#where his loyalty to the gods is unshakeable

[seulgishaku]

When Jason had his coin that could transform into a spear or a lance or a battle hammer and a sword etc, he had names for all the weapons

Now Jason loved mythology. It was the one pleasure he allowed himself to delve into so naturally, all of his weapons were inspired.

He called his spear Ius, to rep his father's titles for law and justice. He called his hammer Mjolnir, in honor of the mighty Nordic god, Thor.

But his sword he named entirely on his own. He called her Scarlett, to spite the foolish demigods who would dare draw their swords against Rome. No matter how many times he attempted to clean her, no matter how deep and thorough, her beautiful gold blade was always stained a tinge of red.

[radioactive-mouse]

I get how tempting it is to just label flower husbands as “toxic” and move on, but god they can be SO much more nuanced than that, it makes me insane.

I think something that goes largely unexplored by the fanbase is c!scott’s obsession with composure. he’s clearly very proud of his ability to stay calm under pressure and be two steps ahead of everyone else— not that he’s afraid to rely on people, him and cleo very clearly have that unshakable trust between them, but i think that sometimes he gets so wrapped up in being steady, reliable scott, never hot-headed, never spiteful, or clumsy, or nervous.

and jimmy is a very real threat to that composure, more often than not.

and i think the way their relationship functions in 3rd life, while steady at the time, definitely set them up for complications down the road. scott, for as fiercely dedicated to his allies as he is, kind of tends to handle jimmy with kid gloves for the earlier parts of their relationship. he’s not very good at the death game, but that’s fine, he doesn’t need to be, scott will take care of it— he’ll get them set up with armor and potions and walls and jimmy can do… whatever it is he does when scott’s not around. mostly getting swindled, if he had to guess. but it’s fine, because scott can be steady, level headed, clever—

i do think most of scott’s ribbing about how he doesn’t know why he lets jimmy do anything when all he does is get scammed half the time is genuinely all in good fun, (jimmy is more than happy to play the fool most of the time, if only to bring a little bit of levity to things) it is super symptomatic of the way scott actually thinks about him. i don’t believe he thinks jimmy is actually stupid or anything, but i do think scott doesn’t quite trust him to get anything done. scott would never in a million years let himself lean on jimmy for any kind of support, because in scott’s mind jimmy’s job is to be bright and brash and only listen to that heart of his that’s too big for his body, too big for this game.

and i think too often we forget just how much losing jimmy destroyed scott in 3rd life. you ever think about how wrecked he must’ve been to place 10th despite being a consistent finalist in every other season? do you think about how all he has left is the burning, white-hot urge for revenge from the second jimmy’s body hit the ground?

i don’t think scott ever wants to feel like that again. i don’t think scott wants anyone to see him like that again. i think scott tries very hard to love jimmy from a safe distance where no one gets hurt. and i think that distance fucking kills jimmy, metaphorically speaking.

(also, tangentially related, i think there’s something to be said for how instantly tango goes “we only have a short time together, your curse will probably get us killed, and that’s fine.” and how jealous scott gets of that sentiment. as far as scott is concerned, tango and jimmy are of the same niche— they feel everything, loudly, even if it causes problems and even if it gets messy. and god that just makes his blood boil.)

i’m just so… entranced with the way scott carries himself with so much confidence and it’s not like he’s insecure, he really believes that, he’s a strong player and he knows that, but also revealing any emotion he deems to be “ugly” or “messy” makes him start to completely unravel. the driving force behind him is always love and loyalty and protectiveness over the people he cares about, but he’s juggling that with being dead set on never getting so close that losing them will completely ruin him.

anyway, this is getting away from me, but i think a lot of jimmy’s frustration with scott comes from the fact that he refuses to let their relationship go both ways, and i think by the time of the infamous “say i love you back” scene in limlife he’s just exhausted with throwing himself repeatedly against scott’s brick wall of perfectionism. that, and the whole Situation between them in double life, which i could honestly make it’s own post but good god i need to STOP typing or this will go on forever. forgive my completely disorganized ramblings i just have been trying to get all this down on paper FOREVER

[maopll]

Hiya! Hope I'm not bothering you! I'd like to go by 🪼 anon please.

Could I... request headcanons of Diluc, Zhongli, Thoma, Childe, Itto and Kaveh with a quiet s/o telling them, in a loving tone, how much she loves them for the first time?

For eternities I shall love you

| genshin impact !

⌗:, a/n: class is going on and I'm in no mood to deal with that gradient bs. have this I wrote in whatever time I had. anyways I love puppy crushes or love at first sight <3 kavehs a bit long...I've got things to say...

⌗:, warning: none

⌗:, pairings: diluc, zhongli, thoma, childe, itto & kaveh w/ gn!reader (separately)

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ✧ ˚ 　· 　　

,,you and this man had been seeing eachother for a long time and surely enough you developed feelings for him. gathering courage enough for a person as quite as yourself you finally told him how much you love him...

DILUC

He felt as if everything around you two stopped. no longer were the winds blowing, neither were the serene lulls of the crickets chirping could he be heard. you poured your heartfelt affection into what you said. it was true. you loved him a lot and want to stay with him for the rest of your life. you were scared that he might reject you but the feelings these days were too much to bear. so you told him. he was having such rapid heartbeats that he thought he would just have an heartattack. his face turned the colour of his hair and you thought he caught a fever or something. he cleared his throat and covered his mouth as he spoke the same to you in a gentle tone, very rarely heard of by others. but it was a familiar tone to you, he had been more gentle, more loving around you than anyone else. he found solace with your company. he felt like he could breath again, shoveling the idea of eliminating the abyss and fatui. all are gone. his mind would as clear as daylight whenever with you. So...how can he let this opportunity slip by? so he accepted your proposal and sealed it with a kiss befitting a gentleman such as himself.

ZHONGLI

He was a god of contracts with a heart skin to stone cold feelings. Love, warmth, joy, were all devoid. only the thrill of war and emotions alike were felt by him. but he has found a piece of emotions which defines his human self best. adoration for you. as he found himself under the moonlit night near the waterbody of nantianmen. He listened intently, the way you spoke those words and he even observed how your lips slowly curled and there were blooms in your cheeks. you spoke in the the most loving tone how much you loved him. serenity of the surroundings were perfectly synced with your sudden proposal. perhaps you thought of it beforehand? nevertheless how can he reject such a heartfelt affection to Zhongli and a unadulterated devotion to Morax? he accepted your affection for him and he will accept those throughout eternities.

THOMA

Fell in love with you at first sight when you were in dire need of help with taking some stuff to your house. you looked so lovely in that yukata you were wearing. he has served the kamisatos for many years and he vowed to always show his unshakable service to them. though he would wish that he himself had s lover of his own, he would soon push those thoughts away as he would be reminded of the work that needed to be taken care of the next day. but did he hear you right? did you just confess to him or is it another one of those dreams where you and him were living happily? nope it's definitely reality where you had this sickeningly sweet tone telling him how much you love him. he smiled so brightly and hugged you as close as he could. he loved you so much and he had been waiting for this moment ever since he was a teenager having wild dreams. so dreams do become reality huh?

CHILDE

He was a fighter who swore his loyalty to the Tsaritsa and his nation. he had only one family to love and thought that there would be no one who would be able to win his affection. he is a harbinger who lives off of fighting. so how did he find such an angel as sweet as yourself telling him in the most pure voice how much you love him? he is a harbinger and you must be in the right mind to actually fall for him. at first he thought it was a farce and you were just trying to entertain him but a part of him also told him to accept it. there's no way you would lie after you found your true feelings for him. you seemed determined to have him fall in love with you and date you. he may seem crazy because be accepted your request only because he wants you for himself only but he also cares for you deeply. he squeeled like a two year old and had this huge shit earing grin on his face as he happily told you "I love you too!"

ITTO

Nobody liked him. only grandma oni and his gang members could tolerate his behaviour of a three year old. even he realises how much of an annoyance he could be to other people but you, you were different. you loved his outgoing personality. he was a literal ball of sunshine. so you told him in the most normal yet sugary tone how much you loved him. it was your first time confessing and his first time hearing a confession. he felt overwhelmed with emotions as he finally found someone who loves him for who he is. but he needs to show how strong he is to you. he can't have himself crying but...he was litreally crying tears of joy. he had loved you so much and hearing that you love him equally sounds surreal. he only had daydreams of you telling him that you love him but it's true! you do actually love him! he thinks he will melt away because of how warm he feels after your proposal. he likes you so so much that he is ready to fight the world.

KAVEH

He knows of his ups and downs. even if he is a genius and liked by some women throughout sumeru, but some still back away thinking that he is a broke yet genius architect. he always feels envious of his roommate, who is good from all sides. but when you two started interacting more because of both your research works, he wanted to have you all to himself. he didn't want you talking with alhaitham and then contemplating the worth both your and kaveh's friendship, but you never looked at alhaitham differently. Instead, you always had feelings for kaveh. you loved him for his kindness towards the people of sumeru and his passion towards his works. and now here you were. near Chatrakam cave, telling him in a saccharine voice how much you love him. he didn't hesitate. all he needed to confirm his feelings for you were just simple "I love you"s, and he is now tackling to the ground, saying that he has been waiting for so long. he looked like a high schooler but with the body of an adult with the way he was acting, and you just adored it when he does this. he peppered your faces with kisses, and he had this noticeable huge blush on his cheeks evident of the way he was feeling right now. he loves you to the moon and back <3

[whentranslatorscry]

Ikusamonogatari

Full EPUB [MEGA]

Hitagi Honeymoon, by nisioisin

001

There was something odd about the name Araragi Hitagi. No matter how I try, it just doesn’t sit right with me. If I were to trace our acquaintance back to our freshman year at Naoetsu Private High School, where we became classmates, I would find that I have known her for almost a decade. Yet every time I see this name, it feels as unfamiliar as if we had only just met. If you ask me to pinpoint whose responsibility this unshakable strangeness was, I can say with absolute confidence that it was none other than mine, still it felt as though trying to force together two jigsaw pieces that don't fit.

Look at the joints; they're practically crumbling.

It was at the hallowed grounds of North Shirahebi Shrine, in the presence of its very god herself, that we swore an irreplaceable oath to bring each other happiness. But once married, there was a hideous sensation, akin to smudging the most precious aspect of a person I hold most dear in my life, the one and only Senjougahara Hitagi, with cheap paints. It was an indescribably disgusting, unsettling feeling.

The wedding gown and white kimono were meant to symbolize something pure, “a canvas ready to be dyed in the colors of our choosing.” This oft-repeated phrase, while understood, felt old-fashioned, archaic to say the least. Moreover, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I had stripped her of her most precious and fundamental possession: her name. The mere thought of this fact felt like a sharp stab, an eternal reminder to accompany me for the rest of my life. Truthfully, the confidence to create a blissful and harmonious home had eluded me.

How unfair, how unjust.

How utterly tragic.

Under such circumstances, it was simply impossible for me to say that I had no sense of guilt.

“It's not bad at all, Koyomi. I think it sounds even better. Araragi Hitagi, see, it rhymes and rolls off the tongue with such ease it's like it's been my name this whole time.”

Although she claimed not to mind, I couldn't help but be painfully aware of the burden imposed on her that should've been equally shared: we were no longer on equal footing, and the intense sense of immorality did not fade as time went on. If anything, my guilt only intensified.

What I mean by “burden” encompasses the need to reapply for a driver's license, passport, and license plate number, among various other things. The name she had carried for a quarter of a century was forcibly and legally stripped away—wasn’t that an unbelievable, unforgivable act of barbarism?

Just like the domestic violence that suddenly emerges after marriage.¹

The life of Araragi Koyomi had always been one of ceaseless battles against all kinds of unreasonable circumstances. So, even now, he should continue to fight for the sake of his family name. But this time, his opponent was not a monster, nor was it a mystery or tale of supernatural transformation, regrettably—it was the country of Japan itself.

Well, it could be argued that there wasn’t much difference between the country of Japan and its world of supernatural creatures, but I can't simply let that claim go unchallenged. As an experienced public servant, someone who had truly sworn loyalty to both the nation of Japan and its people, it was hard to advocate for the immediate abolition of the antiquated custom of married couples sharing the same surname. After being transferred to the FBI for advanced training and subsequently being headhunted for employment, and after buying my own home there, I found myself questioning my own patriotism.

Naturally, if we were to go by logic alone, rather than Hitagi legally becoming Araragi Hitagi, I would have become Senjougahara Koyomi. In fact, I had secretly been working on this plan behind the scenes. At first, everything was going smoothly, but the surreptitiously obtained written documentation was soon discovered by her. Hitagi, that is.

Well done, I must say.

“From the very moment we met, I felt a sense of harmony with Araragi-kun—like we were meant to be together. Also, I don’t want my father's surname to be combined with ‘Koyomi.’”

Okay.

Setting aside the latter part, even she shared the same sentiment as me in the beginning. No matter how fiercely we fought, it seemed as though we were ultimately conquered by convention.

Although marriage itself is inherently a form of constraint, and whose surname is used is of little consequence, in the end, tradition dictates that the wife takes the husband's last name. This custom has been ingrained in society for ages. Indeed, it may make sense from a logical standpoint, but ultimately, it is not logic that we must bow to in this matter.

As I recall, the family of Hachikuji— the god worshiped within the grounds of North Shirahebi Shrine, where I pledged myself in marriage—all bore the mother's surname, Tsunade. But alas, as the twin-tailed lost god once confessed to me:

“In the end, things didn’t work out well for my family, you see. We’re no longer a family. During my third year in elementary school, my parents divorced and I had to change my name. I wonder what the point of it all was.”

That’s all.

When I first heard her speak of that, I was young and naive, so I played it cool and responded with a smooth and seamless reply. Now that I’ve become a party to the incident myself, I can’t help but ruminate on the workings and procedures of the law.

Even when putting aside the fact that I work in law enforcement, it’s not something that a civil servant should say, but indeed, one might call it quite bureaucratic. I have inherited this occupation of police officer from my parents (albeit reluctantly). I even believe that I don’t need to inherit the family name.

If it were high school Hitagi, especially during her most intense and edgy days, she would have unquestionably shoved a stapler deep into my mouth just to make me Senjougahara Koyomi.

She should have been resolute in not relinquishing her father's name— I guess you could say that she has grown softer over time. Well, whether she’s grown soft or not, I guess she’s grown up, too.

Back in my youth— or rather, in high school, I would have said to myself, “Won’t get married then. We won’t be bound by a little piece of paper. To preserve our names, our identities, we'll live together with two surnames under one roof. Hell, even with Oikura if I have to.”

Though in the end, as usual, it would most likely have led to a not-so-happy but rather bad ending. But inside the mind of twenty-four-year-old Araragi Koyomi, countless unbearable adult rationalizations came rushing in like a storm, saying, “Well, but things don't usually work out that way, do they? When you are a member of society, you must take reputation and position into account, and in the long run, Hitagi might also find it hard to live such a stubborn life. Besides, it's self-evident that various procedures would become troublesome if we don't enter the marriage registry, so, on the contrary, if it's just a matter of a single piece of paper, it would be best not to fuss about it and get it over with.”

But wait, what’s this? Has Araragi-kun suddenly become so enlightened that he begins to admonish all those ordinary families who have married uncomplainingly and blandly, keeping their own surnames? The times have changed. Nowadays, you can even go by your maiden name at work. Don't be so annoying and nitpicky about it. People like that aren’t popular, you know?

In all honesty, the idea of living with Oikura is tolerable, but the notion of taking Hitagi as a common-law wife is rather unsavory. As a career officer of the Japanese police force and an unofficial member of the FBI, it wouldn’t be surprising if I suddenly died in the line of duty, at least to the same extent as that hellish Spring Break. With the chances of an unforeseen accident being about fifty-fifty, I would rather avoid a situation where Hitagi might be kept from witnessing my final moments due to a bureaucratic technicality like a discrepancy in our last names. I'm sure everyone is well aware of how prone I am to life-threatening situations. No insurance company would ever enroll me in a life insurance policy.

