#have i ever mentioned that i really love magpies? because they deserve more love.

[sky-scribbles]

The Shape of the Soul - II

Continuation of my Dragon Age daemon AU, this time for the DA2 companions (barring Varric, because in this AU, dwarves don’t have daemons.) Inspired by this post, which is incredible and should be read. For those of you who’ve already seen this on DeviantArt, I’ve done some rewriting because I wrote this a while ago and I felt like it could do with some tweaking.

Origins/Awakening version here.

~

Carver Hawke

They know him, the people of Lothering. Brianna makes them know him.

She refuses to take a form that isn’t fearless. Lion, great bear, boar, wolf, bronto – whatever his older sibling’s daemon becomes, Brianna becomes something larger and stronger, and Carver’s chest swells with pride. She’ll bring him out from his family’s shadow. She’ll become a creature no one could look away from, prove that he’s more than just the little Hawke.

When she lets him down, when she settles into the form of a black and gold Anderfels shepherd dog, he feels like pounding the walls of the world and screaming. She feels his resentment, and flattens her ears and bares her teeth. And Carver knows there’s something wrong if you’re fighting with your daemon, that you should never be angry with your own soul, but he is, he’s angry, so angry.

It’s not just pride. It’s not just that he hoped for a daemon who’d make sure he could never be overlooked. His anger isn’t because he thinks Brianna got it wrong. It’s because he’s afraid she got it right. Dogs are servants’ daemons. Dogs belong to footmen and farmers and labourers, people who slink in the shadows of others, and whenever he looks at Brianna he feels despair well up inside him because that can’t be his life.

So he refuses to be a dog. He marches away to Ostagar.

And there, in the soldiers’ camp, the knot of doubt and anguish in his stomach unravels. Because Brianna romps and play-tussles with the other soldiers’ daemons, and his comrades-in-arms grin as Carver thumps her flanks and ruffles her ears, saying he should be proud of her, that having a dog-daemon is a good sign. Smart, they say, loyal, Fereldan to the bone. That night, he sleeps with an arm draped over his daemon and a smile draped over his face. The resentment he felt when she settled feels so distant it might as well have never been. He's not little Hawke here. He’s Hawke, and Brianna is his daemon.

Then Loghain retreats when the beacon is lit, and everything is gone.

Kirkwall. Brianna slinks at Carver’s heels, not because she’s a servant’s daemon, but because of Bethany. She bristles now when anyone but Carver goes near her, raises her hackles and snaps, and he doesn’t try to calm her. He’s little Hawke again now, and he’s snarling on the inside too.

Then one day, he’s wearing armour again, just like he was at Ostagar, and there are brothers-in-arms around him whose daemons play-fight with Brianna until her barks and snarls turn into yapping laughs. He walks tall, proud of the emblem on his breastplate, and prouder still of Brianna, because dogs mean loyalty and Carver plans to give all the loyalty he has. First to his new order. Then to his sibling, when the city goes up in flames and he understands at last why his daemon is a dog.

Dogs aren’t about serving. They’re about helping. Years later, on the way to Weisshaupt to find his disaster of a sibling, he passes one of the Anders shepherds, and stops to ask him about his dogs. And the shepherd looks at Brianna, smiles with understanding. The Anderfels shepherd, he says, needs a purpose, or it’ll snap and snarl at everything. They won’t take to many, but the ones who raise them and stick with them, they’ll die to protect. Except they won’t die, because they know how to fight, and by the Maker, but do they fight hard.

 ‘Well,’ Brianna says, as they walk away. ‘Looks like I got it right after all.’

Carver stops walking, drops to his knees, and throws his arms around her.

~

Bethany Hawke

Night comes after day, dwarves don't dream, and mages’ daemons are birds. These are facts of life, things that no one can fight or change. Bethany thinks often about the Circles, about how their halls and passages must be like aviaries of caged birds, and her throat tightens. And yet they might be beautiful. All the bright feathers. 'And all the singing,' Eliron whispers, and Bethany smiles.

He doesn’t like to become a bird too often, though. It feels like tempting fate. He spends most of his time as deer, and Bethany prays to the maker to let him settle as one. Just let him not be a bird. Then that jeering boy from the neighbouring farm gets into a fight with Carver, and somehow she hurls him away from her brother and halfway across the street without laying a hand on him. They run home, Father shouts for them to pack their bags, the family runs again. And Eliron panics. He flickers through every bird Bethany knows and plenty she doesn’t, trying on shape after shape, refusing to take any form that doesn’t have wings and feathers.

Be an eagle, Carver tells him, be a swan or an albatross, but Bethany knows that’s not what Eliron’s going to be. Eliron knows it too, because he never listens to Carver. He favours small things, things with round black eyes and plain feathers, things that can become invisible just by staying still. He moves around the house in cautious hops and short bursts of flight - a wren, a dunnock, a treecreeper - until he realises that what he loves most, what they both love most of all, is to hear him fill the house with song. From then on, it’s nightingales and blackbirds, robins and larks.

At last, Eliron settles as a song thrush.

He’s plain to look at, if you don’t look closely, if you just take in the brown feathers and don’t notice the beautiful cream and dark flecks on his chest. He’s small enough that he can just about hide in a pocket if he’s afraid, and he often does, because the Templars stare long and hard at anyone with a bird-daemon. She could look at them wrong, and that would be all the excuse they’d need to cut her down, just because her soul has wings. Like hawks on a songbird.

She looks at the Gallows sometimes, from across the water. She looks at it and thinks about how people keep thrushes as pets. They can live in a cage. They’ll sing their hearts out, with bars between them and the hawks and cats.  Maybe it would be easier, to let them clip her wings, so she can sing.

But after the expedition – when everything’s said and done and there’s no going back, no matter how much she and her sibling might hate it – she realises something. She and Eliron – they have a secret, and it’s the reason Eliron became the kind of thrush he did, not the plainer-feathered yet more beautiful-voiced cousin. A nightingale will sing to make you weep, but you’ll never see it, where it shrinks deep into the woods. A thrush, though… a thrush is something else.

A thrush learns. A thrush steps out into the open. A thrush knows how to crack a snail’s shell with just a few quick, hard strikes against stone.  Bethany knows how to strike like that, when she’s got something worth fighting for, knows how to step out into the light of day with lightning at the tips of her fingers. Put her in a cage, and she’ll survive, but she was always meant to be free, because a thrush is more than a brown-and-cream bird with a pretty song, a thrush is a wild bird and a thrush has skill and smarts and pluck.

That’s Bethany’s secret.

Oh, she’s afraid. But she’s also a thrush. Which means that at heart, she is bold.

~

Aveline Vallen

Her father, of course, wanted her daemon to be a lion. Strong, proud, loyal, and, most importantly, Orlesian. He was about as determined for her to have a lion as Aveline and Audric were determined for her not to have one.

‘Too grand,’ Aveline complains, after her father raises the idea for the fiftieth time.

Audric, in the shape of a mabari just to prove a point, nods. ‘Too stately.’

‘Walking around Ferelden with some great golden cat beside me? That’d mark me out as foreign even more than my name.’

‘And they’re lazy, the males. Sleeping in the sun all day, taking first bite of whatever the females catch.’

Both their jaws clench. That’s injustice, that is, and they want no part in that.

So it’s with some relief that Aveline realises one day that he’s stopped changing. He’s loping at her side in the form of a stocky reddish-coloured bullmastiff and isn’t showing any signs of abandoning that form any time soon. ‘Perfect,’ Aveline says, and Audric gives his tail the tiniest wag. A bullmastiff is as Fereldan as a lion would have been Orlesian. Very tough, very straightforward, and very, very Aveline.

Even without the lion, her father gets her into the king’s service. It’s all right, they tell each other. Audric’s a more natural daemon for a knight than you might expect. A dog-daemon means loyalty, and it means respect from any true Ferelden. The lips that curl at the sound of her name tend to go still again when they see Audric, because he’s about as Fereldan as a lion would have been Orlesian. And it’s only right for her soul to be Fereldan – she speaks with its accent, knows its ways, falls in love with one of its men.

But then suddenly all of that is behind them, and Wesley is dead, and she’s in Kirkwall with a family of ragged refugees.

The guard becomes Aveline’s new pack, because a dog’s nothing without one. She knows some of her comrades-in-arms wonder why she’s always wandering off with Hawke, and why she challenges the Captain’s orders when the cost could be her career. She knows why they wouldn’t expect it, because Audric’s quiet for a dog. The guards never thought the woman whose soul is this watchful, stoic creature would be the one to raise her hackles or show her teeth.

You can’t give the same command again and again to a bullmastiff, though. Not unless you want it to stop listening and start looking for more. Aveline and Audric know that, and that’s why they question things, find the scent of corruption and follow the trail until they’ve flushed out the source.

That’s what marks them out. All dogs are loyal followers. But there are only a very few who can be leaders.

~

Anders

Anders wakes from his Harrowing with his mind aching and his heart pounding and his sheets cold and wet from sweat. He almost lashes out when something touches his shoulder, but it’s Karl, just Karl, thank the Maker, and without thinking twice about it - damn the consequences, just this once – pulls his lover to him and holds him close. And Karl smile against his shoulder, clings to him for a moment, then whispers, ‘I think you should take a look at Themis.’

So Anders does, his heart beating even faster. She’s been ridiculously late to settle - he likes to joke that it’s out of spite, that she refuses to take a shape while the Templars are trying to define what they are. But everyone knows that when a mage’s daemon settles late, it’ll often happen after the Harrowing. So he looks, and there she is, his Themis, his soul, perched on the end of his bed, bobbing her long tail up and down to show off its beautiful blue-green sheen.

He stares, then grins.

‘Maker,’ he says. ‘The senior enchanters are going to love this.’

He can’t count the number of times someone tuts or mutters ‘of course,’ when they see the shape she’s chosen, when they realise that the Circle’s resident troublemaker has a magpie for a daemon. Anders, though, has no complaints. All crows are clever, and Themis has his flair, his flash, his wit, his love of hoarding. Little trinkets, shiny things, useless things, any things that he can squirrel away beneath his bunk, just for the joy of having something in the world that belongs to him.

Then they take Karl away. So he starts testing his wings for the first time in years, desperate to break the cage, and he sees the darker side of a magpie-daemon. He doesn’t remember much about his home, no matter how stubbornly he clings to the images, but one flash of memory is of his father hurling a stone at a black-and-white bird. He can’t hear the voice in his mind, only remembers it saying that the bird would have got at the hens’ eggs, even the new-hatched chicks if it could. He remembers thinking that surely only a few magpies do that, and not very often. And it’s the same with mages who try to be free. They summon demons, people say. Only a few, Anders wants to scream. Not very often. And not me.

Magpies are hunted, hated. The whole world is against them.

It sank in long ago, the cruel irony of the rule that mages’ daemons are always birds. People love to cage birds, to watch them sit behind bars and sing, but a bird is a creature of the sky and that is where it belongs. You'll never hear a magpie sing for anyone. Anders certainly doesn't plan on doing so. So when Justice makes his offer, he says yes.

And after – after the world becomes as black and white as Themis's feathers – there’s an odd distance between them. He’s not the same man he was when Themis settled, and she doesn’t quite fit as she used to. He and Justice are one now, after all, and no spirit has a daemon. But Anders still loves her, of course he loves her, because he will always be a magpie at heart. You can tell it just to look at him – feathered shoulders and dark eyes that don’t miss a thing. He may hunt for escape routes and messages from the underground now, not for trinkets, but he’s still a scavenger.

He watches her sometimes, a lone magpie flashing around his clinic, and the old rhyme runs through his head. 'One for sorrow,' he says, and Themis shakes her head. 'You're me,' she says. 'You're a magpie too. It's two for joy.' She was always the bright-eyed part of him, the part that laughed and bobbed her tail. She's the part of him that hopes. So he allows himself to believe her. The thought that there might just be a chance at joy… it’s what keeps him fighting.

~

Fenris

‘Little wolf,’ Danarius called him, but Danarius was wrong.

A wolf is a creature of packs. A wolf is bright eyes and obedience. A wolf craves company and a wolf knows its place. Fenris is not a wolf. Fenris is power and pride, even if that pride is bruised and raw from its shackles, and anyone who looks at Tenebris can see it. He doesn’t know whether she settled before he got the brands or whether the lyrium changed her, somehow, just as it changed him. All he knows is that for as long as he can remember, she’s been like this, a sleek, beautiful, black-furred creature of the northern rainforests.

Danarius should have known they’d break free. No one could ever tame a panther.

He kept her on a chain, of course, and clasped a spiked collar around her neck. He made her clean his boots with her tongue, rested his feet on her back, stroked the glossy fur of her head whenever one of his rivals came to visit. Look, said that hand that buried itself in the black pelt. See what powerful beasts I have at my command.

His touch on her was like knives in Fenris’s gut. But he stood silent, still, head bowed. His master owned his body. His soul was held in his master’s hands.

Danarius would force them apart, make them sleep in separate rooms, forbid them to speak to each other, even touch. In his anger, he would beat them both, and Fenris would feel Tenebris’s pain jolt through his own body, and he’d think vaguely through a fog of anguish that it was wrong, seeing a creature of strength and grace cowed like this. The thought would flicker for a moment, and then be gone.

When they finally run, it’s the first time Fenris has ever felt close to his soul.

Living in Kirkwall is not only about learning to live with freedom. It’s about learning who he is. For the first time, Tenebris is not an oversized cat, she is a piece of the wild, and so is he. They spend long nights curled up beside the fire in the mansion, talking as they never have before. Fenris curses himself for never realising that he always had an ally in her, then stops and curses Danarius instead for forcing him to feel separate from her. Slowly, the barriers break down, and he’s willing to touch his own soul at last, to run his hands through her velvet fur, and she’s willing to lie alongside him at night with her pelt brushing his skin.

When the accursed mage starts up his ranting about freedom again, Fenris finds himself listening for once. Because the mage mentions Tranquility. About how no one deserves to have their daemon severed, their bond with their soul taken away.

Fenris glances down at Tenebris, at this creature who would always, eventually, slip or break any collar you placed around her neck, because she’s a panther, not a cat. He feels his heart swell, and for the first time in his life, he finds himself understanding what Anders means. 'No one will cage us,' Tenebris growls. 'No one will seperate us.' And she bares her teeth, teeth that can bite right through a man's skull, just as Fenris's hand can slam through a chest. He doesn't doubt that she is right.

~

Merrill

Merrill always did do things a little differently.

Many Dalish have jays as daemons, even those who aren’t mages, but they’re all the normal creamy-brown jays, creatures that can melt into the woods, go unseen if they want to. There’s no missing Belavahna. She’s so obviously foreign, her feathers vibrant, exotic, tropical, the blue of shallow waters in warm oceans. No Fereldan bird looks like she does.

The other Dalish frown and shake their heads at the sight. When your daemon stands out as much as her, it means you’re different in some way, and people are always ready to think that different means dangerous. But Belavahna – she’s not dangerous. Merrill knows she isn’t. A jay will give you a nice firm peck if you try to hurt it (and serve you right), but they aren't cruel. Jays are bright, inquisitive eyes, and cheerful voices that rarely still. Jays are curiosity and cleverness.

Jays like to keep things, too. They stash nuts and seeds away, keep them hidden, keep them safe. Merrill feels like she's doing the same, as she gathers the shards of the Eluvian, pieces it back together, and lugs it around with her everywhere she goes. ‘Like a magpie gathering things that glitter,’ the clan say, but Merrill bites her lip and carries on. Bela’s always been the bolder part of Merrill, though, the stronger part, so she looks their clanmates in the eye defiantly, and later, she presses her head against Merrill’s face, the brush of her feathers a soothing comfort.

