#i need to take notes make edits write down time stamps | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

totallyboatless · 8 months ago

Text

Pip Gets High and Writes an Essay: Wrestling and Shakespeare Edition

Hello friends, today was stressful and I want to distract myself, so it is time for another writing-while-high game. For those new, here's the breakdown:

I'm about to take an edible. I'll time stamp when I took it and when I've realized it's hit. You will almost certainly realize it's hit before me

I will write this in one go with minimal editing. If I got back to edit or add a note, it will be from "Pip From the Future" who will be significantly more high

This is a topic I've thought about before, but have never sat down to write out

Additional notes:

I was super into wrestling when I was a kid in the 90s/early 2000s, fell off of it, and then was reintroduced this January when my boyfriend got me into AEW (I'm almost entirely going to be talking about AEW btw--I'm not as into WWE). So though it's become a significant hyperfixation this year, I'm still new to modern-day wrestling. Please forgive the inevitable mess ups.

2. I love Shakespeare with a passion and have taken a handful of classes and seen a lot of performances, but I'm by no means a scholar. Please forgive the inevitable mess ups.

OKAY WITH THAT: Devil's candy eaten at 10:22pm Mountain Time.

Now let's get into:

Wrestling is More Shakespearean Than Many Modern Day Shakespeare Performances

Part 1: When the Audience is a Character, Theatre Hits Different

I wrote about this in my previous weed-induced essay, but one of my favorite performances of A Midsummer Night's Dream of all time is the 2019 Bridge Theatre's version with Gwendolyn Christie (it was filmed, highly recommend checking it out on the National Theatre streaming service or...by other means). There's a whole lot to love about the production (it's so gay, guys, like SO gay), but one of the absolute highlights is the way that the stage is set up.

The stage is like theatre-in-the-round on crack. It's made up of multiple moving parts, and as the tech crew attaches and detaches parts of the stage to move throughout the space, the crowd needs to ebb and flow along with them. The actors engage directly with the audience, often as the catalyst to get them to move in order to make way for the stage changing.

Anyone who's ever studied Shakespeare, even in the most casual of ways, knows that in the original productions, especially for the Comedies, the audience was encouraged to interact with the show and actors--it was deeply immersive. The Globe Theatre isn't fully in the round, but it almost is; no matter where someone sat or stood, they could see the face of another audience member. Their shared reactions and interactions were an integral part of the experience.

This wasn't unique to Shakespeare, but this setup works particularly well when dealing with stories whose core (no matter the genre) are about visceral human experiences. Being able to feel something, whether it's joy or pain, and directly see someone else experiencing the same thing in the same way amplifies theatre in a gorgeous way. There's nothing like that feeling of connection with someone you'll never talk to.

Seeing the recorded Bridge Theatre's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream made me realize how much I missed that feeling of being completely immersed in a story, and I still feel so jealous when I watch the audience in the recording. I fucking love being surrounded by people whose bodies thrum along with my energy at a show. Shortly after watching it, I went to see a live performance of A Winter's Tale, and it was a good time--but it was on a normal stage, the barrier between the audience and the story well established. It was a show being performed at the audience, not with them.

And that's how most modern day theatre productions are, Shakespeare or not. And it makes sense from a logistics perspective--a lot of people are assholes when they're given the freedom to interact with a show. They take advantage, especially in the age of social media when the temptation to do something to make you go viral is there. And people pay a lot of money for live theatre now and don't want their experience disrupted. (it's high Pip from the future--I finally realized the thing I wanted to say here that was going to make for a better segue: Shakespeare doesn't just love the idea of an immersed audiences, he also saw the magic of "audience as character." So many of his plays break the fourth wall and are meant to be delivered to the audience not as performance but as someone sharing their deepest secrets to a friend). I get it, but in some ways it feels like an opportunity at magic is lost.

UNTIL I GOT INTO THE BIG MEATY MEN SLAPPIN' MEAT

It wasn't hard to sell me on wrestling since I already loved it as a kid, but there was one video in particular that my boyfriend showed me that flipped the switch so hard my brain lit up like Mark Briscoe got a hold of the pyrotechnics.

The video in question is Invisible Man vs. Invisible Stan, in which two invisible wrestlers fight each other. When my boyfriend first told me about this, I thought two dudes in green suits were going to come out, or that everybody was going to pretend they couldn't see two real-life dudes. But my guys IT IS A FULL FIGHT BETWEEN TWO IMAGINARY WRESTLERS.

I'm not kidding in the least when I say this video is one of my top favorite pieces of art from the modern world. It's a story told entirely by two entities: The referee (Bryce Remsburg) and the audiences. And yeah, I'm considering the audience one entity--just watch the video, the way they all meld together is WILD. The crowd is fully bought in, they all take cues off of Bryce and each other in order to collectively decide where the Invisible Man and Invisible Stan are and they move accordingly. That bit where one of the wrestlers goes up to the balcony and jumps down, and like 10 people all fall in unison as if they've been landed on--are you KIDDING ME?! That shit is some of the best improvisational collaborative storytelling I've ever seen--and it could never have happened if the audience wasn't as much of a character as Bryce or the wrestlers. Seriously go watch it, it's incredible.

"The audience is a character" is a sacred rule in pro wrestling--audience participation is the meat of what moves storylines along, and can (and has) literally change(d) the course of character arcs over the years. They set the tone for matches: for the audience back home, for the actors, and most importantly for each other. They chant together, they hold signs together, they gasp together.

(They chant "he's gay he's gay he's gay" in the kindest way those words have ever been spoken -- high Pip from the future, i went to go grab the link to insert bc i had forgot and i rewatched the video so the rest of this video.........this is not a video, but it's playing in my head as one. Anyway I'm tearing up that is such a good gay moment. Also for non-wrestling people reading this -- why are you reading this? -- that tall blonde man is named Daddy Ass. I need you all to go look up the story of how "Scissor me, Daddy Ass" came to be if you do not know it. Unrelated my keyboard feels like it's tilting)

They give the ability for actors to feel more immersed, themselves. A wild crossover I never expected: Anthony Burch (DM for Dungeons & Daddies) held up a sign for a Kenny Omega match that references a years-long storyline that's HONESTLY HEARTBREAKING LIKE JESUS FUCK THE GAY TEARS IT MAKES ME CRY THEY CALLED THEMSELVES THE GOLDEN LOVERS ARE YOU *KIDDING* ME--

(Aside: Is this the first time the edible hits and I realize the same time as you guys? Time 11:17pm, almost an hour after taking it. Or am I going to read this back tomorrow and be like "what the fuck that is gibberish.")

Anyway, I'm not going to go into it (that's Super Eyepatch Wolf's job)--all you need to know is Anthony's sign stopped Kenny Omega in his tracks. His face changes as he sees the sign, and it feels like the energy from that reaction carries him through the rest of the match. It gives a beautiful additional motivation to his character actions--and it never could have happened without an audience that was alive.

TL;DR and main point of part 1: Wrestling understands theatre-in-the-round productions and audience immersion in a way that many theatres don't understand or utilize the vast power of, and I think going to a live wrestling show would finally sate that desire that the Bridge Theatre's A Midsummer Nights Dream makes me feel that I haven't been able to find.

Shakespeare would fucking lose his shit over wrestling, man. He would be like "this is real theatre, baby." I'm not joking. I think he'd think that. And not just because of the "audience as character." OH HEY WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT

Part 2: Good Wrestling Stories Are Fueled By a Core Made of Visceral Human Experiences of Joy and Pain and Mortality and Legacy, Shakespeare also did that

Nailed it, what a good title

When we talk about Shakespeare not being as high bro and pretentious as the general public often thinks it is, we're not just talking about the dick jokes (though there's a lot of dick jokes).

(Aside: I'm not sure who the "we" is I'm referring to--who the fuck am i to be using academic talk i literally just spent too long that i want to admit trying to spell academic)

(Aside again: aHIGHed. Is that anything? That's nothing. Don't look at me)

Shakespeare isn't just low-brow, it's also incredibly accessible on a story level. Obviously the language is hard to overcome, but if you boil any Shakespeare story to its bones to explain to someone, they're stories almost everyone can relate to in some way:

In the tragedies:

The experience of deep grief, and the existential crisis of mortality that comes with it

Loving deeply and passionately while the world tells you it's better to hate, and the existential crisis of mortality that comes with it

The desire for legacy, how your story will be written in the minds of those left behind, and the existential crisis of mortality that comes with it

In the comedies:

The hilarity of being part of a friend group when relationship drama is going down, and you know two of your friends have a crush on each other

Having a fantasy about romping around with horny faeries in the forest

Enjoying sex jokes, twins, and weddings

Doing trans shit and then being really bisexual about it

Good wrestling, when it boils down to it, approaches storylines in a similar way of centering visceral human emotions.

So which genre is wrestling? It can be sad and happy and gay, sometimes all at once.

Wait I thought of a funnier way to say this:

Broke: Wrestling can't be put into a Shakespeare genre of Tragedy or Comedy because it's both at times

Woke: Wresting is a History

(Aside: GOD this is like the core of what I wanted to write about but it's almost midnight and I am p r o p e r high now, I keep staring off into space and my beanie is squeezing my head--if you like this next part and want me to talk about it more maybe i'll do it sober)

(Aside: I was about to go into a full aside here about Prince Nana and the ongoing bit from multiple characters that they want his weed...but we don't have time for that)

My favorite Shakespearean monologue is the "Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs" speech from King Richard II. I have those first words tattooed on my upper thigh, like some kind of pretentious slut. Anyway, the monologue is all about how kings only become kings and stop being kings due to one main thing: death. And there's this part that goes:

For within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king keeps death his court

In a recording of Ian McKellen receiting these words, he takes a crown and tilts it at the audience until it becomes an O.

A crown is something that's coveted, given so much weight and meaning and power. And yet when you look in the middle, it's ultimately hollow.

Belts are crowns, you got I was going there, right? A wrestling belt is a stand in for a crown, it's a symbol of proven power, it's coveted beyond anything else. But ultimately, it's hollow.

And just like with kings, there's only way one to win a belt and to lost a belt.

Well like metaphorically. It's not death with this one, and it's not like when wrestlers lose their characters die off. But like defeat is a metaphor for death in this. You get me.

There are.....

Fuck my brain is fully breaking friends, lol. This weed friend has sent my mind to space. I gotta wrap it. There's some more thoughts on this, and wanting to tie some parallel stories (Orange Cassidy has big Prince Hal vibes, etc.) Maybe I'll return to this sober, or maybe this is way too niche of a crossover and no one will read this lol. If you read this, I appreciate you.

I'm truly unsure if this is readable but i gotta commit to this bit even tho i just got freaked out by my own fingers for a second (we're good now) so gonna post

/end

#If one person likes this I will use that as all the excuse I need #to write about how Swerve Strickland may be both Lord and Lady M. at the same time #aew #pro wrestling #shakespeare #is this a dumpster fire #hey i want more wrestling mutuals come hang out with me #wrestling is drag #i am so high #pips weed essays #fuck what was i tagging these #pip gets high and writes and essay

16 notes · View notes

optimusxmello · 1 year ago

Note

A fandom I'm in that lasted a decade ended in 2020, I wasn't there from the very start but around season 3 and onward. It's recently has found a resurgence of sorts. (as in a year after it came to an end I saw the decline in gifs, posts, content and then out of nowhere all these reblogs and likes are happening to my posts from like 2015! It's amazing!)

I personally have had the roller coaster ride with TV shows because I know they're at the mercy of whoever's making them and how great shows get axed and leave us with cliff hangers and it sometimes feels so disheartening to even enter a show, even if I'm sure I'll love it, because of the fear of being given an untold story. But I've been learning to embrace what there is...and that's only made me love and appreciate fanfic even more. Somewhere on ao3 someone will take it upon themselves to finish a version of an untold story. Or share a story that canon doesn't have time to tell anymore. I won't got into a complete tangent but tv show seasons used to be 22-24 episodes! Filler episodes were allowed without feeling like a waste of time to allow characters to breathe and react to all the insane shit that's been happening! Episodes going down to like 10ish if we're lucky leaves no room for the much needed breathing room...and that's where fanfics are becoming so much more important to me.

To have something that acknowledges the trauma of an event, the consequences of actions, long and short term, giving us insight on how other characters react to decisions or to give us reunions and all the things that canon doesn't have time for!

Back to my original point about the resurge in fandom. I've been rereading some old faves. And bc of the time stamp I remember what was going on that season, and it felt like going through an old photo album. How specific certain worries were to the main characters, the biggest threats, the biggest delights that canon gave us. It's very fun to see fics from way back when, and even new fans or old fans who have been reignited with desire to come back and write again, write specific season fics and then because of stuff that happened in canon that we didn't like have the canon divergence tag pointing out from which season and episode.

AO3 also has the "Not X Character Friendly" tag you can add, and edit at any time should canon change. Sometimes people get very upset with that character and would like to read fics with this tag. Other times people will love a character and would use this tag to filter out fics that aren't kind. This tag is there for those who want it and don't want it. Author notes are also very helpful.

To me, as a reader and a writer, writing fics of ongoing fandom is a lot like living history that once canon is finished, can be like an archeology site! At one point, that was just the way of life for both readers and writers.

i've usually been in fandoms where the series (or movie, whatever media) has been over for a while, but my current fandom is still ongoing. i'm nervous about writing fanfic for this fandom, since the canon isn't "solid" yet. good characters could turn out terrible, scenes can change entire perceptions and perspectives, stuff like that makes me nervous about writing fic. i don't want to villainize a character that turns out to get a redemption arc, i don't want to write a ship fic about a ship i might end up hating later. idk if i'm explaining this right. essentially, writing fic about a fandom with an ongoing canon makes me nervous, but i want to write for this fandom. what do i do?

Remember that posting a work to AO3 comes with a built in date stamp. It'll be clear to anyone reading the story a year from now or two years from now that you wrote it at a certain point in canon.

If you enjoy writing canon compliant fics, you can even add a tag like "post-ep for s02e04" or "missing moment from s01e12" or whatever it might be. You could provide that content in an author's note or your summary instead, if you prefer.

A lot of fic is written while canon is still up in the air and people are used to things changing. If you write for a ship you end up hating, you can always delete the fic later or orphan it if you want folks to still have access to it but remove your own name. You can villainize a character in one story and proclaim them heroic in another. Unless you put your work into a series, there's no need for every story you write to follow on from each other. Each one can be an independent world all on its own.

And that raises another point: write AUs. You don't have to stick to canon compliant works if that stresses you out. An AU can be as simple as "everything is the same, but these characters met before canon started" and as complex as "these people are now aliens living on a different planet".

Will there be people who point out canon inconsistencies when they read your fic years later? Sure. It's happened to me. But at the same time, they were reading my fic years later. That's a compliment in and of itself.

What do the rest of you think? Have you had to deal with these worries before? How did you manage it?

718 notes · View notes

writingwithcolor · 4 years ago

Text

Announcement: No Longer Answering Rubber Stamp Questions

Introduction

Here at Writing With Color, we’ve noticed a shift in the questions we are receiving. In the past, the majority of questions challenged the necessity of diversity in fiction or asked for assistance in making diversity seem more plausible in world-building. We also received many questions on how to describe and characterize people of color in respectful ways that didn’t demonize different races, ethnicities and religions.

By and large, we see that our followers understand why these concepts are important, and for that we congratulate you! This kind of progress takes real, long-term, internal work. Our team hopes that any advice or input you received from us over the years has helped you continue to develop as a writer. We hope you will continue to support us in the future and are especially pleased to hear from our non-white commenters who have let us know when our content has let them feel seen or heard.

However…

We have noticed a recent trend in asks that is discouraging. Many askers seem concerned with receiving our blanket approval of a particular concept or character. These asks often don’t provide us with the direction and context crucial to providing advice from a race or ethnicity-based perspective. Examples include:

“I’m writing a character from [insert background] who has [insert traits]. Is this ok?”

“I’m creating a world where I have made [insert concept] the basis of my world-building. Is this allowed?”

Hi, I’m a [insert identity]. Is it problematic to have [concept/ character] in my story?

“I’m creating a [Race A] character with [these] traits, a [Ethnicity 1] character with [those] traits, a [Race B] character with [some other traits] and a [sex/ gender minority] character with a [different set of traits]. Is this combination offensive?

We call these questions rubber stamp questions. If this describes your question, there’s no need to feel bad. We realize that there was never an explicit explanation of this concept. In addition, our team is mindful of the changing demographics of tumblr that might make it mean we are receiving questions from a younger user-base are not yet familiar with many of the principles we outline on this website. However, on that note…

What is Rubber Stamping?

Rubber stamping refers to the practice of seeking an endorsement without questioning or seeking to alter the status quo. The purpose of Writing With Color is to be a focal point for discussion about diversity in writing rather than simply prescribe a series of corrective measures. Without knowing the asker’s intent (Which we can’t, since we aren’t mind readers), our moderators are not in a position to provide you with carte blanche for your writing concept in the name of all other non-white people. Yes, we have a certain level of skill and expertise on many of these topics, but we are not here to take on the burden of all PoC to approve your writing choices. Nor would it be fair to other PoC if you took our response as a reason to dismiss the perspectives of other PoC (An unfortunately common phenomenon).

Bluntly, on the moderator end, these asks are also incredibly frustrating because they are vague and thus:

Time consuming

Labor intensive (mentally and emotionally)

The last example from the previous section (AKA “Laundry lists”) is particularly time consuming because multiple moderators must collaborate to produce an answer that boils down to each moderator saying, “I guess it depends??? *shrug*” but in slightly different ways.

Perhaps the biggest problem with rubber stamp asks is they feel (to us) like they are more about the asker’s desire for closure/ approval/ virtue signaling than a willingness to participate in the kind of education and discussion on diversity we are trying to foster on this blog.

To that effect: We will no longer be answering such questions.

(If you sent in such ask before this goes up on November 15th, 2020, a moderator may reach out to you individually to better address your inquiry as submitted.)

However: Don’t worry! We also are here to teach you how to makes these questions better!

Fixing Rubber Stamp questions:

1. Be specific.

Instead of Can I/ May I, try “How can I” or “When can I” or “What can I”?

Thus instead of: “I’m Christian. May I create a Jewish character seeking to become an actress in 1920s Hollywood?” —> “How do I, as a Christian, create a compelling Jewish character while being mindful of the interplay between my own intrinsic bias and historical accounts of prominent Jewish figures in early Hollywood?”Or, instead of: “I want to write a story about a modern day piracy in the East Indian Ocean, but with magic. Is this problematic? —> “Given the continuation of modern day piracy in the East Indian Ocean, what are some tropes I should avoid if I decide to go with a modern fantasy set in this region?”

2. Remember: The goal is improved understanding, not approval. Sometimes, you really just want to know *why* you can’t use a particular concept, and that curiosity is good! Questions that ask “Why?” in good faith are often how you can learn a lot about your own intrinsic biases and the limits of your own knowledge.

Thus, instead of: If I write about [controversial topic], am I a bad person? —> Why is it better for someone like me to not write about [controversial topic]?

This approach has the bonus effect of making us feel like you actually care about what we think.

3. Write your question as a draft: Edit your ask at least once or twice to provide as much information as possible while being concise. I’ve told this to college students before, but I can tell when a person wrote their assignment by the quality of the writing. Writing done late at night, when sleep deprived and without at least one edit contains extraneous information while not having a clear point.

Going through your question (Preferably a day after you wrote it) will help you narrow down what you really want to know.

Remember: You all have free will and can write whatever you please. We presume that you seek WWC’s input because you wish to write on issues pertaining to people of color with greater levels of awareness. On a practical note, we recognize that social media, trolling, call-outs, doxxing and other dimensions of cyberbullying make writers online hesitant to do anything unless they think they have the majority of the public on their side. There are times when it is obvious that the asker is asking more because they need approval to feel less anxious when they share their work with others.

However, if the above is your worry, either you aren’t ready to write on this topic or you need to rethink the boundaries you set with the online communities/ individuals you interact with as well as how you manage your internet presence. With respect to personal anxieties when it comes to writing, morality, your conscience and so forth, we recommend turning to your own support systems IRL. As relative strangers on the internet, we are not well-qualified to allay personal concerns.

Remember: Writing with diversity is like training for a marathon. Give yourself permission to expand your comfort zone at the pace your research capabilities and experience allow!

We appreciate that you all trust us to provide helpful, well-thought out feedback for your ideas, and we also thank you for respecting our perspectives even if you may disagree. In the same vein, we request that you put the level of thought into your questions you think appropriate given that another human being is going to spend, at a minimum, several hours coming up with their response. We look forward to hearing from you!

- The WWC Team

(A link to this article will be added to the pinned FAQ for everyone’s reference)

#WWC #Announcements #Housekeeping #FAQ article #Rubber Stamp #Question Guidelines #Updates #WWC Updates

1K notes · View notes

zedecksiew · 3 years ago

Text

Kriegsmesser

When I received Kriegsmesser in the mail I finally googled "kriegsmesser", and found out it meant "war knife". Which makes sense; Gregor Vuga's ZineQuest 2021 project is a tribute to "roleplaying games named after medieval weapons".

I love Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay's piss-renaissance Old World setting. I tend to pick up WFRP-a-likes sight unseen:

Warlock (quality);

Small But Vicious Dog (yesss);

Zweihander (which I have come to hate); etc.

Anyway: I backed Kriegsmesser without really knowing anything about it. So Kriegsmesser surprised me.

Kriegsmesser grew out of a Troika! cutting. Its 36 backgrounds are compatible with that system: each come with a couple of lines of description; a list of skills and possessions; an a visual cameo cropped from actual 16th-Century woodcut art.

Cohesive and competently flavourful. My favourite is the Labourer, who always starts with "an empty pine box":

"You've spent your life breaking your back, working hard for other people's profit. You have nothing to show for it but a spectre of the future."

(The obligatory ratcatcher-analogue , called the Vermin Snatcher, is here -- check that box!)

Kriegsmesser also comes with its own ruleset. Hits all the notes it needs to, with lots of orientation and advice for how to run a game -- but ultimately super-simple, mechanically:

Roll d6s equal to the value in a relevant skill, look at the highest result. 6 means you get what you want; 5 or 4 means you get what you want, at a cost.

