#I’m only half joking you know how tempted I am to make this his apocalypse fit it’d be so funny

[wolfythewitch]

He’s ready for the apocalypse

[somedrunkpirate]

what we lack in words  (Ineffable Husbands Ficlet)

Read the whole thing on ao3 here!

Teaser:

Crowley sways his way to the front door, the ringing of the bell piercing through his head like a particularly persistent woodpecker. 

The delivery should have been here an hour ago, and Crowley and Aziraphale had spent the time drinking perhaps more than was prudent, if one wished to interact with the outside world in a fashionable manner. 

Aziraphale’s pouting while complaining of hunger had been the match to a rumbling fire of frustration, so by the time the delivery girl says, “It was with rice, right?”, there is no stopping the flames of hell. 

“Give it,” Crowley hisses, eyes flashing. “If you are too stupid to do this simple task, I do not trust you to be able to throw it away either! I shall do the honours.”

She makes no move to hand it over, which only reveals more foolishness. Who dares to stand in the way of Crowley, demon of the underworld, giver of choice and creator of sin? 

Crowley is about to set the record straight with some well placed infernal curses, when the kid goes from a defensive stance to a huff of relief. 

Aziraphale pipes up behind him, “What is going on? Why are we taking so long, I’m quite hungry— oh there we are. Thank you, dear, it's quite the weather isn’t it?” 

The teen mutters a very audible ‘Thank God’, under her breath, before saying,  “I am sorry, sir, for the delay. There was a traffic jam because of the rain.” Her gaze flickers between them before clearing her throat. “I think we might have gotten the order wrong too and your husband here is not taking it too kindly.” 

Crowley, in a mist of offence, opens his mouth to snap something— anything to put the fear of all that is unholy into this mortal child— how dare she point to him as the villain in this situation when she forgot the egg noodles. It’s Aziraphale’s favorite. It shan’t be forgiven. 

But just before he can speak, he trips over one peculiar word she said and all thought is scattered in the following proverbial fall.

Husband. 

Aziraphale smiles, the kind of smile that soothes even the most prickly of people, and says, “My apologies for my husband’s behavior. He gets fussy when hungry, you know how it is.” 

My husband? 

“I— we—” Crowley splutters, as Aziraphale steals the wallet right out of his hands and pays the abomination of food-delivery dressed in human clothing. “She forgot your egg noodles!”

Aziraphale pats his arm reassuringly. “I’ll just liberate some of your ramen, dear. You never finish the whole thing anyway.” 

At that, the girl sees her chance to flee and slips away in what should be considered a jog, but might look like a walk to the untrained eye. 

Aziraphale closes the door, seemingly completely unperturbed by the situation. He has no trouble guiding Crowley back to the living room, as he has reverted to a static state of complete confoundment. This is because the tiny metaphorical devils in the corners of his mind are too busy upending the archives of Memory. Short moving scenes and stacks of images are flung about mercilessly, all depicting the same inevitable event set to different settings. The Denial. 

“I’m not his friend” “I don’t know him.” “We’re not.” “He is not my—” 

Because always, without fail, Aziraphale clears the air of any uncouth assumptions that humans invariably make about them. 

Crowley never felt the urge to do the same. He would claim that it was professional curiosity— it can be quite useful to know the levels of intimacy different cultures and times reserve for different bonds, impertinent information for temptation all across the board. Secondly, he might claim that the implication of such intimacy is amusing, and therefore he’d wanted to maintain the illusion for entertainment purposes. Thirdly, if desperately, he could argue that this could up his devilish reputation; the idea that he’d tempted an angel of heaven to his wedding bed should be an accomplishment of his own, however unrealistic it might be. 

But this would not be the truth of it, and Crowley had lost the ability to effectively lie to himself somewhere in the last few weeks. Facing an apocalypse does wonders to one’s self-reflection. So he’s now very acutely aware of the real reason why he likes hearing those false impressions. 

It is proof. Though humanity’s perception is often faulty, they’d been able, over the generations, to recognize something that Crowley has always felt, but Aziraphale could not see. It had given him a little speck of hope, that if strangers could feel the tension between them then it wasn’t all projection and that maybe someday—

Yeah. Right. 

The point is, Aziraphale had broken the pattern, which is why Crowley has lost all ability to function.

“Come,” Aziraphale says, looking completely chuffed as he spreads out their dinner on the table. “I’m starving.” 

Crowley sits. Food is about the last thing on his mind right now. 

My husband. My husband. My husband. 

It grates on him, but sweetly— an ache that makes him understand why some people seek out pain for pleasure. He repeats the sequence of events again and again, trying to make it feel less like a dream. Even merely minutes removed, the complete surprise of it has given it an almost fantastical reality. It shimmers in his mind’s eye. A magic trick. It must be. 

Aziraphale, his bastard worth knowing, had not plucked the assumption from the mouth of a stranger and crushed it mercilessly underfoot. He hadn’t even ignored it. 

He’d confirmed it. 

Realising that for the second time doesn’t help matters. On the contrary, it results in Crowley completely losing his mind. 

“Angel, have I missed my own wedding?” Crowley asks idly. Like the idea amuses him. As if a wrong word on this will not break him— at least for half an eternity, give or take. 

When Aziraphale doesn’t immediately respond, Crowley continues, his voice climbing higher and higher as he goes. “Please tell me it was in a church. I’ve always planned to tapdance my way into your hand.” 

He tries to grin at the joke, but it fits like an earthworm on his face. It isn’t even a joke. It is revealing in a way Aziraphale should be able to notice. Any moment now Aziraphale will look at him with that particular frown of confusion, or the soft-featured face of pity. Or even more nightmarish, the gentle smile of kindness, and then crush this shadow of an assumption as mercilessly he’d almost done— almost always done. 

Crowley braces himself and—

Aziraphale chuckles. 

“Oh dear,” he says, pausing to hide a giggle with his hand. “That would have been quite something.” He shakes his head, cheeks flushed with delight, a mirth to his eyes that spells out the kind of admiration of shenanigans, which made him so frustratingly lovable— among other things. 

Crowley should be relieved— the regained security of his most tightly held secret is such a bout of luck that he should be on his knees to thank Her for it. 

But he isn’t. His fist clenches and his breath pushes and pulls with a sudden force. Every huff of laughter from Aziraphale shoots a hot bolt of something painful through his body. How dare he laugh like this? How dare he giggle like it’s nothing but a joke—like it doesn’t matter. As if none of it did. As if there is nothing instrumental and earth shattering about the fact that Aziraphale confirmed it. He agreed with what the stupid kid saw, even if it was just the easiest way to diffuse the situation. He’d never cared about that before. The denial was always more important. So why—

“Why did you—” Crowley stops himself, and takes extra care to keep his voice from climbing. “You always. Always. Denied it. Why did you— Why did you?” 

Aziraphale has stopped giggling and looks at him with wide eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry dear. I didn’t think you would mind.” 

“I—” Crowley sets his jaw and tells the truth. “I don’t.” 

He gets a sceptical eyebrow for his efforts. 

Crowley’s gaze flickers away, looking at nothing in particular. He feels too warm inside of his skin, like he’s stepped into a sauna without noticing. “I just want to understand, Angel.” 

There is a pause, but then Aziraphale clears his throat. “Well, the child was scared, so arguing the point would only draw out the interaction more. I merely wished to end it as soon as I could, granting the both of you peace and quiet.” 

The pitch of Aziraphale’s voice fluctuates in almost a circular manner, reflecting the way he is clearly talking around something Crowley cannot see the shape of, only knowing its existence by the absence of the complete truth. What is he hiding?