‘You’re not keeping these things out of greed,’ she says. 'That’s not what jays do. Jays keep things because they’re too precious to be lost.'

They stand out even more in the Alienage than they did with the clan. A Dalish girl with a tattooed face and her vivid azure and cream bird-daemon will always attract stares and turn heads, nowhere more so than where everyone else’s daemons are so... faded. When Merrill looks at the other elves’ patchy-furred dogs and mice and squirrels, the only word that comes to mind is defeated.

She could never fit in with these people, when her soul is so very, very different to theirs. So she’s on her own, and that’s the hardest part, because jays really don’t like to be alone.

But there’s brightness in this life too. There’s Hawke. And there’s Varric and Isabela and the others, and card games in the Hawke estate and feeling like she’s not so alone after all. And there’s browsing the bookshelves in Hawke’s house, and stumbling on one about Free Marches birds. It’s the book that tells her that Bela’s a scrub jay. It’s the book that tell her a lot of things about her daemon and thus about herself.

She reads. She reads about how scrub jays pick the ticks and fleas from deer and cattle, helping them in ways so small they might not even notice. She reads about how they’re frowned on, called thieves. ‘Well, that’s a little unfair,’ Bela says. ‘They need to eat.’

Yes, they do. Just like Merrill needs to fix the Eluvian. You don’t stop doing something you need to do because other people have the wrong idea about it.

But the most important thing she learns is that scrub jays watch. They watch each other, and they remember. They don’t forget where they hide their stashes, not ever. They move their caches when another bird sees them hide it. They hold on to the past and they plan for the future, looking behind so they can find a way ahead, because behind those quick darting eyes and the cheerful chattering voices are minds that never, never forget.

And it’s a Keeper’s job – Merrill’s job – to remember. Even the dangerous things.

~

Isabela

Mages have birds. But they’re not the only ones. Isabela’s never shot lightning from her fingers her whole life, though she can think of plenty of circumstances in which it would be… interesting to be able to do so. She has a bird all the same, and it means something very different. It means freedom.

When Delmar settles, Isabela’s mother clenches her jaw and mutters something about even harder to get you married properly now. The birds-are-mages association isn’t too much of an obstacle, not in Rivain, but Delmar is… Delmar. He’s no sleek, beautiful creature, no elegant peacock to adorn a rich man’s house. He’s big and brown, webbed feet and a short beak ending in a little dagger-hook, and he doesn’t keep quiet when he’s got something to say. He fills the house with his sharp, laughing call, and of course, Luis hates him.

Zevran, however, finds him hilarious.

‘A skua for a daemon,’ he says, tossing her a knife. ‘That being the case, you should find skewering me fairly easy, no?’ And Isabela laughs for what feels like the first time since she set eyes on Luis, and as she matches Zevran’s blades with her blades and his puns with her puns, she finally feels like she deserves Delmar. Like her soul is winged for a reason.

When at last Isabela breaks free, she lets Delmar lead the way. They know where to go. The sea has always called them, because the skua is a migrant, a wanderer, travelling for thousands of miles over open water. Delmar’s webs and sail-like wings were made for voyages. So was Isabela. But not for her the tame merchant life, because the skua is marked out from the aimlessly squabbling gulls and the fragile terns and the stately albatrosses by one thing. It is not only a traveller, but a thief.

On days when the spray’s flung into her face by the wind and the ship’s skimming across the waves as if it’s as eager to meet the horizon as Isabela is, she loves nothing more than to watch Delmar taking to the sky, flying to the very edge of their bond. Sometimes there’ll be some hapless seabird, a gull or a gannet, that manages to grasp a fish in its bill only to have a huge brown bird with a bill like a knife descend like a thunderbolt, grasp its wing to make it stall and fall to the sea below, snatching the fish from it beak with vicious deftness. Isabela pities the other birds of the sea when there’s a skua in the air, just as she pities the poor merchant who sees the Siren’s Call descending, flags fluttering, the pirate captain standing grinning at the prow, her pirate daemon on her shoulder.

When the arrows start flying and the swords start swinging, Isabela knows her place – right in the thick of things, with blades at the ready. And Delmar circles above, dive-bombing the enemy, beating his wings in the face of the bandit (who misses the blow he aimed at Merrill) and pecking at the face of the Tal-Vashoth (who would have had Varric if Delmar hadn’t been there) and scratching and clawing and fighting, fighting, fighting.

Because here’s the thing: nothing takes on a skua. Nothing but an eagle or a killer whale will ever be bold enough. Go near its nest, threaten its fledglings, and it won’t stop fighting you until you’re fleeing or dead.

Hawke and the others are like a bunch of clueless fledglings much of the time, and Isabela and Delmar are in agreement that if anyone tries to harm them, they will gouge out their Maker-damned eyes.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

sir, ma’am, person, or other pronouns, you cannot just post good writing ideas right before I sleep /j

I’d like to see that golden house prompt as a short story,,, possibly????😳

-💃

spoiler! i ain't good at choreographing fights but uh i THINK i was poetic enough so it still sounds cool??? hope that's ok!! this is also inspired by some of the brainrot i've been having and getting in the past few days so i can definitely make a part two!! also normal Childe’s there for a bit original prompt was of FL Childe injuring you during the golden house fight!! read Part Two here!!: The Sky’s Tears ~ * ~ Golden House is Falling Down Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Angst Warnings: Worrying, descriptions of anger, fighting (battles), a corpse, allusions to blood, pain, potential death, lightning, electrocution

~ * ~

Sometimes Childe worried you. It came with his job, you supposed. You were well aware of his status as a Fatui Harbinger, although you’ve never personally seen him at work- it had been a casual accident when you walked into him discussing plans with his subordinates. The two of you hadn’t been close back then, only acquaintances, and he made you swear to secrecy. Well, technically he had threatened you, but you didn’t particularly mind. You weren’t as in love with Liyue as some of your friends were, and you, unlike many people, understood the importance of a well-paying job. Having his position exposed to the public could very well get him fired. Those had been your concerns, so long ago. But now, as you hurried after the Traveler in all their glory, those pitiful worries seemed so far away, replaced instead by anxious thoughts flurrying by about life and death. You weren’t anyone of particular importance in the harbor, but you always made sure to pay careful attention to any rumors and gossip you heard. You always took them with a grain of salt, of course, but you had long ago learned that it was good to keep things you heard in your mind as potential possibilities. Liyue had a habit of having “impossible” events happen anyways. It really got on your nerves sometimes. Last week’s whispers had been full of a Fatui plan about meddling with the panicking government, after Rex Lapis had allegedly fallen from the sky, his status as the oldest living archon gone. Seeing that the Fatui’s reputation wasn’t particularly good, you had filed the thought away to consider later. A few days later, it came true. And Childe seemed to vanish into thin air, shifting your worries instantaneously over to him. It was funny, how close the two of you had gotten in the weeks he’d been in Liyue. At least, you were close to him. The Traveler was kind enough to let you accompany them to the famed Golden House, just to cover all possible leads. Their steps are light and quick as you approach the elegant building, all lined with gold and jade, and you can almost hear the tinkling sound of mora within. The Traveler stares up at the enormous door, clutching their sword. They seem prepared for a fight. You gulp, hoping that their stance is just how they stand as a default. The doors to the Golden House swing open, and the Traveler gestures for you to follow them, a determined look in their eyes. You enter together, and momentarily you’re distracted by the piles of mora scattered around the floor- probably more mora than you’d see in your entire life. Your eyes scan the room as the glimmer of coins snatches your attention, a tendency that friends and family had always teased you lightheartedly about- they’d call you a crow or a magpie. You didn’t mind being a bird. It sounded fun, to fly away from all your problems. Finally your gaze lands on the corpse of Rex Lapis, floating in the center-back of the room like a morbid decoration put on display. Despite it being very, very dead, it emanates an aura of power, and you involuntarily shiver, the temperature seeming to drop by a few degrees. Suddenly you hear the great doors of the Golden House slam shut, and someone’s voice questions why they, the Traveler, still lingered. The three of you, little Paimon included, turn in surprise. It’s Childe, the very person you were fretting over and looking for. You sigh quietly in relief, but your fleeting moment of calm is quickly dashed as the Traveler silently challenges him to a duel. Hastily you scramble to get out of the way, and just barely find yourself “out-of-bounds” when the arena for their fight flares to life as they both ready their weapons. Childe retrieves his bow with a twisted smile, a counterpart to the Traveler’s iron stoicness. But it seems his gaze lingers on you, and softens for a brief moment, something you tell yourself is just your imagination, because you doubt he was ever your friend to begin with. As someone whose work isn’t associated with adventuring, your knowledge of combat is limited, but even you can see the

skill of both the Traveler and Childe as their blades clash. Several times a burst of elemental energy strikes the burning walls of the arena, and you’re thankful for the barrier between you and them, because you have very little chance of surviving the power of their abilities. When Childe’s clothes darken and the mask falls over his face, you remember hearing something about a far more powerful and dangerous version of Visions- Delusions, items the Tsaritsa, Cryo Archon and ruler of Snezhnaya, rewards to her most loyal and deserving followers. Childe’s is Electro, and the crackle of static energy he slashes towards the Traveler makes your hair stand on end. You shield your eyes from the bright lights dancing around the arena, and when you reopen them, Childe has disappeared. And he reappears next to Rex Lapis’ corpse. Several things happen at once. The Geo Archon’s Gnosis is gone, taken by neither the Harbinger or the Traveler. Paimon looks worried, the Traveler looks shocked, and Childe enraged- You blink and he’s changed. Suddenly several feet taller, he now floats, some sort of terrible creature you’ve never seen before. Everything is loud, too loud, and you clap your hands over your ears, as the floor breaks away beneath you. And you fall with the Traveler and Paimon into the chamber below. You feel something catch you- an enormous clawed hand- and set you down more or less gently into a single large room. The room is the arena, an arena you stand in with no escape. The Gnosis is gone, and Childe is a monster, one of both Hydro and Electro and a foreign, starry magic that makes your skin crawl. And the battle only continues. Luckily the Traveler is adamant on staying away from you, drawing Childe’s attacks to the other side of the arena entirely, and for a majority of the fight the most you have to do is dodge falling arrows and water amalgamations. Childe’s furious questions about the Gnosis soon fade into hisses and growls as he loses himself more and more into the horrible joy of battle. You lean over, coughing slightly from the water that splashed you as a consequence of his attacks and the exertion from dodging and keeping your balance in the Hydro-soaked room. The Traveler screams, and you look up too late as a burst of electro slashes across your chest. Then everything goes white and high pitched, your senses bursting alongside the elemental energy as it runs up your damp skin and clothes. The pain from the combination of Hydro and Electro in your veins brings tears to your eyes, and it’s only amplified around your torso as you vaguely feel something warm and sticky dripping down. Someone shakes you, panicking, calling your name, but everything is white, cold noise. The sounds around you are muffled as the battle slows to a halt, and all you hear is ringing. Another hand, sharp and clawed, brushes against your arm, but it retreats when someone starts shouting. A blade is brandished as someone yells at a monster to stay away, he’s done enough damage, how dare he, and you hear a mournful, desperate chitter through the haze of static. Ah, that curious sound, it makes your heart ache. But what, or who, is it? The sword slices through the air as the monster is pushed away by a blonde-haired Traveler’s rage, and it soon joins into the pitching, ringing note in your ears before it tapers into silence and sorrow, leaving only the inky abyss of darkness crawling up to your eyes as the pain fades into weightlessness. This time, you let yourself fall. In the harbor, the Fair Lady is informed that the Golden House is falling down, falling down.

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!

Ooohoho! This has been chilling as a draft for ages, now I have completed it. *mildly evil laughter*

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The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond. 

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear...”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is...sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too. 

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed. 

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white. 

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered. 

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my...character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans. 

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight. 

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement. 

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he...” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music. 

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.” 

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it. 

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume. 

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’ 

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and...maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still. 

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache. 

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind. 

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow. 

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking. 

He felt a little like doing so himself. 

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So...drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect...well, it hit a little close to home. 

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but...more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth. 

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said. 

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape...him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt...it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below. 

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m...I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is... The way I am is better with you.” 

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so...so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches. 

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.

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

It’s done, this one’s quite long and I loved writing it. Geralt is useless at playing pretend, but very good at loving Jaskier in his own way. I imagine his emotion lessons with Yennefer must have been rather intense. 

[secretkeeper13]

Flirt- bonus chapter

I was overwhelmed by the positive response to this story! Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read and leave such lovely comments.  I truly appreciate it! 

As soon as I finished writing this fic, I wanted to write Harry’s reaction to hearing the story of poor Criag’s misadventures in trying to flirt with Ginny.  I hope you enjoy this bit of (very dialogue heavy) fluff as much as I enjoyed writing it.  Bonus chapter also on Ao3! 

He flopped onto the bed, completely exhausted from the day. Well, really, from James, who was now (thankfully) sleeping in his cot after a mildly disastrous bath time in which he’d managed to get soapy water all over Harry’s shirt, trousers, and the entire bathroom floor, causing Harry to slip in his haste to grab his wand to do a drying charm. And then bedtime, when James climbed out of his cot three times before finally, blissfully falling asleep.  

In the stillness, he heard the door to the study close softly, the creak of the stairs, and footsteps approaching the doorway of their bedroom. He looked up as she crossed the room and sat on the other side of their bed.

“James wear you out today?” she asked, with a knowing smile.

“Yes, I’m exhausted,” he groaned. “I feel like I’ve been through one of Oliver Wood’s training sessions. I don’t know how you do it, honestly.”

She grinned. “You chase dark wizards for a living, but five hours alone with our toddler did you in?”

He smiled sheepishly. “It isn’t like when he was a baby, and you could turn your back for a second to do something and he’d still be in the same place. He’s so bloody fast now. I told you about the incident with the toilet. Not to mention the climbing- I pulled him off the third shelf in the scullery not a half hour after you left!”

She laughed. “He probably just wanted a biscuit. Caught him at it last week, found him on the second shelf holding the biscuit tin. I moved it up higher, but I guess that didn’t work.”

Harry shook his head. “How do you even use the loo? I was afraid to leave him alone for a second.”

She laughed again. “I haven’t used the loo alone during the day for the past couple weeks.”

“He’s not a baby anymore, really,” he said wistfully, thinking of their once tiny newborn, who was now saying words, toddling about, and causing all sorts of mischief.

“No, he isn’t.”

Harry sighed. “Did you get your article finished?”

“Yes, all done and sent to my editor in time for tomorrow’s paper. It practically wrote itself thanks to the Magpie’s seeker. Not every day someone catches the snitch in under a half hour in his first game.”  

“I can’t wait to read it.”

She smiled at him.  “Thanks for bringing James up to Hogsmeade after. I’m glad we got to see Neville.”

“Me too,” he said, and then he grinned up at her. “Speaking of, now do I get to hear the story of how a bloke fresh out of Hogwarts ended up buying you a drink?”

She laughed. “I knew you’d ask again.”

He’d asked as soon as they’d walked away from the bar, of course, his curiosity getting the better of him, as always.  But she’d simply raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “Later” in response to his murmured, “What was that?”

“Well?”

“Hmmm, you’re very interested in this story,” she teased, running her hand lightly down his chest and sliding closer to him on the bed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous of my new friend Craig.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Hardly. The poor boy looked like he wanted to die. I just want to know what you did to him.”

“And why do you think I’m responsible?” she said feigning innocence, giving him that wide-eyed, playful look that still made his heart beat faster.

“Well, I’d like to think I know you pretty well after nearly a decade of being with you,” he replied dryly.

