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farfromstrange · 18 days

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Carpe Noctem [Chapter One]

ONE: “All these spindly roots”

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Nun!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Religious imagery & symbolism, mentions of rehab, crisis of faith, mentions of blood, the typical "animal attacks" aka vampire attacks, mentions of childhood trauma, stalker vibes at the end, Dead Dove Do Not Eat (the entire series)

Chapter Summary: You return to Clinton Church for the first time since Father Lantom saved your life, but what you first believed as an opportunity to start over reveals itself as a mountain of secrecy you have yet to uncover. Needless to say, your first week as a sister at Saint Agnes leaves you with more questions than answers, and an impending sense of darkness coming to get you.

Word Count: 6.8k

A/n: I finally got this done! I started with 3k words and it doubled in size. But I suppose it is enough to set the scene a little. We will certainly be diving deeper in a short while...

Read Me On AO3!

Sunlight streams through the colorful mosaic of stained glass. Red fades into magenta and violet, and blue fades into yellow. Innocence is a fleeting concept in this modern-day garden of Eden, and salvation remains merely a whispered promise.

Centuries rest on the shoulders of those hallowed walls; the knees of countless worshippers have left indentations on the wooden benches, too many to count, even, but a tragic beauty remains in the art of architecture that stands tall amidst worn-down brownstones in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.

Catholics believe in the Devil. He preys on the innocent and makes them eat their souls like Eve bit the apple. He corrupts them, slowly, passionately, and intimately until they have nothing left. Then, and only then, does he take them by the hand, and he drags their lifeless bodies down to the fiery pits of hell.

You once danced with him. You met him, and you were charmed by him. You shared a bed with him. You loved him. But then the snake whispered about the forbidden fruit, and you had to taste it. You were already broken when he found you. You were shattered glass on white marble floors, bleeding wine into the cracks. The serpent didn’t have to try—you fell hard and fast for his blatant corruption. A silver tongue whispering the sweet promise of salvation to a broken soul, but you never saw the end of it.

Three years you spent surrounded by brick walls and sycamore trees. It was ironic, really. You, the least catholic person to have ever breathed, confined to the walls of a nunnery. For three years, you prayed your knees bloody, yet three years later, it still feels like you learned nothing at all.

You professed your first vows shortly after you returned to New York. It is a vivid memory. You thought you would never see the city again, not after everything the cold and dark streets put you through, but it was the only place willing to give you something to live for. To survive for.

The cold of the marble stairs before the altar will forever remain etched into your skin. Candlelight reflected in your eyes. When you lifted your gaze, you remember, you met the hollow eyes of Mary as she looked down on you. Like her inanimate features were suddenly overcome by a wave of shame for you. Her hands were clasped in prayer, as most of her statues are. A figure from thousands of retellings forever cast in stone. She was given no choice, but neither were you.

The church was alight with the wonders of early spring the day you took your first vows. Yet, when you met the dead eyes of the Virgin Mary, a shadow cast over her pale features like a widow’s dark veil. The sun disappeared behind a set of clouds with the promise of rain, and the kaleidoscope of colors from the stained glass faded into gray. The walls around you resembled more of an asylum, the priest before you reciting a Bible verse you still fail to remember even to this day. You weren’t listening. A voice was calling for you, and the darkness threatened to possess you with its magic.

The longer you stared at the statue, the more the stories set into the church’s window started to come to life. A window to the soul of Christianity: Mary and Jesus, and the apostles, and Judas betraying Jesus; God’s son dying on the cross for all of our sins before rising and ascending to heaven. Judas was greedy, or so they say. He gave up his friend for money, and in return, they both suffered.

The serpent that tempted Eve crawled out of the glass and toward you, the original sinner. Every story played like a bad movie before your eyes, coming at you inhumanly fast. The voice in the back of your mind kept getting louder, and louder and louder as it called your name.

Your sins hung above your head like a guillotine, the very fruits of your labor you had to bear far too young. A daughter, not a son. An inconvenience to those who bore you. You were forsaken from the start, you were told, and the day you took your first vows to become a child of God after being no one’s daughter for most of your life, the walls of the church seemed to know that even after hours of confessing all of your sins to the priest, no Hail Mary could ever take them away. They would always be there until the day you die. You could have done penance until your knees were bloody—you would always be a sinner in the eyes of the church.

You had the Devil inside you, they said. Because you let him inside. And he did not hesitate to steal your virtue from the source, forever tainting the well of your innocence.

“In the presence of God, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and all the saints, I humbly offer myself to His service,” you recited on those marble steps, but the shadow only continued to grow around you, wrapping its black wings around you. The fallen angel. Was it you or the Devil?

The people around you disappeared. You weren’t taking your vows that day; you were standing trial in front of God and all his disciples who came before you. You were taking a stand, and only the jury could decide if you were worthy of your title.

“I vow to embrace the holy virtues of chastity, poverty, and obedience, following in the footsteps of our Lord Jesus Christ and the teachings of the Holy Scriptures,” you said. “I promise to submit myself to the will of God and commit to live out these vows faithfully all the days of my life. Always.”

Amen.

You lay your broken soul bare, cuffing yourself to the congregation with unbreakable steel and throwing away the key. And there remained the voice, calling for you from the threshold to the darkness.

You thought you could ignore it. Until you returned to Hell’s Kitchen.

Until him.

Your heels drag over the stone floors of the seemingly endless hallway stretching through Clinton Church. The walls look different when you’re not running. When you can breathe without yearning for means of self-destruction that set fire to your lungs.

When you asked Father Lantom if you could come back to Clinton Church, he didn’t hesitate. You were unsure what it would be like. The last time you were here, the circumstances that led you into the arms of the empathetic priest were anything but conventional. The memories you have since tied to this place are a conflict between reaching your breaking point and begging for someone, anyone, to help you, and the overwhelming guilt that came with committing the worst of crimes, and a cardinal sin.

You were not a woman of God. You doubt you were a human being at all. If anything, you were a puppet.

Father Lantom said three years ago, “When you feel ready to take your first vows, come back. I will always have a room waiting for you.” And come back, you did—for he was the one who held your hand when you were falling into an abyss headed for certain death. When you were covered in blood and feared you would burn in hell, the past came back to haunt you with pitchforks and execute you at the stake for the entire town to see. He was there, and in that moment you knew you could not disappoint him. It was then you first started believing in the idea of God.

You gaze down at your habit. The tunic, the cincture, and the veil. You have never been more dressed up, yet you have never felt more naked in the eyes of another man. The fear of judgment for choosing a path you once thought you would only pick over your dead body is rooted so deeply within you that it nails you to an invisible cross.

“Three years,” the priest breaks the silence. You look over at him, walking beside you as he leads you around the hidden corners you’re not yet familiar with.

You nod. “Three years,” you repeat. “Doesn’t feel like that long ago.”

Sensing your conflict and the underlying insecurity that renders you speechless a lot of the time, Father Lantom clears his throat. “You look…better,” he says.

“Thank you, Father. My time at St. Anne’s was very… self-reflective. I learned a lot.”

“Good. I’m proud of you.”

Your wide eyes snap back up at him. Oh.

Pride is not the word you would have used. Proud of you, he said. He sent you away to cleanse your soul, and most days you are not sure if it even worked, but he is proud of you. The man who only knows the worst version of you looked at you and saw good instead of evil. It is a concept that had once been so foreign to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?” he asks.

“This. Everything.” You shrug. “I wasn’t sure if you still wanted me here, so hearing you say that…it means a lot to me.”

“I promised you would always have a room here if you chose to come back.”

There is so much sincerity in his voice. In his eyes. You swallow thickly, feeling the tears burn behind your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him, but the words die miserably on your tongue. Instead, you nod. You just hope your eyes manage to convey what you want to say.

The priest leads you to a door that connects the church with the grounds of the orphanage next door. “You will be living with the other sisters at Saint Agnes,” he tells you. The change of subject is welcome. “After we had to close our convent because Tony Stark could not be bothered to fund our restoration, all postulants who have since wanted to join our order were sent to study at St. Anne’s. Like you. But most of them stayed there,” his tone changes slightly into hurting. “They offer a lot more than we can. Donations can only get us so far, and we barely get those anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” you cut in.

He sighs, waving your concern off with the flick of his wrist. “We make due, and now that you’re here… well, the sisters are going to appreciate the extra help.” Father Lantom puts on another smile like you would put on your veil. “We don’t have any separate living quarters, unfortunately,” he states, “so your room is a floor above the children’s dormitories. Sister Grace offered to show you around.”

“Sister Grace?”

“She’s the one in charge.”

Your eyes flick back to the walls you’re passing. Intricate details are carved into the stone even here, far away from the chapel. These hand-made masterpieces breathe a certain eeriness into the church. Not just life but a certain wave of mystique because even the stories from the bible are left open for interpretation, especially when they are turned into art.

A sense of doom falls over you like a dark cloud. “Does she know?” you ask.

Father Lantom raises his eyebrows. He studies your features. Your chin tipped toward the ceiling, observing. He notices the gentle shift in your breathing pattern as your heartbeat speeds up, and when you meet his eyes again after an agonizing bout of silence, he smiles at you once again.

“Sister Grace?” he inquires. You nod. “Well,” he says, “She does know. She’s the abbess. I had to let her in when I told her you were coming here, but I assure you, she swore to the utmost discretion.”

You breathe out. The weight rests heavily on your chest. “And everyone else?” You turn back to him.

The Father shakes his head. His eyes are so gentle. “It’s not my story to tell,” he says. “If there’s one thing I learned after years of talking to people—taking their confessions, listening to their fears, their anger, and their pain—it’s that we all suffer. We all have things we’d rather not talk about.”

The words penetrate your heart like a sharp dagger.

“And as humans, we tend to often see our burdens as sins, even if those apparent sins hurt us, or we had to commit them to protect ourselves from getting hurt. And sometimes, hurt people do stupid things. Objectively stupid, that is. It doesn’t mean we are going to hell for doing what it takes to survive. People suffer, and most of the time, that suffering doesn’t stop. That’s the truth,” he says. “Now, a lot of these people come to confession because they think it will give them a clear conscience, which it does, momentarily. They believe that God will make the pain go away with the snap of his omniscient fingers. A few Hail Marys, a few extra hours at Sunday mass, and your burdens will be dealt with. That is not the truth. Confession is not therapy because penance does not heal decades of trauma. If that were how it works, we would collapse from overcrowding.”

Father Lantom breaks off with a chuckle, but you can’t find amusement in his wisest insight. It’s real, too real. You can’t even muster a pity smile.

“Why do we do it then?” you ask.

“Do you want the Catholic answer or my personal opinion?”

“If those don’t intersect, I’ll choose the latter. Please.”

He takes a moment. “Well, confession works as a tool,” he explains then. “God knows the difference between an actual sin and human nature. Sometimes, these two are the same, but a lot of the time, there is a big difference, and He knows that. Confession helps regain balance where you’re standing with your faith. That’s why we do it. Because faith… faith can be a strong motivator. That’s why a lot of us—sisters, priests, and… and monks—are here now. Because we found a passion and a purpose in devoting ourselves to God. It’s not for everyone, of course, but it is a clean slate if you want it to be. Whether you tell the other sisters about why you chose this path, is up to you. Not me. Because that trauma is yours, and yours alone.”

The silence stretches between you, long, longer, as the church holds its breath. You absorb every word and every breath of his like a sponge. You swallow them. A bitter pill, that’s what it is. It goes down like hard liquor.

You walk a few more steps in that silence with his eyes on you and the world on fire within. “Father,” you whisper. The sound is not more than that. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. And this time, you smile at him.

Behind the door that leads to the orphanage, another hallway awaits. The walls smell faintly of moss—nature but a bit rotten. A woman in a similar habit makes her way toward the two of you from the end of the hall. She carries herself with a quiet air of authority. You can’t look through her.

Father Lantom may have vouched for Sister Grace and her discretion, but her judgment is not his to determine. She is her own woman, with thoughts only she can determine. You’re not sure if you are ready for that, either.

He greets her with a smile. “Sister Grace,” he says.

“Father. Good morning,” at him, she smiles.

He nudges you forward. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Her gaze shifts to you then. “The uniform is unmistakable.” She nods. “Welcome, Sister.”

It’s a start, a small step towards finding your place within these hallowed walls.

“Thank you, Sister,” you reply. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“Likewise. Though it’s been a while since we had someone new here. So young, too.”

“I know. Father Lantom mentioned. I’ll try my hardest not to disappoint you.”

She nods. “Let’s get you settled into your room first before we worry about that. I believe Father Lantom has mass to prepare.”

Father Lantom gives you a reassuring nod. “I’ll leave you in Sister Grace’s capable hands. And remember, you are not alone. If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to come and find me.” With that, he turns and makes his way back through the door you came from, leaving you with your fellow sister and a lump in your throat.

She leads you down the corridor. “This way,” she says. “Your room is above the children’s dormitories. Second floor. You’ll find it quiet enough for reflection but close enough to be of help when needed.”

Her tone suggests that you will be plenty busy, no matter where your room is in the building. More work means less time to think, and less time with your thoughts sounds like a blessing.

As you follow her, the faint sounds of children playing filter through the walls. It’s a comforting contrast to the silence you’ve grown accustomed to.

Sister Grace opens a door to a narrow staircase, and you both begin to climb. “The other sisters will be eager to meet you,” she says over her shoulder.

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “I am, too,” you answer.

At the top of the stairs, she leads you down another hallway, then finally stops at a simple wooden door. “This one...will be your room.” She pushes it open to reveal the small space behind, connected to a window with a clear view of the adjacent cemetery. “I admit, it is a little scarce,” Sister Grace says, “but you are more than welcome to add a few personal touches; pictures, curtains, maybe even a plant or two. Don’t worry, Father Lantom encourages it.”

