#seagulls are kind of the pigeons of the sea

[pigeonsandidols]

Shuhua on a beach in Australia with seagulls.

[powdermelonkeg]

Personal headcanons for Gale's tower layout:

5F: An astronomical observatory with an orrery in it. The stardome is enchanted to reflect whatever sky and weather Gale wishes; if he wants to see the stars in Kythorn, that's what it shows him. If he wants rainy weather to read to, guess what. The stars reflect whatever position the orrery's been set to. There's a walkable ledge around the exterior of the roof for Tara's pigeon-hunting.

4F: A portal room, surrounded by three guest bedrooms and a bathroom. The bedrooms are themed: one smells like a sea breeze and faces the harbor, colored with sunset shades with gold accents, one smells like rose potpourri and fresh grass, mostly pastel purple with brass, one smells faintly spiced, deep maroon and bronze. Morena prefers the rose one. Each one comes equipped with a vanity that has three (magic) mirrors, a wardrobe that removes wrinkles and stains of anything hung in it and repairs minor stitches, a set of candles that never burn down their wicks, and curtains that, when drawn, enact a silent barrier around the room. The floors are polished hardwood with plush, patterned carpets. The bathroom is self-cleaning, has running water on command, whatever temp you want it, warms towels for you, and has a magic mirror (magic mirrors in my headcanon show hairstyles and things you WANT to try before you actually try them out).

3F: Gale's floor. His bedroom, a walk-in closet, a room for Tara, and a personal bathroom. Gale's bedroom has silence-spelled drapes, glowing crystal sconces he can dim with a wave, a desk, a large canopy bed (the one he summons during his last night in Act II), a small bookshelf for whatever he's currently reading that doubles as his nightstand, and a plush window seat. The walk-in closet is neatly sorted, with everything from travel robes to finery to wear to the annual Blackstaff Ball, and has the same enchantments in it as the guest room wardrobes, with the added effect of making anything put in it inexplicably smell like a library. His bathroom is just like the guest ones, but larger. The bathtub inside, when activated, always assumes he wants his bath piping hot and lavender-scented. Tara's room is smaller, but fully designed for her little cat body. Scratching posts, cat-sized perches and comfy cat towers, and a little bookcase and window seat of her own. She keeps her space VERY neat, in contrast to Gale's "organized chaos" sort of living.

2F: This is the floor we see in Gale's Act II illusion. The packed library, the messy desk, the private study, the balcony... He sorts his books by topic, then by date rather than author. Tara is appalled by it. The balcony has a minor enchantment to keep weather, pigeons, and seagulls off of it. Tara is upset at the lack of birds; it's SUCH a cozy napping spot, and you're going to take away her free breakfast, too? Gale's compromise was the 5th floor's walkable ledge, which is a prime pigeon-hunting perch.

1F: The entry floor. It's got a sitting room to entertain guests with, and a large, well-kitted kitchen. The dishwashing basin does the washing for Gale. On the wall in the sitting room, there are two notable paintings: one is of young, 10-year-old Gale in a cape, standing proudly with both his parents and holding his first-ever proper wizard staff. He's TRYING to have Tara on his shoulders, he insisted, but she's just too big, so he's wound up leaning forward where she awkwardly perches on his back. He has a snaggle tooth. The other painting is of a much older Gale, dressed finely and standing with his mother, smiling. It was made before he got the beard, so he looks a decent bit younger than he is. Tara is wrapped around Morena's shoulders like one of those feather boas, but she's headbutting Gale's shoulder affectionately.

B1: Gale's wine cellar and well-stocked pantry. He collects all kinds of wines from all over Faerûn, usually getting them from merchants that pass through Waterdeep, but he's not opposed to cracking open an expensive vintage with the right company. There's a locked cabinet labeled "in case of Elminster" that contains some cheeses and wine to offer the older wizard, that way Elminster doesn't raid Gale's pantry when he's not looking. If you don't feed Elminster, he WILL feed himself at your expense.

B2: Gale's spell workshop, scroll storage, alchemy lab, and vault. Gale's not especially well-versed in alchemy (I think Wyll's got dibs on that, personally), but he DOES mix himself up some Arcane Cultivation elixirs from time to time. And if a potion recipe intrigues him enough, he likes to have a place on hand to try things out. The vault is well-guarded with spells, but, sadly, pretty empty; it just has his savings there now, where once it held all sorts of enchanted items he'd picked up through his studies and younger adventuring days.

An additional note: Tara has perches all throughout the house, on every floor, basically anywhere Gale spends a lot of time doing things. The cushions that are hers are magically heated and smell like tea and mint.

[iztarshi]

For the TMNT Ask Game!

15: If you got mutated, what animal would you be mutated into? Which one would you want to be mutated into?

Absolutely horrifyingly based on what I've been closest to the answer might be a bedbug right at present (I'm waiting on the exterminator). I do not like this thought at all.

Seagull or pigeon are also possibilities and I could handle that much better, especially if I could fly.

I kind of want to be a cyerce elegans sea slug, but that would make everything about life really inconvenient as a mutation. I'd be so pretty and sparkly though and could just go live in the sea...

It would probably be much easier to adapt to being a mammal, so if I really got to choose, maybe a seal.

[dogtoling]

Do you have any ideas for how farms would work in the Splatoon world? I have an oc who's a farmer and her family plants soy and takes care of bees. Do you think/know if chickens, roosters, and adjacent animals survived?

Well mammals like cattle or sheep are definitely all dead. Chickens are kind of in a weird position where they ARE birds, so there's technically nothing saying they should be dead, they even have several (splatfest) appearances in the series (but so does beef, so splatfest mention LITERALLY MEANS NOTHING), and Inklings do eat eggs in many form (but they don't NECESSARILY need to be chicken eggs). There is a statue of a chicken in Splatsville, which is what makes their situation tricky, because these statues are typically given to extinct animals and we know some birds have gone extinct so it's like a coin toss. Of course, chickens are very domesticated and humans haven't existed to farm or protect them for 12,000 years... so their status is honestly? Until anything is said about chickens being dead or alive outside of Splatfest dialogue, just a coin toss. Whatever.

Moving on from human-era farm animals, numerous evolved sea creatures are definitely farmed. I like to think a number of large nonsentient fish are farmed for their eggs, which are a major power source in Splatoon, but I'm also not sure if that's something that's super required given we don't know what actual sapient fish do with their excess eggs; basically I don't think there'd be a lack of fish eggs either way. Land crabs, lobsters, mussels and whatnot are probably farmed for their meat, especially crustaceans given that they are a VERY popular food choice especially for the cephalopods. As for birds I'd like to think if any bird were to replace chickens, it would probably be pigeons, and if you want to stay closer to the ocean theme then seagulls are definitely an option.

Notably, Zapfish are probably also farmed for their obvious electric capabilities, but moreso for generating electricity and selling them rather than killing them for some reason when that is obviously not the most valuable thing you could do with one. Also, land urchins (meat), super sea snails (meat), et cetera. Aside from animals, different types of kelp are probably also very popular to farm, assuming there's some land kelps you could have kelp fields or forests.

Just off the top of my mind, hope those are some good ideas

[hero-of-the-wolf]

Hello Emmie! For research purposes if you were any one animal which would you be?

-Emi 💛

(may or may not be related to my inability to draw humans...)

MMMM THIS IS A REALLY HARD QUESTION

maybe a kind of bird?? like a seagull or a pigeon or perhaps a kestrel. or a sea turtle. or an ankylosaur like borealopelta—

EDIT: OR A KIND OF SHARK

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

083 of 2024

Created by chasingghosts

Are you going to be busy tomorrow?

I hope so. Still some packing, and I hope to go to France for shopping.

What was the last topic you read about on Wikipedia?

Lada cars. Like, these ones from Russia.

Have you ever donated money to Wikipedia?

No, I haven't. Honestly, not planning to do either.

Is your country part of the Commonwealth?

No, it's not. From Europe, only 3 countries are and mine is not one of them.

Around what time of the year do you start your Christmas shopping?

November? Anything earlier feels too early.

Do you have blinds or curtains on your windows?

Blinds on most of them. We only have curtains on windows that come to the backyard, and our kitchen window + bathroom window has nothing at all.

What are the most common birds you'd see around your home?

House sparrows, house martins, seagulls, pigeons.

Did you sleep well last night?

Yeah. But there was a lot of work today so I'm tired now, I'm gonna go to bed when I finish this.

Did you live within walking distance of school when you were a kid?

Theoretically yes, but I also had one tram stop.

What board games did you play when you were growing up?

I was playing outside with friends, not playing board games.

Do you know any sign language?

No, sadly. It would be convenient, though.

When was the last time you bought new clothes? What did you get?

Last year I think, a hoodie.

What, other than books, do you have on your bookshelves?

Fake plants (so my cat doesn't get poisoned when she tries to eat them), photo frames, some sea-themed decorations, perfume bottles.

Do you ever watch streamers on Twitch?

No, I don't.

How close are your nearest neighbours?

We share walls.

Has your house ever been broken into? How did you find out?

No, thankfully not.

What do you usually eat for breakfast?

A yogurt or cereal with milk.

What's the first thing your hand touches if you reach to the left?

The couch or the blanket, depends how far.

Describe your favourite mug or cup.

It's white and has a logo of our company on it. Another one is green, another is black and another is transparent.

If you could teleport to any country right now for a holiday, what would it be?

Poland, but I'm going next week anyway.

Are you overwhelmed right now?

Yeah, kind of. But only two working days to summer break, so I'm gonna leave work troubles at work.

Did you share a bedroom with someone when you were growing up?

No, my sister had her own room.

Have you ever had anything dry cleaned?

I haven't, but my husband had, one of the things he was selling.

How many group chats are you in? Do you participate in them much?

I'm not in any, but I'm a member of a few forums.

What's the best concert you ever went to?

I don't really go to concerts, but I'm gonna say Shuriken II. Guys are really good.

Do you like to watch subtitled movies?

I don't like to watch movies.

Are you still in touch with any of your exes?

Yes, with Nielsje. We're still close friends.

How old were you when the first American Pie movie came out?

I don't even know when it came out.

Do you know how to change the oil in a car? What about a flat tyre?

Yes and yes.

What do you do for work?

I build trains. Like, for real.

