#its fine! just. maybe a touch odd to write me a paragraph

[sunnynwanda]

hello!! i hope your day is going well <33 :D

could you please write a story about a hero and villain who are academic rivals? and one day before their final exams the villain finds the hero in the library late at night, really stressed about their exams. maybe the villain comforting a panicking hero?? :'))

i would really appreciate it if you could write this!! its completely fine if you don't want to :D

p.s your work is amazing!! 💙

Even Odds

Hero shivers and shifts in their chair, folding their legs under them for warmth. They look up for a moment, noticing the snow cap on the lamppost outside the window, and rub their red eyes. It had been snowing for several hours now, and they had no idea how they were going to get home in their light coat and sneakers. It was warm in the morning when they ran out of their dorm room - not that they had time to look for winter clothes in the mess that was their wardrobe. The last month has been hectic, between classes, work, confrontations with Villain and all the catching up they had to do because of it. Not to mention that the smug bastard kept teasing them in class. They had no problem fighting Villain outside the classroom, yet facing them in class seemed infinitely more challenging and infuriating. All at the same time.

Christmas is coming up. Hero shakes their head at the thought. So are the finals. They close their eyes for a moment to let the wave of panic flash by them before returning to the subject matter. It takes Hero another two hours to realise the letters are blurring in front of their eyes. They can no longer discern the lines, and the paragraph looks entirely unfamiliar. They are doomed. Villain is going to destroy them with hungered passion, tearing into their flesh with snide remarks until Hero is left teary-eyed and defeated. And to think they enjoyed all of it once. They even went so far as to await the bickering arguments that followed after every class they shared.

With an exasperated sigh, they let their head fall onto the book. The panic returns with a fresh vigour, as do Hero's doubts. They want to cry from the helplessness that overwhelms their entire being. Their ears start ringing, probably from lack of nutrition. Hero presses their hands to their temples, trying to remember when they ate for the last time when a cough interrupts the flow of their thoughts.

"You look desperate," Villain muses, seemingly satisfied with the atmosphere in the 'enemy territory'. "I like it."

Hero has nothing to offer them but a deadpan look. They are too exhausted to muster any expression other than utter fatigue.

"What? Still trying to beat me?" They quip again, turning the chair to face their rival despite taking the seat right next to them. Hero doesn't react, much to Villain's dismay. They sigh, choosing another tactic - one that never fails to unnerve Hero. "Drop it, babe. No one can top me. Not in physics, at least."

Hero's eyebrows twitch, and Villain can't help the triumphant smirk that graces their thin lips. Gotcha.

"Sod off," Hero scoffs, flustered by their flirting and, more so, by their proximity.

Villain places their hands on the table and lays their head over them, mimicking Hero's position. "Says the one desperate to compete with me."

"Bold of you to assume I study for you," Hero's retort sounds surprisingly genuine. Villain isn't sure if they should find that offensive or not.

"Oh," their mouth forms a perfect round shape, and Hero almost reaches to touch their lips. Almost. They drop their hand over their eyes, trying to shake off whatever haze took them over. Sleep deprivation must be getting the best of them. It's sheer luck that Villain doesn't seem to have noticed. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because I have a lot of catching up to do, dimwit!" They don't mean to be mean, but they are just so tired, and Villain's nagging doesn't help. Not to mention that Hero is not ready for the exam, and both Villain and their professor will take their sweet time chewing them out tomorrow. Amazing start to the holidays!

"Shouldn't have missed the classes in the first place," Villain snaps back but softens upon spotting Hero's distress. Come to think of it, they had no idea why Hero would need to be absent so often. It's not like their confrontations took that much time out of their own week. So what was Hero so busy with? "Why did you miss so many, by the way?"

"None of your business!" Hero cuts them off rather harshly. They seem riled up for no reason, so Villain turns away towards the window, scrolling through possible distractions Hero might have been facing this semester. They're not fighting anyone else, and Villain was pretty damn sure they weren't dating. Or were they? Did Villain miss something? Should they be jealous?

Hero's low mumble draws their attention back to the matter at hand. "I'm still gonna score higher than you."

"Keep telling yourself that," Villain chuckles. Their brain is working overtime, trying to figure out how the smartest person they have ever met was behind the programme. "How long have you been here anyways?"

"I... don't know," the conclusion stuns Hero enough to get off the desk and sit straight. They have no time for conversations, but they also have no energy whatsoever to get up and leave. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven..." When Villain glances at their watch, their eyebrows furrow in concern. "Wait, have you spent the entire day studying? Have you even eaten anything?"

Hero shakes their head instead of replying. Villain's eyes turn awfully round, and Hero smiles softly. This shouldn't look this endearing! They must have lost their marbles.

"Are you an idiot?" Villain questions, shaking their head when Hero attempts to answer. "That's not even a question, it's a statement."

"We have finals, dammit!" Indignation colours Hero's features, shading the weariness away. "I can't afford to fail, not after all the effort I've put in!"

"You won't fail," Villain sounds absolutely sure of their statement. They believe it, too. Hero, however, does not.

"How do you know?!" They break character, looking more panicked than Villain has ever seen. In fact, they haven't seen them scared, ever. Not even when they were hanging upside down from a skyscraper because Villain dared them to.

"I just do," they reassure, placing their hands on Hero's shoulders to get their attention. "I know."

"How?" Hero asks weakly. They look drained of life, and Villain hates to see the most cheerful person they know like that.

Fuck, is it them? Did they overdo it with the battles? Maybe they shouldn't challenge Hero so often. But then again, they only do that because they miss seeing their rival, and Hero has been skipping classes because of their job.

And then it strikes them. Their job. How could they forget Hero has to work? Ever since they lost their father, they took it upon themselves to support their family. And Villain had to go and add more to their plate - as if balancing classes and work wasn't bad enough. Shit.

They sigh at their stupidity, shaking their head to collect their thoughts before speaking.

"I've seen you ace every test, Hero," they cup Hero's chin, urging them to meet their eyes. "Not a single mistake, no cheating, nothing. You've got this. Trust me."

"What?" Hero's mouth is agape. Villain assumes their unexpected sincerity to be the reason but is proven wrong sooner than they can justify themselves. "Wait, do you cheat?"

"'Course not." They wait for Hero to nod before continuing. "I don't need it. You don't either."

"Well, I might this time," the claim makes Villain chuckle, baring the neat row of their teeth with slightly prominent fangs. Why the fuck do they keep noticing all this about Villain, of all people?

"Stop, Hero, stop," Villain catches their chin again, their stare intense when they speak. "You're not gonna fail. I promise. Now come on, you've got to get out of here, or your brain is gonna melt and drip out of your ears."

With that, they let go of Hero, and get up. Hero scrunches their nose at the graphic images that flood their tired head and starts collecting their books and countless pages of notes. Villain takes the last heap, shoving it into their bag while Hero fetches their jacket.

It's only later, after running through the showy courtyard back to their dorm and taking a hot shower to warm their limbs, when Hero pulls everything out of their bag to begin their night of studying, that they notice a few stapled sheets of unfamiliar notes. They are expertly organised and precisely what Hero needs to learn to pass the test. They stare at the pages for several seconds before shaking their head with a lopsided grin at the obnoxious and frustratingly sneaky little shit that slipped their notes into Hero's bag while they weren't looking.

They pull out their phone, sending a short "Thank you." text to their rival, only to receive a cheeky reply in mere seconds.

"Simply wanted to even out the odds. Let's see if you can top me now, babe."

Masterlist

Hello, dear!

Thank you so much for this request! I've wanted to write academic rivals for some time now, and this was the perfect opportunity for it. So yeah, thanks xD I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

xo Sunny

P.S. I wasn't able to find the owner of the photo, credit to the owner.

[thefamilycryptid]

Analyzing Miraculous Ladybug, Episode 1: An Analysis of the Love Square

My friends on discord found out I like analyzing people as both a way to ensure people cant hurt me and as a way to figure out what kind of gift they would like, so they asked me to analyze some of the things in the Miraculous Ladybug Series no clue how many parts of this I’ll do so submit me asks and I’ll work on them :D

@username8746489 asked me my opinion on the Love Square, more specifically if I thought it was healthy or not.

The short version of my answer would be no, I do not believe the Love Square - as the show portrays it - is a healthy relationship. Now I see you Adrinette stans about to reblog this claiming ‘its true love’ but think about it like this; yes they have the possibility to be an amazing ass-kicking couple but their writing is horrid. Lets dissect them individually so we can comprehend how their relationship would function in reality.

Marinette is a canonical stalker, we witness with several times, from Marinette breaking into Adrien’s household (that most likely has a high security system due to the Agreste’s influence) on several occasions.

And instead of intervening and stopping her “bff’s” toxic behavior so she doesn't get arrested later in life Alya enables her behavior and offers her more ideas on how to get with the person she’s ‘meant to be with’. 

As mentioned before she broke into Adrien's house and even went through his locker to steal his phone over nothing more than an embarrassing voice message. She also harassed Kagami because she liked Adrien, and caused her akumatization after calling a fencing match (keep in mind the fact that this is Mari’s first day doing fencing and she barely know’s the rules) in her crushes favor even thought it was obviously a tie. 

She also constantly berates Chat Noir, who - as we already know - is Adrien, if you cannot love all aspects of someone, even the messy and  chaotic sides then you should not be in a relationship. Now this can be justified by the fact that Marinette doesn’t know Adrien is Chat Noir, but it is also no excuse for the way she treats he partner, constantly berating him for every little mistake he makes and treating him like a tasteless sidekick. I get that this is a show about girl power but Ladybug and Chat Noir are supposed to be equals to keep the Creation and Chaos thing in balance right?

And then there is the thing with the pictures, I would understand having one or two pictures of your crush (or maybe more if you are close friends and have taken several photo’s together) but none of the ones in her room are actual photo’s of him, they’re just cut outs from magazine covers Adrien is the center piece of. This isn't anything outright criminal, but it is very odd that instead of making more personal photo’s of him to hang up (maybe them having fun or on a hang out with friends) she chooses to hang up photos of him in his ‘actor mask’.

Now the photo’s are a bit odd but nothing crazy, but what is crazy is the fact she has his whole fucking schedule in her room, like first of all where the fuck did she get it, follow up question why the fuck does she have it. This is extremely alarming and could possibly lead to a court case in reality if someone (like Gabriel or Natalie) were to learn of its existence, Marinette would have a permanent black spot on her record if she didn’t end up being sued (or maybe even arrested) for her actions.

I could bring up plenty more points here such as when she dug through his trash and responded to a poem he had disposed of (then broke into his house to deliver), how she cant even hold a proper conversation with him without foaming from the mouth (something she admits to during the ‘steal Adrien’s phone’ moment), how everything she knows about him most likely comes from A. stalking B. the internet/gossip magazines or C. Alya telling her, how she told Alya to stop taking photos of Adrien unless she sent them to her, and that she confessed her love to him on the anniversary of the day his mother went missing.

But thats enough about Marinette lets move onto Adrien.

Now Adrien has a bit more of an excuse for his less than ideal behavior, he was isolated his whole life and the few relationships he did witness (Chloe and His's Parents) were probably not the best seeing as Gabriel has a tenancy to neglect his child in favor of work it wouldn’t be too surprising if we learned that he neglected his wife as well which was why her condition worsened until she was unsavable and the fact that Aubrey cannot remember her own daughter’s name.

He probably grew up watching rom-coms where the lead love interest bullied/blackmailed/harassed the girl into a relationship and they got married in the end and everything was always ok with no repercussions for their behavior.

Plus Gabriel looks like the type to give the 'its legal if you dont get caught' advice for all the wrong reasons, that accompanied by Chloe ( and later Lila) constantly draping themselves over him like fucking skin shawls, leads to this kid probably having no clue what consent is. 

So far he hasn't done anything too drastic for me to fully pull apart and wack with a stick minus the over-the-top flirting, but a lot of boys his age flirt so thats fine so as long as he doesn't touch Ladybug in a non-consensual way he's mostly ok in my book. 

All-in-all they would be 100% better people if A) They were with other people B) They seek help for their issues or C) They spoke to one another like normal people, until this is shown in the show I deem it a toxic ship.

(Note: Before you come on my case about there being less for Adrien, please keep in mind that Marinette is the main character of this series not him so of course there would be more to dissect about her. We are walked through her daily life, so we see every misdeed and every creepy stalker-ish moment, while we only see Adrien without her a few times, almost all of which are him transforming, or doing something that with offer a chance for Mari to shoot her shot. Please also keep in mind that this isn’t my entire opinion on the matter, I love the characters but I hate their writing, I also encourage to formulate your own opinions on the matter.)

(note for people who may want to ask for analysis’s, please remember I am just a human and I’m not 100% used to typing out whole paragraphs on fictional stuff and my brain tends to wander a lot, this was written during my ‘big brain hours’ sorry if your request isn’t as well done as you would like it to be)

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter VII]

Word count:  6,292

Warnings: vulgar language 

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

A/N:  I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you do too while reading it. Side note 1: I reference a few movies here and there. I would advise you skipping one or two paragraphs to avoid spoilers if you still mean to watch it. But, I'm assuming everyone reading this has seen it already. Site note 2: Anne Rice will find a way to sue me if this somehow finds its way to her (it won't, who do I think I am) Side note 3: if you haven't yet, watch every movie and read every book mentioned here. They're all great.

____________________________________________________________

I had a huge grin on my face as I left the courtroom. My client grabbed my arm and shook it, chuckling. 

“You won!” she squealed. 

“ We won,” I corrected. I stopped walking and faced Mirriam. Her make-up was smudged beneath her watery eyes and her lips were quivering. “I’m happy for you.”

She pulled me into a hug, knocking the breath out of me. Both my hands were occupied, carrying my briefcase and purse so, I had no choice but to stand there, unable to hug her back. Mirriam sobbed, her arms tightening about my neck ever so slightly as she thanked me. Over her shoulder, I saw Judge Llewellyn leave the courtroom, still dressed in his robes. He looked at us, the perpetual crease between his eyebrow softening. Mirriam exclaimed and released me abruptly. The squeals of happy children echoed down the hall and I turned to see Mirriam make a run for the two kids sprinting towards her. 

“Congratulations, Miss L/N,” said Llewellyn. I turned my head to see him standing at my side. “You did well.”

“Can you repeat that, please? I didn’t quite catch it,” I said, grinning from ear to ear. 

His lips tugged up as he glanced away. When he looked at me again his face was serious.

“Don’t try your luck,” he extended a hand toward me. “I’m looking forward to seeing you at practice in my court again.”

Any moment now my cheeks would tear from smiling so much. I let go of my purse, not caring that it almost tipped over, and shook his hand. Although his fingers were long and bony, his handshake was firm.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded and made his way to the opposite direction, presumably towards the judges’ chambers. I watched him go, his robes swaying after him and then turned the other way, taking in Mirriam on her knees, laughing at whatever her children had said. Yeah, I did well. As I picked up my purse, I felt it vibrating. I stuck a hand inside it, searching for my phone as I made my way out of the Royal Courts of Justice.

“Hi, Zoe.”

“Any news?” She asked on the other end. 

“None.”

“It’s been over a week since he took you out. Shouldn’t he have called you?”

“Maybe he’s lost interest,” I countered, frowning at the twinge on my chest. 

Out in the open, I lowered my head to protect myself against the drizzle as I walked.

“That’s absurd. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of bribing someone--”

“I still regret telling you that.”

“Nevermind who he is, that was impressive.”

An outsider could hear our conversation and think we were complaining about some guy giving me the cold shoulder, not plotting against a five centuries old vampire.

“Zoe, I don’t care why he hasn’t called as long as he leaves me alone. Maybe he met someone else,” as I talked, I managed to make eye contact with a cabbie inside a passing taxi and nodded. “I saw you two days ago. I’ll call if anything changes. When do you want to meet again?”

“Let’s make it Sunday. It’ll be the fourth set of samples and I want to keep the every 2 days pattern we’ve got going on until your bite fully heals.”

The taxi stopped next to me and I juggled all my stuff in order to open the door. I glared at the cabbie, hoping that he would be moved by my anger and help me open the door. I could be Queen Elizabeth and he wouldn’t care. 

“Fine,” I said as I managed to open the car door and get inside. “61 Marney Road,” I told the cabbie and he accelerated. “St Thomas Hospital again?” I asked Zoe.

“Yes. 11am. Call me if Dracula--”

“I know, I know. Bye.” I ended the call before she could keep talking. 

Once I settled my belongings next to me and made myself comfortable, I leaned my head on the window, watching as London’s lights started coming to life in the nearing dusk. Getting complimented by Judge Llewellyn deserved to be celebrated. A good film accompanied by popcorn and lots of chocolate appealed to my body overridden by PMS. Add an hour in a hot bath and then I would have the perfect Friday night. How would Count Dracula spend his Friday night? 

I lowered my shirt’s high collar and touched the scar on my neck. It was nothing more than small scabs now that the bruises were gone but I still wore turtlenecks to conceal the strangulation marks. I hadn’t felt the tingling sensation on it ever since my date with the Count and I wondered if it would react at all to him now that it was almost healed. 

“Miss, you alright?”

I removed my hand from my neck like I had been burned. 

“What?” 

“Are you feeling alright? It sounded like you were out of breath,” he spoke the same way someone would if they were addressing an elderly person.

My entire face went hot and I thanked him silently for not being one those cabbies that always had the rear view mirror turned to the back seats in order to watch the passengers. 

“I have, uh, asthma,” I shut my eyes as I spoke, overcome by embarrassment. “But I’m fine now.”

Had I gone mental? Rubbing my scar to test if it was still reactive to touch in the back of a taxi was just plain stupid, especially considering that I’d gotten so utterly lost in pleasure that I had been panting loud enough for the cabbie to hear me. 

“Tragic, innit?” 

That my bond to Count Dracula paired with PMS had made me become a dog in heat? Yes.

“Sorry, what?”

The cabbie leaned forward and a second later the whispering voices coming from the car speakers raised to an understandable volume. 

“ Surrey police has no leads so far ,” was all I heard from the narrator before a song started playing.

“What happened?”

“Two students were found dead this morning in Surrey University. Bright youngins, can you imagine what they could--”

I straightened on my seat.

“Murders?”

“Makes no sense, how brutal. Police says it appears they were having a movie night--”

“How were they killed?” 

The cabbie took hold of the rear view mirror and angled it at me. I smiled dryly at his frown.

“Professional curiosity,” I told him. “I’m a defense lawyer.”

That answer did nothing to soothe the crease on his large forehead.

“Police isn’t sure yet. But I heard from a pal from Surrey,” he lowered his voice, like he was confiding in me, “that the person that found ‘em threw up and so did a coppa. Looked like a scene straight from The Shining, I bet. Nasty stuff.”

I nodded, relaxing against the window again. Taking he referenced The Shining, that probably meant that there was a lot blood. Dracula wouldn’t waste a drop, I supposed. Odd horrific murders came about once in a while, sadly, and all of them committed by humans. Besides, would he really go all the way to Surrey just to murder a bunch of uni students? London was stacked with several student halls for him to pick from without the trouble of traveling across counties.

“First what happened at that company and then this… This is a bad, bad week. My gran used to say that everything comes in threes. I assure ya, miss, there’s more-”

“Which company? What are you talking about?”

“Ya haven’t heard?” he questioned, glancing at me through the mirror. “Why, miss. Two nights ago the, whaddyacallit, the big corporate cunts in charge of a company- oh, excuse my mouth, miss-”

“The board of directors?”

“Yeah, those blokes. Murdered, the whole lot of ‘em, inside a meeting room!” he started whispering again. 

“Was this here in London?”

“Central London,” he nodded.  “Can’t remember the name of the company, now-”

“Like the murders in Surrey? Bloody?”

“Nah, don’t think there’s been news about that. Cameras were dead, caught nothing of it. They were found by security at almost midnight after a wife of one of ‘em called looking for her husband.”

“Cause of death?” I asked and he looked at me. “Just answer the question.”

“Stab wounds to the neck, all of ‘em. Apparently some of them put up a fight because there were broken arms and fingers. Scotland Yard said that it’s prolly more than one murderer, other than that they’ve been quiet about it… They’re investigating it,” he made air quotes, “that’s code for we don’t know shite.”

He continued ranting for the rest of the trip but I wasn’t listening anymore. I doubted that Netflix would be able to salvage my mood after that conversation.

Once I paid the cabbie, I bid him a nice weekend and jumped out of the taxi. Compared to how he had barely cared about my struggle to get in the taxi, he was nice enough to wait until I got my door opened. Now that the night had come, the automatic light above my front door had turned on and I could only make out the shape of his hand waving at me from inside the car. I waved back as a thanks before going inside. 

I went straight upstairs after I locked the door. With how wired I was, I forgot all about my intentions of taking a bath and took a shower instead. Considering I was humming a tune to myself after thirty minutes under a steady stream of hot water, I was making a quick recovery. I was still singing when I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel about my body. I opened the door, tendrils of steam spilling from my bathroom into my bedroom.

“Ohmygod!”

Count Dracula grinned at me, lying on the middle of my bed with both arms folded beneath his head. I pressed the towel to myself, desperately seeking more cover. 

“I was starting to wonder if you would ever come out of there.”

“I wish I hadn’t!” I exclaimed. “I locked my door! How the hell did you get in?!”

“Window." He pointed one long finger at it.

Deadbolts. I’d have to get deadbolts on every single window in my house.

“Couldn’t you have texted in advance?!”

“I did. You didn’t reply.”

I stared at him, waiting for something else to come out of his mouth. Instead, his gaze slid down my body, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he inhaled sharply. I knew exactly why he was whiffing the air. Thank God my body was flushed from the hot shower, otherwise I would have gone bright red in anger.

“Ugh, leave!” I said, projecting my voice like I was in court. 

I stretched an arm out, pointing at the window. The sudden movement almost caused the towel to open and I immediately took hold of it again with a little squeak. Count Dracula was up at once, circling the bed towards me. I gulped. His gaze pulled me in and for a moment my anger sizzled down.

“I’ve missed you,” he said and a shiver went down my spine.

I stepped back into the bathroom to put some distance between us.

“Too bad, go away.”

A smirk tugged the corner of his lips. 

“You’ve missed me, too.”

“Absolutely did not.”

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

“It’s called anger.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“‘I’ll go wait downstairs,” he said before turning away from me and slipping out of my bedroom. 

My knees almost gave out when he left and I rushed to sit on the edge of the bed. I held my head as I tried to concentrate and take deep breaths. Had he stayed any longer I wouldn’t put it past me to lock myself in the bathroom and remain there until morning. Not only I had to deal with him, I also could feel cramps coming. I wanted nothing more to curl up in bed with a heat compress and chocolate. Summoning my courage, I got up and went to get dressed. 

As I went down the stairs, Dracula peeked his head out from the living room.

“You’re going out in your nightgown?”

I stopped for a second, frowning and then continued down.

“I’m not going out. I’m tired and uncomfortable and I’m staying home,” I forced a smile, batting my eyelashes just to annoy him. I rounded the staircase, giving my back to him and heading for the kitchen. “I do hope you haven’t wasted your money bribing someone else to grant us entrance to another museum.”

I swiped at the switch and soft lights came on over the kitchen island and at the corners of the room. 

“I haven’t. There’s no problem in postponing tonight’s date.”

I turned around to see him standing on the other side of the island, staring at me.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No.” He smiled. “Like I said, I’ve missed you.”

I leaned down and opened the cabinet under the sink. I pushed a set of pans to the side, looking for my heat pad.

