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flautistsandpeonies · 3 years

Text

Reformation Part 1

Read the Previous Chapter [Here]

Word Length: 4,877

Summary: A parting from Lotus Pier and a therapeutic stay at the Cloud recesses.

As the morning sun rose steadily in the sky, the sound of cultivators waking from restless sleeps and the flurry of the previous evening filled the spacious halls of Lotus Pier. Disciples dressed in their robes and polished their blades while servants shuffled about the sect with crates of materials for the competition only hours away.

The gates to the pier were open as always; civilians also getting ready for the morning couldn’t help but peak inside the tall, polished wooden doors. The grounds of the sect were overloaded with disciples of some of the minor sects. Because of the events from yesterday, some had changed their minds about competing in the competition, feeling Lotus Pier was not a healthy environment for their juniors and opted to cut their losses and return home.

Most damning however, were the group of Lan sect members preparing to depart with Wei WuXian amongst them.

“Are you sure you want to ride on your sword back to the Cloud Recesses, Young Master Wei? One of us wouldn’t mind carrying you, “Lan XiChen stated while watching the young man unsheathe his sword

“No, no, I can fly just fine, no worries, “Wei WuXian replied, giving him a small smile in return

“We’re just worried about your wounds, “XiChen started but paused, walking over and placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “Don’t...be afraid to ask for help.”

Blinking in surprise, Wei WuXian could only nod slowly in acquiescence.

“The sooner we leave the better. We’ll have Lan Yu look over your wounds, “Lan Qiren spoke while fixing his qiankun bag over his shoulder

“So, you really are leaving, “Wei WuXian, hearing the familiar voice, turned to be faced with a glowering Jiang WanYin

The Jiang sect heir was covered in a cloak of envy and enmity, his eyes were alight, almost electrified with emotion. Dressed in rich robes befitting his station, the cast and sling around Jiang WanYin’s arm was as bright as a dead rat in a pile of jewels.

“Jiang Cheng, “Wei WuXian frowned

“Father told me I’d be head disciple until you decided to return, “Jiang WanYin sneered, “Guess I’m supposed to pick up your scraps from now on.”

“It’s only for a few months, Jiang Cheng, “Wei WuXian replied, “I’ll....I’ll be back before you know it.”

The sight of Jiang WanYin near Wei WuXian immediately put every cultivator on the grounds on alert; apprehension filled the air as they noticed that the young cultivator had once again acquired Zidian from his mother.

“I’m supposed to lead this competition now, “Jiang WanYin continued, “Though I suppose if you didn’t start whining about your wounds, you’d still do it before you left, huh? After all, it is your work father is showing off.”

Sighing, Wei WuXian sheathed his sword and walked a bit to Jiang WanYin, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You should be happy Uncle Jiang is giving you this opportunity. If he sees how capable you are, he might let you keep the title of head disciple by the time I get back.”

Slapping his hand away, Jiang WanYin growled, “What’s the use of being head disciple now! Now that everyone thinks your some amazing cultivator and I’m some useless twit. Everyone’s gonna think I’m only head disciple cause father’s pitying me, but I guess that’s what you want, isn’t it!?”

Face flushed red in anger, he truly was the spitting image of his mother. Breathing harshly and glaring down his shixiong, the sect heir twisted the ring on his finger, agitation in his eyes.

Bringing a couple a fingers to his head, Wei WuXian massaged his temples, “Jiang Cheng, just...*sigh* I...should go. I’ll see you in a few months.”

About to turn back to the Lans, Wei WuXian was caught in a harsh grip by his lapels.

“Leave? Leave so you can evade responsibility for the shit-show you created?!, “Jiang WanYin shouted at him

Grabbing his shidi’s wrist, Wei WuXian demanded, “Let me go.”

A few senior disciples of the minor sects made way to step forward, however, none were as close as the Lans, who moved together as one near the ensuing conflict.

“My mother went into seclusion because of you!, “Jiang WanYin screeched, “Have you heard what people are saying about her? They’re calling her a lunatic and a demented woman with authority! Am I just supposed to stand there and take it while her integrity is being slandered? How dare you try abandon responsibility and go off with the Lan Sect, have you no loyalty to YunmengJiang!?”

Lan WangJi stepped in front of Wei WuXian, blocking Jiang WanYin’s assault, “Yu-Furens actions are her own, “He said tersely, “She suffers her own consequences.”

“Suffering her own consequences? She’s being tormented because this snake couldn’t help but show off! But I guess that doesn’t matter to the Lan Sect, now does it? You have that big library filled with who knows what; you probably want this deserter to fill an entire new section, huh?, “Jiang WanYin sneered in Lan WangJi’s face

“Wei Ying may choose to share his knowledge with whomever he wishes. The Lan Sect will endeavor to support his research. He needn’t fear abuse for elevating our collective knowledge of cultivation, “Lan WangJi spoke low and deep

Eyes widening in anger, Zidian cracked against the Jiang heir’s finger. For the slightest moment, the grounds were filled with the thoughts of a Jiang/Lan warfare if Jiang WanYin decided to strike the second heir to the notorious sect.

“Enough!, “Wei WuXian exclaimed, sensing the growing hostility between the two, “Lan Zhan, let’s just go. Please.”

“Mn, “Lan WangJi replied and raised an arm in the direction his clansmen were waiting, “After you.”

Giving a sideways glance at Jiang WanYin, Wei WuXian simply nodded at the man, knowing words would only escalate the situation. Jiang WanYin scoffed at him, doubling back to the inner halls of the sect.

Turning on their heels, Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian rejoined their group and mounted their swords. In seconds, a huddle of white - and one purple - clad disciples were flying through the air.

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“How often did the Violet Spider whip you, Wei WuXian, “the Lan’s chief doctor, Lan Yu asked while running spiritual energy laced hands down the man’s back

Laying shirtless on an examining table, Wei WuXian said nothing while she examined his injuries, a look of indifference upon his face. Having unbandaged his wounds, his back was still bright in color, draining to a light pink over the many hours.

“I’ll remind you that gossip is forbidden amongst the Lans, Young Master Wei, “Lan Yu stated after there was no reply, “You do not have to concern yourself yourself with Madam Yu’s reputation while in our presence; I simply want to know more about my patient’s history.”

Pursing his lips, Wei WuXian still did not reply.

Giving a low hum, Lan Yu retracted their hands and step to the side to retrieve salve and new bandages.

“I hope that you will come to trust us, Young Master Wei, “Lan Yu replied in a low voice as they started to apply the salve, “We Lans haven’t invited you here simply because of your research.”

“I never said you did, “was the first thing Wei WuXian said the entire time he’d be there

“True, you didn’t, “the doctor unfurled the bandages and started to wrap them tight around his person, “I just hope you don’t think that’s the reason. Had anyone else been in your position, I’m sure our Twin Jades would have helped them all the same.”

“Yeah, that does sound like them, “Wei WuXian cracked his neck and then joked, “I thought there would’ve been rule forbidding interaction with me by now, though.”

Pinning the bandages with a couple of clips, Lan Yu gave Wei WuXian a final once over with their spiritual energy.

“Everything looks to be in working order, “they nodded in satisfaction

“That’s good, “Wei WuXian gave them a wide grin, “Now Lan Zhan can stop giving me that doe-eyed look.”

“Doe-eyed?, “Lan Yu raised a brow

A knock sounded at the door, “Lan Yu, may we enter?, “Lan XiChen’s voice was on the other side

“Yes, of course, “they replied while giving the Jiang cultivator another inquisitive glance

Stepping inside, the older jade nodded at the doctor before turning his smile toward the man on the table. Lan WangJi tentatively stepped into the room, standing side by side with his brother.

“Uncle had to head down to Caiyi to check on the Waterborne Abyss, but he promises to be back later today, “Lan XiChen started, “WangJi and I have a night-hunt to get to, but he wanted to check on Young Master Wei before we left.”

“Aw, Lan Zhan, “Wei WuXian said with a teasing lilt in this voice, “I told you I was fine, no need to hold up your night-hunt checking on little old me.”

Lan WangJi blinked at him before looking to Lan Yu, “Is he?”

Wei WuXian rolled his eyes while slipping off the examination table. Walking over to his robes set side and folded neatly by an assistant on a nearby chair, he began to dress.

“Infection has not set in and his meridians are stable, “Lan Yu stated more to the two other Lans than Wei WuXian, “I recommend Young Master Wei take some time out of his schedule to visit the Cold Springs to help accelerate his healing.”

Lan WangJi nodded and gave a bow to the doctor, “I will make him go there as much as possible.”

“Ai-ya, Lan Zhan, “Wei WuXian gaped at his words and put his hands on his hips, “You say that like I’m gonna run away or something.”

“Wei Ying declined Lan Yu’s treatment when we got here this morning, “Lan WangJi gave a glare to the other man, “I had to drag you here.”

The doctor turned to raise a concerned brow at him; Wei WuXian blushed and turned his head away.

“Young Master Wei..., “Lan Yu started

“I’m fine, I’m fine. All of you treating me like some porcelain vase, ah,what am I supposed to think, “Wei WuXian waved them away, “Didn’t you say you had a night-hunt? Best get going, hmm?”

“It shouldn’t take long, “Lan XiChen bowed to the doctor in thanks as well, “We should be back after breakfast tomorrow.”

Sliding on his outer robe, WeI WuXian replied, “Then....I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

...

The next day, Wei WuXian found himself in the Hanshi with Lan Xichen, a sea of cultivation notes strewn about the desk and themselves.

“I never thought you’d let me hold Liebeng, Zewu-jun, “Wei WuXian caressed the flute with a curious look on this face

To his side, Lan XiChen was giving the same amount of attention to Wei WuXian’s ChenQing.

“She’s beautiful; did you craft it yourself, “XiChen fiddled with the jade token on its tassel

“Mhmm, took me forever to find the right piece of bamboo, then even longer to purify and etch in blessings, “WuXian smiled twirling Liebeng

“Is there any specific song you want to play?, “WuXian handed the white xiao back to its owner while retrieving his dizi from the first jade’s hand

“We can play anything really, but I’d like to try a few of my clan’s techniques, “XiChen started, “I’m curious if it’s a instrumental difference or a personal difference in the effects of the song.”

“Right, right, so then we could start with Cleansing or Clarity?, “XiChen and WuXian started to shuffle through the mountain of notes they had accumulated

A light knock sounded at the door before a servant came in, “Young Master Wei, you have received some letters.”

“Already?, “the young man raised a brow while rising from the piles of parchments, “Well, thank you for bringing them.”

Taking the satchel from their hands, he shifted through the parcels. Prim folded letters filled the bag.

An uncomfortable frown found its way onto Wei WuXian’s face, “Ah, these people don’t know when to quit.”

Taking a letter from the tote, the official sign of the PingyangYao sect shined back at him.

XiChen had a bemused smiled watching as a cloud of frustration lined Wei WuXian’s brow.

“That seems like a lot to get through; I can help you pen a few replies, “he tried his best not to laugh

“Ah, Zewu-jun is a life saver.”

...

A few days later, Wei WuXian was asked to attend to a class with Lan Qiren. Being awoken at the ridiculous hour of six in the morning, Wei WuXian found himself in a room filled with juniors not unlike his own lectures seven years ago.

Resisting a yawn, he greeted them, “Morning Little Lans.”

“Good morning, Senior Wei, “the white clad disciples bowed in greeting before sitting down in perfect Lan posture, not reacting to his nickname for them

“We still have a few minutes before your Lan-laoshi gets here, “Wei WuXian started, sitting on Lan Qiren’s desk in the front of the classroom, “Before we’re all stuck in here for hours, any questions?”

The younger disciples suddenly piqued up, all rising from their seats, faces a light with curiosity. Being too young to attend the infamous lecture and banquet, they were left in the Cloud Recesses to read the materials. After, they were overwhelmed with gossip and tales from Caiyi town, and now the center of the commotion was right in front of them.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“How are your back wounds, Senior Wei?”

“How many night-hunts did you have to go on to write all those books?”

Surrounding the older man, the disciples hammered on with their questions and didn’t notice Lan Qiren stepping into the room. A notch appeared on the older man’s forehead as he watched the tornado of students in the front of the class.

“How often were you whipped?”

“Do you plan on going back to your sect, or staying here?”

“Enough!, “Lan Qiren’s voice boomed making all of them flinch, “All of you will copy Etiquette fifty times after class.”

Wei WuXian chuckled at the now dejected faces of the students as they returned to their seats, “Ah, Lan-Laoshi, don’t you think that’s a bit much? They were just curious is all.”

“Should I assign you lines for corrupting our youth?, “The man was stern faced, taping his hand with a scroll, scowling at the younger man, “I also don’t think you finished from the last time you were here; shall I re-instate the punishment?”

Face suddenly covered with sweat, Wei WuXian addressed the students, “Now, now, listen to your Lan-laoshi. I’m....gonna go find your second young master. Where might he be? The library? The library. See you Little Lans.”

Striding out of the room, the students were agape as the Jiang cultivator made a quick escape.

“Senior Wei!, “they cried, “Aren’t you supposed to help teach today?”

“Don’t forget your essays tonight!, “Wei WuXian’s voice called from far off

...

A week later, Wei WuXian found himself in a field with Lan WangJi, along with a few hundred guests.

“Ah, do you really have an entire field of rabbits, Lan Zhan?, “Shuffling through the tall grass, the little balls of fluff jumped here and there to avoid the large human man

“Not mine, “Lan WangJi replied, “I only come to feed them everyone once in a while.”

“And to think that you refused the two I gave you..., “Turning with a large grin , Wei WuXian was suddenly awestruck, “Wait...are those?”

Cuddled in Lan WangJi’s arms were two rabbits, one black and one white. The black rabbit happily kicked its feet against Lan WangJi’s arms while crunching on a piece of lettuce. The white one, on the other hand, chewed sedately, nose twitching at it’s companion.

“Wei Ying’s rabbits, “Lan WangJi brought them closer to Wei WuXian

Taking the white rabbit with one hand, Wei WuXian felt his cheeks flaring up and rubbed the back of his neck, “Ah, Lan Zhan, you must really like rabbits, hmm?”

“ Xiongzhang brought the rest here; I feed them and play music sometimes, “WangJi said, bending down to sit primly in the grass

The Second Jade of Lan was immediately surrounded from all angles by the army of white fur.

Following suit, Wei WuXian was enamored to watch with his chin in his hands, Lan WangJi feed each and every rabbit their own piece of carrot or lettuce, tapping those trying to steal from others on their small little noses.

Covering his face with his hands, Wei WuXian entire body heated up, ‘Lan Zhan, you really are too cute!, ‘he thought

“Wei Ying?, “Peeking through his eyes, Lan WangJi was staring at him

“Huh, oh nothing, “taking the white rabbit back into his hands, he spoke, “so, what’s your name, hmm.”

The white rabbit didn’t seem to be impressed, eyes solely focused on its companion, watching as it claimed Lan WangJi’s lap as its throne, swatting away any other bunny that tried to join it.

“Eh, it’s ignoring me, “shaking the animal lightly, WuXian snarked, “It’s Lan Zhan in rabbit form!”

“Then Yin (Silver) is Wei Ying, “WangJi replied in a dead pan voice

“Yin?, “scratching the white rabbit behind the ears, WuXian gave WangJi a questioning glance

“Yin, “the Second Jade placed a gentle hand on the black rabbit running down its back, “Very energetic. Very mischievous. Ate one of Xiongzhang ’s letters from Chifeng-zun once.”

Snickering, he brought the white rabbit eye level, “So what’s rabbit Lan Zhan’s real name?”

“Yun (Cloud), “WangJi replied, “Only likes playing with Yin.”

The white rabbit illustrated this by swatting at Wei WuXian’s nose with its paw, almost glaring at him.

“Hmm, you want me to put you down, “WuXian grinned flopping the rabbits ears, “you want your friend? Well you can’t have him!”

Reaching over, Lan WangJi saved the rabbit from Wei WuXian’s grasp and placed it in his lap with it’s companion. Raising his arms once more, he captured Wei WuXian’s hands in his.

Wei WuXian grew quiet, staring down at their hands clasped together.

“Lan Zhan?, “was all he could say

“Wei Ying, “Lan WangJi said intertwining their fingers

Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi were once again staring into one another eyes. Silver and Golden eyes radiated with an untold amount of emotions.

Wei WuXian felt his cheeks heating up once more, "Lan Zhan...you-”

Letting go of his hands, Lan WangJi gently shoved the rabbits to the ground and stood with a flourish, “Lunch is in a few hours, let’s rest your wounds in the Cold Springs until then”

Turning around, Lan WangJi walked out of the field as fast as the Lan rules allowed him. Mouth agape, Wei WuXian could only stand on clumsy feet and hurry after him.

“Eh? Ah! Lan Zhan, what? Wait for me!”

