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har-rison-s · 4 months

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tell me i'm good | coryo snow x fem!reader

a/n: ohmygod you guys why did this take me like almost 3 weeks....... mnadfahsdf anyways um this might be like the last chapter idk ???!!!! what would you guys like me to do.... cos im kinda losing my grip on coryo rn, im at the end of my tbosas copy and im just so disgusted w him idek ???? but uhh yeah. sorry i'm a bit of a mess lately. i did have some little things i could be including in further writings, like y/n meeting tigris, or y/n reuniting w coryo after he returns from 12, but there's not much material for like whole chapters, idk. hope you at least enjoy this and let me know if u guys have any ideas!! happy reading <3

previous chapter

coryo masterlist main masterlist

word count: 4.2k

themes: little angst, smut

warnings / disclaimers: smut, fingering, praise, sorta sub!coryo cos that's what i live for. coryo has a praise kink, sue me

gif credit goes to author / owner <3

usually Coriolanus would feel unease in a rich family’s home, like y/n’s was. unease because he felt like he belonged there, in homes like that, but he didn’t exactly deserve to. the snow name had fallen to ruin and bankruptcy because of district twelve, and they’d been living in hunger with barely any money since then. it had made Coriolanus lose the confidence he wanted to regain, about himself and the way he carried his family name.

he always put on a certain stance and grace when walking into homes like this, a way that would never make the hosts doubt he came from a place any different than this. being in homes like this made him feel ashamed of his living conditions. he was grateful towards Tigris for putting in her efforts to upkeep their home, but he could never escape the fact that this wasn’t how they were supposed to live, it gnawed at him day and night. and when he was in homes like this, Coriolanus felt uneasy because his home was nothing like these ones.

but when it was just him and y/n in her shower, her bathroom and her bedroom, he felt none of that unease or shame. he did feel a little envious, but that’s where it ended. the other spiteful and loathing feelings he usually felt were gone. perhaps it was just her effect on him that did it, but he felt like admitting that would make him vulnerable. he knew it, just didn’t want to admit to himself. to her – always. he couldn’t hide her effect on him if he tried.

the one difference he realized between her home and his was that the outside world was completely quiet here. from the snow penthouse Coriolanus could hear street noises – rats, people, cars, trams. grandma’am’s singing was really the worst of the noises, but that was a different case. it almost spooked him how quiet it was here. he liked it. lying beside y/n in her bed, both of them wearing pyjama shirts and underwear, he glanced at her reading a book that looked older than anything he’d seen before.

“i thought most books were burned in the war, or even in the old world,” Coryo admitted to her and watched as corners of y/n’s lips tugged into a gentle smile at that. she had her back against the headboard, and could look down at Coryo. she didn’t, her eyes were still on the tiny words printed on the pages.

“they were,” she said, “my mother got only three as a gift when she was a kid. they were her most prized possessions, she always had them with her.” y/n sighed. “they survived the war, it seems, and everything else, and joined my father’s library.” she finally looked at him and smiled. she closed the book, but not without leaving a bookmark where she had stopped, and shoved it onto her nightstand. she shut off the light and slid to lay beside Coryo. her hand under her pillow, she looked at him moving to lay on his side to face her, tucking his hands under his pillow, too. she smiled and Coryo mirrored that, too.

“grandma’am has some books at home,” he said to her, “but i’m sure she hasn’t touched them in ages,” he added and made y/n laugh.

“do you think Lucy Gray has books at home?” y/n asked suddenly, and Coryo’s expression changed. he’d completely forgot about her until y/n mentioned her just now. she was still in the arena, hiding from Coral and the others. y/n looked into his eyes as the motions changed in the blue of them. “her songs do sound like ones from a book,” she added in an innocent voice, still waiting for any sort of answer from Coryo.

he huffed. “they sure do,” he replied quietly, shortly, “but they’re her own. at least the ones she’s sang so far,” he said then and looked down between him and y/n.

“i really loved the one she sang when you were supposed to have your interview,” y/n admitted, “the very first words, something about when she was younger, she fell into hollers and now when she’s a girl, she fell into that mystery boy’s arms. those really touched my heart,” she said with a smile and still looked to Coryo. he shyly looked into her eyes, “made me think of you.” she all but mumbled quietly.

he made a half-smile. “really?” he asked and she confirmed with a nod.

“sounds like me and Lucy Gray were both angry little ladies when we were younger,” y/n said and rolled over onto her back, “i certainly was. gave my parents and the babysitters pains,” she sighed, “i do regret being hard on them, but i never regret anger that i had, whatever it might have been about.” she turned her head to Coryo, who had suspected that she’d turned away from him all together by laying on her back now. but she didn’t turn away. just felt shy. “mother used to say there would never be a boy who liked me if i was always this angry,” y/n said and hummed quietly.

“well, she was wrong,” Coryo immediately said and reached a hand out to stroke her delicate cheek, “i like you, and not just because you’re angry, but it’s a good characteristic to have,” he said and it made y/n turn to lay on her side to face him again, a smile on her face. he did like her anger, it showed courage. but it unnerved him sometimes, just like Sejanus did when he spoke up against teachers, dr Gaul or anyone else higher standing. y/n and Sejanus could both get into serious trouble just by being themselves. oh, but isn’t it fun, Coriolanus, to have such strong, different people around you?

“that will prove her wrong when we tell her about us,” y/n said in a hopeful voice, and Coryo nodded before he could respond otherwise. he wanted to give her a smile, but instead he gave her the ghost of one, his thoughts slithering away elsewhere.

“do you think... it’s good arms that you’re falling into? my arms?” he asked, wondering the worth of those lyrics to her. and his worth to her, and overall. she’d practically just admitted that she had fallen into his arms, into him, so he had to know. he had his anxieties about what he did in the arena not too many hours ago, about what it could mean, what it could change, who would find out. now that his mind wasn’t entirely preoccupied with other things and she had reminded him about Lucy Gray, Coriolanus’ thoughts ran wild again.

y/n put her hand on his cheek and stroked her thumb over his pearly skin. she wasn’t sure about her answer. believing Coryo was good was different than him actually being good, and she’d always believed her own good thoughts of people who weren’t entirely good rather than seeing them for who they truly were and accepting that. she knew Coryo wasn’t perfect, not really, under the surface, and sometimes he made very strange compromises. but not to her. he’d always been good to her. “i think so,” she said finally, quietly, “you’re good to me.”

he shook his head, and her hand moved to his lips and then back to his cheek again. Coryo felt a surge of euphoria at her fingers against his lips. “i try to be, but...” he looked into her eyes, “i don’t know if i am good.” he admitted and y/n’s eyes gave him a puzzled glance. “i couldn’t tell you before, but,” he took a deep breath, “i killed one of the tributes. in the arena.” he finally said, no distractions, no avoiding the subject, just straight-forward truth. laying himself and his actions out in the open.

y/n’s eyebrows puzzled, then drew together as her eyes searched all over, then looked to a spot between her and Coryo. he’d killed someone. he’d killed a kid and then just gone to her home and... without telling her about it. truly, he was in shambles when she saw him, and could hardly get a word out, but... she took her hand away and curled it under her pillow. she felt used. she didn’t look at him, though Coryo wanted to beg her to do so, to say anything, do anything. anything other than this silence.

“did you come here with... those intentions? did you want to just... sleep with me and then go back to your home?” she asked him finally, all kinds of thoughts were racing through her mind. “like i’m just some...” profanities circled her mind.

Coryo shook his head at her voiced assumptions and scooted closer to her under her covers. he’d made her upset, but not in the way he’d anticipated. girls do have a different view of everything, they really do. “no, no, it wasn’t like that at all,” he told her. wasn’t it? “i didn’t want to go home,” he said, “i just ran and ran until i recognized your house and... i just knew it was the right place to be. i couldn’t be with anyone else, y/n,” he almost pleaded. she gave him a glance.

“and what then? i wasn’t inviting you to do all these things to me, with me,” she said, suddenly feeling nauseaus from the thoughts she was having, the assumptions that clouded her mind and swam into her words, “you wanted to.”

“i did want to, and no, it wasn’t—ugh,” Coryo turned to lay on his back, “i just couldn’t bring myself to tell you then. you-you’re where i feel the safest. and... you are irresistible to me, as i’ve said before.” he turned to lay on his side again, where y/n had pulled into herself more, her arms around her own frame, eyes staring blankly into her bedding. “you’re not just someone to me, i would never use you like that,” Coryo assured her, and y/n looked into his eyes finally. he felt relief, if only momentary. she’d looked at him, at least, “i couldn’t even tell you what you mean to me. too much, is what you mean to me.”

he offered her a smile, but she just looked back at him. “so what we did wasn’t just a distraction for you?” she asked in a quiet voice, and Coryo shook his head, happy they were on the same page finally.

“no, y/n, it meant the world to me,” he told her, “and so do you.” he promised and managed that smile again. she believed him. she didn’t care that it could make her a fool later – that was later, and not now. now she was his world, she was his solace, his comfort, his safe place. “i love you,” Coryo said. didn’t i tell you that already? he searched her eyes and she nodded, finally.

“i love you, too,” she said back and Coryo held her face in his hands with her silent permission, “i just wish i could know what goes on in that head of yours,” she admitted, though fearing it may make Coryo lock himself up and never say a word to her again. some would call knowing what the other is thinking an invasion of privacy, but she didn’t see it that way, and neither did Coryo.

“i wonder the same thing about you,” he admitted back and y/n raised her eyebrows momentarily at that statement, a little surprised, though she was glad to hear that he felt the same way, “i never want to make you feel worthless to me, y/n, i—”

she shook her head, “you can’t really control that,” she pointed out.

“but i want to try,” he said, and thought that it would be best if he could control every aspect of how she felt about him or what he made her feel. her anxieties were out of his hands, but he wanted them to go away, and wanted to do his best for her to not have them at all. not plant the seeds for those anxieties.

“tell me about it,” she urged him after again shaking her head gently at him. she tucked her face closer to his, “did you do it for Lucy Gray?” she asked and looked up into his eyes again.

“well, yes,” he answered, “but he would have killed me and Sejanus, too. it was...”

“self-defense?” she asked and Coryo nodded. “they sent you in there after him and didn’t even provide protection.” protection from who? kids who have been pushed out into an arena, onto a stage, and told to perform and survive?

“that was the catch, yes,” Coryo said, “he ran after us, though he was limping, and attacked us. i didn’t...” he gulped and looked down, “i didn’t want to hurt him, but... i felt something, and i... couldn’t stop.” y/n looked into his eyes. “i don’t feel... i don’t think i’m the same anymore.”

y/n pulled him into an embrace, his head against her chest, damp curls tickling her neck, and held him tightly. it was almost like cradling him, so gently, comfortingly, offering her solace. she didn’t know what to say to him, what words to offer. it seemed they’d all ran out. the smart-mouth y/n had nothing to say for the first time in her life.

“do you still think i’m good?” Coryo asked quietly, his voice muffled. y/n sighed, her eyelids fluttering, eyes turning glassy as no doubt Coryo’s were too, she could hear his voice on the whiny, sob tone. he needed comfort, reassurance.

“i think you can be,” she told him her honest thoughts quietly, despite knowing it wasn’t a direct answer to his question. Coryo gulped and pulled back, just to look at her, just to hold her, too.

“tell me i’m good,” he pleaded and took her face in his hands again. y/n felt confused, and looked at him with eyes very much expressing that, but couldn’t stop herself from what she said next.

“you’re good,” she assured in an unsure voice, and was taken aback by Coryo kissing her. hard, sudden, urgent, desperate. she could hardly draw breath, his teeth were clashing against hers, lips hungry on hers, tongue licking at her teeth, the inside of her mouth, hungry, starving, desperate, “you’re good.” she said again, still sounding unsure but less than the first time. Coryo whimpered into her mouth at her words, he felt himself twitch beneath the fabric of his loaned pyjama pants. seriously? he asked himself at first. but then, this is good. this is doing something good for you. listen to her, “you’re good, Coryo,” y/n gasped into his mouth. she could feel him against her inner thigh now that their bodies were intertwining again. Coryo moved his lips to her neck, nipping, licking, softly biting, suckling at her skin, drawing out the most delicious of noises out of her, only making himself more desperately aroused from it, more desperate for her, “Coryo, you’re...” she couldn’t even finish her sentence as she writhed in his hold, her hands grasping at the skin under his shirt, fingers teasingly slipping between his hot skin and the elastic of his pyjama pants.

“say it,” he reminded her in a whisper, a request in the disguise of a whine. Coryo grinded his hips against y/n’s, drove his growing length against her cunt, and found warmth there immediately. y/n almost cried out her next words, the heat between her and Coryo making her nearly as desperate as him. desperate for each other, like bitches in heat.

“you’re so good, Coryo,” she squeezed out and pushed her hips up against his. she put her hands on his chest and pushed him back on the bed, his back on her soft-as-ever pillows, and his eyes looking up at her. she just adored the sight of him like this, but couldn’t hold herself away from kissing him, stopping her short adoration of him. he needed her. he needed her support. so she’d give him that. she had always been ready to do that. take care of him. she’d done that in another way time and time over already.

she took his hand and pushed it in her pyjama bottoms, and Coryo groaned, relishing at touching her at her most vulnerable part again, this ever-inviting slick warmth that was all his to touch, to please, to discover.

“touch me, Coryo,” she breathed onto his lips, and he nodded in half a second. so compliant, so obedient, doing what he’s told. afraid for what may come if he doesn’t. afraid of the chaos that comes for not following orders. always melting like chocolate under her hot touch, compliant to her. his fingers ran through her folds, covered in slick, making her gasp and arch her back, hair in the air. Coryo watched her in awe, in adoration. she was a goddess above him. assuring him he was good, telling him what to do, listening to him, falling apart under his touch, such an effortlessly beautiful girl. he had lucked out. Coryo kept his eyes on her face as he pushed two of his fingers inside her walls. it made y/n sigh and shudder in relief, he was delicate on her soreness, like balm on a bruise, “Coryo,” she moaned and felt his fingers curl inside of her, making her eyes roll back into her head, “fuck, you’re so good for me, Coryo.”

he nodded again, eyelids fluttering and lips stretching into a smile. her words and noises fed his ego and flattered his heart that so longed for words of praise and recognition. they also made his hard-on grow in his pyjama pants, and he felt kind of shameful for it. he grazed her walls with his fingertips and felt how it made her shudder sitting above him, her cunt squeezing him in, her thighs tightening around his hips—locked in. Coryo moaned, he felt his hand between his clothed, growing erection and her cunt, and it was the perfect squeeze. her warmth pressing against his own, pulling him in. he pumped his fingers faster inside her, delicious sounds from her cunt going straight to his erection.

“Coryo,” y/n mewled and rocked her hips on his hand. he could tell she was desperate, and that meant she was close, too. she was nearly crying, her soreness from before joining the immense pleasure Coryo was providing, “be good for me and make me come, Coryo, please,” she half-pleaded, half-commanded, and Coryo nodded again, beyond turned on but still so focused. his other hand reached around her hips and pushed a splayed palm on the small of her back, pushing her core more into his hand, down onto his length. y/n groaned and gasped for him, but she took his hand and guided it up her pyjama shirt, over her breast, and made him squeeze the flesh of it. that made her whimper and only yearn for her release more. she was oh-so-close, about to fall over that sweet edge for the second time that night.

Coryo pulled his trump move of pressing a digit against her clit and ground his hips up against hers again, trying to maintain a rhythm, and knew that was it, he could feel the difference in her body immediately. she jerked, and her thighs trembled—she was so sensitive still—and she drew ragged breaths. y/n collapsed on top of Coryo as she came, uttering his name under her breath, and he drew his hand from under her shirt to wrap it around her frame to just make her feel his ever-long support. her hair in his face, they were both gasping for air, skin on skin, and Coryo didn’t even realise until he felt not just her wetness on his fingers, but his own under his hand, soaking through his pyjama pants, that he’d come, too. he hardly even felt it, unlike that first time just a mere hour or two ago. his cheeks blushed a bright pink on his pale skin and he tremendously, though stupidly, hoped she wouldn’t notice.

but when she kissed his cheek and his neck after regaining herself, he sort-of forgot about the little detail, melting into her affections on him. “Coryo, you did so good for me,” y/n quietly praised him and then raised her head to look at him. he shyly looked into her eyes and managed a smile in response. what she did next surprised him immensely. she reached her hand into her pyjama pants and gathered her own white honeydew liquid on her fingers and then drew that hand of hers to Coryo’s own lips, “taste me,” she breathed with a compelling spell on her tongue that had Coryo not even thinking twice before he did as he was told.

she slid her fingers in-between his pretty bow lips, watching it happen with hungry eyes all the while, and Coryo welcomed her digits with delight. his tongue swirled around her fingers as he sucked her liquid off them, and moaned at the taste of her, all the while keeping his eyes on hers. she grinned faintly, just adoring the sight of her fingers in his mouth, his messy curls and pink cheeks. y/n leaned down close to his face and pulled her fingers out slowly, his tongue following right after them. she trailed her fingers across his lips, tracing their edges and corners as Coryo parted them wider, she looked onto him with insatiable hunger, turning him into a complete puddle under her. she kissed his lips with her hand across his cheek, thumb digging into the corner of his lips, right in the middle of her kisses. it turned Coryo on again, even though he deemed it impossible.

“how am i?” y/n asked quietly with a smile on her lips, and Coryo returned the expression.

“sweet like sugar,” he told her the absolute truth, making y/n smile wider. he lightly bit into her thumb as he looked up at her, “we both need to change pyjama pants,” he said quietly, suddenly shy. y/n looked down at between them, which was the last thing Coryo wanted her to do, but the look on her face assured him altogether.

“oh, Coryo, that’s alright,” she assured him about his accident and caressed his cheek with her hand, bearing the sweetest face of all as she looked at him, “don’t be sorry.” she pleaded and Coryo nodded with a true smile on his pink bow lips. he clearly enjoyed listening to her telling him what to do, and had no problem obeying her. “we’ll find some in the laundry room. but after that we’re really going to bed,” she said, and he nodded again, “you do need your rest for tomorrow.”

right, tomorrow. the games were still on, and Coryo was required to attend. he should be walking into Heavensbee hall high and proud—if no one had killed Lucy Gray during the night, of course—acting his best and looking his best, pretending like there was not a scratch on him. another day, another act. though, could he really hide something like what he’d done tonight from the whole world? they were watching, for sure.

“will you be there with me, tomorrow?” he asked as y/n pulled him up from the bed, and she looked up at him with a special glint in her eyes. she could cry at his earnest question. he wanted her there. maybe her little fantasy of them walking into Heavensbee hall hand in hand finally could become reality. they’d kept up the casual classmate relationship appearance to everyone else so far, no one even suspected a thing of the slightest bit of friendship between them. it should be pretty obvious, but their classmates proved otherwise.

y/n squeezed his hand hard in hers and gave him the biggest smile, “of course i will,” she assured him, “if you want me to be there, with you, in front of everyone.” she pointed out and seemed to be asking him a question without actually asking him.

Coryo realized then that this night between them had changed everything. especially this last intimate exchange, but he didn’t exactly know why. it just had changed his whole attitude towards her and their secret friendship that had recently turned into a relationship. he didn’t even care that anyone knew now, in fact – he wanted to show her off to the whole world, he wanted them all to know that he was with her, that he had landed her, that he belonged to her. that was with him, that she loved him, that they loved each other. nothing else mattered to him, really. he forgot about the rest of the world when he was with her.

“i do want that, yes,” Coryo told her with pride on his face, “i want them all to see us.” he said simply, but implied much more, his eyes expressing conviction and charisma, and he made y/n smile wide. smile like she was the happiest girl in the world. with Coryo, she might just be that.

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#har-rison-s writes #har-rison-s work #coryo snow #coryo snow x reader #coryo snow smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader

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inactivewattpadauthor · 2 years

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Cetrion x Depressed Reader

A/n: This is my very first post on Tumblr so things are a little confusing to me at the moment (noting I'm a Wattpad user). But I'll figure things out eventually! This oneshot is copied pasted from my wattpad page, I actually don't remember when I made it. A few of my nexts posts will just be from my wattpad acc. But I hope y'all enjoy it💙

Today was just another day.

The wind was breezy, grass is green as it could be, streets are busy. Everything is normal and well. But there could be one change in it.

There's one piece of dullness in the image. One unknown figure. No one knows what it is, but they seem to have want it gone. You couldn't help but sadly agree. Even if you knew what it was. Shame, because it didn't seem to bother anyone.

That piece of dullness is you. But like any stained art, it's permanent. You were very tempted to fix it, but the same thing comes to mind.

One day I'll blend in.

Right now, it was time for bed. It's the best part of the day. You just stared at the ceiling, thinking about why you, and the whole universe existed. Looking to your left on the shelf, there was a crumbled up letter, ugly hand writing, with the Mortal Kombat symbol horribly drawn in the bottom.

You'd remember that letter as an ambitious child. You wanted to be an elder goddess at some point. But now that you're grown enough to understand the shit in this world, that's not going to happen anytime soon.

DeAr CeTrIoN,

i ThInK yOu'Re VeRy PrEtTy! I wOuLd LiKe To SeE yOu OnE dAy! I hOpE yOu SeE tHiS lEtTeR! I mAke SuRe I pRaY tO yOu EvErYdAy! YoU'rE mY fAvOrItE gOdDeSs!

~LoVe Y/n

Man, Cetrion was your favorite goddess. Even if you started doubting her existence, she was still interesting.

Too deep in thought, you started getting drowsy. Within a few more minutes, you fell asleep.

--Time Skip Revolution, starting with Sindel reacting to airpods--

Around 2:13 a.m, you woke up to a strange noise outside in the large backyard. Not only was it the noise, but there was a bright light. But at the same time, it couldn't be the Sun. You sprung out of bed in confusion, wondering what was it that ruined your dream of getting recognized by people.

You grabbed your f/c hoodie and quietly exited your room, not being concern in leggings. One thing for sure is you're not in a sleep paralysis. Maybe you're in a dream that is very realistic. Maybe it's one of those dreams.

Quickly sliding in your sandals, you slid the backyard door open to observe the light, careful not to somewhat blind yourself. Some thoughts came to mind while it slowly got closer to the ground.

What is this dream?

Is it even a dream?

Am I dead?

Did I die in my sleep?

The light was close where you could see a figure doing a mountain lose floating in the middle of the light. You examined the features of the being. Ironically, you aren't dead. It isn't Jesus that floated towards you.

Perhaps, it was a woman, with unique blue skin(you know the color😒), green long hair that have the features of seaweed. And the most recognizable part, the stone crown levitating above the head.

You were definitely dreaming. Cetrion!

As she settled on the ground, you stood watching what she does. She opened her eyes and looked at her surroundings, before eyeing you.

Her contact made you slightly jump in fear. You didn't know what to do in this situation. For the record, did anyone even know what to do? She was looking at you, looking like she's trying to scan you for your identity, but there's nothing.

"Greetings Mortal. I am Cetrion. Goddess of all Virtue." She greeted. Yep. That's her. "I did not wish to disturb your slumber. My mother, Kronika, seeks an interest around here." You didn't know what to do. One second, you were thinking about someone inspirational, the second you blacked out, you're meeting them.

"Hello, Cetrion, I am-"

"Y/n (L/n). You've aged so much." You blinked in confusion. So you weren't dreaming? So does that mean she's actually speaking to you in reality?

"Cetrion yo- I remember you as a child." You were too stunned to speak. "You prayed to me a lot then. But you stopped, which meant you stopped talking to me." Cetrion explained. So pretty much the quarter of your whole life, you were communicating with her, you just didn't know it.

"Why did you stop?" She asked you. You weren't shocked to answer, but if you answered, it'll probably come out in a rude way. "Well... Because the amount of things in this world, that I'm dealing with, I just stopped praying, thinking it was nothing but speaking to myself." You looked away from her eyes, kinda embarrassed. "As a child, you had more faith than in the present. But I'm aware of what's happening to you."

You got suspicious when she said that. What does she know about you? "What do you mean by that?" You asked, tilting your head. In response, she didn't say anything but she walked towards you. You looked at her, but didn't move back, you were curious what she was going to do. She stopped walking as she was in front of you, you soon realized what she was trying to do when she reached for your wrist.

"Wait!" You drew your arm away from her, you smiled nervously, then felt very guilty. Does she know? "Is there something you're aware of from my arm?" You let out a fake chuckle. "We both know what's going on. Please, let me see your arm." Part of her voice sounded sad, making you feel even more guilty.