She laughed. “Alright. Well, if you must know, I was at the bar, minding my own, when my new friend came up and introduced himself to me,” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“That’s bold.” He looked at her shrewdly. “And did you introduce yourself to him?”

She smirked. “I told him it was a pleasure to meet him.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I knew it.”

“What, I should’ve said, ‘Hello Craig, I’m Ginny Potter; yes, the one married to Harry Potter. Oh, he’ll be here momentarily. Yes, please make a scene and ask for a photo so the whole pub is in a frenzy by the time he arrives with our son’?”

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” he said, chuckling harder.

“Anyhow, it was clear he didn’t recognize me, so I decided to just... let it play out. Be a good sport, but not encourage him too much. And if I got a little amusement from it along the way, well, that was just a bonus.”

“How were you sure he didn’t recognize you?” he said, thinking darkly of all the unwelcome advances he’d fielded over the years, despite the entire wizarding world’s knowledge of he and Ginny’s relationship.

She snorted. “Harry, he asked me, very earnestly, if I followed Quidditch, and then followed that up by asking which team I supported.”

He cringed, but laughed. “Merlin. Poor bloke.”

 “That’s not even the best part.”

“No?”

“Oh no,” she said, her tone becoming increasingly dramatic (a trait which he found adorable and endearing). “The best part was when he unknowingly was slagging off Percy to me.”

“Come again?” Harry spluttered.

“I’d love to later, but I’d like to finish my story now, thank you.”

“Gin.” He was laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking. “You know, one day, that joke won’t be funny anymore.”

“And yet, you’re still laughing.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Percy?”

“Right, so after I mentioned that I’d recently had a career change, he told me all about his friend, who apparently took a job right out of Hogwarts in the Ministry in the Transportation Department. And his boss, the Deputy Head was, and I quote, ‘a real stickler,’ who was impossible to work for so much so that he changed jobs.”

He laughed in earnest. “And what did you say?”

“I told him I knew the type.”

Harry roared with laughter. “How did you keep a straight face?” he gasped.

“With great difficulty. So, then the barmaid showed up, and he offered to buy me a drink. I tried to politely decline, but he insisted, and the barmaid was getting annoyed, so I just went with it. I started to let him down gently after that, but then you showed up with James before I could tell him.”

“Poor Craig,” he said, shaking his head, still chuckling.

“He was very sweet.”

“I’m glad you bought him a round, the kid deserved it after that.”

“Oh, you’re team Craig, are you?”

He laughed. “Yes. I hope he finds a girl his own age though, instead of chatting up my wife.”

She took his hand and then paused for a moment, playing with their intertwined fingers. She looked down at him through her lashes.

“You know,” she said, her tone softer and more thoughtful. “It was refreshing, honestly. I don’t think someone who didn’t already know who I was has approached me in years. And it was flattering. I mean, he thought I was his age.”

Harry swallowed. He hated that being with him made her life harder. He hated that she’d had to give up any semblance of ever having a private life or anonymity by marrying him. As if she knew what he was thinking (and she probably did, he thought), she reached down and gently stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes at her touch, and when he opened them again, he spoke.

“I’m not sure why you’re surprised a bloke would want to chat you up. You’re beautiful, Gin, in more ways than one.”

She leaned down and gave him a swift kiss, then sat back up, and smiled at him, still holding his hand.

“It made my day, really. To feel like I’ve got it back after being pregnant and having James.”

“You can’t get back something you never lost.”

She beamed at him and shook her head. “Harry Potter. That was a line.”

“Well, I’ve got to keep up with Craig.”

She laughed, then leaned down to kiss him again. He deepened the kiss, pulling her on top of him and running his hands through her long, silky hair.

After a moment, she pulled back and reached for the hem of her shirt. “You sure you aren’t too tired for this?” she teased.

“I may not be eighteen anymore like your new friend, but I’ll manage, trust me,” he said, looking up at her, his eyes dark.

“Well, I’m glad you aren’t eighteen anymore,” she said as she pulled her shirt over her head and he groaned appreciatively. “Because this will last a lot longer then.”

He laughed, and that was the last either of them thought of Craig that evening.

[carewyncromwell]

“Now I'm seeing clearly how I still need you near me -- I still love you so... There's something between us that won't ever leave us -- There's no letting go... We had a ‘once in a lifetime,’ But I just didn't know it 'til my life fell apart...”

~“If Ever You’re In My Arms Again,” by Peabo Bryson

x~x~x~x

His entire school career and beyond, Orion Amari had always been the wise counselor to his friends and teammates when it came to finding balance with their emotions and lives. Even though he had his own struggles thanks to his less-than-balanced childhood in an orphanage and suffered from anxiety attacks every-so-often, he’d still been able to live a healthy life regardless and find proper coping mechanisms for his trauma. When Orion found himself falling in love, however, it was a struggle he hadn’t known quite how to handle, or even how best to ask for help with.

Orion realized something was off-balance when Carewyn Cromwell -- a Slytherin one year younger than him who he’d finally managed to convince to rejoin his Quidditch team after three years to help their team win the Quidditch Cup Final -- got badly injured by a Bludger and ended up in the Hospital Wing with a bruised lung. Carewyn’s condition had paralyzed Orion in a severe anxiety attack the likes of which his teammates had rarely seen before, and although he managed to get his emotions under control once Carewyn was conscious, even he was unsettled by how bad the attack was. Admittedly, though, Orion had always been quite fond of Carewyn, given how well they saw eye to eye and how much they both respected each other, and Orion had felt responsible for her having gotten injured. He probably would’ve simply passed his feelings off as just guilt and worry were it not for what he saw the morning of the Quidditch Cup Award Ceremony.

While training before dawn as he always did in good weather, Orion caught sight of a gleaming white Patronus in the form of a Winged Horse. His breath stilled, disbelieving -- it was the same as the Patronus he himself had only just learned to conjure earlier that year in Defense Against the Dark Arts. And when he flew down after the Patronus and saw who had cast it, he found Carewyn waiting for him in McNully’s commentator box. Orion would look back on that day and wonder how in the world he reacted as calmly as he did, while knowing the superstition surrounding people sharing Patronuses -- but at the time, the sight had only made him want to be with her, to talk with her, to...look at her...look upon her with more clarity than he ever had before. And when he did, he realized that Carewyn Cromwell truly was a beautiful person: a selfless, kind, resourceful person with more fire than a Fire Crab and all the courage of a Chinese Fireball. It was little wonder that her classmates regarded her with such admiration, whether because of her Cursebreaking or not. Anyone could fall in love with the likes of Carewyn Cromwell. Even he...could see himself falling in love with such a woman.

And yet, when another person might have tried to make a move...Orion hesitated. He only had one week remaining at Hogwarts, before he graduated and joined the Montrose Magpies as their newest Chaser. The dream he’d worked so hard for -- his “gold,” if one recalls Orion valuing the “tenacity of a niffler” -- was finally within his grasp. Could he really put all of that at risk, by trying to alter course now? And Carewyn had her own “gold” as well -- her quest to protect Hogwarts from the Cursed Vaults. She would never choose a romance over helping her brother and protecting her own found family. Orion didn’t even know if what Carewyn and he had could even be considered a romance. Would he even have looked at Carewyn as anything romantic if he hadn’t seen her Patronus? He wasn’t sure...but now that he had, wouldn’t he then be assuming that there was more between them than there really was? Was he only projecting the “soulmates” superstition onto them, just because he fancied her? A crush was not love, after all. As much as he himself believed in fate as well, Orion knew that Carewyn did not. More importantly, he knew she’d both want and deserve someone who loved her for who she was, not due to some old magical wives’ tale. As much as he admired her, Orion couldn’t say definitively that he was in love with Carewyn, and the thought of putting all of his dreams on hold just to try to grab at a chance -- as a Slytherin, Orion just couldn’t see the sense in it. He couldn’t make that choice, not after he’d worked so hard! A Chaser can’t get distracted by the Golden Snitch, when their job is to score goals. And perhaps, in the deepest, darkest part of himself...Orion worried that he could never be what Carewyn needed. He knew how much she loved her brother and how much she wanted her family to be as it once was -- he remembered the pain in her eyes, when he’d first told her he was an orphan. Carewyn needed a family -- a home -- something stable and warm to return to...all things Orion knew absolutely nothing about. He didn’t want a conventional family life -- he had no interest in getting married or having lots of kids or buying a house with a white-picket fence. He wanted to play Quidditch and be free to live his own life, the way he wanted. And as much as he thought it was possible he could fall in love with Carewyn some day, he dreaded the thought of sacrificing everything he’d ever wanted to pursue her -- of giving up the “gold” he’d been chasing for so long.

And so, after a lot of thought, Orion made the decision to keep his feelings to himself. If they were truly meant to be, maybe their paths would realign again someday, he told himself. It was a decision that tormented Orion for the next six years he played for the Montrose Magpies. Not that he talked to much of anyone about his inner conflict -- even Orion’s best friends Skye Parkin and Murphy McNully and “star twin” KC @kc-needs-coffee​​ could only really read between the lines, noticing that he seemed oddly avoidant whenever any mention of Carewyn was brought up. Orion even entered into a few relationships, but none of them lasted long, often because Orion’s partner wanted “more” than Orion was willing to give. The Star Chaser didn’t want to sacrifice his freedom, his dreams, or his independence. It was the main reason he hadn’t chased Carewyn in the first place...even though she’d seemed to understand him so much more than any partner he’d ever had. Carewyn would still send him letters sometimes -- Orion didn’t answer as much as he probably should have, but he always had a lot of difficulty answering her letters whenever he was in a relationship. It made him feel like he was being unfaithful, somehow. And as the years went on and Orion lived his own life and heard about Carewyn’s successful trials at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he tried to tell himself all the more that he’d made the right choice not to pursue Carewyn. If you love someone, you have to be willing to set them free, right? Not that he knew for sure that he’d been in love with her, but...they could’ve been something, maybe...if he hadn’t been so cowardly...

Orion’s longest relationship was with a young woman named Delilah Flint, who had taken a desk job with the Magpies’ PR department. The distinction probably wouldn’t have had much weight (given that they’d still only been together for about a year), were it not for Delilah ending up pregnant. Neither Orion nor Delilah had ever been interested in marriage, Orion because he didn’t see much reason and Delilah because she came from a family who would’ve never approved of her marrying an orphan of mixed magical ancestry -- but after the birth of their daughter Eos in summer 1996, the two reacted in completely opposite ways. Orion, who had never really had much interest in having a family, nonetheless felt a wonderful new paternal feeling swelling up in his breast toward his daughter and promised himself and Eos that she wouldn’t grow up alone, unsafe, and scared like he had. Delilah, on the other hand, suffered from severe post-partum depression after giving birth, thanks in no small part to when Eos was born (right after the return of Voldemort was revealed to the Wizarding World), and she was also in such severe financial straits that she’d have to go to her pureblood family for help, who would never agree to help her knowing she’d had a child out of wedlock. Delilah tried to give Eos up to an orphanage -- Orion, understandably horrified, tried to pacify Delilah however he could, even going so far as to suggest marriage if it meant keeping her and his infant daughter in his life...but in the end, that December, Delilah dropped Eos in Orion’s lap and left, never to be seen again.

The following year, the Ministry fell, and Orion had to go on the run, just barely escaping the Death Eaters with Eos thanks to the help of his Quidditch League associates McNully, Skye, Erika Rath, Oliver Wood, and Andre Egwu. Going on the run with a one-year-old was a difficult proposition, and after several months, a group of Snatchers cornered Orion trying to covertly purchase a new wand from a private vendor after his had gotten broken, and they took him into custody. Orion, who was bundled up in a cloak and looked to be holding his arm as if it was broken under it, went quietly with the Snatchers to the Ministry, his face oddly pale as he forcibly tried to calm his intense anxiety. He was rounded up with several other prisoners and put in a room in the Department of Mysteries until they could be “processed through the court” (read: wrongly convicted of “stealing magic”) and transported to Azkaban.

Fortunately for Orion, Aurors Angelo Lancaster @angellazull​ and Talbott Winger had caught wind that a new round of prisoners had been brought in, and they reached out to their main contact in Magical Law for help in busting them out. The contact -- an old school friend of theirs who was an up-and-coming lawyer -- arranged the trial hearings’ schedule so that there was a noticeable window of time before they started. In that short time, Angelo, Talbott, and their contact were able to break into the room and rescue the prisoners...and yes, the contact in question did indeed turn out to be a pretty young woman with emotional, almond-shaped blue eyes and a short ginger bob wearing flowing dress robes and bright red lipstick.

When Carewyn and Orion got over the shock of seeing each other face-to-face again for the first time in six years, one of their very first exchanges was --

“You cut your hair.”

“So did you.”

Another involved Carewyn offering to mend the “arm” Orion was holding under his cloak.

“You’re hurt...let me -- ”

“No! No, I’m...not hurt...I...”

When Orion tentatively raised his cloak to show Carewyn his tiny daughter bundled up in a wrap around his chest and cradled in his arms, part of him had wondered how she would react. He hadn’t mentioned Delilah or any of his other relationships to her in those short responses he’d sent her -- it’d been uncomfortable for him, to try to talk about his love life in his letters to her. But regardless of the surprise that rippled over her face, when Carewyn looked from the little baby to up into Orion’s dark eyes, her pale face nonetheless betrayed a weak smile.

“Is...is it a she?”

“Yes. ...Her name is Eos.”

Carewyn’s eyes softened visibly, welling up with a beautiful warmth, like the kind Orion had sometimes seen her show toward her friend Barnaby or younger students like Cedric Diggory. A maternal warmth...

“She’s beautiful.”

Carewyn’s whisper made Orion’s heart swell up in his chest, slamming against his ribs as if it wished to push itself through a set of prison bars. Even after so many years, her soul was truly more like his than anyone else Orion had ever known before.

Together Carewyn, Talbott,and Angelo worked to shrink all of the prisoners down to a size that they could smuggle them out of the Ministry and then help them go into hiding. After the War was over, Carewyn helped Orion with the paperwork needed for him to claim sole custody of Eos, since Orion and Delilah not being legal partners meant that Delilah and her family would have first priority if they ever sued for custody. Orion wasn’t sure if the Flints ever would try to take Eos, but Carewyn was determined not to give them any legal opening.

“You fought for her, Orion, not them. And now I plan to fight for you.”

“Carewyn...”

“No. I don’t want them to ever feel like they can just waltz in and take her, not after leaving her to the wolves. I’ll do whatever I have to, to make sure Eos stays with the man who put his life on the line to keep her in his life and safe. She deserves that.”

The stubborn fire in Carewyn’s blue eyes and the sincerity of her convictions was all it took. Orion had been on the edge for so long, feeling faintly off-kilter with every step for seven years, but had always just barely managed to feign composure and balance...but now, in a single moment, it was all for naught. He had fallen -- despite his best efforts, despite all of his avoidance and his flagrant cowardice -- into the wonderful, swirling abyss of ethereal, warm chaos that men called “love.” In that moment, and in many moments after, Orion cursed himself for not chasing after Carewyn Cromwell from the very start...for wasting so much time and being so passive, so short-sighted...so consumed by “what-if’s” that he’d completely discarded the “what-could-be’s.”

Fortunately there was a chance, now, to make up for lost time. A rose is no less beautiful just because it blooms slowly.