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Wei-Xiong How are you? Are you okay? I’ve been missing sleep over this whole thing, I can’t get that banquet out of my head. I knew Yu-Furen could be callous, but I didn’t think that she be that cruel. And to think that she’s been doing this to you for years, I’m sick.

I will say that I’m a bit angry at you; why didn’t you tell me what was happening? I’m your friend aren’t I? I care about you and want you to be okay. If you had said something, I would have tried to talk to Da-ge, maybe we could’ve, oh I don’t know....

Da-ge and I plan on coming to visit XiChen-ge in a few weeks. When I get there, I am taking you to Caiyi Town for some Emperors Smile. Wishing you well. --- Nie Huaisang

Nie-Xiong I am well and I admit I missed the beauty of the Cloud Recesses. The Lan Sect is as beautiful as ever, but, as expected, still no one can match up to the Twin Jades.

I do not wish to worry you, Nie-Xiong. I promise that I am fine and this situation is simply blown out of proportion.

You would not believe these Lans. I can’t go anywhere without someone asking me if I need assistance or worrying about my wounds - which are healing nicely and quickly might I add. Even Lan Zhan, our ever present piece of living jade, keeps around me. Not that I mind his company, but he’s never seemed to want to be around me before, always telling me to “get lost”. What am I supposed to do with this new Lan Zhan?

I will say though that the Cloud Recesses is lacking in the other sort of material that you and I enjoy. If you would be so inclined, dear friend, would you send me a package? I promise your discretion will be repaid in full. ---Wei WuXian

...

a-Xian It has only been a few weeks, but I can feel your absence greatly. I miss your smile; it always seemed to brighten my day. I cannot wait for your time in the Cloud Recesses to be over; I’ve bought some rare chilies from the market; I plan on making you a special pot of pork rib and lotus root soup when you get back.

a-Cheng has taken to pushing the shidis like mother; the other day he made them train with weights for six hours straight and then made them run the entire training grounds twenty times. He has been very gloomy ever since you left, and I think this is his way to vent. I think he’s still a bit sad that he can’t practice his sword forms, due to his cast.

Father rarely leaves his office these days other than to eat and sleep. A servant has told me that the minor sect leaders keep hounding him about his lack of action with mother. Sect Leader He even said that our clan was dishonorable for mother’s treatment of you. Father looks so haggard whenever we have dinner together.

And that’s not all. Last week, one of the merchants we normally trade with retracted their contract with us. We will no longer be receiving the amount of talisman paper, inkstones, and supplies that we normally get.

Mother is still in seclusion, but she converses with Madam Jin by letter. I happened upon one; Jin GuangShan is refusing to re-instate my betrothal to ZiXuan again. Due to the banquet, he believes that the Jiang Sect’s reputation would only taint LanlingJin’s; Madam Jin and mother are both enraged. --- Jiang Yanli

Shijie I am healing nicely, so nicely, I will probably end up leaving early. The Cloud Recesses are nice, but making sure my Shijie is happy is even nicer! I do not want you to be sad, and I’m sorry that this situation has stressed you so.

Tell Jiang Cheng that the shidis need positive reinforcement and breaks; otherwise they will strain themselves and possibly harm their cores. Do not tell him I said that.

I myself have been receiving letters from the minor sects. If Uncle Jiang wants, I could take on some of his work load, just send the letters to me here. It is unfortunate that the merchant has decided they no longer wish to work with us, but I’m certain we can find another in time. Since the minor sects are rallying against YunmengJiang it is only profitable to be one of the only merchants not on our payroll.

XianXian cannot wait to taste your extra spicy pork rib and and lotus root soup! I’ll even bring some jars of Emperor’s Smile back for us all to enjoy. There’s a vendor who sells loquats, so I’ll make sure to buy some baskets and pastries when I leave. ---Your Forever Three Year Old XianXian

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“WuXian, are you sure you’re up for a nighthunt?, “Lan XiChen raised a brow at the grinning man

“Zewu-jun, no offense, but if I don’t get off this mountain tonight, I’m going to scream, “Wei WuXian huffed in bemusement, “I can’t stay cooped up here forever; besides, it’s just some walking corpses, right?”

“Mm, “XiChen replied, “the villagers have barricaded themselves in the northern villages to escape, the southern town has been completely run over.”

Climbing upon their swords, the three cultivators and their entourage sailed through the night sky. The villages were only a couple hours away by sword, so it took no time at all to reach the deserted province.

XiChen took out a map, “Let’s all split up into groups. Lan Bao and I will cover the markets. Lan Ju and Bai An Na will cover the residential area. Gong JingYi and Lan Qing will perimeter the village, and WuXian and WangJi will clear the surrounding forest. Everyone understand? After you finish, head straight to the village center.”

Everyone nodded in in agree and sent off into their teams. Brandishing a Demon Wind Compass, WangJi and WuXian headed off the into the surrounding trees.

The forest was silent except for a few trilling insects and owls. The sound of their feet against the rough ground was like the constant thump of a beating heart.

“Lan Zhan?, “Looking to his side, Wei WuXian had a contemplative look on his face

Lan Wangji hummed in reply.

“We’re friends right?, “Wei WuXian gave a small smile

“Yes, “Lan WangJi replied without hesitation

“Good. That’s good, “WuXian said kicking a stray rock out of his way

The continued walking in silence for a few more minutes.

“I really wanted to be your friend when we were younger, “WuXian said to clear the silence, “I thought that if I could get past that cold exterior of yours, you’d be really fun to play with.”

“We are friends now, “WangJi stated

“Yeah, but we’ve missed so much time together, “WuXian countered, “There’s so much we missed out on! So many places in Yunmeng I wanted to take you to.”

“We can still go, “WangJi said, “After you are healed.”

WuXian let out a small huff, “Ah, Lan Zhan, how smart of you, but I’ll probably be very busy when I go back to the sect.”

“You intend to go back?, “WangJi questioned

“Hmm, of course I do. What other choice do I-”

*SCHREEEEEEECH*

“What was that, “shifting in defensive stances, the two were immediately on edge

*SCHREEEEEEECH* *SCHREEEEEEECH*

Sound blaring out into the night, birds and critters normally sleep at night startled and ran away from the piercing sound. Looking to his companion, WangJi and WuXian nodded at one another and unsheathed their blades.

“I’ll take left, “WuXian said hurriedly while rushing into the trees

The forest returned to its quiet state, but the calm air had long disappeared. The cool wing now felt harsh against his bare skin.

Taking out his compass once more, the needle pointed back towards the village.

“Not working? How’s that possible?, “he mumbled to himself

“Ying, ”a voice called out

“Who’s there, “raising Subian, he glared into the darkness

“Ying, ”it said once more

Throwing up a light talisman, the trees produced elongated shadows, towering around him. The branches were thin and prickly, almost like sharp nails.

“a-Ying~, ”it sang, almost taunting

“Lan Zhan?, “Wei WuXian turned in a circle and called out to his partner, “Lan Zhan, are you there?”

The wind laughed at him, leaves tearing from their branches showered down upon him.

“Who’s there, “ banishing talisman in hand, he gritted his teeth, “Come out right now.”

“Young Master Wei?, “a familiar voice called

“Zewu-jun?, “Wei WuXian said, confusion lining his voice

“Young Master Wei!?, “the voice called again, “Where are you?”

“Zewu-jun?, “Wei WuXian called back, “I’m over here!”

The wind blew harshly once more, branches crackling around him. Another sound shifted from behind him; the bushes rustled violently.

Turning rapidly in defense, Wei WuXian gasped as a black shroud covered his vision.

“!!!”

...

Lan WangJi sat against the wall of the village gate, posture perfect and face looking devoid of any emotion. The only sound he made was the rapid tapping of his fingers against the wall. Not facing his other group mates, his eyes laid perfectly on the surrounding forests of the village, searching.

“I hope Young Master Wei is alright, “Lan Bao said tapping their foot repeatedly against the ground, “it’s only been a couple hours, but what if his back wounds acted up?”

“He has a signal flare on him. If it were truly serious, he would have called for us, “Gong JingYi tried to placate them

“Young Master Gong is right, “Lan Qing agreed, “Besides, the Demon Wind Compass isn’t detecting anything dangerous from the forests.”

Lan Bao sighed and stopped their foot, “That’s why I’m worried. The villagers said the town and surrounding areas had been taken over, but Second Young Master Lan didn’t find anything before he came back.”

The three fell silent once more.

Lan WangJi paused his hand, taking his own compass out of his sleeves. Staring at the unmoving needle, he narrowed his eyes in question.

“Medic!, “the sound of Zewu-jun shouting had everyone’s head turning in alarm

“Xiongzhang?, “Lan WangJi was to his feet quickly, rushing towards his brother’s voice

The others followed, clamoring behind the second jade as he pushed through the tall trees. The came upon a clearing.

Lan Qing gasped, “Zewu-jun! Young Master Wei!”

Lan XiChen was pale faced, one arm slung around Wei WuXian’s waist and the other having slung his right arm around his shoulders. He wasn’t conscious from what they could see, feet dragging on the ground and head lolled forward, but most alarming....

blood was gushing out his neck!

“WuXian’s been injured; we need to leave now!”

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Author’s Notes:

-The original draft of this entire fic was only four chapters long, you can see how that turned out.

-Yes, I know this chapter is almost 5k words, but you wouldn’t believe it was much longer before I re-wrote it, it was at least 8k in the first draft

-I made WWX a little bit terser with JC cause I feel like if No SSC happened and living with Madam Yu and JC’s shit for even longer would have him treating JC like his resurrected self does quicker. Also, no 22yr old man is gonna baby another 22yr old lol.

-However, I also wanted to show that the Jiang’s abuse and conditioning is still in affect/there with his interactions with others. Hope I did a good job of it.

-I feel like a no SSC Lan WangJi might try to get with Wei WuXian, especially since he’s had time to work over his feeling with no war in the way. And then especially if the man he loved was whipped right in front of him.

Read my Prompts and WIPs [Here]

#wei wuxian #wwx #mdzs #the untamed #grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #grand master of demonic cultivation #gdc #lan wangji #lan xichen #lwj #lxc #lan qiren #lqr

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sirphillipcranestanaccount · 3 years

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Modern AU teaser under the cut. Let me know what y’all think!

“Ugggh” Eloise said, dropping her forehead onto the textbook that lay on the table in front of her. She looked at her phone, 10:30 on a Friday night and she was still in the library. “How did I get myself into this situation?” she raised her head and looked across the table at Penelope, “Pen, when I said ‘oh I think I’m going to get a master’s in English’, English of all things, why didn’t you talk me out of it?”

Penelope shifted her eyes from her laptop screen to Eloise without moving her head. “Because,” she began to reply, never once stopping her typing “I believe your exact words were ‘Pen, I’m going to grad school and there’s no way you can talk me out of it’.”

“She’s right, El,” Edwina said not bothering to look up from her computer, “I have it on video.”

“How many drinks had I had up to that point?” Eloise’s head was once again in her textbook making her words difficult to hear. “And was I aware at the time that I would have to read The Canterbury Tales again?”

“None and yes,” Penelope replied.

“Ugh,” Eloise repeated, “what are you two working on?” she wanted to distract herself from Chaucer for a moment,

“I’m writing a paper about the works and political activism of Susan Sontag,” Penelope answered.

“I’m writing a reflection on a trip I had to take to the Met,” Edwina stated, “so I’m attempting to be engaging about statues I have seen on what must be at least a hundred occasions.”

“Do you guys remember in undergrad when we used to do fun and interesting things on the weekends?” Eloise asked.

“I don’t think that emptying 4 bottles of Barefoot Riesling and eating buffalo wings while watching Golden Girls re-runs could be deemed interesting in any sense of the word,” Penelope said, “plus, judging by the frequency with which Eddie’s phone has been vibrating, she certainly has an interesting weekend ahead of her,” she smirked.

Eloise’s head popped up in interest. Finally a distraction! “Are these texts from a gentleman?” she asked with a tone of overstated interest.

Edwina started to flush “Do you guys remember that TA I had last semester for my archaeology class?”

“The one who’s so smart and funny and cute and always replied to your e-mails right away?” Eloise replied, “I’m not sure if you mentioned him.”

Edwina’s eyes narrowed at Eloise’s teasing, “Well, we went out and got coffee the other week and we’ve been texting ever since, and long story short I think I’m going to marry him.”

“Marriage?” Eloise scoffed, “have you two even…?” she let her words trail off, but let a rude gesture with her hands finish the statement.

“I was being facetious,” Edwina replied, “and no, I haven’t slept with him,” she returned to typing just before adding, “Very ladylike hand gesture by the way.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve never once tried to be ladylike in my life,” Eloise retorted.

“The blouse and pencil skirt you’re wearing at the library would state otherwise,” Penelope teased.

“Pen, you know I have to wear this when I tutor,” she shot back “apparently I have to look professional when I’m trying to help freshmen comp lit majors figure out what Candide is about.”

“What is Candide about?” Edwina asked.

“Hell if I know,” Eloise replied with a shrug. She looked back at her phone, “can we go home now?” she asked, “I hate walking through the park after 11.”

Penelope closed her computer, “I was about to suggest the same.”

As the 3 women walked out of the now-empty library Eloise spotted something on a bench in the vestibule between the library doors. It was a leather-bound notebook with a snap closure. Eloise couldn’t help but be curious, so she opened it.

“What on Earth are you doing El?” Penelope asked, “we are in New York City, god knows where that’s been!”

“Calm down Pen, it’s not street trash,” she replied. She opened to the first page of the notebook and read: property of Phillip Crane. If found, please contact [email protected]

Phillip got home and all but went straight to sleep. Well, first he thanked and said goodbye to his Aunt who had been kind enough to watch his children after their most recent nanny had quit.

It appeared that the final straw for the most recent young lady–in what seemed to be a revolving door of unfortunate women (and some men)– was when the twins had decided to put a layer of cream cheese on the deodorant that they found in her purse. Phillip was more bewildered by his children’s antics than anybody, but even he had to admit that someone who decided to pursue a career in child care ought to be made of sterner stuff.

But today had been a long day, and he needed to sleep before he went back to the lab tomorrow. He peaked his head into Oliver and Amanda’s room to make sure they were asleep. Or, if not asleep, not causing trouble. Then he went to his room and simply fell face down on the bed.

Phillip woke up the next morning to his alarm at 6 am in the clothes he had worn the day previous. He cursed under his breath, he was planning to wear that pair of khakis again today, but now they were all wrinkled and so was his shirt. Phillip went out into the kitchen and started making coffee when he heard a small voice from behind him.

“Daddy, you’re not going to wear those clothes to work are you?” He turned around to see Amanda in her pajamas.

“Don’t I look good?” Phillip joked with her.

“You look like you slept in your clothes,” she said flatly, moving a chair to the side of the cabinet to reach for the cereal that was a bit too high for her to reach on her own.

“That’s just the look I was going for,” he smiled and took a sip of his coffee, “do you want me to pack your lunch for you?” he asked. He didn’t have to be at the lab until 9:00 this morning.

“No thanks,” Amanda said passing him to get milk from the refrigerator, “Me and Oliver packed our lunches last night.”

Phillip felt his stomach knot. He was proud that both of his children were self-sufficient, but he hated the fact that they had to be. Ever since their mother died–and frankly, before–they had needed to be like little adults, in spite of being 8 years old. Phillip tried the best he could to be a good dad to them, but working toward a Ph.D. and having the pressure of a research fellowship on one’s shoulders made active fathering somewhat difficult.

“What did you pack, is it healthy?” Phillip asked, trying to make up for his dead-beat ways.

“Sandwich, apples, yogurt, and cheez-its,” she said matter of factly “I don’t know what Oliver put in his.”

As if on cue Oliver walked into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “I made the same thing but with chips instead of yogurt, because yogurt is gross.” He joined his sister at the countertop and poured cereal into a bowl that Amanda had already set out for him.

“Alright, kids, what’s on the schedule for today?” Phillip said, putting down his coffee, “anything after school that I should let Aunt Gertie know about?”

“I have piano right after school,” Amanda stated.

“And I have a hockey game at 5,” Oliver said with a mouth full of cereal, “can you come, Dad?”

Phillip’s heart sank, he knew he probably wasn’t going to be able to make it, but he decided to try and humor his son anyway.

“Let me check my book,” he said walking over to his bag. He looked in the brown satchel to find that he couldn’t find the familiar brown leather datebook.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath, “shit shit shit shit shit.”

“Are you okay dad?” Oliver asked, once more with his mouth full.

“Yes,” Phillip said with a sigh “I just can’t find my datebook.”

Phillip grabbed his phone to check the schedule he tried to maintain electronically and saw that he had an e-mail.

