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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 6 months

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One of Us is Guilty; Epilogue (Part 1)

Cater is missing and Vil, Azul, Silver & Jade are now remaining. Will they find Cater? Will they catch Rook? Will they survive the night?

Characters; Vil Schoenheit, Azul Ashengrotto, Silver, Jade

Content; Murder mystery, revealing some clues

Content Warnings; Dead bodies, kidnapping (dead dove content)

Word Count; 1.2 K

Do not put my work into AI If you enjoy my writing, check out my masterlist

Rook was gone, and so was Cater. They should have felt relieved that the killer had been found, but now, he was missing, and he had taken Cater with him.

Vil clenched his jaw, and his nails were digging so hard into his skin that he nearly drew blood, nearly. Even though he can be strange, Rook wouldn’t do something like this… it’s against his own code; he would own up to it, not hide it. “Is everyone okay?” Obviously not, but still, checking in can help.

Out of everyone, Jade looked the least panicked, but Vil could read him well enough to know that this situation disturbed him greatly. Silver was shaking a bit, not from anger, but rather, grief. And then there was Azul, who was pacing and muttering to himself; of how this could happen, to possible motives. And Vil? He was hurt — not physically, but emotionally — since he knew Rook the most, but knew that whatever was happening, was not the real Rook.

“No,” Silver spoke up, eyes meeting Vil’s. “But there isn’t time to waste, for all we know, Cater cou- is still alive. And we shouldn’t waste time, the sooner we find him, the better the outcome is.”

Vil nodded, “I agree, and I want you all to stay behind me.” Just in case. But he didn’t say that. Vil was the eldest of their remaining group, and he saw it as his duty to protect his juniors… even against his own friend and vice-house warden.

Jade looked at Vil, and could tell that the Pomefiore house warden was willing to protect them. “And what about your safety?”

“… I trust that you all know offensive and defensive magic enough to where you won’t hit me by accident,” was his answer. Vil knew the risk, but the more that he ruminated on all that had happened tonight, the more he was sure about what they were going to do. “We’re going to the teacher’s lounge.”

Azul stopped pacing, turning his eyes to Vil, trying to get a read on him. “Is that really the best idea,” he questioned. “The last time we moved rooms–”

“I know what happened!” Vil hissed, before taking a breath and calming himself down. “My apologies,” he sighed, “but we can either try and solve this and try to get Cater back or we can stay here like sitting ducks. And trust me; Rook is quite the marksman.”

Azul backed down, “Sorry.” But he still felt uneasy, as if there were eyes watching him still, even though the guilty party was now known. “May I ask why the teacher’s lounge though?”

Vil opened the door out to the hall, “Even if Rook isn’t there, and it isn’t the room where the original murder took place, there could still be clues about why this whole ordeal happened, and how.”

Silver stood beside Vil, and matched his stride; if Vil was willing to risk his own safety to keep them safe, he was going to make sure to guard him, to put his training to use. He may not have a sword, but if it came to it, Silver would not hesitate to use his magic, or his body, to protect the others, even if he had to use said magic against a fellow classmate.

Jade brought up the rear since he trusted his own keen senses and his magical capabilities; the ocean made him acutely aware of his surroundings after all, and he wouldn’t have made it this far without them. “The professors do sometimes make notes about student behaviour, so that could bring up some new information,” he hummed.

“Professor Trein would probably keep the best notes,” Silver offered quietly. “So… should we just read them without his permission?”

“I don’t see any other option. It’s better to ask for forgiveness in this situation rather than each of us…” end up dead “find ourselves in a difficult situation,” Vil answered, finding himself in front of the door all too soon.

Azul, despite being in the centre of everyone, still felt uneasy. Still felt eyes watching him. “Difficult how? Dead? Perhaps tortured? Made to watch as the rest of us are picked off like bait fish to a shark’s kill–” He stopped himself, forcing himself to take in a deep breath. Have I been holding my breath? “… do you think we’ll find anything of use?”

Vil opened the door, “I guess we’ll find out eventually.”

Silver, Azul, and Jade followed after him.

…

“I find that Mr. Hunt has been acting lacklustre in class. He told me that everything was fine, but after talking to Divus, it has come to my attention that Mr. Hunt could have been in contact with an expired potion,” Vil read Trein’s notes. “Other than this though, he seems to be doing well… but he is far too good at masking his true emotions, so I can’t help but worry.”

“Did Professor Trein mention what the potion is,” Azul spoke up. If anyone could figure out the side effects of an expired potion, it would be Azul and Vil.

Vil looked over the note, “No…” But his eyes widened as he got an idea. As much as he hated it, it could be their only lead. “But someone does. Come with me.”

He marched back down the hall, Silver on his right, with Azul and Jade keeping up behind him. They were going back to the main hall, where all three of the bodies were.

“You must be joking,” Jade huffed, looking at Vil, avoiding looking at the bodies of Headmage Crowley, the Ramshackle Prefect, and Professor Crewel. “You know reanimation–”

“It isn’t reanimation magic, I would never dream of doing something so… dark.” Vil brought out his pen, and he walked over to Divus’ body, kneeling down beside him. “Bring memories back,” he whispered, staring into the glassy, dead, eyes of Professor Crewel.

The others shuffled as the memories of the past week started to play out around them; from the professor having his morning coffee, to him sighing over papers.

“Show us Rook,” Vil demanded. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep this up. Even though this wasn’t as taboo as reanimation, looking into the memories of the deceased was still considered a violation… but they had very few choices, so in comparison to what else had occurred that night, this transgression was far less important in the grand scheme of things.

The memories flashed until they showed Rook in class, three days ago. He was talking animatedly to his alchemy partner as he reached for an ingredient, but his hand bumped into a glass vial, making it crash onto the ground, covering him in the contents.

Vil paused the memory and examined the vial. “Azul,” he called, beckoning him forward. He gave him a look, and Azul looked at the vial. Vil wanted to make sure that he was actually seeing this. That he wasn’t wrong.

“A love potion? An expired love potion?” Azul huffed, wracking his brain for the side effects. “Lacklustre behaviour… obsession…” He muttered to himself.

Vil stopped the spell, knowing that if he lingered, it could risk blot accumulating. “It makes sense… the hunter of love,” he sighed, pinching his nose. “But this, this is…”

“AZUL!” Silver shouted.

Vil turned around, but he was too late.

Azul was gone, and his glasses were broken on the ground, the glass shattered. He didn’t even have the chance to make a sound.

“You chose the wrong room!~” Rook’s voice hummed merrily on the PA system.

SUSPECTS:

- Silver; the kindhearted knight with a mysterious past, is it just for show? (Plum) - Vil Schoenheit; the actor who is always pigeonholed into the role of a villain (Scarlet) - Divus Crewel; the alchemy teacher with a penchant for fashion, Crowley’s co-worker (Peacock) DECEASED - Rook Hunt; the enigmatic hunter who always has a hunch of what’s happening (Mustard) MURDERER - Azul Ashengrotto; the owner of The Mostro Lounge, a businessman with dubious morals (Green) MISSING - Reader; the ‘house-keeper’, a role that was imposed on them by the late Headmage (White) DECEASED - Jade Leech; a student enamored by fungi and seems to have a foreboding presence about him (Orchid) - Cater Diamond; the preppy beau of Heartslabyul, but his smile seems forced (Peach) MISSING

ROOMS:

- Main hall (eliminated in Chapter 2) - Teachers’ lounge (eliminated in Epilogue (Part 1)) - Cafeteria - Kitchens - Lecture theatre - Botanical garden - Alchemy lab (eliminated in Chapter 3) - Library - Crowley’s office (eliminated in Chapter 1)

WEAPON: MAGIC (found in Chapter 2)

TO BE CONTINUED!

Author's Note; The last vote ended in a tie which included the correct room where the murder took place, so Chapter 5 will be a continuation of this. It just felt natural to end it here for this chapter to build suspense!

So congrats!!! Just need to sit for a bit and decide how to wrap things up! And since you guys did technically get the room, there won't be a poll this time; just putting the next part in a new chapter.

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onlinekitsune · 1 year

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demon boys reaction to catching you singing ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

this is incredibly self indulgent but i just had to do a little drabble on this!! there’s no way the brothers aren’t at least somewhat musically talented… especially since they all have songs!!! and i don’t see people talk about it much? and as a person who listens to music constantly, i had to change that

LUCIFER ; he went to ask you something but found you singing in the music room, whatever he wanted to ask is long gone, he is stunned and mesmerized by your voice, he just stands there not wanting to interrupt you or for you to pause, your voice was the most soothing thing he’d ever listen to, no vinyl could compare to you, he’d give you a very much worthy applause, and ask if you wanted to sing another song while he’d play piano, you obviously say yes, on the back of lucifer’s mind he was wonder how’d he get you to record a vinyl just for him

MAMMON ; per usual he’d come crash in your room, before he got there though he heard you singing, but not just any song your guys song, not officially but that’s what mammon thought whenever he heard it, he totally did not associate it with you at all, there was a duet in the song, mammon took the chance to fill in the gap, and maybe impress you, he’d sing the other part while walking in the room, acting like it was nothing despite being so nervous, he’d trip over scattered items on your floor but would continue his lines, he avoided your gaze while waiting for you to join him, he didn’t want to expose how much he’d be blushing

LEVIATHAN ; he’d left his room for a little bit, not too long he’d never keep you waiting for long, but long enough for you to start singing an opening from the current anime you two were watching, it was catchy and stuck in your head, instantly the blue coded demon was bright pink, you were too cute for him, this was something that only happened in anime, so why is it happening now, he’d make his presence well known by falling right in front of you, you stop from the sudden thud of levi, he’d apologize relentlessly for interrupting you, you assured him it was okay, he’d want to sing it again for him

SATAN ; to no ones surprise (expect satan) the library wasn’t the most occupied room in the house, you’d sneak in there to just have time to yourself and to sing without being interrupted, or so you thought, satan decided to treat himself to a cozy reading time at the library, upon hearing music he was a little confused, he didn’t really expect someone in there playing music, you guys had a whole music room, but as he peeked in and saw you he was pleasantly surprised, he didn’t hesitate much, he had other motives, he booked it to his room and grabbed his violin, he returned accompanying you on your song, you couldn’t help but to be enamored

ASMODEUS ; you didn’t necessary avoid asmo when you sang, but you knew he’d give it so much attention, you were caught off guard one day while scrolling through devilgram, you were mindlessly scrolling while singing, nothing too impressive to you, but when asmodeus caught you he was in awe, to your surprise he didn’t make such a big deal out of it (yet), he’d instantly wip out his phone to record, for his personal viewing but he’d totally think about the views he’d get from posting it, then he would make a huge deal out of it, bombarding you with why you never told him you could sing like that, how long have you been singing, can you sing for him again, he’d also ask you if you wanted to do it professionally, he would use his connections to make that happen if you ever wanted

BEELZEBUB ; cooking and cleaning was a no brainer combo, it made the whole process just so much better, and whenever you had cooking duty with beel it was perfect, you were very comfortable singing with him present, but when you first sang with him while cooking he just stopped dead in his tracks, he didn’t expect how heavenly your voice sounded, it was sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted, beel wasn’t much of a singer but he’d hum along to whatever you decided to sing, he’d want to indulge himself in your song anyways, there was a little bit of pride and love knowing that you felt so comfortable around him that you’d sing by him

BELPHEGOR ; he was aware of your talents from long ago, you’d sing on the staircase to the attic late at night, he didn’t really bring it up, that was until he caught you singing in the planetarium at night, the atmosphere and the echo of your voice was too perfect for you to not sing in here, especially at this time with the stars above you, belphie wouldn’t say anything but he’d sit beside you and look at the stars, you’d pause for a second, not really knowing if you should continue, but he’d ask for you to while he stared at the stars, you’d soon sing him to sleep before falling fast asleep beside him

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femmespoiled · 4 months

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Missed Her by Ivan Coyote

ID under read more

ID - images show a piece by Ivan Coyote from their book Missed Her.

Text in image 1 reads:

"Throwing in the Towel

Sometimes you say things without really thinking. Sometimes you write things on Facebook without really thinking about the nine hundred people who will read them.

It all started with the towels. Not just any towels, mind you. These were brand new, fresh out of the laundry, white, pristine, and über-fluffy. I had just stepped out of my clawfoot bathtub in my new-to-me bathroom in my recently painted apartment and into the softest, most absorbent and slightly lemony scented towel this forty- year-old ass has ever felt. That towel wicked the moisture away from my butt like a dream. It felt better than my mother's towels. Better than a fancy hotel towel, even, mostly because it was mine and I knew for a fact mine was the first ass it had ever wicked water from.

It's the little things, right? I sat my luxurious towel-wrapped ass down at my desk in front of my computer and wrote, "My new towels are so fluffy and absorbent. I feel like a queen. A queen, I tell you." And then I hit "share."

Within minutes, the comments started to roll in. My lady friends all concurred. Some of my butch friends, well, some butch bonding time. A small debate ensued. A femme friend of mine suggested we all conceptualize fine linens as a high quality tool, used to entice fine ladies into your bathtub. We riffed some"

Text in image 2 reads:

"about stereotypes. I thought it was over.

The next day, I hung the freshly hemmed and pressed, sand-coloured velvet draperies in my living room, and stood back to appreciate how well they complemented the dark olive accent wall and the bone-white window trim. What can I say? It has pretty much been five years since I have had a stable, solo, sexy roof over my head. I am nesting. I sat at my desk and wrote: "Enjoying my new draperies like I do does not make me any less butch."

And again with the stream of comments. One of my friends responded that butches were supposed to keep thoughts like that to ourselves. Someone said that draperies could be butch as long as there were no pink bows on them. Someone else suggested that we needed a word for a butch metrosexual. This began a longer discussion on the various types of butch: soft butch, stone butch, old school, fag butch, gentlebutch, dandy.

I should say that all of this was fairly good- natured, and everyone's feathers went for the most part unruffled, at least on the page. But something about the whole discussion bugged me, and it got me to thinking about it all.

My first question was for myself. Why did I care if my butchness was called into question anyway? In my whole entire life I have never felt anything but butch, even before I knew the word. That is certainly the way the world views me (going mostly on what rednecks call me from passing truck windows) and how my lovers place me on the fuckability spectrum. So why did someone I barely knew"

Text in image 3 reads:

"calling me a girl and suggesting I needed some butch bonding time chap my tender ass so much? Perhaps it was all those soft towels making me more thin-skinned than usual? And what was up with my butch brothers and sisters? I re-read the comments. Most of the femmes who responded maintained that the word butch didn't need adjectives or qualifiers: just butch would do the trick. It was mostly butches who were uncomfortable with my love of fluffy towels and draperies, and mostly butches who felt the need to further categorize ourselves.

One of the femmes who responded posed the following: "There's also an element of internalized homophobia in all of this. Maybe it's a conceptual leap but it seems to me that the notion that a 'real' butch can't like a fluffy towel or use words coded as feminine to describe her-/him-/hir-self isn't that far from the idea that it's not okay for boys to play with dolls. Are queer masculinities (or whatever you want to call them) so fragile? Their beauty, diversity, and resilience over the generations prove otherwise."

I thought about it all some more. Thought back to being eight years old, and frozen in the girl's dressing room at the ladies' wear store on Main Street in Whitehorse. My aunt was getting married and my mom was insisting that wearing anything but a dress to the wedding would be rude and she wasn't going to tolerate any more arguments from me about how dressy my brown corduroy suit could really be with the right blouse. I was being forced to try on this yellow and grey dress. My mom and the shop lady were"

Text in the last image reads:

"looming outside the dressing room door, taking turns cajoling and threatening me to come out and show them how I looked. My guts were in my throat and all the moisture in my mouth was now collecting in my eyes. I was seriously too humiliated to open the door and come out. I was afraid of the wrath of my mother, and scared of the scorn of the saleswoman, but I was even more terrified of how vulnerable and wrong I felt in my body, in my skin, in my life in that dress. It wasn't just that I didn't want to be a girl. And it wasn't as easy as just wishing that I was a boy. It was the horrible realization that I was facing a world where there were no clothes for me because I didn't fit the world.