[theimportanceofbeingaloof]

Close reading - Sean Bonney - Letter Against Sickness

Sean Bonney 1969-2019

Couldn't sleep again last night. Someone had paid for a couple of nights in a hotel, down by the coast, I've no idea why, or who, for that matter. I sat there for hours, nervous, watched the rolling news with the sound down, inventing my own dialogue like I used to do when I was a kid. Anyway, George Osborne came up, his little mouth moving at unpleasant angles and, weirdly, it occurred to me that I couldn't remember what his voice sounded like. Not sure why, I mean I've heard it often enough. So I thought I'd better plug this somewhat embarrassing hole in the centre of my knowledge: I turned the volume up and just as I did he was saying the words “our NHS”. The weight that pronoun carried was unbearable. Because Osborne, who presumably doesn't actually use the NHS, who probably has never sat in a waiting room in, say, the Whips Cross Hospital, was claiming some kind of possession that was entirely stolen, and claiming to share it with some kind of absolutely occupied “us”. It changed everything: the bland hotel room, the banal beating of the sea, all of it congealed into Osborne's pronunciation of “our”. There was a sickness to it that hung far outside the radius of any hospital. A vacant pestilence, or, if you like, a bricked up pestilence, and the “us”, which itself was some kind of shattered twitching mass left over from Osborne's thrusting invasion of “our”, this “us” was in hopeless distant orbit around this pestilence, some kind of arrangement of speckles in the night sky, a more or less orderly glyph, a surgical fracture in celestial time and, well, I guess you know what I mean. It did my head in. I changed channels and watched some kind of documentary about monsters fighting muscular people holding guns. But it was pretty boring, and the sun was starting to come up, so I thought I'd go out for a walk. And the first thing I saw, when I walked out the hotel door, was a seagull eating a pigeon. Serious. Right there in the middle of the road, tearing it to strips, swallowing the motherfucking thing. There was nobody around. Just the sea, some pebbles. And this peculiar compressed violence I was staring at. I couldn't move. I just stood there, staring, wishing I could reduce it down to some kind of metaphor, or analogy, or starting point for a bit of bourgeois literary criticism, something to add to my CV, anything, rabies, anything. The gull, the pebbles, pronouns, the rolling news, the sea, the muscular people, the dead thing, all of them forming into some kind of knot or eclipse. I thought about you at this point. I wondered which of them you would identify with. Which part would you take in this little horrorshow, which would be the marker of your position, which would be your representative on earth, which would be your signature. I ask because I really don't know which one I would be. I mean, if George Osborne was lying there in tatters in the middle of the road, right in front of the ridiculous sea, would I eat him? I'm sort of serious. If I walked out of the hotel and he was lying there, whimpering like a burning dog, what would I do? Shit, I was sweating by this point. I was no longer even a human being, just some glowing monster of anxieties and vicious isotopes, storms and circles. Revenge. Law. Decency. I think I puked. I felt I had become a tiny fissure in the decay chain set off by George Osborne's voice. One among countless disinterested scalpels, hanging there, in the grains of his voice. And those scalpels are us. Well, obviously not. But that's what he wants. That's what he thinks about each morning as he grimaces into his mirror. Anyway, I couldn't take it. I crossed the road and went down to the beach. I'm still here. I wrote you this letter, but I probably won't send it. If I do, do not answer it.

What is it?

Letter Against Sickness is an epistolary poem [a poem written as a letter]. Bonney began writing epistolary poems in response to the 2011 riots in London, when: “it seem[ed] a bit hokey to go home and write a poem after being involved in something like this.” He made the form very much his own in his final two collections of poetry: Letters Against the Firmament and Our Death. Letter Against Sickness is featured in the former and is one of a cluster of letter-bombs which savage Tory politicians in black, vitriolic, star-dipped language “with the dilated pupils of someone who has not slept all night”.

The poem begins with Bonney in a hotel room watching the then chancellor George Osborne on TV. Bonney turns on the sound just as Osborne snakily mutters ‘our NHS’. The pronoun infuriates Bonney. Osborne, as Bonney mentions: ‘presumably doesn't actually use the NHS’. Osborne’s cynical appropriation of public healthcare represents a theft, ‘possession that was entirely stolen’ that causes Bonney’s head to spin. Bonney exits the hotel room only to be confronted by the central image of the poem, a seagull ripping apart a pigeon. This image carries the obvious symbolism of Osborne tearing apart the poor, the welfare state, the NHS etc but Bonney interestingly sidesteps this interpretation, and instead questions whether it could be he himself who is the seagull tearing apart the lowly pigeon that is George Gideon Oliver Osborne.

This idea haunts Bonney and leads him to go down to the beach and write the Letter Against Sickness. The central image is brilliant not only because it is violent and visceral but also due to the way Bonney leaves its interpretation open-ended. If Bonney is the seagull not the pigeon, who actually has the power? The seagull eating the pigeon can be seen as a metaphor for the poem itself, where Bonney uses language to destroy his prey. This is uplifting because it shows Bonney as victorious, and though grim reality might suggest otherwise, I am certain that in mysterious dimensions, in time still unknown, Sean Bonney won the fight.

Why does it work?

In moments of defeat, revolution tumbles back into poetics, just as in moments of insurrection—as Rimbaud, as the Surrealists and as the Situationists knew—the energies concealed in poetics explode outwards into revolution. Revolution doesn’t become poetic, poetry shatters itself in the process of becoming revolutionary.

At that moment, as visionary as he was, Bonney would not have known the Conservatives would lurch on in power for a decade and counting, methodically ripping apart the social fabric of the country, isolating it from the international community and creating a wonderful place for the super-rich and a horrible place for everyone else. Bonney’s Letter Against Sickness is a great poem because it is necessary. The necessity of the poem hasn’t diminished over time, instead the need for a dissenting voice has become ever more urgent.

Bonney’s poem works because his writing has a magnificent internal energy, explosive and propulsive, like the nucleus of a star. His language is dark and violent with a compelling malice and a strong hint that something is not quite right with the author. This self-hatred would become ever more lacerating in his final collection Our Death. Bonney was always very aware of the power of language, he was critical of protest march slogans for their weakness, Letter Against Sickness follows his above mentioned prescription to ‘shatter itself in the process of becoming revolutionary’. It is an urgent poem and very unlike any other political poetry, past or present in terms of its form, the autobiographical elements and the way it directly challenges its target.

Returning to the central image, whatever conclusion we draw from the fluctuating resonances of the metaphor, whatever the power structures hinted at, there is perhaps a deeper point. This is a shocking act of violence unfolding right before Bonney’s sleep deprived eyes. Bonney is entreating the reader not to turn their back on violent events they are confronted with. Letter Against Sickness is focused and embittered rage, it is the arrow thwacking the target, it is a poem destined to be remembered as an important note of dissension in a time of great social upheaval. ‘Fight them back’ wrote Bonney, and his poetry is the glorious document of that fight.

_________________

I've used the version of Letter Against Sickness on Sean Bonney's Blog, which has a few small differences to the poem as it appears in Letters Against the Firmament

[ivaalo]

A French dude in Montreal, an observation post

It's hot then it's cold

Wasps have a different behavior

SQUIRRELS

Roadworks

Drivers don't care about lines on the floor

But they let you pass when you cross the road

Waiting 1 hour, do you can finally access to a waiting room and wait 4 more hours

People are kind, unless they own a restaurant

Waiters are very polite

AH... Tipping

Roadworks

I just learned there a different types of fat people

Desjardins seems to be the mayor of the city

Trucks are HUGE

Sidewalk are high

Roadworks

Boring straight roads and perpendicular streets

Old Montreal looks like an European town. Alternate universe where Paris is acceptable. But it's way too small ._.

You have a mountain and the sea withing a radius of 8km

You have to know English

It's unclear if Westmont or Anjou are part of Montreal or not

"Arrêt"

In Quebec, you don't say "CONNARD *honk*", you roadrage instead

Roadworks

A lot of administration things require you to call on the phone... yikes...

It's even worst when the people on the phone have the strongest Quebecois accent I've ever heard.

Roadworks in Mont-Royal??? Seriously?

At least the roadworks are fast. In two days, it's finished.

No car technical check

Streets smell like sugar lmao, mostly because there's someone in a radius of 5m eating something

People protesting in the street, even if they are 5 (both number of participants and their brain age)

It's legal to be openly racist???

A squirrel just jumped on my bag???

Pigeons, seagulls and squirrels living in harmony

Police sirens (or emergency??) are the most dramatic sound I've ever listened

People are openly LGBT+, that great!

Also companies are openly opportunistic

The metro is 3 or 4 time longer than the one in Paris

Taking the bus is actually slower than you might expect

Roadworks

(At the time I write this, I'm homeless and jobless, so I might continue this post soon!)

[survey--s]

653.

Do you know what the most common bird is in your area? Seagulls, pigeons, blackbirds, sparrows, robins.

What last made you feel ecstatic? Cancelling my weekend walk so I get a full weekend off without absolutely NOTHING planned for the first time since August lol.

What would make you feel happiest right now? If all my walks tomorrow cancelled but I still got paid, hahah.

How many teeth have you had extracted? Just my two upper wisdom teeth.

Do you ever read magazines? Not anymore, no.

What is something you’ve been reflecting on? Nothing in particular, really. I've been too busy lately to really reflect on much at all, hahah.

What’s something you like and dislike about the town you live in? I love the location - right by the sea and not far from the national park and all the amenities. I also love how friendly everyone is and how quick they are to help you out or support you if you need it. I do wish there was more to do though - it can be quite isolated in winter.

What’s a Halloween movie that you enjoy? I'm not into scary movies really but I do like The Addams Family movies with Christina Ricci, and The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Would you say you’re more confident now than you were 5 years ago? God yes, most definitely. Ian even commented on it last time I saw him at my old workplace.

Have you ever or would you try carrot bacon? I've never tried it but I would, yeah.

What’s the last thing you purchased that was frozen? Skin on fries.

Would you ever walk a runway if given the opportunity? If I was getting paid, sure.

When did you last do something that scared you? I honestly don't remember.

What is something that you’re curious about? Whether these calming meds for the dog will always be this effective. Honestly, it's been living having a different animal in the house today, he's been SO chilled out. It's amazing.

What time do you usually eat breakfast? During the week it's at about 8am, at weekends it depends on when I get up and what my plans are.

What is something you did as a child that you would never do now? Participate in team sports lol.

What’s been your favourite memory of 2022? Galloping down the beach in the sunshine on Joe.

When were you last inside a tall building? Uh, when we were in Manchester I guess. Our hotel was pretty tall.

Is it currently quiet in the room you’re in? I mean, it's not loud but the TV is on and I can hear the dryer running.

Is there someone you can honestly say you hate or have hated? No.

What’s currently on your mind? I kind of need a wee.

Would you consider yourself to be a messy person? No, I'm definitely the opposite of messy lol. I find mess/dirt really stressful, to be quite honest.

What makes you most anxious? When there's something wrong with any of the animals. We've had them all at the vets in the last few months and it's been both expensive and stressful lol.

When did it last rain where you live? It's raining now lol.

Do you prefer multi colored lights or white lights? I like warm white ones in general, but colourful ones are cute on the Christmas tree. Except we never have a Christmas tree because of the cats, ha.

What’s something you’d change about the world if given the chance? God, millions of different things. The world is a mess.

Would those closest to you say you talk too much or not much at all? It depends on the conversation, I guess. Some topics I can talk for hours, other times I just prefer to listen.

Do you consider yourself to be more basic or complex? In what ways are you like that? I honestly can't be arsed with a question like this lol.

