#but if a story just... neglects those things? I go feral! You had a chance why didn't you take it??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lambourngb · 4 years

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he’s got a smart mouth but a good heart - Michael Guerin

It’s Day 2, celebrating characters, and much to my own surprise, at the end of season 2, Michael Guerin decided to move into my brain and take up residence. Obviously I still love Alex Manes (He lives first and foremost in my brain since 1x08), but there was something about how Michael buried his own pain about his mother to help everyone in season two that rang pretty true to my own life right now. I didn’t always like what he was doing in season 2 but I understood it.

Anyway, when I find a story that celebrates how complicated he is, I cheer and rejoice- so here’s a few of the stories that I have gone back to again and again.

Truck stop knives and other assessors of childhood @angsty-aliens (13,200) I can’t lie, I love a good trope story, and I especially love a good sci-fi trope story, so this story hits all of my buttons. It takes our two science nerds, Liz and Michael, mucking around, and accidentally creating a version of Michael- but not just any version, but the child who hitchhiked to Fosters ranch, completely over humans and desperate to find his family. The kid who was feral from neglect and abuse... he was the cutest thing and the most mortifying thing that ever happened to Michael to be displayed and shown. This story takes the de-aged trope and turns it on its head, and oh yeah, there’s a sweet backdrop to Michael and Alex getting together.

Implicit Memories of You by @ninswhimsy (3464) - So this is an amnesia story canon-divergent story set after 2x11 basically, where they use the mind erasing drug on Michael. I know, I’m reccing this about Michael characterization, but it’s so solidly him after all the memories are stripped away and he’s acting on instincts, locked in a room to torture Alex with before death. There’s so much going on in so few words, something that Nin is a master at, especially the ephemeral remembrances of his mother that Michael has- oof right in the feels.

Maybe this time (he’ll stay) by @hannah-writes (7700) This is a sequel to one of my favorite stories I recced last year, dealing in alternative timelines where in one world, Michael is lost and alone and has pushed Alex away, and in another world where Alex came home from Iraq in a flagged draped coffin. It answers the question, what about Mikey? Where’s his happy ending? The confirmation of the multiverse means there’s an Alex out there who needs him- and through trial and error, Michael finds him. The world building in both stories is top notch, because for every action, there’s a reaction and reason shaping Michael.

Constant as the northern star by celzmccelz (53,000) - don’t know the tumblr here - This is an Mpreg, and it starts solidly after 1x13 and goes AU from there. But what if in the 100 mile drive home from Caulfield, Michael and Alex share a grief-induced moment of insanity where they fall back into their oldest language- sex for comfort, and then Michael does everything he does in the finale, including turning toward Maria, what if there was a souvenir? Despite the trope of mpreg, this is just how I see Michael, deeply in love with Alex but unable to trust that Alex feels the same depth in return. The friendships in here are also top-notch, from Kyle being a baby-doctor, to Isobel having her own Max-related spiral unable to let go of her brother only to refocus on Michael, to Liz fucking off with Rosa for the first half of the story because she’s caught up in her own grief (which turned out to be canon!). And there’s a whole plot here! With Jesse Manes being the worst.

Leave the light on by @sabrinachill (36,900) - Confession time- I love fake dating as a trope, I know, shocked right? But I especially love it with RNM because Malex are exes by 1x03. Mattie nailed the dynamic of pining and the assumption of unrequited love so well in this story. Although the POV switches here a bit between chapters, (and Alex is fabulous) what I really really loved was how she wrote Michael, in love but convinced that he’s messed up too much for Alex. Aware of his faults but not in a sullen way, but an acknowledgment that he was in a bad place and Alex hasn’t always been the best remedy him in the past. It was a very mature take on the “give me another chance” trope in Malex reunion stories, where both sides had a share of blame. The plot was suspenseful and tight (how do people do that???) with a climax that honestly shocked me! I really enjoyed rereading it while I prepped my rec-sets, and I won’t be surprised if this story isn’t mentioned by everyone doing ‘Creators Week’. It’s worthy of all the love.

Temporary wounds by @prouvaireafterdark (7800) - How many times can I rec this story? Hopefully you’re not bored by my adoration of this Lynne. So even though it’s set post-season 1 with the assumption that Michael/Maria will fizzle out while Alex/Forrest date- it’s actually perfectly set for season 3 (an author who is psychic??). As a rule, I hate jealousy as a trope, but this story has the only type of jealousy I want to see on screen- where Michael wonders what was missing inside of him that Alex didn’t want to be public during their long affair (even with the acknowledgment that Alex was too scared before)- like that type of sad pining is my catnip!

The first who ever did by nostalijinks (33,000) post season 1, but really it also stands pretty well after season 2. There was an interview during season 1 I think that talked about how all Michael really wanted was to be a hero to Alex (the way he stepped in front of Jesse as a kid) but he thinks he failed at it since Alex enlisted. That failure soured him in ways but he never stops trying, for Alex. This is a really well done 5 times plus 1 story, with an overreaching arc of reconciliation between Alex and Michael, starting as teenagers, then as adults while Michael is with Maria, then as friends, real friends, trying to support Alex as Alex dates. The whole emotional journey of maturity that Michael takes here is so well done, where there’s no real villains in the friend group. I just love it. I wish the author had written 100 more like this one, but as a standalone work it’s epic.

The person that you’d take a bullet for is behind the trigger by @iwontbeyourmedicine (25,000) Ly has a very large body of work, that you could spend days paging through on AO3 or tumblr, but this one hits two of my kinks hard- the amnesia story line and true love conquers all. So three fandoms ago I was huge into Steve/Bucky, that iconic moment in Cap 2 where Bucky breaks through the brainwashing has never left me. This story takes my love for that moment, and makes it Malex. Alex gets programmed by his family and set loose on his friends, on the aliens and it’s a shitshow bloodbath since he’s really fucking good at kicking ass. Michael is caught between keeping everyone safe and trying not to hurt Alex, and the tension is just top-notch. I love how it’s not an immediate fix either, the way they circle each other in the aftermath, wanting to come home, but home would be a totally new step for both of them. Just chef’s kiss good at joining action, angst, and romance together.

Into the palm of your hand by @haloud (5900) hal is a treasured friend, so I am admitting some bias here, but we both enjoy talking about how wonderful and sad Michael is and how desperately we enjoy poking at that softness and then wrapping him up with love again... so this story was written pre-shamegate (and if you know what that means, I’m sorry) but it matches my head canon of what the history of hiding does to someone. The internalization of believing maybe there’s a reason behind the hiding that has nothing to do with homophobic townies. Alex has an ex boyfriend come to town, and he doesn’t tell Michael. And omg the journey hal takes us on with Michael’s spiral and Brave Little Toaster act was so wonderful and painful and real. The communication between these two was top notch as they worked through a road bump from the past, and let’s face it, once we get our malex back, these things are going to happen, and it will either tear them apart or bring them closer together- I prefer to believe it will be closer together.

There is beauty in a failure by @jule1122 (2400) There’s been a few Greg and Michael stories to pop up on my radar after 2x10, and this one was one of my favorites. This is a Greg who pulls no punches in exposing his brother’s past to Michael, but also gives Michael the space to work through what he wants. It’s an AU from 2x12, that allowed Michael to break up with Maria for basically the same reasons that Maria used on him in 2x13. The way Michael is able to what he wants and communicate it Alex in the end- so good! We can only hope to see something similar in season 3.

I don’t know what to think (but I think of supernovas) by @queersirius (3900) This story is a delight from start to finish- I mean frustrated cursing turns the console on into a hologram who then takes the most pleasing form to Michael’s eyes? SIGN ME UP for those shenanigans. I fucking loved how Isobel saw it first too. And then the comedy of Alex discovering it? And what happens afterwards? Oh it’s so delicious. Now of course, full disclosure, this light-hearted romp through the feels also inspired me to think up a much much sadder version of Michael building an AI for companionship considering how isolated he ended up being at the end of Season 2 and we all know Michael needs friends, badly.

Innuendo by the Roswell anon (6000) written for @bisexualalienblast the roswell anon is my favorite treasure in this fandom, I could pretty much list all of their stories as examples of some very fine Michael Guerin characterization. This one was one of my favorite post-season 1 fix-it fics though, because it has some of the most real 28-30 year old guy dialogue I’ve come across- from the crude jokes, to the sharply self-deprecating observations- this is Alex and Michael stripped down, all edges but what’s left is fatigue and love. The resolution at the end, where Alex observes that yes, Michael has tried the last 10 years but this is their first chance to try together- to pull in the same direction? It just lays me flat on the ground with how true that is to canon.

Whenever You Want to Begin, Begin by @foramomentonly (3200) - this is a sequel, and the first story is dynamite- don’t get me wrong- but it moves from the hopeful side of an ending to legit Happily-Ever-After here, and I devoured every word. First of all, having Michael turn to photography as a way of self-improvement is fucking genius. Photographers are always at the center of every happy event, but never the focus, and that screams Michael to me, the way he lives on the outskirts of the 9-5 job and literal outskirts of town in his trailer. The other thing is photographers are revealed by their work, and that’s also something I head-canon with Michael just in the mundane- he’s good with his hands, he wants to leave a car better than he found. Anyway, this story is gorgeously written, moves a bit like a really good bottle of wine- heavy but soft, as you watch Michael become Alex’s friend, and even more importantly, Alex becomes Michael’s friend. Fantastic- I’ve read it about four times now since it was published.

