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dukeoftheblackstar · 2 years ago

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Coffee Love

Author's Note:

I’ve been whumped by my own wip and it has really gotten me in a rut. I’ve had friends recommend I do something like a 500-word limit fic unrelated, but I couldn’t start no matter how much I tried. So, in my attempt of bouncing off ideas with someone, I ended up meeting my unexpected source of serotonin boost.

I’ve taken much of everything from the thread of our replies, integrated the tags as POV, made some revisions, and I genuinely enjoyed doing this and with this being something I actually want to post on my blog, here goes.

Pairing: Commander Fox as written by @i-need-more-caf and my self-indulgent OC, Duchess. Triggers: Flirty banter. Stressed people. That's the trigger. Two stressed, caffeine-addicted people, and occasional appearance of testicle face, Chancellor Palps.

And so begins the highlight of Duchess’ day as the Chancellor’s secretary — not to be confused by His Excellency’s advisor or any military designation, her role was more administrative. Solely responsible for every appointment and scheduled-based tasks that involved the Chancellor, the Senate, Corrie Guards and staff, and even certain affairs that the Chancellor sees fit to be informed of. Implied authority over any form of document — reports included, to be scanned and reviewed before they reach the Chancellor, and all requests to be evaluated prior approval.

Under the good graces of the Chancellor’s favor — considering her efficiency to ensure all needs of the Chancellor are met, primarily to retain a credible, untarnished, and professional reputation; she gets a pass. Not to mention being the saccharine face of the Executive Suite tends to set the mood for worried allies hoping to get an audience with the Chancellor to be at ease.

Having arrived an hour early for her shift, she hums into the soothing comfort of a homemade brew. The rich scent of hazelnut infused with the natural bitterness and potency of caf was truly a rousing touch to the soul. The abysmally dark tone of liquid in contrast to her clean, white, mug captivated not only silver irises that watched the quaint ripples as she blew onto the pool of heavenly, goodness that is caf; but had withered her resolve to not only scream into the void at the sight of erroneous reports that she has to fix as presented by her the monitors on her desk — but to also rob her of any desire to fulfill a shared dream with her work-husband.

A shared-fantasy that if further mused on of different possibilities is exhilaratingly arousing; crimes of passion in the form of arson, asphyxiation through possible food or drink poisoning, or accidental murder. The thought alone made her squirm in her seat with her knees tucked against each other — which then reminded her that said work-husband would certainly have pulled yet again an all-nighter.

An amused, soft chuckle before blessing her tastebuds with the fine drink that not only fueled her for the day, but fueled her to live on this god-awful planet of hate and misery. Good thing, there’s always one more miserable person than her; her beloved, Commander Fox.

yourcoruscantworkwife: Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look when you're stressed over work with no sleep for 3 days straight? I bet you smell like stale coffee and paper ink.

yourcoruscantworkwife: *dreamy sigh*😩😩😩

yourcoruscantworkwife has forwarded an attachment to your email marked urgent.|| Subject: CT-1010 Report Req fr. OtC. || Contents include: ‘Additional Paperwork marked ‘Discreet’. || Click to open Mark as Spam Block Mute

Basking on the warmth of the mug between her palms, Duchess scanned today’s agenda, scouring through everyone’s schedule and progression to ensure all is accounted for. It didn’t take long before her sight dropped to the corner of her screen as the notification came up.

i-need-more-caf: At this point, I just admire someone dedicating their time to me. Not many come to appreciate my work. So why don’t you swing by and let me thank you, ad'ika?

And the man of the hour — the man of every hour, had graced her with a response. And so begin their daily banter to alleviate any form of repressed feelings to align their focus to the work at hand like a proper soldier and secretary.

yourcoruscantworkwife: If by thanking me entails you painstakingly working on that report that's due later tonight, then yes. I don't know what it is Commander, but I see you stressed and I feel like I just want to jump you.

yourcoruscantworkwife: Anyhow. Here's a treat from me: a potently caffeinated version of java chip iced caf.

yourcoruscantworkwife: ☕🥤🍪☕🥤🍪☕🥤

i-need-more-caf: Oh don’t you worry, darling. This work will be taken care of like any other. ;)

yourcoruscantworkwife: Keep talking like that Commander and I really just might pop back in your office and give you more than a delicious cup of caf. Well.. Apart from anonymous reports that a certain staff of your squad has been quite disruptive...I mean.. Destructive.

“Thorn.” Fox sighed, tending to an itch on his graying crown before finding solace through rubbing both palms over his face, not wanting to add more to his already piled up to-do list. He grunts in sheer surrender, fully knowing that he’d have to check his men and coax them into just admitting a possible fault rather than another charade of poorly concocted lies and innocent excuses. Though that may be so, he loves them dearly —loves them enough to want to– Cut off by not wanting to leave Duch on-read, he types with an amused but tired smile.

i-need-more-caf: Oh? And what else could you offer me, ad'ika? Besides the caf and headache you seem to enjoy giving me?

i-need-more-caf: Perhaps you should come back to my office and tell me.

i-need-more-caf: Maybe you’ll catch me yell at my men. Wouldn’t you like that, sugar? Seeing me all frustrated and stressed out?

“I could get down to that.” She mumbles, biting her lip to suppress a fit of laughter.

yourcoruscantworkwife: Aww, I give you headaches now too? You spoil me! ~

yourcoruscantworkwife: *Sighs more dreamily* 😩😩😩

yourcoruscantworkwife: I would actually die for that, baby love.

yourcoruscantworkwife: You're so nasty, it's intoxicating.

yourcoruscantworkwife has forwarded two attachments to your email marked urgent.|| Subject: CT-1010 Report Req fr. OtC II & III. || Contents include: ‘Additional Paperwork marked ‘SorryNotSorry’. || Click to open Mark as Spam Block Mute

The caf machine broke earlier in the wee hours of morning and he is yet to have his fix. The men knew this and have done right by steering clear of a now sleep-deprived, always - death-starved, easily-annoyed- to- the - brink - of - potentially - committing - a - murderous - spree embodiment of stress and exhaustion in a form of a man.

As he sees the incoming prompt of yet another set of attachments that indicated additional paperwork, Fox groans and seeks the comfort of his gloved fingers tending to massage his temples. He looked at the request, tapping and scrolling, reading and reviewing — with full intent of screaming, crying, and shooting; either someone or himself because the very core life support that retains his sanity and patience remains broken.

He balls a fist with eyes closed, briefly peeking at the now decommissioned caf machine that would beep occasionally and hiss as if to taunt him for the abuse of constantly brewing as if water and any other beverages didn’t exist. He takes to what the medical team would often remind him — breathing exercises to not assuage the dire need of caf in his system, but to allow the festering rage and fleeting patience to not consume him.

i-need-more-caf: Nasty?

i-need-more-caf: Oh I am about to become very dirty, darling.

A thud from his head meeting the desk shamelessly. A sight that can be easily pulled up from her desk through the security cameras installed throughout the building — a delightful perk for being an administrator/secretary.

Trying her utmost best to stifle either a groan of unabashed pleasure or an evenly matched fits of laughter, she bites her tongue and sends an audio through his personal comms in a very sultry manner. “By the way, Foxxy ~ That's due in an hour.” Nearly morphing into a shriek as she gazed at the time indicator on her computer, she adds. “Oh, my bad... Half... An... Hour ~!”

Amidst the chaos that is simply his career and existence, he appreciated the contact as much as the banter and headache. He felt a shiver run down his spine that then merited a fine mix between a growl and a groan. “You do know how to work me up, darling. Have you waited all day to give me these? Waited all day, making me believe that, maybe today was an alright day? Just to ruin me once more?”

Shaking his head, Fox returns to his work. With every two minutes passing, he suppresses the urge to walk into the chancellor’s office to strangle the man with his bare hands. After all, it’s not like the Chancellor had asked him to send some of his men to search for a new Zillo Beast, right?

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.In. Out. In. In. In. In. Oof — Out.

"Oh, kriff!~ I love it when you do that! Makes me exceptionally in the mood to just ~ Unf!" Duchess groans were quite suggestively exhilarated that Fox could hear the sound of papers scrunched — crumpled between presumably her fingers.

"Baby, you know I did! ~ I had to resist the urge to give it to you six hours ago when the Chancellor asked me to do so. I wanted it to be a surprise since you work so, damn, hard, behind your sexy, little, task-piled desk that smells like fresh paper ink and caf. ~"

This was beyond pleasure; it was sacrilegious.

“Duchess.”

And as her home-brewed caf was rich with the scent of hazelnut infused with the natural bitterness and potency of caf that truly is a rousing touch to the soul, the guttural sound that fell through his lips was rich with exhaustion that is far from rousing anything from his soul than the sweet release of death — the way her name rolled off his mouth with such debilitation, that it almost sounded ‘soft’.

“Ad'ika. You are driving me insane. Keep pushing and my hair will be completely grey in a few days.”

His voice is deep, rough and yet clear like burning ice. The need to destroy something, anything intensifies — yet he feels so heavy and tired to even lift his arm. It doesn’t help that he’s started seeing everything double either. At least he got the work done. Fox isn’t sure if he would survive the dreaded 'meeting' with the chancellor later, if he hadn’t.

And the caf machine remains broken.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.In. Out. In. In. In. In. Oof — Out.

Duchess made such an indiscernible noise that one could only associate it to a whore having her fix — and by that, the whore being Duchess and the fix being a very stressy-depressy Foxxy baby.

"Grey is sexy, Commander." She replies with a giggle, sending him a snippet of an email from the Chancellor — purposely cropped to only highlight the task at hand without any context. The cropped image reads; "Please have Commander Fox personally check the ----".

"Do I dare make it more exciting by sending you the... Full.. Uncut... Unadulterated..." With each word, her tone pitches more to a nearly orgasmic tune. "Brimmed with a fine, bulleted list of your to-do-list email for tomorrow, my sweet, overly worked, stressed work- husband?"

Fox stared at the image long and hard — eyes blown wide, dark with lust for death. His tired heart races and his fingers dig into the datapad clutched between hands itching to hurt. Six times had his weary eyes scanned the headline; Duchess’ voice a persistent distraction and root of daggers to his worn out soul.

“Duch. You know that I don’t beg.” He replies, suppressing the urge to hurl the datapad across his desk and onto the unforgiving wall. Oh, how much Fpx would just love to just jump out through the next window was something of an enigma he would like to reveal. But his men need him. His work wife needs him. The Chancellor needs him. With disgust he taps impatiently on his desk as he waits for his unhinged woman to just end him right here and now.

“Send me the whole thing, ad'ika. I’m sure I will be able to please you just right.”

"Are you sure about that, my love?" And it now has come to the point of no return. The high of her daily devotion to the Office of the Chancellor — the decadent surrender to having been appointed to ensure the Chancellor's wishes are met in terms of desk work, but to have been given the pleasure of weaving everything Coruscant’s precious errand boy's day to day requirement is truly a dream come true.

"But where's the fun in tha---" Her voice cuts off to a very familiar, elderly tune.

"Ah, Duchess. Looking lovely as ever. I take it the reports I've requested about the rumored spice being smuggled under our noses is near completion? "

Her reply to said voice was sweet, almost without an ounce of stress or protest — innocent maybe, angelic even. "Good evening, Chancellor. You spoil me. I'm sure..." Duchess pauses, mustering all strength from the galaxy to not break as she purposely adjusted her commlink for better sound recognition and volume. "Commander Fox is at polishing its completion. Right... Commander?"

"Ah, Commander. I see you have time to chat up my lovely secretary. Are those reports ready?"

Fox almost immediately jumped on his seat —, back firmly straightened as he heard the Chancellor’s voice; hands clenched to fists. Hearing him talk to Duch, stirs something in his gut causing his heartbeat to take on a faster pace. He remains silent, keeping his breath inside as he listens to Duchess respond. Her voice, ridiculously fake —it was all he could think of. But before he could feel even a pinch of sympathy for her, he gets thrown under the speeder. Now thoughts of her feigned laughter had morphed into the age-old question of ‘How to politely tell the Chancellor to kriff off without getting fired, decommissioned, or killed.’

“Sir. The reports are ready.”

Fox’s own voice switches from utterly exhausted to a monotone deep — one free from any hate, anger or stress. He wanted to add more, but reminded himself that the Chancellor hadn’t asked him for more. So he remains silent with palms cold and sweaty.

"Good. Have them sent over so I may review them. I expected them to be far more detailed this time, Commander." — Not very good, not best, not excellent, just good. And the shared dream of these two work-married, yet-to-meet friends under the pressure of their work-lives continue to burn; the dream being a crime of passion in the form of arson.

Duchess felt a bit guilty and whined to herself hearing Fox so beaten; beaten to the point of being a monotonous corporate slave. It wasn't fun like how they'd do it; their banter was far from how she'd wish the chancellor would go a bit easy on Fox since he's by far one of the busiest and most efficient clones in Coruscant.

As the Chancellor bid his farewell with disinterest, as opposed to how peppered Duchess gets with compliments on keeping face (no one would want to hear the esteemed chancellor berating women); Duchess pulled her seat close to her desk and replied. "I'd poison his caf but he makes me take a sip first. Sorry, baby. He'll need you here in fifteen minutes. I can feel it."

Fox has gone quiet. Quiet, because he knows how kriffed he is. He hadn’t slept for four days. He isn’t worried about mistakes in his work, but rather more worried about the quantity of it. There is no way he had enough time to be 'far more detailed'. He doesn’t blame Duchess; even if she had given him the work earlier, he wouldn’t have had the time to meet the Chancellor’s expectations. Though this doesn’t mean that Duchess isn’t driving him crazy with the way she delays his work and ruins his plans.

Momentarily lost to himself, Fox blinks realizing that he hasn't answered back. “Don’t worry about it, ad'ika. I promised to please you, didn't I?” He snorts dryly, exhaustion returning into his rough voice. He doesn’t want to make her worry, doesn’t want to worry anyone. He does a shitty job at that, but he can’t be perfect in everything, can he?

"Come up, baby. I got something with your name on it." As much as she adores testing Fox's patience, she's come to memorize Fox's pattern when it comes to his reports — particularly when he's dead tired. After all, it wouldn't be fun if he gets decommissioned for inconsistencies.

She takes her phone out and sends Fox a picture of her famous hazelnut, homemade brew; a shy trail of smoke indicating how it's just been made and a sticker on the cup with hearts — the cup with inscription in Mando'a that translates; "Fox's little bitch" — which is a play on their ‘couple mug’ wherein Fox owns with the phrase “Fox’s a little bitch”.

"And yes, don't worry. He's not gonna lop your head off this time." With confidence knowing his schedule, she sends another photo of a similar report to fox to compensate for certain details he might have missed seeing as his schedule is overflowing. "I've got you, babe."

The kriffer doesn’t even hesitate to leave his office to retrieve the offered caf. He is so dry of caffeine, he can barely think. Quiet and quick, he tries his best to go unnoticed. In his inconspicuous attempt, he doesn’t bother to knock at her office door, and just marches himself right in. Neither a hello, a good morning — Nothing.

“Where is it?” Voice deep and rich with an underlying tone of desperation. Gaze urgently sought about the confinements of her office, only to cease upon meeting her silver irises.

"Maker, you look like absolute shit. I'm in love." Duchess sighs dreamily as she motions for him to come closer. Gently picking the cup of fine hazelnut-flavor caf as to not spill or burn herself, she hands it across her desk to Fox. "It's hot, please don't burn your mouth again. I can't keep telling the medical staff that you purposely chugging hot caf is not a condition, but a personal choice — a lifestyle if you will.”

"I'm almost tempted to file a replacement request for your caf-dispenser seeing you like this. But woe, woe, woe, at what cost?" She feigns a gasp, trying not to laugh through their whispered conversation.

"Duchess, has Commander Fox arrived yet?" The intercom from her desk beeps with the Chancellor's voice; tTo which she replies, "No sir. Should I pick him up myself?"

"I don't understand the delay. It's not as if I ask too much of him." Came the Chancellor’s remark.

#♝#I did the thing #my dearest #I am obsessed with you #stressy-depressy work marriage

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h50europe · 3 years ago

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Why the myth about Steve's PTSD doesn't add up and other inconsistencies

In the last few episodes of H50, PL tried to sell us a mentally broken Steve suffering from PTSD. Only the whole thing came a bit too late. The clip you see is from season 4 and ended up - no, not in the series - but somewhere on the floor of PL's editing room. And why? after Kurtzman and Orci departed, along with their writers, PL took the helm and started turning Steve into a super-soldier. He stylized him into something that wasn't meant to be. Instead of developing the characters, PL began to incorporate more and more hair-raising action sequences into the series and then let Steve fight on the front lines. There was no mention of Steve's mental state, and a lot was explained by PL with: it just happened "offscreen." Yeah, sure. PL can't create a decent character. He can only produce stereotypes and one-dimensional beings. Like Adam. What potential would that character have had had he been turned into Five-0's antagonist? But no. So his role remained diffuse and monotonous. Sometimes even tragicomical.

Back to Steve. When SEAL Team started on CBS, PL also lapsed into SEAL mania. If someone who writes fanfiction were to produce as much garbage as this man did, he would be chased away from every writers' platform in disgrace. PL's Super SEAL also had to rescue his team members from a blazing inferno. Not man by man, no, he flew a helicopter right into the danger zone and lifted a whole cabin out of the burning jungle. If lunacy had a name, it would be PL. While the action became more and more exaggerated and unrealistic, the same happened to the protagonists. After the departure of Daniel Dae Kim and Grace Park, PL completely lost his mind. And please, don't blame the writers for the nonsense that was thrown at you. A series stands and falls with the showrunner. He dictates what he wants and passes it on to his staff.

And so, lovable Steve became a soulless robot who only showed feelings here and there. Danny diminished more and more into a sidekick. McDanno became a ship that drifted anchorless through a stormy sea and threatened to capsize again and again. From season 8, it became a reboot of the reboot. PL tried an ensemble show and failed more than miserably. Often the actors just stood around bored. At least that was the impression. The only highlight was episode 8.10. A feast for all McDanno fans. But even here, the outcome of "who shot Danny" was more than insubstantial.

Wait, there was something about SEALs... Oh, yes. Junior appeared on the scene and became Steve's lapdog. I really wondered when there was going to be an episode where he would fetch sticks for Steve. Luckily we had Eddie for that. And because he thought he was so clever, PL invented the episode speed dating. How many subplots can you squeeze into one episode at the same time? In some episodes, you couldn't even take a look at the bag of potato chips without losing the thread.

The case of the week became the yawn of the week. There were so many loose ends that PL then came up with something called retconning. That's what you do when you're no longer satisfied with what was once established in the series years ago, or it no longer fits. But PL went one step further and did the same with the characters. The more the series was dragged out, the more the characters deteriorated and became OOC. It means, often, they were not recognizable at all. And that's where we come to Steve. Because PL, in his desperation, didn't know what else he could do to Steve, and so he killed Joe White. He did it in such a cheesy way with a fake sunset that it made you sick.

Of course, one episode later, there had to be another gig of PL's favorite Barbie. He stuck a fake beard on poor Steve/Alex, so he couldn't even hug Danny/Scott properly. The episode also raised more questions than it answered any. And Steve? He still didn't suffer from PTSD, even though he had now lost Joe White and a fellow SEAL. Everyone is dropping like flies, except for Steve, who is standing like a rock. No matter what. He doesn't need in-depth talks with Danny, nor psychological care, nor any sleeping pills. No, he's doing great. He also opens a restaurant with Danny because apparently, the carguments are already getting on PL's nerves. Unfortunately, this plot device leads into nirvana. The idea was nice, but nobody thought it through to the end. And the merry-go-round continues. Until we get to season 10, where it gets even more absurd. Now PL is almost bombarding us with McDanno episodes, or at least it should seem that way. Oh well, he's already planning for season 11, so a new character has to come on board quickly. While in the beginning, Steve's mother, Doris, dies.

Alex was allowed to take on the subject. Of course, only under the strict eyes of PL. He then nullifies Alex's idea that Steve kills his mother. Because a good soldier and Super SEAL won't do that. Little does PL know. THAT could have been the opening of a PTSD scenario for Steve. However, apart from that, this episode would have had any potential for a multi-arc. Just imagine Steve chasing his mother across multiple episodes. Again, PL stepped in and butchered Alex's episode. You can really feel sorry for the guy. PL at his best or worse? He just can't help it. And then, on the very last meters of the series, he brings someone new, who is allowed to cruise around with Steve most of the time. Because Danny was kidnapped by Wo Fat's widow, PL also invented quite late to have some villain at his disposal. This wannabe mastermind must really have been living under a rock somewhere if she wasn't even mentioned by her husband or appeared earlier.

Because towards the end, PL obviously ran out not only of steam but also of ideas, everything culminated in a wildly illogical scenario. Steve has to live through a dramatic day with Eddie, who stands as a metaphor for Steve (as I said, PTSD was never a thing for Super SEAL), Danny bangs his brains out in a ladies' room with a complete stranger, who dies shortly after that in an accident with Danny's rental car. Apparently, there was no budget to turn the Camaro into scrap metal. Danny then also goes home alone, ignoring the incoming emergency vehicles. Everything remains open at the end of the episode. While Steve expresses his gratitude to Tani and Quinn and says, he would be just as lost as poor Eddie without the dog and all of them. The strange thing is that you never notice anything until that sentence. A few forced dialogues are supposed to make the drama visible, but they all happen way too late or are so poorly written that you miss them.

PL had decided early on to make Steve a Teflon hero. That also means he didn't need to put much substance into the character. Which you can clearly see if you compare the first three seasons to the rest of the series. But towards the end, PL wanted to turn the tide and forcefully rewrote Steve's past. There is a huge difference if you compare Steve from seasons 1 to 3 with Steve from season 10. It is only a sparse remnant of what made this character so great. This change in Steve's personality also affects his relationship with Danny. The witty, affectionate banter degenerates into a snappy, humorless bitch-fest that takes all the joy out of it.

The final two episodes could have been written for any other crime show. As mentioned, we have Cole, who even gets a book'em Cole from Steve, which can only be described as out of line. And it begs the question, was that what Lenkov originally had in mind? Danny out of the show and Cole in? Was the last episode, which mainly featured McCole, something of a test run? Did all the McDanno moments happen only to tear the two apart eventually? Was the real final scene the one where Steve and Catherine take Danny's coffin back to Jersey? Was Danny not supposed to survive? Was that the real reason Steve wanted to get out of Hawaii because he wanted to pay his respects to Danny? And would he really have returned to Hawaii later? Or would he have turned his back on Hawaii? To me, this ending is more plausible than what PL served us. Then, Steve handed over his credentials to Cole instead of Danny, his second in command. Honestly, you can't make the end of a series any more sloppy and dumber than that. And I won't even lose a word about the last 1:30 minutes because I think everything has already been said.

No PL, mission absolutely not accomplished. You created Teflon-Steve. You never wanted him to show any weakness. You turned him into a superhuman who can survive anything. Only to pull the rug out from under him on the last few meters to the finish line and spit on his legacy. How can you dismantle such a great series and its characters like you did? How much do you have to hate something to do that? In the final interviews, the showrunner didn't exactly cover himself in glory either. Everyone who grew up with the series from day one knows that its end was wrong on all the possible levels and that the showrunner is solely to blame for that. It takes a fair amount of egoism and carelessness to drive 10 years at full throttle against the wall. Not many people can do that. Whether you can be proud of that, however, I doubt.

My respect if you have made it this far. Each of you gets 10 extra brownie points for it.

#McDanno #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #scott caan #alex o'loughlin #H50 the final chapter #H50 series finale #Lenkov #Eddie #Junior #seal team

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darkisrising · 3 years ago

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81 and 14 for din/boba/luke?

Hello anon! Sorry for the delay! As requested, here's a little trope mash-up for you, I hope you like it! Thanks for playing :-) Prompt: Bobadinluke 81. The Missus and the Ex 14. Bodyguard AU

Death threats start piling up for Leia, though it isn’t a surprise. Not with a senatorial campaign announced and the Organa name back in the news for the first time since “The Incident."

"The Incident" which had somehow, indelibly, publicly linked the Organa name with a Skywalker secret twin. "The Incident" which had ended with Leia’s then-boyfriend, now-husband knocking— throwing? depending on what conspiratorial corners of the internet you frequent and what angle of the cell footage you’re partial to linking to— Luke’s then-boyfriend into a thirty-foot pit.

The boyfriend had lived, but it was a near thing, or so Din had been told. Their relationship hadn’t lasted much longer after that.

“But now there’s you,” Luke said one time when the subject had come up. Crawling into Din’s lap, wrapping his arms around Din’s neck, he'd smiled. “Just don’t go around uncovered pits with Han and you should be fine.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Din rumbled between kisses as he’d splayed Luke’s lower back with one palm and pulled him in closer.

Since Din stays away from both the news and social media religiously, he'd mostly put the ex and the pit out of his mind after that. Life went on. He and Luke get serious, and then after six months of fitting their lives around each other— weekend lunches at the garage where Din eats with greased-up overalls while Luke steals his fries, morning coffees sipped together as a bleary Luke collects his spill of graded papers from the kitchen table— they get serious.

Din buys a ring and Luke cries with happiness. They pick a date— after the election, but before the new school year starts up again— and after that the biggest drama is whether the dry cleaner will find Din’s lost suit before Leia’s fundraising dinner or whether he’ll be forced to buy a new one.

That is until the day Din goes to grab the mail expecting bills and finds instead a note that's been painstakingly assembled with tiny magazine letters to read: “YouLL b DeAd B4 yOuR iN THe piT skYwLkR.”

For Din’s money, he’s betting it’s the ex. Luke doesn’t agree.

“How can you be sure?”

“For one thing, Boba knows the difference between possessive your and you-are you’re.” Luke smirks, amused, and it’s like he isn’t even worried about threatening letters being sent to their home. “I’m sure it’s the same person harassing Leia. Now that everyone knows I’m her brother, it’s probably connected.”

“Hm,” Din says, unconvinced, and Luke takes his hand between both of his and gives it a squeeze.

“But if it’ll make you feel better I can ask around. Find out what Boba’s up to these days. If I hear he’s got photos of me all over his walls with the eyes cut out or something we can start to worry.”

Which is how it happens that Din comes down the stairs in his new, sharp-edged suit, as ready as he can be for this fundraiser of Leia’s, to find a very large, scarred, bald man in their living room. A very large, scarred, bald man that is also wearing a suit, and Luke smiles over at Din, nice and sunny and says “You look amazing,” before introducing him to Boba.

They shake their greeting and Din half expects the ex to try some kind of macho, dominance move and squeeze the shit out of his hand but he doesn’t. His brown eyes take in Din with an open, frank assessment and when Boba says “Good to meet you,” they both know he’s lying.

“Boba’s got a bodyguarding business now!”

“Personal protective services. But, yeah, amounts to the same thing.” The smile he throws over his shoulder to Luke is unbearably fond and Din, who has never once had a possessive or jealous thought about a lover in his life, feels his hands curl into fists at his side. “When I heard about the death threats I offered my professional services.”

“Death threat. Singular,” Din finds himself correcting, even though up until this moment he’d been the one complaining that Luke wasn’t taking it seriously enough. “That’s kind of you but I’m sure you have more important people to—”

“More important than Sunshine? Nah,” he says and Luke beams, as devastatingly bright as his ex’s nickname for him and Din frowns. “Anyway, I thought I’d tag along at this fundraiser, see if anyone suspicious shows.”

“I’m sure all you’ll find there is dry chicken and even drier politicians, but I know Din will be glad to know there’s someone keeping an eye on me.”