So I don't think that butch fear of our own femininity is all that simple to unravel. It is not just our own misogyny that makes us see anything less than manly as weak or less than. Our fear of our own inner girl is so much more complicated than that. Most of us grew up uncomfortable not only in our clothes, but in our pink bedrooms, our gender roles, our families' expectations, and even our own skins. We had to fight to find ourselves in all of that. And sometimes that makes it hard to drop all that armor and just sit back and enjoy the fucking draperies."

End ID

#bellas books #btexts #book recommendations #bellas butch/femme tag #sorry for the light mode on the images folks

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tallerthantale · 4 months

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What Does Aziraphale Actually Believe, Part 3: The Case for Ineffability

This is a series of my takes on what Aziraphale believes through the timeline of the show. It is all my personal interpretation, and I am happy to hear others. You don’t need to read them all in order, but know that I am coming from a perspective on Aziraphale’s machinations that can be difficult for people without a psychology background to follow without the first two as a primer. The quick version is that Aziraphale has a set of beliefs that exist in some form or another within his mind. However, at any given moment, only some of them exist ‘with awareness’ or as I am putting it here, conscious!Aziraphale only has access to the beliefs that the rest of his mind, veil!Aziraphale, allows him to know about. The context of the moment will determine what lives on the surface and what stays buried behind the veil, whatever arrangement best prevents a threat to Aziraphale’s sense of self and makes whatever he is inclined to do feel right.

In this post I will be mostly focusing on ineffability; its origins, its associations, and its utility. For all that we call them the ineffable husbands, I have myself and will continue to do so, ineffability belongs to Aziraphale. Crowley scoffed at Aziraphale for it for 6000 years, up until Aziraphale used it to land the final blow ending Armageddidn't. It has value, and Aziraphale brings that value to the table in his discourse with Crowley. About 3.2k words. I meant for it to be shorter, I got carried away.

Religion Without Words

At Eden, Aziraphale has probably spent some time considering Crowley's fall. Realistically I think the reason Crowley is hearing the ineffable argument for the first time at Eden is that the exposition needed to be present as Aziraphale - Crowley dialogue from the start of S1E1 for narrative reasons. However, I like taking on the headcanon that Aziraphale developed his opinions on God's ineffability as a result of Crowley's fall, as a way to try to reconcile his negative feelings about something God had done.

Aziraphale has concluded that the reason he struggles to reconcile a terrible thing happening to someone he cared for at the hands of a nominally benevolent God, is that it's all part of a grand plan he isn't supposed to be able to understand. I have never been a Christian, but from the outside this sure does look like a typical Christian rationalisation, and I believe it mostly is one. @takeme-totheworld has a lot of insightful things to say about the Christian perspective that I’d recommend reading. However, there is one bit when Aziraphale describes ineffability that stands out to me as noticeably something else.

If you are in deep in the fandom, you have probably encountered at least one of the times David Tennant has described Crowley and Aziraphale as the yin to each other’s yang. Yinyangs originated an element of ancient Chinese philosophy, and are currently a component of many different belief systems across East Asia, most prominently Confucism. However, when they get brought up by westerners, (myself included, hi, I’m the problem it’s me) it’s usually in the context of their role in Daoism.

A line from God’s narration (an the book) that sets up the thesis of the story is very Daoist coded: "most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people." This line, David’s description of their relationship, and the multiple shots in the show of the pair that are deliberately evocative of a yinyang symbol, give me the impression that the Good Omens team is deliberately working Daoist perspective into the story. The most telling bit though, is Aziraphale's description of ineffability.

Aziraphale describes God's plan as being ineffable, because "It is incapable of being put into words." Not ‘shouldn't be put into words,’ INCAPABLE of being put into words. This sounds to me like a reference to "The way that can be spoken is not the constant way," a common translation of the most iconic line of the Daodejing, understood to mean you can't describe Daoism (or the universe according to Daoism) with words. This may seem like a reach, I assure you it is not. Daoism unambiguously holds the creative commons copyright on ‘religion that is incapable of being put into words.’ It’s the only thing about Daoism that isn’t ambiguous.

However, as Aziraphale describes it, it's mixed in with the more Christian "It's not for us to understand." Daoist ineffability is about a non-sentient collection of principles of the universe that can't be communicated in words, because it just doesn't work. Christian ineffability is the supreme will of an all powerful entity that won't be communicated in words, because it’s a test of faith. The Christian approach is often to fall back onto the institutional hierarchy and do what you are told. Aziraphale looks on the surface to be following the Christian approach, but in a lot of ways he is actually taking a more Daoist approach, and that is what he will use to separate himself from the institution of heaven, without separating himself from God.

Would You Prefer an Unorganized Religion?

(This was a sarcastic sign on a church near my undergrad college many years ago, in response to a local backlash against organised religion. I found this incredibly funny, because my answer was and is an unironic, enthusiastic, YES.)

I think that for people used to organised religion with hierarchical religious authorities and formal institutions, who have experienced religion as a form of social control, it can be counter intuitive to consider the idea of a spirituality / religion that doesn't operate like that. This isn't to say that there aren't branches of Daoism that have set up structured institutional authority, but from my perspective it makes about as much sense as Prosperity Gospel Christians and Supply-Side Jesus. In any case, the anti-hierarchical flavour of Daoism is the one showing up in the subtext and it's the version that I am familiar with, so that's what I'm going to talk about.

In this world view, the full acceptance of the inability to put spirituality into words or communicate it to others doesn't function as a way to keep people in their place, it functions as the exact opposite. I can’t express the Meaning of Life in words, and neither can you. I can’t tell people how to live in accordance with The Way, AND NEITHER CAN YOU. You are literally the pope? I don’t care, you still can’t. So how does an anti-athoritarian Daoist decide how to live their life? How do you resolve it being impossible for anyone to tell you what the Daoist thing to do is? Look, if I could tell you, it wouldn’t be Daoism. The closest I can get is that it involves putting a lot of work into being at peace with yourself as you are, and being true to yourself as you are when at peace. The interaction is vitally important. Being genuinely at peace with yourself, flaws and all, gets the background mechanisms of your mind to be a lot more relaxed about allowing you to perceive clearly, and that gives you more breathing room for whimsy. Putting faith in your intuition where you aren’t at peace with yourself can fuck your shit up harder than a sideways pinapple.

Just an Angel That Likes Food

Aziraphale runs on intuition, and when he is still wrestling with his hidden conflicts behind the veil, he gets messy. When it’s about something he has made his peace with, he does rather well. Once Aziraphale realises he likes food, he doesn’t waste time agonising over it. He’s just an angel that likes food. At first he is appalled by the wine, but not after he’s tried it. Now he’s just an angel that likes wine. And cocktails with little frufru umbrellas. And music. He will go on about keeping up appearances to avoid scrutiny from Gabriel, but I really don’t think Aziraphale has any internal qualms about what it says about his existence that he likes food, tea, hot chocolate, alcohol, and music. He just likes them. He just is.*

At some point between Before the Beginning and the modern era, Aziraphale has developed the capacity to fully stop respecting what the institution of heaven says, because ineffability means no angel, archangel, Metatron, contract, permit, office, or institution can speak for God. Consider Season 1 Aziraphale having no time for The Metatron’s title; “You are the voice of God like the presidential spokesperson is the voice of the president. I actually need to speak to God.” The great plan is a bunch of words, and God plays games, so it isn’t necessarily the ineffable plan. Right after the discorporation, the angel general orders Aziraphale to prepare for war, and he's just like… nope. Bye. He prevents the war by calling Gabriel out to his face for assuming God's intentions, and Crowley only joins in after he is shocked that it worked.

Where modern Aziraphale most readily loses his internal peace is when there is a question of him being personally out of step with God, and with the hypothetical of what God would want an idealised heaven to be. Only God Herself, in all her ineffable glory, who’s will cannot be communicated in words by definition, who’s playing games with rules She won’t tell you. But then he can't ever know if he really is out of step with God? EXACTLY. If he intuitively feels like he is aligned with God, nothing the universe throws at him from the outside can ever be evidence to the contrary.

Isn't he just as bad as Gabriel then? Arguably he's worse. Gabriel admitted to himself that he didn't know God's will when called out about it. However, at least the things that intuitively feel right to Aziraphale tend not to be eradicating all life and destroying the universe, so there's that.

On an Overabundance of Optional Opinions

The solid wall modern Aziraphale has up to defend his sense of his relationship to God took time to build, and it started at Eden. As Aziraphale introduces the ineffability Concept to Crowley, the tool is still in development as far as separating himself from the institution of heaven. The scene introduces a lot of Aziraphale’s contradictory optional opinions.

He can stand by his decision to give away the flaming sword.

He can believe it's possible it was 'the wrong thing' or 'a bad thing.'

He can believe angel’s can’t do the wrong thing by definition.

He can believe Crowey is a demon now.

He can believe he has a responsibility to never do the 'wrong thing.'

He can believe what constitutes the 'wrong thing' is determined by God's will.

He can believe he is obligated as an angel to enact God’s will.

He can believe he cannot be told what God's will is.

He can believe he isn't supposed to understand God’s will.

That is a pretty messy pile of things to believe in the span of a few minutes. Some of this mess is resolved by Aziraphale simply not having contradictory beliefs in his awareness at the same time. Some of it is resolved by him finding squigly ways for the beliefs to not necessarily contradict each other exactly.

As I got into above, Aziraphale runs on intuition, that lets him have a sense of what feels right, and that gives him motivation to act without instructions. Belief follows action. He gives away the sword because it felt like the right thing to do, and now he has his reasons for that and he is invested in standing by them. Now he is worried that action could have been ‘the wrong thing’ which he is treating as a term of art for the policy position of the institution of heaven.

Aziraphale can now separate what he personally prefers from what the institution of heaven classifies as right. He prefers the universe in which he gives Adam the sword. The institution of heaven may disagree, and that would mean that Aziraphale giving Adam the sword was 'bad', but Aziraphale will still prefer the universe in which he gives Adam the sword, and can argue the point. The pro giving the sword away argument is earnest, but it also feels very defensive. If it was 'wrong,' what he prefers is wrong, and that would be 'bad' and he isn't allowed to be 'bad', he is an angel. This is a threat to his sense of self. He is panicking, and is becoming willing to grasp at straws.

In seeking reassurance, Aziraphale earnestly appreciates it when Crowley says 'you're an angel, I don't think you can do the wrong thing.' Taking that at face value is WILD, given that it is a statement made by someone who was an angel, and now isn't, because he was punished for what he did while he was an angel. While there are questions about the details of how and when turning into a demon happens that we will get to later, I think Airaphale’s current understanding of the demeaning process would include: angel commits a fall worthy act, then becomes a demon. This is how he thinks it works at the start of Uz. So as we would assume Aziraphale sees it, Crowley was an angel, did something that was ‘the wrong thing,’ and then became a demon. You would think that this would imply that it is possible for an angel to do the wrong thing.

Aziraphale’s mind has options. Either an angel definitionally can't do the wrong thing, or demons exist because angels can fall after doing the wrong thing. As long as they aren’t both in conscious!Aziraphale’s awareness at the same time, it works out. For this part of the conversation, the notion that an angel can do the wrong thing and fall for it is staying out of his conscious awareness. That lets him grab onto reassurance that he did the right thing by definition. Keeping things behind the veil is fairly normal behaviour for a mind, and if this was Aziraphale talking to another angel it would hardly be noteworthy. The wild part is managing to not have the concept of ‘demons exist because angels can fall’ in your awareness while in the midst of a conversation with a demon who fell so recently you needed to ask them what their new demon name was less than a minute ago. The incentive to believe that as an angel, he can’t do the wrong thing was very powerful. But it wasn’t enough to eliminate his doubt, guilt and shame, particularly after Adam kills the lion. That doesn’t feel right to Aziraphale, even after all his concerns about vicious animals.

An Ineffable Back Door

The real power play is ineffability. The seeds are there for Aziraphale to realise the institution doesn’t represent God if NO ONE can know God’s will, but he hasn’t fully put that together yet. “It’s not for us to understand,” is still him putting himself in his place, or it might have come out ‘it’s not for anyone to understand.’ But there is a crack in the cage destined to become an exit. Aziraphale has started thinking for himself in a way that the other angels don't, and he has come up with ways to rationalise his individual agency. He has his own opinions, and while he has trauma responses when it seems like he might get in trouble, or that a certain opinion isn't acceptable, he will act on his own where there aren't any guidelines. For now, he still tows the company line when he is given orders.

At the Flood, Aziraphale is trying to be ok with what God ostensibly decided, but he's clearly put off by it. It doesn’t feel right, but neither does disagreeing with God. He tries to focus on the positive. The rainbow will be a promise to not drown everyone again! She's just wiping out the locals... not all of them... What I want to focus on though, is that Crowley asks about the sword. Aziraphale says God didn't mention it again, Crowley says that's probably for the best. I think Aziraphale is being a bit dishonest with Crowley as God did mention it at the wall, but I think there is a degree of honesty in the fact that he doesn't seem to have been punished or reprimanded by God for it in any way. Both at Eden and at The Flood Crowley has revealed that he believes God would consider giving the sword away to have been the wrong thing. I think it's a reasonably safe headcanon that the other angels would have a similar opinion. But Aziraphale faced no consequences from God for it. I doubt Aziraphale believes he lied to God successfully. I would argue Aziraphale thinks God either approved of or was pretty indifferent to the whole sword business, and everyone else figured it wrong. However, we don't have evidence for Aziraphale thinking that way until Job, and that’s where we’re headed next.

Post 3/10

End Note 1: On Aziraphale lying to God.

Aziraphale often tells obviously pointless lies as a shame response. Consider the travel sweet, claiming to have never heard of Gabriel, ‘I don’t even like you’, ‘we don’t know each other’. As such, I don’t take his lies to God at Eden to mean he doesn’t believe in God’s omniscience. It could be that he typically believes God is omniscient, and that got stuck behind the veil in a panic, but I honestly read it more as a compulsive behaviour that’s not even engaging with the question of if his lies are believable.

End Note 2: On Aziraphale’s Character Arc.

I see Aziraphale’s journey as a very Daoist coded one, and there is good reason to set it up that way. Good Omens is largely about deconstructing black and white thinking and black and white morality. Crowley represents someone assigned into the category of being evil, behaving in a way that undermines our understanding of the concept, which lets us understand him as not actually evil, and we want him to not actually be evil. We love him for it, it’s a great story. It is also a much easier narrative to process than the mirrored version in Aziraphale, which requires us to want him to grow as a person towards a goal that isn’t being good. Now, obviously a huge chunk of what’s happening is that heaven doesn’t represent actual good, they represent fake good. The thing is, they represent fake good because the concept of good and evil is inherently flawed to begin with ON BOTH ENDS, that’s what the Good Omens narrative is pointing out.

We understand Aziraphale’s mistake at the end of Season 2 comes from him trying to fix the system instead of trying to dismantle it. I agree. His mistake was that he looked at fake idealised good, and wanted to make it real idealised good, instead of processing that there is no such thing. Crowley’s character arc deconstructs the concept of evil, Aziraphale’s character arc deconstructs the concept of good. Daoism may be the most known religion / spirituality that purposefully doesn’t push towards an idealised ‘good’. It’s not just a presumption that it isn’t realistically attainable, it straight up isn’t the objective. The goal is just to be.

