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greenygreenland · 4 years

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Wannabe Chapter 6: Star Wars x Reader

'𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲...'𝗖𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗜'𝗺 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂. 𝗜'𝗺 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗱𝗼 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗱𝗼, 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗱𝗼 𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂.' -𝗥𝘂𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗬𝗼𝘂, 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘄 𝗠𝗼𝗹𝗲

pt 1

Sitting in the back seat of a taxi should have been a treat after sprinting like a track star through the city. It should have been a relief to finally rest their achy legs and catch their breath, yet...(Y/n)'s anxiety peaked. She hated sitting still in one place because it meant the one thing she wanted to avoid: being a sitting duck. As the cab zoomed through the street, (Y/n) kept her gaze focused on the brightly coloured lights.

"Didn't know clones could have girlfriends." he said with a friendly chuckle. (Y/n) pulled her cloak further over her face with a wry frown as Fives offered a grumpy scowl in reply. "She's not my girlfriend."

"That what's gotten you down?"

(Y/n) and Fives shared an unamused side-glance. "No." There was a bad taste in Fives's mouth. "Can't you just drive?"

"Sure." There was a playful smile on the driver's lips. "Whatever you say."

The taxi pulled up to 79's without problem. From where (Y/n) sat, she already felt the vibrations of the music and energy rippling through the bar. There were many people she knew in there, some of which she didn't want to see at the moment. Fives was the first to exit the taxi. He would have paid if he could, but he didn't have credits because clones didn't get paid. (Y/n) dug through her pockets and produced the few credits Shaak gave to her for her previous mission.

"No tip?" the driver inquired. (Y/n) offered an apologetic smile. "Apologies sir. I'm kind of broke." She climbed out of the back seat and onto the streets. She shared a short glance with Fives, who almost smiled before his gaze flickered over to 79's entrance. Clones mingled with the occasional twi'lek under the dim lighting of the bar. Some drank to their legions, giving hearty laughs and hoping for a better future. It was a Monday, so of course the bar was packed with clones drinking their sorrows away. "You don't have to go inside if you don't want to." said Fives, eyes all tender and soft. "I know you don't like crowded places."

(Y/n) frowned. "Will you be alright? You said Nala Se drugged y--" Fives tried for a grin wile rubbing at his temples. "I know, but I'll be fine. I just need to find Kix." (Y/n) nodded in understanding and Fives was quick to disappear into the rowdy bar, leaving (Y/n) on the streets. She quietly leaned against the wall, sluggishly folding her arms over her chest.

"What are you doing here?"

The stern voice made (Y/n) jump five feet in the air. Her gaze snapped up to the tall clone and she could have sworn a chuckle came from his lips. His cybernetic eye seemed to stare into her soul as a short sigh escaped her lips. Oh, great, she thought. "I don't know you." Wolffe rolled his eyes like the sassy man he was.

"Cut the act. I'd recognise that shirt anywhere." (Y/n) stared at her dark blue shirt, where the classic Mandalorian hexagonal design in silver sat. (Y/n) huffed. "I didn't think I'd ever see you at a bar."

"The boys' idea, not mine. And you know General Plo, he told me it would be 'good to loosen up a bit'." He took a sip of his drink and settled on the vacant spot against the wall. "You don't sound good. Sick?"

"Something like that..."

"What're you doing here di'kut?"

"You don't want to know--and I'm not an idiot."

"Actually, I do. I have all night."

(Y/n) looked up at Wolffe with a sad frown. "I can't, Wolffe."

"You know you can tell me anything."

"I know, but...I just can't. Not this one." replied (Y/n). Wolffe took a sip of his liquor, unbothered. "And why is that? Did you somehow get caught up in Skywalker's business again?" (Y/n) shook her head. "It's complicated."

"How so?"

"I don't want you to get caught up in this. Someone is out for my head right now because I know something I shouldn't." She heaved in a deep sigh. "If I get you involved, you could die too Wolffe--and I don't think I could ever live with myself knowing I hurt you." Wolffe folded his arms across his chest with a hard look on his face. "Well," he paused as if to prepare himself for whatever he was about to say. "To be truthful, I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing I could have prevented the potential death of my vod."

(Y/n) almost smiled. Vod, it meant sister, or brother, in Mando'a. It wasn't often Jedi were held in such a high respect such as that (mostly due to the Code), so this meant more than the galaxy to her. "Wolffe." She pursed her lips so tightly they turned a shade of white. "I trust you, and I know for a fact that the feeling is reciprocated, but what I need you to do now is trust me with everything."

Wolffe mimicked (Y/n)'s grim expression. "Where are you going with this?" She took a hold of Wolffe's free hand and gave it a good squeeze. "Trust me. Please." He was silent in thought, a look of doubt washing over his stern features. For a moment, (Y/n) thought he'd say no, but a simple 'okay' was all she heard. (Y/n) took a step closer to Wolffe and motioned for him to lean down. "In my room, I've written all the information needed to know. The code is three-two-one-nine." She spared a glance over her shoulder and caught sight of Fox and his boys exiting a ship. Wolffe followed her gaze as she rubbed a hand over her temples.

"Don't tell me they're involved." he grumbled. (Y/n) frowned. "In a way." Wolffe looked as though he had eaten a whole lime. He placed a hand on (Y/n)'s back and guided her towards the bar's entrance. "The back door's over there. Want me to stall?"

"If you can. Thanks Wolffe."

"You can thank me by not dying, di'kut."

(Y/n) weakly smiled before disappearing into the crowd. Strobe lights lit her way, reflecting off helmets and illuminating the dance floor. She shimmied across the floor and tangoed towards a booth. As she turned to dodge the prying eyes of Jesse (he had a vague idea of who she was), a hand gently took hold of her wrist and lead her away from the lights and heavy chatter. The warmth his hand held was more than enough for (Y/n) to know exactly who he was.

"Fives." He stealthily lead her through the back doors. "We have to go, like, now." he quietly said. The duo emerged onto a balcony the size of a regular street, where speeder bikes sat lined up in neat rows. The balcony would have been a picture-perfect setting with the view of the stars, but the Coruscant Guard questioning a clone off to the side ruined the vibe. If (Y/n) could properly think straight, she would have made a run for it with Fives on a speeder.

(Y/n) placed a hand to her head. The galaxy was spinning and all she could think to do was lie down on the ground and take a century long nap. Fives started up a speeder, giving it a good rev. It blinked to life and he hopped on. (Y/n) climbed aboard the back, thankful for the fact that it had two seats. Fives kicked off the balcony as fast as he could drive. "Are you okay?" he shouted over the wind. "There is a disturbance in the Force. I don't know what it is, but it's...dangerous."

There was a beat of silence as Fives drove into the underground levels. The descent was short and filled with zero chatter neither could break. Keeping their heads was beginning to prove a task unworthy for the both because damn was so much going on at once. "I told Kix to contact General Skywalker and Rex to meet us here." He steered the speeder towards a platform and landed the bike behind a pile of dusty crates. "They should be here soon."

The two sluggishly dismounted and walked through a crack in the double doors just large enough to fit a person. "I'm just going to sit here." (Y/n) mumbled. She eased herself onto a dusty crate as Fives rubbed at his head. He scanned the area until he stumbled upon a panel in the wall. He flicked a switch and the warehouse glowed with newfound light.

The anticipation and pure agitation rolling off his shoulders disturbed (Y/n). It wasn't like him to display deep negativity like that. He was the one to make other people agitated or annoyed with his dumb jokes and jabs. "Don't think too much Fives." quietly said. "Once they come, everything should be alright. They'll listen."

Fives shakily met her gaze. "Do you really believe that? Do you really believe they won't turn us in? Sure, they--they may not hurt us, but that doesn't mean they'll believe what we have to say." (Y/n) wanted to refute from the bottom of her heart, but a part of her couldn't deny that trusting in her friends laid a potential threat to their safety. Rex's loyalties laid to the Republic while Anakin's laid to both the Order and the Republic, along with the people he held close to his heart.

"It's not a matter of who they will believe," (Y/n) said, "but of what they will choose."

Footnote: The password to your room is ironically the dates of when Order 66 was created and when it was executed. 3219. 32 = when it was created. 19 = when it was executed.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars x reader #star wars the clone wars x reader

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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An Afternoon in the Garden with Aziraphale

I re-wrote one of my old stories for the prompt “What do I have to do?” Anon asked this for Good Omens. I can see this becoming a full fic. Let me know what you think <3

Aziraphale settles onto his park bench, wiggles into his usual spot, and with a deep, relaxed sigh, becomes one with the weathered wood. He opens the book he brought with him but doesn’t begin to read. Not yet. He takes a long look at his surroundings - the people walking by dressed in smart black suits and ties (odd for a regular old Tuesday but who is he to judge); the clear, cloudless blue sky; the fresh cut grass, soft and fragrant beneath his feet. He takes a breath in and holds it for three before exhaling out to the Universe.

Then he smiles.

He loves it here. This garden, it’s his own private Eden – quiet and peaceful, with an air of love and possibility carried on every breeze that skirts around him. It’s the kind of place that fills you with joy without even trying.

Fills you with hope when you need it.

The bench he’s sitting on is not his bench, per se, but he likes to think of it as his. It’s the one he sits at every day so it might as well be his. Maybe he’ll dictate in his will that after he dies, someone needs to buy a plaque for this bench that says Aziraphale Sat Here … A Lot. Not that he ever has to fight for it, which always strikes him as odd because it’s by far the best bench in the park - set beside an ancient oak whose branches are spaced just right so that it lets the rays of afternoon sun peek through whilst shielding him from the bulk of their glare, keeping him comfortably cool.

There’s a nightingale in that oak. He knows it. He can’t see it, never has, but he thinks he hears it sometimes, singing a special song just for him.

His bench overlooks the duck pond at a perfect distance so that overflow doesn’t drench the ground beneath his feet. Various water fowl walk their families past it in search of spare crusts of bread. He forgot the stale loaf he leaves by his front door, like he did yesterday and the day before. It’s probably molded by now. He’ll toss it and wait for another one to go stale, but it irks him.

He hates wasting things.

It’s strange how much his mind has been wandering off on him lately that he can’t even remember to grab a loaf of bread on his way out the door.

The temperature is warm for a start-of-spring day and Aziraphale invites it. He’s getting sick of chilly weather. But the sun doesn’t feel the way it used to. He can’t explain the difference, but then who would he explain it to? He doesn’t talk to his old friends anymore. No one calls. No one comes to visit. It bothered him once, mostly because he himself couldn’t wrap his mind around who exactly he’d been missing. He couldn’t recall a name or a face. But it doesn’t bother him so much now. He’s gotten used to the solitude. He finds he quite likes spending time alone.

Maybe it’s because he’s getting older, he thinks. After all, he’s roughly …

Aziraphale’s head jerks up while he thinks. For some reason, he can’t remember how old he is. He tries to do the math in his head, but he can’t recall the year. He saw his face in the mirror this morning while he straightened his bowtie and thought that he looked pretty good for around fifty, but is that really how old he is? He chuckles weakly, perturbed. It’s such a weird feeling not remembering how old you are. It’s not like it’s waiting on the tip of his tongue or lingering in the back of his mind out of reach.

It’s gone.

Completely gone.

What the hell is going on?

He decides to shrug it off. He’s probably tired. He’ll go to bed an hour earlier tonight. That should fix it.

Yes. A little sleep should fix everything.

He looks down at the book he’s reading, the one he’s been waiting all morning to get back to, and frowns. Everything on the page in front of him looks like nonsense. He flips through it, trying to find a page that makes sense, but many of them are empty.

Why would he have a book with nonsense printed in it?

