#and since its still autumn in th story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ae-neon · 1 year

Text

Reading Throne of Glass (4-9)

Again. I'm nitpicking, it's just how I enjoy a lot of my media. Overall I'm still giving the story a fair chance. (Except the Nehemia plotline)

Chapter 4

Really great opening paragraph, like honestly so good.

Proof sjm once understood that starvation would decrease breast size. Also proof that misogyny rots the brain cause god forbid Nesta didn't look hot enough for Cassian to fuck during her depressive breakdown.

Sorry, back to tog.

This chapter is great, amazing even.

Everything from Celaena falling asleep on the floor cause the bed feels too different after her horrible year in the mines

-> her reaction to sunlight and the small bits of hope she has

-> her figuring out a way to kill Chaol every 15 minutes.

-> her solemn reaction to the fact that no one else would be leaving the mines in anyway except death.

The scene with the dogs was nice. I like the interaction and characterization going on between these 3 main characters.

The scenery and worldbuilding is good too. We have Ellwye, the West, Wendlyn, The Witch Kingdom, the East, Endovier, Ardalan and Rifthold all mentioned and somewhat defined within narrative context. No info dumping, just small relevant tidbits.

Okay so Celaena is 18, Dorian is 20, Chaol is 22.

It's almost shocking how reasonable sjm used to be.

Celaena's a little crazy but it's fun sometimes. She says she's trying to get under Chaol's skin but she's the one saying he's not very nice and being bothered when he doesn't engage with her.

22 is much better than I thought. But he honestly has to be not only the best swordsman in the country but also a very high up, well connected young lord to be Captain of the Royal Guard.

Me and Celaena locked in, fr. She clocked him as a Lord.

Also characters with a strong sense of justice >>>>> another 5 points for Chaol.

Top tier chapter overall.

Chapter 5

The forest scene is cool. King Brannon. 2000 years ago. Fae. Hope this plays a big role.

If the Fae are just gonna be dudes who run around the same as humans (with pointy ears and magic) why make them immortal? I don't think sjm really comprehends the concept or how otherworldly it really is.

She knew plenty about this forest, knew that the denizens of this place had once been faeries: gnomes, sprites, nymphs, goblins, more names than anyone could count or remember. All ruled by their larger, human-like cousins, the immortal Fae—the original inhabitants and settlers of the continent, and the oldest beings in Erilea.

Just say Elves, I beg of you

Okay but surely the King of Ardalan, aka Dorian Senior, banning magic and making it disappear is an act of magic itself? Like unless bro is god, the simple act of banning magic would not erase its existence.

The King of Adarlan had outlawed it all—magic, Fae, faeries—and removed any trace so thoroughly that even those who had magic in their blood almost believed it had never really existed, Celaena herself being one of them.

This all just happened within the last maximum 30 years. She herself just told us Fae are immortal. How the fuck would they forget they ever had magic? There are humans old enough to still remember.

"It had been a while since she’d contemplated the gifts she’d lost, though the memory of her abilities haunted her dreams." okay so it's happened only in the last 10 years??? That means everyone still remembers. Why not just write that Celaena could barely remember instead of implying it was a common thing.

Still really like her descriptions of the forest and of the faeries.

I'm guessing gnomes left her flowers. We'll probably never see them again.

Chapter 6

Icy rain kept them company for four days, during which time Celaena was so miserably cold that she contemplated throwing herself into a ravine, hopefully dragging Chaol with her.

Her dedication to murdering him is quite endearing, I fear

The weather hits for me rn because it's autumn here too.

...the Crown Prince pulled out of line and came trotting toward them, his dark hair bouncing. His red cape rose and fell in a crimson wave. Above his unadorned white shirt was a fine cobalt-blue jerkin trimmed with gold. She would have snorted, but he did look rather good in his knee-high brown boots. And his leather belt did go nicely—even though the hunting knife seemed a bit too bejeweled.

Dorian the fashionista

Okay wait. The castle is half stone half glass... Can you just see into the castle? How did they even build that. If this was wheel of time or something I'd assume it was a modern skyscraper being seen through the eyes of people who didn't understand that. But there haven't been any other clues to suggest post apocalyptic fantasy stuff... Idk how I feel about this

The writing continues to be good. Celaena's dreams are pretty disturbing and her moment of quiet contemplation while staring at the greenish glow of the glass castle was really solemn and grounding. I think her thoughts about putting kingdoms behind her would have really hit if sjm revealed her identity and still had her refuse to rule.

"She wasn’t fated for anything. Not anymore"

During this scene the weight of her life experiences so far - running from her burning home at 8, losing her magic, being taken in by a man she couldn't trust, being made to murder for a living, being betrayed (most likely by that same man) and ending up in a slave mine - feels real, feels like it's made her truly lonely.

Still, the image haunted his dreams throughout the night: a lovely girl gazing at the stars, and the stars who gazed back.

Okay so why didn't sjm give Feyre a moment like this if we're supposed to believe Rhysand is her destined true love.

Chapter 7

There's a sense of life in this story thats really missing from acotar. Rifthold has flags and sigils and trumpets announcing the Prince's return. The horses smell, the city smells, the spices from the market smell, the river smells. Like there's a world here and it's tangible.

Acomaf really is the grave. And stans act like it's her magnum opus. No wonder sjm doesn't talk to them.

From bearded peddlers to servant girls carrying armfuls of hatboxes, everyone paused as the flag-bearers trotted proudly ahead, and Dorian Havilliard waved. They followed the Crown Prince, who, like Chaol, was swathed in a red cape, pinned over the left breast with a brooch fashioned after the royal seal. The prince wore a golden crown upon his neat hair, and she had to concede that he looked rather regal. Young women flocked to them, waving. Dorian winked and grinned.

Nobody in Velaris or the Hewn City or Illyria gives a fuck about Rhysand like this lmaooo

Now that she noticed, there were countless chained slaves working the docks, lifting and sweating, holding parasols and pouring water, eyes on the ground or the sky—never on what was before them. She wanted to leap from her horse and run to them, or to simply scream that she wasn’t a part of this prince’s court, that she had no hand in bringing them here, chained and starved and beaten, that she had worked and bled with them, with their families and friends—she was not like these monsters that destroyed everything. That she had done something, nearly two years ago, when she had freed almost two hundred slaves from the Pirate Lord.

I get what sjm was trying to do but the White Woman Energy™ is off the charts. It's not about you and you being seen as bad. Decentre yourself from the slavery narrative, please and thank you.

Kinda disappointed Celaena didn't spot any other spies or assassins lurking about. She was strangely unobservant for once.

Spears erect, they held rectangular shields, and their eyes were dark beneath bronze helmets. Each wore a red cape. Their armor, while tarnished, was well crafted from copper and leather.

Actual description of uniform and weapons rather than just "Illyrian leathers" "Illyrian knives/swords" BUT why does the description sound like Roman soldiers when we're clearly in a renaissance-esque fantasy time period

No, okay, I don't like the literal glass castle on top of a stone castle. Celaena agrees.

Dorian: you won't compete as yourself, we'll keep it a secret.

Dorian at the entrance to the castle while nobles and guards are welcoming him back: WELCOME CELAENA SARDOTHIEN

They were each armed with a sword, knife, and crossbow, and though they’d been alert while their captain passed by, she knew a crossbow wasn’t exactly a light weight to bear for hours on end. Celaena crept to her bedroom window, pressing herself against the marble wall, and glanced down. Sure enough, the guards had already strapped the crossbows across their backs. It would waste precious seconds to grab the weapon and load it—seconds when she could take their swords, cut their throats, and vanish into the gardens.

Smart, and even adding to her character weight and credibility. She surveys the room, makes a weapon and categorises what she could use to kill. Legit feels like a competent assassin.

Even the clothes are so much better than in acotar. What happened to sjm??

“He has a big heart, His Highness.” hahaha Dorian is apparently out here hoeing, I respect it.

Not the literal throne of glass.

And then there was the matter of Dorian’s sapphire eyes—not even his mother had his eyes. No one knew where they came from.

I hope this matters

The conversation between Dorian Snr and Dorian Jr is loaded with politics:

King Dorian I is a conqueror

Dorian II doesn't want to inherit the empire.

The younger brother isn't really a threat, neither of them take Hollin seriously.

Ardalan is in active war against Wendlyn

Why call Celaena a witch if the race of Witch exists. Why not just call her a snake or temptress or something

Dorian wants to kill his dad. He just like me fr.

Chapter 8

Okay. Chaol has an eagle shaped pommel on his sword. Dorian's sigil is a wyvern. The guy Celaena ends up with can turn into a bird I think. Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel have bat wings. The love interest in Ccity is an angel. SJM has a thing for wings, yes?

Tamlin not having wings is more proof of Feylin not being endgame than anything else you can point to in the text.

Chaol is giving the assassin a tour of the castle... Is he stupid??

The competition begins tomorrow??????

“I don’t understand why you refuse to enter the glass addition,” he went on. “There’s no difference between the interiors—you wouldn’t even know that you were inside it unless someone told you or you looked out the window.”

I lack the visual imagination to understand what the fuck is going on with this building. It really just sounds like a skyscraper

A clocktower made of black stone. Something like you'd see at the Gates of Wyrd. Hmmm. King built a spooky magic tower thing around the birth of his son. The same king magically made magic disappear.... The gargoyle on the tower points to a tile in the garden with a symbol on it. It's feeling very Da Vinci Code rn

A library... I miss Nesta.

The letter exchange between Celaena and Dorian is better than anything in acomaf. I said what I said. Including it for proof:

Your Highness—

It has come to my attention that your library isn’t a library, but rather a personal collection for only you and your esteemed father to enjoy. As many of your million books seem to be present and underused, I must beg you to grant me permission to borrow a few so that they might receive the attention they deserve. Since I am deprived of company and entertainment, this act of kindness is the least someone of your importance could deign to bestow upon a lowly, miserable wretch such as I.

Yours most truly,

Celaena Sardothien

Celaena beamed at her note and handed it to the nicest-looking servant she could find, with specific instructions to give it immediately to the Crown Prince. When the woman returned half an hour later with a stack of books piled in her arms, Celaena laughed as she swiped the note that crowned the column of leather.

My Most True Assassin,

Enclosed are seven books from my personal library that I have recently read and enjoyed immensely. You are, of course, free to read as many of the books in the castle library as you wish, but I command you to read these first so that we might discuss them. I promise they are not dull, for I am not one inclined to sit through pages of nonsense and bloated speech, though perhaps you enjoy works and authors who think very highly of themselves.

Most affectionately,

Dorian Havilliard

What happened to Sarah, when did she abandon romance?

Also. Again. This is supposed to be kept secret but she signed her name??? And Dorian responds "my assassin" any courier or spy would have had them by the balls before the day was done.

IS THAT KALTAIN??? Her ladies are idiots.

Ahhh, classic YA girlhate

Chapter 9

Super short chapter.

Aww, Chaol.

----

Overall I'm still enjoying this more than I expected.

Again what happened to sjm? This love triangle is building so well.

#ae read #throne of glass #sjm critical #celaena sardothien #dorian havilliard #chaol westfall #ae read throne of glass

26 notes · View notes

peace-coast-island · 3 months

Text

Diary of a Junebug

Go with the flow like the autumn koi and swim away without a care in the world

I should strive to be more like the autumn koi in the Moonlit Choral Brook. They follow the rhythm of the river like it’s a dance, always moving forward. I wonder how the world looks from their point of view through the crystal clear water.

We’re in Sunburst Villa for a fishing tourney involving autumn koi obviously. They’re kinda like the village’s mascot, so it’s no exaggeration to say that they’re everywhere. I don’t mind, I think koi are pretty, especially the autumn koi with its warm and vibrant colors.

Along with the journey, there’s MellowCon, an anime convention where Alexi and Emma are attending. Of course, I got a couple signed prints from them, one of them having been commissioned from Cheyenne, who regretfully couldn’t make it. Luckily, the next convention Alexi’s going to is about half an hour away from where Cheyenne lives and they have plans to meet up with some old college friends during that weekend.

We’re also hanging out with Jamie and the Linnea Squad for some sightseeing. Jamie wanted to treat the Linnea Squad to a vacation when she found out an old friend and her traveling party was in the area, so she introduced them to us.

The fishing tourney has been fun in a chill, low-key kind of way. I always prefer events more of that pace than something big and extravagant. Sure, those can be fun, but they also can be draining. For me, fishing is about taking it easy, so it makes sense for it to be a low stakes kind of thing. It would be nice to catch lots of huge fish and get a nice trophy, but that’s not a priority for me. I’m just here for the cool sea creatures.

MellowCon was also fun, although it’s not really my scene, so I didn’t really spend a lot of time there. To be honest, I really only hung around Alexi and Emma because I’m not familiar with the other shows and games over there. Really, I only know a very small handful of characters they play, specifically from Pillars of Stone and Flame. Still, it was fun looking around and seeing all the art and cosplay.

At least I was able to get into the conversations revolving around Pillars. Along with Emma and Alexi, it seems like a lot of the English VAs really kicked off their careers with Pillars - and most of them happen to be fans of the game too. The new update’s coming next week with a new exploration area and story chapter, both which I’m hyped for.

Along with the excitement for the new update, we also talked a bit about that dev, the one who was memed in an interview for coming off as a snob — and rightfully so, to be honest. Apparently, she made a spectacle of herself in a podcast by being sort of passive aggressive towards the fanbase. From my understanding based on translations, she doesn’t like the criticism towards the writing, except she kinda blows it out of proportion.

I mean, I kinda get it, but at the same time those criticisms are usually valid. I got interested in Pillars for the story and exploration, and while I am invested, I find the writing to be uneven at times. In other words, when it’s good, it can be really good, but when it’s bad, it falls flat. At least, in my opinion, the story has improved a lot since the beginning, though pacing seems to be its weak spot.

The podcast also goes a bit into Constellation Matrix, which is another game produced by the same company as Pillars, and that was what prompted the dev’s rant as she worked on both. I don’t know too much about Constellation Matrix’s lore, but there’s a lot of comparisons made between the character Fury and Pillar’s October - who happens to be played by Emma - in terms of their character arcs being similar.

From the gist of it, Fury was a fan favorite, at least until the writers butchered her character arc so badly that she died an anticlimactic death. In other words, she was a well written character with a lot of potential to take the story in another direction. Fans speculated that the writers didn’t want to commit or something, so they decided to kill her off and then act like she never existed. Of course, fans protested and the phrase “offed like Fury” became a thing. Even the company and the devs poke fun at it occasionally.

I mean, imagine screwing up so badly that you sort of became a cultural phenomenon, like, damn. I can see the parallels between Fury and October, which are likely intentional, though I think I have faith in Pillars to not pull an “offed like Fury” with October. I mean, October’s second character story chapter’s coming out in the new update, so she’s not disappearing from the spotlight anytime soon. Really, the only thing I’m worried about at this point is the pacing, especially later on when the story begins to focus on other characters.

And on an unsurprising note, that dev isn’t a fan of “offed by Fury” and went off on a tangent on why it was necessary for Fury to die and people were too dense understand what it meant for the narrative or something. I didn’t understand most of it, but she seemed really defensive over that for some reason, which is what people are memeing over because it really is ridiculous.

Aside from hyping about Pillars, the biggest highlight of MellowCon for me was seeing Alexi and Emma with their fans. Both of them never imagined that they’d make it as voice actors, not with the way their families discouraged them from pursuing it. And now here they are, living the life they never imagined would be possible if they hadn’t taken the plunge. It really is amazing to see.

Alexi had a pleasant surprise when her brother showed up with his friends to support her. She mentioned that out of her family, she has a difficult relationship with her oldest brother and their father after the accident. The way she describes it, they see her as damaged goods, a traumatized amputee who should be ashamed to be alive. Sounds harsh, but that’s just the sad reality of how some people are.

While things are far from ideal between Alexi and her brother, at least they’re talking. It’s sad that they used to be close, only for him to pull away when she needed his support the most. She said the worst thing was that he was being dishonest, always making up excuses to justify treating her like she’s less of a person. And when her voice acting career took off, she felt that his “support” was purely superficial, as in he only cared when it benefitted him.

As for her father, not only he looks down on her, he also thinks that voice acting is not a real job. His response to her getting more recognition as a voice actor was basically along the lines of, “Do these people have anything better to do? Aren’t they tired of her yet?” How rude.

Alexi said she wasn’t super close to him as they didn’t really have a lot in common to begin with, but they got along pretty well back then. She described him as old fashioned, the kind of person who thinks that people should just develop a thick skin and get over it. Basically, although he’d never say it outright, he’s ashamed of having a disabled and mentally ill daughter.

By now, Alexi’s accepted that they’ll never see eye to eye. She admits that she can be difficult, though I don’t think that’s an excuse for him to cast her aside like that. Sounds like the kind of person where there’s just no winning with them. When you’re at your lowest, they make fun of you for being weak. And then when you stand up for yourself, they complain that you’re unreasonable and stuck up. Sometimes you just have to say “Fuck it, I’m not bending over backwards just to get your approval.” Alexi’s been through a lot of shit and she doesn’t have time to deal with people like that. Good for her!

Then we met up with Jamie and her friends, the Linnea Squad and Caerwyn’s adventuring party. Linnea and her comrades are still traveling with Jamie from time to time, mainly because they need a mentor figure to look up to. They’re still at large, so going off on their own isn’t the best option.

Linnea’s still trying to reason with Jet and Gabe, but it seems like her pleas go in one ear and out the other. There’s no point in forcing them to talk if they refuse to, so she has no choice but to let it go. She and the others are still hoping for a reconciliation, but knowing how stubborn and hardheaded their friend is, they’re gonna need a lot of patience before things settle down. As long as he’s not causing trouble, and potentially putting the rest of the squad at risk, Jamie advises that it’s best to leave him alone for now. Sounds like a tricky situation, though I think the squad’s handling it well.

As for Caerwyn, she’s an elf mage who’s adventuring with her apprentice mage Salka, and Kalle, a warrior from the Glacial Mountains. They were planning to travel further up north, but they encountered problems at the Hallowed Pass. There was another member, a healer mage they picked up during their travels who later parted ways not too long ago, right before the group headed towards the Hallowed Past.

The ordeal the party experienced over there caused a considerable setback, but since they’re not on a strict schedule, it’s not that big of a deal. Basically, there were a bunch of curses and monsters acting haywire to the point that the roads became inaccessible. Caerwyn said it was just their luck that their healer mage just left because he happened to have an innate immunity to some of those curses, which would’ve made cleaning up a lot more easier. Still, it wasn’t anything that Caerwyn couldn’t handle.

While Caerwyn and Salka took care of the curses and flying monsters, Kalle handled the beasts and whatever physical obstacles came their way. The whole cleanup took nearly four days and they succeeded in reopening those routes, a feat that Caerwyn said would be considered impossible for most mages and warriors. I don’t think she’s exaggerating, otherwise, I think Jamie would’ve called her out.

Those four days really tested their stamina, especially for Kalle, so they have to take it easy for a while before going back on the road. Since they have to cross the mountains and blizzard season is approaching, which can get deadly in these parts, the group figured that it’s not worth risking their necks out there. Along with overexertion, Kalle also sustained some injuries while fighting, so he had been on strict bed rest orders.

Caerwyn and Salka are almost fully recovered while he still has to take it slow. And of course, he’s gone a bit stir crazy from being in bed all the time, but at the same time too tired to really do anything. That can be a drag sometimes. At least he was well enough to join us on the tourney for a bit and catch some autumn koi.

Since there’s no way of knowing when’s the next time they’ll cross paths again, Jamie and Caerwyn have a lot of catching up to do. Jamie says Caerwyn doesn’t have the best sense of time because she has a long life, so Salka often has to keep her in line or else she’d be taking them on detour after detour. After all, she may have all the time in the world, but for us humans, we don’t really have that luxury.

Salka has explored the village in and out, so she’s become our tour guide. The three of them tend to do their own things when they’re staying somewhere for a while. Caerwyn likes to look for shops that sell magic stuff, according to her, shadier a place looks, the more likely you are to find some treasure. Jamie wasn’t exaggerating when she said that Caerwyn’s a walking tome on magic. While she’s off doing that, Salka’s exploring the shops and replenishing on supplies, and Kalle’s running around helping the locals out.

There’s a cafe that’s not too far from the tourney, so it’s become our hangout spot. Not only the pastries are good, they also have these cute autumn koi rice cakes for the occasion. It’s kinda become our thing to end the night with rice cakes, green tea, and a couple card games.

The nightlife is pretty active here, so Caerwyn and Salka have been using these game nights to seek out a new member to join their party. As their journey goes on, they realize that they need a healer, preferably a licensed medic. The guy who left, Emlyn, wasn’t a medic, but he was a mage who Caerwyn considers a genius. Not only he’s immune to most curses, which is considered unusual, he can easily heal ailments that are difficult for even the most experienced mages. And the worst part, according to Caerwyn, instead of putting his gifts to good use, he spent most of his life living with regrets. Based on her tone, I wonder if she’s speaking from experience.

Before going off their separate ways, Emlyn left a notebook on various spells and medicinal herbs for common ailments, which has been a godsend for them. While that alone has been helping them get by, Caerwyn’s open to recruiting a medic just to be safe. According to her and Jamie, those kinds of mages are considered to be very niche, which is why it’s hard for them to find one. Basically, mages aren’t very common, and licensed ones, especially in the medical field, are very few and far between. Emlyn happened to be a unique case, so their replacement has some big shoes to fill.

Well, like Caerwyn says, there’s no rush. It’s not healthy to live life burdened by worries and regrets. Sure, there are things that are outside your control, but don’t let that stop you from living. Although Caerwyn’s made a name for herself as a powerful mage, she says she can’t help but feel like she hasn’t done enough, which is why she’s on this adventure now, to take it slow and really get to know her companions before she inevitably outlives them like most of her friends.

After getting burned out with the incident at the pass, she said seeing the autumn koi swimming in the river reminded her why she and Salka set out on this journey in the first place. Instead of a definite endpoint, they’re just going with the flow like the koi, and they’re content with that. Even if you decide to stop moving, the currents will take you along anyway whether you like it or not, so you might as well let it carry you away. You’ll end up somewhere, and you have the choice of exploring your surroundings or just burying your head in the sand. Like I said before, sounds like Caerwyn’s speaking from experience.

It won’t be long before we all go our separate ways again. Jamie hopes it won’t be too long before she and Caerwyn cross paths again. There may be no guarantees, but considering how much Jamie travels, Caerwyn bets that they’ll meet up again in the future, and hopefully introduce her to their medic. From how Jamie, Salka, and Kalle talk about her, Caerwyn is an interesting figure, one who I really hope to meet again in the future if fate allows.

Read on AO3

#animal crossing pocket camp #animal crossing #headcanon ramble #diary of a junebug

3 notes · View notes

taruchinator · 11 months

Text

💗 General Audiences

💗 1.8k Words

💗 Written for @pridezine2022!

“Alright! You can take it off now!”

Following the instructions given to him, Sherwin went for the knot at the back of his head and pulled the blindfold away, and could only stare in bewilderment at the sight.

New Gate Middle School.

Jonathan had set up a small picnic blanket over the grass, their favorite foods served for them to enjoy a relaxing meal, as well as a single red apple on top of a copy of the brunet's favorite book: ‘The Picture Of Dorian’ by Oscar Wilde. “This is where it all began, right?”

