#the serpent gates series

[lucklessrat]

Has anyone read The Unspoken Name by A. K. Larkwood? I read it a year ago and I loved it so much that I made it my pick for a bookclub I have with my friends. Definitely due for a re-read. Talasseres Charossa has my whole entire heart so I did some quick sketches of him (how i picture him, anyway. Lol) If you liked Gideon the Ninth/The Locked Tomb series, definitely check it out.

[mistninja]

me @ myself: nooo dont get into another niche fantasy series ha ha your so sexy

[kingcriccket]

Btw NOT to still be posting abt the unspoken name but Tal's room in Sethennai's mansion being basically a guest room. Him tucking away every part of himself that is not appealing to his boss/lover. Just a mirror and some cologne and some knives on the wall. No decorations, nothing personal. He is a beautiful object and an amusement and a weapon and that's all Sethannai looks to him for so that's all Tal makes the space for. You know.

[midnightliar]

my favorite running joke in the serpent gates is that no matter whose pov it is, oranna is hot, and it makes everyone SO mad

[the--days]

So Sweet (To Lose A Friend)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Relationships: Csorwe/Shuthmili, Talasseres & Csorwe

Characters: Csorwe, Talasseres, Shuthmili

Summary: At the end of their respective ropes, the trio meets back up, and decides to work together again.

Read it on Ao3

-------

On the gray, decaying corpse of an alien world, Talessares Charossa sits down, and unpacks his bag, and eats a sandwich.

The wax-paper wrapping has come undone, a little, at one corner, and some of the dead planet's endless, silvery sand has gotten in, and stuck to the ham. 

"Yeah," Tal mutters. "That's about fucking right."

He takes a glum bite, planetary corpse-dust crunching between his molars.

His feet are blistered, probably to blood; best not to take his boots off to check. 

This was supposed to be a big score– he'd needed it to be a big score. An unplundered temple to some forgotten god, carved into the open mouth of an ancient, cold volcano, on a backwater planet through a backwater gate in this backwater corner of the Echo Maze.

Tal looks up, again, to where an incongruous piece of that selfsame Maze has broken its way through the planet's crumbling sky, and taken an enormous, temple-eradicating bite out of the volcano he had come here to plunder. 

The Maze-sky shifts, through the hole in the planet: green, then dusty red, then black and streaked with shooting stars. The strange geometry of it folds and unfolds, an impossible optical illusion; peaks and staircases and corridors looping and disintegrating and looping again. Taking slow, inevitable chunks out of the world.

Tal sighs, and looks away, and takes another bite of his sandwich. 

It seems incredible- improbable, really- that things kept going so spectacularly wrong without Csorwe there to screw them up for him. Some sort of– scientific curiosity, or something. A genuine phenomenon. He should call that creepy mage of Csorwe's in to study it, for him.

The thought of the two of them- probably off frolicking somewhere having the time of their damn lives- makes Tal grimace. He drops the sandwich, no longer hungry.

He'll probably regret the loss, later, but– fuck it. No point sitting around here getting sand in his teeth on some dead-end planet when he can be sitting around drinking algae-beer on a dead-end station, instead.

Talessares shoulders his bag, and walks away.

Behind him, bite by bite, the Maze chews the planet down to its rind.

-------

It always amazes Csorwe how little things decay, on dead worlds like this. Shuthmili had explained it to her, once: no maggots, no fungi. Nothing living left to eat the dead. 

Things had died, on Oshar. But they had rotted, too, and withered, and been eaten by insects; nothing lasts, desolation is its watchword , all the dry, rotting old words of the dry, rotting old priests of the Unspoken Name.

But the desolation of these ruined worlds is slower, and altogether less full of insects. And so the corpse that comes, shambling, to claw Csorwe's eyes out is in quite good shape, really, as far as hundred-year-old mummies go.

Its hand- tendons and muscles and flexors all intact, nails sharp and strong and yellow as bone- goes to pieces on the blade of Csorwe’s sword, shredding apart, and the corpse; with a flat, unsurprised expression, falls forward, following momentum, and its grinning, unrotting mouth gapes wide, and and snaps shut on Csorwe’s neck.

She sees, before it closes, a black film, smeared across its teeth.

And then— a shock of pain and revulsion and fear, her sword-arm cramped between her chest and the corpse’s, no room to get leverage. The corpse gnawing , like a dog with a bone. The hot rush of blood.

“Gods’ balls!” Csorwe says, clubbing the corpse across the head- it doesn’t notice- and then, “Shuthmili!”

“Csorwe!” Shuthmili calls, immediate; there is the sound of drumming feet, and then the corpse comes apart into ribbons with the sudden, pressure-change lurch of magic. The revenant even looks a little surprised, at the last, falling away to nothing with his eyes wide, mouth flapping open.

Shuthmili has one hand raised, still, behind the unravelling corpse, the light of triumph in her eyes, power rising off her nearly visible, like steam, like smoke.

Nothing living left to eat the dead – except for us , Csorwe thinks, vicious, victorious, and then: oh, shit , as her knees go watery underneath her, blood soaking already through the collar of her shirt, sliding in hot ribbons down her neck.

Shuthmili lurches forward to catch her, and then nearly goes over herself, not up to Csorwe’s weight. 

“‘m alright,” Csorwe says, steadying herself. Shuthmili makes a doubtful noise.

“There’s a tooth stuck in your neck. And you’re in some danger of bleeding to death.”

“ And ,” Csorwe says, a little distantly, “this was my last clean shirt.”

Shuthmili makes a sound somewhere between amusement and disgust. Her hands, gauntleted, take gentle hold of Csorwe’s neck, one on either side. Her face screws up in concentration; that little line between her eyebrows, the sharp hawk’s focus in her eyes. 

Csorwe looks down at her; lightheaded, fond.

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” Shuthmili says, “or I’m not going to focus on healing you.”

“Sorry.” Csorwe looks away, mouth twitching.

“Put your tendons back together wrong. Tie your jugular into a knot. Very nasty way to die.”

“Sorry!” Csorwe says, fighting now not to laugh, and Shuthmili’s hands- warm through the leather of her gloves- grow warmer still, with magic, and the flesh of Csorwe’s neck knits itself back together.

Csorwe sighs, relieved; but Shuthmili’s hand still lingers, where the wound had been. One thumb moves, slowly, to stroke Csorwe’s jaw. 

“Can I look, now?” 

“You’re terrible,” Shuthmili says, and smiles, and leans up to kiss her. 

Csorwe makes a low, pleased noise in the back of her throat. Raises a hand to thread through Shuthmili’s hair. 

And then, of course, the ground beneath them erupts with the grasping hands of a thousand unquiet dead.

Csorwe- as she is fleeing, again , for her life from an army of revenants- reflects that she, as the onetime servant to a god and the current companion of a master practitioner, is probably fairly close to an expert on divinity. Certainly, she knows a thing or two when it comes to magic, and godhood, and miracles– and the fact that things continue to go so consistently and spectacularly wrong without Tal Charossa around to turn them wrong definitely, in her expert opinion, definitely qualifies as the latter.

-------

On Otter Station there is a tall, handsome Osharu man who grows great hydroponic vats of blue seaweed, harvested from some distant ocean-world that Tal has never heard of.

The grow-tanks take up most of the real estate in his cramped little station bar, and the alchemical lanterns catch and filter through the water, casting bluish shadows across the floor.

Whatever time it is by station reckoning, there isn't anyone out drinking yet. Or drinking still. Whatever. More horrible, fluorescent-blue seaweed wine for him. 

Tal takes a swig of said wine- it truly is terrible, strangely salty - and leans back against the bar, watching the shadows cast by the swaying kelp.

Another dead end job. Another station bar. Tal has ceased to feel sorry for himself (well. For now. Always room to pick it up again later). Instead, only a sort of floating calm. Maybe the influence of the strange, blue light of the bar, dreamlike. More probably the influence of seaweed wine on an empty stomach.

He thinks, without regret, of his rooms at Sethennai’s manor, and apricot spirits, and the bright, clear sun of Tlaanthothe. He takes another sip of seaweed wine.

Notes of brine-shrimp piss , he thinks, in the voice of one of his dreadful, snooty cousins, and smiles to himself, and drinks again.

Out of the corner of Tal’s eye, there is a silver flash of fishscale admidst the seaweed tanks. He turns in time to catch a glimpse of wide, unblinking eyes, a gaping lamprey mouth. 

“Eugh,” Tal says, eloquently, leaning closer to look. 

The fish gapes at him, blank horrible eyes throwing back the alchemical light, gleaming. Teeth gleaming, too.

“Eugh,” says Tal, again.

Behind him, someone says, “it’s ten credits for fried fish.”

And Tal turns, incredulous, to stare up at the Osharu barkeep.

The barkeep’s eyes- richest, deepest yellow-gold- crinkle up in a smile. “If he’s bothering you, I mean. Could cook him up. Stop him staring at you.”

He has a pleasant, stationer accent, friendly and broad. Pleasant arms and shoulders, too. Equally broad.

Tal- who has exactly eleven credits left to his name- grins, and leans an arm on the bar. “Ten credits,” he says. “Why not?”

The barkeep’s name is Odrin. The horrid fish fries up surprisingly light and flaky, with a side of the omnipresent station mealworms. Tal views the mealworms with resignation, and Odrin with interest.

Odrin eyes him back, and pours him another glass of seaweed wine, on the house.

“So,” Tal says. “The fish. Is it like, a threat, or what? ‘don’t start a fight in my bar, I’ve got monsters swimming in the fucking kelp tanks’, or something.”

Odrin laughs, and leans up against the barback, no longer even pretending to work. “It's part of the tank system,” he says, and then, after an embarrassed little pause, “it’s a little boring to most people.”

“Lucky for you I love being bored.” Tal grins. Odrin pours him another drink.

The afternoon- or whatever fucking time it is- slides away from him, after that.

Odrin, after a while, turns the bar sign to closed , and sits up on the counter with his impressive arms crossed over his chest- a little too obviously on purpose, but whatever, Tal isn't going to complain- and a glass of his own horrid blue wine.

The wine, in fairness, grows less horrid the more of it you drink. 

“-and helps with the nitrogen levels,” Odrin is saying. He wobbles a little as he turns to pour himself another drink, and gestures to pour one for Tal, too.

Tal holds out his glass. “And that’s important,” he says. “Nitrogen, or whatever.”

Odrin has been explaining his hydroponic system for maybe half an hour, now. He’s excited about it, which is sweet, and says words like denitrification and pisciculture without pause even as he grows unsteady on his feet, and he leans in obviously close when he refills Tal’s glass– the solid heat of him, something almost charming in that he seems to think he’s being sly.

And– well. Tal wasn’t expecting to have to pretend to be interested in fish-and-seaweed farming when he first started eying the bartender, but whatever. He has a lot of years of practice nodding along while smart, good-looking men explain shit to him.

He pauses, over the thought, grimacing. The next swallow of wine goes down sour.

Fuck him, anyway , Tal thinks, trying to mean it. Meaning it. Trying to mean it. He probably hasn’t spared you a single fucking thought since you left, he doesn't get to ruin this.

But– oh. Sethennai’s claws had been sunk too deep into Tal for too long not to leave a mark when they tore free.

Something must show on his face. Odrin frowns, trailing off in the middle of some explanation about oxygen levels. He puts a broad, warm hand on Tal’s arm. “Alright there, Talessares?” He says, and his voice is deep and pleasant, and his hand is strong, and Tal could lean across the bar just now and kiss him, and it would be–

“Yeah,” Tal says, mouth still bile-sour. “Fine.”

There is a pause. The hydroponic tanks burble . A fish passes briefly into view, monstrous and hideous and strange.

“Maybe,” Odrin says, “We should call it a night.”

No, Tal wants to say, no, fuck you, and fuck him, he doesn't get to cockblock me from halfway across The Maze—

But he does, of course. Sethenai always got to do whatever he wanted, to Tal. And here he is, the thought of him, still lurking over Tal’s shoulder like the world’s tallest, shittiest ghost, and Tal stands, suddenly exhausted.

“Yeah,” he says. “Another night, maybe.”

The horrible part- the really horrible part- is that Odrin walks him back to the junky little cutter he’s been renting, all gentlemanly concern.

Horrible they way he helps Tal inside, and gets him a glass of water, this wretched kindness, and he is very good-looking, really, and charming, and it isn't that Tal doesn't want him, even, it’s–

“Do you need,” Odrin starts to say, and Tal snaps, sharp,

“I got it. Thanks.” Venom and spite in it, and Odrin takes a step back, a brief flash of surprise on his stupid, handsome face.

And then he swallows it, and smiles. Ducks his head a little, acknowledging. “Of course,” he says. “Well. See you around, I hope.”

“Yeah,” says Tal, hating himself over it. “See you around.”

And Odrin gives Tal another horrible, broad, friendly smile as he goes. The door, shutting behind him, closes off all light.

Tal, alone in the close, dark quarters of the cutter, curses, and lets his head thump back against the wall.

-------

Shuthmili gets the ship’s hatch shut just in time; there is a rattle of undead fists against the Mazewood, the scrabble of nails.

Csorwe thinks, distantly, that they’re going to owe the rental company for the scratches.

The alchemical engines hum and then whine, as she throws the ship into high gear from a dead stop. It jerks, shudders. Starts.

Shuthmili, stumbling as the ship judders into motion, half-falls into the co-pilot’s seat, laughing- a little hysterically but who could blame her- as the ship lifts away. Csorwe finds herself laughing, too.