#rnmcreate2020 #malex fic #malex fic rec #MALEX FEELS #michael guerin #alex manes #fandom positivity #worship our great authors in this fandom #will this show up in the tags?#probably not with my luck

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momentofmemory · 4 years

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Hi! I just saw your commentary on the post regarding Hans Holbien's The Ambassadors painting. In your breakdown, you provided a picture of the Sistene Chapel's ceiling. I had never seen the full ceiling before and was curious what knowledge you may have regarding the various scenes painted. Thank you!

HOOBOY do I ever have thoughts!!

First, a quick caveat: you have to understand that the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is huge. Like, huge huge. Five thousand square feet huge. There’s only nine (9) main frescos running down the center of the area, but there are 47 separate pieces in total—not even counting the 20 ignudi (nude youth), architectural framing, 10 medallions, or various bronze characters—adding up to very nearly three hundred and fifty individual figures.

There’s a reason it took Michelangelo four years is all I’m saying.

OKAY so the ceiling can broken up into roughly four main categories:

The Nine Frescos - aligned directly down the center and meant to be read sequentially (starting when on the altar side of the room, not from the door), these depict prominent scenes from the book of Genesis. They can be grouped further into sections of three: 1-3 depict God creating the world generally, 4-6 depict the creation & fall of man, and 7-9 depict the story of Noah.

The Twelve Prophets - these squared paintings surround the center line, featuring an alternating set of five sibyls (famous historical but non biblical prophetesses) and seven Old Testament prophets. The particular individuals were chosen based on their Messianic prophecies (because even though all the images on the ceiling are from the OT, the point is still to direct the viewer to the Christ of the NT).

The Four Pendentives - triangular in shape and forming the corners of the ceiling, these showcase moments of Israel’s deliverance in the OT, with particular interest in the heroes that were popular at the time: Moses (The Brazen Serpent), Esther (The Punishment of Haman), David (David and Goliath), and Judith (Judith and Holofernes).

The Ancestors of Christ - made up of eight triangular compositions on either side of the length of the ceiling, these are located directly above the lunettes (moon-shaped compositions arched over the windows). These show various figures from the family/ancestral line of Christ.

You can see a visual breakdown in this diagram:

There are additional sections besides those four—the ten medallions (two on every other of the main frescos), which depict more (mostly violent) OT scenes; the twenty ignudi (two nude males on either side of each medallion), which are maybe angels maybe Peak Humans™ maybe who knows; and the lunettes (arched sections above the windows), which at one point portrayed all of Christ’s genealogy as found in Matthew, but two of them were covered over by Michelangelo himself in 1537 to make room for The Last Judgement, making the set incomplete.

Aight now that you have the tl;dr of the layout, you can see that it is A Lot™. Since picking even one section can easily (and has easily!) filled entire theses, I’m actually going to pull back a bit and talk more generally about form and structure, because—in large part due to his background as a sculptor—Michelangelo’s perspective and dimensionality is just masterful.

A quick reminder that the Sistine Chapel ceiling looks like this:

And, for a close-up, like this:

Obviously the figures are gorgeously done, to the point that they could be confused for sculpture rather than paintings (let it never be said that Michelangelo didn’t love himself some muscles), but what really makes me go feral is that that there ceiling?

That ceiling’s flat.

Okay not technically flat in that it’s dome-shaped, but flat in that there are no columns. The original, unpainted Chapel looked something like this:

Which, as you can see, is missing all that lovely architecture dividing up the ceiling.

The columns, structure, and forced perspective were painted, not sculpted, using a technique known as grisaille. The monochrome style was frequently used to call to mind classic Roman architecture (such as the pediment reliefs on the Pantheon and Parthenon), as the Greco Roman aesthetic was generally seen as the height (no pun intended) of artisan culture.

It’s no coincidence that Michelangelo took this route as, up until this point in his career, he wasn’t known for his painting much at all. He’d certainly made a name for himself as a sculptor through pieces like David or The Pieta, but this was to be his first major painting project—one he nearly turned down, because of the enormity of it all. The Pope, however, was quite set on it, so he eventually accepted—with a blank check to paint “whatever he liked.”

So he did—and his background in sculpture uniquely prepared him for creating more “active” bodies, such as in The Libyan Sibyl.

There’s a billion and one essays on her but for now let’s just notice the half-turned position, the musculature of her back (Michelangelo used a male model; do with that what you will), the sweeping lines of fabric, and the way her toe is just barely resting on the ground.

This is a painting that is alive: it gives off the sense that these figures are doing, rather than simply being.

Dynamics & motion were key to the composition Michelangelo wanted to create, partially because it’s that flow of motion that helps pull the viewer from one side of the ceiling, in the first fresco, all the way across the room to the last—and therefore, through the biblical narrative it portrays.

It’s so common it’s arguably kitsch to talk about The Creation of Adam (the fourth fresco), but what I want to point out is, like in the Sibyl painting, the movement of it all.

The bodies are twisted, muscles flexed and coiled; there’s a languidity to Adam’s movements as opposed to the fierce, powerful forward momentum in God’s.

Traditionally, the Christian God and other deities were shown in more staid, immobile positions, and while Michelangelo was not the first painter to break from that—that right arguably goes to Giovanni di Paolo—he was rather instrumental in shifting that paradigm, and once again, establishes this set of frescos as one interested in movement.

Finally, it would be hideously neglectful to discuss the form of the Sistine Chapel without mentioning colour, so one last thing.

As you may or may not know, art restoration is... controversial in the art world, to say the least. However, the Sistine Chapel went through a restoration beginning in 1980 and eventually completed in 1994, with the result washing away of several hundred years’ worth of grime and candle smoke, applying an awful lot of glue varnish, and touching up details/mending cracks:

Rather drastic, no?

It sparked a rather intense debate (that has still not eased up and doubtless ever will) about whether or not the conservators removed too much of the grime (for various reasons—the conservation work assumed all the painting was done buon fresco, which meant if Michelangelo had added any touch-ups after the fact those would’ve been removed; some suggest some of the smokey look wasn’t just smoke but actually a deliberate carbon black wash, etc., etc.).

Regardless, it at least allowed for a better look at some of the dynamics Michelangelo incorporated through his shading and highlights, as well as giving his brighter colours a chance in the limelight. This new, brighter version will keep the ceiling intact for many more viewers and critics for years to come.

(...At least until the next person decides to mess with it. It’s also had restorations in 1547, 1625, 1710, and 1935, so, y’know. Wait another 50-70 years and we’ll probably give it yet another go.)

#asks #art history #classic art #sistine chapel #memrants #religion #sgtbarnes107 #long post #there's literally SO MUCH to talk about here #many apologies for everything I had to leave out

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

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You Set My Heart Ablaze pt.5/25

Yennefer strode into the playground of her old school as if she owned the place. She barely gave the other adults a second glance. She was here for Ciri, and only Ciri. Geralt had practically begged her to come back for the day so that she could be with his ward whilst he was working for the day at Dol Blathanna School. He’d even cashed it in as a favour much to Yennefer’s delight. Of course, she’d never admit to the firefighter that she was going to say yes the first time he’d asked but it was his own fault for making such a big deal about it.

She remembered events like this one from back when she was teaching, and even from her own years as a student at the school. All the parents and guardians were always invited. There were school fates, charity auctions, religious services, all sorts of events that happened throughout the school year.

And Yennefer’s parents had never turned up.

Every time she’d stare longingly at the door begging some higher power for them to walk in and wrap her up in their arms, just like all her classmate’s parents did. Every time she was brokenhearted and left to stay with the teacher. Normally it was her form tutor but other times she was passed along to another teacher with another abandoned child.

It had turned her heart to stone.

She almost had to thank her parents for it. Their lack of love and affection had driven Yennefer to become the best, to become someone that they could be proud of, that they could love. It had fed her motivation and ambition that had served her so well and given her the edge to get ahead in the art world. As a critic she wasn’t afraid of saying her mind, even if it meant hurting the struggling artists. If their work wasn’t good enough then they needed to know. It wasn’t nothing compared to what she’d felt on a daily basis and would only help them succeed in the long run. Her sarcastic and witty vlogs had garnered a large following due to her brutal honesty with just the right balance of dry humour.

When she painted she took her pain and longing and fears, and transformed them into streaks of paint across the canvas until it was a perfect depiction of how she felt in that precise moment. Her artwork was chaotic at first glance but if one were to look closer they would see that each and every stroke of the brush was precisely where she intended it to be, forming part of a larger story and fitting perfectly like clockwork. There was never too much, nor too little.

She was in total control of the chaos.

People that thought otherwise were fools and tragically underestimated her talent.

The idiots.

Yes. Her parents’ neglect had served her well but she be damned if Ciri would be subjected to the same fate. The little girl’s kindness shone like a flame in the darkness of Yennefer’s world and she would fight to her dying breath to ensure that it wouldn’t be snuffed out.

