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spices-and-cherries · 2 years

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valentine’s day blues

BENOIT BLANC X READER

I’ve been wanting to do a hanahaki disease fic for a while, so I’ve been working on this off and on as I try to muster up the energy to write out a few requests. This is also a bit short, so I apologize for that!

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it!

Warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of murder, angst

Masterlist:

One man was known to have had it for seven years before dying, the object of his affections leading him on for over half of that time. Another had realized his love a little too late, minutes before she had taken her last breath. They were buried next to each other. There was even a woman who had killed her lover after finding out he had been with others and then killed herself. Dried up, yellow carnations had been found in her lungs during the autopsy report.

None of this is to say that the hanahaki disease only ends in heartbreak and death, but those fairytale endings are rare. Even most doctors won't even see patients if they have it because the survival rate is so low.

It happened on Valentine’s Day and the irony was far from lost on you. In fact, if it wasn’t so damn painful, it might’ve actually been a little funny in a sick and twisted way.

You had been harboring a little spark of... attraction towards a man at work for some time now. For months, you had protected it and held it close to your heart, refusing to let anything snuff it out. But shielding a tiny flame from wind and rain for almost a year is tiring. In retrospect, it’s not surprising that you let desperation and wishful thinking and hope get the better of you as you walked by a little men’s boutique you had previously never looked twice at.

In the window you had spotted a gift that you were sure he would like. It was a set of simple, gold cufflinks with the letter B pressed in the center. The box that they came in was just as nice, a wine color with the boutique’s name written in a delicate silver cursive.

That night, you stared at that little box for hours, running every possible scenario through your mind - the bad outnumbering the good - until you felt sick to the stomach. The feeling stayed with you all night and through your commute to work, all the way up to the very moment you set the little box in his hand later that afternoon.

He had looked at you with a mix of confusion and something you couldn’t quite place, but had accepted it graciously. Later that night, you had gotten a text.

Thank you for the kind gift. - B

You don’t know what you were expecting the next day, but Cupid’s lesser known brother, Heartbreak, shot a deadly arrow right through your heart. It was all the more painful after receiving what you considered to be a rather cryptic message.

He didn’t wear the cufflinks.

Was it because he didn’t like it? Was the gesture too forward? Maybe you should’ve written more than just a simple, ‘thank you for your hard work’?

Maybe he just didn’t like you back.

It started with a feeling of sadness that seeped up from your toes, quickly followed by despair that froze your fingers, and then rejection gripped your throat and dug its long nails in.

You wait until you get home to start crying. Seconds after closing your front door, you found yourself breaking down. It as though your body had given up just as much as you had because before you knew it, you were gasping for breath on the floor. Even in the moment, you couldn’t figure out why it had affected you so much, but your brain was already in overdrive. All of your insecurities were pouring through and you became acutely aware of how Pandora’s box must have felt. The relief that came with the opportunity to finally let all your emotions out was dampened with knowing the damage was done.

And that is how you got to where you are now, gagging over the toilet bowl in a desperate attempt to get the last bits of flower from your throat. Even an idiot would know what was going on, but as an officer of the law you are intimately aware of what havoc the hanahaki disease could bring.

The moment the red carnation - even redder with your blood staining it - hit the palm of your hand, you knew what it meant and your tears had never tasted so bitter.

-----

Happy Valentine’s Day!

- Violet

#benoit blanc x reader #benoitblanc #benoit blanc #x reader #daniel craig #angst #fluff #romance #unrequited love #thats actually not #mutual pining #idiots in love #hanahaki disease #au #happy valentine's day

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writingwithcolor · 5 years

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Fairy Tale Retellings with POC

@anjareedd asked:

Hello, Writing with Color! First of all, thank you for all you do. Second, do you have any advice for a white person retelling fairy tales, both European fairy tale and non-European fairy tales? Is it okay to retell non-European fairy tales? I would feel bad if all fairy tales I retold were European as those are over represented, but given how much white people have erased and whitewashed other culture's fairy tales I understand if that were off-limits for a white person. Thank you!

Fairy tale retellings are my favorite thing. I love reading, rewriting and creating new fairy tale-style stories with People of Color!

As you write, keep in mind:

European does not mean white.

The possibility of PoC in European or Western historical settings tends to throw off so many. There are plenty of European People of Color, then and today. You can have an Indian British little red riding hood and it isn’t “unrealistic.” And we wanna read about them!

Still, research the history of your settings and time period. Use multiple credible sources, as even the most well-known ones may exclude the history of People of Color or skim over it. The stories might be shoved into a corner, but we live and have lived everywhere. The specific groups (and numbers of) in a certain region may vary, though.

How and when did they or their family get there, and why?

Has it been centuries, decades, longer than one can remember?

Who are the indigenous people of the region? (Because hey, places like America and Australia would love to have you believe its earliest people were white...)

Is there a connection with the Moors, trade, political marriage; was it simply immigration?

No need to elaborate all too much. A sentence or more woven into the story in passing may do the trick to establish context, depending on your story and circumstance.

Or if you want to ignore all of that, because this is fantasy-London or whatever, by all means do. POC really don’t need a explanation to exist, but I simply like to briefly establish context for those who may struggle to “get it”, personally. This is a side effect of POC being seen as the Other and white as the default.

Although, if PoC existing in a fairy tale is the reader’s biggest stumbling block in a world of magic, speculation, or fantasy, that’s none of your concern.

Can you picture any of the people below, or someone with these backgrounds, the protagonist of their own fairytale? I hope so!

Above: Painting of Dido Elizabeth Belle (1760s - 1800s), British Heiress with her cousin. Check out her history as well as the movie, Belle (2013).

Source: English Heritage: Women in History - Dido Belle

Above: Abraham Janssens - The Agrippine Sibyl - Netherlands (c. 1575)

“Since ancient times Sybils were considered seers sent by god, priestesses foretelling the coming of great events. This model serves to depict the Sybil of Agrippina, one of the 12 that foretold the coming of Christ. Notice the flagellum and crown of thrones which are symbolic objects reminding the viewer of Christs suffering.” X

Above: “Major Musa Bhai, 3 November 1890. Musa Bhai travelled to England in 1888 as part of the Booth family, who founded the Salvation Army.” X

Above: Eleanor Xiniwe and Johanna Jonkers, respectively and other members of the African Choir, who all had portraits taken at the London Stereoscopic Company in 1891.

“The African Choir were a group of young South African singers that toured Britain between 1891 and 1893. They were formed to raise funds for a Christian school in their home country and performed for Queen Victoria at Osborne House, a royal residence on the Isle of Wight.” X

The examples above just scratch the surface. Luckily, more and more historians and researchers are publishing lesser known (and at times purposefully masked) PoC history.

More Sources

PoC in History (WWC Search Link)

POC in Europe (WWC Search Link)

The Black Victorians: astonishing portraits unseen for 120 years

Hidden histories: the first Black people photographed in Britain – in pictures

Let’s talk about oppression and slavery

There is a hyper-focus on chattel slavery as if the times when and where it occurred is the only narrative that exists. And even when it is part of a Person of Color’s history, that is seldom all there is to say of the person or their lives. For example, Dido Elizabeth Belle.

People of Color were not all slaves, actively enslaved, or oppressed for racial reasons at all times in history! Dig deep into the research of your time period and region. Across the long, wide history of the world, People of Color are and were a norm and also NOT simply exceptions. Explore all the possibilities to discover the little known and seldom told history. Use this as inspiration for your writing.

PoC (especially Black people) were not always in chains, especially in a world of your making.

Don’t get me wrong. These stories do have a place and not even painful histories should be erased. I personally read these stories as well, if and when written by someone who is from the background. Some might even combine fairy tale, fantasy, and oppression in history. However...

There are plenty of stories on oppressed PoC. How many fairy tales?

Many European tales have versions outside of Europe.

Just because a tale was popularized under a western setting doesn’t mean that it originates there. Overtime, many were rewritten and altered to fit European settings, values and themes.

Read original tales.

You might be inspired to include a story in its original setting. Even if you kept it in a western setting, why not consider a protagonist from the ethnicity of the story’s origin?

For example: the Cinderella most are familiar with was popularized by the French in 1697. However, Cinderella has Chinese and Greek versions that date back from the 9th Century CE and 6th Century BCE, respectively.

Choosing a Setting: European or Non-European?

I do not see anything wrong with either (I write tales set in western and non-western settings, all with Heroines of Color). There is great potential in both.

Non-Western Settings (pros and cons)

Normalizes non-Western settings. Not just the “exotic” realm of the Other.

Potential for rich, cultural elements and representation

Requires more research and thoughtfulness (the case for any setting one is unfamiliar with, though)

European or Western Setting (pros and cons)

Normalizes PoC as heroes, not the Other, or only fit to be side characters.

Representation for People of Color who live in Western countries/regions

Loss of some cultural elements (that character can still bring in that culture, though! Living in the West often means balancing 2+ cultures)

Outdated Color and Ethnic Symbolism

Many fairy tales paint blackness (and darkness, and the Other) as bad, ominous and ugly, and white as good and pure.

Language that worships whiteness as the symbol of beauty. For example: “Fair” being synonymous with beauty. Characters like Snow White being the “fairest” of them all.

Wicked witches with large hooked noses, often meant to be coded as ethnically Jewish people.

Don’t follow an old tale back into that same pit of dark and Other phobia. There’s many ways to change up and subvert the trope, even while still using it, if you wish. Heroines and heroes can have dark skin and large noses and still stand for good, innocence and beauty.

Read: Black and White Symbolism: Discussion and Alternatives

Non-European Fairy tales - Tips to keep in Mind:

Some stories and creatures belong to a belief system and is not just myth to alter. Before writing or changing details, read and seek the opinions of the group. You might change the whole meaning of something by tweaking details you didn’t realize were sacred and relevant.

Combine Tales Wisely:

Picking stories and beings from different cultural groups and placing them in one setting can come across as them belonging to the same group or place (Ex: A Japanese fairy tale with Chinese elements). This misrepresents and erases true origins. If you mix creatures or elements from tales, show how they all play together and try to include their origin, so it isn’t as if the elements were combined at random or without careful selection.

Balance is key:

When including creatures of myths, take care to balance your Human of Color vs. creatures ratio, as well as the nature of them both (good, evil, gray moral). EX: Creatures from Native American groups but no human Native characters from that same group (or all evil, gray, or too underdeveloped to know) is poor representation.

Moral Alignment:

Changing a good or neutral cultural creature into something evil may be considered disrespectful and misappropriation.

Have Fun!

No, seriously. Fairy tales, even those with the most somber of meanings, are meant to be intriguing little adventures. Don’t forget that as you write or get hung up on getting the “right message” out and so on. That’s what editing is for.

--Colette

#writing advice #representation #history #people of color #writing #fairy tales #fantasy creatures #supernatural beings #guides #long post #slavery #slavery mention tw #culture #images #asks

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what2finish · 4 years

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Creator Post: Rudearrow

Rudearrow’s WTF Creator Post (Auction #1001, #1002)

Creator’s previous works: Here!

Link to GDrive Folder of WIP Summaries/HCs/Plot Bunnies Creator is Offering: Here!

you can contact the creator before bidding at:

email: [email protected]

Likes: fantasy au, sci-fi au, plotfic/casefic, found family, Redemption Arc With Hard Work, Demonstrating Contrition, and Learning to Love Yourself(tm), wingfic, lesser known pairings and characters, crossovers, whacky ideas taken seriously, whacky ideas taken whackily, bdsm

Do Not Wants: no non-con, torture, incest, or underage. no harder kinks, ie: scat, waterworks, gore, etc.

Preferred Charities of the creator: Any

Full Charities List

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Auction #1

Type of fanwork: fanfiction

Fandom: Marvel, DC, Stranger Things, Game of Thrones, Supernatural, Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed, (honestly, just email me if you like my writing... if I know your canon, I'm probably down)

Pairing(s): I'm a multi-shipper who loves underdog/rarepairs, existing WIPs are for Winterhawk, Winteriron, Winterironhawk, Robb/Theon, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Dean Winchester. Platonic/grey-ace pairings welcome!

