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literary-illuminati · 3 months

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An Arbitrary Collection of Book Recommendations

(put together for a friend out of SFF I've read over the last couple of years)

Cli-Fi

Tusks of Extinction and/or The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler. They’re pretty different books in a lot of ways – one is a novel about discovering a certain species of squid in the Pacific might have developed symbolic language and writing, the other a novella about a de-extinction initiative to restore mammoths to the Siberian taiga – but they share a pretty huge overlap in setting, tone and themes. Specifically, a deep and passionate preoccupation with animal conservation (and a rather despairing perspective on it), as well as a fascination with transhumanism and how technology can affect the nature of consciousness. Mountain is his first work, and far more substantial, but I’d call it a bit of a noble failure in achieving what it tries for. Tusks is much more limited and contained, but manages what it’s going for.

A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys. In a post-post-apocalyptic world that’s just about figured out how to rebuild itself from the climate disasters of the 21st century (but that’s still very much a work in progress), aliens descend from the sky and make First Contact. They’re a symbiotic civilization, and they’re overjoyed at the chance to welcome a third species into their little interstellar community – and consider it a mission of mercy besides, since every other species they’ve ever encountered destroyed themselves and their planet before escaping it. Awkwardly, our heroine and her whole society are actually pretty invested in Earth and the restoration thereof – and worried that a) the alien’s rescue effort might not care about their opinions and b) that other interest groups on earth might be more willing to give the hyper-advanced space-dwelling aliens the answers they want to hear. Basically 100% sociological worldbuilding and political intrigue, so take that as you will.

Throwback Sci Fi

Elder Race by Adrian Tchaikovsky is possibly the only thing I’ve read published in decades to take the old cliche of ‘this generic-seeming fantasy world is actually the wreckage of a ruined space age civilization, and ‘magic’ and ‘monsters’ are the remnants of the technology’ and play it entirely straight. Specifically, it’s a two-POV novella, where half the story is told from the perspective of a runaway princess beseeching the ancient wizard who helped found her dynasty for help against a magical threat, and half is from the perspective form the last surviving member of a xeno-anthropology mission woken out of stasis by the consequences of the last time he broke the Prime Directive knocking on his ship tower door and asking for help. Generally just incredible fun.

Downbelow Station by C. J. Cherryh is, I think, the only thing on this list written before the turn of the millennium. It’s proper space opera, about a habitat orbiting an immensely valuable living world that’s the lynchpin of logistics for the functionally rogue Earth Fleet’s attempt to hold off or defeat rebelling and somewhat alien colonies further out. The plot is honestly hard to summarize, except that it captures the feel of being history better than very nearly any other spec fic I’ve ever read – a massive cast, none of them with a clear idea of what’s going on, clashing and contradictory agendas, random chance and communications delays playing key roles, lots of messy ending, not a single world-shaking heroes or satanic masterminds deforming the shape of things with their narrative gravity to be seen. Somewhat dated, but it all very impressively well done.

Pulpy Gay Urban Fantasy Period Piece Detective Stories Where Angels Play a Prominent Role

A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark stars Fatma el-Sha’arawi, the youngest woman working for the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities in Cairo, a couple of decades after magic returned to the world and entirely derailed the course of Victorian imperialism. There’s djinn and angels and crocodile gods, and also an impossible murder that needs solving! The mystery isn’t exactly intellectually taxing, but this is a very fun tropey whodunnit whose finale involves a giant robot.

Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk is significantly more restrained and grounded in its urban fantasy. It’s early 20th century Chicago, and a PI is doing one last job to top off the nest egg she’s leaving her girlfriend before the debt on her deal with the devil comes due. By what may or may not be coincidence, she stumbles across a particularly gruesome crime scene – and is offered a deal to earn back her soul by solving the mystery behind it. Very noir detective, with a setting that just oozes care and research and a satisfyingly tight plot.

High Concept Stuff That Loves Playing around With Format and the Idea of Narratives

Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente is a story about a famous documentarian vanishing on shoot amid mysterious and suspicious circumstances, as told by the recovered scraps of the footage she was filming, and different drafts of her (famous director) father’s attempt to dramatize the events as a memorial to her. It’s set in a solar system where every planet is habitable and most were colonized in the 19th century, and culturally humanity coasts on in an eternal Belle Epoque and (more importantly) Golden Age of Hollywood. Something like half the book is written as scripts and transcripts. This description should by now either have sold you or put you off entirely.

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez is the only classic-style epic fantasy on this list, I believe? The emperor and his three demigod sons hold subjugated in terror, but things are changing. The emperor, terrified of death, has ordered a great fleet assembled to carry him across the sea in pursuit of immortality. The day before he sets out on his grand pilgrimage to the coast, a guilt-ridden guard helps the goddess of the moon escape her binding beneath the palace. From there, things spiral rapidly out of anyone’s control. The story’s told through two or three (depending( different layers of narrative framing devices, and has immense amounts of fun playing with perspective and format and ideas about storytelling and legacy.

I Couldn’t Think of Any Categories That Included More Than One of These

All The Names They Used For God by Anjali Sachdeva is a collection of short stories, and probably the most literary thing on this list? The stories range wildly across setting and genre, but are each more or less about the intrusion of the numinous or transcendent or divine into a world that cracks and breaks trying to contain it. It is very easily the most artistically coherent short story collection I’ve ever read, which I found pretty fascinating to read – but honestly I’m mostly just including this on the strength of Killer of Kings, a story about an angel sent down to be John Milton’s muse as he writes Paradise Lost which is probably one of the best things I read last year period.

Last Exit by Max Gladstone – the Three Parts Dead and How You Lose the Time War guy – could be described as a deconstruction of ‘a bunch of teenagers/college kids discover magic and quest to save the world!’ stories, but honestly I’d say that obscures more than it reveals. Still, the story is set with that having happened a decade in the past, and the kids in question have thoroughly fucked up. Zelda, the protagonist, is kept from suicide by survivor’s guilt as much as anything, and now travels across America working poverty jobs and sleeping in her car as she hunts the monsters leaking in through the edges of a country rotting at the seams. Then there’s a monster growing in the cracks of the liberty bell, an in putting it down she gets a vision of someone she thought was dead is just trapped – or maybe changed. So it’s time to get the gang together again and save the world! This one’s hard to rec without spoiling a lot, but the prose and characterization are all just sublime. Oddly in conversation with the whole Delta Green cosmic horror monster hunting subgenre for a story with nothing to do with Lovecraft.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh is a story about aliens destroying the earth, and growing up in the pseudo-fascist asteroid survivalist compound of the last bits of the human military that never surrendered. It stars a heroine whose genuinely indoctrinated for the first chunk of the book and just deeply endearing terrible and awful to interact with, and also has a plot that’s effectively impossible to describe without spoiling the big twist at the end of the first act. Possibly the only book I read last year which I actively wish was longer – which is both compliment and genuine complaint, for the record, the ending’s a bit messy. Still, genuinely meaty Big Ideas space opera with very well-done characterization and a plot that does hold together.

#meta #book recommendations #sff #sharing this mostly so I don't lose it next time my laptop dies #and also hey why not

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epitomereally · 6 months

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Celestial Navigation by @sabrecmc

18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

An absolutely gorgeous story of learning to love yourself, even when you feel like you don't fit in & that you grew up wrong. I'm so happy to have gotten to bind this mammoth work for Sabre & as a gift exchange for @mourningmountainsbindery (who bound me this beautiful copy of Astolat's Let the River Run—JUST LOOK AT THAT COVER!).

Also to anyone who has @ed me lately (looking at u, em @powerful-owl & tacky @tackytigerfic particularly) & I've been derelict in responding, here is WHY.

This has been the longest binding project I've undertaken, both in page count and in time. My original message to Sabre was on March 16th—can't decide if I want to use the laughing or crying emoji here—and the colophon says I made the book in April 2023 (which was when I started typesetting, maybe). I had been randomly perusing dying videos on Youtube in bed on a Saturday morning, as one does, and came across a video showing how to spiral tie-dye. I IMMEDIATELY had a design premonition of the full design for this fic as a two-volume set, planted into my brain wholesale by the binding gods. I learned many new techniques throughout the process (edge painting, edge trimming/sanding, tie-dying/dyepainting, embroidery, typesetting meta from tumblr which copy-pastes with the worst goddamn formatting in the world, kill me now). Overall, alternately extremely painful & wonderful, and I'm extremely proud of this set.

Design-wise, I went whole-hog with the scifi stars theme. Endpapers are recolored versions of the star charts from the Apollo 11 mission:

Title page & chapter titles are both rips in the galaxy:

Epigraphs both star-themed:

Some more glamor shots because I'm so proud 💕

8.6 lbs // 3.8 kgs worth of books (~3000 total pages) 🥰

Celestial Navigation is also INCREDIBLY popular, and Sabre has been incredibly generous answering asks on her tumblr + writing additional one-shots in the universe. There is also a veritable volume of fanart. I was so inspired by seeing @robins-egg-bindery copy of ********, with its appendix of fanart & meta, that I promptly copied them.

fanart redacted because lots of the artists are no longer active on tumblr but just know i am ECSTATIC about the amount of art in these books

Lastly, I love how @clovenhoofbindery includes their 'Illustrator mess' with their bind posts, as a behind-the-scenes look into the wild process of designing these books. I don't actually have an Illustrator mess for this book (the chapter titles & title page pretty much came in one take), but I do have a DYING MESS. It took me sososo many tries to figure out how to get the dye to look how I imagined in my head. I ended up 'dye painting' instead of tie-dying in the end, but my inbox is always open to chat hand-dying/tie-dying/dyepainting (or what I did differently between any of these attempts). Numbers are the dying attempt.

Last process shot: I hand-dyed variegated linen thread to match the colors of the bind, which ends up being incredibly difficult to see on the finished bind, but was super fun while I was sewing!

Materials:

Body font: Kepler

Title font: Compaq 1982

Chapter number font: aliens & cows

Endpapers: recolored versions of the star chart used by Michael Collins during the Apollo 11 mission (archived at The Smithsonian)

Bookcloth: dyed using Dharma Trading Procion Fiber-Reactive Dyes

Title page and chapter headers: designed in Photoshop using the Ultimate Space brush pack by jeffrettalyn on DeviantArt

Metallic embroidery thread: Cosmo Nishikiito thread

I would dye for this embroidery thread. It is LIGHT YEARS better than the classic metallic embroidery thread from DMC: much easier to work with & much more sparkly. Literally so eye-catching; it truly doesn't translate to photos.

Paint for edges: Daniel Smith watercolor tubes in Iridescent Sunstone and Prussian Blue

Note: these are GORGEOUS watercolors. The color is so saturated and strong and beautiful BUT I don't think I'd recommend watercolors for edge painting. They went on very differently depending on the grit of the sandpaper I used for the edges + they sometimes bled into the pages + they had to be set with fixative, which then stuck the pages together.

#blood sweat and TEARS into this bind #and now it is DONE my god #stony #stony fanart #celestial navigation #my fanbinding #posts i actually wrote

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 8 months

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💜 Queer Book Releases Coming Out September 2023

🦇 Trying to read queer all year? Make sure to check out these queer September releases!

❤️ Forget I Told You This by Hilary Zaid 🧡 The Otherwoods by Justine Pucella Winans 💛 The Lonely Book by Meg Grehan 💚 Every Star That Falls by Michael Thomas Ford 💙 Fly With Me by Andie Burke 💜 Wound by Oksana Vasyakina 🖤 Into the Bright Open by Cherie Dimaline ❤️ A Shot in the Dark by Victoria Lee 🧡 Straight Expectations by Callum McSwiggan 💛 Herc by Phoenicia Rogerson 💚 Deephaven by Ethan M. Aldridge 💙 The Mossheart’s Promise by Rebecca Mix

💜 Those Pink Mountain Nights by Jen Ferguson 🖤 The Borrow a Boyfriend Club by Page Powars ❤️ Ryan and Avery by David Levithan 🧡 What Stalks Among Us by Sarah Hollowell 💛 Your Lonely Nights Are Over by Adam Sass 💚 The Meadows by Stephanie Oakes 💙 A Hundred Vicious Turns by Lee Paige O’Brien 💜 Monstrous by Jessica Lewis 🖤 OKPsyche by Anya Johanna DeNiro ❤️ Cursebreakers by Madeleine Nakamura 🧡 The Death I Gave Him by Em X. Liu 💛 Thank You for Sharing by Rachel Runya Katz

💚 You, Again by Kate Goldbeck 💙 Godkiller by Hannah Kaner 💜 The Society for Soulless Girls by Laura Steven 🖤 Mammoths at the Gates by Nghi Vo ❤️ A Market of Dreams and Destiny by Trip Galey 🧡 A Crown So Cursed by L.L. McKinney 💛 In the Ring by Sierra Isley 💚 How to Find a Missing Girl by Victoria Wlosok 💙 This Spells Disaster by Tori Anne Martin 💜 The Free People’s Village by Sim Kern 🖤 Idlewild by James Frankie Thomas ❤️ Glitter and Concrete: A Cultural History of Drag in NYC by Elyssa Maxx Goodman

🧡 Cleat Cute by Meryl Wilsner 💛 Mall Goth by Kate Leth 💚 The Siren, the Song, and the Spy by Maggie Tokuda Hall 💙 This Dark Descent by Kalyn Josephson 💜 A Nobleman’s Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel by KJ Charles 🖤 The Problem with Gravity by Michelle Mohrweis ❤️ Alex Wise vs. the End of the World by Terry J. Benton-Walker

#books #reading #book releases #book blog #booklr #batty about books #battyaboutbooks #queer book recs #queer fiction #queer books #queer #queer community #read queer all year

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agentrouka-blog · 1 month

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The rulers of Tarth are called "the Evenstar" and "Evenstar" is the famous nickname of Arwen in LOTR. Does this mean that Martin is pointing out Brienne and Jaime as the Arwen and Aragorn of ASOIAF ? Since Brienne will eventually become lady of Tarth after the death of her father Selwyn. But Brienne is also a blonde warrior lady like Eowyn. Should either parallel be seen as meaningful ?