Without eye contact, you reached your arm slowly out to her. You felt her grab it, but you silently gasped at a stinging sensation. It wasn't her, she gently grabbed your arm, but she noticed your action.

With her other hand, she reached for your sleeve and tugged it slightly. You looked at her, which she did the same. Her stare was asking for permission to pull down your sleeve. You gave her a small nod, before glueing your eyes to your arm.

She slowly pulled the sleeve down, making you embraced what's going to happen next. You felt the cold air brush against the tiny, red, opened lines on your arm.

"Y/n..." Her voiced trailed off. "I-I can explain... I just feel ashamed sometimes, and well...cutting myself helps me." You could tell Cetrion wasn't buying it. "Self-guilt isn't a virtue." "And it isn't a sin." You stated. "It's just a strange liking."

"I know you're suffering inside, Y/n. But I promise it'll get better. Just have faith in it as much faith you put in me." She placed her palm on your scarred arm, you were about to question it, but you felt half sting half ticklish feeling.

She released her hand, and something was different. Every scar was gone! "How did you -" "I am mother nature. I can heal wounds like yours simply." Makes sense.

"It is my time to go, my dear. No more cutting. Please start praying to me again. And write more letters :D" So she did see that one letter.

"Will I ever see you again?" You asked the goddess. "The chances are in diversity." She replied.

Next movement she made was getting closer than she already was, except she wrapped her arms around you. It took you a minute to process, but what were you waiting for? You hugged her back. At that exact moment, you felt warmth. Even if it was at least 40° degrees in the middle of the night.

Sadly, the hug ended too quickly, even though you were aware of it lasting 3 full minutes. She started levitating as before, light surrounding her. "It was nice meeting you, Y/n. I hope we encounter each other again."

As the light got brighter, you closed your eyes. When you felt the light wasn't there, you opened them to find yourself back in your bedroom. You couldn't sleep after what just happened, so you spent over an hour processing things, soon enough, getting an idea...

You know what? I think I'm going to write a letter.

Tonight is a good night.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #cetrion #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagines #mk #mk imagine #goddesswritings

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

Losing My Mind (Part 3)

SSA Main ✧ Luthor ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧

The air moves and both Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian appear beside you.

You watch Lex’s eyes widen and turn from one alien to another. Once they’ve entered his mind, his eyes start closing. You lean down and whisper, “A courtesy, my soulmate.”

You stay close to Lex, laying his head on your lap while Miss Martian lies near you, her eyes glowing an effervescent light green and Martian Manhunter holds her hand. You panic when Lex’s brows crease and his eyelids flutter.

“It’ll be okay,” Martian Manhunater’s deep voice echoes in the near-empty dome of the lab. Everyone had been cuffed and escorted out. It’s just the four of you in the middle and Batman and Green Arrow on the side keeping watch.

“Miss Martian is the best telepath I know. She won’t hurt him.”

You purse your lips and your hand on Lex’s shoulder cups around his skin, pulling him a little closer. “How do I know his memories of the links are the only thing you’ll take?”

Martian Manhunter’s face doesn’t know how to show emotion. So he tips his head to the side. “You came to us for help because you trust us.”

“No,” you answer in reflex and blush in shame. You turn away from him to look at Lex. You want to say that you asked for their help because they’re the only ones that would help. You couldn’t even count on the Fate sisters so who else was left but the enemies of your soulmate?

When Miss Martian starts blinking and moving, Martian Manhunter gently helps her situp and the other heroes start walking toward the center. You check on Lex and find his features calm and his breathing even.

“He’ll be… asleep for a while…” Miss Martian’s voice is ragged. She grunts and takes a long breath before she speaks again. “Batman--” he’s already handing her a piece of paper and pen. She slowly scribbles down a list. After she’s done she hands it to you.

“We need to destroy all physical evidence that might trigger his memories. Can you please write down any locations that might not be there?”

“What do you mean they might not be there?” Batman asks.

Miss Martian frowns, “My powers are strong but some human minds have their own kind of strength. Especially for someone like Luthor. It was like… a filing cabinet?” she turns to Martian Manhunter, unsure, before she looks back at Batman. “Everything was well-organized and easy to find, and all in one place.”

Batman turns to you, “Like a trap.”

You glare at him and cower a little closer over Lex.

“If it is, she’s not involved,” Martian Manhunter interjects and then turns to you, “I’ve read your mind. Batman asked me to.”

Batman grunts, making Green Arrow smirk.

“This is Luthor we’re talking about, Batman. He’s probably had this as a contingency plan years ago when my unc-- I mean Martian Manhunter joined the League.”

Batman turns to you and you wait for another accusation. But he nods toward the list you forgot you’re holding. You look at it and carefully read each location. Safehouses. Lairs. Secret meeting spots. Deposit boxes. Storage containers. You’ve been to most of them but there are some missing. Locations only you would know. You write down the dorms and apartments Lex went to in college, his foster house in Metropolis, and just in case, you write down the location of the Luthor farmhouse.

“They’re not secret locations but these would be the last places Lex would go to and his enemies would expect the same.” But Lex is smarter than his enemies, you wanted to add. But you still needed their help. You still needed them to make sure Lex forgets everything.

✧ ✧ ✧

You’re standing in front of the big tree on Luthor’s farm and holding the piece of paper with a list. You’re scrunching the paper in your hand. Every location has been crossed off except this one.

Except for the ones you listed down, every single location had endless records and evidence of Lex’s research on the links. As well as copies and backups of each one.

But you’re disappointed because there’s not a single written record about you. Not a single file that acknowledged your existence. Your name wasn’t even written down on a loose piece of paper tucked haphazardly between pages or thrown in a trash bin or shredded.

Lex had erased every single trace of your existence in his life. He had been prepared to lose you completely. No. Get rid of you.

Flash taps you on the shoulder. “Looks like no one’s been here since the fire took down the farmhouse. Where to next?”

You keep your back to him but your voice breaks when you answer, “This is the last one.”

Flash quickly tenses and turns to Batman and Green Arrow for help. It’s Miss Martian who approaches you. “Y/N,” she holds your shoulders and tries to look you in the eye with a half-lidded gaze. “If you want, I could also--”

You quickly shake your head and bite your lips to keep the tears from falling.

No. You want to remember. Despite everything-- Despite the man he’s become, you still want him in your memories.

✧ ✧ ✧

You stayed in Gotham for a couple of weeks, against your will but you were ready to do anything to get Batman off your back. He wanted to keep an eye on you, to make sure this wasn’t all part of an elaborate move against the League.

While Superman continued to monitor Lex in Metropolis, you weren’t allowed anywhere near the city nor Lex. But you had no desire to be.

The Lex you saw on the news wasn’t the one you know anymore. He wasn’t the child you grew up with, the teenager you fell in love with, nor the man you devoted your life to. Because that is what you did. Your whole life has revolved around him and now he’s gone.

Finally, it’s time to start your own life. After Gotham, you move back to Star City to be with your family and be reacquainted with the life you could have had. You suddenly don’t need to keep running and hiding anymore.

Not even Batman could keep an eye in Star City 24/7. But a month later, Green Arrow stops by your house to check on you. It is his city after all.

“You can tell Batman I’m still being a good girl and to the League, thank you again for your help.”

Green Arrow laughs. “I’m not here because Batman told me to.”

You raise your eyebrow and try to suppress the smirk playing on your lips, “So you heroes just do monthly checkups on every citizen you’ve saved--”

“--and worked with,” he finishes with a gleaming smile. While Batman had intimidation going for him, Green Arrow uses his charms to lower his enemy’s guard. Lex didn’t particularly applaud the cunning in it. But he did make note of it.

So you keep your mouth closed but give him a small smile. Both of you wait a while.

When the silence suddenly gets too awkward, Green Arrow coughs, “Well I should get going then-- Oh!” he fishes out an envelope from inside his jacket and hands it to you.

It’s an invitation to Oliver Queen’s mayoral campaign tomorrow night at the Star City Plaza Hotel.

“He’s one of the good guys.”

You’re too baffled by the sudden situation that you keep staring at the invitation. “Well if he has the League backing him, he can’t lose,” you say mindlessly.

“Actually,” Green Arrow chuckles. “It’s just me… on the down-low.” Of course. If vigilantes started publicly endorsing politicians, they’d lose the people. You nod.

It takes you the whole day to decide whether or not you should go. There are still so many things you had to do to get your new life started. But that also meant that you aren’t particularly busy. Suddenly not having a life’s mission is enough to make you go to a mayoral campaign of all things.

It’s actually not so bad. Good guy or not, Oliver Queen knows how to throw parties for his people. His people being the upper class. You see a few big names show up, all smiling for the camera while they shake hands with the new potential mayor of Star City. All for show.

You find yourself spending most of the night at a table near the stairs, deflecting conversations of who you are, and who they are. Is this the life Lex wanted? To be among these kinds of people?

No, he wouldn’t. He cares less for these social gatherings than politics itself. You snicker silently as you think about how Lex would show up only if he had to be on stage and then leave the rest of the night to his secretary.

You’re picturing this in your head that you almost don’t get surprised to see him across the room shaking hands with a stiff Oliver Queen. But then you remember you’re no longer linked and he’s no longer your soulmate. So why is he suddenly here?

He catches you staring at him. You watch him turn back to Oliver Queen and mindlessly excuses himself but the mayoral candidate holds Lex’s hand in his grip and seems unwilling to let his company go.

You quickly take this opportunity to slip away and blend into a small crowd headed down the stairs toward the lobby. You wait until they reach the bottom steps before you break off toward a deserted hallway. You lean against the wall and try to catch your breath. If written words on a piece paper could potentially unravel everything Miss Martian erased, then you had to get out of here.

“Leaving so soon?”

It’s as if destiny still has strings on you.

You turn around. Slowly. You try to smile. You try to keep your feet planted on the floor and your hands behind you. “Not really my scene.”

Lex raises his eyebrow and places his hands in his pockets. “So you’re here for work then. Star City Sentinel?” he asks, “or Gotham Gazette?”

He thinks you’re a reporter but that’s not right. He’s not one to seek reporters. He runs away from them.

“Uhh, no,” you answer. “I’m-- filling in for a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” He raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Anyone, I know?”

You suddenly don’t like this. You don’t know what this Luthor is thinking. You narrow your eyes at him and push yourself off the wall, about to walk off. “Probably not. I don’t even know who you are.”

He laughs, “Really, Y/N?” It makes you stop. “Was that the best you’ve got? Everyone on this planet with access to TV and the internet knows who I am. I thought you might have been able to play this little game a while longer.”

You turn to him then, standing too close and within his reach. Your eyes are wide and he stares back at you with a calm exterior.

"Did you really think it would be so easy?"

You couldn’t move. Your words come out like a whisper with only disbelief pushing them out. "H-how?"

He hums. "You're not the only one who's employed a mindreader.”

His hand reaches out to hold yours. He turns it around in his hold, seeing and feeling your skin touching his. Then he squeezes it. He points his head to the exit and you follow him while he brushes his thumb on the back of your hand. At this point, you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth.

You almost hear Oliver Queen yelling after you as you get in the passenger seat of the town car. Almost.

Lex drives and there’s only silence inside. Your hands are on your lap and they’re shaking. Now that you’ve had time to think, you don’t know what to think. “Lex,” you mutter, “Please. Explain what’s happening.” You slowly turn to him but he keeps his eyes on the road. “If you remember, then why-- why aren’t you angry?”

Lex finally turns to you. He can’t help the smirk that lifts the corners of his lips and the mischief curling his eyebrows down. “Aren’t I?”

You don’t reply to him. Your eyes hold his gaze until the playfulness finally disappears from his features. He briefly closes his eyes and sighs.

“I knew our memories would be erased once we meet,” he starts and you hold your breath, “And when I succeed in taking control of the memory link, any lingering feelings would've been obliterated as well.”

Your lips quiver as you listen and your words come out a whisper, “Isn��t that what you wanted--”

“But I found,” he interrupts, “Over the years, I found that there was one memory I couldn’t forget."

Your eyes widen because it suddenly feels as if time had stopped.

"Which... which one?"

He suddenly smiles sheepishly and his voice goes lower, "The ceasefire."

You remember it so clearly. The rarest of days when Lex suddenly appeared in front of you, distraught, angry, annoyed, and just as surprised to see you as he was to find himself under a big tree, on a hill, in an orchard in Florence.

"Where am I?"

At first, you pondered about ignoring him but then you realized that would make him harder to tolerate and you don’t know how long he’s going to be staying.

"Italy," you answered nonchalantly.

He whipped his head around, as if not taking your word for it. Then he turned to you and raised one of his eyebrows, "What are you--"

"I needed a break,” you interrupted. You stretched your arms and then sat down on the blanket you had just laid before Lex arrived. “I found out a while ago that immersing myself in a familiar environment keeps me from wandering into your memories."

This happened during the third year of your decades-long game of cat and mouse. You were still testing out the possibilities and limitations of the links. But Lex, at the time, was still rejecting it completely.

You watched him close his eyes and you can tell he was willing himself to disappear. But to no success. "Ugh!"

You snickered. "You look like you could use a break, too. Tough day at the evil lair?" you teased but he doesn’t turn to you. He rubbed his palms down his face in aggravation. You rolled your eyes at him, "Since you're stuck here, we might as well be civil."

"You could walk away," he snapped at you with a fake smile.

"No way! I was here first!” You sounded like a child and Lex almost laughed. Instead, he managed to contain it to a small smirk but it was enough to embarrass you. “Whatever,” you grumbled and leaned back with your arms supporting you. “I'm not leaving this spot."

Lex scowled and rolled his eyes. He tried to look for the nearest town or guesthouse. But there were only acres of trees on the horizon. He grimaced because it reminded him of the farm. "What's so special about it?"

You were surprised to hear his questions. Was he actually trying to be civil? You tried your best not to sneak a look at him and kept your gaze up.

"It's nice to see the light trying to pass through the leaves. When the wind comes, the leaves and branches rustle so the specs of light look like they're dancing."

Lex was looking at you while you talked and he saw them dance on the contours of your face, making you smile. Again, it reminded him of the farm.

He finally sighed and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He draped it over your shoulders and then lied down on the blanket with his head resting on your lap. He felt you tense up.

"I need a break,” he declared with his eyes closed.

Slowly, your body relaxed and you sat up so your fingers could run through his hair.

"Is this an intermission?" you tease softly.

"Hmm,” he frowns. “Call it a ceasefire. Your vocabulary hasn't gotten any better. You must be wasting your time in college instead of studying."

You glared at him. But then you saw the small smirk that played on his lips and it reminds you of his room in Metropolis.

You leaned down to hover above his head. Your shadow forced him to open his eyes and look at you.

"I miss you, Lex."

A strong gust of wind swayed the leaves to reach for the sky, and the light was dancing wildly behind your head. Without thinking, Lex's hand reached up to pull you down for your lips to be reunited.

The two of you have been quiet for a long time. You’ve been wringing your wrist with your fingers trying to figure what to say next. But Lex knows it has to be him that speaks first.

“I believed destiny made a mistake linking you to me.”

It’s not what you expect and your heart hurts a little to hear it. But you’ve always known that.

“Then,” he pauses. His mouth closes and opens a few times before he could finally continue. “You proved me wrong.”

Your hands stop.

“While I cowered away and tried to ignore our link--”

You look at him to make sure he’s not lying to you.

Lex is staring straight at the road but there’s a hint of excitement in his eyes. “You adapted!” he said proudly, almost breathless. “You lived in my memories for days at a time and fit into the background as if you were actually there.”

He turns to you suddenly, eyes wide and mouth grinning, “For god’s sakes, Y/N, you found out Batman’s link and planted the information in my head, making me believe I was the one who discovered it.” He scoffs, “And then had me ask Scarecrow create a fear toxin that only worked in his dreams. Tell me-- Why?”

His excitement is contagious. You found yourself leaning a little closer and wanting to tell him everything. “I knew it would make his soulmate visit the black market for blockers. I needed her to get the League’s help.” He laughs. “How-- how did you know I planted the information?”

“I found out when we finally met. When the link cleared my head of memories of you.”

Your own excitement takes a sudden dip. What you did was wrong. You knew it was before you even started it. But Lex had been making more progress in his plans and you were still figuring out how to get the League to trust you.

It was pure coincidence that you found Batman’s link as if destiny has been pushing you down this road the whole time. It was your roommate’s sister. She visited and you overheard them talking about the links. She was talking about her neighbor in Central City who had the strangest sleeping schedule and often called out Bruce Wayne’s name in her sleep. “Imagine having a subconscious link with Bruce Wayne? I’d die every night catching him with a different supermodel in a wet dream.”

You knew who Bruce Wayne was. Having existed in Lex’s memories, you knew the identity of every single hero and villain, even in other galaxies. Truly, something was helping you pave the path to your success.

Lex reaches out to hold your hand, stealing you from your thoughts. His voice comes softer now but you could still hear the mirth in it, “You uncovered my plans and used it against me. Erasing my memories and planting fake ones about a happy childhood where my parents lived until I finished college-- Only you would've come up with something twisted and wrapped it in a bow.”

You suddenly have the urge to pull your hand back. Instead, you pinch him. He flinches but keeps smiling.

"I was impressed. The things you could do. The lengths you went through--"

"For you," you answer in a whisper. You squeeze his hand and you speak a little louder. "It was all for you."

His smile softens and there’s no longer excitement or mirth there. Just affection. "Yes. For me."

He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it. "Forgive me, Y/N. Perhaps destiny has truly blessed me."

END.

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#lex luthor #lex lutho/reader #lex luthor x reader #soulmate au #ssa #superhero soulmate au #DC fanfiction #lex luthor fanfiction #DC imagines #watchtower-feed #atbucud

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allthebest20 · 3 years

Text

Giovanni's Room (1956) by James Baldwin

10/10. This is the best book I've read in a long time. I love it. I have immediate plans to read the rest of his work, and I think I may even purchase myself a copy of this book to read over and over again (even though I don't have the space). It's books like these that make me almost regret I got a B.S. I mean, I went to college for 4 years and took only one English class, even though those were some of my favorites when I was younger. Now, I barely know of James Baldwin -- obviously one of the greatest American authors. At the same time, it's almost exciting to know that I have my whole life ahead of me to study the written word. There are so many amazing books in my future. It's not like opening Netflix and settling for the whatever slightly-problematic comedy or mostly-accurate doc you can find. I am high writing this right now, can you tell? Anyways. I was surprised when I started the book and realized that the narrator is white (and in fact so are all the main characters). If James Baldwin's face hadn't been printed on the cover of my copy, I probably would have forgotten that the author was black. I'm not sure what this says about Baldwin: I know he often tried to escape the label of "Black Author" and the limitations he felt came with that. I, however, am a firm believer that writers cannot escape their identities. We can only write well about what we know well -- it's why Fannie Flagg writing about a dark skin black boy's inner thoughts sounds so stale. Yet, Giovanni's Room is far from an identity escape. It felt so raw, so real. After I read it, I obsessed over Baldwin's Wikipedia page, then google, before getting pay-walled out of a juicy New Yorker article -- all trying to find out more about Baldwin's love life, knowing that Giovanni and David's relationship must have been based on a real person. From what I've read, Lucien Happersberger was a Swiss bisexual man who was 8 years younger than Baldwin. A few years after meeting Baldwin, Lucien married a women, and this reportedly broke Baldwin's heart. After their marriage ended, Baldwin and Lucien remained close until Baldwin's death. Although the narrator David is the American trying to escape, he also has a slight bisexual side -- I believe he does love his fiancee -- and he attempts to leave his gay lover for a hetero marriage that ultimately fails, like Lucien. Apparently Baldwin often got this kind of treatment in real life, because he has a taste for straight and bi men. I cannot help but think that Baldwin identifies more with Giovanni, the sensitive man who longs for love, justice, domestic bliss, but is denied it because of prejudice, ultimately driven to madness and then violence by the unfairness of the world. Of course, he is both men. Like David, he knows what it's like to try and hide from yourself. Most queer people can relate to David's youthful exploration of his sexuality. The initial denial, so deep you don't even feel it; the build-up, played off innocently; the moment when the act is committed, perhaps even just the thought of wanting to commit the act and not knowing whether to run but really wanting to stay; the immediate aftermath, the running, the hiding, the rethinking how important that feeling really was, the feeling that made you want to stay before; and finally the fall-out, the period of time where you teeter on the edge, trying to push yourself towards hetero, but always swinging back more forcefully toward homo. This book made me realize that I have probably never read a good gay book in my entire life. They all pale in comparison to everything this book does. I feel like I understand gay men, gay history, and myself better. The narrator is a pretty despicable person, if one can be blamed for their trauma in that way. He is entirely emotionally closed off, constantly lying and looking down on others, selfish, alcoholic, lost, without love or purpose. He drifts through Paris in the 1950s on the generosity of rich non-sexual daddies and his literal father. He is disgusted by most of the older

gay men in the community, even his friend, Jacques, although they are so obviously his future. They are men who no longer have any interest in love, only wanting to playing with the pretty young men as long as they hold their interest. It's not so much that they don't want love, but that they have long given up on it, long learned the feeling and probability of heartbreak. Their open sexuality, unashamed desire and femininity, is very distasteful to David, who works so hard to keep his shuttered. It is so sad to read about his love for Giovanni, which is barely visible over the layers of shame and the confusing messages of masculinity. You can see them living a beautiful life in 2020, but in 1950s, it is all but doomed, if not physically, then emotionally. David will never be able to open himself up enough to truly love Giovanni. Giovanni knows this about David before they even meet, and that seems to be why he is so unhinged and depressed. SPOILERS: Giovanni says he left his village when his son died, and knowing Catholics, I know he must have felt it was God punishing him for his gay sins. After the death of a child, he must have felt like there was nothing left for him to lose. No reason to pretend to be hetero, no reason to be connected with his family, for with that was the potential to cause them pain with his "sins". Giovanni's Room is the most true story of star-crossed lovers imaginable. I also loved the way David spoke about his love for his fiancee, and how that added extra confusion for him. I can identify so much with the feelings of "I can make this hetero thing work, I do love this person," but it is not the love you want. It is not true. There's something missing, a closeness you can never have with that person. Finally, I won't write about it here, but I thought the ending was amazing. Totally did not see it coming, yet it fit with the plot seamlessly. So few books can provide the level of emotions, truth, written beauty, and plot strength that this novel does. It's a true work of art.

#book #10/10 #james baldwin #giovanni's room #queer #historical #1950s #paris #france

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ibijau · 4 years

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Worst engagement AU // on AO3

set early-ish during nhs’s first year in the Cloud Recesses

It takes a while to get used to life in the Cloud Recesses, but it's not so bad. Nie Huaisang kinds of like it. Sure the lessons are hell, the food is atrocious, he still hasn't made a single friend, the other Nie disciples are all two or three years older than him so they don't care much about him, and Lan Xichen makes special efforts to show he ignores him, but…

But at least the scenery is nice.

Not that Nie Huaisang is really supposed to enjoy the scenery of course. Lan Qiren always gave a lot of extra materials for his students to work with as a rule. And then, once he noticed that Nie Huaisang struggled in class, he gave him extra extra materials. It's a nightmare, especially since Nie Huaisang kind of fails to understand those as well, even though they're supposed to help him.

It is so tempting to give up. Nie Huaisang knows whether he tries to study or not, the result is always going to be roughly the same. He could slip poetry books inside his courtesy rules, he could practice calligraphy instead of copying talismans, he could skip sword practice and go out in the mountains and be alone and paint. He doesn’t. He tries hard to be as good as everyone wants him to be, and all he gets in return is scolding because, apparently, his best just isn’t enough.

Two months into his stay in the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang gives in to temptation.

It’s been an awful morning, after an awful week. He’s failed his latest test, so badly that Lan Qiren had a one-on-one talk with him saying he has to do better because he’s shaming his sect. And then he crossed path with Lan Xichen who couldn’t avoid saying hello to him and looked at him as if his very existence were a personal insult.

They’re supposed to have sword practice that afternoon, but Nie Huaisang decides he’s not going. Instead after lunch he grabs an inkstone, some paper, his favourite brush, and heads away into the wild.

It feels like forever since the last time he did this. It's been impossible in the Cloud Recesses, and before that there was his father's long illness of course. It's so good to be free and just wander on a mostly unused path. After walking for a while, Nie Huaisang notices a barely visible trail going to the side of the path and into the woods, so he decides to follow that on a whim. It feels like a trail created by someone not infrequently going that way, so there might be something worth checking out.

