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blissfulsun · 4 years

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3rd installation of the lessons in love series, written for and with my angel Nics in mind because it’s my best frenssss bday!!! I love you so much💖@vlobsessed

word count: 2,311

A masterpiece in the making // Jeff Wittek

‘You’ve been quiet...’

It’s a simple observation made by Jeff, his fingers intertwined in your own as he leads the way and you follow.

The fact you look so much like a couple right now is not lost on you, hands clasped tightly together and his jacket adorning your frame.

An older lady even smiles as she walks past you two, it’s the fondness in his eyes that’s corresponding your own which makes her compliment how lovely of a couple you make.

He’s right, you’ve been quiet since then, far too focused on the hammering in your chest and whether Jeff can hear it.

If not that, then he can definitely feel just how clammy your palm has become.

‘Angel?’ there’s humour in his tone, underlying concern that dances in his eye when you finally look up at him just as he pulls your clasped hand up and lays a feather light kiss to the rings adorning each finger.

‘Sorry, ‘m just hungry’ it’s half a lie, since your stomach does grumble following the confession.

Jeff knows there’s more to it, but he also knows how you operate, will tell him what’s on your mind when you’re ready.

Besides, his primary concern right now is to feed you before you get grumpy, a look consisting of a permanent pout and furrowed brows that he secretly loves.

‘What my girl wants she gets’ You soften, staring up at him with uncontrollable wonder but Jeff just misses it, already looking around the street for a place you might like.

You end up in a quiet coffee shop, quaint and homely despite it’s location in the city, yourself taking a seat after Jeff has promised he already knows what you want as he goes to order.

He sits close in the corner booth, your thighs touching and one of his arms around your shoulders while the other pushes another dose of caffeine your way.

‘Is it-’ You begin to ask. ‘oat milk? Course, told you I know exactly what you like baby.’

He feels smug in the way his words seem to make you frazzled, teeth nipping at your bottom lip which makes his heart lodge itself in his throat in return, accidental payback.

Because you are, frazzled that is, it’s a simple detail: knowing how you like your coffee or that you always forget to bring a jacket wherever you go.

It’s the choosing to remember that keeps you in your own head so much on this day, Jeff’s choice to take notice of your habits, and you’re not even sure why it feels so different now, why it seems to have such an earth shattering effect on your thought process but it does.

It feels good to be known without asking, you don’t remember the last time you’ve let someone close enough to even have the opportunity.

Not like this, with his feet kicking against yours under the table as Jeff retells a story from a barbershop shoot you missed earlier that week, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck.

Hours pass like this and you never really notice, afternoon slipping away without a care in the world, your usual habit of glancing at the clock forgotten in favour of looking at him, face animated in the storytelling, eyes reflecting the sunlight bouncing from the windows as strangers come and go but you don’t want to look away and miss a single thing.

Has he always held your full attention like that? Hours turned to days spent in each other’s company, with your friends crowded around you but no one else truly in your sight.

‘We should head back to the car if we wanna make our booking in time’ Jeff finally says, bursting the little bubble that’s somehow become your favourite spot in a couple of hours.

You nod, standing up to follow him outside after thanking the barista in passing, hands once again intertwined.

Maybe, just maybe your mind has been playing trick on you and there’s nothing different in the way Jeff glances down at you while you roam the streets, there’s nothing unusual about the comfort of his frame towering so closer over yours, or the way he opens the passenger door for you and lands his hand on the top of your thigh as he drives.

It’s nothing more than two friends pushing boundaries in the name of your forsaken assignment.

But then he’s smiling over at you, wind blowing his growing hair underneath the cap and cheeks full with bubbling laughter and you think, god, I love you, almost whisper it across the console when you’re sure the music playing is far too loud for him to ever hear it.

Yeah, it’s definitely you that’s falling, simultaneously for your best friend and apart.

The day continues on, as if you haven’t had an epiphany that’s shaken you to the core.

Jeff put the truck in park, runs around to your side of the car to open your door and reaches for your hand.

You fight the urge to shiver when your fingers intertwine.

‘You ready baby?’ He asks, dimples on show and brown eyes lit with underlying excitement at the prospect of the next part of your evening.

‘I would be if you finally told me what it is exactly that we’re doing’ you whine, lips forming into a playful pout that Jeff mocks with his own before letting your hand go in favour of throwing his arm around your shoulder to pull you tight into side.

He comes clean with his lips pressed against your forehead, a half peck accompanied by an instruction ‘We’re just around the corner, you’ll see’ Once you do, the excitement surges through you.

‘The Broad?’ Jeff observes carefully, fondness sparking in his heart at how easily your expression brightens at the sight.

Deep inside, he’s already sure you’re bound to be the most angelic work of art he’ll see tonight, a masterpiece of freckles, scars and booming laughter all wrapped up in the best girl he’s ever had.

Jeff coughs, hand flying to rub at the back of his neck as he nods in answer to your question.

‘I got us tickets to that light exhibit you wanted t-’ Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets as you interrupt.

‘Kusama? I thought they were sold out’ your attempts at getting tickets proving futile in months passed.

You watch the man shrug, expression a mixture between sheepish and smug, ‘I have my ways doll.’

The only thing left to do is leap into his awaiting arms, you whisper a gentle thank you with your head furrowed into his neck, lips pressed against the skin there momentarily, the touch is so feather light Jeff’s left wondering if it ever really happened as you pull away only to grab his hand and head inside with a new found bounce to your step.

He’s right. The mirror rooms are beautiful, each installation of light stretching on in its endless path.

Your eyes brightened by colour in wonder, each reflecting in the smile that shows your teeth and dimples as Jeff takes pictures and poses accordingly at your request.

He listens to your explanations , every single thought, hangs on to every word as it leaves your pretty lips.

I could stay here forever. The thought presents itself through an exhale in your mouth, eyes travelling around the final room to land on the brunet that’s asking one of the other visitors to take a picture of you guys. Jeff returns with a sweet older lady in tow.

‘C’mere doll’ he finds himself behind you, arm wrapped around your waist and palm splayed across your stomach, you smile, first at the lady and then again in preparation for the picture when the same hand turns your frame around and closer in his clasp, Jeff’s face leaning down.

The flash goes off. He doesn’t kiss you, merely hovers with his forehead pressed against your own, but each of your erratic breaths makes the cupid bow of your upper lip graze the tip of his own.

‘You two make a lovely couple, it’s sweet to see two young people so in love’ the older lady interrupts the storm brewing in your heart.

The two of you reluctantly pull away, each reeling at the almost that hangs in the air as Jeff clears his throat and takes his phone back.

We do..I am, you admit to yourself, gaze following the man that’s somehow the brightest beacon of light to your pacified mind.

You’re surrounded by art, sculptures and reflections of beauty but there’s only one masterpiece worth observing in wonder for eternity if you get the chance.

Unknowingly to you, Jeff’s heart is settling in his rib cage with the same realisation. What now?

Something changes. Shifts as you exit the art gallery to be met with darkness of the night and sidewalks illuminated by streetlights.

Jeff’s at ease, movements intentional as his hand slips into your own.

You lift the intertwined fingers up to kiss his knuckles, pretending the blush you see dusting his cheeks and mirrored in your own is caused by evening breeze and not this new found quiet affection that feels so right.

‘Hungry?’ Jeff asks, breaking the comfortably silence as he swings your hands as you walk to the car.

‘Mmmm’ you ponder, ‘we could cook something back at mine?’ he nods, the journey spent listening to another one of your playlists made with him in mind.

It should still terrify you. How your body slots against his, filling every space and gap with gentle precision, each of you mindfully working around the other as you teach him how to make the pasta dish of yours Jeff loves.

The rest of the evening slipping past you in a domestic bubble of his aftershave wafting through the air and directly into your nose as you cuddle into his chest on the couch.

‘Y/n...baby wake up’ the soft whisper stirs you awake.

The moan of protest that leaves your mouth in realisation of being awake causes Jeff’s chest to rumble in laughter under your weight.

‘Let’s get you to bed doll’ he insists again.

‘Mhm...yeah, I wanna shower first’ you protest sleepily, body clinging to his warmth like a koala as Jeff sits up and begins the journey to your bedroom.

Though once he sits you and pulls away you open your eyes to see the tiles of your bathroom from the sink counter.

Your eyes watch his every move, white cotton shirt stretched along his muscled back as Jeff turns on the shower and sets it to a warm temperature that immediately fills the room with steam.

He turns around to give you a soft smile, a sweet go ahead before turning to step out.

You’re not sure when you move, feet meeting the cold floor tiles as your small hand wraps around his wrist.

Jeff’s lost, brown eyes searching your own for an answer once he turns around, only seeing the vulnerability laced in your own that causes a stammer in his heart.

You’re not sure what you’re doing, toeing this invisible line as you pause to momentarily fidget, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip before you whisper ‘Stay.’

One word, short and simple but enough to shatter the thin veil of almost that’s hang over both of you all day, if not for months.

You think he’ll protest, respond with a Jeff like nervous giggle and the shake of his head that’s meant to let someone down easily, you’ve seen it happen in the past with your very own eyes.

Instead, you watch the man take a shaky breath, eyes fleeting up and down your frame that’s changed into a hoodie of his earlier.

He moves, hands instinctively reaching in your direction before they go for his own T-shirt instead, each garment falling to the floor with a thud as you slip your own off and step inside, distorted by the foggy window of your shower.

Jeff hovers outside, inches of colourful glass separating him from you.

Before you have a chance to call out his name he’s inside, pools of darkened brown tracing every detail of your bare face framed by wet hair.

His gaze drops only for a short second, but it feels like a lifetime as you allow yourself to admire his toned chest and pause at the deep v lines of his hips without looking any lower.

‘Turn around’ the gentle command pulls you away from reverie, you do as he asks.

Breath quivering in your throat as you watch his hands reach to the shelf built into the wall to pull out your favourite bottle of shampoo before he squirts some onto his palm and begins to massage the soap into your strands, from the roots down to the ends that fall down against the lover skin of your back.

The sensation is heavenly, Jeff’s long fingers gentle in their effort to clean your hair thoroughly before moving on to conditioner.

You turn around after, silently returning the favour once he gets the hint and leans down slightly to match your height and allow you easier access to the locks matted against his forehead.

There’s a moment of clarity, your eyes falling closed as he pulls you into his wet and naked chest, arms wrapping around your shoulder as you both sigh against each other.

It remains, buzzing in the air when you slip into the bed and slot yourself against his side, head on his chest and leg thrown across his own as Jeff whispers a sweet good night that’s met with your soft snores.

It’s gone in the morning. When you wake up tangled in cold sheets and alone, tears blurring your vision at the realisation that your twenty four hours is finally up.

#hope u enjoy my love!!!🥺 this entire series is dedicated to u anyway but especially this part💓💖💗#thank u all for reading!!🥰❣️#lessons in love #jeff wittek #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek blurb #jeff wittek fanfiction #credit to my baby Clara for the beautiful #photo** she’s a beaut and so as her edits❣️✨#ughitsbaby

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davidmann95 · 3 years

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Comics this week (3/10/2021)?

cheerfullynihilistic said: Comics this week (03/10/21)??

adudewholikescomicsandotherstuff said: This week’s comics?

Anonymous said: Comics?

Anonymous said: 3/10 NCBD?

Non-Stop Spider-Man #1: The lead story was fun, the backup was dopey, I’ll give it another issue or two to see where it goes.

The Immortal Hulk #44: While it was too late for this week I’ve taken Hulk off my pull list, so the store won’t order any copies specifically for me and therefore my future purchase of the book won’t support Joe Bennett’s presence, just the store. This issue is typical of some of the books’ weaker installments of the last year or so - feels like well-done regular superhero comics instead of Immortal Hulk - but those last couple pages bring it back around.

Daredevil #28: Holy cow, those King In Black issues actually mattered. God this book is still so fuckin’ good in so many ways, everything every dumbass street-level superhero ‘deconstruction’ wants to be when it grows up.

Children of the Atom #1: Sucks real bad! This weird combo of ‘hip new young Marvel heroes!’ trappings and soulless X-Men lifer comics execution that feels certain to appeal to neither group.

Eternals #3: Of the listed Deviants I imagine I’d relate most to Annoyed Veug.

Commanders in Crisis #6: While I remain without the ability to weigh in on this objectively, this is the issue that to date most feels like it lives up to the promises of the series premiere.

The Wrong Earth: Night & Day #3: Little disappointed personally with the reveal of what the third world is - I assumed it was going to be more of a straight take ‘modern’ version to the other two’s flavors of throwbacks - but this series still rules. And that ending.

Home Sick Pilots #4: Okay, I think I can follow what’s happening at this point, still enjoying it.

Proctor Valley Road #1: I review these books in the order I present them to my dad since he likes DC/Marvel/Other to each be lumped together, but make no mistake: this is the last of the three Morrison books to read this week, because this is what comes next for them. A return to their roots - 70s kids way into music and dealing with the weird, girls adventure stories of the kind they apparently grew up reading - this feels like a refinement of their mid/late-00s Vertigo work in the same way they’ve been iterating on their superhero material for decades. The horror is sold excellently, whether by their own efforts or thanks to cowriter Alex Child this is their most fluid, ‘real’-sounding dialogue perhaps ever, and Franquiz with Bonvillain are instantly among their all-time best collaborators, perfectly capturing the shifting tone and character acting necessary to best put Morrison’s big ideas over in a way a number of their collaborators haven’t lived up to over the years (and speaking of the visuals, Jim Campbell does the lord’s work with that lettering trick near the end). Ritesh Babu and Sean Dillon have a lot more to say about the book and how it already acts as a darker, more honest take on your Stranger Things and the like as a commentary on its times, but I’m already loving to see this particular return down to Earth for Morrison and company and I’m glad to hear this is selling really well compared to their previous indie work.

Dead Dog’s Bite #1: This actually came out last week, but Ritesh recommended it so I figured it might be worth a look. A so far intensely low-key missing persons mystery with a touch of surreality around its edges, this already looks to be the best “look! A nine-panel grid! Fancy!” comic since Mister Miracle, really lived-in and emotional for as little happens in this debut. Very curious where it’s going.

Rorschach #6: I continue to like it.

Batman: Urban Legends #1: Glory be, a good Jason Todd comic - at last, you noble stubborn weirdoes living off of like six nonconsecutive panels all these years, you may lay down your burden. Not all you’d necessarily hope from Zdarsky tackling Gotham after what he’s been doing with Daredevil but rock-solid work regardless; the Harley story is fine, Outsiders is a letdown after Thomas’s shockingly good showing for them in Future State but it’s still fine, and the Grifter stuff is fun.

The Joker #1: I thought the advertised ‘a Joker story from Gordon’s POV’ angle was an interesting one even if I was concerned this book would in practice be pure editorial mandate, but in reality? Tynion has managed to pull the wool over DC’s eyes and do a full-on Jim Gordon book (one predicated with him being off the force to make it reasonably comfortable read in 2021) with Joker as the barest of pretexts to get it out the door and selling for as long as he wants to continue it. He even said in interviews that when the book was first pitched to him that his response was that a Joker solo book was a dumb unworkable idea until he had an idea for a ‘different way to approach it’, he knows exactly what he’s doing and I salute him. And it’s a darn good Gordon book even if the Punchline backup is predictably tepid, I’m in the tank for Gotham’s perpetual whipping boy dealing with weird noir international crime with Joker sort of hanging around in the background menacingly to justify the nominal premise.

Anonymous said: Hey, so I figure one random anon won’t change your mind, but like you I was disappointed by New Frontier’s immortal Wonder Woman, but I still got the new issue of Wonder Woman cause Wonder Woman at Valhalla still sounds great and I actually liked it! I think I’m gonna get at least the next issue, so there’s at least one recommendation for it

Wonder Woman #770: This combined with the store still putting it in my pile prompted me to give it a try after all, and whether because something here clicks better or if they’re simply not trying so hard without the pressure of doing a ‘final’ story for Diana, Cloonan and Conrad do in fact do substantially better on the main book than they did with Immortal Wonder Woman. Some fun, some fights, some mythology and intrigue, gorgeous landscapes and generous servings of beefcake from Travis Moore - this isn’t going to be sweeping the Eisners, but this is as enjoyable as a Wonder Woman comic has been in a good long time. My only concern is that the joyousness on display here might dissipate somewhat once Diana fully returns to herself, but in the meantime this was a very pleasant surprise (especially with the the Young Diana backup by Bellaire, Ganucheau, Goode, and Carey).

Superman #29: PKJ’s Superman thus far has been a story of overcoming initial worries of mine - in this case, my concern that he’d have a bad Scott Snyder-ey case of “if you’ve read the interviews you’ve pretty much already heard the dialogue of the comic verbatim”. In practice here most of what he’s had to say about these issues are distilled down really succinctly and poignantly in the midst of a fun little upper-atmosphere adventure portending something grimmer, and while I know it didn’t click with everyone I thought Phil Hester’s work here was a perfect accompaniment. The Tales of Metropolis backup wasn’t nearly as enjoyable, but hints at some interesting worldbuilding I’m hopeful will pay off in the main run.

The Green Lantern Season Two #12: The final Grant Morrison DC comic. One of two anyway, but if the next story I discuss is their broader final (non-Klaus, hopefully) statement on the superhero subgenre and a bridge to what they’re doing next, this is the one that’s about being The Final Grant Morrison DC Comic. A mélange of pretty much all their other DC finales into a shamelessly self-reflective meditation on the limits of what they can accomplish in shared universe storytelling where Green Lantern saves the universe through collective action and then fucks off to do his own thing elsewhere while the kids take over the ongoings. Weird and kinda perfect, and if nothing else this series took Liam Sharp from “really? This dude is drawing the last ever Morrison DC ongoing?” to “HOLY FUCKING SHIT LIAM SHARP”.

(The panel folks blew up over I think can be read multiple ways, but not in a ‘it’s open to interpretation!’ way so much as the storytelling/framing being unclear. I personally read it as ‘this is what neighbor versus neighbor looks like now’ rather than ‘calling someone a TERF or a Nazi is as bad as anything the other side does’, because oldster and out of touch though they may be I can’t see Morrison seriously saying that, especially after coming out.)

Wonder Woman Earth One Volume 3: At long last, after a hideous misfire kicking the series off and a second installment best described as ‘well, at least it wasn’t the first one’, this while not without elements I want to see femme and nonbinary critics discuss critically lives up to what you want to see out of ‘Grant Morrison’s Wonder Woman’. Big utopian fiction breaking the typical boundaries of superhero stories with aplomb in implicit conversation with a ton of their previous work, a bridge from what they’ve done to what they’re doing next, it’s an imperfect (especially with Paquette’s art, which while gorgeous and majestic in the way this story demands really doesn’t living up to the ‘acting’ necessary here in a way thrown into sharp contrast by Franquiz in PVR) but shockingly passionate statement of intent - if the last two volumes felt like Morrison struggling to have something to say with Wonder Woman in the same way they did with Superman and Batman, this feels at the close like them at last finding in her a way to do everything left with the cape and tights crowd they wanted to but couldn’t manage anywhere else under the Big Two umbrella. Odd and lovely, a fine sendoff.