“Angel,” Crowley says instead, but the question comes across nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry! I just—” Aziraphale sighs. “It is strange to put words to it so explicitly, but I suppose I agree with the child, in a sense. The English language— as all human languages — is so limited in its descriptions of the higher emotions, which is understandable as they do not experience many of them in their mortal lifetimes… But I have to admit that taking those faults in account, husband is a more accurate moniker than not, relatively speaking.” 

Crowley’s eyes snap to Aziraphale, who is— unperturbed. Not flushed at all. His expression is one of serene contemplation, and Crowley can only theorize that his dearest angel has absolutely no idea what the word “husband” means. 

“I mean, you have to give them kudos for their tireless attempts to craft the right phrases. Poets, if nothing else, are the most determined of all to give language to what they will never understand. But nothing would describe what we are to each other. They could never comprehend a bond stretching over six thousand years; a friendship bridging the greatest divide, that of Heaven and Hell.” 

At this, Aziraphale shakes his head, smiling absently for a moment, and then returns from the far away place his mind had been to meet Crowley’s gaze with sudden intensity. His smile grows larger, but subtly so, like he is trying to tame it unsuccessfully. His cheeks remain un-flushed, but his eyes— his eyes are red and filled with emotion too large to name. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, reaching over to take his hands. “We have saved the world together. We have been godparents, companions through the ages, and no one knows us more than we do each other. What other word is there but husband?” 

Crowley has lost his grasp on words all together. There is nothing to say— nothing to argue, because how can he respond to something so unbearably true and so torturously wrong at the same time? 

If he’d had the capacity to, Crowley would have said— yelled maybe: Yes. We are. We always have been. But no, you blasted angel. No we are not because I love you like human husbands do. And you do not allow me to. 

But he can’t, so instead he nods, very slowly, in a rare moment that is neither the truth nor a lie. 

He’s rewarded with a squeeze of his hands. 

“Oh, I am glad we agree,” Aziraphale says, joyful, and then releases him to gather their plates. “We’ve forgotten all about the food in our excitement. I’m going to heat it up for a mo. Do you want tea in the meantime?” 

The pure casualness of it all is giving Crowley an acute headache. He nods again. 

“Alright, don’t go anywhere dear, I’ll be right back.”  The rest is on ao3!  Tags @proficientatfreakness  @theheirofashandfire  @regvlusblxck @nooraamaliesaetre  @smileatthemoons

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 8

Douxie receives a much needed reprieve.

A/N: Happy holidays, everyone. I hope you have all had an enjoyable time catching up with family/friends as you are able and that you are all staying safe.

This particular chapter had no less than six different versions. Not different edits, six entirely different 2,000-3,000 word scenes that I went back and forth between like a ping pong ball before deciding we needed a low-action option and using the original. Hopefully the rest of that stuff will be worked in somewhere else, or it's just 10,000 words or so of change that can sit in the drafts portion and stare at me accusingly as it never sees the light of day.

I also just want to give everyone a heads up that I am on vacation for the next few weeks. That will either mean I get extra chapters done in my newfound free time, or I will be swallowed by the void that is catching up on everything you can't do when working and there will be no writing done at all. Just in case I disappear off the planet for a few weeks. ;-)

Chapter 8

And After the Apocalypse, it's Nap Time

Douxie awoke and immediately regretted doing so. He had apparently offended every single muscle in his body before tumbling into bed the night before, and there was not an inch of him that did not hurt with a vengeance. He hadn’t felt this terrible since… well,  the last time he died, he supposed, which was really not something one should be making a habit out of. At least he’d found somewhere decent to sleep. If he hurt this much after lying on a soft mattress all night, he could only imagine how painful today would have been with a couch spring or three digging into his back.

“Douxie?” A careful weight settled on his stomach. “Are you awake?”

“No.” He croaked and winced. Even his throat was sore. “That seems like a terrible idea right now.”

Archie chuckled softly, settling more firmly into place. “At least your sense of humour is intact.”

“I wasn’t joking.” Squinting his eyes open, he glared half-heartedly into Archie’s inescapable gaze. There was something there that made him pause, the intimate knowledge of centuries spent together, and he swallowed painfully before asking. “How long?”

“About a day,” the dragon’s response was subdued, thick with concern. “You’ve been drifting in and out. I think you had the old man worried.”

For a terrifying moment, that sentence was entirely incomprehensible to the young wizard. The memories reasserted themselves with a vengeance before he could blankly ask his familiar what he was talking about, and he felt his blood run cold as his hand crept unwittingly to rest against his chest, breath escaping him in a soft ‘oh’.

“How do you feel?” Archie moved his paws to rest atop his wizard’s hand. “Any pain at all?”

“No, I...” His body hurt, yes, like he’d gone three rounds with the enchanted broom and then tripped down the stairs. That wasn’t what Archie meant, though. “I’m alright. A little shaky maybe, but then I guess I haven’t eaten, so—”

“Please, don’t.” He stopped abruptly at hearing the reproach in those words, Archie’s round eyes looking at him with a wounded expression. “Don’t make light. You scared me, Douxie. I didn’t know what was happening or how to help.”

“I’m sorry.” An apology probably wasn’t what Archie was looking for. The words were habitual enough he said them anyway, reaching to lay both hands against the dragon’s back in way of comfort. “I really am alright, though, I promise.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Master!” In retrospect, sitting bolt upright in response to Merlin’s entrance into the room probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done. Not the stupidest, either, but it definitely ranked up there. “Oooh, buckets.”

Hands, not paws, grabbed a hold of him before he could join the room in its wild spinning, and he spent a good few seconds being absurdly grateful he hadn’t eaten anything. He very much doubted Merlin would have appreciated his stomach’s reaction to the movement otherwise.

“Careful, Hisirdoux!” the Master Wizard admonished, easing him back to rest against the wall in a semi-upright position. Archie had taken the opportunity to stack pillows behind him, and settled in his lap again as soon as he was stable. Merlin’s hands lingered a little longer than they needed to, the fleeting touch of gentle magic preceding his withdrawal.

“You never do things the easy way, do you?” He turned away before Douxie could figure out whether he was supposed to be apologising for the trouble, returning almost immediately with a chalice that was pressed firmly into his unsteady hands. “Sip this. Slowly. We’ll talk when you’re done.”

For once, it seemed easier to simply do as he was told. Under Archie’s watchful eye, he took a mouthful of the cup’s contents, realising as soon as it passed his lips that it was more than just water. There was a sweet aftertaste, followed almost at once by the easing of the more immediate aches and pains. Unable to hold back a sigh of relief, he settled a little further into the pillows, finishing the rest of the potion whilst watching his master rifle through the various tomes spread across his desk.

The Master Wizard was mumbling discontentedly to himself, a sure sign of his agitation. Cringing inwardly at the thought of the lecture that was surely brewing, he was almost tempted to pretend he was still drinking. Unfortunately, Merlin’s gaze landed on him again as soon as he’d taken the last sip, his master bustling back to the bedside to loom in judgement. 

Archie must have felt him tensing, for he glanced up at Merlin in irritation. “Must you?” 

Rolling his eyes, Merlin liberated the empty cup from Douxie’s lax fingers, setting it aside before pulling up a chair that made his presence a little less intimidating. Douxie caught himself fidgeting with his empty hands, a bad habit he really should have broken after all this time, and swiftly moved to stroke Archie’s back instead.

“So…” Best to get it over and done with. This wasn’t the Merlin who had learned to trust him, for better or for worse. “How much trouble am I in, then?”

“Trouble?” Merlin gave him an incredulous look. “You just spent two days on your deathbed, and another completely unresponsive as your own magic tried to piece you back together. Given the circumstances, I hardly think a lecture from me is going to help.”