The wooden floorboards creak beneath your weight as you step inside. You look around. A single bed, neatly made with crisp white linens and a worse-for-wear mattress occupies one corner of the room, a crucifix nailed above the headrest, and casting a faint shadow on the aged plaster walls. On the other side, a desk and a wardrobe offer some storage space that leads to a second door—the bathroom. It is scarce, but you came here with nothing but a cardboard box filled with your hopes and dreams and books and diaries; people have built homes from less.

“Our shared kitchen is downstairs. Feel free to store your food in the fridge, but don’t forget to label the containers if you don’t wish to share.” Sister Grace pauses, chuckling softly as her hazel eyes meet yours. “You wouldn’t believe it, but even nuns can be picky eaters, and very territorial about snacks.”

You smile, but your attempt at kindness falls into artificiality. “Thank you.”

“Nonsense. We look after each other around here.”

There has to be more to it, surely. Innocent may be a construct, but most of the sisters in the community were born into their faith. They started studying from a young age, always destined to dedicate themselves to the cause. You were far from religious before destiny found you dying in the flames of your old life. Whether destiny or a curse befell you that night remains open for interpretation. You have seen it both ways. An opportunity arose. You received a second chance from a very nice man, but the price to pay was your soul sacrificed to a God you once thought you would never believe in.

Do you have faith or do you not? It is a loaded question. You think you do. You want to know you do too, but you are never fully certain. In the eyes of God, you are a loyal soldier who studied the scriptures and did her due diligence praying for penance, but when you look in the mirror, all you see is Judas.

A heavy breath ripples through you. “You didn’t have to let me in,” you whisper. “Father Lantom didn’t have to offer me refuge, but he did. And you’re not judging me even though you have all right to… I just don’t understand.”

Her answer is a shrug. “When you were desperate,” says the sister, “God led you to us, and you found refuge at the church like so many before you. I don’t believe that was a coincidence.”

You were covered in blood when you came—your hands stained with the essence of another man’s life, clothes torn beyond recognition. You can still feel his hands on you, wandering, lurking… The crimson had seeped into the fine lines of your palms. It took you days to get rid of it, and weeks more to scrub the last remains from under your fingernails down the drain.

You grapple with their decision. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure. At St. Anne’s, they treated me like an outsider. Because I didn’t grow up Catholic, and—”

“And you found your faith in rehab?” Sister Grace smiles knowingly. “Trust me, it happens so often that it no longer comes as a surprise.”

“But there is still judgment. There will always be judgment,” you insist.

She takes your words into account, nodding. They digest for a brief moment until she breaks into a soft chuckle—a mere breath from her full-moon lips.

“A small piece of advice, if I may?” she asks. You hum. “If you spend all your time here questioning whether God has forgiven you for your sins, your lack of faith in the Lord, as tiny as it may be, will always stand between you and taking your final vow. And if you keep worrying about the judgment of anyone other than God, you won’t find happiness.”

You vowed to dedicate your life to religious service, and if you don’t close the last period of your study after taking temporary three vows with a solemn declaration to give up even the last of your possessions then the gap between you and God will be too big for you to ever be anything but a simple sister of the congregation.

But is that what you want? To close that gap and give yourself fully to a higher power? It would be a live sacrifice, you knew that from the start.

You believe in God and the Devil, and you believe in eternal damnation. And you believe that you are damned, too. Doomed, forsaken, and cursed. A scratched record. God’s wrath is not a match for the fear you instill in yourself; your mere existence is maddening.

You are drowning in a darkness you were born with, and possessed by demons you never learned how to exorcize. Not even studying a newfound faith in God to get on the right path could get rid of the monsters that are not lurking under your bed or in the shadows but in the dark corners of your mind.

The beast inside of you has gone to sleep, but God knows that he is a ticking time bomb, even in a comatose state. The Devil has planted his seed—all these spindly roots growing from your soul to the pit of your stomach, digging their claws into your fragile heart and tearing you to shreds. The protective poison ivy you grew over the years can only last so long without water before it starts to wither.

You look over your shoulder when the door shuts gently behind Sister Grace as she leaves you be.

The cardboard box on your desk holds an abundance of scriptures, books, and leather-bound diaries. Your diaries. They told you that writing your feelings on paper would help you heal. If you crave something you know you should and cannot have, you should write it down; you have been for years now, but with every pen wasted and every diary hidden in compartments around your room so no one can find them, the words you write turn into firewood, and your tears are the gasoline.

Outside, the wind brushes through the trees. It beckons you, its tendrils creeping into your consciousness like creatures of the night reaching for the last flickers of light.

With a heavy heart, you flip open the worn-down leather. Seconds turn into minutes turn into hours turn into days. Knees turn bloody from praying, and the joy of one child’s happiness dies at the hands of another’s trauma.

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, the groundskeeper dug another hole in the cemetery. Father Lantom will officiate the funeral on Sunday. Another addition to the bones and rotting corpses hiding under a shield of dirt, but does anyone know what happens after?

I tried to ask the Father, but he didn’t give me a satisfying answer. He told me what he thought I wanted to hear, but I did not. I can’t help but wonder if he is protecting me or keeping secrets. The latter would be highly unethical, I suppose.

Other than maintaining a religious belief in heaven or hell or rebirth while we are alive, what does happen to us after we die? Is it definite? Is it infinite or is there something else, something... more?

Is it the Devil? Is it God? Or is it heaven and hell?

And why do they keep digging holes in the cemetery? The children keep asking me every day, but I do not know how to answer them.

Dear Diary, where do we go when it is all over?

The clinking of porcelain and cutlery emerges from the kitchen like a mushroom cloud. As you approach the dining room through a long hallway, the soft soles of your vinyl shoes barely make a sound. The voices inside overlap, but a few rise from the masses, demanding your attention. Like a moth to a flame, you fly toward it.

“…and they found another one this morning. Washed up on the river banks after the storm last night,” one of the sisters whispers to another.

“It’s been fifteen this month alone,” another one says.

“What kind of animal does that?” a third cuts in.

“The kind that isn’t an animal,” says the nun you now recognize as Sister Marjorie, the oldest of the bunch. “It happens every two months for twenty years that bodies wash up on the shore, supposedly mauled by a bear or a baboon in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, and then the city grows quiet again. I’ve been here for forty-five years, and it still happens like clockwork.”

The one next to her sighs. “Well, maybe it’s the changing climate. Lord knows it has humans and animals going crazy alike.”

“Can’t you see?” Marjorie raises her voice. “These aren’t the actions of an animal. It’s the Devil!”

It seems as though the mere thought puts the fear of God in them—your fellow sisters, usually so strong and collected, reduced to whispers of the rumor mill as the color fades from their skin.

Sister Grace clicks her tongue, interrupting them all at once. “That’s enough,” she says, trying to remain calm but there is still a sense of urgency in her voice. It’s not an exclamation but a well-concealed warning. Behind that façade hides a leader you would not want to cross twice.

Only one of Sister Marjorie’s eyes finds you standing there, eavesdropping like a misbehaving child. The other remains unmoving, caged in by a white scar across her cheek and an iris made of glass.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Animal attacks?” you dare to ask.

Heads snap toward you. The table falls speechless, compelled into a sudden silence by your presence. The world stops turning.

“Oh, dear, don’t you worry about that,” Sister Grace, the first to find her voice again, reassures you. She ushers you from the doorway to the table, but the eyes of your fellow sisters suddenly feel like tiny needles all over your skin. “It’s just idle gossip,” she says, shooting the others a glare, “nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

But the silence starts to wrap around your neck like a noose regardless. Curiosity is only appreciated when they can answer it, you have learned. In the eyes of God, lying is a sin, and you spend each day teaching the children to believe the same, but is omitting not essentially the same as lying?

They’re scared. They don’t want to admit it; no one does. Fear does not fit under the veil of ignorance, so they try concealing it as idle gossip. The rumor mill is always spinning, and it is an outstanding excuse, but you will never forget the look in Marjorie’s eyes when you dared to ask—dared to question.

A thud from outside causes you to sit upright in your bed later that evening. The springs that are digging into your lower back creak when you move so suddenly.

Through the window, you can see the cemetery hulled into a fog where cold and warm air meet for the night. You put the children to bed, got them dressed in their pajamas, brushed their teeth, and told the little ones a bedtime story. They like it when you do it. Something about the way you tell them fascinates their little minds, so it has become a ritual in the week you have been here.

The more it strikes you as odd that there is noise outside. After bedtime, no one is supposed to be out and about, and if a sister has something to do out of schedule, they have to share it with the group. For safeguarding reasons, they told you.

Against your better judgment, you roll out of bed and into your slippers, wrapping a cardigan around your body. Your nightgown is not the warmest thing to wear on these cold walls unless it is under a thick wool blanket.

The door creaks when you open it. Father Lantom gave you a flashlight a few nights ago because he asked you to take care of something on the church grounds for him after the sun had set, so you kept it. You weren’t sure if you would still need it. Thankfully, you did.

You follow the noise to the back door one floor below. It leads out into the backyard, and a few more feet east, a fence and a gate separate the many acres of the cemetery from the rest of the church’s grounds.

The flashlight illuminates the path before you. “If it’s another stupid raccoon, I swear…” you mutter to yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time one of those critters found their way into the trashcans and caused mayhem in the middle of the night.

Somehow though, it always seems to be you who catches them. The night-owl. The one who is always on guard, always on edge, even when she knows she is safe.

You wander through the backyard, closer to the fence. You tilt your head. There is a small gap in the gate to the cemetery. The fog makes it harder to see.

“Hello?” you call out into the darkness. Nothing.

Through the rustling of leaves and the howling of an owl in the woods far beyond Saint Agnes, a small whimper breaks the silence like a hot knife. It is faint, but unmistakable nonetheless.

You strain your ears. “Oh no,” once again, you curse to yourself. “No, no, no…”

You follow the sound through the gate and into the cemetery. June Montgomery and her husband share a grave. They died over twenty years ago, but it is still well-maintained by their children and grandchildren. A few steps further though, the infestation of poison ivy begins.

The graves under the gigantic cherry tree are the most hidden, and the best hiding spots. You had to tell the children many times that the cemetery is not a hiding place, especially not for games, and never alone, even when the gates are open. The general public has access to it during the day, and if they wander too far, they will land on a populated street. It’s dangerous.

You were so careful. You did everything by the book, and someone still managed to sneak out.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the wet grass soaking your thin slippers until you come upon a small figure huddled behind one of the bewildered gravestones. Sara Mayfield; she died in 1945. Your sigh resembles a cry of relief.

“Timmy!” you exclaim. “Thank God!”

He’s curled up into a ball behind the headstone. Tears stream down his cheeks in bottomless rivers. Your flashlight blinds him, and his whimpers escalate to sobs. Your heart shatters at the sight.

“Hey there, it's okay,” you try to soothe him, crouching beside his tiny figure. “It's just me. Hi. What are you doing out here all alone?” You shed your cardigan, wrapping it around his shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night, sweetheart.”

From what you’ve learned about Timmy, his parents died in a freakish car accident about a year ago. He was in the car when his father fell asleep at the wheel and drove the car into a tree. His mother died instantaneously, but his father bled out right in front of him. He has been receiving therapy ever since he came to Saint Agnes, but he is a troubled child.

Timmy sniffles, accepting the makeshift blanket. He recognizes you, which is a good sign. “I had a nightmare,” he confesses. “I-I wanted to see the stars, but then I heard a crash, and I got scared.”

You wrap your arms around him. “It’s okay to be scared,” you say. “But you shouldn’t wander off by yourself, especially at night. You should have come to me, or Sister Grace.”

“I’m sorry, Sister.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just glad nothing happened to you.”

His skin is clammy and cold. You don’t know how long he has been out here, but he is also in no state to be questioned.

“Come on,” you say and lift him into your arms. “Let’s get you back inside.”

Together, you make your way back towards the orphanage. But as you approach the gate, there it is again, that voice. Whispers of nothing in the chilly breeze. The air crackles with a certain, sinister something. A chill runs down your spine, and the back of your skull starts to burn as though someone is watching you. Listening. Lurking. And it is not a raccoon this time.

You set Timmy down on his feet. He whimpers again. “Go to your room. I’ll be right there,” you tell him.

He looks up at you with his innocent blue eyes. “Promise?” he asks.

“Yes. Promise.”

The boy lets go of your hand, quickly sneaking back inside. He knows better than to make any more noise. Any other sister would have threatened consequences. But he’s just a traumatized little boy, and the night is dangerous. It’s creepy. Of course, it would only add to childish fear and trauma that has had time to manifest for an entire year.

You turn around when he is safely inside, pointing your flashlight in the direction where you came from.

You scan the blanket of fog for any sign of movement. And that’s when you see it—a shadowy, obscured figure standing amidst the graves by the woods, behind the cherry tree.

Your breath catches in your throat, the whispers echoing in your mind once more. It could not be your name. It’s something else. Latin, perhaps. What terrifies you most though is that you're not scared; you feel strangely drawn to the figure.

You hold your breath. The figure tilts its head, and you do the same. Your heartbeat remains eerily steady throughout. You should scream. You should alert everyone that there is something—someone—out there, but they would call you crazy, surely. And maybe you are. No sane person hears voices and sees the darkness as a comforting presence. Not a nun. Not someone who is not supposed to let the Devil win. And what other explanation is there but for the figure to be a phantom of the Devil's making?

In the blink of an eye, the figure is gone. The hold on your lungs eases, and you gasp for air like a desperate woman.

Instinctively, you turn to the door and usher inside. Timmy is still standing there. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind. “Nothing,” you say, but when you lock the door to make sure no one can get in or out, your hands shake. A single drop of sweat runs down your temple. “Come on.”

Inside, you’re freezing. Like a cold hand touched you and set you on fire, but it had claws that let the ice age into your heart, and now you’re poisoned.

Taking Timmy back to his room, you can’t shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at your insides like a hungry beast. You tuck him in; you check under his bed for monsters, and you lock the windows. It takes a while for him to settle back into sleep, but when he finally does, you leave his room on your tiptoes and close it.

