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ladyhindsight · 2 years

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My brain is so cooked up with the Nonsense. Back when I was younger and read the series for the first time, all I felt was just constant anger and disappointment and a want to go and walk face first into a ravine. Now that I am older, not much has changed. I didn’t realize how tiring this book and overall series so far was to cover until I sat here and tried to come up with something more constructive and eloquent than this book sucks ass, have a good night.

The writing hasn’t changed much at all, and I’d be describing this exact same book even if I borrowed my earlier notions about City of Ashes and said that the story drags on, telling and not showing continues, similes and metaphors are still being thrown around like anyone knows what they even mean, and em dashes take over the whole goddamn writing. Clare sometimes focuses so much on descriptions and similes that the simplest action takes forever, and sometimes she opts out describing altogether. The plot takes forever to appear and happen. Also every character, maybe aside from Simon, is so goddamn stupid and don’t know how to deal with anything without hurting someone.

Once again, here are the greatest feats made by all of our very essential main heroes.

CLARY. Clary is horrible and more so in this than in the previous ones. She’s simply incredibly dislikable. She’s inconsiderate, shows no development or growth as a character, her actions are unfounded, and her quest to save her mother is buried under the constant thinking about Jace (Clary even makes Max’s death about Jace and has no worry nor consideration for the rest of the family that is as much hurt as Jace is). She steals Amatis’ gear and destroys her tableware all while staying in Amatis’ house and eating her food. She does a complete 180 towards Jocelyn, and Clare’s attempts at explaining and justifying it suck.

Clary doesn’t understand how her actions affect the people around her and doesn’t take it to heart when character like Luke and Isabelle, for once, spell it out for her. It seems it’s enough that Clary is down a bit but continues on as if none of what’s been said really matters. She has no clear goals other than to wake her mother up, but even the clarity of it is muddled under all the relationship drama that takes way too much room.

JACE. Jace has become such a tormented soul that he’s only a shadow of himself. He’s not enjoyable to read about, and his hardships are sprinkled with extra angst for sympathy points. He is one walking, talking self-fulfilling prophecy, and though the writing addresses this, it does nothing to change Jace’s behavior. He treats Alec horribly and they barely have any interaction in this book that is positive. The epilogue doesn’t count because it isn’t personal one-on-one. The only time they truly are face to face with one another on any substantial level is when Jace is a moron asshole and after that, nothing really.

Clare’s bias on Jace is the most evident on the fact that Jace doesn’t have to work for any of his relationships. Everyone in his life wants him around by default, no matter how horribly he treats them. Everyone understands him and has compassion for his hardships, and the way he behaves has no effect on any of his relationships. Like Clary, Jace is also a vandal and destroys Penhallows’ property by breaking a window, but nobody minds or reminds Jace that this isn’t his house.

SIMON. Simon is the only character with any sense and capability to think further ahead. Simon was cool, although he was gone for like 200 or 300 pages. Such a presence.

ISABELLE. Isabelle does all the heavy lifting to defend and excuse Jace’s shit personality. Isabelle’s character serves finally more purpose than ever before. She has a more important role but even so her whole character revolves mostly around Jace. Isabelle’s grief over Max dying was really well written, but afterwards the grief wasn’t palpable on anyone, not even Izzie. Max dying was a travesty in itself and the way characters dealt with his death was just an example of it.

ALEC. What would they do without Alec? Probably the exact same things they did anyway because Alec contributed nothing to the plot since his whole story line has been about his sexuality for three books. He gets one PoV chapter and it’s about him running around the streets of Alicante and his relationship status with Magnus. Alec goes through a complicated and difficult thing in this book, but Clare’s inability to give room for anything else than Clary and Jace, Alec’s issues are resolved the easiest and the most implausible way possible.

The narrative treats Alec terribly for being in the closet. It’s not only evident from how Magnus punishes Alec with silent treatment or how it falls on Alec to “fix” this by coming out, but also from how Isabelle comments Alec wanting Magnus to take him seriously but hasn’t even told Maryse and Robert he’s dating Magnus. There’s constant shade on Alec’s confused feelings. He has no idea what he really wants, how he wants it, and no one is helping him to figure out. Oh, wait. Jace does by being an absolute jerkface and insensitive prick while everyone is always so compassionate and empathetic about his problems.

MAGNUS. Magnus wakes Jocelyn up, gets the Book of the White (whatever the White is), aids the Nephilim, and has relationship issues with Alec that are resolved in the end. That’s it. Magnus’ relevance had become more about Alec than him as an individual character, which still somewhat carried through in City of Bones. Magnus and Alec are so different, on so different levels in experience and everything that they seem more like an impossible couple to realistically happen, but Clare forces it anyway without thinking the implications at all. All of this is brushed aside and ignored, because why focus on such background couple that is there to be the token gay couple when you can focus on Jace and Clary’s problems instead and chase details around that for pages on end.

Magnus is already incredibly in love with Alec, and when Clary appears to everyone as the person they love the most, Alec sees Magnus. None of this makes sense at all, particularly in such a short time! They’ve known for weeks, and this applies to Clary and Jace as well. It was interesting to note that in the original 2009 version Magnus tells Alec he is 700-800 years old, but this was changed in the 2015 edition to 400-500 instead. It’s curious what the reason behind this was.

SEBASTIAN. The mystery of the disappearing dead body is the only opportunity for him to come back, and man, it was taken. Aside from being a ridiculously cartoonish villain, Sebastian has a knack for running away when injured so the main characters can have a moment to focus on something else. Then there’s the whole nonsense whether Sebastian planned to kill both Isabelle and Max or only Max. Some lines in this book, like in City of Bones, had gone through changes in the 2015 edition.

At the Gard, Sebastian says to Alec that he had already taken care of one of them (the Lightwoods) that night, which implies he knows he only killed Max and not Isabelle. But when Isabelle later comes to Jace’s aid and attacks Sebastian, Sebastian says to Isabelle: “I should’ve smashed your face in with that hammer until I was sure you weren’t breathing anymore—“, meaning he intended for the both of them to die. What made this nonsensical was the fact that the line was changed. The original 2009 version was: “I should have smashed your face in with that hammer when I had the chance—”, meaning Sebastian never intended to kill Isabelle, which in its own right leaves a plot hole: why did Sebastian just kill Max and not Isabelle?

It seems that there was an attempt to cover this plot hole by having Sebastian intending to kill both of them but failing to kill Isabelle. But because only one of the lines was changed (and not the one with Alec), Sebastian’s intentions and words become contradictory.

HODGE. The incest plot relies solely on Hodge’s stupidity and Jocelyn being in a magical coma. Hodge was the only one aside from Valentine (and Sebastian) who knew Valentine was raising two boys at the same time, because he was the one who cut Jace out of Céline’s dead body. The narrative insists that Hodge didn’t know which one of the boys Valentine sent him to be raised in the Institute until he saw Sebastian at the Gard, but this is where this shit gets idiotic. Like I said, kids have faces! Sebastian looks exactly like Valentine and his eyes are black like endless pits or whatever they were described as. Hodge knows what Céline and Stephen look like. How could he confuse Jace as anyone else’s kid but the Herondales’? Especially when Jace is said to closely resemble Stephen except around his eyes that are shaped like Céline’s. Shit does not add up.

JOCELYN. The Exposition Machine of City of Glass to Luke the Exposition Machine of City of Bones. Jocelyn has survived many things in her life, notably a marriage to an abusive husband, but is given no character for it. It’s never explained where, how or when did Jocelyn acquire the Book of the White, one of the most powerful spell books in the world, in the first place, which I consider a sizable plot.

MAIA. Maia made her first appearance in City of Bones as the “curvy black girl who was dancing nearby.” She is given a name in City of Ashes and a more prominent role because she is the werewolf Valentine kidnaps for his evil plans. However, she disappears before the story ends and isn’t heard again until she arrives in Alicante with the other werewolves to fight Valentine. And even then she is merely a background character and written crushing for Simon.

THOUGHTS ON SOME CONCEPTS:

PARABATAI. Who knows what is it at this point? The concept bears no weight at all. It plays no part in anything Jace or Alec do nor is it mentioned. This book, much like City of Ashes, doesn’t have the word ‘parabatai’ in it even once. It’s beyond me that the one concept that is the most original one is so underutilized. Jace dies, but there’s no mention about the effect of it to their parabatai bond. Almost like the whole concept was forgotten.

Clare’s reason for this—off page, mind you—was that Jace was gone for such a little time that it didn’t matter. In a later book it is addressed that Alec felt something but thought nothing of it since Jace came back alive anyway. Clare could’ve easily used Raziel’s angelic powers as the excuse but didn’t, because if Raziel bringing Jace back to life would’ve restored his parabatai bond with Alec, it should’ve also restored the wards or protective spells that are placed upon newborn Shadowhunters by an Iron Sister and a Silent brother. But no, because that would ruin the plot with Jace being susceptible to demonic powers and having another angst fest with Clary. So instead we are left with such a ridiculous reason why Jace dying didn’t matter when it comes to the parabatai bond.

ALLIANCE RUNE. Clary is given the credit for uniting the Nephilim and the Downworlders, when her contribution was essentially to give the Nephilim a way to utilize Downworlder powers. What did the Downworlders get in exchange? The power of the Marks that imitate abilities they already possess? Durability, swiftness, better sight etc. How have the Nephilim become such oppressing government when the Downworlders seem to have more power to overthrow them anyway?

THE BATTLE. Ten minutes? Really? Imagine this was really the end and culmination of Daddy Valentine bullshit plot and the end battle was made to be that short.

DEMON BLOOD. This one is weird because there’s also changes done to the newer edition about this subject. Many have criticized the whole reason for Sebastian’s evilness being the demon blood in him because the warlock are also part demon and they aren’t evil because of it. The original 2009 version of the scene where Clary says this exact same thing doesn’t address the fact at all or try to explain it:

Clary pushed away the memory of Valentine’s voice saying, She told me that I had turned her first child into a monster. “But warlocks are part demon. Like Magnus. It doesn’t make them evil—”

“Not part Greater Demon. You heard what the demon woman said.”

It will burn out his humanity, as poison burns the life from the blood. Clary’s voice trembled. “It’s not true. It can’t be. It doesn’t make sense—”

“But it does.”

In the 2015 edition the dialogue goes instead like this:

Clary pushed away the memory of Valentine's voice saying, She told me that I had turned her first child into a monster. “But warlocks are part demon. Like Magnus. It doesn’t make them evil—“

“But they are born that way. Having demon blood put into you is different. It’s like being exposed to radiation. It changes you.”

Clary’s voice trembled. “It’s not true. It can’t be. It doesn’t make sense—“

“But it does.”

This is like the third or fourth time I’ve said this but that radiation bullshit is just that, bullshit. What makes me conclude also once again that the world-building sucked is because of the original line “Not part Greater Demon” because, wait, huh, aren’t Magnus and Tessa both offspring of greater demons? Isn’t there like a whole series named after this? Magnus wasn’t the eldest surviving son of Asmodeus nor was Tessa the daughter of Belial.

Again, Clare could’ve said that Lilith’s blood in particular does this, but like with Raziel, these opportunities were wasted and made only worse and more nonsensical by making these edits to the writing. I’d like to know if there is a list of things that have gone through changes in the original trilogy to fit better the subsequent series, or if there isn’t one then do one, but I don’t plan on reading this book ever again.

#Clary Fray #Jace Herondale #Simon Lewis #Alec Lightwood #Isabelle Lightwood #Magnus Bane #Jocelyn Fray #Sebastian Morgenstern #Hodge Starkweather #City of Glass #Edition Mods

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witchfall · 4 years

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old souls

summary: When the act of want feels like a risk, what happens when you get everything you asked for?

A Crystal Exarch x Warrior of Light fic Word count: 6431 Rating: M (implied sexual content)

Also on AO3. Technically a sequel to ‘hard is the heart that feels no fear’, though it can be enjoyed standalone.

Thank you to @vaniccio for betaing!!!

Copious Shadowbringers: 5.3 Reflections in Crystal spoilers within. You have been warned!

—

–

For a blistering moment, Izzie sees meteors flicker in his crystal body.

He’s not there anymore. She knows that. She grips the crystalline vial of blood memories so hard she fears it will crack. The sadness Alisaie spoke of when she saw the star showers -- loss that leaves yawning gaps, writhing and vile -- creeps up her throat. She remembers when she had her first vision from Hydaelyn on that trip to Ul'dah long ago; she feels more grounded in it, now. The pain is lived in. Understood.

The rains have ceased, but you are not here to see it.

The Scions join her at the seat of sacrifice. They stare at her, alarmed, as she strides past and says nothing. She will risk nothing sullying her hope; she will hold it like candle flame, close to her chest, until she is certain it will not go out.

---

Y’shtola lifts a single, elegant brow. “You still have to take the Exarch to Nabaath Arang?”

“Yes.” Izzie tries not to snap. Y’shtola, of all of them, is most likely to examine Izzie down to the quick and question what she finds there.

“Showing him the realm, are you?”

Izzie crosses her arms. Rain in the Greatwood has unsettled the ancient greenery. Her nose twitches at the heavy scent of damp moss. “What of it?”

Something changes in the air, then. Y’shtola pauses, recalculating, and Izzie’s tail stands on end from the tension. “It simply has...been awhile, since you have taken a flight of fancy like this.”

Izzie digs her toe into the mud. She huffs. For a bard, she’s extraordinarily bad when it comes to talking about herself. “It’s nice. To pretend.”

You are death.

“Pretend?”

“That I’m just a traveler, anymore.”

Y’shtola gives her a small smile, but there’s something deeper there that spooks Izzie, like she’s looking at something private. “Is that not among your brightest qualities? Your penchant for adventure, vast and mundane?” She places a gentle hand on Izzie’s shoulder. “You are not so unknown.”

Izzie says nothing, even as Y’shtola shakes her lightly.

“I am not one to make prognostications I don’t fully believe in. You know this. I do, in fact, think this has more than a passing chance of working.”

Izzie nods. She refuses to cry.

“You could do worse." Y'shtola brushes an invisible piece of dirt off Izzie’s tunic, as if oblivious to the effect she had on her younger counterpart. "Though...were the two of you anyone else, I would call you both unspeakably obsessed..."

Izzie's breath stutters as Y’shtola’s cloudy eyes sharpen upon her. She lets up for nothing. But before Izzie can struggle to defend herself, the woman gives a dazzling smile.

“Do keep heart. My life and happiness depends on this working, too, you know."

Izzie glances pointedly to Runar, who is speaking with a woman by one of the Slitherbough gardens, and Y’shtola, perhaps sensing her intent through the aether, finally graces Izzie with silence.

---

The Scions’ crystals shimmer and everything clicks into its right place; Izzie feels settled for a bare moment, as if she had stepped onto a ferry in just the nick of time. Her beloved family rises one by one, greeting the new day, groaning as they stretch out waxy muscles. But as they each turn to appraise her, Izzie fidgets and fidgets.