Where is somewhere you’ve been wanting to go but haven’t had the chance? Tokyo, Skye, New Zealand.

Do you have a song you cannot listen to anymore due to a bad memory? No.

Have you ever had a candlelit dinner? Sure, quite a few times.

What was the last shot you’ve taken? Drink wise? Probably vodka. Injection wise, my last COVID booster.

Do you need to apologise for something or are you waiting on an apology? No and No.

What’s something you strongly believe in? Kindness to animals.

Do you have a dream that is close to being accomplished? Maybe I'm weird but I honestly don't have any specific treats.

Would you say you’re in a good place mentally? Yes, for sure.

What type of jokes are most funny to you? I'm a huge fan of dad humour lol.

Would you or have you ever had a pet rat or mouse? No, they don't really appeal to me. Plus we have cats.

Are you currently trying to make a decision on something? No.

When did you first start feeling more grown up? When I moved to university.

What kind of chapstick do you use? Vaseline or Burts Bees, whichever is closest.

How many pillows do you prefer to sleep with? Normally two, sometimes three, sometimes one.

What is something you’ve kept bottled up for a long time that you now have released? Hmm, nothing in particular comes to mind.

Have you ever broken a cell phone charger? Sure, loads of times. Especially those cheap fake Apple ones.

What’s a popular candy that you do not like? Wine Gums.

What scent is most prominent in your home? At the moment, the candle I have lit which is Pumpkin Pecan Waffle.

Have you been having odd dreams recently? Yeah, really vivid ones actually.

Do you frequently forget appointments? No, never.

What is currently sitting on top of your refrigerator? Two cats.

How many orange objects can you see from where you’re at? None.

Would you rather have extremely long hair or a very short hair cut? Long hair, I think.

When did you last use lotion? About two hours ago.

Do you currently have any prescription medications you need to pick up? No.

What’s your favorite kind of chips/crisps? Kettle Chips or Pringles.

How do you like your coffee or tea? If I'm at home, I just have them both with milk and sugar. I don't have tea out and about really, but coffee-wise I like Cappucinos and flavoured lattes.

[harrison-abbott]

On the horizon a gleam of late clouds lie, perfect as shapes of ice. This is the least colourful place to be seen all day and yet, it’s the Mediterranean Sea. That touchdown of commerce. The Sea that made empires, and Europe, and this nation. White shoots froth against the blue vastness in these regular waves.

 What’d it be like to swim out there and just keep swimming and never return?

 Smells of diesel from the beach-worker chaps; girls walking in bikinis: men with flatter chests than most folks: the insectile cranes from the port on the horizon. Viscous seagulls. This gigantic cruise ship, scarily huge, laying beyond the coastline, bespeaking of offkey wealth and noir novels from the past.

 A swim in the sea would be nice, but, the wallet and jeans and backpack getting stolen wouldn’t be so pleasant. So it’s not so keen to leave your bag here whilst you dip unto that watery vessel, no matter how glorious it is.

 So, let’s head back into the city.

 Pots of paint explode everywhere. On the walls and down the alleyways and the walls of the parks, there are pictures and paintings of all kinds. Skulls and beasts, witches, dames, a diva; mad wolves and fine cats.

 All of these artists made all of this street art so long ago and you know none of their names and that seems the greatest point of art, within any medium.

 [Many of the buildings in this district are smashed up or abandoned with this nice gnarly masonry tumbled between their deserted courtyards.]

 Flags of lemon, tomato and blue on the balconies overhead.

 Pigeons meddle in bred crumbs in the 28°C degree shade.

 A walk in the market, perhaps?:

 Intense smells of fish and meat. And there are hacked -ff limbs of cows, and so on, and those slivers of the fillets lying there in the ice. Not so good. But the olives, courgettes, peppers, watermelons, nectarines, strawberries, berries and nuts and bananas are all terrific … alongside the gaudy homely smell of the bread section.

 When you buy a baguette it’s warm under the paper. An orange as well? Spanish orange. Vitamin explosion.

 A man comes up. He doesn’t speak the same language. Money. That’s what he’s after. May as well give him some. Why not? The man is obviously mucked up; it’s okay to be a charity in a tiny way.

 The cathedral plonks out its bells. Sings them, rather. These orchestral clongs of metal resounding over the city – and it’s not near the hour or related to the time of day. But the sounds are railing and one could be, if you think of it, three hundred years back, to close the eyes and listen to the echoes throughout the spanning courtyard.

 How about the central park which cuts through the centre of the city, next. Palm trees make iconic silhouettes with the sky. Pure camera candy. Angelic fountains of aqua blue followed by young folks cycling in whizzing sparks. Are they trying to get fit? Or they do this every day?

 There are hunky men, further down the park, doing lift-ups and their biceps are pumping. And, farther ahead, there are the green squares of the football, basketball and tennis courts. And, again, it is odd being in a country where sport is far more flagrant and possible than one’s home one. (Because you see the badges and scarves and indemnity all over the town.)

 But, well done to them. The tip tap and crack and of their young feet going on the astonishing green span of the Velcro pitch: wouldn’t it be nice to go and play with them, even if the mutual skills aren’t there.

 The karate-like language bangs about in the hot air. Sexy language, no doubt: hard to emulate. The purple on the flowers of the trees that you pass don’t look like purple, they look some other colour. But their trunks are also bulbous and windy and twisty and you imagine climbing up them if you were a tad younger.

 Try somewhere else in the city. A metro ride. Stupid fumbling about with the ticket machine, trying to get a ticket, with these other people waiting behind.

 Watching the other faces on the train (whence on it) it’s not like being an individual: rather feel like a nobody-man on a planet with eight billion people on it. But, this is okay, only a natural feeling?

 Going through the black tunnels of the Metro line, the lanes of the train corridor twitch in lime green and they twist and turn around the underground matrix.

 There are men with grey hair. Women with wrinkly skin. Groups of boys with brown skin. They look at their watches and there is a wonder what there personality is like and yet there is no way to know them and then five minutes later they will get off the train and … there is no cinematic conclusion.

 Getting off the subway and walking up the steps into the startling sunlight.

 Perhaps head down to the Fine Arts Museum? It’s free. Sounds cool.

 Most of it’s religious art. Almost all.

 And it’s astonishing how violent that type of art is, despite how white and pink the skin of the protagonists. The stories on the little placards where they describe the gory details of said Saint or Hero.

 These images are totally different from the street art you witnessed earlier. And yet it seems valuable to wonder why religion and sacrifice still remains important in the present age.

 Outside of the museum, the city booms and ticks, still. The gulls circle and meander overhead. Walking back towards the hostel, and passing a park, there are three black cats, coiling there, beyond the bars of a fence. Their eyes cut up, with feline verve.

By the last tilt of the day the sky has changed and some glimmering clouds are left and a sad fruity sunset beyond the hills.

 Against this backdrop the neon lights of the towns beyond the city have braved up and winked on their blinking eyes.  

[spritehealingpotion]

the stages of grief but it's my relationship with seagulls, all leading up to this morning where they woke me up with their screeching and I just leaned out the window and said, in my tenderest voice, "Morning ladies"

[thediktatortot]

I think Billy is the kind of guy who knows basically everything he can manage to know about marine life and animal life in general. He's smart, he holds information easily especially when he's interested in it and it's definitely something he's interested in.

He loves otters and seals, but his favorite creatures of the sea are sea slugs because he thinks they look badass and so pretty at the same time and he likes those vibes. Pretty, dramatic, vibrant but deadly sometimes.

I think he would also be the kind of guy who likes birds too. He's not into them like he's into marine life, but he knows a lot about corvids and seagulls. He's also an advocate for pigeons because he thinks it's sad that these birds got moved and trained to be a certain way, and then were abandoned by the people who did it and now they basically bumble around in an environment they weren't meant for.

But his passion is the water and he'll be the first to tell you not to watch shark week because it's "stupid, misinformation and fear mongering."

If he's high however and you mention anything to do with any marine animal or fish he WILL go on a two hour rant about the state of the environment, how stupid politicians and the average civilian is and exactly how he'd fix it.

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception: Chapter 1

Author’s Note:  Welcome everyone to my Childe x Reader fanfiction! Decided to post the first (and only so far) chapter since I’m happy with it.  Hope you enjoy this sneak peek!!!

Now where did Mr. Zhongli run off to?  Wherever you'd end up, you'd miss the man by a hair.  Running errands for Hu Tao was practically the equivalent to a wild goose chase.  "Wait a second!"  A sudden realization stopped you in your tracks, and a few customers that were buying kites held startled expressions from your yelp.  "She's pranking me again, isn't she?!"

Zhongli was inspecting noticulous jade samples behind you when he heard a female voice yell to no one in particular.  He turned to see you, completely deflated for reasons unknown to him.  Shouldn't you be at the parlor overseeing your duties in the presence of Hu Tao?  What were you doing out here?  "What seems to be the matter, Reed?"

"ZHONGLI!"  Another yelp, and this time the customers nearby became more annoyed.  You spun on your heel and meet your coworker's gaze.  "I've been looking everywhere for you! Um, Hu Tao wanted me to give you these," you promptly handed a small stack of slightly crumpled documents to him.  "She said they were really important...?"

"Let me see..." Golden eyes turned their attention to the script with the utmost focus before he heaved a tiresome sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Is...something the matter?"  You could've sworn everything was in order...maybe it was possible that in your rush to find him, you had lost a paper or two without noticing?

"What is it exactly that Hu Tao instructed you to do?"  His voice held a tinge of exhaustion, but it went unnoticed by you.

"She just told me to find you and give you the documents, and that you'd know what to do with them.  And she also told me not to look at them.  Why?"

Another sigh, and the documents were handed back to you.  "I apologize, but it appears that you've fallen victim to her...childish antics yet again."  

He was right.  The documents were nothing more than a bunch of gibberish and what looked like to be a horrible attempt to draw Zhongli on one of the papers next to one scribble that was labelled 'doodoo.'  "You've got to be joking."  The scowl on your face was enough to get Zhongli to clear his throat in an effort to dissuade you from your anger.  You were an incredibly nice and patient person, but Zhongli's seen you angry once before.  It was not something he'd like to see again, and with every passing prank, you got closer and closer to snapping at your boss.

"My apologies," he sympathized.  He couldn't exactly keep up with the parlor director's childish ways either, after all.

That was three hours of my day.  You crumpled the papers in your hands before tossing them in the trash.  "Sorry to bother you Zhongli, I'll be heading back to the parlor now."

You took the long way back to the funeral parlor, making a point to walk across the docs that shouldered the sea.  It was well-deserved, you thought, since Hu Tao was constantly testing your patience and you had yet to snap.  If she really needed you today, she wouldn't have sent you on a needless hunt to deliver unnecessary documents.  So what if you showed up a little late now? It was her doing!

The docks were quiet with the occasional pigeons and seagulls cooing as they searched for their next meal--or their next pooping target.  A few pigeons scattered into the wind once you reached a railing that overlooked one of the merchant ships.  

