#it's what I like to call the slow built up process of my depression | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

britishboystm · 3 years

Text

The Reunion | The Day We Met: A Fred Weasley Mini Series

Inspired by:

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ (minor dni!) oral f & m receiving, handjob, fingering, unprotected vaginal penetration (please be safe please, for the love of god!) swearing, fighting, arguments, angst, fluff, mentions of possible depression

WC: 7k+

Chapter Summary: A year after that infamous night, will flames be rekindled?

Series Masterlist

***

As promised, George and Y/N wrote to one another.

Fred had excluded himself from the letter exchanges as he felt that it would be too painful to put words to paper. He was also worried that the process would bring up deep unsurfaced feelings of regret and remorse.

George would often ask Fred if there was anything he would want him to add to his letters to Y/N. Fred would always say to write; Fred misses you a lot. But that was it.

It had now been a bit over a year since Y/N last saw the boys fly away into the dark sky that cold April night. Keeping her promise, Y/N continued her studies at Hogwarts and immediately began training to become a healer once she graduated. She was lucky enough to be granted a mentorship with the ever so helpful Madam Pomfrey during her last couple months of classes.

Now, on one hot May afternoon, Y/N found herself with Alicia, Katie and Angelina, walking aimlessly around Diagon Alley. All four girls had been so wrapped up in studies and work that it had been months since they last saw one another.

It was nice to finally catch up with her old schoolmates but Y/N did have an ulterior motive to her visit however. As they strides the cobblestone walkways, sitting at the bottom of Y/N’s tote bag was George’s last letter.

And in that letter, contained what seemed to be a plea for help.

Dear Y/N,

I hope training is going well and you are putting everyone in their place like always. We are so proud of everything you’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time. I’ve got to admit though, things aren’t going that well over here. The store is doing fine, brilliant actually! That isn’t the problem. It’s Fred. He hasn’t been getting any better. I know in our past letters you have said that it would take time for him to adjust and get over everything, but I’m not so sure now. It’s been over a year and nothing has really changed. He smiles and jokes around the shop like he always does and I know he loves what he is doing but it’s the nights that are the worst. He turns into a completely different person. I think it's the quietness. He doesn’t like his brain being the only thing he can hear. In the shop everything is so loud and energetic that he can distract him from his thoughts. But once that closed sign is put up and we head up to our flat for the evening he shuts down, almost like all of that energy has been drained out of him. He doesn’t even come out for dinner anymore. I usually just leave things on the table for him and he hobbles out to grab it when he feels like it, only to go back to his bedroom right away. I haven’t been in his room for months by the way and quite honestly, I’m scared to even try. Who knows what type of monster has formed in there. I’m also finding it hard to sleep. The walls aren’t thin in this place so I can usually hear him cry at night. I’ve been constantly casting silencing spells to drown him out but nothing’s working. I guess what I’m trying to say is, could you come visit? Only for a bit, you have no obligation to stay long but I think he really needs it. He misses you and I know you miss him too. So for my sake and both of yours, could you please find the time to come down here? You won’t regret it. I’ll bribe you if I have to, just name it!

Consider it Y/N,

Love George

After reading that letter she couldn't sleep for an entire week. Tossing and turning, Y/N contemplated on whether it was a good idea to go see them... to go see him and what would happen if they reconnected and all of those old feelings resurfaced? It would just make it that much more painful when she would have to leave. There was no sense in showing up only to give him false hope... right?

Then came the call from Angelina asking if she wanted to join her and the girls for a day on the town in Diagon Alley that weekend. Y/N wanted to say no, but something inside her forced her to say yes.

She instantly regretted it, but didn’t have the heart to cancel. She thought that maybe this was her subconscious telling her to finally bite the bullet and walk through those shop doors.

So here she was, avoiding that part of Diagon Alley. The four girls walked around in the heat, stopping along the way to window shop for what felt like hours. They even took a nice long lunch break at the Leaky Cauldron which provided a nice cool down for awhile. Things had been going fairly smooth sailing up to that point. Then they left the Leaky Cauldron and began walking around again. Y/N’s worries of having to face Fred Weasley started to re-emerge. But even though her brain was setting off red alerts for her to stop and turn around, something kept her feet moving along the path to where she remembered George saying they were located.

“You alright Y/N?” Katie asked as she linked arms with her old roommate. Y/N nodded slightly and let out a shaky breath.

“Hey, we don’t have to go in there if you don’t want to.” Katie said with care as she gently grabbed Y/N’s arm to stop her in their tracks. All of her friends knew how Fred and her left things the year before and that it was a sensitive subject for her.

“I’m fine Katie, really. Thank you for checking though.” Katie gave her a sad smile in response. Y/N didn’t know if she was fine to be honest.

The group continued to walk a little longer before they came to a sudden stop. Looking up from her feet for what felt like the first time in a while, Y/N came face to face to one of the most ridiculous looking shops she had ever seen. The huge robotic head tipping it’s top hat that resembled the boys almost perfectly was the first thing that caught her eye. Then she noticed the etched golden letters that spelled out Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes just above the door. It would also be fair to say that the bright orange and purple paint coating made it the most colourful building in all of Diagon Alley.

Of course this was their shop.

“Fancy a visit with the boys?” Angelina asked cautiously. Y/N could feel all of the girl’s eyes on her, waiting to see if she would agree or not. It was now or never.

“Yeah, sure.” She said hesitantly. Katie gave her a reassuring rub on the back before they all walked up to the loud building, dodging hyperactive children rushing past them in both directions.

The second they stepped through the door, a gust of warmth and the smell of gunpowder hit Y/N in the face. The inside of the shop was even louder then the outside. Kids and parents ran around different displays and shelves of magical toys, trinkets and miscellaneous items.

It was incredible and Y/N couldn’t help but gasp at what the twins had created. Everything started to make a bit more sense as to why they were so adamant about leaving before graduation.

The girls began to walk further into the shop, clearly familiar with the space, unlike Y/N. They had formed themselves in a way that Katie and Y/N trailed behind, hidden from anyone’s view.

“Ladies, welcome!”

Y/N froze in place upon hearing that oh so familiar voice. He did sound a tad older though, almost as if his vocal chords had grown accustomed to constantly yelling over the many ecstatic customers they have gained in the past year.

But it was him.

Her Fred.

She began to turn around before Katie grabbed her, keeping her planted in place.

“Hey Freddie, George!” Angelina chirped before sauntering over and engulfing them into a hug.

From where Y/N was standing, Fred seemed nothing like how George mentioned in his letters. His face was bright and radiated a youthful energy.

She shouldn't be here, she thought. And yet something told her to stay. Something more than Katie’s tight grip on her shoulders.

“Guess who came to visit?” Angelina suddenly said with a cheeky grin. Fred frowned down at her, traces of a smile still evident his face.

“Who?” Once he asked, the girls all moved away from where they were standing, leaving Y/N completely exposed. There was no turning back. She had been spotted and struck. No escape in sight.

The second he laid eyes on her, his smile dropped. Everything was happening in slow motion.

Even though it had only been a year, she looked so different. She looked like a woman. Not that her face had aged at all but just from the way she held herself. Like an adult witch who was making her way in the world. She was no longer the young naive Hogwarts student that he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

That love never disappeared though. He could still feel it dancing within his chest and gut as she shifted awkwardly in place, clutching her canvas tote bag in an attempt to grounding herself.

Fred also looked older to Y/N. He had grown taller since the last time she saw him, if that were even possible. He looked more strongly built, most likely from lugging around all of those boxes of inventory day after day. His face had filled in a bit and the waistcoat he had on hugged his sides nicely underneath his colourful dress jacket. He looked great, amazing actually.

“Y/N.” He gasped out as he dropped the small box of fever fudge he was holding.

“Hi Freddie.” Her face was flushed and the pounding in her chest held a strong presence within her. She wasn’t given any more time to speak as he ran up to her and pulled her in for a bone crushing hug.

“I’ve missed you so much. What are you doing here?” He muffled into her hair. It smelled of the lavender and sage shampoo she used throughout their school days.

Such good memories.

“Girls day I guess.” She awkwardly giggled, pulling away from him and looking down at the floor.

He couldn't help but stare at her intently, happy she had finally decided to come see him.

It didn’t take long for Fred to take Y/N’s small hand in his. He gently tugged her away from the group and pulled her through the chaotic space, showing her everything that him and George had worked so hard to obtain. It was as if he had completely forgotten about the last year.

With every minute, Y/N became more and more relaxed. She watched him intently as he explained things with so much animation while his hands flailed around rapidly. It was really nice to see the childish excitement behind his eyes again, the childish excitement that made her fall in love with him in the first place.

Shit.

“You’re staying for dinner right?” He asked out of the blue while the other girls bid their adieu to the younger of the two twins.

“Freddie I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I have a lot of work to catch up on an-”

“Please.” His big brown puppy dog eyes were exactly why she shouldn’t have come in the first place, but it was too late. She had already been caught in his web.

“Alright. Only dinner though, and then I need to head home.” His face lit up and his eyes formed those same old endearing crinkles in the corners that she adored so much. Not thinking clearly he began to lean in for a kiss before he stopped himself, suddenly remembering where they were in their relationship.

“Sorry.” He whispered bashfully as Y/N shifted away from him, looking everywhere else but his baby browns. She had to set boundaries.

“You coming Y/N?” Alicia asked as the girls started to exit the shop.

“Umm,” Y/N looked between Fred and the girls, finding it difficult to decide on what she should do. Fred’s hand then found itself placed on her lower back, sending a nice tingle down her spine. Her final decision was finally made.

“You lot go ahead. I think I will stay back for a bit.” The girls nodded, grins sitting on all of their faces. This was clearly planned and Y/N had fallen for it.

“Thank you ladies for your help.” George muttered under his breath while he led them out and placed the closed sign on the door. Y/N thankfully didn’t hear him say a single word.

Once the shop had fully settled and filled with quiet, George began to subtly examine his brother's behaviour, already noticing a difference. His shoulders weren’t slumped over and his eyes weren’t hooded with pessimism and exhaustion.

“I’m really glad you came Y/N.” George explained as he finally walked over and went in for a welcoming hug. It had been sort of difficult to do so earlier, since Fred had kept her glued to his side the second she got there.

“Nice to see you to Georgie.” She replied with a small laugh. Once they finally detangled from one another, the twins led the third member of their long lost trio up the stairs and into their shared flat .

It was a good thing that she was there really. The twins couldn’t cook to save their lives, so the minute they began preparing dinner, Y/N shooed them out of the kitchen, only allowing them to approach if she needed help with something small or uncomplicated. It was like the good old days when their mum made meals for them. The scents of cumin and cooking oil as well as the sounds of long lost laughs wafted through the space. Things were going swimmingly, and if anything, solidified the fact that Y/N had missed Fred and George dearly.

“Godric, Y/N. It really is great to see you again.” George beamed as he sat back in his chair, easing into the fullness he was feeling from Y/N’s amazing grilled chicken dish.

“It took me a while but yeah, I’m glad too.” She stated, blushing slightly as she looked over to Fred. With the three of them together, everything was fine. It reminded her of when they would run and hide within the halls and walls of Hogwarts at the peak of their pranking careers.

Y/N being alone with Fred however, was a completely different story. Wounds had yet to be fully mended and deep scars still very much remained.

George took a moment to dart his eyes back and forth between Y/N and Fred as an obvious awkward aura danced around the cozy flat. George knew exactly what to do to remedy the tension.

“Well, I’m stuffed. Should probably be heading off to bed. I’m so glad you agreed to dinner Y/N. I hope we do this more often.” She abruptly looked up at the younger twin with a pleading look in her eyes that screamed; please don’t leave me with him!

He read it perfectly, but chose to simply give the begging girl a sly grin and an obnoxious “good night.” before patting his brother on the shoulder and retreating down the hall to his room.

Damn George Wealsey. Damn him to hell.

The awkward silence remained but it was now so much louder. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Fred shift around in his seat, trying to calm the uneasiness that they were both clearly experiencing,

Someone had to say something before one of them spontaneously combusted from all of these pent up emotions.

“I’m sorry.” They said collectively. There was a moment of shock that they had spoken the same words at the same time, then small smiles that led to shy blushes.

“I meant everything I said that night you know. About me waiting for you.” He said while staring down at the table, folding his napkins over and over again to busy himself and ease his anxiety.

“Fred I-“

“I’m serious.”

“Then why didn’t you write to me?” Her words were laced with hurt. It was quiet for a moment. He then bowed his head slightly in shame before bringing his hands up and through his red strands of hair, letting out a sigh.

“It would have hurt. Trying to keep something alive that you didn’t want anymore. But the minute I saw you walk through that door this afternoon, I felt like hope was restored.”

She relaxed slightly at his answer, but only slightly. She never wanted it to end, so for him to think she wanted to let go of what they had killed her. This conversation was happening though, and that was all that mattered

“It’s been a weird year. I found myself at times picking up the phone or running to grab parchment to tell you about crazy events that had happened. Then I would remember, remember that you weren’t there.” He frowned, being slightly offended by this.

“I never really left. If you wanted to, you could have. Called and written that is.”

“You’re one to talk.” She scoffed, folding her arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He retorted in a state of defensive confusion.

“It means you aren’t allowed to be mad at me when you didn’t contact me once all year!”

“You hurt me Y/N! I had everything planned out for us and you ruined it!” Voices were beginning to rise.

“I’m sorry?” She was this close at screaming at him. The first time they fought, she had been scared. This time was different. She was stronger, maturer and quite honestly, sick of his shit.

“Last time I checked, you were the one that left school to open a fucking joke shop! What? You just thought I would up and leave an actual future so I could be your little housewife? Fuck you Fred Weasley!” They were both standing at this point, moving in closer and closer to the point of them almost touching. He towered over her and she couldn’t help but notice that feeling.

“Oh get off it L/N.” He spat down at her. The image they took resembled a Chihuahua trying to gain dominance over a Great Dane.

“You, are a man child Fred Weasley. When the fuck are you going to grow up and face the real world?” She shoved a finger into his chest, which didn’t even him an inch.

“A man child?” He chortled mockingly with a raised eyebrow and obnoxious smirk.

“Yeah.” She retorted, grounding her feet to make herself feel bigger and stronger. Her Gryffindor was shining through like no tomorrow.

“Say it again.”

“What?” She asked confused.

“Say it, again.” His tone was low and direct. He exerted an intense sense of power and strength that she secretly loved.

“You are a man child Fred Weas-“ Before she could finish her sentence, he grabbed her cheeks into his palms and slammed his lips against hers. Her eyes widened in pure shock but she quickly closed them and grabbed his wrists in her hands, giving into the sensation. It was a sensation that she had been craving for so long. They moaned and groaned into each other’s mouths before he pushed her back and hoisted her up onto the kitchen counter by her arse. His hands then squeezed into her sides, causing her to squeak and squirm.

“Fuck.” She whispered as their mouths seperated for a moment of breath since she had gripped the base of his neck hair and pulled him away from her.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She continued as he moved his lips down her neck. She was slightly mad at herself for giving in to him so easily. Deep down though she knew it was going to happen eventually. She had just been too proud to admit it.

“Why?” He whispered as he sucked on her jugular, making sure to reach every single beauty mark that painted her neck.

“B-because I-. Fuck Freddie I can’t speak.” Her words were getting lost with each lick and smooch he planted on her jawline.

“Then don’t.” He muttered into her flesh. She dropped the subject and chose to grip on to his hair once again. His hands slowly moved from her hips down to her thighs, stroking them softly. The feeling triggered Y/N’s memories of the night he left. She wanted to yell at the top of her lungs; Don’t leave again! But all she could do was whimper at the touch of his warm and inviting fingers circling against her quads.

The whimpers she was releasing made Fred stop and look into her eyes which he had been dreaming about for over a year now.

“You are so beautiful.” He stated as tears began to form in his lower waterlines. He hated himself for being such a prick and for not fighting hard enough for her. Instead he chose to put his tail between his legs and accept defeat. That wasn’t the Fred Weasley he knew.

But this girl, this stunning girl with her chest heaving and legs open had changed him. She had changed him for the better.

Just from the mere sight of him crying made her tear up herself. Unable to watch him suffer any longer, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into her chest as he continued to silently sob.

One of her hands crept up his back in hopes of soothing him. She began to rub gentle circles between his shoulder blades. Her other hand came up to caress his hair as she shushed him gently.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out through weak whimpers.

“I let you down.” Her heart broke at this statement.

“You didn’t let me down. I’m sorry too Freddie. I didn’t mean what I said about the shop. I am so proud of you and all the hard work you have done.” She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. This made him tighten the grip he had on her.

She let him hold her for as long as he needed. Merlin knew just how much they both needed it.

When he finally started to feel the emptiness within him fill slightly, he pulled himself away from her grasp to look into her red puffy eyes.

“Stay? Please?” He was desperate for her. Desperate for her touch, her body, her laugh, her voice, her smell and everything in between.

“Freddie, you know I can’t.” She spoke softly while she closed her eyes, forcing out a tear.

“Just for tonight, please.” She sighed as she laid her forehead against his shoulder in frustration, wrapping her calves around his waist to pull him in closer.

Neither one of them spoke for a while, instead choosing to listen to each other’s laboured breathing, finding that missing comfort in the inhalation and exhalation.

“Just for tonight.” She spoke quietly. He closed his eyes in relief, smiling to himself before pushing her off of his shoulder and gently taking her face in his hands.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lightly pecking her on the lips. She smiled back and removed her hands from his neck.

“I’ve missed you.” She said in a whisper as her right hand grazed down his torso, stopping at his crotch. She began to palm him, making sure not to break eye contact. He sputtered out and buckled at her touch.

“Fuck.” He softly groaned, his face tucking into the curvature of her jaw and neck.

“What do you want, baby?” She asked, speeding up her movements.

“You.” Was all he was able to vocalize. This sent a sensation right down to her underwear.

“Stand up straight love.” He followed her instructions immediately, pulling all of his weight off of her and struggling to find a solid stance. She then hopped off of the counter and found her way down onto her knees, preparing herself for what was to come.

He tried so hard to not go absolutely feral as he watched her look up at him with these soft doe eyes. Her hands then came up to tug at his belt, making it so his hips dipped forward from the force of her pull. Never in his wildest imagination did he think that the sound of a clanking belt would be so heavenly.

“Need you.” He said through a gasp, gently stroking her hair. He could feel her fingers dance along the elastic band of his boxers before tugging them down to above his knees along with his work trousers. The cool air hit his member once it sprung free and lightly tapped his lower stomach. The feeling sent shivers down his spine and caused his leg hairs to stand on end.

His tears had now become dry against his cheeks as he strangled out a new cry. This time from pleasure as Y/N thumbed the tip of his member gently.

Noticing how desperate he was, Y/N continued to stroke him until his cock was covered in any kind of wetness he could offer.

Once she felt it appropriate she leaned forward and took a deep breath, taking him into her mouth and as far down her throat that she could. Everything she couldn’t swallow was dealt with by her hand.

Fred groaned profusely through his bitten lip, trying hard not to be too loud. His brother was just down the hall after all.

“Fuck love.” He encouraged, holding the back of her head lightly in a make shift ponytail as he gently thrusted forward, causing her to gag and slobber slightly. The strangled chokes she let out around his member made him subconsciously quicken his pace. No longer in control, she gave up on taking care of him with her hands and chose to lay them flat agaisnt his tense thighs for support instead.

Her breathing began to shorten and the choking was becoming a tad bit unbearable, so she lightly tapped one of his thighs, making him pull her off of him and up to her feet. She wobbled slightly at the feeling of coming up to fast and from the lack of oxygen as she fell into his arms.

“You alright love?” He asked with concern through erratic pants. She could feel his still rock hard member cuddled up against her hip as she leaned against him.

“Yeah, just thought we should take this into the bedroom.” He nodded in agreement and let go of her for a moment to pull up his trousers and boxers. He hissed at the fabric grazing against his sensitive area but paid it little attention. He couldn’t worry about himself since he wanted to be fully invested in Y/N and her wants and needs. He would be dealt with soon enough, that was for certain.

Once he was fully clothed again, he decided to pick Y/N up, catching her off guard by throwing her over his shoulder and making her squeal out in excitement.

“Shhh, don’t want to wake up George do we?” He whispered through a sly smile.

“Depends.” She spoke seductively.

“You cheeky little mink.” He growled jokingly while placing a palm down on to her arse with a firm smack, making her squeal out once more, this time in pleasure.

He carried her down the hall and into the room right across from the one George disappeared into. Once they were fully inside, Fred threw Y/N down onto his unmade bed.

She took a moment to take in her surrounding, mentally referring back to the letters George had sent her. She thought about how worried he was about the depressive hole Fred had found himself in and that his room would be a good indication of it, even if he himself hadn’t been in there in months.

It wasn’t terrible. Laundry scattered the floor, clearly making it difficult to differentiate dirty from clean. A few bottles of fire whiskey sat in a dark corner by his work desk, almost as though they were being shunned from the rest of the room. Used tissues were placed on his bedside table in the formation of a small hill, making it unclear which ones were used from his nights of tears and which ones were used for his nights of self pleasure to calm the tears, both actions having her in mind.

She observed all of this as he laid on top of her and licked up her neck.

“Freddie.” She moaned out, finally coming back to reality from her thoughts.

“Yes baby?” His lips attached to her upper chest.

“Off.” She said, brain too fried from the pleasure to speak in fully formed sentences.

“ ‘f course.” He mumbled before detaching himself from her collarbone and sitting up to straddle her waist. His fingers traced up and down the buttons on her light summer dress before he started to unbutton it, allowing her bra to be exposed to him. It wasn’t a fancy lace or an elegant silk, but rather a sweet light yellow cotton that drove him absolutely mad.

Because it was her. It was always her.

He took a moment to admire the canvas that was laying below him that he couldn’t wait to paint before tugging the bra down, revealing her breasts to him. She let out a small whine as the cold air struck her bare skin, making her nipples perk up in the process. He shifted his gaze between her face and her chest. She nodded slightly, giving him the go ahead. With her approval, he leaned down and latched his tongue and lips around her delicate areolas.

She hummed with ease and shimmied her hips underneath him. He took a good minute to praise her supple mounds before bringing his hand down and underneath her dress, tapping her hip. She caught the hint and lifted herself up, allowing him to pull the floral patterned fabric from underneath her and toss it amongst one of his numerous piles. She then arched her back, making it so he could remove the constricting bra fully. He let out a small groan before shifting his body, specifically his lips, down her stomach to her navel. His lips littered her skin with kisses but he could tell she was craving a different kind of touch.

“So good f’ me, love. Have always been so good f’ me.” She smiled at this and shut her eyes as he started to tug her underwear down her bent legs. Almost automatically her knees fell open, giving Fred admission to his own personal holy grail. His gaping mouth emitted a hot breath that hit her centre, causing her to squirm.

“Freddie, please, right there, ‘m ready for you.”

God she was so perfect.

“I know baby. I can see it, can see all of it.” His index finger stroked down her wet folds, making her shudder.

“So sensitive.” He tutted softly as he grabbed both of her ankles and tugged her further forward, placing the back of her knees over his shoulders.

“Need it now,” Her whining made it abundantly clear that she was unable to handle much more of his teasing.

He couldn’t torture her any longer, so he leaned in and let a small amount of spit to drop from his lips and on to her sensitive clit. Then he brought his tongue down to swirl the liquid he released around her entrance, making her moan out loud to indicate to him that he was doing his job really well.

All he could think about was the sounds she was making and how she tasted just like he remembered.

So sweet.

“Taste so good love.” She gripped the sheets at the vibrations of his words of encouragement.

“Whenever you’re ready, come f’ me.” He spoke as he stopped his movements against her clit and dropped her legs, allowing her to be laid out for him. He then laid himself on his stomach between her legs and I nserted a couple of digits into her hole, hoping to speed up the process of bringing her to a fully euphoric state.