They touch down just on the other side of the Maze Gate, engine still sputtering and complaining, the metal grate popping with the change in temperature.

Csorwe lets the ship idle, making mental note of fuel expenditure, the distance they still have to travel back to the station. The bite in her neck itches , a little; skinned over at the surface, but crawly and hot beneath.

“Well, captain?” Shuthmili swivels in her chair, to look across at Csorwe. “Are we stranded?”

“Yep,” Csorwe says, blandly. “Better get out and start walking.”

Shuthmili eyes her, for a moment, and then laughs. “You really are terrible,” she says, fond. “You know–”

And then she cuts herself off, looking up at Csorwe, still half-smiling, as Csorwe stands to kiss her, again. 

“Got interrupted,” Csorwe says, by way of explanation. “Before.” Shutmili laughs into the base of Csorwe’s neck, her breath ticklish.

Later, they spill their packs out onto the deck of the cutter; the rattle of scroll-cases and ancient bits of pottery and whatever else. Shuthmili winces.

“Sorry,” Csorwe says. “But– hey. Don’t think we broke any of it.”

A centuries old teapot, as if in answer, rolls to face her, the handle cracked off in pieces. 

“Well,” Shuthmili says, “much of it.” That hint of squeamish distaste around the corners of her mouth. Csorwe’s heart goes a little funny, that the two of them can spend a year getting chewed on by corpses and getting in fights and the gods knew what else, and Shuthmili could still find it in her to get squeamish over a chip on an old piece of pottery.

Csorwe hums. “Wouldn’t have sold for much, anyway. Those rich collector types want flash.” She sweeps a piece of the pot- an unlovely and unremarkable grey even before its accident- to the side.

“ Flash.” Shuthmili’s nose wrinkles up with a delicate, scholarly disdain. “There’s not– they weren’t flashy , if our readings are anything to go by, but–”

“Rich fucks aren’t doing the readings. Just want to impress their rich fuck friends.” Csorwe turns an old scroll-case over in her hands; decidedly un -flashy, but remarkably intact, for the ruins they’d dragged it out of. “Good condition. This’ll sell, at least.”

Shuthmili jots this down in their logbook. Makes an irritated noise. “I knew a dozen scholars who would have killed for legible, intact writings this old. Do you have any idea–”

She sighs. Runs her thumb over the surface of another bit of old pottery– just as grey and uninspiring as the pot, but at least intact. 

Csorwe says, “Could get a good price for a full set. We got others?”

“Just this one.” Shuthmili lays it- delicately, almost lovingly- beside the scroll-case. Sighs, again.

“Shuthmili–”

“I know.”

“They aren’t doing anyone any good turning to dust in some old ruin anyway.”

“I know.” She looks down at their logbook. “At least it’s making us rich, right?”

Csorwe laughs. 

They pulled about even, most jobs– she’s looked over that little book at least as much as Shuthmili has. Neat little columns, in her blocky handwriting and Shuthmili’s spidery, scholar’s scrawl. Expenditures and profits, the cost of fuel at different stations, this merchant or that who owed them a discount, or who they owed a debt. Making just enough to refuel and resupply and head away again. 

But she says; “Oh right. Year’s time, we’ll be the ones buying gaudy vases looted out of old castles. Can’t wait.”

Shuthmili smiles, a little; her nose does not unwrinkle. 

Csorwe makes an inquiring noise. “Nothing important. I only– ‘looting’ .” She looks at their little pile of pilfered artefacts.

“Well. We are .”

“I know.” But there’s something in her tone.

Csorwe scoots to sit next to her. “Suppose we could start killing people instead. Payout’s better.” Their skill sets didn’t lend themselves to many other options. 

Suthmili laughs. Does not lean into Csorwe’s side; Csorwe doubles down.

“Meet up with the Boars. They’re always looking for good healers.”

“I’m really better at taking things apart.”

“Always looking for people who are good at that, too.”

Shuthmili does lean into Csorwe, now; warm in the cool dryness of the Maze. Laughs, a little less bitterly. “You just like the haircut.”

“Mm. It’s a consideration.” 

The silence sits, just for a while. Their little ship pops as the engine cools; familiar sounds. Csorwe itches at her neck, absently, the skin barely even raised, where the wound had been.

After a moment, Shuthmili turns back to their haul. “Better get the rest of these sorted. I’d rather not sleep on the ship tonight.”

Csorwe hums. Turns back to the work without comment. The world is quiet, except the noises of the both of them working, together, without the need for words.

-------

When Tal wakes up, the inside of his mouth tastes distinctly like Seaweed Wine. Actually, the whole fucking inside of his head tastes like it, filmed over and foul. He spends the first, productive minutes of his day with his head slumped against the ship’s mirror, a circle of fog spreading and melting with his breath. 

He runs his tongue across his teeth. His breath smells like one of those ghastly fish has crawled into his mouth to die. Somewhere in his stomach, things begin to churn– and churn more.

He peels himself off of the window just in time to make it out the door and puke over the side of the ship, retching up a horrible, blueish bile. 

A dockworker looks up at him with a flat, uncaring regard that is somehow worse than sneering. Tal wipes his mouth and- with the other hand- flips the guy off. 

Later, he stands over his maps with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, brushing as looks. 

Mysteriously, just staring at the maps does not conjure up another job for him to do– or even a better place to wait around for work to show up.

Tal grunts. Fine then; he isn’t above stealing. But he likes Otter Station. The map, with its healthy stock of little hand-drawn Xs, remind him just how many towns he’s already burned. A cluster of you owe a debt here and you pissed off the guards here , scattered across the Maze and the worlds beyond.

Not that he would get caught, necessarily- he really is pretty fucking good at his job, whatever current circumstances have to say about it- but something in him rebels, a little, against the idea of adding another little X next to Otter. Privately, also, at the idea of that Osharu man- O-whatever-his-name-was- seeing him on a wanted poster, or watching him get hauled off by whatever jumped-up thugs enforced the peace on Otter. 

Tal’s eyes unfocus, the lines of his maze-map blurring into green and meaningless squiggles. 

Odrin . He’d been called Odrin. His hands had been broad, and warm. He’d had a nice smile.

“Fuck it.” Tal pulls his hands away. The maps, without their weight, curl back on themselves, like the legs of some dead insect. 

He could figure things out on the way.

-------

Lamprey station is fit for its name; a sharp and jawless spiral of buildings, set into the open mouth of a crater. The jagged roofs of houses loom up out of the dark, visible first as maze-shine on the tin; a dizzy, kaleidoscopic swirl, reflecting the green-red-black-yellow shifting of the unnatural sky.

Shuthmili stands up on the rail of their cutter, and watches eagerly as they descend into the station’s mouth. She is saying something about the crater; how it might have formed, out here in the dark, with no seismic activity or meteors to speak of, the unchanging un-weather of the Maze.

Csorwe, at the helm, sweats through her shirt. The bite-mark on her neck- faded to a silvery crescent- is searing-hot to the touch, like steel left out in the Tlaanthothe sun.

Shuthmili says, “–old theories about The Maze incorporating parts of the worlds it consumes–” and Csorwe sinks to the deck with a really rather anticlimactic thud , going to her knees before she collapses properly, one hand rising up to cover the wound.

Shuthmili whips around, at the noise. The ship’s engine hums against gravity. The teeth of Lamprey Station grow closer, with no one to steer them clear.

“Csorwe!” Shuthmili takes a lurching step, reaching; there is the automatic, metal-smell of magic, rising to her call.

“Land us first,” Csorwe says, and then passes out, which is really a convenient way to win an argument, if you can manage it.

The next stretch of time skips by in blips and stretches, smearing away. A series of flashes:

There are Shuthmili’s hands, cool against Csorwe’s fevered skin. She is saying something under her breath; an incantation, or a prayer.

There is a conversation with the dockhands that lasts far too long; Csorwe, draped half-unconscious on Shuthmili’s shoulder, is in no state to barter. Somewhere in her foggy mind, she registers being charged a truly outrageous price for docking, opens her mouth to protest, and then does not remember the next few hours.

There is a close, dismal hostel room, and Shuthmili knelt over Csorwe on the single bed. Csorwe says, “M’neck–” and Shuthmili makes a despairing noise, breath hissing out between her teeth. The heat of her, pressed against Csorwe’s stomach, is unbearable. Hurt and disoriented, Csorwe reaches out to pull her closer, anyway.

There is a knife, reopening the wound. A rotting, infection -smell that Csorwe is glad she’s half-unconscious for. The hot, sluicing pain of healing magic, deep healing magic, and Shuthmili’s still-bare hands pressed to Csorwe’s chest, her throat.

“The gloves,” Csorwe says, and then passes out again; not a bad way to lose an argument, either. The last thing she sees, before slipping into the dark, is Shuthmili’s face all twisted up in worry, inches from her own.

-------

“Fuck me.”

The engine of Tal’s rented cutter skips and pops as it burns through the last dregs of fuel. 

There is an ozone-smell, sharply alchemical. The ship drifts to a stop, sinking by degrees to the Maze’s floor.

“Absolutely,” Tal says, “absolutely, positively fuck me.”

He pulls up, hard, on the ship’s wheel. The engine gives an embarrassed little cough , and does not otherwise respond to his direction.

Stupid junkyard piece of shit scrap -heap of a fucking cutter. Tal kicks the captain's chair. 

This does not help, either, but is at least very satisfying. 

On the horizon, the lights of a station glitter; the distant starbursts of alchemical lanterns, jagged peaks of the roofs just visible over the lip of a crater.

“Couldn’t hold out another goddamned hour?” He asks the ship. It makes a sleepy creaking-noise, the wood shrinking as it cools. 

The sky turns black, overhead, false strange Maze-night plunging the cutter into momentary darkness. Tal stands at the ship's rail, watching the distant glimmer of the lights.

He’ll start moving— he’ll start moving again in just a fucking second.

The shadow above him shifts, slightly.

Tal looks up.

Stamped against the sky of the Maze, a great hulking tow-ship looms above him. Tal puts his head in his hands, and groans.

Later, his cutter hitched up, and the big tow-barge groaning as it gets back underway, Tal sits in the captain's cabin, trying not to breathe. It is- like most ship cabins- cramped and airless, and consequently absolutely drowning in the smell of her cheap cologne.

Tal fights the urge to cough. He’s been in dust-storms with more breathable air.

The captain- a broad woman who had introduced herself as Rothar - leans forward onto her desk, grinning. “Now then. Can I offer you a drink?”

Tal only just resists the urge to lean back; that’s what the big fucker wanted. And Tal’s better than this goon even on a worse day than this. If the woman wanted a nosefull of his seaweed-breath, more power to her. 

“Think I’m good, thanks.”

Not seeing her desired effect, Rothar leans back again, smile falling away a little. “Just trying to be hospitable.”

“Yeah, very fucking hospitable,” Tal says, in what is almost certainly a ruder tone than he should be taking. “And picking up my ship; I’m guessing that’s hospitality too?”

Rothar spreads her hands. “I’m a generous woman.”

“Cute,” Tal says. “What’s the generosity gonna run me?”

“Well, nothing sir, of course. We’re just some good samaritans, helping a fellow out of a jam. That isn’t a crime, last I checked.” She sits back. “Now, if you wanted to pay the favour forward, outta the goodness of your heart—”

Tal puts his head in his hands. “Listen. I’ve fucking run this scam. And I’m actually really, still, incredibly hungover. So if you wouldn't mind just giving me a price—”

The captain laughs, startled. “Gods, you’re a nasty piece of work.”

“Yeah,” Tal says. “Pretty much.”

There is a pause. The air fucking reeks.

The captain says, “Well. Of course it’s illegal to charge anything. Extortion under duress, they call it. But if you care to make a donation— ”

“Sure. How’s this.” Tal digs his last grimy credit out of his pocket. Sets it on the desk with a clack .

“Oh.” The captain's grin is wide, and hungry. “I’m sure you can find more than that. Check between the couch cushions, all that.” 

Tal looks at her. 

“Or we could leave you here.” Behind her, a grimy window gives a wide view of the echo maze. They've drifted, in the course of talking, farther away from the station, so not even its lights are visible. Impossible to even know what direction it’s in. “Your call, of course, sir.”

Tal rubs the bridge of his nose. Fuck. This had better be the station with those flatbreads. 

-------

Csorwe sleeps through the departure date for their next job. Comes-to, groggy and disoriented, in the dim hostel-room, with only foggy memories of the journey there.

Her shirt is wet with sweat; soaked , like she’d been caught out in the rain. The sheets are dark with it; and by the smell, she isn’t the first to have sweated through them, and they hadn’t been washed since the last.

“Shuthmili?” She blinks around in the dark. Pats the bed, beside her; empty. “Shuthmili?”

There is a groan. Csorwe scrubs the crust out of her eyes; the dark lump in the corner of the room resolves into an armchair, with a very wrung-out mage curled buglike on the seat, knees drawn up to her chest.

Her teeth chatter, in that terrible, overtaxed way. “You’re awake.”

“You’re–” Csorwe groans, too, sitting up, one hand going to her neck. The wound is sealed, again, in a more jagged line. The skin is raised beneath her fingers, but not feverish. “Incredible as always. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shuthmili says, eyes frighteningly wide, pupils dark and huge.

“You eaten?”

Shuthmili shakes her head. There is something hungry and primal in her face, her posture; like an ambush predator, watching its prey creep slowly closer.

“Canteen,” Csorwe suggests. Shuthmili nods. Stands, waveringly, and when Csorwe lunges to help she wobbles, too, knees gone to water.