The other children are all peacefully asleep, and your fellow sisters seem to not have noticed the commotion you caused on your way in. Every door is locked—you check twice. Still, when you get to your room, your hands tremble once again when you use the key for the fragile lock for the first time.

Fear is not what compels you. Uneasiness, maybe, but not fear. The venom in your veins stems from something else entirely. You can’t explain it. The feeling is familiar somehow, but so foreign at the same time.

You clutch the rosary from the nightstand over your diary, facing the fog you yearn for so desperately. “Foolish, foolish idiot,” you mutter.

Dear Diary,

Did I force myself upon God out of… of guilt? Or was it a sign that He led me to Clinton Church that night? I thought penance would wash away my sins, that by dedicating myself to Him, I could erase the past. You know, like magic. But I was so wrong. Father Lantom… He told me that’s not how it works, and Sister Grace… She’s so sure that will stand in my way, and now I can’t help but wonder… Did I study scripture and Catholic rules for the past three years like a mad woman out of faith or because I was trying to make good for something I did by neutralizing myself?

I’m lost. I don’t know the path to righteousness, and I don’t know how to silence this… this darkness inside me. I can hear it calling my name. Every night… I’m scared that I’m not scared enough. I’m a flawed creature; I’m desperate and tired, but I don’t want to disappoint Him. But how can I?

How do I serve a God I have been lying to from the start, and how the fuck do I fix this?

You squeeze your eyes shut, the pen cracking under the pressure, and the ink bleeds onto the page, over the letters and your broken heart. Your blue fingers wrap around the rosary again as what you have written disappears under the chemical ocean.

In the heat of the moment, you tear the page out of its confines, but it has tainted all the ones to come. You ruined it like you ruined yourself. The page had been you once, being bled all over by an ink meant to stain for the rest of your miserable life, but you tried to glue it back in place. You tried not to fall apart like your diary just did at your very hands—as everything you touch rots or turns to ashes eventually.

You ball a fist around the paper, tossing it across the room. It hits the window. You catch your runny reflection in the glass. To think you were just looking to be loved, to be seen and forgiven ever since you were a little girl dreaming of being a princess, but instead, you are falling apart.

But no, you will not let the Devil win. You pull the curtains closed, and you hide the cemetery where it belongs—with the dead, both in heaven and hell and everything in between. The Devil can’t have you because God already does.

You have to seize the night before it seizes you. Anything else would be, for the lack of a better word, certain suicide.

Tag List: @luvebugs @mxxny-lupin @1988-fiend @bluestuesday @ghostheartbeat @cheshirecat484 @faesspace (if you want to be tagged or I forgot to tag you, let me know!)

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #vampire!au #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock x you #nun!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock angst #dead dove do not eat #daredevil #daredevil au #charlie cox #carpe noctem

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sky-scribbles · 3 months

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Playlist for my Aeor longfic

I failed to figure out how to do a fancy spotify embed like the kids do but uh. Here's the playlist for Gravity!

I listened to this while planning and writing, and there are even a few shout-outs to the songs in the fic... Songs are arranged chronologically, so you should be able to hear the story happening, hopefully :'D

Further yelling about song choices under the cut!

A Matter of Time - This one is... sort of the fic's opening titles in my head? I wanted to start out with an instrumental, to capture the vibes of the months before the fic opens - Essek and Caleb apart, thinking about the T-Dock, and each other. Wondering. Waiting.

Horse to Water - Essek in Chapter 1, knowing his life as the Shadowhand is ending, waiting for Caleb to come and take him away to whatever comes next. (I'm normally very picky about not putting songs that reference modern day stuff on fantasy playlists but this one's vibes were too perfect)

Dear Fellow Traveller - Two wizards heading into Aeor together.

Conquest of Spaces - A song for Aeor. A dark, beautiful city, the remains of a people who lived by greed and power. (And two wizards in the ruins, trying to draw closer to each other.)

Neptune - This is mostly for Essek's breakdown in chapter 5, as he worries he'll never break out of his Shadowhand manipulation, wanting to be closer to Caleb and not knowing what that would even look like. And it's a little for Caleb in chapter 6, too, grappling with his feelings for Essek and his fears that they'll ultimately be bad for each other.

Please Don't Say You Love Me - ... and as they move past those fears, this song is for them tentatively acknowledging what they might be to each other. Not yet. But maybe soon.

Woodwork - This is for the chapters 6-9 span, as they learn more about Brashaar's plan. The pressure of a crisis has an odd way of making them realise just how deep their trust and care for each other runs.

Two Evils - Since we're at the point where Brashaar shows up, she gets a song now! This is pretty much her internal monologue during her confrontation with the wizards (though she really should have paid attention to 'if you're not careful, you will lose her' in reference to Quaera...)

Winter - Travelling northward, and yearning. Wishing they had more time.

Mind - A song for a young Quaera, slowly forming a personality, wondering about who she is and how her identity forms...

The Tower - ... and having their own breakdown.

What Could Have Been - I love me a good villainous breakdown, and this is a song for Brashaar's. This is how I imagine she feels during the final confrontation, raging against the gods, against Caleb and Essek, against Quaera after they turn from her. Not quite able to let go of what she thinks Aeor could have been. What, in her eyes, the world is meant to be. (As a bonus, I think the second verse sounds a bit like a retort to her from Quaera...)

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - This is such a fun cinematic cover, and I can't tell you how many times I've imagined a mental AMV of the final battle with Brashaar set to it :'D

Ori, Embracing the Light - I wanted an instrumental here too, because... Essek is dead, Caleb is in shutdown, and Essek and Quaera are communing with the Luxon, a being that doesn't really speak with words. Also, 'embracing the light' is exactly what Quaera does at this point.

Would That I - I know we all use this as Caleb's 'learning to live and love again' song... and I am no exception. This is for him after the T-Dock, finally fully acknowledging his grief, and his love for Essek.

First Day of my Life - Just two wizards realising that they have a future, and agreeing to slowly work at what's between them.

Ready to Call This Love - This one speaks for itself, honestly.

Five - Both of the wizards in the final chapter, but especially Essek realising how isolated he's been from the world, and letting it all in so he can feel it. (Also, studying the universe is a love language - )

Gravity - Gravity is a metaphor for love!!!!

#please know that restricting myself to just four sleeping at last songs #is Enormous restraint for me #anyway uh have some songs and rambling #shadowgast #gravity and all that's born within #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role

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bi-widower-dads · 3 months

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bi-widower-dads' February Fic Rec: AUs

Thank you to everyone who submitted recs for us! We've done some sorting and collating, and we've got two posts for you: AUs and Canon-'verse - and a whole load of excellent fic for you to get stuck into while we wait for Barduil Month in April! So without further ado, here are the AUs for you, with a little bit about why our recommenders love them...

Header image by mod @piyo-13!

(a note about tags and trigger warnings: tags are selected from those on AO3 as being those that best describe the story for the purposes of this event; trigger warnings are supplied by the recommenders and may not be comprehensive - your mileage may vary. We've tried our best to include Tumblr handles wherever we can, but if we've missed yours out and you want it included, just let us know!)

One-shots

In the Wake of the Second Horseman by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | M | 2272 words | tags: angst with a happy ending, implied/referenced drug use, post-traumatic stress disorder - PTSD, implied warfare/violence | trigger warnings: mention of drug use, mention of violence in a war zone, PTSD, nightmares

Summary: When addiction threatens to consume Thran, his lover Bard is desperate to help - but Thran isn't. Yet in ending his relationship with Bard, Thran savages both of them, not just himself. Four years later, Thran's about to discover what remains from his cruelty. What he finds is a surprise - and humbling. What do you love about this fic? Even when things fall apart, redemption is possible if you give it half a chance. Out of tragedy comes hope and a chance for a better life.

love remains by likethenight / @nocompromise-noregrets | G | 11,093 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, grief/mourning, Thranduil never sailed west, mythical beings & creatures, folklore, alternate universe - reincarnation | trigger warnings: none

Summary: There is a legend in Dale, that somewhere deep in the forest that borders the city lives the forest king, an ancient being with a special care for archers, and for all things that grow. Bard, camping in the woods after his finals, finds a place that isn't on any maps and begins to dream of something - someone - familiar; and years later, after the heaviest loss he has ever had to bear, he goes back out there again, hoping to find something that might help him recover. What do you love about this fic? Absolutely beautiful fic, such a touching story and excellent writing!

Petrichor by b_ofdale_archive / @beesinspades | G | 14,598 words | tags: alternate universe - reincarnation, alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - bookstore, books and cats | trigger warnings: slight mention of past life character death

Summary: It's been six thousand years since Thranduil last laid eyes on his husband - Bard. The world has changed and the great Elvenking with it, lingering in the shadows of Men; as hope for a miracle festers within his heart that grows weaker with every passing day, the only thing keeping him going is a promise he made, many moons ago. What do you love about this fic? I love its overall theme, and the thought that Thranduil will meet Bard again. A lovely and poetically written reincarnation AU, well worth the read!

Multi-chapters: in progress

Love in a time of change by myeaglesong / @myeaglesong | M | 22,840 words | tags: eventual relationships, eventual romance, elf/human relationships, fluff, romance, slow burn, alternate universe - regency, oblivious Bard | trigger warnings: none

Summary: For the longest time, Thranduil has wanted to find a good match for his son, Legolas, to marry. His search leads him to consider Arwen for Legolas to marry, but what if Legolas has already got his eye set on another match that Thranduil may not approve of? What will will happen when Legolas finds out about his father's intentions to marry him off? What would happen when the question of if Thranduil were to marry again was to come up, who could he marry? What do you love about this fic? I am not usually one for Regency AUs but this one is so adorable, and between the kids and the dads there is plenty of potential for shenanigans and some tentative romance! I'm really looking forward to seeing how events unfold…

The Moth Effect by BiSquared / @scary-grace and Dogblessya / @dogblessyoutascha | M | 35,658 words | tags: mothman is real, mothman Thranduil, mothbaby Legolas, park ranger Bard, non-graphic violence, but there is still gore so you've been warned, twilight references | trigger warnings: mothman lore, gore

Summary: (in chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a mothman moving into your place of employment can have a large effect on the rest of your life. What do you love about this fic? I love the Supernatural/Horror element to it and Park Ranger Bard trying to make sense of all the really weird s**t that's happening around him. Lovely bits have to be the introduction of Mothman Thranduil and adorable Mothbaby Legolas. But best of all is that Mothman Thranduil isn't the weirdest thing happening in Olympic National Park 👀….

Vena Amoris by Patch / @patchoffeathers and Piyo13 / @piyo-13 | M | 72,843 words | tags: crossover with Dracula Untold, alternate universe - vampires, Bard is Dracula, canon-typical violence, slow build, alternate universe - some people live/not everybody dies | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard has a secret, one that stems from far to the east, in lands far forgotten and times long past. It's one that no one must know—but times are changing for the people living on the lake. Even for those who, technically, aren't alive. What do you love about this fic? The author does such a great job at merging Luke Evans' two characters here (Bard and Dracula) while still keeping Bard distinctly canon-shaped. Because Dracula!Bard is an immortal, there's a unique comparison of mythological immortalities and the relative costs of them that reflects back onto the plot.

show a little faith, there's magic in the night by BiSquared / @scary-grace | M | 342,922 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, slow burn, music industry AU, indie musician Bard, opera singer turned pop star Thranduil | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard Bowman's not the type to give up on his dreams easily, but when DJ Smaug's dirty tricks leave his family band stranded in Denver with a forfeit fee the size of Mt. Everest crashing down on their heads, there's really nothing to do but drink about it. The last thing Bard expects is to meet a beautiful stranger in a similar predicament -- and the last thing either of them expects is a rescue. Luckily for them, Thorin Oakenshield's feeling heroic this evening. What do you love about this fic? I am such a sucker for the rock scene (I've spent my entire adult life kicking about there) and it's not often I see it portrayed so realistically in fic (or indeed in original fiction). The characters are all beautifully drawn, the humour frequently makes me chuckle, and Bard going head over heels while trying to tell himself he isn't, it's not happening, not really, because he can't believe his luck, makes my heart go all funny.

Multi-chapters: complete

Followthrough by ofplanet_earth / @ofplanet-earth | M | 26,737 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - military, alternate universe - spies & secret agents, snipers, sniper Bard, military captain Thorin, mob boss Smaug, revenge, character death | trigger warnings: violence

Summary: Bard and his children have been living in a little cabin on the edge of Laketown for five years, hiding from Bard's dangerous past. But when that past comes back to haunt them, Bard will have to team up with Thorin and his company to face down his demons, confront the man who killed his wife, and fight to save the people he loves. What do you love about this fic? Great spies/military AU with Bard and the gang!