So Yennefer had made up her mind the moment the request left Geralt’s lips. She’d booked a flight back into town before he’d finished begging and she was half way packed before she’d voiced her agreement. She didn’t particularly enjoy returning to the school but there was a strange kick of nostalgia that hit her in the gut every time she passed through the school gates. It helped that most of the faculty were still the same as when she had left. It was always good to see Tissaia again and she loved to catch up with Triss. They could not speak to each other for months on end but pick up again from where they left off as if they’d never spent a day apart. Everyone deserved a friend like Triss Merigold.

Things were still awkward with Istredd. They’d been childhood sweethearts before she’d ever met Geralt Rivia but they’d had an explosive falling out in her last year of University. The things he had said still haunted her and the betrayal still cut into her heart. After that she’d fallen into the arms of Geralt Rivia, or rather she lured him to her bed and how willingly he had stayed. Still her choice of partner had once again failed her and it ended even worse than it had with Istredd. Her and Geralt were too similar in temperament. Too stubborn and hot headed. Whilst they had loved each other, it hadn’t been a happy relationship. Finally choosing to remain as friends had been the best decision they had made but it left her heart vulnerable once more. She knew that Istredd still adored her. She was flattered by the attention but it kept bringing up all those old feelings from college. What if Istredd was the chance that she missed?

She scowled and shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it. Today was about Ciri. It had been a good few months since she last saw the girl, just after she’d moved in with Geralt full-time. She glanced around the school ground for her ashen-haired ward. Young children were everywhere, screaming excitably. She barely flinched when the fire engine in the middle of the yard lit up in vibrant blue and wailed loudly.

She really hated other people’s children.

Ciri was the exception. Ciri was sort of like her own surrogate daughter. She had adored the young girl even before the accidents that had left her without a family.

Finally she spotted the girl in a gaggle of kids, surrounding a teacher that barely looked like he’d graduated university. There were other parents nearby talking to their children and waving to the childlike teacher. Yennefer glided over to relieve him of Ciri. It was only once she got closer that she recognised him as the idiot that had now taken over her classroom.

“Buttercup.” She greeted him cooly.

“Ah. Yennefer Vengerberg.” He blushed and tugged at his hair nervously.

“Auntie Yen!” Ciri cried happily and flung her small arms around Yennefer’s waist. She winced as the gesture sent shock waves of pain down her spine but she was used to it and she hid it well. Ciri didn’t notice a thing.

“Hello darling.” She hugged Ciri back gently. “Did Geralt not tell you I was coming?”

“Of course not! He always forgets to tell me the important things. He’s too busy worrying about vegetables and what Mr Jaskier says in his emails.” Ciri pouted and crossed her arms dramatically in front of her body.

“And what does Mr Jaskier say in his emails to Geralt?” Yennefer raised an eyebrow at the teacher who flushed even darker.

“Just weekly reports on the class’s progress.” He mumbled. “What we’re learning, if there’s anything we’re struggling with. That sort of thing.”

“Well those things are important too, sweetie.” Yennefer told Ciri. “He probably just wanted my visit to be a surprise. I’ll talk to him about it later,” She turned to Jaskier. “I’m taking Ciri.”

Jaskier nodded. “Geralt said he’d asked a friend to look after her.”

“I wasn’t asking, Buttercup.” Yennefer smirked. “You know I almost didn’t recognise you without the coffee stains.”

Jaskier gaped. “You. What? Well. I. I will answer that later in a strongly worded email.” He spluttered.

Yennefer laughed knowing there wasn’t anything the primary teacher could do or say in front of his class. “Come along, Princess.”

_____________

Ciri was running circles around the other children in Vesemir’s drills. Of course the girl had an unfair advantage, namely that she’d been running Vesemir’s drills since she could walk, but it was still immensely satisfying to watch the envy on the faces of the other parents. Ciri knew she was good too, if the satisfied smirk was anything to go by. Vesemir wasn’t going easy on her though. He’d subtlety increased the difficulty of Ciri’s drills, still suitable for a six year old but not quite as easy as her classmates.

Yennefer crossed her arms and let her gaze drift across the playground as she leant against the wall to ease the growing pain in her back. Eskel and Lambert were busy trying to stabilise the firehose. Apparently, Eskel had turned it up a bit too much for the two kids that were holding it and it was now spraying all the parents nearby. Although knowing Eskel he’d probably planned it with the kids as a prank on their parents. Lambert was yelling but thankfully he was managing not to swear like a sailor. Yennefer supposed she should probably make sure she says hello to Geralt’s colleagues. They had after all once treated her like family. Sure, it had been the sort of family that you begrudgingly accept, but it had been family nonetheless.

She turned her gaze to the fire engine. It had gone silent for the last ten minutes or so. She could see a glimpse of Geralt’s bright snowy hair through the window so he was still in there. She caught Vesemir’s eyes and tilted her head towards the truck. Vesemir smiled and nodded so she took the chance to go say hello to her old friend. She was about to knock on the window of the truck when she noticed that Geralt was not alone in the vehicle.

Ciri’s teacher was sat beside Geralt, clutching a thermos flask that he definitely hadn’t had earlier in the day. From where she was standing Yennefer could just about make out the sound of Jaskier singing, and Geralt didn’t seem to be remotely bothered by it.

Yennefer froze.

Geralt hated it when people chatted unnecessarily. He was a lover of silence and only spoke when he had something worth saying. He didn’t believe in filling silence with mindless natter, and yet here he was willingly spending his lunch break with the talkative feral little shit that was Ciri’s teacher.

She backed away from the fire engine towards Vesemir’s group again, pondering over what she’d just seen. Geralt hadn’t mentioned Jaskier before as anything more than Ciri’s teacher. In their regular phone calls, Geralt often spoke about Ciri’s time at school and all the things she’d learnt from the youthful teacher but Yennefer had assumed that it was just Geralt being proud of his daughter but now she was wondering whether there was another reason too. One that maybe even Geralt hadn’t noticed.

“Ciri!” She called to her ward.

The ashen-haired girl looked up. Her eyes were sparkling from the exertion and her fringe stuck to her forehead with sweat.

“Come on. Time to move on. Let the others have a chance.” Yennefer said with a smile.

“Ok!” Ciri trilled, still slightly out of breath. “See ya, Uncle Vesemir!”

“Goodbye, little sparrow.” The older fireman nodded.

“Now, Princess. What can you tell me about Mr Jaskier?” Yennefer said as she took the young girl’s hand and they began to walk towards Eskel and Lambert. Yennefer pulled an umbrella from her bag as they approached. She didn’t fancy being caught up in Eskel’s tricks.

“Mr Jaskier?” Ciri asked sweetly.

“Yes. Is he a good teacher? My princess deserves only the best.” Yennefer squeezed her hand.

“Mr Jaskier is the best!” She giggled happily. “He always plays funny songs in the morning and he forgets to give us homework when it’s one of our birthdays! He even helped me with my numbers when I couldn’t get it.”

“Your numbers?”

“Yeah. I didn’t understand but Mr Jaskier said it didn’t matter that I didn’t understand because we all learn differently and we just need to find the way that suits us!” Ciri frowned as she spoke, clearly trying to remember what Jaskier had said word for word.

Yennefer tilted her head. So the buttercup wasn’t as disastrous as he first appeared. Ciri clearly loved him at any rate. “He’s not wrong.” She admitted. “Regrettably.” She added under her breath so that Ciri couldn’t hear her.

“Yeah! So then we made a song together so I could remember properly! Dad thought it was a great idea.” Ciri grinned.

Yennefer smirked. “Oh really? So your father likes Mr Jaskier’s songs.”

Ciri nodded enthusiastically. “He got annoyed at first because I was singing them a lot around the house after school, especially my numbers song but after I said Mr Jaskier wrote them he didn’t seem to care after that. I think Dad still feels bad because he didn’t see Coën’s text when he got sick and I got left at school on my own for ages!”

“He did what?” Yennefer snapped and then took a deep breath. “On your own?” She said more softly, feeling bad for taking her anger out on Ciri.

Ciri’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth. “Oh no! I wasn’t supposed to tell you! Geralt and Mr Jaskier made me promise I wouldn’t tell you, even though Ms Merigold said she’d tell you!”

“Ciri. Were you on your own at the school?” Yennefer asked again.

“Oh no. Mr Jaskier and Ms Merigold looked after me until Dad got to the school, but Dad tried to say he owed them for staying longer, but Mr Jaskier refused because he didn’t mind staying with me cos we’re buttercups and buttercups stay together!” Ciri laughed proudly.

“Mhmm. And then what happened?” Yennefer pressed.

“Well then Dad still felt bad because he thought Mr Jaskier and Ms Merigold had to stay forever at school with me. So he brought Mr Jaskier coffee next time he was in the playground with us in the mornings.” Ciri beamed happily.

“Interesting. What about Ms Merigold?” Yennefer asked innocently.

Ciri scrunched up her nose as she thought about it carefully. “No. Ms Merigold didn’t get coffee but Dad did come in to say thank you for like… a whole week!”