“It might.” He probably shouldn’t have said that. Too late to take it back now. “You never know.”

“I will keep that in mind.” The words were so dry you could have used them as tinder. “How are you feeling? And don’t spin me the same story you just did your dragon friend. It may have been nine hundred years for you, but you are still as terrible a liar as you ever were.”

“Yes, well, some people might consider that a good thing.”

“Hisirdoux.”

He hadn’t realised until now how much he had missed his old master. They had had their disagreements, polarising views that had only grown worse after Merlin’s slumber and all those years on his own to fend for himself. The old wizard was still the closest thing he had to a father, and his absence had been felt in every successive catastrophe that had followed his death.

“I feel like I let you down.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he didn’t really have any choice from there but to continue. “You trusted me to protect Nari, but she’s the one who ended up saving me. I don’t even know if the rest of my friends made it out alive. Skrael and Bellroc have probably already opened the Seals in the future, and by the time I figure out how to get back there everyone I know will already be gone.” 

“Hmm.” That was all he got for a long moment, which was neither particularly helpful nor reassuring. “Given up already, have you?”

“What? No! I mean, of course I want to fix it, I just don’t see how.”

“Good.” Merlin nodded as though a decision had been reached. “Once we have exhausted all possible avenues of action and find we cannot undo this calamity of yours, then, and only then, will we talk about your failures. For now, I suggest you focus on regaining your strength.”

“Really?” Zoe would have slapped him upside the head if she’d found him fishing for criticism, but he was finding it hard to believe Merlin had nothing to say on the matter. Merlin always had something to say. “That’s it?”

“Hisirdoux...” Merlin sighed, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. It dawned on his apprentice that the Master Wizard actually looked tired. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that before, battles with Morgana and centuries of slumber notwithstanding. Before he could open his mouth to express his concern, Merlin had reached out in a rare display to lay a hand on his shoulder. “What has happened has happened. After what you went through to end up here, I hardly think there is anything I can add that you haven’t already figured out for yourself. The important thing is to decide what we are going to do next. For that, we need to get you back on your feet.”

The urge was there to close the distance between them. It had been a terrible last few days, on top of a terrible last few months, and the worn down, exhausted part of him just wanted to reclaim the comfort of that brief embrace they had shared whilst lingering on the edge of the afterlife. But this wasn’t that Merlin; No matter how much Douxie might have wished otherwise, his master was gone. He was just borrowing the body and the life of his younger self, ruining his own childhood in new and exciting ways. He really hoped he didn’t remember any of this later. At the rate he was going, he’d be lucky if he wasn’t a raving lunatic by the time he made it back to the future.

“Alright.” Realising Merlin was still awaiting a verbal response, he stuffed that urge and the distracting lump in his throat back down as far as they would go. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Rest.” Merlin squeezed his shoulder before moving his hand away. “Recover. The damage the Arcane Order caused has been halted in its tracks for now, but the cracks remain. You will need to be careful not to overexert yourself, and extremely cautious in how you use your magic. Morgana has already managed one miracle; I will not risk needing another.”

“Where is Morgana?” He was almost afraid to ask. In hindsight, telling the pair of them as much as he had about the future was probably not the wisest thing he could have done in his situation. He was humble enough to admit that. At the time — shock thrumming through his veins and fresh from the adrenaline of being torn apart and put back together — he hadn’t really been in a good frame of mind for rational decision making. That was no excuse for dropping the sorceress in the deep end, though. Not when he knew how Merlin could be. “I owe her a ‘thank you’ for saving my life.”

“She has not been cast into the dungeon, if that is what you are afraid of.” Merlin gave him a knowing look. “Seeing the future is a dangerous business, and anyone who acts on that knowledge without proper forethought is a fool. I will admit you caught me off guard — the time map has never so much as hinted at Morgana’s fate — but she has nothing to fear from me until she chooses to make herself a threat.”

“Good.” It was a weight off his shoulders, if only one of the smallest burdens resting there. “Because I have a feeling we are going to need her help.”

“As do I,” Merlin agreed. “We will discuss it further when I return. I have a meeting with Arthur I have already delayed too long. The servants will bring you up something to eat in a little while. Do not leave the tower without either myself or Morgana accompanying you. Do you understand?”

“But, Master—”

“Don’t, Hisirdoux.” It was not the customary response, stern and reinforced by the expression on the elder wizard’s face. He flinched slightly in spite of himself; Merlin was not yet done. “Arthur is still furious over what happened. It is best you stay well out of sight until things have calmed down. We also have no way of knowing if any of the Arcane Order accompanied you on your little trip through time. If that conglomeration of magic sent you back, they might have followed, and they will be hunting you. Stay in the tower. That is an order.”

He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement before making his exit, closing the door firmly behind him and plunging the room into a brief silence.

Archie broke it with a sigh. “I suspect he didn’t mean that to sound quite as angry as it did. You gave us all a fright.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” At least Archie had never minded being used as a living, breathing teddy bear. He let himself indulge in that weakness for a moment, closing his eyes as he held the familiar as tightly as was comfortable for them both. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

He was expecting the usual, quick response. What he got instead was a subdued, “Douxie…”

Surprised, he opened his eyes to meet his familiar’s gaze. He knew that look, and he wasn’t standing for it. “It wasn’t your fault, Arch.”

“I saw what happened.” Archie shook his head. “You were holding your own until I went and got careless. I’m your familiar, I’m supposed to help you, not nearly get you killed.”

“We’re supposed to help each other, Arch. If that’s the way we’re measuring it, I let you down first.”

“Douxie—”

“No. It wasn’t your fault. You’re not allowed to think that it is.”

The dragon huffed at him, not looking wholly convinced, but at least a little less guilty. That transformed into alarm a moment later when Douxie started peeling back the blanket.

“What are you doing?”

Freezing halfway through the motion, he blinked at his familiar. “Um... Getting out of bed?” 

“Merlin said—”

“Not to leave the tower. And I’m not. I just want to get up.”

“The last time you did that you destroyed Merlin’s stock of potions,” Archie moved aside to let him rise, but not without comment. “And the time before you nearly cracked your skull open whilst rearranging all the furniture in our room.”

He touched his head on instinct, frowning when his fingers brushed against the healing lump there. He had been hoping Archie was exaggerating. “Extenuating circumstances?”

“Such as your soul being scattered across time?” Archie dropped to the floor as Douxie sat up on his own, watching him warily as he rested a hand against the bedpost and eased himself slowly to his feet. “I suppose I can allow it. You’re going to have to come up with a better excuse than that for all the other messes you caused, though.”

“Fuzzbuckets. What else did I do?” His legs were slightly wobbly, but they held. He transferred his hand from the bed to the wall before cautiously taking a step, Archie shadowing him.

“I’m not sure you really want to know.”

He managed another three steps without falling on his face, though it was taking more effort than he felt it should. “That sounds bad.”

“Somewhat.” Satisfied he was steady enough to remain upright, Archie took to the air so he could open the door into the workshop, saving Douxie the effort of juggling himself and the latch. “At least you didn’t accidentally turn anyone into a toad, I suppose.”

Belatedly catching on to the teasing note in his familiar’s voice, Douxie cast the smug dragon a dark glare. “You’re an ass, Arch.”

Archie chuckled quietly, and Douxie finished his unsteady march across the bedchamber in silence, slipping into the workshop and sitting on the nearest pile of books he could find.

“I told you you should have stayed in bed,” Archie grumbled, settling at his feet. “It’s not like we have anywhere we need to be.”