The grey sea and the long black land by Black_knight100 and Blueberryrock / @blueberryrock | T | 29,702 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - cruise ship, first kiss, angst, fluff, angst with a happy ending, eventual romance | trigger warnings: quite angst filled but has an eventual happy ending

Summary: Bard Bowman is thirty-seven years old, widowed and heckled, and he's had enough. If his children want a cruise trip with their lottery money, then so they will have. Bard will only have to work twice as hard to take them out of their little corner of the world. It has been three years. Three years of him raging, and sobbing, and grieving. Three years in which he has turned away from his children. Three years to reach this ship, to put together whatever snapped that day. And the first morning, Thranduil wakes up late. It is going fabulously. Or, in which the two meet on a ship, and there are ups and downs. What do you love about this fic? Thranduil and Bard getting together in the end

Modern Love by Shampain / @abner-krill | M | 65,267 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - coffee shops and cafés, alternate universe - human | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard is a down on his luck single father working a thankless job as a courier, eternally worrying over when his daughter is going to start sneaking out of the house with boys. As if that wasn't bad enough, his assignments delivering files to Greenleaf Acquisitions puts him in contact with Thranduil, a stern businessman whose only champion is his assistant, Tauriel. And finally, to make matters worse, his friendship with Bilbo Baggins sends everything else into a tailspin. The summer is just beginning, and it's going to be a weird one. What do you love about this fic? Lovely, lighthearted modern AU that is a delight to read!

hands; eyes; voice by bishkebab / @bishkebab | T | 70,163 words | tags: slow burn, alternate universe, accidental cottagecore, governess/single dad romance but make it gay, autistic Thranduil, Thranduil and Bard both have physical disabilities | trigger warnings: mention of autism, fire accident, PTSD

Summary: An isolated life in a too-small cottage was never what Bard dreamed of for his children – especially sharp, scholarly Tauriel and sensitive, insightful Tilda. But school is a distant dream for a large family living off the land – at least until a storm and the subsequent house fire bring a former scholar to their doorstep. Wealthy recluse Thranduil could never have anticipated leaving his family's manor for a shack in the woods and a single father with five – FIVE – children who can barely write ten words between them. But when disaster strikes, he is left with little choice – and maybe close quarters with a handsome widower won't be so bad after all... What do you love about this fic? This is a rare work of art in which Bard is the loveliest dad ever, stubborn, strong and gentle and Thranduil is an introverted autistic lonely lad. The author writes their story in a very poetical way and family is the main protagonist of the story, as is their small cosy cottage. I do love the gentle feeling this story conveys from the start. It feels like a warm cup of tea after a very rainy day and each word is carefully written. This story deserves to be read and reread and rereread. Slowly. (With a nice cup of tea. <;3)

Those Colours We Share by b_ofdale / @beesinspades | M | 84,709 words | tags: alternate universe - soulmates, alternate universe - post-war, set in 1956, Bard owns an animal shelter, slow burn, fluff and angst, disabled character, asexual characters, period-typical homophobia | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Had anyone told them, Thranduil Oropherion and Bard Bowman would never have believed they would see the world painted in colours again. Until that fateful day of December 1956, when one little boy entered a former soldier's animal shelter. What do you love about this fic? I'm a sucker for two lonely people who find each other and forge a new life together.

Beast by Nuredhel / @nuredhel | M | 132,354 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, all humans, Bard is a cop, Thranduil is a profiler, mentions of suicide, slow burn, crime and investigation, bonding while working, romance, past problems | trigger warnings: gore, violence, abuse, human trafficing, child abuse, murder, suicide

Summary: Bard Bowman is the leader of a team of investigators trying to solve a very complicated case, when the serial killer they are chasing proves to have a far longer history than they expected the feds call in a profiler. Bard has never believed he could feel attraction again but now he does, how can he express what he feels when they are chasing a beast which seems to defy the very laws of nature? Can Thran feel the same way? The road to love can be bumpy, in special when it is surrounded by murders. What do you love about this fic? It is very exciting, very romantic and intense.

seeking a friend for the end of the world by BiSquared / @scary-grace | M | 238,799 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, apocalypse, road trips, family issues and family bonding, opera singer Thranduil, Bard and Thranduil are good parents who are having a bad year, or years | trigger warnings: disease-apocalyptic setting, zombies, major character death, medical injections

Summary: Between dealing with his boss, getting over his ex-wife, and keeping his kids fed and clothed, Bard has more than enough on his plate. He doesn't have time to worry about the frightening rumors coming out of New York City or the lunatic in his service bay who tells him to take his kids and run. But when he stops to help a mysterious stranger on the side of the road, he gets a lot more than he bargained for -- a sexuality crisis, a partner in crime, and maybe, just maybe, a chance for all of them to make it out of this mess alive. What do you love about this fic? Incredible worldbuilding and an edge-of-your-seat plotline! The bonds between all the characters are just beautiful, and it has great worldbuilding. The action is also really well written, and it does tension/dramatics right.

In The Woods Somewhere by Ias / @hubristicfool | M | 249,074 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, vampires, vampire Thranduil, mechanic Bard, blood drinking, slow burn, dark, angst, violence, horror, psychological horror, unhealthy relationships | trigger warnings: vampires, blood, angst, sexual content, violence

Summary: These country roads were rarely traveled by any that didn't need to. When Thranduil pulled up beside the man's stopped vehicle and offered him a smile and a ride, there was no one to see the man's grateful expression as he slipped into Thranduil's car. No one to stand by and call out a warning as the taillights were swallowed by the dark branches of the trees. What do you love about this fic? The writing is excellent

Angels and crooks by Nuredhel / @nuredhel | M | 259,072 words | tags: sequel to Beast, alternate universe - modern setting, all humans, Bard is a cop, Thranduil is a profiler, solving crime, family, violence, drug abuse, everyday life at a police station | trigger warnings: violence, abuse, dark stuff, murder, blood, evil, deviousness

Summary: Bard and Thran are getting used to their new life as a married couple, and their new responsibilities as a family. But they still have their jobs and my oh my does that bring some interesting situations and challenges into their existence. Having both experience and special gifts does help, but at times reality can be more bizarre than anyone can expect. What do you love about this fic? It is a good story with very interesting twists and many great characters

When The Pale Swan Flies by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | E | 290,646 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, circus performer Thranduil, cabinet maker Bard, Thranduil's name is Luka, Bard's name is Taliesin (which is Welsh for Bard), slow burn, Thranduil needs rescuing and Bard is happy to do it | trigger warnings: sexual abuse mentioned, underage sex mentioned, prostitution/pimping mentioned

Summary: A year ago, when a carpenter met a caged bird, his good intentions left despair in their wake. Is he a fool to hope he can atone for his missteps? What do you love about this fic? It's got circus acts! It's got two sad men learning to trust and love again! It's got an epic visit to a grocery store! It's got bad guys getting their just desserts, and everyone else getting delicious Spanish teacake! It's got a cute little boy who finds his voice while making puppets! There's a sad short-story prequel to set the stage, as well! And who doesn't like a parade?

Season of Light and Shadow by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | E | 914,703 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, Thranduil is a ballet dancer, Bard is a building super and welder (and artist), slow burn, NSFW, blended family | trigger warnings: momentary violence, momentary mention of drug use, adult bedroom games

Summary: It's the week before Thanksgiving. In an apartment building somewhere in the middle of New York City, the mood is far from festive. Upstairs in Apartment 5B, an injured ballet dancer is having a rotten day. He's lost his job, he's had to walk home in the snow and rain, getting thoroughly soaked and frozen in the process, and the radiators in his rooms are as cold as the New York City streets. He limps downstairs to vent his fury on the night super who didn't fix the heat. Downstairs in Apartment 2A, the night super is also having a rotten day. No money, three overtired and cranky children, a slapdash boss, and not nearly enough sleep. And now someone is pounding on the door like a SWAT team. When an angel knocks on the door of a saint, neither finds what he expects. But with a little luck, the upcoming holiday season might give them both something to treasure. What do you love about this fic? It's two lonely men forging a blended family! It's got ballet! It's got home renovation! It's got four cutie children! It's got cooking! It's got an artist regaining the wherewithal to make his art! It's got lots of cool side characters (ten points to everyone who spots all the Dwarves :-). It's got lots of steamy love! It's even got 3 short follow-up stories! What's not to like?????? This was my introduction to the world of modern AUs with these two, and oh, it's SO GOOD. The kids are brilliant and so realistically drawn, and the dads are - well, they're incredibly hot. XD And the development of the relationship between them is beautifully done, as they go head-over-heels for each other while trying to take things slowly for the sake of the kids…oh, it's great. :D

#barduilmonth2024 #barduil month fic rec february #fic recs #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #barduil #bard/thranduil #barduil fic recs #long post

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yandere-paramour · 2 months

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Atalanta Headcanons Part 1

Before meeting Darling, Atalanta worked 12 hours a day, 7 days a week. She got to the office at 7:30 in the morning and stayed until about 7:30 every night. From then on, she would go home, eat, and go straight to bed. She is in the office usually on weekdays, but she does paperwork and sends emails from her apartment on weekends. She kind of considers it an inconvenience that most people like to leave the office before 5pm and don’t answer things on weekends so she gets a little snippy with her staff when they don’t want to come in early and stay late.

She has a single stress reliever, which is martial arts for two hours every morning (from 5-7 approximately). A room on the lower floor of her apartment is her training ground, and she has a trainer come and teach/spar with her. She looks pretty lean but is actually pretty strong and muscular (easily able to subdue a misbehaving Darling in a secure hold).

However, after she finds her Darling, Atalanta quite quickly adopts a strict work-life balance. She cuts her hours dramatically, acquires a 9-5 weekday schedule, and sometimes even takes a lunch if Darling is coming around. Her entire company heaves a big sigh because now they don’t feel guilty about going home to their own families at a normal time or having a weekend.

Her secretary, Noelle, basically runs her life. She is kind of a secretary/personal assistant because she controls Atalanta’s calendar and also runs any errands she deems necessary. Noelle is quite possibly the closest thing to a true friend Atalanta has, and she trusts her implicitly. She even trusts Noelle to go to her penthouse or accompany Darling on an outing. Noelle has signed an NDA and is paid A LOT, and she has absolutely no interest in leaving her gold mine of a job.

Atalanta’s modern penthouse is the top two floors of a large building, and decorated in dark grey and royal blue tones. The bottom floor has the kitchen, dining room, the Reflection Room, the training room, the living room, the garden terrace, a small bathroom, and another spare room. The top floor has 3 bedrooms with 3 full bathrooms, a screening room, Atalanta’s office, and a library/study for Darling. One entire wall that spans the living room, garden terrace, and library is fully glass.

Atalanta’s parents are also Yandere and Darling! Basically, when her mother was young, she saw her Father and sweet-talked his family into betrothing them, and after five or six years, they married and had Atalanta. The Father has been with the Mother for a little over 20 years now and is fully in love with his wife. He has no thoughts of leaving and spends most of his time in the country mansion with his wife being spoiled beyond belief. They adore their daughter and enjoy visiting her in the city.

Atalanta is an only child and she grew up VERY spoiled and VERY well-loved. She has been raised to take over the company, but currently her Mother is still in charge. Atalanta is a little peeved that she hasn’t retired and passed it down to her yet, so she is working as hard as she can to be accomplished and capable so her mom will allow her to inherit already.

Whenever she is not working or with Darling, Atalanta is always trying to better herself. She wants to seem as perfect and flawless to both her parents and everyone. She is always reading/watching the news, listening to popular podcasts, reading great books, and training her body and mind. She NEVER wants to be caught off guard or have someone try to start a conversation she is not well-versed in. She hates to feel stupid or ignorant.

Her Darling is held to the same standard as she is. She would never discard her Darling, so the only option is for her Darling to be perfect. Atalanta’s perfect Darling is a beautiful, intelligent girl she can love, protect, and spoil. She mostly wants a Darling who is well-behaved and compliant and who kisses her on the cheek when she comes home.

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perfectlyripeclementine · 6 months

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queer novel masterlist

cleaning up that post i've got running with books that touch on queerness. these are not organized in any particular fashion, or gathered along any particular theme. these are just gay novels i've either read and enjoyed or would like to read. blurbs are the books' own descriptions of themselves. not all these blurbs mention the queer stuff, but trust, if it's on this list it's in there. last updated 9 dec 23.

lists: sapphic books by Palestinian authors; butch memoirs; another list of masc, butch and stud books; a digital library of trans-related content; free access to the works of Leslie Feinberg.

After Sappho, Selby Wynn Schwartz. "“The first thing we did was change our names. We were going to be Sappho,” so begins this intrepid debut novel, centuries after the Greek poet penned her lyric verse. Ignited by the same muse, a myriad of women break from their small, predetermined lives for seemingly disparate paths: in 1892, Rina Faccio trades her needlepoint for a pen; in 1902, Romaine Brooks sails for Capri with nothing but her clotted paintbrushes; and in 1923, Virginia Woolf writes: “I want to make life fuller and fuller.” Writing in cascading vignettes, Selby Wynn Schwartz spins an invigorating tale of women whose narratives converge and splinter as they forge queer identities and claim the right to their own lives. A luminous meditation on creativity, education, and identity, After Sappho announces a writer as ingenious as the trailblazers of our past."

All Boys Aren't Blue, George M. Johnson In a series of personal essays, prominent journalist and LGBTQIA+ activist George M. Johnson's All Boys Aren't Blue explores his childhood, adolescence, and college years in New Jersey and Virginia.

The works of Dionne Brand: In Another Place, Not Here. Beautiful and meticulously wrought, set in both Toronto and the Caribbean, this astonishing novel gives voice to the power of love and belonging in a story of two women, profoundly different, each in her own spiritual exile.

Love Enough. In Love Enough, the sharp beauty of Brand's writing draws us effortlessly into the intersecting stories of her characters caught in the middle of choices, apprehensions, fears. Each of the tales here—June's, Bedri's, Da'uud's, Lia's opens a different window on the city they all live in, mostly in parallel, but occasionally, delicately, touching and crossing one another. Each story radiates other stories. In these pages, the urban landscape cannot be untangled from the emotional one; they mingle, shift and cleave to one another.

The young man Bedri experiences the terrible isolation brought about by an act of violence, while his father, Da'uud, casualty of a geopolitical conflict, driving a taxi, is witness to curious gestures of love and anger; Lia faces the sometimes unbridgeable chasms of family; and fierce June, ambivalent and passionate with her string of lovers, now in middle age discovers: "There is nothing universal or timeless about this love business. It is hard if you really want to do it right." Brand is our greatest observer—of actions, of emotions, of the little things that often go unnoticed but can mean the turn of a day. At once lucid and dream-like, Love Enough is a profoundly modern work that speaks to the most fundamental questions of how we live now.

What We All Long For. Tuyen is an aspiring artist and the daughter of Vietnamese parents who've never recovered from losing one of their children while in the rush to flee Vietnam in the 1970s. She rejects her immigrant family's hard-won lifestyle, and instead lives in a rundown apartment with friends—each of whom is grappling with their own familial complexities and heartache.

By turns thrilling and heartbreaking, Tuyen's lost brother—who has since become a criminal in the Thai underworld—journeys to Toronto to find his long-lost family. As Quy's arrival nears, tensions build, friendships are tested, and an unexpected encounter will forever alter the lives of Tuyen and her friends. Gripping at times, heartrending at others, What We All Long For is an ode to a generation of longing and identity, and to the rhythms and pulses of a city and its burgeoning, questioning youth.