It's not quite a dice pool, since only the highest result matters. No opposed tests.

Kriegsmesser intends to have this base mechanic handle fights, too. The combat rules - with armour, toughness and weapon values -- are nested in an optional section.

For a WFRP-a-like, this feels like a purposeful departure.

Many of WFRP's most celebrated adventures are celebrated for bits that their underlying ruleset does little to support: the investigative structure of "Shadows Over Bogenhafen"; the complicated timetable of "Rough Night At Three Feathers".

Ludwig von Wittgenstein never needed a statblock to be memorable.

Not to say that lethal, hyper-detailed fights isn't super Warhammer-y. (Kriegsmesser includes an injury table, broken down by body-part -- check that box!)

But here it feels like Gregor is saying: "I'm not Games Workshop and Roleplay isn't an ancillary of Warhammer Fantasy Battle; we can evoke grim-and-perilous-ness even if we fork away from heavy combat rules."

It has become ritual for me to read my partner Sharon to sleep.

Sometimes I read her RPG things. The other night, after I read her Kriegsmesser's introduction --

" The Empire wages an eternal war against Chaos. Its priests preach of Chaos as an intrusion, something unnatural ... These men see Chaos in anything that does not buttress their rule. They call it disorder, anarchy, corruption. They say that to rebel against their order is to rebel against god and nature. That the current arrangement is natural, rather than artificial.

" Meanwhile, the common people look to the Empire to deliver the justice that they were promised and they find none. They look to the Empire and do not see themselves reflected in it. They look around at what they were taught was right and good and see only misery.

" Their world begins to unravel. Chaos comes to reside in every heart and mind sound enough to look at the world and conclude it is broken. "

-- Sharon remarked: "Nice one."

The RPG things I read her generally leave Sharon lukewarm. She has enjoyed a couple -- but, yeah: for many of these books, text isn't their strong point.

Kriegsmesser is the only time I can recall Sharon praising the writing of an RPG book without my prompting.

Nice one.

That introduction surprised me. It underlines Kriegsmesser's biggest departure from its WFRP-a-like pedigree: how it characterises Chaos.

Corruption, a mainstay of most grim-dark-y games, is made an optional rule, like combat. Explaining this, Gregor writes:

" Kriegsmesser partially subverts or deconstructs the traditional conceit of Warhammer where the characters are threatened by the forces of Chaos. In this game it is the player characters who are the agents of 'Chaos': they are likely to become the 'rats' under the streets, and the wild 'beast-men' in the woods bringing civilisation down. It's the Empire and its nobles and priests that are corrupt ... "

Describing the Empire, Gregor writes:

" The Empire encompasses the world yet is terrified of the without. It enforces itself with steel and fire yet considers itself benevolent. It consumes the labour of others with bottomless hunger yet calls its subalterns lazy, or wasteful, or greedy. "

Holy shit this is the first time I've seen the word "subaltern" in an RPG thing, I think?

I love this.

Rant incoming:

With every passing decade Warhammer abridges its Moorcockian roots more and more; nowadays it is "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", pretty much.

Gone are the days when chaos berserkers are implied to grant safe passage to the helpless (because Khorne is as much a god of martial honour as he is a god of bloodletting); Or that the succor of Papa Nurgle is a genuine comfort to the downtrodden; Or that Tzeentch could unironically embody the principle of hope, of change for the better.

As Chaos is distilled into unequivocal villainy, Order goons get painted as Good Guys by default --

Giving rise to Warhammer's contemporary problem, wherein fans are no longer able to recognise satire.

When I was introduced to 40K, it seemed pretty clear that the Imperium was a Brazil-esque absurdist-fascist bureaucratic state: planets are exterminatus-ed due to clerical error; the way it stamps out rebellions is the reason why rebellions begin in the first place.

Tragi-comic grimdarkness. That was the point.

Nowadays that tone has shifted -- and you're more likely than not going to encounter a 40K fan who argues that the Imperium's evils are a justified necessity, to prevent worse wrongs.

We went from:

"Space Nazis because insane dumbass fuckery, also chainswords vroom vroom rule of badass!"

To:

"Space Nazis because it makes sense actually, and also chainswords make sense because [insert convoluted rationalisation here]."

Even Fantasy Flight's Black Crusade line, which ostensibly offers a look at 40K from the perspective of Chaos, never truly commits to its conceit.

With prep you could play a heroic band of mutant freedom fighters, resisting the tyranny of the Evil Imperium --

But I don't remember Black Crusade giving that kind of campaign any actual support. Its supplements service the relatively more conventional "You can play villains!" angle; the Screaming Vortex is a squarely Daemons-vs-Daemons setting.

This tonal drift culminates, in my mind, with Age of Sigmar, Games Workshop's heroic-fantasy replacement of the old WFRP / WHFB setting.

Here's the framing narrative for AoS's recently-launched Third Edition. Let's see whether I've got things right:

A highly professionalised, technologically-superior tip-of-the-spear fighting force (the Stormcast Eternals);

Backed by an imperialist military-industrial complex (Azyrheim);

"Liberating" rich new territories (Ghur) for exploitation by a civilised settler culture (Settlers of Sig-- I mean, Free Cities);

Justified because the locals are irredeemable heathens (Chaos and Kruleboyz).

I mean, that's a sweet-ass Warhammer setting. It's contemporary, laser-guided lampoon. Except it is played totally straight.

In AoS, a literal crusade is justified as the moral good.

I think Kriegsmesser surprised me because its framing of Chaos -- as a promise, as the light of hope shining through cracks of a broken world --

It feels so fucking right.

Yes: its a subaltern deconstruction of the conventional moral universe of Warhammer -- but it is a take that is also already implied / all but supported in the various depictions of the setting: from WFRP to the modified title-crawl of Black Crusade.

I'm annoyed I didn't think of it, myself. Damn you, Gregor!

And I'm annoyed that more Warhammer fans aren't thinking it, also.

lmagine if Kriegsmesser's perspective stood on equal standing as the GW orthodoxy. Imagine if, instead of simplifying stuff into "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", GW did a Gregor Vuga.

You'd have a Rashomon-ed Warhammer, where villainy depends on perspective:

You are fearful villagers, huddled around your priest, muttering prayers against the wild braying coming from the trees beyond your gates.

You are Aqshyian tribeswomen, defying the thunder warrior towering over you, the foreigner demanding you bow to his foreign god.

You are a Tzeentchian revolutionary cell, desperately trying to disrupt a Inquisitor's transmissions so your home planet isn't destroyed by fascist orbital fire.

Get Kriegsmesser HERE.

+++

( Image sources: https://theenemywithinremixed.wordpress.com/2021/05/21/thoughts-on-the-4e-death-on-the-reik/ https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/59-brazil https://www.deviantart.com/faroldjo/art/Warhammer-40k-Black-Crusade-273596035 https://www.warhammer-community.com/2021/06/09/fancy-a-new-life-bringing-order-to-the-mortal-realms-join-a-dawnbringer-crusade-today/ https://www.nme.com/blogs/the-movies-blog/team-america-15-anniversary-south-park-2558750 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palestinian_children_and_Israeli_wall.jpg )

#reviews #kriegsmesser #gregor vuga #warhammer #writing #rants #overthinking #rpgs #wfrp

57 notes · View notes

biaswreckme · 4 years ago

Text

looking for something right | jjk/knj

Summary: When Jungkook needs to find a new apartment with a roommate to share expenses, he thinks that the universe must be either laughing at him or conspiring in his favor. Because when he finally finds an ad that fits his budget, his roommate is the tall and handsome man from the coffee shop.

Pairing: Namjoon/Jungkook

Member: Namjoon, Jungkook, Jimin, Yoongi

Length: 3568 words

Genre: smut, fluff

Type of AU: roommates au, university au, coffee shop au (kinda) (yes i used all my favorite tropes and aus in one fic)

Rating: 18+

Triggers/Warnings: heavy pining, slightly dom!Namjoon, slightly sub!JK, dry humping, handjob, dirty talking

Project: @thebtswritersclub April project with the theme Bloom 🌸

A/N: A huge thanks to my lobely beta-readers @taegularities AND @voiceswithoutlips for help in revising and editing ♥ and also @voiceswithoutlips for the conversation that inspired the smutty scene :3

cross-posted on AO3 too!

Jungkook had seen him around campus before, more specifically in his favorite small coffee shop just outside the university that was much cheaper and actually catered to students’ financial range when it came to prices. He always had a book with him - usually a tome so big Jungkook thought he could do some real damage to someone with it -, reading and taking notes in the margins, which Jungkook thought was an atrocity, but the other boy didn’t seem bothered or apologetic.

He must be an early riser, because he was always there before he arrived, a steaming cup of hot coffee on the table and a bottle of water next to a small open pencil case and sticky notes. He looked too well-put together to be an undergrad, so he assumed he was a grad student. Philosophy maybe? Or something that demanded a constant consumption of large books. And maybe - just maybe - Jungkook shouldn’t have been spending so much on coffee when he could be brewing it at his apartment, but his apartment didn’t have the tall boy - man? - to discreetly look at while having his morning drink.

What his apartment did have was Jimin, his close friend and dance major that moved from Busan at the same time as him. They’d been sharing a place for some time now, but things were about to change. Jungkook knew this had been coming, but the day Jimin came home announcing that he’d been accepted for a scholarship abroad and that he would need to move soon came as a shock. He was extremely happy for him, but they would need to rush the process of moving out and Jungkook finding a new place or roommate.

They opted to let the apartment go, and so Jungkook began his search for a new place to share. He’d looked at listings, visited some places that were out of his budget, and then he found it. It was a small poster at the coffee shop’s cork board from a guy named Namjoon; the place was a block away and it fit perfectly into his budget and what he wanted for the location. It seemed too perfect; there had to be a catch, right? He texted the number - who calls anyone these days anyways? - and arranged to meet him at the coffee shop the next day before classes.

The catch. Oh, there was a catch.

He entered the place as usual, and the only person there was the tall man with a book on the table, steaming drink in his hand. He looked up at Jungkook who froze for a second, nodding his head and going to the counter quickly, barely mumbling his order to the barista trying to not freak out at the eye contact. So he avoided it for the next few minutes, until he heard his name being called out. What? How did he know his name?

“Jungkook?” the man repeated.

“Yes?” he took a deep breath and turned around at the sound of the deep voice.

“I’m Namjoon,” he introduced himself, standing up and motioning for Jungkook to join him at the table. No, no, no. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him. The universe had to be joking. “Nice to meet you.” He reached out to shake Jungkook’s hand.

He was touching him. And he smelled so good. And his voice was so deep. Jungkook felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush, sighing at the very sight of Namjoon, whose name he now knew. He nodded in response and looked at the counter, trying to take a break from that smile, pretending he was checking if his order was ready. It was not.

“So, you’re interested in the apartment, right?”

“Ah, yeah… my friend and roommate right now, Jimin, you might have seen him around campus? He’s an amazing contemporary dancer, so he got this incredible and super rare scholarship to go study at this academy... I forgot the name,” he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and stop his rambling - to no avail, “anyway he’s moving too soon and I need to find a new place but everything’s so expensive. Yours fits the budget and is so close to uni and I couldn’t help but check you out, I mean, check it out…” He closed his eyes in embarrassment at the slip up, hearing Namjoon’s soft chuckle.

“Alright. What are you studying? Undergrad or grad school?”

“Media. Photography, film making, this stuff. I’m into it. I mean. Excuse me,” he was saved by the barista calling him, and as soon as he got back to the table, he took a sip, burning his tongue - but at least it stopped him from babbling for a second. “Undergrad still,” he complemented.

“Cool. I’m in grad school for social studies, so I’m a TA, but I also work with music production,” Namjoon began, but upon Jungkook’s raised eyebrows and brown eyes rounding up, he continued. “I wanted to get a better grasp on understanding society, so I can write better lyrics and try to integrate that into the music writing itself, you know?”

Jungkook nodded, fascinated. So he was cute and smart. And captivating. The interview didn’t really seem like one; it was so easy to fall into conversation with Namjoon that he did not notice time passing, and soon enough they were cut short, remembering they still had classes to attend.

“Alright, Jungkook. You don’t seem like a serial killer, so how about you visit the apartment to see if you like it?”

Jungkook choked on the last sip of his drink, and he really wanted to answer that he did not need to see the apartment to know he liked him, but he managed to catch himself before letting it out. He knew what Namjoon was seeing right now: his eyes wide open in shock, maybe even a light blush on his cheeks? His ears certainly felt hot. Dear lord, he needed to get a grip on himself.

“I’m not a serial killer, I promise. I’m a law abiding citizen. When are you free? I have classes the whole day today, but I’m free around lunchtime.” Jungkook wanted to dig a hole and hide right in there. Did he sound too eager?

“The sooner the better, but wait,” Namjoon stopped midway while getting up, looking very serious all of a sudden, “I forgot a very important question that might change my mind.”

Jungkook inhaled deeply, dreading the question that was about to come. Did he seem too forward and let the other man know he was into him? Would that be a deal breaker?

“Can you cook?”

“Ah… yes?” Jungkook was caught by surprise, confusion stamped on his face again. “Yes, I can. The basics at least.”

“Oh great! I can’t cook to save my life and I can’t really afford to live on take out anymore, so… we can work something out with that for sure!” He laughed, those dimples adorning his cheeks appearing again.

Soon Jungkook would learn that not only could Namjoon not cook, but he was actually a disaster and walking hazard in the kitchen. The man didn’t even know to properly hold a cutting knife to chop some vegetables or kimchi for a simple plate of fried rice. They attempted cooking together one time and that was enough for Jungkook. That was his kitchen from now on, Namjoon would be responsible for other chores but he himself would do all the cooking in the kitchen. Namjoon was even forbidden from boiling water on an electric kettle; that was the level of disaster-waiting-to-happen that he was.

The apartment was cozy and filled with books and musical equipment, and soon enough Jungkook’s filming materials were sharing the same space. It warmed his heart to come home in the evenings after class and see how his camera bag would be sitting beside Namjoon’s headphones, or how his black chunky sneakers rested beside the other man’s boots at the entrance. Whenever he put on or took off his shoes - which was almost every single day of the week, mind you - he would get a fuzzy feeling in his stomach. He would tilt his head quickly to try and shake the thoughts away, not letting himself hope too much. He had no idea or indication if Namjoon even liked men, and he had no idea why he was even wishing for something more.

He was not exactly sure if he could pinpoint the precise moment in time when his adoration had turned into real infatuation with Namjoon. Maybe it was the fact that the older one was a disaster in the kitchen and always thanked Jungkook, each and every single meal the younger one cooked. Maybe it was the look he sported whenever he was engrossed in a book, glasses almost falling off his nose before a finger would softly push it back up (and Jungkook had found out that he only used his glasses comfortably at home, preferring contacts whenever he was out).

Maybe it was the way he always listened to Jungkook’s ramblings, no matter the topic of interest, from deep art films he had to watch (and Namjoon would actually sit down and watch with him) to the new game he’d been playing. Maybe it was the way he would always wish him a good morning and a good night with that dimpled smile. Maybe it was the way he offered to produce a freaking song to be used as a soundtrack to one of Jungkook’s short films. Maybe it was the way they ended up watching the first snowfall of the season together, side by side, looking out of the living room window. Maybe it was the way Namjoon’s left arm enveloped Jungkook’s shoulders in a soft side hug while they watched the snowflakes drift down and when Jungkook didn’t move, those dimples appeared on his cheeks.

But that was the only physical proximity for a while. The next day Jungkook could barely look at Namjoon and spent the day over at Yoongi’s place. He arrived just in time when Jimin was video calling his boyfriend, and proceeded to freak out about watching the first snow of the season together and it had to mean something, right? He put his arm around him while they stood in front of the window, Jimin, what the hell did it mean?

All the while Yoongi watched him with a cocked head, as if he was thinking hard about something, and then an amused smile shaped his lips. Jungkook thought it must have been because he had never had such a strong reaction for a boy - a man - before, especially one who was his roommate. Was it a brotherly hug? Namjoon hadn’t said anything or done anything else, did it mean he was interested in him or did he see Jungkook as a little brother? He was full of questions and asking them to the wrong people for sure, but he did not want to risk the little he had with Namjoon.

It was winter. The small affectionate moments he had with Namjoon were keeping him going, fueling and warming his heart enough to get through the coldest season. They watched movies together on the couch, huddled up under a blanket with cups of tea warming their hands. Going to the coffee shop in the morning for a cup of coffee before classes. Namjoon waiting for him outside the media building with a cup of hot chocolate in the evenings when he had classes later, walking back to the apartment together. Watching Namjoon work, focused on creating the loop he had been struggling with for a while, nothing seemed to fulfill what he wanted. Namjoon watching him work, editing an experimental short film he filmed for a class group project.

The freezing weeks passed like that, with Jungkook cooking different types of jjigae for them, Namjoon being allowed back in the kitchen mostly to keep him company, telling Jungkook he was hungry and will it take much longer?

He visited Yoongi once a week, calling Jimin together so he could freely talk about his growing fondness for Namjoon and get some advice he was keeping for when he thought the timing was right. Yoongi told him he had to create the right timing and he would actually probably be surprised if he acted on his desires. But Yoongi couldn’t know. He still had no clue about the mystery that was Namjoon’s love life, only that he had never taken anyone to the apartment.

Whether he was even interested in that, Jungkook had no idea, but he also had no courage to ask. Jimin suggested he did what he knew best: work with images. So he had been filming small snippets of their lives, their walks to their coffee shop, comfortable scenes at the apartment when no one else was looking but Jungkook through the camera lenses. Sometimes Namjoon asked to film Jungkook too, or positioned the camera so both of them were caught in the recording.

Winter went and spring came. Just as the flowers were starting to blossom on the street outside their windows, Jungkook was getting ready to show Namjoon the film. As he edited throughout the weeks, he noticed more than once how fondly he would look at the older man, and he could almost swear the gaze was reciprocated when he was not looking, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He made Yoongi promise he could crash at his place for a while in case things got weird and Namjoon kicked him out, to which Yoongi had let out a full laugh, something the boy had never heard before, and merely gave him a Sure, almost as if he was mocking Jungkook.

And so the day came. He chose the perfect song, adjusting his editing to fit the rhythm and lyrics, hoping it would express his love. Yes, he would call it love. He fell in love with the good person that the man was, with all the small quirks and imperfections.

He told Namjoon he had something to show, that he had finally finished his project and wanted to him to see. He waited for Namjoon to come back from his day out nervously, heart racing as he made them some tea while the man showered and got into more comfortable clothes. The video was ready to be played and Jungkook almost gave up, but decided this was the time.

He could not hide his feelings anymore.

And so he pressed play and closed his eyes. He had heard that song over and over again while editing, perfecting each millisecond of the final product. His heart was beating almost as loudly as the song, the sound filling his ears, his fingers clenching the fabric of his oversized black t-shirt, a shaky breath leaving his nose when he heard the final notes.

“Jungkook?”

He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, suddenly finding Namjoon’s face much closer than he was expecting, the man’s eyes staring into his own.

“I love you, too.”

The words had barely registered in his brain - although they had been imprinted on his heart - when Namjoon’s pillowy lips pressed softly against his, one of the man’s hands caressing his cheek, wiping at a tear he did not notice had fallen. He sighed into the kiss, relief perpassing his entire body. He loved him. When it finally clicked for him, his brain finally sent the necessary signals that made his arms go around Namjoon’s neck, his fingers entangling in the man’s hair and pulling him even closer. They moaned almost in synchrony when their tongues touched for the first time, Jungkook’s body almost undulating in a way that made Namjoon tug his hips towards himself, making the younger man sit on his lap.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” the older broke the kiss, staring into Jungkook’s eyes, “been waiting for you,” he murmured against the younger’s lips. As their mouths clashed in an open-mouthed kiss, Namjoon pulled Jungkook’s longer hair, making him bend back so he could have access to the expanse of his neck.

Jungkook moaned when Namjoon’s lips pressed onto his skin, licking and biting and sucking and definitely leaving some marks, and all he could do was clutch the older’s biceps, shifting his hips to try and alleviate some of the pressure that was making his pants tighter. The hand that was not entangled in Jungkook’s dark strands made its way down his body, grabbing a firm buttcheek first, then going to the younger’s hip.

“Wanna ride me?” Namjoon asked low on Jungkook’s ear, biting his lobe after.

“Yes, hyung” the word came out as a whine from Jungkook’s lips, his hips starting to move aided by Namjoon’s firm grip. “Your thighs…” he started, but couldn’t continue when he adjusted his hips just right and his hard erection pressed against one of Namjoon’s thighs.

“Yeah? I’ve seen you looking at them, Kook. So go on, ride my thigh, come on,” he said as he flexed his muscles, his other hand joining the one at Jungkook’s hip, one on each side now to help him move, to watch him fall apart.

Jungkook just closed his eyes and surrendered, his hips moving on their own accord, pressing his cock closer and closer to Namjoon’s, soft whines and pleas tumbling out of his mouth as he lost himself in the movements. It was too much and not enough, his erection pressing just right so his skin glided back and forth on the fabric of his underwear stimulated by the older’s thigh, the couch too small for this - yet he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else at the moment. He needed it, and the sense of urgency overtook his body, his movements more frantic as he gripped the older’s hair and kissed him sloppily, letting out his breathy whimper against Namjoon’s lips. He wanted it.

“I’m… I’m close, hyung,” he had to pause to whimper again, a shiver going through his body from how close he was. “I want to touch you, hyung.”

“Touch me, Kook, make me cum with you, hold on just a bit,” Namjoon all but moaned into his lips when one of the younger’s hands reached into his pants.

Namjoon’s cock was heavy and hard and big, yet the skin was so soft in his hand, and Jungkook immediately closed his fist around it, his palm wet from the precum that had already gathered on the bulbous head, aiding his movement. And if Jungkook thought Namjoon’s speaking voice was deep, his mind and ears were certainly not prepared for the low guttural moan leaving those swollen lips, his own hips stuttering, pleasure coursing through his entire body, from the tip of his toes to the ends of his hair, his cock pulsating with release inside his pants as he pressed it against the strong thigh beneath him. He took a second to breathe and enjoy the tingling in his body, but soon noticed his hand had stopped. His gaze met Namjoon’s, his hand moving up and down inside the man’s pants.