Hi there!

I am not a LOTR expert by any stretch of the imagination, so I wouldn't be able to give you a credible answer on the finer details of that nickname within those books.

(I do, however, doubt that it's meant to imply a parallel between this couple and Jaime and Brienne, mainly because they don't share literally any other parallels with these characters either jointly or separately, that I can think of. Eowyn comes closer, but that doesn't make Jaime any kind of Aragorn.)

An interesting I thing I found after a cursory search is that Arwen got this nickname in reference to the world as they knew it nearing its end. If that's true, then that's rather melancholy, but it would fit with the general theme in ASOIAF of upheaval, endings and renewal, best summed up by Leaf, one of the children of the forest:

The gods gave us long lives but not great numbers, lest we overrun the world as deer will overrun a wood where there are no wolves to hunt them. That was in the dawn of days, when our sun was rising. Now it sinks, and this is our long dwindling. The giants are almost gone as well, they who were our bane and our brothers. The great lions of the western hills have been slain, the unicorns are all but gone, the mammoths down to a few hundred. The direwolves will outlast us all, but their time will come as well. In the world that men have made, there is no room for them, or us." (ADWD, Bran III)

This imagery of the setting sun is matched by the concept of the Evenstar and both of these indicate endings.

Something often overlooked is that Cersei shares this imagery, too.

All hail his lady mother, Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of the Realm." (AGOT, Sansa V)

Also in reference to Tywin, her father:

By the time they left Maegor's Holdfast, the sky had turned a deep cobalt blue, though the stars still shone. All but one, Cersei thought. The bright star of the west has fallen, and the nights will be darker now. (AFFC, Cersei I)

Warden of the West, in the westerlands, the Lannisters in all the glittering golden light are still associated with the finality of the sunset and evening.

The evenstar and the morning star both actually refer to the same thing, though: the planet venus, all depending on its visibility in the night sky. It was also historically referred to as "lucifer", which can be translated as "lightbringer", the name of the sword forged by Azor Ahai, which is a hugely ambivalent tale in the books and resonates with both Dany's dragons and several special swords named in the series. The powerful weapon as a mark of a hero or a knight is a central theme in the series, and GRRM is begging us to look closer at what is truly heroic and what is merely a show of power or conceit.

An interesting twist here is that Brienne's House and island of Tarth is equally ambivalent. Their arms are sun and moon both. And their seat has an interesting predecessor associated with a significant knight.

The Sapphire Isle, as some call it, is ruled by House Tarth of Evenfall Hall—an old family of Andal descent that boasts of ties to the Durrandons, the Baratheons, and more recently to House Targaryen. Once kings in their own right, the Lords of Tarth still style themselves "the Evenstar," a title that they claim goes back unto the dawn of days. Many of the folk of Tarth, highborn and low alike, claim descent from a legendary hero, Ser Galladon of Morne, who was said to wield a sword called the Just Maid given to him by the Seven themselves. Given the role that the Just Maid plays in Ser Galladon's tale, Maester Hubert, in his Kin of the Stag, has suggested that Galladon of Morne was no rude warrior of the Age of Heroes turned into a knight by singers a thousand years later, but an actual historic figure of more recent times. Hubert also notes that Morne was a royal seat of petty kings on the eastern coast of Tarth until the Storm Kings made them submit, but that its ruins indicate that the site was made by Andals, not First Men. (The World of Ice and Fire - The Stormlands: The Men of the Stormlands)

Evenstar and Evenfall vs. the Morning. Obviously, there's a hidden history there that may be as interesting as the more recent connection of House Tarth to Duncan the Tall, another noted knight. But clearly, we are seeing a tension here between evening and morning. Brienne is the daughter of the Evenstar, but must she be an evenstar herself?

Given Brienne's connections to knighthood, to Galladon whose story she tells in AFFC, it may well be that she herself represents that renewal, a shift from evening to morning. Where the story of Duncan is one of disintegrating ideals, Brienne represents the choice to uphold them. She chooses to take up Duncan's abandoned arms, commissioning to have them painted on her shield:

It was more a picture than a proper coat of arms, and the sight of it took her back through the long years, to the cool dark of her father's armory. She remembered how she'd run her fingertips across the cracked and fading paint, over the green leaves of the tree, and along the path of the falling star. (AFFC, Brienne II)

Which GRRM goes out of his way to associated with finality and endings:

She had made a better job of it than he could ever have hoped for. Even by lantern light, the sunset colors were rich and bright, the tree tall and strong and noble. The falling star was a bright slash of paint across the oaken sky. Yet now that Dunk held it in his hands, it seemed all wrong. The star was falling, what sort of sigil was that? Would he fall just as fast? And sunset heralds night. "I should have stayed with the chalice," he said miserably. "It had wings, at least, to fly away, and Ser Arlan said the cup was full of faith and fellowship and good things to drink. This shield is all painted up like death." "The elm's alive," Pate pointed out. "See how green the leaves are? Summer leaves, for certain. (The Hedge Knight)

The falling shooting being likened to death is another interesting nod to the comet that lights the sky through much of ACOK. The one that heralded the birth of the dragons. Death.

It is the tree that represents life here. Given this context, Duncan's arms may not be her final arms.

A parallel in terms of imagery, knighthood and even history, may be House Dayne. Much like House Dayne (of Starfall) has an ancient origin and a fancy special sword named Dawn, you could argue that it has fallen from grace, the last "Sword of the Morning" (named so for the star constellation only visible before dawn) having been killed after guarding an imprisoned teenaged girl dying from childbirth. That's not knightly honor. Gerold Dayne is called "Darkstar" and describes himself as "of the night". He does not carry Dawn. Ham-fisted metaphors, no?

This is all my convoluted way of saying that no, I don't think this nickname is meant to tie Brienne and Jaime to Aragorn and Arwen, but rather part of a broader metaphor for disintegration and renewal, especially in association with knighthood, all expressed through Brienne herself.

Brienne, caught between Duncan (evening) and Galladon (morning), represents renewal, life, the way forward.

Jaime lacks this imagery entirely. He's no Aragorn. He's walking into the sunset with the Light of the West.

#brienne of tarth #star imagery #sunset imagery #metaphors #knighthood #true knights #false knights #anti braime #<- for filtering

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imsickofpasswords · 6 months

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A theory of the Ineffable Plan.

By elsamirrre5322 on YouTube

Realistic_Street1312 on Reddit

ParkSeo-Jun on Fandom

Imsickofpasswords on Tumblr

(Yes, all me!)

Book of Genesis 1–11: And God said: 'Let us make man in our image"

From Neil Gaiman’s MAster Class: When you tell a story, it is crucial that you completely believe in what you're writing

Hi, Good Omens's fellow victims! Like so many, I have been trying to cope with Eternity (I mean the dreadful period between season 2 and, either season 3, or my personal Armageddon.) That rotting brain of mine came up with a theory regarding the message that Good Omens (book and show) is striving to convey. What is it that Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman believe in so hard, as human beings and writers, that they want the whole world to understand it? Well, what I found, whether or not it is accurate, is at least beautiful. So I wish to share it with you.

Before I begin and you accuse me of pedantry, know that my every sentence begins with an invisible imho.

***

Since there is no way around it, I'll talk about the ship and the cruel, heart-wrenching, forever traumatizing, law-should-forbid-that-kind-of-things, cliffhanger. No matter how hard I think, this ship is the most beautiful love story ever (yes, imho). Is it because it doesn't involve burning passion, emphatic confessions and great sacrifices? It's about beings who harbor the same inner values but underwent such different trials that their personalities ended up diametrically opposed. Their love (and loneliness) pulls them together and allows them to rub off on each other, but they still retain their identities and won't go against their principles for the sake of the relationship. In the fight, they both proposed to each other, I mean proposed, like, let’s get married. And neither of them got rejected. They both wanted to be together, and made that part perfectly clear. What they declined was the terms of the contract. Either Crowley going back to pretending he trusts Heaven’s institution, or Aziraphale abandoning his faith. They both expect to be loved for who they truly are and believe in. And of course, this is exactly what they will achieve… True love instead of the illusion of love. First prediction in my Silly and Hopeful Book Of Prophecies.

***

Having taken the mammoth out of the room, I’ll explain my theory.

Whilst reading the book, I realized that the original story was never that of Aziraphale and Crowley (worry not, I have plenty to say about them…). It was that of Adam (originally, William the Antichrist) and the Them. More than that, it’s a saga about humanity achieving its full potential.

***

God

Of course, we should begin with God, since God created humanity, the universe(s) and the rules by which everyone and everything must abide. So. Who is God? Well if I could answer that, I'd probably know how to make a whale. I don't know how to make a whale. But certainly there are things we know, or can guess about God.

First, she (I’m a woman and it makes me obscenely happy to write “she” here) is the narrator. Second, she does not play dice with the universe. The first fact means that God can see everything, down to an angel and a demon drinking solidly for two hours, or a nightingale singing in Berkeley square. Second statement means there is no such thing as chance or hazard in that universe of hers. Everything happens for a reason.

It sounds like God wrote everything, everyone's destiny, like Gaiman and Pratchett did for their characters. Crowley says so himself. Humanity, Aziraphale, Crowley, everybody, they are all characters in the book called The Great Plan.

I think God injected herself in her own story under the disguise of Agnes Nutter. Only God can always be right.

So, here we have Gaiman and Pratchett hiding behind God, and God hiding behind Agnes Nutter. The Bible turned into The Great Plan, and then into a book of prophecies.

But what kind of person is God? Is She compassionate, loving, merciful? Yes. I firmly believe that. Err… Wait. Same God that drowned almost everybody, goats included, and wanted to kill Job's children… and goats!

“When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why God? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, "There's just something about you that pisses me off.”

― Stephen King, Storm of the Century.

Yes. Same God who never failed to prove herself a master torturer, a mass murderer and a serial killer in a single package. How do I reconcile both sides? Death… is only temporary! I mean, Jesus could bring Lazarus back, Adam resurrected a fuckton of people, and Crowley easily performed miracle escapes. Maybe death isn't the terrible thing we think it is… (except for Nazis? But Nazis aren’t really human, are they?) As for Job's children and goats, God knew that Crowley was around, up to no evil…

Having said that, I remember Stephen King writing something else. Whoever remembers that quote, let me know. Something like this: " If God created everything, then It must rule over both Good and Evil. If It only rules over Good, then there must be someone who rules over it all. I’ll worship that someone as the actual Almighty."

I agree. Good and Evil are like two faces of a coin. Death introduced Itself as the shadow of Creation and states “I’m neither of Hell, nor Heaven”. Evil must be the shadow of Good. And everything is a part of God.

***

The Adams

No, not the family, come on! What would they be doing here? Ah, attending the Second Coming. Come to think of it, it's indeed the kind of event they wouldn’t want to miss…

Anyway, their name is spelled Addams and I’m actually talking about the two Adams of the story. Old Adam, who ate the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden, and young Adam (I mean Adam Young) who steals apples in the garden of his neighbor. As I see it, they are allegories of Humanity.

As Crowley said, most universes come pre-aged, while this one will be allowed to grow. In the same way, Humanity is a species that will be allowed to grow. What ever for? Entertain God? Eternity does sound boring. Certainly a God could use a good laugh once in a while… But Nah. What do people do when they're bored with their lives? Hint: not their best idea? They have children! (or pets. Pets is a good idea…)

At the beginning, Adam and Eve are all of Humanity. They can't tell good from evil as they haven't experienced anything yet. Despite looking like full grownups, they are still babies. Crowley designed, not a star factory, but a fancy wallpaper indeed, for… a nursery.

Now, how is Baby Humanity supposed to grow? Crowley! Good ol’ Crowley! His temptation is the first opportunity to exercise free will. It’s the first lesson and the reason why the apple isn't at the top of a mountain or on the Moon. Choose for yourself, and see what happens. By eating the forbidden fruit, Adam and Eve don't actually get any knowledge of right or wrong. The first sin marks the beginning of the teenage rebellion that is necessary to grow beyond what was taught. Everything that comes after is like an initiation rite. A six-thousand year long initiation rite with angels and demons along the way as teachers and… the end of the world as a final test.