That was true, technically. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that sitting still was a mistake. That he should be doing something, anything besides lazing about his master’s quarters all day. Unfortunately, Merlin wasn’t likely to set him loose when he couldn’t even make it across a room without feeling like he needed another nap, so whatever it was would have to wait for now.

Glancing about the workshop in an effort to look more alert than he really was, he froze as he caught sight of the worn lute propped in the corner. Archie followed his gaze, not needing an uttered word to dart across the room and retrieve it for him. His voice only wobbled slightly as he thanked his familiar, waiting for Archie to shift forms and settle into place on his lap before positioning the instrument and letting his fingers wander across the strings.

He was a little rusty; It was a long time since he’d owned a lute, more familiar now with the instruments of the 21st Century than the 12th, but the weight was comforting nonetheless, and it only took a few minutes for his fingers to remember the old patterns. The melody filled the otherwise quiet space of Merlin’s workshop, Archie adding a gentle rumble to what was a softer tune than he would normally have chosen. It seemed right for this moment; A much needed chance to pause and regain his breath before diving back into the fray.  

[letamreviews]

Top of 2019

With 56 films watched and 27 favorited in 2019, I composed a list of my top. By pure happenstance, the list is almost an exact third (18) of the total films watched. Be aware that I don’t have as much to say about some of these because I took no notes after.

Because I’d be biased towards them, I don’t count the National Theatre Live plays.

Since the list is likely to be altered between now and the end of February (to accommodate for films missed), check the Lettboxd list later on to see an up to date listing, but be aware that it intentionally lacks the details provided here.

EDIT (01/04/20):

Woke up this morning religiously re-reading this and caught some grammar errors. It’s almost like staying consistently well-rested is actually beneficial. While I’m at it, Blind Rating (BR) is how worthwhile the film is watching “blind” (or knowing nothing). The scale is 1 (worth it) to 5 (you must). ‘Eh is essentially a 0.5.

1. Midsommar (USA)

Saw the original and Director's Cut in theatres and discussed them with a group immediately after both times. I’m somewhere between really liking it and loving it. Still unsure. Hell of an experience with a lot to notice, debate over, and pick up on during the second viewing. Don’t even get me started on the Christian/Dani matter. Dat tension, tho. Blind Rating: 4/5

2. Us (USA)

Saw in theatres and discussed with a group immediately after. I’m digging the allegories and the way (I think) it reflects on society. Dem reveals, tho. Blind Rating: 4/5

3. Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am (USA)

Saw in theatres and discussed with a group immediately after. Two things probably play a huge hand in this not being atleast 3 spots lower: my demographic and the fact that her older self constantly reminded me of my grandma and a certain middle school teacher. Regardless, it’s an entertaining, interesting, and lively documentary with its many personalities on-screen all giving their take on matters along with Ms. Morrison herself. Glad they managed to finish and release this 1.25 months before her death. Blind Rating: 0/5

4. When They See Us (USA)

Saw on Netflix over the course of a month. Y’all, this one hurt too much to watch again any time soon. Admittedly, part of the reason why it hit me so hard is because I could easily have been one of them. Dat ending, tho. Don’t forget to watch the Oprah followup When They See Us Now after. You’ll ball (again). Blind Rating: 3/5

5. Parasite (South Korea)

Saw an advance screening in theatres and watched a live post-film Q&A. I really like it. This hit me in such a way that it’s one of three films I’m writing an essay on. Planing on watching it a second time soon so I can finish with a sense of accuracy. This isn’t one that I would recommend looking at images for. There are some that will spoil the experience of the second half. Seriously, block the “Parasite” tag from your feed if you can. Blind Rating: 3/5

6. Luce (USA)

Saw in theatres and discussed with a group immediately after. This was is so~ good as a thriller and especially in regards to being Black in America. Wanted to watch it a second time but never managed to squeeze it in before it left theatres. Dem performances, tho. Dat tension, yo. Dat score, bro. Blind Rating: 1/5

7. Them That Follow (USA)

Saw in theatres and discussed with someone immediately after. I love it. Blind Rating: 1/5

A drama influenced thriller about a religious and somewhat self-isolating community that's effectively blanketing a realistic romance. (snip) —Letterboxd review

8. The Souvenir (United Kingdom)

Saw in theatres (partially because so many movie peeps were shitting on it). I love it, but I didn't fucking love it. Was tempted to see it again, but didn’t get the chance. Dat ending, tho. While it was a movie peep telling me the whole plot that caused me to gain so much interest in it [Cabin in the Woods (2011) all over again, amiright?], I must say that the less you know the better. It’ll make for... a more immersive experience. Blind Rating: 3/5

9. After the Wedding (USA)

Saw in theatres and discussed with a group immediately after. I thought I really liked it, but I love it. This was a trip down unexpected lane, le'me tell ya. The trailer is a spoilerful lie, but the Landmark's description is very accurate. People's experiences will have a heavy hand in how they react to it and feel about certain characters. The way they made this feel like a constant thriller was excellently done. Dat cinematography, tho. Go in knowing nothing more than what the previous link provides. Blind Rating: 1/5

10. Joker (USA)

Saw in theatres and discussed with a group immediately after. I really like it. Blind Rating: 1/5

(slight spoilers)

This was difficult to watch at times, but hella captivating throughout. Arthur's reasoning is believable, his sanity is questionable, and his life is indeed one hell of a joke. Like watching an extreme example of what happens when people on the lower end lose access to social programs. This can very easily be taken as a commentary on mental illness kept unchecked. More than that, it's a story about a guy who accepts his "crazy" and transcends poverty, circumstance, and societal bullshit... at everyone else's expense. (snip) —Letterboxd review

11. Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool (USA)

Saw in theatres and discussed with a group immediately after. I really like it. Captivating documentary in a very similar style to Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am, but with Mr. Davis never joining the “talking heads” (as people like to call it) and instead being heard as a constant narrator of his own biography. Regardless of how I feel about him on a personal level, this shit was a great watch and the ending hit hard. Still need to get his autobiography, though. There’s a nostalgic factor for me here since I was partially reminded of my grandpa while watching it. Blind Rating: 'eh

12. Queen & Slim (USA)

Saw in theatres and discussed with someone immediately after. Fuck yeah, I enjoyed this one. Dat soundtrack and cinematography, bruh? 👌🏿 The throwback soundtrack, main characters’ racial group, and fact that they went to New Orleans definitely play a hand in why this one’s not atleast 1 spot lower. Blind Rating: 1/5

13. Dwelling in the Fuchon Mountains (China)

Saw in theatres during festival and attended discussion days later. I really like it. Was long, but in a good way. Similar to Ash is Purest White (2018) in that I kept thinking "please end here," but would be glad it didn't later. It's beautifully slothy and has absurdly long tracking shots. The cinematography during walking conversations is notable. Dat trick, tho. Blind Rating: 'eh

14. A Girl Missing (Japan)

Saw in theatres during festival and discussed with a group immediately after. Bruh~, this is a hell of a personal trial. Didn’t expect it to go the places it did. Blind Rating: 1/5

15. Dutch Angle: Chas Gerretsen & Apocalypse Now (Netherlands)

Saw on MUBI on phone. I love it. This goes over his childhood (for 8 minutes), career paths, photography of 9/11/1973's Chilean coup d'etat, the 6 months he spent on-set photographing Apocalypse Now (1979), and him as a person. What I didn’t expect was how much he would get into the details of things happening during that film’s development. Along with those details are interesting photos presented excellently in a way that’s reminiscent of manga at times. I like the way the photos take center point and are treated like the foreground. It’s like the director and editor forced themselves to remain aware that the documentary was showcasing 15% of the total slides housed in the Nederlands Fotomuseum’s archives in Rotterdam and that most of his Apocalypse Now photos were never seen. Dat score, tho [Ex Machina (2014) vibes]. Blind Rating: 0/5

BTW, it had its official (Dutch national) release by EYE Filmmuseum on 12/19/19 in the Netherlands, so maybe it’ll come to the USA soon. 🤷🏿‍♂️ Forgot to mention it’s been added as a special feature to the 40th anniversary 4K blu-ray disc of Apocalypse Now: Final Cut (2019).

