#were ALL lit reviews of the SAME book so i got the book itself as a pdf but that SURELY CAN'T BE ALL COME ON MAN
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You are so privileged to be able to be able to make a final project with your OCs ✨️✨️✨️✨️🎉🎉🎉🎉
I know that's much more par for the course in animation than other fields but you get me
Glad for you
I don't even think it's the final version, with my Honours project, it's really digging into the sources and foundations of who my main OCs are, what and how and why they believe what they do.
It's only a pilot script and a pitch bible for my practical, not yet a whole animated first episode! (though it is the dream someday with the rest of the series I want to make!)
Thank you Alexandra. <3
#chris rambles#tzarina-alexandra#also jewish tumblr if you ever see this do you have any good places of reference for writing Sephardic folks? (hopefully 1960's)#(the main character is a Sephardic lady detective in the late 60's when the series starts)#(and from what i have researched so far she's not really adhering to one denomination of Judaism? but is that like a way of living?)#My australian ass has... very little resources on Sephardic people. the only academic resources i found in my uni online library#were ALL lit reviews of the SAME book so i got the book itself as a pdf but that SURELY CAN'T BE ALL COME ON MAN#I crave that mineral (learning)#enni answers
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Consider: Yubin who's your seatmate and is very professional in school but every night at 10pm you get the raciest, sauciest, spiciest nudes from her with no warning
Hell Week
tripleS Gong Yubin & Male Reader
Categories/warnings: smut, that's p much all anyone needs to know i think
Word count: 5.5k holy shit
a/n: jeez howd it get this long :nolookk: oh btw i took some liberties with the prompt not that u care heres the fuckin yubin fic :DDDD
~~~
A hand lays itself on your shoulder, the sudden contact nearly making you jump. You turn around and find Yubin clutching a book to her chest with a gentle look on her features. Gesture over to the chair across from you, all the while trying to get your heart rate back under control.
“My bad, didn't see you were locked in.” She gets into the chair left of you anyway and turns her book to the same page as yours. “How's it going?”
You stretch and groan to let out as much of your tiredness as you can, paying just a bit of mind to everyone else in the library doing pretty much the same. “Dunno. Around twenty minutes ago I accepted I'm retaking this class. What's up with you?”
She giggles while her eyes scan across the paragraphs talking about desert flora and types of precipitation. She rests her cheek on her palm, “I still have a bit of fight in me, but I'm losing hope. I was hoping I could borrow some from you.”
“Sorry, Yubin,” you whisper with every ounce of sympathy you had, “fresh out.” You return to your own book, yet all you do is run your eyes over the same page over and over without much staying in your head.
A cursory look over to your left shows you scholar-mode Gong Yubin: focused, sharp, and serious. Not that it ever got in the way of you two being friends, but when she gets like this, you know better than to underestimate her–she's capable of plotting the downfall of kingdoms if she set her mind to it.
However, at the same time, you notice her distress, then immediately notice how well she hides it. It's the same slight crease of her eyebrows in freshman orientation, after midterms in Linguistics 103, and when she finally stopped putting off Geology 102. The realization dawns on you: the situation is dire now that she asks for your help while she's like this, so how could you let her down now?
“Bet you I can score higher,” you challenge her. You have no good reason to issue such a proposition, but if it means giving her support how it matters, whatever embarrassing thing she'll make you do is more than worth it.
It piques her interest and a smile pulls up the corners of her lips. She side-eyes you with an excitement she didn't have just two minutes prior, and you know it worked. “If I win,” she announces as loud as she's allowed to, “make me thick tofu stew. The right way.”
“Really? That's it?” Then you rebut with just as much fervor, “If I win, you do three of my essays in comparative lit next semester.”
“Now hold the fuck on,” she stumbles, her eyes grown wide and her smile grown toothy, “if you're gonna raise the stakes like that, I need to think of something else!”
Your phone and hers vibrate at the same time, and your screen reads “Get your ass over to Geog.” You both pack your bags and head off to your last Geology class before finals together, and as your book takes its place in the darkness of your backpack, “Fine, but I get to change mine too when I hear yours,” and the spring in her step as you walk tells you it's mission accomplished.
~~~
In hindsight, it really wasn’t all that bad. The class review session your professor held that day helped you nail down just enough of whatever the fuck sleet might be, and while you're certain it isn't flying colors, your grade at least wouldn't be red.
Coming out of the exam room, you spot Yubin just seconds before she finds you, and your good deed pays for itself as she skips to approach.
“Got a good feeling?” There was no point in asking other than that you had to hear it from her, though the wide grin on her face was proof enough.
“Yeah, I think barely,” she sways cutely from side to side, “and don't think you're off the hook!” She hits you light on the arm, and the most shining feature you can’t ignore is her eyebrows without any sign or symptom of the crease.
“Not over ‘til the fat lady sings, Gong Yubin,” though you know she's already won. “Three whole essays against… Haven't you decided yet?”
“No, not yet, but the bet is still on!”
You relent, “Fine, fine. Anyway, Nakyoung’s treating the gang to drinks tonight. Wanna come?”
“Nah, busy. Laundry and stuff.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and you can tell she’s giddy about what her grade is going to turn out to be. It’s a sight for sore eyes, especially ones that have seen too many grainy tectonic plates and water cycle diagrams. “And why do you insist on full-naming her?”
“I know someone whose name sounds the exact same. As far as I’m concerned, our Nakyoung’s the other Naky.” You place your hand on the small of her back and lead her away from the doorway, and she walks with you without a second thought.
“Mean. You’ll have to introduce me to this first Naky, then.” You slide into rhythm with her gait, and it hits you just how relieved you are for Yubin’s worries to be over.
It seems such a waste, you think, that laundry is the only thing keeping her away from celebrating, so as you walk out of the Social Sciences building, you bargain one more time: “We’ll be there all night, so just come by when you’re done. I speak for everyone when I say we want you to come, please?”
She giggles again, “I’ll see what I can do. It’s not like I don’t wanna be there, either. Plus,” she admits defeatedly, “we’re getting the results later, and God knows I’d rather not be alone when it comes.”
~~~
“Hey, where's Yubin?” Nakyoung slings an arm around your shoulder and shoves another mug of beer into your hand. It's a welcome gesture, and it takes all of two and a half seconds for you to down half of it.
“She has laundry,” you nearly shout back your reply above the music. “Said she'll drop by if she has time.”
Nakyoung makes to yell another reply right into your ear, but decides to pull you away into one of the quieter booths in the bar. “She's a goody-two-shoes, no? Laundry, oh please. Kaede hasn't done laundry in two years.” She takes a gulp of her own beer and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Hey. She studied her ass off for that test. I made a bet with her and it looks like she has high spirits, but I honestly dunno what I'd do if she fails.”
Your friend takes your chin up with her finger and you realize how pensive an expression was sitting on your face. “This is Gong Yubin. You know she'll kill it.” Nakyoung flashes a confident smile, and it reassures you almost more than your own trust in Yubin herself. “You drunk yet?”
“Nah, not getting shitfaced without Yubin.”
“Cute. You know she likes you too?”
“Go fuck yourself, Nakyoung. Go steal Seoyeon's boyfriend while you're at it.”
“I wish; she has him under lock and key. But I wouldn't really mind both of them,” she muses, eyeing Seoyeon in the middle of the dancefloor.
Just then, the devil strolls in through the front door. “Hi! You weren't kidding, it's really loud in here,” Yubin exclaims with her hands shielding her ears as she adjusts to the noise.
She takes Nakyoung's seat–you whip your head around and find Nakyoung at the dancefloor, with Seoyeon grinding against her–and picks up Nakyoung's old mug. She takes a careful sip and ends it with a relieved ahhhh, before setting it back down and getting to business. She leans in like keeping a secret, though she can't hide her toothy grin. “Have you seen your grade yet?”
“It's out?!” You fumble for your phone, and the second it lights up, cold runs through your veins–the email notification is the first thing at the top of the screen. Meanwhile, Yubin calmly slides her phone across the table to you. She asks “I read yours, you read mine?” with the sweetest smile on her face, again with the slight crease on her eyebrows.
Calm your nerves, silence the alarms blaring in your head. You know she did well, absolutely certain. However, it still doesn't soothe you enough; not until you see the grades for yourself. So, as your thumb hovers over her email, your heart nearly beats out of your chest, only to see–
“You got 87 percent,” Yubin states in the blandest, matter-of-fact tone you've ever heard. Her eyes move left and right over the same spot on your phone, making ultimate certain that she's reading it right. Once she is, her tone softens just enough, “Yeah, 87 percent. Wow, that's good,” she sighs with relief, “... Hard to beat.”
Now her turn, you peek at her score. doing the same making sure, and then some. When you read it for the fifth time, you kick yourself mentally for being so worried and having such little trust in the genius that is Gong Yubin. “Goddamn, 95 percent.”
Her eyes widen like sinkholes as her hand flies to cover her mouth. It almost doesn't matter that you hand her back her phone; she snatches it back anyway. Her disbelief chips away at itself with every run through of the email she reads for herself, and when she's finally done, returns her shocked gaze back to you.
“You were that scared of three essays?” you joke. The beer tastes sweeter now that your worries have gone, and as if all six septillion kilograms of the world is off your shoulders.
“No, three essays is easy,” she taunts, but immediately her voice takes on a gentler tone, “so I win, right?”
You scoff at her haughtiness, but your relief triumphs over all. “Yeah, whatever. What do you want?”
“... I wanna go home. This is enough excitement for one day.”
“Alright, let me take you. Tell me in the cab what you want for winning, though?”
“Sure,” she says with a tiny smile.
~~~
“So,” she declares. She catches her breath, and her face is overcome with a subtle red flush, “about the bet.”
“Yeah, about the bet.”
“I want…” and she hesitates. The cab runs over a mild speed bump, and the resulting sway seemingly knocks her completely out of focus. She gathers her resolve once more, as if every time she tries to speak she drops it and has to pick it up again.
“You want…?”
It's a good couple minutes of her breathing heavily, and your concern shows itself for her and whatever she has planned for you.
“Is it illegal? What could possibly be so bad that you're hesitating this much?”
“No, no, shut up. I'm working on it.” She takes one last deep breath, even placing a hand on her heart to steady it. “I want… a cum tribute.”
“... A cum tribute.”
“Yes.”
“You want me to…?”
“I'll send you a photo. And do it on that.”
“You want a photo of–”
“Video.”
“You–video?”
“I want a video. Of you. Cumming on a photo. My photo. I'll send it to you.”
There's no way the cab driver doesn't think this is weird. Then again, he has an earphone in, so he might not be listening in at all. You get the feeling Yubin doesn't care either way, completely focused on you.
“... Alright. You want it this bad, fine.”
“Good. Um,” she follows, “sorry in advance. It's gonna be my first time… taking a photo like this.” She refocuses her attention to the buildings whizzing by outside as she says it, the telltale sign the conversation is over. Still, it lingers in your head for a little while: Yubin's first time.
~~~
“Look, I'm sorry,” she sighs, “just come up with me? Please?”
You're standing with her outside her dorm, all the while the meter ticks away in the cab. The driver waits expectantly inside for you to get back, but Yubin's fingers wrapped around your sleeve make for a very difficult decision.
“Okay, okay, just let me pay the cab driver,” you concede, but as soon as you sum up the fare, Yubin snatches it from you and brings it over herself. She and the driver exchange a few words, ending with her waving him off and him leaving her in the dust. She waddles back with her signature grin: the one that tries and fails to hide her excitement.
“Can I just ask why you want it so bad?”
She shakes her head, “Nope. Now shush,” as you both make the now-silent trek up the four flights of stairs to her floor and room.
Upon entering, you immediately notice it's nicer than most dorm rooms: huge space, carpet floors, a big window, and two double-size beds, not to mention its own bathroom. It makes you stop and wonder if you ever glossed over any signs that Yubin or her family might come from old money.
“Uhh, give me a few minutes to get ready. The bed on the right is mine, make yourself at home. WiFi password by the light switch. Kaede doesn't like her stuff messed with, so steer clear.” Yubin then disappears into the bathroom, and you lay yourself down on her bed. You're made aware of how you sink comfortably into the memory foam, and of the disarming fragrance that wafts from her bedsheets and pillowcases. She's always smelled like this, you recall, but it's rather nice, you finally admit.
“Hey,” Yubin attempts. She sits on the edge of her bed next to you, wearing a set of pajamas and no makeup at all. You always knew Yubin was a pretty girl, God knows how many times she's been asked out, but seeing her like this is new; her allure draws you in with a smile and an embrace. Shit, was Nakyoung right? Do you like her?
“So… How do you want me?” She avoids your eyes and touches her fingertips together, a blush forming on her cheeks.
“Do you… Do you have a tie?”
Her ears perk up, “Yeah, hold on,” and she retrieves a thin, striped necktie from her dresser. She places it around her neck, her fingers delicately maneuvering the fabric into an intricate-looking knot, and when she's done, she presents herself to you.
“Take off your top, Yubin,” you tell her, and she hands you her phone with the camera already on. Point it at her, making sure the flash is off, and start taking pictures one by one.
She pushes aside the tie and fiddles with the top button. It's effortless how she undoes it, and she pulls the collar apart to show you more of her. She unbuttons the next, then the next, all the while showing you her smooth skin. With half the buttons undone, she shows off her chest, showing nothing but skin underneath her top.
You take a moment to catch your breath, swallow your spit. “Are you sure about this, Yubin?”
“Yeah… Just keep going, please.” She undoes her fifth button at the very bottom, revealing her midriff and making you salivate. Must be heaven to kiss her there, when she snaps you out of it, “Are you still taking pictures?” Am I that distracting?” Look up to her, find her with the same sweet smile on her face but with a new blush decorating her cheeks.
Her last button is her fourth, and it's undone before you know it. She keeps her pajama top on a little bit longer, covering her chest a little bit more, and finally she shrugs it off one shoulder. It's nothing but everything all at once, and the split second your self-control wavers is the exact moment you leap in.
You drop her phone somewhere on the mattress; both your hands grip her shoulders as your lips capture hers. She leans into the kiss, wrapping her fingers on the back of your neck, and tiny moans escape her amidst smooches that get louder the hungrier she gets.
Pull the top off her other shoulder, and she finally strips it all off. However, you can't even enjoy the sight, not yet, as you draft down from her lips to her slender neck, leaving a trail of kisses on your way. She runs her fingers through your hair before holding you in place, all the while leading your free hand to her chest.
She sucks air in through her teeth, “That's really good, just like that…” she moans as her head tilts to allow more access to her neck. The scent of her shampoo fills your nostrils and you feel yourself getting addicted, but not as much as to the softness of her skin.
She pulls you down onto the bed, and you find yourself leaning over her. Yubin lies under you, watching you intently and waiting for what you'll do next. Her tie sits right in the valley of her tits, and it drives you wild. Take a nipple in between your teeth while you fondle her other breast. She breathes heavy in pleasure, wordlessly asking for more and more of your attention and love. Her fist closes on your hair as she pushes you further onto her chest, her other hand hopelessly tugging on your pants.
It's all the message you need from her: your pants go, then your underwear, then everything else. Your cock stands hard in her sights, and the way her fingers wrap around your length is nothing short of heaven.
“Do… do you wanna do it with me?” Her question is purely innocent, without a single hint of malice in her voice. She rubs your shaft slowly, sending waves of tantalizing pleasure throughout your whole body.
“Do you have condoms?”
“... Kaede will forgive me.” She crawls down the ladder, picks out a square plastic wrapper from her roommate's dresser, and hurries to get back to you. The smile on her face as she comes up the ladder again is one of, if not the most beautiful things you've ever seen.
You guide her as she puts the condom on you, and the sensation of her fingers gently unrolling the rubber along your length only makes you more impatient. Finally, you hook your fingers on the garter of her pajama bottoms, and she lifts her hips to accommodate you. The fabric slides off her so easily, revealing her long, smooth legs that she seems desperate to have you in between of.
“Go easy, okay? I told you…”
“Yeah, your first time. I'll take care of you,” you reassure her. Line up your throbbing cock against her slick heat, feel her palm on your cheek, watch her flash that killer smile again. She bites her lip, and while you know it isn't on purpose, it makes her look sexier all the same.
Slide your cock into her, making sure to go slow. She shuts her eyes harder with every inch she takes of you, and when she moves her hands to your forearms and grips tight, it reminds you like a looping cycle: “Go easy, go easy.”
So you go slow and steady, staving off your lust for the woman giving herself to you. Each thrust into her sex is careful and calculated, though by the second you feel your calculations going awry. She pants at every good spot in her cavern you happen to drag across, earning her little admissions of newly found pleasure in the form of mewls and moans like a song you’d never tire of.
“Faster, please…? You’re so–ugh, fuck…” And the way she pleads flips a switch in you; plant your elbows into the memory foam on either side of her head while she takes your face in her hands. Yubin pulls you in for a kiss and it means the world to her when you grow careless with your lovemaking.
“Fuck, fuck, not too fast, just right, mmm,” each time you push into her cunt. The way she mumbles sweet nothings into your ear, the way she holds on for dear life and leaves scratches all the way down your back, she takes up every single thought going through your head: Yubin, Yubin, Yubin…
You scarcely notice how she's scratching your harder, gripping you tighter, grinding against you faster–it’s much too late to finally hear her warning, “I'm close, I'm close, oh fuck, fuck, aaahhhh!” as she explodes with you still inside her. Her pussy clenches around your cock in all the best ways, and you savor the feeling as she rides out her orgasm. Her knuckles turn white as she grips you by the shoulders, though all you can see is how her tits bounce with every jerk that runs through her body. Yubin's eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth hangs open, a prolonged, deep moan gracing your ears as she ambles closer and closer to spent.
Take a moment, let her breathe. Every gasp of air in her lungs is like a blessing, and each one steadily brings her from beyond heaven back to you. Her hands fall to her sides as she pants out her delirium and replaces it with tiredness, and once she's stable she flashes you that killer smile again. It pulls on the corners of her mouth, showing the tiniest amount of teeth, though her eyes are nowhere near open. Plant a kiss on her cheek, then her neck, then receive her giggles once you stay and rest right on her pulse.
“You good? Still alive?”
All she can do is nod, having had every last ounce of her strength sapped. She lays motionless under you, save for her chest rising and falling with her breathing, and you know she looks to you for comfort and security. You take another moment to bask in her afterglow; she's never looked more gorgeous.
“Hey,” she whispers, and you swear it's the most tired you've ever heard her, or anyone for that matter. “You good?”
“Yeah, I'm okay. Are you sure you're good?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” She pulls you back down and plants a kiss on your cheek. Her lips linger for a second, as if she's taking in your scent made hers. You stay like this for a good while, just enjoying each other's presence, relishing in the warmth of a body that gave itself up for the other. You don't even notice when you slumped over onto the mattress beside her, but her head on your chest felt like the rightest thing in the world.
“We're not done, by the way,” she prods.
“What? Why not? Aren't you tired?”
“‘Tired’ isn't part of the bet. I still want that tribute.”
And you remember, you have a job to do, a debt to pay. It’s between your common sense and your lust for the hottest girl in the world right now, and there is a clear winner.
Pull back from her, off of the bed, and plant your feet on the floor. Firm and resolute, tell her: “Fine, on your knees.” The flush on her face deepens to an igneous red, and she scrambles to the floor in front of you.
“You're so pretty, Yubin,” you muse as you point her camera back to her face. Make sure the flash is off, and once you push the big red button to record, your other hand immediately takes her cheek and guides her to your tip.
Yubin's eyes flutter shut as she inches her lips closer and closer to your cock. The first contact is heavenly; just gentle kisses and licks from a complete novice pretending to be an expert at this sort of stuff. The way her tongue glides over your shaft, the way she plants kisses all over your cock with the tiniest sucks, the way she does all of this with her eyes gracefully shut makes for a killer video for her to get off to later. A blowjob from a girl like this comes once in a lifetime, so you resolve to give her everything she'd ever want from a tribute like this.
A moan escapes you, and she picks up that she's doing it right. With your subconscious approval, the hand on her cheek pulling further her in, she takes your tip in her mouth. Her tongue works overtime in running all over the head, paying special attention to your slit, making absolutely sure her spit coats wherever she can reach. She takes in more and more of your shaft, pressing her tongue on the underside of your cock as she does, all the while her cheeks hollow out like her life depends on it.
Tiny vibrations from her throat only add to the pleasure, sending shivers up your spine and your hand to the back of her head. For the first time, she opens her eyes, and the sight is something to behold: she looks up at you with the biggest, roundest, most pleading eyes, the epitome of cuteness if not for your cock she oh-so-diligently services to get what she wants.
Yubin takes you in just a bit deeper, slightly turning her head and savoring the way your length fills her mouth, when you hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag. She pulls back abruptly as a tear forms in the corner of her eye, and you have half a mind to pull out entirely to make sure she's okay. Instead, she never lets you–she takes your cock again, shooting you another pleading look before she shuts her eyes and bobs her head onto your cock again and again.
Luckily, you pick up on her message; Snake your fingers through her hair, grab a fistful, make her yours. A moan rises from her throat once again, and she steadies herself with her hands on your thighs in preparation. She's ready.