Dear Mr. Crane,

Hello! I just wanted to contact you because I believe I found your datebook outside the library last night. At least, this is the e-mail that was written to contact in case it was found. What is the best way that I can return it to you? I know I’m personally lost without my planner. Let me know how I can get it back to you and I will be sure to do so ASAP.

Sincerely,

Eloise Bridgerton, B.A.

Student | NYU Graduate School of Arts & Science

[email protected]

(212)995-3422

P.S. I suppose I should ask you to describe it, just to make sure I’m handing it off to the right person. Once you’ve done that I will promptly return it to you.

#philoise #to sir phillip with love #modern au #phillip crane #eloise bridgerton

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the-ineffable-demon-crowley · 4 years

Text

The Sweetest Wrath

Your romantic dinner with Crowley goes pear-shaped when Aziraphale unceremoniously interrupts. As your attention is captured by the angel, Crowley finds he has to use more creative means to remind the two of you just who you belong to.

Pairing: Anthony J. Crowley x reader (ft. Aziraphale)

Warnings: Exhibitionism, little bit of voyeurism, praise kink, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, car sex

Length: 4.2k

Cross-posted to AO3 here

This work is a commission for @mollyplier

⋘ ⋙

Despite what you might think, demons had very busy schedules. Well, someone had to go around tempting people into their insidious desires, spreading hate and unrest within the population. Whether that be by blocking off all the main roads with untimely construction work that never seemed to be completed, pulling down all the major phone networks on a Friday evening, or by crashing the entirety of the public library’s database during finals season, Crowley had a long to-do list. Never mind the collection of souls for the Dark Lord, a back-breaking tasks in of itself.

Of course, that never stopped him from using his tempting charms as a means for his own good. There were a few souls that had caught his eye over the centuries, but they were far too special to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord. No, these were just for him. You were one of his finest achievements, but it didn’t take much to ensnare you. His charming walk, his easy grin, and his simple one-liners. Who could resist? It’d almost felt like you knew him for centuries, but that was just how comfortable you were with Crowley, and how much of an old soul he really was beyond the sarcastic, sniggering snake he could be sometimes.

Still, he worked hard, even if he didn’t want to. Which is why you loved Aziraphale, a cheeky but posh cherubic principality who was Crowley’s colleague, friend, confidante, everything. Though Aziraphale didn’t like it, he understood how useless it was to cancel each other’s work out, and would sometimes come to an agreement with Crowley over the heavenly state of the souls of some town’s population. Usually, Crowley won the coin-toss. Aziraphale never thought to ponder how Crowley was always so lucky.

But on the off-chance that Crowley lost, Aziraphale would keep you company. He was a delightful companion, and the two of you always spent your time talking books, plants, and the bureaucracy of Heaven. Aziraphale had much to say regarding that. But now, with Crowley off unveiling the worst in people, you were sat at home alone, planning. Conniving, he would call it, and then boast about how he had done well in corrupting you. If only he knew.

You’d made a reservation for two at the RItz for you and Crowley for that very evening. It was technically Aziraphale’s favourite place, but you knew Crowley was fond of it as well, having been dragged there for drinks and crêpes since its inception in 1906. You planned the whole thing out; for dinner, a sumptuous 4-course feast, and for dessert, well... You had several decadent selections in mind, each sure to make him more insatiable than the last.

Your instructions to Crowley were simple as you typed them out on your phone. Dinner, tonight. Pick me up at 8. Stay hungry, my demon.

His reply was swift. Ravenous already. See you tonight.

Crowley wasn’t often known for punctuality, but because you hadn’t been able to spend much time together since he was busy at... work, you supposed it was, he was outside your flat, leaning against his Bentley waiting for you at 8 on the dot. You smirked at the sight of him, black blazer, black trousers, per usual. Red hair swiped upwards, black sunglasses framing his sharp features. He was angular, positively fiendish, and he was here for your soul.

⋘ ⋙

As expected, the Ritz was beautiful, the vintage building’s peaks soaring into the backdrop of the starry night sky, and its patrons dripping in glamour. Guests came dressed with their savings on their sleeves, with even the most casually dressed of diners boasting expensive loungewear. You thought you fit right in on the arm of your demon, bedecked in black, and you, clad in a tasteful dress that brought out your eyes. As you made your way up towards the entrance, your arm brushed against Crowley’s, and you nearly flushed, as though this was your first date all over again. He just had that kind of effect on you.

Despite the fact that Crowley wasn’t often one for affection, you could feel his long, strong arm slipping around your waist as he escorted you into the dining room, a quiet din of the other diners filling your ears. You sat down onto the white upholstered chair, and smiled at Crowley as a waiter came to take preliminary drink orders. Minutes later, drinks and the first course had arrived.

“This is absolutely glorious, angel, thank you.” Crowley murmured as he tipped the mixed alcoholic concoction into his mouth. His tongue darted out to collect a stray droplet, and you watched it with fascination at its snapping movement.

“It’ll get even better once you start eating instead of just drinking.” You quipped, lifting a forkful of your dinner to your mouth. Crowley grinned.

“All in good time.” He raised his hand, fingers long and neatly manicured, and gestured to the waiter for another round.

“Have Hastur and Ligur been giving you much trouble?”

“Ngk.” Crowley responded, this time taking your advice and swallowing whole his bites of dinner. However, he remained a perfect gentleman, and you couldn’t help but stare at him outfitted in his jacket and trousers. He didn’t necessarily fit in among the glitzy crowd of the Ritz dining room, but damn if he didn’t look every bit as expensive as everybody else in there, right down to the shining black gunmetal of his sunglasses. “Nothing I can’t handle. They’re attempting to delegate the planning of the next recession and stock-market crash to me, but I told them they can stick it right-”

“Oh!” A sudden soft gasp, otherwise masked by the din of the room, caught Crowley’s ear. Mostly because he’d heard it for centuries; mainly when a particularly cute creature was in view. His partner in.... something, Aziraphale. You noticed him noticing it, and turned your head to see what had caught his attention.

“Crowley! Y/N! How lovely to see you both here!” Aziraphale was positively gleaming as he approached the dinner table, a ray of sunshine in direct opposition to Crowley’s black void. You couldn’t help but smile at the angel, appreciative at his endless enthusiasm.

“Aziraphale, what a surprise!” You returned.

“Oh, my dear, I have been holed up in my shop for what feels like hours. I had to get out and have a nice cuppa. Speaking of which, have you read that novel I gave you yet? You simply must, I could not put it down for the life of me.”

“Oh, I’ve gotten about halfway, and I was so shocked when one of the twins died, and- oh, please, sit down.” You hadn’t expected this interruption, but now that he was here, you simply couldn’t resist a quick chat. You were about to ask a nearby diner if you could borrow one of the chairs at their table, but one miracled itself right in front of your eyes. You glanced around at the others, the magical appearance of the chair apparently unnoticed, then at Crowley, seemingly as indifferent as ever, continuing to sip at his drink.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now, tell me what you think of the heroine.” Aziraphale happily on the chair.

You gushed about the novel with Aziraphale for a few more minutes, admittedly completely neglecting Crowley during that time. But every time you glanced at him, he seemed to at least be paying attention, albeit drinking all the while. You had counted three or four empty glasses before the waiter came to collect them, bringing a fresh one shortly afterwards. A demon’s tolerance was essentially bottomless, so Crowley wouldn’t be anywhere near drunk yet, but it could be soon at the rate Aziraphale was talking, and Crowley with no other way to entertain himself.

“Oh, have you finished eating? Then I believe it’s time for dessert- garçon! Three of your finest strawberry crêpes, s’il vous plaît.”

“Oh, angel, I think Y/N had planned for-” but Crowley was quickly cut off, and he sat back in the chair, raising a brow to you. You signalled to give it another minute, and you would start to shoo Aziraphale off.

“Don’t be silly, Crowley, company as lovely as YN here deserves nothing but the best- and the crêpes here are the best.” This seemed to shut Crowley up for the moment, but you could tell he was getting a little territorial over your attention, with his boot beginning to slowly trace itself against your ankle. You cleared your throat to focus, but your leg did not move, eager for a piece of Crowley during this interrupted dinner. Still, it was simply impossible to be rude to the angel, and Crowley, for whom it was somehow an endearing trait, was seemingly refusing to help. “Oh, Y/N, that reminds me, I have taken your advice and have taken up a spot of painting.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun. What medium?”

“Oil paints, I should think. I dabbled in it before, of course, tried a hand at some neoimpressionism, but I should think the classical styles are more my type, the nude portraits and the like. Positively divine.” Crowley snorted, the first indication that he hadn’t petrified and turned to stone since Aziraphale’s arrival.

“Bit biased there, aren’t you?” He drawled smugly.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley from the corner of his eye pettily, then looked back at you. Then as if to spite him, or perhaps out of a naive desire to simply catch your beauty on canvas, he blurted out, “You’d pose for me, wouldn’t you, Y/N? You’d make a beautiful model for a nude study.”

Your eyes flashed and your mouth fell open slightly, lips parting in surprise. It wasn’t necessarily the request, but the fact that Crowley was right there-

“Oh, yes, I could see it now. Bedecked in honeysuckle and lavender, in your hair, against your lovely skin, you’d be heavenly. What do you think, Crowley?”

You laughed, a bit taken aback. “I’m flattered, really! But I-”

“Oh, I should think she would be- Y/N.” Crowley leaned forward, placing his elbows onto the table. “Get your coat, sweet.”

Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused, bless him, turning to look at the demon. In the meantime, you stood from your chair and scooped up your jacket, trying not to think about how Crowley’s darkened voice sent shivers up your spine. You knew this was coming from the moment Aziraphale even mentioned nude portraits, could almost see how his features were shadowed by lust at the thought of you. Aziraphale’s voice remained strong, but innocent. “But the crêpes haven’t arrived yet-”

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale.” He cajoled. “Let’s have a bit of a walk, hm?” Crowley inclined his head towards the exit, his red hair catching the light of the chandeliers. You smirked as the angel, still babbling, stood up and reluctantly agreed, leaving the promise of his dessert behind.

With Aziraphale in front of you, Crowley’s arm slid possessively around your waist a little tighter this time, pulling you to him, against him as you walked between the tables. You could feel the power in his body with every step, and though you knew you were in for it now, the thought of Crowley claiming you as his was as delicious a dessert as you could ever have suggested. Despite his intimidation, you knew he was secretly enjoying this; he had found the perfect excuse to shut Aziraphale up, and finish the the night off exactly the way he wanted to- with your legs spread.

The night air was cool but not unpleasant as a breeze traced across your skin. Your senses felt sharpened, each of his touches sending you into a frenzy as he led you towards the car. Aziraphale followed behind, one of his hands holding the other in front of him like a poised debutante.

“Y/N, sit in the back for a moment, please.” You heard the subtle growl in his voice, and you obliged, popping open the door of the big, black Bentley and slipping inside onto the cool leather. The angel and the demon got in in front of you, and you stared at their beautiful silhouettes. Crowley, a lean, shadowy, sinful figure, and Aziraphale, a vision of purity and light even in the nighttime, even in the face of Crowley’s wrath.

The car was silent for a beat before anybody spoke.

“My two angels,” Crowley murmured, turning back to look at you in the backseat. “You’ve both been naughty, haven’t you?” His gaze turned to Aziraphale with a slight turn of his head. Even behind the impenetrable sunglasses that perched on his nose, his gaze was heavy, dangerous. You scarcely felt yourself breathe. You were in trouble now.

“Crowley, it’s my fault, Aziraphale was just-” You began to reach forward for him. He turned his head towards you, and your mouth closed. You sat back against the backseat of the Bentley quietly, the leather creaking underneath you. It was the only noise in the car for a long moment.

“I know what he was doing, love. Like to have a bit of a look? Bit of a flirt?” He looked at Aziraphale. “And you-” You bit your lip, eyes lifting slowly to look at him. “You know.”

God, did you ever. Crowley had never been that much of the jealous type, but for you to have been fawning over Aziraphale like that, during a dinner meant for him to relax? It was enough to trigger the most hellish side of the demon, and you were in for it now. Heat flooded your core, and you pressed your knees together. You saw Crowley raise a brow behind his glasses, a smirk adorning his lips. He saw.

“You’re enjoying this. Would you enjoy bouncing on my cock while Aziraphale watches, then? I think it’s what you both deserve after tonight.” He inclined his head towards the angel, who began sputtering in shock.

“Crowley, I say!” But you saw his cheeks flush pink, painting the perfect picture of a cherub. You weren’t going to lie, making Aziraphale watch was one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, and you had never expected Crowley to go that far. It was clear things were going to be played by his rules tonight.

“What d’ya say, angel?” His smirk grew wicked, and you grew hot beneath your clothing. Your reply was a whisper, but you knew he heard it, and he knew you meant it.

“Yes, Crowley.”

It took him precisely half a second to materialize in the backseat with you. It was a mess of limbs, his long and lean, and yours tangled up with him. His hands gripped your hips, and his lips found yours in a searing kiss. You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his strong, nimble fingers beginning to trail up and down your sides, one slipping underneath your shirt to palm at your breast. His thumb rolled circles over your nipple, and you groaned your pleasure against him.

“Eyes on me, angel.” He growled in your ear. You blinked, and looked up at the man overing over you. His sharp features were illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights outside, and whatever scarce cars drove by. You knew they couldn’t see anything; the car was probably magicked to invisibility. Crowley wouldn’t be that careless. He was lithe, but heavy, a comforting weight between your legs, and his hair already a mess from the way your fingers had been running through it. He stared down at you with black eyes, his sunglasses still on his face. “Both of you.” He barked, lifting his head to look at Aziraphale. The angel, looking quite unsettled, turned his head to look at you. Crowley’s hands made quick work of your shirt and your bra, exposing your breasts to the night air.

You felt like you were being ravished in front of God himself, a demon laying snugly between your thighs. Crowley seemed to agree, as he bucked his hips against you, his hard erection pressing into your clothed centre.

“Fuck, Crowley, please.”

“So needy, angel, even with an audience. You’re greedy, little one.”

His large hand snaked down to between your thighs, his fingers beginning to rub you against your trousers. You keened at the feeling, head rolling against the car door, hips squirming. He held you fast, his weight keeping you pinned down beneath him. You felt absolutely at his mercy, without even Aziraphale to dare help you now. Crowley’s fingers then found the button and zipper of your jeans, at which point he began to yank them down.

“Crowley, is this really-” You heard him start, but your moan swallowed his words in the darkness of the car.

“That feel good? My long fingers inside of you?”

Precisely two of his long fingers were now buried deep inside of you, thumb on your lit, and palm slapping against your pussy. Your hands snapped forward, gripping his forearms. You felt the power beneath the corded muscles that flexed underneath his thin black blazer. The smell of smoke and leather overwhelmed you, eyes shutting tightly as his fingers increased their pace.

“Look at me. Look at me, or I won’t let you cum.” He hissed, and your eyes popped open, so desperate were you for release.

“-Yes, Aziraphale,” He addressed the angel calmly, though his eyes remained on you. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see her splayed out, desperate, needy, begging? ‘Cept of course, it’s my cock that she’ll be bouncing on, isn’t it, love?” His thumb rolled over your clit harshly, and your hips bucked. Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on you, so clearly in the throes of pleasure. He wasn’t proud of himself, and yet...

“Yes! God, yes...”

“You like him watching, don’t you?” He purred in your ear, and your ankles hooked around his hips, an attempt to bring him closer. No part of him touched you except his hand, buried in your soaking cunt. “Say it.”

“I-I... I like it! I like it- please, let me... cum.”

“Alright, I’ll allow it. Cum.”

Stars sparked behind your eyelids, and fire tore through your insides. Your juices soaked his hand, fingers still fucking in and out of you, and you heard him groan at the sight of it. You could also feel him rubbing against your thigh in search of a bit of friction, but still, he kept his composure. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead, hair sticking to your cheeks. Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly; you’d nearly forgotten he was there at all.

“Are you satisfied, Crowley?” He muttered.

Crowley grinned. “Not nearly.”

In the blink of eye, you were on top of the demon, jeans abandoned, and his cock free of his tight leather trousers. He folded his hands behind his head, mirroring your previous position, and yet it was clear he was the one in charge here. His sunglasses were also gone at this point, and the sight of his snake eyes filled you with desire. There was something so wrong about it all, being fucked by a demon with an angel staring right at you. You had no hopes of explaining this one to the Almighty.

You could barely keep yourself upright as you straddled him, limbs still weak from your orgasm. Crowley did not care.

“Turn around, Y/N.”

You raised a brow, and his eyes narrowed, challenging you. You quickly changed positions, with the help of Crowley sitting up a bit in the back. You were now sitting atop of him, staring directly in the face of Aziraphale, sitting in the passenger seat. If he had looked uncomfortable before, he was positively faint at this point. It was clear he wanted to look away, and yet, if either by some wicked temptation or by Crowley’s clear commands, he did not. Not for a second.