“Been busy for this past week?” I asked, my voice echoing inside the cabinet. 

“Unfortunately.”

I found the heat pad and stood up, closing the cabinet door after me as I put it inside the microwave and set 5 minutes. I turned to face him, propping my hips on the kitchen counter. I pulled on my courtroom face. If Count Dracula squinting at me meant that he saw me do it, then I needed to work more on my tells. 

“Reading Jules Verne or killing a board of directors?”

One of his eyes twitched before he smiled.

“Both. Although I haven’t finished the book yet.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Not finish the book?”

“Dracula-”

“I was bored." He waved his hands on the air, dismissing my hard stare. “Please, I did the world a service! Yes, I went after them on a whim but as soon as I drank from one of them… I killed them on principle.”

“Principle? You’ve got that?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He put his hands on top of the island and leaned forward, the light above his head creating shadows on his face. “The first one I bit was a child abuser. It was in his blood so, forgive me if killing him offends you. I broke his neck because I didn’t have a stomach for him. The rest of them… were palate cleansers. Although it didn’t do much good. Incredible how many of them had raped women and beat their wives.”

We stared at each other, frozen in place.

All my anger from before vanished and I had to struggle to keep my courtroom face on. In another world, one where there was no law binding me, I would have done the same. Was this the good in him I had been searching, however twisted it was?

The microwave chimed, prompting me to blink and break eye contact.

“I hope you hid at least some of the evidence,” I said, pushing back from the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure how representing a vampire in court for murder would look on my resumé.”

“No need to worry.” He grinned.

I grabbed the heat pad from the microwave, juggling it between my hands to avoid getting burnt until I dropped it to the counter. 

“What about the students in Surrey?”

“Surrey? No, I haven’t been there.” 

I nodded, somewhat relieved. I turned my back on Dracula to conceal my face as I broke the façade. He wasn’t responsible for the murders on Surrey as I suspected but after killing those ‘corporate cunts’, as the cabbie had put so appropriately, he probably went somewhere else to find another palate cleanser. Somebody else was dead because of him but for the life of me I couldn’t find something inside me to care enough. He had indeed done the world a service. 

I rounded the island, past the Count so I could reach the pantry. From there I took popcorn and a bar of chocolate I had hidden, from myself, behind a set of spices. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time I moved and I fought the urge to steal a glance of his face to try figure out what was on his mind. 

“I’m surprised you made an appearance,” I said in the unnerving silence. 

“Are you, really?”

“Yes.” Hugging the popcorn and chocolate to my chest, I moved past him, congratulating myself for not looking at him. “No, actually. I was fairly positive you would come looking for me again, much to my dismay.” I chuckled. “One would think what happened at the museum would encourage you.”

My back burnt with the weight of his gaze. I started tearing the popcorn package frantically, making as much noise as possible to distract me. It was almost working but after I put the popcorn inside the microwave and closed it, I saw his reflection on the microwave mirrored door, moving towards me. 

“It’s not very nice to sneak up on people,” I said, holding my ground.

He met my eyes through the reflection. 

“I’m not nice.”

He had a reflection. I blinked, turning at once to face him. He was directly behind me, less than an arm’s length.

“You can be.”

“Do you want me to be nice?”

“No. It makes it harder to hate you.”

He smiled. 

“I believed that for a second, really did. Especially when I found out that you had been asking our dear friend Renfield about me.”

I gulped.

“He wasn’t very forthcoming, if that makes you feel better,” I said and he chuckled but when his face grew serious again, I wondered if he forced that laugh. “Is that why you disappeared? Because Renfield gossiped about me to you?”

“Amongst other things,” he acquiesced, stepping back and supporting his body on the island much like I had done on the counter. 

By his evasive answer, there was more to it but if he didn’t want to tell me it was fine. He had his secrets and I had mine.

“What do you know, boys really do gossip as much ladies do.”

He gave me a lopsided smile, one I judged was genuine, unlike his chuckle before. The microwave beeped again and I inhaled the delicious scent of done popcorn. I retrieved the popcorn with the tips of my fingers. I placed it briefly on the counter and then offered the heating pad to Count Dracula.

“Take this for me, will you?” I said and he did. I grabbed a glass of juice for me and then the popcorn and chocolate. “Come on. We’re watching a film.”

Count Dracula followed me into the living room. As I settled myself on the sofa, he gave me the heat pad and then occupied himself with analysing my library. Library was a kind word. It would take up the entire wall behind the telly if the fireplace had not been there. I wouldn’t say it was an impressive collection to a connoisseur but it was my collection and I had love for every single book in it, even the ones I didn’t like very much. Count Dracula had his hands laced behind his back and his head tilted as he admired it. I stopped myself from turning the telly on when I heard him whispering the titles to himself.

“Oh, would you look at that ?” He stepped forward and reached for the second to last row of books closest to the ceiling. I usually had to climb on the armchair to reach that far up but all he did was extend his arm up and pluck a book from up there. He turned around, showing me the gold cover with white and red lettering between his hands. “A vampire book?”

Of course he would find that. At least I should be thankful he didn’t find Story of O or Venus in Furs. If he had and then decided to flip through the pages, I would be doomed.

“Be very careful with that,” I warned. “It’s first edition and it was a gift. It’s sort of a classic.”

“Really?” he grinned, tipping his head up to the row from where he retrieved it from. “Are all of those classics?”

“Anne Rice might say so but the rest of the world wouldn’t,” I scoffed. He looked at me. “She thinks very highly of herself.”

“We would probably get along wonderfully,” he smirked. “Perhaps I should pay her a visit to give her real inspiration.”

“She’s an old woman now and would die of excitement if you actually visited her,” I laughed. “There’s a film for this one,” I pointed at the book in his hands. There was gleam in his dark eyes. “Do you want to watch it?”

“You’ve seen it already,” he said as he placed the book on the shelf. 

“Yes but I can’t deny myself the irony of watching a vampire film with a real vampire,” I said, grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV. “We’ll watch this one and then you can choose the next one.”

I gazed up at him, waiting for an answer. He traced his tongue inside his lower lip, giving my body all sorts of ideas my brain was not agreeable with. My hand tightened around the remote. Count Dracula took off his blazer and threw it on the armchair beneath the window. I almost asked him if all his shirts were missing buttons because the top ones were undone like the last time I’d seen him but then he started undoing his belt. Popcorn spilled on my lap.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I exclaimed.

“Getting comfortable,” he replied with a frown, like I was ridiculous for asking. He rolled the belt around his fingers and then placed it neatly on top of the fireplace. “Like you are,” he gestured at me.

I was sunken back on the sofa between pillows and cushions, with my feet on the coffee table and popcorn all over my nightie. Technically speaking, I was indeed comfortable, especially because of the heating pad on my lower abdomen relieving menstrual cramps. I was less comfortable with Dracula undressing in front of me while my body was working against me in every way possible.

“Fine,” I said between gritted teeth. My eyes widened as he started moving towards me. “W-wait, no, no, no, you’re sitting over there.”

His smirk widened into a full grin as he sat by my side, letting out an exaggerated breath, he kicked off his shoes and stretched himself in the same position as me. 

“What happened to personal space?”

“I thought we’d gone past that already,” he raised his thick eyebrows. 

I clenched my jaw. His gaze fell on my neck. All he would need to do was lean to sink his teeth in me, if he wanted. His lips parted and I was reminded of their softness when he had kissed me.

“Stop it,” I all but whispered. 

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, eyes fixated on my neck.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” I started picking off popcorn from my lap, hoping that would show him that he wasn’t affecting me. “Let’s just watch the film.”

I endured his stare as I clicked on the remote to bring up Netflix and started searching the catalogue for Interview with the Vampire. He decided to focus on the telly once Louis started talking to Daniel. As the film went on, he laughed with Lestat and cursed at Louis constantly for his sentiment. More than once, Count Dracula was literally at the edge of his seat. He nodded approvingly at Claudia at times and at Lestat’s flare for the dramatics, making his critiques here and there about how Anne Rice had gotten it right or wrong.

“That’s Haydn,” Dracula said, eyes glued to the screen as a corpse-like Lestat played the piano and Louis and Claudia watched in horror.

“Good ear,” I commented. “Not that I’m an expert but it took me a few google searches to find out where this piece was from.”

“Good appetite,” he countered without looking at me, raising his forefinger.

I paused the film and he turned to me with an indignant look on his face.

“You ate Haydn?”

He grimaced.

“Ate is a poor term.”

“You did!” I accused, mouth falling open. “Who else?”

“I didn’t kill Haydn, that would be outrageous. I would have deprived the world of Mozart and Beethoven. I just stole a few sips to understand his genius. Chopin, however, I did kill. He was a prick, and so was Mozart. Bach, too, was unbearable but I didn’t get the chance to off him,” he shrugged. “Paganini was a riot, though. I tried turning him but he was committed already to a long time friend, you could say.”

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t know where to start but him saying that about Paganini, very subtly, confirmed people’s suspicion at the time that the man had made a pact with the Devil to have been that good. Finding myself unable to form another coherent thought faced with that, I simply pressed play again.

The film was doing a fantastic job of keeping the Count’s attention and I started relaxing because I didn’t have to be on guard, even if he was laying by my side. That is, until we reached the scene on a theatre where Armand drinks from a woman on stage in front of unsuspecting humans. My heart had begun hammering inside my chest as soon as Louis and Claudia stepped inside the theatre because I knew what was coming. 

Though I kept my eyes on the screen, I was suddenly hyper aware of how close I was to Count Dracula. An entire side of my body touched his, down to where my leg ended. Had I grown that comfortable and not noticed it? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Count Dracula swiveling his head to stare at me. 

“You’re missing the film,” I told him, jamming popcorn in my mouth to keep myself busy.

“Your pulse is more interesting right now,” his words tickled my shoulder. 

I snuck a glance at him. His eyes were still bottomless pools of black. The heat in his eyes was just as worrying if his eyes had been red.

“Don’t,” I warned.

The human girl was on stage now, screaming and begging for mercy. Soft, cold lips touched my shoulder and I swallowed dryly. Another kiss marked his path up.  I forgot how to move, caught in the rapture of his touch. I could have at least this. Nevermind that I was being touched by the man who meant to steal my life. My chest heaved as his kisses became sloppier, less sweet. My entire body shuddered in anticipation as a kiss landed on the curve of my neck. 

“I--”

A hand delved into my hair with a demanding tug and I shut up. The popcorn bag crumpled between my hands. Armand was on stage with the woman, hugging her and providing comfort before her death.

“Say it,” his lips brushed my ear.

“I won’t.”

His lips brushed my scar and I released a shaky breath. His mouth descended on my neck and a cry tore out of me upon feeling him sucking on my skin. Another hand laid on my chest, creeping slowly towards the shoulder strap of my nightie. I closed my eyes, letting myself be consumed by pleasure and forgetting every reason why we shouldn’t do this.

“Be mine,” his words were muffled as he continued his assault on my neck.

Sharp teeth grazed my skin. 

This couldn’t happen, not if I wanted to live. The minute he bit me he would know about my plan. I had to summon every ounce of control on my body to resist the sensuous ripple of pleasure coursing my body. I dodged his hands and shot up to my feet. Dracula caught himself on his elbow before he fell between the cushions. His eyes were still every bit as dark as before but his mass of hair was tousled, as mine probably was.

“I think--” I took a breath. “I think you should leave.”

He sat up and I noticed that another button on his shirt had come undone, revealing more of his chest than I had seen before. I didn’t dare look any lower. I almost cried in frustration. My body demanded him despite the fact that giving myself to him meant danger.

“I want to finish watching the film,” he said, gazing up at me as he buttoned his shirt again.

“I’m sure you’ve got Netflix at your place.”

“I do but I don’t have the pleasure of your company there.”

“Dracula--”

“I’ll behave if you do,” he put his legs on the coffee table again but I didn’t fall for it. No way I was looking below his waistline. “ Promise .”

Would I make it if I ran upstairs to my room? But what use would it be if he could simply climb through my window? I wasn’t ten years old anymore to run away from my fears, hoping they would disappear if I didn’t acknowledge them. Then again, Dracula wasn’t the monster under my bed. He was more likely to be the one on top of it. Jesus, focus! Mind over matter, come on. Up until that point he was being good company. If he was toying with my self control or not, I wasn’t sure. Besides, I couldn’t push the man away any time he made me nervous. I needed to lead him on until Zoe and I found a breach.

“I’ll hold you to that promise. You stay there,” I pointed a finger at him. “I’ll sit over there.”

Grabbing the remote and the bar of chocolate, I tiptoed my way between the remains of my popcorn and curled myself up on the armchair. I started unpacking the chocolate, doing my best to keep my eyes on the telly. Louis and Claudia were now below the theatre, in Armand’s chambers.

Feeling the Count’s gaze on me, I said, “Are you watching the bloody film or not? Because I think I would rather watch something else now.”

After I started chomping at the chocolate bar like there was no tomorrow, Dracula paid attention to the telly. I managed to breathe normally again once he seemed to be engrossed by the film and made conversation about what was going on, like we had been doing before. He celebrated Louis’ revenge by clapping at him and I laughed at the joy on his face as Lestat popped up from the backseat of Daniel’s car and bit him. I mouthed the words to Sympathy for the Devil as the credits rolled and Dracula stayed with his eyes glued to the screen.

“I must talk to this Anne Rice woman,” he muttered.

I chuckled.

“Leave her alone. She hasn’t completed the series yet and I need to know how much dumber Lestat can get in the next book.”

“He’s not dumb,” Dracula said, frowning at me.

I chuckled again. God, he’d grown attached to him.

“You haven’t read the books yet. You might loathe him as much as you did Louis if you read them.”

He groaned.

“Let’s watch another one.”

“Another vampire film?”

“Yes.”

“Narcissist,” I accused and he smiled. 

After searching through the Netflix catalogue, I found a vampire film that didn’t seem so ridiculous called Byzantium. It seemed like a better alternative than Lost Boys or Fright Night. I could just imagine his outrage at Twilight so I spared him of that, too. Twenty minutes later, however, Dracula was rolling his eyes at the TV and asking for the remote. He chose Silence of the Lambs and I thanked the heavens for it. I wouldn’t be able to sit through another sexy movie with him.

“He’s a great actor,” I commented as Dr Lecter and Clarice talked through the glass prison. 

“How many times have you watched it? You quoted that to me before, word for word of what he just said.”

I shrugged. 

“An unhealthy amount of times,” I admitted. He looked at me. “It won four Oscars, c’mon. It’s fantastic.”

I refused to tell him the reason I loved it so much was because of Hannibal Lecter. The Oscars excuse was better. We didn’t say much after that, that’s how fascinated Dracula was. Afterwards, he chose Crimson Peak, at last, one I hadn’t seen. Resting my head on the armchair and using Dracula’s blazer as a blanket, I closed my eyes for a brief moment when Edith met Thomas. 

Sleep’s warm embrace had me floating and I sighed happily. Something hard and cold pressed at my cheek, making my eyes flutter open. Dracula’s face hovered above mine. I wasn’t floating, if his arms around me and his hard chest on my cheek meant anything. My heart hurt like someone had squeezed it.

“I’m just putting you to bed,” he said in a low voice, sparing me a glance.

I was too tired to argue with him and simply rested my head on his chest again.

“You’re cold,” I complained, holding onto his blazer.

“I’m sorry.” 

The harsh lights of the telly made me squint at it with drowsy eyes. Rachel Weisz was on the screen now and I frowned, trying to remember if she appeared in Crimson Peak. Had he started another movie?

“Did the sleep- huh.” I furrowed my brows and tried again, “did I the movie- no,” I sighed.

Hearing his laugh inside his chest made me smile sleepily. 

“You slept little more than 2 hours,” he replied, maneuvering me out of the living room.

“You understood,” a yawn, “what I said,” I giggled and patted his chest. “Well done.”

He flashed me an amused smile before looking ahead again. I wrapped my arms around him when he started going up the stairs, afraid that I would fall. I tried listening to his heartbeat - something I enjoyed doing to people whenever I had chance - but there was no sound coming from his chest. Oddly, that was just as comforting as not hearing soft thump-thumps. But maybe that was just my sleep-addled brain.

“Tell me what happens in Croms- ah, whatever, in the film.” I frowned, mad at how stupid I sounded when I was sleepy. 

He laughed again.

“A lot.”

I rolled my eyes before surrendering to my heavy eyelids and closing them. 

“Be nice, tell me,” I mumbled.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be nice.”

“Right now, I do.”

He started telling me but the rumble of his voice coming from inside his chest, so close to my ear, made me drift back to sleep again. I woke up when he was laying me down on my bed. The bedside lamp made me squint. He set me in the very middle of the bed and perched next to me. I rolled on my side to face him and fluffed the pillow below my head, hiding my face from the light.

“So Edith and Thomas got married, huh?” I asked.

“You got nothing of what I just told you.”

“Not a word." I shook my head lightly.

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen on my face and his fingers hovered over me for a moment before caressing my temple.

“You were married,” I blurted. He dropped his hand and frowned. “When you were human. Weren’t you?”

“What does it matter?” He went to get up but I grabbed his wrist.

He glared at my hand.

“It was just a question,” I told him. “Don’t be mad. We bicker all the time, already.” I raised my eyebrows at him. His gaze fell on mine, indecipherable. “We don’t have to talk about her. Forget I said it.”

For a second I thought he would storm off. Dracula looked out the window, staring into the night. I waited for him to say something, waited until sleep started creeping again. My fingers slid down his wrist, resting on the back of his hand. 

“She was nothing like you.”

My eyes fluttered open. He was still staring into the dark. I had to choose my words carefully if I wanted him to keep talking. 

“How was she like?”

“Fragile and fearful of… everything. Deeply religious and foolish, at times. She smiled whenever she looked at me, even when I had done horrible things. In her mind, all that I did was in the name of God. There was this one time when I came from battle and I had blood on my face and armour-" he stopped, shoulders sloping and then stiffening "-she kissed me.”

“She wasn’t that fragile, then.”

He scoffed.

“I suppose not,” he conceded.

“Did you love her?”

“More than I thought I was capable.”

I had a feeling I knew the answer to my next question but asked it anyway.

“What happened to her?”

Finally, he turned his head to look at me. For the first time I saw a semblance of real emotion in his eyes and it broke my heart.

“I happened to her.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and took a breath to ask more but he stood up, his hand grazing mine briefly. I watched as he closed the curtains and then picked up the duvet at the bottom of my bed, unfurling it on top of me. I retrieved his blazer from beneath the covers and handed it to him. When he met my eyes again, his expression was devoid of all emotion. His hand reached behind me and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. I couldn’t make out his face anymore.

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” I whispered but I wasn’t sure if he was still in the room to hear me..

.

Taglist: @festering-queen @feralstare @rheabalaur @girlonfireice @dreamer2381 @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @thorin-smokin-shield​ @deborahlazaroff​ @apocalypsenowish​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ if I forgot to tag anyone, please let me know

[rataltouille]

HOUSE PLANTS, UPDATE 1

this has been long overdue. typical, really. [novel intro found here.]

the story is currently eight chapters in but it's also a very strange eight chapters. i’m not really happy with half of these words because they're unnecessary ™ and dull ™ and serve no purpose whatsoever ™. i’m simply choosing to ignore that i need to cut them out. :’] here’s a note i made that perfectly captures my feelings so far:

before we go into the excerpts, i want to talk a bit about how house plants is structured because the format is whack. each chapter ranges from 3000-4000 words. A few vignettes, around 500 words, are sprinkled between these chapters. the chapters narrate events from the fictive past, while the vignettes are snippets into the fictive present [the point from where lilith is retelling the story]. additionally, an important plot thread is told entirely in the form of an epistolary [through letters] and so there's a bit more of confusion to navigate through. fun times.

and now for the excerpts. they're from the first three chapters and are very weird out of context. i think that each update will feature excerpts from three consequent chapters, but that may change as we get closer to spoiler land.

excerpts:

chapter one

the novel kicks off with an odd vignette featuring an unhinged willow and an innocent lilith. chronologically, this is set way back, the earliest scene ever, around when lilith was ten or eleven. it’s meant to establish a sense of unease and to thread the unsettling undertone i’m going for. it's also major foreshadowing but we don't talk about that here. i’m not giving away much because there's not many excerpts to scrape out from a dialogue-heavy vignette like this.

”Here, let me help, mother.”

I tried guiding your palms to the rim of the pot, but you moved them away. From the brief touch, my fingers came away with moisture. On second glance, your knuckles were bathed in sweat. Your veins pulsed and your hands shivered. You gave me a wide-eyed glance, dumped the plant atop the brown, and stood up. You wiped the dirt away on your jeans. From below, with sunlight teetering over your golden hair, you were a personification of God. But were you, really? Does God fear their children? Does God volunteer to garden? I didn't know what God truly meant. I don't now either. But I’m certain it wasn't you.

”Sorry, Lilith. My pollen allergy is acting up.”

It's stunning how it ran in our blood, lying effortlessly.

chapter two

immediately after this we’re pulled off into the linear non-vignette chapter thing, aka the second chapter. [god what am i doing with this structure]. it starts with a soft little reminiscent bit about juniper?? i’m exploiting the tense a lot but it's been fun. (:

The first time she smiled at me is knit into me, like I’m not myself without it. I’m not. She breathed change and I ran with it. Whenever she gazed at me, with sunset dripping behind her head, or with rain clouds dotting her hairline, she’d smile. It was the sound of a ukulele in a winter draft, the kiss of dew on my favourite hemlock, the fond mythical curl of my father’s arms around me. There’s a phantom of love everywhere, and I almost caught it sneaking around her. Even now, Juniper dozes so soundly; she’s replaced everything I wanted you to be and everything you never were. You’d know, of course. You always have.

willow is officially introduced soon after, and so is one of the major plot threads, i.e. lilith’s correspondence with her dad. this excerpt is to show how the family feel about each other became, like i mentioned, there’s a lot of tea to be split here. not gonna lie, this paragraph reads as kinds pure.

You— the town called you Wistful Willow, but they did so behind your back and on postcards to neighbours— had a special lilt in your tone every time you spoke his name. ”Isac,” your lips would curl, almost a smile, and I’d smile back. You loved it, the sound of his name. It had become a ritual for us, pouring our sorrow and joy and unrest and comfort into those two syllables. A fallback plan, I suppose; there was always father to rely on amidst chaos.

willow is constantly at home and she’s probably not seen the outside world in a million years. she either cooks, reads, sits in a bathtub, or does everything at the same time. not odd at all.

The bathroom door, thick oak painted ivory, was right across where I stood. The house was large and empty, and I had three places— study, bedroom, garden— to myself. I lived only with you, so it was mostly quiet, except on Saturdays when we got father’s mail and watched TV together. That Saturday we had seen an old movie from the 70s, a random romance that neither of us cared for, but watched out of duty.

The door was shut. From it came the sound of pages rustling, not unlike a delicate breeze playing with the fronds of croton plants. I knocked softly.

”Come in, ” you said, a splash of water punctuating your voice.

I entered to find you half-immersed in the bathtub, one hand holding a novel, the other limp across the rim. There lingered the scent of soapy water, rose-tinted, and all over the tiled walls was the water’s reflection, a glow of opulence. You were half-naked, your garments drifting like algae. Your habit of reading in the bathtub had been increasing lately. You looked at me, questioning.

there’s also the introduction of lilith’s best friends marcy and faun, where they lay down in the middle of a field after a tiring cricket match and banter all through the evening. i’m really enjoying the trio’s friendship; it's both fun to write and they’re just so pure.

”If you insult Henry one more time, Marce...”