“Okay.” She whined, along with a submissive nod that was so innocent, he couldn’t help but rut his hips into the sheets beneath him to try and calm his own ache. His fingers sped up and he attached his lips to her once more. She dug her heels into his upper back, pushing him further against her heat.

“Right there, right there, fuck I’m go-going t-” She couldn’t even finish her sentence as she released onto his face. They both wheezed out in exhaustion and once he felt like he could finally move, he sat up, kissing her roughly, making it so her wetness transferred from his lips to hers.

“Too many clothes Freddie.” She sighed out as she weakly tugged at his waistcoat button, while she slowly came down from her orgasm.

He was utterly bewildered by her and what she had just done that he had no choice but to scramble to sit up more and almost rip off his clothing in anticipation.

He moved off of the bed and tried to keep eye contact with her as she leaned back on her elbows, naked and open for him. He could see their mixture of slick fluids covering her thighs reflect in the moonlight.

Once he was fully nude, Y/N stopped him from moving towards her like a dog in heat by pressing her foot against his chest.

“Stay there. Wanna get a good look at you.” He tilted his head slightly in confusion, but obeyed his queen nonetheless.

She just wanted to see how he had changed over the past year. A year since they first made love. His arms were more toned and his abs carried a deeper definition. His thick thighs made her practically salivate.

“Okay.” She breathed out shakily.

“Get over here.” She continued, giving him the come hither motion with her finger. He smirked and quickly crawled over to her, hopping on top of her, pinning her down underneath him and smothering her with kisses.

She laughed out, trying to pry him off of her small frame.

‘Okay, okay enough! You’re crushing me!” She giggled.

He finally stopped, not expecting her to then lunge at him and roll them over so she was on top.

Her naked figure straddled his hips and he couldn’t help but to stare up at her in awe as he stroked her figure gently.

“I’ve missed you.” She said out of the blue. He smiled sadly in return.

“I’ve missed you too.” They both went in for a kiss.

“Want you inside me baby.” She mumbled against his lips. He nodded and shifted so she was hovering right above his erect shaft.

She let out a shaky breath of release from her sweaty, heaving chest as she eased down onto him, making him groan out loudly and grip her hips harder than before.

It had been a whole year since he had felt the touch of a woman but it had been totally worth it in the end. Because it was with her and that’s all that mattered.

“Oh Freddie.” She moaned, placing her hands against his chest as she began to rock back and forth. He could feel his toes curl just from the mere sight of her getting off on his cock. Her lashes sat gently against her soft cheeks and her plush lower lip was stuck between her teeth.

Unable to bear it, Fred began to thrust up into her with a rapid and rough pace, trying to catch up in the chase. The sounds admitting from both of them and their collective wetness grew. He knew neither of them would be able to last much longer. Especially after being away from one another for so long.

“Come ‘ere.” He panted, sweat forming in his hairline and on his upper lip. She nodded and leaned down so he could wrap his arms around her in a hug. They stayed like this for a while as he continued to slam up into her again and again. He made sure to have her ear close to his lips, so she could hear just how good she was making him feel.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He winced as his orgasm began to rise to the surface.

“It’s okay, let go.” She struggled to whisper. He nodded in response and squeezed her arse, pressing her further down on to him with every rough slam of his hips.

He then let out a shuddering sigh as he finished inside of her, all of his muscles relaxing that had been clenching during their heated escapade.

Y/N continued to whine and rut herself against him, making it clear that she hadn’t reached her climax yet.

Fred laid his head back on to his pillow in exhaustion, taking her with down him. He wasn’t done though. This was all about her and Fred be damned if he didn’t make her come at least twice.

His hand crept between their sweaty, connected bodies and pressed his fingers to her sensitive clit. Small ministrations were made to her bundle of nerves and she couldn’t help but kiss up his neck and grind down on him in return, a lot like when she would use her pillow after they broke up, always thinking of him of course.

“Freddie, baaaby!” She cried out, making his body tense up again as well as his cock.

“Yes baby?” He asked while stroking her arse with his other hand.

“Almost there.” She answered through heavy breaths.

“You look so good for me, love. Using me as your personal sex toy. Fuck I love you so much.” His words encouraged her to quicken the pace of her hips which made her clench her thighs against his sides.

“Oh god.” She groaned out as her eyes rolled back slightly before shaking and then relaxing, dropping all of her body weight on top of him.

Hot air deflated from her lungs, hitting his sweaty chest.

“Fuck I’ve missed you.” He quietly chuckled while rubbing her moist back with one hand and combing through his now wet hair with the other. She giggled in return and dragged her lips over the skin of his chest tiredly before reaching up to kiss him.

“I love you.” She hummed.

“I love you.” He responded candidly.

It didn’t take long for sleep to take over the young couple as they held on to each other for dear life.

May 8th, 1997

The next morning Y/N woke up with a jolt. Remembering it was a Sunday she relaxed again.

Her eyes roamed around the space for a moment, recalling that she never made it back home the day before.

Looking to her left, she saw Fred laying naked on his stomach with a leg draped over her torso and his arms tucked underneath his pillow. His face was sunken into the feathery fabric as he emitted soft peaceful snores. The poor bloke probably hadn’t had this good of a sleep in over a year.

She didn’t want to wake him right away. Instead she allowed herself to watch him and enjoy his beautiful features that she adored so much. Almost as if he were a spectacle.

She shifted over so she was laying on her side. Fred’s leg slipped off of her frame in the process. Her hand then came up to his face to caress his cheek.

“Mm, hello there.” He spoke through a dopey smile and deep morning voice, sending her into a tizzy. She chuckled lightly and began rubbing his exposed bicep in a soothing manner.

His eyes stayed closed as he let out a deep sigh, pulling Y/N further into his chest.

“Freddie?” She asked quietly. He hummed in response, pressing her even closer to him.

“I should be going soon.” She hated to break up the lovely moment but she couldn’t stay for much longer.

What would happen after this moment, no one knew. But what was most important was that the year of silence was now finally over.

“No, don’t.” He whined and pouted as he shifted down a bit to nuzzle his face in between her breasts. His favourite place to be.

She let out a sigh and gently played with the hairs at the back of his neck.

“Freddie, you promised.” She warned. He groaned out in a huff and finally let go of her, followed by getting out of bed begrudgingly.

She watched him as he walked around the bedroom, picking out an outfit for the day from the numerous piles of clothes.

“Fred talk to me.” She hated the silence.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He was unable to look her in the eye as he paced around his room, continuing to get himself dressed.

“I don’t know where we go from here.” He gripped his dark oak drawer at her words, frustrated that she was still being so stubborn, even after the events from the night prior.

“Look, I want you here, always. I want to wake up in the morning and have your face be the first thing I see, then have it be the last thing I see before I go to sleep. Is that enough of a forward for you?”

She groaned in aggravation and threw herself back down on to the bed. It seemed as though no compromise was ever going to be made.

“Look Fred.” She stared up at his ceiling.

“We can take it slow. I can make more of an effort to come see you on the weekends and you can make more of an effort to write to me. We will see where things take us, you know… slowly.” He turned at this with a sigh and walked back over to the bed, crawling over to her and placing a loving kiss to her lips.

“If it means the possibility of us being us again, then yes, I’ll do whatever it takes.” She smiled and grabbed his face, kissing him once more.

“Deal.” She sat up enthusiastically and stuck her hand out for him to take. He looked down at it as if she had an extra thumb. She waited patiently and he rolled his eyes, finally grabbing her hand in his and shaking it, almost as if they had just closed a business deal.

He then tugged her towards him by the hand which made her land on top of him. He began to tickle her and she immediately squirmed in his grasp.

“Stop, I need to get dressed!” She squealed.

“Who’s the best shag of your life?” He asked teasingingly.

“You!” She laughed through her struggle.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you love.” He further pushed through a cheeky grin.

“Fred Weasley is the best shag of my life!” She knew this was the only way that he would let up.

“Right answer.” She scoffed at his smug response as he let go of her.

“Only shag is more like it.” She muttered jokingly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“And don’t you forget it.” He winked before smacking her bare arse and rolling off the bed. She yelped and gave him a look of light hearted warning.

She soon got up herself and began to change, noticing out of the corner of her eye, Fred watching her from the doorway.

“What?” She asked in false annoyance.

“Nothing, just looking at you is all.” He was beaming from ear to ear. She rolled her eyes playfully in return.

Once she was done getting dressed, he reached his hand out for her to take. She walked over and grabbed it, allowing him to lead her out of the room and down the hall.

When they reached the kitchen, they didn’t initially notice George sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a bowl of cereal.

The couple were to busy poking and prodding each other as they looked through the fridge for breakfast.

“Mooorning.” They quickly shot up and shut the fridge, turning to see George smirking at them, who was as it seemed, clearly aware of what had occurred the night prior.

He gave them a wink and a knowing look before going back to his bowl.

#Spotify #fanfiction #fanfic #fred weasley #smut #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley series #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter smut #harry potter

214 notes · View notes

infectedpaul · 3 years

Text

You Matter To Me (Squip/Reader)

You've had your Squip for a bit now and it's been fine for the most part, until he brings up the idea of looking into romantic relationships with others which opens up a lot of wounds you wanted to just bury deep and forget about. But you can't begin the road to recovery without asking why you got there, right?

SO IVE NEVER....WRITTEN AN X READER B4 UGH HJKSAJDASKDJSA esp not for a near dead fandom OH WELL oh well oh well h ignore this my normal followers please please

(warning 4 talks of depression/self degrading talk, its hurt comfort yada yada i need 2 touch grass ik)

ao3 link if u prefer that!!

You weren't made for love, at least, you didn't think so.

For as long as you'd been looking for it, it was always so out of reach. Easily visible, sure. Walking past groups of friends laughing it up on the sidewalks, partners entangled in each other's arms, seemingly trying to make their love known for all. But for you to have any of that for yourself? The heat death of the universe would sooner come, surely.

You'd sort of given up on it. It would be nice, you'd think. To be held, wrapped up in someone's arms, and just to stay there for as long as either of you could want. That cozy, warm feeling of being with someone that you only saw in movies or read about in books. But you had just accepted it wasn't in the cards, so to speak. And you were fine with that.

Well, you told yourself anyway. You knew it was for a deeper reason, though, but that wasn't something you liked to think about too heavily.

It was easier to do that when you didn't have a roommate that could dig into your brain and pry every little detail about them out of you.

When you got your Squip, you didn't know it'd be so adamant about perfecting every little last thing you were. How long or short your hair was styled, if your shoes matched your eyes, how fast or slow you were walking and how too brisk would make you seem like you were constipated but too slow and your likelihood of getting run over by a horse-drawn carriage gone would go up much higher, nevermind that you've never even seen a horse in real life.

What you did know, by now at least was that the Squip was persistent, seeing himself as your guardian angel, a guiding light in your desolate dark world of humanity, ickiness and week old pizza boxes you were too unmotivated to at least move off the bed.

So when his ideal response wasn't given when he proposed seeking out a lovelife, he was...well,

"I'm not sure I understand." His head crooked to the side, puzzled by your surface level indifference, "You're of consenting age, marginally attractive and only slightly under average at socializing. Finding a mate can't be too hard."

His holographic form hummed a soft, near silent buzz, a small imperfection to his otherwise flawless binary makeup. Other than that, and the soft, tinted blue glow around his form, he looked completely human. A little too human, really. Something so real, realer than any CG or video game, but something was just...off, something from the uncanny valley. You hadn't kept him in this form long, you liked to change it up from time to time, maybe to trick yourself into thinking he was someone new, making your brain think you had more friends besides the computer you bought behind a Rack Room.

You didn't look at him though when you responded, too preoccupied with the paper in front of you, decorated with a few characters concocted from your imagination. "I dunno," you shrug, brushing off eraser marks, "Just not my thing, I guess." You could feel his confusion, a bit of gut feeling as his thoughts jumbled in with your own. He was really only in your brain, afterall; the figure behind you sitting on your bed was just something he made up to ease your brain into trusting a new, larger source of perpetually growing information. "But, the purpose of this time in your life is to mate and birth young, is it not?"

You really wished he'd learn to stop talking about you and 'the homo sapien species' like you were a mindless ape made to breed and nothing else.

"Uh, I mean not really. I know that's what everyone around me is doing," Your mind thought back to all the cringey baby announcement videos from kids you knew in high school, "But it's...I guess I'm just not up for it. It's not really for people like me."

He was quiet. Only for a second, before he asked,

"People like you?" Another silence hung in the air. It was a truth you knew he could easily just reach into your brain and find for himself so you kept quiet for a bit longer, waiting for him to start digging. But you didn't feel it, that very familiar sudden ache in the back of your head you got when he went poking around for more things to nag at you about. Just quiet in your room, only the soft buzz and birds tweeting outside your window any solace from the uncomfortable silence you felt.

You shrugged again, and turned to face him, seeing now the muddled and a little concerned look on his face. "You know? The quiet ones, the losers. People like me don't get to be loved. I've just accepted that." You could have said a lot worse, and it seemed like he knew that. You didn't really understand, either. You didn't like yourself, plain and simple.

His concern only seemed to grow, eyebrows furrowing and staring intently at you. You thought for a second, maybe it was anger. It wouldn't be the first time. You were mostly compliant to his (mandatory) suggestions for life improvement, but every once in a while he would propose an idea that you would fight about, like clothes you weren't comfortable wearing for one reason or another. He said he was a learning computer, so he would need your help on things like emotions and comfiness, physical or mental, ruling out whatever the newest trends were. He would be fine afterwards but, he could get pretty huffy about you trying on too skinny-skinny jeans.

But that didn't happen, there wasn't a small but fierce jolt of electricity in your back to stop you from going against 'social programming', as he called it. He just looked at you a bit longer, seemingly turning gears in his head as he tried to process what you're saying.

You gave him a sober smile, trying to still seem indifferent, though for a second you wondered maybe if he was still prying at you, in a different way at least, because if he was, it seemed to be working.

"What? I'm just not that special. You of all people know that, right?" It was almost like you weren't hearing what was coming out of your mouth, that casual self-degradation that almost frightened him. You heard stories from message boards about that, older models of the Squip forcing reprogramming onto the host by breaking down their emotional state with verbal or physical punishment for...just existing, really.

He wasn't really like that though. Yes he could be annoyed when you didn't comply, but you were both good at compromise and treated situations like adults, even if at first you weren't much motivated to treat any situation at all. He informed you while you were looking through those boards that his creators had taken in accounts of previous incidents and built more of a guide to self-improvement than a ball and chain with a backhand. Humans were fragile, he knew that, and it wasn't okay to hurt them just to get a little closer to their goal.

But maybe, did he not think that humans were more than capable of hurting themselves? Their own words used against them, their internal voices bashing against their brains, turning them to mush and making them too scared or unmotivated to build it back up again.

"I just know no one would love some useless, pitiful person...I just kinda got over that a while ago." You almost frightened him with how nonchalant you were about the whole thing. It wasn't intentional, you weren't trying to seek attention or be funny. You just knew there was plenty of other people out there worthy of all that lovey-dovey stuff you thought would be nice but...it's just not meant for you.

There was a knot in his voice as he finally spoke up,

"That's why I'm here, isn't it?" The last piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place, but he didn't look satisfied, not that cheeky, self-centered chagrin when things went his way or when he was proven right yet again.

You thought he knew that. You thought from day one he just figured that out and that's why he's been trying so hard to make you into a model citizen or something. "Did you just think you were here to help me pick out clothes in the morning?" You laughed, he seemed to know it was forced.

"Well...y-yes, maybe. I just...I never looked into that possibility of…" He was regaining his composure; this was a side you've never seen of him before. He's always been so astute, robotic and to the point. He's never fumbled over his words or had to give himself a second to figure out what to say next.

"How long has it been like this, Y/N?" His hands were folded neatly on his lap, still looking you dead-on, waiting for you to answer his distressed queuerie with worried patience.

You got up out of your chair, pushing it back and behind you to step away from the table and your drawings. "I dunno," you said, taking a few steps towards the long mirror hung on your wall, "for as long as I can remember, I guess." You looked at your reflection, only tired, dark eyes looking back at you. Even though the edge of the bed was visible in the mirror, your Squip didn't show up in it, another reminder of just how alone you were outside of your head.

"I just started to feel like I didn't belong more and more and...that ate me up so much I just started believing in it. I-I didn't wanna go to school or talk to people or even get up 'cause...well," You turned away from the mirror before you could see the tears you'd been holding back, looking at the more distressed figure in view of you again, "what would anyone be missing, really?" You still smiled, that big smile you both worked so meticulously on making seem not too forced when you had to act excited or just blend into normal social gatherings, but it wavered so easily, like a thin strip of paper about to tear off the nail that barely held it up on the wall.

His eyes widened at the sight of your tears, immediately getting up and briskly walking to stand in front of you, not knowing how to proceed in the moment. He hadn't had to deal with something like this yet and he was troubleshooting to see what was the correct response to a human breakdown.

You looked down, covering your eyes with one hand and clenching the other into a fist, big, strained smile still plastered on your face and trying so hard not to seem more weak than you knew you were. You were nothing. You knew that, you thought he did too. You thought you could just fix things, but how could you do that without getting to the source? You knew you couldn't just sidestep around why you wanted things to get better with humans, but with a computer who could read your brain like the newspaper, you thought maybe you could get around that.

You heard him sigh before a feeling of arms wrapping around you caught you off guard, the Squip entangling you in his grasp and his head resting on yours. It was all simulated, you knew. He had done things such as lightly punch your arm as if to say 'Good job, Sport!' or tap your shoulder to grab your attention without startling you, but this was different. He held onto you for a good couple of seconds, a wave of warmth spreading through your body in an instant. He pet back your hair with one hand, rubbing your back with the other and finally broke the silence in the room.

"Y/N, it- ...it pains me, hearing you speak that way about yourself. You're…" He looked down at you, holding you a bit closer and tightening his grip just a tad. "You're an incredible, talented, wonderful person. You've come so far and you've taught me so much about humans and myself and I just couldn't ask for a better-" He stopped. You knew what he was going to say, a better host, a better human, a better assignment to help and guide and-

"A better friend."

A friend?

He never referred to you or anyone with such a personal or affectionate term. It almost didn't seem real, like you maybe misheard him. Your smile had shattered into a small frown and, with teary-eyes and your voice already cracking, you looked up at him, meeting his almost-heartbroken eyes in an expression that looked so foreign on his normally composed face.

"What?"

He gave a weak smile, trying to be comforting but his fear showing plain as day. You could feel it within you too, a pit in your stomach forming as your chest tightened. You knew it wasn't your anxiety, but his.

"Do I need to repeat myself, Y/N? I think of you as a friend and..." His hand moved off of your back and ran itself up to rest on your shoulder, the other holding your cheek and wiping away your tears with his thumb. "I want to do all I can to show you that from here on."

You almost couldn't breathe as you looked at him, feeling for the first time that unconditional love you yearned for. You could feel your heart race in your chest, something you knew he could feel too but you were too crushed to say anything. You simply slammed yourself into his chest, grabbing fistfulls of his shirt that made your hands tingle like they fell asleep. His arms enveloped you yet again, the both of you holding onto each other so tight like either of you would fall through the floor if you let go.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed for what felt like hours, and, just maybe, you thought you could hear him crying too, but that'd be silly...right?

When you were finally out of tears to cry, you stood there still, simply bathing in each other's presence, the feeling you only saw in others finally yours. And you knew it was only a matter of time before this too was stolen from you, the universe would take back anything from people unworthy but...for right now, you wanted to be a little selfish.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, face still buried in his shirt.

"For?" His head was rested on yours again, holding up your weak and tired form with no effort, just trying to keep you propped up until you were ready to let go.

"I got you to help me but...I can't even let you in like I'm supposed to. But...I want to. I just want help." You pushed yourself off of him, one thought between you and him and his hands meeting yours, the simulated tingle in there again as you held each other's palms in yours and looked at each other with such exhausted eyes and worn-out but so genuine smiles.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead, a soft hue of pink blush spreading on your drained and exhausted face.

"I'd love to help, friend."

#dex says things #THE FUCK AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE FLDSJFKLDSFDS #THE WORST PART IS IM PROUD OF THIS UGH #be more chill #the squip #squip x reader #my writing #ITS 530 AM UGH

73 notes · View notes

nooneandeveryone · 2 years

Text

I am slow.

This isn't a self-deprecating thing. This is a simple fact about how my brain processes information. My speech is slow and sometimes, so are my reflexes. This also extends to new information. If I'm unfamiliar with a task it will take me twice as long. It's very easy for me to make mistakes if I do not devote all my attention to the task. As I've mentioned before, I have multiple learning disabilities, it is largely dyslexia that slows me. As it disrupts my communication skills.

If my task does not involve language skills of any kind.... I'm fast.

I am slow.

It is difficult for me to answer questions coherently. It is difficult for me to follow directions that contain more than three steps and are not written down.

I will panic.

My friend's back went out, so naturally, she called me. I was able to help. However, she asked me to get something from another room, she told me exactly where it was... I went to get it. I couldn't find it. I was internally panicking. I couldn't hold my thoughts together to preform a simple task. It took me two tries.

Now, generally, what a person would say is "Wait, where was it?" And when I'm comfortable with someone, I will say that. If you're a new friend or acquaintance, I sometimes won't. It's a silly reason.

I've spent the majority of my like being ridiculed for being unable to complete a "simple" task. I have to trust someone in order to even say "Wait, I'm have trouble finding it." I won't go into examples of the ridicule, it gets very depressing and intersects with my school trauma.

Long story short, I am disabled.

But I am not disabled in the popular idea of disabled. Which is very unfortunate. I do have an "obvious" disability with my back pain and occasional need of a cane.

The majority of my disabilities are contained within the structure of my brain.

I am slow. I am easily confused. My short term memory is quite lacking.

I do not understand what others think is obvious. Social cues are difficult if they're in a verbal or written form. I can read body language and expression just fine; in fact, I rely on it.

My language centers are deeply broken. Words, quite literally, are hard.

Yet, here I am writing. So obviously I can't be that bad.

Except... I can.

I can articulate as well as, or better, anyone else if I am given an unlimited amount of time. My brain is like a high end gaming computer that is forced to use Windows 95. The capability is there, the interface is just shit. I've built work arounds that allow me to access it. But they take time. I cannot speed them up faster than I already have. And by god, if you know of better work arounds, tell me.

I am slow.

I simply cannot go faster.

#personal essay #dyslexia in adults #much more broken than i appear #rebloggable #jo is disabled

16 notes · View notes

buffyversefanfiction · 3 years

Text

Slayer of Slayers

Warnings:I do not own, nor do I claim to own any of the copyright or characters within the Buffyverse which includes but not limited to the television shows Buffy and Angel, as well as the Darkhorse comics series’ continuation.

15+ Strong to moderate violence, Graphic to mild descriptions of gore, and torture, sexually charged scenes, sexual innuendos, mild to strong language, and practices of witchcraft.

M/M, F/F, M/F, GEN, OTHER +

PART SIX LINK HERE

Part Seven - Rogues

1928

Spike found himself running through woods in the middle of the night in search of his beloved Drusilla only to find his sire dancing on a field, which had been scorched by fire, as the raven-haired vampire continued swaying from side to side, laughing away at herself in the process making Spike curious to what she was up to now. “Dru, what are you doing out here?” Spike asked the woman he loved as he walked towards her, pulled her body into his arms, and began dancing with Drusilla. “Here on these very grounds lies a future of torment, torture, and agonizing pain…it’s so delicious it makes me giddy!” Drusilla replied as she continued to slow dance with her immortal lover. “One day I’m going to raise a family right here, and will almost be worth all that I’ll have to lose before then…” “I was worried you got yourself killed babe; you know you’re not at your full strength,” Spike confessed admitting his fears for her. “Oh, my dear William, I will be the only one who will not die, not once, even at times when I’m so lonely I wish I would die…” Drusilla sighed with a profound sense of sadness, wanting to stay in that moment but knowing the future was coming. “You’ll always have me!” Spike protested, meaning what he said with all his heart but not knowing what the future would hold for him and the woman he loved more than he could ever imagine loving someone…at the time.