Perhaps it’s a misprint? He does have a few. Collectors’ items mostly. He must have grabbed the wrong book by mistake. But he was so sure when he left that he’d taken the right one. He’d checked the spine and everything … hadn’t he?

Maybe this is a dream, Aziraphale thinks anxiously. That might explain the off sensation of the sun on his face. But on the bright side, if it is a dream, Aziraphale can conjure himself a friend. A sweet, kind, handsome companion who …

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiles.

Jackpot.

The voice comes out of nowhere, convincing Aziraphale that he is, in fact, dreaming. If it wasn’t for the pain in the center of his forehead, that’s been strengthening over time, throbbing when he turns toward the voice, he’d be sold.

The owner of the voice saunters up to the bench and stops. He’s dressed in black and backlit, a broken halo of sunlight surrounding his head, filtering into Aziraphale’s vision, so he can’t make out the details of the stranger’s face. But something in that voice sounded familiar.

More than familiar.

It sounded like home.

Aziraphale raises a hand to block the sun and hopefully get a better view.

“Do I … do I know you?” he asks. With his hand over his eyes, he can see the man’s sculpted cheekbones, the steep slope of his nose, his fire-red hair, a brow furrowed in amusement, dark black sunglasses covering his eyes, and a strange twist of a smile that resembles a thought Aziraphale had a while ago when he …

When he what? What was he doing when he thought of a smile like that? He hasn’t a clue.

“Occasionally,” the man replies. He gestures to the bench. “May I?”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t know why he’s hesitant. Wasn’t he thinking a second ago how wonderful it would be to meet a congenial stranger in his dreams? This man definitely fits that bill … and then some. But that smile …

There’s a secret hiding on his lips. And the way he looks at him ... Aziraphale can’t see his eyes behind those lenses, but he knows they’re trained on him. Like they know him, like they’ve seen him before, and not sitting on a bench in St. James’s Park. But like the conundrum of his age, why he feels that way keeps ducking out of reach.

“Be my guest,” Aziraphale says. They’re in a huge park in a city filled with people. There is no way this man is here for him. He’s here for the park, the peace and quiet, the pond. And as Aziraphale mentioned to himself before, he’s sitting on the best bench here.

That has to be it.

The man sits – no, drapes himself over the opposite end of the bench, sunk down, legs spread, taking up more room than humanly necessary, but that doesn’t annoy Aziraphale.

He finds it charming.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve read the works of Oscar Wilde,” the man says, glancing over at the book open in Aziraphale’s lap. “Do you like Oscar Wilde?”

“Oh, this isn’t …” Aziraphale starts, ready to set the man straight. He didn’t bring the works of Oscar Wilde. The book he brought is gibberish. But when he looks down, he sees words printed on the page. Words that make sense.

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word… ”

“What …?” Aziraphale turns the book to the spine and sees it – The Works of Oscar Wilde: Essays, Criticisms, and Reviews. He flips to the title page and sees the same, the fine print suggesting that it might even be a first edition to boot! But everything about it from the front cover to the center spread was indecipherable chicken scratch a minute ago.

Wasn’t it?

“Something the matter?”

“Uh, no,” Aziraphale says quickly. “No, there’s nothing the matter. I …” Aziraphale closes the book and examines the cover again – grey canvas, with slight creasing on the spine, nothing that would depreciate it. But the monetary value means nothing to him. He recognizes it. It’s definitely his book, and an important one, too. It was a present. Someone gave it to him. An important someone. “I thought I had grabbed the wrong book.”

“Do you not fancy Oscar Wilde? Were you hoping for a different book perhaps? Something by D. H. Lawrence possibly?” the man asks, and Aziraphale knows by his tone that he’s teasing.

Being teased by this man warms Aziraphale more than the wonky sun.

“No, this is the book I wanted. Thank you.” Aziraphale opens to the middle and pretends to read, hiding his bashful eyes. The man smiles, reaching for Aziraphale’s knee as if it were the most normal thing to do, but stops short with his hand hovering in the air. A second later, his smile fades. He curls his fingers in and brings his hand back to his side.

“You know, it’s been kind of a bizarre afternoon,” Aziraphale admits, looking at the hand no longer anywhere near his knee. “I’ve been forgetting a lot of things.”

“Oh?” It’s a single, non-committal syllable, but when the man says it, he sounds disappointed.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I usually bring a bag of stale bread with me to the park. For the ducks. But I keep forgetting to grab it on my way out the door.”

“Isn’t that it there? In the bag for life?”

Aziraphale looks down at the bench, at the empty space between himself and the man, then back at him with questioning eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean over there.” The man points past Aziraphale to the other end of the bench. “Isn’t that your bag of bread?”

Aziraphale looks over his shoulder, giving a startled jump when he sees it – a bag for life, like the man said, lumpy with the remains of his stale bread loaf. “Well I’ll be.” He reaches down, touches it cautiously, as if it might leap up on its own, sprout legs, and run away. “How did this get here?”

“Perhaps by magic?”

“I do perform magic,” Aziraphale says, examining the bag of bread.

“Do you now?”

“Yes! I learned a long time ago.” He turns to the man beaming, more than eager to offer a demonstration. “Back in …” Aziraphale pauses, his eagerness washing away suddenly, unexpectedly “… no. No, that can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right?”

“I was going to say that I learned magic from John Maskelyne, back in the 1870s, but that can’t be right. I … I can’t have been alive that long. Could I?”

“Perhaps you could be.” The man sits straight, leans over an inch. “Perhaps you’re immortal.”

Aziraphale tuts and rolls his eyes. “Good Lord. Now you’re just being silly.”

“Am I? You said so yourself it’s been a bizarre afternoon. You’ve forgotten things, haven’t you? You might have forgotten that.”

Aziraphale scoffs, but now that the man has said it, something about that notion nags at him. “No, I ... that’s impossible. Immortality isn’t real. I must be dreaming.”

“There’s a simple way we can check if you’re dreaming or not.”

Aziraphale tilts his head. “How?”

The man leans closer. Aziraphale mirrors the move, ready to hear the secret.

Ready to hear all this man’s secrets, if he’s willing to spill.

“Come with me,” the man whispers, and the words – those three little words – take Aziraphale’s breath, the next one, and three or four after that. “Have lunch with me. Go for a drive with me. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Just name it.”

“Even if I said, I don’t know … take me to the Ritz?”

“Absolutely. I can get us a reservation with the snap of my fingers. Just say the word and I will.”

Time slows as Aziraphale debates what he should do. He’s not an idiot. He can’t go with this man. Even if he’s right about everything he said, Aziraphale has only known him about three minutes. He might get stuffed into the boot of a car and driven out to the middle of nowhere. Not for ransom. It should be quite obvious by his clothing that he’s not worth much. But he can’t assume this man wants to do him harm either. Whatever would the purpose be?

It feels so nice to talk to him though. To be flirted with, if that is indeed what’s happening. Aziraphale can’t remember the last time someone flirted with him. There’s such an allure to this man, like he was made to order – a perfect match for Aziraphale, plucked straight from his brain. Aziraphale doesn’t exactly feel like he’s meeting him. He feels like he’s finding him.

Like he was meant to find him.

But how can he if they’ve never met?

Aziraphale refuses to rule out dreaming, or maybe a hallucination, but none of that makes this decision easy. So he comes up with a response that will solve all of those issues at once. At least, he hopes it does. He doesn’t want to frighten the man off.

But if this is a dream, he’ll be back.

“Find me here tomorrow,” Aziraphale whispers back, “and we’ll see.”

The man smiles. It’s sad, but still as radiant as his others. He taps the bench with his forefinger, then drums the rest across the wood. This brings attention to a ring on his pinkie finger that Aziraphale didn’t notice before. A ring that makes Aziraphale’s eyes go wide. The ring is gold with wings, but that’s all Aziraphale sees before the man stands. It fills a void in his brain but leaves no explanation.

But like a seed, it starts to grow.

“It’s a date. I’ll see you tomorrow, angel.”

“Tomorrow it is then, Mr. …?”

“Crowley,” the man says with a defeated sigh. “Anthony J Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s brows snap together. “Anthony?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. You just don’t look like an Anthony.” Aziraphale bites his lower lip, his cheeks dimpling over the fact that his man cares what he thinks about his name. “I’ll get used to it.”

“I hope you do.”

Aziraphale doesn’t watch the man go. That’s not how he wants to remember him – walking away. Besides, with every step the man takes, Aziraphale can’t help feeling like something dear to him is leaving, too. He returns to his book, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he scans the page, but he can’t bring himself to read. Whatever Wilde has to say, it’s of no interest to him now.

***

Crowley stands from the edge of the bed, and with a wistful glance back, walks out of the bedroom. He doesn’t close the door behind him. He doesn’t want the click of the lock to disturb Aziraphale in any way. Besides, he wants to be able to peek in on him whenever he pleases without tipping the angel off.

If he breaks the illusion, it might damage Aziraphale’s mind.

That’s what he’s been told, anyway.

He lingers for a moment to watch his angel. Aziraphale smiles, staring in the direction of his book but not reading it, not turning the pages, wiggling in his seat and giggling to himself. That’s the way Crowley loves to see his angel.

Giddy.

Smiling.

Hopeful.

At peace.

But he can’t simply stand here staring at Aziraphale all day. There’s work to be done. Mysteries to figure out.

And that happens in the kitchen.

He makes his way there – a hop, skip, and a jump from the bedroom since he’s bent space and rearranged the rooms of his flat so that no matter where he goes, he’s no more than ten paces from Aziraphale.

“So, book girl,” Crowley greets Anathema, herself bent over several books spread out on his kitchen table, a cauldron of oily green liquid bubbling on the stove top, “you any closer to figuring out how to fix this?”

“No more than I was yesterday, I’m afraid,” she answers offhandedly, focused on the words in front of her more than the demon skulking about.

Crowley huffs, giving her an irritated once over. He’s never been what one would call polite, or patient, but he’s so over that as an answer. He really is. He’d accept her lying to him, even a little, if he never again has to hear the sentence No more than I was yesterday, I’m afraid. It’s become a catch phrase, and she wields it as if she’s required by law to say it.

“You’ve told me that every day for the past year, book girl!”

Anathema stops reading and sighs sympathetically in response. There was a time when Crowley’s barking would make her jump out of her skin. She’d been wary of Crowley from the first. Even before she knew he was a demon, something about him felt dangerous. After becoming sort-of friends, she only felt truly comfortable around him when Aziraphale was present, which was always, so there was no issue there.

The night Crowley showed up alone on her doorstep, soaked to the skin with rain, looking as if he’d been through hell and back (which, as it turns out, he had), was the scariest night of her life. Her heart had stopped dead in her chest when she opened the door and saw him, and she desperately feared it would never start up again. Hair plastered to his face, eyes glowing yellow, cracks in his skin that bled black, fangs she’d never seen piercing the skin of his lower lip - he looked like a monster.

An honest to God monster.

But then he crumpled to a heap at her feet, begging for her help, and she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. Whatever kind of demon he is, and she has yet to ascertain that (she finds it rude to ask) he isn’t the murdering kind.

“I’ve told you before,” she says softly, “I don’t know what they did to him. Not completely. The only thing I can guess with any certainty is that they destroyed his third eye.”

“Destroyed?”

“Take a look at him – a good hard look at him the next time you see him. It should be in the center of his forehead, but it’s not. It’s not there anymore.”

“And what would destroying that do to him exactly?”

Anathema shrugs. “Different sects of witches hypothesize differently, but they all seem to agree on the same thing.”

“And that is …?”

“His memory is gone. Obliterated. And with it, any sense at all of who he actually is.”