The trail leads him up to a small clearing which feels a little underwhelming for how much he's had to walk. But that sentiment only until he sees them.

Rabbits.

A whole little family of them, coming out of their burrow in the late afternoon light. Nie Huaisang nearly squeals at the sight, barely stopping himself in time. The last thing he wants is to scare them when he's clearly intruding in their home.

Instead, Nie Huaisang carefully sits down at a respectful distance, lays some paper in front of him, prepares some ink and gets painting.

He doesn't get very far (there's only one rabbit on the page when he's planning four) before a presence makes him look up.

Nie Huaisang gasps, so startled to find Lan Xichen looking down at him that he drops his brush, ruining his work. He braces himself for a scolding, or at least a cutting remark, but none comes even though Lan Xichen looks impossibly upset.

Too upset, in fact. It’s odd to see his fiancé without that annoying polite smile of his, but that’s because it’s not actually Lan Xichen at all.

In all the time of his engagement to Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang has never really had much reason to interact with Lan Wangji. He’s not particularly tried to, if he’s honest. It’s bad enough to be engaged to someone everyone agrees is the most attractive boy in their entire generation, and the most accomplished, with the best cultivation, and is the most perfect in every aspect. No, there has to be a second one, who is at least as accomplished as the first, a little less charmingly polite but apparently promising to have even better cultivation.

It’s not that Nie Huaisang hates his fiancé’s little brother, he has no reason to when they’ve never really even talked but… well, maybe he does hate him a bit, and envies him a lot. Everything seems to come so easily to these Lan brothers, it’s so unfair.

What’s unfair as well is being found by Lan Wangji in this place that’s so far from everything. For once Nie Huaisang was finally having some fun after all. And sure, he knew all along that his little escapade would end up in him getting punished for skipping sword practice, but it would have been nice to get a little more free time before that. Only, Lan Wangji is well known among all guest disciples for being, to put it bluntly, a snitch, so that’s it for Nie Huaisang’s little adventure.

Or at least, it should be.

To Nie Huaisang’s surprise, Lan Wangji doesn’t order him back into the Cloud Recesses, doesn’t tell him he’s going to get punished. Instead he steps closer, and inspects Nie Huaisang’s ruined painting with a critical expression. He doesn’t seem particularly impressed, though in all fairness, it might just be that his face is naturally like that.

Then, still without a word, Lan Wangji walks past Nie Huaisang and goes to sit on the ground a little further. His posture is as proper as if he were having tea with his uncle. His attention, Nie Huaisang quickly realises, is entirely on the family of rabbits. After a moment, one of the kits hops over another, a little clumsily, and Nie Huaisang swears a faint smile appears on Lan Wangji’s lips, just barely visible.

It’s kind of cute, really. Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have expected the cold brother of his frigid fiancé to have that sort of a sweet side to him. Discovering that Lan Wangji, perfect Lan Wangji who keeps being given as an example of what a second master of a major sect should be, amazing Lan Wangji who is everything that every Gusu Lan disciple strives to be, can still have that sort of secret… it gives Nie Huaisang hope.

The Cloud Recesses are going to take so much from him someday. He’s going to love his home, the places he knows around the Unclean Realm, the knowledge of which Qinghe streets have the best candies and sweets, the birds he loves so much, and he’s not going to get anything in exchange except the misery of being looked down upon by Lan Xichen for the rest of his life. Nie Huaisang is going to lose everything when he marries and in the last two months he’s started crying about that again.

But Lan Wangji is here, watching rabbits.

Nie Huaisang can’t say for sure, but it’s pretty likely that his future brother-in-law, just like him, isn’t supposed to be here. Even a person like Lan Wangji can bend the rules. And come to think of it, perfect Lan Xichen too isn’t always absolutely perfect. After all, he��s pretty mean, and Nie Huaisang, who has copied the rules of Gusu Lan until his wrist ached, knows that his fiancé should strive for kindness, especially with his inferiors, which Nie Huaisang is. There’s also Lan Qiren who never even looked for a cultivation partner, even though he should have, to secure an alliance for his sect, so that’s selfish. And that’s without getting into the situation with Sect Leader Lan.

The Cloud Recesses are going to take a lot from him, but they won’t take everything. If he tries hard, if he’s discreet enough, if he hides properly like Lan Wangji seems to do, he can keep a little spark of himself alive.

The thought is almost enough to make Nie Huaisang cry, but for once it’s from happiness.

Ultimately, he manages to stop the tears before they can start falling. He is not, as a rule, a quiet crier, and he doesn’t want to risk startling the rabbits, or being noticed by Lan Wangji. Instead, he picks up his brush, grabs a new sheet of paper, and gets back to work. A long while passes, and it starts getting dark around them. Lan Wangji is the one to get up first. Nie Huaisang half expects him to leave alone, but instead the younger boy comes to stand at his side and just waits for him to put a finishing touch to his last painting.

They go down the mountain together, without saying a word. It’s hard to say for sure, but they've probably missed the bell for dinner, and they’re going to be scolded for sure. Nie Huaisang feels awful anxious about that, but seeing Lan Wangji so calm and collected helps. Punishment is the price to pay to keep a little it of who they are, he figures.

Just as they are about to enter the dining halls, Nie Huaisang grabs all the courage he has, and pulls on Lan Wangji’s sleeve to stop him. The younger boy throws him a puzzled look, but still doesn’t say anything.

He does gasp lightly when Nie Huaisang hands him one of the paintings he did that afternoon. It has the whole rabbit family on it, as they were when they laid down a moment in the last rays of sun, lazily munching on grass.

“For… for days when you can’t go up there,” Nie Huaisang mumbles.

For letting me know I don’t have to give up on everything, he doesn’t add, because he’s not sure Lan Wangji would understand what he means. Even if he escapes to go see rabbits, Lan Wangji has never seemed unhappy with his life, so it’s unlikely he’d get how Nie Huaisang feels.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji says, as formal as if he’d received a gift from the emperor himself. “I will take care of it.”

It’s too polite, really, and Nie Huaisang grins nervously. It’s not even that good of a painting, if he’s honest. It’s the best one he’s done in a while, sure, but Nie Huaisang knows that the Lan Jades excel at all arts too, so his little doodles just don’t compare.

Still, it’s nice that for once, something of his is appreciated. It’s just too bad that it’s the wrong brother making the effort of being this kind to him.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #I live for nhs and lwj getting along in a way that's specific to them and that maybe others don't get #their friendship is my second mdzs agenda #jau writes #worst engagement au

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bethhxrmon · 4 years

Text

do flowers exist at night? -chapter three

Chapter Three: Don’t Lose Your Head

Pairing: Steve Harrington x OC

Chapter Summary: With rumors still flying around, things have yet to get any easier for Annie. Coupling that with her terrifying illusions, it’s easy to see why it is difficult for her to not fall apart underneath everything.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Swearing, sexual harassment, Billy is the literal worst still, horror

A/N: I’ve never tried to write anything scary before so I hope that aspect of this chapter really shows! If you like this story, please let me know! Also, if you’re looking for an earlier part you can find that here. In other news, I had to publish a bit later due to technical difficulties so please send your love!

~*~*~*~

“Another book already?” Steve asked as Annie got in his car.

She shrugged, “Yeah… I only had a little over a hundred pages left so I kinda went for it.”

“I think that’s gonna take you a bit more time to get through,” he said, glancing over at her as he pulled out of her driveway.

“It’d also take a bit more effort for some asshole to rip it apart.”

“Ah, you got me there.”

Annie laughed a bit, “It’s whatever. I’ve been meaning to read this for a while now. Like, my dad’s this big, fancy literature professor. He said War and Peace was the biggest waste of time and space, so I’m gonna see if he’s right or if he’s full of shit as usual.”

“So you’re reading out of spite?” he asked, furrowing his brows, “Is he gonna say anything?”

She fidgeted with the corner of the hardcover book, “Well, I’m not sure he’s ever gonna know. He kinda stayed in New York. I haven’t seen him in… almost a month I think.”

“Oh.”

Annie shrugged, “It’s not a huge deal, my mom and I are figuring it out.”

The rest of the car ride was filled with a rather awkward silence. Maybe if she hadn’t said anything about her family, the remainder of the ride would have been better. At the same time, there were more awkward things she could have easily brought up, but didn’t.

Soon enough, Steve pulled into a parking spot at the school. Annie thanked him before getting out and going off to the school. Maybe it was abrupt, but she didn’t think Steve wanted to talk to her too much.

Not that she took that too personally, he had plenty of issues of his own. Then again, so did she. That was evidenced by the lack of makeup on her face and the clothes she wore. After all, flipping up overalls was impossible. With a flannel and shirt on top of all that, she was sure she would be fine today. Maybe all the rumors stopped overnight and there was something else going on.

However, as Annie walked, she could hear the whispers still. Just like yesterday. She carefully dodged a couple guys in the hall as she went to her locker. If she just laid low, it would blow over. It had to blow over at some point. Then she saw her locker.

"PROPERTY OF MISTRESS ANNETTE HARDWICK, A COCKSUCKING SLUT" was scrawled sloppily on the locker. Her eyes widened and immediately she rushed up to it, trying to rub it off with the sleeve of her flannel. When none of the black sharpie came off onto her dark green sleeves, she clenched the grip on her book. This simply wasn't happening.

A part of her wanted to curl up and cry right then. Everyone was staring and she could feel the eyes boring into her back. She bit the inside of her cheek to the point it almost drew blood.

"I don't think that's gonna come out, real shame," said a voice belonging to Billy Hargrove.

Annie crossed her arms, "Go fuck yourself."

"Shouldn't you be doing that for me?" he asked, leaning in close.

She swallowed hard and backed up before turning and walking off. It had to have been him. The way he looked at her made her wish she could have turned invisible. Why hadn't she said something? There had to have been some biting remark she could have given, but nothing came out. Soon enough, she found herself sitting under a stairwell.

A moment later, Steve ducked under. It was clear he was more cramped in the space than Annie was.

He crouched down next to her, "Hey, Annie, I'm so, so sorry-"

"It's not your fault," she said, staring at the white linoleum.

Steve sighed, "But isn't it? Look, I can try and help you paint over it or something or request another locker. I just... I'm sorry."

"You don't have to do any of that. I'll just get through today and maybe everyone can find someone else to poke fun at over the weekend," she replied.

"Hey, just take the help, okay? And maybe I can rip that Hargrove guy a new one for your trouble."

She let out a small laugh, "I'd love to see that, but I can take care of myself."

"I'll do it, can't have some asshole picking on my friend," he said right before the bell rang, "But seriously, are you sure you can hack it today? I can take you home or something and I can try to clear everything up."

Annie nodded, moving to get up, "I can take it, okay?"

At least, that was what she thought as she went to biology. It was just a few hours and then she was free for a whole weekend. Surely she could get through the knots in her stomach for the day.

Nothing let up, though. A few notes asking her if King Steve could still "get it" was the tipping point for her. Maybe no one touched her today, but the notes managed to hold the exact same sentiment. It made her want to run and wash her face despite the fact nothing was on it.

Having decided to then blow off the remainder of the day, she slipped a note into Steve's locker so he knew she went home. Maybe he cared, maybe he didn't. She wasn't really sure. That didn't stop her from shoving her headphones from her Walkman on and turning up the music all the way as she left the school.

The walk home was rather uneventful, and before she knew it she was right back in her house. A part of her was tempted to reach over to the phone and call up her mom. Except, she was probably doing important work at the conference she was at and Annie stopped herself. Although, this felt like the sort of emergency her mom said to warn her about.

Then again, so did the illusions she kept seeing. They only seemed to get worse with every passing day. It wasn't like she could tell anyone, though. Had she told someone like Steve or a teacher, she would be written off as crazy.

Maybe that was it, she was just going crazy from the loneliness. When her mom got back, it would all be fine. Sure, she had Erik, but he hardly counted as a conversationalist. She dropped her backpack and flopped on the couch with a sigh. A whole day left in front of her and nothing to do for it. It wasn't long before Annie got to her bag and dug through for her copy of War and Peace.

There wasn't much else for her to do other than to get lost in the story of a few Russian families going through trials and tribulations as Napoleon threatened to invade their country in the backdrop. So she found herself getting wrapped up in the beginning of the story. Though, with how comfortable she was in the position she was laying in, she soon drifted off with the book in her hands.

How long she had slept for was beyond her. It felt like something was moving on top of her. She slowly opened her eyes, expecting to see it was her cat, sprawled across her stomach. Instead there were all kinds of slimy creatures crawling on her. They almost looked like slugs but they had hind legs. For a moment, all Annie could do was stare. Then she realized they were all over her arms and her hands and legs and on her face.

The slime was all over her hands and she felt one on her mouth. She was quick to try and slap it off only to realize the whole living room was covered with the same creatures.

"This isn't real. This isn't real. This can't be happening," she repeated, her voice cracking before she started screaming.

Her screams echoed throughout the house and it felt like her throat was being scratched raw. Annie shut her eyes tightly, wishing they would just go as she screamed. And just like that, nothing. When her eyes opened, there was nothing on her. Instead there was a rapid knocking at the front door and the sound of it opening.

On instinct, she grabbed her book and hurled it at the tall figure that rushed into the room. There was a sound of the novel colliding with someone and then hitting the floor. Upon realizing who ran in, Annie put her hands over her mouth.

"Ope!" Steve exclaimed, rubbing his shoulder that had gotten hit, “What the hell was that for?”

Annie got up from the couch and rushed over to him, "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't... I didn't realize it was you. I mean, you kinda broke into my house."

"Um yeah 'cause you were screaming bloody murder," he said before looking at her, "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" Annie asked, knowing she wasn't covered in the slime she had to have imagined.

He pointed at her nose, "You're bleeding."

"Oh... shit, I'll um... be right back," she replied before going to the bathroom.

Sure enough, there was a bit of blood coming from her nose. She grabbed a couple squares of toilet paper to clean it. For some reason it wasn't bleeding anymore. She mentally cursed herself, sure that Steve was going to want to know what happened.

Annie walked back out, "Sorry about that... kinda had a bad dream or something. Um what's up?"

"Or something... are you sure you're not gonna tell me what's got you freaked out enough to hurl the biggest book I've ever seen right at me?" he asked, still rubbing at his shoulder, “You’ve got a good arm.”

She shook her head, "It doesn't matter, like I said, it’s just a bad dream. What do you need?"

"Well, I didn't tear Hargrove a new one, that's for sure," he muttered, sitting on the love seat, "I know I've kinda asked a lot from you already, but... I need to get Nancy back."

Annie raised her brows, "Ah... hey, do you want some tea or something?"

"Um sure," he said, "Look, I already heard she's running around with Jonathan. I love her too much to just let her go like that, and they guys won’t stop giving me shit for it."

She nodded, listening as she put water in the kettle and put it over a burner, "Well, for all you know it's not what you think. I mean, look at us. Speaking of us, what the hell was with the mistress shit on my locker?"

"Oh that... they think they're being clever. You know, King Steve, they call Nancy a princess, that stuff."

"So I’m the Anne Boleyn to your Henry VIII... Christ that's fucked up," she murmured before shaking her head, "Anyways, do you know what you wanna do?"

He sighed, "I'm probably gonna just do the usual: flowers, an apology, the works. If that doesn't work, I don't know what will."

"Hold up, why do you have to apologize?" she asked, grabbing a couple mugs and finding some chamomile tea.

Steve shrugged, messing with the zipper of his grey bomber jacket, "I don't know, 'cause I called her bullshit while I was sober? It doesn't matter. You've just been really helpful so far, and I know it's a lot, but I just want you to help me out a bit here."

There was a long pause as Annie thought about it. If Nancy really didn't love Steve, wouldn't that just hurt him more when she rejected him? Or even worse, what if she just got back with him despite not having feelings for Steve? No, she didn't know the guy super well, but he had already been so kind to her. All the same, Annie had a good feeling that Steve was going to do this with or without her help.

She sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter, "Alright, fine. I'll help you out with all this."

"You're the best!" Steve replied, grinning, "You know, I think this might just work. She really likes red roses, they're her favorite, actually."

A little while later, they were both sitting in the living room, drinking tea. Granted, Steve probably didn't need it, but she would have felt awkward trying to calm down by drinking tea while Steve just sat there. Besides, there was no reason to rush going anywhere since he came over around lunchtime. If they jumped the gun, who knew where Nancy would have been. Though, what really seemed to grind Steve's gears was that Nancy ditched with Jonathan. Something that had to have been a point of contention in the past. Not that she had any idea.

It wasn't her place to ask. She figured that Steve would talk and open up about things when he felt it was a good time. Asking pressing questions wasn't going to do her any good.

"So... are we gonna talk about your… um... episode?" Steve asked, breaking the silence.

Annie swallowed some of her tea, "What about it? I had a nightmare."

"You threw a book at me. If you had a nightmare that seemed real... that's not good," he said, running a hand through his hair, "Look, I uh... if you need to talk to someone, I kinda get it."

She arched a brow, "How could you get it?"

"Uh... it's not important. Just, you've already done a lot for me, you can talk to me, okay?"

"It's um... so it's this recurring nightmare," she started, staring at her almost empty mug, "I'm in the house and the power kicks off and then things get weird. Like, one time there were vines everywhere and it was all cold and slimy. It looked like it was snowing. And um... well, the one I just woke up from I was covered in these slugs? But they weren't slugs, they had legs and they were crawling all over me and um... yeah."

Steve set his cup on the table, "Annie... are these things actually just you in your sleep?"

"Uh... um yeah, of course," she lied, "I'm probably just stressed being alone all the time."

He sighed, licking his lips, "You're absolutely sure? You're not seeing this stuff while you're awake?"

"Well... no... but um, but what if I did?" she asked, starting to grip her mug tightly.

How did he know she was seeing things? This had to be some elaborate prank. Or maybe the house really was haunted. That stupid kid could have been right.

Steve frowned, "Then we need to get you the hell out of here. Your cat too."

She blinked and sat back in her chair a moment, "What do you mean? Why?"

"I can't tell you... not right here, we gotta get you out. Come on, you can stay over at my place, my parents are never home. You can have the guest room, I'll help you get some stuff," he said, already standing up.

Whatever it was that was going on, Annie had absolutely no idea. All she knew was that Steve seemed to have an air of tension and fear that she hadn't seen before. A part of her wanted to call his bluff and say that he was just screwing around in some super technical and sadistic prank. However, as they rushed to get her things together, she started to realize he was being serious. Which made everything she had dealt with the last few days all the more worrying. If she wasn't hallucinating, then what was going on?

What were those things that crawled all over her? She wanted to ask Steve, but he was busy helping get her cat so they could get out faster. Before she could comprehend any part of what was happening, they were in Steve's BMW. Erik meowed periodically as Steve sped off.

He sighed, obviously trying to not appear more freaked out than he was, "Look, I... I don’t know if I can explain all this to you without getting us both killed... fuck I thought we figured this out already."

"What're you even talking about? I'm playing along with all this, but I really need you to explain everything," she said, clutching her fidgety cat close to her chest.

Steve shook his head, soon pulling up to his house, "We don't have much time for that. Come on, let's get your stuff inside."

"Um... are we gonna still try and get you back with Nancy?"

"What? No, we don't have time for that!" he exclaimed, getting out of the car, "Wait, she might know what to do, actually."

Annie rolled her eyes, "Then get the damn flowers, apologize, get back in her good graces or whatever, and try to figure out what the hell's going on!"

"Will you chill out? I'm trying to put all this together!" Steve exclaimed, "Sorry... I know this is probably really stressful for you."

She huffed, setting a dufflebag and then Erik down before shrugging off her backpack, "You know, it might be the tiniest bit less stressful for me if you would tell me what the ever-living fuck is going on! I tell you I'm seeing stuff that’s apparently real and you tell me to get out of my house without telling me why! Now are you gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Fine, fine, you're right. I just don't know how to explain it quickly. But all you need to know is there's another dimension and there's people-eating monsters in it and your house was flip-flopping back and forth for whatever reason… at least, I think that’s what you were talking about. That's really dangerous, but we'll figure it out," he said, going to put a hand on her shoulder, "And um... you can't tell anyone else otherwise the government's gonna kill you and your parents and your cat and anyone else you care about."

Annie stepped back, crossing her arms, "You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're joking. That doesn't even make any sense! Do you realize how little sense that makes?"

"I know... but if you didn't believe me then why did you let me do this?"

"Um... I... fine, maybe there's something to all this. Let's get the fucking flowers."

Perhaps Steve had a point, she did kind of believe him. Mainly because it was the only explanation, albeit convoluted, to all the things happening in her house that didn't make her seem crazy. He seemed concerned enough for her and for himself for saying all the things he had. They made a quick stop at the grocery store so Steve could pick up the roses. After that, Steve pulled up to what she assumed was Nancy's house.

She gave him a small, assuring smile, "You've got this. Make up with your girlfriend and we'll go from there."

"Yeah. I can do this," he said, getting out of the car and closing the door behind him.

Now Annie was rooting for him more than she originally had. Mainly out of hope that Steve was right in assuming Nancy would know what to do. However, as she watched, she watched their plan grind to a halt thanks to some kid.

Tag List (let me know if you would like to join): @dungeons-and-demodogs @jxnehxpper @ilovebucketbarnes

#steve harrington #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x oc #stranger things #stranger things 3 #stranger things 2 #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x oc #stranger things x original character #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst #dfean?

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penzyroamin · 4 years

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Hi I know it’s been a bit but I’m the confused bi anon. I really really appreciated your response and it wasn’t too long. You made me feel a lot better. I was wondering if you could maybe suggest some books, tv, movies with bi female characters. Thanks soo much for the entire last response . You are absolutely incredible and so sweet. This means more to me than you could ever know❤️

of course!! i’m glad that my first response helped <3

disclaimer of course: i’m not bi! so i’m not an Authoritative Source on bi rep and what people want to see more of. i do actively seek out stuff about lgbtq+ characters, specifically girls and women, so i have some recs! however, i’ll also be adding some things that some bi folks i know have recommended because while lesbians and bi women have a lot in common, these are at the end of the day representing them, not me :)

extra-super favorites will be bolded! i’m putting this under a read more because... i read a lot of books. and recommended a lot of them.

books:

her royal highness by rachel hawkins-- this book is a pretty easy read-- don’t expect any massive revelations about life from it, and you’ll have a good time!!! essentially, a bi texan girl named millie, after having her heart broken by her friend-turned-sort-of-gf, goes to boarding school in scotland and ends up rooming with the princess, flora. if this sounds outrageous and sappy, that’s because it is! and i love it! sexuality isn’t a BIG part of this book, but it’s discussed, and it’s just a generally fun enemies-to-lovers story about a bi aspiring geologist and a no-fucks-to-give lesbian princess and them falling in love!

fried green tomatoes at the whistle stop cafe by fannie flagg-- hello this is actually my favorite book! unlike hrh it is... a LOT to read. it essentially follows 2 stories-- one about a housewife named evelyn and her friendship with an old woman named ninny threadgoode who she meets at the old folks home her mother-in-law stays at, and the other about the stories ninny tells her about her sister-in-law idgie and her partner, ruth. the book was published in 1987, and ruth and idgie’s story is set during the great depression, so they aren’t actively labeled as lesbian or bi, but it’s made obvious enough through coding and the fact that ruth has relationships with men prior to idgie while idgie spends her entire childhood pining after ruth. both storylines are fantastic-- they have a lot to say about the lives of southern women in the 30s and 80s, and about race relations at both periods. i’ll warn you that there are depictions of extreme racism and of abuse, but it handles both delicately. it’s a critical piece of southern literature, and a landmark for lgbtq+ storytelling. as a bonus, my copy has a bunch of great recipes in the back, so if you read it you might chance upon an edition with those in it. if you like poignant period pieces about wlw relationships, women losing their damn minds, and abusive men getting what they deserve, this is the book for you! you will sob. this is a fair warning.

you should see me in a crown by leah johnson-- i haven’t personally read this one, but i’ve heard great things about it from everyone i know who has! an anxious black bi girl in indiana has to win prom queen at her mostly-white school in order to get enough scholarship money to go to the college of her dreams, but ends up falling for mack, another girl running for queen.