Not even when your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the tip of Crowley’s cock rubbed against your folds. Instantly, you felt desire electrify your insides, and you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. But you needed his permission first. He rubbed the pre-cum against you, and you felt your juices slowly dripping down your thighs. You shuddered, hips bowing down to try to take him in. He chuckled.

“You still want my cock, love? Right in front of Aziraphale?”

You lifted your eyes to the actual angel’s, and he gave you a slight smile as if to assure you. Angel or not, he couldn’t have not been enjoying this display.

“Yes, I want your cock always, Crowley, please, please fuck me.”

“Whatever my angel so desires. Keep your eyes on him and I might let you cum again.”

With one hand on your hip pulling you towards him, he used the other to guide himself into you. Thick, long, and hard, he filled you entirely, and you felt stuffed as you seated him inside of you right to the hilt. You heard Crowley growl underneath you, the only time he had lost his composure during this entire affair. His hand pushed against your hip, encouraging you- pushing you to build up your rhythm. You gyrated your hips against him as hard and fast as you could, but it didn’t feel like enough to Crowley.

You bounced against his cock, tits bouncing in front of Aziraphale, hands reaching for the headrest to steady yourself. Crowley’s hips, powerful and strong, fucked up into you as his cock filled your walls. You felt him shift slightly, and the instant he hit that special spot, your back arched.

“There, is it?” Crowley’s voice was rough, and his grip, his pace, was rougher. “Look at you, being fucked right here in the backseat, absolutely soaking wet for my cock, even with someone watching. You are a little minx, aren’t you?”

His dirty words spurred you on, bouncing as quick as you could, chasing your high. You knew Crowley’s permission wouldn’t come easily this time, and you had to make it count.

“Aziraphale, isn’t she lovely?”

Your eyes flitted to the angel’s, then fell, and he swallowed, clearly affected by the sight of you. “Positively decadent.”

“And she belongs to me.”

His fingers wrapped around a handful of your hair, bending your neck back. You felt his teeth scrape against the exposed skin, and you cried out at the feeling of the pleasure and pain mixing. “Look at him while you try to cum.”

One of his hands traveled between your legs, and his fingers pinched your clit. You nearly sobbed, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse, but still, he kept you going. Your release was coming, and coming hard. Crowley could feel it by the way your hips began to stutter, your pace slowing as your limbs grew weak from the exhaustion.

“Don’t you stop.” He yanked your hair harder, and you moaned in response, the stinging sensation in your scalp a delicious addition to the pounding between your legs. His cock, hot and hard, was hitting you over and over again in the your most sensitive of places. But you were so close, so close.

“Please le-let... me cum!” You begged, his fingers gripping your hair and your neck bending as you stared into Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley’s fingers began to tweak at your clit, but his permission didn’t come. You cried at the feeling, continuing to fuck yourself against his cock without any sign of release in sight.

“Tell me who you belong to.” You could hear his voice becoming ragged as he fought the urge to cum himself, eyes fixated on the way your ass bounced against his hips, his cock disappearing in and out of you.

“You! You, Crowley, only you... Please!”

“Cum.”

With one single word, you fell to pieces. You fell forward as his hand released your hair, his hands now gripping your hips harshly as he sought his own release. You moaned at the feeling of letting him use you for his own pleasure as your cum soaked his cock, your thighs, and the leather of the Bentley beneath you. Your fingers slipped against the plastic interior of the car door, trying to no avail to get a grip on your surroundings. He thrusted in and out of you a handful of times again before cumming, hot spurts of cum filling you up inside, then slowly beginning to trickle out.

Crowley’s hands, no longer harsh, but strong, moved to disengage himself from you, and reached for some napkins to help you clean up. You reached for your shirt and jeans, and began to dress yourself as awkwardly as you could in the small space. Crowley’s hair was mussed, and his perfect skin glowed with sweat. You felt your hair sticking to you, and the heat of Crowley’s cum still inside you. Limbs weak, you allowed yourself to be collected in Crowley’s arms.

Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly.

“Yes, well... that was-”

“Divine? Tempting enough to immortalize on canvas?” Crowley finished with a grin. You felt him chuckle beneath you, and you snuggled in close to his chest.

“No! Goodness, no, I, uh... get the message.”

“Glad to hear it. You alright, love?”

“Yes, Crowley.”

“Good. Shall we get some dessert?”

You saw Aziraphale’s gaze light up, and you knew that his eyes were never meant for you. Only Crowley’s.

#Anthony Crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony j crowley x reader #anthony crowley x reader #anthony j crowley smut #good omens smut #good omens au #good omens smut au #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #commission #fanfic commission #mollyplier

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just-a-cheese-stick · 3 years

Text

Naeleon week Day 1- confession (non despair au)

@naeleonweek2020

Makoto and Leon had been best friends since the start of their time at Hopes peak. They started talking to each other when they were placed in most of the same classes their first year.

It started when Leon tossed a note to Makoto’s desk, joking about something the teacher said that sounded weird out of context. At first, Makoto decided not to read it since he was in class, but as the kid next to him kept tossing more and more notes, he gave in.

Makoto read each note, each one making him smile without fail. He glanced back at the boy tossing them to him to give a chuckle, only to see who it was.

Before hopes peak, the lucky student had done some research on the other ultimates who were soon to be his classmates. He recognized that particular boy as the ultimate baseball star, Leon Kuwata.

Funny since he didn’t remember Leon’s hair being as scruffy as it was in his pictures.

Makoto was taken aback by this for a second, but responded with a small chuckle.

He took out a paper of his own from his notebook and a pen to respond to the other.

“Why are you throwing notes to me?” He folded the note neatly and slid it to the baseball player sitting across from him.

Leon noticed the neatly folded piece of loose-leaf paper slid over to his desk, and reached down to grab it.

He opened the response from the smaller boy who sat across from him and smiled a bit at it. He picked up his pencil and scribbled a response before attempting to replicate the neat folding of the note when it was passed to him before passing it back.

“Idk you seem nice”

Makoto saw the response, and tried to resist smiling ear to ear. Someone cool and popular like Leon wanted to make conversation with someone as basic as him? He stared at the note feeling his face heat up, before picking up his pen to send a message back to him.

They continued their chat throughout the class introduction, agreeing to meet up at lunch. They had been best friends ever since.

Now it was December. The two had been best friends for 3 months now. They were each others confidants, as well as best friends. Leon sometimes jokingly called Makoto his soulmate, since they understand each other so well.

But that statement was more than just a joke to Leon. He started to notice he was growing feelings for the brunette. Feelings way more intense than he’s felt for any other girl he’s ever met.

He could try and deceive himself, say it’s just what a true friendship is. But at the bottom of his heart he knew he had it bad for Makoto.

Midterm season drew close, which had everyone stressed and dreading the exams.

While Leon could usually care less, Makoto really wanted him to do well. So for him, Leon studied for the midterms. While it wasn’t too much, he still wanted to make Makoto happy.

The two even studied together in their dorms and in the library. Leon still got distracted a lot, but he was actually putting in effort. That made Makoto really happy. And afterwards, they’d walk off school campus to the coffee shop down the street and hang out.

Exam day came, and just walking into the exam hall, it was easy to tell everyone was stressed, tired, anxious, or all of the above. It was freezing outside. Snow was falling at quick speeds in high winds. Some people brought blankets or extra jackets into school. Others huddled into themselves or simply ignored the cold. Nonetheless, it was frigid indoors and out.

Makoto sat down in his assigned desk and took out his phone for them to collect, in order to ensure nobody cheats or gets distracted.

The desks were placed 4 by 4 rows, and students were sat in alphabetical order of their last names.

Aoi sat in the very front of the first row of desks. Behind her was Junko, who sat in front of Chihiro. In the back of the first row was Hiro, and in the front of the second was Mukuro, Junko’s twin sister. Sitting behind her was Kiyotaka, who appeared to be the only person who didn’t look like a zombie. Actually, he seemed quite eager to receive the first exam paper. Behind him sat kirigiri, who would be the runner up in The Who-Looks-The-Least-Lifeless challenge. She kept her calm and quiet nature constant, but appeared slightly tired nonetheless. In the very back of the row was Toko, who was too busy reading something to be paying attention to the cold. In the front of the third row was leon, who, unlike the two diagonal from him, looked like he was going to fall asleep any second now. Behind him was Celeste, who sat in front of sayaka, who was wearing a fuzzy looking hoodie with bear ears at the hood. She definitely looked comfortable. Makoto sat behind the three, and he looked exhausted. He brought a blanket into the exam hall and was wrapped in it, still shivering a little in the cold. At the front of the fourth row was Sakura. She appeared a little tired, which was odd, but not as odd as it would be in the situation they were in. Behind her sat Mondo, who had huddled himself into his jacket, and was trying to hide it. Togami and yamada sat in the two chairs behind him. Both, like toko, seemed too invested in a book to care about their surroundings or the cold.

Jin kirigiri came to the front of the exam hall designated for class 77B and loudly clearing his throat to silence the low chatter, turning the room silent.

From the corner of his eye, Makoto could see kyoko furrowing her eyebrows a little bit at her father. She mentioned once that he often overworked her to the point he refused to let her see her mother as she was on her death bed. The two had rocky relations ever since.

The headmaster began stating the exam rules and expectations, which, very little people paid much attention to.

“Please power off anyelectronic devices and place them on your desk so I can come around and collect them. You will get them back as you leave the exam hall when you’re dismissed.”

School bags and satchels could be heard unzipping almost in unison at that statement. Soon, phones and laptops were placed at the corner of nearly every desk, soon to be confiscated and replaced with a thick packet of papers and a #2 pencil. With that, the exam started.

It was like that every day of that week, leading up to Friday. Every day it snowed buckets, and every day people came into the exam hall cold and tired, and every day they took a midterm exam.

Friday afternoon. Makoto was one of the last ones in the exam hall, finishing his last part of the midterm. The only other people with him were hiro, leon, and mondo.

despite there being no windows in the gymnasium, Makoto could hear the snowstorm picking up.

“I hope everyone’s ok” he thought to himself. He was especially worried since this was when students began to clear out for winter break. His parents weren’t going to be able to come until Sunday, so he was glad they’d be safe.

He finally got to the last question. To his delight, it was a question on a topic he was really familiar with.

With eagerness, he aced the last question and got up from the desk, walking to the front table to turn in the finished exam.

Finally. His exams were done. He was so tired, physically and mentally. Finally. He’d be able to take a rest.

Makoto drowsily walked back to his dorm and flopped down on the bed.

He tried to nap, but he couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing. A lot of things were fuzzed together and racing thorough his head. He was stressed, tired, overwhelmed, and worn out.

But, there was one thing that remained constant on his mind. Leon. He’d recently been having dreams about him quite frequently. Dreams where he asks him out and he says yes. But he always wakes up from them knowing that will never happen. It was pretty clear to him that he had a crush on the redhead. But he never had the guts to say anything. But for whatever reason, he wanted to be close to him more than anything in the world.

But he was too tired.

He stayed in his dorm, gazing blankly at the ceiling; occasionally glancing at his window to watch the snow storm. It was pretty bad outside. Close to blizzard speeds, quite frankly.

He checked his phone to make sure the weather would be clear enough to get home Sunday when he heard a knock at his door. He got up and shuffled towards the door to open it, feeling a wave of cold corse down his body as his feet touched the floor. He turned the doorknob and opened it to be greeted by Leon standing in the doorway, looking excited about something.

“You’ll never believe this, but when I got my phone back, I checked my notifs and saw I got a B on my first two exams! Isn’t that awesome?” Leon said sounding proud of himself.

Makoto could feel himself beam ear to ear, pulling his friend into a tight hug. His entire body coursed with pride. He’d seen how hard he was working and it paid off.

Leon hugged back almost instantly squeezing the other out of pure excitement. Both boys were smiling ear to ear.

“Leon that’s amazing!” Makoto said pulling away from the hug.

“I know right?” Leon paused briefly. “Shit man it’s cold in here. Wanna come to my dorm? It’s a bit warmer in there” Leon then added.

Makoto thought for a brief minute. He was really tired— mentally and physically. But on the other hand he really wanted to spend time with Leon before winter break. “Sure”

Makoto picked up his phone and weighted blanket and fallowed him to his dorm, trudging a little. They made it to the Leon’s room and both sat down. “Those exams were exhausting, huh?” Leon stated.

“Yeah” Makoto said with an exhausted sigh.

“I dunno about you but I’m exhausted. I’m gonna-“ but just as Leon was about to finish his sentence, the lights to the dorm room went out.

“Shit was that the power?” Leon muttered under his breath. The entirety of the dorm building appeared significantly darker, and the tv that was on in the background of the dorm had completely shut down. In addition, the winds from the ongoing snowstorm had seemed to have picked up over the past few minutes.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Makoto replied, slightly more interested in checking out the window and watching the leafless trees swaying violently in the storm.

“Damn” Leon paused. “Wait, that kills the heater too, right?”

“Oh god,” Makoto said starting to panic.

“Well shit!” Leon cursed. “Smart move bringing that blanket, man. But damn that isn’t good”

“Well, maybe we could have a sleepover” Makoto stated optimistically.

Leon turned his head towards him in curiosity. Makoto could tell that was kind of spontaneous, especially to someone who wasn’t komaru.

“Well, when I was younger and we’d lose power, komaru and I would always stay in the other’s room and have little ‘sleepovers’ where we’d stay in each others rooms and build pillow forts. We don’t have to do any of that but maybe we could just talk?” Makoto offered.

Leon thought for a second. He wasn’t used to friends wanting to spend that much time with him. Heck, he wasn’t even used to people he’d dated wanting to spend that much time with him.

“Yeah sure,” Leon replied with a slight smile.

Makoto’s face visibly lit up.

The two stayed up a few hours playing uno and other sleepover games and wearing those soft hoodies you never want to take off and are super comfy.

Before bed, they both snuck down to the kitchen where sayaka, mukuro, and kirigiri were all talking and holding lanterns.

“Oh, hi guys!” Makoto said seeing his friends.

“Oh, hello Makoto,” kirigiri stated calmly. “Need anything?”

“Nope. Just getting some cocoa,” Makoto replied cheerily.

“Wait Sayaka, weren’t you going home today?” Leon asked his friend.

“Mom couldn’t drive in the weather. She’s probably gonna come pick me up tomorrow, or at least when the storm calms,” Sayaka replied.

“Cool. Stay safe dude!” Leon said to his friend.

They made some cocoa and headed back upstairs to the dorms, where the awkward question of sleeping situation came up. Being as the beds in the dorms are somewhat small, they’d either have to smush together and share, or one would take the floor. While both secretly kind of wanted to lay together on the bed and share body heat, Makoto decided to sleep on the floor.

Makoto took his blanket and an extra pillow from the bed and laid down.

“Need anything, I’m here, ok?” Leon said before turning off the lantern that illuminated the room.

“Ok. Night” Makoto replied, shifting in his blanket to get comfy.

“Night”

It was midnight. There was still no luck with the power, and the temperature had only dropped more. The winds were still strong outside, and snow was piling up. On top of that, Makoto was tossing and turning in his sleep, letting out slightly distressed mutters. He curled up into his blanket more to preserve body heat, but was still undoubtedly cold.

Leon is a light sleeper. The slightest changes can wake him up, so hearing the constant shifting and shaking was enough to begin to wake him up.

Eventually, he couldn’t fall back asleep anymore. The constant disturbance was enough to shake him awake, and once he realized the source of the noise, he became worried.

He glanced down at Makoto shifting anxiously in his sleep, letting out almost inaudible whimpers.

Leon contemplated waking him up, but he didn’t want to be overbearing or annoying. He didn’t want to lose this friend. But his worries got the best of him and he gently shook Makoto awake.

Upon waking him up, Leon was met with a pair of drowsy eyes looking up at him.

“Hey, you ok? Sorry for waking you man, just saw you shifting a lot. Wanted to make sure you’re doing alright.” Leon said placing a hand on Makoto’s shoulder.

Makoto looked up at him wordlessly before throwing himself into a hug with him.

Leon was taken aback by this. He clearly did not expect that.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Leon, but I can’t take this anymore! I like you! I like you in a way that’s more than I would like a friend! I’m in love with you, Kuwata! I’m sorry I couldn’t take the dreams and the falling and the embarrassment I couldn’t take it! I’m sorry for being so selfish, but I like you,” Makoto blurted out. Tears started forming in his eyes; purely out of anxiety. Did he really just blurt that out?

Leon stared at him for a moment, completely shocked. But then, he didn’t yell. He didn't leave. He didn’t even tell him he didn’t feel the same way. He hugged him tighter.

“So I’m not weird, huh?” Leon said somewhat under his breath.

“What do you mean?”

“Look man, I like you too. I don’t know if it’s weird or not, but yeah. Never thought you’d like someone like me,” Leon said resting his chin on Makoto’s head.