Pull her in as far as she can take, and it's a good most of your shaft before she gags again. Offer her no breathing room, bob her head onto your cock over and over, all the while more of her slobber coats your length, some of it falling off her lips and onto her chest and lap. She never fights, only takes–soon the gagging is replaced by an obedient, rhythmic gluck-gluck-gluck than you're sure even she'd find hot if she could think straight. Instead, her phone picks up every sight and sound for her to enjoy later, while you both enjoy each other now.
It's everything all at once: the sight of Gong Yubin's plump, sexy lips around your shaft, the feeling of her tongue relentlessly dragging over every inch of your cock, the sound of your tip meeting her throat again and again while her groans fight their way out. “Yubin… I'm close,” you confess, but with her eyes still shut and her tongue still going crazy all over you, you don't think she heard. So make the decision yourself: yank her hard off your cock, rub your shaft right against her delicious lips. Once she exits her daze, she takes your dick in her hand and rubs all across the length. Tears fall from the corner of her eyes and her lips give off the slightest tremble, but she's resolute in what she wants to earn from you.
It takes no time at all until you reach your limit. It's the best handjob anyone has ever probably given, but it's that one last kiss from her, right on your tip, that sends you over the edge. One last groan, one last jerk, one last tug of her hair, and your orgasm hits. Your cum shoots out in ropes, all landing on her face and tits. She's determined to receive everything from you, so it's only right to give her exactly what she wants. She shuts her eyes again, but her mouth stays wide open to catch whatever she can of it–she never stops jerking you off even as your cum falls onto her eyelids, her nose bridge, her forehead, her chin. Yubin savors every moment and every drop, burning the memory of bliss into her mind as you coat her face with your love.
Your orgasm finally dies down, and you realize just how much she squeezed out of you. You're sure no one has ever looked lewder, your cum smeared all over her face, yet she proves you wrong when she picks up a fingerful of it to take into her mouth. She licks her lips, apparently loving the taste, while you love the sight of her acting so sultry for you.
Stumble back onto the bed, take Yubin with you. Both of you are out of strength, breathing heavy, and in the middle of processing that you just painted her face with cum–that she asked you to paint her face with cum. You barely notice the stars swirling in your eyes, but your sense of the situation comes back just quick enough to avoid things getting awkward.
“I think I wanna shower, so you should wash up first,” you mumble, still staring at her beige ceiling, and you can feel she's panting and doing the same without even seeing her.
Wordlessly she gets up and her carpet-muffled footsteps grow quieter as she heads to the bathroom. A door shuts, a handle creaks, a shower gushes to life. Your brain sits idle, making no attempts to form thoughts other than acknowledging the shower turning off and on while she bathes. It's calming in its own way, you suppose–taking a bath is one of the normalest things in the world–as if what you just did with her was a close runner-up.
An unknowable amount of time passes, and a fresh, citrus-scented Yubin emerges from the bathroom again. She dries her hair with her towel as she makes her way to her hair blower, but not before shooting you a gorgeous smile and a head tilt to the bathroom to let you know it's your turn.
~~~
Leaving the bathroom yourself, you find a dark bedroom, save only for a yellow lamp shining against a nearby wall. Yubin is sitting up in her bed and scrolling on her phone, and once she spots you, she beckons you over.
“Look, funny,” she whispers with a giggle, and she shows you a clip of a guy much too excited about a truck looking like Optimus Prime.
“Yeah. Hey, listen, I'm pretty tired,” you attempt. In no way is this a lie, and you're sure she's tired too. You bet she wants nothing more than to finally go to sleep and end what should be a perfect night on a high note.
“Totally,” she agrees, “come on in. It's cold.” She lifts up the covers and looks over to you expectantly. Not that it dumbfounds you, but it throws you for a slight loop; she literally just said it was cold.
“Wh– I'm heading out, is what I mean. You should get your rest, too.”
Yubin's eyes take on a softer expression, “Oh, you're not staying over?”
“... Did you want me to?”
“Yeah…?”
Your eyes lock with hers for what seems like half a second and a million hours at the same time. You're stuck in place, still in a stalemate of a staring contest with her, and you're not sure even she knows what the two of you want out of the situation. Her expression turns into one of concern, and her arm holding up the covers falters just a bit. Fuck, you think, window's closing.
Make your choice, have no regrets. Get in the covers with her, and she lets them drop to snuggle up to you. Once the both of you settle, her head on your chest and yours on one of the fluffiest pillows in the world, she blurts out quietly: “You fucked up, you know.”
She navigates to her gallery and finds your video of her, and skips to a part near the end. “Your dumb ass stopped recording just as you were about to cum.” And the video did show that: Yubin rubbing your cock, eyes shut, tongue out and ready for your load, and the video stops.
“Shit, sorry–”
“This wasn't the bet. I wanted a cum tribute, not a facial. You need to send me a proper one,” she muses, “or take a proper video.”
Now that stuns you. You wonder how interesting her ceiling is for you to stare at it so much, but she snaps you out of it partway through by snaking a hand up your shirt and settling it right above your heart. Reciprocate–it only feels right–wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her even closer. An exhale from both of you, and one last exchange of words:
“Okay. Tomorrow?”
“Can you go again that soon?”
“If it's you, of course.”
“Don't guys need to recharge?”
“... I'll handle it.”
~~~
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2024 in writing
Another rotation in the books, somehow! From a publishing perspective, I didn't have the most interesting year--but as I look back on 2024, I'm finding I did have an interesting year in writing.
For one thing, I took two workshops with Lindsay Merbaum, an author I admire and an excellent workshop facilitator. I recommend checking out the Study Coven for some truly cool themed classes coming up; the syllabi for Smutty Study and Witches III were full of fun and provocative reading, and the work itself yielded two short stories, plus multiple poems and journal entries. I put together a collection of weird short stories and did intensive research on spots to submit it, a project that's still ongoing and will get fresh attention in the new year.
I also drafted a novella that's "in-universe" to Little Nothing, the first brand-new long-form project I'd completed in years. It's true what they say: every book is a different writing experience. Every book teaches you how to write all over again. More news on this front to come, I hope!
In 2024, I prioritized listening to the muse, whether it drew me to trying out new poetic forms, writing fanfic of my own work, or keeping myself to clipped word counts. As autumn ended, I found that this follow-your-bliss practice had made me energized to take up a more disciplined practice of write-and-submit. As we approach the darkest parts of the year, I'm excited to write to intriguing prompts and not overthink things before submitting... and start work on a shelved manuscript.
Throughout the year, I did put published work into the world. I continued to write for horror media website DIS/MEMBER, revisiting the Exorcist TV series, interviewing cool authors, and reviewing a few movies. In 2025 I'll take on the role of Lit Editor for DIS/MEMBER, and we've got some cool new stuff lined up (think cover reveals, indie publisher spotlights, and more). I also published the third volume of what's become my Halloween tradition, a zine with a weird theme; this year, hallowzine vol. 3 was all about the hybrid and alien femininities of Ex Machina, Blade Runner 2049, Annihilation, and Under the Skin.
Most significantly, the two pieces of fiction I published were with magazines local to me and available only in print. Castle Jackal Magazine is full of horror art and writing, while Paper Moon's editions so far have focused on poetry and short fiction. I've always prioritized magazines with digital distribution, in order to theoretically reach the most readers. But in recent years I've begun to think that maybe what I really want is to reach the right readers. Hyper-local zines, music, and art are thick on the ground in my area, and I'm lucky to be connected with people making cool stuff. One of my favorite writing-related instances in 2024 was a zinefest at which I sold almost everything I brought, from print copies of my DIY zines and collections to Little Nothing, embroidered patches, and my partner's block prints. Speaking of Little Nothing, my publisher also made public a previously-subscribers-only Patreon post with a little dip into the world of limerunners and antebellum Florida!
Also in the hyper-local realm, I joined an in-person writing group. This is a new experience for me, and it's been a great one. Each of the participating writers is at a different point in their writing practice, has different goals for writing and publishing, and writes different in genres and formats. Yet what I value is that everyone seems to approach the group with the same level of seriousness. I've enjoyed engaging with the short fiction, poetry, and memoir pieces these writers bring, and practicing paying true attention to others' work. I also get to facilitate a teen writing club for my work; seeing the joy the teens take in their projects, and the skill they've already developed, is a real delight in my life.
Finally, in 2025 I'm venturing back into the world of newsletters. I'm growing weary (and wary) of my reliance on social media, when those platforms are increasingly unstable and untrustworthy. In order to cultivate engagement, stretch my essay muscles, and deliver news outside Meta's scope, I'll be trying out bimonthly letters--you can sign up now! My old newsletter, Readers Up, is now also archived on Buttondown.
Happy writing and happy reading, friends. I'll see you in the new year.
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of inked pages and adventures | n.jm
Summary: Jaemin plays rock-paper-scissors, loses, ends up being dared to spend one boring hour every day in a boring library, and finds love in a person who's spent more time behind a book than under the Sun.
Word Count: 1975
a/n: so I tried to give y'all a fic with a happy ending bc some people yelled at me after slow akshdjdj
Of course, as to most of Jaemin's life-changing decisions, it starts with losing rock-paper-scissors, a dare, and Lee Donghyuck.
The second rule to life is to never listen to Donghyuck sober. Renjun kinds of disagrees with that, but in his defense, listening to sober Hyuck got him a boyfriend, after all — but in Jaemin's case, it's only given him headaches and careless adrenaline. Jaemin stands true to his words: the second rule to life is to never listen to Donghyuck sober. The first rule is to never listen to him drunk.
Everybody knows how terrible some people are at following such rules, and unfortunately, Jaemin is one of those people. Right now, he momentarily hates that.
It's nothing wild, per se, just strange — normally, the dares are either risking your life, reputation, or morals. Today, they've chosen for him to suffer; "Go and read books for at least an hour in the library. You can't fall asleep."
So here he is, standing in this dimly lit room full of books. He takes one of them blindly, dragging himself to a table in the farthest corner, and doesn't realize it yet that someone is already sitting there. You looked at him with an exhausted gaze, but as your eyes catch at the book's cover, they quickly brim with life.
"Psychology? Interesting."
"What?" he says, pouting a little, used to talking to people. Normally, it would make most people melt — your still expression doesn't change, so he tries a joke. "A handsome guy can't read psychology now?"
It doesn't work, but the barest hints of a smirk tugs at the sides of your lips, and you shake your head as if to say no.
"It's not everyday a cute boy reads the same books as I do."
Red stains his cheeks and in his panic, he keeps his eyes on his book. He feels distracted, kind of heady, a little lost; butterflies seem to soar in his stomach, a feeling he's only ever caused, not experienced. It sucks for him that he doesn't know what to do about it — because what do you do when you've met someone for the first time, and they told you such things like that, and your stupid heart won't calm the fuck down?
What kind of first meeting, right?
#
The first week was nothing compared to the first day. He learned to stay comfortable with this kind of silence, the type that's somber and kind of lonely; the one that makes whispers reverberate inside the room, almost haunted. He's grown familiar with some books, be it the ones that smell like fresh paper and ink or the musky ones with sweet undertones, both scents lingering around the room.
He learned how to exist in silence. For days, surely, he missed the noise even if the loss was just for an hour, being used to Donghyuck chattering the time away and Renjun calling him out on it. The quarrels were always there, and as much as back then, all he wanted was for it to stop, right now he wants nothing but for someone to speak.
But as days pass by, he starts to see its charm. He starts to grow fond of the small talks. More specifically, he starts to get used to the way all the words that needed to be said are laid out like exposed cards, no guessing of intentions or games. They're just words that mean exactly as they should, and that's all that Jaemin needs. Certainty. Assurance. Truth.
He looks up from his books, scanning the cover of yours. "You got a classic now?"
"Exams," you say, shoulders rising slightly. Your eyes don't lift from the sentences, but he's certain you've stopped reading. Only then does he notice the heaviness in your eyes, the invisible wall you've put up around yourself against everybody else.
"Shouldn't you be reviewing by this time?"
"No."
Amusement fills his gut, and he shakes his head a little. You go back to reading and he tries to do the same as well, but for a reason or two, he couldn't focus — under the warm library lights and beside the strange person he's shared counted words with, he flourishes like a rose in a full-blown spring.
#
To be true, Jaemin no longer has to spend an hour in the library. It was a silly dare, and it's over, and he can go back to going to parties or hanging out with his best friends. He doesn't even really like reading; to be fair, they're interesting. He just doesn't feel them as hard as people like Renjun does.
He can go back to his old ways now, to the lively nights and tiring thrills. In fact, he could've done so weeks ago — but these days, as if a habit, his feet take him back to the street he spent a month getting to know, walking to a place he spent hours trying to understand. There was a dull something about the library that makes him breathe.
It's not the books. It was never the books — he's heard of these magical things, the way they bring you to different places and timelines, each time a different person with a different story. He's heard of the spark they have and the addicting scent of ink on paper. He's heard it all, and that's pretty much it — he never got to experience the entertainment they seemed to hold for a special kind of people. He's seen a glimpse of it, though, in the reflection of your eyes; the way they gloom when something bad happens, the way they shine when something good does. He finds bits of magic there, alongside the wanderlust glittering behind your lids.
And if the books couldn't take him to an adventure, your eyes do.
"Why're you staring?"
Why was he staring?
"Poetry, huh?" he hides his nervousness with a grin. He rests his chin on his palms, staring at you as if he was in a reverie because he is. "Cute."
You run your fingers at the spine of the book, tracing the delicate covers with equally as delicate fingers, a heavy sigh hanging on your lips. "They're mostly free verses about world tragedies."
He couldn't help but grimace, "Oh, damn. That's hardcore."
Something in the proud smirk on your smile screams rebelliously regal, and he somewhat struggles to look away.
#
The first time you two meet outside the library, it's at a convenience store and you were pretty much half-awake. Jaemin points an accusing finger at you, "What're you doing here?"
"Buying coffee."
"At 4am?"
"Dude, you're doing the same thing?" you ask, amused. "Just let me pass."
And just like everything with Jaemin, it begins with a straightforward question: "Wanna walk together?" You can't really pinpoint who asked first, just that you both wanted it, and that you both spent minutes walking in circles until you decided on going to the park. It's a silent trip, something he's not used to, but either way, it's something he liked. The emptiness of the streets, the gloaming of midnight.
By the time you've reached the park, it's already five a.m and what's left to the darkness is the lingering scent of nighttime, fleeting around the breeze and cold touches. The shiver this phantom gives you is shortlived, the sun starting to make itself known through first warm rays. The foggy image of the street ahead stains golden, and to watch the town rouse awake stirs in your gut something oddly specific yet unnamed.
You let out a dreamy sigh.
"I just want melodrama, is that too much to ask?" you kick at a rock. "Can't a person just run in an empty hallway looking fancy as hell? Can't a person just scream angrily at the world as they hold their dying lover in their arms?"
Jaemin momentarily chokes on his coffee, eyes widening in horror. "Can't a person just what?!"
You laugh, a pleasant sound comparable to tinkling bells you'd probably hear when you enter a fantasy land. It's not a delicate laugh, nor is it a careless one; it's just a laugh, beautiful even if it's obvious that you didn't let your guards down. His heart swells in adoration.
###
Jaemin doesn't go to the library after that morning.
He's heard of the different ways some people fall in love; his friends didn't do it much, but whenever they do, it had been interesting. Donghyuck only experienced it once before he declares he's given up on it; it was young love, the kind of love that's what you knew it to be at the moment. Jaemin calls it the first kind of love, the one that's hard to forget.
Renjun's was a difficult kind. It longed for people who didn't want to love anymore, hearts that had been closed to the world after it tried to break it. Jaemin understood it as the kind that waits — through the pain, after most everything.
Jeno's was the most simple. He didn't understand a single bit of what he tried to say, but Jaemin called it the most simple because it's the hardest to understand; the in denial kind, the complicated kind, the thing most people feel.
This one, he hasn't heard of. He hasn't been warned about it, either; it came without notice, no alarms. It came blindly, and it looked nothing like what he thought love should look like. Every wall he's built crumbles down, and he ignores the fact that you've known each other for short months and barely even knew each other's names. This one, he calls a tunnel. To him who's quite confused, it's as if a deep, dark, and chilly tunnel; maybe a museum of realizations and you come out of it feeling like something's not quite right of yourself.
Once he accepts it, he finds himself here again, in that same table. After his long absence, he expected some anger, he expected coldness. Instead what he gets is softness, an empty seat directly in front of yours, and a very emotional string of words: "It's been lonely without you."
Jaemin doesn't think much before he speaks and it's one of the flaws that he didn't really mind because all he's said are nice words. He kind of rethinks that thought as he lays both arms on the table, resting his cheek on one and them dreamily staring at you; "You're gonna be the death of me."
There's no books this time. Instead, papers scatter uselessly, notebooks opened and pens of different colors rest wherever. Somewhere inside his brain, he almost hears Renjun scoff at how he's blatantly not studying despite having everything he needs to review, but he doesn't mind that. He sets his eyes on you, focused on jotting down important terms and their meanings. Under a trick of the light, he sees angel wings spread behind you.
Your stare shifts to him, and he basks in the sunshine it never fails to make him feel. You glow like fantasy and the admiration surges straight to his head, skipping his logic and rushing for his feelings; he thinks of you as a person who was never meant to be human — such etherealness simply couldn't be meant to be mortal.
"Huh?"
"I kind of fell in love with you and I just won't stop falling," he mutters, eyes closed. "You're gonna be the death of me."
"Are you trying to ask me out on a date?" you laugh, and he shoots up, sitting straight. Red flushes his cheeks again, much like the first day, but this time he couldn't look away — your hand rests atop of his, warm against each other. "If so, then yes."
"What?"
"Take me on a date first." you say, slower this time. "and then hopefully, many more."
#nct dream#na jaemin#nct dream x reader#nct dream imagines#nct dream blurbs#nct dream timestamps#nct dream drabbles#nct dream scenarios#nct dream reactions#jaemin drabble#jaemin fluff#jaemin scenarios#jaemin imagines#jaemin x reader#nct dream fluff#jaemin timestamps#bc i did him dirty with that angst on his bday
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7 16 22 26
7. If you’re not a native English speaker, how much do you read in your native language versus how much you read in English? How do you feel about that?
I predominantly read in English, mostly because I spent so much time on the English-language internet so that’s where I find most book recs, a lot of especially nonfiction books are not available in translation and if I were to read a translation, I prefer the ones that have the original text on one side and the translation facing it so I can scour for nuances and observe the craft of translation itself.
I don’t feel too good about the fact that most of what I read in German is just newspapers. Occasionally I make an effort to read in German, but what I go for there is older poetry quite often, which--while keeping my creative language skills sharper--still doesn’t solve the issue of me paying too little attention to the country I actually live in. Luckily I’ve recently seen quite a lot of German nonfiction coming out about stuff I care about, like the entanglement of the German police with the far right, or stuff like Max Czollek’s essay Desintegriert euch! arguing against the common ideas in Germany of what integration in Germany--and especially Jewish life in Germany--should look like.
16. The book that you don’t dare reread for fear it won’t be the same any more
Mostly books from my childhood, tbh. I read a book called Lina bei den Wölfen once and I found it again at a yard sale, and I remember being fascinated and horrified by it but I haven’t cracked it open again. Mostly, though, I figure the person I was then got what they got out of it and that can never be undone, and now I’ll get something else if I read it again, and if I’m intrigued by the something else then why not reread. I reread most books I like.
22. The book you finished even though you hated it, and the reasons why
I usually read four or more books in parallel, picking up whatever I’m more interested in that moment, and then I start another one and years later I notice I didn’t finish a book or other because it just got moved back on the shelf when I was cleaning up. So I don’t tend to finish books I don’t like. I don’t even finish all the books I do like
26. Do you read reviews of books? Before or after you read the books themselves? Why? Why not?
I like reviews of books and literary criticism. I get something very different out of a discussion than when I actually read the book, so I treat reading reviews and reading fiction as different activities (with the connector that after a fascinating review I might add another book on my to read pile). Partially the use of reviews is that it’s quick, that I know some reviewers with similar interest, and that it’s hard sorting books by the thematic aspects I’m interested in -- so there is a fucktonne of lit I would never have discovered without reading reviews. Partially I think interpretation is fascinating, whether of poetry or art or novels, and I adore seeing what people can draw from and construct out of a text.
Also, there are review podcasts. I like Death // Sentence who review good books and talk philosophy and also play metal in the intermissions, I don’t even own a television who do bad books but some (like the slug horror!) are intriguing, and Horror Vanguard who do horror movies but it’s still reviews of fiction, whatever. More review podcasts are Podside Picnic and anarchySF but I’ve only recently found them so I can’t vouch yet
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Review: The Bookbinder’s Daughter by Jessica Thorne
Early autumn is a time of witchy, magical reads packed full of interesting folklore and family secrets. That’s what I was expecting from this book but I think the idea was a bit too big for the execution.
Sophie is a bookbinder just like her parents were and she loves her work. When she is offered the chance to work at the prestigious Ayredale Library, which houses the most precious, rarest collection of books in the world, she jumps at the chance. For Sophie, it’s not just an exciting career move. It’s a chance to go back to her roots, re-ignite old connections and try to find out what happened to her mother who disappeared years before. But no one seems to want to give her any information and she seems to be the only one at Ayredale who can read from the strange grimoires in the collection.