It had been quite some time since your mother brought you across the sea to escape the influences of the Fatui in Snezhnaya--it had to be at least a decade by now, actually.  The Fatui that were stationed near your hometown were a reckless, malicious bunch, and weren't even kind to their own people despite their cohort existing to serve the people.

'To serve the people' was more like 'to serve the Tsaritsa.'  Neglect against her own people soon became a mutual feeling in your town.  She let her Fatui rats run about with no punishment for falling out of line...the audacity! A god is supposed to protect and nurture their people, not toss them aside or save them to be used.

The glimmering of the ocean below the deck only briefly dragged out out of your memories before you fell into them much like a wave washes over the beach.

You still remembered the day when your best friend went missing, and when he finally turned up ragged and dirty a few days later.  He never spoke of what happened, but it wouldn't surprise you if it had anything to do with the agents in your town.  He changed from a hesitant boy to a rambunctious, feisty kid--and the arrogance was insanely annoying.  But just as you tried to get closer to him, your mom decided his mysterious circumstances were what she needed to get herself and you out of Snezhnaya.

"I don't know what happened to you, Ajax, but I hope you're okay."

...........................................

Today's such a beautiful day!  You stretched your arms with content to get the aches of walking all morning out of your shoulders.  Slouching was a horrible habit of yours.  But no matter, it was time to celebrate! Hu Tao finally cut you loose from her list of unfortunate victims of her shenanigans, instead setting her sights on some exorcist that went by the name 'Chongyun.'  Since he wasn't related to the parlor's services--at least, not that you were aware--you didn't know him personally.

That poor soul has no idea what's coming to him, you think as you absently scan the papers in your hands that the parlor director had given you to give to Zhongli before the day's end--you had learned your lesson from last time, and inspected each stack she'd give you.  But as bad as I feel for him, I can't complain since I'm finally scot-free of her.

You made your way toward Liuli Pavilion, where Zhongli had informed you earlier this morning that he'd be conducting a meeting with one of the parlor's biggest funders.  There he is now! And...sitting alone?

"Mr. Zhongli?"  Your quiet interruption shifted his attention from the vivid storytelling of the storyteller to you.  "Did you have your meeting yet?"

"No, he should be arriving shortly," the consultant answered and placed his teacup down.  "What did you need me for?"

"Hu Tao sent me on another errand, er, a valid one this time.  I guess one of our customers was wondering what recommendations you had regarding these?"  A quick hand-off of the documents pertaining the names of precious stones, and Zhongli shut out the story of the ventures of Rex Lapis and his former companion, Azhdaha.

Your eyes left Zhongli for a moment and watched the storyteller's movements.  I've heard this one before.  Azhdaha was reprimanded for turning against humanity, wasn't he?  I wonder what that was like for our god.  To be betrayed by a close friend-

"I see.  Noticulous jade would be the best option considering it's vibrant purple tones, but the beauty of cor lapis when significantly refined to its utmost potential is a valid approach for the ceremony as well.  Why don't we purchase both?  You and I can inspect the nearby stores tomorrow morning."

Honestly, I don't know why I bother asking if his answer is always 'We'll take them all,' your lips twitched from restraining a laugh and you returned your sights on the consultant.  "Alright, let's do that."

"Mr. Zhongli! It's great to see you," an unfamiliar man approached the table with a friendly smile.  "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long."  The confidence that radiated from his stride was enough to make you shrivel up on yourself.  That, and the afternoon light that bounced off of his bright gray clothes half-blinded you.

"Not at all.  Please take a seat.  Reed, why don't you join us?"  Zhongli was aware of your intense opinions of the Fatui, but then again, who in Liyue didn't have a problem with the organization at the moment? Especially after their most recent incident with Osial...and the issue himself was sitting right across the table.  Perhaps meeting such a dangerous individual would dissuade you from pursuing that nighttime hobby of yours...

"Oh, I don't want to intrude.  Isn't this a private meeting?"

"I don't mind," said the red-headed stranger.

Zhongli gestured toward the third chair at the table, and you hesitantly obeyed.  A few minutes couldn't hurt.  You used the moment to get you situated and check out the guy to your left.  He didn't seem familiar, but he had this air about him that was...distinct, if that made any sense.  Familiar yet unfamiliar.  For someone being labelled as one of the most prominent sponsors of the funeral parlor, he didn't button his jacket properly, and a portion of his abdomen was visible while a hydro vision sat comfortably attached to his beltloop.  Or perhaps that was the way the jacket was designed?

Why am I even contemplating this? You peeled your eyes away from his torso in a hurry, and they settled on your hands in your lap.  Way to make a first impression.

"Reed, I would like to introduce you to Ma-"

"Ajax!"  Childe's voice overtook Zhongli's introduction.  "I go by Ajax, it's nice to meet you."  He held out a gloved hand for you to shake.  He didn't think it would be possible to ever see you again, not after your mom took you across the sea, so he spat out a lie without thinking.  Then again, even as a child you hated the Fatui--rightfully so-- so it wouldn't have been a good idea to introduce himself as the very harbinger that almost drowned Liyue.  Childe thought he had recognized you by your hair and the way you walked, but it was so long ago, and the memory of you had long since faded into a blurry image.  But 'Reed'...It couldn't be some coincidence that he met you here.

And by your reaction, he could say his intuition served him right.  "A-Ajax?"  You sat up taller than before, not quite comprehending the situation at first.  The name, the face, those blue eyes--it had to be him.  "Ajax from Snezhnaya?"

"I would hope I'm the only Ajax you know."  Childe shot you a friendly smile, but some smidge of jealousy lie in the depths of his otherwise vacant gaze. Perhaps it could even be considered threatening, or possessive.  He was the only Ajax you knew, right?

"Oh thank the archons you're alright," you released the breath you didn't know you were holding in.  It was all you managed to get out before remembering that a certain party was sitting to your right.  "O-Oh! Zhongli! We knew each other before I emigrated to Liyue-"

"Childhood friends," the harbinger grinned slightly as he met the consultant's confused yet stern gaze.  Something deadly flashed in his eyes, daring Zhongli to speak up and correct his own introduction.

Zhongli wasn't anywhere near afraid or intimidated by Childe, but despite this he did not reveal Childe's true identity.  Perhaps there was a reason the harbinger was posing as his younger self, like he was protecting the image of the perfect older brother for you just as he did with Teucer.

That, and Zhongli had vowed not to meddle in these types of matters just as he neglected to tell Childe he was the geo archon.  It was not his business if Childe chose to deceive you just as he deceived Childe, but if the harbinger posed a threat to you or anyone in Liyue again...Let's just say the passive Zhongli would put his foot down.

"I see," said Zhongli with a thoughtful gaze as he picked up his half-full cup of tea.  "May I inquire as how you two met?"

"Well," you leaned back in your seat and stared at one of the passing clouds as you attempted to recollect old memories.  "I don't remember exactly, but we ran into each other at one of the local markets that stood between our hometowns.  You should've seen him back then Zhongli, he was a nervous reck!"

Childe visibly grimaced at your bluntness, but Zhongli let out a low chuckle.  "Is that so?"  This earned a glare from the harbinger.

"Yes!  He was always second-guessing himself.  I was always the one wearing the pants in the friendship whenever we got to see each other!  And then..."  Your expression darkened as you remembered his disappearance, and his concerning change of attitude when he returned.  But just as quickly as the distasteful memory showed on your face, it was tossed away with a shake of the head.  "You know, there was one time where he had gotten in trouble with one of the local fisherman because he--"

"Now, now!"  Childe interrupted with a slightly aggressive--no, embarrassed--tone.  "I don't think Mr. Zhongli would be interested in--"

"On the contrary, I would be more than delighted to hear of Ajax's childhood stories," Zhongli sipped away at his tea, making a point to emphasize the new name while staring straight Childe.

"Aw, you embarrassed?"  Childe wanted to wipe that smug grin off your face for noticing.  He thought he was great at hiding his emotions, but with your surprise appearance, he was a bit more than caught off guard.  You covered your mouth and leaned toward Zhongli while whispering, "I'll tell you later, promise!"

Childe let out something of a strangled chuckle that made the corner of Zhongli's lips twitch upward.  "So, what have you been up to all this time?"

"Well, I've been working at the funeral parlor with Zhongli for the past year or so," you leaned back with a thoughtful gaze.  "I live by myself now; mom died a few years ago.  Oh, I've been training since I got here, too.  You can't trust the Fatui anywhere in Teyvat.  That, and anyone that roams around late at night.  Better safe than sorry."

"So you fight?"  Childe's eyes lit up like a fire was lit, and you smile turned into a frown.

"Don't tell me you're still..."  But with his slightly oblivious tilt of the head, you couldn't bring yourself to bring up that portion of your history.  Not yet.  "If need be, yes."  The best option was to change the subject, especially to spare Zhongli of what could possibly turn into an argument.  "How did you find yourself in Liyue?"

"I..."  A glance was sent briefly in Zhongli's direction, but he purposely ignored it.  "I'm a toy seller these days."

"Augh--"  A sputtered cough came from Zhongli, and he dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief.  "Ahem...Apologies, it appears I choked on a bit of tea."

After an awkward laugh escaped Childe, you turned back to him.  "A toy seller?  You?"  Was it relief you felt, or a feeling of on-edge?  Perhaps it'd be better if he turned out nice enough to become a toy seller, but with the way you two left things in Snezhnaya, you'd thought it be more likely that he'd end up arrested.  Or join the Fatui.  Or just anything involving violence.  Not sure of what to make of his words, you snapped to Zhongli.  "Wait, I thought you had a meeting with one of the benefactors of the funeral parlor?  Why would a toy seller be involved with us?"

"Yes, I've wondered that myself," Zhongli set his empty teacup aside and faced Childe directly to bait him.  "You've never told me the story.  How did you find yourself involved with the parlor, Ajax?"

The hint of a smirk on the consultant's lips made the harbinger's blood boil even though he managed to keep his façade of a smile plastered on his face.  "Well, I wouldn't want to bore you with the details, it's an uninteresting story!"

"Tell me," you begged, eyes sparkling in anticipation.  "It might not be boring to us!"

"Yes, do tell," Zhongli encouraged.

You're enjoying this too much, Mr. Zhongli.  Childe did his best to hide his annoyance under his signature grin.

........................................

The sigh that escaped the harbinger once you left to finish your duties at the parlor prompted Zhongli to raise a brow at him.  "Shut up," Childe muttered without sparing a glance his way.  He knew you were hateful of the Fatui; that's most likely why he lied without a second thought, but as to why he'd bother doing so since you weren't close anymore was unknown.

At least, to Childe it was.  Zhongli had already figured it out by the lengthy conversation of Childe's extensive toy seller lie.  "You two were more than 'close' back in Snezhnaya, were you not?"  

"Don't overthink it Zhongli, we were only friends."

"And yet you wear your Harbinger status proudly on your sleeve."