At the end of season one, Adam Young is back to being human. He represents Humanity at a later stage. An almost fully grown humanity that has learnt a lot (too much?) about free will. Once again, it takes Crowley’s intervention (just slightly motivated by the idea of Aziraphale’s threat never to talk to him again…) to push Adam towards the right path. Note that I didn’t write the good path. I meant the right path, the one that wasn't created for him even before he was born, I mean the path he made for himself.

The main difference between Old Adam and Adam Young deserves to be stressed here. Adam Young’s education was provided by other humans, his parents, his friends, Anathema… It means in 198X any random human is that evolved, already. The question is, how did Humanity reach this level of knowledge? And power?

Yes, power. Armageddon was stopped by… whom exactly? Humans! Humans only. Anathema, Newt, the Them. Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley were gonna kill the Antichrist, a kid! A KID! And who stopped them? Madame Tracy, a stupid (I’m not the one saying), psychic, Jezebel-of-Babylon with a good heart. A nobody? No. A human.

***

The education of Humanity.

Let's stop to notice that Crowley and Aziraphale are adoptive parents from the get go, watching the kids anxiously from afar, wondering if they actually fulfilled their respective mission as an angel and a demon, not knowing that having kids goes way beyond giving them toys and feeding them applesauce. It's a life sentence. Your kids will always call you at ungodly hours, seeking comfort after a nightmare, no matter how grown up they are. There’s no escaping to Alpha Centauri, and forgetting about them!

What I find interesting is who Aziraphale and Crowley are, and how meaningful it would have been if God had actually chosen them to be the Godfathers of Humanity.

Crowley is the one who questions everything, right? And how does one learn? Through questions. Those who have children know what I'm talking about (no wonder God won't raise her kids herself, being humans or Jesus🙄). It is often said that Science (Man-made god) replaced God. And how does science work? Yes, questions again ! Goddamn, annoying, neverending, pain-in-the-neck questions… Curiosity is the first tool. It's curiosity Crowley injected into Eve, to tempt her into eating the apple.

Crowley is also the one who would suggest a suggestion box. Because he has… IMAGINATION…(here, you need to picture Aziraphale turning a turnip into… an INKWEEEELL… ). IMAGINATIOOOON…. That ability is very, very important. Should I say paramount? God being a writer, possibly a mixture of Pratchett and Gaiman, she can only treasure imagination. Imagination is what created Good Omens. Imagination is what allowed Crowley to stay in his burning car. It was Adam's tool to change reality. Human imagination brought War, Famin and Pollution to life and it's human imagination again, that of three quite ordinary kids, that destroyed them. Not a flaming sword, not an angel, not a demon, mere humans gifted with imagination. And free will. Gifts from a fairy godmother named Crowley.

Aziraphale? Aziraphale didn’t come empty-handed either.

Was he just passing by, fortuitously, when Crowley called out for help? Is it pure coincidence that they created the universe together in a no-sex-involved-whatsoever fashion? I mean, the higher-ups designed universes, universes, man! Big, complicated, extremely sophisticated things, but they couldn’t think of a system that’d be set into motion by a single angel? Come on… And was it just a hazard that Crowley and Aziraphale ended up together on Earth, with the mission of thwarting each other? (Balancing each other?)

No dice. What, then? Crowley is the darker shades of gray. Aziraphale is the lighter part of the spectrum. And God knows that. God knows that Aziraphale isn't as white as he looks, although he does look very white. How does she know that? Because she checked. And several times, if I were to guess. God sees everything. And yet, she asked Aziraphale what happened to the flaming sword. When he lied his way out, she could have punished him, but she just went quiet. She wanted to know 1) if he would lie, if he would dare stand up to Her to protect the children, and 2) if he would trust his inner compass.

Aziraphale has other strong suits. He’s very gay and bubbly, and fluffy, and fun, and embarrassing, and endearing, and adorable, and… yes, I’m in love with him, say you aren’t. At the same time, he is quite strong-minded and aware of being Crowley’s soft spot. He can have his demon do things to please him (to a certain extent), with just a cute glance or a frown. He is Crowley’s anchor.

What’s more, Aziraphale is very conservative, and not just where fashion and music are concerned. He has unwavering faith in God (I mean God, not the institution of Heaven) and nothing, not his love for Humanity, not his love for crêpes, not even his love for Crowley (not sure about the order here), will change that.

Last but not least, our favorite angel is intelligent. (Since it’s Pratchett and Gaiman saying so, it must be true.) He is the ONLY one to point out the existence of the Ineffable Plan. And the ONLY one to figure that it might diverge from the Great Plan. Without the need to hear it, he feels what the ineffable plan is. And that’s why he trusts God. Although he is able to admit the error of his ways, I don’t think he’ll be doing the "you were right” dance this time around. Third prediction. (Boy, do I wish that one isn’t accurate…)

Aziraphale and Crowley were chosen as godfathers because, together, they are the perfect balance, they are black and white and the entire spectrum in between. And somewhere in this spectrum is the most important thing in the universe. Although the ingredients may have been the same, I don't think Aziraphale and Crowley were created with the same recipe as the other angels. Neil just revealed on Tumblr that Aziraphale and Crowley together are a circle. They are perfection. This circle is what God wants for her children. A mind that has no beginning and no end, a God-like mind.

Aziraphale and Crowley intuitively know that. It’s the reason why they turn into an evil nanny and a good-hearted gardener, in hope their combined influences will make a real human being out of the Antichrist. It’s easy for them. Because, this is what they’ve been doing from the beginning! They spent their entire time on Earth playing the nanny and the gardener! For not one kid, but for all Humanity as a youngster. Aziraphale and Crowley are masters at it and it’s thanks to them that Humanity has learnt so much. Pay attention, it looks like they didn't do much, in the end, to prevent Armageddon. But they raised the kids who prevented Armageddon. Of course, the ineffable husbands got some help.

Earlier, I mentioned angels and demons being teachers. They’re all doing the same job, infusing humanity with both Good and Evil through temptations and blessing, having them make choices and watch the outcome. Here, I must say that in the story, (and in History) it feels like demons have all the easier parts, as their pupils seem to always be way ahead of them, from pretty much the beginning. “Yes, always this easy”.

“Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.” ― Terry Pratchett.

When Crowley creates the universe, what comes first? Darkness. He has to summon light into it to reveal the marvels it contains. Are humans like that? Darknesses that require some light (not too much, otherwise they’d go as blind as angels) to unravel their actual beauty? So. Angels bring light. And demons just have to make sure the darkness stays into place? Something like that. But… if angels and demons are both working towards God’s plan, how is it they keep bickering? Stop. Is there a scene, a single scene where they actually argue? I can’t remember a single one… They all want the same thing. Get the bloody job done so everyone can call it a day and go home.

Why then were demons demoted and casted away? Crowley doesn’t even seem to understand what happened to him…

I guess it’s time I talk about the rebellion and the fall.

***

The Principal

The Principal? Who’s that? The one above the teachers, of course! The Metatron!

THAT Metatron… You want to kill him right now, don’t you? You want to peel off his skin with a blunt knife, you… wait, he doesn’t have a skin… and he probably can’t die anyway. You want to drink his soul with the tiniest straw? Tie him to a chair in front of episodes of Dora the explorer? I feel you.

Not sure if the Metatron has a counterpart. In the novel, his counterpart is Beelzebub, but it doesn’t feel like they’re playing in the same league. I mean… God’s voice, right?

There is a theory going around in the fandom that the Metratron has been editing people's past/memories, using the Book of Life. That theory was written by an actual novelist and it did sway me. However, if it were completely true, it would probably bother me. First reason is I don't want what I already saw of Aziraphale and Crowley's first encounter to be fake, even in the slightest. Second reason is… If you have the power to edit people's lives, why be so subtle about it? Or does the Metatron think he can make surreptitious changes that God won't notice? Hm. I don't know. In the novel, The Book of Life doesn't exist. The one who can "arrange matters af is you never even existed" is Adam. Not sure if this goes against the theory or sustains it…

Here are my own theories. Plural. I gave that bastard a lot of thoughts. I’m afraid none of them involve the disparition of the eccles cakes, sorry.

At first, I had a theory in which the Metatron was instrumental in the rebellion and the fall. It went like this. The Metatron is the voice of God, the Spokesman, as Aziraphale put it. Only when God herself initiates a conversation do you get to talk to her directly. Otherwise, you have to go through the Metatron. (The reason why Crowly envies Job’s opportunity to at least "be able to ask the questions") The Metatron may decide to withhold your message AND answer whatever he wants. Could he have used his position to create a cleavage between God and some of her most powerful subjects? What for? To overthrow God and rule in her place. Demons were sent to Earth, of all the horrible places in such a vast universe, so they could draw strength from all the human souls they’d lure to Hell… So they would grow tougher, smarter and more dangerous.

But that doesn’t seem right. God can see everything, remember? Okay, she could be traveling between universes, leaving Metatrons behind, as governors. In that case, of course, things might happen that she doesn’t know of. Even so. She and Satan still talk to each other. They at least met once, when they made that bet about Job. Surely, any misunderstanding would have cleared up then? Besides, in the book, Crowley mentions talking directly to God, although She just smiled instead of answering. I don’t know. I do have another theory of the Metatron though. Way more simple. Everything was set up by God.

God needed teachers for her children, but with angels being all good, better and best, the kids would only have learnt half what they were supposed to know. Besides, how would they make choices? They would just become angels as well. Obedient, boring, sickeningly good angels. God has that already. So, how did God trigger the rebellion? By using the Metatron.

Let‘s take a moment to think about who, or should I say what the Metatron is. He is a voice. All he knows is what God can say. He is oblivious of everything God cannot or doesn’t want to say. By definition, he is that one part of God that can never be aware of the ineffable plan.

I came to think of the Metatron as an AI, with flawless logic. If SF has taught us anything, it’s that any purely logical mind would want to eradicate humanity, seeing it for the nuisance it is. The Metatron must think that God made a mistake. Maybe God went nuts? Eternity with Elgar… it kind of gets at you after a while… Luck of the devil, the Metatron is there to save the day! What’s that universe where angels go around falling in love with each other, anyway? Nonsense! It's all because of humans' malfunctioning minds.

The Metatron’s sacred duty is to destroy humanity, if it is the last thing he does. To achieve that, he sees to it that a certain number of angels go rogue. Then he sends them to Earth so when the second war breaks out, the entire human race will go as collateral damage. In this case, the Metatron is the one who picked the evil teachers. He did the dirty job, unbeknownst to himself.

Another scenario is that the Metratron has nothing to do with the rebellion and is only striving to stick to the Great Plan, after Armageddon went sideways. In that case, God herself picked the teachers.

In both cases, the question is, was there actually a war? We all noticed how vague Crowly is about the fall, even while talking to himself. "Next thing you know i'm going a million light-years, freestyle-dive into a pool of boiling sulfur." And he can’t remember the guys he is supposed to have fought alongside with. There is some memory tempering here, or I don’t know anything. Either no Great War at all, or a war without Crowley. My bet is a war without Crowley. I read something in the book, can't remember what exactly, but I jumped and said “There must have been an actual war!” Besides, one explanation for a disabled angel like Saraqael could be a war wound. I guess?

Crowley sounds like he loves God, as much as Aziraphale does. This scene, where he snakes around his executive chair, saying "You said you’d test them". Maybe it’s just me, but I read hurt and love in his eyes, love for the world? Love for Aziraphale? Love for God? The reason why Crowley is dead set against going back, isn't it because, or partially because he feels he was betrayed by the One he loved and trusted most? I don’t think Crowley could have gone against God and seriously, how much trouble can you get into, just for asking a few questions? But then, if you’re going to submit your questions to the Metatron, who can’t entertain the concept of a flaw in the system…

***

The final tests.

It's like shoving a knife into the heart of a cake to see if it is well cooked. There's no way around the knife I'm afraid. God needs to find out if her children are fully grown humans. But what does this mean for Her? What does it mean, should it mean, for any parent?

It should mean that the young adults are now able to think for themselves, elaborate strategies to survive on their own, fight and overcome whatever life will throw at them, and… become a better version of their parents.

This is no longer high school, lads. This is college. So exams come in two waves. Midterm. The students have to prevent/overcome/survive Armageddon. And they do.

Armageddon didn't happen. Free will happened. Adam refused to follow his predetermined path and asked both sides to stop meddling into people’s affairs so humans can start to think for themselves. His friends rejected the nightmarish world that was left to them as a legacy. Dog became his own dog and is probably playing hide and seek with cats right now. Anathema decided to stop living according to a book written by her ancestor, NO MATTER how useful and accurate the predictions.

Yet another message here. Don’t let people tell you who you are and what you’re supposed to do. Your life and every choice at every turn are yours to make.