Will is the library’s Keeper and he cares deeply about protecting the books. He’s also Sophie’s childhood friend and he has apparently grown up to be very handsome. I knew immediately that Sophie and Will would have a romance and although Sophie tried to make it seem like she wasn’t sure, there was never really any doubt in my mind that they would be.
Will has a rather complex background and that gets even more complicated as the story progresses. I didn’t realise the true nature of who he was until it was fully revealed and I wonder if I should have done. He has grown up rather lonely with only the books in the collection as his confidantes but I wondered why because he seems to have a good relationship with all of his co-workers. Other than it being a deliberate decision on his part, I didn’t really understand why he’d never managed to forge a meaningful connection with anyone in all of the intervening years since Sophie was last there.
Villus, or Titivillus to state his full name, is Will’s cat and he’s a fantastic, intriguing character who simply wanders around the library inflicting his magical feline presence on everyone. His true purpose comes to light towards the end of the book but I think I wanted more from this. There could have been a lot more expansion on his true nature and his story and I was left with a lot of questions surrounding him at the end.
The library itself is stunning, as many old, well-used and preserved libraries are. It does seem to be its own character with a wealth of fascinating history and secrets. I felt like the story of this book only really scratched the surface of what the library has seen and known. Although it is described as dark and imposing, I struggled to see it like that. There is dark magic inside the library but I wasn’t scared by the place at all because it seemed to be full of friendly, hopeful people who loved books and treasured knowledge. To me, the Ayredale Library is full of dimly lit rooms and winding staircases but also plenty of warmth and opportunities for adventure.
There is some attempt to explain the exact role the library plays in the running of the universe and I found this idea interesting. However, I wanted this to go deeper. There seems to be a lot of folklore and ancient magic tied up in the library’s origins but I didn’t think it was revealed in an enticing, gripping manner. By the time, the Tree of Knowledge came into it, I was losing threads and still quite unclear on what was really going on. Perhaps a few more chapters, where I got to spend more time in the library itself, would have cleared this up.
There were a few scenes that made me think that this book may be a very loose Beauty and the Beast retelling. Several elements such as Will being described as animal-like, the showing up of a less than savoury character from Sophie’s old life (a Gaston-esque character) and of course, the heavenly, endless library were uncanny. These inescapable comparisons gave the book a fairytale vibe but at the same time, it was so far removed from that story that I wasn’t sure if the similarities were intentional. It felt like perhaps the book started out as a straight Beauty and the Beast retelling but then that idea got abandoned and covered over with more ideas but in places, the original idea still shone through.
The Bookbinder’s Daughter is an interesting concept with a lot of elements intertwining. It’s not the most original premise and it doesn’t quite tell a compelling story. I didn’t love any of the characters very much and that caused my attention to wane around the halfway mark. Overall, I think this book has the strange, witchy vibes down but too many abstract ideas and less than great storytelling.
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AEW Women’s Eliminator Tournament - Full Review
So as of tonight’s Dynamite the winner of the Eliminator Tournament is in the books, either Nyla Rose or Ryo Mizunami have overcome the other to earn the right to face Hikaru Shida at Revolution on Sunday
But now is time to look at the tournament as a whole and review how well AEW’s latest ambitious Women’s Division Project would/should be received
Warning: There will be immediate spoilers for the Winner under the ‘Keep Reading’, if you do not wish to know the Winner do not read until you have
So when the smoke cleared and the dust settled, Ryo Mizunami came out on top having pinned Nyla Rose for the win, claiming the spot at Revolution and the tournament.
Boy was my prediction wrong eh?
After being given the trophy by Shida however, Aniki refused to let go of the champion, trading and inviting blows from each woman until Shida was able to knock Mizunami down and raise the title aloft.
Was she people’s first choice to win? Probably not Is she an unworthy winner? Absolutely not
Mizunami is extremely experienced, her charisma can reach all ages, she has a genuine love for the wrestling (her sunglasses even have ‘I <3 AEW’ on them), she has aforementioned history with Shida and she went through 2 Fan-Favourites, the legendary Aja Kong and finally the previous Women’s Champion and No.1 Ranked Woman to get here.
And while we are on that topic, to the people who immediately condemned and criticized the tournament when Nyla made the finals: Don’t you get tired of being worked so easily? Honestly we had the exact same thing with the Deadly Draw, people don’t want competitor A (Nyla/Brandi and Allie) to win: so AEW put them in the finals so they root for competitor B (Aniki/Diamante and Iveliesse). Ye of so little faith
I also like to mention that it’s quite nice of Mizunami to be this rewarded by AEW and Shida given how she appeared on their first show at Double or Nothing, I didn’t know it at the time of my bracket rundown but apparently Mizunami was about to retire after DoN, but the crowd and energy of the match inspired her to keep going and push to reach a wider audience - which AEW is now letting her achieve.
Get it out of the way - The Negatives Make no mistake this tournament was great, but it doesn’t mean it was perfect. Of course my earliest criticism was that we could’ve had more, a bittersweet feeling I got when I realised the tournament was nearing its close. While yes it would’ve been nice to see the likes of Big Swole, KiLynn King, Allie, Penelope and perhaps even some debuts/returns, we cannot slight AEW too much for keeping the bracket small.
Time however was a bit of a constraint on AEW’s part. Having revealed late that the winner will face Shida for Revolution, the tournament matches started coming out fast...but on Youtube. Personally, I had no problem with the matches being a sole focus stream on Youtube, but I can also understand why not putting at least the entire American bracket on Dynamite would’ve hurt the tournament. If the tournament had more time I do believe that each match would’ve had a Dynamite showing and not a broken BR Live stream (but please note that BR Live were the problem there, not AEW).
A non-AEW criticism as well for Injury screwing over Anna Jay right as she was about to have her match, extremely rude of the world and we hope her shoulder heals up faster than usual.
The final criticism is probably with the BR Live US Bracket Finals video, simply put it was lacking compared to other streams. Madi vs Leva and Leyla vs Alize didn’t shine as much as Riho vs Rosa and the 6 Woman Joshi tag did in the prior stream, we could’ve probably gotten better matches out of that.
Why I loved it - The Positives I will look at anyone who says that this tournament was a waste and meaningless dead in the eye and tell them they are wrong, and they will be shocked to find that I am not lying.
The tournament not only put a lot of attention on the competing women but became a platform for AEW to show that they have some impressive women on their roster. The returns of Yuka, Emi and Riho paired with the stalwart performances of Baker, Rosa and Nyla as well as the bright showings of Madi, Anna, Tay Conti and Leyla shows that AEW still have a really good Women’s Division - I mean I love WWE but you have to admit their NXT women’s division bought many of their stars ready-made; Io, Toni, KLR, Meiko and Candice were already established names before WWE. Stack that on top of impressive performances by Red Velvet and Jade Cargill last night and the ranks of Big Swole, Allie, Penelope Ford, Kris Statlander, Shanna, KiLynn King and Tesha Price and you still have a strong division.
The tournament proved its worth also by the fact that there was not a single bad match on there, we had some bangers on each stage ranging from Yuka vs Emi, Rosa vs Riho, Nyla vs Baker and Leyla vs Rosa, among several others. The tournament succeeded in giving us great wrestling even with different formats of face vs face, heel vs heel, speed vs power, technique vs power, and even some new shades to the women such as heel Sakura and face Nyla.
I cannot praise the tournament without heaping a ton of praise on the Joshi. Shida and Kenny had always been adamant to show that the Joshi can be a revelation to Western audiences and they were paid in kind in that regard. All six Joshi brought out their A-Game to the point where several are asking for them to be signed, Sakura’s heel ‘Killer Queens’ faction rose interest with a fantastic entrance, while VENY dazzled with their gymnastic talent (and their wearing of the late Hana Kimura’s kimono), Mei Suruga and Yuka Sakazaki lit up the room with their speed and fun and Maki Itoh continues to be adored by the wider world into megastardom. The six woman tag as well was a nice cherry on the top to once again showcase the women, including Rin Kadokura who was fed to Aja Kong in the tournament, every bit of energy and charisma from the Joshi landed on the mark, it has opened several new fans to their home brands (TJPW however did kinda give away that Yuka wouldn’t win given how she was booked for one of their shows, but they’re still great) and have us gasping for more of those six and perhaps some extra, Miyu Yamashita for instance? Think about it TK
One thing that can really harm a tournament too is predictability, which this tournament did not have. You have to commend the balls of AEW to set up 5 fan favourite choices to win and have them each be felled and swerve the entire fanbase. It was for the most part good swerves as well, leading up to the Nyla work included, and actually made me feel like this tournament had big stakes for each member. People will criticize its unpredictability but I won’t be one of them, just because it didn’t go how you personally predicted it doesn’t mean it’s bad.
Also a stand out yes for Rosa’s several gear, especially the Selena one against Riho, and Hikaru Shida herself slaying it in the white suit, like lord almighty thank you for this food.
Was it worth it? - Conclusion This is an emphatic yes for me. AEW will always have its critics, fair and unfair, but if you have to wonder whether this tournament is a success you have to simply look at it this way
Were you entertained?
For me yes, there was a 100% consistency in good to great matches in this tournament paired with genuine surprises that got people talking and invested in the tournament itself.
Did it give you something fresh?
A dark horse winner who earned her way to face Shida for the 5th career time and 1st time in an AEW ring through outwrestling, outpowering and outwitting their previous opponents, unique heel/face changes and a showcase of new wrestlers and matchups? I’d say that’s a yes
Did anyone get over?
You ask anyone before this tournament was announced who Ryo Mizunami, Maki Itoh, VENY or Mei Suruga was and you’d likely get blank faces, thanks to AEW they are known and commended by several fans outside of Japan. You ask people if Tay Conti can bring a physical match to Nyla and almost win and you’d get a few murmurs, if you asked people if they though Kenny was valid for his push to bring the Joshi into a wider audience prior to this may’ve said no. Those minds were changed because these women got over. In addition to that the popularity of Thunder Rosa, Riho and Yuka Sakazaki has continued to rise as some of AEW’s top babyfaces, Leyla Hirsch, Emi Sakura and Tay Conti’s stock have rose thanks to the tournament and Nyla and Baker have delivered on strong match performances.
When you consider those three, there is no way you could call the tournament a failure or a waste, people benefitted from it in a good way which means it was a good tournament.
I for one will look forward to seeing Shida take on Aniki and see how it unfolds at Revolution - which I hope to do a review for, I’m also guessing that Paul Wight’s aquisition is either Christian or Okada. Many will of course assume that this is an easy retain for Shida (and act like winning the tournament means you should win the following match as if people don’t win the Royal Rumble/MITB/KOTR/Dusty Classic and lose in their title shot), but how many of those people thought that Itoh, Kong, Yuka and Nyla would beat Mizunami? She keeps on extending the party and coming out on top, you cannot underestimate the tournament winner, Shida produced this tournament, she’s picked her winner now she needs to fight them.
#aew#all elite wrestling#aew revolution#aew women#aew women's tournament#aew women's eliminator tournament#hikaru shida#aew women's championship#nyla rose#ryo mizunami#thunder rosa#yuka sakazaki#riho#britt baker#dr britt baker dmd#emi sakura#aja kong#leyla hirsch#serena deeb#anna jay#tay conti#madi wrenkowski#mei suruga#VENY#asuka#rin kadokura#maki itoh#aniki
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Exclusive Interview with Sheree Renée Thomas, Author of Nine Bar Blues
One of our booksellers, Caitlyn Wild, had the amazing opportunity to conduct this longform interview with author Sheree Renée Thomas. Her newest book is Nine Bar Blues: Stories from an Ancient Future, published by Third Man Books. Sheree is celebrating her book along with her Third Man “label mates” Alison Mosshart and Robert Gordon (who also have new books out) in our City Lights LIVE events series on Wednesday, October 21.
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Caitlyn: This book is gorgeous on the inside AND the outside. This is one of my favorite covers of 2020, have to say. As I'm gazing wistfully at it here I see the subtitle, "Stories from an Ancient Future". Could you speak about what that phrase holds and conjures for you? Sheree Renée Thomas: Thank you! I wanted the cover for Nine Bar Blues to offer a visual clue to some of the characters, natural (and unnatural) landscapes, and themes in the stories. Third Man Books did a wonderful job of creating that sense of wonder and the verdant richness (cicadas, Egyptian gods, the moon, aliens, vines!) I was hoping for.
The subtitle, “Stories from an Ancient Future” is my riff on the idea that if humanity continues onward, we’ll someday reach a point where even our imagined futures are ancient. Some of the stories in the collection are set in the near future, alternate futures, the present, and the past. What would life be like if you existed in an ancient future? If time is relative, there is always a place where we can look back at ourselves (or our imagined selves) and see the grand sweep of time. What things remains the same, what falls away, is erased and remade again? The ancient future contains some of the wisdom of our past and some of our hopes for the future. It also contains our mistakes and fears. Will we be better off then, in this imagined future? Perhaps, at least I hope so. But that depends on what we carry with us and how well we learn from the lessons of the past. For me, it’s a blending of Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles and the West African philosophy of Sankofa.
The story that really stayed with me in this collection was "Head Static". It put me in an altered state! I felt like I was watching the earth as it was being created, the deep gods and archetypes of our psyches emerging from the hum of the universe before my eyes, but in reverse. In short, I loved it! Could you tell us about the inception of the character in that story, Claire, and explain how she came to be in your mind and then on the page? That makes me so happy because Claire was one of those characters whose journey really haunted me. When I began writing her, I knew who she was but not why she was, or rather, how she had come to feel the way she did. Music became a way of thinking about the things that people share in common, around the world, throughout time. It is one of our greatest forms of expression. And music contains our deepest thoughts and observations on the world. But our culture is so obsessed with the cult of celebrity, in search of the next great thing. We worship youth and novelty, often at youth’s expense. There’s this constant drive for innovation and acceleration, while holding onto the dream of an endless life span. At what cost? To what end? Writing “Head Static” was a way for me to think about some of these ideas while exploring that deep musical connection. On October 21 we are excited to host you and two of your fellow Third Man Books authors, Alison Mosshart and Robert Gordon. Third Man also publishes another of my favorites, Janaka Stucky. As a reader I'm consistently enraptured with the authors and books they publish. I'm curious as to what the Third Man experience is like from the author's side? It’s been pretty exciting! First of all, if you ever get a chance to visit Third Man Records, go immediately because the space is just amazing. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like a cross between Tim Burton and Ed Wood with a little Willy Wonka mixed in there? Fantastic design throughout and um, Jack White. Yeah, Jack White! Working with Chet Weise and the Third Man Books/Records team has been as close as my non-musical self has ever been to being in a rock band! There is a lot of good energy, great ideas, and collaboration, and the team is insanely supportive and creative. Between the kickass writers—poets, fiction writers, creative nonfiction—there’s a great deal of talent to just vibe with and connect. My fellow press mates are always working on new wonders, the kind of work that impacts the world—and that’s inspiring.
You are the first Black author to receive a World Fantasy Award for the groundbreaking collection you edited, Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora, which was published in 2000. (HELL YES). In another interview, you said you were inspired to put the book together because you were shocked it didn't exist yet. In 2020, is there a book you are shocked that has yet to be published? What books that have come along since 2001 are you glad about? There is at least one marvelous book that I do hope to see in the world before I roll out, and there are a couple of others that seem like their time has come, industry-wise, so we shall see. Back in ’98 when I was thinking on what would eventually become the first volume of Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora, I didn’t set out to create a groundbreaking project. I literally was just looking for more Black speculative fiction to read for fun, and when I didn’t find it in the bookstores, its absence puzzled me. With as many different anthologies that make up the genre, I was surprised that it hadn’t been done before. I’m really grateful I had the chance (and the courage) to do it. It’s been quite a journey! Since that first volume and the second one, Dark Matter: Reading the Bones, that came out in 2004, there have been many, many wonderful amazing books that pretty much put away the old arguments about Black writers not reading or writing this work. One book that I reviewed around the time I was working on the anthology was Nalo Hopkinson’s Brown Girl in the Ring. That novel felt like a game changer to me, because Nalo’s writing got us all so excited about the cultures and worlds we had not seen often in science fiction. She achieved this in a magical way that, while offering all the things we love about speculative fiction, rang true with a rootedness in Afrodiasporic culture. It didn’t feel like she was translating to us. Her writing, storytelling, and world building felt natural and true to itself. Today you could have a whole library of Black speculative fiction (and the scholarship that examines it), and that is beyond thrilling for me.
Between the diverse works of N.K. Jemisin, Andrea Hairston, Tananarive Due, P. Djèlí Clark—they cover a lot of imaginative ground--and a ton of exciting YA authors I cannot even begin to name, readers have a lot of new work and new voices to explore. It’s just an exciting time.
Finally, if you owned a bookstore or small press, what would it be called and what would your bestseller or focus be? I’ve been jotting down bookstore names for years! Here are a few: Beloved Books (this was invented during my Toni Morrison phase), focusing on the books people can’t stop discussing and all of our childhood favorites, too. Echo Tree Books (named after one of my favorite short story writers and poets, Henry Dumas, featuring all fantasy, science fiction, horror, and such).
Haint Blue Books (so I can paint every single wall the most stunning shades of blue, focusing on excellent fiction and world folklore with tons of poetry because sometimes, sadly, people be sleeping on the poetry, lol. Don’t sleep on the poets!). And my favorite, All Y’all Books (Southern lit and more! Plus a healthy selection of regional lit from other parts).
I love the last one the best because I can just hear folks saying, “You know you can get it at All Y’all Books!” or asking, “Where did you get that?” “Girl, at All Y’all’s Books. They have out of print and rare books, too!” Authors can say, “I’m going to be reading at All Y’all’s Books.” You can’t help but smile when you say that!
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It’s International Fanworks Day and also the 30th and final post in this series. If you follow my tumblr, you know that my true fandom isn’t buddy cops or Highlander or any of those things. No, my true fandom is...
WANK
No matter which bitchy piece of fujo-course nonsense you’re looking at on tumblr, no matter which debate about WNGWJLEO or women in slash or fanfiction vs. media you're reblogging, your grandma was having that fight in a zine somewhere in 1985 and at Escapade in the 90s.
Here’s a vid review from 2002:
"History Repeating," [...] was an Amanda vid. In-fucking-credible. Who knew? Who knew I could like Amanda? Who knew there were fresh HL clips I hadn't seen a thousand times before in HL vids? (Of course, as someone pointed out, she had her own spin-off.) This rocked--sharp, fast cutting and pretty, pretty shots, with a hot bisexy vibe running through it. And, you know, people like to say that there's all this self-hating misogyny in fans--you know, that women hate shows about women, hate women characters breaking up the OTP, etc. But when you see a femme-centric vid like this bring down the house, you really have to wonder. Is it misogyny, really, or is just that we usually see a bunch of crap representations of women in media and resist them?
So on the theme of There Is Nothing New Under The Sun, here is a selection of past Escapade panels on gender, representation, and problematicness:
1993 - Anti-Feminism in Slash Fandom (Or, how 'it was never this good with a woman' syndrome... where are the women, and why do we care?)
1995 - Why Lesbians Read Slash - (What's the attraction? Why do they care? Why do they write it?)
1996 - Character Bisexuality: Convenient fiction or character trait? (Is this a good compromise between "We're not gay, we just love each other" and "I was gay all along and just faking it with women"? Or is this too easy? Special mention for the stereotypical bisexual villian who's evil, sexy, and can come on to everyone.)
1996 - Female Heroes: Female Empowerment, or male power in women's bodies? (Give a woman a gun and make her really tough. Wow, cool! yes, or no? Are we celebrating women, or are we merely putting breasts on male action heroes? Heroines under discussion may include (but not be limited to) Sara Connor, Ripley, Vasquez, Thelma & Louise.)
1997 - Gender Astigmatism (The Gender Continuum: in what we read, in what we write, and what we are, there is always a connection with a point on the gender continuum. How do our definitions of "feminine" and "masculine" influence our creativity? Where do bisexual characters fit in? (besides there, you dirty-minded person!)
1998 - Xena: Does Girl-Slash Get Us Going? (Xena is the first show with a feminine couple to be really popular. What kind of slash fans are interested? Does gender orientation matter? Or do slash fans love slashy couples regardless of their gender? Can m/m fans be 'converted' to f/f fans?)
1998 - Bastards & the Women Who Love Them (When Methos says, "you live to serve me," any normal '90s woman says, "I don't think so!... or does she? A happy contemplation on the virtues of handsome thugs.)
1998 - Slash: a Continuation of Women's Writing, led by Constance Penley (In case you didn't know, in her recent book NASA/TREK (yes, the slash is intentional), she addressed slash as a continuum of women's writing, combining women's romance, and the male quest romance. Join her for a discussion of slash -- where it was, where it is, where it might be going.)
1998 - The Trauma of Slash Fans in Het Fandoms (Or, what to do when find women doing all that cool, tough-guy stuff you love.)