On the other hand, the reverse was also a possibility.

Hitagi worked in the Japanese branch of a foreign financial firm, and you might think her life wouldn't be in any real danger. But she once confided that because she deals with massive amounts of money within the company daily, when she’s seriously out and about, she needs the accompaniment of bodyguards who cling to her like stalkers. I’m not sure if she was pulling my leg, but every time she leaves her home, she carries the latest version of her will with her.

“How strange, I was once swindled out of all my possessions, and now my job is akin to that of a swindler, treating strangers' money as my own and making it multiply incessantly—through stocks, foreign exchange, and cryptocurrencies that I'm not even sure really exist. It's all an enigmatic, ethereal mystery.”

Though her words carried a hint of self-mockery, it was because she had been both a pampered heiress in a mansion and a penniless tenant in a wooden box that she had managed to acquire certain skills. Good or bad, she believed that money were but an illusory thing.

Of course, that's not to say that she could approve of the person she was when she lost her weight and her mother… no, that too was a cherished memory and a cherished trauma.

It could never be forgotten.

Right.

These were the life experiences of Senjougahara Hitagi. Could they really be covered up with just my surname? As if erasing her individuality.

“I think the name change is fun, like a game. But why do you care so much, Koyomi? Is it because you're thinking of another person?”

“Another person?”

It's hard to ignore the seemingly lighthearted remark that it's like a fun game, it feels all the more like an attempt to escape reality. But for now, let’s let it slide. So, who could this other person be?

“Shinobu. Although I’m not sure if I can call her a human person. Come to think of it, Koyokoyo, wasn't it during that Spring Break that you cruelly stole her name?”

Koyokoyo.

The endearing nickname I miss so much…

I also used to call her by the nickname “Gahara-san,” but after she changed her surname, I could no longer address her in this way. It’s embarrassing for adults like us to use such nicknames, but hearing that I could never use it again made me feel as if I had been deprived of a basic human right, leaving me in a state of distress.

It was true, no matter how you put it: the King of Aberrations, the iron-blooded, hot-blooded, cold-blooded Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade— the name of the vampire who has lived for six hundred years.

But it was taken from her, just like life itself.

After losing her prestigious title, the oddity specialist Oshino Meme gave her a new name— Oshino Shinobu.

The man in a Hawaiian shirt said, employing his specialist's surname as a constraint, he would seal her away, deeply and securely.

Which, to be honest, was contradictory and riddled with double standards. Yet, for me, calling her Oshino Shinobu resonated truer and felt more befitting for her as I have known her by that name for longer.

Of course, nobody refers to her as Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade nowadays, but there seems to be a faction of specialists who still call her the “Old Heart-Under-Blade.”

Old Heart-Under-Blade.

What an antiquated name.

“When you think about it, it's a strange and wonderful thing to have the word 'old' added to your name. Don’t you think so, Old Gahara-san?”

“Indeed, if you are going to keep calling me that, I don't want to continue this conversation.”

“I have already experienced the guilt of taking away someone's name… What's going on with this marriage, it's like I'm making the same mistakes over again.”

“It's almost like a de facto remarriage.”

“No, it's a first marriage, actually.”

Although this example exposed the depths of my subconscious, it didn’t entirely resolve the issue which had already taken deep root. It seemed that because I had done it once before, I no longer cared about doing it again now, as if to say that killing one person was the same as killing two. This frightening thought was something that neither Japan nor America would endorse.

Rather, should we not learn from our mistakes?

That had been an emergency measure taken out of necessity for Shinobu, so it couldn’t be said that it was entirely wrong… In this day and age, I can't help but think there might have been another way to do it. It's hard not to question whether my decision to barely keep alive by turning the vampire— the King of Aberrations— that otherwise faced certain death, into my slave, was an immature one, driven by a child's desire for simplicity.

Even as the former Heart-Under-Blade happily gobbles on Mister Donuts in my shadow… And since it's acceptable to use your original family name in the workplace, why then must we discriminate and not apply the same rule to other situations?

With this in mind, I might as well create a business card featuring my Senjougahara pseudonym while at work. I wonder if it's possible to mark your former name on the police officer's guidebook. I'd have to ask Chief Kouga about that next time.

“A seemingly insignificant battle, huh? Ah, yes, an infinitesimally small skirmish indeed.”

“Sounds like you're saying ‘overmorrow's tomorrow.’”

“Even if you were to take the name Senjougahara, it wouldn't make any difference. It won't even make you feel better. It's like we share the same hardships, but it's not the same at all, it's not. The constant labeling of hardships might be painful as well.”

“Do we have no choice but to fight against the state?”

“That’d be quite the unexpected turn of events. Just imagine your high school supporters, they would be flabbergasted as they watch Araragi Koyomi take on the world of politics in a sequel.”

“But I can't overlook those die-hard fans' support. So, should I run for office under the name Senjougahara Koyomi?”

“In that case, to ease the voter process, it might be best to simplify the complex kanji in 'Senjougahara,’ say, using hiragana instead.”

“Must I change my name even if I run for office? Just because it's hard to write. What a troublesome thing, follows me everywhere. But revolutionaries didn't use their real names either.”

“Are we talking about starting a revolution now, like Hanekawa-san?”

“I can't use my real name to run a campaign and cause trouble for my parents. I'm not that unfilial.”

“I wonder about that. It may not be limited to revolutionaries. Nowadays, it seems that a pseudonym one can choose themselves is more valued.”

The conversation had delved into the complicated topic of real names versus pseudonyms… In such an era when anonymity is held in high regard, aren't real names becoming more important than ever? Apparently, in the past, one could not reveal their real name to anyone other than their parents.

“I'm not sure if I can let such a thing be erased on a whim.”

“Was marrying me also on a whim, Koyomi?”

“I retract my previous statement and apologize under the name of Senjougahara Koyomi.”

“You are apologizing under a pseudonym.”

“I apologize under the name of Sen jou ga ha ra Koyomi.”

“Please stop apologizing like a politician. I don't want such a person to be the future chief of the National Police Agency.”

“Your demands are too high for a husband.”

“Philosophy and thought do warrant contemplation, but let's think more about the pressing needs of life, Koyomi. Weren't we supposed to be excitedly discussing our honeymoon destination?”

Right, we were.

Having completed the wedding ceremony, with a god as our witness, and the tedious paperwork, we had finally settled down and arranged a meeting, albeit belatedly, to discuss our long-awaited honeymoon plans.

Although the novel coronavirus could be said to have been eradicated from the earth, given that I currently have a foothold in the FBI and Hitagi is a young leader at the Japanese branch of a foreign firm, we were communicating remotely more often than not. Nevertheless, we both understand the importance of a meaningful face-to-face conversation. After all, it would be impolite not to attend to such a significant matter in person.

Our wedding had narrowly avoided taking place entirely remotely, but fortunately, it was held with only family members present, regardless of any infectious disease-related concerns. It was charming and intimate.

“The only thing I regret is not getting to drag empty cans behind the car; I wanted to try it.”²

“Back in the old days, you would've tied me to the car and dragged me around the city as a public execution. But a honeymoon, huh?”

To begin with, neither Hitagi nor I were particularly fond of traveling; in fact, we both frequently shuttled across the Pacific Ocean. So, the word “travel” doesn't strike a deep chord in me. It's merely a transfer through different places, and it's difficult to attribute more significance to it.

I'd much prefer surely chats at home like this—without having to specifically go somewhere.

“I agree. Why not take a short trip then? How about the supermarket?”

“That’s too close.”

“But it sounds so super.”

“Well, you have a point. Supermarket is a pretty bold name.”

“But then, if the honeymoon has no significance, we’d better have not had a wedding at all, since it wouldn't be significant anyway.”

This statement sounds like something the old Hitagi would say—not Araragi Hitagi, but Senjougahara Hitagi.

In fact, many people these days consider weddings to be a grand waste of money, and couples often quarrel during their honeymoon, that’s why “Narita Divorce” gets thrown around as a phrase.³

Nowadays, you might also hear “Haneda Divorce” or “Kanku Divorce.”⁴

“Traveling has a way of revealing a couple's true nature, for better or worse. That's why I think it's a necessary ceremony.”

“A ceremony, huh?”

Surprisingly, Oshino was a man who valued such customs.

We can't take this lightly, then… considering our relationship.

“Speaking of which, that plan to go to Hokkaido to eat crab still hasn't come to fruition.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to go?”

“It’s tempting to tie up loose ends like a completed achievement, but it might not be the best season for that. I'd rather enjoy the best crab in wintertime anyway, that's what I really want.”

It's a tough one. Hokkaido, seemingly near but further than Washington D.C., has gradually taken on the nuance of being saved for our enjoyment during our twilight years. However, since we have refrained from indulging up until this point, it is only natural to savor the finest crab in the ideal setting of Hokkaido.

Yet as we speak, the warming of Hokkaido progresses at a steady pace. By the time we reached our retirement years, would it still be a snowy landscape?

“If we were to travel overseas, I think we should consider Europe or Africa. Including South America, both of us travel to the Americans for work often. Or what do you think about crossing the Atlantic Ocean?”

“There is also Oceania. Why not eat crab in Australia? I think you can't climb Ayers Rock anymore… Maybe New Zealand?”

“Apparently the stars there are beautiful. It's famed as a World Heritage of starry skies, they're even working to register it as an actual World Heritage site or something.”

A bit vague, but hmm.

Come to think of it, ever since high school—no, even before that during her sheltered upbringing, Hitagi has had a profound love for the starry skies. An unapologetic adoration.

If I recall, our first date was also at an observatory.

“In that case, what about revisiting that observatory nearby? It's only a few hours' drive.”

“Might take a bit longer if we dragged a heap of cans behind.”

“We probably shouldn't try that on Japanese roads, you know.”

As a cop, I couldn't pardon this.

The idea of revisiting a dating spot from our youth was not a bad one, but Hitagi didn't seem too keen on it, and she exaggeratedly tilted her head—a gesture straight out of the anime.

"What's up. If there are no lodging facilities, we could rent a camper van or something. The state should…"

"There's no need to bring up the state for that. You should be able to rent a car by yourself, right? Anyway, over there, I go pretty often usually with my dad and Kanbaru."

"Really?"

While I was training as an FBI investigator, Senjougahara and Kanbaru rekindled their relationship… It's good that she's getting along with her family, which was delicate for a time, but still.

Whether that's how she truly feels or not, at least Hitagi says it's fine with her, but what does her father—and my in-law—think about it?

To have the surname he gave his daughter smeared by some random guy's…

Whoops, gotta stop thinking about it. If I'm not careful, my thoughts get pulled in that direction. The gravity of the issue is too strong.

I'm sure the meaning is just as precious either way, but the name Senjougahara is quite rare, so I can't help but contemplate the loss…

"Rather than somewhere you always go, like the supermarket, it should be somewhere special for the ceremony. If it's too familiar, the memories don't stick as strongly. Shouldn't you make memories of going somewhere you've wanted to, like an observatory? Or New Zealand is good, but wasn't there an amazing one in Hawaii or something?"

“Hmm. Electronic telescopes on that scale exceed my realm of expertise. But in the end, it seems we come back to America. Another idea is to go all the way to the Arctic Circle to see the auroras.”

“The Arctic. Mm, I wonder if Kagenui-san is doing all right.”

She doesn't live at the North Pole year-round of course, but when I hear “Arctic” she’s the first thing I think of—her and her shikigami. With that shikigami we could go anywhere in an instant... But the days of merrily living with a corpse doll under the same roof ended quite some time ago. Fraternizing with corpses is strictly forbidden nowadays.

The auroras. Not an uninteresting prospect.

I believe they can be observed either in Canada or the Nordic countries. If given a choice between the two, I would lean towards the latter in this case.

How about Finland, often said to be the closest to Europe? Who wouldn't want to taste the cinnamon rolls straight from their birthplace? The progress of women's social advancement in the Nordic countries is also noteworthy, and I assume, with a vague image in mind, that there wouldn't be any stipulation requiring spouses to share the same surname.

“Aha!”

And then it struck me.

It struck me like a shooting star.

As I've grown older, my brain has lost its freshness, and such instant inspirations have become all too rare these days. But at this moment, I felt that I had truly been hit by inspiration.

Not merely a shooting star, it could be likened to the brilliance of the Aurora itself.

Too bad about the Finnish licorice, but there was no need to cross the ocean for one. Couldn't there be an equally fantastic location in our very own country for our honeymoon? Although we wouldn’t be able to see any auroras for sure, the destination would more than compensate for it. We could call it a return to our roots.

Nay, there's no other way to describe it other than our roots.

“Senjougahara.”

“What? Do you still intend to rebel against our nation?”

“No, no, it's my love for our country! And our honeymoon destination.”

“……”

“Let's go to Senjougahara. According to our class president who knows everything, it's one of Japan's most beautiful marshlands for stargazing.”

Next Chapter

Originally: "DV". Refers to domestic violence in Japan, where men who were previously reserved but become violent after marriage are called "DV Men".

Dragging empty cans behind a car is a couple activity, the loud clatter they produce being a symbol of auspiciousness.

Tokyo Narita Airport is the largest international airport in Japan, and a necessary stop for many newlywed couples traveling abroad. However, because some shortcomings or habits of each person are exposed during the trip, many couples choose to divorce after leaving Narita Airport when their honeymoon comes to an end.

Haneda: Tokyo Haneda Airport. Kanku: Kansai International Airport. 

[cdyssey]

Friend

Summary: After Melissa breaks up with Gary, Barbara insists on staying the night with her. [Post-3.01]

CW: Alcohol; Emotional Infidelity

AO3 Link

—

Barbara is vaguely aware that she should probably let Melissa set the tone.

An obliging friend would anyway.

A supportive one.

If Melissa wants to haul ass in her Honda Civic and drive away without saying nary a word, then fine, reasonable, absolutely and resoundingly valid—that’s how she’s chosen to cope. An obliging friend would make sure that she has her keys. Tell her that she loves her. Open the double doors for her on the way out.

I’ll check on you tomorrow, girlfriend.

Drive safe and call me if you need me.

Conversely, if the younger woman wants to yell and scream—kick a desk over and then kick it again, punch the nearest brick wall, issue a string of vicious Italian curses between her teeth—then that would be perfectly intelligible, too. A more than reasonable reaction to the nonsense that her paramour just pulled, embarrassing her like that in front of God and Jalen Hurts! (Mmph! The audacity of him! The absolute nerve! Barbara had told him—at least twice that she recalls—that it was a bad idea to propose. She hadn’t even been intending to help him. She had just wanted to minimize the startling possibility that Melissa could be hurt.)

A supportive friend would dutifully be there in the ugly aftermath, double and triple-checking that the second grade teacher didn’t accidentally break a toe, wrapping her bloodied knuckles in gauze.

Let it all out, she’d maybe say.

I’m here for you.

Now, in theory and moderate practice, it’s all well and good for people to be obliging and supportive. They’re admirable traits that Barbara would advocate in any Christian worth their paid tithes. But the crucial problem—(well, the one that she’s willing to admit to anyway)—is that Barbara Howard, for all of her upstanding moral fiber, has never once been the obliging type, having learned unshakeable grit long ago in the Sisyphean grind of the Philadelphia public school system.

And moreover, even though she would be the first to proclaim her undying loyalty, that’s far from synonymous with her support. The kindergarten teacher would crawl over hot coals to be there for Melissa Schemmenti. 

That’s loyalty. 

The primal abnegation—the inherent masochism—of love. 

But to helplessly watch her best friend punish herself over yet another undeserving man has never been her inclination nor her particular strong suit.

So, if the two choices are to let Melissa run away or further hurt herself, to be obliging or to be supportive —(and these have always been the two choices when Melissa has been in pain)—then Barbara chooses neither, which is to say as soon as the bell rings and all of her students have been ushered to the gym, she chooses to stride over to the classroom across the way and plant herself firmly in the door, folding her arms over her chest.

“I’m driving you home this evening,” she declares and is glad to find that her voice is gentle. (She had been afraid all afternoon that the consolation would come out a little wrong.)