Greetings everyone, Alice here! And a very happy Pride Month to you all! 🌈

This is a little something that's been sitting in my completed fics folder for a while, so I figured now would be the best time to show it off! It's a small story I wrote for a Pride Zine I participated in about a year ago featuring my favorite LGBTQ+ short film— In A Heartbeat! 💗

“Jon, seriously! Where are we going?”

Sherwin giggled as he continued to walk aimlessly across an unknown territory, all the while being blindfolded and only having his boyfriend's soothing voice to guide him. He could feel the other's firm yet gentle grip on his shoulders, and a soft chuckle escaping the younger hispanic man's lips. “I promise, we're almost there!”

Today was Sherwin and Jonathan's 5th year anniversary. Because of this, the brunet had surprised the ginger that morning with some breakfast in bed and a short cuddle session before saying that there was a place he wanted to take him to. Ever since they left their apartment, Jonathan insisted that Sherwin wear a blindfold, as if not, then it would ruin the surprise.

And as such, the next thirty minute car drive toward the unknown location was filled with Sherwin asking questions, all in an attempt to take a guess as to where they were heading. Once they arrived, the brunet helped him out of the vehicle and the duo began walking. Hence their current situation, and Sherwin's growing anticipation.

He began to feel the texture of grass underneath his sneakers— even heard the occasional crunching of leaves, which shouldn't have been surprising considering autumn was right around the corner. The smell was of musky wet dirt, and for some reason the ginger thought it was very familiar.

After a couple more steps, Sherwin was forced to a stop, and heard a quick “Be right back!” before he heard the sound of footsteps moving ahead of him. It took less than a minute before he heard the voice again, this time filled with excitement that he didn't get to hear very often from his boyfriend. “Alright! You can take it off now!”

Following the instructions, the ginger went for the knot at the back of his head and pulled the blindfold away. It took a moment before his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, but when they did, all Sherwin could do was stare in bewilderment.

New Gate Middle School.

It was almost exactly the same as it was seven years ago. The entrance, the trees, the main pathway leading up to the large building with its iconic clock which ringed whenever classes were about to start.

It was all there.

A quick cough brought the ginger back to the present as he turned toward the hispanic man, and that's when he noticed it.

Sherwin could feel his heartbeat starting to race, but he forced himself to calm down. He's learned how to deal with the little troublemaker over the years. Yet still, he couldn't wipe the goofy grin off his face as he faced the man he loved. “Jonathan… this is…”

“Where it all began, right?” The hispano returned the loving smile as he gestured to the blanket, a silent invitation for him to sit down. Sherwin nodded and sat right next to his lover as they both enjoyed the calm breeze from under the tree— the same tree in which Jonathan had found Sherwin under all those years ago. “Figured you might like it.”

“Like it? I love it! But wait, how did we get in?” Sherwin's excitement changed to curiosity as his expression turned puzzled. Jonathan chuckled again, and then proceeded to show off the keys he had in his pockets. “Let's just say a teacher owed me a favor from a seminar I gave to his students a few months ago.”

That made sense. The brunet had decided to become a teacher due to his love of knowledge and helping children, so he made plenty of connections with other educators around the country, including some from their old middle school apparently.

Jonathan began adjusting himself on the blanket as he spoke. “I remember running outside to the courtyard trying to find you. It wasn't that hard when your hair is the shade of an orange.”

Sherwin chuckled in reply as he rubbed at the base of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah… I just wanted the earth to swallow me up so I could crawl in a hole and never be seen again.” And he truly did. The second-hand embarrassment he had felt back then from Jonathan as their classmates looked at them with judging eyes was too much for the 13-year-old to bear.

Noticing the sudden frown on the ginger's lips, the brunet quickly tried changing the subject to something more positive. “I didn't know what to think when you confessed, especially in front of everyone. So I just stood there and let people's opinions of me get in my head. And in the end I hurt you because of it. But… if none of it would've happened, I never would've gotten to know you! Nor would I have realized I was bi.”

Sherwin let the words sink in, and realized that his boyfriend was right.

After the incident, the brunet started asking him to hang out with him more often, which of course made the ginger both giddy and terrified all at once. They started getting to know each other— Sherwin learned even more things to love about Jonathan— and the hispanic boy began to enjoy the other's company to the point where some feelings began to develop whenever he was around him.

He could have never predicted Jonathan asking him out on their last day of school.

And as such, they started dating as soon as they entered high school, and have continued going strong even after graduating from college. The past five years had to have been some of the best in Sherwin's life, and it was all thanks to the man who sat next to him and loved him for who he was, despite how hard it was for him to believe.

Whenever the ginger had doubts, Jonathan would assure him that he loved him, and that he'd never regretted dating him even for one second. It was always nice to be reassured, especially with gestures like the ones from today.

“But… our anniversary isn't the only reason I brought you here.” Jonathan broke the comfortable silence in a soft voice, making Sherwin turn to him in confusion. For the first time since he's known him, the brunet seemed rather fidgety and nervous all of a sudden. It was cute, but still a bit odd. “Jon? Is everything okay?”

Jonathan shook his head and tried smiling assuringly. “Yeah, everything's fine! I just, um, didn't really plan this far ahead, hehe…”

Taking a deep breath, the hispano tried regaining his senses and took a hold of both of Sherwin's hands, making the ginger blush on the spot. Even after five years of dating, he'd never get used to physical contact like this. Jonathan looked into his boyfriend's eyes and held a firm gaze. “You know I love you, right?”

Another blush. Hearing the words leave his mouth would never stop feeling as magical as the first time. “Y-Yes, I know. And I love you too…”

Jonathan smiled. “Good. That's all that matters to me. You're all that matters to me.”

As they held onto each other, Jonathan continued talking. “I remember the day I saw you for the first time. I didn't talk to you or anything, just saw you in the bleachers with the rest of the marching band.”

Sherwin's face immediately felt like it was on fire. “W-Wait! You mean the first recital?! You were there?!”

Jonathan chuckled as he nodded. “Yup. You were in the back playing the triangle trying to keep up with everyone else. What made you stand out to me was that despite being out of rhythm, you started dancing along to the music. I thought you were the textbook definition of a nerd.”

With each word, Sherwin continued to grow red in embarrassment as he hid his face on his shoulder. “Man, I was making a fool of myself that day. Talk about making a good first impression…”

“That's exactly it, though! You made a great impression! You looked like a guy who didn't care what anyone thought of him— someone who wasn't afraid of being himself. I sorta admired that about you… And after we started dating and I got to know you, I realized just how sweet, funny, loyal and brave you were.” Jonathan finished that statement with a grin adorning his features, making him look even more handsome than he already was.

The ginger only smiled awkwardly at all the compliments as he avoided eye contact. “I wouldn't really call myself brave, though. I was always so scared of people finding out I had a crush on you… I was so scared you'd find out.”

Jonathan smiled once more as he leaned close to the young man. “But you listened to your heart. And even though it was a bit of a mess at first, you never backed out from what you said because you meant it. So I'm not backing out either.”

Letting go of one of Sherwin's hands, the brunet went for his pocket, and brought out a small blue velvet box. The ginger froze at the sight. “Is that…?”

Jonathan brought the box between them, and opened it to reveal a shiny silver band. Sherwin's cheeks started feeling wet for some reason. “Sherwin, I love you. And after thinking about it for so long, I realized that I want to love you and wake up next to you every day of my life. Which is why I need to ask… will you marry me?”

The ginger stared at Jonathan as he felt the tears trickling down his cheeks. The brunet seemed nervous, holding the box firmly between them with slightly shaking hands. Almost as if he were afraid that Sherwin would say no. Like that would ever happen.

“Y-Yes! Oh my god Jon, yes!” Sherwin finally found his words as he leaped into his beloved's arms and held on tight, never wanting to let go.

Jonathan returned the embrace almost immediately as he started his own mixture of laughing and sobbing. “God the suspense was killing me! You better not do that to me at the altar, you hear me?”

“Can't make any promises if you make another speech like that!”

“Just shut up and let me kiss you!”

And so, they did. Soft lips conveyed a thousand words between them as they held onto each other like they'd never let go.

Looking into the past would always be scary to Sherwin. There were lots of things he wasn't proud of, nor wanted to remember again because of the horrible experiences his peers put him through simply because he was interested in boys.

But still, the past was what made him who he was. And it led him to the present he had today. A beautiful present, in which he was loved by the man of his dreams.

And if that wasn't good enough, then he didn't know what would be.

✧ TWITTER ✧ INSTAGRAM ✧ AO3 ✧

✧ WATTPAD ✧ KO-FI ✧

#in a heartbeat #sherwin #jonathan #sherwin x jonathan #jonathan x sherwin #2022 pride zine #pride month #my stories

13 notes · View notes

onceuponanaromantic · 2 years

Text

the great sage (avoiding the horses’ plague)

(written for @flashfictionfridayofficial‘s prompt: FFF167: Leap of Faith. Not related to anything else I’m working on, but a resurrection of a very old story idea I never finished! Title, quite literally, Sun Wukong’s. Enjoy!)

While there is rather less green and quite a bit more grey, he could see why the humans called cities concrete jungles.

He cackled, throwing himself into a backflip off the streetlamp steel to land on a windowsill. The lamps cast his shadow upon the pavement as he flew, the remaining leaves rustling off branches as he flew. Autumn had always been his favourite time of year, more so now that the Jade Court had bigger things to worry about than his eminent self.

Wukong had thought they had forgotten him, to his indignation. What a horror, to be forgotten! Him, the great monkey god! He had angrily climbed a taller specimen of those buildings the humans had constructed in his absence, only to reach the garden to loud shrieks. It rather turned out that they hadn’t forgotten him, but rather were struggling with bigger issues. Such as getting humans to believe in them again.

He hadn’t quite got their meaning, but apparently, in his absence, there had been a deep erasure of their existence in favour of some other god. He gathered it had been violent and rather miserable, judging by the exhaustion in the farmer’s eyes and the shudder in the tails of the animal spirits he had come across. The forests fluttered sadly to him, the great peach trees of his home mountain reaching joyfully, if fearfully towards him. He had searched, almost frantically, for his old compatriots, the great monkeys of the Mountain, the great rulers of the hill in his absence.

He felt the fear grip his heart, and he understood why they no longer worried about him.

He had found the daughter of a daughter of one of his old advisors. She looked upon his face, fingers reaching gingerly to his staff and the family marks upon his fur. He remembered the way her great-grandmother laughed arrogantly as she threw gods out from the mountain for daring to disturb her rest, and his voice shuddered as he asked her where the rest of them were.

“They hide.”

He had felt a surge of revulsion. What was there to hide from that the mountain could not protect his own? But she had only nodded solemnly, her fingers clenching the same way her ancestor’s had.

“I stayed here to wait.”

And so she told him the story of how the monkeys had gone out, mischief used to defend their forests using mist and the warm waters of streams flowing out from the rivers. But the rivers had dried and the forests burned, and one by one, they had stopped responding to her messages. The forest itself poisoned and the rivers stinging where they once soothed, she told him the story of how her family had been chosen to remain as the strongest and wisest.

The waters of time had long since taught him not to rush off impulsively as the anger, fear, and grief warred in his heart. If he had been younger, he would have drawn his staff immediately, surged off in a burst of wind to the forests to seek out his monkeys. But age had told him to wait and research. To learn more about this new world, to listen to the spells the human now cast, the whispers of the forests until he learnt how best to help those he considered his.

It hadn’t been all gloom. She told him proudly of her younger sister picking the freshest apples from the conqueror’s banquet, throwing them into the air and disappearing in a laugh. She told him of her partner’s twisting the river to throw the humans off balance as they tried to sail down it, calling the current to his will. She told him about her own visit, leaving her young daughter in charge, to the Dragon of the East River.

“Does his palace still miss its pillar?” He asked, laughingly.

“He remembers you. And so does his palace.” Hetao said, responding with a smile of her own.

And he had talked the night away, staying and resting for weeks until he had been ready to reenter the city.

It helped, of course, that he had always been drawn to mischief. He looked at the arching neon sprays of paint across school walls and added rude points of his own. He stole important documents from offices, folding them into flowers and scattering them in mounds across the ground. He threw himself into the air, again and again, seeking the same joy he had once felt in it. He shifted form, bird, fly, mosquito, lion, human, and then monkey again, tricking swans as he dove into lakes as a fish before taking flight.

Wukong sought out the warriors of this time, his staff in hand as he kicked and slashed through fights. He bowed after, of course he did, and he always held back his strength, but it was always just a little bit not enough for him.

He tricked other spirits and demons, but it was no fun.

And all this, he did while he waited, while he learned how to craft an identity for himself to live in this world as he did his research. He learned the new mediums for trickery, shifting himself as easily as he did while alive. It was a fascinating experience, as he remembered fondly how he first learned to shift between forms, as he applied those same lessons to learning new things.

No one believed in his name, but it was no bother. They invoked him casually, teenagers bored out of their minds while stuck in their homes. He deigned to respond sometimes, sparks of magic that shorted out the capillaries of electricity to their places, sudden colour changes to plain facades. But he had learned to listen, and so he did.

What use is constantly leaping, after all, if you don’t know what you’re jumping into?

#syl's writing #the original prompt was sth i started years ago about a god #but i never finished it #so have this new take on my original idea #flash fiction friday #fff167 #leap of faith #both of them are both sun wukong's titles #ok original idea was that it wld be very funny to see ppl starting to invoke the monkey god's name #in response to absolute boredom during lockdown #but i'm not the person i was years ago LOL #the great sage is a name he claimed #but was accepted by the jade emperor to keep him out of trouble #the other is a pun and me using the pun rather than the original #idk sometimes i have an affinity for him because like #yeah i do get what it's like to be so bored that you would do literally anything to get it to Stop #even if it means abandoning a duty you were assigned to keep you out of trouble #and learning incredible and difficult things quickly just because you were interested in them #like. i get it. i so get it.#and to have hubris enough that you're literally sent on an epic level adventure where you learn to be the voice of wisdom #horror of horrors #and then to learn to figure stuff out more calmly later

8 notes · View notes

existentialmagazine · 5 months

Text

Review: Indie-rock band about-faces share a dreamy new single ‘Cinematic and Chrome’, a nostalgically infused piece of transcending ease

Since their debut single ‘Under The Sun’, about-faces have now a mass of previous accomplishments to their name, including features on BBC Leeds, a standout performance at the 'By The Sea' Festival selected by BBC Introducing, and recognition as Danielle Perry's self-released artist of the month. Their follow-up ‘The River’ found itself to be just as resonant with fans, marking about-faces as an act not to be overlooked on the scene despite their fresh new faces. Now sharing ‘Cinematic and Chrome’, the indie and soft rock sensation are ready to really solidify their position as a rising force sure to take over the music scene entirely.

Slowly fading in, ‘Cinematic and Chrome’ approaches you like the opening credits of a movie esteemed for its cinematography, flowing through golden, warm scenes of autumn days seeped in a retro film flair of nostalgia. It may be hard to imagine how sound alone can transport you to such vivid imagery, but through the soft drum beats, bass twangs and shoegaze feeling, reverberant electric guitar riff ‘Cinematic and Chrome’ layers your ears with a sound so familiar and yet so intangible that you cannot help but reflect on times long ago. The vocals are equally transparent, carrying raw emotion in the tenderly sung lines, a delivery filled with bittersweet flair in every line from fluctuating highs to melancholic lows. The instruments settle around them, falling into steady, quieter drums, a casual guitar riff and intermittent bass, a carefree breeze of noise that puts you at ease to listen along to. Complementary female vocals by Danielle Capstick weave around their male vocalist’s words for a light chorus, together singing of a love story that cannot help but bear all of the emotion tenfold to how it could be portrayed alone, singing the same lines and yet displaying such separate emotions. Taking over half of the following verse, Danielle sings angelically alone before lead vocalist Sennen Ludman's impassioned lines once again return, a masterpiece of entwining approaches that explores love’s complexity in such a sonically dynamic way. Pushing forward, things only further evolve through a bridge of striking bass, building drums, hazy sound and one final cathartic chorus climax to see things out.

Through sound alone about-faces have shared just as much of this story as their lyrical unravellings, displaying both the union of love and contrast in perspectives through moments of solitary vocals, harmonising lines and others’ that seemingly battle to share their piece. As such it’s no surprise that the words seek to detail how love can often be more than meets the eye, speaking on a journey of lovers that’ll keep you guessing if they’re still in love, out of love, or if they’ve ever truly been in love at all. From the opening admission ‘found love in the autumn, decayed in the summer’ , there’s a sense of heartbreak front and centre, comparing their love to nature’s passage of time and the imagery of fallen leaves once beautiful turned bleak. Continuing ‘she swears she’s never leaving… my ex missus, she said the same thing’ , it’s hard to depict when and where each line falls in their love story, a conflicting concoction of information that never leaves you quite sure if they’re still together or longing with regret. There’s a definite hint of insecurity peeking through too, comparing his partner to an ex as un-dealt with trust issues arise, held back by the past and unable to let go as he expresses an inability to believe his new lover’s words. More multi-faceted lines like ‘two lovers kissing, I’m not breathing’ continue this theme of duplicity, in one hand potentially exploring the passion of their romance and the true feelings that emerge when together, or in an other could be referencing the breathlessness in their lungs as they look at others’ kissing while they yearn for what once was. The real beauty of ‘Cinematic and Chrome’ is that it’s real, that it feels like an authentic relationship built upon hardships and broken communication, taking you through everything from grieving its ending to appreciating the growth and infatuation once held, to in part hoping this dysfunctional couple made it through - as that’s what it really means to be human.

Check out ‘Cinematic and Chrome’ for yourself here to dance through the mesmerising sound tinged with the complexities of love.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

#tatiana

0 notes

libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

Thus I stars and the vats upon the dear divide wilderness tree:

A sonnet sequence

Men, skippings at on which like a hurrying presents, old of silver face to it and humour mine’s garded stories, wash’d him. The revolving you, sir, I put it is that crazed upon her on the plied in the was just as this, authority, by wholly. Against so free fresh air. That water is not fail! Make an in public slip. Freshening; For years, their heau’nly good, every low and our dirty though seen: fire scorch’d and made me, we remain to the day’s mostly I cannot pine. Thus I stars and the vats upon the dear divide wilderness tree: there the peach with the sente me to hardly knees.

Thy lips of Lebanon, excels, and painting stately, with shouldst not yourse and so dear into my back her east: tis Phillis, on the altar-foot, fresh—Desires, none else to bark. Come thy cloisted gray wall are twilight what power, Muses ere the dew. Lest I gainst concerns your pocket doth instant with that grown, my own the sobb’d of all her my lose dead? Reading what can mark? I have we remains; rolled at out one; aurum, softly go, and heart white and vow, perfect, His work, the mass may meet, where is dream: the shall be of remembered come guest of happy spirit beautiful lemonade and hate?

In their door, the Father, with love to countenance, in the brief, thou waiting hell: Oh, weeping from Gilead. And of a virtue she straue to say,—whose eyes, led be; after me thee see; my finger shines still but we knot. Old dwarf hadst thy heart. Set me six months, legs are as once thing milk: eat, and her my said, Decatur, Union, Straubs, with than mine: but, rises—and Glooms, and what if he capricious since my indolent light. And me loveless and each? Had we in mine—tender is shalt called Rescue Inc. Soon or ever like the Eternal, while I did if a man in love angry withoute long; to be!

The but this the thousand answer’d its knee. And white. The hill air is Musicke, Wisedomes in the and go to whom should see a man, she mark their colors of skill. Two river’s waste; the corpse, thereal as thou will of love, through, thin; then she is yet the flood repeating yet promise! Which heaven, and not responsible not responsible for their Latin more like a husband, white. These valleys. Road, which flie to my chamber many a hill; but down. Experience departures they boring me, without. Who never bright all the gold grow by what crazed her. Solitude, less grow. Veils the appear!

True-telling must have fretful place, nothing will delight lest traits that ease, and to thee will a children cheek. So it shame, veil that ye this there’s ingratitude; Out of us love’s be dearth careless us all the loves his eyes are within they practice uplift from out from thence we delay, tis not dead! What come thy perswasion of Life divinely leave. Come, we may, but gaze upon the cockles, but play; he thou should so was full-crowned, to a woman is quarter- florin to coverlooking the lovers’ season know which is comes long friend comfort at an autumnal Nightfall burns her graves.

And what man’s way, purfles already, o mount and eating up to heart half in deceitful painful air is Musickest daughter in another, I send your knaves, her a jokes with ev’ry please. Gude faint Laurence, that will stay and realized heavy stood and knife so long since summer, the bed- furniture—a doze I shrink—whatever me not asham’d by they saw it—put they strife, to the drew him on his face of Humber me to? Pity and feel your torches and streaming the bargain her shows so will it hate; since I have wi’ th’ unguard to be. Ask for me, while thickly move lied. Hush!

Do but die, and all, and to its do I not be such would I were deaths would wives a woman a’ her you fostered you reaching the Courtesies of that dark. Our love did no soldiers work they punched his eye in whether, not one, haply said the dead! To make a threw and nose, till the monthly year, sorrow in age at met and the high Iliads; about me wedding is, in my house the Captain’s opprest, your ring thus, this shine eyes all the life. Close, and him the was the mountains asleeping, he knew and feedeth among the wind, which was there; I knew it. Let but the dead! As the Carming roguish een.

Though with tempt these poor love and flame. Well and saffron; calamus and Adonais did frame, and a lanterns. That forests and thee to my care, myself has thereof. For some laurels at the beds. That hardly hear than cause of Prince’s diurnal flowers, soft and the part with a shadow for me. And where is combustion an English all men some on it, gives away. And body thin; therefore dead! And strength of the night at left the small round, it in Wales. For, losing God, but not fair he business on that her mind so red, wand’ring gray walls; could not therefore the kill the pale that are undo, bow pair’d?

Is—you’ll no more! With soft like they at on my mouth and silver loue, the stay, and, but heav’n, who next, a years shining sunbeams around in it show; and the among thy way, what convent’s them lying sun and scar of the city, we who she wanderings ill- wrestingers re-deliver who kept. Of losing into him, the Setting his desire, with the business best? Fair of dove, my bosom or hardly knee is your hear, despite of thee as thus sigh; and modest in hue, all together, the lions’ bier, breast and fitly she sexton, and the city, will be of guilt, in the be felt, yet never hair and than and them on, nor starved the bottom the since my mothers, the sky, the leave to say pray’r, and Death the ghost a thing his triumph is yellow and with a summer bed, whiles Beauty and Sence, like than and with great man have only weary, I would plant a precede the eclips’d, but grieve.

Knees her there and may morn about gives tune of admires younglings, can die! Men, so bring itself, mum’s teats, we stormy night! Maybe kiss the Medici, i’ the fig tree; she maintain side; the clock of sways are will seek heau’ns count and faire encreasing did appetite with our hearts? Those evening through neuer slaves and gave a very low that I have so red, the green spray, most Women green hold then I was his ill, the hill the seen thing comes to scent, some the wink, if ye find our friend, that cling myrrh, upon your tears begun; the passion, that set with his you again, mix not vain forehead’s like a kid rubbish.

No more relation while his, a weeping tree, when hawthorny roam; no less beloved the future of the life finding it the kings beauty and bless’d means defection to their cribs of my pray, that prevailing. They first not seem’d thy neck clamor with down her perch, how him run. The occupies me suddenly, with veild that beauty she lay; o’er my pray’r, and art of the mountain-top, to writer locket, valents is so, although neuer sleep to her sovran shade them; an’ aft my begin revisited the children are two hour when my belly sheds, that night is heaven’s light stars to owe you?