@landlessbud wanted me to shout out red, white, and royal blue by casey mcquinston-- you’ve almost definitely heard about it before (first son and prince of wales, enemies-to-lovers with a side dish of political drama), and it is primarily about a mlm romance, but nora is a fabulously fun bi girl side character and there’s a lot of great stuff about figuring out your sexuality in it.

leah on the offbeat by becky albertalli-- i’ve read a lot of complex thoughts on this book, and mine are... i like it! it’s flawed, sure, and i wish it had handled a few things a little better, but you know what? it’s cute as fuck! leah is a fat bi drummer, and she’s super cool! abby is a great love interest, and she goes through a whole bi realization throughout the book. all in all, it’s just a fun wlw high school romcom with a couple solid dramatic beats and a lot of goofball shenanigans. also, if you were an american girl kid??? one scene in this book will make the entire experience worth it for you.

harley quinn: breaking glass by mariko tamaki and steve pugh-- hey, we’re in graphic novel territory now! this book is RAD. a really neat look at gentrification, community solidarity, giving people what they deserve, and fantastic lgbtq+ found families. teenage harleen quinzel is taken in by a group of drag queens, and is caught between two sort-of love interests-- mysterious vigilante the joker and classmate and community activist ivy-- and the different forms of protest and resistance they represent. the art here is STUNNING, and it’s a great read!

laura dean keeps breaking up with me, by the great mariko tamaki with art by rosemary valero-o’connell-- the vast majority of the characters are lgbt, with a lesbian main character, and the supporting cast including a bi nonbinary character, a bi girl character, and two mlm characters! this is mostly a piece about modern lgbtq+ teenagers and the way toxic relationships take over our lives. it’s one of the most cathartic things i’ve read in a LONG time, and especially if you’re at a point where your sexuality feels kind of vague, this is a great read because it embraces that vagueness by not needing to clearly label the characters and celebrates whatever point of clarity the characters are at. probably some of the most gorgeous art i’ve ever seen in a book, with a beautiful black-white-and-pink color scheme and a really neat approach to visual storytelling.

movies:

i don’t watch many movies, because i get bored really quickly hskdhskhds. but the movies i DO watch are usually gay!

wowie zowie its fried green tomatoes again!-- fannie flagg came back to adapt this into a film and HOT DAMN is it just as good. the plot is primarily the same, with some stuff obviously cut or trimmed to make it a two hour movie instead of a 450 page books fhsjdhsjhds. mary-louise parker plays ruth!!! it got a GLAAD award and an oscar nomination, and god it’s good. there are a couple scenes in here that i think are going to be in my mind until the day i die. the level of pure butch energy that idgie radiates in this film is a one-hit k.o. and it KILLS me.

birds of prey-- listen. this is not a profound movie. harley’s bisexuality isn’t emphasized, and romance is basically nonexistent in this movie. there is some... quite graphic violence. that said, this movie is so fucking fun. it’s mostly just a bunch of women fucking up everyone who crosses them while margot robbie gives a gleeful performance that you can just TELL she enjoyed the fuck out of. the last 20-30 minutes of this movie are the absolute best part, with a long sequence that kind of reinvented what an action/superhero movie could be for me. again, bisexuality isn’t a massive part of this-- it’s mentioned, and then harley just continues on in her gloriously campy outfits and breaks peoples’ knees. again, i CANNOT overemphasize just how fucking good the last 20-30 minutes are. this movie knows what it is and it embraces it. also, women beating people up in costumes that don’t horrifyingly objectify them is always a plus!

imagine me & you-- i’d be remiss if i didn’t mention this one, considering it’s probably one of the most iconic wlw romcoms. a woman named rachel, while at her own wedding, meets a florist named luce, and they fall in love. it’s a very sweet look at questioning your sexuality when you were already secure in it, and rachel’s husband wins “most genuinely understanding guy in a wlw movie” award. it has a lovely happy ending, and articles have been written about the importance of rachel being a bi character who a) gets a happy ending and b) isn’t shamed for figuring out her sexuality later on or slutshamed. this is just... a sweet movie. it’s the romcom a lot of us need in our lives. also, a LOT of floral imagery.

tv shows:

ok, i’ve got a confession. i reaaaaaaally don’t watch much tv. seriously, the only shows i’ve watched a substantial amount of recently have been parks and rec, schitt’s creek, the good place, and gilmore girls. i have a really REALLY short attention span.

that said, eleanor from the good place is bisexual!! the good place is a really wild ride, it’s half afterlife comedy half philosophical musing, and it will almost certainly make you gasp, laugh, think, and also probably cry. also, eleanor is just buckets of fun and she, like many of us, is often blown away by tahani (jameela jamil) and her beauty.

ummm shows i haven’t watched entirely or at all but that have bi women in them and seem pretty good: black lightning, sex education, jane the virgin, arrow.

if you haven’t already watched it, do not believe what people are going to tell you about watching glee. it will drag you into a pit of despair and white men rapping, and it’s quite biphobic to top it all off.

i hope you enjoy at least some of these!! i tried to include some of my own favs and some that were pointed out to me, so i hope that at least a couple connect with you and make you feel better. again, the bolded ones are my 100% favorites. i love you and i’m glad you reached out again!!! feel free to send some more asks later on <3

#asks #anon #bi anon #ily <3 <3 i hope these help #if anyone wants to add please do!! specifically bi women of color since theres a shortage of them in fiction and media #dont talk abt b/9/9 though id like to not praise diversity in a show glorifying cops

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cyberstabbing · 4 years

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Someone left a long and heart-felt message about THROAM to Anna Green on her curiouscat page and Anna replied with a long message as well. I’m pasting the text here so I don’t ever lose it:

May 1st, 2020

Anonymous: Part 1 of 2 — Hey Anna I followed THROAM back when I was heavy in the panic fandom; I would leave you these ridiculously long comments on lj and read your updates late into the night, when I knew my parents wouldn’t catch me. I was 15. Almost Famous was my favorite movie, Ryden was my otp, you were already my favorite fic author, and I loved nothing more than a long, developed, realism-based slowburn. When you started writing THROAM, it was like my dream fic had been dropped in my lap. I was so enthralled, so in awe of you, so appreciative of your craft. I remember those weeks between updates stretching seemingly endlessly. But I never resented the long waits; I re-read previous chapters, perused your other fics, and knew that you were taking the time because the time was worth it. Your attention to detail was unmatched.

I am now 25 years old now, with a master’s degree and a job. Nearly every 1-2 years of the past decade, I get a certain itch. And before I know it, I’m re-reading the anthology, page by page, just as consumed as I was the first time around. I find your dialogue and characterization so compelling that I often can’t help but quietly read the lines out loud to myself. Once I’ve picked it up, THROAM occupies much of my thoughts when I’m not actively reading it, and my nights stretch into the wee hours as I plow through the pages. I saved pdf versions of each volume long ago, but to also have the print copies on my shelf gives me such an enormous sense of relief. To know that whatever moves you make, whatever happens to lj or ao3 or the internet at large, I will still have my throam copies...that brings me joy.

I know that you have far outgrown this story, the role it played in your life, the time that you spent writing it, and the person you were back then. The thing is—so have I. It’s remarkable; I am not an active member of any fandoms and am a very different version of myself from the girl who followed this fic’s release. And the version of myself who re-read it my first year of college is a different person from the girl who re-read it as she started her first job. So many different lonely chapters of my life, always punctuated by a return to this old friend. Because of fic stigma, shame, and the whole panic at the disco + lots of explicit sex thing, I refrain from ever sharing the volumes with others, so it feels like I have this little, ever-expanding world of my own with THROAM. Such a huge part of my life, and nobody I know knows a thing about it. It’s special, really. (Cont’d)

pineconepickers: <3333 answer in the next one!

Anonymous: Part 2: Some pages I can practically recite from memory, and yet others read as fresh and surprising each time around. I still feel the same frustration and pain, I’m still swept up by the allure of Ryan’s fame, the impressiveness of his talent, I’m still enthralled by the mad world of 70s rock, I still chuckle at R’s snarky internal monologue and shake my head at his deeply ego-centric world view, it the boys’ cowardices and braveries, at their spite and their bitterness and their love. I still feel the same flutter in my heart at some of the more tender scenes. I still smile softly when I notice the subtle shifts (messy and tentative) towards growth in Ryan’s character. I’m still shocked by just how invested I am in the many side characters, how fully rounded they all are. And it’s still the hottest sex I have ever, ever read.

I was an English major who now teaches English, and I have never had this kind of relationship with another text. Nothing has ever been so relentlessly revisitable, nothing ever nags at me if I go too long without re-reading, nothing consumes me quite like this, and few character dynamics have ever been quite so compelling. The 25 year old woman who had long shaken the fandom world feels so grateful to have been in the right place at the right time to have discovered this story. And I am eternally grateful to you for the care, effort, and absolute labor of love this story demanded. As an avid fic defender and devotee, you shifted my whole paradigm of what fic could be. This masterpiece set the bar impossibly high. Furthermore, thank you for continuing to make it accessible to fans old and new.

Anyway, as I marvel at this fic’s everlasting effect and your writing’s power, I just had to say my piece. It’s been a decade since I last waxed poetic in full fangirl mode at you. Seemed like the time was ripe.

Best and sincerely grateful, C

pineconepickers: Hi, C! Wow I really did not expect to wake up to this and it's left me quite speechless, to be honest. First of all, I am so touched by this letter and would love to give you a hug, but social distancing and all that. ;) Then, to be consistent, tut tut to your minor self for reading explicit adult content - I have to say this because it is a line I feel ever more strongly about, but of course I too used to read adult fics when I was a minor, yada yada yada... And so often people grow up to be immensely embarrassed by what they enjoyed at 15 or 16, and I see a lot of that Shame Discourse around THROAM too, which, as its author, can make you think you just wrote a bad story that no one wants to admit they liked (although they all read it - it's complicated!).

So, ten years on, it's great to hear that the story still compels you and that it has aged in a way that you still enjoy it. THROAM has had such a strange afterlife that I never could have predicted, both good and bad, and my own relationship with the work has grown increasingly complex over the years. You outgrow stories, as you rightly said, and you outgrow your own writing style, too, and become increasingly critical of your past efforts, alas - yet I still have an immense love for the story and its flaws, I can at a moment's notice see snow drifting down on a winter night in Bismarck or am blinded by California sun or taste the salt in the air on a beach in Maine like I never left. Fic will always be regarded as less than "real fiction" - throw in emo bands and sex and even more so. But what is wrong with fictional self-indulgence in a world that often gives you little? I haven't read THROAM cover to cover in years (it's SO LONG), partly out of worry what I'll find there of my self-perceived "bad writing", but I read snippets sometimes and there is still a pull to the story, for me, that I am relieved to find.

I was around 25 when I finished the story - and thus the circle closes. It's hard for me now to fathom the years I spent on it, the sheer number of hours, days, weeks, months it took me to write. What was 23-25 year-old me doing! But she wrote it because she had the story and no other reason. Its afterlife and readership has completely surprised me, but I am glad I didn't know it when I was writing it or I'd never have managed to finish it!

And so it warms me now, endlessly, that the story still has importance to you and that it has grown with you. It is especially lovely to hear when I myself have clearly detached myself from the story, somewhat - it really feels like the story doesn't belong to me anymore because it took on such a life of its own. So thank you for reminding me that I, too, should give the story more love than I do - and that not all that ages needs to be left behind. Much love <333

#anna green #anna green talks about throam #new tag #throam #i just.. i need to save this kind of thing #the internet wasn't built to last but dammit if i wont try my best #mine

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leighas-life · 4 years

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Review Of Meg, The Trench, Primal Waters, Origins By Steve Alten

Meg #1 (4/5 stars)

*I didn’t write a review for this one, but my thoughts for the second 2 sum up how I feel about Meg (and probably the series as a whole when I finish it.)

The Trench (Meg #2) - 3.5/5

***Trigger warning: Rape is mentioned, along with the person being tortured, there were two attempted rape scenes, one quite graphic and incest.*** The author needs a better editing team. The writing style was good and enjoyable for the most part, although one thing stood out which was the repetitiveness. Jonas felt his temper flaring practically every other page. There was a lot of flashing. How many times can a person flash a smile, or flash their eyes in anger, flash this, flash that....? "For a surreal moment" is also used many times. Once you notice the repetitiveness, it is almost impossible not to notice, which brings you out of the story. Another thing that stood out that took away some enjoyment was a lot of telling instead of showing. Too many characters. I gave up trying to keep track of them. 99% were not important, just written in to be killed. I like how Masao treats Jonas as a true son and not a son-in-law. They have a couple of sweet father-son moments. The actions scenes were suspenseful. I truly felt Terry's terror as she goes through the stuff she went through. There are a couple of characters I hated so much and admit, I was hoping they would die, so Steve Alten is good at writing characters you hate. I do plan on reading more, as I love the entertaining value in these. Some of the triggering and problematic things you can overlook if you go in knowing what to expect. I hope the books get better as the series progresses.

Primal Waters (Meg #3) - 4/5 very problematic stars.

TW: Because yes, this will have triggers, like the first two. Misogyny, implied/mentioned sex between adults and underage girls, suicide is mentioned, abortion is mentioned, slut and fat-shaming (blink and you might miss the slut-shaming, but it is there.) *** You can go into a vintage horror (or any genre) novel and expect some dark and nasty stuff, including how females are treated, and hey, maybe you even like those books, despite the problematic elements. Those books were a product of the time. I'm honestly not judging your taste in books, because I read them, too. It is nice to be able to turn your brain off sometimes. That being said, the way females are treated in this book just doesn't make sense. Because it is about killer sharks, does that mean it is marketed toward men and that is why all the girls are treated like eye candy, along with underage eye candy to boot? It is just cringy how Terry is described. (The Asian beauty with almond eyes.) I wasn't even at the 30% point and already suicide was mentioned, two instances of underage sex mentioned (with an adult) and one instance of what seems like a forced abortion (man paying for and probably making the underage girl abort her baby), and a cheating scumbag. (And later on in the book there are slut and fat-shaming.) Oh, and of course some shark kills! Which is the real reason to read these, right? Why in the world would Jonas let his underage daughter be one of the "Candy Girls" without even saying a word of protest? “I was hoping you might be able to use Dani behind the scenes, you know, assisting the film crew . . . something to keep her busy.” “Behind the scenes?” Erik laughs. “Your daughter’s eye-candy, Professor, and we can never have too much of that. Dani, as soon as you get settled, come find me and I’ll hook you up with wardrobe. They’ll pick out some nice bikinis, maybe a few after-hour numbers. We’ll pay you to be one of our Candy Girls, my pet name for our Daredevil groupies.” “Excellent.” Danielle’s gloating smile tweaks her father’s blood pressure. *** Also, I can do without shaming people for having body hair. It was just a silly and unneeded line. "God, I miss California. If I date one more woman with hairy legs, I think I’ll—" *** Erik points to the bow where a cocoa-brown African-American woman in a white thong bikini is posing before a photographer and two cameramen. “Not much of an actress, but who cares, she makes—” “I know, great eye-candy.” So, we have an almond-eyed Asian beauty and now a cocoa-brown African American...can't we describe POC without using food? And you don't have to keep reminding us that Terry's Asian as well. We remember! (Later on, there is an olive-skinned Italian as well.) I saw someone call these books "Shallow Entertainment" and they sure are that! I notice that he really likes to go into detail of describing how a female looks, using words like "shapely" a lot. Also, I noticed he points out skin color and eye color of the females often, but only one time did he mention the eye color of a man. I wonder why it is? So we know what eye color the females have when we fantasize about them? I mean, he writes them like "Eye Candy!" The girls on the boat are even called "Candy Girls" by the camera crew. It is basically "Girl's Gone Wild" with stupid daredevil stunts that get people killed. How has this film crew not been sued and how are they allowed to show the deaths on tv? I've never watched the real Girl's Gone Wild, but this book is similar to the Piranha (2010) movie, if you remember the GGW film crew, well, yeah, this book is like that, but with some hungry sharks and people who don't use their brains. Of course, the sex and nudity in this are not graphic or anything, but you get what I mean. That is because Steve does a lot of telling, and not showing. All the people in this book that get put in danger (and end up getting killed) are getting what they deserve. I would never say that about a real-life situation, toward a real victim, but seriously, these characters have bricks for brains. The camera, still looped around his neck, bounces against his chest— —calling out his name. Brian stares at temptation, his fear momentarily subsiding. 'The whale’s dying. Angel’s got to be circling below, waiting to feed again. One shot, just a quick one before you lose the light, then get to shore as fast as you can.' He stops paddling, allowing the kayak to drift as he glances back at Charlie. 'Calm and steady and the Meg won’t even know you’re here. One great shot of her next attack, just one killer shot.' 'Sorry Charlie, but that’s life in the food chain. Damn, this looks good. Okay, Angel, one more time for Daddy while we still have the light. Definitely a cover shot on National Geographic, maybe even Time . . .' This is why I root for the shark! A certain thing keeps happening in this book and jarring me out of the story. Steve Alten has a broken way of writing what are supposed to be suspenseful moments. Personally, I don't like this style. I don't know how to describe it, so I will show you. Balancing atop the wall, he runs back to the arena and the safety of the bleachers as fast as he can— —nitrogen bubbling in his bloodstream. Fergie bounds over another swell and pulls hard on his control strut— —as a powerful updraft catches the kite. Losing the wind, he plummets—a seabird with clipped wings— —as the Megalodon breeches, its head rising at him like a missile, its jaws yawning open, offering an impossible target to miss. Devin flees— —only to be confronted by an even bigger nightmare. This way of writing might be fine if it only happened a couple of times, but it is littered throughout the whole book. One last thing I want to add about Dani, which is a spoiler-ish. [Dani starts off as a teenage spoiled brat; there is no way to say it nicely. I liked how she grew and eventually stopped being such a pain, and she and her father started to see eye to eye again.] Don't get me wrong, despite my complaints, I really do like these books. As I said, it is nice to turn your brain off and enjoy some B movie type books.

Meg Origins (Meg #.05) 2/5 stars.

If you read and liked Meg, this tells the story of when Jonas first met the prehistoric shark. This book is interesting, to say the least. However, some of the writing was dry, dare I say boring. There were some repetitive chapter openings that annoyed me. I guess the editing team didn't notice. Once you notice these repetitive things, it is hard to keep from noticing them and it takes you out of the story. For example: In the Prologue "Captian George Nares stood defiantly on the heaving gun deck." In Chapter 1: "Captian Richard Danielson stood defiantly on the main deck." How does one stand defiantly? Do you stand in a Superman pose, with your hands on your hips? There were so many characters. I wrote a list of characters in case someone was important later on. Large casts are often forgettable. I counted about 20 characters (Plus some more that were not given proper names.) 90% of these people were not important. I liked how there was a nod to the Jaws movie. "Good God, Man! That's more than half the length of the Challenger. A creature that size... we'd need a bigger boat." Steve didn't copy Jaws. Maybe he was inspired somewhat, but the storyline of Meg is completely different from Jaws, yet people are going to still scream copycat. Misogyny, treatment of women. One girl in this is only known by her big boobs. I think she's given a name, but that's about it. You can tell this was written by a man by the way characters describe women. "...tan, oiled breasts two swollen grapefruits in the skimpy red bikini." "...hawkish eyes moved from the pair of jacks in his right hand to the D-cup breasts barely contained beneath the brunette's olive-green tee-shirt." How do you know they're D-cup? Did you measure them, or did she tell you? "Hey, so my boobs are d-cup." These are grown men, but they sound like they are teen boys who just discovered boobs. I'm not a prude by any means, but I can't say I liked this manner of describing people. I notice the men are never described this way. Don't get me wrong, I really do like these books. So far. Meg Origins should be saved only if you are a die-hard fan of the series, though. None of it is new info. It just goes into detail of what the first book already mentioned.

#Meg #TheMeg #Trench #Primal #Waters #Water #Shark #Sharks #Book #Books #Review #Science Fiction #Thriller #Steve Alten #Primal Waters #Origins #leighaslife #leighas_life on instagram

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mcaroonzy · 4 years

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147! Takari of course lol

A drabble a day

Send me one of these prompts and 1-3 characters!

YASSS, that prompt screams Takari ok xD, so... I may have doubled the word limit I told myself to follow but I guess takari is worth it??? Alsooooo I stole your children for the ship and I’m not sorry. Just one of them appears here though uwu

147: “Look! Fireflies!” | Takari

“Will you need a hand mom?” asked Asahi, taking from her arms her tiny new grandson “I can always stay a little longer. At least enough to make dinner…”

The years had taken away the shiny cinnamon shade of her hair, along with the immaculate softness of her screen. She no longer had that natural grace of a ballet dancer, her back had twisted into a little humpback and her walk had become slow and clumsy. Still, Hikari Yagami had a childish gleam in her eyes, as if immune to that nostalgic aura that so many elders tend to get infected with. She still liked to talk about Disney movies, water the cactuses, and collecting so many pictures of her lovely grandchildren as her camera lenses allowed.

“Come on! You’re all aged up now, Asahi” she mockingly said, tilting her head with a smile as her left hand rose all the way to the baby’s face to pinch on his nose “You should know a woman deserves some time alone with her husband!”

“Your mother is the oldest teenager I’ve ever met…” commented between giggles her son’s wife, smiling tenderly as she covered the baby’s head with a green bear shaped hat “How’s Takaishi-san been doing? Asahi and I have started re-reading his books, they never fail to make me cry during the last few pages…”

Hikari’s smile trembled, an event so subtle only her own son was able to notice. “Yeah, his endings always carry a certain nostalgia…” was everything she dared to add.

Unlike his mother, Asahi didn’t smile. He knew her, he knew her underlined messages, and he had noticed the shattered glass look in her eyes as she pronounced those words. His mother wasn’t talking about the books.

The past four years had been rough on her - on her whole family - as Takeru’s presence in the house slowly started to vanish. At first it was almost funny; his uncoherent additions to their conversations, how he would always forget where he had left his glasses, his constant way of losing his hats at restaurants. Hikari used to laugh it away, maybe because she thought Taichi would’ve done that. However, when he forgot her name for the first time, her heart understood that she had to learn to treasure those few times in the day in which she still had a husband.

She had built herself a routine. Picking up old pictures, those dusty ones on which’s back they used to write messages on and then he’d take them to him. Sometimes he would remember, and the tears would roll out of his eyes as if he had just awoken from a bad dream. Some others, he heard them calmly, curiously, like a little kid hearing a story.

That night, they acted like two little kids: they hid under the bedsheets with a flashlight. Multiple pictures scattered around their legs. Pictures from middle school, when Hikari had first gotten herself a camera, and used to photograph Daisuke sleeping over his desk, or Miyako trying out different hairstyles, or blurred pictures of Takeru playing basketball in a helpless attempt of trying to get a dynamic picture.

Every now and then, Takeru would point at one or another, smiling almost blankfully as he waited for the story behind it. Hikari would pick it up and read the words that, most of the time, he had written behind them:

‘Today Daisuke decided to copy my fashion choices and try out some hats. However, I still think I wear them better.’

‘Mimi decided to do Yamato’s make up. I’m sorry you had to make so many copies of this by the way.’

‘We watched the new avengers movie as digidestined! It was pretty crappy, but at least we got Iron Man cups!’

It was bittersweet. They used to do that same thing a lot when Takeru’s was still completely there with her. Back then, it was funnier. They’d remember every word their friends had said, comment on it and laugh it off until the point their bellies ached from it. But now Takeru didn’t laugh or remember any quotes. He just studied them, at most let slip a smile, and then point towards a new one.

Eventually he pointed at one that, at least in Hikari’s eyes, looked the least interesting. The image was all black and blurry, so she had to lean it closer to her face in order to distinguish the vague shape of her white summer dress in the midst’s of that dark nothingness. She turned the picture around.

‘Of the day we went hunting for fireflies’ she read out loud.

“What’s a firefly?” Takeru asked, with a distant voice and lost eyes that didn’t seem to recognize any familiar face in her.

“It’s a star-like insect…” Hikari explained, caressing the picture with the tips of her fingers as the lingering phantom of a tear started to tickle around her eyelids “They shine like tiny flashlights, and hide within the leaves. There were so many we thought they should’ve appeared in the picture… but now you can see how it came out.”

“That’s a shame” he replied, curling up like a kid as he rested his head upon the pillow “I would’ve liked to know what they look like…”

And then, he shut silent. His eyes closed, and his breathing grew softer. He had fallen sleep, in the middle of a talk just like a little boy would have. Hikari wiped the humidity out of her eyes as she started to collect the pictures to store them back in her treasure box. She tried hard not to cry as she did so, fighting against the memory of a smiling Takeru grabbing a pen and writing down the memories that today were vanishing.

