#traffic secrets free book
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Scar couldn't get home.
The book said to win the game-- and he had!
He's killed Pearl-- knocked her off the cliff without realizing he'd ended her. He'd been desensitized to the lighting of a final death, what with so, so many happening all in such quick succession.
He didn't even feel the rush of new life from the hearts he earned by killing her. After all, he'd ended up with most of them throughout the last day and a half of fighting and murder and---
"shes dead scar"
"you won"
And it was over.
Every other time Scar had lost a game, he'd woken up back at home on hermitcraft-- just like he was supposed to. But only after he'd died.
Everyone else who'd won woke back up where they were supposed to be-- Grian and Pearl on Hermitcraft, Scott on Empires, and Scar didn't know what server Martyn called his own, but he'd presumably woken back up there.
So why wasn't Scar going home?
Was there something wrong with the Secret Keeper?
Scar had pushed the button-- but all it did was reward him more hearts and give him back his book. The same book.
"Win Secret Life."
Scar hit the button. He'd won. He succeeded again, got 5 more hearts.
"Win Secret Life."
Scar pressed the button. There was no reason why he would get stuck here. He was doing what the Secret Keeper asked!
"Win Secret Life."
Scar pressed the button.
"Win Secret Life."
Scar pressed the button.
"Win Secret Life."
Scar pressed fail instead. Maybe that would do something different? maybe that's what the Secret Keeper wanted? He lost two and a half hearts, his task rerolled.
"Win Secret Life."
Scar threw his book on the ground, ignoring the way it crumpled as he tangled his hands in his hair. Failing wouldn't do anything but keep saping his hearts until he was down to one. It wouldn't help.
Why wouldn't the game end? Was this because he'd thrown his original task book from today away?
Wait a second-- he knew where it was. He might be able to go get it, and surely the Secret Keeper would let him home then.
He had to be able to get home somehow.
Everyone was waiting for him. They had to be.
Would Grian be able to come back to the server and get him if this didn't work? Scar had heard that Jimmy was able to come back, was able to be Grian's guardian angel for a session.
Scar couldn't find his original book.
But-- if that was gone, then why-- how did he have one to turn in?
Scar sat on the top of Grian's diagonal bridge, head in hands as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to get home.
Part of him wanted to just wait it out. As much as the server had been turned into a battleground, there was still farms, there was still resources in the remains of everyone's bases. He had enough to survive to last until someone could come get him.
Even though the secret keeper was busted, as long as he had his book he could get more hearts.
His book.
That he'd thrown on the ground by the Secret Keeper.
Shoot.
Scar stumbled to his feet, doing his best not to trip down a ravine as he raced back to where he'd left his book--
It was gone.
Scar didn't know how he'd gotten it back in the first place, let alone how he might try to get it back now. He crumpled, dropping to his knees by the button. There had to be a way for him to get home. right?
Right?
Maybe-- maybe he could just hop worlds. It wasn't like they couldn't leave during the games, they did it all the time-- to go cool down after a rough day or to check in with other people. Scar could just---
He couldn't log out.
Scar couldn't leave.
The option was gone from his communicator, he couldn't log out.
Oh dear. This wasn't good. If he couldn't succeed his task, or leave the server like normal-- then what? If he couldn't leave could anyone come get him?
Think Scar think. He pushed himself back up, pacing back and forth in front of the Secret Keeper, racking his brain for any sort of idea on what to do. He patted himself down---
And there it was. His book.
"Win Secret Life."
Scar sighed, and pressed the button. He gained five hearts.
"Win Secret Life."
"Win Secret Life."
"Win Secret Life."
"Win Secret Life."
There was no escaping this. How could he-- Scar needed to get home.
Surely, surely the others would have figured out that something was wrong.
He pressed the button--
"Win Secret Life."
It was mocking him now.
"Win Secret Life."
"Win Secret Life."
"Win Secret Life."
It was almost a game, in the end. He pushed the button, he gained hearts. He gained them until he couldn't gain any more from the Secret Keeper--- and then he kept getting items. Gold, iron, diamonds. More books, more creature eggs, even obsidian and end crystals and TNT.
"Win Secret Life."
But he'd already won.
"Win Secret Life."
"Win Secret Life."
There was no one else to kill.
"Win Secret Life."
It was infuriating. What did they want from him? What was-- Why did they keep giving him back his book? He shielded his eyes as he looked up towards the sun. The blacked out sun-- and yet it was still bright. It still hurt to look at.
Scar sighed, throwing his hand indifferently at the button. The items rained down-- What were the odds of it all being TNT?
"Win Secret Life."
Scar picked up the explosives, and looked up at the statue of the Secret Keeper.
Sure. Why not. Everything else was in ruins, why not make one more big crater in the center of the world. Maybe it would show the giant statue who was boss. He was going to cover it in tnt and end crystals, and then he was going to blow the server to high heavens.
"Win Secret Life."
"Win Secret Life."
"Win Secret Life."
He didn't have enough TNT. He needed more to do this properly. Scar giggled, reminded of when Mumbo paid him to blow up his base on Hermitcraft. Mumbo, who Scar had blown up with his own TNT canon, minutes before the Warden and Wither were unleased and all hell broke loose.
Well. Scar was certainly going to blow something up today.
He giggled as he flicked the flint and steel, watching the TNT fuse catch, watching the end of the world-- not for the first time.
"Win Secret Life."
Hah. try winning this, you dumb statue.
Scar gasped as he shot upright in his bed, Jellie hopping up onto his lap with an inquisitive "mrrp?"
He was home. Finally. Scar patted himself down-- it didn't feel like there was any lasting damage from--
From--
Scar pulled the book from his pocket, flipping it open. Dreading what he might find inside.
"Win Secret Life."
#goodtimeswithscar#secret life spoilers#gtwscar#secret life#secret life fanfic#secret keeper#traffic life smp#unreality#scar didn't die.#that doesn't make him free.#also yall forget. He threw away his og task book.#dont mind me#viviwrites#i'm making this everyone else's problem now#you're welcome#sorry for how g.dd.mn long it is tho#trafficfic
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Cruel Summer | Felix Catton
Your mother's money issues make it hard for you to enjoy your summer at Saltburn. Thankfully your cousin is there to comfort you. But what happens when you realize his interest in you isn't just familial concern?
Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Start! Reader, Incest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Corruption, Innocent Reader, Drugs, Smoking, Filming
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
Your eyes round as they absorb the massive castle and the vast, lush gardens surrounding it. As you drag your suitcase behind you, you can’t quell the urge to admire everything. Even the towering, perfectly symmetrical trees lining the path to the iron gates. It’s been years since you visited Saltburn, but you don’t remember it being so big or intimidating.
Still, you bask in the chirping of birds and the brightness of the sky above you. You’re compelled to admit it. The English countryside is lovely, a haven away from the pollution and noise of the city. A sharp contrast to the familiar chaos you’re used to back home. The uproar of traffic, from the honking to the shouting. The endless stream of people strutting down the streets. The gigantic ads and the skyscrapers that graze the stars.
A city that never rests or stops for anyone.
While this is home, it all can be so overwhelming. There never is time to just…breathe and be. Here, as you look at your surroundings, you figure it’s all there is to do. Breathe and be.
You push the small iron door on the side, astonished to find it ajar. Did they leave it open for you? You doubt it however. From what Mom told you, consideration for others isn’t one of your aunt and uncle’s strong suits. They’re too wrapped up in their “posh little world”. One your mom isn’t a part of anymore. And neither are you, as you’ve been raised overseas.
As for your brother…well he’s another matter. Shipped from school to school thanks to Uncle James’ “bottomless well of generosity”, he is a free spirit. Seas apart from you in every possible way.
Ever since you were young, the pressure to succeed has gripped you tight and never released you. When others partied and experimented, you were nose deep in your books, stressing over finishing every assignment on time and acing every test. It paid off. You were accepted into your school of choice this summer, with a scholarship no less.
Slacking off isn’t an option for you.
While your brother has a sort of safety net, you’re not so close with that side of your family. You’re their estranged American niece, one they haven’t seen in over a decade.
In fact, you’ve no idea how you’ll be received.
The long walk to the castle is harrowing but gives you time to comb through your memories. You were so little the last time you visited. Still, foggy remembrance floods your thoughts. You played with your cousins by the pond. Made up stories and ran around the fields. You even faintly recall skinning your knees when one of them dared you to try and climb all the way to the top of the stone stairs beneath the stained glass window. You slipped for a long time and wept on the floor, you think. Auntie Elspeth scolded her children and you for playing dangerous games.
Their cherubic faces flicker in your mind.
There were two of them.
A little boy with dark hair and a gummy smile. A blonde girl who giggled all the time. And of course, your brother.
When you’ve reached the castle’s front door, you suck in a wide breath. Before you can even knock on the tall, black doors, they swing open in front of you.
A surprised exhale spills from your throat.
Swallowing, you fall back.
Hands behind his back, a stern man in a suit runs his gaze over you. He is so still, for a minute, you wonder if he’s real.
But then he speaks. “Are you lost, miss?” he asks.
You shift, a surge of inadequacy filling you. Still, you clear your throat and give a tremulous answer.
“Hi. I…I’m here to visit my family.”
The man doesn’t budge, still pinning you with his unflinching stare. Sweat breaks out on your back. Are you at the right place?
“The Cattons,” you offer, an awkward smile stretching your lips. “My brother should already be here.” You start rummaging through your backpack to pull out a map. “This is Saltburn, right? Auntie Elspeth sent me the itinerary but perhaps I-”
He cuts you off, seeming almost annoyed with you.
“Right, you’re…earlier than we expected, Ms. Start.”
“I could come back later-”
“The gates aren’t open. We’d have sent someone to pick you up.”
You glance back, dumbfounded. The gates were definitely open, weren’t they? Or perhaps that little door wasn’t supposed to be crossed. Your cheeks flame. The elaborate rules your wealthy relatives abide by are already eluding you.
Your shoulders heave and fall.
“It’s okay, it wasn’t that long a walk.”
The man stiffly allows you in. You note the two black men standing by the door. They haven’t uttered a single word, blending into the background. Always seen but never heard. You believe your brother mentioned something like that in his sporadic texts and letters. Your gaze tears from them. The inside of Saltburn is even more majestic, a thing you didn’t think possible. Standing in a museum wouldn’t be much different, you suppose, between the antiques sitting on shelves, paintings hanging on the walls and crystal chandeliers hovering above you.
So, this is what generational wealth looks like.
When you were little, you didn’t notice this. You were too busy playing. Now, it’s all you can see.
“Just leave your bag there. Someone will get it for you,” the man says.
“Someone, as in…”
“Someone,” he repeats, staunchly refusing to elaborate.
The grip on the handle of your suitcase tightens.
“I really don’t need it. I can carry it myself.”
The man considers you, his face twitching as if you just spat in it. Your insides stir in confusion. All you’ve said is that you don’t mind carrying your own luggage.
The loud utterance of your name has your head snapping sideways.
Your mouth falls open when a towering, young man in a yellow shirt around your age strides in your direction.
He halts in front of the stern man, chiding him with a playful lilt in his tone.
“Really Duncan? You’re scaring the poor girl. Duncan, stop being so terrifying. She’s family.”
“Well, I shall try.”
You note the subtle warmth in the man’s tone as he addresses the newcomer.
He turns to you, beaming. Your stomach flutters. “Cousin, try not to be too terrified of Duncan.”
You’re taken aback when he grabs the hand gripping the suitcase. His large hand completely engulfs yours.
“I’ll show her to her room. Don’t worry,” he chimes. He pulls you away and you’re forced to keep up with his long, enthusiastic strides. He tosses you a glance, laughing when you sort of hop behind him. “Sorry about that. Duncan’s a bit odd, but he’s alright, you’ll see.”
“And you are…?”
Disappointment creeps on his face at your question. He spreads a hand over his chest.
“Felix, your cousin. Golly, you don’t remember me? Really? That kind of hurts.”
Your eyes grow. The picture in your mind was that of a chubby-cheeked, clumsy little boy. Your cousin definitely isn’t that anymore.
“Oh my god, yes! Felix. You don’t have a lisp anymore and…You’re like a giant now.”
A smug expression lights his features.
“Puberty.”
You laugh in response. “Yeah, I guess we all grew up.”
A strange glint fleets across his gaze as he gives you a quick once over.
“Clearly,” he says, his smile expanding.
He shows you around the estate. You can’t suppress your awe when he mentions Henry VIII, surprised Saltburn’s history stretches that far back. The library also radiates ancient and priceless, countless rare leather-bound books sitting on the shelves. A smile creeps on your face when Felix greets the ghost of your grandmother.
He takes you through a vertiginous amount of hallways until taking you to what will be your room. It’s apparently right next to Venetia’s. You glance around, expecting another long lost cousin to pop up perhaps. But it’s just you and Felix in the vast bedroom.
He leans against the doorjamb while you soak in the room and the massive bed, large enough to welcome three or four people. It’s nothing like your tiny bed at home or the one in your college dorm. This is something you never had, and that is just Felix and Venetia’s normal. It makes you speechless.
You drop your backpack on the floor at the foot of the bed.
The mattress bounces as you plop down on it. You let your fingers skim over the blissfully soft sheets.
Your contemplation is abbreviated by the ringing of your phone. You flip it open. The screen lights up, signaling a new message received. You type on the glowing arrows to find out it’s from Mom.
Remember to ask your aunt and uncle for what we talked about.
I really need you, sweetie.
You unleash a heavy breath. Your mom is the one who pressured you to go on this trip. Ever since her brother’s regular payments have dried up, your mother’s been relentless. She keeps claiming she wants her share of the trust and your uncle argues that she used all of it. First, she recruited Farleigh to speak on her behalf. Your brother’s attempts have met little success however. So your mother enlisted you.
You don’t know what more you can do that your brother couldn’t, but you can never say no to anything your mother asks.
“Is something wrong?” Felix inquires, making his way to your bed to sit near you. The scent of his pricey cologne tingles your nose.
“It's nothing,” you lie. “Just Mom asking if my arrival’s been smooth.”
Your cousin seems like the living embodiment of sunshine, just like you remember. If possible, you want to keep him out of the money issues between your mom and Uncle James.
Felix tilts his head as he studies you.
“It’s kinda funny.”
“What?”
“The way you say ‘mum’”
A laugh peals from your lips.
“I guess I’m gonna have to get used to my accent being made fun of.”
Felix shrugs. “My mum will think it’s exotic.”
You cringe inside. You never liked that word, how it makes you feel like an animal in a zoo.
Switching topics, you ask, “Is my brother around? I haven’t seen him in forever.”
“Ah, Farleigh’s probably skulking about somewhere.”
You chew on your bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say to him.”
Felix collects the book poking through the zipper of your backpack. He flips through the stained pages of your copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood prince. You accidentally spilled coffee on it during a late night study session.
“You could talk to him about this,” he offers, waving the book. “We’ve kind of been passing around Venetia’s copy. Although I tend to skip to the most interesting parts, but don’t tell everyone else.”
You smile.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” you reply solemnly.
He watches you for a long time, long enough for your gaze to find the floor as your face heats.
“It’s really good having you here with us, cousin. I mean it.”
You fidget in your spot. “Thanks.”
Felix flashes you a mischievous grin.
“But I’ll need to make sure you remember me this time.”
The rest of the day is spent reconnecting with your other relatives. Everyone gathers in the library and you get to meet Venetia, realizing she too has changed a lot since you were kids.
Oliver, Felix’s friend from Oxford is also there. From your cousin’s broad explanations, it appears he’s grieving the loss of one of his parents, so he invited him to make sure he isn’t alone. It’s unbelievably kind. Besides, you’re guessing from Oliver’s lost puppy dog stares and awkward manners, that he’s as out of place as you are here. Instant sympathy blooms inside you when you’re introduced to him.
A woman named Pamela is also in attendance. She is Aunt Elpseth’s close friend, though it’d be hard to tell, the way she orders her around like a servant and exposes the long list of tragedies her love life has been to the entire room.
A saying about friends and enemies flutters through your mind as you witness their interactions. It’s such a bizarre spectacle, watching this red-haired woman, dead behind the eyes, bend over backwards for your aunt. You don’t remember Aunt Elspeth being this cold-blooded.
And naturally, there is your brother. Farleigh. Aloof in the back, apart from the Cattons, your eyes collide from across the room. He smiles at you. You smile back. Warmth flows through you.