“Oh really?” Yennefer smirked knowingly. She’d caught the fireman out. Geralt really should have thought to buy Triss a coffee too if he didn’t want Yennefer to find out about his little crush on Ciri’s teacher, not that that would have stopped her. She always found a way to get his secrets out of him. The poor man seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut around her. It was a miracle she hadn’t cottoned on sooner.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the familiar ringing of the old hand bell signalling that it was time for the next group of kids to go in for lunch. She glanced around to see the source of the sound. Istredd was hovering by the doorway with the bell in his hands. It was the same one that they had used when Yennefer had attended the school as a young bell, a heavy brass bell with a dark wooden handle. She remembered how her classmates had always argued over who’s turn it was to ring the bell at the end of break times.

“Time for lunch, Ciri. Go on inside with the rest of your class. I’ll be right there.” She released the young girls hand.

“Are you going to sit with us?” Ciri asked excitably.

“As long as Mr Jaskier doesn’t start singing.” She teased. “Of course I will, and Ciri?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to wash your hands.” Yennefer reminded her, raising her voice as the girl began to run off towards the school building.

Yennefer sighed with a shake of her head and then strolled over to her old flame. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward this time. She sighed internally and then flashed a smile at Istredd as she caught his eyes. The history teacher smiled back softly and she felt that long gone familiar warmth spread from her heart. He still had the same crinkles in the corner of his eyes when he smiled at her and there was a kind calmness in his eyes that grounded her the way it always did.

“Yenna.” He greeted her softly when she reached him.

“Hello, Is.”

“You look good. Are you well?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

She laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s weird to be back. It always is but Geralt asked for Ciri and I couldn’t say no.”

“Geralt asked.” Istredd sighed, his muscles tensing and a hardness glazing over his eyes.

“Is, don’t start.” Yennefer rolled her eyes at the show of petty jealousy. “He needed me. Ciri needed me.”

To her surprise he let it go. Istredd had never forgiven her for moving on so fast with Geralt after they broke up and her relationship with the fireman was something that had caused tension between them ever since. “How is she?”

“Ciri?”

“Yeah. It’s all anyone talks about in the staff room, Ciri and Geralt.” Istredd grumbled and rolled his eyes at the mention of Ciri’s father figure.

“Oh come on, Is. He’s not that bad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” Yennefer teased, delighting in the way he shuffled awkwardly on his feet and dropped his gaze. She even noticed a faint blush under his brown skin.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of, is there?” Istredd’s dark brown eyes suddenly bore down into hers with a sudden intensity, a shy smile gracing his lips.

She shook her head, ignoring the dull ache that had now settled into her lower back. She should probably think about taking some painkillers but she didn’t want to show weakness in front of her former lover. “Geralt and I, whatever we might have had, it’s over. It has been for a long time now, but he’s my friend, Is. If you can’t accept that then—”

“—then what, Yenna?”

“Then whatever could be between us can never happen, and I don’t think you want that.” Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded.

His hand reached out to hers before he remembered the hoards of children surrounding them and he pulled back, but not before the tips of his fingers had brushed against her wrist. “I’m sorry, Yenna. I should never have—”

“No, you shouldn’t.” She agreed.

“I didn’t know.” He looked down at the ground sombrely.

“That was never the point.” She sighed. “Look, I’ve got to go. Ciri will be wondering what’s taking me so long. Do you have my number?”

“You’ve probably changed it.” He shrugged. “It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken just the two of us. Triss is normally here.”

Yennefer pulled out a business card from her purse and pressed it into her friend’s hand. She cursed mentally as she noticed her tablet box was missing. She must have left it in her other purse. Maybe she could see if Triss or Tissaia had anything on them. She would have to swing by reception before she went into the dining room.

“We’ll talk more. I promise. I miss you, Is. You were always a good friend to me.”

“I miss you too, Yenna.” He nodded sadly.

She patted his cheek softly and tried her best to give him a reassuring smile, ignoring the way he still made her heart flutter in her chest, and then she brushed past him and into the old school building that seemed to never let her go.

_____________

The rest of the day at the school seemed to go without a hitch. Yennefer enjoyed seeing most of her old colleagues, although she could have done without Stregobor’s lingering gaze whenever they were in the same room together. She repressed a shudder and guided Ciri towards her car. It was a sleek black convertible which ran smoothly and practically purred when she hit the accelerator. She wasn’t overly familiar with the ins and outs of it but it was gorgeous to look at and she liked to travel in style. It was one of the first things she’d bought for herself when her art blog had started bringing in more money. Unfortunately Cidaris was a city where the roads seemed to be consistently full of traffic. There was no fun in driving her car in a city like that so she’d left the car with Triss whilst she was away.

“Auntie Yen?” Ciri babbled away.

“Yes, Ciri?” She glanced over at the girl who was buckling herself into the front seat.

Ciri was looking up at her with wide green eyes. “Where’s Dad?”

“He has to take the fire engine back to the station.” She explained and placed her hand on Ciri’s arm to try and reassure her. “He’ll be joining us at the restaurant once he finishes work.”

Ciri nodded. “Ok!”

Ciri then proceeded to tell Yennefer all about her life in Posada, her friends at the school, particularly a young boy called Dara and about one Jaskier Pankratz. Yennefer sighed. If she never had to hear about the younger teacher again she would be happy.

Although she did have to admit she was impressed with his style of teaching. Every single one of the children Yennefer had met that had been in Jaskier’s class at school was kind hearted and loyal to a fault.

That didn’t mean she wanted to hear about him non-stop from both Ciri and her ex.

It took Yennefer more time than she’d anticipated to get both her and Ciri ready for their meal with Geralt. She’d insisted on treating them to dinner as she wasn’t in Posada very often and quite frankly she didn’t trust Geralt’s cooking skills. She’d tried to get Ciri into a beautiful turquoise dress for the occasion but the young girl had flat out refused and Yennefer had to spend quite some time calming her down and wiping away the tears. In the end they’d put together a nice sparkly green top with some black jeans. Ciri had asked Yennefer to help her with some make up after watching Yennefer apply her own. That had surprised her after the pandemonium of the dress but she helped Ciri put on some glittery eyeshadow and lip gloss and Ciri even managed to sit still long enough for Yennefer to curl her hair.

Of course that meant that Yennefer barely had time to finish her own hair. She compromised and deftly braided her hair to keep it out of her face and then they were ready to go back out.

Geralt was waiting for them in the restaurant. He looked worn down and exhausted but managed to muster up a smile for Ciri and waved them over.

“Dad!” The young girl ran over to Geralt and he caught her in a hug.

Yennefer smiled at the pair of them.

“The wolves are going to the pub after work.” Geralt grunted. “They insisted I join them after. I’ll try and be back for bed time.”

Ciri pouted. “Can’t I come too?”

Geralt shook his head. “You’re too young. Maybe when you’re older.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at her ex. “I come all this way, Geralt, and you’re spending the evening with your colleagues.”

Geralt hummed nonchalantly. “They wouldn’t let me say no. I haven’t been out with them since…”

Yennefer waved her hand to cut him off.

Since Ciri.

Of course he hadn’t.

And now she was here it would give the man a chance to spend the evening away from Ciri, the first for a long time.

“Ciri and I have plenty to catch up on. You can go but don’t stay too late.”

“I’m not a child, Yen.” Geralt grumbled back.

She smirked. “No but I know what your friends are like. Lambert in particular.”

“Uncle Lambert is fun!” Ciri grinned. “Please can I come?”

“Not this time, little Lion Cub.” Geralt ruffled her hair and Ciri swatted his hands away.

“Dad! You’re ruining it!”

Geralt looked taken aback by her protests.

“I styled it for her, Geralt. I’m sure you noticed.” Yennefer gave him a pointed look.

He blinked as he looked at the ashen-haired girl more closely.

“Yeah. I noticed.” He lied. “You look lovely, Princess.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes and picked up the menu. “I’m starving. Let’s not waste anymore time with mindless conversation.”

In the end they only ordered one course. Ciri was tired from the exciting day at school and Geralt was eager to meet up with his friends. He ordered steak and chips, predictably. Ciri went for chicken nuggets and chips, Geralt even allowed her to order a fizzy drink. Yennefer preferred a more sophisticated option and chose panfried sea bass with spinach and new potatoes. Although that didn’t stop a small handful of Geralt’s chips from ending up on her plate, in return in took some of her potatoes. It was a slightly painful reminder of their happier years as a couple and a habit they had yet to break. She squeezed his hand under the table and he flashed her a small smile.

“Thanks for coming, Yen.” He said softly.

She nodded. “For Ciri.”

“I know, but I appreciate it all the same.”

_____

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #cirilla fiona elen riannon #teacher!jaskier #fireman!geralt #you set my heart ablaze #wolfie's witcher writing

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lihikainanea · 5 years

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I'm a slut for aftercare so please can you do a lil piece on how bill would be with tiger the morning after some pretty *intense* activities?? like her legs still feel like jelly and maybe her wrists still have red marks on them from the night before and bill goes into full comforting mode to make her feel better

Bish ME TOO. Unf, some good gentle aftercare with Good Dude Bill would just be…oh my god. It would be enough to get goin’ all over again.

This was a good little warm up piece so that I can hopefully find some inspiration to drabble the longer ones I’ve had pending.