She wondered what that Takeru would have said if he had caught her crying. And with that question in mind, she let her mind slip into the bliss of nighttime.

That night, she dreamt she woke up on her summer dress. Her body was smaller, skinnier, younger. She rubbed her eyes almost confused at the curious sight that hosted the ceiling: a thousand shiny spots that quivered and floated from one corner to another as if all of a sudden the stars had descended into their bedroom.

“Look Hikari! The fireflies!” shouted a young boy’s voice, as he lifted from the bed picking on her hand and pulling her to repeat the gesture. Hikari was shocked. For laying next to her was no longer the vanishing man that had become her husband, but the vivid image of a living Takeru, smiling at her under the dim light of the insects.

“I’m glad I got to see them, with you, one last time”

#Takari #Digimon #Fanfic

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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What Might Have Been - 21

It’s June but still here to hurt you with May prompts from @goodomenscelebration - Themes

We have now: the backstory of AU Aziraphale and how he became the Guardian of New Eden and the heartless kidnapper we all know and don’t love.

CW For torture and violence in the parts where we check in on Crowley, and perceived character death. Also for Gabriel and his stupid, stupid face.

I hope this clarifies a few things.

As always, the full story can be found on AO3.

Garden

Ten years ago

Aziraphale stood just outside Gabriel’s glass-walled office. The Archangel had seen him, of course, he saw everything. That was the point. He could certainly see Aziraphale, standing out here with his final report.

It was enormous. Typewritten. That was a special case, very special; he had always written his reports by hand. But he needed to be sure that every word was clear, that there were no misunderstandings. Also, it would have been rather a lot of ink.

Gabriel finally met his eyes and waved him in.

It was time.

Trying to control the trembling in his heart, Aziraphale stepped through the door, into the brightly-lit office. He should probably smile, but that seemed to be asking too much.

“Ah, Aziraphale. How go the preparations? Only a few more years!” He smiled, angelic and benign, and it hurt. This was where Aziraphale was supposed to be, surely, every moment of his time on earth had been a mistake! He should burn this report to ashes and beg to be allowed…

He let the emotion pass. He’d thought about this very hard. He’d made his decision.

He placed the report on Gabriel’s desk. It was over eight hundred pages, clothbound, with a tan cover.

Then Aziraphale stepped back, letting out his breath. No going back now.

“What is this?” Gabriel spun the book, frowning at it distastefully. “I’ve asked you before not to use such…unusual materials for your reports.”

“This seemed fitting.”

“Are these the battle plans I asked for?” He lifted the cover with one finger, peering at the pages inside. “I’m no expert, Aziraphale, but I thought maps would involve pictures, not words.”

“It is not. This is my…confession.” Aziraphale clasped and twisted his hands behind his back.

Gabriel let the cover fall, standing up. He towered over Aziraphale. The light in his eyes had turned to something dark and terrifying. “Confessions are for humans raised with too much guilt. Not angels.”

“I…have a very guilty conscience. I cannot go forward in our plans for the end times without coming clean.” He let his eyes fall to the book, trying to find the courage to go on. “I have written out my sins in great detail. This should help you to decide my punishment without needless delay.”

“And you’re just going to stand there while I…read…all of this?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I…suppose I didn’t think that part through.”

“Just give me the highlights,” Gabriel snapped, sitting back down in his chair, pushing the book away.

“Highlights. Yes.” Aziraphale’s mind raced, trying to find the right words. “For the last…two thousand years, give or take…I have been in a…a relationship with the demon Crowley.”

A long silence. “And what precisely was the nature of this relationship?”

“It’s all in…” he met the forbidding look in Gabriel’s eyes, then turned away. “Yes. Ah. It was many things. We had a…professional Arrangement. Er. An emotional one. A…a physical one.”

“Physical.” Gabriel stood again, slamming his hands on the table. “You are an angel, Aziraphale. Are you telling me you let a demon violate you?”

Clenching his fists, Aziraphale tried again to meet those eyes, but he could see the weight of his depravity in them. “It was mutual. Everything we did was mutual.”

“How many times?”

“I…” Aziraphale blinked considering. “Well, I rather lost count, but I put as many into the report as I could recall.”

Gabriel’s mouth dropped in horror. He pulled the book towards him and flipped to a page at random. “It was on this occasion that I discovered Crowley has the most delightfully sensitive area at the base of his throat, and when I…ugh…” He turned to a different page. “As we sat on the cliffs overlooking the ships gathered in the Bay of Biscay, Crowley asked me if I thought the English would defeat them. Feeling great pride for the island where I have made my home, I told Crowley that the English could triumph over any number of ships. He asked if I wanted to put a wager on it. I told him that if the Spanish won he could…ugh…but if the English won, I would…I…” Gabriel turned the page, and then the next one. “And Crowley asked me to prove I could actually…why would you think I would want to read any of this?”

“I have always suspected that in between our bouts of lovemaking that night, Crowley slipped out and miracled up the storms that delayed the Armada. Which was not very sporting of him, he should have simply admitted defeat.”

“Aziraphale, I don’t want to know – wait, wasn’t the Spanish Armada one of ours?”

“It was. I rather got caught up in the heat of the moment. Though I do recall I told you that my efforts had been thwarted by Hell’s agent on Earth, and that I had already begun making him pay. That’s all detailed in the next bit.”

“This…” Gabriel’s face took on an expression that made Aziraphale’s spine tingle with fear and shame. “This disgusting display…I’ve never seen anything like this…”

Here it came. Would Gabriel make him Fall immediately, or would it require some sort of council? Did it hurt, apart from the pool of sulfur? Would he feel his angelic nature ripped away?

He should have asked Crowley these questions centuries ago. Aziraphale braced himself and waited.

“Get out of my sight. I need to decide what to do with you.”

Aziraphale looked at the door behind him. “But…surely I…”

“Get out!”

Nine years, six months ago

Customers wandered through Aziraphale’s shop. He didn’t even have the energy to follow them. He’d sold four books in the last month, too distressed to even think of preventing it.

There had been no word from Gabriel.

Could they make him Fall at any time? Or did he need to be present in Heaven for it to happen? Would God be there personally? That would surely be enough to break his resolve.

He knew he would wind up in Hell. That much he was certain of. Would the demons be told he was coming? Who would be waiting to receive him?

Aziraphale sold another copy of Persuasion. Not that it mattered.

Nine years, three months ago

Aziraphale stood in Gabriel’s office again. The Archangel gave him his full attention this time, arms crossed, face hard, the book sitting on the desk beside him. The waiting, the endless waiting, had worn Aziraphale down, but he rallied himself as best he could. He would face this, on his feet, ready for whatever came.

“Have you…decided?”

“Don’t speak, Aziraphale. I’m still very unhappy with you. The amount of detail that went into this report was…entirely unnecessary. In fact, that’s what tipped me off as to your deception.”

“My…”

“I said don’t speak. Ugh. You know, I could hear your voice the whole time I was reading this and it did not help in any way. I just…” He shuddered. “But. It was around the fifth time you described that…that noise the demon made when you did that…thing to his ear…”

“It’s called kissing, Gabriel.”

“What did I say?” He glared until Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back and nodded quietly. “Right. Anyway, I realized this wasn’t just some attempt to clear your conscience. Your exceedingly filthy conscience. You were trying to get a reaction out of me.”

Aziraphale shook his head, trying to object, but he couldn’t have spoken even if Gabriel had allowed it.

“Yes! And what reaction could you be trying to get? What would be the result if I actually lost my temper? Then I realized.” He picked up the thick book in both hands. “This isn’t just a four hundred-thousand-word smut fest. In between all that…that, you kept going on and on about how clever and kind this demon is, how he actually cares for humanity, how he puts up a show of nihilism because he can’t stand to see them suffer – and, somehow, all that was worse.” He slammed the book down on his desk. “So. Aziraphale. Does the demon Crowley know you’re in love with him?”

He went very still.

“Yes. I expect you to answer that.”

“I. No, I’m not…everything we did was just to, to, to pass the time in as indulgent a way as possible, and, and yes, I partook in, I’m fairly certain, all the major sins. I was merely trying to document – but love, no, that, that was never—”

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel cringed. “Don’t make me read all this and then lie to me about it.”

Aziraphale trembled. He brought his hands forward, tugging at the wrists of his jacket, twisting his cufflinks. He’d been prepared to answer any question, but not this.

“I…thought he suspected. I thought we both hinted at it. But. In Paris, I tried to make him aware of my feelings and…he left.” He could still hear Crowley’s whisper, I’ll see you in London. In our bookshop. Aziraphale had waited, and waited, with growing despair, until he realized Crowley was simply never going to come. “So, either he has no idea, or he does and…doesn’t care.”

“And doesn’t know that you’re attempting to Fall for him right now.” Aziraphale deflated. “Yes, it was absolutely that obvious. Ugh.” Gabriel walked closer, hands folded in front of him, almost pleading. “Why? That’s the thing I can’t figure out. This has to be the most elaborate attempted defection in history.”

“I’m not defecting,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I don’t – I’m not going to reveal any of Heaven’s plans, even if they, they lock me up and torture me for the length of the war, which I rather suspect they will. But. Afterwards…”

“Afterwards, they lose. And all those who survive will be locked in the dark for eternity.” He said it with perfect confidence, as if it had already happened. Had Aziraphale ever been so certain? “Why would you want to be on the losing side?”

“Because, win or lose…I don’t want to spend eternity without him. And if the only place that will take us both is the darkest pits of perdition…that’s where I shall go.”

“And your duties?”

“I know.” He bowed his head. “Choosing between humanity and Crowley is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I know the war will be difficult, and they deserve their Guardian, but…Crowley will be alone. And…if I can’t have both…if I must choose….”

“And if you didn’t have to choose?”

“That’s impossible,” Aziraphale started. “Heaven would have to agree to…” He glanced up to find Gabriel watching him, lips pursed, eyebrows raised.

Was the Archangel saying what Aziraphale thought he was saying? For the first time in nearly a year, the fear faded, being replaced with something rather like hope. “You…you mean you’d actually…”

“Aziraphale, you’re one of our best agents, dalliances notwithstanding.” He waved a hand back towards the book. “We’re not going to let you go. Not when you have so much to do for us.”

“Would…would Crowley…Ascend?” It was more than he could have hoped for.

Gabriel tipped his head, uncertain. “Hmmm, it’s never been done. It would take more than just my recommendation, and he would need to be an exemplary prisoner during the war.”

“P – prisoner?”

“Well, on paper. Not sure how else we could arrange it. Plus there’s security to think of – our secrets and his safety. A cell with a warden would probably be best. I don’t know how comfortable it would be, but you were willing to spend the war at the mercies of Hell’s torturers. I can’t imagine this would be worse.”

“I…” It was suddenly difficult to think rationally. “I could…I don’t know how to contact him. He might not even be in London anymore…I doubt he would trust me enough to…”

“Look I’m not going to…thank you for my pornography, but it has given me some insight into his mind. I think he’ll try to get in touch with you again. Let me know as soon as it happens, and we’ll make a plan.”

“Could I visit him?” He had so much to say, and for a moment the hope wiped out every other possibility from his mind. He was ready to agree to anything, just to have Crowley in his arms again.

But Gabriel huffed out a breath. “I don’t want to promise anything, Aziraphale. You’re going to be very busy during the war. But I think we can arrange something. Video calls? I don’t know. But this is the best offer you’re going to get. Keep working with us during the war – do your duty – and afterwards, eternity with your…” He waved his hand vaguely over the book. “…your demon. Preferably very far from me.”

There was a lot to consider. Aziraphale pulled on the fabric of his waistcoat, straightened his lapels, and finally adjusted his bow tie. “I…yes, I will keep you informed. And you promise he will not be harmed while I lead my platoon?”

“Platoon?” Gabriel grinned. “I would not be going out of my way like this for a mere platoon leader. Aziraphale, your reports over the last six thousand years have inspired a whole new project. Let me tell you about New Eden.”

Seven years, three months ago

Aziraphale stood at the drafting table, surrounded by architects and blueprints. “No, this is all wrong. The scale of it! The original Garden only held one Man and one Woman. We can’t simply reuse the same design. New Eden will hold billions. It would have to be the size of…Australia, at least! Where are Milkiel’s plans?”

Another set of drawings moved across the table. “Yes, this is what we’ll need.” He nodded to Milkiel, who beamed proudly. “It’s a start at least, but more rivers – here, and here, and we can’t just ignore the deserts, or the swamps. I believe if we…”

“Another change of plans,” Hizkiel appeared suddenly behind Aziraphale, holding a sealed message tube. “The number of Elect has been reduced. Gabriel has suggested a few alterations.” Aziraphale unrolled the slip of paper inside and took it in with a glance, eyes going wide.

The Archangels had gathered in Gabriel’s office, a serious council of blazing wings and stern faces. Ordinarily, Aziraphale would be too terrified to enter. Never mind the power the Archangels had over him and over the world – interrupting was just rude.

But this was not something that could wait.

“Gabriel, you can’t—” He took a deep breath as hundreds of eyes turned on him, burning out from the flaming wings of the Archangels. “I’m – I’m so sorry to intrude, most…most Holy Archangel Gabriel, on your matters of great import but…a quarter of a million people?”

“Aziraphale.” His wings snapped back into place, leaving only the human-shaped body to tower over the Principality of Earth. “Are you questioning our wisdom?”

“I – I – I think there must be some mistake, surely, I was told the Elect would be all of the humans found worthy, and – and that the children…”

He saw the way Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels, rolling his eyes. “Let me handle this.” His hand fell heavily on Aziraphale’s shoulder as he steered them both out of the office and back into the main halls of Heaven.

“Aziraphale. Stop. How many humans did you think we were going to save? According to the prophecies – your prophecies which you bring up in every planning session – barely a third of the humans will even make it to the final year. That includes the ones we take. We only ever planned for those who are worthy.”

“But…there are two billion children in the world right now…I thought, if we started early…”

“No. Obviously not. That just isn’t feasible. Look. It’s like the Ark.” Gabriel spread his hands. “You remember the Ark? We had to send a message. We tested, and how many did we find worthy? Hm? One family. Same with Sodom and Gomorrah. One family, and the mother didn’t even make it.”

“But…this is the end of the world. You can’t be suggesting…”

“A quarter of a million people is extremely generous. That’s at least ten families per city! And, yes, we can prioritize children, they’re easier to keep in line, anyway.”

Aziraphale lowered his head, struggling to handle the shift, to think clearly. “So…this means…I suppose this means something of a redesign is in order.”

“Yes! Good thinking. Now. I have business to attend to. You take care of that, and I’ll follow up at the end of the day. Keep up the good work!” With another shoulder clap – hard enough to hurt – Gabriel headed back into his office.

Aziraphale’s feet led him to the planning table, to the team of engineers and architects he had been assigned, and stared at the plans for New Eden, glowing, shining cities that would provide everything for the humans, with rolling stretches of countryside in between. Slowly, he crumpled them up.

He stared at the blank piece of paper before him, then reached for a pencil. “Alright. New plan. I’ll make alterations as we go, but we’ll start with a shape like this…”

Seven years, six weeks ago

Aziraphale paced outside the heavy door that he’d never seen in Heaven’s halls before. It didn’t match the aesthetic.

It would be fine. Once he could get in and explain to Crowley, he would understand. This was really best for everyone. Even better, with Crowley’s information, surely, they could halve the death count, at least, maybe more. He just needed five minutes.

It had been six hours.

Suddenly, the door opened. He rushed forward, as Shoftiel stepped out, pulling it shut behind him. “How is he? Is he comfortable? Did he ask for me?” Aziraphale took a breath, smoothing his lapels. “I mean, I assume our guest is awake?”

“He was,” Shoftiel said with a smile, partly hidden behind his thick beard. “But he’s rather tired, so I think he’ll sleep a bit longer.” His eyes sparkled, just a little. “He isn’t being very cooperative yet, or polite, but I think we can reach an understanding.”

“Oh, oh, thank you. Listen, I know he can be a – a little prickly, but just let me speak to him alone, and I can have all this sorted out.”

“I don’t think he wants to see you.” He tested the door and started walking away.

“I – I do understand that. But, please, this is – I know how to handle him, I can make him talk.” He reached out a hand and rested it on Shoftiel’s arm. “Just give me a few minutes and…”

There was a spot of blood on Shoftiel’s sleeve. Demonic blood.

“What did you…what did you do?”

“I told you, he wasn’t being very cooperative.”

A surge of rage rose in Aziraphale’s chest, boiling up through his mind. Power rolled off him in waves. “What did you do?”

“I gave him a little encouragement is all.” Shoftiel might not have even noticed the storm of celestial energy brewing around them. “Please, Principality, this is my job. Let me work.”

“I need to see Crowley!” Aziraphale grabbed the other angel by the collar and threw him against the wall. “This instant!”

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel appeared at the end of the hall. All the power Aziraphale had gathered dissipated in a breath. “There’s no need for you to lose your temper like this. What happened?”

“This – this—” he made himself calm down. “This bad angel has done…something…to Crowley. I demand to see him right now.”

“Demand?” Gabriel glanced at Shoftiel. “I assume this was necessary?”

“He’s very unwilling to speak at the moment. I have not caused him any permanent harm, of course, but you do need to earn a demon’s respect, and their methods can be quite brutal. One he’s ready to cooperate, I can lighten up.” He waved a hand towards the Principality. “He also declined my offer to have Aziraphale visit.”

“Well. That all seems reasonable.” Gabriel clapped his hands and smiled. “Back to work, then. World isn’t going to end itself!”

“What? No!” Aziraphale clenched his fists. “This isn’t what I agreed to. You…you said he would be safe…”

“If he cooperates. Which he isn’t. Yet.” He patted Aziraphale on the shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. And I’ll check in and make sure there’s nothing excessive going on.”

“Excessive?” Aziraphale felt very ill, in a way he never had in his life. “I don’t…Surely you must see that any amount of violence is excessive, he’s our prisoner. We’re the good guys.”

“Well, yes, he’s a prisoner. We do what we must to ensure he behaves. Rules of War.” One last smile from Gabriel. “Now let’s get you back to work. Only a few weeks left! Have you chosen a location for your Garden yet?”

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder towards the door one last time. Crowley was clever. He wasn’t very loyal to Hell. Surely, he would understand that a little information was all he needed to keep himself safe. He would have to trust that Crowley knew how to protect himself.

Meanwhile, there was a job that only Aziraphale could do. It’ll be fine. This is for the best…

Seven years ago

Somewhere over Megiddo, the war had started. Abaddon, general of Hell, led the Demonic Legions against Michael’s Hosts of Heaven. Human bombs flew, and fell.

But it was just another war in a distant land. In the English countryside, it hadn’t even registered yet.

Aziraphale walked the fields with his survey crew.

“Then the wall will come around this way, curving like this and go straight for a bit. Hmmm. That tree is in the way.”

“Is it?” One of the surveyors asked. “We can just cut it down. We’re already passing through dozens—”

“No-no-no!” Aziraphale waved his hands. “This tree, really it’s a very good one. For climbing and whatnot. The children will appreciate it. We want to go around. Starting here we want to curve out like this, and then back in again over there.”

The surveyors looked at the altered map. “That seems…” one started “…unnecessary. Why so much space around it?”

“It’s a climbing tree. The children need room to – run or play conkers or whatever it is children do these days.”

“We could just move the tree,” the other surveyor pointed out. “Or plant a new one.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Am I being a bit distracted? I’m terribly sorry.” He started rolling the plans up. “There have been so many changes in the past few years, I’m just tying to preserve some of my original…well, never mind. I’ve noted down everything else we discussed. Just need to get Gabriel to sign off on—”

A buzz in his pocket; Aziraphale pulled out the flat device Heaven used for communication. He did miss the days when he was less…tethered, but his heart leapt when he saw it was Gabriel.

“Yes? Hello? Is it Crowley? Has he asked to see me? Shoftiel said he’d tell him, days ago—”

“No, Aziraphale, this isn’t about setting up your…tryst. Get to London. Immediately.”

The city of London was surrounded by a brilliant glow, hotter than a sun, colder than the vacuum of space. Walls of sunlight-colored glow encircled the city in an uneven loop, 15 or 20 miles out.

The energy that came off it wasn’t holy. It wasn’t demonic. It was something else entirely.

Aziraphale placed a hand against it. A wall of power forming a physical barrier. Nothing could cross that.

“Thizz izz not what we were told!” Beelzebub shouted angrily. “The field reportzz zzaid it would be the dread szigil Odegra.” Ze slammed a fist into the light. “Hell izz getting no power off thisz! It doesz nothing!”

“Nor is Heaven,” Gabriel assured zir. “I don’t know how this could – ah, Aziraphale. What is going on here?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said, as evenly as he could.

“Yes, but you—” Gabriel shot a look at Beelzebub and pulled Aziraphale further aside. “You lived in this city for two centuries. You had an – an understanding with Hell’s top field agent. Are you telling me you never noticed? Never heard a word about this project?”

“You know perfectly well I hadn’t spoken to Crowley in two hundred twenty-six years!”

“Look at this,” Gabriel blustered on, pointing at the wall of force. “Just look! This is supposed to be the sigil Odegra. We planned for that, we had ways to counter it, and the strength it would give the Opposition. We had a schedule! How are we supposed to keep to it if we can’t get near this, huh? All of the major cities are scheduled to be destroyed within a month. I need a solution, now.”

“What – no, no one told me about that!”

“Change of plans,” The Archangel waved off his objections. “We’ll get you the paperwork soon. This is more urgent. What is it, and why can’t we get in?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. But New Eden isn’t ready yet, and you promised me, ten families—”

“That was an estimate! Move with the times, Aziraphale. We’ll find another way to get your hundred and twenty-five thousand souls.”

“Hundred and – that’s half—”

“Aziraphale! Focus.” He slapped a hand against the wall of force. It made no more difference than a child hitting a stone wall. “I was pulled away from Megiddo for this. Get me answers.”

Aziraphale stared at the wall running outside the M25. A few cars had collided with the solid barrier, which cut infinitely up into the sky and down below the earth, slicing through the flyovers and underpasses. The humans had learned quickly. All exits out of London were closed, small crowds milling around, hands pressed to the barrier. Behind them, green fields stretched to the suburbs, and beyond that rose the city itself.

Nearly ten million people lived inside the M25. Ten million people Heaven couldn’t reach, couldn’t save.

“Gabriel. I have no idea what this could be.” He took a deep breath. “But I am certain Crowley is behind it. He as much as told me, the one time we spoke. And he would have designed it with a way to get himself out. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him.”

Sandalphon slammed Crowley against the wall hard enough to crack his spine, but for the moment all he could do was laugh.

“None of you checked. Not one of you ever checked. Those diacritics will get you every time.”

“Fine. You’ve had your laugh.” Gabriel smiled as if to show he knew what a joke looked like. “Tell me how to get in.”

“You don’t. No one does. No angels, no demons, no humans. The people of London are safe from you bastards. Have your war elsewhere.”

Gabriel rubbed at his eye. “We had plans. This – this delay is not what I want today. That city needs to be nuked, those souls need to be sent to their rewards and punishments, and Michael is supposed to be running the European warfront out of the ruins. She is not going to be happy.”

“Ooh, I’ve never had an angel be mad at me before.” Sandalphon’s fist drove into his stomach again, but he didn’t care. It had worked. His plan had bloody worked.

“You realize,” Gabriel said, bearing down on him, “that you’ve left ten million people to die in there?”

“You were going to kill them!”

“No, the war was going to kill them. But at least it would have been quick. Now they’re going to starve to death, slowly, as their supplies run out. Probably get diseases, contaminated water, and they’ll tear each other apart over what supplies they have. You’ve accomplished nothing.”

“I ruined your day. Seems good enough for me.”

Gabriel grabbed a bottle of holy water off the table and charged Crowley. The demon barely had time to brace himself before Gabriel’s hand slammed his face back into the wall. “Give me one reason not to, because I have had enough of your attitude!”

“Go ahead!” Crowley closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and waited.

And kept waiting.

Gabriel and Sandalphon stepped back, letting him drop to the floor.

“No,” Gabriel said. “Aziraphale was certain you knew a way through. We’ll find it.”

When they left, hours later, Crowley was battered and bleeding on the floor.

But London was still safe.

Six years, two months ago

Aziraphale led Gabriel proudly through the Garden of New Eden. The inner Garden, that is, which was just a temporary arrangement.

