…in a year?  Three?  When did he have a right to become part of your life?  Did he even?

You look at him and smile and it is sunshine and he can’t leave.

The man on the bench says something about class.  “See you at work,” she tells him, and he lopes off in an easy walk to one of the brick covered class buildings.

Max approaches carefully.  “Hey.  Um.  I’m thinking about transferring here, wondered what it’s like?”

She shifted her bag over, even though there was plenty of room to sit, and he took it as an invite.  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

He gave her his best smile. “Everything. I want to know everything.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Little Witch | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey lovelies, I’m finally back with some Mikaleson Brothers content. I’ve had this idea for a while and rewrote it about a thousand times. I’m not sure if I love this but I needed to just finish it. I feel like it’s not that great but regardless I’m giving it to you. It’s super fluffy and a quick burn romance but, hey, who doesn’t like kissing me you just met you know? In all seriousness I hope you’re all doing well. I know life is really off right now and I hope this helps. All my love <3 until next time loves!

Description: Hogwarts and The Originals crossover, disbelief must be suspended for this one as we all know some of this doesn’t add up, soulmate AU

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Female!Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: there are no warnings

Word count: 6.7k

Tags: FLUFF

Tag List: @activist-af , @hellotvshowtrash , @firebirdsalvatore

(Photos not mine but mood board is :) )

“There you are, sweetheart,” her gentle voice breaks through you dreams, pulling you from the same scene you’ve grown used to seeing for the last couple weeks, “you’re going to miss dinner sleepyhead.”

You awake to a familiar picture: your books sprawled across a desk in the middle of the library and a fiery redhead with a soft smile holding a semi-crumpled cardigan towards you. Her eyes twinkle with laughter and familiarity. This isn’t the first time Arabella has found you asleep after you told her you were going to be studying. When you look down at your divination textbook you notice a small pink smudge from your cherry lip gloss. You wipe your fingers around your lips, collecting the rest of your smeared makeup.

You stifle a yawn, stretching your limbs out with a soft groan, “shoot, I fell asleep again. What time is it, Ari?”

“Quarter to six, hun,” she reaches out to brush some fallen hair out of your eyes, “we should really get a move on. Are you feeling okay?”

You nod, this time the yawn interrupting any intention to answer that you had. Your head buzzes lightly with the remnants of your dream. For weeks you’ve felt something on the horizon, something meant just for you. Three pairs of brown eyes and the warmest feeling in your chest. It’s the same feeling you’ve been waking up with every night, if not a touch stronger this evening. You don’t mind it though, it layers a warmth to your bones that this winter in the castle has stripped from you.

“I haven’t been sleeping too well lately is all,” you let Arabella help you slip your cardigan back on, straightening it and your tie, evening the yellow and gray stripes. 

Her hands still against your shoulders, her concerned green eyes meeting your own half open ones, “still having those dreams, sunshine?” 

You nod once more, sagging slightly from the weight of your tote when she loops it over your shoulder. Your skin tingles with slight electricity, lulling your already fuzzy brain into a deeper haze. You tug your sleeves over your hands, scrunching your fingers into a fist to try and regain some awareness.

“Hmm,” Arabella pushes the same strand of hair from your forehead again, removing her headband and putting it on you instead to keep your unruly strands in place, “remind me to make you some tea before bed. I have some herbs from the greenhouse that might help with them. Let’s go get some food into you first though, ok?

She links her arm through yours, pulling you alongside her towards the dining hall. The corridors are mostly empty, spare a few behind students. Much like yourselves, they hurry in the same direction, following the wafting smell of roasted chicken and pumpkin pie. You can’t help but shiver as you watch them rush, feeling like someone forgot to tell you something. As if everyone knows a secret that you very well must have snoozed through.

“Hey Ari,” you tug lightly on her sleeve to get her attention, “why is everyone in such a hurry? Did I miss something?”

She looks confused for a moment, her button nose scrunching tight before her mouth falls open, “oh yes, that’s right! I forgot to tell you! Some seventh year prefects overheard McGonagall talking about some exchange students from Ilvermorny. They’re supposed to be here for dinner!”

Your skin crackles with electricity, the air static with anticipation, “Ilvermorny? They’re from America?”

She nods her head cheerfully as the two of you approach the towering doors of the dining hall, “I know, it’s crazy right?”

You can hear the buzz of activity emitting from the hall before you cross the corridor, a dull roar that lights you with an even mixture of excitement and nervousness. 

“They certainly think so,” you motion to the giggling fourth year girls who scurry past you, their chatter no doubt about the possibility of Hogwarts’ newest additions. 

The current coursing through your body sings when Arabella pulls you through the doors. The dining hall is a flurry of activity, each house no doubt wondering if they’ve gained any new members tonight. The thought of some new Hufflepuffs warms your heart. You haven’t had any new faces around in ages it feels like. You let her lead you to a few seats left open near the front of the hall, next to the small stage.

You fall into your seat with a sigh, graciously accepting the plate of food Arabella hands you. How she made it so quick you aren't sure. Magic probably, that would make the most sense. When you glance over at her she has her wand out, levitating food onto her own plate. She always puts you ahead of herself, something you can't help but feel bad about sometimes. Regardless, it warms your heart immensely to be lucky enough to have such a caring best friend. You catch her eye and she passes you a loving smile and a wink before lowering her plate. 

As you take the first bite of your pumpkin pie, ignoring the nudge you get for eating your dessert first, Headmistress McGonogal taps her wand to the podium in front of her.

“Students,” she clears her throat, waiting for the noise in the great hall to quiet, “as quite a few of you have already heard by now,” she searches you all with a glint in her eye, a small smile on her lips, “we have a few students joining us.”

The great hall buzzes at her admission, a current running through the entirety of the student body and, most of all, you. Your head feels like it’s spinning. Like you’ve just drunk a litre of fire whiskey and that if you stand up there’s a good chance you’ll fall right over. You drop your fork but the clatter it makes doesn’t register with you as much as it should. Arabella looks over at you, clearly worried, and raises her eyebrows, placing a warm hand on your back. 

As you go to shrug your shoulders at her, the doors to the great hall open once more, “ah, and here they are! Please, everyone, show them your warmest welcome. They have come a long way, all the way from Ilvermorny in the United States.”

McGonogal continues to speak about Hogwarts and its connection to Ilvermorny but her speech is drowned out by cheering from all over the great hall. Well, you’re pretty sure it is. Your pulse is thundering so loudly in your ears that you can’t hear much of anything at all. Arabella stares at you still, growing more and more scared as the seconds pass. You think you say something, you open your mouth at least, but whatever words come out of your mouth don’t reach your ears. Arabella tightens her grip.

You close your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly, desperately willing your senses to go back to normal. It almost works too but then you breathe in and are hit with three scents so hard that you almost vomit. Not because they’re terrible, though, they’re anything but. No, you almost puke because of how fast you’re swamped in pine and buttery leather and the entire damn sea and how quickly it makes your heart rate spike. Are you having a heart attack? What is going on?

When you open your eyes the great hall is spinning and you know for a fact that you’re the only one experiencing this carousel ride. You have to get out of here. You push away from the table, standing on legs much too shaky for your own good. Arabella calls your name and it sounds like she’s behind a thick sheet of glass, one you can’t break no matter how hard you slam against it. The trees and leather and sea wraps around you again and your knees almost give out. There’s only one thing you can think to do and you don’t hesitate to do it. 

You run like hell. 

No. Scratch that. You run like hell is chasing you and, well, maybe it is. Maybe hell is a person, or people, perhaps even three people, and their footsteps pound down the corridor behind you so loud they echo through your chest. Your kilt whips around your legs, your hair flying behind you as you clear the corners as they come. You can feel them, whoever they are, gaining but slowly. You can make it, you know you can.

It’s midwinter, the thick of February, and yet you feel like you’re wading through lava. The halls should be ice right now but your blood is scorching you from the inside out. You pull the sweater from your chest as you run, not thinking twice before dropping it, never stopping. Your skin is charged with electricity and you want to scream and tear your heart out but you can’t, not now. You feel them like they’re right on your heels, the triplet of scents swirling furiously around you. You need to get outside. Now. 

You make it to the courtyard, practically leaping off the cement steps, but a hand catches your arm midair and you stumble. You see the ground hurtling towards you in slow motion, the cobblestone path laughing at you. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the stones to bite into your side but they never do. Instead you’re wrapped in pine, two warm arms pulling you into a firm, hot chest. 

You thought your skin was electrified before but that was nothing compared to what is now. Everywhere your body touches the person holding you prickles with static. You can almost hear your flesh crackle, each one of your veins roaring so loud that all you can hear is your blood rushing through you. It’s like a tsunami, waves of fire and power and fucking pine rolling over you unrelentlessly. You aren’t quite sure if you’re still breathing.

You feel another pair of hands on your back, rubbing up and down, spreading the fire like butter over your shoulder blades. Your body reacts on it’s own, your back arching into whoever it is behind you, your head falling onto a shoulder that smells like summer at the beach. 

A part of you is screaming to run. To jab your elbow into their stomach and fight like hell. However, against all of your better judgement, the feeling is fading and fast. Hands skim down your arms lightly and you fight the delicious shiver that crawls up your spine. You don’t realize you’re still clinging to the first person until your fists squeeze around the cotton of their shirt. Their hands hand loosely off your hips and you don’t even want to acknowledge how much you like it. 

Instead of fighting, you pry your eyes open, only to stare directly into strikingly familiar brown eyes. Your breath catches in your chest, your head still against his shoulder. He leans closer towards you, blonde hair falling down his face slightly. It looks entirely soft and you squeeze your hands tighter, resisting the urge to touch this stranger’s hair. His scent, that overbearing ocean, wraps around you again. He definitely doesn’t feel like a stranger.

“Hi love,” his voice is soft and lulls you deeper into his chest, his nose skimming the arch of your cheekbone, “you’re lucky we’re fast. That could have been quite the fall.”

He chuckles lightly and your cheeks flame, the noise like the wind chimes you hung in the greenhouse your fourth year. His laugh hits you in the gut and radiates to every inch of your skin, cooling the flames but also concentrating them lower. Too low. Your traitorous core sets on fire from the mixture of his musical laugh and mesmerizing eyes. Merlin, you don’t even know his name.

You look away from him but you can’t escape his eyes no matter how hard you try, looking directly into an identical pair of warm, brown eyes. The man in front of you, the one with his hands squeezing your hips, is also frustratingly familiar. He’s tall, his chest, the one underneath your fingertips, is broad and heaves up and down with every breath. Your body, being the wanton force of nature she is, longs to have you wrap your legs, and every other part of you, around the man in front of you. When the blonde behind you wraps his arms around your stomach, reminding you that he’s still there, you want to do the same to him as well.

Memories prickle the edges of your mind, the dreams you’ve been having for weeks now flashing behind your eyelids every time you blink. The warmth in your bones and the molten brown eyes. The same electricity that is burning through your chest and head and core, only now it’s a million times stronger. You shake your head. Not at the man in front of you but at yourself. No way are these the men from your dreams. That’s impossible, Right? And besides, there were three eyes in your dreams.

“There you guys are,” a voice, steadily approaching and as slow and tantalizing as honey, pulls your attention away from the men surrounding you, “I can’t believe you left me to explain what was happening to McGonagall.”

You meet the third pair of eyes with an audible gasp, his sharp leather scent curling around you despite the distance between the two of you. It sinks into your skin and puts you in motion, like the potion you needed to break whatever paralyzing spell you were under. You pull yourself so suddenly from the two men that they don’t have time to catch you, putting some much needed distance between all four of you. You force yourself to ignore the way your heart aches already. Your hand finds the wand in your kilt pocket. Stupid girl, longing for men you don’t even know. 

You find your voice but only enough to mutter hastily, “Were you chasing me? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting, like, the whole school right now? What in Merlin’s name is going on?” 

The newest male takes a step towards you, his eyes drawing up and down your body, reigniting the heat that has been slowly subsiding and lingering on your hand wrapped around your wand. He smirks at you, like he knows something that you don’t and, honestly, he probably does. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. His hair is dark brown and just as touchable as the previous two. You squeeze your fist tighter.

“One question at a time, darling,” he takes another step and you tense your shoulders instinctively even though your body is fighting the urge to run to him, “we’ll tell you everything. Can we go inside first, though? You look like you’re freezing. Is this yours?”

His question isn’t really a question, in his hands is your cardigan. He picked it up for you? You let your shoulders sag slightly and your grip loosen. He doesn’t know you, why did he bother picking it up?

“I-,” you release the wand slowly, “yeah that’s mine. Thank you.”

He’s right about the cold, now that you aren’t sandwiched between the other two men the chill nips at your fingers and legs. You go to take your sweater from him but he holds it open, beckoning you to turn around and let him put it on you for you. You sigh but oblige, tucking your arms into the soft wool with his help. His hands smooth down your arms once you’re settled, the familiar sparks following their path. You’re head squeezes with confusion and you want to scream if only to release the pressure.

You turn in his hands, meaning to break his hold but only ending up closer to his chest, “what is going on?”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest. The ache in your heart eases drastically and you breathe in the leather once more. Merlin’s sake, this is exhausting. Even so, your limbs feel lighter in his arms. His eyes burn into yours and you don’t even try to look away, letting him extract whatever information he wants from you. You’re almost sure he can read every thought flashing through your eyes.

“Can’t you feel it?” His hand brushes your cheek, your skin buzzing on cue, “feel us? Like there’s a string pulling you to us, right? We feel warm, don’t we, and you want to be near us. You feel like you know us but you don’t know how or why.”

You find yourself nodding along to the words of a man whose name you don’t even know yet, your hands finding their way to his chest. 

“Who are you,” you turn to meet the other two, your eyes wide, “all of you.” 

The second man, the one who caught you, steps forward, holding out a hand for you to take. You aren’t sure why but you look back to the male in front of you, the one with his arms still tight around you, for approval. He nods, letting his arms fall almost reluctantly. When he releases you, you’re quickly pulled back into the pine scented chest. You don’t like how easily your body moulds to his, how his body seems to have some sort of claim on yours. How all of their bodies do.

“Elijah,” he rests his chin against your head, caging you against a chest that feels too much like home to make any sense, “I’m Elijah. You were just talking to Kol and Klaus-”

The hands, the same ones from before, once again rest on your back, drawing a traitorous sigh from your lips, “is right behind you, love, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart squeezes dangerously at his words, letting them fill you with the warmth of his promise. Even if your rationality doesn't accept it for the immediate truth it is, every other part of you does. You pull out of Elijah’s arms and turn to the ocean of a man behind you, throwing your arms around his neck without a second thought. He, too, feels like coming home. He takes no time squeezing you against him and burying his face in your neck. You feel hands behind you move your hair away from your neck and then a nose drawing up the exposed bumps of your spine. 

“I don’t understand any of this,” you mumble into Klaus’ shoulder, “I don’t understand what any of this means.”

“Of course you do, darling. You can feel it in your bones,” Kol pushes his nose against your temple, his lips skimming your ear before tugging the lobe between his teeth.

Merlin. His teeth on your skin sends heat pooling in the pit of your belly. You tighten your arms around Klaus, biting back an embarrassing moan as he laughs again. This time the sound echos through your chest and wraps around your heart, grabbing on and refusing to let go. Kol’s lips skim down your jaw, nipping lightly at your throat in a way that is completely inappropriate for a man you just met but you don’t care right now. 

Arms wrap around you from behind and you sink back into them, letting Elijah spin you and haul you into his chest. Your head is spinning from how quickly you’re being passed around by men you don’t know. Your heart stings slightly, the comfort you feel in the large male’s arms screaming at you. Perhaps you don’t know them but your body has been waiting centuries for them and is more than ready to reunite. You don’t hesitate to wrap your legs around him. 

“Baby,” your heart stutters and his pupils expand like he can hear it, “do you mind if we go back to our dorm before anyone sees us?” Elijah glances over your head, searching around the courtyard before landing back on yours, “This is a lot to explain to one person, let alone the whole school.”

Your cheeks flame for the millionth time and your head whips around, searching the courtyard yourself for any prying eyes. You breathe a quick sigh of relief when you don’t see anyone. He’s right and, besides, you really are freezing now, your exposed legs two icicles.

You smile gently at him, savouring the way his eyes draw to your lips, “that’s probably a good idea.”

You go to unwrap your legs from his hips when he stops you, his hands tightening around your back and thighs, “may I?”

Your eyes widen, your hands stilling on his shoulders, “you want to carry me?”

He leans his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours gently, “very much so, baby.”

Your heart feels like it restarts, kicking your pulse into overdrive. You don’t trust yourself to speak, your entire body engulfed in pine and flames like a forest fire that you never knew could exist. You just nod, your arms snaking around his neck and pulling you flush against his chest. You can feel every breath he takes, closing your eyes when he begins walking. 

The hallways, thankfully, feel empty and you don’t open your eyes, letting yourself sink into Elijah’s chest like you’ve been doing it your whole life and this isn’t your first experience being held by someone as large and strong as him. Your fingers, laying on the back of his neck, can’t resist shuffling through his hair. You’re already in his arms anyway, so what’s the harm. Just as you thought, his hair is soft to the touch and mesmerizing. You tangle your fingers through it, the last dregs of anxiety seeping from your bones. 