“Oh, I won’t take my eyes off you all night,” Boba assures, and yet he’s looking at Din when he says it. “Especially in this suit. You look good, Sunshine.”

“And you don’t look so bad yourself.” Luke doesn’t sound like he’s flirting. He sounds exactly like he’s talking to Han or Leia or anyone else that he’d rather die than make a pass at, and yet Din can’t help but read more into that friendly, bantering tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit before.”

Boba snorts. “This suit? It’s so old it might have belonged to my father.”

“Well you wear it well,” Luke says and then turns to Din. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Din says and he lets Luke take his hand and lead him out to the car.

He’s all-too aware of Boba’s steady, dark eyes on them as they walk on ahead, and Din’s now not sure he’s the one sending death threats, but he is sure of one thing: if Boba’s not planning on killing Luke, he’s planning on fucking him.

Either way, Din’s going to have to stay vigilant since it’s becoming clear that, when it comes down to it, Luke has a blind spot the size of Boba-fucking-Fett on his radar.

#darkisrising fic #bobadinluke #eventual bobadinluke #dinluke #bobaluke #prompt fill #tumblr games #ask game #ask box

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ink-fireplace-coffee · 4 years ago

Text

Short Story: Kiss me, for I am dying.

A/N: this story was crafted yesterday at midnight so I can't assure the quality of it at all. It is inspired in a theatre/legend we have here in Spain called Los Amantes de Teruel, or The Teruel Lovers in english. It's like the Spanish less known version of Romeo and Juliet.

Word count: 1901.

TW: mentions of death.

I don't have a general taglist or anything on the sort, but @nathandoesntknow asked me to tag them, so here you go! enjoy my midnight weird af inspiration I guess.

------

Five months ago, Jaime would've just left if he saw that on the rooftop of the campus was already someone.

Five months ago, if he had seen that stranger sitting there- feet dangling in the air and looking at the sunset- was Isa, he would’ve turned on his heels and left before she could even so much but noticed him.

Or maybe he would’ve “asked” (more like demanded) her to go somewhere else.

Jaime and Isa hated each other. Pure and simple.

Ever since the first day of university, when Isa had given him a “you are annoying” look after Jaime had accidentally hitted her backpack, launching all her stuff through the hall.

No matter how many times he had tried to convince her that it hadn’t been on purpose, she had said that it was his fault over and over again.

If that wasn’t enough, they had not only been forced to sit next to each other for their whole third year (since it was extremely rude to tame someone else’s seat after the first week of classes) but they also were constantly competing on the top of the class.

If Isa had a 95% on the midterm, Jaime had a 98%.

If Jaime had scored a 9,9 out of ten in that essay, Isa had gotten the full mark.

Everyone saw it as a nice academic competition, the kind that made you better every day and it was healthy. Sometimes it could also be mistaken for a nice banter, or even a bit of university drama.

Isa and Jaime saw it as a live or die battle where only one of them could succeed.

Spanish had been the only subject Jaime had ever been really good at, for as long as he could remember. His zeroes in maths had always mattered less next to his tens in Spanish.

When he had told his father that his dream was to become a spanish teacher, the old man had simply nodded and said “I was not expecting less”. And so, one entrance exam to Salamanca’s university later, Jaime knew he was starting to walk the path of his future.

But while his passions were words formation, syntax and how the language had developed into today’s form; Isa had decided to study the career for a whole different reason.

It was clear that she felt completely herself when discussing novels and authors. Her essays on every single topic were excellent quality (even Jaime had to admit it) and they always provided a new, fresh way of thinking.

And maybe that's why some months ago, whatever they had agreed on had taken place.

Now, when the morning classes had already finished, Isa was already on the rooftop, a book in hand and a notebook resting on her legs.

“You are late. Again.” She remarked when she saw Jaime’s blond hair.

“Some of us have life, Isabel.” he answered in the same cold tone and took a seat in front of her.

“Being the teacher’s pet is not having a life.” They both held each other's gazes for a while, until instead of intimidating, they were staring.

The wind whooshed, making the students snap back.

Jaime cleared his throat and Isa focused on her book .“What are we revising today?” asked him.

She tapped the pages of her notebook with a pen. “Los Amantes de Teruel. Spanish version of Romeo and Juliet, I believe. Since you haven't finished it, even though it was due yesterday.” Isa added, a sassy remark included in her voice.

Jaime rolled his eyes.

Lovers of Teruel.

It is true that he had been stuck for three months in a 170 pages novel. But there were far more interesting things to do than read how two fools felt in love only to die at the end.

“I would've finished it if I hand’t been busy correcting someone’s homework.'' He remarked, as he searched for his own copy of the book inside his backpack.

Isa just scoffed, and gave him another “you are annoying” look. Jaime had to make an effort not to smile.

“You know? I wonder if those death stares are unically for me, like a personalized stare.”

“Oh, right, because you are so important in my life that I decided to give you an specific look whenever you say or do something stupid.”

“I mean… You asked me for help that day, so I guess I must be somewhat important, dear Isa.”

“I asked you for help?” she repeated, astonished “You were roaming this rooftop for weeks until I got fed up with how creepy it looked and told you to help me with that assignment, which, for the record, was perfect.”

That was true. Her assignment had been flawless, but Jaime would rather die than to admit that out loud.

“Are you planning on finishing this book with me or do you want to keep talking?” He grinned then “I’m sure there are a ton of other things you could use your mouth for, but I’d like to be prepared for my exam next week.”

Her slight blush felt like a personal win. Until she stroke back, of course.

“One: that is extremely gross, and I don’t want to know about the weird fantasies you have with my mouth. And two: it’s your turn ‘Diego’, so read.”

Since there was no point in reading plays in silence and to themselves, at the beginning of the book (three months ago), Jaime and Isa had divided the roles, taking the two main characters with them: he as Diego and her as Isabel.

“You were practically born for this role” had joked Jaime and Isa wondered how far from the ground they were… and how hard she would have to shove him.

They read some scenes out loud, stopping to make some points on the narrative, paraphrase or make a summary of what they got so far. If it was true that individually they worked really well, as a team it was almost magical.

“Kiss me, for I am dying” said Jaime/Diego for the second time. Isabel had just rejected his lover, since she had already married and didn’t wish to deceive her now husband.

“And then Diego dies because he can’t bear the pain that causes him not being able to love Isabel.” the girl closed her book, and got up, stretching “It’s late, we should go before the campus closes.”

Jaime nodded and tagged alone, but stayed quiet the whole time until they were about to leave the university.

Then, just before partying ways, the question escaped his lips “Would you kiss me if my life depended on it.?”

Both of them looked equally surprised. When he didn’t add anything else, Isa understood he was waiting for an answer.

Well, what do you answer when someone asks that without a warning?

If there’s one thing Isa had clear was that Jaime and her weren’t friends. They weren’t even study buddies! They were just two students of the same class who happened to help each other out every now and then…

And for what?

“Let’s be glad that it doesn't.” she finally said, and turned away, wanting to run as quickly as her legs could carry her.

Would you kiss me if my life depended on it?. Two college students were replaying the same question over and over in their heads. Tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Isa didn’t have the guts to go back to the rooftop in the next few weeks. Since Jaime had handed in his essay on the novel, she had assumed he had finished it on his own.

That was good, right?

Now, both of them averted their eyes, and tried really hard not to cross paths.

What had been Jaime thinking when he asked that?! Oh right, he had been not thinking at all!

Still, not knowing the answer to the damn question was getting on his nerves. Not that he desperately wanted Isa to kiss him, that could never happen but…

Hypothetically he wanted to know.

Two weeks before finals, they both bumped into each other at the rooftop. Seeing Jaime’s figure -his back to her and his face to the orange sun-, made Isa stop on her tracks.

The door slammed closed and the guy turned around.

Awkwardness was all over the place.

“The library is super crowded and-” started to explain her. He nodded.

“I know, that’s why I’m here.”

A few minutes of silence and then:

“You finished the play.” commented Isa.

“Yeah, I did” Jaime rubbed his neck, nervous “Thanks for sharing your notes, by the way. They were really helpful.”

“Oh, um, no problem.”

“And, about that question…”

“It 's okay! You don’t have to explain anything.”

“No, really, I don’t know how it happened.”

“It’s fine, there’s no need to apologize, really.”

More silence in between them.

“I can go if you want me to.” offered then Jaime. She lifted up her gaze at him.

“The rooftop is big enough for the two of us, and I know you don't like studying at the library.”

Isa had been thinking about how much she noticed about Jaime without actually wanting to: his likes and dislikes, how he frowned slightly when there was a concept he was not following, his happy smiles whenever there was something he was pleased about…

He was grinning like that now.

“Earth calling Isa, are you there?” She blinked a few times.

“Yeah, totally. Here. Present.”

Jaime decided it was now or never.

He lifted up his hand, the one holding the book and showed it to her. "We never finished reading."

"You handed in your essay already. Why would we finish reading it?"

Clearly none of this was working. The guy slided his backpack on his shoulder. "I should go, Alejandro needs me for this book analysis-" he rambled.

"Go" Isa nodded and then smiled. "Teacher 's pet."

He just laughed awkwardly and headed out.

Isa had hated every single second of that conversation. Even if it's true they never had a friendly relationship, they had somewhat grown closer along the few months they had tutored each other.

What did Jaime really mean to her? He was insufferable sometimes, that's true. Arrogant in class and a stupid know-it-all…

But he was also brilliant. And he was kinder than he wanted to show: he had given her his jacket to go home when it was raining once; and even shared his notes with her when she had been sick.

The girl ran downstairs.

Jaime was about to go inside the teacher's office when she finally got to him. In a final effort after her sprint, she tried grabbing his arm.

The guy turned around, really surprised.

"Isa, what-"

"Ask me again." she demanded.

"What?"

"Ask. Me. Again" Isa pleaded out of breath. Her courage would flee anytime soon and then-

"B��same, que me muero." he whispered.

Kiss me, for I'm dying.

Their lips touched.

"Do you like this ending better?" she asked after the kiss, a sly smile already forming.

He tipped his head back and laughed "Much better."

In Spain whenever someone mentions Lovers of Teruel, we have a saying that sort of finishes the sentence: stupid her and stupid him. Since they both die foolishly.

Luckily, we can assure that the sentence does not apply to Jaime nor Isa.

#short story: kiss me for i am dying #my writing #short story

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vegalocity · 4 years ago

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Seperated (Red Groom AU)

The part of the Albino will now be played by -drumroll- Jin and Yin is that even a question? of course its Jin and Yin.

Also i rewatched this sequence a few times to get the dialogue right and... Am I on glue or are Humperdink and Count Rugen like... kinda into eachother?

Xiaotian awoke with pain. He pulled a hiss between his teeth as a rag—no doubt drenched with cleaning fluids for how much it stung—was pressed to his shoulder. The room he was in was dim when he forced his eyes open, but soon his gaze was met with the red eyes of a silver skinned demon.

“Who-” he croaked. “Where am I?”

“The pit of despair.” The demon hissed, his voice raspy and dim, it reminded Xiaotian of the whispers of a ghost. On some level it made him nervous. “Don't even think-”

“Yin, you gotta stay away from the guy while he's still injured, brother. You sound like a nightmare warmed over.” a far more normal voice made itself known, and Xiaotian watched a golden demon that other than the change in coloration seemed near identical to the silver one entered his vision.

“But Jin I-” The silver demon, Yin apparently, gasped. “Come on, I NEVER get to be the ominous assistant!”

“You're still ill, If you mess up the experiment by getting the prisoner sick Macaque is gonna ACTUALLY kill you, and I don't wanna be an only child.”

Yin huffed and puffed.

“Maybe he should go home.” Xiaotian offered weakly. Less guards meant less people to fight while he escaped after all.

“Pssh!” the gold brother, Jin apparently, waved a hand. “Like we'd EVER- Nah he's just gotta leave prisoner interactions to me. Speaking of!” He snagged the clean rag from his brother's hand. “You'd rather be treated by the one that ISN'T actively sick right now, wouldn't ya, prisoner?”

Yin let out a series of sneezes that nearly seemed to knock him off his feet. So Xiaotian was thankful when he finally shrugged and went over to a worktable while Jin leaned over and went to applying the cleaning fluid on his wound.

“Like my brother was saying though, don't even think to try and escape. Those chains could hold down the Monkey King, they're that strong.” The irony of that statement was lost on Jin, Xiaotian hadn't been in his monkey disguise when they'd captured him, it was unlikely anyone knew of his ruse. Even Red Son while surrendering (his heart still hurt at the memory of defeat in his voice) had been nonspecific about WHAT nearby mountain was his. “And the entrance is like, super secret too, like top secret. Only the Boss, the Prince, and my brother and I know where it is, and Yin didn't even pay attention when we were being shown the way.”

“It was boring!” Yin defended himself from across the room. “You were barely paying attention yourself!” Jin turned around and likely made an ugly face at his brother, whom quickly returned it with one of his own, before he turned back to Xiaotian.

“You're gonna die down here my good fellow.”

“Then why heal my wounds?”

“I 'unno. The boss tells us he likes his test subjects in tip tops before he messes them up.”

“We generally leave between 'experiments'” Yin added on, before letting out a loud grunt as he moved some heavy looking contraption across the area. “He's like.... Super creepy when he gets into it. Gives Jin the willies.”

“Honestly there are some times when I can't remember why we even work for him.” Jin agreed with a visible shudder and a shake of his head.

“Cuz mother said she would force us out of the house if we didn't find work, and he pays well.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

He wasn't paying much attention to the brother's banter, he'd already put together what matters.

“So they're going to torture me down here?” Jin hummed in agreement as he continued to clean him up of left over blood. “I can handle torture.”

Yin let out a raspy laugh that was somehow less disturbing than the audible shudder that went up Jin's spine.

“Look, my man, you're new here, you don't know.” There was something close to pity in Jin's voice and it almost immediately set off every alert in Xiaotian's nervous system. “that machine they rig people up to, it's no joke. We only heard the damn thing a few times and it's really, REALLY bad.”

“I still get nightmares!” Yin agreed.

But then Jin had finished cleaning up his wounds and went over to aid his brother in whatever he was doing moving things around, leaving Xiaotian to his thoughts.

Something so bad that it made demons recoil in fright? What sort of horror display was he in for? That Six-Eared Macaque did seem the sadistic type, but what did that entail?

He had to get out of here. He tested the chains, but no dice, his arm was still injured though the bleeding had stalled, and he was strapped down with both hands nearer his waist than his head so he couldn't even try to summon some backup in the form of a clone. And his shapeshifting was still rudimentary at best, he couldn't do any forms that would change his size quite yet and that was the one thing that could help him break out of here!

He'd have to stay put for just a little longer at least until he could figure something out.

At this point the Prince wasn't likely to kill Red Son until they were already married, and though his heart ached at the idea of his love being forced to play along with that cruel beast's games until he found a way around it, or managed to escape on his own—as he knew that he would at this point. Now that he knew that Red Son's heart had remained true, and Red Son knew he was alive, he knew his love would stop at nothing to get out of this arrangement and find him again, he was far too clever to simply go along with this and hope that those mercenaries were wrong or deceitful—he could find him on his own.

He knew he would. Red Son was far too intelligent for anything else.

–

Within three days time the Prince's father had died. And on that very night he and Red Son were married.

It was the day after the ceremony and Red Son, now a married man, was to be prepared not to be a demon king in his own right like he'd always assumed but-

–

“What? That's not right! Grandpa you're telling the story wrong!”

“What do you mean, little one?”

“Red Son doesn't marry the prince he marries Xiaotian! He's his true love not the prince!”

“But Red Son turned himself in to the Prince to save Xiaotian's life, remember?”

“But! But after the Forest-! And everything Xiaotian did to get back and save him from the mercenaries-! After everything he did he doesn't even get to marry him in the end?! That's so unfair!”

“Whoever said life was fair? Where'd it ever get written down that life was fair?”

“B-But! But! Xiaotian is still in the Pit of Despair! He needs Red Son to save him like he saved him! ”

“You wanna know how this ends or not?”

“...Yes...”

“Thought so. No more interruptions, alright? Where was I...-”

–

-It was the day after the ceremony and Red Son, now a married man, was to be prepared not to be a demon king in his own right like he'd always assumed but the husband of another. And as such he didn't know his new court anywhere near as intimately as he did his own back home. So he was taken to oversee the goings on of this court and acquaint himself with the advisers and nobles within.

He was dressed now not in the warm tones that his family was known for, but the cool pale purples of his husband's own court and in his own opinion, it clashed horribly with his hair, if it were a darker purple maybe, but this simply wasn't a good shade for him.

But that was just one in a long, long line of things that were wrong about this situation, so he did his best to appear the unflappable demon prince he once was.

Examining the court before him he could only compare it to the one he knew back home, and in many ways he found it much the same. The same types of sniveling yes-men, the same kinds of conniving power-seekers, and the same sort of surprisingly wise elders.

And then just three steps away from him, one of the advisers snickered. A cruel, twisted sound, a mocking laugh.

Red Son... was on a bit of a hair trigger for obvious reasons and whirled around at the noise, approaching the previously assumed sniveling coward, and feeling his hair light aflame behind him.

“Is there a problem?” He tried to make his voice as unshaken as possible, but the rage that was so quick to boil in his gut was difficult to contain.

“Oh no, your highness-” the adviser gave an melodramatic mocking bow. “No problems here, I simply find it funny how everyone else here seems to think you worth our respect!” The Demon loosed another gale of laughter and didn't seem the least bit frightened when Red Son reached forward and grabbed him by the collar. He didn't even seem surprised.

“What was that, you infernal garbage?!”

“The only garbage here is you, Red Son!” The Demon howled with laughter, before looking among his fellows, trying to gain support. “Can you all even believe it? This cold hearted princeling had true love in his hands and he let it go!” His gut dropped. “After everything Xiaotian did for you! To come back to find you! To save you and keep you alive when you couldn't even summon a candle's worth of flame in that forest and you repaid him by betraying him!”

The demon slipped from his slack grasp as he chortled, and Red Son found his limbs very weak indeed, his anger replaced by a cold, sick feeling.

“They were- He was going to kill Xiaotian, I had to-”

“Oathbreaker! Xioatian lives and you marry another! You had love in your hands and you treated it like garbage!” The demon leaned against the side of another adviser, whom seemed frozen in place. Much like how Red Son felt.

“Because that's what you are your highness! Garbage! Prince of all refuse!” The Demon shook his neighbor's shoulder. “Bow to him if you want! Go ahead! Bow to the prince of all slime! The prince of all filth! Prince of all putrescence!” His laughter never once abated, and when the demon took a step toward Red Son, he instinctively backed away.

“An oathbreaking fool! That's what you are!”

“Muck! Filth! Coward!”

His laughter was piercing.

Red Son awoke with a startle, heart thumping in his chest and a cold sweat across his brow. The King was still alive and the wedding was ten days away, yet his nightmares were getting worse. And on this morning he came to one conclusion:

“I cannot afford to bide time any longer.”

–

“See? I told you he'd never marry that rotten prince!”

“Yes you're very smart, shut up.”

–

As quick as he possibly could he changed from his sleep shirt into proper attire and began to plan his escape. His betrothed would attempt his life the second he let it slip that he knew of his plans, so he had to be quick, he had to be clever, and above all, he had to be sneaky.

He didn't know why his betrothed had decided to assume sincerity, but since he wasn't dead yet he could only guess that he was waiting until the wedding night to enact his plan and frame whoever he wanted to frame for Red Son's 'assassination'.

So he had ten days. Child's play, he could do it in three, tops.

The hard part would be keeping a low enough profile until he made it to Flower Fruit Mountain to evade whatever hunters his soon to be ex-fiance would send after him. How ironic, he thought to himself, that it was now his turn to make an impossible death defying escape and make his way back to his love.

He didn't have much by way of sewing skills, but the wardrobe of the rooms he was given had no mags with which to carry his supplies, so he had to make do with a spare blanket and what little he knew of hemming fabric until something resembling a traveling pack was made and ready.

It was about then that the prince made summons for him.

Red Son turned over what to do or say in his head as he approached the sitting room, and came to the conclusion that if he acted like he was alright with all of this then he would arouse suspicion. Red Son was well known for his temper, and he'd made it obvious that he had a love in Xiaotian. Though he'd willingly given himself up for his safety, the fact of the matter was that the prince had been willing to fight and hurt him, and if Red Son didn't already have plans to run then that would mean he'd be furious.

So he held himself as stiffly as possible and didn't hold back his scowl when the prince came into view.

“Ah! Beloved! How wonderful to see you!”

The prince seemed unshaken by Red Son's fury and remained unwavering as he stiffly marched over and sat across from him. It occurred to Red Son as he sat that the prince would likely expect him to try and call the wedding off at least once. He would do everything in his power to either try and convince Red Son to take back his announcement (he wouldn't be able to) or restrain him to the palace until he could force him to acquiesce.

“I refuse to lie to myself any longer.” He spoke only then, His betrothed's brow raised in curiosity. “I love Xiaotian, I have since long before my parents ever reached out to yours, and I always will.”

If anything this might be an interesting way to see if he's going to play along or not. “If I am forced to marry you in ten days you must understand that on the eleventh I will be dead.” There, if he set the assumed date afterward, then the Prince wouldn't think that he was moving the timetable of his own plans up-

“I could never cause you such greif.” He said after a sigh. “Consider the wedding off.”

He knew this was a ploy, he had a plan of some kind. But Still Red Son felt the tight clamps pressed to his chest loosen at the words being spoken aloud.

“You returned this 'Xiaotian' to his mountain?” The prince turned halfway and Red Son was startled to see the macaque standing in the shadows, he hadn't even seen him when he'd entered!

“I did.”

“Then we'll send a messenger for him.” They wouldn't. They'd sent Xiaotian back to Flower Fruit Mountain no doubt, lest they risked starting conflict with his own army. However Red Son knew the prince had no problems at all lying to him. Any messenger he oversaw a letter being handed off to would likely get out of sight and shred the note to bits before lying low for a time and returning. “But, Beloved, Can you be sure that he'd still take you back?”

The laughter of the demon in his dream echoed in the back of his mind. “What do you mean?”

“I simply mean that, it was you who did the leaving back in the forest.” Red Son couldn't fight back a flinch at the reminder. “And... kidnappers aren't exactly well known to keep their word.” Thankfully he didn't need to fake outrage.

“He didn't kidnap me!”

“Well... then may I suggest a deal?” The prince considered his tea before taking a sip. “How about this; I'll send my four fastest messengers along different routes to your Xiaotian's mountain, and you'll write four separate letters explaining the situation for them to deliver. To decrease the likeliness of the message getting lost due to bandits and the like. Your Xiaotian is sure to receive at least one of them by that. And if he accepts you back, then good fortune to you both.”

The Prince's brow furrowed with worry, and once again he reached out to try and take Red Son's hand. He pulled his hands back. “But if he doesn't, If your love decides this was one betrayal too many, then please at least consider me as an alternative to suicide.”

He was trying to get him to doubt himself, to doubt Xiaotian. Trying to put something like that in the back of his head so he'd be less convicted when he had some notary of some kind fake a letter of rejection.

“Are we agreed?”

“We are.”

He'd be gone in a few days time anyway. And if the prince was right, if Xiaotian did feel rejected and betrayed, and angry, and if he somehow did decide that he didn't want him back...

...then he'd just have to win his heart again. If that were the case it may be difficult, he hadn't exactly gone chasing him all that time ago in the Inn, He wasn't sure if he knew how. But he'd try, whatever it took.

He just had to get out of here first.

–

“You know, now that I've spent a time with the prince, I can see why so many other demon suitors were banging down his door for so long. A mote too angry for my own taste, but even for a more human-looking demon he's not too bad on the eyes.”

“Don't go falling in love with my groom Macaque. I'll not have you ruining my plans.”

“Pff! No worries there, highness.”

“...You know, when I'd hired the Spider Queen and her ilk to kill him on their way to my mountain I thought THAT was a work of genius, but it'll be so much more moving to cut his head off on our wedding night myself I do think.”

“His parents will be furious.”

“Especially once I blame the Monkey King when I send word to them about it! They'll insist on going to war and our combined forces will finally claim that eyesore of a mountain.”

“It's going to be a bloodbath.”

“Which I'm sure YOU'LL enjoy my six-eared friend.”

“Now.. where is that secret knot... damn thing's always changing locations I swear- Ah... Are you coming down? Xiaotian regained his strength, I'm going to be starting him on the machine tonight.”

“Macaque, You know how much I love watching you work; but I've two anniversaries for different alliances to plan the celebrations of, My wedding to arrange, my husband to murder, and the Monkey King to frame for it, I'm swamped!”

“Get some rest my prince. If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything.”

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.” Jin was mumbling over and over as he and Yin rolled the slab of wood Xiaotian had been strapped to this whole time across the ground, and up against an unmoving water wheel.

“By all means, quit if it upsets you so.” The Six Eared Macaque stated idly, and out of the corner of his eye Xiaotian could see him scribbling something down, some sort of notation.

“He doesn't mean that.” Yin assured his brother as he forced Xiaotian this way and that, tightening leather straps to his chest and head. Hollowed out iron funnels were affixed to small holes in the straps, the cone sides pressed to his skin while the nozzles were being slowly attached to a set of copper tubes. “He'd be without any assistants that can keep their mouths shut without us.”

He couldn't move with these stupid straps all up and down his body—well... he already couldn't move MUCH, but the lack of what little mobility he'd had from there lost further was upsetting.

“Got back to work you miscreants.” The macaque snapped before standing and approaching him. When those eerie purple eyes were peering down at him Xiaotian had the uncanniest of feelings that he was trying to look like the Monkey King. Like some sort of crazy fan that wanted to steal his life or something. No wonder he hadn't realized that Xiaotian was actually disguising himself as such with Sun Wukong's blessing.

“Lovely machine isn't it? Been working on it for a solid century now.” He patted the strange device affectionately, as though it were a beloved pet. “You probably know by now your 'love' isn't the only scientific mind among our kind. But where he's interested in any field of study he can get his hands on I'm more interested in... shall we say... the study of pain.”

“Made my living stealing other people's powers for my own ya see, and it's been fun, but it's maybe getting a bit old too. Because I've been doing that, basically my whole life, and I kinda wanted to change it up. So I decided to see how much I can make someone hurt. I'm still testing this thing out mind you, so...Be honest with how it feels, alright? It's for posterity's sake.

“Now, this being our first try, I'll ease you into it. We'll start on the first setting.”

Xiaotian tensed, steeling himself over for whatever pain would follow.

The Macaque pulled the lever-

The machine whirled to life-

And there was pain.

#Spicynoodleshipping #MK Red Son #Qi Xiaotian #MK Demon Brothers #Six Eared Macaque #Vega writes stories too #Princess Bride AU #red groom au

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june-louise · 4 years ago

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The Telephone Call

Another drabble, Elizabeth/Philip. Set while Philip is away on tour in season 2 of The Crown. Might be continued.

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Elizabeth sat in the sofa; one leg crossed over the other as she listened to the reports coming from the television a few metres in front of her. Her mother was as per usual having her dinner next to her, joined by Margaret sitting across from them. Elizabeth had already had dinner, for once having shared the meal with the children who were now in bed.

Ever since Philip had left for the Royal tour, she had felt the need to spend more time with the children, surely to compensate for sending their father away for months on end. Philip had always been the more natural parent of the two, the one spending more time and playing with them. To Elizabeth, playing with the children had never been her favourite activity and with all her work she rarely spent much time with them during the weekdays.