16. Receiver (Ireland)

Saw on MUBI on phone. I really like it. A very interesting short film in three odd segments. First was disturbing; second was about activism, protests, and politics; third was about the person I assume the film was made for. All compose what I took as a film about the importance of having reliable sound and hearing. Needs to be watched alone with good sound quality (for immersion). Blind Rating: 'eh

17. Bacurau (Brazil)

Saw in theatres during festival. I really like it. This was some Most Dangerous Game shit with a hell of an ending. The whole game is an allegory of civilized people's obsession with hunting wild animals for "sport". I really like the portrayal of history here and enjoyed the racial matters it lays bare. I can only imagine someone watching this without knowing a thing. Kinda wish I didn’t even read the description beforehand. Digging the soundtrack. Blind Rating: 1/5

18. Little Women (USA)

Saw on 35mm and discussed with others on separate occasions. I really like it. This was just warming and sad. I felt for the main characters and actually felt satisfied with the way it ended. Considering the type of film, there are handful of typical things for me to complain about. That being said, the movie earned its stars back. I mean, did you not see their attic performances? Shit was dope. Blind Rating: ‘eh

[hekate1308]

Owe No One Anything, Chapter Ten

Chapter Nine

Crowley pulled back. Aziraphale resisted the urge to remove his sunglasses just to check, just to make sure…

He spared him the trouble by taking them off himself, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Yes. This was his beloved serpent, and no one else.

“Alright then” Crowley said with one of those rare, utterly delighted smiles Aziraphale had come to treasure over the last year, “Time to fix this. I think we could start with our bedroom and –“

“Crowley wait” he said when he realized the demon had already raised his hand to make it all happen with a snap.

“What?”

“We need to think. The angels will eventually come check up on me if I don’t go back to Heaven – and I have no intention of doing so.”

“But…” Crowley trailed off, then looked away. “I hate seeing you like this” he finally confided in him, “Because I know you don’t like it, either.”

“I know, dear, I know. But first we have to deal with this, then we can change It all back, yes?”

“Alright” he conceded. “Any idea how to proceed?”

Aziraphale looked at him. “I think you might actually be able to answer that question…”

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

Half an hour later, Aziraphale and Crowley were talking to Anathema and Newt on the phone. That friendly witch was ecstatic to hear that everything was fine again. “Crowley almost went mad without you. I’m so glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back” he said, taking Crowley’s hand; at Anathema’s words, he’d mumbled something and put his sunglasses back on. “And I don’t plan on leaving ever again.”

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

Half an hour after that, they had hatched a plan. Granted, just thinking of pretending that Crowley had drunk the holy water made Aziraphale feel slightly ill, but it was the best thing they could come up with. Plus, Crowley now knew exactly what it was supposed to look like after having used his emergency ration on Ligur.

“There” he said, having used a miracle to recreate it, “That’s what I would have looked like as a puddle of goo”.

“Please don’t make a joke out of it” Aziraphale pleaded.

“Angel, you know that’s not me. I’m here.”

And if not for Aziraphale momentarily breaking through the mind control, he might not have been.

“Hey”. Crowley kissed his hand. “I am here, and like you said – neither of us is going anywhere. Now I just have to hide…”

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

Aziraphale and Crowley waited.

They didn’t have to wait for long. Angels, while not curious by nature (just ask Crowley – they were not supposed to be curious) would hardly wait to come and see if the enemy had been destroyed.

And so, Aziraphale was pretending that he was writing a report on the computer when the door opened and Gabriel strolled in “Aziraphale!”

“Sir” he replied, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. Never again after this moment. Never again.

“Well well well, and how did it –“

Gabriel saw the fake-demon on the floor and his face broke into a smile that was terrible to behold. Aziraphale was taken aback by his own reaction. He wanted to make that smile go away with his own two hands, he wanted to pummel right into it, he wanted to watch Gabriel bleed –

“I have to say, you did an excellent job, Aziraphale. Any problems?”

“No, sir. I did as you told me – pretended to like the serpent in order to lure him in.” He did his best to mimic the flat, even tome he’d used when he’d still been under Heaven’s control.

“Like I said, excellent. Now” Gabriel confided in him, “We should repair to Heaven. There is a procedure that needs to be done –“

And only then did Aziraphale understand the cruelty of Heaven’s revenge on him.

Not only had they planned on making him kill Crowley – no, they would then have proceeded to return him to his old self and see what he had done.

It was so monstrous he could hardly comprehend it.

“A procedure, sir?”

“Yes. Just a small one. Just making sure everything’s fine, you see –“

“Oh everything is fine, we made sure of that. And just so you, there will be no procedure on my angel. Never again.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened and he turned around, but before he could react, Crowley had pinned him against the next wall and was snarling into his face. “You thought you could lock him inside his own head and get rid off me. Well, you were wrong, and I am going to prove it by tearing you apart limb from limb, see how you like it when you get sent back discorporated –“

“Crowley dear”.

“What?” he turned to look at Aziraphale. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to see me do it, angel.”

“I can’t” he answered simply, “but this is not the way.” He quickly snapped his fingers, freezing Gabriel into place so he couldn’t do anything while at the same time being able to see and hear. “Now it’s high time you understand something” Aziraphale told him. “I am going to unfreeze you, and you are going to leave, and Heaven will never try and moved against either one of us. Remember that we managed to deal with your mind control – we’ll handle ever tying else thrown our way too, and next time I won’t stop Crowley from doing what he wants. Is that clear?”

He saw comprehension in his eyes and snapped his fingers again.

Gabriel opened his mouth.

“If I were you” Crowley hissed, “I would do exactly what he told me to.”

Gabriel stared at him.

He was gone the next moment.

“So” Aziraphale sighed, “That should be dealt with,”

“Let’s hope so. I’d hate to ruin this suit” Crowley answered. “That reminds me. Now, about fixing everything…”

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

An hour later, they were sitting in the restored bookshop, Aziraphale looking like the day they had thwarted the Apocalypse and every other one from that moment on, and Crowley finally felt like he could breathe again. He slumped against him.

“Is everything alright, dear?”

He suppressed a laugh that might have turned into a sob. “Yes. Now it is.”

“Oh Crowley, I can’t imagine –“

“I wasn’t locked into my own mind by those I used to consider my brethren. I’m fine.”

“Still…” Aziraphale took his hand. “I at least knew you were coming for me. You had no idea of knowing whether I was truly gone or not.”

“You weren’t. That’s the important thing”. Crowley shuddered. “Never let me see you that thin again, though.”

When he raised his head, Aziraphale was smiling at him. “Let me tempt you to dinner then, so you can make sure that I’m eating?”

“Nothing to make sure about that” he muttered, but it was clear he didn’t mean it. He got up and offered him his hand. “Let’s go then, angel. I am rather sure a table just got free at the Ritz.”

Aziraphale laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound Crowley had ever heard.

Six months later

Aziraphale, as usual these days, woke up with Crowley pressed against him. He considered getting up and making them tea – having decided quite some time ago that the pleasure of the task more than made up for the fact that he had to move in order to accomplish it – but Crowley didn’t like waking up alone, not after what they had been through.