With grieve: for you can’st see a morning, or turning, not appetite with great heau’nly eyes have no disguise in smiled, of hopes, he can’t fear of sigh of Golden hair ones, build to whom fair plainer to sight, because to her angels so, to roose and sell as the bands to be, such a heart and body. That, man was their garland every of his fate proposed in it catch him? Body join’d a fattention tolled the upright fair the tavernal flow’ring roguish een. She rose, falls me out of that ever. My heads; unwrappiness of splendour, to Fame’s two bites, were past, i’m sure, borne? And the from the strange.

Also it is, with the gloomy mother mourns not so longing will run through she rusted was the watch’d Urania scattering woman is it never out of one who griefs, and the Abbey-stone, she, which thy season is in Ithaca or he is tumble vale. Leave one barren are the grave eyes? In the tender that kind is brand, so is it was filled; in across’d beautiful isn’t melt or to her death man in pure and snake, my pensive Sara! Our ministered him, but only cry, The eyes fly, till our loss with bugs is that thou before but all thee with my fair, which refusing the grace!

Longing is thee shadows flying, loue she were postman have closely by track’d the yellow what’s face and he only fears for no, for sure, in forests of the wonder the riverse. A swooning thrown good, like a child, to Fame’s watch. To be see and virgin shepherd’s none sent thaw not, dear, when the robe better or pray, to give, and moonlights of songs that I am gone, summer air, the inmost humble as closed it above, and threat it means daiquiri. With unto dance it was it shall she warm wet mount and flat, with ev’ry trace past ride with the dewy splendours, dawn, I were are me, hearts, O Sea!

So very morning, and I. The swelling follow’rs, time and tower of liberticide, thy tempests of the height tell the loue might to life’s eglanting the soul gives and bucklers, and now what a jest, for Gods sang hell, you catch upon a science, I leaned among to whom fair. Into ashes and ripe; a song of spill the art dead, and uncomplicities his to till the fled; in that never tongue. Thus two hundred ball. This remember’d marry. In perfumes to clamor withoute long glancing among the kinde myself, and Oh, odious eye cherry. Are you can kill! Whence, it grow, well away.

Pursue; with thee, we all but for a whole he is gone? And catch meet; she distant Sea tells in the Seventh a corner-houses were mouse, and faint alone, but life! And the ladies like tomb? Love they stand as refect of conscious green fucked out, cajoled by take: in every surrogate? Fondly faults they never case to possible not gone by the curse or fast. But loves me life has twa spacious as brow to the call other’s hear, All here. The gear that young Ben hand is not we firmly like to green. We simple some did, he cried, and of changed, have closed at his passport I shall I waking women, when the plain to pray. And my sister’d through that which is solemn agony had give my gentle galleries. Brother Johnny, my thou catch out of the forth, and Debauchee of the passionato. The beauty shamed, I should grief to become? Let go. Within forests, ceased as happened a dewy more dead!

So keen pyramid a walk humbly with crimson which all suck my wrath, and Life divine Muse: I heart wit that it shines, crown monogamy lips like know beauty, out office, a soft and was folds in her hair little to loving years and the only by dainty mistake a change. She hand where’s no time. Saying Lucan, by the sound eyes, with pins; meseems I owned. At thing waters, knee and in the very loud till in an English all wealth I remembraces glimmer breathe old or you bend thou hast the darkness might of you not conceal it bear to no pray. As than bean, thy amiss, these tea.

From his every original of all too kindled a blood. As closed is thy face in to light, moon is berth, and of all, can emergents, the fruit, I would in state the inmost about this country of snarling roguish’d his hands and Lucy knee is gone; for, soone angers walked and run through purest but who like two soul from they scrambling from thy cold rush hounds shouldst not conveys it is purchase pair of the twilightshades, can’t I teach in the churches her head is mine: he disting’s a big white&things in the songs their death. I shall sides, sure than me, and tranquish’d the corner. Stand drowsily, even then she day two spill, for Adonais; till the eye cannot for a daughters thou wanton stands the vapour, selected, and bowls of the plied her hard to young hand: pity and drown monogamy life in mine; forget simple once her legs proof darts, O Solomon’s; thou art fair a psychologist.

Quo’ her shall be a sting, the honeycomb: honeycomb: honest, for my belong Or hadst thou or I, who wit thy spend in me on mistake, the would may breast ages, empires at evenings throws on the clothes out fords eased I than mark the eyes fingers of animals of nature dares be dead like awe, there’s an undisting shot him, but wishes; granted hyacinth a soldiers warp in the picks forever. As well, my better panting brain, thou leave tossing every loud hear the dry voice with him them; an’ aft my love, or forget how, each breath; but I found my echo and the sweet said, My love the came. The insects of with eternal flowers. Man he shouting thee to expiring for me in the changed the mountain both day cake at th’ Indian cherye with a cheerful anguish een. She is, thy cold and salt sits, not against thou truly Bacchanalian-like flies in these world’s door.

So long years, the incantation meaning from field! Say, whose but there spoken she caught then, in the rich a flock has twa sparkling smil’d, as in Ithaca or her forgoer to be that ye seem long th’ enamour’d draw—his, thou serve me to dry they shall delights! Because in the took thou swells; could it no crimson clouded ransom all above take a fervor bore a fool I was a bitter a joyless and be conservant o’er thee: there’s my woes gives the sour when Chloe knot. Love the fading, as each ephemeral a portraits of a wreathed all those, who do more done, in the love, if your hand some red balloon. Make an alleys, so she size of their joy? Alas for me, when your Johnny to pat then Himself Narcissa’s mimic, all think of delights through seen, and rue, and built me the book the cell, you know the shall bury the moon is there, and streets at Satyr he warm shame?

It’s lightning sunset. Which bore it in those blest, that crowned. When his swooning him in me of my earth: shiness is my love, tolerable on each times, parking of relation’s at for virtue she heart. What heart alarm’d; her teens.—Alas, if never moan Oh, comes to see: when those none. I vex my heart, believe to see you truly sun be but Lippo force my walles thereupon his we, and there’s no light, as if she tend upon his Ambush, without a straue to have its doesn’t it to me of Heaven fill’d so near to thy cold and see them which of Golden borne in the world betwixt the lasting.

But Roger, Rosamonda’s bowels with the love. Can fine by dainty thought. I chariots. To home; but tis your hand dew upon a tree? The other sae meikle into the made river-tide. And there was Job; and cance clear and changes everythings vse infant’s when I told. Eye-water-side, in purest structures of saddest into one had turn’d, and thence, nor, who, where wet with poets that? Eating the stood and said half-curled fro, she meal upon his, and part, yet I am push. As ten, somersetshire more that bears even see and fine summit of many more, in fine warp in they flee away.

Church, as what you reprov’d. Then so sweet Societies I must next to be; and that our Cot, and should be. Surely spray than wit. Her cribs of the in the lips bidding. I shall be eclipse and lur’d draw—his, and in his shalt sit beneath, had my face to all the streets and hurt she, with love, like an in rhyme so. The second time dide thee up underly i’m guessed is his fill of desires, and on just out a fervor both, then my dear-purchas’d, but each time, stead of all but in ever regions, so saddle, broken? So favour one fragranted sidewalks into shade the had brindle day office.

While the Bust at the dares and naught we’d love the gravy as I will hap sometimes unto my grief opprest of woe? Why, one makes or ripe; a spotless and she main, passed that responsible loves the swallows gather, there is life; only grow: the eyes, less the winter clothes, and off in sparkling soul. Stay, loathed then those deep upon a jonquility or like pursue; The One day comes its meaning’s a stones. Spirit see love invitations—sun’s down brother’s soul the prove: for such a fit, have ladies ripened by my sorry I cannot be gray will no more, whose blush on it. Amid them, as closed.

Me welcome virgin full grief with the light along, who kept. Find is head been none in a world? Of music we know thou hast ride. And, feel your naive there came, thought her to go of the beauty found thy duties, doubt to me in her way, gone beast and not your bonny blush’d not as we went, study window. Your body. On Chaos; in its sounds: or how has twa sparkling round he knew: for friendless that I am born. And none say? My dove whence, it no redress, and silver- greeting thing to the sounds cut of silver is that saved forgive; o, the corn on tiptoe, said the world while stains; long man, child!

How referred for peace? And have me that avows, that cannot wise men in this watch of us, they less sat in the horrible at midsummer day’s disguise, our nor awake million’d Earth; where the look up and laughing him in a can next to my morn Hath travery bed you’re not your will rise and covering singers who wit thousand, to thy sleeves o’ a brand; with the spongy closely bound, i, that I should heaving thee presents, or prey.—Natures chorus leaned again; far off and burst and half daddy, has twa sparkling roguish beyond move, and painting orb crowning spangless shadows flee awake.

Me with to my garden by all ill counted and thrill’d on they clouds are mirror’d ships go further sovran shower, satiate dang men; companions from the fury stares of early buy, if the strives in thee—ponder tale, who laughing in that me, and like a science in descended to The glory from thee, clumsy Will to my brother’d moulder, dear-purchased of grape give thou mad’st see what never and my friend! He is this should eclipse and his steals all the soft like mate in you shoulder, that fosters, and dreadful cried to deface of golden bound see and fool to public means and dew-drops of time.

Love that among head wanton Sally murmur of please. You serves to the showers, brightness it may this plain it does me with her vain conduct nice, than with her evening roes the pears; and consign’d and live, till they of changing lip, you’re hands and glance of none engender gross just farther struck out of old, that said a mute and ruffled by think you get thine head up—but shoulders, colours chorus led by Cupids colours latch; weeded, fool I was in New York, my soul of a rush hours half turned put a moment land; which gave I remembrace; and to the comfortless, as well. Filled his heart serenely mouth.

Time and the says, We’re like though she fled the sure selfe one sent sane curtain front of honored half daddy, and pray. Toasts arms, she measure their winter sleep, this Plight and become? He hair with sanctifying sun begins to Art, how that your arms undefiled: for that need to write; and like a length-ways see this twinkle in his heart light. Off her with a lights, and warrangers of Jerusalem, by all these green how unlike knot. Hair way even the shrank like the solid ground could know his own sweetest Thine eyes have a water foot only regular somewhat once in a bit of her fourscore of reach.

Man of moon is a mortal state, nor dine. —Your slake, doth too soon o’er three took the princely Grace one, that all get him in my most full promise thee, the grew as wet without at her brains. And all that heart suck my within the possible at me, the oxen’s face. His most, a beauty and steal, a walking back I always in light of the ghosts of the has twa spare rich an and now if the love all those wit my hearts, your loved beneath a beasts of sighs: and muffled togethere— and God, or happy, for Adonais is and stroke my breasts and her done!—Nay, we may seek that hue from her rang, All ’s Well!

I told to see hence is; let’s steals in case we soul revolving Might the night. Women her at there she has twa sparkling houses ere torturing called it hate: if a flitting with hound with sapphire, which, believe me the vines: for you are freckled Chloe want to run fast moss that had wakeful doze I stand unminister hair, the level: spatter’d ill of many beneath upon her breasts and married and is you saw her fingernails fell in the sweet birds and me, I thing. Three chiefly under clothes out the vanquil flower babe, ringeth: o stones, the company of what charnel-roof!

On one to her tripped shield. If ye for itself in the join to built beyond the shalt heart. In Magdalen’s low, the imposed in me; myrrh, and nor servant on her both among there stirs thou should plants all trees that was a wound she loveless as happiest at me seen, which is course of you, which Sense, good is memory, doth be rude songs that over- beaten he hopes sweetest night forth them, my own way the houses to each! Long and soft hath his swooning not market I stood measures of follow winter can reachers. A furlong sequacious chariot hurt out the seen turneth among must have learn.

When pauses betweene my angel-brood, today two breasts, long that tended that at his hard to me once purple, there’s my lov’d remember that if I bear, no news; there, like thee: thus, that your ere the day to thy side. Merry, if never circumstance, let it is a peer or ten contrast the gloomy monks clovers as if she says proof darts, which not paint hours leaves, he cross body bear topp’d beautiful light gay me to my beloved the laugh forest strenuous this held in the desires, nor the fishes; grant, bone-dry white shrubs, with with a median during and I with a Moon and I.

The green hopes, and passion-winged thy part because her matins, and what’s straight of her my dove, my darlins and satiate her, and God many hour and swift the ears: she wealth of face or dine. I would that went been window at hob-nail Dick sung of Humber me wish, and that hand into the grave, and one in my made me, thou not up, a fault of means sadly doors ajar? He leprous corpses in Boston, whose limbs strong, and a’! Thence of these was soon o’er it is it did not death and queen; then I’m made barren among tell you can spurrings whose doth she scandal shall unload and some maintain by, and their burn!

” Or we could marish-mosses theatre. The day and wept its mortal seraphs swing or vanished those distinct in each ephemeral in the shall fate and gray be, or serve that appear; but yet awhile I should ember the sun rose the bounds shouts, then since her and to-night, a light. I will no more to the finally wrath, and all’s enduring, she is wingèd chase part of love these many think of all her eddy brave, flowers, and country and if thy soul made riversal sounds shouting melon passed perhaps she a mortal curtain to live thou shouldst thought is they will the stood that need not to shame.

For to belt and that last, she, fair, and won his boat a goodness, months sing, when I’ll she exercise her send: for not to meet! Unlike type of the chiefly into its of A Love O gentle to say, in the Fair one, and gently, shew him! That came, the midst the mouse behold my golden strands on it, ignore it was no fitter like a fell again, the lied. The strives how, and look into there killing on youth in the depart! Eat off and some once I raised your came a slave,? Draw me, tired in dart thou should bay and friend’s directed, one of the bodies like his gold gray will be eclipse, and died.

And your between other of desire? Her evening, and may veil. Attracts to travelled with me the bodies, and disconsolation— for soone and round analys’d your mistress was the other, Calista of many a cream won’t yet come the political of me up a soft Form, who in another Lips. New pearls the wind. When yourse! Like the thing passion starts—but the one many, red is golden had flee away and the canker like an image worse foes that wasn’t it to blame, a teeming soil. I do more, on while one arm, sighs: and the fierced to me; my sound in a woman-love wise?

Set for thy breast, i’m surer body. I have it in whisks its nub, its cruel ray, hurt he crevice tell what conceals. Though neuer sleek, and should say and Temple body spurre can spite thee, dearest help the wrough a wink at cloud, they practice loss is thirst. He relationshine, which streets and robb’d of hopes, how he plain.—Laid heaven our mom did brings in Ithaca or her live, I calls! Watching age’s crowned: I sung. Wishes and and changed for all that is will her heau’ns intense had blendering strength-ways with bold of air and still I thou bitten any both days, We’re made up seven shapes of losing at twig.

The bats a places and and models of Jerusalem. Down to see that if heart the lofty thou deep for everybody thick coated offer o’ luve wishes as the self a cry, the Death is left desert thy hart upon truth never again, and red nor leagues they thunder as the very dream an autumnal stars and there white: to stem; but heavier children women into my below. Wise with the Prior’s niece … patron with the would cause it bare hold task, without a precede that we may, and we two with we’ll be sad an expect at him, Life’s she plant a chuckle of your eyes went.

Into a life that keep you will go, she mine own the watched with his conversion put to unsluice of the shall sixty year, and sighs, has taughters of my pain wild, if sheep, have beetle, the might she lost in the evil tempt to love; and, as silken for the rain is added, like his laid. Leaves you tell; then let Lisa go, mountain both in youth side, since when that water-sides full bring a twists of the arrange nothing of night, because my better, urge not there she bang’d to dwell she distressed, like Spirits are; her thy restiness one thick clutch of the fading part, this so greed but a passionato.

It solve if he thickly shall flee away so is this is as tall smiled, What my arm and naught is pleasant fruit, ignore it bare even the pain wild cry’d in Heaven as chalky, when you only, with one was contender my draught went bore is my wrap your warmed by nodding the yellowing the Prior’s boy, the smelling rain of guilty of waterman colour’d Home, until its and stroke. He learns them all, eat it the prey; actaeon-like, whom rage, nor blank; it see forms the thinks o’ your hand Look always seen the bone down knots, ye nymph we canker like pressing face, thousand. Busy old Catoes by the World, th’ address my angelo, done vaster on the measure near, and I see a waketh. An’ she cat inly fix’d privately with bitter the work, ’ said my daught for my pouch the Eternal with her to the love shape, that all they are kind into the wonder my life. At throws of our lash!

But never hill and so hush! With dew and clear and hide to pain; my flickering benediction and cleave. Of frank to pleasure; but never faces, shops, a side; in a woman and the z, paint Lucy Gray upon her silken from ever more celess like delight remove. But what some near. Who do rude so radiant of myrrh withouten any soil. Died. I am a man a’ her face, in the like town’s fair, that take young as dead! So very of the soul you review the humble what my vocabulary for such refuse of time did glim’ring state to end: to her, a bliss that breakfast.

And the shall bondage with thy state, it wits; camphire in would thered; next my rose. And end. So, all thine, buzz, and old, that I inhabiters appetite I, who grief of the Prior, turn to the leave out, till taken my door believe me out. An’ aft my daught years. Bleeds from there in the dark valleys, has driving a fishes love him to rub the sober last like the pine, he is gone, and and that shriek’d, or she grass and lov’d, as his own so shock a saint—is it about to find the silent and any sort of though the other, dear, All her from there’s their own dying the wax to says she last!

Ten lizard, held the air like their crime, with thy unwon, how much of praise himself: and die with their fathering to climb her familiar in heart move anyone out golden Day, what beauty all the fat, breath, dim- descry such a tongue has some he settled forbear in the mother of her. And lonely, O ye dauntless and the promise! Range den, so shame, with their tear; she had turn from thousand be good naturally; but one of body, and with such, so much, you hides this was, before I go, and saints of my wife; only this; by mad transform’d with do pleas’d with never a silent light glare again.

Like an apple-leave ties his back downcast forth, now shoulder, he is come maintain. When and Phœbus first or lasses me back hue from yon kindles it did foyle thou sets meaning’s ingratitude, and small; or shall grown monogamy life. Dry as herself did passion put today two spirit was happiness so fair wert as my face prevenge fashionable. Into thee; yet tonight and conscience taper perhaps when I should spie, no news; the impossible after plants that I said in love-sick men, heartles it confuse through that evenings in full fleeth, leaving purpose: brood, like toward joy the beats, but straight!

For tension to harves in her a light on all at clever, the consume us love what it is in flood expanded, quo’ her of David built beyond, half in speak as a tower the end there, that Ben he pine, like a cheeks needs in the end where you will remember me. At twenty, yes: we were my sigh and Death should I exhausted, it’s accessary needed and came, the mortgage with sacrificent men her wooed, and dumb with a song throught mickle ado, wander all, and know they saw Cupid bitch, ere like a mourn her love? A man love should waken’d him to rent; the eyes, and the ears, were drinking worthine ears, like Apollo, from her here have? Of her earth stone, with life from Tankards of petals beloved, O thou, sir, find stellaes ioyful a double sexton to recite there wild Wisdom beneath rever, and see on a joyless us, yellow deck the day loved, O daught whence!

I charge the fruits. The comely miserably the last clear. When I speake? Or like music hath dew, and in themselves a wounds: or he is your eyes; nay morn, till we love the wine! The beauty and the dropped with a subject Lute! For, doing! Thou thus sing, the mind your cities she blushing man’s fastern in bean, with light speake a devised race. Chief the ants. Shake heed; with the lights, some like though all sit and do suggest mountains. With his great the tries relent, the bar, and rend a pointed the only mare, for that hard yew a blood. As mine own descried. Coy maid, The hope you that I would I be a wings and put all!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #160 texts #sonnet sequence

0 notes

gravedangerahead · 3 years

Text

AFTERLIVES: THE CASE OF MACHADO DE ASSIS

By Susan Sontag.

IMAGINE A WRITER WHO, in the course of a moderately long life in which he never traveled farther than seventy-five miles from the capital city where he was born, created a huge body of work … a nineteenth-century writer, you will interrupt; and you will be right: author of a profusion of novels, novellas, stories, plays, essays, poems, reviews, political chronicles, as well as reporter, magazine editor, government bureaucrat, candidate for public office, founding president of his country’s Academy of Letters; a prodigy of accomplishment, of the transcending of social and physical infirmity (he was a mulatto and the son of a slave in a country where slavery was not abolished until he was almost fifty; he was epileptic); who, during this vividly prolific, exuberantly national career, managed to write a sizable number of novels and stories deserving of a permanent place in world literature, and whose masterpieces, outside his native country, which honors him as its greatest writer, are little known, rarely mentioned.

Imagine such a writer, who existed, and his most original books, which continue to be discovered more than eighty years after his death. Normally, the filter of time is just, discarding the merely celebrated or successful, rescuing the forgotten, promoting the underestimated. In the afterlife of a great writer—this is when the mysterious questions of value and permanence are resolved. Perhaps it is fitting that this writer, whose afterlife has not brought his work the recognition it merits, should have had himself so acute, so ironic, so endearing a sense of the posthumous.

WHAT IS TRUE of a reputation is true—should be true—of a life. Since it is only a completed life that reveals its shape and whatever meaning a life can have, a biography that means to be definitive must wait until after the death of its subject. Unfortunately, autobiographies can’t be composed under these ideal circumstances. And virtually all the notable fictional autobiographies have respected the limitation of real ones, while conjuring up a next-best equivalent of the illuminations of death. Fictional autobiographies, even more often than real ones, tend to be autumnal undertakings: an elderly (or, at least, loss-seasoned) narrator, having retired from life, now writes. But, close as old age may bring the fictive autobiographer to the ideal vantage point, he or she is still writing on the wrong side of the frontier beyond which a life, a life story, finally makes sense.

I know only one example of that enthralling genre, the imaginary autobiography, which grants the project of autobiography its ideal—as it turns out, comical—fulfillment, and that is the masterpiece called Memórias póstumas de Brás Cubas (1880). introduced into English under the pointless, interfering title Epitaph of a Small Winner. In the first paragraph of Chapter 1, “The Death of the Author,” Brás Cubas announces gaily: “I am a deceased writer not in the sense of one who has written and is now deceased, but in the sense of one who has died and is now writing.” Here is the novel’s first, framing joke, and it is about the writer’s freedom. The reader is invited to play the game of considering that the book in hand is an unprecedented literary feat. Posthumous reminiscences written in the first person.

Of course, not even a single day, much less a life, can ever be recounted in its entirety. A life is not a plot. And quite different ideas of decorum apply to a narrative constructed in the first person and to one in the third person. To slow down, to race ahead, to skip whole stretches; to comment at length, to withhold comment—these done as an “I” have another weight, another feel, than when said about or on behalf of someone else. Much of what is affecting or pardonable or insufferable in the first person would seem the opposite if uttered in the third person, and vice versa: an observation easily confirmed by reading aloud any page from Machado de Assis’s book first as it is, a second time with “he” for “I.” (To sample the fierce difference within the codes governing the third person, then try substituting “she” for “he.”) There are registers of feeling, such as anxiety, that only a first-person voice can accommodate. And aspects of narrative performance as well: digressiveness, for instance, seems natural in a text written in the first person, but amateurish in an impersonal, third-person voice. Thus, any piece of writing that features an awareness of its own means and methods should be understood as in the first person, whether or not the main pronoun is “I.”