“What the fuck ,” she offers, stumbling, and the two of them catch each other, lurching drunkenly for a moment before- perilously- they stablizie. 

“Bacteria,” Shuthmili supplies, briefly, as they drag each other towards the door. “From the– revenant. Apparently just dormant, not dead. Waiting for a living host to–”

“Eugh,” Csorwe says, not terribly wanting to know more.Shuthmili makes a noise of agreement. Her whole body is shivering; there is just a hint of ichor at her left nostril, crusted black. Csorwe puts a hand to her cheek; clammy. “You pushed too far,” she says.

Shutmili pushes the door open, with her free hand. The alchemical lamps of Lamprey’s lower rungs burn phosphorus and painful into Csorwe’s eyes; she blinks hard, adjusting to the change in light.

“Nothing a little vat food can’t fix,” Shutmili says, voice ragged between the bouts of shivers.

And there is nothing to do for it, except to limp their sorry asses off to the canteen, and hope this is the one with those fried flatbreads; Csorwe can never remember if that’s Lamprey or Moray.

-------

Lamprey’s canteen is a terrible place to be hungry. There is the chemical smell of reheated vat-food; algae and preservatives and insect-protein. Fry-oil. Salt. 

Tal hasn't eaten since the fish the night before; his stomach growls. He keeps vigilant watch, an eager eye out for someone to leave a meal at their table, unfinished. Not dignified, but he'd left his pride so far behind at this point he wouldn't know it if he passed it in the street.

Someone gets up to dump a useless, empty tray. Tal looks for a more likely target—

And Csorwe looks back at him across the distance; her eyes that same bright, ugly yellow, her face still puckered up around the old scar.

She looks, Tal is pleased to note, at least as much like shit as he does, a queasy green tinge to her grey skin, sweat stains dark down the back of her shirt. That creepy mage of hers is draped over her shoulder, like usual, jittery and strung-out in exactly the way you might expect someone about to be possessed by a big giant creepy dragon god to be, ichor dark at the base of one nostril. 

She meets his eyes, too, pale with surprise. The unlovely light of the canteen pours out over them all, an unflattering, alchemical green.

Ghosts out of the past, the both of them, drifting up from the day Csorwe had asked Tal to run a spear straight through the centre of his life– and Tal had said yes.

A spectre. A haunting.

"Oh," Talessares says, "well. For fucks sake."

“Tal,” Csorwe says, the scar on her lip crinkling as she sneers.

And then- because it’s Tal- things get even worse.

-------

Csorwe is just fishing for the next thing to say, dumb and slow and fuzzy with fever, when a man taps Tal on the shoulder.

Tal jumps, his ears twitching in surprise.

The man says, “Captain Rothar wants a word.”

He’s big, knuckles thick and swollen. Tattoos march up his biceps; tally-marks in dark, straight rows, too many to count.

Tal groans.

Csorwe says, “for fucks sake, Tal, you're in debt to the tow gangs? ”

Tal wheels on her. “Oh, stuff it, ‘ Sorwe . Not all of us have a pet wizard to teleport us back to Station when things go wrong—”

“Well,” Shuthmili says. “I can’t teleport.”

The thug, perhaps feeling a bit neglected, clears his throat. His bicep is as big around as Csorwe’s thigh. “The Captain—” he starts to say.

“Oh, just smash my kneecaps already,” Tal says, in that familiar, sneering drawl. “I don't have the fucking credits.”

Csorwe, sighing, has her knife in her hand before the big guy even registers Tal’s words.

When he does - predictably- he takes an arcing, heavy swing with his fist. It certainly would have knocked Tal on his ass if it connected, but Tal drops under, rolling clear. The thug staggers with momentum, and Csorwe takes advantage, crowding inside his reach with a single, liquid lunge.

He gives a shout of surprise; swiftly stifled, as Csorwe presses the naked blade of her knife to his stomach, huddled close, so no one in the canteen will see. “Why don't you leave that little rat alone? Even payment, for me letting you keep your guts inside you.”

“ Fuck yourself,” the thug says, and uses this opportunity to go in for a headbutt. 

Which is fair enough; it had been most of a bluff. Csorwe isn't terribly interested in killing someone in the middle of Lamprey’s canteen.

She goes twisting away from the blow with a grunt, still unsteady on her feet. Her knife scores a long, straight cut across his stomach, blood spattering away as she pulls clear.

While she rights herself, the thug grunts, Tal aiming a kick at the back of his knee hard enough to break bone. The thug goes staggering away, catching himself in a crouch.

Tal sneers. “You make it too easy.”

Csorwe belts her knife. Drives her elbow, hard, into the side of the man's head, and he goes down like a bag of sand; there's an audible thud, as he hits the ground.

Csorwe looks at Tal, for a moment. He’s barely out of breath. His ears pull back, a little, like an affronted cat’s.

“Well,” he says. “Are you gonna check his pockets, or am I?”

They sit, later, at a corner table, Csorwe's coinpurse heavier than it's been for months.

The inevitable cups of horrible, overstepped Stationer tea steam on the table between them, ignored. They eat in ravenous silence, heads bent to their plates. Csorwe looks up, only once, from her food, to see the thug dragging himself out of the canteen, a snail-trail of blood smeared where he’d first fallen.

“Fuck,” Tal says, “Whatever cook they’ve got here is too good for Lamprey.”

Csorwe- who had been about to express a similar sentiment- puts her flatbread down, instead. It steams on her plate, the greasy, hangover-food smell making her mouth water. Heaped with onions and sour cream and crispy, fatty meat, it really is too good for Station food— even if she chooses not to think too deeply about whatever fat, lazy Maze-vermin had almost certainly gone into the fryer for it. If you chopped the meat up fine enough, it hardly mattered what it came from.

She wipes her hands on her pants. Tal grimaces.

“Suppose I’d better thank you for getting your ass in trouble,” she says. “Again. Paid out well.”

Shuthmili looks up, the feral light having gone out of her eyes. “Oh sure. If we’d known they carried this much cash around, we could have started pissing off loan sharks way sooner. Sharp thinking.”

Tal pulls a face at Shuthmili. Csorwe pulls a face at him.

“Yeah, well, you're welcome,” Tal says. “You’re lucky I decided to share.”

“Share nothing. Guy would have broken your fingers for you.”

Tal shrugs, which is as much concession as could be expected from him. “Kneecaps are more classic,” he says. “Didn't look like he had much of an imagination.”

Csorwe makes a disgusted noise. Too hungry and tired to argue, she turns back to her food.

There is another silence.

Tal says, “You look like shit, by the way."

Csorwe wipes her mouth. “You look worse.” 

He does, actually. His face is sallow, eyes bloodshot. He looks- and smells - like he hasn’t showered in weeks; greasy, unshaven.

He pushes his tray away. “Well. This has been fun.”

“As usual.” Csorwe crosses her arms. Turns to watch the bustle of the foodcourt, not looking at him.

Shuthmili frowns a little. “Talasseres,” she says.

“Shuthmili.” He gives a sarcastic little wave goodbye. “Enjoy whatever fucking wizard adventures you're off to next. Wouldn’t want to keep you from a job.”

“We don’t, actually,” Shuthmili says. “Have a, um. ‘Wizard adventure’, lined up. A job.”

Csorwe looks up at her, startled. “Shuthmili—”

“Well, we don’t!”

Tal shrugs. Picks at some unidentifiable filth gathered under his nails. “Yeah. Well. Me neither, so.” He stands to go. “Better get a fucking move on.”

Csorwe looks up, to watch him go— he meets her eyes, steadily, unmoving.

They watch each other for what feels like a long time. The alchemical lights pop and fizz, overhead.

Eventually, Csorwe- for a reason she can't quite explain- gestures. “Sit back down, Charossa. Not getting anywhere like that.”

Something moves across Tal’s face that Csorwe can’t quite parse. His mouth pulls sideways; not a smile- not for her- but not a sneer, either. “Yeah. I guess not.”

And sighs, and then- dropping her eyes- pushes his chair back. And he sits; they sit, together.

[libraryleopard]

Adult fantasy novel (sequel to The Unspoken Name/series conclusion)

After dying Belthandros Sethennai and stealing his magical gauntlets, Csorwe and Shuthmili have struck out to create a life of their own investigating relics from dead civilizations

When they awaken a dormant power, old gods begin stirring and threaten the fate of the worlds themselves

Lesbian main characters; F/F romance; Black, gay main character; nonbinary side character

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: Queer fantasy, part 1

A note: queer here does not necessarily mean “guarantee of an f/f or m/m ship with a happy ending”, but rather simply a significant presence of queerness. Some of the books feature no romance but has a same gender attracted/trans/a-spectrum lead, or features an m/f relationship with bisexual, trans or aro/ace characters, or simply features a world-building which is heavily queer inclusive in ways that don’t always compare to our own ideas of sexuality and gender. I have however disqualified works where the only queer presence is along the lines of “gay best friend” or a blink and you’ll miss it confirmation that never comes up again.

For queer sci-fi recs, click here! For a masterpost of book rec lists, click here! For more details on the books recommended here, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites!

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez*

AKA the book the killed me. Two boys travel throughout their land with the body of a god as her horrible, horrible children try to hunt them down. It’s hard to explain more than that, but trust me when I say the narrative voice and literary techniques are incredibly unique in how they blend past and present, reality and story, lead and bystander. Truly an experience. Features an m/m romance.

The Unbroken (Magic of the Lost series) by C.L. Clark*

Tourraine, who was stolen as a child and trained as a soldier for the empire that conquered her home, is recruited by Luka, the future leader of the conquering country, to root out a rebellion. A game of twisted loyalties and attraction is soon to develop as the two must decide where their priorities lie: with each other, or with their respective countries and people.

Sing the Four Quarters (Quarters series) by Tanya Huff*

Though a royal by birth, princess Annice renounced her throne to become a bard, a musician who through training can Sing elemental spirits to do their bidding. Ten years later, she goes on the run for two counts of treason, first by imperiling the succession order by becoming pregnant, second by helping her ex, and the father of her child, escape the palace dungeons and a death sentence. Bisexual lead in an f/f relationship. When I first read this book I described it as, and I quote, 'a fucking delight', and I stand by that.

The Unspoken Name (The Serpent Gates duology) by C.L. Clark*

The sort of portal fantasy you get when all the worlds connected by portals are fantasy worlds, and none of them are ours. The portals themselves become simply a part of the worldbuilding that the characters use to travel between fascinating places, and it’s all really cool. It follows Csorwe (lesbian orc assassin whom I love), who grew up in a cult, indoctrinated as a child sacrifice to a god. But on the day she was meant to die, she instead chose to follow a powerful wizard and train to become his loyal servant and sword. Aside from being an excellent fantasy, it’s also a close look at the hard path of unlearning indoctrination and the search for love and validation where you’ll never find it, and learning to live for yourself. Multiple queer leads.

The Jasmine Throne (The Burning Kingdoms series) by Tasha Suri

A princess held captive by her own brother, who wants to see her dead, tries to trick a servant into helping her escape, but with undeniable attraction growing between them and the servant having her own goals of liberation things quickly get complicated, both between them and in the country at large as rebellion and dangerous magic brews. Sapphic romance.

The Priory of the Orange Tree (The Roots of Chaos duology) by Samantha Shannon

Queen Sabran's lineage has protected the country of Inys from dragons for a thousand years, but now the safety of their land is threatened as Sabran is yet to conceive and assassins are closing in. Lady-in-waiting Ead is secretly part of a society of hidden mages, and is using her position to protect her queen. Meanwhile, on the other side of the sea, dragonrider Tané is faced with an impossible choice. The fates of all three are intertwined as they attempt to stop the rise of a great dragon. 800+ page epic fantasy. Sapphic romance.

The Raven and the Reindeer by T. Kingfisher*

Young adult, fairy tale retelling of the Snow Queen. When Gerta's friend Kai is stolen away by the evil Snow Queen, Gerta must depart on a mission to save him. On the way, she encounters, among others, a talking raven and a pretty robber girl who become her allies. Sapphic romance.

The Rise of Kyoshi (Kyoshi duology) by F.C. Yee*

Young adult. Set in the Avatar universe, but aimed at an older audience than the animated series. Though she will one day be one of the most well-known avatars of the land, for now, young Kyoshi is but a humble girl who has yet to find out her true destiny as the bender of all four elements and keeper of balance of her world. When betrayal strikes and a dear friend is lost, Kyoshi goes on the run alongside fiesty firebender Rangi to find out the truth of her destiny and power. Sapphic romance.

Legends & Lattes (Legends & Lattes series) by Travis Baldree

Viv is tired of adventures and bloodshed - now she wants a peaceful life, and decides to go after it by opening a café. But going from warrior to small business owner is easier said than done, especially when Viv's old life comes knocking. Best described as a cozy fantasy, with a largely low-stakes but heartwarming plot and a sapphic romance.

Phoenix Extravagant by Yoon Ha Lee

Gyen Jebi is an artist, but making a living is difficult. When offered a job by the Ministry of Armor to paint the magical sigils that animate their automaton soldiers, they have little choice but to accept. But as Jebi sees the dark depths of the government, especially the shocking source of their magical paint, they must find a way to resist. Perhaps by freeing the Ministry's mighty automaton dragon... Nonbinary main character.

Crier's War by Nina Varela

Young adult. Who says sci-fi has monopoly on robots? In Crier’s War, artificially created automae have defeated and subjugated humans, who live as second class citizens. Young Ayla goes undercover as a servant, meaning to assassinate automae girl and Sovereign’s daughter Crier. This would be easier if the two weren’t quick to develop feelings for each other.

Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky trilogy) by Rebecca Roanhorse

In a pre-columbian inspired world, sea captain Xiala, gifted with an unusual connection to the sea, travels with a mysterious scarred and blind passenger toward a dangerous goal as prophecy heralds the return of a god. Features among others bisexual and nonbinary leads.

The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin*

In a world regularly torn apart by natural disasters, a big one finally strikes and society as we know it falls, leaving people floundering to survive in a post apocalyptic world, its secrets and past to be slowly revealed. We follow a mother as she races through this world to find and save her daughter, stolen away by a father who just murdered their son after having discovered a terrible secret of their family. Does feature multiple queer characters and a main polyam relationship, but DO NOT read this expecting happy queer relationships as this series handles many dark subjects (you should still read it though, it's incredibly good).

In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan*

Young adult. Kids who can walk between our world and a magical one get recruited into a magical school that trains them to be either fighters or diplomats. Our lead decides that fighting is stupid and that he’s going to peacefully solve every conflict ever, all while being the most delightfully obnoxious little brat possible and getting involved in the most bisexual love triangle imaginable. Very good, funny, and heart-felt coming of age story.

Our Bloody Pearl D.N. Bryn

A siren who’s been held captive by a pirate is freed, but too injured to survive on their own as their tail has become paralyzed. Another pirate captain decides to help them out and has to work to win their trust. Fairly fluffy and light on world-building and plot (though there is a bit of a revenge story in there), with a focus on character and recovery. m/nb romance with an asexual love interest.

A Master of Djinn by P. Djélí Clark

Set in an alternate 1910’s steampunk Cairo, where djinn and other creatures live alongside humans. We get to follow an investigator as she races to catch a criminal using a powerful object to control djinn and stir unrest. Fantastically creative and fresh, and also features a buddy cop dynamic between two female leads as well as a sapphic romance.

Black Water Sister by Zen Cho*

As a toddler, Jessamyn Teoh left Malaysia. Now a young adult, she’s broke, closeted, and moving back. There she’s faced with the ghost of her estranged grandmother, Ah Ma, who was a medium and avatar of the deity the Black Water Sister in life. Now she demands Jess' help in exacting revenge against a gang boss that offended her god. Meanwhile, all Jess wants is to get her life back on track.

Heaven Official's Blessing (Heaven Official's Blessing series) by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Once, Xie Lian was the beloved crown prince of a kingdom. Then he rose to godhood at a young age, and was expected to take a step back from his land and his people, but in his inability to do so ended up losing everything. Now, eight hundred years later, Xie Lian has ascended to godhood for a third time, forgotten by mortals and the laughing stock of Heaven. Trying to rebuild his reputation, Xie Lian sets off on a mission, and on it encounters an infamous demon king who inspires fear in all of heaven. M/M romance.

Jane, Unlimited by Kristin Cashore*

Young Adult. Jane is invited by an old acquaintance to an extravagant gala in an island mansion, stranding her among the rich and glamorous. But being surrounded by rich people is the least of Jane’s problems: the mansion is housing secrets, some of them tied to Jane’s own family. The mansion offers her five choices, all of them leading her down different paths and different answers. Jane, Unlimited is a choose-your-own adventure story of sorts, featuring five different endings in five different genres, each more off the wall bonkers than the next. It also features a bisexual main character!

Every Heart a Doorway (Wayward Children series) by Seanan McGuire*

A tumblr favorite, the Wayward Children novellas feature a school open to children who have returned from adventures in other realms and now have trouble adapting back to regular life. Some installments are set in our world, others follow children as they have their otherworldly adventures. The main characters vary between books, but are generally pretty diverse with among others asexual, trans, intersexual and sapphic leads. Both funny and dark, it takes a closer look at the trauma many endure growing up different.

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern*

Surreal and fairy tale-esque, The Starless Sea is stories within a story, following graduate student Zachary as he finds a strange book which, in-between other tales, tells a story from his own childhood. Trying to find out how this came to be, Zachary gets involved with a pink-haired woman and a handsome man who are doing their utmost to protect a strange, otherworldly library available only through magical doors. It’s a book hard to put in words, but which I once described as “romantic without being a romance while stile having a love story at it’s core”, and which can be summed up only as “an Experience”. It’s also quite gay!

Not Even Bones by Rebecca Schaeffer*

Young adult. Nita isn’t a murderer - technically. She just dissects the bodies of supernatural beings her mother brings home and sells for parts on the black market. But when her mother brings home a still living victim, Nita has had enough and frees him. As it turns out, no good deed goes unpunished as Nita is betrayed, her own nature as a supernatural entity outed as she’s kidnapped and placed behind bars. Now she must find a way to escape before she's sold for parts. Features two aroace leads and a queerplatonic relationship, though it isn’t made textual until book 3 and briefly masquerades as a romance, which is pretty hilarious.

The Last Sun (The Tarot Sequence) by K.D. Edwards

Urban fantasy. Rune Saint John is the only survivor of the massacre against the Sun Court years prior. Now he’s been hired by Lady Judgement to find her missing son, Addam. Alongside his companion and bodyguard Brand, Rune goes on to question Addam's family and business contacts all over New Atlantis, island city and home of the Atlanteans after their original home was destroyed by ordinary humans. But the more he digs, the more Rune finds clues that Addam's absence is connected to Rune's own tragic past. M/M romance.

Gossamer Axe by Gael Baudino

Centuries ago in Ireland, Chairiste Ní Cummen was trained in the secrets of music and magic. But her pride was her downfall, trapping her and her lover in the land of the Sidh. Only Chairiste escaped, hoping to one day win her lover's freedom in musical battle with the fairy that holds her captive. Now she is Christa Cruitare, harp teacher in the modern world and all but resigned to her loss. Until she comes across a great new music: heavy metal. Taking one last chance to win her lover's freedom, Christa sets out to gather other skilled musicians and bring them with her in her final battle. Sapphic romance.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool

Pantomime (Micah Grey trilogy) by Laura Lam

Young adult. On the surface, Gene's life is that of a noble debutante. In reality, she has secrets: she's both male and female, and has magical abilities that hasn’t been seen in an age. In the face of a betrayal from her parents, Gene runs away from home, dresses up as a boy, and joins a circus. Intersex main character.

Ghost Walk by Kay Solo

Maaya Sahni can see ghosts, and does her best to survive in her small isolated town by keeping her head down. But when an entire street full of people is spirited away by faceless specters that scares even ghosts, Maaya must find a way to stop the specters. Lesbian main character.

Swordspoint (Riverside series) by Ellen Kushner

In Riverside, duels are the way to settle disputes, and Richard St. Vier is the undisputed master of the sword - at least until a death is met not with awe but with outrage. M/M romance.

[baladric]

some gorgeous queer book series ppl need to be talking about more/at all:

the last binding - freya marske

the serpent's gates - a.k. larkwood

the tithenai chronicles - foz meadows

whatever the fuck everina maxwell is doing

and listen it's not technically a series but alex rowland has another book coming out in the same universe as a taste of gold and iron, and i am so prepared to lose my mind over that

[drconstellation]

First-Order Archangels

Part 1: Maybe You'll Spot An Archangel

GABRIEL: I told you you could ask. However, I am the only First-Order archangel in the room, or, you know, the Universe, so I'm not gonna answer so much. But you feel free to knock yourself out with all the asking.

While I was writing my meta series The Passion Of Jimbriel it became fairly obvious to me there was something more going on between Crowley and Gabriel in S2 than just the numerous pointers to Crowley's pre-fall angel status. They are acting as both parallels and foils to each other, and in places you can swap their characters and get the same story at a different time – and that just opens up a whole new window of context and insight into things. For pre-reading, see this meta from @vidavalor that nicely lists some obvious parallels. It doesn’t mention everything though, so I’m going to discuss parts in more detail.

A foil is a character who contrasts with the protagonist, to highlight or differentiate certain qualities between the characters. Crowley and Gabriel do this because they have come from essentially the same place, and share some story elements, but they still end up in different places.

There is a lengthy original discussion about Crowley's pre-fall angel status here, for pre-reading. It points out the obvious and some not so obvious points that ops have noticed in S2 telling us about Crowley's pre-fall status. Rather than just go through them all again, I'd like to look at some other scenes in S2 that also tell us something about both the similarities and the differences between these two high-powered entities as I go along. In addition, I’ve done a series of posts looking at Gabriel as a shoulder angel (links at the end of post,) because quite often he’s on the demonic left-hand side – which makes sense when you realize he’s a Crowley parallel.

Take the arrival of Gabriel to Whickber St and the bookshop. I’ve already mentioned this parallel story line a couple of times now, but lets look at it again in more detail. It mirrors the opening of S1E1 where the serpent climbs the wall of the Garden of Eden, morphs into a demon and starts to converse with the angel standing on the wall.

Back in the present day, we have a Gabriel, who also tends to present on the sinister-side, walking up to the gate of the present day Garden (the bookshop), which is still guarded by the same angel as it was 6000 years ago, and basically tells Aziraphale he has “fallen.”

How to we know this? It is a reference to the Fall of Man, when Adam and Eve ate the apple the serpent offered them, they suddenly became aware of their nakedness, and hid from God. Gabriel has already upset the love-apple tomato cart on his way to the door of the bookshop, its a sign of the chaos to come.

The fallen angel is not sure of his name, so he prompts with a question…

And asks for shelter under the (reluctant) angel’s wing..

But there is one thing he does know, the one thing that drew him to Aziraphale in the first place:

AZIRAPHALE: Then why did you come to my shop? GABRIEL: I don't know. I just thought I should. You know what it's like when you- when you don't know anything at all, and yet you're totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person?

Later, Aziraphale realizes that he must give Gabriel a new name to hide him – because fallen angels take on a new name, don’t they? Just like Crowley did.

Then we get a confession:

Which is what Crowley loves about Aziraphale as well - that bit of unpredictability, because you know how humour kind of works? It throws the unexpected at you.

Early on in S2 we find out they are both in trouble: first His Royal Smugness, then Our Hero himself. Our view is turned upside down, with the angel made the bad guy and the demon the good guy who needs to win. But both of them are being hunted by Shax.

Then we get one of the early clues pointing to Crowley's high status as an angel:

SHAX: A miracle of enormous power happened last night. The kind of miracle only the mightiest of Archangels could've performed. CROWLEY: Mm? SHAX: Somewhere very close to your friend's bookshop. Are you telling me you don't know what caused it? CROWLEY: How'd you know I didn't do it?

Shax stalks and threatens both of them, sometimes at the same time:

Another parallel Gabriel and Crowley shared in S2 were associating their identity - no, lets rephrase that - "essence" was one description I've seen - with boxes.

Gabriel arrives with a box that strategically covers his front, and quickly tosses it aside once Aziraphale opens the door to the bookshop. It lies forgotten until Gabriel mentions it a while later. Inside it is the fly from Beelzebub - an object from Hell - so it really needs to be 'invited' across the threshold of the bookshop by Aziraphale to be able to enter. The box initially appears to be empty, Once inside, the fly is free to roam. It has a message written on one side of it.

The same goes for the matchbox. Message included.

ah, wot? you say. Yep.

The matchbox represents Crowley, probably in more ways than one, but I'll just go through the stuff relevant to this meta here.

I notice I'm not the only op to connect the line from the Book of Job on the side of the matchbox with Crowley. The line is from Verse 41, which talks about Leviathan. Among the various shapes it is described to take is a great sea serpent. This deserves its own meta for further discussion, which I plan to do after this one, because yes, Crowley is Leviathan in disguise, but there is much more to it than that. But for now, just know that the matchbox is Crowley.

Once you know this, it makes sense that Muriel finds it - a discarded cardboard box by the front door to Heaven - and deals with a material object that shouldn't by rights exist in Heaven. Then a certain demon finds Muriel lurking outside during the siege on the bookshop at the end of S2E5, and talks them into letting the certain demon be escorted up into Heaven where he doesn't belong, where he's free to roam around - only he needs a guide because he's not sure where to go. Ah Muriel, you poke the Serpent, he's going to poke you back. Good thing he likes you, and it just was a gentle nudge.

Two empty boxes, two cases of memory-loss. That is what S2 seems to suggest to us at first glance.

Gabriel's seems to be the most straight forward in hindsight - find the fly and restore Gabriel to his original "Gabriel-ness." But its more complicated than that. When pushed to remember, his lilac eyes return and another voice can be heard speaking through him of the past. This happens twice, with the second one being part-prophecy. What is really triggering these episodes of channeling? Is it God or someone else speaking through him? We really aren't sure at this point in time.

Then there are questions around Crowley's memory. Did he have his memory wiped when he fell? Was it wiped repeatedly? Was it not wiped at all, and he just pretends he doesn't remember? Neil has even said he is an unreliable narrator about his own Fall, so who are we to trust at this point? Crowley does seem to understand in the end some of the problems Gabriel is having with his absent memories and that brings them to a temporary truce.

Both Aziraphale and Michael inspect their respective "empty" boxes, and neither notices anything obviously amiss. Gabriel's box just seems empty to Aziraphale, he takes no notice of the fly container in there, and archangel Michael tentatively inspects the matchbox brought to them by Muriel but nothing seems out of place there either.