The Human Origins of Beatrice Porter and Other Essential Ghosts, Soraya Palmer. Sisters Zora and Sasha Porter are drifting apart. Bearing witness to their father’s violence and their mother’s worsening illness, an unsettled Zora escapes into her journal, dreaming of being a writer, while Sasha discovers sex and chest binding, spending more time with her new girlfriend than at home.

But the sisters, like their parents, must come together to answer to something more ancient and powerful than they know—and reckon with a family secret buried in the past. A tale told from the perspective of a mischievous narrator, featuring the Rolling Calf who haunts butchers, Mama Dglo who lives in the ocean, a vain tiger, and an outsmarted snake, The Human Origins of Beatrice Porter and Other Essential Ghosts is set in a world as alive and unpredictable as Helen Oyeyemi’s.

Telling of the love between sisters who don’t always see eye to eye, this extraordinary debut novel is a celebration of the power of stories, asking, What happens to us when our stories are erased? Do we disappear? Or do we come back haunting?

Before We Were Trans, Kit Heyam. Today’s narratives about trans people tend to feature individuals with stable gender identities that fit neatly into the categories of male or female. Those stories, while important, fail to account for the complex realities of many trans people’s lives. Before We Were Trans illuminates the stories of people across the globe, from antiquity to the present, whose experiences of gender have defied binary categories. Blending historical analysis with sharp cultural criticism, trans historian and activist Kit Heyam offers a new, radically inclusive trans history, chronicling expressions of trans experience that are often overlooked, like gender-nonconforming fashion and wartime stage performance. Before We Were Trans transports us from Renaissance Venice to seventeenth-century Angola, from Edo Japan to early America, and looks to the past to uncover new horizons for possible trans futures. 

Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers, Lillian Faderman. As Lillian Faderman writes, there are "no constants with regard to lesbianism," except that lesbians prefer women. In this groundbreaking book, she reclaims the history of lesbian life in twentieth-century America, tracing the evolution of lesbian identity and subcultures from early networks to more recent diverse lifestyles. She draws from journals, unpublished manuscripts, songs, media accounts, novels, medical literature, pop culture artifacts, and oral histories by lesbians of all ages and backgrounds, uncovering a narrative of uncommon depth and originality.

note from roo: essay in this about how queer white women engaged with Harlem should be essential reading for white queers who enter spaces (like drag spaces, ballroom spaces etc) that are informed by Black culture.

Land of Milk and Honey, C Pam Zhang. A smog has spread. Food crops are rapidly disappearing. A chef escapes her dying career in a dreary city to take a job at a decadent mountaintop colony seemingly free of the world's troubles.

There, the sky is clear again. Rare ingredients abound. Her enigmatic employer and his visionary daughter have built a lush new life for the global elite, one that reawakens the chef to the pleasures of taste, touch, and her own body.In this atmosphere of hidden wonders and cool, seductive violence, the chef's boundaries undergo a thrilling erosion. Soon she is pushed to the center of a startling attempt to reshape the world far beyond the plate.

Sensuous and surprising, joyous and bitingly sharp, told in language as alluring as it is original, Land of Milk and Honey lays provocatively bare the ethics of seeking pleasure in a dying world. It is a daringly imaginative exploration of desire and deception, privilege and faith, and the roles we play to survive. Most of all, it is a love letter to food, to wild delight, and to the transformative power of a woman embracing her own appetite.

Grievers and Maroons by adrienne maree brown. Grievers is the story of a city so plagued by grief that it can no longer function. Dune’s mother is patient zero of a mysterious illness that stops people in their tracks—in mid-sentence, mid-action, mid-life—casting them into a nonresponsive state from which no one recovers. Dune must navigate poverty and the loss of her mother as Detroit’s hospitals, morgues, and graveyards begin to overflow. As the quarantined city slowly empties of life, she investigates what caused the plague, and what might end it. In anguish, she follows in the footsteps of her late researcher father, who has a physical model of Detroit’s history and losses set up in their basement. She dusts the model off and begins tracking the sick and dying, discovering patterns, finding comrades in curiosity, conspiracies for the fertile ground of the city, and the unexpected magic that emerges when the debt of grief is cleared.

In the second installment of the Grievers trilogy, adrienne maree brown brings to bear her background as an activist rooted in Detroit. The pandemic of Syndrome H-8 continues to ravage the city of Detroit and everyone in Dune's life. In Maroons, she must learn what community and connection mean in the lonely wake of a fatal virus. Emerging from grief to follow a subtle path of small pleasures through an abandoned urban landscape, she begins finding other unlikely survivors with little in common but the will to live. Together they begin to piece together the puzzle of their survival, and that of the city itself.

Elastoe, Darcie Little Badger. "Elatsoe—Ellie for short—lives in an alternate contemporary America shaped by the ancestral magics and knowledge of its Indigenous and immigrant groups. She can raise the spirits of dead animals—most importantly, her ghost dog Kirby. When her beloved cousin dies, all signs point to a car crash, but his ghost tells her otherwise: He was murdered. Who killed him and how did he die? With the help of her family, her best friend Jay, and the memory great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother, Elatsoe, must track down the killer and unravel the mystery of this creepy town and it’s dark past. But will the nefarious townsfolk and a mysterious Doctor stop her before she gets started? A breathtaking debut novel featuring an asexual, Apache teen protagonist, Elatsoe combines mystery, horror, noir, ancestral knowledge, haunting illustrations, fantasy elements, and is one of the most-talked about debuts of the year."

Sordidez, by E.G. Condé "In the ruin created by climate disaster and a devastating civil war, survivors in Puerto Rico and the Yucatán peninsula struggle to rebuild their communities and heal their lands, but powerful forces from abroad plot against them. Desperate for answers, Puerto Rican journalist Vero Diaz seeks the counsel of the Maya revolutionary known as the Loba Roja, triggering a chain of events that will forever reshape his destiny and the fate of the Caribbean world."

When They Tell You To Be Good, by Prince Shakur "When They Tell You to Be Good charts Shakur’s political coming of age from closeted queer kid in a Jamaican family to radicalized adult traveler, writer, and anarchist in Obama and Trump’s America. Shakur journeys from France to the Philippines, South Korea, and elsewhere to discover the depths of the Black experience, and engages in deep political questions while participating in movements like Black Lives Matter and Standing Rock. By the end, Shakur reckons with his identity, his family’s immigration, and the intergenerational impacts of patriarchal and colonial violence."

My Government Means to Kill Me, Rasheed Newson "Earl "Trey" Singleton III arrives in New York City with only a few dollars in his pocket. Born into a wealthy Black Indianapolis family, at 17, he is ready to leave his overbearing parents and their expectations behind.

In the city, Trey meets up with a cast of characters that changes his life forever. He volunteers at a renegade home hospice for AIDS patients, and after being put to the test by gay rights activists, becomes a member of the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP). Along the way Trey attempts to navigate past traumas and searches for ways to maintain familial relationships—all while seeking the meaning of life amid so much death.

Vibrant, humorous, and fraught with entanglements, Rasheed Newson’s My Government Means to Kill Me is an exhilarating, fast-paced coming-of-age story that lends itself to a larger discussion about what it means for a young gay Black man in the mid-1980s to come to terms with his role in the midst of a political and social reckoning."

Where There Was Fire, John Manuel Arias Costa Rica, 1968. When a lethal fire erupts at the American Fruit Company’s most lucrative banana plantation burning all evidence of a massive cover-up, and her husband disappears, the future of Teresa’s family is changed forever.

Now, twenty-seven years later, Teresa and her daughter Lyra are picking up the pieces. Lyra wants nothing to do with Teresa, but is desperate to find out what happened to her family that fateful night. Teresa, haunted by a missing husband and the bitter ghost of her mother, Amarga, is unable to reconcile the past. What unfolds is a story of a mother and daughter trying to forgive what they do not yet understand, and the mystery at the heart of one family’s rupture.

Brimming with ancestral spirits, omens, and the anthropomorphic forces of nature, John Manuel Arias weaves a brilliant tapestry of love, loss, secrets, and redemption in Where There Was Fire.

#queer lit #qlit #queer fiction #queer memoirs #queer history #lgbt history #lgbt writers #lgbtq writers #lgbt novels #lgbtq novels #queer novels #tbr #to be read #reading list #queer reading list

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 3 months

Note

any fics based on/inspired by Disney movies? tyy

There are quite a few fic recs under out Disney!Klaine tag. Here are a bunch to get you started. - Lynne

SLEEPING BEAUTY

Once Upon A Dream by dreamcatcher (darkangell23)

Once there was a beautiful prince named Kurt. But a jealous singing jerk placed an evil spell on him, prompting Kurt to prick his finger and fall into a deep sleep. Who will rescue the beautiful prince? Sleeping Beauty Klaine verse!

Do check out this story too, with the same title, featuring Klaine playing Sleeping Beauty on stage:

~~~~~

Once Upon A Dream by @lady-divine-writes

It’s the closing night of NYADA’s annual performance of Sleeping Beauty, in which Kurt is playing Prince Phillip. Blaine, who’s been to every single performance to cheer his boyfriend on, is nowhere to be found. Aside from the fact that Kurt had some pretty big plans for that evening, he’s scared to death that something horrible has happened to him.

Little does Kurt know that Blaine is actually much closer than he thinks, with a surprise of his own.

CINDERELLA

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes by LauGS

Cinderella!AU. The one thing Blaine wanted was to pretend for one day, just one day, that his life was a fairy tale. But there was no way Lord Anderson would allow him to go to the Prince’s Ball.

~~~~~

Debutante by bowtiewearingowl

Born to high society Blaine is raised to be quite the Beau, but when he comes out as gay to his mother she gives him a ‘coming out party’. Enter Kurt Hummel, a modern day Cinderella, who finds himself enamored with the belle of the ball, Blaine Anderson.

~~~~~

LITTLE MERMAID

Just Like in Fairy Tales by @emquin

Little Mermaid inspired AU mid-Never Been Kissed. Blaine is looking for love. Kurt is tired of being bullied. An incident, and an opportunity with heavy consequences brings them together, but have they found what they’ve been looking for?

~~~~~

Part of Your World by illyriaz_shell [PDF] and [EPUB]

Kurt, miserable at McKinley after his bullying escalates, makes a deal with Coach Sylvester to temporarily transfer to the safe haven of Dalton Academy. The absurd condition; he gives up his voice until he receives a kiss of “true love.” Kurt has a certain Warbler in mind to help him break the spell.

~~~~~

The Little Merman: A Story of Change by I’ve-Gotta-Be-Me

A Klaine fic crossed over into Disney’s “A Little Mermaid”. Kurt is a merman prince in line for his own throne searching for something more than himself. What he doesn’t know is that that something will manifest itself into the form of a human prince.

~~~~~

ENCHANTED

Once Upon by Neaf

Enchanted AU: Kurt Hummel loves New York, loves his job and his life in the city, but while everybody around him is lost in the fairytale of love, Kurt’s alone. That is, until the night the world drops an actual fairytale right in his lap.

#klaine #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #Disney #Disney!Klaine #fic finder

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silent-raven13 · 3 months

Text

A new take on Sunflowers!

(AU: No Spider-man powers. Hobie is a famous Punk Star/model/celebrity. He happens to go to an art opening and fell in love with the works and the artist)

"Ehhh!" Miles look at the bouquet of flowers and boxes of expensive gifts. He didn't even settle in his new studio apartment, he saw so many gifts being delivered to him. It was already the next day after the crazy party. Checking on the message card, "To my Sunflower, XOXOXOX, Hobie. 💜🌻🤘🏿"

He felt so flustered that he took the bouquets of flowers in his arms taking a big sniff. "They smell so good." He hums feeling his cheeks warm. The art opening did filled him with surprises, he didn't think he would catch a certain celebrity eyes.

-Last Night-

"Yes. Yes. We're heading there, now." The twenty seven year old punker slouches in the limo being bored by his assistant making calls to their manager. He rolled his eyes, so this is what being famous is like. The constant meet and greets, events, and talkshows. Ugh, the popularity didn't seem to stop because of his own Controversy nature, being chaotic to break anything.

The fans love that from him. His bandmates are meeting him at this art opening he so badly wanted to go. It was a refresher to find something that's his interest, but his agency being on his ass was pissing him off. He wanted freedom! To enjoy his time with his friends.

Now, his assistant is here being observant because the last time he was left alone, he had brawl with some jackass at a bar.

Figures...

He lit up his cigarette being annoyed, a good burn of nicotine will help him. "You're supposed to quit smoking." His assistant said being on her laptop.

"Come on, Mindy. I've been stressed all the damn time. I need this." He inhale being annoyed. "Fuck quitting."

"Then you have to deal with Bruce."

"Fuck him, too."

Mindy sighs before the limo stopped at the gallery called, "New Verse!" It's own by a famous man, who believes in contemporary arts for the diversity artists. Right now, there's three arts presenting their worsts that are upcoming to the art field.

Young BIPOC artists that were born and bred in New York City. Hobie honestly saw one painting on the pamphlet from invite from his good friend, Pavtri. A funny actor that changed the game by his bubbly adorable personality, his girlfriend is one of the artists. Yet, the punker wasn't focus on her inspirational Indian American women with abstract strokes and figures.

Oh no, he's eyes was curious when he saw a powerful, very old school graffiti style with a modern take of using media with bright bold colors and insane texts. The handwritten calligraphy had rough ink with profound words like slurs, then a beautiful black man figure crying. Tears all colorful with small texts inside. So many going all at once that he wanted to see in person. The piece had the sizes about 300 inches by four hundred inches on canvas mounted on wall. He had to see it.

When the limo parked, "We're here." His assistant said.

Hobie got out of the car seeing paparazzis already there to take photos of him.