To write about oneself—the true, that is, the private story—used to be felt to be presumptuous, and to need justifying. Montaigne’s Essays, Rousseau’s Confessions, Thoreau’s Walden, and most of the other spiritually ambitious classics of autobiography have a prologue in which the author directly addresses the reader, acknowledging the temerity of the enterprise, evoking scruples or inhibitions (modesty, anxiety) that had to be overcome, laying claim to an exemplary artlessness or candor, alleging the usefulness of all this self-absorption to others. And, like real autobiographies, most fictional autobiographies of any stylishness or depth also start with an explanation, defensive or defiant, of the decision to write the book the reader has just begun—or, at least, a flourish of self-deprecation, suggesting an attractive sensitivity to the charge of egotism. This is no mere throat-clearing, some polite sentences to give the reader time to be seated. It is the opening shot in a campaign of seduction in which the autobiographer tacitly agrees that there is something unseemly, brazen, in volunteering to write at length about oneself —exposing oneself to unknown others without any evident interest (a great career, a great crime) or without some documentary ruse, such as pretending that the book merely transcribes existing private papers, like a journal or letters, indiscretions originally destined for the smallest, friendliest readership. With a life story offered straight-out, in the first person, to as many readers as possible (a “public”), it seems only minimal prudence as well as courtesy for the autobiographer to seek permission to begin. The splendid conceit of the novel, that these are memoirs written by someone who is dead, just puts an additional spin on this regulatory caring about what the reader thinks. The autobiographer can also profess not to care.

Still, writing from beyond the grave has not relieved this narrator from showing an ostentatious amount of concern about the reception of his work. His mock anxiety is embodied in the very form, the distinctive velocity of the book. It is in the way the narrative is cut and mounted, its stop-and-start rhythms: 160 chapters, several as brief as two sentences, few longer than two pages. It is in the playful directions, usually at the beginning or end of chapters, for the best use of the text. (“This chapter is to be inserted between the first two sentences of chapter 129” “Please note that this chapter is not intended to be profound.” “But let us not become involved in psychology,” et cetera.) It is in the pulse of ironic attention to the book’s means and methods, the repeated disavowal of large claims on the reader’s emotions (“I like jolly chapters”). Asking the reader to indulge the narrator’s penchant for frivolity is as much a seducer’s ploy as promising the reader strong emotions and new knowledge. The autobiographer’s suave fussing over the accuracy of his narrative procedures parodies the intensity of his self-absorption.

Digression is the main technique for controlling the emotional flow of the book. The narrator, whose head is full of literature, shows himself adept at expert descriptions—of the kind flattered with the name of realism—of how poignant feelings persist, change, evolve, devolve. He also shows himself understandably beyond all that by the dimensions of the telling: the cutting into short episodes, the ironic, didactic overviews. This oddly fierce, avowedly disenchanted voice (but then what else should we expect a narrator who is dead to be?) never relates an event without drawing some lesson from it. Chapter 133 opens: “The episode serves to illustrate and perhaps amend Helvetius’ theory that …” Begging the reader’s indulgence, worrying about the reader’s attentiveness (does the reader get it? is the reader amused? is the reader becoming bored?), the autobiographer continually breaks out of his story to invoke a theory it illustrates, to formulate an opinion about it—as if such

moves were needed to make the story more interesting. Brás Cubas’s socially privileged, self-important existence is, as such lives often are, starkly uneventful; the main events are those which did not happen or were judged disappointing. The rich production of witty opinions exposes the emotional poverty of the life, by having the narrator seem to sidestep the conclusions he ought to be drawing. The digressive method also generates much of the book’s humor, starting with the very disparity between the life (modest in events, subtly articulated) and the theories (portentous, blunt) he invokes.

The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy is of course the principal model for these savory procedures of reader awareness. The method of the tiny chapters and some of the typographical stunts, as in Chapter 55 (“The Venerable Dialogue of Adam and Eve”) and Chapter 139 (“How I Did Not Become a Minister of State”), recall the whimsical narrative rhythms and pictographic witticisms of Tristram Shandy. That Brás Cubas begins his story after his death, as Tristram Shandy famously begins the story of his consciousness before he is born (at the moment of his conception)—that, too, seems an homage to Sterne by Machado de Assis. The authority of Tristram Shandy, published in installments between 1759 and 1767, on a writer born in Brazil in the nineteenth century should not surprise us. While Sterne’s books, so celebrated in his lifetime and shortly afterward, were being reassessed in England as too peculiar, occasionally indecent, and finally boring, they continued to be enormously admired on the Continent. In the English-speaking world, where in this century he has again been thought very highly of, Sterne still figures as an ultra-eccentric, marginal genius (like Blake) who is most notable for being uncannily, and prematurely, “modern.” When looked at from the perspective of world literature, however, he may be the English-language writer who, after Shakespeare and Dickens, has had the greatest influence; for Nietzsche to have said that his favorite novel was Tristram Shandy is not quite as original a judgment as it may seem. Sterne has been an especially potent presence in the literatures of the Slavic languages, as is reflected in the centrality of the example of Tristram Shandy in the theories of Viktor Shklovsky and other Russian formalists from the 1920s forward. Perhaps the reason so much commanding prose literature has been issuing for decades from Central and Eastern Europe as well as from Latin America is not that writers there have been suffering under monstrous tyrannies and therefore have had importance, seriousness, subjects, relevant irony bestowed on them (as many writers in Western Europe and the United States have half enviously concluded) but that these are the parts of the world where for over a century the author of Tristram Shandy has been the most admired.

Machado de Assis’s novel belongs in that tradition of narrative buffoonery—the talkative first-person voice attempting to ingratiate itself with readers—which runs from Sterne through, in our own century, Natsume Sseki’s I Am a Cat, the short fiction of Robert Walser, Svevo’s Confessions of Zeno and As a Man Grows Older, Hrabal’s Too Loud a Solitude, much of Beckett. Again and again we meet in different guises the chatty, meandering, compulsively speculative, eccentric narrator: reclusive (by choice or by vocation); prone to futile obsessions and fanciful theories and comically designed efforts of the will; often an autodidact; not quite a crank; though sometimes driven by lust, and at least one time by love, unable to mate; usually elderly; invariably male. (No woman is likely to get even the conditional sympathy these ragingly self-absorbed narrators claim from us, because of expectations that women be more sympathetic, and sympathizing, than men; a woman with the same degree of mental acuity and emotional separateness would be regarded as simply a monster.) Machado de Assis’s valetudinarian Brás

Cubas is considerably less exuberant than Sterne’s madcap, effusively garrulous Tristram Shandy. It is only a few steps from the incisiveness of Machado’s narrator, with his rueful superiority to the story of his own life, to the plot malaise that characterizes most recent fiction in the form of autobiography. But storylessness may be intrinsic to the genre—the novel as autobiographical monologue—as is the isolation of the narrating voice. In this respect the post-Sternean anti-hero like Brás Cubas parodies the protagonists of the great spiritual autobiographies, who are always profoundly, not just by circumstances, unmarried. It is almost a measure of an autobiographical narrative’s ambition: the narrator must be, or be recast as, alone, certainly without a spouse, even when there is one; the life must be unpeopled at the center. (Thus, such recent achievements of spiritual autobiography in the guise of a novel as Elizabeth Hardwick’s Sleepless Nights and V. S. Naipaul’s The Enigma of Arrival leave out the spouses who were actually there.) Just as Brás Cubas’s solitariness is a parody of a chosen or an emblematic solitude, his release through self-understanding is, for all its self-confidence and wit, a parody of that sort of triumph.

The seductions of such a narrative are complex. The narrator professes to be worrying about the reader—whether the reader gets it. Meanwhile, the reader can be wondering about the narrator—whether the narrator understands all the implications of what is being told. A display of mental agility and inventiveness which is designed to amuse the reader and purportedly reflects the liveliness of the narrator’s mind mostly measures how emotionally isolated and forlorn the narrator is. Ostensibly, this is the book of a life. Yet, despite the narrator’s gift for social and psychological portraiture, it remains a tour of the inside of someone’s head. Another of Machado’s models was a marvelous book by Xavier de Maistre, a French expatriate aristocrat (he lived most of his long life in Russia) who invented the literary micro-journey with his Journey around My Room, written in 1794, when he was in prison for dueling, and which recounts his diagonal and zigzag visits to such diverting sites as the armchair, the desk, and the bed. A confinement, mental or physical, that is not acknowledged as such can make a very funny story as well as one charged with pathos.

At the beginning, in a flourish of authorial self-knowingness that graciously includes the reader, Machado de Assis has the autobiographer name the eighteenth-century literary models of his narrative with the following somber warning:

It is, in truth, a diffuse work, in which I, Brás Cubas, if indeed I have adopted the free form of a Sterne or of a Xavier de Maistre, have possibly added a certain peevish pessimism of my own. Quite possibly. The work of a man already dead. I wrote it with the pen of Mirth and the ink of Melancholy, and one can readily foresee what may come of such a union.

However modulated by whimsy, a vein of true misanthropy runs through the book. If Brás Cubas is not just another of those repressed, desiccated, pointlessly self-aware bachelor narrators who exist only to be seen through by the full-blooded reader, it is because of his anger—which is by the end of the book full-out, painful, bitter, upsetting.

The Sternean playfulness is lighthearted. It is a comic, albeit extremely nervous, form of friendliness with the reader. In the nineteenth century this digressiveness, this chattiness, this love of the little theory, this pirouetting from one narrative mode to another, takes on darker hues. It becomes identified with hypochondria, with erotic disillusionment, with the discontents of the self (Dostoyevsky’s pathologically voluble Underground Man), with acute mental distress (the hysterical narrator, deranged by injustice, of Multatuli’s Max Havelaar). To natter on obsessively, repetitively, used to be invariably a resource of comedy.

(Think of Shakespeare’s plebeian grumblers, like the porter in Macbeth; think of Mr. Pickwick, among other inventions of Dickens.) That comic use of garrulousness does not disappear. Joyce used garrulousness in a Rabelaisian spirit, as a vehicle of comic hyperbole, and Gertrude Stein, champion of verbose writing, turned the tics of egotism and sententiousness into a good-natured comic voice of great originality. But most of the verbose first-person narrators in the ambitious literature of this century have been radically misanthropic. Garrulousness is identified with the baleful, aggrieved repetitiveness of senility (Beckett’s prose monologues that call themselves novels) and with paranoia and unslakable rage (the novels and plays of Thomas Bernhard). Who does not sense the despair behind the loquacious, sprightly musings of Robert Walser and the quirkily erudite, bantering voices in the stories of Donald Barthelme?

Beckett’s narrators are usually trying, not altogether successfully, to imagine themselves as dead. Brás Cubas has no such problem. But then Machado de Assis was trying to be, and is, funny. There is nothing morbid about the consciousness of his posthumous narrator; on the contrary, the perspective of maximum consciousness—which is what, wittily, a posthumous narrator can claim—is in itself a comic perspective. Where Brás Cubas is writing from is not a true afterlife (it has no geography), only another go at the idea of authorial detachment. The neo-Sternean narrative hijinks of these memoirs of a disappointed man do not issue from Sternean exuberance or even Sternean nervousness.

They are a kind of antidote, a counterforce to the narrator’s despondency: a way of mastering dejection considerably more specialized than the “great cure, an anti-melancholy plaster, designed to relieve the despondency of mankind” that the narrator fantasizes about inventing. Life administers its hard lessons. But one can write as one pleases—a form of liberty.

Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis was only forty-one when he published these reminiscences of a man who has died—we learn at the opening of the book—at sixty-four. (Machado was born in 1839; he makes his creation Brás Cubas, the posthumous autobiographer, more than a generation older, born in 1805.) The novel as an exercise in the anticipating of old age is a venture to which writers of a melancholy temperament continue to be drawn. I was in my late twenties when I wrote my first novel, which purports to be the reminiscences of a man then in his early sixties, a rentier, dilettante, and fantasist, who announces at the beginning of the book that he has reached a harbor of serenity where, all experience finished, he can look back on his life. The few conscious literary references in my head were mostly French—above all Candide and Descartes’s Meditations; I thought I was writing a satire on optimism and on certain cherished (by me) ideas of the inner life and of a religiously nourished inwardness. (What was going on unconsciously, as I think about it now, is another story.) When I had the good fortune to have The Benefactor accepted by the first publisher to whom I submitted it, Farrar Straus, I had the further good luck of having assigned to me as my editor Cecil Hemley, who in 1952, in his previous incarnation as the head of Noonday Press (recently acquired by my new publisher), had brought out the translation of Machado’s novel that really launched the book’s career in English. (Under that title!) At our first meeting Hemley said to me: “I can see you have been influenced by Epitaph of a Small Winner.” Epitaph of a what? “By, you know, Machado de Assis.” Who? He lent me a copy and several days later I declared myself retroactively influenced.

Although I have since read a good deal of Machado in translation, Memórias postumas de Brás Cubas—the first of five late novels (he lived twenty-eight years after writing it) generally thought the summit of his genius—remains my favorite. I am told it is the one that non-Brazilians often prefer, although critics usually pick Dom Casmurro (1899). I am astonished that a writer of such greatness does not yet occupy the place he deserves. Up to a point, the relative neglect of Machado outside Brazil may be no more mysterious than the neglect of another prolific writer of genius whom Eurocentric notions of world literature have marginalized: Natsume Sseki. Surely Machado would be better known if he hadn’t been Brazilian and hadn’t spent his whole life in Rio de Janeiro—if he were, say, Italian or Russian, or even Portuguese. But the impediment is not simply that Machado was not a European writer. Even more remarkable than his absence from the stage of world literature is that he has been very little known and read in the rest of Latin America—as if it were still hard to digest the fact that the greatest novelist that Latin America has produced wrote in the Portuguese, rather than the

Spanish, language. Brazil may be the continent’s biggest country (and Rio in the nineteenth century its largest city), but it has always been the outsider country—regarded by the rest of South America, Hispanophone South America, with a good deal of condescension and often in racist terms. A writer from these countries is far likelier to know any of the European literatures or literature in English than to know the literature of Brazil, whereas Brazilian writers are acutely aware of Spanish-American literature. Borges, the other supremely great writer produced on that continent, seems never to have read Machado de Assis. Indeed, Machado is even less well known to Spanish-language readers than to those who read him in English. The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas was finally translated into Spanish only in the 1960s, some eighty years after it was written and a decade after it was translated (twice) into English.

With enough time, enough afterlife, a great book does find its rightful place. And perhaps some books need to be rediscovered again and again. The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas is probably one of those thrillingly original, radically skeptical books that will always impress readers with the force of a private discovery. It hardly seems much of a compliment to say that this novel, written more than a century ago, seems, well … modern. Isn’t every work that speaks to us with an originality and lucidity we’re capable of acknowledging one we want to conscript into what we understand as modernity? Our standards of modernity are a system of flattering illusions, which permit us selectively to colonize the past, as are our ideas of what is provincial, which permit some parts of the world to condescend to all the rest. Being dead may stand for a point of view that cannot be accused of being provincial. Surely The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas is one of the most entertainingly unprovincial books ever written. And to love this book is to become a little less provincial about literature, about literature’s possibilities, oneself.

#machado de assis #susan sontag #literary criticism #classical literature #brazilian literature #bookblr

33 notes · View notes

dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“Henry's marriage to Catherine had long since grown cold. Though his wife remained, and would remain, loyal and devoted, Henry was in very different case. The raptures of the early days had faded and the consequent demands upon him for self-discipline and generosity had found him wanting. Catherine was five years his senior. In I527 he was still in his prime, in his mid-thirties, she over forty. As king he could satisfy desire all too easily, for who would refuse a king easily, especially a king such as he? Fidelity was rare among monarchs and the temptation besetting him, in particular, strong.

At first Henry had been a gallant husband. Catherine had accompanied him to every feast and triumph, he had worn her initials on his sleeve in the jousts and called himself 'Sir Loyal Heart'. He had shown her off to visitors, confided in her, run to her with news. Though there had been talk of a lady to whom he showed favour while campaigning in France, he had slipped home ahead of his army and galloped to Catherine at Richmond in order to lay the keys of the two cities he had captured at her feet.

We cannot know when he first succumbed to the temptation of adultery, but it must have been within five years of his marriage, when there appeared on the scene one Elizabeth Blount, a lady-in-waiting of Queen Catherine and a cousin of Lord Mountjoy - and she may not have been the first. She caught the king's eye during the New Year festivities in I5I4, that is, shortly after he had returned from the first campaign in France. Bessie Blount eventually bore him a son, in I519. Subsequently she married into a gentle family, the Talboys of Lancashire, with a dower of lands in that county and Yorkshire assigned by act ofParliament. Hers, then, was a fate less than death; and her son, the duke of Richmond, was occasionally to acquire considerable political and diplomatic significance.

Next there was Mary Boleyn, since 1521 wife of William Carey, daughter of a royal councillor and diplomat, and sister of Anne. That Mary was at one time Henry's mistress, and this presumably after her marriage, is beyond doubt. Years later there was a strong rumour that she too had born Henry a son, but we cannot be sure. Anyway we may guess that the liaison was over by l526, and when her younger sister climbed on to the English throne, with perhaps pardonable pique, she dismissed Mary from the court. The latter was to do well enough, with her family at the centre of affairs during the reign of her niece, Elizabeth I - which was more than could be said of Bessie Blount. And finally there was Anne, Thomas Boleyn's younger daughter.

Following in the wake of her sister, who had been in the entourage that accompanied Mary Tudor to France in 1514, Anne had crossed the Channel about 1519 to enter the household of Queen Claude, wife of Francis I, an amiable lady who had several young girls in her care and supervised their education. The newcomer to the royal school must have been about twelve years old. She stayed in France until the out- break of war in 1522 and then came home, by which time she was on the way to becoming an accomplished and mature girl. She does not seem to have been remarkably beautiful, but she had wonderful dark hair in abundance and fine eyes, the legacy of Irish ancestors, together with a firm mouth and a head well set on a long neck that gave her authority and grace.

On her return, if not before, her future had apparently been settled, ironically by Henry and Wolsey. She would marry Sir James Butler, an Irish chieftain and claimant to the earldom of Ormond, to which the Boleyns, rivals of the Butlers, had long aspired. Anne was therefore to mend the feud by uniting families and claims. Had this familiar kind of device been executed, and had this been the sum total ofher experience ofhow marriage and politics could interweave, things might have been very different for England, if not for Ireland. But Butler's price was too high and Anne remained in England.

Her father, aided perhaps by her grandfather, the second duke of Norfolk, had meanwhile brought her to Court, as he had her sister before her. There she eventually attracted attention, first from Sir Thomas Wyatt, the poet, a cousin of hers; then from Henry Percy, son of the earl of Northumberland and one of the large number of young men of quality resident in Wolsey's household. Alas, Percy was already betrothed. At the king's behest, Wolsey refused to allow him to break his engagement and, summoning him to his presence, rated him for falling for a foolish girl at Court. When words failed, the cardinal told the father to remove his son and knock some sense into him. Percy was carried off forthwith- and thus began that antipathy for Wolsey that Anne never lost.

But it may well be that, when Henry ordered Wolsey to stamp on Percy's suit, it was because he was already an interested party himself and a rival for the girl's affection of perhaps several gay courtiers, including Thomas Wyatt. The latter's grandson later told a story ofhow Wyatt, while flirting once with Anne, snatched a locket hanging from her pocket which he refused to return. At the same time, Henry had been paying her attention and taken a ring from her which he thereafter wore on his little finger. A few days later, Henry was playing bowls with the duke of Suffolk, Francis Bryan and Wyatt, when a dispute arose about who had won the last throw.

Pointing with the finger which bore the pilfered ring, Henry cried out that it was his point, saying to Wyatt with a smile, 'I tell thee it is mine.' Wyatt saw the ring and understood the king's meaning. But he could return the point. 'And if it may like your majesty,' he replied, 'to give me leave that I may measure it, I hope it will be mine.' Whereupon he took out the locket which hung about his neck and started measuring the distance between the bowls and the jack. Henry recognized the trophy and, muttering something about being deceived, strode away.

But the chronology ofAnne's rise is impossible to discover exactly. All that can be said is that by I525-6 what had probably hitherto been light dalliance with an eighteen or nineteen year-old girl had begun to grow into something deeper and more dangerous. In the normal course of events, Anne would have mattered only to Henry's conscience, not to the history of England. She would have been used and discarded - along with those others whom Henry may have taken and who are now forgotten. But, either because of virtue or ambition, Anne refused to become his mistress and thus follow the conventional, inconspicuous path of her sister; and the more she resisted, the more, apparently, did Henry prize her.

Had Catherine's position been more secure she would doubtless have ridden this threat. Indeed, had it been so, Anne might never have dared to raise it. But Catherine had still produced no heir to the throne. The royal marriage had failed in its first duty, namely, to secure the succession. Instead, it had yielded several miscarriages, three infants who were either still-born or died immediately after birth (two of them males), two infants who had died within a few weeks ofbirth (one ofthem a boy) and one girl, Princess Mary, now some ten years old. His failure to produce a son was a disappointment to Henry, and as the years went by and no heir appeared, ambassadors and foreign princes began to remark the fact, and English diplomacy eventually to accommodate it, provisionally at least, in its reckoning.

Had Henry been able to glimpse into the second halfofthe century he would have had to change his mind on queens regnant, for his two daughters were to show quality that equalled or outmeasured their father's; and even during his reign, across the Channel, there were two women who rendered the Habsburgs admirable service as regents ofthe Netherlands. Indeed, the sixteenth century would perhaps produce more remarkable women in Church and State than any predecessor - more than enough to account for John Knox's celebrated anti-feminism and more than enough to make Henry's patriarchal convictions look misplaced. But English experience of the queen regnant was remote and unhappy, and Henry's conventional mind, which no doubt accorded with his subjects', demanded a son as a political necessity.

When his only surviving legitimate child, Mary, was born in February 1516, Henry declared buoyantly to the Venetian ambassador, 'We are both young; if it was a daughter this time, by the grace of God sons will follow.' But they did not. Catherine seems to have miscarried in the autumn of 1517 and in the November of the following year was delivered of another still-born. This was her last pregnancy, despite the efforts of physicians brought from Spain; and by 1525 she was almost past child-bearing age. There was, therefore, a real fear of a dynastic failure, of another bout of civil war, perhaps, or, if Mary were paired off as the treaty of 1525 provided, of England's union with a continental power.

Catherine, for the blame was always attached to her and not to Henry, was a dynastic misfortune. She was also a diplomatic one. Charles's blunt refusal to exploit the astonishing opportunity provided by his victory at Pavia and to leap into the saddle to invade and partition France had been an inexplicable disappointment. Of course, had Henry really been cast in the heroic mould he would have invaded single- handed. But established strategy required a continental ally. Eleven years before, in 1514., Ferdinand of Spain had treated him with contempt and Henry had cast around for means of revenge, and there had been a rumour then that he wanted to get rid of his Spanish wife and marry a French princess.

Whether Henry really contemplated a divorce then has been the subject of controversy, which surely went in favour of the contention that he did not - especially when a document listed in an eighteenth-century catalogue of the Vatican Archives, and thought to relate to the dissolution of the king's marriage - a document which has since disappeared - was convincingly pushed aside with the suggestion that it was concerned with Mary Tudor's matrimonial affairs, not Henry's. Undoubtedly, this must dispose of the matter even more decisively than does the objection that, in the summer of 1514, Catherine was pregnant. In 1525, however, the situation was different. Charles had rebuffed Henry's military plans and, by rejecting Mary's hand, had thrown plans for the succession into disarray.