“You mean it?” Makoto asked, his face lighting up.

“Wouldn’t lie to ya, man. ‘Course I mean it.”

There was a silence. But not an uncomfortable one. It was actually quite pleasant. The two held each other for a while, enjoying the other’s company and warmth.

“Well, if it’s not too quick, would ya wanna come sleep in the bed with me? Floors gotta be cold,” Leon said breaking the silence.

Makoto’s face flushed. But he wasn’t going to say no. He could really use that right now.

“Ok.”

They climbed into the bed together. Makoto dragged his weighted blanket along with them, and Leon pulled it over the two for warmth.

He pulled Makoto into his arms and rested his head upon the other’s. Makoto returned the embrace, holding his new lover tightly and intertwining their fingers.

This was nice. It felt warm. It felt safe. It felt ok. They love each other so much. It felt nice to finally be able to channel that onto the other.

Barely 5 minutes had passed and Makoto could hear soft snoring coming from the other. This was a calming sound that he could get used to. He fell asleep soon after.

By around 6 in the morning, the power for the school came back on. It was warmer now. But that didn’t disturb the two. This was the closure they both needed.

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axelsagewrites · 5 years

Text

Quidditch

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

Harry: Since he's been playing since first year and later was captain it was somewhat important to you both. Obviously coming to Hogwarts and hearing of the boy who lived everyone assumed he'd be amazing. You had doubts, knowing people are just people. but you had to admit he was a great seeker.

Plus, since you gained a bit of a crush on him you'd go to your own houses quidditch games (and his house if you aren't in Gryffindor) whether you cared or not.

Once you and Harry started dating Harry didn't feel right playing without you. He'd say he needed you for luck or some other excuse, but you didn't mind.

Ron: he loved to watch quidditch and you didn't really care. It's a good sport but not something you'd give up the finally empty library or quiet great hall. Nearly everyone went to the game, the ones who didn't all understanding to keep it low key.

Ron always tried persuading you to go to a game. You always said no. until he became a player. Once Ron got a spot on the team your interest in quidditch peaked. It is a slight ego boost for Ron to see you supporting him while standing with your own house if you aren't Gryffindor.

Hermione: she liked quidditch but wasn't exactly obsessed. She'd go to most Gryffindor games but leave early, not really caring. One time when she was at the very front of the stands she noticed something coming over. The stands shrieked when a bludger almost went through the group of 3rd years, including Hermione.

But they let out a cheer of relief when (Y/H)'s beater came over, hitting it at the other team's beater who'd knocked it there in the first place. (Y/N) grinned when the bludger hit the boy's brooms end and made him go spinning out of control.

(Y/N) hovered there for a moment to ask Hermione "You okay?" Despite their teammates yelling at them to get back in the game. Hermione nodded, flustered, "Good. See you 'round," And suddenly quidditch was a lot more interesting.

Draco: you liked the moral and celebration around quidditch. Plus being a muggleborns the game was magical. That was why you joined your houses quidditch team in your fifth year as the new chaser.

Rain or shine, win or lose, you enjoyed it. obviously, you liked winning, but it wasn't too bad to lose occasionally. Draco was the opposite. He had to win, and it had to be perfect. Losing the first game of the season to (Y/H) who had 3 new team members, yourself included, didn't please him.

However, as the year went on and he won more he began to focus more on a certain player in (Y/H) than the game. You and Draco would later get together, playing quidditch as a 'friendly' competition.

Fred: sometimes crushes make you do stupid things such as agreeing to watch Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff in near storm conditions simply because Fred asked if you were going. Yeah call it cliché but you went to all his games, saying it was to support a friend.

You cheered the loudest, boo'd the other team, and were seemingly really into quidditch. You liked quidditch and following it, but it was mainly a certain ginger. After games, you and the twins would celebrate a win and prank a lose together.

One time after winning George took too long getting changed so you and Fred left him to go to the party in the room of requirements. But alas Fred pulled you into a cupboard, saying he heard filch. A couple of minutes in the dark cupboard, silence echoing in the tight space, you said: "Are you sure?"

Fred, confusingly as always, answered "We'll find out," and kissed you. Quidditch was a lot more interesting.

George: you were the typical supportive partner, going to games, cheering, telling him he's the best player. So, on and so forth. Whenever you visited him during summer he'd try convincing you to fly with him. Like a sensible person, you said hell no.

Its literarily sitting on a stick with some twigs and jumping in the air, hoping you don't come crashing down. No thanks.

Eventually, George managed to convince you to fly. It required the promise he wouldn't go fast, high, or do tricks. So, sitting on the back of the broom, arms around his middle as to not fly off, he kicked up and you were in the air.

"This isn't too bad," you let out a shaky breath as he did slow laps around the burrow.

"Told you," you could hear the smirk on his face, "Hold on love,"

"Huh?-AH!" You yelled, scrunching your eyes as the wind whipped around your body. You cracked your eyes open a little once he'd seemed to stop. Up, way above the burrow, you looked around with shaky breathing, "George," he hummed in response, "Take me down or I will castrate you," despite the threat, you wrapped your arms around him tighter.

"Cheer up, it's not too bad," he tried to comfort you, turning his head over his shoulder to see how you were doing. You'd bury your head in his shoulder, eyes shut. "Babe?" he asked, genuinely concerned. "Okay, we're going down. Slowly, yeah?" you nodded, not lifting your head.

For the next minute or so that stretched to an eternity in your head, George made his way back down to the ground. As soon as his feet touched the ground he turned around and hugged you, letting the broom drop, "I am so sorry. I-I didn't think it would be that bad. I-I thought that-"

"Please stop talking," he nodded, pulling back a little, his usual smile twisted into a frown. "I-I'm afraid of heights," you managed out. George upon hearing this started, even more, saying you shouldn't be afraid to tell him these things. You got over the incident and moved on but used the situation to get George to do a few...tasks.

Luna: even looking at Luna you know she would snap like a baby bird. You were afraid when she got knocked in the corridors, fearing she'd be knocked down. She was a strong person mentally, physically not so much.

Maybe that's part of the reason her father told her she wasn't allowed to fly. That and he was protective after her mother's death. But you were your teams best quidditch player. After dating Luna if you were playing she'd support your team even if you were against her own house.

"Can you take me flying?" Luna asked one lunchtime, "I've never been," how are you meant to say no to a face like that. Plus, all your friends were around, and you didn't want to seem overly protective. Who were you to tell someone what they can and can't do?

That's how you ended up here, on the barren quidditch pitch, Luna on your broom. Once she got somewhat used to fly she was determined to fly outside the pitch. "Okay," you told her, "But I'm coming with you," so she sat on the front of the broom, stearin, while you sat behind her, guiding her on what to do.

You'd thought she'd fly out of the stadium doors, but no. the air whipped your face as she shot straight up in the air, above the stands, shouting "Whoa," as she went. Once slightly above the stands, she shoots off towards the grounds, flying towards the black lake.

You weren't wearing your goggles since you didn't think it would be this fast, so you had a hard time seeing. But you did manage to see you were nose-diving towards the lake. Thinking quick, you leaned forward, grabbing the broom and trying to pull up. It was close enough for the broom to skim the bottom of the water.

Deciding you had enough you somehow steered the broom to the edge of the black lake. Once you were standing you grabbed the broom, panting. Luna was as well but with a huge smile on her face. "We need to do that again,"

You let out a long breath, "Maybe later. Let's-let's get something to eat, yeah?"

Ginny: you never went to quidditch games. They were beyond boring to you. Why watch when you can play? Once you started Ginny you went reluctantly to her games, telling her you enjoyed them. Ginny wasn't an idiot though and told you-you didn't have to come, and she wouldn't be offended.

During the summer you'd visit the Weasleys, spending most of the time with Ginny. Her room was covered in quidditch posters. She'd try explaining it to you, but you'd just nod along, not understanding anything. "You have no clue what I'm saying?"

"Not even a little,"

Despite not following quidditch when her brothers said they were going to fly and invited you, you wanted to go too. You weren't an astounding player, but you were pretty decent. Ginny was surprised when you got the quaffle in the hoop. "How?" she asked.

"Its boring to watch, but fun to play,"

James: prongs was somewhat quidditch obsessed. It was insane. But not that many people would realize he was incredibly self-conscious. His parents were quite old when they had him, so his dad wasn't physically able to play quidditch with him.

James was kinda crap when he came to Hogwarts. He could fly fine but he'd never played a game against someone. But as well as Sirius James made another friend and one who came from a wizarding family obsessed with quidditch.

It was one day at lunch when James was pouting because some older kids had mocked his flying when (Y/N) stepped in. "I could give you some extra flying lessons." James took (Y/N) up on this offer. They weren't that close before the lessons but got quite close after.

All of (Y/N)'s family played quidditch. For their fifth birthday, all children in the (Y/L/N) family got a training broom. Despite having a good broom at home (Y/N) had to use a school one since first years weren't allowed one for some reason.

James, however, learned properly for the first time on one of these brooms so wasn't affected by the fact they flew slightly to the left and started buzzing if you flew too high. Over the summer, James, Sirius, and (Y/N) went back to school shopping together where James convinced his parents to buy him a broom for school. With his new broom that didn't hold him back, he became one of the best quidditch players in school, getting on to the quidditch team, and becoming the best player in the school as well as captain.

Sirius: Sirius played quidditch but didn't really care. He played it if his friends were playing or if he was bored but he had better hobbies. (Y/N) however, had not touched a broom since first year. Sirius and (Y/N) had been dating a couple months when he found this out.

Upon gaining this shocking knowledge when (Y/N) said she didn't want to join in playing casual quidditch Sirius sought out to change this. "Sirius, you don't even care about quidditch," (Y/N) pointed out.

"Yeah but still," was his only argument, "Come on. One broom ride and you'll be a changed person."

"Fine," (Y/N) sighed, "But only one. And if I die I will kill you,"

The ride started out quite slow, flying around the edge of the black lake, "I don't know what I was so afraid of," (Y/N) said.

Sirius grinned, "Told you. Now, this is where it really gets fun," before (Y/N) could respond he shot off in the air. Sirius flew higher and faster. He wasn't the best player, so the ride was kind of shaky. Flying above the forbidden forest, Sirius checked in, "How you are doing?" he yelled over the wind.

"Bloody brilliant! This is amazing!" turns out (Y/N) didn't know what they were missing.

Remus: (Y/N) was one of the best quidditch players in (Y/H). they were also Remus's crush. Something about watching (Y/N) made Remus a bit flustered. Maybe it was the confidence they had on the field, the smile on their face when they scored, or how good they looked in the kit.

It was these factors that lead to Remus asking James for lessons. The marauders all stopped what they were doing to ask him to repeat himself. "I want to play,"

James sat up, chucking his quidditch magazine to the side, "Who hurt you?"

Remus sighed, crossing his arms, "Is it so wrong to want to be able to join in when you'd all go play quidditch,"

Peter, who'd been laying on his bed sketching pipped up, "he fancies (Y/H)'s chaser," the other three marauders gapped at him, Remus going to deny it, "he keeps staring at them during meals and class. Plus, he's been going to more quidditch games,"

Remus wasn't even able to deny it, instead going bright red, white scars looking even more prominent on his skin. "Well well well," James chuckled, "we better get you a broom,"

Partly because of the seemingly constant quidditch injuries (Y/N) helped in the hospital wing. They'd change the bed sheets, give patients their meals, and general tidying. Plus, it got them extra credit. "(Y/N) bed 7's been filled so can you take this tray to him," Madam Pomfrey handed them a tray with a couple bits of fruit, toast, and water.

(Y/N) nodded and went to the bed, pulling back the curtain but having to balance the tray on their hip and hand. "Remus?" (Y/N)'s face contorted into confusion, "how'd you break your arm?" (Y/N) sat the tray down. They knew Remus came in somewhat often but Madam Pomfrey didn't let anyone see him.

The Marauders sitting around the boy chuckled while Remus went red, white scars littering his face. "Um, well, I-I fell," (Y/N) gave the boy a look but said nothing, "Th-thanks," he gave an awkward smile as he reached out for the water jug, spilling it due to using his non-dominant hand.

(Y/N) pulled out their wand, cleaning up the mess and pouring a glass, all while the marauders bellowed with laughter. They handed the boy the class, a slight smile on their face, "Don't worry. Madam Pomfrey will have that fixed in no time. And you lot," they turned to marauders, "will get kicked out if you don't calm the volume."

James and Sirius made fake scared faces. (Y/N) however still had their wand in hand so made the curtains around the bed attack the boys. Remus laughed as his friends tried to fight off the material. "See you around Remus," (Y/N) said before leaving. Remus was left with a dopey smile on his face and two friends saying 'help me' that he ignored.

Lily: you always loved the idea of quidditch but...you sucked. Because of this, you worked extra hard for years to get better. It wasn't till fifth year you got on the team, mainly because one had broken their collar bone and decided to miss some games. You, however, ended up replacing them.

But you knew you weren't the best on the team, far from. It was also pretty awkward joining mid-season since everyone else knew each other and you only vaguely knew them. They weren't mean per se but stuck in their groups.

During games, you got nervous, like really nervous. It was your first official game and the captain had given you a separate mini speech in private, telling you to get all your nerves out. That didn't work, and you clambered on your broom shaking.

Your teammates gave you a concerned look as madam hooch counted down to the games start. You looked over in the crowd and among the tons of people and signs you saw one in particular. 'GO (Y/N)!'.

You looked to see the redhead holding up the sign, hollering among the rest. She gave you a huge grin when you locked eyes. lily was somewhat close to you. You'd meet in a study group and had started kind of hanging out. You also had a massive crush on her.

"Go!" You kicked off a second later than the rest of your team but once in the air, your nerves doubled as the Quaffle went right past you. Not long after you had to duck a bludger.

Your teammates yelled at you, but it wasn't helping. Upon glancing back at Lily, who was still smiling, you shook yourself and shot after the other team's chaser. Seeing there was no way from the side you literally let your broom droop a few feet, earning a slight gasp as people thought your broom wasn't going to stop. But you shot forward, going up at the same time and somehow got the quaffle.

"10 points to (Y/H)!" The commentator yelled over the mic. The crowds cheered, "And from there new chaser (Y/L/N)." you hadn't even realized what had happened.

Each point lily cheered louder. It ended with your house winning and catching the snitch. 250 to (Y/H) and 50 to the other. Plus, out of the 10 goals from your team, you'd made 6 of them. Upon landing on the pitch, your house hollering in celebration, your teammates approached you. "Didn't think you had it in you,"

People from the stands started spilling into the pitch but you weren't really paying attention till someone ran up and hugged you. Once they pulled back you saw the familiar red hair, "Lily,"

"I'm so proud of you,"

A/N: Please leave requests. They're always open. I love writing but sometimes ideas are hard or i dont know what you like. Even if its just commenting "Harry fluff" or "Remus ansgt". anything will help.

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oscopelabs · 5 years

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3D, Part 2: How 3D Peaked At Its Valley by Vadim Rizov

I didn’t expect to spend Thanksgiving Weekend 2018 watching ten 3D movies: marathon viewing is not my favorite experience in general, and I haven’t spent years longing to see, say, Friday the 13th Part III, in 35mm. But a friend was visiting, from Toronto, to take advantage of this opportunity, an impressive level of dedication that seemed like something to emulate, and it’s not like I had anything better to do, so I tagged along. Said friend, Blake Williams, is an experimental filmmaker and 3D expert, a subject to which he’s devoted years of graduate research and the bulk of his movies (see Prototype if it comes to a city near you!); if I was going to choose the arbitrary age of 32 to finally take 3D seriously, I couldn’t have a better Virgil to explain what I was seeing on a technical level. My thanks to him (for getting me out there) and to the Quad Cinema for being my holiday weekend host; it was probably the best possible use of my time.

The 10-movie slate was an abridged encore presentation of this 19-film program, which I now feel like a dink for missing. What’s interesting in both is the curatorial emphasis on films from 3D’s second, theoretically most disreputable wave—‘80s movies with little to zero critical respect or profile. Noel Murray considered a good chunk of these on this site a few years ago, watching the films flat at home, noting that when viewed this way, “the plane-breaking seems all the more superfluous. (It’s also easy to spot when these moments are about to happen, because the overall image gets murkier and blurrier.)” This presumes that if you can perceive the moments where a 3D film expands its depth of field for a comin’-at-ya moment and mentally reconstruct what that would look like, that’s basically the same experience as actually seeing these effects.