***

You felt the pleasure first, but the pain followed not long after.

A warm pair of lips, pressing softly to your shoulder. Hot breath fanning over your neck, strong arms tightening around your waist as a broad chest pressed into your back. You were pulled a short distance across a pillow, one arm leaving your waist to slide under your neck and you shifted, resting your cheek on it. Kisses now trailed by your ear, moving to the front and pressing softly to your cheek, the side of your nose, your temple.

“Morning, tiger,” a soft voice whispered in your ear and you shifted, scooting back further into the warm presence behind you. The arm still around your waist squeezed tighter and he inhaled deeply, breathing you in.

“Mmmph,” you groaned, keeping your eyes closed. It was only when you stretched your legs, arched your back to crack it, that the pain set in—and it seemed to be everywhere. The deep ache between your legs was what you noticed first and you winced as you stretched. Reaching to rub the sleep from your eyes, you flinched as you flexed your wrist—it was sore, rubbed raw, aching as if it had been bent at an awkward angle for an extended period of time. You went to roll over on your back and that’s when you flinched the most, your ass tender and sore and you could feel the welts on it, the bumps and bruises underneath the skin.

Last night had been the roughest you had ever been with each other. But he needed a release—one of those nights where you let him be selfish, let him chase his own pleasure however he wanted. And you had loved it—you usually did—the way his feral instincts took over, how strong he was, how much he needed it and how incredibly pleasured he was in getting it from you. You could get high off those nights, his desperate neediness, his growls, his roughness. You love his kind side, loved how gentle he was, but you also loved his rough-housing. You loved how strong he was, the wild look he got in his eye, the way he would let himself go and just pound into you without abandon. He needed it in an intense way last night and you were more than happy to hand the reigns over, let him do what he wanted, because you knew you would always be safe. The kind, gentle, caring best friend you loved was never more than a safe word away, no matter how rough he got with you.

And it had been incredible, seeing him so uninhibited had ultimately culminated in your release—several of them—while he had you tied up. And once he found his own, his demeanour immediately switched into the docile man you were used to. He had taken such good care of you last night, easing you out of it, showering with you, making sure you drank enough water and ate a little something. He had given you plenty of gentle contact after, and it was as needed by him as it was by you. He had bundled you in his arms, kissing softly wherever he could reach, stroking his hands gently up your back and through your hair, murmuring soft words. You had fallen asleep to the sounds of his whispered praise in your ear, his hands scratching softly at your scalp.

But this morning—this morning was a whole other story. You felt like you had gotten hit by a 6’4 Swedish truck.

He rested a hand on your shoulder, helping you turn over onto your back while he stayed on his side, hovering over you.

“Go slow, sweet girl,” he murmured, and the nickname immediately did something to you. You curled up just a bit smaller, leaning into him seeking his warmth. He kissed your lips gently.

“You’re going to be sore for a little bit,” he said, rubbing gently at your stomach. And you couldn’t explain it, but hearing him say those words brought a wave of comfort over you. The amount of pain you were in was uncomfortable, it was alarming given the circumstances of how it had happened—this was the first time after a night with him you were actually in pain—but his words eased your anxiety, your slight panic. It made you feel as if it was normal to be in pain—and it was. You both had tried something new, pushed your boundaries, and it was easy to wake up in a messed up state of mind, in pain and feeling neglected, hurt on purpose, used.

Bill never even gave those thoughts the chance to creep into your fragile state of mind.

“Open your eyes for me, tiger,” he kissed gently over your face, his hand cupping your cheek while you rested your head on his other arm. And it was a struggle, a bit of shame and embarrassment creeping into your head and you weren’t sure if you could face him just yet. Your natural inclination was to avoid it, all of it—including him.

But you took a deep breath, turning your face to kiss his palm, and slowly opened your eyes to his. Green and clear and full of nothing but kindness and reassurance, he gazed back at you fondly.

“Hi,” he whispered, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“Hey,” you replied.

“How you doing over there?” He smiled gently, your favourite lopsided grin, and you returned it.

“A bit sore,” you admitted honestly, and he nodded in understanding.

“And how are you doing up here?” He asked, gently tapping his thumb against your temple. You bit your lip.

“I’m okay,” you said, “I think.”

He reached down to clasp your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as he kissed you more firmly.

“Talk to me?” He asked, keeping his face close to yours. You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against his before gazing back up at him.

“Don’t know how to describe it yet, bud,” you explained, “It was a different side of you last night. We’ve never been so…rough. And I enjoyed it, it was just new.”

He nodded, but you saw worry starting to crease his features, his eyes getting a little wider.

“I knew I was safe, though” you reassured, and you saw him visibly relax a little, “I felt safe the entire time. I’m always safe with you.”

“You are, tiger,” and he leaned, giving you a deep kiss that lingered, “You’re always safe with me, I promise.”

You smiled as he stroked your features. His eyes were intense but you did your best to hold his gaze, knowing that he needed it to really gauge how you were doing.

“You going to let me take care of you today, sweetheart? Make sure you’re okay?” He murmured, and there was such a genuineness to it that your heart fluttered. You nodded, shyly, and it earned you another smile.

“What hurts? Does anything hurt more than it should?” He asked, and you squirmed a bit uncomfortably. He waited patiently for your answer.

“My ass is really sore,” you admitted, and he smirked.

“It should be. I really did a number on it yesterday,” he said, and you managed a giggle. Kissing your nose, he ran a hand down your front and settled it on your waist.

“Can I check you over?”

You usually would have rolled your eyes at his request, huffed at his melodramatics. But something in you this morning really wanted his close attention, his care. You wanted his hands running gently over you, checking you for sore points, murmuring soft words of praise to you. You tingled at just the thought, and you nodded to him.

“Good girl,” he praised, and you almost purred. He ran his hands gently down your neck to your stomach, reaching to grab one of your wrists and lift it to his eyes. He rubbed softly at the red marks, tutting as he pressed his lips to the sensitive inside of your wrist. Raising up on his knees, he glided his hands down your legs, back up your torso, over your breasts littered with hickeys and bite marks. He sighed, placing a gentle kiss on each mark, as he ran his hands down your arms. Coaxing you gently onto your stomach, he kissed down your spine as his hand stroked across your backside. You felt his eyes on you when his kisses stopped, and you squirmed.

“Stay still, kid,” he scolded gently as he examined you, and you huffed into the pillow. He gently turned you back over, looming over you.

“First thing we’re going to do is get some coffee into you. I’m not stupid enough to be poking and prodding at you while you’re both in pain and uncaffeinated,” he said, and you laughed.

“Then we’re going to take care of some of these bumps and bruises with a massage and some ice,” he continued, and you sighed in anticipation. His hands were magic.

“And then,” he said, “Then you get to choose which one you want next: breakfast, or head.”

You laughed boisterously, and he grinned at you. You pulled him further down and kissed him.

“How does that sound, for a start?” He asked. You nodded, smiling.

“It sounds good, real good,” you confirmed. But you looked at him coyly, dragging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“But, Bill?” You asked.

“Hmm?” He replied, burying his nose in your neck.

“Can I get head first?”

You felt his smile in your neck, before he flung the covers off of you and scooted down your body, gently moving your legs apart.

#Leilani answers #BFF!Bill #BFF!Bill HC #BFF!Bill headcanon #sub tiger #soft bill #aftercare

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severusdefender · 5 years

Text

Excerpt from my fic!

Hi! Love your Tumblr, and love the Snapedom. I've a newcomer, and really going through a phase, so I wrote a fic. This is an excerpt from it. I am always working on it and making improvements because I want it to be as perfect as its main character. The complete story is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18874543/chapters/44800099

This is dedicated with love to Marauder stans.

*****

In Severus’s fifth year, Sirius Black told Severus how to enter the Shrieking Shack, and Severus did something - another thing he was to regret forever - and swallowed the bait.

Did he expect a werewolf? He suspected it, but Lily said he was mad. Did he expect a full-grown werewolf, unchained and hungry? Lupin, the tamest, most timid of the four? Were lycanthropes not supposed to be feral even in their human form? Even as an adult, Severus did not know how to answer that. It did not matter what he expected at 16, because a raging werewolf was what he got. To be more accurate, a raging werewolf almost got him.

The predator’s head turned at an impossible speed in the direction of the entrance to the shack. Its yellow eyes focused on Severus, its nose sniffed the victim that walked into its cage alone… a string of saliva stretched between its fangs, and it let out a low, horrible growl. The bites it uncontrollably inflicted on itself left parts of its body bloodied and furless, and it was sure to inflict just such a bite on Severus, the frozen prey that stood there stupidly, thinking God knows what, but definitely not “I was right”. Just before the dark creature attacked, James Potter shouted: “Move, Idiot!”, and shot spell after spell, and dragged Severus, who was still blinking stupidly, away.

“I’m going to Dumbledore,” Severus announced, panting. That was his second mistake, as he would tell himself for months after the fact - he should have pretended to be grateful and gone straight to Lily. But he did not. It might have been the stupidest decision of his life thus far - stupider even than going into the Shrieking Shack in the first place.