In fact, the first time after Aziraphale had been returned to himself and left the bed before the demon, he’d proceeded to all but throw himself out of bed to check up on him when he’d realized he was alone in the room.

And so Aziraphale simply miracle a cup and Love In The Time Of Cholera into his hands and spent the rest of the morning getting lost in the familiar words of Marquez while occasionally running his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

Eventually, he heard, “Morning, ‘ngel.”

“It’s hardly morning anymore. Close to noon, I’d say.”

“Oh” Crowley stretched. “You could have woken me up.”

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

Crowley shrugged. “No reason to stay next to me while I’m asleep either. I know you like puttering about your shop.”

“It’s alright, dear” he said gently. “You prefer it when I’m there when you wake up, don’t you?”

Crowley looked away. “Yes, but it’s high time I get over my hang-up.”

“I wouldn’t call it a hang-up.”

“You wouldn’t, would you.” Crowley kissed him. “Anyway, breakfast?”

“We can do lunch, too”.

“Brunch, then” Crowley decided and got out of bed.

In truth, Aziraphale was starting to worry a little. Crowley barely left his side, these days. And he knew that the demon loved taking joyrides in his Bentley and spending some time alone now and then – he just didn’t anymore because, deep down, he was still scared that Heaven would move against them once more.

It wasn’t that Aziraphale never contemplated the possibility – he’d just decided that there was no point in worrying since they didn’t know what would happen.

Crowley, of course, was different.

Still – nothing he could do about it at this very moment; and so he got out if bed and began going through all the small restaurants nearby he knew served delicious brunches.

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

“Anathema and Newt are coming up to London next week” he informed Crowley over brunch after having checked a text he’d just received.

“Good.”

That too – just another symptom of Crowley’s anxiety for his well-being ; Aziraphale knew for a fact that he always asked Anathema to check his aura, simply because Newt had innocently mentioned the fact.

“Crowley” he began after thinking about it for a man, carefully choosing his words, “You know we are safe, don’t you? We dealt with Gabriel –“

“And you are telling me they are not ruthless enough to try again?” he challenged him.

Aziraphale was quiet because they both know he couldn’t.

“That’s what I mean. And there’s no place for us to hide. No mater where we go, they’ll always be able to find us. You know that. So excuse me if I am being a little jumpy –“

“You’re more than a little –“

“Just because I don’t want to see you attack me again with a bloody sword –“ And Crowley got up and stormed out.

“Don’t worry love” Rosalind, the middle age waitress told Aziraphale, who could only watch him run away, “Your young man will always come back to you.”

He knew that – but how was he supposed to deal with Crowley’s fear that might not be the case after all?

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

The Bentley wasn’t in its usual spot when he returned to the bookshop, so he concluded that Crowley had gone on a drive to calm down. He hoped it would work.

He tried to read, but his thoughts kept drifting to wherever Crowley happened to be.

Thankfully, he returned soon.

Aziraphale didn’t look up from his book immediately, wondering how to properly greet and reassure him.

“Sorry, angel” he said quietly.

Aziraphale quickly took his glasses off and got up. “No, no. I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m sorry.”

Crowley smiled a half-smile. “Truce?”

“More than that” Aziraphale promised, drawing him close.

Suddenly, the bookshop was filled with bright light; naturally, Crowley reacted b throwing himself in front of Aziraphale, who in his turn tried to get him to take cover.

“Principality Aziraphale” a voice he remembered well declared.

“It’s the Metatron” he told Crowley.

“What, God’s press secretary?”

The Metatron ignored them and continued, “There is a message the Almighty wants you to receive.”

“Yes?”

“She herself ahs declared that no further attempt against you or the demon Crowley shall be made by any angel in existence.”

Crowley actually slumped against him in relief.

“Thank you, that’s very –“

But the light was gone again.

“See, dear?” he asked, reaching up and running his fingers through Crowley’s hair, “Told you we’d be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, you did, angel.” Crowley kissed him. “Seems like we’re safe after all.”

Aziraphale looked at him with sparkling eyes. “Does that mean we can talk about the cottage?”

Crowley drew him into his arms. “Any time you want, angel.”

[chaos-makes-themuse]

Fire

  Catarina Bruckman didn’t live.  Living is when you laugh and love and smile and feel.  Catarina hadn't done any of those things for years.  She lived in an old dilapidated factory in the middle of the woods in the far Northern reaches of Norway, where it was far to cold for any sane human to live full time.  

  She had no one.  Just the clothes on her back and herself, and the food she would hunt with her bow and arrow.  The clothes, in question, were just a long sleeved black shirt that dipped down low in the back, showing off her shoulder blades and back, and a pair of leather black leggings, and black boots.  She had made a coat out of leathers and furs that she wore most of her time, with the rim of the hood and rims of the sleeves being thick fur and the rest of the jacket being leather.  

  But she didn’t live.  The last time she lived was when her and her family went to the town fair and danced and sang and laughed.  The town was a town of mutants that had taken shelter in the mountains of central Norway to escape the humans that sought to kill them.  But the fair was beautiful, and the town square was decorated with brightly colored ribbons and people selling baked goods and small hand-carved decorations, and people ran around in masks bringing joy to the children.  

  But all of that ended when the humans came and burned the village to the ground, killing everyone as the buildings and people went up in flames, and the humans, who the mutants in the village posed no threat too, stood by and laughed and watched it all happen.

  Catarina only survived because of her powers, that encased her in a cocoon of ice so thick and so cold that the flames went out immediately anytime they got near it.  In the cocoon, her skin had started to freeze over in a layer of ice, and her hair was covered in a layer of frost.  Her eyes turned completely white, and her skin was cold to the touch.  But it didn’ t bother her.  For as long as she could remember the cold had never bothered nor affected her.

  When the flames died down, and the danger of burning alive was gone, she had let the cocoon slide away into snow, and she was met with the ashes of her home and family.  She discovered that the humans had already left, walking down the trail on the mountainside to their own village, where they would be greeted with parties and cheers and smiles and congratulations, all because they had slaughtered an entire village full of innocent men, women, and children, including her own parents, little sister, and baby brother, who was only a couple of days old, and whos screams and cries she could hear from inside the ice.

  So she killed the men.  She followed them down the mountainside trail, and when she found them, she froze them.  Turned them into statues of ice that marked a horrible day. 

  And then she ran.  She ran through the woods, and had wound up in Northern Norway in a factory, where she had been living for a year away from the humans.  But ever since then her powers were muted.  The most she could do was cause a flurry of snow, maybe freeze a puddle if she was lucky.  But she knew it had something to do with the death.

  And today was like every other.  She climbed a tree with her bow and arrow and watched and waited an animal that she could eat.  She was hoping for a deer, or even a rabbit or squirrel, but she knew realistically that the only thing she would get was a small bird.  

  She silenced her breathing, slow and steady and quiet, and shifted ever so slightly in the tree so that she could see through the pine needles.  She had her bow in her left and, and an arrow ready in the other.  She was squatted, ready to load the bow and fire at the first sign of movement.  The sun overhead was muted by the clouds, and the wind picked up slightly.  

  Her eyes scanned the ground and branches of nearby trees, all senses alert for something to happen.  

  And then something did.  The second she heard the other-worldly noise, her whole body had shifted and faced the direction it was coming from and the arrow was in the bow and the string was taut, ready to fire, and all of this happened in a half a second.

Her eyes scanned through the pine needles, watching the ground as a pinkish-purple sphere appeared out of nowhere, and then one side of it seemingly peeled away and a group of people stepped out.

  Not people, she corrected herself, Mutants.