Blake’s argument, which I wrestled with all weekend, is that these movies do indeed often look terrible in 2D, but 3D literally makes them better. As it turns out, this is true surprisingly often. Granted, all concerned have to know what they’re doing, otherwise the results will still be indifferent: it turns out that Friday the 13th Part III sucks no matter how you watch it, and 3D’s not a complete cure-all. This was also demonstrated by my first movie, 1995’s barely released Run For Cover, the kind of grade-Z library filler you’d expect to see sometime around 2 am on a syndicated channel. This is, ostensibly, a thriller, in which a TV news cameraman foils a terrorist plot against NYC. It features a lot of talking, scenes of Bondian villains eating Chinese takeout while plotting and/or torturing our ostensible hero, some running (non-Tom Cruise speed levels), and one The Room-caliber sex scene. Anyone who’s spent too much time mindlessly staring at the least promising option on TV has seen many movies like these. The 3D helps a little: an underdressed TV station set takes on heightened diorama qualities, making it interesting to contemplate as an inadvertent installation—the archetypal TV command room, with the bare minimum necessary signifiers in place and zero detail otherwise—rather than simply a bare-bones set. But often the camera is placed nowhere in particular, and the resulting images are negligible; in the absence of dramatic conviction or technical skill, what’s left is never close enough to camp to come back out the other side as inadvertently worthwhile. I’m glad I saw it for the sheer novelty of cameos from Ed Koch, Al Sharpton and Guardian Angels founder Curtis Sliwa—all doing their usual talking points, but in 3D! But it’s the kind of film that’s more fun to tell people about than actually watch.

But infamous punchlines Jaws 3-D and Amityville 3-D have their virtues when viewed in 3D. The former, especially, seems to be the default punching bag whenever someone wants to make the case that 3D has, and always will be, nothing but a limited gimmick upselling worthless movies. It was poorly reviewed when it came out, but the public dug it enough to make it, domestically, the 15th highest-grossing film of 1983 (between Never Say Never Again and Scarface) and justify Jaws: The Revenge. Of course I was skeptical; why wouldn’t I be? But I was sucked in by the opening credits, in which the familiar handheld-underwater-cam-as-shark POV gave way to a severed arm floating before a green “ocean.” Maybe flat it looks simply ludicrous, but the image has a compellingly Lynchian quality, as if the limb were detached from one of Twin Peaks: The Return’s more disgusting corpses, its artifice heightened and literally foregrounded, the equally artificial background setting it into greater relief.

The film’s prominent SeaWorld product placement is, theoretically, ill-advised, especially in the post-Blackfish era; in practice, it’s extremely productive. The opening stretches have a lot of water-skiing; in deep 3D, the water-skiers serve as lines tracing depth towards and away from the camera over a body of water whose horizon line stretches back infinitely, producing a greater awareness of space. It reminded me of the early days of the short-lived super-widescreen format Cinerama, as described by John Belton in his academic history book Widescreen Cinema (recommended). The very first film in the format, This is Cinerama, was a travelogue whose stops included Cypress Gardens, Florida’s first commercial tourist theme park (the site is now a Legoland), which has very similar images of waterskiiers. Cinerama was, per the publicist copy Belton quotes from the period, about an experience, not a story: “Plot is replaced by audience envelopment […] the medium forces you to concentrate on something bigger than people, for it has a range of vision and sound that no other medium offers.” Cinerama promised to immerse viewers, as literalized in this delightful publicity image; Belton argues that “unlike 3-D and CinemaScope, which stressed the dramatic content of their story material and the radical new means of technology employed in production, Cinerama used a saturation advertising campaign in the newspapers and on radio to promote the ‘excitement aspects’ of the new medium.” There’s a connection here with the earliest days of silent cinema, short snippets (“actualities”) of reality, before it was decided that medium’s primary purpose was to tell a story. It didn’t have to be like that; in those opening stretches, Jaws 3-D’s lackadaisical narrative, which might play inertly on TV, recalls the 1890s, when shots of bodies of water were popular subjects. This is something I learned from a recent presentation by silent film scholar Bryony Dixon, and her reasoning makes sense. The way water moves is inherently hypnotic, and for early audiences assimilating their very first moving images, water imagery was a favorite subject. It’s only with a few years under its belt that film started making its drift towards narrative as default; inadvertently or not, Jaws 3-D is very pure in its initial presentation of water as a spectacular, non-narrative event.

If this seems like a lot of cultural and historical weight to bring to bear upon Jaws 3-D, note that it wasn’t even my favorite of the more-scorned offerings I saw that weekend, merely one that makes it easiest for me to articulate what I found compelling about the 3D immersion experience. I haven’t described the plot of Jaws 3-D at all, which is indeed perfunctory (though it was nice to learn where Deep Blue Sea cribbed a bunch of its production design from). I won’t try to rehabilitate Amityville 3-D at similar length: set aside the moronic ending and Tony Roberts’ leading turn as one of cinema’s most annoyingly waspish, unearnedly whiny divorcees, and what’s left is a surprisingly melancholy movie about the frustrations, and constant necessary repairs, of home ownership. There’s very little music and a surprising amount of silence. The most effective moment is simply Roberts going upstairs to the bathroom, where steam is hissing out for no apparent reason and he has to fix the plumbing. The camera’s planted in the hallway, not moving for any kind of emphasis as the back wall moves closer to Roberts; it doesn’t kill him and nothing comes of it, it’s just another problem to deal with (the walls, as it were, are settling), made more effective by awareness of how a space whose rules and boundaries seemed fixed is being altered, pushing air at you.

Watching a bunch of these in sequence, some clear lessons emerge: if you want to generate compelling depth by default, find an alleyway and block off the other half of the frame with a wall to present two different depths, or force protagonists to crawl through ducts or tubes. This is a good chunk of Silent Madness, a reasonably effective slasher film that, within the confines of its cheap sets and functional plotting, keeps the eye moving. It’s an unlikely candidate for a deep-dive New York Times Magazine article from the time period, which is well worth reading in full. It’s mostly about B-movies and the actresses trying to make their way up through them, though it does have this money quote from director Simon Nuchtern about why, for Bs, it’s not worth paying more for a good lead actress: “If I had 10,000 extra dollars, I’d put it into lights. Not one person is going to say, ‘Go see that movie because Lynn Redgrave is in it.’ But if we don’t have enough lights and that 3-D doesn’t pop right out at you, people are going to say, ‘Don’t see that movie because the 3-D stinks.’” Meanwhile, nobody appears to have been thinking that hard while making Friday the 13th: Part III, which contains precisely one striking image: a pan, street morning, as future teen lambs-to-the-slaughter exit their van and walk over to a friend’s house. A lens flare hits frame left, making what’s behind it briefly impossible to see: this portion of the frame is now sealed off under impermeable 2D, in contrast to the rest of the frame’s now far-more-tangible depth. The remainder of the movie makes it easy to imagine watching it on TV and clocking every obvious, poorly framed and blocked 3D effect, from spears being thrown at the camera to the inevitable yo-yo descending at the lens. (This is my least favorite 3D effect because it’s just too obvious and counterproductively makes me think of the Smothers Brothers.)

Friday the 13th was the biggest slog of the 3D weekend, and the one most clearly emulating 1981’s Comin’ at Ya! I am not going to argue for that movie, either, which is generally credited with kicking off the second 3D craze; it’s a sludgy spaghetti western that delivers exactly as its title promises, using a limited number of effects repeatedly before showing them all again in a cut-together montage at the end, lest you missed one in its first iteration. It’s exhausting and oddly joyless, but was successful enough to generate a follow-up from the same creative team. Star Tony Anthony and director Ferdinando Baldi (both veterans of second-tier spaghetti westerns) re-teamed for 1983’s Treasure of the Four Crowns, the movie which (two screenings in) rewired my brain a little and convinced me I should hang around all weekend. This is not a well-respected film, then or now: judging by IMDb user comments, most people who remember seeing it recall it playing endlessly on HBO in the ‘80s, where it did not impress them unless they were very young (and even then, perhaps not). Janet Maslin admitted to walking out on it in her review; then again, she did the same with Dawn of the Dead, and everyone loves that.

An unabashed Indiana Jones copy, Treasure begins strong with a lengthy opening sequence of tomb raider J.T. Striker (Anthony) dropping into a cave, where he’s promptly confronted not only with a bunch of traps but, for a long stretch, a small menagerie’s worth of owls, dogs, and other wildlife. There are a lot of animals, and why not? They’re fun to look at, and having them trotted out, one after another, is another link back to silent cinema; besides water, babies and animals were also popular subjects. The whole sequence ends with Striker running away from the castle above the cave, artifact retrieved, in slow-motion as Ennio Morricone’s score blares. There is, inevitably and nonsensically, a fireball that consumes the set; it unfolds luxuriously in detailed depth, the camera placed on a grassy knoll that gives us a nice angle to contemplate it looking upwards, a nearly abstract testament to the pleasures of gasoline-fueled imagery. Shortly thereafter, Striker is in some European city to sell his wares, and in every shot the camera is placed for maximum depth: in front of a small city park’s mini-waterfall, views of streets boxed in by sidewalks that narrow towards each other, each position calibrated to create a spectacular travelogue out of what’s a fairly mundane location. There’s an expository sequence where Striker and friends drop into a diner to ask about the whereabouts of another member of the crew they need to round up. Here, with the camera on one side of a bar encircling a center counter, there are something like six layers of cleanly articulated space, starting with a plant’s leaves right in front of the lens on the side, proceeding to the counter, center area, back counter, back tables and walls of the establishment. Again, the location is mundane; seeing it filleted in space so neatly is what makes it special.

The climax finally convinced me I was watching forgotten greatness. This is an elaborate heist sequence in which, of course, the floor cannot be touched, necessitating that the team perform all kinds of rappelling foolishness. At this point I thought, “the only way I could respect this movie more is if it spent 10 minutes watching them get from one side of the room to another in real time.” First, the team has to gear up, which basically means untangling a bunch of ropes—clearly not the most exciting activity. The camera is looking up, placed below a team member as they uncoil and then drop a rope towards the lens. This is a better-framed variant of the comin’-at-ya principle, but what made it exciting to me was the leisurely way it was done: no more whizzing spears, but a moment of procedural mundanity as exciting as any ostensible danger. Basic narrative film grammar is being upended here: if a rope being dropped is just as exciting as a big, fake rip-off boulder chasing our hero down the cave, then all the rules about what constitutes narrative are off—narrative and non-narrative elements have the exact same weight, and even the most mundane, A-to-B connective shot is a spectacular event.

This isn’t how narrative cinema is supposed to work, and certainly not what James Cameron’s conception of good 3D proposed. The movie keeps going, building to a bizarrely grim climax involving a lot of face-melting, scored by Morricone’s oddly beatific score, which seems serenely indifferent to the grotesqueness of the images it’s accompanying. (This is a recurring trait in the composer’s ‘80s work; the score for White Dog often seems to bear no relation to the footage it’s accompanying.) That would make the movie oneiric and weirdly compelling even on a flat TV, but everything preceding convinced me: 3D can be great because it’s 3D, not because it serves a story. I’ve spent the last decade getting more angry about the format than anything, but that was a misunderstanding. Treasure of the Four Crowns is, yes, probably very unexceptional seen flat; seen in all three dimensions, it’s a demonstration of how 3D can turn banal connective tissue and routine coverage into an event. The spectacle of 3D might never have been its potential to make elaborate CG landscapes more immersive, something I still haven’t personally been convinced of; as those 19 non-CG shots in Avatar showed (undermining Cameron’s own argument!), 3D’s renderings of the real, material world and objects have yet to be fully explored. 3D’s ability to link film back to its earliest days is refreshing, in the way that any rediscovery of forgotten parts of film language can be, while also encouraging thought about all the things narrative visual language hasn’t yet explored, as if 3D could take us forwards and backwards simultaneously. In any case, I’m now won over—ten years after Avatar, but better late than never.

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ptomlins · 7 years

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Home, Home, Home

Alright, @scribefindegil asked for “something fluffy with Magnus and Lucretia, the two members of the IPRE crew who have strong feelings about tea, experiencing a particularly delicious blend together on a new Plane”

The world is white.

Winter had come to the plane they were currently inhabiting in a three day long stint of massive snowflakes that blotted out the sun and kept the IPRE confined to the Starblaster and the residents of this plane in their homes for the duration, the fear of getting lost in the drifts too great. Not unusual to this world, apparently; they’d been warned ahead of time what to expect, and they’d been prepared for it. But today at last had broken clear and crisp, the first rays of the pre-dawn light sparkling soft over the small valley they rest in presently.

Magnus sits on the edge of the deck of the Starblaster, watching the world sleep still, legs swinging out into the open sky, past the invisible barrier that keeps in the warmth. He’s got his boots on, a thick pair of pants tucked into the laces just below his knees, but he’s still in the soft red shirt he’s also worn for the last three days, the sleeves slightly fraying at the wrists now from the years he’s had it. Like he’d started getting dressed to go out and had maybe thought better of it.

Lucretia stops for a moment at the top of the stairs to watch him, two identical mugs of tea held close to her body. She wonders what he’s thinking. Idly, though. She’s still in her pajamas, not quite awake enough yet for grand musings.

He hears her when she starts to walk to him, bare footed and all, the world is so still. His smile is fond and content when he looks up at her, and hers in return is just as so.

“Here,” she says, holding one of the steaming mugs in his direction, fingers splayed around the rim. His smile turns quizzical for half a second, and she’s done this what must be a thousand times now, this exact thing, bringing him a drink or a snack just because she wanted one and thought he might too, wanted someone to share with, but something must show in her face, this time. Maybe he is able to feel her anticipation just by how she’s standing, gods, but they know each other so well by now. Still. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. She waits for him to take it.

He brings both of his hands up, always so large and rough despite his perpetual youth, and the mug disappears between them. He watches the surface of the liquid as he draws back, careful not to slosh it’s contents, and then glances back at her. He’s still looking at her as he brings the cup to his lips to take a sip. He only stops looking at her when his eyes widen, brows rising in surprise.

“Holy shit, what is that?”

“Tea?” she suggests, trying for innocuous, but the smile is too wide on her face. She’s delighted that he likes it. “Or whatever passes for the equivalent on this plane. We’ve been working on the blend for weeks now.” She sits down next to him, settling her soft blue robe around herself and leaning into his shoulder. He shifts his mug to one hand, leaning into her in turn.

“We?” he asks, and takes another sip.

“Taako and I,” she says.

They’d tried hundreds of combinations, balancing ingredients, experimenting with temperatures and times for steeping, different sweeteners and additives, searching for that place of perfection, a custom creation that Magnus would truly appreciate. They’d used up every mug in the Starblaster’s cupboards several times over, and she’d kept scrupulous notes on their progress.

She appreciates cycles like this, cycles where the get the Light early, and the world is kind, and they have time to live the more normal side of life. The side where she can make tea for someone she loves, just because she wants to.

“We thought we’d surprise you,” she says.

“Well, consider me surprised,” he says, enthusiastic and wonderfully genuine in the way that only Magnus Burnsides can be, the way he always is. “Really, Creesh, this is fantastic, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “I’ll let Taako know too. We can stock up on the ingredients so it will last you a few cycles, huh? Or maybe,” she continues, thinking aloud, “Maybe Merle can find a way to grow what we need on the ship, then we’d never run out, would we.”

He hums at her, pleased, and his sideburns tickle her ear as he leans his head against hers. “What would I do without you,” he says, and it’s a little teasing but also very real.

They lapse into silence, drinking their tea, watching the sun rise over the snow-covered peaks in the distance, dragging long paths of light over snow-covered trees and the pointed roofs of snow-covered houses. Smoke starts to rise from a chimney, and then another, and another, as the people of this plane begin to rise themselves and stoke their fires for warmth and breakfast.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks him now, warm tea in her belly, curiosity at last outweighing the cold and the sleep in her bones. She sets her mug down and shifts against him, rolls her head back so she can watch him watching the world.

He laughs a little, more breath than sound, and she gets the sense that he is very careful not to look at her when he says, “Just, uh... Just imagining what we’ll do, when all of this is over.”

Her heart stutters in her chest, because they’ve all talked about after, with anger and sadness and longing, hope and despair and determination, with inebriated bravado and quiet earnest certainty. And she’s trying to figure out what to say now, in this moment that suddenly feels terribly vulnerable, when he beats her to it.

“I think I’ll build us a house.” He says it a little loud, a little forceful, and for Magnus Burnsides fifty years ago, that would have been simply how he was, all brashness, all rushing in, but this Magnus Burnsides has learned something of stillness, and so she understands he’s decided to save them both the burden of sadness on this bright, quiet morning.

“You have gotten very good at ducks,” she says, completely straight-faced. “Do the same basic principles translate to houses?”

He laughs, and it’s warm and it’s what she wanted. “Probably, I don’t know.” He looks at her, finally, and there’s still a wistfulness to the turn of his mouth, but his eyes are clear. “I figure Taako can just transmute whatever I get wrong, right?”

“We’ll need a large kitchen,” she says seriously.

“And a big tank for Fisher,” he adds. “And a library for you, just like, books everywhere.”