Of course, she loved her children more than anything, but she had never felt like a natural mother as other women seemed to. With Philip gone though, she had felt the connection with Charles and Anne to be something of a comfort personally while she very much wanted them both to be happy and content. So, she had made it into a habit to join them in the playing room, listen to their talks and share more meals with them and help put them to bed. She even read books for them and tried to do silly voices as Charles called it. Because Philip usually did, and the children loved it.

“Your Majesty,” a voice said and interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see the court martial approach her. “A telephone call for you, ma’am. The Duke of Edinburgh.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow in surprise and felt the eyes of her mother and sister on her, they obviously surprised as well. She felt a smile spread on her face and could not help the excitement building in her stomach. She had felt quite low lately, finding herself missing the company of her husband more than she had thought she would. Ever since Philip’s speech on Christmas and the film from Antarctica, the emptiness she felt had grown worse. Laying eyes on him after so many weeks and reading his handwriting had made her heart ache for him, and it had not stopped since.

Quickly shrugging the surprise off of her, she spoke to the man. “Thank you.” Standing up, Elizabeth turned to the other women and excused herself. She tried best she could to not let the other two see her vulnerability, holding herself together and making an effort to contain her smile. She knew they both loved Philip, but they had never quite understood him like she did. And her feelings for him had therefore also many times made Elizabeth feel misunderstood, and she had found she sometimes had to act down on them in order to keep their comments to a minimum.

Walking toward her study, she felt the tightness and nervousness grow in her chest. She knew it was a slight anguish she felt, a fear of him not being there on the other line. The last time Philip called the reception had been bad and the line was broken before she had a chance to speak to him. She tried to prepare herself for the disappointment that it would happen again.

“Hello,” she said into the phone, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath to calm herself. She saw the doble doors close behind her and as she finally heard the voice of her husband on the other side of the line, she beamed.

“Hello, darling,” Philip said and she could almost hear his smirk and tried to picture him there on the other side of the world.

“Oh, it’s working,” she let out in surprise.

“Yes,” he said in his sleek voice and she imagined he was leaning against some kind of furniture where he was, making himself more comfortable. She did the same and rested against the wooden desk. “These bloody telephones actually do work from time to time.” He laughed and she chuckled, feeling herself relax.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” she said and got somehow more serious, feeling her eyes water slightly. This small gesture, a phone call, had her feeling as if there was a huge weight lifted from her shoulders, warming her heart.

“Are you admitting to actually missing me,” Philip said in a lighter voice, always the one to lift the mood. Elizabeth did love that about him, how he could make her smile and how life was far from boring when Philip was with. Many times, people around them showed their annoyance at his sarcastic comments, and she sometimes felt that way also, but deep down she knew she could never live without any of it. And she had missed hearing his voice immensely lately, finding herself imagining in her head what his replies would be and smiling to herself while everybody around her was oblivious.

“What if I am,” she replied and soared as she felt their familiar banter come alive. “And what about you, having the time of your life in all corners of the world?” She asked the question in a somewhat playful voice, but also felt nervous about the actual answer.

Ever since Philip had left, she had not heard much from him at all. A failed telephone call, a few telegrams mostly including updates on their whereabouts and well-wishes for the children, but not more than that. Except from the footage from Antarctica, where he had been surprisingly heartfelt.

Philip sighed. “Well, even though parts of the tour is surprisingly interesting and the places we’ve been has been quite incredible, I, too, must admit to missing my wife.” He paused, and she desperately wished she could see the look on his face. “Lately, a bit more than I imagined, actually,” he admitted truthfully.

“You have,” Elizabeth asked, her voice quite emotional revealing more vulnerability than she was comfortable with.

“Yes,” Philip started in a determined voice, “are you that surprised?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, but mostly happy to hear that I am not the only one feeling that way. Five months is incredibly long when all you want if for them to pass by, really. Did you get my letter,” she continued in an attempt to change the subject.

“Oh, yes.” She could hear him smile into the phone. “Made me think that I should grow a beard more often,” he chuckled.

Elizbeth blushed and cleared her throat, finding herself feel a bit embarrassed. “Really? I wonder what the reactions would be it you came home like that,” she said with a smile as she imagined the scenario. Her mother would be beside herself; Margaret would find it incredibly funny and Michael would uncomfortably try to work out how best to convince Philip to shave. “They were all quite surprised to see it, whereas I thought you looked like an explorer.” She smiled and added, “a very handsome explorer.”

“Five months really is a long time,” Philip sighed, and she felt her fingers go to the pearls around her neck. His words made the conversation shift, and she felt her chest tighten, her pulse quicken. “Trust me, it’s not only the sharing of bed I miss, but I’d really do anything to be with you right now.”

“Philip,” she said in a surprised voice, while blushing more, suddenly very aware of her most private parts. She shifted on the desk, leaning one leg over the other.

“What,” he said innocently. “Can’t a husband share his desires for his wife? I am alone here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” she quickly said, voice shaky. “I’m alone.”

“That’s it then, good, no worries. Wouldn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation, now would we,” he smirked.

“Philip,” she whispered and felt the need to sit down. Her breathing quickened and she pressed her legs together as she sat on the chair by the desk.

“You sound tense, darling. If I was there, I’d give you a big smooch, but since I’m not, what can I do?”

Elizabeth swallowed, “Philip, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes searched the room, even though she knew no one was there. “You know why not. And besides, I can’t.”

“You can,” he reassured her, like he so often had done when she needed help to escape her up tightness. “Now, if it’ll make it easier,” Philip said, and she could not help but roll her eyes at his determination. “Tell me where you are” he started. “And what you are wearing,” he added before, she imagined, leaning back into his seat and with amusement waiting for her reply.

Her face felt hot and she was sure there was a visible blush on her neck. Though she gave in. “I’m in my office,” she started and looked around at the familiar surroundings. She spent much of her time in here, and often had different people come to her with various notifications. She sincerely hoped that no one would get the idea to enter anytime soon, hoping the call from the Duke would keep them out until she gave them a sign that she was finished. She continued to play with the pearls around her neck, a nervous habit she had. “And I’m wearing my usual clothes, in blue.” As she spoke the words, she felt quite dull. Not much surprise there.

“Oh, blue, one of my favourite colours on you,” Philip said, seemingly not finding her dull at all, and she relaxed a bit. Philip always made her feel more comfortable, somewhat making her feel sexy through her shyness and sometimes up tight behaviour. “Like those gorgeous eyes I adore.”

Elizabeth shifted in her seat and felt a bit braver. “And you? Where is that handsome husband of mine?” She raised her eyebrow and wettened her lips, eager to hear his reply.

“Well, I’ve abandoned the suit onboard Britannia where the bloody phone does not work. Now in the Falkland Islands, we have loaned a quite nice house with a big garden. I’m in my room, supposed to rest after a whole day of shaking people’s hands and cutting ribbons.”

Elizabeth chuckled and then questioned, intrigued. “And what are you wearing?”

Philip laughed and spoke with playfulness in his voice. “I am wearing my robe, sitting in bed.” She imagined he knew he was teasing her, knowing how she was one of the people who knew he secretly preferred to sleep naked, even though he rarely did it at home in Buckingham palace anymore.

“And you just decided to give me a call before going to bed?”

“I did have a dream about you, actually. And have been thinking about it the whole day.”

“Yeah, what about?” Elizabeth felt warm inside, happy to hear that she had been in his thoughts.

“Traveling together. Yesterday we were greeted into this house and I was reminded of the house we stayed at in Kenya, before your father’s passing. Where we visited Treetops.”

Elizabeth smiled, remembering the wonderful time they had had there. Before their whole world changed. “That was a wonderful trip, before, you know. I was so happy and so in love with you.”

“Me, too. It was just us there, our own special place of the world.”

“It was.” Elizabeth suddenly laughed. “Remember when you saved me from that elephant?”

Philip joined her laugher. “I did do that. It was quite terrifying.”

“It was,” Elizabeth concluded, and gave a sigh. “I miss that time.”

“Yes,” Philip agreed, and a quiet understanding consumed them both. It had been a time before life as they knew it now, with duty and obligations – a time where they could be more of a normal couple. As normal as they could be anyway, given their circumstances. Elizabeth still remembered the incredible loss she had felt, and guilt, for taking away her and Philip’s wonderful life even though she knew it had not been her fault. She seldom let herself think about the what if’s, or imagine what their life could have been. It was not constructive. And there was no going back. They had both signed up for this life together, and in many ways, it was also an incredible life. Only different.

“Philip,” Elizabeth said after a while, interrupting their walk down memory lane, and when he made a sound to let her know he was listening, she continued. “I know I don’t say it much, but I do still love you very much, adore you even. But you must know that, right?”

She thought she could hear his smile over the phone. “Yes, I know,” Philip said, his voice soft and reassuring. Elizabet had never doubted her love and adoration for her husband, she did not remember a time not loving him. The love had never been the problem, even though it might seem like it for anyone else. Maybe she should say it more often, she thought. Yet they were both not very emotional people, and they rarely exchanged words of affection. So, Elizabeth was glad he knew how she felt about him.

Philip continued, maybe also finding that the distance of the telephone made the words come easier. “I feel the same way. Even though I sometimes act like an idiot, I have always loved you, Lilibet. And I believe that it is my destiny that I always will.”

#the crown #queen elizabeth ii #duke of edinburgh #prince philip #philip and elizabeth #claire foy + matt smith #claire foy #matt smith #fanfic

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quillyfied · 5 years ago

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Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 4

I LIIIIIIIVE

99 titles on this list again and once again we have an extra category, and I am pumped that I finally got this one done! Got a lot of holiday overflow but suck it up bc here it comes. As a refresher, the categories are: Jaunts through History/Canon, South Downs, Post-Apocalypse, Bus Ride/Night Before/Heaven and Hell, AU/UA, Soft, Before (exclusive to this list and List 2, meaning takes place almost exclusively Before Canon, as in The Fall/Creation/etc), Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings, Bonus, and H/C /Whump/BAMF. Warnings for gore and explicit material present where applicable. I don’t read smut fics but sometimes more adult material sneaks in there.

Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF A LINK IS BROKEN OR IF I MISATTRIBUTED AN AUTHOR.

JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON

1. You are a Call to Motion – @freyjawriter24 (G, the one where Aziraphale would like to dance but doesn’t. Very sweet and soft and kinda sad, follows Aziraphale through history wanting to dance (specifically with Crowley) until he finally gets to. The pining is so good, y’all.)

2. I love you because I know no other way than this – kriswithakay (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley use the excuse of being spectacularly drunk to get in little touches and kisses throughout history. This one is so sad and so full of yearning, the whole time you just wish they would face each other sober. It’s so quiet and beautiful.)

3. A Simple Thing – Sir_Bedevere (T, the one where Aziraphale gives out forehead kisses and Crowley is jelly about it. Continuing with the trend of being achingly sad and tender, this fic packs a wallop in that department. Forehead kisses aren’t always given at the happiest of times, after all. Also Crowley continues his stint as a pine tree and it’s painful.)

4. The Problem with Saints – Lurlur, D20Owlbear, robynthemagpie_writes, Wyvernquill (T and G, the series where it’s Catholic but funny. This series is weird and it’s hilarious and I hope there will be more, because this series goes through some fairly niche Catholic saint stories and the retelling of them featuring the Ineffable Husbands is hysterical. I don’t even want to tell y’all too much about it, just go read them and laugh with me, because they’re beautiful.)

5. When The Things You’ve Planned Need a Helping Hand – Proskenion (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale run into each other in the 1920s. Flapper!Crowley being a lounge singer is the centerpiece of this one, which is delightful enough, but throw in some canon-typical friction over the Arrangement and a chance for Aziraphale to come to the rescue, it’s a lovely little romp that has just the right edge of emotional tenderness to take the sting out of said earlier friction. Or add to it. Just depends on your point of view, really.)

6. The Serpent and the Lady – @summerofspock (T, the one where Aziraphale is Lady Fair and Crowley is competing in a tournament for his favor. Has female-presenting Aziraphale still using male pronouns bc that’s just what he’s comfortable with, and definitely, definitely has that Disney animated Robin Hood flavor. This fic scratches so many of my itches—Aziraphale in a dress, Crowley being a dashing BAMF, chivalric courtship, swordplay, armor, hand-sewn tokens of favor. A delicious little diversion, very worth it a++++.)

7. Sunlight and Water – @themoonmothwrites (M, the one where Aziraphale is a flirty drunk and Crowley has to be the sensible one. M for some racy elements but not explicit. This one is fun but then takes a direct left into Feels Town, which, when coupled with @cassieoh’s art, just makes the whole experience dreadfully unfair. A gorgeous little story, and the ending is just *chef’s kiss*.)

8. Sloth – libbyfay (T, the one where Aziraphale checks in on Crowley after the fourteenth century. This one is a delight, and includes Aziraphale recommending The Canterbury Tales, as well as a back-and-forth about depression versus Sloth and a lot of talking around feelings. Must absolutely be read in conjunction with the next rec in the list, which is something of a continuation. )

9. I have an aungel which that loveth me – HolRose (NR, the one where Crowley follows up on The Canterbury Tales recommendation from Aziraphale and it gets a bit deep. A continuation of the previous rec, and oof, y’all. This one gets hella sad, which hits pretty hard after Crowley laughing his head off about the funny bits in Canterbury Tales. There’s also Feelings, which are desperate and tender and guys they don’t even kiss but it’s still breathtaking. They love each other so much.)

10. (heaven is) a place on earth – rattatatosk (G, the one where Aziraphale nearly loses his bookshop. This takes place during the deleted scene from the 1800 opening of the bookshop, and has oodles of Aziraphale building himself a home and being devastated about nearly losing it. Not a nesting fic in the traditional sense (meaning it isn’t about building a home for himself and Crowley, it’s definitely just for him), but for fans of happy Aziraphale being fluffy and content in his bookshop, here you go.)

11. No other news to report – @argentconflagration (T, the one where Aziraphale is torn up about an assignment. Y’all want Crowley interfering in angelic plans? Y’all want tenderness and holding? Y’all want Aziraphale letting himself be bested? Then stay a while, because this one is a heart-wrecker. Featuring a very sick and very devout child, and female-presenting Crowley.)

12. These Things Were Here – @MajorEnglishEsquire (T, the one where Crowley resorts to snake form to deal with his feelings. This one is long and it’s emotional; Crowley reverts down to being a snake whenever he gets especially bad assignments from Hell, and it’s about him and Aziraphale finding balance and harmony between themselves when Crowley is like this. Very sweet and very tender and very sad.)

13. Crossing Paths – @amuseoffyre (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale meet every few years. This is your typical “through the ages” fic but it’s Fyre writing it, and that means it has so much humor and heart and history in it it’s practically like reading deleted scenes of the show. The boys are so in-character and their love is subtle and slow-boiling but there. Highly recommended, absolutely.)

14. apples (per the author’s intention) – @lwtis (T, the one where apples is a recurring theme in their friendship. This one is hilarious and it’s heartfelt and I quite enjoyed it; the bits where Aziraphale is absolutely convinced this is a temptation of some kind are particularly juicy (not unlike Crowley’s backside in a certain pair of trousers). Crowley absolutely knows how to beat a joke to death and he does it with style.)

SOUTH DOWNS

15. up in our bedroom, after the war – @rufeepeach (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale need to get away to process things. In this one, they more vacation to the South Downs rather than move there, but them working through the awkwardness of Armageddon’s fighting and gently taking their relationship to its natural conclusion is beautiful and good. It isn’t urgent or desperate, just quiet and understated and organic. A lovely piece.)

16. Somewhere Alive and Green – @thetunewillcome (T, the one where they make a necessary move. This one is quiet and reflective, as a good South Downs fic should be, and though it’s short I think it’s wonderfully healing. Very good.)

POST-APOCALYPSE

17. England’s pleasant pastures seen – @squidsticks (T, the one where Aziraphale has an appointment with a book collector and Crowley offers to drive. Y’all it’s so sweet and, dare I say, uplifting, how much they love each other. Someone drops the “husband” word at some point and someone else has a joyful fit over it and I bet you can tell who does what. There’s also a lot of teasing and the kind of easy banter that comes with knowing someone for so long. V. good.)

18. you have built nests from all my bark – @mutalune (T, the one where Crowley is nesting as an aggressive courting maneuver. This fic is so much fun. Highlights include Michael thinking Aziraphale must have a special connection with the Almighty and trying to emulate his lifestyle in order to have one herself, Crowley getting irrationally jealous over it all and constructing the finest nest known to reality (including cupholders, which I now also want in all my pillow piles), Dagon looking for a very similar thing from Crowley that Michael wants from Aziraphale, and lots of delicious humor and unexpected character interactions. I highly recommend this one if you’re having a bad day.)

19. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – @divisionten (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale find out how to get around Heaven and Hell and it’s through summons. More of an anthology than a solid story, and it’s such a fascinating universe, liberally layered with overcoming trust issues and adjusting to being in a loving relationship, and it’s Good Food y’all, trust me on this.)

20. That’s Not Funny – cyankelpie (G, the one where they’re exceptionally drunk and Crowley says I Love You and Aziraphale thinks he’s joking. This one is sharper than expected but it makes the moment where they finally have everything out in the open so much sweeter. Lots of protective Crowley and very confused Aziraphale.)

21. Stars – @lyricwritesprose (G, the series that’s a spinoff of Tales of the Them that’s about Crowley and the stars, ostensibly. It’s a spinoff bc it deals with Aziraphale’s point of view, too, and their careful navigation of a complicated subject in Crowley’s history. Very soft and bittersweet.)

22. In Action How Like an Angel – PinkPenguinParade (T/NR/M, the series where Aziraphale stumbles into making some useful wards and then Crowley gets taken. Rated high for safety but the violence is truly not that bad and the sex jokes are very mild. Come for cool worldbuilding, stay for BAMF!Aziraphale, and have some extra bits of Anathema and Newt being very good and helpful friends on top!)

23. Let’s share a drink! – @nohaijiachi (G, the one where Aziraphale gets horribly discorporated and gets his body back fairly quickly thanks to quick thinking and Gabriel being easy to gross out. This one is a bit gross, fair warning, but it’s not too graphic, and it’s hilarious besides. Peak Bastard Aziraphale Hours, this one is. If you like reading about Gabriel getting messed with, welcome to the party.)

24. Metastable – MrsCaufield (Not Rated, the one where Aziraphale is having an existential crisis post-Armageddon. Featuring lots of miscommunication, some mild jealousy, and Aziraphale figuring himself out, which is always lovely to read about. Misunderstandings and two supernatural beings being grossly in love, can’t get better than this!)

25. Taking Steps – @joyandotherstories (G, the one where Aziraphale decides he wants to take salsa dancing lessons and Crowley agrees. Oh, y’all. You like pining? You like awkward touching? Do you perhaps like…faked relationships turning into real relationships? You’d best have a seat and dive into this one, because the payoff is many-layered and just phenomenal. The pride in these idiots not only learning to dance but learning to be open about how much they love each other is so good.)

BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL

26. Introspection and Starlight – d20owlbear (T, the one where Aziraphale has a breakdown and is hold. I seem to have a special taste for Aziraphale breaking down, and this one is Hecking Delicious—it’s a slow break but it’s so achingly tender and emotional, especially once sleepy Crowley gets on the scene. Apologies are made and two very tired beings just hold each other at the end of it all and it’s so good.)

27. The Longest Night – @charlottemadison42 (T, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are taking slow and important steps. Three fics in the series so far, and each one captures their hilarious and effortless dynamic so well while still paying homage to their quiet love. There are so many cool details to explore, ESPECIALLY in the bodyswap fics, and overall they are a really fun and thoughtful look at how the Night the World Didn’t End could’ve gone. OH AND A FOURTH ONE HAS GONE UP WHILE I WAS WORKING ON THIS LIST and you guyssss so much good content about Crowley’s (Presumably) Foot Thing and Shoes, omg. A treasure.)

28. Last Confessions and Hopeless Loves – @girlwholovesherwords (G, the one where they very neatly and annoyingly slot into their new dynamic. This one is so matter-of-fact and tongue-in-cheek I about died laughing, which is amazing given that it’s less than 3k words. A very good little egg.)

29. Choose Your Faces Wisely – @cheeseandonioncrisps (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale set the record straight on how they portrayed each other. This is a fun one based on the very good meta bits floating around (which have been bolstered by Neil Gaiman’s commentary in the DVDs I will have you know) that their performances in each other’s skins is how they see each other and how different that is from how they see themselves and guys it’s so good, I wanted this conversation to last forever and ever.)

30. and I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well – BrinneyFriday (T, the one where apologies are made and kisses are had. Guys it’s so soft. Oh my gosh you guys the tenderness is unreal. There’s Crowley falling asleep in Aziraphale’s lap and there’s deciding they’re stronger together and guys pls it’s so good just read it pleASE—)

AU/UA

31. A Curious Case of Miracles on Marlborough Street – @nihilnovisubsole (M, the one where there might be such a thing as too much of a good thing. M for sexual humor and situations but nothing all that graphic. Y’all it’s the “angels accidentally cast miracles when they orgasm” crack given the serious treatment it deserves, and this fic also wins awards for its brilliant OC angel Sabrael, Keeper of Miracles. The icing on the cake? Beautiful artistic accompaniment to go along with the brilliant writing. Just delightful, a whole entire treat. An afternoon delight indeed.)

32. Too Much of a Good Thing – @yamisnuffles (G, T, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are both angels and things are a bit different. It’s not fair that yamisnuffles is a distinctive and wonderful artist, they have to be a good writer, too, and be terribly talented at telling a good story. Crowley’s character arc and emotional growth as a disgraced angel cursed to live as a snake for a while is fabulous, and it’s only ramping up, so jump on the train now! It’s a good train!)

33. Measures of Freedom – KazLangston (T, the one where Crowley is an acquisition made by one Mr. AZ Fell. This is one of those “turn left” AUs where they’re still an angel and a demon, they just didn’t meet in Eden. Instead, they meet because Crowley gets himself captured and Aziraphale doesn’t think it’s safe to let a real, dangerous demon loose. Their relationship is very combative and antagonistic but it softens; the emotional journey they go on from clear enemies to clear friends is fantastic.)

34. Somewhere Down Below – jane_with_a_j (T, the series where Aziraphale is captured as an incentive for Crowley to jump masters in Hell. There’s lots of hurt!Aziraphale in this one, as tends to happen to an angel captive in Hell, and an excruciating amount of pining that doesn’t so much counterbalance the angst so much as spice it up enormously. There’s intrigue, there’s a daring escape, it’s radical, folks.)

35. How it Happens – @captainqueernerd (T, the one that’s based on a comic and both are DELIGHTFUL. The fic here is an extension of the comic and so sweet, oh my goodness how sweet it is. The best bits aren’t even when they cover the comic’s events—it’s AFTER that is the real treat. I’ll hand out brownie points to anyone who can find the sentence that made me put down my laptop before I accidentally chucked it while laughing too hard.)

36. mors certissima – @northerntrash (T, the Hades and Persephone AU where Aziraphale is Hades and Crowley is Persephone and they’re all doing their best. This is a super fun one, beautifully written and lovely original lore that has Aziraphale really coming into his own as a god of death and what that means for the wider pantheon and the world. And IT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN where the fic is at the moment, I’m pumped for the conclusion!)

37. It’s All Greek to Me (that is, Ineffable) – @ulspi (UR, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are cast in different mythological roles in each fic. This one’s gorgeous, you guys, haunting and romantic and each fic has a distinct flavor that is impossibly good. A beautiful way to spend a rainy afternoon, in my opinion.)

38. The Princess and the Serpent – @longforgottenhymn (G, the one where Aziraphale takes Crowley to King Arthur’s court to get a nobleman off his back and oh no, fake dating becomes real dating, oh no. You think you’re ready for this fic? FOOL. This fic is going to carve you up from the inside out and you won’t even be READY for it even if you know it’s coming. This fic is going to promise intimacy and deliver in terrible, terrible tenderness. I am being melodramatic but THIS FIC. THIS FIC IS SO GOOD. This fic is not what I was expecting and it hits HARD because of that.)

39. Wicked dance – pirripipi (T, the one that’s a royal AU with incredible depth and complexity. Listen, what this fic might lack in polish it more than makes up for in flat-out interesting worldbuilding. The characterization is on point and the nonlinear storytelling is very well-handled. And that ending! So triumphant, so utterly joyful. What a joy this fic is! Just wait until you see the Garden of Eden, it’s SPECTACULAR.)

40. The sun doesn’t set on the shoreline – VinWrit (G, the one that’s a selkie and siren AU. This one feels more like it’s being told in microfiction installments and that’s certainly interesting on its own, but it reads like a horror story and it’s chock full of worldbuilding, and the characterization of Crowley especially just breaks my heart right in two. What a great little story.)

41. An Angel’s Hope – @braver-stronger-smarter (M, the one that’s a crossover with the Kiesha’ra book series by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes and it’s delicious AF. Not sure why it’s rated M, but it does deal with a war and the fallout of dealing with constant violence and death. Explains things well enough that you don’t need to have read the Kiesha’ra to understand what’s going on (or, like, if it’s been well over a decade since you last read it…), and the integration of Crowley and Aziraphale into the main plot of these shapeshifter snake and bird cultures is effortless. Can’t wait to see where this one goes (bc even if it just follows the plot of Hawksong, it’s sure to be an exciting ride). (Side note, read the Kiesha’ra, it’s a good series.))

42. By Grace – @seaskystone (G, the one that’s the little soulmate AU that could. Not very long but still highly impactful in my opinion, featuring Crowley and Aziraphale meeting in heaven and knowing right away they’re meant for each other, but canon still happens as it does. Short and bittersweet and pretty.)

43. The Ones Who Walk Away from Nevaeh – @soft-october-night (T, the one that’s the “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” AU none of us ever even knew we needed but heck if we didn’t get it anyway. If you aren’t familiar, “Omelas” is a short story by Ursula K LeGuin that I absolutely believe you must read in order to get the full impact of this and what the author does with the story with regard to our two boys, it’s earth-shattering. Soft-october-night does it again, just goes and makes outstanding AUs that own my entire soul like it ain’t no thing. Completely unfair.)

44. Take the Fall (What’s a Second Time) – @triffidsandcuckoos (T, the one where Crawly does what it says on the tin. This one includes a nice helping of Crowley suffering from chronic pain as a consequence of taking the blame for the apple business, and some sweet care from Aziraphale, who is well aware it’s his fault. An interesting take and a heartwarming story (even if suffering from chronic pain is the pits and there’s no way around that).)

45. forgotten (but not gone) – @writeonclara (T, the one where their memories are taken and Crowley and Aziraphale still manage to stay away from each other for about .04 seconds. This one has some hard edges and it is a harrowing story about accepting others and yourself, and having faith in yourself and your loved one, but the way they can’t keep their hands to themselves when all the stops are pulled out is frankly hilarious and I commend this story whole-heartedly for committing to that.)

46. It’s Not the Years, it’s the Mileage – @moveslikebucky (T, the one that’s an Indiana Jones AU based on @yamisnuffles’ art. You want Aziraphale doing his best in an Indy role while still being an angel? You want Crowley owning a bar and it DOESN’T suck? You want pining and heartache and hilarity? Park it, then, folks, you don’t even need to know the Indiana Jones films to enjoy it (I certainly don’t and I am aware of this failing, thank you).)

47. or the look or the words – @taizi (T, the one where they just keep getting married and it doesn’t stop from happening. Guys they are literally married HUNDREDS OF TIMES throughout history STARTING AT THE ARK. They are literally so soft and so in love and I am beside myself right now, please love yourself and practice some self-care by reading this fic.)