It’ll be a while before you’re comfortable around each other again. It pains you to say, but you don’t know your own brother all that well anymore.
Dinner’s a strangely formal affair. Everyone’s dressed to the nines, giving the family gathering more of a cocktail party vibe than that of a family dinner. Venetia lends you a dress so you aren’t the odd one out. You thank her profusely. All you packed when you left America are jeans and a few pairs of shorts. It never occurred to you that you’d need any kind of formal wear since you figured you would be around family.
But you failed to take into account said family is also a part of British high society.
Awkwardness fills you as you hesitate over the utensils, the different kinds of knives and forks making you dizzy. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself on the first day. Seeming to grasp your predicament, Venetia nudges your elbow when you grip the right fork and knife.
You mutter a quiet ‘thanks’ and she winks at you.
Several courses are brought on silver platters, one after the other. The entire time, you focus on your plate, swallowing every bland, flavorless bite.
Stiff conversation is exchanged at the table, most of it centering on Aunt Elspeth’s dour-looking friend. Once more, compassion flutters through you.
It’s blatant to everyone at the table that Pamela isn’t wanted at Saltburn anymore.
It’s a relief when dinner concludes and you can return to your bedroom.
You sit by the large window in your room to admire the night sky. Between the skyscrapers and artificial lights, it’s hard finding a spot to look at the stars in New York. Here however, you can make out constellations and various other glittering shapes.
Venetia joins you on the windowsill. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows smoke on the window. She shoots you a cheeky smile.
“So, do you regret coming already?” she teases.
You fiddle with your hands.
“It’s fine. Everyone’s nice. It’s…kind of unreal being here.”
“Just remember this is your home too.”
You mull it over. It is becoming clear to you how much you don’t fit in with the Cattons, despite sharing blood with them. You wonder if it’s how your brother has felt all these years. Like an outsider amidst his own kin. Although, you have to admit he looked quite comfortable at dinner. Far more than you, definitely.
“I’ll…try to remember that.” You hesitate, gnawing on your lip before speaking again. “Is Pamela gonna be okay, you think?”
Venetia shrugs.
“I think she’ll be alright.”
Your lips purse. Who knows how that haunted woman will fare once she’s on her own in the world again? You’re not too hopeful. But it seems like Aunt Elspeth is done with her, so it cannot be helped you suppose.
“If you say so.” You tilt your head at your cousin, dropping casually. “Do you think Uncle James is still up?”
“At this hour, Daddy will be in his study.”
You nod and get to your feet. Wandering the halls of Saltburn at night is a peculiar experience. The shadows clinging to the walls seem to follow your every step. Dusty slices of moonlight spill from the windows, bringing the stern portraits of your distant relatives to life, the aged hues of the paintings shifting in the dim light. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you're being watched. The back of your neck tingles as the sound of your fearful steps echoes in the vast halls. A breeze of cool air seeps through your clothes. You tug on the cardigan Venetia let you borrow from her closet, hurrying your pace.
For a long time, you spin in circles, growing desperate to find your uncle’s study. Your spirits sour. You followed Venetia’s instructions to the letter yet you got lost. A left, a right, straight along the green room, then…another right?
You frown. Now you can’t remember. Why does every hallway look the same here?
Astray in your own mind, you carelessly bump into a hard object.
You lift your gaze. Your jaw drops.
“Felix,” you exclaim, placing a hand over your heaving chest. “You scared me.”
Mirth glints in his brown orbs.
“Lost, cousin?”
Avoiding his eyes, you scratch your am.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” you mumble.
Felix chuckles and seizes your arm.
“It’s not. It’s easy to get lost here.” You gasp as he pulls you alongside him. “Just tell me where you need to go and I’ll show you the way.”
Too dumbstruck by his abrupt appearance, you let Felix drag you through the somber hallways. The sharp twists and turns he takes make your head spin. There is no way you’d have found the study on your own.
He halts in front of two mahogany doors. Your feet bounce as your hand lingers on the brass handles.
Felix knocks on the door and your heart leaps.
“I’ll wait for you here, so you don’t get lost again,” he says.
“You don’t have to,” you squeak.
He leans over you and smiles.
“I insist, cousin. I have to prove to you not all of us are completely horrible…despite what you may have seen.”
Your face warms.
“T-Thank you.”
James’ voice rises from inside the room, giving you permission to enter. You nod at Felix and take shaky steps inside the study. The crackle of logs burning away reaches you. The swaying flames mingle with the shadows, casting a faint orange glow on the room.
“Uncle James, may I speak to you?” you bashfully inquire.
He lowers his round glasses and puts down the notebook in his hands.
“Of course. Anytime, love. Have a seat.”
“Is something troubling you, child?”
You gulp the lump stuck in your throat, staring at your lap for a while before you meet your uncle’s gaze again. You shift in your seat.
You don’t know how to ask or, more precisely, the appropriate way to ask. A wide lungful enters your lungs. Why delay the inevitable?
You elect to dive right into your reason to be here.
“My mother. Well, she was wondering…” Your nerves buzz as your uncle’s sharp eyes cut into you. You clear your throat before continuing. “We were wondering if there were issues on your side because she hasn’t…” Sweat blooms inside your palms as your voice dwindles to a whisper. “Well, you haven’t sent anything like you usually do and it’s been two months now.”
A heavy coat of silence falls over the study. After a while, your uncle unleashes a deep sigh.
“And she sent you to vouch for her.”
“I’m sorry.” Your shoulders slump. “Mom, she…She isn’t really good with money.” This is a massive understatement, and from the way Uncle James’ eyes bear into yours, it’s clear that he’s also aware of that fact. As much as you love your mom, she’s never been the most responsible with money, often squandering it on flashy things and pretty clothes. More than once growing up, she fell short on a bill and you couldn’t even shower before going to school. “If you could help this one time, then I’ll figure something out for her. I promise.”
“And how do you plan on doing that, young lady?” your uncle challenges.
“I…I’ll find a way. We always find a way.”
“You’re a very good daughter, which I can appreciate…” Your pulse races as you wait with bated breath. “But I’ve given your mother more than enough for her to get on her feet. Still, she always asks for more.”
Your heart plummets. The finality laced in his tone didn’t elude you. Why did you even think you could sway your uncle’s opinion in any way when your own brother, who has been around the Cattons for years, couldn’t accomplish that feat?
“She has issues…but I promise, uncle, she’ll get herself together this time,” you offer.
“I will give it some thought.”
He flashes you a sympathetic smile. You recognize its meaning right away. It’s strikingly similar to the one Aunt Elspeth gave her “friend” at the dinner table.
Understanding you are being dismissed, you get up from the chair and bid your uncle good night.
“Thank you for listening,” you say glumly before leaving.
As Felix escorts you back to your bedroom, you can’t help but notice that Uncle James never once referred to your mother as his sister.
You frankly doubt he will give what you said any semblance of thought. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if that entire conversation vanished from his head the second you stepped out of his study.
The rest of the week goes smoothly. Lazy summer days with your cousins and brother fly by in a hazy blur. Hanging by the pond beneath the sizzling sun. Displaying your terrible tennis playing skills to the entire group. Scary movie nights with the whole family during which Venetia and Felix laugh at you because you watch most of the film through your fingers and hide your face in a pillow whenever the monster appears.
It’s nice. You start thinking that reuniting with your extended family for the summer wasn’t such a rotten idea.
You nearly forget your mother. Nearly.
Though with the daily messages you receive detailing the squalor she’s living in, it’s impossible to forget. Guilt grows within you each day.
“She’s been texting you too?” Farleigh asks as he sits at the edge of the tennis court next to you. He’s still in his tux while you’re still wearing one of Venetia’s sparkly dresses, as all of you decided to sneak out of Aunt Elspeth’s uptight dinner party to catch the sunset and play a game of tennis. One thing you’ve come to learn about your cousins. They do whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want. Part of you envies that. The carefree knowledge that whatever mess you make, someone will clean up behind you…discreetly and in silence at that.
You flip your phone shut and sigh.
“Nonstop.” You sag in the chair. “I’ve done all I can.”
“Yeah…Me too.”
“I feel awful.”
You’re taken aback when your brother says, “Don’t. This isn’t your fault.”
You tentatively reach over his armchair to squeeze his hand.
“It’s not yours either,” you assure softly. Your brother shocks you when his fingers wrap around yours. You don’t think you held hands like this since you were toddlers. You were always the clingy one, following after your big brother like a lost puppy.
You and your brother remain like this for a while, eyes trailing the downward race of the sun over the horizon.
When night falls, you’re surprised to find a tall, familiar form slipping through the wall of your bedroom.
“Felix!” He puts a finger over his lips as a sign to lower your voice. It instantly dips to a whisper. “How did you get here?”
Amusement paints Felix’s features at your flabbergasted expression. He clicks the door shut.
You blink. Once closed, the secret entrance blends seamlessly into the wall. There is no way you could have known this was here.
“Secret passageway. Old castles like Saltburn have plenty of them,” he explains, crawling over your bed.
“Oh.”
As your eyes drag over his frame and you note that Felix’s just in his shorts, fire creeps inside your cheeks. Of course, you’ve seen your cousin in trunks but usually, it’s around the entire group. For some reason, a sliver of discomfort pools within you. You look away and clear your throat.
“Is it…okay for you to be here?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just that…nothing.”
A deep chuckle peals from his chest. The mattress bounces as Felix lets himself fall onto your sheets. He makes himself comfortable on the pillow near you, putting his hands behind his head as a lazy smile spreads on his lips.
“Don’t be silly. We’re family. It’s like when we were little and we’d all sleep in the same bed.”
You can’t help but smile at that. He’s right; you’re overreacting.
“Right. That was so fun.”
He lies on his side, elbow bent as he buries one hand in his tousled brown curls.
“You used to have nightmares so you’d always sneak into my bed or Farleigh’s.”
“Now that you’re saying it, I think I remember that.”
“You’re still as cute as I remember.” Felix’s brown eyes twinkle as he drinks you in. “No…Even cuter.”
“Thanks.”
He approaches you and starts playing with the hem of your cotton shorts, twiddling the fabric between his forefinger and thumb.
Brown eyes dive right into yours.
“I saw you with Farleigh today. You looked sad.”
You shake your head.
“It’s nothing…just got some stuff on my mind.”
Felix’s smile dies.
“You also looked sad when you left Dad’s office the other day.”
You bristle. “It’s nothing important, really.”
“Your mom?” he inquires. When you don’t reply, Felix’s knuckles sweep over your outer thigh, his deep timbre softening, “You can trust me, cousin.”
You unleash a sharp, audible breath, budding tears tickling your eyelids.
“It’s just a lot. She’s asking things from me that I don’t know if I can do much about.”
Felix collects one of your stray tears with his thumb. He then snatches your hands from your lap and clutches them in his. They completely swallow yours.
“She shouldn’t ask anything of you. It’s not fair. You’re her daughter. She should protect you. Not the other way around.”
You sniffle. “I don’t know. It’s just been me and my mom for so long. Especially after Farleigh decided to stay in England most of the time. So I feel like…I need to take care of her, you know? Because she always took care of me.”
He cups your cheek, wiping more of your tears.
“You’re far too sweet for your own good, cousin.”
Felix then sits up and conjures a lighter and a blunt from the back pocket of his shorts.
You gawk at him as he lights it in front of you, taking a deep drag before blowing smoke in your face.
Your stomach tingles when he offers it to you.
“I don’t know if I should…”
Felix’s timbre lowers seductively as he grabs your hand and slips the roll between your fingers. Even holding it doesn’t feel right.
“Come on, you’ll feel better. It’ll free your mind. No thoughts. No troubles. Just…light and happy.”
“That sounds amazing,” you mumble.
“Then try a puff.”
You bring the blunt to your mouth and immediately cough.
“You gotta go slow,” he chuckles. Once you’ve retrieved your breath, he nudges it against your mouth again. “Here, another.”
The room begins to swirl around you. You lie back, a heady, cotton-like sensation spreading from your head to your toes.
“Damn…” you whisper as your limbs slacken, the tension in your body slowly melting away.
Felix lies back next to you, his grin growing.
“See? That’s why you should always listen to me, cousin.”
It becomes a habit, Felix sneaking into your room and the two of you smoking in your bed every night. Him slipping through the secret door doesn’t even faze you anymore, and your reservations about getting high evaporate a little more with every puff you inhale. The serene sensation and warm tingles you get afterwards are entirely too pleasant.
It’s something you’ve never experienced. Letting go. For a few precious minutes, the burdens on your shoulders can vanish.
You don’t tell Venetia, or even Farleigh. You still remember him going full big brother mode that one day when you tried to join the rest of them when they hung out naked in the field. The Cattons siblings laughed as you were escorted away, burning from head to toe at the humiliation.
You don’t want a repeat of that. Always being the good girl is exhausting. Not that your brother would understand. He gets to live life on his own terms. Get kicked out from as many schools as he likes. Charm his way through the world. You don’t. For once, you want to revel in doing something…a little forbidden. Something the nerdy, party-avert, studious girl you forced yourself to be all these years would never do.
So the nightly meetups become you and Felix’s secret.
It’s all casual, harmless fun. Until, one night, everything changes. As your head lolls back on the pillows, your gaze fixated on the ceiling, your cousin’s fingers dance over your half-exposed belly.
“Feeling better?” he mutters, his voice low and secretive.
“Yeah.”
“I know a way you can feel even better.”
You don’t think much of it. Not even when he slithers across the sheets, finding his way between your legs. He tugs your shorts down, slowly, until you’re down to your panties in front of him. The rush of cool air on your skin makes you tremble.
“Felix, what are you doing?” you chuckle, high enough not to fully register what’s going on.
A playful smile ghosts over your cousin’s lips. He blows on your clothed center and the sensation draws a giggle from you, even as a faint layer of panic is trying to pierce through the haze.
“You seemed so stressed today. It’ll help you relax…” he promises, trailing sluggish kisses up your inner thigh. As his lips travel upward, your stomach clenches. He hooks two fingers inside your panties to push them aside.
Your cousin’s gaze darkens, his smile broadening, as he basks in the sight of your bare, shuddering folds. He licks his lips before kissing the center of you.
Your limbs tense as Felix starts unraveling you with his tongue. He licks a stripe over your folds, his tongue tarrying over your tender bud. The breath catches in your throat. He traces slow circles over your button, tearing a soft gasp from you everytime he suckles the sensitive spot between his lips.
Felix hums while his head bobs between your thighs.
A tingly, warm feeling starts blooming in your core, scattering to your entire body. Hot and irresistible. A wave of heat that slowly takes over your entire frame.
You clutch the sheets.
Your eyes rise to the heavens as heat pulses through your core.
“No, Felix, this is… this is wrong,” you wheeze out between aching breaths.
His devious laughter ripples through your core.
“I’m just trying to make you feel good. How can that be wrong, cousin?” he says innocently, before flicking his tongue over your folds. He spreads you even more, dipping in and out of you as quiet shouts rip from your throat. Your back curves over the sheets. Your lids flutter as you peer at the ceiling unseeingly.
His sinful baritone nudges you to your undoing.
“Just let go. It’s okay. It’s just me.”
You quake, the tense heat growing too much to bear. Your insides coil. Sparks erupt from your center, traveling outward. Your body goes limp as you collapse over the sheets, dazed and breathless. Tears of arousal trickle from your core and your cousin greedily savors every wayward drop. Shame scalds your insides as you feel him lap up your nectar, your wide gaze glued to the ceiling.
The next morning, panic rushes through you as your eyes snap open.
“Hey, hey, you don’t need to freak out,” Felix says lightly, pulling you against him from behind. His hand settles over your rapidly moving chest.
“Last night…” you say, choking on a sob as you recall bits and pieces. You were so damn high. Still, you’re pretty sure what you think happened…happened. Even in your own head, you can’t put it into words. You rub your thighs. Stickiness lingers there from Felix’s ravenous tongue. Shame burns in your gut.
As you try to climb off the bed, Felix yanks you back. He slams you down on your back. Your heart jumps as he looms over you, his broad body easily caging yours.
He frames your chin, drawing your attention to him.
“We just had some fun, you and I,” he says, thumb tracing your quivering lip. “That’s all. No one ever has to know.”
Tears well up in your eyes as you keep pulling on your tiny camisole, pathetically attempting to cover your nakedness. Felix chuckles.
“Gosh, you really need to stop being so uptight, pretty cousin.”
He drops a quick peck on your cheek before dragging his lips over your earshell.