#good omens #good omens meta #go meta #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #what does aziraphale actually believe

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 7 months

Text

Protecting the Aspen Witch

Hey, sorry this isn't very specific, but I was rereading Protector earlier and wanted to know if you could maybe write more from that universe? Brain's not braining much rn, so I'm afraid that's the most detailed I can be haha. But any h/c from that universe would make me extremely happy. Maybe they actually have a conversation about Virgil's trauma? – anon

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: panic attack/dissociation

Pairings: DLAMPR

Word Count: 4798

Virgil’s got a simple code when he’s not on a hunt. Don’t hurt whatever you don’t absolutely have to, and odds are, it won’t hurt you. Now and then there’s a bit of an, um, incident where that doesn’t quite work out as well as they’d hoped, but by and large they get by.

On another quest to the Aspen Witch, something goes...a little awry.

Truly, going to see the Aspen Witch isn't the worst quest in the world. In another set of circumstances, he would be grateful for such a well-traveled road, or even just to be able to go somewhere that he knows.

In this world, however, he thinks that the next time someone needs something from the Aspen Witch, he'll tell them to go themselves.

(He won't, he knows he won't, but he likes to imagine for one moment that he might consider it.)

In any case, at least this time he's not bartering for something on behalf of someone else. He's making a delivery on behalf of Elise, a sweet girl in the village who accidentally pissed off the wrong warlock. (See, this is why he'd never actually be able to tell someone else to go, because either he's bartering, which means it's for something that'll help a lot of people, or it's for someone who would definitely be in grave danger if they tried to go alone.) The warlock hadn't taken too kindly to Elise's accidental questioning of their source of magic, even though that wasn't what she was intending at all, and bestowed a powerfully cursed amulet into Elise's possession while she slept. The amulet held a potent attraction charm to coerce Elise into putting it on, and once on, induced paranoia so severe the poor girl's screams could be heard all the way from Virgil's home.

Needless to say, he's taking it far, far away to be destroyed.

He accepted nothing more than a small bag of coin—smaller than his pouch of agrimore dust, the family wasn't exactly in the position to spare a lot of money—and promised Elise to see to it that the amulet never touched her again. Truly it was just a matter of keeping it wrapped in skeldor hide until he reached the Aspen Witch to limit the potency and then, well, then the Aspen Witch would have to know what to do.

Part of him wondered if he would see any of the Five—of course there were five of them and of course they were known by some ridiculous name—when he set off, but there weren't any strange things in his garden, nor did any of them decide to appear when he beds down at the boulder, across the bridge, even when he gets into the valley. No, he manages to make it all the way to the Aspen Witch without running into any of them.

If he were still the adventurer he was years ago, he'd take that as good fortune. If he's going off of what he knows now, he knows enough to be a little wary of their absence.

And if he's being truly honest, something he does try to refrain from outside the safety of the walls of his home, he might be a little disappointed.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts as he approaches the Aspen Witch's grounds. He winces when he stumbles right into the brambles of the crimson thornbushes and feels them tear through his cloak. His fingers almost twitch to his dagger, but then he steels himself. These are the grounds of a magic user, after all, and he would treat them with respect even if he suspected these plants to be totally normal if he decided to slice them open.

With the changing of the seasons, night falls much earlier than it had the last time he ventured this far. The sun is already at the tops of the trees as he approaches the door, several candles already flickering through the windows. He takes a deep breath, takes a moment to check that everything is still where it's supposed to be, and knocks on the door.

"Yes?"

"I am the adventurer known as Virgil. I have come to deal with the Aspen Witch."

"Ah, Virgil! Yes, come in."

He feels something in the door shift and he pushes it open. The bell over the top of the door rings. The Aspen Witch smiles at him from behind her table of treasures; a brickleback spine sits under her hands where she is…obtaining something from it. She sets the tool she's using down with a clink and reaches to pick something up from her side.

"I have prepared for you a drink," she says as Virgil sits, "to ease your burdens."

"I would like to know what is inside it."

"Sunflower nectar, moon blossoms, and honey. It is meant to relax you."

"I recall a similar drink being offered the last time I came."

"You are correct, I offered you a similar drink."

"I would like to know if this one is different than the one you offered last time in any meaningful way."

One of her many rings taps against the edge of the cup. "It has less of the added moon blossoms than the last, which renders it less potent."

Less potent? "I have slaked my thirst at the last waterfall."

Something flickers across her face and she smiles, moving the drink aside. "Another time, then. You are still reeking of curse energy, but this one is different. I would like to know why."

"I have brought you a cursed amulet in the hopes that you would relieve the burden of its intended recipient."

"Show me." Virgil extends the amulet, still wrapped in the hide, and she takes it. She sets it on the table and runs her fingers over the leather strap holding it in place. "This is a fine specimen of hide, Virgil. I would like to know where you obtained it."

"On a past contract."

"I would like you to be more specific."

He says nothing. The Aspen Witch looks at him for a moment longer before she laughs and shakes her head.

"Perhaps another time." She undoes the leather strap carefully and withdraws the amulet. It glistens in the candlelight as she turns it back and forth. "This is a vindictive magic. I would like to know how you came into contact with it."

Is it his imagination, or does the Aspen Witch sound…put out? "The village I live near to. The curse befell a child."

"I would like to know the origins of such a curse, if you would share."

"It is my understanding that the child's intentions behind a question were misunderstood and the magic user sought the consequences they saw fit."

The Aspen Witch's fingers twitch on the chain. She examines the amulet anew and toys with the link near its base. Something darkens in her expression and Virgil tries to keep his hands still. "This was bestowed upon a child, you have said."

"I have said that it was bestowed upon a child."

Her mouth tightens. "I would like to tell you why this is unacceptable."

A chill runs through the cabin. "I would like to ask for clarification on your last statement."

"You may ask."

"I would like to know what it is you find unacceptable: that the child was bestowed a cursed object, that the child was bestowed this cursed object, or that I have said that it was a child to whom it was bestowed."

He must be imagining things because it looks like her expression softens, even the slightest bit. "The second of your list. It is unacceptable that a child was bestowed such a curse. I would like to explain why."

Thank fuck. "I would listen to an explanation."

The Aspen Witch lays the amulet back down on the hide and reaches for something else. She takes a long stick from a drawer and snaps it over the amulet. As the pieces of it start to drift down, they take on different colors and hover in the air.

"Curses have three main derivations," she says as she does so, "either they affect the accursed's mind, their body, or their soul. Mind curses are difficult to break as they require some level of consent from the accursed. Body curses are the most varied but are not that difficult to break, especially if they are familiar with the curse itself."

They look down to see the particles have turned a vivid bloody red. The Aspen Witch's nails scrape against the table.

"Soul curses are vile things," she spits with more emotion than Virgil has ever seen or heard from her, "and they can erase a person if they are not done with extreme skill."

Virgil's mouth runs dry. "I…would like to know what you mean by 'erase.'"

"No," the Aspen Witch says lowly, "you do not."

Alright, no, I do not. That's good enough for me.

With a flick of her wrist, she disperses the particles and wraps the amulet back in the hide. She takes a deep breath and steadies herself—what the fuck has Virgil walked into if the Aspen Witch has to steady herself?—before she looks at him again.

"I would like to know what you intend to provide as payment."

"I recall you mentioning the value of curse energy upon our last visit."

"You would offer the energy of this curse as the payment for removing it."

"I would offer the energy of the curse as payment for its removal."

The Aspen Witch looks at him for a moment longer before she nods and stands, retrieving the amulet from within the hide and sliding the hide over for Virgil to take. "I accept this payment."

He takes the hide silently and puts it back in his pack, watching as she walks over to another table. She places the amulet in a pestle and takes various jars down from the shelf above. He watches as she sprinkles things over the amulet and soft motes of light begin to emerge as she murmurs under her breath. When the glow is strong enough to rival one of the candles, she takes the mortar and brings it down.

Three things happen at once.

First, he sees pieces of the amulet shatter, ricocheting hard enough to dig grooves into the walls of the house.

Second, there is an overwhelmingly loud boom.

Third, something crackles outside and the whole building shakes.

The Aspen Witch's head whips around, staring not at Virgil but over his shoulder in the direction of the door. The mortar falls from her hands as she narrows her eyes. Virgil holds his hands up slowly, indicating that he's not about to do shit right now, and he carefully turns to look over his shoulder.

The door is still intact, but something in his instincts prickles along the back of his neck. He looks back.

"I would like to know what that was," he says as quietly as he can.

"Yes," the Aspen Witch says as she begins to walk over, "so would I."

Great, magic stuff happening that the magic user doesn't know. This is just great.

She passes him in the chair and opens the door, leaving it wide enough for Virgil to peer over her shoulder. He stands, very slowly, and tries to angle himself so he can see what's going on.

Another magic user—he's assuming, after what just happened, but he thinks it's a pretty safe guess—stands in the center of the plot of grass in front of the house. A sigil is burned and seared into the ground, and he winces.

This isn't going to go well.

"You are trespassing," the Aspen Witch says with her words full of ice and fuck it, Virgil's ready to run, "you will cease to do so."

"You destroyed something of mine," the warlock says, extending a hand, "that gives me the right to see it reversed."

"You are the foolish one who sought a soul curse upon a child?"

"I sought what was due to me for such a slight," they spit back, "as well should you know that we aren't to be questioned. And how did you hear about this, is it from the thick-headed bull that leers over your shoulder?"

Virgil's just about to edge his way out of this conversation, thank you very much, when the Aspen Witch's hand, the one behind her back, twitches.

"You will not speak of him like that."

What's going on?

"Why not? He's an adventurer, isn't he?" The warlock laughs, high and cruel and Virgil needs to get a hold of himself before something bad happens. "They're all the same, big and dumb and grunting animals that only care about coin and stopping magic users."

The words strike a chord in his chest and he tries not to let the hurt show to obviously on his face.

"Is he your pet?" The warlock's smile turns into lascivious. "Did I interrupt you in the midst of something? You of all people should understand, then, is it any harm that I wanted to make one for myse—"

The warlock doesn't get to finish their sentence as the Aspen Witch's hand flies out and a mass of thorns erupts from the earth, ensnaring them in a tangled web of crawling plant life. Virgil's hand lands on the hilt of his sword and he just as quickly wrests it away. He's not looking to make himself a target in this after all.

"Touchy," the warlock laughs—take a fucking hint, just get out while you still can— "did he tell you about that cute little thing in the village, then? Has the great Aspen Witch gone soft?"

"You are welcome to test that assumption at your earliest convenience."

Don't fucking test it. Get the fuck out. Be smart for twenty consecutive seconds and fucking run, you idiot.

The warlock doesn't. Instead, they start on about some great speech and self-aggrandizing, but Virgil sees one of their hands make a somatic component and he doesn't think.

Truly, it might be him that's gone soft. There was a time where he would already be gone, or tucked away inside out of sight. There was certainly a time where if two magic users starting casting on each other, he would not be anywhere near it.

But, he can only be who he is, no more and no less. So when he sees the component taking shape, he moves on instinct to shove the Aspen Witch out of the way and get his gauntlet up to take the full force of the spell.

The world goes black.

***

"—il! Virgil!"

Distantly, he registers the sound of a voice. The air crackles.

"Virgil! I would—oh, hells."

Something is dragging him. His head bumps something. He's hauled up and propped against something—a wall?

"Virgil," the voice says again, he knows that voice, "Virgil, open your eyes."

He does, only for blurry things to swim in front of him. He closes them again.

"Virgil." He definitely knows that voice. "Virgil, you must open your eyes."

He tries again, blinking a few times. The first thing to come into focus is the candle on the table closest to him. The second is the hand on his shoulder, laden with rings. Only when he traces the hand to the arm up to the head does he realize who was speaking to him.

"There," the Aspen Witch says in a rush, "there. That is better."

All at once, the memories of what happened flood his brain. The amulet. The warlock. The somatic component. The spell—

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. He interfered with a magic battle. He took a spell meant for the Aspen Witch. He touched the Aspen Witch without permission, he shoved her out of the way, he—he—

"Stay," he hears as two hands land on the sides of his neck, "do not go where I cannot find you, stay here."

He blinks. The Aspen Witch is closer now, her eyes scanning his face. He swallows.

"Don't speak," she says when he opens his mouth, reaching and pressing something warm into his hand, "drink first."

I would like to know what is in it, he tries to say, but all that leaves his throat is a ruined gasp.

"It is the same drink I offered you before," she says, as though she could hear him—can she?— "it is unchanged. It is to help you relax. Drink."

He's already risked too much to afford to say no. He raises the drink to his lips and takes the smallest of sips. The warm, sweet liquid is like a balm to his sore throat and he takes another sip right away. The Aspen Witch watches him closely, one hand still on his shoulder.

"I…" He swallows, testing his voice. "I am…grateful for the drink."

"I am relieved to hear it helped." She cups his hand around it. "I will provide more should you wish it."

"Are you—I would like to know if you're—" he coughs— "if you're alright."

Her expression twitches and he knows he doesn't fully suppress his flinch, not with her this close, not with her looking at him like that. "You took a spell that was meant for me. You saved me. You defended me. And you have been hurt because of it."

Her hand moves slowly from his shoulder to his cheek.

"I…do not know what to do," she confesses softly, "we did not agree on payment."

"I do not require payment," he says as quickly as his throat will let him, "I did not—you don't—this is not an act that would require payment. You do not—I would—fuck."

He isn't lucid enough to do this. He can't do the careful and wary conversation that he has to right now, he can't—he can't—

"I will not bind your tongue," the Aspen Witch says, her hand still gentle on his face, "you…if you wish, you can speak."

No, he can't. He can't because he'll fuck it up and then—then—

Her hand leaves his face. "I will call the Five."

"No!"

Everything freezes.

He just told the Aspen Witch what to do. He just told the Aspen Witch no. He just—he just—oh, fuck—

"I mean—I m-mean—"

"I am not angry," she says, "I…you do not need to be so afraid. I will not harm you. I would like to know why you do not want your sweet ones to come and help you."

"I—my what?"

"Your sweet ones. The ones who care for you and whom you care for." She tilts her head, hair falling to one shoulder. "You do not wish for them to come, and I am curious."

"They're a lot," he manages and she laughs.

"Yes, they are. But they know you. They would help you."

"They're—" he takes another drink and feels his tongue relax. "All of this has happened because another magic user intruded on your grounds."

"These would be invited, and they would be to help you. I could bear no ill tidings against them, not when you are in need of assistance I cannot provide." At his face, her smile saddens. "You are afraid, and I cannot help you, for you are afraid of me too."

…well, there's really not much he can say to that.

"I will call them," she says carefully, so carefully it's almost a question, and he nods. She nods as well and stands. "If you would like more drink, I would wish for you to say."

Less than a few moments later, after she's gone to a table out of sight, he hears Roman's voice.

"Aspen Witch," and oh, fuck, he never thought he'd be so relieved to hear one of them, "you have called us."

"Come," she calls, walking toward the door and opening it, "your sweet one is hurting."

He blinks and in an instant, Roman is there, cupping his face, looking all worried and he can't stop the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Roman sees them, because of course he does, and then he's cooing and leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

"Oh, baby," he whispers, "baby, what happened?"

"What happened," he hears Logan ask at the same time, "is he alright?"

"He came to me with a cursed object and asked for its removal. As I destroyed it, the warlock responsible appeared and attempted to wrest it back. He…jumped in the way of the spell."

He hears a flutter of fabric and looks up to see both Janus and Remus at the table where the amulet was destroyed. Remus curses and Janus hits the table and the noise bounces around his head—

"Shh, shh," Roman murmurs, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, "eyes on me, baby, stay with me. There you are, with your pretty eyes, shh, that's it, you're doing very well."

"What sort of spell," he hears Patton ask, "is it still there?"