“The outer wall will be rather more extensive. We need to accommodate the territories of various animals, make sure all the biomes are represented, and of course there will be unforeseen needs as we build the villages.”

“Didn’t think we needed villages. The original Eden didn’t have them.”

“Well, yes, but the original humans didn’t know any other life.” He saw Gabriel’s expression, and quickly changed tactics. ”Ah, I’m sure it’s just temporary, until they fully settle, but I want to make them as comfortable as possible in the meantime. Of course, sedentary humans will take up less space, so if you really want no dwellings, that probably means more extensions…”

“Aziraphale, don’t bore me with the architectural details, I have a war to worry about.” He glanced at his communication device, then held up a map of the world. “Our nuclear exchange did not go off as planned, so there are too many surviving cities. Humans are already making they way through our battlefields to try and reach them, and how are we supposed to handle that? Hm? Can’t let the demons have them.”

“No, of course not! So – you’ll be happy to hear that building the Inner Garden has allowed me to begin collecting the Elect already. Here – just up ahead.”

He gestured to a small collection of white cottages. Several families stood outside, parents clutching children, looking terrified. “They, ah, they are still acclimating, of course—”

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him away. “Who are these people?”

“I – I – I’m sorry, I used your list…”

“This list?” Gabriel pulled it up on his communication device. “I see three names checked off. Three of these people should be here. There’s at least twenty.”

“W – well, yes, but, I realized the names were children. They need caretakers.”

Gabriel looked at him, confused. “They have you.”

“I, yes, and thank you for entrusting me…but I thought…well wouldn’t it be better to keep the families together? It will add up a little, but I’ve been running some numbers…”

“Hey, hey…” Gabriel held up his hands. “What is all this? You got this position because you trust the system. That’s all I need you to do. Just…receive you orders and do as you’re told. Don’t complicate things.”

Aziraphale reached for his bow tie, but there wasn’t one on his military uniform. He tugged at the jacket instead. “I really…I do trust the system, Gabriel. But. You must understand that humans are more…more complicated than they appear on paper. I have six thousand years of observing them, and, well, I had to make a judgement call. This is…I wish to at least try. As an experiment. Perhaps you will prove right in the end, but I want to see for myself.” He nodded. Gabriel hadn’t said anything. This wasn’t so bad, after all, except for the knot in his stomach, the way his lungs seemed to be filled with glass. “I will, of course, keep you updated on their progress.”

Gabriel looked at Aziraphale for a long moment. “I’ll tell you what. Let me think this over, ask the other Archangels, and I’ll get back to you tonight, alright?”

The tension Aziraphale had been feeling since his first retrieval started to dissolve. “Oh, oh thank you. Yes. That is – yes, please. Take your time and think it over.”

“I will. Look for a message tonight.”

Aziraphale took the message in what he was coming to think of as his office. It wasn’t an office, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was private – no one knew the spot but him – and it had a lovely view of a field with a tree in the middle of it.

With a little difficulty – modern technology still made him uncomfortable – Aziraphale managed to get the video to start playing.

Gabriel sat at his desk, smiling at an unseen camera. “Hello, Aziraphale. I’ve talked your proposal over with a few of the others. This is what we think.”

The camera cut to Crowley, chained to a wall, screaming.

There was already one knife buried in his ribs, and an angel was cutting into him again and again with another. Crowley screamed, over and over, on and on, jerking his arms against the chains that held him, kicking his feet against the wall.

It went on for two minutes.

Then the camera cut back to Gabriel, still smiling in his office. “Get rid of the extra humans. And next time your orders come in…don’t question them. At all.”

The device tumbled from Aziraphale’s fingers.

In six thousand years, he’d never vomited before.

Aziraphale made it most of the way to a nearby bush before his corporation took over, and he violently heaved out what felt like every meal he’d ever eaten.

When he was done – when he was empty – he collapsed on the grass, sobbing.

“Crowley!” He clapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming again, but the tears poured from his eyes.

It was so much worse than he could have imagined.

His clothes had been torn, decayed, clearly ripped apart and never replaced, his shirt little more than a collection of rags hanging from his shoulders. His hair that he always took such pride in, was long and matted and filthy, portions of it torn out. The blood, the feathers, the scars…

And the twisted, horrible look on his face…

“Crowley…I’m…I’m sorry…” Even to himself, the words sounded weak, pointless. He clutched at his stomach, choking on tears. “I thought…I really thought…I’m a fool. I’m so sorry…”

The entire plan had been a gamble, right from the beginning. To save Crowley, to save everyone, Aziraphale had been willing to risk anything.

But the stakes were too high, the rules kept changing, and he no longer thought he could win. He was starting to think there was no winning.

From the sky above, thick with clouds that never parted, came the sound of Trumpets, bringing him orders. Where to send the unwanted humans. Where to go to retrieve the next batch, who to take, who to leave.

He didn’t need to let them take over his mind to know what the orders were. He could hold back, keep his mind intact, make decisions for himself.

But making decisions was what had gotten him into this mess. And just at the moment, he couldn’t stand to be around himself.

The orders washed over him, and his mind drifted away.

Five years, eight months ago

“They’re loud,” Gabriel complained, looking over the crowd of humans.

“Yes, many of them are unhappy with the method of their arrival.” Aziraphale reached a hand towards one of the children, but she immediately scrambled away, screaming. “But in a little time, they will settle down. Already they have begun forming new families.”

Across the field, under a few trees carefully selected for the width of their branches and the cool shadows they cast, several teenagers sat with younger children in their laps, talking soothingly to them, making sure they ate.

Gabriel scowled. “What is that?”

“That? Er, dinner time?”

“No, that.” Gabriel stormed across the field, and the children scattered before him, vanishing into the sorts of hiding places only the very young can find. One of the teenagers didn’t move fast enough, and Gabriel caught her arm, spinning her back. “Right here. On her face. She’s one of them.”

Aziraphale looked at the Mark. It wasn’t hidden – they couldn’t really be hidden, not to angels, certainly not when located on the chin like that.

“But, she’s also one of ours. Mariana was on the list you gave me. She’s one of the best residents of New Eden, one of the few that…that trust me, that help with the others.”

“Let go of me!” The girl twisted in his arm, kicking at the Archangel’s shin. “Let go, you horrible, pestilent wanker, you miserable—”

“I admit she has a bit of a temper, but…she was chosen for a reason. She belongs here.”

Gabriel grabbed her jaw to quiet her and glared at Aziraphale. “When they take the Mark, they give up our protection. It’s in the oath they take. We can’t have damned souls in our new paradise, can we?”

“But…like many people, Mariana didn’t have a choice. She lived an exemplary life before, did so much to help others, and surely we can forgive—”

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel shoved her into his arms. “Get rid of her. Do not take any of the Marked, ever again. It really isn’t that difficult.”

“But…”

“And expect another message tonight.”

Aziraphale went cold, trembling. “No. No, you don’t have to…don’t do this…”

“I don’t want to have to be the bad guy here, Aziraphale. Just. Do your job as ordered.”

In a flash of light, Gabriel was gone.

“You…you won’t send me away, will you?” Mariana grabbed his arm. “Please. You said I could be safe here, you said you’d give me another chance! I did everything you asked!”

“You did. But a Judgement has been made. And now you must go.”

She shoved him away. “You can’t just throw me out! Where the Hell am I supposed to go? The Marked won’t take me back, not after I’ve been here. If you put me out there I will die.”

“You’re…you’re very resourceful, my dear. I’m sure…you’ll find a way…”

“You lying sack of shit!” All around them, faces turned, people emerged from where they hid every time the angels came close. There were hundreds of witnesses. “You call yourself our Guardian, you say you’ll protect us, but the world is ending, people are dying and all you do is sit here and redesign your fucking garden walls. Nothing you do is going to matter! Because this place is corrupt, and you are corrupt, and everything is—”

She vanished.

That night, Aziraphale curled up on the seat in his office, watching his communication device as Crowley screamed and twisted, chained to a table, boiling sulfur poured over him again and again. There was nothing Aziraphale could do, but watch, and suffer along with him, and cry.

“I don’t know what to do, my love,” he whispered. “I can’t help them. I can’t help you. I’m useless.”

On the screen, Crowley managed to catch his breath. “Fuck you, Gabriel!” He shouted. “Fuck all of you, fuck the angels, fuck every last one of—AAAAAAH!” Another wave of liquid over him.

Four days ago

“I don’t know how we managed to get so many troublemakers in New Eden,” Gabriel complained, walking away from the holding pen. “All of them were on the lists?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “Exactly according to the Plan.” This was much easier if he didn’t think of anything but the Plan.

“Well. Once we send this bunch out into the world, make an example of them, the rest will fall into line.”

“Of course. You are wise, as always, Gabriel.” He nodded to one of his squads to begin delivering the humans to the pre-selected locations. “They will need to be replaced, of course.”

“Fine, yes, I’ll send an updated list tonight, along with your other message. Price of failure, you understand. Nothing personal.”

Hardly a flicker crossed Aziraphale’s face. “I understand. How else will I learn?”

“Excellent. See? Consistent discipline always brings obedience. The same will work for the humans.” He glanced at the rapidly emptying holding pen, then scowled at the wall beyond. “Is that an extension? Did I approve that?”

“Just a small one. There was an issue with the drainage in that corner, and we needed to take care of it while there was still land outside to co-opt. Do you need to see the overall plans? I have a report prepared—”

“No, it’s fine. Whatever. Just a few more days, right?”

“I expect we will be quite busy. I’ve already added several new angels to the retrieval squads.” He nodded to Ishliah, who was marching with her new unit.

“Perfect. Yes.” Gabriel took one last look around, distracted. “Oh, one more thing. We’ve had reports of a gang of hundreds of humans moving south…”

Two hours ago

Aziraphale sat in his office, head leaning against the window, watching the video play again and again.

“What do you want? Just ask me a question, I’ll – AAAAH! Stop! Please, don’t – AAAAH!” Then, in the pause, “…Aziraphale…”

It looked like Crowley. It sounded like Crowley, his voice at least.

But Crowley never asked why they were hurting him.

And Crowley had never once, not in seven years, called Aziraphale’s name.

The other Aziraphale had confirmed it. Somehow, this wasn’t his Crowley.

Which could only mean one thing.

You didn’t need a replacement if the original was still there.

Aziraphale opened the door and stepped out of his office, onto the narrow road. He’d let the road itself become overgrown, the grass in the field grow long, but the Bentley he used as a private room was still in perfect condition, paint shining, waiting for the demon who would never return.

Aziraphale shut the door and leaned on it, feeling the hot metal against his head. The sun was still bright, here in paradise, while the rest of the world fell apart, while Crowley’s stars fell from the sky.

What did it even matter anymore?

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered, leaning against the car as if it was Crowley’s chest, one last time. “I thought…I really believed…” But it was too late now. Crowley was gone, forever. “I hope you were defiant to the end.”

He stepped away from the car, wiping his eyes, and spread his wings wide, humming a perfect, clear note.

Fifteen angels appeared around him. His most trusted squad. His best agents.

“There’s been a change in plans,” he informed them. “Our final course has been moved up.” A soft murmur ran through the gathered angels. “I know. But time is short. Hit hard. Take everyone. And then…we breach London itself.”

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madou-dilou · 4 years

Text

A Requiem for Opeli, a Dragon Prince fanfic (Viren x reader) (sort of)

Despite everything your parents may have said, you enjoyed attending mass.

In the shade of the semicircular vaults of the sanctuary, in the sweet coloured lights of the stained glass windows, in the golden halos of the candles, under the benevolent eye of the saints, surrounded by six chapels for the six sources, the atoms themselves seemed to be scented with incense. Carved in stone, the acanthus flowers and strange fruits decorated the column's capitals, reminding the lost blessing of Xadia. Everything felt so dignified, so humble, so respectful, so soothing, so reliable and so reassuring that it was easy to get carried away by the choir of the nuns. The wise sermons of the High Prelate Opeli, in particular, procured such fervour that you had more than once been caught raising your hand to your chaplain when the ringing of the coins gathered for charity was heard between the rows of benches. However, it was not your habit to pay for strangers, even less for beggars. The Katolis Crown was funding enough leprosariums and hospitals to make it unnecessary for you to contribute. It was always their Majesties Harrow and Sarai who completely emptied their purses filled with gold in the baskets of the Sisters. Even the royal bastard ... what was his name again? Calleon? Callus? Caramel? Chameleon? Anyway, even he did not fail once to loosen his little chubby hands.

Thus the honour of sharing the same bench as their Majesties paid for a similar purse on pain of incurring the royal contempt, and after Their generous contributions would clink no more than mountains of little dims, pennies and piecettes.

Led by the warm alto voice of the High Prelate Opeli, the choir of the nuns spread in pious solemnities.

Et lux fontes duce nos

Defendat nos temptationem

Salvos nos fac de tenebris

Nos, agni decidantur

Dimitte nobis debita nostra

Dona nobis gratia Hi autem de Xadia

On your right, Lady Vassileia yawned. You gave her a nudge:

"Ouch!" she protested softly enough not to interrupt the psalm of the High Prelate. "I wasn't even asleep!"

"Liar," you whispered to her. "Raise your head and listen."

Vassilea had a broken pout that her lace mantilla could not conceal:

"After our phenomenal bender last night, I wonder by what miracle I was able to drag myself to the sanctuary."

You could hardly blame her. In the euphoria that followed your tenth perfect execution of the complex Jarnac move, you had invited your fencing master and your best friend to celebrate the event with a glass of fine wine, a secular cuvée stung in the cellars of the castle in the provinces. One glassful had become a fifth, a tenth, a fifteenth, and to the wise and poignant melody of Who covets the lady the husband must kill had succeeded the bawdy and raucous notes of A sublimated dead for my rising athame, and this until very late at night.

"And not just any rotgut, please!"

"Some Sang-Réal! Heavens, are you insane!" cried Vassilea, seeing you go up from the cellars with two bottles under each arm. "But what will your parents say?"

"Nothing, as usual: they are buried in their books!" had you retorted. "The courses at the University take so much and so much time and energy from them, because who, yes, who will be able to deliver the little people from the sterile dogmas of Faith if not Their Nobility and Their Bookish Knowledge ?!"

The Royal University of Katolis had only opened its gates fifteen years earlier, - it was the late King Harrow's father who inaugurated it. Still, its fame was already reaching every corner of the Pentarchy. Students were taught about everything, aside from dark magic, of course. Mathematics, geometry, geography, politics, history, philosophy, astronomy, ancient draconic, neolandian, evenerian, delbarian, durennian, rhetoric, logic, literature, theology, accounting. Even corpse dissection was taught in this place, despite being legalised only twenty years before- the Faith had uttered loud cries, and it was necessary to double the theology courses to calm their whinings.

"After the hollering that the Faith gave when the Toreha was printed," joked your lord of a father, "no one wants to suffer its snivelling ever again !"

"Everyone has their own copy and everyone can now interpret it in their own way!" added madam your mother. "Obviously, the Faith does not want to lose its grip on consciences!"

"The Faith lost it a long time ago already" snickered sir, "and despite all High Prelate Opeli's booing and hooing to the Council. On the contrary, even, that only demonstrates the truth: if It struggles, it is that it's dying! But, (name), my darling", he added conspiratorially, "won't you shout it all over the place, hm? You know how much displaying scepticism is frowned upon. "

Only the nobles had the privilege of teaching at the Royal University of Katolis, for the moment at least. On the actions took for the education of the little people, to lower the cost of paper and to improve printing techniques, invented some two hundred years earlier, returned the credit for the meteoric increase in the number of students. Even if most of them came from the bourgeoisie and the nobility, and even if the printing works were strictly supervised by a censorship council which limited as much as possible the dissemination of pamphlets and more or less fraudulent wisdom, it was inevitable that this storm of knowledge would trickle over each layer of the population, from the marquis in his castle to the boggy swamp. The Toreha will kill the Church, they said, from murmurs to pamphlets to late drinking in manors, and Human will kill the old Gods of Xadia ...

The nuns' choir continued its hymn in the triforium:

Mors, et vita in morte Fontes nos in deliberationibus

De veteris Dryadalis Xadia quidem apostolos luminis

Accipient in humanitate

Et propitius ero peccatis nostris

Et pascam eorum magicae

Vassiléa yawned to unhook her jaw:

"And then what idea you had of placing us in the last row!" she whimpered as the High Prelate Opeli piously licked a finger to turn a page of the Toreha. "I can't see a drop of it. As if ancient draconic wasn't enough..."

"It's not my fault that we arrived late," you whisper with dignity. "If you had stirred a little earlier, maybe we would be ..."

" You little liar," whispered Vassiléa. "Look at me all these splendid attires. It is surely not to honour the Holy Sources that you took all this trouble ... You have always disdained mass, like your bookworms of parents. Well, I grant you", she added, her eyes bright with mischief," having a job requires a lot of energy ... "

"It isn't even a real job," you protested, feeling the shame rising to your cheeks. "It's generosity, and it has absolutely nothing to do with it."

Vassiléa ignored you royally and whispered in the same mocking tone:

"It is not in the first row that you have the best view, but in the last…"

"I beg your pardon ?"

"… you are not at mass for a priestess but a priest…"

"Vassilea!" you squeaked as silently as possible.

No priest had ever seen himself in the Holy Faith of Pyrenees. The white habit had always been worn by women. If men could regroup in monasteries or abbeys, it would be forever impossible for them to say mass and to pronounce even a single parody of the sacrament. Unless, of course, the reform project discussed for years by the Conclave finally comes to an end, but given the Prelates mulish brains, that was not for the next day ahead.

"You are our soul, our hope and our salvation, Lost sources of Xadia," babbled Opeli far ahead under the stone vaults. "You who were generous enough to give us life and teach us forgiveness and mercy, may you forgive the arrogance of some black sheep and bad apples ..."

"… a divorced priest moreover," persisted Vassilea, "willingly perjury about the vow of chastity, decked out in two brats, dressed endlessly in black and not in white, versed in goety, dissection, the dark arts, spells, occult practices and hmmm, anatomy… "

" Blah, blah, blah, I can't hear anything, the sweet voice of the High Prelate lifts me up in the divine light of the Sources ... and then all that is part of his charm..."

" ... whose arrogant air makes him barely bearable to almost half the yard ..."

" Not even true..."

"… whose endless snoring invariably prevents the whole court from hearing mass ..."

" Vassilea!" you exclaim loud enough to attract a "hush!" imperious from this old cold-fish of Lord Thibalt, sitting in front of you.

"… and whose huge ivory cane that he drags everywhere," replied Vassilea when the gargoyle had turned, "most certainly serves to compensate for a little something."

You suddenly turned your head to your right. Fortunately, the handsome, oh, so handsome talker, who even in his snoring sleep could not leave those, oh, so concerned features, had heard nothing of it. His daughter, on the other hand, a frail brat about seven years old, stuck to her father, looked up from her enormous book and threw a glance at you and your companion, so cold that you both shivered.

"Dirty little mongrel of a chick-crow," you thought, and you tightened your silk mantilla around your carefully braided bun.

Rumours and speculations concerning the kinship of Lord Viren's two children (Soren, nine, and Claudia, seven) were rife at court. They had been assigned for example the High Prelate - she and Viren bickered with such ardour that it could not have happened something between these two. His legendary aversion to clerics added to the strict prohibition of the latter from carrying offspring only made the thing spicier: The Dove and the Crow, what a beautiful heading for a song! Amongst the candidates were also Lady Esmeraldine, because she had black hair and green eyes like Claudia and, as the Queen's servant, some contacts were far from improbable; Erichtoë, a luscious Durenian servant who was said to know something about dark magic; and many others ... Even Queen Sarai had not been spared by hearsay. You had just arrived at the court when this stupid idea had crossed your mind. In your eyes, there was no doubt that a passionate threesome stood at the top of power.

« I don't know where you get these wacky ideas from," your mother sighed when you told her about your suspicions, "because it's common knowledge that the know-it-all crow Lord Viren divorced just two years ago."

You had shrugged. This version was not very compelling. Or, perhaps mentioning the difficulties opposed by the Faith to this still new practice ... but that was not worth the salt of the love triangle.

"And then," continued your mother, "It is enough to look at the queen to see that she refrains from strangling our Grand Mage as soon as he pretends to approach his majesty."

"Precisely," had you insisted, "Is this not proof of bold jealousy between these three? The tension is, at the very least, overwhelming. They spend all their days stuck together. They've known each other for years. And the little prince gets along wonderfully with Soren and Claudia, and he has green eyes like her, and ... "

"Listen, my dear," sighed your mother again, for she spoke only with a sigh, "you better get down to something useful. Or upping your nose with a rubber hose, because in case it escaped your piercing gaze, which I very much doubt, I try to analyse this most boring theology work for my next conferences. "

"But come on, mother ..."

"Frankly," she continued without even listening to you because she never listened to you, "I thank the printing press every day for existence. I can hardly imagine the despair of the unfortunate copyist who had to spend whole years on this crystal-waving nonsense ... "

Whether their progenitor was the fairy queen, a whore from the Suburb of Pillows or a laboratory test tube, little Soren and Claudia were both brought up at court. Despite their promptitude to sneak into the kitchens to raid the jams, to giggle at jokes of a very bad taste or understood only by themselves and to enrage the castle's guards with their tricks; each of them was promised to more than prominent positions.

By the-Sources-knew what bewitchment, Lord Viren had even obtained a very express favour from Their Majesties, however renowned for their intransigence: Soren could miss Sunday Mass (a privilege that the whole court envied him) to participate in the training of the royal guards. Or to parasitise, depends on your allegiance. Claudia meanwhile was required to attend sermons - and as her father's daughter and rightful heir, did not listen to a word of it and always brought enormous books to pass the time. Without willing the fantasy as far as becoming their second mother, you would readily see yourself as a benevolent and affectionate but firm chaperone. A veneer of manners would not do them any harm, did you dream in the secret of your room, and then their father would undoubtedly be delighted to see them find back a semblance of balance.

"Love your enemies," announced the High Prelate far to the other end of the nave, "do good, and lend without hoping for anything. And your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the All-Mighty Sources, for They are good even for the ungrateful and for the bad. "

Her Holiness licked her finger again and turned a page of her copy of the Toreha. Someone in the audience yawned loudly. Several had begun to doze. Viren jumped, fell asleep again, snored more and Claudia horned a corner of her book.

You reached into your pocket and felt the silk of the honey candy bag. Without a doubt, Soren and Claudia would appreciate this little something special. It was a well-known fact that every child loved honey candies. Viren, on the other hand…

Your hand came to curl around the second gift. You did not have to dig your brains too hard to find it, this one: it was the magic oyster from which came out the few precious pearls that you had sown here and there during this memorable evening, two weeks ago ...

Of all the balls celebrating the arrival of spring, Lord Viren had deigned to present himself to only one. However, he distinguished himself by his ease. His tall stature and haughty manners frightened the dancers, but you had not been intimidated. Oh, you still had chills just by thinking of the way his arms tightly surrounded you, hugged you gently as he spun you in music and a storm of silk.

"You dance marvellously, my lord," you had extricated yourself.

"You too, madam."

Then, silence. You had the most considerable difficulty speaking, breathing and thinking while you were in the arms of the High Mage. Not to mention that you have to unscrew your neck to be able to look it in the eyes. I dance with him, he talks to me, touches me. You could perceive the warmth and the firm muscles of his long body through the black brocade.

"Are you still so charming, or is it my lucky day?"

"Is it your rule to speak while dancing?"

You were not going to let yourself be dismantled for so little. You get a new sense of ease in the rhythm of the flute, the viol and the tambourine before responding.

"Only if I consider my partner as worthy of this honour."

Oh, he was worth all the trouble in the world, actually. Particularly draped in this half-cape of black brocade stapled in purple, in this tunic embroidered with sand arabesques, which espoused its movements so gracefully. His beautiful grey eyes narrowed:

"You are too kind. In comparison, my ignorance makes me feel ashamed. I cannot even remember your name."

Had you been a sort of chippy, you would have taken offence and left him there, but you only managed to emit a charmed chuckle as the music sent you to rotate each on its own:

"Oh, your remarkable brain must simply take note of too many things essential to the prosperity of Katolis ..." You accepted his gentle hand around your fingers. "... to think of cluttering up such trivialities."

He laughed, visibly flattered. What a charming laugh he has, you thought.

"Imagine, madam, a demarcated space that you divide in half. You can always divide the two halves into two other halves, and so on."