Character(s): there isn't a character from any of the canons listed that I won't write

Rating: General, Teen, Mature

Marvel WIPs:

Crimson & Clover: Urban Fantasy AU; 616 Clint & Bucky, endgame Winterhawk. Clint Barton has finally done the Right Thing(tm) and left his life of petty crime with Cirque du Nuit behind him. He’s got a GED, a bow, and coffee- and not much else. In the process of rebuilding his life, he runs into a not-so-tall, dark, and handsome stranger. Literally. He thinks a spilled latte and a bump on the head will be the end of his encounter, but with each successive run-in, he realizes that maybe luck just isn’t on his side and outrunning his past might not be in the cards after all. Current WC: 15k.

Half-splitting the Problem: Winteriron canon reversal! Feared dead after an attack on his convoy in Afghanistan nearly three months ago, the CEO of Barnes Industries has once again defied expectations. Having survived the attack and his subsequent captivity by the terrorist organization, The Ten Rings, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes has returned to American soil and turned his company upside down. Tony Stark, a young man from humble means with few options, has been working his internship with SI R&D for nearly a year now. He’s noticed activities that can only be described as ‘iffy’ at best, but with a boatload of student debt and a work history peppered with reprimands and missed deadlines he’s decided to keep his head down for the almighty dollar and hope for the best... Until he stumbles across Obadiah Stane’s personal project. Current WC: 1.5k

Seraphic (Hallowed Incorporeal Entities) Liaison Division, AKA: S.H.I.E.L.D.: Winterironhawk wingfic! Bucky Barnes has been assigned a new Seraph partner and he’s not happy about it. Tony Stark is that Seraph and while he’s not thrilled either, it really is a lot of fun to push Barnes’s buttons. Clinton Francis Barton, unbeknownst to him, is their first assigned charge. And honestly? He could use all the help S.H.I.E.L.D. can spare. Current WC: 3k

Misadventures in Solitude: Clint Barton-centric, fwb Winterhawk, open to endgame romantic Winterhawk, alternative Clint pairing (except Nat. Sorry, for me they are always platonic soul mates), and/or poly. Just a day in the life of Clint Barton, coffee-riddled, exhausted corporate cog. He did all the “right” things- went to school, got a decent white-collar job, moved to the big city- so why is he so unhappy? And lost. Except, shit... he’s actually lost. Where the futz is he? Current WC: 1.5k

Part I: The Space Between Us: 616 Winterhawk; Space! Kidnapped Clint! BDSM. This is technically part one to the fic I finished a few months ago on my linked Ao3, Show Me the Miles. Bucky has been chosen for the “away team”, as Stark likes to call it. While Bucky is bored almost to tears watching Stark and Rogers schmooze with extraterrestrial royalty, Clint is snatched while on a milk run mission back on Earth. Bucky, suffice it to say, doesn’t exactly take the news well. Current WC: 5.5k

Marvel HC:

Fairytale Winteriron AU: Bucky/Tony Bucky is a sprite with moth wings. Tony is a sprite with butterfly wings. Their peoples have centuries of animosity and sharp words for each other. Then ‘the fire(fly) nation attacked’ and [choose which one here] is injured, only to be saved by the other! Begrudging friendship and appreciation turn into more. Endgame is sprites in love. \o/

Completion WC Estimates:

Crimson & Clover, Estimated 40k+ upon completion.

Half-splitting the Problem, Estimated 15-20k upon completion.

Seraphic (Hallowed Incorporeal Entities) Liaison Division, AKA: S.H.I.E.L.D., Estimated 20k+ upon completion.

Misadventures in Solitude, Estimated 10k+ upon completion.

Part I: The Space Between Us, Estimated 15-20k upon completion.

Fairytale Winteriron AU HC, Estimated 15-20k upon completion.

GOT WIP:

Manual for Spaceship Westeros: Robb/Theon; Space Colony Au! There is tension between the loose planetary alliance that calls itself Westeros. Robb Stark, as the only full-blood Stark son of age, is sent to negotiate a stronger alliance with Iron Born, a terrifying clan who has made a small water planet habitable through the genetic modification of its ancestors, sweat, and blood. Robb arrives to seek an audience with The Greyjoy and make his offer- the hand of his sister Sansa. But The Greyjoy deems this insufficient and Robb quickly finds himself on the offering plate. Current WC 2k.

Completion WC Estimate: 20-25k

Stranger Things & Supernatural:

Billy Dean Was My Lover (working tongue in cheek title): main pairing Steve/Billy (possibly Steve/Billy/Dean?); Billy/Dean; crossover plot-ish fic! When his dad called and ordered Dean to pack up Sam then head for the Midwest, he didn’t ask questions. Apparently, strange things were happening in small town Indiana; which was usually a Winchester’s bread and butter. Yet even Dean and Sam aren’t quite prepared for the kind of strange Hawkins has, especially with John failing to meet them at the town’s motel. But there was something even more surprising than the super-powered teenage girl and a whole new world of monsters...

Hearing the name of Dean’s tape-swap penpal out of some preppy, polo-wearing guy’s mouth. Current WC 1k.

WILDCARD, AKA: ANY HC/PROMPT FOR THE ABOVE PAIRINGS AND FANDOMS LISTED.

If you like my writing but aren’t into the WIPs here, I will write a fic that is a minimum of 10k for any character, ship, platonic pair, for any of the fandoms listed above. I’m also happy to write for material/canon I know but that isn’t listed above. If I know it well enough, I’ll write it for you! (Exception being RPS.) Just message me if you’re curious and I’ll confirm that I’m familiar with the source material. :)

Starting Bid: $10

Creator Notes:

Like my fellow mod, Mei, I am willing to work my winner's likes into my stories and am open to brainstorming sessions!

Feel free to email me to learn more about any of the WIPs stories and if you like, I will give you my Discord handle. I am willing to work with my winner's pairings as long as they don't fall into my DNWs. For Marvel the only two pairings (of the ones I am most familiar) that I just cannot see romantically/sexually are Clint/Natasha and Bucky/Steve.

Current Bid Spreadsheet: Here.

Please check what the current bid is at before bidding.

Bids might take a few minutes to load.

Bidding ends on November 28th 11:59:00pm CST. The highest bid before that deadline will win the auction.

Bidding Form: Here.

Please check the Bid Spreadsheet and bid higher than the previous bid.

You will not be notified if you have been outbid. Only the winner will be notified after bidding ends.

___

Auction #2

Type of fanwork: fanfiction

Fandom: Marvel, DC, Stranger Things, Game of Thrones, Supernatural, Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed, (honestly, just email me if you like my writing... if I know your canon, I'm probably down)

Character(s): there isn't a character from any of the canons listed that I won't write

Rating: General, Teen, Mature

WIPs/Prompt:

Literally the same as Auction #1!

Staring Bid: $10

Creator Notes:

Like my fellow mod, Mei, I am willing to work my winner's likes into my stories and am open to brainstorming sessions!

**In the unlikely event that both winning bidders want the same fic and you don’t want any of the other WIPs listed, I will offer up a fic of equal or greater length for whatever HC you desire. Within, of course, the same DNW parameters listed above. This includes the Wild Card option!**

Current Bid Spreadsheet: Here.

Please check what the current bid is at before bidding.

Bids might take a few minutes to load.

Bidding ends on November 28th 11:59:00pm CST. The highest bid before that deadline will win the auction.

Bidding Form: Here.

Please check the Bid Spreadsheet and bid higher than the previous bid.

You will not be notified if you have been outbid. Only the winner will be notified after bidding ends.

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marywardvvell · 5 years

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how it was

rating: m/pg-13 pairing: sabrina + madam sabrina/lilith summary: Lilith thinks about Sabrina. And then she does something about it. (sabrina is 18 au) read on ao3 here or below

It was annoying, the cheerfulness; the toothrottingly sweet smiles and the way she all but skipped into class, the way she believed the best in everyone despite knowing what darkness the world held and the how she demanded justice never though justice for women like them was merely a fairytale.

“Thank you,” Sabrina said as they stood in the darkness, demon banished from its mortal host. It gave Lilith pause, this genuine thankfulness. No one thanked her, no one had reason to. The warmth of Sabrina’s hand in hers still lingered from earlier exorcism.

Was she ever that innocent? Did she ever believe that someone would be kind just for the sake of kindness? Maybe once, but only for a few fleeting moments. She wasn’t born, she was created from the dust and to the dust she’d return one day. When she first opened her eyes she was both younger and older than Sabrina, but time was young too and juxtaposition didn’t worry her then.

Wherever Sabrina went, Lilith followed in the shadows. She trusted her, or rather, she trusted Miss Wardwell and further intertwining their lives was easy. It was a cup of tea here, a listening ear there, and a helping hand whenever the young witch found herself in trouble. It was a romanticing, a seduction, gaining Sabrina’s total trust and loyalty. And soon Lilith knew the little songs Sabrina hummed when getting ready, the way she always put others before herself in the tiniest of ways whether it was holding doors in the rain or whispering protection spells over her friends.

There was a moment, days before she’d told Sabrina she was a witch, one forever burned into Lilith’s memory, when she heard the softest murmur outside her office door. Moving closer to the closed door she let her eyes shut, stretching her powers out to see Sabrina, facing the door with both hands up and swaying in a trance-like state. The words Sabrina spoke were familiar, a protection spell, gentle like a blessing and strong like a curse. Startled, Lilith stifled a gasp and remained still on the other side of the door long after Sabrina had gone.

…

It was aggravating, the purity; the curl of her blonde hair and the curve of her neck. Just looking at her apple red lips Lilith knew Sabrina had never been properly kissed. She’d known immediately why The Dark Lord wanted Sabrina, she was exquisite with untapped power humming through her veins. When Lilith was near the girl she could almost taste in.

Miss Wardwell’s sheet are maroon. In between sleeping and wakefulness is when Lilith imagined the contrast of Sabrina’s pale skin and blood red of the sheets. That thought alone is enough to drive a lesser demon insane but she went farther. Maybe she was already insane, maybe she has been for a while. Corrupting Sabrina’s soul was one thing, but corrupting her body would have so much more fun.

She could easily imagine the way Sabrina’s white-blonde hair would look fanned out in her pillow. She could almost taste the way the magic would feel on her skin. In her mind’s eye Sabrina wouldn’t shy away, trying to hide her nakedness like Eve, but give herself fully over to Lilith’s hungry eyes and her wandering touch. How beautiful she’d sound, gasping Lilith’s name until the sun rose again.

But instead, she wrapped Sabrina’s slender wrist with red yarn to anchor them together, forcing herself to keep to the task at hand- crushing Sabrina’s spirit- and not how lovely she’d look tied to Miss Wardwell’s four poster bed. Slowly, she unwound the ball of yarn and watched her disappear into limbo.

…

It was maddening, the way she cried. The way a single quiver of the lip and drop of salty tear could make Lilith’s chest hurt. She was the most powerful demon imaginable but the sight of the half mortal girl crying on the other side of the mirror made Lilith feel more powerless than she had in years.

She hated feeling weak, hated fluttering in her chest and the tears that pricked the corners of her own eyes. It reminded her of a time when the stars burned bright and young, when she swore to never be weak again.

…

It was terrifying, letting her get so close. Sabrina’s light made its way into every crack and cevase of Lilith’s life. As much as she despised teaching those little mortal children, she looked forward to seeing Sabrina in her classroom, enjoyed when she stopped by her office, coming over to her house for midnight tea.

Sabrina let herself into Lilith’s office one afternoon, cheerfully smiling at her as she placed a shiny red apple on her desk. Her smile was so bright, so welcoming and kind, that Lilith wanted to hurt her, wanted to terrify her and show her exactly what a monster she was.

She caught Sabrina’s wrist and jerked her closer. She watched the catch in Sabrina’s breath and her pretty smile that dropped for a split second as her flush deepened. But then the smile was back, bigger than before and it was wonderful and totally unnerving to Lilith.

“Miss Wardwell?” Sabrina glanced from her face to where her wrist was being held captive.

Lilith released her, stepping back, “I- is there there something I can do for you?”

“I just wanted to see how your day was,” Said Sabrina, “And give you the apple of course.”

“Of course,” Lilith nodded, of course, she was just stopping by to be kind, “Well my day has been pretty uneventful.”

“Sometimes those kinds of days are nice,” Sabrina said, then gave a little wave, “I’ll see you tomorrow Miss Wardwell!”

“Yes, I will,” she murmured, watching Sabrina disappear out the door, her heart pounding, face flushed with a feeling she’d not felt in millennia.

Love.