"I banished it as soon as the warlock was dealt with. He—there should be no lingering effects. I do not understand."

"Mortal minds are fragile," Logan says softly, "and Virgil has been an adventurer for many years. He has encountered a great number of things, magical or otherwise, and it would be unreasonable to assume that they have not left their marks."

"Baby," Roman calls again, and Virgil looks back at him, "hey, there he is. The others are just trying to figure out what's going on, but you and I are gonna take care of you first, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now, I just want you to keep looking at me, okay? All I'm gonna do is touch you, okay? No magic, no casting, just touch." His fingers start to card through his hair and Virgil immediately feels his eyes get heavy. "You can close your eyes if you need to, just lean against me, I've got you, I'm right here."

The adrenaline from everything finally starts to wear off and Virgil feels his body decide to give in. He sags forward into Roman's waiting embrace, eyes falling shut as Roman starts to murmur sweet nonsense. After another moment, he hears Patton come over too and another hand scratches lightly between his shoulder blades. He nearly whimpers from sheer relief before he remembers that he's not at home, he's in the Aspen Witch's house, and the Aspen Witch herself is less than a few feet away.

He wrenches himself back awake, looking up at her, and to his surprise, she looks…upset? He glances at Logan, just to her left, and Logan simply smiles.

"Hello," he says softly, "are you alright?"

"I think so."

"Good, that's very good. You jumped in front of a spell and you didn't know what it was?"

"Wait," Roman says, "you did what?"

He sets his jaw and looks at the ground. Patton shoots a look at the two of them. "Don't scold him, can't you see he's already upset? Don't make it worse."

"Sorry, baby," Roman murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "I'm not mad."

"Neither am I," Logan says, "but I am…confused."

"You shouldn't be," Janus says, finally moving away from the table, "he's Virgil, of course he jumped in front of the spell."

Well, that's not helping anything either. He feels his face start to burn and tries to pull away from Roman, but he's held fast. He swallows the instinctive wave of panic and buries his face in the crook of his shoulder.

"Aww, are you embarrassed?"

"You are making things worse," the Aspen Witch says, a bite to her tone, "I called you to help, not to hurt."

"We won't tease," Roman promises, both to her and to Virgil, "we're finished, you have my word."

Did…did the Aspen Witch just defend him? What in the fuck is going on? He risks a look at her and their eyes meet and something…something feels wrong.

"Virgil?" Patton's hand stills on his back. "What's wrong?"

"I am…also confused."

"What about?"

There's no polite way to say this and no, he isn't going to risk it right now, so he just looks from Patton back to the Aspen Witch and hopes that somehow, they'll get the gist of what he's trying to say. Sure enough, it takes Patton one look between the two of them before he's smiling.

"Oh, she's just jealous."

"What?"

"I would ask that you don't speak for me," she hisses but she sounds far more like Elise than the Aspen Witch.

"Tell him yourself, then."

The Aspen Witch scowls at him for a moment before she sighs and looks at Virgil. Her mouth twists around as if searching for the words before she sighs again.

"Your etiquette for magic users is exemplary," she says, "and you…for all that we have interacted, I do not know much about you."

She gestures around.

"The Five have your trust, they have your words. They…have not known you for as long as I have."

Oh.

"I can't help you," she continues, "I…am upset by this. I would—I—"

She closes her eyes for a long moment and then opens them once more.

"I want to help you, Virgil, I want you to let me help you."

He likes to think that on a normal day, perhaps he wouldn't be doing something like this, but this isn't a normal day, and he's already broken that glass. So he reaches out a hand to the Aspen Witch, and when she takes it, he uses it to pull her a little bit closer.

She comes and crouches next to Patton, holding his hand as though it were the most precious thing in the house. He's not quite sure what to do with that.

"Are you alright?"

She nods. "I am alright."

"I liked the drink."

"I am glad. I will offer it to you again."

"I will accept it."

"Listen to you both," Remus snorts, and Janus whacks him upside the head. "Ow!"

"Ignore him, you're both doing wonderfully. Carry on, pretend we aren't here."

And you know, that's a bit too much for him to deal with right now. So when he feels the tug in his gut to start feeling things again, he closes his eyes and goes limp in Roman's hold, letting tears spill from his face. The Aspen Witch jerks in alarm but Patton must be saying something to the effect of this is normal, he's just overwhelmed, you gotta let him be a crybaby sometimes, but he's not paying attention because he's too goddamn tired.

Distantly, he registers Roman stroking his hair again, Patton's hand on his back, and the Aspen Witch beginning to squeeze his hand every few seconds, but with the apprehension of someone who's never pet a horse before trying to interact in a way that won't upset either of them. It's quite a surreal experience, really, and he thinks he can be forgiven for not wholly understanding what's going on.

A lot's happened today, and it's late. He should be asleep.

"He is hurt," the Aspen Witch says and everybody wakes up a bit at that, "let me help him."

"What's wrong?"

"The thorns have hurt him on his way through. I have a salve for them."

"Virgil," Logan asks, "is that okay? Can we help?"

He mumbles a vague agreement and he hears Janus laugh. "Poor thing's all sleepy. He needs a rest, is there somewhere we can tend to him?"

"Upstairs, there is a bed."

"Can I carry you, baby?" Virgil nods and Roman lifts him up almost effortlessly. "There, come on, upstairs, now."

As they pass the table, he forces himself to rouse and look to find the Aspen Witch. "The amulet—the child—"

"The child will suffer no more, the curse is gone." She puts her hand on his shoulder. "Now rest. Mortals are fragile, you must allow yourself to be cared for."

"He's not very good at that," Remus stage-whispers and Janus hits him again. "Hey! Stop it!"

"Stop being an insufferable ham sack, then."

"He's right," Virgil mumbles as he's put down on a bed, "I'm really not great at it."

"You're getting better," Logan says, sitting near his head, "now, you can try and sleep. No harm will come to you, you're safe here."

He looks over at the Aspen Witch, holding a tin of salve and a soft towel. She smiles and nods. "No harm will ever come to you under my roof, Virgil. I will see to it that you are safe."

"I…am grateful for that."

"As am I."

Not how he saw the quest ending, of course, but indeed, far from the worst quest in the world.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #janus sanders #sympathetic deceit #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders

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borderlinebelle · 7 months

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Hi. We are all wearing meat/skin suits, lemme tell you something nice about yours, please?

🫡♥️…🦵🏽💪🏻 👁️🫦🦶🏽👂🏽👃🏽🦷👅

TODAY, I’ll be… live girlblogging body positive comments to all audience submitted photos on tumblr live.

Today: Saturday///September 16th///11am-4pm EST

follow me, join my live to see the logistical shit show attempt of my dreams!

READ MORE BELOW TO FIND OUT HOW THIS WORKS ☺️

the general run down:

$10 VENMO = 1 positive review for 1 photo of anything below the neck, any and all body parts and genders are encouraged!

every body is beautiful and it would be my honor to keep your photos unseen while sharing an authentic description and positive comment! Yes.. even you, cis straight men, I know your dying to send those 🍆 pictures to someone because you’re not sending them to people without their permission right? Right. 👍🏽👀😅☺️

You keep the power.. Although a description of the photo is given on the live stream to the audience so they can participate, you can choose to send a pseudonym, keeping your body totally anonymous. Private reviews are not yet available!

Do you have a body part you want to show off?

Do you have a part of your body that you want someone to look at but you’ve been too embarrassed to share it with many people?

Did you take a sexy selfie and want a pansexual woman’s opinion before you send it?

As a polyamorous cis black woman/content creator/recovery rangler/tumblr OG, it would be my honor to shower you in cute kindness… or whatever about it. ☺️

🦵🏽💪🏻👁️🫦🦶🏿👂🏼👃🦷👅🍑👌🏾🖖🏿👀

THE DETAILS:

📸 you lovelys can send your photos via my ASK BOX include a 4 digit number for reference. These photos will never be seen by ANYONE else and will be deleted at the end of each stream.

👅 send your VENMO payment on PRIVATE with your tumblr name, your 4 digit code you included in your PHOTO ASK, AND your pseudonym (if you’d like to use one)

😜 PHOTOS AND VENMOS ACCEPTED WHILE LIVE STREAM IS STREAMING ONLY! Please folks I can’t wake up everyday to a mix match quilt work of bodies… although… almost a dream of mine 😅😂 bodies = fine expensive art on this page

🖼️ everybodies bodies are to be respected at the very least and loved at the very most. You decide what feels or is right for your body. A fact that slaps. It’s all yours. We are all trapped on this rock, hurtling through space, on a cosmic journey through this particular life time collectively and the body your currently in is the personal spaceship 🚀 that being said, WE NEED TO KEEP THE CHAT RESPECTFUL. There are no bad bodies period. That’s it. The end. Full stop. I’ll be looking for moderators, but for now… it’s just a small, almost blind, anemic, sensitive, crybaby, soft girl stupid running this blog and live stream so bare with me and KEEP THE CHAT CHILL. Obviously we are going to make jokes and laugh because bodies are weird and crazy like wtf cells and shit 👀 but keep it lowkey. Thanks.

💵 I ONLY use VENMO. I’m still deciding on how this will work and I’m a noob with boobs. Please just stick to one form of payment. I cannot accept … NFTbitten coins. Thanks.

🧍🏻‍♂️🧍🏾‍♀️🧍🏼I will be looking to start a discord if you’re interested add me on tumblr and message me! idk wtf we finna do in there but someone mentioned it once 😂

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let-them-fight · 3 months

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Okay since this has suddenly blown up over the last 3 days, I want to make a post discussing what I meant by it. Because I have shit to say.

Fiction doesn’t affect reality, but fiction can affect people. For better or for worse.

You might read a book and some random line might inspire you enough to want to live by it.

You might play a video game and come away questioning about something you’ve never really thought about before.

(also, just to get this out of the way)

And in regards to the original post— yes, there have been cases in which groups advocating for change have been taken advantage of by bad people. To ignore that would be to ignore history.

But the thing is, that is a real life example. Real people, places, organizations and concepts are and will always be impossible to convey in fictional media because those things are always changing. They are never just black and white, never.

Meanwhile, fiction is different. Whether it’s a book, game, movie, tv show— even the most complex of media will never truly be as “complex” as reality.

Because fiction is written. Scripted, animated. Filmed. Programmed, sculpted, published.

Reality isn’t any of those things. What a person feels, does, says, thinks, isn’t written down, isn’t predestined by some script or line of code— the closest way I can describe it is that it’s dictated by 1,000 hands doing a coin flip at the same time with a 3-sided penny that immediately falls into a hole before a winner can be discerned.

Anyways. I’m off topic.

What I’m trying to get at is that no fictional character has the agency that a real person has. We cannot interview a fictional character and get an idea of how their thought process works, or hell what they had for breakfast or something. No.

Because the extent to which a fictional character, setting, etc. exists— is between the time the opening title fades out and the credits fade in. The time between you clicking new game & when you’ve reached the true ending. When you open page 1 and end page 200.

But like I said. Fiction can have an effect on real people’s minds, for better… or for worse.

You are a viewer who might not know any better. You might not be well informed on history, and may easily have your mind shaped by whatever you consume.

You turn on a show, plug into a game, open a book, grab your popcorn and watch a movie. And in this media, there’s a character, or maybe multiple characters— and their cause is laid out, plain and simple.

Maybe they’re apart of some oppressed group, fictional or nonfictional, who wants change in society. Who wants their oppressors to just stop oppressing them, and has been pushed to the extent in which the only way their voices can be heard is through violence. Most likely they are already “antagonists” of the narrative, but that their goals are treated as being… “understandable”… by either that narrative, or the main cast.

At least, to the extent that these protagonists can still gleefully beat the shit out of them without anyone batting an eye.

And you continue watching, playing, reading, etc. And most likely at this point, the narrative has begun to portray these particular antagonists in a different light.

Perhaps they’ve begun upholding the goals they said they had less and less. They’re becoming more violent just for the sake of it.

And also at this point it is likely that the narrative is… silently… treating this character’s/group’s initial goals with less and less favorability. Key word, silently.

“Oh, this character is fighting back against oppressors… but now they’re killing people? How evil, surely pushback against oppressive groups can never be achieved.”

“Oh, this fictional group/organization wants to fix their society? Their society which has displaced them without care? …Oh, but they’re bombing buildings now, surely we could never take their displacement seriously.”

And eventually as you near the end of this narrative, the slippery slope has been slipped upon. In an instant, the character(s) whose goals were at least given a shred of sympathy at the beginning of this story

suddenly end up killing thousands of people.

Or maybe, they suddenly turn out to be apart of the very group they’re trying to combat against.

Or maybe, they’re a Holocaust survivor.

Another thing you might see the narrative start to do at this point is suddenly reveal the backstory of this character/organization— and most likely, it’s something sad, upsetting, angering. But it rings hollow, it’s meant to ring hollow. Because when you give a character(s) you’ve already assigned the hatesink role to, that backstory will be disregarded in the instant if never explored upon. And in most instances… it’s not explored upon. It’s shock value.

And while this might not be the case for the character above, as my knowledge of X-Men is fairly limited… I can say that this is the case for another character:

This character was branded.

This character who, in universe, is apart of a fictitious minority group, is revealed to have been branded and enslaved by a company run by his oppressors, with outside material implying this was possibly done while he was a minor.

Good thing this was revealed after he turned out to be a genocidal terrorist & abuser! Who cares that he was branded? I bet whoever did it just really “let him have it.” (Writer’s own words!) Please don’t look up the fact that Adam is a Hebrew name! Please also don’t realize that the initials he was branded with & the company he was enslaved by had a German name!

And most likely at this point, the character(s) have two routes to go down.

They die graphically. Maybe not in a big bloody gorebath, but they’re not given the same amount of liberty in death that other villains in this media might get. Bonus points if it’s on-screen. However, you’ll have the main character “mourning the loss” of them, or rather, what they could’ve been, if only they’d not gone so far!

2. Or just take what I said in 1 but without the last sentence.

And then, credits roll. You’ve reached the true ending. Page 200. Final episode. Whatever. And if you’re the viewer I mentioned at the beginning of all of this, who might not know any better—

who takes what they see in fiction and applies it to the world around them…

You’ll think. “Are people/groups like that in the real world this dangerous, too?” (especially if it’s used in media meant for children.)

But anyways.

It’s propaganda dipped in flashing lights or likable characters. It’s propaganda that’s hidden under cool set pieces, beautiful cinematography, “good writing.”

I wanna reiterate what I said earlier in this post.

“What I’m trying to get at is that no fictional character has the agency that a real person has. We cannot interview a fictional character and get an idea of how their thought process works, or hell what they had for breakfast or something. No. Because the extent to which a fictional character, setting, etc. exists— is between the time the opening title fades out and the credits fade in. The time between you clicking new game & when you’ve reached the true ending. When you open page 1 and end page 200.”

When a character advocating for justice or freedom or something noble and good, suddenly ends up murdering babies or bombing hospitals, they loose the “advocating for justice or freedom” part. They’ve shifted from one part of their written arc to the next.

We only see what the narrative allows us to. So when the narrative only allows us to see these character(s) do horrific things, we subconsciously interpret that these things were their main goals all along. And most often, this kind of narrative will prove you right on that front. Sadly.

And again. If you’re “that viewer”— you’ll apply that logic to the world around you. You’ll grow into that logic. You’ll see news reporters regard people protesting a genocide as “needing to be put in insane asylums” and nod your head. You’ll see podcasters tout a group fighting against police brutality and racism as terrorists and agree with them.

Maybe I’m being exaggerative. It’s 12 am here. But what I’m really trying to emphasize here is that this trope is propaganda. Yes, there are real world examples of bad people taking over good organizations. But when you present a scenario like that in fiction, you subtract the nuances and complexities that real life has.