“It’s okay. We’ll work on loosening you up.”
For a few days, Felix doesn’t visit your room again. You’re thankful for that. You can barely meet your cousin’s gaze now, the fear of someone finding out what happened eating you alive. You can’t imagine coming back after so many years only to cause havoc and drama.
Your mom would be so disappointed. Your brother would be livid.
So you do as Felix says. You keep your lips firmly sealed. It’s not like it’ll go further than that anyway. The two of you were high, that’s what you keep telling yourself.
None of this would have happened otherwise.
Unfortunately, your meticulously crafted wall of denial explodes when your cousin shows up again one night.
You tremble as your eyes rest on him. Felix smiles at you, pushing the secret door closed. You note the camera dangling from his neck. The entire day was spent snapping pictures to remember the summer. You took so many silly ones with Venetia and your brother. For a while, you let yourself forget. Felix took most of the pictures today, appearing in very few himself. You just didn’t expect him to still be wearing it this late.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” you reply shyly.
“How are you feeling today?”
Your lips clamp shut. Today was awful. Apparently your mom might be getting evicted soon. She hasn’t stopped texting you about it the entire day, and even some of the night because of the time difference. You feel so dauntingly powerless…and awful. You’re staying in a literal castle while your mom might be homeless soon.
“I’m good.”
He takes lithe steps towards you, his handsome face twisting in sympathy as he plops down on your bed. He removes the camera from around his neck and tosses it over your pillows.
“No you’re not. You’re still worried about your mom. You were checking your phone all day today.”
You bring your knees close to your chest.
“It’s fine, Felix.”
Felix sighs, concern swimming in his brown gaze.
“No, it’s not fine.” His fingers roam over your ankle as he lies on his side. “You know…” Felix pauses, eyes holding yours. “I could talk to my dad if you want. He never refuses me anything.” He flashes a sunny grin. “After all, I’m his precious boy. His firstborn son.”
You gape at him.
“You really would do that for my mom?”
Felix sits up and closes the distance between the two of you. He bends over you, placing his large hands over your feet. You follow the stars tattoos etched atop his hand; his sister has the same ones if you recall.
His knees graze your ankles as he says, “Not for your mom. For you, cousin. So that frown on your face can finally…” He flicks your brow with his thumb and laughs. “...disappear. Like magic.”
You consider Felix, relief and awe storming through you.
Without giving it much thought, you toss your arms around his neck.
“Thank you so much,” you exclaim.
“Of course…” His fingers travel along your spine. “I’d just have a little favor to ask in return.”
“Sure, anything,” you answer easily.
He pulls back, lacing his fingers with yours.
“It’s not much.”
The heady scent of his cologne washes over you as he leans forward.
“I’ve been aching somewhere lately and I need you to make it better, cousin.”
“Oh, aching…where?”
“I think it’s best if I just show you.”
A foreboding inkling flares in your gut. Still, you don’t move as Felix “shows you”. He tugs on his shorts. He slowly pulls on the fabric, shimmying out of it as you hold your breath. When his length springs free, you unleash a small squeak. Your reaction drags a laugh out of Felix.
Though you don’t really want to, you can’t help but stare. It’s thick and long with veins running alongside the shaft. The tip points upward, glistening and red.
“I don’t know if I can help with…something like that,” you mumble, your voice wavering at the end.
“Sure you can.”
He lifts your chin, diving his eyes into yours.
“I just need somewhere warm, and soft, to slip the tip of my cock so it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Shock parts your lips.
“Felix…”
He hooks his thumb inside your open mouth, a lopsided grin stretching on his face.
“Come on, it’ll just be the tip, I promise. Then we never have to talk about it anymore. You won’t even feel it, I swear.”
“Just the…tip?” you say, your throat knotting as your gaze drifts down. You take in Felix’s size, swallowing thickly. It matches the rest of him, you suppose. You don’t even think it could fit, not fully. So just the tip is probably for the best. “Nothing more?”
“Just the tip. And I’ll talk to my dad first thing in the morning.” He strokes your cheek, uttering softly, “I bet your mom will be so happy for what you did for her.”
You heave out a deep, resigned breath. Right, your mom. While you’re not too comfortable with what Felix is asking for, if it means he’ll talk to Uncle James, you don’t have it in you to refuse. A favor for a favor. Then you’ll spend the rest of the summer forgetting it ever happened. You can do that.
You peer up at Felix.
“Okay then but don’t…stay too long.”
He beams at you.
“You’re amazing.”
Felix leans back. He removes his shorts fully, revealing himself in all his naked glory.
“Just lay back for me, cousin,” he instructs. He slants his head, satisfaction filling his gaze when you do as he says. “Open those perfect legs of yours.” His pupils swell with lust as you part your quivering thighs.
“Good girl,” he praises.
Felix crawls over you. You freeze. He grips the waistband of your pajama bottoms to slide them off your legs. He takes his time, agonizingly slow as he soaks in every tiny shift on your face. Horror curls your insides. You wish he’d just get it over with. But it’s clear Felix wishes to enjoy every mortifying second of this.
Your panties are next. Once again, he drags it out. Warmth blooms in your face as cool air hits your bare folds. It’s worse than last time, because there’s nothing to dull your senses, or pretend it isn’t happening.
“Don’t close your legs. I want to see everything,” he says when you try to hide from him. His throat bobs, hunger lurking in his eyes as he licks his lips. “You have a really pretty pussy, you know that, cousin?”
“Please, don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“B-Because it’s embarrassing.”
He smirks.
“You’re so fucking cute.”
Your cousin plucks the discarded camera and points it at your face. The blinding light sears your eyelids as he quickly snaps a series of pictures of you in the compromising position.
Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your pulse soaring.
“W-Why did you just take a picture?”
“Because I want to remember you like this.”
He chortles as you try to snatch the camera from his hands, keeping it out of your reach with ease with his long arm.
“Delete it, Felix,” you plead.
He tilts his head, his expression dripping with mischief.
“Sure, if you do everything I say, I’ll delete it.”
Tears brim beneath your lashes. You want to trust Felix. You really do. But he always asks for more. You wonder where it’ll end, if it ever will.
“You promise?”
“Of course. I’d never lie to you, cousin.”
He places the camera on the floor near the bed. If you thought you could get past him, destroy the camera, you would. However you’re beginning to realize something about Felix. He always gets his way.
He crawls his way to you. You don’t resist as Felix nudges you down, trapping you beneath him. The fitful drumming of your heart fills your ears.
He bends down, stealing your lips in a heated kiss. His lips sweep over yours, hungry, feverish. He cups the side of your face, moaning as he explores your mouth. His hands start wandering over your body. They feel everywhere at once, kneading and teasing your flesh. Felix pulls your top over your head so you’re in nothing but your bra.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing your air and sanity. You melt beneath him.
The air is robbed from your lungs when he starts prodding at your entrance. Your fingers clench around the sheets. His thick tip stretches you so much already. You can barely take it.
His voice comes out hoarse and strained.
“You feel so bloody good.”
He pushes a bit more. You tense, your walls aching at his size. Your tearful gaze rises to the ceiling. Felix seizes your chin, pulling it so your eyes lock with his.
“Look at me,” he instructs.
He piledrives into you, sheathing himself inside you completely. Your vision flickers as he finds the hilt of you. Your lips part in a silent scream. Your chest heaves and falls quickly.
“Felix, you said…”
He shushes you, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he begins moving inside you. A wicked glow burns in Felix’s brown gaze. “I know what I said…but it feels too good inside you, cousin.”
“But you promised...” you sob.
He kisses away your tears, his voice mellowing.
“I’m sorry,” he says after thrusting inside you deeply. “I’m so sorry…” Your toes flex, stars creeping in your sight with each of your cousin’s vigorous thrusts. His pace doesn’t relent, even as you weep and plead him with your eyes. He almost seems to pluck joy from your quiet helplessness. His chest brushes over yours as his lips ghost over your earshell. “But I don’t think I can stop.”
Your breathing quickens. As Felix’s cock grazes along your sensitive spots, little whimpers spill from your throat. He drapes one hand over your mouth, still pounding inside you.
“Shh, be quiet for me, cousin. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, right?”
“I think our uncle likes you better than me.”
You look at your brother through your sunglasses. You’re thankful for them. They’ve done a nice job concealing the puffiness of your eyes. You’ve been crying a lot lately. Too often. It started the night Felix snuck into your room and the flood hasn’t really stopped since. All of it turns your stomach. The lying, the sneaking around…the sick, twisted lies. His sick, twisted lies. It was supposed to just be one time.
Felix deceived you.
Every night since that one, your cousin found his way into your room, coaxing you to do things that make you hate yourself afterwards. It’s even slowly escalated to daily trysts. Felix would conjure excuses to steal you away while your other relatives are blissfully unaware. Having his way with you in a dark corner. Fingering you in the library. Cornering you in the maze to taste the nectar between your legs. Your cousin seems determined to make sure no inch of Saltburn isn’t tainted by his wicked desires.
This is a nightmare.
Your mom was so overjoyed on the phone after receiving Uncle James’ payment. And you’re glad you could help. But the cost…Did your mother’s happiness have to occur at your expense? You’re so exhausted, ashamed. You don’t know how long you can stand to be the vessel for your cousin’s lurid fantasies.
Even proper rest is denied to you now, the fear of someone figuring it out keeping you wide awake for hours every night.
“I doubt that,” you say, your lips curving in a stilted smile.
Farleigh leans back in his lounge chair, pushing his sunglasses over his nose.
“Still, good job, little sis.” A wide grin blooms on his face. “Guess being a goody two-shoes has its perks.”
Your chest clenches at your brother’s remark.
As Felix’s eyes find yours from across the pond, your blood freezes. He smiles at you. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. You shift, your attention returning to your brother.
“I-I don’t know about that.”
You thought the awfulness reached its peak. You were wrong. A new brand of twisted is introduced by Felix during breakfast with the entire family.
He sits next to you, smiling at you. You don’t think much of it. Why would you? He’s done this before. Taunt you. Tease you. Torment you. Even in front of the rest of them.
But what he does today, while Aunt Elspeth sits across from you and your brother is on your other side…it’s just ghastly. Impious.
Felix’s digits roam atop your thigh. You shoot him a glare. He pointedly ignores you, carrying a casual conversation with his mom while playing with the hem of your dress.
You focus on your plate. He caresses the inside of your thigh as you bring the fork to your lips.
He presses two fingers against your clothed center. Pushing, pressing and swirling around your tender bud. Your knees rub, heat gathering at the apex of your thighs.
The metal of the fork damn near shatters your teeth as you choke on a mouthful of eggs.
You apologize swiftly, shakily grabbing the glass of water near your plate. You take a long swig from it and clear your throat. Felix’s digits dip further inside you. Your breath hitches. He stops just shy of letting you come apart, bringing you to the cusp only to retreat at the very last second. A meticulously thought out torture.
It lasts for almost the entirety of breakfast, only reaching an end when Venetia rises from the table. You follow right after her, excusing yourself with a tense smile.
Hollow steps take you through an endless series of hallways. You can hardly even think, the enormity of what your cousin just did in front of his parents, in front of everyone, shocking you into numbness. Where will his depravity end? You long for summer to end so perhaps you can finally be free from your cousin.
You wind up in an empty room brimming with dusty books and antiques. You sit in a corner, knees against your chest, as you revel in a rare moment of respite. You don’t get these as often anymore. Not if your cousin has anything to say about it.
As usual, it doesn’t take long for Felix to find you a little later. Your heart skips a beat when his towering frame darkens the doorway, blocking any chance of an escape.
“Playing hide and seek, cousin?” he teases, amusement laced in his voice.
Tears swim in your eyes as you shoot him an accusing look.
“At breakfast, really? Someone could have seen, Felix. M-My brother, he could have seen.”
Rolling his eyes, he hops towards you to take a seat next to you. His rebuttal is disturbingly nonchalant.
“We’re not gonna get caught.”
“I think we should stop,” you sputter, your mouth wobbling.
His brows squeeze together, a mix of annoyance and confusion twisting his features.
“Why?”
You fiddle with the bottom of your dress, struggling to meet his irate stare.
“I’m grateful for everything you did, really, but this doesn’t feel right.”
His cheek pulses, a strange grin dragging his lips upward. Your stomach sinks.
“We’re just having fun, you and I, cousin.”
Your words warp into a watery croak.
“This isn’t fun, Felix.”
A weary sigh drops from his chest.
“It’s because you’re overthinking it,” he says, reaching out to cup your cheek. You turn your head. Frustration flickers in your cousin’s eyes. As you try to stand, he grabs you and shoves you on the floor.
“Felix, no…”
Ignoring your sniveling pleas, Felix hastily unzips his jeans and yanks your underwear down to your ankles.
A strangled sob flows from your lips as he nestles himself inside your wet heat in a single deep, cruel thrust.
You’re a whimpering mess on the floor as your cousin pounds into you from behind.
“Just stop fighting it,” he grunts. He twists his fist in your hair, your scalp singing in pain when he tugs at your roots. Tears stream down your face while your cousin snaps his pelvis into your ass.
“See? This is good.” His warm, heavy exhales tickle your nape. “Doesn’t my cock inside you feel good, cousin?”
“Yes…” you begrudgingly admit, loathing how every time he sinks into you, your toes curl and your eyes roll back on their own, warm tingles dancing through your core.
“Look outside.” You wince as he angles your chin towards the window, his other hand still tangled in your hair. You’re greeted with a beautiful sight of the lush gardens sprawling before the castle. His hot whisper grazes your temple. “Do you see all this? How beautiful Saltburn is…especially in the summer.” His smile carves into your skin.
“One day, all of this will be mine, cousin.” He plants a soft kiss on your cheek. Shivers course through your spine. “And it could be yours too… if you behave.”
#saltburn#felix catton#saltburn fanfiction#felix catton x reader#dark!felix catton#dark!felix catton x reader#saltburn 2023
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My entire life, I've yearned for the kind of community the Jewish community and Judaism have provided me. I found out I had Jewish ancestry when I was a kid, I looked into it more later and realized my most recent Jewish ancestor (like three-ish generations back) was almost certainly forcibly converted out, and decided to convert to like. Make amends for that I guess and also because I really vibed with the holidays and how we turn up everywhere in history bc we keep doing cool stuff despite consistently shitty circumstances.
But I digress.
I have waited my WHOLE LIFE trying to experience the joy becoming Jewish has shown me, and that gets shit on constantly.
My sister has started making a truly obscene number of Jew jokes. My mom scoffs at all the 'nonsense rules' and has said repeatedly that she thinks choosing a 'restrictive' religion is dumb and I've made a mistake. She even said it's an insult to HER parenting skills that I would seek out religion after she tried to teach me to know better.
My dad is dead but I never ever in a million years would have told him even if he were alive, and my sister thinks it's funny to threaten to 'out' me as Jewish to his relatives even though they're basically KKK-adjacent so she actually enjoys threatening mg safety at this point. (Yay family right?)
My friends have turned everything into an Israel/Palestine discussion lately and I know damn well what they're doing when they start saying truly horrible shit about Israelis and looking at me. They get mad if I try to temper their extremism so I've given up. I barely talk to them anymore and I spend more and more time with other Jews from temple and I don't want to like. Isolate myself from all non-Jews I guess bc I've always felt like that leads to weirdness and perpetuates shit about Jews being unfriendly I guess idk?
Anyway I digress again. My point is I'm really sick of constantly being expected to tolerate it when people think I shouldn't be Jewish.
Other queer people think I'm somehow compromising my queer identity by being Jewish, leftists think I hunt Palestinian children for sport now apparently, right-wingers think I traffic good Christian babies for organ harvesting or some shit idfk, my friends think that if I'm not being more vitriolic in my hatred of Israel than they already are I'm some kind of secret rabid Netanyahu fan, my family think I've been recruited into a cult apparently and the only other people who show me even an ounce of compassion or regard are other Jews and Gd knows there's like ten of us and that number is unlikely to increase.
Just. Fuck. I've put blood, sweat, tears and money into this, I invested more time and emotional commitment into this than I have into going to college or choosing a career, I love it more than anything and have only loved it more the more I learned about it, and all I get when I express this or even just let slip that I am Jewish and chose to be, I get nothing but hatred. I will never understand how a religion that has spent all 5000 years of our existence minding our business and arguing about the same book over and over can possibly have offended this many people with our existence.