#Week's Comics #Opinion

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jedi-order-apologist · 4 years

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I finished reading Yoda: Dark Rendezvous, and I have to say, I really, really loved it! Everyone who recommended it to me was 100% right - this book is great, and especially great in its representation of the Jedi. I think I like it even more than Shatterpoint, and I really liked Shatterpoint.

There are some weak points - it was a little slow to pull me in, and there’s a couple of Weird Legends Things™ that, with me not being particularly immersed in that continuity, don’t quite fit in with my conception of Star Wars (Dooku apparently having had a Master that was not Yoda; the infamous 13-year-old age limit (though I was at least familiar with that one), the Jedi being so far in the public eye that there exists a famous Yoda impersonator, etc), and I was a little iffy on how it handled the “Jedi shouldn’t be in the war” angle (I’m fine with there being Jedi who think that the Jedi shouldn’t be in the war. I’m less fine with an author deciding that other Jedi can’t find the words to defend their involvement, because that’s a cheap way of framing the argument), and a small moment of the “everyone falls in love” stuff I dislike.

But those were very small aspects of the book, all things considered, and pretty much everything else about this book is really, really good, and very Star Warsy - a very healthy mix of the wacky as well as the philosophical sides of the franchise, which suited my tastes really well. This book is fun - Yoda is the grumpy grandpa that he deserves to be, and spends a good portion of the book disguised as an astromech that gets into all sorts of trouble. Obi-Wan and Anakin have peak sibling energy in the handful of scenes that they show up in - Anakin at one point insisting that a woman would have to be desperate to want Obi-Wan, and only a younger sibling could possibly say something like that with a straight face to a man as attractive as Obi-Wan, as well as Obi-Wan lying to Mace Windu’s face to cover for Anakin and then immediately grumbling about it to Anakin that he doesn’t know why he does these things for him is such an older sibling thing to do.

Where this book really shines, though, is the serious stuff - the philosophy and the dark side and especially grief. What absolutely sold me on this story, and what made me sit up and go “this is going to be one of my favorite Star Wars books”, was the part where Yoda speaks to the padawans and helps them address and work through their grief. It was phenomenal, and beautiful, and absolutely everything I want out of depicting the Jedi - especially in the context that only a chapter earlier, Ventress had been hurling those standard accusations of “the Jedi don’t let you feel”, and this book wonderfully, completely demolishes that nonsense. This section is absolutely amazing:

Yoda set his bowl of gumbo regretfully aside. “Hear it working, do you?”

“Hear what?” Whie snapped.

“The dark side. Always it speaks to us, from our pain. Our grief. It connects our pain to all pain, our hurt to all hurt.”

“Maybe it has a lot to say.” Whie stared at the starscape hovering over the projector table. “It’s so easy for you. What do you care? You are unattached, aren’t you? You’ll probably never die. What was Maks Leem to you? Another pupil. After all these centuries, who could blame you if you could hardly keep track of them? Well, she was more than that to me.” He looked up challengingly. Tear tracks were shining on his face, but his eyes were still hard and angry. “She was the closest thing I had to a mother, since you took me away from my real mother. She chose me to be her Padawan and I let her down, I let her die, and I’m not going to sit here and stuff myself and get over it!” He finished with a yell, sweeping the plate of crêpes off the projection table, so the platter went sailing toward the floor.

Yoda’s eyes, heavy-lidded and half closed like a drowsing dragon’s, gleamed, and one finger twitched. Food, platter, drinks, and all hung suspended in the air. The platter settled; the crêpes returned to it; Whie’s overturned cup righted itself, and rich purple liquid trickled back into it. All settled back onto the table.

Another twitch of Yoda’s fingers, the merest flicker, and Whie’s head jerked around as if on a string, until he found himself looking into the old Jedi’s eyes. They were green, green as swamp water. He had never quite realized before how terrifying those eyes could be. One could drown in them. One could be pulled under.

“Teach me about pain, think you can?” Yoda said softly. “Think the old Master cannot care, mmm? Forgotten who I am, have you? Old am I, yes. Mm. Loved more than you, have I, Padawan. Lost more. Hated more. Killed more.” The green eyes narrowed to gleaming slits under heavy lids. Dragon eyes, old and terrible. “Think wisdom comes at no cost? The dark side, yes - it is easier for them. The pain grows too great, and they eat the darkness to flee from it. Not Yoda. Yoda loves and suffers for it, loves and suffers.”

One could have heard a feather hit the floor.

“The price of Yoda’s wisdom, high it is, very high, and the cost goes on forever. But teach me about pain, will you?”

“I...” Whie’s mouth worked. “I am sorry, Master. I was angry. But...what if they’re right?” he cried out in anguish. “What if the galaxy is dark. What if it’s like Ventress says: we are born, we suffer, we die, and that is all. What if there is no plan, what if there is no ‘goodness’? What if we suffer blindly, trying to find a reason for the suffering, but we’re just fooling ourselves, looking for hope that isn’t there? What if there is nothing but stars and the black space between them and the galaxy does not care if we live or die?”

Yoda said, “It’s true.”

The Padawans looked at him in shock.

The Master’s short legs swung forth and back, forth and back. “Perhaps,” he added. He sighed. “Many days, feel certain of a greater hope, I do. Some days, not so.” He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“Ventress was right?” Whie said, shocked out of his anger.

“No! Wrong she is! As wrong as she can be!” Yoda snorted. “Grief in the galaxy, is there? Oh, yes. Oceans of it. Worlds. And darkness?” Yoda pointed to the starscape on the projection table. “There you see: darkness, darkness everywhere, and a few stars. A few points of light. If no plan there is, no fate, no destiny, no providence, no Force: then what is left?” He looked at each of them in turn. “Nothing but our choices, hmm?”

“Asajj eats the darkness, and the darkness eats her back. Do that if you wish, Whie. Do that if you wish.” The old Jedi looked deep into the starscape, suns and planets and nebulae dancing, tiny points of light blazing in the darkness. “To be Jedi is to face the truth, and choose. Give off light, or darkness, Padawan.” His matted eyebrows rose high over his swamp-colored eyes, and he poked Whie with the end of his stick. Poke, poke. “Be a candle, or the night, Padawan: but choose!”

Whie cried for what seemed like a long time. Scout ate. Fidelis served. Master Yoda told stories of Maks Leem and Jai Maruk: tales of their most exciting adventures, of course, but also comical anecdotes from the days when they were only children in the Temple. They drank together, many toasts.

Scout cried. Whie ate. Fidelis served.

Yoda told stories, and ate, and cried, and laughed: and the Padawans saw that life itself was a lightsaber in his hands; even in the face of treachery and death and hopes gone cold, he burned like a candle in the darkness. Like a star shining in the black eternity of space.

I want to show this passage to every hot-take Yoda-critical fan who’s ever leveled that kind of nonsense at him. I want every one of them to read this and still try to tell me that Yoda is detached and uncaring of the galaxy around him. I want every fan who thinks the Jedi are expected to be unfeeling to read this and understand what the Jedi actually say and do and why giving into these feelings is the issue, not the feelings themselves.

The confrontation with Dooku is also amazing. Yoda challenges him to explain why the dark side is so great, and Dooku only gets more and more frustrated as Yoda is unswayed by any of what he tempts him with. I especially love this bit where Yoda lays out exactly why what the dark side promises is false:

“Want something else. Want power.”

“Power have I.”

“Want wealth.”

“Wealth I need not.”

“Want to be safe,” Dooku said in frustration. “Want to be free from fear!”

“I will never be safe,” Yoda said. He turned away from Dooku, a shapeless bundle under a battered, acid-eaten cloak. “The universe is large and cold and very dark: that is the truth. What I love, taken from me will be, late or soon: and no power is there, dark or light, that can save me.”

That then leads into a bit where Dooku has a vision of what a dark!Yoda would look like, and realizes how utterly terrifying that would be.

Dooku also has abandonment issues on full display - lashing out at the lady who had given her son up to the Jedi, getting furious at her on the son’s behalf (but so clearly, his own, speaking of his own resentment towards his parents), and throwing an absolute hissy fit because he’s convinced Yoda likes Anakin more than him. I’m not kidding, he’s so offended by Anakin’s entire existence that just his mere presence in his house is enough for Dooku to stop feeling conflicted about the whole thing and jump right back into the dark side.

And there’s just so many good little moments throughout it all on top of all that. Whie’s dreams - and oh, I knew exactly what his dream of his own death was when he described it to Scout and it hurt at the end when he hugged Anakin while saying “I’m so glad you’re not coming to kill me!”. And Ventress, calling Dooku out on the fact that it’s so obvious that Sidious will end up replacing him (also for a more humorous bit - the fact that she apparently has some petty grudge against Anakin and Obi-Wan for stealing her ships so she goes out of her way to steal their ship at the end), and the droids, and Scout’s cleverness in winning the tournament despite her disadvantages, Jai Maruk’s last stand and refusal to fall when he was at the edge, and...so much, really.

And above all else, the book really latches onto the idea of Jedi as family, and you all know how much I really, really love the idea of the Jedi as a big found family. The idea that they consider each other to be family is driven home again and again, in their words and in their actions, and I absolutely adore this book for that emphasis.

#yoda dark rendezvous #yoda #in defense of the jedi #book review #book recommendation #jedi positive #jedi #the jedi order #jedi order #guys i REALLY LOVE THIS BOOK #seriously #i highlighted so many passages in it and I couldn't possibly include them all in this post #there are so many REALLY good conversations #about the dark side #and grief #and so much #on the dark side #on emotion

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greenhatsinthesky · 3 years

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lockdown film no. 33 - Gladiator (2000) dir. Ridley Scott

13/05/2020

- I saw this film the first time when I was maybe 13? My dad decided that it was time for me to watch this Oscar winning epic, but we had to watch it in two parts because it was so long, and pretty damn violent for squeamish, baby me. Me and Dad managed this all in one, seven years later

- the opening is… really something isn’t it

- (just found out it was filmed in Surrey. Gutted)

- I got shivers right through to my scalp when he made that first speech to his soldiers that ends with “Brothers — what we do in life echoes in eternity.” Genius (there’s a chance it was because my room is the temperature of the arctic but nonetheless it was very moving)

- I had a foley workshop this morning and my tutor was talking about how foley should be subtle, but often the sounds need to be exaggerated so we’re absolutely sure that what we’re hearing is what we’re meant to be hearing. Likely because I came in with that mindset, they went absolutely ham thick on the foley for the opening battle scene

- “Enough of politics. Let us pretend that you are a loving daughter, and I am a loving father” — the fact that this line was said quite gently by Richard Harris’ Caesar Marcus Aurelius makes it so heartbreaking because there is absolutely no pretence that their family’s relationship is outrageously dysfunctional, and that’s not even getting onto the incest

- Joaquin phoenix is great in this. When he’s told he isn’t going to be emperor he’s like a stroppy kid who just wants to make his dad proud of him and now he’s a psychopath. That scene’s fantastic anyway, I love how the statue of caesar is right on commodus’ shoulder the whole way through, and really oppressive after commodus has killed Marcus Aurelius

- also fun fact about that scene — apparently phoenix was so stressed out about shooting it that he fainted right after they cut

- the little *fwoop* when he flipped the sword over was a bit much and then saying “the frost. Sometimes it makes the blade stick” before slicing the other guy felt a bit too bondy for this but you know what ? I respect the swagger

- there was an absolutely ineffable sense of dread and pure terror when the roman army was approaching maximus’ home and his son was running and waving thinking it was him. I hated that bit

- “those giraffes you sold me. They won’t mate. They just walk around eating, and not mating. You sold me… queer giraffes.” Whoever wrote this deserves every Oscar this film won, and I want it framed in my kitchen

- I enjoy the fact that they could have so easily done a training montage gladiator style when Maximus had been bought by proximo. Instead they took time to get a bit more into his character and for us to meet juba and the other gladiators. We didn’t need to see him training as a gladiator, that’s not what we’re here for. This film isn’t about fighting — sure, it’s got some great scenes in the colosseum which are entertaining to watch, and there’s stacks of gratuitous violence, but I feel in this case it’s warranted because you can’t get away from the brutality of the games in this context. The film itself is more about Maximus as a general, a gladiator, a husband, father and person and how he relates to the ever conflicting idea of “Rome” and the permanent violence it seems to require to keep that idea going under the reign of commodus. Maximus was required to kill in the army, but there it felt like it was for a purpose: to protect the idea of Rome and the emperor and the people that he cares—here he is required to kill just because he is required to kill. That would obviously change the dynamic but it says a lot about his character that he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about killing a person he doesn’t know for the entertainment of more people he doesn’t know and will likely never meet

- when Maximus walks through the cage it exactly mirrors the opening scene and him walking by all his soldiers as they salute him as their leader and I really liked that

- “i did not say I knew him, I said he touched me on the shoulder once” — why does this film have so many relatable lines

- one of my favourite things about this film is essentially nothing to do with the film itself, and it’s how my dad will yell stuff from it at opportune moments. When I was learning to drive and going round corners, he would say “hold the line” like Maximus does in the amphitheatre. once, when we were climbing up a hill and it got a bit steeper near the top and I got a bit more tired and started to slow, he clapped me on the shoulder, pointed up the hill and yelled “STRENGTH AND HONOUR! HOLD THE LINE! STAY WITH ME!” just to encourage me up this hill and I love him so much for it

- absolutely cannot stand the bit in the chariot fight where the archer woman gets fully sliced in half. Couldn’t deal with it in 2013 and can’t deal with it now

- fun fact this film got the thumbs up thumbs down thing the wrong way round. In the scene where maximus’ identity was revealed to commodus, he moves his hand from a neutral position to his thumb pointing upwards, which means that he is sparing maximus. Often the emperor would use this code to signal to the winning gladiator if they should kill the loser. However, apparently thumb down didn’t mean “finish them”, it actually meant “throw down your weapon”, and the thumb pointing upward was meant to symbolise the sword thrusting up into the loser’s body. However this might also might be incorrect, I have not by any means done extensive research

- “it vexes me. I am terribly vexed.” Another classic dad quote

- just ruminating on ancient rome. Legitimately cannot imagine a worse occupation than being a gladiator. I’m sure if I thought about it a bit more I’d think of worse jobs, but right now, this is the one

- they used… real tigers for the scene with Tigris ??? Not happy about that. First of all, how ?

- I love the constant talk of the dream that was Rome, and the constant talk in tandem of the mob and how fickle they are. There is the dream that is Rome and there is the reality of the fickle mob. They obviously can’t coexist but those everyone we meet wants something better, in some way

- I don’t know if phoenix made a conscious decision about his speech but it really fit with what I said before about him being a petulant child because his speech didn't sound completely developed and reminded me of a child’s speech in how he pronounces certain letters. It adds so much to the character because he is a completely abhorrent person who wants to sleep with his sister and have a pure blood heir, have complete control over the roman empire and kill anyone who comes between his dream of what that empire could be under him. But then at the same time he sounds like a kid who’s not getting his own way

- I do not want a snake in my bed

- ‘“Strength and honour,” Maximus said to Juba. The two men smiled and rested their foreheads together.’ I did beam at this bit

- apparently proximo was meant to live in the original version of the film, but Oliver reed died during production, before all his scenes were filmed, so his character had to be killed. The last shot of him is from the back, so we don’t see his face, and a shot from earlier where he says “shadows and dust” is cut in right before he dies. The film was dedicated to reed’s memory

- OH another thing I Loved about commodus was how he had a white horse, and white armour in the final battle with maximus, while maximus has black armour, which is the standard. Because commodus has such an idea of who he is, and in his mind, he is Rome’s saviour, even though he knows full well he doesn’t have any of the qualities of a good emperor. White is typically the colour used to signify that a character is good, and pure, etc. so I really enjoyed the inversion of that to show commodus’ character and the character he wants Rome to see

- this isn’t a film about violence, it’s about a philosophy

- one last thing is that when I rewatch films to write up these things, I often skip parts because I get the gist of what’s going on and I don’t need to watch the whole thing. With this, even though it was 2 hours 35, I watched the whole thing, and I think that says a lot about how good a film it is

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debbiewilder · 4 years

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On Portraits - Ruth and Debbie

When Ruth moves to the GLOWtel in 1x04, she takes a portrait of Katharine Hepburn with her and hangs it above her bed. When Debbie sells almost everything in her house in 2x04, she still holds onto an incredibly large portrait of herself (she sells other picture frames so she could’ve sold that one too, but she chooses not to). Other photos in these environments are much smaller (or nonexistent) in comparison.

Clearly, these items are important for them.

Like most things in GLOW, it’s never overtly stated what these items mean, but I think you can come up with some answers if you look at Ruth and Debbie’s (unhealthy) relationships to themselves, their bodies, control/power, reality, fiction, and their careers.

Ruth

I’ve written before about Ruth’s relationship to “real.” The meaning of that word is incredibly complex for her, but I’ll just reiterate here with this portrait in mind. Throughout the pilot, the word “real” is used around seven times. Ruth clings to “real” in fiction but runs from it when it comes to reality. Ruth wants “real” parts, calls herself a “real” actress, but when Mark calls her “real” as they have sex, she shushes him. In addition, the word “real” is associated with her and Debbie. In their first scene together, lyrics play: “You make me feel mighty real.” During their fight in 1x01, Arthie asks if this fight is “real;” Melrose says “Who the fuck cares?” While Ruth doesn’t want real without the safety and control of fiction, together Debbie and Ruth find a “real” that neither wants but it becomes something they both need and are better because of. Ruth might not have gotten GLOW without Debbie’s “real.” Debbie might’ve been stuck in a loveless marriage without Ruth. Ruth certainly would not have gotten in Birdie’s good graces and helped save GLOW in 1x09 without her real need to communicate to Debbie. Their real drama makes GLOW come to life and Sam starts to see GLOW’s potential in 1x01 because of who Ruth and Debbie really are.

Ruth’s relationship to power is also very complex. Ruth escapes into fiction to find the power she never cultivates in her relationships. But, because of that, she self-destructs in every relationship and every acting opportunity. Ruth is not a submissive person. Ruth came from Nebraska to pursue acting. Ruth reads the man’s role because it’s better. Ruth confronts a casting director in the bathroom. Ruth goes to GLOW after being cut. Ruth is super empowered and clearly goes after what she wants when it comes to acting. But these moves are also super self destructive. Ruth’s not going to get a part she wasn’t called in for. Ruth shouldn’t confront a casting director in the bathroom…that’s…super creepy. She screws up her audition for GLOW by turning it into something it’s not. Like, it’s not Shakespeare. Just do the move you were asked to do and don’t turn it into a scene about stolen bread. When she’s given the opportunity to act in a real role (which is what she says she wants) in season 3, because she’s intimidated by Sheila’s talent and doesn’t feel empowered in this specific escapism, she just doesn't show up and self-destructs. In season 3, she also doesn’t go to acting class when others do and avoids real opportunities even though she still has the same goals she did in season 1. She does, however, show up to Justine’s audition without self destructing, reads the role she was called in for and gives a good audition but is still not chosen. Maybe with that one she doesn’t self destruct because she goes into the audition less insecure because she thinks she’ll actually get the role (and that’s why it’s so heartbreaking when they don’t ask her to read the scene another way, when she doesn’t get it).