When he starts down a staircase that you aren’t anticipating you tighten your fingers, squeezing your thighs to keep from falling out of his arms. In turn Elijah releases a breathy groan, one that hits you directly between your thighs. When you open your eyes you’re met with a coal black instead of the warm brown from minutes ago. Your breath catches in your throat but not from fear, albeit it should be. You know you should be painfully afraid of this man, whom you barely know, whose arms are wrapped around you so tight it almost hurts, but you aren’t. Not even a little bit. 

Not even when he opens his mouth and you see two, very sharp looking fangs poking out of his gums, “Eli?”

You don’t know where the nickname comes from and, honestly, you don’t care. All you can think about is the irrational heat growing between your legs and his hands, once again squeezing your hips. Who is this man and why do you want him to press you against the stairs and do unspeakable things to you? You look over his shoulders at Kol and Klaus, whose eyes aren’t quite the same charcoal as Elijah’s but definitely not the sunshine whiskey that they were before. You have to bite your lip again to keep from squeezing your legs harder around Elijah. 

“Come on,” Klaus steps ahead of you and Elijah, glancing back over his shoulder and smirking teasingly, “I can hear people leaving the Great Hall.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. How can he possibly hear the Great Hall from here? You glance back to Elijah, the sight of his fangs flashing through your mind. You shake your head, not wanting to think about any of this right now. You reach a hand up, cupping his jaw and running your thumb over his cheek like any of this at all is normal.

“Klaus is right, Eli. We need to figure this out before it gets around the school.” More than it already is, you add in your head.

The four of you somehow make it to their dorm and you breathe a sigh of relief when it’s segregated from the rest of the dorms. McGonagall probably gave them their own dorm to make them feel more comfortable. You’re just thankful to be away from the open space. You already know the entire school will be talking about what happened. Merlin why is it always you? You’re just a Hufflepuff, you didn’t sign up for any of this. 

Their dorm is magnificent. The doorway leads into a moody common room, surrounded with cozy browns and greens. The walls are lined with bookshelves and there’s a window looking out into the lake. The waves lap against the glass and you giggle as a few fish swim by, stopping to look into the room and then continue on their way. The room smells like all three of them. Like every plain of earth and sea and air. There are four doors leading to what you can only assume are their bedrooms and bathroom. Compared to your dorm, which you love but also share with five other girls, this place is an oasis.

Elijah sets you on an incredibly soft, brown leather couch and you pull your legs up, tucking them underneath you. Kol settles next to you, his arm resting on the back of the couch, behind your head. Klaus sits on your other side, pulling your legs from under you and over his lap, his hands rubbing circles on your calves. With your back now to Kol, you can’t help but let your head fall to the side against his arm, soaking in the warmth of his skin. The dungeons are colder than you thought they would be. How do the Slytherins do it? He laughs quietly, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you to lay against his chest. 

Elijah settles on the coffee table in front of the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at you with a look only slightly less hot than before. You hold a hand out for him, one he quickly takes, threading his fingers between yours, pulling your knuckles to his lips. Klaus’ hands are slowly working up your legs, now wrapped around your knees and steadily moving higher. You squeeze your eyes tight before opening them and staring at the ceiling, avoiding three pairs of brown eyes to the best of your ability.

You sigh gently, leaning into Kol’s hands as his fingers search through your hair, scratching at your scalp in a way that makes you almost keep your thoughts to yourself if only to ensure he doesn’t stop. But you need answers now.

“Okay, I’m serious this time,” your eyes train on a bookshelf, counting the books to keep yourself focussed, “who are you? You clearly aren’t like me, you aren’t witches, but you definitely aren’t regular people,” you suck in a breath, your eyes stalling on a thick book titled The History of Mythical Creatures, “so what, pray tell, are you?”

Your eyes stay focussed on the book but you don’t want to entertain the thoughts flowing through your mind. You had to read that volume in your seventh year myth class. Just because you’re a witch it doesn’t mean you’re used to the creatures you’re taught about. There’s a reason every student at Hogwarts takes eight years of defensive magic.

“You got us, little witch,” Klaus’ hands are above your knees now, kneading your exposed flesh with skilled fingers, “clever and beautiful. The perfect mate.”

Your eyes snap from the bookshelf, from the book that you know holds the answer to their identity, to the blonde lazily licking his own extended fangs. Mate. Did he just say mate? There’s no way he just said mate. Impossible. You’re a witch. As far as being mythical goes, you’re as close to normal as it gets. They, however, are something stronger. You can feel the power rolling off of them. 

“I,” your mouth falls open, your mind spinning, “what?”

Kol laughs from behind you, his chest rumbling under your back. He pulls your hair to the side again before capturing your ear with his mouth again. 

“You heard him, darling,” he tugs your earlobe between his teeth, pulling a tiny gasp from you as, “your ours. And, I hate to break it to you, but we’re pretty hard to get rid of. ”

Klaus’ hands squeeze right below the hem of your kilt, lighting your skin with the delicious sparks. If his hands weren’t there you would be squeezing your legs together for sure.

“He’s right, love, I’ve tried. Many times,” Klaus smirks at Kol in only the way an older brother could and it hits you.

“Oh, Merlin,” you close your eyes again, heat flaring across your face, “you’re brothers. All three of you are brothers. What is going on, Helga help me.”

All three of them laugh and Elijah kisses your knuckles again, “yes baby, we are in fact brothers. It’s been a long millennium.”

“Millenium?” You feel faint.

He laughs again and you wish you could pluck the sound out of the air and hold onto it for the rest of your life. When you look at him all you can do is smile and run a hand down your face. A thousand years, huh? Klaus’ hands trace lazy circles on your inner thighs as Kol’s lips find your neck, his teeth scraping your skin in a way that has you sinking even further into his buttery leather arms. When he bites down a touch harder you can’t help but wonder what kind of experience a thousand years would allow a person. 

A thousand years. Your chest stings unexpectedly as another thought hits you. It must be the day for that.

“I don’t think I’ll live a millenium. I probably have a few hundred years but a thousand? Not even close,” your heart stutters, a cold chill running over you, “You’ll all outlive me.”

Three growls sound in the room and you almost jump out of your skin in shock before you realize that they’re coming from them. Kol tightens his arms around you protectively as Klaus’ hands find your hips under your kilt, squeezing you like you just suggested you’re going to die tomorrow. Elijah drops from the coffee table, sinking to his knees in front of you and throwing an arm over your stomach. 

“You’ll be living a lot longer than that, baby, I assure you of that.”

You reach a hand towards Elijah, curling your fingers through his hair on instinct, “I may be magic, Eli, but I’m not immortal. It’s not the same for me.”

He leans into your palm, rubbing his cheek against your fingertips, “that’s an easy fix.”

Your head spins, the pieces connecting in your head as you stare into his serious eyes. For the first time all night a tinge of fear zaps your chest. Immortality is no joke.

“You want me to become like you?” You look away from him and Klaus, who nods in agreement with his brother, “You want me to become a-”

Kol nips the back of your neck and you try to ignore the pleasure rolling through you in the midst of the most serious conversation of your life, “a vampire, darling. You can say it. We’re vampires.”

The word echoes through you, bouncing around your head and lungs, fluttering in your stomach before finally settling directly between your thighs. Merlin. You sit upright quickly, pulling your legs from Klaus’ dangerously skilled fingers, and all but stumble over Elijah and the coffee table in order to put some distance between you and the brothers. You scrub your hands over your face, your entire body feeling more alive than it ever has in your short lifetime. But you know it can’t last.

You keep your hands over your eyes, letting the open air sooth you for a moment before speaking, “I’m just a witch. Just one witch and not even a good one at that,” you peel your hands from your eyes, opting instead to tug your hair, “I’m more of a farmer, honestly. I spend all my time in the library or the greenhouses. I’m not mate material. I’m definitely not,” you swallow thickly, your throat closing all of a sudden and without your permission, “vampire material. You have the wrong girl.”

As soon as you say the words they feel wrong but they’re already out of your mouth and you have to live with them now. For a long moment nobody says anything. It’s just you standing in front of them, your eyes refusing to open and your hands ripping at your hair. Your legs tremble beneath you and it feels like your heart is trying to crawl out of your throat. If it can’t be with them then it would rather stop beating altogether. The cold air of their dungeon dorm nips at your legs and fingertips painfully and you revel in the feeling of something other than the torrent of emotions that you’ve been battling for the better half of an hour. 

You feel a rush of air in front of you, forcing your eyes open just in time to see Kol standing in front of you. You open your mouth, ready to let even more words that you know you’ll regret out, but you find that you can’t speak. Not because you don’t want to, though, but because Kol’s mouth is now crashing into yours and, gods, does it ever feel like you’re breathing for the first time. Kol’s mouth is oxygen. Like before this moment you were dead and his lips are life. You grip his shoulders, your fingers digging into the taught muscle to keep yourself upright against this force of nature. 

His hands wrap in your hair and he tugs gently, swallowing each moan like it’s candy and he can’t get enough. Your hands crawl from his shoulders to his hair, doing the same to him. He groans, a sound completely different from Elijah but so similar at the same time. When his tongue finds its way between your lips you see stars. Your blood sings like you’ve walked through a magnetic field, your veins buzzing with a foreign kind of power. This time you don’t feel like you’re home, you know you are.

Kol pulls back a fraction, his lips brushing yours while he speaks, “you feel that?” His hands move to your cheeks, your skin like a current where he touches you, “I know you do, I know you feel me in your veins, darling. I don’t have the wrong person. Fate doesn’t make mistakes. You’re perfect for me.”

Your eyes widen and you push back the swell of emotion rising in your chest.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, a riptide pulling you into an ocean of a man, “me as well, my little witch. Besides, I quite like farmers. Tell me, can you grow strawberries?”

You try to stop yourself from sagging against his chest but you can’t and you don’t actually want to. His head falls on yours as if he’s been doing it for years.

“Pumpkins,” you whisper. You don’t know what else to say, knowing full well you aren’t ready to answer the other questions, “I grow the best pumpkins in the school.”

Klaus’ chest rumbles like a cat purring against your back, “pumpkin pie it is then, love.”

You feel a hand close around your arm, pulling you from both Kol and Klaus and into a pair of arms that rival the dark forest. Elijah lifts you against his chest, giving you a moment to wrap your legs around him before he walks the two of you to the window. He looks out in the water and it eases you knowing that you don’t have to answer to his molten brown eyes.

“I know this is a lot to take in right now, baby. I know you’re scared and tired, I can feel it. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. But just know that we’re here because something stronger than time itself brought us to you. No mistakes were made,” he catches your eyes through the reflection of the glass, “I’m ready for whatever challenges this brings. I’ve been ready for a thousand years, ten lifetimes, and I would wait fifty more for you,” he pulls you further up his chest, pressing his forehead against yours, “just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

You can’t stop yourself from pressing your lips against his, catching his bottom lip between yours, “graduation.”

He pulls back, his eyes wide and his eyebrows scrunched together, “what?”

You pull his face back to yours, stealing another kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return, “I just need until graduation. I need to finish my last year here, it’s my home. After that, I’m yours.”

He crushes you against him as soon as the last syllable leaves your lips and you let yourself giggle freely. He looks at you in awe, a smile blooming across his face like he just won the lottery. Kol and Klaus are next to you in an instant, their faces almost mirror images of Elijah’s. Your heart soars at the sight of the three boys you met less than three hours ago who you’ve just promised the rest of your life, and longer, to. It sounds ridiculous still but nothing has ever felt so right.

“Well, brothers,” Klaus’ eyes shine happily, “it looks like we’re going to be here longer than we thought.”

[loveisnotadagger]

Love is Healing - Chapter Four

Chapter 4/?

Warning: There is a brief mention of when Loki let go of Thor's hammer when he was hanging from the Rainbow Bridge and how he had basically tried to kill himself by doing that. It's literally maybe three sentences, but it's there if that triggers something for you.

The only thing Loki really saw was the girl – no, Arianna; he remembered her name now. She has shoulder-length, honey blond hair, much like the color of his mother's hair, and bright ocean-blue eyes. That was all he noticed at that point and that was only because she was standing over him.

He took her in within the few seconds it took for his pain to register and then he felt as if he couldn't breathe. So intense was his agony that he couldn't even find the strength to scream out loud even though he knew he'd opened his mouth to do just that.

"Your ribs were broken," Arianna said. "I couldn't heal them completely. I'm sorry. I know it must be extremely painful."

She went on to tell him every other thing she'd found that needed to be healed. He no longer had any bruises, and she had healed his lungs, which had been damaged by the broken ribs.

"What you really need is food and water."

"Food sounds wonderful," Loki admitted weakly.

He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd eaten. He did, however, remember that when he'd been under the control of Thanos he would sometimes miss many days' worth of meals when he wouldn't cooperate.

"I think we should start with broth. See how well that stays down before we give you solid food."

Before Loki could reply the door to the room opened.

Loki hadn't been paying attention before, but now that he could focus on something other than pain, he realized he had no idea where he was.

He would have to worry about that later, however, because the only thing that mattered at the moment was that he was weak and in pain, and the person who had opened the door was the man who could turn into a beast.

Loki had never moved so quickly in his life. It caused him more pain, but he didn't care. This man wasn't going to get hold of him again. He wouldn't survive another round of being smashed around.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, intent on getting to his feet and running, using whatever strength he had left to push past Banner and get away.

"Loki," Arianna exclaimed, but he ignored her.

A sharp pain went through his chest and it had nothing to do with physical wounds. He'd trusted Arianna as much as he could trust anyone. He'd allowed her to lead him out of his tormented mind only to have him awake here with the one being in the whole of Midgard that had been able to hurt him.

As soon as Loki's feet hit the floor, he stood up only to fall right back down. The pain that fired throughout his body took his breath away and jarred him enough to break through his adrenaline-addled body.

So he couldn't even stand? How was he to escape his fate if he couldn't walk?

"Loki," the girl whispered, kneeling beside him. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. I didn't betray you, and Bruce will not hurt you. He has no reason to now."

Loki didn't respond vocally, but when Banner tried to help him stand and sit back on the bed Loki allowed it without complaint. The doctor was surprisingly careful and gentle with him.

"He needs water and food," Arianna said. "Broth to start off with. He is extremely malnourished."

Banner nodded. "I'll have Tony get something brought here. What should I tell Thor and –"

"They'll want to see him."

Loki noticed that Arianna was looking at him. She wasn't dictating that they had to see him. She was giving him a choice. He could decide for himself.

He gave a quick nod and Banner left. Only a few seconds passed before both Thor and his mother flooded into the room.

"Loki. My son," Frigga said and sprinted to his bedside. "You're awake."

"Careful," Arianna said. "He's still in pain. I wasn't able to heal him as fully as I wanted to."

"He is able to be awake," Thor said. "That is enough."

"Okay, well . . . I'll leave you guys to it."

Loki stiffened when Arianna touched his shoulder, but she didn't remove her hand.

"I'll be back shortly with some water and your food." ----------

Once outside the room, Arianna slid down to the floor with her back against the wall. She was exhausted mentally and physically. She'd had to break through Loki's defenses and she'd had to fight against Thanos. If he was that powerful in Loki's mind, she hoped she never came across him in real life.

She'd been anxious to get outside and help the victims of the earlier battle, but now she was glad she had to wait. She probably couldn't hold up against a flea at the moment.

Unbidden, tears stung her eyes. What was she doing? What had she been doing for the past however many hours? She'd been helping a criminal. True, Loki had been through a lot, but did that matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? Who knew what he'd done before he'd been tortured? Maybe he'd been bad all along. She didn't know.

A quiet sob escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. She would not do this here where just anyone could walk by and see her.

"Aries?"

A figure hovered over her – short, dressed in black, red hair. Natasha – before sitting down with her. Arianna should have known that Natasha would be nearby. There was no way Tash would've gone far knowing her friend was in the other room with a psychopath.

"What's wrong? Did Loki hurt you?"

"No. Loki can barely sit up or stand. He's . . . he's – if he'd been human before now, he'd be dead."

"But he's not."

"No. I helped him a little bit . . . he's not him. Or . . . maybe he's more himself than ever. I don't know. But he's not the guy who tried to take over the world."

"That's a good thing. Why are you crying?"

"Because he's been through a lot, Tash. And I felt some of it. And I'm tired, and I just can't do anything else today."

"Then don't. You always push yourself too hard and then you end up feeling awful for days."

Arianna knew that was true, but she also knew she had several reasons for doing so. Because her best friend was a superhero, whether Natasha believed that or not, Arianna felt the need to prove that she was as useful as the other Avengers. She couldn't actually fight the bad guys, but she could clean up their messes. That was her job – or it had been until now.

"Am I crazy for wanting to heal him?" she asked. "I mean, I feel it was the right thing to do, but –"

"It is unprecedented," Natasha said. "But you also wouldn't be you if you didn't want to help. Just because he's a villain doesn't mean he can't also be a victim."

"He is," Arianna said. "He is a victim."

Natasha smiled softly. "Sometimes you care too much, Aries. Sometimes I think you're in the wrong line of work." ---------- Inside the room, Frigga was apologizing to Loki.

"Why did you not say anything before I stripped you of your powers?"

"I did not wish for you to know," Loki said.

What Loki wished was for Thor and Frigga to leave him alone. He was sitting up to save face, but he needed to lie back down. It was physically hurting him to stay upright.

And where was Arianna? He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he felt just a bit better with her in the room, and he would definitely need her with him once his mother and brother left. None of the other hero-types would dare touch him with her present.

Just as he was getting close to keeling over, Arianna came in. She was balancing a tray with a bottle of water and a steaming bowl of what Loki assumed was the broth she'd mentioned earlier.

"Hey," she said. "I got some vegetable soup and, obviously, water. You should lie down. I've got you covered."