They each gaze upon her expectantly. We will leave the rest to you, Y’shtola says, smiling with rare maternal kindness. It sends cold water down Izzie’s back. Urianger’s softness has never been a mystery to her, even in his most shadowed; his words are complex but their meaning is simple. It will work, he reminds her. The doors will unseal because G’raha’s blood is in her satchel.

(How many years has she dreamed of saving his blood under her fingernails, of forcing those golden doors open with a furious pouring of her own essence?)

The realization scares her: they all know what she wants. And not a single person in the room dissuades her.

Her stomach roils. Her blood feels electric. The hope of fulfillment alone may devour her. She runs and does not look back, not even when Tataru shouts. Not even when she feels Alisaie look after her strangely, like a confirmation that something is changed forever.

---

The ground shakes as those massive doors, the Dossal Gates, open. The stale air tastes split by lightning. She had just been standing before these same gates a few moments ago, but the difference between the worlds hollows her out. Unlike in the First, where the doors herald the hope of a city, these doors are dusty and hidden. Sealed purposefully against the various evils of mankind.

She grips the crystal tighter; perhaps it is his present soul that makes her own memories feel suddenly, painfully vibrant. His broad shoulders square as he seeks to leave her behind forever -- but then he turns just slightly, as if considering looking back, and his mouth moves as the doors close, the words lost forever to the sound of doors roaring shut.

I love you. That’s what he said. She knows that now. The crystal is warm under her fingers, confirming it. It gives her the will to keep walking, up vaunted staircases that once stunned her with their beauty. Now they are just another obstacle. She barely registers the imperial stature of the architecture or the distant, yawning sounds of monsters that could still be lurking in its eternal spire. She follows a well-tread path to the Umbilicus and she knows it is right; the crystal near thrums with an affectionate, overbearing knowing.

So like him.

And then, after she throws one last door open with a breathless, heavy creak, her journey ends. She takes in a sharp breath. Dust stings her nose.

There he is.

He sleeps upon little more than a tiny dais with some red blankets thrown over it for bare comfort. His head lays upon what must be an old shirt of his balled up to serve as a pillow; his hands rest, open palmed, upon his chest. This cannot be what he thought an Allagan princeling would look like. She nearly laughs, lightheaded.

Still...

Despite everything, his face is the picture of a lazy Mor Dhona afternoon. Even under the cold blue-gold light, his handsomeness is gutting.

He is exactly as preserved in her memory, save his hair spreading loose like red vines across his makeshift bed. His youth, unburdened by a century of waiting, springs tears into her eyes. How many years does she bear on her back, despite the star merely going round twice? Will she look too different in his younger eyes? (This body is still older than her, she notes. But barely anymore. What a strange pair they make.)

She feels stupid, standing there staring with the crystal in her hands. She wonders if perhaps she should have brought Krile along. But, in theory, this should work the same as with the Scions, so before she can overthink it she places the crystal carefully, lovingly, beneath his palms. She jolts when she touches his skin— cold as the air in the tower — and for a moment she actually fears waking him, like she doesn’t want to upset his sleep. Even though that is exactly what she is doing.

What the fuck even is her life, a tiny part of her whispers.

The seconds drag on. Her tail twitches behind her in restless energy. Should she practice a speech or something? Should she talk to him to encourage his soul to accept itself? What words would even suffice? She spent two years wondering after him, yet it all feels short compared to this moment.

“I’m here,” she announces quietly and her hand lingers on his for just a moment. When he doesn’t respond, she sinks to the floor beside him, her back against his strangely warm dais-bed, her head between her knees. Words are no good. Whatever she says could easily be for naught.

She sings instead.

It’s a silly song the dragons taught her that does not translate well, but she liked the challenge of it in her mouth. It was once a courtship song, she was told. The meaning behind the deeply intricate symbols had been lost to time and the traversal of new stars. Now they just liked the ditty.

Care to forget the deep warm wells of another life?

The slow love of water beneath the sand?

Stupid questions I can't answer.

She hears the crackling sparkle of aether and pointedly does not look. She digs her eyes into her knees, seized with fear, and keeps singing, even though it’s muffled by her legs. Her torso is bent just enough that her voice feels weak, but she doesn’t adjust.

She will need to give him space. He will need time to come to terms with this world. She will not press him. She will not.

you're bold and bright, the sun star's last breath.

me?

at least the dark magic is mine

and I will keep it to myself this time.

Her song smothers the groaning sounds of his waking. She doesn’t notice him take a few silent moments to watch her, all curled up and heartbreakingly girlish again in her waiting. Her feet tap the floor. Her hands grip her ankles. Her ears twitch, and then…

She sees feet hit the floor in the corner of her eye and…

She shoots up to standing so fast that her vision tunnels for a moment. She doesn’t breathe. She could pass out standing there. She might well have, watching him as he watches her, his mouth popped slightly open…those red eyes...

She stumbles back a tiny step at the weight of seeing him. His breath catches.

“I remember,” he says. His throat works to swallow. Her eyes hone in on it. “I remember everything.”

"Oh.” Breathe. Her heart is in her mouth. “That’s…”

Well, not entirely good, is it? Don’t think about it.

She scans him as clinically as she can manage. The Allagan technology did well by him, at least. His skin is clear and pale. His tattoos stand out like void bites. His lithe frame had retained its old musculature, though she imagines it must be disorienting regardless. His aether situation -- she would leave the specifics to Krile -- must be very confusing.

But then his eyes fill with tears.

She panics, and against her earlier desire for restraint, she closes the distance between them in a step. Her hands fly to his face (no crystal coming to claim him, simply the edge of an archon's tattoo...). She cups his jaw, resting her thumbs on his cheeks. The tears she can't catch fall into the webbing of her fingers.

"It's okay," she says softly. She squashes her own tears down, down, down. His face still feels too cool beneath her hands and she thinks for a moment about what it would be like to wrap him up in a scarf and keep him like a trophy. "The worst is over now."

He leans his mouth into her palm. When he speaks, his lips brush her heart lines and she fears she may combust. "You're real, aren't you?" he croaks out. Voice unused for years. "You aren't some strange ghost created out of the hope of two souls?"

Her throat tightens. She forgets how to speak like someone kind. “Of course I’m real, you idiot. Of course I'm--”

He seizes her, then, in a crushing embrace, his arms as strong as the day they said goodbye. They snake around her waist. She is crushed between her leather armor and his stupid ugly tunic and the haleness of his body, and all she wants is to wink out of time and live in this moment. Still, a part of her resists. He has much to remember. Hundreds of years to consider.

He whispers into her ear. “My star. Izzie. My love.” Naming her, as if to anchor her to him. He pulls back only so their foreheads meet. She struggles to focus on the radiance of his gaze. “Are you alright?”

“Am I--” She nearly growls at him in her flummoxed state. Tears slip down her cheeks, too, and it makes her angry and proud and happy and destroyed. “I should be asking you that!”

Perhaps he didn’t hear her; but then, it is more likely he did and saw through her. He tucks her head under his chin and rocks her back and forth. He holds her tightly until her shoulders finally lose their tension and she gives a keening sob against his chest. His breath catches again. And then they collapse to the gold filigree floor, grappling with the sudden collision -- and end -- of too many painful years apart.

---

She feels a bit like a child bringing home a stray, even though that doesn’t make sense. Her Scions know him and he’d lived in Mor Dhona for a not insignificant amount of time. But nothing explains the bizarre embarrassment and desolation she feels when they arrive at the Rising Stones and everyone stares for a second. Don’t look, she wants to scream. Everything is fine and normal and not at all a miracle that shouldn’t have happened.

But then Krile marches forward and points a terrifying finger at G’raha. “Raha. Just because this all worked out well does not mean you are forgiven for being an idealistic fool. To bed. Now.”

Izzie grins so brightly her eyes water as G’raha’s ears flatten against his head. Her mother would like Krile very much; the resemblance strikes her fiercely in that moment.

“Don’t let him leave your sight, Izzie,” she grumbles as they enter Dawn’s Respite. G’raha leans into Izzie as she half carries him, and she wonders if he’s dramatizing a little to stay close to her and hide from Krile. “I can’t believe how angry I still am with you after all these years. You ridiculous fool. You’re lucky your decision quite literally prevented a calamity…”

G’raha, to his credit, bows to her scolding. “You’re right, of course.”

Krile harrumphs. But Izzie doesn’t miss the soft, sidelong glance she gives the younger scholar before she near pushes him to bed.

---

Izzie brings G’raha everything Krile says he needs and more. She fetches food and blankets and washcloths. She holds weird aether scanning tools at just right angles. She cleans medical tools and sweeps floors and folds sheets when Krile runs out of things for her to do. At one point, she notices G’raha keeps brushing his bangs out of his eyes. She silently marches up to his bedside, fishes out a few pins from her pocket, and waves them in front of his face.

He reaches forward to take them. "Thank you--"

"Let me do it," she whispers, and before he can protest, her fingers brush against his crown, pinning his soft hair out of his beautiful eyes. He takes the faintest breath before he wraps a hand around her wrist, gentle and pleading.

"You haven't sat down."

She feels like she has hornets under her skin. "Lots to do."

He quirks a smile. “No there isn’t.”

She glances to where his fingers grip her. She glances around the spotless Respite. Her ears flatten. “...well. There was.”

So she sits in the chair Krile pointedly left beside him and collapses her body forward until her forehead lays on the mattress. She is tired. Not for the first time, she wishes she wasn’t like this. Wishes she didn’t feel driven to do until she can’t think anymore.

But then G’raha gently rubs her head between her ears and she decides she can just opt out of thinking, if she wants. She allows herself the affection; from the way his hands don’t leave her, he seems desperate to give it. She snaps out her own hand, letting it wander the mattress and muss away the sheets until she finds his thigh and she feels better, touching him back. He softly hums some old tune and she relaxes there in relative quiet for who knows how long.

In her warm drifting, she eventually realizes she dreads nightfall. She should let him sleep the recuperative sleep of a mortal man. She should not hover or oppress him into what she wants. But just as before, as in the old days and the new, he speaks as if he can read her like a book.

"If it isn't any trouble, my dear one," he starts, "would you be willing to stay with me tonight?"

She nods at once, relieved, and settles harder into her chair. He smiles, lopsided.

"You can have a bed, if you'd like."

"I want to be closer," she admits, and already her face burns, even though she has not lifted her hand from his thigh for hours, maybe. "So here is fine, I've slept in a chair before, a lot actually--"

He reaches up and tugs on one of the frazzled locks of hair framing her face, just like Before. Her lip quivers. "You can have a bed," he says, cutely commandeering in a way he never let himself be as Exarch, and he pats his mattress.

She blinks at him. In the next moment, she is peeling off her boots, avoiding his resplendent gaze as she does so. She pulls back his covers and slips in beside him, her legs sliding against his warm, bare skin as he tucks her in against his chest. She entwines their limbs and throws an arm over his waist. She digs her nose into his chest, smelling his clean skin; even now his scent reminds her of their old campfires. He rubs small circles into the back of her neck with his thumb.

Why had she been so afraid to ask for this?

"Finally," he sighs into her hair. "My dark and dastardly plans may commence."

He brushes his fingers on her exposed waist. She squeaks at his touch -- he was tickling her, the fiend -- and whaps him with her palm. He laughs. She feels at home.

---

G'raha awakens first. He blinks heavily at the weight lying against him and looks down, and only then does he accept he is not dreaming.

Izzie snores against him, her mouth open. Her chin shines with drool. Her hair is a tangle of red knots under her sweaty neck, but her face is so relaxed that he thinks to keep her there, forever. His reverie only ends because Krile enters -- and she stops suddenly, seeing the pair.

He can only describe her expression as wistful. But she schools her face into more familiar, sly watchfulness when she notices his gaze upon her.

"You would ensnare the Warrior of Light," Krile says, as if exhausted of him already.

"I assure you," he says, quiet as a whisper, "that it was entirely the other way around."

Krile smirks. She oozes sarcasm as she sweeps over to them, but when her gaze shifts to Izzie’s still miraculously sleeping form, he remembers how badly he missed Krile’s softness, too.

“Oh, Raha.” She lays the back of her hand on Izzie’s forehead, testing for fever (it was apparently that unusual for her to sleep like this), but her twinkling eyes land on him. “You haven’t changed at all.”

---

And then the strangest thing of all happens: The Scions of the Seventh Dawn have nothing to do. Nothing so pressing the world won’t wait a few days for them to catch up to it.

G’raha learns the limits of his new old body. He falls asleep on their picnic blanket and during a card game and even, to Izzie's sickening panic, once on the edge of a balcony wall where he had perched with a book. He devours whole meals so quickly she watches him in careful awe. He weaves spells and gets tired enough to faint; she has so far been able to catch him before he hits the ground, but she ponders letting him do so, once, if it teaches him a lesson.

Izzie enjoys playing witness. It’s like watching her favorite dreams depicted on stage for her amusement.

"I like your hair like that," she says in passing one day. His hand flutters up to the pins he had kept and his ears flick -- more expressive than she had ever seen, even in the old days. He smiles brightly.

"I'm glad," he says. "I like it too."

Tataru gifts him new clothes, and that is when it truly feels like the beginning of an era. He steps out of a side room to model them for the Scion family, smiling sheepishly, and Izzie stares for a moment too long. She feels Feo Ul's hand in this. The Fae King reached through time and space to design this outfit specifically to slap her in the face. My dear sapling will have to thank me in person later! She can nearly hear the words -- and indeed, Izzie would.

The design is a perfect blend of old and new. His sharp red half-robe is ridiculously him, honoring the Exarch and young scholar both. The gold accents shimmer under the light. He is adorned with so many necklaces she is struck with the desire to bring him another, as if in tribute.

She steps close and adjusts his black scarf, letting her fingers drift down to the tassles and linger on the sumptuous fabric just over his collarbones, before she realizes what she is doing.

G'raha's grin is blinding in the corner of her eye.

"It wasn't even," she grumbles at him.

"And the rest of it?"

"It's a good look," Thancred says. His tone indicates more than just the clothes. Alphinaud poorly stifles a giggle.

Izzie turns back to glare at them, but they are all looking at her, like she is the twist in the tale they've been waiting for. Urianger smiles gently. Y'shtola raises a brow. I knew it to be so. Even Alisaie looks strangely triumphant, like she'd won a bet.

She blushes furiously and lets it slide.

Despite this -- despite the offer for him to join the Scions and the work he does to re-seal the tower and the fact he is never far from arm's reach, much less out of sight -- she still feels out of sorts. And then one day, as they sit together in the Rising Stones cafe picking over finger sandwiches, her mouth does the thing where it asks a stupid question before she realizes it's happening.

She stares at him as he places a fifth sandwich in his mouth and she asks: "Are we together?"

He glances to her, alarmed, but his tone remains steady and teasing. "Did you teleport somewhere on accident? You look corporeal enough."

"No. I mean. Are we...are…" Well, no, now it feels really stupid. She turns away. She stuffs a whole sandwich in her mouth in one go, and he waits patiently the whole time. She says, once she swallows the food down: "Is this happening? For real this time?"