“Cum for me, hyung, please,” he begged, wanting to pay attention to that moment of euphoria when it crossed his hyung’s face. And so it did; he watched as Namjoon threw his head back on headrest of the couch, hips raising and fucking into the tight grip around his cock, that heavy moan escaping his lips again as Jungkook felt the thickness of the release coating his hand. But he kept moving, prolonging Namjoon’s pleasure until it became too much and his hand was stopped, a smile stamped on the older man’s face.

There were no words needed for a while, until it seemed to finally click for Jungkook.

“Wait, you said you love me too.”

“I’ve been trying to express it for a while... And your eyes do this cute thing where they widen whenever you think you are caught and should change your gaze, so I noticed you were interested too. Plus Yoongi told me.”

“Wait, what?” He turned his head fast to look at Namjoon again, “You know Yoongi-hyung?”

And so he explained how they’ve known each other for years and how they’ve collaborated in music production before, under the names of RM and Agust D. He’d heard of RM, even heard Yoongi mentioning it more than once, and thinking back, he kept talking about RM more and more after he moved in with Namjoon. Oh. And then he remembered Yoongi’s smirks and head shakes, his certainty that Jungkook would not be turned down.

“You still haven’t said it.”

“I love you, Namjoon-hyung.”

And as Jungkook woke up the next morning, warm and cozy under Namjoon’s blankets, legs entangled and bodies pressed together, he breathed easier, lighter, happier. And he made a mental note to thank Jimin for applying for that scholarship and being so good that he’d gotten it. Maybe he would have met RM at some point, but he didn’t want to think of other possibilities. Living together and falling in love, getting to know each other was perfect for now.

They met in autumn, got closer through the cold days in winter, and their love bloomed in spring.

He could barely wait to see what summer had in storage for them.

90 notes · View notes

nellie-elizabeth · 5 years ago

Text

Queliot Fic Recs - Master Post (March 11, 2020)

Hi everyone! I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, but now that we’re staring down the barrel of the show’s official ending, I thought I’d finally take the time to post a master fic rec list!

A couple of notes:

This is by no means comprehensive; I’m sure I’m forgetting several lovely fics, and will be updating this list as I remember/find more.

This list will not include WIPs (the only exception being where I rec a completed story that is part of a series, and mention that sequel(s) are still in progress). I will add the WIPs I’m reading once they are complete!

I am open to suggestions from others, so please reblog and add your own recommendations! I would love to add to this and make it a one-stop-shop resource for people looking for something new to read.

When I know the tumblr handle of the author, I have included it. But in several cases I don’t know the author’s tumblr, if they have one - if you have this information to fill in, please let me know and I will update the master post. (Also, if you notice any broken links or mistakes - I did my best, but this thing is hefty and I’m sure there are errors!)

This took me… forever to put together, so if you find it useful, please reblog - and more importantly, please leave comments & kudos on the stories you read!

Link to the Google Doc, if that’s easier for you to read.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1sIUMZcIcpnZ1_9T3o7dkqUaqEw0miwNTfTuZjvjGto4/edit?usp=sharing

Hefty rec list under the cut.

Season Three Gapfillers/Deviations from Canon

These stories usually deal with the aftermath of the mosaic in some way. Many of them were written before the revelations of 4x05, but some were written later, and either comply with canon, or deviate from it from that point.

shipping it by Mizzy (@mizzy2k). Mature. 16,344 words. The Muntjac “ships” Queliot and is trying to help them along. What else can I say? There’s angst, there’s love, it’s silly and it’s sincere.

Sense Memories by mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 2,616 words. This is an ABO fic, which is not something I would typically read. But I love this author so much that I decided to give it a try. The thing I like about it is the idea of the mosaic timeline leaving a tangible, physical impact on Quentin and Eliot, and how they might deal with the fallout in this more extreme scenario. If ABO isn’t for you, though, proceed with caution.

throw your shadow over me by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 8,187 words. Okay I’m going to recommend basically everything peacefrog has written, but this one is probably my favorite. It’s a super angst-y sex scene between Quentin and Eliot during season three, where Eliot believes this is his last chance to be with Quentin, and is basically dreading the emotional fallout even while it’s happening.

i start spinning (slipping out of time) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Teen. 2,570 words. Before Eliot goes to Margo to discuss the god-killing bullet, he and Quentin have a conversation about Quentin’s choice to stay at Blackspire. Features a heartbreaking memory of their life together at the mosaic, and just generally gorgeous canon-compliant angst.

Promises by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Explicit. 7,751 words. Eliot and Quentin have it out about Quentin’s decision to stay in Blackspire, and hash out their feelings for each other. This one is canon-divergent (and is probably the one-shot I am the most proud of!)

Overthinking It by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Teen. 3,581 words. Eliot finds out about the abyss key, and it prompts a discussion about Quentin and Eliot’s relationship.

Honey You’re On Fire, Let Me Help by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 5,857 words. Quentin accidentally picks up the abyss key… Eliot finds him and does what he can to distract him. This is hot, of course, but also so desperately full of feeling and love. As the summary implies, there is a good deal of depression and talk of suicide in this story, so take care.

Can’t Let Go by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 5,384 words. UGH. This is what SHOULD have happened after Eliot and Quentin remember the mosaic time-line. This is so satisfying and gave me some catharsis in the aftermath of the direction the story has taken in canon.

~~~~~

Post-Season Four Fix-Its

These stories maintain the canon of season four, and continue on from there. They generally involve bringing Quentin back from the dead.

What Matter Where by achray. Explicit. 28,782 words. Eliot becomes Prince Consort of the Underworld. He gets to be with Q when he’s back home, though. This is almost tough to read, because my brain doesn’t want to accept any half-happy endings, any reality where Eliot can’t spend all of his time by Quentin’s side. But on the other hand… Eliot has to make a big, big sacrifice to bring Quentin back, and you definitely feel the gravitas of that.

life ain’t fair (so i guess we’d better cheat) by micksgotkicks (@lovelyquentin). Teen. 1,137 words. This is more of a pre-fix-it. Eliot rages against the heavens for taking Quentin from him, and resolves to get him back. Short and painful. Cathartic.

Being Alive by miss_whimsy (@bambiesque). Gen. 7,022 words. Eliot sends the letter to Quentin with the magical stamp. And when that doesn’t work, he sends a bunch more. This is one of the very few fics on this list that has any connection to season five canon, which I’m not watching. I did watch 5x03, however, and this fic is borne out of Eliot Waugh never giving up - the way we all know it should have gone.

What kind of man (loves like this)? by destielpasta (@queliotpasta). Explicit. 3,160 words. Eliot and Quentin go out dancing. This fic has a certain quality about it that’s difficult to describe - I could just really feel their love for each other jump off the page, specifically in how badly they clearly want to care for each other. This fic also straddles the line between categories - the author describes it as a “fix-it” and it does deal with Quentin’s resurrection in a more immediate way, but the subject matter itself is much more about the aftermath, rather than the actual “bringing Q back from the dead” part.

You’re a Story (I Can Follow) by Page161of180. Mature. 19,695 words. I think everyone’s read this, but how could I not include it? This technically isn’t a fix-it, because it was written before the season four finale confirmed the theory of Quentin’s death. This author, like the collective fandom, assumed that death would be temporary… and thus, this is the story of Eliot being the Orpheus to Quentin’s Eurydice. It is stunning - a gold standard in writing intense grief with a happy ending. Eliot is undone by Quentin’s death here, and has to fight through obstacle after obstacle to get him back - the biggest one being, his own lack of self-worth. There’s also a somewhat-connected sequel/prequel called And Remember What You Were Before (Not Rated, 6,998 words), which is completely worth the read.

(like a perfect picture) in a broken frame by PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic). Not Rated. 20,631 words. Another resurrection/fix-it fic… Really great group dynamics as everyone works on bringing Quentin back, but also a focus on Eliot’s despair. Kind of your standard fix-it, exactly what the characters should have tried to do, in a world where canon hadn’t betrayed us so badly.

life fades (but you remain) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 62,735. Stunning. STUNNING. Eliot finds a way to get Quentin back, but it comes at a cost. The two of them have to work it out. This features some incredibly good angst with a happy ending, scorching sex, a really intriguing OC in an early chapter, and some nice screen-time for the lovely Alice Quinn, to boot.

as it was by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Mature. 3,913 words. Short and sweet - Penny-40 leads Quentin to where he needs to go, and that’s back home to Eliot.

In the Woods Somewhere by pineapplecrushface (@pineapplecrushface). Explicit. 15,528 words. This is the most creative take on a fix-it I’ve seen! The summary outlines the premise best: “Alice being unable to wipe younger Quentin's memory during the timeshare spell had a ripple effect.” Eliot is so desperate for Quentin in this one, and Quentin, from the afterlife, is having to work out how he feels and where he wants to be.

In Which We Grieve by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Teen. 3,413 words. I hesitate to call this a “fix-it” really, since Quentin doesn’t come back to life. But despite that, he and Eliot make it work. This is sad, but cathartic too.

(this is not a) Temporary Love by rizcriz (@sadlittlenerdking). Teen. 20,684 words. A fix-it that includes some intense mosaic feels too, as Margo and Eliot read over some letters/notes written during the mosaic timeline. I also like this one for how the rest of the gang finally notices how sick and worn-down Quentin is, and forces Q and Eliot to take a mental health vacation once Quentin is back in the land of the living!

~~~~~

Post-Season Four/Post-Possession - Not Fix-Its

These stories take place after the events of season four, or, in some cases, after an imagined ending of season four (written before the series finale aired), ignoring season five canon. They are not fix-its in the sense that either a) they ignore Quentin’s death in canon and proceed like it never happened, or b) Quentin’s resurrection happened “off-screen” and is not the focus of the story. These fics often deal with the aftermath, both physical and psychological, of Eliot’s possession. They also usually deal with Quentin and Eliot’s reconciliation after the events of seasons three and four, and sometimes continue through their time as an established couple.

your body (your heart) in his hands by Allegria23 (@allegria23). Explicit. 18,636 words. This fic follows Eliot and Quentin into their future. I’m recommending it specifically for the way it deals with Quentin’s discipline - I’ve never seen a fic tackle the subject in quite this way, and with so much care and gentleness. If you are not a fan of kid!fic, don’t be put off by the premise - Eliot and Quentin are great fathers with amazing kids in this future universe, but the focus really does remain on their romance. This story is part of a series called second time around which is all worth a read, especially the latest part, entitled The Special Dish. The whole series really embodies the romance of effort, and how putting in the time to nurture and grow a relationship is what makes it work.

Be still my foolish heart (i’m almost me again) by Butterfly (@butterflydm). Explicit. 3,754 words. A birthday fic for Quentin - he’s a little overwhelmed by the party held in his honor. He sneaks off to be alone, Eliot follows him, and Q tells Eliot about his discipline.

Living Room, NY by cartographies (@honeybabydichotomy). Teen. 11,254 words. Eliot goes to therapy. I’m recc’ing this specifically for Eliot’s rambling confession of love to Quentin in chapter two. The whole thing is lovely, but that part really knocked me the fuck out.

Imagine being loved by me. by destielpasta (@queliotpasta). Explicit. 11,225 words. Holy moly. This is a top-tier fave for me. It’s about sex, it’s about love, it’s about working through a relationship after trauma. Eliot is touch-starved but can’t be touched - so Quentin and Eliot must get creative.

Yes and Yes and Maybe Yes by hetrez (@hetrez). Mature. 5,542 words. The author describes this as “consent porn, with feelings,” and that’s a pretty good descriptor. Quentin has PTSD because of the Monster, and Eliot’s touch can be triggering for him. They work together to get through it. This is hot, yes, but it’s hot specifically because of how badly Eliot wants to take care of Quentin and make him feel safe.

The Dreamers by hetrez (@hetrez). Teen. 10,143 words. Post-possession, Quentin and Eliot are together but things aren’t smooth sailing. The scene from this story that always sticks in my head is Quentin asking Eliot if he wants to have a family again, like they did before with Arielle and Teddy - and Eliot’s horrifically wrong-footed response: “You’ll get a wife again and we’ll have another baby.” As might be predicted, Quentin doesn’t take that very well… and this story is at least partially working out where they stand, what they both want.

The Drum Beats Out of Time by HMGFanfic (@hmgfanfic). Mature. 68,605 words. This series features two stories: Suitcase of Memories and I Fall Behind. Both are amazing, but I Fall Behind in particular is one of my top-tier favorite fics in the whole fandom. This fic does not pull its punches in terms of the effects of Eliot’s possession, and it makes things really rough for Quentin and Eliot’s relationship. Quentin does a reckless thing, Eliot panics, they hash it out - but it’s not easy, and it’s not so clear-cut. These fics also features glimpses of their life together at the mosaic, and a lovely epilogue that shows how they’ve made progress and are still healing as a couple.

the right time and place by impossibletruths (@impossibletruths). Teen. 3,675 words. Eliot trying to propose to Quentin. It’s sweet and fluffy and good for the soul.

hearts like houses by impossibletruths (@impossibletruths). Explicit. 11,888 words. Quentin and Eliot celebrate Eliot’s birthday, post-possession. They get away for a trip, to try and put their worries behind them. This story is full of so much intimacy and gentleness that it just melts my whole heart.

five times my writing was better than the magicians by micksgotkicks (@lovelyquentin). Teen. 6,019 words. These are just… soft. It’s five different short fics, all with slight variations on the simple concept of Quentin and Eliot reuniting post-possession. There’s no intensive deep-dive, nothing too grim or challenging. It’s just the two of them finding their way to each other again and again. Very healing to read, in light of canon’s (inferior) version of reality.

struck from a great height by mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 4,517 words. “Life affirming sex” is the most telling tag on this thing. Post-possession, Eliot and Quentin find their way into each other’s arms. Really hot sex, lots of feelings… everything we deserved at the end of the Monster story-line.

And So Lift Your Spirits by OrchardsinSnow (@orchardsinsnow). Explicit. 3,437 words. This was one of the first fics I remember reading in the aftermath of my desperate post-season four feelings, and it hit the spot in the best way. Eliot’s POV - he loves Quentin, but has doubts that he’s actually deserving of something so wonderful, that Quentin could really reciprocate and want to stay. Quentin finds an insanely hot, insanely romantic way to reassure him.

Ten Twenty-Eight by Page161of180. Not Rated. 5,974 words. This is slice-of-life about Quentin Coldwater and how he’s spent Eliot’s birthday, October 28, over the years. It’s told through notes from the Library branch of the Underworld, with added comments from Alice and Penny. It’s weird, but rewarding. I love the record-keeping aspect. This author has a real gift for outsider POV, and this is one of my favorites!

Nights and Mornings by Page161of180. Mature. 6,734 words. Two connected stories, in the aftermath of possession. Quentin doesn’t die, but he does still get back together with Alice, a la 4x12. These stories deal with Eliot’s thoughts on that, and… spoiler… Quentin/Alice is just not meant to be. Quentin makes a different choice.

The Honor of Your Presence by Page161of180. Mature. 18,117 words. Quentin and Eliot get married, and we hear the story from three different POVs… Todd, Rafe, and Marina 23. Random? Yes. Brilliant? Also yes. I love how each POV has a different and distinct literary style. And how even the people who aren’t closest to Quentin and Eliot can see how insanely in love they are with each other.

The Wanting Then, the Needing Now by Page161of180. Not rated. 3,799 words. Alice’s POV, as Eliot is saved from possession, and Quentin falls apart. Basically, Alice realizes where Quentin really belongs. I love the way this author does justice to Quentin’s love for Alice - it’s not a footnote, it’s not an insignificant blip. It’s real, and that doesn’t invalidate the fact that Quentin chooses Eliot. This has a much longer sequel which is also very good - but that story is more Alice-centric and not really focused on Queliot as much, even though they definitely play a part.

Lay Me Down (Pockets Full of Stones) by PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic). Not Rated. 10,024 words. Post-possession, Eliot realizes how badly Quentin has been dealing with things. He’s angry at their friends for not keeping a better eye out - but all that matters right now is finding Quentin and making sure he’s alright. I love this story for how messy their reunion is - how all of their feelings just come spilling out of them without finesse.

(one kiss) it all comes down to this by PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic). Not Rated. 6,391 words. True Love’s Kiss… the boys need to talk about their feelings, and a curse forces the issue. This is so entirely my jam.

box of chocolates by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Mature. 9,256 words. This short series begins with the Teen-rated for love (if it finds you worthy) and features Eliot asking Quentin to be his valentine. Because Quentin and Eliot are… Quentin and Eliot, it still takes them a little while to get their shit together, after that.

when lips and skin remember by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 6,163 words. This is for the monthly prompt challenge - “blindfolds” and features Quentin helping Eliot through some sensory issues, post-Monster possession.

an end (but the start of all things that are left to do) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 2,388 words. Birthday smut! Q is alive and gets a blowjob, as the universe requires.

the one with the dog by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 80,517 words. If you haven’t already read this series, what are you waiting for?? It is IDEAL for soothing the soul. Eliot and Quentin deal with the aftermath of their trauma, both physical and mental. They hang out at the condo in New York, they take care of an adorable dog named Lady Desdemona, they have lots of hot sex of course. They heal. Every single one of the twelve stories in this series is worth reading, but my favorites are probably (this is) the beat of my heart (Explicit, 11,700 words), Five Card Draw (Explicit, 3,531 words), all the way home I’ll be warm (Explicit, 15,640 words), and Come What May (Teen, 3,352 words).

5 Scenes from a Road Trip by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 16,218 words. In the aftermath of season four (sans Quentin’s death), the boys need a change of scenery to begin healing and finding their way back to one another. I love how this fic shows their closeness, and how the boundaries of their relationship often defy description. They love each other beyond sex, beyond conventional romance - although they achieve those things, too, as they definitely deserve.

did you know my baby loves me? by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 7,776 words. Quentin tops Eliot on his birthday. What it says on the tin. But as always with this author, even something that should be ostensibly a PWP is filled with so much feeling and love that you could just drown in it.

To Learn to Be Again by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 18,295 words. “I don’t think- I can’t be anyone’s boyfriend right now, Eliot.” Eliot loves Quentin, Quentin loves Eliot, but that’s not always enough to give them a happily ever after. Quentin goes to therapy, deals with his trauma and his mental health, and Eliot is right there beside him with no expectations. This is so, so lovely and every ounce of their happiness feels earned and all the more precious for the pain that’s mixed up with it.

do not go gentle by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 10,260 words. This is almost a fix-it, in that Quentin imagines the events of 4x13, but they don’t actually happen. So be warned if any depiction of Quentin’s death is a trigger for you. I love the way this story deals with the Alice of it all, and also the way Quentin and Eliot talk through their situation and find a way back to each other once again. (Also shower sex happens). This author has written multiple versions of this same reconciliation, but each one is so lovely and I’ll never get sick of it.

the strange act of living by propinquitous (@propinquitous). Explicit. 13,632 words. So there are a lot of fics out there that deal with the aftermath of Eliot’s possession of course. A lot of fics that feature Eliot and Quentin slowly, painfully, finding a way to reconcile. This one holds a special place in my heart for this particular moment, where Quentin walks past Eliot without saying anything, grabs a muffin from the counter, and leaves the room. Later, Q finds Eliot crying in the shower, and Eliot asks him why he just left, taking the food Eliot had made for him, and then ignoring him. That one moment has stuck with me ever since I read the fic, and I keep coming back to it. In all, this captures a very specific kind of hurt that both Quentin and Eliot are feeling, and gets them on the path to healing. Gorgeous.

the safety of others by propinquitous (@propinquitous). Teen. 8,122 words. Quentin doesn’t die in 4x13, but he does get injured. And Eliot keeps vigil. This is - so powerful. I don’t even know how to describe it. Just read it, please.

Magic Curses by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Explicit. 134,886 words. This series includes six stories, each dealing with Quentin and Eliot’s relationship as they undergo external threats from creative and somewhat evil magical curses. It’s my attempt to write in some more hurt/comfort to the fandom, and also to indulge in some established-relationship goodness! The first story, Lover’s Touch (Explicit, 24,781 words), is summarized thusly: “Q gets cursed, and Alice can’t help. Magic forces Q and Eliot to cuddle and talk about their feelings.”

Coming Home by rizcriz (@sadlittlenerdking). Not Rated. 2,958 words. Short and sweet. The author succinctly describes this as: “Eliot gets to be brave.” And he does. He says the thing he wants to say to Quentin, and Q eventually believes him.

Enough by SabbyStarlight. Teen. 2,746 words. This was written just before 4x13 came out. If only if only this is how it had gone instead… basically just Quentin and Eliot talking about their feelings, negotiating their relationship.

Boyfriend by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Teen. 6,727 words. Quentin is sensitive about the fact that Eliot isn’t introducing him as his boyfriend. This is just… the sweetest. I love that there’s some jealousy and insecurity, but it’s a manageable, reasonable type - Eliot and Quentin are able to talk about it and get past this small bump in the road.