“So he may still have his magic,” Crowley speculates, feeling optimistic for the first time in a year.

“Yes, he may.”

“And we fix that … how?”

“Again, I don’t know,” she reveals, knowing she’ll get a loud, dramatic groan in response.

And Crowley doesn’t disappoint.

“Demon magic and Holy magic aren’t the same as witch magic,” she says over him. “It comes from a different place. Yours comes from Hell, his comes from Heaven. Mine comes from Earth.”

“Your point?” Exasperation adds an edge to his words that he’d been trying his hardest to edit out on the day to day. Not necessarily for Anathema’s sake, though he did consider her a friend and undeserving of his anger. She practically lives at his flat now in her attempt to help them out, and gets about as much sleep a night as he does.

But more than anything, Crowley doesn’t want Aziraphale to find out.

He doesn’t want Aziraphale disappointed in him.

“My point is I don’t know where on the spectrum of magic it falls. Is it weaker? Is it stronger? Is it somewhere in between? Because if that’s the case, I should be able to do something, shouldn’t I?” She grumbles that, sounding as frustrated as he feels. “But I’ve tried everything I can think of. I’m not saying I’m done,” she says, putting a hand up to stop him interjecting before she can finish. “Not in the slightest. But I need to do some research. I need books I don’t have, scrolls, some artifacts. And I might need some help.”

Crowley’s left eyebrow takes a sharp leap up. “What kind of help?”

“Help that I can’t negotiate. Help that … only you can.”

“I’m not leaving, if that’s what you’re implying!” Crowley yells. “I’m not going anywhere without him!”

“You may not have a choice.”

“I don’t think you get it!” He rounds on her, gripping the back of a chair it’s taking all his resolve not to throw across the room. “That’s not some nobody in my room, not some random angel of God! He’s my entire life! My whole reason for existing! And the only reason he remembers as much as he does after an entire year is because I talk to him every day. If I leave and don’t return, even for one day, I run the risk of losing him.” The next words in the queue are so difficult, he nearly has to wrench them out of his throat. “I can’t do that. I … can’t.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Anathema pushes her chair away from the table and walks over to him. “Not completely. I have no idea what you’re going through. I wasn’t raised to have a life with friendship and love. I was raised to have a purpose. Purpose is fine, but it can also get cold and empty. So I’ve never had what you have. Not even in the smallest degree. But I do know that if I did, I would hold onto it with everything I have. Every piece of my soul. That I know.”

Crowley’s rage extinguishes a degree, and that, ironically, infuriates him. He wants to be angry at Anathema, but he’s not. He’s angry that it’s been a year and Aziraphale still doesn’t seem to be any closer to remembering him than he did after Heaven fucking zapped his memory. 6000 years he’s spent with Aziraphale – eating with him, bantering with him, annoying the ever loving heck out of him. He should be glad he had so much of that. Humans don’t get that with their loved ones. Not even close. But the time they would have spent now would have been different than the past. They’d finally come to terms with their feelings for one another. They would have been together as a couple in love, able to express that love without fear of losing what they had as friends. Crowley feels cheated out of the time he can’t ever get back, all those moments when he should have stopped being a coward and simply said, “I love you, Aziraphale.”

He wishes he had that, at least, because the future, from his standpoint, looks bleak.

These visits with Aziraphale in his bedroom are all Crowley has.

They might be all he ever has.

Fuck God and Her fucking plan! Fuck the games she fucking plays with the Universe!

And fuck Gabriel!

FUCK GABRIEL!

If Crowley ever sees that stuck up, self-righteous, bureaucratically cruel sack of festering horseshit again, he won’t hesitate to light him up like a damned Roman candle. He doesn’t care if Heaven comes down on him with Holy Water after that. Every day he’s reminded that he’s losing the only damned thing that ever mattered to him. At this point, if Crowley disappeared into the ether, it wouldn’t affect Aziraphale a single iota. Crowley has enough money socked away to keep Aziraphale comfortable for a lifetime. For a thousand lifetimes. He could stay here in Crowley’s flat, on that park bench in his mind, until reality crumbles down around him.

Anathema would look after him. He’s certain she would. She would take care of him, then her daughters, then their sons. But Aziraphale would become an heirloom – an eccentric old man with no memory who gets passed down to her children’s children’s children throughout the generations.

Crowley sighs.

That’s no sort of existence for his angel. He can’t do that to Aziraphale, no matter how good lighting Gabriel up would feel.

“He’s my angel,” Crowley argues, but the way those words lodge in his throat, they sound more like a plea. “But in an hour, he won’t remember that I’ve been here. That I’ve seen him. Not the way I want him to. But I’ll remember. I’ll remember, and that’s … that’s all we’ve got.”

Anathema shakes her head, her dark eyes set, cheeks flushing a fiery pink. “No, that’s all you’ve got, Crowley! And it’s not enough! It’s not enough! We need more! He deserves more! If you want your angel to remember you, if you want him to have his life back, you have to get off your ass and fight for those memories! They’re important to you, yes? He’s important to you?”

“Of course, he’s important to me!” Crowley growls, unaccustomed to anyone outside of Aziraphale and Hell taking this tone with him. He understands that it might be necessary, but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

Regardless of the fact that that demonic growl of Crowley’s weeds beneath Anathema’s skin, rooting through her darkest nightmares and chilling her to her core, she presses on because she’s got him. She’s gotten him to drop the cloak of self-pity he’s been wearing for a year and come to his senses.

Now she needs to get him moving.

“The real question now is are you willing to do it? Are you willing to fight for him? Are you willing to do what needs to get done, no matter the cost?”

Crowley closes his eyes, absorbs her words. She’s right. He knows she’s right. And he’s known it for a while. In retrospect, he could kill himself for not abiding by her words earlier, but he’d been selfish. Scared. He doesn’t want to leave Aziraphale. He doesn’t want to be apart from him for a single day. He doesn’t know how many of them he has left. He’d come to terms with the idea of never having Aziraphale back so deeply that he was almost okay with their life the way it stood now. But that’s not fair. His angel loves him. He trusts him. And if Crowley were in the same position, Aziraphale wouldn’t be moping inside his bookshop waiting for something to happen.

He’d be out ensuring it did.

When Crowley opens his eyes again and looks at Anathema, they’re full of actual fire. “Fine, book girl. What do I have to do?”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Frankie writes

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p-jiminaa · 5 years

Text

Couple Game. (Part 4)

Jeon Jeongguk and You.

Summary: A sudden ‘drama’ between you and him.

Genre: Fluff to angst.

Attn: Gif is not mine. Credit to the owner.

Masterlist

“Jeongguk-ah... let’s have lunc...” Your words paused when you see him sitting beside a girl with a surprised looks washed over their face. Well, literally it’s your fault though. You’re ambushing his studio without informing or telling him that you’re coming. You thought you’re going to surprise him with your surprise appearance but then you’re actually surprised by him. Ashamed by your behaviour you say “Ah sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb.”

“It’s fine. We’re almost done.” He says as he pull over the high back chair situated behind him and pull it over beside him. “Here.” He says as he gesture you to sit. You’re contemplating whether to sit but his voice cut your train of thought. “It’ll finish in five Y/n. Come sit here.” He says with a smile.

You bit your lips (still contemplating) before walking and sit beside him. He smile to you before he moved his gaze towards the computer back. You heard the girl next to him continued her explanation that being stop due to you sudden appearance. You assumed she’s one of a staff that is skilled in video editing as he taught Jeongguk an easier and fastest way to edit a video.

You rolled back the chair as you felt bored or you can say you felt being out of place as you could not get the things they are discussing. Jeongguk’s notice your behaviour as he abruptly told the girl to continue another time and she reluctantly stood up and went out from the room. AND oh ya, she even shot you a glare when she’s about to close the door before moving your gaze to him. “Bi*ch.” You said underneath your breath.

You thought you said that in soft and low voice but you were wrong when you heard Jeongguk burst out into a fit of laughter. “Are you jealous?”

“In your dream.” You replied promptly.

“It’s not her fault that you have to wait and it’s not even five minutes. You came without informing me. If you text or call me then I would make sure that my lunch time will be spent with you fully.” He replied you and smirking devilishly to you. To this you rolled your eyes, to show him your annoyance.

He then pull over your chair where you knee hitted him. When you’re about to push him away, he grab the arm of the chair so you could not move. “You say you wanted to have lunch together. But you come empty handed.” He says lowly as he brought his face in front of you.

“Let’s cancel the lunch. I am not starving anymore.” You replied him quickly. Why am I acting like a jealous girlfriend right now. I am not even his.

“Aii please. If you wanted me to fall in love with you, please get rid of this behaviour. I hate someone who get sulky easily.” He says as he pull your chair beside him so that you’re facing his computer while he grab his phone and made a call which you don’t even care to listen what he’s talking about but your lips turned into a smile when he said something about ‘pepperoni pizza’. Aww he remembered your favourite.

“It’ll be here in 15. Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Wait ... if he’s asking you about that then why would he ordered the pizza. Ah, so he ordered that for himself.

“No!” You stand up and went out from his room. You heard his laughter when you’re outside. Aish this man! And again, why would I am acting like this. Okay to be honest, you felt a bad vibe from the woman before. Like she has this negative aura and you hate it when she intentionally brush her hand with Jeongguk when she wanted to hold the computer mouse. Well, to Jeongguk this is kind of normal but not to you. Ahh whatever.

You were about to walk away from the door when she suddenly appeared in front of you. She let out a smirk when your gazed meet before knocking and entering Jeongguk studio again. Shaking your head to lear whatever ridiculous thought that came to your mind, you then went to Yoongi’s studio and you didn’t care if he’s sleeping or whatever, you need a place to crash.

*** It’s been two hours since you left Jeongguk’s studio and he didn’t even care to call or find you and the pizza? You can imagine that it’s been long gone. Luckily enough, Yoongi is in a good mood today so he let you in and after thirty minutes being in the studio you asked for his permission to fall asleep on the long sofa behind his work station which you know a place for him to sleep. He permitted you to sleep with a condition that you would not drool on the sofa nor sleep talk because once you do this, he will kick you out from the studio, whether you’re still asleep or not.

“Y/n... hey wake up...” You heard a soft voice calling for you and when you opened your eyes, your gazed meet with Taehyung who has an astonished expression on his face.

“Hai...” You say groggily. He shook his head before he help you to get up.

“I thought you wanted to have lunch with Jeongguk. But hyung said you’ve been here since lunchtime.” To this you nodded your head, weakly. “Here.” He passed you your mobile phone. “It’s been vibrated few times since I came in.”

“It’s been vibrated since she fall asleep.” Yoongi cut him out.

When you checked your phone you were surprised when you received a lots of missed call, from your mother. Since when she need me? You asked yourself that question. Letting out a long sigh, you call her back and were surprised when the call was actually from ER telling you that your mother is admitted to hospital due to exhaustion. Is she finally reached her limit? Like she’s been fu*king every night so yeah, that why she’s exhausted. You told them that you’re coming and thanks them before ending the call.

“What happened?” Taehyung who is now sitting beside you asked and Yoongi turned his chair towards you.

You shrugged your shoulder. “My Mother is admitted to ER.” You answered them casually. Their expression turned into panicked and worried when you uttered that.

“Oh My God! So why are you still here?” Taehyung asked you.

“Because this is not the first time and don’t worry, with or without me someone will come and visit her.” You said as if you’re not talking about your mother. Frown washed over Yoongi’s face and he stand up and took your hand.

“I am not going. Okay?” You say as he’s about to pull you from the sofa.

Taehyung head turned to you. “But your mother...”

“She’s fine.”