48. Give me a title, I’ll give you my heart – @nohaijiachi (T, the one that’s a human AU based on fanart and it’s great. Single dad Aziraphale with a cautious past, determined son Adam who is gonna get his dad a date if it’s the last thing he does, utterly besotted Crowley who is excellent at being gentle and also a great beta reader…a surprisingly emotional and fun piece, very good.)

49. what if you fall? oh, but my darling, what if i fly? – Doggoos (T, the one where they loved in Heaven and outside interference tore them apart. I LOST THIS FIC AND SPENT FOREVER TRYING TO FIND IT AGAIN. The one detail that kept me going? Crowley (as Raphael) and Aziraphale exchange jewelry before Gabriel sticks his stupid nose in it and the jewelry is visually stunning and emotionally gorgeous. It’s emotional and it’s fraught and there’s erased memories to contend with but holy COW, y’all. They’re so in love.)

50. Snakes and Stones (the Crowley/Aziraphale Human AU) – @deerstalkerdeathfrisbee (G, the series where it’s exactly what it says it is. The opening fic for this series is where literally everyone in Aziraphale’s dorm thinks his boyfriend is made up and Aziraphale has the enormous pleasure of proving them all wrong. It has great Newt characterization and, surprisingly, Gabriel being likeable, though he has to work for it. It’s fun and a little silly and I adore it.)

51. in the arms of the ocean (so sweet and so cold) – robynthemagpie_writes, agent_of_mischief (T, the one where Aziraphale becomes a lighthouse keeper and Crowley is probably a sea monster. This is a horror story and it’s a love story and while reading it kept me awake at night, thinking about it also kept me very much awake at night. I am the world’s biggest chicken and the spoop is real, friends, but more than that, it’s the horrors lurking in Aziraphale’s past (and probably Crowley’s, I have some theories) that are the heartbreaking bit. Not for the faint-hearted, it goes hard and I have a feeling it’s only going to go harder.)

52. i’ve found a way (a way to make you smile) – @fremulon (T, the one that’s an AU of The Office. Requires no knowledge of The Office but I’m sure it helps. This is one I kept putting off and deeply regret doing so (though, on the other hand, waiting so long to read it meant that I caught up the night before the last chapter went up, so HA). Y’all, it’s so funny and so relatable as an adult stuck in a dead-end job I don’t like, and the romance between Aziraphale and Crowley is so simple and so sweet. I just love it and I love this fic and I want you to read it immediately right now.)

53. I Know Places We Won’t Be Found – FangsScalesSkin (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale run away together from the Garden of Eden. I have been waiting for someone to write this forever and it’s finally happening. And it’s got such fun worldbuilding, and their interactions are so cute, and I just love them and want them to be okay and to be married forever and ever.)

54. an imitation of the garden of eden – @dyslexiccrowley (T, the one that’s a D&D-inspired AU. Speaking of AUs that come out of hecking nowhere, here’s one! This one is a really fun adventure, and if you thought me turning the Bentley into a horse in several of my fics was fun, this one beats me out by a country mile and I couldn’t be more gleeful about it because THE BENTLEY IS A DRAGON. I could deffo see the dnd elements throughout but the flavor of it is so unique, I thoroughly enjoyed the adventure and the character moments.)

55. Hell is Just a Sauna – @anthonyjcrowiey (T, the one that’s a “Ten Things I Hate About You” AU. I haven’t seen the film (though I have read Taming of the Shrew and I have been on Tumblr long enough to absorb several gifsets), but this fic was still so good and managed to hook me right in regardless of that fact. I can’t wait for it to finish up, we’re on the emotional crux of the plot and it’s tearing me up how it’s been left!)

56. be mine tonight (be mine forever) – @qorktrees (T, the one that’s a literal “fake dating becomes real dating” AU. Human AU, and these idiots I SWEAR. Aziraphale needs a date for the office Christmas party, Crowley is available and bribable, and of course it ends in their ruse becoming the real deal, this is fanfiction for crying out loud. It happens so sweetly, though, you’ve gotta see this.)

57. Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes – @gigglesnortbangdead (T, the one where Heaven and Hell turn enemies into children instead of smiting. Oh, goodness gracious y’all are not ready for this one. You aren’t ready for the way being turned into a child affects an angel or a demon. You aren’t ready for the myriad ways bb!Crowley is gonna tug at your heartstrings. You aren’t ready for the way Aziraphale is when it finally happens to him. You AREN’T READY. This is precisely why you should go read it right now immediately, to see just how unready you really are. You should take care of that at this exact moment.)

58. Ineffably Yours – SecondHandNews (M, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale choose each other and keep choosing each other. Listen to me: this series is the length of several novels. I have only read the first one, after stumbling on a side-story that was really good and not realizing it was a side-story of a bigger series until I’d finished it. I am planning on reading the rest of the series, which is still updating. I am a little terrified at this titan who has managed to write over 360K words since June in this one series alone. The first one absolutely had me biting my nails and rocking back and forth in an anxious haze, and it’s so tender and so beautiful and SO NERVE-WRACKING. Crowley and Aziraphale learn the Rapture is coming and they just…kinda snap, really. Stop avoiding each other, start choosing each other, and all the twists and turns that comes with it. Just. Really outstanding work, I am an anxious mess but it’s good XD)

JUST SOFT

59. Where to Start – @freyjawriter24 (T, the one where Crowley nearly kisses Aziraphale throughout history like A LOT. Guys you wanna feel the pine crushing into your soul? You want to feel that deep ache of wanting to touch so badly but holding back out of sheer desperate force of will? Read this, prepare to have your knees appropriately weakened from the longing.)

60. A Softer Fall – @themoonmothwrites (T, the one that’s the wall shoving but soft. Bury me in this one, boys, my corpse will rest well for eternity, because holy COW the longing and the fear and the reassurances…my heart is a marshmallow now and it’s this fic’s fault.)

61. for the dancing and the dreaming – @une-danse-macabre (G, the one where Aziraphale proposes. Listen I know this entire section of the post is for Soft Fic but this is Softe Fic and I am not joking even a little bit. Crowley desperately deflecting using humor bc he is so overwhelmed? It’s more likely than you think. Read this, it’s a beautiful little shot of humor and romance.)

62. in candlelight, we dance – SaerM (T, the one where they take a shower together. I have a deep and abiding weakness for bathing fic, and even better, it’s not a sex fic! Just two ineffable partners being tender and washing each other and being together. So sweet and good.)

63. A Pile of Pillows – @waffleironbiddingwar (T, the one where Aziraphale seems to have built a nest during a weekend apart. There’s a few cute nesting fics in this here post but this is one of my very favorites; even has some wing grooming, and lots of teasing and kissing. Very cute!)

64. When the Wind Changes – Star_less (G, the one where Crowley makes faces at babies. Listen. LISTEN. You don’t have to personally like kids to go all gooey over how much Crowley seems to like kids, entirely without meaning to. It’s too cute. Someone call the Cute Police.)

65. with adorations, with fertile tears – waywarder (T, the one where there’s an emotional meltdown while watching a high school production of Twelfth Night. So sweet and unsure and awkward, this one; it’s canon-verse, Aziraphale just drags Crowley to a high school production and then proceeds to very nearly have an angelic aneurysm over trying to hold his hand. If you’ve a soft spot for the Ineffable Husbands quoting Shakespeare at each other, welcome to the party, you’ve arrived.)

66. Sleeping Angel – @whatawriterwields (G, the one where Aziraphale is asleep on Crowley’s chest. It should be noted that this writer wields tenderness like a weapon, stiletto right between the ribs to knock all that breath right out of you, which is a much more gruesome descriptor than I probably should’ve used but YOU GUYS CROWLEY TALKS TO AZIRAPHALE IN HIS SLEEP AND IT’S SO SWEET AND I CAN’T BREATHE.)

67. in so many words – @asideofourown (G, the one where Aziraphale has trouble saying “I love you.” This one made me laugh and “aww” in equal measure, but to get you to click on the link and read as fast as I did, Aziraphale says “thank you” the first time Crowley says “I love you” and I DIED.)

68. A First Christmas, Once Again – lalaland666 (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale get to celebrate Christmas together. This one has a fun twist on why Aziraphale dislikes the holidays and a really cute Crowley getting excited for them, and I think it’s well worth reading whether or not you find the December holiday season celebratory or not.)

69. (i love you) as you are – @asideofourown (T, the one where Crowley tries to change to be more like Aziraphale in order to keep him and it’s heartbreaking. Listen, this writer is great and more often than not draws me in bc the dialogue is so good, but this one just crushed my heart into pieces, because Crowley is trying SO HARD and he doesn’t have to but doesn’t realize that he doesn’t have to and AUGH.)

70. the commendation – @forineffablereasons (G, the one where Aziraphale’s ring is itself a commendation from Heaven. This one is short and sweet but it GUTS me every time, just over Aziraphale and how much Heaven screwed him over and failed him by making him feel like the failure. Something this short should not hurt me so much AND YET. Crowley makes it better. Obviously.)

71. the other way round – @forineffablereasons (G, the one where Aziraphale lays in Crowley’s lap instead. Listen we all love it when Crowley puts his head in Aziraphale’s lap but this writer has the right of it, we don’t see it nearly enough the other way round and HHHHGK. The tenderness. The softness. It BURNS.)

72. Every Song in Every Key – @impishtubist (T, the one with the seriously misleading summary. I mean this in the best possible way. Crowley being the one to enjoy the holidays is fun enough, but the true meat of this fic came out of nowhere and it hit me square in the squishy bits. One of the tags is “kid fic” for a little bit of a hint but I shan’t spoil it for you, just go read about Crowley being soft.)

73. shed a sweet light – @areyougonnabe (T, the one that’s not anti-holiday so much as a non-holiday holiday fic. That was probably confusing for you BUT IN ESSENCE: Aziraphale has been around too long to get too attached to any particular holiday (plus time passes so differently when you’re immortal), and attracts the ire of holiday influencers. It gets surprisingly dire, and then delightfully Jewish. Has the exact heart that every holiday story hopes for: quiet, enduring love amidst the chaos. A beautiful little thing.)

BEFORE

74. Unexpected Variables – @seaskystone (T, the one where God keeps having to reset the universe. Hands-down the most hilarious fic on the list just by virtue of God’s impending migraine in dealing with Crowley and Aziraphale, who are so incompetent and I love them so much.)

75. Astralphysiastrics – @wortlby2 (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale finally talk about Before. This one’s “Before” elements take place in flashbacks but given that they’re a pretty significant portion of the fic, I put it in this category anyway. Guys this one HURTS, but there’s healing in it, too, which is a beautiful balance. Ends nice and fluffy, which is a good landing after the flashbacks are done tossing you about.)

TOUCH-STARVED/BODY WORSHIP/WINGS

76. To Preen a Songbird – @tiger-in-the-flightdeck (T, the one that’s just some good old-fashioned preening, y’all. Prepare for these idiots being silly and bantering and teasing, because the back-and-forth is so good. SO good. So very, very good.)

77. Life Hurts (But Not With You) – Spider_Lilly (T, the series that’s about Aziraphale letting Crowley preen him. This one takes a pretty serious turn and talks about what happens to angels with slightly more realistic-type wings who don’t have help preening. Fair warning, there’s a bit of grossness with impacted preen glands (which are oil glands) and if you are squeamish I would tread carefully, bc it can get a bit disturbing when Crowley has to help deal with them, but if you like realistic wing care, this is the series for you. Also love. Also pining. Also they’re kind of the same story from different perspectives and the one from Aziraphale’s perspective is SO MUCH WORSE EMOTIONALLY. A good bit of catharsis fic, for sure.)

78. Descent Suspension – @onheil-ferguson (M, the one where Crowley could use some tying up. M for shibari but it’s nonsexual. Book!verse. I apparently have a thing for nonsexual BDSM and bondage, because this fic absolutely took my breath away. It’s very calm and understated and dignified, just feels quiet. A beautiful piece, for sure.)

79. The End (of the Beginning) or A Not-So-Nice or Accurate Guide to Sex on a Stick, By Anthony J. Crowley, Demon. – @fantasticallyobscure (T, the one where Crowley has been trying sex with all the wrong people. Not explicit at all, just has a lot of discussions about sex, which can be off-putting but now you know going in (if the title didn’t give it away). Basically Crowley keeps trying sex with people who have his same physical build and loses his appetite for it, until he and Aziraphale finally get their heads on straight and Aziraphale wants to try it. Some hilarious metaphors and a lot of adorable Aziraphale being jealous, which is a trip. A wonderful little romp, for sure!)

80. You Are Unbreaking (Though Quaking) – @lesbianscrowleys (T, the one where Aziraphale works through his knee-jerk reactions to being touched. A very good little snapshot of healing and working through things while communicating with your partner, and there’s a fun side-story about accepting who you are that underscores the main theme rather well. Crowley is so good and patient and Aziraphale is trying so hard.)

81. A Treatise Concerning Religious Affectations – forthegreatergood (T, the one where there are discussions of religious ecstasy versus regular ecstasy. This one involves more or less orgasming via manipulation of miraculous brain chemistry, and it’s a little bit funky, but you get in the vibe of the fic pretty quickly, I think, the writer is good about setting the tone. And it’s adversarial as all heck, this is a legitimate disagreement Crowley and Aziraphale are having and you feel every weighty second of it. It’s sensual, I think, but not necessarily erotic, and that’s a hard needle to thread and they do it very well.)

82. 451°F – @purple-suits (G, the one after the church bombing where Aziraphale wants so badly it hurts. Guys, oh you guys, the pure need in this one isn’t even really sexual but it HURTS, it is so physical and raw and achey. It absolutely put about five more aches under my skin just from secondhand need. Oh, y’all. Oh beans.)

BONUS

83. Chaos Theory – @themoonmothwrites (T, the series that’s about Adam hitting on Warlock in a bar and then reintroducing him to his old nanny and gardener. This one is 1. prime Adam/Warlock material, and 2. PRIME Warlock/facing his feelings and confronting his past and figuring out his future material. I have the weakest spot possible for Warlock Dowling and this one hits that spot like a LOT.)

84. Through the branches there’s a son that’s always shone – @jessicafish (G, the one with a contented Warlock. This one is a Halloween fic that has the softest Warlock and Crowley interaction of all time, it’s so short but it hits so hard and I must thank it for my life, really.)

85. Love, And Its Interference With The Nature of Reality – @souljellied (M, the one where Adam has a big ole crush and reality is warping for Warlock. M for some saucy makeouts at the start but it’s pretty tame. Guys if the fact that at one point the headlines in a news stand all read “TOP TEN REASONS TO DATE ADAM YOUNG” before Warlock blinks and they all change back to normal isn’t a good enough reason to read this fic then I don’t know what to tell you, it’s so delightfully tongue-in-cheek about Adam’s effect on reality and so funny and so sweet, even if it does end on a note that makes me howl for wanting a continuation.)

86. Slumber Party Summons and Aftereffects – @joyandotherstories (G, the series where Crowley gets summoned by a party of teenage girls and has a very heartfelt, productive evening with them. I dragged my feet on this story for incomprehensible reasons so DON’T YOU MAKE MY MISTAKES. The teenage girls who summon Crowley are so sweet and loveable, each and every one of them, and guys they ship Crowley and Aziraphale so hard when they finally pry Crowley’s life story out of him, with help from some memory projection witchery. It’s so good, y’all, so cute and so fresh. Just the best.)

87. Christmas Delivery – Daegaer (G, the one where Gabriel sends obnoxious Christmas cards and they are the highlight of Heaven’s holiday (to make merciless fun of). It should be noted that these Christmas cards all feature artistic renderings of Gabriel himself. I about died laughing and it’s canon now in my heart. I should not be endeared to the Archangels but here we are.)

88. and i don’t care if you don’t want me (i’m yours anyhow) – shaekspeares (T, the one where Warlock is figuring himself out at uni. This one is complex and deadpan and has such a good representation of Warlock and what he could grow to be, plus that excellent Warlock/Adam content I am always here for and Warlock having a complete meltdown over the idea that his former nanny and gardener were sent by his parents to spy on him, but not that they’re an angel and a demon. This kid has his priorities in order. Well, no, he doesn’t, but it’s fun to watch him get there. And he and Adam have the best dynamic ever, it’s full of friction and no small amount of adversarial energy turning sweet over time. This fic is physically healing to read and we aren’t even done yet. A fantastic addition to the fandom, if just for what Warlock does to the British equivalent of the Young Republican student body.)

89. Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach – Nnm (T, the one where Crowley gets a therapist. I know most of you should know this, or at least have heard of it, but pipe down bc I finally got around to reading it and it’s AMAZING. If you’re a human who’s gone to a good therapist or who needs to, this story’s protagonist is phenomenal. And she’s not static in her own journey, either, she grows and heals along with Crowley, and it’s not linear or clean or simple. Like real life, it has dips and turns and bad patches, but the healing is palpable. A masterwork, truly, just real dadgum good, y’all.)

H/C /WHUMP/BAMF

90. I Don’t Want the World to See Me – @coulson-is-an-avenger (T, the one where they navigate an unexpected boundary concerning Crowley’s glasses. People who flinch every time they read about Aziraphale taking off Crowley’s glasses without permission rejoice: we have a fix-it fic for you. It’s tender in every sense of the word, and shows great boundary communication (y’know after the immediate scare is over), and all around is incredibly worth the read.)

91. Still Waking Up – @sleepymccoy (T, the one that’s trauma recovery with lots of bed-sharing and pining. Friendos if you want to feel every inch of that slow burn, you’ve arrived. This fic is careful and it’s emotionally ragged-edged and it’s just so dang pretty as Crowley and Aziraphale work through their separate issues and come to terms with what it means to them to be together with each other.)

92. Borrowed Scars – dreamsofspike (M, the one where Aziraphale finds out what Crowley goes through when he’s in Hell. M for implied/referenced rape and onscreen torture (and like some heavy petting that gets interrupted by feels). This one’s heavy, y’all, heavier than my usual fare, bc Aziraphale is in Hell wearing Crowley’s body when he finds this out so it’s pretty firsthand. Most of the bad bits are told in flashbacks but there’s also the healing part where Crowley finds out and he and Aziraphale have to have a heart-to-heart about what happened and how it’s never going to happen again. Drags you through the mud but then sets you back on your feet, a very good little number, I thought.)

93. Surviving Hell – @whatawriterwields (T, the series where Crowley’s coping mechanism is to shut down and then that coping mechanism becomes maladaptive in the new world. If you’re like me, you’re used to this writer writing the fluffiest creations known to man, so this foray into deeper territory socks like a cannonball right in the gut. Crowley’s healing process is long and it’s slow, with so much aching tender care from Aziraphale it is physically painful in a way. Can’t wait for it to update, I am INVESTED.)

94. Easier than Air – @a-candle-for-sherlock (G, the one where Aziraphale finally deals with stuff. This is a collection of panic attacks, as a warning; Aziraphale’s entire six-thousand-year life is catching up to him, living under Heaven’s eye and knowing he doesn’t measure up, still trying to be with Crowley even though knowing the danger…it’s a lot on a person, and it all kinda comes crashing down after Armageddon’t. Crowley takes care of him, talks and holds him through it all, and it’s so sweet, so freeing to vicariously fall apart through Aziraphale and be held through it by Crowley. Just. Augh.)

95. So Still I Wait – HotCrossPigeon (T, the one where Heaven locks Aziraphale in a void, basically, for three months, and then dump him back on earth for Crowley to pick up the pieces. Guys this one is part of a “hurt Aziraphale” series and it delivers. Aziraphale is his usual soft, silly self all throughout and that makes it hurt worse when he’s suffering, and downright agonizing when he’s trying to recover. Heaven is horrible to him throughout, and Crowley is so gentle and scared, and honestly I don’t know how I didn’t just keel over while reading it. This takes touch-starved to an extreme that booted it from the Touch-Starved category and into this one, because WOW. WOW.)

96. Flaming Like Anything – @thepoetoftime (NR, the one where any weapon Aziraphale holds flames. This one isn’t silly, exactly, but it is hilarious watching Aziraphale flame things like a stick and an umbrella and then absolutely CREAM his foes with them. Never stood a chance, poor souls. A wonderful read, with a surprising twist near the end I highly recommend savoring, it’s too good a mental image.)

97. Love Seeketh Not Itself to Please – @dietraumerei (T, the one where Aziraphale is hurt by a summoning and Crowley takes him to Heaven for healing. This one hurts on so many levels I don’t know where to begin. There’s the physical hurt—obviously—but then there’s the tension of our favorite reprobates being back in Heaven, and a moment where the rug is pulled that is disorienting and just…hateful, absolutely hateful, but in the weirdest, most relieving way. I cannot explain this to you, you must read it. And then sweet, sweet aftercare, because of course. I wouldn’t recommend it to you if there wasn’t any comfort in it, and this writer in particular has historically done excellently with the comfort aspect; this is certainly no different. It absolutely tickled my fancy.)

98. Cry for Absolution – forthegreatergood (T, the one where a miscommunication causes six thousand years of touch avoidance. Guys. GUYS. Crowley thinks his touch hurts Aziraphale and you know what it actually does? It actually hurts ME, personally, watching Crowley misread Aziraphale’s little gasps and flinches as pain rather than shock. Then they fight about it, and things resolve, but HHHNG. THAT PINING. THAT TOUCH-STARVED LONGING.)

99. White Walls and Dead Air – BabyHoldMyFlower (G, the one where Crowley has to physically take Aziraphale away from the plague. This one lands in this category rather than in the Body Worship/Touch-Starved/Wings category is the sheer (DESERVED) emotional vitriol Aziraphale has bottled up in him, the anger at God and Heaven, and how ragged he is from trying to stay ahead of the plague but just not being able to. Crowley helps, because of course he does, but this fic is the emotional equivalent of being put through a wringer. It’s exhausting and it’s beautiful.)

#good omens #good omens fic recs #mega gomens fic rec list #i guess i'm just gonna keep making these until i die #or until my gomens interest wanes #whichever comes first #phew what a big baby this post is

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degenerate-perturbation · 4 years ago

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Viv Reviews: The Witch’s Heart by Genevieve Gornichec

Being as I am contractually obliged to read all Loki-the-mythological-being fanfiction, I dive bombed this book like a seagull espying a stray french fry on the boardwalk. I had never heard of it before I saw it on the shelf at the bookstore, but reading the summary and the first page, I bought it immediately, started it within a few days, and finished it over the course of approximately four baths. Usually the lag time between me becoming aware of a book and actually reading it is anywhere between a year and a decade, so this is pretty incredible performance.

And this one was actually good! Really good! Or it could have been, if it didn’t absolutely cheese it in the second half of the story.

The first half is extremely solid, if somewhat conventional. It follows the myths, centering on Angrboda and Loki’s relationship. I had a pre-existing attachment to Loki and enjoyed all of this greatly. Was it stunning literature? No. Was it a really solid, satisfying fanfiction? Yes. And I will give the first half of the book solid marks on that front.

I’ll be honest. I read this book for Loki. But I really enjoyed Angrboda as a protagonist here. She minds her own business. She doesn’t hold grudges. She doesn’t want revenge for the trauma and wrongs visited upon her. She doesn’t cling to pride. Overall it paints the picture of an admirable person, who never strays into the saccharine or unbelievable. I like her. Even though I am a Loki apologist through and through, when they part on bad terms, I was fully on her side.

I also really like this Loki. In this book his key flaw is identified not as dishonesty or disloyalty, but as an excessive desire to be accepted. Loki is willing to do anything to continue to be accepted by the Aesir, or rather tolerated by them. He is ready to suffer any humiliation, any degradation, any pain, any loss, all to keep his tenuous, heavily-conditional place among them. For all us faggots and retards and adjacent undesirables in the audience, this is a familiar emotion. I clapped my hands in delight to watch it all play out; Loki the weird kid who eats dirt trying desperately to keep the cool kids laughing so he can imagine that they are laughing with him, not at him, even if it means betraying his own family.

There is another interesting element to this story and that is the hint of Angrboda/Skadi as the endgame relationship. It’s built up nicely; Skadi and Angrboda are good friends, jealous of one another’s husbands and not talking about it, all the while we the audience know that Angrboda and Loki’s marriage is doomed to explode. When Angrboda is nearly killed and all she loves taken from her, Skadi is the one who is there for her. Aha! I think. So this is why Skadi hated Loki so much, and why Angrboda left Loki to his fate! Hohoho, I can’t wait to see this play out.

And then it just fucking doesn’t.

At the midpoint of the book, the tension drains away, there is no structure to speak of, and Stuff Kind Of Just Happens.

Having healed from the attempt on her life, Angrboda decides to set off on a journey to rediscover her magical abilities. She gives Skadi the standard “I have to do this alone” line, and...Skadi just goes, okay, bye then, and lets her go. And then she just isn’t in the story for a long time.

At this point Angrboda’s goal is to find her daughter, because she knows her sons are fated to die during Ragnarok. Angrboda is unable to die; she always comes back. This is one of the first things established about her and the audience is reminded of it when she fails to die when she is killed, at the midpoint. Aha! one might think. Angrboda will be so desperate to see her daughter that she will repeatedly try to die, and be unable to! Only once she has exhausted every option and given up on despair, only then is she able to access her magic and travel to the underworld without dying! Only by choosing to live can she truly heal and progress in her goals!

But that is not what happens. What actually happens is that Angrboda putzes around for a few years Finding Herself and making friends with local wildlife. She relearns her magic because Freyja--a character who has hardly been mentioned in the story up until this point--teaches her. Because Girl Power, or something. When she finally does reach Hel, it doesn’t feel like an exciting emotional climax, it’s just kind of another thing that happens. Poor structure!

Here is another example of poor structure: the eventual Angrboda/Skadi relationship.

After they randomly part ways just at the juncture where serious relationship development would reasonably be happening, they next speak to each other after Ragnarok has started. Skadi comes to visit Angrboda. She tells her about the binding of Loki, but leaves out her role in it. Later, she guiltily admits that she was the one who added the snake, because she wanted to make Loki suffer for hurting Angrboda. This makes Angrboda realize that Skadi loves her, and they become lovers. Several months later, Angrboda decides, for no particular reason, that she should free Loki.

Look. I’m not any kind of screenwriting genius. But there is an obvious way that this should have played out according to every law of dramatic tension. Here it is:

Skadi goes to see Angrboda at the start of Ragnarok, and, driven by the impending apocalyptic events, confesses her feelings. They become lovers. Skadi hides her role in the binding of Loki for the duration of their relationship. Angrboda spends months or even years lost in the haze of complacent gay love and resignation to fate. Then, much later, Skadi tells her the truth. This horrifies Angrboda, and is the catalyst which makes her decide to free Loki. The realization that she still cares for her good-for-nothing ex-husband spurs some character development.

But Angrboda and Skadi can’t have any drama or emotional conflict or tension in their relationship. Because Girl Power.

And when she gets there, and witnesses her ex-husband, the father of her children, horrifically tortured and maimed as a direct result of the actions of her current lover, what does Angrboda do? She takes a moment to have a little pow-wow with Sigyn and let her know that there are no hard feelings and we women have to support each other you know. Because Girl Power.

The rest of the story is an incoherent soup of Stuff Just Happening. It has that fanfiction vibe of just trying to get through all the canon plot points while the characters we’re actually focusing on have nothing to do with them. There is one cool part where Angrboda realizes that Hel has a weak heart--so she cuts out her own and gives it to her, and this allows Hel to survive Ragnarok. Loki was the one who returned Angrboda’s heart to her at the start of the story, so this is quite sweet and fitting. But it happens offscreen, and then we are subjected to Hel & Baldur’s romantic banter which is gratingly exactly the same as Angrboda & Loki’s romantic banter.