1999 - Male Slash Fans - Welcome Voice, or Infringement? (Slash is written by women for women — or is it? The Internet has attracted new fans, including the "male slash fan". Who is he? What does he think of what "we" do? Do we care?)
2002 - Femslash (General discussion on female/female slash fiction. If Buffy wanted something cold and hard between her legs, why didn't she just choose silicon?)
2003 - Slash: Feminist political act or really good porn?
2005 - Where have all the lesbians gone? (When some slash lists explicitly state m/m only, where do you go for femslash? Are there any hot femslash couples? Pimp your femslash fandom here, or bemoan the lack of strung female characters in the current conservative social climate.)
2007 - Femslash: The Other Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name (Femslash. It's a work that makes some of our hearts leap for joy and inspires complete and total disinterset—or even dislike and disdain—in others. Where can we find the good stuff? What makes it good? And what's up with the haters?)
2007 - SGA: The Women of Atlantis (What do we like about how the women of SGA are written and portrayed, and what makes us wince? What do we think about how their issues are being woven into the show's narrative?)
2008 - Gay is Not Slash (...even though slash is sometimes gay. The current argument about m/m romances by women as taking recognition *away* from male gay writers, depends on m/m writing being intended as gay lit. And slash, for one, isn't, even if there can be overlap. What overlaps? What doesn't? What examples do fans like?
2009 - Female Character Stories: Halfamoon, Full Moon or Just Moony (F/f slash, and other stories centered on female characters, are gaining visibility in fandom. Are there things fens will write about women that we won't about men? (Given MPreg, *are* there?) Should f/f be like m/m, or is it unavoidably different?)
2011 - My ***** is Not Ideologically Driven, But is it Homophobic (Slash fandom often sees itself as a mostly liberal community. IDIC, right? But recently there's been a slash backlash: it's anti-feminist, a 'symptom' of internalized misogyny. We're 'erasing' the women characters after all. Is slash homophobic? Does slash fandom appropriate gay culture? Is it awesome and ennobling as it makes us happy in our panties, or is all that self-hatred bubbling just beneath the surface of our porn?)
2012 - Natural Woman (We've lamented the lack of strong, believable female characters (who dress appropriately). But now we have them: Gemma Teller and Audrey Parker; Salt and Haywire; we've got Bechdel-passing women who look like they can throw a punch. Still, most of them are in the sci-fi or action genre, so are we really seeing progress? And what are we doing with them, as fans?)
2012 - Don't Call It a Bromance (It's Just Canon) (TPTB are increasingly aware of slash, and bromance is regular fare on TV canon these days. Does overt bromance make the fic and art hotter or just vanilla? Is there an anti-slash backlash in our shows? Is the emphasis on men's relationships making women disappear? Inquiring minds want to know. If you have answers, theories, or just want to squee, join in the fun!)
2014 - (The End of?) Ladybashing in Slashfic (Slashfic used to regularly feature bashing of female characters. Now, blatant bashing seems less fashionable. If you recognize this trend, let's talk! Were most ladybashing fics ones for juggernaut pairings in megafandoms, or were they everywhere? What's causing the change: more women in leading roles/ensemble casts, fic writers being more conscious to avoid bashing ladies even if they're not their favorites, more willingness to blame show writers' bad writing (instead of the character being just bad/evil/stupid) for bad female characters, or something else entirely?)
2015 - Fifty Shades of Fandom (Fifty Shades of Grey has become the representation of fan fiction in mainstream culture. It’s bad fan fiction, and it’s being used to ridicule women while making millions off women readers and viewers. Can we connect with these women: proto-fans who would love to read, and maybe write, great fan fiction if they found it? Can we use the FSoG phenomenon to expand our community? Does keeping our doors closed and our mouths shut perpetuate both monetization of our fan culture and misogynist scorn?)
2016 - Who Are We? (How do we define ourselves in this age of so many OT3s and team orgy pairings? Does m/m/f count as "slash"? Is slash-only space slipping away? (And would that be bad?) Do m/m and f/f belong together more than they do with m/f? Is "Media Fandom" a valid term any longer? Who are we if we start shipping het?)
2016 - Ladies Loving Ladies. (There would seem to be enough queer women in fandom to write/want more f/f. Do lesbians write f/f, m/m? Both? Do straight women? Or are we still missing the iconic female characters and relationships that create a great slash fandom? Did they figure out the answer to this question at TGIF/F and if so, what is it?)
2016 - By Us For Us (Fic, even kinky slash, is practically mainstream these days. The ebook revolution puts publishing within reach of almost anyone. Sundance hits have been filmed on iPhones. So why aren't fangirls making more media? Or is it happening right under our noses? Is this a place where our women's gift economy does our community a disservice? Discuss what's out there, what we'd like to see, and what's holding us back.)
2017 - LGBTQIA+ in Slash Fandom (Queer fans have always been here. In a subculture often defined as "for" straight women, what do we as fans have to say about non-straight, non-cis, and non-conventional sexuality and gender in fanfiction, in fandom, and in the larger culture?)
2018 - Confronting the Tensions Between Slash and Queer Representation (Slash fandom thrives on homoerotic subtext. Many queer fans are unwilling to settle for this quasi-representation. Part of every slash fandom seems loudly invested in their ship becoming canon. Some are queer fans who want actual textual representation in their favorite shows, and some are fans using queer politics to fight ship wars. Then the “slash is not activism” posts make the rounds. Is slash activism? Is advocating for slash ships in canon the same thing as advocating for queer representation?)
2018 - Representing Slashers (What does "representation" in the media mean to us? We know what more gay or POC representation means, but what about slash fandom, which is largely female and focused on bodies that don't resemble our own? Would better female characters in media better represent us? Or male characters written for a female audience? Come talk about the intersection of slash, personal identity, and media representation.)
2018 - Anonymity in Slash Fandom: Choosing to Hide (Why do the majority of slash fans hide their hobby? Is it fear of blackmail? Embarrassment? Fear of losing employment? How does this affect your happiness? How does this affect your security? What would an ideal world look like? Who would/have you told about your interest in slash? Who would you never, ever, tell?)
2019 - Fandom Post-Slash? (In an era of "ships" and #pairing #tags on Tumblr and AO3, has the "slash" label lost its meaning? Same-gender pairings are as popular as ever and fans still ID pairings with a virgule between the names, but how many fans still call m/m and f/f slash or femslash? How many fans identify as "slashers?" Het and slash were opposing binaries which few fans crossed. Are these barriers breaking down? What purpose has the term "slash" served? Has fandom moved
past it and, if so, what does that mean?)
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The Starry Sky and Leslie’s List: Chapter 3
*From Ynntranslations
The next day, when they had finished cleaning up after lunch, Isabella and Leslie met in the music room. “Is this the song you were talking about, Leslie?”
Isabella reached into the bookshelf and took out one of the old books of sheet music lined up there.
“Yeah.”
Leslie took the sheet music from her. He brought a music stand over, and set the score on top of it.
“It’s actually arranged for piano, so I’m not sure how playing it on a violin will work out…”
He carried one of the cases containing musical instruments over to the table, set it on top, and opened the lid. Inside, it held an old but well-maintained violin.
Leslie removed the violin, the glossy brown surface reflecting the light, and set it against his shoulder, resting his chin against it.
Positioning the bow, he tried playing the first note.
A gentle sound echoed inside the music room.
Leslie gave a small sigh and glanced over at Isabella. He then took a deep breath, trying to dispel his anxiety, and began to play.
A calm melody filled the music room.
Isabella sat in a nearby chair and listened to his performance, clearly enjoying herself.
Dropping his gaze to the strings that he was sliding the bow over, Leslie followed the notes. The gentle music strangely reminded Isabella of Leslie’s singing voice, even though the song and sounds were so different.
When Leslie was finished, Isabella applauded.
“What a beautiful song!”
“Yeah, I love this one… But it’s so difficult. I’ve been practicing it for so long, but I still can’t play it perfectly.”
“Really? It sounded fine to me, though?”
She had thought that his performance just now had fulfilled the first item on his list. Isabella tilted her head quizzically.
“No, that wasn’t good enough. See where it gets complicated, right here? I always mess that up.”
Bow still in his hand, Leslie pointed at the score, making a face. Beside him, Isabella peered at the score, but she couldn’t understand anything other than that there was a string of notes that were connected to each other.
“Hmm.” Isabella thought for a bit, then raised her head away from the sheet music.
“I’ve got it. Why don’t you write down a copy of the part that’s giving you trouble, and then practice that by itself?”
Leslie’s eyes widened when he heard Isabella’s advice, and she smiled back at him.
“I don’t know much about music, but I can help you try to figure out what you can do to stop making mistakes.”
Leslie had honestly wondered if he was boring Isabella by making her come with him to practice, but Isabella had turned around and tried to help him in her own way. Leslie smiled.
“Thank you…”
Leslie played the part that he wasn’t good at over and over, then at the end, he played the entire song from the start one more time.
“Aww, you almost had it!”
By that point, Isabella had also figured out the part Leslie was having trouble with. Inwardly, Leslie marveled at how quickly Isabella could figure out literally anything.
Leslie put down the violin, and muttered, “To be honest, I do even worse when there’s someone watching, because I get nervous…”
“Oh? I didn’t know.”
Isabella pointed to the door and asked if he wanted her to go outside, but Leslie hurriedly waved his hands in denial.
“No! That’s not it… I meant, even though that’s usually true, I can play better if you’re here when I’m practicing,” Leslie said, averting his eyes.
Isabella looked puzzled for a moment, then said, “I’m glad,” with a smile of relief.
“Hey, can you play this one, too?”
“Huh?
When he heard the song that Isabella hummed, he couldn’t help laughing. It was the one he had composed, and Isabella was humming as a substitute for a title.
“Okay…”
Leslie picked the violin back up and positioned it, then began playing the melody while Isabella sang along. Partway through, Leslie decided to go with a different arrangement and increased the tempo a bit. Isabella laughed aloud at how cheerful it suddenly sounded.
“Okay, I need to get back to practicing, now.”
Leslie reviewed the section of the music that he hadn’t been able to play. Isabella glanced at the clock hung in the music room. Their free time only lasted until 5 pm.
“Hey, Leslie, why don’t you save the violin for tomorrow, and go ahead and move on to the next thing on your list?”
Before Leslie himself could remember which one that was, Isabella provided the answer. “‘Get a full score on my tests!’”
Isabella and Leslie sat side-by-side at a large table in the library.
“So when they ask for the surface area in this kind of problem, first you have to use , and that will give you object A’s…”
“Could… could you repeat that?”
With the notebook containing his homework open in front of him, Leslie was clutching his head trying to follow Isabella’s fast-moving explanation. She was kind enough to teach him how to do the parts he didn’t understand, but her explanations were so complicated that he could barely understand anything she was saying.
With a sigh, Leslie did a faceplant into his open notebook.
“There’s no way I can get a perfect score on the test tomorrow…”
“That’s not true! Once you’ve learned how to solve a problem, you just have to apply that,” Isabella told him—which was easy for her to say, as the one teaching him. Leslie wanted to say that it might be easy for her to do, but he resisted the urge.
“Hey, Isabella, Leslie, come play with us!”
“Soon we won’t get to play with Leslie anymore!”
A group of the younger children had come into the library, and were now standing on their toes and peering over the edge of the table. After noticing that the two had disappeared during their free time, the group had searched for them the whole time. Isabella and Leslie glanced at one another.
He hadn’t made any progress in his studies, but they couldn’t just say no to their little brothers and sisters. Leslie nodded, forcing a slight smile, and Isabella announced in a loud voice, “In that case, let’s try the next one, ‘be the last one left when we play tag’!”
Their little brothers and sisters cheered as Isabella stood up.
“W-wait for me, Isabella!”
Isabella and the others had immediately dashed out of the library, leaving Leslie to hurriedly gather his notebooks and papers and run after them with his arms full.
The child chosen to be “it” began counting, the sound of his voice echoing through the woods.
“This way, Leslie!”
Leslie was already breathing heavily. “Isabella, wait.”
Nimbly leaping over obstacles like rocks and bushes, Isabella made swift progress running into the depths of the forest. Leslie tried to follow her, but even a little bit of running left him out of breath. It took everything he had just to keep her in sight, and since he was looking straight ahead, he kept stumbling over rocks and tree roots.
Isabella glanced behind her, and when Leslie caught up to her, she pointed up and said, “Hurry and climb it before he gets here.”
“What?!”
Isabella was pointing to an enormous tree, thick with branches. Leslie was gasping for breath, doubled over, and he looked up at the tree and shook his head.
“I can’t climb a tree that tall!”
As Leslie tried to tell her that it was impossible, a look of sudden inspiration lit Isabella’s face.
“Then this is your chance to do number 5 on the list! ‘Learn to climb trees’!”
“What?”
“This way, we can take care of number 3, ‘be the last one left when we play tag,’ and number 5, ‘tree climbing,’ at the same time! Ooh, and I bet we can do number 8, too, if we keep going through the woods! That’s three at once!”
Isabella’s face shone as she spoke, certain that she had the perfect idea, and Leslie was struck speechless.
Isabella thought about things the same way that she played chess, always thinking about how to accomplish as many things as possible with a single move. Listening to her, she made it sound like it might really be possible for him to do everything on the list before leaving the House.
Unfortunately, whether her plans were good was an entirely different question from whether Leslie would realistically have any chance of carrying them out.
“I can’t reach.”
“It’s okay, just let go with one hand and try reaching over here.”
Isabella, atop a branch, extended her hand to him. Leslie was hanging onto a branch for dear life, kicking his feet uselessly in the air, unable to find a foothold.
“I don’t… think I can… AAHH!”
Leslie fell from the tree with a thud. Fortunately (or unfortunately), he hadn’t made it very far up the tree, so he wasn’t in danger of being hurt.
“Oww…”
“Leslie, what are you doing?”
Their little brother who was “it” emerged from a nearby thicket, having heard the noise, and he looked with astonishment at Leslie lying on the ground.
“Got you!”
“Ugh…”
Leslie slumped his shoulders at having been caught so easily by his little brother.
In the branches above, Isabella folded her arms and began considering her next move in this “chess game.”
“Number 4, ‘read all the books in the library’.”
“No, Isabella, there’s no way I can do that!” Leslie cried, looking at the mountain of books that Isabella had just dumped in front of him with a heavy thunk.
Leslie had been doing homework and studying on his bed before lights-out, when Isabella came in with as many books as she could possibly hold. Leslie’s eyes widened. After Isabella set the books down, she seated herself on the edge of his bed.
“Don’t worry! I’ll read them, too.”
“I’m… not sure that counts…”
Leslie took one of the books and opened it, but he wasn’t sure that he could finish reading even the one. It was a thick, difficult book titled “Mechanical Engineering and Human History.” Who would read a book like that in the first place?
He had only put that item on his list because he thought that if he could increase his base of knowledge, he might be able to become as smart as Isabella. As his eyes followed the words on the page, he scratched his cheek. He liked reading well enough, but when reading difficult books, it took him a long time to figure out each part.
“Isabella, it’s time for lights out.”
“Okay.”
Isabella was sitting on the edge of the bed, absorbed in reading the book on her lap. Even when replying to him, she never ceased turning the pages. Her speed left him wondering how she could possibly read that much in an instant, but she just kept turning the pages one after another.
One by one, their other siblings in the room fell asleep. Leslie could hear the sound of them breathing in their sleep.
Since they had to turn out the light in the room, he fetched a lamp, and the two of them furtively read by its light. Even so, they wouldn’t be able to keep doing this until Mama came to check on them.
“Hey, Isabella, you need to go back to your room.” Leslie said, worried, but Isabella, concentrating on her reading, never lifted her face.
The faint sound of footsteps emanated from the hallway.
“Isabella? Are you listening to me?”
“Leslie, pretend you’re asleep.”
“Huh?”
Isabella suddenly got up from the bed, where she had been sitting, and lay face-down on the floor, clutching her book. Leslie tried to ask her what she was doing, but in that instant, the door to the room opened.
Mama, who had come to make sure that they had the lights off, frowned at Leslie, who was obviously still awake.
“What are you doing, Leslie? Hurry up and go to sleep.”
“Y-yes, Mama.”
Leslie hurriedly shut his book and dived under the covers.
Geez, Isabella… If you knew Mama was coming, you could have told me.
His face half-hidden by the covers, Leslie watched Mama turn around to leave. Number 7 on his list popped into his head. “Get Mama to praise me for something other than music”—forget getting praise, he’d gotten a scolding instead.
After the door to the room closed and the sound of footsteps grew distant, Isabella stood up.
“Is Mama gone?”
“She is, but… you really need to go back now, Isabella.”
Isabella gave a small sigh, and set down the book she had just begun reading. Pushing her braid back behind her, she grumbled to herself, “I only got through ten books…” Leslie realized that beside her was an entire stack of books that she had finished.
Leslie glanced down at his first book, sitting on his lap, and sighed.
“Isabella… I don’t think I’m going to be able to do any of them,” Leslie said in a quiet voice, so as not to awaken the other children. Putting down the book, he opened up the notebook, which he had beside him.
“I just can’t do it.”
He had worked so hard for so long, by himself, in secret.
He had thought that maybe, if he could do all the things on his list, he would be able to change, to become someone different, but before he knew it, lost in his dreams, the day when he would leave the House had been set.
When he had been sorting through his things the day before, Leslie had already given up on trying to fulfill the items on his list. He was out of time, and it was over now, he thought.
But in a way he had never imagined happening, Isabella decided to help him out.
I never thought I’d end up working on the list with Isabella.
He had wanted to quit, thinking of it as an impossible challenge, but every time he did, he remembered Isabella smiling and saying “Why not? This is the last time you’ll be here.” That was the reason he had decided to work as hard as he could at in in the two days left until his departure.
He thought that maybe it could be possible, if he could tackle it with Isabella.
But the result was a disaster.
“Come on, you knew it would be that way from the start,” Leslie thought, slumping. Even if Isabella helped, that wouldn’t suddenly make him more capable.
Even after spending an entire day working at it, he hadn’t accomplished a single one.
“… And it’s not like I could do anything about a shooting star, either.”
Even aside from that one, he had very little hope for any of them. Doing all of them would be utterly impossible. Isabella leaned over toward Leslie, who had his face lowered.
“There’s still time, right? It’s too soon to give up.”
Isabella had wasted no time trying to cheer him up, and he smiled back at her—a smile full of self-loathing and loneliness.
“You’re incredible, Isabella… You can keep going and never give up, no matter what happens.”
Shadows from the lamp, turned down low, fell on Leslie’s face.
Leslie looked down at the list he had written.
“I wonder if my new father and mother will be disappointed when a useless guy like me shows up to be their foster child,” he whispered.
It had been weighing on his mind the whole time.
Leslie closed the notebook, and listlessly placed his hand on the cover.
“I’m think going to ask Mama tomorrow… if I can decline to go to that foster family.”
This was how Leslie had felt ever since hearing that they had found a foster family for him.
Even though there were other children who deserved it more than him.
Leslie looked at Isabella sitting right in front of him.
He wondered what he would do if, when he met his “parents” for the first time, they said “I don’t want a kid like this.” Maybe, even if they didn’t say anything, they would be disappointed and think “I wish we’d gotten a different kid.” His anxieties had done nothing but grow since the moment he was told about the foster family.
That was why fear had won out over hope regarding his new life that would begin soon.
Everyone would eventually leave the House. He had always known that his time would come, too, but once everything had been decided, he found himself frightened of going to live with a new family.
He wanted to stay in the House, now and forever.
He wanted to live here always, with Isabella, and Mama, and his siblings.
Which wasn’t to say that Leslie didn’t also long to see the outside world. It must be overflowing with so much music that they didn’t have in the House. He wanted to listen to an orchestra. He wanted to try playing music he didn’t already know.
He wanted as many people as possible to hear the music he had composed.
He had sometimes dreamed of the outside world like that, but Leslie continued to feel that, as long as he could be with Isabella in the House, he didn’t really want to go be with a new family.
If he left for the outside and a new family, they would be split up, and they would no longer be able to spend time together like this.
Laughing and talking about nothing in particular, struggling to keep up with her wild and unpredictable behavior, being encouraged by her kind words.
Singing together.
Just thinking about it made him feel so lonely he couldn’t stand it.
Leslie sighed. Isabella had silently listened to him, and he was about to tell her to go back to her room, for real this time. At that moment, Isabella, her head hung, opened her mouth and spoke.
“How can you say that, Leslie?”
“What…?”
Leslie started in surprise at the look Isabella was shooting him.
She was furious. The face that was always smiling so happily at him was now, in the lamplight, harsher than he’d ever seen. Shocked, Leslie found himself unable to say anything.
Isabella fixed her intense gaze on Leslie.
“They said they wanted you for a foster child. They chose you. Not me, or any other child in the House. So how can you say that?!” Isabella said, and pursed her lips.
“I-I’m sorry, Isabella… I didn’t mean—”
Flustered, Leslie voiced an apology and tried to reach out to her, but Isabella avoided it, too fast for him.
“… Forget it, Leslie. I don’t care anymore.”
Isabella spit out the words and ran from the room. The door shut, cutting Leslie off as he tried to call out to her.