Notice that both God and Agnes sort of vanish at the end of season one. Agnes’s book is burnt by Anathema, and God goes silent. As if something happened that changed the course of what was already written. It's like Adam said: what is written doesn't matter. You can always cross it out. The great plan stopped right there.

And the ineffable plan took over. The ineffable plan is written by human beings in a decade-long essay that will decide if they passed the final test or not. (Of course, they pass, the show is called Good omens! Another prediction, gosh I'm so good, this is beginning to scare me!).

At this point, I think God is satisfied already. I mean if God is a writer and her characters achieved enough self-awareness to write their own story, then… they're real! I suspect writers' secret dreams have always been just that. Playing gods, creating universes and bringing characters to life! Not as puppets, but as sentient beings who will do as they please once the author rests their pen (closes their laptop, let’s be modern… but without bebop). I'm sure Sir Pratchett, having tea with Death, is kicking his feet at this very moment, seeing how many fans have fallen in love with either Aziraphale or Crowley or both and are spending so much time imagining the rest of their adventures.

A clue in the book. When Anathema burns the second Book of Prophecies, the smoke takes the shape of a smiling Agnes who winks at the world. I will always wonder if anything was written in that so-called sequel… Agnes wrote her book for her descendants and God wrote the Great Plan for her children. They must both be very proud that their offspring have finally spread their wings!

Now Humanity has cut the strings and gone from puppet to real living being. And that's where the fun begins. Because there is more to being a human than meets the eye. And this is what season 3 will be about. Oh, I know, it doesn't seem like there is an invisible imho. It's because there isn't! XD

***

The Second Coming, or season 3.

The concept of the Second Coming confuses me a great deal. Because of Jesus. The story doesn't seem to really involve Jesus as we know him, the one and only, the miracle doer, the precious son of God. There is a Jesus who ends up on a cross, alright, but no one says anything about him being special or performing miracles or anything. At the same time, there is an Antichrist, miracles measured in lazari and a second coming ( of Christ, I presume?). I went and picked some people's minds on Reddit. They had several interesting opinions, involving the third baby, Greasy Johnson, Muriel being Jesus under cover, and angels not minding the boss's son who only got this far through nepotism.

We see Christ nailed to a cross in the opening credits of season 2 and we see him again on the banner of the resurrectionists. All this considered, it looks very much like Jesus will have something to say about what happens next. I hope not, for it would probably feel like a Deus ex machina to me. That said, I think that the most important thing about Jesus has already been stressed out, his message.

Anyway, Jesus or no Jesus, there should be, as mentioned in the Scriptures, mass extinction, resurrection, judgment and either punishment or reward. Unless… the Scriptures don't apply anymore, since the great plan went down the loo and the new writers certainly don't want to see the world go to ashes. Unless… Wait. Wait a sec. We're talking about… humans! Hh!!!! That's it. We're baked. Literally. Nice knowing you.💀

And so what? What if humans only achieve self-destruction? Their choice. At least they got to choose.

But that's not really what I expect from season 3. Again. Good Omens.

After not-Armageddon, humans were granted a little time to study further. What will they learn? I don't think there can be a not-Second Coming. That would really be underwhelming, not to say disappointing. There has to be a planet-size all-out war at the very least, with pupils going berserk against their teachers (serves them well for highjacking nuclear weapons designed by their students! ) Only when the teachers have bent both knees, can the students show… mercy, kindness, compassion.

Love?

Jesus's message was "be kind to each other". Neither angels nor demons know how to do that. Both are cruel, cold and unforgiving. Heaven wanted to kill Aziraphale just like Hell wanted to kill Crowley. God on the other hand, used Agnes's last prophecy to save them, from what would have been real death…

God is much more than the sum of her angels, Good and Evil. Mixing good and evil triggers a chemical reaction that is the actual secret recipe to God's purest, greatest form of power. Yes. Love.

Aziraphale and Crowley drew enough strength to perform a 25 lazari miracle because they became one AND risked everything to protect their former enemy. They showed compassion and granted forgiveness (not to mention hot cocoa!). Gabriel and Beelzebub only love each other. They're not perfect together. Aziraphale and Crowley grew feelings that go further and run deeper than just romantic love. They experienced and mastered every aspect of love.

Every day, it's getting closer, love like yours will surely come my way…

Love is the last lesson. And the last gift. Now I know it sounds like everybody will end up naked with flowers in their hair… I for one wouldn't mind such a scene… I mean, if it's for the sake of the plot, what can you do?👀

… Anyway, that's how the students, following the example of the masters, embraced both sides of their true nature to become more than Heaven incarnate or Hell incarnate. They learn how to love and pass the final test! Last prediction. Almost last.

***

“There was never an apple, in Adam’s opinion, that wasn’t worth the trouble you got into for eating it”. At the end of the book, (Warning! spoiler ahead!) Adam, "half angel, half devil, all human, is slouching hopefully towards Tadfield.

... for ever."

For. Ever.

Aw, I forgot a gift, I'm afraid… Eating the apple was the path not to death (for man was probably created mortal as everything else). Eating the apple was the path to immortality. Crowley did the right thing. And so did Aziraphale. Adam is immortal because he is a successfully completed human. He's not the only one. They who were created in the image of God, the children of God, have become…

new Gods.

After that? Well… I guess the Bentley will become her own car and go with yellow and the self promise never to play a Queen song, ever again. The new gods may throw Earth into the trashcan since it's worn out anyway. Or maybe they'll restore it? Somehow I'm not afraid for books. I have a hunch that books will survive… Perhaps some of the gods will join the distant lights that "may or may not be stars?" They'll be like seeds, they'll travel through darkness to create new universes, new god factories…

What? Aziraphale and Crowley? They don't have to choose sides anymore. They were always on the same boat. And God loved, loves, them both. They can just love each other and be who they want to be. Adam, who could read Aziraphale and Crowley's minds, said: “I know all about you, don’t you worry”. Everything will be just fine.

What are they doing right now? Not sure. They're writing their own story too. But I guess it involves flying at the speed of light (or the speed of darkness?) to find the best spots for having picnics and reading books and listening to nightingales. I'm sure they'll stop by Paris. Somewhere near my house? I know a nice place for crêpes…;)

#neil gaiman #terry pratchett #aziraphale #crowley

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lewisyellowhelmet · 2 years

Text

ocean blue (lewis hamilton x reader)

summary: a collection of you and lewis on holiday by the beach. 2k+ (18+)

talk to me here ! or read everything else here!

Lewis is always tuned into the direction of the ocean. Anytime you ask him, anywhere, he can gesture to a particular direction, tell you how far away it is. You were a fish in another life, you tell him, licking the salt water off him after he collapses on the beach next to you. Maybe, he muses, shaking out his wet hair, only if you were there.

ii.

For a weekend, you go to the coast. A spot that’s quiet, far from town, but the surf is good, the waves constant. Some of his friends come, and the house is sprawling across the dunes, all wood and overhanging balconies. It’s too cold to sunbathe, walk through the shallows, so you bring a stack of books, drink a lot of tea, listen to the ocean. Lewis sleeps better than he has in months, the window open for the sound of the repetitive pattern of waves. He wakes you, gently, in the mornings. The windows steamed up with condensation, rain on the roof. His warm body snuggled up to yours, lazy kisses under your ear, down to your collarbone.

“Good morning,” you rasp, not sure if it’s a dream or real. The cold air outside the bedclothes is biting. His hands are hot on your tummy, up under your t-shirt.

“You were dreaming about me,” Lewis tells you, his mouth under your jaw now, up to your cheek, his eyelashes fluttering on the skin of your nose.

“How do you know?”

“You were saying my name,” he murmurs, and you flush, remembering why you were calling for him, the dream returning in hazy snatches as you start to wake up. He kisses you softly, your top lip between his, lingering. Your body hums in response, a current of energy that connects you to him.

“And because of this,” Lewis says, his hand slipping down your belly, into your underwear, to hold where you’re already hot and pulsing. You don’t need him to tell you, it’s easy enough to know from the way his finger slips into you. You’re wet already, had dreamt of him doing this, somewhere nameless, a memory more than anything. You could be embarrassed, deny it, but your body makes the decision for you, arching up into his hand. Lewis laughs, but it’s fond, and he dips his face to kiss you properly.

iii.

You sit on the beach in one of Lewis’ big coats, bare feet in the sand. Your book lies open, but abandoned, pages fluttering in the wind. A thermos of tea is half buried in the sand beside you. You watch Lewis surf, slick and graceful in his wetsuit, shining wet. You hadn’t expected it to be this captivating, the elegant dance of it, his strength working in tandem with the power of the ocean. When he catches a good wave, his whooping is carried to you on the shore by the wind, the laughter of his friends. He’s better than most of them, jumps to an easy crouch on the board, flies through the tunnel of froth to emerge victorious at the end of the wave. You could write poetry about it, the way he moves, the endless roaring of the waves, the grey clouds, gaps of sunshine breaking through.

They call out to each other as they paddle out for the next set, bobbing black shapes as they crest each ignore wave, patient. Finally turning to catch the perfect one, angling the surfboard just right, Lewis seemingly in control of every moment, what you know must be quick actions seem slow, like he has all the time in the world to get to his feet, balanced perfectly. The lip of the wave curls, and he powers down the body of it, zig zagging across, leaving currents in his wake. It curves over him, the tunnel, and just at the last second he emerges from the whitewash, grinning. Even from the beach, you can hear him laughing.

iv.

Before dinner he drives you out to the point. The rental car is a mammoth of a four wheel drive, but Lewis controls it easily. It’s distracting, watch him drive, always. The flex of his hand, the crook of his neck when he checks his blindspot. He’s packed good red wine and vegan banana bread, spreads a blanket out over a flat rock. He’s boyishly proud of his makeshift picnic, overlooking the crashing ocean, roiled by a coming storm. The sun sets in reds and pinks, overtaking the whole sky. Lewis takes a picture of you standing in front of it, a silhouette, puts it on his Instagram story and then hides his phone somewhere it won’t distract him. When you walk back to him on the rock, he reaches out, pulls you down to kiss him. His face is warm, even in the cold wind, and you crawl into his lap, face in his shoulder, held like a small child. You can feel his heart beating. You could sit here forever, listening to the waves, wind pulling at your hair, but hidden in the warmth of him. Still, time passes, and you want more wine, emerging from his chest to find your glass. Lewis watches you sip, kisses your red mouth after, licks the taste out of you. Your legs either side of his waist, still in his lap, grinding down onto him like two teenagers hooking up on the cliff. You shiver when he takes your jumper off, so he carries you to the car, lies you out in the backseat, kneeling between your legs. It’s cramped, and heartbreakingly intimate, the wind battering the car, Lewis breathing hot air onto your cold skin. There’s no rush, nowhere to be, no one waiting. Just Lewis taking his time undressing you, helping you wriggle out of jeans, covering your body with his so you don’t get chilly. He kisses you for a long time, his hand between your legs, working you into something mindless and messy, wriggling under him, mouth by his ear saying more, more, more. Eventually, he gives in, everything almost too humid in the car now, slick bodies. The heaviness of him over you, the way he shakes as he guides himself inside you, sighs into your mouth, has to hold himself still so as not to lose control.

Your face pressed into his neck, breathing him in, sweat and the ocean, so familiar, so safe in the car. Surrounded by him, knowing nothing but him and how he makes you feel,

“Is that good?” He asks, his voice rough, “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” you whisper, hands sliding over his back, pulling him closer, “Yes.”

“Look what you do to me,” Lewis tells you, one afternoon when you’re alone in the house. His friends have gone home now the weekend has passed, but Lewis wants to stay a few more days, just you and me, he’d said, and you tried to hide how much your heart swelled. The remnants of a Monopoly game are strewn across the coffee table, all the properties with houses on Lewis’. He’d bankrupted you, and asked for you to pay him in a different way, suggested that then maybe he’d let you go debt free. You’d find his deal creepy from anyone else, but for Lewis you’d scrambled up onto the couch with him, eager to please. You’ve barely kissed when he’s pulling your hand to his lap, the already hard length of him in his sweatpants.

“See?” He says.

You can’t help but laugh at him, if only from the pleasantness of being reminded of how human he is, how his body reacts to you. Just from a kiss, a touch. It’s nice to know you’re wanted just as much as you want. He rolls his eyes at your teasing, but it’s cut off when you bow your head, pull him out of his pants and spit on the wet, pink head of him, watching it drool down the shaft. Lewis groans, and his hand twists into your hair.

“Baby,” he says, and then seems to lose all language skill as you sink your mouth down onto him, tucking him into your throat, your hands around the base of him, down to cradle his balls, pulled up tight and close to him. Lewis has slumped into the couch, the tense muscles of his belly on show as you blow him, messy and wet and filthy. His breath stutters when you gag around him, spit dribbling out of your mouth, go back for more. He comes quick and hard, hot in the back of your throat, each of his moans sliding into another as his hips twitch up into your mouth with each wave of his orgasm. His eyes are heavy and his jaw slack when you sit up, licking your lips.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he tells you, his voice rough, and drags you in to kiss himself out of your mouth.

vi.