And it becomes propaganda. Propaganda that no one is immune to, and anyone can be susceptible to.

It’s propaganda when Bioshock’s Daisy Fitzroy, a black revolutionary & former slave who wanted freedom for her people, has her goals invalidated time & time again and is portrayed as just as evil as the system itself.

It’s propaganda when The Legend of Korra’s Zaheer, who wanted to destroy the authority figures of the world so that all people could be free, ends up torturing the main protagonist on screen.

It’s propaganda when Star Wars’ Barriss Offee, who wanted the Jedi to return to being peacekeepers, not warmongers, and then bombing their temple. (Didn’t help that she’s heavily Muslim coded.)

It’s propaganda when Game of Throne’s Daenerys Targaryen goes from being a victim of abuse who wanted to liberate the oppressed and destroy their oppressors, to becoming a murderer of thousands because “she was mean to some slavers.”

It’s propaganda when RWBY’s White Fang, a group made up of members of an in-universe minority race, are never once given a shred of sympathy, becoming nothing more than evil terrorists wanting to take over the world, and are even blamed as “the cause of their own racism.”

It’s propaganda when Marvel’s Erik Killmonger wants to continue what his father wanted and empower black people around the world to fight against their oppression, “overthrow their oppressors”, but then just… actually wants to conquer the entire world.

And it’s propaganda when Magneto, a Jewish man, a survivor of the holocaust… is written to be an advocate for genocide.

TL;DR:

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foxxyrola · 10 months

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Step 0: Learning to Learn

The biggest challenge in my self improvement journey begins with a question: "How in the nine hells am I supposed to sit my ass down and learn anything? My body just keeps pacing around, looking for yet another distraction. iwi"

Don't get me wrong, I desperately want to apply myself, just struggle in the initiation. And the follow through. I would take a few lessons in learning Godot for game making, then move on to something else, new and shiny. I'd learn all the Hiragana, but then not touch the Japanese language for weeks. All ambition, no action, or something like that.

Being fed up with this, I do get moments where honestly I sometimes just have to, well... Do things! Anything. I'm desperate for the dopamine hit of accomplishing something non vidya gayme related. I have to plant my ass in a chair (even if it takes an hour of pacing before I can even settle down), and give myself something to focus on as if it's life or death. I'd journal when I can. Watch some informative videos without absorbing much of it. Get stuck passively on self help YouTube and all that.

Well... It seems I got something out of it. Lately been looking into Cybersecurity (just a surface dive, like most of my dives are) and in addition to learning a little about certifications and stuff, I discovered that Coursera is a good place to find some lessons (for free too mind you, as long as you don't need their certificates or whatevs) not just for coding, but for many other things.

This is one of these (free) courses that I found: https://www.coursera.org/learn/learning-how-to-learn

Yup, learning how to learn. Seems cheesy. Almost blew it off and didn't take it. But hey, night shifts give me a bit of free time each night, so chooms, I jumped in about a week ago and without a doubt, I certainly do not regret it.

So far in the first week of the course I watched all the necessary videos, and passed the simple quizzes for week 1. The course establishes two modes of thinking every human uses: focused and diffuse. Focused being when you think deeply on something you know how to solve already, following established prestructured neural pathways. Diffuse on the other hand being that abstract association you get when you passively sift through your brain, in sleep and relaxing, and when you're not actively looking for a concrete solution but rather let your mind wander and put things together.

Now, I've heard about routine and pomodoro techniques and taking breaks to space out learning, but it seems that with this course, something clicked. Applying the things I learned by taking personal summary notes afterwards and both actively and passively thinking about what I've just absorbed, I suddenly felt fulfilled.

I started a self care routine (nothing super much yet, just 2 hours of unwinding and exercise and meditating before bed among other things) by setting up a schedule in an app I found called RoutineFlow. Yeah, I'm not getting it consistently yet, but every day I try to at least take a step to do what I gotta do, that little push that'll help me work through stuff. I just want to get myself to do the basics so that I can grow from there.

Then I encountered my first obstacle: taking notes. The Learning to Learn course has optional materials: readings, interviews, all that fun scop. I go through fairly passively til I encounter one material. A short paper with notes on note taking from Harvard. Some 30 pages. I know I need this, I know I need to sit down and do this as it'll help.

But I couldn't do it. One day, then another day, then the weekend passes, and now I'm back at work again on Monday. My legs are restless, can't seem to sit down and do things.

So I start writing this blog. Immediately afterwards... I still can't do it.

I walk around, pace, try and sit down... Another 30 minutes passes before I open things up and begin taking notes. I literally force myself to sit, set a 25 minute pomodoro... Ok now just gotta focus in this time. Come on I can do it...!

Oh hey I'm doing it! I'm actually doing it! I start learning the material, taking some Cornell Notes on it(a good way to review notes and test yourself die to its structure) as soon as the time'l ran up, I take a break. Wow! That actually wasn't so hard. The hardest part was just sitting down and telling myself that this is what I wanna learn.

So over my free time at work over a few 25 min sessions, I learnt the importance of taking notes in my own words, reviewing them often but not cramming all at once, and testing myself on my knowledge.

It was just that first step. But hey, the more I do this, the easier it gets! Consistency, that's the name of the game. I may not have learned any new coding skills or any new words or anything, but the experience has been a most important one.

Anyways, as I finish this up, it is now time for my morning self care routine. Feeling accomplished, I think things can only get easier if I keep setting aside the time and rewarding myself consistently.

Just gotta put my ass in the chair.

#learn to code #codeblr #coding #writing #self improvement #self healing #im lazy #overwhelmed #learning #learn japanese #motivation

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andreafmn · 11 months

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I'm Not Afraid | Chapter 10

Word Count: 4.3K Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined. Chapter: 10/? A/N: cough cough sorry, dusting off this story after more than a year 😶 honestly, cannot believe it's taken me this long to update this story. So, if there are still any fans of it… Hey!!! I am so sorry for taking forever, but I will absolutely try to keep to my new writing schedule [if you wanna see it, it's on my Tumblr andreafmn]. Thank you to all the peeps that are reading. I hope you enjoy! My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in this or any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

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Chapter 10

(Y/N) could not help the feeling that took over her. It was a giddy excitement that filled her as she rode back home. She couldn’t quite place it, only knowing what it could be from books she had read and movies she had seen.

She liked him. She truly liked Derek Hale.

Derek Hale.

The name repeated inside her head like a grounding mantra.

Derek Hale, the werewolf.

Derek Hale, the alpha.

Derek Hale, the most wanted man in her family.

The girl wasn’t afraid of her feelings. Those she could guard, those she could shield from her world. Her emotions weren’t the ones she wanted to keep safe. She wanted to keep Derek safe — keep him safe. Her family had already caused him so much pain. Her own flesh had burned away his family like they were nothing more than insects. The same blood that rushed through her veins had been able to kill a group of innocent people leaving Derek on his own.

That was what she wanted to protect him from. (Y/N) wanted him shielded from all the horror her family would continue to enforce. When she turned eighteen, she would be able to escape and find a way out of the circle that had forgotten the code of a hunter and had decided that supernatural lives were worthless.

All they had to do was reach mid-December. Nine months, that’s all they needed. Nine months and they could dive head-first into whatever it was they were feeling. Whatever new adventure life wanted to throw their way.

“Well, someone seems chipper now,” Isaac teased as (Y/N) balanced her motorcycle on its stand. “I take it things between Derek and you have been fixed?”

“Something like that,” she chuckled. “We at least put some things on the table.”

“What does that even mean?”

Isaac followed her into the house, waiting for her answer. But she simply waltzed through the house, landing in the kitchen. She got a bottle of water and a slice of pizza out of the fridge, eating it without heating it up.

“(Y/N), just tell me what you meant,” Isaac chuckled as he followed her to the living room. “If this is you being happy, I don’t like it.”

“There’s not much to say, honestly,” she mumbled. “We just talked.”

“Give me something here, (Y/N),” Isaac exasperated as he plopped down on the couch next to her. “Judging by the way you’re acting you two did more than just talk.”

“Ew, Isaac,” (Y/N) gasped dramatically. “Need I remind you that I am a minor.”

“He’s not that much older than us and you’re only 17 for a couple more months.”

“9 months to be exact, but who’s counting?” The girl got up from the couch and headed back to the kitchen, dancing around all of her friend’s questions. “You know what this pizza needs? Ranch. It needs some ranch.”

“(Y/N), why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been skating around the topic since you got here. I just wanna know what’s going on between the two of you.”

“Truthfully, there’s nothing going on,” she shrugged. “There’s nothing that can go on just yet. Nothing for nine grueling months. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“What happened a couple of hours ago wasn’t nothing, (Y/N),” he added. “There’s only a few years of difference between you. Are you really telling me you wouldn’t risk it?”

“I could, Isaac, but not with him,” (Y/N) sighed. “I cannot give my family any ammunition against him. If they ever found out that we were together they would find a way to get the authorities involved and trap him afterward, even if he’s innocent. And that not only would put Derek in more danger, but it would set a target on you and everyone else. I simply cannot do that.”

“We can protect ourselves, (Y/N).” He rounded the kitchen island, stopping once he was right next to her, and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “You deserve to be happy. I mean, Allison and Scott are making it work. Why can’t you?”

“Are they making it work?” she questioned. “They sneak around all the time. They have to pretend they hate each other when they’re in school. They can’t admit they’re in love without putting the other in harm’s way. I don’t want that.”

“So, instead you’re gonna pretend that you feel nothing for him? How is that the better option? In the long run, you’re only hurting yourselves.”

“And what am I supposed to do, Isaac? What am I supposed to do if you guys get hurt because of a decision I made? How could I live with myself if my family got their hands on you because of me?” (Y/N) spoke through gritted teeth, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. “I can’t do it. I refuse.”

Isaac remained quiet for a beat, her words sinking into him as every second passed. He understood her need to protect them, the desperation to withhold her wants in order to keep everyone safe. “Is this about Josie?” he whispered, carefully choosing his next words. “Your job is not to protect everyone. At some point, you need to allow yourself to want things for yourself.”

“I can’t. There are too many lives at risk right now and I won’t let anything happen to any of you if I can help it,” she responded sternly. “I don’t care if it takes a lifetime. If it means that you will all be safe, then I will stay away from him.”

“You’re as stubborn as they come, (Y/N),” Isaac responded in defeat. He placed his hands on either side of her face, pressing his forehead to hers as he gifted her a smile. “But if you ever change your mind, just let me know. I’ve got your back, Argent.”

“Thank you, Isaac. I’ve got your back too.”

“You better,” he chuckled. “Now, let’s go to bed. We’ve got a couple of long days ahead of us.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

***

School had been uneventful the next day, the only thing that could be felt was the anxious excitement of the students as talk of the secret rave kept spreading. Tickets were already scarce as it was and as more people knew of its existence the harder it would become to get them.

Thankfully, talk of the rave was strong enough to quiet any whispers of what had transpired in the library. The fact that it had been completely destroyed by supernatural creatures the student body had no idea of had been hidden under the rumor that it had simply been a teenage fight. It was baffling and incomprehensible, yet everyone accepted the answer at face value. At the end of the day, it was simply school property and nothing more interesting.

“Here you go,” Isaac said after math class was over, slipping (Y/N) a yellow and pink piece of paper. “One ticket for tomorrow night’s secret rave. Courtesy of one Derek Hale.”

“Is that what you left so early this morning for? I thought they were already sold out!”

“If there’s one thing I know about Derek it’s that he has connections. And that he’d stop at nothing to stop Jackson.”

“You mean save,” (Y/N) corrected as she walked by his side to her locker. “We are going to save Jackson.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Seriously, Isaac. He’s being controlled by someone else and has no idea of what he’s doing,” she added. Her words were filled with compassion and worry, concerned for a boy that, though despicable, was innocent in the whole ordeal. “Jackson Whittemore might be a whole lot of things, but I know he’s not a killer.”

“You sound like Scott,” Isaac chuckled. “I honestly don’t think I’ve ever heard more people rally behind that guy since he’s become a sort of murderer.”

“Everyone deserves a chance,” (Y/N) said. “If they didn’t, I would have cut you off the second you turned into a cocky ass.”

“Hey, I’ve always been nice to you. It’s other people I don’t like.”

“Who? Stiles and Scott?” she teased. “Is it because Derek doesn’t like them?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I can think for myself,” he scoffed lightly. “I don’t like them because they haven’t given me any reason to like them. That could change at any point, but it seems unlikely.”

“And have you ever even talked to them?”

“Not exactly,” he shrugged into his seat. “But I don’t really care to talk about that. Tonight, we’re gonna go see Scott’s boss, the vet. Apparently, he can help us catch Jackson tomorrow night. Wanna come with?”

“I suppose I could. There’s not much happening back home,” she sighed happily. “I think it’s cause my dad’s away.”

“Well then, we’ll have fun,” he smiled. “Just you, me, Scott, and Derek. What a fun group of people.”

“I get along fine with everyone,” she returned the smile. “It’s Derek and you that need to learn how to be able to deal with other people.”

“A couple of weeks ago you couldn’t even say more than five words to them. Now, you’re the biggest team player?”

“What can I say? I really flourish in a stable environment.”

“Between kanimas, werewolves, and hunters,” he laughed. “What a stable environment.”

“At least I’m not moving at the end of the year,” she grinned, slamming the locked door closed. “Now, let’s go eat before we meet the vet. I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

As the day transitioned into night, Isaac and (Y/N) left her house for Derek’s. It was in moments like those that the Argent girl forgot what her world had turned into. She wasn’t just going over to her crush’s house to admire him from afar as she spent time with her friend. No. She was on her way to pick up an alpha to figure out how to stop a reptilian-shapeshifting teenager.

(Y/N) had only ever wanted to have a normal life, and for most of it she thought her biggest obstacle was moving every year. In reality, it was the fact that her parents had been secretly training her to become a supernatural hunter. Everything she had been craving was farther from her reach than she could have ever thought.

Still, she could only deal with one problem at a time. Stopping Jackson was the most pressing matter and that’s what her mind had to focus on. Especially when half of the people she surrounded herself with wanted the boy dead. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, stand for that.

She killed the engine of her motorcycle as Isaac hopped off the back. They were met with a scowling Derek, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. The sight alone had the girl biting back a laugh, finding the façade he wore when others were around to be the most hilarious acting he could do. She had already seen the side of him he so desperately hid from others, and she could not think of him otherwise.

“Oh, come on, Derek,” Isaac grinned. “There’s no need for jealousy. (Y/N) and I are just friends.”

“I’m not jealous. How could I be?” he devilishly smiled as he got into his car. “There’s no real competition.”

“Cool it, boys,” (Y/N) interjected, settling into the passenger seat. “It’s not like there’s much to choose from. We are terribly lacking in the casting department here in Beacon Hills.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Derek grumbled.

“It means that I have to pick from a really small pool of options,” she said mischievously, a playful grin on her face. “You’re definitely number one. But you’re a close second, Isaac.”

“Hear that, Derek?” Isaac laughed, peeking his head to the front. “You better play your cards right or I might have a chance.”

Instead of responding, Derek slammed on the brakes, making Isaac’s seatbelt lock as his body lurched forward, knocking the air out of his lungs. Quietly, he sat back onto his seat, his eyebrows furrowing and his arms crossing across his chest like a child after a tantrum. But all (Y/N) could stare at was the cocky grin that was plastered on Derek’s face.

“Alright, enough of this pissing competition,” (Y/N) laughed softly. “We have real business to tend to and I don’t wanna be late.”

“You heard the lady, Derek. Step on it.”

“Watch it, Isaac.”

“Guys,” she called their attention, scolding them with her gaze. “Let’s just go.”