Yoongi push away your hand harshly. “I don’t fu*king care if you have bad relationship with your mother Y/n. But for God sake she’s in the hospital and you need to go there now!” You flinch when you heard he’s yelling at you.

“Hyung...” Taehyung’s panicked voice is apparent when he called upon his hyung.

Right at that moment, the door was open and Jeongguk appeared. “What happened?” He asked as he realized your scared expression.

You shook your head before standing up and walked towards the door where Jeongguk stood. Before you went out, you turned to them. “Thank you for letting me crashing your place Yoongi.” You said with a smile before going out.

Jeongguk trailed closely behind you as you left. Once you reached the elevator door and pressing the button, you turned back to him. “Tell them I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” You say as you turned back facing the door.

“Are you okay?” To this you let out a hummed. “I am sorry about my behaviour. I should not...”

“Jeongguk it’s fine. I over-reacted too. I am sorry.” You cut him out quickly. There was a long stretch of silence after that. Few moments after that, the door’s open and you walked inside and turn back towards Jeongguk. Thankfully, the elevator was empty so there was only you. His eyes remained on you so you put up your hand and waved at him before the elevator’s door closed.

***

You regret your decision of not spending the night anywhere other than your home that night because the moment you step on your door is when your fight started with Jeongguk. You were surprised at first when you see Jeongguk waiting for you, sitting on the sofa in the living room. His hard gaze meet yours the moment you opened the door and he stood up instantly when he see you walking towards him with curious look.

“Why are you here?” You asked him casually and curiously as he didn’t inform you about him coming tonight.

“Just what the fu*k you think you’re doing Y/n?” He asked you in stern voice.

You were genuinely surprised because one, he use the f word to you and second the use of his stern tone voice.

“What?” You asked him back as you did not understand to what he’s referring to.

“How could you not fetch up your mother? She’s sick! She has to call me to get her home.” Oh so now she’s involving Jeongguk to this. Who does she think is she? Some kind of special woman that need to be pick up.

“She’s fine Jeongguk. It’s not like this is her first time to be admitted to ER.”

“You think that? If she’s fine then why would she fainted again the moment she reached home. If I was not here, do you think she’ll survive?”

Your brows furrows in irritation. Oh now it's all your fault for not fetching her or not at home? She’s a fu*king adult! She can take care of herself. “If you wanna fight, just go. I am tired. I need to sleep.” You say as you walk passed him.

But then his hand grab your arm and you were push harshly towards the door. “Jeongguk that’s hurt!” You yell as you felt the impact of literally being push towards the door.

“Oh that’s hurt? What about your mother’s feeling that you didn’t care to know or ask all this time?”

“She’s an adult! She can take care of herself Beside she was exhausted because of her daily se*ual activity.” You replied him instantly. Upon uttering this you felt a sting on your cheek and that when you realized, it was him ... slapping you because of your mother.

You felt tears welling your eyes but you held it back. Never ever you thought that he would be hitting you and there’s no hint of regrets on his expression when he done that.

“Consider that I am gone starting today. You know where the door is. Goodbye.” You utters in lows hurried voice. You stomp off towards your bedroom.

You plopped on your bed, tears flowing out from your eyes. If Jeongguk decided to take your mother’s side then that it, you’re not going to tolerate that.

#bangtan #bts #bts jungkook #bts kookie #jeon jungkook #bts imagines #bts imagination #bts series #jeongguk imagine #jeongguk series #bts au fanfic #jeongguk x you #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk x y/n #bts army #bts fluff #bts angst #bynaa #couplegame

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melekseev · 5 years

Text

so i FINALLY bring you my esc19 toplist, all under the cut, with short comments.

also be aware i literally... enjoy my top 31. so twenty something places might sound bad.. BUT THEYRE REALLY NOT, I JUST LOVE A LOT. i went into this year thinking it was weak, and then after i had this playlist on so much, hello, i love a ton. nevertheless, just my taste and opinions and good luck to all of them~

1. France ABSOLUTE KIN G stuck in first place because this is undoubtedly my most listened song this year, and i'm absolutely hooked on it. i am somewhat worried about that coming revamp, but. but i fcking love this song, and he improved those vocals like d amn 2. Russia i.... am in love. every time i hear this song it gets me into that sort of dramatic ecstasy and it's so big and beautiful that it just... it kills me. i die. thats it 3. Italy soldi is still my jam, and i adore it to bits 4. Slovenia this masterpiece is one i just want to protect. so soothing, i LOVE listening to it, it's just ethereal 5. Netherlands this song, at one point, was almost at every possible spot on my list from middle to top 15, but then it stuck with me and now it's utter love 6. Hungary i adore his voice, no bias. his whole vibe, his unique delivery and technique, that folky sound, like... yes please 7. Switzerland i am not ashamed to say i am utter trash for this song. every single part i love about this. like holy shit, this time switzerland better make it thEY EARNED IT 8. Australia she is QUEEN, i considered dropping it from my top 10 when trying to readjust ONE TIME and upon relistening i instantly was like "okay no way it's going anywhere", i just unironically love it a LOT 9. Norway actual legends... this song just cheers me up to SUCH an extent! love the joiking... i love eveything, bless you norway 10. Belgium at first, i had issues with it, because i wanted a bigger drop near the end, but now i'm just absolutely... in love... it convinced me. the instrumental, the building up, the dark undertone, just. i adore this 11. Poland oH I LOVE THEM SO MU CH. li s t en. i can't explain it, but they give me like a lowkey vibe of soft punk-rock theme but also like...?? japanese pop?? but no, it's polish and slavic and traditional and i'm really really vibing with it, because some of it is familiar from my own culture, and these girls S LAY 12. Albania albania always delivering those vocals.. i love the mystical vibe with the ethnic sound, it's simply gorgeous 13. San Marino can you believe i unironically HONESTLY thoroughly enjoy this song?? serhat is an icon, but his voice actually really fits with this song and i always get super into it. i'm so happy this exists lmao 14. Azerbaijan i'm very very much into this song, and i'm EXTREMELY curious to see how he pulls this off live as it seems to be such a radio song, but i have hopes. i just dig it, like... like a LOT 15. Czech Republic this is the most chill song this year, and despite the silly, easygoing lyrics it's just... extremely fun, and it's been my jam since it came out 16. Croatia listen. l i sten. i love... theatrical. i love big strong voice explosions. this CHILD is talented as fuck. i know many people hate this, but the song actually grew on me, and then today i just honestly love it. i wish the whole song was in croatian, but even with the not so great lyrics, i'm eating it up and singing along. i know he won't make it, but oh well. it's okay Roko, i love your voice and song 17. Armenia i really love this one, too. she convinced me further in amsterdam bc she absolutely killed it (although i feel like she had a nervous slip in the very beginning) but then after that.. holyshit. such a tiny girl with such a huge voice 18. Spain honestly, if you tell me earlier it would end up this high at one point i wouldn't believe you.. i never /hated/ it per se, but i also wasn't really impressed or as into it as most people were. i think the revamp was the one that convinced me in the end, because it forced me to face the fact that i do honestly enjoy this more than i want to. also now im nostalgic towards anything spanish, even if its different, bye 19. Finland yes, this might be nothing special, but i just... enjoy it. i genuinely do, and there are certain parts i especially love, and so therefore. like. yes. 20. Estonia as much as i didn't want to like this originally, i do. like, i really do. it just happened, and i'm not mad about it 21. Romania this song is a big grower for me, and to this day the more i hear it the more i get into it still 22. UK Michael's live delivery elevates this otherwise not so amazing song like... so much. i feel like the UK does tend to send songs with this particular theme, but i actually enjoy it quite a lot when he's doing it live. his voice is impressive, and so... here he. 23. Sweden these two ^ i always moved around together for some reason, as if they were linked, which might be because John wrote both songs, although i learned that later(??? but in the end, i feel like i prefer UK a bit more. this is also really good though, it works, and it has a great vibe for esc 24. Portugal so this one slipped quite far off, as with time i sort of lost the enthusiasm for it. i still find it unique and enjoy it nevertheless though, so it could definitely be worse 25. Greece i'm in quite a pickle because after not necessarily being super into this song, i started to really like it (VOICE, BRUH) but then the amsterdam concert happened. I KNOW she was sick, though, so i sort of have this on hold. if she delivers later, which i'm sure she will, she stays, but if not, this might drop a few slots 26. Lithuania this is another song that just makes me happy and makes me smile, and i can't explain it. i love lionboy. i'm just here for it 27. Serbia her voice is quite literally pristine, i love that she's singing in serbian, and i do appreciate her a lot as i honestly enjoy this song when it's on. it tends to slip my mind, though, which i hate it does, because it's beautiful and i'm rooting for her 28. Cyprus super unpopular opinion, but i actually like this a lot more than Fuego, and don't necessarily compare the two. HOWEVER i do kinda feel like i'm seeing the same thing from the same country, like, immediately after, which makes me a little less excited about it, oof 29. North Macedonia see, the message is very nice. the song actually grew on me a bit compared to the first time i heard it, but i still just... wish it was better. i like it overall, but it's just about pushing it 30. Israel he's actually very talented and on point vocally. the only reason it's not higher is simply because it's just not really my style, but it's one i still appreciate on stage 31. Georgia there is something about this that i like. i respect him, and when near the end there's sooo much power, then especially i really dig it 32. Montenegro the revamp did help them quite a lot, but overall it still kinda feels like a high school chorus, and i'm just not really for it 33. Moldova her voice is really nice, and despite how i found it just... done several times and kind of boring (oops), her live made me appreciate this just a bit more 34. Ireland i feel like this song is just kind of... there, for the sake of being there. it's not even bad, it's just... meh? 35. Malta that chorus is a major turn off for me, and it's neeeearing that point where a song just starts to annoy me... which i feel like is worse than simply not liking something, so it's on thin ice 36. Austria first of all i think her voice is very lovely. BUT... after about the 4th yo-o-o-ouh it does tip and starts to annoy me, which i wish it didn't, but... but it does 37. Belarus i wanna talk about how they had a huge shot with Michael Soul, but i will not go down that road and focus on Zena. this song just feels like a mess to me. like... a young britney spears song, but bad. i really don't get the appeal, at all 38. Latvia hhhhhhh. this one annoys me so much, i just can't begin to explain. it's flat, repetitive, and the chorus (??) fries my nerves in a matter of seconds, IM SORRY 39. Denmark oof... o o of. i don't want to be rude but basically this feels exactly like what you'd expect a junior eurovision song to be like.... except those are actually better. it's just... no. no. way too much sugar. it’s all just... no 40. Germany speaking of songs that annoy me? i feel like this is definitely the one i can't stand the most. *screeches* SISTAH x4 41. Iceland listen i'm not going to talk about this for long but basically i really heavily dislike this for a few reasons and can never listen all the way through without like.. suffering. the funniest thing is that i love the beat. but then.. the singing (NOT even the style) it just. it makes me angry, cuz this could be good. but it's not. also i don't like the pretend-gay stuff. but that's just me

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shinylitwick94 · 7 years

Text

Overall thoughts on the Malazan: Book of the Fallen series, now that I’ve finished TCG

The good:

-large scale

Probably one of my favorite aspects of this series was its scope and ambition. This series does not keep the action small and confined. When things happen, they happen on a gigantic level, be it because of the magic, the battles, or just the stakes at play and the players involved. It’s not a small story, even though it’s full of smaller stories, and I feel like I needed that. A lot, actually. I picked up Malazan because I wanted fantasy - BIG fantasy, not just “the king is evil and something must be done” fantasy. And it delivered time and time again

-magic

I love the magic system in this. I like the gods, the warrens, how much can actually be done with magic, how spectacular it can be. I like that it’s pretty vague. I hate it when magic has rules that are so set they can be pretty much be summarized in trading cards. I love that different kinds of magic and magic users are introduced all the time and that they don’t draw from the same sources and achieve very different results.