Mama, who was there to inspect the rooms, was standing in front of the door to her room, but Isabella walked toward the room anyway.
On seeing Isabella appear from behind her, Mama slid her pocket watch back into her pocket.
“Isabella, where were you? It’s time for lights out.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
Walking around her, Isabella crawled into her own bed. For a little while, Mama watched her, but finally she said, “Good night, Isabella” and closed the door.
Now that the lights in the room were off, the faint blue light of the stars shone in through the window.
All around her, Isabella could hear the quiet breathing of her siblings who had already fallen asleep.
Her face buried in her pillow, the words she had spoken only a short time ago came back to her, and she felt a pain deep in her chest.
“…”
Why did I say that?
This was the first time she’d ever had a fight with Leslie.
She wrapped herself in the cool sheets, and her mind slowly calmed down from its overemotional state. The things she had said suddenly seemed so thoughtless and embarrassing.
It’s not Leslie’s fault…
“It’s mine.”
Isabella bit her lip.
When she had heard Leslie say that he wanted to turn down his foster family, her darker emotions had come surging out, and she hadn’t been able to hold them back.
Every time Isabella saw off another sibling, older or younger, she would always think to herself, deep down, “They didn’t pick me this time, either.”
Of course, she kept it to herself, and even within her own mind, she tried to extinguish those thoughts. They were all her precious, irreplaceable siblings. How could she not be happy for them when they could have a new life with a new family on the outside? She knew she should be happy for them.
But as other children kept being chosen, Isabella began to experience the first twinges of unease and a sense of inferiority.
She thought that there must be some reason she wasn’t being chosen, something lacking in her.
So she poured all her effort into improving at her studies and everything else. She was always a top scorer, volunteered to do chores, and even looked after the younger children. Isabella knew that Mama held her in high regard.
Yet no matter how hard she tried, other kids were always chosen.
If anything, it seemed like her siblings with lower scores were more likely to be chosen for foster families.
Isabella sighed, tossing and turning in her bed. She realized that her hair was still braided, and used her fingers to undo it. She laid her head back on the pillow, but she didn’t feel like she could sleep.
Leslie was so kind and gentle, and she had hurt him.
His face, struck speechless when he heard what she had said, appeared in her mind. It was the first time Leslie had made that kind of face because of her.
What do I do if Leslie hates me…?
Tears began to well up in her eyes, but Isabella held them back. She castigated herself, asking why, of all times, she had done this when they only had one day left—tomorrow—together.
Leslie’s song began to play in her mind, as she lay unable to sleep.
“…”
Isabella tried singing it, in a small voice, and gradually, a feeling of warmth filled her heart. Isabella kept on singing, in a voice so soft that only she could hear.
This song sounds like a lullaby.
Just listening to it made her feel at peace, and the worry and sadness she had felt until them vanished like smoke.
Leslie would leave the House tomorrow night.
Tomorrow would be the last day she could spend with Leslie.
I need to apologize him, and get him to forgive me…
As she thought about that, Isabella slipped into a deep sleep.
#The Starry Sky and Leslie’s List#the promised neverland novel#tpn isabella#tpn leslie#tpn novel#the promised neverland#isabella#Yakusoku no Neverland
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The darkitechs
Ren had been feeling eyes on him ever since Sahara had opened, he hadn't said a word about it to the other hermits and he got the feeling he shouldn't. Or at least nothing bad.
Doc was curious and asked him how it went, Ren forgot about his feeling for a moment and was happy to laugh and joke with his friend about the hilarious gremlin fang and their many short comings. It was only as he was walking away that the feeling returned, the feeling of being watched. But that wasn't important, the fact that there was a block of sand where grass should be was. There was more then one of these mistakes, Ren shrugged it off as a bug but just in case, he followed it anyway. He followed it right out of hermitville and into a cave. He only placed torches on the sand blocks, the little yellow spots being what kept his attention after all.
At the end of the trail, a sign; 'Congratulations! You've won a free minecart ride! Have fun and remember to leave a review at the end!'. Ren shrugged and got in, tucking his tail under him as the minecart began to leave it's station. Rolling through a tunnel, down and up, round corners and bends, curling in on itself and even some drops. Ren was having fun and even began to relax, until a strange feeling set in; he'd fallen for this before. At the very start of the war- before it was even a war- False had done this...False and-
Grian. That's who's childish laughter he heard as the minecart came to a stop, dropping him through the floor onto a single slime block, in the infinity room. Ren didn't think he was under Grian's base as this room looked quite different; Tables around the edges of the room, an armourstand in the corner, a Sahara poster behind his head and the white of the walls, they weren't just white- they were plastered in the A for architech, a simple that made Rens heart sink to the pit of his stomach.
"Hello Ren!" The blonde was right there, a huge, beaming smile on his face as he stood before Ren in the crimson suit that really spoke volumes.
Ren realized that this might be because of what he'd said about them to Doc, especially when Iskall walked in, Mumbo in tow- Ren found it odd to see the frown on Iskall's face when the other twi has bright, happy smiles. It made him feel strangly more trusting of Iskall as the swede raised his eyebrow at Ren's face.
"Oh it's a rare occasions we take Mumbo's advice but when he gives ideas like this one- well it's hard to say no." He chuckled and Ren saw him gaze towards Mumbo with a curious smile, making him wonder what they had planned. Grian was behind them, going through a barrel. Iskall shook his head, almost ridding himself of a thought. "You know...it's hard to tell when Mumbo's genuinely being a spoon or if he's just lying to gain your trust-"
Grian nodded with a little chuckle, looking back to grin at his buddies- Ren almost felt like he was intruding. He went to speak, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "I-"
"-It's the same thing with Grian really." Mumbo interrupted him, chuckling in response to Iskall's comments. Grian chucked a shulker box towards him, Mumbo caught him and nodded, pulling out some redstone and popping out a tile from the wall- revealing the redstone beneath. "You never really know when Grian's going to snap, it's like playing russian roulette with a living block of tnt." He chuckled, the other two following suit as the mustached man began placing redstone dust around Ren.
Grian then stood up and clapped his hands together- signaling something to the other two who immediately jumped into action, Iskall sharpening his sword whilst Mumbo stood to attention a strange headband-like comparator on Ren's head. Ren felt like the fun was over and these boys were ready to work- they certainly seemed like it in the way they stood. The blonde approached Ren, almost skipping, a dizzy smoke on his face. "We didn't really get any proper feedback from you after the opening! But that's ok- we heard you telling Doc what you thought of us!" Ren's eyes widened as he saw Grian throw his head back with a quiet; "Ahh..." - then snapping back, a few inches from Ren's with a twisted smirk and a ruby flash in his eyes. "We didn't like what you said."
"So we've decided to fix your opinion of us." Iskall spoke with a slightly bored tone, rolling his eyes at Grian's antics. "We can't have you running around and slandering our good name after all." He grabbed the last redstone torch from the chest and tossed it to Mumbo, who caught it with ease.
The raven haired man grabbed the torch and twirled it around in his fingers, the scarlet flames dancing around his hand. He turned to face Grian- allowing him to take charge. The blonde took this opportunity to smooth back his hair and chuckle. "Ren, buddy- look, we don't wanna hurt you but you're hurting our business. We can't let that happen." Ren watched him cautiously, not wanting to make any sudden movements when suddenly- as if a penny had dropped within Grian's brain, the blonde began to laugh. "Oh who am I kidding! Of course we want to hurt you!" He chuckled, the other two snicker quietly as they watch the blonde dance around Ren. "We find this kind of thing fun if I'm honest, it's just how we are." He shrugged and continued; "But here's what we want from you; take this little warning to heart and we won't kill you, got that bud?"
If Ren could've leaped to his feet in that moment then he would, but he was stuck- instead he simply growled under his breath when Grian took a step too close. Scowling at the blonde, his right ear twiched and so did his lip. "You're mad, you think I'm going to big you up despite your shortcomings- which for you Grian, the bar is pretty low- do you? Well I'll never big you or your company up now I know what you're really like, you physcos!"
All three of them looked taken aback, not expecting him to lash out like that. It was Iskall who recovered fastest, nudging Grian out of the way and sighing. "Listen to me, you don't want to make us angry, Ren. You can't talk to us like this, when we're together we aren't your friends- we're a business, and you're ruining our reputation." He flicked the lycanthrope's ears, causing poor Ren to flinch, concerned as to their plans for him now.
Grian nodded, he looked so upset- betrayed even, it was like he'd expected Ren to react positively to their threats. "Ren please, we really don't want to lose you as a friend but business is business- you understand?" He reached over, petting Ren's cheek- snarking at his expression. "Oh I bet you wouldn't say that kind of thing against our competitor would you?"
"He's partnered with them, that's why." Mumbo spoke up, still twirling the redstone torch in his hand. "Big logs.Inc™, partners with Concorp™ and associate to The Convex® via BigsLogs.INC's CEO, Ren Dog." He read it off a little book, putting it back in his pocket. "That was why he'd never say a bad word against them. He's not allowed to."
Grian hummed in thought, putting a finger to his mouth, pondering something. He stared at Ren, his eyes- usually soft and bright- pierced deep into his soul, seemingly scanning his mind. Finally, the blonde came to a conclusion- seemingly out of nowhere- and let his face all to a dark frown. "Kill him."
Ren spluttered, shocked that his supposed friends could be so cold and fearful of what Grian intended by death. "Wha-What?!?" He looked to each of the trio in turn, all of them seeming to get to work. Ren was panicking as he watched then, not sure if they meant permadeath or not. "What do you mean death??!" He cried out, he wanted to know- he sensed danger.
"We mean permadeath, Ren." Iskall sighed as he sharpened the blade of his sword, clearly not caring all too much. "What else?"
"You can't...YOU CAN'T JUST KILL ME!!" Ren screamed at them, the fear setting in as he realised what was really at stake here. His life and possibly the other hermits.
"Oh but we can," Grian chuckled, grabbing Iskall's sword from him and placing the tip lightly between Ren's collar bones. "and we will."
Ren pleaded with them, begging for them to show a little mercy but his pleas fell on deaf ears- two pairs of death ears, Mumbo decided to play nice. The redstoner tapped Grian on the shoulder, holding his torch up in gesture. The blonde nodded and stepped back- allowing Mumbo to take centre stage. He stood before Ren with a smile, holding the torch up where the canine could see it. "Now personally, I don't want to see you dead permanently. Not because I care whether you live or die but because I don't want to have to deal with Doc." Ren realized that Doc might be his unknowning savior and nodded, agreeing that Doc would fly into a rage if he lost another friend. Mumbo lifted a confident smile at that positive response, glancing back at Grian and Iskall for confirmation- they nodded. "So maybe it would be better if you just took our warning and our advice, you could respawn all you want then." Ren blinked at him in confusion and shock, Mumbo glanced at his torch- seemingly noticing it for the first time- and his fave lit up. "Oh!" He exclaimed, smiling happily- an expression now sour for Ren. "Fun idea Ren, I place this torch down and we tell Doc you've gone endbusting."
Ren realized that the torch was the only thing between him and permadeath, the torch that Mumbo had been playing with so liberally. Ren evaluated his options then took a deep breath- squeaking as he inhaled. He spoke clearly but with a shaky voice. "Plea...Please don't kill me, I'll big you up, I'll never tell them the truth, I swear- just don't kill me!"
The Architechs looked between each other, Mumbo sighing and putting his torch away. Grian chuckled, taking his sword away from Ren's neck and tossing it to Iskall- who caught it with ease and leant it against a chest. Grian began to smile brighter. "Oh I'm so glad we've got this all cleared up! Thank you for understanding, Ren." He seemingly had something come to mind, beaming at Ren happily. "Oh! Do you want to see my new dog?"
Ren felt a little safer now, glad to have come to an agreement with his captors. Mumbo had even untied his arms, letting his smooth down his hair, dry his eyes and adjust his sunglasses. He loved dogs- being half one himself- so he was happy to nod in response to Grian's question, seeing a dog would really help him right now.
Grian clapped his hands in excitement, stamping his left foot rapidly- a sign that he was truly excited, he never faked this and was in fact embarrassed by it. Ren saw that the other two Architechs began to get as high as they could, perching on shelves. Ren was back to being concerned now, where they scared of dogs?"
"Oh Daisy!" Grian called, pulling the leaver to open a large piston door, revealing a fully grown ravager- decked out in a pink frilly collar with a gold tag in the shape of a flower, reading; Daisy.
The ravager charged towards Ren, crushing him against the wall and knocking all the breath from his lungs- killing him almost instantly. The last sound he heard was the giggles of a maniac, a maniac his friends trusted completely- the he respawned.
[renthedog was killed by a ravager]
#back in the grove#the darkitechs#darckitechs au#evil archtiechs#evil architechs au#architechs#mumbo jumbo#grianmc#grian minecraft#grian#iskall87#iskall#iskall85#ren#renthedog#rendog#hermitcraft#sahara#shop at sahara
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Do bloops count as Christmas presents? (I hope you don’t get tired of seeing me here lol) Five bloops for Aither, Five for John and another five for any Character you like. And because tis the season: Which characters celebrate Yule? Which of your characters is most likely to dress up as Santa for their kids on Christmas?
Thanks sweetheart @fragrant-stars
They do in my book! Bloops are awesome! I totally won’t, I adore the random asks with questions and bloops! Even if sometimes super slow to answer *nods*. I know you wanted Jon after we discussed it, but since it says John I’ll do all three of the boys since this is so late!
The other questions are under the cut as they are also long.
Aither:
I have a habit of buying up community centers and libraries, putting Network members in charge of them so they can be restored and active in the community once more
I considered going into Genetics, as that’s just the operating code for humans
I can fight in heels, I wouldn’t suggest it however and often wish to slap movie producers and dimwits who think that actresses need them.
On that note, I think I will open my own movie producing company sometime to get some common sense going. *adds to notes*
I was a shark kid, rather than dolphin kid
Jon:
Tetris is a long standing favorite of mine, every one of my devices has a copy for me to use as a way to unwind
There is very little in the way of food I dislike, mostly because we were always traveling and I got to try a wide variety of stuff growing up.
Picking locks was a skill Pops did not appreciate Da teaching me, Mum thought it was hilarious
I’ve tried gardening multiple times, maybe it’s cause we were always on the move, but I don’t have a green thumb for the vast majority of plants
Cooking is not a strong skill of mine.
John S.
I was raised by a single mum who wanted me to understand that different people live different lives based on their circumstances. That meant we spent time actually living in them. I have to say, it was an eye opener.
I’m non-religious, not because I don’t believe there’s a deity or higher power, but because I like to study the different faiths, and the parts that call to me are what I follow. If asked I say Spiritualist
My mum praised my work as I got my doctorate, particularly when I turned my focus towards helping those who can’t get help elsewhere or only able to accept certain levels of help for personal reasons.
I love both sets of my partners - my soulmates were amazing, as are my spouses - equally, even if it is not the same sort of love.
When I first started seeing Rory and Amy, I was nervous about Jon, as I could see so much of myself in him and wanted to make sure I did right by him. I never would have guessed I’d be the parent he was closest too!
John B.
Becoming an assassin wasn’t something I planned on, it just sort of happened because of my skill set and mentality.
I didn’t think I had soulmarks, not until I had a mark explain the unseen variety of soulmarks.
I didn’t kill that mark like I was supposed to, it was the start of me moving away from working for the Company. I didn’t realize it at the time, and the next time I saw that mark, years later they smiled at me mischievously and belonged to the Network.
I love baking, though I rarely do any
I make it a point to learn how to help Aaron with his chronic pain, whether it be through the extremely rare massages, foods and drinks, or any other small things.
Which characters celebrate Yule?
Stepan
*nods* every year I do.
It starts the day before by handing out small gift bags that include fresh baked goods (from the bakery as I rarely manage anything but cookies), and little items based on the person’s traits and needs.
The day of Yule starts with candles and prayers for the coming year. Most the day is spent in reflection, sometimes I cook, but more often I review journals and medical charts. I make sure I have a candle going the entire day, one lit from the first of the day’s flame. At the end of the day, I go room to room, asking for the coming year to be better before blowing the candle out as I go to bed.
The following morning starts with making me family bread recipe, and saying the Winter into Spring Blessing. Sometimes I miss having others to do that with, so it’s not uncommon for me to take it to the office so others can eat and enjoy after it’s done baking. First though, I use the special soaps kept aside for rituals and cleansings to clean up and dress in my best outfit. Often I’ve purchased it for the new cycle.
Throughout the day, I give little gifts to those I’ve acquired them for. It is mostly friends and family, but I also do gifts for others such as the kids I see regularly, my coworkers, and anyone else that might come up.
At the end of the day I return home, lights a candle I’ll allow to burn itself out, made to last til dawn before getting ready for bed, saying one more prayer, and laying down.
Pavel
There was a few years I didn’t, but as my faith returned, I’ve been celebrating once more. Depending on who I’ll be with is what sort of celebration I’ll hold. It can be anything from making baked goods to give away to hosting a full feast with gift giving.
Which of your characters is most likely to dress up as Santa for their kids on Christmas?
Sparks for one as the younger kids adore it.
[Author’s Note: there’s probably others I just don’t know about yet.]
Send a Bloop (or multiples) and get facts on the characters!
#fragrant-stars#thanks for the bloops!#long post#Aither di Straiti#Jonathan Valentinovich Markov#john smith#john brown#Sparks Afanas Anatolievich Balakhnov#aaron wren#Stepan Nadiyavovich Yarosh
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Rose of England
My entry for the Good Omens fanwork exchange arranged by @transarmageddon. I created this based off a prompt from @vecieminde. The prompt that I was most heavily inspired by was “Aziraphale and Crowley exploring an abandoned place which glory days they might have witnessed”. Full disclosure: I am a bit of a history nerd and so one abandoned place turned into many which turned into a road trip across rural England with a pit stop in Wales. At certain times I veered a bit further from the main prompt than I was hoping but I hope you still enjoy! (About 9.5K and no warnings apply. I’m having a beta review it and then I’ll probably post to AO3) Heavily inspired by the Vera Lynn album “Rose of England” (I am bad at titles and simply borrowed that.) Definitely recommend a listen, it’s a wonderful album. Fic under the cut.
Prologue: London
It had been three weeks since the very last day of the rest of their lives. Not surprisingly, in the aftermath of perhaps the most chaotic week in all of creation Aziraphale and Crowley had been having some difficulty slipping back into their old routines. The sudden lack of oversight was a relief but left them both with a degree of freedom that they weren’t quite sure what to do with. Crowley no longer had to plan elaborate schemes to generate widespread low-grade evil and Aziraphale found himself without his usual laundry list of miscellaneous miracles and holy interventions, leaving both with a sudden and dramatic increase of spare time. Heaven and Hell had, apparently, taken their warnings to heart and had left them alone.
They managed to slip into parts of their old routines. Aziraphale would go out to lunch in small french bistros and read Virginia Woolf in the plush reading chair in his study. Crowley had continued to scheme for a time out of habit but eventually tapered off to random pranks and messing with people who drive below the speed limit on highways and members of parliament. His house plant hobby had flourished into a full horticulture obsession. The apartment whose predominant palette had been black and grey for several decades now found itself green, green, and green. He wasn’t really one for flowers, preferring varieties such as ferns, ivy, and more recently, mosses. Crowley had acquired an impressive and wide array of mosses, spanning continents and centuries, quite literally finding himself with the only remaining iteration of certain ancient mosses (Crowley’s imagination did not know that these had gone extinct. He simply remembered soft, curling greenery on teak trees and there they had appeared).
Aziraphale had also picked up a few hobbies. He had a tendency to do so. Dancing, magic, prophecies. They weren’t exactly phases (for he did still truly enjoy all of these things), but Aziraphale had a meandering mind that was always eager for new knowledge. Recently, he had come across an antique store looking for any interesting books. Instead, he had left the premises with a vintage camera that stood on a wooden tripod, that by all accounts should not have been able to work anymore, but miraculously, did indeed take photos. This began a new collection of vintage cameras and various other photographic contraptions. He particularly enjoyed taking pictures of nature (trees were much better at sitting still than wily serpents who would fidget and blur the images). Eventually, Crowley bought him a polaroid camera. He was annoyed of being forced to sit still for the negatives and dealing with Aziraphale hauling his many apparatuses on their walks. The polaroid was a bit newfangled for Aziraphale’s taste, but he enjoyed not having to develop negatives and being able to immediately see the images. Crowley did not mind this hobby as much as he had others (nothing could be worse than the magic. As long as taking photos of birds and elms prevented Aziraphale getting into card tricks or whatever nonsense than he would limit his complaints.) Yet even as they settled into old routines and found new ones, both beings found themselves on edge despite the apparent resolution to most of their problems. You see, Aziraphale and Crowley were bored. And Aziraphale had just the idea.
“A vacation?” Crowley replied as they sat in St James Park, sitting on a bench watching the ducks bob in and out of the water.
“It’s been so long since we left the city. Not since all that nonsense, and even that was barely two hours outside London. Before you mostly got around for work, and since our, well, retirement, I don’t believe either of us has really traveled much. Thought it might be a nice change of pace.”
“And where exactly were you thinking?”