”He actually named the butterfly.” Her eyes were wide and amused; she dug up mud with her nails and flicked it upwards, glanced at me. ”Lilith. He named his fucking butterfly.”

”Faun, it's dead. You keep it in a box, ” I said.

”The dead don't magically lose their names, ” he countered.

Our laughter drafted into town. I don't think it heard.

chapter three

this is kind of uneventful but it sets up some major subplots. i might push it to later in the book, but i’m happy with where it it's right now. lilith randomly keeps reminiscing throughout so that’s convenient. this excerpt is about willow and thus is unreliable as hell. willow ain't good and lilith ain't 100% sincere narrating this right now, so don't let its pureness fool you.

People in town, I’d hear, found you odd and unsociable, cold and distant. I always scoffed when they told me so. They only knew the Willow who never attended community gatherings, who’d gaze out absentmindedly from the porch, who’d more so see than observe, hear than listen. They didn't know the Willow who was my mother, who hated loud noises, who loved her novels with a passion, who spoke so serenely— and rarely— that you hung onto her every word. Only I saw this side of you, and that suited me just fine.

there’s a scene where lilith [accidentally] spies on marcy and another guy. their conversation makes lilith tangent off in her head.

Marcy spoke detachedly, like she was speaking through a filter of not caring. I worried for her and her charade. It didn't help that scented letters confessing love often found their way to her locker, or that roses were shoved in her face as if her admirers loved her so much that they forgot she was allergic to them. Idolisation and adoration took extreme forms; she was stalked for a month and sent death threats. She would put on a disguise of indifference and seem unbothered, but at night she’d soak her pillow and lose sleep, then inform us the next day about her insomnia so casually that we almost forgot how easily she hurt.

i’m not going to lie, the last line in this excerpt was just me indulging myself with the knowledge of the climax. i need to stop slipping in random tone changes like this lol.

My walk home finished quick, though my feet expressed exhaustion. I was right on time, too; you were sitting by your coffee table, glasses crooked upon your nose, a new novel— this one a bright red sky, gold print, gauzy— resting beside warm coffee. You barely smiled, but that was because you were daydreaming. I was familiar with every tell: your eyes would tilt towards my forehead, your lips would stretch, your fingers would drum on whatever you were holding. I’d always let you be when you drowned into your head. Did you ever notice that, Mother? Have you ventured out of your mind to witness my efforts?

and finally some food for thought. yes, that pun was intended. i’ll see myself out.

”Dinner’s ready, dear,” you called. I groaned out my fatigue and left my room, hoping to abandon my unflattering thoughts. In the kitchen, I helped you set the table. Soon we were both sipping hot carrot soup with a side of breadsticks. You were already invested in the novel. I held the spoon, the heat barely registering, and watched you drift through fiction and reality like a will o’ the wisp. Maybe I could read for escapism, too. It would do me good.

that’s all for today! thanks for reading so far; support is, as always, appreciated. hope you liked these excerpts ✨

[lnarizakis]

critical thinking | a. keiji

masterlist | cards against humanity x haikyuu!!

pairing: akaashi keiji x gen!reader

foreword: this is around 2k words and honestly I’m kinda proud of myself like i think this is the longest fic I’ve written on here!! I hope you guys enjoy hehe

look out for: no warnings!

PREFACE. The setting: Akaashi Keiji and (L/N) (Y/N), with a painfully obvious crush on the former, are studying in the library. It’s one of the only days where the setter’s not practicing hard for nationals after school. They’re not really aware of the time, but it’s probably around 4:30. The sun’s shining brightly through the window, hitting all the right spots on Keiji’s face perfectly. He’s such a gentleman for choosing to sit facing the sun. It’s awfully quiet in the surrounding air, but between the two of them hushed whispers fill the atmosphere. From afar, it could be assumed that they’re having a heated discussion about the literature homework in front of them, debating the true meaning behind the significance of the light in the character’s eyes, but they’re discussing something a little unrelated. Well, perhaps the concept of “true love” could have been branched out from how (Y/N) suggested that the light in the character’s eyes could have been lit up because of the love he had for the deuteragonist, so in a way they’re still discussing the literature homework. But, no. Not really. I mean:

“Wait, so you don’t believe in true love? Like, the kind where you look into someone’s eyes for the first time and think— ‘Wow. I’m in love with them,” blurted out (Y/N) in a hushed whisper, absolutely exasperated with the fact that Keiji outrightedly stated that he does not believe in true love. Well, as far as (Y/N) interpreted the words “I really don’t think there’s such thing as love at first sight” goes, Keiji does not believe in true love.

“No, you’re getting the two mixed up. The kind you’re thinking of is love at first sight, as I’ve previously mentioned. True love is something else. True love is…” Keiji thought for a minute. He stayed silent, wondering what true love really is. He tapped his fingers on one hand, and played with his pen with the other. The notebook underneath both remained blank.

“True love is critical thinking.”

(Y/N) sputtered out, “You thought for a good one minute, and all you could think of what true love is is critical thinking?! You weren’t critically thinking there, Akaashi-san.” Keiji chuckled. That was funny. He smirked, as he let his eyes bring themselves down towards his still-blank notebook.

“We should get back to work, (L/N)-san. We’re here in the library for a reason,” Keiji stated, as a matter-of-fact. Dejectedly, (Y/N) muttered out that he’s right, and they get back to work. They agreed to disagree with their previous argument, about the significance of the light behind the main character’s eyes, and decide to write their own answer in their notebook.

After a good fifteen minutes, (Y/N) let out a sigh as they dropped their pen onto the table. They stretched out their arms, cramped from being used to write several paragraphs of pure BS-ing. Impulsively, they suggested, “You think true love is critical thinking, huh? Is there any way I can show you that it’s not all that?”

Keiji thought for a couple seconds, then pointed his pen towards (Y/N).

“See? I had to think for a minute if you were asking me out on a date. Critical thinking at its finest.” Oh, how he loved to tease (Y/N). They playfully rolled their eyes. “But alright. I’m game. Convince me, with everything you can, that true love isn’t all critical thinking.”

ONE. The setting: Akaashi was in his room, staring at his closet. It’s a neatly done closet, with all of his clothes sorted by color. He had just come out of his shower, and he had just finished drying off. His hair was still a little wet, but since it’s several hours before his first date with (Y/N), it’ll dry beforehand. He just needed to find an outfit. He had planned on doing so last night, but extended volleyball practice called and asked for all his energy to be spent. Bokuto just had to get those cross spikes in before nationals. He couldn’t forget, like last time. That was… a little embarrassing, to say the least.

He pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans along with a gray sweater that he hadn’t worn since his first year in high school, but it seemed to him that his shoulders have gotten a little too broad to fit loosely into that sweater. Looks like it won’t do; he might feel a little uncomfortable with the snug fit, and (Y/N) might feel a little odd with his constant shuffling, attempting to stay comfortable throughout the date. Back to the closet those two went.

Oh my. Black joggers and a hooded sweatshirt. Absolutely not. It was too casual. Keiji imagined himself wearing that while (Y/N) was wearing the nicest thing in their closet (well, perhaps not the nicest thing, but something still pretty first-date nice).

Keiji found a pair of looser jeans— but what to pair them with? He found a collared shirt and a lighter-colored sweater to go on top. In the depths of his closet he also found an overcoat, as well as an expensive belt the third-years of his volleyball team bought him for his birthday. He would definitely look nice with this. But wait— what were they going to do again? Just a simple outing at the cafe, right? This outfit was definitely too fancy for something like this. He couldn’t simply wear something like this at a cafe like that. Nope. Definitely not. Back to the closet the whole outfit went.

He gave up. He decided to go with the first outfit, the skinny jeans and the sweater. He was going to have a collared button-down underneath. He thought this would be best. Definitely. No doubt about it.

—

Walking towards the cafe, Keiji felt more uncomfortable by the minute. He felt his pants were too tight, or his collar kept unfolding itself every time he moved his shoulders. He felt like a clown in a circus; with everyone staring at him as he walked by different people on the sidewalk.

When he opened the door, he found (Y/N) sitting at a table by themself. They hadn’t ordered anything yet, but they were on their phone. Oh gosh, they’ve been waiting for him. It was all because he spent too long finding an outfit to wear. He really shouldn’t have put so much thought into that outfit. It was so unnecessary to think that much!

“Hey, you.” It was (Y/N). They stood up from where they were sitting, and beckoned Keiji to come closer, as he was currently blocking the entrance. He followed the little hand wave, and profusely apologized for being late, to which (Y/N) replied that it was completely fine; they actually had just arrived.

“You look nice.” (Y/N) broke the silence once more. They scanned Keiji up and down, smiling softly.

TWO. The setting: The sun’s setting and the sky’s a really pretty purple and pink. They’re walking home after what seemed like their fourth or fifth date. They weren’t really sure themselves, since (Y/N) keeps spontaneously asking them out on several dates. So maybe it was even the sixth. But who was he to judge, because right at this moment he stood underneath a street lamp that shone a bright yellow light with the love of his life. He was so proud to call them his. What he wasn’t so proud of, however, is how they haven’t had one, single kiss yet. That’s a little embarrassing. However, right here, seemed like the best opportunity to share his first kiss with (Y/N).

Uh-oh. How was he supposed to kiss them? Does he… place a hand on their shoulder? Or does it go on their waist, as he leans in and softly kisses them? No, that didn’t seem right. Maybe he places that hand behind the neck and brings them closer to him? No, that didn’t sound right either. Where does his other hand go? Does he keep it hidden in the pocket of his coat, or does he hold their hand? You know, for support? Or maybe he uses both hands to hold them by the waist. That seemed like the best option.

But wait— how does he… lean in and kiss them? Does he do it slowly? Just quickly give them a little peck on the lips and look away like a tsundere? Oh gosh, his lips were chapped; maybe he shouldn’t kiss them after all—

He’s given no time to think any more before (Y/N) leans towards him and places their lips against his. The kiss was a little forceful, and he felt their teeth, but it was still nonetheless wonderful. Once they pulled away, Keiji softly placed the tips of his fingers over his lips, ghosting the touch of what he had just felt.

“You just… kissed me,” he stated.

They smiled a toothy grin. “I did. You were taking too long; you were staring at me like a dead fish. Critical thinking, aren’tcha? It doesn’t get you anywhere,” (Y/N) taunted.

THREE. The setting: (Y/N) and Keiji stood outside the door to the gym, hand in hand. It was some time after practice had ended. The former felt Keiji’s hand getting clammy and sweaty, a result of keeping their relationship hidden for so long. Currently, they were about to announce to Bokuto Koutarou, proud captain and ace of their volleyball team, also being Keiji's best friend and closest confidant, that they were dating.

What was he to say? Akaashi was to word it in the most precise way, or else (Y/N) would get the wrong idea about what they meant to him, and their relationship might be extremely damaged. Or Bokuto might think that Akaashi’s setting volleyball secondary on his list of priorities, which is extremely worrying as part of the starting line-up for nationals.

Right on cue, the doors to the gym swung open. It was Bokuto. His skin glistened with sweat, a product of his hard work. He gave a long sigh, exclaiming his thanks for the cold air outside. His eyes were closed. Bokuto opened his eyes to see his junior and someone else that he had never seen before holding hands. Akaashi looked worried, to which Bokuto expressed his concern with an “Oya? Akaashi, what’s the matter?”

“Hi, Bokuto-san. My name is (L/N) (Y/N), and Akaashi and I are dating. We just wanted to tell you that.” (Y/N) blurted out, and Akaashi felt his cheeks grow slightly warm because of the sudden outburst of their confession. To Akaashi’s surprise, Bokuto laughed heartily. The ace clasped a sweaty hand on the setter’s shoulder.

“Oh! I’m proud of you, Akaashi. You managed to get ‘em! You’ve been crushing on them since forever.”

FOUR. The setting: It’s late at night. Akaashi’s older now; he’s a little more experienced with all of this “dating stuff.” He’s getting the hang of it— well, he should be, since there’s a little black velvet box sitting in the drawer of his nightstand in his bedroom. Akaashi has his own little apartment now, and (Y/N) has their own. They haven’t moved in together yet. Akaashi’s ready to propose to them. He’s got the best plan ever. He knows exactly what to do. There’s nothing that can disrupt the plan. First, he’s going to walk over to (Y/N)’s apartment, and they’re going to spend the whole day together, out and about. He’s then going to treat them to a nice dinner, which once they’re done, he’s going to present to them the ring. It’s going to be beautiful and meaningful. Memorable, even. Or, well, it was going to be beautiful and meaningful.

“You can’t sleep?”

“No… I had a nightmare that you left me.”

“Okay, come over and we can sleep together.”

Akaashi hung up the phone. Around ten minutes later, he heard a knock at his apartment door, and there he saw (Y/N), cold and out of breath. He let them in, and he led them into his bedroom.

—

And so we have it: Akaashi and (Y/N) were lying side-by-side on his bed, neither of them being able to go to sleep. The former setter turned to (Y/N) and they replicated his actions. He stared into their eyes.

“You know I love you, right? I could never leave you,” Ever the stoic boyfriend. (Y/N) still smiled softly, though, knowing he meant every word he said. Despite his cold exterior, his eyes radiate warmth.

“I know. I love you too,” they whispered.

“I want to marry you,” Akaashi accidentally blurted out. His eyes widened, and so did (Y/N)’s. Oh God, did he really just say that? Did he really mean it? Of course he meant it, what was he thinking?

Still in shock, (Y/N) asked, “Wait, do you really mean it?”

“I just… said that, right?” Akaashi let their question slip in and out of his ear.

“Yes. To both questions.”

Getting out of bed, Akaashi lowered his voice as he asked himself as well as (Y/N), “You’re serious, right? This is super spontaneous…” He reached for the closed drawer of his nightstand, and opened it up. He grabbed the black velvet box and opened it. Behind him, (Y/N) was sitting up in bed, wondering what he was doing.

And there he was, inching his way closer to (Y/N), holding out their engagement ring, to which they held out their ring finger. He slowly eased the ring onto their finger, face flushed with warmth and love while doing so. He looked up into their eyes.

“Looks like I wasn’t critically thinking there. Thank you for teaching me what it means to love from not just the mind, but also from the heart.” (Y/N) playfully slapped him on the arm.

“Keiji, you’re supposed to say that at our marriage, not right now!”

[supernaturalee]

Green and Gold: Part 2 - Gwilym Lee x Reader

Pairings: Widow/Single Father! Gwilym Lee x Reader

Warnings: Some swearing, Mentions of X rated thoughts, and more KAREN

Word Count: 4.4k

Previous Parts: One

Summary: When Gwilym lost his wife two years ago he feared raising his daughter alone in a small coastal New Jersey town would be difficult. In the two years since her death, Gwil and Brianne are finally ready to start moving on. Following the words of a child psychologist, Gwil signs Bri up for cheerleading with the local youth squad, something Gwil knows nothing about. As he is thrust in the world of cheer bows and back handsprings, he will learn it takes a lot more than green and gold uniforms to mend his and his daughter’s hearts. Hopefully through the squad they will find strength, friendship, and possibly a spark of new love for the widow himself.  

Taglist:@the-baby-bookworm​ @ixchel-9275​ @slutforbritdick​ @kurt-nightcrawler​ @radio-hoo-ha​ @imgonnabeyourslave​ @queendeakyy​ @girllety​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @what-wicked-delights​ @drivenbybri​

Author’s Note: It’s almost 2 am EST and I thought to myself, why not post part two. We are getting into meat of the story here, y’all! Again, this update is late, but my writing was hard to come by for a while. So without further ado, he is part 2 of Green & Gold. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments. 

In the four short weeks since Brianne had started cheerleading practice, Gwilym had come to learn three absolute truths. First being that cheer made Bri happier than Gwil had ever hoped. In the time since that first practice, he had seen her smile more than he had seen since before Angela had passed away. Her eyes lit up now whenever she spoke about how the routine was coming along or how she was learning all of these different things. Such as stunts or new tumbling passages or jumps that had odd names like toe touches, herkies, and pikes. While Gwilym cooked dinner or checked over her homework, he could always hear her routine music coming from the stereo in the living room. Once he got her to wash her hands and then settled at the table. It would become Gwilym’s inquiry into the world of cheerleading and Brianne was more than happy to oblige his many questions. 

Bri had taken to cheering like a fish takes to water. It was in her blood, Angela’s cheerleading history flowing through Brianne’s veins now. It made Gwil so happy. She spent three nights a week on the mat now and Saturday during the day at either the home field or away fields cheering on the young football players. The football team’s age coincided with the cheerleaders of Bri's team’s ages. Or the Mustang Pee Wees as Gwil had learned. He had finally found out the difference between the game cheers and the competition cheer as Bri had once told him. He usually sat in the game bleachers trying to decipher how American football was more popular than actual football. Or as Y/N lovingly reminded him every time he complained, “It’s soccer here.” she would say with a smile. At first he thought it was kind of annoying but now anytime she reminded him, he found it endearing. The way her lips curled up in a smile as she said it, he found himself mesmerized by it. 

When Brianne wasn’t cheering and once her homework was done, she could be found hanging out with her new friends Jasmine, Joey, and Selma. The carpool Y/N had promised had been fruitful for Brianne and Gwilym on the friendship front. They had been the type of cheer parents Gwilym had hoped for and luckily he got in with them instead of the others. That was the second absolute truth he learned that, cheer parents were absolutely bonkers bananas insane. Karen Diguimi was just the tip of the massive iceberg that was the “Stepford Stangs” as Joe lovingly coined them. Gwil had now become a member of the mailing list. A dreaded place to be that he wouldn’t have agreed to had he known what a nightmare it truly was. 

He had now started to receive daily emails with updates on fundraising and how close they were to the nice buses. Game schedules, rule changes, and low fat recipes to keep your little cheerleader in proper cheering shape were among the other important articles. Plus little snide comments on the surrounding towns’ teams and how far superior the Mustangs were to them. It was like a tabloid magazine that Gwil now had a daily subscription too.

 Y/N had sent him a long paragraph text about the low carb recipes and how dare the “Stepford Stangs” imply that only certain shaped children could be cheerleaders. ‘It is the middle of October and they are nine and ten years old. WHY DO THEY HAVE TO BE SWIMSUIT READY?! Gwil, you will have to stop me from strangling Karen at the next practice.’ It made Gwilym feel a swell of pride for a moment that he read her text. It caused the return of a certain set of emotions. These feelings that he was feeling were something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Often he would check over the email for that week’s game schedule then file the email away. His new gang of misfit parents would mock the over ridiculous links in the emails or the fact that they received a new one every day. Joe always sent a meme or two about them, while Rami commented on the complete lack of email etiquette. ‘It’s too many emails and too many people hit Reply All instead of reply. It is chaotic!’ Rami had sent in their group chat. ‘I think its nice to keep us informed with the same information that we knew yesterday.’ Lucy had added. Gwil finally being able to put a face to the name as he met Rami’s other half at the first football game of the year. She was blonde, slim, and in a way almost fairy like. Her movements were graceful but she had this hidden strength to her. Rami and Lucy complimented each other well. Rami was a computer engineer, who like Gwil, could do most of his work from home. Lucy, on the other hand, was a certified midwife and a nurse at the local OBGYN. Often traveling between the hospital and the doctor office. Their schedules mostly allow for their twin girls’ busy sports schedules to work. Joe ran an accounting firm but swore he was bad at math. He stated he liked the business but preferred leaving the accounting to his dedicated small team of accountants.

Finally, the third absolute truth that Gwilym Lee knew was that Wednesday nights were now his favorite night of the week. It was the only night parents were allowed to stay for the whole practice. This meant about two hours of watching Bri have the most fun and grow into an even stronger, more beautiful young woman. It also meant getting to spend time with his new friends including Y/N.  Y/N had quickly become Gwil’s confidant in all things cheer related. Any question or need he had, she had the answer and was always there with a smile. It was just another reason why Gwil was now harboring a crush on this woman. He and Bri had not seen her coming. He thought he would scrap by with googled information and keep his head down. He would be quiet and lonely,  knowing just enough to get by. 

Yet there was Y/N with her intelligence, her helping hand, and her kind heart. Bri also loved her and Jasmine. She was treated with so much love, respect, and care by Y/N. Gwil found it hard to keep himself from melting every time he was in her gaze. He felt like a teenage boy with a crush. He had confided in Ben who told him to get back on the horse. However, to Gwil, the horse was a twenty foot tall bear that was very hungry. Angela was still on his mind, in his life, in his heart. He saw her every day in the brown eyes of his daughter. He feared that any new relationship he would start would be doomed to be branded as the rebound relationship for the man with the dead wife. Even if he found someone, they had to pass the most important test in his book, being well loved by the most important person in his life, Brianne. He shook away the heavy thoughts as the red light turned green. He pressed his foot on the gas as he continued the drive to practice. Bri and Jasmine chatting in the back of his car. 

Y/N had asked him to pick Jasmine up from school and drive her to practice. Y/N had a meeting with the college board about one of her students. She would meet them at the cheer gym later. Gwil’s mind couldn’t help but wander to Y/N. He hoped her meeting went well. He knew in just the short few weeks of knowing her that her job meant a tremendous amount to her. Professor Y/L/N had a very nice ring to it. His mind wandering further to dirtier thoughts. If they were ever to be together would she let him play the teacher's pet. His fantasy slowly took form in his head when Bri’s voice snapped him back to reality. 

“Dad?” No answer came from the driver’s seat. “Earth to dad. Father?” She laughed. Gwil pushed all X rated thoughts from his mind and looked to the rear view. 

“Hmm?” He answered, putting on a small smile to show her that he has really been paying attention the whole time. 

“Could Jasmine and Ms. Y/L/N come to dinner with us?” Bri asked sweetly. The two had joined them for dinner every Wednesday night since that first practice. 

“Please Mr. Lee!” Jasmine used the same sweet voice. Gwil rubbed his jaw with his free hand as the two girls started repeating the world please. 

“Please please please please please please please please please please please please please!” Bri and Jasmine begged together. Gwilym laughed, smiling. 

“It is fine with me but we will have to ask your aunt, Jasmine, when we see her.” He said.  Both girls cheered happily as they looked at each other. 

“Of course Mr. Lee!” Jasmine smiled. “Aunt Y/N likes getting dinner with you and Bri.” Jasmine said. Gwil felt his cheeks heat up for a moment. This came as a surprise to him in a way. Sure he knew she cared about their friendship but maybe this meant she also felt something more for him. He quickly pushed this thought away, no it wasn’t a good time for him to get into a new relationship. I’m not ready. His thoughts continued his mantra. 

“Well we like having dinner with both of you as well, dear.” He answered her. Jasmine’s smile grew. She was a wonderful little girl who Gwilym had grown to care for. She didn’t know what she was doing for Brianne, but Gwil did and how it helped her improve immensely. He had known his daughter had tried to hide her sadness from him. It was something she tried to do to prove she was strong like Angela but she didn’t need to. Gwil and her grandparents knew that Brianne had every ounce of Angela’s strength tenfold. 

As he pulled into the parking lot of the cheer gym he saw Y/N’s Jeep had not yet arrived. He also didn’t see Joe’s or Rami’s cars either which meant he would be alone. He would most likely have to face yet another conversation with Karen. Or he could just hide out in his car until his friends arrived. He shook his head for a moment, he had to go inside, he could handle this. As both young girls made their way inside, Gwil followed behind them making sure both safely got in the building. 

