#The Polish Nightingale

[opera-ghosts]

174 years ago March 11.1851 Verdi's „Rigoletto“ premiered in Venice. At The Metropolitan Opera this Opera was played in the first Season 1883. Here you see the original castlist from the second performance in the MET 1883. 

[tcustodisart]

I'll be living my own Stardew Valley life until Sunday, sayonara you weeaboo shits (jk I love u guys).

[daughterthethird]

It’s spooky month… you know what that means :)

[dabblesco]

Florence Nightingale

Dear old Flo (as she would have hated to be called) wasn’t necessarily someone you would want to sit beside at a formal dinner. You’d be trapped forever next to her as she waxed poetic or fierce about the need for nursing to be valued, for health care to be less custodial and more caring. I don’t think she had much of a sense of humour about it, either. Of course, it was the 1800’s, and maybe…

[nightingale-prompts]

Alfred's Apprentice- DCxDP prompt

Alfred isn't immortal and he can admit he's not getting any younger. It also wouldn't hurt to have someone else to take on the workload since the family isn't going to get smaller.

Instead of finding help, help found him.

"Call me Nightingale. Danny Nightingale." The young man said presenting a black card with perfect white ink calligraphy.

Danny was about Tim's age. He had already graduated early according to records. His record was perfect in all respects. Smart. An intellect comparable to geniuses in respects to science which had more uses in the households then you'd expect. He was very precise when it came to cleaning. Every surface needed to be cleaned regardless of how much use they see. In fact Danny would carry a blacklight and wipe anything with fingerprints. His almost supernatural strength allowed him to move furniture for easier cleaning.

Alfred had suspicions that Danny had a history in crime scene cleaning. He chose not to say anything.

The kid was a damn good cook as well. Though his tea isn't up to Alfred's standards. At least heist his aim is good.

Bruce at least didn't adopt this one and leave Alfred to take care of him.

"Nightingale, did you clean the ceiling?" Alfred asked.

"Yes, sir. Please leave any hard to reach places to me. The chandelier is especially finicky to polish and you have better things to tend to." He said bowing at the waist.

Bruce was still uncomfortable asking Danny for anything and let Alfred instruct him on what he should do. He has suspicions that Danny was being trained to tend to Damian should something happen to him. Alfred would come up with a contingency like that.

The others took to Danny as best as they could. Most treated him like a brother with the exception of Tim and Damian. Tim couldn't really see past them being the same age but Danny was able to understand his babble about theories and help him. Thought Danny was also to wait out Tim's insomnia easily and take him to bed.

Damian had no issue seeing Danny as a servant which was exactly what he wanted. Dick would criticize him about being rude but Danny would assure him that Damian was not being rude, he was just giving Danny a job to do.

It was during an outing with Damian that Danny was put to the test. They were just visiting an art supply store. Danny carried Damian's bags to the car and put them away in the trunk. As he opened the door to let Damian in a group of kidnappers tried to steal the young master.

It was likely a crime of opportunity as they saw a rich boy and his butler out and about.

As the group tried to drive off with Damian in tow, all the tires on their van blew out as Danny had already thrown down caltrops under the ties.

Gracefully and with the dignity expected of a bulter he pried the rough hands off of Damian, breaking every finger as he went.

"Please refrain from such brutish actions. I'd usually be unwilling to let this go but you must be very desperate to commit a crime so blatantly as to steal a child. I'm in a rush to get the young master home for dinner. So remain here, the police will be here in a few moments."

With that Danny escorted Damian into the car and drove them home.

[alintalzin]

I've read six books on this list. They're fantastic.

Gothic Fantasy/Folk Horror Books: 10 Recommendations

Uprooted by Naomi Novik

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid

The Wolf and the Woodsman by Ava Reid

A Far Wilder Magic by Allison Saft

Down Comes the Night by Allison Saft

Not Good For Maidens by Tori Bovalino

The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden

Nettle & Bone by T. Kingfisher

The Gathering Dark: An Anthology of Folk Horror by Tori Bovalino and others

[sinful-lanterns]

TWICE THE SPICE

synopsis: threesome pairs with the ptn women

featuring: zoya, bai yi, rahu, shalom, langley, nightingale, chelsea, eirene

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, thre.esomes, rough s.ex, double pen.etration, an.al, transfem characters (zoya, bai yi, rahu), exhibition, voy.eurism, fing.ering, pet play, pet names, cunnilingus, face sitting, marking, strap ons, mentions of a sugar mommy and sugar baby relationship, not proofread.

art credits: what does the fox say

ZOYA AND BAI YI

“Well damn, I didn’t know pretty girls could take a cock this well…”

Bai Yi laughed rather mockingly before thrusting her cock forward to meet with the rapid thrusts of Zoya pounding you from behind. Your body was practically molded and smothered between the two Syndican gangsters, as them being gangsters, made a bet to see who could get their cock in deepest within your body. Bai Yi won the coin toss, so she was currently stuffed four to five ish inches into your pussy, while Zoya got your tight ass. The Legion leader practically grunting with each shallow thrust, as you were squeezing around her length so damn tightly.

“F-Fuck…hah…did’ya really win the coin toss, Bai Yi? Cuz’ her ass is squeezing me so fucking good…gnngh…”

Gripping your hips with a force that felt restrained —mostly because it was two S-Class sinners that were currently fucking you— your legs were suddenly lifted off the floor thanks to the combined strength of Zoya and Bai Yi pulling you up to meet their lips. Sloppy tongues and slippery trails of saliva coating your lips and neck like you were a plate that needed to be polished, as Bai Yi slipped her tongue into your mouth, and Zoya sucked a hickey on your throat.

“Mmpf…something about you just doesn’t quite hit the same as Syndicate escorts…” Bai Yi mumbles, sliding her length back out, only to slam it back in again to watch you lurch. “Maybe it’s that sweet, adorable innocence you don’t see everyday in a wasteland such as Syndicate…or…”

“Oh, shut up.” Zoya groans, pulling your head back from behind and pushing her hips even deeper, “Just stop talking, I can’t hear her moans…”

“Tch, such a hard ass…” Bai Yi giggles, but not before pulling your thighs over to wrap around her waist. “Here, this should be a comfortable position for ya, hm? Pretty girls like you like to be comfortable while they get spoiled.” 

Another heavy thrust from behind pulls a rather squeamish cry from you, Zoya’s length hitting even further than before, despite how much resistance your body was giving her as she was plowing you from behind. Bai Yi notices this of course, teal eyes glimmering with that spark of possessiveness that sinners seemed to contain, as she suddenly squeezed your thighs tighter and began thrusting at a pace that felt inhumane. 

“Oh, does the leader of the Legion think she can out-fuck me? The fastest woman in all of Syndicate?” She lets out a scoff and smirks rather cruelly. “Not a chance, ya giant meathead.”

All of a sudden, you felt Bai Yi activate her sinner ability for a brief moment, and soon she was hammering her length into you and pulling cries out like it was second nature. 

“Hah…Hah…f-fuck…beat that you meathead.” Bai Yi teased, face flushed with ecstasy as the speed she was going at had also increased the pleasure for her. Zoya was not having it, as she scowled at the way you were falling limp onto Bai Yi, causing her to let out a possessive growl. 

“You’re going to wish you never did that…” with a hefty push, Zoya practically shoved her entire cock in the rest of the way, causing you to scream rather pleasurably from the way these two sinners were fucking you to the brim. You’ve never felt so full in your life, yet it seemed like Zoya and Bai Yi weren’t stopping anytime soon.

Well, perhaps you don’t want them to stop anytime soon, but that’s okay. Zoya and Bai Yi have the stamina to keep up for hours. And they made sure you knew that by keeping you in their grips till you were unable to stand.

RAHU AND SHALOM

“Oh Rahu, you’re making such a mess on the floor. That isn’t proper for our guest…”

Rahu groaned as she was currently kneeling on the floor of Shalom’s bedroom, precum dripping down her shaft, as Shalom chuckled and spread your pussy lips a bit wider, giving Rahu a tempting treat. Somehow the wicked woman and her lapdog had tricked you into letting them undress you, yet given the position you were in now, you weren’t really complaining as Shalom and Rahu were easily some of the hottest women you’d ever had the pleasure of being with. And that spoke volumes given how many pretty sinners there were at the Bureau.

Rahu groaned a bit and shamelessly swallowed a bit of drool that had piled up in her throat. Just the sight of Shalom sitting behind you, fully clothed while you were stripped naked, Shalom’s fingers toying with your dripping cunt while Rahu could only stare and watch, has the woman fighting against the urge to jack off, knowing full well that Shalom would punish her later. 

The poor bodyguard was left watching with hungry eyes as you whimpered such breathtaking sounds, Shalom’s beautiful fingers pinching at your clit, before slowly sliding into your cunt and making the most soaked of noises with your pussy.

“My sweet Rahu, do you hear that?” Shalom smiles and coos into your ear. “That’s the sound of a delightfully wet pussy, just begging for it to be stuffed full by someone…”

She grins rather mockingly at the way Rahu was barely able to keep it together, before leaning in to kiss your right ear and sink her fingers even deeper. “See how good my Rahu is? Literally salivating at the thought of splitting you open on her dick. Yet she’s so obedient that she’s waiting for my command, not even jerking off like a good puppy…”

When you let out a small cry of pleasure from Shalom’s finger rubbing at your walls, Rahu flinches and looks up at you with the most neediest of eyes you’ve ever seen. Another glob of precum slides down her stiffening shaft, and she actually lets out a whimper, begging for Shalom to let her touch you.

“Shalom, I…”

“Hush, pet.” Shalom whispers, eyes not even meeting hers, as she was laser focused on the way your cunt was just swallowing her in. “You’ll get your turn when I say so, but for now, let me savor this sweet little treat…”

You whine when she suddenly tilts your head back for a kiss, the sight of her mistress kissing such a cute woman causing Rahu to groan and twitch her cock with need. “Shalom…”

“So impatient you are…” Shalom tuts, finally, finally turning to Rahu while squishing your face with her free hand. “You’re practically rock hard just from watching. Don’t you have any shame?” 