Great, these fucking leeches

He wore his latest high end outfit; ripped tight black skinny jeans with patches by Farfetched brand, accessories like chains dripping to the side of hips. He wore expensive Prada Monolith and re-nylon black boots, and red laces. A Sex Pistol t-shirt personally shredded, Two belts around his waist, one he's actually wearing on his jeans but the other more for fashion that is slanted to the side. Then his Celine black leather jacket with his own custom touches having spikes and paint on it. His own rebellious style. Then tons of jewelry on him; bracelets from his wrists, necklaces, and diamonds piercings. All top with a very masculine cologne by Tom Ford.

His wicks bounces by every step of his heavy boots as he got out already having his black shades on to cover his eyes. He saw some of the fans waiting for him. "OH MY GAWD, IT'S HIM! HOBIE! HOBIE! WE LOVE YOU!"

"HEY, HOBIE COME LOOK OVER HERE!"

Hobie quickly walks away with a scowl, he tries hard not to ruin his black lipstick by Fenty. All this work to look good and these paparazzis never leave him alone!

Life as a Star

When he finally enters the gallery, he saw a group of body guards being there. It seems there was a lot of famous celebrities around, too.

Great...

He should've known Pavtri would invite more people for his girlfriend. His assistant said, "Oh wow, you can network with these other celebrities. There's Peni Parks, I heard she is famous for her robotics in Japan. Her company release the latest Androids."

"Huh, so we're about to get controlled by the government." Hobie snorted.

"Come on, Hobie. Not this again."

"It's true." He took off his shades to find other familiar faces like Miguel O'Hara, the CEO of Alchemax with a teenage girl wearing a black dress having to look at a painting. A famous man like that likes art? Huh, who knew.

Then Jess Drew, a popular lawyer never losing a case and a very expensive one at that. Hobie had follow her cases, seeing how she went to trial about defamation of character to a famous celebrity.

Petra, a famous three gold Olympic Athlete, she had one her titanium prosthetic leg wearing ankle pants with loafers and tight beige sweater. Her brown pixie hair cut had a shave to the left side showing off her pierced ears.

Then Ben Riley, a famous skater. Noir-

Aye, no way he's here!

Noir is a very popular contemporary artist that causes many controversy on society's politics. One of the most respected activists, too. He would shred his own work in front of auction if he doesn't like the buyer. The man stays hidden with his black mask. Hobie respected that man, too bad his works are out of his price range, if he could get his hands on it.

One popular piece was a Rubik's cube that he presented in a gallery then mix it all up. Then place it on a white pedestal. The price of that work started off two billion.

Bonkers, Hobie knows. But that piece started a massive wave for the hidden artists. Noir seems to know Petra and Ben.

Interesting...

He noticed a popular street artist, activist, and poet name Zero. Kaine, a famous game streamer on Twitch. Kitty, a popular influencer. Peter Parker, a famous American Actor.

So many blokes here!

"Oh, look there's Gwen!" She spotted a familiar Pop Punk singer standing with her own female band, which is her girlfriend drummer, Margo and Silk, a girl who plays the guitar.

"Aye," Hobie was about to go over until, he stops when his eyes caught the art piece he been yearning to see. When he enters the room to find more works.

His eyes on the large piece, he took in every single detailed. "Mindy, luv. Can you please give me wine?"

"Sure thing, Hobie." She went out of the room to leave him to admire the works.

Hobie saw the artists name and description, "A cry for Help! By Miles G. Morales..." He read seeing the materials being made by spray paint, acrylic paint and other stuff. He didn't want to read anymore, so he can try to figure out the meaning of the work.

Taking a closer look, he saw details of Brooklyn, police brutality, drugs, and struggle. Then a light white out line of a man and woman with child that is very hard to see. If you're not paying attention, a person would think it's a decorative add-on.. Then more Corporate brands, then drug names, and money prices. The background of blue shading with imagery of activism. So many things going on that represented the struggle for black people, it touched Hobie. Especially the image of the black man crying.

What surprised him is the soft touch up to imply make up, the figure had a smudge light lip gloss and glittery eyes, his skin cover with light newspaper textures with to-day's and past events of black trans struggles, and racism.

Bloody beautiful...

Mindy came by to hand him his glass a wine, she hums, "Your eyeliner is smudging."

"Thanks, darling." Hobie wipe the tear off his eye, "It's a fantastic piece, innit?"

"It's really sad..." Mindy frowns at the painting, "Crazy how colorful it is. Like they want you to be happy but when you look at it longer... you see the true ugliness of America."

Hobie sips his wine with a nod, "Exactly. It's perfect. How much is it?"

"300k."

"What? So little?"

"He's a new artist in the field. He's been popular through social media, but not in galleries. It's a different wave." She explained.

"Pfft, and he's black?"

"Yeah."

"Figures. Always the black man getting the short end of the stick." Hobie took out his black card, "I'll double the price."

"Are you sure?" Her eyes widen.

"Yes, I'm sure. I got payed from that stupid Pepsi commercial so I'm winning to buy this at a reasonable price." He said.

"I'll look for the seller. Stay here." She said before going to find them.

Hobie had no problem staying when he can admire this painting. Unaware of a black hooded man standing next to him. "You been looking at this piece for a while, huh?"

"It's a powerful piece." Hobie glanced over to find the person wearing a black hoodie.

"Meh, it's ight." He casually said.

"Are you bloody mad? This is one of the best works I've seen and trust me, I've seen bullshit artists from France, Japan, even the MET." He snorted.

"Gayatri's work is amazing. Zero's installation is freakin' cool." He added, "They are actually showing real struggles as women of color."

"I'll see for myself, but this right here! This is where it's at." Hobie said proudly.

The Hooded man chuckles, "Alright, but take your time looking at the other works." He left with that.

Hobie rolled his eyes but his nose tickle of scents of Sunflowers and tropical shea butter. "Who was he?" He mutter to himself, before going to the next work. The artist made five pieces. In the room there was only four massive works.

It seems Hobie fell in love with the artist, because the second work he loves it even more. It was a massive photo of a black male punker with tattoos, so much piercing on his face and had this scary look with so much spikes and ripples on his clothing. He had intense makeup, but the photo is only black and white.

The figure had a charming smile with his tongue out and wink while he holds a bouquet of sunflowers. The Sunflowers were painted in cartoon like, and there was other paintings of feminine and cutesy imagery. Stickers, and spray painted text. Hobie quickly read the name of the work, "A New Take on Sunflowers: Triptych Part 1 by Miles G. Morales."

Hobie went back to look at the piece, the Sunflowers were brighter almost glowing with youth. "A New Take on Sunflowers... By old Vinny?" He did love this work. He saw how the Punker represented gender fluidity, to embrace their culture yet love the things that aren't represented in their lifestyle. It could also show how someone 'scary' looking have a softer side by holding the flower with care and love.

"Hobie, your bandmates are here." Mindy came back to tell him.

"Be there." Hobie didn't wanna see them when he had these works to admire. The next painting was next to the punker photo. This time the second painting is a photo in black and white of two black women kissing being in the Ghetto of New York. They hold their Sunflowers. They had on weave, bright gold jewelry, tight clothing being so happy to be together.

Now that's love.

His eyes saw the color of the jewelry being the same yellow as the Sunflowers, and more happier texts and doodles around the two. The women had on wedding rings on, celebrating their marriage.

Hobie chuckles, "Cute." He saw the third part of this work. This one is a Puerto Rican mother, how did he know she's Puerto Rican? The massive flag in the background, and the woman sitting while braiding her daughter's hair with a soft gentle smile. The little Afro-Latina smiling at her big Sunflower as it aims at the two. It's a beautiful piece of mother and child.

Shit, why these works are affecting me so much

Hobie felt tears coming down his cheek, he never felt like this before. It's so beautiful and powerful. He needs them. He wants them in his penthouse!

"Hobie?" Mindy asked.

He quickly turns to her with his eyeliner already smudge, "I want all of these. Go buy them!"

"What? Hobie, you can't be-" Hobie glares at her. "Alright. Alright, I'll let the seller know!" She sighs, "Also, Karl and the rest of the band is here. Go say hi!"

"Ugh, fine." Hobie went to find his friends while his assistant went off to find the seller, again. His goal is to find the fifth work.

"Hey Hobs! What up, man?" His best friend, Karl high five him, he's the bass player of the band.

Riri chuckles, "Hey, share the love, bro!" She grins widely being the guitarist.

Mattea nodded, "Hey, Hobie." The drummer of the band.

Hobie gave them a hug, "Aye, mates. How's it going?"

"Great. With all these talkshows and trying to make our own shit, ugh we're exhausted." Riri said.

"Yeah, I released my own beer brand. Crazy, huh?" Karl chuckles.

"My own shirts." Mattea nodded, "We need to be smart because who knows what will happen with this band."

"What do you mean?" Hobie frowns.

"You know, we're all so busy trying to get our name out. It'll be better just in case if our band fall apart since you're busy with movies. Me with modeling." Riri added.

"And life." Mattea nodded.

"That's true. Ugh, we need to support each other. We still need to make our new album too." Hobie groans by this constant work load. "Fucking Bruce."

The rest groan. "Hobie! Hobie! I'm so happy you made it!" The group turns to find Pavtri holding his girlfriend's hand having to pull her with him. She giggles seeing how happy her boyfriend is.

"Hey, bruv. Been awhile." Hobie greeted him, "Luv. Nice to meet you." He holds Gayatri's hand and kissed it being a gentlemen when he wants to.

"Hahaha, nice to meet you, Hobie! I'm a big fan of Spider-Band!" She said.

"Have you seen, my sweet Gayatri's work!" Pavtri asked the punker with stars in his eyes. "Huh! HUH?"

"Oh honey," The female artist giggles, "He's been in Miles' room the whole time. I won't lie, his work is so good." She holds her side shoulder bag, "He even customized my bag. See!"

Hobie's eyes widen at the bag seeing the painting with Sunflowers and cute characters. "What? How? Can he do custom works?"

"Yeah, he does. I gave him one of my fabric works." She giggles, "You really like it, huh? It's moving, right?"

"I need to check it out." Riri said, "First some wine!"

"Same!" Mattea nodded.

"More like a crush." Karl knows when his best friend has a crush, it's very rare but it's obvious to see.

Gayatri giggles, "Really! Awe, you know he's single and ready to mingle." She loves playing match maker, with stars in her eyes being excited. "Zero, can tell you, he's so ready for a new man in his life!"

Pavtri pouted at the punker with fake tears, "Hobie, you promised you would admire my darling flower! My Gayatri's beautiful work! She took these beautiful hands," he holds her dainty hands, "and created this!" He jumps over to an installation of a blue cut out thick papers handing by a thread to show an abstract figure in blue. "All the dates we had to miss!"

"I will we have all the time." Hobie tries to explained then he was yank by Pavtri being forced to look at all of Gayatri's work. He even explain each one of them in great detailed.

Hobie spotted the last work of Miles G. Morales, it's at the end of the gallery on its own with nothing else around. He wanted to go see it, but he had to make his way through Zero's work, too. He didn't mind Gayatri's and Zero's work, they are amazing artist, but something about Miles' work. It got him, he needs to see the last painting.

After going through all his well known friends and admiring Zero's work. He found Miguel O'Hara's daughter gasping at Miles' painting, "Papá! Did you see that painting with the mother and daughter! It's so cute! Does he do custom work?" She asked, "I want one of me and mamá!"

"Alright. Let's see if we can book one." Miguel happily said to his daughter, his whole grumpy mood toward Peter changed when it was his daughter.

Jess giggles, "That Miles Morales is making waves with his work, being new to this game. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, the kid is freakin' good. He actually got some peeps from LA looking at his work. That kid is going to places."

The owner of the gallery is a tall thing black man, "Alright, gather around." Everyone went to see the speech which Hobie cursed himself, he was so close to see the final painting.

He smiles happily, "I like to thank my wife, Jess for support. My good friend Aaron for helping pitch in. This beautiful gallery is meant to bring all young diverse artists to the art game. I hope you enjoyed Gayatri's amazing works focusing on the hardship of Indian American women identity and gender roles. Zero's beautiful installations on her poems and politics of today." The two women artists came up with a smiling widely. "Sadly Miles couldn't make it today but his work focus on the struggles of Black and Brown acceptance in America."

Hobie frowns, he was hoping to meet the artist. Gayatri made it seem he was around. How odd?

"They are the future for young Contemporary artists, we know the field mostly represents a certain group, so I hope to help them achieve their careers with this gallery." He holds his glass of champagne being happy.

Then, a man in black hood came walking past the group surrounding the artists and owner of the gallery. Jess' husband finished, "I hope you enjoy the rest of the opening."

Hobie spotted the black hoodie male carries a bucket of paint, then when the artists and owner moved away. "Hey, what is he doing?" Karl asked out loud spotting the figure.

The figure throws black paint on the final painting by Miles. Everyone gasps even the security was about to go over. "Oh my god! Why would he do that?"

Hobie's mouth dropped in shock, "What the fuck, bruv!" He shouted out loud in anger.

The figure grins widely seeing the security guards being stopped by the owner, he took out his bright yellow Spray paint, and wrote in messy dripping text, "Miles wazz here!" He put down his hoodie revealing his face.

Hobie's eyes widen at such a handsome young man; big honey brown doe eyes, wearing earrings, septum nose piercing, and a bright glowing face. His hair a tapered Afro with a fade. Wait, this is Miles? Miles G. Morales?

"Easy. Easy. He's an artist. This is his installation piece." The owner explained.

Miles let the painting dripped showing how the painting still revealed a bit. "I call this, 'I'ma do my own thing.'" He grins widely at the crowd.

Noir nodded giving a loud clap in approval. The rest of the crowd awed, by the piece looking beautiful with the add on drips and markings. Gwen shouted, "Holy shit, Miles!"

"Wow, amazing!" Pavtri claps like crazy being so excited, "I was filled with so many emotions!" Everyone went back to looking at other works.

Hobie finally got the chance took a look at the painting, "Ruining it, eh?" He saw Miles finished talking to Pavtri, who hugs him before leaving them.