Dmn anon, that is a lot you're dealing with right now. I'm so sorry you're surrounded by people who clearly don't respect you. Because yes this is a lack of basic respect, and it is antisemitic. Now I don't know how old you are and how safe you are, but if you can safely do so, set very hard boundaries. Do not tolerate this amount of disrespect towards who you are. It is hard, and many of us have had to go through similar situations, as you can read all over this blog. But I think having to spend your life surrounded by people who make you feel unsafe and disrespected is worse. I know sometimes there are situations in which people cannot safely set these boundaries, I hope it's not your case, but if it is feel free to come here to vent again.
I know you don't want to isolate yourself from goyim. Many Jewish people don't want to. Sadly, when people disrespect us like this, they're the ones isolating us. It's not your fault. Seek people who love and accept you. Sadly, a good chunk of goyim won't - I'm not saying everyone, obviously, but a portion. Having a good Jewish support network seems to be more and more important, whether it's irl or online.
I hope you can soon be in an environment that's safer and more accepting
- 🐺
#jewish vents#antisemitism#leftist antisemitism#jewish convert#i feel like i need to clarify#while i said that a good portion of goyim are disrespectful and antisemitic#i dont mean every goy is#so if someone is coming in the comments to call me goy-phobic i assure you i do not have the patience to deal with that#i mean what i said#thats not an attack on goyim#its just an observable truth stated by literally every jewish person I've ever spoken to#if you feel offended at being called antisemitic try not to be antisemitic#like im sorry i sound so mad but i am just very tired of seeing my community suffer while everyone else just looks the other way
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Book recs: fairies
Fey, fae, fairies, faeries - pick your spelling, the fair folk are an undeniably popular trope in fantasy, and can be portrayed in wildly different ways, from cute pixies, to terrifying creatures of lore, to handsome and romantic beings of fairy tales. This list is a wild mix, all of them featuring fae or fae-like beings as central characters.
For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!
If you want more book recs, check out my masterpost of rec lists!
Borderline (The Arcadia Project trilogy) by Mishell Baker*
Urban fantasy mystery. A year after a failed suicide attempt that cost her both her legs and her film-making career, Millie is recruited by a secretive organisation that works to control traffic to and from Arcadia, the land of faries, and given the assignment of tracking down a missing nobleman of the Seelie Court in Hollywood. Bisexual main character, excellent if you like me enjoy reading about deeply messy women.
Phaeton by Rachel Sharp*
Jack and Rosie, couple and hackers, just got their hands on a brand new device: the phaeton, a phone which, despite its crappy parts, is seemingly capable of doing the impossible. Utilizing their skills, they quickly realize it works not through technology, but by being remotely controlled by a living creature - a fae. This revelation throws them into a war between the fae of old and a new type of fae, able to withstand iron and looking to exploit their fellows through this advantage.
Rosemary and Rue (October Daye series) by Seanan Mcguire
Urban fantasy mystery. October "Toby" Daye is a changeling, half human and half fae, who, after having been burned by both sides of her heritage, has retreated to a "normal" life, away from the faerie world. But the murder of Countess Evening Winterrose pulls Toby back in, a curse forcing her to take on the mystery and find the murderer. While I found the first book a bit weak, the series does get better from there on, with engaging characters and interesting mysteries.
Knife (Faerie Rebels trilogy) by R.J. Anderson
Young adult. Young Knife is a Hunter, providing for a group of faeries living inside an oak, their population slowly dying. Long ago, their people lost almost all their magic, and without it they are doomed. But Knife isn't one to give up; recruiting the help of Paul, a human boy living nearby the faery oak, she is set on discovering the secret of - and solution to - her people's missing magic.
Among Others by Jo Walton
Magical realism. Growing up with a half-crazed mother, Morwenna found solace in two places: reading science fiction novels, and playing with the spirits of Wales alongside her twin sister. But after their mother tried to twist the spirits to her own whims with deadly consequences, Mori is sent off alone to private school, where she attempts to come to terms with what happened. This is less "teen girl on big adventure" and more "what happens after the trauma of adventure", with it being partly left up to the reader whether the fantastical elements are read as real or not.
Gossamer Axe by Gael Baudino
Centuries ago in Ireland, Chairiste Ní Cummen was trained in the secrets of music and magic. But her pride was her downfall, trapping her and her lover in the land of the Sidh. Only Chairiste escaped, hoping to one day win her lover's freedom in musical battle with the fairy that holds her captive. Now she is Christa Cruitare, harp teacher in the modern world and all but resigned to her loss. Until she comes across a great new music: heavy metal. Taking one last chance to win her lover's freedom, Christa sets out to gather other skilled musicians and bring them with her in her final battle.
In the Jaded Grove by Anela Deen
After years of war, pixie soldier Simith is tired of bloodshed and secretly sets up a meeting to discuss peace. But he’s betrayed and forced on the run - right through a door to another world. Meanwhile, Jessa is on her way home when she encounters a man about to be killed, and intervenes to save his life. With that simple act, the fate of the two - and that of the war - become interlinked. While I found the general execution of this one a bit weak, the concept and characters are interesting, and it’s a fun take on the portal fantasy genre.
Under the Pendulum Sun by Jeannette Ng
Catherine Helstone's brother Laon has traveled to Arcadia, the dangerous land of the Fae, and has since lost contact with her. Worried sick and desperate for news, Catherine embarks on the perilous journey herself, but on arrival she fins herself isolated and in danger of the Queen of the Fae, who is hard on her brother's heel.
Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett*
Historical fantasy. Emily Wilde is a professor who prefers the company of faeries, dangerous but bound to rules she can understand, to that of humans, who she finds inexplicable. Working on her faerie encyclopedia, she travels on a research expedition to the faraway Hrafnsvik, hoping for some solitary months of study. Her hopes are dashed when Wendell Bambleby, rival scholar and possible faerie in hiding, arrives on her doorstep. But Wendell's aggravating presence is far from Emily's only problem, as the Hidden Folk of Hrafnsvik turns out to be far more dangerous than expected.
The Watchers by A.M. Shine
Horror. When her car breaks down, Mina tries crossing a forest by foot. As the sun goes down she finds herself lost with something dangerous closing in; at the last second, a woman appears and urges her into a bunker. Inside is a room with a mirrored wall, in which a group of strangers, stranded just like Mina, huddles through the night. Outside in the dark, something malevolent watches them through the glass. Will the group ever be able to escape the forest? While I found the characters somewhat unconvincing, this is a spooky story with fascinating lore.
The Call (Grey Land duology) by Peadar Ó'Guilín
Young adult horror. After having scorned the fae, Nessa's nation has been cursed: every teenager will, at some point, be called into the Grey Land for 3 minutes and 4 seconds before being returned. 9 out of 10 are returned dead. Trying to keep their country alive, children are sent off to training schools to prepare them and better their chances of survival. Her legs having been twisted by polio at a young age, Nessa's chances are worse than most, but she is determined to make it through her call alive.
The Twisted Ones by T. Kingfisher*
Horror. When her grandmother dies, Mouse takes on the task of clearing out the old woman's home. But as she arrives at her grandmother's home she realizes her mistake: her grandmother was a hoarder, and Mouse has her work cut out for her. As if this wasn't bad enough, among the things left behind Mouse finds her step-grandfather's journal, describing various horrifying encounters. All nonsense, Mouse, assumes - until she starts making her own encounters in the dark forest surrounding the house.
Faebound (Faebound series) by Saara El-Arifi
Elven sisters Yeeren and Lettle have grown up in the shadow of a forever war, one as a soldier and the other as a diviner and teller of prophecy. But when Yeeren makes a fatal mistake and is exiled, the two leave their familiar world for the first time - and end up with the mythical, and believed extinct, fae. Here they must juggle their own loyalties and hearts with political intrigue as they try to find a way to survive and return to their home. While I didn’t personally dig the romantasy vibes of this and found the elves and fae could’ve been more interesting, if you like epic fantasy with heavy romance, both f/f and f/m, you will probably enjoy it.
Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik*
Historical fantasy with strong fairytale vibes. Miryem's father is a moneylender, but his inability to collect on debts has left his family on the brink of ruin. Desperate and ruthless, Miryem steps in to take his place, and suddenly the family's luck has turned. But Miryem's reputation of being able to turned silver to gold catches the attention of the Staryk King - dangerous creatures who seem made of ice body, mind and heart. In her schemes to survive the King's demands, Miryem's actions ensnare a local farmer's daughter as well as the new wife of the tsar. As their fates are bound together, the three girls may change their land forever, for better or for worse.
An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson
Young adult romance. Isobel is an artist with a particular and dangerous set of clients in the fair folk. The fairies cannot create art on their own, and her portraits are highly coveted. But as she paints a portrait for the autumn prince, Rook, Isobel makes a mistake: she paints human emotion into his eyes. This weakens Rook before the fairy court, and in his fury he spirits Isobel away to stand trial for her crime.
Stardust by Neil Gaiman
In a desperate attempt to win the heart of the beautiful Victoria, Tristran Thorn makes her a promise to fetch the falling star they both saw crash one night. But to do so, he must enter the land of Faerie, where nothing is as it seems, least of all the fallen star, who isn't very keen on being given away as a gift.
Guardian of the Dead by Karen Healey*
Young adult. Ellie cares mostly about hanging out with her friend Kevin and pining after her crush Mark, but when a string of grisly murders - all the victims missing their eyes - starts taking place in her town, it’s the start of something ancient and dangerous, as vengeful fairies battle for immortality. Set in New Zeeland and based on Māori mythology.
Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir
Novella. When Floralinda was first locked in a tower by a witch, princes kept coming to try and save her. But none of them made it past the dragon on the first floor, let alone the monsters after it, and now the supply of willing princes seems to have dried up. Starting to grow desperate, Floralinda captures and makes a deal with a small fairy for it to assist her in escaping the tower.
A note: all these Holly Black books are set in the same universe and do on occasion cross over, but can be read independently.
Tithe (Modern Faerie Tales trilogy) by Holly Black
Young adult. Sixteen-year-old Kade, used to traveling around with her mother's rock band, has just found herself back in her childhood home town. Here she meets up with old acquaintances - not all of them human. For Kade has always been able to see the faeries invisible to most humans. Among them is a handsome faerie knight she finds injured in the woods and chooses to help. In doing this, she becomes embroiled in a struggle between two rivaling and highly dangerous faerie courts.
The Darkest Part of the Forest by Holly Black
Young adult. Siblings Hazel and Ben live in Fairfold, a strange town where people leave out milk for the fairies and tourists come to look at a fairy prince locked in an enchanted sleep in a glass coffin in the woods. But things have been getting even stranger in Fairfold; the fair folk are getting more agressive, and the glass coffin in the woods gets shattered. As unrest spreads throughout the town, Hazel keeps a secret that may unravel it all.
The Cruel Prince (The Folk of The Air trilogy) by Holly Black
Young adult. When Jude was seven, her parent's were murdered by a spurned faerie lover of her mother's, while she and her sisters were stolen away to be raised at the High Court of Faerie. Ten years later, Jude wants nothing more than to belong in this dangerous land. Her struggle is made all the harder by Cardan, handsome faerie prince with a knack for pestering her. As she strives for some semblance of power in this dangerous realm, Jude gets involved with a conspiracy that may change Faerie forever.
Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool
Sinners (The Fae Feast series) by Eka Waterfield
Niavin isn't just a sidh Lord, he's also a drug lord, providing the fae's drug of choice: toxic human pollution.
Lore of the Wilds by Analeigh Sbrana
Romantasy. Lore Alemeyu's village is under ruthless Fae rule, trapped within a forested prison. To protect her village, Lore makes a deal with a Fae lord to organize an enchanted library which only a human can enter.
Black Sun Rising (The Coldfire trilogy) by C.S. Friedman
On a planet far away, a priest, an adept, a sorcerer, and an apprentice are drawn together to fight against the evil fae which preys upon humanity.
That Self-Same Metal (Forge & Fracture Saga) by Brittany N. Williams
Young adult historical fantasy. Joan Sands works as a stagehand for William Shakespeare's acting company. Secretly, she’s also blessed by the Orisha with magical powers, and the ability to see Fae. And lately, the Fae are up to something...
Euphoria Kids by Alison Evans
Three teens - one cursed to sometimes be invisible, one who grew from a seed in the ground, and one who has yet to find his real name - find themselves sharing magic and the ability to speak with dryads and fae.
The Wind City by Simmer Wigmore
Old forces are gathering in Wellington, as the displaced iwi atua of legend reappear and decide to make the city their home, and not all of them mean well.
Honorary mentions AKA these didn't really work for me but maybe you guys will like them: Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr, A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas, Faerie Tale by Raymond E. Feist, Malice by Heather Walter, Poison Kiss by Ana Mardoll, Wintersong by S. Jae-Jones
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Smallishbeans
Kills: 3
Cause of first death: Fall Damage
Cause of second death: GeminiTay
Cause of final death: Smajor1995
Team: Mounders
Place: 5/17
Succeeds: 9
Fails: 4
Re-rolls: 1
Session 1: Promote LIFE merch at the worst possible time to other players 4 times.
Session 2: Start a cult.
Session 3: Listen into another player’s conversation then try to have the same conversation with them later and have them claim deja vu. [Re-roll for harder task] Do a 100 block water bucket clutch in front of the whole server. [FAILED]
Session 4: Say a lyric from All Star by Smash Mouth in 4 different conversations. It can not lyric and you must not be called out on it.
Session 5: Backseat game Pearlescentmoon for 10 minutes. If they call you out, move onto another player. You fail if you have to move on more than 3 times.
Session 6: You are Scott’s assassin. You must deal a minimum of 10 hearts of damage to them to succeed. You can use other people or any means you please. But if you are called out by them as the assassin, you fail, even if you already dealt the damage. They only have one guess. [FAILED]
Session 7: Whenever you talk to another player you must be at least one block higher than them, even if you place the block yourself. You fail if you speak to someone while on the same level or lower. You pass if you successfully do this all session. [FAILED][infected: All players who are infected have their task changed to Gem’s, which is: You are infected with the boogeyman curse. You must kill a non-red to infect them. Once you have infected them, show them this book. Their task (if they have one) is replaced with this. Yellows cannot call out this task, and you cannot re-roll for hard. You succeed when all non-reds have the curse during the session. All infected players can work together. Anyone infected can kill a non-red, but the most recently infected player must be involved. If you turn red, you can choose to be free from the curse by hitting fail early.] [FAILED]
Session 8: Task 1: Fire arrows from an unenchanted bow continuously at Scar until they deflect with a shield. If they die, you also succeed. Task 2: Build an explosive under a high traffic area. Detonate it from afar when a conversation is happening. If you deal any damage, you succeed. Task 3: Build a TNT cannon and successfully hit a base from at least 50 blocks. Task 4: You must damage a yellow player by firing a bow straight up into the air. The angle cannot be below roughly 70 degrees. Task 5: Tame at least 5 wolves and use them to deal damage to a non-red. Task 6: Use redstone to damage a non-red player. You cannot hit them with the item, it must be a machine or trap of some kind. [Unfinished this session]
Session 9: Win Secret Life. [FAILED]
Lemme know if something is wrong or if there’s something you want me to add!
#smallishbeans#joel smallishbeans#trafficblr#secretlifesmp#secretlife#trafficlife#trafficlifesmp#playercards#secretlifeplayercards
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From 2016 through 2018, Evil Supply Co. (hi, it me, we are rebranding) published 21 monster newspapers detailing the lives and tomfooleries of ghosts, witches, mermaids, monsters, dragons, gorgons, wizards, rock creatures, goblins, orcs... etc.
The Complete Evil Supply Co. collection is available for free via PDF by clicking this link here.
Please feel free to share. Please feel free to link to it on your own blog or media or whatevers.
The link will take you to a Google Drive page, so when I say "there is no obligation or sign ups" I mean it. I won't even know that you downloaded it.
You can of course tell me. But you don't have to.
The entire point of making this public is to give you something without asking for something in return.
Every issue. Every in-universe ad. A few extra rambles at the beginning and end discussing the future. It's just over 100 pages and something like 40- 50,000 words. I counted once and it took forever.
I've been making it free for years and have given away several copies because the community of folks who love monsters and Halloween and mermaids has provided me an audience to build an unimaginably fun life.
A company can exist for many reasons. Making the world a better place via a utopian paradise is one of mine.
When I say this project is my life's work, I mean it.
I'm getting far too sappy.
Let's talk about the future a moment.