Hunger by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 4,327 words. Quentin gets a birthday blowjob. The end. :)

~~~~~

Mosaic Timeline

These stories are ones that take place almost or entirely within the mosaic timeline - both in keeping with, and in deviation from, what we see in 3x05.

help me hold onto you by ameliajessica (@ameliajessica). Explicit. 14,768 words. This one will hurt your heart, but it’s so rewarding. Featuring Eliot being ridiculously turned on by talking about feelings during sex… and Quentin loving Eliot while grieving for Arielle.

‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be by destielpasta (@queliotpasta). Teen. 645 words. Tiny fic - maybe the shortest one on the list. Quentin and Eliot are bad at talking about their feelings. Who’s surprised?

flowing all this time by mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 5,488 words. This is one of those fics where Arielle isn’t an obstacle for the boys… but rather, Eliot is an obstacle for Quentin and Arielle, in a way. It has some bittersweet moments, but I love how much Eliot loves Quentin here. This is also (spoiler) the rare fic where Arielle chooses to leave, rather than dying.

a cure i know (that soothes the soul) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 4,857 words. Little snippets of Quentin and Eliot’s life through the years at the mosaic. Recc’ing especially for middle-aged Queliot, which we see all too little of in this fandom!

measure in love by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 51,827 words. This is a series about Quentin, Eliot, and Arielle’s lives together at the mosaic. I don’t know if the author plans to write more in this series or not, but each one can stand alone. I am particularly enamored with The Ways We Fit Together (Explicit, 11,661 words), which is summarized succinctly as “sex and love in the mosaic timeline”, and You Steer My Heart (Explicit, 25,217 words), which follows Eliot’s mindset as he watches Quentin and Arielle fall in love with each other, while Quentin and Eliot continue to love each other as well. It’s stunning, and probably my favorite take on the three of them and their polyamorous relationship. This series has everything - the best combination of smut and feelings you could hope for.

Running All This Time by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Explicit. 179,478 words.The story of the mosaic timeline, built on the foundation of love and communication. To my knowledge, the only completed mosaic long-fic in the fandom thus far! Includes Fillorian nonsense, a quest within a quest, plenty of sex, lots of hurt/comfort, a different take on Arielle, and happy endings for everyone.

Reciprocal by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Teen. 8,259. Eliot is an idiot about his feelings (what else is new?), and he tries to make things better in the worst possible way. This fic imagines a world where Eliot and Quentin find happiness together without Arielle as a part of their romantic/sexual lives.

my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 9,586 words. This is the porn-iest version of “Quentin and Eliot don’t know how to talk about their feelings.” Basically, the boys keep jerking off next to each other in bed, and they don’t talk about it because they’re IDIOTS.

you know that’s my love (bursting loud from inside) by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 11,904 words. Another fic where Arielle decides to leave. Eliot is so good at taking care of his family.

tomorrow past tonight by vegansheilseitan. Explicit. 7,676 words. Okay - if you’re only going to read one gap-filler for 3x05, that’s basically just the missing sex scene and nothing else, make it this one. It’s hot, and it’s aching with everything Quentin and Eliot aren’t saying to each other. This is one of my absolute favorites.

~~~~~

Brakebills Alternate Universe / Season One

These stories are generally, but not always, pure relationship fics where the plot concerns of canon (i.e. the Beast, and time loops) do not exist, and instead Quentin and Eliot get to be magical grad students together, and fall in love.

Every Blessed Thing by achray. Explicit. 7,795 words. Quentin turns himself invisible. This fic is complex in how Alice and Quentin’s relationship is portrayed, and the resolution isn’t clear-cut. I really like this characterization of both Quentin and Eliot.

saturate the atmosphere (wake me from a dream) by Allegria23 (@allegria23). Explicit. 7,394 words. This is some good ol’ sexy times with a healthy dash of feelings. Eliot involuntarily levitates them while Quentin’s giving him a blowjob, so… that’s honestly all you need to know about this one. Go give it a read.

i feel it in my body, know it in my mind by ameliajessica (@ameliajessica). Mature. 11,817 words. Let’s pretend that this is what happened in 1x03, okay? Kady doesn’t interrupt when Eliot pours Q a drink, and sex ensues. I love how flabbergasted Eliot is by everything that happens - especially his reaction to the news that Quentin isn’t straight, and isn’t going to be squeamish at the thought of sleeping with a man. So hot, so cute.

if being him is who you are / say it loud say you know you are by ameliajessica (@ameliajessica). Mature. 5,293 words. Okay, holy shit. Mike’s POV - he decides that he and Eliot should have a threesome with Quentin, so Eliot can get it out of his system. Uh. Yeah, that backfires. Poor Mike. But also - the sex in this is the epitome of tenderness and love. Eliot is so careful with Quentin, so awed and desperate and shaky at the chance to be with him. There is a sequel in the works, too, so watch out for that!

Hedonism for Beginners by ceeainthereforthat (@ceeainthereforthat). Explicit. 20,730 words. A series of filthy sex, basically. Eliot is teaching Quentin about what he likes in bed. I don’t know if the series is abandoned or not, but in any case, each of these works on its own as a PWP but with a deep undercurrent of feelings.

Something Good by HMGFanfic (@hmgfanfic). Teen. 162,260 words. The Gold Standard slow-burn rom-com AU! Seriously, I know everyone’s read this, but if you haven’t for some reason… please do. The slow-burn is so slow you’ll be tearing your hair out by the end, but it’s all worth it when you get to the catharsis. How oblivious can Quentin be about Eliot’s feelings? This fic asks and answers that question, and the answer is - very. There are also two fics that accompany the main story: Someone Good (Eliot’s POV of the main story) and Somewhere Good (future one-shots of Quentin and Eliot’s life together). Both are on hiatus but the author plans to return to them. You can read the existing chapter of each without feeling like anything is unfinished, though.

Not Always Folly by HMGFanfic (@hmgfanfic). Explicit. 262,583 words. Another amazing romantic… comedy? but this one is from Eliot’s POV and is in some ways more a character study of Eliot Waugh than it is simply a romance. Although the romance… you guys… the pining levels are off the charts. Eliot ends up hurting Quentin, and really everyone else he cares about, in this story, but he puts in the work to make it right. I admire this fic for diving deep into Eliot’s psyche while also delivering on an amazing slow-burn of a different sort. Bonus points for Alice and Eliot getting to be friends like they deserve!

Be kind by longnationalnightmare. Explicit. 10,069 words. It’s the highest kudo’d fic in the fandom! I assume that means you’ve all read it? This is a PWP, but I love it specifically for how much Eliot loses his usual control when he’s with Quentin.

to be unbroken or be brave again. by milominderbinder (@disasterbiquentin). Teen. 14,135 words. Hey, it’s a 10 Things I Hate About You AU! Kind of! Josh asks Quentin to pretend to date Eliot to cheer him up after a breakup, so that Margo will go out with Josh. But Q tells Eliot what’s up right away - so they’re fake dating but real feelings happen. Super cheesy, of course, but it hits the spot!

in the world full wrong (you’re the thing that’s right) by Mizzy (@Mizzy2k). Explicit. 5,307 words. Eliot tries to hook up with Quentin Coldwater and gets more than he bargained for. I love this for how matter-of-fact Quentin is, about the fact that Eliot wants to seduce him… and then hpw he ends up doing some seducing of his own.

If You Haven’t Yet by OrchardsinSnow (@orchardsinsnow). Explicit. 5,828 words. Obviously we all love confident Eliot Waugh totally rocking Quentin’s world… but I have a soft spot for oddly confident Quentin who really knows what he’s doing, and this fic has the perfect blend of both dynamics. The best part is Quentin slowly and methodically undressing Eliot and not letting him help. It’s… whew. *fans self*

the heat that drives the light by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 9,296 words. Quentin and Eliot have an antagonistic relationship, until Eliot realizes Quentin might be what he’s looking for in a sexual partner. Sub Eliot, new-to-being-a-Dom Quentin. Super hot.

it started out with a kiss (how did it end up like this) by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 7,896 words. In the aftermath of a bad breakup, Quentin and Eliot find their way to each other. This is super amazing all on its own, but the author is also working on a sequel that I’m really enjoying thus far. Either story could probably be read without the other, too.

the bridge between us by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 16,201 words. Dom Eliot, Sub Quentin. Quentin and Eliot navigate their BDSM sex life, but also their feelings. Eliot is so tender and soft with Q, and Q learns to take care of Eliot in return. This is one of my absolute favorites from this author. Also, as a note, there’s a “prequel” to this fic called paint it red (Explicit, 7,197 words) that could totally be read as a separate piece, but is worth checking out as the origin story of how these two got together and started shaping their dynamics, sexual and otherwise.

(Everyone Has) That Drawer by ProofOfConcept and wilddragonflying. Explicit. 5,782 words. Eliot finds Quentin’s stash of sex toys. It’s enough to get him to finally act on their mutual, unspoken attraction. Hot!

Wake Me Up by rizcriz (@sadlittlenerdking). Not Rated. 4,000 words. Quentin has sleep apnea, but Eliot doesn’t know that… and he gets a little - alarmed. This is objectively an odd premise, but it’s incredibly sweet. rizcriz has about a million stories and I’ve read a lot of them, but I’m a fan of the ones like this, that take a specific concept and run with it, sort of like slice-of-life. Check out more of their work, though, I can’t possibly put them all on the list!

Migraine Mastery by SabbyStarlight. Not rated. 2,012 words. Short and sweet - Quentin has a migraine and Eliot helps.

Between Friends by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 15,019 words. This is the quintessential (Quentin-sential?) Brakebills get-together fic. It’s a party, Quentin and Eliot end up going to bed together… both of them are a little uncertain about what this means, but they work it out. Recc’ing for the hot sex, but even more for the “wake up in the middle of the night to have a tender round two without talking about what it means” sex.

Sex Magic by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 42,006 words. Uhh… what it says on the tin. Every one of these is scorching, but my favorite is probably the first one: How Easy You Are To Need.

All Of You A Verb In Perfect View by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 6,398 words. PWP where Eliot distracts Quentin while he tries to do his homework.

You Can Devastate Me by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 9,018 words. Marqueliot sex scene - Quentin and Eliot are a couple, but Margo is running the show. Just… hot, but of course Eliot’s love for Quentin still permeates the whole piece. So much tenderness, with so much filth.

~~~~~

Alternate Universe (No Magic)

So many of these seem so completely random in premise, but they’re all amazing!

Our Sublime Refrain by destielpasta (@queliotpasta) and mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 233,929 words. It’s 1836, Eliot is a pianist. This one is Marqueliot, y’all, and let me tell you - it is a journey. If you are somewhat put off by the idea of an AU so far removed from canon, about a topic you know very little about… please give this a try. I was a little hesitant too, but I promise it will not disappoint.

Pretty Good Year by Hth (@spiders-hth-is-an-outlier). Explicit. 175,728 words. I’m not going to lie - this is a difficult fic for me. It’s stunning, but getting through it was an incredibly emotional, challenging journey. While many fics in this fandom deal with Quentin’s mental illness, I’ve never seen a fic talk about it quite like this one. That’s not to put you off from trying it if you haven’t already - this is one of the most achingly real stories I’ve ever read, and it will reward you for giving it a chance.

opening doors by impossibletruths (@impossibletruths). Mature. 52,230 words. Quentin is a playwright! Eliot is an associate director who used to act! This is a slow-ish burn, and the worldbuilding of the characters in a theatrical setting is so fun!

couch party verse by marcel. Mature. 33,725 words. These two stories feature Quentin, Eliot, and the rest of the gang at a non-magical grad school. The thing I love about these stories is how slow and realistic the escalation of the relationship feels. It’s not a hot hookup right away - they clearly like each other, but circumstances sometimes get in the way, and there’s also no big rush to the finish line. This is a softer, gentler universe that still has its own realism and trauma, too. I hope the author chooses to add to it someday!

Saltwater by mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 35,560 words. It’s a pirate AU! What more could you possibly need to know? I love how all of the characters and locations are cleverly repurposed here - the Whitespire and Our Lady Underground are ships, Quentin is a ship’s doctor, Eliot is a captain, etc. And the slowburn between Quentin and Eliot is masterful. This is actually a series - part one is complete, and part two is in progress.

A (Gingerbread) House that we can Build by mtothedestiel (@summersteve), with art by eliotsvests (surprisegents). Explicit. 28,189 words. I am not a cheesy Christmas movie person, and I am not a kid!fic person. So I thought this might not be the story for me, at first. But I’m so glad I clicked on it - this is a story about second chances, and finding happiness when you aren’t even looking for it. And I love the way little Teddy is written here. He’s got all the sweetness of Quentin Coldwater’s son, without tilting over into being saccharine. This is just the right amount of sweet if you want to put yourself back in the holiday spirit.

I’ll Follow My Secret Heart by OrchardsinSnow (@orchardsinsnow). Mature. 17,613 words. I don’t really know how to describe this one… it’s weird! It’s a meet cute, Eliot gets in an accident, there’s a blizzard, bed (floor) sharing so as to prevent freezing to death, Eliot is kinda famous and Quentin doesn’t know. All I can say is, this is precious, and odd, and I got totally swept up in the world.

I Need You So Much Closer by OrchardsinSnow (@orchardsinsnow). Explicit. 14,436 words. I love this story. Eliot is a musician, he and Quentin are exes from years ago, who fell apart because of Eliot’s alcoholism. But he’s sober now, and he’s touring where Quentin lives - so they reconnect. Eliot calls Quentin the “smoke show love of [his] life” at one point in this fic, and that phrase just… stuck with me in the best way. Don’t miss the mini-sequel, You Need Me So Much Closer (Explicit, 3,874 words), either. I really hope the author writes more in this universe!

Experimentation by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 4,812 words. PWP where Eliot meets Quentin at a sex shop and Eliot teaches him what he’s into. Hot hot hot.

(i just might) remember that night by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 4,732 words. This might be crack, I don’t know. There are dick pics, and it’s silly, but also Quentin and Eliot feel this amazing connection to each other right off the bat, and that is honestly my jam.

and if tomorrow it’s all over (at least we had it for a moment) by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 45,461 words. Quentin and Eliot were a couple in high school, but they haven’t seen each other in years. They run into each other again at Julia’s wedding, and everything comes rushing back. I like the fact that this fic features very little (if any) angst. The idea is that these two people missed out on their chance to be together, but they haven’t been desperately pining for years. But once they’re back in a room together… their connection is undeniable. Also, the sex is great.

hold me like a (liar) lover does by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart) with art by Doomkitty25. Explicit. 80,812 words. A holiday fic! Fake dating! Mutual pining! So tropey and excellent. Really hot sex, as is the norm for this author! Warning for Alice being something of a villain in this piece, although there’s a potential reconciliation implied right at the end. I love this fic for going beyond just the romance, and also telling a story about Quentin and Eliot’s careers, and what they want out of their lives - in terms of romance, yes, but in terms of their work lives as well.

Ask Me, I Won’t Say No by vegansheilseitan. Explicit. 22,616 words. A… pub trivia AU? Which is a thing I didn’t know I needed? Mostly this is about widower!Quentin, with a kid, meeting Eliot Waugh. They fall in love. The sex in this is incendiary, but the growing relationship between these two is what really makes it worth the read.

~~~~~

Alternate Universe (With Magic)

These stories feature roughly the same worldbuilding as the show’s canon, but the character’s journeys deviate significantly. Maybe Quentin and Eliot don’t meet at Brakebills, or their journey to getting there is different in some other way!

fire and life by everytuesday. Teen. 7,060 words. This is a high school AU, where Eliot discovers his magic, and accidentally kills his father. Quentin helps him to bury the body. It’s a little bit dark, obviously, given that description… so take care.

First Year by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Mature. 11,957 words. Quentin is a Brakebills student, who also happens to be a sylph from Fillory. He has wings, and Eliot is more than a little intrigued. The author may have plans to write a sequel!

push me (further than i thought i could go) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 15,036 words. Quentin and Eliot meet at a game of Push, and then have their own private contest later on. Mostly recommending this one for the sex, but also for Confident Quentin Coldwater, and for the fact that no matter the circumstances, these boys are gone for each other pretty much right away.

Hedges, Bitch by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 56,568 words. This series has four works, the longest “main” story of which, theón kai andrón, is another personal favorite of mine. It features Eliot as the leader of a coven of hedge witches, and Quentin as a magical novice who didn’t make it into Brakebills. I love the dynamic between Quentin and Eliot in these stories, as they fall naturally into a dom/sub relationship, but Eliot works to make sure the power differential between them doesn’t adversely affect things, either on the job, or in their personal lives. Eliot is just so soft for Quentin in these stories, while also admiring him and depending on him as the gang gets themselves caught up in a dangerous threat to hedges all over the world.

~~~~~

Fillory/Royalty

These stories are sometimes canon deviations, and usually deal with Eliot as the High King, and his relationship with Quentin from there.

oh this is us, this is love and this is where I sleep by buckybunnyteeth. Explicit. 4,360 words. Quentin is jealous of Idri! Eliot is way, way too delighted about it. Really hot. I probably shouldn’t be as charmed by jealous!Quentin as I am. But this is amazing.

Make a list of things you need by longnationalnightmare. Explicit. 10,264 words. Eliot and Quentin are getting married, but Eliot’s okay with keeping it platonic. Quentin… is not. Hot, hot, hot.

i’d be the last shred of truth (in the lost myth of true love) by milominderbinder (@disasterbiquentin), with art by gilestel. Eliot and Margo are made the High Kings of Fillory, and then later Eliot meets a cute Brakebills professor Quentin Coldwater, who is staying at Whitespire for research. There’s a truth curse! Eliot is set to marry Idri, but uh-oh, feelings happen! Tropey as hell, super cute.

and this is the map of my heart by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 14,033 words. Eliot is High King, and he is expected to marry. Quentin magnanimously offers himself for the position, and of course there’s angst about that. And scorching hot sex. And Eliot struggling to be emotionally vulnerable. One of my absolute favorites from the author.

whitespire by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 1,529 words. Eliot sits on his throne, Quentin drops to his knees and calls him “Your Majesty.” So… yeah. Yum.

~~~~~

Brian and Nigel

This is an area where more content needs to exist! Send me a note if there are some I’ve missed.

A Little Disguised, or a Little Mistaken by Page161of180. Mature. 17,807 words. Brian and Nigel find each other, and fall in love. This is gorgeous. Quentin and Eliot are recognizably themselves, but also just different enough that when their real selves start poking through the memory wipe, you can feel the change coming. Another story where canon comes along and steals happiness right out from under them. They were so close!

Shine Through My Memory by PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic). Mature. 61,311 words. This one starts as a fic about Brian and Nigel meeting and falling in love… and then the Monster still possesses Nigel/Eliot, and the events of season four continue from there. But with memories of Brian and Nigel’s love in Quentin’s head, things play out a little differently. We follow the story all the way through to Eliot getting saved by Margo and Quentin, and the reconciliation/reunion afterwards. This fic has a little of everything, and it’s really the only re-telling of season four I’ve seen that covers the canon plot while adding something new and unique to the story!