(That she would slip up and sound relieved.)

(And she is that—assuredly.)

(She’s so relieved that Gary the Vending Machine Guy didn’t get to make such a half-assed proposal and get away with it. Perhaps a little inappropriately, she thanks God for his divine mercy in ensuring that the karmic struggle bent towards justice.)

(But she also knows that she has no right to advertise this sensation—this incredible, gut-wrenching relief—somewhere that her friend might see it. She may not be supportive—(hell, she might not even entirely be kind ) —but she isn’t callous. She isn’t cruel.)

Melissa is at her desk, half-slumped in her perpetually creaking seat, staring at nothing at particular. The wall. A faded poster of the solar system. Dust notes suspended in the sunlight trickling in through the blinds. There are sweeping shadows beneath her eyes where her mascara has been running. A telltale redness around the nose. 

“Barb,” she starts tiredly, only barely glancing her way, “you don’t hafta—“

But Barbara intercepts her protestations neatly.

“—I want to,” she insists, intending to step forward and just as suddenly reluctant to even try, discerning something horrible in the other woman’s eyes that terrifies her. 

Something unnervingly still.

Something broken.

She distinctly remembers that the last time Melissa’s eyes had looked like that, she’d been staring down the barrel of an acrimonious divorce. She didn’t smile for an entire year. She just pretended to when she thought that people were rightfully concerned.

“We could… have a girl’s night, perhaps,” she presses on, perhaps a little hesitant at first, sensing that she’s sidling up to an invisible wall. “Yes, a true lady’s evening! Drink a lot of wine. Watch Jeopardy! Order takeout from that—mmm, oh what’s it called?—that… that interesting pizzeria on the corner. The one next to the Shell Station that was robbed last year.”

“It’s Rizzo’s, and you hate that crap,” Melissa snorts humorlessly, never once missing a beat, an expert at finding meaning in her ellipsis. “Said it gave ya indigestion.”

“But you love it,” Barbara returns emphatically, lips kneading into a fond smile. It’s a sorry excuse for a restaurant in her opinion, the pizza greasy, the garlic bread overseasoned. and to add insult to improperly cooked injury, the owners are tremendously rude, always complaining when shedares to complain about the lacking quality of their products. But that’s not the point. The point is: “I’ll guzzle some Pepto. And if it comes down to it, indulge in a Tums.”

I’d do anything to make you happy.

Her smile widens and she dares to hope for something of a crooked grin in return, but Melissa doesn’t seem to find this playful gesture of self-sacrifice nearly half as amusing—nor even endearing for that matter—finally meeting her in the eye, a certain hardness in her tall face, a steeliness that is willing to cut.

“I don’t want your pity,” she mutters, quiet defiance in every syllable, audible defeat in the strained silence that follows.

Barbara knows that her friend has to say some version of this line. She has to make it perfectly clear that she thinks she’s hard to love, and then, for some godforsaken reason, she feels compelled to go as far as proving it, street fighting with just her teeth.

“And you’re not getting it either,” she says firmly, shaking her head. 

“I’d be a blessed fool to ever pity you, Melissa Schemmenti.”

More silence weaves its way into the gap, as thick and as complicated as a rope between them. The younger woman scrutinizes her closely, trying to locate the mockery that she seems to perpetually assume is there, while Barbara stares just as intensely back, refusing to let her arrive at such a profoundly incorrect conclusion in the first place.

“And you couldn’t possibly be that, could ya, Barb?” The second grade teacher eventually sighs, a wane smile bobbing to her dark lips. “Anybody’s fool?”

“Exactly,” she agrees with a certain smugness, rightfully intuiting that she’s won. “And you're nobody’s pity project either. Now grab your purse, sweetheart. As the kids would say, we’re blowing the lid off of this popsicle stand."

But for all this—their familiar back-and-forth, the other woman's stunning pain, their mutual agreement that Barbara isn't a fool when it comes to all matters Melissa—Melissa remains unmoving, though clearly not untouched. She blinks once, and Barbara sees that her pale eyes are overbright, everything about her so tender and visibly scraped raw.

“You serious about this?” She rasps, achingly vulnerable, almost child-like as she sits with her hands loosely templed on top of her desk. “You don’t… gotta babysit me, y’know. I’m gonna be just fine.”

“I know that,” Barbara exhales softly, and more than that, fundamentally believes it. She believes with every atom in her that her best friend is going to get through this latest tribulation with all her pieces intact, that she’s Melissa Schemmenti, for goodness sake, and she’s never known a challenge that she couldn’t capably meet.

“But let me take care of you tonight anyway,” she finishes, all kindness and ferocious warmth for the woman six feet across from her in this cold and empty room.

Her colleague of some twenty-odd years.

Her sister.

Her partner—as loaded as that word is, as Barbara often pretends for it not to be.

“God, you’re such a gagootz,” comes an affectionate reply, and then a hitch of a laugh of a poorly concealed sob.

“Only for you,” she teases right back and shifts slightly on the balls of her feet, suddenly discomfited by the idea that she could actually possibly mean it. 

She swallows lightly and shoves the traitorous thought into one of the innumerable drawers of her mind. Locks it. Rebelliously holds on to the key.

—

Barbara is more than aware that she probably shouldn’t prod the freshly exposed wound. An obliging friend wouldn’t anyway—a supportive one. 

But in their particular friendship, where the only barrier between them sometimes is the fabric that separates their brushing skin, pushing a little harder than they should is an implicit given for them, if only because they know the other is so prone to pulling away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Barbara asks on the drive away from her own house, where she picked up an overnight bag: some clothes, her toiletries, a bottle of unopened wine, her CPAP machine. She feels guilty for abruptly canceling on Gerald. She’d made plans with him and just as immediately bailed when there were suddenly more important things. 

When there was Melissa.

To his lasting credit, he immediately understood.

Her wonderful husband always understands when it comes to Melissa, something complicated in his eyes and maddeningly patient in his weathered smile whenever they talk about her. Barbara doesn’t know what to make of these microgestures, nor does she try to decode them into an alphabet that makes sense when they’re both currently content to let their arcane meanings go unworded. 

Instead, she grips the sun-baked leather of her steering wheel all the tighter, and asks Melissa if she wants to talk about her pain, perhaps solely for the reason that she won’t have to spend any unnecessary time interrogating her own.

“Nope,” Melissa grunts unhelpfully, eyes eclipsed behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. “Nothing to talk about. I had a boyfriend. He wanted somethin’ more than that, and I, uh, couldn’t… I could never give that… I mean—and now I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. Simple as that.”

But Barbara hears the clumsy slippage of words, the implicit pain there, the story her best friend is choosing to tell herself, the solely placed blame.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” she murmurs, easing to a stop light that’s just turned red. She takes the lull for the opportunity that it is, reaching over without looking, placing a hand on Melissa’s wrist where it lays across the console. Squeezing once.

Gently—always gently.

Not letting go, even though she absolutely should.

“You told that man. You told him and you told him, and you explicitly told him. It’s hardly on you if he was too obtuse to ever get it.”

“He’s not obtuse,” Melissa snaps, suddenly pulling her hand back into her lap. The violence of it shocks them both, the silence taut, frayed and fraying. Somewhere in the unbearable static, the light turns green without either of them ever being really aware. 

The rusty sedan behind them honks at Barbara to go.

She presses the pedal with a little more force than is required.

“Sorry,” the second grade teacher mutters, flushing a little, tugging at her seatbelt strap. “It’s just… if he’s obtuse, then what am I, y’know? We both thought we were on the same page, and here it turns out I can’t open any book without makin’ spaghetti of the words.”

“Melissa,” she exhales softly. She doesn’t know what to say to such a revealing proclamation, where to even begin, how to unpick a skein of self-loathing that’s as convoluted as that, the threads unwilling to be anything else but a tangled ball.

“Which is why I don’t wanna talk about it yet,” the younger teacher shrugs, harshly swiping at the skin beneath her eyes, angling her body away. “I gotta figure out how to explain it all to myself first.”

“And would it be too much to ask for you to be kind to yourself in that process?” Barbara can’t help but ask, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road, fingers tightly locked around the wheel. “To afford yourself the same grace that you so generously bestow to others?”

To Gary the Vending Machine Guy.

To Joseph.

You always take up for fools who don’t deserve it, she bitterly thinks and half-despises herself for it. Melissa can’t help who she loves, anymore than Barbara can’t help but drop everything to be there for Melissa, which is probably the same thing as saying that Barbara can’t help who she loves either.

It's a terrifying thought, one that the kindergarten teacher can't exactly afford to entertain when there's a diamond studded ring on her fourth finger that Gerald took out a loan for when they were just twenty-five. He was besotted with her, and she liked him so very much, and she thought that the safe boundaries of marriage would teach her how to love a man like a good woman of God.

Melissa only offers another listless shrug, staring out of the window as the city passes them by. 

A blur of color and light. 

Streaks of meaningless sound.

—

They fall into a familiar routine, the same metronomic cadence that they know by heart after nearly three decades of jokingly calling each other home. They eat. They drink. (Barbara swills copious amounts of Pepto to deal with that disgusting pizza.) They curl up on Melissa’s plastic-covered couch beneath the knit blanket that her nonna made and watch Jeopardy!, shouting out the answers at nearly the exact same time. When the show is over, they drink even more, quickly draining Barbara’s cheap bottle of Merlot to the lees. Melissa moves on to some old beer she had in her outside fridge, refusing to touch her good stuff—the vintage wines, the nice beers, her impressive collection of bourbons—for the occasion.

Barbara decides to sober up in case Melissa needs her, exchanging her delicate wine glass for a plastic Hooters cup filled with water.

The younger woman’s face gets steadily rosier the more she indulges, petals blooming across her cheek, a pleasant ruddiness shading the tip of her nose. She laughs a little too hard at the harmless sitcom that they’re not even really watching. She tucks her feet beneath Barbara’s thigh on the couch to warm them, causing the kindergarten teacher to inexplicably shiver. Around ten, she drunkenly muses about the astonishing merits of her own breasts.

“Gary called ‘em the best honkers he’s ever seen,” she says suddenly, two-thirds into her second Miller Lite, staring down at her cleavage with a frown that makes her plump lower lip poke out.

Barbara nearly chokes on her water, spilling a little on her blouse, her own gaze unwittingly magnetized to the objects in question—specifically, the way the divot of them is just barely visible at the low neck of her shirt. Cream-colored things, smooth and deliciously warmed in the golden glow of the lamp, delicately freckled with sun-spots from so many youthful days spent out in the sun.

“Used t’think that’s the best compliment a guy’s ever given me,” the younger woman half-smiles, “‘cuz my only point of reference was Joe sayin’ I should get a touch up on my boob job.”

The explicit reference to Melissa’s ex-husband snaps Barbara out of her reverie, a cold splash of water over the heat that had been incrementally rising in her face by degrees.

“Joseph was a manchild and a heathen,” she sniffs primly, finally feeling comfortable enough with the details of Melissa’s divorce to confidently say so. Of course, six years ago, she also thought as much and occasionally said it, too, but that only ended with her and Melissa bitterly arguing over what sort of treatment that the second-grade teacher seemed to think she deserved.

Time must really heal all wounds, though, because now, Melissa only limply chuckles between drags of stale beer.

“And if the only compliment that men can ever muster about you concerns the state of your bosom—impressive though it certainly may be—then they don’t deserve the opportunity to compliment you at all,” she finishes pointedly, tapping her long nails against the side of her water. (By goodness, and dear almighty God, she’s trying to let it escape her notice that the Hooters logo is an incredibly apt brand for the conversation they’re currently having, but it's a damn uphill climb when the whole cup is nearly the same shade of Melissa's hair.)

The younger teacher must sense that they've arrived at dangerous grounds, though, skating around the very perimeter of a conversation that she’s so clearly unwilling to entertain, because she polishes the last of her beer off in one gulp and adeptly changes the subject.

“So you think my rack is impressive, huh?” She suddenly smirks, eyes twinkling in the dim light.

“Girlfriend!” Barbara immediately groans, shutting her eyes as something lurches within her at the insinuation. A twinge at the seething core of her. A not particularly unpleasant warmth coiling upwards from the pit of her stomach, coloring her insides the most intoxicating shades of red: scarlet, crimson, candied apple, vermilion.

The exact shade of Melissa Schemmenti’s vivid lips.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that!”

She suddenly feels the pressing need to go to church, but since that’s not currently an option, maybe a cold shower and an unspecified prayer for forgiveness will have to do.

Melissa only laughs at her, long and almost offensively hard, clutching her soft belly. 

“Ha!” She wheezes. “I’m not sure there are other ways t’mean it, Barb.”

—

A little after midnight, Barbara finally settles into the guest bedroom that she knows used to be where Joseph slept in the bitter months leading up to the divorce. It’s small but cozy, containing everything she needs to get through the night—a good mattress, a nightstand, an outlet to plug in her phone and sleep apnea machine—and yet, the kindergarten teacher finds herself in a hopeless war in the pursuit of stillness. She tries to read a few pages from the Danielle Steel book that she picked up from the library, but all the words just seem to fall off the page. She scrolls through her phone for a bit—checking emails, liking Facebook memes, adding to the grocery list in her notes—and just as abruptly stops when she sees that she missed a goodnight text from Gerald a few hours ago.

Night, hon. Sweet dreams. Give Melissa my love.

It’s entirely kind—(Gerald is and always will be)—and it excavates her on the spot for some obscure reason that she is unwilling to try and name. She slams her phone down like it’s the fabled Book of Judgment, flicks off the lamp, and attempts to finally go to sleep, but the smothering dark just becomes a convenient cover for her less palatable thoughts, ones explicitly having to do with the woman in the master bedroom next door.

Did she make it into the shower alright?

Take her medicines, shimmy into some pajamas?

(What sort of pajamas does her best friend wear when she's at home and no one is looking anyway? Surely, not a full set—such as the kind that Barbara prefers. Old t-shirts? A nightgown? Perhaps simply her undergarments.)

(Maybe even nothing at all.) (Barbara shivers in the darkness and idly wonders if the same reason that she cringes when Gerald is kind to her is because she spends her nighttime hours wondering what Melissa does or doesn't sleep in. She sternly dismisses the thought. Calls it absurd. Absolutely needs it to be. Cathedrals of bare flesh erect themselves in her mind anyway: a temple of a body, suffused in a divine and feminine glow.)

Is Melissa finally asleep, the copious amounts of booze that she drank blissfully washing her away into the gentle sea of the night?

Or, is she lying alone in bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling too?

Thinking about Gary.

Heartbroken over the loss of a man who could have treated her far better than he did.

It shouldn’t really concern her, and yet it does. Absolutely. Every unanswered question jabs at her as she lies in the bed that Melissa’s ex-husband used to sleep in, hopelessly trying to get comfortable under such inherently distressing conditions. She squirms, writhes, tosses and inevitably turns. 

She just as suddenly stills at the plaintive knock on her bedroom door.

“Barb?” The familiar voice leans tiredly against the wood. “You still up?”

“Yes,” she just barely breathes, slowly gathering herself into an upright position. Then louder, sounding much more like herself: “Mhm. Come on in.”

The invitation is heeded, the door swinging open to reveal Melissa in the silvery pool of the hallway’s night light, hair still damp from the shower, wearing nothing but an old Eagles shirt that just barely covers the tops of her thighs. 

Barbara swallows thickly, a kaleidoscope of sensations whirling through her stomach: so many colors, indecorous thoughts, and sickly desires.

Needs.

The very center of her tightens, shifts uneasily in response to this unprecedented sight that she'd just been vaguely dreaming of. She doesn’t remember the last time she saw something that she could so easily name as beautiful.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She croaks, loathing how affected her voice sounds, every syllable touched. It’s just her best friend after all, half-naked in the dripping light, looking strangely small in the tall frame of the door.

Nothing worth getting her panties in a twist about.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Melissa confirms, pulling a hand through her hair. “... I’d forgot how much I hate bein’ alone.”