He signed both in at the desk where the young man who Gwil had learned was one of the coaches’ sons sat. He gave the teenaged boy a wave before moving to his usual spot in the bleachers. He had settled into the groove of sitting with everyone, Gwil sat on a lower bench due to his height, while Y/N sat on the bleacher bench above him so she could make eye contact easier. Rami would sit above her and then Joe would sit beside her, the four almost making a little diamond of security. His blue eyes looked around the room before he spotted her. 

Karen was talking to some of the other team parents, her eyes scanning the room for him. He dropped his head down trying to hide himself from her.

“Oh Gwilym!” She exclaimed, moving to him. Gwil sat up straight, damn he had been caught. He politely smiled and nodded. Please don’t come over, please don’t come over, please don’t come over… He repeated in his head, it was too little too late. She made her way over to his place of peace and quiet. 

“Hello Mrs. Digumi.” He said politely. Her smile grew. Damn, his British charm. She stood in front of him. 

“Please call me Karen.” She smiled still. “I wanted to ask how everything was going with Brianne. She is quite the little cheerleader. One of the best on the squad. Almost as good as my little McKenna.” 

“Thank you. I will tell her that later. She certainly seems to be enjoying it and that makes me happy.” He said honestly, maybe he was wrong about Karen. 

“You should have her over for a play date with my McKenna. You and I can exchange parenting tips or tips of some other kind.” She batted her heavily mascaraed eyes at him. He gulped softly. 

“I will have to talk to Bri about it and get back to you Mrs. Dig-Karen.” He corrected himself. 

“I am just saying Brianne seems like a very sweet girl and you don’t want her to get in with the wrong crowd before middle school. Popularity is key and my little McKenna is going to be one of the most popular girls in school. Just like I was. If Brianne settles herself with the likes of those children, her social life is over and I don’t want that for her or for you. Popularity is everything.” She said as she sat next to him. No, he wasn’t wrong about Karen.

Wrong crowd? What the hell, they are children not teenagers. He thought to himself before defending the children of his friends. Popularity is everything. What a bunch of bullocks. 

“Jasmine, Joey, and Selma are good kids. They are smart, fun, courteous, kind and they are Bri’s friends. They were the first ones to welcome her with open arms,” He said. Gwil was a bit taken aback that a grown woman would say something like that about ten year olds. If Bri and Jasmine weren’t on the mat about 50 feet away, he would have forgotten his manners and let Karen have it. 

“I don’t appreciate you talking that way about my friends’ children or about your child’s fellow teammates.”   He continued, his tone was serious and sharp. Her eyes went wide as she heard the manner in which he spoke. 

“Oh! I didn’t mean the kids! I meant, um, the parents.” She was quick to backtrack and try to fix her mistake. Her chance with the Welsh man slipping away. “Gwilly, you are new to all of this. I should have specified that I meant that if Brianne settles herself with the likes of the parents of those children, her social life is over. You both deserve so much but you are still so naive, honey.” 

“My name is Gwilym.” He stated. She had called him Gwilly, a nickname that Angela would lovingly call him after a few glasses of wine. How dare this woman even try to put herself in the same realm of love as his wife. 

“I am so sorry honey.” She smiled to try to cover up the large hole she had dug for herself. “Like I was saying to you that first practice those parents you have chosen to bond with don’t understand the mustang way.” It was clear to Gwilym that Karen intended to keep digging. “Especially Y/N, I mean she likes to pretend she was a good cheerleader because she was once a national champion herself. But she was the worst one of that team, I should know, I did date her brother.” Karen said as jealousy slipped between each word. It was clear to her that Gwilym cared more for Y/N than he would ever care for her. “They carried her to the gold medal and she got the recognition for it like everyone else. Even made her brother break up with me, how dare she. That bitch.” That was the final straw for him.  

“I am going to stop you right there, Mrs. Diguimi. I do not want to hear you ever bad mouth my friends or their children. Please understand I am friendly with you because I have to be. You are the team mom and I do not really like having issues with anyone. However, my daughter is the only reason I am here. Y/N, Joe, Lucy and Rami plus their amazing children came as an incredible bonus to all of this. You did not.” He said calmly. “Now please step away from me and know, this is the last conversation we will have that is not about fundraising or cheering information. I do not take kindly to people belittling others or their children for their own personal benefit. Thank you and have a good night.” 

Karen let out a breath of air through her nose, standing up quickly. Moving from the bleachers, staring him down. 

“Oh I understand.” Her voice dripped with sweetly sickening venom. “If you ever change your mind I am right over there with the good parents.” She moved to the other waiting ‘Stepford Stangs’. Gwil let out a long breath as a smile appeared on his lips. God, how good it felt to let her have it and god how he wished Y/N had seen him. She would be so proud once he told her. It was the sudden sound of two voices that drew him away from his fantasy. 

“I see you are on the list now.” Rami said as he and Joe joined Gwilym in the bleachers. 

“List?” He asked, tilting his head curiously. 

“I’ll let Joe explain.” Rami smiled. 

“It is Karen Diguimi’s way of saying you are cancelled until you apologize.” Joe smirked. “We just caught the tail end of what you were saying but from what we heard, it was fucking brilliant.” He said quietly enough for just the three men to hear. “Welcome to the list. I have been on it since the ‘I won’t let my underage child wash stranger’s cars in the shortest shorts debacle of last summer season.” Joe said. 

“Rami, how did you end up on the list? It seems like she likes you the most out of all of us.” Gwil asked. Rami chuckled. 

“I once asked her if the pom poms for adults were necessary at a competition because it was just one extra thing to carry.” 

“That’s not too bad.”

“She also hates my wife.”

“Ah, I see.”

“So we both reside on the list with Joe and Y/N.”

“What did Y/N do to get on the list?”

“What hasn’t she done to get on the list?” Joe laughed. “First it was being Dominic Y/L/N’s little sister during high school. Then it was becoming Jasmine’s key guardian when he died, then it was a few other arbitrary things I don’t remember, but most recently, it was getting you to be our friend instead of hers.” Joe said. 

“It’s a rite of passage to get on the list.” Rami said. All three men laughed as Gwil felt more at peace than ever before. Even though Karen had basically verbally bashed children in front of him and badmouthed Y/N, she did provide one key piece of vital information. Y/N as a former national champion for the Mustangs, maybe even on the same squad as his late wife. He marked it in his brain to ask her later. 

As practice started and the three men continued their conversation, still no Y/N. Part of Gwilym began to worry that something bad had happened. He checked his phone to see if she had called or texted but nothing. He tried to push the worry to the back of his mind as Joe began to talk about the upcoming competition this weekend. It was the same thing Bri had not stopped talking about for the past week. Even as he got her and Jasmine into the car today, they talked about their nervous excitement for it. 

Joe was going to ride up with Rami and Lucy. Figuring Gwil would want to carpool with Y/N. Actually all three of them, Joe, Rami, and Lucy, hoped something would blossom between the two. 

“Oh I hadn’t even thought to ask her. It is probably too late, I will just drive up myself.” He said he was a bit disappointed he hadn’t asked. 

“She’ll say yes if you do ask.” Rami smled. 

“She might not.” Gwil continued. 

“Oh no, she will definitely say yes.” Joe smiled slyly. Both men looked at each like they both held the same secret that Gwil wasn’t privy to. It was at that moment Y/N moved into the gym still in her work clothes. Her blazer that was once covering the purple silk blouse, was replaced by a jean jacket. She wore black slacks and black vans. 

“I don’t drive in heels, I don’t want to be responsible for that many lives.” She had told him their first Wednesday night dinner out with the girls. He knew that she kept a pair of black lace up vans in her Jeep for the drive home from the university. 

“Speak of the Devil and she shall appear.” Joe teased her as she sat in her usual spot. She laughed and Gwil’s heart skyrocketed into flight. 

“Ha ha. Good to see you, Mozzarella.” She snarked. 

“That’s Mr. Mozzarella to you.” Joe answered. Both tossing their heads back gently and laughed. There went Gwil’s pulse racing for a moment. 

“Did I miss anything?” 

“Gwil’s on the list.” 

“No!”

“Oh hell yeah!”

“How? Tell me! I have to know how Karen’s little lust for you somehow got you on the list.”

“Karen’s little what?” Gwil said. 

“Dude, she wanted to bone you.” Joe said. “Hard.”

“Bone?” He asked.

“Sleep with you, knock boots, cherry pick, dude I know too analogies for sex.”

“She’s married!” Gwil exclaimed quietly to the group. 

“Hasn’t stopped her before.” Y/N said. “Anyway, tell me how you got on the list.” 

Gwilym began to tell the story of her confrontation with Karen. His own smile grew as he watched Y/N’s own smile grow as he got to the words match. 

“Mr. Lee you are bloody brilliant.” She said, her hand rubbed his arm for a moment before she withdrew it. Gwil blushed. 

“It was nothing.”

“This is cause for celebration. You being on the list. We will all go out kid free and celebrate soon.” Joe said. 

“Sounds good to me.” Rami agreed. Y/N nodded, her eyes looking up and waving to Jasmine as the girl waved back. 

“Hey Y/N, did you know Gwilym here was going to drive to Trenton all alone?” Joe stated. Gwil’s eyes went wide as he looked at the man over Y/N’s shoulder. He felt his cheeks heat up.

“Really?” She asked.

“Yeah. He was going to drive by himself.”

“Why don’t you ride with me? It isn’t as long as a drive if you have a partner.” She offered him. Her Y/E/C eyes meeting his blue. A small smile on her lips.

“Um, you won’t mind?” He asked shyly. 

“No, it will be a treat to spend time with you alone.” She said honestly, all the room felt almost like it was silent around them. Joe and Rami watching the two just share prolonged eye contact. Gwil could almost swear there was a light pink tinge on her cheeks as well. 

“Then it's all set. I’d love to ride with you.” He smiled. The tinge got a bit darker. 

Joe poked his head between the two, “Is your, um, neighbor coming?” He asked her. His voice was almost giddy, like Gwil’s when he talked about Y/N on the phone to Ben. Who was this woman  that was making Joe act like the same lovestruck teenager he was?

“Oh no. Unfortunately, Jolene had one of her advanced painting classes rescheduled to Saturday. It is too much money to miss out on but she promised Jasmine she was coming to Regionals.” Y/N said as she raked her hair up into a messy ponytail. 

“Oh.” Joe’s smile faded quickly. 

“You know you could just ask her out. She likes you too.” Y/N patted her friend’s shoulder. Joe shook his head. 

“The divorce is still too fresh to Joey. It wouldn’t be fair to him for me to get involved with someone new so soon after his mother and I split up.” Joe admitted. Gwilym understood that point. A divorce was a similar loss to a child as a parent passing. Everything became different over night for them, changing so suddenly. Joe and his ex were friendly enough to a point for the sake of their son. The one thing that will keep them forever linked. 

“Okay honey. One day though, Joey is just going to want his dad to be happy.” She said with a soft smile to their friend. Joe just nodded looking over at his son. 

How Karen could ever call this wonderful woman a bitch was past Gwilym’s arena of thought. He looked at Y/N and smiled. God how beautiful she is even in the lighting of this gym. He thought to himself. As more time passed for the practice, the three experienced cheer parents told Gwilym everything he would need to know to be ready for Saturday. How he would have to have Brianne ready before 6 am to get her to the gym so that the team could take a bus together to the arena before driving there with Y/N. He would have to make sure he paced enough bobby pins, snacks, water, everything. His worry level that he would mess this all up grew. Especially the idea that he would have to do her hair in a high slick back ponytail. Brianne had hair like her mom’s thick and wavy, he could barely get it into braids without at least three Youtube tutorials. 

“How about this? I bring Jasmine over at like 5. I can do both of their hair and you can make sure they have enough snacks?” Y/N offered, once again being the incredible person that she was. 

“Please. I fear what I would do to my poor girl’s head.” He said honestly. 

“I think you would be fine, but the first competition is the scariest for both the parent and the cheerleader.” 

“It will put not only my mind at rest but Bri’s mind too. Thank you Y/N.” 

“Anything for you, Gwil.” She smiled. “Oh and um, thanks for standing up for the kids earlier with Karen. She can talk all the crap she wants about me but Jasmine doesn’t deserve that. It means a lot to me and it shows me how wonderful of a human being you are.” She said before turning her attention back to the mat. His heart raced again. God, Wednesday nights really were his favorite. 

[shadowofthelamp]

Year in Review: Writing

So, I can’t do the ‘year in review’ for art because... yeah, I didn’t really draw that much this year. So I decided to trawl through my writing tag for one favorite piece per month, and a pulled few paragraphs from each! Basically everything here is Zim except for the one tendershipping week thing, lmao, oops.

Some months had slim pickings but I still do like every one of these and it was a nice reflection.

January: Arrival

Her skin was tinted a sickly green, more like decomposing flesh than irken or human. Dib swallowed, but her breathing seemed to be even when he placed a hand to her kind of chubby chest, so that was probably just how their skin colors mixed, right? Besides, the lighting in the lab was always weird. Her mouth was gummy with no teeth yet, but her vocal cords were functioning perfectly. He was going to need hearing aids by his twenties, between her and Zim.

She had four fingers and three toes, which he kind of expected, as well as a nose but no ears. That made sense, if she had antennae, but it was still strange to run his fingers along the sides of her head and just feel smooth skin.

Her eyes… they were Zim’s through and through, deep ruby with the color filling the sclera. Did irkens even have sclera if they only had one color? Under the lab’s lights and mixed with the way everything on her slightly shimmered from the sticky goo she'd been coated in, she was like a section of space stolen into the little room and it took his breath away. The water blurring his vision didn’t help as he wiped it away with his sleeve, shifting her to one arm. She was so small...

__________

February: WLOD Dib meets Twix, alt version

It’s fascinating, to see what could have gone right. The 1001 here had gangly, underdeveloped limbs, and wispy hair that never quite got clean from the showers. This version wasn’t fat or anything, but definitely had more meat on its bones.

He examined the goggles- peering through them, they altered its vision because they made the lab beyond the ‘glass’ blurry. Curious, very curious. He was about to pop the lens out when it began to stir, tugging at the metal restraints with a clatter.

_________

March: Zibvoid

He talked to himself.

He talked to himself.

He talked to Zim, who hadn’t said a word since he’d died, but maybe he was just giving him the silent treatment.

Round and round, the generator buzzed like a bee and a hospital and a bug zapper that would draw in prey like flies to a web, except he was the spider now and the Zims were the moths.

Dib. Dib Dib Dib Dib Zim Dibdibdibdibzimdibdibzimdib. The names popped off his tongue as he rolled them both in his mouth, over and over until they didn’t seem like names at all anymore.

__________

April: Sturdy Branches (I know the date’s different on ao3 but it was first posted April)

Her dad is either singing or talking to himself as he vacuumed inside the house with a sway in his hips. At least you’re pretty sure it’s her dad? You haven’t seen a picture of him or anything, but he’s about the same age as your dad, so he’s too old to be a brother and too young to be a grandpa, and she hasn’t mentioned any uncles. A babysitter, maybe, but that doesn’t really make sense since Tulip isn’t home yet- ah!

She’s talking to someone as she turns the corner, bouncing her backpack. It’s lilac and circular, as well as covered in buttons. The Ranger helmet is in her backpack or still in her locker, but either way, she’s not wearing it anymore. She’s got the boots on, though. You adjust the binoculars a bit, but you aren’t good enough at lip-reading yet to tell what she’s saying. Whatever it is, it’s making the girl she’s talking to laugh. Maybe she’ll tell you tomorrow in class or at lunch if you pull her to sit at your table again. She has more friends at the middle table, but they don’t like sitting next to you after the beetle incident, and she doesn’t seem to mind. She always has a big smile when you start talking, and she’d say something if she didn’t like you, right? Pretty much everybody else does.

_________

May: Do Something For You (TD spoilers!)

Dib had never really thought ahead to having a family, but she was pretty much everything she’d want in one. She was an assistant and a partner, she was invested in the paranormal, she hated Zim- but on the other hand, she didn’t want him hurt? She seemed weirdly invested in making sure he didn’t get caught, actually. Eh, she’d hit him pretty hard, so it wasn’t like she was opposed to him getting his rightful dues for being an evil space monster.

It was relatively simple- she was just worried if he died then her timeline would be destabilized, which was a decent enough concern. Zim had to be important to his life for years to come, in one way or another. But whatever they were dealing with in the future, it had to be better with Zim out of the way earlier, right?

__________

June: Unnamed capture au drabble

“Why do you even give me these stupid scripts if you don’t like me doing them?” Dib folded his arms, kneading the ball in his palm. “Just get a robot or something.” He snorted. “I mean, it’d probably break, like half the stuff you touch.”

Zim’s hands curled into fists. “Take that back, you- you- worm!”

Dib quirked an eyebrow. “What, touched a nerve? When I was a kid, half the stuff you made broke, it’s just a fact. You only conquered Earth because this place is a trash heap and your garbage is slightly better than ours.” Over a year in Zim’s presence without too many galling injuries and a lifetime of not being able to keep his mouth shut made him bold. “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re probably broken yoursel-” He was cut off with a Pak leg aimed directly at his throat, prodding in just deep enough to draw a drop of blood down the alien metal.

Zim’s eyes were narrowed, but something was watering on the edges, and Dib swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing just below the leg’s tip.

“Zim. Is. Not. Broken.”

___________

July: Laughter

Ryou couldn't stand the lights on one minute and then hated having them off the next. The shadows bled from the way the light reflected off the couch, how it seemed to devour the wall behind it, and he swore he could still hear the voice in his mind. (Was that himself? Had he started thinking of himself as a separate voice? It had been ages since he'd really been alone, even though anyone outside him would have wondered about the boy who talked to his reflection like it was an old friend.)

He wished he could talk to Ryou. Ryou who had seemed so pliable as a child but had proved entertaining, a match for the fire, (heh, fire, even though it wasn't that funny, in fact, it wasn't funny at all, but what did he have but jokes? it wasn't like he could cry anymore) who carved out rules for use of the body with gritted teeth and tugged at the rope of the Ring so hard it had chafed his neck. He'd respected him. From a soft child, he'd hardened and grown firm, grown powerful, grown to be worthy. What were the odds fate had given him a chance at the same time someone had handed a young Yugi the box with the Puzzle? A roll of the dice. (The Gods having a last laugh, perhaps..)

Ryou dug his nails into the wood of the desk so hard that it made crescents, tiny moons in the umber that dug splinters into his pale fingers. The little model of the Thief King sat, as he always did, half-hidden on his shelf behind the pieces of Zorc. He'd never bothered to glue the monster back together but felt oddly reluctant to just incinerate the figures and be done with them. Both of them. Either of them. Maybe he just didn't want to pretend it had never happened. (Maybe he was worried he'd forget, thoughts and memories swept away by the sands of time, trickling down the hourglass, minute by minute, day by day, as he aged the way the Spirit had never been allowed to.)

___________

August: New Mission

It had been a month.

Nebula Twix had survived. She’d had to be popped into the healing pod when she had an allergic reaction to the oatmeal Dib had tried to feed her when it had inflamed her spooch, and Gir had tried to eat her head the one second Zim’s back had been turned, and she made goo from both ends a lot, but otherwise, she was perfectly fine!

And with that, Zim had come to a crossroads. It seemed that he was, indeed, in this for the long heel. (He was pretty sure that was the phrase. Humans liked large feet and large boots, so it made sense.) He could either continue to keep her a secret, or he could pass on his success to the Tallests.

Creating slaves out of the species marked for invasion was pretty common- something like 85% of invaders did it. But creating hybrids? That number was much lower. (Besides, they were usually disposed of as soon as the invasion was complete.) And irkens having those hybrids from their own bodies, and not just mixing them out of genetic slurry and quickly aging them up in time-fields? Almost completely unheard of. Zim was the pioneer in that area.

Also, having smeets from one’s body may have been a tad illegal, considering how hard it had been to find good information and judging from the fact that all irkens found to do it were brought in for experimentation. But no matter! Zim was nothing if not very, very good at things few other irkens dared to do, ready to drive the Empire forward by any means possible. They would have to appreciate that!

__________

September: Twix finds out she’s pregnant

Secondary life-form detected, the chamber chimed.

“Oh, gross, I’ve got a tapeworm? Well, flush it out.” Twix rolled her eyes, going back to the computer.

Lifeform has elements of Pak user.

Her finger froze on the ‘b’ key. “It… what? Analyze species origin.”

The chamber hummed around Twix as sweat dripped down the skin of her neck. There was a tiny 'ding!’ like a kitchen timer.

Lifeform is too underdeveloped to make more than approximations, but is roughly 25% irken and 75% Dominant Earth Species.

Her scream rattled the walls.

__________

October: Best-Laid Plans

“Of course, Number One.” Two turned his head slightly, and Dib jolted- he hadn’t directly commanded him to do that. “Your plan is perfect.” He blinked slowly- much slower than most Zims. Most Zims were utterly manic, back and forth and back and forth, loud and brutal and dangerous, but Two- Two had always worshiped him. Maybe even more than the rest. It had been nice, to be admired so heavily. Two had adored the personal attention when he was turned into an errand boy.

Dib might miss him.

He shook that thought out of his head, gripping both sides of Two’s face with his index finger and thumb, nails (not claws, they weren’t claws) digging into the cheeks.

“You belong to me.” Two didn’t respond, and Dib dug in a little further.  Irken skin was thicker than a human’s, with a single drop of pink blood oozing over Dib’s fingernail and leaving a barely-perceptible damp trail. “Respond. Who do you belong to?”

“I belong to you, Number One.”

___________

November: Desperation (warning if you click through for impalement)

Dib’s lips were on Zim’s before he even knew what he was doing. “You’re not dying on me, you little bastard,” he hissed, fumbling to hold up the body as Zim nearly coughed blood directly into Dib’s mouth. It was salty and sweet all in one, but Dib couldn’t linger on the taste. Zim’s fingers grasped at his shirt, and Dib took that as a sign that it was working, pressing their lips together hard enough to bruise the capillaries.  

There was a click. Dib breathed in blood and out carbon dioxide, sputtering and swallowing it down so Zim wouldn’t die like this-

Something red-hot and metallic climbed over his arm before digging into his spine, and he realized that the body had gone entirely limp before there was electricity and then there was nothing.

____________

December: Freak

Twix grit her teeth. “How am I supposed to trust you if you’ll just- just do that?”

“How am I supposed to drop my whole social life because you can’t help being the weirdest person in school?” Tulip shot back. “I do care about you, but it’s so, so hard sometimes, because you just don’t know how to act, and sometimes I’m sick of waiting for you to play catchup just because your parents are the town freaks!” She slapped her hands over her mouth and took a step back.

Twix’s eye twitched under her goggles. “At least they’re freaks that love me. I’ll see you tomorrow, third period.”

“Twix-”

“I said,” Twix said through gritted teeth, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get out before I reactivate the security.”

Tulip got out, and Twix buried her face in a couch pillow and screamed.

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Gormless Ch. 4 - Dab on them Pineapples

A well-meaning friend gave me a book series that is hilariously bad. The first book was Souless and my riffs were entitled brainless. This second book is entitled Changless and these riff are then gormless.

I mean to say I have entitled them gormless! Not that my riffs are dumb, and the effort I spend on them stupid since I’m the only one who enjoys them. HAHA!

The story is SUPPOSED TO be about how a badass lady wearing a rad-looking carriage dress hits baddies with her umbrella and bangs her hot werewolf husband.  In reality it’s mostly poor attempts at being witty, flirty, and superior.

For the last book check out the brainless tag.

If you want the TL;DR version but want to read these new riffs anyway?