…

It was wonderful, when Sabrina trusted her. True, Sabrina trusted too freely and quickly but one night she appeared on Miss Wardwell’s doorstep, poorly concealing her tears.

She knew what day it was, of course, Lilith always did her research and after only a handful of leading questions, Sabrina broke down in tears saying it was the anniversary of her parents death.

“I’m so sorry love,” Lilith murmured offering Sabrina a handkerchief and patting her knee. But soon she was petting her hair, letting Sabrina cry herself to sleep with her head in Lilith’s lap.

…

It was idiotic of her to forget why she’s there. Stupid to forget why she was sent to Greendale in the first place, who she answered to, her mission to complete.

But with Sabrina’s signature on the dotted line, she’s forgotten, she’s been forgotten by her dark lord and savior.

(Was she really saved? Or did she merely exchange one master for another?)

…

It was horrible, the look on her face when she burst through the door. The light was gone, a horrible mix of anger and fierce hurt marring her features. The office down rattled as Sabrina slammed it shut behind her, stalking up to the desk with Hell Fire burning in her eyes.

“Sabrina!” Lilith exclaimed, as if she didn’t immediately know. There was only one thing that would make Sabrina so angry at her.

“You’ve been working for him this whole time!” Sabrina yelled, “You tricked me!”

“Keep your voice down!” Lilith hissed, drawing herself up to her full height. Sabrina paused, faltered, but stepped forward with the full force of her anger again.

“How could you? I trusted you! I thought-“

“What? You thought what Sabrina? That I liked you? That I wanted to be your friend? That you were special?” Lilith sneered the last word. Leaning against her desk she threw her head back with a wicked laugh. It was easier this way, easier to crush her than beg for forgiveness.

Pretty tears spilled over, big, salty drops rolling down Sabrina’s face, “You made me sign The Book Of the Beast.”

“I didn’t make you do anything my dear, that was all you,” said Lilith, “if anything, you should be thanking me- look at all this power that’s at your command! You’re the most powerful witch of this realm, hell, you could smite me right now if you wished.”

“I could never do that Miss Wardwell,” Sabrina said, backing towards the door, “Because I am not a monster.”

It was like knife was plunged through her chest, icy and sharp. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, this wasn’t supposed to happen. But Sabrina was right, who else would be sent to sully her soul?

With the flick of her wrist the lock slid into place, trapping them together, and in several steps she was upon her, pressing Sabrina into the locked door. Every trace of anger had disappeared, leaving only hurt fear in Sabrina’s eyes. Her little human heart pounded in her chest so loudly Lilith could nearly hear it.

“Let me go,” Sabrina breathed, “Please Miss Wardwell, let me go,”

“Are you afraid?” Lilith leaned in, tongue flicking out to catch one of her salty tears, “Afraid of what your monster will do to you?”

Sabrina trembled, “I’m not afraid.”

“You know, we’re not so different you and I,” she said with a sad smile, Lilith’s fingertips traced their way up from Sabrina’s jaw to her temple.

“I’m nothing like you,” Sabrina hissed.

“Oh?” Lilith chuckled softly, “What about when you told dear, dear Harvey about your witchy little secret?”

Realization dawned on Sabrina and she struggled, tried to escape, “No! Don’t! Please don’t erase my memories! I’ll just find out again like I did!”

“Shhh shh,” Lilith cooed as her magic took effect, “It’s almost over, soon, my love, this will just be a bad dream.”

Sabrina stopped fighting, a glassing look clouding her eyes for a moment. Then she blinked up at Lilith.

“Miss Wardwell?” The fire and fury were gone from her face, replaced with the gentle innocence Lilith had come to know.

“What happened?” Sabrina asked, “I don’t remember… why are you holding me?”

“You fainted my dear,” Lilith released her, stepping back, “You almost fell. When was the last time you ate?”

Sabrina shook her head, “I don’t remember. I think I should head home though.”

“Would you like me to drive you?”

“No, I can manage,” Sabrina said and gave her a little wave.

“Sabrina! You know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you? I’ll always be here for you,”

Then that brilliant smile was back, “Of course Miss Wardwell, See you tomorrow!”

Lilith smiled back, a sad smile that didn’t meet her eyes, “See you tomorrow, Sabrina.”

…

It was frightening, when he appeared before her. The Dark Lord was always a fantastic sight to be seen, striking fear into the hearts and souls of all who dared look upon when his cloven feet. In his presence, Lilith could do nothing but fell to her knees.

“Rise my wicked and faithless servant,” he said, “Name the reward you desire for your service in delivering the Spellman girl to me and it shall be yours. Let it be anything, anything at all.”

In one hand materialized a golden crown and in the other a scepter, “Would like to rule Hell? Have all the earth bow to you? Kings and Queens, Presidents and Prime Ministers would answer to you alone, begging for mercy and sacrificing their own spawn for your favor. Would you like the stars? Would you like to pull the tides and bring chaos to the mortals here? Throw fire from space and show them what the heavens are truly made of?”

“I want the girl,” she said, loudly, clearly, “I want Sabrina Spellman. You claim her soul for yourself but I want the deed transferred to me. I want to her to belong to me and me alone to do with as I wish.”

“One single little girl?” The Dark Lord sneered, “That you’ve spent so long securing for me? Whatever for?”

Having the clearest of minds, all distraction and true desires hidden away was the only way to barter with him. Lilith didn’t think about her smile or her gentle ways, she didn’t think about how Sabrina was the only person in centuries to care.

“She’s a pretty thing,” she said, instead, “And we both know how powerful she is. I want to see her on her knees, I want to make her beg.”

“I could show you that now,” he hissed.

“I don’t want to share.”

Even evil was bound by conventions and The Dark Lord had already promised her anything she wished. With a flourish the deed to Sabrina’s soul was presented to Lilith, her name written in red ink as the owner.

“She’ll never love you, Miss Wardwell,” The Dark Lord said, “Only I can love you.”

…

It was heavy, the paper, the deed written in blood ink, undestroyable by both heaven and hell. That’s how deeds to souls were, they stood the rest of time, weathered any mortal storm.

It wasn’t just physically heavy but emotionally. The deed to Sabrina’s soul weighted on the heart Lilith thought she’d cut out of her chest centuries ago. Somehow, it both ate at her and sustained her.

Sabrina skipped in and out of her office, in and out of her home, saying things like “You’re the best!” and kissing her on the cheek after midnight tea. Lilith was adept at century's worth of torture, but this was an entirely new strain of awful.

She longed to use her new power, her claim over the half witch’s soul to make Sabrina tremble and quake. She wanted to take her far, far away from the horrors of Greendale, to a paradise all their own where Lilith could be Sabrina’s only god, master, and savior.

But every time she considered it, she thought of the devistates look in Sabrina’s eyes when she’d found out who Miss Wardwell really was.

Shuddering, Lilith slid the draw with the deed closed. It would have to wait for another day. Sabrina was forever that forbidden fruit, behind the walls of the garden where Lilith was no longer welcome.

…

It was a surprise- but it also wasn’t- when Sabrina burst through her office door, talking as fast as the five rivers of hades about Father Blackwood and The Dark Lord And a book report Rosalind was writing and-

“Sabrina, won’t you slow down!” She exclaimed, only then seeing the shining tear tracks on Sabrina’s face. “My dear,” she said, stepping out from behind her desk, “Whatever is the matter?”

She knew. She knew even as the words left her mouth that Sabrina knew.

“He sold my soul!” Sabrina said, “The Dark Lord! He sold it to someone called The Mother of Demons and then Roz was telling me about a book she read of mythology and The Mother of Demons is another name of Lilith but I thought she was a myth!”

Sabrina grabbed Lilith’s wrist, eyes pleading, “Miss Wardwell what does she want from me?”

“Sabrina,” the word was choked, sticking in her throat. She loosed her wrist from Sabrina’s grip, taking her hand.

“I don’t know what to do,” said Sabrina softly. She wiped her eyes with her free hand before jerking forward to hug Lilith, arms wrapping tightly around her.

Lilith froze for a moment. Then, she hugged her back, gently petting Sabrina’s hair as she cried.

“Do you trust me?” She asked.

“Do I trust you?” Sabrina repeated, lifting her head to look up. Fresh tears shined on her face. “Of course I trust you, Miss Wardwell.”

Lilith took one of Sabrina’s hands, kissing the inside of her wrist, the palm of her hand, her knuckles, “Aren’t you the loveliest little thing? I doubt you’ll let me so close ever again.”

“Miss Wardwell?”

“Perhaps you’d better sit,”

…

It was quiet, her office, her house, without Sabrina there to fill the air with silly little things that happened at school, with her aunts, that filled her mind. She hadn’t screamed then Lilith told her, hadn’t cried when she learned of the deception, that her soul had been bought in exchange for her name in the book of the beast.

Lilith signed the deed over to her. Sabrina’s soul belonged to Sabrina and Sabrina alone. Then she took it.

“Please,” she said, “Stay away from me, I mean it. Stay out of my life and out of my dreams.”

Lilith inclined her head, “As you wish.”

Sabrina transferred to a differential homeroom and history class. She took extra care to avoid her in the halls. She’d so easily removed herself from Lilith’s reach and the emptiness was palpable.

The Dark Lord had no need of her anymore either. She’d strayed too far, gone too rouge in securing Sabrina’s soul for herself.

She was truly alone.

…

It was a shock to see her there, dripping wet with the rain, shivering on her stoop as thunder cracked behind her. It was a striking image. Rain water ruined her mascara, red lipstick smeared, and the little dress and sweater set she wore clung to her slight form in a way that left Lilith with unholy thoughts. It had been a month since

“Sabrina,” she breathed, “What- ? Come in, you’re soaked to the skin.”

Sabrina shivered as Lilith shut the door behind them, locking out the thunder and lightning. Water pooled at Sabrina’s feet, overflowing from her mary janes and mud soaked socks. With a snap of her fingers, the fire in Lilith’s hearth came to life. She pulled a blanket from her arm chair and handed it to Sabrina.

“Undress and wrap up in this,” she instructed and when Sabrina looked up at her in flushed, wide eyed disbelief added, “You are not dripping all over my floor. I’ll find you some spare clothes until yours dry.”

Lilith was surprised to see her blink, then nod and drape the blanket over her shoulders to undress beneath it.

A few minutes later, wrapped in the blanket and clad in a nightshirt far to big for her, Sabrina stood by the fire, hair glowing like a halo in the firelight. Lilith set the tea tray on the table.

“I made us some tea,” she said, not wanting to get to close again. She knew she was treating Sabrina like a fawn, a little rabbit so easily startled, but she could help it, she wanted to save this moment for as long as she could.

“I found out, before,” Sabrina said, staring into the flickering fire, “And then you erased my memories.”

She thought about denying it, thought about trying yet again to explain herself, but stopped, “Yes.”

“You said that we weren’t so different,”

“Sabrina-“

“You’re right.”

For once in her life, Lilith was at a loss for words. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and just stared.

“I really missed you,” continued Sabrina, turning, “And I just wanted to ask if we could start over?”

“Yes, I would like that,” Lilith said with a tentative step closer.

Sabrina sighed, “Oh good. In that case-“ she stuck her hand out, “I’m Sabrina Spellman. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lilith,” she said, softly, indulging in the charade, “The pleasure is mine.”

Sabrina let their hands linger too long, her gaze drifting to Lilith’s blood red lips. The glance didn’t escape Lilith, but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to break the spell they both seemed to be under.

Then, suddenly, Sabrina jerked forward, dropping Lilith’s hand as she threw herself at her, kissing her, sloppy and off center. Lipstick smeared as Lilith pulled her close, crushing their bodies together. Sabrina sighed against Lilith’s mouth as they broke apart, but Lilith didn’t let go.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Sabrina whispered.

…

It was warm, sharing a bed. Tucked under Lilith’s chin, Sabrina dozed, her half-mortal body easily worn out from first the crying reconciliation, then from the fucking.

She’d tried to apologize but Lilith had put an end to that nonsense instantly. “You did nothing wrong,” she whispered between kisses, “You shouldn’t even fathom forgiving me, my sweet.”

“But I do.”

Sabrina’s hands had curled into the sheets, gripping the sea of cotton maroon as she arched into Lilith’s touch, into her kiss, into her. Filthy words spilled from her pretty mouth, sweet and coarse all at once. It was all she’d dreamt of an more, coaxing everything from the smallest whimpers to full throated moans.