[nialltlynch]

4, 5, 20 for writer meta? 😊

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Most know the rumors surrounding Niall Lynch and his affinity for the impossible. Most do not know that the same is true of his middle son. The impossible begets the impossible. Some would think it gracious that Niall decided to share this ability but, depending on who you ask, it may have been the most vindictive thing he's ever done.

ahhhhhh I wrote this before mister impossible was announced as a title. maybe a few months before?? i feel a strange sense of vindication when I think about it and even though the rest of the fic is a tranwreck (re: unrefined, unfinished, but still stirring in my heart) this little cold open was a lot of fun. (from the magpie comes at noon. it is, as previously mentioned, unrefined and unfinished, unfortunately)

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with? I already waxed poetic about adam so im going to wax poetic about declan because.... if you look at my ao3 I have a very clear preference for him l: which, and this might be a surprise (i shouldve said this in that other ask), doesnt mean that I love him the most. I love adam the most. but declan has just the right amount of distance from being personally relatable that I get him but I dont get him, you know what I mean? he's also certifiably insane and I love that for him.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?) biiiiiiiitch!! okay im going to ramble about my ashley extended cinematic universe (aecu) that only has one (1) work posted and so all context is basically lost but whatever. it's cool. it's been on my mind a lot and i'm not really sure I'm actually answering this question and Im so sorry but here we go! so like. ok here's the thing I never actually intended on making the aecu and when I was writing be careful how you touch me (aka the ashley 3 entry) I had no intentions of extending the story to include the others. but I just. think about them so much?? one of declan's major character flaws is how impersonal he can be. it's all well and good when he's being a dick to his brothers, but the way he thinks of and treats the ashleys is just so????? like im surprised none of them have ever keyed his car. and maybe they have!! and they absolutely deserve to do it!! but anyway. I wanted to explore declan through the lens of someone who doesn't know him and doesn't ahve the capacity to know him. how well does he actually present in the real world? I wanted to explore that while giving a bit of justice to the ashleys because THEY DESERVE SO MUCH MORE. so my plan for the aecu is to explore the aftermath of each of their relationships with declan and how that inexplicably leads them to joining boudicca and then there's a surprise 4th entry wherein things happen that I dont want to spoil but I like a lot. also they all kiss each other a lot.

send me a meta writer ask!

[pensivetense]

A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

[thewriting-corner]

‘Renegades’ trilogy by Marissa Meyer: review

Welcome today to a post I have been waiting to do for months. I never do entire posts for book reviews, but since this was a trilogy (and one of my favorites I read this year) I decided it would deserve a little more.

Note: I will be doing a spoiler-free review first and then I’ll put a warning before talking about each individual book :)

Synopsis: The Renegades are a syndicate of prodigies—humans with extraordinary abilities—who emerged from the ruins of a crumbled society and established peace and order where chaos reigned. As champions of justice, they remain a symbol of hope and courage to everyone... except the villains they once overthrew.

Trilogy Review ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I honestly think these are the best books I’ve ever read. The description was fascinating, easy to follow and gave amazing imagery without that heaviness that a lot of fantasy books have (this is more sci-fi/dystipia-ish but still).

The characters felt real and their individual voices were clear from start to finish. I loved every single character, even the ones I hated. 

However, there is one thing that bothered me BUT it does align with their world and that is the lack of accountability certain characters recieve (but I will be talking about that in my Supernova review).

Then the PLOT OH MY GOSH. I mean, it’s superheroes. It’s nearly impossible to be original with a plot that isn’t the same as any Marvel or DC comic/movie/show. And yet Marissa Meyer that such a beautiful job of taking a common conflict (heroes vs villains, villains wanting to take over the world) and turning it into a unique plot with amazing twists. 

I mentioned the world-building before, but I’ll do it again. Third person POV is not my favorite and neither is heavy world building like the one this book needed and had. Still, it was written in such a simple way that I didn’t feel like she was trying to confuse me, it was just a story.

Overall, this series was amazing and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a fast paced, mind-blowing world building and compelling characters that will make you feel single to the core even in a relationship.

🚨Spoilers Ahead🚨

Renegades ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“We were all villains in the beginning.”

I went into this book with low expectations because I didn’t think I’d like Marissa Meyer’s style and boy was I wrong.

The first few chapters were a bit confusing but the moment Adrian fixed Nova’s bracelet I KNEW this would steer towards romance and it sold me. And then Nightmare making fun of the Sentinel for his comic book phrases and poses was my favorite thing ever. That would be me as a superhero, no doubt.

I really liked the way the plot progressed “slowly” without feeling dragged on. In fact, despite it’s slower pace of the story, the book still felt quick and that just won a million points with me.

Don’t even get me started on the Anarchists. I LOVED them. I like how they weren’t presented as villains from Nova’s POV, just enemies of a totalitarian state. Not even just in her point of view though. I genuinely didn’t think any of them were bad until Ingrid decided to show up at the library and almost killed Sketch’s crew.

And speaking of Sketch’s crew … the minor characters??? Hello??? Who writes side characters that are SO good?? Oscar is my favorite though. He wins. Danna being the only one to question Nova about Adrian’a feelings for her was hilarious, although it stressed me out that Nova put her to sleep. Counterpoint: it was very cute that the only way she could stop thinking of Adrian liking her was by putting Danna to sleep. Very on point teenage reaction. I would’ve done the same thing if only I wasn’t trying to remain anonymous in the organization that indirectly killed my parents. 

The climax, on the other hand, felt a teensy bit rushed but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy Nodrian in their not-date. It was adorable, especially when they stopped at the kid’s party and then Nova panicking over the mere thought of going on the ferris wheel with Adrian. All the carnival chapters where my favorite thing ever and I really wished they hadn’t ended with Nova killing the woman who raised her. But I did like the irony of it being Ingrid who told her she didn’t have the guts to press the trigger and then she died at the hands of Nova’s gun. 

AND THE ENDING WITH ACE BEING ALIVE. That shook me. I suspected it, of course, but it shook me to my core. 10/10 plot twist there.

Archenemies ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“I guess I figured you deserve to have good dreams every once in a while. Even if you never sleep.”

This one gets six stars because somehow I read it in 11 hours and I’ve never read such a large book in one day. The entire story was just fast-paced action, superhero world building and Nodrian flirting and eventually kissing. Best book ever.

I liked how in this book we got a closer look into other character relationships like Oscar and Ruby and then Danna’s suspicions over Nova. I would’ve liked to see more of Danna’s friendship with the team though, since at times it seemed she was only there to send passive aggressive comments at Nova. And the Sentinel’s “death” was amazing. Pure comic book material right there. 

There is this thing though that I mentioned in the general review that bothered me and it’s when they reveal Agent N. This weapon they created using Max’s blood is a great example of how the Renegades had obtained way too much power. It’s when we start to see that maybe Nova and the Anarchists are right. The Renegades are slowly becoming a dictatorship and it’s bothersome that nobody except Nova and Adrian notice. Especially when it was so obvious with things like them using Agent N “against every prodigy who didn’t follow the Renegades code”. Sure, they were criminals, but that wasn’t about arresting them. It was about changing the DNA of people who made one mistake and were immediately deemed enemies of the state.

Back to the good stuff, Nodrian flirting was the highlight of this book. They’re both so awkward and adorable, especially when Nova’s teaching Adrian how to shoot and then when they’re in his room later on. The whole “you want me to ignore everything?” and “you’re not allowed to have girls in your room?” quotes KILLED me. Those were peak flirting moments and I’m immensely surprised by the way that Marissa Meyer manages to write teenagers realistically as an adult and not even having teenage kids of her own. Also, Nova opening up to Adrian was just. No. It killed me. My ghost is writing this btw.

The ending, once again, amazing. I loved it. Not only did it once again show Frostbite’s true colors, show us how much hate Adrian actually held against Nightmare and the way Nova had softened by the Renegades’ influence. And Ace Anarchy’s capture goes into the good things pile.

Supernova ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“To be honest, I’m not sure there are such things as villains anymore. Maybe there never really were.”

Is it a bad review if I just insert the word “AH” for the next ten lines? Yes? Damn it. I admit that I was expecting something much different, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. I have never cursed and squealed so much by reading and had I not bought the hardcover with my own money, I would’ve thrown that book against the wall. It stressed me out. First of all, getting Nova and Adrian kissing in the tunnels a few chapters before Adrian arrests her for being Nightmare was another level of messed up. Clearly, she did everything in her power to save him from her house’s explosion and he threw it out the window in blind anger. And then the whole execution thing??? That was horrifying and it’s when the Renegades’ incompetence really showed its true colors. They couldn’t bring the people back to their side - because they failed - so they sentenced a broken, dying man and an underage girl who acted under the manipulation of her entire family, to death. If Hugh had ever even attempted to find out what happened to both Artino girls, none of that mess would’ve happened, but instead Lady Indomitable died and he went “WELL, can’t do anything about her last task, can we?” I get he was preoccupied by her orphaned son and the Ace of Anarchy, but it was as simple as going back into the house and searching. In fact, this entire book was just showing how their society was crumbling and in the end they went “we were all heroes”. I’m surprised Nova forgave the entire Renegades organization for what they did because even if it was Ace who sent a hit after her and her family, the Renegades were still willing to overuse their power. 

And once again back to the good stuff before I end up bashing the Renegades even more, I never thought I would be on board with Adrian and Nova’s relationship at the end of the book. I try not to ship toxic relationships in YA because they happen a lot and I wouldn’t like younger readers to think that it’s okay, but I loved how both Nova and Adrian were willing to make a change for their relationship to work. They compromised because they loved each other so much it didn’t matter who had tried to kill the other person and their dad or who hadn’t advocated against the other’s execution, you know, the ups and downs of every relationship. While I do wish we had seen them talking about everything, I get a book can only have a certain amount of words and I was glad just the same with how it ended. Also, Leroy’s threat to Adrian is iconic, just like Oscar proclaiming his undying love for Ruby at the arena were they almost witnessed multiple murders.

The epilogue. Just. Wow. I knew it before because I’m smart and I spoiled it but I NEED another Renegades book. You can’t just end the series saying Evie Artino was Magpie and her being as angry as Nova once was. Like, no. You just can’t. That was a crime against humanity, tbh, but overall the series was amazing and I have never been more grateful to spend almost $80 in books. 

[lunavadash-creates]

First of all, bro, you have Sims! You won a life! My laptop is too old and broken for such luxuries! Please make my sim and my harem too lol. Give me all the men I deserve.😂

I may or may not be thinking about buying a new one tho. And it may or may not be just because of the latest expanded pack to the game and possibility of having my own cow.🐮 But on the other hand, I would love to go somewhere for a few days in nearest gutter if covid lets me.. So having savings would be nice.

Speaking of travelling. Stories. I am not a storyteller buuut… you mentioned you travelled by metro in Prague and that in your country there is just one line in the capital. Seoul has so many lines! It’s so easy to get lost.. Korean metro is one of my clearest memories of my stay in Seoul. On the very first day of my stay I and my 3 friends had a “houston we have smol problem” situation, just because 2 of my companions hadnt bought a korean sim card (our cards didnt work at all) and we got separated in the metro train. I mean.. I and my good friend didnt get inside on time while other two friends made it. In our group just one person knew where our hostel was and how we could get there. And she was gone. There wasn’t any plan b, no one even thought about the possibility of getting separated. No one amongst us spoke korean, Koreans had problems with communicating in english.. WELL, SH*T. We didn’t know if we should take the next train and others would wait at the next station or if we should stay where we were. Luckily I and one of my friends that got into the train on time had our mobiles working so we were able to communicate, but we were this close to having HOME ALONE IN SEOUL.

The second one memory and one of things I miss the most are metro jingles! God, I loved them so much! If you see Seoul Metro Jingles on Xander Tiberius channel on youtube you will be able to hear my favourite one! It’s the first one in this short video! I am pretty sure you will love it.

We came right on korean thanksgiving festival called Chuseok and it was the best decision ever. People were wearing their traditional costumes, hanboks, all the time! They were so freaking beautiful! 💕 We went to Gyeonbokgung Palace and Changdeogung Palace and when I saw them covered in paintings with obangsaek scheme with my own eyes I almost cried. I love art, so Seoul was the perfect place for me. I love korean folk paintings (please, check them with my favorite tigers and magpie theme - tigers on them are so funny and wonderful - I bought like a million postcards with its images), but their modern art is great too. Especially all those murals - you can check Ihwa Mural Village. It was ASDFGHJKLLOVE.

Street food? Excellent, however I don’t like spicy food. I wanted to try silkworm stew but at the last moment I gave up on this. Too extreme for me. But I have eaten the best ice cream in my whole life and they tasted like earl grey tea.

But what was definitely the best part of my trip? Cafes! Dog cafe, raccoon cafe, Moomin cafe, sheep cafe, Hello Kitty cafe! I love dogs with all my heart so that one was definitely my favourite one and I would love to stay there forever! Raccoon one was also freakin good! For the very first time I had encountered a raccoon. Their paws are so delicate!

Travelling is such a magical experience.There are so many things to see and to try! What was your favourite place you travelled to and why? Do you have a place you would like to visit again? Where would you like to go the most? You said you were travelling with your family. Do you have some stories to share?

I am sorry for such long messages! But I can talk for hours about such things. And I like to chat with you. I am impressed with my ability to produce so many words at once. Usually I am the quiet one and very awkward too.

🔪

I have no idea how I missed this message. Like really, I was wondering if you will tell me your travel story and look! It's been here for who knows how long! I'm m so sorry ;;

So yeah, lemme show you my Sims because idk. I think I'm kind of proud of this Altair.

So first is the randomly generated Sims

And here is Altair I made:

I wonder what do you think about him. Don't mind hie clothes tho 😂

Back to you baby! I love your story and I envy you so much! Raccoon cafe? Good food? You won me, really. I always wanted to see/touch a raccoon but since they aren't here I simply can't. But those grabby lil pawsies! U realu envy you and I'm also so happy you had fun and now you have so much fun memories you can share. Thank you so much!

As for spicy food. I love it.

And really I really enjoy talking with you, you are so nice and passionate and never be sorry for writing a lot! I love having your messages and responding to every single one of them! Even if sometimes I'm a bit late (sorrtyyyyyyy)

As for my stories... I was attacked by a bear in Albania! 😂 I'm still terrified of them. A lady was walking a bear on a chain leash and I was passing by with peanuts. And the bear attacked me, trying to take them from me. It was so scary but I win the battle over peanuts. I was like 13. But really I don't like bears now.

I want to see literally all the world. I want to go to Greece again and Bulgaria. Bulgaria is my favourite country! Also I want to see Turkey and Egypt and Japan and China!

Hbu? Do you have more travel plans?

[fanfic-scribbles]

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Seventeen

Masterlist

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 17: Ride

Chapter Summary: Spontaneity has its upsides. And downsides.

Chapter Warnings: Mention of Reader/OFC being big around the middle, bonus section at the end that isn’t from viewpoint of Reader/OFC

Chapter Word Count: 3344

A/N: Confession: I have had a version of this written for…a while. A long while. I saw a black and white photo of Chris Evans on a bike and the spirit took me, basically. I had to rework it a little but it’s mostly the same. Mostly. The picture is somewhere in my computer; if I find it I’ll reblog the post with that picture because 👀

 ~

 Steve got called out to a job (or mission or whatever the fuck they called those things) on Monday but he made it seem like it wasn’t a big thing and even texted me while he was away. I assumed everything was fine and he would tell me when he got back, but the week wasn’t even over when, as I was boogie-ing past my window, I caught a glimpse of what I could have sworn was Steve’s bike parked on the street.

I walked backwards to get a better look at it and marveled at the look-alike– except, as I examined it, I wasn’t that convinced it was just a look-alike. And it wasn’t like Steve never showed up unannounced. However nobody had buzzed and I didn’t see him anywhere on the sidewalk; in fact I could see no rider to speak of. Maybe someone was just visiting and it wasn’t Steve’s. But it sure as hell looked like it was.