Reaching in the Dark by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Mature. 53,040 words. Eliot remembers who he is, but Quentin thinks he’s Brian. Eliot and Alice work together to protect Quentin from the Monster. This is so complex and difficult and sad and challenging, and when you reach the end, you’ll feel so frustrated about how close they were to figuring their shit out. But ultimately, canon comes back to snatch that happy ending away.

~~~~~

Other

The few fics that I couldn’t categorize neatly into any of the above sections.

So It May As Well Be Me by achray. Explicit. 14,596 words. There was only one bed. Trapped in a closet. Sex pollen. Sex magic rituals. Every fanfic trope becomes manifest. Quentin seems oblivious; Eliot is freaking out. This is just the epitome of fun.

our place in the family of things by greywash, with art by yourtinseltinkerbell (@yourtinseltinkerbell). Explicit. 208,582 words. This is sort of a Brakebills AU, I suppose, but it takes place after Eliot has graduated. Quentin comes to visit over the holidays. So here’s the thing about greywash’s prose - they are stunning. They are dense, and complex, and almost hard to read - but I mean that as the highest compliment. This story, and really all of this author’s work, rewards careful study. This story has so, so much to offer. So if you haven’t given it a shot, or you’re intimidated by the length, please give it a try. Featuring Eliot’s complex relationship with his mother, with religion, with his sexuality, with Quentin, with Margo. Featuring a story of queer love that transcends time and convention. Featuring some excellent worldbuilding, especially as concerns Quentin’s family, and Eliot’s career. Featuring beautiful accompanying artwork. Featuring a proposal scene that knocked me the fuck out. Featuring love, in every way.

To Give You Hope and a Future by Page161of180. Not rated. 4,374 words. I couldn’t put this in the fix-it category, or in the mosaic category, or really even in the post-season four category. It’s all and none of those things. Eliot, in the aftermath of Quentin’s death, goes to the mosaic and talks to old man Quentin, who is grieving his husband. This is sad, y’all. But cathartic, too.

Cheat Day by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 1,624 words. Set during season four. Quentin misses Eliot, and does something sad and dangerous. Short and… well, sweet is the wrong word. This one will punch you right in the gut.

Movement by pineapplecrushface (@pineapplecrushface). Explicit. 17,036 words. These are three stories that are only loosely connected in that they are about sex, and introspection. They fit into lots of categories - parts of them take place in Eliot’s happy place, parts at the mosaic, parts in the aftermath of possession. All three stories in the series are scorching hot and full of so much feeling. I really admire how they weave through time, following the changing dynamics through the events of canon in a really unique way.

darkness, welcoming by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 17,748 words. I almost put this in the Alternate Universe (With Magic) section, but this is not the same world as canon. Eliot is a vampire! He saves Quentin’s life and then… uh… well, they fall in love, and there’s some blood play. Eliot is super smitten, and it’s precious. Also really hot.

What Was and What Will Be by ProofOfConcept and wilddragonflying. Mature. 35,996 words. This is part mosaic-fic, part post-possession fic… it’s basically just another story of these two idiots being so bad at communication, but finally getting it right. A really satisfying journey, encompassing so many elements of what we all wished for in canon. I especially loved the long and difficult conversation they have during their reunion. The line that really punched me in the gut was: “fuck you for saying ‘I love you’ for the first goddamn time when you’re breaking up with me.”

kiss me harder, you’re better than you know by propinquitous (@propinquitous). Explicit. 4,633 words. This could easily take place in a nebulous post-season-four world, but it exists in its own little bubble and could really slot into any given universe. It deals with Quentin’s depression in a really direct, really devastating way, but also features Eliot being there for Quentin as best as he can. As the tags say, “not the healthiest of coping mechanisms.” But it’s filled with so much tenderness I can hardly stand it.

To Feel the Same by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Teen. 1,725 words. A small gap-filler at the end of the “I think you should probably hug me right now” scene in 2x01.

#the magicians #queliot #fic recs #my posts #this took me forEVER #so please reblog and add your own suggestions!#also yes i did put my own fics on here... i'm proud of them and want more people to find them!#117 fics & series (and counting!)#the links seem to be working on mobile #but not desktop #which is annoying?#but that's tumblr for ya

411 notes · View notes

siren1song · 5 years ago

Note

could I get some,,, um,,, platonic dark sides angst with a happy ending as virgil makes up with his old family? maybe? please? ~imagine anon

You know the way to my heart, Imagine.

Edit because I’m midway through this now: god damn it it got long. I’m committed to doing this right so i’m not shortening it but god damn it.

Also man I hope this is halfway decent, I’m not usually an angst writer.

( @romansleftshoulderpad asked me to tag him ksdfjg)

Home Again

Virgil hesitated in front of the building, looking up at the apartment complex with a nervous frown. He hasn’t been here in years, having run away from his dad and his brother (adopted brother, he wonders if Remus still tries to make the distinction) to go to college, travel the world, figure himself out.

It wasn’t like they’d been bad to him or anything, Virgil had just… needed to get away from the cramped apartment and the same people he’d seen his whole life who’d known him as someone entirely different before he’d left.

Briefly, Virgil wondered if his dad or brother would recognize him with the the undercut and purple hair and the weight he’d gained with the food he’d explored as he bounced from place to place with people who liked his company while he tried to figure himself out.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward and pressed his finger against the buzzer for his dad’s apartment.

“Who is it?”

Virgil swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat upon hearing his dad’s voice.

“Uh… hey, dad.”

The speaker was quiet, but Virgil heard the signature click of the door unlocking and he hurried to pull it open.

The elevator ride to the basement was almost suffocating, with how quiet it was. He would’ve taken the stairs, if Virgil didn’t have suitcase with him. The speakers that used to play old pop music on loop must’ve given out.

Walking to his dad’s apartment door felt like a walk to the gallows to Virgil. He felt this smothering sense of doom hanging over his head, cause fuck his dad and brother must be so pissed at him. Virgil had left six years ago with nothing more than a letter saying he’d be fine but wanting to see what’s out there. And then he just didn’t keep in contact with them.

Not that they didn’t try. For months after he’d initially left, they’d blown up his phone almost daily. Begging him to come or to at least call them to let them know he was okay. He never did, and sometimes he still got drunk texts from his brother wondering where he was and if he still cared about them.

Those texts are honestly why Virgil was here right now, that and his current boyfriend convincing him to at least try to reconnect, regardless of his fears.

He was hovering in front of the door now, chewing on one of his nails before a chip of black nail polish made its way into his mouth and he screwed his face up in disgust, pulling his hand away.

Here goes nothing, Virgil guessed.

Three firm taps against the door, and then Virgil was waiting. He found it oddly symbolic, the way the wait seemed to drag on. Whether or not his dad would be willing to let him into his family again.

Fuck, being a writer was making him overthink this, this is stupid.

Virgil was about to turn away, to go back to the hotel where his boyfriend was staying for the time being, when the door opened and suddenly his limbs were locking up.

God damn it, he was still shorter than his already really fucking short dad.

“A-” his dad stopped when Virgil instinctively flinched at the start of his dead-name.

“…Name?”

Virgil gave a sheepish but grateful smile, pulling a sleeve further over his hand so he could rub his fingers over the textured fabric of the jacket cuff.

“Virgil,” he answered, getting a nod in response as his dead stepped aside.

He hesitated, because he always hesitated, but he really wanted to talk to his family again, so Virgil stepped inside the tiny apartment.

“So uh… where’s Remus?”

“He moved out two years ago. Should still come by for dinner tonight, though.”

Virgil flinched at the dig, not missing the bitterness in his fathers voice. He was getting a feeling this conversation wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. Not that he came in here expecting his dad to be all smiles to see him again, he always was in the habit of holding long grudges.

It was quiet for a few moments, Virgil struggling to come up with something to say.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Virgil snapped his eyes to his dad’s, taking note of the prosthetic eye being a new style. Was that a snake pupil? He didn’t answer the question, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I mean, I would sure hope so, seeing as you’re finally home after six years, but I thought I’d ask. Whatever you were looking for, did you find it?”

Feeling his heart sinking in his chest, Virgil looked to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, shoulders hunching forward as he picked out his words.

“I… think so.”

There was a beat of silence, and then footsteps, a chair scraping against the floor, a soft thump of weight settling.

“You think? It’s been six years, Virgil, and you can’t even come home positive you’ve become who you wanted to be?”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, wincing at the question because honestly, his dad was right. Virgil really should be more sure of himself by now.

“I’ve found out… a lot, about myself,” Virgil starts, continuing to avoid looking at his dad, “obvious things aside, I learned I really like writing, and that I’m pretty good at it. Learned I don’t really like ocean travel, that I hate air travel even more, but I think Europe is pretty cool and South America is even better.”

While Virgil talked, he looked around the room. He noted the pictures, tried not to be hurt at how few of them had him in them even if he knew seeing himself before he started transitioning would be difficult to look at.

“I figured out I was gay, after the whole gender crisis. And I learned what it felt like to love and be loved,” he said.

Virgil would’ve continued, but he made the mistake of looking at his dad then and seeing the hurt and anger in his good eye, practically melting any affection or caring that might’ve been there before away from his expression.

“So you don’t think we loved you?”

“What? No that’s not-”

“Really? Because that certainly sounds like what you were saying.”

Virgil felt his throat close up, and he shut his eyes as he struggled to breathe through it. It wasn’t the type of breathing difficulty he experienced when he was having a panic attack, but God did the difference really matter? It hurt just the same.

“No, dad. That’s not what I was saying. I was... I’ve had so many flings, in the last several years. Some of them were disasters, others were like walking on clouds until the clouds ran out. I just-” Virgil sighed, running his fingers through his hair, pushing his bangs back and letting them fall in front of his eyes as his hand moved to the back of his head.

“Listen, I thought about you guys all the time. I’d honestly only planned to stay gone for a year, but when that time stamp had come closer I got... I got so fucking scared. I’d basically cut you guys out at that point, and I was worried you would turn me away before I got the chance to explain myself.”

Virgil’s exhaustion was suddenly overwhelming, and he had to pull out a chair from the table to collapse in before his legs gave out from under him.

He wondered if the silence would ever stop drowning him.

“I wouldn’t have. Still won’t, if the fact you’re currently sitting at my kitchen table means anything,” his dad started, making Virgil look up at him with tired eyes, “I was- am pissed. It’s hard not to be bitter when my baby g- ah... when my son up and leaves two nights after he graduates high school with no warning and no goodbye outside of a letter I found on his pillow.”

Virgil felt his lower lip wobble as tears built in his eyes, and he clamped it between teeth in an attempt to keep himself from crying.

“Virgil I missed you so much for so long. At one point I had almost convinced myself you had died somehow.”

His dad slumped over the table, putting his head in his hands to keep his face from view.

Virgil rubbed the tears away from his eyes, sucking in a deep breath as he quietly moved seats to sit right next to his dad, leaning against him the way he used to when he was overwhelmed and just needed the physical reminded someone was there.

He felt his dad let out a watery laugh, shifting until he was able to wrap his arms tight around Virgil’s shoulders, nuzzling his face into the fluff that was Virgil’s hair.

“I’m still mad at you, and you know I’m going to be for a while, but... if you want to stay for dinner, I’m sure Remus would be ecstatic to see you after he gives up trying to murder you for leaving.”

Virgil snorted, his own arms already wrapped around his dad’s torso.

“Still destructive, then?” he asked, relishing the contact with the older man, contact he’d been longing for for years.

“I think he’s gotten worse as he’s gotten older, honestly.”

There was still a lot of issues Virgil had to talk over with his family, and his boyfriend would definitely want to meet them no matter how much Virgil would inevitably try to steer him off it because his family was unsettling at the best of times and Patton was a puffball.

But at least he’d started mending the gap he’d torn between them.

445 notes · View notes

joachimnapoleon · 4 years ago

Text

“The throne had disappeared, but the charm remained”

An excerpt from Countess Potocka regarding her visit to Trieste in 1826, where she stayed for several weeks as a guest of the widowed Caroline Murat. She details her observations of Caroline’s manner of living, her relationship with rumored second husband General Macdonald, and her reminiscences of Napoleon.

[As a side-note; Countess Potocka met Joachim Murat in Poland twenty years earlier, in 1806; suffice to say she was not a fan of him. I’ve posted her less-than-flattering, but highly entertaining, accounts of him here and here.]

Anyway, the following excerpt is from the Countess’s Voyage d’Italie (1826-1827), 1899 edition, pages 5-13. Any translation errors are my own.

***

Trieste can only be interesting for those who, like us, have seen some personage there, because the city does not offer great attraction. We encountered Caroline, one of the sisters of Napoleon.

She was living in 1826 in a pretty country house adjoining the city. This charming villa was called Campo Mars; the queen had bought it from a merchant from Trieste and had arranged it with infinite taste. The care and the activity she brought to directing the work of this small property seemed to have made her forget that she had once owned the most beautiful of kingdoms. An alley planted with vines--à l'italienne--led to a small arbor which had a view of the sea and gave onto the very busy road; it was there that we spent the hours of the evening, so beautiful under the Italian sky; this is where I heard the anecdotes that I am going to tell.

The cascine, of an irreproachable architecture, contained, apart from the elegant apartment of the Queen, a large salon devoted to memories. A magnificent portrait of Murat on horseback made up its main ornament; Caroline never showed off this room, where were gathered the portraits of the whole family, marble busts or paintings. The general (Macdonald) alone did the honors.

It was not easy to assure oneself if a visit might be agreeable to the queen, and one could not know how to go about it so as not to lack in etiquette, the only possession of fallen kings; I urged my husband to come with me to see the garden, which was not closed to the curious, hoping that luck would come to my aid. Indeed, at the moment when we were going to retire, the porter asked us to write down our names; we lectured him so well that the next day we received an invitation which we eagerly accepted.

I had seen the Queen of Naples in Paris, at the time of the wedding of Napoleon with Marie-Louise; she'd had the effect on me of a pretty woman on the throne. I found her with a still pleasant face, as before. One felt that she needed to endear herself to everyone who came near her. The throne had disappeared, but the charm remained, contrasting in a sharp manner with an uncommon fortitude, a serious mind, a kindness, an equality of temper, which such great misfortunes had not been able to sour, or even trouble. Fate, by robbing her of all the favors with which fortune had showered her, could not take from her the most precious of all. A loyal friend remained. The qualities of this man, like his attachment, were superior; the elevation of his soul was reflected on his noble face. An infinite sweetness was found in exploring the character of a man whose existence was composed, so to speak, of devotion and delicate feelings. Such was General Macdonald, who was said to be secretly married to the Queen.

During the six weeks that I saw them daily, I perceived nothing which could make me adopt or reject this idea; on one part, the most frank friendship and well-founded esteem; on the other, the most sustained respect and the most complete abnegation. Such were the relations that existed between them. It is probable that love had passed by them, and what remained did honor to them both.

One can easily divine that, seeing the Queen a lot, we spoke often of the events of her life and of the extraordinary man to whom she belonged so closely. I regret not having noted down daily everything she told me; I especially remembered the anecdotes concerning the childhood and life of Napoleon; they had a stamp of truth and simplicity that enchanted me. We transported ourselves to Corsica often; the Queen liked to evoke those early days of life, so precious as one advances in age.

Each of the children had his nurse, and all of them remained at home, according to the custom of the country. Napoleon's nurse, far above the common class, read and composed songs. She had made one for her child, the prophetic refrain of which was:

Voyez mon petit roi! Mon souverain sera le votre, prosternez-vous en l'admirant!

She would sit in the window with her beautiful child on her arms, thus singing to passersby; they stopped to listen to her and went away delighted with the nurse and even more with the toddler, who already seemed to take part in what was happening around him.

When he grew up, he governed the house, though he was not the eldest. Everyone obeyed him, everyone consulted him. He led the oldest and protected the youngest. He was loved, because he was good, but he was respected, because he was serious. Never was seen from him the natural childishness in the first age. Pain never drew tears from him; nor the desire to possess, a prayer. His mother loved him with passion; he was the only one of her children to whom she showed a vivid tenderness. However, they were all good and spiritual. Later, Napoleon's relationship with his family became that of a noble and generous benefactor; but what was charming in this business was that Napoleon like to be given small gifts in return; he seemed enchanted when his sisters brought him some on his birthday.

Queen Caroline was the one of the sisters whom he preferred for a long time; he spoke to her with abandon, and often she dared to tell him great and useful truths. It was necessary only to choose her moment, then he would never get upset; more than once even he even gave in to her advice, which tended only to enlighten him on the intrigues of those around him who willingly sacrificed the interests of the State to their own.

When an observation was made to him, he always listened with patience and attention. But he did not suffer contradiction; when he gave an order, it needed to be obeyed without hesitation. It was thus when in 1810 the Queen of Naples was charged to go and receive Marie-Louise, or rather to go and find her across the Rhine, which then marked the borders of France. Caroline perfectly mimicked the Austrian accent of her august sister-in-law. Rarely have I heard such curious details told in such an interesting way.

I will never forget that in the midst of her intimate confidences she came to tell me about her flight from Naples on an English vessel at the moment when the Austrians were about to become masters of the city; having made her conditions with the captain, she had made him swear that if she was about to fall into the hands of the enemy, he would blow up the vessel; she always preferred extreme parts to transitional means, and maintained that the most spontaneous and energetic resolutions are easier to take than half-measures.

The season was advanced, it was necessary to put an end to a stay that had become so pleasant. Our farewells were sad, and the memory of the benevolence shown us by the Queen will never be effaced from my memory. She gave us some letters for all her family. Her eldest daughter was the one we would meet first in Bologna.

#Caroline Murat #Caroline Bonaparte #Joachim Murat #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Francesco Macdonald #Countess Potocka #Memoirs of Countess Potocka #memoirs #translations #19th century

19 notes · View notes

maemi324 · 4 years ago

Text

Burned With Flowers

Hey friends guess Who’s back on their bullshit? It’s me. This is an Alternate ending from my recent fic Burned, which you can read here! (I’ve beat my previous record of 14 pages with...19 pages) This takes place towards the end of Burned, rather than the beginning.

So this has the same disclaimer as last time. “So this involves witches, as you might have guessed. I did do some research on this, referencing a few holidays. With that being said, this is not the fic to go to looking for accurate information about Pagan Holidays, their differences, similarities and all the right customs. This is all mixed in with some fictional things that I felt helped the story flow. If you want an accurate description of their holidays, practices, beliefs, please go do your own research, or ask someone that knows about them, as that person is not me.”

Warnings: Character Deaths (kind of) vague descriptions of death, witch hunt, stakes, fire. If there’s anymore you can think of, please tell me and I’ll happily edit and add to it here.

Thank you so much! Enjoy!

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.

It had been four years since that Solstice, the two of you now adults. A year or two after becoming lovers, Izuku had finally found someone to train him into becoming a knight, a real hero. It meant that you would see him less, but he would always write to you when he could.

You were saddened at the news, but also so proud. Finally after all these years, his dream was coming true. He promised you that he would always come back to you, that once he had become a knight, able to help you build your own healing stand in the main city, he’d properly ask you to marry him. You knew he always kept his promises, one way or another.

How could you deny him his dream? You couldn’t truthfully.

That brought you here, scratching out another day along the talley you made. Only a few more days until Izuku came back. You helped your father run the shop now, almost fully taking over as the village healer. You braced the day with a smile as the regulars came in, such as the usual ointments for Mrs.Tachibana. Some medicine to a mother of some poor twins who had caught some sickness during the season's change to spring. Their medicine was a wooden spoon covered in semi-crystalized honey for the wailing babe, their teeth slowly but surely coming in.

The morning rush could hardly be considered as such, your doors opening right at the first peak of dawn. You waved off the last of the morning patrons in no time at all. You bend down to grab a few herbs, mixing something to help soothe Mr.Yamada’s vocal chords. You hear the door push open, pulling you from your line of thought, your eyes meeting bright green.

“Izuku!” you cry, rushing over to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders in the tightest hug you could manage. He’d grown so much taller than you last remembered- well just bigger in general! He’d bulked up considerably- he joked he wanted to get better at giving hugs along with being a Knight- and was now a full two heads taller than you. You only pull back to place your hands on his jaw, pulling him down to kiss you properly.

“Did I surprise you?” he laughed, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Yes! You weren’t due back for a few more days! Oh I’m so happy your home!” You stood back up on your toes to press more kisses to his face. ��Tell me everything!”

He told you all about the training he went through- hell as he called it, eyes looking back with a slight fondness that only nostalgia could bring- the antics he and some other knights in training had gotten into. His teacher, Aizawa, was a hard man, but ultimately soft hearted in his own way. He couldn’t wait for you to meet the friends he had made, and you were excited to see them.

“I have heard some...other things though” he hesitated, leaning against the counter as you finished Mr.Yamada’s medicine, the yellow glow from your hands dimming until it was no more. “In the city they’re telling stories of witches...and not good ones either.” you hummed in agreement, concern laced into your features.

You’d heard of rumors of witches in nearby towns and villages. At first, nothing was seemingly worrisome about it. So some covens had decided to announce their place in the world, big deal.

Until the rumors had become something dark. Stories of sacrifices, hexes and curses upon innocent bystanders, children. Soon there were rumors of witches in every town, every village.

“Even the people here have started to become...nervous” beforehand, the villagers not a part of your coven had nothing to fear from you, you’d never given them any reason to. But these new witches, witches that were said to be everywhere, brought fear into your community.

“I’m worried Izuku, they’ve started burning people in the next few towns...I’m not sure what we could do, a show of our magic could scare them into a frenzy, but not doing anything could be just as bad. They even have a witch hunter!” you set down the pestle gently, Izuku taking your hand in his.

“I’m worried too. But for right now, the best we can do is wait and see how things go. No matter what, I’ll always be here, you won't go through this alone.” your heart fluttered warmly at his words, pressing a kiss to his hand.

The next few days did little to raise or diminish your worries. You walked about the village, showing him what all had changed in his absence, ignoring the stares of the same village girls that had teased your dress all those years ago.

It didn’t take until the end of the week to see the tensions were rising, but he waited anyway.

Where once the baker had a loaf for everyone and a smile on his face, now only held suspicion in his face, fear slowly absorbing its way into the bread's now slightly bitter taste.

You held onto Izuku’s arm, hand gripping just a little bit tighter as the village boys, the ones who had always teased you, passed by, eyes cold and a whittling knife sitting aimlessly in one's hand. Izuku placed his arm around you, handing you the bread as your hand let go of his shirt.

Normally, you’d hardly pay those boys any mind, they were your age looking forward to life just as you were. But fear could lead to even the wisest man to make a fatal mistake. Your mother taught you that fear was not a one-way street, your own actions in fear of the other could lead to the same road as the wise man.

You didn’t utter a word to one another as you made your way back home, cold spring wind almost pushing you to go faster as morning dew soaked your shoes. It wasn’t safe to speak the words you needed to, not with the village's eyes and ears hanging onto your every word.