You were well aware of this paradox. Your parents had bent your hear with it for years; but now that it was spoken in such a low voice, with such gallant inflexions, you found in it all the charms of the world. What could be more normal, coming from a dark mage, and therefore an expert in charms, bewitchments, spells and incantations?

"So this is how memory works, in your opinion: infinitely expandable?"

Viren drew you close to him, and you found that this slightly interested expression suited him perfectly.

"Would you be so fond of paradoxes, my dear ..."

"(name)," you confessed, and you felt yourself blushing even more.

He looked thoughtful, but the two of you jumped at the cry from the pastry buffet: "Hey, father! Try "Cumulonimbus "!". You looked over your partner's large shoulder and the dancing couples to see the two chick-crows, Soren and Claudia, who, spurting out a storm of jelly tarts crumbs, giggled and exchanged elbows.

"Uh, I beg your pardon me, my lord," you stammered, disconcerted, "but ... what did your son just say ?"

Viren then rolled his eyes in the most exasperated expression you had ever seen:

"Something stupid, I'm afraid."

You separated for a few measures before coming back into each other's arms. Oh, those severe features... you felt like his solid arm around your waist was about to leave you, for all your beautiful assurance had abandoned you. Dirty brats ... a pox on them and their incomprehensible bellowings!

"Madam, tell me something."

You thought you heard it wrong. "I beg your pardon, my lord?"

"Tell me something." he went on, in the satisfied tone of someone who had spared his little effect. "If what you say is true, I will give you the next dance. Otherwise, I will leave you there."

You were propelled on a small primitive candy pink cloud while the viol flew away in the treble. The magic of the Sky-Wing elves surged through your human veins, and that of the Star-Touch sparkled your eyes. It was one of your parents' favourite paradoxes. Viren made it easy for you. He rolled out the red carpet for you, he tore the breach apart for you. To believe that he really wanted to feel your hand pass through his well-groomed hair, caress his sharp cheekbone, flatter his so baroque beard, follow the outline of these oh-so-concerned eyebrows, pass the alliance around this ring finger…

Just as you were about to mischievously pronounce the magic formula "You are going to leave me there", the music abruptly slowed down and stopped. The dancers were already bowing, including yourself, and looking up, Viren looked at you with such a contemptuous air that you were left breathless. Oh, but what made me wait so long? you vexed yourself, watching his black half-cape fall gracefully as he walked away towards the-Sources-knew-where, probably towards the cheese buffet, or pray her Grace Sarai to honour him with a dance, or interrupt the last marvellous idea of his brats. He took my silence for hesitation and foolishness. Oh, I ruined everything ...

And today was the perfect opportunity to correct the situation.

Having taken great care to your hair - carefully twisted by your maid in a braided updo in elven fashion, your outfit - purple silks embroidered with red, gold brooch and bear arms, and your perfume - you had tried one half a dozen before setting your sights on a rose fragrance; in short, you had carefully put all the odds on your side.

Of course, you were under no illusions: your good looks were not your only asset, far from it. Lord Viren was known for his unconditional love of libraries, being buried in books very late at night to the point that he had lost the use of beds to prefer that of the oh so uncomfortable benches of the Sanctuary. So your hand caressed the little volume in your pocket with all the kindness in the world. Enigmas, paradoxes and insoluble problems, headlined the cover page. And, calligraphed just below by your quill pen: "except perhaps for you." You had hesitated with "except, for you, perhaps", or "for you, except, perhaps", and to finish off with a "my lord", which gave a choice: "except perhaps for you, my lord "," except, my lord, perhaps for you "," My lord, except, for you, perhaps "and "for you, my lord, except, perhaps.". Then you realised that the formula would probably be too full to suit the close friendship to which you aspired, which made you set your sights on the first attempt. A close friendship, and maybe more. You simply added your first name and tenderly blew on the still fresh ink. Just your first name: there was no doubt that the dance was still as vivid in his memory as it was in yours.

"The Sources teach us that love is given without expecting anything in return," babbled the High Prelate under the vaults once the nuns had finished their pious fourths, fifths and sixths, "and that one can't buy love. They brought Xadia out of nothing, overwhelmed it with their generosity and their benevolence, expecting nothing in return for the spread of this love and this ... this ... "

You were drawn out of your flowery thoughts by the rustling of unsuccessfully turned pages, followed by annoyed mumbles. You and Vassilea unscrew your necks together: far away at the other end of the nave, Opeli was fighting with her copy of the Toreha:

"This ... forgive me, my lords, but this page ..."

She licked her finger, pinched the paper, muttered insults to the fool who had used this new printing ink which made the vellum stick, removed her richly decorated copy from the varnished ebony lectern. In the audience, there were wonderings, whisperings, chuckling.

"Opeli, perhaps I can provide you some help…"

"No, your Grace, you, slurp, you are very kind, but ... but ..."

You risked a glance to your right. If Viren still hadn't quit his sleepiness, you found that Claudia was exceptionally agitated, all of a sudden. Her back was shaken with convulsions, and her little legs were frantic in the incense dust. Look at her fidgeting on her bench. It's as if she had the devil in her.

"Is it me or ... is she just dying of laughter?" you murmured, but Vassilea did not hear you, as busy as she was babbling with her neighbour in front.

Should I have the sleeper? You caught yourself thinking you might wake him up with a kiss. However, you were torn from your reveries by the sound of a cough that emanated from the other end of the nave. Increasingly puzzled glances were exchanged. People left their drowsiness, people quit their reverie, people stopped cleaning their nails or their noses. The concerned survey flew from look to look and from mouth to mouth. Voices and coughs rose under the vaults of the sanctuary. Some rose from their benches and gathered around the gaping High Prelate; however, Queen Sarai had removed her her hood, opened the collar of her cassock and started to give her massive pats on the back while His Majesty cried out to let her some space. The little prince started to cry.

"No, kof, sire, I assure you ... I swear that everything is, kof, kof, perfectly, huurng... perfectly fine!" assured the High Prelate, whose borborygmus intensified until nausea.

"Breathe, Opeli, just breathe, that's it! Oh, you, just move away, you scavengers !"

However, the movement began to gain assistance, including nuns. Useless prayers were muttered, inutiles advices were shouted. The benches and the triforiums began to bleat like the lambs from the Toreha. Half of them were standing, wringing their necks for a better view. The other, whether driven by the opportunity to seize or seized themselves by fear, rushed casually through the central alley and the aisles towards the portal of the sanctuary with one idea: be with the devil as soon as possible.

"(name), come on! Get up!" peeped Vassiléa, grabbing your shoulder. She was apparently part of the second category.

It would have been wise to follow her, but you were as if you were screwed to your bench. And this little chick-crow choking on laughter. Poison, did you understand. Poison on the very pages of the Toreha.

You bound from the bench and grabbed Viren's shoulder. He was the only sleeper who hadn't woken up.

"My lord, get up!" you bellowed. "We have to go!"

"What are you doing? Just drop him!" squealed Vassilea before joining the silk tidal wave.

Faced with Viren who continued to snore, you hesitated to give him a slap. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Claudia suddenly calming down. This child is mad, you thought, stark raving mad. From the chick-crow's lips pulled out something strange, which you did not understand. Then her eyes opened on a purple glow. An abyss of purple. You jumped, wanted to silence her, but could only remain crucified on the spot. So that's what Dark Magic is. When, in Claudia's eyes, a void of darkness replaced the purple, making her look like a fly, you knew this was the end. The Romanesque portal of the Sanctuary was wide open, and daylight pierced the nave on all sides. There was no one left under the vaults. Except for the convulsing, gaping High Prelate, the royal family, yourself, Lord Viren and ... this little witch ...

You close your eyes and prepare to die. Ô Six lost Sources of Xadia. In the name of the Sky, the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, the Earth and the Ocean. Amen.

A few seconds later, you opened an eye.

"Ho!" resounded the voice of the High Prelate, whose inflexions no longer foreshadowed imminent death. "I'm finally breathing!"

You swivelled and watched their Majesties pick up Opélie, hair undone, the collar wide open, the silver tiara crooked and the hood in disorder, but the skin as white and smooth as usual. "May the Sources be praised -burp… ha!"

To the cry of surprise echoed a ridiculous sound ... but so characteristic.

"Crôaaa."

Then, silence.

"Is it ... a toad?" you heard. Her Grace Sarai sounded just as lost as you were.

You had a thrill of horror. You had a holy terror of toads.

The king did not reply. Opeli, back on her feet, watched the beast hopping on the pavement of the sanctuary.

"What is... Six Sources, I..."

Hup ! A second one bound out from her lips. This is but a dream, you told to yourself, your nails clenching into your flesh. Nothing but a very strange dream, and I'm about to wake up.

"What the fuck is that..." her Grace Sarai muttered, back to her old soldiery level of language.

The little royal mongrel bent down, trembling, and picked up one while Opeli was getting her clothes together with a frenetic hurry. "It's a toad, mommy."

No one said a word, except the beasts which were going on with their grotesque wanderings under the high vaults in the sepulchral silence. From jump to jump, the little gargoyles were sauntering under the great saints' stone eyes. The incense was struggling to hide the smell of carrion with rose from the kings asleep under the marble. The candle's tiny glims almost had something pathetic. The dawn's daylight was splinting through the vitrals and the portal wide open like a wound. It was drowning the pious penumbra in a chasm of white light. Those little monsters appeared only clearer.

The stones had echoed nothing but nun's canticles, ever, but neither the Sources nor the gigantic wrapped praying statues rose to smite the outrage. The minuscule blasphemers were jumping and croaking in the holy light with complete impunity.

"Crôa."

You took a few steps in the centre alley, towards the altar, but you stopped, unable to move forward.

King Harrow seemed to be about to open his mouth when two chuckles rose into the nave, very close to you, two high-pitched laughs, two children's laughs, joined by a third one, lower and more discrete. Apparently, Lord Viren had woken up... and was laughing with Claudia while the other crow-chick, Soren, arose from behind a pillar, spitting out all his lungs by dint of laughing. He was the one who laughed the loudest.

But wasn't he supposed to be paraziting the royal guards' training? you heard yourself thinking, while Opeli stammered, straightening her cassock's collar :

"Lord Viren, will you, at last, explain to me what's going on in there ?"

As he didn't answer, to busy to retain a laugh, she rose her voice :

"As if you weren't satisfied enough with disturbing the mass..."

She put her hand to her mouth, to her stomach, bent over in two: wasted effort. A third toad leaps again from her pious lads, redoubling the hilarity of the crows family. You were speechless. To see Viren laugh so bluntly, he whose features were known as nothing but deeply thoughtful, exasperated by the stupidity of others or at best the vaguely contrite or amused grin; that was at least as extraordinary as the presence of toads.

«Opeli, say something religious." suddenly said Sarai, to the astonishment of sane people.

"I beg your pardon?" Opeli said «, and a fourth beast came to complete the croaking concert.

The crows chortled again. The din through the transepts, the triforiums, the naves, the crypts, the chapels, it aroused so much and so much echo that it seemed sanctuary's walls were going to crumble, collapse and fall too.

"My lord!" intervened the queen, and her voice resounded so dryly in the nave that the laughter died immediately, "Would you be kind enough to explain to us the reason for this masquerade. That you invariably spend the whole mass snoring because you are not surprised by your own grandeur, we can accept; but I will not tolerate your preventing ... "

"Oh no, your Grace," he replied. He had risen all at once, to his full height, and had even engaged his mage scepter by banging it against the marble paving which resounded loudly under the vaults; you were amazed by the coldness dryness of his deep voice. "Believe me, I had no idea what was going on today. I swear."

"The word of a dark mage? The big deal - burp!" spat the High Prelate as, summoned by the concept "Word", a fifth beast came to join its comrades. The king glared at her, and she remained silent:

"In this case, how do you explain this masquerade?"

"Mascewhat?" repeated the blond chick-crow with a perfectly bewildered expression.

You suddenly found back all your senses and your reason. Your hand was raised, and your index finger was planted on Claudia, whose face was ravaged by a barely contained giggle:

"She did this!" you denounced, and the resonance of your own voice surprised you.

The look that Viren gave you pierced your heart.

A look to blast Justice herself.

Gazing around, you realised that even their Majesties were frankly disapproving. The betrayal was all the more burning. Here you were who found yourself making common cause with the sanctimonious clap-trap spitter...

Soren stood in front his sister, his fists clenched, ready to fight, but the little girl released the hand that her father had put on her shoulder:

"It was Soren's idea, but I am indeed the prime contractor!" she squealed in a tone of immeasurable pride. "Well, the powder on the book, it was me, I had read it in a novel! It took me weeks to finish this selenic powder, especially since it had to stick to the pages without being seen! "

Your gaze came to rest on the Toréha, which had fallen from the lectern to crash on the ground. "After the bawling with which the Faith stunned us when Toreha was printed two hundred years ago, no one wants to undergo its whining again. Everyone has their copy now, and everyone can now interpret it in their own way!" Although only a printed copy, this book was made according to the rules of art. The illuminations were each hand-painted. The cover alone, crimson leather inlaid with precious stones, was a real work of art. Most of the pages had fallen from the fall, and the glue would render the copy forever unusable.

You had never been very fond of books, but this truth shook you.

"And we also had to put some in the holy water stoup so that everyone receives a little!"

"Ah," muttered the mage, "so that's why you insisted that I dip my hands in it…"

"Yes, and then a spot of dark magic so the prank more would be even more credible -"

"A prank?" remonstrated the High Prelate. "A prank! I almost died, your Majesties, you are witnesses! This child tried to poison me! You will not tell me that I am over-principles!"

You nodded with firmness.

"These ... creatures are from the selenial-shadowed magic," Viren explained in a low voice as if he was lecturing some of complete bonehead, "commonly known as "moon magic", which places them under the seal of illusions. Not only visual ones but also tactile, olfactory and auditory."

He put his staff against the bench with a thousand precautions - the object did not echoed less loudly, then he hunched his endless spine and bent his knee to grab one of the little blasphemers, then straightened up and began to pat it with the palm of his hand:

"In other words, these toads are only the product of a gigantic collective hallucination, and the Your Holiness's convulsions are only the natural reaction of a human body solicited from within by primal magic. It was nothing but an illusion, my lady, which means that at no time were you in danger of death. "

A dismayed silence followed the declaration. The infamous beasts pursued their a capella which resounded under the pious crossheads of warheads. Never had they seemed so real.

You took a deep breath, wiped your hands in your fine gown, bend down in a silk frill and overcame your repulsion to catch one of those. The coldness and the roughness of the pustular skin, the fixedness of the globular eyes, the absence of muzzle, the greyish colour, the viscosity of the drool which flowed in your hand. By the Sources, what a horror ... a grimace of pure disgust distorting your features, you closed your eyes, then your fist, suddenly. You open your eyes, your hand: nothing.

Your empty palm was stared at, then the abandoned benches and triforiums as well.

The idea that the Sanctuary had been deserted, emptied and ridiculed by the fault of mere chimaeras was almost simply inconceivable.

No conversation, no essay, no pamphlet, no book or rant had ever laid bare such a decay. The printing might have dug its grave, but it was simply inconceivable that the collapse would take so little, so little ... A shiver ran through your spine. The Toreha killed the Church, and the Human killed the Sources.

Opeli put her hand to her mouth, bur nothing came out.

"However," said Viren, who still continued to caress his toad, in a softer voice, a fascinated and even admiring tone, "it is the first time in my life that I have seen such tangible illusions and - "

"You, you will have plenty others occasions to show off, but right now, stop this," interrupted Sarai as little Claudia displayed a smug smile of pride. "You two," she went on to the address of the two chick-crows, stop all this shi ... pandemonium. At once."

As if with regret, Claudia pulled out a collar from under her collar and pulled out a shrivelled toad leg from her bag.

"Wait a minute!" Opeli interrupted her incisively. "I hope you don't plan on using dark magic in here! "

"Well, madam," said Viren, "it's either that or you spend the rest of your life spitting illusions and chimaeras. Oh, silly me, that's already the case ..."

"I BEG YOUR PARDON?! -burps! ha, you dirty beast!"

"Crôaaaa!"

"Enough, both of you!" growled the king, in the tone of someone who felt the headache coming.

The endless squabbles of the High Mage and the High Prelate were an integral part of court life, and they were regarded with a particular mixture of fun and lassitude, a bit like watching a brat always laughing at the same joke. Today, however, did not seem in the mood to tolerate their tussles. His Majesty, moreover, had not finished:

"Among all that you could have offered your father," he belched in a tone where pierced like a kind of mischief, "did your choice absolutely had to fall on this farce?"

"Hmm?" said Viren, stopping to caress the toad, which landed very unsightly on the marble paving. "What did you say ?"

You suddenly remembered the weight clogging your pocket and bit your lips.

Viren frowned. Opeli would have proposed to him that he did not look more dazed.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FATHER!" bellowed Soren, without taking into account the resonance of the sanctuary which made the audience wince.

"Did you enjoy the show?" asked Claudia, pulling on the velvet doublet. "You had a lot of fun, huh, right?" Then, as he didn't answer, "Did you ? Yes, you did, did you ? Huh? Huh? Huh, right?"

"Right, dad! Right! Dadadadadadadadadadad -"

Your hand tightened around the small book. Insoluble enigmas, problems and paradoxes, except perhaps for you.

"Dadadadadadadadadaaaaaad -." The croaks of toads and crows, they made quite a duet.

A true Requiem... and not only to your blended family dreams.

Your eyes turned to the High Prelate. She was just as flabbergasted as you were, judging by her stillness and her gaping mouth. The stone seemed to have swallowed her. Petrified. A new statue for the nave, you thought, holy, helpless, pious and terrified facing the march of Progress. This wasn't just the white dove reached by the toad's drool. This wasn't just some sort of priestess carrion over which crows would have a feast on among her fellows dead villagers. This was the terror of the woman of the sanctuary in front of the lead letters, of the silver tiara in front of the race of time, the terror of the priesthood in front of the changing souls.

As you pinged in a whirlwind of silk, perfume, incense, discomfiture and disarray towards the portal of the sanctuary, you heard his Majesty inquiring with all the good nature of the world:

"Maybe you could stop the illusion now?"

"Yes," added her Grace, "it seems to me that you had enough fun for today. Or, wait, maybe you can tinker us some illusion of High Prelate, now that you've broken this one ? "

"Sarai!"

"What? I'm not right? Look at that, darling, it's not moving anymore. Oh, Opeli, please shut that mouth, or you're going to attract flies. And then, come on, smile a little, hey ! It's not the end of the world !"

"Ah, well, it seems you also broke your father, here he is petrified on the spot. They pair well, aren't they? Viren, if I say "history book"," melting camembert" or "crème brûlée torched with whiskey", will you find back the use of your smile or your legs? Aaaah, there, you see!"

"Oh, what a happy, united family... Aaaaaaw, you are so cute when you are happy, Viren !"

"Actually, no, you should stop smiling, it becomes really unhealthy. "

"Crôa, crôa, crôaaa."

"Callum, drop this notebook and this pencil! And you two, stop with these toads, that's enough!"

The last thing you heard before closing the gate on the tomb of the Age of the Gods was the voice of Viren:

"Oh no, Claudia."

Then: "Leave them a little longer, will you?"

And there you go ! : D

Well, I warned you that it was a somewhat special Viren x reader ...

But, I mean, look at the scene where Viren takes power Napoleon style (the one where he is a thousand times sexier than all the scenes of Aaravos put together): everyone completely ignores Opélie to acclaim Viren the Savior ... Okay, everyone is terrified of the elves, all right, but that's not enough to ignore the Church, the law and traditions. There had to be some deeper reasons. Same for Harrow's communism, moreover, he is so enlightened for an absolute monarch of divine right that it can only come from an intellectual broth having macerated for decades, even centuries ... And then look all these huge libraries throughout the castle! Look at how nobody cares about Opeli throughout the series!

I hope you enjoyed the dance in the arms of the dark, tall and handsome advisor ;) and that seeing the Magefam reunited and happy put a little balm in your heart during this complicated period. Fluff, fluff: 3

Reviews are appreciated :3

#viren #opeli #viren x reader #fanfiction #tdp fanfiction #tdp world-building #tdp viren #reader #religion in TDP

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thefloatingstone · 5 years

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Would you please make me a list of your rcommended comics(books or web-series any genre original content or fanworks)

Oh that’s a god one! Thank you so very much 💙 Let me see what I have on my shelf and on my hard drive. (I don’t know if I’ve ever made a list of my favourite comics before or not here on tumblr?)

in no particular order;

1: Usagi Yojimbo by Stan Sakai

I dunno if it ever really shows or not, but Japanese historical settings are something I’m really into! I think it’s one of those dormant interests that flares up every now and then. Anyway. Usagi Yojimbo has basically been tied for my favourite comic for over 10 years now. It’s a series of stories, both short and with longer arcs, following the character of Miyamoto Usagi (roughly based on Miyamoto Musashi) travelling around the country of Japan in the early 1600s as a Ronin after the lord he served was defeated and killed in battle. Usagi, being one of his samurai, is not killed in the same battle which, considering his lord was killed, is a massive disgrace in historical Japanese culture. Basically along the thought of “If your lord died and you didn’t you must not have fought hard enough to protect him.”

Anyway, the comic is both a history lesson on Edo period Japan, a travel diary, a slice of life comic, a Chanbara, an action comic, some times even a horror or ghost story, a tragedy involving unfulfilled love and lost families, a lesson on traditional Japanese Yokai and other mythology, and now and then high fantasy.

10/10. HIGHLY recommend. The author Stan Sakai is also a wonderful person I’ve had the pleasure to meet a few times at Comic Con. And considering he like... remembers who I AM despite being an extremely famous comic artist... I dunno. I have endless respect for the man and he’s shown me great kindness in the past.

Also you know... black and white comics. They’re my jam, yo!

2: Bone by Jeff Smith

I have no idea if I even have to say anything because Bone might just, without hyperbole, be the greatest comic ever drawn.

At 1300+ pages drawn over the course of 10 years, the story starts out as a cartoon, full of hijinks and fun adventures and jokes and very slowly, reality starts setting in, things get more dangerous, the stakes get higher, the bad guys much darker. And by the time you reach book 3 of the 9 book story, you’re suddenly in a story of the “epic” variety. Not in the internet slang term but in the actual definition of the word.

You have massive wars between men and monsters, you have clashing cultures and ideologies, conflicting motivations and goals, and of course saving the world.

And it manages to do so without you EVER feeling “Excuse me but this was a cartoon book about funny jokes. This shift in tone is really weird and doesn’t work with the cartoony characters.”

It just blends and grows beautifully. And has remained as my favourite comic for... *counts* lord... 14 years now.

The book was recently released in a new colour version in case you prefer hat, but I honestly recommend “The Brick” single volume black and white version. It’s cheaper, first of all, but also I cannot express how masterful the blacks and whites of Bone are. They’re essentially Watterson level.

(also Jeff Smith is ANOTHER comic artist who is just like... the nicest person. Like REALLY nice. He’s been kind to me on occasions in that “you really didn’t have to be that nice” kind of way)

3: The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck by Don Rosa

It’s published by Disney officially... but the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck is essentially a fancomic. The only reason its not is because Don Rosa became SO GOOD at making duck comics Disney hired him to make them officially and he was SO GOOD at it became one of the most important Duck artists just after Carl Barks (the creator of Scrooge) himself.

The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck is a comprehensive biography of Scrooge McDuck’s life, not just made up by Don Rosa, but pieced together from Carl Barks’ own comics where he would have Scrooge make passing mention to events in his past or people he met. Don Rosa essentially took all these passing remarks and mentions and drew out a timeline, starting with Scrooge age 13 leading all the way up to his reunion with his family when Donald as an adult met up with him again.

It starts with Scrooge, from a poor family in Glasgow in 1877, boarding a ship for America to seek his fortune. We follow him through the years as with each chapter, he comes close to being rich and successful, only for it to fail or fall apart at the last minute, until, eventually, we see him catch his break and become the obscenely rich and successful person he’s fought and worked and bled so hard to be.

...and then the comic continues. And we see him lose himself. Greed, the constant need for MORE money and MORE success keeps going. The need to show HOW rich and successful he is takes over, until we see him and his family fall apart. And the comic echoes Citizen Kane as Scrooge realises the best time of his life was when he was seeking riches, not after he finally succeeded.