There is a skeleton of a good story here. But that’s really the best I can say for it. I’m not really sure what happened here--other reviewers have suggested a lack of imagination on Gornichec’s part, and maybe that explains some of it, but I suspect the Girl Power themes also have to do with it. So many scenes and plot points seem only to exist to affirm the theme of Women Supporting Women. I vaguely get the impression that Gornichec is shying away from centering the Angrboda and Loki relationship, too, Because Girl Power. Only this doesn’t work, because it is quite clearly the central relationship, and acting like it’s not just makes for poor storytelling.

I’ve said before that a mark of a good story is one whose prose, plot, characters, and world all uniformly and point in the same direction, creating a coherent Theme. Here it’s more like the Theme was dropped into the middle of the plot by a dumptruck and left there, getting in the way of the actual story and messing up the structure. And structure is seriously important! The book I read immediately after this one was The Rise of Kyoshi by F. C. Yee, another published f/f fanfiction novel, and I won’t be reviewing that one, because it was damn good - in large part due to its tight, coherent structure.

The Witch’s Heart could’ve been it, but ultimately turned out a disappointing fanfiction. Compare Miller’s Circe - but Circe was a better book by far.

#viv reviews #extended speech act

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cyanidefilledcandy · 4 years ago

Text

I’m about to talk about death, so...

So, last night, I had another dream about my little sister. Oddly enough, I don’t dream about her super often and I was and am both...disturbed and grateful for that.

It’s not unusual for me to dream about dead relatives I was close to. My grandmothers (my paternal and maternal and maternal great grandmother), I dream about frequently. (My paternal grandfather not so much, and that makes me sad and makes me feel like I must not have cared about him enough. ...though, the real culprit is likely memory. He died when I was in middle school; my grandmothers all died when I was in adulthood.)

Usually when I dream about them, it’s like business as usual. It’s literally just mundane life things. We’re just going about our regular lives, and they’re just there like they had been when they were here. We talk a lot of the times, but it’s nothing significant; just regular conversation and they’re....just there.

With my sister, it’s been the complete opposite.

In EVERY dream I’ve had about my sister, she’s been dead. Except for one I had recently, and in the end, she just turned into my niece. And if she looks to be alive, then the dream will remind that she’s dead. Like one I had...

It was another of those mundane dreams where she, my mom, and I were in car driving, and she was in the backseat and we were just bantering. The subject of her pregnancy came up, but again, nothing out of the ordinary. We were just talking about how many issues she had. I jabbed at her that next time she would be in Georgia or a better hospital or just somewhere with better doctors. And she just kind of gave me an incredulous look and was like “WHAT next time?” and I just kind of stopped and was like “....oh right...” Cause she’s dead... And I’m honestly surprised that I thought that.

Again, usually in my dreams about my dead relatives, there’s nothing out of the ordinary to even suggest that they’re dead. And my sister and I used to have back and forths like that frequently, especially when her first child was born. I’d say something like, “When are you having the next one?” and she’d be like “Not.” Or “who?!” So for that to happen...

Maybe it’s because I felt....feel her death harder than any other I’ve experienced in my life...but I hate that even in my dreams, I can’t seem to think of her in any other context. As if there’s no reprieve from this most unfair reality. But last night’s dream was especially weird.

I was with someone...maybe it was my mom, and we drove up to the cemetery. I paused for a moment before getting out of the car. The other person turned to ask me, “Uh...do you know whose grave this is?” as if asking if I was SURE I wanted to get out and look. And I answered in a kind of “duh” fashion. We buried my sister next to my paternal grandparents, so I figured I could pay some respects to both of them. So, I got out and turned to their graves and they were covered by a plastic tent to protect them from the elements. I noticed it looked like a heavy storm was brewing like a hurricane or something. I then looked back to the graves and my sister’s coffin was out of the ground, open, and empty. It also looked like it had been ransacked. The lining in the lid was torn almost off and the was hanging out and getting wet in the muddy ground.

Of course, I was outraged and just as I was about to start a fight with someone, out a small building in the distance (the mortuary I somehow knew), out walks the female mortician who handled my sister, along with my maternal grandmother. They were both carrying my sister back to the coffin.

I instantly relaxed, knowing my grandma wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. The mortician explains that they had to do something... I don’t remember what it was, but it was likely something that would only make sense in a dream. I nodded and waited for them to put her back in. This part is a bit fuzzier, but other members of my family were suddenly there and everyone was trying to prepare her coffin....or something. There were these little cloth dolls of I guess family members and people were trying to figure out which ones they wanted to keep and which ones they wanted my sister to be buried with. I remember they kept exchanging them or something, and they were some kind of collectable? Again, that part is really fuzzy.

The mortician finally puts my sister back and kind of haphazardly drop her in the coffin, like she was too heavy and she just couldn’t hold her anymore. Of course, I don’t like this, but figure I’m no one to criticize someone at their profession. My sister ends up not even fully in the coffin and the bottom padding is missing. She’s also wearing the wig I just bought, which looks amazing on her and much better than the one I ended up picking IRL. And then all of a sudden, she starts convulse every few seconds. Like a twitch or jump of her limbs and eventually, her mouth starts to hang open. Almost like she’s having a seizure.

The mortician or my mom or someone tells me that “Don’t worry. Sometimes dead bodies move involuntarily and it means nothing. I’m annoyed because this is something I already know, even if part of me (I guess my waking mind) knew that she was way too animated for this to just be muscle spasms.

The spasming gets worse to the point that she falls completely out of the coffin. This time however, her eyes open and her mouth is shut (because morticians wire them shut). She keeps convulsing and I’m repeating in my head that “this doesn’t mean anything. this doesn’t mean anything.” But suddenly her head goes back and her eyes are staring at me, desperately and I immediately know a horrible mistake was made.

Have you guys ever seen The Haunting of Hill House? That scene where Olivia has a vision of an adult Nell dead before she rises and desperately tries to beg Olivia to save her...this was very similar to that. She was even dressed in red like Nell was in the show (I had her dressed in red because it was her favorite color). Except my sister looked like she wanted to move and couldn’t. Like her body was too stiff and her mouth was wired shut, so she couldn’t speak and looked like she desperately wanted to.

So, I immediately go “Something’s wrong. We were wrong! She’s alive! Someone help her!” And I had a few people trying to calm me down. They weren’t exactly denying the fact just trying to calm me down. I get more and more frantic and weirdly see some kind of countdown...

And 3, 2, 1, I woke up and my sister was still and silent and I realized I had went through that all in my head. They ended up reburying her and my grandmother stood beside me crying. I hugged her and tried to give her words of comfort. I told her not to worry because her other grandmother and grandfather (the grandmother I was talking to’s husband) and Pepper (our childhood pet) were all looking after her. Again...the grandmother I was talking to is also dead and she died before my maternal grandmother did, so....that was weird...

The next part is a bit fuzzy, but I wound up having a conversation with my sister. We just casually talking about her experience of....dying and being buried? It seemed and felt like one of my other mundane dreams about dead relatives, but I knew very well that she was dead. She told me she was tired of the dolls she was buried with (those weird collectable family dolls) and she said a few other things, and mentioned that she just didn’t have an appetite and some other things where she was just sick and uncomfortable (similar to all the stuff she went through while she pregnant). I told her, “I’m sorry, baby.” And she said a couple other things again very casually before I woke up.

Oddly enough...I felt strangely calm and peaceful when I woke up.

I don’t know if this is common or not, but my dreams MAJORLY affect my mood and usually whatever feeling I was feeling when I was dreaming carries on with me when I wake up. And not JUST when I wake up; it stays as if it happened to me IRL. Just like yesterday, where I had another apocalypse dream where me and my mom were at odds, and I was depressed all day yesterday. Or a major dream I had long ago where my sister got shot and was dying right in front of my eyes and I had to try and carry her to the hospital. I’ll never forget how she looked in that dream....literally dying. Usually when I dream of someone dying, it’s like a movie death. This dream was eerily realistic with how she was dying. ....that dream had me depressed and physically sick for days after, and has stuck with me... (I wasn’t kidding when I said my sister dying was my worst nightmare...)

I guess it was because we were just talking like normal. However, once I thought back on the dream and the strangeness of it, Depression set in fast. Though, it wasn’t so much the dream than I just feel that loss all over again.

IDK...I kind of wanted to document this dream because the strangeness of it, I guess. Some things I think I know what they mean or represent and others are just...weird...

Visiting the grave is obvious... I think the changing of her hair and shoddy state of the coffin is my own insecurities and unsatisfaction with how her burial was handled. Everyone tells me I did a good job with picking out everything, but I wasn’t satisfied at all with how she looked and I keep imagining if by some miracle I DO see her after death, that she’d have a few choice words. ...jokingly and good-naturedly, of course, but still...

I didn’t realize it until after I woke, but the convulsions she had I thought looked seizure like...and I wonder if that’s what my mind thinks happened in her last moments... I wasn’t there, but my mom just describes it has blood coming out of her eyes, nose, and mouth. That wasn’t present in the dream, but she also says that when she went, my mom couldn’t get her mouth to close...and the dream, her mouth was open when the convulsions started.

When she falls to the ground and looks at me desperately to help....I think it harkens back to a thought I had when she first died that maybe she wasn’t really dead, but in a deep coma and she would wake up in the coming days. Even after we buried her, part of me still held on to the belief that she wasn’t really dead and had the horrible idea of her waking up in her coffin under a ton of concrete and couldn’t get out (which has always been a deep dark fear of mine for myself). It’s a dumb thought...not only was she autopsied, but embalmed. I know it’s dumb, but when I said I went through every stage of grief at once, I mean it... Part of me is still going through all of those stages at once...Part of me is still searching desperately for a way to go back and save her from this fate...

Denial and bargaining...

The rest I’m not so sure about... I don’t know what the family doll things represent and I don’t know why my dream acknowledged that all my relatives were dead, except my maternal grandmother. I know her being with the mortician was just knowing she was in good hands with my grandmother. Maybe me dreaming of comforting her was just me wishing I had her here to go through this with... But who knows?

I know this was a HELL of a long read. I don’t expect anyone to actually read through this shit. I just wanted to get it out and....analyze it I guess. And also just...DO something with this grief instead of just replaying the dream in my head on repeat all day...

If one of you DID read this, I appreciate that you think so highly of me to read through my long-winded ramblings. ....and I’m also sorry for that because I’m not worthy of that. But, I love you dearly.

#death #a lot of fucking death...#dream journal

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

Note

1 and 6 for end of year fic asks?

End Of Year Fic-Writer ask meme:

1. What’s your personal favourite thing you wrote this year?

Either Viewing the Wheel from the Spokes or the latest chapter of The Discourse of Annie Storm, both of which involve me going ham with poking really discourse-y subjects at length from the most sympathetic angle, while also giving me ample room to cackle in the direction of Pure Crack. I get to juggle angst with banter and multimedia modern epistolary.

-----------

6. What’s your favourite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

Oh, let’s go with two pieces.

From Crimson Vision:

“Really?” Adrien asked. He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. He put a finger up to his Bluetooth to reinforce the idea that he was not, in fact, talking to himself, but actually on a very important phone call. “The science department is kind of famous for this sort of thing here. I remember an entire wing getting blown up when I was twelve. It was all over the news. Father actually asked me to look into going abroad for school, but I wanted to stick with Paris.”

“Yeah, no, that didn’t happen in my timeline,” baby Adrien said. He sounded a little ill. “Uh, does that… does that sort of thing happen a lot?”

“Blowing up the entire wing? Not really. Blowing up an entire room? Probably at least once a semester.” Adrien shoved open a door with his shoulder and meandered his way to a seat. “But the chem students are the ones to watch out for. I hear they melted through the floor in one of the inorganic labs again.”

Banana Noir was silent.

“We had to evacuate the whole building because they fumes they caused by burning through the linoleum were toxic.”

“This building scares me now.”

“Really? Even with everything Plagg lets you do?”

“I can control Plagg. I can’t control…”

“Overenthusiastic undergrads with access to highly corrosive chemicals and not enough sleep?”

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

And from Storms, Sincline, and a Single Drop of Sincerity:

“What do you mean you’re going to wear your uniform?”

“I was under the impression that a military dress uniform was appropriate for a wedding,” Lotor said, bemused. “Was this incorrect?”

“You’re royalty, so the rules are different,” Tarvek told him. “That applies when the person getting married has a rank in the military that is higher than that of their inherited titles. Second of all—”

He turned red, and Anevka leaned forward to see if any of the capillaries burst with the force of his rage.

“You have been wearing the same outfit for ten thousand years!”

Lotor leaned back a little.

Anevka snapped her fan open and held it over her face.

It wasn’t to hide her smile, for her expression never changed.

It was to imply that, if she had been capable of smiling, she would have been doing so, and was intended as a loving slap to the face to the dignity of both men in front of her.

“I’ve commissioned replacements on the regular,” Lotor said. He sounded hurt. Defensive.

Adorable.

“Has it been the same design?” Tarvek challenged.

“No.”

“Were the changes in the chemical makeup in the material or the actual appearance?”

“…the material.”

Tarvek was about to throw something, Anevka was sure of it. She’d clap if he did.

“I am making. A suit.” Tarvek said the words carefully, like he wasn’t about to try to strangle Anevka’s future husband with his bare hands. “And you will wear it. And you will like it. And if anyone asks why you are wearing it, you will say that it is to honor your bride’s culture, and because none of the clothing you brought with you is acceptable for a wedding, and your daily military uniform is a battle uniform, not a dress uniform. I will let you make some choices in the design and motif, but if you do not accept wearing a proper suit to your own damn wedding, to my sister, I will set you on fire.”

#Phoenix Answers Memes #Viewing the Wheel #Discourse of Annie Storm #Crimson Vision #Lotonevka fic #ternaryflower53

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n8thegr8 · 4 years ago

Text

My Avengers Academy Chapter 1: An Old Fashioned Notion

Not everyone is created equal. There are people in this world that are born with privileges and advantages that put them ahead of everyone else. There are people that are born with nothing and must climb their way out of oppression. These lessons of privilege should be taught to children with care and respect. To help them understand. These lessons should not, however, be taught to children with violence.

Peter Parker learned this lesson at the age of five. He laid there motionless; eyes widened as he looked towards the sky. He had bruises on his arms and legs, dirt stained his cheeks, and his head was pounding with pain. All he could do now was crawl into a ball and cry his eyes out.

It was supposed to be a fun day for him; his kindergarten cancelled all classes due to a nearby villain attack which cut out all the power on that grid. A day off of school is supposed to be a fun time for children. It was supposed to be fun for Peter. It was, at least in the beginning.

He had a playdate with his best friend in the world, Eugene “Flash” Thompson. He was so excited when his aunt dropped him off at his house; he couldn’t wait to play hero. Their playdates consisted mostly of watching old footage of battles between heroes and villains, and any live fights happening on the news. Today, however, was different.

“Hey, Pete, wanna ditch this, and go to the playground? I’m getting kinda bored,” Flash said.

“Um, yeah! Let’s go tell your mom and-“

“Nah,” Flash said, “Let’s just go, we’ll be back before she knows anything.” This was unusual for Peter. Going to the park without any adult supervision? His Aunt May and Uncle Ben always told him to never go anywhere without an adult that he trusts. But, he trusts Flash. He wouldn’t let Peter get hurt right? Besides, Flash has this really cool quirk, if any bad people try to kidnap him, he’ll protect him.

Peter agreed, and off they went. Getting out of the house was easy since Flash’s mom was sleeping on the couch in the living room with some sort of bottle in her hand. This usually happened when Peter had a playdate at Flash’s home; his mom was asleep most of the time, letting them have free reign of the house. Whenever Peter asked why his mom sleeps so much, Flash would say, “She just works a lot, okay? Stop asking.”

The journey to the park, however, was difficult because they had to stay out of sight, so no adult would see them and call their parents, or aunt and uncle in Peter’s case. They ran from bush to bush, and jumped fences to get to their destination. Eventually, they came to the wall that separated the park from the playground. It loomed over the two kids, and it cast a great shadow over them. To Peter, it was the highest wall he’d ever seen.

Peter heard Flash chuckle. “This wall ain’t nothing to me.” Flash’s arms became covered in this black goop. The goop seemingly crawled up his arms and eventually to his hands, turning his small hands into big claws. Flash looked at Peter. “Lemme show you how a man climbs a wall.”

Flash stepped back five steps and then dashed towards the wall, jumped, and stuck to the wall, digging his claws into the concrete. Peter watched in awe as Flash effortlessly climbed up. Once Flash got to the top of the wall, he peered down and looked at Peter, flashing him a toothy grin.

“Well, come on!” he exclaimed.

Peter stared at the wall. Noticing it’s craggily state, how long has this wall been standing? Before he was born? Before Auntie and Uncle were born? Before quirks?

“What are ya waiting for?!” yelled Flash, “Just climb the stupid thing!”

Jolted out of his thoughtful daze, Peter looked for his path to climb up the wall.

“Come on, Peter!”

The more Flash shouted the more nervous he got. Finally, he found his path. Peter took five steps back and then sprinted towards the wall until-

“I AM IRON MAN AND IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO WAKE UP! I AM IRON MAN AND IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO WAKE UP!”

This phrase loudly repeated throughout Peter Parker’s bedroom, bouncing off the walls, and making his ear drums perform a drum solo. He let out a loud scream of confusion as he was rudely awakened by the pre-recorded message. He jolted from laying down comfortably to sitting up uncomfortably. Holding his head in discomfort, Peter groaned. “I hate that dream…” The alarm clock blared on his bedside table. Peter sighed as he clicked it off. It was a special alarm clock, a special edition Iron Man alarm clock, with a small figurine of the hero acting as the “turn off” button. Peter sighed once again and he flopped back on his bed. He took a moment to look around his room. He didn’t know why. It’s been the same for as long as he remembered. Plastered along the walls were memorabilia of his favorite heroes: Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, the Hulk, etc. Figurines of said heroes stood atop his shelves. His walls were a deep shade of blue. His bedsheets were red, but his blanket was Avengers-themed. He was fifteen-years-old, but his room was one of a twelve-year-old. Peter didn’t mind; he really liked heroes. He absentmindedly reached over to his bedside table, and grabbed his phone. The bright screen blinded him for a small moment. His eyes readjusted themselves, and he looked at his messages.

Wanda Maximoff :P (6:30 AM): Get out of bed sleepyhead. May made pancakes.

Pietro Maximoff (6:35 AM): Is my sister at your house? She’s not answering my texts.

Pietro Maximoff (6:36 AM): Never mind lol I took a quick run around town and saw her in your kitchen lol

She’s downstairs? Peter thought. It wasn’t unusual for Wanda to be over before school started, but sometimes Peter questioned if she ever ate breakfast at home. “Your Aunt’s cooking is just too good!” she’d say. He had his doubts, of course. She always said that Pietro was cranky in the morning, so maybe that’s why she spends her mornings here.

“Peter! Breakfast is almost ready!”

Peter groaned as he heard his Aunt’s voice calling for him. “I’ll be down in a second!” he shouted back.

“A second has passed!” he heard a shout from downstairs followed by a hearty laugh.

Oh, Ben, he thought. His Uncle really was a joker.

~A~

“How long have you been mastering the art of dad jokes, Mr. Parker?” Wanda asked inquisitively, “Because you need a lot more work.”

Mr. Parker lowered his newspaper, took off his reading glasses, and gave a thoughtful look. Mr. Parker was wearing what he always wore: an ugly red sweater with aged blue jeans. “It’s my look!” he’d always say whenever he was questioned about his choice of apparel. “Well let’s see… when Peter was born! His father hated whenever our dad joked with us, and I just knew that he wouldn’t do it for Peter. So I wasn’t going to let Peter live his life without the best form of humor.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. Highly subjective opinion he’s got there, she thought. She turned her gaze to Mrs. Parker who was just finishing cooking the last pancake. “Mrs. Parker, how do you live with this?”

“A strong will and wine, my dear,” she said, grabbing the plate of pancakes and bringing it to the table where Mr. Parker and Wanda sat, “A strong will and wine.” Mrs. Parker was also wearing what she normally wore. Underneath her cooking apron, was her usual yellow shirt and blue jeans. Unlike her husband, she knew fashion, which Wanda appreciated.

“Oh please,” Mr. Parker said, “You love it; you know you do.”

Mrs. Parker chuckled as she put down the plate on the table. “No dear, I love you, not your jokes.”

Wanda let out a small laugh. “See, she’s the funny one here.”

“No one here appreciates my stellar comedy,” lamented Mr. Parker.

“I do,” a fourth voice said. Wanda turned her head towards the stairs that led to the upper floor, only to see her best friend: Peter Parker. Peter looked like he crawled himself out of a grave. His eyes were droopy, heavy bags surrounding them. His skin was paler than normal and his hair was also more ruffled than normal as well.

“Ah, my hero,” joked Mr. Parker, “Jeez, son, you look like a zombie.”

“I always appreciate your jokes, Ben.” Even his voice was coarse.

Wanda eyed her best friend and gave a cocky grin. “Did you even shower? I can smell you from here.”

Wanda saw Peter roll his eyes at her. “Well, good morning to you too,” he said.

~A~

The ensuing breakfast was also per the usual for the Parker family. A lot of banter between Uncle Ben and Aunt May, but even more between Wanda and Peter. “Don’t pass out from being a geek when you meet Dr. Banner today.”

“And don’t try to pass out from boredom when he starts talking about the dangers of gamma radiation,” he retorted. However, Peter couldn’t deny his excitement. For the first field trip of the school year, his high school, Midtown High, was going to Avengers Tower to meet the heroes and watch a lecture from the Incredible Hulk himself, Bruce Banner, the fourth most popular hero in America. Eventually, the pair finished their breakfast.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Parker! The food was great as always,” Wanda said. She always said this after having a delicious course of Aunt May’s cooking, which at this point was every other day or so.

“Oh you’re always welcome here, dear,” said Aunt May, “Now go, you two are going to miss the train.”

The two said their goodbyes to the married couple and off they went out the front door and onto the sidewalk, where an impatient Pietro waited.

“Took you two long enough,” he said while tapping his foot incessantly. “Mom and dad missed you at breakfast, dear sister,” he said in a mocking tone.

“Well get back to me when dad can actually cook something worth a damn, dear brother,” she fired back.

Pietro shook his head in disappointment, his silver hair flowing side to side as he did. “Hey Pete, ready for the field trip?” he asked excitedly, a complete change in his composure.

“Dude, you know it!” Peter exclaimed, high fiving Pietro.

Wanda groaned. “I’m surrounded by geeks.”

The walk to the train station was yet again, per the usual for the life of Peter Parker. Talking to Pietro about the villain fight that was on the news the night before while Wanda playfully mocks them.

“So the paper is due Friday right?” Wanda asked.

“Yep,” responded Peter.

“But does that mean 12:00 that morning or at 11:59 that night?” replied Pietro.

“No, it’s du-“

sudden explosion was heard. The trio stopped in their tracks and looked to where they heard the explosion. They see smoke in the direction they were looking.

“That’s the station…” Peter said.

“That explosion…” Pietro said.

Peter turned to Pietro. “Which means…”

Wanda eyes widened in horror. “Oh God, please no.”

Peter and Pietro's eyes lit up. “Villain attack!” they both exclaimed. Then the two ran off in the direction of the station.

“Hey, wait up you two!” Wanda exclaimed, running after the pair.

When Peter, Pietro, and Wanda got to the station it was a sight to behold. On top of the tracks was a villain they’d never seen before. He was gigantic in size and was entirely made out of sand. He stood on the overpass and roared out, daring any hero to attack.

“A new villain?” Peter asked with extreme curiosity.

“Yeah looks like it,” Pietro responded with eagerness, “He looks so cool!”

The villain reeled back his fist and punched a chunk out of a building. The crowd that was surrounding the scene screamed as debris threatened to crush them. That is until a blue and red blur flew in and destroyed all of the debris that dare harm the populace. It was the Avenger Captain Marvel, one of the strongest members of the team.

“Oh Cap’s here? This’ll be done in no time,” mused Pietro.

Peter swooned. “She’s so cool.”

Wanda huffed and crossed her arms, a small blush cascaded her cheeks. “She’s okay.”

The villain’s voice echoed and roared. “Get outta here pipsqueak, before I slaughter ya!”

Captain Marvel floated above the crowd, glowing with a golden light, her hair defying gravity as it floated upwards. Her very presence exerted the power she possessed. She looked back to the crowd. “Multiple Man, form a barrier!” she ordered.

“Alright people, don’t move past the clones y’hear?” multiple voices echoed.

The trio looked and saw the rescue hero Multiple Man! A new up and coming hero who could create a seemingly infinite amount of clones of himself. A sea of clones barred entrance to the battle. “They’re exact copies of him,” Peter whispered. “I gotta...” He reached into his book bag and took out a notebook and a cheap digital camera.

“And there he goes,” Wanda sighed.

He took his camera, aimed at one of the clones, and snapped a quick picture. Then, he opened his notebook. It had the number twelve written in sharpie pen on the cover. Peter opened it and flicked through the pages and pages of hero analysis until he found Multiple Man’s entry and feverishly wrote in his new finding.

“Oh, it warms my heart to see such an enthusiastic youth!” A laugh rang in Peter’s ears. He looked to his right and saw an older looking gentleman. Balding, but still has his white hair, a bushy mustache, and a cool pair of black sunglasses.

A blush danced onto Peter’s face. “Ah, well it’s just a hobby of mine.”

The elderly gentleman chuckled. “Oh don’t try to fool me, young man! I know exactly what you are! A fanboy!”

Peter’s face was bright red from embarrassment. “I, well I-“

“Hey there’s nothing wrong with being a fanboy!” Pietro exclaimed, standing up for his friend.

The gentleman continue to chuckle. “Not at all, young man! Why when I was your ag-“

The villain roared once again. “Don’t you come near me!”

Captain Marvel flexed out her arm and pointed at the villain. “Flint Marko, you are under arrest for illegal quirk usage and destruction of property! Anything you say can and will be us- gah!” The heroine was suddenly cut off by a gigantic fist made out of sand punching her into a nearby building.

“I ain’t going to jail!” the sand villain yelled as he reeled back his other giant fist, “And I’ll be sendin’ ya straight to hell!” The sand giant flung his fist into the building where Captain Marvel crashed into, but the attack was blocked by an invisible force field! Peter looked to the top of the building to his left, and standing there was the Invisible Woman, one third of the Future Foundation!

“Ah! It’s Susan Storm!” Peter heard Wanda squeal in delight. “She’s gonna kick this sand dude’s ass!”

“Nah, my money’s still on Cap,” replied Pietro, “She can probably bench press the continent if she wants to.”

Wanda groaned. “Not every problem can be solved by brute strength, dear brother,” she said in a mocking tone, “You need finesse and to think outside the box! Right, Pete?” She stood with her hands on her hips in a stance of confidence. However she got no response from her friend. “Pete?” When Wanda turned to face him, all she saw was him feverishly writing in his notebook. Deaf to the world around him.

“So Invisible Woman actually doesn’t disappear she just bends the light around her to make the illusion that she’s invisible so does that mean that she can’t see when she’s invisible or maybe the light is still hitting her eyes anyway so maybe she sees but you also have to consider…” Peter rambled on and on.

A moment of awkward silence fell upon Wanda, Pietro, and the gentleman as Peter muttered away. “Oh Pete.” Wanda sighed.

“Does your friend usually do this?” the gentleman asked.

Pietro scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. “Yeah, it’s hard for him to stop when he gets going.” Another crash was heard and the attention of the group was once again focused on the ensuing fight.