Your cheeks burned as you closed the door behind you, the warmth from the fire a stark contrast to the chill in the air. Izuku took the bread from you as you slipped out of your damp shoes, setting it on the table, sending a polite smile your mother's way.

“Oh, thank you Izuku” She smiled, exhaustion tugging at the corners of her lips. She flipped through the letters in her hand, offering him two.

“You’re quite popular with letters today,” she joked, holding a separate letter up to the morning light to see it better.

“Oh, thank you (Y/M/N)” he said, taking a seat across from her as he opened the first of the two, a frown settling on his face.

You walk over towards him, bare feet padding against the floor, hands rubbing against stiff shoulders. You press your cheek against his temple, offering comfort to him without reading the letter yourself. “What is it darling?” you ask softly.

Dread pooled in your stomach, weighing heavily as you recognized the insignia placed on the stamp, the Knights. Your hands dug into his shoulders, but he hardly seemed to mind. He carefully broke the seal, careful not to rip the parchment. He was quiet as he read the note, his shoulders becoming more tense as he did.

“I’m being called back; It seems as though these witch trials are becoming more serious, and we’ve been asked to root them out to end all of this” His voice sounds far away, you could practically feel his mind whirling at all the letters' information. “ I’m to leave at dawn to meet with the rest of them, when we’re together, we’ll ride out to the town they were last in, these troublemakers, which happens to also be where these witch trials are at their worst.” he glances up at you, placing a hand over yours. You’re not sure what expression you're making currently, but it obviously shows the weight of the news, of him having to leave.

You didn’t want him to go, as selfish as that was. You knew it was for the better but... you were scared to just get bread by yourself not too long ago! Would the village boys have harassed you if you were alone? Would the baker have refused to give the bread to you? What if these ‘witches’ came to your town just as he left, what would you do then? Your mother cleared her throat, snapping you from your panic induced daze, your grip on his shoulders relaxing, she returned to her letters.

You shook your head, your free hand picking up the next letter, ignoring his questioning glance, “Here, read this one before we talk about anything else. It could be important too.”

He doesn’t press you just yet, complying and opening the letter, his concern morphing into a frown. You don’t verbally ask, your eyes looking to his for an answer.

“It’s my mom, she says that she’s coming here…” he murmured as viridian eyes scanned the rest of the page. His mother was coming over? You didn’t see why that was an issue in itself, aside from the fact that he was leaving tomorrow morning, she was probably coming to see him after all. Though she still visited even when he wasn’t there, taking the time to enjoy long chats with your parents.

“Really? Oh I’ll have to get out her favorite tea,” She glanced up from her own letters, concerned gaze matching Izuku’s, “Though, your expression says that her reason for coming is not a good one?”

“The town has started to become...nervous of her, claiming that she could possibly be a witch by association,” he frowned, his other hand crumpling up the string that the letter had come with, “They haven’t done anything to her, but she isn’t going to wait for them to.”

You gently take the letter from his hand, his hands allowing it to slip from his grasp, reading over it yourself, rereading the text, “She should be here by sundown. She didn’t want to arrive unannounced.”

Your mother laughed softly as she set down her letters and stood, “Ah, just like Inko, not wanting to inconvenience anyone even in times like these” irritation flashed in Izuku’s system-this wasn’t exactly a laughing matter- but calmed as your mother ran a hand through his curls, just like she used to when the two of you were young.

“Don’t you worry, She’ll be alright, and has always been welcome here. We’ll just have to clean out my old sewing room, your old room Izuku” he smiled softly as she rested her hand on his shoulder, his own squeezing it softly in thanks.

When the two of you had gotten to a certain age, though still short amongst the boys, he’d grown out of sharing your small bed with you, as well as your room. It was relatively small, and with the two of you growing it had become a bit...cramped. Thus your mother's sewing room had become his. He’d insisted on helping your father make him his new bed for when he visited.

“Why don’t the two of you come help me? I’m not as young as I used to be,” she mused, walking over to the door and opening it. You stepped in first, sneezing upon entry as the dust was disturbed. “Oh dear, I hadn’t thought it’d become this dusty! I knew I was forgetting something”

There were fabrics neatly folded into a cabinet that sat against the wall with a desk, the window letting morning light stream onto the desk. To the right was a spinning wheel, as well as a loom. To the left was a bed big enough for one person, a few fabrics draped over the bed spread, as well as a small box of sewing needles.

In the end, it had only taken you and Izuku a few hours to dust the room, mainly going outside to beat the dust off of the fabrics and various blankets that were now too thick for spring warmth, trying not to sneeze too much in the process. The other half was sweeping and scrubbing all the dust out. Izuku did have to save you from some abnormally normally large spiders in the corner- but you would never admit it.

While it was for Izuku’s mother, you knew this was one of your mother's ways in helping the pair of you get your mind off things. If you were too busy playfully hitting Izuku with the stick you were using on the blankets, then you were also too busy to think too hard about the unease settling over the once welcoming village, too busy to think about the fact that he was leaving at dawn.

As the sun was setting, the two of you being done with your work, decided to sit out front and wait for Inko. A small carriage pulled by one horse came into view; the half of the people were startled to attention whilst the other half recognized the carriage and went on with their lives.

Inko pulled the carriage to a stop towards the side of your home, hardly wanting to make a fuss by setting it right in front and in the way of others. Izuku immediately went to her side, the relief clear in his body language, head held high but his shoulders were relaxed, his hands no longer clenched to the point of his knuckles turning white.

Before helping her down, eyes watering, he held her tightly to him, her arms going around his neck.

“Oh baby, don’t start crying, then I’ll start crying!” She huffed, her eyes already watering up, but she didn’t let go of him until he was ready to.

“ I’m sorry mom, I was just...worried about you,” He glanced at the wagon, then did a double take, “Did you pack the entire house?!” he helped her down, getting onto it to see for himself.

Sure enough, it was packed to the brim-blankets, favored pots and pans, some of Izuku’s old clothes and his newer ones, old toys, pillows, and lots of books. An embarrassed flush crept up Inko’s neck, though her expression held a serious note.

“Well, yes. I didn’t feel safe there and, well, I’d heard that in some of the cities- the towns even- were burning up the homes of the accused, or those they were suspicious of. They only just started to notice me, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I thought it would be safer here”

You placed a hand gently on her shoulder, a soft, startled, yelp leaving her lips as you did, “We’re happy to have you Mrs.Midoriya, you’re family.” you were met with a pinch to your side. “Honestly dear, just call me Inko, or mom even, I’ve known you long enough,” she teased, wrapping her arms around you in greeting. You swore this is where Izuku got his hugging style from. She gave the warmest hugs, full of unrestrained kindness and comfort.

“Inko!” you heard your mother call from the doorway. You let Inko go in favor of going to put the horse in the stable with the others, letting Izuku deal with moving things inside, for now.

Once sure the horses were cared for, you walked back to help Izuku, only to find him sitting there instead.

You hopped up next to him, your hip touching his. “Izuku?” he looked over at you, placing your hand in his. “Why aren’t you unloading? I wasn’t going to make you do it all by yourself, I promise” you tease. The smile reaches his eyes but fades quickly.

“I was just thinking about...well everything” He sighs, squeezing your hand softly. “Hmm, that’s a pretty broad topic-”

“You are truly hilarious, darling,” It got another smile out of him, but you didn’t interrupt him again, urging him to speak his mind, “ I was thinking about how things would die out with this ‘evil witches’ hunt. That it was just some rumors spread around that caused this and that the people would use evidence and logic to come to reason”

“Izuku, since when has the public ever come eye to eye with logic and evidence?” you laugh, a bittersweet note.

“Since never, but I thought-Well it doesn’t matter what I thought actually. These evil witches are running around and hurting people, even in the villages and towns they haven’t been in,” He runs a hand over his face, “I’m just worried about you, and our families, the coven. I know i can’t take these ‘witches’ out myself, but I feel better being here. But I also know that I need to be out there to help bring them down. But I want you all to be safe, I’m not sure that this village is it, not right now”

“I don’t want you to go either,” your thumb rubs comforting circles onto the back of his hand, “But I agree with you, you have to go out there and help take them down. I think we should talk about this with everyone inside. I’m sure we’ll come up with something”

His lips are pulled into a thin line as he thinks, but he nods. You gently tug on his hand, pleased to find there is no resistance as you lead him inside.

Your mother and father are sitting next to one another, annoyance clear on his face as he looks at the letter your mother is holding, Inko sitting on her other side. Your mother glances up from it and waves you over.

“I was just about to call you two in, we need to have a chat,” you both take the only other seats at the table, your hand still in Izuku’s. Your mother hands you the letter, placing it between yourself and Izuku to glance over. “The elders have decided that it would be best for the coven to...leave as it were”

Ah, that explained the look on your father's face. He would never part with his healing shop, not when so many people counted on his healing magic, as well as yours. You skim over the letter quickly, finding her words to be true. Mrs.Tachibana had left a note, she had a feeling that this was something Izuku needed to hear; she had a feeling he was going off somewhere and that this would be vital for his peace of mind.

It was always a little unnerving how accurate she was.

“Where would we be leaving to?” you ask, your eyes meeting your mother’s. What town could better protect them than the one they knew like the back of their hands. You didn’t like the idea of going to an entirely unknown place, but if it was for the better…

“To the ritual circle actually,” she put up a hand at the sound of your objections, “I know, it sounds like a bad plan. Normally, if this were anywhere else, I would agree. We’d be sitting ducks. However, the ritual circle is a place of power. We can set up our wards to keep evil spirits from finding us, as well as illusions to confuse our enemies. Whatever these ‘witches’ are up to, they’re looking for the villagers.”

“But what if they are looking for you?” Izuku asked, “What if your wards aren’t enough?” he could feel marks clawing at his throat, anxieties bubbling at his tongue. He urged them to be quiet, biting his lip as if to lock the box.

“We’ve been here for generations. We know this land, which has given to us and we give back to. We’ve plenty of magic to protect ourselves. Our magic is to help and heal, but that does not mean we are not able to defend ourselves with magic if need be. If we are out of the way, protected, then the villagers will be safe from us in the event that, if we’d been there, we would have to use magic to protect ourselves from them.”

He still felt anxious, heart thudding heavily against his chest. He doubted he would ever really be unafraid for them. But, this was still better than the alternative of them doing nothing at all.

“Alright then?” you nodded, pressing a kiss to Izuku’s hand, who let out a heavy sigh. Taking that as affirmation, your mother continued. “Good. We need to start packing, we are to leave when the moon is high, while the village is asleep.”

The five of you set to work in the house, your mother and father packing the shop, while Inko was left to gather any and all books and parchment scrolls into a boxed crate. Any time she was positive she filled it to the top, she turned to tell your mother, only to look back and find she could fit one more row.

That left you and Izuku in charge of gathering other materials, blankets, pillows, clothing, clothing from each season, just in case the worst should happen.

In total, the five of you filled five boxed crates, which should have been impossibly heavy, but were only moderately so.

Once everything had been loaded up, your parents took to their carriage, while you rode with Izuku and his mother.

The air was cool and damp, the wind bringing an unnecessary bite to it in your opinion, as you and Inko cuddled up on either side of Izuku, who had the reins. The short ride there was quiet somehow, even as the carriages managed to get over the roots, thanks to all the various wagons and caravans over the years leaving their marks. Not a word was spoken as you approached, the warm fire from the ritual circle; it was stark against the dark hues of the night.

It was as if it had appeared suddenly, rather than being seen from the halfway point. Elders stood at the ritual areas most outer circle, with a wave of their hands, sigils and wards were placed. They paid you no mind as you crossed, wagons and caravans galore, as well as a few tents pitched with runes around them as well.

All in all, it felt familiar and warm, much warmer than a spring night should allow. Your family tucked themselves against the trees, closer to the river. There were elders on the other side of the river, finishing up their wards, an almost filmy bubble over the area, though the smoke didn’t fill the area up like you had expected.

Izuku glanced around with the same awe that must have been in your eyes, but you couldn’t stop to chat. You each get out of your respective carriages, your mother pulling out a large piece of, what looked like, dull red cloth, much like the tents the others had pitched up. You’d never seen it before, it must have come from the pits of whatever crate your father had made.

Izuku and your father put up the tent, which was actually quite large, it would fit all of you for certain, whilst you and your mother drew the sigils and wards around the tent. As you and Izuku carried one of the crates into the tent, you swore the tent itself was a bit...bigger on the inside.

As the process of setting up continued, more people began to appear, all from your coven. Some of them you hadn’t seen in years! All to flee to relative safety. When you couldn’t bear to watch any longer, you pulled your hand from the tent flap, the sigils inside the tent glowing a soft blue. You made your way over to the crates where the amenities from the shop had been packed.

You made sure to keep quiet as you pulled out a smooth green stone that shimmered in accents of emerald and malachite in color, and a soft piece of cloth, long in nature. Your parents had long pulled out the bedrolls, the four of them calling it a night and quickly falling into dreamland. You began to braid and weave the cloth around the stone, rolling it into something cord like. As you do this, you let feelings of safety, home, and love permeate the stone, the tips of your fingers glowing that soft yellow. Next came strength, good fortune and aim that was swift and true. The last thing you placed into this stone was a small part of you, tethered to your heart, so he could always find home.

With the last knot tied, you held up your creation, the light from the sigils glinting off of it.

You’d never made something like this before, but you had seen your mother do so when someone from the next village over came to ask for protection, be it for themselves or for their loved ones heading off to war.

You closed the crate, walking past Inko’s space she’d made for herself, and into your own bedroll, pocketing the necklace for the morning, which was right next to Izuku’s. Your curled close to him, your nose almost touching his back. He huffed softly, turning over to face you in his sleep. You turned your back to him, letting his arms sleepily reach out for you and pull you close, loving how the butterflies in your stomach turned a sweet pink at the action.

Your eyes slowly close, lulled to sleep in the arms of your promised.

You are woken up all too soon, the shifting of people moving inside the tent, and outside the tent. You suppress the urge to groan in discomfort, sleeps claws scratching and pulling at your eyes to come back. You glanced over next to you, seeing that Izuku was no longer sleeping beside you, had you shooting up and out of your roll.

Izuku was just outside the tent, dressed in his leather armor, your parents were still asleep, but Inko was here, wide awake. You could just barely see the first light of dawn, the dark blue sky slowly turning lighter. You reach into your pocket, a sigh of relief leaving you as the necklace you made was still there.

His mother handed him a pack, which he slung over his horse. He leaned down so she could press a kiss to his cheek. He gave her a smile, something soft and reassuring. She turned to leave, to watch him from the tent, walking past you with a slight wave.

Izuku heard you just before you approached behind him. He turned around, expression soft as he took in your features. Your hair was a little messy, clothes a bit rumbled, but all in all, you were beautiful. He hated leaving, he’d only just gotten to be with you again, to hold you close, to enjoy your company, your presence. He would steel himself once he took off. For now, he allowed his heart to be soft.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” You tease, your voice rough with sleep. He chuckles softly, taking your hand in his.

“Never, Just getting everything ready to go”

“Good.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then reached into your pocket, “I made you something. Promise me you’ll wear it?” you placed the necklace in his hand, the green really starting to stand out now that it was out in light.

“You made this for me darling?” you nodded, placing the necklace over his head for him, the stone sitting right on his chest. It would be easy to conceal, but you wanted to see it on him.

“It’s….A little piece to help keep you safe,” your fingers touched the stone, “ so you feel safe on your journeys, so you will feel just a piece of home while away, that you will be warm and filled with my love always. When you wear this, good fortune will smile on you, your aim will be swift and true, and my strength, my courage will be yours. And when all is said and done, You’ll be able to find your way home to me, no matter where you are” you pressed a kiss over the stone, over his heart, to seal in the energy that you put forth.

You wiped the tears that had just started to fall from your eyes, only to fail when you saw his own tears. He placed his gloved hands on either side of your jaw, kissing you softly, reverently. Despite its chaste nature, you felt every bit of warmth and passion, a love that threatened to make your heart burst.

He pulled away from you, placing his forehead to yours, your eyes staring into one another's.

“I will always find my way back to you.” his voice was low, a whisper only you hear. You knew that he was no witch, but in that moment, you felt a magic not your own shoot up your spine in the most pleasant way. It was as if his words had their own magic to them.

He pressed one last kiss to your lips, tucking the stone under his shirt, to keep it safe. You watched as he got onto his horse, riding off towards the sunrise.

From there, you tried to keep yourself as busy as possible. Whether that be gathering the river water, a few of the wild flowers that grew in the trees, or even just tending to the circle fire.

You found yourself bored and worried in a matter of hours. Everything was fine, everything would be fine. He would come back to you, he would be safe and sound, and you could move on from this dark period.

You practiced your sigils and wards, magic at the ready to replace one if need be. You even started reading the rolled parchments your mother kept. One week passed, then two, and then three.

Your worry reached an all-time high, for a split second, just a split second, your heart dropped to your feet, a shock sent through your nerves. You had no idea what caused this sudden feeling except-!

You were about to run to your mother, to ask her, if she could tell you anything, what that feeling meant. But something halted you, mainly the feeling of your heart slowly moving its way back to its respectful place, the shock left a warm feeling in your nerves that left your hands shaking.

But the sensation had gone, it felt alright, just like when you gave him the stone, just as it had felt the rest of the weeks passed.

As far as you knew, the village folk had stayed, despite your disappearance. From whatever scout was sent out, they gave no word of the people searching for you or even questioning your leaving. It was hardly peaceful from what you were told.

The people were even colder towards one another, children no longer running around the village, to keep them safe from whatever witch may target them. Any hustle and bustle was left solely for necessities, the genuine care for the others day long gone as they rushed back home.

With tensions rising higher, the elders thought it best to pull back the scouts, just to be safe.

You scratched out the tally you had made in the dirt. If he didn’t return this coming week, he will have been gone for four months. This should have been nothing, He’d left you for two years before, you survived.

So why was it so hard now?

You knew why, you knew exactly why it was so much harder, you just didn’t like knowing why. It didn’t make the problem any better or worse. You’d heard nothing from other towns, not even your own, Izuku would not have the time, or perhaps even the safety, of writing to you.

A large warm hand was placed on top of your head, petting your hair, startling you from your turmoil. Glancing up, you saw your father, looking down at you with kind eyes.

“I need you to gather some lavender, I’m afraid in these...stressful times, lavender has become quite sought after here.” He gave you an apologetic smile, “I’d go myself if I didn't have other salves and ointments to make.”

The lavender fields were so large, spanning from the village and even over the worn roads. If you stuck to the fields closer to the now makeshift camp, You wouldn’t be bothered by any passerby, and more importantly, the villagers.

You stood up, dusting your skirts off. It was probably better that you went anyhow, if anything to see a little change in scenery. “That’s alright papa, I wasn’t doing anything anyway.” you take the basket from him. You stepped carefully over the protection sigils, making sure not to smudge any of them.

The slight change in scenery did help to improve your mood. The morning sun still painting everything in a cool glow, the matching breeze swept away your clouded thoughts.The fields were always quite a sight in the morning, you mused as you sat your basket down once you had found a nice little spot, the flowers hues bouncing off the light.

You took your time, cutting at an angle, the stalks going into a pile that your arms would carry, the flowers themselves going into the basket. It was...alarmingly easy to just forget everything that was happening with how gentle the air was, birds singing their tunes and bees buzzing about.

Before you knew it, you had filled up your basket to the brim, lost in thoughts so vague they were better off as clouds. Glancing up you also realized it was well into the afternoon, almost sunset! You carefully stood up, your legs a bit stiff from sitting for so long.

The sound of a horse’s whicker turned your gaze towards the road. It was a smaller sized group, their shields glinting in the light. Towards the back, one man was carrying a flag held high above them. Your vision blurred as the flag came into view.

He’s Home

They’ve won

You raced across the fields, your basket long forgotten, running for the quickest path towards the road. Your heart pounded heavily in your chest, zings of excitement running through your veins.

As soon as you were close enough to see the details of their faces, you saw Izuku. He urged the group to stop; sitting in front of him was a man with the brightest red hair you’d ever seen. Izuku clumsily got down from the Horse, using this man in front of him to steady himself enough to hit the ground running.

You met in the middle, him wrapping his arms around your waist as your arms were thrown over his neck for an embrace. You were crying in relief, joy, the heavy weight that rested on your shoulders long gone. You pulled back and pressed kisses all over his face, his eyes, though watery, lit up in happiness to see you.

“That’s so manly!” You heard the red haired one cry out, a waiver in his own voice, pulling you out of the soft moment. You slowly pulled back, your hand dragging down his chest idly as it went back to your side, a sharp hitch of breath getting your attention back immediately.

He’s been injured

“Izuku what-” he cut you off with a gentle hand taking yours. It was only now that you realize that he was not in the leather armor his companions were- a loose fitted shirt, some trousers, and the same boots he left in.

“I’ll explain when we get home, It’s been...quite the journey home” he smiled at you, turning back to his companions. Now that your focus was not completely on Izuku, you noticed that he was travelling with, at least currently, four others.

The first, of course, was the red haired man, a big smile laced onto his face with bright matching eyes. The second was a blond haired man, a scowl etched on his face, deep red eyes watching. For whatever reason, you could tell that this scowl wasn’t as deep as it usually would have been. Next to the blond one’s Horse was Izuku’s.

Behind him was a young man with the most curiously colored hair you’d ever seen, white on his right with a brown eye, while his left side was red, a scar wrapped around his vibrant blue eye. The last one however, was a thin man, not much older than your father you assumed, blond hair tied back, his blue eyes bright with a kindness you had not expected from someone his size. He was so much taller than the others, his horse alone was taller than the others, just to fit this man it seemed.

“O-of course, yes,” you babbled elegantly, hardly wanting to take your hand away from Izuku’s.

You led them back to the makeshift camp, your announcement of the arrival of these heroes sent the crowd into a joyous cheer, as the rest came to see what the commotion was all about.

They stopped at the center fire, Izuku-this time much more gracefully- stepped down from the horse and Inko rushed to hug her baby just like you had. The rest of his companions follow suit, though their hands remained tight on the reins.

“Oh thank goodness your safe, my baby!” she wailed, her smile only brightening as her son laughed, an attempt to keep from totally wailing like his mother.

Mrs.Tachibana shuffled through the crowd, the elders all following suit. Inko stood aside, though you kept your hand linked with Izuku’s.

“Thank you, all of you,” she motioned to his companions, “We owe you a debt that we will never truly be able to repay, for avenging those who were wrongfully taken from us, and to those we may have lost.” She was silent for a moment, to let those now dead have a moment of peace before continuing, “However, for now, please allow us to repay you in the ways that we can, a celebration! You are far more than welcome to rest and resupply, to enjoy the night!”