Also, there are a few meanings to the word “act” which tie into this as well. Ruth hangs all of her agency and power on playing other roles. She wants to be active/act through fiction. When it comes to being in her own skin around other people, she is incredibly passive. She wants her role to be “acting” in ways because she doesn't act enough when she is just herself.

Even though Ruth is clearly not a submissive person, in her relationships, she’s almost completely submissive. She basically always defers to what other people want and need. She almost never expresses any of the power she demands so readily when it comes to fiction. This is part of why Ruth relies so much on fiction. And, this is largely why all of her relationships fail.

She destroys her relationship with Debbie. Instead of communicating about how their power imbalance made Ruth feel, she has sex with Debbie’s husband. Sure, she ends up being grateful for any crumb Debbie gives her after that and doesn’t screw them up after even though she’s forced to be even more submissive than she was before. But, I think that’s because she knows she owes Debbie for eternity. And, despite everything, she does want to make things right. Also, in a weird way, it must make her feel a tiny bit powerful to see how deeply Debbie cares about her. That despite everything, she still chooses Ruth to wrestle with in 1x06 and can’t help but stare at Ruth all the way down the drive in 1x03 and says, her voice breaking, that she wishes they could still have a conversation in 1x09.

She destroys her relationship with Sam. Sam’s words are pretty manipulative in 3x02. (Roughly: I think you want me -> You’re in MY hot tub (I know you want me) -> “I’m telling you what we have.” Your thoughts and no is a “lie” and a ridiculous “belief” that has no basis in reality.) I don’t know how intentional this is, but when she goes to him in 3x09, I don’t think she really knows what she wants, she’s completely floundering by that point. Also, she still hasn’t broken up with Russell so they can’t be real, it’s another way to keep Sam at bay and ruin them before they even begin. So, she destroys them over a small part. Sure, she feels like a failure. I could be wrong, but it just doesn’t seem like they just fall apart over the role.

She tries to break up with Russell on the phone in 3x08, he says not to, and she just listens! And then, the very next episode, she cheats on him. Ruth just…can’t communicate in a healthy way.

Even with Sheila in 1x04, she lets herself be pushed around and sleeps on a pool lounger.

She just goes along with what anyone wants for her, and she thinks fiction is enough to offset how submissive she is with others. It’s clearly not.

So, yeah, escapism is big for Ruth. In fact, Ruth, on her own, rarely looks at herself in the mirror. Even when she’s in front of a mirror, she often doesn’t seem to see herself. In 1x01, when she’s with the casting director, she turns to face the casting director instead of her own reflection. When she’s with Debbie in the locker room in 1x01, she doesn’t seem to see herself. There are times when she does look, like 1x08 when she realizes she’s pregnant, and later when she cuts her own hair or as she looks at herself in character in 1x01, but she doesn't really seem to investigate who she is in any way while she faces herself basically at all until 3x08 (there’s one exception I could find, after she gets ketchup splattered on her in 1x02). So, anyway, that moment in front of the mirror is huge in 3x08 because she’s actually facing who she is and her own failings. She doesn't know how to fix any of that yet but she’s actually unable to turn away from the truth/reality more by the end of season 3.

It’s like she plays a character with those in her life since she expresses so little of her own wants or needs in her close relationships. She allows pieces of herself to come through, just like she does when playing a role. Maybe she thinks that if everyone validates pieces of her and if she expresses other pieces of herself in fiction, then that’s enough. Like she can Frankenstein all of that validation together into something that’s enough. It’s clearly not since she destructs in both fiction and in relationships.

However, this coping mechanism of escapism isn’t just constant down sides. She clearly developed it for a reason. Because of how she romanticizes the world around her and is unable to take things as they are, she fights for a place on GLOW and gets it. Because of creeping on the casting director in the bathroom, she learns about GLOW. Because of her inane levels of bravery due to her inability to take things as they are, she shoots the title sequence in 2x01 (which, okay, she kinda almost gets fired for but still). She finds real control and power in GLOW even without a title like producer or director. She takes charge of the GLOW pilot in 1x10. When Sam tells everyone that GLOW is done for in 1x09, she comes up with the idea to fundraise. She continually takes charge. This flaw is also a strength for her. She demands more because she doesn’t live in the world around her, she lives in the air of possibilities. (“We’ll let the stars guide us.”) In fact, because Ruth is incredibly brave, she leads Debbie to demand for more and push for more for herself too. I’ve written about that but I’ll just quickly point to a couple of examples: Debbie only becomes better at wrestling because Sam wants to show Ruth off to Patio Town in 1x05. She probably would’ve only asked for more money in 2x01 but because Ruth is the director of a title sequence she demands to be a producer etc etc. Ruth pushes Debbie to be better. Ruth of course doesn’t see this due to insecurity. Ruth believes Debbie’s life moves forward because she has an inherent shininess that makes her life move faster than Ruth’s. She can’t see the reality of their relationship or see Debbie clearly.

So, this portrait distills Ruth’s whole relationship to herself, others, power and fiction into a single image. Ruth turns to fiction for anything “real” because as herself, reality is filled with submissiveness and not feeling like she’s enough let alone in control. She hangs a large portrait of a famous actor on her wall wherever she goes during early seasons of GLOW because being around an image of that person makes her feel powerful. Because that person is powerful, that person was chosen. Her own image doesn’t make her feel any of that. She constantly strives to forget and escape from who she is. Also, this choice of actor is telling. It’s someone who is a force who changed the acting industry, and also someone who isn’t just a feminine ideal. Katharine Hepburn and her characters are known for being fiercely independent and incredibly powerful who push boundaries and challenges gender roles. Of course Ruth would aspire to that. Ruth constantly tries to push boundaries in acting just like her role model but often fails because she just tries to turn any situation into what she wants rather than making the most out of what’s in front of her.

Debbie

While Ruth clings to a large portrait of someone else to escape from who she is, Debbie clings to a portrait of herself. But, it’s not really the Debbie we know. The version of herself that she clings to is very posed. Debbie may cringe and make weird faces every other second, but in this portrait, she looks domineering and stoic.

The placement of this portrait, right behind the front door, means that wherever you go in this house where a family of three lives (at least in 1x01), you will see this portrait of Debbie, large, alone, looking down on you.

I think this says a lot about Debbie. While Debbie was willing to give up acting and give up so much for Mark and her son, she still demanded to be seen constantly and seen in a very specific way.

Debbie’s relationship to her own image is explored throughout the series as she struggles to overcome the belief that how she’s seen is her only value. And, since that perceived value is about to expire, it makes sense she clings to an image of herself—it reminds her of what she believes is her only worth. Since she holds on to a part of herself that she feels will soon fade, this also makes her feel incredibly powerless. This is probably part of why she tries to control her body in unhealthy ways such as having an eating disorder.

While Ruth is introduced to us in close up in 1x01, reading the man’s role (the role she wasn’t given, but one she demands), Debbie is presented in a wide shot, in a sea of bodies doing the exact same boring aerobics moves as everyone else. Debbie’s reflection is presented to us before Debbie and when we see her she looks half alive, zoned out. Debbie is presented as someone who calls herself “a bovine mutant.” This is how she sees her body and self in 1x01—replaceable (just another body doing the same moves) and something that exists basically only for men including her son (“Don’t you want to be happy and have a family?”). These first images say a lot about these character’s relationships to themselves and power.

Debbie is used to submitting to those around her, and, unlike Ruth, is not used to going after anything that she wants. In fact, I don’t think Debbie allows herself to want real things that would fulfill her at all until GLOW.

Debbie, unlike Ruth, is from LA, has lived in LA her whole life (until Vegas). Debbie never fought for acting. Debbie was probably told she was hot and should try her hand at acting because it’s around in LA. She just clearly has a very different relationship to acting than Ruth does. She is willing to do anything to get power rather than latches onto a specific role like Ruth. In fact, she likely viewed acting as another way to cling to her own image, an image that she feels is going to expire very soon. And, once it expires, she believes she will be worthless, so she better get it on film now. I really don't think she ever used acting to escape into someone else’s image. Debbie also talks about wrestling in terms of her relationship to her own body, not really about playing a role, it’s about her feeling like a superhero, it’s Debbie saying she’s Clark Kent in 2x01 because it’s her body that’s being empowered. And, in the past, acting wasn’t empowered Cat on a Hot Tin Roof monologues like it is for Ruth, Debbie saw it as wheelchairs and comas, and being written out as men decide her fate. The word “coma” sums up a lot about Debbie’s relationship to the world around her in 1x01—her life is about being still and dead to the world as others choose to define her actions and her worth. Just like in that aerobics class, just as Mark chooses what her life should be, acting is about letting men decide if her body can move this episode or not. In addition, her relationship to the industry is clearly just as based in powerlessness and bowing to whatever men want as we learn in 2x05.

She doesn’t escape into fiction or turn possibilities into what she wants them to be. Debbie’s husband tells her to quit acting, she listens. She tells Ruth to give up on her dreams and just have a family like her in 1x01 because that is the definition of “happy.” She believes that is the most she or Ruth can get out of life—a husband. A husband who tells her to give up on acting, on everything. A person she doesn’t notice when she doesn’t touch him in over 40 days.

Debbie is unhealthy in her relationship to “real” in the opposite direction. Her whole philosophy can probably be summed up in 2x05: “That is the way it is.” But, to be clear, Debbie’s “realism” isn’t actual realism. She completely self limits and has a totally unhealthy relationship with reality in the opposite way that Ruth does. No, happiness isn't just having a husband or listening to what others want for her and how other see her. In fact, it never was for her. She was “miserable” with Mark as we’re told twice. As the series progresses, she consistently grows to become more like Ruth—she chooses work, she takes something meant for a man (a network for Debbie, a role in Ruth’s case) and takes it for herself, etc.

In fact, in 1x01, it seems like her only outlet for trying to correct the complete lack of power in her life (besides her disordered eating) is making Ruth feel small, and trying to have Ruth validate choices that make her miserable. She even wants Ruth to live the life she has, to have a family too, in order to validate them as well. She continues to ignore Ruth’s struggles and makes Ruth feel like a disaster in order to feel okay about her own choices. But, Debbie clearly doesn’t even view them as choices (even though they are) so much as “the way it is.” Debbie relinquishing control over Ruth throughout the later part of season 2 and 3 is such a huge shift because Debbie needed control over Ruth in order to survive for maybe a decade. It’s an incredibly vulnerable thing for her to give Ruth control and let her be happy with Russell in 2x10. Also, Ruth is the only person who understands her and validates her beyond her beauty and a surface understanding. I think that has always been very scary for Debbie, and she also deeply needs this so she clings and pushes Ruth away at the same time. She also must find the freedom that Ruth has in her own body, in herself, the way that she doesn't submit and internalize what men want (which is wholly how Debbie defines herself), such a threat. Even Ruth’s idealism is a threat to Debbie who self limits so much in her life at the start of the series. So, she tries to control Ruth throughout the series—her relationships, her career, etc. She hurts her just to feel a little less powerless in the world. And, Ruth lets her. (Except when she fucks Mark because it gets to be too much.)

In terms of Debbie’s relationship to her own image, Debbie wears nice clothes and jewelry (versus Ruth who typically wears frumpy clothes and escapes into fiction to be seen). She has many shots where she’s looking at herself in front of the mirror. For instance, as her relationship to wrestling changes, so does her relationship to her reflection. In 1x05, she struggles to find the meaning of wrestling in the mirror and then, by the end of the episode, she sees power in her own reflection. Ruth avoids her reflection, Debbie is often swallowed up by it.

Debbie is, like Ruth, used to submitting in her life and in her relationships and not expressing who she really is or what she really wants. When Debbie finds out that Ruth fucked her husband, she says, “I don’t know--I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” I think that she’s always been told what to do, has internalized this way of life, that just like Ruth, she doesn’t really know how to act/be active in reality. She slowly finds her way to discover those things, to discover her body is worth more than just that flat one dimensional image of herself on the wall. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do?” (1x01) -> “I have no idea what I’m going to do?…You want me to wrestle?” 1x02 -> “I understand how to do that.” (1x05) -> “I want to fly.” (1x07) -> “I feel like a goddamn superhero.” (1x09) -> “Imagine I’m Clark Kent.” “Oh, no, I am a producer.” (2x01) -> “I fucking stole it…I am going to build us an eden.” (3x10) etc

This is at least part of why she hates men. She resents who she is around them, how much power she lets them have over her. With Mark, she gave up acting, gave up everything. He called Paradise Cove silly, wrestling silly. And, for a long time she gave in. She probably would’ve given in for the rest of her life if Ruth didn’t fuck Mark. Even in 1x10, after what Mark did, she gives in and gives up wrestling even though she monologues about how much it meant to her in 1x09. Even her relationship to Randy—she calls herself a “bovine mutant” and we see her eaten up by him in front of that portrait of herself. With Tex, in her relationship in season 3 after she’s grown so much, she clearly presents herself in a way that’s against who she really is, so that he thinks she shouldn’t be anywhere near his “ruthless” side when Debbie Eagan is the most ruthless bitch around. She controls how men see her, maybe because she thinks if they see all of her, they’ll realize she’s not enough (which is similar to how Ruth is in every relationship). She believes how men see her totally defines her and tirelessly tries to control how they see her. But, at the same time she of course resents this power they have over her (which is power that she gives as well).

Of course, Debbie does grow a lot and goes from housewife to star to producer to network president. She starts to see her own worth and slowly learns to demand more and submit less. But that is because Debbie demands power for herself and takes it by any means that are in front of her, that is living bigger (3x08) to Debbie, not any specific role like acting.

So...Portraits...

After looking at these characters a little closer, maybe new meaning can come when looking at shots where Ruth and Debbie stand by these portraits. Well—

Ruth throws away the dead animal that Sheila leaves for her and abandons her room when Sheila tells her to in 1x04 while standing in front of this portrait she escapes into for power. She sits on her bed realizing she needs to have an abortion, feeling totally powerless, as Katharine Hepburn looms behind her. She feels totally powerless calling her parents and asking for money while Katharine sits, breaking gender roles in a suit, being all badass and empowered behind her.

Randy chews on Debbie in 1x02, and her ideal self is right behind, a constant reminder she’ll never be enough. When she sells everything except for basically that portrait, she sits alone with only that ideal self there as company, haunting her. And, in 2x08, she covers it up with an American flag but it still hangs behind her as she parodies her own pain from 2x04 in the same exact spot.

It’ll be interesting to see, if we do see their homes in season 4, if these items are abandoned or are brought back as these two characters continue to heal and grow.

#ruth wilder #debbie eagan #glow netflix #glow meta #meta #i think this has a focus #this also might just be rambling about the characters for a while #but who cares #tra la la

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ofendlesswonder · 4 years

Note

#50 for the prompt thing. Supercat please ♥️

50. “People are staring.”

Kara isn’t exactly hoping to run into Cat when she’s summoned to Washington D.C. for a missiondebrief, but when she spots her as she’s leaving the Oval Office, she can’t exactly say that she’s disappointed.

Cat looks as amazing as ever, dressed in a pair of dark pants and a white blouse, a black blazer thrown over the top and her hair perfectly curled, striding down the hallway like she owns the place and, Karacan’t help but wonder, as she watches her approach, if one day she will – she wouldn’t be surprised if Cat was planning on announcing a presidential bid,come the next election.

“Supergirl.” Cat doesn’t look surprised to see her asshe pauses in-front of her, hands slipping into her pant pockets as she tilts her head up to meet Kara’s gaze. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Ms Grant.” It feels like an eternity sincethey’d last seen on another in person (Kara tunes in to the White House press briefings, sometimes, because Cat’s running commentary is always anentertaining one), but the years fade away into an easy sort of familiarity that only working so closely together for so many years can bring. “How haveyou been?”

“Oh, you know.” Cat lifts one shoulder in a delicateshrug. “Always busy putting out the next fire. Though I’m sure you can relate.”

Kara hasn’t exactly been short of those, lately, andshe’s sure that her wish for a quieter 2020 won’t be granted.

“Ms Grant,” a woman appears at Cat’s shoulder, atablet in her hands, “here are the last minute changes you asked for.”

Cat’s new assistant, then, and Kara can’t help butsize her up as Cat scans over the words on the tablet screen. She’s a similar age to Kara, and she wonders, hiding a smile, if she’d changed Cat’s opinion onmillennials. She looks nervous as she waits for Cat’s response, and Kara wonders how much the poor girl has already been yelled at today, or if Cat hasgrown mellow since she’d left CatCo for pastures anew.

“Good.” Cat’s voice is brusque as she hands the tablet back to the woman. “Tell them I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Ms Grant.” The woman scurries away withoutanother word, and Cat sighs as she watches her go.

“Good help is so hard to find,” she mutters, eyes onher retreating assistant’s back, and when she turns back to Kara there’s the hint of a knowing smirk on her lips that Kara pretends not to notice.

(Even though the last time she’d seen Cat, the ‘go get them, Supergirl’ had been perfectly audible).

“I should let you get to your briefing,” Kara decides,because as much as she’d like to spend the rest of her day with Cat, she knows the other woman probably has a busy schedule ahead of her.

“If you have an hour or so to spare,” Cat seemsreluctant to let her go so easily, “you could wait in my office for me? It’d be nice to have a drink. Catch up.”

“I… okay.” She’s surprised by the invitation, but shecan’t bring herself to turn it down, not when seeing Cat again has been like a breath of fresh air – she’d pushed all thoughts of her former boss down deep(and even deeper still when she’d sold the company, because that, as irrational as she knew it was, stung like a betrayal) when she’d left, and she’d almostforgotten how much she enjoyed spending time with the other woman.

When she wasn’t being yelled at, anyway.

“It’s this way.”

Kara falls into step beside Cat as she sets off down the hall at what can only be described as a march, Kara struggling to keep up even with her longer legs. The halls are bustling with people, who fall silent asthey pass them by, curious eyes watching them go, and Kara shifts uncomfortably under the weight of their gaze.

“Something wrong, Supergirl?” Cat asks, as she pauses beside a heavy wooden door, the plaque beside it indicating that this is Cat’s office,and when Kara glances through the open doorway, she finds quite a different space from the one she’d occupied at CatCo, but one that is distinctly CatGrant, all the same.