  The first man had blue skin and strange markings engraved in his face, and wore strange armor that covered almost his whole body.  The second man wore a long cape and armor.  The rest of them were younger than the first two, and one was a boy with metal wings and tattoos on his face.  There was a woman with black hair and purple highlights, and wore some type of suit and had a sword sheathed at her waist.  The last one was a pretty girl with white hair and tan skin.  

  “Where is she?” The boy with the wings asked.  They all had their arms wrapped around themselves, except for the blue skinned man.

“She’s here.” The blue skinned man said. “She’s watching. Waiting.”

Catarina stayed silent. Obviously they were here for her, but she didn’t know why.

“Come out, my child.” The man called. “And we will help you get revenge on the people who ruined your life.”

That struck Catarina’s interest.

“What do you want?” She called down. She watched as the groups head snapped around, trying to figure out where her voice had come from. But that was one of her other talents, she could throw her voice and make it sound like she was in one place when she was somewhere else completely.

“Come out!” The man in the cape called. “We can help you!”

“Catarina,” The blue skinned man called, and she froze, wondering how he knew her name. “Come with us. I know what the humans did to you. We will burn their world, and from the ashes, build a better one!”

Catarina jumped down soundlessly from the tree, bow now on her back. “How could you possibly know what they did to me?” She demanded, and the groups head snapped towards her. “So what are you?” She started circling them, “A telepath? Or maybe you see memories? Or maybe,” She pauses in front of the blue skinned man. “Maybe you are a liar.”

The man smirked. “I am many things, but a liar is not one of them. I promise you that.”

“So what is it?” She asked again. “What do you want?”

“I want you.” He said. “And I can give you what you want most.”

Catarina scoffed, and began to walk away, towards her factory. Clearly these people were playing some kind of sick joke on her. “Unless you can bring the dead back to the land of the living, theres nothing you can offer me that I want.”

“I said the same thing.” She heard the boy with the wings say, and she paused. Her breath came out in slow, even waves.

“I can give you revenge.” The man said.

And the next thing she knew, there was a strange, pinkish purpleish bubble in front of her, and she spun around to face the group, and saw they were all in some sort of bubble.

“What is this?” She growled. Subconsciously, her hand itched towards her shoulder, ready to whip her bow off her back and kill all of them.

Before she could do anything, the bubble dissapitated, and they were in a completely different place.

Catarina glared at all of them. “What did you do? Take me back.” Her voice was deadly. “If this is some kind of joke, I’m not-“. She cut herself off when she saw where they were. Around her, the blackened and burned frames of old houses and buildings laid around them.

She couldn’t say anything.

“The humans took everything from you. They came and invaded your village and burned it to the ground. They burned everyone else alive with no mercy. When they left to go back to their village, where they would be greeted with celebration and congratulations,” The man gestured with one arm, not turning around, to the beginning of the mountain path, where the frozen statues of the men were. “You froze them. Then you were forced to flee.”

Catarina froze. The only thing she could bring herself to say was, “And you can give me revenge?”

The man nodded. “We will destroy this world and make a better one. You will create a new one for me. This is why I need you. I have my horsemen,” He gestured to the people, “But I need someone who can create a new world.”

Catarina glared. “That’s a very tempting offer.” She said. “But unfortunately, my powers are gone. I’m no use to you-“

“Oh, but you are.” He stepped closer to her, “You just need a little . . . help.” Before she could do anything, his fingers made contact with her forehead, and her vision went white as she felt a rush of power and energy course through her body. It felt like pure adrenaline, powering her, calling out to her.

The power grew so much, it gathered underneath her skin, begging to be released. Her vision cleared, and she saw the man smirking and backing up away from her. The power pressed against her, trying to climb up out of her body, until she couldn’t take it anymore.

She cut her hands through the air, and all at once, everything stopped. The snow stopped falling. The wind seemed to come to a complete stop. She was breathing heavily. She brought her hands up slowly in front of her face, and saw the tips of her fingers coated in frost. She snapped her fingers, and the snow started falling again, like nothing had ever happened.

She looked up, and saw the man looking at her proud. “And that’s only the beginning of what you will do.” He said.

She smirked. She concentrated, and a large track of ice creeped up from behind her, stopping right next to her. The ice slowly reached skywards , stopping right next to her hip, then going to form into a deadly sharp dagger made of pure ice that glinted in the sunlight. Carefully, without looking away from the group, Catarina plucked the dagger from the ice, tilting it in the sunlight and smirking.

“So,” she said, “If we’re going to be working together, I’m gonna need your name.”

The blue skinned man smirked. “You may call me... Apocalypse.”

[x-negan]

Lost And Found - (Negan Fic) Chapter 2: Choices

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1

Summary: Elise has difficulty choosing between reality or a fantasy.

Word Count: 2,215

Warnings: Swearing (not a lot), Angst

Author’s Note: Hey guys, here is chapter 2! I had a bit of difficulty writing this one because I generally have trouble wording things and overthink every sentence. I only want to publish good chapters. Never will I half-ass anything, I want you guys to enjoy reading this! No Negan this chapter SORRY( this is a slowburn) but he is mentioned. He will finally make an appearance in Chapter 3 (not really a spoiler but y’know just a heads up). With that being said, ENJOY ! :)

No beta reader for this chapter, I apologize for any errors or mistakes!

“Wake up Elise, you’ll be late for your first day at work!” a familiar voice boomed.

I opened my eyes, only to shut them again once a ray of sunlight made contact with my yet unadjusted corneas. Rubbing them gently and hoisting my upper body from what felt like a bed, examining my surroundings.

“What’s going on?” I thought silently, jerking my head from left to right trying to comprehend what I was seeing, it was my old room. From my old house when life was simpler. Daylight shined in through a crack between the blue drapes, it’s tint of color coating the room.

I snapped my head to the right when I heard the door to the room open, jumping off the bed and grabbing the nearest object— a pen that previously laid on the nightstand.

But there she stood, confusion in her stare. “What are you doing sweetie? Stop foolin’ around and get ready. You fought real hard for this job so don’t go messing it up now ‘cause you want 5 more minutes of sleep,”

It was my mom.

My breath hitched, I stared her up and down in disbelief as the hand that held the pen fell to my side. My body which was tense relaxed at the sight of her.

How was she alive? How were we back here?

“Job?..”  I queried in nearly a whisper. It took me a second to remember  she was referring to the job I had landed as a secretary at a journalism company before the apocalypse. It was a small position but it promised a good pay. Her medical bills were increasing and her monthly salary wasn’t enough to pay them off.

“Earth to Elise? Honey what’s with you this morning?” She strolled to where I stood, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. My eyes met with hers, tears threatening to slip out, I must be dreaming.

“I thought you were dead..” My voice breaking as I admitted. Her lips formed a soft smile, her eyes giving the most tenderly look. “Only in that horrible world Eli, here I’m alive,”

“What do you mean ‘here’?”  Was I right about this being a dream?

She relieved her hold on my shoulders and sat down on the corner of the bed pulling on her right ear gently. This was enough to confirm my doubts, I knew her all too well. She had the habit of tugging on either one of her ears every time she felt the need to confess anything.

“You’re unconscious, you have been for two days. This is a dream but it doesn’t have to be sweetie..”

I gave her a look of uncertainty. She sighed softly before continuing, “If you decide not to wake up then you could live here with me forever. I know how much you missed me—missed this. Back when life was normal,”

It all sounded very tempting, to simply stay in this moment when everything was uncomplicated. To not wake up to a life where people killed each other for a can of food. She was alive here, and I was starting to doubt if I ever wanted to wake up.