She isn't sure what she means. Physically? A proposal of marriage? All of it makes her feel like she just stuck her head in an oven.

His brows turn downward. "Why wouldn't it be, my love?"

Yes, this is very stupid indeed. His love is near impossible to avoid. But since he received his own room at the Stones, they function otherwise like they intend to live completely separate lives. Like colleagues.

Which they are. Which is fine.

It’s not.

"Can we...go on a trip? An adventure maybe? Or something? Alone. Just us two. Without...any of the other Scions…?”

She bites her lip and lays her head on the table and covers her scalp with her hands. She wants to die for some reason.

He laughs, warm and true, and he leans in until his forehead rests on her temple. She still hides in shame, even as he whispers just for her to hear. "How many times do I have to tell you you're my guiding star? Before you believe me?"

Her face is so flushed she feels sweat break on her brow. "Maybe another time would help," she mutters into the table.

He laughs again and gently kisses her on the corner of her mouth. "I will wait for you to come to me, alright?" When she looks at him with wide eyes, stricken by a terror she struggles to name, he smiles at her. Love freely given. "You could never disappoint me. As ever, I follow in your light."

---

She takes him up on it that night.

She was never confident in these affairs. Their first time in the tower on the First she was seized by reckless abandon. He was already seeing everything. Why hide? Their time, she sensed, had been limited once again. The tower loomed over everything. A judge in cold absentia.

Now, if she knocks on this door in the Rising Stones, she will be stepping into forever. Her body shakes. She feels 19 again, afraid of how powerfully certain she is -- afraid of the pain she may invite into her life, if she loses him. But this time, she has already lost him twice. No god, if they exist, would be cruel or stupid enough to make an enemy of her this time.

She knocks. He opens the door. He stares, bewildered.

"Hi," she says flatly.

A blinding smile lights his face. She has to look away a moment. Her heart thuds so strongly she is certain he can hear it. He stands there, staring.

"Move, would you?" Her voice feels harsh and unsteady. "Before the gossipmongers see."

He steps back. She steps in. And then, in one fluid movement, he pulls her against him and pushes the door closed behind her. Suddenly her back is pressed against the harsh wood and she is kissing him, melting into his muscled chest and his moan of satisfaction as her tongue darts into his mouth. She isn't sure who moved first. It doesn't matter now. They're together, against the literal forces of time and space.

She pulls back just enough that their lips are only a hair apart. Heat thrums between them.

"I hope you know," she breathes, "that this time I mean to keep you."

He grins. The boy she had dreamed of. "This time I intend to be kept."

She laughs before he quiets her with his mouth against hers.

For all its drama, the reconnection is quiet. He carries her to the bed. They undress each other slowly, limbs entangled, smiling into each other's skin, until they lay together naked beneath the blankets. He won't stop kissing her, pressing his lips against old injuries, her ears, her collarbones, her stomach.

“So much to catch up on,” he says. “And I will know all of it, again.”

She takes a deep breath and shreds her last bit of armor. Do what you like with me. Mark me. Make it real.

He holds her fast when she says this. He trembles, looming over her, within her. She wants to be disappeared by his shadow. She wants to be consumed.

His mouth and tongue slide down her neck. "You are everything.” His teeth graze the top of her shoulder. “I will answer your every prayer.” His hand slides over the bony curve of her hip. “For what I want...is to see you beloved.”

---

And yet.

She wakes curled into his side, his arm circled around her shoulders. She moves until she can hear his heart, beating and alive.

The shadow of night sparks cruel questions: Will he be kept? Will he be fighting fate's designs upon his life? Can she survive another loss? Can she afford to try? They circle in her head until she takes a sharp breath. She utters his true name. "Raha…"

Perhaps he had already been awake. Immediately, he circles his arms around her in a protective vice. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice catches in her throat and G’raha pulls her up. He sits against the headboard and cradles her against him, bringing the blankets up to keep her warm. “I don’t know,” she says. She smothers her ear against his chest. Lets the sound of his lifeblood calm her. “I don’t know what happens next.”

He strokes her back. Her fingertips slip against his chest as she balls her hands into fists. And then he sucks in a breath. She tilts her head up at him.

"...I just want you to know where I stand," he says, and she gets the feeling he has practiced this speech. "I...I had seen the reports of your death in the future that now will never be. I saw...memorials to you in every camp. Every small group carried something of you. A picture. A carving. A song they thought you wrote…"

He sighs. She hears a century of pain in it.

"Your death in the abstract was untenable. You were everywhere. And...I knew, I knew when I woke that I would be confronted with your death, even in an ideal world. But it was...I felt so immeasurably stupid. To think that I would be able to survive it. I could barely tolerate giving up adventuring with you, much less..."

She stops him with a finger to his lips. No need to relive these hurts for her sake. "What's the short version, Raha?"

The use of his true name sends another contented shudder through his lungs. He takes her raised hand and pulls until he can press his lips against the inside of her wrist.

"I had a century to come to terms with what I want. And now I have her, despite my every expectation.” His tail curls around her hip. "You haven't had that time. I didn't want to press it. But I also know...sometimes you experience more pain doing nothing out of fear of what the something will bring."

She hears the silent mercy he is granting her. It’s okay to want. It’s okay to struggle with it.

“And,” he adds, “you lose a shocking amount of time, thinking not of the present.”

He presses a kiss to the pulsing vein in her wrist. She taps his chest with her thumb.

"What did the pictures even look like?"

His other hand slides lazily down her back. "Not even the slightest bit like you."

"Not even a little?"

"It was you if you were at least a fulm taller and had much meaner brows. Maybe."

"Hmm…"

He squeezes the base of her tail and she jumps. His chuckling breath tickles her ear. "I much prefer this version."

---

G’raha taps the charcoal against the blank drawing parchment as he watches Izzie experience the consequences of her actions.

On the path into Rowena’s Splendors below, the Warrior of Light and Darkness hummed, fully distracted by the contents of her bag while she walked -- leaving her utterly unprepared for Thancred to hold out his arm and nearly clothesline her. She stumbles with incredible drama. Her arms flap. Her feet dance to keep her aloft, and just barely do they succeed.

“Hey!” she shouts.

“Your bag,” Thancred insists.

“You-”

“Your bag.”

Izzie growls in frustration before shoving it at him with a leathery thunk.

Thancred makes a show of rifling through it. Some knives wrapped in burlap. The remnants of a cheesecloth. A few glamour prisms. G’raha knows Thancred wouldn’t find anything in there. He knows, also, that Thancred wouldn’t even be down there if it wasn’t for him. He tipped the man off because he knew Izzie would find it funny.

He rather enjoys Izzie’s little cons -- when they aren’t directed at him.

Thancred hands back the satchel. “If I find any more of that Mord grub in our coldbox, I will confine you to quarters, warrior of two worlds or no.” Despite his words, his tone is largely...endeared. Relieved, and not just because her bag was empty.

Izzie grins at him. “Gaia didn’t send any with me this time.”

Thancred ignores her. “And you!” he shouts up at G’raha. “Stop enabling her!”

G’raha raises his hands to proclaim innocence, laughing, and he wipes off the charcoal lingering on his fingers. He turns his eyes toward the door to the balcony upon which he sits. His heart floats, knowing it’ll be mere moments before Izzie will be ambushing him.

The scions -- his fellow scions -- hadn’t missed the changes within her. She smiles more. She even plays music in the tavern sometimes, which always brings a full house. I’ll deal with the frustrating practical jokes if it means she’s doing alright, Thancred admitted to him over beer not so long ago.

He hears her before he sees her, but only because he seeks out her quiet footfalls. She jumps from the threshold of the door and makes it half-way; she twirl-steps the last half to dramatically throw her arm over his shoulders. She lands hard enough to thump the air out of him. The whole of her leans playfully into his side, her chest nearly against his own. “Ready to see Ma?”

He grins before her happy radiance, never one to resist her call to adventure -- not even when he fears what it will bring. Meeting her adoptive mother, for instance. He settles his arm around her lower back. “As ready as one can be.”

---

The Thanalan heat stifles him. Dust seeps into his clothes and sand flies into his eyes no matter which way he turns when the winds blow across the desert. Izzie's ma, Sheshena Shena, takes one look at G’raha’s pale, wind-chapped skin and insists he take tea with her on the covered porch.

"Izzie can set up the carriage herself," she declares. Izzie glances to him and nods encouragement, but she acquiesces at once to her Ma's will. Lady Shena, G'raha thinks, has a power all of Garlemald wishes it could wield.

But he knows that this gesture is not solely for his benefit. She allows him a few moments of polite, worthless conversation over an aromatic chai before her glassy eyes pin him in place.

"Not too many moons ago," Sheshena says, "I was going to ask her to quit."

G'raha lets that register for a moment. "Her work with the Scions?"

Sheshena inclines her head. "She wouldn't have. She can no less quit being the warrior of light than I can quit being her mother. But I thought...perhaps it would help her notice just how bad the misery weighed on her shoulders."

She purses her lips and turns away, toward Izzie. She lingers there a moment.

"She would have just been angry with me." Her gaze slides back to him. "But I have watched my daughter carefully, G'raha Tia. And much of this started not long after you disappeared from her life."

He understands now. She is warning him. She is telling him the stories that wouldn't be in any tomes.

"...it wasn't all your fault," she allows. "Her time in Ishgard would have crushed her were it not for dear Edmont." He forgets she is on first name terms with Izzie's Ishgardian family -- that she is part of it, too. "And then her father died."

G'raha closes his eyes, punched in the gut.

Her voice hollows. "It never quite stopped after that."

He realizes this is not just a tribunal for his crimes against her daughter, but a confessional. An unmooring of pain, old and new.

"She stopped allowing herself things. Her silly songs ended. Her visits slowed. I knew she needed the space. But she was drifting into the middle of a lake with no paddle. She was letting it happen." Her silver eyes sharpen into knives. "And I sought to blame someone. And I decided it was you. You, who had broken her heart first. You, who had left her behind. You were...it was easier."

She sets down her tea cup with a shaky clink and turns away from him.

"She told me what happened on this...other world. How she found you again."

He stares down into his half-sipped tea. His fingers slip upon the stone table. He would take this punishment. It was small, in the scheme of things, and necessary.

"She told me, had it not happened...had you made a different choice, that she would be dead."

So would the whole world, he thinks to say, but on this he and Sheshena agreed: without her, none of it matters, anyway.

"That you survived years and years to set things right and make sure she didn't die."

He nods, though his neck feels stiff.

"So I wanted to apologize. And thank you."

His heart stutters. He looks up at her in shock.

"Come off it," she says, sly and perhaps embarrassed. "Look at her. Look at her." Her lip trembles. "She's humming again."

They both look out to her, softly brushing her chocobo. The 'bo chirps conversationally at her. She laughs and coos at her stalwart friend. And there, in her laughter…

Where the desert sun left him weak and wan, she is painted in one thousand colors of light. Her sea green eyes shine. Her skin reddens like a canyon at noon. The sun adores her as its own, and perhaps she is.

This is the crystal of Azem. I think that it was meant for me. Can you believe it? Emet-selch, making this for me, once upon a time...

The Sun. The Shepherd of the Stars. When he touched the crystal, he felt a strange sort of awe.

He tastes cloves and the fruit of oasis when he thinks about her aether whipping around him. He thinks of life where there should be misery -- of how desire can twist but also carefully caress.

"Ma! Where'd you put Bonbon's sun hat?"

Sheshena answers, her voice no longer weighed down, and he realizes again why Izzie was so afraid at first. He would learn the realness of her again. He would see her pain and be there at her Da’s grave with her. He would make it impossible for her to forget that she is loved.

Sheshena turns back to him and the light in her eyes shifts.

"So." Sheshena regards him regally. "You're Allagan royalty, are you?" She raises a single brow to his flummoxed expression and sighs as she lifts her tea cup to her lips. "I suppose she could do worse."

The sun scalds bright pictures behind his eyelids as he laughs.

#g'raha tia #g'raha tia x wol #5.3 spoilers #crystal exarch x wol #crystal exarch #ffxiv #ffxiv fic #otp: upon an eternal wind #kathryn writes

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Sixty-Five

A/N: If you didn't see my post yesterday, I decide to break this chapter into 2 chapters. The preview for this chapter is included in the next chapter.

Words: 3.7k

Warning(s): Explicit language, mentions of drug abuse

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I blink my eyes open to see Izzy standing over me, my brows furrowing at the sight of him, confusion filing into my mind.

“Izzy.” I croak out, closing my eyes again for a moment.

“Viv.” He replies.

"What're you doing here?" I groan, tiredly.

"A girl I hooked up with last night lives in this neighborhood." He tells me. "Karen let me in."

“Of course she did.” I mumble, sitting up with another groan, and he sits on the floor next to me, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it.

“So, like, what happened?” He asks me, looking around at the shithole mess I made last night and I lick my cracked lips, feeling the tightness of dried, mascara coated tears that have glued to my face, and let out an exhausted breath.

“You ever walk into your house and wonder ‘exactly how many surfaces did my husband and his mistress possibly have sex on’?”

“Nope.” He replies, blowing out smoke, and I glance at him.

“Well, that’s what happened.” I reply, sighing. “I thought I was doing good, Izzy. I really thought we were getting better. And we weren’t. It was all bullshit.”

“Trust me, Viv, I’ve fucking been there.” He mumbles.

“I gave her a key to my house.” I repeat what I told him earlier and he looks at me for a moment, looking as if he doesn’t quite know what to say. “I might as well have just handed him over to her and said, ‘he’s yours, have at it’.” I add, letting out a chuckle, although it’s not funny. “I’m not like her. I act nothing like her. I haven’t accomplished as much as she has. I’m not established like she is. I look nothing like her--”

“--She’s a ten but the drugs make her a five. And her being batshit crazy knocks her down to a solid two...on a good day. You’re a ten. Your niceness adds two points, your patience adds two more points, and your crazy is hot, which adds five more points. So technically you’re a seventeen. Don’t compare yourself to a fucking crack addict when there’s barely anything left of her to compare to.” He orders sternly, and I push a strand of hair behind my ear. “And the only thing she can say she’s got on you, is screwing your husband, and she brags about it because strung out Nikki Sixx is obviously a prize.” He sarcastically states and I smile a little. “He didn’t cheat because you weren’t enough, Viv. He cheated because he’s fucking stupid and the drugs just add to it. I assure you, if you were ugly or something, none of us would wanna fuck you. But we do.”

“Gee, thanks, Izzy.” I flatly say, furrowing my brows slightly, and he nudges me with his elbow.

“You’re a seventeen.” He reassures me, smiling.

“See, this is what I would’ve appreciated hearing the other night.” I inform him.

“I was an ass the other night.” He admits. “I’m sorry for yelling at you...and there’s nothing wrong with you not picking up on our hints that something was wrong. You just see the best in people sometimes when they’re fucking shitty, is all.”

“Trust me I’ve learned my lesson.” I scoff.