It’s the type of vulnerable confession that the second-grade teacher would never, ever admit in the cold light of day, but here, in the complicated darkness, all of her inhibitions loosened by booze, Barbara can see that the younger woman thinks it might be permissible to finally be truthful.

Maybe, by the morning time, she’ll even forget that she ever was. 

“I’m here,” Barbara murmurs, suddenly aware of the painful emptiness of the space next to her, like it’s a hole in her side, an untenable absence, needing attention. How pathetic of her. 

How lonely.

(She has an incredible, caring husband.)

(Why in God’s blessed name is she lonely even still?)

“You always are,” Melissa agrees, apparently hearing the doubled-speak, too, and with that, there’s nothing else for her to do except crawl into bed next to Barbara, the mattress shuddering with her added weight.

And then there they are, two women lying in the same bed, side-by-faithful-side.

Shoulders just touching.

Hips.

Thighs.

The delicate bones of their ankles.

Melissa’s hair tickles Barbara’s neck.

Barbara's heart revolts in its ivory cage.

“I keep thinkin’,” the second-grade teacher eventually starts, slowly spooning the awful words into the bigness and the blackness of it all, “what if Gary was it? What if that cavolo was the best I’m gonna get at sixty-years old, and I just let him slip away ‘cause I don’t ever wanna see a big, shiny rock on my finger again? He was good to me. He cared. He could do his own laundry, and he always let me have the last beer. Shouldn’t that have been enough, Barb? Would it have killed me to give it a go?”

Barbara more than understands that these musings are not exactly for her—spoken to her, yes, but that’s not the same as directed at her, requiring her opinion, her precise judgments, her thoughts, her thoughts, her spinning, desperate thoughts. The younger woman is just venting, exhaling the noxious fumes before they can build up in her nervous system and explode.

Perhaps a good friend—an obliging one, a supportive one—would just let her do it. Get it all out there, and let her eventually fall asleep to sound of absolute silence. There’s no harm to be done in that, no stain on her immaculate soul if she does nothing that will make her feel like she needs to atone the next morning.

But, of course, maybe the crucial problem isn’t that Barbara Howard isn’t obliging and supportive.

Maybe the essential crux, the truth that she has tried desperately hard to alienate and annihilate and so cleverly elide, is that it has been a long, long time since friend has been a sufficient enough epithet for the intimacy that exists between herself and the woman scarcely inches away in the dark of this room. 

Maybe friend is just the necessary lie that the kindergarten teacher tells herself to make it through the day.

Something easily digestible, a poison that she doesn’t have to think too hard about to continually swallow.

But this particular epiphany, as revelatory as it is, as equally disruptive, is quickly cut off at its knees, oxygen deprived, neatly culled in the well-pruned garden of Barbara’s mind. She cannot think these things. 

They’re dirty, simply blasphemous. 

And yet, she can’t just let Melissa go unanswered either; she can’t let her go around thinking that she’s too damaged to fully love.

“But shouldn’t the precise inverse be true as well, Melissa?” She asks, perhaps a little fiercer in the darkness, and yet, every bit as exacting as she would be in the light. “That if he had loved you enough, he would have listened and met you where you were at? What is a marriage but a signed paper between two people? If he loved you enough, why on God’s green and almighty Earth did he require a government stamp as certified proof?”

Her chest heaves with the weight of this line of questioning; she feels strangely proud of this outburst and simultaneously sick that she does, the bitter extremes chasing each other in whorls in the pit of her gut, totally irreconcilable, both awful and glorious.

There’s no catharsis for the longest time either, the silence gnawing upon them both with razor-sharp teeth, puncturing their already tender skin.

“Melissa,” she bites her lip, fearing she’s finally gone too far, said too much, revealed something about herself that she can't possibly take back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

But the second-grade teacher cuts across her. 

“It wasn’t a dick move for him to propose.” And Barbara can hear it in the shattered facets of her voice, how hard she’s trying not to cry—not even here in the darkness where no one except the good Lord can ever really see. “It wasn’t his fault I’m effed in the head.”

“You are not —” She starts vehemently.

“I am.”

“You didn’t settle, Melissa Schemmenti,” she insists, reaching over into the barest gap between them and decisively grabbing the younger woman’s hand, templing it with her own, their ten fingers interlinking beneath the coolness of the sheets. “You loved him and yourself enough to let him go. That isn’t self-destruction, sweetheart, and never could be. You saved yourself. There are plenty of people in this world who wish they had an inch of your bravery to do the same.”

Someone in this very room even.

A pious would-be-sinner in Melissa's ex-husband's bed.

“But maybe I was wrong, Barb. Maybe it wouldn’t have cost me anything t'get married.”

“No,” Barbara says sharply, but then, feeling Melissa’s hand tense in her own, just as immediately softens, brushing her thumb along the sharp spines of the other woman's knuckles.

“No,” she repeats herself, with a renewed gentleness that almost overwhelms her, with all the collected tenderness in her bones. “You already knew that it would cost you everything.”

Melissa sits with this thought for a longer while still, perhaps arranging her counterargument into an fusillade of harsh words that Barbara probably even deserves at this point, but in the end, all that comes out is a low, defeated chuckle.

A squeeze of the hand.

“Jesus, if I only loved myself about half as much as you loved me,” she starts, but Barbara interrupts her again, keen to get the last word in, to have the golden opportunity to define the exact depths of her love.

“—then you’d be the most self-assured woman in the world,” she finishes softly, squeezing Melissa’s hand right back.

“Gagootz,” Melissa accuses her again with a fond sigh, and she shifts in the bed a little—and then a whole lot—until she’s leaning against Barbara’s shoulder, and all of her senses are filled with an excess of her: the slight dampness of her hair, the delicate swell of her strawberry shampoo, skin-touching-skin-touching-smooth-and-warm-skin.

“Forever and ever, amen,” Barbara murmurs, finally daring to press her cheek against the crown of Melissa’s dark head.

She asks for nothing more and daily gets by with so much less, so this is the closest thing to paradise if such a thing exists on this mortal earth. 

In the permissive darkness, she breathes it all in.

[temeryte]

NEW VERSES:

Modern verse — King Orionis

Modern verse — Pallis

Norse Mythology verse — Pallis

Norse Mythology verse — Adakias

MODERN VERSE — KING ORIONIS

Oren Kasia, also known as "Orionis," is a self-made entrepreneur from Oslo, Norway. Born into a modest family, Orionis possessed a strong drive and ambition that fueled his journey to success. With a natural business sense and a deep understanding of market dynamics, he overcame numerous obstacles to build his empire. He's revered as a charismatic and influential leader, capable of envisioning long-term goals and inspiring others to join him. As a father, Orionis instilled in his children the values of hard work, perseverance, and the importance of upholding the family legacy, grooming his firstborn, Pallis, to ultimately inherit their prosperous business empire. While Orionis admires Pallis's intelligence and potential, he struggles to comprehend his son's desire for individuality and deviation from the path he set for him. Similarly, his relationship with his youngest son, Adakias, is strained. Orionis finds it difficult to understand Adakias' unconventional lifestyle and rebellious nature, particularly his nomadic lifestyle and rejection of societal norms, concerned about his son's financial stability and questioning the long-term viability of pursuing a career in the arts.

MODERN VERSE — PALLIS

Peter Kasia, also known as "Pallis", is a businessman who was born into a wealthy family in Oslo, Norway. Destined to inherit a vast business empire, Pallis was groomed to take over the family business and carry on the legacy of his successful parents from an early age. Growing up in privilege, Pallis struggled to find his identity and purpose amid the weight of societal expectations, and while he possessed the natural intelligence and charisma necessary for the job, he felt stifled by the pressures of conforming to his family's high standards and the responsibilities of his future role. As he grows older, Pallis finds himself increasingly drawn to the allure of power and influence beyond his family's business, seeking opportunities to establish his own identity outside the shadow of his parents.

NORSE MYTHOLOGY VERSE — PALLIS

Commonly known as Pállis, Pallis is the brave and noble son of Tyr, the god of war and justice. He was born with a fierce sense of honor and a deep understanding of the ways of battle, destined to become a warrior of great renown. From an early age, Pallis admired his father's unwavering commitment to justice and his skill in combat. He trained rigorously under Tyr's guidance, honing his swordsmanship and tactical prowess, and their bond as father and son was forged on the battlefield, where they fought side by side. Pallis, like his father, possesses a strong sense of duty and an unyielding moral compass and is dedicated to upholding the laws of the gods and defending the innocent from harm. His loyalty to his family and people is unshakable, and he becomes known for his unwavering determination and sense of justice.

NORSE MYTHOLOGY VERSE — ADAKIAS

Adakias is the enigmatic and free-spirited son of Tyr, the god of war and justice. Born with an inherent sense of adventure and a thirst for knowledge, he possesses a unique connection to the realms of magic and mystery. As the son of Tyr, Adakias inherited his father's warrior spirit and sense of duty. Still, his path diverged from the traditional way of a warrior that was taken by his brother Pallis. Instead, his journey was marked by a relentless quest for knowledge and a deep fascination with the forces that shape the realms. While his unconventional path may initially raise eyebrows among the gods, Tyr, as a loving and understanding father, supports Adakias's pursuit of his true calling. He recognizes his son's unique gifts and encourages him to follow his path. As Adakias traverses the realms, his adventures intertwine with tales of ancient magic and forgotten legends. He becomes a bridge between the realms of mortals and gods, embodying the spirit of exploration, discovery, and the search for hidden truths. Adakias, as a sage, adventurer, and keeper of knowledge, becomes known for his unique perspective and unwavering curiosity.

[newhavenrp]

Is that ZANE PHILLIPS? No, that’s SETT OAKHIDE. The 25 year old WILD MOON - WEREFOX ALPHA MALE is an ERRAND BOY. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be IDEALISTIC & COURTEOUS, but beware, they’re also known to be REBELLIOUS & INSECURE. Their friends also say that they’re into BITING & BODY WORSHIP but don’t you dare trying TPE, SCAT, VORE with them.

Many people know where they come from. They know their origins. Their roots. Sett… Doesn’t even know his name. But he’s lived long enough to make peace with that.

The Wild Hunt… 

They owe no allegiance to any king or queen. Fae or Mortal. The Hunt has its own set of rules and its own leader. Gwyn ap Nudd. Helm of the Wild Hunt. And Sett’s master.

Sett was not born a fae. He knows neither his sire or dame were of the fair folk. But it seemed that they had made a deal with Gwyn and he was the payment. As soon as he was born, the rider came to collect what he was due and took the newborn baby into the Wild Hunt. And just like it had its own rules, the god of time also didn’t dare meddle with the Hunt’s affairs or its riders. The baby would grow and once he presented as a fox, Gwyn named him Sett. He doesn’t really know how long he’s been alive in human years. All he knows is the weight of Gwyn’s sword, of his shield and the wildness of his steed.

He had been taught early how to tend to the Leader of the Hunt whatever means necessary. And also learned how to mount and ride the wild steeds without losing his grip and being trampled to near death by them. He was named a rider of the hunt even before he became alpha. Well… He was surprised that Mother Nature had found him lost so deep in the wildness of the hunt. But then again… She seemed merciful in the way that she blessed him during the Wildest of moons. He didn’t need the blessing of the veiled moon to hear his ghostly companions. But it was a little ironic that he had been granted the ability of seeping light from the plants.

Being always close to the head of the hunt, Sett looked up to the male a lot. And although he was supposed to be his servant and he had heard the tales of how the fair folk treated their servants from the mortal realm, Gwyn ap Nudd had always treated him well. Yes, he had high standards to meet, but had never been purposely set up to fail. The loyalty he had to the older rider had been earned through mutual respect and not through fear. It was as unshakable as it could be.

So much so that when an invitation came from one of the balls in one of the fae courts, Gwyn went against a lot of expectations. The riders were never invited to the fae balls. Their wildness surpassed even that of those from the Autumn and Unseelie courts. Only Gwyn if that much. He didn’t always attend either. But this time not only he did. He brought Sett along with him. 

Freshly presented alpha under the blessings of the wildest moon, Sethus Oakhide… That’s how he had been announced. As Gwyn’s companion. And after all of his master’s titles. In that ball, he met one of the Princes of the Spring court. Prince Mauve. And all night they danced to the tunes of the spring surrounding them, the colors of blossoming fields kissing the prince’s head and crown. There was a nobility to Gwyn in his sobriety and well mannered demeanor when he was not holding his sword and joining in some slaughtering.

But the magnificence that radiated from prince Mauve in waves… Sett didn’t think the mortal languages, old and new, had enough words to describe it. And so… Fox and Faerie prince danced, all night long, like in a fairy tale.

Ironically… That was also how they would end up parting ways for the first gleamers of sunlight were the signal that they had overextended their stay within their spring court and it was time to return to their companions and resume the ride.

He never voiced his thoughts out loud but after that one night he started to silently pray to Mother Nature. That she would see it so the Fae royalty felt inclined to invite Gwyn into balls more often and that Gwyn found it a good idea to take Sett along.  

Well… The invitations came. Gwyn still declined some. But some he ended up accepting. And again he took Sett along. Sure, what chances could an orphan servant have to get the attention of one of the faerie princes. However… Surely enough, every single time they attended the balls, Sett would have the chance to dance with Prince Mauve time and time again. Mother Nature only knew the time that passed between each time, each visit.

Until something happened.

Prince Mauve was nowhere to be seen and the words whispered around the dancefloor made no sense. Cursed? Heartbroken? Aging? The fae looked however they wanted. Queen Titania was proof. How many millennia has it been and still she withheld such extraordinary and breathtaking beauty no one could ever dream to compare.

But still… There he was. Prince Mauve. With graying hair. Aging like… Like a mortal. Like the seasons magic, like the fae magic, had no power whatsoever. And that was the first time Sett witnessed how willing the fae were to abandon their own to their own fate. Cursed and weakened, Prince Mauve seemed completely at loss. Until Sett suggested him to go to the mortal realm. Seek this so-called Haven. Yes, it would cost Prince Mauve’s immortality, but the curse was already eating at it. What else did he have to lose?

However… The prince could not go alone. He needed a guard. Someone to protect him. Someone willing to lay their own life before the prince. And Sett couldn’t. No matter how bad he wanted. His life belonged to Gwyn. He could make no decision of his own in that regard.

And his master would once again lay proof of his nobility by granting him his wish. By temporarily dismissing him from the hunt so he could also allow him to go into the mortal realm along with the prince, to protect the prince. To make sure he survived for as long as possible while they found a way to break that curse and punish the witch accordingly. Gwyn himself would ride his steed to the ends of the earth so he could slaughter the witch and collect his soul for the hunt, as a personal favor for his still young, bright eyed servant.

In New Haven:

Three years have passed since they first crossed the strange barrier and set foot in New Haven. Sett doesn’t really understand why the Kings and Queens of the Fair Folk are so bent on seeing this barrier destroyed. But he is mighty impressed by the fact that never before he crossed that sky with his steed while riding with the hunt. For some reason, the Barrier also seems to nullify some aspects of the Prince’s magic. Such as his immortality. And in doing so brought the curse to a halt. Well… Or so it seemed. He knows that the god Chronos is not on their side and he’ll do whatever he can to aid his Prince Mauve, Michael, in breaking the curse.

[purgatoryandme]

Thinking about ObiYuki AUs and what events could ever possibly drive Shirayuki away from the castle and the Wisteria family. She loves Zen and she loves Clarines, but I genuinely believe Shirayuki loves medicine and kindness too much to be a true royal. If she ever does marry Zen, she’d have to still be allowed to work and research or else things would break off fairly quickly no matter how stubborn she is. So how could you ever have her get married with a slower build towards a true conflict of interests that is well-suited to canon? Especially one that suits Obi equally well?

Slow boiling tensions between Clarines and another poorer country that only ever end in small skirmishes but still make everyone nervous. Diplomatic relations are absolutely awful with the smaller border country laying claim to Clarinese land they just don’t have the firepower to actually fight for. Izana would never succeed land, so they’ll never get what they want, but he also won’t go out of his way to antagonize them further because war is the thing he wants to avoid most. When a chance to avoid war and further fighting comes up, though, well...he’d take it. Even if involved passively ignoring a health crisis.