I have been exploring various printed versions of the book for months. I'm hoping to narrow down a company to work with sometime before the store launches (Autumn 2023). Did you know that books are absurdly heavy?
The printed version will not be free. The link above (and here, we love utility in this crypt) is formatted to print fine on 8.5" x 11" paper. It is again though 100+ pages, so do be aware. The PDF will always be free, even after said printed version launches.
Onwards to next, non-secret things
Remember this? I've signed a contract today to build a microsite on the blog that will house the Dispatch in web format. This is third in priority --
blog (April 2023)
shop (Autumn 2023)
Dispatch microsite (...?)
-- for obvious reasons. The PDF will be available for free for as long as I run this company, this is not a limited time offer. I mentioned that above but I like mentioning things, including "I like mentioning things."
The existence of non-secret things implies... secret... things?
Kinda.
One of the features of the blog that I'm really excited to offer is advice columns and in-character pen pal exchanges. "Hey Strawberry, how does magic work underwater?" and then you'll get a reply if your ask is chosen.
And by reply I mean a published thing online + an actual physical letter in the mail as this company is a non-governmental postal facility after all. A post office, if you will. A Netherworld Post Office, even!
The stories from Evil Supply Co.'s dispatch are serving as a near-final draft of new stories.
Or maybe a solid starter. Anyway, the point being:
All of the plot points and characters (etc) are sticking around (with the exception of Atticus, as a fictional character in the newspaper, I've decided to just be a semi-fictional character in actual real life).
The direction of new stories is "more of everything" and "cleaning up minor plot point holes" and/or "using plot point holes for comedic purposes and strategic hilarity."
There will be a brand new character replacing the Atticus character.
I really liked running the Dispatch. It was one of the things I'm most proud of -- a monster newspaper?! all original content!! I drew it all, I wrote it all!
I want to explore bringing it back in some form.
And.
I recognize I have a lot on my plate at the moment. So the best path forward is, as above, giving away the base + building the microsite.
One of the beautiful things, I have come to realize after surviving my 2020 traffic accident + ensuing as well as not related legal battles to get people to pay me what they owe:
I have a lot of time.
I don't need to rush things.
Whoops!
Wrong link.
Try this one instead.
(That terrible joke was as immensely satisfying to write as you think it was. Doubly so if you get that the link is from Ocarina of Time and I was just talking about time okay I'll see myself to the door this post has gone on way too long.)
Let's wrap this up!
NetherworldPost.com has the email signup.
If you've signed up before, the auto- duplication- resolution- witchcraft- tech- things will take care of it. You won't get a ton of emails.
First email will go out saying "blog is launched" when said blog launches and then rambles thereafter.
(Bugs Bunny and others gifs used in this post do not appear but are included as helping legibility of said this post.)
#peyroux dispatch#monster stories#monster fiction#ghost fiction#halloween stories#monster newspaper#evil supply co#evilsupplyco
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shall we hold hands and head home? — an anthology ft. levi ackerman and eren
mission title: how to have a genius child in less than a week (wc: 4.3k) | masterlist
“Belladonna, congratulations. Your mission is a success. The reward will be deposited in your account in a short while. We, the Wings of Freedom, thank you for your service yet again.”
An explosion erupts behind you as you slam the door of your car.
You sigh, rolling your shoulders and letting out a satisfied hum once some of the joints popped. With all the running around and fighting you did for the day, your entire body is screaming for you to book a hotel and let yourself sink in the plush mattress of one king-sized bed, disguising make-up gone from your face and shoulder free of secret missions. You take off the wig that’s expertly done around your head, alongside the cap hiding your real identity, tossing it on the backseat without a second glance. Your hair tumbles on your shoulders, its familiarity giving you a momentary period of peace, which was broken when the burning warehouse opened to a flurry of flaming, angered suited men. Already anticipating their arrival, you rev the car’s engine, disappearing into the twilight, and leaving behind curses of a devil stopping all corrupt wrongdoings in this territory.
While driving, you push a button on your earpiece. “Belladonna here. There was an attempted pursuit. I’m sorry for not answering right away.”
There’s a crackle in your earpiece. You can faintly hear a “Hange, no!”
You side-eye the device in your earlobe, patiently waiting for those in the Headquarters to finally talk their piece. You blend in with the traffic as you do so.
“Belle!” A loud, exuberant voice greets your hearing.
Already used to it, you only chuckle at the enthusiasm laced in between the syllables of your preferred alias. “Hello, Hange.”
“Heard the mission is a success!” Hange, the head of your organization’s technological department is one vibrant character. Having joined a few months before you, you gradually developed this sense of camaraderie with them first. It has been years since then and never did you two feel any distance wedge in your relationship, not even the literal distance separating you two because of missions that might take months to finish. Having their voice after this excruciating one makes you feel like you can easily breathe now. Your musings are cut off when you hear their next words, “Head to the train station for the next instructions, Belle. This call might be short-lived but know that you can always contact me with the phone I gave you.” They sigh. “Man, Erwin never lets you take a break, huh?”
You snicker, stopping the car at an alleyway entrance. You stretch to the backseat and take out a bag of your necessities. Thank God for the tinted windows because without any delayed second, you take off the disguise you don and hastily put on an ankle-length dress, white-heeled sandals, and a wide-brimmed hat. The car door behind you makes a loud bang, your heels leading you to the train station. You once again place an inconspicuous hand on your ear, your hair perfectly hiding the earpiece from view. “Tell me about it.”
“Well, then. See you in about a few months, Belle!”
You lightly laugh. You wordlessly thank the employee giving you your ticket. “See you when I see you.” Nothing follows. You discreetly take off the earpiece from your right ear and slide it inside one of the pockets of your bag.
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it!”
A teenage boy with light brown hair passes newspapers to a couple of hurrying passengers running after their trains. Even with the mild cursing, the boy continues to give the people folded newspapers without asking for anything in return. You walk towards him and hand him a couple of coins. In a flash, the boy’s eyes light up at the sight of you. He expertly takes one of the newspapers resting idly at the side of the pile and hands it to you. “Thank you for your purchase, miss!” With that, he scurries off and proceeds to market his newspapers to some passengers.
One of the recruits in your organization is a promising spy already. He’s one of the interns running around trying to keep up with Hange’s jittering nature. You keep a smile on your face as you board your train. Despite the heaviness of your job, there are still moments that you wish are longer than necessary. You only want to see Erwin slouching inside his office after losing a bet to one of the veterans, Hange hissing at everyone when they’re being told to take a bath, or Mike spritzing himself with his new perfume by spraying it in the air and walking through the mist. It might be a difficult job being a spy but you can’t deny that it has brought you an immense amount of experience to last a thousand lifetimes.
The downside to everything is your loss of identity.
You’ve long since abandoned your past the moment you were suggested to join the Wings of Freedom by Erwin. It didn’t even matter because you never remembered the family who brought you into the world. All you know are so many faces standing in the position of a mother and father. Which is why you chose the moniker, Belladonna. You don’t want to associate with the many houses that forced you to call them home, even the people who gave you your name. It’s sad because Hange constantly reminds you that your name is beautiful. Too bad it only gives you fever dreams of a woman caressing your head or a man lifting you in the air in glee.
Having enough of the idle musings, you cross your legs and open the newspaper the teenage boy gave you earlier.
“A pleasant day to you, Belladonna. You saved another plot from arising. We can’t afford a coup d’etat happening when we have another looming threat around the horizon. As much as we want you to enjoy a peaceful vacation on a private island, this next threat needs to be taken care of immediately.” You furrow your eyebrows at that. A picture of a long-haired man in the newspaper catches your attention. “Your next target is Willy Tybur, the true ruling force of Marley and the mastermind behind the new era of war between their nation and the entirety of Eldia. It is advised that you shall get close to him and probe into any seditious activities he may commit.” You figure that you might have to seduce another married man into submission and ruin. It’s what you do most of the time, given the fact that you’re a woman with the necessary skills to bring a man down to his knees.
“But to do that, you have to marry someone and have a child.”
You bristle, “What the fuck?!” You cough behind a dainty hand when multiple eyes flicker in your direction. “I’m sorry.” Hardening your internal resolve, you continue reading.
“There have been no reported public appearances surrounding Willy Tybur and his family. However, according to our intel, he has been attending meetings at an elite private academy ever since his first child. These meetings are for the most influential political leaders, nobles, and conglomerate owners from around the continent. Provided with that information, you are again expected to enroll your child in this school. Do keep in mind that it is a prestigious academy for gifted students. I regret to inform you that the deadline for admissions for this academy is next week.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You can’t help but exclaim. By now, you don’t care if you garner more curious eyes from around the train. You prevent a groan of exasperation from coming out of your mouth. You can seduce married men any day but to find a child in less than a week and be convincing enough to be their mother? You have limits.
“We call this mission operation Walls. This is the key to putting a stop to the century war we have suffered from Marley. Not only do we get peace, but we will also be free from their belittlement. You and your fellow agents have become the pillar of this continent — heroes behind the curtains. You may not receive any medals nor get your name published in any newspaper like the one you’re reading right now, but always remember that every mission that has led to this point is for the betterment and hope of humanity.”
Another role to play that you never know how. The mothers you have in passing weren’t exactly ideal in any sense. You have a feeling that this mission is going to be something challenging, one that will test everything you’ve learned from being a spy.
For the first time in your career, you start thinking if you can do it — break multiple hearts.
The thought of it doesn’t sit right in your stomach and chest.
Cheers from children on the train resonate as the urban view comes in the windows. You follow their bright eyes to the sparkling city of Marley, her towering buildings gleaming against the sight of a brand-new dawn. You don’t share the excitement. Entering this city makes your stomach churn. In just a few minutes, your new mission will start and it may be the best or worst one yet. And you’re not ready for it.
It’s the first time you ever used your birth name for a mission. It’s a suggestion brought up by Erwin. At first, you expressed your distaste but seeing as this is a new world, he lays out the benefits of using your real name, one that you never disclosed even to the foster families taking you in. All they knew was to call you terms of endearment that never reached your heart. Besides, the only people who truly know your identity are the higher-ups in the Wings of Freedom. Nobody would ever expect that the heartless Belladonna has a name like the one given to you. Even Hange told you it doesn’t match you at all.
[Name]. A woman who moved to the city looking for new beginnings. An applicant for the position of librarian in the main center of knowledge known around Marley, possibly even the entire continent. This is your new life now. The mask that you will wear for the next few months. However, this mask requires a false surname. Jaeger. Hunter. Fitting for a person like you.
The apartment that you’re looking for needs to fit a family of three. It is presented in front of you in one complex in the middle of the city. Its windows, covering half of the wall, are overlooking the bustling cityscape of Marley that never rests even as the clock strikes twelve. There are five rooms in total, not including the main bathroom. The living room is spacious and sleek enough for the perfect balance of comfort and aesthetics. There are even potted plants sprinkled here and there for a bit of greenery. It is already furnished, something that you appreciated from the realtor you struck up a conversation with when you first stepped foot inside the city. After all, you paid more than necessary to have this offer.
“Then, you will need to sign here, ma’am,” the realtor touring you politely hands you a clipboard of important documents. You read through them with a quick eye. Deeming it unsuspicious, you sign your name in an elegant scrawl. You exchange smiles with the realtor as a sign of gratitude. He claps in glee, “This is a wonderful start for your family. Do you have a son or daughter, perchance?”
With your eyes crinkling at the corner, you bestow him a smile that renders him gawking. “Yes, actually. I’m picking up my child from a babysitting company around here since I finally have a place to call home now. I’m sure my sweet angel will love it here.”
The realtor beams. “Glad to be doing business with you, ma’am! May you and your family enjoy your new beginnings here in Marley!”
“Thank you for the warm welcome,” you reply with a hand over your heart.
The first item in the agenda, check.
The next one will be picking a child to foster from an orphanage.
The one Hange suggested to you over the phone is a dilapidated, poor excuse of an orphanage. One of the gates is hanging by its hinges while you enter the premises. Not a single patch of grass is seen around the building. The location is hidden from the main square of the city, which roughly took you nearly an hour to reach via a taxi. It explains why the orphanage looks like it’s begging to be shut down by the authorities.
You ring the doorbell, the shrill sound making you cringe. The door opens to an angry-looking old woman hunching over with her cane as her support. You try smiling to alleviate the tense atmosphere but it only makes the old woman even angrier if that's possible. “Good morning, I’d like to adopt a child from here.” Your face gains a sheen of sympathy. “I read somewhere that this specific orphanage is low on making adoptions. It pains me to think that the children here don't have a home for so long. You see, my husband and I have been trying and—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” the old woman spits.
“Pardon?”
She sneers at you, “Enough with that talk. You wanna adopt here? Just take whichever brat you can find and take them away, for all I care.”
You blink, “What?”
Before you can even add to it, the old woman turns around and hobbles into the main hallway, never bothering to check if you’re following her. You narrow your eyes and let yourself in the orphanage, brimmed hat now tucked in your arm.
The sight of the interior pinches your heart in the slightest way possible. You remind yourself that this is a mission but you can’t help but take pity on the children still sitting here and waiting to get adopted. They’re asking their friends who you are, pointing at your dress and heels like they’re a relic from a near-distant future.
But despite the unkempt situation, this is the perfect opportunity for you to start a faux family from scratch. This orphanage is one of those in the city that’s neglected by the public. Adopting a child without much background is the only way to go if you want to fully pass the image of a mother. Not even the best spies in the Wings of Freedom can impersonate such a role. The Wings of Freedom doesn’t accept recruits below the age of fifteen after all. It’s one of the feats of your organization that you deeply respect. Children need all the imagination and wonder they need before going into the real world. If they grow up too fast, it will ruin them in the long run. You, yourself, are a witness to it by looking in every piece of looking glass.
You perk up to get the old woman’s attention, “Excuse me. I’d like to have a child that’s adept in reading and writing.”
The old woman indignantly scoffs. “If that’s the case, I know the perfect brat for you.” She pounds her cane on the hardwood floor. “Eren, get over here!”
A boy with puffy cheeks and vibrant viridian eyes looked up from building a skyscraper with the building blocks surrounding him. You raise your eyebrows at the number of bandages plastered on his body. They’re everywhere on his knees and hands and some on his face. He’s dressed in an ensemble of a gray loose shirt messily tucked in a pair of dark brown shorts. His hair flops over his forehead, moving even when he tilts his head to stare at you and making him look—
Adorable, you think unconsciously.
Eren’s little shoulders jump, his ears and cheeks blooming with a shade of vermillion. You bite your lip to prevent a chuckle from coming out. His wide eyes become half-lidded and his bottom lip juts out in a pout at the sight of you hiding your smile with your hand. Then, the little boy’s eyes flicker to the old lady and his almost shy demeanor morphs into something angry. You choose to keep that observation to yourself for now. Once this boy is within the comforts of your new apartment will you slowly coax him to open up. At such a young age, he looks like he hates the world right now.
“Greet the woman, Eren!” The old woman snaps.
Eren looks to the side, the pout still present on his lips. “Hello.” His voice is so tiny that you have to slightly lean forward to hear it.
You smile at him. “How old are you, Eren?” You have to ask him. He looks like he’s younger than the cut-off age of the private academy you need to infiltrate. If he’s younger, then you have to find another child—
“Six!”
You blink. “Yes?”
“I’m six years old!” Eren shouts with bright eyes staring intently at you.
“You’re six?” The old woman voices out. “Since when?”
But he’s shorter than the others here, you muse in your head.
Eren’s fluffy face scrunches in determination, standing on his tip-toes.
You breathe out a light laugh. You lose the smile and glance at the old caretaker. “Can he read and write?”
Hearing your question, Eren runs back to where he’s playing with his building blocks and takes out a folded newspaper from a random table. To get it, he jumps; a sight that proves to be amusing to you. Still holding that fiery expression on his face, he runs back to you and points at the crossword puzzle at the back. You raise your eyebrows. This kid really does pull all the surprises for today. He beckons you to follow him with a small yet firm hand around yours.
For a moment, he stiffens, his eyes becoming wider as he stares at you. If possible, his eyes glow a brighter shade of green. His face holds a mixture of awe, admiration, bewilderment, and gratitude. It confuses you. Tears start brimming his bottom eyelids the more seconds tick down the hourglass. It’s almost like he’s seeing you in a completely different light from when he first saw you earlier.
“Hey, little one, are you alright?” you ask him.
Eren vehemently shakes his head. He lowers his face, his hair hiding his eyes.