This story is set in supernatural Victorian steampunk England.  Alexia is our NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS protag.  She is a soulless, which means she’s able to negate the abilities of vampires and werewolves by touching them. She’s recently married a big oaf, named Lord Connel Maccon.  He’s the manchild in charge of the supernatural police with a zillion dollars and he’s totes super hot too ok.  Their relationship is mostly arguments about how Maccon can’t tell her fucking anything.  Alexia has also recently become head of ~Soulless affairs~ in Queen Victoria’s government.  She has a dumb friend named Ivy, a gay vampire friend named Akeldama, a family who’s evil because they do the same shit as her but while being blonde, and most importantly Alexia is better than everyone cause…cause.

Last time on Gormless:

There’s some mysterious force that’s turning the Vampires and werewolves into humans. Alexia is in charge of figuring out that deal, and she is doing a bad job at it.  Her husband is in charge of the Supernatrual Police (BUR) so he’s going to Scotland about it.

There’s a dude named Channing who wants to punch and have sex with Alexia, and Ivy is getting married to some rich slub, even though she’s in wub with Maccon’s servant Tunstell.

Alexia’s hubby told her to go to a hat store for mysterious plot reasons, she brings her dopey friend Ivy.  The hat store is run by a hot lesbian and as they’re chatting BOOM an explosion! GOLLY WHAT’S NEXT!?

Chapter 4 - Dab on them Pineapples

This chapter starts off totally under described.  Basically the explosion shook the hats on their nice dangling hooks, and turned out the lights.  They don’t even describe it as unbalancing Alexia.  So the whole next bit makes so little sense.  She first reacts by feeling around for Ivy.  She finds Ivy has fainted…cause okay? Ivy is whispering about Tunstell though so she’s like, “YEAH MY FRIEND UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR AFTER AN EXPLOSION IS FINE! BYE LOSER!”

She immediately starts scurrying around for that secret passage she thought she saw earlier. Finds it, goes in, and down an elevator. I just…I was so flummoxed that this was her first response?  All it would take for this to make more sense is to write, “It sounded as if the explosion happened below them, and Alexia would bet you 100 pounds that this secret passage would lead her straight to it. And what if someone was hurt down there?”

It seemed so bizarre for her to go, “EXPLOSION? I’M GOING TO MAKE A BEELINE FOR THE SECRET PASSAGE! MY FRIEND OUT COLD? WHATEVER!”

When she gets down there she finds a messy workshop, where a small explosion clearly took place.  She finds LeFoux yelling at a child and there’s a ghost lady just chilling there.  The gist of the conversation is that the child threw a rag soaked in ETHER into a huge furnace which caused the explosion.  The boy is just like, “lol it went bang.”  And Alexia thinks that’s hilarious and reintroduces herself. LeFoux has to remark that WOW ISN’T LADY MACCON SMART FOR FINDING OUT THE SECRET PASSAGEWAY? GOSH I KNOW I CONFIRMED IT TO HER MINUTES AGO! BUT SHE’S SO SMART!  The ghost is LeFoux’s aunt Beatrice, and the boy is introduced as LeFoux’s son Quesnel even though the two do not look related.

I also find it odd that LeFoux, the owner of this establishment, with a shop full of customers, just slips into the passage and doesn’t give a token, “DO NOT PANIC CUSTOMERS I’M GOING TO FIGURE OUT THE ISSUE, PLEASE STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

Alexia praises the child for the explosion.  I can’t help but feel a bit exasperated by the book’s tone for this.  This child could have not only killed himself on a flight of fancy but perhaps a block worth of buildings full of humans in a crowded city, and the story treats it like he stole a pudding out of the fridge he wasn’t supposed to have.  But I mean, my job is to worry for the well-being of children and I have a habit of overthinking this shit so take that paragraph with as much or as little care as you see fit.

LeFoux punishes Quesnel and tells her aunt to take him away so she can have sexual tension with Alexia.  Alexia, you do not deserve the sexual attention of anybody except your dipshit husband. Leave the MacDougalls and LeFouxs for the more-deserving slutty, bisexual hate-readers okay.

Faps you realize you will never be able to have sex with a fictional character right?

Faps why would you want to bang a fictional character in a story you don’t even like?

I HAVE TO FIND SOMETHING TO ENJOY HERE OKAY!?

During some mild flirtation where Alexia first realizes women are hot, LeFoux explains that Maccon commissioned a gift that is ready for her.

It’s a huge ugly umbrella that takes a page to describe just its physical appearance, which was hard to follow.  My favorite detail is,

“The handle looked like something that might top an ancient Egyptian column, carved with lotus flowers---or a very enthusiastic pineapple.”

I don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean but with that line I have decided that the handle of her umbrella looks like this:

(Picture of a pineapple dabbing, while wearing bright red shoes.)

And you cannot convince me otherwise.

We spend a few more pages explaining what her James Bond styled umbrella can do. Which includes:

Shoots poison darts.

Can switch between a silver and wooden tip depending on if you’re stabbing vampires or werewolves.

Can emit a magnetic field which can disrupt steam engines temporarily.

Can spray different kinds of toxic mists which can kill humans, and severely injure werewolves and vampires.  

Okay sure, she gets a proper weapon with a lot of weird uses. Sure good!

So now it’s time for me to complain about some writing choices!

Much to my annoyance, every time LeFoux smiles at all (which is a fucking lot) instead of using multiple verbs and descriptors such as, “She smiles, grins, smirks, beams, looks amused/smug/delighted/etc.” She says LeFoux ~dimples~ 100% of the time. And I’m like nobody verbs dimples that way you fucking weirdo who writes like they’re 12.

There’s also this really clumsy pointless exchange where it’s revealed that LeFoux has made special equipment for Prof. Lyall, and she remarks that he’s a curious man. Alexia says he’s not a man at all (cause he’s a werewolf) and LeFoux remarks, “I, too, am not a man. I simply enjoy dressing like one.”

….This is like super clumsy and not how humans talk at all. And there’s no reason why you need to bring that up AGAIN at all? We can tell she enjoys masculine dress because…she’s described as dressing masculine. Like….why? 

Like I know this isn’t meant to be a complex novel, but like I feel condescended to how often unimportant shit needs to be brought up again and again. UGH!

So they head back upstairs, Tunstell shows up so he and Ivy can stare longingly at each other, and OH YEAH tell Alexia Lyall wants to speak with her.

You gotta do more for me to ship Tunstell/Ivy then like show them cozy with one another and shouting in my ear about how they pine for one another.  Like maybe some dialog besides, “How are you?” “Oh I’m fine”?

So Alexia goes to see Lyall. She struts in swinging her new umbrella like HEY! HEY! ASK ABOUT MY NEW TOY!  Lyall does not.  Lyall has his issues don’t get me wrong.  But I find it so refreshing that he refuses to feed Maccon and Alexia’s shitty little egos.

Lyall says the humanization phenomenon has been ~spotted~ again and it’s moving toward Scotland, a bit ahead of Maccon, who is also heading that way.  Maccon doesn’t know he’ll be meeting the mysterious soul-sucking power soon, which could be a problem since he’s only useful in the sense that he has powers.

Alexia takes note of this, and decides she wants to have Lord Akeldama and LeFoux meet cause that would be cool I guess.  That’s where we leave off.  I’m not sure if the two are going to get along immediately upon meeting or hate each other’s guts. I hope they hate the other’s guts cause I think that would be more entertaining.

Say something nice Faps:

These chapters don’t always end and start on similar notes. So it doesn’t feel repetitive.

Lyall, while not totally free from this writing’s bullshit, helps ground this material by being a voice of sanity. A lot of authors can get caught up in HOW FUCKING COOL THEIR PERFECT FUN CHARACTERS ARE and it’s just kinda refreshing that this author has enough self-awareness to realize how exhausting and irritating their antics/personalities can sometimes be. Or in the very least enough awareness of writing to know when to slow it done and take a breather.

 LeFoux is hot.

Since I have identified her new murder parasol as having a dabbing pineapple handle, all mentions of it conjure hilarious mental images for me.  She was described as cradling it like a baby, and swinging it wildly in order for it to fail to catch Lyall’s attention.

 I also kinda like how despite getting a badass weapon crafted for her, it’s hideous.  Like perhaps it’s for the humor sake, but I appreciate we’re not just going to steamroll how cool and great Alexia is. Even though she got this super rad weapon with all these functions without having to earn it. The item does have the downside of being tacky and heavy. You know?

[rosecorcoranwrites]

Editing Advice Part 4: Copyediting

Now that you have checked your WIP for continuity, addressed every plot hole, and finished all rewrites, it's time to put on the final touches by copyediting!

Now, just to be clear, the term "copyediting" usually refers to when an editor, not the writer, reads the manuscript looking for errors, and it actually does include a lot of continuity editing and fact checking. But this series is for writers editing their own work before another soul reads it (regardless of if the work will then be self-published or sent out to agents and editors). It is my belief that, for a writer, continuity editing should come long before the final stage of the editing process. Thus, for our purposes, I'm going to use "copyediting" to refer to correcting errors in grammar, spelling, punctuation, and other such things.

Obviously, this involves going through your manuscript with a fine-toothed comb, on the lookout for misspellings and typos. However, there are a few items to especially  watch for, roughly broken down into the categories of spelling; grammar, usage, and style; and punctuation, spacing, and everything else.

Spelling

Spelling of made-up or unusual words: If you write fantasy or sci-fi, odds are you're using at least a few words that don't exist in the regular lexicon. Make sure you use consistent spelling for these. This is especially true for different forms of said words. For example, I chose to spell "Lesse" in Lesse's Moor with and "e" at the end, which is easy to remember. Yet, when spelling the adjectival form of that word, I used either an "e" or "a": Lesserian and Lessarian. I had to choose one to use throughout. This goes for non-made-up words as well. "Empyreal" of the Empyreal Palace is a real word (it means celestial), but it's not like I've known how to spell it from my youth, so I still had to double check it every time I came across it to make sure it was spelled correctly.

British vs American spelling: If you spend a lot of time reading books from across the pond, you might have picked up some foreign spellings. As a child, I would always spell "gray" as "grey", because I liked it better, and to this day, that spelling sneaks into my writing from time to time. There are many such words in the English language that you should watch out for.

Hyphens: Make sure that you know which words are hyphenated, and that they are always hyphenated in your manuscript. Pay attention to height and ages: "six-foot tall",  "four-year-old" and so on. Keep consistent for made-up words as well. Will you use "mechano-magical" or "mechanomagical"? Whichever you choose, you have to use that spelling every time.

Homophones and similar words: You might think that this is dumb to mention, since you, of course, know the difference between all the homophones in the world, but that's irrelevant. I know the difference too, yet I mix them up all the time in my writing. Some people picture the spellings of words even as they speak, and I am not one of them. I know the difference between "their", "they're", and "there" like the back of my hand; I still write the wrong one about a third of the time. Why? Because when I write, I'm picturing how the words sound and, moreover, how the scene looks, not how the text will appear on the page. That's what copyediting is for. You can Google lists of commonly misspelled or mixed-up words, or write down your own list if you have certain words you personally get confused.

Grammar, Usage and Style

Subject-verb agreement: By the time you're at this stage of editing, your manuscript is likely a Frankenstein's monster of sewn-together old drafts, and that tends to lead to some weird grammar. Make sure your subjects and verbs agree. That means that if the subject is plural—they, policemen, the dragons, or whatever—the verb has to be one you use on plurals—were, know, have eaten. If the subject is singular—he, a policeman, the dragon—the verbs similarly have to match—was, knows, has eaten. If you're not too keen on grammar, read it out loud and see if it sounds right; even if you don't know all the proper grammatical phraseology, you know English and you'll be able to pick up on errors that you hear.

Writing out numbers or not: Generally speaking, for narrative prose, you should write out the numbers zero through one hundred. For larger numbers, 101 to infinity, you can use numerals, but some guides suggest that numbers ending in two or more zeros should also be written out: two hundred, five million, etc. But I think you can get away with writing out larger numbers as well, like three hundred seventy-three; it looks nicer to me. Whatever you choose to do with larger numbers, stay consistent. Special numbers like years and addresses, however, should be written in numerals: 221 B. Baker Street, 1984, etc.

Capitalization of titles of people: Obviously, if the the title comes right before the persons name, and is thus part of their name, it's capitalized: Queen Delilah, Doctor Mario, Professor Moriarty, President Coolidge. But what about when the title is by itself? Well, it depends on how you're using it. If the title is used to address the person, it's capitalized: "You saved his life, Doctor!" or "Well, Professor, it looks like your theory was wrong." Obviously special title have special addresses which are obviously capitalized: Your Majesty, Mr. President, etc. If, on the other hand, you are talking about the person, or the office in general, it's not (usually) capitalized: "The professor is getting on my nerves!", "That doctor is a quack", "The president has to be an American citizen". However, for certain fancier offices, if you are talking about a particular holder of that office, you do capitalize it. Now, I found a few competing sources on this, but from what I could figure, the only titles that work this way are Pope, King, Queen. Again, you have to be referring to a very specific person to do this: "The Queen has been slain!" "The Pope blessed the travelers". Some sources also said this could be done for the president's of countries, but other said not to, so... I guess pick which way you'll do it an stay consistent.

Punctuation, Spacing, and Everything Else

Extra spaces: Get rid of 'em. This included two spaces after a period (for us old people who learned that that was the correct way to type!) as well as space at the end of paragraphs, between two words, and so on.

Missing punctuation: Don't forget commas after opening phrases like "Well, you see..." or "Of course, I'd never say that," or when separating a name when being addressed: "Are you ok, Constance?". Double check that every paragraph has a period or closing quotation marks; somehow, these seem to disappear on me and I've never figured out why.

Smart quotes, … vs ..., and m-dashes: This is almost getting into formatting territory, but I'm going to include it here anyway. Depending on what word processor you use to write your WIP, there might be some differences in how certain characters are automatically formatted. For example, some programs will turn quotation marks ( " " ) into smart quotes, i.e., one that wrap toward the text and have different opening and closing characters ( “ ” ). Something similar happens to ellipses, which may be typed as three periods (...) but turned into a single character (…). Finally, there is the m-dash, that long dash used in a way similar to a colon. When you type it by itself, it typically looks like two dashes (--), but if you type a letter, then two dashes, then another letter with no spaces between, it turns into a single character (—). I'm in favor of all of these automatic changes, as they look nicer, but depending on where you typed what part of my WIP, they don't always happen. It's a good idea to go though your manuscript and add them in, or set your word processor to change them automatically.

Personal foibles: Finally, know thyself. Are there weird mistakes that you always tend to make? I myself tend not to use question marks (they are a silly punctuation mark and ought not exist!). I have to be careful to check that all of my questions are, in fact, marked as such. Maybe you tend to spell one particular word incorrectly, or are really bad at using commas. Know your weaknesses and make an effort to fix them while writing and catch them while editing.

Tips to Make Life a Little Easier

The greatest tip I can give you is to embrace your Find and Find/Change or Find/Replace functions of your word processor. You'll find these in your edit menu.

Find should be used to check homophones and commonly misspelled words. When editing, I'll Find the word "its" and go through my entire document to check each instance of this word to make sure it should not be "it's". then, I do the reverse, searching every instance of "it's" to make sure it should not be "its". I do this for each of the words that I, personally, confuse. Know thyself; if you never confuse "it's" with "its", don't bother checking it, but if you know that you often confuse "principal" and "principle", use the Find function. You can also use this to Find quotation marks and replace them with smart quotes if your word processor doesn't have the option to replace all quotation marks with smart ones at once.

And then there is my favorite, Find/Change. This should also be found in your edit menu, sometimes with the "Find..." feature and sometimes as a separate "Replace..." option. What Find/Change allows you to do is enter in some word, like, say, "Lessarian" and replace every instance of it with a new word, like "Lesserian". I use this to do a quick fix of made-up words and British to American spellings. I also use this if I have changed character and place names, so that I can replace every instance of, say, "Robert" with "Brother Roberto". It's also useful for catching double spaces, as you can Find "  " (two spaces) and Replace them with " " (one space). You can also replace two dashes with an m-dash or the three-character ellipsis with a single character ellipsis.

And with that, you'll have a sparkly new manuscript, ready for the eyes of agents, publishers, or—should you go the self-published route—your readers. Speaking of which, you self-pub peeps out there might need a bit of advice on formatting and proofreading. I just so happen to have some such advice! But it will take some doing (mostly in the form of screen shots), so that post will have to wait for a while. In the meantime, get to work polishing that manuscript! If you come across some weird editing issue and need particular advice, my email, Facebook messenger, and Tumblr asks and messenger are always open. Happy editing!

[silyabeeodess]

Disney Princess Appreciation Post: Part 5

Now we’ve reached the birth of the 90′s and probably my second favorite (really close call for first, but you’ll see one gal I really fight for later on) of the princesses, the fabled French beauty herself, Belle:

(Note: Same as with Cinderella, I will not be taking the live-action version into account.  I haven’t seen it and am not really all that interested to see it.  However, I won’t really be covering the other BatB films as much as I have the other side stories for other princesses as I’ll essentially be repeating myself with their message.) 

Ok, so first let’s just get started with covering the overall theme of the main film: True beauty is found within.  Obviously, we all know where this falls with the Beast/Prince Adam due to his curse from the Enchantress where he is given a monstrous form to match what a monster he was on the inside for judging someone by their appearances and treating them horribly because of it.  He is punished where, instead of being regarded with respect simply for being a prince, anyone will first treat him with fear and hatred because they’ll see him as a beast first and foremost.  However, some of you may ask where this falls with Belle, as its clearly noted over and over again throughout the film how beautiful she is.  Where are the people searching for her inner beauty?  

Well, that’s the problem: They’re not.  The townspeople don’t care at all about who Belle is on the inside, because to them she’s just a pretty face who can have it all solely because of her looks.  They want her to live an easy life clinging as an accessory to Gaston, as a figure to only be acknowledged for her beauty and nothing else.  They don’t try to understand her.  They don’t care about what else is there besides her looks or she wants for her own life.  They talk her down as this ‘crazy, odd’ character for simply wanting more out of life.  Of course there’s Gaston’s dismissal against what Belle wants, but another look shows that pretty much everyone is against her!  The townspeople help set up the wedding for Gaston and laugh at the idea of Belle refusing him.  The townspeople know her father is harmless, but still side with Gaston to gang up on him and Belle with torches and pitchforks in order to throw him into a nuthouse or force Belle into marriage. Yes, you can argue that they didn’t know about the overall plan.  However, there are men shown listening in on Gaston when he’s plotting this and either way that still doesn’t excuse that they’re fine with tossing Maurice into an asylum.  They’re horrible people!  Even when Belle proves herself with a magic mirror, they don’t listen to a word she says.

Just a side note with this on the mob itself, so you can skip this paragraph if you just want the review/analysis: Now, there’s a point to which I don’t like mob mentality presented in some films--Moana, I’m looking at you--because they sometimes end up disintegrating background characters into mindless puppets that tend to only act for conveniences sake, like they have no real self.  I let this slide for a couple reasons with BatB though. First that there are some bg characters who do act with their own personalities that would contradict the desires of the overall group (Gaston’s fangirls and the bookshop keeper who supports Belle’s love of reading): The second that Disney has done a few things that show not everyone did rally to Gaston in the mob, particularly at one of their parks, Hollywood Studios.  Maybe I just got lucky with the showing I saw, but when they performed “The Mob Song” on stage at the park, Gaston actually shoved a few of the extras in the scene who showed reluctance about joining--using the line “If you’re not with us, you’re against us,” on them instead on Belle--and then they exited the stage.  I don’t give you props all that often anymore Disney, but you have my applause there: Nice touch!  Anyway, back to the topic!

So Belle is forced under the same judgement as the Beast, albeit to the other extreme, which really is a nice balance for both their characters and the morals the story is trying to address.  And they respond to it in different ways.  The Beast is outright hostile, only delving further into the monstrous personality that got him where he is in the first place.  Belle just kinda rolls her eyes: She hates it, but rather than act snooty or coldly about it, she continues to present herself in a modest, patient manner while staying true to her own values and desires. The only bad thing is that she ends up isolated as a result.

Before I continue with this next section, I’m going to get the Stockholme Syndrome controversy with BatB out of the way now with this analysis from Wotso videos, who I feel covers the issue well. (And so I don’t have to waste anyone’s time with an essay on this myself...) This is necessary for me mention so I can talk about Belle herself:

So yeah, bouncing from Wotso and what I said earlier, Belle’s lived as outcast from society, but she never bows down to anyone and stands by her values.  She’s an intelligent, independent, and strong spirit who doesn’t need others to establish her worth or will cower in the face of adversity. The best example of these traits is scene at the beginning of her time at the castle, when she constantly refuses the Beast and stands up for her father, herself, and what she believes in. She might be a prisoner, but she does all she can to fight back all while keeping her promise. She even breaks her promise at times!!  I’ll quote Belle’s song, “Home,” from the musical here:

“Build higher walls around me, Change every lock and key,  Nothing lasts, nothing holds all of me, My heart’s far, far away, home and free...”

For the quick talk about the side story films, not only do they cover a progression of time we don’t get from just the main film for Belle’s and the Beast’s relationship to develop in (unless you actually pay attention to the weather indicating the passing of months in the movie...), but they also reaffirm these qualities for Belle while simultaneously helping the Beast grow as a character. In the Christmas Special, the Beast refuses to let anyone celebrate the holiday due to it occurring around the time he was cursed and the bad memories associated with it. However, Belle gets the entire castle to set up a celebration behind his back because she supports all the Christmas stands for and knows it’ll be good for him. She even goes so far as to--again--break her promise to not leave the castle grounds just to get a good Christmas tree. This nearly cost her her life because she almost drowned in an iced-over pond, but the Beast found out what was happening at the last second and came to save her. This last action gets her locked up, but she still stands by what she did even if it nearly got her killed and tries to remain happy with the encouragement of the castle servants. Then, later, the Beast is the one to apologize for his actions after Belle’s story for him (she was writing him one as a gift) opened his eyes.  In “Belle’s Magical World,” she stands the Beast up by accident when she focuses her time caring for a wounded bird. This prompts the Beast to jealousy, but he ends up keeping the bird because he enjoys its singing, if in a cage. For everything the Beast does, Belle speaks out against--his outrage at her caring for it, his wanting to keep it when she thinks it should be set free.  To quote her,:

“Your orders are words and words alone: They have no meaning to the bird...or me!”

The Beast eventually learns to genuinely care for the bird, putting himself--and, moreover, Cogsworth--in harms way to help it and setting it free himself. And a lot of this relationship with the Beast and the bird reflects on his relationship with Belle herself. Moreover though, there’s a pattern to it: The Beast does like Belle from the start, but he’s too spoiled, immature, and ill-tempered. Still, in the least he’s had a dose of humility because he doesn’t really see Belle falling in love with him like Gaston does, viewing the whole situation as “hopeless.” He has to grow as a person, and Belle is the person who helps him do just that. And when he is able to grow, it’s that warm, caring side of him that develops that Belle ends up falling in love with herself. The Beast tries to show real expressions of his love for her, getting out of his comfort zone to spend time with her--like when reading and skating--and catering to her interests as he learns them. And eventually, he shows that he loves her so much that he wants her to be free, even if she doesn’t love him, won’t stay at the castle with him, or if he has to remain a monster as a result. It’s worth mentioning too that Belle never confesses her feelings until the very end, when she thinks the Beast is dying, because it shows how all of this had to happen first in order for the two to really find love together.