"What're you implying?"  Childe, growing impatient and bored of the conversation, shifted in his seat.  You had left as their meals were served, so to his utmost horror, he now realized he was given chopsticks to use for his dish.  

"You also don't like deceiving others unlike your fellow harbingers."

A disgusted scoff left his lips as he lifted his chopsticks.  "...You think I, Tartaglia, am in love with a childhood friend?  My my my, Mr. Zhongli, it seems you've finally lost your marbles after living six thousand years. Perhaps living among humans has taken a toll on your wisdom."

"There are several reasons for which a person would lie."  Zhongli lowered his voice as the storyteller finished his monologue.  "The only one that would make sense after observing you for so long would be infatuation."

Childe had tuned him out by now, concentrating with furrowed brows on holding his dumplings correctly in-between his chopsticks.  But they were too heavy, what with his hand shaking the utensils, and they fell back on the plate with a wet plop.  Curse these stupid-  Childe nearly threw them at the building to his left, but restrained himself before he could lose to his frustrations.  Instead he used one chopstick to stab the dumpling and in an exasperated huff, shoved it into his mouth.

"So, what is the real reason you're back in Liyue?"  Zhongli set his third cup of tea aside after watching the pitiful struggle before him.  "It had sounded like you'd be in Snezhnaya for quite some time before returning, yet here you are only months after Osial."

"Oh," Childe sat up, only now remembering that what he had told you earlier was a drastic lie.  "I've been meaning to ask you about the matters I'm dealing with.  The Fatui here are fed-up with some...vigilante that interferes with their work here.  Whoever's at fault is clearly an amateur, but my subordinates here are apparently too incompetent to catch them.  They're stealing important documents from the Northland Bank, setting traps on the roadsides, and even breaking into our apartments to steal the agents' uniforms."

Zhongli cradled his chin in his hand while in deep thought.  He's heard of such a person; they often came to the parlor in the early morning hours to avoid getting caught since their living quarters were on the opposite side of town--he caught them more than once, out of breath, and dressed in black.

"--Basically the men are agitated at this point and threatening to leave their posts, and everyone's on edge because of another matter that may be related.  A few of our agents have gone missing with no trace, so I am here to locate them.  Whoever this vigilante is might know something; both occurrences started approximately three months ago."  Childe grabbed his last dumpling and ate it before leaning back in his seat.  "So, given that you are the wisest man in Liyue, I decided to come to you for advice.  Would you happen to know of anyone or anything involved?"

"Yes," Zhongli hummed, eyes downcast and settled on his folded hands.  "It's possible I hold information valuable to your search."

Childe's pupils lit up in delight.  "Oh?  Do enlighten me."

"But first, the vigilante is not related to your missing men," he took another sip of tea, lost in thought.  "And they are more or less an amateur seeking to disrupt Fatui operations, but they don't usually harm your agents--"

"That's inaccurate to say, Zhongli.  Last week three of my guys came back with broken noses or fractured arms."

--that I know of."  A pointed glare just made the harbinger lean forward against the table.

"You know who I'm searching for."

"Perhaps."

"Then spill."

"Am I really obligated to tell you based on your earlier behavior?"

"Mr. Zhongli, this person poses a serious threat to the health of my men, and potentially their lives.  Do you not care that human lives are at stake because of this...this...killer?"

Says the man who tried to drown my country.  "As usual, you are making brash assumptions.  They are not a killer, and they are not dangerous unless backed into a corner."

Childe was growing sick of beating around the bush, so he deadpanned.  "Zhongli."

The former archon let out a low sigh before meeting his gaze.  "As long as you remember what I just said, then I suppose I'll let you know.  The person you're searching for is the same person you lied to at this table."

[lesetoilesfous]

For DADWC: "“Why are you whispering?” for either Fenris/Anders or Hawke/Anders please

Hey, thank you so much for the prompt! I just, really enjoyed this mental image. I hope you like it!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Anders, Fenris

Tags: fluffy nonsense, pre-romance, enemies to sort of friendly colleagues, Anders likes cats

Rating: Teen and Up

“Look, if this isn’t urgent Fenris then I actually do have other things to do with my life than follow Hawke around like a sad mabari puppy. I know! I know, it’s hard to believe but I find myself occupied with things like... a life. Responsibilities. Friends who aren’t criminals. Take your time on that one, I know it’s a stretch.”

It’s evening in Kirkwall, and through the broken walls of Darktown the sky is lilac shading down to indigo, sinking into the inky blue of the sea. The sun burns between the Twins like fallen treasure, and in the rafters there’s the snap and rustle of pigeons and seagulls nesting for the evening. Fenris frowns at the mage’s back. “Why are you whispering?”

Anders crouches, and begins to click his tongue. “Because I don’t want to scare her off.”

Fenris’ frown deepens, and he steps closer, leaning past Anders’ shoulder. The mage immediately waves him back with a quick, impatient movement. Fenris keeps leaning, peering down the narrow crevasse between the wooden beams supporting the wall of Anders’ clinic and the rough stone of the cliff. A cold wind whistles through the gap, passing a shiver down his spine. “Don’t want to scare who off?”

Anders pushes Fenris’ knee, and after a moment Fenris moves it, letting the much taller man attempt to wedge himself further into the gap, one hand out with his fingers curled. “Look if you’re going to stay then could you at least make yourself a bit less, I don’t know, dark and brooding?”

Fenris glances down at his armour, and raises one hand to the hilt of the greatsword on his back. “That...might be complicated.”

Anders sighs, and settles to sit on the dirty earth floor. “I’m not asking you to disarm. Just. You know, make yourself smaller.”

Fenris hesitates, and looks again at the velvet darkness into which Anders has been staring. Far off, children squeal as they chase one another, and the voice of an adult calls them for their dinner. Fenris crouches, squatting on his haunches. Anders resumes clicking his tongue.

A ghost comes out of the crevasse. Fenris has lit his lyrium brands in one heartbeat and is charging forward in the next. Anders tackles him into the rough cliff of stone beside them, yelping, “Fenris, no!”

There is a very distinctive hiss as the white cat that had been creeping out of the shadows retreats back into the cliff, and down a crevasse too narrow for either of them to follow. Anders slumps, arms still braced against Fenris’ chest, watching the shadow disappear. The light of Fenris’ brands casts him blue and ethereal. 

“Andraste’s knickerweasels.” Anders turns to Fenris, breath huffing over his nose and lips. “Fenris! I told you to make yourself small, not attack the damn thing.”

Fenris clenches his teeth. “You neglected to tell me what you were doing. I thought it was some kind of demon.”

Anders’ mouth jumps in the direction of a grin a split second before he snorts, raising an eyebrow at him. “A demon?” Fenris glares. “A demon. Really.” Anders cocks his head to the side, still leaning on his arms against Fenris’ chest, still so close Fenris can feel the tickle of his laughter on the sensitive skin of his neck. “Tell me, Fenris, have you ever actually met a demon?”

Fenris shoves Anders away, hard, and the mage topples backwards, tripping over his own feet before he hits the wood and plaster wall of his clinic. Scowling, he makes a show of brushing down his dusty clothes. “Ow.”

Fenris moves in the direction of the staircase, pausing at the top. “What exactly were you planning to do with it?”

It takes Anders a moment to finish mumbling something under his breath before he replies, distracted. “The cat? Oh, you know. Blood sacrifice and reading her entrails, that kind of thing.” Fenris grimaces, and turns to leave. Behind him, Anders sighs, loudly. “Come on, it’s been three years. You cannot seriously still think I’m a blood mage.”

Fenris studies the wall beside Anders and the graffiti on it instead of looking at the mage himself. “I am sure I do not know what you are, mage.” Then he turns on his heel in the dust and begins to walk back down the sun-baked steps outside of Anders’ clinic. He’s halfway down, low enough to no longer be able to see the sun as it drowns in the sea, when Anders speaks again, more quietly this time. 

“I was - I’m lonely. I just. I thought it would be nice to have some company.”

Fenris pauses, turning to look up at the man on the landing above him. “My understanding was that you were never alone.”

Anders rolls his eyes. “There’s a difference between having a cause and having a companion. You of all people should understand that - I mean, shit.” He stops, abruptly, biting the inside of his cheek. He narrows his eyes at Fenris, but there’s something of a smile at the corner of his lips when he adds, quietly. “You always make me say more than I mean to.”

Fenris meets his eyes for three long heartbeats before he breaks his gaze, and resumes his descent. “I do not make you do anything, mage. Good night.”

Fenris is halfway up the second staircase when he hears Anders’ reply. “Night, Fenris.” 

It may as well have been a trick of the wind, or an echo from elsewhere in the Undercity, as thugs and workers and criminals headed to their beds or to those establishments here which still had the audacity to call themselves taverns. Still, Fenris glances back on the next landing. Anders is gone when he looks, and the light above the clinic is blown out.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

481 of 2023

Survey by Robotease

Do you like zombie movies?

I don't like any movies at all.

What’s the grossest/worst thing you’ve ever seen in a public restroom?

Shit on the walls. Really. I wish I could unsee it.

What’s the most wasteful thing you regularly do?

These surveys lol. But I kinda enjoy it.

What’s the most difficult apology you’ve ever had to give?

I can't think of any, but I'm sure there were some.

What’s the worst relationship advice you’ve ever seen?

I don't really listen to advices, so I can't think of anything.

Have you ever volunteered in a hospital? If not, would you ever want to?

No, but I wouldn't mind for a day or two. Hospitals are stressful, all that suffering around. I spent two months in the hospital around people who went through the same as me, I was recovering, they were not. That was tragic.

What was your worst Halloween costume?

I don't celebrate that crap.

Who has/had the worst reputation in your graduating class?

No one really had a bad reputation.

When was the first time you can remember feeling mature?

When I went on my own.

Have you ever had a disappointing Christmas, or any disappointing holiday if you don’t celebrate Christmas?

Yeah, in 2021. Instead of being with my loved ones, I was in the hospital, half-paralysed. How fun.

Do you have any character bandaids in your house right now, or just plain ones?

Just plain ones, we don't need anything colourful. Even our teenager doesn't use colourful ones.

Have you ever had to give a pet away?

No, but I saw my cat die, and it was distressing.

What’s the junkiest junk food you’ve ever eaten?

Does McDonald's count?

Did you play pretend a lot as a child? Were there any recurring plots or themes?

Yeah, me and my friends did. We never had any recurring themes, we were just going.

How do you feel about runny egg yolks?

Disgusting. My eggs have to be well scrambled or hard-boiled, nothing running at all.

Has a teacher ever tried to teach you something that was undeniably wrong?

Yup, but many people noticed.

If for some reason you had to give up one of your hobbies, which would you choose?

Probably radio, but I would be deeply unhappy.

Have you ever hidden a relationship from your family?

Yeah, with my first ex. Which was a good choice after all.

How much do you know about first aid?

I know CPR, handling seizures, dealing with wounds, and all that. I know how to estimate/suspect if someone might have had a stroke and when to call the ambulance.

Which of your relatives do you know the least about?