Without answering your question, he pulls you to the table. He plops on one of the chairs before gesturing to you and the chair beside him. He’s telling you to sit by him and watch what he’s capable of doing. The pencil in his grip stays stationary, his head facing the paper. You can tell he’s waiting for you to plant your bottom on the chair. The moment you do so, he slightly flinches. This kid is jumpy, you surmise. Whatever is happening inside the orphanage must have made him scared at every little sound. You lean over the newspaper in front of you two.
It’s a simple crossword puzzle. You list down the answers in your head, courtesy of being homeschooled in one of your foster homes back in the day and the intense education you had to endure in the Wings of Freedom in place of a regular high school and university. As you mentally answer, you notice that Eren got everything correct, almost like he’s following what you’re thinking.
You hit the million-dollar prize.
Eren is a genius.
You turn to the caretaker after he finishes the crossword puzzle with the word onomatopoeia. “Is there any paperwork I have to sign—”
“You can take the brat.”
What an unpleasant treatment. It doesn’t faze you that Eren perks up at the words. It seems like he’s waiting his entire life to get out of this desolate place. You can’t guarantee a life of rainbows and sunshine for this little kid but at least he can get a taste of the outside world after being cooped up in here. With the way his eyes light up at the prospect of being adopted, he’s almost like a songbird in a cage. Then again, he’s only a part of your mission. With his help, humanity can prosper without discrimination, injustice, and prejudice.
You can even call him Humanity’s Hope.
You place a gentle hand on his shaggy hair. “Is this okay with you?”
Eren peeks from the tips of his hair and grins. “Yeah!”
Humanity’s Hope.
Eren can’t believe what he heard from the pretty woman’s mind. He’s Humanity’s Hope? It’s enough to make him jump for joy. This is exactly what he read in the storybooks lying around the orphanage, ones that depict heroes of great gallantry and chivalry that not even the mightiest of beasts can defeat. He wants to be strong like them, to break free from the chains wrapping around his neck from all the years of being an experiment and being a wandering soul jumping from family to family.
At the age of four, he managed to escape the clutches of an organization experimenting on children for an ultimate weapon to be used against a nation of great threat. These children would then be disguised as their age and infiltrate the nation. Children were never that dangerous after all. Eren was one of the best experiments there was in that organization. A boy was born within the facility; his birth became the opportunity the scientists wanted. He was a product of a night of debauchery between a scientist and a staff member — a mistake to anyone inside the organization. As punishment to the woman who was responsible for his birth, he was taken from her and given doses of drugs in a span of two years until he could read minds and see the future of only Eldian people. He was going to be the one to bring down Marley to her knees. Until he escaped.
Even to this day, he has dreams of a bespectacled man holding a large syringe over his veins while he struggles against the binds around his limbs. These nightmares were the reasons for the lashes on his back, with the caretaker telling him to stop disrupting the peace around the orphanage.
Now, his freedom comes within this pretty woman beckoning him to walk beside her with an outstretched hand.
“Okay, little one.”
“Eren,” he supplies, still looking up at the pretty woman.
“Okay, Eren.”
Eren puffs his little chest in pride.
“You’ll be my child from now on, alright?” You, the pretty woman, tell him, looking him straight in the eye. “As far as anyone else is concerned, you have always been my son. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” the little boy nods.
You smile at him, a genuine display of expression on your face. You inch his chubby cheek. “You are going to address me as your mother. Is that alright with you?”
Eren never had a mother. Or he doesn’t remember one, that is. There’s a blurry image of a brown-haired woman in his head whenever that word is thrown here and there but other than that, he’s always alone. This can be his chance at having one. He takes a step forward and reaches his hand to cling onto your little finger. He tilts his head, saying, “Mama.”
You chuckle. “I guess Mama’s fine. From now on, you’re going to be Eren Jaeger.”
“Jaeger,” Eren mumbles. He doesn’t have a last name either.
“Do you like it? That’s my surname, you see.”
It takes him a couple of seconds to answer, his face glowing with happiness. “Yeah, I like it!”
“That’s great!” You hold his hand properly this time. “Are you ready to see your new home, Eren?”
“Home?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
The word is foreign. The entire journey back to your apartment complex, Eren keeps on mulling over the term. Home. The orphanage isn’t one, that he’s sure of. It’s filled with nasty old women and boisterous kids around his age. It’s not filled with the urge to smile the moment one wakes up because breakfast is wafting from the kitchen nor is it filled with the need to tell someone what went on in one’s day. The houses he’s adopted into were never homes as well. They’re only a reminder that Eren isn’t needed even though he was picked to stand the role of a son. Because ever since he was born, he was branded an outsider, an anomaly in the eyes of many. Sometimes, he was told that he was too intense when playing or too angry with the adults who acted as if they cared for him.
The stairs that lead to your apartment feel like a second to little Eren. Once you open the door to your flat, Eren swears he sees a glimpse of heaven.
“Welcome home, Eren,” you cheer.
Gawking with wide eyes and an open mouth, Eren slowly trails inside the apartment on his little feet. It’s not even that warm but it is marvelous in his eyes. He turns around to face you.
“I’m home, Mama!”
I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?
Eren stops short at the thought coming from your mind. You’re going to regret adopting him? But you’re smiling at him right now. That’s it! Eren makes a determined face. He’s going to make you not regret adopting him. He’s going to be a good boy and make you happy because you’re his mother now. Eren runs towards you, who are still standing by the doorway. You look at him in surprise but you let yourself be pulled by him.
Once you’re inside the apartment as well, Eren beams, “You’re home now, too, Mama!”
It's going to be a comedy from here on out.
#rory's passages 🌼#spy x family au 🏡#aot x reader#aot imagines#attack on titan x reader#aot x female reader#snk x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi x reader#levi attack on titan#eren aot#eren yeager#eren attack on titan#levi x y/n#levi x you
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Lestat, Armand and their complicated love/hate relationship
I found myself backing out of the room and away from him, staring numbly at his small dirty figure. His auburn hair shimmered despite the dirt in it; his eyes burned like two lights.
Grotesque he seemed, among all the candles and the swimming colors of the flat, this filthy waif of the netherworld, and yet his beauty held sway. He hadn't needed the shadows of Notre Dame or the torchlight of the crypt to flatter him. And there was a fierceness in him in this bright light that I hadn't seen before.
I felt an overwhelming confusion. He was both dangerous and compelling. I could have looked on him forever, but an overpowering instinct said: Get away. Leave the place to him if he wants it. What does it matter now? - The Vampire Lestat
"It is like not knowing how to read, isn't it?" he said aloud. "And your maker, the outcast Magnus, what did he care for your ignorance? He did not tell you the simplest things, did he?"
Nothing in his expression moved as he spoke.
"Hasn't it always been this way? Has anyone ever cared to teach you anything?"
"You're taking these things from my mind. . ." I said. I was appalled. I saw the monastery where I'd been as a boy, the rows and rows of books that I could not read, Gabrielle bent over her books, her back to all of us. "Stop this!" I whispered.
It seemed the longest time had passed. I was becoming disoriented. He was speaking again, but in silence.
They never satisfy you, the ones you make. In silence the estrangement and the resentment only grow.
I willed myself to move but I wasn't moving. I was merely looking at him as he went on.
You long for me and I for you, and we alone in all this realm are worthy of each other. Don't you know this? - The Vampire Lestat
I beat him again, turning him this way and that. And then I drew my sword to sever his head.
Let him live like that if he can. Let him be immortal like that if he can. I raised the sword and when I looked down at him, the rain was pelting his face, and he was staring up at me, as one half alive, unable to plead for mercy, unable to move.
I waited. I wanted him to beg. I wanted him to give me that powerful voice full of lies and cunning, the voice that had made me believe for one pure and dazzling instant that I was alive and free and in the state of grace again. Damnable, unforgivable lie. Lie I'd never forget for as long as I walked the earth. I wanted the rage to carry me over the threshold to his grave.
But nothing came from him.
And in this moment of stillness and misery for him, his beauty slowly returned.
He lay a broken child on the gravel path, only yards from the passing traffic, the ring of horses' hooves, the rumble of the wooden wheels.
And in this broken child were centuries of evil and centuries of knowledge, and out of him there came no ignominious entreaty but merely the soft and bruised sense of what he was. Old, old evil, eyes that had seen dark ages of which I only dream.
I let him go, and I stood up and sheathed my sword. - The Vampire Lestat
He heard me. But he didn't give an answer. He looked to Gabrielle, who stood near the fire, and then to me. And silently, he said, Love me. You have destroyed everything! But if you love me, it can all be restored in a new form. Love me.
This silent entreaty had an eloquence, however, that I can't put into words.
"What can I do to make you love me?" he whispered. "What can I give? The knowledge of all I have witnessed, the secrets of our powers, the mystery of what I am?"
It seemed blasphemous to answer. And as I had on the battlements, I found myself on the edge of tears. For all the purity of his silent communications, his voice gave a lovely resonance to his sentiments when he actually spoke. - The Vampire Lestat
"Each time the death and the awakening will ravage the mortal spirit, so that one will hate you for taking his life, another will run to excesses that you scorn. A third will emerge mad and raving, another a monster you cannot control. One will be jealous of your superiority, another shut you out." And here he shot his glance to Gabrielle again and half smiled.
"And the veil will always come down between you. Make a legion. You will be, always and forever, alone!" - The Vampire Lestat
"Does anyone else know the size of your soul?"
Witchcraft. Had it ever been used with more skill? And what was he really saying to us beneath this liquid flow of beautiful language: Come to me, and I shall be the sun round which you are locked in orbit, and my rays shall lay bare the secrets you keep from each other, and I, who possess charms and powers of which you have no inkling, shall control and possess and destroy you!
"I asked you before," I said. "What do you want? Really want?"
"You!" he said. - The Vampire Lestat
He had only moved very fast, and I had moved faster, and we stood facing each other in the doorway of the crypt, and again I said that single negation and I wouldn't let him go.
"Not like this, we can't part. We can't leave each other in hatred, we can't." And my will dissolved suddenly as I embraced him and held tight to him so that he couldn't free himself nor even move.
I didn't care what he was, or what he had done in that doomed moment of lying to me, or even trying to overpower me, I didn't care that I was no longer mortal and would never be again.
i wanted only that he should remain. I wanted to be with him, what he was, and all the things he had said were true. Yet it could never be as he wished it to be. - The Vampire Lestat
"You're mad to blame it all on me. You have no right," I insisted, but my voice was faltering so badly I couldn't understand my own words.
And his voice shot out of him like the tongue of a snake.
"We had our Eden under that ancient cemetery," he hissed. "We had our faith and our purpose. And it was you who drove us out of it with a flaming sword. What do we have now! Answer me! Nothing but the love of each other and what can that mean to creatures like us!"
"No, it's not true, it was all happening already. You don't understand anything. You never did."
But he wasn't listening to me. And it didn't matter whether or not he was listening. He was drawing closer, and in a dark flash his hand went out, and my head went back, and I saw the sky and the city of Paris upside down.
I was falling through the air.
And I went down and down past the windows of the tower, until the stone walkway rose up to catch me, and every bone in my body broke within its thin case of preternatural skin. - The Vampire Lestat
Poor Armand. And you told me Louis was dead. Go dig a room for yourself under the Lafayette Cemetery. It's just up the street. - The Vampire Lestat
"You always make me laugh," I told him. "I would have laughed at you under that cemetery in Paris, except it didn't seem the kind thing to do. And even when you cursed me and blamed me for all the stories about us, that was funny too. If you hadn't been about to throw me off the tower I would have laughed. You always make me laugh."
Delicious it was, the hatred between us, or so I thought. Such unfamiliar excitement, to have him there to ridicule and despise. - The Vampire Lestat
"It wasn't that I wanted vengeance," he whispered. His face was stricken, his heart broken. He said. "But you came to be healed, and you did not want me! A century I had waited, and you did not want me!"
And I knew, as I had all along really, that my restoration was illusion, that I was the same skeleton in rags, of course. And the house was still a ruin. And in the preternatural being who held me was the power that could give me back the sky and the wind.
"Love me and the blood is yours," he said. "This blood that I have never given to another." I felt his lips against my face.
"I can't deceive you," I answered. "I can't love you. What are you to me that I should love you? A dead thing that hungers for the power and the passion of others? The embodiment of thirst itself?" - The Vampire Lestat
In mute fascination, Daniel had watched that little clip on MTV portraying Armand as the coven master of the old vampires beneath the Paris cemetery, presiding over demonic rituals until the Vampire Lestat, the eighteenth-century iconoclast, had destroyed the Old Ways.
Armand must have loathed it, his private history laid bare in flashing images, so much more crass than Lestat’s more thoughtful written history. Armand, whose eyes scanned perpetually the living beings around him, refusing even to speak of the undead. But it was impossible that he did not know. - The Queen of the Damned
At last particular movies struck his fancy. Over and over he watched Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, fascinated by Rutger Hauer, the powerfully built actor who, as the leader of the rebel androids, confronts his human maker, kisses him, and then crushes his skull. It would bring a slow and almost impish laugh from Armand, the bones cracking, the look in Hauer’s ice-cold blue eye.
“That’s your friend, Lestat, there,” Armand whispered once to Daniel. “Lestat would have the...how do you say?...guts?...to do that!” - The Queen of the Damned
At the door, I turned and kissed Gabrielle again. I felt her body collapse against me for an instant; then her attention locked on Akasha. I felt the faint tremor in her hands as she touched my face. I looked at Louis, my seemingly fragile Louis with his seemingly invincible composure; and at Armand, the urchin with the angel’s face. Finally those you love are simply... those you love. - The Queen of the Damned
The other immortals are still around, of course-Maharet and Mekare, the eldest of us all, Khayman of the First Brood, Eric, Santino, Pandora, and others whom we call the Children of the Millennia. Armand is still about, the lovely five-hundred-year-old boy-faced ancient who once ruled the Theatre des Vampires, and before that a coven of devil worshiping blood drinkers who lived beneath the Paris Cemetery, Les Innocents. Armand, I hope, will always be around. - The Tale of the Body Thief
“No. Just tell me what’s happened. You’re in danger, aren’t you? Or you think you are. You sent out the call for me to come to you here. It was an unabashed plea.”
“Are those the words Armand used, ‘unabashed plea’? I hate Armand.”
David only smiled and made a quick impatient gesture with both hands. “You don’t hate Armand and you know you don’t.”
“Wanna bet?” - Memnoch the Devil
“My point is simply that I love you, that we’re linked in some way that none of the others is linked. Louis worships you. You’re some sort of dark god to him, though he pretends to hate you for having made him. Armand envies you and spies on you far more than you might think.”
“I hear Armand and I see him and I ignore him,” I said. - Memnoch the Devil
This was Armand.
He sat on the stone park bench, boylike, casual, with one knee crooked, looking up at me with the predictable innocence, dusty all over, naturally, hair a long, tangled mess of auburn curls.
Dressed in heavy denim garments, tight pants, and a zippered jacket, he surely passed for human, a street vagabond maybe, though his face was now parchment white, and even smoother than it had been when last we met.
In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes—a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was.
“That’s what you always want,” he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn’t hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it at all. “When you found me under Les Innocents,” he said, “you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves.”
“Yes,” I said, “and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.” My tone was angry. “You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.”
We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard.
“Cherub child,” I said. I did a bold thing, maybe even a defiant thing. I reached out and mussed his snaggled curls.
He is smaller than me physically, but he didn’t seem to mind this gesture.
In fact, he smiled, shook his head, and reclaimed his hair with a few casual strokes of his hand. His cheeks went apple-perfect suddenly, and his mouth softened, and then he lifted his right fist, and teasingly struck me hard on the chest.
Really hard. Show-off. Now it was my turn to smile and I did. - Memnoch the Devil
Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist. - The Vampire Armand
Lestat, my Lestat - for he was never theirs, was he? - my Lestat was crazed and railing as the result of his awful saga, and held prisoner by the very oldest of our kind on the final decree that if he did not cease to disturb the peace, which meant of course our secrecy, he would be destroyed, as only the oldest could accomplish, and no one could plead for him on any account.
No, that could not happen! I writhed and twisted. The pain sent its shocks through me, red and violet and pulsing with orange light. I hadn't seen such colors since I'd fallen.