Got a little off topic, but so what does all of this say about Belle herself?  Again, it testifies to her strong character and the beauty within her. Belle is willing to put herself in harm’s way for what she thinks is right. She’s not afraid to speak her mind. She doesn’t let the cruelty of others turn her into an equally cruel person and is both patient and forgiving, but at the same time is no push over either and will bark back if you make her. She’s someone who looks for the inner beauty in others, because no one ever tried to look for that in her, and she can bring out the best in people. 

Belle embodies independence. She never loses sight of who she is or her own self-worth. At the same time, she’s self-sacrificing and compassionate: A hero who uses her heart and mind to solve her problems rather than someone who lashes out without considering the full of a situation. She teaches young girls to never let people tell them who they have to be, to let their inner beauty shine through, and that a good heart is more beautiful than the fading charm of a rose--one’s physical appearances--could ever be.  

[bramblepaws]

i felt like writing my thoughts on the movie “Kin” down after i saw it today

be aware: i didn’t proofread this at all and it contains spoilers for the whole movie

The movie opens with a lot of interesting shots, actually — I was surprised and intrigued by the lingering focus on the mundane bits of Detroit. It moved to interspersed shots of a warehouse and alien noises, big flashes of clearly non-human-sourced lights. It showed a bit too much here, IMO — should’ve stuck with more mystery. The transition between that and moving to Eli’s daily life is choppy. It is established that Eli is a troublemaker, that he loves his dead mother very much, and that he does minor criminal work to make money (despite being fourteen) because his father doesn’t make enough to buy him a pair of shoes. He does this by wandering through abandoned warehouses and stealing wires.

The relationship between Eli and his father is clearly strained, but there isn’t much more to it than that. We are told, at some point, that the father is “hard on [him] because life is hard” which is the same bullshit excuse that many fathers have used before. We are also told, by the father, that he loves Eli — but we aren’t shown this. The dad just says some shit and has Eli do work, and barely spares him a loving, fatherly glance.

The third main character, Eli’s big brother, is introduced somewhere in here. Already I’ve forgotten his name, as I mentally referred to him as “that asshole” throughout the movie. He’ll be known as such from here on.

T-A has just gotten out of jail after six years, after some sort of armed robbery (this was picked up through little bits of dialogue throughout the first act, and it isn’t elaborated on any further, which is fine, but, you know). He’s established to owe some dangerous people $60k, which he does not have.

He tries to get the money from his dad, calls them “dangerous people” without elaborating on the fact that they WILL kill all three of them if he doesn’t pay up, and promptly gets kicked out.

Oh, by the way, Eli has found some crazy space gun in the warehouse we were shown earlier. There were some dead dudes in helmets, and one mostly dead dude in a helmet. Eli leaves (smart) the first time he encounters this scene, and then comes back after having some dream about the gun at 1 am with no backup (unsmart).

At some point, Dad finds out that Eli was taking wires from abandoned houses, yadda yadda bullshit reason they need to go to the dad’s office at 10 pm, he finds the dudes & T-A stealing from the office safe while Eli waits in the car.

For some reason this idiot father proceeds to confront the two armed robbers with a crowbar. He is, of course, shot. Eli manages to not hear this through the shitty apple earbuds that come with the phone. Don’t have that turned up too high, kid, you’ll damage your ears.

T-A tackles the main villain — oh, by the way, this dude is James Franco, it was wild seeing him play this weird gangster man  — and causes him to shoot evil-dude’s brother. T-A then runs out and peels away with Eli in the truck.

T-A gives his brother some bullshit about how there was a bad cement spill, and their dad is going to be working around the clock on cleaning it up, and would he like to go on a roadtrip to Idaho?

And Eli presents a token amount of suspicion and resistance, but goes along with it after some prodding. So the chase begins.

James Franco is pissed about his brother being dead, so he’s gonna follow them at some point. Eli and T-A are driving across the country and do all kinds of cool brotherly things, like pee outside and go to strip clubs. Did I mention that Eli is fourteen?

They meet up with some cool dancer at this strip club who expresses concern for, you know, a fucking fourteen-year-old being in a place like that. She also gets along with T-A as he showers her with the money he stole from his father’s safe, and gets very drunk and disorderly. He starts getting wailed on by the club owners when he gets too disorderly, and Eli has to come save his ass with the big space gun. He shoots it at something and everyone’s all scared or whatever. Stripper decides to help T-A out and drive off with them. The only reasoning for this that we have been given is that the club owner called her a bitch & T-A said “That’s no way to talk to women” or something like that.

They go shoot some hay bales. The aliens that own the gun are also chasing them.

T-A realizes that he left the bag with all of his money in the club. They go to a motel and the stripper bonds with Eli and then tells T-A they should rob the club to get the money back. They do this, using Eli and his space gun to intimidate everyone, and run off to Vegas.

T-A almost tells Eli that their dad is dead, stripper interrupts him, so he goes to gamble instead while she gets Eli some food. Eli sees on the news that his dad is dead & T-A is wanted for his murder. Also Eli is listed as a possible suspect? Instead of as someone who was probably kidnapped?? Despite the fact that he’s fourteen????? Though maybe that’s how it is in America when you’re black. Shit be bad.

Eli screams at T-A and then they get arrested. T-A is put in a jail cell and very poorly tries to explain to Eli. Then… the bad guys show up. To the police station. And shoot their way in. All … 5 or 6 of them. One of the shot officers gives Eli a key so he can go get his space gun. Which is… an interesting choice….

Eli gets his space gun as James Franco threatens T-A. Eli shoots a bunch of people and it’s nbd. James Franco disappears somewhere in here, the alien dudes approach on motorcycles despite being shown to teleport somehow earlier, and the FBI shows up to circle the police station.

Eli and T-A go into the lobby and put down their weapons so they arent shot by police, which is of course when James Franco shows up with a gun. Then the aliens burst in with a grenade that temporarily stops time.

And you know, everything has been kind of straightforward up to this point. There are way too many threads in here, but they can all be followed pretty well. There’s a kid and his issues with his family, and his brother’s a terrible person who dragged him into a mess. There are these criminals that’re after them. And then another thread, where the kid found a mysterious sci-fi gun and the owners of that are after him, trying to get it back. Pretty straightforward! Not amazingly well done, but done well enough to keep things interesting.

And then the two masked dudes step in, and open up their helmets. And one of them is Michael B Jordon. Oh shit, that’s a human, is what I was thinking. Good twist! Didn’t expect it! Are they from another planet? The future? Mind you, this is at the end of the movie, so there’s gonna be no time to explain shit. But maybe some mystery with the humans will happen and that’ll be interesting (though not good).

But then Michael B Jordon starts talking! And he gives an entire monologue about how Eli is actually one of their race, and that’s why he can shoot the gun but no-one else can, and there were people here to kill him but Michael B Jordon got em first, and Eli wasn’t supposed to find the gun, and Eli is too young but when the time comes he’ll be important in the war on this other planet that he’s from. Oh, also, Michael B Jordon is this dude’s brother. Thank you for the gun, we’re gonna kill James Franco, and now we’re leaving through an ice portal or something? Bye!

The other masked person is someone I’ve never seen or heard of, and she says like three words, so I’m not really sure why she’s there.

And then time starts up again, T-A is arrested and shipped off to jail, and Eli supposedly leaves with the stripper who popped back up.

So! That all just happened! What the fuck!

The first act? Clunky, very clunky, but not bad! Set up everything it needed to and set up who the characters where. Was overall interesting enough to get me invested (not in T-A, but in Eli). Second act was a little bit messier, but it was still trying to hold its own and push on through.

The emotional climax of the movie — wherein Eli discovers his dad is dead — was flat. Very flat. It was built up for a long time, and didn’t have the punch it needed to land well.

And the… second? Climax? Where the bad guys show up… was very odd. What criminal gang of 5 people storms a fully operating police station with no casualties on their end & no hesitation at all? What police react the way these guys all reacted???

The third act was a mess. It really highlighted how there was just too much going on in the story — these bad guys and the police and aliens and brother conflict — and then added even more to it! By the way Eli, you’re an alien and we’ll need you later.

There was no setup to this! And Michael B Jordon just listed this all in one paragraph and then bounced! What!!!!!

Overall, I would say it was an entertaining movie, but not a good one. It had interesting bits and pieces. I liked the concept of brother conflict solved through road-trips. But the execution was sloppy, and the movie had way too many other things going on for it to be considered a “good” plot. Why was it even necessary to have an alien subplot? Couldn’t the kid have found some sort of other weapon — perhaps some advanced military-grade tech that registers to the first person who touches it. Or it could’ve NOT had him be the one with a big gun, considering he was fourteen and his older brother was the criminal. It would’ve been much more heartwarming if the older brother had given up criminal activity because he wanted to connect with Eli — but there was the outside conflict of James Franco chasing the two of them that they had to solve.

[authoressskr]

It Was You

Characters: Gabriel, Reader, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester   ::   Warnings: Language (I think...), Takes place sometime after 13x13 Devil’s Bargain (You just need to know he was imprisoned)   ::   Word Count: 1500

@sdavid09‘s Daily Writing Challenge - Prompt #19: Your character is in love, what do they do?!

Note: Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION. -+- REBLOGGING is fine and very appreciated! -+-

Gabriel played with the chocolates in the box, rearranging them for what seemed like the fifth time as he watched you.

You kept running your hands every so often through your hair as you read, your teeth catching hold of your bottom lip on particularly hard paragraphs as your eyes scan through it again until you understand.

He’s easily lost in all your movements; every breath, every soft blink, every rustle of fingers combing through your multicolored locks.

Gabriel had noticed it nearly a month ago, when you’d padded to his room because it was the year anniversary of his ass being pulled from the cave of forced silence. He’d lain there, lost in his own thoughts and memories, when he’d suddenly felt your nimble fingers sliding into his hair by his temples, pulling him from the depths of his boundless thoughts with the soft sigh of his name.

Looking up into your eyes, he just knew. Right then and there. It was you.

You with your bright soul exuding those soft colors and flares that calmed him. Soothed his mind, wrapping around it like a warm blanket on the coldest, clearest night.

You offered every comfort you had freely, allowing him to wrap his arms around your waist and bury his face in your stomach as you continued to run fingers lightly through his hair. And neither of you said anything, which, for once, was alright with him.

“I can stay, if you like.”

“I’d like.” Gabriel mumbles against her sternum, moving away just enough to let her slip in beside him.

And ever since that night, Gabriel felt extra jittery in your presence. He either couldn’t stop talking (which no one really noticed) or he sat fidgeting (which, again, no one really noticed).

All the while, you were totally, completely, monstrously oblivious.

He was thinking of ways to show he was more than interested when he felt your hand on his shoulder.

“Want something to drink?”

“Unless it’s a tall drink of you, no.” She gave Gabriel an odd look then laughs awkwardly.

“Uh, okay...If you need anything, uh, be sure to holler.”

“That was painful.” Sam mutters loudly once she’s gone, Gabriel scoffing.

“Not everyone can be Opie “Aw Shucks” Boy Next Door Puppy like you Samuel. My style is more...debonair.”

“Debonair?” Sam’s mouth downturns comically as he leans against the bookshelf. “Well, I’ll let Dean know his pickup lines are debonair now.”

“Comparing me to Dean-o?” Gabe whistles, propping his feet up on the table. “Low, Sam. Even for you. Not all of us can hit a dog and luck into a woman.” At Sam’s expression, Gabriel gives a little chuckle. “Cas filled me in.”

“Why not bypass the eight million debonair lines you’ve got and just ask ‘em out? Maybe just get straight to the point and tell Y/N you love ‘em?”

“I don’t…” He shakes his head a smidge. “I’m not…” Dropping his feet off the table with a loud chuckle, shaking his finger at Sam. “I’m not.”

“Gabriel,” Sam begins, leaning in a little, tucking his hands in his jean pockets. “Everyone knows except Y/N.” Gabriel’s emotions rocket from apprehensive and contemplative to panic. If these dunderheads have realized his looks slipping past his mask, normally those seldom looks were saved for Y/N, then a spike of fear shot through him. They’d had to have noticed as well. Gabriel doesn’t look away from Sam’s knowing hazel eyes, just stares defiantly before disappearing.

“What happened to Gabriel?”

“Cas called for him on Angel Radio.”

“Oh. Alright.” Shoulders drop a little at his revelation. “Can you help me translate this bit while I’ve got you here?”

“Sure!”

::   -   ::   -   ::     -

Gabriel is on his favorite mountain top, lying in the thick green grass with his hands under his head, trying to think of an approach to the problem he was in.

If he thought he was fucked up before the whole held prisoner for years, oh boy…

Honestly, why would someone like Y/N be interested in loving someone who ran? Who hid? Who tried to make up for it by facing down his big brother and failing?

Someone who was locked up, shackled and tortured? Whose witty and barbed words were stolen from him by some shitty Scooby Doo villain type?

Wrapping his wings tighter around himself, Gabriel also noted how he hadn’t done than more than a handful of times when he was Loki and the Trickster, but after his stay in prison, was his obvious security blanket. He sat up on his elbows, looking down at the quiet valley ensconced in darkness.

Much like himself, come to think of it.

For all his bright and shining nature, he felt dirty.

But that wasn’t right either...he felt stained.

He’d stared at his wings for hours after he was finally left alone after they’d rescued him, sure that the brilliant gold, tawny, and amber wings would reflect darker, muted shades of bronze or copper. But they remained as bright as they’d ever been.

Why had they come in that night? Had they sensed something or just wanted to give him the comfort he’d been silently screaming out for for centuries upon centuries?

He could try to be a good man. But he wasn’t a man.

And he wouldn’t give up his Grace. It was his last, frayed line to his Father. To his home.

If something happened, he wouldn’t be able to help.

Maybe he simply needed to leave.

His feelings would fade with time, surely.

Collapsing back into the grass, Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut.

He couldn’t run. Even now, your scent clung to him - barely but undeniably there. Maybe Sam had a point. Although probably not the one he was intending.

Gabriel couldn’t treat you like everyone else he charmed, screwed and left. And he couldn’t treat you like he had Kali, which he was sure he’d half managed by just wearing her down.

If you could come and comfort him, allow him the touch he so desperately craved, then he could love you as you deserved. It could be him who comforts you, his hands that run through your hair soothingly and without reserve. And never run from your freely offered love.

He untucked his wings from around himself, giving them a gentle shake as he rose, before flying back to the Bunker.

::   -   ::   -   ::     -

He’d popped himself to just outside your room, giving a gentle knock to which there was no reply.

“Sweet cakes?” Gabriel tried again, knocking a little louder. After waiting a few minutes, he checked the library, but you hadn’t been in there for a few hours. He trotted down the hall, checking the kitchen and gun range with no luck. He even (gasp!) asked Dean, to which he got a smirk and firm no. Dick.

He was passing by his room on the way towards the War Room or the Observation Deck, when he caught your scent. Turning the knob quickly and quietly, he exhaled heavily. There you were.

Curled up in the middle of his bed, his pillow bunched under your head, you laid.

After shucking his shoes and jacket, he crawled under the covers and pulled you against his chest, waking you.

“Gabriel?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” You pull away, nervous energy buzzing over your skin before his Grace smoothed it over.

“Don’t be sorry. And you should.” He waits until you relax a little before continuing. “Stay here with me.”

“I can do that tonight.”

“No, I meant every night.” Turning in his embrace, you two lock eyes, yours searching his carefully. “I am in love with you.”

“How long?”

“I realized it about a month ago. But I noticed something in you when held me in the car. Those feather-light touches and your soul was so calm, steady in its course. I’ve seen it more than a dozen times since then, each one reminding me how amazing you really are.”

“Why didn’t -”

“Angels are very emotionally stunted creatures. No matter how long we’ve been on Earth or how much humanity we’ve experienced.”

“That’s very serious talk, Gabriel.”

“I’m aware.” Fingers slid into his hair, just above his temple before shifting and scratching lightly at his scalp before twirling around the longer pieces that curled up slightly at his jacket’s edge.

“I’m in love with you too.”

“Then prepare for an onslaught of roses, chocolates and jewelry beginning tomorrow, cumquat.” Your laughter swirls around him, easing the tension he hadn’t even really registered.

“I don’t need those things. I wouldn’t mind some jewelry though. For protective purposes of course.”

“Of course.” Gabriel nods solemnly.

“Even some flowers in here wouldn’t be terrible. But we both know you’d end up eating the chocolate.” Gabriel’s hand trails up to cup your face, thumb swiping just under your bottom lip you loved to absentmindedly bite when you were concentrating, before closing the distance and capturing your willing lips with his.

“Guilty as charged, sweetness.”

Tagging: @sdavid09 @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @unleashthemidnight @clockworkmorningglory @sumara62 @keepingcalmisoverratedgoddamnit @whinywingedwinchester @chelsea072498 @sakurablossom4 @galaxiesinmymind

[tryingthisfangirlthing]

Endless List of Works-in-Progress

List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or as little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on: writing, art, gifsets, whatever.

So I was sort-of tagged by @pellaaearien (in the manner of “if you see this and haven’t done the thing yet, do it”). And I’m tagging @viennainspringtime, @flootzavut, @doctorinblue @onekisstotakewithme (only if you want to do this!) and anyone else who sees this who wants to do the thing. :)

This is going to be long. Firstly, I’m only counting the works for which I actually have at least a few paragraphs written, aka not including the million and one ideas bouncing around in my head, some of which I have notes for and intend to write in the near future as well. Secondly, I’m only counting works on which I see myself spending time in the near future. 

Also, most of these don’t have proper titles. Titles are the worst, and I generally only have a hope of coming up with a title after I’ve finished a thing or written at least a few thousand words.

(Doctor Who) Nine/Rose ballroom dance class scene A short thing inspired by this photo manip. Currently untitled, basically what it says on the tin. He’s a dance instructor who sweeps her away from Mickey for several glorious minutes. Open-ended with implied mutual interest/pining (because mutual pining is my Thing). Basically I just have to sit down and finish putting the words to paper, dammit.

She was holding more-or-less the normal dancing position, because she knew that if she lowered her arms she wouldn’t want to raise them again for a week, certainly not before the end of the class.

“Whose idea was this again?” Mickey grimaced, scrunching up his nose.

“You sided with Mum on the whole dancing at the wedding bit, not me.”

(Doctor Who) Fem!Tentoo/Rose romantic fluff-ish thing Tentoo is female (because, hello, Donna’s a woman?) and her and Rose start bonding during and in between all those stops to drop the other companions off, and eventually reveal Feelings. Basically I decided to try to fill my own prompt. I still want to do it, except I am terrible at getting-to-know-you bonding chatter. Both in real life and in writing. It confounds me.

“I am the Doctor.” It was odd to hear those words in such different tones -— slightly higher, a bit rougher. “Well…” and she drew the word out exactly like the Doctor Rose knew did. “I’m a Time Lord-human biological metacrisis. Rather different body.” She rolled her shoulders, grimacing, laying one hand on her chest. “Bit of an odd feeling, having only one heart. I keep thinking something should be missing.” She looked back at Rose. “But I’m the Doctor in every way that counts. Thoughts, memories, feelings.” Rose wasn’t sure whether the split second of hesitation before the last was only her imagination.

(Doctor Who) Fem!Ten/Rose human AU speed dating Because I love Fem!Ten. I think this was also from something I saw on timepetalsprompts, but I can’t find the post right now. Fem!Ten here is adorably socially awkward and I want to snuggle her. But this story also suffers from the same I-can’t-write-bonding-talk problem as above.

“The Doctor. Well —” she reached back to rub at the side of her neck. “It’s Jane Smith. But all my friends call me the Doctor.”

“I’m Rose Tyler.” Rose couldn’t help smiling, just a little. “So, are you a doctor? Like, do you do surgery?”

“Oh! No, not that kind of doctor. Astrophysics. And politics. And I’m working on my doctorate of electrical engineering.” She twisted one curl around her finger, tapping the fingers of her other hand silently on the edge of the table.

“Wow.” Rose inhaled, trying not to be intimidated. “That’s a lot.”

(Doctor Who) Nine, Ten From this prompt, of Rose having a one-night stand with Ten while she was traveling with Nine, that decided to gnaw at me, and I immediately wondered “Where is Ten’s Rose?” and then it developed Feelings. This is another where I really just need to get all the words down, but I’m incredibly afraid I won’t do all the emotions the story holds in my head justice on paper (or on the screen).

“Oh. Oh!” The realization dawns in his eyes. “So that was…” His expression falls, his voice flat, deep disappointment in his gaze. “You — that you — didn’t know it was me. And you wanted to see the old me again, that was why you wanted to come here.” He’s closing off, something she hasn’t seen on this him before, but she instantly recognizes it, that look in his eyes, the way his features harden. ��I can’t change back. I’m sorry. I wish I could—”

(There’s also a version that’s shorter and angstier but that doesn’t have enough words yet to count for this list.)

(Doctor Who) Ten/Rose flogging scene I started writing this to process a personal experience, and maybe attempt to more accurately depict conscious BDSM than how I usually see it portrayed (than I’ve portrayed some practices myself in the past). What I currently have will likely be scrapped, or cannibalized for a second version. But I still want to write this, and possibly expand on it, into a series of scenes (of actually rather minimally sexual BDSM). But it’s a balancing act between not wanting it to devolve into pure imagination, and not wanting to recount intense personal experiences for the world to get off to, out of respect for my partners.

She trails her fingers down his vertebrae — he’s so wiry, she’d worried about hitting bone anywhere she struck, but he’d reassured her that he would be fine. Lightly, she strikes his left buttock with the back of her hand, just because she can, not because he needs any more warming up, his backside tinted pink as well. The smallest of noises curls in his throat, part amusement, and she smiles.

Resting her hand other on his shoulder, brushing her thumb in a short arc, she asks, “Ready?”

He nods, clears his throat. Head lowered, he adjusts his stance slightly where he braces himself against the wall on his forearms. “Yes,” he says, a slight rasp to his voice.

(Nonfiction) BDSM writing how-to A lot of us tend to include elements of BDSM in our smut. Heck, I’ve done the same. But there’s a difference between spicing up the sex and consciously engaging in BDSM, and there’s not much information for “laypeople” on how (some/most conscientious) people do the latter, and how you can best write it. My intention is to try to fix that. It’s very much a work in progress and I keep changing it as I gain more experience and insight myself, and talk with far more experienced people. (Also I sometimes feel really pretentious writing this so if someone really wants this to be a thing, please please let me know.)

(Sanctuary) Adolescence of a Mongrel Vampire A work likely to approach novel-length in which Nikolija (gender-swapped Nikola Tesla) deals with having become a vampire in the early days after the change, and the effect this has on the Five at Oxford. Rather graphic and unpleasant in parts, very whump-y, with a dash of unfulfilled lesbian pining to round out the angst. (This is also actually part of a universe of sorts, with multiple stories featuring said gender-swapped Tesla, but it can be read on its own.)

“How’s —” She cut him off, not wanting to hear the lie, swallowed, and tried again, forcing hoarse words over her lips. “How’s Helen?”

Newton, as she had begun to privately call the pigeon, squawked, and she realized she was gripping him — her? it — far too tightly, and she stepped inside and set it down on the edge of the washbasin.

“She’s fine.” Nigel spoke softly. “She lost some blood, and she’s restin’ now, but she saw to herself and she’ll be fine.”

Nikolija nodded, finally, and mostly closed the door behind herself, purposely not quite enough that it would latch.

He saw it, and didn’t say anything, as she kept her distance from him, moving along the walls over to the plain wooden wardrobe.

“Tell her I am sorry.”

She bowed her head and turned her back on him as she rifled through her clothes.