The tallest man bowed to Mrs.Tachibana, a smile on his face as he addressed her on the Knights behalf. “We were just doing our duty to the people of this land. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Before we prepare for your celebration, may we know the names of our heroes?” Mrs.Tachibana asked.

“Of course!” the tall man laughed, gesturing to each as he said their name, “These are my knights: Katsuki Bakugou,” the younger blond didn’t do much more than give an uninterested scowl, choosing to keep quiet, “ Eijirou Kirishima,” the red haired man gave a bright smile and a wave, “Shouto Todoroki” the dual haired man bowed silently, though his name did bring recognition into some of the covens eyes.

His father was a well-known Knight, brutal but effective on the battlefield, Endeavor. He was not a well-liked man, but he was respected in his duty.

Finally gesturing to himself, “I am All Might, but please, call me Toshinori”

The people slowly dispersed, excitedly working as the bees of early spring. Your mother and father walk over to give their thanks and greetings to the heroes. Your father manages to convince their tight hold on their reins to slacken, so that they may freely wander while their horses feed on the long grass.

Mrs.Tachibana wandered over to the young men, a couple of witches your mother's age following behind her. “Are any of you in need of healing? We have wonderful healers who will gladly treat you”

“Tch-the only one that needs healing is that da-”

“-No, we’re all alright!” The red head-Kirishima cuts off Bakugou, the latter incredibly annoyed at the interruption, “We just had some minor bumps and scratches, really, it’s mainly Midoriya who took the worst of it”

Izuku winced at the mention of his name, a sheepish blush forming on his cheeks. Your mother studied over Izuku’s form, a frown on her face, though she quickly replaced it with a smile.

“Let’s get that taken care of shall we?”

That’s how you found yourself down by the river, You and Izuku sitting on the rocks, carefully taking off the bandages to his wounds, the stone you had given him resting on his back, a fresh set of bandages laced with spider webs. While softer than the bandages he had, this one was bound stronger, and would keep out any unwanted grime and dirt from infecting the wound. Beside you was a basket of soft cloths and a bigger bowl of water, for cleaning.

Your mother was sitting beside the river with a mixture of various things, bowl filled with river water. As the bandage slips off, your eyes widen as a soft gasp leaves your lips.

“Oh Izuku, what on earth happened?” You’d never seen a wound of this kind before, a burn or a cut of some kind, a deep shade of red in the center, slowly turning at most a light pink on the outside, with what looked to be bubbles that had exploded, leaving a splatter mark.

“This was from one of the witches. The way they wielded their magic was terrifying, as well as impressive.” You frowned, hands digging out a cloth and dunking it in the water, wringing out your anger for this witch, returning gentle hands to his chest as you cleaned off the blood.

“The one who gave you this wound, what was his power exactly?” you take not of the hiss of pain, despite your gentle touch. You remembered your father telling you to talk to your patient, to help distract them from the pain, even if partially.

“Ah, he was a man with the most bizarre burns and dark hair. He wielded a dagger of some sort,” he moved to grab onto a stick to draw the image in the dirt, though you gently press your hand to his uninjured shoulder to push him back into place.

“You can show me later, it’ll be harder to clean this if you keep moving” you gently scold, dunking the cloth back into the water.

“Right, anyhow, he would strike at his enemies with just the blade. At first I thought he was just someone who supported them. But once he was close, his arms would suddenly be coated in blue flame! I’d never seen anything like it! It burned hotter than any fire I’ve been near. He went by the name of..Dabi I think it was.”

Blue flame that burned hotter than any other fire? How could he withstand the heat at all? A pained hiss pulls your attention back, your fingers pressing a bit too hard on the wound. You muttered a quick apology with a swift kiss to his cheek. You returned to your task with far more care.

“Tell me more about them, how many others were there?”

“Including Dabi? Four of them. There was a girl around our age by the name of Toga, she could turn into anyone she pleased. Terribly good strategy, you wouldn’t want to strike for the enemy, and find your allies face there instead. The third was a person by the name of Kurogiri. I never actually saw this person, but when they called for them, they responded. A portal would appear, whisking them away to...who knows where. It was...incredibly annoying as it was their favored escape route, no tracks to go after, no trail” He huffed softly in irritation at the memory.

“The fourth was a man they called Twice, he could make copies of himself or other people, who had the same skill set as who he copied. Out of all of them, he seemed to be having a hard time, or what I thought was one. He would say one thing, then immediately counter it with an opposite. The last was their leader, Shigaraki. Anyone he touched turned into ash, they...decayed,” He frowned at the thought, as if remembering something he’d rather not say out loud.

“I never saw it, but I heard from other villagers that he could control how fast or slow something or someone decayed. I can’t imagine what it was like for those people who had to watch...only to be tried as witches themselves…” his lower lip wobbled, a tear or two streaming down his cheeks. You drop the cloth in favor of tipping his eyes to meet yours.

“You avenged them. While that won't bring them back, just know that their souls can rest easy now, knowing that the evil that caused all of this fear is gone.” You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, Izuku letting out a shaky sigh.

He remained fairly quiet after that, and you didn’t push him to talk, the worst of the cleaning now done with. Your mother came up to the both of you, the bowl in her hand no longer filled with water, but a sweet smelling salve.

“Before we put this salve on, we need to banish the evil intent behind this wound. So that infection will not come from the inside either.” She instructed, placing a hand over his chest but not touching the wound. As her hand glowed you could practically see the flames that had burned him, dancing across the wound with wild and fluid movements. You could feel the intent behind the magic, dark and foreboding, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

The purple glow of your mother's magic descended upon the intent, the flames hissing like snakes as they were overtaken. As the last spark of flame died, Izuku let out a relieved sigh, the area around you brightening again, as if a tree had been blocking the sun.

“Oh...I feel so much lighter now,” He looked up to your mother with a smile, “Thank you” She returned his smile, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “Of course. I’ll leave the rest to (Y/N)” She said, taking the bloodied water and cloth to be cleaned.

As the sun set, the stars blinking into the sky, the ritual fire burned brighter than ever, the music playing no longer held notes tinged with worry and resentment, the drum beat heavy in your chest as you and Izuku sat on the sidelines.

Kirishima was having a wonderful time, between dancing with some of the coven members to stuff his face with the delicious food. Occasionally, one of the children would wander up to him and ask him to dance. Rather than politely declining, he’d lift up the child and dance with exaggerated movements that made them squeal and giggle.

Bakugou was far too content to sip on his drink and watch the festivities, though he bobbed his head to the beat of the drums, his scowl replaced with something more neutral. Todoroki was talking with your mother, about magic it seemed as she created soft purple lights to dance around in her palm. To your surprise he did the same, though they were smaller and a pale blue color.

Toshinori seemed to be talking idly with Inko, the two of them occasionally having to stop as a few children came up and began to ask questions you assumed, as he would then launch into a tale, probably an encounter he had at some point. They were all enchanted with the way he told the story, Inko watching with great attention, a smile on her face.

Izuku’s hand rested in yours, his thumb rubbing aimless patterns into your skin when you suddenly gasped

“I forgot the lavender basket in the fields!”

It had been a year since that day. The day after the celebration was spent packing things up and back into your homes. Fear would not so easily be defeated, with that looming threat, why would they want to return to a possibly dangerous place? At the elders’ request, The knights had gone to check over the town, to be sure that everything was safe, as well as making sure it was all standing.

The town had been abandoned, the buildings remaining empty. It was a bit saddening, to see the town so quiet. All the life, the people you had always known just...gone. However, with so many of the coven either unwilling to go back to their homes, or unable to, they simply took over the abandoned homes.

Life slowly went back to normal, though a different kind of normal. It was...nice to have your coven around, to no longer have judgmental, but harmless, stares sent your way. It was a lot of hard work, but the town grew to be just as lively as it had been once before, if not more so.

The Knights were always welcome to your little village, surprisingly they came to visit quite often, especially for the holidays. Just like today, a brilliant and warm summer morning, though today was a special day.

The coven was centered around the ritual fire, a woven arch placed before it, filled with various wildflowers and brilliant stones. You stood there before your soon to be husband hands clasped together as Mr.Yamada recited an old spell, one of weaving, to bind your souls together.

You could hardly focus on his words, your own watery eyes meeting green ones. He smiled so brightly at you, you have to mirror it back, the overflowing joy in the both of you was entirely contagious. The dusting of pink over your cheeks matched the hue of the flower crowns placed on your heads.

A couple of wails sounded from the crowd, Inko crying her own river of tears; Toshinori sat beside her and offered a clean handkerchief, to which she gratefully took. The other wail came from behind Izuku, Kirisima’s lower lip wobbling as Bakugou smacked the back of his head, growling out a low “Control yourself!”

You laughed at the two as Mr.Yamada hesitantly started reading again, if only to make sure the two could handle it without any more interruptions.

He placed his hand over yours and Izuku’s, a warm glow emitting from it. “To bind yourselves to one another, you must make a promise to your other half. Starting with Izuku” He took his hand off of yours, the glow around your connected hands maintaining, shining brightly like water as the sun hits the cool waves.

He nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself, a rush of excitement flooding his veins.

He held onto your hand tighter, a firmer grip, priding himself that his voice didn’t crack as he started to speak. “I promise to you, (Y/N), that I will love you and care for you for all my days, my nights, and even in death. I promise my soul to you, tied to yours. I will always find my way to you and I will never falter”

On his hand, the golden glow turned green until all the way down to the tips of your fingers. You let out a happy sob, your heart unable to contain it. Still you wiped it off with your free hand.

“I promise to you, Izuku, that I will love and care for you for all of my days, my nights and even in death. I promise my soul to you, tied to yours. I will always find my way to you and I will never falter”

The glow from Izuku’s finger tips to yours spread up to your hand, fading into your skin. Yamada raised your connected hands in the air, “I now pronounce your souls to be bound together! You may now kiss your beloved”

As he let go, Izuku pulled you close to him, one hand capturing your jaw gently as he pulled you into a sweet kiss. You mirrored his hand, thumb stroking his cheek as the world around you ceased to exist for just that moment.

The party itself lasted well into the night, the two of you hand your arms intertwined, drinking the sweet red liquid that was specially prepared for the evening, the rest of the coven now able to eat and drink to their heart's content. You absently remembered, as Izuku fed you a piece of savory bread, your mother telling you the symbolism in the red drink; strength, courage, and fertility.

The music that played was loud and joyful, laughter floating like the hum of a choir, a pleasant cord. As the moon reached its highest point, the two of you tossed the blue and orange flower crowns atop your heads into the fire. It was an old tradition, even to the standards of your coven.

The flowers placed on your head had meaning to them, just like the sweet drink you had earlier. The orange stood for encouragement, attraction and kindness. The blue on the other hand stood for patience, understanding, and loyalty. Once burned, the energy from those flowers would bring out those attributes in your marriage. Or that’s what the old saying was.

The coven raised the woods with their cheers, sparks of blues and orange dancing in the air.

As the two of you watched the flowers burn, Izuku’s arm around your waist, you leaned into him, a smile on your face.

Though you had been with each other for nearly your whole lives, this was the beginning of something new.

X. X. X. X. X.

You blinked, your eyes wet with unshed happy tears as you glanced around the room, your friends, Ochaco, Iida, and Todoroki were all behind you, looking at you with wide eyes. Next to you sat your boyfriend of two years, now in your third year at UA. His eyes were also wet, slowly turning to gaze towards you.

You had all decided to go to the fair that had opened up. Towards the end of your merriment, you spotted a fortune teller of a sort, and decided to go inside. Everything had been fairly light hearted and fun,though yours had been quite intense, but nonetheless happy. The fortune teller was shocked, the past had something important for you to see, and by all that was good you were going to see it.

You looked down at the promise ring Izuku bought you. It burned with the same cool sensation as you remembered...saw past you. It felt like..a small part of you had been unlocked, as if some part of you had been missing for all of these years.

He gave you a gentle smile, one you returned.

“I guess our souls are bonded together”

#my hero academia #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha kirishima #bnha ochaco uraraka #bnha izuku midoriya #bnha izuku x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha all might #bnha dabi #bnha toga #bnha twice #bnha kurogiri #bnha shigaraki #bnha iida

30 notes · View notes

grimreich666 · 4 years ago

Text

So, this my part two of everything and as far as I’m concerned if you want to know the rest of my feelings on the matter, check my earlier posts because I’m about done with this right now. This one is a large one to unpack because it’s at the expense of having to go through everything. Now the first time I didn’t include screenshots in my other rants because I was trying to at least be a tad bit decent. Yet after the FAKE STORY weaved by Kwhateverspace who by the way knew that I was going to be angry and take this to my own platform; I would like to address the elephant in the room which is Dandybear aka Betty. Now I’m using her Government Name as she clearly used mine when I commented on her latest and racist chapter of Leave it to the Davenports; and that was disrespectful, and I take that personally as we were not on a first name basis. Now mind you this is not a simple oh she’s mad because she’s more popular theme like Kwhateverspace said as I’ve said this isn’t about me but the detrimental shit Dandy and other put out. Also, her popularity doesn’t affect me because I don’t write on AO3 as I mainly write on Fan Fiction and even then, I don’t do that because I write novels. Also, too I’ve supported Betty’s Fan Fic in the past and I even encouraged her to keep writing when she was feeling mentally drained before, and I asked her if I could use the character’s name Thea which she agreed to so my respect was there. At first, I did admire Dandy’s work, but like the Admins on that channel she does not know how to handle power or popularity.

So, there was no ill intent on my end until Betty disrespectfully brought up my REAL NAME in the comments section of her own story because I was agreeing with a person who saw her fic as racist. This bully but victim mentality was completely unnecessary and nor did my name had to be used, as I had the right to comment on the work she put out. It was clearly set in her mind that I was a villain even though me and her had no intention of clashing before in the past. Now I’ve had hundreds of reviews under on Fan Fiction. Net and I’m too old for that petty old let’s play the victim mess. Also like I’ve said on my video I’ve moved on as a Fan Fic writer and sometimes I do dabble in Chrisby, but that’s neither here nor there as I am a professional novelist first and foremost. My issue with Dandybear is simple she is a racist simple as that, now she changed her racist dialog on the latest chapter because people were starting to drop it and she was salvaging what was left. However, I have no room for sympathy for a racist and people who harbor racist views, now everyone does not have the range to write for a racist period and she is those people.

Yet its not just the fic that had been racist, but about her comments in the Christina + Ruby Server ran by Kwhateverspace and Hernameisjaye that are most alarming as well. As they are clearly racist and the Admins had not done anything but support her mess, even Hernameisjaye tries to lazily question Betty comments but quickly drops it. At the rate in which they kicked me and other members who have done lesser offenses, Dandy’s comment should’ve been an automatic kick. The issue that I have with this is how someone whose an Admin’s causally allows a member to drop a comment that compares Black people to animals; that is something that HISTORY has done to Black people many times as they have called us animals and lesser creatures, even H.P Lovecraft himself called Black people beasts of unknown orgin. Also, it was not said in a not-so-joking-manner so there was ill-intent with it and fatphobia, as women who are heavyset are often compared to Whales, Elephants, Hippos and other large-bodied creatures. This is not something that is decent, and I won’t stand for it and the gross part about it is that the Admins allowed that energy into their room. Yet they kept so much hateful energy for me other members who have done nothing but bring positive and constructive energy into the group; so much so that they lied about the complaints that they received.

Another issue I have with Betty is the issue that she did throw shade at me, as I offered my idea for a Chrisby Fan Fic; and while no one supported the idea like I supported all their ideas I was cool with it as I was mature enough support peoples right to not support my head cannon. Yet the issue I have with Betty is that she tried to critique a story that hadn’t been even written; saying that Christina wouldn’t act that way as a character and that you don’t want to “poke or prod” anyone’s creative process was a clear lie. Like why even comment on a head cannon at all if you don’t want to “stifle” anything, and I haven’t even written it yet. Now I’ve been around business and people before and I do know when off handed comments are dished out; but it was clear that she wanted to stomp out any head cannon I had to make herself look decent as the only one, if so tell me why she takes the comments about her racist fic so seriously. She is one of those people who does not write for herself as she writes for clout, and her ego is centered in that. Personally, I wouldn’t have said anything when she made that comment and I didn’t for the longest, but you could see the reason why I got on You Tube to express my opinion about certain Fan Fic Writers.

Now this is my next one which is a big one the Aunt Jemimah with Tits scandal, I don’t know what Hernameisjaye or Kwhatverspace deems as racist and disrespectful but their priorities are clearly not in the right and they are not on the right side of history. However ,we need to get to the fact that this part of Betty’s story should not be defended or celebrated, and Kwhateverspace defending it on her blog clearly makes her and the discord she is representing complicit in racism. Here’s a little history on the subject. The name of Aunt Jemimah in history and present day is not so much as a respected name when you describe Black folks. Often it is a slur as whites have used against Black people in the later years post-racism and it was a Mammy Stereotype as well in the Racism Era. It even has been used in Hollywood Media as well, to affirm slavery or insult a black person’s character. If you don’t believe me Watch Bringing Down the House with Queen Latifah and Gone with the Wind as the old Mammy Aunt Jemimah issue is used as a racial joke and insult. And while the connection to the brand of Aunt Jemimah and its imagery was made to serve Black Mammy Propaganda that hurts Black Women there is no denial it was used in pre- and post-racism eras. And it’s clear to see that Betty made no connection to it on purpose as the passage in the chapter did not even serve the true plot of the story. Not to mention on a historical level that the woman who was Aunt Jemimah never got paid for her services and she was slave; yet was seen on every box in every home for more than half a century. And even though they changed the woman in later years, it’s not until this year in 2021 that the company is going to remove all black offensive imagery from their boxes. So, the disenfranchisement of Black People would be erased from history like it never happened which adds more insult than comfort; and it was the same with Dandy trying to edit her racist passage within her chapter. These and other facts that I brought to the attention of Hernameisjaye when we had our debate and she threw a hissy-fit and kicked me, because I beat her with facts; but its sick how someone who doesn’t need to know their Black History praised a racist story.

So, for Dandybear aka Betty not to know that something like this would deem as racist is a complete lie; and for her to sum it up in her authors note and say that its no big deal because Christina is racist towards fish people is damn near sick, as you cannot connect the two. Now I the issue I had on the comments section with her, was me letting everything out as I was completely shocked how they could keep a racist in their group and kick out serval educated and positive Black Women who had a civilized conversation with them. Now I did tell her to not respond back to me when things got heated; and yet Betty files a report nearly two weeks later saying I harassed her. Clearly, she kept up mess and I know she did it to make me seem as the bully so she could get away from the heat she caused with her racist mess. And you can see on the email and the time stamp when we got on into it on Ao3, that it was weeks away from each other so what was the point. The part I’m sick of with Kwhateverspace, Hernameishjaye, Danybear, Agentsyerl and others is they start issues and bully up on people and then act like victims when someone stands up to them; its clear that these sad sick women have never dealt with high positions in life or in business. They are the kind of people who look for any kind of victim mentality to seem themselves as competent people and leaders when clearly, they aren’t; and they hide behind “liberalism” and “freedom” and yet they can’t kick out a racist who puts out racist harmful mess in her Fics. And I wouldn’t have an issue with it as it is a time-piece, but there was no solution to any of it; Betty just used a mindless and sneaky way to say something racist and thing she could get away with it under the guise of it being a time piece.

In conclusion currently she says she’s not going to write anymore, I’m happy she’s not because she couldn’t use her words carefully or considerately when it came to race and she offended serval Black Women. There are other white-writers that do time pieces the same and they handle race so well; and I want to name the names and give respect to these wonderful people. However, I don’t want to tie their great work tied to this drama I’m writing, but I will be making a video of my favorite Chrisby-AO3-Fics in the next two videos or so. However as for Betty even if she said something racist and wrote it out, so long as Betty kept it to herself but to POST IT that was a different matter all-together that made me, and others lose respect for her. So that’s why I had to say something because it was talked about heavily in my circle of people and in parts of Tumblr as well; so, I addressed it and called it for what it was, and I won’t stop with any racist fic or person I cross. So, this isn’t about whatever LIE Kwhateverspace is putting out, because its my feelings on the matter and I felt like it was something as a Black Woman that I needed to address; but I refuse to have my feelings marked as some angry black woman troupe, delusional mindless mess, the proof is in the pudding on my responses to their mess. I was classy with my responses to Hernameisjaye and Agentsheryl; and they got pissy and threw a hissy-fit. And I wasn’t going to into it more until Betty decided to put my real name out there, and I’m not for that disrespectful mess. Seriously after this matter this something that is best left in 2020 and I will leave it there and those who show sympathy to their mess you’re getting blocked simple as that. I DO NOT WISH THIS PART OF THE FANDOM WELL FOR 2021, AS THEY NEED TO GO BACK AND DO HISTORY AND RE-VALUATE THEIR OWN SOULS. YET THE MATTER IS DONE AS IT IS LITTERALLY SOMETHING FROM LAST YEAR AND I HAVE PEOPLE IN MY OWN DISCORD TO FOCUS ON. FOR THOSE WHO READ AND SUPPORT ME THANK YOU FOR LISTENING AND SPREADING THE WORD AND MY INVITES ARE OPEN STILL TO THOSE WHO WANT TO CELETEBATE THIS FANDOM. Happy New Year’s everyone.

#ruby x christina #ruby deserved better #ruby baptiste #christina braithwhite #abbey lee #wunmi mosaku #a03

14 notes · View notes

sternbagel · 4 years ago

Text

I’ve been a little stuck on some of my other projects so I decided to flesh out another thing about my RDR OC that’s been sitting in my head for some time.

Notes: set in October 1898

TW: canon-typical violence, period-typical racism, probably incorrect translations Spanish phrases, very little editing

Companion to this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winter is on its way. She feels it, icy tendrils creeping into the October air as it whips around her, through the brush and the trees. It’s worse here, up in the westernmost part of the Grizzlies, where the many rocky cliffs provide little to no buffer against the high winds. No snow has fallen yet, too early in the season. But even when it does, it’ll continue to weigh heavy on bare branches long after the lowlands have begun to bloom again.

She’ll return to lower altitude soon, ride out the worst of the winter somewhere warmer, like New Austin, maybe. Visit some friends, maybe. Take a break, definitely. But first, she has to finish the business that brought her up here in the first place.

“There you are.”

Behind her, a horse snorts, impatient. She knows what’s coming, been through this enough times. The horse doesn’t enjoy the extra weight placed on her rump during the ride back to the sheriff’s, but she does appreciate the extra sugar cubes and apples she gets afterwards. And the nice, fresh stable she gets bedded down in that night while her rider gets a room at the closest hotel. It’s only ever one night before they’re back in the wilderness. Sometimes staying just outside town, but for that one night, they live in as much luxury as the area allows.

“Easy, Moonbay,” she whispers, standing up from the frozen tracks in the dirt. “Let’s go get him.”

She mounts the dapple black Thoroughbred and combs her fingers soothingly through her white mane. Her legs squeeze Moonbay’s sides three times, urging her into an easy canter. The mare’s got long strides, meaning it isn’t long before they come up on the rider’s target: a nasty piece of work she’s been tracking for three days. He’s only worth fifty dollars, one of the cheaper bounties she’s been after in the last seven years, but once she read that he killed a mother and two children while robbing their small homestead, she’d set off immediately.