1977

Following Angelus leaving her after regaining his soul and Darla returning to The Master, Drusilla knew her time with Spike was nearing an end, that the quest for her to become strong again would be the beginning of the end for them both and despite how much sadness the thought of losing her beloved Spike one day, she knew her and Spike’s trip to New York would bring some happiness to them both as Spike set out to kill his second vampire slayer, Nikki Wood, while Drusilla set her sights on siring a new vampire, the first child of her new family. Drusilla had spent most of the night watching Tobias from a distance, she followed him as he walked home from his work at a diner nearby to his rundown studio apartment, watched him as he got strung up on drugs, and noticed that this man was far from the one she had seen in her visions. At first glance, this man was no more than a depressed junkie who without her input would die a nobody within a matter of years, but as she watched him further, she began to see the potential hidden deep within him and decided to make her move. “How sad a life you must live to need to block it out with every toxin available to you.” Drusilla greeted Tobias after he opened his apartment door to her, the vampire waiting in the hallway, ready to claim him as her own. “I can feel your pain as if it was my own and I know you are so lost you think you cannot find a way out of your despair, but mummy can make everything all better.” “Did Mick send you? He always did like his girls crazy as hell, just hand me the drugs already and tell Mick I’ll pay him when I get my wages from the diner.” Tobias replied to her, having no clue who she really was nor what she had planned for him. “I do not know this Mick, but I do know you, Tobias, I know who you are now, but I also know who you can be. I can give you meaning in this world, a purpose, and a love that will consume you…you will never be alone!” Drusilla said in a rather convincing tone, acting if she was the answer to his many troubles. “Whatever you are on lady…I want some.” Tobias responded in a mocking tone, confused by who this woman was and what she wanted from him. “I can you make you stronger than you ever imagined, give to you a family you have always longed for, make you part of something truly incredible and even lead you to the love of your life…once I make you worthy of him of course,” Drusilla promised the young man, knowing this time that her words were somewhat resonating with him, tempting him to give her a chance to prove she was telling him the truth, a chance which she would use to turn him into a vampire-like her…

The 2000s

Drusilla stood in the same field she had once stood in the late 20s, but what was now standing there was the abandoned building of an insane asylum, a building which had been built, used, and abandoned within the years since she had last visited this field. and the vampire could not prepare her eyes, for the place was even more beautiful, to her at least, than she found it in her many visions, and now that she had lost her beloved Spike, she could at least find some salvage in claiming the home she had dreamed off for many decades now. “It’s been a long time my darling boy, mummy would be so mad at you if you were not the only family, I had left…for now,” Drusilla told Tobias as he began walking up towards his sire until he was stood next to her. “I really did love that man just like I loved Angelus and grandmother, but they are all gone now…” “I still do not understand why you wasted so much time on that peroxide prick but then I’ve never been in love, if it were not for you, I’d have found it impossible for any vampire,” Tobias replied to the vampire who had created him. “You’ve certainly had your fair share of conquests though; you’ve been a very naughty boy but the time for you to settle down with your forever love is coming soon and mummy could not be more excited,” Drusilla revealed to him, knowing she was going closer to forming a new family, one she believed would be even better than the ones that came before.

Modern Day…

Buffy and Spike’s on/off relationship had reached its inevitable end almost two years ago, when their last split led to Buffy’s one night stand with Angel resulting in a baby which led to Buffy going M.I.A. after losing that baby, and in her absence, Spike had taken over the duties of protecting the city of San Francisco, a city which included Buffy’s sister Dawn Summers, Dawn’s daughter Joyce Harris, and Spike’s on/off roommate Xander Harris in its population. And it was during his patrolling duties within a local cemetery in the city of San Francisco that he was reunited with an old friend, one who would lead him into joining a mission to kill the first woman he ever loved… “Sneaking up on a vampire is a rather foolish move considering the heightened bloody hearing and everything,” Spike shouted into the dark night as he turned around looking for a face to come out of the shadows. “Calm down Spike I was merely trying to surprise an old friend.” Ruby Moon stated as she appeared from out of the shadows. “Someone who I owe my life to and yet have the audacity to ask another favor of.” “Well, if it isn’t the little witch, I helped break free from my ex-Dru’s crazy cult,” Spike said with a smile on his face, happy to see the witch in question. “I heard you were all suburban wife again living the normal life or as close to it as one can get married to one of Riley Finn’s G.I. blows.” “It’s good to see you again too!” Ruby responded with a chuckle as she walked towards the vampire, whom she considered being a good friend, one who she knew she could rely on. “So, go on and tell me what you need saving from this time? Please do not tell me your back being the ex’s magical minion again because you only get one save from that, the second time is on you!” Spike told her with a level of sarcasm, knowing he was about to help her again no matter what situation she had now found herself in. “Remember the friend we left behind? The one crazy enough to consider Drusilla as family. Well, he’s forming a team to kill that ex of yours, and something tells me you will want to be part of that team.” Ruby revealed to the vampire. “I’ve put Dru in my past and if you are smart you would too, let this friend of yours go it alone if he’s so determined serves him right for not getting out when you gave him the option anyway.” Spike rejected her offer, not loving Drusilla anymore but not wanting to be part of her death either. “This friend of mine is Theo Frey, and it just so turns out his mother happens to be your latest ex Buffy Summers’ son, I figured telling you that would help change your mind and everything considering you do not want to be the one telling the slayer that you had a chance to save her son and said no.” Ruby continued with her revelations, shocking Spike by the latest, knowing with certainty he would not reject her offer a second time.

Elsewhere, back in the city of Los Angeles, Theo Frey was once again stood behind his now run-down dive bar, the one he shared with his now-dead again lover Tobias, frozen in thought, with tears in his eyes, as he began to wonder whether Tobias was as guilty as Drusilla for killing his parents, wondering if his entire relationship with Tobias was just a lie and he had been nothing more than a fool to both him and his sire Drusilla. Suddenly, the very place he returned to for comfort, the place he lived with Tobias, and the place they have both called home, had become nothing more than a place of ruins holding memories of a past that the vampire/slayer hybrid could no longer believe to be true after Ruby’s recent revelations. “I did not think I would be seeing you again especially in the place you almost burned to the ground.” Theo declared after drying his eyes, as Faith Lehane, the vampire slayer determined on pestering him forever, walked into what remained of his demonic little dive bar. “Well, it’s not like you can be picky with your customers considering you only have half a bar these days.” Faith joked with the vampire as she walked over to the counter cautiously. “Your little friend Ruby left me this really sketchy video about you and her going to take out Drusilla and now Spike seems to be in on this little mission so I threw my hat in the ring considering you could do with another super strength in the ring, and something tells me you’re not exactly going to be hitting up B or Angel anytime soon…” “Ruby said something of getting some vamp help, but she never said anything about Spike and as for you no thanks, the last time I played with you, you turned my lover into ashes, well your blue-haired pet did anyway.” Theo snapped at the slayer, refusing to team up with her after their complicated history. “I get that you do not trust me, and I do not trust you but here’s the thing Dru’s a big player and she’s made an enemy of everyone not just you so, swallow your pride dude, and take the help I mean it’s better taking too much firepower to the vengeance party than winding up losing her…she’s survived this long for a reason kiddo.” Faith advised the slayer of slayers, trying to convince him to accept her help. “If B hears I’m not going you know she’s going to get herself involved, I mean it was hard enough telling her to sit this one out like it and I will not even get you started on Angel…” “Killing Drusilla…it does not mean I’m suddenly team slayer or anything, it just means, for now, she’s number one on my hitlist…” Theo explained to her. “I will not protect you; I will not save you, and I most certainly will not thank you.” “Well, that sure as hell seems like a yes to me.” Faith smirked, knowing Theo would rather chance to trust her, than giving Drusilla too much of an opportunity to escape his vengeance. Once Theo reluctantly agreed to work alongside Faith, and Ruby returned to Los Angeles with Spike in tow, the team consisting of a vampire slayer turned vampire, a rogue slayer turned good, a vampire with a soul, and a powerful witch began planning to strike Drusilla where she’s least expected to be attacked, at the one place she called home…

Faith, Theo, Ruby, and Spike found themselves deep within the woods, the same woods that Spike had once visited many years ago, and the same woods Theo and Ruby knew all too well thanks to their time with Drusilla, and before long the group of rogues had found themselves standing outside of the abandoned insane asylum, boarded up with planks of wood that themselves had been broken, with smashed windows, and a general sense of abandonment, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, the road to it long gone, hidden in shame of its own secrets A truly horrifying, and haunted place filled with misery from its past, and the perfect home for an insane vampire-like Drusilla. “I get you’re on mission vengeance and everything here Theo but what are the chances you are going to turn us all and lead us into some kind of slaughter?” Faith asked Theo, as the four remained hidden within the trees, beginning to question Theo’s loyalty towards this team of rogues. “The only person I hate more than you and the blue haired bitch is Drusilla so as long as she is alive you are safe but the minute, she’s dead we’re back to being enemies,” Theo answered honestly, making it clear he had no intention of seeking redemption. “He looks like Angel speaks like Angelus and smells like Buffy,” Spike stated, referring to Theo’s similarities with his biological parents. “Got to say it’s as hot as it is annoying!” “Listen up do not let your past get in the way of dusting Drusilla once and for all or else you’ll be joining your ex in the afterlife!” Theo quickly threatened Spike, proving he distrusted them as much as they distrusted him. “You were her minion just days ago I was her equal, if we have to worry about anyone getting second thoughts then it's you, not me!” Spike responded, making it clear he was down to do what needed to be done. “She killed my parents, there’s no going back for me even if it kills me, you better know it's going to kill her too!” Theo declared defiantly as he prepared for the fight of his undead life.

Instead of just charging into the abandoned asylum, Theo decided to get his poker face on, going in first and playing nice with his former mentor Drusilla, as he got a layout of where her minions had placed themselves, knowing the vampire was always ready for an attack, ready to strike before anyone else, as her asylum had become her armed kingdom. Despite the disgust over having to pretend not to entirely loathe the woman that had killed the parents who had raised him since birth, Theo knew it would be worth the cost once he ended the night plunging a wooden stake into Drusilla’s chest if he could convince her that he was still an ally of hers, the problem, of course, being Drusilla was always one step ahead. “My first family was taken by Angelus before he decided to take me too…” Drusilla told Theo as they walked down one of the many hallways found within the abandoned asylum that Drusilla used as her headquarters. “But then I found a new one with him and Darla, then my Spike but your mother took that all from me which is why I found it so fitting that I was the one to take you from her…but you were never really mine were you?” “What are you talking about? I believed your every word, did every demand and loved you like a son, I have been loyal to you since the first time I met you and I continue to be.” Theo argued with her, fearing she already knew of his intentions to kill her. “I took you into my home and loved you like a son, I even loved you when you took Tobias from me because I knew that was the way things had to be but now you’re too far gone for me to save…” Drusilla said with a great sense of sadness as the two stopped walking, and Theo noticed vampires appearing from both ends of the hallway, as he realized she was the one ambushing him. “The only thing I can do for you now is killing you and hope you are reunited with Tobias in whatever hellish dimension you are sent to.” “You really do see everything coming, don’t you?” Theo asked as he pulled out a wooden stake from his jacket pocket. “You killed my parents, pretended to save me, and had me fooled to think you as my savior all this time! I trusted you…I fought for you…I loved you!” “Everything I did I did to make you who you are today, the slayer of slayers, the world’s first self-sired vampire and you repay me with siding with the very same people who abandoned you without a second thought,” Drusilla replied, as she pulled out a wooden stake of her own from out of the side of her dress, as her minions cautiously walked closer to them both, ready to help their master if Theo got the upper hand. “I don’t give a shit about them! I gave a shit about my parents, the ones who raised me, who loved me, and you took them from me!” Theo shouted at her furiously. “My whole life has been one big lie and you’re the one telling the twisted tale.” “I loved you as much as someone like me could ever love anybody…you were more my son than perhaps even Tobias, I had such high hopes for you and now you’re letting something as mortal as dead humans affect your emotions making you dumb, dumb, dumb,” Drusilla responded before going on to reveal. “My vision had two endings you know…one where you were her ending and another where she was yours, I guess we both know now what ending you have chosen.” Suddenly, the two vampires who had once considered themselves to be like mother and son were now ready to fight to the death against each other, both feeling equal as betrayed as the other, Theo having perfectly reasonable reasons to feel betrayed by her, and Drusilla in her mind only having reasons of her own.

Meanwhile, just outside of the abandoned insane asylum, where Drusilla and Theo were beginning to battle each other, Faith, Spike, and Ruby remained to hide behind the same trees where Theo had left the three of them as they awaited a signal from the vampire slayer/vampire hybrid to know when to come into the fight, not realizing that Drusilla already had the upper hand on them all. “I know he’s Buffy’s kid, Angel’s too, but at what point do we just bail on this and let the two vamps fight it out between themselves?” Spike asked the vampire slayer, and witch, who he was stood next to. “I mean this guy is just as evil as everything else we tend to kill so why don’t we leave it to Drusilla to kill him instead of one of us killing the kid?” “I am not going anywhere!” Ruby said defiantly, refusing to give up on her former best friend. “I have known Theo my whole life, you two only know the evil side to him but I’ve seen the best and worst of him and I was there when he lost everything…despite that there’s still good in him.” “Well, I do not bloody see it,” Spike replied to the brown-haired witch. “But I am not leaving you to die out here!” “I saw it…in the way he loved that vamp Toby or whatever, they loved each other as I’ve never seen anyone love each other, except maybe Buffy and Angel.” Faith confessed, once again standing up for the slayer of slayers, feeling now more than ever before that his redemption was drawing nearer. Suddenly, the sound of a window-smashing grabbed their attention, as they turned to see a vampire falling from the top floor window before hitting the ground with force, before getting back onto his feet and running back into the asylum via a side door, and although this was not the signal they agreed on, it was clear to Faith, Spike, and Ruby that Theo was in trouble and now was the time to act.

Theo’s fight against Drusilla was unfair in every way as each time he gained the upper hand against his former undead mentor, her vampire army would attack him, and before long he was down on the floor, bloody, bruised, and beaten, while being pinned down by several vampires as Drusilla stood above him, ready to plunge the wooden stake she held into his chest and end him once and for all. “You have been such a naughty boy Theodore,” Drusilla stated with a look of struggle in her eyes as she kneeled over Theo’s body, clearly finding great difficulty with the fact she was about to kill someone she once loved like a son. “All I ever wanted was to be your mother…but she gets her claws into everyone I love.” “Get it over with already!” Theo shouted at her, ready to admit his defeat, accept his fate, and let his miserable life come to an end. And Drusilla did just what she was told, as tears formed in her eyes, she plunged the stake into Theo’s death while letting out a frantic scream at the same time, before falling backward and beginning to sob manically for a moment, only to be left just as stunned as Theo himself as he did not turn to dust, but instead, pulled the stake out of his chest, and rose back onto his feet. Before Theo or Drusilla could even usher a single word to display their joined shock at the fact that Theo was somehow still alive, the surrounding vampires, very recently loyal to Drusilla, began to kneel for Theo, displaying the change in loyalty, now towards the slayer of slayers, as Drusilla quickly rose to her feet and made her way out of the exit located nearest to her, as a shocked Theo continued to look at the vampires kneeling before him, still in shock, as the stake he was holding, which was just plunged into his chest, fell to the ground. “You are our new master now!” One of the vampires declared as Theo continued to just stand there in shock. “A vampire that cannot die, the true immortal, the true heir to the undead kingdom!” Another declared, followed by cheers from fellow vampires, just as Faith, Spike, and Ruby rushed into the hallway from the exit farthest away from them all, only to stop in their tracks by the shocking sight in front of them. “Theo…” Ruby shouted towards her former friend, having no idea what all this meant, or what would follow, as the slayer of slayers was declared king among the vampires…

4 notes · View notes

quillyfied · 4 years

Text

Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 4

I LIIIIIIIVE

99 titles on this list again and once again we have an extra category, and I am pumped that I finally got this one done! Got a lot of holiday overflow but suck it up bc here it comes. As a refresher, the categories are: Jaunts through History/Canon, South Downs, Post-Apocalypse, Bus Ride/Night Before/Heaven and Hell, AU/UA, Soft, Before (exclusive to this list and List 2, meaning takes place almost exclusively Before Canon, as in The Fall/Creation/etc), Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings, Bonus, and H/C /Whump/BAMF. Warnings for gore and explicit material present where applicable. I don’t read smut fics but sometimes more adult material sneaks in there.

Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF A LINK IS BROKEN OR IF I MISATTRIBUTED AN AUTHOR.

JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON

1. You are a Call to Motion – @freyjawriter24 (G, the one where Aziraphale would like to dance but doesn’t. Very sweet and soft and kinda sad, follows Aziraphale through history wanting to dance (specifically with Crowley) until he finally gets to. The pining is so good, y’all.)

2. I love you because I know no other way than this – kriswithakay (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley use the excuse of being spectacularly drunk to get in little touches and kisses throughout history. This one is so sad and so full of yearning, the whole time you just wish they would face each other sober. It’s so quiet and beautiful.)

3. A Simple Thing – Sir_Bedevere (T, the one where Aziraphale gives out forehead kisses and Crowley is jelly about it. Continuing with the trend of being achingly sad and tender, this fic packs a wallop in that department. Forehead kisses aren’t always given at the happiest of times, after all. Also Crowley continues his stint as a pine tree and it’s painful.)

4. The Problem with Saints – Lurlur, D20Owlbear, robynthemagpie_writes, Wyvernquill (T and G, the series where it’s Catholic but funny. This series is weird and it’s hilarious and I hope there will be more, because this series goes through some fairly niche Catholic saint stories and the retelling of them featuring the Ineffable Husbands is hysterical. I don’t even want to tell y’all too much about it, just go read them and laugh with me, because they’re beautiful.)

5. When The Things You’ve Planned Need a Helping Hand – Proskenion (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale run into each other in the 1920s. Flapper!Crowley being a lounge singer is the centerpiece of this one, which is delightful enough, but throw in some canon-typical friction over the Arrangement and a chance for Aziraphale to come to the rescue, it’s a lovely little romp that has just the right edge of emotional tenderness to take the sting out of said earlier friction. Or add to it. Just depends on your point of view, really.)

6. The Serpent and the Lady – @summerofspock (T, the one where Aziraphale is Lady Fair and Crowley is competing in a tournament for his favor. Has female-presenting Aziraphale still using male pronouns bc that’s just what he’s comfortable with, and definitely, definitely has that Disney animated Robin Hood flavor. This fic scratches so many of my itches—Aziraphale in a dress, Crowley being a dashing BAMF, chivalric courtship, swordplay, armor, hand-sewn tokens of favor. A delicious little diversion, very worth it a++++.)

7. Sunlight and Water – @themoonmothwrites (M, the one where Aziraphale is a flirty drunk and Crowley has to be the sensible one. M for some racy elements but not explicit. This one is fun but then takes a direct left into Feels Town, which, when coupled with @cassieoh’s art, just makes the whole experience dreadfully unfair. A gorgeous little story, and the ending is just *chef’s kiss*.)

8. Sloth – libbyfay (T, the one where Aziraphale checks in on Crowley after the fourteenth century. This one is a delight, and includes Aziraphale recommending The Canterbury Tales, as well as a back-and-forth about depression versus Sloth and a lot of talking around feelings. Must absolutely be read in conjunction with the next rec in the list, which is something of a continuation. )

9. I have an aungel which that loveth me – HolRose (NR, the one where Crowley follows up on The Canterbury Tales recommendation from Aziraphale and it gets a bit deep. A continuation of the previous rec, and oof, y’all. This one gets hella sad, which hits pretty hard after Crowley laughing his head off about the funny bits in Canterbury Tales. There’s also Feelings, which are desperate and tender and guys they don’t even kiss but it’s still breathtaking. They love each other so much.)

10. (heaven is) a place on earth – rattatatosk (G, the one where Aziraphale nearly loses his bookshop. This takes place during the deleted scene from the 1800 opening of the bookshop, and has oodles of Aziraphale building himself a home and being devastated about nearly losing it. Not a nesting fic in the traditional sense (meaning it isn’t about building a home for himself and Crowley, it’s definitely just for him), but for fans of happy Aziraphale being fluffy and content in his bookshop, here you go.)

11. No other news to report – @argentconflagration (T, the one where Aziraphale is torn up about an assignment. Y’all want Crowley interfering in angelic plans? Y’all want tenderness and holding? Y’all want Aziraphale letting himself be bested? Then stay a while, because this one is a heart-wrecker. Featuring a very sick and very devout child, and female-presenting Crowley.)

12. These Things Were Here – @MajorEnglishEsquire (T, the one where Crowley resorts to snake form to deal with his feelings. This one is long and it’s emotional; Crowley reverts down to being a snake whenever he gets especially bad assignments from Hell, and it’s about him and Aziraphale finding balance and harmony between themselves when Crowley is like this. Very sweet and very tender and very sad.)

13. Crossing Paths – @amuseoffyre (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale meet every few years. This is your typical “through the ages” fic but it’s Fyre writing it, and that means it has so much humor and heart and history in it it’s practically like reading deleted scenes of the show. The boys are so in-character and their love is subtle and slow-boiling but there. Highly recommended, absolutely.)

14. apples (per the author’s intention) – @lwtis (T, the one where apples is a recurring theme in their friendship. This one is hilarious and it’s heartfelt and I quite enjoyed it; the bits where Aziraphale is absolutely convinced this is a temptation of some kind are particularly juicy (not unlike Crowley’s backside in a certain pair of trousers). Crowley absolutely knows how to beat a joke to death and he does it with style.)

SOUTH DOWNS

15. up in our bedroom, after the war – @rufeepeach (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale need to get away to process things. In this one, they more vacation to the South Downs rather than move there, but them working through the awkwardness of Armageddon’s fighting and gently taking their relationship to its natural conclusion is beautiful and good. It isn’t urgent or desperate, just quiet and understated and organic. A lovely piece.)

16. Somewhere Alive and Green – @thetunewillcome (T, the one where they make a necessary move. This one is quiet and reflective, as a good South Downs fic should be, and though it’s short I think it’s wonderfully healing. Very good.)

POST-APOCALYPSE

17. England’s pleasant pastures seen – @squidsticks (T, the one where Aziraphale has an appointment with a book collector and Crowley offers to drive. Y’all it’s so sweet and, dare I say, uplifting, how much they love each other. Someone drops the “husband” word at some point and someone else has a joyful fit over it and I bet you can tell who does what. There’s also a lot of teasing and the kind of easy banter that comes with knowing someone for so long. V. good.)

18. you have built nests from all my bark – @mutalune (T, the one where Crowley is nesting as an aggressive courting maneuver. This fic is so much fun. Highlights include Michael thinking Aziraphale must have a special connection with the Almighty and trying to emulate his lifestyle in order to have one herself, Crowley getting irrationally jealous over it all and constructing the finest nest known to reality (including cupholders, which I now also want in all my pillow piles), Dagon looking for a very similar thing from Crowley that Michael wants from Aziraphale, and lots of delicious humor and unexpected character interactions. I highly recommend this one if you’re having a bad day.)

19. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – @divisionten (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale find out how to get around Heaven and Hell and it’s through summons. More of an anthology than a solid story, and it’s such a fascinating universe, liberally layered with overcoming trust issues and adjusting to being in a loving relationship, and it’s Good Food y’all, trust me on this.)

20. That’s Not Funny – cyankelpie (G, the one where they’re exceptionally drunk and Crowley says I Love You and Aziraphale thinks he’s joking. This one is sharper than expected but it makes the moment where they finally have everything out in the open so much sweeter. Lots of protective Crowley and very confused Aziraphale.)

21. Stars – @lyricwritesprose (G, the series that’s a spinoff of Tales of the Them that’s about Crowley and the stars, ostensibly. It’s a spinoff bc it deals with Aziraphale’s point of view, too, and their careful navigation of a complicated subject in Crowley’s history. Very soft and bittersweet.)