“No, don’t let this bullshit ruin a good thing. You can still see the good in people and try to be positive about them, just use a little discernment from now on.” He shrugs and I wipe my eyes as he takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Did we just have a moment, Izzy?” I ask, and he furrows his brows and looks at me.

“No.”

“I think we did.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“I think we did. I think we just got a little closer in our friendship.”

“Nope, I don’t think so.”

“We did.”

“We didn’t.”

“I love you and I’m glad we’re friends.”

He just looks at me, trying not to smile, before getting a serious look on his face.

“It’ll be okay, Viv.” He assures me, genuinely, and I nod.

“I know it will be, I’m just kinda scared to go through the hell I’m gonna need to go through in order to get to the ‘it’s okay now’ part.”

“I know you are.” He tells me, exhaling more smoke. “I know you are.”

That’s the thing about Izzy: a raging jackass when he wants to be, and quiet for the most part, but when he gets serious about something, it’s genuine and hard to ever forget.

Once Izzy decides to go home, I’m staring at the letter from Playboy, eyeing the number left at the bottom of the page for their project manager.

“Just call and see what they say.” I tell myself, taking a deep breath, my palms starting to sweat.

I dial the number and it rings a few times before someone picks up.

“Playboy Enterprises, this is Erika.”

I convince myself to calm down and ease the nerves bunching in my stomach before I reply.

“Y-Yes, this is Vivian Sixx. I got a letter from you guys?”

“Yes, they’ve been hoping you would call. Give me a moment and I’ll transfer your call to our PM.” She tells me.

“Okay, thank you.”

I wait for a moment as the line cuts out, before it cuts back in again.

“Mrs. Sixx?” Another woman’s voice greets me.

“Yes?”

“This is Danielle Wyther, I’m the one that sent you the letter.” She explains.

“Oh.”

“I take it you’ve made your decision.” She says next and I let out a little sigh, hesitantly giving an answer.

“I’m not comfortable doing full nudity--I mean, I don’t have an issue being nude but, like, I want the important parts covered.” I’m saying before I can stop myself, and I furrow my brows and mouth “what the fuck” to myself for being so blunt.

“...We didn’t expect anything different from you, Vivian, no worries.” She tells me and I let out a relieved breath. “We’ve already prepared for more tasteful photos.”

She goes on to tell me when I need to meet with her to sign my contract of payment and a temporary NDA ensuring I won’t let it out to the public I’m posing until they decide to announce it themselves, and then we go over when I need to come to Chicago to shoot.

Once a date is set to meet, and for the photoshoot itself, we hang up and I turn around to see Karen holding a cup of coffee, wearing her bedroom shoes due to the glass on the floor that I need to clean up.

“You didn’t hear that.” I tell her.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She replies, obviously knowing what I’m talking about, but clearly not in a hurry to tell Nikki about it.

She just raises her brows and takes a sip of her coffee, minding her own business.

After breakfast, I try to clean up the best I can, not even necessarily wanting to go to my room to grab a change of clothes and shower once I'm done, but I do.

I'll just leave our room a shitshow for him since we're coming back for a five day break in like a week anyway.

I shower and change clothes, grabbing my car keys.

"Where are you going?" Karen asks me.

"To see Sharise and Sky, and then I’m going out with the guys before I get home.” I tell her.

“Alright, be careful.”

“I will.”

I knew Karen wouldn’t say a thing to Nikki about Playboy, and she honestly never said a thing to me about it...but I could tell she didn’t necessarily agree with my decision, because nobody really agreed with it, they tolerated it.

In all honesty they all thought I had lost my mind, finally, because I was Vivian. Goody-goody, Christianly, worst-thing-ever-done-was-marry-someone-my-mother-didn’t-approve-of, Saint Vivian.

“Yes, I’m sure about it, Sharise.” I tell her, Skylar sticking a unicorn sticker to my face, making me smile at her as Sharise raises her brows at me.

“But you’ll be n-a-k-e-d.” She spells out so Skylar won’t catch on. “A-s-s and b-o-o-b-s out. For everyone to see.”

“Not really, everything’s gonna be covered.”

“Barely.”

“But still covered, nonetheless.” I argue.

“Do you want me to go with you?” She asks next.

“I wanna go!” Skylar says, looking at her mom, not even knowing where exactly we’re going, but wanting to tag along.

“No, I’ll probably have Duff or Steven go with me.” She tell her and she raises her brows.

“Oh...Duff...okay…”

“What?” I ask, furrowing my brows a little and she holds back a tight-lipped smile, shaking her head and shrugging.

“Nothing, Viv. Nothing at all. It’s just...you know…”

“...What exactly do I know?” I question.

“You know what you know.” She says back, matter-of-fact, and I think a moment before scoffing out.

“Oh, puh-lease, Sharise.” I hold back a bark of laughter.

“You know where I’m getting that idea, too.” She states and I shake my head.

“You are crazy.”

“Am I? You’ve just recently been hurt, you’re vulnerable, you’re confused, he’s available and attractive, and a complete gentleman--”

“--Which is exactly why nothing is happening because he’s not going to take advantage of me right now.” I tell her.

“Right now?” She widens her eyes and I sigh. “Ah, so you admit something’s cooking, it’s just not being served at the table at the moment.”

“It’s being poured down the drain because he’s got his own thing and I’ve got mine and neither of us are like that with each other.”

“He broke up with his ‘thing’ earlier this year and yours was just caught with a crack pipe in one hand, a needle in the other, and another woman’s mouth on his d-i-c-k, which sounds like a justified divorce to me.” She says to me, picking Sky up, and I let out a breath...because she’s right.

“Look, just think before you jump into the deep end. Just because there’s room for you to land, doesn’t mean there aren’t sharks waiting for you to dive in.” She warns me and I just nod slowly, rubbing my lips together.

I stay at Sharise’s for a couple more hours, before I’m meeting Duff at the Whisky because they’re playing a show tonight.

“Thank you.” I say as a girl in the crowded room moves for me to squeeze by her to get backstage with the guys once the show is over.

I crack open the door, seeing Axl in his assless chaps, his hair going all kinds of directions in it’s teased glory, and he smiles widely at me.

“Hey, Viv.” He greets me, and I step in to see everybody else in the room: Slash, Izzy, Stevie, Duff, and...no, no, that’s impossible.

I furrow my brows, my heart stopping in my chest.

“D-Dad?” I ask.

He’s just as shell shocked as I am, until his face is lighting up, tears coming to his eyes, as he nervously steps to me.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask next, realizing I’m about to cry.

I haven’t seen him in four years. We’ve written to each other every once in a while just to check up, but I haven’t seen him or heard his voice in four years.

“I’ve been coming down this part of town the past few nights when I heard you were back home.” He explains to me.

“Why?”

He doesn’t have to answer this, I know why. He heard his daughter’s husband possibly cheated on with her, and the mistress announced it on national television.

“Well, I couldn't really comfort you through a stupid letter.” He says and a tear rolls down my cheek.

“Aww, Dad." My voice cracks and he gives me a big hug.

"And I'll fly to wherever he is and give him a piece of my mind, just say 'when' and I'll give him a real reason to go crawling to another woman." He states and I laugh, pulling away to wipe my eyes, getting a good, up close look at my dad.

His hair is already starting to grey, despite only being forty-one, and his brown eyes haven't lost any of their spark that's been in them even since I could remember.

He wipes my tears, giving me a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay, Dad." I tell him, sniffling, looking around at the guys before looking back up at him. "How do you even know them?"

Apparently, several months prior, my dad happened to be in the same convenience store as Steven, who he saw was trying to smuggle a bag of Cheetos up his shirt because he couldn’t afford to buy them so my dad gave him a few hundred bucks and when he told Steven his name Stevie remembered my maiden name was “Kinston” and asked my dad if he knew me. It went from there and resulted in my dad checking in on them from time to time, but none of them ever told me because they weren’t ever really sure how I felt about my dad.

After the guys get changed, we’re heading to get some food at the Rainbow with my dad tagging along.

“After she watched the Wizard of Oz with her aunt, she’d pretend she was the Good Witch of the South and used to get out of her little bubble baths and run through the house, calling herself the ‘Bubble Fairy’, with her mom chasing after her.” My dad tells the guys and I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing he wouldn’t have told the story of the notorious “Bubble Fairy.”

“Dad, they didn’t need to know that.” I say to him, seeing Duff and Slash trying to hide their laughter.

“Oh, it’s not that bad, Viv, you were a toddler.” My dad insists. “It was precious.”

“Yeah, maybe you should recreate it and let us see if it’s just as precious.” Izzy says to aggravate me.

“Hey, watch it.” My dad scolds him and I smile smugly at Izzy.

“Yeah, watch it." I echo and Izzy narrows his eyes at me.

"Whatever you say, Bubble Fairy." He says to me and I'm kicking at him under the table, before I'm looking at my dad again, taking a sip of Pepsi.

"Change of subject, why didn't you just come by the house?" I ask my dad.

"I didn't know if you would've wanted me to, if you were still trying to handle everything." He adds. "I was going to when I heard you had a health scare, but I didn't want to overstep any boundaries."

"Dad, I wouldn't have minded." I assure him, shaking my head a little.

"Well, how much longer are you going to be in town?" He asks.

"Um, I'm flying out tomorrow for about a week, but we're supposed to be coming back home for a break." I explain.

"'We're'? He's coming back home with you…is he staying with you?" He questions and I blink a couple times.

"Well, y-yeah, we're still married, dad, so we're gonna be staying in the same house." I explain. "Especially since his manager thinks it's best if we play it off to the public and the media that the situation was a misunderstanding."

"How the hell does one 'misunderstand' being engaged to a married man?" He asks, and the guys raise their brows.

"Well--"

"--I'd rip his manager a new one and tell him to use it to let out all the extra shit he's full of."

My eyes widen, and I'm shocked, because I've never heard my dad this angry.

"Dad, it's okay. After the tour if we want to file for divorce, we will."

"When is the tour over?"

"Next spring."

"Vivian, do you have any idea how long divorce takes to be finalized?" He asks and I rub my lips together. "If you genuinely want to get divorced, I suggest filing now so you can almost be done with it by the time the tour ends."

"We've tried. She won't listen." Axl states, lighting a cigarette and I glare at him.

"I'm weighing my options, dad." I say.

"And what's he doing?" He asks next.

"Shooting heroin and screwing groupies." Axl interjects again.

"Axl." I snap.

"Dude, c'mon." Duff lightly says, not amused with his suggestion.

"What?" Axl looks at us. "Coming from a dude, infidelity is like cockroaches. For every one you know about, there's a hundred more you don't know about."

"Dude!" Stevie scolds him, looking at him like he's lost his mind.

"So we're just gonna pretend there's no chance that Vanity isn't the first chick Nikki's been with in the six years they've been together?" Axl keeps going.

"I'm going to the bathroom." I mumble, getting out of the booth, trying not to think about the possibility of Nikki cheating with multiple other girls, but knowing it isn't too far-fetched to consider it.

After a couple minutes of wiping tears in the bathroom stall, I hear the door open, and wait to hear the clicking of heels on the tile floor, but instead hear heavy footsteps.

“Viv?” Duff asks and I let out a relieved sigh, sniffling.

“I’m fine.” I say to him, despite it not sounding convincing in the slightest.

“No, you’re not.” He tells me and I roll my eyes, opening the stall, looking up at him.

“I am.”

“There’s no fucking cameras around, you know that right?” He raises his brows and I exhale softly, throwing my wet, snotty tissue in the garbage can, stepping to the mirror to fix my face the best I can.

“I’ve thought of the possibility of him having others.” I admit, wiping the running mascara from my face as he leans against the stall’s fixture and looks at me in the mirror. “I’ve thought about it, and it’s one of my worst fucking fears is hearing this whole time there’s been girls left and right that’s he’s managed to sneak past me. I don’t like it, but I have thought about it. I’m not oblivious to that possibility.”

“I know you aren’t.” He nods.

“But he’s all I’ve known.” I tell him, taking a deep breath. “He’s all I’ve known and he’s all I’ve got and if I look for any more trouble, I’m gonna find it, and I’d rather not repeat this cycle of feeling like the biggest fucking idiot, so if we can just skip the conversation altogether I’d be really appreciative of it.” I state, turning to face him.

“Got it.” He promises. “And Axl doesn’t mean anything by it, Viv, alright? He just misses the mark when it comes to communication.” He shrugs.

“I suppose.” I sigh out. “I’m sorry, you’re probably tired of me crying.”

“I wish you wouldn’t cry because I don’t like to see it, but I think you have every reason to, right now. I’m just happy you’re not completely losing your shit like I expected you to.” He explains and I raise my brows.

“Define ‘losing your shit’.”

He looks at me with raised brows.

“What did you do?” He asks me, amused.

“It’s not really what I’ve done...more so what I’m going to do.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“...Playboy sent me a letter, offering $40,000 for a cover shoot and interview, and some pictures to go along with it.” I watch as his eyes widen, and he gets an uneasy look on his face.

“Viv, you aren’t, like, the Playboy type, though.” He points out, worriedly.

“Well, no, I’m not, and I know that and they know that, so when I called just decided to do ‘tasteful’ nude shots.”

“‘Tasteful’ by Vivian standards, or ‘tasteful’ by pornographic magazine standards?”

“Vivian standards. Naked, but none of the good stuff is showing.” I state.

“Oh, okay.” He laughs out, nervously. “Are you...sure about it?”

“Well, at first I did it for the money because if Nikki leaves me, I’m not gonna have a penny to my name--”

“--Vivian, if you need money and somewhere to stay if things go to shit, you can just ask me or one of the guys.” He offers, looking like the thought of me posing nude just for money, doesn’t sit right with him because he knows I wouldn’t do it unless I felt I had no other choice.

“You didn’t let me finish.” I tell him, smiling. “But then they said it’d be tasteful and I wouldn’t have to show everything, and now it sounds kinda fun.”

“And what does Nikki think of it?” He asks me an important question and I go to speak, but stop myself, exhaling.

“What Nikki doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.” Is all I can come up with.

“Uh, I think Nikki will know when he sees his wife on the cover of Playboy.” He argues.

“It’s not like I’m gonna be posed on the front with my tits and pussy out, spread eagle for the world to ogle at my anatomy.” I counter and he squeezes his eyes closed, shaking his head a little.

“I didn’t need to picture you like that, Viv.” He says and I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Oops, sorry.” I say, rubbing my lips together. “Hey, there is something I need to ask you, though.”

“Yeah?” He replies, looking at me.

“Tomorrow I’m going to their office here in town to sign the paperwork and stuff, and then I’m going to Chicago for the photoshoot, because conveniently enough, Motley Crue will be in Chicago for a few days, and I was wondering if you’d want to come with me.”

He laughs like it’s absurd.

“You are crazy.” He says, in disbelief. “You are crazy.”

“Duff--”

“--If he finds out I was there with you, Viv, I just--you are crazy.”

“So, you’re not gonna go with me?” I ask him, scared he’s going to say “no” to avoid pissing Nikki off.