The house sits on the bluff, so you can sit wrapped in blankets on the front porch watching the sea while Lewis boils the kettle. You’ve been trying to count all the different colours of blue the ocean produces, your phone full of pictures of waves breaking. On your walk this morning Lewis had written your names in a big love heart on the sand. Stood with you in the water up to your ankles and kissed you in front of it. Gonna love you forever, he told you, tucked your hair behind your ears, can’t wait.

Now, he brings you a steaming cup of peppermint tea, ginger for him. You curl into his side on the driftwood couch, mug held carefully in your hands. Lewis kisses the top of your head, smoothes his hand down the back of your head to tuck you in closer.

“I put cold water in for you,” he says, and you smile over the rim of your mug, just how he knows you like it, ready to drink. You watch him watch the waves roll in, a peaceful, calm expression on his face. He wants to teach you how to surf, he says, but it’s too rough here. He’ll take you somewhere different, somewhere warm, like Hawaii, next month, and teach you properly. The relaxation is easy to melt into, sat with him on the couch, sipping tea, smelling the ocean. The silence is warm and soothing. No need to break it. Comforting just to sit in the quiet, lean into each other.

He gets fidgety, eventually, always needs something to do. When he kisses you, he tastes like ginger, warm and bitter. Your fingers close around the soft fabric of his hoodie, drawing him in. His big hands are warm on your face, your neck, kisses you and kisses you like he could sit here forever, sucking your lip into his mouth. There’s no one around, no reason to stop, when he gets his hand in your sweatpants, rubs his fingers over you. Gasping in ocean air as he fucks his fingers into you, slow and steady, curling them inside you into the spot that makes your eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells you, in this soft voice that seeps its way all through your body. Your hands grasp at him, wanting him closer, and he tucks you in against him, kisses you lazily as he works his hand against you. When you come, you see the whitewash of a crashing wave behind your ears, hear it, Lewis’ body sheltering you from the cold.

vii.

On the last night you decide to light the fire, nothing more than a pot bellied stove in the centre of the lounge room. The wind whistles down the chimney, but the flames are stubborn. You put pillows on the floor, play cards, inch closer together until the game is abandoned and you’re watching Lewis pull his hoodie over his head, the fire reflecting warm shadows on his bare chest. The room is cosy, and warm, dimly lit, and it feels like a cheesy romance novel come to life, watching him undress, take you out of your own clothes. The phrase making love flicks across your consciousness, as Lewis ensures there’s a pillow under your head, the blanket is between you and the floorboards. You’re impatient, eager for him, but he kisses his way slowly down your body, lingering at your tummy, your hips, before his mouth is on you, kissing you there greedily, his tongue dipping into you. The feeling is overwhelming, panting knees pulled up around his head, catching his eye when he looks up your body at you. When he crawls back up, his mouth is wet from you, his gaze heavy, his cock dragging hot up your thigh.

“Lewis,” you breathe, trembling, throbbing on the edge of orgasm.

“You’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you,” Lewis croons, his lips ghosting over yours, letting you take his cock in your fist to rub it over yourself, so close its hurting.

“Yes,” you tell him, wild with it.

“You want my cock so bad, look at you, begging for it.”

“Yes, please, please.”

When he slides into you, the world pinpoints on just that, how he’s too big for your body, stretches you out, takes up space you didn’t know you had. The way the breath punches out of him as he finally feels you. He swears, quietly, so it doesn’t even seem like a bad word. And then your leg up over his shoulder, and he’s fucking you like he’ll never stop, sure, steady movement of his hips, his head bowed to yours so he can kiss you. Your orgasm peaks, crying out, hands low on his back, almost too much as it crashes through you, white hot and overbearing. Lewis fucks you through it, whispering against your mouth, about how good you feel, how good you’re taking it, how much he loves you, adores you, is obsessed with you. Your body never seems to come down from the orgasm, hovering on the other side, heat and power washing over you. Lewis is sweating and breathing hard when he buries himself into you, fucks unsteadily into you as he comes, groaning and shivering.

You turn your head to watch the fire, after, Lewis laid out on top of you, his face in your neck. He might be sleeping, worn out. But his hand is tracing soft patterns on your hipbone. From outside, you can hear the steady waves of the sea.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #f1 smut #*

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mammothomnibus · 5 months

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For fifty thousand springs, Silverhair and her kind, the last of the woolly mammoths, have lived in a remote tundra, rimmed by ice and sea and mountain. Soon to be a mother, Silverhair looks to the future with hope. But even as her life begins, the world she loves is ending. A new menace, more vicious than any enemy, is descending upon the snowlands -- a two-legged creature that kills for joy. Desperate to save their kind, Silverhair and the matriarch, Owlheart, must travel across the glacial torrents, beyond the saw-toothed mountains. There they will seek help from the distant cousins who found their destiny in the sea, and from an enemy -- an ice-faced menace known as...the Lost.

Silverhair is the first book of the Mammoth Trilogy by Stephen Baxter. It was first published in Great Britain in 1999. The cover was illustrated by Chris Baker (Fangorn).

#mammoth #silverhair #xenofiction #science fiction #Stephen Baxter #Fangorn

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quicksilverdrabbles · 11 months

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Team Dragonborn: *walking down a road near the river in Whiterun*

Lucien: You know, Dwarven Oil is known to have some very good regenerative properties to magicka if you ever decide to make some Magicka potions of your own. We can try to see if we can find any the next time we're in a dwarven ruin.

Morana: That would be nice. There are alot of spellswords among us now, I could distribute them to you and the others.

Lucien: Oh, how generous!

Inigo: *squinting at the words and drawings in the sign language book Lucien gave him* Lucien, I do not think these gestures are accurate to what Morana is saying.

Lucien: How is that?

Inigo: The book says she just called you a very rude word.

Morana: *shakes her head* I didn't.

Lucien: Oh dear.. That was the only book on Imperial Sign Language I could find in the Arcanaeum. I'll have to tell Urag it's incorrect... *blinks, remembering how frightening the Orc is* ... Ahaa.. or, uh. Someone else can tell him.

Taliesin: That 'library' is a joke. Half of the books there are ones you could find in an average general goods store, and the other half is just pure nonsense. Only very rarely do we actually find anything of use.

Kaidan: And that's only after we get the book back from whatever dungeon it's ended up in.

Xelzaz: I'm of a mind to agree.

Lucien: It's... Certainly different compared to the libraries in the Imperial City.

Morana: Urag is very nice. He's patient when we can't find anything we need and have to ask for more... *her hands slow to a stop, her gaze fixed on the river*

Xelzaz: Hm? Is something wrong, Morana?

Morana: *suddenly bolts away from the group, ditching her satchel and notebook and using a wind spell to jump halfway across the river and catch something in her hands midair, plunging into the water shortly after*

Kaidan: MORANA?!

Taliesin: What the hell is she doing?!

Xelzaz: *runs after her, wading into the water and going under to see where she went*

Morana: *tilts her head, spotting Xelzaz in the water. Her hands stay clutched around whatever she was holding as she attempts to swim back to shallow water*

Xelzaz: Oh, for the love of.. *swims forward and grabs the back of her armor, pulling her back to shore and emerging from underwater* What in the world were you thinking?!

Morana: *her hood and mask comes undone as she pops her head out of the water, revealing a bright smile.* Xelzaz, look! *holds out her hand and reveals a blue dartwing dragonfly, now dead* I haven't been able to find any in ages! We can make more Fear poisons now!

Xelzaz: Surely there were more ingredients with Fear properties available to you?! And stop using your voice, you're still healing from the last time!

Morana: *pouts, finding her satchel on the shore and putting the dragonfly in it for later* I have Namira's Rot, but we haven't encountered a Daedra for Daedra Hearts in weeks and Powdered Mammoth Tusk is hard to come by. And I'm horrible at fishing, I can't get Cryodilic Spadetails.

Inigo: My friend, your mask has fallen off.

Morana: Ah! *looks around, trying to feel through the water for it*

Xelzaz: I'll find it, you go back to the others and dry off before you catch a cold.

Morana: Thank you, Xel.

Xelzaz: Yes, yes, don't mention it.

Lucien: Oh goodness, you're completely soaked. All for one dragonfly?

Morana: I'm gonna go get the rest of them once they come back. I was excited and scared more off.

Inigo: Hehe, that was very funny to watch. I was tempted to jump in with you.

Lucien: And what on earth are you two doing?

Kaidan and Taliesin: *kneeling on the ground clutching their chests, overwhelmed by the sight of Morana's smile*

Kaidan: Fuck, that was so cute.

Taliesin: What can I do to see that again?

Morana: *tilts her head, a confused expression on her face. She snorts, breaking out into quiet giggles, lifting a hand up to try and hide her smile* You guys are silly.

Inigo: *staring at Kaidan and Taliesin, now laying on the ground with red faces* My friend, I think you are going to kill them at this rate.

#yes this is a regular occurence #Morana will just dart off from the group and come back with some random ingredient she saw #skyrim #tes #the elder scrolls #modded skyrim #dragonborn #ldb oc #skyrim oc #kaidan skyrim #lucien flavius #inigo skyrim #xelzaz skyrim #taliesin skyrim #Morana oc

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dangermousie · 8 months

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I don’t know how I missed it but I only now found out that Sharon Kay Penman passed away in 2021.

I am in mourning now. She was one of my all time favorite novelists. Her incredibly thick and detailed novels set in various periods of medieval England and other parts of the world are my permanent reads and rereads. I have never read a book of hers that I didn’t love.

The first book of hers I’ve read was her novel about Richard III - The Sunne in Splendour - which I read and wept over in high school. I read and wept over her Welsh Trilogy in college. And then I read and wept over her other novels as an adult.

There is only one of her novels I have not read yet - her very last book - The Land Beyond the Sea, a mammoth (of course) novel about the fall of Outremer, focusing on Balian of Ibelin.

I was hoarding it because it took years between her novels and she was getting on in years and so I was worried this would be the last. And it was.

I have obviously never met her and literally know nothing about her except what’s on the blurb on the covers of the books and I still feel like crying. It’s the same sinking feeling of losing someone important though a total stranger because their books became a fabric of your life as when Dorothy Dunnett died.

PS if you’ve never read her and love incredibly solid, immersive, historically accurate novels with a huge cast of complex characters, you should read her. Though with few exceptions there are pretty much no happy endings to be had (I am pretty sure she finally created a couple of secondary fictional characters in her Welsh Trilogy so at least someone could escape the meatgrinder.)

#books #sharon kay penman

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deathbirby · 10 months

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Hero's Relics Origins - Part 2

This is the last part, I promise.

Blutgang

Storm Dragon

I don't know what that is.

Fortunately, we have Maurice to examine!

Look at that plated back. It's similar to the blade of Blutgang. That begs the question, though. Is it armor or is it bone? I'm going to say it's both. Blutgang is made out of this bone, and it uses a few other parts of the spine.

Google Translate says that "the feel of its armor is similar to Blutgang."

Translation would be appreciated!

Oh, and Maurice also has small back sail. That points to the possibility of the Storm Dragon being able to fly.

Thunderbrand

Lightning Dragon

What the hell is this?

I guess it could be a weird horn? Or maybe it's the tail? Breastbone with ribs? Part of the spine? A fang? Thigh bone, and the spikes are actually just fangs or something that has been fused to it?

I have no fucking clue. If someone can come up with a theory, I'll put it here.

Suttungr's Mystery

Lightning Dragon

...I don't know. That green covering could be its skin, or just some regular leather. It looks like there is a ribcage when I zoom into that gap.

Hrotti

Dark Dragon

Unfortunately, there is not a lot to go off of. Tomes are always the most difficult to figure out.

Dark dragons in Fire Emblem tend to look snake-like. I suppose you could see this as the skull being flattened and split in half to make two sides of a book. The line going through the book could be where the jaw splits, and the hole with the crest stone is supposed to have an eye in it.

I'm grasping for straws here.

Failnaught

Star Dragon

Look at that muscle attached to it. I think this might be the only relic to have that.

I used Google Translate on that little bit of text in the concept art. It says: "A bow made from the bones and sinews of a dragon's fingers."

I don't speak Japanese, so I do need someone to confirm that little bit of text. Here's a bit clearer(?) version.

But that makes it pretty obvious... if it's true! It was made using the bones and tendons of the Star Dragon's fingers.

I don't know what the Star Dragon might've looked like, and I don't have anything to use as a basis. Those 'fingers' have spikes on them. I don't know any animal that might have that.

Vajra-Mushti

Snow Dragon

I wanted to say that this looks like a scorpion's head, but there are two of these (gauntlets), so that's probably not the case. It's most likely made out of the hands. The metal plating is used to keep it closed.

BUT WAIT! What if it IS the head? There is a hole that could work as an eye socket. Maybe the skull was somehow split to make gauntlets? The metal plating would be used to keep the lower and upper jaw shut.

What animal has tusks like that and is associated with snow? Best I can think of is a mammoth.

Rafail Gem

Aegis Dragon

The Aegis Dragon gets to be unique. Only the part around the Crest Stone is made out of bone. The rest of it might very well be decoration. Or maybe they come from somewhere else... Maybe the blue crystals are kidney stones?