-compassion and emotion

This is one of the most important things about this series for me, especially if we take the recent trends into account. Compassion is the overriding theme of the entire series and I’m so happy that that is the case. I’m tired of stupid grimdark stuff that is considered more “mature” because it’s grimdark. I’m sick of maturity being measured only in “how many shocking events can I fit into this story”, instead of making an attempt to actually think about the meaning of those events and their consequences. I’m sick of stories that don’t actually say anything - where it’s just the characters jumping through hoops without stopping, without reflecting, without making moral choices. I love that emotion is so central to this story and that decisions made on a moral and sometimes emotional basis are not automatically derided as childish or immature.

-characters

Malazan has a very large cast and it’s a very impressive one too. I like how many characters we get to know in this story- this would never have worked as a single POV book series, but it goes well beyond the ordinary in just how many POVs it manages to fit in. And the vast majority of them are interesting and unique - characters have different backgrounds, different insights, different ways of reacting to the challenges that come their way. Do some feel a little unnecessary and flat sometimes? Sure. This is not necessarily a series that devotes as much time to individual characters as, say, ASOIAF. But I do feel like there are so many impressive and fascinating characters that I have grown to love, that I would be a shame not to consider this a net positive for the series.

-cultures

So as we all know, Steven is an archeologist and anthropologist by trade and it shows. He has a gift for describing how comunities work, how they live, what makes them tick, and he makes that information feel very organic in the story. I feel like the cultures he creates are in many ways less sterotypical than your usual fantasy stuff. I really appreciate that, it made the world feel more real and more alive to me than when people just go “and here you have the mongols, and the romans, and the arabs, and the vikings”. Obviously his cultures draw inspiration from real-world counterparts too, but that’s what it feels like - inspiration, not copypasta.

-the importance of the past

Connected to the above is the idea that the past in these books, is not really past. Cultures and species thought extinguished early in the series play major roles throughout several books and well into the finale. The relationships those cultures formed with each other and with the “present” cultures is of crucial importance to determine how their interactions will go. “Younger” cultures learn things from “older cultures and vice-versa - so we don’t have the whole “oh we’re the remnants of a fallen civilization, they had everything back then” going on all the time. That sort of attitude does come into play sometimes, but it is usually countered by how little those ancient cultures themselves understand of the “modern” world and how it has changed and things are very much not what they used to be. Also, I like all the pottery shards.

-it’s finished

Which pretty much makes it worth its own weight in gold, given it’s 10 books of 700+ pages each. I would never have gone anywhere near it if it weren’t finished.

The bad:

-too much philosophy

Yep, I’m one of those readers. I find philosophy interesting, but in small doses, and SE doesn’t really do philosophy in small doses. Which makes some parts of these books (and some characters altogether) a pain to read. To make it simple: I find some of the questions posed interesting, but I don’t have the patience to sit through a character going through all of their possible answers to a moral dilemma/existential crisis. It becomes exhausting.

-too many threads that don’t really go anywhere

This is a pretty big one for me. I know why SE chooses to let some stories drop - not all stories have to go somewhere after all and that itself is an interesting point to make. But sometimes it just feels like set-up for nothing, as in Bottle being hyped up as QB’s “shaved knuckle in the hole” for all of DoD and then doing nothing of importance in TCG. Same with Draconus, Grub, or even Tavore herself, in a way. I remember mostly TCG examples because those are the freshest in my mind, but this is a problem I feel stretches across the whole series. Silverfox is another case, even Karsa, under a certain light. And it’s just frustrating to read - mostly because I would have been fine with them doing nothing special, if it hadn’t been hyped up so much! It’s like the opposite of a Chekov’s gun. And no, “it’s explained in the ICE novels” isn’t good enough. The series should be able to answer the questions it raises, not just tell you to go and read more books. You can’t just set up Laseen as much as you do in the earlier books and do that reveal in book 9 as if it were nothing. You can’t make us spend 2-3 books following the Tiste Edur and then just erase them from the story.

-it could use some extra editing

Mainly because of the two issues above. Each book, but especially the later ones, could be some 300 pages shorter if you cut out a lot of the philosophizing and the stories that don’t really go anywhere. IMHO it would have made them a better paced and more cohesive read. The series was amazing anyway, but some trimming would have helped a lot.

#malazan #malazan book of the fallen #shinylitwick reads books

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anyway-i-love-vanderwood · 7 years

Text

Crystal Messenger - Zen pt. 3

Summary: Mystic Messenger Fantasy AU. You’re one of the most respected knights in King Han’s kingdom until a horrible incident leaves you with a missing eye, a dead best friend, and a curse on your body that grants you tremendous power while driving you steadily insane. Desperate, distressed, and feeling like a worthless failure, you embark on a suicidal mission of unrestrained heroism, leaving your life behind as you try to make something of yourself before you die.

It doesn’t quite work out like you’d hoped.

✿ << Previous ✿ Next >> ✿

Everyone starts shouting after you punch Zen.

Including Zen, for that matter, although it’s more.. for you than at you as he puts himself between you and a very, very irritable guard with a sword in defense of your honor.

(what is up with this dude???)

You’re quickly approaching your ‘snap-and-freak-out’ point when Jumin – using his royal decree voice – tells everyone to sit down and shut the fuck up. He strides forward, pushing past his guard and as he stares down Zen (who remains directly and stubbornly in his path.)

“I don’t care if you’re a king or a prince or whatever, you’re not hurting her,” Zen glowers at him, and it’s then that you’re completely certain that Zen is insane.

Jumin quirks an eyebrow, and damn that doesn’t mean good things for the man in front of you. “She is my friend, and I would ask that you stand aside and let me speak to her.”

Zen, apparently, has a bone to pick with Jumin as he says he’s not letting this ‘emotionless freak’ anywhere near you. Jumin retorts by saying that, unlike Zen, he actually knows you and is therefore far more trustworthy, and…

“I know her well enough!” Zen shouts, completely and absolutely confusing you.

….???? What??????

he met you, like, once. what is he on about.

You’re distracted by a gentle hand on your arm, and you look over to see a very, very familiar blue head of hair.

V. It’s V. Thank the lord, it’s Jihyun Kim.

[the rest is under the read more!]

Behind him is Yoosung, looking notably distressed, but you’re kind of focusing on V at the moment because you’re going through complete sensory overload. Seeming to understand that, V tugs on your arm, telling you softly to come with him, he and Yoosung will get you out of there.

While everyone is focused on Zen and Jumin’s mounting conflict, you escape.

Your ears are ringing as you’re lead up to the clinic, and Yoosung – bless his soul – asks if you’re okay was you rub at them.

“Oh, yes, just peachy. I made a public embarrassment of myself at Jumin’s coronation and I’m sure at least half of that room wants my head for it, everything’s fine.”

(you kick yourself internally. You didn’t need to say it like that.)

Yoosung flinches, and V carefully explains that because of your, um… condition, your natural sensitivity to noise is even more stressful.

“Yeah,” you grumble. “And all it’s really good for is getting me to flip out and gut people, now.”

(actually, it’s probably for the best if you drive Yoosung off, isn’t it? He doesn’t need to be around you.)

Blessedly, Yoosung waits until after V has gotten you some tea and a nice, quiet room to sit for awhile before he starts ripping him a new one about how could you let this happen and why didn’t you tell me what had happened to her.

You wish they’d go farther than just outside the door, since your naturally good hearing means you can hear their argument about you pretty dang well. (Well. “argument”, it’s more Yoosung yelling at V about things and V trying to say he wanted to respect your privacy and it wasn’t for him to tell anyone.)

You… keep your opinions to yourself, as you’re a useless hunk of meat who hates thinking about stressful things like that.

The rest of the day is spent in that room, alone, and you try not to feel bitter that V takes off and doesn’t stay with you. (Though, to be fair, if you’d had your way you wouldn’t have interacted with him at all.)

You wouldn’t have interacted with anyone.

Jumin comes to visit you in the evening, interrupting you in the middle of one of V’s mystery novels he’d left on the shelf. His manner is cold, abrupt – but you suppose you’re used to that, and you’re glad that he dispenses with pleasantries and gets right to the point.

“Despite what all my advisors would like me to do, I’ve appointed one of the rooms in the guest wing to be yours, and you are my officially under my protection for as long as you want to stay.”

you’re pretty stunned by this act of protective generosity, given that, y’know, you punched one of the musicians at his coronation, but jumin just said that Zen probably deserved it and also w/e, it’s just a ‘for show’ thing, he doesn’t really care.

Wow. Thanks, buddy. Though you weren’t actually planning to stay. Actually maybe you should just go now. You’ve sort of already done enough (and you kinda-sorta-totally don’t want to acknowledge the Incident with Zen. Ever.)

now that jumin can’t do.

“what” you say, staring at him, and he bluntly states that, while he did argue for your interests, those who know of your..... condition now were, uh, displeased by the Public Violence you displayed. The nobility, citing it as an indication of your deteriorating mental state, want you imprisoned and made an example of.

“what,” you say. “so by guest room you meant jail cell?”

“no,” jumin says, flatly like he has no idea why you’d be upset. “by guest room i meant guest room, it’s just one you’re obligated by law to say in”

"how is that in any way ‘for as long as i want to stay,” you reply, desperately wanting to punch Jumin directly in the face for getting your hopes up.

“well, you’re allowed to stay in it as long as you want after you’re allowed to leave.”

He insists that it’s just until he can clear your name. Y’know, show that you’re not going to go eating babies or something. Prove yourself sane and capable of existing in normal society.

Fuck. Fine. Fine, you say, though you’re pretty certain you’re probably going to die here. You haven’t been able to prove you aren’t a slobbering monster to anyone outside the castle, why should a bunch of fancily dressed prima-donnas be any different?

God, this is stupid. God, you hate it! God, why did you have to be so damnably sentimental and come back to this place?

Jumin shows you your room, which you henceforth dub the ‘sulking room’ because that’s all you’re going to do from now on. sulk.

(jumin tells you it’d be more helpful if you did good deeds and showed people you’re Pretty Decent and you tell him to eat a cactus.)

And... you...... shit, you’re staying here, you guess.

The next morning, you arise to a vaguely familiar woman knocking at your door.

Her name is Jaehee, she seems annoyed that you exist, and she’s here to take you to breakfast where you’re obligated to act like a Normal Person.

“Okay,” you say, feeling super weird because Jaehee, Jaehee... Where have you heard that name before??? But you’re distracted from it during your walk down to the dining room by the sound of the reaper himself knocking at your soul.

you can hear Zen singing.

“Zen’s still here?” you blurt out, and Jaehee gives you a weird look, because of course he is, he’s one of the palace musicians. He got hired about a year ago on Jaehee’s recommendation.

She also sees fit to tell you that, while she doesn’t know what’s going on between you and Zen, it would be incredibly damaging to his career should it continue. So if you care about him at all you should -

“NOTHING IS GOING ON BETWEEN ME AND ZEN, I MET HIM ONCE.”

“ONCE.”

“I DON’T KNOW WHY THAT THING HAPPENED BUT IT’S NOT MY FAULT AND IT’S NOT MY FAULT THAT I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT BECAUSE IT’S REALLY CONFUSING OK I DON’T WANNA SEE HIM I DON’T WANNA TALK TO HIM I DON’T WANNA BE HERE I JUST WANT TO GO AND BE SOMEWHERE WHERE THE WORLD IS LESS WEIRD AND FUCKED UP AND I DON’T GET KISSED OUT OF THE BLUE.”

you huff.

jaehee stares at you.