She gestured to the tray she was holding. It had two legs that came down, one on either side.

Loki relaxed against the mattress, but he couldn't say he felt any more comfortable at all.

Arianna placed the tray down, one leg on either side of him, and then she reached down on the side of the bed. There was a small click and then then head of the bed was moving upward.

Loki stiffened. What kind of magic was this?

"It's just a hospital bed, Loki," Arianna said. "It'll help support you while you eat."

The soup looked good and smelled even better. He was so hungry, though, that the smell almost turned his stomach.

"Don't force yourself to eat, but you do need water. Drink it slowly or you'll get sick."

Why was she being so nice to him? What did she want?

"How long are you going to stay?" Arianna asked, looking at Thor and Frigga. "Not that you have to go, but you probably made the records with that energy spike you let loose by coming to this realm."

"In the morning when you begin the healing sessions again, we will leave," Frigga said. "You need to sleep and someone will need to stay with Loki."

"I am not a child," Loki said. "No one needs to stay."

That was a complete and utter lie. He needed someone with him because he really couldn't do for himself at the moment. The only thing that had been keeping the pain at bay had been his magic, and now he didn't even have that.

And . . . Arianna was going to continue to heal him? Why? For what purpose?

"Why would you do this for me?"

Arianna smiled softly. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I tried to destroy this city," he responded as if it were obvious.

"You didn't want to destroy it. You wanted to rule it."

Those were his own words from earlier and now she was throwing them back at him. Before he could respond, however, Arianna saw her way out of the room.

Both Thor and Frigga had small grins on their lips and Loki rolled his eyes.

Loki didn't find anything funny about having his words thrown back at him. In fact, it only made him remember her earlier words. She'd wanted him to help save her city even though he'd been the one to bring destruction down upon it.

Lost in his own thoughts, Loki was surprised when warm liquid filled his mouth. It was the vegetable soup. It had a savory flavor as if it had been made with chicken broth.

His mother had brought a spoonful of soup to his mouth. Thankfully, Thor had already gone; Frigga must've sent him away.

Loki was able to eat a few of the vegetables, but he stuck mostly to the broth. He was able to finish his water, however. ---------- Down in the lobby area, Arianna and the other Avengers were lounging around on the furniture, waiting for word on what they were supposed to do next.

Director Fury had called Tony to schedule a meeting, which just meant they'd been given about a five-minute heads up on Fury's arrival. He'd probably gotten readings of energy when Frigga had arrived on the balcony of Stark Tower.

What if he found out they were harboring Loki there? What if Fury already knew?

They would try to take Loki away and Arianna didn't know if she would allow that, not without healing him first. If she intervened, however, they would probably take her away too. They would arrest her for aiding and abetting – or they would try to. Natasha would probably stand by her and Clint would too, not because they cared what happened to Loki, but because they cared what happened to her; Thor would help her if only so she could continue helping Loki; Tony would stand by her just to make Fury angry.

The only wild card was Steve Rogers. If he thought them taking Loki was the right thing to do, he would let them.

Bruce wouldn't want to be involved at all.

When Fury arrived, Arianna basically shrank into herself. He was one of the most intimidating men she'd ever met. It had nothing to do with his height or the fact that he wore an eyepatch. It had everything to do with the way he carried himself. He had a no-nonsense attitude along with all the confidence in the world.

He could back that confidence up, too. He had the power and ability to do pretty much whatever he wanted, and he usually did whatever he had to do to get a job done.

"Where is he?" were the first words that came out of Fury's mouth.

"Where's who?" Tony asked.

"Don't play dumb with me. Where's the one who killed Coulson?"

"He is hurt," Arianna said softly. "And he can't be moved."

"Can't be moved? If I were to try and take him from here, who would stop me?"

Thor was the first to step up and then it was Arianna. Standing next to the god of thunder, Arianna didn't think Fury was all that frightening. Tony stood by her as Arianna had thought he would.

Natasha and Clint hesitated, but Natasha did say, "Director, from what Agent Grace says Loki was tortured into submission. He was promised more pain if he didn't obey."

"And did Loki just offer up this information freely?" asked Fury, sarcasm lacing his voice.

"Not exactly," Arianna said.

And here was the turning point. She could either fess up and be turned into a weapon or she could keep quiet about everything and let Fury find Loki and take him away.

"Director Fury, I saw into his mind. I . . . didn't want to, but –"

"You what?"

"It's complicated," she said.

"I suggest you uncomplicate it," Fury demanded.

"I manipulate energy, Director. That's how I heal, and you know that. I can do pretty much anything I put my mind to."

"Like reading minds . . ."

"It was more like I could see what was in the forefront of his mind, and I didn't mean to do it. Our energies merged together and I just did."

"Why wasn't I made aware of this? Do you know how much you could do?"

"Yes, and that's why I didn't let you know. I mean, I'm basically a power source – like the Tesseract, and you wanted to make nuclear weapons out of that. I refuse to be used for destruction."

Arianna was aware she was exaggerating a bit. She couldn't really do anything she set her mind to, but she could do a lot. She had never really practiced, though, and she didn't really want to. She was fine not knowing how much she was capable of. She could heal people and that was enough for her.

"We have everything under control here," Tony said. "The guy is contained and no longer a threat."

"The energy readings you received earlier were from another Asgardian coming into our realm, sir," Natasha said. "Thor's and Loki's mother. She stripped Loki of his powers, so he really is harmless."

"He's mortal now," Thor said.

"He's still a terrorist and needs to be taken into custody," Fury stated.

"Not until he's better," Arianna said. "Give me a week."

"A week and he'll be better? Strong enough to be moved?"

"Yes. There are emotional traumas as well, but I can't really mend those."

"Well, we have psychologists to deal with that," Fury said. "You have a week, Agent."

Without further ado, Fury walked out the same way he came in.

"Thor, do you mind getting me the Tesseract? I can't actually heal Loki in a week, not by myself."

"What do you intend to do with it?" Thor asked, not suspicious but curious.

"Borrow energy." ---------- Loki was lying down and trying to sleep when Arianna came back to his room. He'd thought she was gone for the night but he'd obviously been wrong.

Thor was with her and he was carrying the container that held the Tesseract. What were they doing with it? He'd failed in his mission, and he couldn't get the Tesseract to Thanos now that he was mortal.

"We have a problem," Arianna said. "Fury wants to take Loki away. I bought us some time, but . . ."

"But?" Frigga asked.

"He only gave me a week." Arianna looked at Loki. "You don't want to be hurt when they take you from here. They might not hurt you further, but they won't take the time to heal you either."

"Are you sure no one would harm him?" Thor asked. "When Fury had him before, he asked me to . . . torture Loki to get information. He didn't seem to like it when I refused."

Arianna wasn't surprised when she found out Fury had suggested torture, but it had been different then. Fury didn't need information anymore and they already had the Tesseract.

"I want to spend another couple of hours healing you tonight. I can't heal the lashes until the infection leaves your body, but I can take the burns away, as long as you don't fight me this time."

"Of course I won't fight you," Loki said. "I don't think I was the one blocking your power last time."

Thanos, Arianna thought. Of course.

"Okay. I'm gonna need the room again," she told Thor and Frigga. ---------- "Oh, why isn't this working?" Arianna cried as she tried for the fifth time to draw the Tesseract's power into herself. "I did it without a problem earlier."

"Earlier you had not depleted your own energy," Loki said. "Your body is simply tired, as is your mind."

Loki had been watching her struggle for over thirty minutes now. Perhaps he was not meant to be healed that night. Pain was not new to him, so he could endure it.

"How did you end up with Thanos?" Arianna asked softly.

"I was . . . I fell off the Rainbow Bridge in Asgard."

"The what?"

"It's a bridge to other realms. When used with the Bifrost, it can take you anywhere in an instant."

"Oh."

Loki explained that he and Thor had been fighting and then Thor had destroyed the Bifrost. Both Loki and Thor had been hanging over the edge and Odin had stepped in. Odin had grabbed onto Thor and Loki had grabbed onto Thor's hammer. Loki had let go.

"And you woke up in a hell dimension?"

"If I'd had it my way, I wouldn't have woken up anywhere."

Arianna froze where she sat with the Tesseract in front of her, the blue cube shining bright but its power still not accessible to her.

"You wanted to kill yourself?"

Instead of answering directly, Loki said, "When I was a child I would spar with Thor. We had little toy swords and battle armor for children. He always won due to brute strength. Odin would pit us against each other in all things physical until I eventually just stopped fighting him."

"Did Odin get angry?"

"Yes."

Loki didn't know what he was doing. He shouldn't have said any of that. He didn't open up to people and especially not to people he'd just met. He blamed it on the pain he was in and the gratitude he tried not to feel for this girl for caring enough to help him. The extreme exhaustion didn't help him hold his tongue either.

"So, Thor is a warrior," Arianna said. "And you? What did you like to do?"

Loki was surprised to find Arianna was looking at him with open curiosity. She wasn't just asking. She really wanted to know.

"I spent most of my time in the library or studying magic with my mother, which made me an outsider."

"Why?"

"In Asgard men are expected to know how to fight. That's how they are recognized as men. It's how they are ranked. If you don't know how to fight, it is frowned upon."

"But you know how to fight."

"Yes, but not the way Thor does. He's stronger and bigger. I can't just punch my way out of a situation."

"Oh. And magic? What do they think of that?"

"It's considered underhanded. I can fight hand-to-hand if I must, but magic is my strength. I use it when I fight."

"I see nothing wrong with that."

"Of course not. You're a woman."

Loki noticed his remark made Arianna tense up and he realized how condescending he must've sounded.

"I assure you I didn't mean that the way I said it. I only meant that it was normal for women to study magic. Not so for men. There are very few warriors who are female."

"Hm. I hate fighting, so I would fit right in there. And I don't consider what I do to be magic. Others might see it as such because they don't understand how it's done, but . . . to me it's as natural as breathing. Or it normally is."

Loki realized that he knew next to nothing about this girl – and to him she was a girl. He was almost fifteen-hundred-years-old and she was probably twenty-five at the oldest.

Loki had been able to look into the other Avengers before he'd even attempted to fight them. Since Arianna had been called in only slightly before the attack on the city, he hadn't thought to ask Barton about her. He hadn't even known she existed.

She was by far the most interesting of the Avengers. She had so much power yet to look at her made one think otherwise. She was treating him like a friend would even though they couldn't be friends. They barely knew each other.

"Why're you being so nice to me?"

"Why not?"

That was the same answer she'd given earlier when he'd asked her why she was doing everything she could to heal him. It was infuriating.

"Don't give me that. I tried to take over your world. I destroyed half this city. You have every right to hate me. Aren't you angry? Do you not want revenge?"

To Loki's surprise, the girl laughed softly.

"You forget, Loki, that I saw into your mind. I know enough to know that your psyche was messed with enough to twist you into something you really aren't. And you're right. I could hate you, but I choose not to. Hate is a poison, one of the most lethal kinds.

"And correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling that you hate yourself enough for everyone. We don't need to do it for you."

For some reason, unknown even to Loki, her response made rage flow through his veins.

"Why do you care?" he almost yelled. "What are you getting out of this?"

Loki noticed with some satisfaction that Arianna had flinched when he'd raised his voice. That was when he realized the conundrum that was Arianna. She was both one of the boldest and most easily frightened people he'd ever met. She didn't care for confrontation, but she wasn't afraid to tell anyone what was on her mind either.

"I care because . . . I don't know. I don't really have a good reason. I just care about people. I don't like seeing people hurting or suffering when they don't need to."

This she said softly, as if she were trying not to wake a sleeping child, but then she looked at Loki more seriously, almost glaring.

"As for what I'm getting out of it, it's peace of mind. I don't help people just because they need help. I help because I can, because I have the power to. I find it revolting that there are so many people in this world who can help but choose not to.

"So to ease your troubled mind, this has nothing to do with you. I'm trying to heal you for the sole purpose that you are suffering and I can end it. It makes me feel better when I help those in need.

"Now if you don't mind, please shut up. I'm trying to work."

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Sneaking Around | Chapter Four

The next day seemed to last forever. Ansel slept in, and Aelin took her own car to the office. Lunch was fun as usual, but she felt preoccupied. She hadn’t seen Rowan once without the others there, and she was honestly desperate for their date. It was rather embarrassing.

At 6:30, half an hour before Rowan was supposed to arrive and only a few minutes before Ansel left for the night shift at the bar, Aelin was freshly showered, hair dried, and picking out something to wear.

“Hey, Ansel. I know you need to leave soon, but red or blue?” she asked, holding up the two options. Aelin was still wearing a towel.

“Red, definitely,” she advised. “The color looks good on you, not to mention that dress is shorter.” Ansel winked.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Thanks, A.” She went back into her room and changed. Then she curled her hair and put on a light amount of makeup. She put on earrings to finish off the look and headed out into the kitchen. Yes, she’d cut it a little close, taking her time. But Aelin didn’t want to have enough time to get nervous. Ansel had left as soon as she helped Aelin pick a dress, and now there were a remaining five minutes to sit and stew.

Rowan has asked her on a date. You don’t ask someone you don’t like to go on a date with you. He liked her. Aelin was happy, but she also wasn’t going to be red and stuttering the whole time. She would play it cool if it was the last thing she did.

Just then, a light knocking sounded on the door. Holy gods. This was really happening.

Aelin stood, took a moment to straighten her velvety dress, then matched over to the door.

Rowan was wearing a suit, a nice one, too, not one of his work suits. He very nearly took her breath away.

He clearly felt the same; his eyes drifted across her face, taking in her appearance, then down. His gaze lingered on her partially exposed cleavage.

“See something you like?” Aelin asked sweetly, an innocent smile on her face.

His stare returned to her eyes. “Maybe I do.” The look of his smirk was purely predatory. It turned Aelin on more than anything.

“Careful, or we might not make it to dinner,” Aelin breathed.

“It’s a shame I haven’t eaten yet, or I might not want to,” was Rowan’s response. Then he offered her his arm. Aelin snorted, but placed her hand on it.

They took the elevator down in silence, but it was a companionable silence, not awkward at all.

In Rowan’s car, he said, “I haven’t heard a single insult from you yet. It’s got to be a new record.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Seeing as you’re taking me to dinner, I thought it best not to be impolite. If you have no objections, however, I could always come up with something.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Aelin chuckled. “Well, I am the queen of insults.

“How true. I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of, though.”

“Oh, it definitely is. It comes in handy as a life skill.”

They talked and laughed the whole ride. Aelin was new to not hating Rowan, and the change had come about very suddenly, but she found she enjoyed his company.

They pulled up outside a small, but nice, restaurant in the middle of the city. Aelin had been here a couple of times before; she liked the homey style and good food.

Rowan escorted her inside, his warm hand on her lower back. Aelin wasn’t pleased when he removed it, but she supposed they had to sit down.

Aelin ordered the chicken and Rowan got tuna with a salad. Aelin sighed, saying, “First Elide, now you. Why do all of my friends like eating a bowl full of leaves?”

“Oh, we’re friends now, are we?” Rowan asked, amusement showing.

Aelin blushed only a little. “Well, whatever we are, I mean it. How exactly is salad appealing unless it’s drenched in ranch dressing?”

“Haven’t you heard of this thing called being healthy?”

“Haven’t you heard of this thing called chocolate?” Aelin responded.

Rowan laughed. “I don’t eat sugar.”

Aelin gasped. “You’re joking!” When he didn’t say anything, Aelin scowled at him. “Why the hell not? Are you ill or something?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I just don’t like sugar very much.”

Aelin was having trouble wrapping her mind around it. “But... it’s sugar.”

“Why do you look personally offended?” Rowan questioned.

“You. Don’t. Like. Sugar. Sugar is my life. How do you not like it?”

He smiled. “It’s your life? You do realize how ridiculous you sound, right?”

Aelin frowned. Before she could enlighten him on sugar’s necessity to life, their food arrived.

They ate quietly for the first few moments. Aelin was still processing Rowan’s offense against sugar.

“What about a Hershey’s bar?” Aelin finally asked. “Everybody likes those.”

Rowan chuckled. “Not everyone.”

“Snickers?”

“No.”

They went on like this for quite some time. Aelin refused to change the subject before she knew the extent of Rowan’s crimes against humanity.

She finally relented and the conversation went in other directions. Aelin knew that Rowan was smart, but he was wittier than she had given him credit for, and he could be funny, too. She’d never have guessed the man had a sense of humor.

Of course, he also felt the need to belittle her as much as humanly possible. She did exactly the same thing. Years of insults couldn’t be immediately disregarded, after all. It was only natural.

By the time she’d finished her food, Aelin had called Rowan an intrusive bastard, a cheeky son of a bitch, and a callous, good-for-nothing swine. She’d also learned where he grew up, what he did in his free time, and what his favorite pizza toppings were. It was a working progress.

-

Back in his car, Aelin pursued earlier’s topic. “I don’t know if I can let this go, Rowan. This is bad.”

“Tell me this isn’t about the sugar thing again.” When she didn’t, he sighed. “I’ve said it before, you are a very dramatic person.”

“I can’t help but feel put off. Who doesn’t like sugar?”

“You are completely loony.”

“Excuse me? You need to work on your manners.”

He glanced over at her, then looked back at the road. “You didn’t seem to mind my lack of propriety Friday night.”

Aelin refused to let a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Nothing to say to that? No snarky comment?” Rowan annoyingly asked her.

“Can it,” was all Aelin could think to say, her menacing scowl deepening.