It was the closest she’d get to heaven, but the only heaven she’d wanted.

Now, in her arms, Sabrina gave a little sigh, snuggling closer, “You could have had anything.”

Lilith has thought her asleep by now.

“What was that love?”

“You could have asked the Dark Lord for anything; the world, to be the queen of hell, your freedom, but you asked for me.”

Humming against the top of her head, she traced a fingertip from her shoulder to wrist, “Mmmmmm, i just felt like it, I suppose.”

It was a lie. It was a lie and they both knew it but let it linger in the air, settling over them like a fine mist.

“I’m going to kill him,” Sabrina said. She was calm, tilting her chin to look up at Lilith, “You gave me my freedom and I’m going to give you yours.”

Sabrina kissed her again, and for one bright and shining moment, everything was perfect.

#caos #caos fanfic #the chilling adventures of Sabrina #chilling adventures of sabrina #madam satan #Sabrina Spellman #Sabrina x Madam Satan #madam satan x sabrina #black sabith #fanfic

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vanilla107 · 5 years

Text

Smoke and Bullets (Part 3)

Hey everyone!

Okay so a few updates on my life: University is starting for me in a few days and I will need time to adjust to all the new work I will be getting. That being said, the updates won't be as frequent but please know that I will still be writing slowly but surely in the background.

I also used some 1920's slang in this chapter since there is more of an interaction between other people and I wanted to get an authentic feel for the 1920's. Scroll down to the end notes to see the translations! Remember to check out @littleresalu as this is her AU!

Stay healthy! vanilla107 xoxo

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Part 1, Part 2

She Ra Masterlist

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

Catra watched Adora remove the syringe and Mister Jaws began to scream.

“Gag him and put him in the basement. He should be dead in a couple hours from the pain,” Adora said, her eyes devoid of emotion and Bow nodded and unstrapped Mister Jaws.

Glimmer secured his hands with handcuffs and looked at Adora, waiting for her signal. It was a tradition for Adora, as the leader of the gang, to address the rest of the crew downstairs after they had a huge victory.

Adora straightened her suit and turned around to look at Catra, and held out her hand. The feline could see the Adora she knew coming back, her eyes the crystal clear blue she knew and loved.

It scared her sometimes how easily her partner could be so cold...the coldness she never could peg Adora to possess. Catra walked around the desk and accepted the outstretched hand and watched as Bow and Glimmer walked out first, dragging the fallen crime boss.

Adora could hear the sounds of the gang cheering already as Glimmer and Bow walked out of the office.

“Are you okay?” Catra whispered and Adora felt her stomach squeeze.

“Yeah...I’m all good...just jumpy.”

“Hardly the words I’d thought I’d hear after you killed the man who killed your parents, you goof,” Catra teased and Adora smirked.

“We can’t all be poets like Angella,” she replied as they made their way to the door.

“Well Angella is a rich widow and has time to write poetry. She can’t run a gang like you.”

“Technically...she does…”

“Yeah, yeah, but you’re at the front! And doing the dirty work.”

“Angella can’t afford her reputation to be tarnished with blood, which is why she came to me. Without her I never could’ve done this...” the crime boss murmured as she thought back to the day that she had met Angella for the first time.

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

Adora walked into the cafe and immediately felt self conscious. She hadn’t realized how under-dressed she was in comparison to the other ladies there, in their fancy day dresses with the latest florals and pearls dotting their necks. Her sky blue cotton dress was cute but still not to the quality of the other women. She could already feel the stares of other woman and the whispers seemed to echo. Adora cursed herself and looked around nervously.

“Maybe she isn’t here. Maybe this was a hoax. Why would Angella, the richest woman in Brightmoon, want to see me?” she mumbled to herself.

She was about to turn around and leave when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Adora? Oh my, you’ve grown so much since I last saw you! Come, our table is in the corner,” the gentle voice said from behind her.

Without a word out of her mouth she was lead to the table and she could see that the other women who had previously been judging her, were now looking at her with envy.

The booth was cosy, well-furnished and brushed by the light of the sun that fluttered from the tall window next to them.

“Here, this is my favourite spot. Tea?” the soft voice asked as they sat down.

Adora nodded and heard the voice order a pot of tea, a plate of sugar cookies and a few pastries from the waiter. While the older woman had been ordering, Adora allowed her eyes to fully take in the female that was sitting in front of her.

Angella was the perfect image of an elegant lady. Instead of following the new trends, like bobbed hair and the little black dresses that emerged from Paris, she still donned effortless wavy hair and a white silk tea dress that just hit her calves. Her sheer stockings with white Mary Janes made her legs seem even longer and her cotton gloves was the cherry on top.

Even though Adora had lived in an orphanage her whole life, everyone knew Angella, the richest woman in Brightmoon and a heart of gold. She was known to donate money to charities and Adora could remember when their orphanage had gotten a donation that lasted them a whole year of decent food. Angella was a mystery to Adora and if anything, she sounded like the women out of fairytales that could grant you your every wish.

But it still didn't make sense as to why Angella had invited her to tea.

“Angella…” she breathed in relief but backtracked quickly, her manners slipping temporarily. “Ma’am! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The tall woman smiled and let out a small laugh.

“Adora, please call me Angella. I know that it’s a little…strange especially since you don’t know me that well at this point.”

“Oh...Okay…Angella. I…I came here because you invited me but...I am a little confused as to why you want to see me. I don't know you and...I don't think you know me.”

The elegant woman nodded.

“Straight forward and to the point. I like that,”

She took a deep breath.

“To be truthful...I don’t know how to tell you anything without...without making you sad but there’s no way I can phrase this any differently....”

Adora tensed and her gaze locked with the woman in front of her.

“I knew your parents Adora.”

The blonde was silent as the waiter brought their tea, cookies and pastries. Angella took a sip of tea and looked at the girl intently.

“I know this might be a lot to process and you might need some time-“

“-Tell me.” Adora closed her mouth and felt her face burn in embarrassment at her rude interruption.

“Please…tell me everything about them,” she said a little quieter and tried to keep her breathing under control.

Angella cleared her throat before placing the cup down on its saucer.

“Your father and mother met at school whereas your mother and I were neighbours and friends since we were babies. We grew up together. They were young lovers but broke up when your father had to go away and study. Your father had always shown disinterest at studying far away but shocked your mom when he announced he was leaving to business school in two weeks. Broke your mothers heart but after five years they reunited at a mutual friend’s gala.”

Angella smiled, her eyes lost in memory.

“That gala changed everything. Your father apologized profusely but your mother was never one to give out second chances so easily. She made him work for her favour and after five months she took him back. They dated for three years and decided to get married. The wedding was a grand occasion, both families thrilled for the couple. A year later, your mother gave birth to you.”

Adora clenched her tea cup and decided to set it down before she shattered it.

“You were their sun and moon, Adora. They took you for Sunday walks in the park in your pram, always playing with you and they loved seeing you laugh. It was round about the same time that I gave birth to Glimmer, my daughter. We often organized play dates for the two of you and you got along well with each other.”

Angella’s face few solemn and she clasped her hands in front of her. Adora noticed that she was trembling slightly.

“You were two years old when your parents were killed. I was in the countryside with my husband and Glimmer, visiting my sister for two weeks. We only heard the news a few days later. I…I tried looking for you when I came back. I thought you had been killed but I needed reassurance. I was so relieved when I found out you were still alive that I planned on adopting you.”

Angella grew quiet.

“I…I was scared though. The papers never stated why your parents had been killed. I only ever knew it was a gang murder. I didn’t know if they would come after me and my family but at that point I didn’t care. I wanted you to be safe with me. Word must’ve gotten out and the night before I was supposed to sign the adoption forms...my husband, Micah…was killed too.”

Adora found it hard to swallow, the tea leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

“The police had found him in an alley, stabbed to death. I knew I couldn’t afford to risk losing Glimmer too...even if the murders had been two separate cases. I didn’t want the same people who killed your parents hunting you down so I decided to contact Mr. Francis to relocate you to a smaller, lesser known orphanage on the outskirts of New Brightmoon. I wanted him to keep a close eye on you and be the one to tell you the news about your parents once you were old enough.”

Angella sighed and took long sip of tea before taking out a picture from her handbag. She handed it to Adora and the blonde's eyes widened. It was a black and white picture of two women standing together, both smiling. In one woman's hands was a tiny baby wrapped in a white blanket. It appeared to be a Christening.

“Adora, I am your godmother. Your mom asked me to look out for you when you were born and I never break my promises. I promised I would raise you in the absence of your parents and I tend to fulfill it. I know I haven’t been with you most of your life and you may think of me a coward but…I want you to have a good life. You’ve lost too much already.”

Adora felt tears threatening to escape her eyes and she hiccuped into her tea.

“I will try my very best to guide you and to help you if you let me. You are of legal age but...Mr. Francis has told me about your…plan and even though I don’t necessarily agree with it…it is your choice. I can’t force you to not do what you want to do-” Angella was cut off as Adora stood up and walked around the table to face her.

“Adora? Is everything-?” Angella asked with a confused expression before she felt the blonde wrap her arms around her and breathed heavily to stop the tears from falling.

“Thank you.”

Angella was shocked momentarily but returned the hug, despite the shocked looks they were getting from the other ladies in the café.

“It’s the least I can do. I…I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“No…I...I understand why you did what you did.”

They broke apart and Adora walked back to her normal seat and eyed the sugar cookies.

“Don’t be shy! They are meant to be eaten,” Angella teased and Adora picked up a cookie and grinned.

There was still much she needed to know but Angella...Angella was family. Besides Mr. Francis, Angella knew her parents and had grown up with them.

“One question. Why did you want to meet here?” Adora asked. “I mean, I would’ve been a little cautious if we had met at your house but…you did also make me cry in public.”

“Word spreads fast and in case you haven’t noticed, I am the most influential woman in New Brightmoon. I can make things happen with a snap. So, now that these wonderful women have seen you with me…you will be getting things done a lot easier now...like that sales assistant that refused to sell you that coat you wanted?”

Adora felt her blood boil at the situation that had happened a week ago.

“I have the money! I don’t know why she refused! And...how do you know that?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Adora. I know lots of things that would shock you. But to be blunt, it’s because you don’t look the part. Don’t get me wrong sweetheart, you look very lovely in that dress...but people are shallow, Adora. They take one look at you and decide whether you’re...the cat’s meow or not.”

Adora looked at her dress sadly.

“I know I could afford the clothes you wear…it’s just I… have a plan with the money I’ve inherited and I…I’m still waiting for someone to live with me.”

“Someone? Is this someone…Catra?”

Angella grinned at the fiery red blush on Adora’s cheeks.

“Yes…she’s my best friend back at the orphanage. I left her when I turned 18 and I said I would go back for her when she turns 18 in October. She…she has nothing. No money, no parents whereas…I have money and she…she is my family. She was my only family for 18 years and I can’t lose her. It’s already been torture sleeping alone at night.”

“But didn’t you have separate beds?” Angella asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile hidden behind her cup.

“I…I…I meant that…um-“ Adora stumbled over her words and she groaned.

“For someone who’s planning on forming a gang, you are very easily flustered.”

“I care about her a lot, okay!” Adora yelled and she quietened down when she saw the looks she was getting.

“Sorry…Catra means a lot to me. I can’t leave her when she’s always been there for me.”

Angella smiled as she picked up a beignet.

“I understand that she means a lot to you but please know…some people will not understand. Just be careful.”

Adora swallowed and nodded. She could pick up the hidden message in the widow’s words.

Please be careful of your relationship with Catra and how people will be with her skin colour.

She had always feared the blatant racism from people especially with regards to Catra. The topic always had been sensitive and there had been nights when Adora could hear Catra crying because of the treatment she got from the other kids as well as the caretakers. The bullying was harsh and even though Catra could handle it like a pro as she got older, it still stung.

Adora was sure that their relationship something more than…friendly. Being in a romantic relationship with another woman was unheard of in New Brightmoon and Adora had heard horror stories about couples like her and Catra, who had been killed because of it. Which was why Adora was so driven to make sure Catra lived with her and experience the life she was living.

The life where she could eat whatever she wanted. The life where she could afford clothes she never thought she could. The life where people would talk about them behind their backs because they loved each other but dared to never say anything because of their weathly status.

She wanted that for Catra.