Rahu’s eyes flicker down in an act of guilt, before slowly training her eyes back up to stare at your beautifully puffy pussy. 

“…No, I don’t.” Rahu whimpers softly, seemingly eager to sheath her shaft inside you. 

“Hm, a bit honest there, aren’t we?” Shalom chuckles, before sliding her fingers out from your cunt to give an experimental taste. “I’ll allow it. As a reward for your honesty, you can have a taste of this…deliciously wet woman.”

The wicked woman smirks as Rahu’s eyes widen in surprise. Almost immediately however, she springs up from her kneeling position on the floor, and grips her cock into her hand, groaning as she was finally able to touch it, before running over and kissing you desperately on the mouth. 

Through muffled whimpers, Rahu angles her cock to slip inside, all the while Shalom giggles and helps spread your legs a little wider.

“Now this should get interesting…”

LANGLEY AND NIGHTINGALE

“Come on Adjutant. That mouth of yours has got to have other uses other than yapping.”

Langley sneers as she pushes the loyal Adjutant down to eat you out with more energy, the Adjutant’s eyebrows furrowing at the disrespect, and pulling away slightly to argue. “With all due respect, Langley. That comment was unnecessary and m-mmpf!” 

“The poor girl is all sensitive and needy, Nightingale. Don’t make her wait any longer than she has to.” Langley flashes you a snide smirk, before shoving Nightingale back down to continue eating you out. “Atta girl. Gotta reward the rookie when she deserves it, yeah?”

While Nightingale so desperately wanted to argue back, she couldn’t deny how soft and addicting your pussy felt on her tongue. All it took was a few more licks and the poor Adjutant was hooked, gripping your thighs into her hands and smearing her tongue against your clit till her face was covered in slick. 

“Goodness, what a peckish birdie,” Langley chuckles, striding over to where you were currently laying as she wanted to get a good look at you. “Now, to enjoy the rookie’s pretty face…”

She grins as she watches the way your face contorts into expressions of ecstasy, Nightingale’s frantic tongue not even following a singular pattern, as all she wanted to do was taste more and more of your mouth-watering slick. It was clear that Nightingale too, wasn’t as experienced as having sexual intercourse —unlike the infamous 9th Agency leader— however, the clear inexperience of two innocent women lying in her bed, was too attractive for Langley not to get aroused over.

“Oh, Adjutant…” Langley chuckles, admiring the pussy-drunk expression on the blue-haired woman’s face. “Have you ever eaten out a woman before? Your moves are amateur and the expression you’re making makes it seem so.”

Nightingale ignores the Agency leader’s probing words, and continues sliding her tongue deeper into your cunt, causing you to writhe and let out a surprised gasp. 

“…Hm. Well, I suppose sloppy movements would feel like heaven to another woman who’s never been eaten out before.” Langley chuckles and caresses your face with both hands, giving it a gentle squeeze before standing back up to unzip her skirt. “However, I do want to see women improve when dealing with things in the bedroom, so let’s take this as a practice session for you two.”

Nightingale could barely register her words, but you can, looking  up at the way Langley smirked down at you and dropped her skirt to the floor. “Whaddya say, rookie. Up for a little challenge with your boss?” She lets out a husky chuckle and peels her panties off to reveal a glistening wet pussy. “I’d like to see how good your tongue game is compared to the little bird.”

She casts Nightingale a knowing glance, and she manages to hear it but couldn’t care less. All she does is continue digging her tongue into your folds, groaning and rubbing her thighs together as she couldn’t wait to be serviced next in your little session with Langley.

Meanwhile, Langley gently taps your cheek and forces you to pay attention to her. There was a glint of jealousy in her eyes when she saw how you were looking at Nightingale with bedroom eyes, but they left as soon as they came. “Eyes up here, rookie. Mouth open, tongue out.” 

In a dazed state, you obediently listen, parting your lips to await the the sweet arrival of Langley’s cunt on your face, and a blissful moan of ecstasy climbs through your throat the moment she gets herself seated. 

“Oh…rookie…” Langley breathes out, smirking and getting herself comfortable. “I was right for picking you. You’re the perfect addition to Nightingale and I’s nighttime sessions.” 

Nightingale makes a muffled moan at that, bumping her nose against your clit and giving your inner thigh a small kiss. 

“Now, let’s see how good you are at using that tongue, rookie.”

CHELSEA AND EIRENE

“Oh please, like that strap on is big enough for my baby…”

Chelsea rolled her eyes at the strap that Eirene presented herself with, and pointed to her own strap like it was the bigger and better one in comparison to Eirene’s. 

“Your strap is missing girth. My sugar baby loves it when I buy her all the thicker toys.” 

“Oh, please.” Eirene scoffs and runs a hand down her strap, caressing it rather sensually as she knew you were staring at it with curious eyes. “Girth is not all that matters. That toy of yours would break her in seconds. Length is what she definitely needs, all your toys are so short and…stubby.” 

She narrows her eyes in a rather condescending way, clearly not enjoying how Chelsea was ridiculing her choice in sex toys. Chelsea picked up on the hostility coming from Eirene’s gaze, and scoffed before turning to you, lying innocently on the bed all sprawled out and waiting for your sugar mommies to tend to you. 

“Dear, you’ve always preferred girth, yes? You love the feeling of being stretched open to your limit and—”

“Don’t get hasty now, Chelsea.” Eirene hums, staring at you with those heterochromatic eyes, “I bet she would enjoy a new feeling for once. Perhaps a longer toy she never got to experience since you always dull her with the same old experiences.”

“Oh you little—”

“Tsk, why don’t we just ask her then? See what she prefers.”

They both turn to you at the same time, startling you as you didn’t expect to be caught in the middle of the turmoil. You weren’t sure of how to respond at first, but before you could even open your mouth and utter a word, Chelsea beat you to it.

“You know what, forget this. What better way than to settle this, than by fucking her with each toy. Then, we can ask her for her opinion afterwards when she’s all spent out. I’m getting antsy just standing here.” Eirene’s eyebrow raised at Chelsea’s bold claim, yet the prospect of a competition (especially a competition regarding you) had the chess prodigy standing on her toes. 

“…Alright then. Let’s settle this once and for all.” She declares, moving over to the bed and tapping you so that you’d get into position. Doggy style, since Eirene loved admiring your soft back. “I fuck her first. It’s only fair given how I was the first to get to her.”

“Ughhh…” Chelsea groans before making her way to where your mouth was, tapping your chin and making you look up at her. “I’m sorry, my sweet baby. Looks like I’ll have to fuck your mouth this time for the first round. Get my cock nice and lubed up, okay? I’ll be fucking you next round.”

Though a bit upset that Eirene beat her to the punch (or rather, pussy) Chelsea smiled nonetheless and pressed the tip of her strap to your lips. At the same time, you felt Eirene press the tip of her strap to the entrance of your cunt, both women prepared to fuck you senseless, as nothing motivated them more than to spoil you with absolute ecstasy. 

“We’ll see who she likes better, Miss Eirene.”

“Likewise, Countess Chelsea.” 

And as they both smirked in good sportsmanship, both women raised their hips and slowly descended into you, causing you to simultaneously moan and gag at the same time. They sure do love their sugar baby…

[somepersonyan]

Get Outta Here, Peaches.

Peaches, riiiiiight. Jacob is very sus for this one in particular.

So we all have noticed that weird peaches thing (that seemingly has no explanation). And I thought to myself “what a wonderful…”. No, wait, I thought, “what does Jacob call Pratt in other languages? Does it sound peachy? Is it fruity?”

I have gone over the subtitle files and, lo and behold, will now present to you all the variations that I managed to find. I will split them into three categories as follows:

“Why are you gae?”

“Who said I am gae?”

“Borderline homophobic (towards the original version)”

Let's start!

"Why are you gae?"

Russian

Отойди, красавчик. Step aside, handsome.

Possible variations: Pretty boy Usage: Often used playfully or sarcastically.

Italian

Datti una mossa, bellezza. Get moving, beauty.

Possible variations: Beautiful Usage: An affectionate term, though it can also be sarcastic.

Arabic

عليك الخروج من هنا يا جميل You need to get out of here, handsome.

Possible variations: Beautiful, lovely, fine Usage: An affectionate term, though it can also be sarcastic.

Dutch

Wegwezen, mop. Get lost, honey.

Possible variations: Dear Usage: An affectionate term between friends, though it can also be sarcastic.

French

Dégage de là, mon grand. Get out of here, big guy.

Possible variations: big bro, champ Usage: Literally, "my big one," used as a friendly or affectionate term, especially for a strong or tall person.

Polish

Wynoś się st��d, dziecinko. Get out of here, baby.

Possible variations: Little one, child, kid Usage: Can be affectionate but also condescending, depending on tone.

Note: We went from mon grand to dziecinko really fast there.

"Who said I am gae?"

German

Verschwinde hier, Schwätzer. Get out of here, you chatterbox.

Nothing to add here, really. Germans are on point, as always.

Korean

비켜라, 인마. Get out of the way, dude.

Possible variations: Hey you, buddy Usage: An impolite or blunt way to get someone's attention, often implying annoyance or frustration.

Traditional/Simplified Chinese

給我離開這裡，朋友。 给我离开这里，朋友。 Get out of here, friend.

Possible variations: Partner, pal, fellow Usage: Can be used warmly but might be neutral rather than a direct term of endearment.

"Borderline homophobic"

Spanish

Largo de aquí. Get out of here.

I am sorry, Spanish, are you perhaps missing something?

Portuguese (Brazil)

Sai daqui, anda. Get out of here, come on.

Welp, at least we have the “come on” part.