(Sanctuary) Soulmarks UA Soulmarks are not only for romantic partners, but anyone who is has touched your heart in a significant way, however briefly or not-so-briefly. Helen, with her lifespan and work, of course has far more soulmarks than most. (This story was not meant to be this long! But it kind of took off and then I had no other choice but to trace through most of her life as we know it or can surmise it from the show.)

The cravat never caught on. It would have hidden the identifying mark in the hollow of one’s throat, that design — not words, but figures, lines contrasting against the skin in a symbol — that would be traced elsewhere on your own skin, if this person was to touch your soul.

It wasn’t unusual to have multiple marks, some clear, more starkly colored, for best friends or lovers or spouses, and some fainter, for a passing acquaintance who nevertheless offered exactly the right words or listening ear at the moment you needed them, or some kind of animal symbol for a beloved pet.

There were some who had many, many marks belonging to others — tracing up and down an arm or a leg, the lines occasionally interweaving — and then there were some who only had a few, loving rarely.

And then, there was Helen Sophia Magnus, whose skin from just below her collarbones downward was a mess of various shades of gray, so that individual designs were hardly distinguishable any more, aside from a few that stood out in stark black lines.

(Sanctuary) Teslen vampire/hunter AU He’s a vampire; she’s a hunter. He’s an unusual challenge for her; she’s the same for him. She’s also the one responsible for the entire vampire epidemic in the first place. I think this is the only one that’s been published in any kind of significant way so far; if you’d like, you can read what’s already up online here. Currently somewhat stymied because I’ve gotten past all the really fun relatively fluffy (for a given value of fluff) “mostly enemies but forging a grudging relationship” stuff and now I have to think of an actual plot, which I am incredibly bad at sorting out properly (and I really should have seen that coming, bad Rinari).

(Original Work) The Kel’Reth This is less of one work and more an entire project. It’s a whole flipping world, with one long, more traditional novel-ish work, about a king who loses his kingdom to a coup, and then several other stories in the same world, among them a lesbian explorer couple and a glimpse into the Kel’Reth mythology through a temple librarian. A lot of it is mostly ideas and notes. (Worldbuilding is hard!) It’s kind of a mess and I haven’t worked on it in what feels like ages but it’s my precious.

Sreh was already waiting for them with the messenger and a zazak, one of the large, thinly-furred, horned creatures the Kel'Reth used as pack animals, now relieved of its load. The tactician’s expression was somber.

“What do you have to tell me?” The king adjusted his red robes, cinching his belt tighter, as if that might help to brace him for whatever terrible news he could feel was coming.

The envoy bowed deeply, laying his frills flat. “I bow before you in awe, General-King, Elected of the Zir–”

“What do you have to tell me?” Varekh snapped. “Courier. Consider yourself excused from formalities.”

The messenger paled, swallowing heavily as he straightened. “My King… people have begun to die. It all happened so quickly—but some say even a quarter of the people may be gone by now. The Regent-King has fled, with the Crown Prince. Jazeri now holds the throne, though she has not ordered your guards slain yet. I have a letter from Regent-King Levor here–” he dug in his satchel to retrieve the roll of parchment, still sealed, and offered it to Varekh “–for you.”

His mind spinning, Varekh shook his head, not reaching to take the letter, simply absorbing the news. So he was too late. He had failed.

Perhaps it was instinct that made Sreh grab his arm just before his knees gave out from underneath him.

“Your Majesty! My King!” Her voice rose in panic. “Varekh!”

(Original Work) Heaven in Hell This began as a short story. Then it blossomed into a series of short stories, just a series of moments that somehow became a story in their own right. Jeanne/Evelyn is a lowly guardian angel, who talks with the demons she’s supposed to kill, who falls in love (and God forbid his angels truly love anyone but him), who is cast out of heaven and realizes maybe hell is her heaven after all. I started writing this in French, actually, and I have this weird compulsion to continue writing it in French. But since I have no French teacher to currently impress with little French stories, I haven’t made much progress recently. Still, I love it and I do want to finish it one day. It’s pretty personal, honestly, because I myself used to be highly religious of the very conservative variety and am now quite at home among the flaming queers. I’m sure you can see the parallels.

“I miss you.” Isabelle bit her lip, raising her eyes to meet Evelyn’s again. “You were always my best friend. Come back, please. I don’t know what you did–I’m not going to ask–but I’m sure the Lord would forgive you. He’s always ready to forgive…”

“You’re naive.” It was quiet, almost a whisper, as she stood.

The demoness kissed the angel on the cheek, pressing her lips to the corner of her mouth several moments longer than what would be strictly appropriate for a friend.

“Have a good evening, ‘Belle.”

With a flick of her tail, Evelyn turned to leave.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 15

Help me

Chapter 15: A Place to Begin

These first few paragraphs feel like something out of the EotW dream sequences what is going on.

This place felt different from the dream world, and oddly familiar.

Wait a second…

Yes…he thought, seizing at a memory. I have been here before, but not in a long time.

ASLFKEAJSLEA

If this is what I think it is, a) this chapter might kill me and b) why hasn’t it happened before now? Though now that I write that, I can think of any number of possible reasons, so, okay.

He’s far more aware than he was in the EotW dream sequences. He’s not letting his knowledge that this is a dream – or his memory of where he actually is – slip away. But WHY IS HE HERE? Why now? Now, when he’s already so close to the edge, rather than just beginning down his path…

Actually there’s a thought. These dreams played a large role in setting him onto this path in the first place, pushing him towards and across that first crucial threshold. And now, close to the ending, it feels as if he’s nearing a low point – another threshold, and in that sense it’s fitting that the dreams would be back, to once again give him some kind of push, or…

Or something. I don’t know. I’m still not a hundred percent sure this is the same sort of dream but I really, really hope so.

There was no ground beyond the courtyard. Just tat same terrible sky. Rand did not want to look toward the left side of the room. The fireplace was there. The stones that formed floor, hearth and columns were warped, as if they had been melted by an extreme heat. At the edges of his vision, they seemed to shift and change. The angles and proportions of the room were wrong. Just as they had been when he’d come here, long ago.

FUCK. YES.

IT’S THE SAME DREAM IT’S THE BA’ALZAMON DREAM THE ISHAMAEL DREAM THE

This is almost as exciting to me as Ishamael’s return was. Maybe even more exciting. Like, Shadar Logoth levels of exciting.

There had once been a table here, hadn’t there?

I love that this is basically some kind of bizarre nostalgia for a sequence of traumatic villain-induced dreams. Like ‘wait, wasn’t there a table somewhere in this twisted horror hellscape that I remember from long ago? Ah, those were the days…’

The table was gone, but two chairs sat before the fireplace, high backed and facing the flames, obscuring whomever might be sitting in them.

Yeah I see that cheeky ‘whomever’ there but listen, I am not fooled, there is exactly one person who could be sitting in one of those chairs right now and I think I sort of hoped for this at one point but wasn’t really expecting to get it and

His breath caught and his heart pounded as he approached those chairs.

Same feeling here

He feared what he would find.

but for different reasons.

A man sat in the chair on the left. Tall and youthful, he had a square face and ancient blue eyes that reflected the hearthfire

YEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!

Youthful but ancient, and his eyes are no longer literal caverns of fire but they still burn with reflected flame and the dream is the same but different, familiar and alien, hostile and yet…

The other chair was empty. Rand walked to it and sat down, calming his heart and watching the dancing flames.

AK;FLESJALTKERSEASKELAFLSKEAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaa…………*flatlines*

Okay, okay, I’m okay.

So can I just. He’s in this hellscape of a dream, a dream he remembers, and he’s terrified…and then he sees who is sitting there and he calms his fear. He doesn’t run, doesn’t rage, doesn’t stare in horror. He just walks over to the chair. And sits down. And joins Moridin in watching the fire.

(‘ancient blue eyes that reflected the hearthfire’ could easily describe both of them right now).

He had seen this man before in visions […] At times during those visions, Rand had felt almost as if he could reach out and touch this man. He’d been afraid of what would happen if he did.

Is that why this dream is happening, now? Is it not because Moridin is pulling him into it the way he did as Ba’alzamon, but simply because there is a…link between them now? But if that is the case, why now and not before, at any point since Shadar Logoth? Is the link growing stronger? Is it because Rand himself is growing darker and is less and less able to hold himself together? Something else entirely?

And as for what would happen if he did ‘reach out and touch this man’….well. That is the question, isn’t it? Literally and figuratively. What would happen if Rand reaches out and touches the Shadow, the darkness, everything Moridin has become? What would happen if Rand reaches out and bridges the gap between them that is at once a chasm and little more than a crack?

What would happen if Rand reaches out along the strange bond that is between them and…well, more so than ever, I’m reminded of a specific EotW dream moment: “In every mirror, the flames of Ba’alzamon’s face raged behind him, enveloping, consuming, merging. He wanted to scream, but his throat was frozen. There was only one face in those endless mirrors. His own face. Ba’alzamon’s face. One face”

And I still can’t figure out exactly what that means, except that it feels so closely linked to Min’s vision of Rand and another man merging, and one living and one dying, and Rand thinks it’s Lews Therin and it could be but it’s so close to this and are we talking a literal merging or a figurative one and in either case how and why and what and I would try to follow this (again) but right now I’m A LITTLE DISTRACTED BY THIS SCENE SO IT’LL HAVE TO WAIT.

He had met the man only once. At Shadar Logoth. The stranger had saved Rand’s life, and Rand had often wondered who he had been. Now, in this place, Rand finally knew.

“You are dead,” Rand whispered. “I killed you.”

EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS PERFECT.

Rand thinking about how this man saved his life, and in the next breath saying ‘I killed you’. Rand finally putting the pieces together, and realising who this is, and his first words are not to name his enemy but to say ‘I killed you’. The fact that his first words are ‘You are dead’ when the name Moridin has taken literally means death, though Rand of course does not know it. The way ‘You are dead. I killed you’ becomes itself a naming, of sorts. That is the main identifier. I have won again, Lews Therin except.

And mostly how calm this all is. Rand walking to the chair and sitting down. Rand realising who he is looking at, but it’s a soft firelit realisation, a whispered statement, a puzzle piece fitting gently into place, and it’s world-shaking but everything is so quiet.

He doesn’t lash out, doesn’t shout or strike or make any movement at all. Not even an accusation, or a ‘why am I here’ or a ‘what do you want’. There’s no anger or fear or even hostility. No sense of enmity, except in the implication of the words themselves, but even that statement is spoken peacefully. Just a simple ‘I killed you,’ as if opening a conversation, words jarring agains tone, and yet at the same time it’s as if this is the only thing he could possibly have said; it’s that perfect.

The man didn’t look from the fire as he laughed. It was a rough, low-throated laugh that held little true mirth.

I am not going to survive this scene.

There’s still no sense of antagonism, except in the actual content of the conversation. But the entire setting, the tone…it’s this beautifully eerie juxtaposition of fire-and-brimstone nightmare and quiet fireside comfort, of nostalgia and what should be enmity.

“I watched you die,” Rand said.

Yes, well, he could say the same of you, technically speaking.

I love that they’re talking. I love that this is the topic of conversation but the conversation itself sounds like they’re talking about the weather. Which, here, is ‘cloudy with a chance of eternal damnation’ but the point still stands. Even more so, actually.

“I stabbed you through the chest with Callandor. Isha—”

“That is not my name,” the man interrupted

HE INTERRUPTS AT ‘BETRAYER’ BEFORE RAND CAN SPEAK THE WORD FOR ‘HOPE’. I’M FINE THIS IS FINE. I’m overreading this but I DO NOT EVEN CARE THIS IS EVERYTHING.

And now I’m reminded of the Prologue, where Ishamael claims the name proudly – gets Lews Therin to speak it, forcing him to acknowledge it, and taking pride in the name and its meaning. But now he doesn’t even let Rand finish the word.

“I am known as Moridin, now.”

“The name is irrelevant,” Rand said angrily.

Ah, now we get some anger.

But is it so irrelevant, Rand? “I am Rand al’Thor! I am me!” Do you really believe the name matters so little? You, who cling so tightly to your own and refuse to acknowledge that you carry another, determined to distance yourself from that past identity?

“You are dead, and this is just a dream.”

“Just a dream,” Moridin said, chuckling. “Yes.”

(Life is a dream, and all men must wake).

Moridin finally looked at him. Flames from the fire cast bright red and orange light across his angular face and unblinking eyes.

I’m laughing but also kind of impressed with the way this so nicely echoes the way his eyes were on fire when he was Ba’alzamon. The same and yet not the same. I also love the fact that he didn’t even look at Rand until now. Every beat of this scene is designed to ruin me.

“You are dead,” Rand said stubbornly.

“So are you. I watched you die, you know.”

Ha. He actually went there. Of course he did. Of course he would. After all, he more than just about anyone else sees this all as a neverending cycle of theme and variation.

Mention of this event always brought on howls of grief and anger in Rand’s mind.

But this time, there was silence.

OH. Okay that is…rather fascinating. Even more so because Rand is aware of it. And it fits well with the rest this scene, with this odd feeling of silence and peace where there should be anything but.

But he knew the truth of what Moridin had said. Rand’s enemy still lived. Light! How many of the others had returned as well? Anger made him grip the armrest of the chair. Perhaps he should have been terrified, but he had stopped running from this creature and his master long ago. Rand had no more room for fear. In fact, it should be Moridin who feared, for the last time they had met, Rand had killed him.

Except I’m reasonably sure Moridin doesn’t at all fear death.

But they are certainly meeting on different terms now than they did in these dreams during the first three books.

Even in his growing anger, though, and thoughts about how he killed Ishamael before, and how Moridin should be afraid of him…Rand just talks to him. Doesn’t attack or shout or anything. He just asks how.

And Moridin answers.

“Long ago, I promised you that the Great Lord could restore your lost love. Do you not think that he can easily recover one who serves him?”

Listen, I’m not saying you could twist that wording to imply that Ilyena served Shai’tan, but…

(No, I do not actually think this was the case. I’m just amused because it fits with a thing I wrote a while back).

“We are all reborn,” Moridin continued, “spun back into the Pattern time and time again. Death is no barrier to my master save for those who have known balefire. They are beyond his grasp. It is a wonder we can remember them.”

THEY’RE ENEMIES BUT MORIDIN IS JUST CALMLY PHILOSOPHISING AND ALSO SHARING INFORMATION AND NEITHER OF THEM IS ATTACKING THE OTHER AND IT’S LIKE IN SHADAR LOGOTH WHERE THEY’RE NOT REALLY ENEMIES AT ALL EXCEPT THEY ARE BUT THEY AREN’T AND I CAN’T HANDLE THIS.

Why is Moridin telling him this?

Maybe because there’s no way for him to lose. Maybe Rand will irreversibly kill more of the Forsaken, but if he uses balefire to do so, the net result is still chaos. Moridin is playing all sides of the board.

And even in the earlier books, as Ba’alzamon, when the dreams were far more hostile and frightening and Rand had far less idea what was happening, Ishamael rarely actually lied, as far as I can recall.

Anyway, the way he links his answer to the fact that they are all reborn again and again is interesting.

“The Great Lord can grant you sanity, you know,” Moridin said. 

“Your last gift of sanity brought me no comfort,” Rand said, surprising himself with the words. That had been Lews Therin��s memory, not his own. Yet Lews Therin was gone from his mind. Oddly, Rand felt more stable – somehow – here in this place where all else appeared fluid. The pieces of himself fit together better. Not perfectly, of course, but better than they had in recent memory.

Here, in a nightmare, with only his enemy for company. Yet it feels right, and I’m trying to figure out how to articulate why.

It’s as if there’s an openness and an honesty between them, in which nothing is truly hidden. And there is a link between them, one that arguably goes back across time and Ages, and so who they were and who they are becomes less distinct. And then here, in this dream, this pocket of space and time set aside from everything else, this place where as Rand says, everything is fluid, it’s almost like a ceasefire, or a momentary truce. So it’s as if some of the other conflicts almost…fall away, in this place that is and is not reality, where everything else is paused and all that exists are the two of them. And the dynamic between them almost supercedes who they each are or are trying to be individually; they’re not playing their set roles here, but are rather meeting more as two individuals.

And that line from Rand. Stated almost lightly, almost teasingly, almost as a joke between friends, but referencing the worst moment of his life. And then Moridin almost laughs, and it really does feel like old friends remembering past antics, except they’re remembering the end of an Age.

Moridin snorted softly, but said nothing. Rand turned back to the flames, watching them twist and flicker.

At something like peace in his own mind for the first time in a long time, staring into the fire, thinking and remembering, sitting in companionable silence.

With his enemy.

Help.

This is everything I want, to the extent that I don’t even know how to deal with it.

Enemies or antagonists meeting or interacting as not-quite-enemies is, quite possibly, my single favourite thing in the entire genre. These moments where weapons are laid down, replaced by a strange honesty and openness, tension replaced by a sense of ephemeral delicate peace, made somehow stronger rather than less significant for the knowledge that it will not last. But for the space of a scene or a chapter or even an arc it does, occupying this liminal space between corruption and redemption in which either is possible but neither is likely, and instead it’s the feeling of a moment frozen in time, of two characters who know each other not at all and all too well falling into something that is at odds with and yet perfectly complimentary to their dynamic in the ‘real’ story, full of what could have been or what might have been or what if. There’s something almost surreal about it. And it serves to enhance the overall dynamic by providing a different lens through which to view it, and when done well there is nothing better. So this scene is…a lot.

One might have thought that they were two old friends, enjoying the warmth of a winter hearth. Except that the flames gave no heat, and Rand would someday kill this man again. Or die at his hands.

Or both?

But this. One might have thought they were two old friends This is what I mean. Except that the flames gave no heat This exact feeling. and Rand would someday kill this man again. Just bury me in this scene.

Moridin tapped his fingers on the chair. “Why have you come here?”

MORIDIN DIDN’T EVEN BRING HIM HERE. OH MAN THIS MAKES IT EVEN BETTER. Rand doesn’t know why he’s here but Moridin doesn’t know why Rand is here and they each think the other has some reason for meeting here like this but instead it just happens and they share conversation and a fire before either of them asks and finally Moridin is the one who asks.

He didn’t expect Rand here, but he doesn’t throw Rand out of the dream. Doesn’t throw fire at him or turn from him or tell him to leave, or leave himself. He just…sits with him and answers his questions. Kill me now.

“I feel so tired,” Moridin continued, closing his eyes. “Is that you, or is it me?”

HELP ME

Honesty in response to Rand’s questions is one thing, but this is SOMETHING ELSE. Unasked and unprompted, he is openly stating…weakness.

But who else can he tell? He is tired – and so is Rand, and I think the answer to his question is ‘both’ – but he is Nae’blis, and the end is drawing near, and there are things he has to do, and he rules the other Forsaken but at the same time disdains them, and certainly cannot confide in them. Like Rand, he has almost no one he trusts. Like Rand, he is so tired, and very possibly trying similarly to hold everything together and keep all the pieces in the right places and move everything to the ending, to the point where he can finally let them go…he serves chaos, but he is still trying to play all sides of a game that encompasses the entire world. It’s exhausting, and he’s alone in it, and there’s no one he can tell.

And so that leaves…Rand. They are enemies, but they are also the only ones who come close to understanding each other on certain level. So here we are, in this space where both of them are outside of their normal role, enemies and yet…the only ones they can talk to about some things. Even leaving aside the link between them, they share a bond by virtue of being champions of opposing forces; they both know something about a role that is all-consuming, and greater than they are alone. And now that Rand knows who and what he is (mostly), they share a…an understanding of the true scope of this game or conflict they are playing out. Rand is maybe not quite there yet, but he – as Rand, and especially here as Rand-and-Lews-Therin – comes closer than anyone else to being on the same level as Moridin in that regard, I think. And so there is a layer of understanding between them, which makes honesty like this possible.

“It is not time for us to fight,” Moridin said, waving a hand at Rand. “Go. Leave me in peace.”

This is all so quiet and peaceful and sad. And Moridin isn’t throwing him out here, or even making any effort towards him for any purpose. He doesn’t know why Rand is there, but indulges him for a little while in conversation, answers his questions honestly, admits his fatigue. And now just tiredly asks Rand to go – to LEAVE HIM IN PEACE, I’M NOT OKAY – without giving any indication of adverse feelings towards Rand himself.

It’s not time for them to fight. That’s all. They will eventually, because that is what must happen, but Moridin doesn’t seem to want to. Not that he wants not to, but there’s no active antagonism there, at least not right now.

It goes back to the ‘one might have thought that they were two old friends, enjoying the warmth of a winter hearth. Except that the flames gave no heat, and Rand would someday kill this man again.  Or die at his hands.’ It’s as if in this moment, understanding – or perhaps exhausted apathy – surpasses hatred, and their enmity is more circumstantial; a result of the roles they each embody.

Also. If Moridin didn’t bring Rand here, that means he actually was just...sitting in the World of Dreams, alone, looking into the fire. Not doing anything specifically, as far as we can see - thinking, certainly, but otherwise sitting in peace. And we also know time spent in Tel’aran’rhiod isn’t as restful as real sleep, so Moridin is sitting here almost at rest but also not at rest and he is so tired and ‘leave me in peace’ everything hurts and nothing is okay.

“I do not know what would happen to us if we killed one another.”

Again with the disarming honesty. I wonder, though, if that’s exactly what we’re going to find out.

“The Great Lord will have you soon enough. His victory is assured.”

It still doesn’t come across as threatening or even gloating, though. More just…fatalistic apathy with a trace of arrogance or maybe relief.

“He has failed before and will fail again,” Rand said. “I will defeat him.”

Moridin laughed again, the same heartless laugh as before. “Perhaps you will,” he said. “But do you think that matters? Consider it. The Wheel turns, time and time again. Over and over the Ages turn, and men fight the Great Lord. But someday, he will win, and when he does, the Wheel will stop.

“That is why his victory is assured. I think it will be this Age, but if not, then in another. When you are victorious, it only leads to another battle. When he is victorious, all things will end. Can you not see that there is no hope for you?”

Are you sure you’re still talking to Rand there, Moridin? (Did you betray hope, or did it betray you?)

And so he’ll talk with Rand, and give him truth and surprsing openness, both because there’s no one else he can talk to about this and also because…do you think that matters? As he sees it, it doesn’t. Because as he sees it, all paths eventually lead to the same end, whether now or in another Age.

So why, then, is he making any effort at all? Why not just sit back and wait? To enjoy the benefits of power while they last? Or…

When he is victorious, all things will end. The other Forsaken don’t really understand this – or else they’re so deep in denial as to make no difference – but he does. And if he is working to ensure that victory – even though he believes it will come eventually regardless – then he…wants all things to end. Oh. “I feel so tired.” I…oh.

I’ve wondered about that before, and it’s certainly been hinted at, but this is…not hinting.

Also ‘when you are victorious, it only leads to another battle’ is kind of heartbreaking because it fits all too well with what Rand has said and thought; he is trying so hard to force peace, and keeps telling people versions of ‘you can go back to killing each other once this is done’. Bashere said it as well, when he talked about hoping this really would the the Last Battle, but knows it won’t be. There will always be another battle, another conflict. Rand isn’t buying peace with his life, he’s buying the chance of having a future.