Crowley's change in costume in Heaven during his little infiltration caper with Muriel is also another clue to his past status as an archangel. He has a silvery-gray suit, similar in style to Saraqael's to reinforce the link with them, but at the same time he is also mocking the other archangels and their elite status. We've assumed for a while now that the appearance of the tactical turtleneck signals that Crowley is up to something sneaky or spy related, but I'm starting to think it also relates to a bit of a power play (and Crowley certainly laid the power on for Mr Brown in the pub!) Looking back at S1, Gabriel's not adverse to wearing one either when he needs to be at his worst (or best. Your choice.)

The way one dresses is a way of expressing and reinforcing authority, and its something both Gabriel and Crowley do without much thought. They have been used to being in a position of power and/or independent authority for much of their existence, and I would say that even if Crowley is a few steps down now from where he started, and he's more cautious around those higher ranking than him than he used to be, he still retains that knowledge of what its like to be at the top.

Crowley's usual near all-black costume is a form of power dressing in itself. Whether is was in the past, when black was an expensive color to buy and maintain in clothing, or in the present day, we are still respectful of those in a stylish cut of black.

Gabriel's impeccable tailoring as Supreme Archangel also commands respect. So it's no wonder that one of Gabriel's first requests on regaining his memories was to ask for new clothes! He wasn't just being the vain archangel we believe him to be (although, I think there is still some of that) you also need to consider the elements of the reference characters that went into his shop assistant character: Granville, the belittled shop assistant nephew from the sitcom Open All Hours, who got stuck with all the shop duties from his uncle and felt like life was passing him by, and the silly Monty Python gumbies, that complained of hurting brains - lovable and much loved characters, but not ones you'd really want to be forever. We all want to be loved, but we want to be respected as well.

For all his fierce posturing around Gabriel, there is a brief moment in S2E3 where Crowley backs down and treats Gabriel as an equal - and that is reflected in a change of dress as well. His outside jacket off and sleeve-garters on, Crowley sports a look we haven't seen since S1 when he was home alone in his Mayfair flat. He patiently explains gravity to a curious Gabriel and then describes his "Operation Lovebirds" plan to his puzzled companion. He admits he hasn't "done weather in ages." It's just a quiet, charming moment, watching two ex-archangels get along together.

You're smiling, aren't you?

This meta continues in Part 2: Foils of War, where the differences between Gabriel and Crowley get explored in more detail, and how Aziraphale and Beelzebub act as mirrors to each other a few times as well.

This meta is part of a series on Gabriel: Gabriel as a Shoulder Angel: S1 Study S2 Study Part 1: Ep.1 The Arrival and Ep. 2 The Clue S2 Study Part 2: Ep.3 I Know Where I'm Going and Ep. 5 The Ball S2 Study Part 3: Ep.6 Every Day

First-Order Archangels Part 2: Foils of War

First-Order Archangels Part 3: Seeing Eye to Eye

[xhoneygirlxx]

Still Adore You (With Your Hand Around My Neck)

Epilogue: Destroy Myself

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: this is the beginning of the end. the start of a chaotic relationship you just can't seem to leave.

warnings: Eddie and Reader are in their 20s. Modern Au! kind of mean Eddie. rated R for smut, 18+ only Minors DNI!! unprotected p in v. cream pie. swearing. shitty writing and grammar errors.

*if i miss anything let me know*

a/n: hello my loves! this is part one to my still adore you series! i hope you guys like it as much as i do. thank you all for the love and support you've given me, i love you all so much <3

Also if you are an ageless/faceless blog you will be blocked. please have something on your profile so I know you are not a minor and are not a bot.

series masterlist

I pray my salvation makes it to the pearly gates,

Bring the suffering that I face,

All the things that I face,

Destroy myself just to wait for you.

When God created the Earth, he picked two of his children to live amongst the paradise he built to be our parents - Adam and Eve. The Garden of Eden was beautiful, a place like no other. The only rule that God gave was for them to not eat from the one tree, the tree of knowledge of right and wrong, good and evil.

They had plenty of other trees to eat from, other fruits to feast on, but when the serpent came speaking words of temptation, Eve gave into him and took a bite from the forbidden fruit, Adam would soon follow after her.

Because of the rule was broken and they went against God, they were banished forever and were cursed with the pain of mortality. Their children and their children's children would face pain and sorrow, hurt and sickness, and ultimately death.

Like Eve, you gave into temptation as well, the warnings you received and how you ignored them all for the name of love. From the very first time you met Eddie Munson warning signs flashed, blinding you with the bright lights. Caution tape blocked you from crossing that line but you inevitably ignored it, ducting under it and continuing on your way.

You walked straight into the line of fire for the promise of nirvana, for just a taste of the sweetness of his love. For the longest time you thought Eve was stupid for falling for the devil's tricks but when he came to you with the prettiest brown eyes and lips that you wanted to kiss for hours, you finally understood.

Dying by the hands of the man that you love is probably the worst death. His strong grip squeezing the air out of you so slowly, smiling at you as he did it felt like torture, but what a way to go. You'd still adore Eddie with his hand wrapped around your neck, with his heavy palm crushing your windpipe, and you'd die so full of love.

The night breeze cools the heat of your skin, hitting your sweat soaked hairline and creating chills that ran up the skin of your arm. The night was still young as they say, the party inside still going in full force. Sweat bodies and clouds of smoke filled every room, creating a sort of heat that quickly became too unbearable.

Quickly finding refuge in crackling embers of the firepit. Unknown people and nameless faces fill the chairs around you, mingling with one another. Despite the happy nature and good vibe of the atmosphere around you, you sit with a permanent frown. Pissed isn't even the word you'd want to use for how you feel at the moment.

Furious, enrage, even spitting angry would be a better description for how you felt towards your friends right now. A random house party in a random place was not how you wanted to spend your Friday night, but then Annika and Nikki looked at you with their big pleading eyes and the end was history.

"We'll stick next to you the whole time," they said, "We promise we won't leave."

Only an hour in and their promise was nothing but a lie, leaving you the minute you stepped through the threshold shouting that they'd return shortly. You didn't expect any less honestly, Annika only wanted to come here for the possibility of hooking up and Nikki was more interested in the arrival of her possible new girlfriend Val.

You always found something to do whether it was people watching or drinking until your vision began to blur. Tonight was different however, being the designated driver you were banned from drinking any alcohol and people watching was only fun for the first forty five hours.

Now you sit playing on your phone, scrolling through every app on your phone until your friends finally arrived. You continue to look at the bright screen in your hands reading through old notes that you had yet to delete, too engrossed by the amount of grocery lists to realize that half of the group left the circle.

"You know this is a party, right?" A gruff voice asks.

Lifting your head slightly, you look up from under your eyelashes to the man across from you, scowl written on your lips. The orange glow highlights him in the best of ways, making him even more alluring.

Brown curls fall from the the bun that sits on top of his head, framing his face so beautifully. His lips pull into a smirk, making the deep crevice of his dimples pop out. Big doe eyes sparkle at you, glimmering in the heat of the flames.

His outfit is basic, a band tee with a faded logo, showing off how well loved it was. The holes in his black skinny jeans show off the tiniest hint of black ink that hides beneath the fabric. The fire and moon fight over the rings that sit on his hands, both going back and forth on which one glints in the silver. A loose cigarette sits tucked behind his ear and a sweating bottle of beer rests in his strong hands.

He's captivating, alluring you like the serpent did Eve. You don't engage, promptly scoffing and then rolling your eyes back down to your phone.

"You know my uncle always said if you roll them hard enough, they'll get stuck."

You hear it before you see it, the grin that sits on his face. It adds gasoline to the already burning inferno that rests inside of you adding turbulence, causing roaring flames.

"Good, hope they do." It's bitchy, ice cold like a winter's breeze. Instead of hurling an insult that you, he laughs. A true genuine laugh that you'd compliment if it weren't for the anger pumping through you.

Shutting your phone off, you drop it into your lap and cross your arms over your chest. Sighing loudly, you look at the curly haired man across from you unimpressed, eyebrow arching sharply.

He takes your challenge of a stare down, watching you over the glass of his beer bottle as he puts it to his lips taking a swig. His gaze in unfaltering but yours isn't. It's not your fault though, not when his neck looks so delicious as he swallows every last drop.

Removing the bottle from his mouth, he catches you eyeing the plump of his lips. Even though you've been caught, your stare doesn't waver, only moving the line of your sight back up to his eyes.

"Ya know, it's not really nice to be mean to your friend." His statement causes another eye roll from you, another loud scoff pulling from your throat.

"You're not my friend," Your words swim with annoyance and it only fuels the man in front of you even more.

Gasping loudly, a ringed hand clutches his chest as if he'd been insulted to the fullest. "I'm not you're friend? I thought the warmth of the fire cemented our relationship."

He curls his lips inwards, biting back a laugh that threatens to sneak it's way out. You're not any better, your bottom lip stinging with the pressure of your teeth that sink into it.

Silences covers the two of you, begging for one of you to break first. Although you put up the toughest of fights, you're the first to lose, a small giggle escaping the lock on your lips. The man isn't far behind you, snorting loudly into the quiet night air.

"First of all, I don't even know your name." You counter, mentally berating yourself for letting a laugh squeak out.

"Oh, you need my name?" He asks, eyebrows raising curiously.

Your eyes squint at the absurdness of his question, "Yeah, that's how making friends works, genius."

Batting his eyelashes, he waves a hand at you in flattery. "I love it when you call me sweet names."

His voice is flirty teasing you to the fullest and if you don't do something fast you're going to melt, and not because the heat of the flames.

"That's my cue to leave." Pushing yourself halfway up from the chair, you're immediately stopped by his arm waving you to stop.

"No, no I quit, I promise." It's said between breathless laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he does.

Smirking ever so slightly, you bask in the sound of his voice. Sitting down slowly, you sigh as if you'd rather not be here regardless of the growing smile tugging at your lips.

Once sat back in your seat, you wait with a tapping foot and crossed arms, trying your hardest to look annoyed. He looks at you smugly, like he's enjoying the little performance you put on.

"If I tell you my name, you gotta tell me yours." He demands, you don't respond just pulling your hand out to inspect the acrylics that rest on your hand.

"I'm Eddie." He beams at you, rolling his tongue over his bottom lip.

You purse your lips, looking him up and down as if you're bored. When you give him your name, he nods slowly and repeats it like it's the prettiest thing he's heard.

"Well there you go, now we're friends." The depth of his voice makes the beat of your heart skip, cheeks burning the more you get flustered.

Shaking it off, you give him a look that the kind that reads "really?", and he only answers by returning a look that says "of course". Sucking your teeth, you look down at the blue fabric of your jeans.

"We can't be friends if we don't even hang out." It's shy, your confidence subsiding harshly under the heat of his eyes.

Now he scoffs, shaking his head back and forth causing the loose curls to move with him. "Don't do me like that, Pookie. Just gimme your number and I'll hang out any time your little heart desires."

"You did not just call me fucking Pookie." You laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach.

You don't see him but Eddie just looks at you like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, adoration swimming in the dark color of his eyes.

When your laughter ceases and you fall back into your normal position, you open your eyes to see him looking at you. For the first time in your life you finally see what it's like to be looked at as if you hung the stars in their place. It feels good, heart racing and air catching in the back of your throat.

Blinking out of your trance, you nod shakily. "Umm, you said something about my ugh number?"

Eddie reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone and tapping in the code to unlock it. Handing it over to you wordlessly, it's already open to the new contact screen where you punch in the ten digit number. You ponder for a moment before typing in a name, flicking back and forth between the options you have, until you ultimately adding it under your given nickname with a black heart.

Handing it back to him, he looks at it smirking and then puts it back into its rightful home of his pocket. Opening his mouth to say something Eddie is interrupted with the sound of the backdoor opening and the rush of the music inside pouring from the doorway.

"Hey, we've been looking for you!" Annika shouts, stumbling towards you on unsteady feet.

Looking at the clearly tipsy girl, you turn back around to see give a sympathetic look to Eddie, quietly apologizing for your drunken friend.

"I guess that's my que to go." You shrug, moving from your spot on the chair.

Eddie only looks at you tenderly, dimples on full display for you. "Go ahead, Pookie. I'll see you later."

Sending you off with a wink, you walk away from the sanctuary you found. Walking over to your friend, you can't help but look back at the pretty boy you met finding him already smiling back at you.

Threading your arm in your friend's, you allow her to put her weight onto you so she doesn't fall. Unfocused eyes scan to where you keep looking, squinting to find the person.

"Who's that?" She keeps squinting, trying hard to see the man's features.

When her eyes seem to make out what she looks like, she perks up with a dopey smile. "Oh my fucking gawd, he's hot."

Saying it a little too loudly, you instantly clap your hand over her mouth and look back to make sure Eddie hasn't heard. You find him shaking his head, shoulders shaking with a clear laugh as he lights the cigarette that hangs between his teeth.

"Hope you got his number, would be a shot missed if you didn't." She chastises once you remove your palm from her lips. You sigh loudly and pull her along and make your way into the house.

Eddie kept his promise, using all his free time over the summer to see you. It started off innocently enough, late night drives down to the lake, midafternoon hangouts in the Dairy Queen parking lot where you’d sit in the bed of his beat up truck, and hanging out in his apartment watching him play video games.

Friends, that’s all it was in the beginning. Two people opening up to one another, bonding over their shitty childhoods and laughing at jokes that no one else ever understood.

As the heat of the roaring sun became more intense, so did the relationship between the two of you. Touches became lingering like the tickle of the tall overgrown grass by the lake. Kisses were light and airy, reminiscent of the lightning bugs that flew around in the dark summer sky. Eddie’s scent lingered with you even after you’d gone home, similar to sunscreen.