The more I stared at it the more it bugged me, and the longer I went without hearing a knock on the door the more perplexed I was. Curiosity finally sent me out into the cold night with slip-on shoes, my keys, and a jacket that was way too thin to be the easiest to grab. But I wasn’t going to be out for long. I just wanted to peek.

I didn’t run into Steve on my way down, but as I approached the gleaming motorcycle I realized it was his bike, confirmed by the little ‘A’ sticker Clint had stuck on it as a joke. Well, Steve would have to come back eventually, so I decided to wait for a few minutes. Under the streetlights his motorcycle looked really nice; freshly washed, shined…

“You want to take a ride?”

I stopped my hand before it made contact with the gleaming paint and I turned around. “No,” I said as Steve walked up to me. “I was just wondering where the loser normally attached to this bike was.”

He smiled at me, and he walked with a cocksure little swagger that belied a mission gone well. It was so rare to see him in an unprompted good mood, I had to smile too. “Also, that was terrible. You’re lucky I didn’t tell you to fuck off.”

“Well the night’s young, right?” he asked and came right up to me. He smelled nice, like new leather and soap. So he had actually stopped to take care of himself. Miracle of miracles. He held up a bag from the donut shop down the street. “I had to make a pit stop, but I wasn’t going to let a parking spot like this go.”

“That’s fair.” It was a really good spot, although it was in just the right place for the streetlights to shine on the bike like it was on a show floor. I didn’t live in a terrible neighborhood though, so it was fine.

“I meant it,” Steve said and I looked up at him. “Do you want to take a ride?”

I snorted, because there was no way to make that not sound dirty, but it was Steve, and Steve didn’t– but I did– and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. I cleared my throat. “Um…no, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Steve went around the other side and lifted a helmet that was hooked to the back of the bike itself somehow.

I was about to refuse when I realized. “You have a helmet that you don’t use?”

“I don’t really need one, but I gave Maria a ride home one time and she–”

“Steven!”

He cringed. “Please don’t call me that. You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother was probably a very smart woman!” I said and crossed my arms. The mom-zone. Ugh. At least then I could stop deluding myself.

Steve’s lips quirked up again. “She was.” He crossed his arms and raised his head to look down on me. “And she probably would have been brave enough to get on a motorcycle.”

My eyebrows went way up. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged lightly. “It’s okay if you’re scared, I just wish you’d come out and say it.”

“Scared?” I knew he was riling me up, I knew it, but damn if it wasn’t working. “I’m not scared! I’m lazy and have a donut to eat and don’t want to put on real pants. Also, what about your primo parking spot?”

“You can get back in your pajamas afterwards.” He held up the bag and shook it. “With a well-deserved donut.”

He did have the donut. Damn it. I scowled at him. “Fine, I relent to your terms you monster. Just…let the donut go. It didn’t do anything.”

He shook his head, but he was trying not to laugh. He then handed me the bag. “Go get dressed. And take this up with you; we won’t be gone too long.”

I took the bag and turned around. Then I turned right back around again. “What’s stopping me from taking the bag and locking myself in my apartment and eating both donuts?”

“Well,” he said and took his phone out of his pocket to start messing with it. “You could. However…” He held up the phone and showed me a video. Of a chicken. That started clucking.

I scowled at him so hard my face hurt. “Someday I am going to get Natasha to owe me a life debt,” I said solemnly. “And then I am going to have her assassinate the hell out of you.”

“No you won’t,” he said, smiling brightly. The motorcycle’s shine suddenly had nothing on him. “It’s too much work.”

Thoroughly defeated, I stomped my way back to the building. For a little bit, because it hurt my feet. I turned and pointed at him. “This. This is why I don’t have friends.”

“Right,” he said cheerfully. “Wear your boots. Oh, but that jacket is fine– you can wear mine over it.”

I tripped on the first step.

~

“How’s the helmet?”

“Fine.” It felt a little big and I adjusted it so I could see better, but it was secure enough and would make sure my brains didn’t turn to tomato soup if something bad happened, and that was all I really needed. “I can’t believe you lug it around and don’t wear it.”

“I’m pretty hardy,” he said.

He sounded distracted so I turned to look at him and almost had a heart attack when I came face-to-bicep with his soft long-sleeve shirt. “Steve!”

“Honestly, I’m not that cold,” he said and held open his leather jacket. “Put this on.”

I stared at it for several seconds and wondered how it felt; how big were the pockets, was it the kind of soft that came from being well-worn, would it smell like, would it feel like, being wrapped up by–

“I’m good.” I patted my chest. My jacket; I was patting my jacket. “I’m covered.”

“This has more protection,” he said and held it closer to me. I leaned back. “Not that we’re going to fall, but it’s always better to be safe.”

“You need to be safe too. Last time I checked you still had skin under that thin-ass shirt.” It was long sleeved but, surprise surprise, skin tight. Was he doing this to me on purpose? That was just terrible (but also admirable).

What was just straight up terrible, though, was that I was almost ready to give in, steal his jacket for my hoard, and reveal myself for the magpie I secretly was. Then I noticed an issue that would, hopefully, drop this conversation entirely. Hopefully, because I found it just a touch depressing. “Also, there’s no way that would fit me.”

He gave me a look like he thought that was the lamest excuse in the world. “That’s the worst lie ever.”

I wished. “Really? Do you want me to try and zip it up?” I gestured from my…well-padded waistline to his ridiculous triangle point.

He examined me and didn’t that just suck, but as he did the math in his head, he seemed to come around to my side. Naturally, that did not make me feel better, and so I tried to put the issue to bed as fast as possible. “I can try and zip it up but I’m warning you, if it doesn’t fit I’m going to go back upstairs to mope and probably eat both donuts in a fit of fatalistic misery. Your choice.”

He pouted. That was cute, at least. “I think you’re just making excuses,” he grumbled but he put his jacket back on.

“More like you don’t want to risk your donut,” I said and stared out at the street while he circled his bike to check it or something. I briefly wondered if this was something I should be doing, or if I should make an excuse and bow out.

Arms suddenly wrapped around my waist from behind and I yelped.

“You feel pretty perfect to me,” Steve said and slid away to stand farther than arm’s length just before I could swat him. He grinned. “Comfortable.”

“Dick.” But I laughed and hated (loved) him a little more. “How am I supposed to be mad when you say shit like that?”

“That’s the idea.” He knocked the visor down over my face. “Let’s go.”

Despite not having the extra protection, I didn’t feel especially unsafe; Steve drove pretty carefully, taking streets that didn’t have too many cars so we could ride through easily, and my puffy jacket and warm gloves helped give me enough extra distance from him so I could keep my head. It was nice. It felt nice, getting out and doing something with Steve that felt like…what I imagined a date might be. Why he was still wasting his time with me when he could be out on a date, meeting people, making a deeper connection he seemed to long for, was beyond me though.

We ended up at Gantry Park and walked through. The few people around were easy to ignore and lights shone bright over the water from the buildings towering across the way. Steve stayed close and I was content to walk with him, but he led us off over to an area with a couple of empty benches, and we leaned against the railing and stared out at the city proper.

“So: how was it?” he asked.

He looked so earnest I didn’t have the heart to lie. “It was nice,” I said and focused on the buildings. “I don’t know what Sam is talking about; you’re a good driver.”

Steve scoffed. “Don’t listen to anything he says; I’m a great driver. Even when I have maniacs trying to shoot me off my bike.”

I gave him literal side-eye. “Didn’t you get two tickets last month alone?”

“Those were parking tickets.”

“Mm hm. Sure thing.”

He nudged me so gently I barely moved, so I overacted and pinwheeled my arms like he had shoved me. “Shit!” he said and was quick to ‘catch’ me– and with both arms around me like I would go crashing right through the railing I couldn’t find much to complain about. He pulled back and looked me over. “I’m so sorry; I–” He frowned and stared at me a little bit harder.

I cracked and started laughing. Until he lifted me up into his arms and brought me closer to the water. Then I wrapped my arms around him and dug my nails into his jacket. “Don’t you dare!”

“I really should throw you in for that,” he said, but he put me down and neither of us let go right away. Until I managed to pull my hands away; then he followed suit and held out his hand. “Truce?”

“Nope. I don’t trust you,” I said and walked over to a bench.

“Me? You’re the one who started it,” he said and sat next to me.

“Nuh uh; this whole thing began with you calling me a chicken,” I said and looked out at the lights again. I had to admit, “It is nice though.”

“So you don’t regret it then,” Steve said and swung an arm behind me. It lined the bench but I was the one who felt it.

“Of course not,” I said. I couldn’t face him. “I like spending time with you. Even if you are, surprisingly, anti-donut-and-pjs.”

His hand actually slid down to rest on my shoulder and I froze. “It just means we get to spend more time together when we get back.”

“That’s…good,” I said and forced myself to smile up at him. But he looked at me so intently. “Steve?”

He wasn’t quite smiling at me, but his expression was…something like it. Amused, or fond; there was something I couldn’t quite decipher but it was good. He looked happy. “I wanted to tell you–”

Something buzzed and we both jumped back. His phone, naturally, and he looked so murderous I thought he might break it in half when he answered it. I felt terrible for him– a nice night that he was supposed to be able to enjoy and he was getting called in again? It made me so mad that he never got a fucking break.

“You just barely got back,” I said when he hung up. “It’s not fair that they do that to you.”

He sighed and slid the phone back in his pocket. “It’s important. Who else are they going to call?”

“They’re gonna have to find someone else when they run you into the fucking ground!”

My snap surprised the both of us and I quickly tried to calm down. “I’m sorry Steve,” I said and breathed. “But that’s not…people care about you for more than saving the world, and you care about more than just that too. SHIELD doesn’t get to own you; they can’t just throw you back in the fight like you live in a character-select screen.”

He quirked a small smile. “Thankfully it’s nothing too strenuous, but it is related to the last mission,” he said and sighed. “Politics.”

“Ew,” I said but I felt a little less stressed. “You’re not making this better.”

“I know,” he said. “But it can wait until morning. I just have to…” He looked at me for a little while and sighed again, then stood with his hand out to me. “We should both get some sleep.”

“And donuts,” I said and took the help.

“You can have mine,” he said. “I’ll see you inside but then I have to go. I’ll…maybe we can do this again sometime?”

I was a little surprised by the earnestness in his voice. “Yeah, of course. This was nice.” It was so nice I was going to kick Agent Coulson the next time I saw him. And get destroyed, probably, but it would be worth it. “If we do it again and I hear your phone, though, I’m chucking it in the water.”

“I’ll help,” he said as we made it back to the bike.

“I guess it could be worse,” I said as he unhooked the helmet for me. “At least you weren’t out on a date or something.”

He stopped and looked at me strangely. “Why…what does that mean?”

I shrugged and took the helmet when he handed it to me. “I’ve been thinking…I’m pretty selfish with you, I guess, and you have your other friends and your job and that already doesn’t leave enough time to find someone. I guess I just wanted to let you know that…that it’s fine if you want to take some time to start dating again. If you want to. You’re doing really well, moving forward and all that good stuff, and I don’t want to be the thing that holds you back.” There. Said. Done. Now I would actually have to put my money where my mouth was if he ever did get set up on a date, but that was an issue I could deal with on my own. Likely by screaming into my pillows in the sanctity of my own home. Like an adult.

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “Holding me back,” he added, softer, and stared at me for a few seconds. “I’m not looking for–…well I can’t say that, I guess. But you’re right; I’ll move forward eventually. Right now, though, I’m doing what I want to be doing, and I’m right where I want to be.” He managed a smile for me. “So don’t worry about me either, okay?”

I jerked my head up and down. “Great.”

“Good.”

“Wonderful.”

“Fantastic.”

I tried to think of a good word. I failed and went with, “Super.”

“Amazing.”

“Awesome.”

“Fine.”

Really? That was boring. “Superb.”

He frowned at me. “Put the goddamn helmet on.”

I flashed him a grin. “You’re such a sore loser.” But I put the goddamn helmet on and got on behind him.

So. He was thinking about getting back in the game. He ‘couldn’t say’ he wasn’t, and that was…heartening and heartbreaking. A little less of the latter than I expected, honestly, though I also didn’t want to think about that inevitable day for too long. Because despite what he seemed to think sometimes, he was okay enough to start forging more new connections, and someday he would find a partner, someone who was wonderful and kind and good in every way, who would hopefully tolerate our friendship, and I would be happy for him. Eventually. For now, I settled into the selfish feeling of my arms wrapped around his stomach, soaked in his radiating warmth, and enjoyed the ride.

  ~Bonus~

Natasha walked in on Steve going at a punching bag. She raised her eyebrows and came to stand next to him, arms folded. “I thought you were going ho–”

“I will.” The bag, sturdy though it was, bounced with the next punch. “Later.”

Natasha watched him for a few more moments. “What got interrupted? Were you actually going to have a chat about feelings with a certain someone?”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but when he stopped she looked at him more closely. He hung his head and took some time to catch his breath. Sweat made his hair curl and his face was flush with exertion, but he still held plenty of irritation in his eyes. “It was perfect. I took her on my bike to a park. It was quiet, we were sitting together, she was…open. I had the perfect chance.”

“And you chickened out?”

“I opened my mouth and the fucking phone rang,” he huffed and downed half his water bottle. “She was– and then I had to…and I’m not blaming anybody; it just…”

“Ruined your shot?” she said.

“I’ve been waiting for a moment where she seems open to the idea,” he admitted. “And it was absolutely perfect. And then it wasn’t.”

“Steve,” she said, stern, but not unkind. “How many moments are you going to wait for? How many do you think you’re going to get?”

Steve didn’t answer. Natasha walked behind him and squeezed his shoulder. “Steve, you have control of the waiting period now. When you look back on this, how are you going to feel about it?”

Steve frowned deeper. “I’ve just started,” he said. “I have time, and I’m going to do it. But I’m going to do it right.”

Natasha took her hand back. And swatted him upside the head.

“Ow!” he said and rubbed his head. “What was that for?” he asked and craned his neck back to look at her.

“Being stubborn,” she said and pointed at the open floor area. “Let’s go.”

Steve flinched. “What did I do?”

Natasha pointed at the floor and glared at him.

He stumbled over but asked, “So just, out of curiosity…how fast do you want me to go?”

Natasha sauntered into the square lines marking the starting area. After a moment of looking him over, she said, “Too late,” and launched at him.

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

[canonicallyanxious]

skam fic questions!

This is a tag by @randomfinny​ for people who read SKAM fic. thanks friend, this looks like a lot of fun!! i’m gonna try to challenge myself and list each fic i name once, so as to try to name as many fics as i can. let’s bust out them bookmarks and see how this goes!

The first fic you fell in love with: million bad habits to kick by @bechnaesun! or perhaps more generally the fics cz had written at that point. i think at this point i’d read a bunch in the tag but this fic was the first i encountered that i felt really portrayed Even’s character in a way that both made sense to canon and resonated a lot with me. i remember also really liking all the gaps cz filled in, as well as the realistic, nuanced, but completely loving way she wrote Even and isak’s relationship.

The last fic you fell in love with: the only one (worth capturing on my kodachrome) by @pronouncingitwang. y’all no lie this is the best evilde fic i have ever read in my life. no exaggeration. vilde’s voice is pitch perfect, as is her character arc and coming to terms with her sexuality - so realistic and nuanced and also fits so well with canon! if you like second person and subverted soulmate au tropes this is definitely the one for you.

The fic that you’ve re-read the most times: True or False by @westiris, which is just the perfect little childhood friends au, i’m always in awe of ceecee’s ability to craft whole worlds in such a small space, and also so heartwarming and comforting.