The French ones. Too distant from us.

Have you ever meditated? If so, did it do anything for you?

Nope, I don't believe in that.

Have you ever given advice to someone who was much older than you?

No, I suck at giving advice.

Have you ever used a view-master?

I don't even know what it is.

Do you ever listen to talk radio or podcasts? If you do, what are some of your favorite shows?

I do, but very rarely. I prefer YouTube videos.

When was the last time you got ice cream from a truck?

There's no such thing here where I live.

Are any of your favorite bands broken up or on hiatus right now?

Probably, but some are active.

Do you know any sex workers? If so, how do they feel about their job?

Not in person, but I know some only do it for money.

What’s the biggest art project you’ve ever attempted? How did it go?

I don't do art projects.

What kind of wild animals do you see most frequently where you live?

Cats and dogs, really. And pigeons. They're just everywhere. Oh yeah, and seagulls because we live close to the sea.

Have you ever cooked anything other than s’mores over a fire?

I still don't even know what s'mores is, so how can I cook 'anything other than'?

Are there any items in your house that you use for something other than its intended purpose?

Can't think of any.

What do you hope the afterlife is like?

Is there anything like that even?

What’s the worst behavior you’ve ever seen from a child?

Being hysterical in public because they didn't get what they wanted.

Have you ever planned an act of revenge?

Yup, and it even worked. Now I'm too old for that.

Do you and your parents share any of the same hobbies?

Yes, my dad loves photography, too.

Do you think it’s more exciting or scary to get older?

Scary. I want to be young and immortal.

How was the reception of the last wedding you attended?

Very good, that's it. Last year we were on two weddings.

Do you have any physical photo albums?

Yes, but I keep my collection of postcards there.

Would you feel comfortable working at a sex shop?

I mean, it's just a shop like any other, but I'm not into such things, so nope for me.

Who was the worst friend you ever had?

I don't even want to remember her.

What’s the biggest sacrifice you’ve ever made?

Can't think of any either.

Have you ever campaigned for a political candidate, or otherwise played an active role in an election?

Nope, except that it's mandatory to vote here. We are not rich enough to pay for the fine, so we vote for whatever, and that's why our government is a disaster. I don't care about politics anyway, all of them are a bunch of liars in my book.

What’s the coolest hand-me-down you’ve ever gotten? What about the best one you’ve ever given?

Given, you have to ask others. Gotten, probably some furniture.

Do your parents and grandparents get along with each other?

My grandparents are deceased.

[venusofthehardsells]

No Rest for the Wicked [Dea ex Machina part one]

John ConstantinexAngel!Reader Summary: You travel to a remote island to put a murderous spirit to rest, but things get complicated when you run into one John Constantine. Warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness, blood, smoking, ghosts, pining, is slowburn a warning? A/N: My first Constantine fic on tumblr, yay! This was originally written for a challenge aaages ago, but it got away from me and I couldn’t meet the deadline. I had so much fun with this though, Constantine is a great character to write for! There will definitely be more stories about him and this particular angelic reader in the future ♥

I’ve mixed elements from both the Vertigo comics and the NBC TV series, as well as from the general DC Universe, so don’t expect accuracy when it comes to canon. A special thanks to @nellblazer​​ for support and linguistic aid, you’re the best! ♥ Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged ~

Contrary to common belief, there had never actually been any ravens on Raven’s Rock. The tiny, windswept fleck of land in the North Sea had been named a few hundred years ago by a fool of a sailor, who hadn’t been able to tell a raven from a severely lost and consequently very confused Scandinavian pigeon. Said sailor had regrettably also been of some importance in his homeland at the time, meaning no one had bothered to correct the unfortunate mistake for fear of losing a head. Even though everyone who since came upon the island only ever managed to find gulls and puffins and various other seabirds, it had still kept its misleading English name.

The Celts, who by rights had been on the island long before the British, had chosen to play it safe and completely forego the bird names (although it had been suggested several times in later centuries to change it to the Gaelic word for seagull, or even pigeon, as a taunt). Instead, they had most likely looked to the ancient ruins that specked the island, jutting up from the rocks like broken teeth and, all things considered, had endured well beyond memory and history and legend. Or perhaps they had still been reeling from the mad determination that had brought them and their wooden ships so far from home. Whichever the case, they had called the stubborn, little rock Innis Seasmhach, “the steadfast island”.

That was its official name to this day, though most people, especially those who didn’t speak Gaelic (which in all fairness are not very many), still referred to it as Raven’s Rock.

The locals shrugged and simply called it “the island”.

There was only one village on the entire island, whose population on a good day might reach a hundred and thirty people. That usually only happened a few times during summer when the ferries from Stavanger and Aberdeen docked at the same time. The tourists came to see the ruins, buy a souvenir fridge magnet of a raven or a puffin, complain about the frightfully bleak weather and leave again on one of the ferries that departed before evenfall, secretly happy they didn’t have to spend any more time on the island.

On the day you arrived, the population on the isle of Raven’s Rock, was an astounding one hundred and forty four, which was quite unheard of in the middle of October.

What was even more unheard of, however, was the reason for all these untimely appearances.

A night ago, a pair of fishermen had discovered the body of a man in a small, secluded cove on the north side of the island. The body was placed so that it could only be seen from sea, unless one were to venture down a rocky and extremely narrow trail into the cove itself. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone slipping and ending up on the stony beach below. That kind of unfortunate death was of course tragic, but it hardly warranted the wide array of policemen and journalists the death had attracted. No, the reason for the sudden interest was the gruesome way the body had been displayed.

The dead man had been stripped bare and splayed out on the rocks like a cross with his arms stretched away from his torso. His skin was almost completely covered in symbols and writing no one could make sense of, though one expert, when consulted by the mystified and slightly desperate police, vaguely suggested it was possibly a rare pre-Arthurian dialect.

The more macabre specifics had so far been kept out of the press.

One was that the writings on the body had been done in blood, the corpse’s own, and another was that it came from where the head had been crudely severed from the rest of the flesh and spiked close by on a piece of driftwood.

Even hypnotised, the young sergeant who had told you, had looked slightly green when he related the information. You had padded him sympathetically on the shoulder before moving on. He wouldn’t remember revealing the details to you, but the information itself was seared into his mind forever.

His, along with the rest of the islanders’, you mused as you continued from the harbour and on into the village.

The locals called it “town”, but in truth it wasn’t really big enough to warrant that title.

It had one store that sold a little bit of everything depending on the weather, a church, a pub, a repair shop (it wasn’t specified what exactly you could get repaired there) and a public building, functioning as city hall, police station, post office, library and school in one. All the police reinforcements from Aberdeen had been moved into the city hall, seeing as the only two policemen permanently stationed on the island had never handled a murder case before. Meanwhile, the reporters and TV crews covering the case were taking up the pub’s five tiny bedrooms, both B&Bs and every single rental cottage Raven’s Rock could boast (nine in total if you counted the back room in the garage of the repair shop). Because you had left for the airport in a hurry and jumped onto the first plane to Norway, you hadn’t had time to secure a place to sleep on the island. You had pondered it on the ferry, but when it came down to it, you didn’t want to stick around longer than a day. If you worked fast, you could probably be on your way back to the mainland in the morning and wouldn’t need to worry about finding a bed. You had spotted a bench down by the harbour; it would have to do.

Besides, you didn’t have any time to waste as long as the murder case was unsolved. You could still hear Madame Xanadu’s words in your head like some annoying ominous echo.

A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks. The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Fate was a menace when you had to deal with it like this, grounded and fumbling through the world with nothing but scraps to guide you. Not like in the old days when you had all of Heaven at your disposal… Being a proper angel had really had its advantages. You scoffed and walked faster. At least this prophecy had been pretty straightforward, which was far from what you were usually given to work with, you thought sourly, folding your arms around yourself against the wind.

A malevolent spirit that should have passed on, but hadn’t was easy enough to figure out; it happened all the time and you could deal with that. The location of the spirit had also been a walk in the park with so many hints to go on.

What really worried you was the second part of Madame Xanadu’s little mystic insight.

The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Blood drinking was never a good omen in prophecies. It hardly ever meant vampires, usually just death. And the laughing magician, well, that one was always the same. The reason Madame Xanadu had called upon you to restore the balance in this place.

John Constantine.

Whenever one of her foresights indicated that the blonde warlock was walking into something he couldn’t handle himself, she sent you after him or, in this case, ahead to clear his path for him. Most times, he didn’t even know you had been there and you preferred it that way.

Like now.

The last you had heard of John was that he was in the States. Sufficiently far away, you thought. Even if someone had alerted him to the murder on Raven’s Rock, it would be at least another day before he could reach the windswept little island and by then you hoped to be long gone. It was best if you two didn’t meet at all.

You chewed on your lip as you thought of him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, it was just… easier if you didn’t. The things you did, the jobs you took were simply too dangerous if your focus wasn’t a hundred per cent on the task in front of you. And with John around, your newly mortal heart had a tendency to make your better judgement evaporate.

You passed a phonebox on the main (and only) street that looked as though it had seen better days and a small tourist information office/part time bakery with its doors and windows shut for the night, before you reached the seemingly only building in town with light and, admittedly subdued, noise streaming out of it: the pub. Apart from the city hall, you reckoned it must be the oldest building around, but also by far the one in best repair. The wooden sign above the heavy green door was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a very sinister looking gull and it swayed in the wind with an ominous creak that made a shiver run down your spine, as if trying to dissuade you from entering.

Well, it wasn’t very likely that you would get any information elsewhere. With determination in your steps, you walked the last few cobbled steps to the door and went inside.

Your eyes quickly scanned the room, the patrons, the energies... and you froze on the threshold.

On a stool by the bar sat the very man you had hoped to avoid. He had taken off his signature trench coat and his back was towards you, but it didn't matter; you would recognise him blindfolded. He was so thoroughly cloaked and shrouded in magical protections of all sorts that the space he occupied was practically a vacuum. It was damn near impossible to locate him by magic, you knew. If one weren't looking directly at him, like you were now, no sixth sense or intricate spell would reveal his whereabouts. But his was a vacuum you had come to know very well. So well in fact, that by now you could pin him down by his apparent lack of magic, rather than by his well-hidden magical signature, and yet, there he was, sitting only half a room away from you with a drink in one hand and one of his ghastly Silk Cuts resting between the fingers of the other. And you hadn't noticed. You hadn't even done a quick scan to see if there were other magical presences on the island when you arrived. Worse, you hadn't cloaked yourself as thoroughly as you normally would have done and your own signature reached him before you could even think to try and prevent it.

From the way he straightened his back and immediately snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray as if someone had shouted at him to show some care, you could tell he knew you were there. He shifted ever so slightly as if making room for you and you sighed. There was no getting out of this one.

Getting rid of your raincoat, you went over and crawled onto the empty stool next to him.

You were met with that wicked smirk of his that made your heart stutter and stumble in your chest.