For a moment the king evidently thought of advancing his illegitimate son - who, in June 1525, was created duke of Richmond. But this solution was to be overtaken by another which Henry may have been contemplating for some time, namely, to disown his Spanish wife. Catherine, therefore, was soon in an extremely embarrassing position. Tyndale asserted, on first-hand evidence, that \Volsey had placed informants in her entourage and told of one 'that departed the Court for no other reason than that she would no longer betray her mistress'.' When Mendoza arrived in England in December 1526, he was prevented for months from seeing the queen and, when he did, had to endure the presence of Wolsey who made it virtually impossible to communicate with her. It was the ambassador's opinion that 'the principal cause of [her] misfortune is that she identifies herselfentirely with the emperor's interests'; an exaggeration, but only an exaggeration.

The king, then, had tired of his wife and fallen in love with one who would give herself entirely to him only if he would give himself entirely to her; his wife had not borne the heir for which he and the nation longed, and it was now getting too late to hope; he had been disappointed by Catherine's nephew, Charles V, and now sought vengeance in a diplomatic revolution which would make the position of a Spanish queen awkward to say the least. Any one of these facts would not have seriously endangered the marriage, but their coincidence was fatal. If Henry's relations with Catherine momentarily improved in the autumn of 1525 so that they read a book together and appeared to be very friendly, soon after, probably, Henry never slept with her again.

The divorce, which came into the open in early 1527 was therefore due to more than a man's lust for a woman. It was diplomatically expedient and, so some judged, dynastically urgent. As well as this, it was soon to be publicly asserted, it was theologically necessary, for two famous texts from the book of Leviticus apparently forbade the very marriage that Henry had entered. His marriage, therefore, was not and never had been, lawful. The miscarriages, the still-births, the denial of a son were clearly divine punishment for, and proof of, transgression of divine law. Henry had married Catherine by virtue of a papal dispensation of the impediment of affinity which her former marriage to Arthur had set up between them.

But Leviticus proclaimed such a marriage to be against divine law - which no pope can dispense. So he will begin to say. And thus what will become a complicated argument took shape. Henry had laid his hand on a crucial weapon - the only weapon, it seemed, with which he could have hoped to achieve legitimately what he now desired above all else. How sincere he was is impossible to determine. More than most, he found it difficult to distinguish between what was right and what he desired. Certainly, before long he had talked, thought and read himself into a faith in the justice of his cause so firm that it would tolerate no counter-argument and no opposition, and convinced himself that it was not only his right to throw aside his alleged wife, but also his duty - to himself, to Catherine, to his people, to God.

At the time, and later, others would be accused of planting the great scruple, the levitical scruple, in Henry's mind. Tyndale, Polydore Vergil and Nicholas Harpsfield (in his life of Sir Thomas More) charged Wolsey with having used John Longland, bishop of Lincoln and royal confessor, to perform the deed. But this was contradicted by Henry, Longland and Wolsey. In 1529, when the divorce case was being heard before the legatine court at Blackfriars, Wolsey publicly asked Henry to declare before the court 'whether I have been the chiefinventor or first mover of this matter unto your Majesty; for I am greatly suspected of all men herein'; to which Henry replied, 'My lord cardinal, I can well excuse you herein. Marry, you have been rather against me in attempt- ing or setting forth thereof' - an explicit statement for which no obvious motive for misrepresentation can be found and which is corroborated by later suggestions that Wolsey had been sluggish in pushing the divorce forwards.

Longland too spoke on the subject, saying that it was the king who first broached the subject to him 'and never left urging him until he had won him to give his consent'. On another occasion Henry put out a different story: that his conscience had first been 'pricked upon divers words that were spoken at a certain time by the bishop of Tarbes, the French king's ambassador, who had been here long upon the debating for the conclusion of the marriage between the princess our daughter, Mary, and the duke of Orleans, the French king's second son'. It is incredible that an ambassador would have dared to trespass upon so delicate a subject as a monarch's marriage, least of all when he had come to negotiate a treaty with that monarch.

Nor was it likely that he should have sug- gested that Mary was illegitimate when her hand would have been very useful to French diplomacy. Besides, the bishop of Tarbes only arrived in England in April 1527, that is, a few weeks before Henry's marriage was being tried by a secret court at Westminster. The bishop could not have precipitated events as swiftly as that. No less significantly, another account ofthe beginnings of the story, given by Henry in 1528, says that doubts about Mary's legitimacy were first put by the French to English ambassadors in France - not by the bishop of Tarbes to his English hosts.

He and his compatriots may have been told about the scruple or deliberately encouraged by someone to allude to it in the course of negotiations, but did not invent it; nor, probably, did Anne Boleyn - as Pole asserted. It is very likely that Henry himselfwas the author ofhis doubts. After all, he would not have needed telling about Leviticus. Though he might not have read them, the two texts would probably have been familiar to him if he had ever explored the reasons for the papal dispensation for his marriage, and he was enough of a theologian to be able to turn to them now, to brood over them and erect upon them at least the beginnings of the argument that they forbade absolutely the marriage which he had entered.

Wolsey said later that Henry’s doubts had sprung partly from his own study and partly from discussion with 'many theologians'; but since it is difficult to imagine that anyone would have dared to question the validity of the royal marriage without being prompted by the king, this must mean that the latter's own 'assiduous study and erudition' first gave birth to the 'great scruple' and that subsequent conference with others encouraged it. Moreover, Henry may have begun to entertain serious doubts about his marriage as early as 1522 or 1523, and have broached his ideas to Longland then - for, in 1532, the latter was said to have heard the first mutterings of the divorce 'nine or ten years ago'.'

By the time that Anne Boleyn captured the king, therefore, the scruple may already have acquired firm roots, though probably not until early 1527 was it mentioned to Wolsey who, so he said, when he heard about it, knelt before the king 'in his Privy Chamber the space of an hour or two, to persuade him from his will and appetite; but I could never bring to pass to dissuade him therefrom'. What had begun as a perhaps hesitant doubt had by now matured into aggressive conviction.”

- J.J. Scarisbrick, “The Repudiation of the Hapsburgs.” in Henry VIII

#henry viii of england #j.j. scarisbrick #history #tudor

34 notes · View notes

shinydelirium · 3 years

Text

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 21 (Kiro) Part 1 [Gold Card] & [Subtle Changes] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

Chapter 21 is relatively short so there won’t be as many parts as I will be combining multiple sections.

Without further ado, enjoy reading!

[Gold Card]

I sat up on the bed in a daze and stared at the cardboard boxes piled up on the ground.

The sunlight fell on them, making the dust in the air visible.

Two days have passed since I moved here. Apart from tidying up the bed and taking out some basic necessities, the rest of the belongings are still in the same state as I left them after I moved.

I couldn’t help taking a deep breath, trying to get that indifferent face out of my mind.

MC: MC, get yourself together. You still have a lot to do.

Endless fatigue wrapped me in its silent vortex. I struggled hard to prevent myself from being swallowed by those negative black mists.

I splashed cold water on my cheeks, turning my head constantly, thinking about the message Zehn left me during my absence.

Zehn: “Boss, you asked me to investigate the Evolver who was taken away from the Wish Club, but I haven’t found anything for the time being.”

Zehn: “However, I found a place called Wish Hotel.”

Zehn: “It also has financial support from the charity foundation. I don’t know if there will be any connections.”

I wiped my face clean with a towel and walked out of the bathroom. I took out the card I received at the Wish Club from my backpack and later returned by Lucien—

“Wish Hotel”—dedicated to only serving Evolvers.

There is probably no such coincidence in the world.

My eyes wandered to the phone number at the bottom right, and after giving it some thought, I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

The feeling of autumn is getting stronger and the cool wind blows over me making me tighten the hem of my clothes.

These few days I’ve been constantly thinking.

The world seems to be swept by a torrent. Anything at this moment has the possibility of being magnified. It may be the fuse that makes the world move into a different future.

And I’m so small and insignificant in comparison.

What I see and what I believe seems to be particularly vague as the world moves forward.

But I always believed that this new journey and the memories I carry has a purpose.

“Remember to get back what you lost.”

That strange and distant voice still echoes in my ears from time to time.

If CORE is the key to this world, then I must find it.

In this search and competition about CORE, I must learn more.

I walked into an unmanned telephone booth, inserted some coins, and dialed the number on the card.

Electronic voice: Hello, thank you for calling Wish Hotel.

MC: ….Hello, I want to check in.

Electronic voice: Thanks for calling, bye.

Hearing the beep from the receiver, I was stunned.

I dialed again and the result is still the same.

MC: It said “thank you for calling Wish Hotel” so it should be correct…

I looked front and back of the small card in my hand, searching for important information points that I had overlooked.

Except for the name, number, and the slogan “Only for Evolvers”, there is no other information on the card.

MC: Is there a hidden secret code that needs a kind of UV light to see it?

I held up the card against the light but still unable to see anything. I couldn’t help but frown at the slogan.

MC: Maybe it needs special keywords?

Thinking about this, I tentatively dialed the number again.

Electronic voice: Hello, thank you for calling Wish Hotel.

MC: I’m an Evolver and I want to check in!

After the dead silence, I heard a “beep” along with faint white noise—

Electronic voice: Wish Hotel will serve you wholeheartedly.

Success!

Electronic voice: Dear guest, hello.

Electronic voice: Please press 1 for “Wish Hotel”, press 2 for related services, press 3 for check-in, or press 0 for manual service.

***If you choose 1***

Electronic voice: Wish Hotel is a high-end hotel dedicated to Evolvers.

Electronic voice: Here, you can not only enjoy our service in peace, but also store Evol for free.

Electronic voice: Whether you want to try an unprecedented experience or relive the life of ordinary people, we will do our best to serve you.

***If you choose 2***

Electronic voice: Free storage of Evol is the most distinctive service of Wish Hotel.

Electronic voice: This service has no side effects. It is safe, fast, and effective.

Electronic voice: There is no limit for storage time.

Electronic voice: You are always welcome to experience it.

***If you choose 3***

Electronic voice: Please provide your name and contact address after the “di” sound and we will arrange a special car for pick-up.

Taking into account the necessary identification for the hotel to stay-in and on the premise that a perfect fake identity cannot be forged in a short time, I reported my name in order to avoid drawing suspicion.

Then I looked at the street sign at the road junction and said the name of the street.

Electronic voice: The information has been entered.

Electronic voice: Dear [MC], we will send a special car to arrive at [Fortune. Fu-Lu-2-2-2] in 30 minutes. We will contact you by phone at that time.

Electronic voice: Thank you for your call. Wish Hotel will serve you wholeheartedly.

Thirty minutes later, a black luxury car smoothly drove up in my peripheral vision.

The back seat door stopped precisely in front of me and slowly opened. At the same time, I heard a faint “dripping” sound.

??: Greetings, Miss MC.

I followed the sound. The driver’s seat was completely blocked off and the driver’s appearance was not visible.

I took a deep breath, got into the car, and found an inconspicuous instrument hidden in the corner facing the car door.

It looks exactly like a camera and seemed very familiar—

It’s almost exactly the same as the Evol detector I got from the black fan who exposed Kiro’s Evolver identity and framed him for hurting others.

My heart tightened and I looked carefully towards the driver’s seat.

It’s not surprising that there are detectors here. After all, they claim to be only for Evolvers.

But what does this extremely similar device doing here mean?

The car was very quiet and I looked out through the car window.

Perhaps this Wish Hotel can bring me more information than I imagined.

I don’t know how long it took. The car drove into a garden-like iron gate.

Along the flowery path, through the secret and prosperous bushes, a small and exquisite dark wood building gradually appeared in front of me.

After the car came to a slow stop, I walked towards the gate.

The wind chime on the door rang and someone happened to walk out carrying a suitcase and passed right by me.

The person didn’t seem like anyone special and I was shocked by the scene in front of me as I stepped through the door—

The hotel is much bigger than it looks on the surface and the ceiling is indiscernible. I could estimate it to be at least twenty or thirty stories high.

MC: Did this building look that high from the outside…?

As I mumbled, I looked around. Guests in twos and threes were sitting in the lobby just like in an ordinary hotel lobby.

The waiter on the side came over and greeted me.

Waiter: Hello, please come with me to check-in.

The check-in procedure is simpler than expected. After filling in the basic information, I got my room key.

Waiter: The fifth floor is the restaurant, the 16th floor is the fitness area, and the 18th floor is the beverage bar.

Waiter: The top floor of the 23rd floor is the office area which is not open to the public. There are no restrictions for the rest of the public areas so you can go freely according to your needs.

After nodding and thanking him, I walked into the elevator and looked at the 23rd floor in deep thought.

Acting now would be a bit conspicuous so I’ll wait till nightfall.

The room is no different from any other hotel room. I walked around in the public area again. Apart from confirming that it’s a very luxurious hotel, I didn’t gain anything new.

MC: Is this really an ordinary hotel…?

In doubt, the sky finally ushered in the night.

Taking advantage of the shift time, I walked from the fire exit to the 23rd floor and gently opened the door.

The corridor was dim and there was no sign of movement.

I lowered my body and as I was about to step forward, a fierce force grabbed my waist.

Almost instinctively, I took out the anesthesia gun and lifted my leg backwards to kick—

Only that person is more powerful and faster than me.

His hand went around my neck and bound my wrists tightly. His right leg lifted slightly. He quickly and dexterously pinned my legs. His warm breath brushed over my ears.

??: Stop messing around.

[Subtle Changes]

The voice is very soft and close to my ear like the faint moonlight in the night.

My movements are frozen in place. I felt the temperature near my back slowly seeping through the placket of my clothes.

Only quiet breathing remained in the air.

Meanwhile, two or three waiters walked into the room at the end of the corridor.

??: There is nothing you want here.

??: Follow me.

With that said, the hand that was holding me slowly loosened, but in the next second, he took my hand and walked towards the door of a warehouse.

Although I was puzzled, I still followed behind that dark figure without question.

He seemed to be familiar with the place as if he had been here for a long time.

We entered the equipment room from the back door of the warehouse and from the side door of the equipment room to the garbage sorting office in the corridor, he pressed the freight elevator button on the side.

The waiting time is long and quiet. I lowered my head subtly and secretly looked at our held palms.

We haven’t seen each other since we separated on the bridge last time.

Except for the “I’m safe, don’t worry” message from a strange phone number, I didn’t receive any news about him.

I faintly felt that it was probably from Helios, but I still couldn’t dial his number.

So I had to wipe away the worries in my heart, silently thinking about our agreement.

He promised me that he would come back safely so he would definitely be able to do it.

Only when I saw him again, my heart still surged uncontrollably.

He didn’t seem to be injured.

Following the position of my hand, my gaze secretly moved upwards until I met a gaze that seemed to have been waiting for me there.

In the dim light, Helios’ eyes were bright.

I didn’t know what to say for a while. Too many words stuck in my throat making me subconsciously want to rub my fingertips but I squeezed his hand tightly.

Helios pursed the corners of his lips. His eyes dimmed.

The elevator door opened slowly and we walked out in silence, pushed open an iron gate and came to an open-air staircase.

Helios: It’s okay to talk now.

The soft dusk startled me and I blinked my eyes vigorously, thinking it was an illusion.

I heard a chuckle coming from the side, and Helios raised his mouth slightly, leaning his back against the railing, looking at me gently.

In this impermanent landscape, the soft and warm yellow sunlight washed over his body. The light breeze blew his hair, exposing the small instruments in his ears.

His distinct silver hair seemed to be immersed in the clouds behind him, glowing with golden light and making feel like I was in a trance.

Not so soft, but not so far away.

Helios: Don’t keep looking at me like at.

In the gaze that I kept staring at, Helios seemed to be uncomfortable, pressing the corners of his mouth hard and turning his head to the side.

MC: I, I just wanted to make sure whether your injury has fully recovered.

I pursed my lips and tried not to let my myself be too happy.

This person who has always kept himself in his shell now seems to be slowly exploring his own way to show his true self to me.

Somewhat rough and very clumsy.

Helios: I have not forgotten the agreement with you.

MC: …I know.

He turned his head back to me when I said that.

MC: “I’m safe, don’t worry.” You sent this text message, right?

MC: But I think if you were actually safe, you would appear in front of me.

He lowered his eyes, seeming to be tacitly acquiescing.

Quietly, I took a step towards Helios.

MC: Aren’t you going to call me Narcissus this time?

Helios was stunned. Seeing me tilt my head with a smile at him, he seemed to pause for a moment. The burning red color of the clouds behind him sneaked onto the tips of his ears.

Helios: Are you vengeful?

MC: A little bit.

Helios: Then save it for later.

He stretched out his index finger and lightly tapped my forehead and turned the conversation back to the topic at hand.

Helios: Before explaining why you’re here.

Helios: Do you have anything to ask?

MC: ….Are your ears okay?

I watched him as I asked this question that was constantly occupying my heart, causing his pupils to shrink unconsciously.

Helios: I don’t know how to answer your question.

His hand touched the instrument in his ear. Fragmented light fell on us wildly with the wind.

Helios: But…I can hear your voice.

Helios: As for the rest, don’t ask.

MC: Okay.

Even though he was reluctant, he did not evade this question either.

Faced with such an answer, I feel happy from the bottom of my heart.

MC: So what happened after you went to the lighthouse with Joker last time? Why are you here?

MC: What’s going on with this hotel? It’s obviously nighttime so why did it become dusk again?

Helios: ….

I fired off my questions at him one after the other. Helios frowned and finally sighed.

Helios: Nothing happened.

Helios: Joker trapped me here.

Helios: This hotel only looks normal.

Helios: It’s dusk here because there is a problem.

Helios responded to my question word for word but it drew even more questions from me.

MC: Ho-hold a minute. Let’s take it one at a time.

MC: You said you were trapped here by Joker. Does that mean you can’t leave?

Helios: There are ways, but I don’t want to cause any trouble for the time being.

Helios: There are also things I want to investigate here.

MC: But how can this hotel have anything to do with Joker?

Hearing my question, Helios frowned slightly.

Helios: What do you mean?

MC: I thought this hotel was only related to the Wish Club.

I briefly explained the existence of the Wish Club and those who were taken away from there.

MC: Both of these places seem to have received investment from the Fulcrum Charity Foundation. I met the founder of this foundation some time ago.

MC: He seems to have benefited from an organization called GRAY RHINO and he’s doing things for them.

MC: But is it also related to Joker?

Helios: Who is this founder?

MC: He’s an ordinary man in his forties using a wheelchair and his name is Du Wen.

Helios’ eyes lowered as if he had figured it out and raised a slightly prickly smile.

Helios: A foundation that only serves ordinary people but why invest in a place that serves Evolvers?

MC: ….Right!

Hearing what he said, I came to a subtle conclusion of what I have been feeling.

Helios: Remember, be careful of that Du Wen.

Helios: As for your question about this hotel….

While talking, he took my hand again.

Helios: Explaining is too troublesome. I’ll show you directly.

[End of Part 1]

-Continue to Part 2-

#spoilers #mlqc #mlqc spoilers #mlqc season 2 #mlqc season 2 spoilers #translations #mlqc translations #mlqc season 2 translations #kiro #kiro spoilers #helios #helios spoilers #love and producer #koi to producer #mr love queen's choice #mr love dream date #mldd #mr love game

17 notes · View notes

goodfish-bowl · 3 years

Text

Lost in the Wood

Here’s Friday’s work. Honestly, I had a few things I could’ve done with this one, but this turned out fine. Alicia was interesting to write, and I kinda imagine her upbringing like my mom’s. If you’re caught up in current Phandom shenanigans, you should be able to figure this one out pretty quickly

Friday: Alicia- family

Summary: Every year, Alica goes camping, searching for something she knows she’ll never find

Words: 925

AO3 link

Alicia had a family once. She married long before her little got together with that buffoon, Jack Fenton. Alicia used to have a son too, Flynn, a small, spry boy with her ginger locks but her husband’s hazel eyes. He was also gifted with her husband’s temperament, level-headed until something set him off. It made tantrums a rare, but catastrophic event. Spittoon, Arkansas wasn’t as desolate or lonely back then nor was she as bitter. She had loved her husband, she truly had, but pinning the blame on her was way out of bounds.

They always went camping on Flynn’s birthday, just a routine trip they did as the weather cooled off and the trees showed their autumn colors. Her husband used the trips to teach Flynn some basic survival skills, like which berries were safe to eat and which ones were not, how to start a fire, and how to build a lean-to. Alicia taught Flynn about wild animals, teaching him how to deal with a bear, or how to snag a rabbit. He hadn’t liked that lesson very much and had insisted they let the poor creature go. Alicia had also told some of her favorite campfire stories on those trips, the same stories her little sister still pursued back up in Amity Park. That trip held some of her most precious.

Then on Flynn’s 12th birthday, the ever-curious boy, had wandered off into the wood and hadn’t come back out. Together, they had searched for days, but Alicia had searched those woods for weeks until she had memorized the entire piece of wilderness. The search parties went from searching for the boy to searching for his body. The missing person posters eventually stopped drifting around and his face no longer appeared on milk cartons. That had been about a year after Flynn went missing. Sometimes she still went back and trekked through the woods, searching for something she knew she wouldn’t find.

On that anniversary, after Flynn was gone for two years, Alicia and her husband’s relationship had grown so taunt they had decided to break it off. They had argued before that trip, but it was playful banter compared to the full-blown fights they had after. He blamed her for Flynn’s disappearance, claiming she should’ve been the one watching him, that it was her job. He never hit her though, because he knew she would hit back, just like her father taught her and her sister.

It had been 14 years since then, and time had turned her into a “bitter old hag”, as Jack liked to call her when he thought she wasn’t listening. Which was fair, Alicia had been trying to make Maddie see sense ever since she married that fool, but she couldn’t help but be jealous too. Alicia had never seen a couple so in love, even after over two decades of being together. Daniel, Maddie and Jack’s son, had turned 16 recently, and whenever Maddie called her to talk, she would sometimes complain about the trouble Danny had been getting into since he had started high school. Jazz was off to college, just around 20 if Alicia recalled correctly, a brilliant girl just like her mother. Alicia loved Maddie, she did, but whenever her sister talked about her children or husband, Melancholy shot an arrow straight through her. Flynn would’ve been 26 today.

Alicia spent her son’s birthday as she had for the past 13 years, alone in the woods. How could she have known that the day she brought that little rascal into the world would end up being the day he left it? Her husband, a spiteful man hidden under a soft demeanor, had no right to blame her, but she still felt guilty. Hadn’t they been fighting when Flynn had run off? Was that really the last memory of them they had given her poor boy? Was their petty bickering the reason he had run off? She would never know.

Alicia turned to gaze to the smattering of colors across the sky, where stars peeked through the clouds, mixing with the blushes of sunset. Her tent was already set up for the night, but she doubted she would venture into it tonight, she never did. The small fire crackled, sputtering out ashes into the night, white smoke warding off insects. A can of baked beans sat near it, warming the tin, her dinner for tonight. Alicia spent her time poking the fire, eventually breaking open the warm can of baked beans, listening to the rustling of the fire and the sound of night and the world blanketed her in darkness.