But he completely surprises me when he says:

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx fanfiction #mötley crüe #nikki sixx x oc #gateway drug

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darkarfs · 4 years

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My 10 Favorite WWE Matches of All Time (updated)

10: The 2001 Royal Rumble No matter how daft and stupid the product gets, I will never not stoke my head in around January. The Royal Rumble is my favorite match, but this one is my favorite favorite instance of that match. The pacing, the beautiful endurance of Kane, the hardcore interval (which Kane just decides to destroy), the Big Show returning after 4 months just to get shit-canned a minute into his run. There is so much to love about this mess. The preview of Rock and Austin that year for their Wrestlemania showdown. The fact that 4 or 5 of them (Rock, Austin, Kane, Undertaker, even Rikishi) could have been main event contenders. The best midcard in WWE history. Scotty 2 Hotty having the worst night of his life. Drew Carey just showing up. Bradshaw just cliffing everyone, because he's gotta get his shit in. Good Rumbles are like a 3 course meal, and this one is like all your courses at once, and then dessert is a treat you could die on. 9. Tyler Bate vs. WALTER - Takeover Cardiff Crowds make a lot of matches for me (thanks, 2020) but this crowd is especially electric, and for 24-year-old Tyler Bate, who is taking on a TANK, and that tank's name is WALTER, a TANK. But I will never not be a sucker for a David vs. Goliath story, and it was never better told than the boy made of thighs vs. the destroyer made of shattering palms. It is SO CARNY, so many feats of strength, so many OOOOOFS AND UUUUUURGHS that make this so great. Tyler was a hero on this night, but everyone knew he wasn't ready to win. Every feat is a magnificent reach. And it all means something to everyone. Make them what they know SHOULD happen and still surprise them with it. His "refusing to quit!" only to get shut down by a fucking chop. HE STANDS but is immediately ruined. It makes me. This shit fucking makes me. 8. Sasha Banks vs. Bayley, 30-Minute Iron Woman Match - Takeover Respect Most of this is just a remix of their epic and warranted classic in Brooklyn. but then Sasha takes the headband off of Izzy. And then they both stepped it up and were *amazing*. We somehow lost Bayley's "RAAAAAH'S and that's sad for me. But then they RAMP IT UP. NOBODY LIKES YOU. FUCK YOU. WE'RE HAPPIER NOW. (WE'RE NOT.) But seriously, Sasha taking Izzy's headband and then THROWING IT AT HER started something special, something grand. THE OUTRAGE. The bastion of heel heat. And then the match got better. They hugged at the end of their encounter in Brooklyn, but then they started poisoning one another. And it all started with this amazing match. (Also, Bayley's amazing red and gold robot tights.) 7. Kurt Angle vs. Shawn Michaels, Wrestlemania 21 Listen. HBK's 'Mania outings with the Undertaker are solid "match of the decade" contenders, piss-easy. They are peerless, they are in a league of their own. But saying they're your favorite? Unless you are an actual wrestler, that's like saying "UH, MY FAVE BAND IS THE BEATLES." Ya boring, ya basic, and we can all do better. And seeing how I'm in my late 30s, I understand wrestling a little different than I did when I made this list in...2016??? Christ. I bet AJ Styles vs. John Cena was on it that year. Two of the best performers, both in their prime, and looking back on it, I just prefer the mix of character dynamics at play. Angle is easily one of the best in the world, but he has such an inferiority complex, because he's an Olympic gold medalist who is told *nightly* that he sucks, and he CAN'T best Michaels. He keeps coming back, and he's so charming, so effortlessly good at this whole "wrestling" thing, and it's slowly making Angle, who SHOULD be all of those things, absolutely *spare.* And that informs so many spots and story moments in the match itself, specifically when Angle LOSES it and starts shouting at him, only to have a superkick partied under his face. Angle is one of the best ever because his wrestling acumen served his character, never once defined it. 6. Vince McMahon vs. Shane McMahon, Wrestlemania 17 I haven't gone back to watch the whole of Vince vs. Shane THAT many times. What I have done is watch the finish about 65 times. There is something so addictive and magical about that one pop, when Linda stands up from her chair, and the ENTIRE crowd stands with her. And I'll 100% agree that Vince's comeuppance - one slap, one hoof to the balls, a Mandible Claw and a Coast-To-Coast dropkick - is not NEAR the actual comeuppance he should have gotten for some of the deplorable shit his character got up to from around the Rumble to this match (two of which they've done their very best to scrub from history, they're THAT bad.) But it's the purest example I can think of, of that pantomime aspect of wrestling. Vince McMahon is a deranged bastard. He likes dumb, cruel, crude things, but his commitment to being the world's 2nd-worst lizard man makes some of the stuff that happens to him more richly rewarding than almost any retribution in any medium, ever. The final 4 minutes of that match, the crowd is a fireworks display. They rise, they explode, they rise and explode, over and over. And again, shoutout to my boy 2020 for making me miss a crowd THAT big having THAT good a time. 5. Adam Cole vs. Johnny Gargano - 2 out of 3 falls - TakeOver New York Now look, I'm not saying that NXT is essentially perfect for me, in terms for what I look for in wrestling. What I will say is that when it cooks, it combines the very best of indie stamina, choreography and stunt work with something WWE sometimes gets VERY right, and that is unabashed, unironic emotion. And it's not even that the intimacy of NXT being a smaller promotion has a denser, more specifically passionate fanbase. It's just the fact that NXT understands that so often, nuance and drama in wrestling doesn't come from promos, or swerves, or endless escalations of said drama, but from getting the FUCK out of the way and letting two of the best in the world *wrestle.* NXT is so good for providing context for the acts of jealousy, pride and entitlement, and then laying out a match that touches on all of these emotions throughout. This main event, built in two weeks, after a terribly-timed Ciampa injury, is actually VERRRY clever booking...disguised to look really simple. Cole starts the match as the crowd favorite, because he's the cool tweener everyone likes (with a catchphrase) to Gargano's unironic Disney prince. Over the course of Cole going all out, making subtle references to Johnny's feud with Ciampa, Gargano fighting from underneath, total fuck-off bastardry from the Undisputed Era (making poor Mauro Ranallo yell "YOU SNAKES!!") Maybe Cole WAS the better choice, but by the end of it, you didn't care. On that night, Johnny refused to lose, and the constant, exciting, *involving* wrestling dragged you to that emotional place. Damn right, you deserve it. 4. CM Punk vs. John Cena, Money In the Bank 2011 It might be a simple choice, but also, sometimes, it's really really gratifying to see a crowd who wants something get what they fucking want for once. A hot crowd makes a good match great, and a great match THIS. A crowd united, either for one guy, and against another, and in this case, BOTH. It makes every. Move. Matter. Trying to find a new angle on this match is like trying to find a new way to say fire is warm. And this crowd created a CAUSE. The no-sold pinfall, the attempted rehash of the Screwjob. Point out the botches if you must. The angle, the promo...it got my friends back into wrestling, a reason to care until the Shield. It's not the best, but it deserves to be. There is no wrestling crowd I wish I was more a part of. And I was at King of the Ring 1998. 3. Kurt Angle vs. Brock Lesnar, 60-Minute Iron Man match, Smackdown of September 18, 2003 It MAYBE was a bit of a "hipster" choice to name this my number 1 in 2016. But you know what? Bloody holds up. Two performers who feel "destined to do this forever," like a Triple H/Shawn Michaels, or a Kevin Owens/Sami Zayn. Possessed of freakish physical charisma, could go for days if pressed. Brock Lesnar, literally at the time ONE OF THE BEST ATHLETES in the WORLD being a lazy fucker and taking DQ points, laying the foundation of what Brock Lesnar would come to be known as. And Angle, in that rare position of everyone knowing he's the best thing going. Brilliant Lazy Asshole Brock and Certified Wrestling Machine Angle are two of my unironic favorite characters in all of wrestling, and it's a buffet of THAT. Like a Royal Rumble, only it's just two dudes, being the best they've ever been. 2. DIY vs. the Revival - 2 out of 3 falls - TakeOver Toronto "Tag team wrestling?" says main roster WWE. "What is this...tag team wrestling?" Well, this is it, at its absolute best. It's up there with Rey Mysterio and Edge vs. Chris Benoit and Kurt Angle from No Mercy 2002 for just brilliant, rock-solid tag team psychology. There are more story opportunities when there are more rules to break, how can WWE *not get behind that?* In terms of chemistry, both between opponents and between teams, in terms of callbacks like Johnny muscling through the exact same inverted figure four that lost them the belts in Brooklyn. It is a perfect match. Not an ounce of fat on it. And that closing sequence, of each member of DIY locking the Revival in their signature holds, and the men now known as FTR clinging to one another. It's probably the best tag match in the history of the WWE, and considering the caliber of tag matches on TakeOvers, is FUCKING saying something. 1. Daniel Bryan vs. Brock Lesnar, Survivor Series 2018 This match is everything I always hoped for. For the longest time, after the 2015 Royal Rumble debacle, when Reigns won, when simply everything we knew about storytelling said "no, of course it should be Bryan," I wondered what that 'Mania match would look like. If it were anything like this, I would have died a happy man. But then again, what makes this match so GOOD is that Bryan had just come back from an early retirement caused by head and neck surgery, and here he is, being dropped on his head and neck by Brock Fucking Lesnar, aka what would happen if the concept of "not giving a shit" gained corporeal form and starting shilling for Jimmy John's. The match gets really ugly, really fast, and Bryan takes us to uncomfortable places with his selling. It wasn't just the retirement angle, it was also the fact that Brock had turned out some REALLY lazy shit by that point in his career, so we had all mentally prepared for another finish-spamming early night. And then. AND THEN... Bryan hoofs him in the walnuts, hits the running knee, gives us the absolute closest 2-count of the decade, and then the fight is fucking on. Bryan went, over the course of 2 minutes, from never having a chance against Brock Lesnar to it being an *absolute certainty* that he was going to BEAT BROCK LESNAR. Anytime you visibly leave your seat every few seconds during a match, you know it's a special one. Again, it took me away, had me absolutely *screaming* at my monitor, elated, invested, and I don't know what more your favorite match can ask of you. But what happens when your favorite match isn't a match at all? No. 0: The Firefly Funhouse - Wrestlemania 36 I'm not kidding, it actually might be my favorite thing. It could be just my brain latching onto the Cult of the New, but I don't think so. It's not a match, I get it. It exists in a weird null-void outside of time and space, but mostly I am floored that they would broadcast something so virulently anti-WWE. Like, we talk of CM Punk and how WWE let him get away with all his little jokes and cut his little Pipebomb promo. But then WWE signed off on Bray Wyatt tearing the soul out of their business. Burying the biggest star of this generation, skewering and laying bare all of terrible WWE's terrible priorities, and also celebrating insider knowledge, wrestling history, and I just...love it. Right now, it's my favorite thing WWE have ever put out, because it did something they've never done before, told a story I didn't think they were capable of telling. And sure, it was Bray who told it, but I still can't believe it aired. But I am endlessly thankful that it did.

#wwe #favorite matches #long post

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aedanstarfang · 4 years

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Welcome to Morgyn’s Drag Race

I've been away from my blog for quite a while, working on a (stupid) project that has occupied my time. And like all defiantly proud persons, I needed to see through this project to the end...and I also had fun (kinda) working on it. So without further ado, here is the Blogspot premiere of Morgyn's Drag Race: Season One!

Having made its official premiere on August 30, 2020; Morgyn's Drag Race was originally just a fun side-project that blew up into a full size in going 'The Sims' mini series. Meet the Cast

Morgyn Ember

Hailing from the Magic Realm, hidden deep within Glimmerbrook; Morgyn is a non-binary sim though that does not make him ineligible from being one of the sickest drag queens in Sim Nation (look up the real world history of Drag; trans and NB persons were the pioneers of drag culture).

Morgyn introduces himself as the 'head judge' of the inaugural season of Drag Race, alongside his co-judges; Siobhan Fyres and Izzy Fabulous, truly a stylish and LGBTQIA+ inclusive judging panel.

Morgyn's critiques of the queens come from the heart and he laces every critique with a compliment, embracing and appreciating said queen's individuality while criticizing their work. Morgyn can be best described as an fair, constructive and sensitive judge, and unlike real world judge/critics such as Rupaul or Simon Cowell; Morgyn actually critiques the queen's runway rather than barking out trendy one-liners or simply discrediting a queen's work because 'he doesn't like it'.

Siobhan & Izzy make up the rest of the judging panel acting as the defacto Michelle Visage and Santino Rice respectively; though it's a little deeper than that. Siobhan Fyres is more like co-judge 'Stacey McKenzie' of Canada's Drag Race or former Drag Race judge 'Merle Ginsberg', often giving constructive criticism while not shying away from criticizing a queen's sloppiness or lack of runway presence.

Izzy could be compared to ex-Drag Race judge 'Santino Rice', though that comparison falls a little flat when you see that Izzy's personality is less sharp-tongued and 'mean girl'-esque and more blunt and impartial on similar lines as 'Simon Cowell' or 'Piers Morgan'. Izzy openly displays boredom or disinterest within the first few seconds of seeing a queen's runway, and is often chided by Morgyn for being too hasty.

The Pilot or first episode showed us Eliza Pancakes acting as Morgyn's second-in-command as a literal expy of drag race judge 'Michelle Visage', being very quick to dismiss a queen for being weird or different, criticizing a queen's look for not being 'trendy' or 'mainstream' enough and even going so far as taking offense with an Asian queen's pun-name. She was fired by the second episode and instead blackmailed placed into a hosting position of 'What's In the Bag?', which is basically a Sims version of 'Whatcha Packin?' It's a humorous after show type of series that revolves around Eliza interviewing eliminated queens, all the while getting several jabs in at Morgyn, the producers, the company and of course shading the guest queen themselves.

The Contestants

Morgyn's Drag Race was announced on August of this year, which included a special series of 'Meet the Queens' videos focusing on all twelve of the competing queens. This season I am proud to say that it features a diverse range of queens ranging in size, nationality, gender identity and drag/performance style.

The initial twelve 'meet the queens' videos are still available to watch on my youtube channel, however they will soon be made irrelevant as newer, updated MTQ videos shall take their place - featuring a fluid, solid theme for the promo (which never got an official release oops!)

So without further ado, let's do further and get to know these twelve quirky queens shall we (in alphabetical order)? (*Note: That characters who are competing drag queens are referred to as 'her/she' and 'he/him' interchangeably via the rule of 'when a queen is in drag they are she, when they are out of drag they are he, there are of course expections).

Also, MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Baga Trash

Sy Jefferies

AKA "

Baga Trash

" 34, is a well-known drag performer from Windenburg. Now I know what you're probably thinking; "he's an obvious parody of Baga Chipz" well no, not really. While Baga Trash IS a British queen (even if my impression is shite), he was inspired by several different characters and queens including but not limited to 'Tammie Brown' and 'Daphne Moon'. Baga aspires to become the world's top trash queen, and applauds 'trashion' as the style of the future. Interestingly enough, Baga Trash has little to no interest in ANY of the features from Eco Lifestyle, odd since dumpster diving is right up her ally.