A plague is spreading by the border. It’s weak - only striking down the malnourished or vulnerable. But in poor areas it is spreading like wildfire. No petitions come to the Clarinese court for aid, though concerns are raised in Clarinese villages near the border country. There’s no diplomatic need to assist. It gets under Shirayuki’s skin because she’s absolutely sure she knows researchers well-equipped to help, but these people don’t want Clarinese citizens crossing their border anyway. She’s sure she could help herself, but the risk is high. She could do it, though. She could. She knows with Obi by her side it would be nothing to get in and out. Damn it.

Zen talks her gently down time and again. Obi does too when he returns from the scouting missions he’s been taking more and more often - ones she know don’t require the amount of supplies he’s taking or the trips he takes to the pharmacy. Shirayuki’s still got her fire, however years spent under Izana have taught her to wait for the right moment to strike. At least that’s what she thinks she learned. But the plague grows stronger as winter approaches and she’s not so sure anymore. They “can’t send researchers as it would be a waste of resources” and when she brings up herself...well.

She’s locked in her room. Admittedly she hadn’t been the most friendly. She’d picked a fight. She may or may not have thrown Izana’s drink on the ground when he suggested her life was too valuable to lose when there was nothing equal in value to be gained. He’d had that look in his eyes - one she remembered well from before she got married. He was challenging her. He was challenging her like he hadn’t in years, as if she’d grown passive and she wasn’t worth his time if she wasn’t willing to spend months arguing with him in HIS court. As if she couldn’t surprise him anymore (or as if he knew this would be her breaking point and was setting her free).

He was gambling people on that. And Shirayuki is sick of it. Of having so little personal power, of having to bend her head to avoid risking Zen’s reputation, of having to ignore the pain of people for something as petty as diplomacy.

Cue a grand escape at night, one she makes without Obi because she’s been by his side for enough years to learn some tricks herself and he had tried to talk her out of this, with a pharmacist’s bag full of supplies and relevant notes. Dyeing her hair with black walnut, trying to keep ahead of Obi because she KNOWS he’ll be the one sent after her, and finally confronting him on the border. Him trying to convince her to go back and her tearing open his bag because she’s not the only one who learned from the other - she knows he has herbs in there. She knows he has his own notes, one he’s been working on with Ryuu, as he tries to keep people he’s supposed to be spying on healthy.

The two of them being somehow completely at odds and on the same page. They both want to help - they both NEED to help. But..Obi always thought he’d be the one to leave, either by choice or because he’d be forced out, not the one trying to convince Shirayuki to stay (to be safe, to keep the happiness they’ve both worked so hard to build). He’s supposed to be the one in enemy territory, the one who would chafe against the royal leash, who would get the drop on everyone when he finally escaped. She was always supposed to be the one who slipped his leash to aid her in following her morals, to help, and then would put it back on him. Who could turn hearts and stubbornly go her way no matter what, always leading back to Zen.

Everything is wrong. Now Obi is the one who can follow his heart and provide aid without consequences. And she’s been left to chafe with nothing but drastic measures to set her loose and enemies in every corner.

The only thing that’s unchanged? There’s no way Obi will let her do this alone, no matter what he thinks is best for her.

[lordtraco-fanfics]

Happy April Fools! Here's some fools (affectionate) from my Nimbasa Trio Soul Eater AU!

(What's this? Angst? Fluff? Hurt/Comfort? Yes to all. It's also a Songfic of "Change For You" by Friday Pilot's Club. I'll reblog with a link.)

22 and oh lord I'm seeing red

Emmet glared at the time displayed on his X-tranceiver. 22:00. Work at 06:00. He was running on fumes and it seemed that wasn't about to end anytime soon.

I bought a gun last night

Cause god I'm afraid of death

Shuffling the bag into his other hand to fumble for his house keys, noted the text. Guess that'd have to wait. Elesa needed him. Another frenzy.

The pang of guilt and grief plagued his heart as he retrieved the pokeballs, both his own and Ingo's. Ever since his brother's disappearance three months ago, he and Elesa couldn't resonate. All they could do was use their pokemon. And Ingo's.

Oh and I never say no

Never stay home

Never wanna stop

But I don't wanna go

Emmet hesitated at the doorway. He didn't want to go. She always had such hope that they'd get it this time. And every single time, he screwed it up and caused her to double over in pain.

What was the point? What was the damn point? He pressed his forehead to the door, gripping the handle tightly.

It only lasted a second. He ripped open the doorway and ran. Elesa needed him and he loved battles. That was enough.

…

Sorry if I'm shady, lately

You know I've been changing, crazy

Wasting away

Emmet's hat covered his eyes as he called out pokemon after pokemon. The frenzied one seemed to have endless energy. As serious as this all was, he knew it was a losing battle. Emmet wasn't having fun.

He hid his gaze for Elesa's sake, shutting down her every attempt to reach out. As annoying as it was just stalling and delaying the inevitable with max revives, it was preferable.

Arceus how much had he changed? Where was his drive to win?

Baby, lately you found you can't change me

"We can try, Emmet. Trust me!" She called over the sounds of battle. "Please!"

That same desperation, that same push as she reworked her own soul to match with his. It only fueled his guilt as he remembered all those times his hilt burned electric scars into her hand. They were still there. Still a shining proof of his failure as a weapon shifter. A failure as a brother.

Was that why Ingo had left?

And you know you can't change the truth

Emmet felt himself starting down yet another spiral when Eelektross cried out to him. It took the next blow, weathering it with blistering resolution while locking eyes with its trainer.

That's right. He couldn't change the truth that Ingo was gone. He couldn't change how much that hurt. No one could.

But he was Emmet.

But honey, I can change for you

And only Emmet could change how he handled the cards he was dealt.

Reaching out to Elesa, he let his soul match with hers. The longing, lingering pangs of rejection and feelings of inadequacy, they all hurt. But beyond them was a trust and a loyalty so strong and deep that the hope built upon it was unshakable.

For a moment his eyes darkened. The Truth softened its hold on him as he was gripped by someone so much stronger. In Elesa's steady hand, there was little doubt in Emmet's mind that she could accomplish the impossible. She was just that good.

Shifting to a knife, Emmet felt at home. She held him and he let her in. Gratitude and relief sprawled through their bond, unable to truly be told apart. It pulsed outwards, finally pushing back the frenzied opponent.

It felt like home.

Emmet shifted back before the searing agony of regret could cause too harsh a recoil.

Honey, I can change for you

He gave Elesa an apologetic smile before marching forward. The Rift Energy left behind by the quelled frenzy was priority. Her words, not his.

Scooping the floating ghostly orb of yellow towards his heart, Emmet felt his sadness fade ever so slightly. In its place came resolve.

Honey, I can change for you

Elesa watched Emmet's eyes dim from his usual dark silver to a deeper gray. There was meaning there, but she couldn't place it. She could only hope it wasn't anything to worry about.

…

Too late for me to come around

Emmet took the next day off. Sleepless nights weren't doing him any favors and his pokemon needed to recoup.

There was nervous energy that wouldn't let him stay home, so he walked the city. He passed Elesa's gym a couple times, almost considering bugging her (pun not intended), but she always looked busy.

Oh and I'm so fucked up

And everybody's bringing me down

He tried not to let it bother him, but he kept feeling eyes on him. Emmet wished people would stop it. They regarded him with wary eyes or confusion. Because he dared wear black today.

The kindest of them thought he was Ingo. Some stopped him to check. The worst, well…

Oh is it all about me

All the money

All about always wanting more

Emmet made the mistake of looking at the tabloids while in line at a store. He knew better, but he just wanted a snack and they were right next to the candy.

His brother's profile took up a rather big square on most of the covers. In others, the worst of his own creepy smiles looked back at him. Theories, gossip, all twisting around the gaps in the facts to insinuate he had something to do with it.

Look how many more battles he won since the disappearance. Look how he continues to smile. Look how close they used to be.

Always want more, more

Didn't they know he'd gladly lose every match for the rest of his life if he could just see his brother again!?

So what if some people saw him crying over a chocolate bar on the way out of the store. Some small part of him wanted to see how they'd spin it this time.

"Sorry if I'm shady, lately

You know I've been changing, crazy

Wasting away"

Text Sent.

It wasn't long before Elesa burst into his apartment. Worry was painted on her face. Emmet belatedly considered that his text could have been worded a bit less… depressingly.

Elesa approached him cautiously, like he might break at any moment. Or worse, run or lash out. Sitting on the couch, she left a distance that spoke to how much they'd changed. How much the Ingo-shaped hole was wedged between them.

Baby, lately you found you can't change me

And you know you can't change the truth

"You can't change me. And you know you can't change the truth." Emmet said flatly, looking up to face her with a tight smile.

Elesa reached out with both hand and soul, a plea.

But honey, I can change for you

"But I can change for you." His smile grew wide as he pulled out a nerf gun he'd hidden between his leg and the end of the couch. "Let's make new memories to resonate to, here and now!"

Tears glistened in Elesa's bewildered eyes as she took the toy gun. He quickly pulled out another and gave her very little time to recoup before pelting her with a bunch of foam bullets.

"You shoot meister? Shoot her like target!? Oh, oh! Jail for Emmet! Jail for One thousa-"

Emmet reloaded and hit her on the forehead. "No memes!"

Honey, I can change for you

"Puns it is then!" She smiled, unleashing an endless stream of bullets and puns, chasing after him when he tried to escape (he was just getting more ammo, as he'd later defend).

Honey, I can change for you

The laughter that rang through the room as they battled filled their hearts with more joy than they'd expected. The sound mixed with thuds of diving for cover and the patters of running and crawling after more bullets. The little spring noises and subsequent over-the-top faked sounds of pain soon devolved into only panting and giggles as they ran out of energy.

Neither kept score, so it wasn't anything either of them won. But they both were adamant they had. Ironically, that shared self-assuredness was the key to bridging that final hurdle.

They let each other in.

Out of sorts and oh lord

We're turning blue

But we found a strange way

Of saying the same thing

With nothing to lose

"I miss him." Elesa admitted, pressing her side to Emmet's. It was the first time she'd said it aloud to him.

"I do too." Emmet said, pulling what he hoped was the last bullet out of Galvantula's mouth. She really would eat anything.

Turning, he pulled Elesa into a side hug, leaning his head on hers when she rested against his shoulder.

Their souls blended, accepting their shared grief for once. Neither tried to deny or fix it. They sat with it, then let it go when a happy spark of a memory passed between them.

…

A third nerf gun lay unopened in Ingo's room. Hope in its purest form. But the unopened box did not stop them from playing. It wouldn't stop them from living.

..

And one day, a perpetual frown would become a mischievous grin, ready to start an unexpected nerf war.

[xenodile]

Additional information re:the Black Knives and their allegiance, spoilers ahead.

After the player kills the maddened Blaidd at the end of his quest, you can talk to Iji and inform him of Blaidd's passing. Iji expresses shock that Blaidd got out of the Evergaol, and awe at Blaidd's loyalty to Ranni being unshakeable even as he lost his mind due to the Fingers' influence, lending credence to the dead Black Knives around him being under the Fingers's order, given by that point the Fingers had already sent the Baleful Shadow to kill Ranni. Iji comments that with Ranni gone on her jouney, it's only a matter of time until he joins Blaidd, and hopes his friend can forgive his doubt.

Reloading after that conversation results in the player finding Iji's body, smoldering with black-and-white flame, with dead Black Knives strewn about similar to finding the maddened Blaidd.

I also went and got the Black Knife Tiche ashes from Alecto, and their description more or less tells us what we already knew. Tiche was one of the Black Knives that inscribed the Death Rune on her dagger and participated in Godwyn's assassination, but was killed covering her mother Alecto's escape from the capital.

I think it's safe to assume that the Black Knives are covert servants of the Two Fingers, bearing no allegiance to any of the demigods. The biggest question I have now is why Iji is marked with black-and-white flame, that of the Godslayer variety, rather than the red-and-black we've seen the Baleful Shadow and Black Knives use. It would suggest some kind of cooperation between the Black Knives, and by extension the Fingers, and the Godskin Cultists.

The Godskins working with the Fingers is also supported by a Godskin Noble guarding the Divine Tower of Liurnia, where Ranni's original body and her half of the Cursemark are hidden, and a Godskin Apostle protecting the Godslayer Blade in the basement of the sealed off Divine Tower of Caelid.

The description of the Godslayer Blade states that the Godskins serve the "Dusk-Eyed Queen", who was sealed away by Maliketh. The same Maliketh from whom the Death Rune was stolen, and granted the god-killing flame to the Black Knives.

I feel there is sufficient evidence to say:

The Black Knife Assassins are servants of the Two Fingers

The Night of Black Knives was a cover up to foil Ranni's plot to gain the Cursemark of Death

Godwyn's transformation into the Princevof Death was an unintended side effect

My new theory is that the Rune of Death that Maliketh holds was taken from the Dusk-Eyed Queen, and the Godslayer cult begrudgingly serves the Fingers so they can continue to harness the power of the black flame.

[vladdocs]

ENG Letter from the Voivode Vlad Draguli Tepes of March 14, 1457. *** By content: This letter finally clarifies the political situation between Wallachia and Transylvania, which became the cause of the conflict in 1457 and later. However, to understand the situation, it is worth reading first two other documents, the first, the agreement between the parties, the terms of assistance, the second, the document of the request for help from the voivode. This document follows in this chain the third, interesting from the point of view of the conflict. After the voivode did not receive an answer, according to the agreement, he goes to the lands where the applicants for the throne of Wallachia and their accomplices are hiding. According to the agreement, if you remember, the party on whose land the applicant and his people are hiding, preferably, betrays (meets the voivode as a friend) intruders, or does not interfere with their search. Probably, the governor did not meet any assistance in Transylvania, which is not surprising, given this attitude. Having crossed the Turnu-Rosu pass and arriving at the places where the aforementioned gentlemen were hiding, but faced with complete indifference, the voivode made an attempt to persuade Transylvania to reckon with itself. The result of this was the burned villages of Kasholts, Khosman and Nou Romyn near the very Sibiu. For decades, Transylvania, which had been shaking the nerves of the governors of Wallachia, was literally shocked by such an act, unprecedented in its kind, so that echoes of indignation reached us in the form of pamphlets, legends, stories, where from year to year, from decade to decade, the number of “innocents” increases, just like the number of "victims". In those stories, it comes to the point where the death toll during that period significantly exceeds even the number of all who lived at that time in one of the largest cities in Transylvania, Brasov. What exactly prompted the governor to take such a decisive, long-needed step? Was it the indirect participation of Transylvania in all the coups in Wallachia?, the murder of his family?, an attempt on his own murder?. It is unlikely that the voivode was so restrained and patient that, having come to power “without any help,” he concludes a strong peace with Transylvania and approaches it very responsibly. This letter is also very interesting, with a phrase that some historians even interpret as a threat: “If you don’t want even more, then immediately inform us so that we can rule and govern”. However, from the point of view of the choice of vocabulary, "quod nos regere et gubern {are p} ossemus" is completely neutral and, speaking figuratively in modern words, has the following content: the voivode, being a ruler, will be able to begin to regulate the current situation only when he finds out about the further political course of his neighbor, Transylvania, and does not want to be in the dark about that, therefore he asks to inform about his decision. There is nothing else in this phrase, "reign and govern", "herrschen und lenken", in any translation, that is, to be the ruler and therefore to control the situation. For all that, few people focus on the fact that they tried to kill the governor in Transylvania when he needed help. They also pay little attention to the fact that the voivode expresses, albeit tactfully within the framework of necessary diplomacy, about his attitude to the origin of the applicant: “his infringement on our right of the true (!) Heir”, “a monk from Wallachia who calls himself a son voivode ", the latter is twice specially indicated. Given these moments, I personally cannot understand why Vlad The Monk is definitely considered the illegitimate child of Dragul, when among his sons his father is not mentioned anywhere in the documents, not even once, and one of the sons frankly says that the Monk is an impostor. In my opinion, Vlad Monk is another Neagoe Bassarab, of which, as we remember, there were plenty of them. With only one commander Dragulya Tepes, duplicated Mirchi, Vlada and