A fic that you didn’t expect to love as much as you do (based on the description, a pairing or whatever): sitting on the fences by @lesbovilde because first of all enemies to lovers isn’t my favorite trope by any means and second Jonas/Mikael had not occurred to me as a ship at all, but the writing is gorgeous and i just love the pacing of the story and the development of their relationship, it feels so organic and i also like that it’s relatively drama free, just two boys slowly discovering their feelings for each other.

A fic you knew you were going to love from the first paragraph or even just reading the description: to the bone by @rosesonmyshelf, which just had the most beautiful, poetic, gutwrenching summary ever, i knew before clicking it the rest of the fic was going to be exactly that beautiful and poetic and gutwrenching [and i was totally right]

A fic that makes you feel like shouting about it to anyone who listens because everyone needs to read it:  An Equal and Opposite Reaction by @junkshop-disco, which is just... it’s brilliant, hands down the best canon fic i’ve read in this fandom, and criminally underrated. i wish it had a million more kudos

The fic you are/were the most excited to be updated: i’ll go with a mental archive of love unwanted by @icelandcurry back when it was still running, because i was there from *almost* the beginning [second or third chapter i wanna say?] and i remember pretty much dropping everything to read an update whenever it dropped. like this one sunday i went out to lunch with my dad at a buffet and i literally had my phone pulled out, me reading the fic while absently piling salad onto my plate. I’M NOT EVEN REMOTELY JOKING.

The fic you caught yourself thinking/theorizing about the most during your everyday life: the before, during and after series by @icelandcurry, which is basically the mental archive verse, which is only slightly cheating.

A fic you want to print out and have it among your books on the shelf: stay a minute by @hotchocolatenthusiast​. honestly kathi can you just print out everything you’ve ever written and send it to me thanks. but seriously i absolutely ADORE this fic, and it’s one of those things i can always come back to, over and over again. a favorite across fandoms and literature, my friend

A fic universe you want to live in: It Feels Like - by @eiqhties, mostly because i love magical realism [also this in general is just. a gorgeous fic. also i love sonja]

A fic to which you would read endless amount of follow-ups, one-shots, meta, etc. by the author: Next to you, is where I call home by @call-this-a-mask, because seriously it’s just such a detailed, incredibly well-thought out verse and i want everything from it i can possibly get my hands on. i love these dumb running boys SO MUCH. i’ll also say if you must live, darling one, just live by @hotchocolatenthusiast for Reasons [hint wink nudge]

The scene in a fic that made you laugh the hardest: i’ll just say everything in  A little help (goes a long way) by @diamondjacket, and honestly everything Lys has ever written because she is brilliant and hilarious which is truly a winning combination.

The scene in a fic that made you cry the hardest: before i answer this, i just want to make it clear that i don’t cry at fic. i just don’t. i don’t cry while reading in general. except at 3 in the morning when i read the last scene of last chapter of with love, from anonymous by @bechnaesun and @westiris and i was just, entirely consumed with emotions for the boys, and so so happy they’d finally gotten the happy ending they both deserved. goddamn, it was beautiful. and yes i still have the receipts [AKA my distressed messages to ceecee at 3 in the morning]

A scene in a fic that left you hot and bothered: imma pass this question, if that’s cool with y’all

A scene that squeezes your insides and hard to read but in a good way: i find A Bridge of Magpies by @junkshop-disco in general to be very intense and hard to read because of the way it deals with mental health issues, but especially the scene leading up to and during Even’s stay at St. Mungos’

A twist that made you gasp out loud: this is not necessarily a twist i guess but i legitimately gasped out loud when it turns out Yousef was the first to find out about Isak and Even in take me to the stars by @westiris

A line, scene, a metaphor or an idea in a fic that made you think: 

Mikael nuzzles into Adam’s chest, and Adam breathes deep, contentment filling his lungs like oxygen. He sleeps, and the air tastes like home.

from don't want anything but all of you by @boxesfullofthoughts, which i had to mention at least once here because Lyds is brilliant and the writer of my life and every line they ever write makes me think

A character you fell in love with because of a fic (or multiple fics): I’m gonna go with Mikael and Sonja, because they weren’t really explored that much in canon but i’ve seen some incredibly nuanced portrayals of them that have relaly made me fall in love with them and their relationships with various characters. For Sonja I would definitely point to @eiqhties‘ fics. For Mikael i like  Boys of summer by r0nj4! really gets into his headspace in a very interesting way.

A pairing you’ve grown to love because of a fic (or multiple fics): Definitely Mikael/Adam, thanks to @boxesfullofthoughts‘ brilliant fics [seriously! go read them! read them all!]. Also Eva/Vilde i was, like, pretty neutral on tbh [i’m more of an Eva/Noora fan myself] but there’s some really good fic out there which has turned me into a multishipper

A fic you (re-)read if you have a bad day / would recommend for someone to read if they’re having a bad day: I'll Be Coming Home, Wait For Me by @dahlstrom, which is such a warm, feel-good wonder of a fic, or And they were right in front of you the whole time by Ihavecoldhands which is just pure good feeling in the form of a very well-developed fic

A fic you (re-)read when you really miss Skam / would recommend for someone to read when they really miss Skam: this is a very difficult question, but tbh i think my answer will have to be all of these fics i mentioned, because they are my favorites, and basically for me any skam fic helps when i’m missing skam. is that a copout? idk. it seriously is my answer lol

okay! whew, that was a lot! tagging some folks i know who like reading skam fic: @call-this-a-mask, @evakuality, @towonderland72, @arindwell, @boxesfullofthoughts. only if you feel like it, friends! cheers!

[anongoingsoliloquy]

Hey babes! This is a day late, but better late than never right? I was having a hard time coming up with something for today’s post. Lately, even though I’ve been reading nonstop, I’ve been so enthralled with television. One of my favorite shows, Gotham, dropped a bombshell this week and the show is still on its mid-season hiatus! I’ve also been binging two separate series at once. So, as I was pondering today’s post, brilliance hit! Why don’t I give book recs based on my favorite TV series?? So, that is what we’re doing today. I’ve come up with 10 book/TV series for the “If You Like That, Try This” Book tag. Let’s get started!

1.    If you Like Gotham, try Gotham: Dawn of Darkness – Jason Starr

I know it isn’t very creative, but hear me out! Everyone that I know who watches Gotham, has never heard of this book and that is such a shame! It is a wonderfully written novel, and is different from most tie-in novels. The author Jason Starr must have watched the series a couple of time, because every detail in the book lined up perfectly with the show. So perfectly, that I find it hard to believe that a tiny throwaway line about Oswald’s shoes cannot be a coincidence! This novel serves as a prequel to Gotham, it follows the days leading up to the Wayne murders. And Jerome Valeska even makes an appearance! I gave this book a five-star rating!  

2.    If you like Ripper Street, try Stalking Jack the Ripper – Kerri Maniscalco

To be completely honest, I’m only half way through Stalking Jack the Ripper, but I have no guilt in recommending it to everyone! It’s that good! Fun fact about me, I’m obsessed with the Ripper murders, have been since I was way too young to have even known about them! I think my fascination stems from the fact that he committed the perfect murders; they never caught him! I think Stalking Jack the Ripper does a fantastic job in keeping the mystery of the Ripper at the forefront of the story. Honestly, I’m suspicious of everyone at this point in the novel! I would also recommend the book The Case Files of Jack the Ripper if you are interested in the murders. It’s a nonfiction book containing copies of police reports and autopsy photos. Really gruesome, but super interesting!

3.    If you like Merlin, try Here Lies Arthur - Philip Reeve

If you’re like me, and your favorite show to ever grace the airwaves is Merlin, then I would recommend Here Lies Arthur. This is by no means anything like Merlin. It is, however a retelling of the Arthurian Legend. It is not fun and magical like the show, and Arthur is nothing like the charming Bradley James version. In this novel Arthur is kind of a brute and the leader of a rough and tumble group for men. This story is about a girl named Gwyna, who is taken in by Myrddin the bard, who is the Merlin like character…only without magic. He is a story teller and is determined to create an awe-inspiring legend out of Arthur. Myrddin transforms Gwyna into lady goddess, a boy warrior, and a spy. Gwyna is the beginning and the end of the Legend of Arthur.

4.    If you like Grimm, try Magnus Chase: The Sword of Summer – Rick Riordan

This one is a little out there, but bear with me. I think if you like Grimm, then chances are you would really enjoy the Magnus Chase series. Both have the same underlining elements. In each, a young man is thrust into a new version of the world; one that he doesn’t really understand. With the help of his friends – old and new – the leading man is able to take on his family lineage; a lineage much greater than himself. You see what I did there? The explanations, I’ve got them. i have a review for the Magnus Chase series that you can read here. 

5.    If you like Vikings, try Vikings: Godhead - Cavan Scott

Another no very creative rec, but I feel like not many people know about this comic series. So, if you like Vikings, you should definitely read Vikings: Godhead. This comic takes place a little before and after the events in France, dealing with Ragnar’s thought process before his 10 year absence from Kattigate. There is also a subplot dealing with Ivar, Siggy and Kattigate’s fear of Ivar when he was a child.    

6.    If you like Salem, try Fiendish –  Brenna Yovanoff

Salem was one of the best shows, and my best boy Cotton deserved a better end. That being said, if you also like Salem, you should give Fiendish a go! It’s set in modern day, but it deals with witchcraft and the coming apocalypse, just like Salem. This novel is not as dark as Salem is, but there is still that unnerving undertone. Our story opens with our main character, Clementine, being found in the basement of her home with her eye stitched shut. And that’s all I’m going to say. I think it’s always best to keep quiet about mysteries!

7.    If you like The Exorcist, try Good Omens – Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman

Again, hear me out. The Exorcist is my favorite show on TV right now (my favorite character is Father Marcus btw). The big, overarching plot of The Exorcist is that demons are infiltrating the Vatican and are trying to bring about the apocalypse. In Good Omens, the apocalypse is happening “next Saturday”, a little bit before dinnertime. The two main characters, an angel and a demon, have grown fond of earth and its people. So, they go about trying to stop the apocalypse because they aren’t feeling it. If that isn’t the most Tomarcus (ship name for Father Tomas & Father Marcus) thing you’ve ever heard, you’re lying! Good Omens is a fun, yet still dark novel, that I believe The Exorcist fans would love! #RenewTheExorcist 

8.    If you like Castle, try Magpie Murders – Anthony Horowitz

I think Magpie Murders would suit any Castle fan! The novel revolves around storytelling and one particular manuscript, so I think it is in the same vein as Castle in that regard. Magpie Murders is a wonderful murder mystery! The twists are so beautifully executed, that it keeps you on your toes the entire time! I don’t want to give anything away, so I would say any more about it, other than everyone should read this book!!!

9.    If you like Penny Dreadful, try The Dark Missions of Edgar Brim – Shane Peacock

I’ve mentioned the similarities of Penny Dreadful and Edgar Brim in a bunch of posts, but here we go again. The biggest connection between these two are that they both take the classic Gothic characters (Frankenstein, Dracula, etc.), throw them into the same world and spit out completely new stories. I feel like I’ve talked about this series so much so I won’t go into detail again here but I have a review of the second Edgar Brim novel, Monster. You can read it here.

10.   If you like Riverdale, try Afterlife with Archie - Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa

Afterlife with Archie was a wild ride and I loved it! I think if you like Riverdale, you would probably enjoy this comic. It’s basically Riverdale, but with zombies. Both Riverdale and Afterlife with Archie take the classic, wholesome Archie comics and turn them on their head. The comic is the first in a series, were the zombie apocalypse begins when Sabrina brings Jughead’s dog, Hot Dog, back to life after a hit and run. The zombie plague is soon spread to the humans of Riverdale, and it is up to a few non-infected kids to find a cure and save the town. Fun fact – the author of Afterlife with Archie is one of the writers for Riverdale!

And that’s it! This was a lot of fun to do, and I think I’ll be doing it again. Let me know what you want me to give recs based off of for next time. Music, other books, animals??? I don’t know! We shall see!

[trbl-will-find-me]

We have not touched the stars; nor are we forgiven (1/3)

It all goes to shit.

TW: suicide, character death, blood, grief

AN: I cannot stress enough that this is upsetting. It is, without a doubt, the darkest material I’ve ever written. If you’re on the XCOM discord, and have heard me mention the Bad Ending AU, this is it.

Non-canon for EEAE, but set in the same timeline.

Blood flows out from the wound in her stomach, across the floor of the bridge.

This is not how she’d thought she’d go.

She can feel more blood rising in her throat and she coughs, gagging on the taste.

I didn’t think it would hurt this much.

She thinks of her parents, of Central. Selfishly, she wishes they were here. She’d like to say she doesn’t mind dying, but she does. She takes no small amount of umbrage at the situation in fact. There is the theory and the reality, and while she is well acquainted with the former, the latter is an entirely different matter.

She is dying alone, on the cold metal floor of an alien ship, with the knowledge that almost everyone she cares about has likely suffered a similar fate.

She would cry, for them and for herself, but it’s getting harder to breathe.

Not long now.

They have come so far. They have felled the Assassin, and the Hunter. They have decimated the blacksite, ransacked the forge, and returned victorious from a Chryssalid-strewn wasteland with an alien gateway in tow. They have reduced facilities to rubble, spared countless families untold heartache, and forged an impossible alliance.

It is not enough.

It will not be enough.

There is no rescue coming.

She doesn’t want to die. Not here, not now, not like this.

She watches, helpless, as the Warlock advances on the Commander. “You’ve lost, oh exalted one,” his voice drips with sarcasm. “Your reclamation and my ascension are at hand.”

She locks gazes with the woman for a moment, sees the fear reflected in her bright green eyes, but sees something else there, too, something she’d almost swear was defiance.

“I don’t think so.”

Time seems to slow.

The Commander raises the gun to her temple.

No, no, no, Sally thinks. Not like this, not like this.

The woman smirks up at the creature leering down at her, the thing who has destroyed XCOM, and with it, humanity’s best hope.

No, Sally corrects herself. Like this. Out on your own terms. Don’t let them take you again. You don’t deserve that.

She pulls the trigger.

Sally’s whole world goes white.

--

Her eyes fly open and she knows; there is something in her head, something that was not there before. She wants to scream, wants to cry. She will take death over this. She reaches for her gun. She will not be their toy, their plaything, will not ---

The thing in her head is grieving. Whatever it is, it makes no move to stop her.

She can cry now, tears rolling down her cheeks. She lets them fall freely as she reloads.

They have him, the thing says.

Bullshit, she retorts. I know your kind.

They have him, the thing insists. You have to do something.

She finishes reloading and cocks the gun, a quiet sob escaping her lips.

Images from a generally happy, if unconventional, adolescence flood her mind, campfires and driving lessons and the sweet spoils of victory, a crate of oranges. Magpie, Central’s voice echoes in her ear.

She thinks she is going to vomit.

She gives the thing a hearty shove, trying to keep it from her memories. Stay away from those.

Do something, the thing demands.

Give me one damn reason to trust you.

You are still holding the gun. It is still loaded.

You want help? Do better.

A new wave of memories, this time distinctly foreign from her own. Flashes from the first war, Central as she has only ever seen him in photographs, the base whole and intact; downing the first UFO, a fleeting hope; psionics, laser weaponry; aliens pouring into the base, sirens screaming; darkness, darkness like she’s never seen; torture like she’s never known, the oppressive feeling of death from being trapped within the suit; and Central again, Central as she knew him. Flashes of the last seven months, good and bad, win and lose, all culminating in the Commander, gun to her head. End of the line, friend, she says. Time to go.