Rowan chuckled. “Seems I’m not the only one with manner problems.”

Aelin was not going to be provoked. If he thought it would be this easy, he had another thing coming. Though her normally sharp-witted tongue was having trouble making a good comeback, so she kept her mouth shut. This was due to the fact that Rowan had dragged her thoughts back to Friday night. Damn him.

Aelin could almost feel his self-satisfied smile, but she refused to spare him a glance.

They pulled up at her apartment building and she got out of his car. “We have work tomorrow,” Aelin said when Rowan got out of the car as well.

“Ansel’s out; surely it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly not to walk you to your door,” replied Rowan.

Aelin rolled her eyes and walked in and to the elevator, Rowan behind her. She half-expected him to make a move when the doors closed, but he just stood there, pleasantly smiling at her. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing to her. Aelin refused to make the first move.

The doors opened and Aelin stepped out first. She made sure to sway her hips a bit more than usual as she walked. When Aelin got her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door, Rowan still hadn’t done anything other than look charming. Asshole.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?” Aelin smiled sweetly. She knew she’d done exactly what he wanted, but she didn’t care if she lost this round. Aelin wanted his mouth.

His smile widened. “Well, if you insist.” Rowan used his finger to tilt her face up to his. His lips met hers, but it was no gentle goodnight kiss. It was full of tongue and teeth and passion. Clearly Rowan had been craving this a bit more than he let on. His hand drifted down to massage Aelin’s breast through her dress. She let out a moan, her fingers running through his hair. Rowan’s other hand trailed down her back then gripped her ass.

After another minute of absolute heaven, Aelin pulled away. “See you tomorrow,” she said, smiling. Then she turned the doorknob, took out her keys, and stepped inside.

“Goodnight, Aelin,” Rowan managed, though she was pleased to see he was panting. She was too.

She gave another smile, this one more of a smirk, and closed the door. Aelin then dropped her purse on the counter and walked into the bathroom. She took off her earrings, washed her face, and brushed her teeth. Then she went to her room. Stripping down to her underwear, she pulled on a large t-shirt and slumped into bed.

It was only just past 9:00, but that didn’t matter. There was no chance Aelin would be getting to sleep anytime soon. She could still feel his hands, his tongue. She’d never felt so invigorated, never felt so needy. All thoughts went out of her head when she saw him, and she couldn’t help but think of him when they were apart. Fuck. Aelin had it bad.

[gucciwins]

Confessions ll

Harry messed up and Y/N doesn’t know how to move forward

A/N: The long awaited part two. Confessions was written over a year ago and I’d like to think my writing has grown since then. I honestly debated a part two for forever but here it is. I hope you love it as much as you loved part one. 

read part one of confessions here

* * * * *

“Tell me once again what you did for the past week?" 

"Sarah, I told you I watched all seven seasons of Gilmore Girls. Ate food I cooked, not reheated. Well, it was mainly soup and simple pasta. I did take showers and change clothes. Although I have not washed any." You share as you pick up your laundry basket and begin to fill it with a few lose clothes around your room. The room was always kept nice with a bed made and no scattered garments, but that couldn't be said now. You had clothes all over, pillows on the floor, and an unfolded comforter which Ginger was taking advantage of and sleeping on top of. Not mentioning how the living room looked, you started with the laundry. 

"You're telling me you spent roughly 154 hours in front of your television watching a show on Netflix." Sarah pauses. "That means you've either slept fourteen hours straight or slept two hours each night." 

"Your math skills are great still." You laugh, not answering her. “It wasn’t even a good show. But oh well now.”

"Y/N," Sarah pesters. 

"Fine. I slept roughly two hours after I finished a season." 

"What about work?" 

"I am working from home on this project. It's due in three weeks, and I'm ahead, need to edit a few things, then I'm all good." 

You put Sarah on speaker and place your phone on top of the basket as you walk to the washer. You know she's frustrated with you, but this is the best way to heal heartache. Well, your best approach. 

"Are you feeling better, hun" Sarah sighs. "I know it's hard, but I'm here for you. As is Mitch." 

You drop the basket in your basement and begin to load your clothing. "Look, Sarah, I know you both care. I just need to solve this on my own. Ha-" You cut yourself off before saying his name. "He's a great guy, but I don't need a jealous boyfriend in my life. He knows how I act, how cuddly I am, but if he saw me as someone unfaithful, then what's the point of trying. No trust. No love." 

"He's not a bad guy." Sarah starts.

"No, I know that. Trust me, the time we got to spend together, I saw how kind and generous Harry is. He's more than just another famous guy, but second chances. I'm not known for that." You know second chances are good, but it is also a way to lead to being hurt once again. "I know he's your friend, but he was mine as well."

"You're not going to give him the chance to apologize?" 

"Of course, I will. I forgive him, but what else is there to do, it's not li-like he was my boyfriend." 

"Y/N, you confessed your love to him." 

Sarah is trying her best to be neutral, but you know she was rooting for the two of you to make it. To defeat the odds thrown your way. No one expected it to end before it started.

"Yeah, well, come-what-may." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Well, if a bus is heading right at you, let it come." You say quoting Liz from the series you just watched. Not the brightest philosophy, but it's all you have right now. 

"That sounds like a disaster."

"Yeah, it does. You'd save me from the bus, right?" 

Sarah laughs. "Of course, I would. Who else cooks for me expecting nothing in return?" 

You laugh for the first time in what feels like months. Sarah is always able to break you out of your deep dark times. 

"Dinner at my place on Wednesday." You tell her, wanting to get together without having to leave your house. 

"We'll be there." 

You go to hang up, but remember an essential thing for dinner. "Mitch needs to make his brownies, always taste so heavenly." You let out a low moan just thinking about the melting chocolate. 

"I'll tell him, I will also leave out the part where you get wet for brownies." Sarah laughs, and you can't help but join her. Those brownies are just too sinful. 

She hangs up, leaving you in the quiet of your basement. It would be good to see Sarah and Mitch even if Harry blew up at you the last time you saw them. You shake your thoughts away and finish loading the wash. Picking up the previous item, it's a blue Mickey Mouse shirt. Except, it's not yours, it's his. He had come over for dinner and decided he wanted to do the cooking. He brought the spoon to his mouth to taste and ended up spilling. You were quick to strip it off him and rinse it, not wanting it to stain. But did not wash it in a load right away. He was in no hurry to put a shirt back on. To his displeasure, you handed him a Washington State sweater that belonged to your brother. He had looked good in it. That night you didn't sleep until four am not noticing the time and lost in pleasant conversations.

It's crazy how fast the night changes. 

* * * * *

"Mitch, I made chicken tinga with you in mind. I remember you saying how much you were dying to try some three weeks ago." You say as you set a plate of shredded lettuce on the table. "I have it in good authority that I make one of the best. My grandma said I mastered it, so if you don't like it take it up with her." 

Mitch laughs, remembering saying that when you all went out for drinks. "It smells amazing, I'm sure it's great." 

"Anything you touch tastes amazing." Sarah comments.

The conversation flowed calmly over dinner, not one mention of Harry. It feels off being without him, but you can't change what happened, only move on. Sarah and Mitch were your friends before you even knew Harry, but the same goes for Harry. One moment they were strangers and the next they were best friends, now you had no idea where you stood. 

Mitch got up and went for the brownies and set a plate of two in front of you and Sarah but only one for himself. You were about to bite into the delicious treat when there was a knock on your door. 

You all froze, not knowing who it could be. Not your brother, seeing as you drove him to the airport on Sunday. You briefly talked about Harry, but he knew it was your decision to make. Thomas was a good man, but all too forgiving something you never understood. You look at Sarah and shrug as if to say you don't know who's behind the door. You miss the nervous look Mitch gives Sarah as you stand up and make your way to the door. 

You live in a safe community, preceding checking the peephole. The door opens and in front of you is Harry. He looks nervous, cheeks red, and smile small. He takes a step back, and all you want to do is close the door. Not caring for a word that comes out of his mouth. 

Harry sees the look in your eyes and is quick to react. "I'm not here to stay, but I do want to talk.  

You narrow your eyes at him. "Not tonight." 

"It has to be tonight." He pleads. 

You refuse to do this on his terms, let alone without warning. "No."

"Please," Harry takes a step closer, and you catch his eyes glistening. 

"I need you to leave." It's hard telling him to go, but it's what you need.

"Will you hear me out, if I leave?" Harry's stubborn, you learned that the hard way during one of your first arguments where you needed to go home after a late night of drinking, but he wouldn't hear it practically pushing you to his guest room.

"Of course." 

Harry grins, and it almost makes you forget your anger. 

"But not tonight."

His smile falters. You've caught him off guard. 

"Then, when?" He whispers, all confidence gone. 

You think for a moment, "Friday, I'll meet you at Carol's Diner."

"Okay, 12," Harry says, knowing that was your usual time to have lunch there together. 

"Eight" You're embarrassed to correct. "If that's okay, I've got meetings all day." 

Harry nods. "No problem at all." 

He walks down the steps and to his car. You can't help but stand there as he walks away. He would always drag his feet playfully joking how he didn't like being kicked out. He didn't stay the night unless he had some alcohol. You told him one drop, and you'd have the couch ready for him. Which always ended with him in your bed because he said your living room was haunted. 

You miss him, but you don't know how to move forward. 

* * * * *

Late. You're late, and Harry knows he deserves it, hell you might not even show up. 

Harry ordered a black coffee, not knowing if they'd eat or not. The waiter had just served him his refill when you walked in the diner. You spot him right away, and he can't help but begin to sweat. 

"Harry, I'm sorry. My last meeting ran a little longer." You shrug your coat off before sliding into the booth across from him. "I hope you didn't think I was setting you up."

"'Course not. You hungry? Didn't know if you wanted to order." 

"Starving, I've been craving french toast and a milkshake." You laugh, looking at Harry. "That sounds like a lot of sugar. I'm sorry." 

"It's fine, lo-Y/n." He clears his throat. 

You both place your orders, and then the silence takes over. Harry sits there staring at you while you look out the window staring at the park entrance. You count three couples walking in and four families coming out. You also spotted two dogs, frowning when no more showed up.

You're surprised at how fast the food comes and dig right in. Harry and you eat in silence. The chatter of the diner is the only noise around you. Harry steals glances at you, but you never meet his gaze. Too nervous for that. You finish most of your food, but stop once you see Harry set his fork down. Your hands are quick to go in your lap, slowly tracing patterns up and down your palm to keep calm. 

"We've got to talk." 

You sit there patiently, allowing Harry to be the first one to speak. Harry wanted this so bad he has the floor.

Harry stares at you, and he's afraid he's going to lose you after this moment. 

"I'm sorry, let me start with that." He reaches his hand out but pulls back when he sees them in your lap. "There's no excuse for what I did. I was awful, and you deserve better. You deserve trust, and I didn't give it to you." He takes a deep breath. "Looking back, you let me in, really in, but I always kept you at arm's length, waiting for you to mess up. An excuse to hurt you instead of being the one who gets hurt, but in the end, that didn't work out."

"Harry," You try to cut in.

"No, let me finish." You give the nod, and he continues. 

"Those words I said were not true at all. You never used me for nothing. We always did things in private. I'd always force you to go to the bar with us. That dinner was the first time you initiated a public outing, and even then, the place was small and quiet."

"I don't like crowds, and you don't like paparazzi." You say because it's just that simple.

"See, Y/N. You look to put others before you, but I don't want you to do that now. I acknowledge what I did was awful. I told my mum about it because the guilt was eating at me, and she was so disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me." 

Harry frowns, looking down at his bare hands. The rings at home, no comfort. He holds himself bare in front of you. 

"I want you to put yourself first even if that means not being in my life anymore." 

You focused your eyes on him. This is Harry, honest and nervous Harry. The guy who recites love actually as it plays. Who laughs out loud to all of Mitch's jokes. The one who always rushes to open your doors. 

"Thank you. This is still a lot." Your eyes begin to burn as you remember his confession. "You said-"Your voice cracks. "You said you were falling in love with me." 

Harry's green eyes begin to fill with tears. He nods in acknowledgment of your words.

"My brother is my best friend but Harry, so were you. Those two months felt like ten years, I felt like you've been in my life forever. That hurt Harry, all because what I was sleeping on was someone's arm like I didn't do it before you, and I won't do it after you." You pause to get your emotions under control. "My brother vouched for you. Said you apologized and cried. That you were quick to see your mistake. My brother approves of few people and to have his approval even after what happened means he sees the good in you." 

"Thomas was amazing. I'm glad you have each other." Harry inputs wanting you to know the feeling is mutual. 

"Harry," you take a drink of water. "We were never together. never went on a date, never asked to be boyfriend or girlfriend, we never kissed." 

"It felt like we were," Harry tells you.

"You're right," You set your hands on the table. "That's why it hurt so much when you said all that to me." 

He doesn't deserve you, he knows that, which is why your next words surprise him. 

"I forgive you."

"Thank you," Harry moves to hold your hand, but you don't let him. 

He doesn't hide his shock. 

"I just can't be with you, at least not now." He nods. "You have to understand, I think we'd burn together."

"You don't mean that." It comes out in a whisper. 

"I'm doing what's best for us now. I care too much about you to go into a relationship only for us to break each other's hearts." 

Harry's heart is breaking, and there's no one else to blame but himself. 

"We're bound to run into each other again, Sarah's my best friend and Mitch is her sidekick. I'm not asking you to wait for me, that'd be wrong. But if we ever find yourself in the same place and the feelings are there, and we both feel the timing is right, then I'll be open to asking you on a date or you asking me."

Harry smiles in understanding, no matter how much it hurts him.  

There's not much left to say. Harry knows this is goodbye. "You'll always be my friend, I hope you know I'll always be a phone call away."

You nod and stand up. "Thank you, Harry. I'm here for you as well." 

Harry stands and wraps his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze. 

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I really am, but thank you for giving me the chance to grow and learn." He steps back. 

"You're a good man, Harry." 

"And you have the purest most beautiful soul." Harry's staring into your eyes, and you can't help but tear up. 

You reach forward and squeeze his hand three times. 

"Take care, H."

 Harry watches as you walk out of the diner. 

He's lost you once again, but he knows your paths will cross once more. 

* * * * *

I love you so much! Thank you for reading! 

Please let me know what you thought about Confession ll 

[pastelwitchling]

Cinderella (2/?)

Comments and sharing/reblogging are what inspire writers to work faster on chapters. If you enjoyed reading at all, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference 💙🤍✨

read on ao3

***

               SEVERAL YEARS LATER

               The sun shined into Alex’s small room, right into his eyes, as though to gently say, Wake now, my dear, for it is morning.

               Alex didn’t much care for how gently the sun attempted to wake him, for waking him meant a day of chores either way. He hid his face under his pillow with a soft groan, and for a moment believed he’d escaped the traitorous warmth of the new day’s dawning. Then the birds outside the window began singing loudly, and Alex burst into laughter.

               “Honestly,” he sat up wearily. “You as well? Am I allowed no peace?” The birds fluttered inside and danced over Alex’s head. One settled on his headboard, the other on the edge of his bed.

               “I didn’t want to wake up yet,” said Alex. “I was having the most wonderful dream, you see.” He sighed against his headboard, hugging his pillow to his chest. “And you know what they say about dreams, don’t you?”

               The birds chirped gleefully, and Alex’s smile dimmed to something smaller, softer. “A dream is a wish your heart makes. Everyone knows that.”

               Alex noticed he’d gotten quiet, almost lost in his thoughts again, and he mustered his morning cheer for his little friends. “All right,” he huffed, throwing his legs over the edge of his bed. “Enough of that. The sun has risen, and can’t you hear the chickens? ‘Get up!’ they say. ‘Time to start another day!’” Alex chuckled and leaned against his windowsill, tilting his head at the pretty little birds.

               “Well,” he whispered, in secret, “that’s just fine by me. The earth itself can demand I wake, and my family can make their own demands. The entire kingdom can have me as their servant! But they could never command me to stop dreaming. It’s the only place I am free to speak my wishes.”

               The birds hardly seemed to understand as they chose to fly in circles over Alex’s head, then out the window. Alex laughed and went to fixing his bed. He hummed as he washed himself and dressed for the day. So much of what sat in his little room in the attic now were trinkets he’d found and collected over the years, as his father had seemed eager to strip his old room on the second floor completely empty the moment he’d left.

               Not that he minded much. After all, he was never one for knickknacks. There were various rugs across the floor to protect against the cold, a small furnace in the corner that hardly lit anymore, and hanging from the small circular mirror he’d managed to save was a long, silk pale-blue ribbon. The one his mother used to wear in her hair. He touched it gently and whispered, “Good morning, mother,” before he went to brushing out the messy strands of his hair. No matter how hard he tried, however, his hair had long since been accustomed to sticking out, as though windswept. Probably owed to the fact that he was running around the grounds nowadays more than he ever did as a child, hurrying from one chore to the next.

  ��            “Speaking of . . .” he murmured with a quirk of his lips at the ribbon, and stood. His brothers would be waking soon and expecting breakfast. With a final look out the window, at the rolling hills, the forest, and in the very distance, the spires of the kingdom palace which he always enjoyed fantasizing about, he turned and left his small, but comfortable room.

               Alex arrived to the kitchen to find the stove already lit, and Madame Valenti at the kitchen table, wiping down the surface with a light layering of flour.

               “Good morning,” Alex said, and went to tie on his apron.

               “Morning, dear,” Madame Valenti huffed. “Oh, Alex, I’ve told you not to be down here. You ought to wait in the sitting room for a nice hot cup of tea.”