Caliente

Nicholas Contreras

aka

"Caliente",

at 24 is one of the youngest competing queens this season right after Terra Ryzen. Caliente prides herself on her youth, beauty and bubbly personality and actively proclaims her "youthful vigor" to be the secret to success. Now what is "youthful vigor" you might ask? Youthful Vigor is the total tetratic composition of youth, attractiveness or beauty, personality and talent. With that mantra in mind, Caliente remains ever cheerful and confident throughout the competition. Having originally been brought up on a large farm in Brindleton Bay, Caliente was no stranger to receiving the occasional odd glance from passersby as she gallivanted down main street in her pink designer miniskirts and halter tops, and to be honest she loved the attention more than anyone could know, this of course would boost her confidence into moving out to Newcrest where she would officially compete for the title of 'Morgyn's Magical Queen'.

Crow

Corbin Corvidae

AKA

"Crow"

30, is an adventurous and experienced queen hailing from Oasis Springs. As many would point out that Crow has glaringly obvious similarities to a certain

real life queen

and I will be 100% honest, yes Crow is an homage to many former Drag Race queens. Crow's personality I think is what sets her apart and standalone from other queens, both real life and fictitious. The most obvious similarities being Crow's seemingly bitter attitude towards the younger queens (particularly Caliente and Terra Ryzen), which plays into the same trope of "

this is a competition

" and "

blame the edit

". When starting Morgyn's Drag Race, we needed an antithesis to who we figured would be the standout protagonists of the season (being either Galaxia, Lapis or Caliente) and Crow fits that bill nicely.

Crow's moniker stems from her fascination with the color black, darkness, midnight and the very bird itself while the demeanor and overall look of her character is derived from her love of the 1990's film of the same name. Crow's experience and expertise with drag make her a force to be reckoned with, while her demure and sultry demeanor set her apart from the competition. Regardless of how you feel about Miss Crow, no one can deny that she serves some serious looks each time she hits the runway

Extra

Lance Proffitt

(pronounced 'Pro-feet') aka

"Extra"

29, is a professional

"background artist"

from Del Sol Valley, and no we're not talking about the actual profession of the

same name

we're talking about an

extra

, as in an uncredited background character in a film or series. Basically Extra is really talented at not being the lead character in movies or TV. Extra's personality is kind of a composition of an egotistical and yet eerily self-aware celebrity. Extra doesn't NEED others to remind him that he's a star, because in his world he is already a star. He mentions in his initial "talking head" during Episode One/Pilot that he had background roles in such serials as;

"Touched by an Alien"

"Abducted for Real"

and

"The Great Awful Cook-off"

. He also noted in his

"What's In the Bag"

segment with Eliza Pancakes, that he is a musical queen and that his talent for the talent show challenge would have been a live rendition of his hit song;

"Boy is a Bear"

. This is a bit of a spoiler so I rupologize in advance, but even Extra's book title for episode six;

"Suck More"

must be a callback to a certain real world queen, right? Whatever the case, Extra's willing to put int the time so long as you're willing to pay the dime.

Fortuna Cookie

Shūfáng Shāncháhuā ('Shu' for short) aka "Fortuna Cookie" 25, is a young queen from Strangerville who's motto is undoubtedly "here to make it queer", has certainly came to the right show hasn't she? Shu started drag at a shockingly young age; 3, when she dressed up in her mom's clothes and makeup and impersonated 'Miss Piggy' to entertain her family, though they were more red-faced from secondhand-embarrassment than laughter.

Cookie is a very artistic and personable queen, having done drag professionally since at least high school and performed at the 8-Bells in Strangerville since her university days at Britechester. She was taken in by her would be drag-mother, 'Mint Cookie' and quickly made friends with newfound family; 'Sugar Cookie', 'Fudge Cookie' and 'Samoa Cookie'. Shu's drag name had always just been 'Fortuna' (for luck) before being adopted by the Haus of Cookie, where she became "Fortuna Cookie".

Galaxia

Cosmo Nebulon AKA "Galaxia" 28, is quite possibly the most unique queen in this lineup; not only is she the only queen from Sixam, but also the very first 'Alien' contestant in the series history (but surely not to be the last). Galaxia moved to Del Sol Valley shortly before being cast on "Morgyn's Drag Race", because as he puts it the "drag scene on Sixam is boring!" Self-described 'Xenomorph Queen' Galaxia certainly has a lot in common with real life queens such as 'Alaska' and 'Pandora Boxx', though I think Galaxia's uniqueness in both style and personality make him standout from the crowd, that and he's "a fucking alien!"

For everyone who's seen the initial airing of the pilot will know that Galaxia is here to bring it on a galactic level, having aced the "Trash to Treasure" challenge seemingly flawlessly (though editing does play a part in EVERY reality series) and unanimously impressed the judging panel, even stone-cold bitch Eliza Pancakes. Spoilers ahead for recently dropped Episode 5; Snatch Game saw Galaxia in the bottom for the first time, but little did her competition know that she was no slouch because she TURNED. IT. OUT! Not one, not two, but three reveals during the lipsync - I COULD NOT, BELIEVE IT (and I'm the one who created everything)"! Clearly Galaxia is not playing around and takes the competition VERY seriously, going so far as to plan ahead for a possible lipsync for your life with three reveals to boot, it's curious what else she had planned up her sleeve for the previous runways and if she had similar reveals planned.

Icy

Myron Frost AKA "Icy" 27, of Willow Creek came to the competition pulling no punches and dressing to impress from the get-go. Icy began drag during her teen years, and started performing professionally during college. Aside from being the series' first black queen to walk through those doors, Icy also brought her own sense of style and class to the initial competition. Professionalism, style, and class are all words synonymous with Icy; a queen who carries herself as though she has already won (because let's be honest, you NEED a fiery attitude in order to get ahead in these sorts of contests). Though behind the confident and stunning exterior, belies a person who detests drama of any sort, and can be seen at any time an argument erupts - Icy is sure to stay out of the line of sight.

When I think of Icy, I think of former Drag Race queens who carried a similar air of confidence, professionalism and style such as Chad Michaels and Jaida Essence Hall, though honestly Icy is as much her own identity as anyone else, and the aforementioned queens merely served as inspiration, vocal fry and all.

Jackqleen Qkwueeen

Jackson King AKA "Jackqleen Qkwueeen" 37, is Magnolia Promenade's premiere expert in classical theater and the bardic arts. And I'm not going to start this article off with a lie, when I conceptualized Jackqleen I had originally envisioned a different kind of queen entirely which can be seen in her original 'Meet the Queens' video, which if I'm being honest, pretty much all of the queens had different personalities and quirks that differ from their current/later personas. Jackqleen was originally supposed to be a faux Shakespearean expert who would occasionally slip into talking with her rural dialect or twang, which I disliked for a multitude of reasons and decided that making Jackqleen a legitimate, classically trained thespian of Magnolia Promenade, was more interesting. And to make her standout vocally and personality-wise, I just kept picturing Frasier Crane.

Despite having fallen into the bottom two the first episode, and let's be honest that "Trash to Treasure" challenge was not tailored to make everyone look good, which in Jackqleen's case made her look worse than Velvetta Baggins, whom was described as someone having walked out of a day spa. We can't deny that Jackqleen has a refined and sophisticated outlook to drag, and that being a professional theater actor can only help propel her career as a drag artist

Lapis

Bleau Rathbone AKA "Lapis" 31, is one of San Myshuno's most eclectic, eccentric and unique artists. Having performed drag since his nineteenth birthday; Bleau introduced himself in drag to the world of performance art for the first time and then and there 'Lapis' was born (*Note: Lapis prefers to be referred to as 'they/them', but only when in full drag). Lapis' namesake stems from the gemstone itself 'lapis lazuli', the fact that it is mostly blue and their love for the color blue, taking all of these facets into consideration it's not hard to see why Lapis incorporates everything into their drag.

If you've been watching 'Morgyn's Drag Race' since Episode One, then you're already familiar with just how iconic a queen that Lapis is, having served looks since Episode One with the upcoming Episode 7 and 8 possibly being their strongest serves yet. Lapis believes in and identifies with the individual, priding themselves with being as unique and as standout as possible all while continuing to stay on-brand with the Lapis name (everything blue, black, eclectic and electric).

Parsley

Parsley 32, is quite possibly the single-most polarizing figure from 'Morgyn's Drag Race'. Hailing from Evergreen Harbor, Parsley describes herself as being "lean, green and mean" and the "green meanie". The second she steps through the entryway she insults her competition by calling them all "douchebags" (originally calling them "motherfuckers"), and also easily dismisses them as being 'basic', 'boring' and 'not impressive'. With a raspy growly voice that would give Patty & Selma a run for their money.

Parsley was inundated into the world of drag years back when she lived in San Myshuno and roomed with a popular Drag Queen named 'Darren Leek', who at the time was also her roommate. Darren welcomed Parsley into the Leek family of drag, becoming her drag-mother in the process. Though Parsley stood out from the crowd, having picked a green theme and sticking to it, she polarized a large majority of folks she came into contact with, many finding her to be rude while others found her to be downright terrifying. Parsley's own drag-mother, Darren Leek cut ties with her because of her behavior, and quite possibly out of fear.

Terra Ryzen

Scotch Golddig

AKA

"Terra Ryzen"

22, is another queen hailing from Strangerville and is also the youngest competing queen in the competition to date. Some who have browsed the Sims reddit may remember Scotch making a few appearances

pre-drag race

as "

Florida Man

", a member of the infamous "Golddig" clan; a family of reputed 'gold-diggers' who are always looking for their next claim. His grandmother, 'Dusty Bones' made occasional appearances on reddit as a burnt-out version of '

Matilda the Chef

Terra enters the competition as the youngest queen and also the most inexperienced, asking the more experienced queens for help with her makeup and nails shortly after making her entrance. Terra is almost immediately denigrated by her older, more experiences co-competitors as being "busted" and looking a "mess", though despite all that Terra manages to maintain a confidence bordering on cockiness that she will succeed and in fact win the competition, though anyone having seen the first episode will know Terra's ultimate fate.

Velvetta Baggins

Wilberforce Armitage XVII AKA "Velvetta Baggins", is an oldschool queen from Windenburg. She speaks with a High-British or a classically 'posh British' accent, and frequently bemoans about all of the times that the French ave supposedly terrorized her and her comrades while on active duty during the war, which war you ask? She can't remember, though it was likely sometime during the ice age as woolly mammoths and spear-throwing cavemen were involved. The running gag involving Velvetta is that she is old, like really very old. In truth she is probably somewhere around 50-55 years old, however Caliente refers to Velvetta as being "90" in her talking head and Terra Ryzen speculates that she is from the Mesozoic era, basically Velvetta is the oldest queen of the season which makes her target for everyone else. A pianist classically trained in the styles of baroque, Velvetta has entertained audiences for generations and continues to do so using her oldschool style, while fellow Windenburg queen Baga Trash utilizes modern pop culture and of course 'rubbish' to entertain audiences. What's interesting about fellow Windenburg Queens; Velvetta and Baga Trash is that they are both so intrinsically different, despite hailing from the same place. It can be argued that since Velvetta has been performing drag at a time since before Baga Trash, that the two styles will naturally be different.

I think the truth of the matter is that Velvetta is just another quirky, cooky queen with a bizarre sense of humor and a unique self-styled sense of fashion, not unlike Tammie Brown. The constant callbacks to the wartime tactics and the French are either a clever joke in the guise of obfuscating reality or she actually is senile and is suffering from false memories, either way Velvetta certainly is an interesting queen to have on the stage.

So now that you've gotten to know our judges, and all twelve contestants on a more personal level, maybe you will remember to set that timer to watch 'Morgyn's Drag Race' this Sunday, at 12:45 PM Pacific Standard Time.

#AedanStarfang #RuPaul's Drag Race #Morgyn's Drag Race #Drag Race #the sims 4 #the sims

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morphoportiswrites · 5 years

Text

Riots. - Chapter Three: Slipping Away

Summary: You and your motorcycle are trying your best to outrun death. Is your metal horse fast enough?

Pairing: Bane (TDKR) x Reader

Word Count: 1501

Warnings: Some swearing, mention of antisemitism (no slurs but it’s implied)

Author’s Note: So, that took me a long time. lol I’m dragging the story on like the chewiest chewing gum, hahaha! Again: English is not my first language, so there might be mistakes in grammar/spelling/tenses etc. (Also that summary sounds pretty dramatic and funny at the same time, lol)

The motor of your vehicle vibrated between your thighs. Every time you edged it on to go faster, you felt the roar, but you couldn't hear it. Your head was elsewhere. Your thoughts were racing faster than your bike and your senses focused on everything that was happening outside the bubble, including you, the bike, the trailer and its content: Bane.

Eyes scanning every oncoming car or pedestrian suspiciously. Ears reaching out for the sound of the sirens of police cars. Once or twice they had been close, and you made sure to decrease your speed to the permitted level. Idiotic though. The streets were almost empty after all, so only the mere sight of you (and the trailer) was high peak suspicious. But the police didn't seem to care. Bigger problems were afoot and you were just a very small drop in the ocean of diarrhea, that was going down in this city. And to be honest, you weren't sure what you would have done. Sell Bane out from the get-go? A “I was just gonna bring him over to you guys!” or a “What? How did this man, I've never seen in my life, get there?” Which was such a bad lie, you'd deserve to get arrested just for telling it. Or would you try to outrace them? (Which wasn't the greatest idea with an injured person in your trailer and the faster you'd go, the wobblier the trailer and the harder the steering would get.) Or, or, or? You weren't sure and you didn't want to think about it. You were just hoping for the best – not encountering the officials at all.

The kind of information, your eyes were not passing on to your brain, was the bumpy road ahead. Only when you felt the metal rattling differently than usual, your attention was drawn to the pavement (or rather the lack of it in forms of cracks and holes).

The old, partially rundown buildings, cheap shops and bad infrastructure and streets made it painfully obvious, you had entered the poor part of Gotham. The city officials had decided on neglecting these parts decades ago, just putting money in what was a necessary fix, and nothing about that had changed since. Maybe celebrating the occasional opening of a new mall, seemingly a try to help improving people's lives around here by creating jobs and opportunities. But these people had learned from other former poor districts of the city. Districts they maybe had lived in and been a part of years ago, until increasing living costs had forced them to move farther and farther away from the centre and make place for wealthier inhabitants, while they still had to drive to their old neighbourhoods every morning to serve these people and work shitty low-pay jobs at companies belonging to the richest of the rich of Gotham.

So the occasional new mall, either accidentally burned down most of time, or turned into an indoor ghost town. And people in this part of the city had learned to rather stick their eyes to the ground, as to not stumble one more time on their already stone-riddled path through life. Lifting and broadening your gaze, meant to eventually trip and fall. And there always was a way to fall deeper than from where you had started and a place worse to end up at.