"Now, there's a pleasant surprise to brighten this hellhole," he greeted, raising his glass at you. "Must confess, I never guessed I'd be running into you on this godforsaken rock, luv."

"Hello John." You did with a nod, trying to keep your voice even. "Can't say I expected this to be your sort of retreat either."

The warm light in the pub shone in John Constantine's dark eyes and his smirk grew into a grin.

"It's good to see you, luv. I've missed that disapproving pout o' yours. The fact that I never know when I'll see it again makes it so much sweeter."

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't attempt to hide your burning cheeks. The bastard couldn’t possibly know exactly how brightly your torch for him was burning, but he always acted accordingly.

"So, what are you doing here then? Odd place for playing tourist, innit?"

He leaned on the counter, his hand moving closer to where yours was resting and there was that little, dark gleam of hope in his eyes that always appeared when he looked at you. As if there was somehow some other reasonable purpose you could have to be in a place like this, at a time like this.

You shrugged, biting down a smile.

"I find the climate rather agreeable."

John threw his head back and laughed at that. Even the barkeep, who had overheard your words, snorted. You caught his gaze before he turned back around and ordered a sparkling water.

"Right. And I just happened by to see the sights, eh?"

"Well, what do you think of them then?"

You raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of the fizzy water the barkeep placed in front of you. John grinned and gave you an obvious once-over. Your dirty boots and high-neck jumper didn't seem to put him off.

"Much improved since this morning. At this rate, I can't wait to see how they'll look in the night."

"Oh, I ought to slap that smirk off your smug face, wizard," you sighed, feeling how your stomach was practically fluttering at his suggestive tone.

"Is that a promise, luv?"

"You're insufferable."

"Aye, that I am, luv, but you keep coming back for more. Must be doing something right, eh?"

You bit your lip and looked down; he suddenly felt too close. And the general level of noise inside the pub from people chattering wasn't as high as you had hoped. It would be easy for others to overhear anything you said. Given the island-wide unrest over the murder, you were sure ears were perked more than usual and you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, or John. You would have to gather more information some other way.

"I missed you, too," you confessed, staring at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar as if they were all of a sudden exceedingly interesting. "But I... I thought you were helping out a certain green vigilante overseas these days."

John visibly tensed up.

"Who told you that?"

You shrugged, still not looking directly at him. The truth was that he couldn't really hide from you, not even in your current state. If he found out though, you didn't doubt for a second that his heated flirting would be switched for a literal knife in the back before you could even think the word "portal". Well, perhaps not literal, but you had no doubt the outcome would be fatal for you anyway.

"Who told you to come here?," you countered, raising an eyebrow and John scoffed.

"If you must know, I got a call from an old friend. Looks like she's been scrying on her own and this little spit of land kept drawing all her energy. Didn't seem like something I could ignore."

"You should've," you mumbled, taking a large slurp of your water and doing your best to ignore the persistent little spark of envy starting to gnaw away at you at his choice of words. What old friend? It had to be someone he had slept with, it always was with him. Why couldn't you just not care? "Take my advice, John, leave. Go home and lay low. I'll handle this island."

"Is that concern for old Johnny I hear, luv?," he asked with mock-surprise.

"Maybe. Don't let it get to your head, your ego won't be able to fit into that coat of yours."

He chuckled, but the tension was still there and you didn't know how to break it without giving him the truth, or at least something close.

"Your turn, pretty bird. I don't believe in coincidences like this, so tell me. How'd you know to come here?"

Lying to John Constantine was out of the question. As was being honest with him.

You chewed on your lip a bit, weighing your options. It wasn't like him to accept any kind of help unless he was downright desperate and that was still a long way off. If you challenged him though, he was most likely to flee, that much you knew. But you didn't want to get on his bad side unless you had absolutely no other choice.

"Leave," you repeated. "This one's out of your league, John. Let me take care of it, please."

The way your eyes were pleading with him made him frown and you realised you might have shown too much of your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, luv." His hand was on top of yours on the bar before you could move it. To anyone looking, it seemed like an affectionate gesture, but he was effectively pinning you in place. "Not until you give me a bloody good reason not to give you the same treatment as whatever beast it is we're dealing with on this island."

"Let go of me."

Your voice wasn't very loud, but you knew he could hear you. He answered by pressing down harder on your hand and you winced.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I just want to keep you safe?," you all but hissed at him, emptying your drink with a sour expression.

"Oh, I trust you just about as far as I can throw you, luv. Every time I see your pretty little face it means there's trouble brewing just around the corner."

"I saved your life in Tennessee. And in Derry," you tried, but his hold didn't loosen. If anything, John was now gripping your hand so hard no blood could possibly flow to your fingers. "I am trying to do your stubborn Scouse arse a bloody favour, why can't you just for once in your damn life listen to me?"

"Tell me your name then and maybe I will."

Fuck. Somehow it always came down to that.

"Xanadu," you snapped through gritted teeth, eyeing John with what you hoped was an appropriate amount of ire. "Xanadu contacted me and told me about this place. Happy? Obviously, she wasn't going to tell you now, was she?"

John withdrew his hand from you as though you'd burned him. It felt about as pleasant as a punch to the teeth, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

"I suppose you're right...," he admitted. "What did she tell you then? Her usual cryptic nonsense I reckon?"

"For someone in your line of work, you're not at all keen on prophecy reading, are you?," you sighed, forcing a bit of humour into your words.

There was no love lost between John Constantine and Madame Xanadu, that much had been clear to you from the beginning. But even though she couldn't stand the sight of him, she believed John was instrumental in keeping the world safe and had begrudgingly agreed to help you protect him when she could.

"Not really my style. I prefer things more tangible, to the point. Besides, I don't need to worry about divination when I have you."

"You rarely do."

"Not by my choice, luv."

Your eyes flickered back to the empty glass in front of you and you had to take a very slow breath to try and steady yourself. His effect on you was too strong for you to be safe around him. Your job required a clear head - for both your sakes.

"A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks," you recited, steeling your voice as you averted his unspoken question the way you always did. "It wasn't that cryptic at all for once."

He didn't need to hear the other part. You could feel his eyes roaming your face, trying to figure you out, looking for something without fully knowing what. It was at times like these you missed your wings. Keeping secrets in a human body full of emotions and urges and reactions beyond your immediate control was frustrating at best. It was another reason you were better off keeping your distance.

After a while of searching your features, John sighed and gave up.

"Alright. So it's probably some kind of malevolent spirit then, wreaking havoc. Don't see why you're so worried luv, sounds like any other Tuesday to me."

The barkeep was close enough for you to signal for a refill to you both. He grunted something unintelligible, obviously not too keen on all the Brits suddenly hanging out in his pub. You made sure to send him a grateful smile as he filled your glasses, yours with sparkling water, John's with whisky.

"My weeks are all Mondays," you said and raised the glass to your lips; just as you had hoped, John did the same. "Did you get here in time to see the body?"

"Only after they moved it. Wasn't pretty..." He took another swig while staring at the wall with a distant glaze clouding his eyes that told you he wasn't seeing the wall at all. "Pathologist told me the man had been alive when 'is head was severed. The, er... the inscriptions..." John looked just as sickly green as the constable had done and very gently you put your hand on his shoulder. A small gesture of reassurance. "I'm tired," he whispered suddenly. He turned his head to look at you and your heart ached when you realised how glassy his eyes had become. "I am just so bloody tired. Demons, vampires, curses, spirits, the lot. No matter where I go, there're always more and people die, it never stops. Innocent people, good people... I just want a fucking break, but if I don't stop the darkness from spreading, who will?"

His voice was thin and on the verge of breaking entirely. You wanted nothing more than to lean forwards on the stool and put your arms around him, somehow make him know he wasn't alone, but the risk was too great. You were in too deep already.

"Sometimes I wonder whether it's all worth it..."

"Of course it's worth it, John," you said quietly, clenching his shoulder. "We do what we have to so they...," you gestured discreetly towards the patrons, ”they can go on living their lives and not... not know and see the things we do..."

"I know, luv, I know. I just... I want..." The gloom that was always lurking just below the surface of his existence was spilling into his eyes. He was weary to the bone, deep into his very soul. For a moment, you thought he was going to let the tears burst. "I risk my life every day and it's never bloody enough, is it? A man got his head carved off by some wretched spirit who should have been resting in peace. Fuckin’ Hell..."

He rubbed his eyes hard and you decided then what to do. You didn't like it one bit, but seeing John this worn down, well, you liked that even less. It meant you had been sleeping on the job.

As subtly as you could, you put your hand in your pocket and found the tiny zip-bag with a pinch of purple powder in it. It wasn't something you used often and it had never been meant for John, but you couldn't in good conscience let him go after a rogue spirit in his current state. While he emptied his glass again, you drizzled the powder into your hand and braced yourself.

"John, look at me. It's going to be alright. You are John Constantine and without you this world would have ended twelve times in the last decade, maybe more. And right now you are going to save this island, because that is what you do. So get off your sulking arse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a job here. You're going to find that spirit and put it out of its misery before it hurts someone else, got it?"

He huffed, but even so raised his head and managed a small grateful smile at the reprimand.

"Yes. You're right. Thank you, luv. You always know what to say..." His eyes darted to your lips and for half a heartbeat, you did nothing, just sat there and waited for him to lean in the rest of the way and kiss you. It was far from the first time it had happened, but you still felt at war with yourself. There wasn't a single atom left in you anymore that didn't crave his affection. He was drunk and emotional and between the way he looked at you and the way there suddenly seemed to be less and less space separating your bodies, there was no doubt about his intention. It would be so easy just to finally give in and let it happen.

"Don't thank me."

Before he could lean back or ask you what you meant, you blew the purple powder straight into his face.

His eyes widened in shock, but his body immediately began to turn relaxed and pliant.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me...," he mumbled, but his gaze was already unfocused.

"I'm so sorry, John," you whispered, gently guiding his torso onto the bar.

He tried to say something more, but his words were slurred and within a few seconds, he was gone.

You had gotten the sleeping powder from a dealer in New Orleans, who had told you the effects would last at least four hours. They always oversold their stuff, but hopefully John would be out long enough for you to deal with the entire affair if you hurried up and took a few shortcuts. It was a messy solution, but then again, you hadn't planned on him being here. Desperate times and all that.

"He gonna be lying there all night?," the barkeep grumbled with a raised eyebrow at John when you hopped down from your stool. You put on the best smile you could manage under the circumstances and slid 50 quid across the counter.

"He'll come ‘round soon enough. If not, I'll be back for him in a few."

You practically fled the pub before he could ask you any more questions.

The road outside was deserted and you hoped no one was watching as you marched to the lonely phone box you had spotted earlier. It didn't look like anyone had used it in several years, but when you picked up the receiver the dial tone was there alright.

You took out a stained, battered playing card from the depths of one of your pockets (the seven of diamonds) and slid it into the credit card slot. You didn't own a mobile phone and neither did most of your acquaintances, but still you had memorised the few numbers you occasionally needed.