“I… yeah, it’s just… people are staring.” Kara glances over her shoulder as she says it, and the huddle of people opposite them quickly look away.

“Because it’s not every day that Supergirl walks down these halls,” Cat replies, ushering Kara inside the room and pulling the door shut behind them.

“But… the President walks these halls every day.” Surely the person wielding the most power should garner the most attention. Political power, anyway – Kara’s pretty sure she could beat the President in a fist fight even without her powers.

“Yes, well, people do tend to expect that to happen in the White House.” Cat looks amused as she grabs something from her desk. “Superheroes, on the other hand, are a bit harder to come by.”

Kara supposes that she’s right, but that doesn’t really set her more at ease, and she’s glad she’s now hidden from view.

“I really should get going – feel free to make yourself at home,” Cat says, heading towards the door, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. “I’ll be back soon.”

She shuts the door behind her, and silence echoes around her as she glances around the room. There’s a screen behind Cat’s desk, an echo of her wall of screens from CatCo, muted but showing the podium that she knows Cat will take her place behind shortly. The desk is cluttered, like Kara remembers, and she smiles as she catches a glimpse of a framed photograph of Cat and Carter, her son now towering over her, his blonde curls unruly as he grins atthe camera.

The view out of the windows is much less impressive than Kara is used to, looking out into the White House grounds rather than the city skyline, so Kara settles for watching Cat’s press conference, instead, easing herself down into one of the chairs behind Cat’s desk, and resisting the urge to kick her boots onto the top of it.

The sound of the door opening startles her, and Kara whirls around to find the girl from before frozen in the doorway, blinking at Kara with stunned surprise.

“Oh, sorry.” Kara jumps to her feet and throws a reassuring smile her way. “Cat said I could wait for her in here.”

“T-that’s okay, Ms Supergirl.”

“Just Supergirl is fine, thank you.” The girl could barely look her in the eye, and Kara wonders how someone so meek could survive as Cat’s assistant – but then, people had probably thought the same thing about her, when she’d started. “You work for Cat?”

“I’m her assistant.” She runs a nervous hand through her hair before inching further into the room and dropping down behind the other, smaller desk in the room, and Kara wonders how well she would have fared, sharing an office with Cat. “Sophie.” She holds her hand out towards Kara, and she takes it, shaking it firmly. “Could I… would it be alright if I asked foryour autograph? My little sister loves you, it would literally make her year.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” It’s been years, but she still isn’t used to this side of her job, and doesn’t think she ever will be. “What’s your sister’s name?” Kara asks, as Sophie scrambles for a pen and a pad of paper.

“Emily.”

Kara scribbles a quick message before signing her name, and she’s handing it back to Sophie when the door is pushed open, Cat striding through a moment later – Sophie jumps at the sound, and Cat pauses when she sees Kara hand back the pen.

“Sophia,” Cat begins, and Kara tries not to smile, because it’s nice to know that some things never get old, “are you harassing my guest?”

“N-no, Ms Grant.”

“Oh?” Cat arches an eyebrow, arms folding across her chest. “Then what’s that in your hand, hm? Because it looks suspiciously like anautograph.”

“It’s fine,” Kara interrupts, because Sophie looks like she might be about to cry. “Honestly.”

“Hm.” Cat purses her lips, but she doesn’t press. “Here.” Instead, she reaches into her pocket before brandishing a twenty dollar bill at her assistant. “Take this, and go and buy yourself something nice for lunch.”

“Ms Grant?” Sophie looks highly confused, and Kara bites her lip so she doesn’t chuckle at the look on her face.

“Are you deaf, Sophia?” Cat sounds exasperated, a tone that Kara is more than familiar with. “Go, before I change my mind. Oh,” Cat calls out when Sophie is almost through the door, “and bring me back a latte, please.”

“Yes, Ms Grant.” She scurries away, closing the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone, and Kara takes the opportunity to sink back down into the chair she’d been sitting in before.

“You always this hard on your assistants?” Kara asks, lips twitching as Cat leans back against her desk and kicks off her heels, as she’s been known to do after she’s been on her feet for too long.

“Only when they deserve it,” Cat answers smartly, and Kara grins. “So, Supergirl – how are things?”

“Busy,” Kara sighs, glad that J’onn and Alex have assured her that National City will be safe during her absence, meaning that she doesn’t have to rush back. “If everyone could just stop being evil for aminute, that would be really, really nice.”

“Have you tried asking the criminals nicely?” Cat snipes, and Kara had forgotten how much she enjoyed this, the easy way that Cat spoke to her when she was shrouded in the cape.

“No, but maybe I’ll try that next time.”

“See that you do.” There’s a soft smile on Cat’s lips, atwinkle in her eyes, and Kara wonders if she’s missed this as much as she has. “And how is CatCo?” Cat’s gaze turns challenging, then, a single eyebrowraising upwards, and Kara swallows.

“Ms Grant?”

“Are we still playing this silly game?” Cat sighs, liftingherself onto her desk in one easy movement, eyes never leaving Kara’s face. “After all this time?”

“I…” Kara trails off, worrying at her bottom lip, and she knows that Cat already knows, that she isn’t going to do anything untoward with her identity (because she’s had more than enough chances, over the years), and surely it shouldn’t be this difficult to admit it, when there are no consequences? “CatCo is fine,” Kara manages to force out, eventually, and Cat’s eyes flicker with interest. “Different, since you left. There have been a lot of changes.”

“For better or for worse?” Cat asks, and she almost looks like she’s afraid of finding out the answer.

“Definitely worse,” Kara murmurs, her voice soft. “It hasn’t been the same since you left.” She can scarcely remember what things were like, with Cat at the helm, it’s been so long, but she knows that it was definitely more interesting with Cat prowling the halls. “Do you miss it?”

“Every day,” Cat sighs, her voice sad. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do now, but… it’s just not the same.”

“You could come back,” Kara offers, but Cat gave a slow shake of her head.

“No, I couldn’t. Selling it saw to that.”

“Why did you sell it?” She has to ask, because it’s bothered her ever since she found out.

“So I wouldn’t give in to the temptation to come back,” Cat explains, fingers tapping against thesurface of her desk. “It would be a step backwards, and, much as I might miss it, there were reasons why I left, and none of those have changed.”

“Like?”

Cat purses her lips for one long moment, her eyes locked on Kara’s, an unreadable expression on her face. “I told you – I wanted a change.”

“Is that all?” Kara has to press, because she’s sure that hadn’t been what Cat was planning to say. “You said reasons. Plural.”

“So I did,” Cat replies, a note of finality in her voice,and Kara decides that’s the most she’s getting out of Cat on that particular subject.

“How’s Carter?” Kara asks, instead, watching as Cat’s lips twitch into a fond smile.

“He’s wonderful,” she answers, that light in her eyes that she gets whenever she thinks about her son. “It took him a little while to come around to the idea of moving out here, but he’s flourishing in his new school.”

“That’s good. He must be what, almost sixteen, now?”

“Next month, yes.” Cat looks touched that she’d remembered. “He’s all grown up – he even has a girlfriend.”

“And you?” Kara finds herself asking, even though she’s positive she doesn’t want to know the answer – her feelings for Cat had faded over time, but that doesn’t mean that she wants to hear about her falling in love with someone else.

“Forever single,” Cat answers, curtly. “I learned a long time ago that I don’t need to go home to someone else at night. Besides, I was never exactly very lucky in love.”

“Maybe you just hadn’t found the right person,” Karamurmurs, and Cat’s smile is soft.

“Or maybe I let them slip away,” she replies, and Kararaises a curious eyebrow, but Cat just shakes her head. “What about you, Supergirl? Got a guy waiting for you at home?”

“I haven’t exactly been very lucky in love, myself.” Her relationship with Mon-El has been her one and only, and it hadn’t exactly been easy for her to recover from him leaving. She’s had offers, since, but she’s yet to meet anyone that really sets her alight, makes her feel alive, even though she desperately wants that happiness that she’s seen her sister have,first with Maggie and now with Kelly. “And I’m not the safest person to be with,” she shrugs. “Maybe I’ll be forever single, too. We can start a club – spinsters only.”

“Watch it,” Cat cautions, but there’s a smile on her face.

“What, you don’t want to be in a club with me?” Karapretends to be offended. “How rude.”

“We’re already in a club,” Cat fires back, “of ‘mostpowerful women in the United States’. I may no longer be the queen of all media, but I still hold some sway.”

“How can you not, working in this place?” Kara gestures to the space around them. “Although the view is slightly less impressive.”

“Yes, well, some sacrifices did have to be made.” Cat looks out of her window more than a little wistfully. “Although, I - ”

The ringing of Kara’s phone interrupts whatever Cat had been about to say next, and Kara throws her an apologetic look as she pulls it out of the hidden compartment in her suit. “Sorry, but I have to take this,” she murmurs, when she sees Alex’s name on the screen. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Uh, not really,” Alex answers, and Kara hears the sound of something explode in the background, justas the screen behind Cat’s head flickers to life on a news story – Kara recognises the city skyline immediately and jumps to her feet. “We have a situation.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” The monster fills half the screen, enormous in size, and Kara isn’t surprised that Alex had called. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Go,” Cat tells her, eyes wide as she takes in thedestruction being wrought in her former home. “Be a hero. And don’t be scared to come by again – perhaps the spinster club could start having monthlymeetings.”

“You got it,” Kara chuckles, and she surprises Cat bypulling her into a quick hug, allowing herself a few precious seconds to breathe the other woman in, to remember the feeling of her, warm and soft anddainty in Kara’s arms. “I don’t suppose that window opens?” She asks, when she steps back, and it takes Cat a moment to blink away the dazed look in her eyes.

“Ah, no. Security hazard.”

“Of course.” Kara turns toward the doorway, pausing before she speeds away. “Goodbye, Cat.”

“I’ll see you soon, Supergirl.”

She shoots Cat one last smile before darting down the hall, launching herself into the air as soon as she’s cleared the building and hurtling back towards National City, vowing, as she turns to take one last look at the White House before it disappears on the horizon, that she’ll make a return trip sooner rather than later.

#supercat #supercat:minific #this is one i didn't really want to end #diving in to cat's life as press secretary was way more fun than i imagined #lockdown prompts #Anonymous

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kaesaaurelia · 4 years

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something more serious

For @whumptober2020 day 23: "What’s a Whumpee Gotta Do to Get Some Sleep Around Here” (specifically "exhaustion”).

Continues on from day one, wherein Ligur and Crowley were captured by Michael, and a very nervous Aziraphale was sent off to interrogate Crowley, day three, wherein Michael interrogated Ligur in a somewhat unconventional manner, day seven, wherein Aziraphale healed some of Crowley’s wounds and interrogated Crowley in a similarly unconventional manner, day seventeen, wherein Crowley and Ligur got sent back to Hell, and Ligur captured and framed Crowley for giving Heaven information, and day twenty, wherein Crowley got back to Earth and found Aziraphale, who insisted on healing him.

(Also, this is the last bit of this fic! So I’ll be posting the whole thing to AO3 pretty soon.)

Aziraphale/Crowley. Explicit sex.

Aziraphale began to undress Crowley again, but this time, Crowley helped him. His healing still stung, but his hands were so gentle and the little tsks he made every time he found a new scab or scrape or bruise on Crowley's skin made Crowley feel, well... good, and not just in a physical sense. Crowley had been looking forward to another handjob, maybe, or something else fun, but he hadn't really been expecting to feel...

To feel cared for. To feel... loved.

It was a little overwhelming, if Crowley was honest with himself. He watched Aziraphale's face as he healed a finger one of Ligur's guests had broken, and then transferred his attention to the lacerations all down Crowley's chest from where another guest had brought a knife out of the kitchens. The cook had come out shortly after, disemboweled the guest, pulled her knife out of Crowley's gut, and carelessly healed the worst of it before stomping back to her work, but Crowley preferred Aziraphale's brand of healing, for all that it stung very badly. And something hit Crowley, then. Because... he wanted Aziraphale, of course; Aziraphale was attractive, and interesting, and clever, and surprisingly willing to give very dangerous handjobs. And he liked Aziraphale -- he wouldn't have tried working with him otherwise, it was difficult enough working with an enemy without disliking him...

But he hadn't quite put those things together into the thought that he cared about Aziraphale, the thought that he didn't want to see Aziraphale's frown at his Hellish wounds, but also the thought that seeing the evidence of Aziraphale's own care for him made him feel... hopeful? Made him want more? "Aziraphale?" he said, his voice rough.

Aziraphale looked startled. "Yes?"

Fuck, he was so tired. That was probably why he was thinking all these weird things. "Never mind, it's nothing," said Crowley, quickly.

"You're flushed," said Aziraphale. "Are you -- you don't get sick, do you?" He looked so worried.

"No, no, I'm..." Crowley cast about for a way to ease Aziraphale's worries without admitting to anything stupid, and then he thought, fuck it, and sat up a bit so that he could kiss Aziraphale.

Aziraphale's lips were soft and warm, and he made a lovely, startled gasp just before he leaned into the kiss. Then, all too soon, he pulled away. "Crowley, we shouldn't," he said, his eyes wild and fearful.

"'Course we shouldn't," said Crowley, "but where's the fun in that?"

"It's not just fun, Crowley, we could be -- we could be caught," said Aziraphale.

"That certainly didn't stop you when you were interrogating me," Crowley pointed out. "And now we're not even in Heaven. You did say you could make me scream," he added.

"That -- that didn't mean anything," said Aziraphale, going red. "I just -- it was -- it would have been... awkward to bring you back to Michael, looking like that," he said quickly.

"I'm just saying, it doesn't have to mean anything now, either," said Crowley, who was a bit grateful for the option to not think about all this caring about Aziraphale stuff -- or he was, until he saw the look on Aziraphale's face, a terrible, heartbreaking mixture of guilt and relief and fear and love.

"No. No, I -- I suppose it doesn't," said Aziraphale, and he paused for one panicky moment, just long enough for Crowley to understand that the problem was that it meant entirely too much, before Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed Crowley.

They kissed frantically, as if perhaps they would never see each other again, as if this moment was all they would ever have and they had better make it last. Eventually, several eternities in, Crowley pulled Aziraphale into his lap and gasped; he hadn't realized how fucking hard he was until he felt Aziraphale's erection nudge up against his. Aziraphale moaned a little into his mouth and his hips rocked forward slightly before, agonizingly, he stopped himself.

He was probably having thoughts about how much they shouldn't be doing this again, and Crowley wasn't going to stand for that. "Fuck, angel," he said, "back in Heaven you never even used your sword on me. I should've held out longer."

Aziraphale laughed, startled, and then gasped as Crowley pressed against his dick with the palm of his hand. "I can't say it hadn't occurred to me," he said. "I -- Crowley..." His eyes darted up and down Crowley's body. "Could I -- would it be --"

"What are you waiting for, an invitation?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale kissed him again, quickly, then stood and undressed with clumsy haste while Crowley dealt with his own remaining clothes. It didn't take Crowley long, and he ended up watching Aziraphale, who, perhaps out of some strange shyness, had put his back to Crowley. That was fine with Crowley; Aziraphale, it turned out, had quite a nice arse, and lovely thighs, the sight of which Crowley was going to remember for later.

"Oh!" said Aziraphale, noticing Crowley staring at him. "I'm -- sorry, I'm not very --"

"You're beautiful, now come here and fuck me," said Crowley, spreading his legs invitingly.

"That mattress looks awful," said Aziraphale, frowning down at it. Crowley couldn't believe he was about to be cockblocked by a mattress, but Aziraphale snapped his fingers and it suddenly became very soft, with pillows, and curtains. "Much better," he said, and joined Crowley on the bed.

"Really?" Crowley asked, amused.

"It's a Good Deed," Aziraphale said. "Sleep is -- is really very important for humans' health, and they were so kind to let us use this cottage, and..." He trailed off, looking at Crowley, and made a wordless noise.

"Yes?" Crowley asked.

"Not -- not important," said Aziraphale. His eyes traveled over Crowley's body again, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Crowley smirked as his gaze lingered on his cock.

He settled himself between Crowley's legs, and slid two slick fingers into Crowley's arse. Crowley moaned as his fingers passed over a particularly sensitive spot. "I can still make you scream, you know," he added, with a surprisingly wicked smirk, and slid his thick cock into Crowley a moment later.

"Angel," whimpered Crowley, who had not been prepared for just how good this would feel. And then Aziraphale pressed further into him, and -- "Fuck, sso good," he gasped. Aziraphale thrust into him, breathing hard, but his rhythm was maddeningly slow, and he seemed to be holding back, for some reason. "Aziraphale, pleasse, fuck me nice and hard, don't jusst --"

"Don't want to -- to hurt you more," said Aziraphale. "You were so hurt, and -- nhh," he said, as Crowley jerked his hips upward forcefully.

"Fuck's ssake, do you want to make me sscream or --" Crowley cut himself off with a gasp as Aziraphale apparently decided his suggestion had merit. "Aziraphale, Aziraphale, oh G-- ngh, fuck, you feel so good," he managed, and then cried out as Aziraphale angled his hips a little and soon everything was a pleasurable blur of Aziraphale's dick inside him, Aziraphale's hands on his hips, and Aziraphale's lips and teeth at his neck. He came messily, rutting up against Aziraphale's stomach, and in a few moments Aziraphale finished inside him.

"Angel," said Crowley, running a hand through Aziraphale's hair, and they shared a slow, gentle kiss. "Fuck. That was. Mngh," he added, as Aziraphale rolled off of him. "This bed is ridiculous, though," he said, staring up at the curtains. Not only were they velvet, the velvet was a shade of deep blue that human dyers would probably resort to murder to achieve.

"I thought if we were going to do this we might as well be comfortable," said Aziraphale, who was pleasantly warm next to him, with his head on one of the pillows.

"Mmm. Well. Between you and Ligur, I'm fucking exhausted. Might sleep for a bit." Beside him, Aziraphale had gone tense. "What's wrong?"

"Ligur," said Aziraphale. "He didn't... did he?" It took Crowley a moment to realize what he was getting at.

"No, fuck no," said Crowley, laughing. "No. Just stuck me in a cage, nothing worsse." That didn't seem to comfort Aziraphale, so Crowley kissed him again. "Thankss for... everything," he said, drowsily, and settled into the most comfortable nap he'd had in centuries.

When Crowley awoke, it was dark. He was clean and fully dressed, minus his shoes and armor. Aziraphale wasn't next to him, but he was still in the stupid miraculous bed he'd conjured, so Crowley knew Aziraphale was still around, and the people whose cottage this was hadn't sold the bed, mattress, and curtains for a small fortune. He sat up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, found his shoes, and went outside to find Aziraphale.

Aziraphale wasn't difficult to find, fortunately; he was standing just outside, watching the sky like something interesting might happen in it.

"Ah. You're awake," said Aziraphale. He flashed Crowley an uncertain sort of smile.

"I am. How long did I sleep?" he asked.