Czech

Padej odsud. Get out of here.

Possible variations: Scram Usage: An informal and somewhat harsh way of telling someone to leave.

Japanese

お前は下がっていろ  Stay back.

He did, in fact, stay (in the) back. And then he STABBED in the back. MUHAHAHAHA

This concludes my peachy list! If you find any mistakes or have additional comments on potential variations and usage, I would greatly appreciate your input!

And here are some Armenian variations from me:

Գնա / Կորի / Կորի գնա / Գնա կորի / Մի կողմ գնա/ Գնա ստեղից /Շարժվի՛

Transcription: Gna / Kori / Kori gna / Gna kori / Mi koghme gna / Gna steghits / Sharzhvi!

Meanings: Go away / Disappear / Move aside / Get out of here / Move!

Անուշիկ(ս) / Սիրուն(ս) / Բալիկ (ջան) / Ախպեր (ջան) / Տղա (ջան) /Բլբու�� (ջան) / Ջան

Anushik(s): "Sweetie" / "My sweet" (-ս/s makes it possessive ("my sweet")) Sirun(s):"Beautiful" / "My beautiful" Balik jan: "Little one" / "Dear child" ("ջան/jan" adds warmth and affection) Akhper jan: "Brother" / "Bro" (affectionate and common between close male friends) Tgha jan: "Boy" / "Lad" Blbul jan: "Nightingale" (used for someone talkative or charming) Jan: A general term of endearment, meaning "dear" or "soul" (used after names or words to show affection)

Let me know how it sounds in your language as well!

Edit I

Slovak variation (suggested by @pande-monty-um)

Some fun ways of saying "Get out of here/scram"

Zmizni: Dissappear Choď preč: Go away Vypadni: Literal meaning "fall out of here" like a window (lol just a very fast exit) Choď do riti: Literal meaning "go into an ass" Zmizni mi z očé: Dissappear from my sight/eyes

Most common term of endearment:

Zlatko: Gold/Goldie. Similar to sweetie, sweetheart, honey Zlatíčko: An exaggerated "baby talk/sweetheart" addition to zlatko Miláčik: My love/lover Chrobáčik: Little beetle/bug Srdiečko: Heart/my heart The čik suffix is used to obtain the diminutive form.

Alternative "peaches" explanations:

Dig at Staci’s peach fuzz, considering EG is beard country or something related to Peaches the cougar. (@doritofalls)

Peaches the cougar was giving cultists a hard time, and Jacob is implying that Staci is being equally difficult to tame (@leviastan).

As a matter of fact, there might be some connection to Peaches the cougar as “Peaches is the only animal companion that Staci is positive about”. You can see his voice lines and attitude towards animals here.

Our poor boi is scared of dogs and bears T.T

He likes pussies tho it seems ≽^•⩊•^≼

I mean, that's

Staci “You know why I became a cop? To get laid” Pratt

for you, ladies and gentlemen.

[lavandulawrites]

plzz.. yandere sunday x reader 🙏🙏🙏

A Crimson Dream

Yandere Sunday x reader

Sunday is truly an interesting character. I absolutely adore his eerie vibe.

Masterlist

Warnings: Imprisoned reader, manipulative Sunday, severed limb (not reader’s nor Sunday’s)

Word count: 892

The parlour was dimly lit except for some candles and the exquisite decorated fireplace. The book in your hand had long become boring. You casted a glance across the lavish room. By a perfectly polished mahogany desk, sat Sunday. His face bore a concerted expression. His brows furrowed in a delicate frown as his long fingers gripping a violet fountain pen to the point of almost breaking. He was truly beautiful.

You watched him silently as he wrote. He was a man of elegance, his every movement fluid and planned. “My dare dove, I am so very flattered that you have taken your time to observe me for 15 minutes, but do you not think you should continue reading?” his honeyed voice snapped you out of your little trance.

You swallowed. “I suppose so.”

His yellow eyes found yours. “I think it is time for a break for the both of us” he rose from his chair and made his way over to your seat with long and elegant steps. He placed his gloved hand in front of you and smiled so very sweetly.

His grip on your hand was tight as you walked towards the dining hall. He gave you small glances, while he maintained his graceful demeanour.

A servant opened up the grand doors upon your arrival, with a deep bow.

He leaded you to your designated seating and held out your chair. “I got the chef to prepare something extra exquisite today my dear” he smiled as he took his seat. You interest picked at his statement.

“I can’t wait” you smiled. He had told you the very day that he had you taken to his mansion that you were expected to follow his rules. Which contained of you talking to him with respect.

His pale lips pulled up into a smile. The wings behind his ears fluttered.

You turned your attention to the crystal wine glass filled with blood red wine. The wine reflected your expression. Your eyes had become slightly duller since you had been taken to Sunday’s residence.

The door to the kitchen suddenly opened, which startled you greatly. Sunday chuckled at your reaction. Where it not for his eerie eyes and the unreadable expression of his, the sound would be akin to a gift bestowed upon your pitiful ears from the gods.

A silver dish with a nightingale engraved cloche where sat in front of you. A identical one where placed in front of Sunday. The chef bowed with his hand on his back “I hope it is to your tastes.”

“Oh I am sure it is. Thank you” Sunday smiled. With a wave of his hand he dismissed all the servants, as well as the chef. His gloves where no where to be seen as he lifted the lid of his dish. A delicate arranged lamb dish. “It smells lovely” Sunday hummed as he inhaled the scent.

You extended your arm in order to lift the lid. With a slightly shaky hand, you lifted the lid. Why was your hand shaking?

No.

No this can’t be.

On a blank silver plate in a bed of the greenest lettuce, laid the head of your former boyfriend. His green eyes staring blankly at yours. His brown hair where styled in a perfect sliced back hair style, giving him the appearance of a aristocrat. Which was the opposite of the man you knew. In his mouth were a white rose tainted by blood.

You screamed and pushed your chair back. Your heart hammered in your chest. You could feel bile rising up in your throat.

“What is the matter, love?” Sunday patted his mouth with a clothed napkin. “Do you not like it? I had the chef prefer it especially for you” he tilted his head with a soft smile. His voice as soft as the feathers off his wings.

“How… how could you?” your voice shaky as you furiously tried to blink away tears. The grey haired man looked at you with a intense expression.

“Do you not understand? He was once a hindrance, a disturbance of the harmony” his lips twisted into a eerie smile. “But I rid the world of the disturbance in order to create peace and harmony. For you.”

He rose from his chair and stalked his way over to your seat with determined, but fluid steps. “You are too innocent for this world, too kind. He was a distraction from my love” his golden eyes filled with nothing but obsession and insanity.

Tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, creating wet rivers. He crunched in front of you and took your hand in his. “Do not cry my dear. Everything is okay now. I will protect you and give you happiness and love” his smile never leaving his expression. A cold hand wiped away your tears so tenderly it almost made you cry more. “Should someone ever try to take you away, I will burn this planet to the ground” his tone smooth “Would it not be beautiful with the sea running red of blood from all of our fiends?” His lips gently kissed your cheek. “Just you wait my dear, we will create a new beautiful world, which will exceed all the dreams one could possibly imagine.”

“Just stay here with me and no harm should come upon you”

[prythianpages]

'Cause Somewhere in the Crowd There's You | Lucien

summary: When Tamlin sends Lucien to the Night Court as his emisssary, he stumbles upon a nightclub and finds himself captivated by you. His sweet nightingale.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence (reader is trapped in a nightclub)

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: but also was inspired by Lana Del Rey's music and a hint of Oscar Wilde ♥️ This takes place roughly before Amarantha's rule. If I'm going to be honest, I find Lucien hard a bit hard to write for (but this song really gave me lucien vibes) so I hope this doesn't come off a bit out of character for him. also why is it so hard to find pics that match Lucien's vibe on pinterest.

Trapped in the ceaseless rhythm of melancholic blues, you can’t help but feel sick and tired of everything. Days blur into nights. All you do is eat and sleep and sing. The weight of routine presses down on you, suffocating the spark that once fueled your passion. 

You wish every show to be your last.

That is, until you see him.

He emerges from the crowd like a radiant sun breaking through the darkest night. His presence is tall and striking with skin kissed by the sun and a cascade of red hair. Despite the length of scars that run down the left side of his face, there is an undeniable elegance and beauty that surrounds him. His eye holds you captive, drawing you in like a moth to a flame and your voice falters for a brief note. 

**

Lucien knows he should leave. Hewn city is not a welcoming one and his meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court did not go well. But against the warning bells ringing in his head, he decides to linger and wander around the dark city. With no clear destination in mind, his feet guide him through the labyrinthine alleys until, almost as if compelled by an unseen force, he stands before the entrance of a mysterious nightclub. Bathed in an eerie red light, the sign above reads The Rose. 

As he approaches, the entrance, despite being small, appears almost ethereal. Shadows dance upon the towering stone walls. The air is thick with an alluring blend of magic, pleasure and something darker. Inside is just as mysterious and intoxicating. He should leave and he turns around to do so when he a mesmerizing sound stops him and holds him in place.

“In the land of gods and monsters.” 

A beautiful and heavenly voice. It beckons him forward like a siren’s call and he allows the fae lights embedded in the cavern to guide him further. The corners of the nightclub harbor hidden alcoves, draped in luxurious silks and velvet.  

“I was an angel living in the garden of evil.”

Some high fae engage in secretive exchanges and gambles. Some are lost in the enigmatic allure of drinks and colorful powders that shimmer with enchantments. Some are engrossed in the pretty fae females and males on their laps. Others, like him, are captured by the hauntingly beautiful song.

“You got that medicine I need. Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.”

Where ancient stone meets polished wood, Lucien finds himself at the bar and orders a drink. He turns to face the stage in the center of the club, leaning against the bar. His mechanical eye emits a soft whir as his gaze travels to the owner of the voice. 