Which is why starting the gang could kill two birds with one stone. They’d find her parents killers and be the most feared couple in New Brightmoon that no one would lay a hand on.

Catra with her determination and willingness to get her hands dirty and Adora’s strategy skills and wealth…they would be unstoppable.

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

Catra snuggled up to Adora’s arm and sighed bringing Adora back to the present. The blonde looked at her with ‘the pleading eyes’ and Catra groaned in annoyance.

“I hate it when you do that. Stupid eyes that make me melt,” she mumbled.

The brunette released Adora from her grasp and Adora noticed the slight pout on Catra’s face.

“I promise I’ll give you all the attention you need when we get home,” Adora said as she gave the feline a quick kiss on the cheek.

Catra huffed but Adora could see the small grin on her girlfriend’s face. The cheering was deafening when they walked out and Adora gazed down at the sea of faces from the banister. There was roughly a couple hundred people in her gang and she was proud of how many people they had recruited over the past seven years. Catra watched Adora lean against the banister and smile, her leadership skills starting to show.

“Everyone! Tonight is a night that will go down in history for the Alliance!”

The crowd cheered louder and Catra lowered her ears in sensitivity.

“Tonight, the Alliance is now the number one gang in New Brightmoon. We have taken down the Sinners! And as you can see, Mister Jaws is having a hard time functioning…” Adora smirked as the crowd laughed as she looked at him, his mouth frothing.

“But what I am trying to say is, we could not have gotten far without every single person in this room. Yes, Johnny I’m looking at you, I promise your bathroom cleaning duties helped us all.”

The crowd laughed again and Catra smiled.

She loved seeing Adora happy.

“I know all of you in this room. And every single one of you made a difference tonight. Sure, we’ve had spies before but we dealt with them. We’ve had missions go to shit but we always managed to claw our way out. Most of you know that I lost my parents to the Sinners years ago, and now I can be at peace, knowing my parents are finally at rest. I want you to all appreciate the life you have. It may not be the most...legal one…”

There were a few laughs and Adora chuckled.

“But you have a family and people who would be willing to take a bullet for you. Never forget that.”

Bow started chanting, “The Alliance!” and everyone followed suit.

“The Alliance! The Alliance! The Alliance!” the crowd repeated and Adora blinked back tears of happiness.

“Which is why tonight we celebrate as one. That being said, drinks on me at Salineas!” she announced.

Catra was sure that there would’ve been a riot if Adora hadn’t raised her hands to silence them.

“Just remember to look out for each other tonight. The heat got nothing on us but they wouldn’t hesitate to leave one of us dead. Other than that, enjoy your time! We have a big shipment coming in within the next week so I want everyone to be bright eyed and bushy tailed!”

Catra looked at her partner in crime and felt her heart stop.

Adora was glowing.

Her smile was genuine and she was sure that she had never seen Adora so happy. She couldn’t help but slip her hand in her girlfriends and Adora turned to look at her. She grinned and pulled Catra in for a kiss, catching the feline completely off guard but she reciprocated nonetheless. Catra could hear the whistles and whoops from down below and she laughed as she pulled away.

“What happened to being a good example Ms. Perfect?”

“Screw it,” Adora grinned and kissed her again.

“C’mon everyone! Let’s go to Salineas!” a voice said and the crowd walked out of various exits in the building and soon, it was deserted.

Bow and Glimmer dragged Mister Jaw to the basement while Adora started into the eyes of her loving girlfriend.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” she murmured as she kissed Catra again.

“Yeah...feels odd,” Catra sighed and she could taste the smoke on Adora’s lips.

Most people would be revolted by that but to Catra, it felt like home. They stood like that for a while in each other’s arms until Glimmer and Bow came back from the basement.

“Mister Jaws is in the basement,” Glimmer announced and Adora nodded.

“Glimmer, Bow, you two are the bees knees. Thank you for everything,” the blonde said as she hugged them. As she pulled away she gave Glimmer a concerned look.

“Are you okay? You didn’t look too good earlier.”

“Adora, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you torturing people but don’t worry! Everything’s jake! Let’s go to Salineas.”

Catra smiled and Adora wrapped her arm around her waist and leaned her head on her shoulder.

“Let’s go, Glimmer.”

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

The cat's meow/The bees knees - The best/the greatest

The heat- the police

Everything's jake! - Everything's fine!

#catradora #vanilla107writes #adora #catra #spop #spop 2018 #shera #she ra #she-ra #bow #glimmer

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rosesisupposes · 6 years

Text

Destined, part 21

aka You Were Amazing

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: Prinxiety (like a LOT)

Chapter Warnings: Steven Universe spoilers (vague), graphic kissing, allusions to smut, swearing, overwhelming fluff

Reader Tags: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice @fellowthomassandersfander @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 20 | Masterlist | Chapter 22>>

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Roman had barely made it through the door and shed his shoes before he’d collapsed happily onto Virgil’s couch. He was exhausted. But he was here with Virgil, and they were going to watch cartoons. That would be good.

Virgil eyed his friend. The bags under his eyes were starting to look familiar. “Hey, we don’t need to stay up if you’re too tired. Do you need to sleep? It’s been a bit of a day.”

“What? Who’s tired, I’m not tired. I am so awake,” Roman sputtered. “C’mon, Little Bo Sleep, let’s watch some gay space rocks. I’m…not even a little… tired,” he covered his mouth as he yawned.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yeah okay. You fulfill one world-saving prophecy and now you’re immune to sleep, makes sense.” “It’s true,” Roman mumbled, snuggling into the couch, yawns still punctuating his speech. “I am invulnerable to the... weaknesses of man. I scoff at the petty needs of... the lesser beings around me. The Sandman has no… power here. Sleep is for the... weak...”

Virgil glanced over. Soft auburn hair fell over eyes that were now fully closed. Seconds later, he heard a light snore. He is so ridiculous, Virgil thought with a fond smile.

He slipped his arms underneath Roman’s sleeping form and picked him up, carrying him over to his bed and depositing him gently among the blankets. He pulled a star-bedecked comforter over the sleeping man, who made a small sound of contentment and pulled it closer to his chest. Virgil caressed the man’s cheek softly, then grabbed another blanket and went to go sleep on the couch.

After all, being a Sage with a heck of a crush didn’t mean he wasn’t still a gentleman.

Virgil didn’t really sleep that night, but then again, he didn’t need to. He’d texted Remy, though, telling him he really needed the day off if that was alright.

Remy had responded with a string of eyes, eggplants, and fingers pointing and doing the ‘OK’ symbol, all emojis without a written word to be found. Virgil was confused, but it seemed to be approval, and he decided to not question it.

He was up and puttering in the kitchen the next morning when a voice suddenly asked, “Why am I in your bed?”

He turned to see Roman sitting up, sleepy-eyed with very messy bedhead. He kept looking back and forth between couch and bed, confused.

“Because I wasn’t about to let you sleep on the couch after the day you’d had, ya goof. I moved you after you fell asleep. Right in the middle of telling me how you weren’t tired, I might add. I’m never letting you forget that.”

“Moved… you carried me? You can carry me?” Roman levered himself out of bed to come poke at Virgil’s arms. “How are these skinny things that strong? Is this part of the maaaaaaggicccc?”

Okay, so Roman was a little weird in the morning. Not to mention this was the most unkempt Virgil had ever seen him. It was… oh sweet stars, it was so endearing.

“I don’t think it’s magic. It’s definitely not anything I have to concentrate on. I just, I don’t know, picked you up.”

“Ohhh do it again I wanna see,” Roman said excitedly.

Virgil rolled his eyes, smiling. “If you insist-”

“I do!”

Without another word, he placed a hand on the taller man’s back and knelt to put his arm under his knees, sweeping him into his arms. Roman yelped and threw both arms around Virgil’s neck as the purple-haired man laughed at him for being so easily scared.

“See, Princey? Easy. I could do this all day,” Virgil said with a smile. That was when they both realized that Virgil was now carrying Roman princess-style and their faces were suddenly incredibly close together.

Virgil’s face immediately went red and he practically dropped him on the spot, but managed to set him down gently and quickly went back to making coffee.

“So yeah I can carry you and I. Um. Breakfast?” he asked, trying to calm himself enough to use the french press.

“Sorry, what?”

“Can I get you any breakfast? Coffee is breakfast, right? Are eggs? Or sandwiches? I haven’t really figured this part of humanity out yet, Patton has been feeding me pastries since my first day and I’ve been too intimidated to figure it out on my own. Breakfast is an enigma.”

Roman chuckled and hugged Virgil around the shoulders from behind, his face still a little pink. “Never fear, Dark & Stormy. I’ll help you in a minute. First, I have got to get a hairbrush. What even is my hair right now, right?”

“Don’t ask me, you always look good,” Virgil said. He was turned towards the counter, but still caught the blush on Roman’s cheeks as he retreated to the bathroom.

It had been a good day. The mystery of breakfast had been partially unlocked (Pancakes: yes. Coffee: yes, but not on its own. No Virgil, I don’t care what Remy tells you, coffee is not a meal. Eggs: yes, but not always. Sandwiches: yes, but they have to have eggs), and Roman had been very excited to finally start watching Steven Universe. And to watch Virgil’s reactions.

Hours later, they had binged through almost three seasons with only a short break for a lunch and a much longer one for processing that “Garnet was lesbians the whole time???!!”

Virgil was thoroughly enjoying himself, even through the sad and dramatic moments. He had not cried, at all, not at any point, he did not know what Roman was teasing him about.

As the day went on, though, he found himself gazing more and more at Roman, who was currently tearing up as Steven was saved from the depths of space by his family of Crystal Gems.

If I could begin to be Half of what you think of me I could do about anything I could even learn how to love

Virgil sighed and quickly looked away. As he did so, he missed the movement to his right as Roman looked gently back at him.

When I see the way you act Wondering when I’m coming back I could do about anything I could even learn to love like you

Roman tentatively reached out a hand to lay on Virgil’s, who looked up, shocked at the touch. Roman leaned over slowly and kissed his cheek. The violet-haired man blushed, and turned his head to return the cheek kiss.

Roman smiled into the shorter man’s eyes. “I don’t want to push, but I would really like to kiss you more. Is that okay?”

“We’d have to stop watching the show, though. I was promised a full binge-watch,” Virgil said with a slight smirk, badly attempting to conceal how he very much would like that, yes.

“Virge, you adorable emo dream, this may be the one time in my life I could not care less about any cartoon show,” Roman quipped back, and pulled Virgil into an embrace. He still moved gently, letting them both relax or pull back if they needed, before his lips found Virgil’s.

...oh.

If he hadn’t been blushing before, Virgil was definitely blushing now. He was acutely aware of every spot where Roman’s body was in contact with his. His upper torso, his arms, his back, and oh sweetness, his lips. Roman was so gentle as he held him, but under that softness was all firm muscle and steadiness. That steadiness calmed him like nothing he’d ever known, and made him feel so… safe . He wanted to stay here, wrapped up in Roman’s arms, forever.

Roman broke off the kiss at length, panting just the slightest bit. He was blushing, too. “I’ve been waiting to do that since the moment I met you,” he murmured. “Those beautiful eyes, and you looking at me like a deer in the headlights. But the reality…” he kissed Virgil’s nose, grinning, “the reality is so much better than I could have pictured.”

“Even with everything that’s happened? Scary nighttime showdowns and me being a secretly magical cougar?”

“Especially with you being a secretly magical cougar. What can I say, I like being flattered. Though, now that you mention it, I’m still a little… confused, I guess. About the magic.”

Virgil was tense. He understood the confusion, obviously, but was all too aware how insane his entire existence sounded to a human. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to know?” he asked.

“There’s… a lot, but the biggest is why was I surprised by this? Why have I never heard of there being real magic? Magic really exists, and has throughout history? Why doesn’t humanity know, or remember?” Roman didn’t appear angry, only curious, as he lightly ran his fingers through Virgil’s purple hair.

“Magical beings used to be a lot more prominent, but they started fading as the human population grew. So a lot of times, there were no humans around to remember them. Or so few that the recorded events morphed into folk stories and fairytales. And Sages like me were often in isolation or just acting as incorporeal beings from the ether, influencing without being physically present.”

“If fairytales are real, does that mean fairies are too?” Roman’s eyes were shining with curiosity. Virgil had been so nervous about sharing this information, but with Roman, it felt safe to.