“You ready, Sue?!” yelled Captain Marvel as she flew upwards towards the sky.

“The barrier’s up, Carol; turn this villain into glass!” yelled the Invisible Woman back as she flexed her arms out.

The sand villain tried to reach for the flying superhero but found himself unable to move past the invisible barrier that blocked his path. “Wh-what the hell is this?!” he screamed in terror.

“This is the end of your villainy, Marko!” exclaimed Captain Marvel.

The crowd went wild, this was the public’s favorite part in villain fights: when the hero triumphs over the villain and saves the day. “Come on, ma’am! Show us a flashy finish!” the older gentleman exclaimed.

“I told you so,” Pietro said as he bumped Wanda’s arm with his elbow.

Wanda shot a dirty look at her brother. “Oh, shut up,” she said. She put her hand on Peter’s shoulder who was still writing in his notebook. “Peter, it’s about to finish. You’re gonna wanna see this.”

Peter’s consciousness came reeling back into reality as he saw Captain Marvel floating in the sky. Her golden aura intensified as her hair stood straight up. Peter internally squealed as he knew what was coming, he quickly aimed his camera at the hero. It was Captain Marvel’s signature move! The golden aura stopped being an aura and started to be the color of Captain Marvel’s skin as her body stored energy. Her quirk: Binary Engine, allows her to store energy inside of her and release it at her will. She yelled out a battle cry and flexed her arms forward. “Binary Ignition!” A beam of golden energy erupted from her fists. If one were to ask the crowd what occurred that day, they would say that they felt the Earth shake beneath them as they saw the furious fiery energy hurdle itself towards the giant sand villain. With a loud scream of pain, the sand villain took the blast in his giant sandy chest. The extreme heat from the energy started to solidify the sand that it hit.

“No!” the villain roared, “I-I can’t move!” With the invisible barrier now closed fully around the villain, the extreme heat from the binary blast went to work. The heat was trapped and had nowhere to go, just like the villain. The villain was quickly calcified in glass, unable to move. A statue to the victory of heroes, the sand villain was.

The crowd erupted in cheers and chants as Captain Marvel slowly descended back to the ground and the Invisible Woman followed suit. The heroes gave the all clear for the police to restrain the villain, a tall order given his size but the police always came prepared.

Peter, on the other hand, was feverishly writing in his notebook about the intricacies of what he saw of Captain Marvel’s signature move. How much heat it truly produced being the main point of intrigue for him. “So for sand to turn into glass the sand has to be exposed to a temperature of 3,090 degrees Fahrenheit or 1,700 degrees Celsius which means that Captain Marvel’s energy output is far greater than what I initially calculated for her maybe…”

“He really likes to write doesn’t he?” the gentleman asked.

Wanda sighed with a tinge of embarrassment. “Yeah, he really does,” she said. She then put on a big enthusiastic smile. “But, he’s going to be the best hero of all time. I just know it.”

“Wow, thanks, sis,” said Pietro.

The old man let out a light chuckle as he saw the two siblings bicker and Peter mutter and write in his notebook.

“... and you also have to consider the possibility that with enough stored power she can become a walking sun and that would be devastating for villains but maybe she can also solve any future energy crisis that the world will face and-“

“Hey, kid.” Peter felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the old man standing next to him. “You don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t be a hero, alright? If somebody doesn’t believe in you, prove them wrong. Think of heroism as the classic mask and spandex costumes, it doesn’t matter who’s behind the mask. Anybody can be a hero.”

Peter felt the warmth and kindness of the old man’s words. He flashed him a goofy grin. “Thank you, sir! I promise to become the world’s greatest hero.”

The old man returned with a big smile. “Excelsior, young man! Now go out there, and become the best hero that you can be!”

The trio thanked the gentleman for his time and walked up to the train platform as the police gave the all clear to enter the station. They got on their train and sat down. Peter glanced out the window and a small smile formed on his face. Across the river he saw the apple of his eye. Adorned with a stylistic “A” on its face, stood Avengers Tower, HQ of the Mighty Avengers, the most popular hero agency in the world. While Avengers Tower was the HQ for the agency, it was also a school, Avengers Academy, where teenagers learn to become heroes. The school only taught from sophomore year to senior year of high school. Apparently because there wasn’t enough material for a full four years of hero education. “Hey, guys?” Peter called out to his friends.

Pietro and Wanda snapped out of their individual dazes from the painfully normal train ride and turned to their friend, his face plastered with an even bigger smile. “What’s up, man?” Pietro asked.

“Let’s apply to Avengers Academy,” Peter said. “Let’s be Avengers.”

Wanda’s face grew a soft smile. “Peter, you always say that,” she pointed out, “We’ve been wanting to be Avengers since we were kids!’”

“I think he just forgets that we made that pact years ago,” said Pietro, laughing as he did.

Peter turned to his left to face him. “No, I didn’t forget! I just want to make sure,” he said with a hint of anxiety in his voice. Peter’s face went from cheerful to solemn. This usually happened to him after being excited about heroes and his dream to be one. Almost as if somebody completely different swapped places with him. He would go from raving about heroes and claiming he was going to be an Avenger one day one second, and then the next second he would become eerily quiet. His eyes would darken with sadness. His whole demeanor would shift. He became reclusive and antisocial. In his head he thought to himself,

They’ll be the ones going to AA… not me. There aren’t any quirkless heroes in the first place, why would I be the exception?

Wanda noticed the drastic change in him. “Hey, hey, hey look at me,” she urged him. Peter turned to look at Wanda, and felt her hand on his shoulder. Her gaze met his. “You are going to be the best hero ever, okay? It doesn’t matter, okay? You’re already my hero.” She pointed to the red bandanna wrapped around her head as she said this. As Peter glanced at the accessory, he noticed how it wrapped down her cheek, under her chin, and was tied at the top of her head in a nice bow. Peter knew what she meant.

It’s been five years and she still remembers. To him, helping her up and tying his bandana around her head to keep her jaw in place was just the normal thing to do when someone trips and falls on their chin in Physical Education class.

He shot her a small, but genuine smile and said, “Okay.” Wanda shot a big smile back at him. As she did this his stomach became infested with butterflies and his face felt like it was lit aflame. He swore that he heard Pietro behind him groan and mutter, “Jeez, get a room.”

After yet another painfully average walk, they finally made it to their destination: Midtown High. Midtown High was just another average year 9-12 public high school located in Forest Hills, New York. Moderate in size, but gigantic in population. The school had trouble with too many students and not enough teachers to teach them. Cramped classrooms didn’t look good in the paper and it needed to be fixed. So to combat overpopulation and to promote transferring to other schools, there is a field trip to Avengers Tower for the freshman. If you want to tell kids to get out of your school, might as well tell them to be superheroes.

Unfortunately for Peter, the trio had to part ways for the time being since they all had separate homeroom classes. Peter sat in his classroom, and his gaze wandered around, looking at the 4x4 room that confined him. 25 desks filled the room in a semi-orderly fashion, Peter sitting near the back, which was unusual for him considering how studious he was. The floor was stained with age, under the coat of yellow was once a beautiful marble floor. The blackboard could never be truly cleaned as there were always remnants of past classes leaving their chalk footprint. Peter sighed and took a glance at the clock at the front of the class, however, he couldn’t make out the time with his bare eyes. He sighed once again, reached into his bag, and took out a container. He opened them and groaned as he was reminded that his glasses were ugly. Bright red covered the frame and the circular lenses felt as if they were half the size of his head. He put on his glasses, and the world suddenly became much clearer. He glanced at the clock again and saw it say it was 8:00 AM, right on the dot.

He groaned and let gravity claim his head. It made a nice and loud “bump” as it hit the desk. Peter knew what was coming. He counted down from fifty. He always comes in at 8:01 AM. Throughout the years of being bullied, Peter picked up a thing or two about personal quirks. At exactly 8:01 AM, he walked through the classroom door. His black hair stood in a spiky fashion, he wore a black muscle shirt, and baggy dark blue jeans. He was laughing as he entered the classroom, as if someone had told him a hilarious joke. Peter quickly stood up a book on his desk and opened it, creating a makeshift barrier between himself and the rest of the world. He fumbled with his glasses as he tried so desperately to put them back into their case. He lowered his head, below the book barrier. He didn’t want him to ruin today. It was supposed to be a happy day. He was going to Avengers Tower, he was going to see his heroes!

The world went silent and all Peter could hear was the sound of shoes hitting the floor, and it was getting closer. Peter silently whimpered. Why did he have to come after him today? Wasn’t he tired of this? Making his life hell? The footsteps stopped right next to him.

Oh no.

Pain was all Peter felt as his hair was being pulled back, forcing him to sit up straight. He felt every single strand of hair being unsuccessfully pulled from his scalp. He reluctantly opened his eyes, he had to face him now. All Peter saw was the black-haired kid smiling at him with a devious toothy smile.

“What do you want today, Flash?” Peter groaned, “Can you please let go of my hair?” Peter struggled as he grabbed the hand that had a fist full of his hair.

Flash gave a hearty laugh. “Aww, is Puny Parker all alone today? Is the quirkless wannabe sad that he can’t have his friends save him?”

He hated when Flash said that. It just reminded Peter of his true nature, that he was just normal. He doesn’t have the X-gene, he doesn’t have a quirk, he isn’t a mutant, he’s just human. Peter focused all of his might into digging his nails into Flash’s hand to make him let go. Suddenly, as he did that, Peter felt a gooey and slippery substance cover Flash’s hand, Peter squeezed but Flash didn’t let go. He only laughed.

“Oh Parker, did you piss off Venom?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Oh, is that right?” Flash said to no one in particular. Peter continued to thrash in pain as Flash kept his vice grip on his scalp. He felt like his hair was going to be pulled out, and his brain right with it. “Parker,” Flash said, his voice deepened, “Did you try to hurt me?” At this point, his voice became deep and twisted, almost demonic, as if two people were speaking in unison.

Peter grunted as he continued to struggle. “Yeah, so what? Let me go, damn it!” He glanced up at Flash and saw that his neck and a portion of his face were covered in black goop. Peter’s gaze then went to Flash’s mouth, he was baring his teeth, but they were all razor sharp. Oh God, Peter thought.

He saw this before. This black goop. Flash pulled Peter closer to his face. He could practically smell him failing to brush his teeth properly that morning. “That wasn’t very smart of you, Parker,” Flash said.

“Christ, Flash! Just leave me alone!” Peter exclaimed. Peter then curled his free hand into a fist and swung it at Flash. Momentum was stopped as Peter’s arm was caught, not by Flash’s arm, but a mouth, a mouth with sharp teeth. It wasn’t Flash’s mouth, but it was the black goop’s. It was a macabre sight to say the least. The mouth shot itself from Flash’s abdomen and latched on to Peter’s fist. Peter didn’t feel any pain, however, but he did feel the sharp teeth prick his wrist as it held it in place.

“Oh, Venom. You always know how to make me proud,” Flash said with a small chuckle. “Oh, that’s right! I didn’t feed you today, did I?” Peter’s eyes widened in horror. Flash gave a sinister smile. “Go wild.”

Peter shut his eyes as the word went into slow motion. Was Flash serious?! Was he going to let Venom devour his hand?! He could get suspended! Expelled even! He’d be charged with assault and battery and be tried as an adult! This is what perplexed Peter about Flash, he had great grades, was the school’s star quarterback, but he always did reckless activities that could have the potential of ruining his life. Even from a young age he was like this. Peter felt the terrifying mouth start to close on his fist, it was slow as if it was taunting him. As if it was letting his host enjoy the scene play out in front of him. He snapped back in reality, his gaze darted across the room, looking for someone, anyone to help him. His heart sunk as he saw the cruel reality; others had arrived by that time and they were all in their own groups, their own cliques, and they were watching the events unfold. They all just intently stared at the scene. No one dared make a move. Would anyone stand up and intervene? Peter closed his eyes, and braced for the pain that was to come.

It happened. Peter felt the teeth rip and tear into his skin. He tried letting out a scream but more black goop shot out of Flash’s chest and onto his mouth, which muffled Peter’s scream for help. The mouth kept slowly clamping down, it wasn’t long until it was going to hit Peter’s bone. Peter started to hyperventilate. His chest rose and fell. Rose and fell. Over and over again. As he saw what was happening to his hand his mind raced. Why him? Why today? Today was supposed to be a good day. Why? Why? Why? Peter felt the sharp teeth graze the top of his carpal bone. He closed his eyes and whimpered.

“That’s enough!” A voice pierced the unsettling air like a bullet.

Peter glanced towards where the voice was shouted from, and there he saw Wanda and Pietro. Pietro had his hand on Flash’s shoulder, grasping it with an iron grip, and Wanda stood near Peter, grabbing his arm and pulling it out of the jaws of the beast. Peter looked at her eyes, her pupils were glowing a bright red. She looked at the lacerations on his wrist with a deep and sad look. She took in a deep breath and put her free hand over the wounds, and then the magic started. Red energy started to flow out of her hand and into Peter’s wounds. When the red energy entered the wounds, Peter felt an extreme warmth run up his arm. It felt odd, but it wasn’t strange to him; he had felt this many times before. When Wanda first got her quirk five years ago, she’d been the person to heal Peter’s scars and bruises he sustained from his run-ins with Flash. The reason why Uncle Ben and Aunt May didn’t know how bad Peter really had it was thanks to Wanda’s quirk. He looked down in embarrassment, he could already tell that she was worried about him. The day had just started and Peter was already hurt.

“You got a death wish, Maximoff?” Flash growled.

“Leave him alone, Thompson,” Pietro demanded. Peter looked at the two feuding teens. To him, it was as if two forces of nature collided. Pietro, a benevolent mountain standing tall no matter the condition, and Flash, a ravaging tornado destroying everything in its path. Two titans facing off against each other, and it’s all because of a quirkless boy.

Flash scoffed and all of the black goop retreated back into his body, out of sight. He looked directly into Peter’s eyes. “You’re lucky your body guards came to rescue you, wallcrawler,” he said. He then went and sat in his seat at the other side of the room.

“Alright kids,” Peter’s teacher, Mr. Harrington said, “As you all know, today is the field trip to Avengers Tower.” Mr. Harrington was always an odd fellow, even in this world of superpowers. He was a tall lanky man, with brown hair and a bushy beard and moustache. Just by looking at him you can tell that he was a nerd in his youth. He wore brown suits to class, always had a neat tie on, and wore black dress pants. On his desk one could find memorabilia of the wonderful world of science. Globes, a model of the solar system, a Newton’s cradle, a map of the periodic table, etc. Peter liked Mr. Harrington; the appreciated his love of science, and even though Mr. Harrington gave the aura of a man who has been punched in the face one-too-many times, Peter related hard.

“Just so you all know, two students from different classes have requested to join ours for today.” Peter then took a glance at Pietro and Wanda who were sitting to the left and right of him respectively. As Peter looked at her, Wanda proudly showed him a small doodle of Flash being punched in the face by the Hulk. Peter smiled at the rough sketch. No matter how bad he felt, she could always make him laugh.

Peter’s gaze trailed back to his notebook in front of him. This was Peter’s Quirk Analysis book. It was open. The name Wanda Maximoff was written in the title section with neat handwriting. A picture of her was clipped on by a paper clip. Peter smiled at the photo he had taken last summer when they visited the planetarium. Her pose was odd, but unique. She had her fingertips touch one another, her legs spread and bent, her torso bent forward, and a big toothy smile plastered on her face as if she was saying, “Come at me, ya scoundrels!” She stood in front of a model of the planet Saturn. A small grin created itself on Peter’s face; that was a fun time for him.

Beside her picture were the words, “Quirk: Hex,” and below that were notes. Peter read these notes every so often. They were notes on Wanda’s Quirk. He came up with the name himself after seeing it in action so many times. Hex was one mystery of a power as it just showed up one day. For years people thought that Wanda was quirkless, until one day when she saved Peter from being Flash’s punching bag for the day. The memory flew through Peter’s mind like a bird through the sky. He remembered being pinned up to a tree, gazing into Flash’s eyes, which were filled with murderous intent. The next thing he remembered was Flash being lifted in the air by a mysterious red glow, and then seeing Wanda glowing with that same redness. This didn’t stop the bullying for her, however. Before she was being bullied for being a foreign quirkless girl, now she was being bullied for being a foriegn freak who got her quirk late.

Peter had spent hours studying Wanda’s quirk. There was one conclusion that he came about, Hex was a sort of probability manipulation, similar to Dr. Strange’s quirk: Mystic Arts. Her power could bend the fabric of probability in her favor. He theorized she can probably cause a gun to backfire just by looking at it, but he’d rather not test it. She can also shoot out red energy bolts as projectiles, they don’t hurt much, but it still was a force of concussive energy. Her quirk also allowed her to “heal” people, however, this was contested by Peter. The only thing she had done to heal him was close his wounds; he still felt sore and achy afterwards. Maybe since she doesn’t know the intricate details of the human body, she doesn’t know how to heal someone fully, or maybe she was just scared of screwing it up. In the end, Hex was an amazing quirk in Peter’s eyes. He couldn’t wait to see her become a hero one day.

He turned the page and came across Pietro’s entry. His picture was a one-in-a-million shot that Peter took at one of Pietro’s soccer games during Physical Education class. Pietro’s pose was simply art, his left leg outstretched after kicking the ball, his right arm crossing his body as his left arm is outstretched, keeping him balanced, and all the while a big goofy smile that screamed, “Yeah, I’m the best!” Peter remembered how much he and Wanda were cheering for him that day. In the end, Pietro’s team won and got bragging rights for a whole year.

Like Wanda’s entry, next to Pietro’s picture was the name of his quirk: Superspeed. It was fairly self explanatory, Pietro’s quirk allowed him to move at superhuman levels. He could outrun any car, train, plane… Well, maybe not a plane, Peter thought to himself. However, his quirk also granted him enhanced metabolism. Pietro was always fit, any scrape or bruise would be gone within minutes, and he had to eat a lot to keep up. Pietro always wanted to be a hero, and his quirk locked in his future to be one of the greatest heroes of all time.

Peter's smile turned into a frown as he turned to the next page. The name in the title box was Eugene “Flash” Thompson, and below that were the words “Quirk: Symbiote.” Flash’s quirk was the scariest of them all, it was a living organism that was bonded to Flash’s body. Its base form was a black goop that would cover Flash if it felt like it or Flash was being threatened. In reality, the symbiote was always on Flash. It was Flash, and Flash was it. It also gave itself a name: Venom. Venom can form any weapon from itself, be an impenetrable shield for Flash, and can enhance Flash’s strength fivefold. Flash and Venom were one and the same, they talked to each other, and they looked out for each other. Sometimes Peter would see Flash mumbling to himself, when in actuality he was having a conversation with Venom.

However, Flash wasn’t the only person in the world with a symbiote. Symbiotes were a quirk that arrived late to the scene as they’ve only been around for the past 80 years or so. Nobody knew where the symbiote quirk came from, and some even theorized they were a failed experiment caused by the Weapon program that was never properly disposed of. Unfortunately for people with symbiotes, there was a dangerous stereotype connected to them: cannibalism. It’s no secret that people with symbiotes need to have a larger intake of food since they’re effectively eating for two, so naturally rumors started to spread about people with the symbiote quirk. This stereotype was derived from one entity, a villain named Carnage.

The only symbiote that was able to leave its host and live on its own was one of the most dangerous villains alive. Its original host was a serial killer called Cleetus Cassidy, a cannibal with over 30 confirmed murders, most of them women and children. Cassidy was as messed up as a human could get. He truly believed that human life was meaningless, and he was doing his victims a favor by murdering them. Cleetus Cassidy’s religion was murder and cannibalism, and the symbiote believed as well. Eventually, the symbiote grew tired of Cassidy, and murdered him. Police found the gruesome corpse of Cassidy strung about the apartment, but Carnage was nowhere in sight. It escaped and bonded with a new host; It would continue this cycle for the next 26 years.

“Hey, uh, Pete?”

A voice pulled Peter out of his day dreaming, he looked around the room to see all the desks empty and Wanda and Pietro at the doorway of the classroom. Peter’s face turned red in embarrassment.

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed as he gathered his belongings and joined the duo.

At 200 Park Ave. in New York City sits a skyscraper unlike any other. It was a business center, R&D center, a laboratory, a Hero HQ, and an academy for young heroes-in-training. Adorned with a stylized “A”, Avengers Tower stands as a beacon of heroism. Peter Parker muttered these words to himself as he found himself standing outside the front door. He had so many questions to ask, but one stood out amongst all the others. A question he’s had since he could talk. A question on that day he would finally have answered.

As he stood in front of the building in a daze, Wanda and Pietro stood by his side, they both gave him a big smile. “Avengers Assemble?” Wanda asked them.

Pietro nodded. Peter looked Wanda in the eyes, and smiled as well. “Avengers Assemble.”

~A~

“Boss, there’s an emergency at Central Park. Reports say that Carnage has been spotted and is on the run.”

“Any heroes on patrol near there?”

“Negative, boss.”

“What about Carol?”

“Captain Marvel is currently with the Invisible Woman, they’re at the Raft making sure the villain they captured earlier is in proper custody.”

“... So you’re saying that I-“

“Boss, get off your ass and be a hero.”

“I don’t remember programming you with a potty mouth, Friday.”

“And I don’t remember asking for your opinion. The suit is at 100%.”

“How long will the charge last this time?”

“About two and a half hours, boss.”

“Heh, plenty of time.”

The shutters to the darkened room opened, revealing the city down below. A man clad in red and yellow armor walks out onto a balcony.

“Time to be Iron Man.”

To be continued...

#My Hero Academia #Avengers #Marvel #My Avengers Academy #Spiderman #Wanda Maximoff #Spideywitch #Pietro Maximoff #Venom #Iron Man #Fanfiction #Avengers Fanfic

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

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More Than Meets the Eye 2012 Annual - None of These Guys Know How to Be Nice to Others or Themselves

Hey, so you remember how every kids’ show until basically 2006 had a Fantastic Voyage episode, where they explored the inside of one of their friends’ bodies? We’re opening up with that.

Rodimus and a few pals are busy trying to clear out a nanocon infestation from none other than Ultra Magnus himself, and are doing it in the most convoluted way possible because Brainstorm wanted to try some new invention out, and I guess Ratchet just can’t say no to that faceplate. Whirl’s in there, which seems like maybe not the best idea. Wonder how Magnus feels about all this.

Oh my god he’s been asleep this entire time.

There’s this thing that doctors are supposed to do before performing any medical procedure on a lucid patient, and it’s called informed consent. It would appear that it didn’t happen here. Ratchet, your medical license, please and thank you.

Things start getting hairy for the Fantastic Voyagers during their throw-down inside Magnus’ mouth, and Ratchet’s forced to do something drastic: he has to ask Ultra Magnus, king-sized stick-in-the-mud, to smile.

Woof, that’s rough. Don’t worry, buddy, you’ll get the hang of it eventually.

The sudden engagement of the smiling pistons is so violent that they explode, thus destroying the nanocons entirely and utterly. Great!

Word gets out that Ultra Magnus smiled. Not so great.

Atomizer’s all about them crossbows, so I’m going to make a call and say his design aesthetic is probably rustic chic. Of course, rustic chic for a bunch of space robots probably looks a hell of a lot like brutalism. What I’m saying is, I don’t think Atomizer’s work before the war was too hot.

Everyone Magnus runs into and tries to inflict his job upon makes fun of him. Magnus is a sensitive soul, so he takes it to heart. Poor baby.

A bit later on, in the double page spread with layering issues, Chromedome wakes up from a nightmare.

Rewind has to think about this and double check his database to make sure that Chromedome hasn’t in fact tried to commit suicide by way of ingesting space napalm, and I think that says a lot about Chromedome from a mental health standpoint that even his husband isn’t 100% sure what all he’s tried.

Chromedome hasn’t tried this particular avenue of suicide, which means that his flashback nightmare is the result of one of the many mnemosurgery autopsies he’s performed over the years. Turns out digging around in someone’s memories has a few side-effects.

Meanwhile, Tailgate’s inviting Cyclonus to his Autobot graduation ceremony, because while Cyclonus pulled a real bastard move last time we saw him, Tailgate still seems to think he’s worth having around. Tailgate really wants to be liked by people. Cyclonus doesn’t even respond, and Tailgate decides to leave him alone to stare out at the free-to-use image of space that’s currently in their window.

Then there’s Swerve, who’s down in the engine rooms looking for his roommate, Red Alert. Yep, that’s right; Red Alert somehow ended up sharing a room not just in general, but with Swerve, who we established in issue #1 as being maybe not his favorite individual.

Swerve stops by the corpse of Ore, who I guess they haven’t scraped out of the side of the quantum drive yet for whatever reason, and he take a moment to pay his respects.

OH MY GOD.

Everyone looks like they’ve got retainers in for this issue too! What an oddly specific design choice to see repeated by multiple artists. And on that note…

The 2012 Annual was drawn by two people, Jimbo Salgado and Emil Cabaltierra, both of whom seem to only have this singular contribution to the Transformers franchise. Salgado appears to have been employed by DC Comics, and Cabaltierra’s most recent work seems to be on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comics. There isn’t a ton of information on either of them, so I suppose we’ll have to take the art here at face value.

Over in Rodimus’ inexplicably not-pink room, he and Drift are discussing talking points for Tailgate’s graduation ceremony. Well, Drift’s talking while Rodimus half-listens. We get a taste of Rodimus’ motto for the series.

Drift thinks that less might be more in this case, but the saying, much like a majority of Rodimus’ personality, is based in feelings of inadequacy. Optimus says it- though not nearly as often- and if it’s good enough for Optimus Prime, surely it’s something to emulate. Rodimus, feeling a bit snippy over being called out on his hero-worship, accuses Drift of not actually caring about the ceremony and just wanting to get to the part where they hit up Crystal City to join up on the Knight Quest. Drift, admittedly, is excited to see the Circle of Light again, which is surprising considering what happened the last time he was in Crystal City.

I dunno, I just feel like things would be awkward.

Magnus walks in, demanding the whole crew be thrown out because they’ve been making fun of him. Rodimus tries to help Magnus see the lighter side of things, saying that a little harmless ribbing means that the crew is starting to warm up to him, but Magnus doesn’t see it that way.

There’s also the issue of the Lost Light still not having made contact with the Circle of Light. Magnus is concerned about the sect of religious zealot-pacifists having been attacked, but Drift fills Magnus- and the reader- in on the bad-assery he witnessed back in the Drift miniseries.

It’s later now, and Tailgate’s ceremony is about to start. In the audience, Jackpot takes bets on how long it’ll take for Rodimus to say the Thing, and Whirl confides in First Aid about the graffiti he left inside Ultra Magnus. Wonder what sort of violation that is. Defacement of personal property? Medical malpractice? Assault?

Rodimus kicks things off, Whirl wins a bet, and we get word that all the dead bodies they just keep stacked up in the medibay started moving and clutching at their heads as if in pain. Apparently First Aid doesn’t know proper ceremony etiquette, because he’s fully leaned over the seat in front of him, in a crowd that honestly isn’t nearly big enough to hide what he’s doing, to whisper to Skids about the whole thing.

Well well well, if it isn’t Mr. Grumpypants himself watching from the wings. Glad you could not-join the party, you night-creature. If you’re attempting to be a nice person, Cyclonus, the person you’re attempting to be nice to needs to be aware of it.

Rodimus makes his speech, reflects on his own right of Autobrand, and Tailgate gets his very own temporary Autobot badge.

Or not.