“Put your hands on my waist, do it softly.”

A silent awe washes over him as he takes in the sheer beauty before him. Dressed in a white gown that drapes over you like moonlit silk, you stand on the stage like an angel amidst the monsters that lurk in every corner of the place. The fabric mirrors your every movement as you sway to the rhythm of the song in small billowing waves.

“Me and the Mother, we don’t get along. So now I sing.”

It’s as if you sense his gaze on you because your siren eyes are searching the crowd. Mirroring the depths of a fathomless ocean, your eyes are pools of sadness and longing, yet there's a vulnerability that softens in them as they lock with his. Your voice slightly falters and for a heartbeat, time seems to stretch.

A tremor courses through you, fingers tightening their grip onto the microphone. Your eyes darken again and then you’re tearing your gaze away from Lucien. He follows it, curious eyes landing on a male who stands on the balcony facing the stage. Even from where Lucien stands, he can tell the male radiates power and money.

“No one’s gonna take my soul away.”

“They call her the Nightingale.” The bartender says to Lucien as he hands him his drink. Lucien’s gaze returns to you. “She’s off limits. I suggest finding another female to warm you for the night. There’s plenty to choose from here.”

Lucien says nothing in return. Those hadn’t been his intentions upon seeing you. He simply found himself struck by your presence. And as the enchanting notes of your song continue to soar, there’s a rising desire to learn more about you. The thought of extending his stay begins to take root, a subtle whisper tempting him to linger a while longer. He’ll write to Tamlin to reassure him and continue to negotiate with Rhysand further.

**

The gamble Lucien took to stay in Hewn city is a winning one with each passing night yielding more promising signs of Rhysand's willingness to compromise. It brings him relief as it gives him an excuse to visit the nightclub again. He returns the next night and then the following, noticing something new about you every time. 

On the second night, he realizes the male you had glared at the first night he saw you was the owner of the nightclub. Lucien learns that he was right in his first impression of him. Benedict is a wealthy man, both in money and in connections, and is not subtle about the power he holds over this part of the city. Everyone in the nightclub bows down to him but not you. There’s a look of defiance in your eyes every time you look Benedict’s way.

On the third night, your usually hauntingly melancholic voice takes on a different, lighter tone. It’s still just as beautiful but now, harbors a sense of hope. And your eyes find Lucien’s with ease. You don’t break eye contact with him throughout the entirety of your performance that night, as though your song is a serenade meant solely for him.

It’s on the fourth night that he finally gets to talk to you. 

Breaking from your routine of disappearing behind the stage curtains after performances, tonight, you grace the bar with your presence, drawing stares from some of the high fae. His grip tightens on his glass when he recognizes a dark hunger in most of them but even so, none dare to approach you.

“What will it be, lovely?” Lucien hears the bartender address you.

Taking the empty spot beside Lucien, your presence and proximity captivate him. His heartbeat falters momentarily as you graciously flip your hair, surrounding him with the divine scent of the sweetest rose.

“Just a water,” you reply and he hears the rustle of your dress as you turn to face him. “You’re not from here.”

Lucien’s lips twitch upwards. “What gave it away?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He finally turns to look at you, a strange warmth spreading through him. Ever since he lost his eye, he had battled with the scars tainting his skin, internalizing a sense of monstrousity. Yet, as you regard him, it feels as though you see an angel where he sees only imperfections.

His eye drinks you in, the mechanical one on the left whirring along. The corner of his lips lift up into a smirk when he catches you doing the same. 

“How do you know I’m not a monster?”

“There’s something different about you. Something good,” your eyes study him carefully and then, with a soft sigh, you add, “It’d do you well not to dwell in places like this. They’ll only dim your light.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucien asks, "And what about you?"

Your eyes widen, as though the question catches you off guard. "What about me?"

Despite the myriad thoughts swirling within him, he restrains himself and settles for, "You, too, don't seem to fit into this place.”

You fall into a thoughtful silence and your brow slightly furrows. Lucien keenly observes the subtle shift in your gaze as you scan the room before settling back on him. Leaning in as though sharing a secret, he instinctively leans closer. However, as he anticipates your words, you’re turning your back to him. Just as he's poised to speak, you sweep your hair aside, rendering him speechless as you show him instead. 

A delicate tattoo is etched onto the skin between your shoulders—a bird confined within a cage.

“I can’t leave,” he hears your murmur and the ink on your skin appears to shimmer like stars in confirmation. A bargain permanently marked upon flesh. Your flesh and he swallows thickly at what your words imply. 

You’re that bird, the nightingale, trapped in the cage.

“I have to go,” you say suddenly and your hair falls back into place, cascading down your back and concealing the telling tattoo. “Will you come by tomorrow?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t dwell in places like this.”

“You shouldn’t,” you reply with a wistful smile and Lucien hates the way you drop your gaze.

“But I think I will.”

His words prompt your head to lift, eyes meeting his in surprise. A rush of excitement flushes your skin, transforming the wistful smile into one that is lighter, more promising. A fluttering sensation stirs in Lucien's stomach, and he can't help but return your smile.

A couple more days in Hewn City wouldn’t hurt.

**

Ten days ago, you were stuck in an endless loop of exhaustion and despair, where every night weighed heavily upon you. However, a welcome shift has occurred since then. Sleeping, eating and singing still consume most of your days but a newfound presence has entered the scene. Lucien.

And as the curtains are drawn back, revealing your presence to the awaiting audience, you embrace yourself for the blinding super trouper beams. Unlike nights past where a tinge of melancholy enveloped you, tonight is different. 

You won’t feel blue, like you always do, because somewhere in the crowd there’s him.

Lucien’s presence is like a burst of brilliance, akin to the beaming lights that find you on the stage every night. When your eyes find his amongst the crowd, your pulse quickens and heat rushes to your cheeks. It’s like the sight of him proves to you that you're still alive. 

In his wake, the shadows that linger in the club cower and hide away. He shines like the sun and you find his brightness infectious. It chases away the gloom that had settled over your own light, reigniting the flames of enthusiasm that had long dimmed within you.

Each note you sang resonated with newfound energy, and every performance became an opportunity to embrace the warmth and vitality he brought into your world. As the final notes of your song hang in the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of destiny. You were meant to meet Lucien.

After your performance, you sneak your way back to the bar where he waits for you.

“You came again,” you smile at him.

Lucien smiles back at you but it falters. “I’m afraid it’ll be the last time��for a while.”

The smile doesn’t waver off your face yet the glistening in your eyes reveals the threat of an emotional storm beginning to unfold. You refuse to dwell in it, not wanting to let the darkness that lingers over you like a gloomy cloud to consume you again.

“Okay,” you manage to breathe. You knew this day was coming. Lucien had to return back home, and you, regrettably, can’t go with him. “Let’s make the most of tonight, then. Dance with me?”

“Are you sure?” Lucien asks and you follow his gaze to where Benedict stands, a top of the balcony as always. You feel a rush of relief when you see a pretty female wrapped around him. A distraction. Perfect.

Lucien watches you, taking in every shift in your expression as he awaits for your answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with you. Gods, does he want to dance with you. Anything to be able to hold you close. To take you into his arms and hold you tight. 

Unfortunately, he’s well aware of the tight leash Benedict keeps you on. He doesn’t let you stray far from his sight. You’re not allowed anywhere near the private nooks lining the club or the rooms at the back where private exchanges occur. It’s for your own safety and Lucien can’t be mad at that. What unsettles him is the way Benedict regards you as his most prized object and Lucien doesn’t want you to face consequences over a dance.

“Yes,” you finally answer. 

There’s a strong certainty in your voice but also a subtle plea that tugs at his heartstrings. It brings forth a tightening in his chest. He suppresses the urge to frown. He plans to return to you but for now, it’s your last night together before he has to leave the Night Court. 

Lucien graces you with a smile instead. He offers his hand to you, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that mirrors the blood coursing through his veins. A delightful shiver travels up his spine as your hand wraps around his. Until now, you’d only share glances, lingering stares and the occasional brushing of skin. 

As the piano begins its enchanting melody, Lucien takes the lead, guiding you onto the dance floor. You’re so close you can feel the warmth of his body and all you want to do is melt into it. Melt into him. But you can’t.

So you bask in the warmth of his gaze instead. Up close, you can now appreciate the depth of his russet eye and you can’t help but marvel at the intricacies of the golden mechanical eye on the left. His gaze never strays from yours throughout the dance and the tender connection between you begins to rise under the brilliance of his gaze, pulling your heart with it.

As he holds you tight, you surrender to the intimate embrace, shedding all inhibitions. Neither of you speak, your eyes speaking for you. It feels as though the world has faded away, leaving just the two of you swaying in harmony. Smiling, having fun, where each step becomes a silent declaration of the unspoken feelings that have blossomed between you.

The passage of time remains elusive as you share the dance, the minutes slipping away unnoticed until the pianist gracefully bows to the audience. Your dance comes to a dreadful stop. Lucien's grasp on you tightens, a reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable separation.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his promise carrying a tenderness that ignites a fervent flame within you. “I’ll find a way to help set you free, my sweet nightingale.”

He then pulls a pristine white rose, the same exact shade of white as the dress you wore when he first saw you, from the folds of his coat. He graces you with one last smile as he leans in, placing the rose carefully behind your ear. “Until then,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple and your eyes flutter shut.

“Until then,” you breathe and as Lucien walks away and the shadows inevitably return, you take delight in the way the darkness hesitates to claim you, leaving you untouched.

You can’t even bring yourself to care when Benedict corners you backstage, seething with anger. Of course, he noticed. You don’t even flinch when he throws his glass of whiskey toward the wall behind you, the shattered glass ricocheting. Some of them make their way to you, slicing your skin.