“Oh, nowhere in particular. Although there are a few sites that I’d like to revisit. It’s been so long since I properly traveled. Human beings have created some truly marvelous places.”
“Destroyed just as many too.”
“And then rebuilt. I’m sure even you have an old spot or two you wouldn’t mind revisiting.”
Crowley paused, considering this with a great amount of reluctance. “I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve been ‘round the countryside.” He replied, begrudgingly.
Aziraphale’s face lit up in a bright smile. “Splendid! I suppose there is no point in waiting around. I’m already packed, I will see you at the shop tomorrow, bright and early!”
Crowley looked at him in disbelief. “Tomorrow?!”
Rochester Castle
Crowley did arrive early, although it wasn’t a particularly bright October morning. He pulled up in his Bently and had hardly gotten out of the car when Aziraphale burst through the shop door, hauling a large two-piece antique luggage set and two vintage cameras.
Aziraphale flashed a brilliant smile “Good morning, dear boy!” Crowley walked over to Aziraphale and grabbed the luggage out of his hands. “Let me take that.” Aziraphale let him take the bags and took the cameras in both arms. “Why, thank you.” Crowley dragged the luggage toward the Bentley. “What on earth do you have in here? You’ve been wearing the same outfit for over a century.”
“Books, mostly. Some light reading I’ve been meaning to do.”
“Hardly light,” Crowley complained, lifting the luggage into the trunk with great difficulty. Aziraphale carefully laid out the camera equipment in the backseat, with the exception of the polaroid which he kept in a small camera bag over his shoulder. Crowley slammed the\trunk and sauntered over to the drivers side.
“So where are we off to, angel?”
“Well I didn’t want anything too adventurous, and I know you’re hard-pressed to leave your vehicle. Perhaps a week or two, just in the countryside. Breath of fresh air, maybe even revisit some old favorites?”
“Fine by me.”
“And I thought it best to start south and work our way up. What do you think?”
“Any destination in mind?”
“Oh, not really. It’s been so long since I’ve been that farther south than London.”
“Ever been to Rochester Castle? Less than half an hour from here.”
“Rochester? Off the Medway? Shouldn’t that be at least an hour– Crowley slow down!”
They arrived 40 minutes later. Aziraphale was not incorrect in that it should have taken an hour and Crowley had also not been mistaken in that it could have been merely half an hour, but at Aziraphale’s continued pleas of “Slow down Crowley!” they had met somewhat in the middle. Luckily tourist season tended to slow down this time of year. The employees of the estate had kindly left them to their own affairs. Aziraphale had picked up a brochure and was reading it as the two of them explored the keep.
“They say it had originally been given to Bishop Odo, probably by William the Conqueror.”
“Never met him.”
“Oh you weren’t missing much, I didn’t find him to be particularly charming. Although it is possible that I insulted him upon our first meeting. Never could wrap my mind around french. All that gender and tense. Feminine chairs and male houses, utter nonsense.”
“I believe houses are also feminine.”
“My point! Completely arbitrary. And the tenses, what language needs nine different types of past tense? They live such short lives I don’t see the point.”
Crowley let Aziraphale rant as they continued to stroll along corridors and in and out of almost accurate historical reimaginings of bedrooms and parlors. Crowley hadn’t been to Rochester Castle since the Peasants’ Revolt in 1381. He really had absolutely hated the 14th century. He had gotten so fed up, in fact, that he had whispered in a handful of ears of ‘injustice’ and ‘revolution’. He hadn’t had much of an end goal in mind, just anything to shake up that dreadful century. It hadn’t really gone anywhere, unfortunately. He didn’t see much of Aziraphale that century, not with the war and the plague. Such a bore and with awful fashion. It had been such a relief when the Renaissance properly took off.
“You’ve been awfully silent, Crowley.”
He quirked an eyebrow over his glasses. “Let’s go to the gardens.”
They made their way into the Castle’s exterior and into the gardens that encircled the estate. English roses, bright Dahlias, twisting ivys, and sweetly scented Begonias dominated the courtyard. Aziraphale was enjoying the vibrant colors and heavenly floral perfumes while Crowley glared critically at pests and withering leaves.
“I think this is going to be a marvelous holiday.”
Crowley wandered over to one of the bushes and picked one of halfway decent begonias, sauntering back over to Aziraphale. He walked directly in front of him and stopped just shy of the other man.
“If you say so.” He replied, pinning the flower to a blushing Aziraphale’s lapel.
“Oh, no need for all of that.” He said waving his hand toward the plucked stem. An even more vibrant flower bloomed in its place.
“So,” Crowley asked, returning to his place by Aziraphale’s side, “where to next?”
Bodiam Castle
Aziraphale had asked one of the local historical guides, who suggested Bodiam Castle, which was an hour south of Rochester Castle near Robertsbridge in East Sussex. She had also suggested a local family run pub for lunch. Aziraphale had given Crowley a wide-eyed look to which Crowley could only roll his eyes and say “Yes, yes alright. It’s your holiday, angel.” Aziraphale had taken note at some point of the increase of Crowley’s use of ‘angel’ to describe him. He had subsequently filed away the observation to ‘thoughts that need no further introspection or deliberation’. They ate (or Aziraphale ate) a slow and peaceful lunch. He seemed to enjoy his fish and chips and was particularly impressed by the tartar sauce (homemade apparently, an old family recipe). The batter was also very pleasant but he didn’t much care for the chips. Crowley picked a few off of his plate absentmindedly. They ate mostly in silence, Aziraphale enjoying the fish and Crowley enjoying Aziraphale.
They continued on their journey, arriving in Robertsbridge in significantly less than an hour (much to Aziraphale’s terror). Aziraphale had in fact once visited Bodiam Castle, many years ago during the war of the roses. It had been abandoned in picturesque ruins for decades but had been restored in the early 20th century. Crowley and Aziraphale explored the property. While the exterior had been well preserved, the interior was now in ruins.
“It had been quite nice when I had visited. I was presenting as a clergyman on the road back in those days, you know. Made seeking shelter much easier and people would listen to me, which was quite helpful on certain occasions.”
“I imagine it explained all those Bibles you carried with you.”
“Well yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“There is still a beauty to it now, albeit a different sort of beauty.”
“Seems like regular old ruins to me.”
“You don’t feel any sort of, oh I don’t know, whimsy or appreciation?”
“I don’t really go in for whimsy, angel.”
They continued to explore for quite some time, Aziraphale taking full advantage of their solitude and the picturesque ruins by taking many photographs, both with the antique camera on a tripod and the polaroid. Aziraphale had started off carrying the larger camera but Crowley had soon taken over after a passing mention of discomfort by Aziraphale. They made their way outside, strolling along the edge of the moat as the sunset.
“Oh, what a beautiful sky it is tonight. Crowley, do you mind putting down the camera? I’d like to get some photos, lighting is simply marvelous.”
“Not like we’ve seen the sunset a million times already. The same sky and the same sun for 6,000 years.”
Aziraphale ignored him, setting up the camera into the correct position. The tripod was close to the water's edge, overlooking the horizon. Aziraphale watched the sky change from red, orange, and yellow to deep purple and pitch black from behind a camera lens. Crowley watched Aziraphale burn brilliant in a fiery sky to softly glowing in the moonlit night.
Tintagel Castle
Crowley suggested the next location: Tintagel Castle. It was quite a ways away on the southwestern coast but he insisted that the view was worth it, and besides it had been ages since either of them had been to the Celtic sea. It was by far the longest drive they had undertaken so far. A direct route would have taken five hours (perhaps three with Crowley behind the wheel), but Aziraphale had asked if they could drive past the channel on the way there and Crowley wasn’t exactly in the habit of denying any request or desire the angel had. With the scenic detour, the drive should have been close to 7 hours but ended up closer to five anyways, accounting for a lunch break.
Aziraphale was able to manage (tolerate, more accurately) Crowley’s breakneck speeds on the lonely country roads. Rolling hills with the occasional grazing livestock and farmhouses turned into rocky cliffs and blue-grey waters. Aziraphale enjoyed the picturesque landscapes and lack of the usual urban chaos, while Crowley enjoyed the lack of other vehicles and an open road where the speed limit was hardly a thought. They hadn’t talked much, Aziraphale occasionally putting on a CD (he didn’t quite grasp the concept at first but he was getting the hang of it.) Most of the disks had been left in the car and forgotten for more than a fortnight, and Crowley could only tolerate ‘We Will Rock You’ by Benjamin Britten or ‘We Are The Champions’ by Handle so many times. Thankfully, he had remembered to bring in some CDs from the apartment that had yet to become a compilation of Queen’s Greatest Hits. Aziraphale preferred classical, so they listened to Bach, Vaughn Williams, Holst, and various other (although predominantly British) composers. They were listening to Simple Symphony (actually by Benjamin Britten) when Crowley finally slowed and pulled into a half-full parking lot. Luckily the castle and surrounding expanse were quite large and the two could easily keep away from any crowds.
They explored the ruins of a castle for a time, Crowley relaying stories of his time in Richard of Cornwall (both from his time in the castle and during the Barons’ Crusade. Aziraphale had been preoccupied at the time by some work further west in Southampton.) Eventually, the crowds started to bother both of them and they naturally wandered away from the ruins and over the large bridge.
“You know I rarely made it out to this part of the country, but it’s quite lovely. The view is spectacular.”
Crowley squinted and peered upwards towards the gathering clouds. “Looks like it might rain.”
“Oh, I’m sure it would only take a slight miracle to ensure clear skies until the end of our visit. I was thinking for after– oh!” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as the unfortunate combination of a strong gust of wind off the sea and a damp patch on the footbridge made him stumble and lose his footing. Before he could find purchase on the guard rails he felt two hands reach out and grab his arms, helping him upright. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley who in turn looked down at him in concern.
“You alright?”
Aziraphale laughed nervously, brushing himself off. “Oh yes, I’m quite alright, just taken a little off guard I suppose…” He trailed off. There hadn’t been any danger really, the footbridge had quite a high railing and Aziraphale had wings for heaven’s sake but peering down at the cold water crashing up against the stony cliffs made his head spin for a moment. “Thank you.” He finally said.
Crowley made a noise of displeasure in return, “Can’t have you being discorporated middle of your vacation abandoning me in Cornwall of all places.”
“Our vacation. Besides, you suggested Tintagel.”
“Ngk.”
Neither of them made the first move, remaining stationary on the footbridge for another beat.
“You can let go of me now, Crowley.”
He looked down at his hands which were indeed still wrapped around the other's arms. His cheeks turned slightly pink as he let go, refusing to look at the other as they continued on.
Glastonbury Abbey
Aziraphale insisted they stop by Glastonbury Abbey the next day, tentatively starting northward.
“I’m shocked you never made it out there yourself back in the day, dear boy. Frightfully important, I can recall quite the drama and importance for quite a long stretch of time. Second only to Westminster.”
“I avoided abbeys as a general rule. Parishes, monasteries, cathedrals, whole lot of them. Not exactly my scene.”
“Shame really, some truly exquisite architecture. The food wasn’t exactly top-notch, but some of the better dining from that era at any rate. I’d imagine you’d be quite fine now, been in ruins for centuries.”
The sky was clear and blue, the grass a vibrant green. There were a few tourists who were wandering about the grounds but left the two beings be. They wandered through the decrepit cathedral, ceiling completely gone and missing good portions of the walls. While Aziraphale doubted that any previous blessings were still in place, Crowley was wary and remained outside of the ruined Holy buildings.
“It really was quite a marvel. I had the occasion to visit on a number of occasions throughout the centuries, sent here quite often for holy interventions, miracles, enlightenment, heavenly visions, the whole nine yards as they say. You’re sure you never made it over here during, well, the Arrangement?”
Aziraphale quieted at the last two words. He had always been much more prudish, more embarrassed regarding their previous understanding. Perhaps it was because Crowley had much more experience rebelling and bending rules, but if they were being honest with themselves (although they rarely were), Aziraphale also had a fair bit of experience bending rules, he was just more adept at making excuses for it and felt much more guilty about it afterward.
“Nope. Besides, I believe the heyday of the great Abbeys predated our agreement.”
“I suppose that’s true. Those old Catholics enjoyed their drama. I tried to stay out of it mostly, politics was never really my forte. I recall having to give a vision to one of the old Abbotts back in the 12th century. Something about inspiring a new sermon, I can’t quite recall.”
Crowley made some noise to indicate that he was still listening (which he was in fact doing. He liked to put up an air of indifference but he always listened, and Aziraphale knew this.)
“You know I was able to get a first edition of “On the Antiquity of the Glastonese Church”? Signed by William of Malmesbury. Wonderful historian, and splendid company. He had a terrific collection at the Malmesbury Abbey and was kind enough to give me a number of his books, all with signed inscriptions. Later in his life, he was kind enough to gift me some of the notable works in his personal collection. His second edition of Gesta Regum Anglorum is a classic.”
Aziraphale continued to ramble on as they explored the Abbey grounds. Crowley listened quietly but intently. Their conversations usually involved both of their active participation but Crowley had never minded whenever Aziraphale would stumble into his ramblings. They occasionally reminisced, exchanging amusing stories and recounting shared adventures, but on that rare but treasured occasions a topic would arise and Aziraphale could literally talk for days on end, one story spilling into the next. Crowley’s original thought to describe it had been cute, but that couldn’t possibly be it.
“It’s impressive how long these have stayed standing, even if they have fallen into a bit of disrepair.” Aziraphale finally quieted, inviting a response from Crowley.
“‘Spose. They always did like to show off. Always obsessed with posterity.”
“And these are hardly the oldest, even just in England. And we’ve been there for all of it.” Aziraphale spoke softly, his eyes unfocused as he gazed far beyond the old Abbey. Crowley glanced at him. He had a tendency to be sentimental after these long trips down memory lane. Crowley himself had never quite at the proclivity for the sentimental.
“And they’ll keep building places of worship and keep writing history books. Come on, I saw a sign for a nearby for an italian restaurant, we’ll grab you some lunch.”
Bath
After lunch, they drove a bit farther north to the city of Bath. This had been the largest city they had visited so far. They stopped by bed and breakfast on the outskirts of the town, preferring the larger space, quiet countryside, and easy parking it provided. They took the day to explore the city, visiting various historical sites. They walked by the Abbey (although they did not venture inside as a courtesy to Crowley), Pulteney Bridge, strolled down Royal Crescent, popped briefly into Holburne museum but quickly left when Aziraphale got fed up with the minor inconsistencies and incorrect speculation. They continued their walk and eventually came across a beautifully restored Georgian home with a bronze plaque that reads:
Here lived William Herschel
A.D. 1781
and a sign above that that read ‘Herschel Museum of Astronomy’. It looked to be mostly vacant, which made sense seeing as it was about 2 o’clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday during the school year, with the peak of the tourist season being a few months behind them.
“Oh, I remember that fellow. Quite the eclectic man; astronomer, biologist, musician, and composer, though if memory serves his scientific career fared better than his artistic one. I saw the premiere of his eighth symphony and you know, I really did enjoy it. I’m not sure why he’s been relegated to the background of classical composers. I suppose now it’s so strongly dominated by Mozart, Haydn, Shubert, and a few other fellows that it didn’t leave much room for others. Truth be told I think Haydn might be slightly overrated. You write 107 symphonies but only a handful are noteworthy in any way. You knew him, didn’t you? I recall you hanging around with the Royal Astronomical Society for a time before sleeping through most of the next century.”
Crowley hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeah, hung around with that lot periodically end of the 18th century. He and his sister, Caroline, pushed the field miles forward. Shall we head inside?”
Crowley held open the door for Aziraphale and they headed inside the quiet Georgian household. They handed over a few pounds to the receptionist who put a little stamp of a planet with stars on each of their right hands. They quickly passed through exhibits pertaining to more recent events, preferring to linger in the sections that focused on Herschel and his discoveries.
“I liked him. Quite sharp. Corrected a few older discoveries, which I appreciated. It was annoying having to sit through some of those Royal Society lectures calling some of the star clusters nebulae. He and Caroline discovered and cataloged a boatload of nebulae, clusters, comets, the like. Nice to finally have your work properly appreciated after nearly 6000 years. We used to gossip about the bores over at the Royal Society and I helped get Caroline get a paid position at the government. I mean why would they be paying him but not her?”
“That was very kind of you, Crowley.”
He made a face of displeasure in return, “Hardly. If she hadn’t been employed who else would have discovered my comets and cataloged my nebulae? Quite proud of those, you know, and no one there to appreciate all my hard work. ‘Oh look at the beautiful waterfalls, the beautiful forests’, please. Hardly any craftsmanship in a waterfall. Some rocks and a river. But a planetary nebula? A red dwarf? Combustion, gravity, electromagnetism, a delicate balance of helium, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and however many other elements. When old Will finally got that telescope of his up and running, the look on his face when he saw them all, it was like finally, someone can appreciate some true artistry. I will say the nerve of those two constantly referring to it as ‘the heavens’. Heaven wished it looked like that.”
Aziraphale looked wistfully at a newer photo of the butterfly nebula. “You know, during all that time it took humans to properly observe the cosmos, I appreciated it. All the stars and nebulae, pulsars and supernovae. I wasn’t able to get out much personally, but I was lucky enough on a few occasions. It was breathtaking. And on earth, we can see much farther than they can, even with some of their telescopes. I’ll spare a glance here and there when I get the chance, and it really is unparalleled.” Aziraphale stopped, still looking firmly at the nebula in front of him. He spoke softer this time. “Dare I say it, maybe even more beautiful than anything here on earth.” A pause. His head turned slightly towards Crowley and met his eyes beneath the shades. “Or rather, almost anything.”
Crowley’s head snapped violently back towards the image, not daring to look back at Aziraphale. Earth had been almost entirely God’s pet project, the vast majority anyways. Some details had been relegated to other angels. But the earth had always truly been Hers. Aziraphale’s proclamation of the superior beauty of the cosmos was… a lot to process. Not to mention the meaning of the angel’s pointed glance at him. It was a bit too much for Crowley. He coughed, still not meeting the other’s eyes.
“Off to the Baths then?”
Kenilworth Castle
“Kenilworth, now this is a real castle,” Crowley said, picking away at the grapes on the fruit platter. They had driven north from Bath that morning, exiting the South West and entering into the West Midlands. Crowley accompanied Aziraphale to a hearty breakfast before their departure. They continued to avoid the main roads, Crowley speeding through old dirt roads in the countryside. Aziraphale would point out every herd of sheep, every single baby calf, every mangy looking old goat while a look of utter delight and whimsy. He had become completely enamored with the countryside and Crowley was beginning to worry about how he would ever get him back to the city.
“Oh look at those horses! There’s a small black foal, isn’t it just darling? Shall we stop by to say hello?”
Crowley glowered at the animals that were grazing the field they were driving past and pushed down even harder on the gas in response.
“You’re no fun, my dear.”
“Awful creatures. They smell, they buck, they attract flies, painful as all hell to ride, and generally terrible. Not even properly evil, just badly designed and poorly executed. The automobile is definitely among the greatest human inventions along with alcohol and sunglasses. Shame when they stopped making glue out of the bastards.”
Aziraphale smacked him (not so lightly) on his arm, “Crowley! What an awful thing to say!”
“What? They deserve it.”
“My goodness, what on earth did horses ever do to you.”
“What didn’t they do? Centuries of sore buttocks, horse flies, and manure. The smell, Aziraphale, do you remember it? The streets were absolutely disgusting, it’s no wonder I stayed inside for most of the 18th century.”
“I think you’re being too harsh on them. I find them quite majestic.”
“Nothing majestic about your teeth taking up more room in your skull than your brain.”
“Well, I quite like them.”
He rolled his eyes, “Suit yourself, angel.”
They continued north for another hour or so, eventually stopping in Stratford-Upon-Avon to pick up some food for a picnic (actually Crowley’s suggestion) and to pay respects to an old friend. They continued on, taking many detours, arriving at the castle just in time for lunch. Crowley pulled out a picnic blanket from the trunk (whether it had been there the whole time or if he had just miracled it then, Aziraphale didn’t know. Regardless, he was touched by the gesture.) He laid it out under the shade of a nearby Ash tree that grew just a bit outside the central keep.
“Yes, it had its fair share of excitement back in the day.” Aziraphale agreed.
“Came to see King John here once. What a prick. That whole family was a mess. Richard and Henry weren’t that awful in the grand scheme of British royalty, although that’s quite a low bar. Oh, but John, totally insufferable. I was supposed to tempt him into rebelling but the bastard was already scheming before I got there, and not very well mind you. Didn’t bother helping out when it failed, I didn’t really feel like getting involved.”
“I accompanied Elizabeth here a few times. Very intelligent woman, difficult life though. Popped in every-so-often to lend her a helping hand. I remember tutoring her briefly when she was a child. Incredibly bright and kind for a child of her age. The crown hardened her considerably, but who could blame her.”
“Oh yes, she was a feisty one. One of the few British royals I had any respect for at all, although she still had her fair share of flaws, but who am I to judge?”
They continued to eat, somehow always remaining in the shade despite the passing of hours. Aziraphale was usually quite silent when he ate, his mouth constantly full with the next delight Crowley had packed away into the wicker basket, so Crowley took it upon himself to fill the silence by recounting his many tales of Kenilworth and the events surrounding it, sprawled out on his side, one arm supporting his head.