22. In Action How Like an Angel – PinkPenguinParade (T/NR/M, the series where Aziraphale stumbles into making some useful wards and then Crowley gets taken. Rated high for safety but the violence is truly not that bad and the sex jokes are very mild. Come for cool worldbuilding, stay for BAMF!Aziraphale, and have some extra bits of Anathema and Newt being very good and helpful friends on top!)

23. Let’s share a drink! – @nohaijiachi (G, the one where Aziraphale gets horribly discorporated and gets his body back fairly quickly thanks to quick thinking and Gabriel being easy to gross out. This one is a bit gross, fair warning, but it’s not too graphic, and it’s hilarious besides. Peak Bastard Aziraphale Hours, this one is. If you like reading about Gabriel getting messed with, welcome to the party.)

24. Metastable – MrsCaufield (Not Rated, the one where Aziraphale is having an existential crisis post-Armageddon. Featuring lots of miscommunication, some mild jealousy, and Aziraphale figuring himself out, which is always lovely to read about. Misunderstandings and two supernatural beings being grossly in love, can’t get better than this!)

25. Taking Steps – @joyandotherstories (G, the one where Aziraphale decides he wants to take salsa dancing lessons and Crowley agrees. Oh, y’all. You like pining? You like awkward touching? Do you perhaps like…faked relationships turning into real relationships? You’d best have a seat and dive into this one, because the payoff is many-layered and just phenomenal. The pride in these idiots not only learning to dance but learning to be open about how much they love each other is so good.)

BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL

26. Introspection and Starlight – d20owlbear (T, the one where Aziraphale has a breakdown and is hold. I seem to have a special taste for Aziraphale breaking down, and this one is Hecking Delicious—it’s a slow break but it’s so achingly tender and emotional, especially once sleepy Crowley gets on the scene. Apologies are made and two very tired beings just hold each other at the end of it all and it’s so good.)

27. The Longest Night – @charlottemadison42 (T, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are taking slow and important steps. Three fics in the series so far, and each one captures their hilarious and effortless dynamic so well while still paying homage to their quiet love. There are so many cool details to explore, ESPECIALLY in the bodyswap fics, and overall they are a really fun and thoughtful look at how the Night the World Didn’t End could’ve gone. OH AND A FOURTH ONE HAS GONE UP WHILE I WAS WORKING ON THIS LIST and you guyssss so much good content about Crowley’s (Presumably) Foot Thing and Shoes, omg. A treasure.)

28. Last Confessions and Hopeless Loves – @girlwholovesherwords (G, the one where they very neatly and annoyingly slot into their new dynamic. This one is so matter-of-fact and tongue-in-cheek I about died laughing, which is amazing given that it’s less than 3k words. A very good little egg.)

29. Choose Your Faces Wisely – @cheeseandonioncrisps (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale set the record straight on how they portrayed each other. This is a fun one based on the very good meta bits floating around (which have been bolstered by Neil Gaiman’s commentary in the DVDs I will have you know) that their performances in each other’s skins is how they see each other and how different that is from how they see themselves and guys it’s so good, I wanted this conversation to last forever and ever.)

30. and I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well – BrinneyFriday (T, the one where apologies are made and kisses are had. Guys it’s so soft. Oh my gosh you guys the tenderness is unreal. There’s Crowley falling asleep in Aziraphale’s lap and there’s deciding they’re stronger together and guys pls it’s so good just read it pleASE—)

AU/UA

31. A Curious Case of Miracles on Marlborough Street – @nihilnovisubsole (M, the one where there might be such a thing as too much of a good thing. M for sexual humor and situations but nothing all that graphic. Y’all it’s the “angels accidentally cast miracles when they orgasm” crack given the serious treatment it deserves, and this fic also wins awards for its brilliant OC angel Sabrael, Keeper of Miracles. The icing on the cake? Beautiful artistic accompaniment to go along with the brilliant writing. Just delightful, a whole entire treat. An afternoon delight indeed.)

32. Too Much of a Good Thing – @yamisnuffles (G, T, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are both angels and things are a bit different. It’s not fair that yamisnuffles is a distinctive and wonderful artist, they have to be a good writer, too, and be terribly talented at telling a good story. Crowley’s character arc and emotional growth as a disgraced angel cursed to live as a snake for a while is fabulous, and it’s only ramping up, so jump on the train now! It’s a good train!)

33. Measures of Freedom – KazLangston (T, the one where Crowley is an acquisition made by one Mr. AZ Fell. This is one of those “turn left” AUs where they’re still an angel and a demon, they just didn’t meet in Eden. Instead, they meet because Crowley gets himself captured and Aziraphale doesn’t think it’s safe to let a real, dangerous demon loose. Their relationship is very combative and antagonistic but it softens; the emotional journey they go on from clear enemies to clear friends is fantastic.)

34. Somewhere Down Below – jane_with_a_j (T, the series where Aziraphale is captured as an incentive for Crowley to jump masters in Hell. There’s lots of hurt!Aziraphale in this one, as tends to happen to an angel captive in Hell, and an excruciating amount of pining that doesn’t so much counterbalance the angst so much as spice it up enormously. There’s intrigue, there’s a daring escape, it’s radical, folks.)

35. How it Happens – @captainqueernerd (T, the one that’s based on a comic and both are DELIGHTFUL. The fic here is an extension of the comic and so sweet, oh my goodness how sweet it is. The best bits aren’t even when they cover the comic’s events—it’s AFTER that is the real treat. I’ll hand out brownie points to anyone who can find the sentence that made me put down my laptop before I accidentally chucked it while laughing too hard.)

36. mors certissima – @northerntrash (T, the Hades and Persephone AU where Aziraphale is Hades and Crowley is Persephone and they’re all doing their best. This is a super fun one, beautifully written and lovely original lore that has Aziraphale really coming into his own as a god of death and what that means for the wider pantheon and the world. And IT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN where the fic is at the moment, I’m pumped for the conclusion!)

37. It’s All Greek to Me (that is, Ineffable) – @ulspi (UR, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are cast in different mythological roles in each fic. This one’s gorgeous, you guys, haunting and romantic and each fic has a distinct flavor that is impossibly good. A beautiful way to spend a rainy afternoon, in my opinion.)

38. The Princess and the Serpent – @longforgottenhymn (G, the one where Aziraphale takes Crowley to King Arthur’s court to get a nobleman off his back and oh no, fake dating becomes real dating, oh no. You think you’re ready for this fic? FOOL. This fic is going to carve you up from the inside out and you won’t even be READY for it even if you know it’s coming. This fic is going to promise intimacy and deliver in terrible, terrible tenderness. I am being melodramatic but THIS FIC. THIS FIC IS SO GOOD. This fic is not what I was expecting and it hits HARD because of that.)

39. Wicked dance – pirripipi (T, the one that’s a royal AU with incredible depth and complexity. Listen, what this fic might lack in polish it more than makes up for in flat-out interesting worldbuilding. The characterization is on point and the nonlinear storytelling is very well-handled. And that ending! So triumphant, so utterly joyful. What a joy this fic is! Just wait until you see the Garden of Eden, it’s SPECTACULAR.)

40. The sun doesn’t set on the shoreline – VinWrit (G, the one that’s a selkie and siren AU. This one feels more like it’s being told in microfiction installments and that’s certainly interesting on its own, but it reads like a horror story and it’s chock full of worldbuilding, and the characterization of Crowley especially just breaks my heart right in two. What a great little story.)

41. An Angel’s Hope – @braver-stronger-smarter (M, the one that’s a crossover with the Kiesha’ra book series by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes and it’s delicious AF. Not sure why it’s rated M, but it does deal with a war and the fallout of dealing with constant violence and death. Explains things well enough that you don’t need to have read the Kiesha’ra to understand what’s going on (or, like, if it’s been well over a decade since you last read it…), and the integration of Crowley and Aziraphale into the main plot of these shapeshifter snake and bird cultures is effortless. Can’t wait to see where this one goes (bc even if it just follows the plot of Hawksong, it’s sure to be an exciting ride). (Side note, read the Kiesha’ra, it’s a good series.))

42. By Grace – @seaskystone (G, the one that’s the little soulmate AU that could. Not very long but still highly impactful in my opinion, featuring Crowley and Aziraphale meeting in heaven and knowing right away they’re meant for each other, but canon still happens as it does. Short and bittersweet and pretty.)

43. The Ones Who Walk Away from Nevaeh – @soft-october-night (T, the one that’s the “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” AU none of us ever even knew we needed but heck if we didn’t get it anyway. If you aren’t familiar, “Omelas” is a short story by Ursula K LeGuin that I absolutely believe you must read in order to get the full impact of this and what the author does with the story with regard to our two boys, it’s earth-shattering. Soft-october-night does it again, just goes and makes outstanding AUs that own my entire soul like it ain’t no thing. Completely unfair.)

44. Take the Fall (What’s a Second Time) – @triffidsandcuckoos (T, the one where Crawly does what it says on the tin. This one includes a nice helping of Crowley suffering from chronic pain as a consequence of taking the blame for the apple business, and some sweet care from Aziraphale, who is well aware it’s his fault. An interesting take and a heartwarming story (even if suffering from chronic pain is the pits and there’s no way around that).)

45. forgotten (but not gone) – @writeonclara (T, the one where their memories are taken and Crowley and Aziraphale still manage to stay away from each other for about .04 seconds. This one has some hard edges and it is a harrowing story about accepting others and yourself, and having faith in yourself and your loved one, but the way they can’t keep their hands to themselves when all the stops are pulled out is frankly hilarious and I commend this story whole-heartedly for committing to that.)

46. It’s Not the Years, it’s the Mileage – @moveslikebucky (T, the one that’s an Indiana Jones AU based on @yamisnuffles’ art. You want Aziraphale doing his best in an Indy role while still being an angel? You want Crowley owning a bar and it DOESN’T suck? You want pining and heartache and hilarity? Park it, then, folks, you don’t even need to know the Indiana Jones films to enjoy it (I certainly don’t and I am aware of this failing, thank you).)

47. or the look or the words – @taizi (T, the one where they just keep getting married and it doesn’t stop from happening. Guys they are literally married HUNDREDS OF TIMES throughout history STARTING AT THE ARK. They are literally so soft and so in love and I am beside myself right now, please love yourself and practice some self-care by reading this fic.)

48. Give me a title, I’ll give you my heart – @nohaijiachi (T, the one that’s a human AU based on fanart and it’s great. Single dad Aziraphale with a cautious past, determined son Adam who is gonna get his dad a date if it’s the last thing he does, utterly besotted Crowley who is excellent at being gentle and also a great beta reader…a surprisingly emotional and fun piece, very good.)

49. what if you fall? oh, but my darling, what if i fly? – Doggoos (T, the one where they loved in Heaven and outside interference tore them apart. I LOST THIS FIC AND SPENT FOREVER TRYING TO FIND IT AGAIN. The one detail that kept me going? Crowley (as Raphael) and Aziraphale exchange jewelry before Gabriel sticks his stupid nose in it and the jewelry is visually stunning and emotionally gorgeous. It’s emotional and it’s fraught and there’s erased memories to contend with but holy COW, y’all. They’re so in love.)

50. Snakes and Stones (the Crowley/Aziraphale Human AU) – @deerstalkerdeathfrisbee (G, the series where it’s exactly what it says it is. The opening fic for this series is where literally everyone in Aziraphale’s dorm thinks his boyfriend is made up and Aziraphale has the enormous pleasure of proving them all wrong. It has great Newt characterization and, surprisingly, Gabriel being likeable, though he has to work for it. It’s fun and a little silly and I adore it.)

51. in the arms of the ocean (so sweet and so cold) – robynthemagpie_writes, agent_of_mischief (T, the one where Aziraphale becomes a lighthouse keeper and Crowley is probably a sea monster. This is a horror story and it’s a love story and while reading it kept me awake at night, thinking about it also kept me very much awake at night. I am the world’s biggest chicken and the spoop is real, friends, but more than that, it’s the horrors lurking in Aziraphale’s past (and probably Crowley’s, I have some theories) that are the heartbreaking bit. Not for the faint-hearted, it goes hard and I have a feeling it’s only going to go harder.)

52. i’ve found a way (a way to make you smile) – @fremulon (T, the one that’s an AU of The Office. Requires no knowledge of The Office but I’m sure it helps. This is one I kept putting off and deeply regret doing so (though, on the other hand, waiting so long to read it meant that I caught up the night before the last chapter went up, so HA). Y’all, it’s so funny and so relatable as an adult stuck in a dead-end job I don’t like, and the romance between Aziraphale and Crowley is so simple and so sweet. I just love it and I love this fic and I want you to read it immediately right now.)

53. I Know Places We Won’t Be Found – FangsScalesSkin (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale run away together from the Garden of Eden. I have been waiting for someone to write this forever and it’s finally happening. And it’s got such fun worldbuilding, and their interactions are so cute, and I just love them and want them to be okay and to be married forever and ever.)

54. an imitation of the garden of eden – @dyslexiccrowley (T, the one that’s a D&D-inspired AU. Speaking of AUs that come out of hecking nowhere, here’s one! This one is a really fun adventure, and if you thought me turning the Bentley into a horse in several of my fics was fun, this one beats me out by a country mile and I couldn’t be more gleeful about it because THE BENTLEY IS A DRAGON. I could deffo see the dnd elements throughout but the flavor of it is so unique, I thoroughly enjoyed the adventure and the character moments.)

55. Hell is Just a Sauna – @anthonyjcrowiey (T, the one that’s a “Ten Things I Hate About You” AU. I haven’t seen the film (though I have read Taming of the Shrew and I have been on Tumblr long enough to absorb several gifsets), but this fic was still so good and managed to hook me right in regardless of that fact. I can’t wait for it to finish up, we’re on the emotional crux of the plot and it’s tearing me up how it’s been left!)

56. be mine tonight (be mine forever) – @qorktrees (T, the one that’s a literal “fake dating becomes real dating” AU. Human AU, and these idiots I SWEAR. Aziraphale needs a date for the office Christmas party, Crowley is available and bribable, and of course it ends in their ruse becoming the real deal, this is fanfiction for crying out loud. It happens so sweetly, though, you’ve gotta see this.)

57. Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes – @gigglesnortbangdead (T, the one where Heaven and Hell turn enemies into children instead of smiting. Oh, goodness gracious y’all are not ready for this one. You aren’t ready for the way being turned into a child affects an angel or a demon. You aren’t ready for the myriad ways bb!Crowley is gonna tug at your heartstrings. You aren’t ready for the way Aziraphale is when it finally happens to him. You AREN’T READY. This is precisely why you should go read it right now immediately, to see just how unready you really are. You should take care of that at this exact moment.)

58. Ineffably Yours – SecondHandNews (M, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale choose each other and keep choosing each other. Listen to me: this series is the length of several novels. I have only read the first one, after stumbling on a side-story that was really good and not realizing it was a side-story of a bigger series until I’d finished it. I am planning on reading the rest of the series, which is still updating. I am a little terrified at this titan who has managed to write over 360K words since June in this one series alone. The first one absolutely had me biting my nails and rocking back and forth in an anxious haze, and it’s so tender and so beautiful and SO NERVE-WRACKING. Crowley and Aziraphale learn the Rapture is coming and they just…kinda snap, really. Stop avoiding each other, start choosing each other, and all the twists and turns that comes with it. Just. Really outstanding work, I am an anxious mess but it’s good XD)

JUST SOFT

59. Where to Start – @freyjawriter24 (T, the one where Crowley nearly kisses Aziraphale throughout history like A LOT. Guys you wanna feel the pine crushing into your soul? You want to feel that deep ache of wanting to touch so badly but holding back out of sheer desperate force of will? Read this, prepare to have your knees appropriately weakened from the longing.)

60. A Softer Fall – @themoonmothwrites (T, the one that’s the wall shoving but soft. Bury me in this one, boys, my corpse will rest well for eternity, because holy COW the longing and the fear and the reassurances…my heart is a marshmallow now and it’s this fic’s fault.)

61. for the dancing and the dreaming – @une-danse-macabre (G, the one where Aziraphale proposes. Listen I know this entire section of the post is for Soft Fic but this is Softe Fic and I am not joking even a little bit. Crowley desperately deflecting using humor bc he is so overwhelmed? It’s more likely than you think. Read this, it’s a beautiful little shot of humor and romance.)

62. in candlelight, we dance – SaerM (T, the one where they take a shower together. I have a deep and abiding weakness for bathing fic, and even better, it’s not a sex fic! Just two ineffable partners being tender and washing each other and being together. So sweet and good.)

63. A Pile of Pillows – @waffleironbiddingwar (T, the one where Aziraphale seems to have built a nest during a weekend apart. There’s a few cute nesting fics in this here post but this is one of my very favorites; even has some wing grooming, and lots of teasing and kissing. Very cute!)

64. When the Wind Changes – Star_less (G, the one where Crowley makes faces at babies. Listen. LISTEN. You don’t have to personally like kids to go all gooey over how much Crowley seems to like kids, entirely without meaning to. It’s too cute. Someone call the Cute Police.)

65. with adorations, with fertile tears – waywarder (T, the one where there’s an emotional meltdown while watching a high school production of Twelfth Night. So sweet and unsure and awkward, this one; it’s canon-verse, Aziraphale just drags Crowley to a high school production and then proceeds to very nearly have an angelic aneurysm over trying to hold his hand. If you’ve a soft spot for the Ineffable Husbands quoting Shakespeare at each other, welcome to the party, you’ve arrived.)

66. Sleeping Angel – @whatawriterwields (G, the one where Aziraphale is asleep on Crowley’s chest. It should be noted that this writer wields tenderness like a weapon, stiletto right between the ribs to knock all that breath right out of you, which is a much more gruesome descriptor than I probably should’ve used but YOU GUYS CROWLEY TALKS TO AZIRAPHALE IN HIS SLEEP AND IT’S SO SWEET AND I CAN’T BREATHE.)

67. in so many words – @asideofourown (G, the one where Aziraphale has trouble saying “I love you.” This one made me laugh and “aww” in equal measure, but to get you to click on the link and read as fast as I did, Aziraphale says “thank you” the first time Crowley says “I love you” and I DIED.)

68. A First Christmas, Once Again – lalaland666 (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale get to celebrate Christmas together. This one has a fun twist on why Aziraphale dislikes the holidays and a really cute Crowley getting excited for them, and I think it’s well worth reading whether or not you find the December holiday season celebratory or not.)

69. (i love you) as you are – @asideofourown (T, the one where Crowley tries to change to be more like Aziraphale in order to keep him and it’s heartbreaking. Listen, this writer is great and more often than not draws me in bc the dialogue is so good, but this one just crushed my heart into pieces, because Crowley is trying SO HARD and he doesn’t have to but doesn’t realize that he doesn’t have to and AUGH.)

70. the commendation – @forineffablereasons (G, the one where Aziraphale’s ring is itself a commendation from Heaven. This one is short and sweet but it GUTS me every time, just over Aziraphale and how much Heaven screwed him over and failed him by making him feel like the failure. Something this short should not hurt me so much AND YET. Crowley makes it better. Obviously.)

71. the other way round – @forineffablereasons (G, the one where Aziraphale lays in Crowley’s lap instead. Listen we all love it when Crowley puts his head in Aziraphale’s lap but this writer has the right of it, we don’t see it nearly enough the other way round and HHHHGK. The tenderness. The softness. It BURNS.)

72. Every Song in Every Key – @impishtubist (T, the one with the seriously misleading summary. I mean this in the best possible way. Crowley being the one to enjoy the holidays is fun enough, but the true meat of this fic came out of nowhere and it hit me square in the squishy bits. One of the tags is “kid fic” for a little bit of a hint but I shan’t spoil it for you, just go read about Crowley being soft.)

73. shed a sweet light – @areyougonnabe (T, the one that’s not anti-holiday so much as a non-holiday holiday fic. That was probably confusing for you BUT IN ESSENCE: Aziraphale has been around too long to get too attached to any particular holiday (plus time passes so differently when you’re immortal), and attracts the ire of holiday influencers. It gets surprisingly dire, and then delightfully Jewish. Has the exact heart that every holiday story hopes for: quiet, enduring love amidst the chaos. A beautiful little thing.)

BEFORE

74. Unexpected Variables – @seaskystone (T, the one where God keeps having to reset the universe. Hands-down the most hilarious fic on the list just by virtue of God’s impending migraine in dealing with Crowley and Aziraphale, who are so incompetent and I love them so much.)

75. Astralphysiastrics – @wortlby2 (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale finally talk about Before. This one’s “Before” elements take place in flashbacks but given that they’re a pretty significant portion of the fic, I put it in this category anyway. Guys this one HURTS, but there’s healing in it, too, which is a beautiful balance. Ends nice and fluffy, which is a good landing after the flashbacks are done tossing you about.)

TOUCH-STARVED/BODY WORSHIP/WINGS

76. To Preen a Songbird – @tiger-in-the-flightdeck (T, the one that’s just some good old-fashioned preening, y’all. Prepare for these idiots being silly and bantering and teasing, because the back-and-forth is so good. SO good. So very, very good.)

77. Life Hurts (But Not With You) – Spider_Lilly (T, the series that’s about Aziraphale letting Crowley preen him. This one takes a pretty serious turn and talks about what happens to angels with slightly more realistic-type wings who don’t have help preening. Fair warning, there’s a bit of grossness with impacted preen glands (which are oil glands) and if you are squeamish I would tread carefully, bc it can get a bit disturbing when Crowley has to help deal with them, but if you like realistic wing care, this is the series for you. Also love. Also pining. Also they’re kind of the same story from different perspectives and the one from Aziraphale’s perspective is SO MUCH WORSE EMOTIONALLY. A good bit of catharsis fic, for sure.)

78. Descent Suspension – @onheil-ferguson (M, the one where Crowley could use some tying up. M for shibari but it’s nonsexual. Book!verse. I apparently have a thing for nonsexual BDSM and bondage, because this fic absolutely took my breath away. It’s very calm and understated and dignified, just feels quiet. A beautiful piece, for sure.)

79. The End (of the Beginning) or A Not-So-Nice or Accurate Guide to Sex on a Stick, By Anthony J. Crowley, Demon. – @fantasticallyobscure (T, the one where Crowley has been trying sex with all the wrong people. Not explicit at all, just has a lot of discussions about sex, which can be off-putting but now you know going in (if the title didn’t give it away). Basically Crowley keeps trying sex with people who have his same physical build and loses his appetite for it, until he and Aziraphale finally get their heads on straight and Aziraphale wants to try it. Some hilarious metaphors and a lot of adorable Aziraphale being jealous, which is a trip. A wonderful little romp, for sure!)

80. You Are Unbreaking (Though Quaking) – @lesbianscrowleys (T, the one where Aziraphale works through his knee-jerk reactions to being touched. A very good little snapshot of healing and working through things while communicating with your partner, and there’s a fun side-story about accepting who you are that underscores the main theme rather well. Crowley is so good and patient and Aziraphale is trying so hard.)

81. A Treatise Concerning Religious Affectations – forthegreatergood (T, the one where there are discussions of religious ecstasy versus regular ecstasy. This one involves more or less orgasming via manipulation of miraculous brain chemistry, and it’s a little bit funky, but you get in the vibe of the fic pretty quickly, I think, the writer is good about setting the tone. And it’s adversarial as all heck, this is a legitimate disagreement Crowley and Aziraphale are having and you feel every weighty second of it. It’s sensual, I think, but not necessarily erotic, and that’s a hard needle to thread and they do it very well.)

82. 451°F – @purple-suits (G, the one after the church bombing where Aziraphale wants so badly it hurts. Guys, oh you guys, the pure need in this one isn’t even really sexual but it HURTS, it is so physical and raw and achey. It absolutely put about five more aches under my skin just from secondhand need. Oh, y’all. Oh beans.)