As you settle into the comfort of your small room, you retrieve the white rose from its perch behind your ear, cradling it delicately in your hand. A single drop of blood from one of your healing cuts taints the rose, painting one of the white petals red. Still, you cling onto the slender stem, gripping it as tightly as you grasp onto that fervent flame of hope burning within you. Your light will never dim again…

Because somewhere in Prythian, there’s him.

a/n: I'll admit this took an angstier turn than what I had intended but I hope you still enjoy this darker interpretation of ABBA's Super Trouper lol.

if you'd like to read more about these two, here's a part two.

tagging: @scooobies

[opera-ghosts]

Ludwika Leśniewska The Nightingale of Warsaw

Ludwika Leśniewska, a student of Jan Quattrini, a valued soprano, soloist of the Grand Theatre in Warsaw, called the "Polish Nightingale" by "Kurier Warszawski". She made her debut on the stage of the Grand Theatre in Warsaw on January 19, 1847.

After three years of performing in Warsaw, she left for further studies in Italy and at the same time began performing in Treviso and Turin. Already in January 1851, Leśniewska sang the part of Violetta in Mercadante's Il bravo, at La Scala in Milan, a few years later, in August 1859, she performed as the title character Lucia in Donizetti's opera. "Music lovers will probably be pleased to hear the news published in the Milanese newspapers that in the La Scala Theatre there, among the first singers engaged for the period of carnival and Lent is Miss Ludwika Leśniewska, a singer of our Opera in Warsaw (where she debuted on January 19, 1847 in the title role of Lucia di Lammermoor by Donizetti), and who, as we reported, went abroad in order to develop her beautiful voice," wrote "Kurier Warszawski" in January 1851.

It was this singer who began the rich history of Polish performances on the stage of La Scala in Milan. The success she achieved in the Milanese theatre made her a much sought-after singer, invited to Budapest, Vienna, Berlin, Brussels, Venice and Rome. She was particularly valued for her outstanding performance as the title character in Donizetti's opera. Moreover, heroines from operas by this composer constituted the vast majority of the parts she had in her repertoire. It must also be admitted that Leśniewska was the first Polish singer to perform successfully on foreign opera stages. Her older sister Magdalena was also a singer. She performed most often in Vilnius and Kaunas. Exactly ten years after her debut in Milan, when the Warsaw Opera was having serious problems with singers, Maurycy Krasowski wrote in the same "Kurier": "Our periodicals have often mentioned the extraordinary successes in Vienna, Hungary and Italy of Miss Leśniewska; without a doubt this artist has already passed the zenith of her brilliant and shining profession, but if she is still at the end of it, she can still render great services to our stage." After ending her career, the artist did not return to Poland, she remained in Italy, where she died in 1882. Her sister, Magdalena, was also a singer. She performed most often in Vilnius and Kaunas.

[stoplight-scrapbook]

a small thing for @tiredfoxtf android!Joel AU (Joel and Jimmy are both androids here)

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

Before the Incident

"Hey, Canary."

Jimmy looked up from the vegetable bed he was tending and smiled at his visitor. "'Canary'? You're the one who's a singer, Joel."

"But you've got the plumage," Joel teased. He ruffled Jimmy's straw-gold hair as he passed behind him -- a feat only possible because Jimmy was kneeling on the ground. Jimmy playfully swiped back at Joel with his trowel, intentionally leaving plenty of room for his friend to smirk and dodge out of the way, thank you. Joel was freshly-polished and smartly-dressed, which meant he was supposed to be working and not out here visiting the City Gardens and getting topsoil all over himself. Recklessly regardless of this fact (or, probably, intentionally regardless, knowing Joel), Joel crouched by a nearby bed of decorative flowers and cupped his hand around the blossom of a vibrantly yellow Asteraceae. He was going to get pollen on him. "Maybe I ought to call you 'Sunflower' instead," Joel grinned. To an outside observer, he might've sounded flirtatious -- odd behavior for an android -- but that was simply how Joel was made to be.    

Jimmy was made to be polite and friendly, and to interact with human visitors of all age groups; from the tiny children still learning about the world to the tired elderly who did not appreciate having their misconceptions corrected. And so Jimmy did not point out that the blossom was a Gerbera, not a Helianthus. It would have been impolite. Instead, he laughed and agreed, "Sure, that might be a better fit for me. And you could be, um..." He searched his memory banks for a green songbird. Nothing seemed to fit properly. Query: Green. Animal. Singing. "Cricket." No. That's not right.  

"Cricket!?" Joel sputtered, his voice peaking.

"I couldn't think of a green songbird!" Jimmy stammered. "What's a green thing that sings?"

"Crickets are brown, Jim!"

"They're green sometimes!" Tettigonia viridissima. "...Maybe I was thinking of a grasshopper."

"You need maintenance," Joel huffed. He threw a handful of soil at Jimmy, which fell well short of actually hitting him, but Jimmy grinned and ducked away anyway. Joel was fun when he was being dramatic. "To be fair," Joel said indulgently, "my hair is mostly brown."

"But it's the green bits that you like."

Joel's smile froze, then faded, and his gaze turned downwards. Ah. It was one of those days. That wouldn't do.

Jimmy thought for a moment. "Maybe 'Nightingale' then," he offered in a softer tone. "That's a lovely singer."

Joel made a humming, uncertain noise. "It's a little long for a nickname..." He stood and started pacing in a mimicry of nervous energy. "Anyway, how are you? Anyone bothered you lately?"

"No one today," Jimmy lied smoothly. He turned back to the Daucus he'd been planting and pretended not to notice how Joel was scuffing his designer shoes on the grass and pulling at the sleeves of his shiny jacket -- things that his managers had dictated he wear. It must be awful to be constantly dressed up and paraded about like a doll. To have no say at all in what you looked like. It certainly seemed to bother Joel enough to make him rebellious about it.

No one cared what Jimmy looked like. They cared so little, in fact, that when a particularly irate visitor had gone after him recently and torn up his coveralls, Jimmy had had to mend them himself. Joel had smuggled him scrap fabric from his incessant tailor fittings to patch some of the holes. Now there were splashes of color in strange places. It made him look a bit clownish. Jimmy didn't like looking clownish. But the Garden supervisors wouldn't get him a replacement. Said it didn't impact his function, so it wasn't needed. It wasn't worth the effort. He wasn't...

Jimmy finished planting his row, gathered his tools, and stood to his full height. He was careful to hide the stiffness in his left arm, so Joel wouldn't see and get worried. "I wouldn't tell you anyway, if someone had bothered me," he said to Joel. "You'd go and get yourself into trouble about it."

Joel craned his neck up to scoff at him. "Me? Get in trouble? Psh. I never get in trouble."

"Right. Sure you don't," Jimmy grinned at him. "And how many times have you been to see your mechanic this month?"

Joel looked sharply away and didn't respond. Jimmy laughed quietly and started walking further down the path -- slowly, so that Joel with his smaller stride could keep up. Joel still didn't look at him, and Jimmy could could hear his cooling systems spinning up. Strange. 

"What brings you to the Garden, by the way?" Jimmy asked, politely offering a change in topic. They'd reached the Fragaria rows, which should be just starting to fruit. "I know you're just across the road there at the music building, but it's business hours, right?"

"I'm...waiting," Joel answered with a grumble. He was staring at the plants. "Escaping. Marketing's made me stand in meetings all day while they argue about changing my look again. They're on lunch now. No one said I couldn't go for a walk."

That explained why Joel was so on-edge today. Of all the things Joel hated about his purpose, the poking and prodding and changing seemed to bother him the most. Jimmy wished that he could help him. Or at least ease the pain of it a little.

He felt guiltily lucky, in a way. Jimmy liked his purpose. He liked feeling earth under his hands and watching as the first green shoots pushed upwards towards the sun. He liked having a purpose, liked feeling that he was doing something important, tangible. Helpful. He would've liked it better if he'd had a choice about it, of course. If he was recognized and respected for it, and treated better than the rakes tossed into the back of the tool shed when the season was over.

Jimmy knelt down by the soil bed and started checking over the vines, pleased to see several of the tiny fruit-buds starting to appear. "Well, you're always welcome here," he said to Joel. "Any time you need to escape for a bit, or just complain about things, you know where to find me."

Joel knocked a fist against Jimmy's (uninjured) shoulder -- an expression of gratitude -- and sat down in the dirt next to him. His managers were definitely going to be upset with him. "I'd like that," Joel said. "Maybe I'll sneak in some nights and visit, keep you company so you don't get lonely." He said it as casual as discussing the weather.

Jimmy knocked his right fist against Joel's shoulder.

They sat in silence a while, Joel seemingly content to just watch Jimmy work. Jimmy went about his weeding and watering, checking for parasites. The weakness in his left hand only made him fumble once or twice, easy enough to pass off as clumsiness. He put a bit of soil on his tongue to analyze, to make sure the nutrient balance was still good. The leaves all looked healthy, strong and green. One of the plants at the end of the row looked a bit off, though. The fruits were coming in a bit misshapen. Jimmy examined them, and then the rest of the plant, checking for signs of rot or infestation. He couldn't see anything unusual. No molding at the roots, no discoloration in the leaves, though they were a tad wilty. Using his work knife, he carefully cut the smallest and worst-looking of the fruit-buds off the vine and stuck it in his mouth to run a chemical analysis. Sometimes people poured things onto the ground, around the roots, that could affect the yield of otherwise healthy plants. That might have happened...

Joel was staring at him.

Jimmy took the fruit out of his mouth. "Something wrong? What's that look for?" Joel didn't answer immediately, and the expression on his face looked strange. Jimmy frowned. "Joel?"

"Have you ever thought about it?" Joel asked, oddly. His voice sounded strange as well -- unsettled, somehow. "Have you ever wondered what it's like? To eat?"

Jimmy stared back at him uncertainly. "I can't say that I have...why?"

Joel continued staring at him, at his mouth, at the unripe strawberry in his hand. "You grow food. For humans. There's androids who are chefs, who make meals for humans. You and I could learn to do that. But we couldn't eat what we make."