“With ladders?” she asks, twisting so she can throw an arm across him, dancing her fingers over the softness of that red shirt, his belly.

He nods, draping one of his arms around her shoulder. “Oh, definitely.”

“Seven bedrooms?”

“Hmmm,” he says, making an exaggerated show of thinking it over. “Well I figure Lup and Barry will want to share, but if we do seven maybe one can be a closet for the twins.”

“We’ll get all sorts of brand new lab equipment for Barry and Lup.”

“A greenhouse for Merle. A workshop for Cap’nport.”

“More than one bathroom.”

“Oh gods, yeah, I dream at night about multiple bathrooms,” he says. “Showers I can stand up in, tubs as far as the eye can see.”

She’s giggling into this chest now. “No strange plant life growing in the corners!” she says. “Counter space not covered in cosmetics!”

“And like twelve dogs,” he says.

“Just twelve?”

“To start,” he says. “And we’ll have tea together, just like this, every morning.” He reaches out, traces the line of her face from brow to chin, and her heart hurts with the tenderness of the gesture, the strength of his gaze. She closes her eyes, cements the moment in her memory, for all those times she will need that strength in the days, months, years to come.

“We’re going to get there, Magnus,” she says. She says it like a promise, she means it like a promise. She doesn’t open her eyes. “We’re going to get there and we’re going to be so, so happy.”

“I know,” he tells her. “I know.”

#taz balance #the adventure zone #magnus burnsides #lucretia #magcretia #i would say this is probably set somewhere between cycle 65 (judges) and cycle 82 (empty world)#i switched off between ingrid michaelson's are we there yet #(its a bittersweet longing sort of song and i kind of love it for magnus and lucretia?)#and pink's new single what about us #(which is less thematically on point but tonally works with the story i think)#anyway #hope you like it!#my fic #my writing #hush ptomlin #pt writes fic

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iffeelscouldkill · 7 years

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How to Be a Superhero Love Interest

Fandom: Spider-Man: Homecoming/Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker (Spideychelle)

Summary: Twin confusing things are happening to MJ. One, she's getting an unusual amount of attention from their friendly neighbourhood superhero, Spider-Man. And two, she might be starting to develop a crush on her ridiculous dork friend and teammate Peter Parker. More to the point, she thinks he might actually... like her back?

Being MJ, it isn't long before she manages to put two and two together. After that, it's just a matter of figuring out how to be a superhero love interest.

Author’s Note: I finished Part 1 of my Spideychelle fanfic and decided to post it to Tumblr! You can also read it on AO3.

Peter Parker is obviously hiding something.

Michelle prides herself on her sharp observation skills, but it doesn’t take a person with any observation skills whatsoever to know that Peter Parker has a secret. He is, in point of fact, one of the worst, most obvious secret-havers in the history of having a secret. And in that list, she includes Mr. Medley, the librarian, who is clearly and indiscreetly having an affair with Ms. Burns from the science department. (He’s forgiven her more than a few overdue fines for keeping that one quiet).

But even though Peter is obviously hiding something, with his disappearances and his inconsistent excuses and his sketchy and conveniently vague “Stark Industries internship” that goes far beyond anything that a normal internship would require, Michelle is not going to investigate further. Because in the course of being observant, she has discovered that people don’t like it when she confronts them with her observations.

“God, Michelle, you’re like a hound dog,” her older sister, Evelyn, had groaned the last time Michelle interrogated her about why she’d come home late, reeking of cigarette smoke. “No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

“I don’t want any friends,” Michelle retorted flatly. More to the point, she doesn’t need friends, because friends make you compromise your beliefs in order to fit in. Michelle is her own person. And without friends, she also has way more free time.

Sure, Michelle has people that she’s on friendly terms with, whom she refers to as ‘friends’ for the sake of seeming socially acceptable. She sits near Peter Parker and Ned Leeds at lunch because their weirdness means that everyone else keeps their distance, and she doesn’t mind being associated with them by proxy. They’re good guys.

But for most of the time, when she walks between classes and when she walks to and from school in the morning and the evening, Michelle is alone.

It’s during one of these times, as she’s walking home from school, that she looks up and sees Spider-Man. He’s swinging her way, an acrobatic red-and-blue figure getting larger as he swoops from building to building.

The sight of him triggers a kind of falling feeling in her gut, and the world spins briefly as she’s taken back to DC and the terror of staring up at a shaking, collapsing building with her friends inside, knowing there was nothing she could do to help them.

But she also remembers a lithe, costumed figure impossibly scaling the side of the building, defying helicopters and threats to get inside and save them.

As Spider-Man swings closer, Michelle raises one hand and waves at him. She’s just one person in the throngs of people crowding the sidewalk; she doesn’t expect him to notice her. But to her surprise, at the peak of one of his swings, Spider-Man waves back.

The action causes him to fire his next web just a fraction too late and he fumbles it, missing the overhang he was aiming for and attaching to a window ledge lower down. As a result, his next swing takes him too low, and with a comical yell of shock Spider-Man goes crashing into the side of a dumpster. Michelle hears a series of clatters and a muffled, “Shit!”

She can’t help it – she giggles.

As Michelle continues on her way, she doesn’t notice a red and blue figure crawling up the side of a nearby building and perching on the rooftop, watching her go.

Michelle has a strict policy of non-intervention.

She watches, she learns, but she does not interfere. Mostly because she doesn’t care, or claims not to care, about the petty disputes her fellow students get into over whose job it was supposed to be to take the chemistry equipment to Mr. Cobbwell after class (even though she knows it was Lucy’s job, not Betty’s like Lucy claims), or when Ms. Beckett blames Jayden for writing dick jokes on the chalkboard in their English classroom when the handwriting is clearly Trisha’s.

Even on those rare occasions when she does care, she keeps her mouth shut and saves her energy for the arguments that matter. As an activist, she’s learned to pick her battles; you have to, otherwise you wind up angry and burnt out, of no use to anyone. And she’s definitely not about to start fighting anyone else’s for them.

And yet in spite of all that, when she hears Flash call Peter “Penis Parker” for the fiftieth time, she snaps.

“You know what, Flash? If you took all the time that you spend coming up with supremely unoriginal nicknames to insult people whose intelligence makes you feel insecure and channelled it into actually studying, you might be worth more to the Decathlon team than just dead weight.”

A dead silence follows her words. They’re in homeroom, five minutes before the first bell, and Flash is half-turned in his seat with one arm resting on the back of his chair, the cocky smirk sliding off his face and giving way to taut anger.

Peter, in the desk behind Flash, and Ned, next to him, are both staring at her gobsmacked, mouths hanging open.

Dimly, Michelle wonders if she just compromised her position as Declathon team captain by insulting a member of the team, but she doesn’t care. She flicks a curl of hair out of her face, plunging on before Flash can muster a response.

“Oh but go on – insult me, too; I can take it. Because deep down I think you’re just scared of us. You see, Flash, unlike you, we aren’t afraid to be individuals. So we won’t go trailing around after you trying to kiss your ass. What a shame.” And she finishes by drawing an imaginary tear down one cheek.

There is muffled snickering from around the room. Flash’s face is slowly turning purple with indignant rage; he opens and closes his mouth, but before he can get any of the words out, the bell rings.

The tension in the room breaks, and the noise level immediately rises as people start to laugh and chatter more openly. Michelle allows herself a small victory smirk. Flash is still staring at her, but she holds his gaze, unblinking, refusing to be the first to look away, until Ms. Gardner sweeps into the room and calls for quiet.

Two seats away, Ned is grinning at her like she’s Christmas, his birthday and the Fourth of July come all at once. And Peter—

She glances over at Peter and immediately looks away, her cheeks flushing, because he’s giving her this look that she’s never seen before on another person.

It’s respect, fondness, amusement, and admiration all rolled into one. Even when Michelle’s not looking at Peter, she can still feel his gaze on her.

She stares down at the table top, aimlessly twiddling a pen and wondering why her stomach suddenly feels so weird. This is Peter Parker. Peter Parker, of the infamous puppy-dog crush on Liz Allan, which he’s definitely not over even though she moved out of state a month ago.

Peter Parker, whose brain-to-mouth filter is non-existent, whose love for science is matched only by his love for Lego and Star Wars, and who spends all his time when he’s not at school sticking together said Legos in his bedroom with his equally dorky friend, Ned Leeds, and coming up with weird new elements for the periodic table.

Ms. Gardner begins taking attendance, and Michelle answers automatically to her name. Peter eventually looks away from her, which is a relief, but her heart is still going at twice its usual rate.

It could be leftover adrenaline from the confrontation with Flash, but Michelle knows better. Flash doesn’t scare her. It has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the boy sitting in the desk behind him.

“You should’ve seen the look on Flash’s face! I thought he was going to bust a kidney!” Ned crows at lunch.

“Why a kidney?” Peter asks him.

“I dunno, but he nearly did.”

Michelle rolls her eyes and wishes she’d gone to the library like she originally planned. She’d thought that scooting her chair even further than usual away from Peter and Ned would have given them the hint that she doesn’t want to talk, but Ned had simply sat right down next to her with his lunch tray. Peter had hovered awkwardly, like he was torn between respecting her wish for space and sitting next to his best friend, and eventually followed suit.

“It was awesome,” Ned repeats reverently. “And Flash couldn’t even say a thing! I think he’s scared of you.”

Michelle snorts, though he’s right; Flash hasn’t said a word to her since homeroom, hasn’t even glanced in her direction. She isn’t going to kid herself that she’s safe, though; they have Decathlon practice right after school.

She glances over at Peter, and finds him giving her that look again. He’s also not saying anything, which from a normal person, would be weird. From Peter “motor-mouth” Parker, it might just be a sign that the world is ending.

She feels like she might claw out of her skin if she doesn’t do something, so finally she demands, “What, Peter?”

“Thanks, MJ,” he replies, with warm sincerity in every syllable.

The feeling in her stomach multiplies by about a hundred. Goddamn it.

Michelle enters the hall for Decathlon practice that afternoon with a poised calm that masks the apprehension she feels underneath. She’s not afraid of Flash, but if he tells Mr. Harrington what she said about him earlier, she could lose the team captaincy.

She’s not sure exactly why he got under her skin so badly earlier. She doesn’t like bullies, true, and she’s long thought that Flash needed to be taken down a peg. She’s sure that most of homeroom, for all that they pretend to like Flash, were secretly rooting for him to go down. But even so, the intensity of the anger that she’d felt in that moment surprised her.

Ned waves at her cheerily from the edge of the hall, which she ignores. She glances over and sees someone talking to Mr. Harrington, and her stomach lurches – but it’s not Flash, it’s Peter. He’s saying something earnestly (which is pretty much his default setting), gesturing widely with his hands while Mr. Harrington nods.

Michelle walks past them and goes up to the stage, where Abe and Cindy are mucking around. Flash is sitting off to the side, but he’s completely silent, and doesn’t look at her.

“All right, guys,” she says, and even without raising her voice, the group instantly quiets down. “Let’s run some drills.”

She tries not to pay attention to whatever Peter is still discussing with Mr. Harrington as she drills the team on general knowledge questions, but she can’t help but hear when Mr. Harrington calls Flash over to them. He looks sulky as he walks over, and only looks more so at whatever Mr. Harrington is telling him.

Peter, meanwhile, has wandered over to join the group running drills. Ned gets up to let Peter take his seat and his buzzer.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Peter,” says Michelle sarcastically. It’s no big deal really, but she wants to try and make him squirm a little bit.

“Sorry, MJ,” says Peter with a contrition that only makes her narrow her eyes more. With Liz as captain, he bailed on nationals with less remorse than he’s showing her right now. “I just had to clear something up with Mr. Harrington.”

Michelle lets it go, but after practice she corners him before he can disappear out the door in point five seconds like he usually does.

“So, what were you talking about with Mr. Harrington that was so important? And what did it have to do with Flash?”

Flash had also rejoined the group about two minutes after Peter, looking mutinous. She hadn’t said anything, and neither had he, even to make his customary snide remarks about Peter’s ‘Stark internship’. However, he’d answered several questions in the quick-fire round, and even got most of them right.

Peter grins at her sheepishly. “Well, y’know, I just wanted to clear up a couple things with him, about earlier.”

“Earlier,” Michelle repeats.

“Yeah. I figured Flash might try and get you in trouble with Mr. Harrington over what you said, ‘cause it was about the Decathlon team, so I wanted to try and make sure you didn’t. Get in trouble, I mean. So I just told him that there was an argument, you stood up for me and might’ve said some kinda harsh stuff, but you were defending me. And he said it was okay.”

“Just ‘okay’?” says Michelle.

“Well, he said it was between you guys and that you and Flash could sort it out between yourselves, without involving the Decathlon team,” Peter says with a diffident shrug. “So, y’know. No worries!”

Michelle treats Peter to a long, hard look before punching him lightly in the arm. “I don’t need you to play the hero for me,” she tells him.

“You’re welcome, MJ,” he replies with a brilliant grin.

The problem with breaking her policy of non-intervention is that when she does, Michelle always winds up getting involved. With people.

To be more specific, she thinks that she might actually be becoming friends with Peter and Ned. Not ‘on friendly terms’ friends, but actual friends.

After that day, she somehow never goes back to sitting two or three seats away from them at lunch. At first, she still keeps her distance conversationally, silently reading her book and ignoring Peter and Ned’s chatter, but then she finds herself somehow getting drawn into one of their dumb debates about which Star Wars movie is the best (Rogue One, obviously).

After that they somehow get on to debating the Lord of the Rings and Eowyn’s characterisation in the books versus the movies (Michelle has very strong opinions; Tolkien is great, but he sucked at writing women) and whether or not another set of Harry Potter movies was a good idea. Michelle is slightly unnerved to find that she has a lot in common with these dorks.

Peter and Michelle keep a whispered debate going all the way through History and up to the final bell, with Peter contending that creators should have the right to keep making new works in their franchise, and Michelle arguing that they should release the IP into the public domain so that fans can have a go at making their own versions. (“But then we wouldn’t have Rogue One, and you said it was your favourite!” Peter needles her. “We also probably would’ve got a diverse Star Wars a lot sooner,” Michelle retorts, and grins when his face falls.) She’s smiling as she says goodbye to them, and she carries on smiling all the way home.

Maybe having actual-friends isn’t so bad after all.

She’s wrong-footed, though, when Peter invites her over to watch Firefly with him and Ned at his house two days later. Ned stayed back after Geography class to talk to the teacher, so it’s just her and Peter at their usual lunch table. Peter has set his tray down next to hers but isn’t sitting down yet, nervously shifting on the spot as he looks down at her.

“…And so I thought it might be cool if maybe, you know, you came over and watched it with us? My aunt’s cool, she won’t mind. You could stay for dinner,” Peter rambles.

Michelle opens her mouth, unsure what to say. Sitting together at lunch and arguing about geek culture is one thing, but going over to someone’s house, meeting their mom (well, aunt) and staying for dinner is something else entirely. She’s a solitary person by nature, and she needs her time alone after spending the whole day around people.

Plus, she can’t help thinking it would be awkward with just the three of them – she doesn’t know them that well, not really – and it would make this whole “situation” with Peter, the one where they keep accidentally catching each other’s eyes for too long and then blushing and awkwardly looking away, so much worse. It’s bad enough at school, but in close quarters with no good escape route? Ugh. Recipe for disaster.

“I actually have this book that I really need to finish for English-” Michelle starts.

“Oh, yeah, no, of course, I get it – though I mean, you could bring it with you?” Peter offers.

“-and I have to be home by 8 o’clock anyway on a school night, my older sister is kind of strict,” she finishes over him.

It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth; Evelyn never holds her to the 8 o’clock curfew that their parents set, and she wouldn’t care if Michelle went out for the evening or stayed over a friend’s house. Michelle just hasn’t ever wanted to before.

“Sure, yeah, right…” Peter says, looking for all the world like a puppy whose tail she just trod on. “Maybe some other time.”

He sits down, and Michelle returns awkwardly to her lunch. Fortunately, Ned arrives before the tense silence can drag out much longer.

“Hey, guys! Sorry that took so long. So, did you ask her yet?” he says to Peter. Michelle’s face grows warm.

“Yeah, uh, I did,” says Peter in a despondent voice, not looking at her. Ned somehow fails to pick up on his tone.

“Great! So, we’ll see you later?”

“Actually, I have a- uh-” Michelle begins.

“She has stuff to do, and, um, her mom-”

“Sister-”

“Sister, yeah, sorry, is kinda strict.”

“Oh.” Ned looks between the two of them, then shrugs. “That sucks.”

Michelle leaves five minutes later, mumbling something about having to go to the library.

She doesn’t know where all this guilt has suddenly come from, but it sits in her stomach all day. The thought of another evening spent by herself in her room, reading, suddenly seems cold and empty rather than appealing.