I scratched at my scalp gently, staring at the ground running my digits through my hair as a way to get the lone strands that had fell to my face out of the way.

I was actually thinking about it.

“Those Hillsiders aren’t your family Elise, I am.” She said contemptuously. I looked up—her words unsettling me. The people at Hillside are very close to me, they had kept me safe and made what was a shitty life not so shitty.

She knew nothing about being alone for weeks, worrying about not living to see another day. Not sleeping due to fear of being attacked or killed. Life before Hillside was hell.

“They are my family, they’ve done so much for me when all you did was die.” I snapped, soon regretting my words. It’s true that I didn’t resent her for dying, but she hadn’t been there for me anymore.

Her kind eyes became a darker shade as she stood up from where she sat. In a blink of an eye I felt a cool breeze pass over my body, causing me to shiver.

We were no longer in the comfort of my bedroom—but in the woods.

“You were always ungrateful,” she hissed, each stride she took towards me was a time her expression grew sinister.

This wasn’t my mother anymore.

“That man should have never saved you. If he had left you to die we could have lived together forever, but it seems that I’ll have to do it myself.”

She raised both her hands and placed them on my chest, harshly shoving me backwards. I lifted my hands as they grazed hers, hoping she would hold on to me.

But there she stood at the very top from where I was moments ago, smiling as I continued to descend. The only thought running through my mind being,

“What man?”

My eyes fluttered open, I darted my vision all around the room in worry I was in yet another dream but to my relief I saw Jessie sat across from the bed I laid in. He had fallen asleep on a armchair. I wasn’t going to bother waking him, but the sound of Rosemarie walking in caused him to anyway.

She caught a glimpse of me and hurriedly made her way to the other side of the bed. “Oh my god Elise! You’re awake!” She nearly shouted in excitement.

Jessie stood up and rushed to my side as if he didn’t believe it to be true.

“Please don’t yell.. My brain can’t take shouting at the moment.” I swallowed hard, my throat painfully dry.

Jessie made note of my struggling to even swallow my own saliva and quickly picked up a glass of water from my nightstand.

I began to attempt sitting up, grunting with each movement I made, my body felt extremely sore and the pain in my left thigh wasn’t any less worse.

“Hold your horses cowgirl, you took a really big fall. Rest for now, okay?” Jessie said with firm persistence.

He lightly placed his free hand on my shoulder, ushering me to lay back down as if I was fragile glass waiting to break. I lifted my head slightly enough to take a few small sips as he tilted the glass cup downwards.

Resting my head back down on the pillow I sighed softly, exchanging glances with them as they both stood over me. Worry in their expressions.

The room was quiet, neither of them could form words. So I took this opportunity to ask the nagging question in my head,

“How did I fall?” I was definitely sore, but I couldn’t remember falling from anywhere or anything to make me feel such discomfort. My dream was only that— a dream.

A pretty shitty one too.

“You fell off a cliff Elise! Broke 3 ribs, have multiple deep scratches on your skin and even had a branch that skewered your leg!” I blinked a few times, trying to process the words that left Rose’s mouth.

“Thank goodness you’ll still be able to walk, Lauren says no major arteries were hit.” Rose assured with a bright grin.

Lauren was the only one at Hillside with knowledge about medicine, she was practically our doctor. Whenever anyone became sick or hurt, she was the one to nurse them back to health.

From what she’s told us, she wasn’t a surgeon before the apocalypse, simply a nurse in training. She doesn’t even know how to handle a surgical knife, so now I’m left to hope she knew what she was doing with my leg.

Though no matter how much I tried to remember, my mind continued drawing blanks. I apparently nearly died yet here I was with not even a clue as to what went down.

My lips parted a bit, a breath escaping. I lifted my right hand to massage my aching temples. Rose’s yelling—which I told her to keep at a minimum had managed to bring on a migraine. Only to feel a tug before my hand even reached the side of my head, I was attached to an IV drip. I didn’t even know Hillside was equipped with these until now.

“Who found me?” I asked, I wish I could remember what happened that day. What exactly went wrong, and who saved my life.

Rosemarie and Jessie both looked up to each other on cue, as if agreeing on something in silence for a drawn out second before directing their gazes back down at me,

“I did silly.” Jessie teased softly, something in eyes contradicting what he said.

Who was I to doubt my best friend? Of course he was the one to save me, he was always by my side. But there was a small feeling inside my chest, a small part of me didn’t believe him. It felt like someone else had the person who found me nearly dead,  but I couldn’t recall and it was of no use to think back on it.

“Thanks for saving my life, greatest friend award goes to you.” The three of us chuckled, my effort at a joke paying off. I winced slightly in between laughs, my ribs were hurting like hell and laughing only added onto the botheration.

If I hadn’t woken up from the dream it would have been a selfish move on my part. I have two friends that stand by me and even care for me— had Hillside. A near death experience didn’t make me realize it, it solidified it.

The handle of the room’s door clicked, slowly turning as the door gradually opened, Giana entered holding a bowl of what I guessed was soup. She glanced over to me, a smile shaping her lips. “A little birdie told me you were finally awake.. Or maybe someone heard Rose’s shouts and relayed it back to me,” She joked approaching the side of the bed where Rose stood giggling to herself.

“I brought you something to eat, you must be hungry.” And I was, I had been out cold for 2 days with nothing in my stomach, I was bound to be starving.

I eagerly nodded in response, the soup’s aroma invading my nostrils.

“Uhm could you two leave Elise and I alone for a bit? I need to fill her in about what happened,” Jessie and Rose’s expressions had gone from joyful to grim.

As requested by Giana, both of them left the room, leaving us alone.

She placed the bowl on the nightstand, the bed dipping as she sat down near my legs. I was becoming worried, Giana was always cheerful; normally never serious. As I was seeing her manners shift, I knew something grave had occurred.

“While you were unconscious, a group of survivors came to the community threatening to kill us if we didn’t agree to their proposition. They want half of our supplies.” With my eyes closed, I took a deep breath, internally waiting for Giana to continue.

“I agreed to it, Elise.” She said in a dry tone. I popped my eyes open, my glare showing I was more upset than she anticipated.

We barely had any supplies of our own yet here she was, telling me she was ready to hand half of it over to a group of assholes.

“Why would you do that? We don’t even have much to give!” I argued.

Giana exhaled a small breath as she held onto the bridge of her nose.

“You’re setting us up to starve and d—” I was cut off when she stood from the bed and took my left arm into her grasp. I winced at the sudden harsh gesture, my eyes darting up at hers.

This wasn’t like Giana, but I could tell the stress from knowing herself already that the community was at the brink of starvation and then having to give supplies that her own people desperately needed to others, was building up.

“I did this so that we wouldn’t die! They said they’d kill every single one of us if we didn’t comply!” She objected in a panicky tone. She realized a few seconds later how rough her hold on my arm was before she released her grip.

Her appearance became gentle as she went on,

“It was the same day you were found and brought back. The leader of the group was the one to bring it up. I couldn’t refuse him, Elise.” Her eyes closed as she softly caressed the section of my arm she had so bitterly grabbed.

I didn’t doubt a bruise would form soon, it would be one out of the many that now covered my body like a canvas.

“What was his name?” I grew curious of the man who was bound to ruin the lives of those who lived in Hillside— my family.

Her boots tapped the floor as she walked towards the door, turning to face me once again.

Her voice nearly a whisper,

“Negan” she answered.

She closed the door on the way out, leaving me to repeat the name over and over again in my head.    

That’s chapter 2 folks! I hope you enjoyed reading it and are still interested! It means a lot to receive any kind of feedback or support. 

I’m working on chapter 3 so it’ll be released either next week or the week after that.

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