"Is it ruin to you?" Miles stood with a grin, he wore an oversize black hoodie, some tight jeans and black and yellow Jordans.

"Nah, it's perfect. I believe chaos, luv." Hobie grins at him.

Miles giggles, "I bet, you known for that."

"So you heard of me?"

"I mean, who doesn't know Hobie Brown? The lead singer of Spider band." He giggles in amusement, "So, I heard you're gonna buy my works. I'm surprised. I thought my shit would be too much for a celebrity."

"Pfft, I'm a different kind, Sunflower." He sips his wine, "I always love works about black empowerment and to support a fellow one at that."

"Aye, gracias papí." Miles spoke Spanish.

"Ah, so you're Puerto Rican?"

"I'm half black and half Puerto Rican, my parents are over there." He chuckles seeing the punker looking over to find the same woman from the painting and a little girl.

"Ahh, inspiration?"

"They were the reason for my Sunflower series." The artist explained, "Honestly, I was so nervous for tonight because I'm a new comer and being with these amazing artists of New York- Ugh, I can't believe I'm here."

"That's why you doubted your work?"

"Pretty much." Miles admitted, "Funny, you're easy to talk to."

"I'm always listening, Sunflower." He leans over to get a closer look at the artist, "And I listen to the person I like."

Miles felt flustered then giggles, "Haha, funny."

"Oh yea? Gimme your number and let see if I'm playin?" He flirted with a deep voice. Miles didn't know what possess him to hand him his smartphone but he did. The Punker happily type his number into the phone and put his private social media too.

"Text me, Sunflower." He winks at the artist as he handed back his phone.

"Okay." Miles did the basic hey.

Hobie chuckles, "So soon? You really want me."

"No-no, I mean- awe man! I suck at this stuff." Miles pouts.

"Oh yeah? So you want me to be forward," The punker lift his chin up about to lean in, their lips close to almost touching, "Because I can."

"Eh?" MIles' honey brown eyes widen, he didn't think the punker would be this bold!

"NO! My big bro!" A little girl ruffling shoves Hobie away from her brother.

"Billie!" Miles saw his seven year old sister, "Awe, come here." Thank god, because he wasn't ready for a kiss like that. His face felt so warm.

Billie happily hugs her brother being picked up, "Yeah! Only I give kisses to mi hermano!" She kisses her brother's cheek. "Your painting of me and mamí esta may bueno, hermano!"

"Awe, thank you, Billie-boo."

Hobie only rub his nose then sniff. Damn, he almost got to taste him. Shame, but he does like it when they play hard to get. Licking his lips, his eyes yearn for the artist. Something in him wants him. Putting on his charming smiles, "So this is your little sister?"

"Yeah, I am Billie!" The little girl stated, "Who you are? You don't kiss my brother!"

"Sorry, she loves me too much." Miles giggles. "Billie, this is Hobie. He's a popular singer. Hobie this is Billie."

"Hmph," Billie pouted giving a look at the punker.

"She is small. What is she? four?"

"I'm seven years old!" Billie huffs, "I am a BIG GURL!" She hugs her brother around his neck.

"Eck, Billie. Not too tight." Miles almost choked. "Sorry, she was like this with my friends."

"No problem. I love lil sprogs." He chuckles lowly, "Also, how do I book for a custom painting?"

"Oh, on my social I have a link to my studio website and there's a form for custom orders. You really gonna buy another painting from me?"

"Of course." He saw his assistant near him, "Mindy, darling. Have you met the seller?"

"Yes, sir. They are willing to sell all five works." She said.

"Alright, add another one. A custom on from Miles' website." Hobie smirks widen when he saw how Miles' eyes widen.

"Alright, if you wish to purchase it now, we need to go to the owner and have it ready for shipping." Mindy hums.

"Very well."

"Also, we should be leaving soon. You have a recording session tomorrow." She hums.

"Alright. Alright." He winks at Miles being a show off, he lifts Miles' hands up to kiss it, "It was wonderful seeing you. I hope we can meet again... without me buying paintings- perhaps a date?"

Miles' face went super flustered by the punker. He never thought this famous singer would be so sweet, so charming, so damn cute! "Huh uh." That's all came out of his mouth.

Billie side eye at her brother seeing how shy he became. "Lil one, I hope you will protect your brother from untamed men." Hobie smiles at her before handing her a crumble hundred dollar bill.

"Aye, Ayi! Cap'n!" Billie nodded at the tip.

Miles said, "Wait, you don't have to-" Hobie shrugs, "She can buy whatever she wants with it. Anyway, I'll see you later."

"Oh... Okay. Bye Hobie." Miles hugs his baby sister tightly feeling so bashful, his heart fluttering.

The punker left with a large receipt of five expensive paintings. He wave his fellow friends goodbye.

In the limo, he had a big smile on his face thinking about his Sunflower. "Never see you this happy? You really like the artist, huh?"

He sighs lovingly, "Yeah... do you know where he lives? I want to send him some flower." He breath exhale on the cold window letting it fog up, then he drew a crappy sunflower.

"On it." She nodded.

-Present Day-

Hobie chilling outside enjoying his pool after his record session. His Smartphone vibrating, he looks to find Miles calling him. "Sunflower! Surprised you called, miss me?" He flirted removing his dark shades.

"Hobie, I think you send me too many flowers...." He said.

"Oh? Fifty bouquets didn't come to you?"

"Fifty? There's like one, two, three.... forty nine-" Miles stops hearing the door bell, "Never mind, fifty."

"Then you got them all. How about the gifts?"

"Hobie, you shouldn't have sent this- I- It's nice of you for-" Hobie waves it off, "Nah, it's fine. I got money and wanted to spend it on you, Sunflower. Now, that you called- How about a lunch date?"

"Huh? A date?"

"Yup." Hobie sips on his sparkling water.

"Ummm," Miles felt bashful again, "Sure... where-where?"

"I'll pick you up. I know a great place. Also, I might bring another bouquet for you." Hobie happily said.

Miles nodded, "Okay. Do i need to wear anything?"

"I prefer lingerie."

"Huh!"

"Joking. I'm joking, luv. Something you want to wear. Don't worry it's a chill spot."

"Alright, man." The artist bite his bottom lip, "I... I don't do sex on the first date, by the way...."

"Oh? I'm surprised you expected me too." The singer chuckles.

"No, I mean- I'm so sorry that's rude. I just have to always-" Hobie chuckles, "It's okay, luv. I promise I'll give you a kiss on the cheek."

"Just a kiss on the cheek." Now he sounded disappointed.

"Or you want on the mouth with tongue?"

Miles never felt so embarrassed, "Your a jerk, Hobie Brown."

"You seem to like it." He laughs.

"I do actually." His pouty lip more enhance as he listens to Hobie's voice. Something about this punker got him thinking about him. He had a beautiful dream with him and it feels like he known him. Its weird.

"Then, I'll pick you up soon. See you later, Sunflower."

"See you, Hobie." Miles hears him hung up, then he hung up. The artist never felt like this. Touching his lips feeling the cracks of his dry skin, "I need to moisturized! Lip scrub! Look good for him!" He rushes over to the bathroom to get ready.

A special bond formed between the artist and the singer.

#punkflower #hobie brown #miles morales #spiderman #across the spider verse #spider verse #spiderverse

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caemthe · 7 days

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"I have never regretted to brave the long night."

Name: Jiyan (忌炎) Species: Human (Mutant Resonator) Birthday: December 14th (25 yo.) Gender/Pronouns: cis male he/him Orientation: Biromantic Bisexual Hometown: Huanglong Parents: Unnamed mother Weapon: Verdant Summit Alignment: Lawful Good

Personality: ISFJ. A righteous and attentive man with a strong sense of justice and resolution. He always provides timely solutions when they are needed most. Just as gentle rain quenching parched soil, Jiyan carefully orchestrates aid and ensures that no area goes without assistance. Appearance: A beautiful tall man (6’2/1.87m) of long hair and a distinctive Tacet Mark situated atop his dorsal ridge. Post-Awakening observations found some growths that resemble Loong scale on his left jaw.

[ wu.wa spoilers under the read more ]

BIOGRAPHY

Born into a medical family, Jiyan became his mother's assistant at the age of 10. He excelled at medical skills and was popular among patients, not only for his expertise, but also for his great ability to soothe their upsets and cater to their needs. Despite his exceptional medical prowess, there were still some lives he couldn't bring back from the jaws of death. The last patient he couldn't save was Beiwang, his friend and mentor, who was heavily injured by TD.

His mentor's passing ignited a transformative spark in Jiyan: his regret, wistfulness, and frustration turned into his strength to wield the lance on the battlefield. He realized that the Lament was such a great disease that not even the best medical instruments or the most adept surgeon can remove it. This realization drove him to want to cure the world in another way, so he took up arms as a soldier. Now, only the gourd-shaped pill case on his belt loop indicates that he was once a doctor.

At the age of 15, he bravely rescued his fellow soldiers during a critical TD outbreak. By the age of 20, Jiyan assumed the role of general, becoming the youngest general in the Midnight Rangers’ history, guiding the army with determination and courage.

Shortly after being appointed general, an unexpected TD Outbreak occurred that could've doomed the entire Huanglong. Amidst the chaos, Jiyan alone remained composed and his resolve unshaken. He studied real-time images from monitoring devices, devised a plan and led their coordinated army to face the enemy head on. During the attack, Jiyan bravely fought off hordes of enemies, paving the way for his fellow soldiers with unmatched strength. The Tacet mark on Jiyan's nape was flickering, a sign of Forte overexertion, but he pressed on. His Qingloong flew high in the sky like a proud banner of resolution, never once faltering to the ground.

TRIVIA

Despite being known for his calm and decisive nature, Jiyan has a recurring nightmare: the city of Jinzhou engulfed in flames and consumed by TD. A lone figure fights relentlessly, taking down hundreds of thousands of TD. But, despite his best efforts, he can't stop the endless enemies. Day after day, year after year, he fights in vain until he's the sole survivor. The, the TD transform into his fallen comrades, encircling and closing in on him.

A decade ago, during the Jinzhou Riverside Games, Jiyan agreed to form a temporary team with other 3 recruits for the Gulpuff Relay with other recruits since their captain had to tend an urgent matter. A mistake occurred, and the temporary team lagged far behind, but the final runner (Jiyan) swiftly closed the gap with their opponents, unnoticed by everyone. They won the race and set a new record that hasn't been surpassed in 10 years.

With the help of the Academy, Jiyan bred a resilient type of flower that they named 'Emortia', representing both 'departure' and 'return'. He wanted to honor the sacrifice of the fallen soldiers, helping their souls return to their homeland. These flowers are planted in Knell Square, the place where the life of Midnight Ranger starts and ends.

VERSES

Wu.wa: Default verse.

F.go: TBA.

Modern Fantasy: TBA.

Fantasy: TBA.

Modern: TBA.

H.sr: TBA.

#j. º ( aero. )#wu. º ( resonator. )#/ the devil works fast but liri works faster #/ added as a primary muse!!

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bunny--manders · 10 months

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Some photos of Appalachia for @kjzx to set the mood as you listen to the podcast!

This is what the mountains look like. The range is so old that they've actually eroded a bit over time, so they look softer and more rounded than the dramatic ranges out west like the Rockies, Cascades, Olympics, etc.

Child coal miners in Gary, West Virginia in 1908. The coal mining industry could be incredibly inhumane to its workers, and some of the most brutal suppression of labor movements in American history happened when workers tried to fight for better conditions. The podcast goes into real life mining disasters.

youtube

One of the most famous modern mining disasters--this coal mine caught on fire and couldn't be put out, and a whole town had to be abandoned because of it. The mine might continue burning for centuries.

I can't recall if the podcast mentions kudzu--it's an incredibly invasive plant that has been destroying Appalachian forests. Just driving by an infested forest is eerie because the vines will completely engulf trees and buildings.

youtube

A "holler" is a distinctive type of settlement in mountain hollows. They have their own unique culture and accent which people outside the area often stigmatize as uneducated. People living in these areas are often cut off from the best jobs, education, infrastructure, and healthcare and their state governments have done very little to help them for centuries.

I'm very interested in historical stories about bootlegging, and you'll hear a lot about people hiding stills for distilling liquor in the mountains so that they could make alcohol during Prohibition or during times of high taxes on liquor. It's very hard to police a whole lot of small, isolated towns in the mountains where the locals know the forest much better than federal agents coming in from out of town. My home state's official anthem, Rocky Top, actually has a verse implying that federal agents were murdered in the mountains while they were searching for an illegal moonshine still.

youtube

An example of music from the area. It's influenced by a combination of British immigrants, other European immigrants, and traditional African and African-American music.

A photo from the Appalachian Trail, a trail built in the 1920s that runs over 2,000 miles through the mountains. I'm biased because I love the forests where I live now so much, but I still think the Appalachians are some of the most beautiful parts of the country.

youtube

A storyteller talking about the very long history of Appalachian folk stories and repeating a story passed on through the oral tradition. Some of the stories still told in Appalachia are hundreds of years old and come from a blend of European and African folklore. I really love the way the podcast captures that beautiful style and cadence. It very much fits into the long history of ghost stories set in the mountains. I'm intrigued that you picked up on similarities to Russian storytelling traditions. I bet there are a lot of similarities with the way working-class families living in remote mountainous areas pass stories from generation to generation.

That's just a little taste of Appalachian history and culture! Basically: It's one of the most beautiful parts of America, but also one of the most badly treated by companies that exploited its people and natural resources and state governments that didn't do much to help people living in the area. I grew up in a city near but not in Appalachia, one that made a lot of money selling its culture to tourists but ultimately didn't give as much back as it should to the people living there. Parts of Appalachian culture have definitely become folksy novelties.

(BTW, if you've ever heard of Dolly Parton, she's probably the most famous modern celebrity from Appalachia and she's done a TON of work helping the communities she came from, which is part of why people love her so much!)