forged documents suddenly appeared. Letter from the governor Vlad Draguli Tepes dated March 14, 1457. *** Noble, prudent and far-sighted men, advisers, fathers, brothers, our sincerely dear friends and neighbors, as you remember, and you should be well aware of that, there is a commitment between us, and vows backed by unshakable loyalty have been taken; and these obligations and vows must not be violated by anyone and never, while we are alive, at any time, which we personally specifically pointed out to you in a letter. From our side of evil, we did not do you and did not intend to start that. But today a rumor has reached us and we have learned about all that, that at a secret council you were with the people of a monk from Wallachia, who calls himself the son of a governor *, settled their affairs; Moreover, Peter Gereb * from Virishmort, and Peterman *, the son of the noble Peterman, who were neighboring with you, took part in this. You were personally promised to transfer all the fees to you in Rukar and Brail for a long time, promising that Wallachia's income. * Remember the time when I wandered and arrived in your lands *, you then did not let me into your council, but instead, out of loyalty to the noble lord, the governor of these lands, Vladislav entrusted the noble men John Gereb from Wingard and Nicholas from Salzburg to capture us in the city of Joaju and to end us. But by the will of God, we ourselves were able to return our lands without any help *, but with you, we made a strong peace and thus made your enemies ours. Today we fully understand that you support a monk from Wallachia, who calls himself the son of a governor, and his people in an encroachment on our right to be a true heir, and we also understand what bad consequences for us everything can lead, since you are already Advice with him, and he, having made his way to Amlash, remained there, and is there to this day by your own will. Therefore, with this letter we ask each and every one of you that in the name of the God and according to the commandments of the Catholic faith, as well as for the sake of maintaining fraternal peace and friendship between us, after reading our letter, you will certainly write to us or report back, whether you wish further observe the order established by us and you in writing and be loyal to it. If you do not wish that more, then immediately inform us, so that we can rule and govern. Given in Targoviste on the second day after the feast of Blessed Pope Gregory, in the year 1457. Vlad, Commander of the Transalpine lands, your faithful brother, son and friend in everything. Comments: * Identity of Vlad the monk is speculative only. * Peter Gereb * from Virishmort was a judge and head of Sibiu in 1467, later he was executed in the city square because of his participation in the uprising against Corwin considered bloodthirsty). Peterman was a wealthy Sibiu merchant from Wallachia, Kampulung; the city was located on the trade route from Rukar to Brasov. The German-speaking community living there maintained close relations with Sibiu. * Fees from you in Rukar were the most important source of income for Wallachia, therefore they were never the object of donation or lease. Braila Port, located on the Danube, was the country's most important port and was of exceptional importance for trade in the western Black Sea region. The decision of the self-appointed claimant to take away the income from the country and give it to Transylvania was also unprecedented, his desire to curry favor was painfully strong. * After an unsuccessful attempt to regain legal power in November 1448, the voivode fled to Moldavia. However, there is no evidence that he was present at the court of Bogdan II. Perhaps he found refuge among the Moldovan boyars who were supporters of his family. Later, the voivode is forced to move to Transylvania, after Vladislav finds himself in the same situation as many voivods before him and therefore loses the support of the Hungarians. * Joaju (Rom. Geoagiu, ung. Algyógy) is located in the Hunedoara

Sudce, where the Hunyadi family owned vast estates and were surrounded by numerous supporters. The authors of the book Corpus Draculianum contradict themselves, first they write that the Hungarians removed Vladislav because of his pro-Ottoman policy, and then that the murder of the governor could have been ordered by Hunyadi, so that, literally: “Hunyadi wanted to prevent Vlad's attack on Vladislav, so as not to violate the truce with by the Ottomans ". Several different statements. And why would Vlad even then be in Joaju, "where the Hunyadi family owned vast estates and were surrounded by numerous supporters." Honestly, I am alarmed by the attempt of the authors of the book to constantly challenge the words of the voivode in the documents (I often notice in the comments, they say, “the voivode is misleading,” or “in fact, the reason was something else, and not indicated by the voivode” (they apparently, instead of the governor, they know much better what was the cause of what was in the 15th century, in this case the same example, after all, everything is written in black and white, who attempted and why) and suppose “their own” version. I do not know the purpose of such comments. An example, one of the many about challenging, openly refuting the words of the voivode in his letter with his statement, is the commentary on the phrase “But by the will of the Lord we ourselves were able to return our lands without any help.” In the commentary to this phrase, the authors of the aforementioned publication, the governor is accused of lying, citing a completely empty formal oath to Postumus in March 1456 and arguing that (as it turns out, it was not Hunyadi who wanted to kill, as they had previously stated) with the help of Hun eadi. In support of the versions, documents are cited that are not evidence of the indicated facts, even indirectly. In some comments, the authors of the publication accuse the voivode of issuing an ultimatum without offering any negotiations, and this is for this phrase: “Therefore, with this letter we ask each and every one of you that in the name of the Lord and according to the commandments of the Catholic faith, and also for the sake of maintaining fraternal peace and friendship between us (!), after reading our letter, you certainly wrote or reported to us (!) whether you want to continue to observe the order established by us and you in writing (!) and be loyal to it. If you do not wish that more, then immediately inform us, so that we can rule and rule. " I don’t know how even softer it is possible to write after an attempted murder, after a betrayal and a secret conspiracy, the ruler who previously concluded an agreement with you asks you to inform us about your preference in actions. I cannot understand what the authors are pursuing with such comments. _____________________ RU Письмо воеводы Влада Драгули Цепеша от 14 марта 1457 года, перевод группы Воевода Валахии XV века Влад Цепеш Дракула. *** По содержанию: Данное письмо окончательно проясняет политическую ситуацию между Валахией и Трансильванией, ставшую причиной конфликта и в 1457 , и позже. Однако, для понимания ситуации стоит прочесть сначала два других документа, первый, договор между сторонами, условия содействия, второй, документ просьбы о помощи от воеводы. Данный документ следует в этой цепи третьим, интересным с точки зрения конфликта. После того, как воевода не получил ответа, согласно договору, он отправляется в земли, где укрываются претенденты на трон Валахии и их пособники. Согласно договору, если помните, сторона, на чьей земле скрывается претендент и его люди, предпочтительно, выдает (встречает воеводу , как приятеля) злоумышленников, либо не препятствует их поиску. Вероятно, воевода не встретил никакого содействия в Трансильвании, что и неудивительно, учитывая подобное отношение. Переправившись через перевал Турну-Рошу и прибыв в места укрывательства перечисленных господ, но столкнувшись с полным безразличием, воевода предпринял попытку убедить Трансильванию считаться с собой. Результатом этого стали сожженные

деревни Кашольц, Хосман и Ноу Ромын близ того самого Сибиу. Десятилетиями трепавшая нервы воеводам Валахии Трансильвания была в буквальном смысле шокирована таким поступком, беспрецедентным в своем роде настолько, что отголоски возмущения дошли до нас в виде памфлетов, сказаний, рассказов, где из года в год, из десятилетия в десятилетие, и число «невинно убиенных» становится все больше, и смерти все краше. В ряде рассказов доходит до того, что число погибших в тот период значительно превышает даже численность всех, живших на тот момент в одном из самых крупных городов Трансильвании, Брашове. Что же именно подвигло воеводу на такой решительный, давно нужный шаг? Было ли то косвенное участие Трансильвании во всех переворотах в Валахии, убийство его семьи, покушение на его собственное убийство. Вряд ли, воевода был настолько сдержан и терпелив, что, придя ко власти «без всякой помощи», заключает крепкий мир с Трансильванией и очень ответственно к тому подходит. Данное письмо очень интересно и фразой, которую некоторые историки даже трактуют как угрозу: «Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам, дабы мы могли властвовать и править». Однако, с точки зрения выбора лексики, «quod nos regere et gubern{are p}ossemus» вполне нейтральна и , если говорить переносно современными словами, имеет следующее содержание: воевода, будучи правителем, сможет начать регулировать сложившуюся ситуацию , лишь тогда, когда узнает о дальнейшем политическом курсе своего соседа, Трансильвании, и не желает быть в неведении о том, потому просит сообщить о своем решении. Ничего другого в данной фразе нет, «reign and govern», «herrschen und lenken», в любом переводе, то есть, быть господарем и потому управлять ситуацией. При всем, мало кто акцентирует внимание на том, что воеводу пытались убить в Трансильвании, когда ему нужна была помощь. Также мало акцентируют внимание и на том, что воевода высказывает, пусть и тактично в рамках необходимой дипломатии, о своем отношении к происхождению претендента: «его в посягательстве на наше право истинного (!) наследника», «монаха из Валахии, кто величает себя сыном воеводы», последнее дважды особо указывается. Учитывая данные моменты, я лично не могу понять, почему Влада Монаха определенно считают внебрачным ребенком Драгула, когда среди сыновей его нигде не упоминается в документах самого отца, ни разу, а один из сыновей откровенного говорит, что Монах самозванец. На мой взгляд, Влад Монах очередной Нягое Бассараб, которых на деле, как помним, было полно. Только с одним воеводой Драгулей Цепешем внезапно появились и дублированные Мирчи, Влады и поддельные документы. Письмо воеводы Влада Драгули Цепеша от 14 марта 1457 года. *** Знатные, благоразумные и дальновидные мужи, советники, отцы, браться, наши искренне дорогие друзья и соседи, как вы помните, а о том должно вам быть хорошо известно, есть между нами обязательства , и даны клятвы, подкрепленные непоколебимой верностью; и сие обязательства и клятвы недолжно никому и никогда, пока мы живы, в любое время нарушать, на что мы вам лично особливо в письме указывали . С нашей стороны зла мы вам не творили и не намеревались то начинать. Но нынче дошел до нас слух и мы обо всем том узнали , что на тайном совете с вами были и дела свои улаживали люди монаха из Валахии, кто величает себя сыном воеводы*; пуще того, принимали в том участие и Петер Гереб *из Виришморта, и Петерман *, сын знатного Петермана, соседствующие с вами. Вам лично пообещали надолго передать все сборы с вам в Рукаре и Брэиле , посулив тем доходы Валахии.* Припомните же то время, когда скитался я и в ваши земли прибыл*, не пустили вы тогда меня в совет свой, но вместо этого вы из преданности знатному господину ,воеводе тогда этих земель , Владиславу поручили знатным мужам Иоанну Геребу из Вингарда и Николаю из Зальцбурга нас в граде Джоаджу пленить и с нами покончить. Но по воле Господа смогли мы сами без всякой помощи земли свои вернуть*, а с вами же мы заключили крепкий мир и тем сделали ваших неприятелей нашими. Нынче мы всецело разумеем то, что вы поддерживаете монаха из

Валахии , кто сыном воеводы себя величает, и людей его в посягательстве на наше право истинного наследника, а также понимаем и то, к каким худым последствиям для нас все может привести, раз вы уж и совет с ним держите, и он , в Амлаш пробравшись , там и остался , и там доныне находится по вашей же собственной воле. Потому сим письмом просим мы всех и каждого из вас о том, чтобы во имя Господа и по заповедям веры католической, а также ради поддержания между нами братского мира и дружбы, вы, прочтя наше письмо , нам непременно ответ написали или доложили, желаете ли далее соблюдать письменно установленный нами и вами порядок и быть тому преданными . Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам , дабы мы могли властвовать и править. Дано в Тырговиште на второй день после праздника блаженного папы Григория, в год 1457. Влад, воевода земель Трансальпийских , ваш верный брат, сын и слуга во всем. Знатным, благоразумным и дальновидным мужам, бургомистру Освальду, судье и советникам Сибиу, всем нашим мужам саксам из Семиградья, нашим искренне уважаемым друзьям и соседям. ___________________________________________________________________________ Комментарии: *Идентификация личности Влада монаха лишь предположительная. * Петер Гереб *из Виришморта был судьей и главой Сибиу в 1467 году, позже его казнят на городской площади из-за его участия в восстании против Корвина (последнему, выходит, отмечу от себя, можно так поступать с заговорщиками и претендентами на власть и не считаться кровожадным). Петерман же был богатым торговцем Сибиу родом из Валахии , Кымпулунг; город располагался на торговом пути от Рукара в Брашов. Проживавшее там немецкоязычное сообщество поддерживало тесные отношения с Сибиу. *Сборы с вам в Рукаре были самым важным источником дохода для Валахии , потому они никогда не выступали объектом пожертвования или аренды. Порт Брэйла, расположенный на Дунае, был самым важным портом страны и имел исключительное значение для торговли в западно-черноморском регионе. Решение самозваного претендента отнять доход у страны и подарить его Трансильвании также было беспрецедентным, больно сильным было его желание выслужиться. * После неудачной попытки вернуть законную власть в ноябре 1448 года , воевода бежал в Молдавию . Однако, нет никаких доказательств того, что он присутствовал при дворе Богдана II. Возможно, он нашел прибежище среди молдавских бояр, которые были сторонниками его семьи. Позже воевода вынужден перебраться в Трансильванию, после того, как Владислав оказывается в той же ситуации, что и многие воеводы до него и потому лишается поддержки венгров. *Джоаджу (рум. Geoagiu, ung. Algyógy) расположен в судце Хунедоара, где семья Хуньяди владела обширными владениями и была окружена многочисленными сторонниками. Авторы книги Corpus Draculianum противоречат себе , сначала пишут, что венгры убрали Владислава из-за его проосманской политики, а потом, что убийство воеводы мог заказать Хуньяди , чтобы, дословно: «Хуньяди хотел предотвратить нападение Влада воеводы на Владислава , чтобы не нарушать перемирие с османами». Несколько различные утверждения. Да и зачем бы Владу вообще тогда находиться именно в Джоаджу, «где семья Хуньяди владела обширными владениями и была окружена многочисленными сторонниками». Меня, честно, настораживает ко всему попытка авторов книги постоянно оспорить слова воеводы в документах (не раз то замечаю в комментариях, мол, «воевода вводит в заблуждение», или «на деле же причиной было иное, а не указанное воеводой» (они, видно, вместо воеводы куда лучше знают, что же причиной чего и было в 15 веке , в данном случае тот же пример, все ведь черным по белому писано, кто покушался и зачем) и предположить «свою» версию. Бессмысленно то. А вот какова цель подобных комментариев мне неизвестно. Примером, одним из многочисленных об оспаривании , откровенном опровержении слов воеводы в письме своим утверждением, является и комментарий к фразе «Но по воле Господа смогли мы сами без всякой помощи земли свои вернуть». В комментарии к данной фразе авторы вышеупомянутого издания обвиняют воеводу во

лжи, приводя основой совершенно пустую формальную присягу Постуму марта 1456 и утверждая, что (как оказывается, уже не Хуньяди убить хотел, как ранее ими было заявлено) с помощью Хуньяди. В поддержку версий приводятся документы, не являющиеся доказательствами указанных фактов даже косвенно. В некоторых комментариях авторы издания обвиняют воеводу в том, что он выставил ультиматум, не предлагая никаких переговоров, и это к данной фразе : «Потому сим письмом просим мы всех и каждого из вас о том, чтобы во имя Господа и по заповедям веры католической, а также ради поддержания между нами братского мира и дружбы (!), вы, прочтя наше письмо , нам непременно ответ написали или доложили, (!)желаете ли далее соблюдать письменно установленный (!)нами и вами порядок и быть тому преданными. Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам , дабы мы могли властвовать и править». Уж не знаю, как еще мягче можно написать после покушения на свое убийство, после предательства и тайного заговора, правитель , заключивший ранее с вами договор, просит вас сообщить о вашем предпочтении в действиях. Не могу понять, какую цель преследуют авторы такими комментариями.