               “You know very well that father will not eat or drink if it is not from my hand,” Alex said calmly, for this was hardly the first time he and the baker of the household, turned head after the Madame DuBois quit so many years ago, had had this particular discussion.

               “He’s told you so himself,” Alex reminded her.

               “Yes, he has,” Madame Valenti grumbled. “Utter nonsense, I always say it. Can’t eat unless from your hand – and he needs you to prepare it as well! Can’t walk the floors, I’m assuming, unless you mop them? Or use a dish unless you wash it? Honestly, that man . . .”

               Alex smiled to himself at her grumblings as he went to kneading the dough for the bread. Madame Valenti’s anger was always its worst in the mornings, for once she’d even snapped at a chicken for clucking too loudly. Ever since then, Alex had learned to take her words with a grain of salt.

               Not even her son took her that seriously anymore, for the moment he entered the kitchen in his boots and a bag of chicken seeds thrown over his shoulder, Kyle was rolling his eyes.

                “Not the usual, is it?” he asked dryly, picking a cherry from a bowl and tossing it into his mouth. “Woe is Alex, poor Alex, how dare that old man mistreat Alex?”

               Madame Valenti glared. “Don’t you start with me.” She hit the back of his hand with a wooden spoon. “And get your hands out of there!”

               “Ouch! Don’t pour your frustrations out on me now! I agree with you, I just don’t need to hear it every bloody morning. ‘Specially since he –” he nudged his chin at Alex “—hardly listens anyway.”

               “Good morning, Kyle,” Alex chuckled.

               “Morning,” he said through a mouthful of another handful of cherries. “Oi, mother! Stop hitting me! You know we won’t get to eat until Their Royal Highnesses are finished, and they take ages!”

               “You will quit your whining so early in the morning, Kyle Valenti, or so help me –”

               “Ah,” Chef Arturo said serenely as he entered, spreading his arms out over a pot of boiling water. “There’s the usual morning cheer. Good morning, Michelle. Kyle. Alexander.”

               Alex smiled. Ever since he was a child, Arturo Ortecho had been calling him by his full name. “A prince ought to be addressed by his full title, do you not think so?” he would always say, despite Alex’s protests that there was hardly anything prince-like about him. Still, it was a habit he’d kept since Alex’s mother had been alive. It felt good to have that happy connection to his past.

               “Good morning, Chef Arturo,” Alex said, separating the dough. He sniffed the air and his grin widened over his shoulder. “Are you making potato broth?”

               Arturo’s laughter rumbled and shook his entire stomach. He winked at Alex through the steam rising from the pot. “Didn’t think I’d forget about your birthday, did I?”

               “Honestly, Alex,” Kyle kissed Alex’s cheek and leapt up to sit on the counter next to where he was working. “Who do you think we are?”

               Alex saw now that Madame Valenti had been working on making his favorite sweet bread on the table, and his heart swelled. “Oh, you – you really didn’t have to do any of this.”

               “Nonsense,” Madame Valenti snapped, and went back to grumbling. “What else is there to possibly look forward to in this miserable house?”

               Alex caught Kyle’s dark eyes, and saw that he was trying not to laugh. For even with all of Madame Valenti’s curses to the household, she had been the first so many years ago to refuse to leave. She hadn’t wanted to abandon the Manes men at first, then it had become about remaining for Alex and his brothers, then one day she blatantly told Alex that she would sooner die than see him left to the mercy of his brothers and father.

               Neither she nor anyone else who had chosen to stay seemed to believe, as Alex did, that his family was grieving still, and soon the kind men he’d once known would return to him. Nonetheless, he would not argue with her now, and instead found his heart held only love for these kind-hearted and warm people, for they were no less his family.

               In his happiness, and before he could consider the words, he asked, “Do you think my father will remember as well?”

               The kitchen turned silent, and Kyle shared a concerned glance with his mother. Alex faltered. “It could happen.”

               Madame Valenti’s frown deepened and she looked to be on the verge of retorting when Chef Arturo cut in. “Of course,” he said kindly with a sharp glance at Madame Valenti. “Of course he could, sweetheart. It’s only . . . well . . . don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t, that’s all. He had, after all, forgotten last year.”

               “And the year before that,” muttered Kyle, “and the year before that, and the –”

               “All right, father,” Rosa yawned as she stepped into the kitchen, stretching her arms above her head. “I’m here, I’m here. Oh, sweet bread!”

               “Stop it,” Chef Arturo scolded. “Those are for Alexander, and I asked you to wake an hour ago. I need you to go clean the sitting room before the others come downstairs. Hurry now, go –”

               “What?” she protested at the same time that Alex frowned and said, “Chef Arturo, that’s actually on my list of chores for today, so I can –”

               “Nonsense, nonsense!” he said loudly over their voices. “I know what I’m doing, and Rosa . . .” he gave her a pointed look that Alex thought was supposed to mean something, though he could not figure out what. “We talked about this days ago, remember?”

               Rosa glanced at Alex, and her eyes widened. “Oh! Yes! I do!” She laughed nervously. “Of course I do! Silly me, yes, I’ll go clean that room now!”

               “Father, father!” Liz cheered as she ran in. Her bun was falling in dark strands down her shoulders, her eyes bright, her nose red from the morning cold, and her clothes covered in mud. “I prepared the –” she cut off suddenly as she spotted a startled Alex, and covered the rest of her words with a cough. “Erm – the stables are cleaned. Yes. That’s all I wanted to tell you. The horses are all the chipper for it. Oh good morning, Alex, I didn’t see you!”

               “G-Good morning,” Alex managed as Liz embraced him tightly.

               “And happy birthday,” she whispered into his shoulder. He melted against her, and realized she had straw in her hair. He picked it out. “What were you doing out there so early?”

               “Oh,” she waved off his question. “You know how I am, I need to calm my nerves with the horses before I can tolerate a human being. Is that potato stew I smell?”

               Alex raised a brow at all of them, not so surprised that they couldn’t seem to hold his gaze for long. It seemed that everyone in that kitchen knew something he didn’t. He opened his mouth to ask what when one of the small bells on the wall rang, and the atmosphere amongst them darkened at once.

               Alex disliked that very much; he disliked seeing the concern on the others’ faces, disliked the tension in their shoulders, the way they feared for him. He shook his head with a grin.

               “Honestly, you lot,” he said. “Get to work now, we can’t dawdle. Kyle, hand me the tea leaves, will you?”

                 As Alex carried his father’s breakfast tray up the staircase, he couldn’t help but see the mansion that once was, and the one that no longer existed. The framed paintings were gone, replaced with portraits instead of one of Alex’s brothers or father in their finest clothing over the years. Everyone from Alex’s family except Alex himself, and his mother.

               The flower vases and collections of colorful stones in glass bowls were gone, the windows always curtained, for Jesse claimed the sun harmed his eyes. Alex almost tripped over Flint’s new cat, Lucifer, as it ran wildly through the corridors for no reason at all. Alex had once been happy to have a cat, except that it had meowed so loudly and indignantly at their poor farm dog Bruno all the time when it had first arrived that Flint commanded the dog be kept outside. Lucifer had as much a pleasant disposition as Flint did himself these days.

               “Lucifer!” Alex scolded in a shouting whisper. “You leave poor Bruno alone, do you hear?” He had to warn it, for the cat had that eagerness that only came when he wanted to taunt the dog from inside one of the windows, as though to remind him of how much an outsider he had become. Lucifer ignored Alex, clearly wanting to send him the same message.

               Alex managed the tray on one hand, knocked with the other, and quickly steadied himself before any of the tea spilled.

               “Come in,” his father’s voice said, and Alex carefully let himself inside. His father was still seated in bed, the windows curtained, the sunlight forbidden to enter. That was another change Alex couldn’t help but notice; where his mother and father’s room had been one of light and warmth and joy, the windows were now curtained and the room was engulfed in such shadow that the corners had turned to near darkness.

               Only a sliver of light managed through, shining across his father’s blue eyes. Once as blue and welcoming as the spring sky, now as cold as ice. Alex shook the image from his head.

               “Good morning, father,” Alex said, closing the door behind him with his foot, for he knew his father liked not to be disturbed, though he dearly lamented losing the only bit of light. “Did you sleep well?”

               His father would not look away from him, his chin raised as though he insisted to be the taller of the two, even sitting in bed.

               “Who could sleep well with such a troubled heart, Alex? Do you not think before you ask?”

               “Of course, father,” Alex placated, setting the tray down on his father’s nightstand and getting to pouring the tea. “I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

               Jesse Manes hummed, and looked away. “Is breakfast ready?”

               “Nearly,” Alex told him. “It ought to be by the time you are dressed and downstairs.”

               “Ought to be,” he scoffed distastefully. “This is what we’ve come to, has it? Can’t even keep decent help, capable of preparing a meal.”

               “Father, please,” Alex said quietly. He did not remind his father that the servants who had stayed had only done so out of the kindness of their hearts, and because they knew this manor to be their home as much as anyone’s.

               Jesse glanced at his son, and sighed. “For you, only, I tolerate their insubordination. Do you see how much I endure in your name, Alex?”

               “Of course,” Alex handed him his cup of tea, and hesitated over the tray.

               His father seemed to notice that he was waiting for something, and raised a dark brow. He set his cup back down on its saucer, and heaved a sigh as though his morning had been thoroughly disrupted.

               “Yes?” he said, a hint of impatience seeping through his calm demeanor.

               “Er –” Alex started, and Jesse glared.

               “‘Er’ is not a word, what do you want to say, Alex?”

               “Well, it’s only . . . do you remember what today is, father?”

               “Hm?” he grunted. “Today?” A moment. “Yes, of course.”

               Alex’s heart leapt.

               “It’s Saturday.”

               It plummeted again. “Yes,” he tried, “yes, it is Saturday, but it is also the twelfth of October.” When his father merely stared, he said, slightly dispirited, “My birthday, father. It’s my birthday today.”

               His father said nothing a moment, then, “Is it really?”

               “Yes,” he rushed, “and the only thing I ask for is that, perhaps, I can take a stroll through the forest? To paint? I do so love to paint, and I hardly have the time for it anymore –”

               His father straightened, his expression, if possible, colder. “And it’s my fault, is it?” he demanded. “That you carry such a heavy workload?”

               “What?” Alex faltered. “N-No!”

              ��“Is it too much to ask that you help your family in these troubling times?”

               “Of course not –”

               “I did not raise you to be so selfish,” said Jesse. He would not scream, he rarely did, but his words cut through Alex like a knife. He hadn’t meant to seem insensitive or uncaring.

               “And what of your chores?” Jesse went on, his nostrils flaring. “You would push a few simple duties onto others’ already burdened shoulders so that you could frolic in the woods with your colors?”

               Alex clenched his jaw, not daring to speak.

               “Say something,” thundered Jesse. “Speak when you are spoken to, boy.”

               Alex shook his head, his eyes on the ground. “I’m sorry, father, I didn’t – I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, forget that I asked.”

               His father stared at him a long while before his shoulders fell and he sighed. “Alex, my dear. Listen to me. You know I love you, don’t you?”

               Alex nodded, even as his eyes burned.

               “Alex.”

               “Yes, father,” he managed. “I know.”

               “And you understand that I merely want peace in this house,” he said. “Everyone knows their place. If you disrupt that peace, for even a moment, then the balance that I am barely keeping together falls apart into chaos. Is that what you want? Do you want to see me troubled?”

               “No,” whispered Alex. “No, father.”

               Jesse’s hand reached out for Alex’s arm, let it hover, then brought it back down to his teacup. Alex couldn’t remember the last time his father had embraced him warmly.

               “Thank you, my darling,” said Jesse, though his attention had returned to his tea. “I knew you’d understand. Run along now, back to your chores. Don’t want to waste the day away, do we?”

                  Alex had wiped his tears long before he’d returned to the kitchen. Really, such a fuss over a day as silly as his birthday. What significance was that meant to have? At any rate, his father was right. Would he really push his chores onto others, if only for a few mere hours in the forest? What would be the point?

               Alex was so caught in his thoughts that he nearly ran into his brother Gregory as he left his room.

               “Oh, good morning, Gregory!”

               Gregory’s eyes, as they always did, fell to the tray in Alex’s hands, and his already furrowed brow deepened. “Alex,” he greeted. “Brought his father his tea again, have you?”

               Alex huffed a chuckle. “Well, you know how he likes to have it before breakfast.”

               “Yes, Alex,” Gregory said, irritated, “but he is capable of getting it himself, isn’t he?” Before Alex could tell his brother that he really didn’t mind, Gregory turned away from him. “Forget it,” he said darkly. “It’s useless talking to you. Just have breakfast prepared as you always do.”

               Without another word, Gregory went off down the hall. Just before he reached the stairs, Alex called out, “Gregory?”

               Gregory stopped.

               “It – er . . . it’s my birthday today,” he said.

               A moment, then, “Yes, I know,” and he resumed his path down the staircase. The reaction, for some reason, stung more than his father’s. Alex sighed quietly, and went to the kitchen.

               When he came into the sitting room, he saw Flint and Gregory already seated. Gregory avoided Alex’s eyes as Flint conversed with him, a letter in his hands.

               “And they say they haven’t seen him since,” Flint was saying.

               “Seen who?” asked Alex as he set down the basket of bread rolls and butter.

               Flint rolled as his eyes as though Alex was a child interrupting the adults’ conversation. “The prince, all right?” He snickered. “Reginald sent word to me this morning that he saw Prince Michael escape the palace last night, and hasn’t been seen since.”

               Alex frowned. “Oh dear, I hope he’s all right.”

               Flint heaved a sigh. “You really are completely ignorant, aren’t you? He was seen with a woman. Obviously he went out for a moonlit tryst.” He shook his head, tossing the letter onto Alex’s now empty tray. “Shameful. I will be a much better prince once I’ve married Princess Isobel. A true leader, unlike that miscreant.”

               “Oh?” Gregory sighed, taking the offered teacup from Kyle. “And how do you propose to marry someone who doesn’t know you exist?”

               “She knows I exist!” Flint snapped. “Don’t you remember the spring ball? She danced with me.”

               “She danced with everyone. She danced with me.”

               “There’s only one princess, and I’m marrying her.”

               Gregory snorted. “Feel free, if she’ll have you. I have no interest joining the palace.”

               He waved his hand dismissively. “I expect you’re eager to join Clay, then, on his expeditions.”

               “He’s a captain,” Gregory reminded him.

               “A captain is still not a king, my sons,” Jesse Manes said as he descended.

               Alex caught Kyle rolling his eyes on his way to the kitchen.

               “Perhaps he is better,” argued Gregory as Jesse sat down. “Given how our current one handles his brother.”

               “He’s a prince,” dismissed Jesse. “He’s entitled to do as he wishes. Don’t forget that he is to be your brother-in-law, if either of you is successful in acquiring Princess Isobel’s hand.”

               Gregory looked wholly disinterested. Flint drew himself up proudly. “I’ve been told that the palace is stirring. They say something is coming, perhaps a ball!”

               Jesse Manes’ eyes lit. “Brilliant! A ball is the perfect opportunity to get closer to the princess. Keep close attention, boys.”

               Flint looked very pleased with himself, while Gregory hummed noncommittally. Alex looked between them a moment as Kyle returned with each of their plates.

               “I certainly a hope the palace holds a ball,” he said. “Sounds as though it would be so much fun to attend.”

               “You?” Flint sputtered, as though this was a terrible joke.

               “And why not?” Kyle snapped.

               Flint glared. “Mind your mouth when you talk to me. Why, he asks. They wouldn’t let him through the doors! Not in those clothes!”

               “I wouldn’t go like this obviously,” Alex said with a force chuckle, to return the peaceful morning. “I could certainly clean up a bit –”

               The table suddenly rattled with a loud CLANK!, making Alex, Kyle, Flint, and Gregory jump. Jesse had just slammed his large hand on his plate, almost cracking it. Everyone turned silent.

               Jesse slowly turned to Alex, though he wouldn’t look at him. His voice was deadly calm. “Alex, I will not have silly fantasies in the morning. Now I suggest you return to the kitchen immediately and eat something. It will not do for you to stand here and watch us have breakfast, will it? No, my son, go eat with the other servants at once, I insist.”

                 When Jesse had first proposed Alex eat with the other servants, it had hurt him. Not because he thought Madame Valenti and Chef Arturo and their children as less than in any sense, but because Jesse very clearly wanted Alex to be in a different room all the time.

               Years later, however, and Alex was grateful to be sitting amongst his friends for meals, seeing as how Jesse seemed to hardly tolerate their presence in the sitting room either.

               During breakfast, while Gregory remained disinterested and Jesse and Flint spoke of the royal family and other noblemen who didn’t quite live up to their high standards, Alex laughed with Kyle over their bread and jam, as Alex had had a smudge of strawberry on his nose and Kyle had been trying to lick it off.

               By the time breakfast was over, Liz and Rosa were speaking over each other as they all went to cleaning the dishes. ”No,” Liz was yelling, “no, I certainly did not smile at him!”

               “You did!” objected Rosa. “That’s the only reason he tells us anything!”

               “He tells us because he assumes we talk to Flint as we do Alex,” said Liz firmly. “He assumes he’ll put himself in his good graces. It’s pathetic!”

               “Oh, who cares?” demanded Kyle. “So long as he tells you! Did Barty really overhear discussions of a ball?”

               “He would, wouldn’t he?” said Rosa eagerly. “Working in the palace kitchens, he must hear loads!”