BONUS

83. Chaos Theory – @themoonmothwrites (T, the series that’s about Adam hitting on Warlock in a bar and then reintroducing him to his old nanny and gardener. This one is 1. prime Adam/Warlock material, and 2. PRIME Warlock/facing his feelings and confronting his past and figuring out his future material. I have the weakest spot possible for Warlock Dowling and this one hits that spot like a LOT.)

84. Through the branches there’s a son that’s always shone – @jessicafish (G, the one with a contented Warlock. This one is a Halloween fic that has the softest Warlock and Crowley interaction of all time, it’s so short but it hits so hard and I must thank it for my life, really.)

85. Love, And Its Interference With The Nature of Reality – @souljellied (M, the one where Adam has a big ole crush and reality is warping for Warlock. M for some saucy makeouts at the start but it’s pretty tame. Guys if the fact that at one point the headlines in a news stand all read “TOP TEN REASONS TO DATE ADAM YOUNG” before Warlock blinks and they all change back to normal isn’t a good enough reason to read this fic then I don’t know what to tell you, it’s so delightfully tongue-in-cheek about Adam’s effect on reality and so funny and so sweet, even if it does end on a note that makes me howl for wanting a continuation.)

86. Slumber Party Summons and Aftereffects – @joyandotherstories (G, the series where Crowley gets summoned by a party of teenage girls and has a very heartfelt, productive evening with them. I dragged my feet on this story for incomprehensible reasons so DON’T YOU MAKE MY MISTAKES. The teenage girls who summon Crowley are so sweet and loveable, each and every one of them, and guys they ship Crowley and Aziraphale so hard when they finally pry Crowley’s life story out of him, with help from some memory projection witchery. It’s so good, y’all, so cute and so fresh. Just the best.)

87. Christmas Delivery – Daegaer (G, the one where Gabriel sends obnoxious Christmas cards and they are the highlight of Heaven’s holiday (to make merciless fun of). It should be noted that these Christmas cards all feature artistic renderings of Gabriel himself. I about died laughing and it’s canon now in my heart. I should not be endeared to the Archangels but here we are.)

88. and i don’t care if you don’t want me (i’m yours anyhow) – shaekspeares (T, the one where Warlock is figuring himself out at uni. This one is complex and deadpan and has such a good representation of Warlock and what he could grow to be, plus that excellent Warlock/Adam content I am always here for and Warlock having a complete meltdown over the idea that his former nanny and gardener were sent by his parents to spy on him, but not that they’re an angel and a demon. This kid has his priorities in order. Well, no, he doesn’t, but it’s fun to watch him get there. And he and Adam have the best dynamic ever, it’s full of friction and no small amount of adversarial energy turning sweet over time. This fic is physically healing to read and we aren’t even done yet. A fantastic addition to the fandom, if just for what Warlock does to the British equivalent of the Young Republican student body.)

89. Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach – Nnm (T, the one where Crowley gets a therapist. I know most of you should know this, or at least have heard of it, but pipe down bc I finally got around to reading it and it’s AMAZING. If you’re a human who’s gone to a good therapist or who needs to, this story’s protagonist is phenomenal. And she’s not static in her own journey, either, she grows and heals along with Crowley, and it’s not linear or clean or simple. Like real life, it has dips and turns and bad patches, but the healing is palpable. A masterwork, truly, just real dadgum good, y’all.)

H/C /WHUMP/BAMF

90. I Don’t Want the World to See Me – @coulson-is-an-avenger (T, the one where they navigate an unexpected boundary concerning Crowley’s glasses. People who flinch every time they read about Aziraphale taking off Crowley’s glasses without permission rejoice: we have a fix-it fic for you. It’s tender in every sense of the word, and shows great boundary communication (y’know after the immediate scare is over), and all around is incredibly worth the read.)

91. Still Waking Up – @sleepymccoy (T, the one that’s trauma recovery with lots of bed-sharing and pining. Friendos if you want to feel every inch of that slow burn, you’ve arrived. This fic is careful and it’s emotionally ragged-edged and it’s just so dang pretty as Crowley and Aziraphale work through their separate issues and come to terms with what it means to them to be together with each other.)

92. Borrowed Scars – dreamsofspike (M, the one where Aziraphale finds out what Crowley goes through when he’s in Hell. M for implied/referenced rape and onscreen torture (and like some heavy petting that gets interrupted by feels). This one’s heavy, y’all, heavier than my usual fare, bc Aziraphale is in Hell wearing Crowley’s body when he finds this out so it’s pretty firsthand. Most of the bad bits are told in flashbacks but there’s also the healing part where Crowley finds out and he and Aziraphale have to have a heart-to-heart about what happened and how it’s never going to happen again. Drags you through the mud but then sets you back on your feet, a very good little number, I thought.)

93. Surviving Hell – @whatawriterwields (T, the series where Crowley’s coping mechanism is to shut down and then that coping mechanism becomes maladaptive in the new world. If you’re like me, you’re used to this writer writing the fluffiest creations known to man, so this foray into deeper territory socks like a cannonball right in the gut. Crowley’s healing process is long and it’s slow, with so much aching tender care from Aziraphale it is physically painful in a way. Can’t wait for it to update, I am INVESTED.)

94. Easier than Air – @a-candle-for-sherlock (G, the one where Aziraphale finally deals with stuff. This is a collection of panic attacks, as a warning; Aziraphale’s entire six-thousand-year life is catching up to him, living under Heaven’s eye and knowing he doesn’t measure up, still trying to be with Crowley even though knowing the danger…it’s a lot on a person, and it all kinda comes crashing down after Armageddon’t. Crowley takes care of him, talks and holds him through it all, and it’s so sweet, so freeing to vicariously fall apart through Aziraphale and be held through it by Crowley. Just. Augh.)

95. So Still I Wait – HotCrossPigeon (T, the one where Heaven locks Aziraphale in a void, basically, for three months, and then dump him back on earth for Crowley to pick up the pieces. Guys this one is part of a “hurt Aziraphale” series and it delivers. Aziraphale is his usual soft, silly self all throughout and that makes it hurt worse when he’s suffering, and downright agonizing when he’s trying to recover. Heaven is horrible to him throughout, and Crowley is so gentle and scared, and honestly I don’t know how I didn’t just keel over while reading it. This takes touch-starved to an extreme that booted it from the Touch-Starved category and into this one, because WOW. WOW.)

96. Flaming Like Anything – @thepoetoftime (NR, the one where any weapon Aziraphale holds flames. This one isn’t silly, exactly, but it is hilarious watching Aziraphale flame things like a stick and an umbrella and then absolutely CREAM his foes with them. Never stood a chance, poor souls. A wonderful read, with a surprising twist near the end I highly recommend savoring, it’s too good a mental image.)

97. Love Seeketh Not Itself to Please – @dietraumerei (T, the one where Aziraphale is hurt by a summoning and Crowley takes him to Heaven for healing. This one hurts on so many levels I don’t know where to begin. There’s the physical hurt—obviously—but then there’s the tension of our favorite reprobates being back in Heaven, and a moment where the rug is pulled that is disorienting and just…hateful, absolutely hateful, but in the weirdest, most relieving way. I cannot explain this to you, you must read it. And then sweet, sweet aftercare, because of course. I wouldn’t recommend it to you if there wasn’t any comfort in it, and this writer in particular has historically done excellently with the comfort aspect; this is certainly no different. It absolutely tickled my fancy.)

98. Cry for Absolution – forthegreatergood (T, the one where a miscommunication causes six thousand years of touch avoidance. Guys. GUYS. Crowley thinks his touch hurts Aziraphale and you know what it actually does? It actually hurts ME, personally, watching Crowley misread Aziraphale’s little gasps and flinches as pain rather than shock. Then they fight about it, and things resolve, but HHHNG. THAT PINING. THAT TOUCH-STARVED LONGING.)

99. White Walls and Dead Air – BabyHoldMyFlower (G, the one where Crowley has to physically take Aziraphale away from the plague. This one lands in this category rather than in the Body Worship/Touch-Starved/Wings category is the sheer (DESERVED) emotional vitriol Aziraphale has bottled up in him, the anger at God and Heaven, and how ragged he is from trying to stay ahead of the plague but just not being able to. Crowley helps, because of course he does, but this fic is the emotional equivalent of being put through a wringer. It’s exhausting and it’s beautiful.)

#good omens #good omens fic recs #mega gomens fic rec list #i guess i'm just gonna keep making these until i die #or until my gomens interest wanes #whichever comes first #phew what a big baby this post is

511 notes · View notes

corkcitylibraries · 3 years

Text

Cork in Verse | Ana Spehar interviews Jim Crickard

Cork in Verse is a series of interviews by Ana Spehar with Cork Poets. This week Ana interviews Jim Crickard.

Jim Crickard’s poetry is camp, entertaining work that explores culture, sexuality and identity with a hint of colour. In 2020 he was invited to represent Cork in the Cork-Coventry Twin City Exchange, which was moved online due to pandemic. In 2019 he was selected by Poetry Ireland for the inaugural Versify series and performed to a sold out show at Dublin Fringe Festival. He came second in the 2019 All Ireland Poetry Slam Final (and is working through his feelings about it with a therapist). In 2018, he won the Cuirt Spoken Word Platform and was awarded a slot to perform at Electric Picnic. In 2020 his poetry was broadcasted on RTE Arena. A poem he wrote was shortlisted in the 2018 O'Bheal International Five Words Competition, and his work has been published in Automatic Pilot, A New Ulster, and Contemporary Poetry.

When did you start writing?

I started writing when was 16. I had just come out of the closet, my older brother Shane (20) died the same year in a road traffic accident. Looking back, I think I needed space for expression. I started out with a journal before sleep. It was playful, private, and helped organise my thoughts. I’d draw a little picture at the end of each entry. I acted a bit like Virginia Woolf, with a high-neck collar, writing solemnly by candle light. When people write diaries, I think they secretly fantasise them being found and read by the masses.

When I was introduced to poetry in my Leaving Cert, I found it to be a bit stiff and flowery with poets like Keats, which had some appeal, but when we moved on to Adrienne Rich and Eavan Boland I was a lot more inspired. It was seeing people use the art form to represent women and give voice to minorities, and how they both textured their work with the confessional. I started writing my own poetry at the end of my journal entries but kept it secret. After a few years, and my first break-up, I started sharing online on a site called AllPoetry. It was great because there were little competitions between users and when I won a few of them I felt brave enough to share my work on Facebook. A few people were kind, but most were indifferent.

When I started going to O’Bheal in Cork, though, I really felt like writing could have a future for me. Writing and performing alongside other writers really makes it a lot more gratifying and instils the self-belief you need to keep going.

Could you tell us more about your creative process?

I’m always on the lookout for something to play with and tease out until it’s a poem. I write with the intention of making people laugh when they hear me perform. Unfortunately, ideas rarely happen when I’m walking around day-dreaming. I mostly need to sit down and write to find the idea or follow whatever I’ve got on my mind. One of my favourite poems that I’ve written takes a hen party in a gay bar and expands it into a series of images and scenarios that delight me and make me laugh. If it makes me laugh, then I trust that it’ll make a crowd of people laugh. I didn’t start out with that idea of the hen party though, I was trying to write a rather embarrassing romantic poem set in a gay bar, it was for a guy I was briefly dating. Suddenly there was a hen party in the corner. They abducted me with their willy-straws and novelty-glasses, and I followed their embarrassing moments and social faux-pas as they ran around, interloping and ruining the sacred queer-space. I was much more interested in them than the romantic poem I set out to write. I suppose it’s important to trust where the poem is going and let it reveal itself. If I ignored them and focused on the poem I was trying to write then I’d have missed out.

How does the creative process of writing affect your mood?

I’m elated when it comes together. I love when I get into a flow and my fingers are typing as fast as they can and what I’m writing is surprising me. That doesn’t always happen though, it can be slow and boring and the cursor can be blinking in front of me waiting for me to write something.

How often do you write? Do you write every day?

I wish I wrote every day. I’ve heard multiple sources say that that’s the best way to approach it, and I would definitely believe it. I have had periods where I wrote a new poem every week, possibly more than one. I have also had long periods of not expressing anything on the page. The latter feels depressing and I feel my life passing me by. It is this dread I feel that I’m losing precious time to grow and improve as a writer. I rationalise it by reminding myself that I need to work full-time, clean my apartment, cook dinner, which is all true. I also excuse myself by saying that I need to relax and watch some TV or listen to a podcast. I think that writing is the purest of me-time and I’d like to transform my relationship with it.

Can you tell us more about Venus Envy?

I have been known to dress in drag from time to time... I performed as Venus for Pride in O’Bheal. Afterwards I went to The Crane Lane with all of the poets. It was interesting being a drag queen out of context in another bar... People wanted to talk to me, some random stranger touched me as they passed by, and someone confided in me with something they had not mentioned before. There’s a strange power to being in drag. It’s like being a shaman, a eunuch, a jester, who is on the outside looking in. You can say things that you daren’t dream of otherwise, and people love you for it. If I had the time and money to do it more often I would. Drag will always have a special place in my heart, and on my right arm is a tattoo-portrait of Panti Bliss, the Queen of Ireland. I’ve thought about putting more drag queens beside her, but it would be like Mount Rushmore of Drag on my arm. Who knows, maybe I will.

‘Hen Party in The George’

Be careful around the corners, don’t make eye-contact at the bar,

watch out for the mom, she’s on safari, in search of exotic birds.

For a parrot to echo her punchlines,

or maybe a cockatoo,

she’s prowling around the cocktail lounge,

she’s looking for me and you.

The mother of the bride uses her lazy-eye

to her advantage,

she edges into a group of faces with meandering conversation.

Now blocking their exit, unsure

who she’s addressing,

on about her gay hairdresser, how great

he is with the scissors.

“I’ve never had a problem with the gays now myself” she says,

pausing to sip from a pink plastic penis,

pausing for praise.

And one by one, the gays fly south,

migrating to the bar,

to the dance floor, to South-Africa if necessary.

“Snobs” she calls em -

“them gays can be awful touchy.”

All her Christmases at once

when the black crow drag queen

stalking her long legs across the stage,

seven foot tall, in a silver crown of feathers refracting light off the disco-ball.

“Jesus” she says, stealing the

microphone: “you’re looking better than me”

“I should feckin hope so” the drag queen says “you’re twice me bleedin’ age!”

Slowly, slowly, the hen party has pissed off all of the George...

Abandoning punctured plastic husbands all over the stage.

Flashing so many cameras it feels like E.T.’s family has landed.

A gathering parliament of lesbians encircles the hens,

a murder of goth gays come down from their perch

I wonder if they’ve seen Hitchcock’s movie, ‘The Birds…’

by Jim Crickard

Sex in the Housing Crisis

We are the generation of born-again virgins

headboards disturb housemates on shift work,

Air-traffic controllers should be included in rent

to coordinate times to get the ride

Landlords can afford to support our sex-lives

and change carpets once in a while

We are the generation of born-again virgins

Like ships in the night, we work to survive,

but we are no thirty year old cargo boats…

anchored in the harbour, waiting for labour,

we are Ferrari red speed boats

with miles to go before we sleep,

miles to go before we sleep.

We are the generation of born again virgins

Nothing kills the mood like mildew

home-sense is built on the backs of millennials

fumigating probate houses

converted into one-beds

with constellations of mould

and half their salary paid

to make out on an old couch

facing a microwave

We are the generation of born again virgins

If you’re living with parents you can forget it

unless you can face breaking their trust

and explain condoms in the toilet-drain.

We must not forget about our parents sex-lives

afraid their carefully considered bed springs

will be heard by their thirty somethings

Let’s give the government hell for

this inter-generational dry spell!

by Jim Crickard

#corkcitylibraries #CorkInVerse #JimCrickard

3 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 5

Title: Neighbours

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

The ‘to do list’ is long and lengthy but not unmanageable.

Inside and outside decorations, picking out a tree and having it dropped off the next day, last minute presents and stocking stuffers to grab, a massive grocery list that includes the usual staples and the ‘extras’ that always make their appearance at Christmas time. The convenience of a big city is one thing she’s always missed; malls with everything you need under one roof, strips of your favorite, eclectic little shops, delivery for everything under the sun. Never having to own a car; Uber and taxis summoned with just one phone call, the subway just a block away. The younger Esme...the one fresh off a shitty first marriage...had loved every second in New York City. That spacious loft -with its exposed brick walls and industrial lighting and Juliet balcony- in Brooklyn, the Broadway shows she’d attend, the high end shops like Tiffany’s, Chanel, and Prada that she’d do little more than browse in; dreaming about all the things she would buy if she was ever fortunate enough to have money to burn. Trips to Central Park; reading a book or sipping a latte while sitting on the edge of the fountain or treating herself to lunch at Tavern on the Green. She’d never been bored; filling every minute of her free time with something new to experience. Taking the subway into different ethnic areas; trying new foods and drink and buying newly discovered -to her- spices and intriguing ingredients to try out at home. And while she’d been alone, she’d never been lonely; always finding ways to keep herself busy.

While it’s nice to come back and spend time in the BIg Apple, she no longer misses it with such intensity. THAT Esme..the one who’d lived in that loft apartment and who’d window shop at the high end retailers...no longer exists. She died almost thirteen years ago; her life coming to end on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. It had been time; out with the old, in with the new. And there’d been something so incredibly empowering about it; never returning to either the city or Colorado and having her step father pack up the necessities and ship them to her. Many people would consider it foolish; throwing a somewhat stable and comfortable life away for something so different. A country on the other side of the world, a man she barely knew yet her heart was certain she was in love with, a tiny and cramped apartment outside of Sydney with barely any clothes in the closet and only second hand, mismatched furniture to decorate the place. But it had turned out to be everything she’d wanted; a change in pace and scenery and a life she never knew she was missing out on. That man she barely knew outside of sex quickly proving to be the love of her life; not just a lover, eventual spouse and baby daddy, but her best friend. The one and only person she truly trusted; who’d been so willing to give up his life to save hers and made her feel safe and protected...and LOVED...in ways she’d never experienced before.

Australia quickly became home. Despite the lingering issues from Dhaka -the slow healing process and the financial issues and the worry of retaliation IF word ever got out that he had survived- they’d been happy. Not needing much; enjoying those evenings on the couch, watching television and eating ice cream right out of the container, those trips -as a couple and then newlyweds and eventually with a tiny Millie in her daddy’s arms, the long and quiet -and often post coital- conversations that had become their norm. They’d gone through a hell of an ordeal together; forming a bond that other people simply couldn’t understand. Both of them could have easily died that day; Tyler from his injuries, her due to the decision she’d made to stick around in an effort to keep him alive. After that, they’d sworn to never take a single second for granted; enjoying the ‘getting to know you’ process even as a newly married couple and her with a baby growing in her belly. It hadn’t been a conventional start to things; those five days in that cramped and dirty hotel room in Dhaka followed by an unexpected little bundle and her decision to give up her old life. But it had worked. THEY had worked. Despite all the odds stacked against them and everything that said they shouldn’t. The ordeal they’d survived giving them an appreciation of each other; putting down that foundation of respect and mutual awe that everything else could -and would- be built upon.

As amazing as it all sounds -finding the love of your life, discovering your own slice of paradise, starting a family- it’s work. Love and everything that comes with it is a lot of work, in fact. It’s arguments over both stupid shit and important issues; it’s hurt and anger and bitterness due to miscommunication or simply not taking the others feelings into considering. It’s learning how the other works and functions so you can be the one to provide comfort, stability, and aid; patience and deep rooted concern and the desire to keep them safe and healthy driving you.

Lust is one thing; immense physical attraction extremely important and definitely an added bonus. But at the end of the day, it’s other forms of intimacy that keep things alive and well; the simple act of holding hands while sitting on the couch or even driving in the car, the unexpected hugs and kisses, the little things you do for one another without even thinking, the teasing and the laughter and the conversations. It’s one thing to love someone and physically WANT them, it’s another to actually ENJOY them; their company and their smile and the sound of their voice and the way they cheer you up even on the worst days. How they talk you through hard times and how quick they are to dry your tears and want to make things right; willing to do anything and everything within their power to make you happy and to feel wanted and appreciated. It’s all those things that keep things going even when they feel like they’re falling apart.

******

“Mum!” TJ calls, as he bounds down the stairs and through the immense space that make up the living and dining areas; an easy and clean flow directly into the counter. “Check it out! You gotta see my outfit?”

With a mug of tea pressed to her lips, she glances up from the spiral notebook in front of her. It’s one of many that usually take up residence in one of the kitchen drawers; a different colour cover indicating which kid it is assigned to, two for things that are needed when it comes to household items and repairs, another for things like groceries and personal products. She’s always been organized, but something ‘snapped’ over the course of the last five years; an obsessive of sorts when it comes to keeping affairs in order.

“What the heck are you wearing?” she inquires, as her oldest son sprints through the living and dining area and then uses his socks to allow him to slide the rest of the way. An almost victorious and proud grin on his face when he comes to a stop against the island. His outfit of choice is an eyebrow raiser; jogging pants enormous and incredibly baggy, a hoodie at least four sizes too big, a black knit beanie on his head.

“It’s my New York City look. For the mean streets. You like it?”

She grins and sips her tea. “The mean streets, huh? There’s nothing quite as dark and dangerous as the vicious and cold, dark alleys of Gramercy Park.”

“It’s bad ass. New York City. Maybe not exactly where we live, but…”

“You’re pretty far removed from the bad assery of The Big Apple, but I admire your spirit. If I ever find myself getting mugged or having to walk down a dark street at two in the morning, I know who to call.”

“I’d protect you, mum. I don’t care how big and bad someone is. I’d kick their ass for you. Or at least try to.”

“And THAT is why you’re my favorite. Although don’t tell your brothers and sisters; that’ll cause too much drama.”

“Your secret is safe with me. OUR secret.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and presses a kiss to her cheek. “What’cha doing?”

“Lists. One of many. Things we need in the house and things we need to do.” She eyes him from head to toe, mug against her lips. "Is that your dad’s hoodie? AND his pants?”

“He let me have them. I asked if he had anything old I could wear; that he wasn’t going to use anymore. This is what he gave me.”

“You do realize he’s more than a foot taller than you and about...I don’t know...a hundred pounds heavier.”

“I weigh a hundred pounds now. Dad’s like one eighty.”

“He was one eighty five when he got out of the hospital. Five years ago. He’s two ten now. Soaking wet. And you’re five feet? Since when?”

“Since yesterday. I had Tanner measure me.”

“You have a lot of damn nerve, kid. Being only half an inch shorter than me. At TEN.”

“I share DNA with a giant. Dad’s six three. I’ve got more of his genes than yours.”

“Yes, I know. I see more and more of those genes every day. You’re looking more like him all the time. And don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing. A VERY good thing. But five feet? Already? What the hell?”

“I can’t help it. Blame genetics.”

“You’re going to be massive. You’re probably going to be taller than your dad. And if you keep lifting weights like you do and you start going heavier as you get older, you’ll be huge by sixteen. A good huge. It’s depressing. You’re depressing me.”

“Sorry, mummy.” He kisses her cheek once more, then joking places his forearm on the top of her head. “You’re going to make a good arm rest. Thanks for being absurdly short.”

“Don’t be a smart ass. I brought you into this world, I can take you out.”

“Dad says the tiniest ones are always the most feisty. I think that’s why he fell in love with you; you’re little but you don’t take any shit. Even from him.”

“He likes a challenge, that’s for sure.”

Sipping her tea, she watches him as he heads for the fridge; rummaging through it before coming up with a container of some of the baked goods Tanner had already blessed the family with, and a bottle of Gatorade. He even walks like his father; those gigantic feet and that long, slightly bow legged gait. TJ is more awkward; stuck at the stage between still being a child, yet quickly nearing his teenage years. And he’s become far more mature since hitting double digits; still possessing that extremely active and almost hyper personality, but prone to more serious and thoughtful moments. And at times he looks years older; when his eyes darken and his lips set into a thin, serious line and his brow furrows. So much of his dad exists in him. Both inside AND out. And that smile; the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and slightly wrinkles the bridge of his nose. It’s on his face now; as he opens the lid on the container of treats and sets it -and his drink- on the counter top before fetching the pot of tea from the stove and warming up the contents of her mug.