“good talk,” she says, and tells you that you should probably stay away from the gardens, because that’s where he likes to practice.

“oh, you mean the one with that cute patio? that explains why i can hear him, then.”

“what,” Jaehee says, and the both of you are late to breakfast because she wants to go listen to him.

Apparently, there’s a nice little spot among the rose bushes where you can get pretty close to him without being seen. Briefly, you wonder how she even knows about this, but that fervently adoring expression on her face as the two of you listen to Him is enough to tell you everything you need to know.

...Crimmeny crickets, were you this embarrassing over him back when you were visiting his shows?

You wouldn’t really call what you did bonding with her, per se, but you did... admittedly... enjoy the chance to listen to him sing again. Even if you couldn’t see him, even if he didn’t know you were there...

You felt connected to him again, in a way that should, honestly, make you sick.

What the heck was wrong with you...?

Breakfast goes about as well as you could expect. You’re shocked to see Elizabeth has grown a lot the past two years, and she was weirdly happy to see you. She asks you tons of questions about what you’ve been doing on your sabbatical that you really don’t know how to answer.

(Jumin distracts her, luckily, about asking her how her studies have been going.)

Other than that... you... mostly just try to avoid people. You hole up in the library to read, you stick to hallways and corridors that are mostly empty. You hear the servants whispering about you, and Jumin tries to convince you to “interact with people” and “make friends”, but you’re not really having any of it.

They’ll get bored and forget about you, right? They’ll see that you’re not ready to snap at a moment’s notice and... let you go back to being a wandering hermit?

Most particularly, though... you avoid Zen.

He seems to be looking for you, or at least, that’s what you overheard as you scampered down a hallway to avoid him. You stay away from places he might be, and when he knocks at your door one night, asking for you, you climb out the window to escape. There are a million reasons you don’t want anything to do with him - the most prominent of which being a thorough desire to forget the Incident with him - and, it’s like Jaehee said. You really shouldn’t associate with him.

You hear people talking about him too, and what happened at the coronation. You don’t want him associated with you at all.

It’s... difficult to totally stay away though. You like his work too much. It’s too familiar, too comforting, like chocolate or a familiar light, and, y’know. Jaehee showed you that handy spot behind the rose bush. It wouldn’t... be too bad to just... listen, right?

Right!

There’s no way he can find you if you hide behind the flowers!

Good plan.

(Occasionally you share the spot with Jaehee and the neither of you acknowledge it.)

About a week after your arrival, the sun is particularly warm, and you slept particularly poorly the night before, and his music is particularly soothing, and you find yourself drifting off to sleep on the grass.

It’s the best sleep you’ve ever had, you feel like, and you wake up hours later to a blue, cloudy sky...

And Zen watching you sleep.

Operation: Avoid Zen Forever - Failed.

#mysme #mysme headcanons #mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanons #mysme reactions #mystic messenger reactions #mysme imagines #mystic messenger imagines #long post #mystic messenger spoilers #mysme spoilers #crystal messenger #zen

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 years

Note

could you do a ficlet about ham like after philip is born being just so happy that he has this amazing family but also sad bc he remembers he can't share any of this with his mother and how he hopes he making her proud or smthg like that? i'm rambling sorry but your writing is amazing

Oh I am so sorry this took so long, this is such a lovely, wonderful prompt, exactly the kind of stuff I love to write! I hope this was worth the wait!

“Alex, I swear to God, get back in bedand calm down or I’m throwing another book at you,” Eliza groaned tiredly, noteven opening her eyes, not even lifting her head from the pillow.

Her husband wanted to keep arguing. Hewanted to keep insisting that she’d felt a pain, of course that meant that shemust be in labor, she was thirty nine weeks pregnant, what else could it be,they had to go to the hospital right freaking now! But the last time Eliza threatenedto throw a book at him, she’d meant it. And it had been his Study of EuropeanLaw, which was a pretty damn heavy book. Last time he left that thing on thebedside table.

And, to be honest, judging by the factthat Eliza was halfway back to sleep already, the baby probably wasn’t comingright this second.

Alex may have slightly overreacted.Again. For the third time this week.

He sighed, dropping the jeans he’d beenhalf in half out of, the first item of clothing he’d grabbed after he’dcatapulted out of bed, frantic after seeing Eliza wince and moan a little. Butit was nothing, just another false alarm.

Alex huffed and crawled back in bedbeside his wife, but he couldn’t help smiling a little as she sleepily wrappedher arms around him and used his chest as a pillow. He kissed her forehead andplaced his palms gently on her belly, there days they were hardly anywhereelse.

“You need to stop doing this, baby,”Eliza murmured sleepily, “You’re stressing yourself out. And scaring me, to behonest. Stuff like this happens towards the end, it’s supposed to, everything’sokay.”

Alex tensed a little defensively but letgo of it in a heartbeat; he knew she was right. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I’mjust…you know.”

Eliza’s arms tightened around himcomfortingly, understanding exactly what he meant, “It’s okay.”

He opened his mouth to say more butEliza has already gone limp, drifting off within seconds and with no warning,which she’d been doing a lot these days. Alex smiled fondly and kissed the topof her head.

“Pull it together, Hamilton,” he warnedhimself, as he drifted off too.

“I said I’m not hungry, Alex,” Elizamoaned, her whole body tense as she sat grouchily, watching him move aroundtheir tiny kitchen. She’d shifted the chair back a way, her frankly enormousstomach didn’t fit under the table anymore.

“You’ve barely eaten anything all day, Betsey,”he insisted, rummaging through the cupboard for something that wouldn’t make hernausea worse, “Just a piece of fruit or something? Please?”

He waved a kiwi at her hopefully. Heknew they were her favorite.

But Eliza just screwed up her delicateface, “I can’t Alex, the thought of it honestly makes me want to vomit. I justfeel a little strange right now.”

That word made him stop dead in histracks, nearly falling off the counter he was kneeling on (he technicallycouldn’t reach the top shelf). His head snapped over to his wife with wide,panicked eyes.

“Alex!” Eliza warned him, her fingercoming up to point at him accusingly, “You promised!”

He remembered. So he swallowed back hispanic, favoring a scowl instead as he jumped down from the counter.

“All right, all right, I get it. Don’toverreact, don’t panic, I’m sure you’re fine,” he sighed as he walked over,setting a glass of water in front of her.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she squeezedhis arm, “Can you get my book for me? It’s in the living room?”

“Of course,” he nods, turning on hisheels and calling over his shoulder, “I’ll make sure I don’t panic on the way there!”

Eliza smiled and shook her head gently,“Don’t! I’m fine.”

Alex was stood in the front room,scratching at his goatee and wondering what book she meant from the piles onnearly every available flat surface, when he heard her cry out.

Feeling like he’d just been drenched incold water, Alex pelted back into the kitchen. Eliza was braced against thetable, shivering, her eyes screwed shut. The water had overturned and was now drippingonto the floor but there was a lot more on the tiles than could ever be held inthat glass.

“Ohshit…” Alex breathed.

Eliza moaned through gritted teeth, “Alex.I think it’s happening.”

Alexander Hamilton had made a lot of baddecisions in his life. Like, a lot. But one of his absolute worst was turningto his scared, distressed wife, five seconds after her waters broke andexclaiming “Well, I told you so! I was right!”

There was a moment of awful, terriblesilence.

“I fucking hate you, AlexanderHamilton,” Eliza moaned weakly, holding her stomach.

As he frantically apologized and ran toher side, Alex thought to himself how that probably wasn’t the only time shewould say that to him in the next twenty-four hours or so.

He wasn’t wrong.

Eight am the next morning and Alex’shear were ringing slightly from Eliza repeatedly screaming that she hated himand detailing the various interesting and colorful ways she was going to removehis reproductive organs, his fingers were bruised and he had long scratch marksdown his arms.

But his Eliza was safe and sleeping, agentle smile on her exhausted face. And Philip Hamilton was here, tiny andperfect and so beautiful, napping in his dad’s arms.

And Alex really couldn’t make himselfcare about anything beyond that.

He hadn’t stopped crying or smiling inthe hour since he’d held his son for the first time and he say no plans tochange that fact. He was just so happy. Sohappy that it was almost painful. It felt like the entire focus of his life hadshifted, like his internal software had been rewritten. Everything that hadseemed important before now made him want to laugh deliriously, how had he evercared so much about that stuff? Nothing mattered now apart from his son, hiswonderful little son, the best gift he’d ever received in his life.

Everything Alex did from now on, he didfor his family.

Alex cradled him gently against hischest, standing near the window of the hospital room so his little boy couldsee his first sunrise. He could hear Eliza’s soft snores from where she slept,utterly and understandably exhausted, but that didn’t stop him craning his neckto check on her every so often, struck by how much he adored her.

“Your mother is the best, Pip, isn’tshe?” he smiled, his voice rusty from hours of coaching Eliza (which had turnedout to mean just repeating exactly what the doctor said) but warm.

He got a frown and tiny squeak from thesleeping newborn in his arms, which he took as complete agreement as well asthe cutest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

Alex sighed happily and studied hisson’s face, memorizing every feature; the slope of his nose, the dawn color ofhis skin, slightly lighter than his father’s, the little birthmark on hiseyelid, his heart shaped face. He had great fun sorting the features intoboxes, what was his and what was Eliza’s, all the different parts and piecesthat made his son so wonderful. That made him Philip.

Although there was one thing he keptsticking on. One thing that made his throat tighten for a completely differentreason than simple happiness.

Baby Philip had a head full of soft,dark curls, fluffy and delicate like tiny feathers. Alex could hardly keephimself from running his hands across the crown of his head. But every time hedid, it made him so terribly sad.

Because that hair wasn’t his and itwasn’t Eliza’s, they both had perfectly straight hair.

It was all Rachel’s.

Alex knew that hair well, he’d ran hisfingers through it as a boy as his mother would lie next to him in bed and readhim stories and sing him songs. He’d buried his face in it when he’d beenupset, when his father had been yelling and he was scared and mama was cryingbut he didn’t know why, he just knew he wanted to help. He’d seen it wet andstiff with seawater when mama had taught him to swim down at the beach. He’dseen the sunlight bouncing off it as she’d stood at the counter of the store,working away, making him think that his mama was the prettiest lady ever.

He’d rested his head against in in themiddle of the night, when he’d been sick and scared and desperate for some kindof comfort, when she’d used what must have been the last of her strength tosing him his lullaby.

Alex swallowed hard to clear his throat,pulling his baby son closer to his chest. Of course he knew the words withoutneeding to think, he’d never forgotten them.

“Una mariposita, que del cielo bajó. Con sus alas extendidas. Y en el pico una flor. ¿Para quién son las flores? Si no son para mí. Ay mamita del alma. Yo me muero por ti. Cuando venga papito Se lo voy a decir Que esa mariposita No me deja dormir

¡Dormir!”

Alex wasn’t the best singer and hisvoice broke more than a few times but it meant more than him than words couldsay, to be stood here holding his own child in his arms and singing hismother’s words.

He gave Philip a gentle kiss on hisforehead, feeling one tiny little hand close around his thumb, holding fast.

“You’d love them, mama. You reallywould. I love them so much,” Alex murmured thickly.

“I hope I made you proud.”