               Alex sighed, leaning against the chair. “That really would be so much fun, don’t you think? Dressing up, dancing with a handsome stranger? Perhaps get a glimpse of the royal family! I wonder if they’re as handsome as everyone says.”

               “I can’t believe you still don’t know what they look like,” said Rosa.

               “Can you blame him?” grumbled Kyle. “His father won’t let him leave any further than the marketplace. He probably knows Alex would run away if he got the chance. Then he’d lose his favorite servant.”

               Alex shook his head. “Oh, Kyle. You best hurry with washing those or we’ll never have time to start polishing the floors.”

               Alex returned to wiping the table, but stopped when he realized everyone was staring at him with smiles on their faces. Madame Valenti and Chef Arturo shared a look before they resumed their work, but Liz came forward at once and took Alex’s hands eagerly, ridding him of the rag.

               “Alex, we have a surprise for you,” she said.

               “A surprise?”

               “Yes,” Kyle crossed his arms, looking, if it was possible, even more pleased with himself than Flint had been. “You are to go to the forest and paint. As you wanted.”

               Alex’s shoulders fell. “Oh, you lot. That’s a very kind gesture to make, but I don’t think –”

               “A horse has already been prepared,” Liz assured him.

               “And Kyle and I have split your chores between us,” said Rosa proudly. “We finished them before you two even started setting breakfast.”

               Alex was dubious. “The sitting room?”

               “Cleaned.”

               “The windows?”

               “Polished.”

               “The carpets?”

               “Dusted!” Rosa laughed. “Honestly, you don’t have to worry!”

               Alex looked at them all, and his eyes burned for an entirely different reason than they had a mere two hours ago. “You did this for me?”

               “Go, my son,” Chef Arturo chuckled. It sounded different to when Jesse had called him that. It sounded as though he meant it. “Enjoy your birthday.”

               “He’s right, Alex,” Kyle sat, patting his arm. “You’ll have some fun, away from the orders and chores, and be back by nightfall. What could happen?”

               Alex bit his lower lip. He knew what his father would say, what his father had said. However, all he could think of was the kindness that his lovely family was giving him now, the kindness he couldn’t, and did not want, to turn down. The truth, and he could not deny it, was that he wanted to go.

               He smiled. “Then I suppose I ought to go get my paint and canvas.”

               Alex’s declaration was met with cheers, quiet enough that the men in the sitting room would not know of what had happened at all.

               *

               In Michael’s defense, he really had been trying to be thoughtful. To himself, his siblings, and the woman who’d so kindly offered him her bed. How was he to have known that Lady Westleton’s brother would demand to know who was in his sister’s room, that he would catch a glimpse of a man escaping out the window, and that he would send his hunting hounds after the prince?

               Michael briefly wondered what this man would do once he realized he was hunting royalty, but could not maintain the notion long as the sharp pebbles bit into his bare feet and the blanket which he could only barely keep around his naked waist kept threatening to slip.

               He panted heavily as he ran, checking over his shoulder. He’d lost sight of the hounds ten miles ago, and stopped hearing their angry barks five, but he ran until he was deep in an unfamiliar forest, certain that he could find cover.

               He supposed throwing the trousers which he’d managed to grab into a bush a few miles back had thrown the dogs off his scent, but he wasn’t taking any chances. It was only when he’d arrived at a stream and could hear nothing but the branches rustling in the wind and the occasional squirrel running up a tree that he allowed himself to stop and breathe deeply.

               He leaned forward on his knees, heaving, and almost dropped his blanket. He looked around a moment, trying to discern where he was, and plopped amongst the rust, red, and gold leaves. Michael supposed he ought to panic that he was lost, though he was certain he was still in his own kingdom. He had no doubt that Max had guards placed along the borders of all of France to prevent him from escaping.

               He scoffed at the idea, and stretched his legs out to stick his feet in the stream. The morning air was cold, the stream even colder, but the water sent a pleasant shock throughout his body and left him sighing. He closed his eyes and listened to the leaves, the smaller animals, the wind. Sometimes, he thought, the palace was too loud. The balls too loud, the people too loud. He rarely found a moment’s peace like this, where the world simply turned . . . quiet.

               Except, of course, for that scuffle.

               Michael’s brows furrowed and he opened his eyes. He listened closely. For a moment, he heard nothing but the water, the wind, the birds, then . . .

               Shh shh shh!

               Michael straightened. That most definitely was not a squirrel or rabbit. He turned his head slowly, looking for the source of the sound. Then he saw it. A stag, an actual larger-than-he’d-ever-seen stag, walked out from the trees as suddenly as though it had been part of them.

               “Oh . . . my . . .” Michael stood, his body now shivering from being damp in the cold autumn air. He stumbled back until he hit a tree. The stag would not look away from him.

               “Nice big deer,” he murmured. “Good big dear.” He couldn’t recall any of his lessons on stags, nor what to do to frighten them. If he remembered correctly, they were a bit trickier than the ordinary rabbit to scare away. Particularly as Michael was only one man with no horse, no weapon, and no clothing.

               The stag took a step towards him, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. “No no no,” he said. “S-Stay there. Don’t come any closer.”

               The stag did not listen, and came closer to Michael, making a deep, short grunting sound.

               “Terribly sorry,” Michael tried. “I didn’t mean to bother you where you live. Horrible misunderstanding, you see.” The stag tilted its head. “Right. I’ll just be on my way. Out of your hair and all that.”

               The stag grunted again and came closer. There was only a few feet separating them now, and Michael’s weak knees gave out. His breathing turned shallow and quick. He had no idea what stags did to handsome men in blankets who sat in the forest.

               The stag came closer, closer – Michael braced himself.

               “Hello there,” a soft voice said. Both Michael and the stag turned to look. Michael’s heart stopped. Coming towards them, his dark eyes on the stag, was the most beautiful man Michael had ever seen. The most beautiful anyone he had ever seen.

               “Wow,” he breathed, but the man didn’t seem to notice. He was smiling at the stag, his steps as gentle as a bird’s, until he was standing between Michael and the large animal.

               The stag grunted, and Michael flinched, but the stranger did not seem the least bit afraid. “There there,” he whispered. “It’s all right. You’ve nothing to fear here.”

               His voice was so soothing, so reassuring, that Michael felt his fear quickly dissipate. He looked up at the stranger’s kind smile, his warm eyes, and he swallowed. He thought he ought to stand, to protect him. He was, after all, the prince, though he was certain this man had to be a nymph sent from the earth itself.

               The stranger slowly reached a hand out, holding it still for a long moment before the stag nuzzled his palm once and stepped back. It turned and carried on its way back into the trees.

               Only when the sound of its footsteps had disappeared completely did Michael’s body slump against the tree with a heavy, shaking sigh.

               “Are you all right?” the stranger asked, and Michael looked up to see he had offered him his hand. Michael swallowed, and considered refusing – after all, a prince never needed help – but the man’s smile was so beautiful, the concern in his eyes so genuine, that before Michael could realize what he was doing, he accepted the offer.

               As his fingers curled around the stranger’s, Michael felt a sudden jolt go through his hand, up his arm, and straight to his chest, making his heart jump. When he stood, Michael did not let go of the man’s hand.

               The man tilted his head, and asked again, “Are you all right?”

               “All right . . .” Michael murmured, then, thinking clearly, he blinked. “Y-Yes! I’m quite all right, thanks to you.”

               “Oh, the stag?” the man laughed, and Michael found himself smiling himself. What a beautiful sound . . . “No, he wouldn’t have done anything to you, I think. He seemed quite peaceful when I was painting him.”

               Michael blinked and now realized the stranger’s hands were indeed covered in colors. He pointed to somewhere between the trees. “I was painting over there, you see, and he left, and I followed him right to you.”

               “I’m very fortunate, then, er . . .”

               “Alex,” he said, his hand slipping from Michael’s, though his smile kept Michael warm. “My name is Alex.”

               “Alex,” Michael tried the name, and could not help the giggle that escaped his lips. “What a wonderful name.”

               Alex blushed and shook his head. “Er . . . and you are?”

               Michael’s brows furrowed. Was this man joking? Did he really not know who the prince of this land was?

               He played along, curious despite himself. “Michael.”

               Alex gasped. “That’s the prince’s name!”

               “Is it?” Michael scoffed. “He must be very handsome, then, to have such a handsome name.”

               “I wouldn’t know, I’m afraid,” Alex confessed, scratching the back of his head. “I’ve never left these grounds.” He glanced down at Michael’s blanket at his hips, and back up again, pressing his lips together. “However, I’m certain I would’ve remembered you.”

               Michael’s cheeks and the tips of his ears turned warm, and he huffed. He felt ridiculous. He’d never been embarrassed about any of his relations before! Yet the very idea of mentioning where he’d been or why he wasn’t dressed to Alex made him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit.

               “I – er – I’m a blacksmith apprentice,” he lied. “This –” he gestured to his blanket “—was my master’s idea as a punishment for . . . for . . . destroying his most valuable sword!”

               Alex looked startled. “Oh no!”

               “It was an accident,” Michael was quick to assure him. “I didn’t meant to –”

               “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” said Alex at once, as though that was his biggest concern. “I hope your master wasn’t cruel for such an innocent mistake.”

               Michael stared, quite speechless.

               “I know it can be dangerous, working with fire and sharp weaponry,” he said earnestly. “Do see that you’re careful, won’t you?”

               Michael could only nod. When he realized he was watching Alex for too long, he shook his head and quickly said, “Er – but I can take a guess at what you are?”

               Alex looked amused. “Oh?”

               “A servant,” Michael said bluntly, for he could still feel Alex’s rough fingers against his own. “A hardworking one at that.”

               Something of the light in Alex’s smile dimmed, and he repeated, more quietly this time, “Oh.”

               Michael wondered if he’d said something wrong. He tried to amend, “They must be really happy to have a servant like you! So brave, and – and –”

               “You’re too kind,” Alex shook his head. He looked over his shoulder and sighed. “Right, well, I best be getting back now. Can you find your way home from here?”

               Michael, about to argue that Alex stay longer, realized he had no honest answer to give. Alex seemed to read the truth in his expression, however, and he chuckled softly, pointing to what Michael could now see was a path along the stream.

               “Follow that trail, and it should lead you out of the forest,” he told him. “You really shouldn’t be out in so little clothing, by the way,” he said as he turned to leave. “It’s not good for you in this weather.”

               “W-Wait!” Michael called, and took Alex’s wrist, stopping him. Alex blinked, surprised. Michael realized what he was doing and let go, his cheeks burning. Why was he acting this way? He was usually eager to be left alone, but now . . .

               “Thank you,” he blurted, and Alex smiled so beautifully that Michael again lost all ability to speak at once.

               “There’s really no need to,” Alex told him. “Will you be all right, finding your way out?”

               This time, Michael had an answer ready. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course, no need to worry for me.”

               Alex nodded once. “Then I will leave you now. Good day, Michael.”

               “Good day,” Michael said softly, then, “Alex!”

               Alex stopped. “Yes?”

               “I hope to see you again.”

               Alex looked startled, then his cheeks turned pink and he smiled at the ground.

               “And I, you.”

               Alex disappeared behind the trees as the stag did, as though part of nature, and Michael slumped against the trunk, his hand over his racing heart. The birds chirped on, the branches danced in the wind, the stream water ran past, but the world seemed different somehow. It occurred to Michael, too late, that this feeling he had had when talking to Alex had been the peace he’d been searching for. And perhaps something else, too, that he had not been searching for at all.

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 64

Peter watched as Angel repeatedly pulled the thick wad of dough until she had thin strips of noodles. “This is the easy part,” she told him as she methodically worked. “Just grab and pull. Grab and pull. Kind of meditative if you let it be.”

Peter looked hesitantly at the ball of dough in front of him before reaching for it.

“Flour your hands first; otherwise the dough will stick.”

“Right.” Copying her earlier movements he stuck his hands in the bowl of flour on the counter before picking up the ball.

“Ponyo?”

“You already ate,” Angel gently scolded the pink thing with huge blue eyes.

Peter pulled at the dough. It snapped. He glared at it.

Angel calmly looked over, dusted her hands with flour again, and rolled the dough ball a few times before pressing on it repeatedly before handing it back. “Try again,” she advised. He did; it pulled into a lumpy, rough mess. He looked over at the silky smooth ribbons she was producing and sighed.

“You’re really good at this,” Peter commented as he tried to follow the directions. He was just pulling dough into noodles—how hard could it be?

“I’ve had practice,” Angel replied. “A few—months, I think? Maybe a year? It’s hard to tell. Anyway, there was this time I was trapped in a hut with a blind old woman who thought I was a bear.” She saw the look on Peter’s face and said, “Seriously. Trust me, if you’d been there it would have made sense. You have no idea how hard that one was,” she grumbled. “Anyway, the two of us were snowed in, almost starving, and all there was to eat was flour, water from the melted snow, and six pounds of lard—don’t ask,” she advised. “I only made that mistake once.”

“What happened?” Peter tried to copy her movements, but the dough kept breaking so he’d push it together and roll it like he’d seen her do.

“Roll, then knead,” she advised. “She talked me through making the noodles and then made weird, uncomfortable comments about eating a bear—right before a bear burst through one of the walls. She killed the bear with her cane, talked me through butchering it, and we made soup with the bones and noodles. I told myself it tasted like chicken.”

“You must have been starving,” Peter admitted.

She shrugged and one of the wings flicked back behind her. “It was a long week, I have a high metabolism, and cold saps energy,” she said explained. There was something weary in her tone—the same weariness Peter frequently heard from the street kids.

Peter’s hands stopped moving as something occurred to him. “Wait—you ate a bear and she thought you were a bear…”

“You do not want to finish that thought,” Angel advised him firmly. “Not if you want to eat again in the next three days,” she added.

Peter’s mind whirled. There were a lot of people who accused him of being overly naive, but he could tell when someone was lying. It was a skill he’d picked up out of necessity when dealing with Norman—and this girl wasn’t lying. “How did that happen?” he asked.

“You want the broad strokes or the fine detail?”

Peter, watching her craft a truly insane number of noodles, wasn’t sure he could handle the fine details. “Broad strokes, please.”

She snorted. “Stuff happens and life sucks.”

“Sums up everything,” Peter admitted as he glared at his noodles. They didn’t look like noodles at all; they looked like funky bread sticks. “A little more detail, please,” he asked.

Suddenly the girl grinned at him. “You look just like Papa with that look on your face,” she told him. She pulled a knife from the block and with a quick cut her noodles lost their connections before she began to lay the noodles out on a cookie sheet.

“You use a knife really well,” Peter commented as she grabbed his noodles and did the same thing.

She snorted. “Of course I do,” she said with wry amusement. “These are pretty good,” she said pointing to his noodles. “You should have seen my first try. All right, let’s go sit down and I’ll explain as best as I can.” The creature that had arrived with the girl raced up to her and she laughed. “All right, Dora,” she said affectionately. “Time for cuddles.”

“Ponyo!” squeaked the happy thing.

“What is it?” asked Peter as he stared at the thing while washing his hands. He noticed that it seemed to be eating the flour off of the girl’s suit and he wondered if she noticed.

“Dora. She’s a slime. She used to be highly volatile with a half-ton blast.” Peter stared at the pink blob in the girl’s lap. “Not anymore,” she rushes to assure him. “Papa and one of my uncles fixed it.” She lovingly ran a hand over the top of the slime as it clung and released the skin with a muffled gloop.

“Pon-yo!” the slime chirped, and Angel laughed.

“Ponyo,” Peter said weakly.

The two clear blue eyes turned on him, wavering slightly as the entire pink thing jiggled before it jumped into the air and raced across the floor towards him. “Ponyo?” it asked as it bounced on the floor.

“She wants to know if she can get in your lap.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” The slime squealed, jumped, and plopped down on his lap.

“She likes it when a palm is rubbed over her top,” Angel advised.

Well, Angel would know. Peter gently rubbed his palm over the top of the slime—which wasn’t slimy, exactly. Felt more like a thick mixture of cornstarch and water. The sensation as it shivered under his touch was odd, to say the least, and as he moved his hand it became sort of soft and silky. Strange. Nice, but strange. No wonder Angel had been petting it so much.

“Where to start,” mused Angel as she lounged on Wade’s recliner, wings lazily hanging over the back in a way that looked uncomfortable to Peter, but she seemed fine with it. “All right, there are three starting points, and none of them seem connected, so bear with me.” Fingers tapped against the arm of the chair as she looked at Peter. “First of all, there are multiple worlds. You’re going to have to trust me on that. They’re—”

“Like Stephen Hawking’s last paper?” asked Peter excitedly.

Angel paused. “Yup,” she said after a moment. “Totally. Now, I’m from one of those worlds, and in that world, Loki—”

“The god of mischief and destruction?” asked Peter aghast.

She sighed. “This will go a lot faster,” she admonished gently, “if you stop interrupting me. Yes, Loki, God of Mischief.” She paused and glared, but he didn’t interrupt again so she continued. “In my world he has several children, but the one you need to know about is his daughter, Hel.”

“Now, Hel has her own realm, and yes,” she said anticipating Peter’s question, “it’s different from a parallel world. One of Hel’s jobs is to—to protect balance, I guess would be the best way to put it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Peter. He leaned forward and the slime in his lap made a noise like a sleepy giggle.

“Souls are made up of a mix of light and darkness; most of them have a relatively even mixture, changing as they grow and react to their environments. Some souls are almost pure darkness and some souls are almost pure light. In order to prevent the universe from descending into chaos when there’s too much light a dark soul is sent in the middle and when there’s too much darkness a light soul is sent.”