The rest of the short car ride was quiet, filled with the soft hum of the radio and the air blowing out of the A/C. But there were stolen glances and smiles between the people in the front of the car. Their arms rested on the center console, their fingers itching to interlace as they stretched toward each other, neither really giving in.

One second, they were leaving Derek’s loft, and the next, they were parked in front of the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic. Before they could reach the door, Scott was already unlocking it, his face contorted in confusion as he stared at (Y/N) and Isaac.

“What’s he doing here?” Scott questioned.

“I need him.”

“I don’t trust him,” the boy added as he walked back inside.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t trust you either,” Isaac said cockily, his mask quickly slipping on.

“You know what?” the older man said annoyed. “And Derek doesn’t really care.”

“What about you, (Y/N)?” Scott asked, his tone softening. “Why are you here?”

“Just along for the ride. But at the end of the day, I’m a good mediator for whatever tension is roaming here.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Derek quickly said. “Now where’s the vet? Is he gonna help us or what?”

“That depends,” the doctor answered, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Your friend, Jackson. Are we planning to kill him or save him?”

Derek answered, “Kill him,” at the same time Scott and (Y/N) responded, “Save him.”

Both of the teens stared at the alpha, not shocked at his answer but a tad disappointed. Scott had been clear when he agreed to work together, things would be done his way and that meant doing everything possible to rescue Jackson. And if Derek had any doubts, there were none left once Scott reiterated twice that Jackson would be saved.

Then, and only then, did Dr. Deaton allow the group back into the treatment room. They all stood behind the exam table, following the vet’s every move. He took hold of a tray with neatly arranged vials with symbols on the lids.

With childlike curiosity, Isaac reached for the glass containers. Only to have Derek snatch his hand away. “Watch what you touch,” he said, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but agree. She had learned rather quickly that when it came to that secret world it was better to air of the side of caution.

“So, what are you?” the blonde questioned, keeping his hands to himself but ignoring Derek’s reprimand. “Some kind of witch?”

“No, I’m a veterinarian,” Deaton responded to him before he shifted the conversation to what they were there for. “Unfortunately, I don’t see anything here that’s going to be an effective defense against a paralytic toxin.”

(Y/N) was intrigued by the man. Even if he claimed to be a mere human, she could tell there was something more to him. There was a powerful energy that emanated from him, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was or what it could mean.

As the man questioned about the Kanima and the others answered, her mind was deadest of figuring out what the energy she was feeling meant. If he was truly just a human, she was afraid she was losing her mind.

“Essentially, you’re trying to capture two people,” she heard him say as her brain focused back on the situation at hand. The doctor turned for a second and pulled out a medallion. “A puppet… and a puppeteer,” he explained as he placed the disk on the table. “One killed the husband while the other killed the wife. Do we know why?”

“I don’t think Jackson could do it,” (Y/N) finally spoke. “His mother died pregnant too, and she was maybe murdered. I think he couldn’t let the same happen to someone else.”

“How do you know it’s not part of the rules?” Isaac questioned. “The Kanima kills murderers. If Jackson kills the wide, then the baby dies too.”

“Does that mean your father was a murderer?” Scott asked him.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if he was.”

Instinctively, (Y/N)’s hand flew to Isaac’s forearm and gave it a comforting squeeze. Even if the man was a horrible human being and had made the boy’s life a living hell, she knew how hard it still was for him to talk about the man.

“Hold on,” Deaton pondered. “The book says they’re bonded, right? What if the fear of water isn’t coming from Jackson, but from the person controlling him? What if…?” he continued as he grabbed a vial of something (Y/N) recognized as mountain ash and drew a circle around the silver medallion. “Something that controls the Kanima also affects its master?”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning we can catch them,” she smiled at the blond. “Both of them. If this theory is right, that means we could get Jackson and whoever is controlling him in the same place.”

“In theory, it should work,” the doctor added. “But you should plan for all possibilities. Scott, you can come over tomorrow and pick up what supply I have of mountain ash. Hopefully, this plan works.”

“I hope so too,” the boy added. “So, we’ll meet up tomorrow before the rave to make sure we’re all on the same page. Right, Derek?”

“Right,” he grumbled. “We’ll see you tomorrow night then.”

Once everyone had agreed to the plan, Deaton and Scott walked the trio to the door, wishing them a good night and safe travels home. But keeping up their macho bravado and feeding their air of dominance, Isaac and Derek made a beeline for the car rather than return the sentiment. It was childish and petty, but it forced a smile out of (Y/N).

“I apologize for those two. It seems they have forgotten their manners,” (Y/N) said. “But thank you, Dr. Deaton, for all your help. And thank you, Scott, for everything you’re doing to make sure Jackson comes out of this alive. He may be a shitty guy, but he doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” Scott smiled, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “And although I cannot say I understand why you’re even in the same presence as Derek Hale, I’m glad you’re there to keep him in line.”

“Eh, he’s not that tough,” she chuckled. “Anyways, I’ll see you tomorrow. And thank you again, Deaton.”

“Please, call me Alan.”

“Then, thank you, Alan.”

“Get home safe, (Y/N),” Scott called out as she walked to the car.

“You too, Scott,” she smiled. “We’ll get them tomorrow. Even if it takes everything out of us.”

As soon as the girl had closed the door of the black Camaro, the car sped out of the parking lot. After such an influx of information and the slightest sliver of hope, silence befell them. The ride was silent, once again filled only with the soft sound of the radio and the blast from the A/C.

There wasn’t anything more to be said. They either trapped both the kanima and his master, or they would die trying. And it was that sense of dread that kept them mute until they reached the loft where Isaac excused himself to grab a change of clothes.

(Y/N) walked to Derek’s side, leaning against the car right beside him, enjoying the smoothness of his leather jacket against her. It took every ounce of self-control for them to not deepen the touch, to reach out to one another in seek of comfort.

“What do you think will happen tomorrow?” (Y/N) asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” he sighed. “If it were up to me…”

“If it were up to you Jackson would be dead,” she finished sternly. “An innocent life would be taken.”

“Jackson is not innocent.”

“Someone is literally calling the shots for him, Derek. He doesn’t even remember what he’s done,” she retorted. “He shouldn’t be faulted for something he is not doing on his own.”

“I know,” he exasperated. “But he’s still done so many horrible things, even if he doesn’t know it. And he’ll continue to do them if he and whoever is controlling him isn’t stopped.”

“Just please, Derek.” (Y/N) turned to face him, her eyes desperately searching into the darkness of his. Her hands rested on his crossed arms, the only way she found she could convey the level of her worry. "Promise me you won’t kill him. Do whatever it takes to stop him but kill him.”

Derek could only sigh at her plea. He could see the desperation behind her eyes, the way they were looking for any sign of deception in his. But he knew he could not lie, at least not to her. “All I can promise is that he’ll remain alive as long as he stays away from you,” he said. “If he does anything to harm you, he is as good as dead.”

“Derek…”

“I’m serious, (Y/N). I’d be so much as digs a single claw into you, I will make sure I’m the one to rip his throat out.”

“Even if we know his venom won’t do anything to me?” (Y/N) blurted. Derek’s eyes grew wide, thinking she would never find out about his transgression. But she had told him that Scott had revealed everything to her, that was just part of the story. “Yes, Scott told me you tested me and Lydia. And at some point, I was everyone’s favorite suspect. What would you do if it had been me? Would you not hesitate to kill me as well?”

“I never doubted you,” he told her, softly cradling the side of her face. “It was never my intention to test you. You just so happened to shade that piece of candy with Lydia. I knew it could have never been you.”

“How could you be so sure? You didn't know me, Derek. You still barely know me,” her voice croaked. “So, I'm asking you. If I had been the kanima, would you be advocating this hard to kill me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then, you shouldn't want to kill Jackson either.”

“It's not even comparable to how I care for you,” he smiled. “But I promise you, and only you, that I will not kill him.”

“That's all I can ask for,” she said, returning the warm smile. “And I'm glad to hear you wouldn't have killed me. I think death wishes would really tamper with our chances.”

“I'm glad it wasn't you then,” he chuckled. “Although, I think we could have made it work. We just would have to make sure your scales were always hydrated.”

“A kanima and a werewolf,” she laughed. “What a match it would have been.”

As they laughed in unison, their gazes met under the light of the moon. His green eyes shone brightly as they studied every inch of her face, every so often falling to her lips. He noted the pinkness of the skin and the plumpness. He saw how they trembled slightly whenever his eyes landed on them. He spotted how they parted to allow a deep breath to slip through.

Oh, how he wanted to taste them. To crash his lips onto hers and savor every second of connection. All it would take was a single move. In less than a second, he could answer every question he had about her mouth.

So, he slowly leaned in.

And she did too.

They were millimeters away from breaking their resolve and throwing caution to the wind. A gust of air and their nine-month pact would be broken. At least, they would have given in to the feeling they most craved for.

“Welp, ready to go!” Isaac's voice startled them apart. His head was focused on his bag, making sure he had everything he needed, and had no idea he had ruined a moment for the pair. “You think we could stop for some food on the way back? I'm starving again.”

The duo could only stare at the tall blond, their faces growing red in embarrassment. “What?” Isaac muttered. “Is it too late for food?”

"It's fine, Isaac,” (Y/N) chuckled at his obliviousness. “We'll get something on the way back. Go start the bike. Let it warm up.”

“Alright,” he said, easily catching the keys she threw him. “I'll let you two lovebirds say goodbye.”

Once he was out of sight, the pair laughed quietly. They had once again been interrupted by one of Derek's teenage strays. And once more they had been that close to giving in to their urges.

“It seems like the universe wants us to wait,” she grinned. “For the record, I really want to kiss you.”

“For the record,” he whispered into her ear. “I really want to kiss you too.”

“I mean, there’s nothing really stopping us right now,” she said, biting her lower lip. “We could just... do it.”

“Not with Isaac right there,” he reminded her. “He might not hear us well, but he can definitely see us. And, not gonna lie, I don’t really wanna kiss you with an audience.”

“Neither do I,” she chuckled. “A year, huh?”

“Nine months,” he smiled. “But who’s counting?”

Next ->

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lets-try-some-writing · 10 months

Text

The Grim Dark Archives: Statement #002 Symbiote

[Statement taken from [Redacted] on the 5th of September 2004, one year and a month after the Autobots have made their presence known and begun corresponding with human personnel. So far there have been no issues with [Redacted]'s presence in [Redacted: Classified information] aside from their occasional bouts of paranoia.

[Redacted] has proven useful in compiling information and cataloging data for government agents when not having their statements taken. There has been little for us to ask them as we have been processing their prior statement and doing our best to apply what useable information came with it. However the Autobots recently requested access to high caliber machinery and vehicles. They claim it is so that they can scan the vehicles in question and take on their form as they have already shown possible with their acquisition of alternate modes in the form of civilian transports.

This request caused some concern amongst high command, and so to gain greater insight before we offer a response, [Redacted] was asked to explain in greater detail the process by which Cybertronians take on their vehicular modes and what it entails. As usual, their statement is concerning but fascinating.

Statement begins.]

══════════════════'

Ah yes, our ability to adapt yet again rears its helm, or I suppose head would be the proper term for you organics... Whatever the case, it is a fascinating subject. Compared to the mental adaptation we Cybertronians undergo when associating with a new race, our physical adaptations are less... prominent. Well, at least to you organics.

We didn't always have T-cogs you know. In the very beginning, when the first of us were forged... we had no such ability. Only one of the original Thirteen possessed the ability to transform, and it was from his great gift we have the ability now. But of course, with all gifts from gods, there is a price attached to it.

Nothing is ever without consequence.

Are you confused yet? I suppose you would be. You don't even know who the Thirteen are do you? That is a story for another time. For now all you need to know is that the Thirteen are the minor deities that serve our creator, and each of them had gifts and powers, some of which have been granted to us. Enough of that though, I should get back on topic.

The T-cog is one of our most vital organs when it comes to surviving on other worlds. However it is not a natural part of our biology, at least not when we are first forged. The T-cog is a symbiote that we infuse into our beings. With that said, it is not an easy symbiote to obtain for all sorts of reasons. Aside from the plethora of medical complications that come from attempting to swap T-cogs or infuse a mech with a symbiote from one of the dead, T-cog symbiotes only come from the Well with the newly forged. A grown mech cannot go down to the Well in search of a new symbiote and hope to survive. The symbiotes down there would simply avoid or devour the mech in question, sucking them dry of power and serving no purpose without the vital co-dependent growth that our young and the symbiote undergo together.

Yes, yes I will explain the specifics of what the T-cog does in a moment. Do not rush me. The history is just as vital as the function.

Now, as I was saying, the symbiote attaches itself to a developing protoform long before the spark of it is fully connected. The symbiote leeches off the energy being used to grow the protoform and so to survive and continue feeding, it adapts. The immune systems of our young can sense an invader once the spark fully settles, so to avoid being destroyed, the symbiote changes to match our biology as much as it can. It reads our innate preference for adaptation and it shifts. It looks into the code of our newsparks and deep in the dark of our maker's frame it merges with the body of its host.

That concept must be terrifying to you humans, right? Such a leech would kill you, but for us? No, for us the T-cog is a blessing that comes with a few... downsides.

The T-cog constantly feeds off us in a steady drain. Thus to remain stable we consume energon more frequently as we age until our systems settle and the symbiote fully merges with our biology and receives energon as much as the rest of our frames. It can be rather painful during those early vorns as the symbiote settles and energon is siphoned from other organs. We always take great care to watch over our young during that time. While it is undesirable and quite possibly a death sentence, an overactive T-cog can and often is removed during this stage. If the mech is lucky, they may be able to acquire another due to their youth, but as a general rule, mecha who fail to bond to their T-cog are bipedal for life.

That whole bonding process takes up to ten vorns, roughly two to three hundred years for you little things. Once complete, the T-cog finally brings some benefits. The symbiote has no intelligence, but it has enough of a mind to be able to force our innate ability to adapt into overdrive. It merges with our already present minor transformation capabilities to grant us the ability to take on the vehicular mode of machines. Of course what we can transform into depends on the symbiote, how fully it integrated, and how large the mech in question is.

There is a great deal of biological lingo involved that I neither know or care for, so to put it simply, the T-cog attaches to our sensory and processing systems. It gains a certain degree of control and we gain the ability to take on the forms of other vehicles through mass displacement and simple reformatting. By the time the symbiote settles there aren't usually any issues, but if damaged it can begin acting strangely. There have been cases where removed T-cogs have been returned to their hosts only to then fail to allow the mech to replicate an alternate mode properly. Those situations... are often rather disgusting to see, even for our kind.

The forms those poor mecha bear due to the damage sustained to their symbiotes... it is safe to say they often forgo transformation unless required, hoping and praying that it fixes itself.

To conclude this statement, I would guess that the Autobots are asking for higher caliber vehicles simply so that they need not waste energy obtaining more alternate modes. It consumes a great deal of energy and the symbiotes are more likely to... cause great bodily distress if pushed too far with too many new alternate modes. I personally wouldn't worry too much about it. Alternate modes are merely our way of blending in, at least on a backwater world like yours. If your technology was more worthy of note, I would say hide your vehicles, but as it is, my kin are more dangerous in their root modes than in their alt.

══════════════════'

[Statement ends.

It was rather concerning how calm [Redacted] was when giving their statement compared to their prior experience. It seems that [Redacted] is most comfortable discussing topics of old history and biology and panics when asked to answer questions relating to more recent history or events.

This information is useful, but it does raise a few concerning questions.

How often have these aliens altered their forms and biology? What even are they at their core? Its obvious by interacting with [Redacted] that not all Cybertronians are as [Redacted] claims, but that makes me wonder... Do these aliens even know what they are? Or has it all been lost with time, war, and constant adaptation?

Whatever the case, it is currently irrelevant. [Redacted] will reveal more with time, and eventually I am sure these questions will answer themselves.