[tiredassmage]

12. How do they feel about romantic relationships? Are they into casual flings or more serious, long-term romances? Or are they uninterested? (For Etienne if you wanna answer this for him anyhow XD)

Oh my god, bastard (affectionate). Bastard who is lucky I did the Alexander raids with him or I'd barely have any decent pictures of him sksksksnks. Indecent menace. Without further ado then xD

How do they feel about romantic relationships? Are they into casual flings or more serious, long-term romances? Or are they uninterested?

I do think Etienne plays at being a 'bad boy' more than he actually is. Him and Theo shaking hands in being suggestive flirts who are willing to waggle their eyebrows at just about anyone that catches their slightest fancy, but who are also unshakably loyal to their selected partner(s).

I do actually doubt how much Etienne has really flirted or slept around, despite very confident jests otherwise and mischievous eyebrow waggling. I'd absolutely believe he's the bad influence that did most of the legwork in convincing Loukas its sexy to skip just one class to go grab their first smooches or three or five, but I also... imagine he does retain a lot of his classes and learned information. Would I put it past him to get idly distracted from a conversation by staring at Loukas's beautiful booty? Absolutely not. But there are more braincells in between those floppy ears than he'd let you believe sometimes, I think.

That all said, he does really enjoy the game of flirting, and I think he's hardly opposed to being known as a charismatic flirt, but I think his loyalty to Loukas might run a lot deeper than most (maybe even they themselves) really expect until... something maybe happening to either of them. This is maybe a little off-topic, but since we're here and I haven't really said much on Etienne anyway (and it's all pretty new brainwaves, too), he's generally got a lighthearted and easy-going façade, but I also get the impression that he is kind of explosively emotional at times. Echo or not, Etienne would threaten to throw hands with primal gods for his crush turned boyfriend. I can really easily imagine him getting very emotional and very... shall we say... insistent about taking care of himself were something to go wrong. Probably very loudly, very vocally.

Annyway, before I get off on that tangent of theoretical craft, to get back on subject, my best guess at the moment as to where 'casual fling' he would have totally been cool with leaving at that and nothing more referencing him and Loukas as my case study (bc it is the only one I have some solid reference to, lol, he's probably had other little experiences, but I haven't really figured out any details) was probably when he got the feeling that it was something mutual. And, lbr, he totally enjoys flustering the living hells out of him. It's really cute. Etienne will absolutely continue to do this.

He also seems very settled on the relationship for now, so I don't see him particularly pursuing other flirtations. He certainly still has eyes and can call pretty when he sees it, but he's telling me he very much likes his bunboy boyfriend. He thinks he would very much like to keep this one, thank you. (◡‿◡✿)

[idabbleincrazy]

Breaking Point

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Buffyverse)

Rating: M

Pairing: Spike/Nyx(Lyla) (Angel’s sister, vampire!OFC), Spike/Drusilla (recent past relationship)

Word Count: 2790

Warnings: Angst, pining, depressed!Spike, self-imposed starvation, first person pov, clothed smut, thigh riding, minor blood drinking, recounting the past, s3 canon divergence (Spike stays in Sunnydale after Lover’s Walk and takes up residence in Angel’s mansion)

Summary: After Dru leaves Spike again, seemingly for good this time, Nyx is at her wits end trying to get him to take care of himself. An argument leads to all the cards being laid on the table. 

A/N: So, over at the @fanficocean discord, we have a trivia game where the winner of each month gets to make a drabble request from one of the other players, and March’s winner @zombitch-cas asked me if I could write a fic using her OFC Nyx and I ended up inspired enough to go waaay beyond drabble status with it. This is my first time in years writing in first person, so sorry if the tenses ended up a bit wonky. 

Feedback fuels my creativity! If you like my work, plz comment/reblog!!

She’s left him again, that doddering bint. Why he still puts up with her, I’ll never understand. Drusilla. God but I hate her sometimes. If it weren’t for my unshakable loyalty to Liam, I’d have staked her the day he left us. Sure, even as early as then, Spike would have been sore at me for it, but at least back in those first months, he wasn’t quite so head-over on her yet. Her being his ‘destiny’ hadn’t kept him from chasing up other skirts, though to my own sad misfortunes Angelus made sure he never so much as sniffed my way. Of all the lingering traits dear brother clung to, protectiveness was one I sorely could’ve done without.

That had all changed after my dear, vicious brother left us. Drusilla had gone into a hell of a fit over it, wailing at the heavens and throwing her precious dollies about. He well and truly set himself as her staunch protector then, saving her from herself more often than any outward foe, what with her repeated attempts to walk out and greet the sunrise. Oh, but he doted on her, and any chance I had at winning his attention, let alone his affection, went out the window with my dear departed brother. From that moment on, he truly became what she had turned him for, William the Bloody, Spike, Pale Prince of The Whirlwind, had become her Knight-Errant. Constantly at her side, indulging every fleeting whim that passed through that pretty little head of hers, no matter how cracked it seemed. 

And now, a century later, she’s spurned him more and more. I still ought to stake her, screw whatever ire he throws my way for it. It’s no less than she deserves, the way he comes home drunk as only a vampire can be every time she closes herself off from him, running off God knows where with nonsense on her tongue. She doesn’t have to live with that look in his eyes. She doesn’t have to live with the silence that speaks volumes and no way to comfort him as he mourns her absence. 

He’s starting to lose weight again, hasn’t been drinking enough blood since she left and it’s taking its toll on him, his already pale skin now thin and waxen, the faint blue of his veins becoming more visible with each passing night. A few more nights like this, and he won’t even be able to hunt. That’s it, I have to put a stop to all this miserable sulking. 

Spike’s just come down from his room to grab a beer from the fridge, so I stand from where I’ve been stewing in my thoughts on the couch and approach him slowly. I hate that I feel like I’m about to confront an injured animal, that if I move too suddenly or do or say the wrong thing, he’ll spook and bolt back up the stairs.

“Spike”, I keep my voice gentle as I enter the kitchen, his back to me as he rummages around in the refrigerator. “The sun’s just set, and I was thinking we could go out and catch ourselves something pretty.”

Spike straightened up and turned to face me, his eyes dull and sunken in from his abstinence. He twists the cap off the bottle of beer in his hand and takes a long swig from it as he crosses over to me. His eyes meet mine briefly before he looks down at the floor, setting the bottle down on the counter I’m leaning against. 

“Not really feelin’ up to it tonight, Nyx. You go on and leave me to it, yeah?” 

“Leave you to what?” I ask, my temper welling up again at his dejected tone. “Leave you to drownin’ yourself in booze as you waste away? Spike, you haven’t hunted in days now, barely even drank any of the last stupid tosser I brought back! Dammit, William, you need to feed. I’m not gonna just sit around and watch you fade beyond recovery just because she’s flitted off halfway ‘round the world.”

I could barely hear Spike’s angered growl, he was either too weak or just too sad to even get mad properly. 

“Told you not to mention her, Lyla!” Spike pushed off the counter and brought himself to his full height to loom over me, his lips drawn into a tight grimace. “You leave Dru out of this, I’m warning you, Nyx.”

“Warning me? You’re warning me, William?” I hadn’t wanted to fight with him, but really, how dare he? I got right back in his face, my fangs itching to descend as a warning growl rumbled in my chest. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are to be warning me, Will? I may care about you, but do not forget your place here, Spike. I’ve more than a century on you, and I will not be spoken to in such a manner.

And as for your precious Drusilla, I’ll leave her out of it when she stops being the reason you’re so keen on letting yourself rot away.” A mere push at his chest with my forefinger is all it takes to get him to stumble back, thin as he is, and again my anger at his poor excuse of a Sire flares. He at least had the decency to shutter his gaze at the assertion of my higher status, though the look of sadness that replaces his anger causes an unwarranted pang of guilt in the back of my mind. “Look, Spike, I can’t keep watching you do this every time she leaves. When you’re like this, I lose my best friend, my favorite hunting partner, and the only person that I’ve got left that I give a damn about, who I thought gave a damn about me. I know you’re hurt, but surely you must know you deserve better than her. Better than how she treats you.”

Spike looked up at me, his shoulders slumping in defeat, and I took up his abandoned beer and drained the bottle before continuing, softening my voice. 

“You know I love you, Will. Can you think for just one second of how it must make me feel, to see you pained so, and knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do to punish her without hurting you further?” I took a step closer to him, my anger draining as I reached up to cup his face, his skin too cold even for a vampire, nearly ashen and dry as old parchment. He needs to feed, really feed, and soon. His eyes flutter closed at my touch, a soft sigh falling from his lips, and I can smell the stale scent of tobacco and whiskey in the exhalation, can smell the immense sadness that’s taken root within him. “I’d stake her in a second if I thought you could ever forgive me for it, if you wouldn’t hate me for the rest of eternity. She doesn’t deserve your loyalty, Spike, she doesn’t deserve you. She never did.”

Spike’s eyes opened at that, a dull flash of anger sparking through stormy blue, his lips parting to object, but whatever argument he had been poised to make is quelled easily enough with a look. I’ve waited too bloody long to speak my mind, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hold my tongue any longer and let him try to defend that barmy bitch again. I fight to keep my voice even as I continue, to keep down the snarl I feel pushing at the back of my throat.  

“She only sunk her claws into you once she noticed the way I looked at you. Dru just wanted to control you, to own you. To keep you to herself, and away from me. She saw it, in her stargazing, how much I wanted you to be mine, how I wanted to be yours. That was when she decided to change the dynamic between you from playmates to lovers, knowing how much it would hurt me to snatch that bit of happiness away from me.” Spike let out a soft gasp at that revelation, and I feel his hands raise from his sides to rest lightly on my waist as he looks down at me. “Always jealous that I was Angelus’ right hand, Dru was, as if it were my fault. Used to wonder if he turned her as a bit of twisted punishment for some transgression I was unaware of. A way to remind me of my place after slighting Darla, perhaps. Either way, from the day she woke, we never managed to get along, for no matter how often my dear brother would whisk her away to his bed, what we shared could never grow between them. I held his confidence and she couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand how he doted on me even in the face of her own petulance, so when you came along, she saw her opportunity to take revenge, no matter that it wasn’t my actions that kept a wedge between Angelus and herself but their own. 

Between Angelus rarely letting us be in the same room alone and her pulling her leash on you tighter after he left us, I never stood a chance at getting you to look my way. A century spent hoping you’d come to see me as something more than a friend or a hunting partner, and not even a whiff. And now, even with her gone, she still has you in her grasp, her teeth sunk in down to bone and I just can’t seem to wrench you free.” I felt my anger drain away and defeat replacing it, felt myself give up any hope of getting through to him and making him see reason. Spike’s still looking down at me, his face blank save for the slight drawing together of his eyebrows, and I pull away from him as I continue speaking, a dreadful sense of finality settling upon my shoulders. “You don’t wanna pull yourself out of this? Fine. I’m done, William. I give up. I’m going to go down to the Bronze and bag a snack or two and then I’m gonna search out a new place to crash. You can have the house, and the memories that come with it. Don’t need the reminders. Good luck drowning yourself in the past, and for your own sake only, I hope she comes back for you before it’s too late.”

Feeling the tears pricking my eyes, I’m halfway through the kitchen doorway before Spike catches up to me, his hand quickly slipping into mine as he turns me to face him. I can’t bear to look into his eyes as he pulls me back to him, and I hate myself for it, hate him for making me feel so bloody...human. His other hand comes up to nudge at my chin, a silent urging for me to meet his gaze. When I finally do, he’s no longer blank, his blue eyes clearer than they have been in weeks. Since she left. 

“Nyx...Lyla, I didn’t know. Swear it. Didn’t believe ‘er when she said it, thought she’d just gone ‘round the bend again, told her she was seein’ it wrong. But she wasn’t, after all.” Before I could make sense of his rambling, he’s leaning down and his lips are brushing across mine, and the world has gone topside down, could fall away into the abyss for all I know, as time has stopped and dragged on and lost all meaning before he pulls away again, his ever-unneeded breath fanning over my face as a small smile forms on his lips. I’m frozen there, hardly processing the passing of time as he watches me, it could be seconds, it could be months, years or centuries before I blink and stare back at him in amazed confusion. He presses his forehead to mine and I feel myself sinking into his embrace. “She left ‘cause of you, Nyx. Said she’d already lost me, that you were draped over me like a blanket, and I couldn’t make sense of what she’d meant. Not that first day, anyhow. But I realized it soon enough, how my feelings for you had changed these past years, ‘specially after that whole Acathla business, with you being at my side ‘gainst them both like that, goin’ up against your own brother to help me.”

“Spike-”

“Shh, pet. You’ve spoke your mouthful, lemme have mine, yeah? I haven’t been lettin’ myself go to rot for want of her, but because I didn’t see a point to toddlin’ through life with no hope of you ever feelin’ how I do. I love you, Nyx, have done for a fair bit now, and I’m so bloody sorry I was too much of a damned coward to admit it. I love you so soddin’ much.”

A wave of shock-filled relief washed over me and I couldn’t hold back the peal of incredulous laughter that escaped my lips as I slid my arms around his neck to pull him into another kiss. Spike let out a soft sigh that sounded full of contentment as our lips touched, his arms wrapping around my back as he tugged my body closer against his. His tongue swiped gently across my bottom lip, a silent query for invitation which I readily gave, and his thigh slotted between my legs as he turned us both to push me back against the wall of the entryway as he deepened the kiss. Cursing my decision on wearing jeans tonight instead of something with easier access, I let out a soft moan that was quickly swallowed up as he ground his thigh against me. I wrenched my lips away from his as the electric zip of arousal raced up my spine, letting my head fall back against the wall as he continued to work me over. He let out a dark chuckle as he dipped his head, his mouth making a quick trail over my throat and along to my shoulder, blunt teeth teasing over skin, digging in harder when he reached the faint scar that lay there on the curve of my neck. 

“C’mon, luv, let go for me,” Spike murmured against my skin as I bucked under him, gasping out in surprise at how quickly he had brought me to the edge. “Lemme hear you, Nyx, just once before we head out, hmm? Got no choice but to hunt now, do I? Not if I wanna have the strength to fuck you senseless tonight. God, so beautiful, my cruel Goddess. Can smell how close you are, Nyx, let me feel you come.”

“Spike...fuck, oh God, William…”

I heard the crunch of muscles as his demon face fell to the fore and tilted my head to the side in eager welcome as his fangs scraped over the already-teased flesh. He let out a low growl and sank his fangs in, my hands clutching at his shoulders as he took the first swallow of my blood. I bucked down harder against his thigh, a loud moan falling from my lips as I felt myself tumble into oblivion, his strong, slim fingers gripping bruisingly tight at my hips as I rubbed against him. 

“Jesus Christ, Spike!”

My head swam as my climax washed over me, and I held onto him until the tremors subsided, my body going lax in his grip as he released his fangs from my neck. His tongue was rough as he lapped up the final trickles of blood, sending shivers sparking through me down to my already sensitive core.

“Will...Spike...fuck.”

Spike chuckled lightheartedly as he nosed at the curve of my throat, the crunching sound of his demon face receding barely registering in my ears. 

“Good to know you can keep that eloquent tongue sharp as ever after you come, ducks.”

“Don’t tease, Will. Been too bloody long since anyone’s made me feel like that, can’t expect a girl to keep from losing her wits after.”

“Mm, poor little kitten.” Spike’s voice was soft and earnest as he spoke by my ear. “Best we get goin’ then, ‘cause that sounds like a situation in dire need of fixin’, luv.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek and pulled away, his hand finding mine again as he pulled me along with him towards the front door. I followed along in an arousal-fueled daze, hardly able to make sense of the turn the night had taken so suddenly.