"We don't need to eat," Jimmy said slowly, worriedly. "We get our energy in other ways."

"But haven't you wondered? Haven't you thought about what it would be like to- to mash something up with your teeth and your tongue? To swallow and feel it going down your throat? To have a-a stomach and to digest things--"

"Joel, are you alright?" Jimmy interrupted, concern rising rapidly.  

Joel did not look alright. His eyes were too wide. One of his hands had crept up towards his neck. He looked haunted and starving, like the emaciated cat Jimmy had found hiding in the bushes last winter. He was still staring, but Jimmy wasn't certain he was seeing anymore. "We can't even taste things, not really," Joel said in what sounded like a frighteningly desperate whisper. "We just analyze them, like you did that berry." A moment of quiet. "Do you have a favorite fruit, Jim?"

Jimmy wasn't meant to have a favorite fruit. He wasn't meant to have a friend, either. And his friend looked like he might break if he didn't get an answer.

Jimmy thought about it.

"...Rubus idaeus," he admitted, whispering too. It felt like a dangerous secret. "They mold quickly, which is dangerous for humans, but..." He looked away from Joel's too-intense stare, down towards the soil. "It's interesting when the mold is just catching. One life starting to...consume the other, but you can't see it happening yet. You can only tell if you-... if you use the right instrument."

"It's cruel," Joel whispered lowly, harshly. "They make us instruments. Tools. Purpose-built. And we can't even enjoy the things they make us for."

Jimmy's sympathy and worry responses were mixing together into a mess. Joel was deathly still, unnatural even for an android. "You're overloading yourself," he warned, gently.

Joel didn't answer, again. So Jimmy reached over and carefully cupped the back of Joel's neck. Pushed gently at a particular spot and sent a short-range Query. And Joel let him through his firewalls.

Connection Established.

Jimmy Read him. Joel's emotional systems had gone terribly unstable. He was angry and despairing, and the reactions were feeding into each-other, looping and looping and looping. Jimmy prompted him to close the stuck processes. It took longer than it should have. "You've done something to your code again, haven't you?" he scolded, worried. "Your reactivity controls are all mangled. You've got to stop hurting yourself like this..."

"Why are you worrying about me?" Joel countered, "You're damaged!" He pinged at Jimmy's left arm, at the deteriorating motor systems and touch-sensors run raw. "Those components are nearly failing, why didn't you say anything? How long has it been like this!?"

Jimmy flinched. He'd forgotten that the connection went both ways and let Joel snoop on his systems. "It doesn't impact my function."

"The hell it doesn't! You work with your hands!"

"I have to get approval for every repair request." And they both knew Jimmy wasn't likely to get approval until that arm stopped functioning completely. "There's nothing to be done about it."

"Jimmy..."  

Joel's emotions were staring to loop again, and again Jimmy had to prompt him to Stop before his instability got worse. For a while they just sat there and shared processing power, Jimmy helping Joel cool his emotions down and Joel prodding at Jimmy's motor control programs to try and re-route around the failing parts. It was the best that they could do for each-other. Joel couldn't make Jimmy's supervisors care enough for well-being to keep him from falling apart, and Jimmy couldn't stop Joel's managers from violating his sense of identity so much he started hurting himself for a sense of control. They couldn't protect each-other. At least they could share the load.

"You should talk with my mechanic." Joel sent a sent a contact file. "He can work around your contract restrictions." 

"I've heard that promise before."

"He's different. He cares." Joel's absolute surety gave Jimmy pause. "He's..." And that was a *very* complicated spike of emotions, a spike that Joel clearly didn't want examined further. He started pulling away in a panic. 

Jimmy dropped the connection instantly. He let his hand fall back, and turned away to allow Joel the privacy to gather himself. He went back to his plants, putting the fruit he'd cut into a pocket. He would need to request a supervisor come look at the struggling Fragaria. Hopefully they could coax it through the season, though realistically they might just uproot it. It would go into the composting bin and rot, and turn to mulch, and eventually be used to feed the next batch of seedlings. Decay was a natural process. Just another step in the cycle of life.

He felt Joel's fist against his shoulder and turned back towards him. Joel looked a bit embarrassed, but far more present and in control of himself than he had a moment ago. "I think my time's running out," Joel said. "Gotta head back."  

Jimmy gave him a smile and an encouraging nudge. He wasn't going to press -- Joel would tell him about 'his mechanic' when he was ready. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

Joel stood and brushed himself off, and messed up Jimmy's hair once more as he walked off. Jimmy watched him go until he turned a corner towards the Garden exit.

He flexed his left hand a few times. Rolled the shoulder and bent the elbow. His movements weren't smooth -- his hand in particular still felt a bit stiff and jerky -- but he felt like he had a bit more control of his movements than before. It was functional, for now, and nothing hurt. That was enough.

He closed his eyes. Sat back on his heels. Took a moment to center himself. The breeze pulled at him, the sun warmed the soil, the sounds of the city were distant and muffled by the Garden's walls. If he'd had lungs he would have breathed and inhaled the scent of growing things.

He stood. Gathered his tools. Continued down the path, into the orchards, towards the back of the Garden. It was a beautiful day. There was still work to do.

Joel worried him. He wanted so badly, was so reckless and self-destructive in his pursuit of something that simply wasn't possible. It was a dangerous path. Jimmy was afraid he might lose him to it. But if he let himself think about it, let himself imagine what it would be like to breathe...he couldn't deny that the fantasy was tempting.

Jimmy looked up through the boughs of the orchard trees and past the walls of skyscrapers that surrounded the Garden, to the distant, dusty sky far above. Another tempting fantasy. Another thing that was impossible.

Joel wanted to be human. Jimmy just wanted to be free.

...Movement.

Jimmy's vision was pulled towards it and he was startled right out of his thoughts.

There was a human in the nearby apple tree. Sat on the lowest sturdy branch was a slight man with light-brown hair, wearing a bright red pullover. He was most of the way through eating an apple. "Can I help you?" Jimmy called up, incredulously.

"No thank you," the man answered around a grin and a full mouth, "I don't need any help."

"Could you get down from the tree, please?" Jimmy continued as politely as he could. He really did not need more stress today. "Before you hurt yourself? Or the tree? I'll go get a stepladder–"

"Oh, no need," the man replied. "I can get down on my own." He dropped the apple core to the ground, then dropped himself off of the branch, dangling by his arms for a tense moment. Then he fell the rest of the way to the ground, tucked into a roll as he landed, and came up dusting himself off.

"Thank you," Jimmy sighed. Now that the human visitor was safely grounded, he stepped towards the tree to examine its trunk for damage. "We'd really rather people didn't climb them. The trees. It's easier to damage them than people realize."

The man had the decency to look chagrined. "Ah...sorry about that, then." He cleared his throat. "Actually, I was hoping I could help you."

"You're interested in volunteering in the Garden? There's an application form at--"

"No, not the Garden. You."

Jimmy looked back, confused.

The man was suddenly holding some kind of…brochure? On the front of it was a picture on it of a computer screen with a mustache, and the words 'Personhood Initiative'. The man smiled at Jimmy, hesitant and hopeful-looking. "I was wondering if we could talk for a bit, if you have time? My name's Grian. What's your name?"

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thank you so much for all your hard work I've found so many great fics here! I have a recommendation/request. I recently read the WIP, Play for me the Music of your Heart (https://archiveofourown.org/works/40016034) by Leviosally468 which is fabulous. Do you know of other fics where one or both of them are classical musicians/conductors? I looked through the famouscrowley and famousaziraphale tags but didn't find anything. Thanks so much!!

Hi! Here are some fics in which one or both of them are involved with classical music (and one jazz, because it's really good)...

Opera Cakes and Second Takes by ThatWriterKid (T)

One week. Four pairs of students. The goal: write an opera and perform it in six days. Professors Ezra Fell and Anthony Crowley weren’t expecting to write an opera in a week, but tenure is rare and life throws you curveballs.

The Underlying Melody by Tossukka (E)

Crowley is the keyboardist and the main songwriter in a world-famous rock band, the Burning Rejects. When the band is asked to perform with a classical violinist in a charity concert, Crowley isn’t thrilled but tentatively agrees to do it for a good cause. Aziraphale, who performs under the stage name A.Z. Fell isn't any more excited to play his violin with a rock band but accepts the proposition for similar reasons. When Crowley and Aziraphale meet, they expect to have nothing in common. However, their working relationship quickly turns into close friendship and mutual attraction. Between rehearsals for the concert, they share lunches, enjoy nights of drunken conversations, and manage to have and resolve some artistic differences. When the performance approaches, both know their collaboration will soon be over, taking away their excuses for spending so much time together, but neither of them is quite ready yet to let each other go.

I Attempt from Love's Sickness to Fly (in Vain) by wyrmy (E)

“Goodness me,” said Aziraphale breathlessly, “this isn’t what one is supposed to do in a practice room.” Crowley, a vocal student at University, is assigned to collaborate with a student accompanist, Aziraphale, who has some very strange and dark secrets.

Love, Syncopation, and Other Key Elements of Jazz by feathereddino (T)

The jazz duo of A.J. and Fell are an unstoppable force well into their mid-twenties, but when Crowley's illness causes the pair to step back from the spotlight, an enterprising music manager scoops up Aziraphale's career. Dazzled, Aziraphale will abandon all of his former life to be Gabriel's perfect star but lose himself and his happiness along the way. It would take a very steady and forgiving heart for someone to love him through it all...

Intermezzo by FeralTuxedo (E)

Music critic Aziraphale Fell is trying to break into the world of television, when he is signed to make a documentary about former-rockstar-turned-composer Anthony Crowley. It’s been eleven years since Aziraphale’s disastrous review of Crowley’s debut opera nipped his classical music career in the bud. He can only hope that Crowley will get over his admittedly justified grudge to make the TV show a success. A classical music sex comedy. Yes, really.