James tried to stop him, but without his gang, without his many admirers, he could not. “Then I am coming too!” James cried. Together, they waited for Dumbledore to let them into his office, neither one letting the other out of his sight.

“Tell me what happened,'' the Headmaster asked calmly. James started talking first. When he talked to teachers, “Snivellus” became “Severus”, and there was no mention of his nose or of shampoo to be found for miles. “Professor,” he said with just the right blend of alarm and confidence, “I learned that he was going to try to enter the Shrieking Shack, and I got worried, and ran after him.” James Potter’s disregard for the truth was equal to his disregard for rules.

“And who do you think told me how to get there?! And, and, what did I find there, do you imagine?” Severus, the outraged teenager who foolishly assumed murder was still illegal, shrieked, bug-eyed and scandalized.

Dumbledore sighed. “I know what you encountered there, Master Snape. Master Potter, how did you know he was going down there?”

Potter did not answer this one so quickly. He weighed his options. Most of them were not good. “It was Black!” Severus shouted, before James could come up with another half-truth.

Dumbledore replied, looking at both of them: “You must appreciate that this is very severe. Only Mr. Lupin was meant to know how to calm down the Whomping Willow. I suppose it is natural that he trusted his friends”. Then, he said nothing for a while. “Return to your beds,” he instructed them, finally. “I will consult with Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn and we will reach a decision tomorrow morning, when we have had a chance to calm down. I must demand that you both be discrete, until then.”

Outside Dumbledore’s office, James said: “You disgusting tattle-tale, no wonder no one likes you. This is how you repay me for saving your life? I already regret it. Tell anyone, and I will feed you to him myself.”

A speechless Severus ran to his dorm, whispered the password, and covered himself up to his eyes. A sleepless Severus stared at the ceiling and thought to himself - I have to tell Lily. They made it a prefect, a prefect!

He washed his terrified face hours later, and marched to the Headmaster’s office. Potter and Black were already there - on time, for the first time in their lives, as were Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn.

Was that the moment he was condemned? They got away with it. McGonagall promised to handle the punishment. Slughorn, his own head of house, was occupied first and foremost with the welfare of students he wanted to welcome to his precious Slug Club.

They were above the rules, and Severus was beneath them. So far beneath them, in fact, that he was punished, despite “almost being murdered” not being expressly prohibited anywhere that he knew of. Dumbledore forbade him to talk about it, and whether or not he actually put a silencing charm on him made no difference - he was in his O.W.L. year, and he was not going to get himself expelled for anything before he was fully qualified. He knew full well what life was like for the wandless. Ultimately, Severus blamed himself - how could he have been stupid enough to trust Black not to try to murder him?

Soon enough, Severus found out that Potter was not held up to the same standard of discretion - he was free to blab to his heart’s content. He did not implicate Black or Lupin, but he made himself out to be the hero, Snape's noble savior. Naturally, he neglected to mention that he could not beat Severus one on one.

It was proof. He was born to be hated. He was less, less wealthy, less popular, less attractive, less than a werewolf. He was nobody. Nothing. Whether he lived or died mattered so little he could not even talk about it, not even with Lily, and Sirius did not even get suspended, never apologized (Not even when Dumbledore forced us to shake hands last year, 36 year old Severus thought bitterly). He wondered who would have cared if he had actually died. He wondered if Dumbledore would have reacted differently if the roles were reversed – if the victim had been Gryffindor and the assailant, a Slytherin. Dumbledore drove the second wedge between Severus and Lily. Lucius, his mentor and role model, was gone. Severus felt more alone than he ever did before.

But Lily was still his friend, even though he was growing increasingly paranoid and jumpy, even though he was suddenly secretive around her and inexplicably rancorous. Through all that, she was still his friend. When she took the hexes that were meant for him, she wore her boils and her bizarrely long toenails and her other various temporary disfigurements with pride – a privilege that he felt was exclusive to those who were naturally beautiful, to those no one actually intended to curse. She was beautiful and brave, and he was an ugly coward who let his friend get hurt for him. As he could not share the full extent of what he was going through with her, he worried that she too was growing to think him a coward, and his resentment continued to swell. That she indeed thought that was confirmed when he tried, desperately, to warn her, and she said she heard that James saved him from “whatever is down there.” But she is still your friend, he used to remind himself in those days. And she still hates James.

In their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., they were required to list five signs that identify werewolves. Severus could think of fifty, at the top of his head, including: They are friends with murderers who defy discipline. They will not remember it if they almost kill you. They are more important than the lives of impoverished Slytherin half-bloods.

Severus was not sure if this was the universe itself playing a joke on him or an easy O. He knew the answer less than an hour later.

James attacked him, unprovoked. He disarmed him, immobilized him, choked him with soap… Lily’s voice cut through the air. “Leave him ALONE!” she shouted at James. Severus tried to take advantage of the respite, and crawled toward his wand while Potter, ever the paragon of virtue and fine manners, pestered her to go out with him. Severus needed much less than that to be inspired to try out his Sectumsempra. He was rewarded with being attacked with another of his own spells. He was hanging in the air by his ankle. Did Lily smile at his humiliation before she demanded James to let him down? Maybe this was why James agreed, and Severus collapsed in a heap on the floor… and Black did not even give him a chance to untangle his robes before petrifying him. Lily’s wand was out, now, and evidently, a chance to look good in front of her was worth releasing “Snivellus” from the full body bind to James. “There you go. You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus -”

Severus could not take it anymore – his emotions got the better of him, and, preferring to be petrified by James Potter forever than to owe his Gryffindor Muggle-born friend one more debt she was too beautiful, blissful, and beloved to bother to collect, he said the terrible word that drove the third and final wedge between them. He could have ran away. Did he stick around for a chance to apologize to present itself? Was it because he felt like he had just Sectumsemptra-ed his own heart? Whatever the reason, It made no difference. He found himself suspended in the air and exposed moments later. Stupid.

fanfic rec

#submission #severus snape #snape fanfiction #sorry it took me forever to see this

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writingarchangels · 5 years

Text

Hail the King (Nickifer)

Pairing: Nick/Lucifer

Characters: Nick, Lucifer, Castiel, Sam, Dean & Chuck

Word count: 1.5K (first chapter)

Total word count: WIP

Triggers: Dark fic, mild gore, blood, Nick has a hammer, major character death, (smut in a later chapter), loads of death and destruction - I think I got all now? Let’s just say that this is darker than canon and not for those faint by heart

Spoiler warnings: s14e19 Jack in the Box & s14e20 Moriah

Written for the ‘Dark!AU’ square of the Lucifer Bingo (the entire story, more or less) & the ‘Nick’ square of the Swan Song Bingo. A later chapter will be used for the ‘Wing Kink’ square of the Lucifer Bingo.

I also made an artwork to go by my story :) Added at the bottom

Mod tags: @swansongbingo @spnluciferbingo

Also this story WILL NOT be continued on Tumblr. I don’t post full stories on Tumblr. If you like to follow this story, subscribe to it on AO3 - I will add a link at the very bottom of this.

Rising from the fires of Hell with dark promises of death and vengeance, Nick sets out on a mission to burn down the world and bring his beloved angel back to his side.

Crowned the King of Hell and belonging to a new and powerful species, he faces down his enemies in order to archive his goals.

They had never seen anything like him before. Even the most skilled demon didn’t know how to handle him, and they groveled before this man who had lost all and didn’t know fear. Out of all the damned souls on the racks, he didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he didn’t beg… he was just quiet with this feral smile on his face and eyes burning with unspoken promises of destruction and death. Every single demon in Hell knew that when he turned… he would bring a whole storm with him of the likes that no one had ever seen before.

He would force the world down upon his knees, the demons knew deep within their cursed beings. And they couldn’t wait for that moment to come.

Already they had begun to whisper his name amongst each other, whispers about the still crownless king of the fallen men. They spoke of his ruthlessness and his bloodlust, how he stood up against the Winchester’s and led them when no one else would while still being a mortal man, and how close he was to Lucifer and all remembered his willingness to bring him back - the Great Archangel who was the Father of All.

It wasn’t a secret that demons weren’t fond of humanity. But this one? Lucifer made him perfect.

And what a demon he would become, everyone knew.

It’s time.

Time was fluid in Hell. An hour became days. Days turned into weeks, which became months and then years. Years until he turned and said goodbye to the last shreds of his humanity.

Nick’s hands balled into fists and a smile slowly formed on his lips as he felt the last of his soul burn away and turn into smoke and ashes. The newly created demon tilted up his head and breathed in deep as the screams of Hell rose up all around him. The scent of sulfur and ashes strong. Once he had been the tortured, and then he became the torturer. Looking up at the poor soul strapped up before him, he carelessly tossed his tools towards a demon standing close-by. He had better things to do and something to take care of. The demon gave him a wide-eyed look, bowing her head and stepping back when realizing what had happened.

Walking through the halls of Hell, all demons watched him go silently, following him almost doubtfully yet with a certain purpose to their steps. No one stopped him or asked any questions when Nick went towards the throne room.