"Hey Chas, it's me," you said when the answering machine finally picked up. "I'm at the island with John and I haven't got much time. I don’t want to get John involved in this so I need to work fast. There's no need to worry, really, I've got it under control, but... just in case something unforeseen happens, uhm... if I don't call back in let's say ten hours, will you let John know where to find my body? He can't track me in his usual ways, so he'll need your help."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What you were about to do was risky, maybe even reckless.

"I'm going to the beach where they found the dead man and work my way from there. If... if I don't succeed..." It was as if your throat was suddenly full of gravel. "Chas, please, just make sure John isn't the one to take on that spirit. He is not ready for that." Too late, you held the receiver away from your face while you tried to suppress a sniffle. So much for convincing Chas Chandler that you had things under control. Forcing your voice to even out, you continued. "I have to go. Just help him if I can’t, okay? And don’t worry too much. I’ll probably see you in a couple of days.”

Before you could say anything even more stupid, you hung up and slid your helpful seven of diamonds back into your coat. Handy little thing to have on you.

You left the phone box in the last light of day and made your way down to the beach. It took you twenty minutes to reach the cove and less than one to sneak under the police tape unseen. There were just two constables standing guard at the scene and they only looked when you wanted them to. For an active crime scene, the site was unusually quiet, but you attributed your luck to the dusk that made searching for clues almost impossible.

Of course, that went for you as well, you thought sourly as you carefully stepped around the little plastic numbers the police forensics had put up all over the little stretch of beach. You could make out the bloody piece of driftwood and the large dark spatter running down the stones where the corpse had lain, but nothing smaller than those. Even if the place was rather secluded, you didn’t dare light a torch with the uniforms standing idly guard so close by.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and concentrated.

The place was tingling with dark energy and it became clearer the more you felt around, using your own magic.

A spirit, just like you had anticipated. A lost soul preying on the living for… revenge? Yes, the bloody traces sang with the mad desire for vengeance that so often kept the dead from their rest. 

Bloodshed, the thirst temporarily quenched. Then what?

The movements of the spirit became blurry after that no matter how hard you tried to focus. The leftover energy had been disturbed and mixed with the signatures of all the people who had been to the crime scene since the discovery of the body and it was impossible to make out without assistance, even for someone as experienced as you.

If you couldn’t locate the soul, you couldn’t send it packing. 

Luring it via séance required more people and it was too risky for everyone involved anyway. Without its name, summoning it was out of the question as well.

You groaned when you realised what you had to do.

Making sure for the last time you couldn’t be seen from the line of police tape above you, you took off your backpack and dark raincoat and shoved both of them under the nearest rock. Next, you loosened your boots and sat them next to the backpack, then your thick scarf and woollen jumper. With short, angry movements, you rolled your trousers down and folded them hastily, ripped off your socks and wriggled out of your top.

“You’re so bloody lucky I love you, John,” you mumbled through clenched teeth that were starting to rattle in your skull. With fingers already numb from the cold, you unclasped your bra and slid down your underwear before you could change your mind, and with a deep breath, you stepped into the waves.

Even before you went into the sea, your body had been covered in goosebumps from the chilly October air, but the surfs rising around your legs now made you heave for breath with every step forward. The rocks under your feet were dull compared to the sharpness of the water. When it reached you mid-thigh you had to stop and wait for the pain to subside enough so that you could get further out. You were too close to the beach and the water was still too shallow for your purpose.

A tangle of seaweed drifted past your ankle, or at least you hoped it was just seaweed. It was hard to tell for sure in the dark.

Your submerged muscles were screaming as you forced yourself out until the water reached your ribs. If only that wretched spirit hadn’t chosen the middle of the bleeding autumn to throw its tantrum.

“Sacred Nanuet, your humble servant speaks to you,” you intoned through gritted teeth and held out your hands on either side of you so the gentle waves touched the palms of your hands. “She beseeches you; allow her the honour of sharing in your wisdom. Blessed goddess, lend her your sight and expand her understanding, your humble servant begs of you, great Nanuet…”

The ancient language you muttered your request in felt strange on your tongue as always, but your flattery worked. You could feel the magic start to sing under your hands and so you took a deep breath and lowered yourself completely into the sea.

The stranglehold of the freezing water somehow got pushed into the background of your conscience and within a beat of your heart your mind was alight with images. Through the water, you could see most of the world, but you focused on Raven’s Rock and the little beach behind you. The water had seen it all. From the depths of the ocean, it rolled onto the sand and sneaked its way under the island’s rocks, seeped into the soil and was drunk by the hungry roots of The Green, stretching into the light above ground…

It wasn’t long before you managed to zero in on the exact event you needed. The Sight of Nanuet allowed your mind to access the memory of the watery abyss, which included as good as all water on Earth and not a lot of people mastered navigating it anymore. You had been forced to use a lot of wordly magic since you lost your wings and so had learned to find what you needed relatively easy.

Through the Sight, you saw the murder of the man on the beach, how the spirit severed his head and lapped at the blood before turning away from the scene. It lost some of its shape then, but through the dewy grass above the cove and the moist air, you managed to follow it away from the beach and across the land.

The spirit held its physical form, or at least the overall contours of it, and it made it easier to trail. From what you could tell, it definitely had been human when it had been alive. Poor thing. If only it hadn’t gone and murdered someone, maybe you could have sent it to rest. 

But would you even be there if it hadn’t?

When the spirit finally settled, you had followed it to an old, abandoned stone house with no windows and a door rotting away on the hinges. The place must have been a farm. There were several small outhouses scattered around the main building and indents in the earth marking former animal pens. The roof had been a thatched one, but now it was more moss than straw and what still remained beneath the heavy green patches had long since turned mouldy and dark. A few shards of glass jutted from some of the window frames like crude, predatory teeth waiting to chew up whoever was unfortunate or foolish enough to get close.

You went after the spirit through the remnants of the front door.

A voice in the back of your head told you it was enough, you should get out of the house and the Sight and the water. You had what you needed for now.

But the way the spirit slumped through the dark rooms and up a ramshackle staircase, as if it had done it a hundred times before, as if it belonged there in that house, intrigued you. It didn't match your original theory, the reason you didn't want John involved.

Curiosity piqued, you followed the lonely ghost up the stairs, where it turned left and went into a room with what had been two alcoves in the wall but were now mostly caved in. The room didn't have any windows and it was hard to make out the details, but the flimsy shape of the spirit trudged towards one of the beds and with motions as if the bedding had still been intact, it lay down and pulled the memory of a blanket over itself.

You slowly got closer, unsure of what to do. The visible shape of the ghost was gone now that it was no longer in motion and the general gloom of the empty house made it near impossible for you to see anything clearly. But the person the ghost had been once seemed so at home here. You couldn't feel any hostility from it at all, not even a trace. Only peace, comfort. Quiet.

This had been its home once when it had lived, you were almost certain of it.

But the desolate little stone house, out of the way even for the island's standard, must have stood abandoned for several decades, maybe even a century or two. If the ghost had lived here it was much older than you had initially thought.

Which meant you might have knocked John out for nothing.

Fuck.

You had to find out more and fast, but it was unlikely the memory of the house before your closed eyes would yield anything further. Even if it was dark and late in the evening, you would have to go there physically. The chances of finding something would be higher, and besides, you couldn't stay in the water forever. You were almost human, after all.

The thought had barely crossed your mind before the reflex to breathe kicked in and you could feel the freezing seawater rush down your throat. One inhale was all it took for your lungs to feel heavy as a pair of burning bricks. A fleeting realisation, that drowning was one of the most unpleasant sensations you’d had the misfortune of experiencing since losing your wings, faintly made it to the front of your perception before the back of your head hit the sand on the ocean floor. Then the only thing you could focus on was the pressure of the water and the way your body grew ever more numb…

The room still flickered before your eyes, slowly losing definition as you lost consciousness. Strange, you mused with your last bit of coherence, that an angel from Heaven should die looking up at it from so far below, in the cold embrace of the sea. It wasn't even painful anymore, the water, but oddly comforting, lulling you to rest, holding you tight.

The only regret you had was leaving John…

The last thing you saw before your eyes fell shut was his face above yours and a faint smile moved your lips. How very considerate of your mind to conjure up his image as the last thing you would ever see.

You could feel his arms around you even, fingers digging into your skin, his body pressed down against your own…

“Bloody fucking Hell, let her go!” The words didn’t make sense to you and they sounded so awfully far away. “She isn’t yours, you stupid paegan relic, let go of her! Let go!”

But you were, you were letting go, there was nothing more you could do.

“Christ, luv, which heathen tosspot did you enlist to drown you?! Yam, Ægir? Tiamat? Nanuet? Nanuet, isn’t it?” At the invocation of her name, you could feel the ancient goddess slacken her hold on you, as if in surprise, and you vaguely realised that the embrace you felt didn’t belong to her or the water, but to John. “Oh, you always were a fickle tart. Let go of this servant or so help me God, I, John Constantine, will destroy you and every last shrine still bearing your blasted name! Let her go!”

With a cry you weren’t sure was even coming from you, your face broke the surface of the waves. You violently coughed up seawater and if it weren’t for John’s arms, you would have fallen right back down into the deep. Your head was spinning. The numbness gave way to a cold so freezing you might as well have been rolling in needles. Everything hurt. Your legs felt unsteady, no, your entire body felt as if someone had replaced your bones with straw and your muscles with jelly.

“J-John…,” you coughed, but he shushed you, keeping you close to him in the water.

“I know, luv, it’s a bloody miracle you aren’t dead, you’re welcome for that. Now let’s get you out of the water, yeah?”

He was really there, drenched in the North Sea in the middle of October at what might as well have been the edge of the Earth, just to save you from drowning. His white shirt and black trousers clung to his frame like film and from what you could make out in the light from the moon, he was shuddering from the cold, too. You had never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

“I c-can’t m-m-move,” you got out through teeth rattling painfully in your skull, suddenly all too aware of your proximity and your own state of undress. As much as you wanted to cling to him for warmth, for closeness, the logical part of your muddled brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. That was what you did, wasn’t it?

“‘Course you can’t. How long were you under for, anyway? Completely off your rocker summoning a paegan goddess alone at night in the middle of the bloody ocean! What were you thinking?”

“I-I saw the g-ghost,” you weakly tried stammering through your clattering teeth. “Saw h-how it killed-ungh!”

You let out a groan as John swiftly picked you up and started carrying you towards shore. Your severely tested heart felt as though it might give out entirely. Never had you been reckless enough to let him touch you like this before, to let him hold you, as if you were a lover who would readily indulge in such intimacy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were very likely about to freeze to death, your cheeks would have been on fire. Every inch of your skin would have been scorching.

As it were, you were too cold and too exhausted for your body to produce that kind of heat. Surrendering to the fatigue in your bones, you allowed your head to rest against him and closed your eyes. He could carry you to shore or to Hell on his hands. You weren’t going to argue. For the first time in all your human life, you completely let your guard down.