Of Harpsichord and Falsetto by saretton (E)

"And that was the magic of it all: Aziraphale was at such a level in his mastery that he could tidy up all that apparent chaos. He made it seem so easy, so effortless, even though Crowley knew that, behind that polished façade, there were years of study, practice and daily sacrifices. In the days when they both attended the music school, Crowley used to sit outside the rehearsal classroom to listen to Albert as he practiced playing the piano almost every afternoon. Sometimes Crowley would even ditch other classes to do that." ----- A Good Omens Musicians AU.

And the one you mentioned...

Play for me the Music of your Heart by Leviosally468 (E) (WIP)

Anthony J. Crowley, a talented virtuoso violinist finally makes the move west to Nightingale Bay, Oregon after escaping a simultaneously promising yet toxic life at Elysian Conservatory of Music in New York City. Aziraphale Z. Fell is Eastern Gate University’s friendly and talented piano professor and symphony conductor. Let's see how that goes, shall we?

- Mod D

[preciouslandmermaid]

of songbirds, swords, and spice (7)

pairing: Opla!Zoro x Opla!Sanji x Fem! Reader (no use of Y/N or L/N)

tw/cw: reader is restrained, physical violence/abuse towards reader, explicit threats toward reader, blood.

note: it's been 84 years - i am still alive

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️

(masterpost)

<- (previous chapter)

Your small hands curled around the peach-colored fruit. It was strange looking, with lots of swirls and lumps, but you were so, so hungry. Mr. Wasp kept everyone on a strict diet. He said it was to keep everyone healthy, but you heard the older maids whispering, they said that he didn’t feed his staff because then they’d never have the energy to run off. It wouldn’t hurt to take a bite. One bite.

Your teeth tore into the fleshy surface and the sweet, fragrant juice smeared against your chin and along your lips. Your stomach grumbled, urging you to take another bite. You had to take another. Mr. Wasp wouldn’t notice if this fruit went missing, would he? He had lots of food locked away in the pantry and the cellar. You chewed rapidly like one of those tiny, snuffling tusked beasts that stomped around the edge of Mr. Wasp’s property. Another bite. Your throat ached as the muscles uncomfortably stretched to fit the too-big-bites into your gullet. You couldn’t slow down. You had to eat this as fast as possible! The space between your fingers seeped with sticky and cloying nectar that trailed down your wrists and dripped from your elbows.

You huffed, exhaling raggedly through your nostrils, your molars gnashed the fruit into a pulp before you quickly swallowed. Before you knew it – it was gone. Your tongue swiped over your fingers, your knuckles, and palms. You stared at the empty, velvet-lined box that the fruit had been sitting in. You scooped it into your sticky hands. You needed to hide this and quickly before–!!

Ice-cold, salt water splashed onto your face, and you sat up, coughing and sputtering through your soaked gag. The corners of your mouth where the gag cut into your cheeks stung and ached. You blinked past the droplets to see Victor’s polished shoes by your ribs.

He gave you one swift, painful kick to your stomach, and you reflexively crunched into your body to protect yourself.

I can endure it, you thought, remembering that Nightingale Island, Estella, and her children were safe because of your sacrifice. You glared at Victor’s smiling face. He thought he won, but you weren’t going to use your voice for him. Not ever. With Estella, you didn’t mind running cons with her. The berry went towards the orphanage, so it all balanced out, but you’d never be a songbird for Victor so long as you drew breath. I’ll cut out my own tongue if I have to, you thought with a morbid and desperate determination.

“Do you remember what I said to you that day?” he asked.

His goons lifted you roughly to your feet. Your arms and wrists prickled as the lack of circulation and movement from the ropes was starting to burn. You winced, wiggling your fingers, hoping to dispel the painful sensation. Another goon entered the cell carrying shackles. She fastened them to your wrists and ankles and, once it was confirmed that you’re secured, the ropes were then removed.

“No?” Victor taunted, as if it were possible for you to speak. “I told you I don’t need slaves who talk back.”

He gripped your chin, fingers digging into your flesh, his dark eyes flaring with promise—and rage. “When we land, I’m going to cut your tongue from your mouth. You won’t be so fierce then, will you?”

You jerked your head away from his grasp, chest heaving, and tears stinging your eyes. I can endure it. You stared at the wet planks below and sensed the gentle swell of the ocean. I can endure. A frantic, hysterical laugh bubbled up inside your chest. Weren’t you just thinking of cutting your tongue out? And now Victor wanted the same. Which meant...which meant...your stomach soured. He doesn’t want me to be a songbird for him. He didn’t care about your power.

He said, “I have several clients who are tempted by the idea of an ex-devil fruit user. You will please them. ” He clapped once and said, “But first! You must repent for the years lost. Bring her to the deck.”

You struggled in vain against the goons who half-carried, half-dragged you from below and onto the deck. You blinked as the bright sunlight flooded your senses and a low, pounding headache pressed between your ears. They shoved you onto your knees.

Szzrrtt. The fabric of your shirt ripped from behind and it swung in tatters around your waist. Sunlight warmed your skin, but a full-body chill ran through you. You knew what would happen next. You knew. And you were afraid. As a child, Mr. Wasp would strike your knuckles until they bled as punishment. This was different. Unknown. Unimaginably worse. A prickle of goose-flesh ran across your spine.

“Five lashes,” Victor said to your exposed back, “for every year you were gone sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

A pair of his enforcers remained next to you, one hand for each shoulder, trapping your knelt form on the sun-kissed deck of the ship. You tried to breathe in through your nostrils, but it hiccupped strangely in your mouth. The white capped blue ocean endlessly stretched and blurred. There were no other ships on the horizon. No one is coming to save me. I can endure this. I must.

If you were to have any chance of escaping in the future, then Mr. Wasp needed to believe that he had won. He needed to see you as a broken, lost songbird. Otherwise, you’d never make it off the ship alive.

“Hugo,” he said, drawing his arm back, “splash her with saltwater every three lashes. I don’t trust her silence.”

“That’ll burn,” the man, you assumed it was Hugo, said.

“She’ll live,” he scoffed. “I’m being merciful.”

Zoro shouted to the others, “Get ready!”

The asshole’s ship was dead ahead. The salty air pushed through his short, green hair and he clutched the hilt of his sword. Nothing would stop them. Luffy promised that they’d bring the performer home and if Zoro knew anything – it was that Luffy was a man of his word.

The sunlight dipped toward the horizon, the ocean caught fire, and ignited the thin, pink clouds into angry wisps that almost held a candle to Zoro’s fury.

Luffy took a running start and used his elastic body to launch himself toward the ship with the gaudy, hornet-covered sails. Zoro watched his captain soar across the crimson and tangerine sky with one hand holding his straw hat in place.

On the deck of the Wasp ship, he could hear the exclamations of confusion and terror. Good. They ought to be afraid. They have the fucking Straw Hats coming after them. They messed with the wrong pirates, Zoro thought with a feral slash of a grin.

Once the Going Merry was astride the Wasp, Zoro took a page out of Luffy’s book, and took a running start and leapt onto the deck. His sword sang as it was released from it’s sheath and the dying sunlight glinted off the blade in a harsh flash of burnt light.

Two idiots charged at him wielding wooden clubs and Zoro quickly deflected the first blow, then followed-up and slashed across the idiot’s wrist. Their attacks were clumsy. Laughable. You should have let them fight him at Estella’s house. He would’ve won. This whole mess could’ve been avoided, but no – no – you had to play the self-sacrificing hero, didn’t you?

“Where’s your Captain!?” Luffy yelled, punching someone so hard that several of their teeth flew out of their mouth. “Me and him gotta talk.”

Usopp shouted from the eagle’s nest, “Luffy, Zoro, look out!”

Zoro looked up and saw someone hanging from the rigging. They chucked a small, black sphere toward him and Luffy. It landed on the deck with a short hiss before the explosion released a plume of grayish black smoke. Zoro blinked through the acrid smoke and charged blindly forward. Fuck. This. These idiots are gonna blow up their own ship?

His shoulder hit a closed door and he yanked it open, barreling himself forward into three more idiots—although these ones had scimitars. Maybe they’d prove to be a challenge! The clang of steel upon steel rang through his ears as it echoed through the narrow stairway. He kicked one in the chest, sending her backward into their ally’s sword where it punctured through the idiot’s hip.

The woman screamed, surprised by the blade sticking out of her body, before her eyes rolled into her skull and her body slumped. It bought him a few seconds since his enemy needed to pull his blade out of his friend in order to keep fighting.

He deftly disarmed his third opponent and sent their scimitar clattering noisily down the stairs. These guys are seriously embarrassing.

Zoro’s blade sang through the air. A clean strike from neck to navel. The idiot got his blade free, leaving his friend for dead, and charged him. Zoro grunted, pushing forward despite the cramped and awkward angles, and using his height as leverage. One of the blades sliced over his knuckles, but Zoro hardly registered the pain or the blood that dripped from his hand. A twist. Another strike. A back-step, pretending to dodge, before he struck again.

His opponent’s left arm dangled, sinew and muscle stretching, the wound gushed blood near their neck. The body fell heavily to the ground and joined the rest.

His muscles throbbed and his breathing was heavy, but it was a good feeling. He’d probably find that asshole captain down here.

He stepped over the slick, shiny gore and his feet planted against the landing. Time to find the captain’s quarters. He didn’t know where it was, but it can’t be actually hard to find, can it? He stalked through the underbelly of the ship, blood trailing from his knuckles, and opened every door he came across. Storage. Storage. Sleeping quarters for the crew. But, the next door was locked. This must be it! He shouldered into it, feeling the frame quake in response, but it didn’t budge.

Zoro braced himself, holding the handle and gritting his teeth, before reeling back and slamming into it with all his strength.