He stopped right in front of the throne and took a second to look down at it before he swiftly turned around to face the demons who had followed him. Hundreds, perhaps even more. And they all looked up at him with their faces full of a dark hunger and expectation. “No one would object, would they?” Nick asked them. He didn’t yell yet his voice was heard all around the room. As he expected, no one spoke up and so Nick slowly sat down in the throne. The throne which had once belonged to Lucifer, Nick’s beloved.

Then his eyes flashed for the first time since he got turned and a murmur rose up from the room; rising and falling like the waves of the treacherous sea. For Nick’s demonic eyes weren’t like any seen before.

They were a demon black like the darkest abyss that stole away the light, yet his pupils glowed a fiery red much like Lucifer’s once did. And around the red was a circle of an icy blue, burning like cold angelic fire.

Lucifer’s influence went beyond perfecting Nick’s personality, it had touched his soul in ways no one would expect. Lucifer had some of Nick’s soul, and Nick always had some of Lucifer’s grace in him; they were bound together. When the fires of Hell burned away Nick’s soul, the angelic grace stayed untouched and instead fused together with the demonic energies, which created something new… something better.

Nick became part demon… and part Archangel.

And then, as if on cue, all of Hell sunk down on its knees and bowed before its new King. A king who was crowned in the blood and fire of the damned.

“So,” the Nephalem on the throne spoke with a smirk, “shall we begin?”

The countries of the world fell one by one as the demons raised Hell on Earth. Being a Nephalem, Nick had opened the Gates to Hell rather easily. He opened all of them and allowed Hell to come pouring out, he emptied the pits, unleashed the Croatoan virus upon an unsuspecting world, and even managed to bend the Shedim to his will; allowing them to devour and slaughter as they pleased. The world didn’t stand a chance.

As a human, Nick was a nobody. He used to be bullied, neglected and beaten. Now it was his time to strike back and make them pay. But his demons had to obey one rule. One rule only.

“Stay clear of the Winchester’s.”

Nick wanted to be the one to claim their lives. He wanted to be the one to watch all the hope leave their eyes and crush their skulls in his bare hands. He wanted to take everything away from them, everything they ever cared about. He wanted to have them watch on as he destroyed the very world they loved so much. They should feel the despair and helplessness at being unable to stop anything - Nick wanted to completely shatter them beyond repair.

And he knew just the way to do that.

Having chosen a nice place to carry out the next step of his plan, the Nephalem nodded his head and summoned his powers. He had no more need of summoning circles or rituals… he could simply will it into existence and it would happen. This time was no exception.

Castiel appeared out of nowhere, right in front of him, looking as confused as it could get. “Hello, Castiel,” Nick casually greeted him as if speaking to an old friend.

The angel looked up, startled, but his expression quickly turned to horror when his eyes fell on the entity before him. At his otherworldliness… and the raw power coming off him. “Nick?” He tried. The Nephalem smirked in confirmation. “No, that cannot be. You died!” And then he noticed their surroundings; the mutilated bodies of all ages scattered around them, laid down to - ironically enough - form a Devil’s Trap. The horror and agony were still clear to see on their expressions, and then he saw the blood which covered Nick head-to-toe, the bloodied hammer laying by his feet, and he knew who had done this.

Nick clicked his tongue, shaking his head oh so slowly. “Oh Castiel,” he said, sounding almost pitiful, “you should know more than anyone that no one ever truly stays dead. I went to Hell… and became King.” His eyes flashed to their unusual coloring and he showed the Seraphim his immense wings; they were black-leathered like a bat’s, stealing away the light, yet the wing arms were covered in a pink plumage; the feathers fluffy and sparkling, and the top of his wings was covered in sleek and strong feathers.

Castiel looked horrified. “What are you?” He blurted out, taking a step back from the winged being with the eyes that unnerved him more than anything. As an angel, Castiel had seen many wars and battles, yet from all the terrors he had faced… nothing petrified him like Nick now did.

“Something new,” Nick shrugged, folding up his wings again as his eyes turned back to their usual blue. “Half-Archangel, half-demon. The demons call me a Nephalem, if it helps any.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Clearly it is not, or I wouldn’t be here,” Nick replied, placing his hands in the pockets of his military jacket the demons gave him. Castiel took that moment to jump forward and stab Nick with the angel blade he always carried around.

Just for the blade to shatter when it as much as touched Nick’s skin. The Nephalem arched up a single eyebrow. “You should have known that wouldn’t have worked,” he said. “I am not an angel, Castiel. I am something more.”

“What do you want from me?” The Seraphim asked, stepping back even further. Nick could sense his fear, and he enjoyed every second of it.

Nick held up his hand and played with his lips as he stared the scared angel down. “You are a message. To the Winchester’s,” he told him. Castiel’s face paled when reality settled in and he turned around, planning on running away, but Nick reappeared in front of him with a flutter of his mighty wings. “You cannot run from me with those clipped wings of yours,” he said, “don’t worry. I will keep you recognizable enough.”

Snapping his fingers once, Castiel’s grace exploded within his body in a burst of light. And then the angel dropped dead. Kneeling before him, Nick ripped open his trench coat and shirt and went to work, carving a message into his flesh for the Winchester’s to see with an angel blade he whisked into existence, right before he sends Castiel’s body off to appear right in front of them.