Agent Witwicky signing off.

Recording ends.]

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #the grim dark archives #statement recording #[redacted]#agent witwicky #alternate universe #rewrite of canon #cybertronian biology #grimdark #mystery #I had way too much fun writing this #Its so fun messing around with concepts to make my fav robots creepy #at this point I don't even care if you lot like my work #this is too fun and an excellent writing challenge

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kanerallels · 5 days

Text

@chenford-prompts Day 5 of 2 Weeks of Chenford: Silence!! I wrote a little ficlet for my Chenford vigilante au, set before "Not Just Pretend" sometime

One of the most important parts of Tim’s life as a vigilante was knowing when to keep quiet. Not just while following a criminal, or while staking someone out. It was more about one’s secret identity, and that of their fellow vigilantes.

There were only a small handful of people who knew about Tim’s work as Orion. Angela and Talia, as his best friends and a pair of incredible smart detectives, had figured it out incredibly fast. They’d actually given him his code name, which he’d objected to at first. Now… it had its uses.

Past that, he had a couple of contacts who knew, and his former army medic who usually patched him up with minimal judgment when he really needed it. And that was all he needed. The less people who knew, the less people there were who could be endangered.

Tim himself didn’t know the secret identity of most of his fellow vigilantes. And if he did know, he stayed silent. That was the job.

There were times, though, when he was really curious about a few of them.

But it didn’t matter. What mattered was doing his job— both as a vigilante, and running his late father’s woodworking shop— and doing it well. Whether or not he knew someone’s secret identity wasn’t important, even if it was—

“Hey, Tim? Earth to Bradford!”

Lifting his head, Tim met Lucy Chen’s inquisitive gaze. “Hi,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah— fine,” Tim said, waving a hand. “Just lost in thought.”

“I can see that,” Lucy said, looking amused. “Well, do you have enough time for your favorite customer?”

Tim scoffed. “Okay, if anyone’s my favorite customer, it’s your roommate. He’s the one who keeps ordering end tables or whatever he’s got this time.”

“New chairs for the kitchen counter,” Lucy corrected him. “Which I’m here to pick up— and honestly I’m a little offended you didn’t personally work on your favorite customer’s order.”

Arching an unimpressed brow at her, Tim said, “You got Nolan working on it. He’s the best there is. Where’s your receipt?”

Digging in her pocket and retrieving a folded slip of paper, Lucy said, “Well, I like your work.”

There was… plenty Tim could read into that sentence. Lucy Chen was something of an enigma to him. Despite his gruff attitude and his best efforts, she’d stuck around, even dropping in with coffee when she didn’t have an order to pick up. She was friends with Nolan, so it probably made sense.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Shaking his head to dislodge the errant thought, Tim reached out to accept the receipt. And then he saw it.

It was just a ring. Silver band, set with a large white stone. A moonstone. Any other time, Tim wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

Except he knew that ring.

He’d found it, out in the middle of the desert, when his partner had been kidnapped and buried alive.

Lyra. Bringer of light, both literal and figurative. Tim had never met someone so optimistic and kind as well as so blasted stubborn. She’d nearly died half a dozen times in their first year of working together, when he’d finally caved and started to show her the ropes of being a vigilante. The time when a serial killer’s protege had buried her alive had been particularly painful, for all of them.

But he remembered it, every detail. He remembered searching desperately, panic pounding against his chest. And then he spotted it— a tiny silvery gleam in the dust.

He’d never seen Lyra wear any identifying jewelry before. But he’d known, without a single doubt, that the ring was hers. That she’d left it to mark where she’d been buried, that she’d saved herself.

He remembered bringing her back to life. And he remembered returning that ring, almost a week later, after keeping it in his pocket. Every so often, Tim had reached in to touch it, to remind himself she’d made it.

At this point, he’d memorized the shape of that ring. He knew it. But that could only mean…

No way. Chen?

It made sense. Her roommate was a cop, and she had the same fire, even if she acted more easy going.

“Tim? You’re doing that weird spacey thing again.”

“Right— sorry,” Tim said, grabbing the receipt. Checking the number on it, he said, “Uh— actually, this order isn’t ready yet. Nolan’s got some finishing touches to do.”

“Oh, okay,” Lucy said, still eyeing him oddly. In a way that was so familiar, even without the mask, that Tim wondered how he’d possibly missed this. “Um— when should I come back, then?”

Was it really her? There was only one real way to find out.

A test— a Tim Test, in her words. Lyra’s words.

“Try back here on Friday,” he told her, passing back the receipt. “It should be ready then.”

Tucking it back in her pocket, Lucy shot him a smile. “Awesome. Thanks, Tim— see you then.”

Tim was already returning to the ledger he was studying when he said, “See you then, boot.”

Boot. The LAPD unofficial nickname for new rookies. And what Orion had taken to calling Lyra. She’d clearly understood it— another point on the colum of reasons it could be Lucy— and grumbled about it often enough. So it should be exactly the kind of comment that would make her realize who he was.

“See you then,” she said, heading for the door.

Or… maybe not? The bell at the door jingled as it swung closed, and Tim frowned. Was he wrong? Maybe it was just a similar ring. Maybe he’d been reading into things too much. Maybe he just liked the idea of knowing who Lyra was.

Maybe he was over thinking this. Rolling his eyes, he went back to reading the ledger.

Two minutes later, the door swung open with a crash.

“ORION? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”Hmm, Tim thought as Lucy stalked in, glaring at him in a way that couldn’t quite conceal her delight. So I was right.

#the rookie #lucy chen #tim bradford #chenford #2 weeks of chenford #writing stories is a kind of magic too #chenford vigilante au

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dearhargrove · 2 years

Note

oh, hiii! since i'm loving everything you wrote with billy and requests are open i would like to request a one shot with the reader being comforted by him as a boyfriend about her inexperience. like the reader still being a virgin, never drank alcohol, never smoked and trying not to be naive but couldn't help it, maybe neurodivergent coded. she tries to impress billy at first and pretends she's like an average teenager but he knows and she confesses in an angst way. thank you! ♡

Closer and closer

Summary Getting closer to Billy meant feeling more and more bothered by how little you knew about whatever lifestyle he had going on. So, you pretend to know what it was like to drink regularly, smoke and, well, sleep with someone.

word count 2783

tags/warnings implied sexual content, hickeys, drinking

notes saw the request. Wrote it. Felt good about it. Re read. Still felt good. Posted it ;)! This feels ungrateful to say but I haven't been getting as many notes, so iwas a little unmotivated to do anything haha. Enjoy this <3

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You sigh as you listen to your best friend try to explain what it's like to be wasted, but failing horribly to bring her point across. She sighs and falls on her back dramatically, "(y/n), seriously, just get drunk once. It's not a big deal, we get something and I'll take care of you!"

Shaking your head you put the pen you've been playing with aside and focus on her, "I don't want to. I just want to know what it's like so I can… you know." She knew and she hated it. In her opinion you should either just actually do what you were pretending to be doing or drop him.

"If he's stuck with you for so long without making any moves just tell him. That boy's got a crush on you, or something," you blush and throw a pillow against her head. "That's not true and you know it!" You're burning up from embarrassment - why would she even ask that? It's obvious he would grow bored of you sooner or later, you'd just rather it be later which was also the reason behind your pretense.

Besides everyone's belief he could be nice if he wanted to, it just took him trust and feeling safe - which most people didn't get the chance to know. When he found you waiting inside your car to bring your friend home after she was done partying he found it amusing at first, waiting to make fun of you because who waits inside their car while there's a party going on? It had turned into you timidly lecturing him about his alcohol intake and him flustering you in turn.

"C'mon, stop being so naive. He never sticks with someone, why with you?" The jealousy and confusion was obvious in her voice and it was kind of hurtful that she didn't expect you to be able to keep in contact with someone like him, but then again you could understand her point.

"All I know is that he's nice. To me, at least," you add while playing with your fingers. "You've been saying that all month and yet he never talks to you outside of you meeting up." That shuts you up because he really didn't. In school or whenever you met coincidentally he'd ignore you. Grace gets up and brushes off her pants, checking her pink wrist watch. "Shit, I gotta go. See you in school tomorrow!" She gathers her jacket and is out of your room in a split second, leaving you with your thoughts.

Should you do as she said? Get drunk and maybe even sleep with someone?

When you and Billy met up the next time it was awkward. All you thought about were Grace's words; when would he stop spending time with you? There was nothing he got from being with you like this.

"You listening, doll?" He asks with a small smile, pointing the singular fry he was holding in your direction. You smile a little and shake your head, then nodding to ensure you were paying attention.

But he stops talking and pushes the food to the side of the table, leaning his chin on his propped up arm.

"What's on your mind?" He sounds unlikely concerned but kept his cool facade, wanting to know what was going on, and it got you; how could you resist when he looked at you like that?

"It's nothing," you decline and reach for some fries in nervousness. He watches you carefully before huffing and leaning back, crossing his arms, "What? You tired of me?"

Your head shoots up and you vehemently deny it, where did he get that? "No! No… uh, I'm just distracted, I guess." He smiles a little at your loud disagreement, "Good. Wouldn't have let go of you anyway," he adds absentmindedly before inquiring further, "What's on your mind? Must be important enough to distract you from me."

You chuckle and hit his arm, why was he so arrogant and why did you like it when he was? "It's just, Grace said some things yesterday and I can't get them out of my head," you admit.

He nods, "I never liked her," his voice is dismissive and he drops his arms from where they were crossed to brush a hand through his hair, he scoffs, "She's really intrusive."

On one hand you want to defend her, she wasn't intrusive, just curious. But on the other hand you knew he was right, after all you'd seen her dozen attempts at getting in his pants yourself, so you stay quiet. "Listen, I don't care she's your friend and shit, you know who's good for you, but if she said something that stays on your mind, it better be something positive. Wouldn't want you upset on a date with me, huh?" He always jokes about your meetups being dates and it's got you shy with a capital S.

"No- that's not," you stop yourself and rub your hands over your face before breathing in, "I don't know. She made some comments about our, uh, acquaintance and it just stuck with me," you explain.

"What 'comments'? If it's about me I'd like to know, princess." His voice was a little demanding, but demanding enough for you to look up and make nervous eye contact with him. One raise of his eyebrow and you're talking, "She just questioned why you stick with me. That's all."

His reaction was different from what you expected; you thought he'd laugh about it and shrug it off, but instead he frowned. "Well, tell her I'm sticking around you because you're not as basic as she is and neither are you intrusive. As she is," you're a little shocked but also relieved because that was a good sign, right? To you, it sounded like he didn't plan on giving this up soon.

After that, the conversation died down into something more relaxed and the exchange was easy, just as it always was.

Looking at the glass bottle in front of you made you nervous - you'd bought it out of spite just to show Grace that you could be like everyone else! But now you're unsure. You were alone because your parents were on a trip to visit long distance relatives, leaving you alone for the week.

You had a stare down with the bottle when the doorbell rang, echoing through the house. Confused, you get up, going to look who it is.

Seeing Billy standing on your front door step was what you had been least expecting. Between his lips sat one of his Marlboros, halfway through already. "Evening, doll," he muses, his hand in the pockets of his jean jacket. "Uh, good evening?" You hesitated and then stepped aside, guessing he wanted to be let in.

You were a little embarrassed when the realization settled in that you were in your pajamas, a discarded old t-shirt with some sweatpants that definitely had holes in it.

Your face was hot but you ignored it, "Uh, what are you doing here?"

"Can I not visit my best friend?" He jokes and looks for an ashtray, only to find none. He watches you play with a string on the shirt and laughs a little, god were you cute.

"Let's get to your room," it was mostly out of curiosity of what it looked like but in the back of his head he was also afraid one of your parents would come home unexpectedly and catch him here.

You stood still for a second, "But… I didn't clean." At this he laughs out loud just to realize you were dead serious when you stay silent. "I really don't mind, princess," he very much knew how much you loved when he called you any pet names, so he did at any chance (apart from the fact he loved doing it, because what else would he call you?).

When he came into your room you waited at the door for a second before seeing something that made your eyes go wide. He turns to whatever you're staring at and bristles, vodka? You? He was utterly confused as you definitely had never touched alcohol before. He knew very well you were pretending with whatever you said about experience, but he enjoyed when you tried explaining something you hadn't experienced yourself.

"Who left this here?" He asks as he swiftly scoops it up and looks at you, waiting. "Uhm, no one." You try not to appear as nervous as you truly were, it'd ruin everything you had lied about so far.

With a barely audible whine you rush to excuse its presence, "Grace is coming over in a minute and I wanted to drink something with her." You're a little proud because it wasn't that bad of an excuse, was it?

"Love, I know you're lying. What's this doing here?" His posture was intimidating and you felt like you were being scolded, it was kind of scary. But at the same time your head was exploding because 'love' was new. And you liked it. A lot.

"I'm not lying," you defend yourself, knowing it was useless. He just sighs and sits on your bed, motioning for you to come close. You hesitantly do so, his hands settling on your waist after laying the bottle aside, the skin where his hands lay was tingling and warm. Was this what heaven was like?

He looks at you, and to others - that don't know him - it may have seemed indifferent. But you saw that wasn't what it was, he was… disappointed? Definitely nothing good, at least.

"I know you were pretending with everything, just tell me why you got this?" He asked, and God, why did his voice have to be so… luring? You caved in immediately, though you tried keeping yourself from it. "Well I wanted to know what I was talking about and Grace couldn't explain it… So I thought this would be the best to do."

He looks somewhat upset as he reaches up to lay a hand on your cheek. He was unnaturally sweet, but you still saw the rough edges of him with the way he struggled keeping his hands a light touch.

"Don't do it just because others want you to or make you feel like you have to, yeah? Being drunk is not all that, anyway." He says and you pout just a little, "Then why do you drink so much?"

He chuckles and takes his hand away again, "Because sometimes that's the best way to forget," he doesn't elaborate and you can feel he doesn't want to, so you stay quiet.

"Will you stay friends with me?" It was implied when he said he'd seen through you anyway but you wanted to make sure. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I'm nothing special. I've never done anything that you constantly do and I'm all naive and… I don't know. There's nothing you could talk about with me."

He stands up again and you flinch a little, would he leave now? Would he tell everyone and make fun of you? You don't dare look up so you keep your eyes on the now messy bed sheets from where he sat.

But he reaches out and places a hand under your chin, making you look up just in time to see him lean forward. The kiss is awkward but satisfying - awkward because you have no idea what you're doing and satisfying because he leads you as best as he can (and because you are kissing Billy Hargrove right now, what bad was there?).

When you part he smiles a little, "Don't do what you don't want to. But if you really want to get drunk I'll take care of you, yeah?"

After that night you start dating, and although there's a lot he has to explain and show you he doesn't seem to mind. In school you behave like you don't know each other - you hadn't wanted to be thrust into his social circles, enjoying the quiet atmosphere surrounding you.

The unseen winks and smirks were only between the two of you, his never ending flirting keeping you entertained all throughout the day.

Today evening is a pep rally, and since he played on the basketball team you came to watch. Grace was positively surprised, she had always wanted you two to go, just to fawn over all of the guys or get drunk with someone after the game (though that was just her).

Now, you have your own boy to appreciate all you want. You suppress your smile when he sends a wink to you, your best friend freaking out, claiming it was aimed at her. You just smile happily.

When the game is over, your school's team had won, with many points ahead of the other one. Billy loudly whooped and took his shirt off, something that made you shy but also a little jealous (which you hadn't experienced before). Him and the team celebrated a few minutes and you waited outside meanwhile. Grace had left a few minutes ago when she found someone to leave with.

You didn't really expect Billy to come home with you today as he was probably out partying with his team, but just in case you waited a little. And to your surprise he approached you - with his shirt on - and a big grin on his face.