“Let’s away, pet. Bronze should be good and hoppin’ with dozy little morsels for us to lure away into the shadows by now.”

~~~~

@thewhiterabbit42​ @prose-for-hire​ @highonbandcandy​ 

[peterxwade24]

Safety Found in Red Sleeves

Chapter 5

Here is the long awaited Chapter 5. Also, due to my own desire, all of the temporary heroes will have suits fashioned after outfits from “Avatar: the Last Airbender”.

Con trai means “son” while Con gài means “daughter”, or at least that’s what the website I found them on says. (the website is www.vietnamesepod101.com if you’re wondering)

Also, I made a typo in chapter 2/3 with Marc’s pronouns but since then, I’ve changed it. I hope you all will continue to receive this fic with the same enthusiasm you have thus far.

Jason danced around his kitchen with Damian on his hip, his sisters sitting on some of the kitchen counters. Bobby Day’s “Rockin’ Robin” poured into the kitchen from his bluetooth speaker.

Tim wandered into the kitchen, one hand rubbing at his eye and the other on the wall, and ran into Steph’s legs. “‘ephanie?”

“Hey Tim.” Steph gently pushed Tim in the direction of the fridge and laughed as she watched him stumble to the fridge.

Jason ruffled Tim’s hair as he walked passed and smiled. “Good morning Timbers.”

“Good morning Uncle Tim.” Damian murmured from where his head was resting against his dad’s shoulder.

“Wha-?” Tim turned to look at the pair. “When did-?”

“Just went through yesterday.” Jason smiled. “Don’t worry too much.”

Tim nodded and got his glass of water before returning to the girls and settling between them. “Have you told Dick yet?”

Jason shook his head and opened the oven door to peek at the muffins he was baking. “No. But he, Wally and the kids are supposed to come over for lunch today.”

---

Jason carefully pried the sleeping form of his son off of his hip and passed him to Roy with a smile before looking at his brother. “So, Dickiebird, how are you holding up?”

Dick shrugged, playing with Mar’i’s hair to distract himself, before smiling. “I’m fine.” He glanced over at Wally for a moment. “Wally and I have been helping each other with this single parent thing.”

Wally smiled before turning to watch Jai and Iris chase each other around the dining room table. “Dick’s a great help with those two, they always have so much energy.”

Jason chuckled and shook his head. “Of course they have so much energy, look at who their father is.” Jason was about to say something when someone knocked on the door. “Give me just a moment.”

Wally and Dick sent him a pair of thumbs up as he stood up and walked towards the door.

Jason opened the door and simply raised an eyebrow. “What can I help you with Mr. Wayne?”

“There’s a French class coming to Gotham. They’re staying in one of the company hotels in the heart of the city. You and your brothers had best be on your best behaviour since Dick is the tour guide for their tours through the company buildings and you’re the acting bodyguard for their tours around the city.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Hey Dickiebird! I didn’t know you signed up to give some tours to some hoity toity French kids.”

“I didn’t know I signed up to give some tours either.” Dick leaned on the wall next to the door. “When did either of us sign up to help you?”

Bruce sighed and looked at his two oldest sons. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for Alfred, he would like it if any of you came around.”

“Mmm, no can do B. My son is the child of a rogue and the grandchild of a rogue, my sister is the child of a rogue, my sisters are children of rogues, my brothers and I associate with rogues. Alfred is more than welcome to come around. You can give him my address and then forget it.”

Dick nodded and slung an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “When is the French class supposed to be here?”

“They’re flying in on Saturday but don’t start their tours until the following Monday to allow for them to get used to the time change.

---

Jason nervously tapped his foot on the floor, hoping and praying to whatever deity came to mind first a certain god of destruction that everything would turn out alright. He took a deep breath, shook out his hands and knocked on the door to the apartment.

The door opened and Selina appeared, dishevelled hair and shirt falling down her arm. Selina was sleepily rubbing at her eye with the other hand still held the door, just open enough she could see whomever was at her door but not open enough that anyone could see into her apartment.

“Aunt Selina?” Jason whispered while praying again to the deity. “Do you remember me? I’m-”

Selina let go of the door to wrap her arms around Jason, pulling the much taller boy against her chest. “Oh Jason. Why didn’t you come to me immediately after you breached city limits?” She pulled back just enough to hesitantly trace her fingers over the scars that marred his otherwise conventionally handsome face. “My poor bird. My poor, poor, little bird.”

“Aunt Selina. I’m fine now. Dick and Tim have sided with me against Bruce. I know how much you care for him and I understand if you’re taking his side, I just, I needed to see my Aunt Selina one last time.”

“Jason Peter Todd. I’m not the Joker. My one goal in life isn’t to be the Bat’s one and only. The day he brought Dick on the scene I decided then and there that you all weren’t his birds. You were mine. And cats are just as likely to attack bats as they are birds.” Selina’s fingers paused on top of a set of three very faint white-silver scars just under his jawline. “I am sorry that I ever caused you pain my little bird.”

---

Jason nervously straightened things around his apartment, Damian, Roy and Lian sat on the couch watching his mad dash around the apartment while Stephanie and Cass sat on a pair of counters with Tim standing between them. Dick, Wally, Mar’i, Jay and Iris were nervously looking out the window as Jason continued to clean.

Dick, Wally, Mar’i, Jay and Iris suddenly scrambled away from the window to sit down around Damian, Roy and Lian.

A few minutes after they sat down, a firm knock came at the door. Jason brushed the dust off of his shirt and approached the door. Jason opened the door and smiled. “Hi Aunt Selina. Hi Grandpa Alfred.”

Alfred smiled at Jason and glanced down at the covered dish in his hands. “I made my key lime pie.”

Selina simply chuckled. “Little bird. At this point, I’m your mom. Just call me Mom.”

-*-*-*

Thana looked at her friends, Chloé steadfast in her loyalty, Nino firm in his friendship, and Kim unshakable in his protection, and smiled. “I love you guys so much. You are my family.”

Chloé smiled and wrapped her arms around Thana. “We love you too.”

Nino and Kim joined their hug, the four friends uniting in their found family and solidifying their bonds. “You’re our family too Thana.”

---

Desgracia watched as Marc took a deep breath before looking at Kaalki. “Kaalki, full gallop.”

Marc was encased in a pale brown light. When the light disappeared, they stood in a loose-fitting gray bodysuit with brown knee-high boots with dark orange-red bands around the top of the boots and around the ankles, dark red wrist gauntlets covered in orange horseshoes with dark golden yellow bands around the top and bottom of the gauntlets. Over the gray bodysuit, they had a dark red tunic which crossed over their chest which was hemmed in a red-orange. The bottom half of their face was obscured by the turtleneck of their gray bodysuit while they had a dark orange-red domino mask with light gray eye lenses. The domino mask had a thin golden yellow outline, akin to glasses, while their hair had reddened. While their hair had previously been pitch black, it was now a dark chestnut that had lengthened to resemble Sesshomaru’s.

“What’s your name?” Desgracia’s eye lenses were blue-green and flicked over his suit in vague interest.

“Ma-”

Desgracia’s eye lenses darkened to green and hissed. “Hero name. We don’t use names in the field.” A gruff voice repeating the same words to a much younger version of her older brother sounded in her head.

“Oh, uh, um.” Marc frowned and tapped their chin in thought.

“Well, you’re using the Horse Miraculous so it should be something horse related. Poulain, because you’re new at this so you’re like a foal.”

“Poulain rouge.” Marc smiled and shook out their shoulders. “Poulain rouge because my hair is more red now.”

“Welcome to the team Poulain rouge.” Desgracia smiled and leaned over to ruffle their hair.

“Thanks.”

---

Thana sat under the stairs which lead to the second floor of the school, sketching an outfit for a client when another person tripped over her legs. She glanced up to see it was Marc before looking back down at her sketch.

“Sorry. I didn’t-” Marc started before Thana cut them off.

“Would you wear this?” Thana pushed her sketchbook towards them and tapped her fingers on her leg.

Marc looked over the sketch and nodded. “Yeah. Looks good. Who’s it for?”

“A client. Hey, you’re good at writing, right?” Thana looked at them and seemed to be imploring them to answer.

“Yeah?”

“Could you look over my website and figure out what’s wrong with it?” Thana smiled. “You can come over to Chlo’s to look over it. Well, Chlo’s or Kim’s.”

Marc nodded. “Sure.”

---

Thana and Marc followed after Kim as he walked into his home.

“Mẹ! Mèo con and our friend came over, I hope that’s okay.” Kim called as they entered the house. Kim and Thana toed off their shoes on instinct while Marc just copied their movements.

“Con trai. Con gài.” Kim’s Mẹ wrapped the two up in a hug before pressing kisses to their foreheads. “Ni hao. I’m Kim’s mom, and Marinette,” Kim’s Mẹ noticed how she flinched at the use of the name and corrected herself, “Thana has practically become my daughter.”

“My name is Marc Anciel.” Marc shook Kim’s Mẹ’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am.”

“None of that ma’am stuff. Just call me Mẹ, those two do.” Kim’s Mẹ was, arguably, a very attractive woman. She had short black hair and warm caramel brown eyes and she was just a few centimeters shorter than Kim. “Come on in.”

The three teens smiled at the woman before they went back to Kim’s room. Thana pulled up her website and moved out of the desk chair to allow Marc to look it over.

Marc looked over the website while Kim and Thana did their homework. “Are you sure you want the whole webpage to be gunmetal gray? You could mix it up with the background being light purple so the gray stands out.”

Thana nodded and let out a quiet “huh”. “Hey Marc? Do you care if I hug you?”

Marc’s eyes widened and they smiled shyly. “Sure.”

Thana wrapped her arms around Marc. “Thank you so much.”

---

Desgracia looked over the field, making sure each of her teammates weren’t being overwhelmed with this Akuma’s minions, when she saw the Akuma gunning for Poulain rouge.

Desgracia lept from the rooftop, landing on her toes in front of Poulain rouge and glared at the Akuma. She twirled her baton in her hand, keeping it low enough to not hit Poulain, before she looked back over her shoulder at Poulain. “Go get Monsieur Punaise. Tell him to hurry.”

Poulain nodded, turned around and ran to get their fearless leader who had one fear and it was Desgracia.

By the time Poulain returned with Monsieur Punaise, the Akuma was barely holding on. Monsieur Punaise called for his Lucky Charm, a plane ticket (specifically one for the flight they were taking soon), before deakumatizing the Akuma and throwing the Lucky Charm in the air with a call of “Miraculous Monsieur Punaise”.

Desgracia wrapped an arm around Poulain’s waist before jumping away, leaving her more even tempered teammates to assist the Akuma victim.

Desgracia landed on a rooftop and put Poulain down on the rooftop. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. He didn’t get close enough to take a swipe at me.” Poulain rouge chuckled and shook their head. “Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Poulain. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. All damage dealt in the battle was rendered useless and disappeared when Monsieur Punaise cast his final charm.” Desgracia cupped Poulain’s face in her hands. “You have to be on guard at all times in battle. I won’t always be here. You need to trust your teammates to protect you in battle.”

Trâu landed on the rooftop and chuckled. “Desi, you can’t just kidnap our Foal.”

Desgracia turned her green eyes on him, however after assessing him as no threat her eye lenses turned back into their normal blue. “Trâu. I didn’t kidnap them. I just needed to ensure that they were fine.”

Taglist

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[anerdquemoraaolado]

Beyond a Chance

‘Chapter 6: Reunion

Tom didn't know Los Angeles that well, but he thought he was on the right path. After talking to Yasmim on the phone, arranging where they would meet, he could see the reference to the diner she had mentioned. The place had a vintage entrance, with a red and white striped frame over the entrance, with the classic tables and chairs, some inside and some outside the establishment, which was very much in keeping with Hollywood in the 30s, it was a charming place. Tom could understand why Yasmim had arranged the meeting there, and she probably loved the place.

Seeing that the place was full, he sat outside, mainly for two reasons. First, it would be quicker and easier for Yasmim to find him here than inside, and second, he feared being recognized by the people inside and causing a stir. Situations like that were extremely rare, he admitted, one person or another recognized him, and he was very kind and understanding, he was attentive, he was also kind and understanding, and the fan said goodbye to him cordially. Maybe that was because he was very different from Loki, he was blond instead of dark, he used to grow a beard instead of always being clean-shaven and he didn't go around doing threats, illusions, or other such tricks. Thinking about it, sitting alone at his desk, Tom allowed himself a chuckle.

His image was pretty blurry at the time, his hair in the middle of the process of growing to his shoulders, in an attempt to wear a natural hair for the god of mischief on the show, which made him look very different from what he's been before, and unintentionally, it was a kind of disguise.

Yasmim, even in that disguise, recognized him. In fact, what caught her attention and made him look at him, recognizing him right away, was her giggle.

"I'm glad you're in a good mood." She used the expression as an icebreaker.

-Oh yes, yes - upon realizing that she had caught him off guard, Tom actually blushed, but soon recovered, clearing his throat - it is a pleasure to see you again, miss. Gomes.

-I hope I didn't make you wait too long - she sat down unceremoniously in front of him - and I already said that you can call me Yasmim, please.

-Sorry, force of habit - he gave her an embarrassed smile, but decided to continue without giving more time to his own shyness.

-Okay, I think that's cute - she replied, so he wouldn't feel so embarrassed - so where do we start?

"Ladies first," Tom took the time to speak with a gesture toward Yasmim.

"Wow again," she said in a tone of praise.

"Well, I'm also looking forward to hearing what you have to say," he added.

-So, let’s go - Yasmim even rearranged her posture, ready to talk for hours on end, Tom was even more excited to hear her - first, I think Sigyn's character is super interesting, like, she is the goddess of loyalty precisely for being loyal to a guy who clearly didn't deserve it, no offense.

-No, I wasn't offended - he shrugged - by the way, out of curiosity, I was just thinking about how different I am from Loki, just before you arrived.

-Yeah, even so, you transform into the character and act so well - Yasmim let the fan side show a little bit - that's what's fascinating about being an actor, you lend your own being to give life to a character that often doesn't have the nothing to do with you.

-Yes, that's quite true - Tom agreed with her, a little thoughtfully, with his hand on his chin - have you always thought that about acting? If I don't mind asking, since when have you acted?

-Well, I can say that I've been acting since childhood - she allowed herself to laugh - I loved doing plays in school, then I went to College of Performing Arts and worked in theater all my life, meaning that Sigyn will be my first character in front of a camera.

-That makes you a little nervous, doesn't it? - he asked - I remember the feeling.

-We have that in common, do we? Sorry, I don't know much about your career, other than Thor's movies - Yasmim was very sincere.

-No, it's ok, sometimes I like to be just a stranger - Tom gave her a smile that assured him that everything was ok - and you're right, I started in theater too and did a lot of plays before being discovered, sort of.

-I understand why you said I'm nervous - Yasmim commented.

-Are you? If you don't mind me asking too, what's your story? I mean, you're not native here, I can tell from your accent and Yasmim is such a different name, I've never heard it in my life, I mean, it all sounds pretty rude, I'm sorry - He broke off, seeing that it might sound quite inconvenient.

-No, it's okay, I don't think there's anything wrong with being curious, I wasn't offended, really - she corrected him in a good mood - but where I came from, it's a very common name, really, I'm Brazilian, I was born and I grew up in a small town there, studied and graduated in São Paulo and after many frustrations, I decided to come here, living as a theater actress until then.

-This is all very brave of you, to go out and leave everything you know - Tom praised her, sincerely admired.

-I know, I also miss home a lot, but I'm very happy, I'm about to fulfill my big dream with this opportunity, which reminds me, Sigyn, I think I have a little bit of the character's perspective, I mean, about everything that I've read about her, she's certainly an amazing character - Yasmim has been talking non-stop - to imagine that she loves someone like Loki from Marvel, it's really an unshakable feeling, it's like, just her out of pure love and understanding, decide to see his good side and be faithful to that side and trusting him to act kindly when necessary.

-Your perspective is a lot about what I see of Loki as well - Tom added - I always thought that deep down Loki can be much more than he realizes about himself, of course, the traumas made him that way, and I think he's always trying to make up for what he judges to be failing his family with violent wit, basically showing that he can be or is better than Thor in different ways.

-So on the face of it, I think Sigyn is the only one he doesn't need to prove anything to, she understands him on a very intimate level - Yasmim showed her character's point of view.

Hearing her talk with such excitement and dedication, Tom concluded that they would have a very productive and enjoyable afternoon.