“Why would too much light be a bad thing?” asked Peter, confused. If he was understanding her correctly, “light” was the same as “good” and “dark” was “bad.”

He expected a blasé answer about the general importance of balance. Instead her somber amber eyes met his. “How do people grow?” she asked instead. “How do they learn, mature?”

“I—I don’t know,” admitted Peter.

“They face challenges. They overcome those challenges. When there is too much light,” her arms spread around her, “there are no challenges. The souls stagnate, become weak. Souls that are too weak are—well, I’m not sure,” she said with a frown. “Hel said that they get subsumed by the stronger souls in reincarnation, and that throws the balance between the living and the dead off. I’m not sure why. But I do know that souls that grow in too much darkness have the same problem, and since Hel is in charge of sending reincarnating souls, it is a problem she has deal with. To balance.”

“O—okay,” said Peter. He had no idea where Angel was going with this.

“Now I’m going to have to skip a bit. There were two competing programs in the city. Both of them had the same goal, to create new and more powerful mutants, but they went about these goals in very different ways. One of them kidnapped people and performed horrible, often disfiguring experiments to force recessed mutations to the surface.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew Deadpool’s file. “That sounds like—”

“Yeah.” Angel sighed and then continued. “I wasn’t there, but I hear it was just as brutal. The took kids instead of adults, on the theory they’d be easier to break. Now the second program had a very different approach. What they did was they took samples from known mutants, broke them down into genetic components, and then proceeded to inject those components into a growing fetus.”

The second method made questions swirl through Peter’s brain. “How did they get the samples?” he asked with vague horror.

“From blood. The heroes, anti-heroes, and superpowered villains of the city bled all over it and they had people everywhere to collect the blood and take it back to the lab.”

“But that would mean—”

“Contamination,” agreed Angel. “Until the mutations began to develop, it was impossible to tell what blood was even there. There was even,” she continued with an odd, wry smile, “a child who’d gotten the mutations of two powerful mutants.” Her face fell. “There were failures, of course. And some that were just deemed failures.”

The slime in Peter’s lap squeaked and raced across the floor towards Angel, bouncing in her lap repeatedly until the girl smiled and began to pet it. “Where did the fetuses come from?” Peter asked.

“They put out ads for ‘surrogate mothers’ that strongly implied they didn’t care if the woman in question was already pregnant. The women came, got free health care as long as they didn’t leave, and if they didn’t bond with the infants they took the money and left the infants behind.”

“And what about those that did bond?” asked Peter as one of Angel’s wings came up and cupped around herself and the slime in a gesture that was obviously reassuring to the girl.

“They took the infants and left. They all signed NDA’s before they even set foot in the facility, but the fastest way to get the attention of the heroes in a city full of them is for dead bodies to start showing up out of nowhere, so they avoided that.” She chuckled in wry amusement. “Actually, it wouldn't have been discovered at all if they hadn’t decided to kidnap Spiderman.”

“They—what?”

She gave a small, sad smile as she stroked the slime in her lap who cooed at the attention. “They wanted a clean sample of blood. Before they could take it, Deadpool showed up.”

Peter gave a small smile of his own, thinking of his boyfriend. “Of course he did,” he said fondly.

“Yeah, it was bloody, the kids were rescued. Blah, blah, blah,” she said glossing over it. “Not important. What is important is that I came from that program, and I have super healing abilities. Keep that in mind. Now, there was another child, from the other program, that I’ll call BB. No real names, because I can’t risk being found before I can find BB. BB had a—a very unique ability. BB could turn humans into spider/human hybrids that could then be controlled—by BB. Very specific there; killed some people who tried to control them in—horrific ways.” The girl paled and the slime stretched until it could just touch the underside of her chin. “Anyway,” the girl interrupted herself as she ran her hand up and down the slime’s body, “she couldn't do it to very many people. She didn’t have the power. Then, three things happened. One, Tony, the insane inventor who I secretly think is trying to actually destroy everything, developed a purely mechanical portal that can travel between worlds. I don’t know why. Two, BB found out about the light souls—but not the dark ones. I have no idea how that came about, but the long story short is that BB discovered how to harvest souls and steal their power to increase BB’s own. Three, the Time Stone was shattered and a piece of it lodged in BB, keeping the mutant ageless. And no,” Angel adds quickly, “I don’t know how that happened either. I kinda wasn’t around at the time—not important. What is important is that BB was throwing the universe, multiverse, expanded parallels, whatever into chaos and Hel, Loki’s daughter and in charge of the balance, demanded that Tony either figure out a way to fix it or she would fix him, in the way that the pound fixes stray cats. And since the source of this problem, the Time Stone, was technically his charge in the first place—actually I think he has a method of putting the Stone back together again but needs all the shards to do that—Dr. Strange created a timed portal with his mystic arts that could connect to the shard buried in BB to make sure whomever used it would end up in the same general area as BB. Still following?”

“Yes,” Peter said as he nodded. Actually, the information was sinking into his brain to be turned over and examined at a later time, but he would understand it.

“Now, it was hypothesized that the ‘jumping’—my term, not theirs—could be corrosive and generally bad to anyone actually doing it, so whomever left had to have one heck of a healing factor, and both Wolverine and Saber-tooth said no, we’re not doing that, while Wade couldn't because, well.” She shifted in her seat, clearly embarrassed. “Anyhow, I was the last choice, but the only one and you know what? This whole multiverse thing is just plain weird. You wouldn't believe some of the things I’ve seen. I’ve been drawing them to share when I get home.”

“So, you came here to look for BB?” clarified Peter.

“When I get BB, the next time the portal opens it will take me home,” Angel explained. “In the past,” she added, “BB has gotten tipped off about me too early and decided to run, which is why I’m being extra careful this time. This time, instead of chasing BB down, I’ve focused on finding the soul she’s looking for.”

“Have you found the soul yet?”

Amber eyes once again met Peter’s own. “Oh, yes,” said the girl firmly, with satisfaction.

Before Peter could reply to that the door to the apartment opened and Wade walked in. “Honey, I’m hooome!” he trilled. He proudly presented the girl with a notebook and a box of colored pencils. “Your payment,” he said dramatically.

She grinned and grabbed them, moving faster than she had at any point during the visit. “Thank you,” she said brightly before leaving.

Wade chuckled as he closed the door behind her turned to face Peter. “We need to talk,” Peter said firmly.

[ashyblondwaves]

Just Ask Her (Part 2)

Part 1 can be found here. Also posted to AO3. 

There were ingredients everywhere. Fresh green beans and artichokes, chicken and lemons. All in disarray. It certainly looked much easier on television, when all the ingredients were already prepared and measured. All the host had to do was dump them in a pan. Vision realized he wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t have a behind the scenes team to prepare his ingredients for him. It was all up to him.

“That should be everything,” Tony said, putting the last of the canvas grocery bags in the kitchen drawer. “Before you ask, candles are already in holders in the dining room. Left you some matches too and I told the team the kitchen and dining room were reserved for you tonight. If they want food they can go out and get it. They should leave you alone.”

Vision stared at Tony, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. “Mr. Stark, you’ve done far more than I asked and I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, nonchalantly. “Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you. I gotta go, I’m taking Pepper out to dinner tonight. You got it from here?”

“I hope so,” Vision replied, reaching for the bundle of green beans. He looked at the long stems coming from them. “I guess this is what I trim then?”

Tony nodded, looking at Vision almost sympathetically. “Yeah, just get rid of those stems. I used to do that all the time as a kid. It’s actually really cathartic. Try it, just snap off the end.”

Vision plucked a green bean from the bundle and held it between his fingers, using his other hand to bend the stemmed end. With a satisfying crack, the bean was trimmed.

“Magic,” Tony said, waving his hands through the air. “Alright! I have to go.” He moved around the kitchen quickly, yelling over his shoulder as he left. “Good luck, you’ll be fine. I’d tell you not to do anything I wouldn’t but that wouldn’t be very fun!” With a slam of the door, he was gone.

Vision stared down at the ingredients once more, quickly forming a plan to tackle it all. He didn’t hear Wanda pad into the kitchen.

“Vis?” She asked gently. “I hope I’m not underdressed for the occasion.”

When Vision looked up, all he saw was Wanda standing in front of him. She’d changed out of the clothes she went shopping in and was now wearing a soft, gray sweater that hung off her frame in all the right places. Vision couldn’t help but notice the soft skin of her shoulder peeking out from the lush fabric. With it, she wore a pair of black leggings that hugged her legs so perfectly it almost felt wrong to look at them. Her feet were bare. She looked perfect. Truth be told, according to Vision, she could have worn a potato sack and still looked perfect.

“You look stunning,” Vision said, snapping a green bean and dropping it into a bowl. “Dress codes aren’t implemented in my kitchen.”

“I didn’t realize this was your kitchen now,” Wanda laughed, walking closer to the kitchen island. “Is there anything I could help you with?”

With a sigh, Vision gave in.

“Normally, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to help prepare your own meal,” he said, looking down at everything still in disarray. “But would you be willing to finish trimming these beans so I can work on the artichokes? I’m afraid my knife skills leave a lot to be desired. I can chop ingredients easily, but the finesse required for this part may take awhile.”

“Of course,” Wanda said, hopping up onto a stool at the island and sliding the bowl of trimmed beans in her direction. “I know you want to do this on your own, but it’s ok to ask for help. Besides, I’ve always liked the idea of cooking a meal with my…” she trailed off for just a moment before finishing her sentence. “Friend.”

Vision couldn’t explain it, but the slip in words gave him a jolt of confidence that the night wasn’t going to be a complete disaster. She almost said boyfriend, he thought, smiling to himself as he grabbed a knife from the drawer and set the oven to 425. They were on the same page. They had to be.

They worked in silence for the next few minutes as Vision broke down the first artichoke, peeling away leaf after leaf in search of this so-called heart.

“It seems very wasteful to buy all these artichokes just to use one piece of it,” Vision said, pulling another leaf from the vegetable.

Wanda looked at Vision with sympathetic eyes. “I’m pretty sure they sell cans of artichoke hearts you could’ve used.”

“I certainly wish that chef on the show I watched had mentioned that,” Vision said, looking down at the mess of artichoke parts in front of him. “At least I know now.”

“Wait,” Wanda paused, green bean in hand. “You watched cooking shows for this?”

Vision nodded. “I wanted to be a little more prepared for the task than I was last time. But it appears I’ve hit my first obstacle.”

“This’ll be fine, Vis,” Wanda said, pushing the bowl of finished green beans away. “Give me a few of those artichokes.”

They tackled the artichokes together in companionable silence until each one had been stripped down to the heart.

“Thank you,” Vision said gratefully. As he spoke he tossed some thyme onto a baking sheet with the green beans and started with the seasoning. “That went much faster than if I’d done it all myself.”

The rest of the cooking went surprisingly smooth once the artichokes were on the baking sheet with the green beans and in the oven. Vision moved swiftly through the kitchen, grabbing a skillet for the chicken and quietly seasoning it and browning it.

“Okay,” Vision said with a relaxed sigh. “Lemon, please!”

“Here’s your lemon, sir!” Wanda played along, plucking the lemon from the countertop and handing it to Vision, who cut the lemon in half and placed the halves in the skillet with the chicken. To finish it off, he added the rest of the thyme and put the skillet in the oven.

The finishing touches were easy. It was just a matter of combining everything into one dish. Tossing in a little more parmesan, Vision plated Wanda’s meal and stood in front of it proudly.

“Let’s hope it tastes as good as it looks,” Vision said. “Follow me to the dining room?”

The dining room was dimly lit, the candles arranged on the table in such a way that it gave the illusion that the table was smaller; just enough for two people on a date rather than the large and luxurious piece of furniture it really was.

“Here you go,” Vision said, setting the plate down and pulling out a chair for Wanda. “Dinner is served.”

As Wanda settled in with her meal, Vision lit the candles. They flickered, casting a beautiful dusky glow throughout the room. Vision sat quietly across from Wanda, watching nervously as she took her first bite.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, nodding enthusiastically as she finished her bite. “Vis, this is really good. Really good.”

A swell of pride filled Vision’s senses. “Thank you,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I should be thanking you,” Wanda replied, finishing another bite. “I would have been ok with Mac and Cheese out of the box. But this is absolutely delicious. Thank you, Vision.”

They stared at each other for what seemed like days, smiles wide on both of their faces. Now, Vision thought. It was time to ask her.

“Could I get you something to drink?”

No! Wrong question.

“I’m okay for now,” Wanda said, cutting into her chicken. “But a nice glass of chardonnay after this will hit the spot.”

Vision nodded, taking note of Wanda’s request. But now was not the time to discuss an after dinner wine. If he didn’t ask her now, he was afraid he never would and they’d spend the rest of their time together dancing around the idea of being something more.

“Wanda,” Vision started, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “As you know, I regard our friendship very highly. Getting to know you has helped me learn so many things. Happiness, sadness, laughter but most importantly.. love.”

By now, Wanda had stopped eating her meal. She clutched her fork in her right hand, eyes wide and body at attention as Vision continued.

“Please stop me if you think I’m overstepping any boundaries,” he said. “But I get this feeling that there may be more between us that we’ve yet to talk about, let alone explore. Is that something you feel, too?”

Wanda stayed silent and Vision immediately wondered if he’d said something wrong. Had he made her feel obligated to say yes? Maybe a meal wasn’t the right idea after all.

“You can tell me,” Vision assured her, resisting the urge to reach out for her hand, just in case. “No matter the answer.”

With a shaky breath, Wanda finally answered.

“So much that sometimes it almost hurts,” she admitted. “Just being near you brings me so much comfort. But I’ve been wondering what it could be like between us.. as more than friends.”

“I’d really like to find out,” Vision said, finally reaching across the table and taking Wanda’s hand. “This game we’ve been playing..”

Wanda shook her head. “It’s not working anymore. Maybe it never did.”

“I think we were just fooling ourselves,” Vision agreed. “And wasting time where we could have been together.”

“Soo..” Wanda urged, running her thumb over Vison’s hand. “Are we done wasting time?”

“We are done wasting time.”

They shared a quick smile as Wanda picked her fork back up and dug into the rest of her food and continued on in silence back to the kitchen to clean up the cooking aftermath.

“TV in my room when we’re done?” Wanda asked, scrubbing her plate at the sink. It’d become a nightly routine with them, but she still always made sure to ask him and let him know he was welcome to join her.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Vision said over his shoulder. He tackled the mess of artichokes before joining Wanda at the sink to finish the dishes.

“Hi,” Wanda said coyly, bumping Vision’s side with her shoulder playfully.

There was a sense of relief between them now. One that finally allowed them to do all the little things that they’d been skirting around for months for fear that it would escalate into something they weren’t ready for.

“Oh,” Vision said, pretending he hadn’t seen Wanda next to him. He scooped up some bubbles from the sink and flicked them in Wanda’s direction. “Hello.”

Wanda laughed a genuine, hearty laugh -- one that Vision had never heard before --  and returned the favor, spraying bubbles all over Vision’s sweater before turning the sink’s sprayer on him.

“Unfair advantage!” Vision yelled, trying to shield himself with his arms. “Unfair advantage!”

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” Wanda teased, releasing the button on the sprayer and setting it back in its place. “You may have to take that sweater off.”

Vision narrowed his eyes at Wanda, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, ready to play along. “You certainly don’t expect me to do that here in the middle of the kitchen, right?”

“Nooo. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wanda hummed. “You can take it off in my room.”

Wanda grabbed Vision’s hand and pulled him down the hallway with her toward the bedroom. Once inside she closed and locked the door, sending Vision’s thoughts reeling. They always closed the door but never did they lock it. Tonight was going to be different.

“Before I take this off,” Vision said, toying with the hem of the sweater. “Can I kiss you first? I realize I should have kissed you twenty minutes ago in the dining room and I didn’t, which was foolish.”

Wanda took a step forward, nodding her approval.

Vision took Wanda’s hands in his and pulled her close until their bodies were touching. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, feeling Wanda’s body melt against his. There were no fireworks, no fanfare, but something stirred deep inside Vision that kept him rooted to the spot, lips working against Wanda’s. As far as first kisses go, Vision didn’t think he did half bad.

When they finally parted, Vision pressed his forehead to Wanda’s, whispering his next sentence.

“I’ve wanted to do that for far too long.”

Wanda sighed and closed her eyes, letting her hands wander underneath Vision’s wet sweater. She ran her hands along the unique combination of vibranium and skin, feeling it contract as her hands roamed. Soon, Vision’s hands were at the hem of his sweater again, pulling it up and over his head in one quick motion and without a word, he kissed her again.

They moved toward the bed, movements clunky but effective and climbed in. Vision went to his usual spot at the head of the bed. He sat with his back against the headboard and watched as Wanda hung back just for a moment. In that quick moment, she pulled her own sweater off, leaving her in just a bra and her leggings.

“I wanted to join you,” she said, shrugging at Vision’s surprised look.

Without another word, she crawled across the bed and toward Vision, straddling his hips when she reached him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, bucking her hips so her middle rubbed against him.

“Can you feel that?” Wanda asked, grinding against him again, lips grazing against his with each word. “Does that do anything for you?”

“Yes,” Vision groaned. “Keep going.”

Wanda didn’t need to be told twice. She continued her movements, smiling against Vision’s lips when she started to feel him even more between her legs. She wasn’t sure if it’d work. If it was something Vision was even capable of, but with each snap of her hips he groaned a little more and grew a little harder underneath her.