Tangled sheets and messy hair, flustered cheeks and dopey smiles. The two of you shined so bright even the stars that hung from the dark blue night were jealous.

But when the sunsets came sooner and sooner, so did the end of your fairytale. Calls became unanswered, hangouts were no more, and hand holding became totally off limits. What was once warm and sickly sweet smiles, was now cold shoulders and icy attitudes.

You felt stupid, falling for someone that wasn’t even yours. Giving Eddie your heart on a platter when he never even asked. When this all started you knew what it was, signing your soul over to the devil using your blood as ink.

The risks were in plain sight, the rules agreed on with the locking of pinkies, and yet you still broke them. Eddie told you over and over again this wasn’t anything other than some fun, a way to pass the boring summer days faster.

And although it hurt, you still plunged the sword deeper and deeper. What is love without some loss?

The mahogany teakwood candles that burns on the top of your dresser does nothing to get rid of the smell that you and Eddie have created. Notes of dark oat and frosted lavender are being drowned out by sweat and sex.

Cotton sheets soak up the perpetration, the outline of his body imprinted to remind you that he was once there, the only lingering memory of him when he inevitably leaves. Cheeks flushed with red, screaming claw marks on alabaster skin, and bruises in the shape of teeth.

"Fuck, squeezin' me s'good, baby." Eddie's all gritted teeth and panting breath as he wiggles around underneath you.

The ache in your knees is no match for the burn you feel in the pit of your stomach, your hole clenching around the thickness of his cock. Switching between bouncing and rocking your hips, you're hurdling closer and closer to the edge.

Sentences aren't even forming in your brain, only random blabbering falls from your lips in loud whines with the way he punches into your cervix.

"S'good, shit you feel so good." It comes out like a sob, ripped right out from the depths of your soul.

Big strong hands grip at the plush of your hips, finger prints threatening to leave a mark for the next day. A wicked grin forms on red kiss bitten lips, basking in the glory of you crumbling on top of him.

"Yeah? Is it good, princess?" Arrogant and cocky, two traits that only he can pull off without it being a turn off.

Your head wildly bobs, drool escaping from your parted lips. "Uh huh," the only real response you can give him in this very moment and it's all he needs to know he's fucked you dumb beyond repair.

Bending his knees, Eddie starts to fuck up into you with unwavering force. The thatch of course hair that sits at the base of his cock catches deliciously on your swollen and neglected clit, resulting in harsh mewl.

With your own eyes screwed shut you don't see that his have rolled into the back of his head, jaw unhinged with the pleasure of you clasping around him tightly. Regardless of his own peak nearing, Eddie continues to keep up with his facade, making sure you finish way before he does.

"I'm so deep huh? S'deep, shit- so deep in this tight f-uhh, fucking cunt." Teeth bite down on the fat of his bottom lip, holding the whimpers from escaping from his mouth.

The speed of his movements, the loud squelch of your juices, and the intensity of him hitting into your g-spot is enough to make your head dizzy. He's everywhere, his touch, his scent, his voice. He's everywhere, all around you and you don't think that anything else in the world could create the same euphoric feeling he does.

"M'gonna-, ah I'm gonna cum." The end is closing in on you, the wave of ecstasy crashing into the shore. Although it feels so good crossing the finish line, you know when it's over he'll be gone all too soon.

"Me too, sweetheart. Motherfuck-, cum for me." The act that he had put on has finally faltered, cracking right at the seams.

That does it, pushes you right off the edge into the blissful waters of your high. Your already weakening knees have now failed you, letting you drop onto the slick soaked skin of Eddie's tattooed chest.

The two of you continue to whimper and moan as your highs ripple through you. Both of you create lightning, a pair of super bolts roar in the middle of your quiet bedroom. In the heat of your bliss, you're completely ignorant to the consequences of such strong power being created. No matter what the outcome is, at least it was beautiful and for the smallest of moments, it was real.

After the glory has finally wore off you remove yourself from him, letting out a strong hiss when the feeling of him is completely out of you. Letting your body fall to the plushness of your mattress, you allow yourself to cycle through the memory of it all.

Naked chests heave, a silence pulling over both of you like a heavy quilt in the winter. It's comfortable like this, the heat radiating off of your skin mixes with Eddie's, the pumping of hearts syncing into the same rhythm pattern.

While your body settles into the softness of your bed, Eddie's is quick to jump up from his spot with a loud grunt. Fresh red marks flash at you, decorating the smooth skin of his back along with the pretty freckles you used to trace with the soft flesh of your finger tips.

As he sits on the side of your bed catching his breath, you wonder if he misses the feeling of your touch the way you miss his skin. You wonder if he misses the intensity of your body next to his, arms and legs tangled together buried underneath the shelter of his comforter. You wonder if his bed misses the shape of your body the way yours misses his.

The springs of your mattress groan when the weight of his body leaves and for a moment you feel the same way. Footsteps are muted by the fibers of your carpeting. You watch from your spot as Eddie grabs a tissue from your vanity, wiping himself free of any evidence of you and then disposing it into the garbage can with a careless toss.

Muscles flex as he begins to redress himself, hiding the masterpiece that you left on his skin. You hope that they sting when he's under the heated water of his shower, a pang that will go away within a few days while the pang of your hurt will last a lifetime.

His messy curls pull from the neck of his shirt, shaking with the motions of his head trying to get rid of the unruly hair that masks his vision. From the singular foot away that the two of you stand, you pray that he won't leave, that this isn't the end.

"Do you wanna stay? W-we could watch a movie or something." Behind the sincerity of your voice is a girl that mourns the loss of her once best friend, begging him to remember what the two of you had in the beginning.

The clang of his belt ricochets through the room, an uncomfortable hallow sound that you wish to forget. Spinning on the socked heel of his foot, he gives you a blank face. One so devoid of emotion, cold and vacant.

"Don't start doin' this, Pookie. You already know what this is." A clear warning given with a strict tone.

The nickname that used to cause butterflies only brings mountains of sadness. It used to have meaning, a funny inside joke between the two of you now dwindled down to the name of a place holder.

"I just thought-" Going unfinished by the sound of Eddie's deep sigh.

"Not tonight, kay?" He says as nicely enough to placate you and even though you know nothing will come from it, you're still full of hope.

Bending down, he begins to slide his feet into his shoes, the same one's you gifted to him only so many months ago. Watching him tie the browning shoelaces of his vans, you wonder if he remembers the way you smiled while handing him the box, or how he felt when you said you got them just because.

It tugs at your already bandaged heart, the sticky adhesive of band aids doing their absolute best to keep the muscle intact. The rattle of the remaining broken pieces rattle in your ears, muffling everything else around you.

The lanky man stands to full height, grabbing his beloved leather jacket from your floor where it was left in the tornado of excitement. Rounding the end of your bed he makes his way to you, standing over your still naked body.

Bending at the waist, Eddie places a wet kiss on your forehead and pulls away with charming smile.

"I'll text you, pook."

You nod at his words, gripping on tightly to the faith that this whole thing will work out the way you hope. Giving you a wink, Eddie quickly exists your room and just like that you crumble.

On the wet sheets of your bed you curl into yourself, naked and vulnerable in more ways than one. Tears leak from your eyes and sobs rip from the depths of your stomach. It hurts watching him walk out because you never know when it'll be the last time.

You try to think back to when everything changed, where it all went wrong. All of the flashbacks and memories flood your brain, a film wheel of all the happy moments. More tears flow, a nonstop river of all the heartache.

You miss him, what your friendship used to be. At this point you don't even care if he loves you the way you love him, you just want him to care for you like he did all those months ago.

You wish you could go back to that warm summer day where you handed over your heart and let him carve his name in it, so that no matter what you did you'd belong to him for the rest of your days.

thank you all for reading!! i hope you guys like part one :)

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[youryurigoddess]

A. Z. Fell & Co. bookshop and its statues, part 2

Welcome to the second part of my insane deep dive into Aziraphale’s world of slightly outdated decor, golden-colored trinkets, and their ostentatiously Greek (especially for a representative of an originally Judeo-Christian mythology) symbolism. As a short recap, the last installment covered six pieces in the northern and central sections of the bookshop plus a plot-important medal previously displayed on one of them, but currently left with the other bibelots on the bookseller’s desk. We’ll start right there, where we previously left off.

While a lot of the bookshop action plays out in the circle between the formerly discussed statues, its office part is especially close to Aziraphale himself. As the titular Guardian of the Eastern Gate, the angel consciously spends most of his time in this small space in the Eastern part of the bookshop, confined to his desk or reading stand. This means that the decorations of this area have more personal significance and are most probably used as daily reminders for him to keep his thoughts and priorities on track as much as provide pleasant distraction from the weary eyes.

The two windowsill figures of the Art Deco dancers from S1 were replaced by a somewhat similar set of twin statues by Ernest Rancoulet called Retour des Bois (Return from the Woods). Depicting a young woman accompanied by a putto, Aphrodite and Eros, frolicking in a dance through the woods and meadows. This bucolic fantasy with Aphrodite makes some sense when we consider how Aziraphale’s personal love story started (and will presumably end) in a garden, but let’s deep deeper into its protagonists. Or protagonist, actually, because what else can be told about Love itself?

Eros as the god of Desire is usually presented in art as a handsome young man, though in some appearances he is a boy full of mischief, ever in the company of his mother. It is usually under the guidance of Aphrodite when he employs his signature bow and arrows to make mortals and immortals alike to fall in love. His role in myths is mostly complementary, as a catalyst for other mythological figures and their stories, with the notable exception being the myth of Eros and Psyche, the story of how he met and fell in love with his wife.

In short, they are the original star-crossed lovers from entirely separate worlds who meet and fall in love by divine happenstance, only to be separated by Psyche’s family. Convinced by her sisters that her husband is, in fact, a vile winged serpent, Psyche breaks his one rule and the attempt to kill the monster leads her to falling in passionate love with him. Eros flees and Psyche wanders the Earth searching for him and succumbing to a series of impossible tasks reminding of those from the Scarborough Fair ballad or the more modern fairytale about Cinderella. She ultimately fails, but is saved by the healed Eros, granted immortality and the status of his equal, after which they can properly marry with a huge wedding banquet, a real feast of the gods.

In the Christian Middle Ages, the union of Eros and Psyche started to symbolize the temptation and fall of the human soul, driven by the sexual curiosity and lust from the Love’s domain, mirroring the original sin and the expulsion from Eden.

Oh, and their Latin names? Cupid and Anima. C+A.

We’ll get back to them in a minute.

According to unnecessary but extensive research, the two mid-century table lamps standing over the desk were most probably produced in France after another unspecified 19th century sculptor like the example above, although this particular putti design can be also found in the so called Hollywood regency style of the same time period. The putto is holding onto a cornucopia, a classical antiquity symbol of plenty, which then continues to the bulb section.

The cornucopia is an easily recognizable symbol of abundance, fertility and, to lesser extant, peace and good fortune. Since the horn is phallic-shaped, but hollow at the same time, it combines intimate imagery of both male and female character at the same time, which further ties into notions of fertility. In its role as a fertility symbol, the cornucopia is also usually associated with Demeter, whose small statue is also standing on the bookshop’s counter. Which seems like a recurring theme.

I saw multiple theories about Aziraphale’s centerpiece, but somehow the truth proved to be much less significant than previously thought. This roman soldier, possibly a centurion, driving his two horses in a highly decorated chariot is made from a marble powder resin composite and takes the most visible place in the Eastern part of the bookshop even though it’s seemingly one of the newest additions to Aziraphale’s collection — its author, Lorenzo Toni, was born in 1938 and became a sculpture master by the 1970s. 

At first glance, the parallel to the Marly Horses seems obvious and we could leave it basically at what was written recently on Crowley and Aziraphale’s dynamics. But here is where instead of commenting on the antique sculpture that seems to be the inspiration behind this piece or the many intricacies of Roman chariot racing I’ll do something completely unhinged — i.e., play my Greek philosophy card.

In the dialogue "Phaedrus ”, Plato presents the allegory of the chariot to explain the tripartite nature of the human soul or — you guessed it — psyche. The charioteer is the man’s Reason, the rational part that loves truth and knowledge, which should rule over the other parts of the soul through the use of logic. One of the horses, the white one, is man’s Spirit, a motivated part which seeks glory, honor, recognition and victory. The second horse, the black one, represents man’s Appetite — an ever so hungry part which desires food, drink, material wealth and physical intimacy.

And the fun part? This triad is established to analyze the madness of love. In a classical Greek context, that is not between a man and a woman, but erastes and eromenos:

The charioteer is filled with warmth and desire as he gazes into the eyes of the one he loves. The good horse is controlled by its sense of shame, but the bad horse, overcome with desire, does everything it can to go up to the boy and suggest to it the pleasures of sex. The bad horse eventually wears out its charioteer and partner, and drags them towards the boy; yet when the charioteer looks into the boy's face, his memory is carried back to the sight of the forms of beauty and self-control he had with the gods, and pulls back violently on the reins. As this occurs over and over, the bad horse eventually becomes obedient and finally dies of fright when seeing the boy's face, allowing the lover's soul to follow the boy in reverence and awe. The lover now pursues the boy. As he gets closer to his quarry, and the love is reciprocated, the opportunity for sexual contact again presents itself. If the lover and beloved surpass this desire they have won the "true Olympic Contests"; it is the perfect combination of human self-control and divine madness, and after death, their souls return to heaven.

And such a perfect combination of the motifs already introduced to us by the two Eros statues and the Head of the Victorious Athlete.