Ichor Scroll

Aegis Dragon

It doesn't look like there is a lot of bone there? It might be made using the hand. Look at all those lines and the small holes.

Sword of the Creator

Sothis

Alright, lots of people are saying this is the spine, and I totally agree. They really liked turning spines into weapons for some goddess-forsaken reason.

BUT the argument of it being the tail also holds up! The spine doesn't have a sharp point like that. Ultimately, I cannot say for certain which one it would be. I personally am more inclined to say it's the spine.

The crossguard could be made using the pelvis, shoulder blades, or even the wings. It all depends on whether or not they got the bones from Sothis's dragon form. Oh, and I can see what looks like more muscle on the "wings".

Now what in the world is that hilt made out of? It's definitely not made out of the spine or tail, so what is it? Maybe a strong bone like the femur? The ends are more flared out than the middle.

But how?

Okay, so now that you know what the relics are made out of and what bones were used, it's time for YOU to go make some relics.

"How am I going to do that??" - You

Do not worry, my fellow human. I have gone ahead and made a guide for you! Follow its instructions closely, and you too can wield a weapon of mass destruction in no time.

How to create your own Heroes Relic!

Find a dragon. It can be dead or alive, just make sure its corpse is not completely destroyed.

If it's still alive, kill it. I don't care how you do it. Just kill it. Try to cut off a limb or go directly for the crest stone on its head. That seems to be their weak spot.

It's dead? Good! Time to cut. What? You say that its corpse is too big? Shrink it! What do mean that sounds dumb? Have you SEEN the other Relics? I mentioned this in a previous post, but no fucking dragon has bones that small. All the relics are shrunken in some way, damn it! NOW SHRINK IT!

Okay. Get your cutting equipment ready. You can use a sword, a knife, a chainsaw. I don't care. Just be careful.

Now then, onto the good part. The skin might still be useful for something like leather, so be sure to flay it first.

Start cutting away at the meat and fatty layer. Do not go too deep. You do not want to destroy the muscle layer before you've seen it first. You could still use it for something!

You've reached the muscles. Congratulations! Now, I know that the bones are the real price here, but the tendons can be very useful in some designs. So start collecting a bunch of tendons and some muscle here and there.

Is your bag full? Great! When you're sure you've got all the tendons you need, start cutting until you reach the bone. Don't worry about damaging it. Your puny blade won't do anything against it.

There, the bones are right there. RIPE for the taking! I assume that you've already picked out a design for a Relic before you started this. That means you know what bones you want to use. Take those bones.

I also assume that you know you need a Crest Stone, which means you need to get the dragon's heart. What's the fastest way to get to the heart? Well, you're not breaking the ribcage any time soon, so cut open the abdomen, right under where the diaphragm would be. You don't know where that is? It's around the liver and the stomach. You'll know when you get there. Now, you need to cut open that diaphragm and reach in there with your trusty knife or chainsaw. A human heart has a pericardium, a sac that surrounds your heart and keeps in it place. I don't know if a dragon has one, but I would still try to check if it's there and cut it away. And you don't need the veins.

While you're in there cutting away, drink its blood. You might as well. Slurp all of that shit up. You'll know you've drunk enough blood once you manifest a crest. Not manifesting a crest? Dive back in there and start chugging!

I hope you have everything you need by now. Pack that shit up and move to a place where you can quietly forge it into a weapon. How do you do that? Fuck if I know. All I know is that you need dragon remains. Figure it out yourself! If all else fails, put bone on a stick and tie it together with tendons and superglue. Don't forget to shove a crest stone somewhere in there so it actually functions!

Alright. I hope this was a useful guide for you! Don't forget to leave a 5-star review on my page!

#fe3h #fire emblem #fodlan #three houses #analysis #writing this made me feel sick #not written by an agarthan i promise #nabateans

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aparticularbandit · 3 months

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Top 5 Things You've Written That You're Most Proud Of!

Ask Me My "Top 5" Anything....

CrossRoads. Which is not posted anywhere except on Facebook, and even then it's only the first...2/3 of it? I think? I've used it a bit here and there in some of my RP stuff and have tried to reboot it and done some of that here and there but. The original CrossRoads was the first full length novel I finished writing. It took me...three? years? Yeah. So this.

Soulless. Which also I haven't posted publicly anywhere. But this is my book that delves into the soulmate timer world I built. (You in particular would like this. For reasons.) But of all of the soulmate timer stuff I've written, this one is my favorite and the one I'm probably the most proud of. Because I finally figured out how to novel it.

Surrogate.

Luisa and the Fox. Maybe this shouldn't be on Top 5 proud but. It's one of my favorite things I've ever written, and it's the singular one of my fanfic that I've printed out and have in a binder (with a fanmade cover! Actually!), so like. This goes on this list.

Finding Family (and really also this should include the Finding Family Holiday Special because it's part of the original). Because I can't a Top 5 list of things I'm proud of without mentioning this. This mammoth thing. This nearly 375k fic (it passes that if you include the Holiday Special. Which you should) that I wrote in five months and for a while was posting a chapter a day - sometimes two chapters a day (I think maybe three chapters one day? I think) - and which gave me a month of over 100k in one month (and the next month was 90k) like. This mammoth thing. Praise God for this thing because like. I'm so proud of this thing. And I'm so proud that I actually finished it. And I'm so proud that I was able to give it the ending it was meant to have - the one I planned from the beginning - and that like. It evolved and expanded and the community that grew up around it and discussed it with me and left comments like. This fic. is SO important to me. And like. I can't words this one fully, I don't think. And that's okay.

#musings #bandit answers questions #meme response #fic recs #chrysalis the butterfly

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literary-illuminati · 3 months

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2024 Book Review #5 – The Tusks of Extinction by Ray Nayler

I read Nayler’s The Mountain in the Sea last year and, despite thinking it was ultimately kind of a noble failure, liked it more than enough to give his new novella a try. It didn’t hurt that the premise as described in the marketing copy sounded incredible. I can’t quite say it was worth it, but that’s really only because this novella barely cost less than the 500-page doorstopper I picked up at the same time and I need to consider economies here – it absolutely lived up to the promise of its premise.

The book is set a century and change into the future, when a de-extinction initiative has gotten funding from the Russian government to resurrect the Siberian mammoth – or, at least, splice together a chimera that’s close-enough and birth it from african elephant surrogate mothers – to begin the process of restoring the prehistoric taiga as a carbon sink. The problem: there’s no one on earth left who knows how wild mammoth are supposed to, like, live- the only surviving elephants have been living in captivity for generations. Plop the ressurectees in the wilderness and they’ll just be very confused and anxious until they starve. The solution: the technology to capture a perfect image of a human mind is quite old, and due to winning some prestigious international award our protagonist – an obsessive partisan of elephant conservation – was basically forced to have her mind copied and put in storage a few months before she was killed by poachers.

So the solution of who will raise and socialize these newly created mammoths is ‘the 100-year-old ghost of an elephant expert, after having her consciousness reincarnated in a mammoth’s body to lead the first herd as the most mature matriarch’. It works better than you’d expect, really, but as it turns out she has some rather strong opinions about poachers, and isn’t necessarily very understanding when the solution found to keep the project funded involves letting some oligarch spend a small country’s GDP on the chance to shoot a bull and take some trophies.

So this is a novella, and a fairly short one – it’s densely packed with ideas but the length and the constraints of narrative mean that they’re more evoked or presented than carefully considered. This mostly jumps out at me with how the book approaches wildlife conservation – a theme that was also one of the overriding concerns of Mountain where it was considered at much greater length. I actually think the shorter length might have done Nayler a service here, if only because it let him focus things on one specific episode and finish things with a more equivocal and ambiguous ending than the saccharine deux ex machina he felt compelled to resort to in Mountain.

The protection of wildlife is pretty clearly something he’s deeply invested in – even if he didn’t outright say so in the acknowledgements, it just about sings out from the pages of both books. Specifically, he’s pretty despairing about it – both books to a great extent turn around how you convince the world at large to allow these animals to live undisturbed when all the economic incentives point the other way, a question he seems quite acutely aware he lacks a good answer to.

Like everyone else whose parents had Jurassic Park on VHS growing up, I’ve always found the science of de-extinction intensely fascinating – especially as it becomes more and more plausible every day. This book wouldn’t have drawn my eye to nearly the degree it did if I don’t remember the exact feature article I’d bet real money inspired it about a group of scientists trying to do, well, exactly the same thing as the de-extinctionists do in the book (digital resurrection aside). The book actually examines the project with an eye to practicalities and logistics – and moreover, portrays it as at base a fundamentally heroic, noble undertaking as opposed to yet another morality tale about scientific hubris. So even disregarding everything else it had pretty much already won me over just with that.

The book’s portrayal of the future and technology more generally is broader and less carefully considered, but it still rang truer than the vast majority of sci fi does – which is, I suppose, another way of saying that it’s a weathered and weather-beaten world with new and better toys, but one still very fundamentally recognizable as our own, without any great revolutions or apocalyptic ruptures in the interim. Mosquito's got CRISPR’d into nonexistence and elephants were poached into extinction outside of captivity, children play with cybernetically controlled drones and the president of the Russian Federation may or may not be a digital ghost incarnated into a series of purpose-grown clones, but for all that it’s still the same shitty old earth. It’s rather charming, really.

#book review #the tusks of extinction #ray nayler #sff #cli fi

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stra-tek · 8 months

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Excerpt ??? (I've lost count) from I Survived Kirk, my forthcoming fanfic autobiography of a bitter redshirt on Kirk's Enterprise

The entire reason this book exists is as a rebuttal of Risk is Our Business. I’m not sure how much of that was written by Kirk himself and how much was his ghost writer, but the man depicted in that book is not the man I worked under for years. Not in personality, not in reasoning. Not in anything. I see it as more whitewashing of history, more misinformation to pass along to the next generation. This book exists as a counterpoint. I’m no James T Kirk, I haven’t done the things he has. I’ll never be as famous and this book will never be read by anywhere near as many people. But if I can get through to just a few that’s fine by me. So long as the truth as I know it is preserved in some way.

I first met James Tiberius Kirk when I reported aboard the USS Enterprise as a crewman in 2264. He came in with a reputation, as the hero of what they were calling the “Gioghe Incident” where he’d taken command of the USS Lydia Sutherland, and although he lost his ship, he’d saved many lives. He’d just been given a medal and a promotion.

The entire Enterprise crew was gathered in the shuttlebay for the change-of-command ceremony. I was right at the back, in front of the mammoth clamshell doors. At the other end of the bay, Captain Pike wished everyone well and Captain Kirk gave a short and completely unmemorable speech.

He seemed like a nice enough guy. Young for a captain but confident in himself, enough so that you wanted to follow him. And people would – for better or worse.

Our historic five-year mission was to begin with a routine patrol of bases along the Klingon border, ferrying a touring troupe to entertain the base personnel. It was meant to be something nice and easy to get the crew accustomed to each other and their new commander.

Kirk’s mother and father both served in Starfleet. Daddy Kirk rose through the ranks, becoming first officer of the Einstein-class deep-space scout USS Kelvin. When James was born, George decided an assignment closer to Earth was preferable to years-long missions in deep space. He transferred to become security chief of Starbase 2, the K-class space station roughly two weeks from Earth which I’d just left.

Apparently George and Winona Kirk’s Starfleeting was more important than raising kids, since they left Jimbo with relatives on Tarsus IV.

A teenage Jim Kirk survived The Tarsus IV Massacre, which cannot have left him without some serious psychological scars.

What was The Tarsus IV Massacre, you ask? It was quite a big news story throughout the Federation at the time. An alien fungus ruined an Earth colony’s entire food supply, and with help too far out to prevent mass starvation, the colony’s governor, a man named…Anton? Arnold? A-something Kodos decided the cull the “less useful” members of it’s population, so that the ones he decided were worthy of survival would survive long enough for help to arrive.

So, he murdered half the colony’s population. And then – here’s the kicker – rescue arrived much earlier than expected. Early enough that nobody needed to be executed. Except they already had. Oh dear.

The scenes shown on the newscasts were shocking and graphic. Far worse than anything I’d ever seen in my life up until that point. Usually you hear just hear about murders and horrible events with options to click for more details and gross images. Here we got shocking images of piles of charred dead bodies, many children, in our newsfeeds. It was mind-blowing and harrowing to see things like this are still happening in Federation territory. On a Federation colony world, no less.

It gets weirder, there were people asking how Kodos would be thought of had rescue arrived when expected, and his mass executions had saved half the population rather than doomed the whole? While it’s an interesting scenario, the entire idea of this Kodos being the one to decide who lives and who dies is repulsive. Much more on James Kirk later. And more on Kodos, too.

#star trek #kirk #pike #my fanfiction #star trek fic #i survived kirk #star trek the original series

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boogleboot · 4 months

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One year since Fateheart

A year ago I posted Fateheart: A Starless Seaquel to Ao3 (link here) - the mammoth fanfic sequel to Erin Morgenstern's The Starless Sea.