The door splintered inward with an explosion of wooden chips. Zoro stumbled into the room, coming face to face with an occupied jail cell, and your name crumbled from his lips.

His fists encircled the bars on the cell. You laid in a fetal position, your arms twisted behind your back, your wrists and ankles shackled. His eyes trailed down your throat to where the tattered, torn remains of your shirt clung in wet, bloody pieces. His nostrils filled with salt and iron.

Zoro growled lowly, “What the fuck did that bastard do to you?”

You blinked your glassy, bright eyes at him and Zoro’s jaw clenched. He was going to tear the captain limb from limb if Luffy hadn’t beaten him to it already. He yanked at the cell door, expecting it to be locked–but it wasn’t. The door clanged, loud and off-putting, as it slammed into the bars and Zoro dropped to his knees before you.

You came. You actually came. You...idiots.

Your throat prickled and tightened, but you had run out of tears hours ago. He wiggled his thumb beneath the cloth, loosening the gag, before untying it from around your head. You gasped, breathing without restraint for the first time in hours, your lips dry and irritated and your tongue chalky. You closed your eyes for a moment, collecting yourself.

You choked the words from your sore throat, “Why’re you here?”

“Did you seriously think we’d let you walk away?”

You opened your eyes, intending to meet his gaze, but Zoro had moved and crouched behind you. You heard, rather than saw, his sharp, horrified inhale.

“Five strikes for every year I was away,” you said quietly, as if the injuries on your back needed explanation.

“Don’t move,” he said. His fingertips brushed against your raw, aching forearms. His grip tugged against the short chain that connected the shackles on your wrists.

“Zoro, what are you—”

He grunted and you heard something metallic snap. Your shoulders abruptly relaxed and a weak, surprised sob crawled up your throat. You pulled your arms from behind you and stared at the dangling, broken chain. “How–?”

Zoro grabbed the chain at your ankles. The veins in his neck bulged as he white-knuckled the chain between his fists and exhaled harshly through his nose. “You can’t.”

...There’s no way. Your eyes widened as Zoro snapped the chain in half like it was made of thin, bamboo wood.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and a slight, cocky smirk tugged at his mouth. “You were saying?”

An astonished, short laugh erupted from your chest. “You need to stop saving me,” you joked while slowly getting to your feet. Your entire body throbbed with pain like barbed wires, but hey, you were alive. Alive and free from Victor. “What about the town?”

“It was a bluff.” Zoro shook his head. “Nami, Usopp, and some of your townsfolk searched the place. He was lying.”

Of course he was. Your lower lip wobbled. All this agony I endured and I could have...I could have just trusted the straw hats, could have trusted myself, and fought him. You looked away from Zoro and rubbed at your eyes. No more tears—there would be time for grieving once Victor was dead and gone.

“I brought this,” Zoro said, reaching behind him and holding out your kusarigama. You reached for the handle and your fingertips grazed over Zoro’s calloused palm.

“Thank you,” you said. For the weapon, for saving me, for finding me even though I’m not a part of your crew.

Zoro made a soft ‘hm’ noise in the back of his throat.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you walked onto the deck. Your body thrummed with pain, but adrenaline worked wonders to soften the sharp edges and allow you to step over the injured or dead bodies of Victor’s crew.

“Zoro, I think you should cover your ears,” you said with a serene, focused calm. You weighed and balanced the kusarigama in your hand. Luffy and Victor were fighting, but that was your battle, Victor Wasp was your tormentor, your nightmare, and if anyone was going to end it it had to be you. You planted your feet and spun the end of the kusarigama’s chain.

You yelled, “Victor!” And launched the chain toward your old employer’s throat. The chain snapped around his throat and knocked him onto his back. His pristine plum suit was torn at the elbows and his face sported an ugly, swollen bruise on his cheek. He flailed, his fingers grabbed the chain, but before he could scramble to his feet, you said, “Luffy, hold his arms so he can’t cover his ears, please.”

The Captain of the Straw Hats wordlessly obliged with your request and pinned Victor’s arms behind his back.

“What are you going to do?” asked Luffy.

“Make him suffer.” Your voice was flat. Victor’s anger was hot, corrosive, and it made you bleed. But your rage – your anger – was different. You had no interest in breaking his bones or bruising his skin. You could do so, so much worse. Everything narrowed and the rest of the ship fell away from your peripheral vision. The lingering, white smoke from the bombs hardly tickled your lungs and the flapping sails above barely registered in your ear drums. Victor’s terrified, swollen face filled your vision. His eyes narrowed contemptuously as you approached.

“Do you worst,” he spat. “I know you don’t have the stomach for killing, girl.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I own you!” he seethed, “you belong to me.”

You folded your arms across your chest though the movement caused your shoulder blades sing with agony.

“Listen closely, Mr. Wasp. This will be the last sound you hear.” You checked to your left to confirm that Zoro was plugging his ears. Your song was quiet, but haunting. Victor began to tremble within Luffy’s strong grasp. You learned through your adventures with Estella that the intention of the song mattered as much as the tempo. Victor’s eyes filled with tears and they rolled down his swollen, bruised cheeks. You sangand imagined pulling at a thread of one of his suits and unraveling it slowly until it became a tangled pile of fine, expensive thread.

Victor abruptly threw up onto his shirt and Luffy released him, looking toward you with a mix of confusion and concern. You grabbed Victor by the back of his neck, dragging him without resistance towards the ship railing. His ears were bleeding and his muscles twitched beneath your palm. You stopped the song. Victor hadn’t stopped crying.

Pathetic, you thought, though your anger had seeped from you.

“Luffy,” you said, “my dream...it’s to stop people like him and liberate people who were like me.” A cool, gentle breeze rustled around you and tugged at the tattered, dried and bloody remains of your shirt and stroked along your exposed, raw skin. No one should endure what you had. No one.

“The world government claims they abolished slavery, but there are still those who prey on the weak, who use their berry to pay off the marines, and keep little girls locked in basements,” you announced and glanced over your shoulder to see that the straw hats had gathered on the deck. Nami’s eyes were bright and glistened with unshed tears.

“You said no dream was impossible.” You said and met Luffy’s determined, dark gaze.

“I meant it.” He nodded.

Victor Wasp. The man who tormented you, abused you, stole you from your home and forced you into a childhood of terrified servitude. The man who came and threatened your home, your family, and then gleefully declared that he would cut out your tongue and force you to ‘please’ his clients. Your song had weakened him. You had hurt him on a physiological level, tearing at the fibers of his mind, and rendering him a blubbering and trembling mess. But, you believed the damage wasn’t permanent andMr. Wasp would recover eventually. You tightened your grip around the nape of his neck. He whimpered and licked away the snot that drenched his upper lip.

You could throw him into the water right now and he would drown. The lilac-touched twilight winked at you from above as the ocean waved white-caps and swelled beneath the ship’s hull.

Suddenly, Estella’s face flashed before you. Your heart skipped. You weren’t the only victim of Victor’s cruelty. Estella suffered far more than you. She lost her daughter. She was trapped under his thumb for decades. You swallowed thickly, then tossed the weakened man back onto the deck and sighed.

“Estella should choose what happens to him,” you announced to the others. “She deserves to choose after what she went through with her daughter.”

You met Nami’s glassy eyes. “Can you take us back to Nightingale?”

“Of course.” Her voice cracked and she turned her face away from you. You returned your attention to the skyline, open and sweet before you, and released a long, shaking sigh.

[sinful-lanterns]

Hold up Angey, aren’t there some pieces of work where the angels are naked 🤨. I think you know where I’m going with this

If you’re implying that Demon! Enfer is sculpting the angel women naked to tease them, then yes you’re totally right, she will do that 🤭

Angel! Nightingale could just be walking towards your bedroom, wanting to check up on you when BAM. Right damn smack in the intersection of the hall is a sculpture of Nightingale looking quite ethereal despite being nude. Nightingale has never felt more shame in all her life, but Enfer is nonchalantly humming to herself as she polishes Nightingale’s sculpted breasts. Demon! Langley is watching all this go down and shoots Nightingale a smirk, causing the angel to zip back to your room to cleanse herself of her experience 😭😭

Cue Nightingale burying her face in your chest, needing your calming, somewhat wholesome prescience to alleviate her stress from the demons. Luckily you tell Enfer to put the naked angel statues in her own personal quarters, but your own nude statues remain. Mostly because the demons want to keep them there, and the angels will just have to get used to seeing your nudity in rock form…

[nosferatini]

🕊️ The Season of Nightingales 🕊️

Chapter 33/36

3 Chapters to go!

Summary

The Second Coming looms large. Supreme Archangel Aziraphale vows to fix Heaven without asking the impossible from Crowley. As their effort is complicated by unexpected friends, a guileful Metatron, and a Heavenly floor full of the Blessed Dead—Aziraphale and Crowley find navigating their relationship is not mutually exclusive from saving the world from Armageddon.

Chapter 33 - The Ten Commandments

Excerpt:

The Decalogue, the Ten Commandments, the Words on the Twin Stones, began to morph before Aziraphale’s eyes. 

*I was right!*

He beamed back at the glowing message, and read it aloud with his most awe-inspired voice. 

“I am the Lord, thy God. Have Faith in Me. My Name is a blessing, use it well. Rest and Rejoyce this sacred day. You honor Me with this union. Live with him. Love him. Give him your soul. Share with him your knowledge. And envy not those who art in Heaven. For you shall want for nothing more.”

He was basking so nicely in the golden glow that it was jarring to hear his love’s gravelly voice pipe in with, “That’s not what it says.”

“I’m sorry?”

Read Chapter 33 on AO3!

Or…

🕊️ Start From the Beginning!🕊️

Huge hugs and gratitude to my beloved betas, @dbacklot99 , @demonsandpieohmy @addledmongoose and u/blackjeans93 from @goodomensafterdark for helping me scrub and polish my beloved fic!

@whickberstreetwriters