She fidgets distractedly all through Spanish, and eventually pulls out her copy of Brave New World and skimreads the last few pages under her desk. Then as the bell rings, she pushes her way through the crowd of students in the hallway and hurries to catch up with Peter and Ned.

“-sure she didn’t mean it like that, dude, she just-” Ned cuts off mid-sentence when he sees her. “Oh, Michelle. Hey.”

“Hey,” Michelle says awkwardly.

There’s a pause, during which she resolutely forces herself to swallow her pride, then goes on,

“So I managed to finish my book during Spanish, and I was wondering if the offer to watch Firefly with you guys is...”

“Yeah!” Peter interrupts her eagerly. “Yeah, if you’re sure your sister won’t-”

“I already texted her, so it probably won’t be a big deal,” says Michelle. In fact, Evelyn’s reply to her off-handed text about spending the evening at a friend’s house had been,

what???? you???? who died and gave you a social life???

She’d decided to interpret that as an okay.

They go to Peter’s house, and she manages not to embarrass herself in front of his aunt (who is surprisingly young, and also endearingly pleased to meet another friend of her nephew’s).

Up in his room, which is just as nerdy as she had predicted, they sit shoulder to shoulder and watch Firefly on Ned’s laptop. Michelle has seen the show half a dozen times before, and she keeps up a running commentary of random trivia and dry remarks about the actors’ terrible Mandarin, which entertains the two boys to no end.

All in all, it’s not a terrible evening at all, and when Peter suggests that they hang out again on Friday night to finish the second half of the series, she doesn’t think twice before agreeing.

One problem with being friends with Peter and Ned is that it becomes a lot harder for Michelle to ignore the fact that Peter is hiding something.

But she manages to forget about it for a little while, right up until she gets to Peter’s house for the second half of the Friday marathon and Ned answers the door.

“Oh, uh, Peter had to cancel on tonight. Something came up.”

Michelle frowns. “He didn’t say anything at school,” she points out. In fact, Peter had been looking forward to their evening, and had checked with her at least three times to make sure she was still coming over. What was so important that he had to bail at 5pm on a Friday?

“Yeah, no, it was really last-minute,” Ned explains, although Michelle doesn’t really buy it.

“So… what are you doing here?” Michelle asks. The ‘this isn’t actually your house’ is implied, though to be fair, she doesn’t know anything about Ned’s home situation, so maybe half-living at Peter’s house is normal for him.

“Uh, May invited me to stay for dinner,” Ned says awkwardly.

“Oh.”

There’s a pause, during which Michelle tells herself not to be stupid; of course she’s not on the sort of terms yet that would see her invited to a guy’s house when he’s not even home. That’s lifelong-best-friend shit.

“Well, I’d better get going, then,” says Michelle, and turns to go.

“Hey, um-” Ned calls before she can get too far, and Michelle waits. “Do you… wanna stay for dinner, too? I’m sure May won’t mind, she always makes extra…”

Michelle half spins around. “I wouldn’t want to bother her, really, I’ll just head home and-”

“It’s fine, I swear – May? Can Michelle stay for dinner, too?”

So, reluctantly, Michelle steps inside just as Peter’s Aunt May comes into the front hall, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Oh, Michelle! How good to see you again!”

She smiles, but Michelle thinks there’s something a little strained and brittle about it. “Of course you can stay for dinner.”

Michelle mentally instructs herself to stop being in observation mode; she’s been invited over as a guest, she needs to stop analysing things. “Thanks so much for having me, May. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Really, I insist! Peter should be back later, anyway; he just had to, uh, run an errand.”

‘Run an errand’? Michelle thinks. Clearly being a terrible and unconvincing liar runs in the family. But she says nothing; it’s none of her business, and whatever this weird secret is that Peter has, at least his aunt is in the know.

Dinner is a strange experience. Ned and May both seem on edge, and Ned keeps checking his phone the whole time. Occasionally Michelle will have her head bent over her food and at the edge of her vision, catch him exchanging looks with May, silently communicating something.

She could try to fill the silence, but she’s never really seen the point of small talk. Occasionally May will seem to realise that they’re acting weird and brightly inject a question about school into the silence, which Michelle answers as normally as she can. All in all, it’s sort of a relief when dinner is over.

Michelle offers to help wash up, but May waves her off. “Don’t be silly, you’re the guest! I got this. You two go upstairs and watch a movie or something.”

Ned looks at her uncertainly. Michelle likes Ned well enough, but it’s not the same dynamic without Peter around, and she can already imagine how awkward it would be sitting down to watch a movie with just the two of them. “That’s okay; I should really be getting home. Thanks again for dinner.”

Ned, obviously relieved, offers to see her out.

“So, uh, see you at school tomorrow,” he says as she shoulders her bag.

“Monday,” Michelle corrects him dryly. “Tomorrow’s the weekend.”

“Oh yeah! Right.”

“Tell Peter I said hi, when he gets back from… Whatever it is he’s doing.”

Michelle and Ned look at each other for a moment. Michelle can see in his eyes that he’s waiting for her to ask the obvious question of just where the hell Peter is and what he’s doing. A big part of her wants to ask. But she doesn’t want to hear another flimsy lie, and besides, she promised herself that she wouldn’t try and figure this out.

Even though she really wants to.

“Night, Ned.”

#Spideychelle #peter/michelle #spider-man: homecoming #fanfic #fluff #marvel cinematic universe #secret identity #identity reveal #MJ is genre-savvy

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fluentlanguage · 7 years

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Podcast Episode 56: The Best Language Learning Tools for Summer 2017

Welcome to Creative Language Learning Podcast episode 56, with our popular roundup of this season's hottest language learning resources and tools.

Pop Culture Moment

Lindsay has been watching Terrace House, a Japanese reality tv show.

I found Bore Da, a Welsh breakfast show that displays key vocab right on the screen. Its app even gives you individual items with associated vocab lists.

Anyone remember pop-up video? How could would it be to have pop-up vocab video?!

And now for the top tools

Grab your sunglasses, get out into the sunshine, and try these brand new language learning resources. This season, we're not all about online learning anymore as you'll hear how Lindsay and I are applying our best tips outside too.

1) Prettier Notes

Enough of boring notebooks! Enhance your language learning and release creative instincts by engaging in prettier notemaking. No matter if you're a bullet journal artist or simply want to doodle on your vocab, pretty notes are a must-have for summer 2017.

How to: Bullet Journal for Effective Language Learning

2) Clozemaster

Do you like arcade games? Then Clozemaster's retro arcade style is going to be right up your street. This addictive desktop app shows you sentences and asks you to fill in the gap, and even allows for language pairs other than [target language] + English. Only downside: No audio. Great range of languages including Georgian, Kazakh, Welsh, Galician, Piemontese....you name it!

Play the game at www.clozemaster.com

3) Charity Shops and Library Sales

Who needs screens when you can browse so many affordable shelves right nearby? If you're after a big brand textbook like Teach Yourself or Pimsleur, or if you simply need a little inspiration away from your computer, take a tenner out to the charity shop and see what you come back with.

And when you're done, you can donate your own resources to other upcoming polyglots.

Find a charity shop in the UK in this directory

And here's what's awesome too.

Live Lingua Project

This site brings together a huge archive of language courses for free. The courses are from the American Peace Corps, Foreign Services Institute, and Defense Language Institute.

Go forth and find your exotic language

Dubbed YouTube Videos

Watching a familiar scene from a show with audio in your target language is fun and super useful for learners of any language. Of course you can get lots of DVDs in other languages, but if you're on an exotic language like Guaraní you might draw a blank there. YouTube can help, so have a look and see if you can find out dubbed channels for your target language.

You can enjoy everything from Powerpuff Girls in Finnish to Gossip Girl in Portuguese.

Need inspiration? Start your search with disney classic "Let It Go"

Type your favourite show + your target language into the YouTube search bar

Subasub and Subscene

See and hear how words in your target language are used in context with these huge subtitle directories.

Subasub lets you search over 750,000 dialogues in movies and compare different language versions side by side.

Subscene is a directory of subtitles for tv shows, films, and even music videos...and its range of languages is impressive. Advanced geeks can even create their own Anki cards using the subtitles on offer (we saw a talk about this at the Polyglot Gathering, but it kinda went over my head -- if you want to go for it, start here.

Search for a word or watch a movie while following the script to get the most out of this for learning languages

Check out this example of scripts mentioning Twin Peaks in English and Spanish

Have you tried any of these tools and tips? Are your notes a sight for sore eyes? And how is your local library or charity shop delivering?

We can't wait to hear from you, so go ahead and share your pictures and stories in the comments!

#podcast #tools #summer #recommendations #notes

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nothingman · 7 years

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On Tuesday, May 30, WGN America canceled its Underground Railroad drama Underground, which had earned critical plaudits and generally solid ratings for the network. A few months earlier, it had canceled its rural America-set Outsiders, which also boasted generally good viewership numbers. Each show had run for two seasons.

WGN’s explanation for both cancellations? The network is shifting focus — away from scripted TV. (Whether that means its focus will shift to reality programming or just reruns of shows from other networks remains to be seen.)

That shift in focus is perfectly justifiable, as far as WGN’s business strategy is concerned.

But in the context of several recent developments that otherwise seem unrelated — A&E similarly abandoning the scripted market after Bates Motel wrapped up earlier this year; MTV’s cancellation of its promising (but low-rated) freshman drama Sweet/Vicious; Netflix canceling The Get Down after its first season (the streaming service’s first post-season one cancellation ever) and Sense8 after its second — a natural question has started to rocket around the TV industry: Is Peak TV, the era of so much TV you can’t even keep up with it, over? Are we about to start racing down the other side of the mountain, with little control over the speed of descent?

The answer to that question, as with most questions about the entertainment industry at this moment in time, is “yes and no.”

It’s easy to argue that Peak TV is still going strong

First, let’s look at the case for “Peak TV is here to stay for at least a little while longer.”

The concept of “Peak TV” is quite young, even if doesn’t feel that way. The exact definition of the term dates to 2015, when FX Networks president John Landgraf gave a now-famous presentation at that year’s Television Critics Association summer press tour; Landgraf was defining a business phenomenon — a bunch of new players were jumping into the scripted TV market and consequently driving up the number of shows being made.

But what he said spoke more broadly to an overall trend that TV journalists and viewers felt in their bones. There was too much TV. “Peak TV” suddenly became the most popular way to refer to the 2010s — TV’s latest so-called “Golden Age” had given way to an inundation of choice.

John Landgraf introduces the phrase “Peak TV” to the world. Photo by Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images

Strictly speaking, Peak TV can’t be over yet, by Landgraf’s own definition. There will be more scripted series in 2017 than there were in 2016, and the odds are very good that there will be more scripted series in 2018 than in 2017. The number of scripted shows crested 500 for the first time in 2016, and it has a reasonable shot at brushing against 600 before the peak is truly reached. (Meanwhile, unscripted shows numbered over 750 in 2015 and continue to climb.)

And if we start scrutinizing the various bricks in the “Peak TV is ending” argument, each can be explained fairly easily. WGN and A&E ventured into an expensive market and found it too rich for their tastes. The Get Down and Sense8 might have aired on loath-to-cancel-things Netflix, but they still cost the streaming service tons of money to produce, and TV shows rarely get less expensive as they go. The same argument — that production costs outweighed the show’s value to Netflix — also largely explained the network’s decision to cancel Bloodline, and basically nobody argued that “Peak TV is over!” after that choice.

The simple fact of the matter is that the networks that are genuinely getting out of scripted TV were super-marginal players, at best.

As one network head pointed out to me, if you look at the 15 or 20 cable networks that produce the lowest number of shows — usually one or two per calendar year — their combined scripted output is close to that of Netflix alone. The streaming boom is driving the current glut, and with Hulu ramping up its own production arm alongside Netflix and Amazon, it seems unlikely to suddenly stop.

That conclusion is only bolstered by persistent rumors that YouTube will push even more into the scripted space (as it’s already flirting with doing), or that Facebook will launch a bunch of series, or that Apple and Google will do so as well. (Apple and Facebook are already dabbling in the unscripted space.) To be clear, it seems unlikely all of these potential players will enter the scripted TV game, but some of them will, and they’ll only inflate numbers further.

The industry figures I talked to while researching this article all agreed that if the TV industry revolved entirely around cable and broadcast television, it would have already reached a peak and be entering a gentle descent, as some networks exited the scripted space while others stepped back their production.

Yet the major players in scripted TV — which include the most acclaimed cable networks like HBO and FX, but also the big four broadcast networks and a bunch of more middlebrow cable networks like USA and TNT — remain committed to keeping their slates mostly stable. When Landgraf predicted, in 2015, that the Peak TV bubble would eventually deflate at least a little, he was probably thinking about something very much like what’s happening in cable and broadcast right now.

But “cable and broadcast” aren’t where the major gains in the overall number of TV series are coming from. Those gains are all a byproduct of streaming networks’ increased demand for original programming, and so long as that demand exists, the true “peak” of Peak TV won’t come. I’d say we’ve got until at least 2018, if not 2019, before it arrives.

And even that might be too early — Landgraf famously predicted the peak would arrive in 2016, and look where that got us.

Still, it’s not hard to look at a bunch of recent cancellations and wonder if they’re indicative of changing tides

The cancellation of Underground might have led to a pickup by another network a few years ago. That’s less likely in 2017. WGN America

Right now, if you talk to people in the TV industry about the current status of Peak TV, you’ll usually hear some variation on this phrase: “I can see where this would look like a bubble, and sometimes it feels like a bubble, but I don’t think it’s a bubble.” And if Landgraf’s initial prediction — that we’d see a steep ascent to a peak, then a gradual decline as the market culls shows that can’t even garner a niche audience — proves accurate, then, yeah, the bubble was more of a market test.

But it’s not hard to look at Netflix ordering dozens of scripted series and wondering when that approach will prove unsustainable. At some point, the network will reach a plateau in global subscribers, especially as it’s proved unable to crack the Chinese market, and then it will have to start tightening its belt. That will inevitably mean the end of some of its more marginal series.

One of the driving factors behind Peak TV was the idea that everybody was getting into the pool. And by extension, the idea that, because viewership can be amortized over lengthy periods of time, it doesn’t really matter if the Twin Peaks premiere only drew 500,000 live viewers. For Showtime, the simple fact that subscriptions to the channel are up because people want to watch the series is the only thing that matters. If you want to watch Twin Peaks and are willing to pay for the privilege to do so, who cares if you want to do so at 9 pm on a Sunday?

This type of thinking has caused lots and lots of networks to test the waters, but few of them have the kind of production arms that will allow them to make money off the shows they’ve been airing, at least not far into the future. Twin Peaks will still be valuable to Showtime for decades because both the show and the network are owned by CBS Television. But that kind of streamlined parentage didn’t exist with Underground, which was itself owned by Sony, while WGN is owned by Tribune Media. Most of the players exiting the scripted TV industry are ones who don’t have natural studio partners in the way that, say, Showtime or FX do.

And yet the gradual decline in the number of networks seeking original scripted programming means that there are simply fewer places to sell scripted programming to, even if Netflix and Hulu are buying up every show they can find.

When discussing Underground’s cancellation with some Vox colleagues, I noted that even a year ago, there would have been a more robust market for another network to pick up the show from WGN and give it a third season (as happened with, say, A&E castoff Longmire, which went to Netflix). In 2017, it’s harder to imagine, because there are fewer networks trying to make a big splash entry into the scripted TV space. (That said, I think Underground still has a solid shot at finding a new home — the bottom hasn’t fallen out of the market yet.)

Peak TV, like everything in the entertainment industry in the digital age, is both built on a sound economic model and a kind of shared delusion. It’s easier than ever to make a lot of money off of even a low-rated TV show because there are so many more places to sell it to and so many more ways to fund any given project. (One increasingly common one: Netflix co-productions where networks retain rights to air a show in the US, but Netflix, its co-producer, airs the program overseas, where its libraries tend to be skimpier.)

But operating within that space, when you’re running a TV network, also requires believing that it will keep getting bigger and bigger and bigger, and that shows will be able to provide for themselves even when they serve only the nichiest of niche audiences. We don’t have hard data for most streaming shows; we only have the tidbits Netflix and Hulu (and some cable networks with streaming platforms, like HBO and Showtime) care to share.

The whole enterprise feels slightly like a magician trying like hell to keep you convinced that he’s performing real magic, even as you spot his hand sliding a supposedly disappearing ball into his back pocket. The instant you realize how the trick works is the instant it all falls apart. Peak TV isn’t over yet, but it increasingly feels like the slightest jostle — venture capitalists losing confidence in Netflix, or a mild recession, or a major unscripted hit taking over the discourse — could make everybody realize, all at once, that the sleight of hand was always happening right out in the open.

via Vox - All

#IFTTT #Feedly #Nothingman uses feedly

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