Your ears shifted back from the sirens in the distance, as you heard muffled moans from behind. “I'm so, so sorry!”, your own voice felt distant yet sounded close as it ricochet in the inside of your helmet, that you somehow had managed to put on (even as scatterbrained as you were. Hey! Safety first, right?), as you had fled the scene.

You knew this was the fastest and most inconspicuous way to get to your destination. But the state these streets were in, made you hesitant to go any further, anxious it would only worsen the dire condition of your back seat passenger. Whoever he was, this was a very miserable way to die, and you wished it on no one. It was almost impossible to keep your mind from spinning around all the possibilities, all the outcomes this could have but first and foremost fear crept up your spine with every passing second. The fear he wouldn't make it. And driving towards the sun setting for the night, made the fickle nature of Bane's life hanging from a very thin thread painfully visible to you.

Your heart gave a leap out of relief, as you took your eyes off of the blinding red giant and they recognised your destination. Finally you stopped the motorcycle in front of a building most familiar to you. The project you lived in. The number of floors, and the number of apartments each of them contained, made it difficult to know each and every of this building's inhabitants. Different ways of living and working, made it nearly impossible to come across all their faces. One face you were able to describe as clear as day, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night, was Izzy's. Ishmael, or Izzy, as you liked to call him, was your oldest friend. Both from poor and broken families (though in different ways), both ending up at the same orphanage at a young age. It wasn't just because you both had been the new kids at the place, that you two had bonded so quickly, but you had never liked bullies, and Izzy had been a very easy target to pick on. At least once a week, you had ended up with dark bruises, a bloody nose or a cut on your lip, or you found yourself in detention or grounded. You didn't care because you were sure, the slurs thrown at him hurt a lot more than that.

Your gloved hands almost threw the helmet from you, as well as the damn things covering them, when your nervously clumsy hands failed to unbind the rope from the hooks to take off the cover of your trailer. A pair of tired eyes set in a pale face greeted you and you instantly felt your stomach drop.

The trick with the carpet wouldn't work with this gritty pavement, so ya good old muscles had to wake up for this part of the journey. As you helped the injured man, who was easy and at least a head taller than you, out of the trailer, he put some of his weight on you but you could feel he was hesitant about letting you carry too much. Sure, he was a big guy and as you walked towards the entrance of the building, cloaked in secrecy by the growing darkness of the night and the empty streets (and the fact that neighbours simply didn’t give a shit about what others were doing), a slight burning sensation set itself to start in your legs and arms already, but you were stronger than most people (especially men) thought. “I can take it,” you told Bane with a slight but encouraging huff, shuffling closer to him, positioning more of his arm over your shoulders. Just in the last few moments you had observed with growing concern, that carrying most his own weight, had drained a lot of his remaining energy very fast.

Hesitating one more moment, the tall man tried a pretty gentle approach to literally dropping more weight on your shoulders. Surprised by the fact you did not collapse under him, he was even more surprised as you headed for the elevator in a very steady pace.

You didn't know how you did it. To carry most of that pile of meat that was a (barely alive) man to Izzy's door. It felt like taking you hours, just as the time span between the ringing sound of the doorbell and seeing your friends face seemed to go on an eternity. Time really was relative, man.

A smiling face greeted you and dropped instantly as it recognised the face next to you. Somehow you had seen this reaction coming and had put your combat boot clothed foot into the door. “Please Izzy, I need your help!”, you begged him. You knew he didn't mean to react like that. He had his reasons. “Are you insane? Bringing this man to my friggin' door, Y/N?”, even in situations like these, he couldn't bring himself to swear properly. “The whole city is looking for him! He's a darn terrorist!”, Izzy whisper-shouted which was almost comically, if this all hadn't been greatly tinted with seriousness and urgency. “Then I guess your Hippocratic oath means shit. More like hypocritical if you ask me, dude!”, you hissed back.

For a brief second your soft boy Ishmael's lips twitched to form an amused smile, but before he could compliment you on that comeback, you felt Bane's hands grabbing onto you, as his legs gave up under him and he started slipping out of your grip.

______________________________________________

Tagslist: @markusstraya @scuzmunkie

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youre-in-the-jungle-baby · 5 years

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duzzy 8 please?

8- Reluctantly

Duff had stopped worrying about most of his problems at around 6 o'clock with the help of a bottle of vodka he had tucked under the sink for emergencies. By 10 o’clock, he can’t remember what made him break into his stash in the first place. What he is sure of (for the most part) is that Izzy’s bed is much better than his.

Okay, so maybe not the bed itself, which practically has springs poking through it, but it’s Izzy’s bed.

So really, it’s not a far stretch, even in the state he’s in, that laying in Izzy’s room is arguably much better than his own, or the couch for that matter. He crawls under the blanket, pressing his nose into the pillow, which for some reason smells ten times better than any other dirt covered thing in their fucking house (Izzy always seems to keep everything just a degree cleaner and neater).

At some point he must doze off, only to wake back up at the sound of someone shutting the bedroom door- and he’s momentarily confused as to why Izzy is standing there- before he remembers he’s not in his own bed. Izzy gives him a curious look, and Duff credits it to the fact that he’s still half dressed from the early show they had managed to book today.

He blinks once or twice trying to get his brain to catch up with his body. Izzy cocks his head to the side, landing a calculating gaze on him, “Do I wanna know?”

No, Duff thinks, you probably don’t wanna know why I’m in here, and he’s only fifty percent sure he didn’t say that out loud by the look Izzy gives him. Izzy shrugs and walks over to the bed, sitting down beside him and unlacing a boot. Duff half crawls, half drags himself over to the opposite edge and flops back down against the threadbare sheets. Izzy’s nose screws up when Duff moves closer to lay his head on his lap. After a moment, a reluctant hand pats his hair, not going so far as to really move him, but not enough to invite him to stay.

Duff scoots until he’s half curled around Izzy, “You feel so warm.”

“It’s hot out tonight,” Izzy says, but his tone makes it sound like he could be talking to the wall about it. Duff hums out a response, still enjoying the warmth that seeps through their clothes and into his skin.

“Do you want me to take your bed tonight?” Izzy asks, and Duff can feel his fingers twitch from there still unmoved place against his hair.

“No,” Duff growls and Izzy lets out a bark of laughter.

“Well where do you want me to sleep then?” he asks. Duff wonders for a moment what sort of game they play, the asking, and the waiting. Small questions and careful answers.

“Here,” Duff says, and Izzy’s fingers twitch again. It takes another minute for Izzy to finally move to stand up, and when he does Duff whines, which only serves to earn him a flick in the side from Izzy when he lays back down beside of him. He feels stiff against Duff for a moment, his arms and legs not relaxing even when Duff scoots closer to him, worming his way into the blissful bubble of things that are all so Izzy.

His arms eventually lose their awkwardness, even daring to put an arm around his shoulders so he’s more firmly pressed into his chest. He’s not sure if Izzy ever falls asleep, his own eyes closing too soon.

#izzy writes #duzzy #guns n' roses #idk if i filled the prompt well?#oh well #homework? don't know her.

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wordsablaze · 6 years

Text

(6) At Least The Fatigue Is Real

Stubbornly In Love Magnus and Alec are two beautiful souls that both happen to be in love, heartbroken, and painfully stubborn. An angsty malec fic prompted by this lovely soul, chapter 6-10 done as part of the Malec Big Bang! Enjoy!

A/N: Help out? Posting week is here so I’m back! Mostly thanks to my astonishingly wonderful beta @zeejade88 as she went above and beyond with tolerating me and making everything better <333 Check out the incredible art that @dmsilvisart made, I am honoured to have worked with her for this fic and to have received such magical artwork! <3

It’s a good thing Alec’s tears aren’t the source of rain because otherwise the entire world would be flooding at an alarming rate.

He can’t think past Magnus and how he’d left. Of course, he knows Magnus had only left because Alec had asked, but that doesn’t make it any easier for his heart. There’s a part of him that wishes he could just go back, back to when he didn’t know Magnus and when becoming the head of the Institute was his biggest concern, but he knows that’s impossible no matter how much he wants it not to be.

But, on the other hand, he doesn’t want to think about Magnus right now because he’s having dinner with Maryse in less than a quarter of an hour and the last thing he wants is for her to find out they’ve broken up, which is why he finds himself standing in front of the bathroom mirror and breathing heavily, trying to persuade himself that he’s okay.

“You can do this. No big deal. All you have to do is pretend everything’s fine. You’ve done it before and you can do it again. You can do this.”

His reflection seems unconvinced; he’s tempted to punch the helplessly truthful mirror.

Glaring at himself doesn’t seem to have the same effect as when he glares at others so he gives up on it after another minute, just sighing and running a hand through his hair instead. Almost immediately, he groans, opens the tap, wets his hands, and tries to make himself look like he hadn’t only changed clothes because of this family dinner. Somehow, the whole thing takes ten minutes so he’s only just satisfied with his appearance when Izzy bursts in, radiating concern.

“What if I’d been naked, Izzy?” Alec asks, rolling his eyes at her fearless behaviour.

Izzy scoffs. “I’ve seen much worse than you, get over yourself. Now, if you’re done preening, we have a mother to entertain.”

“I was not preening!” Alec argues as she tugs on his arm, then all but drags him to the front entrance.

Oh no.

Maryse is armed with a bottle of wine and a giddy smile, which can’t be good. The last time she’d turned up in this kind of state, Magnus had been the only one who could keep up with her and coax her away from drinks and towards mindless chatter and rest instead.

“Izzy…” Alec murmurs, his tone saying everything he’d rather not. That and the fact that Izzy seems to have an inbuilt Alec-translator means she perfectly understands what he’s thinking in a heartbeat.

Izzy swallows but blinks away her frown. “We can do this. Come on, where’s that stupid determination of yours? I bet you Clary’s next brownie batch that she’ll hug you first.”

Alec makes a face but then they’re too close to Maryse for him to say anything without being overheard so he plasters a smile onto his face and takes the bottle from her hands. “Hey, Mom.”

“My children!” Maryse smiles brightly before hugging them both in turn, Alec first just as Izzy had predicted, the scent of coconut flooding through the door as she walks through.

“We made stew!” Izzy tells Maryse as they walk towards the room they’d turned into a dining room a couple of weeks back since nobody ever used it for anything else and family time had suddenly become much more common, to everyone’s pleasant surprise.

Not wanting Maryse to reply with something borderline insulting and spark yet another nostalgic debate, Alec adds: “Don’t worry, it’s the new and upgraded version.”

“Oh, thank the angel,” Maryse breathes in relief.

Izzy makes an indignant sound. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad!”

She gets only a hum in reply but, thankfully, they reach the dining room before they can start another argument over the quality of their childhood attempts at cooking. Alec opens the door and lets the other two in before following them, shutting the door behind him to keep away prying eyes or nosy ears.

The first round of stew is accompanied by flickering conversation topics that Alec mostly tunes out. It’s only when they refill their ridiculously small bowls – the size of which is the only reason that they’re having more than one serving in the first place – that things go slightly south.

“So, Alec, how’s Magnus? Busy with a client, I presume?” Maryse asks, a smile on her face that Alec really doesn’t want to sabotage.

Naturally, he does one of the things he’s best at: he keeps pretending. “Yeah, it was an urgent request. In fact, I forgot to tell you, he sends his apologies for not being able to make it.”

Izzy gives him an odd look but doesn’t contradict him, going with it. “Good thing too, he’d probably have stolen bigger bowls with the excuse of being fabulous and gotten us in trouble again.”

“Again?” Maryse echoes, raising an eyebrow and sipping her drink.

It’s not a secret that Alec himself occasionally indulges in and appreciates alcohol but, right now, he couldn’t hate it more. He just really wants to stop talking about Magnus and pretend that this is just another casual dinner rather than the only reason Alec is talking to anybody else in the first place.

“Well, there was that time we had a stray cat problem and, instead of helping relocate them, all Magnus did was magic us some bowls and cat litters,” Izzy says, rolling her eyes and effectively covering for Alec’s internal distress.

Maryse just laughs, throwing her head back as she imagines the scene. Alec offers a small chuckle as Izzy takes the lead in their conversation, the two siblings fully shocked when Maryse starts to tell them her own stories about Magnus. Alec listens with a troubled interest, not sure whether he should listen to the tales of his boyfriend- no, his ex-boyfriend’s adventures after jeopardising their relationship’s ability to fix itself.

Regardless of his ever-growing guilt, he listens and finds himself smiling at the crazy things Magnus has done. It makes him want to go and see Magnus’ mannerisms for himself, to go and build his own stories with Magnus, but, mostly, to just go, go away from this situation and cry in his room again.

“Alec, are you alright?” Maryse asks, apparently finally seeing through his pretence.

He smiles as brightly as he can, not wanting to worry her. “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little tired, it was a long day.” And he’s not exactly lying. It was a long day and he is utterly tired, just not for the reasons Maryse is probably thinking.

“You can say that again,” Izzy says under her breath, smirking a little.

Maryse smiles at him, then waves a hand. “You can go and rest if you need to. It’s been a while since Isabelle and I have had some quality girl talk anyway…”

Izzy genuinely snorts, then covers it up with a cough, but nobody could miss the shine in her eyes at those words. It’s been halfway to forever since they’ve had anything close to girl talk and Alec really wants to be happy for her, he does, but he can’t pull his mind out of the time he’s spent with Magnus. He still smiles, though, yawning to authenticate his fatigue and just about managing a decent wave before he leaves, walking faster than he’d thought he could.

By the time he gets to his room, he’s too tired to change his clothes so he just pulls his socks off – a habit he’d picked up from seeing Magnus remove his socks before bed so many times – and flicks the light he’d left on earlier, off. His happiness, patience, and concentration might have been fabricated but his lack of energy is genuine and even he knows he can’t fake his way out of that one.

“Nnnggghhhhh,” he groans after taking two more steps, promptly flopping onto the mattress face-down; pretending is way more tiring than people can ever know. And if he falls asleep cuddling his pillow as if it’s a certain warlock, well, nobody will ever know that either.

like/reblog but don’t respot, thanks!

#shadowhunters #malec #magnus bane #alec ligthwood #Isabelle Lightwood #Maryse Lightwood #angst #fanfiction #fanfic #malec big bang #sil #my writing #sad alec ligthwood #lightwood family

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malecsecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @inmalecscarvesmeanlove!

Merry Christmas, dear giftee! The time has finally come to receive your present and I hope it is a gift that will make you smile during the holiday season! Hope you have a wonderful time, however you’ll be celebrating! Love & Hugs!, ;-)) X

Read on AO3

*****

'Twas The Morning After Christmas

Cocooned in a warmth that made it hard to leave the bed, Alec squeezed his eyes shut and tried once more to will himself back to sleep. Pulling the covers over his shoulder with his free hand, he burrowed even deeper into the pillows and Magnus, their curled up bodies in contact from head to toe, with a tight clasp of hands anchored to Alec’s chest for good measure. Attempting to regulate his breathing and convince himself that his eyelids felt like lead, he concentrated on trying to match the puffs of air that tickled the back of his neck at regular, slumber-filled intervals but Magnus’ contented breath only served to highlight his own restlessness. With a resigned huff, Alec placed a gentle kiss to the back of his husband’s elegant hand before extricating himself oh-so carefully from his embrace. Madness, right? But his mind was already half-awake and planning the day ahead, even if his body would take a while longer.