They spent their night taking turns on each other. Exploring, teasing, tasting. Learning what combination of hands, fingers and tongues made them come undone the most.

As they lay in bed, naked and sated for the moment Vision remembered something Wanda had said earlier in the night. He propped himself up on his elbow and asked her the question.

“Did you still want that chardonnay?”

[malikmata]

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like  “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

[thesearchforbluejello]

Imagine a "Star Trek: Lower Decks" style sitcom in the Stargate universe. Stargate: SG-47... the crew that follows up on all the really boring planets SG-1 goes to once and never again. They always debrief with Walter instead of the General. They annoyed the Nox once and now they show up to pull pranks on SG-47 in revenge. Minor Goa'ulds catch them and are depressed they're not SG-1 or someone more important so they just release them.

My notifications ate this ask; I don't know when it's from, but I'm just seeing it now. Please accept this totally unedited bullshit fic as my apology and thanks for how hard this ask made me laugh. I'm definitely not supposed to be writing a final right now. And I know you said minor Goa'uld but like I couldn't resist this opportunity. Also, me, using a minific to talk about my obsession with what the hieroglyphs in a Goa'uld ship could be? More likely than you think.

​A Soldier, a Linguist, a Botanist, and a Biologist Walk into a Ha'tak

Major Lissa Cannon emerges from the event horizon into the bright, clear sunlight of P4X-737. She takes a deep breath and immediately sneezes. "Great," she says.

Dr. Jess Abubakar passes her on the right, heading down the stone stairs of the gate platform without hesitation. "Better get used to it," he says with a cheerfulness that she doesn't-- and any reasonable person wouldn't-- share.

"Jess, I swear to God," Dr. Beth Rosenberg says as she follows him down the steps.

"You're just salty you have to help us collect samples," Jess counters, more affable than Cannon would have expected anyone to be before she actually started working with him.

Beside her, Dr. Chris Richardson just gives a wry smile before heading down the stairs after their teammates. Cannon sneezes again.

"It's the pollen!" Jess says as she joins the group. "Initial samples brought back by SG-1 indicate that it's at least twice as potent as anything we have on Earth."

"How is that a good thing," Cannon gripes even though she'd sat through the briefing and already listened to Jess and Bill Lee go on about how important it could prove to be.

"I mean, just think of the possibilities!" Jess says, more than happy to repeat himself. "We could synthesize new antihistamines, or even make existing ones more effective. We could develop new crops that are potentially more resistant to blights or unfavorable growing conditions."

"Yay," Beth says, drier than the climate on this planet has likely ever been.

"You're just mad because there are no indigenous people here to talk to," Cannon points out.

"You could talk to the plants," Jess says.

"Studies have proven that talking to plants encourages growth," Chris adds, soft-spoken as always.

"I'm not talking to the plants," Beth says.

"Why not?" Cannon asks. "With this much pollen in the air, after a few hours they might start talking back."

"Oof, like when SG-7 was on P8Q-984," Jess laughs. "That's not an experience I want to have for myself."

"Those were spores, not pollen," Chris corrects amiably as the team starts into the forested area beyond the field in which the gate sits.

"Sentiment's the same," Jess says.

Cannon hears a rustle in the undergrowth and raises her P-90, her team stopping immediately in defensive positions behind her. After a moment of nothing but birdsong and her own breathing, she relaxes. "Must've been an animal," she says.

"SG-1's initial exploration didn't indicate any indigenous animals on the ground," Beth says.

"Well, that's why we get their leftovers, because everything is just 'initial,'" Cannon points out. She takes the lead as they continue between the trees, rifle still ready in her hands just in case.

"Bloodthirsty squirrels is not on my extraterrestrial exploratory bucket list," Jess says.

"Yeah, mine neither," Cannon agrees. She's barely got the sentence out of her mouth when she hits a force field, face-first. "Motherfucker," she tries to say, a natural reaction, but the syllables come out muddled because her face is suddenly very numb. She drops to a knee and raises her rifle, looking for whatever danger has to be in the forest with them. Around her, her team drops the specimen cases they'd been carrying and raise their own weapons. They're not armed for this; SG-1's previous mission and the UAV surveys hadn't revealed anything dangerous enough to warrant coming through armed with anything more than Cannon's P-90, a couple of flash-bangs, and an assortment of 9mils and zats carried by her and her teammates. Except for Cannon, they're scientists, not soldiers.

"Lower your weapons," a voice commands from the trees.

"You lower your force field," Cannon calls back.

"I think not." Around them, Jaffa begin to materialize from the forest.

"Fuck," Cannon says.

*

The Jaffa strip them of their gear, tossing their vests, holsters, and packs in a careless pile on top of the specimen cases they'd dropped when the force field had initially gone up. They're surprisingly respectful about it, which Cannon almost laments because she's pissed off and ready to fight, even if she knows it's a fight she won't win. She watches their gear disappear from view in a flash of light as they're beamed up to a ship she knows must be waiting above.

Gold walls and a polished floor illuminated by dim lights materialize around them. Another group of Jaffa is waiting. One of their captors reports to a man Cannon assumes is his superior. She tries to pick of bits and pieces she recognizes from the language but doesn't get much.

"Wait," Beth says, "can you say that again? That's word isn't in the lexicon we've been developing."

The Jaffa looks at her sidelong in confusion before his superior barks an order.

"This way," he says. The Jaffa behind them push the team roughly forward.

"Yeah, I heard him," Cannon says, her face still numb and her words muddled, "relax."

They spend the next several hours sitting in a cell. Beth whips a notebook out of one of the pockets of her pants and starts making notes on the glyphs in their cell.

"Does that actually say anything?" Jess asks. "I've never been on a Goa'uld ship before."

A chorus of variants on "yeah, me neither" precede Beth's answer.

"It does, actually, though most of it just repeats. A lot of it is just vague, seemingly formulaic stories of someone's victories and conquering and blah blah blah, but the name has been chiseled out," she says, tapping a glyph that's clearly been destroyed deliberately.

Cannon turns her head against the wall from where she's sulking with her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. "Why?"

"My best guess? Whoever owns this ship now stole it from another Goa'uld and had their name erased. Think damnatio memoriae."

"Huh," Jess says, setting his hand of cards down to Chris's obvious annoyance. "But they kept the part about the victories?"

"Why not? Obviously they had someone spend all the time necessary to do this to the whole ship, so keeping the rest saved a hell of a lot of work. Plus, if they bested the guy this ship used to belong to, that's quite a flex." Beth shrugs and goes back to writing in her notebook. Jess picks up his cards again and Cannon can tell by the barest quirk of Chris's lips that they have the winning hand.

"You know what I'm thinking about right now?" Cannon says. "Mashed potatoes."

"Ugh, the mashed potatoes in the mess taste like plastic," Beth says without looking away from the wall.

"I know; once I start eating them, they're so disgusting I just can't stop myself. It's like the flavor gets grosser with every bite."

"They're not bad with the roast beef," Chris says.

"That's because the roast beef is the only palatable thing the mess serves besides jello," Jess points out.

"It was lemon chicken today," Cannon sighs. She rests her head against the wall again. "My vest had all my granola bars. What could these guys possibly want with us," she complains.

"Do you think they've realized that we're only number 47 because they want any potential enemies to think there are more SG teams than there really are?" Jess asks.

"I don't know," Cannon says stiffly, "but say that again a little louder and I'm sure they will."

Jess holds his hands up in placation, tipping his cards towards Cannon. Chris is about to destroy him with that hand.

"Well," Cannon sighs, "the good news is that I can feel my face again."

Heavy footfalls sound in the hallway and Cannon stands, shifting her weight to ease the stiffness in her legs. Beth hurriedly stuffs her notebook back in her pocket and Chris and Jess shove the cards into the pocket of Jess's pants.

"You will come with us," the Jaffa says.

"Sure," Cannon says as she leads her team after him. "I don't suppose you guys have any snacks on board this thing? You've got to eat, right?" He doesn't answer. "Didn't your mom ever teach you to share?"

The Jaffa ignores her and leads them into an open room with a throne at the fall wall. Ba'al surges to his feet as they enter. "Fool," he spits at the Jaffa beside him, who Cannon recognizes as the leader of the group that had captured them. "This isn't SG-1."

"My lord--"

"Who are you?" Ba'al interrupts.

"Major Lissa Cannon, leader of SG-47," she says, raising her chin.

"Forty-seven," Ba'al says in disbelief.

"We're a science team; we were studying the flora of P4X-737 when you so rudely interrupted."

Ba'al just looks at her. "You're scientists."

Jess raises his hand. "Doctor."

"Doctor," Chris agrees.

"Major," Cannon says with a shrug.

"Doctor," Beth says.

"I've seen this episode of M*A*S*H," Chris says.

"I did also once make a baking soda volcano for a sixth-grade science fair," Cannon adds.

Ba'al sits back on his throne, crossing one leg over the other and resting his elbows on the arms, looking the picture of a carefree megalomaniac.

"Bring them back to the surface," he orders the Jaffa with a lazy wave of his hand, without so much as raising his arm from the throne. "Finish studying your plants," Ba'al says, "I have no use for you."

"That's kind of rude," Cannon says.

*

The Jaffa drop them on the planet's surface and beam back up to the ship. Cannon pulls her vest off the pile, slings it over her shoulders, and pulls a granola bar out of the pocket. She rips it open and stuff it into her mouth, chewing as she zips her vest and secures her holsters around her legs.

"That was easier than I expected," Beth admits.

"Sometimes I think the only reason the Goa'uld try to capture SG teams is just because SG-1 pisses them off so much," Jess adds.

Cannon snorts at that. "Let's get our samples and haul it back to the gate before the mess runs out of mashed potatoes."

"You realize that's extremely unlikely, right?" Chris deadpans.

Cannon shrugs and stuffs the wrapper of her granola bar into her pocket. "Even so, let's get a move on."

[joviewinchester]

25 Days of Christmas Special!

Oh my god. He’s so pretty. I need help. My mom literally told me I’m gonna end up marrying a criminal one day and I was like. Oh. Thanks, mom. We have good times. Like if I shift to the Vampire Diaries you best bet I am going to marry a criminal but like here, eh. Maybe. I’m probably on the FBI watchlist at this point. Side note, I love Caroline but she’s getting hard core dissed in this thing so like I guess that’s a warning. Also sorry that this one is a day late. I had writers block.

3.) Secret Santa

“Why did you invite him?” Caroline asked Y/N quietly.

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you. He was literally trapped alone in a prison world for years of his life. He hasn’t had any pleasant Christmases.”

“Oh, I don’t know why I’d be upset that you brought a sociopath that murdered his entire family.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why you’d be upset either but we’re all here for secret Santa, so I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.” Y/N sassed.

“Yeah. Merry freaking Christmas. I have a sociopath and Damon Salvatore in our house. Our house Y/N. Ours.”

“You really shouldn’t be upset. I’m pretty sure l am the only person in this house right now who hasn’t killed someone. Also, you literally look like you want to murder me right now, so you and Kai have more in common than I thought.” Y/N said. She patted her older sister on the back before leaving the kitchen where Caroline insisted on a sidebar.

As Y/N walked into the sitting room, she heard Caroline groan in frustration.

“You do know that more than half of the room heard that conversation, right?” Damon asked as Y/N sat in between him and Kai.

“Yep. Do I care? No.”

“I think you’ve been hanging around those two too much, Y/N.” Bonnie said gesturing towards Damon and Kai.

“That hurts Bon Bon. It hurts.” Damon said sarcastically placing his hand over his chest. Bonnie smiled but rolled her eyes.

“Well, now you made Caroline into the Grinch, so hopefully she doesn’t take it out on the rest of us.” Elena said.

“I heard that!” Caroline yelled from the kitchen. They all laughed under their breath. Seconds later Caroline came out of the kitchen carrying cookies, a light scowl planted on her face. It soon turned into a fake smile, you know one of those scary Caroline fake smiles.

“Hmm. I’m fine. I’m totally fine. This’ll be the best secret Santa ever. Who knows? Might even top Friendsgiving where Jo almost died on the couch. Such low expectations to meet. It has to be better, right? Right?”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s just put down the hot tray of cookies. That’s it.” Stefan said patting her on the shoulder.

Caroline let out a sigh, trying to calm herself. “So, let’s get started.”

The tension in the air was thick. Kai hadn’t said a word. Every time Y/N looked over he was on Twitter. At one point she almost laughed because she saw him looking at Ralph Macchio’s Twitter.

“Okay so, everyone knows how this works right? Give the person’s name you drew last week the gift. It’s simple seriously. If you don’t know how this works you’re an idiot.” Caroline said.

“Okay. So, the passive aggressive attitude hasn’t passed has it?” Y/N asked.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get this over with. Also, I’d appreciate if you found somewhere else to stay at tonight.”

“Rude. Yo, Damon, can I stay in one of the spare bedrooms tonight?”

“Sure. Problem solved blondie.” He said addressing Caroline in her least favorite way. She scoffed.

“I don’t get a say? It’s my house too.” Stefan chimed in.

“Do you have something to say to me there, Stef?” Y/N asked.

“No, I would just like for my brother to console me before having someone spend the night in my house.”

“Our house Stefan. Ours.”

“Oh lovely. Just what we need! Another sibling feud!” Elena exlclaimed.

“Okay, you know what? I’m just gonna go. I don’t want in the middle of this whatsoever. Elena, are you coming?” Bonnie asked.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” She said following Bonnie out the door.

“Great! Look what you did, Y/N!”

“What I did?! You’re the one that’s being a bitch!”

“You did not just go there!”

“I’m the oldest one Stefan! I make the decisions!”

“Well you sure don’t act like it, Damon!”

The arguments overlapped as Kai stood in the corner observing.

“Heh. Just how Christmas was at my house.” Kai smirked to himself.

Kai didn’t quite catch what was said that caused it to happen, but Y/N punched Caroline in the face.

She gasped popping her broken nose back in place. “Jerk!” She exclaimed.

“Bitch!” Y/N said back. She flipped her off and ran upstairs. Minutes later she came back down carrying a bag of essentials. “Have fun telling mom why I’m not home by curfew, you dumbass! Come on, Kai.”

He chuckled to himself a bit, then followed her. Not long after, they had arrived at Kai’s apartment.

“You coming in or what? You’re staying here now right?” He asked.

“I was just gonna like sleep in my car, but since your offering…”

“You’re welcome anytime your sister’s being stuck up and bitchy.”

“Oh so literally 24/7? Thanks.” She joked.

“Sorry you had to listen to that.” She muttered as they entered the building.

“Eh. I’m used to it.”

They entered his apartment. Y/N threw her stuff beside the couch. There was an awkward moment of silence before Kai broke it.

“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah. You wanna go to the Grill or something?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They drove to the Grill and entered to see Damon at the bar drinking whiskey. What else was new?

“Stef kick you out of the house?” Y/N joked.

“Oh ha ha, Y/N. No, I just don’t want to deal with his bullshit. Well, would you look at that? You brought the psychopath with you.”

“Sociopath.” Kai corrected. The door swung open revealing Bonnie and Elena.

“Wow. We all try to avoid each other and end up in the same place.” Elena said.

“Well, merry freaking Christmas and a happy new year. My sister hates me. It’s 7:00 pm and I’m drinking. And I haven’t even stabbed anyone with a candy cane yet. I’ve always wanted to do that.” She mumbled the last sentence to herself. She downed a shot.

“Also you aren’t even 21 and are drinking in a public place.” Elena added. Y/N glared at her.

“You know, I’m starting to worry about your violent tendencies.” Bonnie stated.

“I think it suits her.” Damon smirked.

“I definitely agree with Damon for once in my life. It’s hot.”

Y/N elbowed Kai in the ribs.

“Ow. Why didn’t he get elbowed?” Kai complained.

“He wasn’t flirting with me.”

Y/N ordered some chicken strips and French fries from Matt.

“You’re such a child.” Damon said. “Oh I’m sorry I would rather eat chicken strips than a salad or a blood bag. I’m not a vampire or a real adult, Damon. You should know that by now.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot in the midst of everything. Merry Christmas, Kai.” Y/N handed him a Walkman and a cassette. “I made you a mixtape. I understand if you don’t like use it or anything but…”

“No, Y/N, I like it. Thanks…Wow. Ugh, I’m having that mushy feeling again. Gross. Feelings are hard.”

Bonnie and Elena gave each other a look. “Damon, let’s go play pool or something.” Bonnie said. Her and Elena forced him to get up.

Once they got over to the pool table, Damon glared at them. “No. No. No. We were doing damage control. Are you two seriously going to let your best friend fall in love with him?”

“Look, this could potentially make him less of a threat. Wouldn’t you like to let the issue fix itself for once? Kai has feelings now. He is in love with her. We keep it that way, he might not go on another murderous rampage.”

“How did you say that so nonchalantly? He has feelings because he literally killed his brother.” Damon said gesturing toward him.

“Oh god. They’re making out. That is literally disgusting. How are you all okay with this?”

“I don’t want to do something for once. I agree with Elena. Let the problem fix itself.” Bonnie said.

“You know what? Fine. I won’t interfere. I’ll just be watching. I’ll l be waiting because sooner or later this is going to bite you both in the ass, just like when she was with Kol. The cycle is repeating, and I’m not helping this time when you just ‘leave it alone’”

Damon left, and Bonnie and Elena both shrugged and started playing pool. “Merry Christmas Elena.” “Merry Christmas Bonnie.”