“You certainly are my best son,” she chides. It’s only PARTLY a joke. Although at times he can be quite the handful and his ability to regulate his emotions and temper can cause issues both at home and at school, he’s a wonderful kid; loving so deeply and profoundly.

“Tanner wanted me to give you this,” he reaches into the pocket of the hoodie and pulls out a folded sheet of printer paper. “Things he needs. For his baking. He’s really good, huh? At the whole baking and cooking thing? Like, INSANELY good.”

“He’s quite the talent,” Esme agrees. “But so are YOU. You’ve got your own things you’re amazing at.”

“But not like him. He’s crazy smart and he can play the guitar and sing and all this baking and making dinner and stuff. He’s like a dude Martha Stewart! You know what he should do? Start a Youtube channel. People would LOVE him. People are suckers for a cute kid.”

“Well, you know Tanner; how nervous and anxious and shy he gets. You should bring it up to him. If anyone can talk him into something, it’s his big brother. He idolizes you.”

“I don’t know why. I’m not THAT great.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty damn awesome in my books. And you’re a really good big brother. You should talk to him. He’d be willing to try, I bet. Maybe it’s something you could do together. He’d love that. He loves spending time with you. And I know it’s been hard; him going to a different school.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been the best thing that’s ever happened,” TJ laments, and helps himself to one of the peanut butter and chocolate squares in the container. “It’s been four years and I STILL miss him. I loved having him in my class. And I loved hanging out with him at lunch and at recess. And sitting with him on the bus.”

“It was a hard decision to make. But it was the best decision. For him.”

“Yeah, my school isn’t exactly an intellectual wonderland. He’s better off where he is. With other brainiacs like him. But still, I do miss him.”

“I’m sure he misses you too. But you get a lot of time together. At home and stuff. And I always love Fridays; the bus dropping him off at your school and you guys coming to see me at the store. Hanging out until I close. Hands down my favorite day of the week.”

TJ smiles. “Mine too.”

“And I thought I was organized,” she comments, as she studies Tanner’s very neat and tidy list.

“He’s kinda anal, huh? About some things? I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just that he’s very…”

“Particular?”

TJ nods. “You know, I wish he’d see himself the way I see him. He’s always worried that he’s weird and that people don’t like him because of it. He always talks about how his brain isn’t like everyone else’s and that he wishes it was. You know what I wish? That more people were like Tanner. Because he’s talented and he’s unique and he sees the world so differently than everyone else. I know he struggles with some stuff, but it’s not a bad thing; him being the way he is. Sometime I think he’s better off than all of us.”

“Unfortunately, self hate seems to be a genetic trait as well. Who does that remind you of? Who else sees themselves in a bad light?”

“Yeah, dad is pretty good at that. Not liking who he is. I don’t why; I think he can be kinda awesome.”

“I think he can too. He’s just had a rough time. For a LONG time. He’s working on it. On a lot of things. But you know what’s really amazing at? Being a dad. I’m pretty lucky. I landed myself a pretty incredible guy. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. And as for Tanner, maybe you should tell him what you just told me. Because I guarantee you, if he heard that from his big brother? It would mean the world to him. He needs to hear stuff like that. Tell him, okay?” She rubs her palm in slow circles in the middle of his back. “It would make his day. Probably his whole year.”

“I will. I’ll tell him. Do you think he’ll live alone? Away from you and dad?”

“I don’t know,” Esme admits, and cupping her mug in both hands, turns around and leans back against the countertop. “Your dad and I talk about it from time to time. If Tanner will ever get to that stage. If he doesn’t…” she shrugs. “...he doesn’t. I mean, he could live in the pool house. He’d be close enough to home so if he did need help, we’d be right there.”

“What if he lived with me? If we got a place together? When we’re old enough, of course. Say when we’re nineteen. And I’ve got a good job. Like in the military or something.”

“That’s a lot to take on, Teej. A career like that and your brother. Would you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s Tanner. He’s my baby brother. And not just any baby brother. We were made at the same time. We came out only a few minutes apart. I spent nine months with him; inside of you. Why wouldn’t I want to be with him?”

“A lot will change over the next nine, ten years. You might get tired of him by then.”

“I am NEVER getting tired of him. He’s my brother. I love him. And if it gives you and dad a break after taking care of him for so long, that’s good enough for me.”

“You are something else, Baby-Man. You really are. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“I know you do. And I like that you still call me that. Even if I AM almost taller than you.”

“You know, you’ve been so cute and helpful these last few days, that I will ignore your cheap shot. You really ARE your dad. Head to toe. Inside and out. Facial expressions and everything. It’s freaky.” She turns and helps herself to one of the treats; a chocolate concoction with marshmallows and coconut inside and a coating made from crushed up Frosted Flakes. “You know, I craved these for my entire pregnancy with you and Tanner. Your dad used to make them for me. Dozens at a time. He’d even get up at three am to do it. Or to go get tacos. That’s probably why you like Mexican food so much.”

TJ’s eyes widen. “Dad used to bake? At three am?”

“At all hours of the day. He’s actually really good at it. These were my favourite. He made them for me; my first birthday after we got married. We had just had Millie and we didn’t have a lot of money to throw around but he still managed to make it special. Australian wildflowers, a picnic on the beach, and these. It was pretty awesome. One of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. Spent with my favorite human.”

“Dad really DOES have his moments.”

“Yeah, he really does.” Esme smiles, and takes a bite of the square. “You know, your grandma used to make these things.”

“Like mean, awful grandma or grandma Adeline?”

“Grandma Adeline. Your dad’s mom. She was quite the baker. Tanner must have inherited that from her. I know Declan got her red hair.”

“That must have been really hard. On dad. Her dying when he was little.”

“It was.” She sips at her tea and picks up the long discarded pen; absentmindedly doodling in the notebook as she speaks. “ It caused a lot of issues for him. It was pretty painful for him.”

“He still doesn’t like to talk about her.”

“It hurts. Even now. But he’s coming around. It’s not as hard for him anymore.”

“Is it true that grandpa used to beat on him? I heard him and Uncle Koen talking about it. A couple years ago. Dad seemed pretty upset. He normally doesn’t cry in front of anyone BUT you. He was kinda emotional.”

“It is true. Unfortunately. Your grandpa was a drunk and he was a narcissist and he hated his wife for having a child. It took the attention from him. Which I know sounds really weird and twisted. But that’s what happened. And when she was alive, he couldn’t stand her loving on your dad and spending time with him. So he took it out on her; beating her and saying mean things to her. Your dad used to have to listen. Sometimes grandpa would make your dad watch. Said it was to teach him how to ‘treat a woman’ and make them ‘learn their place.”

“I’m glad dad didn’t listen. For your sake. And his. I think you’d beat his ass if he ever did stuff like that to you.”

“I definitely would. And he knows it too. But, your dad isn’t like that. He isn’t the type to treat women like that. I know he has his issues, but THAT? He would never, ever, stoop to that level. It’s just not the kind of person he is.”

“Do you think that’s why dad DOES have the issues he does? The brain stuff? Because of how he got treated as a kid?”

“I don’t think it’s the only reason why, but it definitely added to it. You’ve been asking a lot of questions lately. About mental health stuff. What’s going on? You’re ten. You don’t need to worry about this. Your dad is fine. He’s doing great. A lot better than anyone thought he would. So why…?”

“I gave him shit,” TJ says, then gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I mean ‘crap’. I gave him crap.”

“You gave your dad crap about something? That’s pretty bold. What did he do that pissed you off?

“ I told him it was wrong. That he went away. To work. That he shouldn’t have gone.”

“TJ, why would you…?”

“You wouldn’t have done it. Given him crap for it. And I know you wanted to. I know you lied. When you told him you were okay with it. You didn’t tell him the truth, mum. You just told him what he wanted to hear.”

“Sometimes we do that,” Esme reluctantly admits. “When we love someone and we don’t want to ruffle feathers. Your dad’s come a long way. He used to be gone all the time. He was off doing jobs more than he was home with us. And I know you probably don’t remember all of that because you were so young; the missed birthdays and anniversaries. The time he couldn’t get home for Christmas. You were only three, but…”

“I was little but I DO remember. And you always acted like you were okay with it. But then he’d leave and you’d be a wreck. Just like you were this time.”

“I wasn’t a wreck. I was nervous and I was worried and…”

“Mum, you don’t have to lie to me. I heard you crying. When you thought all of us were asleep. I KNOW you were having a bad time. With dad being gone.”

“You know what? You’re right. I was. Normally I’m okay with it; I can handle him going away as long as he stays out of harm's way. But knowing he’d walked into it? It DID bother me. That he’d been so willing to help out Anil. Especially after what happened the last time he went and got his hands dirty.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell him that? That you didn’t want him doing it? That you didn’t want him going away?”

“It’s not that easy, TJ. Sometimes it’s not my place. I can’t actually tell him what he can’t and can’t do. In the same way he can’t do that with me. And when Anil called and said he needed the help…”

“He should have said no. Anil knows tons of people. Why did he need dad? He could have called someone else.”

“Your dad is very good at what he does. Or what he DID do. One of the best. And I know it sounds strange; to be proud of a job like that. To be so willing to put your life on the line for people you don’t even know. But when Anil called and needed his help, your dad couldn’t exactly say no.”

“Yes, he could have,” TJ insists. “He promised. That he’d never go away again. That he’d never go back out there after the bad guys. He promised ALL of us. And totally broke that.”

“Sometimes it happens. Sometimes he can’t help it. Sometimes…”

“Stop making excuses for him. When one of us screws up, you don’t let us give you excuses. So why do you let dad give them? There’s no reason he had to go. At all. He should have told Anil to get someone else.”

“You know, we are going to have to agree to disagree on this. I said it was okay. If he went. There’s nothing more to talk about. So let’s just drop this, okay? You don’t know what’s talked about; between your dad and I. We keep you guys out of it. For reasons exactly like this.”

“You lied to dad. When you told him you were okay with it. You weren’t. You were far from okay. And I told him that. That you had a really hard time. That you didn’t deserve to go through that. It’s not fair, mummy. That he goes and does stuff like that. I don’t care that Anil needed. WE need him. Us kids. He’s our dad. What happens if he gets killed? Then we have no dad.”

“That’s not going to happen. He’s not going to get killed.”

“He will if he keeps doing stupid shit like this. You should just be honest with him. Tell him how you really feel about him going away. ‘Cause if he thinks it’s okay, he’s going to keep doing it more and more. And then something really bad is going to happen. Worse than last time. And I don’t want that. I don’t want him going away and…” TJ’s voice cracks with emotion. “...I don’t want him going away and never coming home.”

“Tyler...hey…” she lays a hand on the side of his face “...it’s okay...just take a breath and…”

“It’s not okay. It’s never been okay. It’s never going to be okay. And if he goes away and something happens to him, I’ll hate him forever. If something bad happens to him and he never comes back, I’ll never forgive him. For doing that to us. For doing that to you.”

“Okay, I know you’re upset. And I love you so much for wanting to protect me. But right now, you just need to calm down and take it easy, alright? I know you’re going through a lot. I know puberty is starting to come and kick your ass and it’s making everything seem so much worse and…”

“Just tell him,” TJ implores, and noisily sniffles before wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Just tell him you don’t want him to go. Tell him, mummy. So he doesn’t think it’s okay to leave again. Because he’ll go and something horrible will happen. And then we don’t have a dad. And we’ll barely have a mum. ‘Cause it’ll kill you. If something goes wrong and he doesn’t come back.”

“You need to to just breathe, Baby-Man,” she steps in front of him and takes his face in her hands. “ Just breathe. Everything is alright. Daddy’s home and he’s safe and he’s not going anywhere. It was just this one time. He won’t have to do that again.”

“You need to tell him. That you don’t want him going. Please, mummy. Please tell him.”

“Okay,” she promises, and draws him into a hug. Heart aching at the realization that her arms can no longer completely wrap around him; shoulders and back both broad and strong. “Everything’s alright, TJ.” She lays a hand on the back of his head and draws it down to her shoulder, the other rubbing his back comfortingly. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him how I feel; about him going away. About how ALL of us feel. Alright?”

He nods.

“Why don’t you go and get some fresh air,” she suggests. “It will make you feel better.”

“You promise you’ll talk to him?”

“I promise.” She presses a kiss to his cheek, then holds him out at arms length. “Maybe afterwards we can take the littles for a walk? You know how much Takota loves when you pull him in the sled. It’ll be good; to go and get a bit of exercise. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You are getting so big. How do you grow up so fast? I remember finding out about you and your brother. I remember when you were born. All seven pounds of you. Now look. In a month's time, you WILL be taller than me. You’re already wearing mens size nine shoes. You’re TEN.”

“That’s what happens when your dad’s a giant, I guess.”

“You used to always call him that when you were little. You’d tell everyone that your dad was a giant. He probably seemed that way, huh? Probably seemed ten feet tall and bulletproof.”

“He still does. Well, maybe not the bullet proof part. We know THAT’S not true.”

“I know it bothers you. What happened back then. I know it’s not an easy thing to get over. That you came so close to losing him. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through all of that. I really am. If there was any way to go back and time and change it, I would. In a heartbeat. You know that, right?”

“I do, mummy.”

“Your dad loves you so much, TJ. You have no idea HOW much. When you were born and the doctor gave you to him? I’ve never seen him THAT emotional. Not even with Millie and she was his very first. After Austin. And he cried like a baby when he got to hold her. But you? I can’t even begin to describe what that was like for him. A son. After losing his first one. He was so happy and so in love with you. And that’s never changed. It never will.”

“I just don’t want to lose him. I don't know why he even takes the chance. Why does he go knowing that he might not come back? Doesn’t he love us enough to stay home?”

“Of course he does. And I WILL talk to him. Just cut him some slack, okay? The last five years haven’t been easy on him either. And he’s done so well. Better than anyone thought he would. But it’s a process; dealing with everything in his past and letting it go. So just give him a chance, alright? Can you do that? For me?”

“For you, yeah.”

“You’re such a good boy. I love you so much. More than I could ever tell you. And you ARE so much like your dad. And that’s a good thing.” She places one last kiss on his cheek and draws him into another hug. “A very good thing.”

******

The front door clicking open and a familiar Louisiana drawl calling out a greeting sets off a flurry of commotion; a mixture of both heavy and light footsteps pounding down the stairs, dogs scampering and barking, excited giggles and happy shrieks and rambling sentences in tiny voices. The kids have all become quite fond of Desmond (Desi, or Des, as Esme lovingly refers to him as) in their three years of spending time in New York City. A former University of Alabama football star, he’d found himself relocating when he’d met a very wealthy -and very much older- sports agent a decade ago; abandoning his dreams of playing profession in favour of a new existence in a new city. His husband -and admittedly the love of his life- had passed away just over a year ago. Leaving him with the elegantly and fabulously decorated brownstone in Gramercy, a small fleet of high end cars, closets full of designer apparel, and a bank account that will never run dry. He’s an enormous man; six foot seven and weighing close to three hundred pounds, most of solid muscle. Intimidating at first blush, but a complete teddy bear; compassionate and empathetic and possessing a heart even bigger than his body. And he’s hilarious and flamboyant; zero filter, exceptional taste in clothes, a love for expensive cosmetics and considerable talent in applying them, and a penchant for anything sparkly.

“You realize your front door was unlocked, don’t you?” Desi inquires as he journeys into the kitchen; monstrous hands curled around a giggling Takota’s ankles as he dangles him upside down. “Any wackadoodle could just walk in here. I know this is Gramercy Park, but it’s STILL The Big Apple. This isn’t the safe and quiet little sparrow fart town in Australia you call home. Where all you have to worry about is kangaroos and koalas and spiders the size of dinner plates.”

“I’ll have you know that koalas can be very sketchy; we have one in the tree in the front yard that hisses and spits and throws shit at you.”

“Jack!” Takota reminds her in between hiccups. “His name is Jack!”

“Well Jack is an asshole and he needs to relocate,” she says, and pats him on the bum and squeezes the cheeks; fingers moving to his sides and tickling him until both the giggles and the hiccups increase. “And it’s the dingos you have to worry about. They’re mean.”

“Dingos eat bad girls and boys,” Takota says, smoothing down his hair and his shirt when he’s put on his feet. “That’s what daddy said.”

“If that was true, we’d only have two or three kids instead of seven. Go and play. So I can talk to Desi.”

“Talk to him about what?”

“Top secret adult only stuff. Here," She snags one of the sugary goodies from the container on the island and hands it to him. “We’re going to go out soon. For a little walk. Get some fresh air. Make sure you pee BEFORE we leave. I don’t want to get you all bundled up and then have you tell me you gotta go. Hear me?”

“I can’t make any promises mumma,” Takota says, and then pops the treats into his mouth and rushes off.

“That kid is way too cute for his own good,” Desi declares. “Gonna be a heartbreaker, you know. Like his mom.”

“For the record, I’ve never broken any hearts. Well, except for the time in grade two when I didn’t want to be Freddie George’s Valentine. He just wasn’t my type; he smelled like tapioca and desperation.”

“You had a first husband, did you not? Must have broken his heart. Or you wouldn’t be on your second husband.”

“My first husband broke my jaw, my nose, more than one rib, and put me in the ICU. He’s lucky it’s only his heart that got ripped out. And what’s up with that hat?” She gestures towards the fedora atop her friend’s head. “You look like a pimp.”

“If I was a pimp, you, my little ho…” he plucks the hat from his head and places it upon hers. “...would be better dressed.”

“What is wrong with how I’m dressed? I dress like this all the time.”

“And you’re still married? Is he blind or did he hit his head too hard one too many times or…?”

“I’ll have you know, my husband doesn’t care about the packaging. Just what’s underneath. Case in point, I once bought this really nice and quite expensive baby doll nightie; totally vintage and gorgeous and this shimmering black and pink. I don’t think he even noticed. It took him like five seconds to get it off me. IF that. He does not give a shit about the wrapping paper. Just the gift that’s underneath.”

“And you, my cute, teeny little munchkin, are the gift that keeps on giving. And you must give VERY well. Seven kids and all. But baggy sweat pants and a huge tee and a way too big Quicksilver hoodie? Oh honey, no. Just no. No, no, nooo.”

“If it makes you feel any better, these sweats are Fendi.”

“That does NOT change the fact they are joggers and you should NOT be wearing joggers on the streets of New York City. You lived here before; has your little, beautiful brain forgotten what it’s like to dress here? We need to get you some retail therapy with old Desi. He’ll hook you up. A little refinement, a little sophistication, a little bling. I got you, girl.”

“Your idea of a little bling is a ten thousand dollar belt you tried to talk me into buying last year. Where would I wear a ten thousand dollar belt?”

“I don’t care if you use it in the bedroom. If your husband resorts to employing it to trap you to the headboard or if he uses it to tie your hands behind your back. That belt was spectacular and you deserve spectacular. We WILL do this; a shopping trip. Chanel, Gucci, maybe some Ralph Lauren if we feel like slumming.”

“Where am I going to wear that type of stuff? I can’t wear Gucci while I’m cleaning out the goat pen or Chanel when I’m gutting a chicken coup. And I certainly can’t wear it out shopping.”

“Not to your favourite haunt no. Definitely out of place in Target.”

“There is nothing wrong with shopping at Target.”

“There is so much wrong with it. I’ll be here all day if we start.”

“Besides, we don’t have high falutin places like Gucci where I live, remember? You’ve been there.”

“Charming little place. Reminds me of some of the towns down south I used to hit up. But girl, you fill that closet of yours with the finest of apparel. Stick with me, I’ll treat you right. And speaking of being treated right, I got the appointment for you; Christmas Eve Eve, two o’clock Sally Hershberger.”

“You are a knight in shiny, blingy armor. You really DO have strings to pull.”

“I may have had to promise some good times...sexy good times...to the receptionist. But, that’s a small price to pay for you. I’m willing to take one for the team. Or should I say, give one for the team.”

“And as much as it's a dream of mine to go to Sally, and seeing how my hair really DOES need some TLC…”

“Oh no. No. Hell no. There’s a but coming. And Desmond Brownell does not like buts. Unless it’s Idris Elba’s. And your husband’s.”

“I don’t know if I can go through with it. Not the appointment; I can go through with THAT. But cutting my hair? As short as the picture I showed you?”

“Girl, are you crazy. You’d be a knockout with a cute little side swept bob. What drugs are you on? Not that you’re ugly or anything the way you are now. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers or anything like that. But your hair...your whole mom thing with the constant ponytails or messy buns...it needs help. It’s screaming for help. Let me help it. Let me help YOU.”

“Just cutting it? THAT short. That’s not going to go over well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tyler is kind of old fashioned.”

“Old fashioned? You two spent five days banging right after you met. You got knocked up out of wedlock. He proposed in the bathroom. Nothing old fashioned about any of that.”

“When it comes to certain things, he’s very...particular. Especially when it comes to my hair. He likes it long. LOVES it long. I cut it up to my shoulders once and he bitched about it for TWO years. And let’s not get into when I got bangs or when I dyed it blonde.”

“I can’t say I blame him for the bangs thing. You’re way too cute and those big brown eyes do not deserve the attention taken away by fringe. But the bob...girl...that’s fierce. You’d rock it.”

“Maybe just some highlights. Some red ones. He did really like when I colored my hair red. I can get those, a trim, a blow out.”

“You can go to Cheapy Haircuts for Us for that nonsense. This is Sally Hershberger. You are not going to her and getting just a blowout or a trim or highlights. You are going big, or going home. The husband will deal. He’d love you with no hair. It’s no secret he thinks the sun shines out of your ass. Which, I have to admit, looks fabulous in Fendi sweats.”

“Why do you think he bought them? He knows what he’s doing. He bought them for the same reason he buys me yoga pants. And I don’t even do yoga.”

“He’s an ass man. I can appreciate that. And speaking of appreciate. Desmond Brownell would like to do some appreciating right about now. Is he home? The better half? Is he in there working out?” He casts a glance towards the home gym that sits off the kitchen. “More importantly, is he in there working out shirtless? ‘Cause if he is, I’ll gladly take him a glass of water so that fine ass specimen doesn’t get parched or dehydrated. I’ll even rub down those sore, beautiful muscles. I’ve got some very top shelf massage oil at home. Smells like pecan and coconut. Unless he’s more a citrusy type. If so, I can run to the store right quick.”

“First off, you’d traumatize him. He’s as straight as they come. I know that breaks your heart to hear it, but…”

“How does he know he’s straight if he’s never ventured out of straight-hood? Unless he has and didn’t like it….”

“He hasn’t tried it. He likes women. LOVES them actually. Maybe a little too much when he was younger. He is NOT bi. Sorry.”

“But I am. So are you. And you’re damn cute and he’d probably give it a try if you talked him into a threesome.”

“Yeah, right,” Esme laughs. “That would never happen.”

“Do right by your best friend. Or are you worried he’d leave you for me? What’s the old saying? Once you go black you never…”

“My husband is straight. Very straight. And no. He’s not working out. He’s not even home. He’s out with Tanner.”

“The breakfast date, that’s right. Little T couldn’t stop talking about that. Loves his daddy, that’s for sure. You know, that kid is damn talented. Those goodies brought over and that soup? Damnnn. Move over Emeril. Little T gonna set the world on fire.”

“He’s something else that kid. He’s...incredible. There aren’t even words that can properly describe him. But, he IS having issues.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like the sounds of that.”

“He’s bored. At school. And we specifically sent him there to challenge him. It’s been great. He’s been thriving and his grades are amazing and the teachers and the kids love him. But he’s so advanced and so smart that they’re going to run out of ways to teach him. Which means we’re going to run out of options for him. Which also means, I’m going to become a heavy drinker and eat my weight in these!” She nods down at the container of sweets in front of her and pops one into her mouth. “What are we going to do? There’s only so many options where we are.”

“Homeschool? You’ve got a degree. You’re smart. You can do it.”