“You know the tennis balls had been my idea. I had meant it as an insult but I think Henry overreacted a little bit.”
Aziraphale paused his enjoyment of some shortcake, “At least we got a good play out of it.”
“Fair enough. The old Bard never really bothered with historical accuracy but I didn’t mind with him. Made it better usually.”
“I’d be inclined to agree.”
Eventually Aziraphale had had his full and pulled out a book, leaning up against the Ash. Crowley moved closer, laying down beside him.
“What are you reading?”
“The Anabasis of Alexander.”
“He was a drama queen.”
“This is a classic.”
“I’m sure.”
Aziraphale ignored him and pulled out his reading glasses. Crowley had never said this out loud, but he loved Aziraphale’s reading glasses. The glasses were practically ancient, picked up sometime during Crowley’s respite in the 19th century. He didn’t need them, and Crowley didn’t know why he wore them. A fashion he had picked up? Perhaps he simply enjoyed the completion of his ‘old bookkeeper’ look? At any rate, Crowley never complained when Aziraphale opened a large tome and took out the spectacles. He looked up at Aziraphale; ‘Cute’ he thought. There that word was again. The glasses made Aziraphale look intelligent, sophisticated, extremely out of date, and certainly not cute. Or at least, that’s what Crowley thought (or did he?)
“Read a bit for me. I’m sure it’ll put me right to sleep.”
The angel huffed at the minor insult but settled in closer to Crowley anyways. The demons head was up against his thigh, arms at his side and legs bent upwards. There was a gentle warm breeze and songbirds that flew in and out of the ash. The sun was bright and hot but they were cool and comfortable in the shade, both subconsciously leaning into the warmth of the other.
“In Ecbatana, Alexander offered sacrifice according to his custom, for good fortune; and he celebrated a gymnastic and musical contest…”
Plas Newydd
They stayed the night in Kenilworth after allowing themselves the luxury of a lazy afternoon followed by a warm meal at a local pub (in this part of the country, most options for dining out were pubs). The next morning they took the Bentley further northwest, crossing the border into Wales. The signs changed into a jumble of consonants and seemingly misplaced vowels.
“I haven’t been to Wales in so long. I adore the people here, very charming folks. I do hope my Welsh hasn’t fallen out of shape, it has been quite a while.”
They drove down the old country roads, Crowley for once not doing nearly double the speed limit, perhaps as a courtesy to Aziraphale or maybe because even he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the sleepy atmosphere of the small villages they passed through (although the most likely cause was simply extending their time on the road. He enjoyed the peace and solitude he shared with Aziraphale while they rode in the Bentley.)
Aziraphale looked quizzically down at the map they had picked up in Shrewsbury. “I believe you take a right up here, dear boy.”
“Hope you aren’t getting us lost in the Welsh countryside, angel. All these villages look the same to me.”
He looked up from the map and up to the signs with arrows on the side of the road, “No, we’re still in the correct direction. My navigation skills were unparalleled back in the day, I’ll have you know. Served on a privateer ship for a number of months and guarded over an exhibition or two back in the age of explorers.”
Crowley looked up at the signs, recognizing one of the names, “Off to Llangollen then, are we?”
Aziraphale looked over to him surprised, “You’ve heard of it?”
“Visited it to, a couple of centuries ago.”
Aziraphale looked delighted, “So you must have met the ladies then! Can’t imagine what else would bring you to the north-eastern Welsh countryside. I never realized you made it out to see them.”
“Yeah, I visited them a handful of times while traveling between London and Dublin. Eleanor and Sarah. Haven’t thought about them in quite a while. Kept hearing about them and got curious.”
“They were a delightful pair, wonderful hosts too. Elenor and I would sit in the parlor and discuss the recent literature. Poets, in particular, seemed to be drawn to Plas Newydd and most had left behind a copy or two of their work. I recall walking around the estate with Sarah and exchanging thoughts on current events. They were both surprisingly insightful despite their isolation.”
“Bit too fond of horses for my taste, but I could respect how they rebelled against the system. Caused quite a stir for a while, and I enjoy good gossip. The scandal, the outrage, pretty funny if you ask me. Had a few interesting chats with them over tea.”
What Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t realize is that on multiple occasions, they had both shared details of each other to the ladies of Llangollen. Crowley and Aziraphale were both singular personalities in their own way and it had not taken much for the two ladies to connect the dots between both ‘men’ (or what both had assumed to be men) stories. Aziraphale had visited them first, introducing himself as a friend of William Wordsworth. He had indeed discussed literature and current events, but sometimes over dinner one evening he had begun disclosing certain details about a dark fellow (certainly not a friend) that Aziraphale was doing business with whom he had some conflicting emotions. Within a year, a dark fellow with bright red hair had strolled up to Plas Newydd and introduced himself as a friend of the Shelley's. They had welcomed him in, but he was much more reserved than some of their previous visitors. However, after a bottle of gin, the stranger was much more open and willing to share some strange stories of his travels. He was well journeyed and quite connected, having stories from famous scientists, authors, criminals, and even royals. After a bottle of brandy had been opened, he started talking about a friend of his, or perhaps more of a coworker. They had known each other for quite some time but in recent years it seemed as if their relationship had developed a few more layers. As he continued to describe the acquaintance, Eleanor and Sarah had both glanced sidelong at each other with the same realization.
As the two beings came and went, bringing new stories and sharing new details of their other half, the glances between the two women while the otherworldly being relayed their most recent thoughts on the other become more frustrated and knowing. It had been difficult not to intervene but they had both known it was for the best. One day, Aziraphale (or simply “Mr. Fell”) had come to visit. He discussed literature and current events like usual but never seemed to bring up his mysterious coworker. When they asked him about it, his face contorted like he had eaten something sour. They had had a falling out and were not talking to each other at the moment. The two women looked at each other in concern but didn’t attempt to press the issue.
They had never seen Crowley again.
Crowley and Aziraphale pulled up to Plas Newydd a short time later. Both Aziraphale’s navigation skills and Welsh had thankfully remained intact despite the disuse. The house had been well maintained throughout the centuries. Crowley purchased admission for them both. It had been turned into a museum a number of years ago, but both of them weren’t focused on the exhibits, sparing only a pacing glance at the displaces and descriptive plaques. Instead, they took in the house itself and the memories that returned to them with each room that they passed through. As they strolled within the many rooms: bedrooms, parlour, kitchen, library, and outside of the estate in the vast gardens and green rolling fields, the two cast sidelong glances at each other, not unlike two Irish ladies from centuries ago.
Hadrian’s Wall
They continued north on the same day, stopping for lunch in the village before they resumed their journey. After lunch, before they set off onto country roads, Crowley thought they should pick up some more CD’s. They had burned through most of the ones he had brought in from the apartment, and he was starting to get sick of not only “Killer Queen” but also “Fantasia on Greensleeves”. There was a little music shop in the quaint downtown that sold a handful of instruments, some sheet music, a bin of records, and yes, an assortment of CDs. It was a shame Aziraphale never slept since he had been mostly unable to listen to some of his personal favorites as the other being would be awake for the duration of their car rides. Aziraphale had fallen behind the times recently. Back before the advent of recorded audio, Aziraphale had needed to go out into the world to enjoy music, which kept him fairly up to date with the trends. However, after the advent of recording, Aziraphale had been able to enjoy the pleasures of the symphony from his own home, able to read or eat while he enjoyed the sweet melodies. And so he stopped attending the opera, symphony, or any sort of concert almost entirely. He still got out occasionally, when they were playing Beethoven series or one of his favorite Italian operas, but after the 19th century he was pleased to simply keep returning to old favorites (certain notable examples exist. Aziraphale was a fan of Kafka, Vaughn Williams, Rachmaninoff, Ravel, Bartók, and a handful of others.) He had listened to some ragtime and bebop, but he hadn’t been a fan and had simply abandoned all popular music afterward. Crowley drifted through the aisles but was mostly with content to let Aziraphale pick out the music. He was mostly hovering through the classical section, already with half a dozen new CDs. He wandered through a few other sections before walking back over to Crowley.
“Nothing for yourself?”
“You seem to have enough already.”
They walked over to the cashier, Aziraphale setting about all of the CDs and Crowley pulled out his wallet. The old woman behind the cash rung up their purchase and Crowley pulled out the exact change out of his wallet. She accepted it graciously.
“And where are you two from? Don’t get many visitors this time of year.” She spoke with a thick Welsh accent but must have overheard them speaking in english.
Aziraphale smiled warmly, “London. Just taking a bit of a holiday, driving around the countryside.”
“Oh that’s lovely. I prefer the weather this time of year anyway. I like the heat, but in the summer, a bit too hot in recent years. My husband and I drove up to Edinburgh back in July to visit our Lizzie for her wedding. We used to travel all over Europe in the summer months. A bit more difficult after the kids but we were able to bring them along when they were a bit older.”
“Oh yes, Edinburgh has become quite lovely in recent years. It’s been quite a while since I’ve visited myself.”
“Well if you and your husband are continuing north, I would definitely suggest you stop by.”
Aziraphale went red at her assumption. He sputtered in response. “Oh, um, well yes, thank you for the suggestion.”
She gave him a wide smile, “No need to be embarrassed, dear. Our Lizzie was marrying her girlfriend, Mackenzie, up in Edinburgh. Most people in these parts are quite accepting.”
Aziraphale could only redden and nod his head. She handed Crowley a receipt.
“Diolch.” He replied coolly, face unreadable behind the tinted glasses.
“Cael diwrnod braf!” She replied as they walked out of the shop.
They were finally back off onto the road. Aziraphale pulled out one of the new CDs.
“Look what I found, Crowley. I thought you might like it.”
It was a collection of William Herschel recorded by the London Mozart Players. Crowley returned with a neutral grunt of acknowledgment that didn’t convey any particularly positive or negative sentiments regarding the recording. Aziraphale ejected the previous CD and put in the new one.
“So where are we off to next, angel?”
“You know, I’m not quite sure. I thought we could just… drive for a bit, and see where we end up?”
Crowley grinned, “Not your usual style, ‘going with the flow’, ‘seeing where the road takes you.’”
He shrugged in response, “I’ve been trying many new things these last few months.”
And so North they went, out of Wales, up through the West Midlands and into the North West. They continued to bypass the highways in favor of country roads. They drove along the Irish sea, passing by Liverpool, Southport, and Blackpool. At Lancaster, they continued due North towards Kendal instead of continuing along the shoreline. Crowley made most navigational decisions, simply following his intuition. Every so often he would ask Aziraphale for input, but mostly they drove in silence. The angel mostly watched out the window, every so often cracking open the book he had with him.
After another hour or so, Aziraphale finally perked up.
“Ah.”
Crowley looked over to him, “What?”
He pointed to one of the signs. It read “Hadrian’s Wall” and had an arrow pointing right.
“We should go there.”
And so Crowley make a sharp turn to the right, and off they went.
After only another 10 minutes (Crowley’s maniacal driving had returned in full force), the two found themselves at the base of about a 5ft 2000-year-old wall.
“Sort of a dumb plan if you ask me.”
“Hm?”
“Not sure what Hadrian was thinking with this one. Bloody long wall on the fringe of the empire, middle of nowhere? Always seemed like nonsense to me.”
“Perhaps.”
“Next guy pretty much completely abandoned it. Did it ever serve any useful role at any point? Not like it was ever that high in the first place, not sure what he thought he could stop with it. Humanity has found its way across rivers, mountains, and deserts, but oho, not a five-foot wall, that’ll stop ‘em.”
Aziraphale was setting up his camera. The wall was surrounded by kilometers of green fields speckled with trees that were changing color in the autumn season. There was a small lake about a kilometer down from the stretch of the wall that the two had found themselves at.
“Sit still, won’t you? You’ll blur the image.”
Crowley pulled his crossed arms slightly closer in. “Don’t see why you wanted a picture in the first place. Can’t you just get a couple of snaps of the herons over there and be done with it?”
“I have so few photos of you, dear. I’d like a few from this vacation. I’ve had such a lovely time so far. Maybe I’ll make a scrapbook when we’re back in London. Have you heard of those? Came across the idea a few weeks ago and I’ve been meaning to try my hand at it.”
“Don’t see why I need to be in them. Why do you need a photo when I’ll be around anyway? I’ll just ruin your landscapes.”
Aziraphale looked up from the camera and directly at Crowley with a twinkle in his eyes. “You know I think you look positively lovely, dear boy. Now shut up, I want at least one good one.”
And shut up he did.
Tynemouth Priory and Castle (Edward II and Piers Gaveston + Duel?)
They found a little country inn in one of the nearby villages. Crowley slept soundly in his single bed while Aziraphale stayed up reading. They ate the continental breakfast that was provided, Aziraphale putting a fair portion of homemade strawberry jam that the owner’s son had apparently made onto his rolls while Crowley enjoyed his cup of Lady Grey.
“I feel like going to the coast today,” Aziraphale said in between mouthfuls of toast.
“Which one?” Crowley replied, leaning back in his chair on the outdoor patio.
“How about the North Sea? We did the Irish Sea, the Celtic Sea seems like the next logical step.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
“Have you ever been to Tynemouth? There’s an old Priory and Castle. I was there all the way back in the 7th century. Nice little spot on the coast.”
“Yeah, I’ve been, later though. Briefly in the 14th century, with Edward II.”
“Well?”
“Fine with me.”
They left a bit later that morning, going towards the morning sun due East. It was starting to get a bit chillier as they stretched further into autumn and the closer they got to the sea. It wasn’t a long drive by, even without Crowley behind the wheel. Soft piano music that Crowley didn't recognize was coming out of the stereo. It was pleasant, music that sounded like it came right out of a 19th-century parlor. Aziraphale was humming along while he read (a new book, yet again. He seemed to burn through a new one each day.)
They drove up a hill right beside the coast to the ruins. They were the only ones there when Crowley pulled the Bentley off to the side of the dirt road. They got out in tandem and walked toward the abandoned castle.
“Long time since I've been around here. I wouldn't mind making a habit of these little excursions.”
“I guess it's not half bad when you avoid tourist season.”
“You said you'd been here before?”
“Yup, I was briefly a part of Edward II entourage trying to rile up some tensions within the court. You ever meet him?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Eh, weren't missing much. He and Piers Gaveston had been inseparable. Bit annoying but mostly harmless. Tragic end, but that was pretty common for that lot back in the day.”
“Nobles?”
Crowley laughed, “Not quite, angel.”
They walked through the main archway. It had obviously changed significantly throughout the centuries, the brick and mortar now exposed to the elements, large chunks were missing and covered in moss, and yet in some ways, it hadn't changed at all. All of the roofs had crumbled away centuries ago, leaving the bright blue sky above them, with clouds blowing in from over the sea and the sun creeping higher into the sky. Birds nested throughout the ruins in little nooks and crannies, perched atop old towers and in between the remnants of windows.
“I had my fair share of adventures here as well,” Aziraphale remarked.
“Oh really?” Crowley said playfully, grin on his face. Aziraphale enjoyed the frequency with which Crowley had smiled during the trip.
“I did return once after the 7th century, mid 16ty century after it was taken over by Henry VIII. Got into a bit of a tiff with a few visiting Italians.”
“‘Bit of a tiff’? What'd you do, get into a heated argument about the marinara sauce?”
“Don't mock me, old boy. No, we handled the affair like men.” He replied primly.
Crowley turned to look at him, “You didn't duel them, did you?”
Aziraphale blushed a little, “It's not my usual style but the situation quickly escalated.”
Crowley laughed, and it echoed around them. “Did you win?”
Aziraphale looked insulted, “Of course I won! I wasn't given a flaming sword for no reason.”
“What was the argument?”
“I can't quite recall where it started but I believe it ended when he called me a son of a bitch and I replied with something along the lines of 'You dare refer to the Lord that way!?' and drew my sword.”
Crowley gave him a wicked grin, “Would have liked to see that.”
“We should spar sometime. I may be a bit out of shape but I'm sure I could show you a thing or two.”
“Definitely not. I was always rubbish with weaponry. Never really bothered with it. Prefer using my wits, and when a sword was necessary I just got someone else to do it.”
“Maybe I could teach you?”
The offer was left unanswered, the two naturally returning to a comfortable silence as they continued their exploration of the old castle and priory. It was an old place, humans had been occupying the land for 2000 years, and yet they were still much older. This castle had been in ruins for centuries, and they had been there before, during, and after. They did not feel old within the new metropolises that had popped up in the last century but in the ruins of the civilizations that they outlived by millennia. They were old, but they were old together, and now nothing was there to stop them from being so.
“Shall we go home?”
Home. Crowley liked the sound of that when Aziraphale said it.
“Yeah, let's go.”
Epilogue: Dover Castle
They drove south along the coast. Aziraphale had gone through nearly all of the CDs he had acquired in Wales, except one.
“Vera Lynn? Didn’t realize you were a fan.”
“She had such a lovely voice. They broadcast one her performances on BBC during the war and I bought a record the next day."
“How modern of you.”
“This one apparently came out this year. I like the cover art. Technology is unbelievable nowadays, over 30 tracks on a single side of this tiny disc.”
It was later in the afternoon now, Vera Lynn serenading the duo as rolling hills passed them on one side and choppy grey waves on the other. It had been a well-needed disruption in their daily routines, a literal and figurative breath of fresh air. If Crowley was being honest (which he rarely was with himself) he enjoyed spending all this time with Aziraphale. The angel had allowed himself to enjoy their vacation much more openly, but Crowley had enjoyed it too, in his own way. He was old, which he did not care to admit. Humanity had aged him. 6000 years in the pits of hell was nothing, but 6000 years amongst billions of the busiest and most diverse animals on the planet had a way of reminding your how ancient you truly are. Most humans believed that the earth was billions of years old, and that was a length of time that Crowley did not care to imagine. Revisiting all of these old castles and villages reminded him just how much he had experienced already, so much more than any person could imagine, longer than any given human civilization. Up until now, the future had been finite, but now, thinking about all that he could still experience here on earth with seemingly no expiration date was equal parts exciting and terrifying. He looked over at the angel. He kept doing that throughout the trip. Glancing over at Aziraphale in the passenger seat, either reading a book or looking out at the scenery and on one extremely treasured stretch of the drive when he closed his eyes and ‘slept’ (Crowley doubted he had been completely successful in his attempt but it was a marvel to behold regardless.) How many more vacations would they have? How far would they go? The anxiety that had hovered over their previous encounters still loomed slightly, but it was quickly fading with each passing month. Where would they be in a year? He was nervous, terrified even. But looking over at the angel, the knot in his stomach seemed to disentangle itself slowly but surely.
Aziraphale’s thoughts were significantly less deep. He was extremely happy with how the vacation had shaped up and was excited to plan out the next. He was still ready to be back home in his bookshop, he could only handle so much excitement and travel, but it had been energizing and thrilling in its own way. This trip had reminded him why he had settled in England. For all its flaws (notably the weather. Crowley would have also said the politics but Aziraphale didn’t make a habit of keeping up with current affairs), it was a beautiful country filled with kind and well-intentioned people. And had produced its fair share of good music. He had not listened to Vera Lynn in a while but somehow all those old tunes were still in his head as he hummed along watching the sun descend closer to the horizon. He saw a sign that said ‘London’ and when Crowley did not turn onto it, he looked over at the demon curiously.
“Thought we’d make one more stop before heading back home. Just a bit further south.”
Aziraphale was in no rush, so he made no objection. He slid back into his spot up against the window, head perched on his hand. They view slowly grew more and more populated, quaint villages into small towns and then again into cities. Aziraphale closed his eyes, just enjoying the music, enjoying the peace, enjoying Crowley. Even though he was not saying anything the demon's presence was so easily felt. He let himself soak up that feeling and they carried on. They crossed over the Thames and slowly returned to those quaint villages and green fields. The drive wasn’t very long (almost certainly to do with the incredibly dangerous speeds the Bentley had been driving at). They got out of the car and Aziraphale gazed upwards towards the imposing structure in front of them. It was well preserved, in a much better condition than the other castles they had visited. The main keep was surrounded by enormous walls on all sides. The castle itself stood upon a hill overlooking the English Channel. The sun was setting over the water far in the distance. Crowley hadn’t driven them up to the main castle, instead of off to the side closer to the rocky cliffs.
“Dover Castle, the Key of England.”
Crowley got out off the car without turning it off so the music continued to pour out of the Bentley. Aziraphale followed, meeting Crowley who had walked around the car to his side. “Red Sails in the Sunset” faded out and familiar flute and string orchestra began to play.
“They’ll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover.”
Aziraphale began to blush, “Oh my dear, you didn't.” Except, when Aziraphale said ‘my dear’ the accent was not on the my and full of disbelief or frustration, but on the dear, and was not so much of an exclamation than a term of endearment, gentle and full of care. Crowley would never say it aloud, but he adored the way it sounded out of Aziraphale’s mouth, and especially since it was directed at him. He didn’t respond, instead, leaning against the angel watching the sunset over the castle, which he hoped was in of itself enough of an answer.