#ficlet #hamliza #fluff #cute baby stuff #this is my jam #dad alex is the best alex #poor eliza

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happynowidiot-blog-blog · 7 years

Text

Thanksgiving 2010

Last night wasn’t fun. It wasn’t a bad time, per se, but I didn’t have a whole lot of fun. It was stressful and chaotic and satisfying but not fun. Penny and I started the turkey at 1:30. People arrived at 8:30. They were supposed to get there at 7. I was furious and starving and beyond the ability to pretend to not mind. Neil got there first followed by Myles. Myles’s face when he realised it was only the two of them as Penny, Shahida, and I ran around the kitchen screaming and throwing pots around was kind of hilarious. Of course, he thought we were the funniest thing since the Three Stooges. Neil, by the way, is a thousand times more attractive then I remember him being. And he really is a nice guy. Shahida and him are made of adorable. They’re almost too cute for me to be jealous. The turkey, or Ollie as we named him, turned out amazing. I am so fucking proud of Penny and I. My green beans also turned out well, as did Penny’s stuffing and Shahida’s awesome mashed potatoes. There were so many people in that flat and all I wanted to do was eat something. I was getting close to tears when the turkey was finished being carved. I have never been happier about Thanksgiving food in my life. Massimo came in time for dinner even though he wasn’t going to come until later. I’ve missed him. He actually drank last night for the first time in like four months. He was just going to have one beer but he kept drinking even though Penny and I both tried to cut him off. He seemed like he was having a good time though. He bonded with Neil. He’s been looking for a guy friend for such a long time and he looked so excited to be talking to a fellow male. It was adorable. He also spent a lot of time talking to Ellesse. Penny had told him that they would be adorable together so he spent all night talking to her while she sat there with this look on her face that clearly said, “Holy shit, obnoxious drunk Italian.” That was hilarious. I’m sure they’d get along we just need to put them in an enviroment where they can talk and be sober and not have thirty other people around. Myles sat next to Penny and I at dinner and one point the extension on the other end of the table fell and Myles goes, “Penny, the dream is collapsing.” I laughed and then said, “Shit, speaking of, I’m not wearing my watch.” Myles looked confused and then said, “How is that ‘speaking of?’ How is that at all- wait. Is that your totem?” I looked away and said, “… No.” in a really believable voice. He smirked at me and said, “How do you know you’re not in a dream then?” I smiled and said, “We have turkey. I don’t even care if we’re in a dream. It’s awesome." The Richmond lot were all there and besides some intense cliquey-ness they were all fine.

We went through a lot, a lot of wine. I actually only had a glass. Neil had poured me one before dinner (despite Myles’s protests that I hadn’t eaten yet) and when we were playing Cranium after we’d eaten I realised i was still holding the same glass. I didn’t want to be drunk though so it was fine. Penny and I were so exhausted after we’d eaten that we both just wanted to kick everyone out and go to bed. We’d been on our feet cooking and cleaning all day. Shahida didn’t even get home from class until 6. At one point we were standing on the balcony getting some much needed air talking about how much we just wanted to be chillin in Greenwich with George and Esam. They couldn’t come because George was having his other laser eye surgery done and Esam was taking care of him (can you say cutest thing ever?). I’d talked to Esam earlier that day and he was so upset that he couldn’t come. I told him to just take advantage of George’s blindness to screw with him. Esam replied that with anyone else he would but George’s persona is one that inspires pity and doesn’t cause him to want to committ mischief. Most hilarious thing ever. Basically, George’s puppy dog eyes still work on Esam. This is probably one hundred percent of the reason they’re still friends.

So, we’re standing on the balcony hugging and whining about how we want to be anywhere else when we see a guy on the next balcony over smoking. This would be one of the neighbors we’ve never met. He said hello and we started talking. His name was Karl and the other roommate was also a guy. Apperently they are two single homosexual males (his words). It was hilarious. They’ve been in that flat for forever and we just met the neighbors at 11 PM on the balcony on Thanksgiving. So funny. I love it. Things that I do not love, however, include this girl Mari that Shahida invited. She’s in her course but Shahida’s not really friends with her. She just felt bad because she’s American so she invited her. When she first arrived she was a godsend. She just took control of a bunch of things like serving and finishing carving the turkey. Penny and I were literally overing her a kidney if she ever needed one we were so happy somebody was helping. Everything was good and then she continued to drink. She tried to take control of things she had no right to take control of and spent the night talking to Myles and making me paranoid. She was just really getting on my nerves as the night went on. I had to leave the room a few times because I couldn’t take how much I wanted to smack her and tell her to STFU. At one point she smacked my ass so hard it hurt. It’s weird enough that she was smacking my ass after knowing me a total of three hours but doing it so that it was actually painful is not ok. At one point I walked out of the room and Shahida followed me and we were talking about it and I realised what why it was so annoying that she existed. I said, "It’s like she’s Prentiss trying to fit into the team except she’s not nearly as awesome as Emily and nowhere near good enough for Reid.” We both just froze as I realised what I said. I literally had referred to Myles as Reid. Same shape, sooo not the same guy. We walked back in the living room and Myles gave me this look and I just shook my head at him. When people started leaving them left in shifts. Myles, Mari, Coco, Massimo, Victoria, and this girl Hannah left first. Myles hugged me and said, “See ya, babe” and then winked at me when I pulled back. I almost died. I literally went into Penny’s room and just concentrated on not crying. I am just so sick of him having any kind of effect on me. I so sick of caring this much. There was a point where I looked at him and Mari talking and I wanted to die because they do kind of look cute together and they seemed to be getting along so well and Myles was smiling. I just want him to be happy but I hate that it will always be at the expense of my own happiness. That was another reason I’d wished George was there (besides the calming prescence that is Esam). He would have given me something else to focus on besides how much Mari giggled and how badly Myles’s needs to shave.

The next group to leave included the rest of the Richmond people and Ellesse. I was kind of sad that I hadn’t gotten to talk to her more but there were so many people and so much to do. I told her we’d have to hang out again soon and I really do mean it. It’s impossible to villianize her in my head the way I want to. She’s too sweet. Soon all that was left was the three of us, Neil, and Penny’s friend Neelum. Neelum was spending the night and Neil so very obviously wanted to. They helped us clean up though and that was sweet. Neil actually held his own very well. he must come from a huge family or at least have a lot of sisters. Either way he got along with every really well and played the charming boyfriend role very well. I almost hugged him at one point when someone said something about Chicago in front of me and goes, “Chitown?”. I almost cried. We want Shahida to work of making it facebook official. We’ve never gotten to that level with an English guy before so that’ll be interesting. After he left, the three of us and Neelum had some girly sleepover talk and then went to bed at around 2.

I went to check my facebook and ended up talking to George. I haven’t spoken to him in a couple of weeks because i was mad at him but I was in a good mood and it was late so I decided a little chat wouldn’t hurt. He was in rare form. He was sillier then I’ve seen him be in a while. It was nice. We talked about him possibly coming over today to pick up a doggy bag of Thanksgiving food (or turkey bag as he insisted). I told him to just let us know if he was in the area and he said he’d tell his “hot secretary to pass along the message and approve it for his virgin ears.” I was crying. And then he called me a peasant so I said, “good night George. Or should I say King George.” And he told me I should not call him that so I asked what formal address I was allowed and he says, “god.” My response was “Jesus is it time for bed.” And then I signed off. I figured that would be a good point to end the ridiculousness. It actually scares me a little bit how much of an impact talking to that boy has on my mood. When he’s silly and fun like that it’s easy to forget how much of an ass he can be.

My grandma emailed me yesterday to say happy Thanksgiving and to tell me she got us tickets for Wicked while I’m home. So excited! I teared up a little bit at that because I didn’t ask her for them or anything. She just thought I’d enjoy it. It was a nice feeling and made me a bit homesick.

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

“It Has Come”

Of course Dr. Craven had been sent for the morning after Colin had had his tantrum. He was always sent for at once when such a thing occurred and he always found, when he arrived, a white shaken boy lying on his bed, sulky and still so hysterical that he was ready to break into fresh sobbing at the least word. In fact, Dr. Craven dreaded and detested the difficulties of these visits. On this occasion he was away from Misselthwaite Manor until afternoon.

"How is he?" he asked Mrs. Medlock rather irritably when he arrived. "He will break a blood-vessel in one of those fits some day. The boy is half insane with hysteria and self-indulgence."

"Well, sir," answered Mrs. Medlock, "you'll scarcely believe your eyes when you see him. That plain sour-faced child that's almost as bad as himself has just bewitched him. How she's done it there's no telling. The Lord knows she's nothing to look at and you scarcely ever hear her speak, but she did what none of us dare do. She just flew at him like a little cat last night, and stamped her feet and ordered him to stop screaming, and somehow she startled him so that he actually did stop, and this afternoon--well just come up and see, sir. It's past crediting."

The scene which Dr. Craven beheld when he entered his patient's room was indeed rather astonishing to him. As Mrs. Medlock opened the door he heard laughing and chattering. Colin was on his sofa in his dressing-gown and he was sitting up quite straight looking at a picture in one of the garden books and talking to the plain child who at that moment could scarcely be called plain at all because her face was so glowing with enjoyment.

"Those long spires of blue ones--we'll have a lot of those," Colin was announcing. "They're called Del-phin-iums."

"Dickon says they're larkspurs made big and grand," cried Mistress Mary. "There are clumps there already."

Then they saw Dr. Craven and stopped. Mary became quite still and Colin looked fretful.

"I am sorry to hear you were ill last night, my boy," Dr. Craven said a trifle nervously. He was rather a nervous man.

"I'm better now--much better," Colin answered, rather like a Rajah. "I'm going out in my chair in a day or two if it is fine. I want some fresh air."

Dr. Craven sat down by him and felt his pulse and looked at him curiously.

"It must be a very fine day," he said, "and you must be very careful not to tire yourself."

"Fresh air won't tire me," said the young Rajah.

As there had been occasions when this same young gentleman had shrieked aloud with rage and had insisted that fresh air would give him cold and kill him, it is not to be wondered at that his doctor felt somewhat startled.

"I thought you did not like fresh air," he said.

"I don't when I am by myself," replied the Rajah; "but my cousin is going out with me."

"And the nurse, of course?" suggested Dr. Craven.

"No, I will not have the nurse," so magnificently that Mary could not help remembering how the young native Prince had looked with his diamonds and emeralds and pearls stuck all over him and the great rubies on the small dark hand he had waved to command his servants to approach with salaams and receive his orders.

"My cousin knows how to take care of me. I am always better when she is with me. She made me better last night. A very strong boy I know will push my carriage."

Dr. Craven felt rather alarmed. If this tiresome hysterical boy should chance to get well he himself would lose all chance of inheriting Misselthwaite; but he was not an unscrupulous man, though he was a weak one, and he did not intend to let him run into actual danger.

"He must be a strong boy and a steady boy," he said. "And I must know something about him. Who is he? What is his name?"

"It's Dickon," Mary spoke up suddenly. She felt somehow that everybody who knew the moor must know Dickon. And she was right, too. She saw that in a moment Dr. Craven's serious face relaxed into a relieved smile.

"Oh, Dickon," he said. "If it is Dickon you will be safe enough. He's as strong as a moor pony, is Dickon."

"And he's trusty," said Mary. "He's th' trustiest lad i' Yorkshire." She had been talking Yorkshire to Colin and she forgot herself.

"Did Dickon teach you that?" asked Dr. Craven, laughing outright.

"I'm learning it as if it was French," said Mary rather coldly. "It's like a native dialect in India. Very clever people try to learn them. I like it and so does Colin." "Well, well," he said. "If it amuses you perhaps it won't do you any harm. Did you take your bromide last night, Colin?"

"No," Colin answered. "I wouldn't take it at first and after Mary made me quiet she talked me to sleep--in a low voice--about the spring creeping into a garden."