“They were. I don’t think any are still alive, unfortunately. But there used to be all sorts of creatures, like fairies and dragons. Unicorns, too, but I only ever met one herd my entire life, when I was living in the highlands. There were also not-so-nice creatures, like ogres and specters and ghouls. Those, I don’t miss as much.”

“What about vampires? Is Dracula secretly a history book?”

“There definitely were vampires. I only ever met one, though, when I was very young and he… he was nothing like Dracula, to say the least. I met him at a drunken dance party, for one. And he didn’t prey on humans. From the future I saw for him, he never did, right up to his dying day.”

Roman sat back, contemplating this new information. “It’s funny, I always wanted there to be magic in the world, and adventures, and shining knights with glorious quests. Turns out all of that exists, I was just born a bit late for it. At least I had a quest of my own, in a way. Even if I was absolutely terrified the whole time.”

Virgil smiled, cupping Roman’s cheek. “Fun fact: so were all those shining knights. You ever heard that metaphor about swans? Gliding along, looking all stately and elegant above water, but below the surface it’s just frantic webbed feet churning as fast as possible? That’s how all heroes feel. But they make it through. Just like you did.”

“That actually does make me feel better. Guess I’m a swan now,” Roman said, laughing. “Fear me, evil ones, I will peck your eyes out. Honk honk, motherfucker.”

Virgil snorted, then laughed outright, particularly as he saw Roman’s expression, which was apparently his best impression of a fierce waterfowl. Grinning, he lay his head on Roman’s shoulder. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off. You really are the most amazing man I’ve ever met. No magic needed.”

Roman nuzzled his purple head. “And you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. Magic or no.”

They both sat there, holding each other and basking in the warmth of their mutual affection when Virgil lifted his head. “Roman, I know it’s only been a week since I gave you my number, and this is probably really clingy and weird to ask so soon, and if you would rather not talk about this yet then that’s fine just please tell me I promise I won’t be hurt-”

“Virge, breathe. What do you want to ask?”

“Am I your… I mean, would you be my… I mean. Agh.” He took a deep breath and asked without opening his eyes, “Are we dating? As boyfriends?” About to continue explaining, or rather, babbling, he stopped himself, and opened his eyes.

To his delight, Roman looked absolutely touched. “I wanted to ask you first, but I didn’t want to move too quickly. I would be thrilled to call you my boyfriend, Virgil.”

“Oh, thank the stars. Google has been really unhelpful when it comes to this stuff. Almost everything is written for women dating men and it’s all about ‘what feels right,’ and I have nothing to compare to.”

“Virge - you looked up online advice on how to ask me to be your boyfriend?” Roman asked, looking sidelong at the smaller man.

“Oh no is that weird? I knew it would be weird-”

“Virgil, my sweet prince of the night, shut up,” Roman interrupted him, grinning. “It’s adorable. As a matter of fact,” he added, releasing his boyfriend (boyfriend!) and standing. “I hereby declare that I have The Cutest Boyfriend™ in this entire city!” He struck a triumphant pose.

Virgil couldn’t help it. He giggled until he laughed out loud, and laughed until he snorted. Roman looked for a second like he might decide to be offended at this reception to his grand declaration before giggling as well, falling back into the couch cushions.

They turned Steven Universe back on, but Virgil would be lying if he didn’t admit that he absorbed a lot less of the action as they progressed. It was still enjoyable, but Roman had taken to stroking a hand through his hair down to his neck and the effect on his thoughts was a puddle of melted goo and hearts.

But Roman stopped petting him for the last few episodes, insisting that Virgil not miss a minute until the final cliffhanger been revealed. Gay weddings were all well and good, but anything that made Virgil stop kissing his boyfriend (boyfriend!) was definitely homophobia and he needed to correct this personal offense as soon as possible.

Roman looked over to see Virgil’s glower as the last credits rolled and pulled him fully into his lap as their lips met once more. “Did you think I was ignoring you, stormcloud?” he murmured in between kisses.

“Roman, please, do me a favor and shut up,” Virgil responded with a breathless growl, leaning in further. Blood was pounding in his veins and cheeks and, well, other places. He wrapped his arms around the man underneath him, mouths locked in slick, wet kisses that sent shivers up and down his spine. Roman was doing something with his tongue that turned into biting Virgil’s lip and dragged an involuntary moan out of the Sage’s throat. His hands were scrabbling at the auburn-haired man’s back, trying to somehow get even closer as his slipped them under the man's t-shirt to make direct skin contact.

The sudden sensation made Roman jump slightly and break off their kiss. “Virge, did you want…?”

Underneath his purple bangs, Virgil’s eyes were dilated and dark, “Ro, yes, I want.”

“Fuck,” Roman half-moaned. “That’s… god, that is hot and I want nothing more than to say yes right now but I… we can’t. Or shouldn’t. Not tonight. Too much has happened and it was just yesterday that we were fighting that snake and I don’t… I want this, all of this, to be perfect. Not just endorphins and throwing caution out the window. Is… is that okay?”

Virgil dragged himself off his boyfriend, every inch of his body complaining at the sudden lack of heat. “Yes, of course, dear one. I… you’re right. Waiting would be healthier. And you’re worth it.”

Roman leaned in closed and dragged his teeth lightly down the curve of Virgil’s ear, startling a strangled gasp out of the other man. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t want all of you this minute, right now, right here,” he murmured, grinning evilly. “I just want to take my time with you.”

“Goddamn, Ro…”

“And on that note,” Roman said, sitting up with a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s getting late, and I really do need to head home.”

Virgil growled, panting lightly still. “You are a goddamn tease, and I hate you very much. Boyfriends for just a few short hours and you’re already leaving?”

“Hey, I’ve already spent the night before even kissing you. Clearly our sense of timing and order is a little off,” the auburn-haired man grinned back. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the bakafé. And in your dreams tonight.”

“You’re the worst possible flirt. Text me when you’re home safe?”

“It’s a fifteen-minute walk, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I worry. Me and possibilities, Princey. I’m always going to worry.”

Roman stood to leave, but leaned down to plant a chaste kiss on Virgil’s forehead. “For you then, my favorite worrywart, of course.”

A red-and-white-clad figure was walking down the street jauntily. Whistles to a cheerful song floated in the dusky air around him, occasionally bursting into snatches of a sung tune.

“Therrrre’s an awful lot of awful things we could be thinking of, but for just one day let’s only think about love!” he trilled, spinning on one foot as he walked.

He was clearly distracted and happy.

Good for him.

The ‘distracted’ part was all his silent shadow cared about.

author’s note: The working title of this chapter was “Netflix And Chill(s Down Your Spine)” Was anyone actually hoping for six chapters of fluff? Sorry not sorry

#destined #sanders sides #modern fantasy au #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #prinxiety #writing #mostly fluff #we're getting so close to the end? aghhhh #my smol future-seeing baby #i will never get tired of prinxiety #lil hint o' smut in here #but nothing too racy #just swearing

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tb5-heavenward · 6 years

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a chapel of many gods

so i was up til 5AM last night reading @space-baegel‘s fairytale and all associated works, so here is a long ago thing i wrote about the morning of Penelope and Gordon’s wedding, subsequent to the events of the original AU (but previous to its unfinished sequel). there are many other parts of this particular story, but not all of them are mine, and so not all of them are mine to publish.

Penelope’s equivalent of being stranded on a rock with as much rum as she could hope to drink (actually a surprisingly volume, and this is thanks to Gordon) is being locked, alone, in the castle’s small chapel, on her knees in a modest linen shift, before the rough-hewn altar of gods not her own. John’s waiting outside, nominally guarding the door, though she imagines he’s found a chair and a book and it’s entirely possible he wouldn’t even notice if anyone crossed the threshold, depending on what the book is.

Twelve days from the day of her birth, the Princess had been borne through the streets of Caspar’s capital in the arms of the High Priest, swaddled in sack cloth and wailing her lungs out. Her mother and father had followed behind, hands clasped in prayer. She had been laid upon the altar with the citizenry all singing their supplication to God in the as yet ungranted name of their new princess, and then she had been blessed and named and anointed, baptized as a servant of the high heavens, no greater or lesser than any of her people, despite the fact that her christening gown was cloth of gold and her parents had made a gift of an entire barony to the priesthood to mark the occasion.

An hour in prayer on the day of her wedding seems like such a modest requirement, in the name of taking her husband’s gods. Especially as there’d been no further instruction, no suggestion of a ceremony or anything like a baptism. Just a single cleric, robed in brown, who had escorted her to the chapel, shown her inside, and then left her to stand before the dais. He hadn’t even told her to kneel, she’d just felt it was the appropriate course.

Truthfully, she’s not sure which of Melchior’s myriad godhead she’s meant to appease, with her knees bruising on the rough stone floor and a draft teasing its way up her shift. The chapel is a simple chamber, its walls adorned with simple wooden carvings meant to evoke various deities. They’re barely deities, for that matter. More like ideas than proper gods. There are dozens, and none appear to sit higher or lower than the others, there’s no rank or rhyme or reason. The Hunt, the Hearth, the Harvest. The Sword, the Shield, the Star. Most of them don’t even have names. Multipurpose entities meant to be puzzled together and mixed and matched for the occasion. The theology itself is rather muddled—as far as Penelope knows, if she goes deep enough, she might find her own God at the root of it all,responsible for all these ideals.

But then, she’s always been told that these gods are not her God. Not yet, anyway.

It’s so quiet here.

The air doesn’t smell of incense. The windows set into the far wall are narrow and high, and let in only thin shafts of daylight, and only because the chapel faces eastward. Past noon, the room must grow dim and dark. The altar upon the dais is a heavy, rough thing, and atop it are simple objects—a book with a plain cloth cover, an earthenware bowl of what seems to be salt, a small bell, a candle. Two round stones and a sea shell. There’s a bundle of some dried herb, its leaves have been crushed and scattered haplessly on the cloth that covers the altar. There’s no silver sceptre, no tablet with the Law engraved on it, no gilded dagger, no crystal vial of oil. There’s nothing to raise high above the congregation and rally them to prayer.

She suddenly feels rather silly, kneeling. There’s no one around to see her—the myriad gods not withstanding—and suddenly supplication feels like the wrong tack to take. The gods of her betrothed don’t seem to stand upon much ceremony.

So she gets to her feet, instead, and slowly starts to circle the room, looking up at the carvings that adorn the walls. She’s not sure what she’s looking for exactly—though there’s plenty to be found. She lingers for a while before a depiction of a mother and child, but this doesn’t seem relevant at the moment. She moves on, and there’s something almost fascinating about just how much variety there is. There’s a carving of a tall tower. There’s another of a tree in the middle of a field. She finds a fish leaping from a river. There’s a stag. A wolf. A bunch of grapes and a bottle. A well. A sword. She knows she’s heard Gordon swear by the sword before, though she can’t remember what about. She finds a hand, palm turned outward, and for some reason has the urge to press her own palm against it, though she feels nothing when she does.

Penelope remembers that Gordon had once referred to them as gods to swear by, not gods to pray to. If Melchior’s gods set store in anything, they were the sort of gods that appreciated initiative in their followers; a sort of do-it-thyselves attitude that might occasionally be supplemented by a hand carved icon to the Harvest, or a snappy little rhyme invoking the Shield or the Wind. Servants of these gods are rough and ready, tonsured monks and robed clerics, scholars and sisters and midwives, who work for the people in the name of their chosen patrons. These gods are common gods, and for some reason, that’s somehow not quite as odd or objectionable as Penelope had expected it might be.

Maybe these are gods that come into being when they’re needed. Maybe these gods are made to order, made by the needs and wants and wishes of those who would cry to the Sword or the Star or the Wind or the Hearth. Her God is meant to be everything, but then, maybe that’s why her God is trapped all in gold and glory and ceremony and circumstance. Maybe, being everything, sometimes her God feels like nothing at all.

Maybe, failing to find the god she wants in an engraving on the wall, Penelope needs to call it into being herself, needs to make real the only thing she’s believed in, ever since she’d known it to be true.

Gods to swear by. Gordon’s gods. The last time she fallen to her knees and sullied a white garment, it hadn’t been her God she’d prayed to. There’d been nothing left to ask. There’d only been something she’d wanted to swear to, wanted known for the rest of time.

Maybe that’s what these Gods are for.

She’s alone in the chapel when she kneels again, and she doesn’t know who would hear her if she spoke allowed, so she keeps her voice inside her heart and her head.