"A week and a half, about," said Aziraphale. "I was... I was a bit worried."

"Nah, 's normal enough after the week I'd had," said Crowley. "What were you looking at?" he asked. "Not getting into astrology, are you, angel? You know that's nonsense."

"I do," said Aziraphale, "but the humans were telling me there'd been a star up there had predicted King Harold's death." He nodded at the sky. "I think it's gone now. Sounds more like a comet."

"Yeah, no, I remember that one," said Crowley. "Came by earlier this year. Got nothing to do with..." Crowley paused. "You know, I might've made that one? Sort of lost track of the comets, it's easy to lose track of comets."

"It is?" Aziraphale asked. "I thought they were fairly regular."

"No, I mean, when you're making them," said Crowley. "We were only supposed to make one or two, but..." He made a noise intended to represent the infinite uncertainties of the universe. "Got into a... a sort of snowball fight, actually. And I really wanted to win," he admitted."

Aziraphale laughed. Crowley had been having doubts about his feelings for Aziraphale, and had tried to talk himself out of them a bit while he was looking for his shoes -- what sort of angel didn't put your shoes in a findable place? How could he be in love with someone like that? But when Aziraphale laughed, Crowley felt a sort of pang in his chest, and he knew, with terrible certainty, that this was something more serious than a little crush on a work nemesis.

"Did you?" Aziraphale asked.

"Did I what?" Crowley asked.

"Did you win? The snowball fight," Aziraphale reminded him.

"Oh!" Crowley frowned. "Don't really remember, we all got caught and yelled at before there could really be a winner. But they kept the comets around."

"Well. I'm glad you had fun, then," said Aziraphale. His smile fell. "I do feel a bit bad for Harold, though," he said, looking back up at the sky.

"He probably deserved it," said Crowley. "Kings, you know. Usually pretty awful people. We get a lot of 'em." He watched Aziraphale watching the sky for a long moment, and then said, "Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale looked at him again, saw his serious expression, and looked away again. "We shouldn't, Crowley, we're going to get into terrible trouble and if they can put you in a cage just for -- for just, some nonsense Ligur was talking, I shudder to think --"

"Aziraphale, come on, look at me," said Crowley, taking Aziraphale's hands in his own. Reluctantly, Aziraphale looked at him. "Listen. I know it doesn't have to mean anything." Aziraphale's face did something complicated and upsetting, and Crowley resisted the urge to just tell him, I think I love you? to make him feel better, because he knew it would probably make him feel worse. "It doesn't have to mean anything," he repeated, "but. If... if you change your mind, it can."

Aziraphale's eyes went wide, and without warning, he seized the front of Crowley's tunic, and pulled him in for a kiss. He released Crowley and pulled away, all too soon. "Be careful out there, Crowley," he said gently.

Crowley grinned. "Oh, I'll be fine, always have been," he said. "I'd better get back to work, though; got a quota to meet, and I've been away for two and a half weeks." Aziraphale tried to look disapproving, but he smiled back. "See you around, angel!" Crowley turned and walked away, but he could swear he felt Aziraphale beaming at him as he made his way back into the world, in search of some new havoc to wreak.

#whumptober2020 #no.23 #what's a whumpee gotta do to get some sleep around here?#exhaustion #good omens #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #fiction #nsft #text #kaesa op

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refractionrp · 4 years

Photo

LOADING DATA . . . RYU HANA ( azalea ) the WOLF 52i.23.345-187.exe / 77. 08. 12 - 52. 08. 12 eternally 26

life before death (tw: abandonment, childhood sexual abuse, gangs, drugs, prostitution, illegal child labour)

she starts off as nameless, left on the doorstep of an orphanage with nothing but a blanket and a thin, wailing voice, lingering reedily in the night but loud enough to disturb the slumbering parties within the orphanage. And it’s a good thing that she does really—for when they take her in, her little fingers and feet are nothing but blue, her cries growing weaker by the minute just as her sallow cheeks showed malnourishment.

She remains nameless until the age of 5, lost in a lingering sense of unknown identity and a terrified air around her tiny body as she sits on the swings, isolated amongst the many other children much more eloquent than she is. Her only saving grace is her beauty, tremulous large, doe like eyed, soft pink lips and pale skin—she was a like a little doll, broken, lost and desperate.

She’s twelve when she understands the disgusting lie of humanity, and she’s sold by the orphanage for money to a couple who caught her looks with their predatory gazes. They’ve lost their daughter, and she is nothing—but a replacement, dark satin bows tied in her hair, plaited too tightly against her scalp and dress too tight against their frame since their daughter is practically a size smaller than her after all.

She’s terrified daily, even when they stroke her hair and touch her face—because everything that they see isn’t her indeed. The day that she supposedly—or their daughter supposedly turns twelve, she supposes, everything changes.

All she remembers are the birthday well-wishes, and the terror that she feels beneath her covers as a pair of hands cover her lips into the night, the touch of unwanted hands, and an innocence lost.

Her eyes are dark and empty in the morning to come, the creak of the chair as the hum of her adoptive parents circle around her like a suffocating ring of fire around her neck.

She’s old enough to understand what abuse means.

The internet tells her everything after all, since they refused to let her attend school, scared that she would turn away from their eyes and be influenced by unwanted sources.

She ends up giving them little to worry about in the very end—emptying their wallets after hearing their snores in the bed they share, and pulling every cash that she could find into an envelope and slinging on a backpack.

She runs, with no particular direction in mind, leaving a horrible life of the suffocated behind.

…

Life on the streets isn’t anything much better—if she was to be honest.

What lies it was that living on the streets was anything better than being at the orphanage or the home. She’s stolen just a spare couple of clothes from a store when she’s caught by a gang, and brought to pay her penance for making her mark on a store under their protection.

Its her face that ends up saving her again.

She’s fourteen this time, grown from puberty or growing, and a beauty—there’s not a single doubt about it.

Parted pink tiers, long lashed eyes as dark as the brightest starry nights and a sinfully curvaceous body makes her a prime product for them to sell—in return of her penance for stealing clothes from their stores.

Its called earning for her keep—she learns well enough and soon enough,

It’s a cycle of drink after drink and company after company, and the cloying scent of sin always hanging around her skin.

She’s always empty, the yearning for something more to fill the hole in her chest making her reckless and unchanging, desperation tossing her to the waves of unceasing debauchery.

She intensifies in her activities—wants it—she tells herself convincingly. There was nothing that could hold her down if she wanted to, and at sixteen, she learns the miracle of smoking weed.

The first inhale is always distasteful and ugly, the cloud of smoke clogging her lungs and suffocating her quite literally. It’s a miracle she doesn’t suffocate—she thinks, but then again, she’s already trapped, suffocating in reality, so what more than actually truly doing it to her body?

Clouds of smoke evaporate in her face, the cloying smells of weed making her drift as she laughs together with everyone else emptily.

She’s nothing but an empty vase, a black hole—with a crystal box of a hidden girl, terrified beneath the fearless exterior, with no knowledge of how to making things better.

…

Turning eighteen makes everything even more disastrous. By now, convincing that she wants her current life is nothing but a normality for her. Any other thoughts that refuted such a claim is repressed down into her mind, buried deep within that crystal box that once sheltered another girl with jaded eyes and a sad song for a voice.

She’s flamboyant, desirable—what more could she want? She asked herself. It wasn’t as though she had a chain on her a whip forcing her to do all of this—no, she wanted it, and no one could make her do anything unless she truly wanted it, she convinces herself.

And as if to contradict her own reassurance of herself—She’s found yet another vice of life apart from the ones that she currently has.

This time, it’s risk taking, and taking things from the minimum to the extreme.

Life on the edge is the best life one could ever live—she convinces herself unconvincingly, forcing yearning eyes away from the normal sight of schoolgirls walking together, bright laughters and happy smiles upon their faces as she basked in the embrace of her latest beau.

Truly, and nothing less.

…

It’s the second part of turning eighteen when she first has her heart leap in her chest like a bird in her chest, and butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she watches him throw a smile at her way—dark eyes lingering and sensual.

He whispers promises into her youthful ears and fills her with tender warmth.

Perhaps—she thinks, this is love.

Its loving kisses that they share, gentle grazing of fingers against skin and tender hearted looks—until she finds him on the streets, laughing with his friends and pressing his lips to another female.

Love—is a lie.

She burns everything that he’s given her the moment she returns home, slamming the door shut in his face as soon as he turned up at her doorstep with a simpering smile upon his face.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—She remembers all too belatedly, sinking down behind the doors with her hands covering her face and a fractured heart that could no longer be pieced together.

….

Eventually, she turns twenty, and never manages recognise the reality save for the one that she wants to believe in the end, men’s hands lingering around her waist as she’s passed on from one male to another, smoke clouding the air around their faces, and their low rumbling low laughters against her frame.

She has everything she could ever ask for, as one of the top prostitutes that they have, men falling for her with a slide of her eyes and the pout of her pretty lips.

Joyrides and Sugar Daddies—everything that was debauched that one could name, she had it.

She ends up living to the ripe old age of 75, and even with all of her reckless living and risk takings, even with all of the heartbreaks and love lorn and lost—there was nothing that she could feel except for being just empty.

life after death

She ends up waking in a new place, terrified and disorientated.

It’s a new place—years of being street smart allows her to linger amongst everyone in her sector, with quiet, observant eyes and a delicate line of teeth pressing into her bottom lip.

Somehow, she’s 26 years old again—the youngest that she was ever allowed to make herself, when she first re-orientated herself in the afterlife.

It was as if she had been given a second chance at life itself, all her nerve ends firing off with anticipation, hope—and a desire for a new life. And everything seems to go well.

Everything goes well.

Too well that she panics.

She’s not required to work, neither is she required to do anything in particular to earn her keep. The only thing that she has to do—is to be normal.

Normal was something that she wasn’t familiar with.

How was she to be normal?

What did it mean to be normal?

Panic turned into desperation, and desperation only made her relapse.

It’s the only thing that she knows to do well anyway, dancing in the bars, grinding herself up against strangers, smashing her lips against theirs in a cacophony of destruction and tears.

She’s wild and yet she’s lost, and perhaps—it is because of that that she lingers.

#re.accepted #re.wolf

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queenmorgawse · 5 years

Text

here we go again

CHAPTER ONE. modern au wangxian ft. family feels, inspired by mamma mia. read on ao3 for end notes.

Wei Yuan's day begins, unusually, with the loud whirring of a landing helicopter.

“Don’t just leave your plate here!” Wen Qing chides, but by the time she pokes her head outside, the boy is already halfway up the hill, shouting back apologies as he crams the last of his toast into his mouth. He stops just short of the landing zone, watching in delight as the helicopter’s rotor blades slow then stop, and three silhouettes emerge from the small dust cloud their arrival created. “Good morning, uncle, auntie! Hi, didi!” he calls, waving his arms in an attempt to clear his sight.

Jin Zixuan, Wei Yuan’s gufu , lifts his sunglasses from his nose and tucks them on his collar before shaking the boy’s hand. “Hello, A-Yuan.”

“Yuanyuan, you’re growing so fast, I can’t catch up anymore!” This is from Wei Yuan’s guma , Jiang Yanli, who’s already thrown her arms around him. He buries his face in her blouse, breathing in the breezy scent of lotuses. She strokes his hair, cooing. “Seriously, you’re getting so tall. You’ll shoot past your dad any minute now!”

“Not that much, auntie,” he protests weakly when she lets him go.

“Pscht. He told me the same thing when he was little, and look how he is now. Ling-er! Come say hi, don’t be rude.”

Jin Ling, Wei Yuan’s favorite (and only) cousin, is still lingering behind his parents, airpods jammed into his ears. He looks up at the sound of his mother’s voice, though, cracks one of his rare smiles, and accepts Wei Yuan’s hug ⎯ which means he stands still enough for Wei Yuan to embrace him, though he jerks away with a muffled protest at the attempt to pat his head.

“Your luggage is already here,” Wei Yuan says, turning back toward his uncle and aunt. “I’ll help carry it to your rooms.” ( Who else could it be? No one brings that many brand name suitcases for a month’s stay, and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t be stacked in the Wei family’s own living room. )

“Thank you, darling, we’ll take care of that,” Jiang Yanli reassures him. “Do you know where your father went? I thought he’d be with you.”

“He’s kind of all over the place these days, with the anniversary coming up.” All over the place is an euphemism ; the list of things to plan seems endless, and as usual, Wei Yuan’s father doesn’t trust anyone but Wen Qing and himself to get things done.

“He’ll get here soon, though! I’m sure he heard you coming!” the boy quickly adds when a worried look crosses his aunt’s face. The entire island probably heard the landing, but then again, given its size, it’s not much of a statement.

Jiang Yanli gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay, Yuanyuan, we know how it is, we’ll take it from here. We know our way around, don’t we, Zixuan?”

“Of course, of course,” his uncle says, then jerks his chin at Jin Ling. “A-Ling, why don’t you go and catch up with A-Yuan? Weren’t you excited to be here?”

“Don’t tease him, love,” Jiang Yanli chides, her eyes too full of amusement to truly come off as stern. “But yes, you boys go take a walk, stretch your legs a little after the flight. Don’t take too long, though! Come back to say hi to da-jiu, okay?”

“Yes, mama,” Jin Ling mutters at the same time Wei Yuan says “Of course, auntie.” With one last glance to check the adults actually did mean it, they leave Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli to give the last of their instructions to their pilot and run back down the hill, leaving only footprints behind.

---

Wei Yuan has to admire his cousin’s poker face, because Jin Ling morphs into an enthusiastic puppy the moment they’re out of earshot. “So! What’s the super duper mysterious thing you couldn’t even text me about?”

“It’s not that I couldn’t, I wanted to tell you in person!” Wei Yuan protests. They settle in his favorite conversation spot, an old, gnarled tree so sturdy it barely moves at all when the two boys climb into it and find comfortable seats where the thickest of its branches meet.

This is when the first tendrils of what feels suspiciously like stage fright begin to curl in his stomach. Don’t be stupid, Wei Yuan chides himself. It’s too late to take it back anyway! With new resolution, he forces himself to grit out : “I think I know who my other father is.”

Jin Ling gasps, clapping both his hands over his mouth. Wei Yuan can’t tell if he’s genuinely surprised or just being dramatic. “For real?”

“I said I think !”

“Well, you can’t just say that and not follow up! Spit it out!”

“You’ve got to promise you’re not gonna snitch on me. Like, I’ll be grounded for life if you do,” Wei Yuan insists.

“Pinky promise.” They both have to lean a dangerous way out of their seats to lace their fingers together, but Wei Yuan does feel a little more reassured when Jin Ling lets go.

“Okay, so,” he starts again, clearing his throat. “We were spring cleaning last year, so I was in charge of doing the attic because Dad said the rest was too messy and he’d do it himself, and I found this box with old sketches in it. I’m not gonna show you, though, it’s pretty private.”

“But you went through them,” Jin Ling points out. “That’s not very private.”

Wei Yuan flushes. “I didn’t know what they were at first! You know how dad is, he doodles all the time and leaves it all over the house.” He spares a thought for eleven-year-old Wei Yuan, who sincerely thought this was just another batch of his father’s mindless drawings. “Okay, get this, I was just sorting through the boxes because auntie A-Qing wanted to clear the space, so I had to throw things out⎯”

---

Wei Yuan blows a layer of dust off an ancient-looking wooden box and immediately chokes, waving his free hand in front of his face in an effort to clear the air. He gives it an experimental rattle, then, when the contents barely make a sound, spends a solid five minutes digging his nails into the hair-thin line that runs across it before he successfully pries it open.

He only barely keeps the dozens of stacked-up sheets from spilling onto the floor. As things are, most of them fall into his lap. Picking one up at random, Wei Yuan immediately recognizes the style. There, in pencil and charcoal, are the same bold strokes his father puts to paper every other day. He would know better than most ; the protagonists of his childhood stories still decorate the walls of his bedroom, lovingly preserved in hand-painted frames.

But while Wei Yuan's collection is a motley group of characters as different from one another as father and son could make them, all these drawings represent the same person : a young man with long black hair and a face as regal as an ancient god's. As Wei Yuan flips through the sheets, he finds the man looking back at him, bent over a book with glasses perched on his nose, tying his hair back with a cloud-patterned ribbon — even one in which he stares straight at the artist, his smile soft and lovely. Wei Yuan looks at that one for a long time before mustering the will to put it away.

Just behind it, he finds the letter.

He can instantly tell if wasn’t written by his father. There’s no trace of Wei Ying’s messy scrawl here, only script so neat it could have been typewritten. He quickly skims through it and⎯

“I can’t read that,” Wei Yuan moans, quickly shoving it in between the sketches again.

He almost wishes it was something saucy. Instead, it feels like peering into the depths of someone’s heart, so intimate he feels like slamming a non-existent door shut and leaving the words to their business.

( He can still see them in his mind. The sun rises in my chest every time I see you. I never want to look away. )

There’s a signature. There, in elegant cursive, is the name Lan Zhan.

“A-Yuan, lunch’s ready!” his father calls from downstairs. Wei Yuan trips to hide the box behind his back before the man in question pokes his head through the hatch, hair full of rogue dust bunnies and sporting a lopsided grin. “C’mon, I made sandwiches.”

When the boy eyes him warily, Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “There’s no pepper in them, I promise. Come down before your auntie gets impatient, though.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, I just want to finish this pile!” Wei Yuan croaks.

“One minute.” Despite the ultimatum, his father winks at him and disappears again. Wei Yuan waits for the sound of his footsteps to fade to let out a sigh of relief.

The box’s content seem to stare back at him. Feeling only slightly guilty, he takes the letter out again and carefully folds it, stuffing it into his pocket before scrambling down the ladder.

---

It’s an entire afternoon of chores before Wei Yuan can excuse himself from the dinner table and climbs the stairs to uncle Wen Ning’s desk two steps at the time, making sure to shut the door behind him before he turns the computer on.

Lan Zhan , he types. The half-second the search results take to load seems to last eternally. His hand almost slips clicking on the top link, a Wikipedia article.

Lan Zhan, courtesy name Lan Wangji, born January 23 1984 in Gusu, China, is a celebrated singer and songwriter. His most successful single, Inquiry , was sold at more than…

Wei Yuan's eyes derail from the text, distracted by the article's picture. There, pale golden eyes glancing away from the camera, is the man from the sketches — older, perhaps, but more than recognizable in his otherworldly beauty.

His heart rate picks up, drumming in his chest. It's him. It's really him. Dad knew this guy. Dad liked him so much he drew him over and over again.

Just like that, Wei Yuan's enthusiasm deflates like a popped balloon.

His father has never shied away from the extravagant tales of his when-I-was-younger shenanigans, as embarrassing as they can get. If he knew someone so famous - no, if he was in love with him, Wei Yuan corrects himself, remembering the letter's gentle words -, wouldn't he have at least mentioned it?