Aziraphale might be a titular Companion to Owls (or, to be precise, the companion to one particular Nite Owl), but he had also made sure to have at least one owl keeping him company. And of course, the owl of Athena (who was interestingly both a bird and a snake goddess) is an absolutely conclusion here as the universal symbol of wisdom and knowledge in the Western culture, but it can’t be that easy, right?

In the Bible, you'll find that owls often symbolize something unclean and forbidden, as well as desolation, loneliness, and destruction. This symbolic significance is pointed out in Leviticus 11:16-17 and Deuteronomy 14:11-17 where owls are mentioned among the birds not to be eaten. Owls were considered unclean most likely because they are predatory creatures who eat raw flesh with the blood still in it, and that was an even bigger food safety concern for the biblical nomads than to us today.

Owls are also among the wild predators that have long dwelled in the desert lands and abandoned ruins of Egypt and the Holy Land. Both Isaiah and Zephaniah speak of owls nesting in ruined wastelands to paint symbolic images of barrenness, emptiness, and utter desolation. In Psalm 102:3–6, the owl symbolizes the loneliness of the psalmist’s tortured heart:

For my days vanish like smoke; my bones burn like glowing embers. My heart is blighted and withered like grass; I forget to eat my food. In my distress I groan aloud and am reduced to skin and bones. I am like a desert owl, like an owl among the ruins. I lie awake; I have become like a bird alone on a roof. All day long my enemies taunt me; those who rail against me use my name as a curse. For I eat ashes as my food and mingle my drink with tears because of your great wrath, for you have taken me up and thrown me aside. My days are like the evening shadow; I wither away like grass. But you, Lord, sit enthroned forever; your renown endures through all generations.

It’s a devastating, but still beautiful piece that deals with the feeling of utter rejection, the ultimate bad breakup of the relationship between a human and their God. And this… simply didn’t happen between God and Aziraphale, not even during his Job job. The angel had always considered Her love and ineffability as a given, even when the whole Heavenly Host was against him during the Non-Apocalypse. His allegiance stayed with God, not necessarily Her angels. Which brings us yet again to the motion of Crowley as the owl.

The angel and the demon are the companions to each other's loneliness, but Aziraphale’s needs seem significantly bigger than their Arrangement that he even considered a wooden substitute protectively hovering over him 24/7. He seems to be the one who is the loneliest and most rejected.

Oh, and if you think that putting a small bronze statue of a putto with a bronze putto-shaped candleholder right behind it (visible on the filing cabinet in the bottom right corner) is already a stretch, let me show you what’s on the other side of that wall.

Just like before the bookshop fire, the famous sink in the small backroom is adorned with a perfectly kitschy white plaster sculpture of The Two Cherubs, a small part of a larger painting by Raphael (the painter, not the Archangel) titled Sistine Madonna. In the painting the Madonna, holding Christ Child and flanked by Saint Sixtus and Saint Barbara, stands on clouds before dozens of obscured putti, while two distinctive winged putti rest on their elbows beneath her. with bombastic side eyes and clearly unspoken, but very controversial thoughts about the whole scene and their role in it.

With an attitude like that, there’s no wonder that the putti have inspired some legends. According to one, the original cherubs were children of one of his models they would come in to watch. Struck by their posture, he added them to the painting exactly as he saw them. Another story says that Raphael was inspired by two street urchins looking wistfully into the window of a baker's shop.

The Germans implicitly tied this painting into a legend of their own, "Raphael's Dream." Arising in the last decades of the 18th century, the legend — which made its way into a number of stories and even a play — presents Raphael as receiving a heavenly vision that enabled him to present his divine Madonna. It is claimed the painting has stirred many viewers, and that at the sight of the canvas some were transfixed to a state of religious ecstasy akin to Stendhal Syndrome (including one of Freud's patients).

Their big, seemingly cherubic companion doesn’t seem to have a specific provenance, but what’s left of his limbs might suggest that it could be an infant Jesus as well as another putto. But honestly who knows at this point.

On the other side of the same room, right at the door leading to the big backroom, there are two lamps with Auguste Moreau’s Young Lovers, a bronze sculpture depicting a courting couple on the verge of a physical embrace, holding garlands of roses and hiding under some old vines. Which aligns perfectly with the beloved romcom trope of a rain shelter leading to sudden love realizations, as well as Crowley choosing this part of the bookshop to have a word with his angel in private and then offering his advice on anything related to human love. No wonder that the angel looked at him like that.

This statue carries with it more than one allegorical interpretation, intentional or not. Arguably the most obvious one is the myth of Eros and Psyche, one we already covered in this post. But similarly to his earlier sculpture, Eros also serves here as an allegory for nature and the return to the natural state itself. Like Adam in Eden, he's unclothed and symbolically crowned as a ruler of his domain. Psyche, enamored with his confidence, is about to take her own leap of faith as her fabric restraints fall away. One could say that she's tempted to follow him into nature, deep into the garden of love.

And with that exact thought I will leave you today, dear reader. Through this analysis we learnt many things, among them two significant facts about Aziraphale: firstly, he’s an utter and incorrigible romantic, and secondly, a hoarder. Forget Crowley’s souvenirs — the amount of this angel’s statues is something else. And it isn’t even his hyperfixation!

[howlsmovinglibrary]

Top 5 Books of 2023!

I don't know if this blog even counts as a book blog anymore, but this year I read 60 books, which is twice as many as last year (and therefore also double my 2023 Reading Goal). I'm so pleased to have overcome my three year reading slump that has plagued me since Covid, and wanted to celebrate by... yknow. Actually doing a book blog post lmao. So here are my five favourite books of 2023!

1) Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett

Not only was this book written Specifically For Me (faeries, rivals-to-lovers, academia), I just think it's a really good example of a cosy fantasy that is well-written and well-paced. The vibes are wholesome and fanfic-adjacent, but that doesn't mean that nothing happens. I'm not a fan of the new 'cosy' subgenre generally, but I think this book combined the right amount of comfort with action.

2) The Thousand Eyes by AK Larkwood

I read the Serpent Gates duology this year, and while the first book was good, the second book was just overwhelmingly brilliant. I loved the way this author manages time and character development - we follow all the characters for decades of their lives, so the final heroic triumphs in each of their stories just... hit different. It was such a wonderful book series, that left me feeling inspired to write.

3) The Adventures of Amina Al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty

I love Shannon Chakraborty's writing generally, but it was really fun (after the slowburn pining of the City of Brass books) to give her a far less pious and brazen heroine that resulted in an entirely different tone of story from her previous trilogy! I loved the narration and plot of this novel, also obsessed with this pirate milf and her demon boyfriend.

4) A House With Good Bones by T Kingfisher

I love T Kingfisher but I've never been able to get all the way through one of her horror books before - idk why, I just don't tend to vibe. But this book, which leaned more towards Gothic horror, twisted to fit a modern setting, was so gripping - I read it all in one sitting. I love the funky little bug archaeologist protagonist, who's first sign that her house is haunted is the fact that there are no insects in her mother's garden.

5) You and Me On Vacation by Emily Henry

I went on a beach holiday for the first time since Covid and proceeded to devour every single fucking book Emily Henry had ever written. Although I loved all of them, You and Me On Vacation was the one written Specifically For Me, which was surprising given that the other two most popular releases by her are about books (oh well...mutual pining, my beloved).

Special Mentions:

Wintersmith by Terry Pratchett

I read all of the Tiffany Aching books for the first time this year, based on a diagnosis from a pal that Wintersmith would be 'my' Terry Pratchett book. Reader, she was right... (which says more about me as a person than I'd like).

If anyone wants to give me any recs for good books they read this year, feel free to reply to this post!

[thestoriesfold]

Tonight’s Golden Hour: Introduction

Summary: You find a new beginning. A new country, a new place to live. But this isn’t living, not yet. Something was off.

Pairings: Marc Spector x gn!reader, Steven Grant x gn!reader, Jake Lockely x gn!reader, Y/N is used sparingly.

Word Count: 2.1k

Content: angst (barely), paranormal stuff happens.

Warnings: probably cursing and language, death in family!, references to cults, eventual references to witchcraft.

Notes: This is NOT proof read. Horrible grammar- probably. Honestly, I just had to get this part out of the way. Be gentle with me, I’ll actually cry. This series will come with its own soundtrack, you’re welcome.

Masterlist 🌙 Pt. 1

The day was dreary, probably normal for regular Londoners. But that wasn’t normal for you. No, you never planned on being here. Your home was warm when this was cold. You could hear nothing but the city, where as home would offer the potential of hearing the waves of the sea, maybe music. The building in front of you mocked you with its old sense of luxury. You never had anything more than a small house, one that was fit for a lonely person as yourself. You could never understand how your late Nana could ever come to have this. Your family seemed to struggle to stay afloat trying to leave what felt like a cult. It was honestly, it was the only reason you’d ultimately agreed to be here. Those bastards always found a way back into your lives, taking another family member with every prolonged visit. It hurt to know that you were the only one left not falling for the tyrannical brainwashing that had persuaded your loved ones.

That wasn’t completely true, your grandmother died before they could get her back into their grimy hands. That made you, the person standing in the driveway, smile slightly. Maybe she got out after all, escaped. Maybe I have too, you thought. It was one thing to move across the country, it was another to end up halfway across the continent. Yet, here you were, all of your belongings sorted between a suit case, back pack, tote, and carry on bag. Safe to say, moving was easy for you.

You only then felt the chill of the London breeze against your skin. Perhaps, you got ahead of yourself. But that wouldn’t matter any longer, not as you shoved your hands in the fabric of your jacket sleeves and forced onward. The closer you got, the deeper the pit in your stomach grew. The house looked normal, but you ultimately felt off. Your head turned to look behind you, seeing nothing but cars passing by the thrush covered fence, and the steel gate that separated you from the rest of London. The garden that surrounded the house was small, probably perfect for someone like your grandma. You blinked at the rose bush that had started to wrap around one of the porch’s posts.

All you could hear at this point was the sound of cars passing by behind you. You couldn’t pinpoint the feelings churning inside your stomach as you slowly unlocked the front door. The hinges made their old age known as the door swung open. It revealed the main entrance. The small corridor led into the front parlor of the house on one side, the other leading to a lowered study. Your eyes scanned the stairway that led up to the other floor of the house. Your mouth fell agape as you stepped fully into the house. The house was still furnished in your grandmother’s particular style.

“‘M glad she stayed so up to trends” you had enough mind to say as you put your jacket on the coat rack. The house looked like one in a movie. Part of you felt lucky despite the eerie feeling radiating off the walls. You gently shut the door behind you, giving yourself a tour of the front parlor. Antiques lined the house from top to bottom, every piece seemed like it could’ve been a hundred years old. You’d never truly know.

You crossed the corridor, stepping down into the large room of the study your grandmother had left you. Books older than time itself lined the shelves along the walls. You remembered how you’d sit and read together for hours. You remembered your grandmother swearing on putting lavender and a splash of milk in her cup of tea, opting to do it for her oldest grandchild as well.

The sigh that flooded the room was one of emotions that you had held onto for months now. It took so long to get things sorted out, you hardly had enough time to mourn. In fact, your grandma was all you really had anymore after the rest of your family joined that stupid group. Tears gathered in your eyes as you ran your knuckles over an all familiar title. One she’d read you every night as a child. Before everything went wrong.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had taken an hour for you to memorize where everything you would come to regularly use within such a large house was. You sunk into the chair that accompanied a large mahogany desk that rested in front of an even larger mantled fireplace. A sigh passed your lips once more, something you’d come to do a lot as the years blurred on. Your hands gently lifted the computer from your bag, bringing it to the desk and began your search. “Y/N has to get themselves a job” you mumbled. You just needed something for food and transportation. The will made sure that this house would cost absolutely nothing for her grandchild, meaning you didn’t have to do anything extravagant. To your luck an opening at a nearby library was available, several actually. “Guessing the job of a librarian is a dying breed, eh?” You asked yourself as you clicked on the application.

Filling out the information came easy, you finished up quickly. Your back hit the chair, making it lean with you. Your eyes closed slowly. Tomorrow was going to be something else, something new. You just hoped that nothing would screw it up, especially yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You forced yourself from bed days later, doing your best to look presentable for the job interview. Your eyes took in the variation of shades that made up the look. You looked normal, maybe the circles under your eyes was what threw you off. A small huff left your lips as you finished getting ready, hoping you’d remember to eat afterwards. Important things, they made you undeniably nervous. Too nervous to eat, too nervous to relax until the damage was done. That’s what you reminded yourself as you stepped onto the coach, paying the fee due to not having a pass just yet. The library wasn’t that far; you knew that, but you didn’t want to risk walking along the streets alone yet. You weren’t from London. The white knuckle grip you had on the bus rail was a reminder of why you missed home. You could walk everywhere.

Your eyes stayed focused on the stops above the headline, eager to get off the damn thing. The man next to you had done a piss poor job of not staring. You could feel the Greek curse leave your lips as you stepped down onto the sidewalk, finding your footing as you took in the large building. Nerves flowed through your body till this point, now you were just dead excited. Working with books, in a huge library. You could only imagine what you could get your hands on.

Hasty with your movements, you quickly stepped through the main doors. Your hands found their way around each other as you approached the counter, an awkward smile gracing your lips as you approached a much older woman. She was older than even your late grandmother. The wrinkled face looked up at you, eyes lighting up to see someone actually show up for an interview. You greeted each other, the old lady taking a while to come around the counter. It didn’t matter, you would wait. Something about the old woman smiling at you like that, would give you the patience of three saints.