"Saw me on the field, babe? Isn't your boyfriend so handsome?" You huff but hug him back when he wraps his arms around you. He smelled fresh, having showered right when he had the chance.

"Get in the car, your super amazing boyfriend needs appreciation and that fancy hair thing you do," he demands. It looked and sounded like he was pouting, and mentally he most definitely was, but to the outside he was still intimidating.

Grumbling about his spoiled behavior you got in as well.

When you arrived and got out most of it turned into a blur. Not only were you tired (it was nearing 11:30 after all), but also things got a bit… heated.

You were sitting in his lap while he kissed down your neck, sucking some hickeys here and there. You were enjoying it but were also worried when he found out you were completely inexperienced when it got to this.

Would he be turned off? Well, obviously, right? He'd have to explain everything and it would ruin the mood..! Would he leave you and get off by himself? Because you couldn't do it?

He must've noticed how stiff you were so he parted and placed soft pecks on your cheeks before cocking his head to the side, "What's wrong?"

You look to the side in embarrassment, disappointed in yourself. "I, uh… don't know how to..? I've never…"

You expect him to make fun of you or whatever, but instead he smiles warmly and turns your head back to him. "And? We don't have to do it right now. But I can show you if you want to. I'm probably the best example for this, hm?" He smugly says and you giggle, hitting his shoulder.

"Who knows if you are," You tease and his gaze darkens. He lurches the few inches still between you forward and leans his forehead against yours. "Allow me to show you, baby."

Throughout it he's awfully careful, always asking how you felt, if it was good, etcetera. You enjoyed every second, but your favorite was definitely being cuddled up against him after. You were both naked, except for your underwear, so his body heat warmed you up a lot.

"You were right." He lifts his head and sends you a tired, confused look. "You're the best example." When he gets it he rolls his eyes amusedly, before laying his head back down. You put your hand in his hair and slowly massage his scalp, happy you had him in your life.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre x reader #dacre montgomery

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tonto-splace · 2 months

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14.02.2024 | 16:12

I have been reading ‘Hackers & Painters’ by Paul Graham recently. Paul is a hacker who gets pretty rich after his company which uses Lisp for development and one of the first companies used server based programs with lots of releases instead of a Desktop app. I really enjoyed this book. Even tho some parts were outdated, it makes you think about certain topics. It was more excited at start but gets kinda boring and unnecessarily longer in the end. I wanted to quote some parts i chose from the book:

While the nerds were being trained to get the right answers, the popular kids were being trained to please. (p.4)

hackers start original, and get good, and scientists start good, and get original. (p.26)

People in past times were much like us. Not heroes, not barbarians. Whatever their ideas were, they were ideas reasonable people could believe. (p.38)

scientists, or at least of the good ones, is precisely that: look for places where conventional wisdom is broken, and then try to pry apart the cracks and see what’s underneath. That’s where new theories come from. A good scientist, in other words, does not merely ignore conventional wisdom, but makes a special effort to break it. Training yourself to think unthinkable thoughts has advan- tages beyond the thoughts themselves. It’s like stretching. When you stretch before running, you put your body into positions much more extreme than any it will assume during the run. If you can think things so outside the box that they’d make people’s hair stand on end, you’ll have no trouble with the small trips outside the box that people call innovative. (p.39)

How are we to develop new technology if we can’t study current technology to figure out how to improve it? (this IBM having patent and abandoning to open their products are mentioned in the tv serie named Halt and Catch Fire too)

Authoritarian countries become corrupt; corrupt coun- tries become poor; and poor countries are weak. (p.43)

since you don’t understand the code as well, you’re more likely to fix it in an ugly way, or even introduce more bugs. (p.65, this is also what I hated on people I worked with, also please don't forget to clean the code after deletions)

It works a lot better for a small team of good, trusted programmers than it would for a big company of mediocre ones, where bad ideas are caught by committees instead of the people who had them. (p.69)

Wealth is stuff we want: food, clothes, houses, cars, gadgets, travel to interesting places, and so on. You can have wealth without having money. Money is a way of moving wealth, and in practice they are usually interchangeable. What most businesses really do is make wealth. They do something people want. (p.90)

Many employees would work harder if they could get paid for it. (p.97. I would)

Steve Jobs once said that the success or failure of a startup depends on the first ten employees. I agree. If anything, it’s more like the first five. Being small is not, in itself, what makes startups kick butt, but rather that small groups can be select. You don’t want small in the sense of a village, but small in the sense of an all-star team. (p.100)

Norbert Wiener said if you compete with slaves you become a slave. (p.124)

Great work usually seems to happen because someone sees something and thinks, I could do better than that. (p.145)

The word “essay” comes from the French verb “essayer,” which means “to try.” An essay, in the original sense, is something you write to try to figure something out. (p.160)

In OO languages, you can, to a limited extent, simulate a closure (a function that refers to variables defined in surrounding code) by defining a class with one method and a field to replace each variable from an enclosing scope. This makes the programmer do the kind of code analysis that would be done by the compiler in a language with full support for lexical scope, and it won’t work if more than one function refers to the same variable, but it is enough in simple cases like this. (p.197)

You can find my Goodreads account -> here

#2024 #feb 2024 #studyblr #books & libraries #bookblr #books #studyinspo #reading #goodreads

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theconstitutionisgayculture · 5 months

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Superheroes question

People say that Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark should use their money better.

But why no one asked the spacefaring aliens or the other advanced civilizations such as Wakanda and Atlantis to help humanity?

I mean for Batman he need to stop joker from blowing up a kid hospital every Tuesday and Tony basically the avengers and shield sugar daddy 80% of the time.

Thoughts?

You're right. People are very quick to blame certain characters for not being "better", but make constant excuses for others. And people who make this kind of commentary don't understand the characters they're talking about, real world economics, or basic storytelling.

It's been talked to death before, but Bruce Wayne absolutely uses his money to fund multiple charities and provides jobs for disenfranchised Gothamites, including criminals he's stopped as Batman. Tony Stark I don't follow as much, but even just in the MCU he basically bankroles the Avengers and created a clean, renewable energy source with the intention of sharing it with the world. But nobody wants to hear that, because it's "not enough". Because to them, all rich people should have all their wealth confiscated and then put directly into their bank accounts used to fix everyone's problems.

And this is where the economic illiteracy comes from, because that's just impossible. Even if the governments of the world would use that money purely for good instead of just embezzling it or using it for their own gain, all that would accomplish is temporarily alleviating a few societal ills. One that money is gone, there's no more money to confiscate from the super rich, because most of the money that rich people have is tied up in their businesses and investments. Once that money goes, so do those businesses (and the jobs they provide) and whatever industries or initiatives were being propped up by those investments. It's a childish power fantasy that if the right people were punished then all the problems of the world would just disappear. Which is ironic, considering point number three.

These people have zero idea how fictional stories work. Especially serial fiction. Stories need drama. Stories need conflict. Stories need characters who react to events in character to drive the plot along. If Bruce Wayne used his money to end all crime and poverty in Gotham, then there would be no more Batman stories to tell. Batman can't exist without Gotham being what it is. Because Batman isn't a 500k slowburn coffee shop slice of life story. It's a superhero story. Specifically, it's a superhero story about a traumatized boy who vowed to clean up the massively corrupt, crime ridden city that killed his parents. He knows his mission is futile. He knows he'll never succeed. But he still tries. He struggles against impossible odds that he will never beat, and we root for him and we keep reading about his struggles because it inspires us to face our own impossible problems. Or at least gives us an escapist fantasy where we can live vicariously through someone who can take on the impossible and triumph. Because even though his overall mission is impossible, he still racks up wins along the way. He saves lives that wouldn't otherwise be saved. He stops evil criminals and corrupt politicians and bad cops. He forms a family from people just as broken as he is. He struggles to live up to his own moral code and to balance his life's work with his interpersonal relationships. That's what makes Bruce Wayne interesting to read about. Having him write a check and cure all the worlds problems isn't just boring or unrealistic, it's lazy. No one can relate to that because there's no allegory to anything we experience in our own lives. It's an unearned victory. And in storytelling, unearned victories are flat and unsatisfying.

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queenlucythevaliant · 1 year

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In Defense of Wuthering Heights

This is not an “I can make him worse” book. It’s a “we can make each other better in the face of tremendous pressure to do otherwise” book. I promise.

I’ve already written extensively about my love for Charlotte Brontë’s Villette and while I love lots of other Brontë books with all my heart, what I really want to do tonight is try to make you fall in love with Emily’s Wuthering Heights (generally the most divisive Brontë novel among modern readers) the way that I did.

The thing that a lot of people don’t know which I really think ought to be printed on all the dust jackets is that the Brontë sisters were the daughters of a revered. They were PKs and it totally shows.

So Wuthering Heights is not a romance; it’s a family tragedy. Specifically, it’s an astonishingly hopeful book about generational trauma.

Heathcliff is Mr. Earnshaw’s bastard son. This is never explicitly stated, but it is implied so heavily that it might as well be. To boot, Mr. Earnshaw favors Heathcliff over his legitimate son, Hindley. When Mr. Earnshaw dies, Heathcliff is immediately and violently cast out of the family and forced into servitude. Mr. Earnshaw’s hidden infidelity is Wuthering Heights’s original sin.

Of course, Cathy and Heathcliff love each other, but it’s a violent and destructive like-recognizes-like kind of love between two people who, on the one hand, absolutely should not be together and, on the other, totally deserve each other. They’re capital T Tragic and capital R romantic: co-dependent, sharp-toothed sibling-lovers who don’t understand their own relationship as kids because their father lied to them. That lack of understanding follows them into adulthood; they don’t really know how to make sense of what they feel for one another, but boy do they feel it.

Cathy tells Nellie “I am Heathcliff” and “He’s more myself than I am” and “whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same,” and it’s half a reaction to the fact that one of her brothers (Hindley) has cast her other brother (Heathcliff) out of the family with a vengeance and half a statement of the fact that although she doesn’t know what Heathcliff is to her, she doesn’t know how to live without him. And while Cathy’s love for Heathcliff definitely fills romantic roles once they’re adults, it’s doesn’t really read as sexual. To use Lewis’s parlance: it’s not eros/gift-love, but rather need-love in the most emphatic sense. It’s storge. Actually, it’s really posessive storge that thinks it’s eros. Hence the problem.

From the other side, Heathcliff is an outsider from the moment he enters the story. He’s an intruder and a presumed bastard. He’s coded as non-white, maybe Romani or similar. (Probably not actually African-black, but kudos to that one movie for at least making the attempt.) He’s… probably kind of a psychopath in that he displays cruelty to animals and then later on becomes a charismatic, manipulative monster. You can make a nature vs. nurture argument—Heathcliff is definitely on the receiving end of a lot of cruelty—but there’s also something Off about him and that too is othering. And after Mr. Earnshaw dies, Cathy is the one person who still loves him.

But of course, they can’t actually marry. On and off the page, that simply cannot be. Heathcliff runs away, Cathy marries Edgar Linton. They hurt each other badly in the process. Neither Heathcliff nor Cathy can escape the harm that Mr. Earnshaw began and Hindley perpetuated. Cathy dies, Heathcliff marries Isabella, and then things get really interesting.

Because the beating heart of Wuthering Heights, the place where you can profoundly see the fingerprints of the reverend’s daughter, is in the third generation. Cathy and Heathcliff devour each other in life and in death, but the children survive. They forgive. The patriarch died without knowing what he had wrought on his children, the second generation died in anguish, but the third makes it out. Or at least Hareton and Cathy II do.

Cathy’s daughter is named for her mother. Heathcliff’s son by Isabella Linton is named Linton Heathcliff. Heathcliff forces Hareton, Hindley’s son and the only one among the third generation not named for his parents, to live in the same debasement that Hindley once forced on him: he denies Hareton any education and forces him into servitude while simultaneously courting his admiration. In essence, Cathy and Heathcliff implore the next generation to go on living their parents’ tragedy and it. Doesn’t. Work.

Heathcliff tries to force them both into awful situations in which they must act out his trauma, his revenge, to go on perpetuating the pain and bitterness. And at first, it looks like they’re going to play their parts. For a time, they’re as awful to each other as everyone else is.

But then they change. Hareton tries to stand up for Cathy II while she’s essentially being held captive as part of Heathcliff’s 12-Step Revenge Plot. Cathy teaches Hareton to read. She laughs at him, but when she realizes that she’s hurting his pride she apologizes and learns to be patient.

“I didn’t know you took my part,” she answered, drying her eyes; “and I was miserable and bitter at everybody; but now I thank you, and beg you to forgive me: what can I do besides?”

And after this, they both stand up to Heathcliff. They say, “This ends here. This far and no farther.” Heathcliff is their dragon and they face him together. And when everyone else is dead in grand, tragic fashion, Cathy II and Hareton are left living.

But it’s not just that Hareton and Cathy II survive. They specifically un-do the failings of the previous generations. There’s a kind of atonement to it. They’re honest with each other, unlike Mr. Earnshaw. Cathy recognizes Hareton’s humanity, something Hindley never did for Heathcliff. Hareton lets go of his bitterness and resentment, while Heathcliff let his fester into cruelty and Elaborate Revenge. Cathy II is willful, like her mother, but she is also kind. Hareton is proud, like his father, but he is also compassionate. They forgive each other, while Cathy and Heathcliff only ever held grudges.

At the beginning of the book, Cathy is dead and has explicitly not gone to heaven; with the Brontës, you’ve gotta take these things seriously. Cathy is not in heaven and Heathcliff is a monster and they both seem to be damned, but they do not succeed in damning their children. And in that (I would say because of that), even Cathy and Heathcliff find peace after death.

I also do think that the fact that the story is narrated by Lockwood (weirded out by all of this) and Nellie (unreliable, cares deeply about everyone involved) can make it difficult to see the redemptive arc in the story as clearly as we might if it had an omniscient narrator, or if, say Cathy II was narrating. We're presented the Cathy and Heathcliff love story as this great, horrible, compelling saga (and it absolutely is), but then the following generation can almost seem like a footnote. They're adapted out of most of the film adaptations. But they're the whole point!

I do get why Wuthering Heights just isn’t to some people’s taste. Really. Some people just don’t go for Big Romantic Family Tragedy and that’s fine. But too many people come to the Brontës looking for Jane Austen or Elizabeth Gaskell and that’s just. Wrong. You’ve gotta at least read Wuthering Heights on its own terms before deciding that you hate it (not directed at anyone specific on here, but I do know people irl...). And you really ought to read it with an eye towards Emily’s faith. It makes a world of difference.

TL;DR- There’s a beautiful, very Christian center to Wuthering Heights and it’s one of forgiveness instead of revenge and kindness instead of cruelty. It’s a book about people who are destroyed by the sins of their fathers and those that manage not to be. In a way, it’s almost a fairytale.

#this isn't an essay it's just a gush sesh i can write more coherently about this i promise #i have on multiple occasions #but wuthering heights is great and no one can convince me otherwise #the knitting circle is populated with a lot of Austen girlies and while I do love me some Austen it's always gotta be the Brontes for me #all three of them write in ways that cut right to the center of my soul #and while Charlotte is definitely my fave i think if Emily had lived longer and written more she absolutely could have been her sister's eq #equal #as it is Wuthering Heights is awesome any y'all (not anyone specific) need to stop making jokes about Charlotte being 'I can fix him'#and Emily being 'i can make him worse'#because if that's your take you have whizzed right by the point #also i took an austen and bronte class and i rewrote part of persuasion in the style of emily bronte and my prof thought it was awesome #just to toss that little bit in there #but even with that! austen and the brontes only really get grouped together because they're great British female writers #they are Very Different and that's Good #anyway #maybe i'll rant about Jane Eyre next #unquiet souls #literature makes us more human #pontifications and creations

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