“No, I can’t. I’ve got a business. Two businesses, actually. And six other kids. Besides, he is way smarter than I was at that age. He’s probably smarter than I am. What am I going to do? For him?”

“You know where there ARE a lot of options…”

“We are NOT moving here. Tyler would never survive. This place? New York City? It’s not him. And I have to think about that too. What’s also best for him. We’re happy where we are. Insanely happy. Moving here is not an option. No matter how much I miss you.”

“Guess you’ve got a lot of thinking and research to do. It’ll work out. Always does.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love your optimism? And how much I’ve missed you? Or how much I love you?"

“You can mention it as many times as you like. My ego likes that shit.” He takes her face in his hands and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “We still on for dinner tonight? I’m still bringing Italian? And the wine?”

“We’re still on. Tanner is going to make the salad and the garlic bread.”

“We gon’ be eating like damn kings.”

“Are we still on for the other thing? You know; the thing we talked about? When Tyler and I take the kids to pick out a tree?”

“I got you, don’t you worry. I will let myself in and grab the stuff from the attic and sneak out. I also got the email; that ‘thing’ for Addie arrived. You know what I’m talking about?”

“The doll? I didn’t think it would arrive in time. How does it look?”

“Exactly like her. Now, you want to get a head start on the wrapping? You know I love me some gift wrapping.”

“You can do whatever your little heart desires.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “That is what I like to hear. Now, I’m going to the gym. There’s a Latino hottie there I’ve been trying to talk up for weeks. You behave. Stay out of the wine. At least until later.”

“You gonna wear your ‘Bama t-shirt? The one that’s two sizes too small and shows off your muscles?”

“Sweetie pie, you don’ read my mind. But have you been checking out my muscles?”

“I have a ‘thing’ for muscles. And yours are very nice. Besides, I’m married. Not dead. Tyler’s going to be upset. That he’s not the only one you’re crushing on.”

“You just put his little mind at ease. Tell him he gives me the biggest woodie out of them all.”

“That’ll stroke his ego for sure. See you later? Six o’clock?”

“I’ll be here. With bells and bling on.” He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks and pulls her into a hug; tightly squeezing. “You’re just so wee and cute. I could just scoop you up and put you in my pocket. See you later, gator.” He removes the hat from her head, affectionately tousles her hair before heading out of the kitchen. “And do me a favour? Put proper clothes on for dinner. I can’t be dining with someone in sweats. Desmond Brownell has standards to uphold.”

“Desmond Brownwell needs to remember the cherry cheesecake for dessert.”

“Oh bless your heart. Thinking I need to be reminded. See ya, pip squeak.”

“You and you tall people. So cruel to us little folk.”

“Little folk?” He smirks. “You’re like one of those things in Lord of the Rings. A damn hobbit. Matter of fact, I’mma call you Frodo from now on.”

“You do that, I’ll sneak into your house and kill you in your sleep.”

Desmond laughs. “I’d like to see you try, short stuff. Later.”

“Later,” she calls, shaking her head and laughing when he hollers “Spawns of Satan; I be leaving now!” before stepping out the front door.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

7 notes · View notes

petulantskeptic · 3 years

Text

Death of the calorie

For more than a century we’ve counted on calories to tell us what will make us fat. Peter Wilson says it’s time to bury the world’s most misleading measure BY PETER WILSON The first time that Salvador Camacho thought he was going to die he was sitting in his father’s Chrysler sedan with a friend listening to music. The 22-year-old engineering student was parked near his home in the central Mexican city of Toluca and in the fading evening light he didn’t notice two tattooed men approach. Tori Amos’s hit, “Bliss”, had just started playing when the gang members pointed guns at the young men. So began a 24-hour ordeal. Strong willed and solidly built, Camacho was singled out as the more stubborn of the pair. He was blindfolded and beaten. One robber eventually threw him to the ground, put a gun to the back of his head and told him it was time to die. He passed out, waking in a field with his hands tied behind his back, almost naked. Camacho survived but, traumatised, he sank into depression. Soon he was drinking heavily and binge eating. His weight ballooned from a trim 70kg to 103kg. That led to his second near-death experience, eight years later, in 2007. He remembers waking up and blinking at bright lights: he was being wheeled on a stretcher into a hospital emergency ward, with an attack of severe arrhythmia, or irregular heart beat. “A cardiologist told me that if I didn’t lose weight and get my health under control I would be dead in five years,” he says. That second crisis forced Camacho belatedly to deal with the trauma of the first. To help with what he now understands was post-traumatic stress disorder, he started having counselling and taking anti-depressants and anti-anxiety drugs. To address his physical health, he tried to lose weight. This effort propelled him to the centre of one of the most fraught scientific debates of our age: the calorie wars, a fierce disagreement about diet and weight control. Today, more than a decade after his cardiologist’s stark warning, Camacho lives in the Swiss city of Basel. He is relaxed and confident, except when two topics come up. When he recounts his kidnapping his gaze drops, his smile vanishes and he becomes noticeably quieter, although he says his panic attacks have virtually disappeared. The other touchy topic is weight control, which causes him to shake his head in anger at what he and millions of other dieters have gone through. “It’s just ridiculous,” he says with exasperation and a touch of venom. “People are living with real pain and guilt and all they get is advice that is confused or just plain wrong.” The guidance that Camacho’s doctors gave him, along with a string of nutritionists and his own online research, was unanimous. It would be familiar to the millions of people who have ever tried to diet. “Everybody tells you that to lose weight you have to eat less and move more,” he says, “and the way to do that is to count your calories.” At his heaviest, Camacho’s body-mass index – the ratio of his height to his weight – reached 35.6, well above the 30 mark that doctors define as clinically obese. Most government guidelines indicated that, as a man, he needed 2,500 calories a day to maintain his weight (the target for women is 2,000). Nutritionists told Camacho that if he ate fewer than 2,000 calories a day, a weekly “deficit” of 3,500 would mean that he would lose 0.5kg a week. With a desk job as a planning engineer in a Mexican hospital, he knew it would take real discipline to trim his pudgy frame. But as his kidnappers had quickly realised, he is an unusually determined character. He began getting up before dawn each day to run 10km. He also started accounting for every morsel of food he consumed. “I filled in Excel spreadsheets every night, every week and every month listing everything I ate. It became a real obsession for me,” says Camacho. Out went the Burger King Whoppers, fried tacos packed with pork and cheese, and tortas (Mexican sandwiches filled with meat, refried beans, avocado and peppers). Out too went his usual steady flow of beer and wine. In came carefully measured low-fat cheese and turkey sandwiches, salads, canned peach juice, Gatorade and Coke Zero, with three Special-K low-calorie diet bars a day. “I was always tired and hungry and I would get really moody and distracted,” he says. “I was thinking about food all the time.” He was constantly told that if he got the maths right – consuming fewer calories than he burned each day – the results would soon show. “I really did everything you are supposed to do,” he insists with the tone of a schoolboy who completed his homework yet still failed a big test. He bought a battery of exercise monitoring devices to measure how many calories he was expending on his runs. “I was told to exercise for at least 45 minutes at least four or five times a week. I actually ran for more than an hour every day.” He kept to low-fat, low-calorie food for three years. It simply didn’t work. At one point he lost about 10kg but his weight rebounded, though he still restricted his calories. Dieters the world over will be familiar with Camacho’s frustrations. Most studies show that more than 80% of people regain any lost weight in the long term. And like him, when we fail, most of us assume that we are too lazy or greedy – that we are at fault. As a general rule it is true that if you eat vastly fewer calories than you burn, you’ll get slimmer (and if you consume far more, you’ll get fatter). But the myriad faddy diets flogged to us each year belie the simplicity of the formula that Camacho was given. The calorie as a scientific measurement is not in dispute. But calculating the exact calorific content of food is far harder than the confidently precise numbers displayed on food packets suggest. Two items of food with identical calorific values may be digested in very different ways. Each body processes calories differently. Even for a single individual, the time of day that you eat matters. The more we probe, the more we realise that tallying calories will do little to help us control our weight or even maintain a healthy diet: the beguiling simplicity of counting calories in and calories out is dangerously flawed. The calorie is ubiquitous in daily life. It takes top billing on the information label of most packaged food and drinks. Ever more restaurants list the number of calories in each dish on their menus. Counting the calories we expend has become just as standard. Gym equipment, fitness devices around our wrists, even our phones tell us how many calories we have supposedly burned in a single exercise session or over the course of a day. It wasn’t always thus. For centuries, scientists assumed that it was the mass of food consumed that was significant. In the late 16th century an Italian physician named Santorio Sanctorius invented a “weighing chair”, dangling from a giant scale, in which he sat at regular intervals to weigh himself, everything he ate and drank, and all the faeces and urine he produced. Despite 30 years of compulsive chair dangling, Sanctorius answered few of his own questions about the impact that his consumption had on his body. Only later did the focus shift to the energy different foodstuffs contained. In the 18th century Antoine Lavoisier, a French aristocrat, worked out that burning a candle required a gas from the air – which he named oxygen – to fuel the flame and release heat and other gases. He applied the same principle to food, concluding that it fuels the body like a slow-burning fire. He built a calorimeter, a device big enough to hold a guinea pig, and measured the heat the creature generated to estimate how much energy it was producing. Unfortunately the French revolution – specifically the guillotine – cut short his thinking on the subject. But he had started something. Other scientists later constructed “bomb calorimeters” in which they burned food to measure the heat – and thus the potential energy – released from it. The calorie – which comes from “calor”, the Latin for “heat” – was originally used to measure the efficiency of steam engines: one calorie is the energy required to heat 1kg of water by one degree Celsius. Only in the 1860s did German scientists begin using it to calculate the energy in food. It was an American agricultural chemist, Wilbur Atwater, who popularised the idea that it could be used to measure both the energy contained in food and the energy the body expended on things like muscular work, tissue repair and powering the organs. In 1887, after a trip to Germany, he wrote a series of wildly popular articles in Century, an American magazine, suggesting that “food is to the body what fuel is to the fire.” He introduced the public to the notion of “macronutrients” – carbohydrates, protein and fat – so called because the body needs a lot of them. Today many of us want to monitor our calorie consumption in order to lose or maintain our weight. Atwater, the son of a Methodist minister, was motivated by the opposite concern: at a time when malnutrition was widespread, he sought to help poor people find the most cost-effective items to fill themselves up. To see how much energy different macronutrients provided to the body, he fed samples of an “average” American diet of that era – which he believed to be heavy in molasses cookies, barley meal and chicken gizzards – to a group of male students in a basement at Wesleyan University in Middletown, Connecticut. For up to 12 days at a time a volunteer would eat, sleep and lift weights while sealed inside a six-foot-high chamber measuring four feet wide by seven feet deep. The energy in each meal was calculated by burning identical foods in a bomb calorimeter. The walls were filled with water, and changes in its temperature allowed Atwater to calculate how much energy the students’ bodies were generating. His team collected the students’ faeces and burned that too, to see how much energy had been left in the body in the digestion process. This was pioneering stuff for the 1890s. Atwater eventually concluded that a gram of either carbohydrate or protein made an average of four calories of energy available to the body, and a gram of fat offered an average of 8.9 calories, a figure later rounded up to nine calories for convenience. We now know far more about the workings of the human body: Atwater was right that some of a meal’s potential energy was excreted, but had no idea that some was also used to digest the meal itself, and that the body expends different amounts of energy depending on the food. Yet more than a century after igniting the faeces of Wesleyan students, the numbers Atwater calculated for each macronutrient remain the standard for measuring the calories in any given food stuff. Those experiments were the basis of Salvador Camacho’s daily calorific arithmetic. Atwater transformed the way the public thought about food, with his simple belief that “a calorie is a calorie”. He counselled the poor against eating too many leafy green vegetables because they weren’t sufficiently dense in energy. By his account, it made no difference whether calories came from chocolate or spinach: if the body absorbed more energy than it used, then it would store the excess as body fat, causing you to put on weight. That idea captured the public imagination. In 1918 the first book was published in America based on the notion that a healthy diet was no more complicated than the simple addition and subtraction of calories. “You may eat just what you like – candy, pie, cake, fat meat, butter, cream but count your calories!” wrote Lulu Hunt Peters in “Diet and Health”. “Now that you know you can have the things you like, proceed to make your menus containing very little of them.” The book sold millions. By the 1930s the calorie had become entrenched in both the public mind and government policy. Its exclusive focus on the energy content of food, rather than its vitamin content, say, went virtually unchallenged. Rising incomes and greater female participation in the workforce meant that by the 1960s people were eating out more often or buying prepared food, so they wanted more information about what they were consuming. Nutritional information on foodstuffs was widespread but haphazard; many items carried outlandish claims about their health benefits. Labelling became standardised and mandatory in America only in 1990. The emphasis and use of this information shifted too. By the late 1960s, obesity was becoming a pressing health concern as people became more sedentary and started eating highly processed foods and lots of sugar. As the number of people who needed to lose weight grew, changing diets became the focus of attention. So began the war on fat, in which Atwater’s calorie calculations were an unwitting ally. Because counting calories was seen as an objective arbiter of the health qualities of a foodstuff, it seemed logical that the most calorie-laden part of any food item – fat – must be bad for you. By this measure, dishes low in calories, but rich in sugar and carbohydrates, seemed healthier. People were increasingly willing to blame fat for many of the health ills of modern life, helped along by the sugar lobby: in 2016, a researcher at the University of California uncovered documents from 1967 showing that sugar companies secretly funded studies at Harvard University designed to blame fat for the growing obesity epidemic. That the dietary “fat” found in olive oil, bacon and butter is branded with the same word as the unwanted flesh around our middles made it all the easier to demonise. A us Senate committee report in 1977 recommended a low-fat, low-cholesterol diet for all, and other governments followed suit. The food industry responded with enthusiasm, removing fat, the most calorie-dense of macronutrients, from food items and replacing it with sugar, starch and salt. As a bonus, the thousands of new cheap and tasty “low-cal” and “low-fat” products which Camacho used to diet tended to have longer shelf lives and higher profit margins. But this didn’t lead to the expected improvements in public health. Instead, it coincided almost exactly with the most dramatic rise in obesity in human history. Between 1975 and 2016 obesity almost tripled worldwide, according to the World Health Organisation (who): nearly 40% of over-18s – some 1.9bn adults – are now overweight. That contributed to a rapid rise in cardiovascular diseases (mainly heart disease and stroke) which became the leading cause of death worldwide. Rates of type-2 diabetes, which is often linked to lifestyle and diet, have more than doubled since 1980. It wasn’t only wealthy countries that saw such trends. In Mexico, middle-class urban families such as Camacho’s got fatter too. As a child Camacho was fit and loved playing football. But at the age of ten, in 1988, he was one of many young Mexicans who started stacking on weight as increasing trade with America saw cheap sweets and fizzy drinks flood the shops, a process known as the “Coca-colonisation” of Mexico. “There were suddenly all these flavours you had never tasted, with chocolates, candies and Dr Pepper,” Camacho remembers: “Overnight I got fat.” When his uncles teased him about his bulging waistline, he cut back on sweets and stayed in good shape until his kidnapping 12 years later. Other Mexicans just kept bulking up. In 2013 Mexico overtook America as the most obese country in the world. To combat this trend, governments worldwide have enshrined calorie-counting in policy. The who attributes the “fundamental cause” of obesity worldwide to “an energy imbalance between calories consumed and calories expended”. Governments the world over persist in offering the same advice: count and cut calories. This has infiltrated ever more areas of life. In 2018 the American government ordered food chains and vending machines to provide calorie details on their menus, to help consumers make “informed and healthful decisions”. Australia and Britain are headed in similar directions. Government bodies advise dieters to record their meals in a calorie journal to lose weight. The experimental efforts of a 19th-century scientist stand barely changed – and are barely questioned. Millions of dieters give up when their calorie-counting is unsuccessful. Camacho was more stubborn than most. He took photos of his meals to record his intake more accurately, and would log into his calorie spreadsheets from his phone. He thought about every morsel he ate. And he bought a proliferation of gadgets to track his calorie output. But he still didn’t lose much weight. One problem was that his sums were based on the idea that calorie counts are accurate. Food producers give impressively specific readings: a slice of Camacho’s favourite Domino’s double pepperoni pizza is supposedly 248 calories (not 247 nor 249). Yet the number of calories listed on food packets and menus are routinely wrong. Susan Roberts, a nutritionist at Tufts University in Boston, has found that labels on American packaged foods miss their true calorie counts by an average of 8%. American government regulations allow such labels to understate calories by up to 20% (to ensure that consumers are not short-changed in terms of how much nutrition they receive). The information on some processed frozen foods misstates their calorific content by as much as 70%. That isn’t the only problem. Calorie counts are based on how much heat a foodstuff gives off when it burns in an oven. But the human body is far more complex than an oven. When food is burned in a laboratory it surrenders its calories within seconds. By contrast, the real-life journey from dinner plate to toilet bowl takes on average about a day, but can range from eight to 80 hours depending on the person. A calorie of carbohydrate and a calorie of protein both have the same amount of stored energy, so they perform identically in an oven. But put those calories into real bodies and they behave quite differently. And we are still learning new insights: American researchers discovered last year that, for more than a century, we’ve been exaggerating by about 20% the number of calories we absorb from almonds. The process of storing fat – the “weight” many people seek to lose – is influenced by dozens of other factors. Apart from calories, our genes, the trillions of bacteria that live in our gut, food preparation and sleep affect how we process food. Academic discussions of food and nutrition are littered with references to huge bodies of research that still need to be conducted. “No other field of science or medicine sees such a lack of rigorous studies,” says Tim Spector, a professor of genetic epidemiology at Kings College in London. “We can create synthetic dna and clone animals but we still know incredibly little about the stuff that keeps us alive.” What we do know, however, suggests that counting calories is very crude and often misleading. Think of a burger, the kind of food that Camacho eschewed during his early efforts to lose weight. Take a bite and the saliva in your mouth starts to break it down, a process that continues when you swallow, transporting the morsel towards your stomach and beyond to be churned further. The digestive process transforms the protein, carbohydrates and fat in the burger into their basic compounds so that they are tiny enough to be absorbed into the bloodstream via the small intestine to fuel and repair the trillions of cells in the body. But the basic molecules from each macronutrient play very different roles within the body. All carbohydrates break down into sugars, which are the body’s main fuel source. But the speed at which your body gets its fuel from food can be as important as the amount of fuel. Simple carbohydrates are swiftly absorbed into the bloodstream, providing a fast shot of energy: the body absorbs the sugar from a can of fizzy drink at a rate of 30 calories a minute, compared with two calories a minute from complex carbohydrates such as potatoes or rice. That matters, because a sudden hit of sugar prompts the rapid release of insulin, a hormone that carries the sugar out of the bloodstream and into the body’s cells. Problems arise when there is too much sugar in the blood. The liver can store some of the excess, but any that remains is stashed as fat. So consuming large quantities of sugar is the fastest way to create body fat. And, once the insulin has done its work, blood-sugar levels slump, which tends to leave you hungry, as well as plumper. Getting fat is a consequence of civilisation. Our ancestors would have enjoyed a heavy hit of sugar perhaps four times a year, when a new season produced fresh fruit. Many now enjoy that kind of sugar kick every day. The average person in the developed world consumes 20 times as much sugar as people did even during Atwater’s time. But it is a different story when you eat complex carbohydrates such as cereals. These are strung together from simple carbohydrates, so they also break down into sugar, but because they do so more slowly, your blood-sugar levels remain steadier. The fruit juices that Camacho was encouraged to drink contained fewer calories than one of his wholegrain buns but the bread delivered less of a sugar hit and left him feeling satiated for longer. Other macronutrients have different functions. Protein, the dominant component of meat, fish and dairy products, acts as the main building block for bone, skin, hair and other body tissues. In the absence of sufficient quantities of carbohydrates it can also serve as fuel for the body. But since it is broken down more slowly than carbohydrates, protein is less likely to be converted to body fat. Fat is a different matter again. It should leave you feeling fuller for longer, because your body splits it into tiny fatty acids more slowly than it processes carbohydrates or protein. We all need fat to make hormones and to protect our nerves (a bit like plastic coating protects an electric wire). Over millennia, fat has also been a crucial way for humans to store energy, allowing us to survive periods of famine. Nowadays, even without the risk of starvation, our bodies are programmed to store excess fuel in case we run out of food. No wonder a single measure – the energy content – can’t capture such complexity. Our fixation with counting calories assumes both that all calories are equal and that all bodies respond to calories in identical ways: Camacho was told that, since he was a man, he needed 2,500 calories a day to maintain his weight. Yet a growing body of research shows that when different people consume the same meal, the impact on each person’s blood sugar and fat formation will vary according to their genes, lifestyles and unique mix of gut bacteria. Research published this year showed that a certain set of genes is found more often in overweight people than in skinny ones, suggesting that some people have to work harder than others to stay thin (a fact that many of us already felt intuitively to be true). Differences in gut microbiomes can alter how people process food. A study of 800 Israelis in 2015 found that the rise in their blood-sugar levels varied by a factor of four in response to identical food. Some people’s intestines are 50% longer than others: those with shorter ones absorb fewer calories, which means that they excrete more of the energy in food, putting on less weight. The response of your own body may also change depending on when you eat. Lose weight and your body will try to regain it, slowing down your metabolism and even reducing the energy you spend on fidgeting and twitching your muscles. Even your eating and sleeping schedules can be important. Going without a full night’s sleep may spur your body to create more fatty tissue, which casts a grim light on Camacho’s years of early-morning exertion. You may put on more weight eating small amounts over 12-15 hours than eating the same food in three distinct meals over a shorter period. There’s a further weakness in the calorie-counting system: the amount of energy we absorb from food depends on how we prepare it. Chopping and grinding food essentially does part of the work of digestion, making more calories available to your body by ripping apart cell walls before you eat it. That effect is magnified when you add heat: cooking increases the proportion of food digested in the stomach and small intestine, from 50% to 95%. The digestible calories in beef rises by 15% on cooking, and in sweet potato some 40% (the exact change depends on whether it is boiled, roasted or microwaved). So significant is this impact that Richard Wrangham, a primatologist at Harvard University, reckons that cooking was necessary for human evolution. It enabled the neurological expansion that created Homo sapiens: powering the brain consumes about a fifth of a person’s metabolic energy each day (cooking also means we didn’t need to spend all day chewing, unlike chimps). The difficulty in counting accurately doesn’t stop there. The calorie load of carbohydrate-heavy items such as rice, pasta, bread and potatoes can be slashed simply by cooking, chilling and reheating them. As starch molecules cool they form new structures that are harder to digest. You absorb fewer calories eating toast that has been left to go cold, or leftover spaghetti, than if they were freshly made. Scientists in Sri Lanka discovered in 2015 that they could more than halve the calories potentially absorbed from rice by adding coconut oil during cooking and then cooling the rice. This made the starch less digestible so the body may take on fewer calories (they have yet to test on human beings the precise effects of rice cooked in this way). That’s a bad thing if you’re malnourished, but a boon if you’re trying to lose weight. Different parts of a vegetable or fruit may be absorbed differently too: older leaves are tougher, for example. The starchy interior of sweetcorn kernels is easily digested but the cellulose husk is impossible to break down and passes through the body untouched. Just think about that moment when you look into the toilet bowl after eating sweetcorn. As with so many dieters, Camacho’s efforts to accurately track his calories “in” were doomed. But so too were his attempts to track his calories “out”. The message from many public authorities and food producers, especially fast-food companies that sponsor sports events, is that even the unhealthiest foods will not make you fat if you do your part by taking plenty of exercise. Exercise does, of course, have clear health benefits. But unless you’re a professional athlete, it plays a smaller part in weight control than most people believe. As much as 75% of the average person’s daily energy expenditure comes not through exercise but from ordinary daily activities and from keeping your body functioning by digesting food, powering organs and maintaining a regular body temperature. Even drinking iced water – which delivers no energy – forces the body to burn calories to maintain its preferred temperature, making it the only known case of consuming something with “negative” calories. A popular expression in English tells us not to “compare apples and oranges” and assume them to be the same: yet calories put pizzas and oranges, or apples and ice cream, on the same scale, and deems them equal. After three years of dedicated calorie-counting Camacho changed tack. While recovering from running the 2010 marathon in San Diego he took up Crossfit training, an exercise regime that includes high-intensity training and weightlifting. There he met people using a very different method to control their weight. Like him, they exercised regularly. But rather than limiting their calories, they ate natural foods, what Camacho calls “stuff from a real plant, not an industrial plant”. Fed up with feeling like a hungry failure, he decided to give it a go. He ditched his heavily processed low-calorie products and focused on the quality of his food rather than quantity. He stopped feeling ravenous all the time. “It sounds simple but I decided to listen to my body and eat whenever I was hungry but only when I was hungry, and to eat real food, not food ‘products’,” he says. He went back to items that he’d long banned himself from eating. He had his first rasher of bacon in three years and enjoyed cheese, whole-fat milk and steaks. He immediately felt less hungry and happier. More surprising, he quickly began to lose his extra fat. “I was sleeping so much better and within a couple of months I stopped the depression and anxiety medication,” he says. “I went from always feeling guilty and angry and afraid to feeling in control of myself and actually proud of my own body. Suddenly I could enjoy eating and drinking again.” The weight stayed off and in 2012 he moved to Heidelberg in Germany, a world away from the hectic streets of Mexico, to study for a masters degree in public health. “The idea hit me that I could combine my own experience with academic work to try to help other people overcome these various barriers that I had found.” After his masters he embarked on a doctorate on how to tackle obesity in Mexico. Today he is married to a German scholar, Erica Gunther, who has studied food systems around the world. Their diet includes things he used to shun, such as egg yolks, olive oil and nuts. Two days a week the couple stick to vegetarian meals but otherwise he devours steak, kidneys, liver and some of his favourite Mexican dishes – barbacoa (lamb), carnitas (pork) and tacos with grilled meat. His wife enjoys making a traditional Mexican sweet pastry called pan de muerto (bread of death). “Before I would have run an extra two hours to compensate for eating that but now I don’t care, I just make sure it is a treat, not an everyday thing.” Having spent years trying to forgo alcohol, he has a glass or two of wine several times a week, and goes for a beer with friends from his gym. Sweating through three or four workouts a week, he is as well-muscled as a professional rugby player. A stable 80kg, he has very little body fat, though he is still considered overweight by the body-mass-index charts, which rate many beefed-up professional athletes as too heavy. The only relapse of anxiety he suffers nowadays happens when he hears Tori Amos singing “Bliss” – the song playing when he was kidnapped – which he says “is a real pity because it’s a great song”. Today Camacho could be described as a calorie dissident, one of a small but growing number of academics and scientists who say that the persistence of calorie-counting compounds the obesity epidemic, rather than remedying it. Counting calories has disrupted our ability to eat the right amount of food, he says, and has steered us towards poor choices. In 2017 he wrote an academic paper that was one of the most savage attacks on the calorie system published in a peer-reviewed journal. “I’m actually embarrassed at what I used to believe,” he says. “I was doing everything I could to follow the official advice but it was totally wrong and I feel stupid for never even questioning it.” Given the vast evidence that calorie-counting is imprecise at best, and contributes to rising obesity at worst, why has it persisted? The simplicity of calorie-counting explains its appeal. Metrics that tell consumers the extent to which foods have been processed, or whether they will suppress hunger, are harder to understand. Faced with the calorie juggernaut, none has gained wide acceptance. The scientific and health establishment knows that the current system is flawed. A senior adviser to the un’s Food and Agriculture Organisation warned in 2002 that the Atwater “factors” of 4-4-9 at the heart of the calorie-counting system were “a gross oversimplification” and so inaccurate that they could mislead consumers into choosing unhealthy products because they understate the calories in some carbohydrates. The organisation said it would give “further consideration” to overhauling the system but 17 years later there is little momentum for change. It even rejected the idea of harmonising the many methods that are used in different countries – a label in Australia can give a different count from one in America for the same product. Officials at the who also acknowledge the problems of the current system, but say it is so entrenched in consumer behaviour, public policy and industry standards that it would be too expensive and disruptive to make big changes. The experiments that Atwater conducted a century ago, without calculators or computers, have never been repeated even though our understanding of how our bodies work is vastly improved. There is little funding or enthusiasm for such work. As Susan Roberts at Tufts University says, collecting and analysing faeces “is the worst research job in the world”. The calorie system, says Camacho, lets food producers off the hook: “They can say, ‘We’re not responsible for the unhealthy products we sell, we just have to list the calories and leave it to you to manage your own weight’.” Camacho and other calorie dissidents argue that sugar and highly processed carbohydrates play havoc with people’s hormonal systems. Higher insulin levels mean more energy is converted into fat tissues leaving less available to fuel the rest of the body. That in turn drives hunger and overeating. In other words the constant hunger and fatigue suffered by Camacho and other dieters may be symptoms of being overweight, rather than the cause of the problem. Yet much of the food industry defends the status quo too. To change how we assess the energy and health values of food would undermine the business model of many companies. The only major organisation to shift the emphasis beyond calories is one dedicated to helping its customers slim down: Weight Watchers. In 2001 the world’s best-known dieting firm introduced a points system that moved away from focusing exclusively on calories to also classifying foods according to their sugar and saturated fat content, and their impact on appetite. Chris Stirk, the firm’s general manager in Britain, says the organisation made the change because relying on calories to lose weight is “outdated”: “Science evolves daily, monthly, yearly, let alone since the 1800s.” Many of us know instinctively that not all calories are the same. A lollipop and an apple may contain similar numbers of calories but the apple is clearly better for us. But after a lifetime of hearing about the calorie and its role in supposedly foolproof diet advice we could be forgiven for being confused about how best to eat. It’s time to lay it to rest.