#old gods of appalachia #Youtube

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pianocat939 · 1 year

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I sent that last request in a hurry,but country like saying y'all/yuns,lives on a farm takes care of animals ECT,and gets dirt on them a ton

As a northerner and city person I am absolutely disgusted /hj/lh

I’m taking a while on the slasher request so have a blurb-

Tw: I bash on country ppl-

Rope Dope:

Isn’t the most well-versed on farm life. And when I say I mean he’s tripping everywhere and is surprised at the expansive space. He loves the animals and wants to pet them (if they’ll let him-).

Loopy Bunny:

I’m gonna say it- he doesn’t like the mud and feces, he can’t let his beautiful self be filthy! I’m sorry but he’ll definitely mimic your accent in a mocking way, it’s just one thing he can’t help but make fun of.

Doe a Female Deer:

(I’m gonna project sorry mates-)

HATES THE DIRT, HATES THE MUD, HATES THE ACCENT, HATES EVERYTHING. Farms aren’t modern at all! And everything is so- inefficient. He will definitely correct your grammar if you say “Y’all” or “ain’t”.

(I cringe every time someone types or speak y’all-)

Morgue Puppy:

Loves the animals! If you’ll let him, he wants to kiss their heads. He actually likes your accent, as it’s much more different to the New York accent. He’s not very skilled in farm work, but he tries to help out.

(YEAH IM JUDGING ANYBODY WHO HAS THAT WEIRD ACCENT-)

#rottmnt #tmnt #rottmnt x reader #Tmnt x reader #blurbs #Raph #Leo #Donnie #Mikey #tmnt 2018 #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt

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liminalpsych · 2 months

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My collection groooows

Left to right:

The Complete Arthurian Encyclopedia

Gallant & True (an Arthurian zine I think I backed on Kickstarter at some point, it’s BEAUTIFUL)

The Mabinogian (Sioned Davies translation)

Black Book of Carmarthen

Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain (Faletra translation, also includes Vita Merlini and a bunch of excerpts from various texts eg Nennius)

The Lais of Marie de France (Waters translation)

Lanzelet (I tried reading it. I’ll try again. It’s so dry)

Chretien de Troyes: Lancelot, Erec and Enide, Yvain, Cliges (Ruth Harwood Cline verse translation, I only just now realized they’re out of order, it’s gonna bug me but not enough to fix it and take another picture)

Perlesvaus (Nigel Bryant)

Lancelot-Grail books 1-10 (including Post-Vulgate and chapter summaries)

Silence (Le Roman de Silence)

An Introduction to the Gawain Poet (Putter)

Le Morte d’Arthur (Keith Baines version)

Of Giants (look, Cohen posted some beautifully gay Galehaut/Lancelot and Green Knight and Gawain commentary excerpts on Tumblr and I couldn’t resist)

Arthurianism in Early Plantagenet England (recommended to me by someone who almost did her doctoral thesis on this topic until learning she’d been beaten to it by this text—a history of Arthurianism including the larping that a bunch of nobility did. It just arrived in the mail, I haven’t read it yet)

The Goddodin (Gillian Clarke version; not pictured on the shelf because it’s on my poetry shelf instead. It’s so beautifully translated though, highly recommend Clarke’s version)

Also not pictured: anything I have in ebook format (Tolkien’s translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, various modern fiction)

And then there’s the Arthurian adjacent and medieval and Renaissance stuff that isn’t really Arthurian but it’s related, so same shelf.

Return to Avalon (short story collection, modern, found at a used book store, why not)

The Book of Chivalry of Geoffrey de Charny (picked this up as a larpwriting reference forever ago, it’s a fascinating read)

Various editions of the Compleat Anachronist, the SCA’s publication

Life in a Medieval City by Gies (I don’t actually remember where I got this or why I have it or if it’s any good. I’m guessing it was another larpwriting reference)

The Book of the Courtier - Castiglione (larp prop and larpwriting reference, actually a really neat read)

Prism Knights by Winter J Kiakas (queer knight short story collection)

Letter Writing in Renaissance England (got this used as a larpwriting reference and it has been SO USEFUL and so fascinating!)

#reading list #arthuriana #Arthurian literature

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last-capy-hupping · 2 years

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I thought that I’d make a post with random trivia details for my modern Silmarillion AU, Anywhere With You, which focuses on Russingon. Feel free to ask for more, and I’ll answer it as long as it doesn’t contain spoilers.

Warnings: some vague discussions of Maedhros’ relationship with Melkor, which was abusive, and some non-graphic discussion of various characters’ sex lives.

1) Fingon claims to be 5’10”, but he’s more like 5’8.5”. Maedhros is six and a half feet tall and can’t tell the difference.

2) Fingon, Turgon, Aredhel, and Argon are all major sporty kids. Fingon plays soccer, though now only as part of a club, and enjoys running and rock climbing. Turgon played football up until he got into the masters section of his accelerated bachelors/masters program in architecture. This allowed Fingon to finally become buffer than his brother. Fingon is not at all smug about this. Aredhel plays softball and volleyball and loves going rock climbing with Fingon. Argon plays high school basketball and has already made the varsity team, even though he’s only a sophomore. He’s already close to Turgon’s height, and he will be taller. All of the Fingolfinions can ride horses and shoot (guns and bows).

3) Quenya is basically this verse’s version of Irish. Fingon is the Americanized name for the semi-legendary St. Findekáno Astaldo, this world’s version of St. Patrick. Fingon’s birthday is March 17, 1999. Even though the lines of Míriel and Indis are completely desperate in this verse, Fëanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin, and Nerdanel are all basically Irish. Anairë is Ghanaian, and Ëarwen is Greek/Cyrpiot.

4) All of Fëanor’s sons have their Quenya names as their middle names, while Nerdanel gave them Sindarized first names. She deliberately combined “Maitimo” and “Russandol” for her first son’s name because he was the prettiest baby she’d ever, and she totally wasn’t biased.

5) Maedhros (b. May 1, 1995) was an extremely well behaved toddler who was very good at self-soothing. He loved being read to, memorized a few children’s books before he was able to read, and used to build elaborate block towers. He loved being a big brother from the start and only tried to return Maglor to the baby delivery place once, after Maglor lost his copy of Goodnight Moon (his favorite book) and destroyed his block formation, a replica of the semi-legendary city of Tirion. Maedhros immediately regretted this and climbed into Maglor’s crib to apologize to him. There is video of this. For a solid three years, Maedhros believed that baby Celegorm was his punishment for not appreciating Maglor enough. Maedhros had an awkward, gangly teenage phase that swimming helped him overcome. His high school team encouraged him and other swimmers to push their bodies to the limits of endurance (getting out of the pool to puke was not an uncommon occurrence during practice), which explains his running habits. His best stroke was the butterfly, which he can no longer do properly due to his rotator cuff injury. He’s had two surgeries to correct some of the damage done by Melkor and to keep it from dislocating easily.

6) Maglor (b. 1997) was very handsome from the time he was a teen and never had acne problems, but he was also a short, skinny band geek. This is why he didn’t believe that Malthenes, his tall, beautiful blonde classmate with a teen modeling contact, was into him. Maedhros had to convince him that Malthenes was serious and drive him to the date. Maglor was a child piano and violin prodigy, and Fëanor encouraged this until it became clear that Maglor wanted to be a professional musician instead of a lawyer. (Fëanor would have also allowed him to become a doctor, but Maglor was always a squeamish boy.) Fëanor blames Malthenes for this because he knows that he raised Maglor to be more reasonable and responsible. Maglor is shorter than his girlfriend/fiancée and thinks that that’s super hot. Malthenes is 5’9” and suspiciously slightly taller than Fingon.

7) Celegorm (b. 1999) was an extremely rowdy, energetic child who broke everything in sight, especially Maglor’s things. He used to smash Nerdanel’s work when he got his hands on it. At the age of two, he gave six-year-old brother Maedhros a permanent hairline scar when he smashed a clay pot over his head. Maedhros made the mistake of trying to take it away from him. The injury required eight stitches, and Celegorm was extremely proud and kept bragging to the hospital staff. (No babysitters were available, so Fëanor and Nerdanel had to drag all four of their kids to the ER.) Celegorm grew up into a rowdy teen who only avoided expulsion by ensuring his high school football team’s continued success. (Maedhros still had to attend some meetings on his parents’ behalf while he was in college and Celegorm was a high school junior/senior.) Celegorm switched to rugby in college because it had more booze and more queerness. He is proudly bisexual and aromantic. He also got his wolfhound Huan from his grizzled elderly mentor (aka Oromë) at the local shooting range in Formenos, Maine. Fëanor is shocked/pleased that Celegorm got a real job, but he’s embarrassed that his son lives in “government housing,” i.e. a park ranger’s house in the national forest outside Alqualondë where he works.

8) Caranthir (b. 2001) is a mathematical prodigy who graduated high school two years early, the same year as Celegorm. He also completed college in two and a half years. He recently got his CPA. He enjoys investing, and frequently tries to influence Maedhros’ investment decisions regarding his own trust fund from their grandfather Finwë. Caranthir is also Angrod’s ex boyfriend. According to Angrod, Caranthir has the best ass that he’s ever seen (“you could serve coffee off of that thing”), and that’s totally the only reason that he’s upset that Caranthir abruptly dumped him over text messages, Finrod. Caranthir is currently dating Haleth. He fell in love with her at first sight at the gym and decided that he had to break up with Angrod immediately and pursue this gorgeous female body builder, who (to Angrod’s despair) has better biceps than anyone Caranthir has ever dated. Caranthir is absolutely devoted to his girlfriend and she to him. He is also her 24/7 sub, which is why he proudly wears the leather collar that she gave him along with his fancy suits. Caranthir is the only son whom Fëanor will not randomly visit because the last time that he dropped by unannounced, Caranthir answered the door wearing the collar and nothing else. He’s very anxious and finicky and carries around a fidget cube. He also helped Curufin uncover Melkor’s tax crimes and blackmail him into leaving the country so that Maedhros would it have to testify against an ex at an abuse/sa trial.

9) Curufin (b. 2004) is also a genius and started taking community college courses early. He is currently looking into the most prestigious college programs available. Fëanor was so impressed with his son’s affinity for computers and coding that he pulled him out of school to homeschool him personally, based on a special curriculum that he designed. He has never dated because he’s too busy, but he’ll probably got out with his father’s business partner’s daughter at some point because Fëanor thinks that they’d be a good match and Fëanor knows him best. He is a very skilled hacker and got into Melkor’s device to steal back all digital copies of sensitive media that Melkor was using to blackmail Maedhros into staying.

10) Amras and Amrod (February 2009) are twins. Amrod is shy and Amras is outgoing, but they support each other in everything. They are particularly devoted to Maedhros, who served as a sort of third parent to them while Fëanor and Nerdanel went through a divorce when they were toddlers. Amrod was scared of storms and loud noises and used to sleep in Maedhros’ bed for “safety” as a child. Amras and Amrod have a twin language, and Maedhros is the only one who knows some of it. Both twins are major fish, amphibian, and reptile enthusiasts, and Fëanor has allowed them to have their own massive aquarium as well as a reptile room. They’ve been promised an iguana as their Winter Solstice present from their father.

11) Fëanor is a brilliant, charismatic local real estate developer and builder from Formenos, Maine who followed in his wealthy father Finwë’s footsteps and became mayor of the small city. He is the only child of Finwë and Míriel, both of whom are still alive and married in this universe. He is so beloved that the citizens voted to abolish term limits so that he could keep running for mayor. Fëanor also owns a local lake resort, as well as a ski resort in the northernmost parts of the Pélori Mountains (my version of the Appalachian Mountains). He also makes jewelry as a side hobby. He and Melkor, a estate developer and a successful political from the neighboring town of Avathar, got into an intense rivalry when Melkor attempted to bankrupt him and buy out his businesses and lands.

12) Nerdanel is a world-renowned sculptress and the only child of the independently wealthy Mahtan. She and Fëanor bonded over their shared ambition and passion for crafts. They married straight out of college and had Maedhros a year later. Nerdanel loves her sons dearly but grew tired of putting up with her husband’s neuroses. She divorced him and moved to Tirion, New York (named after the semi-legendary ancient city) when the citizens of Formenos almost universally sided with their beloved mayor.

13) Fingolfin is the older son of Indis and Ingwion, who are not cousins in this verse. He inherited his parents’ love of fine wines and the Northern California countryside. He and his wife Anairë bonded over their shared love of art and wine and managed to secure investors to buy and start a vineyard in Valmar. They’re currently very wealthy and successful, and they have enough money to give all of their children generous allowances. They’re extremely indulgent and supportive parents who are so happy to have such happy, good-looking, athletic, and academically successful children. They didn’t openly push traditional gender roles on their kids, but they always rewarded and praised their sons for being tough, resilient, and generally traditionally masculine. Also, they never made their kids so much in the way of chores.

14) Fingon was the happiest, friendliest baby ever, and well-meaning but clueless adults often made jokes about him flirting and being budding ladies’ man. He was also an extremely friendly, easygoing; and popular kid from elementary school until basically the start of the fic. He was really smart and never had to work too hard for good grades and academic success. He did well in college and generally got away with partying and procrastinating because he works well under the pressure of impending deadlines. He is also a bit of a fuckboy.

15) Finrod is bisexual, though he’s more likely to be attracted to men than women, and homoromantic. He’s in a very happy QPR with Amarië, who is in the same boat. He’s a very happy writer and budding journalist, who also makes good ad revenue off of his anonymous online blog, where he discuses and opines upon the relationship dramas of his friends and family. His most popular series deals with Andreth and Aegnor, though his cousin Fingon’s stories are forming the basis of a series that’s garnering loads of interest already.

16) Angrod is totally over Caranthir, Finrod!

17) Aegnor is in a high drama, constantly on-again/off-again relationship with Andreth. He’s scared of going out of the honeymoon stage and stupidly keeps breaking up with Andreth, even though he loves her. Andreth keeps taking him back because she loves him and he’s gorgeous and goes down like a champ.

Anyway, if you’ve got other questions, feel free to ask and I’ll answer.

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