I swear that I love him. I love him enough that something sent him back to me, his gods or my god, I don’t see how it matters. I love him enough that there should be a god just for that, that every time I am joyful or grateful or wondering how I deserve him, that I can kneel down and swear by how much I love him. I could swear by the Sea or by the Stars, by the Wind or the Sword or all the things he loves, but ever since he came to breathe again, there’s only one thing I believe in and only one thing I can swear by—that I love him now, will love him always. If it’s to be by the laws of his gods that we’ll be married, then you are gods I’ll take joyfully, and may mine be a god of goodness and care and comfort and truth, of soft kisses and gentle touches and of being together. May mine be a god of love.

Her God never brought tears to her eyes, the way the tears fall now. Before she realizes it, an hour’s gone past, and the doors of the chapel behind her creak open. There’s no call or invitation, just the tacit sign that it’s time to start to dress, time to prepare for her wedding; before the eyes of Gods and men.

#fairytale au #god i love this au more than life itself #basically i am 10000% trash for fairytale at all times

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glenngaylord · 5 years

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THANKS FOR SHARON - My Review of ONCE UPON A TIME...IN HOLLYWOOD (4 Stars)

[Excerpted from https://thequeerreview.com/ ]

As a movie lover, I’ve always been a little averse to writer/directors who only seem to reference other films in their work. I prefer to learn how they view things through the prism of their life experiences, not cinematic ones. Quentin Tarantino has certainly come across as a movie encyclopedia throughout his career, yet in his case, films so clearly ARE his life. He finds joy from a breathtaking set piece, a surprising turn of phrase, or that perfect marriage of visuals and music. I can easily imagine how thrilled he must have been when watching the kinetic opening sequence to Trainspotting. You can almost see him filing away a great line like, “All I want out of life is a 30 share and a 20 rating” from Network and desperately wanting to make his own mark some day. He obviously has done so, but time marches on, and while he still has a singular voice, he has publicly questioned his own desires to continue making films. With that in mind, he seems to have poured all of his angst into Once Upon A Time…In Hollywood, one of the most problematic yet entertaining films I’ve seen in a long time on the topics of aging and relevancy.

Set gloriously in 1969 Los Angeles, the film follows alcoholic, fading star, Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), as they try to stay afloat in an industry that has discarded them to make room for the new shiny pennies. As embodied by rising stars Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) and Roman Polanski (Rafal Zawierucha) who move in next door, Rick knows he’s just one small fence and a pool party away from scoring a role in the hot director’s next film. His reality, however, sees him relegated to playing bad guys in TV Westerns. Cliff, even lower on the totem pole, acts more like Rick’s personal assistant than as a stuntman these days. An early scene with an old school agent (Al Pacino, overdoing the Jewish stereotype to cartoonish effect) leaves him with the option of escaping to Italy to make Spaghetti Westerns. Pacino calls them “pictures” and I’d like to propose we resuscitate that amazing term! Rick will do anything to stay in the game. Simultaneously, we intercut Rick and Cliff’s adventures with that of their neighbors as Sharon and Roman drive fast, dance at parties, and generally live that charmed life where everything is still possible. I mean, wouldn’t you have loved to have gone to the Playboy Mansion and get whisked away by Mama Cass or get ogled by Steve McQueen? Also, lurking in the background, we see the Manson Family ambling through the fringes of society. History, of course, tells us where all of this is headed, but Tarantino is less interested in that, staying focused on his fictional characters’ dying hopes and dreams.

The story takes its good, sweet time getting anywhere. Shaggy and rambling, it reminded me of Inherent Vice in that stoner/hangout way, but Tarantino knows film structure, and what seemed random feels intentional and necessary in retrospect. Yes, had he cut out half of the shots of characters driving around to an endless array of 60s pop songs, the film would have been 30 minutes shorter, but Tarantino has gone for a fully immersive experience here. He wants you to know exactly what Los Angeles felt like at the time. We get the inky blacks of the Ventura freeway, the neon overkill of Hollywood Boulevard, and the sunny casualness of Westwood Village, and I wanted to live inside legendary cinematographer Robert Richardson’s beautiful frames. Besides, we would have been robbed of a great sequence in which Cliff speeds from Rick’s house to his trailer behind a drive-in theatre. He greets his precious pitbull Brandy for a long, slow, viscerally engaging dinner scene. Brandy waits patiently as Cliff plops kibble and canned food into a giant bowl. It’s all so casual until you later realize everything has a purpose.

Same goes for a fantastic set piece in which Cliff picks a fight with Bruce Lee (scene stealer Mike Moh) or an extended sequence on the set of a pilot where Rick meets his match in the body of an 8-year-old co-star (the wonderfully self-possessed Julia Butters). Fosse/Verdon Emmy nominee Margaret Qualley as one of Manson’s followers also makes a great impression as she continually crosses paths with Pitt’s character. The highlight for me, though, gave us Sharon Tate talking her way into the Bruin Theatre in Westwood to watch herself on screen in The Wrecking Crew. I loved her innocence and pride as the audience laughed and applauded her performance. When entering the theatre, she poses for a picture with all of the goofy charm our current selfie culture lacks. In fact, I found it so refreshing that the photographer snapped the pic of Sharon alone instead of posing with her. Tarantino, in this moment, gives Sharon back to us, reframing her as a promising talent instead of as a murder victim. Robbie, despite having very little dialogue, brings a magical presence to the film. It feels like an unexpected gift.

Tarantino overstuffs the movie with tons of cameos. Some work better than others. Kurt Russell gets some laughs as a Stunt Coordinator who absolutely does not want to hire Cliff, and Dakota Fanning creeped me out as Squeaky Fromme. Many of the lesser known cast members, however, made a much bigger impression. Austin Butler gives Manson’s henchman, Tex, a chilling edge, while Nicholas Hammond (Friedrich from The Sound Of Music, you guys!) perfectly captures the phoniness and transparent negotiation skills a director needs in order to get what he wants out of his actors. Talented actors like Lena Dunham, Damian Lewis and the late Luke Perry feel plopped in simply because they wanted to be in a Tarantino film. It’s a lot to absorb but doesn’t ruin it.

None of this would work quite as well as it does, however, without DiCaprio and Pitt’s great chemistry and committed performances. DiCaprio proved in The Wolf Of Wall Street he had a gift for an over-the-top style of acting, but he outdoes himself here. Insecure and short-fused, he taps into Rick’s rage and despondency yet never forgets to entertain the audience. It’s a very showy piece of acting, but also surprisingly moving. Pitt adopts a more laconic style, the better to conceal his astute observations, whether it be of Rick himself or of the dangerous cult which grows insidiously closer to him. Moreover, he knows exactly how to make his scenes with his dog sing. Both DiCaprio and Pitt walk that fine line between broad comedy and genuine pathos, and do so to perfection.

With its extended length, there’s plenty of time to reflect on where Tarantino’s headed. The cumulative effect of all this casualness slowly reveals his central thesis, which I found disturbingly conservative yet intensely relevant. Those in power won’t give up so easily. Rick and Cliff aren’t going to let the young upstarts and the hippies get in their way. They intend to fight for old Hollywood, for a time when films had a classic sheen, before the 70s gave us antiheroes and grittiness, before life got messy with Vietnam, Watergate, assassinations, and yes, the Manson murders. They want to make America great again. God help us all. He may employ an overused method of his to make his point in the shockingly graphic, insane final half hour, but it still works like gangbusters and all comes together in the end. The final shot of the movie packs a quiet, lovely, heartbreakingly emotional punch.

Tarantino takes a flamethrower to the influx of the counterculture yet disguises it with a wistful nostalgia. He’s tapping into a similar feeling which gave rise to our current political “leadership”, yet finds something sweet at its center. Problematic messaging? Sure, but not as pointless as it first appears. Once Upon A Time…In Hollywood, like its title suggests, embraces a fairytale quality to make some scabrous observations about ego, about aging, and about the thirst for a seat at the table with all the newbies out there ready to take your place.

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kiaronna · 7 years

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Yuri on Ice AO3 Fic Recs!

Hi. I am one of those terrible people that consume a lot more fic than I comment on, because I’m a shy and lazy child. So: fic recs. To promote lesser-known authors, I’ll list from least to most bookmarked (I’ve left out some really popular ones, you can likely find those on your own). Feel free to give me recs in return!

If you’re an author on this list (and somehow see this despite my small following) and are like “mothereffer who’re you we’ve never talked” I plan on commenting on all of these this weekend, because #ficrecdays.

Symphony in a minor by Anicaruscomplex: This adorable 2 part drabble was published around Christmas and it’s been with me ever since. It’s a slice of life, but also Yuuri dealing with the temporary nature of their relationship.

what he notices most is the quiet by fishingclocks: Long distance fic. Did you know that a scene about Viktor making blini in the morning could send your heart into conniption fits? Well, now I do.

Nightfall in Osaka by ryukoishida: A perfect and soft date night for Viktor and Yuuri at the start of them being competitors. Also, the author researched actual beautiful locations for them to go to.

Step three: I’m calling you baby by polly_perks: Viktor deals with the fact that Yuuri isn’t the same man he met at the banquet. It’s sweet and crafted so well.

Scents of home by espritneo: This is the best fic I’ve ever read about Makkachin. Have you ever heard of espritneo? NO? Allow me to introduce you to this gift of a human being. Everything espritneo puts out has wonderful characterization of both Viktor and Yuuri and everyone else in their lives. Also, espritneo is versatile: canon continuations, folklore AUs, sex, time travel, and this whole puppy fic. You have no excuse not to check them out.

Seagulls on the shore (that which we grasp) by Gintsuki: Everyone has daemons and this story makes me wish daemons were canon, because it works SO WELL. This story flows like poetry.

Heart Lines by thelonelywriter: Yuuri reads Viktor’s palm, Viktor is ridiculous, and it’s adorable. Thelonelywriter, despite being lonely, has written some very quality fluff, so check them out.

Infinitesimal being by sarahyyy: An Otabek/Yuri fairytale story where Otabek is an immortal goblin, and it’s… written from OTABEK’S POV sometimes. I feel like this is so rare but it’s done so perfectly, and the lore behind it is bittersweet.

Every inch of you is perfect by lazulisong: *fans self* Every inch of lazulisong is perfect and I’ll say it as many times as I need to. Just go read everything. You’ll thank me later.

Again and Again by grayclouds: A reincarnation AU that is heart-wrenchingly beautiful and unconventional. It’s a whirlwind of different forms of Victuuri and some have me turning over in my bed at night—in one of them they don’t even exist at the same time and it still makes my stomach flip.

The road that stretches out ahead by hellodeer: Yuuri and Viktor go on a road trip. THIS FIC. I’ve read it so many times, and it’s just raw and so convincing in its story of how Yuuri finally realizes that Viktor actually loves him and intends to stay with him. It doesn’t get all the attention it deserves.

Undertow by Mhalachai: *heavy breathing* this fic is beautiful and creative and almost made me cry for Viktor Nikiforov. It’s one of the few fics that demonstrates Viktor’s insecurities and doubts and does it by successfully using supernatural Russian folklore. I am so impressed by this piece and it’s still messing with my head—it also has a companion piece that’s Yuuri-centric.

Understand Someday by triste: A wonderful piece of Victuuri family fluff, starring Yurio. You will want to hug the little tiger by the end of it. Triste has other excellent works, too!

Rumour has it by lunaetude: Viktor and Yuuri are at Hogwarts together, and are ADORABLE and very in-character, and it alludes to Viktor’s loneliness softly but emotionally. Lunaetude has multiple AUs for YOI that are gorgeous, so go read everything by that author, even if you don’t think it’s your cup of tea, because you WILL like it.

Of Dahlias and Deadlines by ingthing: have you ever read a fic and been like, this is so cute? Why isn’t this a show all by itself? Well, ingthing has a florist/wedding planner AU series that makes me say this every time they post, and everyone should read it. Viktor was born to be a wedding planner.

Easy on my knees by ineptshieldmaid: A Viktor-centric relationship study that has such a careful and touching path to them getting together, and Viktor trusting and loving Yuuri. Ineptshieldmaid has written other equally squeal-inducing fanfic, too!