This is how Wei Yuan’s life has always been : to the million-dollar question ( who’s my other dad? ), he’s always received the same answer, be it from his uncles or his aunts.

I don’t know, A-Yuan. Maybe you should ask your father instead.

That, of course, is an inevitable dead end. Wei Ying will ruffle his hair, maybe drop a casual can’t remember, baby, and change the subject. At this point, Wei Yuan has pretty much resigned himself never to get a straight answer from his father.

The screen in front of him seems like an ancient tome holding all the answers he’s looking for, if only he’ll bother to decipher them.

His eyes drift to a cloud-shaped logo, curling around an elegant character he recognizes as the Lan of Lan Wangji’s name. Cloud Recesses Entertainment, Wei Yuan reads. After a long moment spent staring at the computer, he grabs the nearest notepad, tears a page out of it and starts to scroll down the page.

---

“So, let me get this straight,” Jin Ling says slowly. “You found the guy you think is your dad, looked up his family's company, read their entire website, made a new email to write to them like you were an actual advertiser for the hotel and now they're having their company holidays here ?”

When put like that, it certainly sounds more convoluted (and borderline crazy) than Wei Yuan intended it to be. “...Yes?”

“And you couldn’t just invite him personally? Like a normal person?”

“ No! First, I probably wouldn’t even get past his fan mail. Second, what was I supposed to tell him? ‘Hi, I know you and my dad were in love before I was born because I looked through his stuff, and I’d like to know if you’re maybe my father too’? I’d die before I managed to send that!” He pauses to catch his breath. “Maybe he doesn’t even remember dad! Would you remember someone you met thirteen years ago and then never again?”

“I-I don’t know! Maybe?” Jin Ling splutters. “Anyway, da-jiu is gonna kill you when he finds out. Well, not kill you ‘cause he loves you too much, but you did think about that, right?”

“No! I mean...maybe I'm wrong, and it's just a coincidence. But I think I'll know when I talk to him. If he's not my dad, there's no need to tell him, it'd just be embarrassing.”

“So all of this is relying on a couple drawings and a gut feeling? That's what you're gonna use to explain?”

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

Jin Ling throws his hands up. “Really? You masterminded this whole thing and this is where you’re stumped?”

“I tried, okay?” Wei Yuan protests weakly. “Besides, dad’s gonna be so busy with your mom and shushu coming over. Maybe he won’t notice for a while, I can work something out in the meantime…”

“When’s that guy supposed to get here?”

Wei Yuan squints, trying to conjure up the schedule he scribbled in-between some chemistry notes. “Tomorrow, I’m pretty sure. I don’t have to worry about it right now, I guess.”

“More time to plan for your funeral, then.”

“Hilarious, I’m dying of laughter over here,” Wei Yuan deadpans back. “For real, you can’t tell anyone, okay? Not even your mom and dad,” he adds when Jin Ling opens his mouth again.

“Fine!” Though his cousin is wearing his usual pout again, he can tell the message went through alright. “Can we get ice cream now? It’s so hot on your stupid island.”

Wei Yuan stifles a smile, beckoning the other to get up. “Sure. Dad tried his hand at some mulberry thing, it’s pretty good, actually…”

---

“Jiang Cheng! Hey, Jiang Cheng!”

Some of the locals hide an indulgent smile behind their hands as a silhouette in jean overalls runs down the pier, skillfully avoiding crashing into tourists.

At the other end of the wooden boards, Jiang Cheng runs a hand down his face. The person behind him shakes silently, as if trying to repress a giggle and failing.

Wei Ying stops in front of the couple, beaming, before holding out his arms. Despite his apparent exasperation, Jiang Cheng steps into the hug all the same, though his expression turns long-suffering when his brother gives his back a vigorous rub.

As Wei Ying pulls away, his eyes drift to the other figure and immediately crinkle at the corners. “Huaisang! So you’re the mysterious plus one! What was it like riding the ferry like the rest of us?”

“Exotic,” Nie Huaisang sighs, which sends both of them into a fit of hysterics.

A few feet away, someone whispers, “Wait, Huaisang as in Nie Huaisang ? From the Untamed?”

“Yeah, but no pics, please!” Wei Ying chirps at the tittering tourists. “Leave my guy some privacy, he’s on holidays!”

“He’s not that worried about privacy,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “I had to stop him from posting about us on every available account he has for three months.”

Wei Ying gapes. “Three months? You’ve been together for three months and you didn’t tell me about it? Jiang Cheng,” he sighs, pressing a hand to his heart as if covering a mortal wound, “I thought you were my brother.”

“He was hiding it from you in particular,” Nie Huaisang oh-so-helpfully points out, then snaps his fan open. “Said you couldn’t be trusted to keep it on the down low.” Wei Ying has the distinct impression he’s concealing a shit-eating grin.

“I’ve been mortally wounded,” Wei Ying moans, and dramatically collapses into Jiang Cheng’s arms, who pushes him back upright while swearing under his breath.

The episode might have turned into a small brawl right there on the pier, if not for Nie Huaisang’s T-shirt.

“Oh my God, you still have it!” Wei Ying all but squeals, grabbing the other man by the shoulders and pulling away his fan to inspect his outfit. “It's the original logo, right?”

Nie Huaisang proudly tugs on the lapels of his sheer jacket to show off the shirt beneath. “The one I drew in professor Hua's class? Yup.”

Wei Ying heaves a sigh, running his fingers over each ray of the sun-shaped logo. Suddenly, he’s back in college, and Nie Huaisang just texted him a rough sketch of their band’s design, oblivious to his art professor’s shadow over his shoulder. “Holy shit, I miss Sunshot. Remember that stunt we pulled at graduation?”

“My brother was on my ass about it for a whole year after that,” Nie Huaisang shrugs, then snaps his fingers. “It was so worth it, though.”

“Right? Jiang Cheng, aren’t you mad you didn’t do it with us?”

The interested party crosses his arms, glare barely suppressing the smile tugging at his mouth. “Making a show of yourselves like that? No.”

“Your loss, didi.”

Nie Huaisang snickers. “Don’t listen to him, he brought the shirt too.”

“I’ve had enough of you two,” Jiang Cheng gripes. “Is A-Jie here already? I miss having someone sensible around.”

“She and the peacock arrived this morning.” Wei Wuxian stretches languidly, shooting his brother a wide grin. “I’d come and hang out, but I’ve got some murals to redo before the next group gets here and they’re not gonna paint themselves.”

Jiang Cheng mutters something that sounds a suspicious lot like good riddance , but doesn’t pull away when Wei Ying loops an arm around his shoulders. “I missed you, though! Facetime’s not the same, you know?”

His brother seems to brace himself, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Mom and Dad want you over for Christmas. You and A-Yuan. We can see each other then.”

Slowly, Wei Ying untangles himself from their half-embrace. “They do?” The unspoken question hangs between them : even Mom ?

“Yeah. They’ll probably call you themselves, but I thought I’d give you a heads up.”

Wei Ying’s heart feels warmer than before. In a characteristic display of older sibling assholishness, he ignores the soft, marshmallow-y fondness and reaches for Jiang Cheng to ruffle his hair. “Aww! Thanks, A-Cheng, that’s so sweet of you.”

“How do I ever put up with you?”

Nie Huaisang’s voice snaps them both back into reality. The actor waves his fan at them, smile playing at his lips. “Very tender, heartwarming, yadda yadda. Can we do this somewhere with AC, though? I’m sweating bullets here.”

“Alright, alright, can’t make the superstar wait! Gimme that.” Wei Ying barely waits for assent before grabbing Nie Huaisang’s suitcases, wincing at their weight before pulling them up the slope and toward his car.

“What about me?” Jiang Cheng asks as he readjusts his grip on his own luggage and follows suit.

Wei Ying barely turns back. “What about you? You know the way, didi, carry it yourself.”

“You -”

Jiang Cheng’s outraged protests and his companions’ laughter seems to linger long after the jeep has left nothing but dust in its wake.

Three months ago

The telephone rings, shrill and ears-piercing. Wen Ning picks it up almost as second nature, mechanically bringing it to his ear as he flips through their latest batch of flyers. “Lotus Pier Resort, what can I do for you?”

A few awkward seconds of silence pass. He pats around his desk for a pen, drops it to the floor, and attempts to maintain a more-or-less steady voice as he crawls around on the carpet to find it again. “Ah, yes. Your flight got delayed? By how long?”

The scritch of his newly-retrieved pen on the nearest post-it. “If we can change your reservation? Um...it’s half a day, I’ll see what I can do. If necessary, will you mind different arrangements for the time being? I’ll talk to other hotels in the area, but I don’t think it’ll come to that...”

A pause.

“Okay, to confirm, this is Luo Qingyang, calling for Cloud Recesses Entertainment…?”

Present days

Wei Ying wipes his forehead, further smearing green acrylic across his face. He’s been at it all day since dropping off Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang in their room, but at least the mural is nearly done. The couple’s features are nothing special, but he likes to think he did a good job at depicting their emotions. One of the silhouettes smiles wide and contagious at the other, half-turning back with their hand held out.

It took him the better part of the afternoon just to paint the field of flowers they’re standing in, though. Even after more than a decade on this island, the heat’s still making him melt on the daily. Just a few more details , he tells himself, then I can go get myself a fresh drink.

The chatter of new guests making their way up to the lobby makes his head turn. Oh right, the group’s arriving today. They really do look like rich tourists, in their all-white outfits and⎯

Wait.

Wei Ying swallows thickly. This stirs up memories of another figure in white, which doesn’t hurt any less, even after thirteen-odd years.

It’s just a coincidence. Normal company-organized holidays, Wen Qing said. Nothing to worry about.

He looks again, and meets the gaze of the man at the forefront of the group. The other’s eyes (molten gold, bright as sunlight and most of all familiar ) widen ever so slightly, and Wei Ying almost falls off the ladder.

He catches himself just in time, sweaty and paint-slicked palms slipping on the rails, and resists the urge to let go again just to hide his face in his hands.

This is the worst. God, why him of all people?

Why, of all guests getting on and off the island all summer - as they have for years -, did it have to be Lan Zhan ?

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mdzs fic #kim's fics #mm!au

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politicallycorrectinnocentteen · 5 years

Text

Payback (Part 1 of 2)

Title – Payback (Part 1 of 2)

Summary – What are the things we pay back? Money ? Revenge? Love?

“Taken aback, she noticed at his face. His face was sweating, slightly red…tensed and hesitating.

Oh no…

She had read about it. She had read about this infamous love triangle everywhere! On fanfictions, on tumblr, on tacebook, on toogle – everywhere! These…these signs were clear. Before destiny could reveal what it wrote for them, Danni already knew what is going to happen. Something which she did not - but should have - expected, has happened.

No…Really?

She froze as she saw Parker closing in the distance between their faces”

Pairing : ?????? x ????? x ?????

Words – ~1100

Hey lovelies <3 , dont forget to comment if you like it :D

---------------x--------------x----------

Danni groaned as the grey clouds roared above her head. It was Vance’s birthday and there she was – almost running late and dead tired. Why, you may ask? After all, what is there which could drive The Queen, Danni Asturias, to the edge?

It was very common knowledge on how much Vance loved – or rather worshipped chocolates. In the town next door, they suddenly started selling some new variety of chocolates, which soon became the talk of Pine Springs. The customers at Compass Café, her colleagues taking a piece and moaning in pleasure till eternity – that’s when she decided to march off to her co-workers and snatch a piece to taste herself. They already hated her, so there was nothing at all to lose. And man! The way the chocolate just melted in her mouth with the sweet, thick chocolaty flavor drove her to bliss.

She had to get those for Vance. Even if it meant waking up at 4:30 am in the morning, or jogging for over 10 km to the town next door, or waiting for another hour hungry for the store to open, or fighting the crowd like the Legendary Courtesans of Rome in Arena, or running back hungry to Vance’s place so she does not miss anything out – even at the risk of getting perfectly drenched in rain.

But it will be so, so, so worth it.

She stared at her present, neatly gift-wrapped in an heart shaped box. Just imagining the chocolaty flavour-

GRRRRRRRUMPPPPPPPPP

She was distracted by the sharp grumble in her stomach. With a new determination of reaching Vance’s house – to get both Vance’s heart and good food, she increased her pace. And that’s exactly when a familiar jeep drove past her and stopped in front of her.

“Parker?!” Danni gasped, instantly narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

“Danni?!” Parker gasped in return, “Did not expect to find you here out of all places.” He then gave her than fucking smug and confident smile, which boiled her blood till the very last drop. “I thought you’d be already at the party.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Danni glared at her, and he instantly raised his hands in surrender.

“You know, I heard about some divine chocolates being sold in this town, and thought they’d be perfect for Vance-“

Aha! Her suspicion was correct!

“But they went out of stock! I was waiting since afternoon!” Parker cried. “Can you imagine that? Since afternoon!”

Rookie. Danni smugly thought.

“…Whats that in your hands though?”

Danni yelped in surprise as she was pulled back to reality. She didn’t notice when Parker came in and stood just in front of her, eyeing the present of hers.

“This is heaven.” Danni smiled, “ The divine bliss God created only for the most fortunate creation’s of his-“

“These are those special chocolates, right?”

“….Yes”

Danni nodded, and then turned up to look smugly at Parker.

“The same chocolates you failed to get for Vance.” She chirped, “He’d be so happy to see them” She put a finger on her chin, as if thinking, “And he’d probably blast out of happiness when he taste’s them-“

“How did you get those?”

“Because,” Danni rolled her eyes as if stating the most obvious universal fact in the world, “I was waiting in the queue since morning. Morning 7 AM.”

“Oh…I see.”

That was not a response Danni was expecting. She thought Parker would get frustrated, tensed, worried, kick his jeep in frustration and probably puncture it being the moron he was, scream, cry, beg her to give him chocolates – or anything which was Parker’ish.

But perhaps…perhaps he was got a grain of wisdom in that thickhead of his’ ? Perhaps he did realize that Danni is the perfect one for Vance and not him? Perhaps he admitted defeat?

“How much did they cost you though?” Parker asked.

Danni’s eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion.

“Hey! I-I am just asking…” he trailed off, “They seem pretty expensive…”

“Obviously!” Danni smirked, “A hundred dollars!”

“And if we, hypothetically,” he stressed, “ order them from Pine Springs, then it’d be at least 20 dollars for delivery…?”

Danni struggled to stifle a laughter.

“Twenty? More life fifty!” Danni laughed, “And forget getting chocolates delivered to Pine Springs Officer Buzzkill,” She smugly smiled, “Because they are all out of stock.”

Parker bit his lip in thought.

A minute passed by, then another, and another. Another sharp pain at her tummy reminded her of her unpleasant situation. And that Officer Moron standing there like a statue did not help her either. Thats when her attention fell to the lively, rumbling jeep.

Its just a twenty minute journey to Vance’s house on it…

Now she bit her lip.

“Parker…” she said. Heck, she never thought she’d see such desperate times.

“Huh…?”

“You’re going to Vance right?”

“Yes...”

“Would you mind giving me a lift?”

She tried to give her best bestestestest-friend smile to him... It did not seem to work.

Parker seemed in another world again, thinking of God knows what.

She waited, tapping her foot impatiently. She waited…waited….waited…AND waited…and when she felt she could wait no more…she waited still….and then even more…and more.

Finally, when the last straw of her patience fell out, when she was about to burst like an erupting volcano on our poor Parker, he held her by the arms.

Taken aback, she noticed at his face. His face was sweating, slightly red…tensed and hesitating.

Oh no…

She had read about it. She had read about this infamous love triangle everywhere! On fanfictions, on tumblr, on tacebook, on toogle – everywhere! These…these signs were clear. Before destiny could reveal what it wrote for them, she already knew what is going to happen. Something which she did not - but should have - expected, has happened.

No…Really?

She froze as she saw Parker closing in the distance between their faces, his luscious lips going to her ear.

Oh no…this is the moment!

He is going to say those three words to her. He is going to confess to her.

No...what…how?

She never thought of him like that. He was more like a friend, and a competitor to her. But that’s also where love sprouted at, in all the fanfictions she read-

She could feel Parker’s breath falling on her neck as his enormous, studdy and muscular frame covered her like a cloud covering the sun.

She felt him pass something to her hand. Something…paper’ish

A love note?

Frozen in shock, her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

Why was it thumping that way?

What was she feeling?

The little feelings she could mutter in her heart were that of sorrow. She felt sorry for Parker because they both know how much she loved Vance.

She felt a jolt run down her heart as Parker’s lips opened to say something. But fate was already sealed. She had already played this scenario a thousand times in her head, and in each time she could see herself with only Vance and no one el-

“Sorry.”

Wait WHAT?

She felt a heavy tug and the next thing she knew was that Parker snatched the chocolates from her and was now driving his jeep to Vance’s house.

Dumbstruck, she looked at the paper he gave her. One fifty dollars. He stole those chocolates for a hundred and fifty dollars. And he did not give her lift either…

…

“PARKER YOU SON OF B*@!#”

Her shout cracked through the loud thunder, which was immediately followed by a torrential downpour of rain.

Parker is going to pay. He is going to pay with his dear life…

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

Tags - @brightpinkpeppercorn , @bhavf @pixieferry @scrappysheep (I miss you since you deactivated your acc </3) @hotchocolatelovesyou @fluffy-cat-whisper @strangerofbraidwood @strangelycami @sherjules

#Parker Shaw #parker x mc #danni x mc #danni asturias #Vance #it lives 2 #it lives series #it lives beneath #ILB #choices ilb

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chuffyfan87 · 4 years

Text

Hiding. Part 65a (NSFW)

Cowritten with @disastrousintention.

-x-

Today was Peter’s sixteenth birthday and it didn’t seem like two minutes that he was this little baby that Charlie held for the first time. How the hell did he get to sixteen already?

Despite being the birthday boy Peter was still in bed whilst everyone else was awake downstairs.

Charlie wrapped his arms around Duffy’s waist as they were the only two in the kitchen. “Duffy Fairhead, you’re very sexy this morning.” He whispered in her ear as he licked her earlobe.

"Charlie behave yourself!" She giggled, feeling his hand squeeze her bottom.

“I can’t help it.” He murmured.

"So I've noticed." She smirked as she turned in his arms to face him, resting back against the worktop.

His hands squeezed her breasts.

A soft moan escaped her lips as her fingers played with the collar of his dressing gown.

He did it again, “So perfect.” He mumbled as his hands travelled further down her body. “You’re perfect.” He whispered as his hands went lower down her body. “So sexy!”

After three months of appointments with an eating disorder specialist and two months of appointments with the counsellor Duffy was beginning to feel more comfortable and confident in herself physically.

Charlie was pleased it seemed to be working, that her sparkle was coming back. And her new found confidence was incredibly sexy in the bedroom department.

Duffy wrapped her arms around Charlie's neck as they kissed.

Charlie ran his hands up her thighs as he deepened the kiss.