My mind was coming back, and coming back for what? Lestat to be destroyed! Lestat imprisoned, as I had once been centuries ago under Rome in Santino's catacombs. Oh, God, this is worse than the sun's fire, this is worse than seeing that bastard brother strike the little plum-cheeked face of Sybelle and knock her away from her piano, this is murderous rage I feel. - The Vampire Armand
"Lestat, give me this one embrace and I'll never ask another thing of you for all eternity. Let me put my lips to your throat, Lestat, let me test the tale, let me do it!"
"You break my heart, you little fool," he said with tears welling. "You always did."
"Don't judge me!" I cried. - The Vampire Armand
“Armand,” I said. “Please.” I dropped down on my knees in front of him, looking up into his face.
All the emotion he had held back was printed there now. He was in a rage.
“Is your heart totally turned against me?” I asked. “Do you have no faith in what we seek to build here?”
“Fool,” he said again. His voice was roughened now by emotion he couldn’t suppress. “I have always loved you,” he said. “I have loved you more than any being in all the world whom I’ve ever loved. I have loved you more than Louis. I have loved you more even than Marius. And you have never given me your love. I would be your most faithful counselor, if you allowed it. But you don’t. Your eyes pass over me as if I don’t exist. And so they always have.”
I knelt there defeated. I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t know what to say. I felt such a huge exhaustion, I had no way out of it, no way to find eloquence or reason or the vigor to try to reach him, reach beyond his malice to his soul.
He went on again, staring at me as he spoke.
“I hate you as much as I have ever loved you,” he said. “Oh, I didn’t want for Rhoshamandes to destroy you. Good God, that I never wanted. Never. When I heard them crying out that you’d returned I wept like a child. [...] But how could I not hate you, you who went in search of my maker all those long years ago when I scarce believed in him anymore — and was found by him, saved from the earth by him, welcomed into his lair by him, you whom he loved, you to whom he told the secrets of our beginning, when he had never come to free me from the Children of Satan, you to whom he gave his love, while resigning me to the ruins of all you’d destroyed around me. I hate you! I understand the very definition of ‘hate’ when I think of you.” - Blood Communion
“You who humiliated me and destroyed my world,” he said, his voice now a fragile whisper. “You who later told with such relish how you shattered my coven, my little coven, my little coven of holy purpose. Yet still I didn’t want for you to die. And I should have known that you wouldn’t. Of course not. How could anyone put an end to you? [...]
I found myself on my feet again. I’d drawn back away from him without realizing it. The air was poison between us. But I couldn’t look away or go.
“I love you still,” he said. “Yes, even now, I love you, as they all love you, your minions seeking just a smile or a nod or a quick touch of your hand. I love you like all those throughout this palace who are dreaming of drinking just a drop of your blood. Well, you can leave me now. I’m not going anywhere. Where is there to go? I’ll be here if you want me. And grant me my wish for the moment, you and your august friends. Go and leave me alone.” - Blood Communion
The only thought in my mind, the only image, the only idea, was of Armand, and how Armand would feel when he too could hold Marius like this and know that Marius lived, that Marius had been restored, that all of them were safe and secure, and using my strongest power I sent the word to him. I sent the news. And I sent my love to Armand with it. - Blood Communion
#long post#Vampire Chronicles#the vampire chronicles#Lestat de Lioncourt#Armand#Lestat x Armand#Armand x Lestat#vampire chronicles spoilers#the vampire armand#the vampire lestat#anne rice#book#quotes#memnoch#Blood Communion#amadeo#andrei#stepping up my... armant? lesmand? anyway my lestat/armand agenda
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"Distant Rain"
“Have you ever wondered
What happens to all the
poems people write?
The poems they never
let anyone else read?
Perhaps they are
Too private and personal
Perhaps they are just not good enough.
Perhaps the prospect
of such a heartfelt
expression being seen as
clumsy
shallow silly
pretentious saccharine
unoriginal sentimental
trite boring
overwrought obscure stupid
pointless
or
simply embarrassing
is enough to give any aspiring
poet good reason to
hide their work from
public view.
forever.
Naturally many poems are IMMEDIATELY DESTROYED.
Burnt shredded flushed away
Occasionally they are folded
Into little squares
And wedged under the corner of
An unstable piece of furniture
(So actually quite useful)
Others are
hidden behind
a loose brick
or drainpipe
or
sealed into
the back of an
old alarm clock
or
put between the pages of
AN OBSCURE BOOK
that is unlikely
to ever be opened.
someone might find them one day,
BUT PROBABLY NOT
The truth is that unread poetry
Will almost always be just that.
DOOMED
to join a vast invisible river
of waste that flows out of suburbia.
well
Almost always.
On rare occasions,
Some especially insistent
pieces of writing will escape
into a backyard
or a laneway
be blown along
a roadside embankment
and finally come
to rest in a
shopping center
parking lot
as so many
things do
It is here that
something quite
Remarkable
takes place
two or more pieces of poetry
drift toward each other
through a strange
force of attraction
unknown
to science
and ever so slowly
cling together
to form a tiny,
shapeless ball.
Left undisturbed,
this ball gradually
becomes larger and rounder as other
free verses
confessions secrets
stray musings wishes and unsent
love letters
attach themselves
one by one.
Such a ball creeps
through the streets
Like a tumbleweed
for months even years
If it comes out only at night it has a good
Chance of surviving traffic and children
and through a
slow rolling motion
AVOIDS SNAILS
(its number one predator)
At a certain size, it instinctively
shelters from bad weather, unnoticed
but otherwise roams the streets
searching
for scraps
of forgotten
thought and feeling.
Given
time and luck
the poetry ball becomes
large HUGE ENORMOUS:
A vast accumulation of papery bits
That ultimately take to the air, levitating by
The sheer force of so much unspoken emotion.
It floats gently
above suburban rooftops
when everybody is asleep
inspiring lonely dogs
to bark in the middle
of the night.
Sadly
a big ball of paper
no matter how large and
buoyant, is still a fragile thing.
Sooner or
LATER
it will be surprised by
a sudden
gust of wind
Beaten by
driving rain
and
REDUCED
in a matter
of minutes
to
a billion
soggy
shreds.
One morning
everyone will wake up
to find a pulpy mess
covering front lawns
clogging up gutters
and plastering car
windscreens.
Traffic will be delayed
children delighted
adults baffled
unable to figure out
where it all came from
Stranger still
Will be the
Discovery that
Every lump of
Wet paper
Contains various
faded words pressed into accidental
verse.
Barely visible
but undeniably
present
To each reader
they will whisper
something different
something joyful
something sad
truthful absurd
hilarious profound and perfect
No one will be able to explain the
Strange feeling of weightlessness
or the private smile
that remains
Long after the street sweepers
have come and gone.”
-Shaun Tan, Tales from Outer Suburbia
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Project: Untitled WIP
Chapter 1. Part 5 - A Bit of Clarity
Read Part 1 || Continue Reading Under The Cut
Derek returned to his seat, taking Morgan slightly by surprise while she was in mid-bite of her scrambled eggs.
“Did you know it was graduation day at the university today?” He asked her.
Morgan hid her full mouth behind her free hand for a moment, as she tried to speed through her chewing. “Yeah," She said once she finished her bit. "I thought everyone knew that. Traffic’s been terrible all day? Why?”
“Everything is booked for the night, you know, with families from out of town.”
“Oh... and probably some for Christmas next week.”
“Yeah, RIGHT! So… I made a call —and if this makes you uncomfortable, I totally understand— but… you can come stay at my house tonight."
Morgan froze, placing her fork down on her plate.
"I already called home and my daughter, Angelica, is fixing things up for you.”
“Is the Misses okay with you bringing home random women off the street?” Morgan pointed to the wedding ring in his hand with her fork.
Derek looked at his hand, fidgeting with the ring as he formed his words, “oh, no… I’m just a sentimental widower, I guess.”
“Oh…um, sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. Really... but you on the other hand, you don’t really have many options left for the night,” Derek continued. “So, my daughter is setting up a space for you in our spare room. It IS in our basement, but it’s fully finished. Don't worry. We have heat down there, and we already had all of Angie’s old bedroom furniture down there from her room renovation last year, so it’s no trouble at all. We just need to shuffle a few boxes around and lay out some fresh bed sheets."
Derek chuckled at himself for a brief moment, "What do you know, me procrastinating on donating all her old things turned out to be a good thing.”
“Um… okay… I-I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Derek repeated in confusion.
“I don’t know… it’s just, uh…”
“I’m a stranger trying to take you to sketchy third place? Yeah, I know, I know.”
“Okay, THAT and… you know?”
“Know what?”
“Come on, you know.”
“I don’t think I do.” He sat and thought for a bit more. “Is this about COVID? I have tests at home.”
Morgan rolled her eyes with an annoyed groan. “I know you know!” she said, gesturing very broadly at herself.
“You’re what- you’re… a drug mule carrying product? Is that why you're on the run?” Derek said in a low, hushed, jokey tone, leaning in so a nearby busser couldn’t hear.
“What? NO!”
Derek thought a little harder. “A sex worker???" He whispered. "Not that it's a problem, but were you working the streets when-”
“NO!” She snapped, then whispered back in frustration. “BUT… what’s a third, secretive minority on the fringes of society? We’re in the news a lot. Right-wing politicians hate us?”
“Uh… isn’t that, like, most people? I, I don’t-”
Morgan groaned in annoyance. She then leaned forward and whispered with an anxious look on her face, her voice quiet and hesitant, “I’m trans.”
“Oh.” Derek sat back, nodding slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s it? OKAY?”
“Well, yeah... it doesn’t matter who or what you are, you can’t stay outside, you’ll freeze!”
“You’re not worried?”
“About what?”
“About WHAT? About ME!"
“Do I have something I need to be worried about... pertaining to you, as an individual?”
“Uh… no. But a lot of people seem to worry.”
“Well…” Derek paused for dramatic effect as he leaned forward once again. “I’m not ‘a lot of people,’ Morgan... I’m just one guy.”
“Oh–my-GOD!” Morgan broke out into a wheezing laugh.
“Aye, you liked that one?”
“NO! God, you really are a dad, huh.”
“And I’m proud of it, dammit.” Derek said in a gravelly, southern accent.
“So… this isn’t a problem.”
“You’re not a ‘problem.’” Derek reassured her, “Listen, you’ve cried on me, I’ve already driven you here, I’ve made phone calls for you —I’m apparently paying for four plates of food for you, good lord— safe to say, I’m pretty damn invested here.”
Morgan sunk down into her seat, while munching away at a slice of toast. “It’s not my fault they brought my toast and fruit salad out on their own separate plates.”
“Oh, alright.”
“And the pancakes were included in the meal, so don’t give me that!”
Derek chuckled, “Okay, okay. Fine! How is everything anyway?”
“So good! I can’t even remember the last time I’ve eaten this much.”
“Damn. That's-that's tough.”
“It's okay... Do-do you want some of these,” Morgan pointed at the uneaten stack of pancakes in front of her, “I don’t think I can eat it all.”
Derek briefly mulled it over, “You know what? Sure. I’m paying for it anyway.”
Morgan took a knife that she had placed neatly on top of a folded napkin beside her main plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and carefully cut the 3 pancakes she had into quarters. She then slid a little glass bottle of syrup and one of the two little plastic packets of butter spread she was given, closer to his side of the table. Derek helped himself to a pancake, picking a piece up with his hands, pouring a drizzle of syrup on top and taking a bite. He chewed for a moment, stopping with a slight wince, then continued to chew.
“Does this… does this have blueberries, pecans, and chocolate chip in it?”
Morgan looked down at the plate, bashfully. “You said I could order whatever I wanted.”
“Yeah… but three pancake add-ins… in this economy?”
Morgan snorted, trying to hold in her laughter as she took her final sip of decaf.
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#justlittleguy posting#project wip: chapter 1#ts4 story#sims 4 stories#simblr#writeblr#ts4 simblr#ts4 screenshots#sim stories#sims story#project: wip#project wip: derek#project wip: morgan#my ocs#my sims#my stories#ths sims 4#read: wip
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Sunburn by Andi Watson (story) and Simon Gane (art). Image, 2022. 9781534322332. Publisher's Rating: T+ / Teen Plus. https://www.powells.com/book/-9781534322332?partnerid=34778&p_bt
Rachel's mother runs into a friend, Diane, whom she hasn't seen in years, and Diane and her husband Peter invite Rachel to spend the summer with them on an island in Greece. (Rachel's dad seems to think she should spend the summer working for the local butcher as planned, but he quickly gives in.)
Peter picks up Rachel when she gets off the boat and drives her to their villa where she meets Diane, who is super excited she's there. They can't believe how much she's grown up (Rachel is sixteen) and insist Rachel treat their place like a home or hotel room, coming and going as she pleases. Diane gives Rachel nice clothes to wear and alcohol to drink and anticipates a romantic summer for her. They take her to parties and Diane introduces Rachel to the only other young person there, Benjamin. And of course he and Rachel hit it off and start hanging out, and things do get romantic as she tries to teach him to swim. But there's something off with all of the partying and hanging out, and it turns out Benjamin and others have secrets.
This is a book I'd give to adults and that some teens would find compelling. Gane's art makes me want to visit Greece (or at least this island in the Greece-that-was of the undefined time this book takes place in, maybe during the 60s or 70s) with its white buildings and nearly traffic-free streets.
I'm a huge fan of Watson's graphic novels, and I enjoyed this one enormously. So I'm off to read his other graphic novel that Image published last year, Paris, which was also drawn by Gane.
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In Our Bedroom After the War
For @mt10lt20 with the prompt
Ello got an idea! But no pressure at all and feel free to ignore (cos life happens!) would really like to see your AU take on a Cipher, Pixy, Trigger as a fam. No specific characterizations from me. Your take!
Pixy and Merlin need to catch an early morning flight.
So it was mostly Pixy and Trigger, because I haven’t done anything with those two yet. I hope you enjoy! Title comes from In Our Bedroom After the War by Stars
Also on AO3
It felt like every time Pixy thought he got over his hubris, he was proved horribly, horribly wrong. Granted, he wasn’t dying this time, or doing his best to set the world on fire, but it certainly felt like it.
He blearily watched as the digital clock flickered to 3:31 a.m., hand still on the snooze button. Back when he was a young man, early morning flights and sleep deprivation were par for the course. Just get on the plane and pass out until arrival. Half of the time, he was up until an hour or two before he had to leave enjoying the local nightlife. After retiring from the skies, he still got up early by virtue of never having the luxury of sleeping in. An early flight should have been fine.
This was not fine. Pixy wasn’t a young man anymore. He was a civilian with a spouse and a kid, who worked normal, human hours. It really didn’t help that he rarely slept well without Cipher, and his buddy was on the other side of the continent for a contract. They were well out of harm’s way, but it didn’t ease any of his anxieties that something horrible would happen to them before they got home. When he got the opportunity to see them, he got over-excited and booked the first flight out.
3:32. As tired as he was, time was still moving forward, and he only had some much time to make it through airport security. He forced himself out of bed, and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He trudged down the hallway, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, to his daughter’s room. As expected, Merlin was still fast asleep, clutching her doggy.
The little stuffed animal was an impulse buy. Pixy saw the dog…wolf (it was orange, so it might’ve been a fox, but he personally thought it looked like a dog) and had to get it. Cipher gave him a lot of shit about the great Solo Wing Pixy, infamous mercenary, being forced to buy stuffed animals, but it was Merlin’s favorite and she carried it everywhere. So there.
“Merlin. It’s time to get up kiddo.”
She groaned, and honestly, he agreed.
“C’mon. We’re gonna go see Cipher.”
She shot right up, rubbing her eyes. “M’kay.”
“Do you need help getting dressed?”
She shook her head.
“Alright, I’m gonna go make breakfast now.”
“Okay.”
It was way too early, but the routine was mostly the same. Get the coffee machine working, only one cup this time, and only two slices of bread in the toaster. On other days, he would try to make something healthier, but this would have to do for now.
Merlin stumbled into the kitchen, fully dressed, and tugged on his pant leg. He scooped her up, sat her down at the edge of the sink, and poured her a glass of milk. When the toast was ready, he spread strawberry jam on both and passed one to her. They ate their breakfast in silence over the sink, way too tired to make any conversation. Cipher hated when he ate over the sink like this, but they weren’t there and Merlin was a good secret keeper. After finishing his off, he washed his hands and nearly poured water straight onto Merlin in a father of the year move, before helping her down.
Loading the car was easy. He still packed light, so it was easy to pack all of their stuff in one large duffel bag. Merlin was old enough to get herself situated, but she hadn’t gotten seatbelts down quite yet. They were still working on it, but it wasn't hard to help her.