High-Flying, Adored by terra_incognita: I’m a sucker for superhero AUs and this is amazing. Everybody has secret identities and it’s a love square between Viktor and Yuuri and their superhero personas—it’s quirky and emotional and addictive. Also, Yuri Plisetsky is amazing in it. You will have to suspend your disbelief a bit though, because Yuuri somehow doesn’t realize that two silver haired Russians arriving in town at the same time ARE THE SAME PERSON.

The measure of the year (the mind of men) by geckoplasm: A fic where Yuuri and Viktor are a real couple with actual communication issues, just like in the show! They screw up and make up and you always get both sides of the story in a way that is personal and eye-opening as to how two people that love one another can still have misunderstandings and cause major damage.

Adoration (noun) by crossroadswrite: pre episode 10, but an incredibly convincing and thoughtful explanation of how Viktor fell in love with Katsuki Yuuri—an AU where Viktor had originally intended to leave Hasetsu after a year.

Chasing Tail by Metallic_Sweet: This is the only fic on my list that I think is probably dead but please read it just for an A/B/O experience that you’ve likely never had before. Viktor has his scent glands removed and he is calculating in a way almost nobody depicts him as, but which I think is true to canon.

From june to September by bigspoonnoya: “This is the summer they fell in love.” This fic is essentially canon to me, it’s so well written.

Body music by fan_nerd: Um, everybody probably already knows fan_nerd because they’re a magical presence in the YOI fandom, but their reverse AU is the best. Viktor looks up to five-time champion Katsuki Yuuri and some things stay the same (being drunk at the banquet) and some things hilariously change (Yuuri actually emails Viktor before he just shows up at his house).

Dear Mama by Ferrero13: Viktor writes letters and emails to his beloved mother throughout the YOI series, and it’s HILARIOUS. Also sweet. Viktor’s writing and drama is spot on, and this whole fic is just well done.

Specks of silver in the evening sky by winchilsea: “Viktor’s kink is taking care of Yuuri” in a way that’s both eros and agape. This fic is breathtaking. *sobs into hands* I love winchilsea. Sometimes I read things by winchilsea that I don’t even know about (I read a Pacific Rim AU of YOI and I’ve never glanced at Pacific Rim) and it doesn’t matter because they are such high quality.

I’ve been up nights making you my god by kevystel: Oh, kevystel. I’m reccing this fic because it’s one of the first I found, but anything by kevystel is golden. It’s a brilliant and gorgeous relationship study.

On top of the world by springsoldier(ladydaredevil): Another superhero AU, where superman Viktor takes on Yuuri as his superhero protégé and Yuri Plisetsky fails terribly in his attempt to be a villain (he rescues kittens, y’all). It’s so, so precious and I love its Viktor.

I have my body (and you have yours) by astoryaboutwar: *UNINTELLIGIBLE SCREAMING* if you haven’t read any of her works, you need to go read astoryaboutwar RIGHT NOW. This is a heart-stopping soulmate AU where Yuuri keeps his soulmate a secret and then everything is emotional and stunningly written. *points helplessly at ‘our doubts are traitors’* Look, she’s writing this too and nobody is worthy of it. Nobody.

Nerve Endings by Phyona: Yuuri moves to St. Petersburg, and they deal with Yuuri’s anxiety. Yuuri has A LOT of anxiety, and it’s depicted at length here in ways that feel real and devastating. Later, Viktor has anxiety too, and overall I was just sitting there clenching my head in my hands, having a lot of feelings.

Healthy Impropriety by mtothedestiel: Viktor and Yuuri in Victorian times!! Viktor is EXTRA extra, in the most perfect way, and Yuuri is just a normal Victorian guy trying to live his life. The author clearly worked really hard to keep it true to novels written during that time (Pride and Prejudice, etc).

Closer, Still by sciencefictioness: *spits out beer* did you know that A/B/O could be incredibly poetic and full of gorgous yearning and make you feel like you’ve been missing out on someone for your entire life?! Go read this.

The naming of cats by csoru: Another Yuri/Otabek rec. It’s realistic and Yuri is so in character it hurts. It actually spends time depicting their ice skating careers, and doesn’t just focus on their relationship, in true YOI style. Also it’s wonderfully written, so go check it out.

Stargazer by Fahye: No ice skating, just amazing space AU sports. Yuuri is a commoner that gets taken under the wing of space royalty to learn how to ballist.

From Almaty, With Love by BoxWineConfessions: another one that I probably don’t have to rec because if you like Yuri/Otabek, you’ve already discovered it. Yuri goes to visit Otabek for a summer and they fall in love. It captures both of them very well, and its scenes are written out so stunningly that even them lounging around in Otabek’s apartment is like a painted picture in your mind. I’m not even a huge Yuri/Otabek fan and this fic is just… sigh.

Always My Soulmate by Watermelonsmellinfellon: obviously, I’m a sucker for soulmate AUs and compilations and this is a good one. Watermelonsmellinfellon contributes a massive amount to the YOI community, and has done everything: soulmates, an AU where Yuuri is deaf, and time travel, and they actually research everything. So, so impressed.

A glide in your step by Yuu_chi: this was one of the first fics I read that threw me into the pit of YOI. It’s so, so sweet and masterfully crafted and something I always go back to; it’s a beautiful depiction of how Yuuri and Viktor got together in Hasetsu. It’s pining Viktor written before pining Viktor was even canon.

Maelstrom by feelslikefire: Viktor relives the a day of the Sochi Grand Prix over and over. A fic in which Viktor is actually initially a terrible person that gets to do character development, AND the worst day of Yuuri’s life is handled masterfully again and again.

Victor Effing Nikiforov by shysweetthing: so I would like to recommend both the story and the author, who despite being a writing god constantly descends from heaven to grace everyone with reviews and tumblr musings (her tumblr is the same as her author name on AO3). Yuuri doesn’t fail the Japanese nationals after GPF1, makes it to Worlds, and Viktor Nikiforov steamrollers him with love that Yuuri is incredibly confused by. Go read everything by this author and pray that she updates Viktor!!! With Swords at some point.

Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by Reiya: They’re rivals! Do I even have to rec this? It’s so frickin popular and THERE’S A REASON. I daydream about this fic and the worldbuilding for the AU is sublime. The author plans everything out so beautifully. In case you’ve somehow missed it, Yuuri meets up with Viktor as a kid, Viktor is Viktor and is blunt, and Yuuri’s heart breaks, resulting in him ferociously working to beat Viktor in competition. Then, there’s incredibly respectful one-sided hate sex.

Like your French girls by ebenroot: Viktor is an artist, and Yuuri his figure skating muse. Everybody knows this fic. It’s perfection.

#ficrecdays #yuri on ice #victuuriweek

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wayneooverton · 7 years

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25 photos that will inspire you to visit Kyrgyzstan

Would you believe me if I told you there is a magical, faraway land, full of mountains and fields of flowers, of legendary princesses and men who hunt with eagles the size of children? Would you believe me if I told you this place is untouched by mass tourism, with a richness and culture so complex it’s hard to articulate.

It’s a land of pure nomadic culture, a place of thousands of blue lakes and glacier covered mountains seen by few and vast valleys filled with wildflowers with the occasional horse or camel in the distance.

Yes, it’s real and no, you probably haven’t been there, or can even find it on a map. And you definitely can’t spell it.

It’s Kyrgyzstan.

What do you think of when you think of Kyrgyzstan?

Be honest. If you’re anything like me, you probably can’t really picture it. You might remember it from high school geography classes and learning about the Silk Road, or maybe you think of it from the Soviet Union. Usually people just group it in with one of the ‘Stans.

Well, I’ll be the first to say, that “Stan” that you can’t really picture, locate, spell or identify, and above all Kyrgyzstan, is FREAKING AWESOME!

It’s literally my new favorite place. Like, for real. Tucked in between Tajikistan, China and Kazakhstan, and overshadowed by it’s louder neighbors, Kyrgyzstan is finally speaking up and getting noticed.

I love being surprised when I travel and Kyrgyzstan was nothing but a surprise. I shocked, wow-ed and amazed me consistently for the two weeks I was there this summer, and I’m already planning to go back next year. It was sort of what I imagined but completely different to.

I was invited to Kyrgyzstan last year for the World Nomad Games – yes it’s a thing, like the Olympics for Central Asian ethnic sports – and my curiosity was instantly piqued and I started reading about Kyrgyzstan and devouring the images online I quickly realized how stunning and undiscovered this place actually was by the west. I just had a feeling about it.

It looked similar to Mongolia, a place I traveled to a few years ago that changed my life, but with more mountains and even more off the beaten path.

When the opportunity came again this year, I was already hooked and had to go. I have so many crazy moments, fun adventures and wild stories to share with you all, but I have to start with the photos. Photos of Kyrgyzstan were what initially inspired my interest in this mountain country, and I hope it can do the same for you.

Here are my 25 favorite images from my recent adventure in Kyrgyzstan. Enjoy!

My second day in Kyrgyzstan was a whopper.

We decided to climb up to one of the lesser known alpine lakes near the Jerghez gorge called Kol Tur. It was a huge day that I wasn’t expecting, and I was recovering from a bad case of bronchitis, but decided to power through. It was an asbolute sufferfest, even though the hike itself wasn’t too hard. But it was all worth it when we finally arrived at the stunning turquoise lake in the mountains.

Sometimes it pays off to be incredibly stubborn.

I had spent some time with the eagle hunters in remote Mongolia a few years back and without a doubt, I was so excited to learn that it’s a tradition also in Kyrgyzstan.

Hunting things like marmot and foxes, these magnificent Golden Eagles are trained from birth by their owners.

I want one!

My favorite place we explored was the Jyrgalan Valley and we were only there for one night!

A picturesque valley only an hour from the city of Karakol, here there is a famous massive rock which supposedly has the footprints of Kyrgys epic hero Manas‘ horse, where he rode his horse onto the rock during a famous battle.

Karakol is a fascinating city because it has a blend of many cultures and languages.

The one I was particularly interested in was the Dungan people – have you heard of them?

Ethnic Chinese Muslims who fled to Kyrgyzstan to escape persecution, we visited their famous mosque in town which looks faintly like a pagoda before visiting a local Dungan family for a feast.

OMG give me all the dumplings! And noodles! The food in Kyrgyzstan was incredible!

The Russian Orthodox Church in Karakol. I’ve never seen anything like it, have you?

We spent three days riding horses over the Bozuchuk Pass and it was one of the best adventures of my life. From camping with nomads to falling off TWICE (why me?!) to swimming in remote alpine lakes, it blew me away.

I loved riding horses in Mongolia and was keen to give a shot in Kyrgyzstan where it seems everyone is born on horseback.

Taking notes about learning how to build a yurt from one of the Kyrgys masters. His team can build one in 10 minutes. I think it took us an hour.

I really want to build a yurt of my own one day in New Zealand – who’s with me?

How incredible are the stunning red cliffs of Jety-Oguz Gorge?

We got up at the crack of down to make it here in time for sunrise, and it was worth the early alarm.

Even in July, Kyrgyzstan is lush with flowers everywhere. I couldn’t resist a frolic through a random sunflower field on one of our travel days.

The best time for wildflowers in Kyrgyzstan is early summer, around May and June.

Skazka Canyon is nicknamed the Fairytale Canyon because of its irregular rock formations.

Even though I’ve never been to the grand canyon, this reminded me of what it would look like, and we could have easily spent hours here crawling along the different peaks and columns.

What a place!

Janil Baishova is the founder of the Golden Thimble felt workshop which teaches locals and visitors the master craft of felt tapestry and rug making.

She has the most wonderful smile and enthusiasm shines through and you can’t help but love her.

You can’t travel around Kyrgyzstan and not stay in a yurt camp. There are everywhere and are super cheap and comfortable. It might be my new favorite style of accommodation!

Our last couple of nights we spent at yurt camps on the shores of Issyk Kul lake, a massive warm saltwater lake in Kyrgyzstan. With the mountains twinkling all around you and the lake lapping nearby, they are the kinds of places you could easily squirrel away in for weeks just to find some peace.

Kyrgyzstan is a place that I fell deeply in love with; a place that’s already calling me back. Appealing to intrepid curious travelers, it has so many layers, I’m dying to go back for a second bite.

Have you been to Kyrgyzstan? What do you know about it? Is this the kind of place you would like to visit? Share!

Many thanks to USAID for hosting me in Kyrgyzstan, like always I’m keeping it real, all opinions are my own, like you could expect less from me.

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