Duffy pulled back as she heard loud, thudding footsteps on the stairs.

“Peter’s awake.”

"So it would seem. That'll please the twins, they really want him to open the present they got him."

He smiled brightly, “How do we have a sixteen year old son?”

Duffy sighed dramatically as she lent back against the worktop. "Urgh, don't remind me! I feel old enough as it is!"

“You feel old? How old do you think I feel?”

"Practically decrepid?" She giggled.

“Pretty much.” He kissed her nose as Peter came downstairs. He held her hand and dragged her back to the living room.

"Happy birthday Peter." Duffy smiled as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Thanks mum.” He smiled as he hugged his mum and then his dad, who also said happy birthday.

"I was just telling your father that now you're sixteen he's officially decrepid!" She giggled.

Peter chuckled softly, “I’m inclined to agree with mum on this one.”

Duffy grinned triumphantly. "I knew I'd raised smart children!" She couldn't resist poking her tongue out at her husband.

Charlie slapped Duffy’s bum playfully.

“Urgh!! Gross.” Peter replied, rolling his eyes as he wandered into the lounge.

"I get the impression that our son doesn't approve of his decrepid father feeling up his eternally youthful mother!" Duffy giggled as she followed Peter to join the others in the lounge.

“Well it’s a good job he doesn’t know what else his decrepid father gets up to with his eternally youthful mother, isn’t it?” He slapped her bum again.

"Charlie! Behave!" She giggled.

“I am behaving.”

"And for your information, Peter is well aware of what you get up to!" She smirked.

“Oh is he?” He smirked, “Why would that be?”

"We're too noisy apparently." She whispered before sitting down on the sofa.

He sat beside her and lent forward and whispered in her ear, “Correction, you’re too loud when you’re filled with my cock.”

She dug her elbow into Charlie's ribs before turning her attention to the children.

He briefly rubbed her inner thigh.

Peter sat down on the floor and began to open his birthday presents - starting off with the present from the twins.

They'd bought him two new tshirts which they'd gone to the shop and picked themselves. "Do you like them?" Tilly asked. "If you don't blame Lottie. If you do then it was me." She grinned.

“Hey! Not fair!” Lottie replied, “We brought them together!”

"Actually..." Tilly began dramatically, "We picked one each so whichever one you don't like is the one Lottie picked!"

“Girls, I love them both! Thank you.” Peter said.

Lottie rolled her eyes, “Such a drama queen!” She muttered under her breath about Tilly.

"My turn next!" Jake declared holding out a package to his brother.

Peter took the present from Jake. “Thanks.” He opened it.

Jake had brought his brother the new album by Peter's favourite band.

Peter grinned. “You did good, thanks Bro.” He ruffled Jake’s hair and laughed.

"Urgh!" Jake complained, trying to smooth his hair back down.

Emily gently stepped towards Peter with her present.

She'd drawn him a picture that her parents had placed in a frame. Though only seven and struggling in some aspects of her schooling Emily excelled at drawing and painting.

He smiled, “I love it Em! Thank you.” Peter said as he stroked his fingers along the photo frame.

"I used the pencils and paints you got me for my birthday." She smiled.

“You did?” He smiled.

She nodded. "And the special paper mama and daddy got me."

“I really love your picture Emmy! You’re very good at art, aren’t you?”

Emily grinned, blushing at her big brother's compliment.

It was a beautiful sight to see Emily looking so happy! Louis handed Peter a present with a smile.

"I hope you like it."

Peter slowly unwrapped the present, wondering what was inside.

Louis had bought Peter some pens and notebooks that his brother could use to help with revising for his upcoming GCSEs. He hadn't really been sure what to get as, although it was coming up to a year since he'd permanently moved in with his siblings, he was still getting to know them properly after having not spent a huge amount of time with them growing up.

“Thanks Louis, these will come in handy for all the exams I have to revise for!”

Louis smiled, glad that he'd gotten it right.

Peter put them down in a pile next to his other stuff.

Duffy handed Peter a small package. "This is from Oliver."

Peter smiled as, once more, he opened the package he’d received.

Oliver, with the help of his parents, had bought Peter a mug that declared him to be the "best big brother".

Peter laughed softly, “Thanks Oli!”

Oliver babbled as he crawled over to Peter.

Peter held his arms out for Oli.

Oli babbled excitedly as he crawled into Peter's lap.

Peter picked him up. “You’re getting so big!”

Oli giggled, waving his arms and legs in the air.

Peter smiled as he held Oli in his arms. He absolutely adored his siblings - even if he did grumble about them sometimes.

Duffy cast her eyes over the room. The twins were poking each other, Emily was staring out the window off goodness knows where in her imagination, and Louis was chatting quietly with Jake.

“This is your present from me and your mum.” Charlie handed Peter a large gift bag which contained several wrapped items.

"Please let it be an Xbox, please let it be an Xbox!" Peter mumbled under his breath.

There wasn’t an Xbox in the gift bag. There was some chocolates, a bottle of aftershave, a few toiletries and an envelope with something in it. “I need to go and check on something.” Charlie said as he scooped up Oli and left the room. He headed upstairs.

Peter looked at his mum for an explanation but all she did was shrug.

Charlie came back downstairs a few minutes later. He wasn’t gone for any longer than five minutes. Oli was giggling. Charlie did buy Peter the Xbox and had left it on Peter’s bed, he’d just taken it out of the wardrobe they’d hidden it in.

Peter shot his dad a bemused look and started to open the envelope.

It was for a gig of the band he was mad about at the minute. Two tickets.

Peter's jaw dropped. "I thought you said these had all sold out?"

“They were. After your mum and I brought these two tickets.”

"I can't wait to tell Sarah!"

Charlie smiled, “Do you like them then?”

"Yeh!" Peter grinned.

“Good.”

"Right everyone, time to get dressed, we have a party to prepare for." Duffy told the kids.

“Yay!!!” The children said loudly.

Later that afternoon the family arrived at the restaurant they'd hired out for the party ready to decorate before heading home again to get changed.

Duffy headed back into the bedroom from the bathroom. "What do you think? Will I do?" She asked as she did a twirl.

“You look stunning!” Charlie replied as he cast his eyes over her.

"Not bad for a mother of a sixteen year old!" She pulled a face as she smoothed down the little black dress she wore. Her hair was half up and curled, two little ringlets framing her face that was fully made up.

“Very sexy! And beautiful!” Charlie replied.

"Right, come on handsome, time to round up the chaos crew!" She giggled.

“Chaos Crew birthed by chaotic mother and father, it’s no wonder.” He grinned. “Wouldn’t change our babies for the world.”

"I don't think anyone else would have them even if we tried!" She laughed.

“No that’s true.” His hands couldn’t help but follow her curves in the dress she was wearing.

"Hands to yourself Charlie boy!"

“I’m only touching.” He pouted.

"We both know what 'only touching' leads to..." She remarked as she made her way downstairs.

“Fucking.” He whispered as he followed her downstairs.

"And I think that sort of thing is generally disapproved of at your child's birthday party!" She giggled.

“We’ll just have to wait until later then won’t we?”

"If you can wait that long!" She teased before turning her attention to Peter who was fiddling with his hair in the hallway mirror. "Someone's aiming to impress tonight!" She smiled.

“My eyes are firmly on Sarah.” He replied. “Do l look ok?” Peter asked.

"You look very handsome." Duffy smiled.

He blushed, “Thanks mum.”

"And will I do? Wouldn't want to embarrass you at your big party."

“You look really good mum! Beautiful!”

"Thought I'd best make an effort for my baby's sixteenth birthday party."

He pulled a face, “Mum! I’m not a baby anymore but I guess I will be to you and dad, won’t I?” He rolled his eyes and then laughed.

"You will always be my precious blue eyed baby boy no matter how old you get."

Peter laughed, “Thanks mum.”

"We need to round up your siblings before the taxi arrives."

“I’ll give you a hand.”

"Thanks."

Between the three of them they managed to get everyone sorted with coats and shoes so they were all in the hallway as the taxi beeped its horn outside.

“Headcount before we leave.” Charlie chuckled, counting the children so no-one got left behind.

Once in the taxi Charlie’s hands began to wander again.

Duffy slapped away his hands. "Charlie!" She hissed, though her lips held a wicked grin.

“It’s your fault.” He protested with a grin.

"What have I done now?" She asked as the taxi arrived at the venue. She stepped out and lent into the back to get Oliver from his car seat. She smiled as she knew exactly what was going to happen next, she was lent over with her bottom right in Charlie's eyeline afterall.

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

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beewaggle · 6 years

Note

For the Bad Things Bingo- strapped to a chair, forced to watch, and betrayal with Tucker?

Summary: Temple wants to drive the point home. Characters: Tucker, Temple, Agent WashingtonRating: T+Pairing: Gen, Tucker & Agent WashingtonWarnings: Violence, Use of electric shock, canonical torture (locked armor), also Temple is pretty dark in this.BTHB: Forced to Watch

“Do your worst asshole!” Tucker hissed. He furiously tugged at his restraints, but even all his training he couldn’t break metal. He could hear Wash’s disapproving voice in his head about skipping weight training. Yeah, okay asshole, you win, more strength training…

As soon as they got out of this.

Temple circled around him slowly, in that practiced way of his that was starting to drive Tucker crazy. It was a show, all a sick show to this guy. Everything he said was a line from a cheesy action movie.

And he had trusted him. Why the fuck had he trusted him?

“Oh, I’m not planning to hurt you, Tucker. Why would I? What have you done to me?” Temple stopped in front of him. His arms were crossed.

“Then what are you doing?” Tucker growled.

Temple backed up a bit and leaned against the wall staring at him a little too long between words. “The truth is, Tucker, you really piss me off.”

“Good, cockbite!”

“Not so much your … colourful demeanor. I was talking about your naivete. The same situations, the same humiliations, Blood Gulch was a rerun. A best of reel. All the shitty things Freelancer and the UNSC did to us they did to you.”

“Yeah and we’re not complete dicks.”

“You joined the Freelancers, actually no, worse, you took them in, like making the rabid wolf that tore your village apart your pet. You made one of them Blue Team leader, you… you have no clue about these people, do you?”

“Wash and Carolina are my friends. They’re good people.”

“Do you know how many innocent people died because of your friends?” Temple asked. Why did he have to be Church’s colour? Even years later Church was still a ghost.

“Where are they?” Tucker asked. He felt it in his stomach, something bad was about to happen. Something bad was about to happen because he had trusted them, because they were like them. Because he was the same colour as Church. Because what they were saying… made a lot of sense at the time.

*Freckles! Shake!*

“Agent Carolina…” Temple held up a remote control, the wall he was leaning against turned into a split screen. Half of it showed Carolina, just… standing. And there were a bunch of other people in freelancer looking armor with her. But it was paused, a freeze frame.

“Her and I go a ways back, so she’s not going to be part of the lesson, but I thought you’d like to see her one last time. It’s terrible when you can’t say goodbye to a friend you’re about to lose,” Temple stared off into space for a few minutes.

Tucker gritted his teeth. “If you try anything she won’t need me to kick your ass she can do it herself!”

“Heh, I’d like to see her try.” Temple clicked the remote again.

It was Wash, but his side of the screen wasn’t frozen. He was moving. Out of armor, looking around furiously and taking a defensive stance.

“How good is ‘blue team leader?’” Temple asked. He turned to the screen as well now.

And then a red soldier showed up on screen. Tucker tensed. The soldier wasn’t holding a gun but he was approaching Wash fast.

Tucker watched Wash skillfully dodge and weave, but his head was still turning now and again to something off screen. A blue soldier soon joined the red.

Temple’s laughter was hollow. “How many people courtesy of the UNSC do you think he kicked the shit out of to get that good?”

“Stop it.” Tucker said. He looked up at Temple. “Whatever this is, whatever you’re trying to teach me, just… just stop. I get it, the freelancers were shitty. They did bad stuff. You don’t need to convince me of it.”

Temple pressed his finger to his helmet. “Send in a few more.”

More soldiers in blue and red appeared and Wash was getting overwhelmed now. Two of those losers hadn’t been too much trouble, but three, four, five? Wash was missing blocks now, he was getting cornered.

“I do think I need to convince you of it.”

“It’s not a fair fight!” Tucker yelled. “Fuck you man!”

“It’s perfectly fair!” Temple swerved, his helmet covered what must have been a vicious scowle. “I’m giving him as much of a chance as the UNSC gave us! You survived what was inflicted on you, didn’t you? What’s to say Washington can’t fight off six fully armored space marines?”

Wash viciously grabbed one of the Blue’s heads and pounded it straight into a red. They both collapsed in a heap.

“Yeah!” Tucker cheered.

Temple turned back to the screen and snorted in frustration.

“The test subject is doing better than I thought,” Temple said cooly.

“He’s not a test subject you fucker!” Tucker strained at his bonds again. Fuck this. Fuck this!

“So I guess that means we can move it up a level, that’s in the spirit of the project after all, right?” He pressed his helmet. “Go to phase two.”

Yet more people came on the scene but now they had sticks crackling with electricity.

“Shit, stop!!”

Wash caught one in the side and silently screamed falling to his knees.

“Stop it!” Tucker yelled.

“Why?” Temple asked. “Do you think Freelancer stopped when we asked them to?”

“How are you any better right now!?”

Temple chuckled. “I think you’re misunderstanding, Tucker. You see, I’m not. Being better that is. Do I think my revenge is justified? Deserved? Yes. I will rain fire down upon those that have wronged me. I will destroy all that they have built. But, do I think my actions are better than theirs? More pure in intent? Good?”

Temple walked around him, leaned his hands on the back of Tucker’s chair.

“No. I’m the villain now. I’m the one doing the hurting.” He leaned down and whispered into his ear. “And I’m going to make them hurt so goddamn much for what they did to me.”

“Stop it. Stop it!” Tucker felt panic rise. Wash couldn’t dodge now. They kept hitting him over and over again.

Then he realized. Both split screens had the time on the bottom right corner… and Carolina’s was ticking in sync with Wash’s which would mean…

“Wh–what did you do to her?”

“Oh! You noticed? She’s fine. She’s only been there a day. Armor lock only gets really bad once you hit the three day mark. I even let her watch the show. Her and the corpses of the other Freelancers.”

“Oh god. Temple. You need to stop this.”

“No. I really don’t.”

“Please, whatever you want. Just stop. Stop!”

Wash was on the ground now prone and they were still beating him. He shook from the electrical shocks running up and down his body.

“I don’t need anything from you, Tucker.”

“Then what the FUCK is this!?” Tucker yelled.

Wash pulled himself up, shakily kicked out, looked off screen again.

“You’re part of the entertainment. You see, he can see you too.”

Tucker heard the telltale click of the remote, a third screen came up, it was Tucker and Temple. Temple waved.

“He gets to choose, and this is a very generous choice, we never got this choice. He can get on his knees and take his beating like a good super soldier, or you can take his place. Say hi if you want, he can hear us.”

“Wash!” Tucker yelled. “Wash. I’ll do it. You can’t take much more, I’ll–”

Wash was cornered again. He looked into the camera and shook his head.

“Don’t you dare!” Tucker yelled. “You asshole don’t you fucking–”

“What is he doing?” Temple muttered.

Wash said something and then knelt on the ground, eyes defiant.

“He actually…” Temple trailed off.

“Wash!!!” Tucker screamed.

“Go to town,” Temple said. He was agitated now. Tucker watch as the blues and reds smashed their electrified batons down on Wash’s shoulders and back while Wash did his damndest not to show how painful it was.

Temple started pacing, tapping his fingers. He wasn’t watching anymore, but all Tucker could do was watch. Carolina had been frozen for twenty four hours and Wash was being beaten to death by these maniacs and all he could do was watch.

It felt like an eternity. Tears flooded Tucker’s eyes. It was his fault. He had trusted Temple. He had trusted the Blues and Reds, he had thought they were just like them.

But they had just been a means to an end. To find their Freelancers, their friends, and hurt them.

“That’s enough. I don’t want him dead yet,” Temple said after far too long. Wash was on the floor.

“Wash,” Tucker choked. “Wash?”

Wash slowly tried lifting his head, but he collapsed, unable to move.

“Put him back in his armor and prop him up next to Carolina. I’m sure she’s getting lonely. I guess I was wrong. You really are his friend, huh?”

“He’s a good man, they’re both good. Please!”

“I told you Tucker, I’m the villain now. I think your estimation of how good you friend is is incorrect, even so now, this war has already torn apart innocent good decent people. Not because they were fighting aliens, not because they were were sacrificed for the greater good. They were monkeys. Test subjects. Good people that the UNSC didn’t give a shit about and sold to Freelancer to get tortured, not by the enemy but their own army. You were one of those people. The man you see before you was a weapon used against his own kind, and he was aware of it. He knew simulation troopers weren’t volunteers. Finally seeing us as human now doesn’t erase anything. I was hoping to show you he wasn’t worth your loyalty, but I can see that it won’t work. You’re friends!” Temple laughed at this, a strange broken sound. “And friendship is a beautiful unbreakable thing. Till death do you part you might say. I’m going to kill your two friends there, Tucker, and I know that telling you it’s not personal between the two of us won’t change a damn thing, but it really isn’t.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Tucker promised. “I won’t forget what you did here. I will fucking kill you.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Temple said tiredly. “Lock Tucker up with the others, we’re done here.”

#tucker rvb #lavernius tucker #agent washington #bad things happen bingo #blue's bthb #electric shock cw #torture cw #violence cw #magicalbluelightning #rvb #red vs blue

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gokailyger84 · 6 years

Note

prompt: in-universe where danny gets really sad about something and ninja brian is trying to comfort him but isn't very good at it

I kind of did this a bit differently than what was requested

Ninja Bri/an was sitting on the recliner in the living room,when Danny walked in.

Looking up from the new ninjutsu scroll he had “acquired”recently, he couldn’t help but frown.

Danny trudged in, hair a mess, kimono undone, flappingloosely around his thin frame. His dinoboxer briefs on full display and a half-gallon of ice cream under his arm.

“Mornin’ Bri.” Hemuttered, plopping down on the couch and plunging a spoon into the container ofice cream.

He looked pitiful.

Ninja Bri/an went back to reading his scroll, trying andfailing to ignore the slight whimpering coming from his partner as he ate.

Danny was heartbroken.

His girlfriend of two months had unexpectedly broke up withhim a week ago. Danny and Ninja Bri/anhad both been taken by surprise.

After all, Danny’s girlfriends usually lasted, at most, afew weeks. To make it two whole monthswas quite the feat for him.

Ninja Bri/an knew that most women got fed up with Dannypretty quickly. He had a tendency tocome off as shallow and oblivious.

At least, on the surface.

If they stuck with him, they would come to know theDanny that Ninja Bri/an knew. The onewho could be sincere, loyal and loving.

That was part of the reason that Ninja Bri/an stayed at his side.