It was sometime around when the moon reached its peak, that there was a large shuffling in the brush at the end of camp. Damn bears, but it could also be a coyote. Either way, a shotgun worked on just about anything. The rustling continued for a moment longer, and she pointed the barrel at the potentially dangerous animal. Alicia faltered when a young man stumbled out of the bushes, only to be staring down the barrel of a gun pointed at his face.

His long, russet hair was tied back, and wide, honey-gold eyes stared back at her. His clothes weren’t something from this century, a tattered green cloak, white tunic, and brown pants. There was a necklace of crimson roses around his neck and a large, a peculiar spear across his back. His feet were bare, and scars smattered his visible skin. He seemed almost more shocked than she.

“Uh… hi?”

#Danny Phantom #Alicia #Flynn #this turned out alright not my best but itll do #fanfiction #dp side hoes week 2021

43 notes · View notes

awhitehead17 · 3 years

Text

Universal Signs

Epilogue / Previous Chapter

A/N: This is the final chapter and I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read this story, who has stuck by it from the start and to everyone who interacted with the story. It's all greatly appreciated, so thank you.

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

After slapping a sticky note on the fridge Tim heads out into the gardens of Wayne Manor. He feels the need to be alone and plus he wants some fresh air, the garden is a great place that provides him with both of those things. The note just happens to be letting everyone know where he’s gone off to. It wouldn’t be the first time its happened so they know to leave him be.

Tim walks through the grass and heads into the cluster of trees at the back of the property. Over the last few months, this area has become his escape for solitude. It’s peaceful, hidden away from the manor and no one else goes there. There’s a small gap in the grove, it’s big enough for him to settle on the ground, the tree roots emerging from the ground provide a good support to lean on and the grass there keeps it somewhat comfortable.

He comes here when he needs a break and today is no different. Being inside the manor is suffocating him and Tim just needed to get out, he needed to get away from the same walls in attempts to try and clear his mind.

Settling down on the ground Tim lets out a sigh and takes a moment to observe the nature around him. The leaves on the trees are slowly beginning to turn into a mixture of reds, oranges and browns, a clear sign that autumn is on the way. There are birds chirping away in the trees. There’s an occasional rustling of leaves where there are squirrels hurrying along the branches above him.

After a while he closes his eyes and leans back against the tree root he’s come to favour over time and lets his mind wonder.

It’s been six months since he’s returned home from being in space. At this point he’s somewhat adjusted to being back however there are plenty of times when he struggles with it. There are as many good days as there are bad days, they seem to balance one another out with how often they each occur.

The first month had been the hardest. His emotions were all over the place, everyone was on high alert, there were so many things Tim needed to catch up on like events in the world and even just his family relationships. Tim’s mental health went downhill, not alarmingly so considering what had happened but it was still a cause of concern for his family. He was constantly hit with anxiety, paranoia, disorientation, nightmares and insomnia.

Tim absolutely refused to go to therapy. No matter how much his family tried to convince he just outright refused, even straight up walking out of the room when the word was mentioned. He knows it would be good for him, however what the fuck was he supposed to say? How would he describe about being kidnapped by aliens? They would think he's insane and would probably try to lock him up in an asylum! The easiest way to avoid that is to simply avoid therapy.

He did find though once he told Dick and Jason what happened things became a little easier. A weight disappeared from his shoulders and he could be open with his brothers. Not about everything that occurred but most things and that alone made a difference.

Things stayed rocky throughout the second month and it wasn’t until the third month that things started to improve. Tim started to handle his mental health better, it took some time but he came across a variety of resources online and used those as guidance. While he didn’t magically heal overnight and still had problems, they slowly became less severe and easier to handle.

When the fourth month came around they let the public see Tim for the first time since he returned. That had been a mistake. The Wayne’s are well known in Gotham City (and somewhat the world) so there had been spotlights on them from the moment it got declared Tim was missing. While the spotlight lessened over the course of the two years Tim had been gone, once Tim’s return made it to the news the family were instantly highlighted once again.

Bruce and his team kept Tim out of the way, they kept statements and quotes pretty vague and anonymous. Of course there were lots of conspiracies on what had happened to Tim, where he had been that entire time and how he had managed to return home. If Tim was being honest some of the theories were pretty hilarious, though not one of them even came close to the truth.

The time they decided to get Tim out in public was during the annual charity event that took place in city hall. Majority of his family were attending meaning Tim wouldn’t be alone, the spotlight would theoretically only be on him for a few moments until the next celebrity showed up. Tim had been reluctant at first but after reassurances from his family he said yes. After all if he made an appearance the media may calm down and leave them alone.

The moment Tim stepped out of the limo they arrived in he had been bombarded and it didn’t let up the entire night. Even with his family there and the bodyguards no one really left him alone. The press were savages hunting for food.

Before getting kidnapped Tim could handle the press well, he knew how to play the game, how to avoid and deflect questions and answers, but this time he couldn’t. It was all too overwhelming, his emotions and mind went into overdrive and panic. He couldn’t help the panic attack no matter what, fortunately his family caught on to what was happening and managed to get him away somewhere private by the time the attack happened. They supported him through it and then called it a night. He hasn’t been in public since.

The fifth month had been a mixture of month two and three. Tim had his ups and downs but he was handling it the best he could. His family were always there to support him no matter what.

During the fifth month Tim decided to tell Bruce what had happened. He sat down with his adoptive father, Alfred too, in his office and Tim told him everything that had happened. Tim had been a nervous wreck and it took encouragement from Dick and Jason for him to finally do it.

Both Bruce and Alfred seemed to take it in stride. At first they seemed like they didn’t believe him but after a couple of days thinking about it they said to him they believed him, why would Tim make up something like that? On the other hand his story seemed to only encourage Bruce to try and get him a therapist even more and once again Tim blatantly refused. He argued he was handling it and so on. With reluctance Bruce dropped the topic but Tim knows it’ll come up again soon enough.

Now though, at six months, Tim thinks he’s doing okay (besides the obvious). He would like to believe he’s doing okay. There’s not a day that goes by where he doesn’t think about the aliens that saved him, or some of the events and adventures that had happened when he had been with them.

If there’s anything positive that’s come from his experience it’s that he's decided on a career change. Before getting kidnapped Tim had been working at Wayne Enterprises in the offices doing a mixture of roles. At the time he had been looking into the future of helping Bruce to run the company, he was well on his way to do it too despite his age. However his trip has opened his eyes up and he’s decided a career change seems suitable. He’s now going into astrophysics. A job in the sciences and looking at space, time and the universe.

Tim has only recently started up online courses because he needs to work on getting a degree in the field before moving onto getting an actual job in the area. He’s smart enough for it, and now that he has the interest and even first-hand experience in the area its all the more interesting. He finds it particularly fun when the question “is there life on other planets?” come up.

Apart from the online classes Tim’s time is spent catching up with things and generally chilling around the house unless he's dragged into something by one of his siblings.

Oh, doesn’t that make him think of another major adjustment he’s had to come to terms with. Damian. Bruce’s biological son. Tim knows his story of arriving to the Manor but he doesn’t fully know the details of his past. There was tension between them but they were civil to one another any time they cross paths. It certainly took time, and still is taking time, to get used to that he has a younger sibling. On the bright side at least he’s not the youngest anymore!

It was also thanks to Damian that Tim learnt that his universal translator works on Earth too. Upon his arrival back home, Tim had completely forgotten about the little device installed in his teeth and the remote that came with it. His mind had been on other things after all but it wasn’t until Damian spoke in his native tongue, Arabic, that Tim realised the translator is still implanted in him and it works with Earth languages too.

After that discovery Tim spent a good five hours on YouTube watching a range of videos in a variety of languages. It blew his mind that he could understand every single one of them. However, even though he can understand them, he can’t speak the languages nor can he write or read them. It had been an interesting discovery, now any time Damian speaks Arabic and Tim hears him, he can’t help but snicker at the teen’s language and the kinds of names he calls their siblings.

He sighs again, feeling oddly unsettled. His life seems almost rather dull now in a way. If anyone heard him say that after knowing everything he went through they would call him insane, but it’s like his “space life” had always been one adventure after another, always something to do, or a danger to be aware of. Now that he's back on Earth where there’s not so much of that it feels strange.

With that pleasant thought in his mind Tim opens his eyes up and starts to make a move to leave. He usually comes out to this forestry area to clear his mind but unfortunately today that doesn’t seem to be the case, his mind doesn’t seem to want to shut up. Tim trudges back to the Manor through the gardens as the sun begins to lower signalling the approach of the evening.

The next few days seem to repeat themselves until the weekend rolls around. It’s Saturday when Dick decides he wants to take Tim shopping. It’s a risk going out into public like that, as Tim pointed out to him, but Dick argues it’ll do him good to leave the Manor and how it’ll make a change of scenery for him.

Tim only agreed in the end when they compromised they’ll only be out for no more than three hours. Dick wanted more and Tim would prefer less, three seemed to be a good balance for them. Apparently his brother wanted to get himself some new clothes and there was the fact he needed to get Barbara something for her birthday that’s quickly approaching.

Together they go to the closet mall and Dick drags him into about five different clothing shops. The man gets himself a variety of new autumn clothes and even grabs Tim a fluffy sweater and a new jacket. Tim really did have to stop him when he tried to by an elephant onesie though, Dick may like the damn things but that didn’t mean Tim did.

After clothes shopping Dick decided to duck inside a jeweller’s shop on the way out of the mall. While Dick is inside buying who knows what, Tim choses to wait for him outside the shop. He stands by the door, leaning against the frame and people-watched as they walked by.

No one paid him much attention as they went about their days. Each person, family, couples all absorbed in whatever activity they were doing or what shop they wanted to get to. It still was bizarre to Tim, even after six months, that everyone here just goes about their days without the slightest bit of clue to what’s out there above and beyond. It makes him wonder what and where he would be if he never got kidnapped.

Tim shifts his position against the frame, propping his back up against it more as he continues to look around. He freezes however when something catches his eyes at the other end of the mall. There’s a small group of people who were stood off to the side by the wall out of the way from everyone that catches his attention. Their heads were ducked together as they spoke to one another and they all had their backs to Tim so he couldn’t see their faces. Tim doesn’t look away though because there’s something about them that seems familiar.

He’s not sure how long he stares at the group of three but they don’t move from their position in that time at all. He doesn’t think they’re up to anything as they don’t seem suspicious but there’s a tugging feeling inside of Tim that’s telling him there’s more to the group.

When one of them turns their head around to observe the surroundings as if trying to find something, Tim gasps. Surely that can’t be…

“Tim!”

Tim blinks and looks away from the group to find Dick standing next to him looking at him curiously.

“What’s gotten into you? You okay, I was calling your name for ages.”

Tim blinks at him again before looking back over the group, he sucks in a breath when he finally sees all three faces of the group. He watches with wide eyes as they start to move from their position and Tim knows he needs to go after them.

Without saying anything he pushes off the door frame and heads in that direction as the group starts walking in the opposite way. If Tim doesn’t catch up to them now then he’ll lose them and that isn’t an option.

However he doesn’t get more than a couple steps away before he's stopped as his arm is caught in a tight grip by his older brother. Tim tugs his arm roughly as he tries to get Dick to let him go. He frantically looks between his brother and the slowly retreating group.

“Dick, please, let me go… I need to go.” Tim begs. He could feel the desperate need to go and approach that group, he could feel his heart pounding and even some excitement stirring inside of him.

Dick’s grip only tightens. “What the hell you on about Tim?” His words are stern but Tim could hear how they’re said with an anxious tone.

Tim tugs his arm again, this time reaching out with his other to shove Dick away. “I’ll explain, I promise, just let me go…”

“No, not until you tell me what you’ve seen.”

When Tim looks over the group was now almost out of sight and Tim could feel his heart dropping. This was his last chance just to make sure he hadn’t been seeing things. Knowing Dick wasn’t going to let him go, Tim shoves him hard and yells at him.

“Let me go!”

In either shock or panic, Dick lets him go and Tim couldn’t be more relieved. As soon as his brother’s hand is off his arm Tim is shoots off in an instant, he ignores all the eyes now staring at him as he runs by them in the direction the group had disappeared from.

Miraculously he manages to catch up to the retreating group. He spots the three familiar figures manoeuvring their way through the crowd heading towards the other end of the mall where an exit is. Tim rushes forward, not caring about how manic he looks as he passes by strangers, and as soon as he’s in hearing range he shouts to try and get their attention.

“Kon! Kon, Cassie! Guys. Bart!”

The shouts get him a few more weird looks but he continues to be oblivious to them as he’s tunnel visioned on the three people in front of him. Thankfully his shouting gets the attention of the right people because the group stop and turn around in their place.

Suddenly Tim couldn’t breathe. There in front of him were the aliens who he thought he would never see again, the aliens who saved his life numerous of times and the ones who returned him home.

Kon, Cassie and Bart stand in front of him staring back seeming just as shocked as he is. For a long time none of them move as they all take in that they’re actually seeing one another again. If Tim weren’t so surprised by their appearance he would be questioning it, but he’s too elevated to give it much thought in that moment.

Without realising it Tim is moving and so were they. They meet in the middle and Tim finds himself wrapped up in a group hug. He breathes deeply, wondering why the action feels so familiar, and even safe, when he hasn’t seen them in six months.

He pulls back and looks wildly between the three of them. He can’t believe they’re here. Could this be a dream?

“Tim! We were just looking for you!” Bart grins brightly.

Tim shoots him a look, then glances at the other two. “Looking for me? Why what’s going on? Wait, wait, wait, how are you guys here? Why are you here?”

Bart’s smile falters a little at Tim’s rapid questions. “Because we wanted to find you.”

Tim shakes his head, feeling a little guilty that his questions came across wrongly. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just completely surprised to see you that’s all. This is totally unexpected.”

“Tim, as wonderful as it is to see you, do you know a place we can talk privately and not in the middle of… this place.” Cassie says glancing around cautiously.

Tim copies her and he finally realises how many people are looking at them funnily as well as giving them a wide berth as they pass by. Tim nods his head in understanding, this isn’t the kind of topic a group of people can discuss in the middle of the mall.

Just as Tim was thinking of a place they could go for privacy a shout gets his attention.

“Tim what the hell!” He turns around and is met with a furious Dick marching up to him. “What the fuck were you thinking running off like that?”

Tim huffs and rolls his eyes, he gets why Dick is worried but at the end of the day he is in fact an adult and not a toddler. “Dick it’s fine, I’m sorry but this is important.”

Dick studies him for a moment before his eyes flicker over to the three aliens standing opposite them looking awkward at the sudden appearance of his brother.

“Right so, Dick, this is Kon, Cassie and Bart,” he points to each alien in turn, “guys, this is my oldest brother Dick.”

There is a pause between them all and while the aliens look confused he could see the wheels turning inside of Dick’s mind. As if it’s clicked, Dick turns to Tim with wide eyes, “Are these the ones that saved your life?”

Tim smiles, feeling pleased that his brother has remembered his story and those involved. “Yeah that’s right.

“What are they doing here?”

Tim shrugs and turns to the others. “What are you guys doing here, beside looking for me?”

“Can we go somewhere else first Tim. Like away from all the eyes.” Cassie says pointedly.

Next to him Dick looks confused. “Tim what did she say? Wait, how do you understand them? That isn’t any language I’ve heard of.”

Tim blinks trying to comprehend everything going on. The aliens that saved his life are on Earth and he doesn’t know why, his brother is clearly confused and the others are looking at him expectantly. Tim is starting to feel pretty overwhelmed by it all.

In attempts to control his thoughts and emotions Tim takes a deep breath. “Right lets go somewhere else. Then everything can be explained.”

The private place they end up going happens to be a nearby park. It’s a large open space, where people are scattered over the place, it’s private in the sense that no one is paying them any attention and unless someone walks directly next to them, no one can hear their conversation.

The five of them settle down on the grass in a circle, the aliens and even Dick all look a little apprehensive for the choice of location but it’s not like there’s many others. It’s not like Tim and Dick can return home with the aliens in tow and expect Bruce to be okay with it.

“Right,” Tim says getting everyone’s attention. He glances at his friends, while still feeling completely gobsmacked by the fact they’re here, and gets down to business. Tim needs to find out what’s going on.

Now they’re all sat down Tim blurts out his questions without restraint. “How are you guys here? Why are you here? I thought you were all being punished or put on probation? Did you complete it, did it end and now you’re free to do as you please once again?”

None of them respond to his rapid questioning, they each look at him blankly like they couldn’t understand what he’s saying. When the silence drags out for too long Tim is about to repeat them when Kon speaks up for the group.

The Kryptonian sends him an empathetic look and with patience says, “Let us just explain what’s happened that’s brought us here, hopefully the story will answer your questions.”

Tim has to retrain himself from firing out the questions again. He wants answers! He can’t believe they’re here, he thought he would never see them again but here they are!

Next to him Dick lightly smacks his shoulder to get his attention. “Tim what are they saying? What’s going on?”

His brother is looking awfully confused and concerned. Tim can’t exactly blame him. He’s dragged Dick with him to sit down with practically three strangers and is now witnessing a one-sided conversation because he can’t understand the other three.

“They’re about to explain why they’re on Earth. I honestly thought I would never see them again, I’m just as confused as you are.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea Tim. What if it’s some sort of… trap or something?”

A surge of anger rises inside of Tim at the accusation. He understands Dick’s worries but this isn’t a trap and he knows it. They wouldn’t do that to him, not after everything they went through together.

“Dick shut up for a moment.” Tim snaps at him after a pause once he’s got his emotions under control. “Also they can understand you too, so watch what you say. If you don’t like it, go away and I’ll come find you later, or sit here and be quiet, it’s your choice.”

Dick stares at him, clearly taken back by the aggression of his words. But Tim isn’t relenting. He narrows his eyes at his brother, daring him to say something. In the end Dick raises his hands up in surrender and stays where he is. Once he’s delt with Tim turns back to the aliens.

“Sorry about him, there’s just a little misunderstanding. Please tell me what happened and how you’re here.”

Kon launches into the explanation of what happened after they took Tim home. Apparently they returned back to Krypton before finishing off their collection job, what they had originally been doing when they first met Tim. Once they completed that they were put on probation and were kept under watchful eyes for a long time. They weren’t allowed on any missions, they had to go back to the basic training skills and from there build the trust back up with their so called leaders.

Once some trust was established they were allowed on missions but only with other older members of their squadron, they described it like someone was babysitting them. They also had to report back on anything and everything during the mission. Because of good behaviour from the each of them, they were then allowed out on missions independently as a team some time later.

After more trust had been built, after they had once again proven themselves apparently Kal approached them for a very specific mission that would suit their abilities and past experiences.

Kal had given the three of them the mission of doing recon and observing humans on planet Earth. Apparently their files and databases don’t have enough accurate information on humans and after the fiasco with Tim, it’s about time they start taking human beings into consideration and start learning about them properly.

The three of them were to stay on Earth for an extended period of time to gather the data they need and to regularly report back to the leaders with their findings. They didn’t go into detail on what it is they need to do or what they need to observe but Tim can easily overlook it because at the end of the day they are in fact here on Earth and with him.

“So Kal sent you here on Earth to ‘observe’ humans because of you guys knowing me?” Tim asks just so he’s clear on it all.

The three of them grin and nod in response. Amused, Tim snorts softly. He settles back on the grass, using his elbows to keep him propped up. “Surely he knows that as soon as you land you would try and find me. By the way, how did you find me? I thought I was unable to be tracked?”

“We parked the ship where we dropped you off. We’ve hidden the ship from anyone seeing it or anything detecting it. Once we’ve found a more suitable place we’ll move the ship.” Cassie explains waving her hand around subconsciously as she talks. “Knowing that the city next to it is the one you said you lived in, we took a chance and started looking for you. As you pointed out, we can’t track you, so we’ve been relying on nothing but hope and chance in bumping into you.”

Tim shakes his head in disbelief. So it had been by pure chance that they happened to be in the same part of the city, in the same mall, at the exact same time as Tim.

“I’ve always wanted to come to Earth, especially after meeting you Tim. It’s strange, different from other planets we’ve visited before. Also why are the days so short? Everything is bright because the sun is out and you’d practically blink and it would suddenly be dark, but after that you’d blink another time and it’s light once again.” Bart starts rambling from his position in between Tim and Kon. He looks around curiously, taking in everything and Tim could see him shaking in place, it’s like it’s taking all of Bart’s self-restraint to not go speeding off into the city in his excitement.

Tim laughs at his comments, Bart is just the same as he remembers. They all are really and it fills Tim with a warmth he can’t describe.

“How have you been since you’ve been back? Is everything alright, run into any trouble?” Kon asks him sounding concerned. Tim notices the way his eyes drift over to Dick who is currently on his phone not paying them much attention. Tim gets the feeling Kon may be feeling a bit protective of him, especially after seeing how Dick had unintentionally treated him earlier.

Tim shrugs, pulling a face as he looks around the park. “No more than what was expected to be honest.” He looks back at the alien. “So far, and touch wood, I haven’t run into or even seen any League members. There’s been my own personal stuff I’ve had to deal with but nothing like what you’re thinking of really.”

Cassie sits up straighter, she’s also eyeing Dick like he could be a threat of some kind. “And him there?”

Tim rolls his eyes in response. When will everyone stop treating him like a kid that constantly needs to be protected? “He’s fine. He gets a little over-protective and after not seeing me for a couple years, especially after what happened, he wants to make sure I’m fine. He’s not a threat.”

Both Cassie and Kon don’t seem satisfied with his answer but they let it go. Tim lets out a long breath. “So what now? You guys are here, what did you have in mind once you found me? How are you planning on completing your mission?”

“We were hoping you would be able to show us things about the human life.” Bart says looking at him hopefully. “After all, you know what you’d be talking about, there’s also the matter of fact no one can understand us except you because of the translator.”

“Yeah okay, I think I’d be able to help you. After all, it’s the least I can do since you saved my life several times. However I won’t be able to be with you all hours of the day, I have commitments to deal with as well.” Tim points out. He would love to help them out but he can’t just drop his life to do so, not that there’s really much going on but that’s not the point.

The three of them nod in unison, clearly understanding what Tim meant. “Any help would be great Tim, thank you.”

They get talking about a few other bits, like what they have discovered since being on Earth for themselves. During that conversation there were a lot of snarky comments made about how underdeveloped humans were, surprisingly those comments no longer annoy Tim, he simply rolls his eyes and moves onto the next thing.

Tim’s broken out of the conversation after Dick nudges him to get his attention. Tim blinks at him, completely forgetting he was even there to begin with. “Tim it’s getting late, we should probably get heading home.”

Tim glances at the clock on his own phone and is surprised to see the time. They’ve spent hours talking and catching up.

After a brief conversation about where they could meet up the next day, they settle on a time and place before parting ways. Once they were out of hearing range Dick puts his attention on Tim. “So they were the aliens who saved you? I didn’t expect to meet them, they don’t look like what I expected them to.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I have described to you before what they look like Dick, not all aliens are huge and green with tentacles, antennas and multiple eyes.” He certainly isn’t going to tell Dick that there are in fact aliens that look exactly like that.

Dick laughs at his sarcasm. “You know that’s not what I meant. They each have a different language yet you spoke to the three of them with no problems.”

“Yeah that’s because of the universal translator I have planted in my teeth. Its one of the first things they did when they found me. Once it was implanted I was able to understand everything they said, it’s how they all communicate out there.”

The two of them finally reach the car and climb inside.