He’s riding with three other men, but she’s not worried. She’s faced far worse odds before and come out with only a few new scars. She just hopes she doesn’t kill the bastard by accident. Giving them shit while listening to them squirm and curse her out on the long ride back is the best part.

She pulls Moonbay to a stop and pats her neck before dismounting, not bothering with hitching her before crouching and continuing forward. Moonbay’s a brave horse, and even when the gunfight startles her, she doesn’t wander too far off, always returning shortly after the firing stops, with or without being whistled for.

The men have stopped at the roadside, one of them standing amongst the trees to take a piss. She’ll deal with that one first. Removing the bow from its place over her shoulder a few moments later when she’s creeped close enough, she nocks the arrow and makes her slow, silent approach. He’s whistling some tune, completely oblivious to her presence.

One, two, three deep breaths, she peeks around the side of the tree acting as her cover, and draws back the string. A fourth breath leaves her lungs, and the arrow flies. The string flicks against the few strands of her black hair that have come loose from the braid, and she blows them out of her face at the same time the body thunks against the leaf-covered ground.

“Jim? You smack your head again? Dumb bastard.”

They’ll discover her soon enough, so she throws the bow back over her shoulder and reaches for her two LeMat revolvers. Her thumbs run over the AT engraved in the grips of both of them as she waits, still concealed by the trunk.

“Jim? The hell—” He stops once he sees the body, arrow embedded in the temple. “What the hell—Carl, Clyde, we got a problem!”

The echo of her revolver immediately follows the man’s exclamation. He, too, falls to the ground to never get back up. She stands quickly and rushes towards the shouts from the other two men at the road. Emerging from the treeline, she spots both of them. Both of their guns are raised, but they’re facing the wrong direction. Clyde, the actual bounty, is atop his horse. If he doesn’t fire at her after she kills his lackey, he’ll surely take off. So she aims one gun at the horse’s feet—not to hit it, just to spook it into hopefully bucking Clyde off—and the other at the lackey’s head. She pulls each trigger at the same time. The lackey’s death is instant, but the horse doesn’t spook quite as much as she thought it would. The other three horses, however, do, bolting off in different directions while voicing their sudden fear.

She’s quick with her guns, but not quick enough. Once her shots are fired, Clyde turns in his saddle and fires off a shot of his own. She can’t raise her guns to threaten him before a bullet whizzes into and then out of her left arm. The gun in her hand clatters to the ground.

Retaliation is swift on her end, as she lets out a swear of “¡Chingado!” while firing off a shot at his shoulder. Anger and pain tear through her, along with the thought, If I kill him, I kill him. She’ll have to visit a doctor now, so a quiet ride back might not be so disappointing at all.

It doesn’t kill him, but it does knock him back off his horse, who then takes off with a scream.

Oh, ahora quieres cooperar.

The gun she’s still holding is holstered before being replaced with the lasso attached to her hip as she strides purposefully to where he’s landed in the dirt. Her left arm screams and throbs with the pain, and she faintly registers the blood rolling down and off of her hand, but she has work to do. The man rolls around, pulling his knees up under him to attempt to stand up, looking frantically for his own dropped gun. His heels are just digging into the ground and he’s almost stood back up when her lasso tightens around his torso. A hard yank, and he’s stumbling towards her before landing on his back again.

“Bitch!” he spits.

She keeps the rope taut as she approaches. “Heard that one before.”

“Greaser cunt! Fuck you!”

Baring her teeth and sucking in a furious breath, she yanks the rope again. He grunts painfully and she halts her approach, his head in easy kicking distance. “Better watch your mouth, asshole, or you’ll be headin’ back to the sheriff’s as a corpse.”

A devious grin that she does not like spreads across his face then. “Only place I’m headin’ is out of here, after I finish with your corpse, that is.”

The rope instantly becomes slack and in a swift movement—swifter than she figured he’d be able to move after being shot in the shoulder and thrown off a horse—he stands up, charging at her with a knife drawn in his right hand. He’s smart enough to come at her left side, but she’s also smart enough to throw her right side forward. There’s not enough strength in her left arm to be able to fend off the knife, so she reaches for it with her right arm instead. Her left fist collides with his stomach, though it’s not much help, only forcing out a quiet grunt and leaving a bloody fist print on his jacket. Then she grabs his left wrist with her own; two weakened arms wrestling with each other. He sneers as they struggle, and it only makes her madder.

Anger in most situations actually helps her, gives her some clarity and more power behind her movements. In this one, however, it proves to be a detriment. Rather than use the rest of her body to throw him into the ground and wrench the knife away before grabbing her own, or her gun, she reaches for her knife with her bloody hand. It’s enough of an opening for Clyde to yank his arm back, away from their bodies. Her fist is still clenched around his wrist, so she’s pulled off balance. Wrapping his weakened left arm tightly around her neck and pulling his back flush against his chest is a task, as she’s not going down without a fight, and she’s stronger than she looks. She hasn’t let go of the wrist holding the knife, but while having the tables turned on her, he was able to position the knife less than a foot from her head. The rising pressure around her throat forces her to choose between the immediate danger of the knife or trying to loosen his arm with hers, still throbbing and leaking blood.

Her knife is sheathed on her right side, and the gun that belongs in her left holster is laying uselessly on the ground, far out of reach.

Fuck.

He opens his mouth to say something, no doubt some terrible snark or string of curses at her, but at the same time, they notice the wagon caravan come into view.

Thankfully, he seems just as surprised as her, so it’s not his backup. Plus, he swears, “Shit,” under his breath and in her ear as he continues to struggle with freeing his hand from her grip.

There are two riders in front of the first wagon, and neither of them look happy about the scene they’ve stumbled upon. The white man is in a brown leather coat barely hiding his burly frame with a worn black leather hat sitting atop his head, a few strands of dirty blonde hair peeking out from underneath. His dark bay Andalusian stamps its feet underneath him, smelling the blood, but doesn’t move otherwise as he dismounts swiftly, carefully. The other man to his left also dismounts his gray Appaloosa, who only snorts and throws her head, not moving either. He’s brawny as well, though his shoulders are broader, and he’s wearing a thick hooded black sweatshirt, no hat. She thinks he might be mixed race, black and Indian, maybe, long raven hair tied into a loose ponytail similar to how some of the Navajo men she’d met years ago wore theirs, but skin much darker than them. Closer to Josephine’s, she thinks a split second later, along with I need to write her when I get out of this.

Both men approach slowly as Clyde flashes the knife in his hand. He struggles to push the knife closer to her face, but she keeps it still, muscles whining with the strain.

“Easy, partner,” the one in the brown coat says calmly, accent something close to a southwestern if she had to guess, holding his hands out and away from his guns. There’s an underlying threat in his tone. “Let her go, and we’ll let you go.”

There’s very little in this world that she hates more than being a damsel in distress and being used as a bargaining chip or hostage. If he lets her go before she frees herself, there’s no way in hell she’s not shooting the bastard right in the face.

She bares her teeth again and spares a glance at the other man. He’s already watching her like a hawk with deep, perceptive brown eyes, and shakes his head subtly as if he knows what she’s about to do.

“And why should I trust you bastards?” Clyde asks with a sneer.

Slowly, so as to not alert Clyde, she shifts her weight onto her left leg. Then, once satisfied that she’s anchored enough, she makes her move. Throwing her right foot back quickly, she tucks it behind his ankle and kicks forward, throwing him off balance this time. Her left hand joins her right and she pulls his arm downward, her shoulder digging into his chest as she throws him to the ground, hard. The dirt beneath her boots shudders with the impact and she hears the breath leave his lungs. In a swift move, one she’s practiced many times for moments such as these, she reaches for her right holstered gun with her left, pulling the hammer back before it’s left the holster, then shoots him in the face, point blank, before he’s able to even begin trying to scramble to his feet.

A beat passes while she pants and slowly holsters her gun. “Fucking bastard,” she says between pants.

“Huh,” Brown Coat breathes. He grabs his gun belt, suddenly the picture of a relaxed cowboy. “Nice move.”

She looks at him, nodding silently, before turning to grab her discarded gun and lasso. She whistles loudly for Moonbay.

“Ma’am,” the other man says, taking a cautious step forward. Only when she looks at him, brows raised, does he continue, voice deep and baritone. Soothing, in a way. “Can we ask what that was about?”

At first she doesn’t answer, just regards them warily. They are dangerous, that much is apparent in the way they carry themselves, the way they dress, and the weapons they carry. But they don’t seem to present her much danger at the moment. The threat in Brown Coat’s voice was gone when he spoke. Nothing but worry, confusion, and intrigue show on either of their faces. So she relaxes. A little. “His head’s worth fifty bucks.”

Black Sweater chuckles lightly and Brown Coat opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by two other voices as they come up beside the men. The first belongs to a much older white man with deep lines but bright perceptive eyes, the second to a white woman in a plain dress, blue eyed, her black hair pulled into a high and tight bun.

“Arthur, Charles, you two okay?”

“What happened?”

Brown Coat turns to them and holds up a calming hand. “Everyone’s okay. ‘Sides the bounty she was after.”

The woman perks up once she lays eyes on the other. “Oh, hey, you been shot.” She sounds genuinely worried. About what exactly is unclear.

“Ma’am, you should go see a doctor about that,” the older man says gently.

“I will,” she replies with a one-shoulder shrug. “Gotta collect my money first.”

As if on cue, Moonbay appears in the treeline with a soft nicker. Once she sees the other people, she stops, ears flicking forward and nostrils flaring curiously.

Black Sweater takes another few steps forward, hands still raised harmlessly. “It won’t be easy to get him back by yourself.”

She can tell he means no offense, but it still pulls her lips into a slight frown. “No, but I’ll do it.” Then her mouth twists into something uncomfortable as a memory surfaces, but she quickly plunges it back under and pulls her face back into a neutral expression.

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

A strange offer, from people she doesn’t know. It must show on her face, because the woman speaks up again.

“We’ve got some space in our wagons, and we can get ya stable until you get to the doctor.” The woman motions back to the wagon caravan, and it’s then that she notices the other four wagons and riders, hanging back at a reasonable distance but watching with interest. “And Arthur can stow your bounty on his horse.”

Brown Coat looks at her sharply. There’s no malice in his voice or face, rather amusement and surprise. “Why you volunteerin’ me, Abigail?”

“Why not?” she shoots back with a teasing smile. “You got experience takin’ bounties in, don’t’cha?”

“That’s true, but—”

“Just stow her on my horse, Moonbay,” she interrupts the two. She doesn’t notice that her mount has stepped closer, so she startles when the mare nudges her good shoulder, expecting a treat or checking up on her. Or both. “Hey, bonita.” As she reaches up to stroke Moonbay’s nose, a sudden wave of exhaustion rolls over her. The fight hadn’t been long or particularly bloody, but it’s been a long three days and the numbness in her arm is starting to fade away post-battle. Meaning all the pain will start to register, and she has no medicine that’ll ease the pain nearly enough. And this bullet wound is bleeding more than usual.

“Okay,” Black Sweater—Charles, if she heard the name right—agrees, taking more steps forward until he’s at Clyde’s body. “Think she’ll be okay next to a wagon, or you want one of us to lead her?”

“I didn’t agree to go with you.”

Nobody seems convinced by her tone.

“You don’t wanna bleed out on the way there, do ya?” Arthur asks.

She frowns more at that, like a petulant child. They’re right. They know it, she knows it. And something tells her that these people won’t bring her any harm. That their offer of help is genuine. She can’t deny that getting her wound tended to while sitting comfortably in the back of a wagon doesn’t sound enticing.

“Come on,” Arthur waves her forward before making a move to go to one of the other wagons. “I’ll go speak to Dutch. Uh, what’s your name, anyhow, ma’am?”

For the first time in a long time, her real name worms its way to the tip of her tongue. She quickly bites it back. Why, why now? Not that the name would mean anything to them, but still. It’s a part of her past she keeps locked away for a reason. These strangers have no business knowing her business. So she takes a deep breath, watching them for a moment, before relaxing her shoulders and nodding.

“Alberta Taylor.”

“Well,” Abigail says, holding out her hands, “I’m Abigail Roberts. Come on, Alberta Taylor. Let’s get you taken care of.”

She nods again. “Just Al is fine.” Then she turns and announces over her shoulder, “Best one of you lead her. Moonbay, esta bien, hermosa. Buena niña.”

Moonbay throws her head up once, snorts, then lowers her head as Charles approaches. She still seems a bit wary, but doesn’t flinch under his gentle touch and soft words. Satisfied that she’ll behave, Al turns back to Abigail, who is leading her past the first wagon. She’s uncomfortable with the many sets of eyes now on her, but ignores that feeling and the pain.

Besides, after they get her to the doctor, she’ll likely never see these people again. So she can stomach this unease for the time being.

#alma tejada #rdr #red dead online #my fics #first time meeting the gang!#spoiler! she sticks with them after this lol

3 notes · View notes

well-shit-im-a-morosexual-now · 4 years ago

Note

I have a question for you! As it is the lovely Mammoney's birthday coming up, what would your MC give the boys for their birthday?

This actually became a lot longer than I expected because I couldn't help writing minifics whoops and ahh asks about my MC make me happy cause I rarely get to talk about them specifically

Note; despite the typical idea you'd get from their name Eliza is neither white or western or a girl. All the relationships except the one with Mammon are just platonic✌ lemme know what you think cause feedback (either good or bad) is my only fuel

Lucifer

Lucifer gets a #1 MOM mug but also the day after his bday he gets Eliza asking Diavolo if he could let Lucifer off work for the day and dragging the rest of the brothers out of the house while making Lucifer promise he'll take a nap.

"Are you ordering me?"

"Well I mean...yeah? Not - not in a," they wiggled their fingers in front of them "pacty way. Just in a concerned friend way."

"And if I don't?"

"Well Diavolo went through all the trouble of taking on your work load... He'd be terribly disappointed if nothing came of it."

Lucifer had to stamp down the twitch of fond amusement that threatened to show on his face, "Are you trying to manipulate me?"

"No, I am manipulating you. Because it's working."

He gave them a dubious look.

"It is working. Right?"

With a sigh he said, "It's working."

"Great!" They pressed forward to give him a tight brief hug whispering "Happy Birthday Lucifer" before they were moving away, running off to presumably gather his brothers. "Remember," Eliza yelled over their shoulder, "Sleep!"

Mammon

The day of Mammon's birthday he gets a scavenger hunt. He grumbles at first but the lure of the prize at each location has him solving the riddles in seconds. Eliza trots after him to each location. The gifts, though there are a lot of them aren't anything big or overly expensive, a keychain with a little crow at the end of it, a bright gold cover for his D.D.D., A tote bag just so he could put the rest of his gift in it, that one choker/collar he had been eyeing a few days ago, a few of the old Disney princess movies because he got really into Cinderella, a warm scarf and set of mittens for the colder months because they know he prefers the warmth, a new pair of sunglasses, a new pair of earrings/studs, nail polish. But it's the little notes attached to them that's killing him.

"It's cute like you!" "Ik your eyes aren't gold but I always think of shining gold when I think of them. Maybe because they are so precious?" "I love you" "I saw you staring at it. You probably thought you'd look hot in it. You're right." "Did you know meeting you made me believe in happily ever afters?" "This one's pretty selfish because seeing you happy and comfortable makes me happy" "This one's a joint gift. I'll need to borrow them because you light up the room" "You deserve the best things because you're the best" "Have I told you I love you" "Stop solving these riddles so fast! I spent a lot of time trying to find the hard ones and now you're making me look dumb! Plus my legs are hurting."

The words of the last note blurred a bit as he tried to discreetly sniff. He'd been holding back tears since the second note, not that he'd ever let the human know (they knew). He wasn't sure why this was the one that broke him.

"Mammon?"

He turns to Eliza slowly. Making sure he doesn't crush the note.

They're panting slightly, from having to run up and down the whole house after him, but they smile brightly when he meets their eyes. "Seriously man, slow down for us weaker beings yeah?"

Then Mammon does something he rarely does. He makes the first move. He shoots forward to envelope them in a hug. They yelp at the sudden movement but immediately fold their arms around him.

They're almost the same height, something Eliza loves to hold over him, so it's easy for them to shift back and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. "I love you."

That just makes him sniff harder and burrow further into their shoulder, "Said that twice already," he mumbles between hiccuping little sobs.

"Dunno what to tell you, Mammon but I love you a whole lot. Just once won't work"

"... l - love ya too dummy..."

"There's one more riddle."

The last one simply says "Happy Birthday, Mammon."

"What's the gift?" He asks, looking around his room where the last riddle had led them.

The click of the lock and the wicked look on their face says it all.

*If you think the notes were cheesy Eliza absolutely cringed while writing them and had to take breaks to go scream in their pillow because of how sappy they were, but Mammon liked this kind of cheesy and it doesn't mean they weren't 100% sincere.*

Levi

For Levi they hunt down Simeon, trailing after him begging, negotiating and making deals.

"I-is this - this isn't - h-how - there isn't any - ELIZAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" He launches himself at them, still holding the little book. "I LOVE YOU!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ELIZA! I - " He pauses, seeming to finally register his words and jumping away, hand flying to cover his flaming face "I! That doesn't mean! I didn't mean it like -"

"Love you too," they say easily.

And that has Levi blushing even more and trying to hide his face while mumbling something about 'normies'.

"Do you like it?"

"LIKE IT!? How'd you get it! This! This isn't even supposed to exist!"

"Ah I spoke to Simeon, he wrote it just for your birthday. They're only a collection of short stories though."

"FOR MY BIRTHDAY!? A LIMITED EDITION!? NO! NOT EVEN A LIMITED EDITION, AN IMPOSSIBLE ONE THAT SHOULDN'T EVEN EXIST!"

"...happy birthday Levi?"

"I LOVE YOU!"

"Love you too."

Satan

For Satan Eliza follows both Diavolo and Lucifer around, once again begging, pleading and bargaining. Diavolo agrees pretty quickly, it's Lucifer they take a week to convince

"Where are we going exactly?"

"You'll see."

"And how exactly did you manage to convince them to let us into the human world?"

"Uhm.."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

He chuckles softly, gently bumping them with his elbow he asks, "At least tell me where we are."

"Well this is where my mother was from. She was the one who was Lilith's descendant."

"It's not the same as where you lived?"

Eliza flushes at his use of the past tense. "Nope. It's funny though... "

"What is?"

"The first people who lived, the natives, the name of their clan translated to 'Demon'. They even had a Demon King. Ah, not sure how much of that is actual history and how much has been twisted through time but. It's an odd little coincidence don't you think?"

"Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre..."

"Don't quote your detective at me."

Satan laughs. "What happened to them? In your history?"

"Well it's a bit of a long story, it's not exactly a fair one either."

"History so rarely is. It's always told through the mouths of the survivors, the winners, it rarely gets a chance to be fair, to be anything more than fiction peppered with fact." His eyes are fixed firmly on the sky.

Eliza looks up with him, staring at the cloudless blue sky.

He shakes himself out of it with a chuckle, "That doesn't mean I'm not interested in hearing it. Quite the opposite actually." He smiles sweetly at them.

Eliza grins back. "I actually managed to get us a few days here. There are lots of ruins all around the country, they're not from that original clan but they're still really old and kind of amazing. We won't be able to visit all of them but it's still something."

"It is. Thank you, Eliza. It means a lot that I'd be able to learn something new and that you're sharing this with me."

Still grinning they hug him gently.

He wraps his arms around them

"Is this the part where you wish me?"

"It is. Happy Birthday, Satan."

*Anyway this is part of our actual history and even though I haven't really decided where Eliza is from this felt fitting? The detective quote is taken straight from Sherlock Holmes*

Asmo

"Elizaaa~ This is so sweet! Ahh, I love it! I love you!!"

Eliza couldn't help the soft laugh as Asmo clung on to them, rubbing their cheeks together and enveloping them in the sweet scent of his perfume.

"How did you know I needed this?"

"Well, living with six brothers anyone would need a weekend spa retreat away from them."

"You're right, Eliza! You're so right! They're the worst and it's even started to affect my skin! I needed some me time."

"Well... It's actually a coupon for two..."

Asmo blinked at them looking down at it and yes it was a coupon for two.

"You know, just in case you wanna..." they did a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle that had him giggling.

"Well then, Dear. How about a weekend spa treatment with me? Hmm?"

Eliza blushed, stumbling back and stuttering, "That's not - I - you know - I'm just - I - "

He watches them stutter, with an amused smile before he mercifully cuts in "I know you're set on that idiot brother of mine. Lord knows why, he's such a mess and I'm much prettier. You know I love you Eliza but you really do have terrible taste."

At their scowl he giggles, "But you love him, and you look out for him and you make him happy and he does all that for you too. And, well that's all that matters, isn't it?"

They're a bit red again, but they're smiling at him softly and looking at him with such love in their eyes, it makes a gentle sort of warmth spread through him.

"No, what I meant was not everyone in my family has been driving me crazy recently and you look like you could use a weekend off too. I can tell you embarrassing stories about Mammon from back in the Celestial Realm, if that sweetens the deal? Unless," now that he thought about it, "that makes you uncomfortable!? Ah! Eliza, I'm so sorry I didn't even think! I know you don't like this kind of thing, that's okay I'll ask So-"

"No, wait Asmo it's fine. I don't mind it, if it's with you."

Asmo blinked. The warmth spread. Then he flung himself at them again, "Elizaaaaa, don't say things like that and expect me not to react!"

They laughed, easily catching him in their arms, "Happy Birthday, Asmo."

Beel & Belphie

With Beel & Belphie Eliza leads them into the attic and locks the door behind them.

"Are you going to kill us here?"

"Haha. Funny."

Belphie laughed lightly, and Eliza could almost hear Beel's frown as commonplace as it was when the topic was brought up. Not wanting to keep Beel in any type of discomfort they reached out with that flicker of magic in them and a muttered spell and lit the fairy light like little lamps that hung across the room.

"You're getting better at that." Belphie said, eyes on them and looking impressed.

Beel hummed and agreed, looking proud.

"I know." Their chest puffed out a bit and the twins laughed.

Letting the moment fade they swept their hands, gesturing at the rest of the room. "So what do you think?"

The furniture had all been moved to the sides, the blankets and pillows from the room along with many, many additional ones were all piled strategically on the floor, making a large nest like structure. The outer structure of the nest was lined with various boxes and packets of different kinds of snacks and drinks. On the wooden floor in front of the nest was a large cake decorated in warm oranges and cool purples.

"I made it!" They said, proudly before deflating a second later "Well Luke made it, he wanted to do something nice for Beel's birthday but I stood around and licked the raw batter so that counts?... There's also a handheld vacuum for crumbs." They gestured at the side.

"It looks good," Beel said with a nod. "Smells good. I'm hungry."

Belphie tilted his head, "So your present for us is our sins?"

Eliza bristled, "No. That's just the setting, next is the accessories."

"Accessories?" Beel asked softly, still eyeing the cake, only held back by the firm grip that both Eliza and Belphie had on his hands.

"Accessories." Eliza moved away to a corner, returning while juggling two wrapped gift.

"It's that manga of Levi's that you like, it's the full published series so you don't need to keep borrowing it." Turning to Beel, "pyjamas. Large oversized thick and comfy pyjamas. I washed them too so that they would smell nice and wouldn't be scratchy. So this is your present: A sleepover, cuddled together under the blankets, in large comfortable clothes, eating junk food and reading manga where none of your brothers can interrupt." Eliza stopped for a breath, their proud smile dimming a bit, "I guess your presents are your sins..."

"No. They're not." Beel said firmly. Hands already unbuckling his pants and sliding them down. He changed his clothes quickly with no care for either of his audience who, to his credit, failed to react. He folded the old ones and placed them in a corner while Belphie removed his boots.

"They're not," Beel said again looking straight at Eliza, "They're quality time doing things we love with the people we love, without having to worry about anything else." He walks up to them, enfolding them in a warm, soft hug. "Thank you, Eliza."

"Right, right. Our sins are part of it because those are things we enjoy. But they're not the actual gift. Like you said it's the settings and accessories that make the actual gift. And that's spending time together without any of those idiots interrupting us for once."

"It's a good gift." Beel said, as Belphie slid into the hug. Beel lifted them both off their feet as they clung to him.

"Happy Birthday guys," Eliza said through their laughter.

"Love you," they both said in unison.

27 notes · View notes