Fateheart has had an incredible year, and has completely changed my life, by all measures. Posting it has connected me to so many wonderful people and helped bring together a genuine community over on the Starless Sea discord (which you should join hey here's a link) who have supported me through the last hellish few weeks of uni assignments as well as months and months of creative projects and ambitious fic writing.

So on this blessed solstice day, here is a lil update for those who are following the slow progress of the unofficial Starless Sea canon as developed in Fateheart.

Oh that's right, baby. It ain't just one fan sequel. It's gonna be uhhh (checks notes) at least four.

I really really wanted to get the next book out at this year mark - on the solstice and year anniversary - but despite hitting that 50k mark for NaNoWriMo last month it just didn't happen (it's been a rough couple months - I am currently doing a master's course that is kicking my ass).

But I am determined to get Fever Pitch, the next full-novel-length follow-up story, out in full as soon as humanly possible. Toward that end I have gone ahead and made a posting for it. The first few chapters are done and have been done for a while, so I shall slowly be posting them as I work on the rest.

Watch this space!!!!

I never really intended Fever Pitch to be a fully-fledged sequel. Mind you, I didn't intend that with Fateheart either, but in a different way. In my mind the next book in the sequence is and always has been a story called The Lotus Flowers. Nearly 180k words of that one exist, but it is too important a story not to get right. So I'm gonna give it as much time as it needs - and it may need quite a lot.

But in working on Lotus Flowers, I came to realise that a lot of the world-building and character development which I was taking for granted was in fact not as obvious to the reader as it would be to me - LF is, after all, set ten or so years after Fateheart, and considering all of The Starless Sea (at least for Zachary and Dorian) takes place in about two weeks, ten years is space enough for a LOT of story.

So in order to strengthen my sense of where Zachary, Dorian, and Kat have found themselves by the ten year mark, I started noting down some of the more important moments from that decade of time. And then just kept writing. And writing and writing and writing until a handful of them were fully fledged novellas.

I have put up the polished ones - they are collected together on Ao3 as 'Fateheart: The Extended Canon'. Which is. A bit pretentious. But whatever. (Also I'm not kidding myself that all the fics in this collection are vital plot points, but there are a couple standout ones which are Canon Events in my mind, that will be referenced in later full-length fics. Namely A Heart That Won't Break, Death in the Valley, and The Man Named Sky.)

But one of these short (aspirationally) stories seemed as I wrote to have particular space in it for so much of that world-building and exposition, and that was Fever Pitch.

Fever Pitch takes place five years after the birth of the Harbour, and the events of Fateheart, and is an Alice-in-Wonderland themed story which explores the lives of all the main Fateheart characters (Zachary, Dorian, Kat, and Leander, namely), introduces some new players (shoutout Tabuzae and Kirsty Baudeville), as well as establishing the limits and life of the Harbour they live in.

I'd say a solid sixty percent of this story currently exists, and I'm gonna amp up the pressure on myself to complete it by posting it as I go - something I've never done before, so bear with me.

It means so much to me that there are people out here who care as much about these people and this little world on the Starless Sea as I do - even more so that so many people have loved my offerings of more story. The above photo is of my christmas present from a housemate who was one of Fateheart's earliest readers. It's so beautiful it makes my heart leap.

We rise, we fall - as stories do.

I am committed to seeing this story through, by the way - all the way to the end - and that is gonna take years. But we start here - with the next book in the series. First few chapters to appear over Christmas.

Until then, happy solstice. To seeking x

#The Starless Sea #Zachary/Dorian #Fateheart #fanfiction #TSS #Starless Sea #Zachary Ezra Rawlins #Dorian

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me-uglypretty · 1 year

Text

found home

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: After the catastrophe of Wundagore, Wanda unknowingly finds her way into something worth living for.

Warning: (18+) fluff, mention of death and injured child | 4k words

| winter things | Notify | Navigation |

The wind blew a snowy storm, showering nature around in its magical white ice. For any other, it would mean for Christmas cheers to erupt, houses to be filled with colourful decorations and perhaps, the melodious carolling of a festive holiday.

But this sort, the wondrous holiday that erupts a beaming smile on faces, has only wallowed Wanda in grief. The malicious act for spreading such happiness made her spit, trying to rid of the bitter tang in her mouth, and maybe, the ache in her chest chuckling at her departed ones that left her alone.

Wanda hasn’t found a home or someone to call home. It was her, always her, and it might as well end with her.

That was expected after the dreadful years had passed. Most significantly, the months before, where her body harboured unspeakable anger and grief for what she had lost; her parents, her brother, her children. The latter provoked the worst of agony.

Her babies which she remembered birthing into the world, the ache that made her scream then smile at the sight of them. Twins just like her and Pietro. The same children which was spat by them as unreal and crafted from magic.

Wanda, a destined witch, had created them from charmed thread of crimson.

But Wanda felt them at the pad of her fingers, their silky skin, head of hair so fluffy at that age, the giggles as they ran around their shared home, the cheeky smiles after attempting a prank on each other or on her, and they were real.

Tommy and Billy were real—just not in her universe.

They loved Halloween, and she knows, Christmas would had lit their smiles brighter than the fairy lights or the moon above. They would had loved to know her Jewish heritage and in turn, were theirs too. The lighting of the menorah, and daily prayers, surely to spark joy within their innocent hearts.

It’s unfair how she could easily count the happiest moment of her life as there were so little of them. Why was her life often shelved into something not worth mentioning? Unless, she was labelled as a threat or a weapon for their war, then she exists vividly to everyone.

Wanda thought the other way—sacrifice her life for the dammed book to never fall unto anyone’s hand, and perhaps, this would grant her a one-way ticket to those who had departed too soon from her.

And yet, she strides through heavy snow. The most alive sight and the most dead inside.

In some perfect year, during this exact winter season, she could imagine them coming to her with their curious round eyes, and their hands tugging at her hands. Tommy and Billy would babble about everything that could fit their growing mind. She assumed they would had loved to celebrate everything that was a wonderous holiday. And she would had done everything for them.

Wanda continued her meaningless journey for months after. Burrowed in warmth of a fiery end, then the sight of leaves descending from grey trees and eventually, the cold that flushed her cheeks. She was simply a lost soul, wandering without a purpose or reason.

Till she heard an anguished scream.

It hauled her forward, thoughtless as she tracked through a voyage of blurry white. The forest was far from civilisation, mammoth trees situated haphazardly and bathed in white, transparent vapour consume the space from naked eyes. Therefore, worry swamped her heart from the sheer sound of unknown cries for help.

The wind couldn’t pause for her search to complete as it blew angrily, shoving her frail body from acting upon her heart’s quest and the title which they onced marketed with her name. A hero.

Wanda doesn’t surrender as she stomps, the bruises on her body cries at every strain movement, but she takes a deep breath that falls into heavy breathes after. The stained edges of her fingers ridicule her moral deeds.

“Mama! Help! I am sorry for runnin’! Mama!” a muffled voice cried, sounding of a young child in pain and danger.

Wanda’s eyes widen, verdant spheres brimming with tears as thought, she heard the whimpers of her own children. It drew her with determination, pushing through the violent storm, and ignoring the cold’s restrained of warmth from pulsing through her blood.

“Where are you?” she shouted, troubled voice clashing with the wind’s howls. “I’m here to help!” she was utterly stunned by the sound that trembled in her throat, not caused by wrecked sobs or screams of agony.

“Mama…here…”

Wanda hasn’t felt her heart thumping in fear for another—for a considerable extensive time, but now, she follows the voice with urgency.

Then, she stepped into an abnormal sight and it startled her.

A lone hand waves feebly in the air, such pale tone almost fades into the white snow and so small, she fears at every step forward. The muffled cries weaken as seconds pass and soon, she sees a bed of golden, surrounded in silvery snow.

Wanda collapsed on her knees. “Hey, I’m right here,” she murmured, hands burrowing into snow where a hand extend to a petite body, half buried in snow, and skin almost blue.

A gasped left her mouth, cries trembling in her chest as she hastily hauls the body out of the snow. The young child shivers in Wanda’s arm, weaken by unsympathetic cold, and suffering by something they preached so joyfully for. She cradled the child as her own, a young girl subdued to a blue hue, the child so delicate in her embrace, soft skin so cold and covered with red blotches that resembled a sick child.

“Where did you come from…” she mumbled to herself, while the frail child resolved to muddled babbles.

Wanda doesn’t know what she must do to save the child withering into an icy death. But the sting in her chest, a heart pulsing with a reason, and her gaze settled on her darken fingers to where her hand was tenderly pressed on the child’s cold cheek.

The Scarlet Witch is not born, she is forged.

She couldn’t disperse to that—but she had, she must, she would do everything to save this child, even if it meant breaking the promise of never tapping into her powers again.

In that imperfect year, the scariest moment triggered flashes from a past swamped with death, and with that, a witch manifested the crimson hues from within her, and the small voices of her children engulfs her sweetly. Her fingers twitches as tendrils of red swirls around her fingers then tenderly touch cold skin where flashes of red hues penetrate through the chill inhabiting an innocent body.

Wanda’s mind strolls unconsciously through the child’s life. There’s a cottage somewhere, pulsing with ardent souls, perceptible in flickers of heartfelt smiles and gleaming eyes, the gentle touch reveals one of a mother, so pure and kind.

Another memory weaves through dark puddles, blurry and depressed, and where pair of red-rimmed eyes appeared with a promise. Wanda couldn’t hear the words that was said, but she was sure, a mother had promised to protect her child from everything.

Suddenly, a voice disrupts her concentration from the blurry visuals in her mind and her eyes widened, staring ahead at the familiar silhouette standing few feet away from them.

Crimson nebula surges out of Wanda’s body and that of a young child, awakening with a loud scream, whimpering in worry and fear, then silence. The young girl stares at her with doe-eyes and a woeful smile. Small hands meet wet cheeks. Wanda’s eyes shut closed as more tears escapes from the warm touch, and she sees them, her twins smiling so widely as they embrace her warmly.

“Yelena,” a soft voice breaks into tormenting cries, “My baby, please never scare me like this…you can never leave me…”

Wanda heard the voice first and was left speechless. It wasn’t an illusion, for she sees someone so familiar, and yet, so different.

The auburn hair messily knotted into braids, tresses fell around the frame of her face, and such a brilliant hue in white space. She sees her, this woman cradling her child who almost met death, and she was murmuring of everything that wasn’t in her control, and those glossy eyes met hers.

Thank you, they conveyed, verdant irises darkening in sadness and awake in puddles of tears, and she felt her own heart response, it’s okay, it’s nothing.

Wanda remained motionless. The cold seep through her bones and her blood gnawed at her to wake. She became a vessel of life, continuously falling over one terror after another. And there was her, the familiar eyes glistening so fondly for a child in her arms, the vivid auburn hair she could recognise from miles away, and the pure tenderness in her touch for a glowing child.

Natasha Romanoff—was there, she is there, and she cradles her child affectionately while Wanda Maximoff gawked at the scene like she had witnessed the awakening of a ghost.

They had never uttered of Natasha’s death.

Only petite information was conveyed through news which same outlet praised said heroes’ for saving them. A sentence would always be dedicated to her, declaring that the infamous Black Widow had somehow, in whatever miracle, saved the world among those remarkable heroes.

Wanda never knew, till the funeral of their adored hero.

“Mama, sorry,” the young girl whispered, clinging onto her mother. “I lost…but I was found,” and a phenomenon of small finger pointing towards Wanda, flooded her with something that wasn’t dread.

Wanda’s lips quivers, eyes shutting closed, and her hands clutched onto nothing as she allowed the cold to swallow her, but it doesn’t.

A distinctive warmth embraced her body wholly, small hands holding her, then another larger hand pressed on her back. Murmurs of sweet words seeps through her heart, weaving the wound that left a daunting ache infinitely, it hauls her into a different world. A life that whispered of how; you were never bad, you were a child, you were never giving a home, you were robbed of everything you loved, but you deserve to live again and feel immense happiness.

“It’s okay,” Natasha murmured, and another voice added, “Hot chocolate makes everything better!”

Wanda’s throat burns with a sound so foreign as she laughs, joining the melodious giggles of a child and another, someone she knew from a life long gone. It hasn’t occurred to her till that precious moment; how she had used her cursed power and it had garnered the most wonderous sound, how her heart felt fulfilled to witness the reunion of a mother and a daughter, how the hands they cursed were so tender as she mended a young girl’s life.

Perhaps, she believed for that dear moment, she wasn’t the evil they had smeared on her life.

Natasha gentle tapped her shoulder, drawing her attention into those familiar eyes gleaming with such sincerity. “We live close by, and I think you had a quite a journey.”

The young child gasped, her hand seamlessly linking with Wanda’s cold one, as if the gesture was normal and the witch wasn’t a dangerous stranger, but this was someone amazing, someone who saved her, someone who the child doesn’t fear.

“I can show you my Christmas tree!”