And there are two ways of looking at that. Either as a source of hope, because as long as there is a future there is a chance, and there may not be peace but there will at least be choice, and life, and possibility. Or as a source of despair, because what does it matter when war and death and conflict are inevitable, and when each victory only means having to fight again? Moridin takes the latter view, clearly, and Rand…

Rand is meant to take the first. But he’s at a point in his arc right now here he doesn’t, really. He’s determined to win, but has lost sight of why; has lost a certain amount of faith in hope and a future because all he can see before him is more destruction and pain and fragile peace that is bought with blood and will fall apart as soon as he is gone. So he’s sort of…between these two viewpoints, and as such is not at all ready to face the Last Battle as the champion of the Light.

“Is that what made you turn to his side?” Rand asked. “You were always so full of thoughts, Elan. Your logic destroyed you, didn’t it?”

H E L P  M E

ELAN.

YOUR LOGIC DESTROYED YOU, DIDN’T IT.

ELAN.

He started by naming him Ishamael – or trying to. He all but ignored ‘Moridin’. And now…Elan. With a statement that sounds absolutely like remembering an old friendship. Even more than that, a statement that sounds like sympathy.

Your logic destroyed you, didn’t it? THIS LINE IS DESTROYING ME

And, perhaps oddly, Rand seems more hopeful and certain here than he has in a very long time, more in line with the side he is ‘meant’ to take. It reminds me a bit of that moment of calm, peaceful certainty in TGH, when he faced Ba’alzamon and said “I will never serve you, Father of Lies. In a thousand lives, I never have. I know that. I’m sure of it. Come. It is time to die.” It’s as if being faced with a true glimpse of what the darkness he is moving towards looks like – despair and apathy and nihilism – he is more able to pull himself away from it, and ground himself somewhat in the hope and determination he is ‘meant’ to embody and bring.

It may not last; this dream will end and Rand will be back where he was, but I think it’s very possible that this – and Moridin in general, and the bond between them – will play a role in pushing Rand across the threshold he is approaching, and in getting him to where he needs to be. It probably won’t be pleasant; it wasn’t last time, either. But there’s something about being faced with an ‘opposite’ that sometimes allows for truer conviction. This is what he is fighting – or is meant to be fighting. This sense of meaninglessness, and the despair that leads to capitulation and resignation. He is supposed to be a source of hope, and to bring about a future in which that hope has a place, even amidst destruction and conflict.

“There is no path to victory,” Moridin said. “The only path is to follow the Great Lord and rule for a time before all things end.”

The ultimate ‘take what you can and pay for it’, I suppose…

“The others are fools. They look for grand rewards in the eternities. But there will be no eternities. Only the now, the last days.”

He laughed again, and this time there was joy in it. True pleasure.

I…

Wow. Okay. That’s.

Yeah. Again, he’s implied as much before, but.

He wants this. He isn’t looking for ‘grand rewards in the eternities’, but is instead taking true pleasure in the thought of…the last days. Of an ending. His name isn’t a threat; it’s a promise. Or maybe a wish. 

Because if every victory only leads to another battle, and existence means being reborn again and again, to face those battles again and again, and if you don’t believe there’s any hope of anything different…oh, Elan.

He’s not fighting Rand because he wants to; he tells Rand it’s not yet time for them to fight, and there’s virtually no emotion in it. But when he speaks of the last days, of all things ending, that is the one time he shows joy. He doesn’t want the triumph of evil, or to rule for eternity. He wants…everything to end.

This chapter is too much. Take it away.

“There is a way to win, Moridin,” Rand said.

So now he’s ‘Moridin’. After talking of no path to victory and the inevitability of death and the last days. Fitting.

And in face of that, Rand shows conviction and determination, if not exactly optimism. I’m not sure he’s capable of that just now, and he’s still in something of a downwards spiral, but this scene feels almost like a brief respite from that.

“I mean to kill him. Slay the Dark One. Let the Wheel turn without his constant taint.”

Uh.

I feel like that’s…possibly the worst idea you’ve had all series, Rand. And that includes the time you climbed a garden wall to look at a false Dragon.

I mean, points for conviction, but no. Balance tends to be a rather important idea in stories like this. And this is where we see the darker part of Rand’s current path coming through yet again; he wants to win, and right now that means destroying his enemy. That, to his current mindset, feels like ‘victory’, and it’s appealing right now because he has far too much to deal with and he’s barely holding it all together and he just wants it to end – not quite in the way Moridin wants it to end but not quite differently enough – and so he’s seizing on the most ‘direct’ solution he can find, on a way to force his way through. Like forcing peace through invasion and kidnapping, or trying to push the Seanchan back with lightning and Callandor, it’s a brute-force solution that relies entirely on power and not at all on understanding.

“We are connected,” Moridin finally said. “That is how you came here, I suspect, though I do not understand our bond myself. I doubt you can understand the magnitude of the stupidity of your statement.”

I love every single word of this. The way Moridin begins on what seems like an entirely unrelated topic, the answer to a question neither of them quite asked but have both been thinking about. The way he is, once again, almost surprisingly honest in both stating that there is a bond but also acknowleging his ignorance of exactly what it is. And then just ending with ‘and you’re a fucking idiot’. But without any real heat behind it. Beautiful.

He reached for the One Power. It was distant, far away.

Huh. That’s…interesting. Moridin doesn’t seem to use saidin much, if at all…and the bond they formed was with the True Power meeting the One Power…and when Rand seizes saidin, it pulls him away from this dreamspace. There’s something in this…

The dream ends and I’m just going to sit here for a minute and feel personally attacked by everything this scene chose to be because wow.

I’m fine.

So anyway we’re with Min now, reading a book by someone called Pelateos who totally isn’t Plato.

Min hadn’t been able to get close enough to [Aviendha] to have a converesation, despite the fact that they’d been in the camp together for some time now.

ABSOLUTELY NO COMMUNICATION. Come on, at least let them get to know each other.

Min’s still trying to take Herid Fel’s place as resident philosopher, looking into the puzzle of the seals of the Dark One’s prison, and hopefully she will a) not get murdered by the gholam and b) deliver an answer in a way that people can actually understand. I have high hopes.

What was she doing trying to solve a scholarly mystery? But who else was there?

This is what I love about Min: the way she refuses to be overwhelmed by so much that should overwhelm her. She’s not Aes Sedai or royalty; she’s just Min Farshaw, but she doesn’t let that stand in her way. She doesn’t let it be a ‘just’. This is something that needs to be done, and she’s the only one who can do it, so she can do it.

She followed Rand because she loved him, and she could feel – literally – that he returned her love. Despite the harshness that was invading him bit by bit, despite the anger and the bleakness of his life, he loved her.

This is lovely as well. He loves her, and still has that capacity to love and to know that he is loved, and it’s one of the very few things anchoring him right now.

Which makes me think that something terrible is going to happen; I think I’ve said this before but if the line he holds most strongly as a division between himself and Lews Therin – that Lews Therin killed everyone he loved, where Rand insists that he doesn’t kill when he doesn’t have to – were to be crossed, that would very likely result in a darkest hour sort of scenario.  “I won’t hurt you, Min. I will cut off my arm before I hurt you.” I thought maybe this foreshadowing played out when Rand lost a hand because he couldn’t move aside without exposing Min, but now I almost wonder if the ‘before’ could be literally chronological. Though it wouldn’t necessarily have to be Min; there are a handful of characters I’m worried for at the moment. Someone is going to get hurt. Rand has hurt his own people before – the battle at Cairhien by necessity, the battle against the Seanchan by accident and Callandor – but he has just about managed to avoid truly hurting those he loves. And he’s crossed almost every other line he’s set for himself, so that’s the logical next step…

Rand stirred again. This time, he groaned and opened his eyes, sitting up. […] Min pushed her book closed. “And what do you think you’re doing, sheepherder? You barely slept for a couple of hours!”

Min Farshaw: reverse alarm clock.

“He’s inside my head. He was gone during the dream. But he’s back now.”

It’s as if facing Moridin made Rand more truly himself. Made both of them more truly themselves, even.

“Rand,” she said, setting her book aside and joining him beside the window. “You have to talk to someone. You can’t keep it all inside.”

“I have to be strong.”

Ah, Rand.

Min’s not going to let him get away with that, though; she’s persistent and she knows damn well that he needs to talk to someone because otherwise this will break him. So she just keeps pushing aside his excuses and she stays there with him and doesn’t let him push her away.

“Burn it all, Min! If my enemies discover my weaknesses, they will exploit them.”

Rand. Do you forget how Moridin just told you he felt tired? Not to mention the rest of it? You’re not wrong but also you need to talk to people and maybe trust the people who love you.

“I’m running in the dark on an unfamiliar path. I don’t know if there are breaks in the road, or if the whole cursed thing ends in a cliff!”

Knowing Rand’s luck with high places, that’s exactly where it ends up. Or maybe on top of a wall.

“Tell me.”

“You’ll think I’m mad.”

She snorted. “I already think you’re a wool-headed fool. Can it be much worse than that?”

Fair.

“You had a viewing of me that showed to people merging into one. That means Lews Therin and I are distinct!”

Er…no. And there’s no way it’s coincidence that this viewing is mentioned again, right after that dream with Moridin and all the thoughts and discussion about the bond there, and Rand wondering what would happen if he reached out and touched him and WHERE DOES THIS GO.

“Rand, he’s you. Or you’re him. Spun into the Pattern again. Those memories and things you can do, they’re remnants from who you were before.”

Listen to Min, Rand. Unlike you, she’s making sense.

“No,” Rand said.

Or not.

“Min, he’s insane and I’m not. Besides, he failed. I won’t. I won’t do it, Min. I won’t hurt those I love, as he did.”

Ah, and here we are again. This is the crux of it, really; he has to believe they are different people, because he cannot accept that this is his past, that he killed those he loved. He cannot accept that he failed, because he cannot accept the possibility of failing this time. But he conflates acceptance with being condemned to the same fate. Lews Therin failed, and Rand is Lews Therin reborn, but that doesn’t mean Rand will fail; it means he has another chance to not fail. And he can remember that past – if he lets himself – and maybe learn things from it.

But it’s still too much for him to accept, especially as he is just barely holding himself together as it is. He has crossed so many lines, that he absolutely cannot let himself hurt those he loves, because that’s pretty much all that’s keeping him anchored on this side of redeemability in his mind – that and his thing about not killing women – and so he continues to reject that aspect of who he is, or was, because to do otherwise is unthinkable. To do otherwise would mean he has already crossed that line, and where does that leave him? He still doesn’t see, or can’t see, that it can be his past without being his present or his future.

“Does it matter?” she asked. “If there is another person, or if those are just memories from before, the information is useful.”

Have I mentioned that I love Min? Trust her to take a practical approach to this. And it’s invaluable as well in the sense that she’s not reacting with fear or horror at what Rand is telling her. She’s just listening and standing by him and talking to him calmly about it, treating it as just…another thing to work with. Even if it does scare her, she doesn’t let that show, because that’s the opposite of what Rand needs. Instead, she tries to help him, so that they can work on this together.

“Ishamael lives,” Rand said.

She snapped her eyes open. “What?” Just when she was beginning to feel comfortable!

That’s one way to break the news, I suppose.

“He has returned, bearing a new face and a new name, but it is him.”

Men wear many names, many faces. Different faces, yet always the same man…

Rand is all for using the balefire option. Which is hard to disagree with, given that it’s the only way to permanently kill these people, but still.

“I need the voice, Min. Lews Therin knows things. Or…or I know things. Whichever it is, the knowledge is there. In a way, the Dark One’s own taint will destroy him, for it is what gave me access to Lews Therin.”

Indeed. It’s a rather excellent irony, there, and I think he’s probably right. Also, this is probably the most sanguine he’s sounded yet about the voice – he at least accepts the possibility that it is ‘him’ in some way.

“You have to destroy the seals to the Dark One’s prison.”

Interesting. Makes sense, though. And Rand seems to agree, so…so far so good.

The prophecies didn’t say Rand would win. Only that he would fight. Min shivered again – blasted window! – but met Rand’s gaze. “You’ll win. You’ll defeat him.”

He sighed. “Faith in a madman, Min?”

“Faith in you, sheepherder.”

Oh man that is a great exchange.

It’s even better in contrast to Rand’s certainty and conviction in the dream just before. The entire mood is so markedly different, and it makes the dream feel even more like a…scene that exists out of time, almost, or just outside of ordinary reality, where the rules are different and everything else is fluid and the two there are more themselves, with everything else on hold.

More viewings from Min, though most of these have shown up before.

He nodded, and she was surprised to feel his trust through the bond. That was a frighteningly rare emotion from him recently, but he did seem softer than he had during previous days.

And TALKING TO HIS ENEMY is the cause. I cannot get over this; it is everything that I love.

(Moridin is a good influence on him. This amuses me greatly, and Moridin would probably glare at me for saying so).

It was a beginning. She tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes again. A place to begin, but with so little time left.

Well, and I…don’t know that this will be a true beginning. At least, I don’t think it’s a straight upward journey from here. The dream had an influence, certainly, but Rand still has further to fall, and I don’t think this moment is going to stop that. It might, though, help give him something to pull himself back up with, so to speak.

Over to Aviendha now, who is carrying out yet another form of useless labour.

And Amys is here no doubt to throw her another set of questions, and Aviendha still hasn’t figured out what’s going on or what she needs to do.

Bashere and company are back, with news that the Seanchan have agreed to another meeting with Rand. No doubt that’ll end well…

The Aiel are really, really not fans of making peace with the Seanchan. It makes for an interesting contrast between two ‘foreign’ groups who could both, to the average person living in the main setting, be seen as invaders.

“Which is more important, Corana?” Aviendha replied raising her chin. “The argument you have with another Maiden, or the feud your clan has with its enemy?”

The ‘enemy’ here being literal apocalypse, so I’d say Aviendha has a point.

“The Seanchan deserve to be fought,” Aviendha said, “and you are right that it pains to ask them for peace. But you forget that we have a greater enemy. Sightblinder himself has a feud with all men, and our duty is larger than feuds between nations.”

Amys nodded. “There will be time enough to show the Seanchan the weight of our spears at another date.”

Always another battle. About that, Moridin was not wrong. And this keeps getting brought up, either directly or by conversations like this, that make it all too clear that there are conflicts that will stretch beyond the Last Battle, and that even as humanity is being united to face a greater threat, it’s not a peace that will be able to last.

Aaaaand the news of Aiel Wise Ones being leashed by the Seanchan is not going to help that in the slightest.

“Do not think that we will ignore this insult, Corana. Vengeance will come. Once this war is done, the Seanchan will feel the storm of our arrows and the tips of our spears. But not until after.”

The sad thing is, the Wise Ones were leashed as the price of peace and cooperation between Perrin and the Seanchan – a high price, certainly, but one at the time deemed necessary – but in making that peace, they ended up striking the first blow against the Aiel, which means there will be retaliation, which means it won’t end easily, if at all. It’s an exchange that fits well with the rest of the chapter, certainly.

Next (TGS ch 16) Previous (TGS ch 14)

[lightningandknives]

The seventy eighth day

No one knew that a journal was a sign of the apocalypse. They had simply shoved into the body- bag along with the remains of its unfortunate owner. Though it was blood spattered and surrounded by fragments of offal the worn leather seemed innocuous enough, and it certainly did not have the foreboding presence of a Necronomicon. Then there was the body it was attached to. A suicide, albeit unusual in method and traumatic to the local populace, but this city had seen such things before, and it was not as if the crime was one that could reoccur.

Besides the contents of the notebook made it seem as if it would be inconsequential in the investigation, filled with long series of drawings of dig sites, measurements of bones and artefacts, and details of remains, all written in a scrawl that would be difficult for a native English speaker to decipher, never mind the overworked members of the Shanghai police. After the first few pages it was deemed a low priority and left to go cold, as was the case itself.

But like all stories this one did not start in the beginning, but somewhere near the middle, right next to a bloodied thumb-print and some vague mentions of religious practices.

Day 63     0735 hours

I believe I have found the remains of the one that the inscriptions refer to as the prophet of the sky, he who came from the isle of knowledge to bring them to leap into the realm of the gods. The remains were buried below one of the stone steps of the temple, relatively undisturbed by larger scavengers.

The cranial structure suggests that the skull likely belonged to a male of indigenous descent, and given the partial eruption of wisdom teeth was potentially in early adulthood. Determination of age through pelvic and epiphyseal fusion hampered by fractures of long bones, as well as layers of remodelling that indicate repeated breaks, with poor stabilization of bones during critical healing periods.

The severity and theoretical timeline of the injuries are consistent with the description of the prophet’s first incarnation, a young boy who claimed to come from an island with inhabitants capable of flight, and were supposedly beyond the need for pain. All bones below the lumbar region have been broken at least once, and many have fused in such a way that movement would have likely been extremely painful even without the active fractures. Given the degree of healing of some bones and the patterns of wear it is possible he was still somewhat ambulatory despite the repeat trauma.

Cause of death is likely blunt force trauma, as there are bone fractures that appear to be inflicted pre-mortem and lack any sort of remodelling. The breaks are consistent with a fall, though I will be sending the remains to Doctor Sousa for cleaning and a more formal analysis.

Day 66     1935 hours

Sousa’s report has arrived, and he seems to concur with my findings, though he does have an additional observation. The skull displayed signs of an ossified haematoma, located just above the parietal lobe. This could account for the lack of pain, perhaps due to an incident that occurred before the locals found him. Li has suggested I begin writing my dreams, as over the time we have spent here I have had had several that related to the site. He says it may help me gain greater insight into what we are looking at, and that the unconscious mind often knows things the conscious mind does not. Still, should there be anything pertinent I shall record it for posterity, just to make him stop bothering me about it.

Day 73     0730 hours

Unfortunately for Li tonight’s dream was much of the same nonsense that has been running through my mind ever since we learned about this place. Standing on a precipice, above a crowd of people, preparing to jump. You do not need a degree in psychology to know what that means, you could just ask my mother. It means I have devoted myself to this project, so much so that I even think of it as I sleep.

We found some kind of record stone today, and while I have sent photos of it out to the university for a full translation I did piece a little together during the night. Best I can understand it was speaking about a infant, one who was born under the prophet’s sight and yet would not take the blood. I have no idea what this might mean, hopefully some of my colleagues have better luck.

Day 73    1130 hours

I think we may have found the infant that the record referred to, resting within a shattered pot hidden behind some foliage. There were clear signs of blunt force trauma consistent with being thrown from a height, and there was no ossification of the posterior fontanelle, or of any of the other fontanelles, indicating that it was likely under a month old, and definitely younger than three months.

Remains have been packaged up and sent to Sousa, report pending.

Day 74    0735 hours

Li nearly broke his neck today. It seems there was some sort of pit about a quarter of a kilometre from the centre of the village, though it was partially covered by a downed tree and a great deal of foliage. It will require a great deal more manpower than just the two of us to do more than a cursory examination given the snake population, but from what we can gather from partially faded marking stones this was the site of something they called the ascension.

The next three paragraphs are my best attempt at translation, though I will be sending it in to the experts to see what they think.

The prophet would have ...visions of some sort... as the knowledge of the truth grew within him. When he was ...I think the word is ripe... he would somehow climb to the top of the ...tree of the world, or maybe bush of reality..., as those who were anointed perhaps?... but not yet truly ...awakened, or maybe sighted?... would gather at the bottom of the pit.

Then he would spread his wings and preform his final leap, the one he had been ...preparing for, or maybe awaiting??? ever since he was a child, and those below would bathe??? in his ...either soul or viscera, but in this case I believe it is the same thing... and rise.

Once awakened the acolytes will ...see, or maybe hallucinate?... the truth, and shall leap forth and ...spread? sow? impregnate?... the knowledge across the world.

Given that the prophet’s body was found at the temple it could be that this ritual did take place, though it is also possible that there are remains at the base of the pit. Perhaps it was someplace they returned before death, in order to reach some sort of afterlife.

Day 75    0735 hours

Tonight’s dream was slightly different. As I stood above the pit I could see the faces of my family below, smiling up at me. There was a boy to my right, crimson wings in place of arms. He whispered something to me, though I do not remember it, but in that moment it seemed like he was telling me the truth of the universe, and how to share it with those below.

I awoke standing at the edge of the pit, looking down the steep side to the ground below. It appears my childhood habit of sleepwalking has returned, I best be careful to keep my leg anchored while out here, that could have ended badly.

Day 75    1130 hours

There will be a delay on the analysis of the infant remains we found. I just received a call and it appears that Sousa has been committed. It seems that the stress has gotten to him, as they found him standing on the edge of a building looking at the people passing below. Supposedly he was muttering something about revealing the truth, and that this was the only way to achieve enlightenment.

Clearly I am not the only one who has gotten a little obsessed with this project, and with attempting to see things as the people here once did. Still, despite his instability he is right. From above we may see things as they truly are, and it is tempting to try and touch that reality.

Day 76    0735 hours

It was fortunate that I woke early, as Li had wandered off in the middle of the night. I found him kneeling in the pit, digging up dirt with his bare hands as if searching for something. It appears I am not the only one who is experiencing some form of noctambulism from these surroundings. Perhaps it is the solitude, or the fact that the two of us do little that is not working or playing cards.

Luckily for Li I found him before the pit vipers did, though it was not until I had woken him and we had returned to camp that I realized he was clutching something in his hand. An odd stone dagger, with the words knowledge and accession etched into the surface, and a blade sharp enough that recovering it managed to make both of us bleed.

I had thought that something being so sharp that you could not feel it cut you was a myth, yet somehow this dirt-covered dagger drew blood without either of us noticing. Perhaps it is coated in some sort of long-lasting sedative that withstands centuries of being buried underground? I will have to ask the local botanists if there is such a thing in the region.

Day 76    1430 hours

I was wrong, somehow Li had gotten bitten by a pit viper and did not seem to feel a thing, not until it was too late. Somehow he was walking on it without even the slightest hint of discomfort, even when his calf had swollen to the point where his trousers seemed to be straining at the seams.

I was told there was no way to make it to the hospital in time, the swelling having gone unnoticed for far too long. The doctors have no idea how we could have missed it for so long, yet somehow he seemed perfectly fine until the moment he was not. I have collected my things to accompany his body on the nearest flight to Shanghai. It was my research that lead to this, it is only right that I am the one to return him to his family.

Day 77    0735 hours

Though I do not think I have slept I have certainly dreamed. Even away from the temple my mind is still captivated by the culture that had once worshiped there, and whenever I close my eyes I see that pit, with the fallen tree standing tall and begging to be climbed. How joyous it must have been for those who had lived that life, able follow in the footsteps of the prophet, and to bring truth into being.

Looking from the window of the plane is like getting a glimpse into the heart of the universe, with all its mysteries unfolding before me. My arms itch, as if they are growing feathers, and my fingers scrape at the skin without pain, shedding ignorance in the face of the greater knowledge.

Day 77    1130 hours

I wish I could see that stone dagger again, to read once more the symbols now that I have seen the truth. Yet in my ignorance I locked it away, safe in Li’s keeping down in the belly of the beast. Instead I shall learn the truth, the sky shall reveal the secrets that the ground has hidden.

Day 78    0330 hours

Being tied to the ground once more makes my arms itch, the need to share the truth more powerful than anything. Li had begun to see it, through him the blade had revealed itself and we had been awakened. I must awaken the people, show them the knowledge that was kept hidden from them. It is as the prophet told me, ascension is brought by the crimson mist, and from your arms it shall rain upon the people and wash away their uncertainties.

I have seen the truth. Like the prophet before me by my blood they shall be anointed. In his footsteps comes great joy, and I shall follow him from a hight that no tree could reach, and into a crowd he had only dreamed of.

They shall all be free and one by one they shall take flight.

[julianledet4439-blog]

Do You Mean To Mention That It goes without saying These Years ...

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