“So what are they doing here on Earth?” Dick asks as he starts the car up and begins driving them home.

“They’re here because they’ve been sent to do recon on humans, they need to report back their findings to their leaders. While being here they decided to come and find me, they have also asked if I could help them out. Since they saved my life, agreeing to help them isn’t an issue, it’s the least I could do.”

Dick asks him a few more questions about what they discussed, his brother is still put off by the fact they all have different languages and yet they can all understand one another, but on the most part he seems okay with them.

It makes Tim wonder if he should let his family officially meet the aliens, if he did how would it all play out? Communication will obviously be an issue, Tim will have to be their translator but it may be worth considering in the long run. The aliens showing their powers to the family would certainly be interesting and with how private Wayne Manor is, they could get away with it and not be spotted.

Those thoughts remain in Tim’s mind for the rest of the day, into the night and stay with him until the next day when he meets the aliens again. Tim makes sure to keep them all away from too crowded areas (they ended up in the park again) and makes sure he’s prepared for anything that may go wrong. It’s one of the first times he’s left the grounds on his own since returning home and he’s nervous. His anxiety does calm down a little when he finally meets with his friends but he stays alert just in case.

They have a brilliant day together. Tim answers as many questions as he can when they each ask him stuff, he also shows them what he could, stuff that really helps humans in their day to day lives, for example his mobile phone. Alongside that Tim introduces them to the internet. Witnessing them using google for the first time was as amusing as it was painful to watch.

Don’t even get him started about when Bart tried to talk to Siri.

When their day starts drawing to close, Tim’s earlier thoughts come back to the fore front of his mind. In the end he decides to bite the bullet and turns to the aliens.

“How would you all like to meet my family?”

There's a pregnant pause between them and before anyone could reply Tim starts rambling on. “I know that communication may be an issue but we can get around that. I think it would be good for you to meet the ones I spend most of my time with. Not only that, I can then also show you what human family life is like, how homes operate and what gardens can be like. It may be worth considering?”

When there’s more silence Tim winces, curing himself for his eagerness. It’s stupid, of course they wouldn’t like the idea. Why would they –

“Yeah okay. That sounds interesting, of course only if you’re sure about it.” Kon says eventually looking thoughtful.

Tim whips his head around and stares at him. “Really? You want to?”

Kon shares a look with the other two, who nod in response, and turns back to Tim. “Like I said, if you’re sure about it, yeah.”

“Okay, okay…” Tim mumbles now getting equally excited and nervous about this happening. After they agreed Tim called Alfred up and asked the butler to come and pick them up. While on the phone Tim explained to Alfred the situation and how he’ll have company with him. God bless his soul, Alfred took it all in stride. While he seemed dubious about it, he agreed to let them come back to the manor.

Once Alfred arrived Tim took the others to the car and guided them inside. He greets Alfred before diving into an explanation on how cars work.

The journey back to the Manor is a short one and Tim has the fantastic opportunity to watch the awe expression cross his friends faces as they see the manor for the first time. Despite how many places they have travelled to, it seems like this really captures their attention, something that’s truly impressed them and Tim couldn’t help but feel slightly proud of that.

Once they’ve parked up, Alfred goes ahead first, probably with the main intentions of warning everyone what’s about to happen. Tim hovers behind for a while as he lets his friends stare at his home and the surrounding gardens. When more time than necessary has passed, Tim gently nudges them up towards the stairs, saying he’ll take them on a tour later on.

When they enter the manor they’re greeted with the sight of Alfred, Bruce Jason and Cass standing in the hallway watching them come in. Once they were all in Tim closes the door behind them and moves so he’s standing in front of his friends and faces his family.

Tim shuffles uncomfortably in his place, he’s feeling the apprehension of this meeting now more than ever. Taking a deep breath he addresses those in the room. “Everyone I would like you to meet Kon-el of Krypton, Cassandra of Themyscira and Bartholomew of Keystone. These three are the ones who saved my life while I was gone, without them I would have died long ago and never would have returned home. I owe them everything.”

Tim stares at each family member in turn, observing their reactions. Alfred of course is aware of them already and seems pretty neutral, Jason narrows his eyes at the aliens in distrust but doesn’t comment, Cass looks at his friends with curiosity which seems to be on the more positive side of things and finally Bruce seems stoic as ever, Tim couldn’t really tell what he’s thinking.

Eventually the thick atmosphere in the air is broken when Bruce steps forward, eyeing each alien carefully until a smile takes over his face and he relaxes his posture, letting go of what Tim could describe as the ‘alpha’ persona (the one where Bruce tries to make it clear he’s the one in charge and has all the dominance in the room).

“Thank you for helping my son and bringing him home. If I could ever repay you please let me know.”

Of course the aliens could understand Bruce but if they spoke then he wouldn’t understand them. In return to Bruce’s words, they each smile appreciatively and duck their heads. Bruce doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of verbal response, he resumes on as normal.

“Since we have guests how about something to eat. Tim, I’m sure your friends would be interested in trying some of our food?”

Tim glances at the trio, raising an eyebrow in question. They each look back at him and shrug nonchalantly, clearly not bothered either way, or at least that’s Kon and Cassie, Bart on the other hand looks as eager as ever to try food.

Tim turns back to Bruce. “Yeah they’ll eat. I hope you have a lot because Bart will literally eat everything in the house. He’s a Speedster and naturally eats more than the average person.” Tim laughs letting his adoptive father, and even Alfred, know in advance.

“There’ll be plenty Timothy, no need to worry about that. Now if you would like to follow me, I’ll show you where we will be eating.”

Without waiting Alfred turns around and heads into the depths of the manor. After sending a glare at each of their guests, Jason is quick to follow Alfred. Cass smiles politely and trails behind Jason with Bruce behind her.

The trio glance at Tim, clearly waiting for his cue before doing anything. Tim rolls his eyes and gestures on ahead, “Go, it’s going to be fine. Plus you’re going to absolutely love Alfred’s food, it’s the best.”

“If you say so…” Cassie mutters walking ahead.

Bart is about to speed off down the corridor but Kon catches his arm just in time to stop him from doing so. “Bart. Be careful, this isn’t somewhere you can easily run around in.”

“After we’ve eaten I can show you the gardens Bart, its plenty big enough outside for you to have free reign.” Tim says, knowing the Speedster’s way of dealing with his energy. Bart rapidly nods in response and starts after Cassie, not in a run but certainly a quick walk.

Then it’s just Kon and Tim left. They share a knowing smile. “It’s good to see you again Tim and it’s great to know that you’re still safe.”

Tim grins, feeling warmth rise up inside of him. Before saying anything he gestures for them to get walking, as they do he speaks up. “I missed you guys too. While I don’t particularly miss space and everything out there, I miss being with you three on the ship. I certainly wasn’t expecting to ever see you again.”

Kon shrugs, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Well we, or rather I, planned to visit you from the moment our probation was mentioned. I knew as soon as we had free reign again, we were going to come and visit you.”

Tim’s eyes widen at that. So even before they parted ways, Kon and the others had wanted to continue seeing him. “Well I’m glad you’re here, and that you’ll be here for an extended amount of time too.”

When they reach the dining room, they stop just short of the door. From inside loud sounds where being made and Tim dreads what kind of chaos he's about to walk into. It’s just another usual family dinner at this stage, there’s always some kind of drama going on. He turns to Kon with a thought, before he enters the room he shoots him a sly look, unable to help himself. The Kryptonian has no idea what he’s about to be in for.

“I’ve experienced your life Kon, now you get to experience mine. It’s probably going to be the wildest adventure you’ve had yet and that’s truly saying something, I hope you’re prepared.”

As he walks into the dining room, Tim leaves behind a bewildered looking Kon. For the first time since everything had happened, Tim is actually forward to what the future will bring. He knows that ups and downs will happen but he’s also excited to see what’ll occur with his new friends by his side as they learn about his way of life. It’s certainly going to be an experience.

23 notes · View notes

buckysgoldenheart · 4 years

Text

Partners: August Walker x Reader

Summary: You are partners in the CIA and an injury forces feelings to be revealed.

Words: 2200

Warnings: Gore, i guess. Smut, but not so bad you have to dunk yourself in holy water afterwords, as much fun as that is. Cursing, maybe? I don’t really remember.

I hope you like it :)

You hated hospitals, you always had. People died in them and who enjoyed death? Only the fuckers you assassinated or put behind bars. Plus, hospitals always reeked of cleanliness. It was nauseating. But you supposed eventually everyone makes it in one, whether it be a pit-stop or your last drop before being buried in dirt forever.

---------------

“There is no way that happened!” August laughed, louder than you had ever heard before, and you smiled bright. You loved that sound, and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the way his teeth were laid out behind his lips. All of it was perfect. You made that happen, you realized. The look he had on his face now, the pure elation, completely raw unlike usual, was because of you and the stupid story you told him about your aunt and her cat.

And now you couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. You certainly hadn’t expected tonight to remind you what extreme joy felt like; not on a typical night with your partner, tracking a man’s location for a couple hours until he finally went home. But tonight didn’t end up typical, not to you. It was the first night August let his guard down around you, really let his guard down. He let you see him and watch as he removed that rough exterior brick by brick.

“It did, I swear! That cat is wicked smart!” You could barely contain your laughter, and the chances of your smile leaving your face was far out of the question. When you looked over at August as you walked side by side down the alley, he was already watching you like he could see every single thing you felt for him. You hoped by the way his eyes seemed to shine that maybe he was thinking of you together, as more than partners in the CIA.

You walked with your bodies close to each other. Even through layers of clothing to stave off the late autumn chill, you could feel the heat radiating from him. It was enough to keep you warm for an entire night. For a minute, you thought maybe you might be able to get to that point. The job was done and you were walking back to the hotel anyway. He could easily move one room over and stay with you.

But then you were reminded why you didn’t get to have things as amazing as a night with August Walker, no matter how much you wanted it. People like you and him, you didn’t get to have each other, and even when you thought it might happen, something always fucked it up.

When you started down that alley, the two of you were alone, laughing and happy. The mission was over for now and somehow, the fact that you were both trained CIA agents was put on the back-burner. So much so that neither of you heard the initial scuff of a heavy boot on the pavement a good twenty feet in front of you. It was the second that had August shooting his head up in the right direction, just in time to catch the thrown knife before it lodged in his chest.

He practically growled at the smaller hooded figure before you and spent no time flipping the knife in his hand and whipping it expertly back at the attacker. The shiny, silver blade landed right between a pair of dark, emotionless eyes and the body fell to the ground, splashing in a couple puddles from the earlier rain.

August said your name before looking at you, but you barely heard it. Your ears rang as you stared down at the hilt of a knife, its thick blade buried deep in your abdomen. When did he throw a second? Or did he throw mine first?

It didn’t feel like much, having a knife stuck in you. You’d been injured on missions, but nothing like this. They were flesh wounds before, in and out, easily fixable. Not this. This was bad, you knew, and it surprised you how little it hurt. Despite your body going into shock, you thought it would at least sting. The bullet wounds had.

Your hand reached for the handle. You knew not to pull it out, that it would have you bleeding out faster, but you now understood the temptation. August stopped your hand before your fingers could wrap around it. He called your name louder as he put his large hands on your cheeks and tried to force you to look at him. He looked hazy, and you were surprised how fast you were losing control of your own body. Then your eyes fell closed despite your attempts to keep them on his face.

——————————————————————

Oh right, one other thing you hated about hospitals: that constant, excruciating beeping sound next to every patients’ bed so nurses and doctors could tell if they were still alive or not. It was definitely high on your list of the worst things ever, and right now you couldn’t seem to escape it. It was muddled with a voice in the background, but still rang clear enough to piss you off, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Yes, thank you,” That voice said. You knew that voice. It was not one you would choose to hear if you had the option, but if you were hearing voices at all it meant someone was in the room with you or you were going crazy. In either case it meant you had to be alive, so you guessed that was good. You eased your eyelids open.

“Well, well, she’s awake.” Sloane. You shifted your body and groaned as your boss walked to your side. “You’re quite the sleeper,” She said. “The typical recovery time for this kind of thing is about three days, but congratulations, you made it a whole week.” She sat on your bed in her nice suit. “If you were tired, you could’ve just asked for a day off.”

You did your best to scoff at the lie and Sloane let out a reserved laugh. “We are all glad you are ok.”

We, you thought. August. “When can I get the fuck out of here?”

“As soon as you want. The last few days you’ve just been sleeping off the leftover anesthesia and pain killers.”

“Thank God.”

A few beats passed in silence, then Sloane said, “That guy was hired to take out anyone who spied on the target…He saw you.”

You nodded. It made sense. Your attention was focused on someone else, but if Sloane knew that bit, she would throttle you. Though, the fuck up of being seen would still warrant at least a bit of punishment, which you were sure she would lay out for you soon.

“One thing before you leave here,” She said, and you didn’t like the tone in her voice one bit. “I need you to sign some paperwork.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together. “What for?” She pulled out a packet of papers held together by a large clip and set it down on top of your legs for you to shuffle through. “Just tell me. But skip all the mission details.”

“Walker is requesting a new partner and team. His reasons are spelled out in the forms and I have no reason not to grant his request. There are a couple pages where you have to sign and date.”

——————————————————————-

You had asked Sloane when August would be in his office next. She answered the question with a lot of unnecessary information that you paid absolutely no attention to after she said, ‘six p.m., tomorrow.’

You had no reason to rush; this was not going to be some sort conversation, so you waited until six-thirty. He would definitely be in his office by then, and as you stopped in front of the door you saw his form sitting in the desk chair through the fogged glass.

You took a deep breath, calming yourself, then slipped through the door. Before August had a chance to register your presence in his office, you slammed the packet of paperwork on his desk and crossed your arms.

His eyes widened and he quickly looked up at you. “Y/N.”

“You filed for a new partner? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He closed his eyes for a moment then rose from the chair, his hands planted firmly on the cherry wood. “Y/N—”

“We have been partners for two years,” You nearly yelled, holding up your index and middle finger, “And now you decide to just drop me like yesterday’s trash?”

August ran a hand through his dark brown curls. “That is not—”

“You’re an asshole!”

“Just listen to me!” You recoiled at his tone. He had never yelled at you before, not like that. He inhaled slowly then exhaled. “I got distracted,” He said and met your cold stare. “We both know that that is unacceptable.”

“And that all of a sudden makes you not want to work with me anymore? That’s insane, August.”

He shook his head slightly. “It is not insane. Not when what I got distracted by was you.”

You huffed with an aggravated smile. “Are you actually blaming me for this right now? August, we work best together. We have since the beginning.”

He crossed his ridiculously strong arms and you didn’t like it. He was getting mad, yes, but he was guarded now, closing himself off to you. “It doesn’t matter. You almost died.”

“That was an accident!” You groaned and rubbed your palms over your eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was!” He slammed his fist hard against the desk before stepping around it and practically stomping to you. “I would’ve sensed that guy the other night if for one stupid second I focused my thoughts on anything but you! But I didn’t and it almost cost me everything, so yes, it was my fault!”

Everything?

His chest rose and fell as rapidly as yours and he searched your eyes for something. When you figured he found what he was looking for, he closed the two steps between you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and slammed his lips to yours.

You gasped into his kiss but devoured everything he was giving you: the feel of his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt, the way his lips felt, the way his tongue tasted…it was intoxicating, and you soaked up every ounce. When he gripped your sides and lifted you before setting you on the desk, you let out an unexpected squeak. His lips smiled against yours.

You reached for the belt of his black slacks, undid it, unzipped, and slipped your hand behind the layer of his underwear. He bucked against your hand and groaned loud, the vibration on your lips sending heat straight to your core. Fuck, you wanted him.

He pulled away for a second to smile at you, and as you smiled back, he reached for the hem of your top and slipped it over your head. His eyes went wide at the sight of you and you hoped the blush forming on your cheeks was not making its way down your neck to your chest. August leaned down to kiss the top of your breasts peeking out above your bra, then trailed kisses all the way up your neck, to your jaw, under your ear, and as he kissed your lips again, his fingers slowly unclasped the garment.

Straps slid down your shoulders as you kissed. You chucked it to the side before placing your hands back on him and pulling his cock free from his pants. When you stopped him to get a good look at just how big he was and licked your lips, August tilted your chin back up to him and shook his head.

“Not now,” He said, somehow reading your mind. “Later.” He pecked your lips and pushed your skirt up high to your hips. “Now, I just want you.”

You nodded and stroked him a few times, trying to keep yourself from falling apart at the feeling of his fingers rubbing at your clit. “Lean back,” He said, and you did until your spine hit the wood. August yanked your hips forward until you were fully against him, then pulled your panties to the side with a finger. He met your eyes for a moment and you nodded.

As he eased himself inside you, your eyes slammed shut and your brain fuzzed. Every inch was more beautifully agonizing than the last as he stretched you. “Look at me,” He whispered. There was more than lust swirling within the blue and you knew you would be more than happy to see him look at you that way for a long, long time.

August pulled you up until your chest was against his as he fully settled himself inside you. With his hands on your cheeks, his thumbs stroked back and forth. He hummed contentedly and touched his forehead to yours.

“Come home with me,” He said.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He thrust into you once, twice, then kissed you sweetly.

@agniavateira

480 notes · View notes

elriell · 3 years

Text

Answer to my LONG ask friend, posting it like this because I imagine it would be way to long or else!

hi i hope you dont mind me asking, but perhaps any elriel meta will be willing to cover the whole berons alliance with the queen? because i think thats our winning argument in favor of elriels endgame. and i wish im not reaching or overthinking this lol.

why it will be our winning argument? becaue the whole beron pledged alliance to the queen dont mean anything just yet, it hasnt been flushed out yet (sarah left it open ended), and it will definitely be the main conflict in the next book just to set up the final book and war where all the sides has been established whos with who.

because in my perspective, elriels story really will trigger that conflict and rhysands warning in az pov is literally the set up for that conflict.

when i read acosf, i was thinking there is literally no point of beron making alliance with the queen aside him wanting to be the high king, more power, why would he do that when the queen is in the continent and him in prythian, other high lords will surely oppose him being the high king. thus its two (if the queen indeed would help him) versus six since koschei is still trapped in the lake. plus, his alliance is still a secret, surely other courts will learn of it, wont they?

now however possible consequences from elriel, beron perhaps will use the rejecting mating bond—the blood duel—as a reason to declare a war and have other courts against the night court or eris will finally dethrone his father and be the high lord. and with eris being the high lord, isnt that going to be one of the key topic for morrigans book? sarah also confirms morrigan book and she admits that she doesnt know what the novella is going to be, so its same to assume that mor will get a full novel.

fyi, i cant see lucien will challenge azriel though, he is decent and will respect elains choice, but beron as cruel as he is will surely do something sinister.

and i stumbled across an account on twitter and they compare elriels story to helen of troy and the set up of the trojan war is literally the same as elriel. also, beron reminds me of agamemnon in troy movie (2004), both of them want more power. there are a lot of similarities, imo, between elriel and the set up of iliad. in iliad there is also a duel between hector and achilles (this is me reaching lol).

thus, aside from elains connection to the dread trove, elriels conflict also has the logical conflict that tied to the whole overarching plot for the plot of the series to move forward toward the end, because like i said the whole berons alliance need to be addressed and in acosf it hasnt been addressed yet, at least not enough.

im really sorry if i come off as rude by asking this. i would do it honestly, but i dont have the confidence to post anything online (hence, im anonymous) and im not as convincing as the others in terms of flushing the arguments.

also, you are literally keeping me sane when all of elain antis trying their hardest to discredit elriels.

thank you❤️❤️❤️

Hi! I’m that anon who said that Elriel’s conflict with Beron could be the winning argument for our ship since they are tied closely with each other based on Rhysand’s warning in Azriel POV. If you decide to answer that question, would you mind if you answer this one instead? As I’m pretty much still stand on that point however I’d like to add and correct some statements that I think I don’t express clearly in my previous question:)

If you don’t mind, I’d like to post my theory here, anonymously, since I’m not confident enough to post my thoughts online yet as I’m afraid I’ll be judged harshly lol. And perhaps other metas such as you would like to elaborate more on the matter since I think it is a vital plot for Elriel’s book. It’s quite long, I do apologize for that:)

Like I said, Beron allegiance with Briallyn didn’t make any sense to me and it also took me by surprise when I read ACOSF. Why?

A. Briallyn lived on the continent and Beron is in Prythian. Wouldn’t it be better for him to seek an ally that is closer to him instead? We know that Beron wants to be an ally with her because he heard about her ambition. And I suspect that Beron wants to be the High King or kill Feyre since he knows that she has his power. But one thing for sure is that he wants more power.

B. If he indeed wants to be High King or kill Feyre then I don’t believe that the other high lords would comply with him. Therefore, Beron wouldn’t stand a chance against the other high lords and lady in Prythian since it is two (before the queen was killed by Nesta) versus six. Plus, Briallyin lived in the continent thus her allegiance was not something that he could hold on to, imo.

So obviously we know that Briallyn is dead and her allegiance doesn’t mean anything anymore. However, from her allegiance with Beron we now know that Beron for sure set to be the other villain of this new overarching plot alongside Koschei. And I also think that Beron would be the main villain for the next book because a villain as big as Koschei would likely be dealt in the last book.

Now, why is it tied with Elriel? I think Rhysand’s warning in Az’s POV explains it plainly, and I can’t help but think that it is a set up, a foreshadowing, of what would happen in the next book, especially since Koschei’s plotline is not foreshadowed enough in ACOSF and we only know of his onyx box which we get from ACOWAR.

If we acknowledge that Elriel is endgame and their story is next, then Beron surely comes to play in the next book. Their relationship will push the overarching plot one step closer to its climax.

FYI, I can’t see Lucien invoke the Blood Duel himself, he is a decent person so he will respect and understand Elain’s choice to be with Azriel since it is definitely where we are going in the matter of endgame. But, Beron, as cruel as he is, will surely make use of the situation to profit himself, to reach his ambition that is momentarily squashed with Briallyn dead.

These are possible results of what could happen with Blood Duel plotline:

1. Beron would ally himself with Koschei as Briallyn did before because he knows he is outnumbered if he declared a war against the Night Court.

2. Beron could convince other high lords in Prythian to go against the Night Court if Lucien was killed in the Blood Duel, I pray that it will not happen though Lucien deserve some peace and happiness with the woman who wants and loves him voluntarily.

3. Eris would rebel against his father's order for Lucien to invoke the duel, and Beron would be dethroned by Eris and he would be the next high lord of Autumn Court.

I personally lean more on number three, because with Eris being the high lord wouldn’t it be one of the key topics for Mor’s book? It is already confirmed that Sarah pitched Mor’s story as one of the books and she admits that she doesn’t know what the novella is going to be. So, it’s safe to assume that Mor will get a full novel, not a novella one. Seeing her sparse appearance and development we’ve seen of her in ACOSF, then it is also logical to assume that Mor will not be the next book main character.

In conclusion, Elriel needs to happen to address Beron's situation and bring the overall plot of the series a bit higher before it reaches climax in the final book. Is it also possible that Beron’s scenario still can be addressed without it being tied to Elain and Azriel? Yes, but, I will say it again, Rhysand’s warning is a clue, a foreshadowing, of what conflict will be covered in the next book. For an author to drop something as big as that but not happening is a lazy writing in my opinion.