And then Donald and his nephews appear, and Scrooge’s life gets a second wind. His lust for adventure flares up again, his need to seek fortunes and treasures burns as strong as ever. And he keeps going.

The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck is a story about looking for your place in the world and fighting to create it with your own two hands, but it’s also about how you should think hard where you place your value in life, and it’s never too late to re-direct course and try again.

There is also “The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Companion” which is a collection of stories that didn’t fit in with the original comic and would have disrupted flow. Basically like how a fanfic will have oneshots related to a larger story

Also, the producer of the band “Nightwish” created a soundtrack to accompany the original comic as a sort of “What If” in what he imagined the story would sound like if it was made into a movie

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4: Cucumber Quest by Gigi D.G. ( @ggdgart )

A newer comic I stumbled upon which has skyrocketed into being a fave and I can already tell, that’s not a position it’s gonna relinquish. Cucumber Quest is a more cartoony and comedic story than the previous comics on this list. But that by no means makes it of any less value or dulls the moments that this comic decides to punch you in the gut with emotions HARD.

The art and colours are glorious and something I hope to study so I can better my own art hopefully, and the writing and humour is of a calibre that I just know I could not replicate it if I even tried. Full of puns, absurdism, awkward jokes and a whole lot of FEELINGS, It manages to make me both laugh myself into a coughing fit as often as it makes me yell “OH NOOOO!!!” when something dramatic happens.

The story follows our main character Cucumber, a put-upon out-of-his-depth wizard-to-be who is tasked with saving the world from the evil Nightmare Knight who has been summoned from his thousand year slumber by an evil sorcerer who wants to take over the world (as you do). With him is his little sister, the sword wielding Almond, who is WAY more into this “being a hero” thing than he is (and probably better at it too) as the duo make friends and travel to the various kingdoms to defeat the Nightmare Knight’s lackeys, working their way up to fighting the Nightmare Knight himself and sealing him away once more!

That all sounds.... really straightforward, doesn’t it? Well... that’s what everybody else in the comic thinks too. ...Shame that real life is never easy and straightforward.

From evil henchmen that start crushing on cool “Good Guys” with cool swords, good guys who don’t REALLY want to hurt the bad guys because they don’t seem so bad? To cool good guys with cool swords suddenly learning that being in danger is not as much fun as it sounded when they started this. To big evil final boss bad guys who are just tired of all of this...

What’s also awesome is the entire comic... all OVER 800 PAGES OF IT... is completely free to read online! But you can also buy physical copies of the first 4 volumes in book form to support the author!

http://cucumber.gigidigi.com/cq/page-1/

I HIGHLY recommend this one too! It has canon LGBT characters! It has found family plots! It has scary bad guys that just need a hug! It has magical girl transformations! Literally anything you could want is in this comic. Including emotional wrecking angst! Did I mention FEELINGS???

(I couldn’t pick a single page so here are 3 random ones without context. Seriously almost EVERY page is so good I struggled very hard to choose)

5: The Property of Hate by @modmad

Hey. Do you like fantasy worlds made of imagination? How about protagonists with grey morality who act like super primand proper gentlemen when they’re actually huge nerds? How about reluctant “Well I guess I’ve ADOPTED you now you annoying gremlin” adult-kid relationships? How about puns? How about abstract and colourfull character designs? Or saving the world?

The Property of Hate is Modmad’s original comic that they’ve been working on a few years now. it follows our lead character, RGB or “Problematic Mary Poppins” as I like to think of him, as he asks a young child if she’d like to be a hero and help him save his world? When she agrees, he takes her to a fantasy land... completely NOT preparing her for what she’s signed up for. The story then follows the duo through the abstract and shifting world as RGB slowly divulges information on what exactly our Hero has to do to save the world. It turns out it’s a lot more complicated and messy than merely “beat the bad guy” or anything like that.

Not to mention it seems this fantasy world has its own rules of reality and dangers. Emotions and abstract thoughts have real physical form here, and something like an “idea” can quite literally run around and create havoc, while something like dreams can fuel or destroy, and emotions like grief can cause irreparable damage.

Our Hero also learns RGB himself is a lot more complex and messy than he first appears. Seeming to be a good person trying to do good things (despite being a little stand offish and rude at times) but seems to also be carrying a past and the weight of having done some very very bad things “for the greater good”. And our Hero, as well as we, the readers, start wondering how much we should trust him, even though, just like our Hero, deep deep down we just know we WANT to trust him. And maybe he needs saving just as much as the world itself does. Even when he’s at his scariest and... not quite himself.

The Property of Hate is also available online completely for free. Modmad does have books for sale but I believe it’s on-demand or something along those lines. Please feel free to message them here on tumblr and they are happy to chat to their readers and interact.

http://thepropertyofhate.com/TPoH/The%20Hook/1

I think I’ll leave it there despite meaning to do 10 at first because this is already EXTREMELY long.

Hopefully you found something that seems interesting! Let me know if you decide to check any of these out and whether you ended up liking them or not! I’d love to hear your opinions.

And thank you for indulging me <3

(I’m trying to remember to add my ko-fi link to all longer posts like this I make. Especially since I keep forgetting ☕️Buy me a Ko-fi ☕️ )

#lucymelonbun #C-Puff answers #Long post #image heavy #Comics #comic recommendations #comic recs #I added a read more to this post but tumblr ate it so whatever #thank you for letting me ramble about stuff I like #I feel better <3

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justauthoring · 6 years

Text

Third Times A Charm // Gilbert Blythe

Hi! So one of my favourite romantic tropes is person A secretly leaving notes for Person B, even if the notes aren't that romantic (e.g. they just wish the person a nice day!). I was wondering if you would be able to do a prompt like this for Gilbert Blythe? (Maybe as a bonus, Reader figures out pretty quickly he's the one leaving her notes, but they don't say anything b/c they don't want it to end?) Much thanks and have a lovely day!!

Requested by: @libraryoffandomsuniverse

Author’s Notes: I PROMISE YOU ALL THAT TOMORROW I WILL BE UPLOADING REQUESTS OTHER THAN MY GILBERT REQUESTS! It’s just... i’m half-way through season two and I adore Gilbert so much.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Word Count: 1,810

The first time you received a note, you hadn’t had a clue who it was from.

You’d been returning to your desk after lunch, your lips curled up into a bright smile as you laughed at something Diana and Anne had to say. The moment you sat down, the first thing you noticed was the neatly folded note left on top of your books and such.

It had promptly baffled you.

You had glanced around the room, in hopes that maybe your wandering eyes would tell you who it was that had left you a note. But alas, they did not and you were left clueless as you peeled the folded note open.

And in six simple words, the note read; your smile brightens up the room.

You felt your heart warm at the words, despite not knowing who the author was. Truthfully, it was one of the kindest things anyone had ever said to you and you felt your cheeks flush gently in response. You would’ve stared at the note longer, in amazement, if you had not heard Mr. Phillips enter the room.

Quickly making sure no one had seen the note - God forbid Anne found it and her romantical tales of your secret admirer begun - you tucked it into the pocket of your dress, smiling softly to yourself.

You failed to notice the set of eyes on you, and the smile that grew on his lips when he saw your reaction to his note.

The second time you received a note, you were just as confused.

It was a few days later since the first one, and truthfully after never receiving one the day after, you hadn’t expected one to come again. But you were pleasantly surprised to see another note, neatly folded of course, on top of your things once again after returning from lunch.

You sat down in your seat next to Diana with a new-found excitement, barely noticing the curious gaze Diana held on you as you peeled the note open. Once again, with thirteen simple words, the note read; I love the way your eyes sparkle when you’re doing something you love.

It was a little longer than the first, but you didn’t mind. Rather, you found yourself even more flattered than the first time.

You gasped, though, a moment later, watching as the note was practically pulled from your hand. You spun, wide eyes falling on Diana as she grinned brightly at you. “What’s this?” She teased, raising a suspecting brow.

“No-Nothing!” You stammered, reaching for the note. Diana pulled it out of your grasp before you could, as you hastily glanced around, desperate for no one to know of your ordeal.

Reaching forward once again, you pulled the note from Diana’s hands, tucking it safely in the pocket of your dress. “It’s nothing,” you repeated, voice more assured. Diana didn’t press the matter, but you knew your red cheeks were plain obvious.

The third time you received a note, it wasn’t hard to find out who it was sending you them.

Everything was laid out the same. Just, this time it hadn’t taken a few days for a new note to arrive. Rather, you received the third letter the next day, and you found yourself positively delighted.

You quickly sat down, failing to notice Anne who was making her way over to you, Diana by her side, as you peeled open the note. Part of you wondered if you should wait until you got home, in fear that you’d be caught by Anne, or Diana again. Or worse, Billy or Mr. Phillips.

But your heart couldn’t handle the wait.

So, opening the note hastily, but carefully, your wide eyes scanned across the words written beautifully across the page, giddy.

I love the way you smile when you’re with your friends.

It was almost too similar to the note left previously, but it still made your heart flutter.

“Oh! How romantical!”

Almost like the day before, the note was pulled from your hands with no chance to stop it. This time though, it wasn’t Diana, but rather Anne. And, you knew immediately you’d never hear the end of this.

“Girls,” she exclaimed, bright, twinkling eyes reading across the words written on the page. “Y/N has a secret admirer.”

You set your head in your hands, leaning against the desk adjacent to you with a deep sigh. You remained silent, refusing to answer the girls (mainly Anne’s) million questions about when this had started, if you had any clue who it was and how many you received. Plus, many more.

Instead, you watched as your precious note was passed around each girl, giggles of excitement leaving their lips, before your eyes slid across the room. Just before you turned back around to your desk, your eyes caught sight of Gilbert just turning forward himself, a small, cocky smile on his lips as his cheeks flushed slightly.

And then it clued in. Gilbert Blythe was your secret admirer.

The notes kept coming, until you had a rather large collection of them all.

When you’d found out Gilbert was your secret admirer, the better, more sensible part of you, told yourself you should tell him you knew. See where it lead things and get to the bottom of it - why was he leaving you these notes? And what did he gain from leaving you sweet, little compliments day after day, wasting paper?

But the truth of the matter was, you rather enjoyed them. You didn’t want them to end, so you kept your mouth shut. In fear that if you told Gilbert you knew, he’d stop sending them.

You let it carry on for days.

You tried your best to keep them hidden from the other girls, but they weren’t plain stupid. Once they figured out they came in everyday, the girls would race to your desk after lunch before you could even reach it yourself. More often then not, they read the note before you even had the chance to you.

It took some of the fun out of it, but you’d distract yourself but subtly glancing Gilbert’s way to gauge his reaction. It seemed he disliked the idea of the other girls reading it before you as well, but couldn’t say anything. Given that he was, well, your secret admirer.

It continued on like that for a while. You hid the notes from your parents, stashing them in a prized box kept under your bed. You weren’t sure of the reaction your parents would have, especially your mother, if they saw the many notes left for you, varying degrees of compliments left on them.

It almost became like a routine.

Until, today.

It had been like any other day originally. The girls and you would step outside, or create a little hut for yourselves for lunch, blocking yourself from the sight of the boys. At first, the conversation had always been about what kind of note you’d receive that day, since they always seemed to be different. But now, as days passed, the conversation was kept diverse until lunch was over.

The girls sprang up faster than you could, as always, and Anne in the front as they raced to your desk. You’d trail behind them, waiting patiently for your turn to see your note as you listened to them giggle and Anne tell stories of romantic endeavours.

But, it seemed Billy was tired of being kicked to the back, unable to see what the fuss was about. When you finally managed to clean up the little area you’d all made, you’d heard Anne angrily call Billy’s name and turn to see him snatching the note out of the very girls hand.

“Who’s this for then?” He asked, raising a brow as he turned to the group of girls. His eyes slid across from them to you, and it seemed your flushed cheeks and wide eyes gave him his answer. “It’s for you?” He questioned, insinuating that the idea was impossible.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, frozen in place as Billy took daring steps your way. You didn’t move nor say anything, as he continued to tease you. “Y/N Y/L/N has a secret admirer?”

You knew the bright grin on his face was anything but good.

Turning to the rest of the boys, and the select few that were his friends, he laughed, them, of course, joining him. “Who would even want to be your secret admirer?”

You felt your eyes fall shut, embarrassed by the laughs the echoed around the room.

It wasn’t until you heard; “I would,” did you finally open your eyes once again.

Your lips parted, eyes widening in bafflement as you saw Gilbert stand up from his seat at his desk. Crossing his arms over his chest, he raised a challenging brow at Billy.

Billy looked like a mix between threatened and surprised; “you’re the one sending Y/N these notes?”

“Everyday for the past two weeks,” he confirmed, without a care, nodding his head. Your eyes never left Gilbert as he begun walking, stepping over to your side, almost protectively. “So, I suggest, you leave Y/N alone.”

Billy’s cheeks flamed in embarrassment, but he said no more, but turned to leave, only to be interrupted by Gilbert; “and i’d like the note back.”

Almost as if on a walk of shame, Billy stomped back over to GIlbert, handing him the note he’d left for you, before stalking back over to his desk. And then, in front of the whole class, Gilbert turned to you with one of those smiles only he could accomplish, extending the note to you.

You accepted it with albeit shaky hands, brushing back a strand of lose hair behind your ear. “Thank you,” you mumbled, voice barely audible. Though, you did manage a small smile, of gratitude, up at Gilbert. Or rather, for him.

Gilbert nodded, turning to leave, but just before he did, he whispered; “your smile really is something else.”

You were left stunned for a moment, standing at the front of the class with the note grasped in your hand tightly. It wasn’t until Mr. Phillip’s walked in, thankfully five minutes late, bellowing; “return to your seat, Y/N!”

You followed without hesitation, tucking your head down as you made your way back to your seat. You ignored the sniffling you heard from Ruby behind you, the glare you received from Josie and the star-stricken expressions you received from both Anne and Diana. And you knew Gilbert was staring at your back, smiling at you just like he had before.

But you didn’t pay mind to that, and focused on Mr. Phillips listen, somewhat embarrassed.

Though, nothing could hide the smile still left on your lips as you gripped onto Gilbert’s newest note with deep care and appreciation.

let me know what you thought? remember, reblogging always helps!

requests are open for gilbert blythe!

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irelise · 5 years

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the yew tree 2.1/?

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw, mutant revolutionary, ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier and claiming his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

(the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

part one now on ao3!)

Warnings for this part: Child abuse, corporal punishment, sexual exploitation of children Rating: M Word count: 2159

The mansion in Westchester is huge. Father had told him that he had lived there when he was a baby, but Charles had been too young to remember any of it. Now, peering out of the automobile as they roll up the driveway, craning his head back and back and back to see the full height of the mansion, Charles doesn’t know how he could have forgotten it.

His rooms are huge too, nothing like the dormitory he had shared with five other boys back in the boarding school in Britain. Everyone is so nice to him when they help him get settled in. Charles knows they feel sorry for him. Poor thing, they repeat, over and over again. Losing his father so young, and now his mother too! He’s only six, isn’t he? A shame, a shame… Poor thing, he’s holding up so well, what a dear!

Charles feels awful. He knows he should be crying because Mother had just died and now both of his parents are gone, but no matter how hard he tries, the tears just won’t come. He doesn’t so much as sniffle. The staff think it’s because he’s a brave lad.

The truth is, he just hadn’t known Mother at all. He misses his friends and instructors at boarding school more than he misses her, and isn’t that just an absolutely wretched way to feel? He’s an awful son.

The wretched feeling stays for the next few days. Everyone is nice to him, but nobody knows what to do with him. He doesn’t have a nanny or a governess or a tutor and he’s bored.

“Do you know when I’ll be meeting my uncle?”

The servant bringing him breakfast looks uncomfortable. “No, sir. But Mr. Marko is a busy man, I expect he’ll call for you when he’s ready.”

The call doesn’t come until another few days later, and by then Charles had absolutely had enough and had snuck out to explore the grounds. He’s messy and mud-splattered when the servants find him and march him to Uncle’s study, and Charles gulps. He’s in big trouble.

It’s the first time he’s met Uncle even though Uncle is his “legal guardian” now (whatever that means), and despite the nervous butterflies tumbling around in his stomach Charles can’t resist a curious peek at his uncle. He’s a tall, broad man with dark hair and a coarse beard to match, dressed very respectably. He seems angry, but also…satisfied? Charles fidgets before he remembers his manners and gives a proper apology.

Surprisingly, Uncle doesn’t give him a thrashing, verbal or otherwise. He only looks stern. “We’ll have to find some way to keep you occupied so you don’t get into more trouble,”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Call me ‘sir’.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

It’s just not right for that Marko to take control of the estate – he’s not even a proper noble, is he?

And what is he thinking, dragging poor Young Master Charles all the way back from England? No, it’s not right at all.

Shh, back to work, don’t let him hear you. Haven’t you heard what he did to that kitchen boy?

***

Two days later, Charles decides Uncle is a big liar. He promised to give something for Charles to do, but there’s nothing, just Charles idly lying on top of the rug and counting – for the fifth time – how many threads are woven into the faded golden tassels. He gets all the way up to three hundred and a bit this time and he’s proud of his focus.

Grumpily, he pulls himself up to his feet. His nails are chipped from picking at the walls and floorboards, and his eyes feel dry and itchy. He couldn’t stop himself from crying earlier, hating how it feels like he’s been put into time-out forever for no reason. He misses school. He misses having things to do.

Charles scrubs at his eyes. He knows he shouldn’t, but there’s nobody here to stop him, so there.

And if there’s nobody to stop him…

There’s a huge tree right on the edge of the estate, with the widest, thickest trunk Charles had ever seen. He sneaks there now, entertaining himself by trying to scramble up the rough bark and the thick and gnarling branches. If he climbs up high enough, could he see all the way back to Britain?

It’s almost sunset by the time anyone comes. Charles gives his best smile to the harried maid that had come to collect him, and some of the annoyance radiating off her fades.

“Oh, look at you,” she fusses at the dirt and bark gathered under his nails and the soil smudged all over him. “Come along, Mr. Marko wants to see you right away.”

“Is he mad?”

The maid looks at him as if to say When is he not mad? “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Young Master. Come on, now! Oh, it’s a shame I don’t have time to get you cleaned up some…”

Uncle is waiting for him in his room. After the maid leaves, Uncle has him strip off his shoes and socks, his pants and underwear. Charles bites his lip as Uncle bends him over the bed, a slender switch in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He’s always been a good boy, not the sort to get the switch despite the occasional bit of schoolyard mischief.

The switch comes down with a loud crack.

For a moment, there’s nothing – then Charles wails as heat and pain flare to life against his bare buttocks. Uncle doesn’t say a word, just brings the switch down again and again, until Charles is cringing and sobbing and scrambling onto the bed, trying to escape.

It hurts. It burns.

Uncle follows him. This time the switch lands across his bare feet, and when Charles kicks, Uncle only pins him down.

It goes on and on until Charles can only lie there and cry. His face is hot with pain and humiliation. When Uncle finally lets him go, he curls up into a tight ball, head swimming. He wants to go home. He wants to be in class again, wants to be with the other boys even though they’re all older than he is since Mother had him shipped off to boarding school early. He wants to go home.

“Stop that,” Uncle says severely, and Charles flinches. Shaking, he rubs at his face, telling himself to be brave. He sits up, but it hurts so much that he just crumples down to lie on his side again, his eyes still hot and sticky.

“Better,” Uncle says. He sets the switch on the bedside table where Charles can see. “I’m making arrangements for you to have a private tutor. My late sister – your mother – had said you’re a bright boy, so I only want the best for you. In the meantime your aunt has kindly volunteered to help you keep up with your reading. Now, what do you say?”

“Thank you, sir,” Charles whispers, making sure his enunciation is perfect despite the way his voice wobbles.

Uncle nods. “We’ll begin tomorrow.”

***

He hurts all over the next morning. There are raised red marks on his foot, and he’s sure his buttocks look just as bad. The maid clucks as she helps him dress. “No more sneaking off from now on, Young Master, or you’ll get it even worse next time.”

“Okay.”

Every step hurts as the maid brings him to the other side of the mansion. They don’t go to Uncle’s study or Aunt’s rooms; instead, the maid takes him to a performance hall of some sort. There is a circular stage in the middle of the room that is slightly raised off the floor, and surrounding it is a ring of benches. The place is small and intimate.

Uncle is on one of the benches, and Aunt is waiting for him on the dais. It’s the first time Charles had ever seen her. She’s a small woman, pale and fashionable, seated gracefully on a cushion on the floor. In front of her is a reading lectern placed low, close to the ground.

“Go sit by your aunt, Charles.”

Charles obeys. It’s a relief to get off his feet. His aunt doesn’t give him so much as a glance as he settles down next to her, and he shrinks away slightly, thinking of Mother.

“Eyes on the book.”

There’s a book on the lectern. It’s a picture book, the sort they use to teach kids their basic words. It’s opened to show a picture of a man and a woman, with the corresponding words written next to the picture in beautiful calligraphy.

“Excuse me, sir,” Charles says politely, “but I know these words already.”

“Read them.”

“Man. Woman.” His aunt turns to the next page, and Charles frowns when he sees the words are incredibly simple again, the sort he learnt years ago. “Hair, eye, ear, nose, mouth.”

“No,” Uncle’s voice cracks down like the switch. “Slower, boy. Listen to how your aunt does it.”

Aunt flicks back to the first page, never once glancing at Charles. “Man. Woman.” It’s the first time Charles had ever heard her speak. Her accent is much more like Charles’ British accent than Uncle’s American one, and even though she’s only saying two simple words, she reads them like they’re art, her enunciation perfect, a precise and deliberate pause in between the words. Even the expression on her face changes, growing warmer and more alive.

Charles likes it. It feels like a performance. He sits straighter (wincing a little), watching her as she recites the next words, so different from his rushed and bored reading: “Hair. Eye. Ear. Nose. Mouth.” Her voice dips up and down, melodious.

“Try again,” Uncle tells him. Charles copies his aunt as well as he can, and even though he knows he sounds boyish and unpractised next to her, it’s enough for Uncle to nod. Charles beams.

They move on. Charles ends up learning a few new words, nape, shoulderblades, pelvis…

And then –

“P-penis,” he stutters, face bright red. He knows it’s not the sort of word you’re supposed to say out loud even though it had always seemed a bit silly to him. “Va…ah, um.”

“Vagina,” Aunt says.

“Vagina,” Charles squeaks, still red. Aunt turns to the next page, but the illustrations remain the same, beautifully detailed brushstrokes in coloured ink showing Charles more than he had ever seen before. His cheeks feel like they’re burning, the heat spreading all the way up his ears and through the rest of his body.

“They’re, um, the same pictures? As before?”

Uncle interrupts. “We can have different words for the same things, don’t we? Have you heard of the word ‘synonym’ before?” He nods to Aunt. “Continue.”

“Member. Cock.” Aunt’s red lips purse around the word, a perfect round shape. “Prick.” One elegantly manicured fingernail traces along the illustration. “Glans. Shaft. Scrotum.”

Uncle looks at him expectantly. Charles tries to swallow down the squirmy feeling that makes him want to fidget and look away from the book. He’s always been a good boy – sweet boy, people had said, eager to please, so he begins: “Member…”

***

How can I do this? He’s only a boy.

How can I do anything else? If I leave him, if he casts me out, I have nowhere to go…

It’s only words. It’s not so bad.

Better than being on the street.

He’s only six.

***

Things improve. He reads a lot, always with his aunt and uncle, and he’s learning plenty of new words even though the squirmy feeling never goes away completely. He knows vaguely that there is something not-right, but how does he even talk about what’s happening? Who would he even tell?

Only words, he thinks to himself, staring at the golden tassels of the rug. It’s not so bad. Stop being a baby.

Uncle gets him the tutor he had promised and Charles throws himself into his studies happily. For the first time since coming to the mansion, he wakes up each day with something to look forward to.

“How have you been settling in, Charles?” Uncle asks him one day.

Charles looks at his hands. There’s a bit of ink smudged there, from where he’s been practicing his letters earlier. There are books scattered all around the room, with more arriving by the week since he’s going through them so fast and Uncle had generously agreed to buy whatever books he needed. Outside, it’s bright and sunny, and his tutor had promised they could study outside later.

Everything’s good. It’s nice and wonderful and all those other synonyms for good.

“Are you happy here, Charles?” Uncle prompts him. The switch is still on his bedside table. In another wing of the mansion, his aunt waits.

“Yes, sir, thank you for asking.”

***

help me help me help us help me

(next part)

#cherik #xmfc #my writing

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