I-A-M-B-A-C-K

~~~~~~

An artwork of Nephalem!Nick. Took me 3 hours with IbisPaint X and the total layer count is 25. I’m pretty proud of it :) I love his eyes and the design of those wings XD

I got bored so I made a bonus artwork lol This is like an anatomy sketch-thingy of Nick’s wings? I quite like them. This one took me about an hour, maybe?

Fun fact: Nick originally wasn’t supposed to be a Nephalem in this story - just some kind of demon XD But I don’t think my story quite wanted that and then this happened :’) It got a life of its own, man

Tag list: @luciferstempest @gabrielsbackbitches @jgvfhl @staycejo1 @blakechaos08 @qslucid @i-miss-balthazar @franthehorsegir

Asked to be tagged for this specific fic: @humongouscandycoffee (if you wish to stay on my tag list, just ask :)

(I’m too lazy to add my Bingo cards. So deal with it)

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED AS WELL, JUST ASK!!

AO3 link to continue reading

So far it’s only the first chapter tho. But more is coming pretty soon

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purecamp · 7 years

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so i bought sharon’s book “Sharon Needles And The Curse Of The Devil’s Deck”

without further ado here are some of the iconic lines thought up by Sharon and Michael Thomas Ford (no major plot spoilers):-

It was a lovely day for a funeral.

Madame Mirepoix, Sharon thought, would have thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere. Unfortunately for her, she was dead.

“You’re wound tighter than Donatella Versace’s face,” Sharon said. “I’m just joking. It’s how I deal with emotional loss. Well, joking and liquor.”

“Modern Taxidermy’s Miss February?” said Sharon, pausing. “Guilty as charged. But in my defense, I needed the money for the feral cat sanctuary I’m opening.”

Still, she half expected to hear someone call out, “Hey, Dirty Needles!” as they had when she’d been a student herself.

So many eeees, Sharon thought. Like a pod of overexcited dolphins.

“I can’t imagine anything I’d enjoy more,” Sharon said. “Except a colonoscopy without sedation, of course.”

“So,” said Coach Mann. “Tell me about yourself. What are you into?” “Oh, the usual,” Sharon said. “Ventriloquism. Collecting Frozen Charlotte dolls and Victorian death photographs. Trepanning.”

“As lovely an invitation as that is, I’m going to have to decline,” Sharon said. “I had scoliosis as a child, and although I adore the look of a back brace, I don’t want to risk permanently damaging anything.”

“And expose you to whooping cough?” Sharon said, deftly pushing the woman away. “I would never forgive myself.”

“Maybe the pathetic fumbling you think is seduction gets you to first base with some girls, but you’re not even close to getting in my batter’s box. Besides, those tiny squirrel paws of yours wouldn’t even fit around my Louisville Slugger.”

“When I was a student here, someone dressed up like a ghost and terrorized the dorms for a fortnight, appearing in rooms holding a skull and announcing ‘Your doom is upon you!’ She neglected to mention that the ghost had been herself, draped in a sheet, and that she had done it to exact revenge on a group of girls who had been tormenting a less-popular student.

“This is the worst game of spirit world speed dating ever.”

“No news,” Sharon reassured her. “And I’m awash in chalk, thank you. How do you think I achieve this porcelain complexion?”

“Did I say that out loud?” Sharon asked. “I thought I was using my inside voice.”

“Oh, I went to all the best parties,” Sharon said. “I just threw them for myself and invited the voodoo dolls I made of all the popular girls.”

She mimed poking a pin into a doll. “To this day, I’m sure Cindy Fossum has no idea her kidney stones weren’t really caused by drinking too much Coca-Cola.”

“And look how you turned out,” Miss Chokingbone said. “Beautiful. Successful. A superstar with charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent.” “You watched!” Sharon exclaimed. Miss Chokingbone smiled. “Those other bitches were, what do they say, so basic. They never had a chance against you.”

In the war between child safety and sporting glory, the glittering draw of the victory cup was winning.

“I thought you were a demon,” the girl said. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.” said Sharon.

“I’ve seen party bottoms on E with more restraint.”

“What happened to your hair?” the girl asked. “It’s at the cleaners,” Sharon replied. “What do you want?”

“Why, what with all the ribbon-cuttings and parades I have to attend, there’s barely time to keep my bikini area waxed.”

“Life’s too short to play around with big dicks,” Sharon said. She replayed the sentence in her mind.”Wait. That’s not right.”

“An imaginary friend?” Sharon suggested, thinking fondly of her childhood companion, Dead Amy.

Was it the girl’s fault that she had a tendency towards homicide? Well, probably. Still, it was unfortunate.

At the word murder, several exclamations erupted and several hands clutched several sets of pearls.

“Amazon.” Sharon told him. “Thanks to my Prime account, it came overnight. I also got a copy of the Germs’ GI on vinyl and some MAC lipstick. Isn’t capitalism a wonder?”

“I assume you have a three-piece set?” she said. “Set of what?” said the fuming man. Sharon looked pointedy at his crotch. “Down below,” She said. “Do you come with all the usual accessories? Or do you just have a plastic bump like poor old Ken?”

“A deadly triangle,” Sharon remarked. “Practically Bermudan.”

“Bozhe!” said Professor Zamolodchikova. “This story has more red herrings than a Moscow fish market.”

“You’re very handsome.” Sharon told him. “I bet your prison nickname would be Goldilocks.”

“Well, hello there,” Sharon said. “Are you a trick or a treat?”

“Well,” Sharon replied. “I enjoy a good ladyfinger as the next girl, but I think a slice of the Devil’s food cake could hit the spot.”

#please read this book i cackled #its so sharon it hurts #sharon needles #rupauls drag race #rpdr4 #book rec #katya #katya zamolodchikova

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callmestp · 7 years

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Tagged?

Tagged by @glassestouchdown. Thanks for considering me! It’s been ages since I’ve been tagged on anything (big surprise there), and I like thinking up answers to the questions.

Rules:

1. Post these rules

2. Answer the questions given by the tagger

3. Write 11 questions of your own

4. Tag 11 people!

1. If you could change just one thing about the world what would it be? To take some lyrics from the Creed song “Higher”: “The only difference is to let love replace all the hate.” And that would be it. Christ asked his followers to love their enemies and pray for those who would injure or persecute them (Matthew 5:44). And 1 Peter 4:8 states that love covers over a multitude of sins. Many other problems in this world, I feel, would be resolved in a few generations if people stopped their hate and loved instead.

2. Name a song that regularly gets stuck in your head. A song that has been stuck in my head lately is “Come for Us” by Evan Wickham. You can listen to it here: https://youtu.be/Jen0s9V4e5Y A friend of mine called the melody “majestic” and I’m inclined to agree.

3. What was the last movie you watched at the cinema and what did you think of it? That would be “American Made,” starring Tom Cruise. I was surprised to find out that it was based on a true story. I had known of the historical events mentioned in the film -- the drug cartels in Colombia, the Sandinistas in Central America and the Contras fighting against them -- but didn’t realize there was one person who was getting involved in all those areas.

4. If you could take some time off and just go study in a foreign country for a while, what would you study and where? I had to think about this one for a bit, but then the answer hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. If I could go abroad to study something, it would be to Israel, especially Jerusalem. It’s such a hub of cultures, and it’s steeped with history, Biblical and otherwise. Part of the reason I would go, would be as a pilgrimage to see the places where Christ lived and taught, and where he met His end.

5. What’s a skill that you don’t have at the moment that you would like to have? There are several ways I can approach this question. I can think of it in terms of a skill I would like to have but don’t really need, or a skill I really ought to have. In terms of a skill I’d like to have, I’d like to know how to play certain instruments: a steel guitar, a steel drum, and a church organ. In terms of a skill I ought to have, it would be public speaking. (It’s difficult for me to think up responses on the fly, making spoken conversation awkward for me.)

6. Who is the first fictional character that you felt really connected to, and who you still feel connected to today? It’s possible that there may have been someone different when I was younger, but in terms of what I can remember today: Sonic the Hedgehog was a video game character I connected to, from the first time I played one of his games, ca. 1996. Without saying any words, I saw someone with a sense of adventure, traveling all over the place, fighting for what he thought was right. I’m still a fan of the franchise and I still enjoy Sonic, but with all the other characters that have since been added to the cast, I adore the ancient Tikal the Echidna. She was a girl after my own heart: spiritual, compassionate, nurturing, almost motherly.

In terms of something a little more contemporary, I quickly gravitated to Toriel Dreemurr in the 2015 video game Undertale. I saw an older woman with a good heart, compassionate, protective (almost to a fault), left alone to wither away in the Ruins with only a few small monsters for company. I felt so bad when I had to leave Toriel behind, and nearly cried when she hugged me and walked away. Thankfully, in the Pacifist story arc, she got a chance to fulfill her dream of becoming a schoolteacher.

7. Are there any particular types of stories that you find yourself always drawn towards? I enjoy mystery stories, trying to piece together the clues before the protagonists can. I also really enjoy underdog stories, where one or more “small time” people work to achieve what others would have dismissed as impossible. These are probably why I love the movie Zootopia so much.

8. If you could meet a fictional character and spend a day with them, who would it be and what would you do together? To build upon my answer to question 7, I would like to meet and spend a day with Judy Hopps from Zootopia. Though the movie shows a bit of her back story, I’d love seeing a day in her life right now: how things are going with her partner Nick, how she’s treated by Chief Bogo and the other cops at the ZPD now that she’s definitively proven her worth, and how she spends her free time away from work. I’d also ask for more of her back story: exactly what age she decided she wanted to be a cop, what she did in pursuit of her dream between ages 9 and 24, and whether she’d have done anything different with her life if she had the chance.

9. What are three things you would never want to go without? Family, the Bible, and a means to connect with other people.

10. List three things about yourself that you take pride in. I hesitate to use the term “pride” because, while it’s good to have a moderate degree of self-esteem, runaway pride can be one’s downfall. But in terms of things in my life that I’m glad are true:

A. I earned my Professional Engineering license in 2015. By far, that is my crowning achievement in my career. I’ve been wanting that ever since I was in college, and I put in the long hours for 6 months, studying for that eight-hour exam. And I certainly make use of that license in my job, though sometimes I get the feeling that it’s being taken for granted.

B. Since 2011, I’ve been able to express my ideas through creative writing. If I remember right, I’ve completed 11 fan fictions (plus one currently in progress). The writing has gotten progressively better (and usually longer) with every new story I compose. Regrettably, I’ve made little progress in this area during 2017, for all the other demands being made on my free time.

C. I’m glad that I’m at a point in my life where my circumstances are stable enough that I can help out others in need, whether that’s offering my time or my financial resources. For years, my sister has come to me for help on her university coursework, and this week, I learned that she trusts no one else (not even her own classmates) to give her advice and support she needs to succeed. I suppose I’m a victim of my own success, but still, for someone to actually say that I am valued that much...

11. What are you looking forward to in 2018? I am looking for a change in my life for the better. As of right now, every day, my evenings and weekends are occupied by one of three things: I’m either working late into the night (as part of my job’s on-call rotation), filling out applications for a new job, or helping my sister. If I was to get a new job -- and by tomorrow, I pray that some very good news is coming my way -- it would remove two of those three drains on my time. Thinking more long-term, moving into a new apartment closer to where (I hope) my new job is located, because this apartment has all the memories associated with my current employer. And maybe I can even work on other areas of my life I’ve been neglecting: finding friends, maybe even getting into a relationship.

The following questions are what I’m writing for this assignment.

1. If you could change one thing about yourself, whether it’s your body, your mind, or your life, what would it be?

2. (This is a morbid question, but it’s been on my mind since All Saints’ Sunday) If you died tomorrow, who do you think would attend your funeral? What do you think people would say about you, good or bad, if they were being honest?

3. Name your favorite thing about where you live right now. This could be in reference to your actual dwelling place, or the geographic location thereof.

4. What was something you had said or done when you were younger, that you now look back on and cringe?

5. Name your favorite hobby, and briefly explain what got you interested in it.

6. Your Tumblr blog: how’d you come up with the name? How long have you maintained it? Have you ever moved or changed names on Tumblr, and if so, what was the reason?

7. Christ Jesus once said that wherever your treasure lies, your heart will be there also (Matthew 6:21). What is it that you treasure most in your life?

8. If you could step into the life of any other person, living or dead, for 24 hours, who would it be, and what would you do with the time?

9. Describe your preferred platform for video games. Why do you prefer that platform over others?

10. If you had the option to be born into any time period, any place, where/when would it be and why?

11. What would be your thoughts of a world where humans co-existed on Earth with some sort of non-human sentient beings? They could be existing Earth species (feral or anthropomorphic), they could be extraterrestrials, or they could be non-organic robots.

Usually, for me, the most difficult portion of this activity is finding people to tag. On Tumblr and elsewhere, I tend to be a dead-end for most content. I don’t follow many blogs. Many are run by bots, and the ones that aren’t, I don’t know their authors personally. The only blog I follow, whose author I know, would be @glassestouchdown, and for that, all she would have to do is answer my written questions. Of course, anyone reading this, who follows my blog or otherwise, is welcome to try this themselves.

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