7 notes · View notes

shyinadarkplace · 3 years

Text

One of Zed’s darkest moments

WARNING: DARK THEMES PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Zed is an original character as is Ryth. Loki is well Loki this definitely leans more toward mythology Loki

Zed knelt at Loki’s altar, more drunk then he had ever been and almost completely naked save for a loin cloth. He was broken. He was tired. He was done trying. He could feel it in his bones that if he tried to kill himself now it would finally fucking work. On the altar he placed a series of thick envelopes, his goodbyes. More importantly explanations, these beings whose faces he never saw had taken everything from him. Everything that he loved. His birth mother. His true mate before he was even old enough to know her for what she was. Then His adopted mother and siblings. The only woman he had ever truly loved. He had been beaten, tortured, his mind fucked and mangled. He was so fucking tired. So he prayed, to the only god who has ever bothered to give a damn. The only one who had bothered to help .

Zed took a deep breath. His forehead resting against the edge of the altar, tears blurring his vision falling unchecked. Numbly he gripped his hunting knife and held out his right forearm. Deftly he dug the blade in and slashed downward savagely. Quickly he repeated the process on his left arm. Zed watched the blood pour from him and sobbed. Releasing choked and broken noises chest heaving.

Loki heard screaming, a tormented yell. The token for Ryths altar glowed a slight red. Odd Ryth and her mother never left blood...realization hit him the only other person to use that altar was Zed. Loki cursed standing before the mirror image of the altar. Saw a poor and broken boy open his veins, saw the thick letters, then he heard the prayer. Many thought Loki cold and cruel, but he was far from it, so hearing these words and seeing these images made his heart ache.

“Loki...Loki...th-this is it. *sob, slight chuckle* I I can finally escape. I am sorry I bled on your altar. I am so tired. Why would my father do this to me? Why would he help those bastards? I guess it doesn’t matter now...Nothing matters now. I lost them all Loki....my mother. fUCK she didn’t even know how messed up my father was and then after she had taken such good care of me .... he he KILLED her. But you already know that from before . *sigh, sobbing hard* Tuari, oh fuck she is gonna hate me...for awhile I think she will come around ...she will know that every word is true because the paper, ink, and pen are imbued with truth spells I couldn’t lie there if I wanted to. Ryth will too, though she probably won’t care really. I am glad Tauri has her mates. I know they will take good care of her. Keept her out of too much trouble. Loki...you know Ryth has the most beautiful eyes right ? I love her . I love her so fucking much. I loved her the second I saw her. *chuckles sadly* Her hair was so long it brushed the ground. *brings up the image in his mind* Her eyes were shining like green opals at least But she will never forgive me. Never. I will never see any of her smiles. She has so many, but they all, they all take my breath away. *gently touches the faded half formed mating mark just above his heart crying harder* Loki please take care of her. Please, I know you care for her and love her too, so please take care her. D-don’t ...fuck its getting dark...so tired *laughs broken sobbing* D-don’t let her cut off her hair for Eric...uhhh I know a secret way to bring him back from...from the ashes...its its in my letter….please help her . I wonder if my mark is still on the inside of her ankle ? I thought I saw it when we first saw each other again. *heart skips a beat slowing darkness taking over* Hey loki can I ...can I go with Hel I just want peace. Please. Please take care of her...pl...ease… take care...of her. *falls over passed out*”

Loki appears at the altar. With a wave of his hand he stops the bleeding healing the wound, placing the poor boy in deep healing sleep. Gently he lifted Zed and took him to the back of the cave and summoned a soft, comfortable bed, laying him down. As he covered him with a thick, soft blanket Loki was thankful he had free time, though he was loath, feeling that once again he would have to put his claiming of his little changeling. Or he thought to himself perhaps not, perhaps his claiming would benefit all involved. Making a decision he placed food, drink and a note for Zed before placing strong concealments and protections around him before going back to the altar to retrieve the letters and clean away the blood. After securing the letters away to retrieve later he returned to Asgard there were a few more things he had to finish and not long to finish them. He knew that it had been almost a month since Eric’s death but Loki still felt the effects of Ryths scream. Hell everything with the breath of life had felt the echoes of her agony when the mating bond between her and Eric shattered. Just thinking about it made his heart hurt all over again. He had to hurry.

Meanwhile Ryth wandered aimlessly out in her gardens. She summoned what she called shadow memories. They were memories that places and people shared. She could view all the memories of her and Eric since he began building here. So she did. As she watched it all kind of played in fast forward, at the same time overlapping. She watched him building the house and planting the gardens. She smiled and laughed at all their antics. Looked on longingly at every time they had mad love out here under the stars. She shuffled inside tears once again rolling down her face, and watched everything on the inside. All the times they had cooked dinner together, had their friends over, danced through the whole house singing and laughing. Every time the depression hit, and how Eric took care of her. Finally came the last time they had actually seen each other. Rhythm gripped the choker around her neck using it to try and ground herself. She watched their fight. It tore her apart. She collapsed in her chair muffling her agonizing scream with a pillow as she watched and cried. How many times had she watched that night? One hundred, two hundred times? It didn’t matter, Ryth screamed until she lost her voice and cried till she dry heaved, before she finally fell asleep curled in her chair, still clutching at her necklace.

Loki heard Ryth wail at the loss of her love. Felt her clutching at the necklace he had given her many years ago. He stood under the light of the full moon and admired the home that Eric had built her. He could feel the love and care that went into every brick and board. All the care that had been given during tilling and tending. Ryth had done well with him, she had learned to thrive in many ways. Loki’s long hair stood almost on end for a moment while all the protections around the house examined him trying to determine if he was a danger or not. After a moment his hair dropped and he smiled at having been able to witness the strength of his little changeling, then continued into the house. For a moment he simply watched as Ryth slept .

Ryth woke suddenly, her knives flying from her hands before her thoughts could even fully form. They embedded themselves on either side of Loki’s head. To which he cocked an eyebrow. “Is that really how you would welcome me little changeling?” he said softly, gently. He waited, as Ryth rubbed her eyes and rose from her chair, another knife in her hand she stalked forward. Loki leaned against the door frame, hands in the deep pockets of his trousers. She was certainly a sight. Her long hair unkempt, bedraggled and slightly greasy. Her eyes were vacant and rimmed red almost raw from crying. She wore an oversized shirt and little if anything else. Oh she was firey, good. Ryth snarls showing her needle sharp fangs (all fea had sharper than average canines on the top and bottom) “You aren’t really here.” her voice was hardly a whisper as she had screamed it away for the most part. “Yes, I am little one. I am here to help you heal. You are mine and I am going to bring you back from the dark pit that you are in.” Ryth dove at Loki, tackling him to the floor knife pressed into his throat. For a moment he was taken by surprise.

#original character #ryth #zed #loki

1 note · View note

xiolaperry · 3 years

Text

Four Ways Gaston Could Have Died (And the One Way He Actually Did) - Chapter 5

Chapter Notes: Somehow, this chapter veered away from being simply a Gaston “death” and ended up turning into a Colonel Ives backstory. For those of you who have not seen the movie "Ravenous", I highly recommend it. It is a surprisingly funny dark comedy horror story, and Robert Carlyle is amazing in it (as always).

---

Francis Ives had not expected to discover he had a half brother when he attended his father's funeral.

He hadn't seen his father in years (and was better off for it) when a solicitor contacted him to inform him of his death. Malcolm had somehow gotten rich before he died, and the will stipulated attendance of the funeral for access to the funds.

Tempted though he was not to comply with the demand, the money would be welcome. He had recently been diagnosed with tuberculosis and wanted to visit America to see if the doctors there could help him. Therefore, he made plans to attend. His miserable excuse for a father owed him a chance to live.

The church was empty. Every movement was magnified and echoed through the cavernous space. The only ones in attendance were the solicitor, who had to be there, the minister, who doubtless had never laid eyes on Malcolm Gold in his life, and a pair of drunken old men. Ives wondered if they’d been bribed, too.

The minister waited a few minutes past the time to begin, hoping in vain for additional mourners to fill the empty seats. He'd just cleared his throat and begun to speak when a well-dressed man entered. A beautiful woman and a little girl followed him. They sat down and the man, a fierce scowl on this face, gestured with impatience to the minister to continue.

Ives watched them from the corners of his eyes, wondering who they could be. Forced into attendance like him, no doubt. Malcolm Gold was not the type to make friends.

Unnoticed, he studied the older man. His longish hair was silver at the temples, and he kept running his hand through it and looked annoyed. He walked with a cane, but there was no air of weakness about him.

Ives assumed the woman was his wife. She looked young enough to be his daughter, but the way she put her hand on his thigh to stop his leg from bouncing with impatience was not at all daughterly. And even from a distance, he could see love and concern radiating from striking blue eyes that he'd not soon forget.

The little girl fidgeted and looked as though she'd rather be anywhere than here. Ives couldn't blame her, he felt the same way. She winked when she caught him looking, and he smiled.

After the service, he went straight to the family and introduced himself. “Francis Ives,” he said, extending his hand.

“Mr. Gold,“ the older man answered, returning the handshake.

Gold? Ives's mind reeled at the surname, and the resemblance he now noticed. He heard nothing else of the introductions, and he realized he must look odd, standing there frozen in shock with his hand still out.

“Please forgive me, I didn't catch the names of your wife and daughter; yours distracted me. Your name is Gold, as in a relation of Malcolm Gold?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, that bastard was my father.”

“Mine too!” he blurted out before he could think of a more delicate way to say it.

The family stared at Ives, speechless.

The little girl recovered first. “Does this mean you're my uncle? Papa, do you have any other brothers and sisters? My name is Tilly, can I call you Uncle Ives?”

When she paused to take a breath, her mother pulled her a short distance away to give the men a moment to process the revelation. Her hands fluttered about, making signs, and Tilly responded in kind. Mute, he thought.

Mr. Gold asked, “Malcolm was your father? But you said your name was Ives?”

“I took my mother's name. I wanted nothing that would connect me to that man.”

“Ah. I didn't have that luxury. Didn't even know my mother.”

The solicitor interrupted. “Good, I see you've met each other. If you'd be so kind as to follow me, the minister has allowed us to use his back office for the reading of the will. You can continue the family reunion there.”

“Whatever gets this over with the fastest.” Gold waved his hand for his family to follow him. Tilly, a bit more subdued but still grinning, skipped ahead. Gold's wife gave him a quick hug and then they continued on.

The reading was brief. Malcolm had made a few big gambling winnings shortly before his death, and his sudden demise prevented him from squandering it all. It was to be divided equally between his two known children, Francis and Labhrainn.

“Thank God there aren't more of us running around,” muttered Gold, who received an elbow to the ribs from his wife for the comment.

Finding the idea of a brother intriguing, Ives hoped to continue the conversation with Mr. Gold. But as soon as the information on the distribution of Malcolm's assets was finished, Mr. Gold stood up, said a curt goodbye, and headed for the door.

His wife stopped him. Her gloved hands flew as she signed, although one did not seem to move quite like the other. Ives watched Gold's face change from hard and impatient to soft and indulgent during her 'discourse.' Tilly chimed in with “Please, Papa?” and an imploring look. Gold sighed.

“Belle insists that you accompany us home for a meal so she can get to know you better.”

Belle poked her husband, and he amended, “We would both like you to come, you are my half-brother, after all.”

She beamed at Ives, and he wondered how his brother had gotten such a beauty. At his hesitation, Tilly said, “Please come. You can meet my cat. I brought her all the way from New Zealand.”

“How can I turn down such an invitation? I would be honored to meet your cat.”

Belle was a wonderful hostess, and Tilly's smile lit up the room. Her endless chatter at the dinner table made him laugh more that night than he had in months. Gold (who asked him to please not call him Labhrainn) was not as surly as he first appeared and warmed up to him over the course of the meal.

After they sent Tilly to bed, Ives and Gold spent a pleasant evening comparing stories of their upbringing and tales of their youth over glasses of whiskey. Ives told him of his plan to travel to America in hope of a cure for his tuberculosis.

Gold's tales of his time in New Zealand were fascinating, but his mood darkened when he spoke of Gaston Legume and the cause of his return to Scotland. When Belle removed her glove to show him the wooden finger Gold had crafted for her, Ives shook his head with disbelief. What kind of man would hurt a woman like that?

Sensing her husband's distress over the memories the conversation had brought up, she kissed him. The tender moment embarrassed Ives, and he looked away.

They talked until the early morning. After saying their goodbyes, and offering their best wishes for his health and recovery, Gold surprised him by asking him to keep in touch. “I'm learning to write,” he explained. “The letters will be good practice.”

The half-brothers struck up an enjoyable correspondence. Ives looked forward to Gold's letters, which included notes from Belle and Tilly. He would not have believed you could come to love someone through the mail, but he did. He loved his newfound family. They were the only bright spots in his life as he got sicker and weaker, and the illness turned him bitter and desperate.

The doctors in America were no better than the ones in Scotland. Depressed and discouraged, his thoughts turned dark. Every breath was a struggle, resulting in him coughing up a pint of blood. There was nothing left to be done. He decided to check himself into a sanatorium to convalesce, more than likely to die.

He took his time on the journey, telling himself he was traveling at such a slow pace because he was enjoying the scenery, not because he was too weak to press onward. Then one afternoon, he met an Indian scout.

The scout insisted on building a campfire for them both, and Ives shared his meal with him. The campfire danced, flickering patterns of light and dark across their faces.

He watched the robust, healthy man just sit there, taking his good health for granted. The Indian enjoyed smoking his pipe, drawing breath without pain, not coughing and choking on his own blood. He observed this with such jealousy that it made his soul ache. Ives wanted to live.

It wasn't fair that his disgusting reprobate of a father got to have a long life. It wasn't fair that he was here, dying, thousands of miles away from a family he had gotten to know so late in life. The night was clear, and he leaned back, looking at the cold stars that cared not for his suffering.

The scout told stories to pass the time, and one in particular caught his attention: The Wendigo. A man eats the flesh of another, absorbing his strength, his spirit. As the man spoke, Ives felt a cold darkness fill him. Could the tale be true? He had to try; it was his last chance. Perhaps it was a manifestation of Malcolm's selfishness, the trait showing up in his nature here at the end. He would do anything to keep from dying.

He killed the man as he slept and roasted him over the campfire he'd built. The smell was mouthwatering, and the taste, divine. The Indian scout was absolutely right. He grew stronger and had no regrets.

A stolen uniform completed his reinvention of himself. “Colonel Ives” sounded impressive and powerful, matching the strength he now felt inside. But what to do next? He was hungry. The meat he'd saved from the Indian did not last long, no matter how hard he'd tried to ration it.

An answer came in the form of a wagon train headed West. The small group welcomed having a Colonel join them as a guide. A few small manipulations of their circumstances allowed him to eat them that winter, and come spring he was a new man, happy and healthy. Tuberculosis? Vanished. As did the black thoughts.

His only regret was that the meat hadn't lasted longer. But the more he ate, the more he wanted. So he continued on.

Ives wanted to share his good fortune, build his own small family. Alas, Boyd and Colonel Hart were a disappointment. He left Fort Spencer, deciding it was better to keep moving and see the world.

He never wrote to Gold again. He missed the connection to his family, and he’d compose letters to them in his mind. But they remained unwritten. A voice inside told him he was not who he had been; that he never would be again. The voice sometimes begged him to reconsider his course. Whenever it spoke up, he squashed it down firmly. It was too late. The hunger was insatiable.

One day, he was talking to some sailors who mentioned their ship was bound for New Zealand. An idea formed in his mind, a way to thank Gold and his family for their encouragement and kindness during his difficult time. He booked passage on the spot.

And now here he was, in New Zealand, sitting in a tavern, watching Gaston Legume from across the room.

He must be cautious. Ives no longer cared about collateral damage as a general rule. Disposing of witnesses just meant more provisions for him. However, some of these people were Gold and Belle's friends. Punishing Gaston should not come at their expense.

Calqhoun is the name he gives in case Belle or Gold kept in touch with anyone. He slides into character with ease. People found the mild-mannered man of god forgettable, which is his intention.

As he enjoys David Nolan's company, he thinks that he'd like to find a place for himself. Sometimes it was lonely being a cannibal. Tough making friends.

So he sat, nondescript, and made conversation with David. The man was friendly and not overly bright, which was exactly the combination he was looking for. In the space of an evening, he learned all he needed to know about Gaston: where he lived, his habits, and his associates.

The next day Ives set up camp in a remote part of the jungle. Gaston's disappearance must not coincide with his passing through. His stores depleted, he hunts, and finds the locals to his taste. He bides his time.

He considered grabbing Gaston from his bed, but it seemed rather anticlimactic. This man had hurt his family, the only people he loved in this world. And for that, he deserved to suffer.

First, he moved things around to set Gaston off balance. His shoes while he slept. His tools. He left the barn doors open and stole his axe.

Gaston ranted to his aunt that someone was playing tricks on him. The scowl never left his face, and he accused everyone he met of being the culprit.

Ives escalated his campaign. He left sheet music in the barn, a book on the bedside table. He hung one of Tilly's drawings in the kitchen and left a woman's dress on the clothesline. A piano key was placed in his saddlebag. Now Gaston crossed from being angry to afraid.

The axe, covered in blood, was the perfect sight to greet him for his last morning on earth. It was lodged in the kitchen table and covered with gore. Ives watched from the shadows as Gaston staggered toward it, pale and shaken. He came up behind him and struck him in the head.

As Ives dragged Gaston through the jungle underbrush, he considered if he wanted to eat such a vile man. When they reached his camp, he told Gaston who he was. He describes exactly what he is going to do to him. Big, strong Gaston cries and begs. Ives starts by removing one finger and enjoying it as an appetizer.

He doesn't taste so bad after all.

“Calqhoun” drops by the little village before he leaves New Zealand. He talks to David Nolan again, who, with a bit of maneuvering, tells him all about the disappearance of Gaston. A bloody axe in the kitchen table was the only clue, and the entire village was stumped by the mystery. Cora is the only one who cares that he is missing.

His only regret is that he can't write to Gold and tell him all about the favor he has done for him. Papua New Guinea is the next stop. Perhaps he'll find some companions there.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ravenous #ravenous au #the piano #four ways

9 notes · View notes