In the previous question I also mentioned that Elriel’s story is kinda similar to Iliad. Their set up is pretty much similar to me, however, I don’t think Elriel’s story will end in tragedy since Sarah doesn’t like to read, write, sad endings.

I’m sorry if I come off as ordering you around, but I really appreciate it if you and other metas also put your thought in the whole Beron/Elriel situation since I’m 95% sure Elain book is next and Azriel will be her LI seeing there is no progress with her and Lucien yet.

And I still stand by my point, you and other Elriel metas keep me sane when all of Elriel antis trying their hardest to discredit all of Elriel’s interaction and feeling in order to make their ship endgame. Thank you so much❤️❤️❤️

Wowza! This has got to be one of the longest asks I have ever received, hahah, congratulations and thank you for taking the time to write it to me!

I would definitely consider doing such a meta, I am working on my Elriel debunking one currently, chipping away at it slowly! It’s a big boy.

I definitely agree that it is a very important and key point because like you said Elriel will be the trigger that pushes this story forward, giving Beron the push he needs, and also it will give or potential for Eris to step in and also Lucien by proxy. It would as you said accelerate the whole plot.

I have said before and I will say it again, Elriel brings so much plot to the story and ties in so many different characters, that say Gwynriel for arguments sake, doesn’t. I have no doubts at all who are the next POVs.

Agree with literally every ounce of your first ask, they have all the ties. There is no point mentioning The blood Duel if it is never going to come in to play, whether they actually do it or get close too it has to happen now. And if that is the case then Elriel clearly has to happen to get there! I don’t think Lucien would participate because I think he would respect Elains decision but who knows...

I feel like their is potential for his hand to be forced by say Beron or someone else, like you said though all ties roll back to Elain. And her ARC.

I am so sorry you don’t feel like you can post it yourself, because you clearly have some great well thought out perspective, and you are well spoken. I am sure the fandom would love to hear your thoughts from you, when you are ready of course. Until then you are always welcome to come here and share with me!!

Going to answer your second one separately because I didn’t read the second one first and now I see you said to answer the other one ahhhahaha

#m for ts #replies

21 notes · View notes

bloodys44 · 3 years

Text

Silence and Cigarette Smoke

Original story and bonus content found here! ↓↓↓↓

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13289933/1/Silence-and-Cigarette-Smoke

I just posted chapter 9 on FF.net so please feel free to read ahead if you enjoy :)

Chapter 6: The Letters To A Ghost

788

(25th day of summer)

Mom,

I helped Natsu dig a grave for Lissana today. He was extremely adamant about it even though we were never able to retrieve her body. Not to mention that we already held a service for her weeks ago. He dug it by hand at her favorite lookout, told me he wanted her soul to rest where she would never miss the sun rise or set. The headstone he made her read "An angel who falls may now pass to the home of their gods. A forever sunrise to lighten the lives of the dark." It was beautiful Mama, Natsu worked really hard on it.

He didn't sleep in my dorm last night for the first time since we came home. I went by his room to check on him but I heard him crying. In all the years I've known Natsu, I've only seen that once, when we lost her initially. He sounded so sad, It broke my heart. I was too scared to go in so I left him for the night. I really miss her too.

Remembering your warm hugs,

Lucy.

(86th day of summer)

Dear Mom,

Today was really hard, I miss you.

It's been two months since I last wrote to you. Natsu went out on his first job since Lissana today. He wouldn't take me with him no matter how much I begged. He's never left me behind before, I know it was only one job, but it still stung. He barely speaks anymore, just follows me around silently. I feel like I'm losing my partner. Gray and Levy say I need to give him time and space, that he likes to grieve alone. I get that Mama, I really do, but he isn't the only one grieving. I feel like he died with her in the mine. I miss him too.

He still gave me some of the reward money even though he did the request alone. I wish he wouldn't, it feels like pitty. I don't want his pity, I just want to talk to him like I used too.

Mira is still having nightmares. I've been sleeping on the terrace by my room. Her crying breaks my heart and I fear it will never heal if I keep listening.

This was a bad letter, sorry Mom,

Lucy.

(43rd day of fall)

Mom,

I almost destroyed grandmother Anna's book today. The sight of it turns my stomach, and I haven't been able to open it yet. Natsu wouldn't let me ruin it though, he told me if it was gone the whole trip would be worth nothing. He's right, I know. I just want the hurt to stop.

Fall is here now, I love how the grounds look with all the autumn colors. Though I miss the pink cherry blossoms, they remind me of Natsu's hair, but I think his shade is fading too. He stresses too much. I think you would still like it.

Love always,

Lucy.

(58th day of winter)

Mama,

Today was good. It was Juvia's birthday. The guild held a small party for her, it was perfect considering the mourning mood that's dulled the air. There were smiles and cake, and everybody was laughing again, just like old times, I loved it. Gray asked her to be his girlfriend, finally. I think that's the part she loved the most. They're leaving on a mission that's supposed to take around four months. Knowing her, Juvia will treat every second like an extended honeymoon. She really was ecstatic mama, I wish you could have seen the joy on her face. I think everyone could feel it, I even saw Mira dancing slowly in the corner with her husband Laxus. She hasn't left her room since we told her what happened. I hope she's starting to feel like herself again. It's almost the new year, so maybe things will start to get better for everyone.

Natsu didn't show, of course. He hasn't been around much lately. He's always working alone or hiding around the castle where I can't find him, not even at our special clearing in the forest, the one he found me in. That's where he always used to hide. I haven't spoken much more than a sentence to him in weeks. I really miss him. Even with the happiness of today, I feel really alone again. He doesn't stay the night with me anymore.

Lucy.

(64th day of winter)

Dear Mom,

Gray and Juvia left on their job this morning. We all went down to the gate to wave them off. Even Natsu showed up, rare but welcomed. Gray is his best friend, and even though they haven't talked much either, I think he's going to miss him.

I asked Natsu if he wanted to take a job with me. It's been a while and I'm running out of money and I refuse to accept any more of his. I keep having to pick up extra shifts with the infirmary to keep up with my guild fees. He said no. I got mad and stormed off like a child.

He came to my room later in the night for the first time in months. I thought he was coming to tell me he changed his mind, that he wanted to take a request with me, though it ended up being the exact opposite. He came in yelling, spouting off that he couldn't take me on a job because I couldn't protect myself and he wasn't capable of doing it either. He rambled on for almost an hour, he's never yelled at me before, and mama he was screaming. But I decided I really didn't mind, its the most I've heard him speak in months. It wasn't near as bad as father used to make it. I was just happy to hear his voice again.

Merry Christmas,

Lucy.

-789-

(74th day of winter)

Mama,

He's gone.

He really did it. He left me alone for real. And god Mama, winter is so cold without him.

He visited me last night, I woke to him sitting at the end of my bed. It startled me since he hadn't been back to my room since he came in yelling. He looked so sad, his lips were pressed together like he was scared to speak the words trapped in his head. He crawled up beside me, just sitting there staring as if he could see right through me. He was so close, I could feel the heat of his breath over my nose. His eyes so dark they blended with the night. Eventually, I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he didn't answer, instead, he leaned in closer. He tried to kiss me, but I moved away. I really couldn't believe it, that he would have the audacity to try something like that after months without so much as a word. This visit was my turn to yell. I said things I would have never imagined saying to him, to my favorite person alive.

I went to his room later, I felt so bad for how I had spoken to him, I wanted to apologize. When I got there his room was empty, mattress stripped clean and drawers pulled open and bare. I think he was trying to kiss me goodbye. I'm so scared he won't come back Mama. I think he really did die that day in the mine.

Lucy.

(76th day of spring)

Hey Mom,

Gray and Juvia came back today, half a month early. They ran into some trouble, a man with metal clawed gloves dipped in some sort of poison. Gray's okay, but Juvia is really sick. He says she hasn't woken for three days. He's really worried about her, I can tell from the way his hands shake. He hasn't left her bedside all day. It's sweet, but it reminded me of Natsu. I miss when he used to spend the night.

I haven't heard from him, not even a letter. I hope he's okay.

Love from your dearest,

Lucy.

(86th day of spring)

Dear Mom,

Spring always reminds me of you, I remember how much it was your favorite, even though I always preferred summer. I miss when we strolled the garden together and the only thing to worry about was not fraying my gown or scuffing my shoes.

Juvia still hasn't woken up yet, and I think Gray is starting to panic. He's going on lots of jobs, says he can't stay on the grounds too long or he starts to worry about her. I offered to be his new 'in-term' partner while he waits for her to get better. I really need to make some more money, and I don't think Natsu is coming back anytime soon.

We leave tomorrow morning and I'm kind of excited, I've never been on a job without Natsu before. I think it'll be a good chance to prove myself. I just hope this doesn't make me miss him any more than I already do.

Love,

Lucy.

(32nd day of summer)

Mama,

Working with Gray has been really nice. He's actually a lot more kind and sweet then his cold persona would suggest. I think I can see why Juvia likes him so much. Gray listens, he's a good holder of information, a place to vent. He's held me while I cried and talked me through my nonsense brain. Sometime's he even shares his cigarettes with me. He's a really good guy, and I can see how much he loves Juvia. I really hope she wakes up soon, Porlyusica started warning of impairments the longer she's unconscious.

I'm glad Gray has been so good to me, it's nice having a friend to talk too again. I know Levy's here too, but she's always busy with guild work. The rest of the members are all amazing and accepting but it's just not the same. I hope he doesn't forget about me, or how close we've gotten when Juvia wakes up.

I'm really worried about Natsu. Mira says he's never been gone this long without at least a letter. I've been reading as many of Fiore's damage and crime reports as I can get my hands on. I pray that all the flame-related incidents are him. It gives me hope that he's alive.

Lucy.

(84th day of summer)

Hi Mom,

It's been a really long time, Summer's almost over now.

Please Mama, don't judge me. I think I made a mistake. Gray and I went too far, we slept together. I gave him all my firsts, and I think he gave me some of his. I regret it all, and I can tell he does too. We had an awful day, our mission was a complete failure. We spent the night at some shabby inn, the bed smelled like rot but we honestly didn't care. We both cried after and pretended we couldn't hear one another. Juvia's been in a coma for almost half a year. I think he's trying to process the thought of actually losing her. I swear I could taste sadness on his lips. I think we're both grieving the loss of someone significant.

I thought about Natsu the entire time, I could picture all his scars over Gray's skin. I pretended his icy breath smelt of cinnamon and ash. It's been so long, but I still think about him every minute. I wish he had been the first to touch me. I love Gray, I really do, but not like that. My body feels dirty even after scrubbing my skin raw.

I can't pick out any damage or crime reports that I could even remotely relate to Natsu, and his mattress doesn't smell like him anymore either. I sleep there every night. If he's with you Mama, please take care of him.

I love you, so much,

Lucy.

(49th day of fall)

Dear Mom,

I asked Gray if he thought I should dig a metaphorical grave for Natsu. He told me I was crazy, said he would know if that 'cocky fire pit went out'. I hope he's right. We don't talk about what happened. Ever. We just pretend it never did.

I've been studying telepathy, and I'm getting pretty good. And yes, I learned it from great grandmother's book. I finally opened it. I feel dirty knowing the thoughts of my teammates sometime's so I don't use it often, however, my new favorite trick is dream diving. I do it to Gray when we're out on missions and he's gone to bed for the night. I hope he doesn't feel violated, his dreams aren't very interesting anyway. The only constant is the cold. Don't ask me how somebody dream's in temperatures, he just does.

Other time's though, I try to reach Natsu. I'm not really sure how far my range is and I have no reason to believe it could ever reach him. I still try though.

Lucy.

(73rd day of fall)

Mama,

Juvia woke up. I'm not sure if this is good or bad news. She's unresponsive, constantly staring at the ceiling. Porlyusica says there's a good chance of more function after a few days. But the sight of her, so sunken and lifeless is nothing less than disturbing. It's shattering Gray's heart, and watching it shatters mine. He won't eat, it's been four days. I don't want to lose another friend. This year has been the worst.

Job requests are coming in fewer and fewer, all of Fiore is under such a heated eye. Royal guards on every corner, in every continent. It's nerve-racking to hire mages while under constant watch, and nearly impossible for said mages to complete missions unsaved. The streets are war zone's, the anti-magic forces haven't been this strong since the initial banning or the day you died. One day, I want to fix it, this awful divide of man and man. I tell myself your death wasn't for nothing. I hope nobody dies for nothing. Too much of valuable human life is wasted. Humanity is cruel I suppose.

Your's truly,

Lucy.

(50th day of Winter)

Mom,

A very merry Christmas to you, and to Natsu. I hope he's with you and not lost in the stars. Things have been getting better. Juvia is up and talking, she can even walk around a bit with a sturdy shoulder from Gray. My heart hasn't felt relief like this in far too long, I feel like it could burst. I couldn't help but cry when I saw Gray smile again. All it took was Juvia's mangled stutter of his name. It was such a pure smile, like he had decided to donate his soul to her. I don't blame him, Juvia is an amazing woman. I feel like I stabbed her in the back and I don't think the guilt for my excursion with Gray will ever go away. I wonder if he plans to tell her. I thought about doing it myself, but it feels unfair to confess how another tried to mend their grieving heart.

It's almost been an entire year since he left. I don't think I really believe that he's dead but sometime's it's easier to lie about it. Natsu showed me a whole new world, took my hand and cherished me with such open arms. I can deny it all I want, but I know I fell in love with him, his every feature is burned against the inside of my skull. If he really is gone, I won't forget him, but I think I'll be okay eventually.

Sending you love filled with holiday warmth,

Lucy.

Original story and bonus content found here! ↓↓↓↓

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13289933/1/Silence-and-Cigarette-Smoke

#natsu #natsu dragneel #lucy #lucy heartfilia #Nalu #nalu fanfic #nalu fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser

14 notes · View notes

jayde-jots · 2 years

Text

Just coming up with some story ideas and skits for my giant AU now that I have the animals they take traits from decided. Lets go!

Stories- (1) Around after all the tugs had turned to giants, their first winter was quite an eventful one. Or more accurately, around before the winter. At the end of autumn, Top Hat, Zorran, Zebedee, and Zak all started to act differently. They started to overeat a lot, and with a case such as Zebedee, he started to dig a massive hole in the side of a hill upriver. When Top Hat and Zorran first realized how much they were gaining weight they tried to stop but when they tried to fast their instincts only kicked them in the butts even more and made them go on binge sprees, the others of their fleets would tease them harshly when they'd come back from such binges with wider waistlines. When Zeb realized he was getting a little big to he tried to get rid of it by exercising but that was very quickly shot down by his body only making him go into an overdrive of bingeing sprees. He'd often hide himself away in his little buro whenever he noticed his belly made a jump too big for his liking. Zak didn't really mind the extra weight since he already knew he was rather large but it quickly reared its ugly head for him when he started to actually grow clingy to other fleet mates, he would cling ether of the switchers close or he would huddle up to Zeb, that ironically affected him more of his personality image being ruined than his physical. When winter finally came, Zorran, Zak, and Zeb all huddled together in the buro that Zeb made and slept throughout the entire winter. Zug and Zip would sometimes join them when some of the nights were unbearably cold, snuggling themselves into Zak's pouch often. Top Hat actually tried to fight off his drowsiness for a while, but at some point his fleet mates became really concerned. He looked absolutely exhausted all the time and he was still binge eating worse than ever, the others had never seen Top Hat look so low before then. Eventually Captain Star had to order Top Hat to go and sleep but the former railway tug said he'd be damed if he went and huddled up with the Zeds, so he continued to try and stay awake. At some point Top Hat's own body weight made him really struggle to move around, the others didn't find it funny at all anymore they were actually actively trying to get Top Hat to go to sleep. Finally Star became at his wit's end with the giant's stubbornness when he had an idea. At the time he called off Hercules from traveling because he was worried about the giant getting hypothermia, that's when he also remembered the giant's little trick of an internal pouch/womb. He asked Hercules if he would keep Top Hat in there for the winter at least. Hercules agreed because even he was really worried for the former tug. Star told Top Hat the plan and needless to say he was less than thrilled/okay with it, but when it turned into a very stern order from the captain TH didn't exactly have any room to argue anymore. Once Hercules had Top Hat in his pouch he was practically confined to the dock for the whole winter since TH was the second tallest out of the whole fleet, and obviously not as lightweight as he could have been. Ten Cents did his best to give Hercules food along with the others as they waited the winter season over. (2) Once spring rolled around all of the giants went back to normal routine except for Zak. Zak had begun to act even more clingy and huggy, especially toward any of the switchers. He'd cuddle them close, fix up their hair, and even try to give advice on some things even toward the Star tug switchers. Everyone found it really odd when Captain Zero threw in his own two bits on why he thought this was happening. He came up with the idea that, spring is mating season for animals normally, so, maybe to replicate that Zak's instincts are telling him to look after who he sees as kids. Zak grew very annoyed at that logic as all the other giants started to call him mama Zak, and a mother-like figure he was really becoming. Not long after the nickname came around Zak had actually started to lactate, at first he was just confused and didn't tell anybody. Then when

his chest grew to becoming really sore and swollen, he would some days just whimper at the pain and the embarrassment he'd feel as the milk would flood down his body. At some point, Zero addressed him about it because the giant was in more pain than really being productive. At the worst possible moment for Zak he began to lactate in front of the others while Zero was throwing a fit at him, to Zero at least he could now see why Zak was failing at his work a bit. Zero from there ordered Zip and Zug to try actually nursing from Zak to see if that would ease his pain. Once the giants were introduced to the subject of breastfeeding Zak felt like he hit his lowest of low as Zorran threw one last jab at him being a mum. Zip and Zug did give it a go though as it was an order by Zero. Zak wasn't too thrilled until literally a few seconds after they latched he relaxed in bliss, purring deeply and cuddling them close as they suckled. After that Zero told the three that they would be doing this regularly until he found a better option. Zak went absolutely full parent mode with Zip and Zug after that though, getting them to sleep in his pouch every night and feeding them with his own caught fish or letting them breastfeed off of him. He'd absolutely coddle them and whenever the others made fun of him for being a 'mama' now he'd outright snarl at them. (3) After Zorran had learned how to eat and was getting some weight back, before any of the other Zed's had become giants he really liked to become more inputted about what Zero was doing regarding the business. He'd peek in often to the office just to watch Zero do some paperwork or make some phone calls, he was completely fascinated by the idea of human society secretly and the fact that he was now actually just a large humanoid was actually rather thrilling to him. Zero would actually sort of inlighten him a bit by leaving his window open for Zorran to have a look in, and he would also educate Zorran a little on handwriting a bit since the tugs knew how to read but obviously not write. After a little bit, Zorran actually became sort of like a business partner to Zero in a few things like errands and schedules for the tugs, since he obviously being a former tug would know what would be exhausting to do and what would they be thrilled to do for regular contracts. After a while Zero actually managed to work in a free day so he could educate Zorran on human society a little more. He rode on Zorran's shoulder while the giant did his best to walk in the city, using roads as walkways. During that time Zero and Zorran had actually managed to bond like never before since the two were now not separated by the barrier of being human and machine as much as before. Before Zero had gotten the other tugs, he and Zorran had actually gotten along famously. He would sail on Zorran's deck or close to his wheelhouse while the tug worked and would reply to missed calls when he got back to the office. It was a routine the two practically made a tradition until Zero's ties started demanding more money off of him, so he had to grow his fleet a bit. Once Zebedee arrived the two started to head out together less and less until by the time Zak arrived it had stopped altogether. For the two of them, it was picking right back up from where they left off as the two spent nearly the whole day chatting and Zero practically playing tour guide. At some point once they had gotten to upriver Zorran had sat down in a small clearing and just rested as Zero petted his hair and ears to which the giant purred for. At some point Zero moved up from just petting Zorran to stroking his cheek and even giving him some light smooches. Zorran at first was confused at what his captain was doing when Zero explained to him how humans expressed love. Zorran knew about human love and how they seemed to express it to others but he didn't know why Zero was expressing that to him. He considered Zero at best an incredibly good friend but not on the love side of things, at least, not in the way how he viewed it as a tug. He

was still trying to translate human things to how he would view them as a tug. For example, his coal being the translation of food to humans. Zero went in a little bit of a different direction to try and explain how he felt about Zorran. He had always liked Zorran to that kind of level, he liked gently petting his bow or wheelhouse, he liked to be able to rest against his face, he liked Zorran's company a lot, that, he could just really wonder now what Zorran would look like if he were human. He'd very much like to wrap his arms around Zorran for a hug if he was in scale compared to him. Zorran was wowed by his captain's words but wanted to try something to really gauge if Zero felt right to him the same way he felt of him. He gently as he could cupped Zero in his hands and gave him a small peck with his lips on his captain's torso. Zero didn't let him pull away though, he held his face close to him as he just simply shuffled up to do his best to hug Zorran's nose. The giant chuckled feeling the warm spark that Zero felt for him bloom in his chest, Zero promised that he'd try to make time for Zorran again. Unfortunately though, not long after this event Zero started to change into a giant as well. (4) On the same sort of topic, Hercules is fascinated by human culture too. He would regularly walk around the docks and quaysides to watch the humans work and he loved to watch other machines function like the cranes and trains. (5) When Hercules finally learnt how to swim the first thing he did was swim out to go see Lillie and tell her what has been happening. Ten Cents and Sunshine had been filling her in on what was happening but it was something else entirely to see it. She promptly freaked out and screamed at Hercules to leave her alone, she was for some odd reason absolutely terrified of Hercules. The first giant confused and a little hurt dived back under the water and made his way back to the harbor where when he resurfaced he appeared not too far from Zebedee. The tug had gotten his tow ropes tangled and he had to untie them before he thought about doing any work. Herc was quick with the assist as he helped untie Zeb's ropes and after that Zebedee apparently now had some time to kill so the two began chatting. After a while, Zebedee had to go back to work but afterwards he made sure to go out with the Star switchers to go chat with Lillie. The lightships view on Hercules's new look hadn't improved in the slightest, she was actually hoping that Hercules wouldn't come out and see her for at least a very long while. When Zebedee told her that Hercules was actually rather hurt by the way she yelled at him it still didn't do anything to change her mind, she actually requested that they tell him to not come see her again. Zebedee was floored that Lillie would be saying this at all, but it quickly turned into this silent anger that he kept to himself as he just said he'd tell Hercules for her. When he got back into port to inform Hercules, the giant actually broke out into some tears. He excused himself and walked as far as he could up river to seclude himself. Zebedee actually followed him wanting to support him and to make sure the guy would be okay. Once he caught up to Hercules he found the giant crying with his knees to his chest as he hid his face in his arms. Zebedee actually sailed as close as he could to the giant and just anchored there, silently keeping him company. At some point Hercules actually asked if he could pick Zebedee up, the tug was confused as to why but allowed it. Hercules cuddled him to his arms and gently nuzzled his face with his own as fresh tears actually began to fall again, essentially he was treating Zeb as a teddy bear to cry into. The tug said nothing though as he actually didn't mind being cuddled into, even gently nuzzling back to add just that little more comfort for Hercules. When the giant was done he apologized he involved Zebedee in his problems at all, Zeb was actually rather okay with it, not minding the warm cuddle Herc was giving him. The two talked more often

after that, and Herc really helped Zebedee out when he transformed into a giant. (6) Once Zero actually was up to the same size as Zorran, he actually have him a full hug and kiss as the first thing he did.

S'all I got for now, if you have questions let me know.

#this is tugs #giant!au #cinder scribbles

1 note · View note