While Danny’s antics could get annoying, he also balanced Ninja Bri/anout.

His optimism with Ninja Bri/an’scynicism. His peaceful nature comparedto Ninja Bri/an’s aggressive one.

All in all, he helped Ninja Bri/an hold on to hissanity.

Ninja Bri/an had took adevastating blow, mentally and emotionally after they had deserted their Ninjaclans. Trained from a child to be anunfeeling killing machine. It was all heknew. Without someone to give himmissions to carry out, he no longer knew what his purpose was.

Deciding to leave with Danny had been an out of character,spur of the moment decision. He had noidea what he was doing.

If not for Danny, he may have lost himself.

Danny gave him a reason to keep going.

Now, Ninja Bri/an had developed into his own person. No longer a blank slate, robotic tool, forothers to order around and use.

He had found a talent for music composition. A fondness forcats. A hobby of knitting. Ninja Bri/an was still discovering knewthings every day.

Including confusing, budding emotions towards the one he hadto thank for his new lease on life.

He was eternally indebted to Danny.

But ever since the breakup, Danny had been in a spiraling depressivestate.

Not leaving the house, barely eating. Lying in bed or on the couch for hours at atime, staring at nothing.

Ninja Bri/an wasn’t sure what to do. He knew this wasn’t healthy and that Danny’sstate would continue to deteriorate.

But what could he do?

——————————————————

Danny dropped the half empty container of ice cream onto thefloor and laid down across the length of the couch with a groan.

The tv continuously droned in thebackground. He just stared at it, eyesunseeing. Just meaningless flashingimages before his eyes.

Why?

Why did she leave him?

A question that plagued Danny for the past week.

He thought everything was going well. He’d never had a girlfriend for so long.

Danny thought she was the one.

What did he do wrong?

Danny’s frown deepened as he felt a tingle in the back ofhis mind.

“Danny?”

Tilting his head, Danny could see Ninja Bri/an standing atthe edge of the couch.

His eyes widened as he continued to stare at his longtimepartner.

Instead of his usual black gi, Ninja Bri/an was wearing abutton down blue shirt and washed out gray jeans. He had even shaved and combed his hair.

In his hands was a cliché picnic basket with a checkered redand white cloth over the top.

Ninja Bri/an looked down, a blush forming on hischeeks.

“Um…would you like to,uh, go on a picnic…with…me?” Henervously asked.

Danny just continued to stare. Unable to hide his surprise.

“Danny?”

Danny blinked.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Danny thought itover.

Despite the obvious effort he could see Ninja Bri/an had putinto his offer, Danny was not feeling it. He didn’t want to go anywhere. Just stay at home and mourn his still bleeding heart.

But there was a part of him that perked atgoing out with Ninja Bri/an.

Danny paused. Thatmade it sound like a date. The lastthing he wanted right now. But he knewthat wasn’t what Ninja Bri/an was offering.

Not wanting to dismiss his partner’s rare concern, Dannynodded, standing up and stretching his stiff muscles.

“Sure, Bri. Just letme throw something on real quick.”

———————————————————-

The picnic had turned out to be a lot of fun. Danny was surprised at how much he was enjoyinghimself.

He and Ninja Bri/an sitting on a blanket beneath a large tree in anearby park. The weather was actuallynice, with a cool breeze blowing in the shade. It was very relaxing. HelpedDanny take his mind off his sorrow for a moment.

And Ninja Bri/an had probably talked more in that hour and ahalf then he had in the past month alone. They talked about everything and nothing as they ate Ninja Bri/an’s homecooked meals that Danny couldn’t help but notice were all his favorites. Ninja Bri/an had really went all out.

Save for an incident with a grasshopper, where Ninja Bri/an’sfiercely guarded phobia was on full display and Danny had to get rid of thesmall intruder and calm Ninja Bri/an down, it was nice.

Danny had a great time and told Ninja Bri/an as such, whowas still obviously embarrassed over the bug situation.

—————————————-

Over the next several days, Danny spent most of his timewith Ninja Bri/an, instead of moping around the house like he had been.

Ninja Bri/an had listened to Danny as he bemoaned hiswoes. Pouring his heart out over hislost love and wondering if he’d ever find the right person for him. Ninja Bri/an didn’t offer any advice, as hehad none, but he offered his silent support and that was probably more thanwhat Danny expected.

He was gratefulthat Ninja Bri/an seemed to truly care. His presence within Danny’s mind was a soothing touch amongst theturbulent negative thoughts that had simmered for so long.

Danny had come to enjoy this new side of Ninja Bri/an. While Danny knew that he cared, Ninja Bri/anwasn’t the best at showing it. Sometimeshis attempts at cheering up Danny went down an odd route.

Like the time he had given Danny a rose bouquet. The flowers were beautiful but the severedhand still clutching the stems were not. Ninja Bri/an had been thoroughly embarrassed at that, saying he musthave taken the flowers from the attendant with more force than he’dthought.

Danny had just laughed and hugged him, causing Ninja Bri/an’sblush to darken. Something Danny wasstarting to admit was an adorable look on his best friend.

One day, Ninja Bri/an had surprised Danny with tickets to asold out Rush concert, despite hating large crowds. Ninja Bri/an had been pressed close toDanny’s body the entire time. His chakrawas fluctuating uncontrollably, his bright blue eyes darting back and forth atall the perceived threats in the crowd. Unableto truly enjoy the music due to his heightened senses. He didn’t truly calm down until Danny hadtaken Ninja Bri/an’s hand into his own, giving it a tight and comfortingsqueeze.

Another time, Ninja Bri/an had taken him to the premiere of anew movie that Danny had wanted to see. They had gotten dressed up in nice suits and even had their picturetaken on the red carpet. Danny evenmanaged to get the autographs of some of his favorite actors. It had been an amazing night.

Danny would still smile, remembering howshocked and pleased Ninja Bri/an had looked when Danny had taken his hand inhis own as the movie started and didn’t let go the entire time. An action that Danny had taken a liking to.

——————————————————

The more time Danny spent with Ninja Bri/an, the closer andmore physical they’d become.

Handholding, hugs, borderline cuddles on the couch. Danny was finding himself looking forward to and preferring being closeto Ninja Bri/an.

Any chance he wasgiven, he spent it with Ninja Bri/an.

Some of Danny’s favorite times were when they would cooktogether.

Usually, Ninja Bri/an did thecooking for the both of them but one day he had come and asked Danny if hewanted to help him.

Having enjoyed replacing the time he used to spend trappedin his head thinking of his ex with Ninja Bri/an’s company, Danny readilyagreed.

He had learned a lot about cooking. Ninja Bri/an was very patient and helpful,showing Danny how to prepare ingredients, the correct way to mix them and whatspices to use with each dish.

Somehow the food tasted even better, knowing he had a handin making it.

———————————————————

“Bri/an? You here?” Danny called, opening the closed door.

Walking inside, he saw that the room was empty. A yellow notebook resting on the blackcomforter of the bed, caught Danny’s eye. Ninja Bri/an didn’t tend to leave things out.

Everything had its place according to him.

Feeling increasingly curious, Danny walked over and pickedit up. Taking a seat on the edge of thebed, Danny opened the notebook.

Looking at the hastily written notes, Danny slowly flippedthrough the notebook.

Each page had a title on it.

An activity with several to-do bullets written below.

Danny’s eyes widened in realization, seeing that theactivities were all things he and Ninja Bri/an had done recently. Like the concert, picnic and movies. Even the seemingly mundane things they didaround the house. They were all there.

Ninja Bri/an had written things like, ‘shave’, ‘buy newshirt’, ‘get tickets’, ‘ask Danny’, and smaller notes could be seen on the sidesin the margins, ‘support’, ‘empathy’,‘don’t screw up’ ‘be brave’, ‘for Danny’.

Danny felt his chest tighten. Ninja Bri/an had really gone all out. He was doing everything he could to helpDanny move on and feel better about himself.

At that moment, the door to the room opened.

Danny looked up to see Ninja Bri/an frozen in thedoorway. His eyes wide and focused onthe notebook Danny was holding.

Meeting Danny’s eyes, Ninja Bri/an quickly looked away as ifashamed.

“Bri/an?” Dannyquestioned, wondering why Ninja Bri/an was looking that way.

“I’m sorry.”

Danny closed the book, placing it onto the bed as he stoodup and approached Ninja Bri/an.

Gently cupping his cheek, Danny turned Ninja Bri/an’s headback towards him.

“What are you sorry for, Bri/an?”

Ninja Bri/an kept his eyes averted, taking a breath.

“I couldn’t do it onmy own. Helping you. I had to look it up. And I screwed up so many times. I know it’s not like a real friend. Not sincere…I just…”

Ninja Bri/an hesitantly met Danny’s eyes.

“I…I missed you.”

Danny stared at Ninja Bri/an in shock, not believing what hewas hearing.

He immediately wrapped his arms around Ninja Bri/an, pullinghim into a tight hug.

“Fuck, Bri/an. Imissed you too and you were more than sincere! Don’t you ever doubt that! Thesepast couple of weeks, you’ve helped me so much. I feel like I can truly move on. My heart no longer hurts. I don’tfeel like my life is over. You did that.You. Not some self-help article or whatever you found. It was you.”

Danny pulled back, meeting Ninja Bri/an’s eyes. He leaned down, pressing their foreheadstogether.

“You’ve been more than a real friend, even a best friend ora partner.” Danny said, his voice crackingas the realization of what he was feeling for Ninja Bri/an suddenly dawned onhim.

Of course he’d realize it now.

Of course.

“Bri/an…you’ve been what I’ve been searching for. Someone who accepts me. All of me, no matter what… My other half.”

Danny trailed off, his eyes sliding close. His emotions threatening to overcomehim.

To think, all of this time…

Opening his eyes once more, Danny looked into Ninja Bri/an’s,seeing a mirror of his own feelings, able to now identify them.

“I love you, Bri/an.” Danny said, leaning in and covering Ninja Bri/an’s lips with his own.

Ninja Bri/an returned the kiss, his arms coming up to wraparound Danny’s shoulders, clutching him tightly.

“I love you too,Danny.”

#asks #ninja ship party #polygrumps #prompts #my fics #nsp in universe #this ask is so old

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lady-lazaret · 6 years

Text

A Token of Affection

For a prompt sent by @housesghastlymenhaunted It was fun changing it up a bit and writing in Maeve’s voice haha. (Don't ask me, I started this way, waaay back and forgot what the prompt was 😂) Canon divergence, Julian in the red market, book ix

The underground is like a maze, and considering the amount of people, it’s easy to get lost in.

I hold on tight to Julian’s hand as I focus on keeping my balance. Between the uneven stone floor and the endless crowd before us, it’s hard not to trip over the endless parade of feet, but I manage. If only because the last time I fell led to Julian getting stabbed. Not that he seemed to mind, but I’m not keen on it.

“You know, this is the third time we’ve passed by the stall selling the asphodels and moly,” I point out, drawing closer to his side.

“Nonsense, I know this place like the back of my hand. And trust me, I know it well. Do you know how much time I spend staring at the brand?”

“Have you not stopped to consider that maybe they’ve changed their layout a bit? When was the last time you were here?”

He drops his gaze, sheepish. “That’s true. The last time I was here, people still sought refuge from the plague. But I know there was a lady who sold memorabilia nearby, the real stuff. Stall has a red roof, gold bunting. Hard to miss.”

Hard to…? I look over to the booth with the asphodels and sigh. Red roof. Gold bunting. It sticks out like a sore thumb against the wear and tear of the rest of the Red Market. A young man tends to the flowers, shovel in one hand, watering can in the other. He seems to be alone; no lady to speak of.

Julian follows my gaze and realizes his mistake.

“You know, they might have changed their layout more than I thought. How do you feel about ducking into one of those passages?” he motions towards a shady alley, “God knows where it’ll get us, but it’s better than here.”

It’s not a bad idea, if not a bit questionable. That thinking’s got us in danger before, but we’re out of options. I nod and follow him into a shadowy space between stalls.

And on the other side, it smells like jasmines.

When I survey the space, I’m awed by how different it looks from the rest of the market. Though it still looks rather shady, it’s enough to make me loosen my hold on my satchel, though not on Julian’s hand. I take note of the stalls lined with various exotic ingredients, things that Asra frequently has to journey far to even get the barest bit of. Already, I feel the hole in my coinpurse. I could wander here for days, though it definitely does pose a bit of danger.

“Now this I’ve never seen,” comments Julian as he takes a tentative step forward, sweeping the place warily. I think it’s more beauty than danger, but it does pay to be more cautious.

“Definitely different from brine and leeches, huh?” I ask, taking a step towards a stall swathed in white silk, all manner of finery lining it.

“Definitely. But is it a good difference or a bad difference? All I see is witchcraft.”

I roll my eyes. “You were fine with witchcraft a second ago.”

“Maybe because you’ve enchanted me.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you say things for the sake of cheesiness or if you just happen to have something ready for every situation. It’s not even— whatever.”

“You’re like an adventure, you know? Impossible to get ready for, but something one goes with nonetheless.”

“Are you implying that you’re only just tolerating me?”

“I’m implying that I can’t resist you, Maeve.” He winks. Or blinks. I can’t really tell.

He trails behind me as I survey a stall filled with oddities. Vials of jewel-toned liquids and rare flower pulp call to me, the magic they give off making the air shimmer. Beside them sit candleholders glowing from the inside, their flames almost certainly undying. Their metalwork speaks of years and years of refinement, and the aura they give off is…

“Magic warmth, blessed with the comfort of your birthplace,” says the old lady tending to the stall. She has stitches over one eye and an owl on her shoulder.

I resist the draw of the candleholders. “My birthplace?” I look over to Julian who squeezes my shoulder. “Not very comforting.”

“Your memories aren’t quite fond? How about something to ward off your nightmares?” The woman brandishes a dream catcher in front of me, woven with spider silk and iridescent feathers. Its wooden frame gives off an aura older than the ground we stand on.

Subtly, Julian nudges me, jerking his chin towards vials of deep purple and inky black. Basilisk venom and tonic made from belladonna and hemlock crushed with stone made from a gorgon’s stare. Both help with eternal sleep. Some of the rarest, most potent poison. A shiver runs down my spine and we move along.

We pass stalls of golden fruit and silver wine, everything served on goblets and platters piled high with jewels. A lady tends one stall, a coral snake around her arm. In another, a boy wrestles playfully with a cheetah not quite grown.

They’re witches, I realize. Witches and magicians old and young, their familiars accompanying them to work. If we weren’t caught up in the investigation, I’d open a stall down here.

I change my mind when an overgrown Venus flytrap snaps at my satchel. I hold on tighter to Julian and run along.

It’s only after a bit of clueless wandering that we stop to take a breather. At this point, both of us know that there isn’t much to gain from this excursion, and so our pace is little more than a curious meander before it stops altogether.

He takes a look at the ceiling above us, every inch of it covered in enchanted lanterns. They’re so bright that it looks like daylight down here, even though neither of us are quite sure how long we’ve spent down here. But it’s certainly been long enough for me to get hungry.

Julian surprises me by taking my hand and lacing our fingers together.

“When all this is through, remind me to take you on a proper date.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ll pass if you take me down here again.”

“What’s not to like?” he laughs. “Hags with potent poisons, all manner of dangerous beasts… I’d wager that isn’t all that’s lurking about. How about it? We’ll eat some fruit, drink some wine, and stay trapped down here like some poor fairytale idiots.”

I roll my eyes. “How romantic.”

He shrugs. “Better than any old hole in the wall. I bet this place never runs out of adventure. What do you think it’ll be next time? A magical duel? Colosseum battle with some fanged horror? How about it, Maeve?”

“Goddamn. You had me at magical duel, Doctor.”

“It’s settled then. When all this is over, I want to see you flex your magic muscles.”

“That sounds ridiculous.”

“And attractive.” He winks. Or so I think he does.

When we resume our walk, there’s a bit more spring in his step, and in mine, admittedly. We keep our fingers entwined as we move through the crowds and the hawking vendors, each step another one in the wrong direction. The bit of worry in the back of my mind grows with each passing minute, though, because every moment we fail to find a lead is one closer to Julian’s hanging. The lightness in my chest gives way to dread.

I nearly tell him that he have to leave, but he abruptly stops in front of me and takes me to one of the stalls. When I turn to question him, I see that he looks radiant.

Before us is a glittering array of costumes. Sequined gowns and embroidered tailcoats line haphazard racks, and the middle of the stall is brimming with glittering accessories— hats woven with bits of silver and peacock feathers, earrings that twinkle with chunks of bismuth, and masks of various sizes that boast gold embroidery and swirls of luminescent paint. It’s one of those he holds up for me to see: an elegant piece made of cracked ivory with a gold full moon on the centre and a crescent flanking either side. Delicate silver whorls decorate it, turning blue and green when he moves it this way and that.

“This suits you, don’t you think?”

I blush, all worries abated, if only for a second. “I can’t believe you saw that and just… thought of me. It’s really pretty.”

“Quite like you, my dear. Allow me the honour of letting this grace your lovely face?”

Red to the tips of my ears, I brush my hair aside and let him secure it at the back of my neck. It’s quite heavy, but I feel the magic along its grooves.

“A lovely mask for a lovely lady,” says the shopkeeper, a little ferret peeking over their shoulder. They offer me a hand mirror, and I gleefully note that it suits me well. I kiss Julian on the cheek, standing on the tips of my toes.

The cracks in the ivory are filled with bits of crushed labradorite, channeling magic throughout the whole thing. It makes me feel calmer, a bit less apprehensive. And the effect is nothing short of breathtaking.

“Let me get it for you,” offers Julian, a smile on his face.

I touch the mask, the ivory cool against my fingers. “It looks like it costs a bit. It’s fine,” I say, making a mental note to come back for it when I start crying gemstones.

“More than that dumb brush? It’ll be my pleasure,” he says, already handing the shopkeep a bag of coins. Hopefully, it isn’t pirate gold this time.

“Thank you,” I say, sheepishly, once the mask is put in a box and wrapped with twine. “Next time we’re down here, let me get you something.”

He looks at the other items on display. “Matching masks for the Masquerade?”

“I honestly never thought I’d be into those matching couple things, but it’s a deal.”

“Get out of here, clear my name, and attend the Masquerade in matching outfits with the prettiest girl in Vesuvia? Sounds like a fine plan.”

As we walk arm in arm, I hear footsteps behind us and the unmistakable throaty croak.

“Those are the two imbeciles who stiffed me with pirate gold!” yells the Memory Dealer.

Julian and I exchange a look, and then we run as fast as we can, laughing all the way.

#the arcana #the arcana game #julian devorak #julian x mc #the arcana fanfic #y'all better read this this is my first fic in like 2 months #sorry i vanished lol #also it's 1am im tired #finished this just now so sjsjjsjsj #gOODNIGHT #maeve/xiwei #my apprentice #that was kind of a crack ending #totally a crack ending

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