There is an overwhelming grief, the kind of loss she knows all too well. Maman. Papa. Kelly. Central. She tosses the gun aside, and curls in on herself, sobs wracking her body. She finds herself unable to truly say if they are wholly her own, but somehow finds she doesn’t mind.

How long were you with her? She asks.

After her capture, but before the tank.

Until the end?

Until the end.

Her cries echo in the empty shell of the bridge. 

I’m supposed to be dead. What happened?

I did.

She buries her face against her blood-soaked knees. What?

I did.

Prove it.

Look up.

She does as she’s told, and, through her tears, she sees her hand glows with a bright blue light, unlike any psionic ability she’s ever seen.

Could you heal the others? She asks, after a moment.

Those not yet lost.

She pulls herself to her feet. Who are you, anyway? I am Asaru.

--

She manages to stabilize Thomas and Wallace, a few of the engineers, and Tygan. She finds Firebrand alive, and relatively uninjured, save for a small Elerium burn on her arm. She heals Novikova’s broken leg and Hagen’s crushed arm. They all look at her with a kind of fear in their eyes, a silent question she refuses to answer. The thing, Asaru, seems to respect the boundary she’s set, channeling its talent for psionics with her own, never again reaching into her memories. She finds Shen, curled behind a bench in Engineering, a clean entry and exit wound through her chest, ROV-R hovering sadly over her. She covers the Chief with a fire blanket, unwilling to leave her exposed.

She has never seen so much death, and that is before she steps out onto the ramp.

He’s not here, she says to the creature. She can feel bile rising in her stomach and her heart beginning to race.

I told you: they have him. Do you believe me now?

She wants to scream, open her mouth and give body to her rage, her loss. She wants to scream because it feels like the only rational response, the only sane retort to a world gone mad before her eyes. She wants to scream because, for once, there are no words, no syllables, that come to her, nothing that would give the feeling a life of its own, something to lighten the weight she bears.

Instead, she leans over and vomits onto a small, blood stained patch of grass before returning to the bridge.

Asaru cries out at the sight of the Commander, blood pooled around her head.

We’re not gonna leave her like that, she finds herself reassuring the creature.

She pries another fire blanket from the base of the hologlobe, and uses it to cover the Commander. “See you on the other side, ma’am. Say hi to Maman et Papa for me. Tell them I love them.”

Where are they? Asaru asks.

Dead. For a long time.

I am sorry.

The response catches her off her guard. Thanks, she offers, after a moment. I … wasn’t expecting that.

Why not? Your loss was terrible. You humans are so fragile.

There is no condescension in its voice.

Yeah. She sighs audibly, trying to reboot the communications relay. We really are.

The relay blinks to life and she keys in the code.

What are you doing?

Betos’s face flickers across the screen. “Captain Royston. I was not expecting to see your face.”

Getting help.

“I’m so sorry,” she begins. “I wouldn’t have ---“ She feels tears welling behind her eyes.  She has no idea what to say, where to begin. She is not Central, not the Commander. She is eighteen years old, and she is in over her head. “XCOM’s dead in the water. The Warlock downed us, breached the ship. Most of our people are gone. The Commander’s dead ---“

She feels Asaru wince.

“---and ADVENT has Bradford. The risk that poses to  ---”

“Say no more. You have aided us, and we will return the favor.”

She has always liked Betos.

“Thank you.”

“My sincerest condolences, Captain. I will be in touch once we have located your Central Officer.”

She nods.

“Betos out.”

The feed cuts.

“I guess he’s Commander now,” she says to an empty room. “If we get him back.”

He will not like that, Asaru says.

That’s putting it lightly, she responds, keying in another code.

More help?

“Royston?” Volk asks. “The hell is going on? Why are you covered in blood?”

Warning friends, she answers.

“Warlock got us. Casualties were bad --- including the Commander. And,” she adds, feeling a new wave of nausea wash over her. “They nabbed Central.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. How could you people let that happen?”

“I’m sorry. Next time when I’m bleeding out on the floor, I’ll try to be a bit more vigilant.�� She sighs. “I’m not here to play the blame game --- certainly not with the dead. I don’t know if something’s coming, or when, but I’d prep your people.”

“And what about John?”

“We take care of our own, Volk. Just make sure you do the same.”

Again, the line goes dead.

He is abrasive, Asaru offers.

He’s upset. We all are.

She sinks down below the viewscreen, letting the tears fall freely again.

What will you do with her? There’s a fear in the creature’s voice, almost childlike.

What d’you mean? She’s dead.

You cannot leave her here.

The realization dawns on her. You mean, where will we bury her?

Yes, where will she rest? The tall one will want to say goodbye.

She brings her knees up to her chest, and wraps her arms around them. In a sick sort of way, she almost wants to laugh. Central gets nabbed by ADVENT, and this is the creature’s concern: how will he say goodbye to the Commander?

It’s strangely innocent, and not at all what she expects.

Her heart twists in her chest. Maybe not the most important point, she admits to herself, but valid. Everyone knew what those two meant to each other.

Don’t worry, she tells the creature. He’ll get his chance.

She’s roused from her internal conversation by a warm hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” Wallace says.

“Hey. How’re you feeling?”

“Physically or …?”

“I think we all feel like shit on the mental front.”

He nods quietly. “Sally, I don’t know what’s going on, or how you did what you did, but … don’t push it too far. Everyone’s got a breaking point.”

She nods. “I make no guarantees.”

“That’s what scares me. We don’t need any more death.”

She reaches up, covering his hand with her own. “I’ll be fine.”

--

They settle on cold storage.

Gingerly, they lift the Commander’s lifeless form into a body bag, and place it, covered by a tattered XCOM banner, into the specimen locker.

Where will you put her? Asaru asks.

That’s Central’s call.

Why?

Spousal privilege.

Where will he put her?

Somewhere nice, I hope, she answers, shutting the storage locker door.

She slips on a pair of rubber gloves and mixes a concoction of bleach and hot water. She begins scrubbing the blood and viscera from the floor: first the Commander’s, and then her own.

Outside, some of the other survivors have begun to figure the logistics of gravedigging. Do they have enough room. Enough time, enough energy to ensure a proper burial for each individual fallen friend? Or will they bury them in pairs, bondmates for eternity? Or will they be forced to concede defeat, cover them in dirt and leaves and rot and let the earth reclaim them?

She hopes not.

Why me? She asks the creature, wringing out the sponge and turning the water a deeper shade of maroon. You had to have known you wouldn’t get a warm reception.

It was not my choice. She asked me to.

Who?

Her.

In her surprise, she almost topples the bucket, a thin blue wisp of energy shooting out from her hand to steady it.

I am sorry --- but I did not think you wanted the additional work, Asaru explains.

She shakes her head, but couldn’t say at whom. I appreciate it.

Sally turns her attention back to scrubbing the floor. Why did she pick me?

I do not know.

You lived in her head.

You do not think she imposed rules of her own?

I guess I’d be surprised if she didn’t.

Every partnership has secrets. She carried plenty.

She stops scrubbing. And just what kinds of secrets are you carrying? She asks, feeling suspicion lick at her gut.

I did not betray XCOM. I did not betray her. She was my friend.

Friend?

Yes, she was my friend, and I will miss her.

Somehow, she believes him.

[franruto]

sasuke + the mountain goats songs

if this read more doesnt work on mobile im so sorry

so i was thinking about how many tmg songs could be applied to sasuke and i decided to make a list. tmg has an absurd number of songs and im doing this just from my fave albuns + a quick check so this list very probably isnt even complete. also, some of these songs are more sns than just sasuke but o well. if u have suggestions to add lmk

- no children: this might be the most sasuke song ever made. im going to put just the last part here but please listen to the whole song

I am drowning, there is no sign of land You are coming down with me, hand in unlovable hand And I hope you die I hope we both die

- autoclave: i lov this one and all of it is sasuke too so listen to the whole thing

When I try to open up to you, I get completely lost Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost And I reach deep down within but the pathways twist and turn And there's no light anymore and nothing left to burn I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam And no emotion that's worth having could call my heart its home

- heel turn 2:

Get stomped like a snake Lie down in the dirt Cling to my convictions Even when I get hurt

(...)

Spend too much of my life Now trying to play fair Throw my better self overboard Shoot at him when he comes up for air Come unhinged Get revenge (...) Let all the trash rain down From way up in the rafters I’m walking out of here in one piece Don’t care what comes after Drive the wedge Torch the bridge

- game shows touch our lives: gives me sad sns feelings

Shadows crawled across the living room's length I held onto you with a desperate strength With everything With everything in me And I handed you a drink of the lovely little thing On which our survival depends People say friends don't destroy one another What do they know about friends? Thunderclouds forming, cream white moon Everything's going to be okay soon Maybe tomorrow Maybe the next day 

- oceanographer’s choice: this is one so fucking sad, it makes me think about sasuke trying to break his bond with naruto 

I don't know why it's gotten harder to keep myself away Thought I'd finally beat the feeling back, it all came back today And then we fell down and we locked arms, we knocked the dresser over as we rolled across the floor I don't mean it when I tell you that I don't love you anymore Look at that, would you look at that? The way the ceiling starts to swerve What will I do when I don't have you? When I finally get what I deserve

- up the wolves: i really like this one for sasuke & i love john darnielle’s comment on it too so i’m going to include it here. “Part of me wants to say look it's about revenge, but as soon as I say that... no, that's not quite it. Part of me wants to say it's about the satisfaction of not needing revenge... and I say no, thats some new age stuff. I think it's a song about the moment in your quest for revenge when you learn to embrace the futility of it. The moment when you know that the thing you want is ridiculous and pompous and a terrible thing to want anyway. The direction in which you're headed is not the direction in which you want to go, yet you're going to head that way a while longer anyway cause that's just the kind of person you are.”

There's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet No matter where you live There'll always be a few things, maybe several things That you're going to find really difficult to forgive

(...)

I'm going to get myself in fighting trim Scope out every angle of unfair advantage I'm going to bribe the officials, I'm going to kill all the judges It's going to take you people years to recover from all of the damage

- cry for judas: listen............

Some things you do just to see How bad they'll make you feel Sometimes you try to freeze time 'Til the slots are a blur of spinning wheels But I am just a broken machine And I do things that I don't really mean Long black night, morning frost I'm still here, but all is lost

(...)

Sad and angry, can't learn how to behave Still won't know how in the darkness of the grave

- outer scorpion squadron: ok this is darnielle’s comment on it again and he says it better than i could: “This is a song (...) for people like me, who have a strong indwelling evidently permanent urge to damage themselves or cut themselves off prior to some accomplishment or arrival at a place of comfort and happiness. I didn't succeed in my goal to not bum everyone out, but... In short, this is a song about trauma, and surviving it”.

If you really want to conjure up a ghost Cultivate a space for the things that hurt you most Rake the sands until they surface Bind their tiny eyes Stake out your position, let your armor fall Stay put 'till they find you, it won't take long at all Rake the sands until they surface Up they come, gone translucent They're coming up no matter what Fools rush in and the doors slam shut Ghosts of my childhood, stay with me, if you will Find a place where there's water, hold you under 'till you're still Rake the sands until they surface Don't let anybody call them ugly 

- the young thousands: ok this one makes me think of pre timeskip sasuke who continues to live in his parents house and also has a lot coming in his future

Boats ease into the harbor bearing real suspicious cargo And the sunlight on the water sets a switch off in your brain The things that you've got coming will consume you There's someone waiting out there in an alley with a chain The ghosts that haunt your building are prepared to take on substance And the dull pain that you live with isn't getting any duller There's a closet full of almost-pristine videotape Documenting sordid little scenes in living color (...) The things that you've got coming will do things that you're afraid to There is someone waiting out there with a mouthful of surprises The ghosts that haunt your building have been learning how to breathe They scan the hallways nightly vainly searching for a sign

- hebrews 11:40: this is one of my faves tmg lyrics. think sasuke w/ orochimaru period

Bright candles in the manor Where the curse takes hold Bodies reassembling down where the worms crawl Make your own friends when the world's gone cold It gets dark and then I feel certain I am going to rise again If not by faith, then by the sword I'm going to be restored Build fires to keep the beacon flashing where the earth lies flat Blood calls to blood as the hours draw down, invent my own family if it comes to that Hold them close, hold them near Tell them no one's ever going to hurt them here

- deuteronomy 2:10: this one is esp relevant bc of The Last Uchiha stuff

Feel in my bones just what the future has in store

I pace in circles So the camera will see Look hard at my stripes There'll be no more after me

I have no fear of anyone I'm dumb and wild and free I am a flightless bird And there'll be no more after me

I sang all night The moon shone on me through the trees No brothers left And there'll be no more after me

- absolute lithops effect: i like to think of this one as sasuke healing

After one long season of waiting After one long season of wanting I am breaking open My insides are pink and raw And it hurts me when I move my jaw But I am taking tiny steps forward

After one blind season alone in here After one long, sweltering summer I'm going to find the exit And I will go to the house of a friend I know And I will let myself forget With a little water and a little bit of sunlight And a little bit of tender mercy, tender mercy

- rain in soho: i might just be indulging here because i listen to this song 10 times a day and its overall feel reminds me of sasuke

No promise sweeter than a blood pact Nothing harder to go through with than a vanishing act No morning colder than the first frost No friends closer than the ones we've lost Nothing sharper than a serpent's tooth Nothing harder than the gospel truth Though you repent and don sackcloth and try to make nice You can't cross the same river twice

(...)

No town more barren than our town No haven safer than the one they tore down No greater love than to lay my life down for a friend No sweeter pleasure than to see the credits clear through to the end

ok so this is the moment where i give up because holy shit. some honorable mentions that im too lazy to go into detail (keep in mind some of those have just like one line that reminds me sasuke): this year, the house that dripped blood, old college try, choked out (i SWEAR no double meaning intended), prowl great cain, magpie, heretic pride, all up the seething coast

@yondaiime hello im tagging u here 

[getseriouser]

20 THOUGHTS: Winter is, er, not coming, it is here, actually

JUNE.

This is the guts of the football season, the temperatures drop, the stakes rise; the year becomes aspirational for some and a grind for the rest.

And this works just as well as an analogy for the on field competition or indeed the fights in the bar, it’s a long season if you’re looking to improve your win-loss record within the Medallion Club middleweight division.

Such an interactive fan experience now when you go to the football. If you want to sit and watch your team, they have ticket options for you, but if you’re tempted to throw some cut lunches at a fellow fan within a licensed part of the venue, there’s that option available too - it’s such an all-inclusive entertainment product the AFL offers, they should be commended really.

  1. Want to start with the Fair Work Act. Wonderfully details workplace relations that protect and support employees in a number of areas, but the one we're most familiar with would be leave entitlements. It may differ slightly from workplace to workplace, but paid leave for falling ill, or for caring for an immediate family member, are genuinely invaluable for individuals to keep a regular cash flow in times where you or a loved one can't get to work and need a couple of days off. What it is not for, at all, is for when you decide to let your eyes spend far too much time oogling your media adviser, despite having a loving wife for no less than 24 years, that leads to conception, before the Australian public finds out your new friend with benefits is with child, your child,  so you lose any political popularity you had, because you know, you're all about family and love even though you voted No last year, and then, in a bizarre twist to either clear the air or make bread with your Party or the constituency alike, you let Channel Seven give you and your new son's mother $150,000 for an interview the same time everyone's watching Gordon week start on MasterChef. Now you have been granted five weeks personal leave because the fallout to said interview has got you "struggling", despite the thousands of sheets you took up front for doing so. Now if the Fair Work Act doesn't abscond the taxpayer from having to fit the bill for this said paid leave, we need to get our grey leads and erasers out and get re-drafting the Act. Not good enough Barnacle.