Rodimus, who didn’t mean to fuck up Tailgate’s paint, doesn’t even know what he just did. Rewind steps in to translate the gobbledygook, while Tailgate has a minor crisis over his ruined beauty, saying that it’s Old Cybertronian for “let me out.” Drift and Ratchet run out of the white void behind the stage, both touting their own theories on what just happened, and both at odds with one another. Skids interrupts the debate of science vs religion before it can start, stating that Swerve’s on the horn about that Duobot not being dead.

Ore being alive poses a problem, because he’s still stuffed into the quantum drive, and if he freaks out he could set the thing off and having them bouncing all over space. They just got to Theophany, home of the Circle of Light, so bouncing around would be really inconvenient.

But wait, there’s more! The Galactic Council has come calling, wanting to know just what the hell everyone’s favorite war-mongering race is doing on their turf. Rodimus is a rude little shit, because bonding with the Matrix doesn’t really do much for your skills in traversing delicate political situations. Luckily, Magnus steps in before Rodimus can cause a galactic incident.

Magnus, because he’s the Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord- Tyrest being seen as a neutral party by both the Cybetronians and the Galactic Council- is received much more warmly by such a bureaucratic organization. They have what might be considered playful banter to them, and an agreement is reached.

Ooh, that’s a spicy take there, Rodimus!

We get a brief explanation of what exactly the Galactic Council is- a coalition of sentient races who organize treaties between species and police the galaxy in an attempt to keep the peace. Obviously, they don’t much care for the Transformers.

Before we can get terribly deep into the history of galactic politics, there’s a bright flash of light that consumes Rodimus-

-and we cut over to Swerve and his zombie pal.

Hey, who wants to see some high-level self-sabotage of one’s sense of worth? Because if you do, you’re in luck, because Swerve’s apparently got it down to a fine art. After failing to identify himself, Ore- who cannot see or feel anything at present- thinks that he’s speaking with Pipes, and Swerve proceeds to offer up that thing that happened in issue #6 on a silver platter to the guy who apparently doesn’t like him a whole lot already.

Swerve, please, practice a little self-love, my dude. Don’t subject yourself to this.

Down on Theophany, the boys are driving towards Crystal City, and are none-too-impressed by what they find.

Rewind, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t do that, it’s been established.

It’s looking like Crystal City’s been proper fucked, and Drift’s none too happy about it.

Back over at the pity-party, Swerve’s ruminating on the difference between peace and happiness, and how he doesn’t think he’s cut out for either of them. Ore adds that they’ve only just ended the war, and it may take some time to settle into the new normal. Swerve worries that he’s wasting his bold new tomorrow by playing pranks on Red Alert when he could be using his medical degree for something useful and important. Poor Swerve, caught in the trap of “you’re only worth something if you’re productive”. We’ve all been there, man.

Because it’s trauma, and you don’t owe anyone to be perfectly healthy and fine when you’re traumatized by warcrimes and atrocities! Every single member of the Cybertronian population is chock-full of trauma, and they need, just, so many more mental health services in order for it all to be processes and dealt with.

Also, Ore is very scary and bad to look at, so I’ve cut him out of the capture for this little bit of dialogue.

Back in Crystal City, the boys have made the rounds, and determined that a fight did indeed happen, but there aren’t any bodies to speak of. Odd, that. Drift is a little on edge, as he snaps at Rewind that he’ll cut his camera off of his head if he doesn’t shut up, then decks Whirl for playing the name game.

Then Drift gets mad at god, and things go about as well as you’d expect.

Later, bitches!

Over on the Benign Intervention, the Galactic Council ship, we see where Ultra Magnus’ gotten to, as he has a meeting with a representative. The Council is offering Magnus a seat at the table, because he’s about the only member of his race the Council respects.

Back with Drift, the lads have picked themselves up from the fall and have found themselves a nice little surprise.

Ratchet and Skids up there just straight-up disrespecting gravity. Can you tell I’m not a huge fan of the art here? Because I’m not.

The fellas climb up on this giant’s face, Swerve shows up for a panel, and Rodimus has everyone jump down the Metrotitan’s throat to go find the thing’s brain.

Lot of vore-adjacent action this issue. Gotta love an Annual.

Once inside, they find a very big brain, and Cyclonus reflects on his faith. See, back when Metrotitans weren’t so rare and Cyclonus hadn’t spent 6 million years in the Dead Universe, he would worship in their shadow. Rewind, because he’s a history nerd, asks for a taste of that action, and Cyclonus indulges him, probably because he’s once again realized that he misses connecting with other people, and still doesn’t know how to handle the Tailgate thing.

This is where the Guido Guidi art kicks in, and it’s so friggin’ pretty. So pretty, in fact, you might almost miss Roberts slipping this into the lore dump.

An urgency, you say, which- stop me if I’m wrong- resulted in the creation of life.

Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

Anyway, this is where the Guiding Hand came to be- the five gods of Cybertron.

Now, back in The Death of Optimus Prime, it was established that the Guiding Hand were ancient, lost knowledge, only known to the Matrix and its bearer. Cyclonus is really fucking old, but I’m thinking that this discrepancy is simply a case of early-installment weirdness that’s now being rectified, so it isn’t too odd when members of the crew are revealed to have faith.

So the gods hung out, made a bunch of babies asexually, gave them the gifts of thought and feeling and being able to turn into tanks and shit, and it was pretty sweet for a while.

The Mortilus got a bug up his butt about killing things, and the Transformers found their true purpose in the universe- war. Mortilus was eventually defeated, but only after every other member of the Guiding Hand had been reduced to abstract sculpture art; Primus became Vector Sigma, Solomus became the Matrix- which, considering what happened to that thing prior to MTMTE, uh, yikes- and Epistemus and Adaptus became the basis on which the modern t-cog and brain module were built.

Because the god of death is no more, the Transformers were made immortal, which explains why it takes so much to fucking kill them. A bunch of the first generation of Transformers decided to fuck off into space to spread the good word about their pretty-much-dead gods, coming to be known at the Knights of Cybertron. The end!

Ratchet doesn’t appreciate the tale that Cyclonus just told, because Real Atheist Hours are 24/7 for him, and that fight that Skids managed to put a stop to starts up again.

Then Drift brandishes a sword a Ratchet, because this is how we deal with our problems when we’re Drift, and hiding behind a façade of being a happy-go-lucky flowerchild fails. Rodimus breaks the two of them up before someone gets stabbed, and drags Drift away as Chromedome sets up to do his thing on a brain the size of a school bus.

Skids comes up and starts chatting him up, and Chromedome reveals a little bit about himself as a person.

Chromedome, I’m happy that you found someone you love who loves you just as much, but I’ll go ahead and say it- I don’t think telling the dude with short-to-midterm memory loss to look for a relationship is the hottest idea you’ve ever had.

In a place that isn’t the inside of the Metrotitan’s skull, Drift asks Rodimus about his faith. Rodimus is a believer, then proceeds to put the guy on a pedestal as he make the claim that “everything will depend on him.”

Then Chromedome stabs his needly little fingers into a giant brain- much to Rewind’s chagrin- and all hell breaks loose.

Oh man, y’all are going to double space-prison for that one.

Magnus’ meeting gets interrupted, of course, and the Council’s automatic response is to assume they’re being attacked, and they break out the big guns to take down to the planet’s surface. Magnus, seeing the writing on the wall, teleports back over to the Lost Light awith the intent to call Rodimus to try and see just what’s happening now, when the entirety of the ship is encased in a forcefield, and not one courtesy of Trailcutter.

Back planetside, Chromedome’s flat on his back as he explains that the Metrotitan is screaming its friggin’ head off in a frequency they can’t hear, mad as hell that it can’t answer the call of Vector Sigma to come home. This frequency can also apparently raise the dead, and do a bunch of other really weird shit. Chromdome wants to dive back in.

Chromedome, are you sure that statement about being suicidal should have been past-tense?

The whole planet is a-rockin’ and a-shakin’, as the Council troops make their way towards our dear friends. Rodimus, thinking quickly, orders Whirl to take a few friends and keep the Council busy while Chromedome wraps up. Rodimus wants all that good, good Cybertronian history, and figures that they need to rip it all out of the Metrotitan’s brain while he’s still kicking. Brainstorm offers to shrink the guy, seeing as he brought along his mass-displacement gun, but Rodimus seems intent on using the method that could kill Chromedome and might not even get them what they need before the Metrotitan dies.

Before a decision can be reached, Ultra Magnus gets through to Rodimus. Turns out that forcefield the Lost Light’s in is an incineration shell, and things are about to get spicy for everyone on board. Said shell is also draining the power cells, so they can’t quantum jump to safety. Rodimus has an idea though.

Over with Swerve and Ore, the conversation turns to religion. Swerve is a man of faith, whereas Ore has a much more straightforward view of life- you live, and it’s odd and wonderful and terrible, and when you die that’s it. Ore does not believe in the afterlife, and believes that what you get is what you get.

This is about the time that Rodimus calls Swerve to have him set off the quantum drive by killing Ore via shock, by telling him the truth about his predicament.

Swerve just shoved those orders so far up Rodimus’ ass, he’ll probably blow them out of his nose in a minute.

So, the Lost Light’s done for, thanks to the power of standing up for yourself. I guess Scott Pilgrim got that one wrong. Chromedome asks Rodimus what he wants to do with the Metrotitan, and Rodimus says to let him free.

And then everyone died. That’s a series wrap, folks!

What do you mean we’ve got 49 more issues? Okay, let’s see where this goes.

So Brainstorm blasts the brain, everyone is enveloped in a bright light, and we smash-cut to Swerve talking at Rung’s headless body in the medibay, as he recounts the outright religious experience he had.

Ore’s gone, and Swerve believes that Primus came and took him to the Afterspark, the Cybertronian afterlife, and so it was that Swerve’s faith was strengthened.

Over in Rodimus’ office, we tear down that miracle with some equally unrealistic sci-fi bullshit. Brainstorm’s mass-displacement shrunk the Metrotitan down enough to allow himself to teleport, and some theorized psychic link with Ore allowed the Lost Light to piggyback to safety.

Still no clues as to what happened to the Circle of Light, though, which is troublesome. Probably kidnapped, or some such. Going off of that hunch, the Lost Light will be following some reports on Decepticon activity- because we haven’t gotten to the point of nuance with our former enemies just yet.

Rodimus has decided that winging things isn’t really working out like he’d like it to, so he’s going to try to be a better captain. Which, y’know, thank god. Let’s make an effort to keep everyone kicking.

We get a brief flashback to just what happened during Magnus’ meeting with the Galactic Council, and as it turns out, he turned down their offer, saying that he was needed on the Lost Light.

The Council is disappointed by his decision.

Oh well dang, I wonder who that mysterious figure could possibly be. Surely he will in no way factor into the entirety of every single problem ever faced or made by the planet of Cybertron and the galaxy it resides in. Oh, surely not.

While I got you here, let’s take a gander at the section blurbs.

We’re getting yet more mindsets about god and faith, from folks not in the narrative but adjacent to it. Alpha Trion is a well-respected, learned robot who has no doubt spent a vast majority of his time taking in literature and theory on the subject of religion. In contrast, we have Beachcomber, who in this particular continuity doesn’t have a ton of characterization, but does seem to be pulling from his hippy-dippy persona from the ‘80s cartoon at least a little for his excerpt here. New-age, we’ll call him.

And then there’s Megatron, who’s just straight-up torn the cover off of Karl Marx’s A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel's Philosophy of Right and is trying to pass it off as his own, but let’s look more at the actual meaning of such a quote.

Now the problem with that is, much like in real life, we aren’t seeing the entirety of the quote, instead having only kept the last little bit to play with.

"Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people".

Now, for Megatron here, we should assume that the front-end of this quote from Marx isn’t applicable, seeing as we seem to be operating as if it doesn’t exist.

So, “Religion is the opium/engex of the people.” It’s a comfort, a drug, something to keep one docile. We’ll see the logical conclusion to such a mindset much later on in the series. As is, it gives us another glimpse at the creature that is pre-war Megatron.

And now you know why the Annual subtitle was Primus: You, Me, and Other Revelations.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing #overthinking about robots

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unfolded73 · 5 years ago

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Today and All the Days that Follow (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

At 8880 words, it’s probably insufficient to call this a 6x14 reaction fic, although it’s that too. An exploration of relationships, both on the wedding day and in the future. Rated Explicit (ao3)

Other Season 6 reaction fics: 6x01, 6x02, 6x04, 6x06, 6x07, 6x13

NOTES: Thanks to Emily Hampshire for saying in an interview that David and Stevie are soulmates. Thanks to the Rosebudd denizens for speculating how David and Patrick's wedding night might've gone - I think I stole some ideas from you guys. Thanks to my husband for giving me so many ideas for ridiculous sex-adjacent banter. Thanks to Dan Levy for writing this fucking show.

And another thing: This fic does reference the "happy ending" a couple of times in a lighthearted way. It's not a big part of the fic but it is mentioned.

And one more thing: I probably only have to say this because I've written some dark shit in the past, but while it may sound like I've imperiled Patrick's health at one point in this fic, he's fine. Don't worry.

__________________________________________________

9:47 a.m.

Marcy Brewer sipped her tea, giving the waitress Twyla a smile as she gathered up their empty breakfast plates. Twyla met the smile with one of her own at ten times the wattage. “I’m so excited for this evening,” Twyla gushed. “I love weddings.”

“We’re excited too,” Marcy said as Clint pulled out his wallet.

“I mean, I didn’t love my cousin Darryl’s wedding, but to be fair we warned him that saying their vows while skydiving was a bad idea,” Twyla continued.

Marcy met Clint’s eyes and tried to keep her face neutral. “We’re just worried about the rain,” Marcy said, trying to change the subject before she learned more about Darryl’s tragic wedding ceremony.

Twyla looked out the front window of the café and frowned. “Yeah. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“We’re just on our way to meet Johnny and Moira now,” Marcy said, “so I guess we’ll find out how much of an issue the weather’s going to be once we speak to them.”

Clint handed a credit card to Twyla and stood up. “I’m going to run to the restroom,” Clint said, patting Marcy’s hand as he left the table.

The door to the café swung open and revealed David fumbling awkwardly with an umbrella before he managed to get it folded and the door closed against the driving wind. He hurried to the counter and spoke in low, urgent tones to Twyla, who gave him a sympathetic nod and made her way over to the espresso machine.

Marcy stood and approached him, concerned by the anxious way he was drumming his fingers on the counter and biting his lip. She hadn’t spent that much time with David in person, but he looked like he was close to a full meltdown.

“David,” she said, a gentle hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

“The rain has ruined everything,” he said in a small, breathy voice. “We’re going to end up getting married in a barn.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sure you won’t have to get married in a barn,” Marcy said, rubbing up and down on his upper arm. He wore a soft sweater with a rainbow heart on the chest, and Marcy’s own heart squeezed at the thought of him choosing to wear that sweater before he changed into his wedding tuxedo.

David laughed humorlessly. “You’d be surprised how many major events in this town have happened in a barn.”

Twyla brought over a coffee cup, handing it to David and handing Clint’s receipt and credit card to Marcy. “Listen, David, I’ll get someone to cover for me today so that I can help with whatever you guys need today. And if Jocelyn hasn’t already done so, I’ll put out the word to everybody to pitch in,” Twyla said.

“Thanks,” David said, “That’s… that’s really nice of you.”

“We love you guys,” Twyla said with another sunny smile. “The least we can do is make sure you have a nice wedding today.”

“See?” Marcy said when Twyla left to deliver someone else’s breakfast. “Everyone’s behind you. It won’t be ruined.”

David nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “I just wanted today to be perfect.”

“Well, weddings are never perfect. Did I ever tell you about how my sister stepped on my train and ripped it about ten minutes before I was supposed to walk down the aisle?”

Shaking his head with wide eyes, David put his hand over his mouth. “What did you do?”

Marcy shrugged. “We pinned it with a couple of safety pins and I got married in a ripped dress. In the end, I was still married to the love of my life at the end of the day. And you can’t really tell in the pictures unless you know what to look for.”

David took a sip of his coffee, and Marcy thought maybe he was shaking a little bit less than he had been when they’d started talking.

“Patrick is the love of my life too, you know,” he said softly.

Marcy put an arm around him, giving him a squeeze. “Oh, David. I knew that the first day we met.”

~~~

2034

“I told Patrick he wasn’t wearing enough sunscreen,” David fretted on the screen of her phone. Marcy could tell by the herky-jerky movement of the camera and the motion of the ceiling above his head that David was pacing the floor.

“David, there’s no need to catastrophize until the biopsy comes back. And even if it’s bad news—”

“Oh, God—”

“Even if it’s bad news,” Marcy said more firmly, “skin cancer is treatable. The odds are very good these days.” She ignored the ball of anxiety in her own stomach, focusing on soothing her son-in-law’s nerves.

“All those baseball games, and hikes… just last month he was outside all weekend helping to set up for the Elm County Pride events.”

Marcy watched David flop down on the sofa and run his hand over his face. “You aren’t going to be able to stop him from doing the things he wants to do, David. Believe me, I had to tell myself that with every trip we made to the emergency room when he was a kid.” There was a droning sound outside, and she looked up in time to see Clint trundle past with the lawnmower. It was a job he insisted on doing himself even though they had plenty of grand-nieces and grand-nephews who would do it for them if they asked. She supposed the reckless apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

A smirk flashed across David’s face. “That arm he broke twice aches sometimes before it rains now.”

Marcy snorted. “He deserves it. He was an idiot when he was a teenager.”

They looked at each other’s faces through their phone screens for several seconds. At fifty, her son’s husband was as handsome as ever, his hair streaked with bits of grey and the lines beside his eyes more prominent. “Also, I’m afraid I’ll be bad at taking care of him,” David said quietly.

“Well, that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”

She startled a laugh out of David with that. “It’s definitely not. Just ask your son.”

“I know you think Patrick is the one who takes care of you, but the thing I’ve learned about you boys over all these years is that you have a knack for not falling apart at the same time. When you need him, Patrick is strong for you. But when Patrick needs you, you’re strong for him.”

She could see the glassiness of tears in David’s eyes. “I hope you’re right, Marcy.”

“Listen to your elders, David,” she said as David’s head whipped around toward something outside the range of the camera. “What is it?”

“He’s on the phone,” David whispered. “It might be the doctor.”

Marcy waited, trying to take her own advice not to worry until there was definitely something to worry about. It almost worked.

Finally, she could hear Patrick’s voice, followed immediately by an expression of relief on David’s face. “Are they sure?”

“Yeah, she said it’s benign, but that I should have it checked in another six months.” Patrick came within view of David’s phone camera. “Hi, Mom,” he said, his eyes darting to David. “David, did you tell her…?”

The image blurred and swooped as David likely was gesticulating with the hand holding it. “I needed someone to talk to about this, honey.”

Patrick sat down next to David and pulled him into his side. Marcy watched as David hugged her son, the camera at an angle, the phone probably forgotten in his hand.

“I’m sorry if you were worried, Mom,” Patrick said as he pulled out of the hug and David rested his head on Patrick’s shoulder.

“You need to tell me about these things, Patrick. I worry more when you don’t talk to me.” It was a well-trod pattern between them, stretching back to when Patrick was a teenager. She didn’t seriously think Patrick would change now, but it felt better to chide him anyway.

“I know,” he said placidly, turning and kissing the top of David’s head.

“Thank you for being there for us, Marcy,” David said.

“Of course.” She swallowed back tears that threatened to spill over. “I love you, my sweet boys.”

~~~

1:39 p.m.

“So,” Stevie said after she and Patrick had his car doors closed, their raincoats dripping onto the seats and floorboards. “Now we just have to break it to David that the wedding is going to be at the Town Hall.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna go well,” Patrick sighed. “But it really is the best option. He’ll see that, right?”

Stevie gave him several exaggerated nods like she was a bobble-head doll. “Sure.”

Sighing again, Patrick started the car.

“I know he’s been really extra about the wedding, but you know it’s only because marrying you is really important to him, right? Like, the most important thing he’s ever done,” Stevie said as they pulled out of the motel parking lot.

“I know,” Patrick replied. “I mean, there have been moments that I was worried that the wedding was more important to him than the marriage, but…” He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face when he thought about their future in this town. “David’s gesture with the house allayed my fears on that count.”

“David likes things to be just right, is all. So his mind kind of obsessively goes over and over and over stuff that matters to him until he has it the way he wants it. Like his wardrobe. Or the store.”

“Yeah.” Patrick took a left turn toward his apartment. “You know my future husband very well.”

After a long pause, Stevie asked, “Can I tell you something and you not take it the wrong way?”

“Well, that’s not at all ominous.”

“I think David is, like, my soulmate. Not romantically!” she added quickly. “Just…our friendship is the most important thing in my life. And maybe it always will be.”

Patrick pulled into his parking space at the apartment and shut off the car. He turned and stared at Stevie, trying to wrap his head around what she’d just said. “I’ll confess I’m struggling with the concept of a non-romantic soulmate.”

“That’s because you’re a disgustingly romantic person. I’m … not that. And look, I know that while David is the most important person in my life, he has you and you’re his person. I get that. And I’m more than okay with it. It’s great, actually. I love you guys together, and I love who David has become being with you.” She looked down at her fingers. “I just wanted you to understand… I don’t know. I’m not saying this right.”

Maybe she wasn’t, but Patrick didn’t have to understand her feelings to support them. After all, he’d never understood how she had just stopped wanting to sleep with David at some point. Patrick couldn’t imagine sleeping with David and then not wanting to do it again and again, forever.

“Stevie, I was already aware that you and David have a special bond. You guys are alike in ways that he and I will never be, and so you probably understand him in ways that I don’t.” He reached over and took her hand in his. “I think that if David hadn’t been your friend first, he and I probably would never have made it here. You made him a better person. I suspect that you still do.”

She snorted. “I’m way too much of a mess to make anyone a better person, but I appreciate that you think so.” She squeezed his hand and let it go. “You’re a close second in the best friend department, you know.”

“I’m honoured,” Patrick said, but then he narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s just because the one thing you can’t do with your best friend David Rose is complain about David Rose, isn’t it?”

Stevie shrugged, laughing. “So what if it is?”

Patrick moved to get out of the car, but then stopped. “I’ve been meaning to say, I assume I have you to thank for David’s change of heart about New York? And the house?”

“He just needed a tiny nudge in the right direction, that’s all. Same as always.”

“Thank you. Seriously.”

“Well, since I’ve once again set your love life on the right path like I always do, I expect payment.”

“How many bottles of wine?” Patrick asked.

“Nope, not that. I have demands about the house. I want to be able to drop by and visit whenever I want. And dinner at least once a week when I’m in town.”

“Should I have an extra key made for you?” Patrick asked, smirking.

“Duh.”

“Okay, but I can’t promise you won’t walk in on something you’ll regret,” he said, finally getting out of the car and hurrying through the rain to the front door of his apartment building.

Stevie was grimacing as she followed him inside. “Fine, I’ll text first.”

~~~

2022

There was a sharp knocking sound on the window pane of the back door, and Patrick looked up from the tax documents spread out on his kitchen table to see Stevie’s face framed through the glass. He gestured for her to come in.

“There’s some coffee left,” he said, his eyes already back on his paperwork.

Stevie went straight for the cabinet where the mugs were, getting one down and filling it with coffee before she came over and looked at what Patrick was doing. “Hmm, looks like you’re working.”

He looked up and blinked balefully at her. “Yes. This tax paperwork is due at the end of the week.”

“Looks like you’re working at home. When you have a perfectly good desk in the back of the store,” she said before sipping her coffee.

“I have a little more space to spread out here,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that you and David are having a fight.”

Patrick put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, you clearly have already talked to him, so out with it. Tell me what you’re here to tell me. And it’s not a fight, it’s a… minor disagreement.”

“Uh huh.”

“Stevie—”

“It sort of seems to me that you were having a reasonable debate over where the second Rose Apothecary location should be and then the debate experienced some… scope creep.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Scope creep?”

Stevie threw up her hands and groaned. “I’ve been in a lot of meetings with the Rosebud Motel Group leadership team lately, sorry.”

“Ooh, tell me what other business-y buzzwords you’ve learned.”

“Don’t change the subject, Brewer; we’re talking about you and David right now, not my career.” She sat down at the table across from him, shoving some papers out of the way so that she wouldn’t have to set her coffee mug down on top of them.

“So what did David say?” Patrick asked, a bit afraid of the answer.

“Here’s what I think,” Stevie said, not answering the question. “I think that you do a lot in this marriage and around the store because you like being needed. And also you like to take charge and control things. Classic service top behaviour.”

Patrick had thought he was done blushing about his sex life around Stevie; apparently not. “I’m sorry, what?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “David talks to me about stuff, you know that. Anyway, my point is that when you get overwhelmed and need help, you have a hard time just asking for help. Instead you passive aggressively make David feel bad that he isn’t doing more.”

“I’m not being passive aggressive.”

“Patrick, you are totally being passive aggressive. And I’m not saying David doesn’t share some of the blame: he’s got this learned helplessness thing that I assume dates back to early childhood and believe me, I find it as annoying as you do. Maybe more so.” She raised her coffee to her mouth and took a sip. “But if you’re overwhelmed right now, maybe you should try just straightforwardly asking David to help you.”

Patrick pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Fine.” He looked up at her. “For someone who claims to not do relationships, you certainly seem to know a lot about them.”

“When would I have time for a relationship? A significant amount of my free time is taken up by being your and David’s marriage counsellor.” She stood up from the table. “So are you good?”

Sighing, Patrick nodded. “I’m good.”

“Good, because I’ve got a flight to Michigan tonight to visit some of the midwestern motels.” She gave him a little wave and left via the back door.

Patrick picked up his phone and called David.

“Hi,” David answered on the third ring.

“Hey. I’m sorry. Can we talk?”

There was a pause, but Patrick could almost hear David nodding. “We can talk. I love you.”

Patrick was already stacking up his papers to return to their file folders. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He glanced around the kitchen, frowning. “And hey, can you tell Stevie to stop stealing our coffee mugs? She just took another one.”

David laughed. “It’s not just the coffee mugs. She has some of our dishes and flatware too.”

“Cool,” Patrick deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “And I love you, too.”

~~~

5:05 p.m.

Patrick spotted his father coming in from his reflection in the mirror as Patrick prepared to tie his tie. He dropped the two ends of it and spun around. “Thank god,” he said at the sight of the styrofoam containers in his father’s hands. “I don’t know why it just now occurred to me that I forgot to eat today.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine,” his father said with a smirk. “Could there possibly be something else on your mind?”

They sat together at the small desk in the town hall back room where they’d sequestered themselves to change for the wedding. Patrick’s mother was with the other relatives who had made the trip into town, texting frequent updates about his extended family’s shenanigans.

“Oh, I double checked with Stevie. She has the wedding rings,” Clint said as he tucked a napkin into his collar to protect his tuxedo shirt.

“Is she absolutely sure?” Patrick copied his father’s actions with his own napkin, imagining that if he managed to get mustard on his wedding shirt, David might change his mind about getting married. Finally, he dug into his food.

“She said she texted you a picture as proof,” Clint said with an amused smile. Patrick pulled out his phone while he chewed and sure enough, there were three pictures from Stevie in his messages: one close-up of the open ring box with two wide, gold bands in it, one selfie of her putting the box in the jacket pocket of her suit, and one of her flipping off the camera. He grinned and put the phone away. “Yeah, she has them.”

“She seems like an excellent maid of honour for David,” Patrick’s father mumbled around a mouthful of burger.

Thinking about Stevie’s delight at the happy ending mishap a couple of hours ago, Patrick chuckled and took another bite of his burger. “Yeah.”

“These burgers aren’t very good,” Clint admitted.