Throwing on the furry Dalmatian onesie (complete with leather paws) that Izzy and Simon had given him yesterday for Christmas, he was grateful for it’s insulating properties against the early morning chill as he trotted off to the kitchen, drawing a line at using the hood because, after all, he didn’t want to look stupid. Casting an accusatory look at the unsightly amount of after-party debris that littered, what seemed to be, the entire loft, Alec decided that no restoration work could possibly take place without first restoring himself to full consciousness. And that required strong coffee.

Stopping momentarily in his tracks at the bombsight that greeted him, in what years of living here told him should be the kitchen, Alec was almost tempted to crawl back into bed. Luckily though, his body’s more-important-than-blood craving for caffeine stopped him and he dragged his paws across the floor to the coffee-maker, scraping the silly string from the top of the machine so he could prepare his self-medication. Visually filtering out the worst of the carnage as he fished around for the necessities, Alec hastily spooned in the elixir of life and poured the water, setting the timer to ‘Herculean’ as he tripped his way over to the balcony doors, intent on reaching the only floorspace not covered in party poppers and burst balloons.

Grateful for the fairy lights that still lit up the cosy corner of his retreat, Alec tentatively stepped out, bracing himself against the cool breeze that set his fake fur on end as he threw dignity to the wind and yanked up his hood, droopy ears and all. Leaning his elbows on the balcony wall, the crisp air hit the back of his throat as he inhaled and helped clear the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes as he took in the early morning bustle of the Brooklyn streets below. Still blanketed in a thin cover of grey, the view was quieter than usual but breathtaking nonetheless. Alec assumed he wasn’t the only poor soul in need of recovery from the previous day’s family festivities and he spared a thought of commiseration for all his fellow cleaner-uppers who faced the daunting prospect of a job not even Harvey Keitel would agree to take on. Unless, of course, his darling hubby was sufficiently recovered from his holiday hangover and had the energy to help him out. Remembering the amount of toasts and tipples that had been celebrated last night, he somehow doubted it, but if anyone could withstand the negative effects of too much alcohol, it was Magnus. His beloved imbibed cocktails as naturally as Alec breathed in air, and never looked anything less than fabulous for having done so, he thought with an enviously proud smile. The smug shit.

As if conjured by thought alone, he heard the doors behind him open briefly before two over-sized white paws snuck around his waist and an intimately familiar body moulded itself to his back, providing a much needed layer of warmth.

‘Don’t say it,’ he warned with a shake of his head, long black ears flapping in the cutest way..

‘I thought I spotted you out here, darling,’ Magnus chuckled regardless, ignoring the groan and snuggling in even closer, exaggerating a shiver. ‘It’s freezing out here, Alexander. Why don’t we go back to our cosy bed and lick each other….clean,’ he practically purred, ‘before our little angels rise and shine….hmmm? Six in the morning is an ungodly hour, even for you.’

Alec turned around to apologise but faltered, mouth agape, as he took in the oddly arousing vision of his bare-faced, floppy-haired lover dressed in a black cat onesie with white paws and whiskers that barely pulled focus when compared to the golden eyes that glowed from beneath the silky hood.

That was until said lover started laughing.

‘OK, get it over with,’ Alec muttered with a reluctant grin, as Magnus’ amusement could no longer be contained and he buried his face in Alec’s chest in an attempt to stifle his laughter. Patting his back in sarcastic comfort, Alec rolled his eyes as Magnus emerged, eyes wet, to take a second look, choosing to suffer the humiliation in order to hold him tight.

‘Oh my darling, you even manage to look sexy-cute as a pooch! It must the scruff!’ With that, Magnus launched himself at Alec who kissed him back hungrily, ensuring the weather and coffee were both soon forgotten as they pawed each other clumsily between giggles and gasps, only slowing down when the distant timer let them know the beverage was ready.

With a reluctant groan, Magnus planted a final smacker on his favourite pair of lips before stepping back, tugging Alec with him as they headed back inside, paw-in-paw. Tacitly agreeing to ignore the mess they were walking through, both removed their hoods and hands in order to make their drinks, sipping them as they sprawled on opposite ends of the sofa, legs entwined.

Eyeing each other over the rim of their mugs while enjoying the comfortable silence, Alec found himself declaring, ‘I love you,’ with the dopiest expression on his face, a habit he found impossible to kick when faced with his incredibly handsome husband, and one, for some strange reason, that had rubbed off on Magnus, who returned the sentiment with a look of sappy contentment that never failed to make his pulse jump.

A sudden high pitched squeal from behind the sofa startled them both but Magnus recovered quickly, holding a silencing finger to his lips as they realised its source. Leaning over to quietly place their drinks on the table, both pulled on their hoods and hands before getting to their knees, ready to catch them by surprise.

Mouthing the countdown together, they prepared to go over the top…..3, 2, 1, ‘GOTCHA!’ they yelled…… but their little devils had disappeared. Well, almost. Five chubby blue toes poked out from the gap beneath the sofa until another’s hand quickly pulled them under, leaving Magnus to clamp a hand over his mouth to prevent a give-away laugh. Sharing a look of loving indulgence that every parent would recognise, Alec winked before using a stage whisper to ask, ‘Have you seen Chairman this morning, babe? Because I think we might have one or two mice in the loft.’

Rolling his eyes as he grinned, Magnus played along. ‘Now you mention it, I haven’t, but I bet he’s hiding around here somewhere just waiting to spring into action. Let me look..’

As Chairman’s favourite bell-in-a-ball rolled out, rather conveniently Magnus thought, from their sons’ hiding place, it was Alec’s turn to cover his mouth as a rather large, albeit woolly, hedgehog was forcefully ejected from the same place. The only telltale sign it was really their cat in disguise (thanks to a compromise on Max’s part when Santa had failed to deliver the real hedgehog he’d asked him for) being the disgruntled look he shot them before flouncing off in a manner not unlike that of his owner.

Motioning for Alec to climb over the back as he prepared to cover the front, he speculated aloud, ‘Well if Chairman doesn’t seem willing to catch them then that leaves US!’ With perfect synchronicity they both jumped down to find their mischievous sons huddled together, looks of childish excitement on their adorable faces as they crawled out from their hideout to clamber into their daddies’ laps before collapsing all together on the sofa.

‘Papa, you scared us!’ chortled Max, their four year old baby warlock whose big blue eyes shone with happiness as Magnus tickled his sides.

‘Good because you scared us too! You pair of scallywags were supposed to be asleep in your beds,’ he replied, lifting the wriggling bundle onto his lap as Alec allowed their older son, Rafe, to tickle him instead.

‘Dad’s in love with Papa!’ the dark haired mini shadowhunter teased, bearing an uncanny resemblance to his father as he mimicked him, ‘I love you, kiss, kiss, kissy-face.’ Alec cracked up, unable to help himself as all three members of his family descended on him, covering his face in noisy wet kisses that left him begging for air.

Taking pity on him, Magnus called off their affectionate assault and insisted on them returning to bed for a little while longer, despite the weak sunlight that threatened to spill in through the loft’s windows. ‘Don’t forget we’re meeting friends and family at the dome later for the Boxing Day Bowl ‘n Roll. You’ll need your energy for that,’ he reminded the boys, as an unexpected yawn escaped him.

‘Looks like they’re not the only ones who need more rest before Team Lightwood-Bane show the others who’s boss,’ Alec pointed out, realising the prospect of more sleep suddenly seemed a good idea as he remembered how much energy would be required to keep up with his siblings and their partners, Simon and Maia, neither of which were short of the competitive spirit.

‘Will Madzie be there too?’ Max asked tiredly, as he tucked himself into his papa’s neck.

‘She will, blueberry,’ Magnus replied softly, nodding for Alec to follow him as he carried their youngest to their bedroom instead.

‘Cat too, Dad?’ Rafe mumbled, as he traced a finger down along his father’s neck rune.

‘Cat too, angel,’ Alec confirmed, placing the gentlest of kisses on the mop of dark hair.

Not bothering to change clothes, Magnus snapped his fingers to turn back the covers before he and Alec placed the boys in the centre of the bed and climbed in to bracket them, sharing a sleepy smile over their heads as they all settled in.

‘I love you all,’ Magnus whispered, a wave of blue spark drawing the blinds to keep out the sun and hasten their rest.

‘Me too,’ Rafe agreed as his eyes drifted shut.

‘Uh huh,’ managed Max.

Grasping Magnus’ outstretched hand which lay across their cherished children, Alec blew his husband a kiss before closing his eyes too.

‘I love you all too. Merry Christmas, my boys.’

Even Chairman thought their smiles looked cute as he settled along the pillows a short while later.

#inmalecscarvesmeanlove #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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immoralrpg-blog · 7 years

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Congratulations, IZZY, you have been accepted for the role of REGULUS BLACK, with the faceclaim of MAX SCHNEIDER. Regulus’ struggles with abandonment and indecision make his story a heartbreaking one, and you certainly captured that tragic edge (with a hint of sweet redemption). Your portrayal certainly makes me yearn for any future interactions between Regulus and Sirius! A job well done. Please head along to the CHECKLIST for your next steps.

CHARACTER NAME: Regulus Black GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis male, he/him FACECLAIM: max schneider, nick robinson, thomas doherty BIOGRAPHY:

Growing up as the youngest child of the noble house of Black was a position that few would desire, especially not if they knew the first thing about the family. Love was not half as important as loyalty and anything less than pureblood perfection meant rejection and abandonment. In a different family, perhaps Regulus’ kind and naïve nature could have been shaped into something beautiful. But with his parents’ hands wrapped around his heart before he got the chance to think for himself, there was little room for choice. He learned to love the things they obsessed over, learned to idolize the man they held as a paragon of all good things.

Their approval was addictive for all of his life, though it only became more so when Sirius became a traitor to the house of Black. The rage Walburga and Orion felt at the betrayal of their son was mirrored in Regulus and he embraced it, falling into perfect step behind the rest of his beloved family—the ones who hadn’t traded loyalty for rebellion. At first, the position as the favorite child seemed to fit him like a tailored suit, settling comfortably around shoulders that didn’t know the burden they had yet to bear.

Regulus was born to be perfect. Of course, the same could be said for anyone born to the noble house of Black, but being the only loyal son didn’t leave any room for failure. When he was young and burning with naïveté—that’s not to say there’s not still soft gullibility rattling around inside him, begging for some new hope to attach itself to—he thought perhaps being the heir to the Black crown would be an honor. How could Sirius give it up? How could he not crave the saccharine pride that dripped from their parents mouths, the way they smile in family portraits with their favorite son?

But there are lessons in this world that you learn like the feeling of a torn throat and real cost of perfection was the hardest lesson he was ever to learn. If he’d known that his parents’ love came at the cost of gutting his morals and spending his teenage years trying to scrub the red from beneath his fingernails, maybe he would have known enough to run with Sirius. If he’d known the feeling of rot and regret when he was a kid with a head full of stories of power and purity, maybe the inside of his left arm wouldn’t ache like a knife buried in raw flesh. Maybe rebellion and discernment truly was preferable to discovering the rust on his family’s gilded cage.

With his life pledged to the Dark Lord, however, there was no turning back. He’d taken the dark mark, he’d sworn to serve until his body gave out and, unlike his brother, he didn’t have the bravery to become a turncoat. Then again, as terrifying as the wrath of Walburga Black was, it was a walk in the park compared to what the Dark Lord would do to him. Regulus wasn’t facing being burned from the family tapestry or a life without those he was so desperate to please; he was facing certain death and, even as bold as he pretended to be, he couldn’t brush that off.

Perhaps it was what he deserved. He wasn’t innocent, not anymore. There was no court that would excuse his crimes and he had no illusions that there would be anyone to welcome him if he fled. Even if he could put aside his resentment of the brother that had left him to crumble under the weight of their parents’ demands, he doubted there was enough love left for him to find any kind of refuge. He was in the middle of the ocean with no boat and no life vest and there was a part of him that was sure he deserved to drown.

QUESTIONAIRE

your family life. how’s it like?

A laugh rolls out of Regulus and there’s a sharpness underneath it that could be mistaken for typical unkind demeanor that tends to be present in people like him. He sounds like he fits in with the Death Eaters—like he can match their vitriol and violence without regret—but the reality is that the thorns in his voice are only drawing his own blood. “I’m a Black,” he says, as if that answers the question. A few moments pass with silence on both ends and he sighs, shifting in his seat and tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. The anxiety is easily mistaken for impatience and he’s grateful for it.

“Other than my traitor brother abandoning us, we’re fantastic. Guess we’re better off without him. Wouldn’t want someone like him dragging the family down.” It’s easy to hate Sirius; he’s been doing it as long as his parents have, even if it rings more than a little hollow as the years stretch on. “We’re proud purebloods with the power and money to match. What more could anyone want?”

why were you sorted into your house? do you think you belong there?

Slytherin robes are a sense of pride for him, though sometimes they feel more like a lifeline. They’re a reminder that, even with all his doubt, he’s still who his parents want him to be. He’s not the rebel failure that Sirius is, dressed up in red and gold and roaring his treachery like the lion he is. Besides, it’s where all his friends are and he’s not so sure what he’d do without them; probably make better choices, truthfully.

So, full of that familiar inherited pride, Regulus scoffs. “I was sorted into Slytherin because I’m pureblood and powerful and the Sorting Hat knew I belonged with the best witches and wizards in Hogwarts.” It fits for more than just the family resemblance, the cunning determination he harbors settling just beneath the surface. It’ll show itself someday in a way he can’t yet know, but for now he just embraces the people he loves and the loyalty he values so highly.

worst moment of your life?

Regulus loves his brother. When all the anger and resentment is peeled away, Sirius is still his big brother. He would have followed him to hell and back; the only place he couldn’t follow him was away from their family. So when years of rebellion and arguments finally reached their peak and he was forced to choose, he picked loyalty. He stood by his parents, even as he watched Sirius pack his bags and storm out the door. He stood there, silent and complacent and hurting as he watched their mother burn his brother from the family tree.

Sirius was dead to them.

Maybe that’s why it still feels like grief whenever he sees his brother in the hallways, laughing and joking and looking like a king in his red and gold robes. If he still had Sirius, he’d have someone to talk to and confide in. Maybe it would be enough to save him from the choice he has to make now. Regulus wonders sometimes if it would have been easier to die with him than to live in the hole he left behind.

Quieter than before, he finally speaks. “When Sirius betrayed us.” It isn’t the betrayal that hurts. It’s the abandonment. It’s the loneliness. It’s the pressure. It’s the fear that he made the wrong choice when he watched him walk out that door.

#accepted #regulus black

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