The streets were still night dark when they set out. It would be at least an hour before light would even begin to peak over the horizon. He kept an ear on the radio for any traffic updates, but he was pretty sure they’d make there before the morning rush got too bad. Aside from that, it was just boring local news. He tried to comment on them when he could think of something to say, since he read somewhere that it was good for childrens’ development, but she never responded. Hopefully she was listening, and he wasn’t just talking to the air.
They made it to the airport several hours before they needed to be on the plane. Security was always hit or miss. Volunteering his services in the war and other shady backroom deals covered up most of his records, but sometimes people still remembered him from the documentary. At best, it was an incredibly awkward meeting with security. The extra time was for nothing, and they made it through fairly quick.
Merlin wanted to walk all the way to the terminal on her own. Unfortunately, their terminal was halfway across the airport, which was just a little too much for the toddler, so he carried her most of the way. He did let her down for the conveyor belt hallways to race. Pixy only let her win half of the time, just to keep things exciting.
It was enough to tucker her out a little, and she seemed content to sit on his lap and point at different planes in her picture book. Every so often he was reminded how calm she was for her age. It had to have come from Cipher, because it sure as hell didn’t come from him. Most of his first memories were of causing problems and getting into trouble.
The wait felt like an eternity. By the time the boarding call finally came around, they were both half-asleep. But the second other passengers started lining up, Merlin immediately perked up. As he carried her onto the plane, she kept bouncing up and down in his arms.
She clambered over to the window the moment he let her down at their seats. He was pretty sure she would smoosh her face into it if he let her. He had to tell her three times to sit down so he could buckle her. Even then, she leaned up as far as she could go, eyes sparkly.
To an outsider, she just looked like an excitable little kid flying for the first time, but Pixy knew better. He knew that look. He had seen it in the face of every pilot worth their salt. He saw it in Cipher. He used to see it in himself, but he knew that light dimmed well before the end.
Cipher told him not to worry, but he couldn’t help the dread that pooled in his stomach. Flying was his passion, what he lived for, but it was entwined with pain and violence. For each good memory, there was a devastating loss. Every victory came with someone’s death, soldier or civilian. The world was constantly at the brink of war, and he didn’t have the faith in humanity to think that would change. He didn’t want that for her.
His stomach swooped as they finally lifted off the ground. Lingering anxiety from when he was shot down still clung to him like smoke, no matter how many times he’d done this by now.
“Daddy! Daddy! Look!”
Merlin grabbed his shoulder and shook as hard as she could, which wasn’t very hard. She pointed to the ground, which was rapidly getting farther and farther away. They watched as people, then vehicles, then buildings all shrunk down and began to disappear. After a little bit of turbulence, they breached through the clouds into the clear sky above.
It all seemed so inconsequential from all the way up here. And maybe it was. Maybe he could afford to finally relax and let the chips fall where they may.
Pixy settled in and watched his daughter watch the clouds. They still had plenty of time.
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"Your love was handmade for somebody like me..."
---
Today is not my usual 'fic update day, but I wrote a dorky one-shot about my OTP and honestly did not want to sit on it </3
"Your family is doing okay"
Read on AO3
Exposition Guy came here for family photos but in my headcanon he has three invisible brothers, idk what to tell you.
(First 1,000 words under the cut)
---
Is it… weird to be so, so thankful that you live in a city crawling with supervillains? Probably. But Miah Wall wasn’t meant for a slow-moving life in a slow-moving town. She’ll take a storm of mashed veggies or a cockroach invasion on the bus every other day - not even hesitating! - as long as she still gets to order cookies, cupcakes, and snazzy indie records at the shops along the street.
It is cruel, cruel irony, however, that Miah Wall - who is not built for dull and dreary things - must cram herself into the flabby seat behind the reception desk every afternoon and suffer through her pre-med homework without cookies, cupcakes, and snazzy indie music. The fact that she can see both a floral boutique and a rolled ice cream shop through the photo studio window does not make her dread her empty pockets any less.
I need a new internship… If I’m not getting paid to sit here, can it at least be for something relevant to my nursing career?
Now, Miah Wall is also an incredibly gracious individual who has certainly not forgotten how loving and kind her adoptive mother is for letting her live at home for free during her studies instead of shelling out the cash for a university dorm. It’s just, well… Greeting the occasional customer with a plastic smile and spouting white tales about how they’re “Actually early” and that Mrs. Ford will be “Just one moment” isn’t going to pay for super cute lattes. Or the new state award books. Or a sugar glider.
But a nursing degree pays for a sugar glider.
Mine are gonna be ‘sour gliders’ when I’ve spoiled them rotten, she tells herself in silence, and flips three pages forward in her textbook.
The fun thing about supervillains, though, is that they tend to target those high-profile money-making places like the jewelry store, the bank, the real estate office, and the auto-shop. Every now and then you hear about a guy whose schtick doesn't slot neatly into one of those categories. The Raccoon Wrangler, for example, prefers hanging around the city dump, and the Beetle Kid (accompanied by his six-legged friends) actually does a great job of eliminating random waste after storms.
But no one ever targets her adoptive mother’s little photography studio. It’s not even along a main road. Once you run a business in Fair City long enough, you realize that the foot traffic tends to be heavier outside the downtown area where villains like to strike… and if you adapt appropriately, you too can succeed at life by running an adorable place across from the flower shop!
Supervillains do not rob photo studios. What’s there to take? Some old pics of someone else’s kids? Miah’s helped Mrs. Ford with a couple photoshoots for supervillains in the past (once or twice even witnessing a secret identity reveal in the process). Photography, like costume tailoring, is one of those peculiar businesses that ne’er-do-wells seem to value as much as people on the straight and narrow do.
She knows this.
She has faith in this.
But she almost slams the panic button when a big, sturdy guy pushes himself - backwards - through the glass door. Alone. Jerking his shoulders funny as though someone on the sidewalk has his wrists and is trying to pull him back into the hazy, humid afternoon. Miah’s purple pen falls away from her teeth and clicks against the desk.
What’s he doing here? The last appointment of the day is for a family.
Oh boy.
The ragged, dust-covered, dirt-stained guy at the door looks like he can’t be more than 19 or 20. She can only see a portion of his profile, but that seems right. Something about the dark green sweatshirt and those little rectangle glasses seems familiar… but she can’t nail down the reason why. Maybe she knows him from school? She’s 21. Maybe they shared a generals class last year?
I don’t get the impression he’s into medical science.
Since he’s trying to force his way into the studio backwards, Miah sees the ponytail before any of his face. It’s coming loose, his scrunchie far too low in his hair. It’s probably been hours since he adjusted it. Bouncing bits of frizz make multiple attempts to escape his scalp just in the time it takes him to wiggle his way inside. He’s holding a lot of leashes for someone who just walked into the studio alone. At least three of them. Maybe four, but one of them is rainbow so it’s difficult to separate it from the others. All three leashes are fighting back against his grip, and they look like they’re winning.
Okay. Forget what he’s doing HERE… I can’t tell what he’s doing, period.
He’s… struggling with the empty leashes? He must be. The pull against him is too strong to be the air conditioner. She can’t hear anything outside. No shouting. Maybe it’s the wind? Or someone with telekinesis powers? Miah strains her eyes against the dim light level, then feels stupid for it. Squinting doesn’t reveal anything at the leashes’ other ends.
“Hi?” she offers, rising from her chair. She keeps her forefinger under the desk, right over the button that will send out the Peppermint Kid rescue alarm, but… she’s starting to think she might not even need it. What is this guy doing?
He seems to recognize the absurdity of the situation at the same time she does, because he turns around at that moment. Miah jolts and almost hits the panic button after all. Okay- where does she know him from? His facial hair is overgrown, but uneven in awkward patches. His baggy, half-lidded eyes make it clear from the start that he didn’t come here to play games. Which, you know… makes sense. This is a photo studio.
Her finger rests against the panic button, feeling out the curves. The plastic-y-ness of it feels sticky and hot, but the metal around it is icier than the crisp wind has been all week. The guy stares at her with the face of someone who just got the back of his ankle run into by a shopping cart and found out his insurance won’t cover it.
Then he tells her, point blank, “I’m here for a family photoshoot with three kids who are invisible.”
“OH!” Miah snaps straight up, grabbing for her purple pen. “You’re the Nightmare King’s son! Or…” She glances at the three leashes dangling from his hand. All three are tugging in different directions. Shoes are squeaking. “… sons, rather. I just saw him in the paper for robbing city hall. Well, I mean, I didn’t see him…”
[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]
#Exposition Guy#WordGirl#ridwriting#I thought posts with links did not show in tags but then my Factor link post did and idk what to believe anymore#Satirical vocab alien child show#apparently art#The very visible boy#Factor It In#fic announcement
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📙 and 🍋 for the Jumbo Ask Game?
📙 What kind of subjects (of conversation, of discussion, in school or whatever) does your OC find interesting or engaging or that they can talk for hours about? What kind of stuff do they just find fun?
God, I could talk about Twenari or Astra here, but I'll go with Twenari. Her darling in life, her purpose, is magic. She loves sorcery and knows just about everything there is to know about it, even at her young age. She's intensely curious about book magic - runes and potions and stuff - and wants to go to school for it, even though a sorcerer of her talent would usually never stoop to study the 'material magics.' The things she's most interested in, though, is the Araunian desert.
To start, the Araunian desert is weird and there's never an explanation for why it is the way it is. It's a blasted desert on top of the ruins of an ancient empire of the same name, and it's utterly saturated with rotting magic. Rotting magic is the runoff energy from spells that slowly decays into reality in the form of radiation. There's a massive pool of it across the Araunian desert, which means anyone who enters better be wearing protective runes or they're getting magic cancer.
The other weird thing about the desert is that the rotting magic, sometimes just called the corpse, might be sentient. Twenari has drawn on its decaying power twice in her life. Once, it tried to influence her into using it all up, which would've killed her. The second time, it tried the same thing, which prompted Sepo to come up with audio runes, an entirely novel form of magic. There's also the fact that only in Araun do automatons spontaneously become sentient.
Twenari is utterly fascinated by all of this and eventually dedicates her life to discovering the desert's secrets. She can talk for hours about Araunian ruins, runoff signatures, and robot sentience. Often, she seeks to study it even in her free time by reading all that's been written on it and parsing through any legends that have survived from the old empire.
🍋 Does your OC act petty and jealous easily? What sort of things make them feel like this and do they experience guilt for getting so worked up? How do they deal with these emotions when they get them? If your OC doesn’t feel like this often, why not?
Let's go with Sepo, since he's the king of petty. He's the type of guy to tailgate someone with his brights on after they cut him off in traffic. He's the type to spit in a customer's food if they were rude. He can hold a grudge into literal eternity - he practically collects the things. So yes, very petty.
Another very petty character of mine is Djek. He's more cheerful than Sepo, so his ability to hold a grudge tends to get looked over, but he's holding them just the same. When he loses his temper, he tends to lash out with insults. He usually feels guilty about this, with one exception.
Sepo and Djek have a sort of grumpy older brother/annoying younger brother dynamic. Djek takes genuine joy in irritating the siren, and though he'd never admit it, Sepo wouldn't know how to live if he didn't have someone to complain about. They're constantly trading jabs as payback for some comment or another, constantly playing small pranks, constantly taking innocuous remarks as insults.
But honestly? They both have fun. The insults are petty and the pranks are many, but they both know where the other's buttons are and avoid pressing them. Djek knows not to joke about Sepo's brother, and Sepo knows not to joke about Djek’s parents. So yeah, they're two very petty, irritating men who use each other as a sort of social isolation chamber so their mean streaks don't spill out on other people as much.
Thanks for the ask!
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writing patterns meme!
ty to @microcomets for tagging me!! (this is a fun meme)
rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!
Neo is in the shower and Khaotung is waiting his turn, lying on Neo’s bed, still naked, scrolling through First’s Instagram. (Feeling the Rain before the Thunder, GMMTV RPF, First/Khaotung)
It's the first week of University and Boston is already tired of these orientation activities for First Years. Most of Boston’s classmates went abroad for school and Boston is waiting his turn. It’s just four years. He just has to make it four years. (the space you desecrate as you pass through, Only Friends, Ray & Boston, Boston & Mew)
When Prem asks him for a hug to refill his energy, Ten can’t help but follow it up with a kiss. Where's Your Home Tonight (Cooking Crush, Ten/Prem)
Shin visits Miw and Neo as often as he can. Which with Bangkok traffic is about once a week, maybe once every other week. It’s not enough. (Sugar on my street, 3 Will Be Free, Miw/Shin/Neo)
Kawi is sure he’s got it this time. (wordless kind of offer, Kawi/Pisaeng)
“I don’t want you growing up soft,” Pa says, the first time he makes Chopper watch his men make an example of someone who stole from them. The finger slices easy at the knuckle and the man doesn’t start screaming until a couple of seconds after it’s done. (king of the castle, Never Let Me Go, Ben/Chopper)
Ray wouldn’t say she passed out. (dig low to get round to it, Only Friends, Ray/Sand f/f)
The hardest part of the soulbond, they say, is the first couple of days after. (Cross the Rivers of My Mind, GMMTV RPF, Off/Gun)
Force is playing a mostly freeform game of soccer with friends after school. Some idiot kicks the ball way out of bounds and Force chases after it, ducking around the big tiered seats that they never let them sit on during assemblies. The ball is beneath them and Force goes for it, grabbing it with both hands. Which is when he sees Book, who’s sitting curled up with his knees tucked up to his chin. He’s shaking a little and the sight stops Force in his tracks. (won't you come around to the spot where we met, GMMTV RPF, Force/Book)
As soon as Off says it, he knows he’s fucked up. (A Secret Kind of Language, GMMTV RPF, Off/Gun/Tay)
I guess the first thing I learned from this is that in my 10 most recent fics there are no pairing repeats which feels very true to me lol.
And then I think scene setting? First line establishes the POV and the scenario and the timeline. the 3wbf fic is post-canon so I set up Shin POV and that they're all already together but separated. I do want to work on developing more grippy or hooky first lines I think in general my prose is not that pretty. A real banger first line. "In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit" of a first line. A "There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it." of a first line. A "why is the measure of love loss" type of a deal.
tagging @idrilka @daltoneering @ginnymoonbeam @ullvide
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GoodTimeWithScar
Kills: 11
Cause of first death: PearlescentMoon
Cause of second death: Skizzleman
Cause of final death: No final death
Team: No team
Place: 1/17
Succeeds: 7
Fails: 3
Re-rolls: 1
Session 1: Call everyone by anything but their username for 30 minutes. [FAILED] (Reroll for harder task-one time exception) Create a nickname for another player and have two other people call them by it.
Session 2: Be Pearl’s hype man for 30 minutes without being called out.
Session 3: Remove all light sources from around 5 people’s bases. If someone questions you, you need to put that person’s lights back.
Session 4: Do the opposite of what people tell you to do. [FAILED]
Session 5: Starting with grass seeds, work your way up to a golden apple. Minimum 4 trades.
Session 6: You are in a game of chicken with Bdubs and Impulse. You pass if you win more than 3 chicken competitions. Anyone can declare a round of chicken as long as it’s something that will cause damage.
Session 7: Become the villain of the server. Grief. Steal. Seek server world domination. You pass if you are actively disliked by the majority of the other players. [infected: All players who are infected have their task changed to Gem’s, which is: You are infected with the boogeyman curse. You must kill a non-red to infect them. Once you have infected them, show them this book. Their task (if they have one) is replaced with this. Yellows cannot call out this task, and you cannot re-roll for hard. You succeed when all non-reds have the curse during the session. All infected players can work together. Anyone infected can kill a non-red, but the most recently infected player must be involved. If you turn red, you can choose to be free from the curse by hitting fail early.] [FAILED]
Session 8: You must sabotage at least 3 red player’s bases without being seen. You can hide their stuff, destroy farms, or burn things. If you are caught, you fail. Task 1 [as a red]: Dig many 1x1 holes at least 15 blocks deep in high traffic areas until someone fall in one. Hide them with tall grass. [Unfinished this session]
Session 9: Win Secret Life.
Lemme know if something is wrong or if there’s something you want me to add!
#goodtimewithscar#goodtimeswithscar#trafficblr#secretlife#secretlifesmp#trafficlife#trafficlifesmp#playercards#secretlifeplayercards#gtws#gtwscar
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