"That sounds soothing," said Dr. Craven, more perplexed than ever and glancing sideways at Mistress Mary sitting on her stool and looking down silently at the carpet. "You are evidently better, but you must remember--"

"I don't want to remember," interrupted the Rajah, appearing again. "When I lie by myself and remember I begin to have pains everywhere and I think of things that make me begin to scream because I hate them so. If there was a doctor anywhere who could make you forget you were ill instead of remembering it I would have him brought here." And he waved a thin hand which ought really to have been covered with royal signet rings made of rubies. "It is because my cousin makes me forget that she makes me better."

Dr. Craven had never made such a short stay after a "tantrum"; usually he was obliged to remain a very long time and do a great many things. This afternoon he did not give any medicine or leave any new orders and he was spared any disagreeable scenes. When he went downstairs he looked very thoughtful and when he talked to Mrs. Medlock in the library she felt that he was a much puzzled man.

"Well, sir," she ventured, "could you have believed it?"

"It is certainly a new state of affairs," said the doctor. "And there's no denying it is better than the old one."

"I believe Susan Sowerby's right--I do that," said Mrs. Medlock. "I stopped in her cottage on my way to Thwaite yesterday and had a bit of talk with her. And she says to me, 'Well, Sarah Ann, she mayn't be a good child, an' she mayn't be a pretty one, but she's a child, an' children needs children.' We went to school together, Susan Sowerby and me."

"She's the best sick nurse I know," said Dr. Craven. "When I find her in a cottage I know the chances are that I shall save my patient."

Mrs. Medlock smiled. She was fond of Susan Sowerby.

"She's got a way with her, has Susan," she went on quite volubly. "I've been thinking all morning of one thing she said yesterday. She says, `Once when I was givin' th' children a bit of a preach after they'd been fightin' I ses to 'em all, "When I was at school my jography told as th' world was shaped like a orange an' I found out before I was ten that th' whole orange doesn't belong to nobody. No one owns more than his bit of a quarter an' there's times it seems like there's not enow quarters to go round. But don't you--none o' you--think as you own th' whole orange or you'll find out you're mistaken, an' you won't find it out without hard knocks." `What children learns from children,' she says, 'is that there's no sense in grabbin' at th' whole orange--peel an' all. If you do you'll likely not get even th' pips, an' them's too bitter to eat.'"

"She's a shrewd woman," said Dr. Craven, putting on his coat.

"Well, she's got a way of saying things," ended Mrs. Medlock, much pleased. "Sometimes I've said to her, 'Eh! Susan, if you was a different woman an' didn't talk such broad Yorkshire I've seen the times when I should have said you was clever.'"

That night Colin slept without once awakening and when he opened his eyes in the morning he lay still and smiled without knowing it--smiled because he felt so curiously comfortable. It was actually nice to be awake, and he turned over and stretched his limbs luxuriously. He felt as if tight strings which had held him had loosened themselves and let him go. He did not know that Dr. Craven would have said that his nerves had relaxed and rested themselves. Instead of lying and staring at the wall and wishing he had not awakened, his mind was full of the plans he and Mary had made yesterday, of pictures of the garden and of Dickon and his wild creatures. It was so nice to have things to think about. And he had not been awake more than ten minutes when he heard feet running along the corridor and Mary was at the door. The next minute she was in the room and had run across to his bed, bringing with her a waft of fresh air full of the scent of the morning.

"You've been out! You've been out! There's that nice smell of leaves!" he cried.

She had been running and her hair was loose and blown and she was bright with the air and pink-cheeked, though he could not see it.

"It's so beautiful!" she said, a little breathless with her speed. "You never saw anything so beautiful! It has come! I thought it had come that other morning, but it was only coming. It is here now! It has come, the Spring! Dickon says so!"

"Has it?" cried Colin, and though he really knew nothing about it he felt his heart beat. He actually sat up in bed.

"Open the window!" he added, laughing half with joyful excitement and half at his own fancy. "Perhaps we may hear golden trumpets!"

And though he laughed, Mary was at the window in a moment and in a moment more it was opened wide and freshness and softness and scents and birds' songs were pouring through.

"That's fresh air," she said. "Lie on your back and draw in long breaths of it. That's what Dickon does when he's lying on the moor. He says he feels it in his veins and it makes him strong and he feels as if he could live forever and ever. Breathe it and breathe it."

She was only repeating what Dickon had told her, but she caught Colin's fancy.

"`Forever and ever'! Does it make him feel like that?" he said, and he did as she told him, drawing in long deep breaths over and over again until he felt that something quite new and delightful was happening to him.

Mary was at his bedside again.

"Things are crowding up out of the earth," she ran on in a hurry. "And there are flowers uncurling and buds on everything and the green veil has covered nearly all the gray and the birds are in such a hurry about their nests for fear they may be too late that some of them are even fighting for places in the secret garden. And the rose-bushes look as wick as wick can be, and there are primroses in the lanes and woods, and the seeds we planted are up, and Dickon has brought the fox and the crow and the squirrels and a new-born lamb."

And then she paused for breath. The new-born lamb Dickon had found three days before lying by its dead mother among the gorse bushes on the moor. It was not the first motherless lamb he had found and he knew what to do with it. He had taken it to the cottage wrapped in his jacket and he had let it lie near the fire and had fed it with warm milk. It was a soft thing with a darling silly baby face and legs rather long for its body. Dickon had carried it over the moor in his arms and its feeding bottle was in his pocket with a squirrel, and when Mary had sat under a tree with its limp warmness huddled on her lap she had felt as if she were too full of strange joy to speak. A lamb--a lamb! A living lamb who lay on your lap like a baby!

She was describing it with great joy and Colin was listening and drawing in long breaths of air when the nurse entered. She started a little at the sight of the open window. She had sat stifling in the room many a warm day because her patient was sure that open windows gave people cold.

"Are you sure you are not chilly, Master Colin?" she inquired.

"No," was the answer. "I am breathing long breaths of fresh air. It makes you strong. I am going to get up to the sofa for breakfast. My cousin will have breakfast with me."

The nurse went away, concealing a smile, to give the order for two breakfasts. She found the servants' hall a more amusing place than the invalid's chamber and just now everybody wanted to hear the news from upstairs. There was a great deal of joking about the unpopular young recluse who, as the cook said, "had found his master, and good for him." The servants' hall had been very tired of the tantrums, and the butler, who was a man with a family, had more than once expressed his opinion that the invalid would be all the better "for a good hiding."

When Colin was on his sofa and the breakfast for two was put upon the table he made an announcement to the nurse in his most Rajah-like manner.

"A boy, and a fox, and a crow, and two squirrels, and a new-born lamb, are coming to see me this morning. I want them brought upstairs as soon as they come," he said. "You are not to begin playing with the animals in the servants' hall and keep them there. I want them here." The nurse gave a slight gasp and tried to conceal it with a cough.

"Yes, sir," she answered.

"I'll tell you what you can do," added Colin, waving his hand. "You can tell Martha to bring them here. The boy is Martha's brother. His name is Dickon and he is an animal charmer."

"I hope the animals won't bite, Master Colin," said the nurse.

"I told you he was a charmer," said Colin austerely. "Charmers' animals never bite."

"There are snake-charmers in India," said Mary. "and they can put their snakes' heads in their mouths."

"Goodness!" shuddered the nurse.

They ate their breakfast with the morning air pouring in upon them. Colin's breakfast was a very good one and Mary watched him with serious interest.

"You will begin to get fatter just as I did," she said. "I never wanted my breakfast when I was in India and now I always want it."

"I wanted mine this morning," said Colin. "Perhaps it was the fresh air. When do you think Dickon will come?"

He was not long in coming. In about ten minutes Mary held up her hand.

"Listen!" she said. "Did you hear a caw?"

Colin listened and heard it, the oddest sound in the world to hear inside a house, a hoarse "caw-caw."

"Yes," he answered.

"That's Soot," said Mary. "Listen again. Do you hear a bleat--a tiny one?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Colin, quite flushing.

"That's the new-born lamb," said Mary. "He's coming."

Dickon's moorland boots were thick and clumsy and though he tried to walk quietly they made a clumping sound as he walked through the long corridors. Mary and Colin heard him marching--marching, until he passed through the tapestry door on to the soft carpet of Colin's own passage.

"If you please, sir," announced Martha, opening the door, "if you please, sir, here's Dickon an' his creatures."

Dickon came in smiling his nicest wide smile. The new- born lamb was in his arms and the little red fox trotted by his side. Nut sat on his left shoulder and Soot on his right and Shell's head and paws peeped out of his coat pocket.

Colin slowly sat up and stared and stared--as he had stared when he first saw Mary; but this was a stare of wonder and delight. The truth was that in spite of all he had heard he had not in the least understood what this boy would be like and that his fox and his crow and his squirrels and his lamb were so near to him and his friendliness that they seemed almost to be part of himself. Colin had never talked to a boy in his life and he was so overwhelmed by his own pleasure and curiosity that he did not even think of speaking.

But Dickon did not feel the least shy or awkward. He had not felt embarrassed because the crow had not known his language and had only stared and had not spoken to him the first time they met. Creatures were always like that until they found out about you. He walked over to Colin's sofa and put the new-born lamb quietly on his lap, and immediately the little creature turned to the warm velvet dressing-gown and began to nuzzle and nuzzle into its folds and butt its tight-curled head with soft impatience against his side. Of course no boy could have helped speaking then.

"What is it doing?" cried Colin. "What does it want?"

"It wants its mother," said Dickon, smiling more and more. "I brought it to thee a bit hungry because I knowed tha'd like to see it feed."

He knelt down by the sofa and took a feeding-bottle from his pocket.

"Come on, little 'un," he said, turning the small woolly white head with a gentle brown hand. "This is what tha's after. Tha'll get more out o' this than tha' will out o' silk velvet coats. There now," and he pushed the rubber tip of the bottle into the nuzzling mouth and the lamb began to suck it with ravenous ecstasy.

After that there was no wondering what to say. By the time the lamb fell asleep questions poured forth and Dickon answered them all. He told them how he had found the lamb just as the sun was rising three mornings ago. He had been standing on the moor listening to a skylark and watching him swing higher and higher into the sky until he was only a speck in the heights of blue.

"I'd almost lost him but for his song an' I was wonderin' how a chap could hear it when it seemed as if he'd get out o' th' world in a minute--an' just then I heard somethin' else far off among th' gorse bushes. It was a weak bleatin' an' I knowed it was a new lamb as was hungry an' I knowed it wouldn't be hungry if it hadn't lost its mother somehow, so I set off searchin'. Eh! I did have a look for it. I went in an' out among th' gorse bushes an' round an' round an' I always seemed to take th' wrong turnin'. But at last I seed a bit o' white by a rock on top o' th' moor an' I climbed up an' found th' little 'un half dead wi' cold an' clemmin'." While he talked, Soot flew solemnly in and out of the open window and cawed remarks about the scenery while Nut and Shell made excursions into the big trees outside and ran up and down trunks and explored branches. Captain curled up near Dickon, who sat on the hearth-rug from preference.

They looked at the pictures in the gardening books and Dickon knew all the flowers by their country names and knew exactly which ones were already growing in the secret garden.

"I couldna' say that there name," he said, pointing to one under which was written "Aquilegia," "but us calls that a columbine, an' that there one it's a snapdragon and they both grow wild in hedges, but these is garden ones an' they're bigger an' grander. There's some big clumps o' columbine in th' garden. They'll look like a bed o' blue an' white butterflies flutterin' when they're out."

"I'm going to see them," cried Colin. "I am going to see them!"

"Aye, that tha' mun," said Mary quite seriously. "An' tha' munnot lose no time about it."

#SecretGarden

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