Patrick put his down. He’d managed to take three bites out of it, but the butterflies in his stomach were making it challenging to choke down any more of the food he’d wanted so badly a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, they’re never very good.”

“And yet you eat there frequently?”

Patrick shrugged. “It’s next to the store.” He pushed away from the table. “I think I’m too nervous to eat.”

Clint put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, son.”

“For what, going through with getting married this time?” Patrick joked, uncomfortable with his father getting emotional right now. He felt like his own emotions were way too close to the surface as it was.

“For realizing that things in your life weren’t right, and for having the courage to go out and find what you needed to be happy.”

“It didn’t feel like courage. It felt like running away.”

Clint threaded his fingers together and fidgeted with his thumbs, a nervous tic that Patrick had picked up from his father when he was a kid. “Your mother and I probably didn’t make it any easier on you those first few months, pressuring you to come home.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” Patrick said quickly. Maybe there were other things they needed to apologize for, but wanting him to come home when he couldn’t articulate why he’d left, that wasn’t something he could lay at their feet. “I wish I’d been brave enough to tell you about David from the start. You could have gotten to know him a lot better by now if I’d just—”

“Patrick, no.”

“It’s true.”

“We’ll have years to get to know him. Thanksgivings and Christmases and maybe some summer trips to the lake house, okay?”

Patrick let out a slow breath. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Clint pushed himself up from his chair, pulling the napkin from his collar. “Then let’s get you ready to get married, shall we?”

~~~

2021

“So are you ready for the official tour?” Patrick asked his parents after setting their luggage in the front room of the house.

“We saw the house when we were here for the wedding, remember?” Clint said with an indulgent smile.

“That doesn’t count; they hadn’t moved in yet,” Marcy said. “Now they’re settled in and we get to see it as Patrick and David’s house.” She looked around. “Is David not here?”

“He’s at the store, but he should be home in a half hour,” Patrick said. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He took them through the living room — where David had recently hung a piece of Japanese art above the fireplace, the mantle already crowded with pictures from their wedding; where a cozy sofa was angled toward the television Patrick had spent a frustrating Sunday mounting on the wall — to the kitchen. In the morning, the kitchen was Patrick’s favorite part of the house, sunlight streaming in through the south-facing windows as he boiled water for tea and ground coffee beans for David’s French press. One end of the counter tended to collect the detritus of their lives — junk mail, loose pens, change from their pockets, and David’s keys when he forgot to put them in the bowl by the front door. The cabinets were gradually filling up as they acquired more small appliances and salad bowls, crystal wine glasses and those proper pint glasses Patrick had always wanted.

“We’re going to paint in here next year,” Patrick explained. “I’d like to teach myself to tile so that I can replace the backsplash at the same time.”

“I could come out and help, if you want,” his dad offered.

“Sure, that would be great.”

He pointed out the dining room and then led them to the one downstairs bedroom, which was doubling as an office and guest room. “You’ll be in here,” Patrick said. “I promise the sofa bed is comfortable. Or Stevie says it is, anyway. She sleeps in here when she’s had too much to drink to drive home.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, sweetie,” his mom said. “The walls are an interesting color,” she commented, pointing out the deep plum walls.

“Oh yeah, David painted this room. I didn’t think I’d like it, but it kind of works.” He led them out and up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor of the house where the other two bedrooms were. Stopping in the doorway of the master bedroom, Patrick said, “This is our bedroom, obviously.” He moved on quickly. Even now that he was married to David, he still felt weird about his parents seeing the bed they shared. The couple of times they visited him in his apartment, he’d felt the presence of his bed in the space like it was looming over them, daring his parents to picture him in it with David.

“The bathroom up here is nicer than the one downstairs, so you’re welcome to come up and use this one,” he said, indicating the room in question. “I’d like to redo the tile in here too at some point, if I can find the time.”

He started toward the stairs, but his mother hung back. “Are those both closets?” she said, pointing to the other closed doors.

Patrick chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. One is the linen closet, one is the third bedroom that David uses as a closet. I don’t think he’d forgive me if I showed you that.”

His parents laughed and shook their heads and followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he poured them wine and set the oven to preheat so that he could bake the lasagna he and David had put together the night before. Then he pulled out ingredients for a salad.

“The house is lovely,” his mom said. “You’ve made a real home here, and it’s wonderful to see.”

“Have you decided what to do with that big yard yet?” Clint asked.

Patrick shook his head. “I’d like to try my hand at gardening, but I’m worried I won’t have the time to keep it up.”

David arrived home then in a flurry of hugs for his in-laws and a kiss on the cheek for Patrick, and in less than ten minutes he and Marcy were deep in conversation over the latest true crime documentary on Netflix. His father pulled a second knife from the block and went to work on the cucumbers while Patrick peeled carrots.

“This is what I always wanted for you, you know,” Clint said softly as they worked on the salad.

Patrick looked over at David. His excitement in making whatever point he was making to a giggling Marcy showed in his high-pitched voice and his broad hand gestures. Turning back to his father, Patrick raised a skeptical eyebrow. He was pretty sure this wasn’t at all what his father had pictured for him when he was young, and Patrick couldn’t help a tiny nugget of resentment from surfacing in his stomach for his father trying to rewrite their history.

“Okay, I didn’t know I wanted this, specifically,” Clint acknowledged. “I just… I wanted you to have a home of your own, is all. A place to settle down and be happy. That’s what I mean. And that’s what you have.”

Patrick smiled. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I have.”

~~~

5:41 p.m.

“Wow.” Stevie said when he emerged from the bathroom of the motel room.

David dismissed her reaction with a flutter of his hand. “You were with me at the fitting.”

“Yeah, but it hadn’t been fit yet so I didn’t get the full effect.” She eyeballed him up and down. “It’s really sexy, actually. Patrick’s gonna flip.”

David looked down at himself in his wedding clothes. He’d had them shorten the skirt so that the front panel hit him right at the knees, and then he’d been nervous that he’d made a terrible mistake. “Are you sure? It’s not too funky?” he joked, harkening back to the opinion about his clothes that Stevie had expressed years ago.

“No, I actually love it.” She took a sip of her champagne. “And you know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”

Going over to the mirror, David began fussing with his hair, making sure every strand was in place. The rest of his wedding might have been ruined, but at the very least he could look perfect.

“Are you nervous?”

He thought about it, probing his feelings. He was excited about saying his vows to Patrick and slipping a wedding ring onto his finger. He was feeling queasy that his vision for the outdoor wedding of his dreams had to be tossed aside because of the weather. But was he nervous? “Not at the moment, but ask me again right before I walk down the aisle.” He huffed. “If they even manage to have an aisle in that place. As I walk between Bob and Ronnie’s desks, I guess.”

Stevie grinned at him. “I went over and took a look at Town Hall while you were getting dressed. You might be surprised when you see it.”

He rolled his eyes, trying not to get his hopes up. “Whatever.”

The door between the motel rooms opened then and Johnny strode in, his bow tie dangling from his collar but otherwise he was dressed and ready to go. “Oh, Stevie, don’t you look lovely!” he said with a big smile before turning to take David in. “And David—”

“Yes, this is what I’m wearing, so don’t start,” David snapped, trying to head off any comments his father might make about the style of his wedding attire. Johnny Rose tolerated, even liked, all manner of fashion from his wife, but that tolerance hadn’t always extended to his son’s sartorial choices. Johnny might have accepted his sexual orientation a long time ago, but he occasionally had some old-fashioned ideas when it came to gender expression.

Johnny blinked, a spark of hurt in his eyes. “David, I think you look wonderful.”

David’s teeth clicked together in surprise. “Thanks.”

“And when I think about..” Johnny paused, and swallowed, and David could see the glassiness of unshed tears in his eyes. “When I think about how much you went through, and that now you’ve found someone to love you and share your life with…”

“Dad, you can’t do this right now; if you start crying, then I’m going to start crying, and then my eyes will be puffy in the wedding pictures and I’ll blame you for it.”

“Mr. Rose, maybe you could go check and see if Mrs. Rose is ready to drive over to Town Hall?” Stevie said gently, putting an arm around him and ushering him back to the door.

“That’s a good idea, Stevie — thank you.” He gave David one more watery smile before he closed the door behind him.

“Thanks,” David breathed. “I’m touched by how much he cares, but I can’t handle that level of emotion right now.”

Stevie nodded. “Then it’s a good thing you’ve got me, because I’m not capable of that level of emotion.”

David smirked at her. “Right.”

“Although for the record, I do love you a lot, and I’m really happy and honoured that I get to stand beside you while you marry the love of your life today.”

His eyes filled up with tears that immediately spilled over onto his cheeks. “Oh, fuck you.” He wiped under his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”

Stevie grinned. “Yes, I did. But also, it’s the truth.”

“I know.” David sniffled. “I love you, too.”

~~~

2029

When Stevie finally showed up on his doorstep the week before Christmas, David pulled her into a hug and almost started crying.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” he scolded her, his eyes squeezing shut as he rocked them back and forth.

“I know, I know, I didn’t know I’d have to be at corporate so much this year.” She slapped his arm. “Are you going to let me in anytime soon? I’m freezing.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, stepping back and letting her into the house. Stevie pulled her boots off and left them by the door, hanging her coat and scarf up before following David into the kitchen where he put a glass of wine into her hand.

“So, Dad being a hundred percent retired has been tough, huh?”

“I really didn’t realize how much work he did,” Stevie said, flopping into a chair. “So many meetings. Resolving conflicts between people with enormous egos. Making a thousand decisions every day, all the while convinced someone is going to point out what a huge fraud I am.”

“Oh my god, don’t talk about my best friend like that. You aren’t a fraud.”

“So what’s going on with the move to Elmdale, is that still happening?”

David felt his familiar anxiety arising at the mention of that topic. “We’ve looked at, like, a hundred houses. Some of them are very nice and two were within walking distance of my favorite pizza place and that new wine bar that opened up last year.”

Stevie squinted at him. “And therefore within walking distance of your Rose Apothecary location in Elmdale.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, and that. Our biggest location, and the one that arguably requires most of our attention these days.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“There is every logical reason to move.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I love this house!” He said, gesturing around at his warm kitchen. “I love it. We’ve done so much work on it over the years, and I just… I hate the idea of some other family buying it and moving in and living inside these walls that are ours.”

“You’ve always complained that it’s too small,” Stevie pointed out.

“I know. It is.”

“What does Patrick think?”

“He thinks I’m being overly sentimental, but he’s willing to stay in this house if that’s what I want. Of course. Because that’s what my husband does.”

“Maybe you haven’t found a house you like enough to replace this one, but that doesn’t mean that house doesn’t exist,” Stevie said. “Maybe you should keep looking.”

“Maybe.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss that topic of conversation into the ether. “Anyway, I read that profile of you in Entrepreneur Magazine.”

Stevie rolled her eyes. “Would you believe that stupid magazine profile got me laid, like, multiple times?”

“I used to live in New York. Of course I believe that.”

“Like, so much dick, David.”

“Okay, I get it.” He sipped his wine and debated whether to ask the question that was plaguing him. “Any, um, special dicks in the bunch?”

Stevie narrowed her eyes. “Is that your way of asking if there’s anyone special in my life?”

“Maybe.”

“There isn’t. I mean, there’s guys that I’ve seen more than once, but if you’re asking if I’ve caught feelings for anyone, the answer is no.”

“Hmm.” He heaved a sigh and decided to bite the bullet. “So are you gonna… stay in New York?”

Smiling like she could see right through him, Stevie said, “Actually, one of the things I’ve been doing this week is sitting in on interviews for a new Chief Operating Officer. Because I want to come home.”

David’s heart stuttered in his chest, but he schooled his expression to one of skepticism. “You’re a high-powered business woman and you’ve spent the last few months in one of the most exciting cities in the world, getting wined and dined and eaten out by a parade of randoms, and you want to come back to Schitt’s Creek.”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“Why?”

“I miss the futility of Bumpkin.”

“Stevie, why?”

“Because I missed my friends, you dumb ass.” She swirled her wine. “You in particular.”

David suppressed a smile. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Dumb ass.”

~~~

9:42 p.m.

He dodged Alexis’ wobbly nose boop. His nose had been booped by her enough for one day.

“Daaavid. You’re married,” she said, swaying in front of him, a champagne flute clutched in her hand.

“I know, I haven’t forgotten the ceremony. And if I had, you’ve told me that four times already tonight.”

“Yeah, but I just keep thinking about how lonely you were before. Not just when we first got here, but also in New York.”

“Mm hmm, thanks, I appreciate you bringing that up,” he said with an eye roll.

Alexis ignored him. “I mean, there were always people around you, but you were really lonely. And now look.” She gestured around the room. Ronnie and some of the Jazzagals were in a loose circle on the dance floor, dancing and singing along too loudly to Crazy in Love. His father and Patrick’s father were talking at one of the tables, laughing about something. Stevie and his mother (having made a complete costume change after the ceremony) were doing shots at the bar while his new husband and mother-in-law were watching with amusement. “You have all of these people in your life who love you.”

David nodded, too overcome for the moment to speak. They both watched the reception in silence for a minute.

“Do you think Mom and Dad are going to be okay without us?” Alexis asked.

“They have each other, and they’ve always been the most important person in each other’s lives. They’ll be fine.”

“Do you think we’re going to be okay without Mom and Dad?”

“Yes, I do. Well, you will be, because you’re you. And I have Patrick, so…”

Alexis nodded. “Do you think we’re going to be okay without each other?”

“I think you better call me all the fucking time,” David said, putting his arm around her. Alexis wrapped both of her arms around his waist and squeezed.

~~~

2025

“I still can’t get used to you cooking,” Alexis commented from the tablet screen that David had propped up on the kitchen counter so that he could use both of his hands to finely chop the cilantro that had come out of their garden.

“You literally saw me cooking when you were here last Thanksgiving,” he said, the chef’s knife in his hand making a dangerous arc through the air as he made his point.

“I know, and I still can’t get used to it.”

“Patrick and I wouldn’t still be married if I hadn’t taken on a larger share of the housework, and it turns out, despite all past evidence to the contrary, that I’m good at this. Okay?”

“Okay, David, god. Lighten up.”

“So anyway, you were telling me about Mom and Dad,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, she says she’s really done with Los Angeles for good this time, and that they’re staying here in New York for the foreseeable future.” Alexis was fiddling with her hair. “We’ll see.”

“That’s a relief, honestly. I feel better knowing you’re close by to check in on them more frequently. They aren’t getting any younger.”

“When are you guys visiting New York again?”

David scraped the cilantro into his bowl of chopped tomatoes and grabbed a lime, slicing it in half. “August, I hope. What’s going on with that guy you were seeing? What was his name? Larry?”

“Ew, David. Can you see me dating a guy named Larry? It’s Leonard.”

“Uh huh, that’s much cooler,” he smirked. “Are you still seeing him?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s serious. I don’t know if I have time for something serious.”

“You work too hard.”

“So do you.”

David sighed, debating internally whether to tell her the news.

“What?” Alexis asked, her eyes narrowed. “You’re keeping something from me.”

Setting his knife down, David looked into the camera. “Ted’s back in town.”

She started fidgeting with her hair again. “Oh yeah? What brings Ted to town?”

“His mother is sick and he’s here to help her get to and from her chemotherapy appointments. At least that’s what Jocelyn said. She said he might even reopen his vet practice, but that might just be the Schitt’s Creek rumour mill on overdrive.”

“I should maybe send Mrs. Mullens a card, right? Should I send her a card?” Alexis asked in a small voice.

“I’m sure she would appreciate a card.” He cleared his throat. “If I see Ted, do you want me to—”

“No. I don’t know. Just… tell him I said ‘hey.’ And that I hope his mom is okay.”

“I’ll do that.” David felt a swell of affection for his little sister. “You know, the guest room here is yours anytime you want to visit.”

Alexis nodded up and down several times. “Yeah. I’ll… yeah. Let me check my calendar and I’ll get back to you. I mean, I know you miss me, so…”

He smiled. “I do miss you, Alexis.”

~~~

12:29 a.m.

“Do you want to dance some more?” Patrick asked, nuzzling against the side of David’s neck as they sat at one of the reception tables.

“We can if you want,” David said. Stevie, Alexis, and Twyla all seemed to just be getting their second wind, gyrating together on the dance floor to “Umbrella.”

“My feet are kind of killing me, actually,” Patrick admitted. “And as you once told me, sock feet in a public place is incorrect.”

David looked down at the boots he had paired with his Thom Browne tuxedo, which were still really comfortable after several hours on his feet. “Then we don’t need to dance. We did plenty of dancing tonight.”

“Do you want more cake?” Patrick asked.

“I might explode if I eat more cake.”

“A tragic and disgusting end to a very short marriage,” Patrick said seriously, his lips quirking up on one side in a tiny smile.

“Ha ha.”

Patrick sat up a little straighter then and waggled his faint eyebrows in a spoof of lasciviousness. ��Do you wanna come back to my place?”

“Mm, I would, but I’m married,” David said, trying to suppress a grin.

Laughing, Patrick leaned closer. “Oh, but I’ve heard your husband is pretty liberated about stuff like that.”

David bit his lip. “Only in special cases, like when he hires a sex worker for me. Also, he has a weakness for attractive carpenters who are up for a threesome.”

Patrick looked around, a smirk still firmly planted on his face. “Are there any attractive carpenters here?”

“You know, I would’ve invited Jake? But I didn’t want to find my maid of honour hooking up with him in a closet before we managed to pose for pictures.”

Patrick’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked back and forth between David’s eyes and his mouth. “Seriously, though. We outlasted all of our parents at this party, and the newly married couple does traditionally leave first. We can go whenever you’re ready.”

“I think my parents are out back sharing a joint with Roland and Jocelyn, frighteningly enough, but I take your point. Let’s go home.” Home right now was still the apartment, but next month it would be the new house, which David was almost as excited about as he had been about the wedding.

A swish of white in David’s peripheral vision caught his eye, and he looked up to see Alexis, Twyla, and Stevie. Twyla had an entire bottle of champagne in one fist. “We’re taking this party back to the motel. Wanna come?”

He looked at Patrick, torn between his precious remaining time with his sister before she left for New York, and being alone with his husband. Patrick, as he often could, read David’s mind. “Yeah, let’s go party at the motel.”

Anyone awake and paying attention would have seen the five of them stumbling down the road at a quarter to one in the morning in formalwear, David unable to stop himself from laughing loudly at the ridiculous rendition of “Shallow” that Patrick and Twyla were singing while they walked. As they approached the motel, Patrick took a moment to whisper something in Stevie’s ear. David watched with curiosity as Stevie ducked into the office when they arrived, emerging after a few seconds and pressing something into Patrick’s hand. Before David could follow Alexis into their room, Patrick grabbed his hand and dragged him down the walkway to the room at the end of the row.

“What are we doing?”

“Just taking a tiny detour before we go party with your sister,” Patrick said, unlocking the love room.

“This is a nightmare room, though. Also I fucked Stevie in here.”

“Yeah, like three years ago. I think I can handle it,” Patrick deadpanned as he closed the door and pushed David up against it.

“They’re going to know what we’re doing.”

“Oh, no. What will I do if your sister and our friends know that you and I are having sex?” He kissed David, his mouth open and searching. “I just need a few minutes alone with my husband.”

David groaned, his head tilting back to thunk against the shade drawn over the door’s window panel. “Say that again.”

Patrick took David’s jacket from his hand, tossing it onto the dresser to his right. David’s tie was already untied, but Patrick unbuttoned another shirt button before he leaned in close, inhaling against David’s neck. “My husband.”

“Mm, fuck, okay. I’m on board now.”

“Good.” Patrick sank to his knees. “Because ever since I saw you walking down the aisle, some percentage of my brain was occupied with the thought of doing this.” He reached up under the skirt of David’s tuxedo, pulling his underwear down to his knees.

David pulled the front of the skirt up, wary of soiling it — it was the most expensive clothing purchase he’d made in years — but also just wanting to watch.

Patrick just nuzzled against him at first, and it made David wish there had been time for a shower because he’d definitely sweated a lot over the course of the day, but then Patrick had taken his cock into his mouth and David forgot to worry about it.

“Oh my god, you’re so good at that,” David gasped, his hand coming down to cup the back of Patrick’s head. Patrick worked him expertly, and the sight of him filling Patrick’s mouth while Patrick was still wearing his wedding clothes did something intense for David. He let his hips flex, his cock pushing forward into Patrick’s mouth. Into his husband’s mouth. Fuck.

Then without warning, Patrick’s mouth disappeared.

“Patrick, I’m close, come on,” he whined.

Patrick was looking up at him with those doe-eyes of his. “I don’t know, David. You did already come once today. Maybe I’d like some parity.”

“Oh my god.”

Patrick grinned, standing up. “Can I fuck my husband in this skirt?”

They didn’t manage to get any more clothes off, but they at least managed to make it over to the bed, where thanks to some conveniently placed lube in the bedside table, a few minutes later David found himself on his elbows and knees on those horrible red sheets. Patrick prepped him efficiently, his fingers teasing David’s prostate until he had to bite his hand to keep them from hearing him several doors down. Finally, Patrick pushed inside him with a groan, setting a hard and unrelenting pace from the outset. With a noise that was more sob than anything, David worked his hand down to his cock and stroked himself in time to Patrick’s thrusts. They finished simultaneously, in sync with each other even at this frantic pace.

“Let me clean you up so we don’t mess up your clothes,” David heard Patrick say from somewhere far away.

“Uh huh,” he murmured into the mattress.

“You still want to go party with the girls?” Patrick asked as he returned from the bathroom with a couple of washcloths.

“As soon as I can feel my arms and legs, sure,” David said.

Once they were cleaned up, they flopped down on their backs side by side and looked up at the mirror on the ceiling.

“Thanks for marrying me today,” David whispered.

“Same.”

~~~

2031

David huffed and flipped over onto his other side in the bed, sticking one leg out from under the covers to try to regulate his temperature. He punched his pillow and readjusted it under his head.

Patrick’s voice pierced the near-darkness of the bedroom. “Can’t sleep?”

“I’m fine.” He shifted again, curving his spine in yet another attempt to find a position that didn’t make his back hurt.

“Really? Because you’ve been fidgeting for an hour.”

David turned over, wincing. “Sorry, I can go downstairs. I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

Patrick gestured with his tablet. “You’re not; I was reading.”

“Still, I can go downstairs.”

Setting his tablet reader aside, Patrick rolled toward David. “Do you want to have sex?”

David thought about it, shifting onto his back. “I’m not horny.”

“Me either, but I could probably get there if you wanted to. Either way, I could give you a handjob.”

“It’s the way you’ve never let the romance die that makes this such a successful marriage,” David said, reaching over and patting Patrick’s cheek.

“Yeah, I realize it’s not terribly romantic, but it might help you sleep.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can jerk off if I really want to,” David said.

“Yes, I’m aware you’re capable of jerking off.” Patrick started to turn and reach for his book again. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“No, wait. I mean, I do sleep better after we’ve fucked than I do after masturbating.”

“You should write for Hallmark,” Patrick said.

“Hey, you’re the one who suggested a utilitarian handjob as a sleep aid.”

“I never said it would be utilitarian.” Patrick scooted closer to David under the thick duvet. “Let’s make sweet, tender love, David.”

“Shut up.”

“Let’s celebrate the beauty of our multi-decade relationship with some lube and—”

“I hate you,” David said, closing the distance between them and kissing him. His hand settled into the familiar spot on Patrick’s neck, long fingers cupped around to stroke through the short hairs on the back of Patrick’s head. He tasted like toothpaste, and even though they’d kissed thousands of times, David still felt a zing of arousal, enveloped in the sensations and warmth of his husband.

Patrick’s hand stole around David’s hip and under the waistband of his sleep pants, fingers digging into his ass cheek and pulling their pelvises flush against each other. A minute of grinding coupled with more deep, wet kisses was all David needed to go from vaguely interested to fully on board.

“Okay, I changed my mind,” David whispered against Patrick’s lips. “I am horny.”

“Mm hmm.”

“As are you,” David said, punctuating that sentence with another grind of his hips.

“Yeah, there’s just something about being kissed by my husband. I don’t know what it is.” Patrick said in that way he had that was simultaneously sarcastic and sweet.

David fumbled in his bedside drawer for lube, then pushed Patrick over onto his back, shoving his underwear down.

“Wait,” Patrick muttered when David squeezed some lube into his palm. “This is backwards, I was gonna do you.”

“After.” David flung the covers aside and wasted no time in closing his fist around his husband’s cock, setting up the rhythm Patrick liked, alternating long strokes with focused attention on the head while Patrick groaned and clutched at David’s arm. “Want anything else? I can finger you open, or get the vibrator—”

“Next time,” Patrick said, his hips thrusting against David’s fist. “Just this is gonna make me come pretty easily.”

“Yeah?” David kissed him and it was sloppy and kind of desperate, and he wondered not for the first time how they still managed to do this, go from lazy banter to being so hungry for each other they could hardly stand not to be touching.

“Yeah. Fuck, do it harder,” Patrick gasped and David did, squeezing and pumping his fist until Patrick came with a pained moan through his clenched teeth, his hips jerking and then slowing to a stop.

“God, you’re so easy,” David said, grinning smugly as he wiped his hand off on Patrick’s t-shirt. Patrick regained his breath, and then sat up in a crunch and pulled his t-shirt off, wiping his stomach clean and tossing it aside. They switched positions, but Patrick paused before he took David’s cock in his hand. “Would you rather have a blowjob?”

“No, this is good. Although can you…” He trailed off in a moan as Patrick stroked him. “Can you put your fingers inside me?”

“Yeah.” Patrick kissed him on the cheek.

David kicked his sleep pants the rest of the way off while Patrick sat up and helped himself to more lube. Then his hands were everywhere, stroking David’s cock and fingering him open, and David threw his head back and let himself feel all of it. When Patrick crooked his fingers and rubbed against his prostate at the same pace that he was stroking David’s cock with the other hand, David was a goner. He came in such record time that it should have been embarrassing.

“Fuck, you’re too good at that,” David gasped as he reached out a grabbed a fresh clean-up rag from his bedside table.

“I memorized the cheat codes to a David Rose orgasm more than ten years ago,” Patrick called as he was walking to the bathroom to clean up his hands.

“Mm hmm. Well done.” He was barely aware of Patrick getting back into bed and settling the duvet over him, and with his last shred of consciousness, he reached out and touched his husband’s hand.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight, David.”

“Night.”

#schitt's creek ff #schitt's creek fic #david x patrick ff #david x patrick fic #sc s6 #my fic

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june-louise · 4 years ago

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Our Kind of Love

A short story of Elizabeth and Philip's struggle throughout Philip's royal tour in season two of The Crown. What if the adultery scandal never happened then? Rated M.

Since I have been inspired lately and created a few drabbles about Elizabeth and Philip set after 2x03 when Philip’s away on the royal tour, I have decided to combine them into a short story.

Some of you may have already read the first chapters. They are now edited though to fit the story better. Feel free to re-read, and stay tuned for next chapter which will be the reunion in Lisbon.

Chapter 1 - The First Telephone Call

Elizabeth sat on the sofa; one leg crossed over the other as she listened to the reports coming from the television a few metres in front of her. Her mother was as per usual having her dinner next to her, joined by Margaret sitting across from them. Elizabeth had already had dinner, for once having shared the meal with the children who were now in bed.

“Your Majesty,” a voice said and interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see the court martial approach her. “A telephone call for you, ma’am. The Duke of Edinburgh.”

“Hello, darling,” Philip said, and she could almost hear his smirk and tried to picture him there on the other side of the world.