“Hello there, darling! It’s so nice knowing the young folk still appreciate places like this” she gestured to the vast room that contained centuries of literature. “I suppose, we should get to business shall we? Here dear, follow me.”

You merely nodded, opting to follow the woman “Thank you so much for accepting my application, this place is beautiful” you admitted. Astonished, your eyes scanned over the two floors of paper. You almost missed Janet calling a man over, his dark curls swirling in different directions as he approached the two of you.

“Ah, Steven! Hello. This is the new hire I was telling you about” you turn to the man in front of you, both hesitating to speak too long for Janet. She ended the silence, looking between the two of you. “Anyway, Steven, would you mind covering the counter while I take ‘em to the office for our little interview?”

He took a second to break away from whatever trance had overtaken him. He could hear Marc’s voice in his head, but he ignored it. He’d gotten better at that lately, offering a lopsided grin as he spoke “It was great to meet you, Y/N. I hope it goes well” he offered a small nod of the head before turning around to the counter.

His face fell as Marc’s voice started in his head, telling him that he made it weird. You didn’t take notice of how his shoulders deflated slightly as Janet directed you to the back office. ‘Great job, Steven. Really’ Marc’s voice dripped with sarcasm as Steven rounded the counter, slowly sitting in the chair.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Both of you walked out with grins, Janet hobbling slightly ahead of you as she approached the front desk. Your eyes met the dark brown of Steven’s, causing you to give him a thumbs up. An almost childlike excitement was rolling off of you, glad that this had gone your way. He mimicked your hands “Congrats! Welcome to our dainty little crew” he chuckled as Janet shook her head.

“Speak for yourself, Grant. Nothing on this body is dainty just yet, young man” her tone had a sense of fire to it, causing you to let out a small laugh “I expect to see you both tomorrow bright and early” she spoke to the you both pointedly. With that, you and Steven exchanged a glance. He was taking in your features the best he could, you were observing him. Almost mentally preparing for whatever tomorrow’s little show of the ropes would be like. You didn’t like not knowing.

You said your goodbyes shortly after Janet took over the counter once more. As your shoes hit the pavement, a grin graced your lips. You’d gotten a job, a nice one at that. Your grin grew as you saw a coffee shop just down the street, still early enough in the day not to be completely flooded. That day was a good day, despite the creaks in the floorboards that night keeping you awake. Despite the shadows that bent and twisted, despite feeling like a presence was watching as you struggled to finally fall asleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was like something held you down, eyes wide open as the moonlight flooded into the room. Your eyes looked around, watching as the shadows of the tree outside seemed to curl inwards. Your breath came out as quietly as you could allow it, feeling your fingers twitch. The house creaked as you lay there. You were convinced your mind was playing tricks on you. This was some twisted dream of yours. You had the imagination.

Your body was stuck, pressed to the bed with an unseen weight. At least you thought so, until a book that fell from your dresser jerked your body up from the mattress. A twinge of anxiety burrowed itself in your chest, this house was more than old enough to be haunted or something. But, it couldn’t be that. Right?

Your bare feet on the cold floor made you more aware, more awake as you bent to pick up the book. Your hands slowly turned the book over, allowing you to see the old, and rather dusty cover. You felt your brows furrow as the title was in Greek, mouth falling open as you spoke the title out loud, Greek being your mother-tongue “Εκάτη Σκοτεινή Μητέρα?”

As you finished the last syllable, your door peaked open. The hinges whined loudly, your body jumping as you felt your heart nearly explode. Your breath was labored, you knew better than to move, than to make a sound. But you had to, this was your house now. Your bare feet slowly moved along the cold wood, every other step causing the floorboards to creak beneath your weight. You slowly descended the stairs, opting for the fire poker as a weapon in the case of an intruder. Wide eyes checked every possible crevice of space in front of you, heart beating loudly in your ears.

You found yourself in the study, already having cleared the house of any odd doings. Your hand slowly loosened on the fire poker, not seeing any signs of anyone ever being in the house. With a sigh, you put the poker down. Why was this happening? Looking at the ashes that littered the fire wood, you rubbed what little sleep you had gotten from your eyes. It was early, three in the morning was what the clock said. There was no way you were sleeping. You shook your head, opting to tidy up the study a little. You adjusted small things here and there, coming to the final corner. Squinting at the small statuette that had fallen into the floor. You picked up the two pieces it had broken into, taking in the sight of the bottom’s three womanly figures. In your other hand, you observed three different heads, the one in the middle sporting some sort of moon emblem. Letting out one final huff, you looked at the pieces in your hands “Merida..”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Translation: Hecate, Mother Darkness.

Also- Merida in an assortment of languages means shit. :)

Thanks for reading, totally let me know what you think!

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Series Masterlist

Van Helsing - Kas!Eddie/Fem!OC - Soulmates

This story is told from 2nd Person POV (you/your)

Minors DNI - This fic is for 18+ readers only.

Summary: In order to undo a centuries-long curse, you travel to Hawkins to defeat a great evil and close the gates to Hell once and for all. Unfortunately, you uncover many unsettling secrets including some about your lost love, Eddie Munson.

Warnings (in no particular order): Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut (Specifics Tagged in Chapters), Major and Minor Character Deaths, Violence, Gore, Body Horror, Blood, Manipulation, Transformation, Corruption, Religious Elements, Criticism of Religion, Biblical and Other Literary and Pop Culture References

This story is going to be EXTREMELY HEAVY to write, so I will not be putting out a posting schedule. Chapters will get posted as they are completed.

OC is of European/Italian-American descent on her father's side and her mother's side can be left up to interpretation. She is loosely Roman Catholic and you will see why I say loosely if you read. I will not be giving her a name, or any major physical descriptors if I can help it but her cultural identity is integral to this story.

Note: You do not need to have seen Van Helsing (2004) to understand the premise of this fic. You should, however, read the prequels.

Prequels: Heaven - Hell - Purgatory

Hymns of Heaven: A series of "additions" to the prequel timeline based on cryptid and monster requests. April 1984 Mothman - April 1984 Immortal Snail - May 1984 Splinter Cat - May 1984 Sully - June 1984 Chupacabra - July 1984 Will-o'-the-Wisp - August 1984 Manticore - August 1984 Frogman - September 1984 Fresno Nightcrawler - September 1984 Thunderbird/Horned Serpent - October 1984 The Kraken - Halloween 1984 Werewolf - December 1984 Freddy Kreuger - December 1984 The Guardians - Christmas Eve 1984 Loch Ness Monster - January 1985 Manananggal - April 1985 Oneiroi - Unknown in the UD Inner Monster - Unknown in the UD Nachzehrer

Related Blurbs: Limbo - Genesis

Gratia. Charitas. Solamen.

Prequel Playlist

Chapters: Prologue - Annunciation 1 - Illumination 2 - Descendió a los Infiernos 3 - Crucible 4 - Malum Malus 5 - Via Domus 6 - Revelation 7 - Exodus 8 - Miserere Mei 9 - Deus in Absentia 10 - Atonement 11 - Ab Aeterno

Series Playlist

Reader's Guide to AASB - A collection of references and Easter eggs that are made in the story.

Series Art All series art is commissioned by me from various fandom artists. Some art depicts the Knight and these depictions do look like me and will be noted as such. If you want to keep the illusion of a faceless Knight, please do not look at the artwork noted with (*).

*Eddie and the Knight on their First Date - by @boltedfruit *

*Eddie and the Knight and the Fresno Nightcrawler - by @doomcheese*

*November 5, 1984 - At the Trailer - by @boltedfruit * (TW: Blood)

Hell Eddie - V2 feat. Knight's Intervention - by @lilithapril (TW: Blood/Gore)

Purgatory Eddie - by @dance-on-the-bones (TW: Blood)

Kas!Eddie - by @nightonblogmountain

*AASB Sketch Sheet - by @toomanyacorns* (TW: Blood)

Via Domus - Eddie and the Demobats - by @hearsegrrl

*AASB Sketch Sheet 2 - by @toomanyacorns * (TW: Blood)

The Gospel According to Mary Victoria - AASB as told from Mary Victoria’s perspective and a deep dive into her journey.

Book 1 - Book 2 - Book 3

This fic will not be for the faint of heart. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

Tag List: There will be no tag list for As Above, So Below.

[augustinajosefina]

A request

Please suggest books to me! Preferably in the glove kink/lesbian space atrocities, urban fantasy or dark academia genres but I'll happily try any SF/fantasy at least once.

So far I've read and loved:

Before 2023

The Imperial Radch (Ancillary Justice/Sword/Mercy) - Ann Leckie

Jean le Flambeur (The Quantum Thief/The Fractal Prince/The Causal Angel) - Hannu Rajaniemi

The Windup Girl/The Water Knife - Paolo Bagicalupi

Memory of Water/The City of Woven Streets - Emmi Itäranta

2023

The Locked Tomb (Gideon/Harrow/Nona the Ninth) - Tamsyn Muir

The Masquerade (Traitor/Monster/Tyrant Baru Cormorant) - Seth Dickinson

Teixcalaan series (A Memory Called Empire/A Desolation Called Peace) - Arkady Martine

Machineries of Empire (Ninefox Gambit/Raven Stratagem/Revenant Gun/Hexarchate Stories) - Yoon Ha Lee

The Murderbot Diaries (All Systems Red to System Collapse) - Martha Wells

The Broken Earth (The Fifth Season/The Obelisk Gate/The Stone Sky) - N. K. Jemisin

Klara And The Sun - Kazuo Ishiguro

Xuya universe (The Citadel of Weeping Pearls/The Tea Master and the Detective/Seven of Infinities plus short stories) - Aliette de Bodard

This is How You Lose the Time War - Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

The Goblin Emperor/The Witness for the Dead/Grief of Stones - Katherine Addison

Some Desperate Glory - Emily Tesh

2024

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue - V. E. Schwab

The Craft Sequence (Three Parts Dead/Two Serpents Rise/Full Fathom Five/Last First Snow/Four Roads Cross/Ruin of Angels) - Max Gladstone

Babel: Or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution - R. F. Kuang

The Luminous Dead - Caitlin Starling

Last Exit - Max Gladstone

Dead Country - Max Gladstone

Read and liked:

The Moonday Letters - Emmi Itäranta

Great Cities (The City We Became/The World We Make) - N. K. Jemisin

Piranesi - Susanna Clarke

Autonomous - Annalee Newitz

Dead Djinn universe (A Master of Djinn/The Haunting of Tram Car 015/A Dead Djinn in Cairo/The Angel of Khan el-Khalili) - P. Djèlí Clark

Even Though I Knew the End - C. L. Polk

Station Eternity - Mur Lafferty

The Mythic Dream - Dominik Parisien & Navah Wolfe

Shades of Magic (A Darker Shade of Magic/A Gathering of Shadows/A Conjuring of Light/Fragile Threads of Power) - V. E. Schwab

The Stars Are Legion - Kameron Hurley

Ninth House/Hell Bent - Leigh Bardugo

Machine - Elizabeth Bear

Our Wives Under the Sea - Julia Armfield

She Is A Haunting - Trang Thanh Tran

Sisters of the Revolution - Jeff & Ann Vandermeer

Station Eleven - Emily St John Mandel

Was uncertain about:

Light From Uncommon Stars - Ryka Aoki

The Kaiju Preservation Society - John Scalzi

Paladin's Grace - T. Kingfisher

The House in the Cerulean Sea - TJ Klune

In the Vanishers Palace - Aliette de Bodard

Uprooted - Naomi Novik

And read and disliked:

To Be Taught, if Fortunate - Becky Chambers

A Psalm for the Wild-Built - Becky Chambers

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon

The Calculating Stars - Mary Robinette Kowal

The Space Between Worlds - Micaiah Johnson

How High We Go in the Dark - Sequoia Nagamatsu

Shadow and Bone - Leigh Bardugo

The Passage - Justin Cronin

(My pride insists I add that I have, in fact, read other books as well. Just to be clear.)

[dustdeepsea]

Zhentarim Appreciation Masterlist

So I've been drawing and writing for these criminals for a while and I thought it might be nice to have everything in one place on my blog!

This masterlist will continue to be pinned and updated, so do check back to see if there is anything new.

Zarys

performance review (Zarys/Rugan, explicit) [AO3]

Salazon

you are the apple of my eye (SFW, shirtless)

Olly

[my tumblr tag]

somewhere I have never travelled (Olly/OFC, teen) [AO3]

Olly and Nora in Baldur's Gate + bonus snippet (Olly/OFC, SFW)

Olly pinup + bonus Olly/Nora snippet (SFW, shirtless)

letter to Nora (snippet, Olly/OFC, SFW)

Rugan

Trouble Will Find Me series [my tumblr tag] aqua vitae (Rugan/Tav, reader insert, explicit) [AO3] Nine Lives (Rugan/Tav, reader insert, explicit) [AO3] Gods and Monsters (Rugan/Tav, ongoing series, mature/planned explicit) [AO3]

The Zhentarim Learning Library (round robin contributor, crack treated seriously, explicit) [AO3]

tied up/as a treat (Rugan only, NSFW)

if you hate me so much (Rugan only, SFW, shirtless)

if I stay here, trouble will find/if I stay here, I'll never leave (Rugan/Tav, SFW)

sketchy practice (Rugan only, SFW)

69 follower thank you (Rugan only, SFW)

Paradise Circus (Rugan/Tav, NSFW)

your hair was long when we first met (Rugan/Tav, SFW)

manga cliches/art poll (Rugan only, SFW)

little serpent, long shadow (Rugan only, SFW)

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