Natasha eyes plead silently for an acceptance, and swims with reassurance. As though, she saw beyond skin, and beyond the horrid that was threaded with Wanda’s life, and found nothing to detest. In fact, she viewed her as more than a wicked witch.

“It’s okay,” Natasha comforted her.

And a great deal was struck.

An unusual warmth woke the witch, who was buried beneath a thick blanket, and at first, she panicked, then she spends a considerable amount of time recounting the events from the previous evening. In which she basked the hospitality dispensed on her wounded self, a warm home at her reach, and food that tasted so good, she couldn’t remember the last time she ate.

And that of a child, withering to death.

And of a friend, waken from the death.

How many truths must remain undiscovered till she appears, wounded and seeking for more that it must find its way to her at that moment?

Natasha had met death at a cliff, as she was vaguely told. Clint was red-faced, avoided meeting her gaze and when he finally does, there was a glimpse of someone different and he was hiding himself from her.

“She was stronger,” he uttered, convincing Wanda from her questions. “Vision was too.”

Though, at that gloomy hour, her mind wasn’t decaying on the through of Vision. She wasn’t feeling dread to know his death was real, because she knew of him—a robot with a mind so beyond what imagined, and he shared the same cursed stone which connected them.

But she was thinking of her.

“You are awake!”

Wanda doesn’t stop the smile from tracing her lips so happily, or when small hands grasps her own. It fuels her heart, the air so light there, and reasoning doesn’t appear to stop her from feeling joy as a young child easily climbs on the couch and sits by her side.

“Mama’s sleepin’ and we must make breakfast!” Yelena spoke in hushed excitement, then continued in an altered tone, “I want to say sorry to mama, but I can’t reach the stove.”

The young child beams at her, a gap placing at the front of her teeth, and blue eyes widened in anticipation. Yelena was extremely convincing as Wanda allowed her lower limps to be led by the demand of a child. It makes her happy to witness the colours fill the young child’s skin that the horrid hue.

Natasha was beyond grateful. The magic used wasn’t an issue, neither was Wanda’s astonished look at sheer kindness. It was a serene sight, a friend she knew grasping her hand while the other held by a child and leading her through a path to where a small cottage hid from plain sight.

The brief introduction meant no harm, only a formal greeting to which they undoubtedly referred to her as one of them—not someone evil or cursed.

Wanda nodded her head. “What are we making?”

These two hands, one that summoned her then the other that lead her to warmth, cheerfully grasps her hands again. Yelena beckoned the adult into the kitchen which was divided from the hall room with a wooden wall.

Wanda halted the journey, her hand rested on the picture frame that was hanging from the wall. Without analysis the how’s and more, a wide smile graces her lips and when her gaze falls toward the young child, Yelena was equally happy to where her attention had fell upon.

A small voice hummed, then blew a deep breath. “Mama said this was our first picture together.”

In the picture, Natasha appeared tired by the dark circles beneath her eyes, but a toothy smile was on her face as she held a baby. Love blooms so effortlessly and honestly. A beautiful sight that made her heart flutter.

She thought to herself—as the child guided her to where the equipment was kept out of a young child’s reach—that this family must remain here forever, happy like this, and nothing should ever harm them. A witch proclaimed a promise at a vital moment, she may had been predicted as the worst, but she would protect this family till her final breath.

A tug on her burrowed sweater wakes her attention from the picture to where Yelena was waiting for her help. Wanda shakes her head, clearing her mind and immersing herself into one purpose; help the young child to make breakfast.

“What are we making for your mama?” she questioned, hands falling on her waist as she waited.

Yelena buzzed excitedly. “Mac and cheese!”

Wanda laughed amusedly. The sound so pleasant in her chest. “Is that your mother’s favourite or yours?”

There’s a fleeting look in those round eyes, swimming in innocence and adoration, but the noticeable trace of cheekiness that made Wanda smile. She doesn’t stop herself from helping make breakfast, where a soft declaration of sous-chef made the young child more excited in their little task.

It wasn’t confusing nor hard once she had figured out where everything was placed. Their kitchen was stocked with food, vegetables and meat, Natasha’s supposed favourite instant food was stacked over the other in a rectangular cabinet. Her body relaxed as she happily cooked and the sound of Yelena’s giggles made it better.

The young child hums a melody at random and submerge her mind into that, her own consciousness following the humming as they moved freely in the kitchen. A soft voice echoes instruction which was soundly obeyed. The concluding breakfast left a hungry aroma in the air and she heard the faint sound of stomach rumbling.

“Why don’t we make mama with breakfast in bed?”

Yelena agreed, readily picking up the tray of macaroni and cheese. “This is heavy,” she huffed, then considered the statement. “No, it’s light because I am strong.”

Unbeknownst to the bubbly young child, tendrils of red weaves beneath the tray and supplied an elevated boost, aiding the weight from seeming too heavy. Wanda’s fingers discretely wiggle in motion of where Yelena’s body was swaying as she rushed to where her mother’s room was situated.

Small hands push the door open while the other held the tray, such multitasking would had amazed a young mind—if not for her excitement to surprise her mother and Wanda’s hushed assistance, or they would had ended up scrapping the fallen breakfast from the floor.

“Mama? Good mornin’!”

Wanda felt her heart’s rapid pulse, thumping a loud sound that carried to her ears clearly. She was afraid of crossing the unseen border of privacy, but still, she stood behind the petite body with her arms crossed in sought of comfort from her own body.

The mother of an enthusiastic child wakes with a similar thrill. “Lena, good morning, my baby. What’s this?” Natasha’s questioned fell upon the answer in the form an adult hovering close by.

“Breakfast….Aunty Max help and I was a….sue chef!” Yelena eagerly answered, pushing the tray to her mother’s hold. Her muddled pronunciation roused smiles on the adults.

When the wide tray was under Natasha’s hand, a look of shock flashes on her face, then—as if she knew the caused, her gleaming eyes fell upon the hint of crimson that twirls seamlessly on her guest’s fingers, and she was pleased.

“Did you say thank you?”

Yelena, who appeared sadden, at once shifts her attention to Wanda. “I am sorry, Aunty Max. Thank you for helping me,” she reached her hand, tugging at the sweater as before.

Instantly, Wanda bend her knees, levelling her gaze with that of a young child exuding such kindness. “You’re very welcome,” she muttered, her hands acted on impulse as they rest firmly on round cheeks. “It’s okay,” she added, like she needed the child to know that nothing was wrong.

“Max, join us for breakfast?” Natasha’s voice edge with a tone she couldn’t decipher, but when her sight met someone she knew, it’s the utter reassurance that made her follow small steps onto the bed.

The tray was placed rigidly on Natasha’s lap while her daughter sat opposite with her legs crossed and beaming for her mother’s response. Wanda teeth was caught between her bottom lip nervously, till those eyes met hers.

“Come closer, we won’t bite,” Natasha teased, enticing the warmness sentiment in her chest. “Here,” she patted over the space beside her.

A mother, a daughter and a witch situated on a bed together, sharing a bowl of cheesy macaroni. The mumble of compliments that fell from full mouths, those innocent giggles and voice that made her smile wider till her cheeks ached, and the gentleness that was conveyed at very gentle graze of skin and the sweet smile of her.

Despite her obvious label of a stranger, she hasn’t felt this belonged—not since her family was alive, not since her brother was by her side, not since forever.

As they enjoy breakfast together, Wanda doesn’t think beyond the pain that wagged at her sheer joy or her stained fingers, but she descends into a world where she was loved. Their voice trembled at times, stammering out sentences that worries her heart, then she sees the young girl reaching for her hand and she found peace again.

A world where she wasn’t forced into their chosen image.

She was, she is Wanda Maximoff.

A feather like touch rouse a tired Wanda from sleeping throughout the morning. A smile slips through her façade, she felt those warm and tiny fingers prodding at her face with giggles. She waited, for a second then two, and she abruptly grabs the hands from their continuous agitation.

“Caught you!” Wanda exclaimed, as the petite body falls over her in heaps of laughter. “Oh no, you’re not escaping,” she claimed between heavy breathes, her own laughter merging with those of a child as her fingers tickles Yelena’s sides.

“Mama help!” Yelena screeched, trying to push Wanda’s hand. “Mama! Help! No, mommy, I’m gonna pee!” she yelped when her body was carried into the arms of her mother.

“Oh yeah? Where’s mama? I’m sure she put you up to this, uh?” Wanda’s playful bantered wakes cheerful giggles from the young child.

A year had passed. The worry of the first hour faded, each day prospered into a tranquillity and calm life and Wanda resumed the unknown path wearily, but eventually, life became better by Natasha and Yelena’s side. Her own beautiful family with her wife and daughter.

Yelena rested her head on Wanda’s shoulder, small arms looping around her mother’s neck. “We have a surprise for you, mommy.”

A soft kiss was pressed on the side of her daughter’s head as Wanda walked them out from the bedroom. Conversations were exchanged, the little whispers of seeing an eagle out the window, questions on if they could play in the snow later, and if Alexie was still dressing up as Santa Claus.

Yelena doesn’t like her grandfather’s attempt of Christmas traditions. She was beyond smart at her young age. Wanda doesn’t doubt her daughter’s intelligence. In fact, she agreed with Natasha when decided that their daughter would do great things when she’s older.

“Wait, mommy, close eyes,” the request was completed by small hands trying to shield Wanda’s eyes from seeing anything. “Walk slowly, mommy, like a snail!”

A heartfelt laugh leaves her mouth as she obeyed her daughter’s order, till they reach the hall room.

Yelena lifts her hands from her mother’s face. “Open your eyes slowly.”

When her eyes flutter open, at such a slow phase, the expected giggle made her smile happily, and the sight that met her first—

“It was too late last year…and we’re together now, and I think— we think you might like this surprise,” Natasha uttered nervously, fingers twitches and lips pursed as she waited for a reaction.

Wanda was speechless.

There stood her wife, dear Natasha, so beautiful and so kind—and she held a silver menorah, embedded on it was a beautiful design, different form the one owned by her family, nevertheless, still so beautiful beneath the faux white light.

“I don’t know much, but this was…”

And that moment, Wanda lips quivers, gleaming verdant eyes blurs through the tears that spills down her cheeks. Small hands met her cheeks, words of comfort seeps through her chest and to her heart, where it thumps happily—because she found home.

Wanda shifts her gaze to the round eyes of her daughter. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, slowly untangling the young child from her body and settling her down. “It’s beautiful,” she repeated, this time, those words were directed to her wife.

Natasha had done everything in her capability to ensure a witch felt home. The scene that unfold of her daughter’s near-death experience and the threatening red hues didn’t dither her away. But Natasha stayed by her, guiding Wanda through a different universe, not sparking her own ignorant opinion of a devastated life. She was cradling her warmly like it was meant to happen; the bond of two.

“Natasha,” she whispered, her accented voice appeared heavy as emotions overflows in her chest. “This is perfect.”

Wanda takes the step forward. It was better. She doesn’t have to search throughout the universe to find someone else’s joy and make it her own, because she found her own family here. The simplified life in a hidden forest, where vibrant colours were painted across the sky, stars that twinkled so magically at night and the moon glowing so beautifully, where they were together with nature and safe.

This is home, she confessed to herself as trembling hands grasps the menorah. Natasha doesn’t release her hold on the significant ceremonial symbol. Their fingers brush for the slightest moment, before body mend, and the muffled sob that leaves Wanda’s mouth, ushered waves of consolation.

“Mommy, don’t cry,” a soft worried voice utter, then she heard another whisper to her ear. “Don’t cry, my love.”

Wanda shakes her head, muffled laughter wakes as her cries fade into those of happiness. “I’m not sad. I promise. I’m so— I’m so happy, I’m just so happy.”

A family held each other, comforting the other from sadness and flourishing in warmth. Life had never flush in such vibrant colours before.

That night, they lit the candle on the menorah, and the flames casted over their face gleaming of joy.

At that vital moment, she thought of her sons and how they would had loved this—they would had loved Natasha and Yelena. Her mother, father, and Pietro would had bounced in joy for the family she found. They would had rejoiced in her happiness.

“You changed our life,” Natasha muttered, wrapping her arms around Wanda’s waist as they faced each other. “You saved our daughter…and here we are…”

“Both of you saved mine,” Wanda smiles giddily as their forehead touched. “And here we are…”

Natasha’s lips inched closer to hers, and they meet in a tender kiss. Wanda’s thumbs grazed the curves of her wife’s cheeks, her lips parted as velvety tongue glides across her bottom lip, and she hummed, feeling hands firmly resting on her waist.

“I love you,” she murmured, feeling a smile tracing on her wife’s lips.

And they stayed there together, swaying to the wind’s gentle whistle. The soft snore of their daughter resonates in the room, alongside bed of logs flickering as it burns to ashes.

For once, she was submerged in everlasting love and cheers, colourful decorations and melodious songs that played throughout the year—and so on, so wondrously beautiful as every little second with her family erupts a warmth in her chest.

Wanda found home and promised to stay by their side till the end.

#winter things #wandanat #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x wanda waximoff #scarlet witch x black widow #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff

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