Now it should be noted that ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ was that in fact included in the recording Aziraphale had purchased, but Crowley did not know that and imagined that it must be, and so there it was, just in time. The song (miraculously) matched up perfectly with the setting sun. Crowley (or maybe it had been Aziraphale. Both had slowly drifted into each other as night fell, hands brushing up against the others) slowly slipped his hand into that of his best friend. A quiet display of affection that meant so much as the stars began to emerge from the darkening the sky.
“Tomorrow, just you wait and see.”
#fanfiction#good omens#original work#gofanexchange#apologies for my tangents on classical music and historic queer people#and I am 100% sure I missed a few typos here and there#Hope you enjoy!
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403: City Limits
I only have one story about this movie and that’s how a while back I had a dream in which Kim Cattrall and Jennifer Connolly were trying to escape from an evil toy factory owned by Nicholas Cage, and in the dream I was thinking wow, City Limits is different than I remember. Moving on.
In the non-dream version of the movie, a plague has killed off all the adults except James Earl Jones – I must admit, if you have to keep one he’s a pretty good choice. He adopts some bland kid named Lee, who grows up, puts on a Cubone costume, and heads off into the ruins of Los Angeles to find other badly-dressed, motorcycle-riding survivors like him. If he had any sense, he’d have stayed in the middle of nowhere with Horse Girl, since the first bunch he meets try to arrest him and the second just aren’t impressed by his resume. Lee ends up killing some guy named Dirty Bob, so the various motorcycle gangs that now rule the world decide to subject him to trial by combat, based on something they read in a comic book. Somehow this results in smashing a couple of dinosaur skeletons and uniting the gangs to take on the federally authorized Sunia Corporation, who shoot anybody who doesn’t want to work for them. What the hell happened to Horse Girl?
Yeah, I have a lot of trouble following what is going on in this movie. Most of it takes place in poorly-lit darkness, the characters all look alike and dress like piles of laundry, and nothing anybody does is properly motivated. There’s something almost Ed-Wood-ian about the way scenes in City Limits refuse to add up to a narrative. Reaction shots get dropped in with no explanation of why characters are reacting the way they are, and there’s some bits, like the Beer Santa or what Yogi sees out the window, that I honestly can’t tell whether they’re flashbacks or not. It’s a good thing the narrating voice of James Earl Jones shows up from time to time to tell us what people are doing, or else I would have no idea.
What does the Sunia company want? They say they want to provide electricity and food for the world, and if this is just a front for something evil we never hear about it. Shooting people who won’t work for them is pretty evil, but if there’s a larger Evil Plan at work I couldn’t tell. What do the Clippers and the DA’s want? They might have had some kind of system of their own at work before Sunia showed up but all we hear about is the truce between the two. What was Lee’s plan at the end? Why bother having people zoom in on armored motorbikes if Albert was right there with the air support? Why the hell is Carver the main villain when he never even gets out of his fucking chair?
Note To Self: if I ever want to conquer the world, I should avoid saying I am inevitable. It doesn’t go well for anybody.
Maybe Sunia isn’t the problem, but the government that sponsor them? Possibly, but we know even less about what passes for ‘the federal government’ in this dystopia than we do about Sunia. We never meet anybody who represents them. What kind of government can you have after almost everybody over the age of twelve died of the plague? This is one of those things that, if the movie hadn’t brought it up, I would never have thought about it – but once they’ve mentioned it, it bugs me.
The impression I’m left with is City Limits is basically a sequence of ideas somebody thought were cool, with minimal effort made to string them together into an actual story. Skull Helmet? Cool. Motorcycle race through dinosaur bones? Very cool! Biker Viking Funeral? Extremely cool! James Earl Jones blowing shit up with RC kamikaze airplanes? What could be cooler than that? And yeah, all this stuff is fun to watch, but unfortunately that’s just not the same as actually caring about it.
Without coherence or character development to get us interested, the audience is left in exactly the spot Space Mutiny managed to avoid: we just don’t see the point. The only real entertainment value in the film is a few moments of amusing absurdity sprinkled in here and there. The fake-ass dinosaur skeleton is hilarious – as is the establishing shot of the museum, which looks extremely well-groomed for having been ruled by motorcycle gangs for fifteen years. The stinger moment of Bolo hollering in panic as the dinky RC plane closes in to blow him up also got a laugh out of me. Even these would be much improved, though, if we had a better idea what was actually going on.
Because of all this stuff stacked against me giving a shit, I had to watch the movie twice to get anything out of it. On the second viewing, when I stopped expecting to understand what was happening in the plot, I managed to find a couple of interesting ideas peeking out. One was how, here and there, City Limits tries to create a culture for these people who were abandoned as children. Like the film itself, this is based on what a twelve-year-old might think looks cool: the clothes and lairs made out of scavenged bits of 80’s culture. The party-animal, bike-riding lifestyle. The use of comic books as a guide to what life was like before the apocalypse. The weird funeral they hold for Whitey. There’s a Trashpunk Neverland sort of vibe to the whole thing, as if we really are in a world designed by children who never grew up. I wonder if that’s brilliant, or just a poor reflection on the maturity of the film-makers.
The other is an apparently earnest attempt to say something about colonialism. Dr. Wickings (who the hell is giving out doctorates after the end of the world?) argues that the bikers are human beings who are just defending their homeland, and should be treated with compassion. Her bosses at Sunia reply that the bikers are barbarians who need to be gotten out of the way. This is the logic of everybody, everywhere, who has ever conquered anybody else. The Romans said it about the Gauls, the Spaniards said it about the Aztecs, the bad guys in Avatar said it about the Na’vi. In each case, the conquerors who call the conquered ‘barbarians’ use it as an excuse to treat them barbarously.
This is stated explicitly enough in City Limits that it’s clearly intentional, and the analogy continues: Sunia has technology the locals don’t, and that could be of real benefit to everybody – but Sunia aren’t interested in peaceful trade or selfless charity, and the only benefit they want is for themselves (presumably, since like I said, their overall plan is never gone into). The natives had plenty of problems and enmities of their own before this outside force showed up, but they had a system and it worked before Sunia pitted them against each other for gain (again, presumably).
As a theme, this falls apart in two places, both of which I’ve already mentioned. First, we don’t care – we don’t know who these characters are and we can’t tell them apart, so we’re not invested in whether they get conquered or not. I think the laundry-heap costumes are also a major contributor to this. They tend to make all the characters look alike, jumbles of colour without distinguishable silhouettes. Costuming can say quite a lot about a character, but if there’s too much going on the details get lost.
Second, we don’t really have a compelling reason to consider Sunia the bad guys. I swear I know better now than to expect that MST3K cut anything that really mattered, but it was still kind of a surprise to find that there was no missing scene that detailed Sunia’s Evil Master Plan. A supervillain with no Evil Plan is a pretty lousy supervillain, even if his non-evil plan is to be achieved by evil means, and especially when we don’t care about the victims. We just don’t know enough about what was going on here before Sunia showed up to be able to say if it was better or worse in any way. As it stands, Sunia’s offer of food, medicine, electricity, and an end to the gang warfare seems like a pretty good idea to me.
A couple more random notes that didn’t fit anywhere else in the review: since I work in that field myself, I have to say that I’m happy glasses survived the end of civilization. It must be much easier to rediscover all the other technologies when everybody can see. Maybe that’s why there’s so much gasoline and electricity in this post-apocalyptic world – people like James Earl Jones and Kim Cattrall with their glasses could see well enough to keep them coming!
Then there’s the fact that everywhere Lee goes, girls kinda smile awkwardly at him and then immediately take his side. Horse Girl does it, Kim Cattrall does it, Rae Dawn Chong does it… why? There seem to be lots of boys around, so it’s not like the apocalypse left the world with a shortage of dick. This is why so-called ‘incels’ go on shooting sprees – because movies like this have told them that dull white boys should have girls all over them just because they showed up.
Seriously, what the hell happened to Horse Girl? Why was she even in the movie? She comes and goes before the opening credits are over and has no effect on the plot. Did she reappear somewhere and I just never noticed? That’s one of the big rules of storytelling, folks – if you place a horse on the mantlepiece in Act I, you have to use it!
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Prince Lestat, and a review of Heliophobia perfume from Sixteen92
Title: Prince Lestat Author: Anne Rice Rating: ★★☆☆☆ Series: The Vampire Chronicles
Perfume: Heliophobia House: Sixteen92 Collection: Friday the 13th Limited Edition Rating: ★★★★★
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First, I have to confess that the two stars I’ve allotted Prince Lestat are almost entirely sentimental: Prince Lestat is terrible, but I love Anne Rice. Two stars for my love, and for me at least it holds a peculiar kind of nostalgic charm, though the book is so bad I dragged myself through it,
When I was little (about ten) I had a truly awful fansite on Geocities, dripping blood horizontal rules and all. I haven’t read Interview with the Vampire in a while but I will list it as one of my favourite books ever, and actually I think Feast of All Saints is an amazing non-vampire book of hers that’s largely overlooked. There’s a break in continuity in my Vampire Chronicles fandom, the last book I read was Vittorio when it came out, it was so bad that I lapsed for years, until recently I started following Anne Rice on social media and saw that she had a new book out called Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis. I rolled my eyes a little at the title but it did make me want to revisit the vampire world.
It seems the books between Vittorio and Prince Lestat were Mayfair Witches crossovers. I’m not a big Mayfair Witches fan, and Anne Rice proclaimed Prince Lestat the ‘true sequel to Queen of the Damned’, so I think it’s safe to skip over them straight to this. If it’s been so long you’ve forgotten the special terms Anne Rice uses throughout her vampire world, don’t worry, there’s a glossary in the front (the section is called ‘Blood Argot’).
As I mentioned it’s been over a decade since I last touched Interview with the Vampire and I can’t quite remember if it was this self-important and ponderous and overwritten, but in my memory, it was not.
I think Interview with the Vampire had such appeal because of the underlying desire for immortality that drove it and, in particular, the wish for an immortal child, while knowing that immortality was a cursed existence, that made it so powerful. This is absent in Prince Lestat, and the vampires are sort of beautiful, superhuman, mostly super-rich, and they feel comfortably detached from the kind of soul searching in her earlier vampire novels.
The plot itself isn’t terrible, and the book holds some interesting ideas.
Spoilers under the cut:
The plot of Prince Lestat is that there’s a Voice (referred to In Capitals), and the Voice has been telling vampires to destroy each other and sowing discord in the vampire world. Surprise, the Voice is actually Amel, the ‘spirit’ that entered Akasha the QotD, except now Amel is actually an alien being. Another of these alien beings had named himself Gremt Stryker Knollys and started the Talamasca.
So this Voice has thrown the vampire world into discord. Our little Chronicles family of vampires (Louis, Marius, etc. etc.) had moved out of Paris and New Orleans because, and I paraphrase, the riff raff had moved into those cities, which sounds a lot like some vampire version of white flight, and now cocoon themselves in, of course, brownstones on the Upper East Side. Benji (if you don’t remember who he is, he’s from The Vampire Armand, which also isn’t a great book) now runs a podcast, which conveniently broadcasts at a pitch too low for human ears, in which he lists the recent troubled news of the vampire world, entreats all of vampiredom to coalesce into a sort of vampire brotherhood, and calls for the ‘elders’ but especially Lestat to step up as leaders and come save them all.
All the vampires in this book are obsessed with Lestat.
Before I get more into that, now for a quick overview of the structure of this book:
Part I is a sort of overview of the world, including I think the most interesting part of the book, we’re introduced to a vampire scientist, Fareed, who’s doing scientific research into what exactly a vampire is. He inducts other scientists into vampiredom, they all have a research lab, and here Anne Rice glosses over the specifics of how the biology of vampires apparently works, maybe through a lack of desire to do background research, I don’t know, but I kind of prefer that to an elaboration of the strange pseudoscience.
In Part II, various supporting characters/vampires/vampire groups get their own chapter each, except that the chapters are very similar to each other and this gets repetitive and obnoxious. I got through it, but honestly if you skim quickly through the bulk of it I don’t think it would make a huge difference. In truth I don’t remember many of the vampires from the previous books, or maybe they were in the books I skipped, there’s a mortal girl called Rose who’s like Lestat’s godchild or something, I’m not sure if she’s been in the series before but it doesn’t really matter because her entire life is summarised, and by the way Lestat has a kid called Viktor. You’ll see.
So each vampire chapter pretty much goes like this: vampire is beautiful, reminisces about the past. They live mostly alone, in posh dwellings with scented candles and tapestries and fluffy rugs and expensive artisanal carved wooden furniture and Ipads and Bose speakers (Anne Rice should have product placement) and all the trappings of the wealthy. They all sound the same despite being different people born in different eras. The voice speaks to them, they resist, and they contemplate how wonderful and amazing Lestat is, and how they wish to see him, and/or how they wish he would be their glorious leader.
If you made it through Part II, Part III does actually end with him becoming their glorious leader. Hence the title.
Lestat’s egotism is more palatable when reading in Lestat’s own voice, but an entire vampire world so enamoured with Lestat, I don’t know how I feel about it.
There are things I like about this book that I wish Anne Rice would have touched more on: the vampire science, the plight of the skulking-in-the-shadows vampire in the modern age of Google Maps and Insta, the workings of the Talamasca, aliens. The ideas are definitely interesting. I do think it would have been a much better book if a good chunk in the middle had been ripped out and the (frankly somewhat embarrassing) florid language had been edited out - though this might be Anne Rice’s doing rather than Knopf’s, and I suppose it could be considered to have its own rococo charm.
Will I, like a chump, read Atlantis, despite being disappointed by several of the Chronicles books? Yes, like a chump, I will. I also look forward to the possible Vampire Chronicles series that will apparently be made at some point soon (or maybe never), although I fear in my heart it’ll suck (pun inevitable). I guess you could call me a fan who’s returned to the Church of Lestat.
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Heliophobia
My Anne Rice/Vampire Chronicles fandom is why I bought Heliophobia. The description goes: ‘the fear of sunlight – once believed to be a telltale sign of vampirism. Its scent is shadowy and reclusive; the crumbling and overgrown garden path of a long-forgotten estate, drenched in moonlight and delicate wisps of fog, pierced with a subtle tinge of the scent of untamed fear lurking in the shadows’, which is very vampire, and the notes of ‘climbing ivy, faded magnolia blooms, moonlit vines, cracked solarium glass, splintered wood, peeling wallpaper, humid air, fog & shadow, feral musk’, which makes it not just not any vampires, but specifically Anne Rice, moonlight and magnolias, giant dusty mansion type vampiric scent.
As you can guess it doesn’t actually smell like cracked solarium glass or shadows. I’m not exactly sure what those smell like. It smells largely of magnolia, magnolias and dust, a muted magnolia, like magnolias in an old house. It’s redolent of Interview with the Vampire, very beautiful. I’m so pleased with it and I recommend it if you like indie perfumes and early Vampire Chronicles. Put this perfume on, sit in your brocade armchair or whatever with your glass of red wine or dark grape juice or otherwise blood-reminiscent liquids, and reread your favourite vampire books.
Sixteen92 does excellent atmospheric scents and I like many of her perfumes, several are book themed and she had a whole Southern Lit series if you’re into that. You can order this from the Sixteen92 website but it’s only available on Friday the 13ths. The next one is March 2020.
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6, 24, 27, 47
6. how did writing change you?
I think it made me overall more confident in myself, and it drastically improved my English, which is a nice plus, lol. Also, since creativity usually feeds itself, I now find it much easier to come up with new ideas. And I made some amazing friends along the way!
24. favorite scene you’ve ever written
It’s always so hard for me to pick favourites, lol.
Let’s go with a scene from Stormborn and the Black Dread.
“You're back,” she softly murmured, her voice broken and fatigued.
His gaze fell on her breasts before she could cover herself, and he had to swallow in surprise, his eyes widening. “Dany... What's- what's that?”
There was a scar over her heart, in the same spot he bore his own, a few black-red scales that stubbornly clung to her skin. "Why aren't they retracting?" he asked, worry flooding him.
“They never do,” she murmured, her gaze cast on the ground.
Her eyes were glassy, her hands clenching over the scales as if to hide them, or to tear them away.
Jon went silent as he approached her to wrap her up in his cloak, rubbing her back and shoulders through the material to warm her up. Dany whimpered, tears springing free. She groaned in displeasure, and turned her face away from him, hastily wiping them away.
“Dany,” he called, his voice soft. “It's alright. Let's warm you up.” He gently took her hands in his own, guiding her inside her tower. She's so cold. She needs the fire.
Jon guided her until they were standing in front of the lit hearth in her room. When he turned to look at her again, her cheeks were covered in tears. He hugged her lightly, hoping that it would help warm her up sooner.
“It's not alright. It will never be,” she sobbed against his chest. “I will be stuck with this curse forever, and sooner or later even you will get tired of me, and I will be alone as I was before.”
Jon tightened his grasp around her shivering form, hating that she would ever think that. “That's not going to happen. I could barely endure leaving you alone when I had to, you know? Not a day went by that I didn't miss you,” he whispered, but she shook her head in denial, her face contorted with grief.
“I was so stupid, Jon,” she sobbed, struggling to wipe the tears away from her face. “I should never have done it. Mama Ame would be so mad at me, if only she knew...” Another loud sob escaped from her lips.
Jon kept rubbing her back, feeling her body slowly relax in his arms.
“What happened?” he asked softly, so softly he wondered if she heard him, for a moment, until she forcibly swallowed.
"There were... books. Mama Ame had them in the bottom of a trunk, almost like she wanted to hide them. They spoke of advanced spells, the kind of which she never taught me," she sniffed, regaining a bit of her composure, even as her eyes refused to meet his. "I was curious, and I read them. And they-" Dany choked, gulping. "There was promise, Jon, such a marvellous promise to me, stupid girl that I was. Mama Ame always warned me against such dark magic, and I was so stupid...”
"Dark magic?" Jon felt dread rising in his chest, a sense of foreboding that made him hug her tighter, to shield her from the weight of her own revelation, but she tore away from him, almost hiding in his cloak.
“Aye,” she weakly nodded. “I knew it would be a difficult spell... even dangerous. But I wanted to see her, it said that it could open the gates of the otherworld to gifted witches, and Mama Ame always told me I had greater powers than any other witch she ever met- it was so stupid, this is the curse of my arrogance!”
“To see her? Mama Ame?”
“No- oh, I missed her every day since the day she died, but no... I promised to let her rest. But my mother by blood... I was consumed by the thought of her! It was such a stupid hope, I know.” Dany's eyes went glassy, her lips trembling with the emotions that she was struggling to contain. Her hand squeezed at her chest, right where the scar was. “I never made it to the otherworld.”
She finally looked at him then, her eyes red, pleading for his understanding.
"I just- I just wanted to meet my mother," she sobbed, tears flowing on her cheeks.
Jon gulped, feeling his blood pulse violently in his veins at the sight of the trembling woman in front of him, as the true weight of her loneliness dawned on him, of the unfairness of it all. He closed his eyes, throat suddenly dry, his scarred hand clenching and unclenching uncontrollably. The darkness threatened to swallow him whole, and he had to look at her again to steady himself.
"I've been there," he finally confessed, Dany snapped her eyes open in confusion, her mouth parting in a silent gasp as she grasped the true meaning of his muttered words. "There's nothing there, Dany. Only the darkness," he choked out, his voice breaking.
He could see Dany's heart break as the harsh truth sank in, the despair in her violet orbs a sharp knife that seemed to cut the life out of him yet again.
Jon moved before he could realize what he was doing, engulfing her tiny form in his arms and squeezing it as if his life depended on it, and cried with her. This exiled Princess, gifted with wondrous powers and cursed with neverending loneliness, far before she ever morphed into her dragon form. This beautiful, kind, amazing woman that deserved better, and only had him, sad bastard that he was, whom she could share her grief with.
How long they stayed like that, he didn't know. At some point, they had ended up slumped on the floor, a tangle of limbs and cloaks and wracking sobs.
If only his love could be water, surrounding her in its formless warmth, letting heat seep into her every crevice until she wouldn't feel lonely anymore. He wished he could take all of her pain, absorbing it in himself to let her be free and careless and bright. I can take it, he thought. I can take it all.
"No," she croaked from the nape of his neck, voice high-pitched and hoarse. "You don't deserve it any more than I do." Her hands were grasping at his cloak like a lifeline. He hadn't realized he had talked aloud. "You deserve to be happy, too. To be loved," she sobbed. "There's so much to love in you, Jon-"
He groaned, bidding farewell to his last ounce of restraint. His mouth sought the softness of her lips, and he drank from them like he was a starved man at a feast. She gasped in surprise, but she let his lips bruise hers and whimpered delightfully when his tongue sought entrance in her mouth, the taste sweeter than he ever dreamt.
“I love you,” he whispered against her neck, her lips, her ear. “Gods help me, I love you.”
27. best review you ever got
I got a lot of lovely reviews! But this one on Dust Under Brightness might be one of the best:
47. how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?
I’m currently working on three different projects: In the Midnight Hour (I’m so close to finishing it!), my upcoming three-part story Playground Love and a dark!Jonerys collab with the talented @tomakeitbeautifultolive.
Thanks for the ask, my love!
asks for fanfic writers
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