  2. Daniel Ricciardo and then Will Power. Firstly, the West Aussie who piloted a broken Red Bull around the streets of Monaco for a very famous win. Drove literally the perfect lap, a track record, on the Saturday then backed it up with guts and grit when after his pit stop the Renault engine gave him significantly less power, and where retiring to a DNF was on the cards, he drove the thing so well he scored his well-deserved maiden Monaco win. And then the same day, over at the Brickyard, the Toowoomba native who was the Indy series champion four years ago, notched his first even Indianapolis 500, probably the other world famous motor race. Two Aussies on top of the motorsport world on the same day, bloody grouse.

3. Let’s get the rest of the non-footy out of the way up front today, onto tennis quickly. Nick Kyrgios, a lot of good happening in his world, maturing, game is improving, but sadly the body is failing him. Against popular opinion but withdrawing from the French was a good call, getting himself 100% fit for a surface (grass) that he can win some serious matches on, as opposed to clay where its pot luck for Australians, that’s smart. Let’s see him in a few weeks and judge. As for Bernard Tomic, hmm, at least the Australian taxpayer isn’t covering his expenses whilst he has all his leave. Ah Bernie..

  4. And Cricket, so, we had match-fixing rear its ugly, deformed, oily-skinned head this week. We had two accusations of matches involving Australians. Firstly, that a pitch was doctored to guarantee a result in the Sri Lanka-Australia test in Galle. Absolutely viable, it went two and a half days, world-record pace, so absolutely plausible the pitch and subsequently match was fixed. The other, an India-Australia test the same year in Ranchi. The allegation is something around ensuring a session or block of overs were under a certain run total, an over/under bet. The revelation is that two Aussies were bought and that they went on to carry the crime out. Those two would be Steve Smith and Glen Maxwell in the second session on Day One, but without knowing this accusation on paper it just looks like they batted conservatively after losing four early wickets. I’m not sold.

   5. So Kevin Sheedy gets elevated to Legend status, definitely deserves the accolade. 929 games as a player or coach, three flags with Richmond, four flags coaching Essendon. Plus the impact he had as essentially a promoter, a marketer. Phenomenal. Still think Fos Williams should not be too far behind as we’ve mentioned in an earlier column. 779 games a player or coach, played in a flag at West Adelaide before moving to Port Adelaide to be captain-coach, where he won another six flags, then as coach only of the Magpies steered them to another three. That’s Ron Barrassi-esque figures, and he should not be overlooked for too long because they are SANFL, until the late 1980s, VFL, WAFL, SANFL, all comparable to some degree.

  6. The Giants hey? Not good. But, oh, injuries. Not really. So yes, Tom Scully will be eight weeks, then there’s also Brett Deledio and Toby Greene, and that’s it. Phil Davis has a concussion but that’s not long term.  Aside from that, Zac Williams is a wait and see. 14 players from Saturday night played the Prelim last year. You have Steve Johnson and Nathan Wilson not in the side from the weekend who played in the prelim last year, one did nothing, one they traded to Freo for a 2018 draft pick. But Jeremy Cameron dint play the prelim but played on Saturday. This team isn’t really decimated, nor has any excuse.

  7. Woosha, its a theory we've spoken about before, but the win on the weekend goes a bit further to validate it, that from coming on board in 2016 it was about rebuilding a broken club, a higher emphasis on job engagement than results. Yet ever since he publicly came across different in the media two weeks ago, tough, uncompromising, intimidating, which is just like how he was as a player, the team is playing like results do matter and that enough is enough. This club is long from being that broken place, it’s now about making and winning finals. Huge chance this Saturday against the reigning premier, and then all of a sudden, should they win, look out.

  8. Shocker by Adelaide oh my, that was a hell of a stinker. No surprise then to see Don Pyke resort to silent intimidation at the huddle, that’s about as awful a performance as any, and I mean any, we’ve seen all year.

  9. So the Dees then. Great scoring, got to give them that. Five weeks in a row over 100 points. As for margins, 109 points last week, then 91 points this week. Great. But the Crows gave no contest, they beat the Bombers before their resurgence, then its wins over Brisbane, St Kilda, Gold Coast and Carlton. Yes, they beat North Melbourne, but equally they were average against Hawthorn. They look good on paper, they'll beat up the Doggies this week, and the draw is soft. It’s all very winnable aside from two trips to Adelaide after the bye, Geelong down the highway, Sydney at home but the Eagles in Perth. So they probably end up with a maximum of 8 losses, they makes finals, then good luck to them. It’s a very flattering third position right now though.

 10. Angus Brayshaw does deserve some love though. 37 touches on the weekend, 5 inside 50s, week before seven inside 50s and 11 tackles, he has become so important. This column is a big fan.

  11. North Melbourne, looking very good, and whilst the Dees are heavy on the scoring, credit to the Roos they are number one for scores against, averaging under 70 points a game through ten rounds. That’s impressive.

  12. Shaun Higgins, massively key to the Roos ascendance. In their wins, aside from the Hawks game, averaging 29 touches, six clearances, six inside 50s, three tackles. All-Australian squad at a minimum to Round 10.

  13.  Easton Wood. Without Dale Morris looks all at sea and easily-exposed. With Morris in the backline he is an All-Australian third man up, intercept defender. But this season looks easily squandered, and then Friday night did not register a tackle, the fourth time that’s happened already this season. Morris might miraculously come back soon but this surely is his last year, he can only be Superman for so long. So Wood is a 28-year-old captain who needs to find a way to be better.

  14. The Dogs had ten players who played in the 2016 GF but not on Friday: Boyd, Picken, Liberatore, Morris, Biggs, Dunkley, Smith, Stringer, Hamling and Roberts. Those that didn’t play in the flag but played on Friday: Suckling, Richards, Williams, Trengove, Dale, Smith, Gowers, Lipinski, Crozier, Schache. Plus you’ve got the likes of Wallis, Honeychurch, Jong, Adams, Redpath who played neither. What that says is that whilst they are missing a good bunch of premiership players who could influence results right now, few are either stil at the club or could be making such an influence in the short term, too the replacement players have worked to only some degree at best and some of their more experienced players are so out of form its potentially forcing games into kids who might not yet be ready. Consider the Dogs lost.

   15.  Dayne Beams. Courageous week, not an easy week personally and then far from an easy opponent with the Swans last Saturday. Came up with a best on ground performance, 38 touches, nine clearances, five inside 50s, four tackles and a sausage. Such a jet.

  16. So we have a few punch ups at the footy of late, but this column is glad its getting covered. Sure, the A-League cops it far worse but that’s old stereotypes dying hard, images in this country where there’s flares or fan separation feeds fear, and fear feeds the news cycle. But the A-League is nowhere near as bad as the image it cops, and the AFL needs to do something about its punch-ups.

  17.  Tom Mitchell. Started the year with 54 touches in Round One, then 40 in Round Two, two best on grounds, maximum 10 votes in each game from the coaches, he was the superstar that no coach should be dumb enough to let off the chain. Since then, he is still smashing the averages, getting 32 touches a game, but clearly his influence hasn’t been such. The Hawks are 3-5 in that time and in half of those games Mitchell hasn’t even got a single coaches vote. Three games he got over 40 but did not get a perfect 10. Despite his first two weeks, he is now six votes behind Patrick Cripps who is averaging less than 30 touches a game in team that has four less wins. Tag Cripps. Don’t bother with Mitchell.

  18.          Footy Show, Front Bar, quick one, we're not far from the Front Bar having the permanent wood on the Nine show now we think. We reckon if nothing turns it around by seasons end it gets pulled. Does. Not. Make. Money. Been on our screens since 1994, it will be strange to see it go, but its time.

19.   Credit to the Cats’ recruiters for their 2016 draft. Let’s recap. They did not have a first round pick because the year before traded it to Carlton for Lachie Henderson. Not a great move but they were in good need for some tall timber, so we can understand. But as for their selections for the picks they had, they took Brandan Parfitt and Tom Stewart in the second round, Sav Ratugolea in the third round, then got Jack Henry and Jamaine Jones in the first and third rounds of the rookie draft. Tough to assess Jones after only his debut, but clearly there’s at least three or four long-term senior players from one crop, as outstanding a job by the recruiting staff as you’ll see.

20. And finally, old mate Damien Barrett wants clubs fined for 'lying about injuries to the consumer' in response to Patrick Dangerfield’s article where he said its competitive advantage for clubs to not reveal or always be truthful about play availability, selection, etc. Robbo is sloppy but this is just bizarre. Things aren't good at home Damo? Not enough fibre in your diet. We do hope you can move past this sadness in your life, Damien.

(originally published 30 May)

[courtreadsmostlyfiction]

Best Books of 2017

What a fucking year. I am trying to climb out of a hole of depression (at times, I feel like I fell in the hole on election night 2016, and at times, I feel like I’ve been in the hole - whether I realized it or not - for 30 years), and books help. In case they help you, too, here are some of my best reads of the year.

The Best Books I Read in 2017

Standard Deviation - I’ve been recommending this book to everyone, and I can’t quite get the recommendation right. It’s about marriage, living in a city, autism, origami. See, you don’t want to read it, right? Yet it was my favorite read of the year, so maybe this will convince you: it made me laugh out loud multiple times (which books rarely do). In twenty-fucking-seventeen. I was grateful for a witty escape, and maybe you need one, too.

(And if that doesn’t convince you: sometimes when I love a book so much, I become slightly obsessed with the author and try to learn as much as I can about them. The author of this book is Katherine Heiny, and she lives in Bethesda [!!!], and I have hopes that I will run into her someday and then we’ll be good friends and she’ll ask me to read drafts of her work. Twenty-five years ago she sent a story to the New Yorker on a Thursday, and they called her on Friday and said they were running it. That kind of makes you hate her, but gives her some writing chops. Then she spent some decades writing YA books for a different author, and now I’m behind on this list because I started reading all about her all over again.)

(PS I thought I would hate Audra, and I ended up really loving her, and now I find myself wondering what she would have to say about things. I made Grant read this book, and he does the same thing, which is really fun.)

Autumn - I would have sworn I read this in 2016 since it seems like forever ago, but the yellow construction paper list doesn’t lie. This is a book the wonderful Ali Smith wrote after Brexit, so it felt fitting (and a little depressing) to read after Trump. She’s planning a book for all of the seasons, and I can’t wait. Winter comes out on January 9, 2018.

A Gentleman in Moscow - I’ve avoided Amor Towles books because they didn’t sound that interesting to me, which was my loss. I read this and Rules of Civility (see honorable mention list below) and loved them both but recommend this one if you’re only reading one. You can google the book to find out what it’s about (a count is under house arrest in a wonderful hotel in Moscow in the 1920s), but to me it was about survival, and it’s some of what I needed to read this past year.

Rich People Problems - A few years ago, my best book of the year would have been Crazy Rich Asians (the title is problematic, but I still recommend it to people, and hope everyone will read it before they watch the movie that’s coming out). The second in the series, China Rich Girlfriend, was good but not amazing, so I had lower expectations for RCP. I’m not sure if it’s because my expectations were lower, and it sailed over them, but I loved this book. If you need an escape, especially one with laughs, and I haven’t convinced you about Standard Deviation, start this series.

Hunger: A Memoir of My Body - Mostly, I read to escape because it’s my stress reliever and one of my coping mechanisms, which is evident in many of these reviews. I say that so that you know that this book is NOT an escape; rather, it’s one that broke me open and left me raw, and one of the few nonfiction books to make my list. I am forever thankful for Roxane (one N!) for her courage and hope so many people will read this and seek to understand and be empathetic. At the same time, if you are a #metoo, especially for sexual assault, maybe don’t read this if you’re in a depression spiral. The book will wait until you are ready.

Plainsong - I found Kent Haruf when I read Our Souls at Night (also recommend) when I think it was on the Tournament of Books. I did the whole I’m-obsessed-about-an-author thing and was saddened to realize he’d died right after publication of that book. If you want to know what it’s like to live in a small town, please read him. You can start with Plainsong and then you have two more books in the series (Eventide, Benediction) to look forward to reading. Basically, read this if you want the escape equivalent of a quiet weekend on a farm with no internet.

Goodbye, Vitamin - A delicious read for anyone who has felt lost at a crossroads (who hasn’t???).

You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me: A Memoir - Sherman Alexie is an incredible author (proof: once someone who worked for me said he didn’t know if he’d ever read a book, so [#badmanagementalert] I delegated reading The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian as part of his job, and he read it and loved it), and this is a memoir about the tortured relationship he had with his mom. He writes family dysfunction so well I felt like some of the sentences were coming from my own brain onto the page.

Little Fires Everywhere - I also love Celeste Ng (read Everything I Never Told You, too), and worried a little bit that there would be no way I could love her second novel as much as her first. And then I read Little Fires Everywhere and loved it more! It made me remember what it was like to be in high school, about what happens to secrets in families, and I appreciated the nuanced view of culture and adoption. This was Amazon’s (well-deserved!) best pick of the year for 2017.

The Misfortune of Marion Palm - Read this and find yourself rooting for a flawed woman who runs away from her life and might get away with it.

This Is How It Always Is - This was one of my last reads of the year, and I wish I could have savored reading it more, but I couldn’t put it down. It’s about parenting and love and cisgender and transgender children. I loved it so much that I kept reading it through the author acknowledgments where she writes that it’s inspired by her real life (she’s the mother of a transgender daughter) and so she knows that it will be a controversial book but she can’t for the life of her remember why. Read it and then I think that sentence will resonate with you, too.

Christmas Days - Maybe save this for Christmas 2018, but definitely read it. It’s a collection of short stories (a medium I’m usually not down with, tbh) that the author Jeanette Winterson wrote for her friends and family, and then her publisher convinced her to publish them. That doesn’t sound good at all, but it is! I only read it because I’m a Jeanette Winterson fan, and then they were delightful in a hygge sort of way (and not in a Lifetime Christmas movie sort of way). I felt odd that I liked this so much, and then felt super validated when this title showed up on the NYT best 100 books. So if you don’t believe me, believe them!

Mysteries

The Dry - I love a good mystery, but to me that means that it needs to be a page-turner, I can’t guess who did it (but afterward I can go back and the clues were there the whole time), and it has good writing. That last criterion is what usually trips up my quest, but not in The Dry! If anyone asks me for mystery, and they’ve already read Before The Fall, this is what I’m recommending.

Magpie Murders - A mystery within a mystery! I didn’t know if I’d be down for this concept, but it met the criteria above, and I ended up loving it. I haven’t recommended it to Grant (and I usually force my recommendations on him, especially for mysteries), and I think because it’s more of a puzzle than a thriller, so keep that in mind. (I just put together a puzzle and didn’t even ask him to help because I think he’d rather someone stab him in the eye with toothpicks, so recommending a puzzle book to him wouldn’t end well.)

Honorable Mentions in 2017 (ie I really enjoyed these books, too, but not enough to write a blurb about each of them)

Small Admissions

The American War

The Mothers

Rules of Civility

Anything is Possible

Killers of the Flower Moon

The Impossible Fortress

The Heirs

Dark Matter

The Force

Exit West

Refuge

Future Home of the Living God

The Power

Sing, Unburied Sing

The Essex Serpent

Mysteries

Celine

Since We Fell

Skinny Dip

Not A Sound

Charm City

Baltimore Blues

Participation Award Glass Houses - this is the 13th book in the Armand Gamache series by Louise Penny. I usually love them, but I didn’t love this one. I’m mentioning it because I did love going to the Eastern Townships outside of Montreal this year to see the village inspiration for her books, and if you’re looking for reliably good mysteries, you can start with Still Life. You can also pick up Maisie Dobbs, and you’ll thank me later.